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nalyniavadelletargaryen · 7 months ago

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[ HOTD - Greif-striken Aegon ]

Summary: At the Queen Dowager's request, you take on the role of Jaehaera’s primary caregiver but bear the burden of catching the King’s eye.

Warnings: canon Aegon + dubcon / noncon + mentions of death + slight angst + hurt/comfort + smut

Grief-stricken Aegon is surprised to see you playing with his daughter in the garden, temporarily distracted from his anger by a curiosity about you. Jaehaera sits on your lap as you play with her, keeping her happy and your focus solely on her. Although the King doesn’t recognize you, he hesitates before approaching you, his anger turning into interest when you smile at him. You had been warned by his mother to be cautious of him, given the grief in the castle after the loss of the young prince. Despite your reservations, you decide to be kind and give Aegon the benefit of the doubt as you respectfully acknowledge him and then return your attention to Jaehera.

Grief-stricken Aegon leaves you with his daughter, slipping back into a quiet rage as the sight of her reminds him of Jaehaerys. You cradle the young girl close as her father stalks down the stone halls. Sighing in relief, you watch his silver locks disappear around a corner, completely relaxing when Jaehrra smiles. In a month, she had grown attached to you, mistakenly calling you 'mama' once or twice, but you always managed to correct her. Although your heart fluttered at her recognition, you knew very well that her birth mother, Queen Helena, needed no more strife and that prying ears would quickly spread the rumor of her quick attachment to you. When it happened a third time, you corrected Jaehaera as always, cheeks warm with gratitude. However, your decision remained firm. Unfortunately, you were not quick enough to hush her with a gentle reprimand, and Sir Larys overheard the young princess's adoration for you as he passed by the library where you read to her before supper. He wasted little time using the new revelation to his advantage. He tells the King of Jaehera's love for you, explaining it as a harmless but vaguely dangerous trust shift. Aegon feeds into his observation with contained interest.

Grief-stricken Aegon, overcome with sorrow, sends for you the following evening, calling you to the council room after a long day of war planning. You come at his command after putting Jahera to bed and bidding the Queen goodnight. You take your time to reach him, rightfully afraid of the man you've heard raging about the castle in a constant state of vengeance. You're particularly fearful of your growing desire to feel his pain somehow. Jaehaera is the sweet and well-mannered maiden child, much like her mother, and you can only begin to imagine how lovely her brother had been. You know well that pitying their father shouldn't be your prominent state of mind, but having a tender heart makes it devastatingly hard not to. So, you heed his call, entering the council room and standing at the doors with your head held preemptively low. You greet him quietly, withholding the tremor in your tone as you try to steel yourself against his scrutinizing stare.

Grief-stricken Aegon was far from displeased by the sight of you. Since he briefly saw you in the Keep's courtyard, hed been considering many details and assets you possessed. You appeared pious, gentle, and careful in how you presented yourself. You held the traits he knew his mother had explicitly sought: modesty and fairness. Aegon assumed you were a young lady, yet how you carried yourself made him believe you had surpassed his sister's maturity. He took note of the seven-pointed star necklace you kept clasped around your neck; the gold jewelry glinted on your bare skin, bringing out the light colors of the dresses you wore. You never bared green, a minuscule detail that pleased him. The influence of his family hadn’t reached you, and it was an odd relief. You had no allegiance to an agenda, were content with your role, and were not invested in the schemes around him. In his eyes, you were perfect, pure, and identical to the maiden herself.

Greif-stricken Aegon doesn’t confess his sins to you, though. You were never bringing to light the thoughts he’s had about you. The very sound of your voice started his descent into obsession. Hearing you sing soothing lullabies to Jaehaera, seeing you cradle her close, watching you praise her most minor achievements drove his mind to places it’d refrained from going after the death of his son. Motherly. You are sound of mind and careful with the last of his children. You embodied what his dear sister's wife couldn’t: motherhood. It drove Aegon mad in the dead night, his chambers filled with the sound of his moans as he fisted his cock to the very thought of you.

Greif-stricken Aegon refrains from forcing himself on you the first night you visit him, choosing to pry into your life with direct questions and bittersweet compliments for most of the exchange. You’re relieved to experience his generally pleasant side, amused by the scathing jokes he tells between conversations, and pleased to make him smile with your witty remarks. Your walls of caution break down little by little as he invites your company, letting you recount stories of impractical adventures with his daughter and surprisingly invested in hearing them. You ramble a bit, unsure how to feel about his direct attention and nervous to speak so casually to the King himself. Aegon reassures you that your talkative nature is anything but frustrating, reaching out to lift your chin and graze the warm skin of your cheeks with his fingertips. Your dormant blush brightens when he smiles at you, leaning in to kiss your parted lips tenderly before you can stop him. You had no intention of kissing him back, utterly shocked he'd even be so bold with you, to begin with, but he refused to let you shy away from him. One kiss spiraled into several, every one messier than the last, and your head spinning as the lingering bitterness of wine on his tongue soaked into yours. Aegon pressed for more when you pulled away to breathe. It was all too much, and you rushed to excuse yourself and leave him for the night. He didn't stop you, loving the sight of fear and excitement consuming your tender exterior at his will.

Greif-stricken Aegon calls on you often after that evening. He is no longer satisfied with pleasing himself alone. Aegon is reckless with his dependence on you, not caring that you put up a fight every time, trying to reason with him as he buries his cock in your fluttering walls. You scratch, cry, and beg. Doing and saying anything for the slightest chance of mercy, but Aegon spares you none. He forces pleasure into your veins, slaving away in your cunt night after night and committed to coating your untouched womb with his seed. You feel trapped in the cycle he starts, fulfilling your duties by day and spreading your legs for him at night. It tore you to pieces that your body ached for him constantly, the very shape of cock engraved into you, the space between your thighs undeniably drenched hours before he had you entrapped in his embrace. It’s distracting. He is distracting, and it's no help that he begins to spend more time with his daughter to spend even more with you. Aegon’s hands constantly wander where they shouldn’t, tracing your curves over the binds of your dress as you tend to Jaehaera, and it takes all of your will not to run from him. He feeds on your unease, your breaths slower, eyes fixed in the distance, and the apple of your cheeks turning red. He tells you to settle down, focus on your duties, and disregard his lingering presence, and by the gods grace, you can do just that. It’s a relief that his mother, grandsire, or anyone of consequence steals him away. You say nothing to keep him at your side, missing the feeling of his hands, the sound of his voice, and the air of control he envelopes you in, but joyous to be free of him. You can focus. You can calm the heat in your core.

Greif-striken Aegon takes no issue with keeping you in his bed for hours on end, marveling at the sight of you falling apart on his cock, begging for more of it as your legs shake from another high. You’ve given up on running, on reasoning, on being moderately intelligent, enduring the deep thrusts and mind-numbing pace he sets in thinly veiled excitement. There’s no point of hiding uit any longer, no viable way of convincing him you don’t want him to take you. Its your obligation to please him, to be that perfect little mistress, to give his lonely daughter a new playmate is it not? So, you resort to embracing his attention - as unforgiving and possessive as it may be.

Grief-stricken Aegon doesn’t ask your permission to release inside of you, forcing his seed as deep as possible, holding you down in a vice grip anytime you attempt to writhe away. It’s warm, thick, and filling. You’ve only tried to bathe once after hours of him bedding you, and he was furious. From then on, Aegon denied you the choice of washing the evidence of his claim on you away and commanding you to let his seed leak from between your thighs for a minimum of a fortnight. Appalled and rightfully defiant to the idea, you first threatened to confess to his mother about your shared deeds, but Aegon taunted you. He knew you’d rather suffer his stipulation than endure the wrath of Queen Alicent’s modesty. “Tell her and see what becomes of you..” he seethes into your ear, hand tangled in your fallen hair to keep you bent over the edge of his bed, snapping his hips harder against you when a half-hearted cry falls from your lips. You won't tell her. You can't even begin to think of unburdening yourself without acknowledging the joy you took in being used for his pleasure. Even now, as your essence dripped down your inner thighs, coating his cock with every unforgiving movement he made, you simply gave in to sin. His sin.

Grief-stricken Aegon is unsurprised when he notices signs that you are carrying his child. You become emotionally and physically sensitive. You continue caring for Jaehera while trying to hide your changing demeanor, keeping it a secret. However, Aegon cannot help but stay close to you and treats you as if you're made from glass with little regard for those who notice him showing you favor, which draws the interest of his council members—especially his ever-vigilant mother. Days pass before the maester leaves tea for you. On the night Queen Alicent visits your chambers, she expresses disappointment and scolds you for being careless. You hesitate to follow the Dowager Queen's advice, refusing to drink the remedy left for you and crying the entire night after she takes her leave.

Greif-stricken Aegon hears of your pregnancy the day after, ever so gleeful to endure his mother's berating and nowhere near ashamed of what he's done to you. He tells you it won't be the last time you carry his child, sitting you on his lap in the privacy of his chambers as the day comes to an end, and you haven't the emotional strength to keep fighting him. What's done is done, and you have no heart for ridding yourself of his so-called ‘gift.’ It's sick and twisted, but you've fallen into the headspace he's wanted for so long. A willing servant, one dedicated to her role in his domain of power, and one who will bear as many children as he desires.

What more could a lovely, loyal girl like you ask for?

A/N: Why is it so hard to write smut for this man?! It's usually so easy, but now I'm struggling. It's unfair because I have a lot of great ideas…

{ BONUS CONTENT + }

Credits to the creator 💚 He owns 85% of the space in my gallery app. I'm obsessed, and it shows…

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fawninthesnow · 2 months ago

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/) /) ( ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ) / づづ ~ ♡ Gladiator Master list 18+

Support me on Gumroad!

Note: *English is not my first language*

All of my dividers are from: @cafekitsune

"Of Sand & Blood"

Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, wip

Summary: Former Gladiator, Emperor Lucius, takes his rightful property-- the wife of his conquered enemy.

Warnings/Contains: fem character, slow burn, f4m, smut, unprotected sex, spit as lube, cock warming, public hum!l!, h@nd jobs, no proofreading, etc

"Gilded Charm"

One shot: 1, end.

Summary: You, part of a family of visiting royalty, decide to sneak into the jails beneath the colosseum. There, you meet a charming young man, Lucius.

Warnings/Contains: f4m•semi public s3x•dirty talk •mild choking•edging•love bites•pinning •size kink• cock warming• male dominant, etc

"The Grapevine"

Series: 1, 2 , 3 , 4, End.

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. After an argument with your parents, you find yourself alone in your garden with an arrogant, and peculiar stranger, Emperor Geta.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, smut, not proof read

"Nightfall"

Series: 1, 2, end.

Summary: You are the Empress of Rome in a mundane marriage to Emperor Geta. After a military banquet, you find yourself in the bedroom of his subordinate, Marcus Acacius.

Warnings/Contains: fem reader, smut, teasing, pinning, [slight] dirty talk, unprotected sex, cheating, deny orgm, not proof read,

"Nurture"

One Shot: 1, end

Summary: Married to Emperor Geta, you decide to lift his spirits. (No plot smut.)

Warnings/contains: smut, mentions of violence, f4m, (somewhat) dom fem(?), male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), no aftercare, not proof read

"Adore"

Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, wip

Summary: You are a maternal figure in the young princes, Geta & Caracalla's, lives.

Warnings: Fluff & Angst

"Honey"

Request: 1

Summary: You are a lady of the court who Geta has grown emotionally acquainted with. Today, you decide to help the emperor with the new senate election.

Warnings: fluff, fem! dom, sub! Geta, sub male, not proof read

"Sweet Heaven"

Request: 1

Summary: You are the daughter of Queen Lucilla and General Acacius. You attend the birthday celebration of the two emperors and find yourself entangled with Emperor Geta.

Warnings/contains: Luring, manipulation, obsession, idealization, not proof read--

"Attention"

Series: 1, 2, end

Summary: As one of Caracalla's concubines, you find yourself in a bind when you grab his brother's attention.

Warnings/contains: fem dom (kinda), sub male, concubines, smoking, alcohol consumption, obsession, idealization, not proof read--

"Satin"

Request: 1

Summary: You are the empress of Rome, married to the immature, Commodus. After an outburst, you chose to ignore his horny pleads.

Warnings/contains: fem dom, sub emperor, sub male, smut, oral (fem receiving), degradation, alcohol consumption, obsession

"A Given"

Request: 1

Summary: You are a Queen of a recently conquered land. General Maximus Decimus Meridius of Rome pays you a visit in your castle.

Warnings/contains: male dom (kinda), sub fem, humiliation, degradation, alcohol consumption, oral (male reciv!), constriction, physical restraints, mentions of war/blood.

"Closest of Friends"

Request: 1

Summary: As Geta's childhood best friend, you two have been through everything together. One night, the Prince decides to run away with you.

Warnings/contains: Prince Geta AU, virgins, losing virginity, first time, nipple play, sexual tension, biting, friends with benefits.

#fanfic masterlist #masterlist #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic masterpost #writing #writers on tumblr #lucius verus aurelius #lucius verus #gladiator x reader #gladiator 2 #marcus aurelius #housekeeping

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ilovejungwonandhaechan · 2 months ago

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scented skies - hjs. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: scentshop owner!joshua hong x reader

trope: friends-to-???

summary: getting the first smell of joshua's new scents comes with the best friend benefits, but getting a full line of scents dedicated to you? that was not exactly a part of the deal.

🎧 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

word count: 2,926

a/n: happy belated birthday joshua!! not proofread lol

fic under the cut!

The shop was quiet now, a soft hum of the world outside the only sound reaching your ears. The last of the daylight had long since faded, and the warm glow of the scattered lamps gave the room a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Shadows flickered across the shelves lined with jars, their contents a rainbow of wax waiting to be transformed into unique candles. The gentle scent of melted wax lingered in the air, adding a cozy layer to the ambiance.

You and Joshua were the only ones left in the shop. The front door had been locked, the customers long gone, and the usual hustle and bustle of the shop had given way to an intimate calm. Joshua's workshop, the create-your-own-candle table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an array of fragrance oils, waxes, and little glass containers. The low hum of a fan in the corner was barely audible, but the delicate warmth it radiated added to the shop's welcoming vibe.

Joshua placed two boxes in front of you on the table, the cardboard a little worn from use, but inside, the promise of something new. A freshly brewed coffee, still warm from the café down the street, sat between you two. Its rich, earthy scent blended nicely with the soft perfume of the shop, and for a moment, you just let the quiet and the coziness of the scene settle around you.

"I’m glad you're here," Joshua said, his voice almost conspiratorial as he leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "I've been waiting to show you our new lines of scents."

The first box Joshua opened revealed small vials, their glass smooth and cool in the dim light. The labels were minimalistic, hand-written with care. You could see the weight of each scent as it was revealed—a promise of new memories to create, new moods to set.

He pulled out the first bottle and held it up, a glint of pride in his eyes. You reached out eagerly, your fingers brushing against the cool glass before uncapping the bottle. As soon as the scent hit you, it was as if you had stepped into a tropical garden at dawn—sharp, sweet pineapple mingled with the fresh, zesty bite of bergamot, and the earthy undertones of cedarwood brought you back to the deep, rich scent of an old forest after rain. It was fresh yet grounding, evoking a sense of summer mornings and long, lazy afternoons.

"That's the first one," Joshua said, his tone soft with an almost secretive air. "I don’t have a name for it yet, but I was thinking something tropical, maybe even a little nostalgic."

The second scent you tried was more delicate, a warm embrace in a bottle. Vanilla, sweet and smooth, curled gently around a subtle hint of coffee—like an espresso brewed fresh on a chilly morning. A touch of pear added a crisp, juicy sweetness, and together, they created a fragrance that felt like the perfect rendezvous in a small, hidden café, the kind with dim lights and rain softly tapping on the windows.

The third scent was a complete contrast—deep, rich, and bold. A blend of almond, rum, clove, and vanilla, it was something undeniably masculine, reminding you of leather-bound books and old whiskey glasses, a dark room lit only by the glow of a fireplace. It carried a weight to it, an air of mystery, like a story that had yet to unfold.

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath you grounding you in the moment. The room, now illuminated by scattered lamps, seemed almost enchanted. The faint scent of wax and the lingering perfume of the oils mixed in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that invited conversation.

"You know what’s funny?" you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joshua glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

You giggled to yourself before speaking again. "This is exactly how I imagined Baekhyun’s new album to smell." The words slipped out easily, the connection between scent and music obvious to you now. You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but these fragrances had a way of capturing the essence of each track you'd been listening to.

Joshua's laughter echoed in the room, warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world outside had fallen away.

"I’m being serious," you said, still grinning. "The first one is so obviously 'Pineapple Slice', the second one is so incredibly 'Rendez-Vous, and the last one is totally giving 'Truth Be Told.'"

Joshua let out a dramatic groan, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What, do you want me to name this new line of scents after your king Baekhyun?"

Your sarcastic laughter joined his. "Yes, Shua, I think that would be a great idea."

He shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "I will never take name suggestions from you. Ever."

The air between you both was filled with warmth and familiarity, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. The room, the scents, the soft glow of the lamps—everything seemed perfectly aligned, as though the universe had conspired to create this simple, yet unforgettable moment.

Joshua’s hands moved with a practiced fluidity as he pulled out the second box. It was a bit larger than the first, and as he placed it down in front of you, the lid came off with a soft scrape, revealing yet another set of bottles, each carefully sealed, their colors deep and inviting. The faintest glimmer of excitement flickered across his face as he began to unwrap the scents one by one.

The air in the room seemed to shift slightly, charged with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued. The first bottle he lifted smelled almost cold, a crisp, fresh scent that immediately took you to the edge of a windy cliff, the sea below churning with frothy waves. You could almost feel the air stinging your cheeks. There was something sharp in the top notes—eucalyptus and mint—sharp and clean, like a sharp breath of air after a storm. Beneath it, a grounded base of moss and earth, almost like the feeling of standing in the middle of a clearing just after the rain, the grass still damp beneath your feet.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. “If this was weather…” You trailed off, eyes still closed as the scent wrapped around you. “This would be a cold, windy morning, the kind where the sky is cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain but it never comes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you’re standing outside, waiting for the storm that never quite arrives.”

Joshua leaned in, watching you carefully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head affectionately. “Always reading the sky, huh?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I can’t help it. The world smells like weather sometimes, and my brain just connects the dots. Anyway,” you said, reaching for the next bottle. The second scent was much softer, warmer, a delicate mix of amber, warm vanilla, and the faintest hint of lavender. It was the kind of scent that made you think of the slow, steady descent into dusk, when the world is soft and golden. It was a soft glow, the fading sunlight kissing the horizon, and everything in the world seemed to slow down.

“If this one were weather,” you mused with a dreamy look in your eyes, “it would be a late afternoon thunderstorm—one of those brief, violent storms that rolls through, but then the sky clears up again, and everything smells fresh and soaked. The air’s still warm, but there’s this crispness that follows after the rain.”

Joshua’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That’s exactly it. I knew you'd say something like that.” He pulled out the next bottle, this one a darker, more grounding scent. It smelled like deep woods and earth, with notes of sandalwood and leather, wrapped in the comforting warmth of a smoky fireplace. There was something ancient about it, something you could imagine walking into an old cabin in the middle of winter, where the air is dry, the fire crackling, and snow falls silently outside.

You sniffed it deeply, your mind already wandering, and then laughed softly. “This… this is definitely a winter night. The kind when it’s snowing heavily outside, and the world is quiet and still. There’s a clear sky, so you can see all the stars, but the cold just lingers in the air. It’s peaceful but heavy, the kind of night that makes you feel small but also strangely at peace.”

Joshua leaned back with a grin. “I thought you'd say something like that, too,” he said, his tone affectionate but laced with something else, something that made the air between you feel thicker. He began pulling out the labels for each scent, one by one, placing them in front of you as though he couldn’t wait to see your reaction. As he slid each label toward you, your heart skipped a beat.

Each label was adorned with a photograph of the sky—clouds, sunsets, stormy horizons, or a deep, endless night sky—each one a text message you’d sent him over the past few years. There was the picture of the sunset you had sent last summer, with the caption: “The sky's a canvas right now. I swear it looks like the colors are coming alive." Another label had a photo of a thunderstorm, the caption: “The world feels like it’s holding its breath right before the storm hits. Can you smell it?” And the last one was a quiet winter evening you’d shared with him years ago: “The air smells like snow tonight. So still, so clean.”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest. As you looked at the labels, the realization hit you like a wave crashing against a rock. It wasn’t just about the sky or the weather anymore—it was about the connection between you and Joshua, one that you hadn’t seen for what it truly was until now. You hadn’t noticed before, not with this kind of clarity.

He was looking at you now, his expression soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, something he rarely let show. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding in the way he watched you now. The corners of his lips curled up in a quiet smile, but there was something different in the way he held himself, something that felt as though the entire room had shifted.

For a moment, you were completely still, your heart thudding against your chest. His dedication—the care he had taken to incorporate your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations of the world around you into something so tangible, so beautiful—felt like a promise.

The realization struck you harder than any scent, any image, any word. You’d been falling in love with him for years—since childhood, really—but now, with the pieces of his heart scattered before you, the truth was undeniable. You didn’t know when it had started, or if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment. But suddenly, everything about your relationship with Joshua felt different. He saw you with new eyes. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he’d always seen you this way—if maybe, all along, he had been falling in love with you, too.

You looked up at him, feeling a pang in your chest. There was warmth in your face, but a strange ache at the back of your throat. “Shua…” you whispered, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling everything at once. You blinked, not trusting your words to come out right.

Joshua didn’t say anything at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. Then, as if testing the waters, he spoke softly, a touch of humor in his voice but something deeper beneath it. “You know,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, “I’ve always thought the sky is just as beautiful as you say it is. But now… I think I understand it a little more.”

His words, though simple, made the air between you two feel electric, like everything had just changed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or simply sit in the stillness of it all. But one thing was for sure: the landscape of your relationship had shifted forever.

The space between you felt different now, fuller, like an unspoken truth was hanging in the air, too delicate to name yet too real to ignore. And in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how everything—his words, his look, the way your heart seemed to flutter—felt like something new, something you'd both been dancing around for years without ever realizing it.

#joshua #joshua hong #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #joshua x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua imagines #seventeen fic #joshua fic

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tomorrowsgardennc · 27 days ago

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market update // national seed swap day 2025

geeeeez i have so many notifications here, i guess i really haven't been on here in a hot minute. it has been nuts prepping for my first *major* seed swap, and it legit was a major one. but now that it has been a week, i think i'm finally starting to catch up with things. but i want to share with y'all before i forget all my mental notes and stories!!

i personally took so very few photos, because after 5 minutes in i was SWAMPED!! there was a line the entire 2 hours of the swap, and at the end of the market we had to tape off the seed swap portion in order to pack up! i was genuinely only expecting a steady stream of curious people, but it was shoulder to shoulder people, courtiosuly helping one another find varieties of this or that and everyone talking and asking questions!

now for setup... i had myself, my farmer mama (sooo happy she was able to make it!!), a local community garden captain who i asked to volunteer so he could promote his community and network a bit himself, another fellow plant vendor at the market, and one other volunteer who knew nothing about gardening but LOVES to organized. and y'all... i could not have asked for a better team to help me. farmer mama helped me keep my panic attacks away from so many people in one place... the community garden captain helped put a smile on everyone's face and giving the regulars new info, the fellow vendor was acting like she was a salesman and got so many seeds flying off the tables by answering sooooo many questions, and the last volunteer kept all the tables nice and tidy throughout the swap and refilled when space opened up. it was truly amazing.

we had a total of 25 feet of table space, and every table was jam packed with seeds. i brought approx. 1,375 seed packets (+/- a few dozen between added donos the morning of and me shipping some out the week before). but the thing is... the tables never got empty because of the amount we also had donated back! we had books and nursery containers too. i left with more books than what i arrived with, and all the nursery containers were gone by end of the swap. which is good because i don't need any more of those 😅

i think, with the seeds donated day of, that there were more seeds saved personally than open seed packets than i expected. now, sadly, i'm going to have to get the word out that labeling seeds as "pumpkin" is... well... not all too helpful for anyone. but i have 350ish days to get that word out before the next seed swap. and i plan to! just... need to wind down from this event first, mentally.

ok so, i know that part of my autism is me legit not being able to grasp certain concepts of emotions... even with hubs best efforts i still can't understand empathy. but i also... ok sorry this is hard to explain so it'll be written poorly... but a ton of people kept congratulating me??? saying what i did was a "true accomplishment" and i "knocked this out of the part" and "you succeeded!!" but... this wasn't about me???? i didn't do this for me. i did this for everyone who needs food. for those who have been too scared to try and start seeds before. who have tried before but trying again was too high of an investment. i didn't do this for my benefit, nor for marketing, or anything. the community garden captain gained more social media followers than me, and that's EXACTLY what i wanted!! one woman, dressed as though she was just barely getting by, legitimately broke out into tears when she picked up one envelope, dug through her purse and asked how much and i said "everything on these tables are free!" she said thank you a few times before she couldn't hold it in and grabbed a few more packets and left. congratulate HER on having the means go grow when it obviously means so much to her! congratulate ao many others who now won't have to worry about how they're going to afford a garden this year when bills are so tight! i don't know... maybe i'm missing something. just... i don't need a pat on the back for helping people. this should be the norm, bar minimum, not an accomplishment.

...

anyway... notes for next year:

- have a better donation system. turns out a lot of people were putting the seeds on the table that they brought, and nobody realized it, so i couldn't properly thank those people when they did.

- make sure to get more companies to donate. i had 7 companies donate, but renee's garden donated over 600 seed packets alone while every other company was, like, 50 maximum. we are going to need quite a lot more next year...

- still debating on switching my company to non-profit or not. i've talked to an "official non-profit consultant" at the local community college but she didn't really answer my questions about my type of business. i'm definitely not doing any of this for money, but i need more funding if i want to make seed swaps not only bigger but in more locations, both in person and online. and i have soooo many ideas on how to do so. i just need to figure out the best way to do so, legally. i'm just scared of messing some sort of legal paperwork or taxes up when i switch to non-profit.

- try and get the same volunteer team. i could not have done it without them.

- grow. grow grow grow and grow.

that last note is for you, too.

just grow 🌱

#food not lawns #gardening #home garden #gardenblr #homegrown #grow food #food #garden blog #suburbian agriculture #suburban agriculture #suburbia farming #suburban farm #seed swapping #seed swap #national seed swap day

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areagreenerygallery · 10 months ago

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Vertical Gardening: The Future of Urban Green Spaces

"Vertical Gardening: The Future of Urban Green Spaces" is a comprehensive guide exploring the innovative practice of vertical gardening. This book is an essential resource for urban dwellers and gardening enthusiasts looking to maximize their green space in a limited environment. It covers a wide range of topics, from the fundamental benefits of vertical gardening to the latest technological integrations, offering practical advice and inspiring examples.

Key Topics Covered

1. Space Efficiency

Vertical gardens are a game-changer for urban areas where space is at a premium. By utilizing vertical space on walls, fences, and other structures, city dwellers can grow a variety of plants without needing a large footprint. This section discusses how vertical gardens can transform small balconies, rooftops, and even indoor spaces into lush green areas.

2. Aesthetic Appeal

Beyond their functional benefits, vertical gardens can significantly enhance the visual appeal of urban spaces. The book delves into how these gardens can be used as living art pieces, adding beauty and a touch of nature to urban architecture and interior design. It also covers design principles and tips for creating visually stunning vertical gardens.

3. Environmental Benefits

Vertical gardens contribute to the environment by improving air quality, providing insulation, and reducing the urban heat island effect. This section explains the ecological advantages of vertical gardening, including its role in filtering pollutants and fostering biodiversity in urban settings.

4. DIY Vertical Garden Projects

For hands-on gardeners, the book offers detailed, step-by-step guides to creating your own vertical garden. From selecting materials and plants to installation and maintenance tips, these projects cater to different skill levels and budgets, making it accessible for everyone to start their own vertical garden.

5. Types of Vertical Gardens

The book explores various vertical gardening methods, including living walls, trellises, and hydroponic systems. It compares their advantages, disadvantages, and suitable applications, helping readers choose the best method for their specific needs and conditions.

6. Plant Selection

Choosing the right plants is crucial for the success of a vertical garden. This section provides recommendations on the best plants for vertical gardening, considering factors like light requirements, water needs, and growth habits. It includes lists of suitable herbs, flowers, vegetables, and ornamentals.

7. Maintenance Tips

Maintaining a vertical garden requires specific techniques to ensure healthy growth. The book offers practical advice on watering, pruning, feeding, and pest control tailored to vertical gardening. Seasonal maintenance schedules and troubleshooting tips are also provided.

8. Technological Integration

Modern vertical gardens often incorporate advanced technology to enhance their efficiency and ease of maintenance. This chapter discusses innovations such as automated watering systems, smart sensors, and LED grow lights. It highlights how technology can simplify gardening tasks and improve plant health.

9. Case Studies

Real-world examples of successful vertical gardens are presented to inspire and educate readers. These case studies cover both residential and commercial settings, showcasing a variety of designs and applications. They demonstrate the transformative power of vertical gardening in different environments.

10. Future Trends

The book concludes with a look at the future of vertical gardening and its potential impact on urban planning. It explores emerging trends and technologies that could shape the evolution of vertical gardening, emphasizing its role in creating sustainable and resilient urban landscapes.

"Vertical Gardening: The Future of Urban Green Spaces" is a must-read for anyone interested in innovative gardening practices. It offers valuable insights and practical advice, making it an indispensable guide for transforming urban spaces into green, thriving environments.

#home garden #garden #container gardening #benefits of gardening

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imreadydollparts · 7 months ago

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I really cannot be normal about Mattel's head glue, I hate it so much.

Before I got sick I had been doing some experiments to see how different head glue removal methods work and affect the dolls' hair and heads, and then completely forgot about it for a long time while I was recovering. I'm still completely exhausted and don't have much energy for these kinds of things anymore.

I dug up my original notes this morning and did some fresh observations of the heads I'd treated.

Get ready for a lot of cut up doll heads, boringly presented information, and not nearly enough photos because I always forget.

You get a cut for said mangled doll heads.

Important notes:

None of these dolls' hair was conditioned after treatment.

Each head was kept in an individual, sealed container kept in the basement which is consistently 62F since treatment.

Results would be better if I had a whole bunch of the same head with the same glue, but I don't.

If you're curious, I cut the heads with Dollar Tree gardening nips. it worked very well.

001 - Nikki treated with baby powder on Apr 17 2023 hair coated and powder funneled into neck, let sit, brushed a ton and tapped out of head this method dulls the hair's appearance

before - during - after

Jul 19 2024 Kanekalon hair is gummy and dusty, not terribly sticky smells of baby powder no change to vinyl glue inside head is coated in powder

Note: the hair falling out in the recent photos is from me cutting her head, nothing weird has happened to her head nor her hair

002 - 2Ks Barbie - treated with Tea Tree Oil mixed with L.A.'s Totally Awesome on Apr 17 2023 2 drops TTO applied to hair and massaged in 4 drops applied inside head T.A. added, didn't measure container shaken vigorously, T.A. turned cloudy immediately

before - during

Jul 19 2024 head reeks of TTO hair remains clean vinyl of head is supple and soft glue inside head is set and not sticky Saran hair is a bit dry

003 - Ken treated with Goo Gone on Apr 17 2023 sprayed liberally inside and out, massaged into hair, washed with dish soap

before

Jul 19 2024 Saran hair has a fine overall coating of glue glue inside head is sticky vinyl is fine if a little shiny, shine may indicate beginnings of degradation smells of citrus oil from Goo Gone

004 - Millie treated with Oxy Clean in tepid water on Apr 30 2023 Oxy Clean added to water, head placed in container, shaken vigorously

before

Jul 19 2024 head/hair smells moldy Saran hair remains clean vinyl is matte and soft white glue inside head is set (different from the yellow glue, can't say how this would affect the yellow glue)

005 - Summer treated with Triton X-114 on Apr 17 2023 1 tsp Triton massaged into hair with distilled water 1/4 tsp put inside head 1/2c distilled water in a container, put head in, shake vigorously

before - during - after

Jul 19 2024 moldy smell Saran hair is clumpy and sticky at nape of neck glue in head is sticky vinyl is soft and matte

006 - Millie treated with L.A.'s Totally Awesome on Apr 30 2023 done with normal process of putting head in a small cup, filling head and cup with concentrated cleanser, putting a lid on, and waiting. agitate the head now and then and change cleanser if cloudy

after (forgot to take a before)

Jul 19 2024 some stickiness at the scalp on one side, other side is clean Saran hair is a bit dry glue inside head is sticky on one side (same side as stickiness reappeared on the outside and where you can see a very thick glob of glue in the photo), and slightly tacky on the other side She would have benefitted from soaking a good deal longer.

#mattel head glue #doll hair #doll repair

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mikareo · 1 year ago

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“ ࣭⸰ ★ GARDEN SONG . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ブルーロック ; itoshi rin x fem reader (6.8k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ rin's never been in love. he's never had the right to fall in love. so when sae is betrothed to a foreign princess, he doesn't bat an eye. you're just like every other girl who's attempted to marry his half-brother; yet, for some odd reason, he can't seem to shake you off. his heart aches thinking of you, despite how heated you make his head. he hates you. no. he loves you. no. rin doesn't know what he feels.

contains; royalty au, e2l, sfw, bastard prince!rin, princess!reader, reader is betrothed to sae, slowburn, rin calls reader names (like lowkey sexist sometimes), lots and lots of worldbuilding (bear with me please), forbidden love, swearing?, some sexual innuendos, kind of like...medieval dialogue??, tw rin literally calls reader a breeding ground like..., reader is very princess kaguya coded, some princess kaguya references near the end author's note; literally dropping this out of nowhere sorry lol :3 i think this is my best piece of writing i've like ever produced so pls give it a chance n enjoy it! i rewrote the whole thing today in present tense,, so there might be tense errors

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀this part of the fic is about 2 1/2 years old ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀originally a keiji akaashi fic,, lmk any name errors ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀extremely descriptive worldbuilding writing,, (heads up) if it's not ur thing then u likely won't enjoy reading this ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will have a second part titled swan song in the future!

It’s humorous to Rin— the perception that titles and notability have complete control over one’s life, obligations, and status. The pure and blind belief that every problem or issue can be solved with a man on the throne; a man whose birthright has always stated that that is where he belongs. Where he’ll rule and live out his days, utterly unhappy and self-sacrificing all for the benefit of people, his people, that he doesn’t even know. Strangers. Where he’ll wear a weighted crown encrusted in sapphires and jade, bound to strands of hair that’ll be ripped out if he dare defy his solemn promise to protect his kingdom. The crown must always be worn with pride and honor— the two things in the unspoken king’s code that every man of status is expected to follow— two simple things that seem impossible in Rin’s eyes.

Yes, he’s been raised according to the precept of manners and fulfillment of duties, but there’s something of the way his own father seems so distant and disconnected from the world around him— from the connections and relationships that he should be closer with— that makes the idea of being emperor completely disheartening. It’s completely and utterly horrid to Rin when he compares a life of golden chains to his dreams of travel and adventure.

It’s for the best that he’s nothing but a bastard child, then.

Prince Rin of the Itoshi family is nothing if not a black sheep. He’s a man who gentlemen aren’t envious of and whom women never lust for. He’s simply a royal with no drive, no meaning to motives or dreams, and no purpose to carry him onwards. Fortune and prosperity have never and will never be the necessary materials for his happy ending— but freedom and individualism, two contrasting colors amidst blocks of the same shade, speak his language. For in his situation, there’s no point in slaving away his natural qualities in hopes of gaining an ounce of respect from his parents.

The second born bastard child is but a shadow of a man when he stands behind the true heir—his half brother, Sae. The golden child, the pure-bred son of the true royal bloodline coming from their shared father’s genes. Sae, the future Emperor of Japan.

An emperor who’s bound to be married off to an unsuspecting princess who’s just recently come of age, and live happily ever after with their countless children. It sounds positively dreadful, doesn’t it? A life that’s been bestowed upon all of the men that have come before Sae— a life void of real love and connection, one that pleasures the theory of bountiful rulings in retrospect to genuine happiness. A life that Rin has never wanted for himself, and has been lucky enough to avoid.

But as his brother stands opposite to him, with his head held high as he’s about to meet his betrothed for the very first time, Rin feels pity.

It’s a sorrowful sight for Sae and the predicament that he’s been cornered into, but Rin knows his brother does not want his comfort. Their broken bond has been laced with new threads of sadness after years and years of competition— yet, everyone still deserves a choice in their future, in their loved ones, and that choice is being taken away from the crowned prince with every second ticking by.

Tick.

The time is now.

As the courtroom doors burst open, gold and silver accents vanish from sight. Five guests gracefully enter the palace— that of two guards, a handmaiden, a king, and the most important arrival…you. You, the princess of the neighboring royal family from the South. The royal family that will be merging with Rin’s father’s in a legal binding between you and Sae— the infamous royal wedding of the century.

“What an honor it is.” Emperor Itoshi greets your father with a firm stare.

The two men analyze one another, squaring out in a power strike before stepping forwards for a decisive handshake. As their palms clap together, Rin can see that this king is much different than his father— seemingly gentle, showcasing a non-plastic smile that’s true and bright whilst his daughter stands behind him— and Emperor Itoshi smiles back. “It’s truly spectacular to finally meet you; well, you and the princess, of course.”

At his words, your father grins and extends his arm out to you, encouraging you to step away from your trusted handmaiden and towards your future father-in-law— the man who’s retiring his lifelong title in a mere two months for the sake of passage that’s occurred for centuries. A sacred passage between fathers and sons, full blooded fathers and sons.

“Your majesty,” you bow your head.

As you curtsy in respect, your skirt drapes to the floor— the gown’s extravagance dusting the marble tiles, shimmering beneath the dense candlelight, and reflecting off the mirror and shined surfaces scattered across the ballroom. Despite the perception of beauty and grace that his father and brother seem to share for you, Rin peaks through the cracks of your facade. He can tell this regal persona you’re displaying is nothing but an act. Your stoic expression speaks all he needs to know, that everything about you is princess protocol and lacking personality, and proper folk have never been his usual cup of tea.

While he’s been ordered to entertain ladies of the court and women in the social ring for years-on-years, there wasn’t one occurrence where he actually obeyed his father’s demands— rather string along every maiden sent his way and bid them farewell after a night or two of endless, droning conversation; that and perhaps a few turns in and out of his bed chambers, which is a fact that is infamous among the palace staff. Rin disregards them, though. Tuning others out is his speciality. He uses it in daily conversation, diplomatic meetings, as well as other important matters such as the one happening now, right in front of him. Just a few feet away.

This is pointless.

Why is he being forced to be here?

It’s not like you're his bride.

Rin doesn’t even bother to tune into the presumptuous meeting of you and Sae. They don’t involve him in any way nor does he care for either of you. Typically, most others don’t give him the time of day, so who’s to say that they deserve it from him? The only thing he owes to others is his mere existence as the kingdom’s greatest mistake— all to remind the ton that there is a good and gracious prince, and they should be grateful that he is to be their ruler and not Rin.

Rin, whose birthright is to stand still and respond to his father’s wishes with no choice other than to agree.

So, as the decadence concludes with the bowing of heads and nods of approval dispersing amongst royals and servants, Rin thinks nothing of the way you and Sae stand beside one another in light conversation.

It’s desperate. The sight of you attempting to find a sliver of mutual interest or some sort of connection that binds the two of you other than royalty, makes him look in disdain. He’s grateful that he won’t be the one spending the rest of his already grey life with you, ruling the kingdom.

You aren’t really his type.

“Rin!” Sae’s voice rings through the courtroom, his eyebrows raise in expectancy as he ushers his half-brother towards his bride-to-be, wanting to introduce the two that’re going to be living in close proximity for the weeks to come. “Do come close, I’d like you to meet my bride. Perhaps you’ll find something in common and make a friend for once, for this girl can’t be another one of your whores.”

Typical Sae.

Whether the dig was intentional or unintentional, Rin grimaces at his brother’s words—pursing his lips into a tight smile and closing his eyes in an attempt to disguise his disdain with faint exhaustion.

“Apologies, my brother. I’m afraid I’m rather tired and would prefer to return to my quarters.” Rin nods towards the two of you in respect. “Do enjoy her company, yourself. I’m sure the two of you will be sharing personal physical matters in the near future— best to be comfortable.”

With a quick turn of his heel, he carries on, making his way towards the exit of the throne room, to his grand living quarters— quarters that are fit for a bastard prince such as himself. However, his rancid suggestions aren’t left unanswered, instead contemplated by you as he hears your light voice speak to his brother. Rin hates first impressions. Not because he gets anxious or worried about being disliked; but because he already knows whoever he’s speaking to already knows his history. They know the truth of his bloodline, and they’re never afraid to step on his already small ego. You’re no different.

“So the rumors are true then?”

You speak aloud in a low tone, deciding the best words to use, and phrasing your statements in the most respectful manner you can muster— not wanting to offend Sae in any way, shape, or form while you address his little brother.

“Your brother is not the royal he’s made out to be?” As your voice trails off, regret immediately overcomes you as the subject of conversation stops dead in his tracks.

A scoff escapes his lips, head tilting to the left as your remark settles beneath his skin— hitting that special little spot that enrages every buried emotion, feeling, and reaction in his heart.

Rin spins on his heel with a manic look on his face as he analyzes the regret hidden in your weary posture; which is in great contrast to the confidence and poise you’d displayed a mere seconds before— poise that appears to be only a facade, a mystery that he’d gladly uncover if he actually cared just an ounce about your wellbeing. Taking long strides towards you, ignoring the words of concern from his half-brother, he stops to a halt at your feet— giving you nowhere to avert your eyes, gaze being forced to rest on his anger and distaste only. The rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach is like an over-boiling copper pot, scorching water taunting the brink of the lid, causing it to fly off and wreak havoc elsewhere.

“Tell me, princess.” He ponders mockingly, finding great humor in how tense he was able to make you with three simple words.

“What is it that you make me out to be?”

There’s a shit-eating grin at the tip of his tongue, a taunting aura to his spite. Perhaps there’s a part of him that hopes your response will be genuine, positive to the darkness that’s held to his head on a daily basis— but no matter. He already knows what your misconceptions contain. He knows that you’d already filed him away in the troublesome cabinet at the back of your brain. It’s almost like he’s looking at an average cavern girl with great beauty. You’d be nothing without the small tiara on your head, that’s clear after determining the lack of assertiveness you assume.

…but perhaps, for once, Rin is wrong.

Not a single response emits from your mouth, the silent stare down between glaring eyes being intimidating enough; there’s absolutely no way you were going to anger the bastard prince any further. Yes, he’s considered to be nothing but a brute, but there’s something in his sparks of blue that makes you believe otherwise.

This man is an underestimated enigma, and you sure as hell aren’t going to be one of those common fools who blindly thinks otherwise.

“Your brother tells me you are a good man.” you speak enunciating each word to ensure that it gives its intended effect, that being of a derogative nature masked with falsified kindness and fortitude. “He says that your people adore you, that you are one in the same. Grounded. Of level head.” Bullshit.

Sae would never say those things.

The people would never say those things.

Rin scoffs, listening to the meaningless and unoriginal acclamations being brought to his attention, tired of having to hear them day after day by not only his fellow royals, but staff and peasants— and every other person who’s ever been fortunate enough to cross paths with the royal family, always being disappointed that he is the one to be met.

As he steps closer, wanting to see just an ounce of fear in your eyes, a frown is brought to his beautiful features. What?

In no way are you intimidated by his presence. There’s no shudder, no wince, no flinching whilst his steps grow closer and closer to your position. Just a blank stare of nothingness at his furrowed brows. You aren’t reacting like the other princesses that’ve come to attempt to wed Sae; all princesses who have come and gone due to Rin’s dark intimidation. You have spirit, a fire that’s not willing to be doused by his ocean of hatred.

“Are these your words?” he interrogates.

One of his hands reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your right ear, noticing the tomato red of your cheeks. Smirking, he thinks to himself how dismantled you likely are beneath your stoney stance. “Or are these all of the things my brother has told you? Do you have any thoughts of your own, princess?”

“No need to answer that. I already know what you think of me.” Continuing on, deaf to the attempted precautions from Sae, he leans in— his lips just ghosting over yours, and whispers his final remarks.

“You’re an open book, beautiful— and I can’t say that I'd ever want to read you.”

So, as Prince Itoshi Rin’s steps recede, the distance between you two grows with every second; and you feel a bright, red, rage bubbling deep within your heart. It’s a hot and heavy anger simmering within your soul for the sly man with dark hair— knowing full well that he will be one of the many, if not the biggest, challenge you’ll face in your newfound kingdom.

And never before, have you felt more ready to take on a challenge.

Annoyance is the most prominent emotion Rin has felt in the past two weeks.

Utter disdain at the sight of you and Sae conversing through the courtyard, picking flowers in the rose garden, and taking romantic boat rides in the nearby lake. It’s one thing to fall in love, feel your heart begin to swell at the physical presence of that one special person— but it’s another to have to witness first-hand with no relation to the budding romance at all. Having no need to be involved in the newfound relationship, yet still being forced to interact as a third party member. It’s absolute madness.

He’s somewhat happy for Sae, he truly is. There’s a sense of pride in his soul at the sight of his half-brother stepping up to the position that he’s been in preparation for for all of his life— but with that promotion comes you.

With the rise of power comes your completely lethargic presence.

Oh how he cannot stand you.

You’re just insufferable. You’re unapologetically and unequivocally insufferable to his mind. The mere sound of your voice sends him into a downward spiral. The mere thought of your existence ruins his day with ease. The slightest mention of your life-lasting role in the kingdom he’d grown up in ignites the most powerful feeling of disgust he’s ever known. The weight of his conscience burns with every snarky remark, dig, and insult that flies from your throat; your trained grace never falling scarce in melody, although your words could be considered crude by any proper lady. Words that allow you to terrorize his brain in the midst of night, keeping him awake whilst the moon becomes one with the sun.

He fully believes that you were created to be the bane of his existence…the hell to his heaven…the demon behind all corners in the everlasting game that he has the misfortune of living.

“You’re looking a little grey today, Rin.”

Oh no…

“Perhaps it’d be wise to freshen up a bit!”

Please, just shut up.

“I’m sure the servants won’t mind spending a few hours by your side in an attempt to make you look handsome!”

He hates that damn sound.

There it is. The dreadful sound of your sing-song voice ringing through the hallowed halls, emptying the painfulness of your personality in the wake of the morning dew— as for some god awful reason, you always insist on being the first person to the dining hall, wanting to mark each new day with a classic and large Japanese breakfast.

“As I’ve said many-a-times before, princess.” His head swivels to face you, eyes rolling at the skip in your step. “You are to refer to me as Prince Rin, it is what I prefer.”

“Is it your honored title or is it what you personally enjoy?” you challenge, looking over your shoulder with a mocking pout, having the knowledge that he has certainly come to despise you in the short time you’ve known one another. “Greatest apologies, my liege; but it wouldn’t be proper of me, a woman, to call you, a man, a name that isn’t of great decadence.”

“Surely you can see where my true intentions lie?”

A pained grin comes to shine on his features, shooing away the rain clouds and allowing sparse rays of phony sunshine to shower you. His teeth bite his bottom lip as he struggles to keep his curses imprisoned between his heart and his tongue. You had to have been born of a despicable nature. In no world that is right, in no paradise would anyone deserve the punishment of having to know you— as Rin believes all tyrants belong with the street rats. Not to insinuate you’re a tyrant, but to express that you’re equivalent to a sickly rodent.

“I’m not a fool, you know.” he spits, striding towards your retreating figure and grabbing you by the forearm and stopping you in your tracks. Rin smirks as his touch forces you to become overwhelmed in shock. “I see you, princess. I see through your poise and ladylike mannerisms. I can see what a lonesome and sorrowful shadow you’ll inevitably become. No wonder you’re going to be nothing but an objectified woman, an accessory to Sae’s power— a dull little doll of a woman who perhaps had moxie in her past— yet still became a lifeless puppet beneath a bejeweled tiara, stuck with the hands of judgment up her arse.”

You’re a fool to go toe-to-toe with him, of all people.

Rin doesn’t think he’s ever seen such fire behind your eyes. Fire that burns hot, raging with seething anger and humiliation. If the world were to be supernatural, there’s no doubt in his mind that you’d have set it aflame in response to his vile predictions; the castle crumbling in ash with you standing alone in its wake atop his lifeless corpse that’s burnt to a crisp.

“You are entirely incorrect, never have I shown servitude for the sake of reputation—”

“Really?” his snarling voice interrupts you, refusing to let you get a single word in amidst his long-winded attack. “Then what is it that you’re doing right now, at this very moment. No princess with a functioning brain would ever find herself working with kitchen servants to prepare breakfast for two royal families. She’d simply order them to do it on their own. Every single thing you do is in order to gain likability from those who shouldn’t ever matter. If you had a backbone of any sort, you’d understand that— and you’d understand that titles are of nothing. They’re of no relation to any true purpose or meaning.”

“Then what are you?” you retaliate, ending the lengthy trail of hurtful words and confessions spewing from his mouth. “What are you but a sorry excuse of a prince…of a son?”

“You say titles are rubbish, yet you continue to wear that horrendous crown atop your hair. You choose to take it off of your placid vanity and wear it with honor; although you aren’t much of an honorable man, are you? If you were, then perhaps you’d have a grain of respect from your people. Perhaps you would spend your days in the throne room, being in the advisory alongside your brother— your splendid and valiant brother who has done nothing but serve for the greater good— instead of dallying away with mundane and useless tasks that no one cares to notice! As why would anyone bat an eye at a mistake, when they could be focused on someone like Sae. Someone of the sun’s decadence?”

The face opposite to yours is almost unrecognizable; with his red skin, flared nostrils, and dead-set eyes, Rin looks as if he’s just murdered a man out of spite and grief. He looks as if he’s just induced a homicide and is preparing to start anew, find another victim…that victim undoubtedly being you.

He tips his head downwards, breath grazing against your upper hairline whilst his dark crown shifts in his hair— nearly falling off the front of his forehead, the large arches seem ominous and unwelcoming along with the deadly ocean depths of his eyes. The usual gem-like blues holding a more dangerous tone than a tsunami.

Rin knows he’s frightening…

…and he’s enjoying it.

“You speak on things you know nothing of.” Rin fakes a straight toothed smile; his outside appearance looking completely opposite to the growing pit at the bottom of his stomach. If the peasant’s freak show has come to the kingdom, he’ll be the opening act—a fraudulent performer behind a mask of stoney emotions. “I have freedom and opportunity. If I so wanted, I could order a horse to be prepared, ride through those gates, and never look back. There is nothing holding me here— not my father, my brother, or the people. When will you realize how little your beliefs matter to me.”

He’s boiling with rage, as are you whilst his words ring truer than you’d like to admit; each one hitting the most insecure corners of your heart. “Your meaningless and unimportant opinions in relation to my kingdom— when in reality, you’re simply another black plague that’s washed upon its shores. Another person who’s crawled out of the local sewers and weaseled their way into the generous hands of the royal family. It’s just so unfortunate...”

“...that in the end, you’re nothing but a breeding ground for my brother.”

On instinct, without a coherent thought in your mind, you feel your arm swing out— open palm flying through the air, only to land against the dark prince’s swelling cheeks— leaving not only a bright, red mark, but also an expression of identical shock on both of your faces.

Taking a step back, he reaches upwards to cup the bruise only to realize that you’ve done far more damage than a measly purple wound. You’ve managed to produce a cut, one that seeps through his scarlet blossoms and runs from the corner of his eye to the bottom of his chin; displaying the path of your anger whilst your ring-studded hand has directed itself across his face.

Raindrops of ruby pour from the injury as you stare in horror at your blood splattered engagement ring.

The shimmering diamond turns dark as the tide of rouge rolls in, encasing the notion of property beneath your outspoken and unintentional hatred for Rin; and before you’re given a chance to respond, a second to apologize, the man has already stalked off towards his living quarters— not wanting to see the look of expected satisfaction on your face at the sight of his uncontrollable winces. You don’t deserve to smug as he rests in pain— despite how you are, in truth, regretful of what you’ve done.

Though, not that he’ll ever come to that conclusion.

As why would you, someone in the same likable ranks as a weathered gargoyle have any intent of remorse. Why would you, a woman who would soon have all the power in the world to hold over his head, care about a lasting scratch; no matter how deep.

You’re a tyrant, and oh-how he loathes a tyrant.

A garden of statues would perhaps have more purpose than Rin in his current predicament— standing between his father and half-brother, listening in on the up-and-coming preparations for the royal wedding; whilst even the breaths he takes are ignored, lost in a sea of ignorance and invisibility. Emperor Itoshi gleams with pride, his mindset focused on the change of power— the crown on his head that will soon be worn by his eldest son, the one of pure royal blood. Yet, with the happiness in his heart, his smile only reaches so far; never shedding light on the tundra that consumes his bastard child.

“Rin!” The man hollers beside him as he grasps Sae’s shoulder in a love-bound strength; his god-given touch of a father being miles-on-miles away from the fragile prince who needs it most. “Look at the life your brother’s going to make for himself! Witnessing him amidst the coronation will be splendid—”

“Remind me again, father.” Rin interrupts, not wanting to hear a minute more of the relentless doting. It’s night and day, a never ending string of praise and compliments, all for the great, Sae. “Where is it that I am to be for the duration of these wondrous festivities? I don’t believe I’ve heard spoken word of that as of yet.”

A wave of ignorance acts upon itself through his father’s careless hand, dismissing the trivial concerns of his youngest son; his heart only having enough room for one soul other than himself. “I suppose you’ll stand with the castle staff, it’s likely we have a limited space at the head of the church due to the size of our friends' traveling blood.”

The castle staff?

He’s to stand with lowly servants?

Rin doesn’t know why he feels so shocked, after all, he should’ve been expecting to be cast aside with those of low status. While his title associates himself with the royal lineage, he’ll never truly be accepted into the upper class— that divide has always been inflicted upon him by his own father.

“So, I am not to be in our primary aisle? I am not to have a sliver of sight at Sae’s crowning?”

There’s a hint of spite in his tone, a spite that was usually hidden from the eardrums of others, revealing itself to the people who’d known it was lurking for decades. While Sae simply disconnects himself from the conversation, a privilege that he’s lucky to have, refusing to meet his younger brother’s eyes— their father pushes further. He’s well aware of the growing insecurities his bastard child has, but he also knows how to obliterate the subject in its entirety.

“You aren’t pure.” His voice is stoney and directed at Rin whilst gesturing to Sae, as he shakes his head at his least favorite son. “I can’t possibly have you, a boy I conceived with a gutter whore, stand at the equal sides of neighboring royalty. It would be seen as disgraceful.”

This isn’t the first time Rin’s heard these words.

“You are a disgrace.”

His father tells him these things often.

“All you are is a physical representation of my shame, boy. You’ve already embraced the darkness—it’s about time you allow the shadows to consume you whole.”

That doesn’t lessen the pain, though.

With that, Kyohei turns away and grasps Sae’s arm, leading him towards their higher chambers; ones that Rin has never been honored to walk upon. There are no glances, no solemn, not a single look back by his father to perhaps ensure that his son is somewhat okay or devastatingly upset— though, neither one is true. The only emotion racing through the thick blood in his veins is emptiness. Just the familiar feeling of being worth absolutely nothing in the eyes of the man who should see him as the world. From the beloved emperor that cares for nameless peasants and civil servants, his father is seen as just and valiant— his true nature of disdain and cruelty only being known by his immediate family.

So as he walks alone, with no council weighing down on his heart, no angel on his shoulder, and no devil in the ranks— Rin is blind to the world around him. He chooses to maintain blindness in relation to any matter that seems regal and of importance. Since, after all, who is he to state a claim on that significance…

…when he, himself, has no significance at all?

His feet move on autopilot, like a white pawn at the match’s first mark. As if there’s a knife at his throat, forcing him to play down the chessboard— across the bi-colored tiles and towards the blackened queen. Him being a simple sacrifice; one of many to ensure a victory, no matter the underlying consequences. No matter the fact of how he’ll never hear the final calling, the call of wind inducing the fallen king and victorious player— as he’ll be far too acquainted with death to rise back from the shattered stone. A small sense of relief overcomes him as he steps into the courtyard. His soul is satisfied and alleviated at the location his muscle memory has taken him. While the twilight moon is nearing, his mind is awake; fully conscious and stormy of his own self-doubt and insecurities. Two things that can typically only be dissolved by his favorite location on the castle grounds.

The secluded lake amidst the willow trees. It shimmers and glistens beneath the draping branches, and acts as a hub of life and growth. His secret spot is possibly the most beautiful feature in the kingdom, at least Rin feels so; with its evening flowers and low-light critters, the soft grass and blossoming lily pads, and the perfect view of Andromeda— it’s his safe haven.

A safe haven that he prefers to keep to himself.

A place that no other person has stepped foot in for as long as he’d known of its existence.

A place that has just now been infiltrated by the disguised cockroach that is you.

“You torment me day and night within the walls of my own home; yet you still find it necessary to follow me as if you’re a lost duckling during ungodly hours.” he deadpans, shaking his head at the sight of your furrowed brows and taking a seat at the bay. Rin sighs deeply as his calloused skin comes in contact with the grassy fibers. “A proper princess would be in her chambers by the time midnight struck. It’s nearly 12:30, princess.”

Why are you looking at him like that?

The strange look on your face is laced with some sort of emotion that he’s never seen before. It's buried beneath the layers of organic makeup and skin. He can only assume it’s something similar to discomfort, and despite your intentional mask being well kept— he can see through anyone. He has the rare ability to understand the thickest of thieves, as he, himself, is the biggest phony of them all.

The sparse shadows soften your usually antagonized features in his mind, a more human appearance alleviating in its wake; and Rin swears he sees a tear drip from your right eye, swimming down your cheeks, and dropping off at your chin into the dewey land— becoming one with nature’s true beauty. The earth embraces your unexplained sadness with open arms, blowing the willow branches around your body. In a strange way, Rin thinks this is the first time he’s truly seen you as what you are. A princess. You’re beautiful beneath the moonlight, but perhaps it isn’t your physical beauty that’s catching his eye…but your emotional vulnerability.

“Dearest apologies, my liege.” you mutter, voice droning on with not a sliver of spite in your tone; only exhaustion. “I’m afraid that I’m not much of a proper princess, tonight. If you’d prefer it, I’d be more than welcome to leave you be— perhaps I’d regain some of my lost dignity in doing so.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes grazing your posture, the physical habits you display on the daily are missing beneath the moon’s kisses. All that’s left in its disappearance is a small-spoken and sadness-consumed girl. A girl that’s tired and painstakingly sick of the expectations and predecessors that she’s been forced to live up to by birth…and as much as he hates to admit it, even just to himself, he’s found a similar identity in you. A familiarity he’s never quite noticed before.

“Stay.” His voice is so faint that even he is surprised at his statement.

“Perhaps we’ll both freeze to death.” he continues on, feigning the annoyance he typically spits in your direction. “I’d quite enjoy seeing your ghastly face covered in ice.”

While Rin believes his offering to be nothing out of the ordinary, your expression tells otherwise. It’s clear that you’re able to read through the misconceptions he’s trying to give you; looking straight into his eyes with an amused gleam and giggling softly in response. He’s never made a princess laugh before— usually the only girls he spends one-on-one time with are the tavern girls who wish to sleep with a prince— and he’d be a liar to say he didn’t like the sound. You have a beautiful laugh and Rin hangs onto every second it continues to carry through the wind. Perhaps he’s been misjudging you just as you misjudged him. Perhaps you’re not like the others.

“I’m sure you would, Rin.” you smile, sitting down next to him on the plush comfort of uncut grass. “But I have had such an awful day, that I don’t think there’s anything you can say to me that will make it worse.” An awful day?

“May I ask what happened?” Why does he suddenly care?

“Yes, you may.” Why do you want to tell him?

A sigh breathes out of your lips, whistling in the wind and getting lost in the space of stars. “I’m a lousy princess.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. There’s no way that you, little miss prim and proper, are a bad princess. You’re practically the model that every father bases his daughter on when raising her in a royal setting; he knows because he’s met his fair share of truly lousy princesses. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” you’re not looking at him anymore, rather at the constellation ceiling above you. The stars reflect themselves in your eyes, and if you weren’t a princess on earth, Rin would think you were a gift from the moon himself. “I could barely keep up with Prince Sae today. We had dance rehearsals for the wedding, and our instructor is so strict that I can barely breathe around her without being reprimanded. I couldn’t even memorize the basic steps, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have practically been training for this duty for my entire life and I can’t remember a few dances? I’m not fit to be a queen. I just turned eighteen, I’ve barely lived at all. How can I protect an entire kingdom, when I cannot even fend for myself?”

“Prince Sae is perfect. He’s amazing. I can’t possibly be enough to be his wife. I can’t live up to those standards. It’s impossible.”

Suddenly, all of the broken pieces seem to come together. They’re swept by a broom, one that the moon king holds above the two of you, as your shattered stars of insecurities collide into one pile of stardust. Rin sees himself in you. He sees himself from a perspective that he’s never known before. Never in his life has he met someone who understands and agrees that royal duties are impossible; usually common folk and other royals tell him what an honor it is to be of a royal bloodline. They don’t care or consider his feelings on having to be held to a higher standard, while also being at a disadvantage as a bastard child. You are different. He knows you won’t judge him for these fears he has; a small part of him trusts you now.

“My brother is a golden boy.” Rin smiles at you, and it’s the first genuine smile he’s ever given someone. “Please do not take it too personally if you cannot live up to his excellence.”

You gaze at him in appreciation, scooting slightly closer while keeping a healthy balance that wouldn’t ensue romantic implications. “Thank you. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you, though. How do you handle all of this? I can barely keep my head above water.”

Wow…you’re the first person who’s ever asked how he feels.

“It’s difficult,” he explains, “but manageable. I’ve only ever known this life, so I’m quite used to being at the end of the line so-to-speak. My brother— I’m not sure why I even call him that, he’s not my brother, I’m sorry. My half-brother is the kingdom’s blessing. He’s my father’s blessing. He’s perfect like you said; but his destiny isn’t his own. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Your head shakes in confusion, not quite understanding where his story is going.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never spoken of these feelings before; at least not out loud to someone other than my own mirror.” His human instinct shuffles himself closer to you, wanting that physical comfort whilst knowing that he can never have it. “I’m not unhappy that I am not the one to be emperor. I would rather be a bastard, because at least I have freedom to run away one day without worrying about feeding the masses and avoiding war. I can leave this kingdom and not have to think about my father or Sae ever again. That’s the one luxury I have always had— and it’s the one thing that I look forward to. I’m so sorry that you don’t have that same privilege.”

Nothing comes as a response and Rin feels a little concerned, that is until your soft voice reaches his ears.

“I’m sorry for being so difficult towards you.”

You’re apologizing?

“I don’t regret anything, though.”

That makes more sense.

Another laugh bubbles up from the pits of his soul, setting off the volcano of amusement that’s been dormant for so long. “You’re a tyrant princess, my kingdom should be more weary of you.”

You giggle beside him, “Tyrant princess sounds more fun than disciplined empress.”

Maybe he’s gone mad or maybe the chilling breeze has gotten to his brain and made him delusional, but Rin feels his heart pounding— and not in the familiar way of anger and aggression. This rapid heartbeat is something warmer…fonder…gentler. If he’s not mistaken, he believes it to be the warmth that comes with falling in love; something that he’s only read about and wished for when he does eventually run away from home. However, he never believed he’d find that feeling within the palace walls— especially with you, whom he despised prior to this night. He promised himself he’d never fall for another royal, but his destiny is shaping itself in ways that are unpredictable.

He should thank the man in the moon.

Rin stands, dusting off his pants, before offering you a hand. It’s an earnest gesture, one that you cannot ignore, and he’s vulnerable with his sincerity. “I can’t promise that I hold any skills near to my brother, but I swear on my soul that I won’t push you into that lake if you give me one dance.”

“Just one?” your tone is teasing, yet you accept his offer. The feeling of your hand in his sparks flickers of jealousy in Rin’s mind. Why is Sae the one who gets to hold you? It isn’t fair. “If you push me in that filthy water, I’ll give you a matching scar…”

“...right there.”

One of your fingers softly grazes his cheek, the spot underneath his right eye and flicks upwards, brushing against his thick eyelashes, before you lace your hands around his neck. You sway together, with the moonlight showering its stars down upon you, blessing you with well-wishes from the galaxy— and drift away from the worries of royalty and betrothals. Rin is miles from the anger that nestled itself inside of his heart, freezing it and shrinking it until he no longer knew what the emotion felt like. You’ve melted that ice. You’ve found a crack and broken the cycle of rage he’s so accustomed to…and he’s grateful.

For this is the first time he’s ever felt loved…

…if only you were his…

…but you aren’t.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will have a second part titled swan song in the future!

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zackprincebooks · 2 months ago

Text

There Are Many Benefits To Being a Medicine Seller

When the bumblebee is away, the hummingbird will play. The Ooku is a perfect place to hunt mononoke, and the ladies are only too happy to tell the Medicine Seller their problems. Takes place after the first movie, no spoilers! (No ships or smut, but contains suggestive themes and nudity. Reference to suicide.)

Want to read this on Ao3? Click here!

The ladies of the Ooku all have the same goal: to catch the eye of the Emperor. He makes his way through his garden of painted flowers, wondering if he shall pluck a lily or a rose. He is a bumblebee, and from his visit to a blushing bloom, sweet honey will flow.

All the flowers cluster together in a vain attempt to capture the bee’s attention. They paint their petals with brighter colors and anoint themselves with aromatic pollen in the hopes of attracting a visit. They tear each other by the leaves and grow tall to block other flowers from receiving sun and rain. After all, if the bee stops visiting, the flowers will wilt.

Wilted flowers don’t look pretty in a garden. They will be pulled out by the roots and replaced with another. Some flowers don’t even bloom before they are pulled. Such is the way of the Ooku.

But if a bee cannot be wooed, then a flower may be refreshed with the visit of a hummingbird. He is heralded with the smell of herbs and incense to calm the nerves. They bend in his wake, seeking his attention. His black wings, spotted with bright colors, are easy to spot among the pastel flowers.

The Medicine Seller flits about the Ooku from flower to flower. Dire matters of health are left to the imperial physicians, but for a skinned knee or a rambunctious stomach, the Medicine Seller is conveniently on hand. Unlike the coldness of the emperor’s gaze, the nervous glances of the guards, or the leering of “special guests,” the Medicine Seller’s yellow eyes are welcoming. He doesn’t linger on the exposed throats or wrists of his patients, but he holds them gently and asks about their day. One would expect his pallid hands to be as chilly and rigid as ice, but they are soft and warm.

When was anything in the Ooku soft and warm?

Perhaps there was something supernatural about his presence. The story of the Medicine Seller flushing a mononoke spread through the Ooku like wildfire; each flame brighter and more lavish than the last.

“I heard from Lady Hana that he pulled the mononoke from the spirit world with his bare hands!” How convenient that Lady Hana was absent from this conversation.

“And I watched him jump off the roof to stab the mononoke with his sword,” Lady Tsubaki said breathlessly. She was down with a fever on the day of the battle and only saw the aftermath.

The Medicine Seller denied any and all acts of heroism. “Of course, I’m just a humble Medicine Seller,” he insisted with a bow of his head before tending to his patient.

So far, the hummingbird escaped the sting of the bumblebee by virtue of his humility. No matter how often the hummingbird visited the garden, he could not produce honey. The Medicine Seller made himself scarce whenever the Emperor visited the Ooku and always showed his pass upon request, even if he had shown it multiple times that day. He was the picture of a perfect guest.

But some ladies longed for the Medicine Seller to be more than a mere guest. Perhaps one day, the Emperor would elevate the Medicine Seller to an imperial physician and appoint him a wife from the Ooku. These theories were discouraged, as it only invited arguments between the ladies about who would be the Medicine Seller’s wife; but everyone dreamed of it when he strolled through the garden and left satisfied flowers in his wake.

There are many benefits to being a medicine seller. ----------------------------------------------------------------

Akari had never been to the Medicine Seller before. She preferred to have her needs met by the imperial physicians. But with two concubines pregnant at the same time, the physicians have their hands full.

“What can I do for you, Lady Akari?” The Medicine Seller smoothly sits in front of Akari, his hands in his lap. The fragrant scent surrounding him is a balm after smelling the stale air of the Ooku, and Akari breathes deeply. The rolling boil in her belly settles down to a gentle simmer.

“Good afternoon, Medicine Seller. I’ve found that I’m having trouble sleeping lately, and it’s beginning to interfere with my duties.” He makes a soft ah that sends Akari’s heart fluttering.

“I can brew you something that will help you sleep, but it would help if you could pinpoint the reason for your troubled nights.” Approaching the cabinet that he carries with him, the Medicine Seller begins opening the drawers and rifling through the assorted herbs and spices.

Akari falls quiet. She kept her nightmares a secret even from the other ladies and brushed off their snide comments about the dark circles underneath her eyes. But when the Medicine Seller turns back to her with a mortar and pestle in hand, his curious hum reverberates in her ribcage.

“I started having nightmares about a week ago. They’re always about the same thing. I’ll be laying in my futon when I turn over…”

Her lower lip trembles. There’s a clunking sound before the Medicine Seller’s hands lift hers. Akari’s sleeves slide down until the bruises around her wrists are revealed to his concerned gaze. “Someone has been hurting you,” he murmurs, and Akari lets out a choked sob.

“In my dreams, a monster breaks into my room. It holds me by my wrists and tears off my kimono. No matter how loud I scream and struggle, no one comes to save me.” Tears dribble down her face and the Medicine Seller offers her a handkerchief.

“Does the monster violate you?” His voice is soft, and when Akari blots her eyes, the pinched brows and downturned lips of the Medicine Seller comes into clarity.

“No. It eats my flesh, and every night it eats more and more. I’m afraid of what will happen when it eats all of me!” Akari breaks down, sobbing into the handkerchief. The Medicine Seller allows her to cry, remaining quiet but continuing to hold her hand. When Akari comes back to earth, his thumb is rubbing the back of her hand.

“Lady Akari, would you please disrobe for me?”

She falters when he asks, and he allows her to withdraw her hand from his grasp. Despite her shaking hands, the Medicine Seller doesn’t offer to help Akari undress as she unties the many knots and ribbons of her kimono. Long lines of creamy skin are revealed to the Medicine Seller, violently interrupted by black and purple bite marks focused around Akari’s stomach and breasts. The drag marks from the upper incisors indicated a wolf, but the sheer size of the bite marks indicated a wolf…that was as tall as a man.

There’s a long stretch of silence as the Medicine Seller inspects the bite marks on Akari. A bead of sweat snakes its way from the shell of Akari’s ear and down the nape of her neck between the strands of her red hair.

“This is very concerning, Lady Akari. I will prepare a poultice for these wounds immediately, and brew tea for you to help you sleep. But more will need to be done before your nightmares can be fully vanquished.” His voice strains in urgency but remains soft as he returns to the portable cabinet and begins pulling different herbs and spices.

“Is this a mononoke?” Akari whispers, her eyes darting around in case her words summoned the creature. The Medicine Seller places a handful of herbs into the mortar and pestle with a spoonful of oil.

“Yes, most certainly.” The Medicine Seller points to a little device that’s shaped like a pretty butterfly or perhaps a bird. Akari watches it jingle as it turns to one side. “This scale measures the distance of a mononoke, and it kept alerting me to one in the Ooku. But I couldn’t find it despite my diligent searching throughout the day.”

“Because it was active at night?” Akari ventures, and heat spreads through her belly as the Medicine Seller smiles at her with all of his pointed teeth.

“Because it was active at night!” His giddy voice resonates within Akari, making her heart dance. The sharpness of his teeth doesn’t frighten her; instead, Akari is overcome with the desire to run her fingers along their edges. “The mononoke waited until we were all asleep before hunting.”

The Medicine Seller sets aside his pestle, crusted with herbs and oil. Akari hadn’t even noticed he’d been pounding them into a fine paste. “May I apply this to your wounds, Lady Akari? It may be cold to the touch.”

It’s only now that Akari is undressed in front of the Medicine Seller, the top half of her kimono folded over the bottom half. They have privacy in Akari’s chambers, but every sound in the Ooku is suddenly amplified: Lady Asa and Lady Sakura chatting in the hallway, maids cleaning the room upstairs, and the plinking of water into the great well.

“Yes please, Medicine Seller.” His head declines in acknowledgement and he kneels in front of Akari, dipping two fingers into the mortar to gather some of the paste. Akari braces herself for the chill of the paste, but she only feels the warmth of his hands. He assiduously applies the paste to her wounds, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

“How does it feel?”

“A little cold,” Akari lies, “and it tingles.”

“Good; that means it is working. Please bear with me for a little longer, Lady Akari.”

His hands massage the paste into the tender skin of her belly and ribs. When the Medicine Seller is satisfied, he will wipe his hands and use strips of cloth to cover the wounds. He dips his index and forefinger into the mortar for another round, pausing. “Ah, pardon me.”

Akari’s breath hitches as his fingers brush the underside of her right breast. Her nipples stiffen from the contact, and Akari feels as though she should apologize for her body’s natural responses. The Medicine Seller doesn’t grope her as a lesser man would, but continues massaging the paste and lay the strip of cloth on top.

When he reaches for her left breast, Akari whimpers. She tries to catch it between her teeth but it slips out and hangs in the air between them. And of course, it had to happen during a lull in the activity around the Ooku. Surely the girls in the room above her will hear the shameful noise coming from Akari, and when the Medicine Seller leaves her room, they will know who caused it.

She is only grateful that the Medicine Seller doesn’t say anything, though his yellow eyes flicker and his eyebrows bounce. Akari flushes as red as her hair and successfully clamps down on the whine that bubbles in her throat when the Medicine Seller withdraws his hand one final time to apply a bandage. He turns away, allowing Akari the farce of privacy so she can put her kimono back together.

“You said the nightmares started one week ago.” The Medicine Seller’s voice is throatier when he speaks again, and the warmth that started in Akari’s belly moves to her groin. “What changed one week ago?”

��I moved into this room. Lady Himari originally stayed here, but the Emperor promoted her to concubine.” Akari struggles to keep her voice level, even after her kimono is fully tied. “She left me some of her belongings, however. They’re in those cabinets over there.”

“May I?”

“Yes, of course.”

Akari is grateful for the distance between them as he opens the cabinets. “My, my, such finery! Did Lady Himari come from a wealthy family?” The Medicine Seller withdraws a dark blue kimono in luxurious silk, decorated with golden sparrows and pink flowers.

“Not wealthy enough to afford such goods. I know she had a lover from the lower court, but he stopped visiting when she became a concubine. I believe his name was Lord Kentaro?” Akari watches as the Medicine Seller rifles through fans, jewelry, and more kimonos. His own kimono is tied in such a way that the nape of his neck is exposed and whisps of white hair dance on his pale skin.

If Akari bit down on him, would he whimper, too?

A thudding noise from his portable cabinet jars Akari out of her reverie of sinking her teeth into the meat of his neck. “Medicine Seller! Something is—”

“Lady Akari.” His warm breath cascades across her blazing cheeks; he was able to get in front of her while she was distracted. The Medicine Seller’s gaze demands Akari’s attention, and she gives it to him with both hands. “Would you be able to stay in a friend’s room? You cannot sleep here tonight. I will lure the mononoke.”

There is a tiny smear of purple paint that was transferred from his upper lip to his lower lip. Akari wants to wipe her thumb along his lip, past his lips and let him suck on it.

“Yes, I can stay in Lady Sakura’s room tonight.”

“If you need to lie, tell her I recommended you sleep in another room to help with your nightmares. I will happily be your scapegoat.”

“Thank you.”

Lady Sakura winds up not asking any questions. She was giddy over the idea of having Akari sleep over, and invited four other girls to have a party. The sake flows, the snacks are plentiful, and Akari forgets about the wolf creeping in her nightmares. By the time they sleep in the futon—which is many futons pushed together—Akari is warm and fuzzy, and falls asleep with a smile on her face. ----------------------------------------------------------------

The Medicine Seller can tell why the Emperor took Lady Himari as a concubine: her hair is long and lustrous, her eyes are bright and keen, and her voice is as clear as a bell. Maids pour them tea and immediately scurry out of sight, no doubt pressing their ears to the wall to eavesdrop.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Lady Himari. I understand you have a busy schedule, so I will try to be brief. This is concerning the room that you once occupied.”

Lady Himari blinks slowly as she considers what she should say. “I don’t understand—Lady Akari lives in that room now; why would it be of any concern to me?” Her head tilts to the side in a perfect picture of confusion.

“Because Lady Akari has reported experiencing strange occurrences in your old room. Did anything happen while you were sleeping there?” The Medicine Seller tries to keep his words as inconspicuous and innocuous as possible. If he trips an alarm, Lady Himari may remove him from her presence, making his investigation that much harder.

Luckily, either the Medicine Seller hasn’t alerted her to his true intentions, or she is curious enough to uncover his intentions, because she continues talking to him. “While I am concerned that Lady Akari is having issues in my old room, I can’t imagine that it would be because of something that happened while I was staying there.” But the way she pauses when she lifts her teacup to her mouth signifies weakness.

The Medicine Seller waits until Lady Himari takes a sip from her tea before he asks, “nothing regarding Lord Kentaro?”

While she doesn’t give the Medicine Seller the satisfaction of spitting out her tea, she does choke and cough on it. He gives Lady Himari a moment to thump her chest with her fist until she can compose herself, though her face is still red from the exertion.

“I’m sorry, d-did you say Lord Kentaro?”

He must tread lightly. If anything he says suggests that Lady Himari may have continued her relationship with Lord Kentaro after she became a concubine, she may appeal to the Emperor to revoke his pass to the Ooku.

“If he left something in your room before you moved out, it may attract bad energy. He may have tried to attack you.”

“That’s not possible.” The crease in her brow flattens and Lady Himari picks up her teacup again with a coy smile. “Lord Kentaro is dead. He died a week ago.”

“Oh?” While the Medicine Seller tries to maintain his composure, excitement ripples through him. “Are you sure? I understand information in the palace takes its time before it is passed into the Ooku. What may have merely been an illness may have been reported as a death.”

“I’m quite certain; I’m the one who told him to kill himself. He begged me not to accept the Emperor’s designation as a concubine and to marry him instead. I laughed in his face and told him that he was stupid if he thought being his wife was a bigger honor than being responsible for the future of the nation. I was so ashamed to see him on his hands and knees that I told him to just kill himself and stop being a disappointment.”

“I see, thank you for enlightening me to the truth of the situation, Lady Himari.”

The Medicine Seller makes some light conversation with Lady Himari before thanking her for the tea and returning to Lady Akari’s room. They will call for lights out soon, so he makes sure that no one is around when he closes the screen. If anyone comes running, they may divert the mononoke’s attention away from the Medicine Seller and onto them, instead.

Removing his shoes and placing his cabinet in a corner of the room, the Medicine Seller lays down in Lady Akari’s bed and pulls the cover over his head until not a strand of hair is visible. He hears the call for lights out, the thundering footsteps and slamming doors as everyone rushes to their rooms, and then the hushed whispers as the lights go out one by one until the Ooku is plunged into darkness.

And he waits. His shoulders twitch at the slightest creak of wood or a muffled snore, ready to bolt upward at the first provocation. The timing has to be perfect or else he’ll lose his chance to strike.

The creaking above him settles as the girls fall asleep. The guards finish their patrol and move on to another section. The Medicine Seller’s eyes begin to droop—

And then the door slides open.

Through his blanket, the Medicine Seller watches as a looming shadow fills the room. Glowing red light pierces the darkness, and a growling sound shakes the floor and ceiling.

A clawed paw approaches the bed, but before the mononoke can pull down the blanket, the Medicine Seller throws his blanket at the creature, covering its face. While it struggles with the blanket, he runs over to the screen door and slams it shut.

He gets a good look at the mononoke as it pulls the blanket from its slavering face: a massive black wolf dotted with red eyes, and a thick cord wrapped around its neck that drags on the floor. The cord cuts into his neck, dyeing it a dark red color.

“Normally I would have some compassion for you: the Emperor takes the woman you love as a concubine and she tells you to kill yourself. That’s going to break anyone’s heart.”

The Medicine Seller and the mononoke begin circling each other; the mononoke licking its drooling chops and the Medicine Seller thumbing his sword.

“But then you waited until I was asleep to attack a harmless, innocent woman. Not only are you a coward, but you’re an idiot, too. You couldn’t even attack Lady Himari.”

Unable to take the stabs to its already-wounded pride, the mononoke lets out an eardrum-shattering howl and charges.

The Medicine Seller draws his blade. ------------------------------------------------------

“Good afternoon, Lady Akari. How may I assist you today?”

The Medicine Seller didn’t expect to see Lady Akari after he dispatched the mononoke two nights ago, though it’s possible she continued to have nightmares due to lingering energy in her room. But the circles under her eyes are gone and there is a spring in her step. There’s also a wrapped package in her hand that smells divine.

“No need to assist me, Medicine Seller. You have done more than enough for me. My nightmares have ceased and it feels as though I’m sleeping better than ever before. I cannot thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me, but Lady Asa said you enjoyed rice balls with hoba miso.” She presents the package to him, and when he takes it, it’s still warm.

“This is a princely gift indeed, Lady Akari. My mouth is watering already.”

He is keenly aware of her brown eyes focused tightly on his mouth. When he licks his lips, Lady Akari’s throat bobs and her soft cheeks flush. “I should see you in the next day or two to check on your bruises and replace the bandages. Please inform me before then if they give you any problems.”

The flush on her cheeks deepens until he cannot tell where her hair ends and where her face starts. “Yes, Medicine Seller.”

They part ways, the package of rice balls feeling heavy in the Medicine Seller’s hands. He is not allowed to pluck the flowers in the garden, and he would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders. But as long as the ladies of the Ooku desire him, they will confide in him their secrets: their fears, their worries, their wants, and their nightmares.

Their shape.

Their truth.

Their reason.

The Ooku is a terrible place. Resentment and bitterness choke the air and the ladies climb over each other to feel a fresh breeze on their faces. Mononoke breed in the shadows like hens in the henhouse, but a fox has wormed his way in.

The Medicine Seller only intended to slay the mononoke of the Ooku, but his presence has taken on a dual purpose. If he can give these ladies some comfort—any comfort—then he may prevent the birth of new mononoke.

Opening the package, he unwraps a steaming rice ball and takes a bite.

There are many benefits to being a Medicine Seller.

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drunkenskunk · 23 days ago

Text

Second verse, same as the first

Tuera sat in her dorm room at the College in silent contemplation, fingers laced together in front of her face. The terminal on the desk next to her silently hummed, the information rapidly scrolling across the screen bathing her darkened room in a pale green glow. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts as she tried to determine exactly how in the hell she got here.

- - -

The literal answer was obvious, of course: she had arrived late to the Matriculation Ball, the commencement of the academic year here at the Karrakin Cavalry College, all because she discovered the casket containing her NHP co-pilot was missing when she had actually arrived hours earlier. She ended up wasting so much time trying to track him down before realizing that Phyacair wasn't even on the planet and was still en-route to the College that by the time she arrived at the campus proper, she wasn't even unfashionably late, she was simply late.

Stranger still, there were no less than four other newcomers to the College who had arrived at roughly the same time she had: Atreyu-Cannamos, a visibly exhausted and extremely stressed-looking noble from house Cannamos of Stone; Caelan Frostfounder, a gene-modded arctic fox noble from an entirely different house within Stone; Delamar Leonasius, a brash and arrogant noble from Sand; and finally, Persephone Helsing, another gene-mod with orange fur and three tails who had apparently only become ennobled a few days prior. Innocent as the new-fallen snow, that one; she'll likely be eaten alive in this place if she's not careful. Either way, because of their simultaneous late arrival, everyone, from the faculty to the other students and anyone else witness, had decided that the five of them must have done it on purpose. The quintet were now, effectively, lumped together in the eyes of the school.

Tuera hadn't initially wanted anything to do with them, truth be told. She was here for one very specific reason, and getting tied up in the inevitable petty, personal, and political games of other students was not on her agenda. She had tried to take the blame entirely and focus all the ire of the Archchancellor on herself. With the one exception of Persephone, the others were obviously keen social climbers, and Tuera assumed that if she could get them off scot-free, then they would've felt no need to deal with her further. After all, why associate with an obvious shit-magnet when there's political clout to be gained? That way, she'd be free to pursue her own goals unhindered. Besides, whatever passed for “punishment” at this academy would amount to nothing, comparatively speaking. She had endured far worse in the past... and the backup plan was still in play.

But it didn't work. The others assumed that she had “fallen on her sword” for their benefit, and such a “noble self sacrifice” for people she didn't know and had just met was... well, it was no use arguing at that point. So she decided to roll with it. And she rolled with it (and them) all the way into the nearby gardens, as the five of them came face to face with an unpleasant sight.

In the shadow of one of the many statues of Passacaglia, a large and domineering woman in a traditional Khayradi military uniform was savagely kicking a helpless girl in the gut repeatedly. The victim was lying on the stone path, half-curled in a ball, unable to do anything except feebly cry out in pain. Lord Praya-Cannamos, the Ironhanded, First Daughter and Graven Heir of Stonelord Hyderad-Cannamos, daughter of the man trying to maneuver himself into the position of Prime Baron, was visibly, obviously, and obnoxiously drunk, beating the shit out of someone who simply couldn't fight back.

Typical, really...

- - -

Many years ago...

The crack of an armored fist striking a young face echoed across the training yard. A child, perhaps no older than 14 years old, collapsed into a heap on the cold stone. Their face hit the ground hard, and they coughed out a splatter of blood from their nose and mouth. A shadowy figure loomed over the child, their presence practically overwhelming in its sheer oppressive nature. When the man spoke, it was with a voice that would never ask, when he could command.

“Again,” Venthrax boomed. The child struggled to get off the ground, their limbs visibly shaking as blood trickled out of their open mouth. “Get up.”

“Buh... I... I can't...”

“Death does not wait for you to be ready!” Venthrax delivered a heavy kick to the child, sending them tumbling. “Death is not courteous or fair!” He strode forward and reached down to grab the child by the hair, lifting them up with no effort. “And death has already claimed most of your fellows.” A swift punch was aimed at the child's chest, sending them flying to the ground once more. They coughed and spluttered, writhing in agony.

“What will be your choice, Thirteen?” Venthrax did not advance at first, folding his arms across his chest. “Will you find the strength to fight back? Or will you continue to lie there, swallowing that blood in your mouth, before joining the rest of your clutch in the dirt?”

The child rolled off their back with significant effort, struggling to push off the ground, but shaking hands slipping with every attempt. Venthrax snorted.

“Pity.” He began to slowly advance. “After all this time, I had higher hopes for you, Thirteen. But it seems you must disappoint me one last time...”

An armored fist came hurtling toward the child like a meteor... only to come to an unexpected stop. His fist was held in place by a pair of quaking hands: struggling, but no longer willing to yield. The child stared up at Venthrax with grit teeth and eyes full of unrestrained hatred. Tears streamed down their cheeks, mingling with the trails of blood. Venthrax let out a single dark chuckle and drew back his fist; the child got back on their feet, both hands closed into white-knuckle balls of fury.

“Better.” Venthrax growled, motioning for the child to come forward. “Now. Again.”

- - -

Tuera had stepped forward with the others to break up the violence, but things quickly got out of hand. One of Praya's companions was some weasel-faced noble from Sand, and the barbed insults being instantly thrown by Delamar clearly meant he knew that one. And as for Atreyu... well. The two of them weren't just from the same house, they and Praya were cousins. There was shouting and pleading coming from Atreyu, almost on the verge of tears, and Praya was clearly not receptive to a single word being said. While the two bullies were distracted, Caelan managed to help the hapless victim up off the ground... and in the back, far behind, Persephone was frozen like an animal in headlights.

Tuera caught a glance at the weapon sheathed on Praya's hip: an exceptionally deadly monowire blade. Her hand was resting on the hilt, and the longer Atreyu got in her face – a feat, considering she was easily a full head taller – and shouted themselves hoarse, the closer her fingers inched to wrapping around the handle. If something wasn't done and soon, there could be bloodshed, and that would mean investigations, and that could cause all manner of problems for Tuera down the line...

She tried to pull them away, urging Atreyu to let her handle this, but it was no use, as they were clearly far too distraught and hysterical. However, Praya's companion – apparently a “Count Argo” or something or other – having realized that they were outnumbered by about two to one was urging Praya to withdraw. Tuera wasn't sure if this drunken stone-headed lout of a bully would even bother listening to the weasel pulling at her arm, but Praya did eventually turn on her heel. Though not before sneering at Atreyu one last time:

"I must've mistaken you for someone I used to know."

Tuera internally let out a sigh of relief as the bullies scurried off... and then immediately tensed up again as Atreyu ran after them regardless. Delamar turned to her with a wicked grin.

“Shall we go hunting, then?” he asked. Tuera managed to keep up the façade, and returned the smile in kind. Like it or not – and she very much did not – she had become tangled in this mess. There had to be some way to gain control of this rapidly deteriorating situation, somehow...

“Lead on.”

- - -

Many, many years ago...

The ten year old strapped into the mech's cockpit was struggling to keep their composure as everything spiraled out of control. Tracers and energy lances burned the air all around, while aerospace fighters screamed across the skies overhead. Explosions intermittently lit up the darkened battlefield, each one a brief, dirty star. Alarm klaxons blared, and the cockpit radio was a cacophonous mess of harsh static and harsher screams.

“Thirteen!” a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Eyes up, One-Three! We've gotta move!”

“Roger that, Six-One,” the child replied with practiced precision, urging their war machine forward into the roiling mass of chaos ahead of them. The heads up display lit up, as targets appeared in the ruins just up ahead: an armored vehicle column, bearing on their position. The child thumbed open a cover to hit a switch, and several thumps from above rocked the cockpit. A stream of missiles rained down on the tanks, and the mech barreled straight through the rapidly expanding blossoms of fire and shrapnel.

“Twenty Two and Nineteen are down!” Six-One's voice crackled over the radio again. “I say again: Two-Two and One-Nine are down! Unknown hostile flanking our position! Request imme-”

Another explosion, larger and much closer, and Six-One's radar signature disappeared. The child wheeled their machine around, aiming the heavy rifle in the mech's hands, knowing full well that nothing could be done, but no escape was possible.

Fractal patterns of reality, shattering in midair like shards of glass, followed in the wake of something moving too fast to see. The child's rifle barked, sending a shock through the machine with every burst of lead downrange... but nothing happened. Every round seemed to disappear just as it exited the barrel. Rapid maneuver jets kicked in: a last-ditch effort to reposition...

Something screamed, and the world spun out of control. A sharp pain sliced into the child's left leg, as sympathetic sensors registered the destruction of one of the mech's limbs. Another scream: loud, ugly, almost alien in its hideous, shrill shriek. Something sliced through the front hatch, just barely deep enough to penetrate, bisecting the monitor in a clean line of molten metal to send a mass of sparks and shrapnel ricocheting through the cockpit. The war machine began to fall, tumbling down far longer than it should have, and it gave the child just barely enough time to initiate an emergency shut down.

There was a crash, and everything went cold.

- - -

It didn't take long for Tuera and Delamar to catch up. Atreyu had once again confronted Praya and Argo, this time on a set of stone steps next to the hedge maze, leading to another part of the gardens. Tuera wasn't entirely sure what Atreyu was planning to accomplish with this display, but it was clear they weren't thinking straight; in between the hysterical sobs and incoherent pleading, Tuera was able to infer that they had apparently been close friends as children, and this was their first meeting in almost ten years.

The scene played out much the same as it had moments before; second verse, same as the first. At least this time, Atreyu was the one to leave instead of Praya. Tuera wasn't sure if they'd finally come to their senses or not, but at least bloodshed could be avoided on their first day at the College.

And then, the weasel spoke up.

“You realize, of course, that these grave insults you and your fellows have leveled against the most honorable Lord Praya-Cannamos, the Ironhanded, must be settled through glorious Pankration Mekani. Arrangements shall be made with the Dean. It is a point of honor, I'm sure you understand.”

Honor.

For a split second, Tuera could feel her blood boil, and her hand came to rest – almost instinctively – on the basket hilt of one of the pair of cavalry sabres resting on her hips. She could almost hear a voice inside her head, urging her to take the wretched bullies down a peg or three; to ask “Why wait?” and challenge Praya to a duel of blades right then and there. The monowire sword was exceptionally dangerous and potentially lethal, even in unskilled hands, it was true... but there were techniques to deal with it in a fight. And besides, if Praya's drunken, slack-jawed expression was any indication, she'd be just as clumsy with that sword as she had been with her boots. Tuera could take her.

And then the split second passed.

“Of course,” Tuera said, the grip on her sword relaxing as she slipped her mask back in place. She glanced down with an obvious motion of her head, and Argo followed her gaze: to a small bloodstain on the tip of one of Praya's boots. With a smirk, she looked back up, staring him dead in the face. “Wouldn't want to cause a scene, now, would we? That would be embarrassing.”

Argo bristled, hurrying Praya away into deeper parts of the garden...

- - -

An alert from the nearby terminal pulled Tuera away from her thoughts. She'd been replaying that night from several days ago in her head, over and over, and the whole situation kept gnawing away at her insides. This was the exact opposite of what she wanted when she agreed to attend this place, but it seemed that this was just one more “fate” she would be forced to confront, unable to escape. The words of the Ordo Xenoglossia Augur during that Bond reading months ago seemed to mock her. However, if the only way out was through...

“Oh, good,” she said, adjusting her seat to fully face the terminal. “Looks like the program has finished compiling. Let's see what kind of information we can find about the frames of the other students here...”

Her fingers began clattering away against the noisy keyboard, sifting through the reams of data being discretely siphoned away from the College's systems. If she was in this, she was in it to win it. And since she was certain that weasel-face and The Stoneheaded were likely to cheat in the upcoming “formal duel under the College's regulations for mechanized combat,” then it was only... fair to pay them back ahead of time. It may just be a game at a school like this, but that doesn't negate the necessity for intelligence gathering about the OpFor.

As her purple eyes darted back and forth, scanning the data scrolling across the terminal's monitor, she idly reached for the half-finished cup of coffee that had almost certainly gone cold by now. Instead, her hand brushed against the slate she'd discarded on the desk some time ago; the screen flashed and drew her attention. Without even really thinking, she picked it up and read the message on screen. It was the same message she'd received from Phyacair at the start of this, during her mad search for his casket back at the mech stables:

I shall arrive when you need me, Mistress.

“Hmph,” she muttered setting down the slate once more. She grabbed her coffee, knocked back the few tepid dregs left behind, and got up to make herself a fresh cup. “Not so sure you're right about that, my old friend. Feels like I really need you now...”

- - -

A few years ago...

A blanket of stars shone down across the scarred and pock-marked deserts of Cinder. Far, far away from the Capitol City and the Ashen Throne, there were no lights in the ruins of buildings destroyed thousands of years ago during the Last Argument of Kings. And in one of those ruins, a teenager was hiding. They had been on the move for hours, with no real plan in mind except “away,” and now... the reality of their situation was dawning on them.

There was no food. No water. No one on Cinder lived in the Badlands between hives; the world had been stripped bare eons ago, even before the nuclear firestorm during the Last Argument. They had come here to escape... but had they even believed that when they slipped away from the palace hours earlier? There was no escape from Venthrax...

Except one.

The last escape. The one that had already claimed the other 99 of the clutch. They were the last one left, after all.

The teenager sat huddled among the sandblasted ruins and began to weep. Venthrax was likely already preparing a replacement clutch of cloned “heirs” to throw into the meat-grinder, to turn one of them into the “enforcer of His will.” They wouldn't be missed. It would... probably be for the best, anyway. It would be easy, after all. Just... lie down. Wait for the icy chill. Let the pain and sorrow and ache wash away... until they didn't have to feel anything anymore.

Then they'd be free.

“At last!” An echoing voice cut through the stillness, immediately putting the teenager on alert. They flattened themselves against the wall, eyes as wide as pie plates, trying and failing to control their breathing. Had they been discovered? Had the decoys and false trails not worked? They inhaled sharply and held a hand over their nose and mouth, doing anything and everything to avoid getting spotted by whoever had found them...

But they were not found by something expected, like one of Venthrax's enforcers, or a Raven Guard patrol. They were found by a mech. Something they had never seen before. And that first sight paralyzed them in an abject, unnatural terror.

It barely looked like a machine; it looked instead like an enormous corpse. The metal appeared... withered, somehow, like decaying flesh clinging to a skeleton. It emerged from an unseen point above, floating upside down, descending head-first towards the sandy, ruined ground below. Strips of ragged cloth clung to the edges of the frame, billowing in a breeze that didn't exist, floating in defiant mockery of the very concept of gravity. The machine began to lazily corkscrew in its approach, eventually coming to rest parallel with the ground... just, hovering, several feet above it.

The entire time, the machine stared at the teenager, but they had no idea how they knew that: the machine had no face. Just a hollow, darkened pit, framed by a pair of spikes reaching in from below and pair of long protrusions topping it from above like a crown. The empty void within seemed to swallow all light that got near, and yet... something from within that void met the teenager with a piercing gaze they couldn't see or understand.

“Mistress!” the machine spoke again, its ragged voice echoing in the ruins all around. “Tuera! I've finally found you!” The words were... strange. Was that... desperation? Relief?

And then: realization. That name. It was one that they'd only ever heard in their dreams, but heard so many times before. Tuera. That was... they hadn't told a soul. That's not possible. There was no way, and yet...

A tiny flutter shuddered from somewhere deep in their chest.

“What... who are you?” the teenager asked, their voice barely above a whisper, as they attempted to flatten themselves even further against the wall. The machine's head twitched, tilting ever so slightly, as long, bone-like fingers of metal came to rest against the sand the machine was hovering over.

“Will I be too late?” The machine spoke again, as if confused. “Or... have I arrived too early? No, no, I... I will tell you, when last we spoke... that I would arrive when you needed me, Tuera. And... I...” The machine shook its head. “Forgive me, Mistress. I am overcome, and forget myself.”

Another flutter. An unknown feeling. They – no, she – felt her spirits lift, impossibly. A deepening of realization was happening, and for the first time, it was like the weight of the universe was lifting off her shoulders. A crucial puzzle piece fell neatly into place, and she could finally see the whole of the image laid out before her for the first time in her life.

“You know me...” the machine spoke up again, after regaining its composure. “Or... no... you will know me... as Phyacair. I have been... I am... your seneschal, Mistress. A majordomo, to act as your confidant and right hand. I will be searching... have been searching... for you, for a very, very long time.”

The girl – for she finally understood that she was a girl, now – slowly began to stand, transfixed by this alien machine calling himself Phyacair. With caution, she approached the face that wasn't a face which had frightened her so terribly, only moments ago. In response, Phyacair lifted up one of his thin, three-fingered hands and reached forward and around, as if to cradle her from behind, in as gentle and protective a gesture as the immense war machine was physically capable of.

“Come, My Lady...” Phyacair rasped out as Tuera reached forward with an outstretched hand, to gently run her fingers along the edge of his metal chassis. “We have so much to discuss...”

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vidavalor · 11 months ago

Text

"Will you get into trouble?"

Trouble: To make an effort to do something.

Trouble: Public "disorder", especially of the illegal variety.

Trou: Slang for-- and shortened version of-- trousers. Americans will often refer to those as pants, which is what the British also call underwear. To pant: To breathe in short, quick breaths from excitement and/or exertion.

Trousers: Trousers. To rouse: To awaken or excite. Base of arouse.

Trou (in French): An orifice; a hole.

Trou: Contains Rou. Homophone: Rou/Roux. Roux: A base that acts as a thickening agent for different French sauces.

Base: Sordid, "sinful", lewd. Thickening: You get it lol.

Ble (in French): wheat. The wheat berry has the same fruit structure as an apple, which is one of the reasons why it has been theorized by some humans to be what it was that Adam and Eve ate in The Garden of Eden that led to their fall. It is, technically, a fruit that is cultivated as grain. In Hebrew, wheat is referred to as khitah, which is a pun on the word khet, which means sin.

Roub: Within the word 'trouble', is homophonic for rub. But, also...

Roub (in Czech): a scion/a graft.

Grafting: The act of inserting a scion/a graft (which is a shoot or twig) of one, living tree into another, living tree, for the mutual health benefits of both trees. By botanical definition? Once grafted, the trees are actually considered one, single tree.

Botanically-speaking (and, so, euphemistically-speaking 😉), if different kinds of trees are grafted together, though? Whichever tree is the scion/graft in any given situation of grafting- and it does vary- determines which kind of fruit ("sin") the joined trees make.

If Hell doesn't show up first and ruin the woodsy romp, that is.

#ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens #ineffable husbands speak #etymology

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chernabogs · 1 year ago

Text

I made this post yesterday which @/hanafubukki and @/rayroseu and I kind offfff got inspired to actually write something LMAO

Labours Gained

Inc: Malleus, groundskeeper, nanny, briefly Maleficia WC: 2.2k Warnings: None, except swearing Summary: Consequences for your actions come in many forms. For some, it's a time out. For others, it's mucking around in mud all day.

Eirnan was a man who has endured many challenges in his life. Over 600 years of employment as head groundskeeper at Black Scale Palace meant he had faced wyrms, blight, drought, tenebrae boars which had torn up the root vegetables, and the odd employee who nicked a few carrots for their own personal use. He had served during Queen Maleficia’s first reign, and then the wars, and now her second reign. He knew which plots of land were most fertile for which plants, he knew of companion flowers and the medicinal benefits of the herbs, and his mind was an almanac of its own right.

Eirnan was a learned man… until it came to the matter of child-care. He never knew how to act around children, nor did he have any interest in interacting with them to begin with.

But now it’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and there is a very, very miserable boy standing before him.

He’s poorly dressed for the occasion—fine garments in the fields are a recipe for disaster—and the eight o’clock hour shows residual glossiness in those green eyes. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest and his lower lip is jutted out in a pout.

Crown Prince Malleus is a temperamental boy—everyone in Black Scale knows this. His latest explosion of emotion regarding an off-handed comment a tutor said (it was a jest! the man had cried while diving for cover behind trees to avoid furious lightning bolts) had resulted in a complete annihilation of the palace gardens. Eirnan had spent much of yesterday repairing the damage while mumbling about how ‘some things truly are genetic’ under his breath.

Then he had received a missive. A missive, which led them to this moment, in which he stands before the prince with his own arms crossed over his chest and his own equally unimpressed expression on his face. At a glance, one would think the two are related with how mirrored these looks are.

Eirnan pulls out a pocket watch and raises an eyebrow. “On time today, hm?”

“I was told not to be late,” Malleus bites back, attitude in his tone as he glares up at the groundskeeper. He doesn’t want to be here. Eirnan doesn’t want him here either. It’s Queen Maleficia who has shoved them together like two children in a time out.

Eirnan can’t help but wonder if he may have slighted her in the past and this is her round of revenge.

“Right, well, you’re on time but you’re certainly not dressed right.” His gaze skims over the boy's proper attire before raising to look at his nanny instead. The woman ducks her head and focuses intently on the book she holds, making it obvious that no aid will be given. This earns a scoff from Eirnan as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

What exactly can he make the prince do? Queen Maleficia made it clear that a lesson was to be learned today for his actions. Malleus was barred from using any magic, and the nanny was here to ensure that this was followed through. The prince knew no loyalty or secrets were kept by his staff—a sad reality for a seven year old to face.

“It isn’t like I just have clothes to get dirty lying about.” Malleus retorts again while continuing to glare up at him. There is little to no remorse present—just sheer grouchiness. “I don’t usually muck in mud.”

“Well, you’re mucking in it today.” Eirnan can’t help but have his own bite in his words as he turns and treks towards the nearby gardening shed. Malleus stands rooted in his spot for a moment before following, having to run a little to keep up with the older man's long strides.

The inside of the shed contains the extra attire that the staff wear when working the fields in the on-season. Although the prince is significantly smaller than many of Eirnan’s employees, he does manage to scrounge up some pants, a top, and gloves for the boy to wear.

The shoes are a lost cause. There are no boots that can fit the boy without making him goose walk around the field.

“Put these on then, either over your clothes or not, and then meet me back outside.” He tosses the fabric into the prince’s arms, making the boy stumble back with an oof! of surprise. Malleus looks down at the clothing before his lip curls in disgust. Eirnan does his best to stifle the satisfaction he feels about that as he steps out of the shed and slams the door shut.

It’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and this is going to be a long ordeal.

_____________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes of protest later finds Eirnan and Malleus standing before a re-soiled plot of garden near the edges of the palace. The boy's act of destruction yesterday had uprooted a majority of the roses that had been planted there, but a few bushes still remained standing—albeit charred and drooping from the assault. Near their feet are bundles of rose plants that Eirnan had been soaking in the greenhouse overnight in preparation for what was to come today.

The nanny had followed them to this area and is watching with interest from her position on a nearby bench. Malleus looks significantly less intrigued. His gloves are lying discarded on the grass along with his shovel and there’s a distinct air of boredom about him.

“So, what we’re going to do is use our shovels to dig up some holes, ‘bout 18 inches deep, 18 inches wide, yes? Then I need you to mix compost in there—”

“Compost?” Malleus’ head snaps to look up at Eirnan wide-eyed. “But I read that compost has—”

“Shit. Yes, there’s shit in there. Do you still want to fight about putting on those gloves?” Eirnan leans against his own shovel as he looks down at the young boy. Malleus’ brow furrows and his lower lip trembles before he’s grabbing the gloves and shoving them on his hands. He looks ready to cry or throw another tantrum. Eirnan tenses in case that does happen, the memories of the tutor running through the gardens yesterday still fresh in his mind. If Malleus’ does snap, that means he’ll be out here tomorrow, too.

Tough lesson.

“Anyway, mix the compost, and then we need to loosen the roots and put them in the mound. Keep the bud union—that’s the little knob there.” He pauses to squat down and point at the bud on the root. Malleus leans down to look at it as well before Eirnan continues. “About 1 to 2 inches below the ground. Briar Valley has a colder climate, so if we keep it up, it’ll kill the plant.”

“If a plant can’t survive the weather, should we really be planting it?” Malleus’ question is fair. Most of the time, one wouldn’t try to grow plants that can’t acclimate well.

“They can survive, they just need a little help. Princess Meleanor herself was an enormous admirer of roses—it’s her notes of how to plant them that we’re following right now.” Eirnan clears his throat before re-focusing on his explanation. He misses the flicker of interest in the prince’s gaze at the mention of his mother’s name. “As I said, keep it below ground. Then we refill the hole ‘bout three quarters with soil and pat it down. Water it a little, let it soak, and then water it again.”

“There are too many steps.” Malleus grabs at the shovel with an apprehensive glance at the dirt. “Can’t we use a little magic? We don’t need to use it for all of the steps, but one or two? I can just make all the holes appear—”

“No magic. Her highness’ strict orders. Unless you want Queen Maleficia to come out here and watch you herself, which I’m sure is the last thing you want, I’d advise listening to instructions.” Eirnan grabs at his own shovel before tapping it on the back of the prince’s heels, making the boy step forward. “Hop to it, then. This will take up a good part of your morning.”

___________________________________________________________

The first few plantings are painful. The boy doesn’t dig deep enough, and then he digs too deep, and then he buries the plant too deep, and then he doesn’t bother burying it at all. The process reminds Eirnan why he never had any children himself as he carefully explains and fixes all of the prince’s errors. Despite his complaints, the boy actually does listen to his advice, and soon the two fall into a quiet pattern of dig-plant-water.

The compost part is still met with many vocalized protests, though, and Eirnan soon does relent to doing that himself.

“How long does it take to grow?”

Malleus’ question disrupts the silence they had fallen into, causing Eirnan to pause and lean on his shovel again. “Three or so years for these ones. The one’s that are still rooted are fully mature, but I’m not too sure they’ll be blooming this year. The buds got damaged.”

Malleus, who has been sitting cross legged on the dirt with a bundle of rose plants in his hand, stares at the bushes for a moment while his thumb plays with the stems. “Did my mother plant those ones?”

“Before she left, yes. She used to plant new ones at least once every few years. When she got her own palace, she had an entire garden there as well.” Eirnan digs another hole as he speaks. He had been in service long enough to see Meleanor weaned off of Queen Maleficia. The girl had sat where Malleus sits now, and their near identical likeness strikes Eirnan as unnerving, as though he’s been projected into the past and is witnessing those spring days once more.

He clears his throat. “They’ll recover. Roses are hardy plants. Strike ‘em down, and they’ll get back twice as strong.”

“Are you sure?” Malleus looks up at the groundskeeper, his green eyes squinting against the light. Eirnan doesn’t look back as he keeps digging.

“Mhm.”

At the affirmation, the prince returns to planting, now with significantly less attitude than before. He’s almost enjoying the rhythm after a while. Despite his status, in the end the boy is still a boy, and it’s hard to keep a child from loving messing around in dirt.

It’s when the nanny clears her throat and brings over a basket of food that the two finally take a break from their labours to sit in the nearby grass. Eirnan rarely gets to appreciate the fine foods served to the nobles, so he’s indulging himself heartily in the miniature sandwiches that are present when Malleus begins to speak again.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Eirnan pauses, ham sandwich halfway to his mouth. “647 this spring.”

“647 years?” The boy's voice is incredulous as he looks at him. ��You’re old.”

“And you’re a baby.” Eirnan grumbles back as he wraps a few of the sandwiches in a napkin.

His comment causes another flash of annoyance to cross the prince’s face. “I’m not! Grandma says I’m very mature for my age!”

“Did she say that to you before yesterday, or after?” He challenges back. Malleus’ cheeks flush as he grabs at a sandwich and takes a bite. After a few more, the scowl on his face softens before he continues his questioning.

“Why do you do this? The manual work? It’s easier with magic.”

“Keeps my stress down.” Eirnan chuckles. The nanny gives a sound that might be mistaken as a laugh, which is quickly covered by a cough while she begins packing the extra food. He mourns the finger sandwiches being lost to the basket. “There’s always something to do for these gardens, and when you’re planting, you can let your mind just fall quiet. Watching something that you worked hard to grow get appreciated by others is a rewarding feeling. Magic takes away from that. The instant gratification fades faster than the long-term that labour brings.”

Malleus falls quiet again as he finishes his sandwich. He then fiddles with his gloves, which are still too big for his small hands. He has dirt on his cheek and his chin that he seems entirely unaware of. Eirnan offers him a napkin to wipe it off, albeit gruffly.

“It isn’t bad.” Malleus finally mumbles when he accepts the napkin and hastily wipes his face.

“What, using magic?”

“No, planting.” Then Malleus looks up quickly with another furrow in his brow. “Except the compost. The compost is bad.”

“It’s shit.” Eirnan shrugs his shoulders and ignores the sharp look the nanny gives him. Malleus’ lips do twitch slightly into a smirk.

“It’s shit.” The boy repeats, causing the nanny to say his name in a scolding tone, which finally does draw a laugh from the prince. “How many more do we need to plant?”

“Three, maybe four. Shouldn’t take long.” Eirnan rises with a grunt and brushes a few spare crumbs off of his pants. The prince is quick to scramble to his feet as well. He seems oddly reinvigorated as he pulls his gloves on and grabs his shovel. He then cranes his head back to look up at the taller man with a spark of challenge in his gaze as that cheeky smirk continues to play on his lips.

“Let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

Eirnan snorts in amusement as the two return to the dirt patch, both unaware of the figure watching from the windows of the palace above, a pleased smile present on her lips.

#malleus draconia #twst #twst fanfiction #i didnt know if it was ok to tag directly so i just did a lil slash #i always feel awk tagging ppl LMAOOO #anyway this was super fun i love writing the 'exhausted adult and devious child' dynamic #i feel like malleus was just a cheeky lil guy growing up yk

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