#potassium chlorate

[sciencesolutions]

[actu24hp]

Potassium Chlorate Price Trend Analysis, Historical Chart and Forecast

Product Name Potassium Chlorate HS Code 28291920 Chemical Formula KClO3 Molecular Weight 122.54 g/mol Synonyms Berthollet salt, Chlorate of potash Region/Countries for which Data is available Asia Pacific: China, India, Indonesia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Japan, Philippines, Vietnam, Iran, Thailand, South Korea, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Malaysia, Nepal, Taiwan, Sri Lanka, UAE, Israel, Hongkong,…

[comingupdandelionsgame]

[ 🧪🧬 diagrams and charts, mending broken hearts and makin’ weird science 🧬🧪 ]

[illiyak]

I'm like a trash can sparkler bomb with far too much duct tape

There's so much that I can hold together, but the explosion only grows more violent

[jenscx]

TEENAGE FEVER — bang jeemin x f!reader

three adjectives came to mind when you thought of bang jeemin; irritating, annoying and unfortunately pretty. only when a particular feline comes into your life, jeemin tags along barreling too.

TAGS — fluff, enemies to friends to lovers, very minor enemies, almost rivals but jeemin’s silly, suggestive at times, oblivious!yn

WORDCOUNT — 5.9k

if there was one word to describe bang jeemin, it would be insufferable. the girl could prance around the school, slapping every single teacher (that was an exaggeration) and she could still roam free afterwards. it was infuriating being her lab partner, having to clean up every other mistake while she dazed off. a comment sight to see, jeemin would constantly zone out, leaving you to do all the work in class. she was the worst possible thing to ever come into your life.

or so you thought. it had been a simple monday when bang jeemin showed up to chemistry with bruises on her legs and scratches lining her arms.

when she sat down, there was a visible wince flashing across her face. reluctantly, you whispered, “you okay?” jeemin glanced at you and didn’t bother to answer, her brows furrowed together.

fine, you thought, i don’t care.

only when the teacher had finally finished his demonstration and you were about to start the practical, jeemin turned to you, mouth agape but no words coming out before resorting to just quietly stare at you with a solemn expression.

tired of her staring, you asked, “can you help out for once?” jeemin puffed out her cheeks and nodded. the sight… was strange. the bang jeemin you knew would never do such a thing. mainly sticking to cold looks and annoyed glances at others, you had never caught a glance of a pout on her face. she was known for being a cold beauty. it was rare to catch the slightest of expression other than indifference on her face.

while you watched as jeemin picked up a vial filled with substance and a flask of sugar, your eyes widened when you noticed the label on the glass. potassium chlorate.

“jeemin!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist before she caused a mini explosion in the lab. startled, she dropped the flask onto the floor, alerting the teacher.

“is everything okay there? what happened?” mr lee asked, walking over to the both of you. you felt jeemin tense up and her pulse began to speed up. while you were thinking of explanations for your mistake, jeemin had crouched down onto the floor, picking up the glass pieces.

a whimper caught your attention and your eyes zoomed in on a small cut on your lab partner’s finger.

“don’t touch the glass,” you exclaimed, pulling jeemin up and examining her finger before turning to mr lee, jeemin’s wrist still gripped tightly in your hand, “i’m so sorry, mr lee! this was my mistake, i accidentally scared jeemin and she dropped the flask.”

“i didn’t…” jeemin tried to say but you shot a glare at her to keep quiet. mr lee sighed, exasperated. “be careful next time.” you nodded, almost cutting off jeemin’s blood circulation with how tight your grasp was.

mr lee handed you a dustpan and you kneeled down to sweep up the mess. already annoyed, jeemin decides to add fuel to the fire, whispering quietly in your ear, “why did you do that?”

you shot her an incredulous glare, “i stopped you from exploding the lab, dumbass.”

jeemin huffs. you finish sweeping up the glass shards and the contents previously inside the test tube. your lab partner does nothing more but send you brooding gazes. you’re tempted to strangle her. after dumping the mess away, you spot jeemin wincing at the cut left behind. a trickle of blood slowly drips into the sink. her face turns pales as she watches it flow.

“stay still,” you mutter, pulling out a bandaid from your pocket and gently wrapping it around jeemin’s finger. the girl only stares, not pulling away.

“you must be clumsy,” you remark, “did you fall down the stairs or something?” jeemin scoffs, “of course not.”

you let go of her finger.

“why the hell did you show up like you got into a fight? the fuck could you be fighting? the demons in your head?” you gesture at the cuts littered across her skin.

jeemin groans, throwing her head into her hands, “i’m not going to talk about it! shut up.”

“i’m just trying to help,” you raise your hands up. jeemin scowls at you, but it slowly disappears as she examines the bandaid you had wrapped around her finger.

“hello kitty..?” she mutters, “are you six?”

you glare at her. so what if you liked hello kitty? the cat was cute! and you love cats! jeemin was just being mean for no reason. you couldn’t understand how the girl had suitors of both genders lining up for her hand. she was literally a satan incarnate.

“i’m not hearing that from someone who has the coordination of a baby giraffe,” you retorted back. your lab partner frowns and huffs as she turns away from you. your eyes are drawn to the pout on her face. immediate alarm bells ring in your head when your first thought was how cute it was.

“stop sulking and help me out,” you instruct, pouring liquid and chemicals from one test tube to another. jeemin, finally, looks up from her notebook, and lends you a hand. her compliance led you two to finishing early, even after the incident from before. you wouldn’t say you were a genius, just better than average at chemistry. and maybe jeemin was slightly alright. you had achieved the correct results from the test and mr lee even praised you.

finally having a moment of peace, you sigh, contented, sitting down on the stool. jeemin, however, decides to ruin it by prodding you with her bandaged finger.

after being the victim of jeemin’s poking for several moments, you turn to her, eyes blazing with fury.

“what?” you hiss.

jeemin cowers slightly. you soften up, not expecting the girl to back off. a second passes as jeemin gulps.

“thank you, for uhm,” her cheeks turn red, “taking the blame when it was my fault. and for the bandaid, even if it’s lame and you should grow up.”

the burden forced onto your shoulders lessen. your posture relaxes.

“it’s whatever,” you say, not wanting jeemin to see how her soft tone affects you. could you really stay mad at the girl when she’s looking at you with her big, round, doe eyes? no, of course you couldn’t.

seeing her downcasted eyes after your cold reply, you can’t help yourself from adding on, “thank you for apologising.”

jeemin’s eyes flicker back up, nodding meekly. a smile tugs at your lips.

you don’t talk to her for the rest of the period.

and you don’t notice the lingering looks she sends you either.

“—i heard jiyoon unnie and jungeun finally made up,” saebi rambles. you barely hear a word, while sarang converses with her enthusiastically. you’re more focused on the basket of fries on the table.

“what were they even fighting about again?” you ask.

“i think it was something stupid,” saebi straightens up, “but wait, you know the rumours about jeemin unnie secretly being in a gang?”

you’ve heard of it. they were the most baseless rumours ever. the jeemin you knew grows faint at the sight of blood. there was no way she could be in a gang. unless she was a very good actor, or stupid. probably the latter. the imagination of her in a gang was lunacy.

“i wanna be friends with jeemin,” sarang sighs dreamily, “y/n’s literally partners with her and you haven’t introduced us before!”

saebi nods, “jeemin unnie seems really cool.”

your perception of jeemin can’t be anymore different from your friends. jeemin was literally the bane of your existence. screw her and her good-looking face that always shot daggers at you. everyone that ever liked her was blind.

“she isn’t,” you blurt out, “she’s a loser.”

saebi and sarang only shrug your hostility off.

“you always say that,” the tallest frowns, “apparently koko saw jeemin in a dark alleyway and she was holding a mysterious bag. also, she always has those cuts and bruises!”

you smack saebi’s head, guffawing, “you trust koko?”

the girl whines and attempts to hit you back, but her attempts go futile as sarang rants about her next class. as your two friends complain, you think about saebi’s observation. even in chemistry today, she showed up with multiple scratches. was that from fighting someone? no way, you could exhale and jeemin would fall over. that girl did not stand a chance against anyone, despite her domineering height. she was like a paper doll, you think.

it’s only when you get up from the table you feel a warm splash of liquid trickling down your shirt.

“oh shit, sorry dude,” a guy, you’re not sure who he is, backs up, his eyes widening as your white shirt almost turns sheer and translucent. your two friends, dumb and dumber, merely stay rooted to the ground, mouths agape in shock. you let out a groan, hastily trying to absorb the liquid with some tissue paper that saebi had thrown at you.

sarang, who’s laughing at your misfortune, says, “at least it’s just water.” you glare at her, and then the boy in front of you.

“I’m really sorry,” he offers a lame apology. you nod, tired and frustrated. you didn’t have a change of clothes and the outline of your bra was becoming increasingly visible.

brushing past the boy who was still staring, you head towards the washroom swiftly in long strides. finally reaching the washroom, you stare at your reflection in the mirror before sighing and trying to use paper towels to rid the water. maybe if you soaked most of it out, the rest would just evaporate and dry naturally. your hands dab at the fabric repeatedly, but to no avail.

whilst engrossed, you don’t notice the washroom door opening.

“oh,” you roll your eyes internally, instantly recognising the voice.

“what?” you hiss at the girl. jeemin stands at the door, her eyebrows furrowed as she gazes intensely at your shirt. her eyes zero in on a particular spot.

your cheeks redden and the urge to throw a chair at her stupid face shoots up.

“stop staring at me, pervert!”

“i-i’m not! don’t accuse me of such things!” jeemin splutters, her eyes immediately snapping back up to meet yours.

“you were literally looking at my bra, you pervert,” you cover your chest with your hand.

the taller girl shakes her head vehemently, “it was just the first thing i saw! that’s not my fault.”

her flippant attitude only makes your mood worse. despite her previous remarks, her next words are full of worry and concern, “do… do you need another shirt?”

you have two choices. either walk around with a transparent shirt and be humiliated by everyone’s gaze, or take jeemin’s shirt and be humiliated by her only. well, your disdain for the girl can only go so far.

“give me your shirt,” you state through gritted teeth.

jeemin nods and hurries out quickly. you’re left wondering what have you done wrong in your life to deserve such an unfortunate sequence of events to happen. you send a text to your friends, telling them that you were just getting another shirt and that everything’s fine. they don’t even reply. your top was clinging to you uncomfortably now. how much water was in that cup? whatever, you just hope jeemin comes back soon.

a sudden thought hits you.

what if jeemin was pranking you and she wasn’t coming back? oh my god, it would be such a jeemin thing to do—

the door swings open again.

jeemin holds out a folded sweater.

“it’s not really a shirt…”

you snatch it from her, “whatever, thanks.”

she sends you an awkward smile that morphs into a grimace as you wriggle your arms through your own shirt.

“wait—”

you throw your wet shirt onto the sink, leaving you in just your bra before slipping on jeemin’s sweater. the taller girl lets out a sound akin to a muffled gargle of words. sending a curious look at jeemin, your face flushes as you realise what she has witnessed.

in your haste to rid yourself of the uncomfortable feeling, you had forgotten the fact that jeemin was still very real and standing there. and that she had seen you in your undergarments.

“don’t you dare say anything,” you warn, pointing an accusing finger at jeemin, who merely cowers and nods meekly. unable to stand the shy gaze she directs at you, your feet carry you out of the washroom, hand gripping onto your shirt and the other adjusting the neckline of her sweater. it was warm and soft (and maybe it smelt like the girl left behind in the washroom).

you walk towards your locker, some curious looks lingering on you. maybe they had seen what happened in the cafeteria. you finally spot your two friends at your locker. sarang’s eyes light up in amusement at the new piece of clothing article adorned on your body.

“hey,” she says teasingly, “what were you just saying about jeemin?”

saebi laughs, almost choking on her own saliva as sarang spins you around, reading the words embroidered on the back of the sweater loudly, “i-land dance, bang jeemin.”

your head snaps behind, neck craning desperately trying to catch a look of the wording. no wonder everyone was looking at you!

“are you dating her or something?” sarang continues. you feel an increasing urge to rip out your hair. a hazy vision of jeemin’s smug smile emerges in your mind. damn, she must have known it displayed her name so visibly. what the hell was she thinking?

“no i’m not and shut up!” you snap, irritation seeping into your words. your friends don’t heed your words and continue making sly remarks about the sweater hanging off your shoulders. the previous feelings of warmth and comfort disappear and instead return as a heavy burden that you carry around for the rest of the day. every lesson, you can feel the burning stares of your peers, eyeing the ginormous words on your back. most were curious, probably wondering about your relationship with the dancer, but a minority were envious, no doubt the long line of people courting jeemin.

you throw your head into your hands, feeling a brewing headache caused by jeemin. unfortunately for you, chemistry wasn’t the only period you spent with the bane of your existence.

a familiar finger pokes your side.

you resist the impulse to actually throw a chair at jeemin.

for some god forsaken reason, somehow, in every class you shared with the girl, she was seated very closely to you. maybe you really had done something wrong in your past life and this was god’s way of tormenting you. it is a good punishment though, forcing you to constantly be in the close proximity of a migraine personified.

your hand clenches your pen. there’s a strong desire to stab jeemin with it (you were exaggerating, you wouldn’t go that far).

“what do you want?” you ask, massaging your temple.

jeemin’s eyes dart away and a soft but strained, “I’m sorry,” comes out of her lips.

“for?”

“mai told me everyone was staring at you today, uhm, because of the sweater…”

you sigh, shaking your head, “whatever.”

jeemin falls silent at your reply. you bask in the peace for a while before she tosses a small object onto your table. you eye it inquisitively. a tiny lollipop shaped into a heart with a piece of paper tied around it with a rubber band. you stare at jeemin curiously as her face heats up.

untying it, you read the words, ‘i heard you like sweet things.’ the neat handwriting written carefully with precision makes warmth bubble slowly in your stomach. yet, unlike previous times, it wasn’t hot with anger or annoyance, but something akin to affinity and endearment.

the bell rings and jeemin is staring at you expectantly.

you nod at her apology and unwrap the sweet treat, eagerly putting it in your mouth. it’s strawberry. you wonder how jeemin knows. the girl packs up slowly, her gaze flickering to watch you every so often. you do the opposite, keeping your eyes steadily focused on shoving your pencil case into your bag.

taking one last look at jeemin, you pull the lollipop out of your mouth and mutter, “see you tomorrow.”

you don’t stay long enough to watch her face light up with surprise.

an unfortunate part of not partaking in any sports extracurriculars was that you had to take the initiative in staying fit. there wasn’t any training forcing you to run laps or do burpees, hence the reason you were putting on running shoes at six in the morning. a regretful consequence of not joining any sports back in your first year but at least you didn’t have to run rounds around the field every week. at most, you went on a run in particularly good moods. and perhaps the lingering taste of that sweet strawberry flavour boosts your mood enough to endure a sweaty morning run.

you had to clear your mind anyway from thoughts that gravitate around the tall dancer. since when did you find her luscious black hair and luminous skin so attractive? and when have you ever felt something else for her other than murderous intent?

someone must be performing black magic on you because there was no way in hell you could develop any form of attraction for bang jeemin.

taking the same route you do every time, you appreciate the greenery and serene nature that surrounded your neighbourhood. you felt at peace with every metre you ran. well, if peace meant the lingering thought of jeemin.

your eyes trail over the various shades of green splattered around, lips twitching upwards every time you spot a puppy being walked. despite your distaste for any physical activity, running has become sort of a meditation for you. koko had mentioned it offhandedly, saying that dancing provided getaway time from the daily stressors in her life. you wonder if jeemin feels the same way.

ugh, you really couldn’t go a second without thinking about her.

inching closer to the bakery that you would always get your breakfast from, your ears perk up at the sudden meows that penetrate the quiet peace. looking around hastily, you locate the sound coming from a dark alleyway right in between the bakery and another shop.

induced with concern (and fear, what if you got kidnapped? you’ve seen kidnappers lure people with children before, who’s to say they haven’t done it with animals?), you peek around the corner warily. a figure, hunched over, covers the source of the sound. was this person doing something to the cat?

“what are you doing—?”

the person jolts up and falls down from their crouching position. you splutter with laughter accidentally. on the ground, fallen, you get a good look at the person’s face.

“bang jeemin,” you ask in surprise, “what are you doing here?”

the stranger, or jeemin, merely stares at you in shock, her big round eyes widened as she tightens her grip on a heavy bag of cat food.

“uh, i’m feeding…” jeemin gestures to the cat who’s eagerly chewing on its kibble, “meowie. i’m not allowed to bring him home.”

meowie? what type of name was meowie?

all danger signs of getting too close to jeemin fly out your head the moment you lay eyes on the cute cat. a tiny bombay cat. what a cutie!

“meowie? you couldn’t come up with a better name?” you ask, gently stroking the top of his head, just behind his ears. jeemin’s own ears flush red, “he just meows a lot! i couldn’t think of any other names.”

“how long have you been feeding him?”

jeemin’s gaze looks away, a face full of contemplation, “maybe… for two months?”

you’re instantly reminded of something saebi had said, or more so koko. jeemin, in a dark alleyway, holding up a mysterious bag. you laugh internally at the absurdity of it all. of course the girl couldn’t have been in a gang, she was just feeding a cat. you couldn’t believe how stupid people were to think that this loser could possibly be in a gang.

“sometimes when it’s raining and there’s thunder, i can’t visit meowie and i think he gets scared,” jeemin mutters, setting down the bag of cat food, “and what if he gets bullied by some kids or other big cats?” it’s such a stupid thought but you sense the worry in her words.

her eyes full of sadness and concern drives an unprompted stake into your heart. when she looks at you, it’s the pouting of her lips that causes the dam to collapse.

“i can bring meowie home,” you cringe at your own words, full of confidence, “he’ll be safe with me.”

jeemin’s entire face lights up and she beams at you happily, “really?! oh my gosh, that would be awesome!” your first thought fucks up your entire world.

you would do anything to have jeemin looking at you like that.

when did you associate bang jeemin with euphoria instead of hatred?

you didn’t have time to figure that out now. there was a literal cat purring into your palm, snuggling the extra warmth. jeemin is still brimming with delight, humming contentedly as she watches you interact with meowie. in your head, a realisation comes to mind, that spending time with jeemin wasn’t so bad after all.

over the next few days, the girl had accompanied you to get necessities for finn, his new name because meowie just wasn’t cutting it. you bought his bed, more food, some toys.

(“does he really need that many options to choose from? he’s a cat, jeemin,” you ask, pointing at the stack of wet food she had placed in the basket.

“our son needs to make his own choices!” you had briefly choked on your saliva when she referred to you two as ‘our’.)

jeemin had also whined about getting an outfit for him. hence the reason why he was currently dressed up in a shark costume, padding around the house. she had constantly spent her afternoons at your house, playing with finn and spending time with the cat. apparently, she wasn’t allowed to bring any pets home, despite her apparent love for dogs. you had engaged in a heavy debate about dogs or cats but ended up conceding when she brought up finn.

with more time spent at your house, it also held the implication of spending time with you. jeemin had become such an integrated part of your life that honestly, you really couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. even in school, when you didn’t have the same classes and you could only catch a glimpse of her in the hallways, you would exchange shy smiles and waves, unbeknownst to your two nosy friends who were more engrossed in other things.

saebi had commented on your sudden glow, unfortunately, asking if you were dating anyone. sarang then shut down her question instantly, stating that a loser like you won’t be able to find a partner so quickly. maybe she was right.

you had also introduced jeemin to your parents, as per their wishes of wanting to meet the co-parent of finn. obviously, they loved her. your mum had whispered to you after jeemin left, saying she would love her as a daughter-in-law. you could only gape after her disappearing figure.

finn’s meows bring you out of your reveire. jeemin’s gleeful laughter combined with the domestic feel of the entire situation had launched you into fucking outer space. this whole feeling was unknown.

“y/n, isn’t he so cute?” jeemin giggles, continuing to snap a multitude of photos of finn, who was staring at his owner very indifferently.

you nod, not wanting to risk your voice cracking.

“he’s adorable! finn, come here!” the girl grabs the cat, hugging him closely. your eyes are drawn to her delighted face as she sighs happily.

a moment passes as you just watch jeemin cuddle with finn. she then turns to you, a pleased look on her face as she exclaims, “he looks kind of like you, don’t you think?”

your first instinct is to defend yourself. finn was a stupid cat who did stupid things, like constantly tripping over his toys despite being a cat, which last time you checked, is meant to be agile. is she insinuating that you looked stupid?

“you look like a dog,” you retorted instead, “maybe even a bear, but like a silly bear.”

jeemin scoffs, smacking you on the shoulder after letting finn roam free. “i do not look like a bear,” she says indignantly.

“ouch, you hit me really hard,” you whine, “it hurts, jeemin.” the girl actually looks a bit regretful and worried as she stares at your sore shoulder.

“does it really?” she asks, inching closer to check your bare shoulder. your shirt was slipping off, exposing your collarbone. her hand lifts to press against the redness, caressing it softly, “oh, it’s actually turning red!”

your face turns as red as your shoulder. you watch as her eyelashes batter and flutter, analysing your skin. her fingertips trail from where your neck meets your shoulder to the top of your arm.

“bang jeemin, are you a pervert?!” you shriek, pulling up your shirt and pushing jeemin’s hand away, “why do you keep feeling me up?”

“that isn’t…!” jeemin yells, “i’m not doing that! i was just worried! can i not be worried for my friend?!”

you’re unable to control your laughter at jeemin’s flabbergasted expression, aghast with indignation as she helplessly explains herself.

“so we’re friends now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and nudging her with your ‘hurt’ shoulder.

jeemin flushes before rolling her eyes. yet, she says softly, “i’ve always wanted to be friends with you.”

it hits you then, that jeemin, unassuming and awkward, could only interact with you through glares and hesitant movements. her zoning out during class was probably her thinking of ways to talk to you, if the way she gaped at you was any indication. you had taken it as a sign of disdain and dislike. it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“really?” you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. jeemin’s eyes follow the movement before she nods bashfully. smiling, you mutter under your breath, “that’s cute.”

jeemin returns a smile as finn meows at you.

“I’m happy we’re friends now,” she suddenly admits, “i’m happy we can just talk freely and take care of finn together.”

“i’m happy too,” you grin playfully, “i thought you were a prick.” jeemin, thankfully, doesn’t seem too affected by your words, only shaking her head in faux disappointment, “i wanted to be your friend and you call me a prick?”

“i mean, you didn’t really help much during chemistry,” you offer gingerly, afraid to actually anger the girl.

jeemin groans, flopping onto her back on the floor as finn claws at her arms, “i was staring at you but you always looked so upset and pissed!”

that’s true. even your friends had commented on your resting face.

“that’s not my fault if you don’t like my face.”

the girl frowns, staring at you, “i do like your face.”

wait, what?

“what about the sweater, huh?” you choose to ignore her, pointing an accusing finger at the girl, “giving me your dance team’s sweater with your name on it! are you searching for trouble?”

jeemin’s hair covers her face partly, but even the redness of her ears and cheeks peek through the dark curtains as she murmurs out, “you looked good in the sweater— my sweater.”

a second passes.

“uh, great?” you blurt out. as soon as the word had left your mouth, you wished desperately for god to smite you down. the unamused look on jeemin’s face doesn’t help to ease the awkwardness either. what a thing to say to a compliment! not even a thank you.

a heavy tension falls and you’re left fiddling with your hands as jeemin slows her pats on finn, who ironically, seems to have a smile on his tiny face.

“uh—” you attempt to defuse the tension but jeemin beats you to it, interrupting, “i think i got to go, it’s kind of late.”

you nod, unable to even utter a single word. your mouth just opens and closes uselessly as you watch jeemin pack her things up and leave a lingering kiss on finn’s furry forehead.

silently, you wish she had done the same to you.

“see you soon, y/n,” jeemin smiles, smaller than before but still retaining her natural cuteness. your heart aches at every metre she steps away. why were you so stupid and reckless with your words? jeemin had been extremely sincere but all you could say was ‘great’?

finn’s tiny teeth nibble into your skin as you bemoan about your stupidity. damn, you really should apologise.

despite your previous wishes of keeping your blooming friendship (and feelings) with jeemin a secret, it was getting harder and harder to keep your friends in the dark. but the look of utter shock and glee on their faces make you slightly regret your decision in revealing it to them.

saebi and sarang had been extremely unhelpful in constructing an appropriate apology. with sarang’s useless quips of serenading jeemin, (“you do know i can’t sing right?” you had said. sarang shakes her head, convicted, “it’s the thought that counts!”) and saebi’s equally ineffectual drafts of apology letters that could pass as love letters, (“saebi, i am not telling jeemin that our souls are entwined and when i inhale her, my body quivers with bliss,” you crushed the offending paper, disgusted. the younger girl only rolled her eyes and shouted, “it’s romantic!”), you had basically no idea how to apologise.

maybe you should find the wisest girl you know. eyes perking up at the sight of mai walking past, you quickly grasp the opportunity to grab ahold of her. unfortunately, and maybe to your friends’ amusement, jeemin was right beside mai. jeemin sends you a curious look but you hastily explain, “i need to talk to mai unnie, just for a minute!”

jeemin slowly nods, as if understanding (and like a cat!). mai raises an eyebrow at you, a gentle and encouraging tone as she asks, “is everything okay?”

you gulp, “i need your help.”

the faint snickers of saebi and sarang reach your ears. you send them the most threatening glare possible, but you probably just look like a fool.

“with what exactly?”

you eye jeemin and drag mai to a corner as your two idiot friends start chatting jeemin up in their own quirky ways.

“i kind of messed up and i’m pretty sure jeemin’s upset with me, but i really need to know what’s the best way to apologise to someone,” you exhale.

mai nods, a contemplative look as she offers, “i think jeemin doesn’t need a grand apology or gifts. she’s not one to hold grudges and as long as it’s sincere and truthful, i think that she would appreciate it regardless.”

it fits her. a pure and endearing person like jeemin would want a simple apology. it’s understandable. you feel immense guilt brewing when you remember how hard it was for jeemin to make friends at the start of the year. she was a transferee from another school and if not for some mutual friends, perhaps she would have ended up a loner.

“thank you, unnie,” you say with all the genuineness in the world. mai pats your shoulder and whispers, “good luck.”

you head back with mai, more confident this time. jeemin was giggling at whatever saebi and sarang were talking about. you hope that they haven’t said anything about you. god, that would be the worst. maybe sarang would even pull up that photo of you from middle school—

“oh hey, y/n! we were just talking about you!” saebi grins. you clench your fists by your side, resisting the urge to smack her. forcing a faux smile, you ask through gritted teeth, “oh really?”

turning to jeemin, she fails to stifle a smile and that’s when you know they’ve shown her the unforgettable photo of you.

“whatever, jeemin come here,” you roll your eyes, “i want to talk to you.”

the girl mentioned points to herself, “me?”

“is there another jeemin here?” you ask sarcastically. sarang nods, “i’m ryu jeemin.”

“shut up, sarang. and come here,” pulling jeemin away from your nosy friends, you bring her out of the hallway and into an empty classroom. luckily, most of the students had left already and you weren’t competing with the chatter from the crowd of people outside.

jeemin sat comfortably on a table, leaning back with her hands behind her.

“what’s up?” she asks, you can’t help but notice the hint of wariness in her tone.

taking a deep breath, you start, “i’m sorry for the way i reacted to your words the other day. i don’t know if it was your intention to like, flirt with me for fun or you actually have some form of feelings but i reacted strangely and poorly.”

“it’s okay—”

you place a hand gently on hers, “i just want to ask you something.”

“uh, go for it?”

“do you like me?”

jeemin withdraws her hand almost instantly, as if burnt and scorched, “what?!”

you frown, “you don’t have to react like that.”

“no— oh my god,” her voice is muffled by her face being buried in her hands, “i mean like, i didn’t know i was being that obvious!”

“oh. well, that’s good.”

jeemin lifts her reddened face up, staring at you with hope and adoration (how have you never seen this before?), “really?”

“yeah, would be really awkward if you didn’t like me when i like you.”

“you like me?” she repeats.

you nod, “yeah. i don’t know how or when it started but yeah. i just know that i want to stay by your side and be the one who makes you smile.”

it’s easy and refreshing to admit, because it’s true. almost possessive, you wanted to be the only one who got to have jeemin; who could hear her laughter, witness her beautiful smile and was allowed to hug and kiss her with love.

“that’s,” jeemin croaks out, “good.”

you tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “yeah?”

she hums in agreement.

“i liked wearing your sweater, by the way. and i like your face too.”

“i can give my sweater to you and i like your hello kitty bandages,” jeemin says, a loopy smile engraved on her face. you store the memory of her smile into your brain.

“i would like that. do you want me to wear it every day? let people know i’m yours?” you ask teasingly. the girl actually seems to think before nodding firmly.

jeemin grins, her pearly white teeth showing, “that would be nice.”

“wow, and what should you do in return?”

“i’ll tattoo your name on myself,” she jokes as she hops off the desk, “imagine my forehead saying ‘my girlfriend is y/n’.”

you shove at her lightly, “i’m your girlfriend?”

jeemin’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer and into her embrace, “yes, no backing out now.”

you throw your arms over her shoulders, giggling, “i’m fine with that.”

“that's great ‘cause i’ve liked you ever since you put on that lab coat,” your girlfriend (girlfriend!!) admits.

basking in the afternoon glow and warmth of jeemin, your heart feels contentedly full with affection and adoration for the girl. it only felt right to be in her arms.

you couldn’t believe you were saying this, but jeemin was the best thing to come into your life. thank god for finn.

[bts5sosempire]

the tyrant (vi); side one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,583

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, nothing major atm, mentions of infertility, etc.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  "you were the apple of Sukuna's eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you."

𝐚/𝐧: splitting this into two parts, leaving y’all on a cliffhanger. pls like, comment below for tagging, and reblogged. (edit: forgot there were "broken" links or something when clicking to find the chapters, those are also fixed too.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

In front of you were two boxes, one that was gunpowder with a bold black label written at the top of the crate, and the other was written in potassium chlorate. You notice that these two items share similar fates but different structures. "Handle with care," you instructed, snapping the fan in your hand shut. Walking off with shoulders squaring, your eyes trail around when you stop right in the center of the trading post. You finally owned a small port that allowed you to transport essential items from different countries. From using the money, the inn has accumulated over time.

All the time you've spent inside your room, stuck reading boring materials and trying to navigate into the world as a man, was brutal. You would never have the luxury and freedom as a woman, but you've become too accustomed to dressing up as a man. It doesn't mean you let yourself fall freely. This world wasn't built for women; you've always known that from the start, although that doesn't stop you from bending the rules to your will if you wish for it. The effects of reinforcing you into roles from everyone start to wear off when there isn't anyone keeping tabs.

And it feels liberating, you admit.

The first few steps you have taken for yourself without the help of anyone powerful give you a sense of clarity—something normal among the norms. You eye the small port, seeing the future play out in front of you. If you kept a steady trade of items from the small shops, you have gambled around the area for their compliance (you were hasty, something you ought to keep in check, too), then the port would grow big in no time. But quality wares is something you noted and took from the vendors you think would make it big if they produce what you're looking for. Owning important essential items or daily use objects was often sought out, and knowing what was going on in the market with the ledgers you kept, the vendors were happy to update it every week.

The smell of sea salt brushes against your nose when a spray mist of the ocean settles across your face like a thin veil. It brought you back from reality. The dark soft fur that clings around your neck tickles your jawline. It was a cape that had a lined coat inside for heat insulation. It was a gift to you from the seamstress. At first, you refuse such a gift as you weren't expecting anything in return but their devotion. The seamstress was an elderly lady named Rue with pure grey hair with specks of white, with milky pupils who ran the shop with her granddaughter, who was the age of fifteen. For someone blind, they have an impeccable sense of design, where to thread their needle, and even hand spin the silk threads with deer tail fur to tone down the bright arrogant colors.

Last but not least, you didn't bypass her as male.

You wonder how at first, Rue could tell, but you couldn't stop them from shoving their hands all over your face to see as further confirmation. It isn't until when you're alone that she sends her blushing granddaughter, who keeps gawking at you, to fetch warm jasmine tea from the kitchen. When she breathed out how the light footsteps and breathing differed from men, the soft scent of your natural smell under the musk of pinewood wasn't enough to fool her. Years of blindness hone her other senses.

To say you give a nervous smile even though Rue can't see, but she could sense it. You remember how she didn't ask questions about your true identity, but traces of understanding was written across her withering face. Rue was indeed an enigma and a master of changing the topic onto herself with woos of stories of her ambitious youth. You don't mind her rambling; as long as it's not you divulging into your life, then you're fine.

Readjusting the cape, you walk off the port onto the mainland, and before you can go any further, a woman who is a bit tad shorter than you bumps into you. They let out a yelp and seemed to trip over their heel as they braced for impact when falling back and shut their eyes. Based on reflexes, you grab their wrist to pull them upright, but all it does is wring their weight your way as they collide into your chest with a delicate sound of discontent.

"Hey! Watch where-" The words died on their lips when they opened their soft pomegranate-colored eyes. Their eyes almost remind you of someone. As if they couldn't utter a word after nearly insulting you, the shade of their face became gradually warmer, like the colors of their eyes. "I'm sorry!" They sputter out in nervousness. You only look down at her with your questioning piercing gaze that has her even weaker in your arms. Unknowingly. Ripping themself out of your hold, she set a space between you both.

"What are you sorry for? It was my fault for not seeing you." Simply reassuring her, the woman across from you became a more blubbering mess. You don't know what's going on in her head; the more you observe, it becomes a headache to decipher each passing second. Cutting her off, you notice the sky gradually getting darker and bid her farewell with a tilt of your head down.

It wasn't until that you were gone she allowed herself to bask in the memories of you. With both hands on her flaming cheeks, she gushes over her Prince Charming and starts to create scenarios in her head. "They were so cool!~" The aura around her was warm and pleasant, and even some bystanders who walked past her glanced at her—some young love.

"Lady Kiriko!" The young woman's handmaid finally reaches her as they huff and pant. They stop in front of her. Kiriko only clicked her tongue in distaste as she lost her sense of a heart-warming aura. "I finally found you! We have to go to the inn before it gets dark." The handmaid wheezes out.

Like a flip that has been switched, Kiriko activated her brat mode. "Why do you always have to ruin my fun?" She pinches the maid's arm harshly, and they cringe back. "I still have a bit more time left before sundown." Kiriko overlaps her arms, but her thoughts trail back to you, and then brat mode is switched off. She had a deluded smile on her face. Then again, it was back on instantly when she turned around to her maid. "By the way, did you see a handsome man on your way here? They walk where the way you came from."

The handmaid crinkles her brows in confusion.

Kiriko rolls her eyes, "You know about this tall?" She gestured to where your height would reach, which is a head taller. "They wore a cape in the color of brown, but it looked like gold with intricate design, and the neck had soft black fur surrounding it." Kiriko waited a few more seconds, "And they look adorable too."

The maid then snaps their eyes at the lady, "Ah yes! I saw them; they walked into a rented house near here!" Kiriko didn't waste time asking which house the handsome man rented, and the maid told her it was the Red Koi and sped away.

Eisha coughs as the weather gets colder and harsher. With the months flying by and winter coming, she tried to stifle another hack. "Where are the imported red coals?" She asked nearby maids, who gave each other a look, deciding who would break the news. They were a jittering mess and kept avoiding eye contact.

Eisha's lady-in-waiting ensured her Master was comfortable as she brought the finest furs and pillows to create a sturdy and warm nest. "Your Lady asked you a question, and you won't answer her?" The personal maid sternly made a face, and the lowly ranked servants quivered.

"The red coals that you requested were given to Lady (Name)," one spoke up, still refusing to make eye contact; they whispered the last part in a hush, "by Lord Sukuna's order."

As if what they said were whiplash to their Lady and the personal maid, Eisha's lady-in-waiting was about to blow a fuse for her Master. "All dismiss." She tried to say calmly. Although it was barely contained, all the servants could see how Eisha's handmaid eyes bled red with rage, and no one wasted a second to flee the room. If Hell existed, it would be this very castle.

Eisha's handmaid, Miyo, turns to their master. "Your Lady, even Lord Sukuna knows about your condition and that regular coals could suffocate your lungs and worsen it with the amount of smoke it emits." Miyo then curses you inside her mind; like everyone else, she couldn't understand why Lord Sukuna would put you above all else. Are you made of gold or something? Miyo was sure you were nothing; you hadn't made yourself worthy with a single childbirth. Something that everyone knew was important.

"Don't worry about it," Eisha's quiet demeanor made Miyo even more raucous, but she held it inside. "Go to the clothing department today and pick up my lined fur fleece and my daughter from her study." With the command, Miyo respectfully now to Eisha and left the room.

There was a quick and sudden announcement from Hanami about her niece visiting her from a different region of Japan in a week. So the Doom Mother (Motherzilla) had expected everything to be perfect and lavish. Even the concubines were putting on their best behavior as they discussed what to wear to welcome their mother-in-law's niece.

This was the first time the girl would make an official trip to visit Hanami alone. But that doesn't mean you haven't heard of her before; there were brief mentions of her throughout your marriage to Sukuna. Where Hanami had plotted the idea of her only son marrying a cousin with who he had no interest. Additionally, Sukuna only met her once when she was only eight. Even the age gap was a decade between them. In the faint memory of her ten years ago, Sukuna had said she was a spoilt brat to the brim and expected the world to bow down to her.

You could almost laugh at how ironic he was judging someone when he was the same way. Well, minus the spoilt parts, then it would be perfect.

"Lady (Name)," a lady you recognize was two years older than you, was part of Hanami's entourage, Ubi. Judging by her clothes, she was in the second rank, closely behind Hanami's vassal, Naiyu. This instantly made you put on an air of neutrality; you didn't know what to expect from her as you didn't know much about her. Out of all of Hanami's retainers, only Ubi and Naiyu were the ones you watch out for, as Ubi was specially trained under Naiyu, so their facade was perfect craftsmanship.

Since they both represent Hanami's strengths, they had to be fearless in what they do, and you suspect that much—being the blade for their master. Still, they have shown indifference toward you, but doubt lingers in your mind. You can be careful and wary of them, but that would invite your demise if you failed to see beyond, so you try to harden your eyes.

Ubi, who senses you putting up barriers, instantly tries to disarm it with a soft smile that is part of her service. "The Head Mother has requested your presence," and around you, the air of jealousy and envy from concubines rises through the roof and filters through the hallways. Whether it's deliberate or not, Ubi semblance never falters. She held onto that patience.

"Lead the way," you monotonously said, and she turned around for you to follow. Starting at her back, it's unsettling how you can't pick what's happening inside Ubi's head, unlike how you did with Sukuna. For them, it's a blank slate.

"Ugh, look at her acting like she's so important just because the Head Mother had called for her," Sena whispered with hidden jaundice around her little clique, and they all agreed. One rolls their eyes, and a few sniggers at the action. Her eyes trail close to where you left.

It took a few minutes to lead you to Hanami's residence.

"Head Mother, I have brought Lady (Name) as per your request," Ubi announces, and the door slides open. She side steps to the side to allow you in without looking up.

You enter the room with quiet steps and sit on the zabuton, and before you can bow as a greeting, she lifts a hand to stop you. "There's no need." Hanami tries to mask her displeasure at seeing you, and you weren't stupid to not see it. It's just you didn't bother to point it out. Since she has an important matter to discuss and it involves you, Hanami decides to make it quick so your face isn't a constant reminder of your Aunt.

Hanami: "You're going to take over on welcoming my niece."

You: "Pardon? Isn't that supposed to be Lady Eisha's role?"

"Yes, it is," Hanami spoke as a matter of fact, "due to her ailing health, this task might be arduous for her since the doctor has told her to stay warm, so Eisha is taking bed rest to recover. Thus I'm assigning this to you."

Well, this is news to you. Out of all the people she could've picked, she had chosen you for such a task. You would have thought she might select one of the lower concubines to do the job. With her blatant prejudice against you. "Wouldn't any other concubine be better for the job?"

"Are you shrinking your role as the second wife of my son?" Hanami blurts out in annoyance as her tone rises an octave high; she looks up and down at you repeatedly with quick eyes. Like, you have gone crazy for even suggesting that.

With lips service smile, you retort back politely, "Head Mother, you seem to be offended by my innocent question. I'm only asking since you seem to tolerate my presence barely, let alone we haven't spoken to one another within five years of being married to your son. The only time we spoke was, instead, very brief and short, two days after the wedding consummation." It was the first greeting for the mother as a new in-law from the wife or concubine as respect.

Hanami clenches her jaws tightly; your sharp tongue and dim-witted acting seem to prick her nerves. You and your Aunt are very much alike in some ways, unbearable and arrogant. "Are you going to refuse my order?"

"Ah no," you quickly reply, "that would bring shame if I didn't uphold my duty as the second wife of Sukuna and Lady Eisha's left hand too."

Hanami didn't know if what you said was pure mockery, but each passing second in this room with you got her blood pumping in anger. "Since you have understood, you're dismissed."

You courteously bow deliberately (on purpose) to bid farewell before standing up with grace. Hanami was sure you were playing with her; your ungenuine smile wasn't even hidden. She curses daily due to her son's favoritism of you; you're like a plague that never vacates. And have you grown uncouth that you don't even respect her?

"Lord Sukuna, Lady (Name) will be taking over Lady Eisha's task of welcoming your cousin in a few days," Uraume informed their master, who quirked a brow.

"Oh? So that brat of a cousin is visiting?" He asked no one in particular; it was more of saying it to himself out loud. "Mother has finally given her such an important task for once." The thought of his Mother warming up to you sounds so funny that he can't help but chuckle. His Mother barely tolerates the idea of you and loathes Sukuna himself for a self-evident reason sometimes. "Make sure my wife doesn't overwork herself and help her if necessary; I'll tend to her afterward."

Uraume silently left the room, and Sukuna mulled over his thought. He rests his temple against his knuckles and watches the candlelight flicker under a breeze. But in his spare hand was a familiar thick jewel; Sukuna toys around with a gold bangle with assorted gems in various sizes, colors, and labyrinth designs indented into the gold.

It was your bangle.

After the night he had spent with you, he took what's most precious to you, and it was what was given to you by your deceased parents. There were years of work on it, seeing how the inside of the jewel was fading away from constant use. Sukuna noticed how the clasps were loose, most of all when he kept twisting the bangle around to feel every rigidity and bump.

The more he looks at it, the more something seems off.

Sukuna barely saw small noticeable lines on the inside of the bracelet; it was in the shape of a square. A small hidden compartment; if his keen and trained eyes missed that tiny detail, he deserved to be killed on a battlefield for not seeing an enemy, ambush, or assassination. Still, Sukuna was curious and grabbed a small wooden toothpick to unlock the small door.

He was surprised when multiple seeds fell out of the bracelet when he shook them out onto the table. The color of the sources was rather old, seeing how raisin and dried they were. Something stirs in his chest, and he doesn't like it. Sukuna's fierce eyes were glaring at the jarring sight before him. Cold like Hell has washed over.

"Someone, go and fetch me the doctor. Right. Now." His voice was low, with his wrath was barely concealed through clenched teeth. "Now!" Sukuna repeats their voice bellows out from his room to outside when no one makes a move to move. One male servant scamps away to do what they're told out of fear.

You're crafty. He gives you credit for that; whatever you're hiding, he would sniff it out. Sukuna then set the jeweled bracelet down and ran a hand through his hair; he puffs out a shallow breath. He's barely an anxious man, but his opinions of you and your sensitive nature slowly etched their way into his mind as he started to pick them apart one by one in a logical sense.

When emotions run high, clouds of judgment obscure his views. Sukuna is a man led by ideals and a futuristic sense; scarcely emotions ever run by him. He knew deep down when he allowed himself to feel emotions, it would cause him trouble, and he was right. Few selected people could be worthy of his regard, but to him, it didn't change his output of you very much. He dislikes being blind by someone, even so, he fully lets himself be when it comes to you, but seeing differently from a different angle, Sukuna should know that you're not soft and malleable.

You're like glass, pretty in the light, but there are still sharp edges around it. You shouldn't be underestimated. When he thought he had you at the center of his palm, you find a way to slip away. The game of chase was a back-and-forth thing, with its up and down.

Sukuna took another breath and exhaled deeply, pushing away the negative introspections.

You were busy interacting and directing where everything should go the next few days. It almost felt like a routine when you were dressed up as your alibi, Seijuro Hajime. Your breath fogs up in front of you, and your nose itches when cold air brushes against it; turning your head to the side, you sneeze.

"You should dress up warmer for the occasion," a voice snuck up behind you, and you froze for a quick second when a heavy cape was draped around your shoulders. Sukuna had made his presence known, and the servants around you suddenly worked harder than before. You were about to shrug off his cape, but his hands were on your shoulders, "Keep it on."

Another moment of pregnant silence passed through; no servants bothered to be in your and Sukuna's line of sight. They make sure to steer clear away from the invisible bubble that was presented around their Lord of the House. Sukuna presses his broad front against your back; you can feel his heat seeping through, then he slides his hands down your shoulders until it reaches your cold hands. His callous palms envelopes your own, and there was a minor battle of you struggling to tug it away.

"Could you please let me do my job," you patronize Sukuna, who only takes it as amusement and doesn't move an inch.

"No, I came here to spend time with my lovely wife." He tunes out, and his voice is much lighter, much chirpy to your liking. "Do you want to know what I discovered today?"

"No," flatly refusing him, one of Sukuna's hands retracted for a second, and you felt something cold and heard a slight click on your wrist. You look down to see your bracelet that has gone missing adorned your wrist. Toring yourself away, you whirl around to meet his eyes; you accuse him with a quiet, burning, seething look, "So it was you who took it."

The corners of his lips quirk up. You have spent days looking for your precious bangle, even flipping your room upside down. You didn't think it was this menacing man in front of you swiping it right under your nose during that day he had forcefully bedded you. You even thought that you lost it during your outing to the castle and that anyone could pick it up and pawn it to set themselves up for life.

"It was a pretty little thing; I know it was a special gift to you from your parents. So I took it as an inspiration to see your taste, as you never wore what I gifted. " Sukuna explains while lazily giving you a nonchalant expression without losing his carefree nature. He lops his head to the side, "And here's the fun part, I fixed your little bracelet problems for you."

You clench your jaws and roll your eyes again with a deep breath, "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, no," Sukuna tuts out as if he's dealing with a lying child, "There is a problem with it. You, my lovely wife here, have been plotting something bigger against me this whole time." The light in his eyes darkened and was replaced with something entirely devious. Mentally preparing yourself, Sukuna brushes his knuckles against your cold, bitten, ample red cheeks. "There are many things I've been tolerating from you," Sukuna's tone reeks of hurt and betrayal, despite failing to mask it, "but not this."

The hand caressing your cheek was suddenly behind your nape; Sukuna grips, and for once, he didn't care how he made you look in front of his servants, who were surprised at his treatment. Many hold their breath and further avoid the personal bubble as they could see trouble brewing between you both. All we're opting the long way to complete their task.

"You know I always wanted a child with you, but seriously, basil seeds?" Sukuna let out a haughty laugh when he saw your expression crumble a bit from fear of realization that he knew. "Yes, I now know what has caused your infertility."

The smile he wore never seemed so big and scary in front of you. Your mind was repeatedly reeling that Sukuna knew. He. Knew. Now you're not safe, and you can no longer avoid his advances.

Sukuna could see the vulnerability displayed before him; this was what he was waiting for. You're so open for him to take and relish. "I admire the length you're willing to go, and honestly, I genuinely do." You don't know what will come out of his mouth anymore. "No one can save you from me now. Not even your precious bracelet."

[Days Ago]

Sukuna patiently waited for the physician to arrive at his headquarters while drumming his fingers against the dark red oak table. His eyes trail to your bracelet that sticks out like a sore thumb, along with the seeds. The doors to his room snap open as the physician enters. "Finally," Sukuna said out loud; he has patience, but not today.

The doctor stopped in front of Sukuna and greeted him with a bow. "Lord Sukuna, w-what seems to be the problem?"

The man smirked, "You always seem to tremble whenever you meet me, but never mind that," Sukuna motioned with his head where the bracelet and seeds lay, "Tell me what is on the table." The physician saw and quickly took action.

They took a seed and examined it before sniffing it, and a faint scent emitted. "My Lord, this is basil seed."

Sukuna: "Basil?"

"Yes, basil." They confirmed it.

"What's so special about it?" Sukuna asks with interest.

"Lord Sukuna, basil seeds are used for many things, and especially if consuming it, doing it in small quantities once in a while not to cause side effects. Too much may cause bloating and abdominal pain. This is also used to help... " The medic explains in tangent detail.

"Then explain why it was inside the bracelet." Sukuna cuts to the chase when asking about something the doctor does and tends to run their mouth sometimes.

"A-Ah, yes." He took the bracelet from the table, "May I ask who the bracelet belongs to?"

Sukuna: "(Name)."

The doctor should not be surprised it was you. They took a moment to examine the bracelet and saw the open compartment door and sniffed the inside of the bangle, and found traces of it. "My Lord, how long has Lady (Name) worn this bracelet?"

The sound of urgency in his voice caught Sukuna's interest. "For as long as I married her. It was from her parents. What's the problem?"

Since there was no time stamp on how long, the doctor could only conclude one thing, "If Lady (Name) has worn this for a long time, then the cause of her infertility could be this all along." The words are like a cold wake-up call from the doctor; Sukuna's eyelids droop low with fury. The thought of you, 'How dare you (Name).' The doctor nervously continues, "Long exposure to basil seeds entering the bloodstream could thin out the blood, affect her hormones, and even her menstrual cycles. This could also explain—"

Sukuna raised a hand for the medic to shut their mouth as he was complimented on how he should deal with you and what he had just learned today. At first, he took your bracelet to understand your personal preferences, then return it to you later, and now he doesn't regret stumbling onto your long secret by chance. The amount of time he had bed you and you failed to conceive a child was out.

"You're dismissed, and keep your mouth shut." Then he looks at the corner where Uraume resides, "Take the bracelet to get it modified from a nearby jeweler. Fix the clasps and seal the door."

•

Taglist: @sukunasobject @lilliansstuff @lucyrocks86 @ladywolf44005 @watyousayin @sandronebabyy​ @pinkrose1422 @skepticalleo @please-help-therapy-needed @whatsonthemirror @krispsprite @loser-alert @saturnknows @samdric @littlemochi @akigoat @mxghostbee @rose4958 @shadowywizardarcade @huicitawrites @baji-keisukes-wife @choso-wifey @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @sanderaen @peonnnny @tiredlattes @waytomanyhusbands @whatamidoing89 @utena-akashiya @outrofenty @welcometodemonschoolfan @im-a-killer-queen @loverisa @bubera974 @sashaphantomhive @chaoticstrawberryland @onetwo123three

[imadedmans]

"One crossed wire, one wayward pinch of potassium chlorate, one errant twitch... and kablooie!"

Demoman from TF2 in Mega Man 8-bit style! (Including a design more akin to an actual Robot Master)

[hellsite-proteins]

Protein request:

What makes me a good demoman? If I were a bad demoman, I wouldn't be sittin' here discussin' it with you, now would I?! LET'S DO IT! Not one of you's gonna survive this! One crossed wire, one wayward pinch of potassium chlorate, one errant twitch, and KA-BLOOIE! nd I got a manky eye. I'm a black Scottish cyclops. They got more fecking sea monsters in the great Lochett Ness than they got the likes of me. So! T'all you fine dandies, so proud, so cocksure, prancin' about with your heads full of eyeballs... come and get me, I say! I'll be waitin' on you with a whiff of the old brimstone! I'm a Grimm bloody fable with an unhappy bloody end! Oh, they're going to have to glue you back together...IN HELL!

at first i didn't realize demoman was just demo man but all as one word, and so i was reading the 'demo' part as rhyming with 'nemo'

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

WhatmakesmeagddemmanIfIwereaaddemmanIwldntesittinherediscssinitwithynwwldILETSDITNtnefysgnnasrvivethisnecrssedwirenewaywardpinchfptassimchlrateneerranttwitchandKALIEndIgtamankyeyeImalackScttishcyclpsTheygtmrefeckingseamnstersinthegreatLchettNessthantheygtthelikesfmeSTallyfinedandiessprdsccksreprancinatwithyrheadsfllfeyeallscmeandgetmeIsayIllewaitinnywithawhiffftheldrimstneImaGrimmldyfalewithannhappyldyendhtheyregingthavetgleyacktgetherINHELL

protein guy analysis:

this structure is not good but that will not stop me from enjoying it. there are several elements of secondary structure that are so incredibly small i’m surprised they showed up. i am slightly obsessed with the tiny beta sheet near the bottom left. none of this was predicted with any meaningful level of confidence, and the loops look weird and long, sticking out in ways i don’t approve of. this protein is simultaneously just a silly little guy and a total disaster

predicted protein structure:

[oneknightstand-if]

One really small thing that disproportionately puzzles me: why lighters are considered to be too technological to work in time bubbles (or near magic) if most (especially the cheapest ones) work literally on the equivalent of flint and steel - the spark is created by the rotating wheel and stone directly beneath it. Quick wheel rotation is achieved by simple physics, no hi-tech involved. And they are powered by common flammable liquids, not electricity. Or is it regional thing, and such simple lighters are not widespread in USA?

It's possible to normally enchant a lighter (if you don't mind the backfiring in your face potential), but that has way too many failure points to reliably work during something as massive as a time bubble which overwrites the natural laws of the Earth.

Generally, the more moving parts required, the more likely one of the overwritten laws goes "Nah, that's not how it works anymore." You're lucky if gravity and door hinges are still working then (and the latter actually stops working in the MC's apartment at the end).

I've had those exact types of lighters (still full of fuel) repeatedly fail on me even without demonic intervention.

You need the spark wheel and adjusting wheel to still spin

You need the spring to still actually compress/decompress

You need the valve to still open

You need the nature of the fuel to still remain flammable (or naturally vaporize in the case of butane)

You need the nature of the flint equivalent to still cause a spark (<- something similar is what's required for matches to work)

Yes, it's possible for matches to fail during the equivalent of a time bubble if one of the laws overwritten is "Potassium chlorate and red phosphorous no longer chemically react to create heat", but that's less likely to happen than "wheels no longer spin" and all the other stuff that could cause the lighter to fail.

But in general, there's a reason ancient man wasn't running around with sophisticated lighters.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Physics or chemistry

Oh those have the best experiments. But you should probably perform them with a teacher, or even better they perform it entirely and you just watch.

Concerning chemistry, a popular experiment is called 'The Elephant's Toothpaste'. Stupid name, but it's still interesting. Hydrogen peroxide is rapidly decomposed into water and oxygen, causing the mixture to foam up very quickly, creating a foam tower that looks like 'toothpaste'. A catalyst is added, usually potassium iodide. But caution, the created foam is very hot because it's an exothermic reaction that released energy.

Another experiment that students usually like is the 'exploding gummybear'. But it's more dangerous, should be performed in a fume hood. It's based on a rapid exothermic reaction because the sugar in the gummy bear is oxidised, creating a combustion. This is achieved by heating potassium chlorate in a reaction tube, which releases oxygen, and if the gummy bear is then dropped into the reaction tube there is a ball of fire created.

And for physics you could drop an apple and examine gravity. Just kidding, for example there is the double slit experiment examining the wave and particle nature of light. Or anything with lasers or magnets is interesting.

[sasheneskywalker]

Trick or treat!

i was researching how to create improvised explosives for a jason-centric fic and stumbled upon a declassified usa army's improvised munitions handbook from 1969. the easiest explosive to make that i've found can be done with only sugar, salt, steel pipe, tape, wax and a blasting cap. i didn't know what a no. 8 commercial blasting cap was so i googled it and according to wikipedia: "A number 8 test blasting cap is one containing 2 grams of a mixture of 80 percent mercury fulminate and 20 percent potassium chlorate, or a blasting cap of equivalent strength." naturally, i got curious and wondered if you can make mercury fulminate and potassium chlorate yourself and the answers is yes! there are tutorials on youtube about it (1) (2).

anyway, i'm probably on some kind of watchlist now lol

[goat-slice-art]

One wayward pinch of potassium chlorate

[noodleblade]

Dense but bright

Summary: Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed.

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious. -- Or, Perceptor struggles to confess his affections for Brainstorm.

Ao3 Link x Enjoy!:)

The scenario had grown decidedly frustrating. Perceptor stood stiffly as he shifted from pede to pede, waiting for Brainstorm to open the small box. He could only watch with a mixture of absolutely dread and terribly, horrible, burning adoration as Brainstorm’s optics cycled wide and brightened at the small vial now cupped gently in his servos. 

KClO3, otherwise known as potassium chlorate. Highly reactive, highly sensitive, highly dangerous. Innocuously packaged and neatly contained, but no less deadly. Just like Brainstorm and his maddening ingenuity; just like the quarrelsome feelings Perceptor held for the other mech. 

A soft gasp whistled through Brainstorm’s blast mask, optics darting from Perceptor to the vial and then back again. 

“Oh, Percy , it’s perfect!”

Perceptor’s spark spun rapidly in his chassis as Brainstorm beamed. Even with the mask affixed, the jet’s unbridled joy was evident, fanning out in waves across their quiet lab. Brainstorm immediately started rambling about all his plans for the white crystalline powder, wings fluttering to match his excited speech.

The swarming enthusiasm had Perceptor fighting back his own small smile, his spark threatening to nose dive directly into his tank. He’d never felt so off-kiltered, so unbalanced in the desire to simply just be around a mech, let alone Brainstorm . But, as the cycles passed, it had become ever-so-clear that Perceptor had become wholly and truly infatuated. His processor delighted in cataloging and recording Brainstorm’s reactions, already eagerly thinking up new ways to get repeated results, desperate to find a way to live in these moments a little longer without having to voice his own confession.

In truth, that really all this was: yet another poorly concealed way for Perceptor to express his affections, to confess his feelings. Not just of that as a colleague- he knew he had obtained that long before these sticky, messy feelings clung to his spark -and not just that of a friend- that territory itself was still new -but of a partner , encompassing both colleague and friend but also more . Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed. 

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious.

“How’d you get this?” Brainstorm asked with optics so bright they were blinding. “I put the request in three times and Ultra Magnus vetoed it every time before it could even reach Rodimus’s desk. ‘Insufficient reason’, my aft. You must have really oiled him up.”

Warmth crawled across Perceptor’s plating, a flush of embarrassment curling in his circuits.

He had been well aware of Brainstorm’s failed attempts in trying to acquire the chemical substance. He had watched the repetitive cycle go on for weeks. Request submitted: Submittal denied: Denial complained about in length to Perceptor while pacing back and forth across the center of the lab, finding equally crude, yet impressive elaborate insults to vent his anger at Ultra Magnus before calming down to try again. Rinse and repeat. 

He highly doubted if the requests had managed to reach Rodimus’s desk that the Captain would look at them himself. Undoubtedly, the fate would remain the same as they would surely be passed right back to the Former Duly-Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord who would issue the same scathing denial. 

Perceptor, on the other hand, only needed to submit his request to Drift and within three cycles his inquiry was approved, funded and in servo. Granted, he did have to withstand the exposing humiliation of Drift wishing him “good luck!” with a cheeky wink, but that had all washed away in simply seeing the delight blossom from Brainstorm. 

“It’s all about knowing who to ask,” Perceptor said quietly, swallowing down the nervous static that tried to hang onto his words. “I hope it helps in your research.”

“It will!” Brainstorm beamed, his field wide, encompassing and warm. “Thanks, Percy! I don’t know what I would do without you.”

In his processor, he could see Drift nodding encouraging, whispering, ‘Go on! Now, tell him how you feel. This is the moment.’  

The words were on the edge of his glossa, threatening to spill from his lips. They were simple- nothing grand or extravagant -precise, and painstakingly practiced every recharge cycle he failed to utter them. They had become a horrible mantra of failure. It would be so easy to say them now and yet, the very thought brought the familiar grip of trepidation over his spark. What if his words were not well-received? 

“Just try not to blow anything up,” Perceptor muttered instead, quickly turning around to retreat to his work station as shame and disappointment pushed down on his shoulders. 

Behind him, Brainstorm let out a maniacal chuckle. “No promises!”

It shouldn’t have been endearing. It shouldn’t have made his spark strain in his chassis. It shouldn’t have been immediately recorded into his memory banks to play on repeat for the cycles to come…and yet. Perceptor bowed his helm onto his workbench, letting the cool metal sink into this plating.

Even with the swordsmech on the other side of the ship, Perceptor could still hear Drift groaning in his audials at yet another missed opportunity. It was becoming an all too familiar experience. He could already imagine yet another demoralizing walk of shame to the back corner of Swerve’s where Drift would spend the rest of the evening attempting to rally Perceptor up once more to try again. He’s surprised Drift had the emotional stamina to keep the effort going. 

Then again, this was owed. Perceptor couldn’t count the number of late night talks where Drift bemoaned his fragile and tenuous friendship with CMO. Which was saying something as Perceptor loved to count the integers of Pi as a relaxation exercise. Regardless, since the coupling of the TIC and the medic, the direction of their relationship talks shifted to that of Perceptor and Brainstorm. Drift was ever eager to find Perceptor the same happiness he finally snagged for himself. 

“You deserve to be happy and in love too,” Drift has insisted with soft, quiet words. “We both do. We’ve all been through too much.”

They had tried everything from gifts to friendly, affectionate touches to outings of not-quite dates that fell under the painfully flimsy label of “shop talk” . Each attempt had been eagerly, warmly accepted. Each time, hope bobbed up Perceptor’s intake, only for Brainstorm to smash it with a beaming grin of how Perceptor was such “a good friend” or “ the best lab partner a mech could ask for.” All horribly, pitifully platonic. Perceptor couldn’t remember a time that such simple friendship felt like an agonizing punishment. 

“You know there is a simple way to remedy this,” Drift had pressed one cycle, optics cast in a knowing light. “If you just tell him, I’m sure he’ll be more than receptive. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how he talks to you, about you-”

Perceptor, aim true as always, narrowed his gaze at Drift pointedly. Drift had little room to be suggesting a verbal confession when for months Perceptor had given him the exact same advice only for the swordsmech to hem and haw and ultimately avoid it just as he was doing now. 

Still, it didn’t stop the TIC from being correct nor did it stop Perceptor’s simulations showing him the repeated evidence supporting the claim. It had worked for Cyclonus and Tailgate and for Drift and Ratchet eventually ; it even worked for their not-so illustrious Captain and his staunch Second despite neither of them being genuinely forthcoming with their feelings or emotions.

Perceptor just…wasn’t ready to verbalize his feelings. Not yet. Not when the very idea of having to stand before Brainstorm and utter such words sent his processor into a tizzy. Scrap, just trying to pass over a small gift as a token of affection, nearly crashed his neural net under the mounting anxiety. 

Perceptor lifted his helm with a heavy exvent and looked down at his datapad of research notes. He needed to clear his mind, have a moment of peace and focus on his work for a few blissful hours before he attempted to confront his feelings again. 

He flicked on the datapad and started to review his notes. Distantly, he could hear Brainstorm humming from his side of the lab, the soft clinking of glass as he fiddled with his newly procured chemical. It was…distracting. Perceptor’s processor drifted away from his own words to attempt visualizing what Brainstorm was doing. 

Were his wings fluttering to the rhythm of his hums? Was he scrawling his incomprehensible doodles and notes across the messy scattered datapads that littered his work station? Did his optics hold the brilliant glow of focus and excitement so unique to Brainstorm that Perceptor could only ever picture his lab partner with such a look in his optics and hope one day it may be aimed towards him?

A frustrated groan bubbled up his intake as he pushed the datapad away. The glyphs of his own notes were suddenly unintelligible, not that he could focus on anything with his processor so tied up in everything that was Brainstorm. He brought his servo to his helm, digit lightly rubbing his crest to help sooth the mounting helmache. He just needed to concentrate and forget about Brainstorm for just one klik-

“Uh, Perc?”

Perceptor jumped, startled despite his mind being laser focused on the only other mech in the room. He stumbled to his pedes, spinning around to find Brainstorm leaning towards him, their faces just a scant few inches apart. Brainstorm’s optics were soft and concerned. Perceptor felt like his spark was going to fall out of his mouth. 

“You okay? You’ve been staring at the table for a while.”

Embarrassment locked his intake shut, keeping any fumbling words lodged tight behind his denta. The proximity was hindering his fine motor-functions, leaving Perceptor to jerkily nod his helm. Embarrassment crawled across his plating. Primus.

Brainstorm didn’t seem convinced, his field lightly poking Perceptor’s retracted one. “Want me to walk you down to Ratchet? You’ve been acting so strange lately. Maybe you got a virus or something.”

The last place he wanted to go was the medbay. Undoubtedly, unless he was on shift, Drift would be there and see yet another example of his failure in doing such a simple task of just stating how he feels and-

Perceptor wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or scream. He’d been under far more stressful situations than this. He’d survived a war, lost an optic, watched mechs die and perish around him and yet, the simple act of telling a mech he liked that he may adore them, set his systems into an emergency lockdown. He needed space, he needed to think, he needed to recenter himself because there was no scavenging a meaningful conversation out of this.

He took a step back and instantly collided with his workbench, the various instruments and datapads rattling loudly against the metal. Before him, Brainstorm’s wings dropped and the jet quickly stepped away, field retracting in so quickly it left the room blisteringly cold. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” Brainstorm continued to back off, helm bowed and optics locked on the ground. “Probably spooked you. My mistake. I’ll just leave you alone for a bit.”

Perceptor’s HUD flashed warning lights. This was not his intended response. He had not meant to snub the other mech or push him away. Seeing Brainstorm dejected and down by Perceptor’s doing, was enough to spur his movement, hydraulics hissing as he stumbled forward and clumsily landed his servo on Brainstorm’s shoulder pauldron.

The jet flinched, optics darting up to stare at Perceptor. He quickly retracted his servo, letting it simply hover between them uncertainly. This was not how Perceptor wanted this to go. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry about my behavior,” Perceptor forced out, the words stilted and not at all what he should be saying. The haunting vision of Drift stood behind Brainstorm, nodding his helm encouragingly, desperately so. “I didn’t mean to react so...You startled me.” Hesitantly, he added, “You are never bothersome.”

Giddy warmth bloomed across Brainstorm’s field. If his mask was off, Perceptor was sure the jet would be smiling. His processor was delighted in procuring images of such an instance. 

“Never caught you unawares before,” Brainstorm hummed happily, optics flashing up and down Perceptor’s frame like he could find the irregularity that had his coworker in such a tizzy. Woefully unaware of his effects on the microscope entirely. “Usually you are too observant.”

I can’t keep my optics off of you.

Perceptor quickly discarded that speech suggestion. It was from one of Drift’s many lent datapads on romance and courtship. It was cheesy, un-Perceptor in every way possible, but the urge to say it was right there, on the edge of his glossa. Along with hundreds of others.

Come on, do it now, Percy.

Perceptor looked away from Brainstorm and took a safe step back towards his station. He turned to his workbench, optics affixed to the clean top. 

“Perceptor?”

He could hear Drift’s quiet, exasperated exvent. The swordsmech didn’t need to be there to point out that opportunity had presented itself and Perceptor was wasting it. Again . 

Just be honest.

“You…” Perceptor started softly. His back was still turned to Brainstorm and his helm ducked down to stare at his incomprehensible notes. They looked like gibberish now, foreign and not by his own hand. “You mean a lot to me. I will always aid you in your endeavors. As convoluted and anine as they may be. I want to support you anyway I can, and be by your side to watch you succeed.”

There. He said it. Finally.

Horrible, haunting silence greeted him. He waited a klik, then two, hoping perhaps the other scientist just needed a moment. His words were sudden after all, and maybe he just needed the moment to process it. But all he got was quiet stillness. 

Perceptor twitched, servos clenching into tight fists as he let out a steadying exvent. Perhaps he had miscalculated. 

Peeking over his shoulder, Perceptor found Brainstorm in a similar state, back facing Perceptor, helm bowed, servos resting over his helm and wings trembling-

“Brainstorm?” Worry seeped into his words.

The jet withered, wings tucked low and protectively over his form.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor tried again, slowly approaching the other. “Are you okay?”

“Excellent,” came the muffled reply, words spoken into his servos rather than to Perceptor. “I need a moment.”

“Was it something I said?”

“No, no,” Brainstorm was quick to wave off before returning his servo to cover his helm. “You’re perfect as always. It’s just me. I’ll get over it. Promise. I don’t want to make this weird.”

Perceptor frowned. If anyone was making this weird it was him and his inability to properly handle his feelings. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

A small groan left Brainstorm, digits digging into the seams of his helm. “I have a tendency to misread a mech’s kindness.” The voice was Brainstorm’s, sad and longing and bitter, but the words were not his own. Immediately, the bitterness dropped from his field, leaving only melancholy. “I just- you mean a lot to me too and I don’t want to ruin our partnership.”

Ruin it? 

“I don’t believe you can ruin it,” Perceptor spoke softly, hoping to comfort and soothe despite his nerves clinging to his plating. 

“Don’t jinx me, Percy,” Brainstorm taunted bitterly. “I have a knack for it. I let my emotions get the better of me. 

“Emotions,” Perceptor repeated quietly, hope blooming in his chassis as the edges of anxieties pulled at his wires. 

“I mean, I’m not exactly subtle,” Brainstorm spoke quietly, as if hoping Perceptor would not hear him. They still made their way to Perceptor’s audials, sinking into his processor as understanding stabbed him through the spark.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “I see.”

“Told you I could ruin it.” Brainstorm curled in on himself, his field coiled tightly to his frame. “Um, maybe I should leave. Give you some space. We can just forget today ever happened all together. Yeah, actually, let’s do that. If I bother Chromedome enough, maybe he can wipe it from both our processors-”

“Brainstorm-” Perceptor interrupted. The jet was spiraling. While Perceptor could more than relate, he much rather make some imperative corrections. “It appears I may have misrepresented myself these past few weeks.” Perceptor winced at his next words. “I thought my advances were also quite…obvious?” 

“ Advances ,” Brainstorm repeated the word. He whipped his helm around to look at Perceptor, optics cycling wide as the word registered. “Romantic advances?”

Perceptor averted his gaze, tank threatening to flip. “Yes.”

“So the gifts…and meet ups at Swerve’s…and-” Brainstorm let out a harsh exvent, optics blindingly bright. “ We were going on dates. ”

“That had been my intention, yes.”

A high pitched whine echoed from Brainstorm intake, the jet looked flustered. His wings fluttered nervously. Perceptor broached the remaining distance and watched Brainstorm seize up. He brought his hand up between them and in a moment of true boldness, cupped Brainstorm’s cheek. His touch was light, easy for either of them to back away. After an agonizing klik, Brainstorm pressed into it. 

“I see,” the jet murmured, the edges of warmth in his voice. “Oops.”

Perceptor couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him. 

“Primus,” he whispered, digit gently brushing just beneath Brainstorm’s optic housing; a heavy intake of air whistling through the gaps in the jet’s mask. “For such a brilliant mech, you are so, so dense.”

Perceptor was not much better, but he was willing to ignore that little fact.

“I’m not…” Brainstorm struggled to speak, optics too bright and too wide. “I’m not dense . You're dense.” A moment passed as Brainstorm hesitantly leaned back into Perceptor’s touch. “Brilliant?”

Perceptor couldn’t help but smile. “Focus.”

“I am,” Brainstorm let out with a sigh, wings fluttering happily. “You called me brilliant.” Turning into Perceptor’s palm, Brainstorm nuzzled it affectionately. “You’re amazing too. Not as amazing as me, but a close second. Like, a micron behind me.”

“Charming.” Perceptor couldn’t even try for any sarcasm, his spark spinning around utterly smitten.

“It should be, not many come anywhere close to us. We’re amazing.” Brainstorm cautiously raised his servo to rest over Perceptor’s, locking it to his cheek. “So, that means…you like me?”

Perceptor swallowed the static in his intake and nodded. “I do.”

“Fantastic,” Brainstorm beamed, optics casted in a soft, focused glow. “So…um, do I get a retry for a drink at Swerve’s?”

“A date,” Perceptor corrected, hesitant for only a moment before a warm chuckle whistled through Brainstorm’s mask.

“A date. Oh, and for the record, I like you too.”

Perceptor’s processor wasted no kliks in recorded that.

[drakeanddice]

Saw a poll on another site regarding which fantasy ancestry has the best cuisine and had to furrow my brow in incomprehension. Like we can't help but think to ourselves that if we find ourselves in Waterdeep and have the usual evening argument after a hard-day's dungeon crawling on whether we go grab a takeaway from the Dwarven delicatessen or maybe try that new Elvish fusion place down the Street of Candles?

Food is culture and culture is way more interesting than the shape of your ears.

The answer to that poll, if you were wondering, is Human. Because everyone answering the poll is human. And also, because unlike all of the other PHB ancestries, it doesn't come with monoculture baked in.

"Oh yeah, I figure Dwarves have kind of a cozy, smokey tavern-fare thing going on--"

Dude, Dwarves smith "bread" on their anvils and add potassium chlorate for kick. They eat the luster from gold. They subsist on firedamp and sulfur. They crunch down the spoil from their mines.

The lens we see fantasy through is human, I get it. But I'm on the side of weird fantasy. If you eat Dwarf food, you die. If you eat Elf food--well, you can't eat Elf food, because they subsist on Nostalgia or put down roots or, or, or...

But their takes on Human food are fine, I guess. We can talk about those. Most of these Fantasy worlds have an implied human-centric worldview (because, again, they were written by humans) and so if we assume a melting-pot of ancestries, a setting where these ancestries all sort of hang out together and history is more or less based on them all getting along, I can see them bringing their culinary traditions (weird) to serving human food filtered through the lens of their own cultural idiom. And I think that's kind of interesting, at least.

I might chew on that for a minute and build a tasting menu.

[corviiids]

my dear friend rook who i love and also i eat your writing. may i have 7 + 19 for the writing asks meme??

HELLO STYG I LOVE U!!!!!!!

7. your preferred writing fonts

this is weird bc aesthetically i prefer serifs and i had a phase where id always change the font to georgia before writing but these days i feel like the default on gdocs is fine (i think it's arial? some sans serif. calibri is also fine) because ive become someone who just scribbles things on her phone in the lift at work and that's like when i do the most writing. i did use the comic sans trick for a while which works surprisingly well

if im on the bus then wingdings. ive done this many times. it works fine it's just a faith system you have to trust that your future self will be able to decipher your typos. actually it's kind of good because you just get your shit down out of your brain onto the thing and you cant read it back which removes all self consciousness. it's like maybe ideal for a first draft?

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

i feel like ive gone down Some Rabbitholes for fic before but just recently (like 2 days ago) i had to ask kj to please explain organic chemistry to me and also what organic chemistry is. he had to painfully walk me through an entire chemical reaction just so i could make a stupid one-off joke. anyway now i understand why gummy bears explode when you put them in potassium chlorate

i meant fructose

[kingdrawcse]

Chemistry behind matches

In the 20th century, matches were a necessity in our daily lives. The earliest friction matches were invented in 1826 by British chemist and pharmacist John Walker. The match heads were made from a mixture of antimony sulfide, potassium chlorate, gum, and starch, which would ignite when scraped on sandpaper. To increase the stability of matches, in 1930 French chemist Charles Sauria replaced antimony sulfide with white phosphorus, a formula that was quickly popularized. However, white phosphorus also brought more serious problems—it could spontaneously ignite at a room temperature of 34°C and was highly toxic, leading to severe occupational diseases among match factory workers known as "phossy jaw," where their jaws would ulcerate and perforate.

In 1844, Swedish inventor Gustaf Erik Pasch replaced white phosphorus with the safer and more stable red phosphorus, inventing the "safety match." Red phosphorus was applied to the side of the matchbox, separated from the oxidizers like potassium chlorate on the match head. Therefore, the match would only ignite when rubbed on the specially designed phosphorus surface, greatly enhancing safety and accelerating the popularization of matches. However, due to high costs, safety matches were not mass-produced until a decade later.