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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years

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You don't think matcha is tea????

Matcha isn't a Tea in my humble Opinion.

Matcha is an experience.

The year is 2009, the place is the University of Hawai'i at Manoa in Honolulu, and I am recovering from a still-undiagnosed disease that left me with a 100+ degree for over three weeks, extreme weight loss and permanent Brain Damage. I have signed up for an introductory Art History class because I need an additional Humanities credit.

It's called "The History and Philosophy of the Japanese Tea Ceremony", and for a class I can only sort of remember, it stands out.

So I'm in professor Roberts' Japanese Tea Ceremony class, looking and feeling like death warmed over, but I'm genuinely interested in the subject matter and show up to every class because I have nothing better to do, and ask questions and turn in my homework, even if neither are particularly coherent at times, and rapidly become his favorite student. The thing I learned in public school was how to show up to events even if I don't want to, analyze tests and other written materials for patterns and charm educators by holding up my end of a conversation, skills that have served me in the modern world far more than learning actual course content would have.

The Tea Ceremony, historically, takes a good month to prepare and the entire evening to carry out- the guest list is curated to create social bonds and intellectual stimulation alike, a poem is composed for the season, and a seasonal flower arrangement created to decorate the space. When the guests arrive, they must all crawl through a small door to enter the tea garden, regardless of profession or rank. Hands are ritually washed in spring water, and there is a slow processional walk through the garden, to admire the artistry of the landscaping, and the composition of seasonal elements to create this particular night of beauty. The entire ceremony is about appreciating both the joy of existing right now, in this time and place, and the unification of the self and the universe and the endless cycles of nature.

The guests arrive at the tea house and meet the Tea Master, who will be making the Matcha that evening. The guests are seated in particular order, the Most Revered Guest- sometimes a high-ranking official, sometimes a visiting scholar or artist- is seated closest to the Tea Master. The Poem is read aloud. The Flowers are admired. The tools for making the Matcha are taken out, examined as objects of art, and their history told. The matcha powder itself is taken out- the case examined, the cultivation of the tea discussed, and only then does the Tea Master make the Tea.

Matcha is not brewed- it's a fine powder made of crushed green tea leaves, and the powder is whisked together with not-quite-boiling water in a bowl to create a much more substantial and flavorful drink. This drink is presented to the Most Revered Guest first, who is expected to take a sip and, in a moment of Zen spiritual clarity, comment on its flavor and how all the elements of the tea, art, garden and season all complement each other, and perhaps offer some sort of philosophical statement.

At least,

That's how it's supposed to go.

About a month before the spring semester is over, Professor Roberts announces that he has a surprise for his class- a good friend of his, a Professional Tea Master, will be visiting Hawai'i, and has agreed to perform a Tea Ceremony for our class! I am very excited. The other 10 people in class are varying levels of amiably confused to distressed by having to go to An Event (TM) for a grade, but agree. One of my classmates, an astrology hoe named Jessica, pointed out that with the 11 students, Professor Roberts, and the Tea Master, there will be 13 people present, which is basically inviting disaster.

"Jessica." Sighed Professor Roberts. "It's a Tea Ceremony. What disaster could happen?"

Despite Jessica's misgivings, Preparations for the ceremony went on. We learned about Ikebana while deciding on the Ceremonial Bouquet and tried our hands at it with what Professor Robert could get at the grocery store for $12. We learned about calligraphy and different types of poetic compositions while making the Seasonal Poem, and stain the hell out of the classroom carpet learning the brush strokes. We learn about different types of Matcha Bowl sculpting and glazing and we are not allowed to touch the demonstration bowls or the kiln because Professor Roberts was beginning to suspect that some of his students (me) were suffering from coordination issues. I apply myself with zeal, if not necessarily talent. I was, at the time, an Art Major, but my professors in the art department had been grading me on a secret "this bitch almost died last semester and is re-learning how to hold a pencil" curve, and boy howdy did I stumble and break leaves and splatter ink like it.

Despite my ongoing unmonitored recovery, Professor Roberts viewed my enthusiastic class participation with rose-colored glasses, and about a week before the ceremony we had a class where he brought out the used Kimonos and Obi and other forms of japanese dress he'd borrowed from the theater department so that we would be traditionally dressed(ish) and experience the ceremony authentically(ish). While people were trying on clothes to see what would fit, he took me aside and told me he wanted me to be in the position of Most Revered Guest, the person who makes the zen statement upon which the entire event hinges.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.

"You're the only person who doesn't fall asleep in class and you talked about how the flowers stagger their blooms to not compete for the bees- you're perfectly engaged and conscious of the seasons!" He said, blindly. "You will need different shoes though." He indicated my flip-flops. "I won't make you learn how to walk in Geta, but nothing with Heels. Ballet flats are fine."

"...These are the only shoes I own." I said.

Professor Roberts stared at me.

"-I used to have a pair of sneakers but I think a homeless guy stole them while I was at the beach last month."

"What?" Roberts blinked.

"He probably needed them more than I do. I'll see if I can borrow some flats."

"...I don't think I've ever met a woman with less than 10 pairs of shoes." Said Roberts.

"I'm not a woman, I'm and undergrad." I said, still three years away from learning the term 'Nonbinary'. "Those are Jordan's only pair of shorts, you know." I pointed at my classmate, who had been wearing the one (1) pair of basketball shorts for the entire semester.

"I WASH THEM." Jordan shouted defensively, wearing the longest Men's Kinmo the theater department had, which barely came down to the top of his calves.

"Oh God." Said Roberts, a horrifying new world opening up to him like a tub of Expired sour cream.

It was the day of the Ceremony.

The Seasonal Theme we'd worked on was "The Turn Of Summer", and the weather was complying maliciously.

Normally, Tea Ceremonies are scheduled for the more temperate evening, but due to the school needing to host something in the adjoining cultural center later, we could only use the Tea Garden in the middle of the afternoon, and the summer sun was a sweltering 98 degrees and a similar level of Humidity. The Camelias were melting.

Where Jordan had difficulty finding a Kimono that suited his ent-like proportions, I'd had the opposite problem and the only Kimono short enough to not trip my Hobbit-sized self was a Child’s size. My roommate had helped me get into the Kimono and Obi before the ceremony, and leant me a pair of her Ballet Flats, but we discovered an issue- this Kimono was designed for a flat-chested prepubescent youth, and even though I barely scraped 5'0", I had the robust proportions of an Irish Peasant, and the only way to avoid displaying a frankly offensive amount of cleavage was to use the widest Obi we could find and sort of tuck my boobs into it.

"Hm" I said. "Kind of hard to breathe."

"Yeah, but you're sitting for most of it, right? It can't last more than an hour, so just like, shuffle and don't talk much?" She suggested.

To her credit, the first forty-five minutes of the ceremony only involved shuffling through the gardens and not talking while the Tea Master lectured us on some of the finer points of the garden's design.

But then we got to the Tea House- a small structure only barely able to accommodate the 13 of us, which was in the shade but hotter than the outside because of the roaring fire in the middle of the room, where the water for the Matcha was boiling. The room was surrounded by a narrow sort of porch, part of which hung over the Koi pond, where several massively overfed carp blurbled expectantly for treats at the arrival of humans. I sat down, legs folded under me like Professor Roberts had insisted, and realized that this pushed the Obi UP, and now my rib cage was being compressed in all directions.

I tried to pay attention to the rest of the ceremony, but two and a half hours is an awfully long time to listen about lecturers you've already heard when your body is undergoing a sort of internal horserace to see if the heatstroke, sciatica pain and numbness, allergies or suffocation-by-compression will cause you to pass out first. My legs had gone numb below the knee by the time we were done with the flower arrangement. My entire legs were numb before we were done with the Poem. By the time the Tea Utensils came out, I was seeing spots of colored light in my vision and could only breathe if I focused on it very, very hard.

But! The ceremony was genuinely interesting! and Professor Roberts was counting on me! So I did my best not to sway or throw up from watching the Tea Master whisk the Matcha, and dutifully took the bowl with a pair of hands that felt like slabs of ham that I was attempting to puppet from another dimension, and took a sip.

They say that Smell and Taste are far more closely connected to the emotional centers of the brain than any other sense, and I believe it because the instant I inhaled both the grassy, powdery smell, and tasted the moderately viscous bubbly liquid, I experienced an intense flashbulb memory back to a previous late May-

The Year was '98, the place was my elementary school art room, and we'd been using the seasonal hot weather to paint on a massive scale as the art dried quickly- each third-grader had been given a roll of butcher paper, a cheap brush, squirts of non-toxic paint and a water cup, and allowed to go hog-wild on our murals, and the rush of creative energy and the imminent sense of freedom as the semester drew to a close truly embodied the summer of youth, carefree but with an almost psychotic fervor, where lack of care was both freeing and dangerous as you lost track of your surroundings in the act of creation-

Which isn't a bad seasonal-philosophical connection statement to make, but the actual words that came out of my mouth were:

"Wow. This tastes exactly like paint."

The first sound I heard after the moment of silence was the cartoonishly loud gasp of horror from Professor Roberts, which was almost immediately drowned out by the thunderclap of laughter from the Tea Master, slapping his thighs and wiping tears from his face, unable to stop. I desperately tried to explain the connection between the fact I might be dying of heat stroke right now, and how I ended up drinking my paint water back in Mrs. Krantz's art class because back then I was also dying of heat stroke, but mostly ended up wheezing half-formed sentences as the rest of the class took sips and offered opinions varying between "Wow, that's thick. Like a Hot smoothie." and "Oh yeah, it tastes like summer. Like how a freshly-mowed lawn smells like summer." Professor Roberts slowly melted into a pile of shame, and the Tea Master slapped him on the back, still howling with laughter.

"They're honest! Nobody else will be honest! This is magnificent!" he wheezed.

Eventually, everyone had their taste, and the ceremony was concluded. The second the Tea Master had packed up his tools and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, Professor Roberts was in my face.

"HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. "GO APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW!" he shoved me out onto the porch where the Tea Master was looking at the Koi, who had started bubble-begging aggressively again.

Except that my legs felt like blocks of wood that my pelvis was renting from another planet where legs hadn’t been invented yet, my vision was entirely static between the dehydration and lack of oxygen, and my vestibuar system had fucked off an hour ago, leaving me to stay upright by purely by the virtue of the over-tightened Obi. So instead of bowing and apologizing profusely like my professor expected, what I actually did was stumble out of the room, say something like "Hsdfkf" and topple head-first into the koi pond.

Fortunately, the impact of the bottom of the pond with the top of my skull activated a sort of last-resort emergency self preservation system and I inhaled with enough force to break the Obi-Jime and probably a couple ribs from the pain that hit both my sides like lightning. Unfortunately, the thing I was inhaling was fish-shit riddled Pond Water, so my emergency self-preservation system ordered an even harder Exhale.

The Tea Master, to his immense credit, had immediately jumped in after me, and pulled me upright just in time for me to forcibly exhale half a gallon of rancid pond water directly into his face, then start screaming. Screaming is an extremely appropriate reaction to have when injured, because it alerts everyone that you require medical attention, but is very unpleasant to experience from four inches away, which is probably why he then immediately dropped me.

Fortunately the pond wasn't very deep and this time I sat there, scream-gasping as my lungs reinflated, Koi fish burbling and sucking at me with tremendous excitement, until the EMT from the campus clinic arrived, a vanguard before the actual ambulance.

"Okay uh. You're bleeding." he said, cautiously wading into the pond.

I opened my eyes to find that I had apparently acquired a large and profusely bleeding head wound, which had activated some long-suppressed Shark Instincts in the Koi, which were eagerly gumming at the streams of blood and trying to suck on my forehead. "Good thing they don’t have teeth." I said in the distant bliss that only zen masters and people with serious head injuries get to experience.

"Do you want a towel?" he asked, helping me up.

"No, this is rather refreshing, actually." I said, still absolutely smashed on endorphins, Koi still enthusiastically swarming at my kneecaps.

"I mean like for your-" the EMT Gestured Vaguely at my torso.

I looked down and realized that not only had I broken the Obi-jime, the entire Obi had come undone and was floating several feet away, and I was only wearing the Kimono, fallen completely off my shoulders and was only being prevented from performing a full Lady Godiva by the valiant efforts of the safety pin my roommate had put in to keep it folded correctly while we figured out the Obi.

"Professor Roberts?" I stood up all the way, soaking wet, bleeding from my forehead with such force as to create actual streams of blood down my face, neck and chest, tits out, and addressed the poor man standing, white-faced on the deck above the pond. "I don't think I'm going to be in class on Monday-" I paused to fish a small Koi that had gotten trapped in the remains of the now-ruined Kimono, and tossed it back into the pond. "-Can I schedule a make-up exam for the Final?"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET IN THE AMBULANCE!" He screamed.

I was x-rayed for a skull fracture, but my lifelong membership to the Lactose Tolerance Club had protected me, and I happily texted my roommate to come pick me up as "They x-rayed my head and found nothing" while the doctor stitched part of my scalp back together.

The following morning, I discovered that Professor Roberts had graded my exam before I took it. 100%. Truly, the best way to get a good grade on your finals is to get a serious head injury.

So, Matcha is not a Tea, in my humble opinion.

Matcha is an Experience.

And sometimes that experience is drinking something almost exactly like paint, ruining an important cultural ceremony, traumatizing your professor, and introducing a bunch of fish to the taste of human flesh.

***

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#Family Lore #Tea Ceremony #Matcha #injury mention #blood mention

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telail · 5 months

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☆- [7:26 AM] Waking up with Wooyoung

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Poc!Fem!Reader Tags: 1k wc, established relationship, fluff, suggestive, ateez scenario 🎧- PILLOWTALK by ZAYN note: a request for my pookie and current fave moot @kairoot hope u like it stinka. ^3^ - TAE

You had to move as slowly, and as quietly as possible.

That is if you didn't want to wake up the ticking time bomb next to you. Softly snoring with his mouth slightly agape, it looked as if he was in the deepest state of zen that an unconscious person could possibly be in.

But you knew better than to believe that. It was Wooyoung, for all you knew he’d crack his eyes open at the sound of a deep sigh.

Your body had subconsciously woken you up without the help of an alarm about 40 minutes before you needed to head out for work.

Wooyoung lay still on his stomach, his head facing in your direction as his arm bent slightly above his head. Resting barley under your pillow but more so under his.

You sat up and stretched, extending your limbs in the most subtle way possible in hopes that your boyfriend would not interrupt his own rest and wake up at the simple movement of your stretching.

Your hopes were in vain when just as you were about to relax your arms from their place above your head you felt warm slender fingers glide their way across the little portion of your slightly exposed tummy. Settling on the other side of your hip with a subtle squeeze.

The sensation of Wooyoung’s fingers tickled and caught you off guard a bit, causing you to jolt and bring your arms down in one quick motion.

“Morning baby..” He mumbles, a sleepy smirk making its way onto his face as he turned his head slightly away from you to yawn.

“Good morning, woo.” You respond, your tiredness still evident in your voice.

He hummed to himself, using the arm that had already secured itself around your waist to tug you closer to him.

“Hey..” You say, sighing. You were intending to start a sentence but when you moved to look at him you were met with Wooyoung’s tired yet love filled eyes. Making you cut yourself off just to admire his current appearance for a moment or two.

“Hi pretty.” He responded, grinning and resting his eyes shut for a little longer than a few seconds.

You thought he’d fallen asleep again, that is until when you went to move, his grip on you only tightened as he urged you to stay close to him.

“You work today?” He grumbled, opening his eyes to look at you once again. “I do.”

He whined at this, rolling himself over so that he was laying in your lap. He looked up at you, his plump bottom lip jutting out a little, he was pouting.

“Don't look at me like that, you know my schedule honey. I’ve gotta make money one way or another.” You said, running your free hand through his messy but layered blonde and black strands.

“You don't “gotta” make money, you just choose to. I make enough for both of us and more.” He negotiated, peppering light kisses over the scape of your navel. He’d rubbed his hand under the cloth of your cami so that the lower portion of your belly was revealed to him.

“Call out,” He said between kisses. “Tell them you’ve come down with something and can't make it.”

You sighed, it wasn't often but every now and then Wooyoung would get a break in his schedule and would want to sleep in, but not without you.

“I can’t do that, I’m fine. If I stayed I'd probably end up staying in bed all day.” You said, a small smile making its way onto your face as you thought back to you and Wooyoung’s last lazy day where you’d stayed in bed and cuddled, made out, and watched dramas all day.

“What's wrong with that?” He asked, lifting one of his eyebrows slightly as his body relaxed against his will at the feeling of your fingers dancing around his scalp.

“Everything when I’m supposed to be working.” You huffed. You tried to make a quick escape and shimmy your way from under him but you weren't able to get more than both legs off the bed when he clung onto you like a sloth on a branch.

“You know..” he started, a pinch of mischief in his tone. “I could really give you a reason to stay in bed all day. If that’s what you’re lookin’ for.” You groaned, fighting back a smile as you rolled your eyes and maneuvered yourself out of his grip. “I am not.”

He laughed at your reaction, loosening his grip enough to let you finally get up but not before grabbing your wrist when you went to walk away.

He puckered his lips expectantly, normally you'd oblige with his silent request for a kiss but you’d just woken up not too long ago and felt the need to brush your teeth more than anything.

You blew him an air kiss watching as his face contorted into that of disapproval.

“I need to brush my teeth.” You said, suppressing a giggle at his offended expression.

“On my cheek then.” He said turning his cheek towards you, still a little puffy considering the fact that he’d just woken up.

You shook your head before leaning in to peck him on what you thought was gonna be his cheek before he turned his head at the last moment to meet your lips with his.

“Woo-” you went to protest and pull away but his hand had come up to the back of your head to gently hold you in place as he planted 2 more kisses on your lips then a third on your cheek.

He pulled back with a proud grin, licking his lips as he watched you walk towards your shared bathroom, mumbling about him being gross.

“Love you too baby.” He said, stretching his own limbs and sitting up, preparing to mess with you throughout your entire morning routine until you eventually would leave him without you for a few hours.

He didn’t mind though, as long as you came back to him so he could do it all over again.

excuse any mistakes ;P

#ateez #kpop #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez wooyoung #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #fluff #suggestive

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peachesofteal · 11 months

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I love me some angst and this baby trapped au is sustaining me!! But I gotta ask… what happens if darling just haves the baby then up and leaves in the middle of night?? Leaving Simon and Johnny to raise this baby they forced on her?? Or even worse (and forgive me for this) she dies in childbirth and then they finally have their baby but no darling…. They’re probably having some regrets about lying to her lol

This au has invaded my life and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m hooked ❤️🪝

SEEK HELP. But don't, because I love you. And this.

Baby trap au / Darling left after discovering her tampered birth control 18+ Mature themes. Character death. Childbirth. Hurt absolutely no comfort.

It starts with the twinge in the lower part of your belly, off to the left side. You had woken up with it, on top of your usual sore back and stiff muscles, the everyday occurrences that seemed plague you consistently since the start of your third trimester. You were always hot, always tired, always crampy, grumpy, and generally... miserable.

You didn't mean to be, but being pregnant was a hardship in so many ways, and being pregnant with no one to help you, was even harder. It took its toll. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. And now, by the ninth month... you were just so ready to be done with it.

You hadn't seen or talked to the guys since the day you walked out, the day you found that fucked up piece of foil, the day you realized what they did, and you left. You hated them for it. Hated them, for taking away your choice. Hated them, for trying to control your body. Hated them, for removing your autonomy.

At night, when you laid down to sleep, it was impossible not to feel other things, the longing, the loneliness, the love, that still lived in your heart for them, against all odds, the ache of missing them growing in your soul as your baby grew each month.

You were in an impossible situation. One you didn't know what do with it.

But today, you were preoccupied with the twinge. The twinge, that had bloomed into a full spasm of muscles across your belly, the twinge that had your boss insisting you go to hospital as soon as possible.

"Let us call an ambulance. I've had four kids! I know labor when I see it." She had hemmed and hawed while you told her it wasn't necessary, that you weren't even in active labor yet, and that you still felt totally okay.

"I'm fine." you had reassured her. "Walking is good for labor right? I'm just going to walk the three blocks and be fine."

Six hours later, you're in a bed with your legs in a pair of stirrups with a nurse by your side, holding your hand as your contractions get closer and closer, your body seizing and cramping with pain through each one, the sting getting worse and worse as the minutes tick on.

You're doing this. You're having a baby. Alone.

The realization shocks you, startles you into a moment of weird, zen like reflection, like everything is moving in slow motion around you, like nothing is progressing as you think about the fact that the guys aren't actually here, that you never did call them, that you never did tell them that you wanted to forgive them one day. That you wanted to talk to them. See them again.

That you wanted them to be here with you, for this, to see the birth of their daughter.

Another contraction rips through you and steals your breath, and you faintly hear the nurse telling you breathe while your body locks up in unmeasurable pain. Something prods between you legs, and then there's a voice saying you're fully dilated, and ready to push.

Ready? Now?

No. No... you can't. It's too fast. They're not here. They need to be here. You have to call them.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry." The nurse speaks softly to you, but you can't help it. You want them. They were supposed to be here. They were supposed to be ones holding your hand, helping you, cutting the cord.

"We're going to push on the next contraction, okay?" Your doctor tells you, but you shake your head vehemently.

"No. I want my partners." you sob, and your nurse makes a sympathetic noise, while stroking some hair out of your face.

"You have to push." The nurse encourages, and pain streaks across your belly, sharp and insistent, forcing you to gasp for more air. "Ready? Push!" She tries to coach you, but you can't do it, can't even move, your body just writhing through the pain as your head spins and you pant. Your doctor says your name, kindly but somewhat stern after the contraction passes, and you moan.

"This baby is coming. You have to push." She says, and you know she's right, but you just can't get there in your mind, unable to consider the idea of her being born without Johnny or Simon being here.

"I want them." you sob, another spasm ripping through your body, forcing you to curl forward with an anguished shout. The nurse blots a cool, damp cloth against your head, while someone else on your other side adjusts your bed. There are people everywhere, all moving around in flurry, except for the doctor who's settling between your legs, eyes locking onto yours above your mask.

"There's no time dear." She says, and when you look up into your nurse's face, she seems sincere, encouraging and sweet, but you don't care. You want Johnny. You want Simon.

"P-please." You moan. "My phone- the passcode is 6669." The numbers come as a grunt when another contraction pulses through you. It's awful, burning, biting pain that shreds your belly, the muscles in your thighs, your back, everywhere, and you scream through it, while the two nurses on either side of you fold your legs back and the doctor coaches you to push.

"I can't!" You really can't. You can't do this without them. You don't even care about what they did anymore. You don't want to do this without them. They have to be here. "I can't, I ca-can't. Please, call Johnny. Or, or Simon." You pant, and eye the nervous looking aide that stands behind one of the nurses. "Call them!" You shout, and your sweet nurse gives him a nod, urging him into action as he fumbles with your phone and steps outside.

"Okay sweetheart. We're calling them, okay? But you have to push. Your body is ready." You shake your head, but you know she's right. You can feel your body bearing down, your muscles working inside of you, everything aligning so that you can have this baby.

It fills you with fear. Dread overcomes you, and when you feel the next contraction coming on, you begin to hyperventilate.

You can't have their baby without them.

"No... nonono-" You protest, like you're telling yourself, your own body, not to do what it was meant to do. It's useless however, because as your contraction peaks, your doctor is counting, and you can't help but push the way your body wants to, screaming your pain as loud as you can.

"Good job." She encourages once it passes, her eyes checking a tablet that's held in front of her face quickly, before returning her gaze back to you. "Okay, next one you're going to push for the full ten seconds okay? You can do it."

"I don't want to." You protest with a cry, and your nurse pats your hand sympathetically.

"I know, I know." She helps shift you forward, and then the next one is coming, and you feel like you're being torn apart, like your body is burning and being ripped in two as you push.

"I can see the head, you're almost there." Someone says, but you're not sure who it is, or if you care, your focus moving to one sole thing now, getting this baby out of your body as fast as you can. You breathe for maybe five seconds before the next wave begins, and then you're dropping your chin to your chest while you push with everything you have, voices in the room rising and falling, everything feeling too loud and too overwhelming, and then all of the sudden, there's a shifting inside of you, and then suddenly an overwhelming emptiness before-

a screaming, crying, shrieking baby is plopped onto your chest.

"There she is!" Your nurse calls, and you stare, slack jawed, unable to speak, unable to move while they cover her with a blanket and someone continues to work between your legs. "Congratulations mum!" The baby cries, and you lift a hand to cradle her closer while someone wipes around the top of her head.

"Hi, Bee... I'm your mom." you cry, and lower your lips to her head, placing a soft kiss on her skin while someone rubs her down. She cries, lungs healthy and full of power, and you laugh a little.

"Did you get a hold of them?" You ask him breathlessly, and he nods with a gulp.

"They're on their way." They're on their way. The words slam against your heart, and the feeling of relief is immense. They're coming. They're going to be here.

"Thank you." You hardly look at him, keeping your eyes on Bee, and her little angel face, perfect in every way.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The doctor works on you, pressing on your stomach a few times in an awful way that hurts but is necessary, and then your bed is moved to a better position for sitting up. Bee is removed from your chest for measurements and a quick clean up, before she's placed back in your arms, freshly swaddled and soothed. You're mesmerized by her nose, her eyelashes, her tiny fingers that wrap around one of yours. Your baby, your daughter. The one you carried for nine months, the one that you went through so much heartache for, the one that you struggled so much for, was finally here. You wish they were here already, to see her, to see how precious she is, how amazing, and you sniffle through some tears when you realize you'll get to see the looks on both their faces when they see her for the first time, when they hold her.

You lift your hand to stroke the softness of her cheek, and frown, when it doesn't really cooperate... the limb feeling heavy and stiff, like it's not even really on your body. That's... weird. You try again, and again, with no success, and then you realize the room is kind of shifting, kind of spinning slightly, like you're dizzy.

"Uh-" You call out to the nurse who's on a laptop at the desk, her back partially turned towards you, and she glances over with a smile that quickly changes to a firm line when she rushes over. "I feel funny." You tell her, and she nods, the mechanics of the bed whirring while you're lowered completely flat. Bee cries, disrupted by the movement, and you want to shush her, soothe her, but the words don't come, and everything is very loud all of the sudden, bells, whistles, beeps and alarms going off at a frantic pace overtop the voices that have quickly filled the room.

"-ake the baby."

"too much-"

"hemmorage-"

The words come in clips, and your vision becomes filled with white dots as Bee is lifted off your chest, the arm that held her close to your body falling limply to your side. What's happening? You want to ask, want to scream it at them. Where are you taking her? She's crying in the nurse's arms, her distressed little face the last thing you see before your vision goes completely black, and you fade away.

"Drive fucking faster." Johnny shouts, and Simon squeezes his knee to try to calm him as best he can in this moment, even though the two of them are the farthest thing from being calm.

You were in labor, and you had actually called them. Simon's heart had soared when he answered the phone, telling the guy on the phone to tell you that they were on their way, that they'd be there soon while he and Johnny sprinted to the car. You had called them. You wanted them there.

"Tell her we love her!" He had huffed while fumbling with the keys. "We love her so much. We'll be there soon."

"Settle, Johnny." He's trying to keep Johnny calm, trying to keep himself calm, while also trying to drive as fast as possible to get to you.

"Aye, 'm sorry. I'm just... I can't wait to see her. I can't believe she called." Simon can't either. He can't believe that after eight months of being apart, eight months of wondering if they'd even ever see you again, it was them you were calling for when you needed someone, them that you wanted by your side.

It felt like a gift. It felt like a second chance.

"I hope she's okay." Johnny hedges, nervous tinge to his voice and Simon rubs his thigh to try to soothe him.

"I'm sure she's fine, babies are born all the time, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They rush the desk when they get there, both spitting out your name and the woman jerks backwards before adjusting, typing onto her keyboard to locate your record. A full minute passes, while the receptionist's brow furrows, and they both nearly explode.

"She should be here, we got a phone call." Johnny blurts.

"Should be in labor and delivery." Simon tries to provide, helpfully and they both stand there anxiously, while she taps away.

"Ah! Sorry, there she is. I've paged the L&D department, and someone will be down shortly. You can wait in those seats over there." She points to some arm chairs, and they both ignore the suggestion, opting to stand right in front of a set of doors.

"Mr. Riley? Mr MacTavish?" A female voice calls a few minutes later, and they nod, overeager as she approaches. A million questions bubble up in Simon's head, where are you, have you delivered yet, are you doing okay, how's the baby... but they all come to a screeching halt when the doctor gets close enough for him to read her face.

No.

"Can you come with me?"

"And there was just too much blood. Once the hemorrhaging started, it couldn't be controlled." Johnny hears what the doctor is saying. He can hear her, loud and clear. He copies her.

But he doesn't understand. His brain can't make the words fit, can't make them make sense. What does that mean? He glances at Simon, who doesn't look at him, just stares at the doctor, face stricken, pale as ash. Like he's seen a ghost. Like someone has died. But that can't be right.

"Alright." He says slowly. "But she's going to be okay?"

"Johnny." Simon croaks, and the doctor shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. MacTavish. She's gone." Who's gone? Not you, obviously. What's going on here?

"No. No, no she can't be gone." Johnny protests. This doctor is clearly confused. "She just had someone call us. She's having... she's having a baby. Our baby. She's-" The doctor gives him a sad look, sympathetic and understanding. "No. She can't be gone, we just... we just got here. We-"

"Johnny." Simon says again and Johnny pivots on him.

"Tell her Si. Tell her, she's alright." Simon swings an arm forward, grabbing him by the collarbone, and holding on tight, pulling him close to his body.

It's only then, when Johnny looks up into Simon's face, and sees the tears there, sees those eyes, flooded, sees his cheeks, wet, his face full of turmoil and distress, that it really makes sense.

"No." He whispers. "No, she can't be." He shakes his head, and Simon tries to hold it still, tries to cradle his face in his palms. "Simon." He moans, word splitting into a cry, and then he's burying his face into Simon's neck, spilling hot tears onto his skin. Darling. Their Darling. Their Darling girl. Gone.

Because of them.

They did this.

Simon's body is shaking, shoulders trembling with his sobs, while he holds Johnny close, and Johnny screams into his chest, he screams and he screams until there's nothing left inside of him, every second ticking by bringing him farther and farther away from a time in his life when you still existed, when you were still in this world with them. And he wants it to stop, he wants it to stop so fucking bad but it won't, and he can't make it, he can't do anything, except stand here and scream, scream and beg and plead an unknown entity who's never given him anything good except for you and Simon.

They never got to tell you they still love you.

They didn't even get to say goodbye.

Hours later, they sit in a room with an empty bed, side by side, while a nurse stands in front of them with a tiny, sleeping baby wrapped in a blanket.

"This is your daughter." She tells them. "Her name is Bee."

"Bee." Johnny whispers, and she nods.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Yes." Johnny says, but the word sounds flat, and he feels numb. The nurse places little Bee in his arms, while Simon watches, unblinking from where he sits right next to him. "Bee." He says again, looking down at her, truly looking at her for the first time. She looks so much like you, more like you than either of them, and he can't stop the tears that fall freely, while Simon reaches over and hesitantly strokes her cheek with a knuckle.

"She's beautiful." Simon whispers hoarsely, voice coarse with tears, and Johnny agrees. Johnny tries to stifle a sob, desperate not to wake Bee while she sleeps, but Simon can't stop himself, and he covers his face with his hand to try to smother his cry. "She looks just like her." Simon chokes, and Johnny's arms shake around where Bee is cradled. He leans to the side, into Simon, who wraps his arm around him immediately, holding Johnny while he holds their daughter, your daughter. They cannot stop their tears, their hearts cracking wide open in both of their chests as they stay down her, their only piece left of you in this world, the only thing they have left to cling to.

"You look just like your mum, baby Bee."

#tw pregnancy #baby trap au #tw childbirth #peaches asks #peaches writes #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader

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pocketseizure · 5 months

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The Two Kings in Tears of the Kingdom

Tears of the Kingdom unearths the roots of Calamity Ganon in an ancient conflict between Rauru, the first king of Hyrule, and Ganondorf, a rival king who attempted to usurp him. In many ways, Rauru is characterized as a good king. He is noble, kind, and self-sacrificing, and he acts for the long-term benefit of the various groups of people living in Hyrule. In contrast to Rauru, the antagonist Ganondorf is an evil king who started a war because of his pride, ego, and greed.

Rauru and Ganondorf represent different styles of authority, both of which are grounded in Japanese fantasies of cultural identity. I’d argue that, in the end, neither king is fit to rule present-day Hyrule, which is why it’s appropriate that the game ends without any call to rebuild Hyrule Castle or the centralized government it symbolizes.

Rauru represents a golden age in Japanese culture when many arts now seen as “traditional” originated. This golden age is closely tied to Nintendo’s home city of Kyoto, which is associated with the culture of the imperial court before it moved to Tokyo in 1868. Because Tears of the Kingdom is a fantasy, the visual metaphors of Rauru’s character design are mixed, but his connection to a bygone golden age is tied to two symbols: the magatama jewels referred to as “secret stones,” and the kare-sansui dry landscape gardens of the Shrines of Light and the Temple of Time.

The “secret stones” that Rauru gives to the six sages have the distinctive comma shape of a magatama jewel, one of the three sacred symbols of Shinto. These three symbols are as follows: a mirror represents clarity of heart, a sword represents the power to protect the weak, and a jewel represents the materiality of divine blessings. These three objects also serve as the regalia of the Japanese emperor, whose role was historically to perform ritual prayers and thereby serve as a symbolic bridge between the world of humans and the world of gods.

There is nothing sacrosanct about magatama jewels; at various street fairs and tourist areas throughout Japan, you can buy inexpensive polished quartz and jade magatama to attach to phone charms or friendship bracelets. As a result of its relative ubiquity, this particular shape of gem has both a historical and a pop culture association with being a magical stone bestowed by the gods on special and worthy individuals such as, most famously, the first Japanese emperor.

Along with his magatama “secret stones,” Rauru is associated with kare-sansui dry landscape gardens of the old imperial capital. Note, for instance, the front courtyard of the Temple of Time that Link visits at the beginning of the game:

The visual motif of raked white gravel punctuated by standing rocks also appears in various permutations within the Shrines of Light established by Rauru and Sonia. To give an example, this is what the player will see if they circle back behind the entrance of the “Rauru’s Blessing” shrines:

This style of dry landscape garden is frequently referred to as a “Zen garden” because of its association with large Buddhist temples in and around Kyoto. The most famous example of this style can be found at Ryōanji, in northwest Kyoto:

The philosophy of these gardens meshes well with the philosophy behind the Zelda series, which Shigeru Miyamoto has described as his attempt to create a tsuboniwa miniature garden for the player to explore. In the same way, dry landscape gardens represent a larger landscape portrayed on a much smaller scale. The rocks in the gravel are meant to represent islands on the ocean, or perhaps mountaintops rising above the clouds. Another common interpretation of these gardens – and one especially pertinent to Tears of the Kingdom – is that the rocks are the dorsal spines of a dragon swimming through the sky.

Although dry landscape gardens have strong ties to Buddhist thought, they were primarily created by wealthy lords residing in Kyoto during the fifteenth century. This was a politically unstable era, and these lords needed to make a show of their wealth and cultural legitimacy. Unlike in China, where Chan Buddhism was largely anti-establishment, Zen Buddhism was the domain of the wealthy educated elite in Japan. Many of the rocks used in Zen-style gardens were imported from China and Korea at great expense, and lords competed to secure the services of celebrity landscape designers. Even today, the late medieval culture represented by dry landscape gardens is associated with the prestige of Japan’s former imperial capital of Kyoto.

Rauru is therefore associated with nobility and a certain air of sophistication. In the original Japanese script, he is unflaggingly polite and addresses everyone – Zelda, Ganondorf, and Link alike – with the sort of “clean” language associated with people of high social standing. To put it simply, Rauru is a perfect gentleman. He is the personification of the aristocratic virtues of the “traditional Japan” of the late fifteenth century, during which the wealthy filled the capital city with gardens while countless wars ravaged the countryside.

In contrast, Ganondorf is a personification of the warrior culture of eastern Japan, especially as it was exemplified by the warlords who competed for territory outside the capital before the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate at the beginning of the seventeenth century.

Oda Nobunaga was the most notorious of these warlords. He was infamous for being aggressive but effective, and his military prowess and ruthless tactics have been memorialized in a wealth of stories whose lineage stretches to the video games of the present day. I believe that Nobunaga (or, at least, a commonly fictionalized version of him) served as a model for Ganondorf, who seeks to take advantage of the instability of the newly established kingdom of Hyrule in order to expand his own territory.

Like Rauru, Ganondorf’s character design contains mixed visual metaphors, but I think it’s fair to say that his topknot and costume are meant to evoke a samurai who has thrown off the kimono sleeve covering his sword arm as an indication of his readiness for battle. This is a style still worn by practitioners of Japanese fencing and archery, which are common extracurricular activities in many high schools. Appropriately, Ganondorf fights with a tachi katana, a naginata spear, and the body-length longbow used in kyūdō archery – all weapons associated with the martial arts of Japan’s medieval military elite.

As if to cement his connection to Nobunaga, Ganondorf speaks in period-drama “samurai Japanese” that demonstrates neither the elegance nor the poetry of his incarnations in previous games. He seems to lack both regret and awareness of the consequences of his actions, and he is concerned primarily with hierarchy, conquest, and the thrill of battle.

As was arguably the case for Nobunaga himself, there is no endgame for Ganondorf, only scorched earth. Ganondorf has absolute faith in his own power, and he views other people only as subordinates or enemies. According to his value system, there is no merit in compromise; he simply takes it for granted that he will win.

It makes sense that the aggressively bloodthirsty Ganondorf is a villain, but it’s important to understand that Rauru is not a hero. With all his magic and culture and imperial splendor, Rauru failed to understand that the system of power he created could easily be turned against him. A nation politically defined by a central authority whose rule is justified through military conquest and the cultural chauvinism of “ancient tradition” is not sustainable, and the legacy of such a kingdom can only be tears.

This is why Hyrule Castle remains in ruins at the end of Tears of the Kingdom, and this is why the game’s central hub is a research station populated with people from all over the world. This is why Zelda doesn’t attempt to re-establish Hyrule as a kingdom, and this is why it’s so important to her to understand the reality behind the myth of the nation’s history. This is also why the grand mythology of Hyrule’s origin is far less important to the player’s experience of the game than individual acts of community building. The highlights of Tears of the Kingdom are Link’s work in facilitating a local election in Hateno, helping Lurelin recover from a disaster, and volunteering in towns facing environmental issues such as water pollution and climate change.

Both Rauru and Ganondorf are compelling in their own ways, but it’s thematically satisfying that both characters are gone at the end of the game. When Zelda meets with the regional leaders of Hyrule during the closing cutscene, they promise each other that they will work together to ensure a lasting peace that neither of the two kings made possible. The legacy of the past still affects Hyrule, but Tears of the Kingdom suggests that it’s the duty of the younger generation to understand where this legacy came from in order to avoid the mistakes of their ancestors and move forward in a more hopeful direction.

#Legend of Zelda #Tears of the Kingdom #Rauru #Ganondorf #Zelda meta #essays

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pochipop · 11 months

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＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — A LITTLE LITTLE MORE LOVE.

#. synopsis! — sweet gestures from them to you .

#. characters! — hyun (zen), jumin, saeyoung (707), yoosung, jaehee .

#. warnings! — none .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — back in the mm pit because it's summer and it's time for my annual redownload <3 i've also been thinking about opening a discord, so if anyone has thoughts on that, i'd love to hear them! PLUS, i played the free demo for this indie otome-esque game on steam called homicipher, and i am begging for the release of the first chapter, idk if any of you have played it, but i am way too addicted for having only played like half an hour of it. anyway lolol, enjoy!!

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who buys bouquets of flowers every now and again on his way back home from rehearsals. He does his best to match the colors to your needs, —yellow on sad days in hopes they might lift your spirits, blue when you’re frustrated so that it might calm you down, etc.. They always smell so sweet, and you cherish them deeply. They always live longer than they typically should as a result of how well you care for them, and he loves to see the bashful smile tug at your lips as you accept them gracefully, even if you always tell him that he “really shouldn’t have” or that he “didn’t have to.” He does it because he loves you, and he thinks someone as beautiful as you should be presented with something just as gorgeous every now and again (even if he admittedly thinks you’re worlds prettier than flowers could ever be.)

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who writes little notes on the corner of the napkins he rests your coffee or tea on each morning, delicate and elegant handwriting in black ink sinking so perfectly into the ivory material. They’re never the same, always a different expression of his love or his admiration. You like to tear them off and keep them safe in a little box, and you open it up to read them when you’ve had a hard day or when you’re just not feeling your best. He always tells you that you don’t have to keep them, that he won’t be offended if you simply toss them away after you’ve read them and they’ve made you smile, —but you can never bring yourself to do it.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who folds little origamis for you when he gets the chance and leaves them somewhere around for you to find. It started with a tiny paper star he was folding for the heck of it, but you liked it so much that he decided to do it again, and again, and again. So now you have a neat little stash of different animals, shapes, and otherwise cool-looking creations (all of which have silly, blank expressions drawn onto them as faces that really add a sweetness to their personality.) You like to sit and fiddle with them every now and again, just to feel the sharp edges of the crane’s beak against your fingertips or to split the little heart apart and see the “i love you <3” written on the inside.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who buys sticky notes for his studies but ends up using most of them to leave you little notes with cute messages and silly doodles. He likes to think this is a better usage for them, especially when he watches you spot one out of the corner of his eye, and you hold it in your hands like it’s some kind of love-stricken poetry from a wordsmith he knows he’ll never be. They might be simple and straightforward, but there’s not much room for stanzas of prose on these little post-its, and reminders that you’re doing a good job or that you look cute are so much more than enough.

＃ JAEHEE !! ♡

Jaehee, who bakes you little desserts for you to eat when you get home, often heart-shaped or dusted in romantic colors, —always in your favorite flavors. Cookies with little jam hearts in the center, cupcakes with heart sprinkles and a cream just to your liking filling up the inside; each and every one made with so much love that you can practically taste it on your tongue. There’s no one else she’d rather bake for, and no one else she’d rather spend the rest of her days with. Sometimes words are hard to come by, and she worries she won’t always get it right, but when you kiss her on the cheek before taking a bite of her treats, well. . . She thinks things will be alright anyway.

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gatheringbones · 1 year

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[“Years ago, the kindly fry cook who trained me to waitress at a Los Angeles truck stop used to say: Never make an unnecessary trip; if you don’t have to walk fast, walk slow; if you don’t have to walk, stand. But at Jerry’s the effort of distinguishing necessary from unnecessary and urgent from whenever would itself be too much of an energy drain. The only thing to do is to treat each shift as a one-time-only emergency: you’ve got fifty starving people out there, lying scattered on the battlefield, so get out there and feed them! Forget that you will have to do this again tomorrow, forget that you will have to be alert enough to dodge the drunks on the drive home tonight—just burn, burn, burn! Ideally, at some point you enter what servers call a “rhythm” and psychologists term a “flow state,” where signals pass from the sense organs directly to the muscles, bypassing the cerebral cortex, and a Zen-like emptiness sets in. I’m on a 2:00–10:00 P.M. shift now, and a male server from the morning shift tells me about the time he “pulled a triple”—three shifts in a row, all the way around the clock—and then got off and had a drink and met this girl, and maybe he shouldn’t tell me this, but they had sex right then and there and it was like beautiful. But there’s another capacity of the neuromuscular system, which is pain. I start tossing back drugstore-brand ibuprofens as if they were vitamin C, four before each shift, because an old mouse-related repetitive-stress injury in my upper back has come back to full-spasm strength, thanks to the tray carrying. In my ordinary life, this level of disability might justify a day of ice packs and stretching. Here I comfort myself with the Aleve commercial where the cute blue-collar guy asks: If you quit after working four hours, what would your boss say? And the not-so-cute blue-collar guy, who’s lugging a metal beam on his back, answers: He’d fire me, that’s what. But fortunately, the commercial tells us, we workers can exert the same kind of authority over our painkillers that our bosses exert over us. If Tylenol doesn’t want to work for more than four hours, you just fire its ass and switch to Aleve.”]

barbara ehrenreich, from nickel and dimed: on (not) getting by in america, 2002

#barbara ehrenreich #currently reading #terra preta

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 6 months

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Bleach Headcanons : Oddities Part 2

More weird stuff that members of the Gotei 13 do. Part 1 can be found here.

Genryusai Yamamoto

Enjoys knitting and spends his evenings creating intricate scarves and blankets for his squad members. He considers it a form of meditation and finds solace in the rhythmic clicking of the knitting needles.

Has a hidden stash of adorable cat-themed trinkets in his office, gifts from squad members over the years.

Has a peculiar habit of conducting morning exercises with his subordinates, insisting on leading synchronized stretching sessions that include overly enthusiastic jumping jacks and cartwheels, much to everyone's surprise.

Shunsui Kyoraku

Composes dramatic, overly poetic love letters to his favorite sake brands, expressing his undying devotion and appreciation for their taste.

Is known to challenge squad members to bizarre competitions, such as a haiku battle or a contest to see who can take the longest nap. He always claims victory, regardless of the actual outcome.

Keeps a stash of disguises in his office and occasionally infiltrates other squads just for fun, but he's always caught due to his distinctively lazy demeanor

Izuru Kira

Has a secret collection of adorable plush toys hidden in his office. Whenever he's stressed, he takes a break with these plushies, assigning different voices and personalities to each one.

Creates a mini zen garden in his office and spends hours meticulously arranging the sand and tiny rocks, finding solace and inner peace in its careful maintenance.

Collects unusual stationery and spends his downtime experimenting with different types of ink and quills.

Toshiro Hitsugaya

Develops an unexpected fascination with ice sculpting and spends his free time sculpting intricate, mini ice replicas of notable Seireitei landmarks. He insists they're just practice, but secretly cherishes them in his office.

Unintentionally is a magnet for lost animals in the Seireitei, and his squad often finds him shooing out stray cats and birds from his office.

Becomes overly protective of the squad's refrigerator, labeling each item with his name and fiercely defending his snacks from any potential thieves within the squad, even going as far as setting up "ice traps" to catch unauthorized snack bandits

Zaraki Kenpachi

Pretty sure he’s adopted a pet kitten that he secretly dotes on in his spare time. He refuses to acknowledge its existence in front of anyone and grumbles about "just tolerating its presence," but his squad members catch glimpses of him sneaking it bits of fish and milk.

Started a food stall called "Kenpachi's Cooking Corner" where he attempts to teach his squad how to cook. The sessions usually end in chaos and burnt food, but everyone participates out of fear of upsetting him.

Enjoys reading shoujo manga in secret and has a vast collection stashed away in his office, fiercely denying their existence whenever someone accidentally discovers them, insisting that he got them for Yachiru.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi

Holds "Bring Your Weirdest Invention to Work" days in his lab, encouraging his subordinates to create the most outlandish and impractical gadgets imaginable. However, he always mysteriously makes his own invention vanish right before the judging, claiming it was too advanced for everyone else to comprehend

Holds a weekly "Fashion Forward Friday" where he experiments with unconventional clothing designs, resulting in outrageous outfits that his squad members struggle to comprehend

Has a peculiar habit of meticulously organizing his lab by arranging test tubes and equipment according to their color gradients, which nobody dares disturb for fear of incurring his wrath

Becomes obsessed with perfecting the art of making perfectly shaped and flavored jelly desserts. His squad members often find themselves unwilling taste-testers for his latest bizarre jelly concoctions

#bleach #bleach headcanons #bleach fandom #bleach ideas #bleach writing #anime headcanons #bleach yamamoto #bleach shunsui #bleach izuru #bleach hitsugaya #bleach kenpachi #bleach mayuri #yamamoto genryusai #shunsui kyoraku #izuru kira #toshiro hitsugaya #kenpachi zaraki #mayuri kurotsuchi

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