#bitter medicine spoilers

[miatsai]

Bitter Medicine omake

otherwise known as "correct incorrect Bitter Medicine," or maybe "incorrect correct Bitter Medicine." either way, spoilers for anyone who hasn't finished, though as a person who doesn't care about spoilers, i think you can go ahead and read regardless.

Tony barges into Elle’s house on the heels of an unlocking glyph, entering as insouciantly as the wind itself. Sure, he might have a spare key, but there’s no fun in using it, nor is there any fun in ringing the doorbell like some normal person who respects boundaries. Like a cat, Tony believes he’s meant to be anywhere and everywhere. Unlike a cat, however, he won’t pee on something to mark his territory.

Before the character of 開 even fades from his fingertips, he’s met with, in order: a chokehold; a knife at his throat; and a cold-faced, dead-eyed Luc.

But Tony is prepared. Despite what his sister thinks of him, he’s not the carefree, vain playboy she believes he is. A significant amount of the time, yes, he is, but he has his life and his affairs in order, which was not a goal Elle could boast of achieving a year ago. Tony is well aware that Luc was alerted to his presence by the sound of the car pulling up the drive and by the cadence of Tony’s footsteps on the front walk. The whole manufactured situation serves multiple purposes. It’s a test of Luc’s readiness, for one thing, and maybe it’s a bit of a hazing, too, for daring to shack up with Elle, but most importantly, it’s Tony’s way of getting Luc close.

The chokehold never lands, nor does the knife. Tony exhales cheerfully as Luc stops half a centimeter away, kept from touching Tony through use of a shell glyph and a generous borrowing of Shénnóng’s qì. Luc takes a second too long to relax, and it’s that second Tony uses to flip into his second sight—no, that makes him sound like a mystic—his qì eyes—no, not that either—his Tony Vision. He scans Luc quickly from head to toe, taking note of Luc’s meridians and energy centers, making sure everything remains as put as it was when Tony had anchored those points months ago. They sometimes look like they might not stay put, which necessitates these checkups. Tony already has had to make tiny, secret adjustments, which Luc has taken as Tony being overly handsy and affectionate.

Elle is harder to fool, and Tony’s just waiting for the day when she sits him down with a pot of tea and asks, in a direct but gentle fashion, how much time Luc has left.

Tony pushes clear of Luc, whose face hasn’t yet freed itself completely from being in “destroy” mode. “You’re armed in your own house?”

Luc flicks his switchblade closed and takes a step back. “A strange, unwanted man keeps intruding. I stay vigilant.”

“She’ll leave you if you kill me.” Grant appears from behind the couch and twines himself around Tony’s legs. Tony leans down to give the orange tom a scratch.

“Don’t give me a reason to, then. Why are you here?”

“I’ve decided,” Tony says, straightening, “that the inside and outside of your house is ugly. I can’t do much about the inside yet—”

“I don’t take interior design pointers from someone who considers his own portrait the height of décor,” Luc interrupts.

“But the outside is a greige mess and that, I can fix.” Tony spreads his arms wide. “I’ve a bit of a green thumb, if I do say so myself, and some color would really enliven this place. It’s a millennial color scheme dream, which means it’s really a nightmare.”

Luc’s face, which had shifted away from murder to blatant distaste, returns to murder. “No.”

The sliding door to the backyard opens, and Elle enters, her eyes narrowed. “Tony, you have a key! Don’t tell me you broke the doorframe again with 開! I told you specifically to use 開鎖!”

“First, is that any way to greet your elder brother, and second, your doorframe is fine, and I used 開 only on the lock and not the door, so please unclench over property damage.”

“He wants to do landscaping,” Luc says. “I have said no. This is a rental.”

“And that’s my problem . . . how?” There are already plants in the backseat and trunk of Tony’s car. He doesn’t believe in asking permission, only begging forgiveness.

“Oh, no,” Elle says, lifting an ink-stained hand and covering her eyes briefly. “Tony, you can’t.”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“Absolutely not.” Luc’s voice is fetchingly firm. Add in that accent, and it’s no wonder Elle’s done what she’s done.

“It’s too late. I’ve got my buddies in the car. I’m going to make the front of your house look like someone who gives a damn lives here.”

Elle heaves a sigh. “You might as well give up, Luc. Tony gets really weird about plants.”

“I miss my friends.” It had broken a piece of Tony’s heart to leave his plants behind in Raleigh. He’d tended some of them for over a decade. They’d been his longest relationships outside his family.

“I told you,” Elle says. “Really weird. Let him do it and see what happens.”

“You’ll have a beautiful yard, is what’s going to happen.” Tony pulls a fresh pair of gardening gloves out from his back pocket, then slaps them into his open palm. “You’ll see. This is going to be the Redfin star of the block.”

Elle takes hold of Luc’s hands, gripping them hard enough for her knuckles to show white. “You go and do that, Tony. Enjoy yourself.”

It is perhaps a little alarming how easily Elle is rolling over and showing her belly, but Tony sets the warning feeling in his gut aside. He’s doing her a favor. He’s doing himself a favor as well because he can’t stand being in places that aren’t beautiful. Somehow, even though Elle is churning out calligraphy and paintings from her chaos shack in the yard, there isn’t a single piece of hers on the walls. There probably aren’t even nail holes. Luc’s doing, no doubt.

“I’ll let you know when I’m done!” Tony says.

“I’m sure you will,” Luc mutters.

***

“My hydrangeas!” Tony wails three weeks later, standing aghast in front of Elle’s house. The driver’s-side door to his car is open. The engine is still running; the keys are swinging from the ignition. He’s probably breaking some California law against idling, but he doesn’t care.

The row of bushes he planted in front of the house is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a mulch bed. A single sphere of blue hydrangea flowers lies wilting atop it, taunting him. The reason for the multiple paper compost bags at the curb becomes stunningly clear. Clear, too, is the danger he’s presently about to be. “Luc, what the fuck!”

The curtains to the front windows are drawn slowly open, and Luc’s face appears. He unlocks the window and pushes it up, the frame screeching against itself. “I told you not to do it. Elle told you not to do it. You did it anyway. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

“Is it a crime to be beautiful?” Tony cries.

“You didn’t match the plants to others in the hydrozone, you didn’t account for the runoff, the existence of which breaks the county code, you didn’t ask permission from the landlord, and you didn’t plant according to the HOA bylaws.” Luc rattles off all the rules Tony has broken in a deadpan voice. “And you’re idling. Shut the car off.”

Tony stomps over to the car and yanks the keys out, then slams the door extra loud. “Your landlord sucks.”

“You owe me for my time, materials, and labor. I will email you an invoice.” Luc shuts the window and draws the curtains.

Tony would laugh if he weren’t so upset at the waste of living things. He’s got a love of greenery on account of growing up surrounded by wilderness. He’d talked to those hydrangeas as he’d planted them, dammit, and told them he was proud of them and everything. He might have also added a little bit of magic to speed them along their way. Last week, orbs of pink and green and white and blue had greeted him, making Elle’s house the prettiest on the block. This week, it’s back to being a house only HGTV and gentrifiers could love.

His phone buzzes with a text. Tony fishes it out, staring at the screen as he realizes the text is from Elle. I’m sorry, it reads. You do kind of owe Luc, though.

“Owe him for what?” Tony hollers at the windows.

A moment later, his phone buzzes again. He didn’t say anything when our landlord sent a nastygram. He didn’t say anything when the HOA showed up at the door. He covered for you and said he’d take out the plamts

The phone buzzes again. Plants*

It buzzes a fourth time. I think that’s worth a thank you, don’t you? He’s jock about the invoice.

And a fifth time. Jocking

Buzz number six. Not jocking! Joking! I hate autocorrect!

Tony texts back furiously. You can turn that shit off you know. and thanks i guess for not snitching. i won’t charge you for the plants and labor and luc can not charge me for his labor and we’ll call it even

The curtain is pushed aside, and Luc opens the window again. “It is not even.”

Elle opens the door, though in reality, she opens it, Luc shuts it, and she opens it again. “It’s even. Mulch is not that expensive and Luc had a great time ruining your day, except for the part where he stank. Come in, Tony. Want some tea?”

Of course Tony wants tea that he doesn’t have to make. He hides a smile as he thinks about Luc smelling like mulch. He was probably in hell, that fastidious asshole. “No one can snitch on me if I handle the interior, right?”

The last thing Tony sees is Luc’s glare in the magical California sunlight before the door slams shut.

[ghostlyanon]

short compilation of known hyv characters that have Annie remain wary of doctors

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Rough Relationship Timeline with Zayne based on his Memories

This is just my observation. Not All Memories are included. May Contain Spoilers for those who just started the game. I maybe wrong in some parts as nothing on this blog is confirmed by Infold PTE LTD.

Pre - Relationship Stage

Sweet Conspiracy

The awkwardness is a bit heavy here. They still do not know how to talk to each other and M/C learning about Zayne having a sweet tooth.

She doesn't know how to return his jacket but does not want to leave it at the hospital's reception. Probably a good choice. Who knows? Some nurse might just stole that jacket away. ;)

M/C knows he is in a medical conference but doesn't know when he'll be back. So they are not communicating well yet. Maybe just a few convo here and there when she's in for check up.

But my favorite part is when M/C indirectly say that she wants to see Zayne outside of the hospital by saying "You'll call me so I can get my candies back when I'm free.. And we'll see each other again"

This memory clearly shows who M/C is really interested to. She wants to see him again and even if it's awkward with him when they just saw each other again, she is clearly interested.

Glittering Lights

Zayne's paying attention to M/C's emotion and monitoring her in Social media. This thought alone clearly shows that Zayne is already particularly keeping an eye on her since they met again in the hospital.

They are also not fully acquitted yet which is why M/C is quite unsure to start conversations with him. But it shows how Zayne is trying to learn little things about her. He is not yet familiar with what she likes hence him asking her americano or latte.

They have a connection. When they are trying to find each other when they got separated during Zayne's sudden phone call, even M/C felt it. It's like they both felt that they are looking for each other and their eyes met.

And the most obvious clue that they are not yet an item, is that awkward goodbye wave. But it's cute because they are expecting more.

Gentle Twilight

This was the first time Zayne ask M/C to go with him as a mutual support agreement in doing things to make them relax. Why I think so? They never expect to see each other in the library and when he thinks M/C is going to refuse hiking with him, he grabs a book about medicine to ensure that she will come with him.

They still not keeping tabs on each other directly.

M/C calling Zayne as "Dr. Zayne" seems professional rather than teasing.

Please remember hiking and pottery lessons.

Neon Nights

She refers to Zayne as a friend and they just keep bumping to each other.

Zayne is clearly jealous that M/C buying a gift for someone. He's actually quite bitter.. hehehehe

Isn't it amazing that even they disagree and not in a relationship at this time, they are perfectly in sync and fight wonderfully together. Which is why they are great together.

Delicacy

Well M/C thinking Zayne needs to correct his classmates when they said she is his girlfriend.

They are already more acquitted in this as they already agreed on meeting up and they are learning new and more things about each other.

M/C is also picking up Zayne's habits and likes as she know he likes the food there.

Zayne is comfortable in introducing her already.

Zayne's also indirectly confess to her here. (I want to strangle Astra if you know what I mean!)

In a Relationship Stage

Tranquil Heart

This may not be a solid proof, but I think they started their relationship right after this memory.

Although it came out as a friendly banter between them, Zayne is clearly upset that he was not taking care of herself more. Not to mention being caught sneaking out at the hospital at the dead of the night.

But this is where the last line of the memory played out for the start of their relationship. Zayne again indirectly confess to her by saying "That he can't ignore you even if he wants to."

This line is so strong in so many levels. 1, it can imply on Foreseer seeing M/C again. He has a choice to either move on from her but he chose to stay and dedicate his life for her.

2 if he made a promise to her as a kid, it is forgivable if he forgot to help her with her sickness. But from then on he just simply existed for her. I still got chills thinking of what have Zayne must have felt when he first hug and kiss M/C.

Tranquil Moment

I think this is their early relationship stage because M/C is more familiar with Zayne's schedule now and she is seeing him to have dinner dates.

They are planning a dates and doing small things like making snow man and watching the snow. This simple things are one of the sweetest things as they mark the beginning of their relationship.

Drunken Intimacy/ Exclusive Tutorial

He is bringing her to events and showing her to classmates and colleagues. He is definitely showing her off and proud of her being a hunter.

He is being territorial. He warns M/C not to visit other doctors and keep close to her when someone wants to talk to her.

Spring Remnants

They are doing charity events together.

Notice how Zayne takes the box from M/C? This is not just him being gentleman because the next thing he say is "Allow me" referring to taking the box from her and the "Go register first" meaning M/C and Zayne are close enough for M/C knowing his details.

Zayne holding her hands.

At the end, Zayne says "Let's enjoy Spring together from now on" indicating they indeed start dating and Zayne wanting for them celebrate spring as a couple moving forward.

Starry Nocturne

I usually refrain from talking about this memory. Not only of it's heavy emotional content, but I can clearly feel the exhaustion and fear from Zayne.

If observe closely, you can see how they understand each other without a word. Zayne just looks at M/C and she already understood. The gesture is so intimate yet so wholesome.

They way they understood each other and the way she comforts him. M/C might have know that the exhaustion and fear comes with the thought of her in his mind.

Its given that they are already together but Zayne is still in a race against time. He might be busy with patients but all this effort as we know is to find a permanent cure for M/C. He works tirelessly for her. To not lose her again. And this brings me to one of the things that may be difficult to swallow for everyone.

While Xavier and Rafayel are still tied to their memory of M/C in their previous lifetime, Zayne is the only one leaving the past behind, embracing the present, and was fighting for a future with M/C. Words are not enough to express how deep and far his love could go and this is exactly why I love Zayne so much.

The Next Level Stage

Ramblings Come True

AGAIN, Although I cannot say this is a solid evidence, but when Zayne says "I was... referring to something you wouldn't regret" It was like he is asking for her if she is ready to take their relationship to the next stage and she agree by saying when she gets better. (M/C have a cold)

Fleeting Sweetness/Cozy Afternoon

M/C was able to enter Zayne's home while he was sleeping. Meaning she already have the keys to his home solidifying the fact that they are indeed in a relationship. I know mostly Japanese are more symbolic at this its like giving someone more

They are sleeping on the same bed on his house or at her place. M/C buying him him a pajama set.

They instinctively and freely touching each other. Be it holding hands or hugging.

Lingering Warmth/End of Depth/Heartstring Symphony/Business Trip/Snowy Serenity/Hidden Motive.

Do I actually need to explain this? hehehehe It's really obvious so I'll leave it there.

Final Thoughts

Zayne and M/C have a steady and strong bond when it comes to relationship. They might have tiptoed around it by not saying a direct "I Love You", but they live and breath for each other.

Isn't cute that they find a way to saying their true feelings by saying "The Moon is Beautiful"?

Thank you Infold for bring Zayne to us. If may just a game for other, but Zayne is my comfort zone. Having him is like having something that will be forever consistent in my life.

[nighttime-del1rium]

❝𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞❞

ᝰ.ᐟ after the events of the wardance, you and jiaoqiu must figure out how to live a new life

╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: JIAOQIU X GN READER

╰┈➤ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: Angst with comfort, established relationships, realistic (?) portrayals from reader, HEAVY 2.5 SPOILERS, Jiaoqiu’s pov, PTSD, mentions of blood and gore, reader is/was a healer, reader and jiaoqiu going through it (๑•́ -•̀), if i have to suffer then you have to suffer!

╰┈➤𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.2k

╰┈➤ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Soooo who else wanted to commit a crime out of sadness after the 2.5 story quest? (..◜ᴗ◝..) I tried using Chinese words of endearment for this! Putting the prefix “A-“ before someone’s name is an endearment in China! Xin gan is a Chinese endearment meaning “dearest”

When you had heard the news, Jiaoqiu could hear the pure rage in your voice. 

You had shouted at Feixiao with all the rage one could have conjured up, your words bitter and venomous as you had asked her stinging questions more sharper than a wolf’s bite. 

Where were you? Why did you leave Jiaoqiu to rot?

Jiaoqiu could only see darkness now-unfiltered black. But he could still conjure up your image–shining eyes, grinning smile, all the moles and freckles and beauty marks on your skin. He remembers your eyes filled with tears, your face when you were laughing. 

He never saw your anger. 

ᯓ★

You had come back to Jiaoqiu like a wounded pup. He could hear you sniffling, and he offered a sympathetic smile in return as he opened his arms to you. You reached for his embrace, lunging almost as you entered into his warm arms, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. 

“A-Jiao, I’m sorry,” You whispered in his embrace, your words choked and quiet. “I’m sorry.” 

“Xin gan, my darling, the person you should be saying that too is Feixiao, not me.” Jiaoqiu laughed softly. “Your words deeply hurt her,” He added, gently stroking your back. 

Your nails dug into his shoulder, and he winced slightly. “That doesn’t matter. She can heal from words. You can’t heal blindness.”

Jiaoqiu frowned, and as you nuzzled closer he could almost feel the same sentiment. That he could never see Moze, or Feixiao, or you, how he felt almost useless clinging to others for help as he walked, how he almost had cut his finger trying to cook and you had come to bandage it up. He didn’t have to see the pity to know it was there whenever he even talked about the past. The past before Hoolay. The past before he had poisoned himself. The past before he was blind. The past where he could still see your face-

“You can heal anything, as long as you have the determination too, dear.” 

ᯓ★

The first time Jiaoqiu took a bite of your food, he almost gagged. 

The food was too salty, a little bit burnt. He didn’t need eyes to see that you had left the food a little bit too long in the oven, and he smiled despite himself. You always were so scared when it came to cooking. 

“Well? How is it?” You ask expectantly, your voice tense. He could almost feel your eyes scanning his face.

“If you keep hovering over me while I eat, I might get shy,” He cooed. You scoffed, and he could imagine your annoyed, yet flustered, face as you grumbled something about “Foxians and their charming tongues.” 

“It could use more spice,” He hummed. “But it’s good.” A blatant lie, he thinks as he crunches on the burnt part of his food. He should have given you cooking lessons before-

-before Hoolay. 

He pushes away the thought of Hoolay-the thought of growling and clashing teeth and blood and blood and blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood-

  “You and your spices,” you grumble. “Well then, that’s noted. Next time I'll drown the dish in chili peppers, A-Jiao.”

“Of course, xin gan.” 

ᯓ★

You and Jiaoqiu had met on the battlefield. 

You were a new healer, fresh from the academy and all quivering words and wide eyes. You had been taught the art of medicine. But the art of blood, battle, and despair? No healer was ever prepared for that. 

Maybe the love had sparked when your hands-both bloody from gore and intestine-grazed each other while you operated over a screaming soldier. Your eyes had met for a fraction of a second, his eyes gold and sly, and yours filled with uncertainty, before you picked up the scalpel and operated on the soldier with no anesthesia. 

Maybe the love had sparked when he was drunk on wine and you were drunk on life and you both had confided to each other the horrors you had seen. He had uttered every secret he ever had-and you in return gave yours. 

Maybe the love had sparked on a mundane, boring day where he went grocery shopping and you had accompanied him. You were bored and had teased him all day, and for the first time in a while Jiaoqiu forgot about the blood and gore. 

All he was focused on was your smile, bright and beaming. 

ᯓ★ 

Jiaoqiu loves curling into your arms during the night. 

Your warmth, the way you threaded your hands into his air. The way you kissed him all over the cheeks and the way you giggled when he did the same. 

You were like his missing puzzle piece. A fond scar that held cherished memories. When nights were too cold, you and him would spend all night reminiscing or gazing up at the stars. 

It’s always night for Jiaoqiu now, but without the stars. 

You chatter all night, talking about this thing and that. “Tell me about that boy-Yanqing! Does he really live up to stories of him being the Divine Foresight’s young lieutenant?” You ask, eager for Jiaoqiu’s response. 

He nods thoughtfully, humming as he murmurs, “He’s also the Divine Foresight’s favorite. One would mistake him for the general’s son instead.” 

He can feel your hands touch his waist, feel your breath on the nape of your neck. Your chin props onto his shoulders, and Jiaoqiu’s hand reaches for your own. 

“Do you...regret it?” 

“What?” Jiaoqiu asks, his tone surprised. What were you talking about? 

You gulp, before squeezing his hand. “Nevermind…forget it.” 

“Well, now you can’t just say that when you sparked my curiosity,  xin gan. Do I regret what?” Jiaoqiu says, his voice slightly shaking. Jiaoqiu’s regrets have always numbered that of the stars in the sky. He has come to peace with many of them–but not one. 

“P…poisoning yourself.” You almost whisper, your hand breaking free from his grip and instead cradling his face. “You never said anything to the Merlin’s Claw, but then again you hardly ever say what you're feeling–It’s not healthy to hide your emotions-” 

You ramble and Jiaoqiu listens. 

You ramble and Jiaoqiu remembers the utter relief he felt when he heard Moze’s voice. The relief he felt when Feixiao had told him Hoolay was dead, gone with not a single tuft of fur left. Yet he also remembers the bitter regret. That he blinded himself and now he must live with it. That he can't see you or Feixiao or Moze’s face. That he can’t see your smile. 

He sighs, and turns to face you. You startle, and he can imagine your wide eyes as he presses his forehead with yours. 

“Do you remember what I told you, xin gan?” 

You're silent for a bit, going through your memories before saying, “You can heal anything, as long as you have the determination too?” 

He smiles, kissing your nose. “And if my blindness can’t be healed, then I’ll live with it. I can bear through anything, my dear, as long as you're with me.”

He can hear the tell-tale sign of you crying, and he fumbles to caress your tears away. 

Besides, he didn’t need his eyes to see the most important thing in his life–your love.

© NIGHTTIME-DEL1RIUM: you do not have the permission to use, translate, or put my works into ai without my consent.

[mydadleft471]

Carian Tea And Bitter Medicine

Summary: You've fallen ill and Messmer is deeply worried for his wife. Over the coming days, you slowly recover.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings other than talk of throwing up. (yuck)

This was a request from @writing-fanics! I'll link it here if you want to see the post. This was super fun! I love writing for the red-haired snake man (clearly that's literally all my blog is lmao). Thank you for requesting and I hope I did it justice!

As always, thank you all so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means the world to me and I'm so happy I've gotten back into writing!

Messmer had barely left your side for the few days. He was worried sick. No matter how much his servants and healers told him you’d be alright with some rest and medicine, he couldn’t seem to believe them. He thought you were dying, and he could only sit idly by while you suffered. Watching you writhe felt like a stab wound, searing and sharp, right to his chest.

You, his darling wife, looked terrible. A sheen of sweat covered your body even in your lightest nightgown, yet you stayed wrapped in blankets. Chills would wrack your body one minute, and the next you’d be pushing at the blankets because you were overheating. You’d refused almost all food except for a light broth, though it still threatened to come back up. Water wasn’t any easier, and your condition had seemingly gotten worse. Your skin was pale and your eyes didn’t shine like they usually did.

Messmer tried to keep himself busy to drive away the thoughts that plagued his mind. He’d fetch you a cold washcloth and lay it delicately over your forehead, or help you sit up when you’d request a drink of water. You were too weak to lift anything, so he’d carefully tip the glass back enough for you to take small sips.

You’d been confined to the bed for five days due to your sickness. Each morning he’d wake and hope to see you better and healthy once more, but it hadn’t happened yet.

He didn’t sleep well last night, jolting awake in response to any sound you’d make. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw you trying to sit up. He hurried to your side immediately, helping you.

“What bothers thee, wife?”

“I just wanted some water. I didn’t want to wake you. I know you haven’t been sleeping much these past few days.” You croak out.

“It bothers me little,” he says while moving to fetch you a glass of cool water. “How dost thou feel this morning?”

“I’m actually hungry, so I’d assume that’s good.”

“I am so very happy to hear that, beloved. Whatever thou wishest for, it shall be done.” He smiles for the first time in days.

“Right now,” you gesture towards him, “I’d love some water.”

He sits beside you on the bed and moves it towards your lips. Your hand finds his and, though shaky, you help tilt the glass back. After a few sips, you tap his wrist and he returns the glass to your bedside table.

“Thank you, husband.” You shoot him a weak smile and his stomach flips. Marriage did little to dull the butterflies you gave him.

“What dost thou desire for breakfast?”

“I don’t mind, really. If we have any left, I’d love to have some of that delicious spiced Carian tea Rellana gifted to us.”

“Of course, beloved.” He gently guides you to lay back down. One of his serpents nips at the blanket and brings it over you. You pat its head in thanks.

“Wilt thou be alright for a short while?” His heart twists uncomfortably thinking about leaving you alone, even if it is just to request food for you.

“Yes, my love. You never stay away for very long.” 

“It pains me to leave thee.”

You grab his hand and squeeze weakly.

“I know. But I’m hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach growls.

“I shall return shortly, my wife.” He kisses your forehead and makes his way towards the door.

Outside, he’s pleased to see a dozen of his most trusted knights. When you fell ill, he ensured you’d be safe from any outside threats. His men were fiercely loyal to both him and his beloved wife.

Noticing the creaking of the door, Fire Knight Salza bowed in greeting.

“How is our Lady, my Lord?”

“She is slowly recovering, though still sick.”

“Shall I send for a servant to bring her food?”

“Yes. She’s requested Rellana’s specialty Carian tea.”

“Ah, a personal favorite of mine. I’ll see her desire fulfilled, my Lord.”

Messmer nods and returns to you, shutting the door swiftly. You’re still laying down on the bed, the covers pulled over you. He sits on the bed and smooths a few rebellious strands of hair down.

“I probably look awful.”

“Never.”

You roll your eyes. “You always were a poor liar, Messmer.”

“I shall never utter a word of disgust or mocking towards thee, beloved.” Even like this, you were beautiful to him.

“I know.” You bring a hand up to cup his cheek and he moves forward, sighing into your touch.

“If I must describe thee, I would say thou lookest sick. Nothing more.”

“How sweet of you. I’m sure if I looked in a mirror, it would shatter.”

“Nonsense.” He kisses your knuckle. “I shall hear these false notions no longer.”

“Fine. But I could probably use a bath.”

“If that is thine desire.”

“Only if you bathe me.” You playfully wink at him. His face reddens.

“Dost thou know no decency?”

“No,” you reply, giggling. “Not around you, at least.”

A sudden knock at the door distracts him. He releases your hand and rises from the bed.

“Enter.” His voice sounds so different when he speaks to anyone but you.

A servant comes in with a small tray of food. They gently set it down on the table beside you and bow to you both before leaving as quickly as they came.

You push yourself to sit up. Messmer moves to help you, but you refuse and slowly get up on your own. He shakes his head at your stubbornness, but he’s happy to see you regaining some strength. Just yesterday you could barely lift your head.

You look over the tray of food and see a bowl of steaming broth with some noodles, a vial of medicine, and your Carian tea. Messmer brings the tray closer to you and you move to pick up the bowl of soup. You feel the worry radiating off of him at the prospect of you burning yourself.

“I’m alright, my love. Just a little weak.” 

You take an experimental sip of your broth and nausea doesn’t immediately make you want to spit it out. Pleased, you continue to take small sips and bites. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, and soon, the bowl is empty. Messmer looks ecstatic that you’ve managed to eat something. 

“How dost thou feel?”

“Fine, actually. Can I have my tea?”

“Medicine first, beloved.”

“Yes, sir.” You tease. He bites his tongue and gives you a look.

He grabs the small vial and takes the cork off. It smells horrible.

“Tell me, does this concoction taste as badly as it smells?” His nose crinkles in disgust and his serpents hiss and recoil.

“Unfortunately.” Taking the vial and tilting your head back, you pour it all into your mouth at once and swallow as quickly as you can. The bitterness coats your tongue and almost burns. You will yourself to not gag and your face scrunches up in displeasure. You can’t wait until you’re better so you no longer have to taste this.

You gesture towards your tea and Messmer hands it to you. You drink some and the bitter taste of medicine slowly recedes to a soothing spice on your tongue. 

“Would you like some?” You gesture towards the tea.

“No, beloved. I would not steal thy favorite tea from thee.”

“You can steal my medicine.” You smile at him from behind your cup.

“I wouldst rather drown.” You laugh.

“Me too.”

“Thou art braver than I.” He refers to your medicine. He places the empty bottle back on the tray and his serpents eye it warily.

You finish your tea and set it down with the rest of your dishes. Messmer moves the tray back to the table for a servant to take away later. He smiles, happy that you’ve finished everything brought to you today. You seemed to be getting better, and for that, he was grateful. Some color had returned to your smooth skin and your eyes seemed more alert.

“Would you come hold me?” You shoot him a pleading glance.

“Thou knowest my weakness, wife. I shall never say no to thee.”

“You just did.” He gently scoots into bed beside you.

“Hmm?” He tilts his head.

“You said you wouldn’t steal my tea. You technically said no to me.” You pout.

He shakes his head, drawing you closer in his arms. His serpents wind protectively over you and you sigh, content.

“I am afraid thou art taking mine words too literally.”

“Maybe.” You mumble into his chest.

“Sleep. Exhaustion clings to thee.” He strokes your hair.

He expects a response from you, and a witty one at that. Perhaps something about how he’s confusing exhaustion for not bathing regularly. But he looks down and you’re fast asleep, tucked into him. He wonders if the Carian tea puts one to sleep. If so, he needs to have a plentiful supply.

His darling wife is getting better, and it did not even require him to pray to Mother. He will dwell on the implications of that later.

[assumptionprime]

I need to rant about the Fallout show

Because this is the person I am. Full spoilers, so I’m putting it behind a Keep Reading:

I’m a huge sucker for Fallout (yes even 3&4). And I went into the Fallout show with some… trepidation. Amazon has been a mixed bag on adaptations, we could have been blessed with a Good Omens, or cursed by a Rings of Power. But early buzz and reviews seemed positive, so I slammed the whole thing in one night with my spouse (we were staying at my in-laws house and they have Prime. Time was a factor.)

And y’know? I was really enjoying it! The characters were fun, the plot was engaging enough, and the costumes and visual design were extremely on point. There were some minor lore quibbles to be had: Ghouls needing some kind of medicine to not go feral. Really, more Enclave holdouts? Timeline and date whoopsies. Wait are they in California? Where the hell is the NCR?

I made a face at Shady Sands being bombed and the NCR collapsing. But I wasn’t completely out of the story. Based on what I had seen so far, I thought it was building to a reveal that the Brotherhood had done it. That the more zealous turn they took in Fallout 4, which has clearly carried to how they are portrayed in the show, lead them to bombing the NCR. War never changes, as they say. Maximus even says when asked what happened to Shady Sands: “The same thing that always happens.” Yeah, it leans into Bethesda’s weird desire to keep the Fallout world in a state of perpetual wastelands full of raiders and no civilization, but it wasn’t so terrible that I couldn’t still enjoy the show.

But then.

BUT THEN.

Episode 8, and the reveal of Vault-Tec apparently being the ones who dropped the first bomb in the Great War.

I was surprised to hear that some fans have apparently been debating over who fired first? Some even asked Tim Cain about it?

That’s really odd to me because, in the games, there is already a pretty definitive answer to which side sparked the Great War:

Who fucking cares?

The world ended. What does it matter who shot first?

There is no China, no United States, no communists or capitalists left to fight about it. 

It's a powerful little bit of lore.

For all the posturing, all the promises from each nation that their way is the true way, all the nationalism, the militarism, and blind loyalty to flags over humanity, they both lost. Everyone lost. All that remains of the ideologies and nations that were so important to the people of 2077 is faint echoes over vast expanses of radioactive ash.

Who started the end?

No one knows. No one cares.

It only matters that their conflict was so bitter, so all-consuming, that one of them dropped their bombs, and the other dropped theirs in return.

The truest legacy of the old world is the devastation left by their final, most horrific war.

Can we do better?

Then the show says "Nah, Vault-Tec did it. It's not a commentary on human nature and the futility of self-destructive conflict, it was actually these guys, these mustache twirling villains huddled in a darkened room literally plotting to end the whole world so they can rule what's left."

And I can see the attempt to make this a critique of capitalism. I actually paused the show to praise a bit of writing when Coop is talking with Charlie before the war, when Charlie tells him that the “cattle ranchers are in charge” to illustrate how capitalism and corporations hold too much sway over the government, it felt very in line with how in New Vegas one of the recurring critiques of the NCR is that all the real power is in the hands of the “brahmin barons.” Nice parallel, spot on!

But “we’ll set off total thermonuclear war so we can rule the ashes and have a True Monopoly” isn’t capitalism. It’s just dumb “we’re the baddies” writing.

And then Shady Sands was also Vault-Tec?! Forget any meaning in the NCR falling to the same corruption and/or factional fighting that consumed the old world, they were literally just bombed by the evil shadow conspiracy that apparently also killed the old world. Hank gives this speech about factions fighting and the futility of it all while we see the Brotherhood fighting Moldaver’s NCR remnant, and like, no! You can’t say that when you’ve made it so neither the old world or the NCR fell to war with another faction! It was you! You and your band of cryogenic supervillains!

I don't care that they changed it. Timelines and dates and little retcons don’t bother me all that much. I care that they changed it to something so much worse.

[soapymansuds]

Eternity and Counting

(Pt1) This is a running piece I've nearly finished, but the whole thing is way too long to post as one chapter sooooo... This part's pretty short just for the sake of timeline splitting.

Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)

TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad, everybody is crying like all the time

MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.

(Takes place in the Frost Flowers event (sorta?), with mild "that chapter where MC finds out they're the Bridge" spoilers. Can't remember which chapter that was.)

~/\~

It's so heavy. This grand weight I've been lugging around since that day. I should have died. I was supposed to die. I would have deserved it too. All I've ever managed to do was cause problems for this family. And maybe I still am. The idea almost stopped me. Visions of their faces. Their tears. Their grief. It did, actually. A few times at least. But not today. It's happened again. Everything was going just fine until that God-forsaken dog decided I would be the object of his affection. Somehow, in spite of the threat it faced to the nation, the brothers refused to just hand me over. Almost losing not just their home, but their kingdom, for my sake. Yet again wasting their time trying to save me. Just like they did when my stupid power nearly killed Lucifer. When Lucifer nearly killed HIMSELF to save me. A bitter, evil part of me is still mad at Michael for stopping me. For saving me.

My arms feel heavy as lead as I lay here, counting away the seconds. I've got nearly an hour before anybody gets home from RAD. Plenty of time to make sure I stay dead. I feel a little bad for lying about being sick to get out of classes today. But maybe I am. Doesn't matter much now anyway. Really, my biggest concern in the current moment is how long it will take Barbatos to notice the ingredients I took. Sure, he's in classes right now too, but he pops in and out of the castle all day long. The likelihood of him stopping into the kitchen and noticing the cracked cabinet door, the scavaged shelves, and finally the open jars is uncomfortably high. In my defense, the chances of that happening while I was there were equally high, so I can't be blamed for the messy crime. But he's only got a few moments more before his discovery will be for naught, so I suppose it's not terribly worrying.

I can feel it, creeping up my spine like a cold massage. The ever-growing numbness. The slow death of my limbs. My lungs. Me. It's growing darker now, unnaturally so, even for The Devildom. I can finally free them of my burden. Free myself of it too. But I would like to offer a final scorn to whatever God allowed me to hear the gentle creaking of the front door.

~/\~

(Mammon's POV)

A chill runs through my spine,like something ominous is lurking behind me, but as I turn around, nobody's there. In spite of that comfort, I can't shake this overwhelming dread coating my nerves and sinking into my bones, urging me to move. Driving me to jog home. The gentle sway of the bag on my arm becoming notably more violent as it begins swinging by my side.

My hands can't work fast enough as I try to unlock the front door. I break into a near sprint as I approach their door, slamming it open.

"MC?" I call, it's dark in their room, but I can just make out the shape of their body resting in their bed. "Oh, you're just sleeping." I mumble, walking up to their bed and setting the bag on the ground next to it.

"Hey, I gotcha some human world medicines." I whisper, pulling a few bottles from the bag. "C'mon, you gotta wake up and take some."

I can't help but roll my eyes at their lack of reaction. "Been spending too much time with Belphie." I reach up to shake their shoulder gently.

Nothing happens. So I try again, fingers gripping just barely tighter. Tight enough to feel the unsettling chill of their skin. It seeps through my fingertips and into my soul. Gripping my heart in white hot fear.

"MC, wake up." I shake them again. "MC." Their name falls from my lips like a plea. "MC please-" I grab their other shoulder. "MC!" Tears spill from my eyes, breath shaky and ragged. "Wake up!"

(Raghhhh, sorry about this)

-Your dear friend, the author

[m1d-45]

any chance of a part 2 of opportunities arisen? perhaps tighnari finds out who we are? or someone else comes after us? 👉👈 i love him sm and ur characterization of him is perfect, that fic is 100% canon in my mind for every imposter au now

prime fortune

a/n: hope this one didn’t absolutely destroy your expectations anon. it took a hard left turn halfway through and i couldn’t bring it back—

word count: 3.1k oh wow-

-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru archon quest (3.0-3.2), dubious medical facts that you should not follow, likely ooc cyno, excessive use of the word ‘something’ with little reasoning to show for it, cyno’s excellent humor

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

<< part 1 || < masterlist >

adapting to life in the forest was easier said than done.

you’re often paired with collei, who’s in the middle of a bad eleazar flare that keeps her confined to the village, and though she teaches you the different salves and plants, a lot of it goes over your head.

you’re interested, you are! the liveliness with which she speaks, and the animated gestures from tighnari as he explains proper safety when preparing medicine easily capture your attention, but when she hands you two mushrooms and asks her to tell you which one is morchella….

by some strange luck, you often guess correctly, your intuition knowing more than you do, but when she nods with a smile and asks you to repeat the differences…

your mind falls blank.

something about the density of the fibers inside the mushroom floats through your mind, but you can’t remember whether the true or false mushroom is heavier.

collei’s smile falters, and yours turns sheepish. when she takes you out on walks, slowly walking up the paths so you don’t strain your ankle, you can point at the differences between portobello and death caps, you can pick out holly and honeysuckle and marigold, but here…

you pass the field practice with flying colors, but your basic by-the-books forest ranger tests always end in failure.

tighnari picks out two plants from a small case, holding them up in front of you.

“you come across amir sitting just off the side of a path, clutching his stomach. after some questioning, you determine he has a stomach cramp from dehydration, and spot these two plants nearby. you’re about a 15 minute walk from the village; what do you do?”

one of the plants has many flat white flowers blooming from the top, with yellow centers, while the other has orange petals that form a ball shape on top. you know one of them is yarrow, but not which one…

you pick the latter on a whim, spinning it between two fingers as you think. “pick the petals and crush them into a paste, taking care not to overwork them. give him about a spoonful, which should be most of it, then help him up. report to shirin once we return.”

the blank mask on his face falls into confusion. “how do you even mix up marigold and yarrow?” he asks, picking the flower—marigold, you now recognize—from your hand. “you got the procedure correct, at least, but marigold is bitter and will only worsen his aches. oh, and additionally, the leaves of yarrow—however small they-“

the door to the cottage slams open, jars rattling on their shelves, and tighnari whips around to face whoever it is, one hand steadying a stack of reports.

“and just what do you think you’re- w- collei? is everything alright?”

collei’s violet eyes were wide, her shoulders heaving with breath, when she spoke, exhaustion was evident. “m-master tighnari! the matra are here on behalf of the akademiya! i tried to tell them to wait so i could get you but they just-..”

emotions flashed over tighnari’s face faster than you could catch, eventually setting on a sharp determination. “alright collei, calm down. go find amir and do your best to delay them, but don’t seem too suspiscious, okay? just remember what we planned, i’ll take care of things here.”

her eyes flicked to you, worry evident, but she quickly turned away.

the moment the door closed, you and tighnari sprung into action. he collected the plants from your test and tucked them into their proper places, you standing to help return a mint plant back to its place.

he caught your wrist, taking the pot. “don’t. take your bag and go, don’t worry about this.”

you hesitate for longer than you should, then nod. he lets you go and returns to his case, and you move to crouch by the bed. feeling under it, your hand eventually brushes against a cloth handle, which you grab. you take a step to unlatch the window with one hand and sling the pack over your shoulder with the other, leaving with your good leg first. as you carefully close the window behind you, you can see tighnari moving to hide all the notes you’d taken, the only sign of his worry being his tail lashing behind him and the slightest flick of his ears.

with a soft smile, you turn away.

tighnari checked over his room once more, ensuring that every trace of your presence was scrubbed clean. your laundry was out and mixed with the rest of the rangers’, but your notes and records were carefully hidden under patrol logs and his own personal binders. he knew everything was tucked away, he had explanations lined up and answers to every conceivable question the akademiya could have, but his heart still beat frantically against his ribs. even as he pulled apart and neatened up a stack of patrol logs, repeating the action to look like he was doing something whenever the matra came to his hut, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed something crucial.

he had to fight to keep his tail from betraying his emotions, the energy not going into mussing up and then fixing the papers spent on hiding the symptoms of his distress. he knew he didn’t miss anything. the moment you told them the sages were on active lookout for you and he knew you weren’t a threat, he had memorized the plan. he was foolish to worry.

he hasn’t known you for long, barely over half a year, yet his mind is clouded with the same worry as when collei collapses out on patrol. the same numbing sort of adrenaline, the icy feeling in his bones even as his skin starts to burn up, the apprehension in every movement, as if at any moment-

somebody knocks on the door.

tighnari takes a steadying breath and fusses with the papers a final time. “come in!”

the door creaks open and he taps the papers on the table, turning slightly to speak over his shoulder. “sorry, you caught me in the middle of something.”

“no matter,” a familiar voice says, and he can’t stop the way his body freezes at the speaker.

he carefully tucked the papers into a folder, finally turning around. “general mahamatra. to what do i owe the honor?”

cyno crossed his arms, red eyes surveying the room. “oh, nothing at all. just somebody from vimara village reporting somebody that looked suspiciously like the primo fortuna walking around with collei when they’re supposed to be in liyue.”

tighnari stares. the primo fortuna…? he thought they were after you, but you couldn’t be…

“are… are you suggesting somebody is attempting to imitate the creator?”

sure, he wouldn’t deny you shared some features—you had the same shape of nose, you were around the same height and build—but for you to be the creator? no, it wasn’t possible. your eyes were much kinder, you stopped and helped nasrin when she couldn’t find the proper forms, you directed shirin to the area of the forest where you and collei found nilotpala lotuses, you were nothing like the creator he saw at pardis dhyai. you didn’t stare with glazed eyes as padisarahs and sumeru roses were brought forth, you listened in earnest when he spoke about the differences between the various kinds of ferns.

if anybody were to meet you, they’d know in an instant you were not the creator.

his heart itched within his chest. he ignored it as worry.

“that’s exactly what i’m implying. as i’m certain you know, their identity is hallowed, and anybody attempting to infringe upon it needs to meet justice.” the golden eye on his headpiece flashed, the sides beginning to narrow into eyes before he shook his head and it passed. “but in truth, that is not why i am here.”

tighnari stared. despite having a fondness for jokes, cyno was never one to laugh about his duties. “what do you mean? collei told me you were here on behalf of the akademiya.”

“the matra are here on behalf of the sages,” he clarified. “i… i am here for other reasons. personal ones.”

his eyes flicked around the room again, and tighnari’s narrowed. “well, don’t hide behind double meanings, then. what is it?”

cyno’s jaw flexed as he chewed at nothing, his arms uncrossing. his eyes focused somewhere around the bed, and he seemed lost in thought. whatever it was, it had to be a big deal, but for him to hijack the matra’s arrival instead of coming on his own time…

“the one on the throne is not our god.”

he said it with such conviction that tighnari found himself agreeing, waiting for whatever had gotten him worked up, and it was only when cyno’s eyes closed as he braced himself that it registered what he said.

“what?”

“i have gathered evidence across many sources, both academic and religious, common and exclusive, and i can’t bring myself to kneel at their feet any longer. i have been ignoring my own mind for too long for the sake of my conscience, and i am confiding in you now what has been brewing in my mind for months.”

in the silence that stretched, tighnari almost wished he hadn’t spoken.

the way he spoke, from his words to his tone, reminded tighnari of when he reported to the sages, like he wasn’t tighnari to him and was instead an authority.

“cyno, i don’t.. is this why you didn’t go when they were at pardis dhyai or sumeru city?”

he nodded. “i can’t be in a place where they’re being worshipped when i’m so conflicted. i thought about pulling you aside in the city, but…”

tighnari didn’t think he’d ever seen cyno so meek in his words, none of his normal power behind it. he’s… tired, a quality he knows he’s felt but has never seen on him, the almost nervous way he keeps glancing around the room edging on alarming.

“alright.. uh, moving past that for a moment, what does that have to do with why you’re in gandharva ville? wouldn’t you want to not be involved?”

cyno’s eyes dragged from where they were locked behind him with uncharacteristic slowness. “the person you’re hiding may be the real creator.”

the simplicity to his words had tighnari believing it, even as it didn’t fully register in his mind. he knew cyno attached a religious aspect to his work, to the point the people in sumeru city sometimes calling him an extension of their judgement—even as it was more like the akademiya’s, most time—so he knew that whatever he said on the topic was both well thought out and reliable.

which is why he was silent even after it clicked.

“what are you saying, cyno?”

“they’ve been staying here, haven’t they? in this room?”

“this is my and collei’s-“

“don’t tell me you haven’t been able to feel the difference in the air? the way it seems to flow slowly, lingering, like it has something to wait for? there’s no heavy blankets on the bed, and yet everybody else is talking of how cold the weather’s been lately.”

“that’s because this is an insulated room, and we’re right up against a cliff.”

the quick pace to his heart was back, this time less of worry and more of confusion. you couldn’t be the creator, not when you bore so little resemblance to the one on the throne. you were good at what you did, plants thriving under your care even if you forget to water them. call him selfish, but tighnari almost wished the creator could go back to wherever they’d been, since they’d been much kinder there, both to their vessels and the world.

you weren’t them. they weren’t even close to being you.

“you’re considering it.”

he crossed his arms, forcing himself to still. “i’ll admit—not that you didn’t already know it—that we have taken a refugee into the village, one the sages might call a criminal-“

“that’s not what i mean, tighnari, and you know it.”

“can you give me a minute? you can’t just drop a massive load of information on me like that and expect me to continue like it didn’t happen!”

“you’re reacting oddly.”

“well of course i am, you’re telling me the same person i took in and sheltered from your bosses is somebody you want to take away back to them, and that’s not even covering their injuries- they’ve barely been able to walk outside of the village, and you want to take them to the city?”

“when did i say anything about the sages?”

tighnari stopped, his chest heaving. his hands froze mid-air, his tail still flicking in a mix of irritation and stress, thoughts moving quicker than he could understand them.

“what?”

“i never said anything about the sages. i never said i would take them.”

“w- well it’s implied, if not in your words then-“

“i don’t deal in implications. you know this.”

he did.

he knew cyno. he knew how he spoke and acted, he knew that the small emotion in his eyes was indicative of empathy and not ruthless justice. he knew he held reasoning in high standards, he knew that if he stopped and thought about the words coming from his mouth then he would agree.

but he couldn’t think.

all of his usual composure had faltered and faded, leaving him grasping for a hold as his thoughts swam like a raging river around him, even standing a struggle amidst the tide. all he could do was watch, his head racing and hands shaking, as cyno stood on the bank of rationality, with his crossed arms and cool eyes that dared him to step forward and sink beneath the waves.

he had no real reason to fear so much for you. by now you were gone, by now you were safe and far past the statue of the seven by the chasm, hidden in a place where even cyno would struggle to find you. you were crafty, clever, and you had more than enough supplies to last until he could go to find you.

he had no reason to be afraid.

yet his heart still raced a rhythm he couldn’t follow, his mind tripping and skipping with worry.

why?

his tail wrapped around his side and he picked out a cluster of petals from it, mostly just to give his hands something to do.

as he did, he noticed it was a full flower, likely knocked off one of the samples on the desk. it was small, blue, with smooth petals, and he recognized it after a moment’s pause.

“this is a hydrangea. what is it used for?”

the flower quivered in your shaking hands. “root and stem are for… for medicine. petals are tea.”

collei nodded, smiling brightly. “exactly! you’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”

you smiled sheepishly, trying to hand her back the flower, but collei held up a hand, closing her pack with her other hand.

“no, you keep it. take it as a congratulations for all your progress!”

you were hesitant to accept it, that much was clear, and tighnari tied off the small parcel in his hands before speaking.

“you really have done well. you’ve only been here for a few weeks, but you’ve learned a lot.” he set down the packed herbs beside where he was leaning on the table, directing all of his attention to you. “i know it’s mostly for safety, and you’re not going to be a ranger-“ too much paperwork was required, he couldn’t risk it “-but still. i’m proud of you.”

you smiled.

it likely wasn’t the same flower—that ‘class’ was months ago, now—but it dragged a realization to the surface of his mind.

in the short, fleeting time he’d known you, he had come to care for you as he did collei.

even then, only after a week or two of you being there, a certain fondness had taken root in his chest. something bright, something that bloomed like a rose yet without any of the thorns. something that he watered every time you winced when you walked, something you fostered when you helped treat collei’s eleazar when he was out clearing a withering zone.

something that grew as he realized the poultice you had made had helped clear the pain faster than anything he’d made, even as you both used the same recipe, something that lashed out when kamran questioned your place in the village. something that spurred him to action when he thought you were in trouble, even if it was only cyno.

something that burned bright, something hot that blurred his reasoning even when he knew it was wrong, something that made him want to bare his teeth and keep you safe by his side.

something that should be impossible for him to feel towards you, as it was a golden and warm feeling that did not exist in teyvat, only ever glimpsed at altars.

tighnari looked up from the flower and into cyno’s knowing eyes.

“alright.”

relief washed onto his face, a small nod the only other sign that he’d heard.

“i’ll report nothing to the team—i trust you’ve gone over this, given your reaction?”

he let the comment slide. “yes, everybody here knows what to do in the case of the akademiya or the millelith coming here. it was collei’s idea, actually, and she took care to make sure that everybody had it memorized.”

cyno nodded, taking a step towards the door. “good. and if you ever need to collei matra, just get me instead.”

“…”

“do you get-?”

“i got it, cyno.”

[sereneres]

sick. (sort of) ⁰

k. chaewon & m. sakura x 6th member!reader / 0.7k

summary. — in which you’re sick enough to have one (1) bead of sweat roll down the side of your face.

warnings. — eunchae pops in and then disappears / i wrote a majority of this at midnight lol, i am not sick.

you’re sick.

so sick that you felt like you were going to die in the next few seconds if a doctor didn’t come and–

“you don’t feel warm.” chaewon murmured, her hand placed on your forehead. “you’re also not red, nor are you sweating.” she then moved her hand to the side of your neck, her brows furrowed as she stared at you. “are you sure you’re sick?”

okay, well, maybe you weren’t that sick—at least, you weren’t so sick that you needed a doctor to come and fix you—but it wasn’t like you weren’t not sick either.

“i don’feel okay.” you slur, wincing when you feel your head pound. “everythin’ hurts.”

chaewon, frowning, sighs and moves to remove her hand from your throat, only for you to take it and press your cheek against her palm.

“‘nnie, you’re s’warm…” you mutter, eyes drifting shut oh so slowly. “‘rey’sureyou’n’sick?”

the older girl purses her lips, her frown deepening as she gently shook you awake, causing you to whine. “yn, please try and stay awake. you can’t take medicine if you aren’t.”

“medicine?” just hearing the word is enough to make you snap awake. “wh’ch medicine? ‘s it the one tha’ tastes goo’ or the one that tastes supa’ bitta’?”

“neither of them taste good or bitter, yn.” she says, sighing. “both of them are supposed to be sweet just so that kids can eat it without whining, but–”

“what’s going on here?”

the two of you turned your heads to the door—well, more like chaewon did. you had just slowly spun in your chair until you were somewhat facing the door—where the oldest of the six of you stood.

“hi ‘nnie!” you greeted, slugishly waving your hand at the older girl. “wh’nd yu’ge’here?”

she blinks, making you blink back at her, if not a little bit slowly. “what?”

“she’s asking, ‘when did you get here?’” chaewon translated, giving you a weirded-out look when you let out a not-so-quiet giggle at the thought of needing a translator to translate your perfectly understandable—and definitely not slurred—words. “and to answer your question, ynnie is sick. sort of.”

“sort of?” eunchae—where the hell did she come from?—asked, popping out from behind sakura—oh.—with an unimpressed look on her face. “how is someone ‘sort of sick’?”

“have you taken her temperature yet?” sakura asked, her lips pursed.

chaewon shook her head, her brows furrowed. “i haven’t, but she doesn’t feel all that warm, she isn’t red, and she isn’t sweating.”

“but ‘m sweating.” you pouted, pointing at what you’re pretty sure is a bead of sweat on the side of your face. “see?”

“yn isn’t warm, she isn’t red, but she is sweating.” chaewon amended. satisfied by the correction, you give your leader a gummy smile and, to your delight, she returns it with a small smile of her own.

“…let’s just bring her to the kitchen.” sakura decided with a sigh. “the thermometer should be in a drawer somewhere in there and if she is actually sick, she’ll take some medicine and go straight back to bed.”

“and if she isn’t?”

“y’h!” you slur, opening your eyes as wide as you could. “wh’if ‘m n’sick?”

“then we’ll make her breakfast and hope that her ‘sort of’ sickness doesn’t make her throw up.” sakura said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “and in the event that she does throw up, we’ll hope that she throws up on anywhere—the toilet would be more preferable but we both know she’s not going to make it there—but herself.”

“th’s hr’sh.” you mutter sulkily. “‘can to’ally m’ke ‘t t’th’toil’t.”

chaewon sighs in exasperation, though the amused smile on her lips gives her away. “yn, we have no idea what you’re saying.”

“hmph!”

(spoiler: you ended up kneeling in front of the toilet an hour or so later with kazuha holding your hair up and yunjin cooing in your ear. sakura and chaewon were busy cleaning up your throw up on the floor—thankfully tiled—while eunchae was in her room, having been sent away after nearly throwing up herself after seeing you throw up.)

masterlist.

[bamsywrites]

Guilt Part Two

Summary: Tyrion worries. You have a baby.

Ships: future Tyrion x Reader, past Tywin x Reader

Tags: depictions of child birth, babies, probably ooc, fluffy, a lil bit of angst. not my best writing.

Notes: it's been forever, I know, I apologize. This is just a short fluffy piece. Let me know if you'd like to see more from this story or if you'd like to read what reader and Tywins relationship was like (spoiler warning: it's complex as fuck and reader did kinda sorta like him a little bit despite what she says). Like I said in the first one, this story has been in my maladaptive daydreams for forever and I love getting the story down. As always I'm open to criticism as long as it's helpful and constructive.

Part 1

Tyrion paced.

He'd been pacing so long he swore there would be indents of his feet on the stone floor of the halls. Hours have passed, day turned to night and still he paced. The torches had long since burnt out, nothing but the moon and stars coming through windows illuminated the stone now. The night was silent besides the muffled sounds coming from the closed door that Tyrion continued to pace in front of. He desperately tried to hear what was going on behind those doors. But all he heard was muffled chaos.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

He strained his ears once again to hear. Muffled pained moans. The sound of cups and bowls being moved. People were talking, frantic, but he couldn't make out what was being said. Damned those walls, damned his painfully average hearing, damned it all.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

He'd tried to gather information where he could, a few handmaidens had left the room in the hours that he'd been there to fetch water or medicine or... whatever, he wasn't sure because they wouldn't answer his questions. Not so much as a nod or a head shake. Damn those women too, he thought.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

You'd been in labor since early that morning, he'd been woken by the news that your baby was coming, and he'd been outside the door since. It shouldn't take this long? Should it? This was an area of women's anatomy that he has little experience with and it infuriated him. The not knowing, the sounds of your screams, the anxiety, the worry, the guilt.

Step. Step. Step - Stop.

"Agh! Fuck!" Tyrion yelled, throwing his flask full of wine at the wall as hard as he could. He watched it clatter to floor, wine splattering the floor and the wall.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to tune the world out, tried to focus on getting himself together and not allowing his thoughts to go too far. His fingers bitter themselves in his hair, his forehead pressed against his knees. Worry and guilt consumed all of him. You were the only person he had here, that babe was his brother. You were smart and kind and strong. You were good and all that came from you was good. Trysta, Nataria - they were good. The world couldn't lose you.

He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you.

There was a new sound from behind the closed door. A cry.

A baby cry.

Tyrion wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but his ass was numb as he stood and waited for word of how you were doing. How the baby was doing. Just a word.

A young handmaid emerged from the room, "She's doing well, m'lord. Tired but she's doing well." But her voice sounded almost pitiful, it worried him for a moment until he heard the sound of your tired voice from inside the room.

"Tell him to come in."

You sounded exhausted but he could hear the smile in your voice.

Thank the gods.

Tyrion had never felt such a wave of relief in his life as when he entered the room and saw you with your babe swaddled to your chest. Your face was pale and you were covered with sweat, your hair sticking to your face and skin slick. Your lips looked chapped but they smiled down at the bundle in your arms. His heart jumped at the sight of your smile. Even now, he thought you looked beautiful.

You were the first to speak, "A baby boy. I haven't thought of a name quite yet," you never took your eyes off the baby in your arms. "He is beautiful though, come look at him. He's perfect."

Tyrion approached and his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the baby asleep in your arms.

"A dwarf?"

His voice was quiet as he looked at the sleeping baby. He was shocked. The baby was his brother after all, it would make sense he supposed but he was more shocked at how you were looking at the baby. You had no disgust. No contempt. You had love radiating from your features as you looked at your son.

"I...I am sorry," he apologized- for what he did not know. He felt that's what he's supposed to do.

Your eyes shot up to him and your gaze turned stern.

"No, your self pity is not going to taint my son'" your voice was harsh and firm "There is nothing to be sorry for. He's perfect the way he is, just as are you, and I will not have you think there is something wrong with my son simply because you falsely believe there is something wrong with you," you turned your gaze to the bundle in your arms. "I would burn all of the Seven Kingdoms to the ground for him, just as I would my daughters. Oh, how I wish they could be here to meet him. "

Tyrion stood in awe for a moment. In that moment you were awe inspiring, with your body exhausted and covered in sweat, your eyes telling the story of how your body was spent of all energy but still bright and smiling at at your son. You were gentle, loving with your baby on your chest but the fire in your eyes never died. You managed to put him in his place while making him feel more worthy than he ever had.

"Come," your voice broke him out of his trance, "Hold him." You held the sleeping baby for him to hold.

"I have no where to sit, my lady." He feared that if he touched the babe, if he held him, that Tyrion would taint him or ruin him in some way.

"Nonsense," you moved motioning to the spot on your bed right next you. He must have shown his hesitance on his face because before he could object your voice cut him off.

"I just spent an entire day painfully and excruciatingly pushing this child out of my womb. I do not give a fuck about what is proper or improper."

"Yes, my lady." He couldn't stop the smile that stretched upon his face. He'd never heard you say such things but he suspected you were right.

The blankets rustled as Tyrion sat next to you and made himself comfortable. "Of all the reasons I've found myself in a beautiful woman's bed, I cannot say this has been one of them."

You smiled softly as you sat the sleeping babe in his arms.

"They're always so peaceful right after birth," you say softly. "Its the next day that's the hardest. Tonight he will sleep and I will rest and tomorrow he must come to terms that this world is colder than the one he was used to."

Tyrion looked down at the babe, his brother, and smiled softly. He had already tufts of Lannister hair on his head and he looked so peaceful. His fingers traced the babes face gently. "My father is rather good at making adorable babies I must say."

"I would like to think that it is me making the adorable babes and not Tywin."

"You? I was more so talking about me than the babe."

You laughed out loud, it was exhausted but it still made Tyrions heart skip a beat.

"Speaking of him, you must give this babe a name. You can't just refer to him as the babe or him for ever."

You sighed, your head falling to rest on his shoulder. "I do not think I have it in me to name him today."

Silence filled the room for a few minutes as the three of you sat there. Tyrion fully enjoying the weight of your head on his shoulder and sleeping babe in his lap. It wasn't until he noticed your breathing change that he realized you had fallen asleep. To know you felt safe enough, felt relaxed enough to sleep on him made his heart race.

"I will not let the harshness of this world take you from me." Tyrions voice was quiet and soft, he didn't know if he was speaking to you or your child or to both but he meant everyword.

[siphoklansan]

Introducing…. 𓆝 ⋆.𖦹°‧

꧁𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐡𝗼𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐢꧂

สุชลที ทิพย์ชลาลัย

“He claims that his father is a king.”

Height : 167 cm.

Birthday : 15th of November (Loy Kratong)

Age : 18

Homeland : East of Scalding Sands (Attidaya)

Best Subject : Practical Magic

Club : Equestrian club

Talents : Horseback riding, swimming.

Hobby : Taking care of his pet *jet dragon horse (Nhil - ม้านิลมังกร)

Dislikes : Nagas, sea snakes

Favorite Food : Tom Yum Khung (ต้มยำกุ้ง)

Least Favorite Food : Traditional medicine, bitter herbs.

꧁𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜꧂

- 𝐕𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝗼𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚: the ability to summon an extinct, magic creature of the sea: the Jet Dragon Horse. Suchol can command the horse at will whether to attack or to use it as a means of transportation, both on land and sea.

- Suchol can breathe underwater.

꧁𝐅𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐡𝗼𝐥꧂

- Suchol’s first name “Sucholatee” means beautiful sea and his last name “Thipchalalai” means the angel’s ocean✨

- Suchol is based off of another famous literature piece (famous as in it has been in plays for countless of times- like Romeo and Juliet💀) called Phra Apai Manee (พระอภัยมณี) and he’s based on a character named Sudsakorn! The story is a bout Sudsakon, a half mer half human boy, goes on a journey to find his father.

- Spoiler alert: tbh his father is lowley a piece of shit based on what I remember😭 He has a lot of wives (at that time having many wives is a power status, and he’s a king) and he fell in love with a mermaid who is Sudsakorn’s mother. THEN HE LEAVES SO THAT’S WHY SUDSAKORN GREW UP TO LOOK FOR HIM. The dad’s also the protagonist of the story (his name is on the title) but I’m purely writing this out of memory because so many things happened in the story and I have to go reread it again. The dad left for some “duties” but got a new wife along the journey like bruh🗿

- Back to Suchol though, his horse Nhil (or should I say his unique magic👀) is based off of the horse dragon in the literature piece! The horse dragon is a wild animal, and its strength even rivals yakshas. But Sudsakorn decided that no☝️you are my friend and I will treat you like you’re some stray cat on the street☝️ and that’s how Sudsakorn got his mount HSJDJUJSUJDU

- To elaborate further on his Unique magic, it’s kind of like Kalim’s magic carpet. The magic carpet is a replica of the original one, and Suchol’s horse dragon ability is a replica of the extinct animal🫶✨

꧁𝐀𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐡𝗼𝐥꧂

- Sucholatee Thipchalalai or Suchol for short, is an aspiring and dutiful young half-mer of Royal sword Academy- sorry that was a lie, he’s actually a trouble maker. Don’t let his pretty face fool you!

- Oh, he’d stir up trouble and pranks everywhere. Like dude, how’d you get here in this academy of all places?? You sure you’re not from NRC? You didn’t snuck in here did you?

- Aside from his infamous tricks and such at the academy, he’s quite a sweetheart to his family; his single mother who is a mermaid, and his surrogate father who is an old man next door.

- Growing up on an island with fairytales and stories being told to him constantly, he grew up to believe it is all true. That is to say, he’s the type to believe that Santa Claus is real (and he still does please don’t break the news to him🙏)

- Suchol was a young prodigy due to the mysterious ways his surrogate father taught him magic. It ranges from animal linguistics to ancient magic! That said, he doesn’t find a need to study and still gets good grades. Lucky bastard🙄 /lh

- The general rule of hanging out with Suchol is to NEVER mention Charin. Ever. Not because he hates the yaksha, it’s more like Suchol sees him as his idol. Charin was the older brother Suchol never had. The red eye shadow he wears is proof that he wants to grow up to be just like Charin!

- Suchol is the type of guy who says the most mind boggling, crazy, unbelievable thing ever but it turns out to be true.

- “My dad is a king from a far away land!” Yeah sure buddy 🤥 (it’s actually true)

- But hey, being a bad boy and a trickster aside, having a friend like Suchol is like a breath of fresh air. He’ll drag you to fun fairs and games, making sure you having the time of your life is his priority.

- One of his best qualities (maybe the only one /j im kidding) is honesty. Suchol finds it difficult to lie. While he wouldn’t be blunt about it (*cough* Mathura *cough*), he still makes sure to be honest without hurting anyone’s feelings.

- So what do you say? You don’t wanna miss out on one of the best rides of your life, right? Suchol can’t wait to show off his new friend his legendary horse!

*jet in this case refers to the gemstone

*picture of the dragon horse since I’m too lazy to draw it (the horse has shining black scales that looks like the jet gemstone)

“PS. Invite Charin if you can!” <- his words not mine.

[bontenten]

METAMORPHOSES 03 || An Heir

Pairings: Zenin Naoya x f!reader, Gojo Satoru x f!reader (unrequited) WC: 3.9k Series Genre/Warnings: smut, noncon/dubcon, emotional/physical abuse, yandere, Naoya, misogyny, arranged marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, birth, lactation, manga spoilers, more dead doves

A/N: oh i veryy much enjoyed writing this chapter, ty for patience since last updates! 

Series Masterlist

“My lady, your condition can be considered stable now. Since this is your first pregnancy, there are still many things your body is not used to. The young master’s energy is also dense, causing your body to become frail. It’s paramount that you meditate everyday to keep your energies in balance for the developing child. I will write a prescription for a tonic which you should take three times daily. Rest and keep a stress-free, open mind until your delivery date.” 

The Zenin physician placed his tools back into his chest. He flipped open his notebook and began to scribble a list of ingredients. The tense atmosphere in the room settled down. 

“You will be the one responsible for bringing the medicine. Should anything happen, you will answer with your life in the disciplinary pit.” Naoya threatened. 

“Y-Yes, Young Master Naoya, of course. I will do everything in my power to take care of the lady.” 

You squeezed Naoya’s hand and tried to comfort the doctor currently scared out of his wits. “Thank you, Doctor. You may go now, I’m a bit tired.”

The earlier spasms of pain and vertigo had everyone in a panic. It came so suddenly, you were unprepared and before you knew it, you woke to Naoya’s immense killing intent burying the room.

To say that this pregnancy was difficult was an understatement.

--

After that incident, Naoya forbade you from having any form of excursion and threatened servants left and right to take care of menial tasks. You had to tell him to stop yelling so much lest he scared the baby in your belly. Only then would he quiet down a bit and mutter, "My son isn’t that useless."

“You know…we could have a girl too.” You waited for a response.

Naoya wrapped his arms around you, a hand resting over your belly. “I will have no weakling girl.” 

Then the two of you, along with the one growing inside of you, fell into slumber.

--

Akiko, having gone through the process of pregnancy and childbirth, often checked in on you and answered any questions you had. She was very strict about the pregnancy meditation exercises. Under her watch, there wasn’t a single day you could slack. The medicine tasted awful, but Akiko insisted you finish the whole bowl. Often, she watched you finish everything, with a piece of candy waiting to wash the bitter taste away. In many ways, she was the mother figure in your life.

Mai and Maki stopped spending time with you after they began their lessons. You wondered if you made the right choice in sending them to training, but ultimately, in this clan, you knew they had no choice. You knew they were talented, in ways that you could never amount to. Strength meant everything.

--

One evening, while Naoya was still at a clan meeting and Akiko was away, you decided to charge your old phone. You weren’t allowed anywhere near it during your pregnancy, not that you had much need for it. It was bad for the baby, was what they told you. But the device was still something for you to fiddle with, the size felt like it just belonged in the hand. You flipped it open. To your surprise, you had gotten a number of missed calls from someone you would never have imagined—Gojo Satoru. You hesitated, but dialed back, wondering what could have happened.

The sound of his voicemail was playing in your head already. Except he picked up.

“Finally, it’s been ages. When will your clan ever embrace new tech?”

“Satoru,” you greeted. “What a surprise, I didn’t think you would have anything come to me about.”

He chuckled. “Can’t I call if I missed you?” 

“I’m married now, if you need to be reminded.” You looked down at your midsection. “And very pregnant.”

“Oh, I know you’re knocked up.” The breathy voice seemed to tickle your ear. Gojo was probably laying down, on a couch or a bed. “A main branch Zenin spawn is probably pretty difficult I assume? How are you still doing?”

“Pampered suffocation.”

“Good, good. It’s probably best you’re relaxed, take a seat. How is the Zenin young master?”

“Naoya…yes, he treats me well.” You smiled at the memory of him during lunch. He had personally sliced and plated fruit for you.

“Honestly, I didn’t even think that his spouse would end up being you. Glad to hear it though. And have you talked with your father at all recently?”

No. 

“They’re busy,” you explained.

“Too busy to even visit or inquire about their daughter?”

Gojo’s question stumped you. The question that you had wondered about ever since the first day was finally spoken out loud. Even for a clan as strict as the Zen’in, surely if you couldn’t visit home, they could’ve paid you a visit? A phone call?

“I figured. What wonderful parents you have.” Gojo’s lighthearted voice switched to a serious tone. “I suppose you still deserve to know the truth.”

He explained that he’s been working on a perplexing phenomenon of curses in a few districts. There was typically some sort of pattern to where they appeared, their type, and their strength. The data was odd and Gojo had studied each of the cases in detail. But it didn’t make sense to you. 

“Satoru,” you interrupted him. “I’m not really following?”

“Did you not understand? I just explained—”

“Yes, but why,” you exasperated. Images of your clansmen, covered in a white cloth, being brought back from the streets flooded your mind. Blood-soaked bandages and screams while the clan physician strained himself to attend to all the wounded. The nights your mother stayed up late waiting for your father’s team to return. The visceral chaos and stench of death loomed over everyone you loved. "You know what happened. The cursed spirits had been growing in power and they were overrunning the clan's wards. If Naoya hadn't helped, more the sorcerers would've—"

A dry laugh cut you off. "Would've been just fine if not for the youngest son of Naobito trying to win you over. Helped your clan? Who even told you that? Was it your father when the Zenin proposed? And you really just believed them? You're more stupid than I had thought. Were you a shy, bashful bride eager to be a little plaything for your clan’s hero? You never even wondered why it was only your clan's ward that was badly affected? Time to wake up, princess. Why would anyone from your family want to speak to the sacrificial lamb and reason for all their suffering?"

Hang-up, your mind screamed at you. How dare he point the blame at you. Where were you when I was in trouble Satoru?

“And why should I believe you?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to. A bastard and a dimwit make a lovely pair.”

You swallowed as your head grew dizzy and began breathing heavily in an attempt to intake more oxygen.

Gojo realized his harsh tone and sighed. “Are you still there? Listen, I know there wasn’t much you could’ve done anyway. I’m just telling you this because I suppose we were acquainted in our youth.”

Acquainted. Just acquainted. But more importantly, all that you have known, all that you believed for the past years were being torn apart and rearranged in the span of fifteen minutes.

“Yes. Thank you, Satoru,” you managed to whisper.

“I realize this is probably a surprise, but I also want to assure—” He was cut off by the sound of a woman calling his name in the background.

“I’m needed elsewhere; take care.” 

You set the phone down after Satoru hung up and sat in silence trying to piece together the information that was just dumped onto you. You fell back onto the mattress, a hand over your belly. A heaviness weighed down your chest. It was madness to believe the words of the man on the other side of the phone. What was he to you now? No one. Your father and mother explained everything to you. Who was he to tell you what was the truth?

The relief when everyone saw the Zenin clan symbol on the guest’s hakama couldn’t have been fabricated. The hope in people’s faces wasn’t a lie. Even though you were hiding behind the screen doors at the time, the sincerity in his voice when he asked your father for your hand had to be true. That man saved the whole clan. Serve him well. If Naoya was the hero, why were those the parting words from your family on the day of your wedding?

A quiet knock pulled you out of your thoughts. “My lady, I have brought your tonic.”

The room was completely dark already. Who knows how long you’ve laid there trying to make sense of everything? 

You dragged yourself to the door and found a young girl holding a wooden serving tray with a bowl of bitter, black liquid. “Lady Akiko is currently away. She tasked me to bring this to your ladyship.”

You picked up the bowl and quickly downed the contents. It didn’t taste quite as foul as you had remembered. “Is the meeting over?” 

“It should be ending around this time. Should I escort you to the main hall?”

“No...I can go by myself,” you said, dismissing her. 

You had to hear it from Naoya himself. He was your husband.

Every week, the main branch had a formal meeting. As you got closer to the main hall, you could hear the footsteps shuffling as the men in the room were wrapping up. Quite murmurs and grumbles over the meetings slipped through the cracks. The first person to exit the sliding door was Naoya. He had a scowl on his face, no doubt, the meeting took a turn for the worse as well, but it faded into a relaxed grin when he saw you, coming over.

“What a change to see you here waiting for me. I am starving—”

He was about to check on you when he noticed your blank expression and puffy eyes. You got straight to the point, spoiling the atmosphere in an instant.

"Naoya…”

Naoya’s eyes lost their initial glimmer. He noticed a few other clansmen looking your way.

“If there’s anything to discuss, you may bring it up later in our room,” he said firmly. He didn’t know the reason for your unsettling expression, but whatever it was that was on your mind, he did not want a scene.

Naoya thought back to the irritating meeting and the currently disintegrating relationship with the Gojo clan. The Gojos were being extremely selfish, trying to take control of the Jujutsu Sorcerer Committee's favor. All of them were envious of the Zenins, trying to push the clan off its pedestal. Naoya fumed at the thought of the six-eyed Satoru who had always been treated as the pride and hope of the jujutsu society. They were close in age, and despite the two never meeting often, Naoya heard more than enough about society's adulation of the infamous sorcerer.

He couldn’t hear what you were mumbling under your breath, but the few words he caught and the name of his nemesis told him that it was definitely not going to be a pleasant conversation. He easily scooped you up despite your protests and pounding fists on his shoulders. With a few long strides, entered the hallway near your quarters. Only then, away from prying eyes, did he set you down.

 “Is it true?”

Naoya heard it clearly this time.

He eyed you for a moment and scoffed, looking away in disdain. "Woman, what are you rambling on about right now? Can't you tell I'm not in a good mood? I said, let's go back."

“No.” Your irritation struck a nerve. “Tell me right now. Is it true that you were the one responsible for planting  those high-level curses into my clan's ward?"

Ignoring the squeeze on your arm, you continued, “Satoru told me everything.”

Naoya felt a vein throb in his temple when he heard the name slip from your mouth.

“How you plotted and controlled the curses to attack our sorcerers right after a battle. Those curses, they were all picked from the disciplinary room right? Special Zenin locked curses. You would let my people get hurt till they were close to death before showing up. Satoru told me everything, what more do you have to say?"

"Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Do you just blindly believe anything he tells you?"

"Who am I supposed to believe, you?” you snapped back. “Satoru told me how you threatened my family, that's why they never said anything to me up until now.” Maybe you would still be at home, with family and loved ones.

You glared at Naoya in shock as the sting on your face settled into a sharp burn. He took a step back and pointed at you, confused and disoriented. “You. You forced me.” 

 This was the first time he actually struck you in this way. 

"What are you going to do Naoya? Kill your own wife and child? Is that how you solve all of your problems? With your oh-so-powerful, inherited Zenin techniques?" You turned and began to walk away. "You're fucking pathetic."

"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" he roared after you. "Stop right there!"

There was no room for fear while fury lit your eyes. You ignored the rest of Naoya's threats and stormed back to your room. Naoya was responsible for everything. He lied to you. He manipulated everyone and oppressed your clan. And you believed all of his sweet words, and enjoyed his kisses and touches. Your numb cheek taunted you.

You slid the door open, but your feet couldn’t budget. You gasped and felt excruciating pain stabbing in your belly. You clutched your midsection as cold sweat ran down your back. The last thing you heard was someone frantically calling your name.

–

“Do something!” 

“Young Master, t-there’s no response.” 

“I don’t fucking care, do something!”

“W-We’ll have to induce labor…and—”

Naoya glared.

“Yes! Yes understood!”

--

The lights in the room were so bright. In just a couple of weeks, a life could have filled this space. It would have been a boy, just as everyone had hoped. Now only silence accompanies you and your breasts that ached painfully. You never even got to see him. Did he look like you or his father? 

You sat in the empty nursery room that you had spent the last few months pouring your time and feelings into. As if the loss of your unborn child hadn’t been difficult enough, the hushed whispers of the clan had been torturous. You had felt eyes from members of the main branch to the attendants, all hundred pairs of eyes surveying you whenever you had walked down the hall, scrutinizing the woman who was incapable of carrying the Zenin heir to full term.

You lost track of how long you sat in mourning. Time ticked by slowly, but eventually, a day became two days. A week passed by and to your horror, your breasts full and swollen with milk, finally had to empty its contents. Milk leaked out your nipples uncontrollably.

Perhaps it was the presence of the milk and no child in your arms to feed the liquid to. Reality finally hit you while you poured another cup of milk down the sink.

The door slid open. It was Akiko bringing your meal. She knelt down next to you and pulled you into her arms. Her steady hand ran over your shoulders as she quietly said, "If you want to cry, then just let it out. There's no one else here."

You felt your nose prickle as the familiar sensation of tears spilled from your eyes. They soaked through Akiko's kimono, but she did not seem to mind, only resting her hand on your back while you wailed. You blamed everything on the father of your unborn child. It was Naoya who was responsible, you were sure of it. He took the child from you with his temper and violence. You cried for yourself and your unborn child.

Mai and Maki had once confided in you that their mother gave up on them. They had told you that their mother never stood up for them in front of their father and that you had been the only one who tried to give them care and love. And here you were crying in their mother's arms as a failure. Akiko may not have been able to do everything for her girls, but you couldn't even protect your child's life. 

–

You just finished a bath and were about to go to sleep in the nursery again. It was the only place you had some privacy and peace. Except, the room wasn’t empty at all.

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly, arms folded.

Naoya saw you enter, and placed the decorative toy back on its shelf. He crossed over languidly, arm resting on the frame right over your head. His presence made you dizzy, but you refused to yield a single step. He also recently bathed, a bitter herbal scent clung to skin.

“Did you think that you could avoid me forever?” he murmured next to your ear.

Your eyes met with his. At this distance, you could make out the details of his irises. Naoya’s eyes were undeniably beautiful and intoxicating. “One day at a time, I’ll get there eventually.” You made a move to push him away.

“Foolish woman,” he chuckled and took your hands. “It’s time to go back to normal.”

Naoya pressed his lips on your palm. “I missed you. I need you,” he crooned. 

“Naoya, we can never be the same anymore. Not after—” You gestured to the room. “This.”

“We’ll have another. Once you’re with another, the clan will naturally stop talking.” 

“Don’t touch me. As if I’m some breeding cattle.” Naoya didn’t seem the least bit fazed by your attempts to break out of his grasp. His silence taunted you, daring you to challenge his authority. 

“I’ll never forgive you,” you snarled. All you could do was glare at him. “It’s all your fucking fault.”

Naoya tilted your face towards him. Fingers traveled down your neck and tightly squeezed. Your cheeks burned.

The air thickened as Naoya’s cursed energy began to fill the space. “In this lifetime, you belong to me. Accept your fate.”

Lips roughly closed over yours. The pressure around your neck made your head spin. Your fists hammered his chest in a futile attempt. 

Naoya yanked your robe open. Your nipples were heavy and swollen. Wet. He cupped your breast and squeezed the soft flesh, completely fixated on the spray of white milk spurting out. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, but the relief you felt from the release felt so good.

“Did that feel good?” he sneered before tugging and pressing on your breast some more. The front of his robes was covered by wet splatters. 

 “N-No,” you rasp, feeling Naoya’s hand travel towards your navel, tugging the waist-tie that was barely circled around your waist. He lifted one of your thighs to expose your dripping entrance. Cold air brushed against your thighs. “Not in here. Not in this room,” you begged, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Troublesome woman,” Naoya muttered and set you down. He clasped his palms together and began to draw an immense amount of cursed energy. “Domain Expansion: Time Cell Moon Palace.”

The nursery melted away as the space transformed into a dark void. This was the first time you’ve been taken into a domain, and it made you feel both weak and nauseous. A giant eye stared down at you, iris dilated, prying, and peering into your existence.

“No complaints here, right? Don’t even think about escaping.” 

Everything happened so quickly. You felt your back sink into a fleshy substance, legs folded and knees pressed up against your face.

“Wait, Nao—” And he was in you. You gripped Naoya’s biceps to stabilize yourself, nails imprinted deeply. A shudder escaped your lips after the initial jolt of pain. By reflex, you clamped tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he growled. “How are you still so tight?”

The dull ache remained from the recent trauma remained with every thrust Naoya made. Pleasure and pain are tightly bonded together. Disgust at the moan that slipped from your throat that earned a predatory smile. It drove him to pound you harder. His rough hand squeezed your breasts, spraying your overflowing milk supply. It splashed onto his face dripping down his jawline onto your face and lips. This was perhaps the first and only time you could imagine tasting your own milk. Naoya wiped his face and licked the opaque fluid off his fingers.

“It’s sweet,” he remarked, surprised by the taste. And almost feral, as though he had discovered something rare and precious, he dipped his head down to lap up the tiny puddles on the contours of your body. His tongue traced your enlarged and pert nipples, sucking on the sensitive bud to encourage more milk flow. You arched your back towards him, grinding your hips desperately in tears as you reached your climax.

Naoya grunted, feeling close. He held onto your hips and increased his pace until he came in you, filling your womb with a load of hot, white seed.

The darkness that surrounded you began to falter under Naoya’s distraction. The momentary weakness that came with the sexual release was like a pinhole in a balloon. Darkness melted away. The voyeuring eye disappeared, replaced in your vision by a mobile with soft plushies hung on a cotton rope. Nausea washed away the lingering, twitching pleasure.

“Get out,” you hoarsely whispered.

Still drunk on hormones, Naoya felt dizzy and confused. “What did you say?” 

Milk and semen stuck to your skin. Mustering all the energy remaining in you, you repeated. "Get out. Get out. Get out."

The demand-plea came out in constricted wheezes as your body convulsed and shook.

"Tch. "A scowl replaced Naoya's drunken expression. Completely fed up, he left you laying among the stained blankets. "You make me sick, woman," he spat at you. 

The room was finally empty. You laid there unmoving and naked, staring blankly at the ceiling.

[that-ari-blogger]

Content. Warning. (Poison)

Hazbin Hotel has a predicament that I haven’t really come across anywhere else. The episode that I would use to recommend this series is also the episode that I would use to recommend people away.

I would recommend another tale for the characters and the storyline and how the writers weaved in a dissection of subject matter more nuanced than I expected. But Hazbin Hotel is, in my opinion, at its best when it deals with that material front and centre.

There’s a reason I have titled this post what I have. Episode four of this series isn’t shy about what it’s talking about. But there’s an interesting difference between the idea of something being subtle and something being nuanced, and there’s also another weird thing about this episode and especially the first song contained therein.

Masquerade feels like it is written by a comedian, and I mean that in the most straight faced, complimentary way possible.

Let me explain.

CONTENT WARNING: (Mention of Abuse, Mental Health, Sexual Assault, Addiction, Bodily Harm)

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, Six)

I am an absolutely awful judge of the cultural zeitgeist, but I have observed that the music I like rarely gets described as “pop”. Partially, this is because I see a bunch of people liking a specific thing and I walk in the opposite direction, but partially this is because my musical taste isn’t limited to any specific genre.

My main musical tastes are centred around the emotionality of the song, rather than the musical distinctions. I will look at Harry Styles’ Watermelon Sugar and think it’s nice to listen to, but I will gravitate towards Olivia Rodrigo’s Vampire because of the emotional journey that song takes me on. The former of those two makes you want to dance; the latter makes you want to shout your rage at the sky.

Naturally, this leads me to ballads, songs that tell a story. The Crane Wives are particularly good at these, Curses is the archetypical example of a tale of personal guilt. But, for the sake of a constant thematic, let’s talk about Bitter Medicine for a moment.

“I bite my tongue to keep the worst of the words in So they don’t hurt nobody but me Swallow the poison I wanna spit Bitter medicine I think it’s making me sick Don’t look up to me I’m not as tall as you think You see, I talk a big game But it’s bullshit”

Bitter medicine is about bad coping mechanisms, kind of. The Crane Wives excels at exploring powerful emotions but leaves the scenarios open to interpretation. It’s not how you got here that matters, but where “here” is.

This is why the same few of their songs have gained popularity in Asexual spaces as well as in spaces for those recovering from their own actions. Reformed abusers and aces don’t tend to share much, except for a feeling of guilt.

It’s an unfortunate part of the ace experience that the realising of who you are feels like a betrayal. It feels like you have strung someone along with promises you can’t keep. I’ve been there, and it feels awful.

I do want to stress that this isn’t betrayal in reality. Being ace does not make you a bad person, you haven’t actually strung someone along. You are valid, end of argument.

The issue is that the mind isn’t always a rational thing. Sometimes it internalises things in an unhealthy way. Odds are the partner who you think you betrayed wouldn’t agree with you on that. People that like you have a habit of supporting you.

Essentially, part of being ace is that self-imposed guilt. Not every ace goes through it, but for those who do, that feeling is difficult to overcome.

But that idea of being the reason a relationship fallen apart has a lot of other applicable situations, hence the diversity of popularity.

Bitter Medicine isn’t about that, its about guilt for feeling bad. Its about the type of trauma response that is selfishness masquerading as selflessness.

The emotion on display is pain, with a song about bottling up everything until it explodes. You can’t be angry, you can’t be sad, you can’t let people help you because "there’s nothing wrong". You just have to keep things tight to your chest and let other people suffer. This is a song about becoming distant from those who can see you hurting and can’t do anything to help you.

It's about how bad coping mechanisms act as a poison that can’t be escaped, almost like an addiction.

The music video centres around the idea of others getting caught up in the crossfire of internal emotions. It’s monochromatic so you can see the stains left behind even more starkly, and those stains get everywhere. The protagonist has to be rescued by these others, but she has to let them.

You will notice that ballads don’t usually tell you the events of their stories. Everything is a metaphor; everything is a symbol. Sometimes a song will tell you outright what’s going on. That’s a strength of the medium, not a plot hole.

Which leads me to a song called Poison, a ballad that is entirely centred around the metaphor of its title.

Poison was written by Alice Cooper (with help from Desmond Child and John McCurry) and released in 1989 as a single, and it is surreal.

It’s about Cooper’s alcohol and drug addictions, which is weird considering the lyrics are ostensibly about someone he’s in a relationship with, and that’s the point.

The song depicts Cooper’s addiction as an abusive relationship, dedicating the song to that part. It’s singing to “you”, as if he’s in conversation with it, telling it to its face all the damage that he has taken.

This is personification, ascribing a will to an inanimate object, although its more than that. In this case, it’s ascribing an attraction to the object, a seductiveness. He blames himself for falling for a trap and frames the song as his own realisation of his agency. He got himself into this situation, he recognises what the problem is, he decides where to go from here.

I want to highlight that the central metaphor is used differently in both songs mentioned above. That’s part of the fun of literary analysis. Everything works together to provide context for everything else.

Poison is a song about alcoholism, so it uses the titular concept to focus on the realisation and consequences. Bitter Medicine focuses on how the poison masquerades as a cure to emphasise its point about bad coping mechanisms being traps. Hazbin Hotel’s Poison is the opposite of all these things.

The song in Hazbin Hotel is about an abusive relationship, and it uses the poison to step in for the addictiveness of that. It’s a reverse of Alice Cooper’s song, comparing a person to a drug rather than the other way around.

It is also gloriously unsubtle in a way that is really difficult to explain, so I’m going to have to use another, wildly different example.

I recently read a book called This Gilded Abyss. It’s by Rebecca Thorne (@rebeccathornewrites), and it struck me as a book that was graceful in the same way that a person can be “cool”. It’s not pompously dancing around clever wordplay. The book feels like the art is in the tale, rather than the telling, and I mean that in the best way. It’s more art than form.

The reason I bring this up is because that is the same feeling I get from listening to Hazbin Hotel’s Poison. There are cool details in the presentation, sure, but they are outshone entirely by the emotion on display. I don’t listen to the song or read the book to dwell on the fine details, not because they aren’t there, but because the story has me in a death grip and I am too enthralled by it to pay attention.

I could talk about how Poison uses high notes to ground itself, I could talk about how the songs instruments imply a fakeness. But that doesn’t seem like the point to me. Instead, I want to elaborate on what I said earlier about this song and comedy writing.

The song isn’t funny, per say. If you were insincere, you could point out that this is about a spider singing to a moth, so haha jokey joke joke. But that’s the key. Sincerity.

The golden rule of comedy is “commit to the bit”. It’s less funny to draw back and undercut yourself than it is to subvert expectations or do something dumb and go for it, despite seeing it coming a mile away.

I was a theatre kid (if you are shocked by this, welcome to the blog), and I remember being told by the theatre sports coach that for a joke to be funny, it can never be acknowledged as such. I don't know how much I agree with this, but it's a useful idea.

Hazbin Hotel does this in a big way with its entire design. It’s set in hell, and the main character is the most optimistic person you will ever meet. Pentious is a villain, and also a goober, and the show does not acknowledge the inherent silliness of this for a moment.

As such, the punchline of Poison is the final verse, which is a tour de force of Blake Roman’s acting skill. Everything cuts away and you get the emotional centre of the entire song. It’s like the dick joke you can see coming, but instead of making you laugh, it destroys you.

This is how the final scream in All You Wanna Do works. The song part of the musical Six, which I hope to cover on this blog at some point and follows the breaking down of Katherine Howard. She is seeking a kinship without any preconceptions, but everyone around her views her as nothing more than a vehicle for sex.

At the end of the song, she screams out into the stage:

"Bite my lip and pull my hair as you tell me I'm the fairest of the fair."

Six is a tragedy that has already happened. The characters know their fates, but the audience gets to learn them in real time, and is powerless but to watch with joy that turns rapidly into horror.

In this case, Howard hasn't been allowed to complain. She's been something pretty for people to look upon, and she has to be happy, right? She's married to the king. But she isn't, because nobody has at any point asked what it is that she wants.

So, she screams, letting all that rage and frustration out, letting the audience know how she really feels, and displaying her complete vulnerability in the face of history, and then she is gone, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Poison also does this with each chorus. There are mini punchlines, mini beats that make you react and keep you interested.

“What’s the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself.”

This forms a bridge to the chorus, drawing you back like an arrow in a bowstring to send you rocketing forwards into an aggressively upbeat flurry of music. The same thing happens later on in the song.

“So far beyond difficult, To resist another gulp.”

This is use of the titular metaphor, but its also ascribing blame. Angel has been abused and sexually assaulted by Valentino, and this is the song about how he has internalised that. Namely, through condemning himself.

There are two things to note here, and I think the series disagrees with Angel on both accounts.

First up, there is the importance of proportionality. Falling for someone with more red flags than a beach in shark season wasn’t a good decision, I think we can all agree on that, but it doesn’t condemn someone to abuse.

Especially since this is the internet for Pete's sake. You only have to imply that a character is attractive, and you will have a collection of people who will defend their every move. Part of this is the "I can fix him" mentality and the fact that fictional characters aren't real, but still. Come on.

Second up, is Angel really to blame? More to blame than, say, Valentino? The victim is blaming himself for his victimhood, in order to deflect from the person who has put himself in that situation.

Episode four has one scene in it that is both my favourite and my least favourite, the one in which Charlie sets fire to the set.

This was a scene that made me reflect on the difference between something being good craft and something being enjoyable, as Valentino’s switch in tone when moving between Angel and Charlie is so viscerally uncomfortable that it made me pause the episode to sit back and take it in. It’s intentionally jarring, and it's not trying to present this character as benevolent.

What it is trying to do is present Valentino as seductive, someone who has two modes that he can switch between. Angel fell for the nice Valentino who got the gifts and was kind and charming and was blindsided by the more aggressive version of this character.

In other words, the highs were what he was drawn in by, the lows caught him off guard. Valentino is like a drug.

This truly is the opposite of Alice Cooper’s song. Where that personified the drug to give it agency, Angel dehumanises Valentino to place the agency on himself and take the blame.

“Because I know you’re poison, you’re feeding me poison. Addicted to this feeling I can’t help but swallow up your poison. I made my choice and every night I’m living like there’s no tomorrow.”

If we focus on the line I put in bold, there’s some similarity to another song, previously in the musical.

“Hell is forever, whether you like it or not. Had their chance to behave better now they boil in a pot”

The idea that choices are final and that everyone gets one chance that they must then commit to is a key antagonistic force in the series. The show is about hope, and the desire for things to get better, but Heaven and Angel say that if you make a decision, the rest of your life must be dedicated to the follow up of that.

If you got into a bad relationship, sucks to suck, you’re stuck there. If you got into a bind and had to do dark things to stay alive, sorry, no redoes.

There's a word for this: "Damnation".

Committing to the bit here is making the bit your entire deal. The theme is the dichotomy between change and stagnation, and every source of conflict comes from that one concept. It’s milking the joke for all its worth, but again, repurposed.

Although, there is one other advantage that comedians have in storytelling, an advantage I like to call the “What’s My Mother’s Name?” Moment.

Sam Riegel is a voice actor and a regular cast member on Critical Role. He is famous for being incredibly funny, but also for his relationship with humour. Several times across the series’ three campaigns, it has become clear that Riegel was being fully serious, and neither the audience not the cast saw it coming until far too late.

There’s an obvious example here but let’s get topical and talk about the latest episode of the series, as of writing this.

“He had a perspective and a goal and he laid it out very clearly. He wanted to get his family back and assume power. He did not set out to kill a city, to destroy a city. He wanted to get back with his family. The others prevented him. He gave them a choice to sit down at a table and they said, ‘No, we'd rather kill a city.’”

Riegel is playing Braius Doomseed, a minotaur champion of an evil deity, and in episode 102, there is a discussion of what has gone before. Braius starts to make a case for one of the villainous deities, and the rest of the cast assumes he’s just joking and committing to the bit. Instead, Reigel commits to the bit so thoroughly that he bypasses humour and plays it straight. This is someone genuinely making a case for the lord of the hells.

The question isn’t about when Reigel started beings serious because he’s always been that. The question, is “when did he stop being funny?”

Hazbin Hotel does this with Poison, and it causes the audience to reflect on what has gone before. All of Angels’s actions up to this point have now been recontextualised, and it's far too late to do anything about it. Angel has always been serious, the show has always been aware of this character as a damaged person, but now the lighting is different, and you aren’t shielded by the joke.

The punchline is the commitment to the bit.

Final Thoughts

I’ve seen a lot of praise online for this song, and while I agree that this song’s grip on you is unbreakable, I think that it gets outdone by the very next number.

I also want to point out why, in my opinion, episode four is the best in the series.

The show has a pacing problem, it’s in a hurry to tell its story because it’s had artificial constraints put upon it. But Masquerade takes its time and gives you a story without compromises and without outside input. In my eyes, this is a flawless episode of television.

Next week, we will stick with the episode, and look at Loser Baby, and how hope becomes triumph. Stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[struggling-intuit]

sooooo bang chan sugar daddy?

subject || bang chan

title || of his sugar daddy tendencies

kai || rover

warnings || EW MINORS, SHOO; gn!reader, manipulative!chan, chan takes advantage of reader's naivete, penetration, anxiety about sugaring, coercion, isolation, other yandere themes, pseudo-stockholm maybe, chan gives you what you've always wanted but is it?

A/N: This is a work of fiction. My headcanon has no bearing on the very real existence of its subject. Please skip this reading if you are uncomfortable with any warning found above. Otherwise, enjoy this bit of dark fantasy.

Chan's definitely on his findom shit, but it goes both ways.

Well, it actually goes one way, his way, but he's got an Olympic gold medal in pretending that you have as much control in this relationship as he does.

Spoiler, you don't, but it's cute you think otherwise.

Chris really struggles with boundaries and also restraint, so expect him to be casually dropping life-altering gifts on your head: luxury cars, a vacation home in the Maldives, and more shit you never asked for, maybe didn't even want, but who are you to turn down the sugar? Especially not his sugar, what if he leaves you?

Just take the car, baby.

The apartment he bought you in the city also came out of nowhere. That was the first major purchase he'd gifted you, just a month and a half into your arrangement.

Imagine your surprise when he showed up with luggage. Just for visiting, he'd said, but is it really visiting if you're getting all your mail forwarded to this address?

Don't make a fuss, the bitter medicine only makes the sugar sweeter.

He wanted to keep an eye on you anyway, he's looking out for you, and all you do is complain. Appreciate what he's given you for once.

It'll probably occur to you one day when you're bent over the kitchen table, skull pressed hard against the custom granite countertop by Chan's giant hand as he ruins you from behind, that you never fucking wanted this.

So you'd been in a hard place? So you'd taken a bit of his money? He'd paid you back in spades by taking all of you.

Now that you're thinking about it, you haven't seen anyone else in months. He's just kept you cooped up here, a lovely little vase for his endless shelf. A poor little baby to spend his sugar on.

But you have to ask yourself. Is it so bad?

click here for main masterlist

and here for skz masterlist

keep them asks coming :)

[cheesy09]

[CN] Kiro's 2024 Birthday Prequel

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for content that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

[Note: This was translated with the help of Google Translate :>]

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[Episode: First Wish]

The castle is captured by a dragon.

Its sharp claws flash fiercely, and its gigantic wings seem capable of setting off a deadly storm at any second. And ever since then, the world has fallen into darkness, filled with only endless and endless night.

The evil dragon enters the castle with terrifying footsteps. With the slightest movement of its claws, the boy's thin body is easily picked up. His heart seems to beat out of his chest, and the fear prevents him from making any sound. All he can do is close his eyes when the dragon opens its bloody mouth, as if the incoming pain would disappear along with the darkness.

The boy doesn't know when this kind of life will end. But it seems as though his life has been like this for as long as he can remember.

The evil dragon would come to catch him and the other children in the castle every few days. Some children are eaten, and some turned into another kind of monster. Some of the adults will help it; spouting lies and pretending that this castle is a warm place. But the boy knows that many of them have actually turned into dragons -- human-shaped dragons. There is no safe space within this castle, and cries and shouts come from all around. He covers his ears, hugs the little bear in his arms, and keeps running deeper into the corridor.

But the figure of the evil dragon gets closer and closer.

If the boy doesn't find a place to hide, he will get caught.

His breathing grows more and more rapid, and cold sweat continues to break out on his back. A huge shadows envelops his tiny figure, and he shuts his eyes in fright--

"I'm going to be eaten again." He discards his thoughts and waits for the outcome that he expects.

With a "thump", the window of the room is blown open by a strong gust of wind, and the boy suddenly wakes up. Turns out that it was just a dream.

He skillfully wraps himself up in his blanket and runs to the window, and like he has done countless nights before, he struggles to close the window with his little hands covered in frostbite. Although spring has arrived, this orphanage seems to have remained impervious to its warmth, the wind outside as biting and cold as ever. Nights were always difficult, and his hands would hurt from the wind.

Walking back to his bed on the cold marble floor, he huddles up within his worn blanket.

He quickly tries to warm up his body, especially his hands. When he first developed these chilblain, he had felt itchy and couldn't keep himself from scratching them, which would then turn into bigger sores that would often cause him to frown in pain. Now that he is used to it, as long as he endures it, he may get better faster, although he doesn't understand why these things appear in winter.

Compared to his peers, he still doesn't understand many things.

He doesn't understand why the children around him want to talk to him, why they raise their eyebrows or lower the corners of their mouths;

He doesn't understand how to respond to these conversations;

He doesn't understand why others don't respond to apparently beautiful patterns or pleasant sounds;

He doesn't even know how to express the world he sees.

But compared to his peers, he knows a lot. The bitter white tablets are medicine; the sharp ones that pierce the skin are needles; you will bleed if you are hurt or injured;

Going to a single room is scary; if someone goes cold and stiff, they are dead.

Once you die, you will never make a sound again.

Then someone will take them away and then disappear.

It isn't until the pain in his hand gradually eases that he pulls off the blanket and looks around.

After such a tossing, most of his sleepiness disappears. After making sure that all of the others are asleep, he carefully takes out the shabby picture book from under his pillow.

Under the moonlight, he skillfully turns to the last page.

"The warrior completely defeated the evil dragon. The darkness ended, the world returned to its former brightness, and the people lived happily ever after." He doesn't know the words on it, but he can understand the picture, and he likes the ending. Although he has seen it countless times, he still enjoys it.

The paper of the picture book is somewhat yellowed, and the rough printing makes the pictures and text unclear. But just like this, what may look like trash and waste paper in the eyes others, is a rare treasure to him, making these cold night less lonesome.

The night watchman's terrible voice sounds in the corridor. To him, the sound is akin to an imaginary evil dragon, making shiver unconsciously. He immediately puts the picture book back under his pillow and hides it, laying down and pretending to sleep. Just close your eyes, the dragon still roars. He can't help but wrap the blanket tightly around him.

Maybe spring will be better. At least, it that warm season, his frostbite will be better, and he wouldn't have to be woken up by rusty windows every night and have to close them again.

"If I can become a warrior, will I be able to defeat those evil dragons?"

"Then I will become a true warrior."

Little 1562 thinks this in his heart. He has never wished for something like this.

At that time, he didn't know that such thoughts were called wishes.

In a daze, he falls asleep again. In his dream, he becomes a real warrior. he defeats the dragon, shattering the invisible darkness, and escapes from the castle. The sun rises slowly outside the window, and the warm sunlight shines on the shabby little bed, climbing onto the boy's cheek little by little, and seemingly illuminating his dreams.

There are sweet clouds in his dream, the world is warm, and it feels soft when one lies down on it. There are no hideous bloodstains or sharp needles. Countless flower stay facing the sun, glowing with a brilliant luster. He looks at it for a long time, then nestles into the flowers, and seemingly turns into a flower facing the sun.

He smiles faintly in his sleep. The weather seems to be getting warmer today--

Spring is coming.

[END]

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

Date: Coming soon

[yudrein-aile]

Meta: Qualitea in the Orr Empire

Let’s talk tea customs of the Orr Empire. As an avid lover of tea myself, reading Turning was quite entertaining as I could project all my silly little tea headcanons on the characters (but ask me about those another time). From early on in the novel, we see that the Orr Empire does have a distinct tea culture, so this meta will take a look at what teas they drink, what their tea culture looks like, and how skilled our protagonists are at preparing tea (spoiler: they’re not. Everyone say “thank you, Nathan”, the only one who knows how to make a good cup of tea.)

Tea

Tea is a pretty common drink in the Orr Empire, but first, we have to talk about what tea it even is. Now, if you want to be precise and a snob, tea, as per merriam-websters first definition, is “a widely cultivated shrub (Camellia sinensis of the family Theaceae, the tea family) native to China, northern India, and southeastern Asia and having glossy green leaves and fragrant white flowers” and “the leaves, leaf buds, and internodes of the tea plant prepared for use in beverages usually by immediate curing by heat or by such curing following a period of fermentation”. Thus, tea, as a drink, is “an aromatic beverage prepared from tea leaves by soaking them in boiling water”. According to this first definition, tea refers only to the tea plant.

In the Orr Empire, we do know that the tea plant actually exists. In chapter 39, Kishiar makes tea for Yuder specifically using tea leaves and in chapter 51, it is mentioned that Keilusa drinks a “black tea giving off a unique aroma”.

In the Orr Empire, the beverage tea is also made by using “any of various plants“ like tea, which means preparing them “by soaking their parts (such as leaves or roots)“.

So what teas do they drink in the Orr Empire?

Fresh chamomile, which is in season at the start of the novel (Chapter 16)

Black tea (Chapter 51)

Tea made from the leaves of a medicinal herb Rosa Faria la Orr cultivates (Chapter 58)

Tea made from a flower with an “extraordinarily fresh and cool scent” by pouring boiling water over it. The flower grows near Pearl Tower and helps with sleep deprivation, headaches and can be analgesic (Chapter 113, 143).

Tea blends (Chapter 143, 162)

Peppermint tea with honey (Chapter 162)

Tea made of the fluaville flower, which thrives on a barren mountain, devoid of sunlight, rain, and fertile soil (Chapter 167)

Cold tea made of ponegri, which is won by diluting the potent narcotic components of the ponesa plant to edible levels. It reduces pain and has mood-enhancing effects, as well as dulling the surroundings. (Chapter 205)

Bitter herbal teas for medicinal reasons (Chapter 403)

A pale red tea that might be black tea or a rooibos of some kind (Chapter 602)

A Southern tea with mingled sweet fruit and floral scents, rich in aroma and a yellow color. It is probably a green tea blend. (Chapter 919)

If you look at this – dare I say complete – list, you can roughly distinguish between teas drunk for pleasure, which seems to include teas made from the tea plant always, as well as some herbal, predominantly floral teas, and medicinal teas.

The rather high mention of medicinal teas is very much Keilusa la Orr’s fault, who drinks tea predominantly to help with his health condition. It’s also the only time something like honey is added to the tea. Adding milk, for example, isn’t mentioned at all! We also know that there exist teas of varying qualities and that nobles tend to drink higher-quality tea (Chapter 39).

Funnily enough, tea is generally regarded as a warm beverage, you want to drink it hot (Chapter 468). The only exception so far appears to be Katchian’s ponegri tea, which he drinks cold (Chapter 205).

How do you drink tea in the Orr Empire?

Well, first of all, they use teacups and pots! While this might seem like a small detail to you, a proper teacup is shaped to enhance the flavor and fragrance of the tea. Teacups tend to be lighter than coffee mugs and have a broader surface. While they are never particularly described in the novel, besides the note that they are made of porcelain (Chapter 15) the specification that they are for tea is enough to let us conclude that you don’t just drink tea, but that there is a culture associated with it.

Tea Culture in the Orr Empire

Drinking tea, when not for medicinal purposes, is a pleasure drink and appears to be mainly a social convention in the Orr Empire, which also makes it a good gift (Chapter 223). An invitation for tea is an invitation to socialize and get to know another person. Kishiar’s tea sets are made from “beautiful porcelain” (Chapter 15) and there is an art to gracefully preparing tea (Chapter 39, 223, 979). Having tea is not just a nice get-together, even when Duke Diarca enjoys a cup of tea with his close friends (Chapter 385), the preparation method matters. Similarly, even if Kishiar has Nathan fetch cookies, cakes and other sweets because of Yuder’s sweet tooth, it seems to be common to have snacks while having tea. Having popular and famous sweets that complement your tea while you drink it is simply good manners (352).

But the Orr Empire wouldn’t be the Orr Empire if there wasn’t also a class divide about it. Kishiar notes early on that Yuder “won’t have many opportunities to drink tea [he’s] personally prepared” (Chapter 39). Disregarding that this is a fucking lie on Kishiar’s part, the point he, most likely, is trying to refer to here, is that Kishiar, who both as a Duke and thus part of the nobility as well as Yuder’s superior, would not typically make tea for his subordinate.

This holds true for most of the little tea sessions we see in the novel! Nathan prepares Kishiar’s tea (Chapter 16, 58, and most other times Kishiar has tea), the servants of House Apeto prepare the tea for the Cavalry (Chapter 133), Katchian’s servants prepare him his tea (Chapter 205), Yuliver makes Keilusa’s tea (Chapter 303). While all of this is of course also expected of servants, it is also a show of trust as Kishiar points out himself, after all, it would be very easy to poison your employer’s tea (Chapter 16).

We also see that offering tea to your guests is polite, that is if you don’t make them wait for ages as the Apeto do with the Cavalry (Chapter 233). Kiolle also assumes that he’s grown closer to Katchian because they regularly drink tea together (Chapter 586).

So, much like in our world, drinking tea in the Orr Empire is not just necessarily having a cup of tea, but has a rich history.

How do I make a perfect cup of tea aka Kishiyu Cringefail Tea

Kishiar looks graceful preparing tea, but he does not, as far as I can tell, actually make a good cup of tea. Well, so how does one make a good cup of tea?

“Please, take a seat.” After roughly sprinkling the tea leaves that Kanna had once forced onto the two tea cups, a small movement of his finger formed two droplets of water in the air. The droplets divided into two streams, filling each cup. With another flick of his hand, the tea heated to a suitable temperature, steaming in the cups. Looking down at the steamy tea cup, Yuder lightly pushed one toward Kishiar. “Wait until the aroma comes out before you drink.” “You are remarkably efficient in brewing tea. Nathan would be disappointed if he saw this.” “If you have the skill, why not use it?” (Chapter 223)

Well, not like this obviously. Hilariously enough, Kishiar makes tea just the same – scooping leaves into the pot and boiling it after. So according to Nathan’s expert opinion, this is not how you’re supposed to prepare them.

The only prominent life tea culture I could find, by the way, where you boil the tea leaves with the water is the Egyptian Saiidi tea, but that one is sweetened with sugar, and neither Kishiar nor Yuder do that, so I stand by my argument that they both just prepare terrible tea.

Tea Culture (Wikipedia)

Tea Preparation Guide (Teapedia)