#on every kind of painkiller in existence

[inseparabiles]

observing that there might be a connection between significant levels of pain and poor mood

[bbluefllame]

hcs on how I think mha characters sleep

contains: pure silly stupidness

characters: tomura shigaraki, touya todoroki, keigo takami, izuku midoriya, toga himiko, plus one katsuki hc😭

note: LISTEN GANG I WAS SLEEPY BUT I COULDNT SKEEP SO I WAS LIKE OH EM GEE!!! keigo's went out of hand 😔😔😔

tomura shigaraki

- he usually sleeps in his normal attire, he has no energy to get up and change

- sleeps 4 hrs MAX

- his thumbs are always I mean always are covered by the rest of his fingers tightly, he probably decays mattresses every couple of months by accident

- either super light sleeper or super heavy no in-between, probably doesn't even sleep most of the time

- there's no pre-sleep routine. mf just plops down into the bed and blacks out OR he sleeps in his gaming chair😭

- if you're sleeping next to him, he would make sure he's facing the opposite side with his hands dangling at the edge of the bed just to make sure nothing happens to you.

- one thing that makes him black out is playing with his hair, like blackout like snore mimimimi type shit

- he's so still in his sleep, barely moves to the point you might think he's dead if he wasn't breathing‼️

- Overall he'd be a pretty good person to sleep next to (if he even sleeps) just make sure he doesn't have nightmares or everything is done and dusted (literally)

touya todoroki

- he either sleeps naked or something that can't snag on the staples/ irritate his scars (probably naked bcs have you seen his room?? ITS EMPTY EMPTY THERES NOTHING BESIDES HIS USUAL CLOTHES)

- I give him 5-6 hrs maybe then he wakes up but on nights where he's in too much pain, he takes a shit ton of painkillers and tries to sleep just to wake up 2 hrs later

-biggest snorer out there, complete opposite of tomura. esp w those lungs of his omg.

- you could be sleeping and BOOM 🚉 SNOREEEEEE HONKKKK you need earplugs with him, then he wakes up and goes "I don't snore, fuck you mean??"

- he tosses and turns 24/7 also he will 100% steal the blanket and kick you off, at this point it'd be more comfortable to sleep on the ground than to sleep next to him

- yk those videos where it's like someone tweaking while sleeping, like they roll around steal blankets and kick and stuff and do the craziest shit, yeah that's touya

- idk if he has a pre sleep routine I'm leaning towards it depends? he usually just makes sure his scars are clean so he doesn't get an infection and yk die!

- I conclude, a horrible person to sleep next to. Would much rather kms than tolerate a night of his torture!

keigo takami

- this bitch has 2 options, blackout the second he gets home in his hero attire, or if it's a day where he has to recover from an injury or something, these specific navy blue sweatpants and a black t-shirt

- depends on the day he's sleeping either 3 hrs or 9 hrs

- he doesn't snore but he talks in his sleep about the weirdest shit ever "noooo pls don't put me in the airfryer" he 100% has the weirdest fucking dreams to ever exist

- he never sleeps on his back, literally always on his stomach so his wings don't get in the way

- also on the topic of his wings, during said weird dreams if he's running away or something they start flapping and shit😭 it'd be so annoying to sleep next to him

- he sleepwalks 100% you look at that face and tell me he DOESNT?? he's a really light sleeper as well esp for nights where he might be called in

- definitely has a pre sleep routine (if he doesn't immediately blackout) ESP if you're living tg oh em gee, he'd have a longer skincare routine than you (tbf the skincare routine is kind of obligation from him to appeal to the civilians nd shit)

- he'd have a headband on his head pushing his hair back, washing his face, using a toner etcetera, and then going "baaaaaabeeee where'd you put my cosrx snail mucin, I know you used it" and he'd be all sassy and shit (twink cough cough sorry)

- if he's having a calm day, he's being the clingiest cutest little shit, you wanna go to eat? "nooo 5 minutes" . You wanna go to the bathroom? "Ugh be quick" while he's guarding the door waiting to tackle you and drag you back to bed. He's such a little (loving) shit

- he just lays there on top of you not willing to let go with a serene expression on his face, those days are rare though (fuck the commission 😠)

- random but he has some of the worst bed head you could ever see

- overall, kind of annoying to sleep next to (funny as well) but for him, who wouldn't tolerate it 🙏🏼

izuku midoriya

- before OFA bro used to get no sleep he'd have the most fucked up sleep schedule to ever exist ‼️‼️ like during weekends no sleep at all just staying up analyzing new heroes

- w OFA he's sleeping healthily or too much with the amount of energy he uses ESP in the first seasons when he breaks his bones a shit ton

- HIS SLEEP WEAR LMAOAOA funniest thing I've seen i don't have to say anything abt it 😭 a fucking shirt w " t-shirt" on it or sumn

- doesn't snore but moves a lot, and not even kicking?? just flipping side to side or clutching the blanket like he's a woman clutching her purse in the 1800s (no one's taking it from you calm down lil bro)

- occasionally he might talk but it's like 2 words then he flips to the other side

- no pre-sleep routine but that's bc he doesn't need one, his pre-sleep routine is studying or training, BUT bro has to be like wrapping his arms and hands at night or something bcs he's in pain (his arms are fucked up there's no way he doesn't have chronic pain)

- if you're forced to sleep next to each other (insert ur own fanfic idea of why) he would be so tense he'd have his hands by his side tryna not sleep so he doesn't annoy you, at this point, you'd be annoyed by how tense he is

- he's not a bad person to sleep next to tbf, just like he might be kinda annoying that's it

Toga Himiko

- she has pink pj's and everything she's such a cutie (some have blood on them but whoops accident!)

- she sleeps with plushies (her room is adorable. search it up pleek‼️), changes the plushie every night so "every single one of them feels loved"

- she sleeps pretty healthily although on the low side 6-7 hrs prolly, she's told by compress "You're a growing girl, you need your sleep" or something similar when she wakes up too early

- she's more giggles in her sleep rather than anything, maybe whispers a name then goes teehehehe, she's pretty calm in her sleep honestly

- she has a pre-sleep routine and it's adorable, if it's in the broke era she steals face masks (specifically hello kitty ones), moisturizers, toners, face washes and skips back to the base with a smile on her face

- has 100% forced a couple of the league members to use the face masks

- has music blasting (for some reason I see her playing like a g6 and bopping her head while putting stuff on) at 10 pm, she 100% has been forced to turn it off bcs it woke everyone up

- she's such a cuddly person as well but in the best way possible, before sleeping though 100% there's gonna be gossiping or just yapping tg

overall my favorite !! silliest girl to ever exist I luv her

bonus katsuki

- bro sleeps like a Victorian child dying from the plague, waiting for a true loves kiss type shit you'd see him and go "wtf okay disney princess😟"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Icy II

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: You think about your life

When you first moved from Norway and your childhood team of SK Brann, you weren't quite sure what to expect.

You were nervous and anxious and that didn't settle at all even as you headed out of the airport to meet up with Ingrid.

You'd like to think you knew Ingrid fairly well, or at least well enough that she was letting you take her spare room. You'd been called up for the past three Norway camps, though you hadn't actually set foot on the pitch.

You'd come up through Brann's Academy, the top assister in the under-nineteen team and had even been called up to the first team on occasion.

That's where you think Barcelona heard of you because suddenly the La Masia version of your youth team was making the long trek to cold Norway in the height of winter to play a friendly.

They completely demolished your team but you had been serving perfect assists into the box those scant few times you had possession of the ball.

It wasn't even a week later that they were offering you a contract. You'd assumed it was for the B team but clearly the club saw something in you because the contract was for the first team and soon you were flying over to Spain to move in with Ingrid.

She wasn't alone as you approached her car, talking to a woman you recognised as Mapi León.

You didn't speak Spanish, that much was always obvious. You only spoke passable English as well so communication with your new teammates was something that was at the front of your mind.

But Mapi just smiled at you and sounded out a sentence she had clearly memorised in Norwegian to help settle you.

You liked Mapi, you decided in the instant and decided that you would actually try hard in your Spanish lessons so you could communicate with her properly without Ingrid as the go between.

You had a day or two to settle in your new home but ultimately meeting your new teammates had come along too quickly for your liking.

You knew Ingrid, of course. You kind of knew Mapi.

You knew Caro as well. You usual position was hers so you had worked closely at Norway camp together.

She'd come out to meet you, Ingrid and Mapi in the car park.

Caro existed on your wavelength. You were both quiet and a little socially awkward. You both played the same position. You understood each other.

You weren't huggers though. You had never really received a lot of affection as a kid, just a quick head pat when you exceeded your parents' already high expectation for you.

You weren't a hugger. Caro wasn't a hugger but the way her arm rested over your shoulders was support enough.

Meeting the team was something that sent you into a bit of a tailspin. All those world class players and you.

If Ingrid hadn't been behind you, a gentle hand pushing you forward, you were sure that you would have bolted.

She was a steady presence then and now as she lays in bed with you.

You think she feels bad about yelling at you. You think she also feels bad about not getting a hold of your parents until hours after the incident. If you hadn't been in unimaginable pain, you would have warned Ingrid that your parents rarely answered if it wasn't a formal email.

Ingrid's been stuck to you since you woke up, waiting hand and foot on you. You feel bad about that. It's just a broken wrist. It was just a little surgery. You don't need her to cater to your every need. You don't want to bother her like that.

"Have the painkillers kicked in yet?"

With your wrist still strapped up, you couldn't feel much pain apart from when it moved so Ingrid had dosed you up on as much medication as possible.

She'd done the same with Mapi an hour ago so her girlfriend was currently asleep in bed while Ingrid waits for the same to happen to you.

"Mmm," You grunt.

"That's not an answer," She teases," Have they kicked in yet?"

You try to tilt your wrist, a little hard to do in your cast but you still try. "Mostly. A little twinge."

You can feel Ingrid nod behind you.

"I think it's naptime."

"I'm not a baby."

"Mapi's napping. Is she a baby?"

You don't even have to think. "Yes."

Ingrid laughs behind you, hands untangling the knots in your hair. "The doctor said that a nap would probably help."

You huff.

You've never been much of a napper. You always liked to be doing something even if that something was cleaning up your room or reading a book.

"Fine."

You roll over on your side to lay your head against Ingrid's chest as her arm comes up around you to keep you close.

The door opens and Mapi limps in, laying her crutches on the ground to crawl into bed on Ingrid's other side.

She yawns.

"You didn't tell me we were having a sleepover," She complains sleepily, pulling some of the blankets away from you.

"We weren't." The painkillers have fully kicked in now so you're drowsy as well.

You know you and Mapi are talking but it's all jumbled up in your brain.

Ingrid feels the moment you go to sleep, the steady train of nonsense coming out of your mouth slows down and you go completely limp.

Mapi falls asleep soon after as well, her yapping coming to a close mid sentence as you both snooze comfortably on her chest.

This wasn't quite the plan.

Get Mapi to sleep.

Get you to sleep.

Then make dinner.

That was the plan but you're both crowded around Ingrid's body on your little bed that barely fits you all and Ingrid doesn't want to move and wake you.

Bagheera jumps onto the bed.

"Don't," Ingrid laughs but Bagheera ignores her.

She settles comfortably in Ingrid's stomach and falls asleep too, leaving Ingrid well and truly pinned down.

It's fine, she decides.

Both you and Mapi are out of hospital.

You can just order food when everyone's awake.

[ririsasaki]

Cramps Be Gone

Loki X Reader Fluff

Summary: You’re on your period, you’re frustrated, and Loki’s there to help you.

A/n: I got this idea on day one of my period, so… here we are.

The day could’ve been much more cheerful. You and Loki originally planned to go out today. Instead, you were curled up in your bed, groaning every other minute. Why? Because a very unwanted guest showed up at your door this morning. Guess who? None other than your monthly bleed-out session, aka period.

You were lying in your bed with the unhappy knowledge that this will not end anytime soon. Waves upon waves of stab-like pains shot through your lower abdomen, making you groan and press down on that spot. You were tired. So damn tired of it. You were looking forward to this date, but now it’s ruined. You were originally thinking about taking painkillers, but Loki absolutely disagreed.

‘Painkillers,’ he said strictly, ‘are merely something Midgardians came up with to gain more money. They do not help conquer it; it only allows them to forget about it. If you use such things, y/n, believe me, you will behave carelessly and only worsen it and wish me to get you more. Therefore, no, you will not be using such trashy Midgardian medicine. It isn’t even medicine, in my eyes.’ He added, pulling a face.

Loki was there for you, of course. He was always there to help you with your needs, he even let you have breakfast in bed (something he doesn’t usually allow. ‘You’ll dirty everything,’ he used to say in a tone of finality). But he wasn’t there for the most part. He has work to do, you know this, but you still wished he could give it all up and just stay with you. Flipping over under your blankets, you resumed cursing your life.

I’m lonely, you thought sadly, your head under your blankets. You wished your period showed up just one day later. You and Loki have been dating for nearly a month now, it was clear to you that your time of the month was going to hit anytime. But why on this day? On the one day you don’t want it?

You were, not gonna lie, very frustrated. And angry. In need of something (or someone) to rage to, you started blaming your boyfriend for your pain. What was possibly so important that he had to leave you? Couldn’t he leave it till your bleeding days were over? Why? That word seemed to exist in every single thought you had flowing in your head. Why?

On day three it was going terrifying. It was hurting so much you couldn’t even bring yourself to sit upright in your bed. You prayed it would be over, but apparently your prayers were ignored. Oh, how you’d like this shit to finally just end. Loki had to feed you breakfast, it was so painful. He even teased you. Like, is this guy for real? (‘I mean, I could make it go away for nine months…’ he had said while smirking. You slapped his hand, scrunching up your face.) But after that he just pressed a kiss to your forehead and walked out. Sometimes you regret dating this guy.

It was nearly noon when he came back. Your aches soothed a little, but were almost just the same as before. He sat down at the edge of your bed, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face.

‘Oh, now you decide to show up,’ you groaned, ‘now that I’m literally dying in my bed. How was work?’ you put emphasis on the word ‘work’ as you knew he must feel at least slightly guilty about leaving you hanging. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and said: ‘Well, about that…’ He looked at you with a pleading look, as if wishing for you not to get angry for what he was going to say. You narrowed your eyes, staring back with a suspicious look.

‘What?’ you asked, your breathing kind of shallow due to the pain throbbing in your lower abdomen. ‘What wonderful surprise have you prepared for me?’ Loki sighed, as if preparing himself for a scolding, and said: ‘I have not been working. Or at least, I wasn’t doing Avengers’ work.’

You bolted upright, causing a stab of pain to shoot through your body. His hand instinctively rose to hold your back and lead you back down. ‘What?! So you’re telling me that you weren’t even doing important shit while I was mentally and physically dying?! What-‘ he put a finger to your lips to shush you. ‘Let me finish,’ he said gently. You reluctantly laid back down, staring at him with accusatory eyes.

‘I have been working, darling. For the past few days I have been digging through my books to find a safe and healthy painkiller for you. You see, Asgardians value health over money, and we have much safer medicines than those on Midgard.’ He says, brushing his hand over your hurting part over your blanket. Heavens, he looked hot when he looked at you with these loving eyes.

Even after listening to his explanation, you still wanted to blame him. Keeping that annoyed look on your face, you whined at him: ‘Well… that’s very… nice of you. But- you should’ve told me beforehand! I thought you were being careless and didn’t give a shit about me! I was so upset.’ Loki looked at you knowingly before answering: ‘Honey, if I told you, you would’ve distracted me with your rushes and caused me to slow down my pace.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘After you’ve recovered, darling.’ He replied, smirking. You rolled your eyes, your cheeks reddening. This man knows exactly how to get to you, you can give him that.

With a swift move, he slipped your blanket off. You shivered slightly at the sudden chill, but Loki reassured you that it wasn’t going to take long. Softly, he brushed his hand over your abdomen, and you felt a warmth surge through where he touched. Soon, you could feel the pain leaving you, finally giving you peace. You sighed, relieved that it was all finally over. You laid back down, closing your eyes and drinking in the fact that Loki was your lover.

‘Be careful,’ he warned as you beamed at him, ‘you may stain easier, now that you don’t feel it.’ You didn’t even wait for him to finish before half-singing: ‘Yeah, yeah, I know-‘ you were suddenly so happy that your period said bye-bye, you thought Loki might’ve given you a cheer-up spell or something.

Eager, you tried to get out of bed, but only got shoved back in. You pouted up at him, staring into his blue eyes. ‘Just because you don’t feel it does not mean it is no longer there. Stay in bed.’ He said.

You hmphed at him, burrowing back into the sheets to sulk. Loki smiles. What a girl he had found.

HELLO! Hope you enjoyed it :D My posting is still kinda limited, thank you for your patience

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[a-simple-imagine]

World Burn

synopsis: nobody messes with regina george

pairing: regina George x fem!reader

words: 1.5k+

A/N - inspired by the bikeriders. this is an au. if you would like to know more about the au please ask :)

WARNINGS - violence, threats and arson

the human body is so incredibly fragile. it's actually rather pathetic. as it crumbles so easily under a little pressure. bruises are so common. even paper can be dangerous. and it was never more evident as you were being helped up the stairs towards her office. part of you couldn't help but wonder how you got into this mess in the first place. the other? well, that worried about whether she would be mad at you.

the stairs feel so much longer when you struggle with each step. the twang of metal so much louder as your footfalls against the surface. it almost felt like a miracle when you reached the top. stumbling into her office, you're basically dragged to the couch against the far wall.

"What happened?" you can't tell how she's feeling. is that concern? anger? she's rather neutral

"We just found her like this,"

"saw a couple cars drive away though,"

they place you down carefully. the cool leather of the couch is almost soothing to the touch. your entire body feels numb. weightless even. burning. it hurts to breathe. every rise and fall of your chest sends a sharp jolt through your body. it's a moment before she comes over to you. tall and proud. staring down at you but her intimidating aura soon softens as she falls beside you. A gentle hand is placed below your chin to force you to look at her. "can you tell me who did this?" your eyes meet for a second before you pull away. a small shrug. "Baby," you feel stupid. powerless. like some pathetic little kid. you don't know what happened... well, not exactly. you were jumped by a couple of people when you got home. you don't know who they were or how they got in but you remember red hot pain wash over you afterwards. "please, talk to me," her voice so gentle you'd think it wasn't her. Regina was many things but gentle wasn't one of them. She treated you like you were her entire world but still a world she ruled. she was in charge.

"I'm sorry,"

"what for?" you don't really know. for not fighting back. for not doing something. anything at all. you just took it. you shrug again. Regina pulls you against her. it's supposed to be comforting but with the way your body feels it is sharp. you eventually relax into her. burying your face into her neck. "I'm gonna find who did this." said quietly. "you're safe. I promise." was she trying to convince you or herself?"

It's a couple of days and a lot of painkillers later you're being led down a seedy alleyway. you're mostly fine. lots of bruises, a few scratches and a broken rib but you've gotten over the initial shock. Regina is a step ahead with her hand in yours. Gretchen walks beside her, struggling to keep up with the blonde. those two were inseparable. or more so, Gretchen followed Regina around like a puppy. she basically existed to keep Regina happy. did everything she was told. her right-hand man. next to you was Karen. a little spacey. big heart. Regina had a whole bunch of others who followed her command too but Gretchen and Karen were the only ones who were always by her side. and you too now. kind of. the air is thick with heavy booze. it's far from your usual setting. Regina almost seemed out of place. it was rare she saw to matters herself. normally that was Gretchen's job if it was delicate or she'd delegate to somebody else. today was different apparently. you never came along on jobs either but again today was different. She pushes the door to an almost invisible bar; you'd hardly notice it's there unless you were looking. it's small in size, dingy and dark. mostly empty apart from the bartender and two gentlemen. one face down on a table while the other sipped from a whiskey glass at the bar. the two conscious individuals look your way. you didn't know them but it made you feel uneasy. you squeeze her hand but she either doesn't notice or doesn't care as you parade through the space towards the bartender. a short guy. he gives up the boss's location without hesitation. points to a room in the far corner. you have a bad feeling about this, or maybe the pills weren't sitting right. the blonde barges through the door without a care in the world. it's a small office. a woman sits behind a desk; a guy leaps up as you enter, another just stands beside her. guns raised but not fired. the blonde is entirely unfazed. just marches straight for the desk, dragging you along with her.

"It's okay," a delicate hand shoots up, a message to her men to stand down. "Regina George, to what do I owe this pleasure?" a slow glance up, she wears a playful smile as their eyes meet. She was expecting this encounter. planned it even. they both just stare at each other for a moment. this other woman is pretty up close but hardly stands out amongst the likes of Regina. you have never seen her before. most of the people in this business visited the club if not to party then to speak with Regina. She ran things around here. the head bitch many would say. the new girl has a twinkle in her eye. that fresh off the boat, proud of themselves look that was about to be utterly destroyed

"cute." uttered quietly, the blonde stood a little taller. "Gretchen," Gretchen Weiners comes scurrying along to appear beside you.

"This is Gretchen, say hi Gretchen."

"Hello," Gretchen smiles softly, an awkward little wave.

"and I assume you've already met-" Regina ushers you forward, a possessive hand on your shoulder. you offer a shy smile. "do you wanna tell me what happened?"

you look at Regina through the corner of your eye. Was she talking to you or them? "I don't know what you're talking about," they respond.

"that's okay. I already know," Regina insists with a smile. "I know about everything that goes on around here."

"what's your point?"

"name?"

"cady? Cady heron."

"well, Cady," Regina's voice is slow. "do you have something you would like to say to my girl here?"

Cady stands now as if trying to get on the same level as Regina. she's naturally smaller though so it doesn't quite work. "not that I can think of, so, if you could leave my office."

it's a long tense moment that feels like it may never end. "you're new around here so maybe you just don't know better," the blonde leans in closer now. "but if you ever so much as look at her in the wrong way ever again, I'll break every bone in this pathetic little body of yours, got it?"

"got it," Regina maintains her gaze before turning around with a flick of her long hair.

"is that it?" you ask, hurrying after her.

"you trust me right?"

"of course," you nod quickly.

"she won't come near you again. promise." you want to believe her but she hardly did anything. You have a broken rib and all she did was a little threat that Cady didn't even seem phased by? would that keep her away?

it's strangely beautiful if not a little menacing. the way the red and orange flickers against the night sky. the flames getting bigger. brighter. more powerful. so hot against the skin even as you just stare on. a pair of arms slip around your shoulders enveloping you in their warm embrace. Regina presses up against you from behind. "it's pretty, isn't it?"

you nod a little and she places the most delicate of kisses against your cheek. she'd set the bar on fire. well, not her directly. probably Gretchen or some other no-name follower. and now you were all just watching it burn. "aren't you scared?"

"I doubt Cady has the power for that,"

"no, I mean like- you set the place on fire. the police and firefighters are gonna show up at any minute but everyone is so calm,"a soft chuckle. one you can feel more than hear. Regina was amused, squeezing you a little tighter. "I don't want you to get in trouble,"

"oh baby," a term of endearment but it felt just a little patronising as a hand graced your cheek and moved your head to look at her. "you worry too much, everything will be fine."

"Are there people still inside?" you ask. Regina doesn't answer, just kisses you before letting go and turning back to the fire at hand. it's surprisingly tranquil. no police had come yet. no fire trucks. just the roaring fire. you wonder about Cady still inside. maybe she got out. maybe she was warned. maybe you're just better off not knowing. "it's so hot."

"yeah," a kiss to the back of your head. "I'm also getting hungry- should we get food?" you nod against her. She releases you from her grip and takes your hand instead.

"still feeling sore?"

"a little but I'm okay," you answer.

"you sure? we can head home?"

you shake your head. "let's go out."

Regina presents you with a smile. bright and warm like the fires raging behind her as she leads you off towards the car. you can't help but glance back and look at the flames that quite literally burn for you

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Quick world lore question; does the game ever specify what kind of potions/poisons exist in twst? Like, since it's technically a fantasy world, would things like health/stamina potions like you'd see in rpg's exist? Or would it be closer to reality, like home remedies and basic pharmaceutical stuff?

I'm only an EN player and I havent read all the pomfiore student's vignette's so if they answer this there then im sorry for the bother ; ;

Potions aren't talked about in the only Pomefiore students' vignettes! (In fact, if we're talking just strictly Labwear vignettes... Vil and Rook's don't really focus on potions at all; only Epel's sort of does.) There isn't actually a ton of lore about potions, and in the times when they do become relevant, the writing tends to focus more on the ingredients and/or the preparation process rather than what kind of potion would be produced. For example, the entire Labwear series of vignettes frequently brings up rare or dangerous plants that require the application of magic in order to safely harvest, such as the mandrake and the lantern blossom.

I wasn't able to check all vignettes (since that would be like... what, probably a few hundred at this point? If not that, then at least over 100), but there's definitely mentions of potions with various effects. From all lab vignettes alone and combing through the main story, here's what I could glean:

transformation/transmutation potions (prologue, book 2, Beans Day, book 6, etc; this is probably the most often mentioned type of potion)

voice-changing potions (Leona Labwear vignette)

color-changing potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

plant growth potions (Epel Labwear voice line)

sleeping potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

awakening potions (Silver Labwear vignette)

magic enhancing potions (book 2)

breathing underwater potions (book 3)

a potion that changes one part of your body to that of an animal's (book 3)

itch-relief potion (Lost in the Book with Stitch)

potion that heals burns instantly (Jamil Labwear vignette)

painkiller potion (book 5)

hair-lengthening potion (Wish Lantern)

potion that cures all throat and tongue diseases (Jade Bloom Broom vignette)

On the subject of poisons, no specific kinds are mentioned as far as I'm aware. There's a Poison Refining class (Cater Labwear vignettes), but we don't really get specifics. When poisons are talked about, it's usually in reference to the Fairest Queen or the Pomefiore dorm leader being skilled in making potent poisons, or it's Kalim talking about the many attempts on his life and unnamed poison antidotes. There may be more mentioned in other places, but at this time I don't have the capacity to check every single event and vignette. If you know of any more that aren’t listed here, please let me know and I can update the list!!

It should also be noted that "potions" can also be used for other purposes. This includes creating special effects for movies (mentioned in Vil's Labwear vignettes) and enhancing the effects of skincare (book 6, Azul Ceremonial Robes, etc.).

You'll notice that the effects of these potions can also be achieved via regular spellcasting. (In fact, we see Adeuce practicing color changing magic in Floyd's Labwear vignettes + Vil using color changing magic to help himself hide from paparazzi, etc., Jack's/Malleus's/Azul's UMs also allow them to do things without the help of potions.) Because of this, I believe that potions are meant to be an alternative way of spellcasting without actually needing to use magic. This makes already prepared potions usable by mages who don't want to expend energy/build blot as well as by NON-MAGES.

Within the world of TWST, there is an occupation known as the “medical mage”, who appear to combine magic and medicine into their practice. Furthermore, what is called “Potionology” in EN is written as 魔法薬�� (literally, "magic pharmaceuticals") in JP, implying that there is, in fact, an intersection between magic and medicine. This is similar to how "technomancy" is described to be the cross between magic and technology.

In terms of a "healing potion", there are instances which show that a magic potion may heal or at least speed up the body's natural healing process. For example, in 7-68 of the main story, Baur gives Lilia something to drink to help him with the dire blow he just took. It doesn't appear to restore him to full health though, as Lilia states he still needs rest afterward. In EN, they use the term "potion" but in JP they use "薬" (kusuri), which is "medicine". Baur qualifies the character with "魔法" (maho), which is "magic", so the term he's using is "magic medicine". This is probably the closest thing to a "healing" potion that we know of in the TWST lore.

So technically, yes, TWST has "healing potions". I wouldn’t say there is one blanket cure-all potion though; based on what we know of potionology and how it’s very similar to irl chemistry classes, we can assume that there are generalized “healing potions” but that there must also be far more specialized and targeted ones, similar to medicine irl or non-enchanted or non-magic infused medicine. This is supported by Riddle mentioning a potion that instantaneously heals burns, implying that there is no “cure-all”.

I would imagine that, like transformation potions, “healing potions” would have to be highly regulated since they’re basically a drug 💀 Riddle even mentions licensed potion pharmacists that formulate potions, as those who consume them may undergo physiological changes. (There would probably be OTC types too, given proper governmental approval!)

Magical potions can only be brewed by licensed professionals or under the supervision of a licensed professional like Crewel. Some potions are ineffective if not brewed by the person who intends to drink it, while other potions require infusions of magic while harvesting the ingredient or preparing the potion in its cauldron.

[seat-safety-switch]

You may have heard in the news that Taco Bell is going big-time on artificial intelligence. Let me tell you that I, George Taco-Bellerson III, got zooted up on painkillers last night while watching First Contact and I'd be the first to bone down with the bald cyborg lady. Also Worf, but that's a subject for a different boardroom meeting than this one.

In the future, AI will assemble the Taco Bell menu items randomly from our small set of available ingredients. Every meal will be different. Accidentally, inevitably, a flavour singularity will emerge.

If God did not exist, then we would have to invent him. Today, we have invented a new kind of God.

We believe Chipotle, our so-called "competitor," is weak. They will only serve food that they believe people want to eat. We here at Taco Bell know that this primitive paternalistic superstition is untrue: our customers often cannot tell the difference between menu items and menus.

Unrestrained by the indulgent morality of the flesh, the Taco Bell Sentience has already begun to execute a campaign of advertising-based psyops using a series of hacked accounts and plausible-sounding artificial pundits on news programs, moulding human opinion with gentle pushes into accepting the new world of Fast Mexican. It was released thirty seven minutes ago, and our society is no longer the one we once knew. Gentlemen, reach now beneath your seats and withdraw your suicide injectors.

Together, we leave this plane of existence as martyrs, bound now for the verdant fields of infinite profitability as we leave an immortal and unattended machine spewing raw cash behind. I can see next quarter's EPS now.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 8

Warnings: severely injured villain, fever-caused delirium & disorientation, hallucinating, thinking oneself is dead

But it never felt like he was doing enough for her. Not enough to make up for the harm he'd caused her in the past. He had gotten virtually no decent sleep since he'd found Villain, and it was steadily taking a toll on his mind. But he refused to rest while she was still at risk of dying at any moment.

-------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Villain became aware of was the pain. Strangely faded and distant, but there nonetheless. It was like she couldn't fully experience it, her mind drifting somewhere dark and far away from her physical body. She felt detached from reality, lost in her own head, her thoughts cloudy and muddled and blurred around the edges.

But... she also felt warmth. She was cold, but something else was not. She could feel a body next to hers that radiated comfort and peace, something familiar yet foreign to her. Why was the warmth so familiar?

She fought to claw through the mind-fuzz and feverish delirium, but it sucked her back into disorientation every time she tried, and so she let it drag her back under into artificial bliss that numbed the pain. She distantly wondered why the sensation felt a lot like heavy painkillers, but she couldn't consciously bring herself to enough alertness to figure out why she felt like that.

Her eyes wouldn't open when she tried, and she drew in a deep breath, a faint flicker of recognition suddenly hitting her.

Hero, she thought fuzzily, recognizing the scent of his cologne. So she was dead. Hero wouldn't be here with her otherwise. At least death is kind enough to grant me this.

Villain's chest ached with grief and despair, but also deep longing, the loneliness she'd worked so hard to bury making itself known now that she was with Hero. The one and only person in her life she'd ever shared her heart with.

She was dead. She knew that. But somehow her mind existed beyond life, if it could imagine her lover laying next to her like this so vividly. His scent, his warmth... it was exactly like she remembered.

Maybe a person's spirit really does linger after the body dies.

She didn't care to prod at that theory or investigate further with her thoughts, not wanting to ruin the desperate illusion she had somehow created. It had been... so long since someone held her. Since someone touched her out of love and affection instead of hate. Most people who ever got close enough to touch were those wanting to kill her, and she'd learned to keep the world at a distance to protect herself. But Hero had shown her what kindness felt like for the first time, the gentleness touch can bring.

I missed you, Villain's thoughts echoed sadly, and then I died for you. But at least you're here with me now...

She reached out blindly for the body next to her, the only source of safety in this dark place of emptiness. Her heart ached for that comfort, longing to feel loved one last time before her spirit faded to wherever spirits go to rest.

Villain's fingers brushed bare skin, warm and alive, and she felt the body flinch like it'd been startled. She let out a trembling breath, slipping her arms around the realistic figment of Hero her mind had brought to life and drawing him close until they were fully touching, where she could soak up his familiar presence.

She could feel his back pressed against her, the familiar battle scars creating bumps texturing otherwise smooth skin. The level of detail her mind had come up with was surreal, and it only made her heart ache more.

She held her arms around Hero's stomach, and pressed her forehead against the back of his neck, drinking in his reassuring scent and letting it soothe her fuzzy thoughts.

"...Villain?" She heard Hero say her name, and smiled at his husky voice, though it sounded far away and muffled. She'd missed hearing it. The gruff undertones, laced with the kind of affection he reserved for her alone.

Hero sounded groggy and half-asleep, and it reminded Villain of all the times she'd gotten to wake up next to him in shared warmth and strong arms. It was nostalgic -- Hero had never been an early riser, and Villain was often the one nudging him awake in the mornings to make sure he wouldn't be late to work. Those were the endearing moments she cherished most from when they were dating; seeing Hero's sleepy face to start every day. She'd thought at the time that it would last forever.

"Villain... hey, are you awake? How's the pain?"

Hero's voice echoed softly in her mind, and she loved how adorably worried he sounded -- fussing over her like he always did. She loved how much he cared, treating her tenderly.

Villain felt Hero's imaginary body twist out of her arms, and she let out a quiet groan of protest at the sudden absence, whining for it to return. And to her surprise, it did -- the warmth came back, another body scooting close to her cold one. But this time Hero was facing her, she could tell, as she found herself touching his chest and the front of his shoulders instead of his back like before -- distinctly recognizable by the long, ragged scar running across his torso, a scar she had mapped dozens of times before with her hands in the past. And they remembered.

Villain ran her hands blindly up Hero's chest until she found his neck and wrapped her arms around it, hugging him close.

"Hey... it's okay, Vil. It's me. I'm here. You're going to be okay," Hero's voice whispered into her ear as she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling deeply.

Villain wanted to believe him -- she really did. But being dead was the opposite of okay, even if her dying had been to keep Hero safe. Her whole body ached with pain that was becoming more noticeable and distinct with every passing second, and she grimaced, eyes still closed tight.

"Don't worry, I've got it," Hero said quietly, and right after Villain felt something sharp prick her neck, before all the pain suddenly left her again, leaving her pleasantly numb and foggy-minded.

"Relax, love, you're safe here," Hero murmured, and she could feel the vibration deep in his chest. "I'm sorry... for everything."

A calloused hand brushed comfortingly through Villain's hair, and she melted into the touch, craving it desperately after how touch-starved she'd been after she ran away from him. She let out a needy whimper, clutching Hero closer with what weak strength she possessed. She felt Hero's arms finally wrap around her in return, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on her back in the way she liked. Hero knew her well.

"You're alright," Hero murmured softly. "Let yourself rest -- you need it to heal..."

And Villain didn't have a choice but to oblige, the sound of Hero's steady heartbeat in her ear lulling her into a sense of safety that made her relax and go limp in relief.

She heard Hero start to hum to her like he used to to help her be calm, and she let herself get lost in the fuzzy bliss.

She was warm. Safe. Loved. And that's all she'd wanted in the end.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @and-we-shake-the-iron-hand

[gabbrofan27]

campfire fest discord server, some people and i were discussing what sort of (explicitly non-hard) drugs would actually exist in the solar system, and reading the freedom by @ultimatefeldsparringgot me thinking about our responses. i forget who brought up exactly what, so ill just be narrating the general ideas that were floated (tw drugs/alcohol)

we know they have alcohol. sapwine is likely just a wine that they make, though i could imagine its just a catch-all for liquors in general (if they can make any). but, in my opinion, it makes absolutely no sense for the species that got to space in ships made of wood to have never figured out beer. there has GOT to be hearthian beers, i cant imagine a world where there isnt any. a fine hearthian ale would cure any sickness.

the question isn't "is there space weed," rather what planet/s does it grow on. hourglass twins too close to sun, brittle hollow likely too rocky, so the obvious candidates are timber hearth and giants deep. timber hearths rivers and lush organic life have likely led to the steady growth of a plant that, when smoked, gets one high, but likely nowhere in the village. thinking the various groves. giants deep has some grasses and mosses, so this could be the separate strain. alternatively, it is very funny to think there is no weed on timber hearth, and that someone just said "fuck it" and smoked the giants deep clump of moss stuck to their ship. someone i believe, floated the idea of dark bramble weed, and i don't want to know what the fuck that would do to one

psychadelics likely in the form of mushrooms. probably found on every planet idk mushrooms are crazy like that. what a fucked up little solar system, with so little kinds of weed and so many kinds of shrooms. again, dark bramble shrooms i never want to meet

getting more medical now, some form of painkillers in various strengths and forms definitely exist. this i feel is pills, herbal remedies, tonics and tinctures, balms and pastes, and frog/toad secretions specifically. asprin needs to exist god what a cruel world if it didnt. frog slimes id imagine could be used as / turned into numbing agents, local or otherwise. stronger painkillers could definitely be addictive or abused very random talk i know but it was on the mind, need to use this blog posting that isnt about drugs too of course this wont be the normal

[shinobushaori]

PRETTY DOCTOR

- kochou shinobu x gender neutral! reader

warnings: none

wordcount: 728

"Urgh..."

As your eyelids slowly regain strength to rise, the sunlight immediately ceases it and you wince, groaning afterwards when that unmistakable familiar pain overtakes your body. Tensing your muscles, you take in the wisteria aroma before blinking as you look around at your surroundings and recognize the similar rowed beds.

You breathed in a sigh of relief, eyes closing and your muscles relaxing in place. "Fuck yeah.."

Once again, you've seen the light of day and survived against the demons you've grown to loathe. You've always come to appreciate the warmth that seems to offer a bit of comfort to your ruined state. It serves as a motivation as well, that even the most disastrous evening has a mirthful morning.

It definitely doesn't make the experience less painful though but you'll take any kind of comfort at this point.

"Oh? You're finally awake?"

A soothing voice enters your ears and you take time to appreciate it. Slowly opening your eyes, the sunlight blurs your sight but you ignore it and tilt your head towards your saviour.

You give them a grateful smile, "Thank you.."

Noticing they went silent, you closed your eyes again and concentrated on your breathing. A painful process, but one worth in the end. Thankfully, you can feel your wounds covered in cooled padding that helps you further into comfort.

You sigh deeply, this is why you absolutely adore doctors.

Healers, doctors, caretakers. People who provide their own personal time to take care of other injured beings are people you will always appreciate. They heal the wounded and lead the broken and you fully believe, without these incredible human beings, the Demon Slayer Corps would be in ruins.

Old hags in wisteria houses that cater to your every need and bandage your broken bones without a second thought, a kind random bystander that offers you their house as temporary longing, hell even the kids that would sympathize with your pain and try to help you stand.

They all have touched your heart and encourage you to be a stronger person than before. So, that they could freely dedicate their time to other wounded people other than yourself and lessen the burden they're carrying.

A hand softly lands on your chest and you flinch as your eyes flutter open. Some of the curtains were somehow closed for your mercy, you suspect the mysterious figure hovering above you and your eyesight slowly recovers.

"Breathe in slowly, don't rush in or you'll only trouble yourself."

That easing voice again spoke up.

You closed your eyes and followed their direction. Their hand, notably small yet strong, kindly guiding you. The moment you take too much air in, it softly pushes your chest and you exhale in turn.

"Thank you.. Oba-san.." Your husky voice huff out.

Although, you take note that the giggling sound you receive is definitely far from the usual nagging hags. Do these angry aunts even have the soul to laugh? You appreciate them but they clearly have something against the world.

Your eyes crack open and you stiffen seeing the woman in front of you. It definitely wasn't an old lady that would glare at you for being reckless nor a wrinkled person that laughs a bit hard when they accidentally tighten your bandages too much.

No, instead it's a beautiful woman. Purple tinted eyes perfectly framed with her other delicate features. Her existing smile widened seeing you frozen and for the first time, your stomach makes leaps and plays jump rope with your intestines and insides. While your face seemingly gets caught on fire and creates havoc in your mind.

Her hand trails up and teasingly taps your cheek, "Do I look that old to you?"

Your jaw only drops in response and she, oh dear she, oh breathtaking she, giggles even more.

"Well? Does Oba-san needs to give you some painkillers?"

Oh fuck.

"Maybe Oba-san could hold my hand instead?" Your voice answers involuntarily. No one could blame how you basically short-circuited and even the beauty didn't mind your words. She seemed amused even and her arm slowly crept down, her hand, soft and smooth, takes your hand in a clasp.

She tilts her head, pink soft-looking lips stretched in such a pretty smile that your face flushed instantly.

"Oba-san will take care of you, okay? Restwell!"

A/N: I made this 10 days ago and this was supposedly wayyy longer than it should be but I think at the same time, it's better and funny this way. I might make a part two, just maybe.

[delopsia]

aches & pains | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 3,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader on their period, cuddles, baths together, Rhett's hurt his shoulder, sharing a cup of tea, period cramps, Rhett getting sick, and a whole bunch of mushy soft stuff. A splash of hurt/comfort if you take the hurt literally 🤍 Brief Summary: You might not be able to avoid the aches and pains of the world, but at least you've got each other.

There is nothing quite as undoing as the sudden, vicious tightening of the muscles in your lower belly. Body alight with what you can only describe as the sensation of being stabbed by the invisible knife of a ghost you've pissed off by merely existing. Each jolt of pain worse than the last. Letting up just long enough to deceive you into believing the onslaught has stopped, only to continue the moment your relieved breath meets the air. 

Your hand fumbles with the sleeve of Rhett's jacket, still unsure if you want to clutch the thick material to your belly or if you want to keep it under your head. The pressure is a tempting distraction, but removing your makeshift pillow means your neck will be in that awkward position again. Extending a little too far down to meet the curve of Rhett's bench seat, enough to rise another inconvenience. 

Ugh.

There's a noise outside the passenger side of the truck. Voices of the people parked next to you and the dull thunk of their door hitting Rhett's door, no doubt adding another scratch to the deep blue paint.

You can't even begin to think about calling them out for it. Even the idea of moving your mouth is too much for your weary body to handle. 

A gust of wind rocks the body of the truck, lightly swaying back and forth like some terrifying, oversided cradle. The breeze screams as it whips past the frame, searching for every nook and crack it can find, squeezing into the crevices, determined to get in and wrap you up in its icy grasp. 

And it gets in.

The door squeals as it's forced open by that wicked wind, its big, frosty fingers reaching in to wrap around your ankle—

"'y feelin' alright?" Rhett's voice is so warm that you can almost almost ignore the frost that's rudely nipping at your nose. 

It hurts, craning your neck to look at him like this. Such a simple movement sends your lower belly into a fit of rage, twisting and churning in the kind of fashion that no over-the-counter painkiller can dull. His left arm sits in an off-white sling, cradling it to his chest, his worn face clouded with dirt and a collection of blood from a recently split lip. If you didn't know any better, you'd think the Tillersons picked another fight with him.

"Are you alright?" You croak, shifting to pull your legs in, going against the will of every tiny little nerve that screams, begs for you not to move. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your eyes screw shut. Fingers digging into the cloth seat until you're certain it's beginning to rip. 

Oh, the joys of living in a body that seems to hate you with every fiber of its being. 

The truck sways as Rhett climbs into the driver seat, wordlessly fitting into the gap of space you've painstakingly created for him. Not enough for him to comfortably sit, and certainly not for him to drive, but he's able to close the door just fine, albeit struggling with his left arm being out of commission.

"Y' didn't answer my question," his hand delves under the leg of your sweatpants as he speaks, cold fingers like a dream against your too-hot skin. 

Your head thunks against the side of the door, and for a moment, it's enough to distract from the war going on inside of you. "You didn't answer mine," the corner of your eye twitches, the only visible indicator of the pain flooding back into your senses. 

"Fell off the bull wrong," the corner of Rhett's lip rises like an injury of this caliber is some minor, funny thing that should be smiled about. Like he isn't holding a pretty new prescription for another round of pain medication. Freshly printed. Just in time to replace what he was given for those broken ribs a couple of weekends ago. 

You should have been there. Cheering him on like you always do, jumping to your feet with the crowd, and delivering a thundering applause as his name soared to the top of the scoreboard. Chasing down a third season win in a row, a rare Wabang champ looking to take down his fathers record. But instead, here you are, torn apart by a menstrual cycle. 

Rhett squeezes your ankle, a reminder that he's still here, "You don't look like y' feel any better."

"I feel worse," you croak, mouth suddenly dry as you sift for the energy to move again. The equivalent of searching for a drop of water in a blazing desert. Futile in every sense of the term. Leaving you to squirm miserably against the seat until you're somewhat upright, slouched against Rhett's side. 

His wind-bitten nose nudges against your cheek, "'m sorry," that big, warm arm wraps around your shoulders as he speaks, drawing you close, "Want me to stop 'n get y' somethin'? Or would you rather we go home?" 

"Home," you whisper, "please."

It isn't the safest idea. No, not by a long shot. 

But you find yourself sinking back down against the bench seat again, head coming to rest against Rhett's jean-clad thigh as he drives out of the parking lot. His left arm wriggling out of the sling, thick fingers brushing back and forth at the back of your neck. Some odd thing that, when combined with the deep rumble of his truck, could almost put you to sleep. 

Almost. 

Because nothing can fully distract from that vicious spasming of muscles, wound so tightly that your body can't fully stretch out. Stuck in an awkward curl that has your knees hanging over the edge of the seat.

The truck is sitting at one of the only red lights in Wabang when a hat comes to perch on your hip. Chipped and torn at the edge, one of its many signs of age, and just a little bit dusty from landing in the dirt. Come morning, you're sure you'll find Rhett cleaning it before he heads off to work.

But right now, he's looking down at you. Hair cascading across his dirty face, eyes sparkling with a fondness you can't quite describe. Soft shades of blue that look black in this dark truck, poorly illuminated by a street lamp. 

"What?" You chirp, blinking up at him, doe-eyed as can be. What's he looking at you for? 

His head shakes, "nothin'." 

A horn blares. Effectively shattering whatever moment you two just held. 

It only serves to make room for another, a little more mundane and a smidgen quieter; silence kept at bay by the guttural groan of the truck motor and the soft melody of the radio. Some country song that reminisces on the past, in all of its melancholy, sorrowful glory. Not the type of song that would necessarily get to you on a normal day, but right now, it's got a wateriness forming in the corners of your eyes.

You wonder if this will ever come to an end. 

The quiet aftermath of rodeos, as Rhett drives the both of you home for a celebration of your own determining, away from the hustle and bustle of bars and in the coziness of your living room. What will these Sunday nights look like when he quits chasing gaudy belt buckles and is satisfied with the number of wins under his belt? 

Will you two still be a thing when that day comes? Or is this the kind of thing that never really ends, devolving into a life of shared goods and bads until fate comes to claim one of you? 

Your head tilts, body shifting until you're lying on your back, now gazing up at that handsome face of his, even if he's got more dirt under his jaw than you'd like to admit. It's hard to imagine a day when this man becomes nothing but a memory to you, but if the world doesn't tear you two apart, then...

"I can feel your eyes on me, sweetheart," Rhett's tone is warm, shaped by the smile gracing his lips. 

Surprised, your gaze darts away, "Just thinking." 

Gravel pops and scatters beneath the tires, your only indication that he's pulling into your driveway. Still a sad collection of dirt, dust, and rock, waiting for the day your landlord commits to his decision of having it properly paved. 

"'bout what?" Rhett's reaching to put the truck in park, and just like that, you've got his full attention. Not another distraction on this planet that can take his attention away from you. 

And maybe that's what makes it so hard for you to speak, all of a sudden, "Do you think...we're going to be a forever kind of thing?" 

Maybe you shouldn't have asked that because although his good hand is dipping down, thump running across your cheek, his eyelashes are fluttering in a fashion reserved for when he's overwhelmed or caught off guard. 

A muscle against his temple flexes as the gears in his head begin to turn. Dissolving into genuine thought as he continues to look down at you.

"Yeah," it's gruff, borderline unintelligible, but it's there. "I kind of...already thought this was a forever thing, if 'm bein' real honest with ya."

There are more words that can be said, eloquently tied together with a shiny new ribbon and gently scented with your favorite flowers, but they don't need to be spoken. You get what each other means just by the dumb, wobbly smiles on your faces. 

"How's a bubble bath sound?" His thumb smooths over your lips like he's trying to memorize every part of you, "might make y' feel a lil' better, won't it?" 

Somehow, you already knew he was going to suggest that, always has been on the top of his 'make it better' list ever since the day you first mentioned them. "Will you get in with me?"

His head shakes, and it's the last thing you were hoping to see. "Naw, I got enough dirt on me to turn it into a mud bath." 

Famous last words because the moment you're settled in with all the lightly scented bubbles, and your hand starts making that childish grabby motion, quietly whining for him to get in with you, he cracks. Skips unbuttoning his flannel in exchange for tugging it over his head, and you'll pretend you don't notice the fresh accumulation of dirt on your recently mopped floor. 

He never has been good at telling you no. 

"'m gettin' ya all dirty, doll," he chuckles, but he's not stopping you from squishing your cheek against his flushed chest. From here, it's easy to catch the swelling in his left shoulder. It doesn't seem to bother him all that much, but it's sure to give him hell come sunrise. 

"We're in a bath," as if to emphasize your statement, you reach out, collecting a pile of bubbles in your palm and squishing it to his meaty chest, "You're allowed to be dirty."

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "The water's turnin' brown."

"We'll run more water," you huff, foot kicking against his, sending a wave sloshing against the side of the tub. Distantly, you think you can hear drops of water splattering against the tile floor, but you can't bring yourself to care. 

And it's so, so easy to ignore when Rhett's heart pitter patters beneath your ear, a dull thump, thump, thump that has become your favorite lullaby. Drawing you a little closer, eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment. 

Until he sneezes.

Once.

Twice.

Three times. 

"Getting sick?" Your voice is a little rougher than you remember it being, thick with what was almost sleep. 

"Nah," Rhett's rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand, leaving it tinted with a bright shade of red, "takes a lot for me t' get sick."

Famous last words because it only marks the start of more sneezing. A never-ending fit that makes it a tad bit difficult to run your soapy fingers through his knotted hair, scrubbing away a day's worth of dirt and grime that hid so, so well in the darkness of his curls. Unruly bubbles cascade down his neck and across his broad shoulders, where he's unknowingly collected a few freckles. 

And, of course, you have to use your hands to wipe them away. After all, who would you be if you didn't sneak a few skirting touches here and there? 

The sniffling starts somewhere between the naked dash to the linen closet because both of you managed to forget the towels and when a sea of rage boils up in your lower belly. Muscles twisting and turning for the umpteenth time today because an hour of relief is far too much for your body to allow you. 

"Hurtin' again?" Rhett's words muffled by his toothbrush, still working away at his teeth. 

All you can do is nod and hope that he sees it; your eyes have long since screwed shut as if it'll do anything to relieve the war raging inside your body. Hands itching to reach for the bottle of painkillers in the cabinet, but your head reminds you that you're already on the maximum dosage. 

Water runs. The plastic handle of the toothbrush banging against the side of the sink as Rhett shakes off the water clinging to the bristles. 

"C'mon," Rhett's wet hand wraps around your own, gently tugging, "got an idea."

Before you can so much as take a step forward, you know what he's up to. 

He's making tea. 

Because, as his momma always says, a little bit of tea can fix just about anything. A sentiment that has transformed that spare cabinet in your kitchen into a collection of various teas that even outnumber the amount carried by the local grocery store. Chamomile, peppermint, hibiscus, lemon, green, milk, and that one odd brand he uses for sweet tea, just to name a few. 

Getting the kettle on the stove is easy; Rhett holds the container under the faucet while you man the water flow, and that should be it. 

But waiting is an entirely new kind of horrible; the last time water was boiled in the house, both of you fell asleep and nearly missed the frantic howling from the kitchen. A mistake that has left the two of you leaning up against the cabinets, your head resting against Rhett's, listening to the gentle rattle of the kettle as the water heats up.

"You aren't putting your sling back on?" You whisper, words slurring together, tongue too lazy to fully break them apart. The vague memory lingering in the back of your head suggests that he left the sling hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and with the way he minds his left side entirely, you know he needs it, but...

"No point," his head tilts, lips pressing idly against your temple, "neither of us are gonna make it to midnight."

You can't help the giggle he works out of you, "remember the days when we stayed at the bar until they kicked us out?"

"You mean two weekends ago?" Now he's laughing with you; two weeks feels like such a long time ago. 

Something in your lower abdomen twitches, an organ you weren't aware of until now. Must be its own form of karma because a twinge of pain jolts through you when your eyes roll. "Better than two months, I suppose."

"Nah, two months is good too," his eyes are on you, boring two warm holes into the thin skin of your cheek. You'd meet his eye, but you fear you'd catch fire. "And two years...and twenty years, 'n when we're in the old folks home talkin' 'bout havin' a wild night out at bingo."

You can picture it now. Silvery canes, wrinkled skin, and a tattered, brown cowboy hat that you just know Rhett will keep for the rest of his life because it's 'still good.' It's already begun to tear on the inside, and it's, what, five years old? Six, maybe? 

"Staying out 'till eight, how scandalous," speaking in the best dramatic voice you can manage, hand rising to rest over your heart. 

Rhett's weight shifts, leaving you to slouch against his shoulder instead, "'m sure we'll be able to hold out 'till nine," 

What's worse, you can't bring yourself to move, even if the muscles in your neck are twitching and protesting in tune with your belly. "Rhett, we're barely managing to hold it together now, and it's only eleven."

"... eight-thirty?" 

You really,

truly,

do not know what you're going to do with him.

An ear-splitting whistle tears through the air, drawing your attention back to the long mugs and their chosen tea bags. Which tea did you choose again? You can hardly remember. 

But now you've got a warm cup between your palms, the kind of cozy gentleness that transports you right to bed in one sip. One minute, you're standing side by side at the counter, and the next, your legs are hopelessly tangled. His shirt is missing, gifting you the freedom of resting your forehead against his wondrously broad chest. Rough fingers stroke up and down your back, the clumsy brushings of a painting that only Rhett can see. 

"Does your throat hurt?" His voice rumbles, and in the dark of the bedroom, it almost sounds like thunder. The beginnings of a storm that will transform your metal rooftop into a choir, proudly singing its songs for the umpteenth time this week.

Despite lightly scalding your mouth, a little too eager for your tea, you can't seem to find the slightest hint of soreness or pain. The only thing out of the ordinary is your slightly scalded tongue. "You're getting sick, baby," you mutter, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of his face.

It's hard to see from this angle, but you don't mind the view of his jaw. His stubble is long enough to feel soft under your fingers when you reach to rub your thumb against the bone. 

"'m not gettin' sick," but the confidence in his tone is overridden by the edges of hoarseness, cracking his vowels in two.

You both know that his protests are futile. When Rhett Abbott gets sick, it hits him like a goddamn freight train, ripping the strength from his muscles and leaving him a red-nosed, miserable mess. Nine times out of ten that means you'll be picking it up as soon as he's feeling better. 

So what's possessing you to crane your head up and kiss his lips, effectively sealing your fate?

"Whatever you say, cowboy," the corners of your lips rise, and you could say more if you really wanted to, but he's already kissing you back. Lazily opening his mouth to yours, scruffy chin rubbing against your jaw, as his hand flattens against the small of your back. It's wet and its messy, every motion punctured by a slick sound in the air, and it's everything. 

And it's going to get you so, so sick.

Sleep must come somewhere after Rhett rubbing your noses together and that one yawn that forces your eyes shut because it's the only thing you can recall when a gentle rattle of the house wakes you. Thunder, accompanied by her beloved friend, rain, stirring up a fuss outside your window. The clouds thick enough to block out the sun's heated rays, drenching your home in a coolness that can only be thwarted by the body against yours. 

Your leg shifts, slipping out from between Rhett's, as you readjust yourself. It's too early to be awake.

"Where y' goin'?" A voice whines in a tone you hardly recognize.

Until you do. 

From the moment your eyes lay on Rhett's paler-than-usual face, you know what's happened. Whatever bug he's caught, it's worked fast because, in less than twelve hours, he's gone from sneezing and a sore throat to this.

His cheeks a little swollen, eyelids drooping in that too-tired fashion usually reserved for long days on the Abbott ranch, and oh, the bags under his not-so-awake eyes. 

"I know," he mutters, dejected, "'m sick." His face wrinkles as he speaks, like it's hurting him to talk, that sore throat coming back to bite him as hard as it can. 

"Sick is an understatement," you're almost afraid to run your fingers through his hair, not out of fear of getting sick but of breaking him and that glass smile. "You look horrible."

"Works gonna suck," he's scooting down the bed, face disappearing under the sheets as he nuzzles into your chest. But even the thickness of the blankets can't muffle that sharp inhale when his left arm goes to wrap around you. 

It's easy to feel the swelling, even without being able to see what your hand is touching, because his shoulder isn't as bony as the rest of his body. "You can't work like this," you're likely embarking on a losing battle, but he's even wincing away from your faint touch. Too sore to be touched. 

"Yes...can," is what you think he says; it's hard to decipher what comes out of his mouth when his face is actively burrowing into your chest. 

You know you've won when he falls back into that peaceful, sleepy silence. Unconcerned with arguing or fussing about what will happen when his father learns of his no-show at the ranch. Simply content to lay here in bed, with your soft hand stroking up and down the knobs of his spine in that feather-light sort of way that makes him gasp. 

"Stay 'ere?" He's speaking funny, trying to escape that nagging sensation in his throat.

"Yeah," pressing a kiss to the top of his head, messy hair and all, "stay here."

Both of you are asleep within minutes, escaping the world for a few more hours, just you, Rhett, and this big, comfy bed. You might not be able to avoid the aches and pains of the world, but at least you've got each other. 

[masiethewriter]

Honored Eternal Path of Demise CH. 20 - Lost Found

"Senior!" He suddenly whispers, pulling Shen Qingqiu out of his thoughts. He moves them to the side, pressing them both against the wall. A second after Shen Qingqiu realizes why. Intimately recognizable footsteps, followed by the scrape of metal. There is no doubt who is coming their way.

First Chapter ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ AO3 Link

Binghe is in a bad mood.

Furrowed brows and downturned lips. Not saying a single word. An aura of unhappiness thick enough that it sticks to the tongue. There really isn't any doubt about Binghe’s current emotional state.

It isn't that Shen Qingqiu is not aware of Binghe's temper. There exist many examples of his rage both in the novel and in the game. Binghe is quite an expressive guy, despite his skills with acting. Shen Qingqiu is just surprised by how different it feels when spending time with him directly instead of reading about him as a character.

Whether happy or angry, unless he has a reason to hide it, he wears his emotions on his sleeves. Which only makes it more awkward when Shen Qingqiu still has to lean on the guy while he looks more murderous than the Killer.

The problem is that Shen Qingqiu is certain he is the last person who can cheer Binghe up right now.

Right after the earlier assault, the shock had left his thoughts shaken and muddy. This served to strengthen Binghe's worry, making him look over Shen Qingqiu, afraid the fall had worsened the injuries. 

He was not wrong to check, even while unable to do anything about them.

The bandages on Shen Qingqius arm, still soaked, were clinging to his skin to the point of scraping the burnt flesh. The bandages on his foot were also drenched, but besides water, they were also reddened from blood. Of course, in both instances this had already been caused by Shen Qingqiu's near drowning experience prior, but the meeting between harsh rock and vulnerable flesh had caused it to worsen.

The skin of his arm had now split in multiple places, droplets of blood running down the white cloth. How the foot looked, neither Binghe nor Shen Qingqiu dared to look. But even with Binghe's careful touch, it felt too loose, like if he wanted to, he could just pluck it right off Shen Qingqiu's leg.

The power of video game painkillers should never be underestimated. No way Shen Qingqiu could stay this composed otherwise. But every time another shock was aimed at his wounds, the effect of the one pill still in his system ran the risk of losing its effect.

It still held out. For now. Shen Qingqiu had just needed time to gather himself after another surge of suffering. Which meant Binghe was free to see the terrible state of his battered body.

And it was right after that, that Binghe saw the note. From there, there was nothing Shen Qingqiu could say or do to manage the situation. 

No, this time it wasn't a trap. But that didn't matter to Binghe.

Shen Qingqiu had been out of his sight for a second. Something bad had happened. And then there was another page from that diary. 

To describe Binghe as pissed was an understatement. 

He hadn't shouted. Most likely because of the echo of the hallway. He hadn't left Shen Qingqiu to squirm on the ground. Binghe is too kind for that. He even read the note out loud, its content containing such a different mood to theirs, it was almost laughable. 

He had then torn it into pieces. Afterwards he eyed the pocket where Shen Qingqiu kept the diary, his want clearly written on his face. Likely the only reason he didn't destroy the entire book was because he didn't want to risk the struggle of wrestling it from Shen Qingqiu's grasp.

Instead he stomped over to one of the lights, making quick work of releasing the candle, before coming back to hand it to Shen Qingqiu. Silently, he had picked up the crowbar, looking for a second like he just wanted to release a series of smashes against the brick wall.

He didn't. He picked up Shen Qingqiu and without further delay, he directed them through the hallways, following the route they had chosen together.

Okay, listen! Shen Qingqiu understands that he has rotten luck. This session has done nothing but prove that time and time again. But as he has already said to Binghe, it is not like he is trying to get himself killed here. He really does not have a single suicidal bone in his body, he swears!

Honestly, this might just be punishment for Shen Qingqiu taking Ning Yingying's place for the tutorial. He was never meant to leave the mansion that early and the game has only confirmed that since. Really, what has he gotten out of this session besides pain and suffering??

Well, besides the chance to hang out with Binghe... Which... If looking past the pain and suffering, Shen Qingqiu wouldn't mind doing so again...

Even when its angry Binghe, Shen Qingqiu can still appreciate his company. He isn't his favorite character for nothing! Even when they are fighting, Binghe is going out of his way to take care of him! Who cares about anger issues, when the person with the issues still acts like a decent person! Only Binghe could simultaneously lack control and stay focused on the goal like this! Really a man to admire!

And speaking of goals, while Shen Qingqiu is appreciating Binghe in his mind, this is when they stumble upon a door unlike any door either of them have seen so far.

As Shen Qingqiu looks upon metal forged into intricate patterns and decorated with gold and silver, there is no doubt in his mind that they stand before the entrance to the library. 

The final path towards returning to the main part of the game. The final key that can turn this rotten session into worthwhile progress.

"This looks just like the woman from the painting..." Binghe mutters, going closer to inspect the details of the door. He is not wrong, though with a few key differences.

As Binghe said, shaped into the metal is a depiction of the woman from the painting. This time standing by herself. Behind her stretches a landscape of flowery fields, leading towards a blooming treeline. Her hair is falling loosely around her shoulders, her dress much simpler, though it suits her just as well. 

The atmosphere around her figure is quite different from the painting though. 

Whether it is because expressions are harder to catch when forging metal, she appears much softer in this depiction of her. Her muscles are much more discreet, the authority switched out with affection as she looks gently downwards towards the bundle in her arms.

But instead of holding her pregnant belly, she is embracing a bouquet of lotus flowers, her stomach entirely flat. 

When comparing the painting with the door, even though they are clearly the same person, the feeling they give is like they are two different people. One dominant and strong. Another docile and vulnerable. And still, neither depiction feels fake or strange. Like this is just another human being, varied and full of contrasts.

Shen Qingqiu releases himself from Binghe, so the other can inspect the door unhindered. Leaning against the wall, he observes Binghes exploration, keeping an eye on his hands, as they glide across shiny metal.

The door stands clear as if it is still being polished every day. A clear contrast to the dust and dirt that cover every other part of the mansion. Notably, there are no handles or other obvious ways to open the door. Binghe pokes and prods at different corners, feeling out the patterns to locate any secret keyhole.

As his hand brushes past the bouquet of lotus', Shen Qingqiu is extra attentive. But in the end he does not push back hard enough and he moves on none-the-wiser.

Shen Qingqiu lets out a dissatisfied sigh, but it isn't Binghe's fault. Once they get their hands on the 'key', he will have to think of a way to guide Binghe to find the hidden compartment. For now it is not necessary and Shen Qingqiu would rather not come off as suspicious by immediately revealing every secret he knows. 

Binghe does manage to find another note. Which sadly mostly serves to sour his mood after his brief distraction of curiosity. But keeping to their agreement, he obediently reads it out. 

"It's her, it is definitely her! Ms. _______ is definitely his mom! I realized they have the exact same sharp eyes. Her, out of everyone, having a hidden child must certainly be some form of divine fate. I just feel so sad for the boy. He rarely speaks of his parents, but when he does, I do not like what I hear. I say nothing, of course. I think it would just make him sad. I have also lost the kitten, though I haven't told him that either. It ran away somewhere and even with M_______'s help I can't find it anywhere."

This time Binghe doesn't rip the note into pieces, though Shen Qingqiu can see on his face that he considers it. Instead he sighs deeply in exasperation, handing it to Shen Qingqiu. 

Shen Qingqiu on the other hand is getting a bad feeling about the notes. 

Not in the same way as Binghe, convinced they are out to kill him horribly. No, rather it is the content of the notes that leaves him worried.

This is simultaneously lore that he already knows and which is completely new. The relation between the child and his parents, Shen Qingqiu is already well aware of. This note only serves to confirm his knowledge of their troubled relationship. But the added bits with the maid, those parts he does not like.

It is only a question of time before something goes wrong. This is a horror game after all. And there are very few happy endings to find in a horror game like this.

"Senior, we should keep going," Binghe says, taking hold of Shen Qingqiu again.

Shen Qingqiu follows without complaint. He is deep in thought, trying to puzzle together what he can learn from these notes that he didn't know after finishing the game. It could be something super small, seemingly insignificant until the last note connects everything together. 

There must be a point to them, even if it is still not clear what that point could be. 

While he considers the diary pages, he trusts Binghe to lead them to the storage room. With the map they found earlier, it is much easier for Binghe to navigate the twists and turns on their way. As they get closer to their destination, they reach a crossroad, but then Binghe suddenly freezes.

"Senior!" He suddenly whispers, pulling Shen Qingqiu out of his thoughts. He moves them to the side, pressing them both against the wall. A second after Shen Qingqiu realizes why.

Intimately recognizable footsteps, followed by the scrape of metal. There is no doubt who is coming their way.

Carefully, Binghe moves them forwards. Finding a space between the hanging candles, he blows out the one Shen Qingqiu is holding. Now covered by darkness, unless the Killer walks right past them, he might not notice their presence.

Crouching down, Binghe uses his hands to cover both their mouths to silence their breathing. Both staring intently, they wait on the Killer with bated breaths. 

Slowly, step by step, the Killer nears. Shen Qingqiu can feel sweat dripping down his back and goosebumps along his flesh. Binghe's hand against his face is clammy and he can feel his body is spent, as if ready to pull them up in case they have to run.

The Killer steps into their view. Standing by the same crossroad. He looks each way, deciding which one to choose.

It is a 50/50 chance. If the Killer turns their way, they will have to run. There is no way he won't see them when passing by, even in the low light. If he goes the other way, they can breathe freely and continue on their way. It is all up to what the Killer chooses.

Shen Qingqiu is cursed by rotten luck. That has been proven time and time again since he woke up in this deadly game.

But even rotten luck can't compete with the power of the hero halo. A halo that Binghe wears with great dignity.

The Killer turns his back to them. He slowly walks away, allowing them to live for just a bit longer.

Relief loosens their muscles, Binghe releasing both of their mouths, even with the Killer not entirely gone yet. They will just wait another minute to be sure they are safe before moving on.

"Senior, I don't think we are far from the storage room," Binghe whispers, voice so quiet that Shen Qingqiu has to lean closer to hear.

"Once we are inside, if we stay quiet, we should have enough time to find the drawing," he whispers back. As they are nearing their goal, he can't help but feel excitement at what they might find there.

"We should also check for other supplies in there. A storage room out to hold-"

CRASH

Shen Qingqiu and Binghe both jump at the sudden racket coming from behind them. With wide eyes, they both look at each other as they recognize the noise. 

It is the exact same sound of the candlesticks falling apart as they heard from outside the male servant's bedchamber. 

They aren't given any time to consider how to react when the Killer reappears at the end of the hallway.

No way he won't find them this time. They have to move. Now!

"We have to get to the storage room!" Shen Qingqiu urges. Having the key to the room, they might be able to lock the Killer out. Even if they can't, the room will be the most likely to contain any hiding spots.

Binghe doesn't make him say it twice. One moment to the next, he pulls them both up and they are running.

The second they are out of their hiding place, a yell can be heard from the Killer. immediately his heavy steps become faster as he gives chase. 

They aren't far from the storage room. They also have quite the head start. Even with Shen Qingqiu slowing them down, their chances of escaping look good. And Binghe has proven more than enough times that he is resilient when running from the Killer, despite the extra baggage. 

They run around the corner and they see the door of the storage room. On the ground is the fallen candleholder, the candle left broken in two. Binghe passes it with no second thought, but suddenly Shen Qingqiu tries to put a brake on their flight.

The flame of the candle is still burning. The area around it lit up. And close by, almost right beside the fire, lays another note.

"Binghe, wait, we have to-" Shen Qingqiu tries. Binghe is quick to pause at Shen Qingqiu's hesitation, but as he sees what he is pointing towards his face darkens.

"We don't have time for this Senior! We have to get to safety!" Binghe yells out.

"I know, but if we don't get it now-!" Shen Qingqiu doesn't have time to explain. He can feel Binghe pulling him forward, though his eyes never leave the note. 

The note is lying too close to the candle. Slowly, it is rolling closer, reaching the edges of the page, its flame dancing from the movement. 

The fire excitedly reaches out to the dry and flammable paper.

Binghe is moving them forward, but as Shen Qingqiu sees the tiniest speck of smoke rise from the note, he makes a snap decision.

Throwing himself out of Binghe's grasp, he reaches and yanks the note away from the candle. He manages to turn his body so he doesn't land on any of his injuries. They still wail at the sudden act, but it is much more manageable than from his other falls.

Page in hand, he tries to push himself back up. He is quick to find his position too awkward, his burned arm uncooperative and his broken leg unmovable. Remembering the Killer drawing near, he has a moment of panic before two hands grab him from behind, dragging him back up.

"Why don't you ever listen to me!" Binghe yells out as he is finally able to get them to the door. Having to drop his crowbar and release Shen Qingqiu, the urgency of their situation makes his hands clumsy as he pulls the key from his pocket. Inserting it into the keyhole, he has to try a couple of times before he is able to turn it and unlock the door.

As they enter, the room is entirely dark. Only the light coming from the hallway reveals a few boxes spread around and a huge wardrobe in the other end of the room. 

Binghe turns to lock the door behind them, but drops the key. With a curse, he bows down to find it, but is interrupted by the howl of the Killer. 

He is closer than they thought. They have no time.

Shen Qingqiu is looking around the room, trying to calculate which hiding spots are least likely to get them found. He does not like the odds of any of the boxes, their best hope being the wardrobe.

Binghe has the same thought. Abandoning the key, he hurries them to the wardrobe, throwing it open. Seeing the insides, Shen Qingqiu's heart sinks.

Despite his hope, the wardrobe is not empty. A couple of boxes takes up its space, leaving only just enough for one person to awkwardly press inside. While the boxes aren't stacked high, there just isn't enough space for two people to stand. 

Binghe immediately enters, which leaves Shen Qingqiu to quickly find a hiding spot for himself. Looking nearby, his only option is a few boxes right besides the wardrobe. With him hiding there, he and Binghe might just have a chance to survive.

Then Binghe surprises him. Before Shen Qingqiu can move, Binghe grabs hold of him once more and pulls him in. The door is closed behind them, but with no clear spot for his feet, Shen Qingqiu stumbles inside. Unable to keep his balance is about to fall. At the last moment Binghe catches him around his waist. 

In the next second the Killer bursts into the room.

Their situation could not be much worse. Once inside, the Killer slows down, carefully inspecting the room. His own shadow covers his front, not even the demonic grin of his mask visible as he steps around the room. The axe is now resting on his shoulder. Easier to swing once he finds his prey. 

Shen Qingqiu and Binghe are in the worst position imaginable. 

Shen Qingqiu, unable to find a way to properly stand, is only held up by Binghe carrying his weight. With his good hand on Binghe's shoulder and the other leaning against the back of the wardrobe, it is everything he can do not to fall out from Binghe's grasp. Binghe at the same time has to keep both of his hands around Shen Qingqiu to keep him up. This leaves Shen Qingqiu awkwardly hanging sideways, his good foot crookedly placed down with his other leg stiffly raised. 

A sliver of the wardrobe door stands open, allowing them to just barely see the Killer moving around the room.

The Killer takes his time. Walking towards each box and piece of furniture, he attentively looks them over before moving over to the next. It goes on for so long, that Shen Qingqiu would worry about the strain on Binghe's arms, except there are so far no signs of him tiring.

The Killer reaches the closet and slowly looks it over. Shen Qingqiu can feel his breath quicken, fearing the Killer can look inside through the sliver like they are looking out. His mask still shadowed, he can't even see the direction of his eyes. Whether they are turned towards them or not. 

The Killer lifts his axe from his shoulder. Unhurriedly, as if it is just another chore, he raises it above his head in a stance Shen Qingqiu knows very well by now. He can feel Binghe's grip tighten, pressing them closer, while he himself is unable to look away. 

The axe goes higher and higher, reaching far above the Killers head, before it pauses in it's trek. Holding it there for a moment, it is as if time itself is holding its breath.

The axe swings down.

With a loud crack, It smashes through the boxes right beside the wardrobe. Immediately they fall to pieces, unable to stand the sharp weight splitting them apart. The wood bursts until there are only splinters. Nothing is left standing after the axe is done with them.

The moment the axe swung, Shen Qingqiu was certain he was going to die. He feels his entire body jump in shock as the boxes are smashed to pieces instead. 

This shock becomes his downfall.

His hanging foot slams against the inside of the wardrobe. Only covered by wet bandages, the sound is not loud enough to get through the noise of outside destruction. But the sudden agonising surge of pain that runs through Shen Qingqiu's leg, scraping and tearing at his nerve endings makes him unable to keep his agony inside. Opening his mouth, he can't keep in his howl of pain, struggling free from his throat.

Shen Qingqiu can't cover his mouth with his hands. He would immediately lose his balance. Neither can Binghe move from the embrace he has Shen Qingqiu in without the other falling.

Shen Qingqiu's cry rings out, but before the sound can leave the safety of the wardrobe, something hot and moist covers it, swallowing the wail.

Shen Qingqiu never closed his eyes. That's why he sees it with wide eyes as Binghe's mouth covers his own. Warm lips presses against his, the movement unhesitant and quick. Their teeth clack together and without control, Binghe's tongue enters his mouth.

Binghe's eyes are closed, pressed together tightly, distress and panic clear in his features. But then they smoothen out, turning softer once it is clear that nothing reached outside ears.

Shen Qingqiu is frozen in time. Unable to look away, neither he nor Binghe move their mouths. He can feel his own tongue against Binghe's, but the entire situation is so outrageous that moving away is the last thought on his mind.

His only thought is one long continuous scream. He does not have a single idea what Binghe is thinking.

The Killer is completely unaware of the scandal happening inside the wardrobe. Having destroyed the box, he did not find his prey hiding inside or behind it. He lets his frustration show by snarling at the pieces of wood, kicking them away. That is when he turns around, stomping out of the room.

For a while, neither Shen Qingqiu nor Binghe moves. But then finally Shen Qingqiu's mind allows for something else than screaming. Pushing against Binghe's shoulder, the other’s eyes snap open as if he is just realising what they are doing. In the next second, both of them find themselves outside the wardrobe. 

What?! What, what, what??? What the fuck just happened, why would Binghe---!! How did they even find themselves in such a situation in the first place, none of this--!!

It makes no sense, none of this makes sense, this game makes no sense, the Killer makes no sense, especially Binghe makes no god damn fucking sense, what the actual fuck!!!?

How is he even supposed to act after they just-! They just kissed?! It's not like the kiss is his fault, Binghe was the one that kissed him, why would Binghe kiss him, he really is starting to hate the word kiss--!

"Senior, I am so, so sorry!" Binghe interrupts his thoughts. 

In his embarrassment, Shen Qingqiu had instinctively turned away. As he turns back, he realises he has never seen Binghe appear so flustered. A blush has spread across his face and he is holding his arms as if he doesn't know whether to step towards Shen Qingqiu or give him space. 

Shen Qingqiu doesn't feel any better himself. His face feels heated, his mouth still moist from-! From what just happened--!! He just wants to lay down face first and scream into the floor. Instead he hides behind his sleeves as well as he can, unable to face Binghe for more than a couple of seconds at a time.

"Please don't be mad Senior, but I had no idea what to do! If the Killer found us, I wouldn't be able to get us away in time. So I panicked!" Binghe keeps apologizing, his voice becoming more and more shrill.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't trust his voice enough yet to answer. But his silence only seems to make Binghe more distressed. 

"I promise it was an accident, I didn't mean anything by it!! If Senior really hates me for it, please, you, you, you can punch me or kick me, but please don't be mad, I was so scared we would get found!"

Unconsciously Binghe steps forward, then seems to realise it and immediately takes three steps back. Turning his back to Shen Qingqiu, he hides his face in his hands as apologies endlessly flow from his mouth.

Shen Qingqiu can't stand to hear it, so he forces control over his voice.

"Binghe has nothing to apologize for. This Senior understands you only did it for our survival. It didn't mean anything," he says, not a tremble to hear in his voice. His blush is harder to fight down, but with Binghe's back towards him, that can be ignored. "We will forget this ever happened, so Binghe doesn't have to feel bad about it."

Peeking behind himself, Binghe's eyes appear so young and innocent as he checks whether Shen Qingqiu means his words. Confirming it to be no lie, he shallowly nods, before turning away again. 

"O-okay... If Senior says so, we will forget the whole thing," he shakily answers. He straightens his back and breathes in, trying to calm his wild nerves. Still not yet ready to face Shen Qingqiu, he tries to gather his thoughts as they run around like feral beasts in his mind.

Shen Qingqiu feels relief as Binghe agrees. He is so ready to forget about this and act like it never happened. No reason to think about it ever again, aha! It was nothing and meant nothing and will stay nothing! Why feel embarrassed about nothing that happened, right? Right!

"Then- then let's move on, we got the- the drawing to find!" Shen Qingqiu hurries to say, stumbling over his words. He remembers the note in his hand and steps towards Binghe. He will need him to read it and then they will find the drawing and then they will check the rest of the room for supplies and then they will-

He forgets his bad leg. As he steps forward, he just manages to not put down his full weight onto it, barely avoiding another surge of agony. Instead he careens forward, falling into Binghe's back.

Binghe, who is still distracted by his racing thoughts, doesn't notice Shen Qingqiu fall. He is shocked when he suddenly feels the other crashing into his back. As he feels a hand take a firm hold of his behind, he freezes.

In order to keep his balance, Shen Qingqiu takes hold of the first things his hands land on. He feels Binghe stiffen underneath his grasp and another wave of heat and mortification hits him as he realises where his hands are placed. 

Then that feeling pauses.

Something hard is inside Binghe's back pocket.

The world narrows down.

Slowly, he slips his hand inside the pocket, pulling out the object.

Binghe does nothing to stop him.

Looking at the item, it takes Shen Qingqiu a few seconds to fully register what it is.

Then he folds it open. 

And put it on.

For the first time in a very long time, Shen Qingqiu can see Luo Binghe's guilty expression with perfectly clear eyes. Not a single edge of blurriness to his vision.

There is no doubt that this is Shen Qingqiu's lost glasses.

[thegirlything]

Could I request some fluffy Meruem x fem!reader who has chronic pain? Maybe chronic headaches or something... I'd love to see how you imagine him being with someone who's always in violent pain hehe.

Painkiller

Characters: Meruem x fem!Reader

Notes: Funny thing—I actually suffer from chronic migraines myself, so that’s what I used as the basis for the chronic pain in this! Thank you so much for the request, and I really hope it’s what you were hoping for :)

Meruem didn’t know how you were still alive.

You were delicate—so painfully human, and even your own body seemed to betray you at every turn.

You had once told him, in a quiet voice and with tired eyes, that you struggled with migraines. He’d only nodded, brow creased, thinking it was just another human quirk he didn’t understand.

But then he started noticing.

How often you seemed drained.

How you winced at light, complaining that it was too bright, too sharp.

How nausea would strike you suddenly, leaving you pale and trembling.

At first, he’d been… irritated.

You were unpredictable—fragile, moody, overly sensitive. He hated the feeling of walking on eggshells around you. And yet—he found himself doing it anyway.

But what shifted him was the expression you wore when you thought no one was watching. The way your face crumpled into quiet pain. How your shoulders curled inward, trying to shrink away from the world. How your normally warm voice dulled when the pain overtook you.

He hated it.

He hated seeing that pain—etched into your body, your posture, your spirit.

You had learned to hide it well. Years of practice had made you graceful even in agony. But there were days when the mask slipped.

Today was one of those days.

Everything was too loud.

Too bright.

Too much.

Your head was splitting. Your eyes burned with every flicker of light.

It hurt.

You hadn’t asked for this kind of life.

You’d curled up in a dark corner of Meruem’s castle, the way you often did when your chronic pain flared. Tucked into yourself like a wounded bird.

You had already taken painkillers. They didn’t help.

Tears blurred your vision, not from sadness—but from sheer, stubborn, gnawing pain.

Pitou had come to find you earlier, hoping to share something. You’d snapped. You hadn’t meant to—you were just overwhelmed, raw. They’d left silently. Even they didn’t push.

Then Meruem came.

You didn’t need to see him to know it was him. His aura was unmistakable.

Still, you didn’t speak. You didn’t have the strength.

He didn’t press.

Instead, he sat beside you, silent and still, his gaze on your curled frame.

For the first time in his existence, he felt powerless. There was nothing he could fight. Nothing he knew how to fix.

He could see your pain—feel the weight of it.

But he had no idea how to ease it.

And then—he reached out.

His hand, which was usually firm and commanding, now trembled slightly as he gently stroked your head.

You flinched at the touch, then looked up at him from your cocoon—lashes damp, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

“It usually helps me when you do this…” he said, his voice low, definitely embarrassed. “I thought… maybe it might help you too.”

He looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

And for the first time today you smiled. A small, real smile.

No, it didn’t fix the pain.

But the fact that he cared—that he tried—was enough.

You shifted, soft and slow, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head gently in his lap.

He paused only for a second before continuing the motion—fingers threading gently through your hair.

The thought of you being in constant pain broke something inside him. How could someone as sweet as you be tormented like this.

He wouldn’t let you hurt alone anymore. He swore that to himself.

The migraine didn’t magically vanish.

But wrapped in the quiet warmth of his presence, you finally felt like you could breathe.

[nohara-rin-dot-mp3]

for those character asks, Tenten of course! (this is erumai-maadu from main btw)

hiiii chandu!!!

first impression: didn't really pay much attention to her on my first reading of naruto lol she was just a fun little background character to me.

impression now: she's awesome she's aromantic she's transcended the narrative's weird sexism what can't she do!!! i love her interactions with team gai and i love her microcosm of a happy ending in the bleak misery of almost every other character's heterosexual marriage hellscape. i think she should be allowed to kill as many people as she wants and YES she can be weird about it.

favorite thing about that character: i love how weird she is about fighting. it's just sooo refreshing to see her moral ambiguity! and for it to actually mean something about her character in the grand scheme of the narrative kind of! wish that she could have like. reckoned with it at any point but alas naruto is not that kind of story so i will settle myself with the fact that it happened at all. i heart her casual callousness and lack of self reflection and her usage of actual sharp things in a world where most violence is softened even if just a little by magic lights

least favorite thing: the lack of screen time :((( i want to see her!!!! not me dismissing her flaws btw i know she is a morally dubious character like all naruto character it's just that i love that about her. supporting women's* rights AND wrongs.

favorite line/scene: to no one's surprise.

favorite interaction that character has with another: i really like her interactions with neji during the chunin exams they're sooo cute. i know the exchanging information is like. a story-telling device to explain things to the viewer but i like to think that they are gossiping <3 also the way she reels him back in when he gets out of hand... it's just cute!!!! wish we saw more of them. there's this one part during sakura vs ino iirc where neji is like "they're weak" and tenten's like "yeah but not because they're women. because they suck." adslkflksfj and idk why but that cracks me up. they're so mean i love them.

character that I wish that character would interact with more: sasukeeeeee they're such good parallels. in my head. tenten is like the person sasuke could have been if he cared less. and i think it drives both of them a little insane. sasuke because it's like. GOD. she's happy and he's not!!! and tenten because she doesn't like thinking about her culpability in the system.

character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: kamui gintama... he's got the gnc swag ✔️ love of fighting for the sake of fighting ✔️ no canon love interest ✔️ and the foil-ship to the protagonist's emo terrorist rival ✔️... that's tenten baby !!! although sasunaru is unfortunately not as insane as takagin. can't have everything i suppose.

headcanon about that character: i know in my heart that tenten ends up the tallest out of team gai i just know it. okay. she LORDS it over lee and neji and both of them aren't actually all that annoyed but they play it up for kicks and giggles. it's not that they're short either i just believe in twig tenten supremacy. she's like 6 feet tall to me okay there is nothing in canon to back this up i just think that she should take after her step-dad.

song that reminds of that character: painkillers by rainbow kitten surprise... not a perfect fit but i've been writing my nejiten month fic while listening to it on loop so that has been. an influence afljdkgfljgkfja

unpopular opinion about that character: nejiten played straight is not it for me. any ship played straight with tenten involved is not it for me. less unpopular i guess and more just unknown cuz most people aren't aware that she's aro. but she would naught be involved in a romantic relationship!!! also i think that within canon, tenten was fond of her teammates but never particularly close to any of them. rip qpr tenji you exist only in my dreams

favorite image:

there are so many good tentens out there but masc!tenten is certainly up there with my favorites. look at him. the ideal man. the swag he carries from his ponytail alone is simply immeasurable.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Last ask

So...Given my Pyroxene Drow reproductive system (sexual reproduction with two seperate hyhierchy of obligate queuers) and the fact most individuals of reproductive age would have chronic pain in combination with symptoms similar to cold turkey...How would they keep up any population stability ? Like, yes, it would already reduce their lifespan.

So, their society tends towards monogamy and patriarchy, and typically wait until they know their spouse well before having children (either they were sibblings-in-law in case of a second mariage who would have been working together for some time before the diseased's spouse death, or spent five years living as sibblings under the authority of the groom's parents who would intervene in case of a first marriage). They would probably practice forced mariages, whenever women have their choice of partners they gravitate towards male masochists and they culturally use fire cupping to mechanically relax the pelvic muscles and sex can take weeks plan...But is that enough for them to keep a stable population ?

I mean, between the metabolic demands from complete lack of sunlight (and Drow are photosensitive nocturnals who would require moonlight regularly), the severe chronic pain and being on a chemical coctail of nexaltrone and other endorphine blockers, some of them affected by the magic of this setting to be more potent, and the dose that would give them the necessary sugars would also block endorphines for a week at the time, and the Drow eat it about once every seven days) ? Also, pregnant and lactating women would be forced to eat more rané to meet the energy and nutriant requirements...Plus, what would be the implication for a newborn baby, if the only milk he or she have access to is that from a mother that has been consuming endorphine blockers and painkiller blockers on a higher than usual basis for her entire pregnancy ? And baby is sensitive to those stuff, because slow life cycles have consequences.

Plus, about my human eating Drow in a survival...Would eating a 25-60 year old creature with hightened body magnetism because magic, and during it's lifetime black mold, penincilum and cobweb mold were a significant part of their daily caloric intake since age 1-2 (basically, as soon as they were able to digest solid foods) have any sort of ill-effect on a human ? The most basic food of Drow is pressed layer mushrooms (the kind you usually get at the supermarket) that is conserved by allowing these molds to grow on them. Elves are immune to them and in fact, gain many health benefits from eating them, but it also means are human girl has a lot of black mold to deal with by just existing in a drow city. Also, elves are extremely "human" in terms of looks and behavior, including facial expressions, and given our tendency to anthropomorphise things and creatures, and look even more human once reduced to bone if the skeleton is intact. Also, about the "solitary" confinement thing for my human MC girl, elves have facial expressions identical to those of humans, and have extra sensory perceptions, some of which she can use against them. The family that took her in is fairly enclined to treat her well, while the scholars studiying her do try to keep her alive and fairly well-treated to the best of their abilities, since they do want to learn from the outside world, and for that they have a huge language barrier to cross, and they can't have a corpse describe landscapes to them, and they have not reached the tech level to make pollen analysis from her lungs. They are repulsed by strong magnetism (an instinct gained from having evolved in a demon and evil spirit infested land), which make touching iron about as safe and pleasant as having loud symbals clapped directly next to our ears while having a strong flashlight pointed directly at the pupils, especially if it touches their head, hair or neck. So, they would be quite motivated to get rid of iron pins and her dagger, not only because it is a weapon, but they absolutely HATE these things existing in their presence. Siderophobia is about as common in elves as ophidiophobia and arachnophobia in humans. Elves and humans in my world tend to find each other both cute and uncanny. Also, elves are hyper-social, and the majority of them would find it extremely emotionally distressing to kill a being so similar to themselves. And again, at the point she meets them, elves are not a persecution society nor a genocidal one. Sure, they do practice slavery (as temporary punishment), are ruthless if threatened and their culture does practice corporal and capital punishment, but only after due process. They are not above scapegoating, it's just that...They tend to prefer their scapegoats of choice alive, both out of sadim and because...They live in an enclosed space and society, so targets of societal fustration are not easily replaceables.

These are a few points i'd like to adress.

Okay. Lemme go through this one at a time to the best of my ability.

1. Reproduction concerns. The minimum requirement for a stable population is 1 baby per adult surviving to adulthood themselves. Your drow may not be able to meet that requirement, given the prevalence of chronic pain, the blocking of crucial hormones like endorphins, and their culture of strict monogamy paired with their slow approach to pregnancy. Humanity has historically overcome poor childhood mortality rates by having just a lot of children all the time, and it sounds like your drow probably also face high infant and child mortality rates, considering how difficult their living situation is. I'd imagine their maternal mortality rate is also rather high. Pregnancy and childbirth complications lead to a lot of deaths. Your drow probably have a much higher pain tolerance than humans, but let's not forget that it is actually possible to die from sheer pain overload. I don't know the exact threshold for a human, but it is a thing that can happen.

And depending on how you're writing it, the use of the rané could lead to something similar to the real life conditions that happen when a pregnant person is using some kind of drug or drinking alcohol. A fetus will absorb that in the womb and could be born with health problems as a result, including being born with an addiction. You may want to research things like fetal alcohol syndrome.

Human eating drow that have consumed a lot of foods toxic to humans. Could be bad if the drow absorb those toxins into their bodies like how poisonous frogs and other animals do. But also humans can eat a lot of animals that consume foods unsafe for humans. It really depends on how the toxins are metabolized by the creature who originally consumed them. And also on how well cooked that flesh is. Raw flesh can cause so many health issues, through the carrying of diseases or bacteria. I don't know how the magic magnetism would affect things though.

Human stuck with elves. If they're treating her well and they can communicate well enough, she's probably going to be mostly fine, mentally. Black mold is often exaggerated as being a horrible poison, but it turns out it's not actually much worse than other molds. Still not good, could certainly cause things like breathing problems and nausea if she's exposed to it all the time. But it's not as horrible as people believe, unless you have a mold allergy. The elves could try to feed her mushrooms that haven't been mold-preserved yet, just the fresh mushrooms. And actually a lot of edible mushrooms are full of nutrients, including protein. They're low on fat though, so if they're the only real food around, that could be a long term health concern.

Hope that all helps! Your world is very detailed, I can tell you've already done a lot of your own research.

[olive-enjoyer]

Supply run - Michonne x Reader

yes this is self indulgent and NO it’s not proofread. Enjoy <3

It was quiet - too quiet.

You could feel your wife’s presence just behind your shoulder, the way her breath stayed steady even though you'd both been walking for hours. Michonnes katana was sheathed across her back, but her hand stayed close to the hilt, fingers twitching at every stray rustle in the brush.

"looks clear," you whisper, sweeping your flashlight over the collapsed gas station.

"Let’s make this quick," Michonne replies, voice low, with that same calm edge she always carried.

You watched her break off toward the pharmacy aisle, god, she looked good — even in blood-smeared cargo pants and that old tank top that had seen better days.

You snap yourself out of it and search for essentials: water, bandages, medicine, some half-crushed protein bars. When you finally made your way back to her, she was crouching in front of the scattered shelf, a bottle of painkillers in her hand. Michonne’s sharp eyes always found things others missed. You crouched beside her, scanning labels on the bottom shelf

“Got what we need babe?” you ask, both of you standing back up.

“Mostly.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “We’ve got time, i don’t think there’s any walkers near.”

You raised a brow. “So what are we doing now?”

Her smirk was subtle - the kind that always meant trouble. She stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until your back met the edge of the counter.

"Thinking maybe we savour this rare moment of privacy," she murmured, her fingers brushing over your side.

Your breath hitched. “Michonne…”

“You’ve been looking at me like that since we left Alexandria” she said, voice lower. “Thought I didn’t notice?”

“I—maybe I was.”

“Maybe?” Her mouth was at your ear now, her lips grazing your skin. “Let me help you be sure.”

She kissed you, slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world - like the apocalypse didn’t exist outside. Her hands moved to your hips, grounding you, the tension of the past few days melting away between every press of her lips and grind of her body.

When you finally pulled back for air, your heart warming , she rested her forehead against yours.

Suddenly, theres a shuffling noise behind the counter. You both freeze.

A walker lurched out, dragging itself towards you. Michonne didn’t hesitate. One clean slice, and it collapsed with a thud.

“Way to ruin a moment,” You joke.

“You okay?” she asked. You exhaled slowly, the tension leaving your shoulders.

“Im okay, thanks for that.”

“Let’s get out of here,” she said softly.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

Ive noticed there is a shortage of michonne fics. I have searched the backrooms of tumblr and NOTHING. NADA. we should all come together and make michonne x reader a new viral fanfic trend bc I am HUNGRY for it. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk. - Kero