#green tea and oolong tea. All three are made by cutting off the leaves and buds of Camellia sinensis

[broken-clover]

12 Days of Whump- Pneumonia

It seems that long fics will be common during this, I am not gonna complain about that! I’m fine with it either way, as long as someone is able to enjoy them. This was one of my favorite prompts! Also, apologies in advance for the silly parodies and references. I tried to do something fluffier today.

Day 2 of the 12 Days of Whump- Pneumonia, with Noel/Makoto/Tsubaki!

One of the problems of being a warrior and soldier, was that the scope of one’s worldview grew incredibly large. Tsubaki Yayoi knew the sorts of matters that she was responsible for, both serving as an agent of the NOL and as the carrier of Izayoi. No matter how much rested on her shoulders, though, and how much she was relied upon, she was still ultimately just a human, fallible and mortal as any other.

...In hindsight, maybe that sounded a bit too dramatic. Even as annoying as it was to get sick, it wasn’t like she was dying or anything. Though it did feel like it, sometimes.

Tsubaki made a little raspy groan under the blankets, fumbling for the box of tissues on the coffee table. She hadn’t been coughing up as much phlegm as before, but the fever hadn’t gone down, her head still ached, and she was in no mood to do much aside from staying on the couch.

It might have been nice to have a day off, if she didn’t feel like absolute hell. It was difficult to find any sort of enjoyment when she had to cough every thirty seconds and frequently rub at her temples to try and make it hurt less. She’d intended to catch up on work, but with the little energy had, all Tsubaki had been able to manage outside of coughing and fumbling for more water was to put on one of the historical dramas that she’d been waiting to watch. It would up being remarkably dull and uninteresting despite her usual love of them.

Makoto and Noel had been gone all day. Tsubaki hadn’t heard anything from them aside from a quick call asking about her opinions on green tea, of all things. She definitely didn’t want to get her friends sick, but maybe it would have been nice to have someone to talk to.

The more she watched the film, the less focused she felt. Even if it was interesting, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to follow the plot with her frequent breaks. She was distantly aware that she needed to empty the trash, but all she wanted to do was stew about in the hopes that everything would stop aching so much.

Out of nowhere, a hard knock on the door sent another pulse of pain through her head. Tsubaki shoved her head under the pillow and blankets and groaned.

“C-come in.” She spoke as loudly as she could manage. The door is unlocked.”

“Geez, Tsubaki, can’t even bother to- oh man, you really are sick, huh?”

The familiar voice was enough to make Tsubaki sit up and poke her head out of the blankets. “Makoto?”

Her memory wasn’t wrong, and her mind wasn’t deceiving her. Both Makoto and Noel were standing in her doorway, each carrying bags with them. Tsubaki was too confused by their presence to say anything as they continued to let themselves in and close the door.

“Hi, Tsubaki!” Noel offered a polite wave. “We heard you weren’t feeling well, so we thought we’d come by and make sure you were doing okay.”

They’d come for a visit? The soldier was positively touched. The fuzzy feeling lasted for only a moment, though, until she reeled back against the couch’s arm. “Y-you guys can’t be here! I’ll get you sick!”

Noel shook her head. “It’ll be fine. I promise. Beastkin don’t get illnesses as easily as humans do. And I can’t, either! I’m not…”

The end of that sentence hung heavily in the room. ‘Like you.’ ‘Human.’ ‘Real.’

“Well, might as well put it to use then!” Makoto cut through the tension without a hint of shame, shoving aside the empty mugs and tissues boxes and dumping out her bag all over the coffee table. “We brought everything you might need so you don’t get bored or drop dead on us!”

Based on the pile made on the table, Makoto had gotten a bit too excited again. Tsubaki couldn’t bring herself to be too mad. It was just in her nature, and that sort of enthusiasm was one of the things that she loved about the squirrel-girl. There was a thorough mix of items, from tea packets to board games, DVD’s and extra pillows.

While Makoto dug through the mess on the table, Tsubaki felt a hand on her forehead. She turned to find Noel looking her over.

“So how are you feeling? I know you’ve been wheezing for the past couple of days. They didn’t tell us what exactly was wrong, but it sounded bad.”

“Pneumonia. It’s really not that bad.” If it wasn’t troublesome enough to speak with her raw, phlegmy throat, now she had to deal with the heated blush that have overtaken her face. Noel’s hands felt far softer than a soldier’s should have, with only the faintest traces of calluses from where her fingers gripped Bolverk’s triggers.

“It sounds bad. It’s okay to say you’re not feeling well, Tsubaki.” Tsubaki felt the hand on her forehead slide down to cup her cheek, and Noel leaned in to leave a little kiss on her nose. “The three of us are partners, and partners take care of each other!”

“Haha! Better step back, Noel, I think you’re making the fever worse!”

“Ah- oh no!” She immediately pulled away, going an equally-strong shade of crimson. “I’m so so sorry, Makoto’s right! I didn’t mean to-”

“Relaaax, Noel. Nobody’s dying.” Makoto tossed a hand around the girl’s shoulder, pecking her on the cheek. “Right?”

Though she felt warm, and thoroughly embarrassed, Tsubaki still managed a laugh as she reached for the tissues again. “I’ve got too much unfinished paperwork to do for me to be able to die.”

“Really? That’s what keeps you going? Rude.” Crossing her arms in a display of feigned hurt, Makoto turned away and huffed. Doing so let her take a glimpse of the still-running drama that had gone ignored. “Maaan, another history movie? How many films do they have to make about the Dark War?”

“It says they managed to get an in-person interview with Valkenhayn R. Hellsing, is that true?” Noel looked over the back of the disc box.

“They did, though the rest of this isn’t particularly interesting. It’s really disappointing, it looked promising when I bought it…”

“Well, duh, no wonder you feel so bleh! How can you possibly feel any better when watching this doomy-gloomy stuff?” In a flash, Makoto was digging through her pile. “Hold on, I brought some really good ones! I know I had a copy of the Darkstalkers cartoon in here somewhere…”

“Um, I brought some stuff my parents sent me from home.” Noel slung off her backpack briefly, pulling out a homemade quilt. “I figure if you’ve been using the same blankets for a while, they’re gonna get icky. You can use this one while I toss yours in the laundry, okay?”

The two of them had really thought it all through, hadn’t they? “If it isn’t too much trouble, Noel…”

“Not at all!” She smiled, pulling the old blanket off of Tsubaki and handing her the clean one. “Back in a sec!”

Meanwhile, Makoto was still digging. “Didn’t find the DVD, but I did find some snacks! What’cha hungry for? Tea? Granola? Gummy fish?”

Just the thought of tea makes her throat hurt less. “Tea, please. Tea sounds good.”

“No problemo! Lemme see, I’ve got raspberry, green, oolong…”

Noel appeared on the far side of the couch. “I’ll move your blanket into the dryer in about half an hour.”

“Oh yeah, Noel brought her own thing! Didn’t you, Noel?”

She blushed in embarrassment, lacing her fingers together and averting her eyes. “I-it’s kinda dumb, it’s totally okay if you don’t want to-”

Noel let out a panicked squeak as Makoto shoved her hand right into the backpack she was wearing, digging around for a big and pulling out a different box. A pair of men were trading blows with their swords on the cover, surrounded by chains and fire.

“She got a copy of Guilty Gear: Nocturne! Wanna watch?”

“‘Nocturne?’” Tsubaki still managed to sound confused through the congestion. “Haven’t heard of that installment.”

“I-it’s a cartoon adaptation.” Noel explained, still thoroughly red-faced. “I bought it online-”

“It is sooo bad, Tsubaki, you’re gonna love it.” Makoto butted in, eyes already sparkling with mischief. “And the animation is ridiculous. But Ky’s in it, obviously, and I know he’s your favorite!”

She usually preferred to leave the more silly shows to her partners, but truthfully, with how poorly she felt, Tsubaki thought that a dumb, ridiculous cartoon would be more suitable that something where she actually had to focus and think.

“That actually sounds rather nice, Makoto. Would you mind putting it on?”

“Aw yeah, we are in business, ladies!” Makoto pumped her fist in the air, almost immediately rushing off to pop out the war drama and shove Noel’s disc in. Meanwhile, Noel went off to go start a pot of tea at Makoto’s orders, along with a batch of popcorn that was probably more for Makoto herself than for anyone else.

Before she knew it, Tsubaki found herself sandwiched between her two girlfriends, sipping a cup of green tea and taking little nibbles of granola. Makoto was right, the animation was awful.

“Oh-ho-hooo my god!” The squirrel-girl cackled, scarfing down a handful of popcorn. “Sol looks completely lopsided! And I think he’s cross-eyed!”

Noel herself even managed a groan. “They messed up Potemkin’s character so badly in this. Why’s he so mean? Even Eddie isn’t this awful!”

“I’m amazed they even allowed this to be sold. It’s ridiculous.” Even if it was temporary, Tsubaki still felt a bit better, spending time with her favorite people and just being together.

“Ugh, cliffhanger!!” Makoto scowled and reached for the remote control. A half-second before she pressed it, she side-eyed her companions. “Anyone up for the next episode?”

“Mmhm!”

“Absolutely.”

“Say no more, then!”

[ghost-chance]

Blocked : Hair

Ghost is gone. Cold's gone. There's supposed to be no one else in the Thomas-Chance house now except for Donnie...but the gruesome discovery in the parlor makes him worry he's not alone, but trapped with a sick killer.

         Hey there, Ladies and Gents! Ghost here with a special announcement. "Blocked" now has an official playlist! You can find it on Spotify by way of the link here; in between chapters of the story, you can get your fix by listening to music related to this crack-tastic story, and you can also find other story-related playlists on the same profile. Hope to see y'all soon, and hope y'all're havin' a great March!      

                 The official "Blocked" playlist on Spotify    

                    Hair

It came out of nowhere. At least, Donnie felt, he was sure he never saw it coming. Something in the small house in the suburbs was different and he wasn't sure what it was, or what it meant. All he knew for certain were a few seemingly unrelated things.

Fact: Cold left for his manufacturing job early, intent on getting his taxes done beforehand. Fact: Ghost endured a repetitive headache-bordering-on-migraine every single day for the last two-and-a-half weeks which no medication or rest improved. Fact: Ghost stormed out without fanfare that morning, hair bound into a single meticulously woven braid, with only a rather cantankerous note stating "I'll be back later, don't blow anything up." Finally, the final fact: there was a stranger in the house—a very heavyset stranger with short, wavy brown hair cut neatly just above her shoulders—a stranger who reeked of some overly expensive salon chemicals and putrid cigar smoke and seemed intent on raiding Ghost's tea stash.

Worried, confused, and increasingly alarmed, Donnie edged nearer to the kitchen in hopes of catching a glimpse of the stranger's face. As she snatched the whistling tea kettle off the stove and poured boiling water over her choice teabag—by the scent of it, an expensive brand of oolong Ghost saved for special occasions and major SHTF moments—the mutant crept past the kitchen to the living room. It hadn't escaped his notice that the stranger brought something with her, a familiar bottle of fine Scotch whisky. Fresh and unopened, the bottle waited on the kitchen counter still cluttered from Cold's rushed pre-work lunch-making.

In the dark, silent parlor, Ghost's cellphone waited helpfully on the scuffed coffee table amidst Missouri Conservationist magazines and junk-mail, probably forgotten…and it wasn't alone. Something sat beside it—something small and dark, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. The bag drew Donnie, an ominous prickle creeping along the tender scales at the back of his neck. Repeatedly glancing back to the kitchen and the stranger savoring his host's fanciest tea, he reached out for the bag. His lungs refused to cooperate as he carefully untied the fastened handles, unwrapping the contents slowly so as to avoid detection.

Ghost sighed wearily, staring down into the Celadon hued tea filling her favorite teacup. Normally she saved the Revolution Blackberry Jasmine Oolong—and the vintage china cup decked with blooming herbs—for special occasions or moments when she was in dire need of a mental vacation, but after that afternoon, she absolutely needed the moment. After all, no matter how psychotic her father became in public, the commercials lie—spouting "Calgon, take me away!" never accomplished anything more than earning her strange looks.

Her father…as if it could ever be anything else. This time, he hadn't thrown any punches or toddler-tantrums…instead he proceeded to make some really off-color remarks about the young man who waited their table—a rather attractive black gentleman with unusual bright blue eyes. Normally, even her father wouldn't bat an eye over the server but the blue eyes completely disabled his brain-to-mouth filter and tore him away from shooting scowls at the lesbian couple a table away.

Ghost shook her head, scowling down at the memory. Honestly, there was enough unrest in the country as it was without her father being a bigoted cad. Sane and civilized men didn't bitch in public about someone's eyes being 'freakier than a rug-munching ninny,' much less at full volume. Years before, he wouldn't have said anything like it either…alas, ever since the knock on his noggin, her father was increasingly prone to bigotry, judgmental behavior, and thoughtless, cringe-worthy rants. Fortunately, Ghost's parents raised her correctly before her father became a cad…and because of that, she excused herself to the ladies' on the way out, sought out the server then the lesbian couple, apologized for her father's off-color remarks, and personally paid for the ladies' meals and added to the meager tip the elder left for his own meal…all that, and they hadn't even heard him.

Now, frustrated and stinking of her father's cheap cigars but finally free of the weight on her shoulders, she stood in her small, cluttered kitchen, hopeful for at least a short break from reality—just a few minutes to commune with her tea and become more human again before she wound up biting some poor sucker's head off! Apparently, someone up there found this want completely unreasonable and interfered: a blood-curdling shriek rang out in the supposedly empty parlor. She nearly dropped the tea cup in her hurry to arm herself for what she nightmare might find.

The bag lay open, the macabre trophy inside half-spilled onto the table. Paralyzed with fear and dread, Donnie cowered in the corner, too afraid to even take his eyes off of it. Without warning the stranger appeared in the doorway, bespectacled blue-green eyes wild, one hand clutching a lit lighter and the other a can of bug spray. Primed to fry the supposed home invader with her improvised flamethrower, she froze in the doorway and searched the parlor to no avail. The moment she registered Donnie and followed his gaze to the bag on the table, everything became clear.

"What the flyin' fuck, Donnie?" she spouted in a surprisingly familiar voice and accent. "Ya had me thinkin' someone was gettin' murdered!" Hazel eyes fixed on her, their owner forcing a noisy swallow and glancing around frantically for something he could use as a weapon.

"Who are you?!" he demanded shrilly. "What've you done with Ghost?! Why do you have her hair?!" The woman blinked in surprise, tilted her head in confusion, then, clearly coming to the conclusion that he was serious, she set down her cargo and strode over to the table. Without a single word, she gathered her hair into a stumpy bundle with one hand and held the severed foot-and-a-half braid up to her neck with the other, visibly waiting for him to connect the dots. Sure enough, blinking and staring, he did just that. "Wha…Ghost? That's you? What—what happened?"

"Nothin' out'a the ordinary," Ghost explained with a shrug and passed him a folded up sheet of paper from the bag the braid came out of. "I've got really thick hair—when it gets too long, I get headaches from it, so when I had a headache for a week straight I knew it was time to get it all lopped off again." Donnie looked over the paper in silent bemusement. "Here," Ghost smirked tossing the braid into his lap. "Have a dead animal." To her disappointment, he didn't even notice much less jump and squeal.

"Locks…of Love?" he read aloud slowly then met her eyes. "You grow your hair out...so you can donate it?"

"Every time," she admitted awkwardly, embarrassed by the discussion. She wasn't normally one to toot her own horn—she believed when you tell others of your good deeds, it lessens the impact of that good deed. Donnie, however, wanted answers, and there was no point in hiding what was obvious. "They make wigs for kids who lose their hair from cancer, an' what they can't use, they sell to raise money for donation. I'm lazy 'bout getting' my hair cut, an' it's not like that hair's doin' any good goin' in the rubbish, right?"

It had absolutely nothing to do with losing relatives to cancer, nothing to do with Uncle Bob's ongoing losing battle with cancer, and even more nothing to do with a certain childhood classmate who died of leukemia. No, it had nothing to do with any of those sob-stories, or at least, so she told herself. After all, she couldn't focus on the reason behind the habit—the reason she continually grew out her hair, struggled and fought to keep it long and healthy, cursed it in one moment and coddled it the next, all to hack it all off and pay postage to have it shipped away. She couldn't focus on the painful truths or she'd go mad from hurt. How could she appreciate a well-executed side-braid while recalling the bald heads of those she lost to cancer? Denial wasn't a healthy reaction to anything, but it certainly could improve one's sense of humor.

"I…guess not," Donnie mumbled, wincing as he finally noticed the braid draped over one crossed thigh. His snout a little crinkled from awkward disgust, he lifted the braid to pass it back to her only to startle. In visible disbelief he hefted the braided length calculating its weight. "Holy heck—this thing must weigh two-point-fifty-seven pounds!"

"Try three," Ghost countered with a shrug, pretending she wasn't inwardly girly-squealing over his nerdy proclamation. Damn, that turtle was tempting. "Stylist weighed it. I have stupid-thick hair. Used to be worse, too—used to be I had to have my hair thinned out regularly. Now I'm gettin' old an' it's gettin' thinner but the weight's still enough to give me headaches. Just leave the rodent on the table, I'll mail it later."

Without another backward glance, she strode back into the kitchen; sure enough, another pair of feet softly padded after her, bringing a dorky grin to her face. No, she reminded herself firmly, no touchie! He's taken and so're you! She tried to physically shake off the unwelcome thoughts—and urges, unfortunately—and as so often before, wound up reaching for the only thing that made sense in those moments.

Donnie watched silently as Ghost drained the last of her tea, rinsed her cup, and cracked open the brand new bottle of Scotch to pour herself a couple fingers' worth. Although the change startled him, he was glad for it—in moments like this, savoring her whisky with an almost serene smile that was out of place on her face, she looked so much like Amber it hurt. At least with her hair short she couldn't keep it braided…at least without the braids, she might not resemble Amber so closely and it mightn't hurt so much to see her.

Monday morning—the most irritating of all weekdays, and for Donnie, the day he had to endure the most bitching from Cold about having to work. Honestly, the mutant thought with tight lips, he'd love to be able to work—to contribute to this odd little family who let him stay with them without question. Unfortunately, the pickings were slim…it was either do home repairs for the blind elderly lady next door and risk getting seen by the rest of the neighborhood or assist Ghost with their online sales. At least with him managing the card sales she could somewhat focus on her novel…and getting him home. So far, neither was getting anywhere.

An ominous creaking noise echoed down the dark hallway; a bolt of white and ginger followed—Woozle taking off like a bat out of hell with panic in his copper orange eyes. "Lil' Trai'er," a sleep-graveled voice reprimanded the spastic feline then paused for a loud yawn. "Keep pushin' it, yer stanky ass's due fer a bath." Out of the corner of his eye, Donnie caught sight of something out of his worst nightmares.

Donnie's startled yelp drew a dirty glare from Ghost—a glare that seemed unusually poisonous peeking through the sleep-mussed hair sticking out in every direction. "Short hair don't care," she grumbled at the frozen mutant and shuffled over to the coffee pot. "Suck it."

     WORDS:  

So're - So are

Trai'er - sleep-slurred 'Traitor'

Yer stanky ass's due fer a bath! - Your smelly ass is due for a bath! Yes, we bathe our cats a few times yearly - they're both indoor-only but they're incredibly lazy about grooming and Woozle gets dandruff if he's not regularly conditioned. They're both due for a dip but we're waiting for warmer weather...currently we've hit the middle of the Spring rainy season and we're too busy drowning to bathe the butts.

     Notes       

So. Let's just get this out of the way: Yes, I ended up hacking off almost all my hair recently because it was heavy enough to give me headaches again ALREADY. I endured a constant headache that lasted over a week - actually about a week-and-a-half - and decided the haircut just couldn’t wait any longer. Usually I have it in two braids when it get it cut off - last time they were both over a foot long - but this time it was about a foot in a single braid. For those not accustomed to long hair, dual-braids tend to be longer than single braids, sometimes almost twice as long, because they’re thinner. For that reason, while the single braid was only about a foot long, in twin braids, my hair was past my waist...and it was HEAVY.

Also, yes, the home-invasion bit IS fiction imitating reality...we actually live in an apartment complex and keeping firearms in the home wouldn't be safe. Therefore, anytime I start feeling like someone unwelcome has made it inside I go lighter-and-aerosol to torch their asses. Fortunately it's usually just Woozle being a creeper. ;D

[raendown]

More shenanigans and denial, because that is apparently Madara’s life now.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word Count: 3044 Story summary: Madara used to be a man feared even by those of his own clan. Life's really changed since the village was built. Among those changes is his relationship with one Senju Tobirama - and apparently everyone else knew about this even before he did.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

How many spices did one kitchen need, exactly? Alone in the house – by some kami-sent miracle – Madara stood in his kitchen staring suspiciously at the new addition tucked neatly in one corner of the countertop. Tobirama, when he dropped it off, had called it a spice rack and told him that every house should have one. Honestly Madara hadn’t even known there were this many different types of seasonings. Surely some of these were made up? Tobirama had to be playing some sort of practical joke here because they couldn’t all be real.

Each jar was labelled in tidy writing and Madara spun the rack to read them all, trying to see if there was anything he’d even heard of before. ‘Bay leaves’ struck him as odd because who the hell would want to put raw leaves in their food? What possible purpose could that have? Unless it was a salad being served, leaves generally belonged outside on the trees.

And that wasn’t even the weirdest one! What in the seven hells was ‘allspice’? Was it supposed to be a small bit of every other spice all put together? If that was the case it seemed rather stupid to have the rest of them all in separate containers as well. It would be so much simpler to just use this ‘allspice’ on everything since it seemed like it would cover the needs of every dish. If it had everything in it then it would work for every kind of food, as far as he could figure. And if it didn’t then what was the point of it?

Setting the allspice back in its slot, Madara was relieved to come across thyme and nutmeg just below it. He had at least heard of those two, although their exact usage escaped him. Feared across many nations’ battlefields he might be but Madara’s skills in the kitchen extended very little past boiling water and buttering toast. Usually he fed himself on poorly chopped fruits and vegetables, perhaps whatever half-cooked dishes his younger sibling brought over for him. His palette wasn’t exactly the most refined so he’d been getting along just fine with how things were until now. Now that he had a rack of mystery substances disguised as seasonings, that is.

‘Cloves’ had him scrunching his face in confusion. Wasn’t that a lucky plant? He’d thought it was supposed to be green with four leaves but whoever gathered this must have done it wrong because it appeared they only kept the stems, all brown and hard and none longer than his fingernails. Curious, he slipped the small cylinder out of its slot and twisted the cap off, bringing it up to his nose. The sweet, earthy scent which greeted him was a pleasant surprise despite being a little overpowering.

Madara twisted the rack again, eyeing the collection suspiciously. Now that he’d smelled one he was more curious than ever about the rest. Obviously he had to start with the ‘allspice’. The smell of it, though, only made him more confused. It was like pepper and cinnamon and wet paper – very much like every spice put together as he’d thought. So it really should be for everything!

There were four separate kind of pepper when he looked for it and Madara sniffed each of them in turn, wondering why it was necessary to have so many. The ‘lemongrass’ was pleasant, although he questioned the intelligence of anyone who put grass in their food. That seemed as strange as the leaves from before.

It was while he was putting the weird lemony grass back that his eyes caught on the little tin sitting next to the rack with a label which read ‘turmeric’. Tobirama had dropped it off with the rest but it was bigger than any of the other containers, unable to fit in to the rack, and Madara figured that meant it must be used more often. He’d never heard of ‘turmeric’ before. When he opened the tin he was a little put off by the violent yellow color of it. It didn’t look very pleasant at all and the smell was horrid. The only thing which came to mind was poison and burnt tree bark.

But it had to taste good, he reasoned, since it was obviously meant to be used so often that there was more than twice as much of this as any other spice. Without giving the matter much thought Madara grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer and filled it from the tin.

The moment he stuck the spoon in his mouth he regretted every single life choice which had brought him here to this moment. It was poison. It was disgusting. His eyes immediately began to water and when he coughed, sputtering out a large cloud of yellow powder, that certainly didn’t help to stop the tears. His mouth was burning from the awful taste and panic set in immediately. He needed to get this out of his mouth – now!

Madara did the only thing he could think of. He went to Hashirama.

Hashirama startled a little when his friend body flickered in to the Hokage’s office, dropping his ink brush and clutching a hand to his chest.

“You scared me!” he exclaimed. “Don’t just – hey, what’s wrong?”

“Hashirama I’m dying!”

“Uh, what?”

“I’ve been poisoned!”

“What?”

Madara clawed at his tongue with his gloved fingers, trying to scrub the powder off but only managing to add the taste of leather to the already disgusting mix. Hashirama tilted his head to the side, his eyes running up and down Madara’s figure, then he very carefully pushed the teacup at his elbow across the desk.

“I see. Why don’t you take a drink?”

“I don’t want your half-drunk tea,” Madara growled even as his hands shot out and snagged the cup. He downed the contents in two large gulps, gasping and hacking because the turmeric in his mouth destroyed what should have been a delicious oolong. Hashirama calmly reached for the teapot still sitting on its tray and held it up in a wordless offer of a second cup.

With a heavy frown, Madara stuck his arms out in grumpy acceptance. With most of the powder gone now, he was able to taste the fruity flavor of the oolong, Hashirama’s favorite kind. He usually disliked how sweet it was, preferring the earthy flavors of black tea instead, but anything was better than what was in his mouth right now so he swallowed it down with gusto and held his arms out once more for another refill. This one he sipped slowly, sloshing the liquid around in his mouth in search of any remaining pockets of powder which might not have been washed away.

Hashirama watched him with a shamelessly curious expression, eyes wide and mouth smiling while his hand blindly groped for the ink brush he had dropped.

“What were you doing eating raw turmeric?” he asked. Madara gaped, cup pausing just at the edge of his lips.

“Who said I was eating…whatever you just said?”

Instead of answer, Hashirama waved his brush at Madara’s form, making him look down and wince slightly as he caught sight of himself. His front was absolutely coated in patches of virulent yellow powder, clinging to his clothes even after he lowered one hand to beat at the dark purple cotton. Only after he’d given up did he notice that his fingers were also stained yellow. He let out a frustrated growl. Then he increased the volume when Hashirama giggled.

“Shut up,” he snarled. “How do I get this shit off of me?”

“You don’t,” Hashirama laughed.

“Don’t clam up on me now you useless fool. You blather on about nothing all day; well you can blather on and tell me how to get this off my skin!” Madara shook his free hand wildly in his friend’s direction and took an angry sip of tea using the other.

“I don’t know, Madara. Turmeric stains last forever. Mito won’t let me cook anything with turmeric in it anymore because I always get it everywhere.”

“Useless.”

Though he could tell that it was a pointless endeavor, Madara absently brushed at his clothing again. All it did was spread the stain in a couple places and deepen his scowl but the effort was there, at least.

He wasn’t at all prepared for the office door to swing open without warning or for Tobirama to step through and freeze in place at the sight of him. For a few moments no one moved, Tobirama’s eyes slowly dragging down his body and back up to take in the horrible state he had made of himself. The younger man tilted his head ever so slightly to one side and narrowed his eyes contemplatively. Madara gripped his tea cup tighter, wondering if it would provide enough distraction for him to get away if he threw it at the other’s head.

“Hey, Tobi might know!” Hashirama piped up from behind the desk and shattering the silence in a too-cheerful tone. “How do you get turmeric stains out of skin?”

“Don’t call me that,” Tobirama mumbled reflexively. Then slowly he raised a single eyebrow. “Madara…were you playing with the spices I left for you?”

“No!”

“Hm. Did you by any chance try to eat some of them?”

“No!”

Tobirama hummed again and crossed his arms, a hint of a smirk beginning to form. Madara cringed but refused to admit that he had been doing exactly what he was accused of. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what those things were! Who had time to learn anything about cooking when one was tasked with running an entire clan?

He’d already come up with three different excuses for why there was yellow powder all down his front when Tobirama gave a small sigh and shook his head.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said.

“I’m not a child!” Despite his words, Madara offered no fight when Tobirama took his arm. Hashirama gave them a happy wave and then suddenly he found himself back inside him home just as quickly as he had left it, following dazedly along as he was led down the hall towards his bedroom.

“Alright,” Tobirama said as he lightly pushed Madara towards his en suite and taking the tea cup still clasped in his fingers. “Strip.”

“What!?”

“Your clothing, you imbecile. You’re absolutely covered in what you would have me believe is something entirely unrelated to the spices I delivered this morning and if you want to clean yourself properly then you’d do well to get out of those clothes.” His hand was strangely gentle as he gave Madara one last push towards the bathroom. “Go shower.”

Flustered, Madara stumbled inside and only narrowly avoided having the door smack him on the bottom when it was swung closed behind him. He spent a few moments simply standing there, wondering when the world had stopped being afraid of him. There had been a time when Tobirama would have immediately raised his hackles upon spotted him, when shinobi and civilians alike had cowered before him. Even his own clan members had stepped carefully when he was present. It was beyond him how his life had changed so much in just the few short years since the village had been built.

He couldn’t deny that a shower would be a smart idea, though. Madara grumbled as he undressed, keeping one suspicious eye on the door until he was thoroughly distracted when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. A thick ring of bright yellow had stained his skin all the way around his mouth and turned his lips a disturbing color reminiscent of vomit. It was incredibly embarrassing to realize he’d been speaking with Tobirama face to face looking like this. Things like this were probably why it seemed as though no one feared him anymore.

With a resigned huff he turned away from the mirror to hop behind the shower curtain – and only just barely contained a high-pitched squeal when the water turned on ice cold at first. Barely a few minutes had passed, just enough time for the water to heat up, when the door opened and Madara turned bright red, hands automatically moving to cover himself even though he was safely hidden from view.

“What do you think you’re doing? Get out!” he shouted. “Do you have no propriety?” A low chuckle answered him.

“It’s not as though I can see you,” Tobirama’s disembodied voice pointed out. “Besides, I was only bringing you something that should help get the turmeric out. There’s some clean clothes for you here as well; I hope you don’t mind that I grabbed them from your room.”

“Just leave! I’m naked you barbarian! I don’t want you here!”

Another chuckle drifted through the steam as Tobirama took his leave. Madara waited for the click of the door closing, then waited another minute just to be sure, straining his ears to listen for the sounds of his guest retreating down the hall to be certain that he was alone once more. Only then did he peek around the curtain to see what the other man had brought that he claimed might help.

On the corner of the sink closest to him there rested a small bundle of clothing, obviously his by the coloring and the Uchiwa fan he could see within one of the folds. His mind skittered uneasily away from the idea of Tobirama rooting through his drawers to fetch him clean clothing (he had touched Madara’s underwear) and instead he forced himself to focus on the gift placed on top of his clothes. The small bar was a light brown color, obviously soap, and when Madara reached out for it and brought it to his nose he noted that it smelled pleasantly of sandalwood.

Also that it smelled of Tobirama and had obviously been used a few times already. He was holding Tobirama’s soap. This bar of soap in his hands had touched another man’s naked body.

Suddenly it seemed a lot hotter in the room than it had a minute ago, though he couldn’t remember turning up the heat of the water again.

The rest of his shower was completed in a meditative state. Madara dug deep in to his memories to remember all he had been taught about meditation and used that knowledge to detach himself, scrubbing at his skin in a perfunctory manner until he had covered every inch of himself in a scent that he didn’t want to admit was more familiar than it should have been. When he set the soap aside his skin was a light pink from head to toe, glowing softly in the light as he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub.

A quick swipe of his hand across the mirror revealed that Tobirama had been correct: the soap did help. His face was still colored with a splotch of yellow surrounding his mouth but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before. Hopefully the rest of it would fade quickly. The tips of his fingers were in a similar state when he checked them, the yellow quite obvious on his pale skin.  Before he could stop the thought he found himself wondering how much more obvious it would look on Tobirama, whose skin was even paler than his own.

Madara scowled, snatching up a towel from the rack to his left. Stupid Senju, invading his every thought for no reason, barging in to his house and bringing him stupid gifts. He could have found some sandalwood soap on his own!

When he stormed out of the bathroom at last Madara was wearing clean clothing and a grumpy expression. The light in the kitchen drew him in like a moth to a flame, guiding him towards his unwanted guest so he could give the younger man what for. There was no need, as far as Madara could see, for him to keep showing up and sticking his nose in to other people’s business. And it was about time someone told him that!

Unfortunately, his quickly prepared speech fell to the wayside the moment he stepped in to the kitchen. Tobirama turned to look at him over one shoulder, just enough that he could see the man was once again wearing that red and white apron.

“Good timing. Food’s done.”

Blinking rapidly, drained of irritation as quickly as it had gathered, Madara let himself be directed to a seat at the table. His thoughts were strangely empty of anything but the way Tobirama had rolled up his sleeves to expose his forearms, miles of pale skin dangled right in front of his face as the other set a heaping plate down before him.

“This is what you were supposed to do with the spices, you great buffoon.” In direct contrast with his teasing words, Tobirama’s hand brushed the base of Madara’s neck as he passed him by to go back to the stove. Madara jerked, craning his head from side to side as though he could see the spot which had been touched and determine if it had been deliberate or not.

“I never said you had to cook for me,” he grumbled petulantly.

“Someone has to show you what real food is supposed to look like,” Tobirama replied serenely. “Might as well be me.”

The younger man settled himself at the table across from his begrudging host, digging in to his own plate of food. Madara sat still and watching him for a moment, trying to figure out how he had ended up here. It seemed as though every time he saw Tobirama lately the other somehow managed to turn his entire world upside with very little to no effort. And worse: he appeared to have no idea that he was doing so.

Finally Madara sighed and reached for his chopsticks. He’d already forfeit any dignity he might have had today, possibly around the same time he had nearly choked to death on a mouthful of foreign spice. He might as well give in at this point.

Across the table, demurely eating his own plate of dinner, Tobirama smiled.

[teanerdery]

Mei Mei Fine Teas Huang Shan Mao Feng Wild Grown Green Tea

               God I really am so sporadic with my posting. I think for right now I should aim for one review a week and if I can’t keep that up, just give up on this nonsense all together. It really bums me out when  I feel guilty drinking tea and not taking pics/notes. But regardless of my terrible time management, let’s look at today’s tea! The tea today I snagged in a sale, it is last year’s harvest but hey, my palate for green teas isn’t well developed and it's cheaper. It is Mei Mei Fine Teas’ Huang Shan Mao Feng Wild Grown Green Tea, harvested April 2016. Huangshan is the mountain range this tea was harvested from in Anhui province in China, and “mao feng” refers to the little fuzzy tricomes on early picked leaves! Apparently the same varietal is used in producing Keemun black tea! That’s so cool! This is one of the most famous green teas from China, so it is appropriate for a newbie like me to try as one of the few greens I’ve had!

               The dry leaf smells very fresh and bright despite its age, smelling like freshly cut grass, pollen, and light nuttiness all wrapped up in a “sunny” sweetness. I don’t do rinses on green teas, I don’t want to lose any flavor since it is so shortlived compared to other teas like oolong that can steep forever. So after I did my first steep, I poked my nose into the gaiwan for a sniff. The wet leaf is much greener, a mixture of fresh grass, cooked green beans, and honey sweetness.

               The first steep was for 30 seconds with water at 180 degrees. The opening is light and sweet, a mixture of faint honey and strong pollen. The midsip has notes of crisp lettuce and crisp green beans that carries no bitterness despite the greenness of the tastes. The finish is an explosion of sweetness! The nutty sesame seed note from the dry leaf returns, except now it is covered in honey. The texture on this tea is smooth and the mouthfeel is amazing, it is surprisingly thick! Especially at the end of the sip. There is an aftertaste of lingering green sweetness, which made me happy since I normally can’t pick up on subtle aftertastes.

               The second steep was for 60 seconds with water at 180 degrees. The second steep definitely ups the savory aspect of the veggies , emphasizing a more “cooked” flavor than a crisp, raw flavor. The sip opens up light with notes of pollen and crushed vegetation with a light sweetness in the background. The mid sip is an explosion of cooked green beans, savory and buttery! Underneath are notes of freshly cut grass as well. This grass note lingers into the end of the sip, which is mostly sugary sweet with a mixture of honey and nuts. The grassy note provides a nice contrast to the sweetness and makes the savor midsip a bit less jarring. The mouthfeel continues to be great, and this tea is super refreshing!

 The third steep was for 90 seconds with water at 180 degrees. The mid sip is “green central station” according to my silly tea notes! There’s also a light bitterness to this steep, but it isn’t bad at all and nothing compared to how bitter and undrinkable some shengs can get! The opening of this steep is less sweet, more crushed outdoor vegetation and distant pollen than honey sweetness this time around. The mid sip is POTENT cooked veggies notes that are, quite frankly, delicious. The texture of green beans and any green with a similar tasting profile makes me gag in real life, but I enjoy the tastes so it is nice to run into these notes in a way I can enjoy! The finish is cut grass and light nuttiness.

               This tea held together for one more steep and one sad steep, but I decided to cut it off at three because they were the best steeps. I am SO GLAD I got 50 g of this tea so I can experiment with grandpa steeping and cold steeping it!

[thaliaarche]

"The Eyes Are Windows to the Soul”

For @queenofsebaciel‘s Sebaciel week– day 6, “the Midfords.”

Ships: Sebeth and Sebaciel Rating: T Warnings: Homophobia, canon-typical violence, relationship abuse Word count: ~4.5K

Summary: Disenchanted with her marriage, Elizabeth turns her attentions from Ciel to his butler. Thus the three begin a dangerous game . . .

(This works as a stand-alone fic, but the immediate prequel is here on AO3 in case you’re interested. Please check the warnings, as they’re quite different from this fic’s.)

The day came when Sebastian was not there to stay Ciel’s hand, and the slap reverberated throughout the manor’s halls.

Elizabeth ran from their bedchamber— her bedchamber, as Ciel had coolly reminded her just then— stumbling down dark hallways, tripping on the grand, blood-red carpet of the main stairs. To the new bride, the mansion seemed grotesquely large, swathed with shadows she had somehow never noticed as a child.

As a child, she would have responded to Ciel’s darkness with ribbons, with toys and music and her own, soaring giggles. But she had learned over the past few years that no amount of shimmering clothes would lighten Ciel’s mood. And no matter how many glittering, fairy-tale balls she arranged, he would not play her prince, would not even try.

She was Elizabeth Midford Phantomhive, a woman of the two strongest families in Britain, so she didn't cry. Instead, she did what she had seen so many adults who didn’t cry do. She made her way to the dining room, with its well-stocked liquor cabinet.

“My lady.”

Startled, she let the glass slip, yet that butler, inexplicably appearing next to her as if out of thin air, caught it inches from the ground. He glanced up at her, her slight frame now shaking with fright as well as rage. She stared back for a moment and then began to speak, to beg that he wouldn’t tell Ciel and give him more reasons to dismiss her as a foolish wisp of a girl . . .

He cut her off. “Would you care for some tea?”

She studied him over the cup of steaming tea— a gentle, calming oolong he had received just that day. She praised its delicate flavors, and he smiled in return, sitting down across from her without taking any tea himself.

It was unusual, of course, for a lady of her status to ask a butler to sit at the table with her. Elizabeth, however, had never mistaken Sebastian for a normal servant. Though she noticed a slight crease in his youthful brow and traces of weariness in his rich, red-brown eyes, she felt— as she had the first day she saw him, standing by her miraculously alive cousin— that he was somehow supernatural.    

Sebastian watched her as well. These months of marriage, filled with empty days as Ciel roamed abroad for his missions and punctuated by tempestuous arguments whenever he did return, had been unkind to the young lady. Left alone with only the other servants and too many snakes for company, she wore dark frocks everyday, the sober hues accompanied by shadows under her eyes and hollows in her cheeks. Sebastian wondered whether her prior gayness hadn't been more aesthetically pleasing.

"Tell me, Sebastian," Elizabeth broke their thoughtful silence, "Was he always like this?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"How can you not? You have been far closer to Ciel than anyone, these past few years. If anyone knows whence his cruelty comes, it's you."

Sebastian gazed at her green eyes— more perceptive, perhaps, than he had suspected. "I do know what you mean, then. And yet I can't answer."

Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, considering. "He told me once, without thinking much of it, that you couldn't lie even if lives depended on it."

"That was a rather foolish admission on his part."

"It's true, then? You can't lie to me?"

"Indeed."

"Though you can still play with my words," Elizabeth mused. Setting her jaw, she fixed her eyes on Sebastian and asked outright, "What's the most evil thing he's done as the Watchdog?"

"'Evil' is hard to define, but perhaps burning down a building full of kidnapped children would qualify."

She gasped and clenched her eyes shut, but she reopened them a moment later, shaking her head. "Is he tortured, then, by guilt over that act or some other?"

"I do not think he feels guilt for any act."

"Because he is fighting for good?"

"Because he fights for the queen," Sebastian replied. Elizabeth detected a note of sarcasm.

"He may yet be guilty in thought, though," she murmured. Then, her eyes grew wide at a new thought. "Sebastian, is he . . . Is he like a character out of that Oscar Wilde novel?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her stammering. "I once again don't know what you mean. That is a frightfully ambiguous question."

She grimaced. "It's difficult to put this delicately."

"You need not worry about protecting my innocence, Lady Elizabeth."

Now Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "To the best of your knowledge, has he ever asked a man to be his lover?"

Sebastian stared at the woman before him, crimson irises flickering. "No," he finally said, his voice soft and low. "He has never asked, to my knowledge."

"I hoped he might have someone he cared for," Elizabeth looked down, speaking to her empty cup.

"You would have him be happy, even in someone else's arms?"

"If it would save him from his own bitterness, yes," she replied curtly. "I mourned him once, Sebastian. I didn't intend to ever do so again."

"And what of your own bitterness?" Sebastian questioned, standing to refill her tea.

"A proper lady is never bitter."

"Your grief, then. What can save you from being consumed yourself?"

Elizabeth pondered for a moment, as the only sound came from the tea trickling into her cup. Finally, she shrugged. "You can."

"I can?"

"Of course," she tossed her golden curls, wearing her first true smile in days. "Fence with me."

Sebastian and Elizabeth did battle, their blades clashing as Ciel shut himself in his study. The very first day, Elizabeth won handily, slipping the sword past Sebastian's defense to stab him where his heart would be.

Her eyes immediately narrowed. “You let me win. Why?”

“I will admit I held myself back. It is your first time fencing in many months, after all . . .”

“Keep in mind that I am cut from the same cloth as Ciel.”

“Oh?”

“I love nothing more than a strong opponent. Their skill makes their ultimate defeat so much more thrilling.”

Sebastian smirked at her teasing arrogance, and he easily beat her in each match afterwards. Yet he saw determination unfurling in her, his every victory sparking life back into those dead green eyes. He had to leave the next week, summoned by Ciel to a new adventure, and, even as he slaughtered thugs by the hundred, he found he rather missed those elegant matches with the young lady.

Upon their return, the lady herself greeted the travelers at the front door, a fresh ruddiness in her cheeks. After replying to Ciel’s stern nod with an unsmiling greeting of her own, she turned to Sebastian with a barely concealed grin on her lips, indicating with a tilt of her head that the matches would resume immediately.

Early on the morning of his and Elizabeth’s anniversary, Ciel was out of town, and marriage was far from his mind. He and Sebastian were stranded in a swiftly sinking dinghy, bobbing somewhere on the ice-cold Channel.

At the same time, Elizabeth stood before her bedroom mirror, her nightgown’s hem swirling at her ankles as she lunged forward, lashed out with the imagined sword in her hand, and then sprang back again. She had not forgotten the date, but she pushed Ciel’s absence from her thoughts, instead focusing solely on her footwork.

The earl’s carriage rolled up to the manor in the afternoon, and Sebastian helped his master from the coach. Uninjured and implausibly dry, Ciel strode straight-backed to the door where his wife waited, laced into a nut-brown dress.

“Happy anniversary, Lizzie,” he said, bowing stiffly.

“I wish you the same--” she smiled sweetly-- “and I am glad to see you in good health. You seemed worried in your last letter . . .”

“This case is presenting me with only the slightest trouble,” he replied. “You need not concern yourself with it.”

Elizabeth smiled once more, though Sebastian now noticed the irony mixed with the sweetness.

They progressed inside, where Elizabeth presented Ciel with his gift— a tome freshly arrived from America, describing the various monopolists currently thriving there. He thanked her, obviously taken aback by her thoughtfulness, and then nodded to Sebastian, who produced a large box seemingly from midair and placed it before Elizabeth. Opening it, she pulled out a new dress of luscious, shining green, its billowing skirt tucked and pinned and cascading down in troves of ruffles.

“It’s so cute,” Elizabeth squealed. “Oh, I have to try it on right now! Paula! Help me into this, Paula . . .”

As she scampered upstairs, Sebastian found himself smiling at the echo of a young girl whom he thought gone forever.

Once dressed, Elizabeth swept back down the stairs, her slender silhouette shimmering in apple-green, her gold curls artfully loosed about her face. Sebastian stopped still at the sight.

“Shall I assume I look lovely?” she said, laughing at his awestruck expression.

“You . . .” Sebastian trailed off, shaking his head. “Few things render me speechless, Lady Elizabeth . . .”

“So I should congratulate myself for managing it,” she finished, giggling. “Is Ciel in the study now? I wanted to show him. Did he choose this himself?”

“Not himself, my lady,” Sebastian corrected.

Her face fell. “Nina Hopkins, then?” she muttered. “She always had superb taste . . .”

“No,” Sebastian cut her off. “I chose it. It matched your eyes exquisitely.”

Still standing on the steps, Elizabeth stared at him, their eyes perfectly level, their bodies perfectly still. “And here I thought you liked my fencing uniform best,” she finally murmured, feeling a hot blush in her cheeks.

“Second best, young mistress.”

"No, I am not going to wear a dress again!" With that, Ciel ordered Sebastian from the study.

Thinking over the latest disaster, Sebastian sighed as he poured Lady Elizabeth another cup of tea. She glanced up upon hearing it.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Elizabeth . . ."

"He's still worried over that case, isn't he?  The one he insists is causing no problems at all."

The butler nodded.

"Can you tell me what the trouble is?"

“I cannot speak in specifics, my lady, but the gist of the matter is this— I did some reconnaissance work alone and obtained an invitation to a ball tomorrow night, hosted in the home of our primary suspect."

"Is that not cause for celebration?"

"It would be, except the invitation is for both Professor Michaels— my alias, you understand— and his honorable new wife. I’ve already aroused some suspicions, and, should I attend without said "wife," certain parties will ask untoward questions that could set the investigation back months."

"Surely there is some actress in Ciel’s network who may take on the role?"

"None who can both convincingly play a young gentlewoman and also treat this matter with the discretion it requires."

"Someone who's not an actress, then?" she asked, suddenly smiling.

"Mey-rin is a possibility, I suppose," Sebastian mused, "But even I would be hard-pressed to remedy her accent in time . . ." He noticed Elizabeth's impish expression. “No, my lady, we could not ask that of you!”

“Whyever not? I’m ready, able, and more than willing to be of assistance.”

He stared at her for a moment more, a devilish grin spreading across his own face.

“Your refreshments, Mrs. Michaels.”

Sebastian held out a plate of biscuits— tastefully rearranged according to his butler sensibilities— to Elizabeth, and she thanked him, pitching her voice lower, drawing the words out. To avoid being accidentally recognized, she had donned both a new way of speaking and a rather unusual costume— Paula had pinned her blonde curls tight to her head and placed a wig on top, rolling its black tresses into an intricate bun. She wore a pale pink dress that, despite being simpler in design than she was used to, still showed off her figure splendidly.

Various interested parties around the room watched the couple carefully. Ciel, smuggled in as the Michaels’ footman, noticed their distraction and slipped out the door, seeking more private rooms.

“How will we know if Ciel is discovered?” Elizabeth said. Both she and Sebastian wore perfectly polite smiles as they planned to rob their host's home, thus appearing indistinguishable from the conversationalists around them.

"He and I have developed a system of communication precisely to rescue him from captivity,” he replied. “Lemonade?”

“No, I’m quite refreshed,” she assured him, raising her voice slightly as she saw one of the criminals walk by. “But please,” she returned to a quieter tone, “Do let me know if he finds himself in trouble.”

“Have you a sabre strapped under your dress with which to rescue him?”

“Not at all, dear,” Elizabeth cooed. “Simply two handguns. My mother taught me to shoot almost as well as I fence.”

"And wherever did you get the firearms?”

“From our maid, naturally. She brought me quite a selection with the petticoats today.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re one hell of a wife?”

She shook her head, suddenly giggling.

For hours, they danced with others, merely glancing at each other over their partners’ shoulders. Late in the night, Sebastian found his way back to Elizabeth. “A dance, my lady?”

She paused, considering. “I’d be delighted, Seb— Mr. Michaels.”

Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth placed one hand on his shoulder, fingers ghosting against his sharply sculpted neck. He raised his hand first to her face, touching a wayward black curl, coiling the silken lock around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. That gloved hand slipped downwards then, settling at her waist, and she gasped, quite by accident, as his other hand took hers and interlaced their fingers.

Tall, impossibly graceful, he led her in the waltz, and she instinctively trusted his every motion and let herself spin blindly. With the subtlest of presses, he guided her flawlessly among the crowd of couples in the ballroom, her skirt never so much as grazing another lady’s, even though his eyes were fixed on hers the whole while through.

“We will leave the ball after this,” he breathed into her ear.

Ciel had crept back, fist clenched around a most fascinating paper— a list of Latin incantations compiled by the criminals, all explicitly designed to destroy devils— and he had just slipped into the ballroom, only to see Elizabeth and Sebastian together. They were dancing, both impossibly graceful as they stepped and turned in rhythm, in harmony. Ciel shook his head, reminding himself that they were both merely playing their parts as a newlywed couple, that they served him alone.

Even after the triumph at the ball, the case dragged on, but why Elizabeth couldn’t tell. When she asked questions, Ciel snapped at her or waved her away, while Sebastian simply shook his head, explicitly forbidden from answering.

The two of them had left to finish the case off a few months ago. They were supposed to return last week. Now, the servants paced the halls, whispering anxiously. Finny tore up all the flowerbeds out of nervous energy, Bard was setting fire to the kitchen twice each day, and Mey-rin entirely gave up cleaning, instead waiting on the manor’s rooftop and aiming her rifle at every bird in sight.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and checked herself in the mirror, adjusting her posture before repeating a footwork drill. All the while, she considered the situation. Sebastian would keep Ciel safe, would preserve the dear, human husband she had sworn as a child to protect. Sebastian would keep himself safe, too, for he had clearly been engineered— tortured?— to be inhumanly strong.

And yet she worried for them both, and in equal amounts.

When the carriage finally clattered to the front door, a hired coachman was driving. Ciel climbed out, healthy but muttering irritatedly. “Damn convulsions . . .”

As Ciel strode into the manor, Bard and Finny clambered in and carried out the butler, a silent, jerking wreck. His eyes were closed, apparently unconscious. His body, otherwise unharmed, shuddered and spasmed in unceasing rhythm.

Elizabeth blanched at the sight, but she swiftly stepped forward, sending Bard off for the doctor, showing Finny how to lay Sebastian down on the sofa, instructing Mey-rin to fetch water and Paula to get medicine.

As the servants bustled about, she whipped around to face Ciel, who still stood at the foot of the stairs. “Why did you let this happen?”

“I didn’t know he was so weak,” he spat.

“Do you think him invulnerable?”

He barked out a laugh.

“Tell me, Ciel! How do I heal him?” she asked, words tinged with pleading. “We can’t let him die.”

“What,” Ciel mocked. “Would you miss him?”

She opened her mouth in passionate response, for she would indeed miss him— the incisive, impossibly perceptive gaze of his cherrywood eyes, the magnificent wit tightly reined in by that servile facade, the kindness he had revealed to her beneath the hardened edges of his cynicism . . .

Then she saw Ciel pressing his sole eye shut, face twisted with feeling. “He won’t die,” he muttered, voice suddenly hoarse. “I feel as if I’ve seen this before . . .”

“Where?”

Ciel turned his face away and strode up the stairs. “Don’t worry, Lizzie,” he declared without looking back at her, “I’d bet my life that Sebastian will be serving us tea tomorrow morning.”

As Ciel predicted, Sebastian served the tea the next morning, well-kempt and neatly dressed, but Elizabeth still watched him suspiciously. The convulsions had subsided, only to be replaced by a subtle, rapid shaking. His red irises in particular vibrated back and forth with frenzied speed, blurred like a string suddenly pulled too taut.

He approached her later. “Would you please fence with me?”

“Are you well, Sebastian?” she asked. When he opened his mouth to reply, she reminded him, “Remember that you can’t lie.”

“Do you remember . . .” Sebastian’s words were tumbling out too fast, and the whole world flickered as if lit by candlelight— damn those exorcists! “Do you remember how you knew the fencing would save you? From Ciel, from this house, from your grief?”

“How could I forget?”

“We have that in common, you and I, we are most ourselves when we are fighting. Please, my lady. Fence with me.”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. “If you falter for a single second, we stop.”

Sebastian would not falter. He won the first match, though the victory came with surprising difficulty.

As they began again, he could feel his composure slipping— though his human body remained steady, he felt his demonic essence seeping forth and tainting his brain. And so his blows came more forcefully, and he danced around Elizabeth, flying, spinning inhumanly fast, like a child’s top.

He could hear her breathing hard, yet she stood firm and blocked each blow. He channeled a further reserve of fiendish strength into his movements, somehow unworried for her safety.

It seemed to Sebastian that everything slowed, as if the two of them were suspended underwater— he saw the curves of light traced by ripples on the walls. Then the world around them blended together, and he saw her alone. Behind her girlishness, he discovered strength— immense, if slightly chipped. Her every movement flowed with pure, ambrosial grace. Her limbs were endowed with a radiant divinity, rather as his own had once been . . .

The redhead reaper surfaced in his mind, slapping him back to reality, and he batted away the memory. There could be no comparison between Grell Sutcliff and Elizabeth Phantomhive.

Could there?

Sifting through the false perceptions, he found two facts. First, a death goddess— or part-death-goddess, at least— stood before him. Second, that goddess had just stabbed him in the chest.

He stumbled back, the breath jerked from his lungs, and she caught him before setting him softly on the ground and kneeling beside him. “I knew we shouldn’t have tried this so soon . . .”

“Do not fret,” he murmured, removing his mask. “I am unharmed.” He removed her mask, too, and gazed at those sparkling green eyes as if for the first time. “And I discovered an interesting truth in our combat.”

“What truth?”

Sebastian placed a gentle hand behind Elizabeth’s neck, pulled her close, and kissed her.

“Damn hallucinations.”

Now fully recovered, Sebastian muttered to himself as he cleaned the silverware that night, taking special pleasure in licking off spots of the exorcists’ blood. “Damn it all.”

His thoughts whirred inhumanly fast. Why did those meddling priests have to pick, of all rituals, that one? Why had his mind reacted by seeing things that weren’t there— or things that were? Why did those last visions have to center on Elizabeth? Why hadn’t the hallucinations bothered to say whether Ciel was part-reaper, too? And what, in the name of Hell, possessed him to kiss his young mistress?

He had answers for that last question, a surfeit of excellent answers. Elizabeth clearly required affection as much as food or water, and how could he be a Phantomhive butler if he did not fulfill that need? If neither Ciel nor he provided her with kindness, who would? A bottle of scotch? Elizabeth nearly turned to one, just months back.

What if she found comfort in the arms of another man? Ciel would not enjoy wasting his time with the scandal of that scenario. And if Elizabeth’s chosen lover was an enemy of the Watchdog, then Ciel would be at risk for more, far more, than mere public scandal.

Or what if Elizabeth’s hunger for love turned into a overnourished, glutted hatred? What if this sharp, swift daughter of reapers turned against the husband she had once sworn to love? Could Ciel truly order his demon to kill her?

To hell with the what-ifs. As things stood in the present, would Ciel order his demon to kill her?

After all, Ciel was rather . . . impulsive where Sebastian was concerned, and the servant knew too well that his lord's cruelty ran deep. He wouldn’t be shocked, no, would even admire it in a twisted fashion, if his young master demanded Elizabeth’s death at a demon’s hands.

Sebastian could feel himself starting to shudder again, just imagining the potential irony. The irony that part of him wouldn’t want to murder her. The irony that nothing but his own demon self had possessed him to kiss her.

The solution, of course, was blissfully simple. He would never tell Ciel about his relationship with Elizabeth. He would restrain himself around his young mistress, giving no more than she needed. Perhaps he could even bring himself, eventually, to sidestep his orders and give of himself to Ciel as well, assuaging any latent jealousy the young lord might feel towards his wife. It would be the strangest household arrangement he had come across, but the demon was almost looking forward to it . . .

It was then that his keen demon ears heard Elizabeth’s words drifting from Ciel’s study, voice clearly straining with emotion. “Yes, Ciel. I kissed Sebastian.”

“What the hell?”

“Please, young master . . .”

“What, in the name of Hell?”

"I had many clear reasons, young master . . .”

"You stopped her from drinking, from philandering outside the house, et cetera, et cetera,” Ciel fumed. “I’m fully aware of all your excuses. But what . . .” The earl stopped himself, clenching the cushion of the massive chair in his study, digging his nails into the cloth. “Fine. Tell me, did Lizzie tell the truth? One kiss, tinted with delusions on your part, and that’s all?”

“Indeed.”

“And what do you intend to do now?” Ciel asked, his tone suddenly clinical, as if he was simply interrogating Sebastian about one of the Watchdog’s cases.

The butler’s eyes widened with surprise. “I don’t know what you mean . . .”

“What have you planned for her? Don’t tell me, demon, that you think of her only as a potential lover . . .”

“I think of her as a demon’s potential lover, which is actually a rare distinction . . .”

Ciel recoiled. “You’ll break her heart, Sebastian.”

“Why would I bother, when you break it so effectively yourself?”

“Oh, stop evading,” the young lord spat, enunciating each word with brutal clarity. “What tortures have you in mind for her?”

“Young master, you forget that I am a connoisseur of souls,” Sebastian shot back. “As such, I have no interest in shattering a magnificent spirit— except by my devouring it, but that is not the matter at hand. And her spirit is magnificent, young master, much as yours is. You are both scarred by the grief of that month. You are both more capable and far more bloodthirsty than your innocent faces suggest. You are both dedicated to lofty but hopeless goals . . .”

“Hopeless?”

"You are seeking to restore the honor of your dead parents, and she seeks to restore you.”

Ciel watched Sebastian silently, a flash of jealousy— longing— flickering across his face. “So you intend to be unambiguously good to her.”

“Provided I am permitted to, yes.”

“I suppose it’s impossible for you to ever be so straightforwardly kind to a soul you’ve contracted with.”

“You suppose correctly,” Sebastian murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. “The irony of the ending would overshadow our every interaction.”

Ciel stared down at his desk for a moment, before lifting his eyes back up and forcing himself to speak conversationally. "Did you know she called you an angel?"

"She means it rhetorically, no doubt."

"I am not so sure. Don’t you dare hurt her, Sebastian.”

“I have no intention of . . .”

“This is an order, demon,” Ciel slipped off the eyepatch, and a quiver that only a fiend could discern twitched at his chin. “Don’t hurt her, even after I am gone. Treat her better than you’d treat me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A new enemy had attacked Phantomhive Manor, and all forces had been deployed in its defence. The butler loomed tall in front of the main door, black talons slashing, silver forks glinting as he hurled them into the night. A smaller figure stood behind him, two swords slick with blood. Ciel looked on from an upstairs window.

As he watched Elizabeth and Sebastian battle back-to-back, his own face flushed with double-edged jealousy. As always, he cursed his sick mind that never took an interest in feminine charms, even though Lizzie was attractive and lovely by all others’ accounts. Yet he also cursed the love he had— the utterly grey love for a black-and-white creature, currently laying low armies with a silverware set. So often, Ciel had imagined the feel of that soft, gloved hand on his own softer face, tracing the hollow of his cheek. He imagined Sebastian leaning forward to bestow a kiss, gentle, laced with only the slightest trace of mocking . . .

Mocking. As always, the image of Sebastian’s mocking smirk shook Ciel from his folly. No, he could never entrust his pathetic, human heart to his taunting, hellish mercenary.

And so the young earl had buried his raging affection and pretended disinterest, merely observing his butler from afar. When Sebastian looked at him, Ciel seized the opportunity to stare back, studying his butler’s expressions, at times discovering amusement, irritation, pity, resentment or— inexplicably— fear.

Yet Sebastian regarded Elizabeth with pure respect.

Ciel had commanded his demon to stay with Elizabeth through her life, praying that Sebastian might for once make a show of disobedience; after all, there was no obligation to take orders that could outlast the contract. Yet Sebastian had immediately, eagerly accepted.  A good man would have taken pleasure in that success, would have been glad to arrange the happiness of the one he should have loved and the one he did. But Ciel Phantomhive was not a good man.

Blinking the tears from his two-toned eyes, the Earl of Phantomhive watched from the window and pretended his wife and butler were mere pawns. For the rest of his short, short life, he pretended they lived and fought only for him.

Yet Sebastian and Elizabeth stepped and turned in timeless rhythm, concordant in their mismatched harmony.

[bofyindia-blog]

#6 INCREDIBLE HEALTH EFFECTS OF DRINKING TEA | BENEFITS OF TEA

Tea contains some substances which are why it often said to be healthy. It is quite understood that tea can improve your skin and help keep you fit and trim, what you might not know is that it can do amazing healthy stuff for you.  

Yes, that is correct, nutrients available in a cup of tea has the ability to do wonders with your health. Tea can be served both iced or hot which makes it tasty and most preferable beverage.

 UK holds the first position as the largest consumer of tea with 165 million cups of tea consumed every day.  Britain is the second largest consumer of tea.

 Above chart is showing the data of people consuming tea at places like at the office, at home, while driving, or at any other place.

 Did you know that tea can help you kill your hangover? That is correct, Studies have shown that Chinese use tea to cure their hangovers and drinking tea for weight reduce and common cold reduction.

 Tea is made from the leaves of a bush called Camellia sinensis. Black tea and green are made of the same plant but the process is different. For black tea, the process is to turn the leaves into dark brownish-black color.

 The process is called “oxidation”. For green tea, no oxidation is required. Teas like oolong and pu-erh are also derived from the same plant.

 Antioxidants, catechins, and nutrients are present in the tea which positively impacts our body.

 Tea is not just appreciated for its good taste and worldwide appeal. Tea works as a good preventive for cancer and heart disease. It’s an acne cure and even mouthwash. It is also thought to provide protection from glaucoma and eye diseases.

 Let’s dive into some more health benefits of drinking tea.

1.       TEA CONTAINS ANTIOXIDANTS

  Antioxidants work to prevent us from the harms. When our body absorbs oxygen the cells in our body starts to produce free radicals. Now, these free radicals can cause some serious damage to the living cells. The vitamins and minerals that fight with these free radicals are called Antioxidants.

  Antioxidants do protect and heal body cells but for that they need to be combined with a healthy diet and daily exercise routine to keep your cells at a minimum exposure with the free radicals. If you add up tea in your healthy diet than it can help you consume a good amount antioxidants.

  There are myths present which say that fruits and vegetables have higher antioxidants level than tea, but that is just not the fact. Tea contains approx ten times more antioxidants than the amount of it found in fruits and vegetables.

  Though Fruits and vegetables are indeed a part of a healthy diet and play a major role in the healthy weight loss but fruits do contain sugar and vegetables have some starch which your body processes into sugar. So, a cup of unsweetened tea is a good way to make your meals rich in antioxidants.

 2.       TEA HELPS TO KEEP BONES STRONG

   Osteoporosis is a medical condition where bones become brittle and fragile. Flavonoids, healthy plant chemicals, present in black tea could help a lot to ward off this bone-weakling illness especially from the aging people.

  During this condition, osteoclasts, type of bone cells that removes bone tissue by removing the mineral matrix of it, start outnumbering osteoblasts, bone cells which are responsible for the bone formation, which leads to making our bones weak.

  After the age of 30-35 the number of osteoblasts starts falling down and that’s when osteoporosis starts to happen in the first place and this increases the risk of fractures to major joints.

  Studies have shown that those who drink three or more cups of tea every day are thirty percent (30%) less likely to fracture than to those who drink less than one cup of tea in a week. It also says that every cup of tea you drink each day may cut the risk of fracture by nine percent (9%).

 3.       TEA BOOSTS THE IMMUNITY SYSTEM

  Our immune system is responsible for warding off the harmful bacteria, fungal and viral infections that cause disease and illness. Infection is the invasion of bacteria and viruses that invade your body. After they invade, they multiply and attack and your immune system fights off with these invading germs and keeps you safe from the resultant disease.

  For this fight off your immune system needs to be strong enough to keep you safe. Tea contains a component that primes the immune system to attack the invading bacteria. This characteristic of boosting immunity is not present in coffee.

  Studies found that immune system blood cells from tea drinkers respond five times faster to germs than blood cells of coffee drinkers.  Chamomile tea is advised the best tea for boosting immunity.

 4.       TEA REDUCE HEART ATTACK RISKS

  Lowering down cardiovascular disease may be as easy as drinking green tea. Tea helps to reduce cholesterol and triglycerides which may be responsible for the heart attacks.

  Above, in the second point, I mentioned flavonoids, tea has this important element and it has the super amazing power to decrease heart attacks. Flavonoids can reduce heart attacks risk, forty-four percent (44%) of heart attack risk is reduced by the flavonoids present in a cup of tea.

  NOTE: This power of reducing heart attacks will be of no use if you drink tea with adding milk into it. Milk makes flavonoids powerless.

 5.       TEA HELPS IN WEIGHT LOSS

  A cup of green tea daily will help you to drop those kilos faster. For the purpose, green is the most famous of all other teas.

  Let me explain how that works…

  Caffeine is a well know stimulant that helps to burn fat and improve exercise performance. A cup of green tea contains caffeine but much less than coffee. A cup of coffee contains approximately 100-200 mg caffeine, whereas a cup of green tea contains about 24-40 mg of caffeine in it which is enough to have a mild effect.

  Along with caffeine, green tea is loaded with antioxidants (which we already talked about) and one of them is catechins. Catechins also help in weight loss.

  However, that doesn’t mean that a cup of this herbal brew each day will get you back into your old skinny jeans. It is important that your green tea habit must be paired with a sensible and healthy diet plan and daily exercise routine.

 6.       TEA HELPS YOU HAVE A SHINING BRIGHT SMILE

  Japanese Studies have proved that green tea provides many health benefits for your teeth and gums. The Study showed that people who drink green tea are expected to have superior oral health compared to those who don’t drink green tea.

  Gum disease is a serious threat and it is caused when plaque is allowed to rest on your teeth. These toxins inflame the gum tissue and at the eventual point it causes gum recession, deeply seated infections, and even bloodborne bacteria.

  Green tea contains anti-inflammatory properties that work as a strong shield between our gums and the toxic infection, and keep gum disease from progressing.

[amazonv]

While on vacation I made sure to book a visit to the Zealong plantation, I had reviewed them previously and I was going to be on the area. http://ift.tt/2kIwzAM When I arrived at The Vista a bit before my tour time there was a nice tasting and show room. Hua made me a sample of the new flavored tea (green tea and roses). When it was tour time, myself and another couple got to go on a tour with Kevin. The tour started at The Vista (which is half factor, half showroom – sadly you don’t’ actually get to see the factory), and then wander up a walk way with sculptures and statuary. The statues and sculptures actually tell the tale of the history of tea – and the processing of tea. Kevin went on to explain that there are many creation stories for tea – and the one he featured was the man falling asleep, leaves falling into his boiling water, the water changing color, and deciding to drink it. Next he explained tea processing – oxidation, withering, rolling, the types of teas. I was quite happy it was a factual and educational bit – I hate when tours give false and/or non detailed information. Kevin then explained the three leaves and a bud – oolong hinting at dragons (bud being a body and leaves being wings). And then went into specifics about the Zealong plantation. This lead to us being able to try on the tea pickers hats and jackets and see their gloves. The jacket covers your hands! Quite brilliant to avoid sunburn. The hat really does have great sun coverage. The gloves were interesting – there is a razer blade in them to help with clean cuts of the plucking which is apparently better for the plant. So we donned the hats and jackets, found two leaves and a bud, and plucked! Then had to imagine doing that as fast as you could for hours each day. The explanation of tea history, processing and plantation facts finished with some videos in a pretty office meeting (event) room with an amazing view and porch. The tale along the way unfolded as; When the founder, Vincent Chen, spotted a camellia growing in Australia he thought that perhaps tea could grow in Australia. He got 1500 cuttings from Taiwan, but due to the tight biosecurity regulations they had to stay in quarantine for 10 months. Only 130 survived. Today they have propagated the 130 into 1.2 million tea trees. It really started out as almost a hobby – could it be done? And now is a thriving business. The Waikato region is where the plantation is, and overall it has a nice temperature that mimics the Asian climate the tea trees were used to before coming to New Zealand. Apparently a tea plantation had been tried by another company on the south island but it had failed, likely due to snow and cold. Everything here is organic, no pesticide, no fertilizer. In fact they are the only ISO 2200 certified tea plantation. This means that they can trace a specific packet of tea back to the date it was picked, how and when it was processed, etc. They just plow and mow over weeds as needed between pickings. There are three pickings per year (I kept trying to get him to say flushes) approximately Nov, Jan, March. The teas are picked by hands with temporary workers. Some from the area, which are trained for two weeks before they can become tea pickers, and some from Taiwan. After the teas are picked they are processed into Green, Black or one of the three oolongs. There were some very high tech machines, including rolling machines, involved in this step as seen in the video. They tried to do a white tea processing but the price was astronomical and the amount that could be produced was so small that they decided against it. Each picking lasts for about 20 days – depending on weather (heat etc) At the plantation there is one full time tea master overseeing the processing of tea and 1 part time master. When needed there are helicopters contracted to keep off the frost by blowing hot air on the plants, they are rented from a company that also offers this service to wineries in the region. At most this is about 3 weeks of risk per year. There are sensors in each plot of tea trees reporting on a variety of information including temperature that are used to best apply this. Vincent Chen comes back twice a year from Taiwan to check in on the plantation. After the tour there was a tasting of all the teas at a beautiful wooden table, apparently it was cinnamon wood, done by our lovely tour guide Kevin. There were aroma cups, and we went light to dark as is proper. We chatted about the flavors we were getting from each and generally had a good time and also chatted a bit more about the Zealong plantation. We also got a gift of a sample of tea to take home with each of us. I was pleased to learn that to work in the office someone had to learn all the elements of tea – it seemed like a great thing to me! I had opted, as well as the other couple in the morning tour, to finish off with a high tea. This is optional, but either way I fully recommend tea lovers who will be in the area – or who happen to live in the area and were unaware it was there – go ahead and book a tour. I was sad to find that they did, thanks to customer demand, offer teabags. The tea bags have no plastic, and no glue, but still sad such nice tea to be put through that. Hopefully consumers learn.