#The Contract Concubine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yinyuedijun · 1 year ago

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ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #im so tired of editing this the quality of this piece is a lost cause sldkfjsldkfj #DIVIDER BY @/CAFEKITSUNE BTW it is so cute i thought it was perfect for this fic #anyway. sorry to everyone for character assassinating our favourite gambler #yueshuo.fics #dead dove #cw.slavery

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sunderwight · 1 year ago

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Moshang AU where Airplane transmigrates into a demon NPC from one of the fanservice clans he created, rather than into Shang Qinghua.

So basically, there was a point in time where a lot of PIDW chapters were just Luo Binghe running around propelled by political plots and rebellions from the demon kingdoms, and most of that actually just ended up being Luo Binghe collecting wives with cute animal ears and tails and various abilities that Airplane used all of once and then completely forgot about. They covered the usual bases of the sexy cat girls, sexy fox girls, sexy bunny girls, sexy bird girls with wings, etc, before moving into more, erm, niche animal hybrid demon territory.

Which is all a roundabout way of explaining Cute Hamster Boy Shang Qinghua in his faithful-to-canon clan of Hamster Demons, whose primary skills include cute squeaking noises and digging abilities.

In the process of making his braindead written-in-a-panic-at-3-am "world building" on this front actually function in a real version of the setting, there has got to be a way for the otherwise-unremarkable fanservice demon tribes to actually survive the incredibly hostile environment which Airplane otherwise described, though. Like yeah sure when you're writing a book you can just say in one breath that the demon realms are incredibly brutal and cutthroat, and then in the next that this tribe of bunny girls with no visible skills at self-defense has existed here for thousands of years, but if you actually tried to set that up in some kind of a simulation the bunny girls wouldn't last one year, let alone one thousand.

In that case of Airplane's hamster tribe, their digging skills are so supernaturally prodigious that they are able to construct massive underground fortifications in otherwise hostile terrain. But that still doesn't solve all of their problems, because they still need to acquire food, and for that they mostly do have to go up to the surface. Some of their weakness is mitigated by sheer numbers -- they have a lot of kids to offset the high mortality rate. However, to further increase the survival rates, the hamster demons also try and make contracts with some of the local liege lords or ruling clans whenever they expand into a new territory. In exchange for protection, they send some of their extraneous family members out as servants, to either cement alliances through marriage (that high fertility is helpful and was indeed the crux of Wife #whatever's acquisition in canon) or to work as diggers or even high-level architects.

As the like, twelfth son of the Hamster Demon chieftain, this is Airplane's fate. On the one hand he's highly positioned enough to get an education, and his plot knowledge helps a lot. On the other hand, he's not high enough in the hierarchy to be kept around, so it's either go work for some other clan or else risk his neck doing missions on the hostile and deadly surface. Neither seems great, but Airplane would rather try his luck as a sycophant than a warrior.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on his mood when he thinks about it) when Airplane reaches sixteen years of age, it's around the same time that the Hamster clan's tunnels have expanded towards the Northern Desert. Airplane ends up being part of the "hiii~ pleasedon'tkillus let's be friends~" tribute to Mobei Jun's father.

Mobei Jun's father tosses him to Mobei Jun, so Airplane dutifully latches onto him in order to avoid being eaten by any of the other retainers. Airplane has been educated in various subterranean building skills and is under the impression that he's been given to MBJ in order to build him his own palace or something?

Everyone else assumes that the Hamster demon is a concubine.

Mobei Jun also thinks that's what he's been given, but he's too busy bristling in teenage offense at being given a concubine by his father to actually consider taking Airplane to bed. So when Airplane starts doing other things for him, he just sort of bemusedly lets it happen.

Gradually it becomes apparent that Airplane himself isn't interested in being a concubine. No. Clearly, this Hamster is gunning for future empress of the Northern Desert! How else would one explain all the lengths he's going to not only to win Mobei Jun's favor, but to secure his position and ensure his future rule? The system also wants Airplane to ensure the Abyss plot arc happens in the future, too, which means Airplane helps Mobei Jun win and instigate conflicts against the righteous cultivation sects too.

Obviously, Airplane wants power. Mobei Jun knows that if he gets an heir off of Airplane that will be that, the wily minx will use any children to secure his position, and MBJ is not convinced he could control himself well enough to prevent that sort of eventually. Airplane is fiendishly attractive, and he clearly knows it, and Mobei Jun is not sure if he wants to accept what increasingly seems to be the inevitable. He won't be a ladder for someone else's ambitions! But... as long as Airplane remains loyal to him, he will consider it. Even if Airplane never harbors any true affection for him, and simply considers him a means to an end. If, by the time he ascends the Hamster has not betrayed him or tried to elevate himself by flipping over this uncle's side, or seduced any of his other relatives or any of the highly-placed lords all salivating to steal MBJ's would-be empress, then Mobei Jun will grant his wish and make him the second most powerful demon in the North.

Airplane, meanwhile, just wants a snack and a nap. Maybe if he builds a secure enough fortress and amasses enough of an intelligence network and hoards a few advantages for himself, and figures out how to stop pissing off MBJ, he'll survive long enough to retire. Somehow.

#moshang #svsss #mobei jun #shang qinghua #airplane shooting towards the sky #scum villain's self saving system #og shang qinghua doesn't factor in I don't think #airplane gets shipped north around when mbj would have run into hhp and rescues him instead

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abbyfmc · 1 year ago

Text

[Together in the afterlife]

Yandere Emperor! x Concubine! Reader:

TW: Mention of murder, kidnapping, harassment, rape, poisoning, and yandere behavior.

Postscript: Here I mention a practice in ancient China in which emperors prior to the Qing dynasty. When these died, I understand that their concubines were forced to commit suicide or were buried alive to follow the emperor in the afterlife.

Oh, and I don't own the text separators.

It's been years since the emperor kidnapped you in the palace. You were a young woman with desires for a peaceful life with your former fiancé and starting your family with him; However, you had the bad luck that the emperor saw you on one of his trips around the country, and consequently he became obsessed with you no matter how much you rejected him.

He gave you many opportunities while he insisted on you, but his patience ran out when he kidnapped you in his palace; He kept insisting on you; he forced you to marry him; He basically carried out genocide against your family, partner and friends and then he raped you in his room not once, but several times. He forced you to give birth to his children, the fifth prince and the seventh princess.

You continued to hate him greatly and you let him know it, which he didn't like at all. You avoided him; you tried to escape multiple times, resulting in confinement and punishment, or having your right to raise your children taken away (although they were later returned to you). You tried to dodge turn-down service, which caused him to lock himself in with you; He forced you to be with him and hug him, kiss him, pamper him, take walks, eat and even talk to him. But NOTHING made you forget what he did to you.

-"Tell me you love me".- He told you constantly as an order, and he wouldn't leave you alone until he heard you say it.

He subjected you to his desires and whims, only to receive secret hatred. He named your son as crown prince, while your daughter is about to get married far from you. You didn't want your son to be like him, and you didn't want your daughter to get married far from you. You were honestly sick of everything you had to suffer.

Luckily, the emperor returned from a trip during which he accidentally contracted smallpox. You took advantage of this to approach him with the intention of "taking care of him", when what you were actually doing was poisoning him. You saw how he weakened and you had to hide your face full of pleasure at seeing him suffer. You managed to find the decree that named your son emperor; you erased your son's name and replaced it with that of another prince.

You were NOT going to allow the pressure and ambition of an emperor to fall on your son and then completely corrupt him. I didn't want him to become greedy, narcissistic, ambitious or cruel like your husband was; However, you did not find any decree regarding a marriage alliance between your daughter and someone else.

It all continued until his last day, when you coldly confessed to him EVERYTHING you did.

-What?, Why did you do that?!- He asked you, alarmed.

-Like why, your majesty?- You asked, starting to feel some annoyance and helplessness. -Don't you remember everything you did to me?- The emperor began to hyperventilate and feel sick due to the poison. This time you gave him a lethal dose.

-I… the only thing I did was… love you with all my heart.- The emperor joins with difficulty, sitting in his bed while you only stayed with his back to him. You let tears fall down your cheeks by remembering everything he made to you.

-If by loving you mean harassing me, kidnapping me, forcing me to marry you, killing my loved ones, keeping me confined, raping me until I become pregnant and forcing me to submit to you, you are what I hate the most!; I HATE YOU!- You claimed him with rage, hatred, pain and anger while you cried. You turned around only to see him dying and spitting blood on the ground, fighting for his life as you felt his heart shatter from such cruel words coming from you.

-You are… ungrateful- He responded with noticeable disappointment even with some difficulty; However, that turned into a weak and strange laugh. -But do not worry. I also have a future surprise well… in store for you.- This last one disconcerted you a little. Before you had any chance to ask, the emperor passed away.

The funeral was carried out quickly. You pretended to cry out of sadness, because you didn't feel anything about your husband's death except coldness. Who would have imagined that the eunuch would read a secret decree that stated the following:

"If I, Emperor Yeng, die one day for whatever reason; I order that consort (Y/n) not only be posthumously promoted to empress, but that she be buried along with me in my same coffin dead or alive, to remain together forever. Funeral rites worthy of a couple of emperors must be followed. No one is authorized to separate us, and anyone who does MUST BE EXECUTED BY THE EMPEROR IN TURN IMMEDIATELY."

Horrified, you tried to run away to save yourself, but the servants caught you and no matter how hard you fight, you couldn't free yourself in any way. They had to knock you unconscious to prevent your escape.

While you were unconscious, they dressed you in the imperial ceremony costume of an empress and even put makeup on you and then took you to the coffin of your husband whom you had hated so much, put you in there and left you there and then buried you… still alive.

When you woke up you realized your terrible reality and you were terrified to the point of starting to scream and bang on the lid of the coffin, without any success. The emperor loved you so much that it didn't matter how much you hated him, because even in death he wasn't willing to let you go.

He loves you to the point of not letting you live with anyone else after his death, since he can't stand how you abandon him, which has caused him to take advantage of a bloodthirsty and cruel tradition and use it as a way to be together forever in the afterlife.

-The End.

#yandere #yandere oc #cw yandere #yandere love #yandere x you #yandere male #platonic yandere #tw yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere boy #yandere x darling #obsessive yandere #yandere aesthetic #yandere emperor x reader #yandere fanfiction

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andy-15-07 · 1 year ago

Note

Are your requests open??

I would love to see you where the reader/OFC is a concubine of Paul Atreides. She doesn’t get much attention from him but when she goes in to labor there is a complication and she becomes scared. Paul as the Emperor shows up to help her through the labor and starts developing a positive relationship with her and his child postpartum.

Thank you!! Please keep writing things you have passion for!! ❤️

Bonds Beyond Blood

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

Y/n lay on the ornate bed, her hand clutching the bedsheets tightly as pain wracked through her body. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her breathing shallow and labored. The midwives moved around her with practiced efficiency, but their words seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of her fear.

Paul Atreides, the Emperor, stood by the doorway, his expression a mask of concern. He had never been one to show much interest in Y/n, his concubine, beyond the duties of his station. But now, as he watched her struggle, something stirred within him.

"Is she going to be alright?" Paul asked the head midwife, his voice betraying a hint of anxiety.

The midwife glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to Y/n. "We are doing everything we can, Your Majesty. But there are complications. The baby's position is not ideal, and Y/n is exhausted."

Paul nodded, his jaw clenched. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that washed over him. This was one situation he couldn't control with his political power or military might.

Y/n's cries filled the room, echoing off the walls of the chamber. Paul felt a pang of guilt deep within him. He had neglected her, taken her presence for granted. But now, seeing her in such agony, he couldn't ignore the bond they shared, however distant it had been.

Without a word, Paul crossed the room and took Y/n's hand in his own. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and pain.

"Paul..." she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm here, Y/n," Paul said softly, his tone soothing. "I won't leave your side."

Y/n squeezed his hand tightly, drawing strength from his presence. Despite their past indifference, she found solace in his touch, in the warmth of his hand against hers.

Minutes stretched into hours as Y/n endured the agonizing pain of labor. Paul remained by her side, offering words of encouragement and support. With each contraction, he whispered words of reassurance, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of her fear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room. Tears of relief streamed down Y/n's cheeks as she held her newborn child in her arms.

Paul watched, his heart swelling with emotion, as Y/n cradled their child against her chest. In that moment, he felt a connection unlike any he had ever known before. It wasn't just the bond of blood that tied him to this child, but something deeper, something more profound.

"I never knew..." Paul began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "Neither did I," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft cries of their child.

In the days that followed, Paul remained by Y/n's side, helping her adjust to motherhood and caring for their newborn child. With each passing day, their bond grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity and nurtured by the love they shared for their child.

As they sat together in the quiet moments of the night, watching over their sleeping infant, Paul found himself opening up to Y/n in a way he never thought possible. He shared his fears, his hopes, his dreams for the future, laying bare his soul before her.

And in turn, Y/n shared her own hopes and dreams, her fears and insecurities, trusting Paul with her most intimate thoughts and feelings.

In the weeks and months that followed, Paul and Y/n's relationship blossomed into something beautiful and profound. They may have started as mere strangers, bound together by duty and circumstance, but now they were so much more than that.

They were partners, allies, confidants. And as they watched their child grow and thrive, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, united in love and devotion.

For in the end, it wasn't power or prestige that defined them, but the simple yet profound bond of family. And in that bond, they found the true meaning of happiness and fulfillment.

#paul atreides imagines #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x female reader #paul atreides x you #paul atreides #paul atreides imagine #dune x you #dune x reader #dune imagines #dune imagine #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x reader

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carriagelamp · 6 months ago

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My favourite books from 2024! Another really strong year of books for me -- every year will have some stinkers and a bunch of middling reads, but the highs of this year were really high so I'm pretty content

As always, I give more detailed descriptions and opinions of the books in my month reviews, but here's a quick breakdown for anyone who's interested:

The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt

A non-fiction book that looks at how childhood has been “rewired”, focusing specifically on the increase of overprotective parenting, increase of tablet/social media usage, and decrease of unstructured, independent play. It was a fascinating read that really looked at how children need to be given lots of opportunities to play, take risks, and make mistakes in order to learn and grow and how a loss of that might be impacting people’s mental health. As someone right on the cusp of the age bracket that’s being focused on, it felt very exposing.

Apothecary Diaries v1-2 by Natsu Hyuuga

Maomao is kidnapped and sold as a servant to the imperial palace, where she serves as a general dogsbody in the rear palace, home of the emperor’s various consorts and concubines. She’s determined to keep her head down until her contract is up… until she helps solve a mystery and catches the eye of the powerful eunech Jinshi who soon learns about her in-depth knowledge of apothecary work and anything to do with poisons. Very funny premise, Maomao hates Jinshi soooo much and he is such a simp for it. She just wants to eat poisons and be left alone and he says “no<3” to both of those

Bury Your Gays (and Straight) by Chuck Tingle

Both of these are very explicitly queer horror novels. Straight is a novella that riffs on the format of a zombie story, but with straight people becoming inexplicably violent towards queer people one day a year. Bury Your Gays is about a Hollywood screenwriter who realises his horror creations are begin to stalk him in the real world. Both are very intentionally built around social commentary on queer issues, and despite have audacious premises they completely own their camp and end up producing really well thought out, insightful stories. I can’t say I liked either as much as Camp Damascus but either is worth a read.

Console Wars by Blake J. Harris (and Blood, Sweat, and Pixels by Jason Schreier)

Console Wars is a nonfiction book I’ve meant to read for years on my brother’s recommendation and I quite enjoyed it. It explores the history of the video game console market in North America, with a focus on how Nintendo revitalized it and how Sega then swooped in to upset the monopoly it held. The book is written in a very narrative, personable style and I found myself really rooting for the various people and companies being portrayed ahahaha. A shockingly fun read. I also read Blood, Sweat, and Pixels which wasn’t quite as narratively compelling but a related read that looked at games with complex development cycles.

Defekt by Nino Cipri

Technically the sequel to Finna which I also read this year, but Defekt works as a stand-alone and is, imho, the better of the two. Both deal with a surrealist horror Ikea setting, where the sheer density and liminal-space-ness of it all allows strange wormholes to open up between these stores from different dimensions. Finna deals with actual wormhole hopping, whereas Defekt focuses in on one employee who gets assigned to a very strange overnight inventory shift.

The Disabled Tyrant’s Beloved Pet Fish v1-2 by Xue Shan Fei Hu

Fish isekai book. Is this a good book? No. Is it a really really fun book? Yes, in spades. In this book, Li Yu wakes up in a court drama novel… but not as a character but rather as the tyrannical prince’s pet fish. He is given the task to improve the prince and is stuck figuring out how the hell to do this as a fish. This book knows exactly how ridiculous it is and leans into it. Li Yu and Prince Jing are both idiots in very unique and exciting directions. No one knows what the fuck is happening.

Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire

A prequel to Every Heart a Doorway, though it works perfectly well as a standalone. Honestly I liked it more than the first. This book has deliciously gothic horror vibes, and it plays with all the tropes you would expect from gothic horror / fear of the sublime. It’s about sisters who find a strange chest that lets them descend to the sinister land of the Moors. This is where vampires rule, werewolves stalk, and mad scientist’s ply their craft. The girls end up separated on and very different trajectories as they grow and acclimatize to the brutal existence of the Moors.

Escape From Incel Island by Margaret Killjoy

Exactly what it says on the tin. Completely insane book that is very worth the read if you feel like something that is patently insane. I strongly recommend treating this as a read aloud with a friend or loved one because I read it with my brother and couldn’t stop laughing. Top notch mercenary Mankiller Jones is sent to escort a computer scientist to Incel Island to retrieve lost governmental data. There they have to survive the hoards of Nice Guys, Volcels, Betas, and every other violent inhabitant of the island if they ever want to… escape from Incel Island.

Heaven Official’s Blessing v6-8 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

I finished the main series of Heaven Official’s Blessing (without reading the extras yet), and man what an ending! I could not have asked for a more epic or satisfying conclusion! The final battle and its various stages? The character reconciliation? The villain reveal? Perfect, no notes. The series itself follows Xie Lian, a prince who has ascended to godhood twice and been cursed and cast out from Heaven just as many times, giving him the title of the Laughingstock God. The story begins with him, to everyone’s dismay, ascending a third time.

Horrorstör (and Paperbacks from Hell, My Best Friend’s Exorcism) by Grady Hendrix

This book also deals with a Strange Alternate Ikea, but is the superior book. This was one of my top reads for 2024, and it was flawless horror. It is essentially a haunted house story set in an Ikea, that manages to be both chilling, disgusting, and a shockingly insightful critique of capitalism and retail. Very worth the read.

After reading this I also read Paperbacks from Hell (a nonfiction book that does an analysis of horror fiction from the ‘70s and ‘80s, very good read) and My Best Friend’s Exorcism (which was decent but not my favourite of Hendrix’s since possession and exorcism isn’t my favourite brand of horror. The vaguely queer undertones and ending I found interesting, and it did some cool things throughout.)

Jeeves and Wooster books by P.G. Wodehouse

I ended up listening to so many of the Jeeves and Wooster audiobooks this summer while I was travelling. There were some I really really loved and some that fell very flat for me. I think I listened to too many in a row by the end… These books are like popcorn, not deep but very fun, and follow the airheaded but good natured Bertie Wooster and his man Jeeves who unfailing swoops in to solve all the strange and inane problems the Bertie gets involved in. They tend to be funny, light-hearted, and clever in their resolution of plot problems… though some of the issues do get rather repetitive. My favourites were: The Inimitable Jeeves, Very Good Jeeves, Right Ho Jeeves, and the Code of the Woosters.

Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi

Some excellent science fiction, especially for my Pacific Rim loving heart. This bordered on the cosy fantasy genre, while mixing in plenty of science, world-building and a good dash of excitement. During the Covid-19 lockdown, Jamie Gray is stuck trying to make ends meet as a food delivery driver… until he runs into an old acquaintance who suggests he might have a very different job offer for him. Jamie ends up joining this very secretive “animal rights group” and finds out just how massive, dangerous, and otherworldly these “animals” are by being risked to an entirely different dimension filled with giant, radioactive monsters.

Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books by Kirsten Miller

One of my favourite books from this year! Tthis book managed to hit on very topical subjects with both tact and humour. Lula Dean has spearheaded a book banning crusade, managing to get a number of “problematic” books removed from the library and has made a show of setting up a Little Free Library in her yard full of “appropriate” books instead. When Beverly Underwood visits her mother and hears about this she’s so exasperated with it all that she quickly hatches a plan swapping out the dust jackets of some of the banned books with the ones in Lula Dean’s Little Free Library. The rest of the story is about various people in the town who borrow a book from Lula Dean’s library and how the book they got instead ends up impacting not just themselves but their town. The first story involves a penis cake. Can’t recommend it enough, starts out humour and quickly becomes something you want to rally around.

My Happy Marriage v1 by Akumi Agitogi

This was pure mindless fluff, it was honestly a delight. This is a low-fantasy, Cinderella-esque story set in the Taishō era. It focuses on Miyo Saimori who lives under the thumb of her cruel step-mother, haughty step-sister, and indifferent father. She’s resigned to being treated like a servant in her own home and ekeing out a strained existence, but her life takes a turn when she finds herself nominally engaged to the allegedly cold and cruel Kiyoka Kudou. It’s just absolutely overwhelmingly cute and I really enjoy the contrasting POVs.

A Series of Unfortunate Events and Poison for Breakfast by Lemony Snicket

I’d never finished The Series of Unfortunate Events when it was originally coming out, so I finally sat down and did that, and honestly it was well worth the wait! It was a very interesting series to read as an adult, especially all in one go, because it really let me appreciate everything that Snicket was trying to say. It was a much more clever and philosophical read than I was anticipating, and The End was fucking superb. He absolutely stuck the landing, it completely blew me away. Poison For Breakfast was also a very interesting standalone novella that felt like surrealist philosophy. I might have even enjoyed it more than the basic TSOUE.

The Poison Squad (and The Poisoner’s Handbooks) by Deborah Blum

Poison Squad is a very compelling and topical nonfiction about the formation of the American Food and Drug act. The state of unregulated food processing in the late 19th century was, in a word, nightmarish. Don’t read this book if you have a weak stomach. But it’s completely fascinating to see how one person, Dr Harvey Wiley, made it a personal mission to scientifically prove what all these mysterious food additives were doing to people and put limits to what could be sold to consumers. I liked it so much I went to read Blum’s other book, The Poisoner’s Handbook which is set during Prohibition and explores the rise of forensic medicine and again exposes how people were being poisoned by simply living their standard lives.

The Pushcart War by Jean Merrill

The real, true history of the New York City Pushcart War!! For real!!! This is a delightful underdog story that is really written in the style of a history textbook recounting the fictional Pushchart War. This war started in New York City as the roads get increasingly congested with traffic, the worst offenders being the increasingly massive and arrogant trucks. The trucking companies hatch a plan though: if they begin to push out the little pushcarts, framing them as the problem for the congestion, then how hard would it be to push out taxis next? Or buses? Or motorcars? How long until they can make the road a perfect habit for trucks and trucks alone? How can something as small and poor as a pushcart owner fight back?

Railsea (and This Census-Taker) by China Miéville

I heard Railsea described on tumblr and it sounded sufficiently insane that I had to read it for myself. This author is truly unrivaled when it comes to bizarre worldbuilding that feels both very, very grounded in reality while also being completely unexplained and impossible. Railsea is essentially a Moby Dick meets Treasure Island retelling but with trains instead of boats and giant, mutated, vicious moles instead of whales. Unhinged. Can’t recommend enough. I followed this up by reading his novella This Census-Taker which was not as much of a frolicking adventure but fucked with my brain just as much or more than Railsea did. Genuinely not sure I even know what happened in that story but I enjoyed the experience of being completely fucking baffled for some 200 pages.

The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

Another book to ideally not read if you have a weak stomach. This novella is very big on unrelenting body horror. This is a twisted fairytale retelling in which a cannibalistic Little Mermaid meets a plague doctor Frankenstein. Both of them are walking away from cruel past lives, along a trail that’s soaked in blood and viscera. You feel how painfuly and disgustingly human this book is, while also being so wildly separate from anything that resembles human anatomy or morality. Superb.

Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System v1-4 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

The last of MXTX’s three series I needed to read. It was the one I was most hesitant about, but I ended up having a really great time with it. It is simultaneously the most light-hearted and silly of the three series, while also the one that most gleefully dives into torture and sex. So you get a bit of everything with this, and as usual MXTX does a really good job of mixing the humour and series in a way that keeps things constantly interesting. The story is about Shen Yuan who dies our of pure, frothing fury after reading the shitty ending to the shitty, porny webnovel he’s been reading for hundreds of thousands of words. He dies cursing the lousy author and the lousy writing so he’s given a chance: step up and do it better! Which is easier said than done, when he finds himself waking up in the body of the series’ villain who is destined to be gruesomely tortured to death. Better get on that!

Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent by Judi Dench and Brendan O'Hea

This is the written result of a number of interviews held between Judi Dench and Brendan O’Hea and she discusses her time as a Shakespearean actress. It looks into what her time working with theatre companies was like, summarizes the plays she took part in, and delivers into some fascinating character analysis of the roles she played. An absolute treasure of a book for someone who enjoyed their Shakespeare and/or Judi Dench.

Singing Hills Cycle v1-5 by Nghi Vo

Probably my favourite series that I read this year, I can’t wait for the next book! This series follows Chih and her magical bird companion who come from the Singing Hills Monastery, an order that is devoted to keep recording tales and keeping a history of the land. Chih travels all over in these various novellas, collecting stories, memories, and histories that they come across. The first book has them entering the recently unwarded palace of the late Empress to learn about her marriage, imprisonment and rise in power. The second has them trapped by a pack of tigresses with nothing to do but frantically lure them into comparing stories.

The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Ten year old Ada was born with a club foot and because of it has never been allowed to leave her apartment. She lives a hard life trying to care for her younger brother and suffer through the abuses of her mother. Things change though as the Second World War truly begins and London begins to evacuate children to the country. Ada is determined — she and her brother will evacuate, they will escape their mother’s house, even if it means her learning how to walk on her club foot. Even if it means facing how different life is for unwanted slum children in the country, and confronting how much she and her brother don’t know about life. This was a very touching book, it did a great job of balancing Ada’s justifiable pain and anger with an optimistic story. Queer elements are all subtext but there — they aren’t the main focus of this story.

When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill

This book absolutely took my breath away, it was a next level literary experience. It’s very, very solidly magical realism, so don’t go into this expecting true fantasy, everything going on here is allegorical and a beautifully done allegory at that. This story is set during the 1950s, in a time surrounding an event known as “The Mass Dragoning” when thousands of women suddenly, spontaneously, transformed into dragons and flew away. The story follows Alex Green who was a child during this event. Her aunt transformed. Her mother didn’t. Both of these things have profound impacts on Alex as she grows up, and a woman’s role in society, a woman’s anger, her joy, her desire are all questioned and explored.

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meli-writes · 3 months ago

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merc who's sold out to a system-cluster of tech-feudalists, trading in the freedom of contract boards for a sizeable estate and a title that's neither advanceable nor hereditary. but then who gives a fuck about that in this childless, short-lived line of work?

turns out 'oaths' require a lot more killing than contracts for the same reward (nobles excluded ofc). running into old rivals means putting them down before they realise you aren't pulling your shots like they are -- old, bargained terms that cut repair costs, boosted survival.

less fun where they're old flames & cute idiots, but then it also turns out making them concubines is legally considered death to feudies. so you're pulling shots again, and when they're hazed-out in a tipped-over frame it's disturbingly easy to pop their lids and collar them.

the idea had more merit when there was only 3 of them. felt like a good way to offset folding on your moral compunctions.

the feelings have gotten a bit more complicated now you're up to 12.

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brandwhorestarscream · 1 month ago

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Could I get late pregnancy consort Megatron? A continuation pretty please?

Absolutely! 🥰

...

"Lord Prime!"

Optimus jumps as the doors rush open. The minibot is panting as if he'd run all the way here, and... he's wearing the telltale silver and velvety red of the Ruby Pavillion. It's the middle of the night, though technically, it's the new day already. The only ones who should be awake right now are the nightwatch.

"Are you alright?" He stands up and rounds his desk, kneeling down to help steady them. They're bent double with both servos braced on their knees. "There, try to vent, little one..."

"F... Forgive me!" The small mech wheezes. "I'm- n-not-!" He gasps. "Much of a runner!"

Optimus frowns. He sounds rattly and wheezy inside. He gently pats at his back. "It's alright, take your time."

However, the minibot shakes his helm. "S-Sorry, m'lord! The," he takes a final, heaving vent. "The Lord Concubine is in labor!"

Optimus nearly falls over. "What?!"

The twins aren't due for another 3 decacycles! Ratchet had warned them that an early delivery wasn't just possible, but likely. They were big babies, and stretching their carrier's gestation tank to the max. His seal was likely to rupture before they were fully ready to come out. That was why they had ceserean scheduled in 3 decacycles: that was early! The earliest that Ratchet had said their safety would be all but guaranteed! But if he was delivering now-!

He trips over himself in his rush to stand, and misjudges the depth of the door, clocking it with his shoulder and making sparks fly as he burst into the hallway. Taking off at a mad dash, he nearly runs over poor Ironhide and is so panicked he doesn't even remember if he shouts an apology over his shoulder.

He lets himself into the Ruby Pavillion, the villa designated for his concubine from Kaon. Rude, but there's no time for propriety! Ascending the stairs two at a time he finally makes it to the master berthroom suite. "Megatronus!" He gasps. "M-Megatronus, are you alright?! How are you-"

"Quiet!" Ratchet immediately scolds him with a withering look. He and Soundwave are in the middle of helping Megatron into a hoverchair for transportation to the medical wing. He'd been confined to extremely strict bedrest lately, much to his chagrin, but now he just looks miserable. His optics are pale and bleached out, and he glistens with a cold condensation. His belly is distended, painfully so, bursting at the seams with his protometal stretched so thin to accommodate the massive weight in his gestation tank. If Optimus looks hard enough, his midsection looks somewhat transluscent.

He doesn't smile when he sees Optimus, but some of the tension around his optics does melt off when their gazes meet. He looks dazed, and afraid, and indescribably uncomfortable. His spark aches that his precious mate has had to suffer so much for their children. The discomfort on his face suddenly morphs into pain and he grunts, wrapping both arms around his midsection.

"Another contraction," Ratchet slips a palm onto the concubine's forehelm to prop his face up, studying his expression for only a moment to make sure he wasn't about to faint. "Soundwave?"

"14 kliks."

The medic hums and secures one of the patient's legs. "Keep timing those."

Optimus feels useless, standing there in the doorway, even moreso when there's the scampering of tiny pedes and a brash voice demands he, "Move it or lose it, big guy!"

He stumbles to the side to let Rumble in, who's come with a tray and a large, steaming cup. He rushes it over to the concubine, who shakily thanks him and reaches to take it.

"Hey, don't block the doorways!"

Optimus steps to the other side, and Frenzy bolts past with a wet cloth. He climbs the hoverchair fearlessly, dabbing at Megatron's face and blotting away sticky condensation. If the way the concubine leans into the touch is any indication, it must feel nice. The Prime swallows. "Is there-"

"Alright, roll out." Ratchet gives the hoverchair one last once over, then moves behind him to grab the handles. His pace is steady but swift, shooing Optimus out of the doorway. Megatron's procession follows them closely, Rumble and Frenzy dashing ahead in the name of clearing a path. There was no one around, but the sentiment was sweet.

Arrival at the medical wing shows Ratchet snapping at, "First Aid, is the ultrasound ready? Ambulon, double disinfect the OR! Pharma, vitals on Baby-2 while I get Baby-1!"

They work like a well oiled machine, incredibly smoothly and carrying out Ratchet's orders with swift precision. Optimus draws near with ginger steps, servos clasped and subtly shaking. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, keep him calm," Ratchet doesn't even look at him as he and Soundwave lift the patient from his chair and directly onto one of the berths. "The less stress hormones in the bloodstream the better."

He can do that! Megatron still looks dazed, denta clenched but lips parted slightly, so Optimus can get a flash of his fangs. His vents are labored, heavy and rather slow, while his optics are squinting heavily against the overhead flourescent lights. His EM field radiaties a stuffy malcontent, almost reminiscent of feverish misery.

The Prime blinks, and gently brushes his fingers over Megatron's forehelm. He does feel warm...

"Frenzy?" The minicon immediately stands at attention, damp cloth from before now thrown over his shoulder and temporarily abandoned. Optimus nods at it. "May I borrow that?"

First, he gently sponges the other mech's forehelm, then takes great care to wipe his cheeks. He sweeps it in tender, loving strokes over his helm, then beneath his chin and across his neck. Megatron's systems make a soft, pleased rumble, and Optimus hopes it helps him find even an ounce of reprieve.

The silver mech yelps and grabs at his abdomen again. His whole face pulls taut, and faintly, the Prime can hear his jaw creaking. He squirms on the berth, optics squeezing shut. "GAH-! Frag!"

"12 kliks." Soundwave reports helpfully.

Within only another klik, First Aid is applying ultrasound gel to his belly. "Your tank is routinely contracting, but they could be falsies," The nurse gives them his sweetest smile. "Your seal is still in tact, and look here, Baby-2 isn't in the birthing position." Baby-1 was though, visibly upside down with their pedes in their sibling's face.

"Vitals are stable," Pharma reports. "As of now, Baby-2 is perfectly fine."

"As is Baby-1," Ratchet sounds relieved, but he's still frowning. "I don't want to take you to surgery until we're sure, Lord Concubine. There's a chance the contractions stop, but if your seal breaks, we will have to operate. Do you understand?"

Megatron's makes a gravelly, non-committal noise and raises one servo, making a gesture Optimus doesn't recognize. Soundwave clearly does, though, because he nods and says, "He understands."

Leaving Megatron under the other's care, Ratchet pulls Optimus into the hall. "This isn't good, Pax. You've puzzled that out by now?"

He swallows, whole chassis feeling tight. He can feel panic and a dozen what-ifs there, boiling just under the surface and eager to burst out. He forces it down. "Y- Yes."

His amica sighs, and drags one servo down his face. "If it comes to it, who should I prioritize?"

Optimus doesn't answer him. He can't. How could he? To choose between one of their two babies, to choose between one of them or his mate, to choose between both of them and his mate! All are horrible options, and he can't bring himself to choose. Even entertaining the idea feels like a betrayal, and he has the urge to apologize profusely to his little family.

"Pax. I need to know if you don't want me to fall back on policy."

Policies from his predecessors' times. The inner palace existed, first and foremost, to cultivate the Prime's seeds and create heirs for the next dynasty. If a staff member was tasked to choose between the safety of a concubine and the safety of a prince or a princess, they were to choose the Prime's sparkling. Every time, unless he instructed them otherwise.

Optimus makes a sparkbroken, keening noise and drops his face into his servos. What an impossible situation!

When he returns to Megatron's side at last, his concubine looks a bit more aware than before. His gaze immediately flits to his, and when their optics meet, one corner of his mouth twitches upward. He extracts one servo out from under the covers, and as he's folding to one knee at his bedside, Optimus grabs it. Cradling his servo in both of his, feeling vaguely nauseous as he looks down upon his face. Megatron... is so indescribably precious to him. Imagining a life with only a memorial he can talk to, and a sparkling or two that bear his face to forever haunt these halls... taunting them with his absence...

He sincerely can't imagine anything more miserable. Gently, he cups his concubine's face, and leans in to kiss him. Sweetly, he relishes in the touch, of the peace that washes over him and the happy rush that always seems to surge through him. "I love you," he stresses as they separate. "You're going to be alright. I won't leave your side, not for anything, I swear."

Megatron shifts minutely. "Waxing poetic so early in the morning, Prime? Such a sap."

Uncaring, Optimus kisses him again. Unable to stop himself, he rises a bit further to kiss his forehelm, over and over again. "I love you," he declares between each kiss. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

True to his word, Optimus stays in the medical wing with him all night. He refuses to be shooed back to his room for 'proper' recharge, and in an act of defiance, drags a berth from an adjacent room into the suite where they're monitoring his concubine. He lays down beside him, holding him or rubbing his belly in an attempt to help soothe. The sparklings, at long last, are too riled up to refuse to kick at their sire, and they don't seem to enjoy having their dwelling contracting and squeezing around them. Everytime he has a contraction, their unborn twins respond in kind with punishing kicks and jabs. Optimus can't even enjoy it, though, because their poor mother looks like he's in agony.

Megatron is unable to sleep despite his exhaustion, and Optimus stays awake with him. The medical team drifts in and out, ensuring his vitals remain stable and routinely checking the status of the sparklings. Ratchet gives him something for the pain, but forbids him from eating anything. It's a long, incredibly restless night, and by the time the sun is cresting over the horizon, his seal still hasn't broken. The contractions remain steady, though, so Ratchet insists on keeping him confined for observation. Optimus has morning meetings and duties to attend to, and he doesn't feel even a shred of guilt cancelling them all. His first, second, and last priority are the safety of his mate and the uncomplicated delivery of their newsparks.

The morning drags by in an insufferable drudge. His contractions are consistently less than 10 kliks apart now, though just barely. His face is a perfect picture misery, brows pinched and jaw clenched with something frail at the edge of his expression, like he's about to scream and cry. Optimus feels useless next to him, trying fruitlessly to soothe and support him. He'd read plenty on the subject, of how best to be a supportive partner in the delivery room, but now all of his prep is falling flat. He wasn't at all prepared to do quite so much waiting, and wasn't prepared for the love of his life to be suffering right beneath his fingers and for him to be unable to do anything to aid him. It's enough to make him feel like a failure of a conjunx.

Soundwave arrives for the 6th time that morning, and with him, he carries a small, covered bowl. "Lord Megatron? I found some."

Optimus helps him to sit up, one arm wrapping around him to hold him steady while the other gently squeezes his servo. Soundwave draws nearer, and when he removes the lid from the silver bowl, a plume of white smoke rises. It smells distinctly sweet.

Looking desperate, the concubine gladly takes it from him. Drawing it close to his face he takes several deep, dragging inhalations, then slumps heavily against Optimus's shoulder. "Megatronus-?!"

"Only recharging," Soundwave explains. "An aid for laboring carriers. Lord Megatron has fetched it for me in the past."

"And it's safe?"

"Yes." Nevermind the fact that it never would've made it into the palace if it wasn't. All six of his own children had been born after he'd utilized it at least once.

Looking relieved, Optimus finally takes a moment to observe Megatron's sleeping face. The pain is gone, and replaced with a slack expression belying his sheer exhaustion. With his helm pillowed on his shoulder and cheek smooshed against him, Optimus feels his spark swell with affection. Thank goodness he was sleeping, Primus knew he deserved it. He kisses the silver mech's forehelm, then tucks his helm beneath his chin, wrapping both arms around him fully. One servo rests on his belly, and he rubs it when one of their sparklings kicks him. "Rest, my love," he murmurs. "I will be here when you wake, I promise you this."

...

You said you wanted late pregnancy? How's that for late pregnancy? ^-^

Tbh i love this AU so much I'll write you as many drabbles as you want. Please keep requesting them 💖

#concubine megatron au #megatron #optimus #megop #ratchet #soundwave

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months ago

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So I’ve seen your many wonderful posts on your worldbuilding with demon courtnapping customs (love those), but I do remember you mentioning in the post where Shadowpeach accidentally reverse-courtnaps each other that Macaque prior to then only knew about Celestial courting customs.

I’m curious about how Celestial customs compare/contrast with demon courtnapping. Is it similar to mortal ancient traditional Chinese customs and practices, or are their dissimilar components that have it stand apart?

OG Courtnapping lore post.

Since the Celestial Realm in mythology and Jttw is meant to be a critique/romanticism of Imperial China - I can imagine that their traditional courting practices are very different from demons on Earth/in the Underworld.

When the celestial court became more and more professional (i.e emotionless and human-like), open expressions of affection became less acceptable in public settings. Such expressions can be seen as "lewd" or "bold" in the eyes of the godly bureaucrats and cupbearers.

A typical celestial courting may include:

Requests to go on walks together.

Sharing food, especially fruit.

Serenading/Playing instruments for one another.

Poetry; written or recited.

Asking your respect family for permission to court.

Hot springs/baths (for steamier dates. lots of Chinese mythos art uses bathing as a stand-in for sexual activity between couples). Note: may cause miscommunication between celestials and their demon/dragon companions since chilling in the baths or springs with your homies isn't seen as a big deal in demon or dragon culture.

Not to mention in terms of marriage; Celestials (at least pre-modern times) most likely performed arrange marriages that were more business deals between the parents rather than romantic partnerships between couples.

Arrangements are likely a rarity outside lesser noble families though; considering that the Jade Emperor and Queen Mother themselves are a love pairing without any concubines or mistresses. I hc that Mortal practices sorta seeped into Celestial and Underworld culture over the centuries (possibly due to mortal humans becoming Xian/Demons in their own right), and with the modern day those very same traditional practices have fallen out of favour.

I do remember an adaptation of Lotus Lantern (Prelude to the Lotus Lantern) where Erlang was arrange-married to Ao Cunxin (older sister of Ao Lie), only for them to divorce many years later. And even then there seemed to be romantic attraction on both sides prior to the marriage.

Hilariously this implies that theres a need for a royal arranged marriage between the Celestial and Dragon royal families. Something to keep the peace.

(Nezha/Ao Bing, or Dragonfruit Swan Princess au when?)

For same-sex couples; they may make their attraction/relationship status known through "sworn brotherhood". While normally sworn brotherhood is purely platonic; the term is used in antiquity to describe homosexual relationships in a time before it was more widely accepted. Therefore a prospective couple may declare themselves sworn brethren, while also using the same contract to declare themselves legally married (with a witness or two to confirm). Theres a lot of jokes in Chinese media where Erlang asks Wukong to be his "sworn brother" (as they are in Jttw) which Wukong misreads as a marriage proposal since they're both guys. (Jiankong shippers be using this trope for centuries)

(note to self; make joke in Hib au where Dasheng and Erlang are technically married by way of sworn brotherhood contract.)

Whereas demons could announce their love from the highest mountain and carry their beloved away to a date without much of a wink from their peers - a celestial would feel scandalized for a mere hand-holding!

Macaque, being raised closer to celestials, was quick to assume many of Wukong's gestures towards him were purely platonic - no matter how much every half-bitten peach or warm hug made him blush as if it were a marriage proposal.

Wukong is often seen as a dense guy when it comes to romance, and part of that is because demons are notoriously blunt with their emotions. If Macaque hadn't outright confessed his feelings for Wukong, the Monkey King would have assumed he was just being shy. This ofc causes a lot of arguments between monkeys considering Macaque forgets that not everyone has lie-detecting ears, and Wukong often doesn't understand people's intentions or feelings if they are not made clear to him. Thankfully this gets better later on with a lot of couple's counselling.

So yeah, there can be a lot of funny clashes between the different groups of characters depending on if they were raised with modern human, demonic, or celestial courting cultures. XD

#courtnapping #shadowpeach #sun wukong #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #jiankong #jttw aus #lmk theories #jttw theories #journey to the west #lmk #lmk aus #lego monkie kid

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lucithecrow · 2 years ago

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They switched translators :( WHAT EVEN IS THIS

#the last ones were so goooddd #manhua #manhwa #comic #comics #contract concubine #<- sauce

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ordering-milk-at-a-bar · 10 months ago

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The Apothecary’s Travel Guide Chapter 1

Quickly, before we begin, I want to set some things straight about this little fic series.

This fic will use Fem!Reader in both pronouns and body descriptions. I usually stick to gender neutral stuff, but this fic just works better with a female main character in mind (or at least I think so).

While I won’t be going into actual nsfw stuff (maybe in the future, I haven’t decided), this fic will still contain sexual themes and scenarios. This fic is meant for older teens and up. I don’t write with a young audience in mind, both for this fic and in general.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Apothecary Diaries (wtf are you doing here, go watch it), the series takes place in a fictional version of Imperial China. You don’t absolutely need to watch it to read this fic, but you will have a better understanding of things if you have (also, it’s just a really good show, very well written with one of the best female protags I’ve ever seen).

Also, this fic starts before Sunset, so the whole “Twilight is Wolfie” and “Hyrule can heal” things are not known yet.

–

It felt a little strange to be back in the busy streets of the pleasure district after spending months in the rear palace. But it was the good kind of strange. The smell of grilled meat skewers that you missed so much, the paper lanterns hanging overhead, people haggling for better prices in the street side shops, playing games on the side of the road, or drinking tea in teahouses. And of course, beautiful women calling men over to offer ‘special services’ in the many brothels.

It’s a sight you’re all too familiar with. Having grown up here, raised by the women of the famous Verdigris House, these things did not phase you. One would think that working in the palace would be quite the change of pace, but if there’s one thing that you’ve learned over the past however many months, it is that the palace and brothels aren’t all that different. A beautiful caged garden full of flowers for the emperor to enjoy looking upon.

In truth, if you had the choice, you would not want to have anything to do with the imperial palace, but given your situation, what could you do? You certainly didn’t ask to be kidnapped and sold off to the palace back then and you didn’t ask to be promoted to lady in waiting to one of the four highest ranking concubines. You were doing just fine as an apothecary back in the pleasure district, thank you very much.

You had originally attempted to stay low, worked as a simple, low ranking servant until your contract expired and then head home. You hid any signs of value that could get you promoted; you hid your ability to read and write, as well as hid your ‘true beauty’ so you wouldn’t become a concubine (even if a servant could only ever become a low ranking concubine). Any extra money you would have earned from those promotions would just be swiped by your kidnappers, anyway. At least you still got paid for your regular work.

Had things originally gone according to your plan, you would have worked hard and been released within three years. However, now that goal post has been moved quite a bit.

But you shouldn't be thinking about work right now; it was your day off, after all. You were back home (after managing to haggle your way into them letting you leave the palace) and that’s all that matters right now.

I should get some radishes and chicken for soup tonight. You thought as you walked down the street of the makeshift market. You hoped that your father had been eating well. He was never all that good at feeding himself. If he was starving for a few days, the old lady from the Verdigris House would force something down his throat.

Speaking of the Verdigris House, you should probably head there later. Both to say hello to your ‘big sisters,’ but also so you could take a bath there. They’d likely want some medicine, too, now that you thought about it. The last time you delivered medicine there was the day you got kidnapped.

Heh. Even on my day off I’m running errands.

With your little morning shopping excursion done, you stuffed the ingredients into the basket you carried on your back and started heading to that familiar little shack you affectionately called home. Dad should be in the fields tending to the plants right now. Honestly, he was getting too old for that trek, especially with his busted knee, but you couldn’t deny that he loved that little garden he’s cultivated over the years. Not like you were any different when it comes to your passion for medicinal herbs. As your master, he taught you everything you know about medicine; what herbs work in which situations, what to use and what to avoid, how to make medicine, what plants, mushrooms and animals were poisonous and which weren’t, etc. He was a very learned man, having studied both eastern and western medicine. With a few more years of teaching, you might be as good as him, or you hoped so, at least.

Finally you reached the calm little neighbourhood you grew up in. It was on the very outskirts of the city, not even protected by the tall stone brick walls. Looking at the small sizes of the houses, barely larger than your average shack, told people that this was where the poor lived. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Truth be told, your father was an excellent medical expert, even having worked in the palace before from what you’ve heard, but for all his skill and knowledge, he had terrible luck, which is why he ended up living here instead of somewhere more fitting for his stature.

But when you got to your little childhood home, you were met with a worrying sight. A woman you didn’t recognise, worry and uncertainty written on her face, knocking on the front door of your home. That’s strange, did she need medicine? You didn’t recognise her servant uniform, but she seemed to be from one of the inns in the area.

You called out, catching her attention immediately. “Are you looking for the apothecary? He’s currently out, but I can leave him a message.”

“Please help, it’s a medical emergency! Someone’s been poisoned!”

Your face immediately turned serious as you dropped your belongings before running inside the shack to retrieve an emergency med kit. “Lead me to them.”

People had gathered around the doorway of the inn, clearly all in a panic, but not sure on what to do.

“I brought the apothecary. Please step out of the way.” The two of you moved past the seemingly small army of staff and patrons.

What you saw seemed to match what the woman had told you before. A man lying on the bed, restless, breathing erratically, hands clenching at the fabric of his clothes right over his heart. Immediately you entered your ‘work mode,’ practically diving next to the man. First, a physical check up.

You pried open the man’s eyes, looking into them; you checked his pulse and stuck a finger into his mouth. Judging from the spittle running down his chin and trace amounts of sick on the bed sheets and his blue scarf, it’s safe to say that he had vomited. Still, you pressed down on his solar plexus to induce more of it. It would help expel whatever caused this reaction, but it would also dehydrate him. There was a hrrk, and spit came pouring out of his mouth, which you wiped away with the bedsheets you had gripped.

Suddenly, a new man with brown hair and eyes came running through the door with what seemed to be a waterskin in his hands.

He was just about to offer the water to the man you were tending to, but you shouted at him: “Don’t let him drink that! Charcoal- we need charcoal!” The startled man dropped the item onto the floor, but recovered just as quickly, running off once again to retrieve the required item.

You repeated this process several times on the victim; making him vomit, wiping the bile away ad nauseum until nothing but stomach acid came out. The man was able to breathe much easier now, no longer hyperventilating. Thankfully, at your request, the charcoal had arrived just in time, which you quickly ground up with your mortar and pestle.

“This’ll be rough on his throat, but it’ll flush the toxins out of his body.” You spoke as you poured the fine powder into his mouth. Some of the men, who you assumed to be the patient’s associates, had gathered around the two of you, clearly worried.

“Wa… Water. Please…” Those were the first words you heard him speak, weak, but nonetheless a sign that he was recovering.

“Not yet. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to endure this a little bit longer.”

Though unhappy, he accepted and resigned himself to his scratchy and dry throat for the time being. Finally you were able to remove yourself from the bedside, letting the other men move the patient while the inn’s servant ladies removed the soiled linens.

First damn thing in the morning and I already have to deal with an emergency. I only just got back. You grumbled in your mind as you looked at your filthy hand. Ugh. I really need a bath. You sighed both from relief and exhaustion.

“You doin’ okay, Captain?” One of the taller men with brown hair asked while holding him up so he could stand.

The patient - now identified as ‘Captain’ - took a breath. “Much better.” He then turned his attention towards you. “Thank you. I was certain that I was a goner.”

“I am simply doing my job. There is no need to thank me.” Utilising some water in a pitcher that one of the servants offered, you wiped your hands with a damp cloth.

You then took out a wooden slip, wrote just a couple characters on it and handed it over to the servant woman who you first encountered. “Deliver this to doctor Luomen and bring him here. He should be by the south wall.”

With that, the servant gave you and everyone else in the room a small bow before leaving.

The man with a blue hat turned his attention to the patient, who had once again been laid down onto the cleaned up bed. “Now I know that stuff took you out; you didn’t even try to flirt with your “guardian angel”.”

“So that’s your impression of me?” The sarcasm in his voice was evident. “Glad to know that it took me almost kicking the bucket to change your opinion.”

Within about half an hour, the servant had returned, your father in tow. It took longer than you had hoped, but given your father’s age and condition, it wasn’t all that surprising.

He took a good look at the patient and asked some questions.

“I suppose you did an adequate job here.” He gave you his trademark gentle smile after he was done with his examination.

“‘Adequate’?” You ask, annoyed.

A man who you assumed to be the owner of the inn came into the room. “Thank you, doctor Luomen. You are the best medical expert one could ask for.”

“Don’t thank me. My daughter did all the hard work.”

“Tell me, how much do we owe you? Name your price.”

“There’s really no need-”

You nudge your father’s side with your elbow. “Can you pay rent this month?”

“Ah… Well, in that case, I’ll take the usual fee.”

This was one of his habits; undercharging for his work, or even failing to charge at all, much to your distress. You understood the desire not to take money from people who were already struggling to get by, but this was not the case.

A tall blond man in heavy armour came up to you, holding out a small-ish sack. “Please, allow us to reimburse you as well. We owe you a lot.” Seeing no reason not to, you accepted the item.

With that, your father and the inn’s owner head into another room to discuss payment, leaving you to gather up your tools.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed a few of the men fidgeting nervously or giving each other glances. They obviously wanted to say something. You didn’t know why they were hesitating. Sure, you might have sharp, mean-looking eyes and you didn’t smile all the time, but there’s no reason for these numerous grown men to act like this around you.

“Can I help you?” You broke the ice. No point in delaying this.

The one who you assumed to be the leader cleared his throat. “Actually, we’d like you to answer some questions we have. We’re travellers from afar, you see, and we don’t know much about this place or nation.”

They came all this way here and they don’t know the first thing about where they are? “You’re in the country of Li, specifically in the capital city of both the nation and the Central Province. I’m not going to judge how you choose to spend your time, but if you wanted to go sightseeing, I wouldn’t exactly recommend coming to the pleasure district first.” You raised an eyebrow. Just who were these people?

You saw that a few of the mens’ faces had turned bright red when they realised where they were. “Ha! Told you that this is where we ended up.”

“Are you implying that you frequent these kinds of places, Captain?” It sure seemed like these two had a penchant for arguing. Even during the time while you were waiting for your father to arrive, you noticed that they kept butting heads.

“Enough, you two.” The oldest shot them a quick glare. “Either way, it’s good we left Wind with Four back at the city outskirts. Both because of the inappropriate nature of this place- no offence…”

You shrugged. “None taken.”

“... But so that they wouldn’t have to see you get in trouble like this.”

“You are the apothecary here, right? If so, then you should be familiar with people who have gotten injuries.” You nodded. “Have you heard anything about encounters with any strong monsters, particularly those with black blood?”

Alright, now you were really confused. Monsters? Black blood? Was this some kind of way of informing you of a new disease spreading among the troops of enemy nations? But if so, why not tell this to an army physician instead of a random apothecary?

“Can’t say that I have.” You spoke up after having given it some thought. “Though I have to admit that I have been working in the inner court for the past few months, so I’m not caught up on the goings on outside the palace walls. But if you are telling the truth, I’m certain I would have heard rumours.” Thinking back, Xiaolan - a girl you had grown a friendship with when you were a simple servant at the palace - sure loved her gossip, and if there was one thing she loved more, it was sharing that gossip with you over tasty snacks and food.

“Thank you anyways.”

While this conversation didn’t seem like it yielded much, it did get your gears turning. It was time to do some espionage- or rather, some investigating. Something you’ve gotten pretty good at lately, if you said so yourself.

“Please wait here while I get you some medicine.” With a quick bow you left the room. In truth you had already prepared the medicine while waiting for your father to arrive, but this was still a convenient excuse.

As quietly as you could you hid yourself behind the sliding door and pressed your ear against it. Sure enough, once the men in the room believed you to be gone, they started talking. Words like “monsters,” “eras,” “shadow” and others got thrown around as if it was common knowledge, yet it only served to confuse - and intrigue - you further. One thing was certain; these were not your regular, run-of-the-mill travellers.

Your earlier talk also gave you an opportunity to scrutinise their appearances. Given their unfamiliar clothes and armour, plus features like light coloured hair and eyes, and their utter lack of knowledge of where they even were, you assumed them to be from a distant land, the west, most likely. But that was before you noticed one curious detail that they all shared; pointed ears.

This one thing had you calling things into question. Sure, the world was a large place, but in all your years of studying medicine and the human body, you’ve never heard of any group of peoples with such a distinctive feature.

But now came the question of what to do. What were you going to do about this suspicious group? Should you report them in case they were here to cause trouble? To be honest, you didn’t want to get involved. No point in sticking your neck out for these strangers and possibly risk getting accused of treason. You’ve done your job, you healed them, and you’re about to give them their medicine and leave. There’s no need to let them occupy your mind anymore. You’d steer clear of them from now on. Yeah, that sounded good.

Finally, you pretended to have returned from your ‘excursion’ and knocked on the door. Given the sudden silence from the room, it was safe to assure that whatever they were talking about was not for others to hear.

Walking up to the Captain still in bed, you handed over a small paper bag. “Please take this for the next few days. It’ll ease your stomach and help with getting rid of any lingering toxins. I would recommend drinking it as tea.”

The one who you had identified as ‘Legend’ from when you were listening in groaned. “Ugh. This whole thing’s been a wash. You guys ready to head back to camp?”

A unanimous ‘yes’ was heard.

Ironically enough, you could not get those men out of your head. Was your intuition trying to tell you that there was something wrong with them? Or were you simply curious? They were certainly the most interesting people you’ve met in some time.

They had already left the inn and you had headed in a different direction. You did finally manage to get that warm bath you were looking forward to. And getting to speak to your ‘big sisters’ at the Verdigris House was nice. But still your mind was occupied with something else. Damn it, this was supposed to be your day off, but you haven’t been able to relax completely!

You kicked a small rock in front of you in frustration. Hopefully having dinner with your dad would help alleviate your problem.

Suddenly you felt an all too familiar feeling of being pulled backwards.

Well, this wouldn’t be your first kidnapping.

And Wars will have to suffer through that dry, ashy throat for the remainder of this fic- lol jk.

A.N Fun fact: did you know that other than Twilight (who has lived among humans for a long time), technically, Legend is the one who has interacted with humans the most? The people of Koholint Island had short, round ears, as did the people of Holodrum (Oracle of Seasons), Labrynna (Oracle of Ages) and Hytopia (Tri Force Heroes).

#linked universe x reader #lu x reader #linked universe imagines #lu imagines #the apothecary's travel guide #ta'stg

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salmalin · 4 months ago

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Fruhtrane's Prayer

Did anyone else who watched AoaB episode 26 way too many times notice something... interesting about the prayer in the scene when they replenish the earth?

The first time, Shikikoza (also spelled Shikikooza and Schicicoza depending on your source) is the one to recite the prayer. Obviously his mana isn't sufficient. (He canonically has less mana than even the lowest-rung med-nobles.) However, I'd like to highlight two things about the prayer, and then what they mean together.

Spoilers for literally the entire series.

Part One: Where Shikikoza Stops

Oh Fruhtrane, Goddess of Water Bringer of Healing and Upheaval And the twelve disciples who serve her Heart my prayer and grant me your holy powers

After the Trombe battle, Shikikoza begins this prayer. At this point the earth begins to heal around the staff of Fruhtrane. Things are going well. As expected, really.

Then, as he begins the next line, he begins to lose his composure.

Why is this important? Because Shikikoza just asked Fruhtrane for something. More specifically, he asked her for her blessing. This is exactly the moment he begins to falter. This is when it starts to get much worse.

The next verse:

Your sister has been hurt by the minions of evil Grant me the strength to heal Geduldh, the Goddess of Earth

He grimaces through the first line, struggles just to get the second line out, then has to stop the spell. He's sagging against the staff, visibly keeping it to remain upright. He has no strength left. This is curious because he just asked for strength. He is literally requesting that the goddess of healing, fortune, and change to bless him with strength, which he then immediately loses.

But that's just mana exhaustion, right? No big deal. That's a canon thing that happens.

But here's the thing.

Shikikoza should have been doing lots of these rituals as a Blue Priest. He should have been praying regularly. He then went to the academy and got his schtappe. He knows his limits. And his limits have only increased since he spent time as a priest. Just the fact that he's allowed to learn mana compression should tell you a lot about his progression. Still, isn't it strange that he can't even make it through the chant? It's one thing to faint at the end—it's another to not even make it through the first stanza with shitty results to show for it.

"But Sal," you might say, "a superior is asking him to basically use his mana until he collapses. Ferdinand knew this would happen. He literally called Shikikoza her foil. He planned this." Of course he did. Ferdinand plans everything. Do you expect anything less from the Lord of Evil? But at the same time, don't you find it interesting that the context within this context is that Shikikoza is asking Fruhtrane, the Goddess of Healing and Upheaval, for a favor?

We very rarely see other people fail to finish a spell in this series. Usually they're just exhausted by it or the effects are pitiful. This event actually stands apart as extra pathetic, in terms of mana efficiency and quantity. Did he know that Shikikoza would be unable to finish the prayer? Shikikoza's reserves of mana would have probably doubled since his time at school, due to his growth period and regular duties in the military. The Ferdinand we know would have accounted for this.

This may be why he was so frustrated when Myne did such an incredible job replenishing the earth. Yes, he was frustrated because it made her a target for the nobility. The disparity was ridiculous, which definitely made many of them consider trapping Myne in a contract to be a (baby maker) concubine. He did not intend for her to show off such a clear difference in mana. This is canon.

And here's the thing.

I don't think he just expected Myne to do less.

I think he also expected Shikikoza to do more.

Yes, Myne has an abundance of mana. But she's never really used it. Her control is gonna be iffy, and her ability to manifest the effects of the prayers should be sub-par, at best. Meanwhile Shikikoza is a noble who went to the academy and spent time in the church. He knows how to use mana. He knows how to implement it and perform prayers. Shikikoza is literally in his element, and Myne can't stop gasping at every little thing. She only performed her first blessing like twenty minutes ago.

But then this happens.

What was once a sad circle of thin grass surrounded by dirt becomes a lush crater filled with green so quickly I had to try several times to get the screenshots. Myne restores the land fully within seconds with a show of power none of the men there had likely witnessed from anyone besides Ferdinand and Bonifatius—characters who are literally in a league of their own. And this is a child.

This is not a level of power a child should have, period. That doesn't even touch on the topic of control. Ferdinand outright says he did not predict this.

Now, stepping back for a second, Shikikoza asked Fruhtrane for a favor. Ask yourself this little question for me: If you were Fruhtrane, would you do someone like Shikikoza a solid?

Mana isn't the only factor when it comes to channeling spells and prayers. The more you pray to these gods—and, more importantly embody their ideals—the easier the spells/prayers under their jurisdiction can be performed. Sometimes you don't even need to pray to them—they will see your deeds and give you their blessing regardless. Furthermore, we later find out that there are ways to lose favor with the gods. This makes magic and prayers in their jurisdiction less efficient and thus more difficult to use.

Now, we learn a lot of things about Shikikoza very quickly in episode 25. First, he is a man who enforces the status quo by actively taking advantage of his rank, to the point where he attacks a commoner who is under his protection simply because said commoner was granted a position reserved for nobility—a position he once held. He wants to show Myne that she is not his equal. Opposing change is in direct opposition of Fruhtrane's jurisdiction of "upheaval". He also draws a knife on a little girl and threatens to gouge her eyes out, which doesn't quite fall in line with "healing", either. Does this mean I'm implying Fruhtrane was hate watching the Shikikoza channel even though he wasn't praying to her, and that he lost her favor/blessing in this moment?

No.

Instead, there's a good chance she's been watching Myne.

Myne had been giving the greeting of the goddess of water for a while as a merchant. This is canonically part of a prayer. Prayers direct the eyes of the gods your way. (Myne also is canonically referred to as Benno's "goddess of water".) I wouldn't be surprised if the goddess saw the entire exchange during the Trombe fight. Especially since it's canon that Myne is the truest believer in the Gods and is one of the extremely few people who actually knows they're real. Her prayers may be the only ones properly reaching the gods. (She takes one look at magic and basically goes, "Full stop, gods are real.")

it is later explicitly established in canon that Myne is the only person who earnestly prays to the gods even when "reciting a spell". And it's not just the voice acting in the anime that makes me think that. (Shikikoza is reciting the prayer like he's trying to get through reading a line he doesn't like in class, while Myne uses inflection like she's speaking in a play.) Later in the series, literally everyone has no idea why Myne is releasing blessings while playing music related to the gods. This is considered so extreme that they're able to market her as a saint. It's one thing to only be earnest when asking for one specific thing in private (Sylvester when he was pursuing Florencia), but it's another thing entirely to actively acknowledge the presence of the gods in every aspect of the world around you. Myne is essentially a devout follower surrounded by uninterested skeptics.

(Ferdinand, by contrast, is an atheist. Not because he doesn't believe in them, but because he doesn't think they deserve to be worshiped. It's a trait he has in common with Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. Coincidentally, they also both speak with god, tell god to shove it where the sun don't shine, then strike a deal to get the body of the most important person in their life back. Oh—and they have absent fathers who yeah, might have loved him, but whose lack of action in their life leads to extreme bodily harm at a young age due to complications involving their mother. Do with this information what you will.)

To wrap up this part, I don't think Ferdinand anticipated just how badly Shikikoza had pissed Fruhtrane off, and had no idea how favored Myne was by said goddess. (At one point Myne even feels the presence of the goddess of wind while on a hunt for ingredients. I will never let that go. That was so cool.) Both of these things widened the gap even further when it came to performing the ceremony. I like that they also did this slowly. The first ceremony involving a specific goddess we get is a goddess they've been mentioning since the beginning of the story—a goddess so in line with the main character's prerogative that the main character is referred to as her.

Now that we've gotten that info dump out of the way (this was supposed to be like three paragraphs, send help) let's move on to—

Part Two: The Full Prayer

Oh Fruhtrane, Goddess of Water Bringer of Healing and Upheaval And the twelve disciples who serve her Hear my prayer and grant me your holy powers Your sister has been hurt by the minions of evil Grant me the strength to heal Geduldh, the Goddess of Earth In return, I offer you a sacred melody Unleash your supreme waves and offer your pure protection For as far as I seek, cover these lands in your hues

So I realized a few days ago that this prayer is a summary of the events in Bookworm.

Read it again and you'll get it.

Oh Fruhtrane, Goddess of Water Bringer of Healing and Upheaval

Urano appears as Myne, introducing technologies that are foreign to this world. She brings wealth to everyone around her and fortune to the people dear to her. She changes status quos by just trying to exist as she is. All this despite trying to play by the rules. Things that were taken for granted are now up in the air. This doesn't even go into the themes of her upending every community she enters and healing wounds that never got a chance to heal. (Her mother's repeated miscarriages/infant deaths forcing their family to watch children die, Benno's desperation to recover financially after the death of his parents and the woman he loved, Frieda's complete and total isolation, Fran and Wilma's trauma from being sexually assaulted in the church, Gil and Lutz's very real worries about starvation, the orphanage, the relationships of the nobles around her, the fracturing factions looking for direction, literally every retainer she took in from an abusive family, Damuel's place in the world, Angelica's literal entire life no going down the drain, the financial ruin of Ehrenfest, the mana shortage resulting in an approaching mass-starvation— I need to STOP. This isn't even touching the surface!)

And the twelve disciples who serve her

She receives people who support her slowly over the course of the story. By the time she gets to the end of part two she has emotional connections to the following characters who support her:

Lutz, Effa, Tuuli, Gunter, Otto, Benno, Mark, Freida, Fran, Gil, Delia, and Ferdinand.

Hey, look, that's twelve people who directly make sure her health is monitored while having a direct impact on the world around her. What a coincidence.

Hear my prayer and grant me your holy powers

Trust me bro, she hears you. But the lore basically explodes. Mana compression, the truth of the prayers, the truth of the gods. Myne is a busy little bee. Myne figures out how to get their prayers through to the gods at all. This line is doing a lot of heavy lifting. But also it implies that Myne finally has access to magic.

Your sister has been hurt by the minions of evil

Her family is attacked. She is attacked. But most of all, she realizes the whole world is crumbling around her, piece by piece. But more on that later. The point is that Myne is continually under fire until the person closest to her is taken and injured.

Yeah, it's Ferdinand, of course it is.

Grant me the strength to heal Geduldh, the Goddess of Earth

Okay so we've got another line doing a lot of heavy lifting. It's outright saying her home was attacked and needs to be repaired. This can refer to her family, to the fractures in noble society forming between people that should be allies, and the fractures around Ferdinand himself. Each of these things she sets out to heal, even if indirectly or on accident. (See the rant about everyone she's helped.)

Ferdinand at one point directly points out Myne's Geduldh, asking how it is. But Myne doesn't know how to answer. Ferdinand, at this point, is convinced that her Geduldh is Ehrenfest. Originally it was her parents, then the people supporting her in the church, then slowly expanded to Ehrenfest. As Myne's story moves through different stages, her Geduldh shifts, and so does her attention and the healing she brings. When Ferdinand asks Myne this question, she doesn't know how to answer.

This is because, very clearly, her Geduldh is shifting from Ehrenfest... to Ferdinand.

Ferdinand is who she protects next.

In return, I offer you a sacred melody

A "sacred melody" for Myne is literally a prayer. She's saying she'll give the gods mana, power, and influence in exchange for the safety of those she loves. Which is literally what she does. Over and over again.

Unleash your supreme waves and offer your pure protection For as far as I seek, cover these lands in your hues

After receiving the favor of the gods, Myne protects her Geduldh time and time again. And as her Geduldh gets tangled up in more and more political scheming, the reach of the influence she offers the gods increases. Until, in exchange for Ferdinand's safety, she gives them the whole of the country. For as far as she sought—all the way to the sovereignty and the homes of their enemies, and even her own body—she spread the power and influence of the gods under the banner of a Saint.

(It could be argued that Myne follows these beats with every single part—1 through 5—beat for beat. And honestly yeah, that's a big part of why I freaked out and wrote this stupidly long post.)

Part Three: The Symbolism Behind This Choice

Back to the beginning, the words Shikikoza and Myne were each about to speak are very telling.

Shikikoza makes it this far:

Oh Fruhtrane, Goddess of Water Bringer of Healing and Upheaval And the twelve disciples who serve her Hear my prayer and grant me your holy powers Your sister has been hurt by the minions of evil

This is where Shikikoza stops.

This is where Shikikoza stops because the nobility have been seeking the favor and power of the gods while giving nothing in return. They see their home has been hurt and are watching their world crumble because it doesn't even occur to them to upset the status quo. Unless, of course, they plan to commit mass murder. (Which is a violation of the half.) The nobles neglect their churches, kill their own people in large swathes, and abandon the gods while still demanding power from them so they can play their petty political games. Even those who mean well cannot break from the cycle. They refuse to unheave the system their lives are built on.

But Myne finishes the prayer where Shikikoza—where the rest of the nobles—could not.

Grant me the strength to heal Geduldh, the Goddess of Earth In return, I offer you a sacred melody Unleash your supreme waves and offer your pure protection For as far as I seek, cover these lands in your hues

Myne brings the gods back. She makes no demands with nothing to offer in return. It is an exchange. What's more, she fills the roles the nobility has been neglecting for so long. She sets out and heals the world, to the point where her final major act in the books is a country-wide healing spell to revitalize the land. To the very end, Myne prioritizes the health and safety of people, unknowingly filling her role of saint flawlessly, and literally covering the land in Fruhtrane's hues. Everything that happens after that...

Well, that's the epilogue.

Shikikoza cannot finish the prayer because he is not earnest in performing it.

Myne finishes the prayer because she understands you cannot grab everything forcefully from the world around you without giving anything back. She is a merchant. She knows everything has a price.

And she pays it.

I have this thing I say about Bookworm—that Ferdinand is technically the main character. That his mana, intelligence, etc. makes him the main character. And because he accidentally dyes Myne's mana as his own, and because that's a thing usually reserved for marriage, I have an even weirder joke where I say he basically gave her Main Character Syndrome like a sexually transmitted disease. (Taking this series even one degree out of context makes it hilarious. I highly recommend it.)

But here's the thing.

Ferdinand had all the qualities of a main character except for the one he needed. He was trapped in the same spiral as every other noble. He couldn't comprehend that things could be different. Even though he knew they had once been, he couldn't see their world changing, even if he had the ability. He, too, was afraid to upheave the system. He knew things were breaking, but he decided to hide. He was afraid, tired, and wanted to do what he loved where he could minimize his anguish. He saw no future for himself out in the open.

Ultimately, like the rest of the world, he had no hope for change. Not just for the world, but for himself. He saw no future for himself where he could safely eat, or relax with friends, or be emotionally open, or even have someone whom he could afford to love, let alone love safely...

... until this little shit came along.

And she gave him, very literally, a new perspective—the perspective of another world. She gave him options. She gave him safety. She gave him comfort. She gave him kindness. She gave him trust. She gave him love.

And, very slowly, like everyone else she had met, she gave him hope.

Very underrated thing, hope.

Because without hope, no one will take the first step to make change. The world will crumble around you, and you will do nothing, because why would you? It's all gonna go to hell, anyways.

But it doesn't have to.

And that's worth fighting for.

Thanks for making it this far. It's nice to have company in hell.

#ascendance of a bookworm #aoab #honzuki no gekokujou #rozemyne #ferdinand bookworm #someone help me #bookworm spoilers

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cjrae · 1 year ago

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Stunted Love. Or: The Theme of MaoMao's little finger.

Maomao's little finger is a recurring motif in the Apothecary Diaries, and it receives even more emphasis in the anime's first season - it represents her belief that romantic love leads to pain and destruction. Spoilers primarily for the anime, but also the epilogue of light novel four and Chapter 15 of light novel six below.

Love In A Cage

The motif is first introduced in "The Unsettling Matter of the Spirit" - Concubine Fuyou's story. Maomao has already noted the parallels between the red light district and the Inner Palace, but here we see what happens when romantic love is introduced into the mix. On paper, Concubine Fuyou is a literal object of pity. Her personhood is being gifted to an officer who recently distinguished himself on the front lines, discarded after having failed to please the Emperor. It's telling that this is one of the first times we see Jinshi interacting with a consort where he is completely serious, without bringing his charm to bear. We never hear him say anything, but it's clear that he's communicating the Emperor's order with respect and understanding the gravity of the consequences for Fuyou.

As the events of the episode unfold, the parallels between courtesans and consorts get stronger as Maomao introduces the concept of having a contract bought out - if a man wants a courtesan enough, she is also an object to be purchased, albeit at potentially astronomical price. At first glance, it would seem like these women have absolutely no power in these scenarios - but by the end of the episode, Maomao shows us the feminine side of this transaction - how a woman can manipulate the system she is trapped by in order to get what she wants. All she has to do is lower her value - a rather counterintuitive measure that can go horribly wrong all too easily, as we see later.

And what Concubine Fuyou wants is to escape the Inner Palace to be with the man she loves - a task that she succeeds at. She has played a long, patient game in the service of freedom. Trapped in the cage of the Inner Palace herself, Maomao holds her scarred finger against the freedom of the sky and wonders what kind of medicine love would make.

Devotion

We see further flashbacks to Maomao's past through multiple episodes, but the next time the concept of love is brought up is when Fengming is confessing her role in the death of Consort Ah-Duo's baby in "Honey" (episode 11). Maomao is brought up short by Fengming's confession - she flat out says to the audience that she's never loved anyone with that depth of devotion Fengming displays toward Ah-Duo, so she doesn't know how Fengming feels. But if she doesn't have empathy to offer, she does have a rough kindness. Another person might have said that Ah-Duo deserved to know why her son died, that the knowledge might have provided closure. Maomao, however, believes that knowing the baby's cause of death would only cause more pain (it's never the crime and always about the cover-up) without providing any actual benefit.

With these two episodes framing her early character development we see that, whatever Maomao's natural inclinations are (and I will leave discussion of neuro divergency to those better qualified to discuss it), there is a certain distance between Maomao and her emotions most of the time. It is implied that this distancing from her emotions is a trauma response as the image of a woman holding a knife above her head while kneeling on a bed is shown but not explained (it is the only recurring image during the montage before the discussion about her potential execution with Jinshi).

Lakan and Fengxian

In "Lakan" (episode 18) the motif begins recurring more often as Maomao's parentage is revealed. We've caught glimpses of the sick woman in the annex before, but as the camera pans over the bed, it's clear that this is Maomao's mother (as always in anime, the hair is a dead giveaway). We've seen Maomao in this room, always curled in a fetal position, staring with blank eyes, but here we see Maomao actually caring for a woman who she describes as driving her out over and over again. The camera's focus is on Maomao's eyes as she watches her mother continuing to deteriorate - they're blank yet again, echoing her earlier line of "This is stupid. She's gone."

This is not the look of a girl who genuinely doesn't care about her mother. The image of her mother with the knife upraised is straight out of recurring nightmares that wake her gasping with terror and continue to haunt her after she's returned to work. While there is no AFFECTION involved, there are certainly very strong emotions here. Later, in the bath with Meimei, Maomao wonders if Meimei's in love - and immediately shies away from the thought, insisting that "love is an emotion I'm sure I left behind in the womb."

Interestingly, this is immediately belied as the Three Princesses (the women who took on the maternal role that her mother discarded) begin to pamper Maomao in the bath, and she relaxes into their touch, flushed with belonging and pleasure at their attention.

Confrontation

In "Blue Roses," (episode 22), everything has built to a head. By hiding Maomao back into the Rear Palace, Jinshi is acting as her shield - and Lakan responds with a power play. Both he and Jinshi are aware that Lakan knows his true identity, so Lakan provokes Jinshi with a political test. "Nothing is impossible" for a man with Jinshi's power - so providing some blue roses at a garden party in early spring should be simple, right? It's a near impossible task and Lakan knows it - even if Jinshi were to figure out how to dye the roses to be the appropriate color, they're still out of season.

Up until now, Maomao's response to Lakan has been to hide. But, with Jinshi's reputation on the line and seeing how worn out he is, Maomao has finally had enough. So she takes Lakan's challenge on and, while she's in the process of growing the hothouse roses so that Jinshi can best Lakan, she diverts unwanted attention from the Crystal Palace's handmaidens by showing Xiaolan how to do a manicure - something that draws attention to the deformed pinky on her hand and changes her perspective of the damage to the finger.

The art should be paid attention to here - we see close up shots of two other people's hands after having the manicure done - Xiaolan and Consort Lihua. In both of these shots, there's some subtle detail paid to their little fingers as well - Xiaolan's is ever so slightly crooked rather than perfectly straight, while Lihua flexes her fingers so that the pinky is extended as she looks at her hands. In the next shot, Maomao has done her nails as well - and when Jinshi draws attention to the fact that he's surprised she would do her nails (like Hongiang, Maomao usually prefers work over fashion), she looks at the finger and remarks that, even though her little finger is twisted and scarred, it looks better than it did before - an acknowledgement that the finger is not actually a hindrance, but a piece of her identity.

Healing

Giving Lakan the opportunity to finally do right by Fengxian is the most grace and forgiveness that Maomao can extend to either of her parents. Their romantic love is certainly sympathetic to an outsider, but Maomao was shaped by the consequences. Lakan's carelessness and Fengxian's willingness to break the rules of the pleasure district in order to deliberately lower her value so that she could be with the man she loved, is the guiding cautionary tale of her life.

But Maomao has also grown over the season. She is neither the terrified little girl, abandoned by mother and father alike (however unintentionally on Lakan's part) nor a teenager full of fear fueled rage at Lakan's persistence. She is Luomen's daughter and proud of that fact - she has found her family and a place in the world. It is with that more adult understanding of the world around her that she dances atop the wall of the Rear Palace, giving her parents the only thing she can, which is her blessing and best wishes for their short future, as she sends her mother off.

Sure enough, who is watching her as she takes a step toward a more mature identity but Jinshi? Other characters have provided a shield between Maomao and Lakan - Verdigris' madam, Meimei and even Luomen. But it is on Jinshi's behalf that Maomao decided to face Lakan herself. She loves her adoptive dad and granny and sisters with all the affection she never received from Fengxian, but Maomao's actions have always spoken much louder than her words - Jinshi protected her and she, in turn, chose to face her childhood bogeyman to help him.

Is it stating the obvious that Maomao tripping and Jinshi catching her is an obvious metaphor for falling in love?

As she dances on the wall, we see the two seemingly disparate sides of her identity coalesce into a whole. The moment she lets down her hair is a uniquely Japanese moment of eroticism (this is why maiko and geisha use the oshiroi that bare the nape of their necks), even as she's also deliberately reapplied her freckles.

The moment she realizes that Jinshi truly sees all of her in a uniquely emotional moment, she trips and is made terrifyingly vulnerable as she nearly goes over the edge - only to be caught safely in Jinshi's arms.

Safely back atop the wall, the little finger comes up one more time - except that this time, instead of looking at the damage inflicted and seeing the scar, Maomao looks at her pinky and shows it to Jinshi, telling him what sounds like a strangely gruesome medical fact. That a fingertip can regrow if cut off. For all the trauma that her biological parents caused her, for all that her pinky will be scarred for the rest of her life, the wound did heal. Maomao has healed - she is capable of friendship, loyalty and love that can inspire devotion - even if she rarely displays open affection.

Love Creates Fear

This motif comes back again, at the end of light novel 4 (what will be the end of Season 2, if the studio continues to stick to two light novels a season for pacing, which I expect they will). Jinshi has officially cast aside his cover as a eunuch and stepped into the political limelight as the Imperial Brother. Maomao, as a result of their adventures, has returned home, to her apothecary shop and, as she works she thinks about how everything has changed.

"Jinshi must have finally gone back to being whoever he really was. Maomao didn't know his real name: she couldn't have used it even if she did. The worlds they lived in were simply too different…Anyway, now that Jinshi was no longer a eunuch, he couldn't get away with keeping some lowborn girl around him…So it was for the best, really, that Maomao had come back to the apothecary's shop in the pleasure district."

As Maomao ruminates to herself about how she will never see Jinshi again, she retreats to what she knows best - medicine. She's got her emotions under lock and key and she's begun experimenting, working on creating a more potent painkiller. However, her pain tolerance is too high to work with her previous methods.

Or, to lay the metaphor bare, Maomao has dealt with abandonment before, but not like this. Her usual methods aren't working - so it's time to up the ante. What she does next is extremely telling.

"'Got to cut deeper if I want to be sure'. Maomao looked at her left hand, then tied some string firmly around her pinky. She stood and took a small knife from a cabinet. 'Here goes!'

Just as she was about to bring the knife down, a beautiful voice interrupted her: 'WHAT are you doing?'

Without a word, she turned to see a man in an unusual mask standing in the entryway of the shop…'Done with all your work?' Maomao asked, undoing the string around her finger and putting the knife back in the cabinet."

The thought that she and Jinshi are now living in such different worlds that they will never see each other again is painful enough that cutting her finger off in a thinly justified experiment is preferable to feeling her own emotions. What Maomao wants in this moment is a return to the emotional numbness of the past - only this time, she will do the damage herself.

But Jinshi is not Lakan and abandoning Maomao for any reason is simply not an option. Just as he caught her on the wall, Jinshi catches her again. A prince is standing in an apothecary shop on the edges of the red-light district, a place where he should not be - except for the fact that it's where Maomao is.

Connection and Communication

Finally, as a callback toward the end of light novel six, Jinshi and Maomao are beginning to reconnect after Jinshi screwed up and lost a lot of emotional ground in light novel five's epilogue, and he does the following.

"She reached out for the package, which Jinshi had put behind his back, but he planted a palm on her belly to keep her from sitting up and she couldn't reach it. She kicked her legs from sheer frustration and this time he grabbed her ankle. She was just trying to decide what he might be planning when he brushed the tip of his pinky finger along the back of her foot.

'Hrk?!' Maomao choked, squirming...The back of her foot, and her back as well, were hopelessly vulnerable to a gentle brush of the fingers.

'M-Master Jinshi...That's...not...fair!'"

While Jinshi is still the instigator in this scene, this is the the first instance of romantic and sexual contact that Maomao accepts, eventually bursting out laughing - and when he gets that laughter, Jinshi also immediately backs off, accepting that he has pushed her as far as she can go right now. But that first contact was via that tiny fingertip representing love.

His hard-learned patience is rewarded when Maomao is finally willing to speak to Jinshi about how she's feeling about his desire to marry her, first obliquely as they discuss the plot of a very familiar tragic romance, before she addresses the issue directly.

"Instead of answering, she murmured, 'I don't want to be an enemy.' Jinshi gave her a sidelong look as if to ask whose enemy she meant. 'To Empress Gyokuyou,' she said.

Would Jinshi understand what she was saying? If not, that was fine, Maomao thought. There were things even he didn't know.

'You - '

He seemed about to ask her something else when a horse whinnied outside..."

Maomao may be hesitant, she may feel very confused, but she finally gives Jinshi something to work with here - communicating to him not that she simply doesn't care about him that way, but that she has a very real, concrete fear about what a romantic relationship with him would mean, not only for them, but for everyone else around them.

That's a lot to balance on the tip of a pinky.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #maomao #character analysis #jinshi and maomao #jinshi x maomao #jinshi #long text post #apothecary diaries meta #jinmao

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