#maybe the poison doesn’t drip through maybe the poison is the bloodline.

[childhoodtheme]

shiv’s the bloodline. shiv’s the bloodline because she’s forced to continue the cycle. to be a distant and emotionally unavailable mother hanging off of her greedy megalomaniac husband… just as her mother was… just as she and her siblings were. she is a daughter unsaved from her mother’s fate.

[serotocin38]

TL;DWrite: How to Court a Dumb Human Bean

Mobei-Jun/Shang Qinghua

In which Shang Qinghua is kind of in love with Mobei-Jun, and misunderstands everything. You know, the typical situation. But this time, after a run-in with a strange demon girl, he’s also oblivious to the fact that he suddenly becomes incredibly attractive everyone else. And they all want him. 

2,420 words, oblivious SQH, slight pining, courting, misunderstandings, harem potential but no harem, only Moshang

High cheekbones – check. Sharp jawline – check. Piercing gaze – check. Broad shoulders – check. Ridiculous height – check. Graceful air – check. Firm and defined muscles – double check. Very powerful – check, check, and check.

Shang Qinghua sighed to himself, shaking his head ever so slightly as he reluctantly drew his gaze away from his king and went back to the pile of paperwork in front of him.

Mobei-Jun stood across the room, glaring at a group of elders who seemed to have finally cornered him and wanted to get their point across while Mobei-Jun was still willing to entertain them.

Shang Qinghua had no doubt it was to pester him about getting married again. Ever since Luo Binghe basically up and abandoned his newfound seat of power like it was the side chick he accidentally got pregnant, Mobei-Jun had taken over full-time, and as a result, Shang Qinghua found himself with a lot more paperwork to get through.

While he worked his way through several stacks a day, Shang Qinghua silently cursed Cucumber Bro for going into seclusion with his demon husband to live the life of domestic bliss while he was stuck with a desk job! And he did not even get paid for this!

The only plus side of the paperwork was that Shang Qinghua was situated across from Mobei-Jun most of the day, and he could sneak as many glances as his heart desires. And if Mobei-Jun caught him in the act, Shang Qinghua only had to tap his brush against his chin like he was thinking hard.

Take that, Cucumber Bro. You aren’t the only brilliant actor in this world!

“What’s wrong, my king?” Shang Qinghua asked when Mobei-Jun finally stormed away from the elders, and they were alone.

Mobei-Jun sat down on the throne of ice with an angry glower on his face. If it were directed at him, Shang Qinghua would be a blubbering mess of tears begging for his life. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Do you want to get married.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, wondering if he mishead. Then, his face flushed bright red. “My- My king? I- This- This servant couldn’t possibly be fit to marry you!”

The glower grew deeper, and now it was definitely directed at Shang Qinghua. “I meant, if you ever plan on getting married to anyone,” Mobei-Jun gritted out slowly.

Shang Qinghua was feeling faint now. Of course that was what Mobei-Jun meant! What the hell was he thinking?! He had obviously been daydreaming way too much!

“This servant wouldn’t dare!” Shang Qinghua squeaked. “My entire life is dedicated to serving my king and no one else!” He wondered if now would be a good time to get on his knees and start blubbering.

Mobei-Jun grunted and turned the glare away. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “The elders think… that the potential candidates they chose do not interest me.”

Shang Qinghua wiped away his tears and sniffled a few times. “Do they not appeal to my king?”

“…Not interested.”

Shang Qinghua thought about the long list of demon girls from various prestigious bloodlines. “Perhaps my king’s taste is... of another gender?”

Mobei-Jun’s glare turned back to him again.

Shang Qinghua was so dead. He just asked the second most powerful demon in the world if he was gay!

He gulped, his hand trembling and dripping ink all over the page. He quickly set it down and put his hands into his lap to hide them. Mobei-Jun just studied him hard, then looked away again, saying nothing.

…so it was not a ‘no’.

Shang Qinghua cleared his throat. “Should- Should this servant let the elders know? I’m certain that there are many eligible demon males that are fit to be my king’s consort? I- I’ve heard that homosexuality is quite common among demons! I mean, Sha Hualing is-”

“Not. Interested.”

“Eh? But- But my king-” Shang Qinghua was at a loss. He almost threw his hands up in the air and tore at his hair while screaming, “THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU INTO?”

He took a deep breath instead. “Perhaps my king is not interested in anything romantic or, ahem, sexual. In that case-”

“No.”

Shang Qinghua just stared blankly at him. After a few moments of silence, Mobei-Jun stared back at him.

“My king, is there anyone you’ve ever liked before? Anyone at all?”

There was a long silence. “…Yes.”

“Okay! Great!” Shang Qinghua said desperately. “What- What did they look like? Maybe we can find them again, or- or at least find someone fitting those descriptions!”

Mobei-Jun tilted his head to the side a bit, studying Shang Qinghua with narrowed eyes. “Small,” he said slowly. “Helpless. Like a baby bird.”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Uh, okay. What- What color was their hair? Their eyes? Male, female? When did you last see them?”

Mobei-Jun’s lips thinned as he continued staring at Shang Qinghua. “I see them every day,” he said slowly.

Shang Qinghua felt his excitement dim slightly. Ah, so it was a current crush. Despite being by his king’s side on a daily basis, Shang Qinghua was not aware of this interest of his.

His smile wavered ever so slightly. “Do- Do they know you… feel this way towards them?”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes narrowed further, boring deep into Shang Qinghua’s soul. “…They’re not very perceptive,” he said gravely.

Despite the dull throbbing of his own heart, Shang Qinghua silently comforted Mobei-Jun. Unrequited love was not a good feeling.

“Then my king just needs to be more bold with his advances!” Shang Qinghua encouraged. “Maybe you just need to tell them you like them!”

Mobei-Jun considered it. “I… like you.”

Shang Qinghua nodded. “Just like that, my king!”

Mobei-Jun’s glare grew deeper. Then, he shook his head. “Doesn’t work.”

Shang Qinghua gave a nervous chuckle. “How would you know if you don’t try, my king? Maybe if you spend more time with them, they’ll eventually catch on.”

“More time?” Mobei-Jun asked under his breath.

“Oh, and helping them out would probably show that you care.”

Mobei-Jun nodded slowly. “I see,” he said. “This… will work?”

Shang Qinghua gave him a weak smile that he hoped was encouraging. “Unless your person is a rock, they’ll certainly realize it.”

“Okay,” Mobei-Jun said. “Then, do you… want me to help-”

“Ah!” Shang Qinghua gasped as an amulet around his neck started growing hot. He quickly pulled it out, the red stone glowing dully in his palm. “This servant is late, my king!” he said. “I need to go pick up your new cloak now!”

He gave a hurried bow before scrambling out of the room, the doors slamming shut behind him.

Mobei-Jun sighed in annoyance. “…He’s a rock.”

~~~

Shang Qinghua was running terribly late. He was supposed to go to a specialty shop to pick up a custom cloak of Mobei-Jun’s.

A few weeks ago, Mobei-Jun had dropped a huge monster in front of his desk, blood still spilling from the fresh wound and staining the furs that served as a carpet in his room.

“This is- This is a Frost Flower Tiger Seal?” Shang Qinghua gawked. “What- What does my king want me to do with it this time?” he asked.

Mobei-Jun had recently taken up the habit of hunting rare demonic monsters with pelts that could sell for a fortune or two. And he never told Shang Qinghua what he wanted him to do with them, except he showed extreme offense to Shang Qinghua’s offer of selling them.

So he had no choice but to take the rare pelts and make them into rugs and coats and scarves.

The Fost Flower Tiger Seal’s slick pelt was extremely soft and completely waterproof. It was naturally a deep blue, with black streaks in it, like a tiger’s fur. So Shang Qinghua sent the pelt to a special clothing shop to have them customize a cloak for Mobei-Jun.

However, on the way, Shang Qinghua ran into a couple of demons who were in the process of dragging a poor human girl out of her hut.

“What a pretty little thing,” one of them leered. “Why don’t you come with us and keep us company?”

“Let me go!” she screamed, kicking and thrashing.

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua shouted, glad he brought his sword. It had been a while since he drew it, and he had never been particularly good at fighting in the first place, and he was definitely rusty. He just hoped the threat would scare away the demons.

The other demon sniggered. “Look, another tiny human,” he said. “Let’s take them both.”

Shang Qinghua swung his sword, the weight throwing him off a little bit. He quickly regained his balance, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

If he called out like last time, would Mobei-Jun show up?

Suddenly, both demons’ eyes were glued to Shang Qinghua’s sword. Then, with a mess of senseless apologies, they dropped the girl and ran off faster than Shang Qinghua could figure out what made them run.

It was only afterwards that Shang Qinghua remembered the tassel tied to the end of his sword with Mobei-Jun’s seal on it. Regardless, he gratefully sheathed his sword and rushed to the girl’s side.

“Hey, you really shouldn’t hang around here alone,” Shang Qinghua said, helping her up with a sigh.

The girl huffed. “I had it covered, you know,” she said. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out three needles, obviously coated with a deadly poison.

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua said.

“Thank you anyway,” she said. She looked him up and down. “What’s a human like you doing in the Demon Realm?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Not human,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “And I’m a travelling merchant. Anyway, I suppose I should repay you somehow. What do you want?” she asked. “I’ve got strength potions, protection charms, cultivation enhancers.”

She seemed to have found all of Shang Qinghua’s weaknesses with just a glance. Each suggestion felt like a small stab at all his lacking points.

“Heh, no need,” Shang Qinghua said, remembering he was on a tight schedule. “I need to get going.”

The girl tilted her head to the side. “Where are you headed? I have a pill that can prolong your stamina. Most use it for sex purposes, but you can use it to travel too,” she said casually, ignoring the way Shang Qinghua coughed lightly.

“Just west,” he said vaguely. “I really should go.”

Finally, the girl sighed. “Fine, fine. I won’t keep you. Here, take some water, at least. You look like you could use it.”

She disappeared into her hut briefly and came back with a small bottle. “It’s a bottle of Replenishing Water,” she said. “As long as you’re thirsty, it will continue to produce water. And it doesn’t take up much space, so it’s perfect for travel.”

Shang Qinghua glanced at the sun. He took the bottle. “Much thanks,” he said quickly. He left before the girl could try pushing any more of her wares onto him.

The Replenishing Water did seem pretty useful though. Shang Qinghua took several sips from the tiny bottle, but every single time, more cool water poured from it. But if Shang Qinghua just tipped the bottle over dry ground, nothing came out.

He briefly wondered who that girl was exactly. But he did not think on it too much because he managed to catch the store just before closing.

“Wait!” he called as the store owner, an elderly demon lady came out to lock up.

“There you are!” she snapped, shoving the door open again.

Shang Qinghua followed her inside, apologizing over and over again for being so late. She grumbled as she went and grabbed the cloak, all wrapped up and boxed nicely. He reached for the money pouch in his robes when suddenly, the elderly demon lady grabbed his wrist.

“Come here,” she commanded.

“Eh?” Shang Qinghua was pulled downwards roughly. She stared at him with her old eyes. “Is- Is everything alright, Madame?”

Suddenly, the usually sour expression on her face softened. “I’ve never noticed before, but… you look like my late husband!”

“Wh-What? You- You have to be mistaken. Madame, I am merely a human servant for my king! How could I-”

“I’m not mistaken!” she exclaimed. “You look exactly like him!” Suddenly, she rushed forward, and Shang Qinghua stepped back, running out of the shop as quickly as he could. “Husband, come back! Your Gui-er has been waiting for you!”

Shang Qinghua did not look back. He ran for a few miles before he collapsed on the side of the road, absolutely exhausted. The sun had nearly set, and he was still a far way from the palace. He had really hoped he could avoid travelling by sword.

But before anything else, Shang Qinghua spent a few minutes chugging from the bottle of Replenishing Water. He felt much better after sitting for a bit and making sure the demon lady was not chasing him.

By then, it was completely dark and walking was no longer an option.

Still, Shang Qinghua was reluctant about riding his sword. He had not been confident about mounting his sword since rescuing Mobei-Jun and nearly killing both of them with his skills.

“Ah, my king,” Shang Qinghua sighed aloud.

“What is it?”

Shang Qinghua wished he could say he did not scream like a little girl and drop the box holding the new cloak.

“My- My king!” Shang Qinghua gasped, his heart doing a rapid staccato dance in his chest. “What- What are you doing here?”

“You called,” Mobei-Jun said sternly, like it explained everything.

“This- This servant was just heading back.”

“It’s late already,” Mobei-Jun said. He picked up the box and opened it. He took out the Frost Flower Tiger Seal cloak and inspected it.

“Does my king approve?” Shang Qinghua asked nervously.

Mobei-Jun rubbed the thick cloak between his fingers. “It’s good,” he rumbled. Then, he draped the heavy cloak over Shang Qinghua’s shoulders and clasped it in front.

“My- My king?”

“Let’s go,” Mobei-Jun said, pulling him in by his waist and opening a portal.

They reappeared in the throne room, and Mobei-Jun led them into the adjoining room that served as his and Shang Qinghua’s office.

Shang Qinghua started to take off the cloak, but a sharp glare from Mobei-Jun stopped him. He left it on instead.

Liked the idea at first. I just felt it would take a longer than a brief one-shot, so I kinda procrastinated and lost interest. Will I come back to this one? Not likely.

[secret-engima]

Nox-verse ask!! Regis-Cor-Clarus(MaybeCid) finding out that Arydn is the 'bastard' son of Mors and Regis 'half-brother'?? Or is that spoilers. It's probably spoilers. Maybe CID then? Or their thoughts in the aftermath of the Arydn Reveal.

Hmmmmmmmmmm I’m afraid that’s major spoilers because once I get done with “Buckler” (the Axis-centric one-shot) Imma do “Rage”, which is the Ardyn reveal one-shot. But I guess I could do a few aftermath thoughts (that will probably have minor spoilers)?

-Cid is ... Cid REALLY wants to say he’s surprised, because this sounds like something out of a terrible soap opera. I mean- the mysterious Uncle of Reggie’s son turns out to be the half-sibling of BOTH Reggie AND the sister Reggie had a fling with to produce Nox? It sounds like the world’s most terrible and contrived plot twist.

-Unfortunately, Cid has long since learned that Real Life is far more strange and contrived and cliche than anyone likes to give it credit for. And the news of Ardyn’s blood (read: Regis’s shaky, guilt-ridden and horrified phone call begging him to come to the Citadel followed by Cid sitting next to Regis in solidarity as the man chokingly explained everything that had led up to Ardyn’s reveal and the reveal itself and oh ASTRALS he has a half-brother who had been TORTURED by their father-) isn’t as much of a surprise for Cid as for everyone else.

-Because it makes sense.

-Why else would Mors take an interest in Ardyn of all people? Why focus the worst of his “training” on Ardyn, even if Ardyn had magic? Further ... this explain Ardyn’s magic. Cid had been perfectly willing to buy that Ardyn was an outlier who’s family had that strange, self-destructive healing magic, still does (Ardyn had called it an Izunia trait, and Reggie had certainly never mentioned LC magic being able to do anything like that), but that magic seemed like something kept under tight secrecy.

-No, it made a lot more sense if Mors had first learned of Ardyn by discovering he had an illegitimate son and had taken that boy in to mold him into a weapon (not a son, never a son, Mors barely treated his legal heir with any form of familial affection, let alone someone with “tainted blood”). Ardyn’s Izunia magic was then probably discovered by accident during his brutal training, and all of Mors’ restraint would have gone out the window. Because Cid KNEW Mors. Knew the man’s measure. The man wasn’t afraid to break things for the “greater good”. Finding a boy of his own blood who had a previously unknown magic that healed any mortal injury?

-Mors would have seen no reason to restrain himself. For how do you break a tool that always fixes itself?

-He can almost picture it. Ardyn either hurt with the knowledge he would heal without curatives or Ardyn being forced to heal OTHERS that Mors deemed useful. Forced to pull wound after wound onto his own body so that Mors could continue his work without “wasting” phoenix downs or elixirs.

-Cid has long wondered how many of the torture marks were Ardyn’s, and how many were from Mors dragging the boy down into the interrogation rooms and forcing him to heal captured Imperial Spies.

-Frankly, everything but the brand are up for grabs, and doesn’t THIS explain the brand quite handily?

-Cid sits and rubs a hand on Regis’s shaking back and thinks to himself that he should have killed Mors himself when he had the chance. Passing in his sleep was far, far better than the man deserved.

-Regis is- okay to put it bluntly, Regis is a freaking MESS. There is only one thing that could drive Ardyn to reveal his own magic and bloodline, and that is Nox, so minor obvious spoilers but Nox took a MAJOR hit to trigger this. So Regis is not only reeling from the near-loss of his eldest, but the sudden revelation of Ardyn’s bloodline when the man ERUPTED with magic in response and so now he has to deal with the fact that 1. his eldest son got SERIOUSLY hurt (but is okay now through, just tired) and 2. the man he already knew had been so badly hurt by Mors is FAMILY. HE IS BLOOD. More than that he’s younger than Regis (hah physically only) which means that REGIS HAS A LITTLE BROTHER. A LITTLE HALF-BROTHER.

-And Mors had broken him.

-Regis FELT Ardyn’s magic when it rose, everyone in the Citadel had felt it. Erupting like lava and molten glass and fractured, hateful shards of anger-fury-pain-fury-YOU-DARE-. Regis had felt a man who he thought had no magic suddenly have enough magic to make the Citadel itself physically shake like there was an earthquake. Saw a blood red armiger spin into existence, humming and dripping bloody crystalline shards of hate and pain and fury like poison from a raw wound.

-Even setting aside how painful Regis knows it can be to suppress magic to the level where none can sense it (that Ardyn has been suppressing this for years, that Ardyn has even more magic than Regis so it must hurt even more), magic is an expression of self. Magic IS the self in a sense, and Regis knows that what magic looks and feels like is a good indicator of not only the person but how they feel about themselves and the world around them.

-And Ardyn’s magic felt like it was a weeping wound. It felt like acid on Regis’s tongue and poisonous fire biting through his veins, like a caged beast released into the arena to fight-bleed-kill with no hope of anything more. It was smotheringly powerful and achingly, screamingly broken.

-Even after everything had calmed, even after Nox had been alright (safe, alive, he hadn’t lost his eldest, his eldest was OKAY) and Ardyn’s magic had come down from towering rage and softened from molten glass and poison ... it had still felt wounded. Rage had turned to tiredness, poison to weary age, a maddened beast to a quiet, scarred thing that slunk away to rest just under Ardyn’s skin, only softening and truly calming to soft snow and old ruins when Nox had tangled his own magic fearlessly around Ardyn’s.

-Magic wasn’t supposed to be like that.

-Magic wasn’t MEANT TO FEEL LIKE THAT.

-Magic wasn’t meant to weep and bleed and rage, to flinch away on a subconscious level from the magic of another like the touch would burn.

-Magic wasn’t meant to RECOIL from a half-sibling as if in fear of impending agony, just as its wielder wasn’t meant to flinch and snarl at the mere thought of being related by blood to a Lucis Caelum (to being the half-sibling of Regis, because when he had said it, Ardyn’s face in response, the bitterly spat “I am not part of the Mystic’s vaunted line.” had been so very telling).

-Regis calls Cid and sits with Clarus and Cor and Cid and longs desperately for Weskham as he shakes and shakes and-

-Hates. For the first time. Truly hates his father.

-Because there are puzzle pieces there now, puzzle pieces that fit into slots Regis hadn’t been fully aware were empty and he HATES THEM, hates what they say, but he can’t unsee what has been seen.

-He runs his shaking hands through his hair and silently wonders what in the world had happened to his father after his mother died. To sink to this. To leave a legacy like this.

-Regis thinks of Ardyn watching him with too sharp, not-quite-sane golden eyes, like he expected Regis to turn on him any second and ram a sword through his heart and wonders if there is any healing what Mors has torn apart.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 4 with Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner and is hosted by David Ly and Cynara Geissler.

Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Jillian Christmas is a queer, afro-caribbean writer living on the unceded territories of the Squamish, Tsleil-Waututh and Musqueam people (Vancouver, BC.) where she served for six years as Artistic Director of Versəs Festival of Words. She has won numerous Grand Poetry-Slam Championship titles and represented Toronto and Vancouver at 11 national poetry festivals, notably breaking ground as the first Canadian to perform on the final stage of the Women of the World Poetry Slam. Jillian's work has been published in a number of magazines and books, most recently Matrix New Queer Writing (issue 98), Plenitude Magazine, Room Magazine (39.1) and celebrated anthology, The Great Black North. Her debut poetry collection The Gospel of Breaking is available now from Arsenal Pulp Press.

Reading text:

(sugar plum)

mommy sat down on the porch to put her foot up. She has so much to tell me today, about the iguana and how it could make aunty run, about the good bush that washes away the bad spirits anyone might put on me. I must take some to charlotteville and bathe with it in the ocean. She tells me too many times about the fish I am already sure I do not want to eat. But I listen. mommy is ninety-nine and she has earned all of her indulgences. So she tells me again about the house she built, how no man helped her do it. When I ask about her mother, she tells me her maiden name was murray. I want to know more about her mother, my great- grandmother. I want to know what she looked like and how she smelled and what she did to stay alive. Was her hair long like mine, was her skin dark like /uncle/?

mommy doesn’t talk much about her mother. Says she liked her mother fine, but she loves her /daddy/. So I listen to her talk about my /great grandfather/ defratis. She tells me he was nice, and fair, with beautiful hair. Half guyanese and half portuguese. She tells me he had plenty money, was a rum dealer with lots of business, rum shops here and there. She tells me how he died at 30 years and how a woman who worked with him told her the story. Some jealous man put poison in his rum so he could steal up all of his business. She asks me if I understand. I do, but as always I have a tough time telling the difference between truth and myth.

Satisfied of my understanding she goes on. She tells me how she loved him. How she cried and threw herself down in the street , just a little girl of five, begging her /father/ not to go to work. She only met him this once, but she loved him her whole life.

When she rolled around and threw a fit to stop him leaving, he reached for his belt, began to unbuckle to lash her into better behaviour, but he stopped himself. Picked her up out of the road and carried her into the store. He told the young woman in there to cook some food and share with her and then he was gone.

mommy says that if her /daddy/ hadn’t died, she would’ve gone with him, travelled to portugal and all over. She says he would’ve left her some money and she wouldn’t have had to work so hard all of her life. Things would’ve been different. She would not have stayed in charlotteville, or married /my grandfather/,  (she doesn’t say much about this but I think I already know he was a heavy handed man). I listen. Eventually, in a moment of gratitude, I say that if things had been different I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t exist. That’s what I’m telling you, she replies. My gratitude melts into a kind of passive sadness, she has already measured this option, has found it acceptable. I say, but what about your children? I would’ve had different children. She doesn’t say it with malice, but a tepid resignation. I repeat BUT I WOULDN’T EXIST!

No, you wouldn’t be my child. It’s a reasonable compromise for her, a whole life, house, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren still, gambled on trust for /a man/ only met once, gambled on the kindness of her being fed, instead of beaten.

I think about the longing I have suffered in my life. How I have stretched toward people who would not have stayed even if there were no venom.

The promise of possibility is a trap that has kept me from the joys of my own life.

And what joys am I missing, in clinging to a /daddy/ who is always missing, always walking toward poison and away from food? What love do I dishonour and ignore, in searching for a face I hardly know?

Let them go to their poison /great- grandfathers/ and /daddies/ too. Let them go and leave behind children crying as they will, mourning as we do. Let them go, and let us see what wild plants grow in their absence. What medicines will spring from a line of women with lost fathers and distant /daddies/? A line of maidens and witches who carry their own names and build their own houses, and birth their own bloodlines and cook their own food.

I Miss You Much

I miss you like dark and icy waters miss the warmth of sun’s sweet kisses or lust for the hard hand of wind’s fleeting embraces I miss you like a hungry storm wet and urgent carving torrents through rough and choppy places I miss you deep and aching long and heavy and though you may not heed this truth is by the time you read this I will miss you more already my room is hot the air hangs damp and heady and I miss you I am missing you in places where other lovers’ hands become unsteady at the mention of our skin where others’ sin is weak and thin and other fingers dare not dream to touch come back to me tonight my love I promise I am ready and I miss you much my love MY GOD I miss you much

Lauren Turner is a disabled poet and essayist, who wrote the chapbook, We’re Not Going to Do Better Next Time (knife | fork | book, 2018). Her work has appeared in Grain, Arc Magazine, Poetry is Dead, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Puritan, canthius and elsewhere. She won the 2018 Short Grain Contest and was a finalist for the 2017 3Macs carte blanche Prize. She lives in Tiohtiá:ke/Montréal on the unceded land of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation.

Reading Text:

excerpt from Stop Bringing Me Here

I want to take the violence out of my life and replace it with a swan pond.

::

There’s a reading at my alma mater. By attending, I open the nostalgic dam without meaning to, gingerly stepping back into your kitchen.

You have me against the counter, nothing perverse yet – I wanted this.

Onstage, a poet is reciting poems filled with light, weather, and nature.

I hear her animals and I think: How advantageous this woman’s life must be that she can inhabit the pastoral in her poetry. 

Do I err as a poet or as a woman? I wasn’t taught to respect either one.

::

The university reading folds open to a student bar. Presiding over the visiting writers, my former mentor won’t look at me, hasn’t since finding out I’d been involved with you. Gulping my cider like oxygen, I try to visualize sunfish winnowing water into ripples to keep back tears. I want to say: The movements of power aren’t difficult to follow. You weren’t, after all, a rodent tunnelling snow but the cat that pounced in its nest. 

::

Dear [former mentor], Confiding in you felt hazard-filled. I was terrified of blame, the assumption that I tried to capitalize on the power of an older, established man – your friend. Where could he get me?

I never wanted to be gotten anywhere, only to bring myself to the place where he wouldn’t act embarrassed of me. I thought this place existed. If only my appeal wasn’t bound up in the shame he knew to foster.

I trusted you, [former mentor], but you prefer to trust power.

::

It’s lazy to accuse young women of fucking to the top. Harder to ask why they heard a child’s loon call as love, leapt toward it. 

Wait, that metaphor is weak. Turn the child adult, their playtime sinister. 

::

Several men came whistling into my lakeside summer. I swam with them, and that season is no one’s voyeuristic wet dream, except mine.

::

You upended my life, for a time. I won’t call every fault line pain or pretend we never shared moments that sweetened our brine, making the cuts itch a little less.

Often, those memories carry more pain than your cruelty, that you added value to my life in equal measures to what you took away.

Three years left before I could write that. I’m not sure it’s true.

::

Moving on didn’t dissuade a part of me from staying entrenched in this. I imagine that’s the part you take issue with. I wonder if you, like my mentor, have recalibrated my culpability to account for your fall.

I didn’t intend to topple you from the pedestal. On TV, a statue in shackles bends like it was never worth admiring and I couldn’t want that for you.

::

Maybe it was my fault, I tell a friend, trying to hush the sadness that gnaws like the slow hunger of being disbelieved. I should’ve turned him down. Why was I flattered by his interest? Did I believe he was capable of genuine care? How could our relationship grow into anything except a power struggle?

These questions eat beyond their satiation point.

::

So what, replies society. We’ve all been young and most of us aren’t crying foul about our less savoury trysts. You consented to fucking him and he took it to mean fucking you over. You should’ve been clearer.

::

I don’t know what I want from this poem. I want to write poems where I’m not dripping across the linoleum with my cunt in your mouth. 

It’s a clean request: a plea for poems where birds could take up nest. I needed to talk to you without talking to you, but every line I try goes dead. Let’s take my quiet in handfuls, like a drunken night with too much winter 

clothing and it’s always June somewhere. 

::

Fine, have it your way: I never craved his love, only to swallow his prestige with my body, lapping up the Goldschläger cum that clung to the fine mink of his crotch. I was mature in early life and tucked my naïveté up my too-long sleeves. Isn’t that how girls grow up? By pretending we can handle the depths, flaunting our sodden selves like we chose to dive in, rather than hit water from a shove. Swimming is a reflexive motion in ducks. Also in girls.

::

No matter how softly I cauterize this life, someone asks, But what happened in his kitchen?

It’s my fault. I thought I could enter a man’s home without catching a sliver of his expectation. No, tell me exactly with your bons mots. Spell it out. And what if I can’t, what then?          He was nothing I didn’t say yes to.

::

The men are getting restless, I imagine addressing a lecture hall as I would a horse stable. As if men are no different than beasts broken over centuries, proudly trotted into poetry without fearing their hooves in my stanzas’s soft meat. When they realized I wouldn’t keep quiet, they waited around for me to slip up and write the words they could bridle me with. ::

I am terrified I built my poetry on the backs of violent men. I am terrified. I built my poetry on the backs of violent men.

I am built on the back of violence.

[sun-summoning]

Sasusaku 20

20 dysfunctional relationship au

sakura takes to sound better then he does. there’s a certain sort of ruthlessness that’s needed to survive in this village made up of failed experiments and missing ninja, and while sasuke has made it through by being feared, sakura has relied largely on her wits and eventually on the skills kabuto helps her to hone. 

he remembers how easily she scared when she first arrived, how people loved to torment her, especially when sasuke wasn’t around to protect her. but sakura doesn’t wilt the same way anymore. she fights back and she fights dirty and it even if she comes back to him with broken bones and bruises and blood dripping down her lip, he’s always certain that the other person is worse off.

sasuke has no doubt that orochimaru first looked at sakura and wondered what purpose she could serve him back when sasuke revealed he brought her along.

ransom? no. important bloodline? no. he assumes orochimaru approved her presence to be a brood mare in the future, if anything, much to sasuke’s disgust. but what mattered is that he didn’t kill her the second he saw her behind sasuke.

and soon after that, kabuto took sakura under his wing. he caught on to her impeccable chakra control and saw that potential sasuke always knew she had and from there her fate was sealed.

at fifteen, sakura has turned into a medic that orochiamaru says will rival the hokage in a few years. she’s further mastered her chakra control and what she can do with it, replicating what orochimaru and kabuto have told her about the hokage’s own strength. she’s concocted hundreds of her own original poisons and then made their complex antidotes. she’s joined kabuto in his insane experiments and every single day, sasuke worries for her just a little bit more.

in private though, she seems more or less the same. she still calls him sasuke-kun and still asks about his day and still smiles like the twelve-year-old girl he remembers.

so sasuke indulges that part of her. in private, he tries to be the cool and charming boy she always thought he was in hopes that maybe she’ll revert back to the kind and innocent girl she used to be. 

he holds her hands and he kisses her softly and, at some points, even tells her that he loves her. 

“we should leave this place,” he tells her one night, holding her and talking into her hair. 

she’s grown it back out, allowing the pink tresses to reach the small of her back. long ago it was used against her, but sound has turned sakura into a woman that would kill anyone who would ever try grabbing her by like that.

“why would we do that?” she asks. she turns over so that she might face him and then moves his arm so that it will still rest on her waist. she smiles at him, so sweet and so loving and just so out of place with the person he allowed her to turn into.

it kills him that she has to even ask. why? because you’ve changed, he wants to yell. because this place has tainted you. sasuke has taken orochimaru’s power and nothing else. sakura has taken all of kabuto’s knowledge and more than her fair share of his brutality. and if she stays here, who knows what little of her humanity will remain.

sasuke needs to leave and it’s no longer about itachi. rather, it’s about sakura.

she doesn’t need to know that though. 

he leans forward and presses his lips against hers, knowing she’ll be more inclined to seek to please him after a show of affection. he kisses her, slow and gentle and teasing enough that she’s moves closer for more. 

but sasuke pulls away. “i’ve learned what i needed from orochimaru,” sasuke tells her. “it’s time for me to leave this place and seek out my brother.”

“i--i see...”

“and i want you to come with me, sakura.”

manipulating her like this and playing with her feelings makes him feel sick, but he reminds himself that this is the lesser of two evils. 

sakura nods slowly and a smile blooms on her face. she blushes as she chews her lip and sasuke thinks that maybe they’re twelve again.

“okay, sasuke-kun,” she says. she kisses his cheek and then leans into his chest. “i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

sasuke holds her tighter and remembers that her following him is what caused this problem in the first place.

[madgalina-ristovic-voldaren]

Madgalina Ristovic of the Voldaren Bloodline: Origins Part 1

Firebelchers spat flames into the faces of those they were there to entertain, and as the victims screamed out in pain, the room erupted into laughter.  The entertainees, realizing that they had become the entertainers proceeded to rush at their instigators.  A loud crunch marked the beginning of the fight as a victim, his face somehow still bathed in flame, slammed his forehead into the bridge of a firebelcher’s nose.  Laughter turned to cheering as blood splattered into the spreading flames.

It took until then for Madgalina to realize it may have been a bit of a mistake coming to a full fledged Rakdos party.  In any other environment, she would have claimed that these were good people; she knew a good chunk of the attendees to work as high grade caterers to the still living higher ups of the Orzhov Syndicate.  Now they wrestled in fire and blood trying to kill each other both out of spite, and just for the hell of it.  At least the fighting was entertaining, she decided as she took a swig of whatever concoction was placed in the punch bowl.  She noted a hint of iron and genuinely wondered if someone spiked the alcohol with blood, or if someone happened to spike blood with alcohol.

She was strongly alerted when someone tapped gently on her shoulder in such a way that meant that the tapper had to genuinely try to make the tap a gentle tap.  Madgalina turned around with an air of annoyance, fully prepared to fight the intruder on her privacy.  “Ristovic?” The intruder asked.  He was a rather large man, with an equally sizeable mustache that hid his upper lip enough to make it a genuine question of just how many teeth he was missing.  Madgalina was glad that she had enough of a heel on that he wasn’t noticeably taller than her.  “I didn’t actually think you would have been able to make it tonight.  I mean, you said yes, but your mother has had a tendency to try and over protect you…”

Madgalina knew Gustavo would continue to ramble on about nonsense even if she tried to change the subject.  There was a reason he was kept exclusively in the kitchens.  She simply smiled back in a way that to anyone actually inclined, they would know she was annoyed, and she remembered back to the one time that they allowed Gustavo to carry food from the kitchens to the clientele.  There was a reason he’s missing teeth.

The next series of thoughts that passed through Madgalina’s head were not necessarily thoughts that she was proud of having; chief among these was her wondering if just maybe, Gustavo could go without having any teeth, or maybe even a lower jaw.  She was saved from violence, however, as another party entered the conversation.  He was old, for a goblin, and at first observance, quite tall, but alas, he stood expertly on stilts, and the checkerboard design on his shirt gave him away as being a circus regular.  “So, this is the Ristovic I’ve heard so much about.”  The goblin’s voice was broken in such a way that told that he’d taken way too many hits to the voice box.

“I don’t know what you would have heard about me,” Madgalina replied with a sense of aloofness.  “I just work in the kitchens.”

“So, you are the Ristovic I was looking for.  You see, I’ve heard tell of your skill with knives, and that you don’t cut the meat in the boring usual way.  Now, is that true?”  The goblin had put her in a corner.  On the one hand, Madgalina was very proud of her skill with knives and the playful tricks she would do with them, on the other hand, she didn’t know what the goblin was getting at.

Gustavo saved her from having to make the decision for herself as he blurted, “Oh, you have no idea what she can do, it’s glorious, like, she does so much, and you should see what the meat looks like when she’s done, like, it makes even the poorly cooked stuff at least look decent and…”

Madgalina jabbed her elbow into Gustavo’s gut, which may have been a slight mistake as she forgot she was wearing an outfit that had blades strapped everywhere.  “I suppose,” she answered the goblin as she yanked her blade from her coworkers chest, “that you could say I know knives.

The goblin didn’t speak for a good minute as he watched Gustavo’s blood drip from Madgalina’s elbow.  “So, uh...how would you feel about joining the circus.”

Madgalina laughed.  “How about, no?”

As the goblin backed away in shame upon his stilts he shouted, “The offer is still on the table if you change your mind!”  Madgalina scowled and turned away, distracting herself by watching the fiery fight going down not even 20 feet away and considering getting involved.

Around the time she was preparing to actually get involved in anything a couple devils wheeled in a massive cake.  They obviously burned the frosting, and the whole thing looked like a wreck.  Even Madgalina was wise enough not to cook and bake while inebriated.  Things were followed by a pack of goblins running out of the kitchen area with pots of burning oil and throwing it everywhere.  Once the flames hit the cake, Madgalina knew things were about to go very wrong as a low hissing sound erupted from the cake just moments before it exploded with enough force to destroy the entire block.

Madgalina watched as the erupting flames rushed at her in what seemed like slow motion, and then she felt a pull and everything faded to black.  Her senses told her nothing, and that was a bit much for her as her entire sense of balance was thrown out the window.  As tears began to wet her eyes she figured that this was what death was, and she began to apologize.  She apologized first to her mother, for having sneaked away from home to go to that party.  She apologized to her girlfriend who would probably never see her again.  She apologized to Gustavo for stabbing him and generally hating him, but she knew that one was insincere, she didn’t care about Gustavo.

She closed her eyes to hold everything in.  Her life was over, “So, this is it,” she muttered to herself; and then her feet landed on solid ground and she felt a drop land on her shoulder.  Opening her eyes she found herself standing in a slow drizzling rain on the edge of a forest.  Above her a moon shone bright, and she could feel it like a magical essence just oozing with power.  Not too far off in the distance was a large castle.  Reaching out with her hand, she caught some rain.  It was soft, not at all like the dirty rain on Ravnica that was poisoned with Izzet smog.

Approaching the castle, Madgalina realized how threatening she looked with her assortment of blades and other sharp things everywhere, but still she pressed on toward the massive fortification and slammed her fist into the door, and then proceeded to wait.  The door opened leading into a massive hall, warmly lit and decorated with very lavish fashion, and filled with people who stood still and stared.  Everybody was dressed in a very high fashion and was very pale.  Madgalina waved a shy wave with her left hand and started trying to explain her situation.  “Hey, so it looks like I’m a bit lost, but you all seem very busy, so I think I’ll just...go,” she spoutted as she began backing her way back into the rain.

A woman’s call stopped her dead in her tracks.  “Oh, child.  Why don’t you just stay?  You look absolutely famished.”  The speaker came floating out from the back of the room, her bare feet hovering above the polished floor; red hair spilled from her head.  Madgalina felt compelled to listen and trust this woman.

“I suppose I could stay until I figure things out, and yes, famished.  Mm hmm,” She felt herself saying as the woman led her in.

“Say,” The woman said with a question in her tone, “I must daresay that I smell a hint of blood on your breath.”

“Uh, yeah.  Someone spiked the drink bowl, I think.”

“Fascinating,” The woman replied as she led Madgalina away from the large hall.  The duo stopped before what Madgalina assumed may have been a servant, but the mode of dress made her unsure.  “Darling, please show our new guest to my quarters.  I shall be there soon,” And thus Madgalina was led away.

The woman returned to the main party to find that a new guest had entered.  He stood tall and a black coat covered his dark chestplate.  His hair was as pale as his skin, and his voice echoed with power and frustration.  “Olivia,” He shouted, “what have you done with the visitor?”

Olivia floated over to the newcomer, her red hair trailing behind her.  “Sorin, why, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

“You never are,” Olivia shot back before he could continue.

“Where is the visitor, Olivia?  She doesn’t belong here.”

Olivia grabbed a wineglass from a partygoer and began to sip from it.  “Now I remember why I didn’t invite you.  What’s her importance to you?”

“She could be a potential threat to Innistrad, I must check my suspicions.”

“Hmm,” Olivia hummed, “let’s make a deal then.  I continue having to put up with your stupid pet that you won’t let me touch, and you let me play a little bit of fetch with my own dog.  Now leave, you’re ruining the atmosphere.”

As Olivia made her way to the room where Madgalina was taken, gears turned in her head.  Throwing open the door she shouted out at her visitor, “How would you feel about joining the ageless ruling class of Innistrad?”

Madgalina simply sat on the edge of a bed covered in the finest linen and shrugged. “Sound fun, I guess.”

Tagging people I feel would be interested.

@baldore-of-the-boros @vorthosthewillis @ like, anyone else, I dunno.

[obscuraxrp]

The smoke settles to reveal YAO LIWEI, a 31 year old basilisk-blooded of Sunseong. He is a freelance web developer who appears to be adept in hand-to-hand combat – but like most things in Sunseong, there seems to be more to him than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: Godfrey Gao, model

APPEARANCE:

There’s really no surprise that a basilisk-blooded person would, well, adapt the characteristics of a snake. Liwei could count himself lucky that the type of basilisk his ancestors procreated with were the reptilian ones– he’s heard of the ones that took the form of a cockatrice. It’s clear by the slant of his eyes, and by the gloss of his skin that Liwei’s definitely inherited the snake-like features of a basilisk. Liwei could also make some innuendo about the length of his tongue, if needed, but he’d rather keep his reputation intact. If hit by the harsh glare of the sun at just the right angle, one could see the shimmer of tightly packed scales, giving him a slightly viridiscent hue. He’s taken it upon himself to stock up on potions and balms that would cover the worst of it, particularly on the nape of his neck and the back of his arms.

BIOGRAPHY:

Born into a rather small, tight-knit family, Liwei’s been hyper-aware of who and what he was. His parents were not ashamed of their ancestry, and not once did they hide anything from their children. The youngest of three, Liwei was bound to be the most excitable one. At a young age, he’s already been told of how special they were, and how he should never be embarrassed by what he was. Being born into a bloodline that’s as old as time had it’s perks, and while weren’t a particularly well-off family, but they weren’t poor either. After all, as his mother used to say, the basilisks didn’t covet gold as much as the dragons have had. Money wasn’t everything– and what is money if you were just as mundane as a human? Now, a basilisk-blooded, that was one to be proud of.

Still– when one’s a kin to one of the most terrifying mythical creatures alive, there’s no doubt that someone’s bound to take advantage. And who else would, if not for the Queen herself? Liwei’s first encounter with the Queen ocurred when he was six, wide-eyed and ready to take on the whole world. The significance of the encounter was lost on him, as he preferred instead to heckle the pigeons outside rather than stick around and watch his mother fluster herself in front of a stuffy-looking woman. It didn’t occur to him then just why his father looked ready to pass out, and why his mother has ushered all three of them, him and his siblings, into formal clothes.

Apparently, his mother tells them, not too long after the Queen has left their quaint home, they were to help the Queen with whatever it was that She was working on. The first time Liwei had asked why they couldn’t refuse the offer was the last time he did so, as he watched his mother crumple into tears. It only took him until he was of age to realize that they had no choice. They were promised money and status, but it was all just a way to cover up the fact that they had no say about the whole situation. It was either to serve or die– and if Liwei was to be asked now, he would have rather chosen death than to experience everything he’s been subjected to.

The Queen’s men started taking blood from him when he turned ten– and before that, he endured four years of watching his family come back pale and shaken from a meeting with the Queen’s progenies. They’ve taken scales, blood, and even conducted tests on his eyes. He knew why, of course. Liwei wasn’t stupid. Basilisks were known to kill anyone the moment their gaze have been met, and it was only circumstance that they’ve not inherited the full onslaught of that skill. Liwei had guessed that the Queen wanted to find a way to bring back that ability into their family.

For twenty years, Liwei’s family had been under the thumb of the Queen. The blood of his family has been used in poisons, their venoms taking the lives of thousands, and their scales used sold off to potioneers. If there was ever a bright side to the various amounts of poking and prodding done to them, Liwei would say that it was the fact that they weren’t particularly slaves. It was probably some form of Stockholm Syndrome– but Liwei prefers having his blood taken, his scales picked off, and his eyes prodded more than being forced into slavery. They received money for their ‘contributions’, and if Liwei didn’t know any better, he would say that they were being treated decently just because of their bloodline. No one would risk killing off a kin of a powerful mythological creature.

It didn’t take long for the sheer amount of stress they were experiencing to catch up to his parents. It was his mother who passed away first, still so young but weakened from the amount of pain they’ve put her through. His father followed not so long after, and soon enough, it was just the three of them, Liwei and his two older sisters. It was as if the death of his parents brought on a whole new level of desperation for the Queen’s men. Not just one but two of their highly-prized test subjects and resource pool have died, and who knows if their three offsprings would last any longer. They took more blood– far more than what was safe, so much so that if they were human, Liwei was sure they would’ve already ended up dead. Their scales were plucked off until they were left with almost nothing but blisters covering them up.

Maybe it was just a stroke of luck, or some sort of Divine Intervention, that the Queen’s demise had happened not too long after her progenies decided to take more from the siblings. The news of her death had lifted up a weight he never knew was there, and when all was well and truly confirmed, Liwei had taken the very first breath he had in awhile– one of freedom and of relief. The Queen’s progenies scattered, her men fearing for their lives. The Yao siblings abdicated in the ensuing chaos, taking all the money they’ve earned from their service, and fleeing to the farthest and safest place they could reach.

They were lucky enough not to be captured by the hunters– they’ve learned to hide and control what they were way before their servitude with the Queen. Along with negotiations and deals with various potioneers and witches, they’ve done their absolute best to maintain a semblance of normalcy. What was once the source of their pride was now being buried under layers of protective illusions and spells, potions being taken one after another to hide their true heritage. And while Liwei knew that being free from the Queen wasn’t the end of their trouble, he would try his best to move past their experiences, and to forge better ones in its wake.

CHARACTERIZATION:

All of the windows in his flat are tinted, and the light inside his home were dim, if not of a darker colour. If someone were to step into his apartment the first time, they’d mistake him for a vampire, given his propensity for dark colours. In reality, his eyes were simply too sensitive to light. It was inevitable, given the numerous tests that were done on his eyesight. Hell, even the simple act of watching television was too much for his eyes– he has to put on sunglasses, even at the risk of looking like the biggest pretentious asshole. But then again– desperate times calls for desperate measures.

Among the numerous beliefs about the basilisk, there’s one that was well and truly a fact. It is said that basilisks destroys all shrubs, not only by its contact, but those even that it has breathed upon; it burns up all the grass too, and breaks the stones. Okay– well, that doesn’t really happen to Liwei. Not all of it, perhaps, but the destroys all shrubs part? Accurate. He’s learned it the hard way, the moment he dreamt of taking care of a tiny garden in his apartment. He’s bought all necessary starter plants– all of which didn’t even last a week with him. It seemed that prolonged exposure to no one else but him was as good as poison for these plants. Not only did he blow away his money and effort, it also crushed his dreams of being a tiny garden owner.

Liwei prides himself on the fact that he’s a decent person. Ish. Okay, decent-ish. He’s broken away from stereotypes of the cold-blooded, aloof serpents. But he can’t deny that there’s truly a basilisk blood in him– he was prideful at times, arrogance dripping from every inch of his being. It wasn’t his fault– his mother has raised him up to be proud of who he was. It wasn’t everyday you’d meet someone who practically had a rare bloodline in them. Liwei’s pride is his greatest weakness, next to bright light and roosters.

While a rooster’s crow wasn’t fatal to Liwei, it still never fails to give him strong migraines. He’s taken it to himself to sleep with earbuds on, more out of paranoia than anything else. He wouldn’t want to be woken up with a migraine, especially not first thing in the morning.

Try as he might, he could never completely control the way he flinches away from someone’s touch. Years of trauma would do that to a person, one could surmise. Liwei can’t stop himself from imagining that someone would pluck off his scales, or take blood from him. Sudden movements from people makes him fall back, and on bad days, he even hisses in fear.

In order to get by without getting caught by hunters, Liwei and his sisters have established some sort of trade negotiations with some witches and potioneers. They would give some scales and blood in exchange for free potions, illusions, and wards. It wasn’t easy for the siblings to go back to a milder form of what they’ve experienced back at the Queen’s rule, but they’ve established that just as long as they were the ones taking these parts from their own body, it would be fine.

One of their bloodline specialties includes being able to speak to snakes. Well– speak is too generous of a word. They could make out some words and phrases being hissed by a snake. Liwei’s parents though– they were able to fully understand and speak back to these reptiles. Unfortunately, such an ability needed much training and time, both of which the Yao siblings definitely did not have while under the Queen’s thumb. Still, Liwei spends a ridiculous amount of time in the snake section of a pet store, looking like some next-level fool while trying to decipher various hisses.

SPECIALTIES

Basilisk Physiology:

Petrification - While not as permanent nor as fatal as death inducement, Liwei has the ability to petrify people for short amount of times when he glares at someone. Technically speaking, it’s not enough that he stare at people– the basilisk blood in him has been diluted for generations, leaving him incapable of freezing anyone in sight. It involves more focus for him, centering his thoughts and intent, and only then would he successfully petrify people.

Death Inducement - This only happens in the rarest cases, and Liwei needs to be under extreme duress or under the threat of death to be able to use this skill. He chalks it up to a defense mechanism their bloodline has inherited. Once under the threat of death, Liwei’s gaze turns fatal, petrifying people permanently, with no way of turning them back into flesh. Not once did Liwei manage to access this ability yet, not even under the Queen’s hold, but he’s been informed about it by his parents, and has warned him about the possibility.

Poison Generation / Rot Inducement (for plants) - Liwei’s bodily fluids– sweat, blood, saliva, and etc. are poisonous. The moment one comes in contact with any of those, they might feel something ranging from simple nausea to fatal poisoning. It mostly depends on the length of time they’ve been exposed to the substance, as well as which one they’ve managed to make contact with. His blood is significantly more poisonous than the rest, and any contact with it could be dangerous for humans. The same applies for plants, although there are some plant specimens that rot without even needing to come into contact with his blood– prolonged exposure from him is enough. This is limited only to plants that are always within his space, give or take at least a foot or two near him.

Venomous Bite - In contrast to poison generation, Liwei needs to actively bite someone hard enough that his fangs get embedded into someone’s skin, secreting some of his venom into the person’s bloodstream. The bite could be fatal for a human, and for non-human beings, it could cause hallucinations or even paralyzation.

Specializations:

Hand-to-hand Combat, Rank II ( 40 Points ) - Liwei has taken it upon himself to learn the intricacies of hand-to-hand combat. He knows he can most definitely rely on his innate skills, but there’s something about the thrill of learning a new skillset. Besides, it helps in keeping his heritage a secret– when one fights like a human, no one would so much as bat an eyelash at them, in comparison to outright petrifying someone with just a glare.

Purchases:

Minor Calming Ward ( 5 Points ) - Liwei mostly bought this ward out of safety. A lot of his abilities rely on his emotions, and Liwei has never been the best when it comes to controlling his emotions. The ward comes embedded into a necklace charm, and he wears it around all the time, knowing that he can’t risk someone life just because he can’t hold in his emotions.

Ward of Illusion, Minor ( 5 Points ) - One drawback to his bloodline is that Liwei’s incapable of completely some of his most obvious features. He lacks the skill to completely cover up and hide his scales, which becomes glaringly obvious once he’s under bright light. In order to counteract this drawback, he’s bought a charm that covers up his scales. The charm is a tongue piercing, barely noticeable, but enough for him to always have it on himself.

50 points remaining.