#chil//de

[tumsnstuff]

I bet he has a fast metabolism with all that fighting

[estoy-muriendo-tras-de-ti]

Nunca le gustaste, solo le gustó la atención que le diste.

[human-error404html]

🫣

[danafeelingsick]

ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2022

@monthofsick

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʟɪsᴛ | AO3 ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

ᴅᴀʏ 17: Totally drained/exhausted

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,5k~

17 for Childe

TW EMETO

Tartaglia pretended to ignore the piercing stares of his subordinates as he trudged down the hallway. He couldn’t blame them, he must’ve looked like a walking corpse, he certainly felt like one. His face was pale, his eyes were sunken, and his guts writhed inside him with every step he took.

Per his own request, his room was one of the very last ones, something about being able to hear if anyone were to come looking for him. Now he regretted it, that was certain. He had been too optimistic to think he would have any energy left after such a long day’s work. His legs threatened to give up on him, his only focus was passing out on his bed, shielded from all the agents who no doubt would be gossiping as soon as he turned his back.

The harbinger couldn’t care less at this point, their voices were drowned out by the buzzing in his ears, his heart sluggishly beating against his eardrums. Maybe using his foul legacy for such a minor mission had been a bad idea after all, but Childe couldn’t help but be swept away in the heat of battle, even if it had only lasted a second. His vision funneled as he grasped the handle, taking a moment to collect himself before he turned it. He wasn’t going to faint now, they were watching.

“Excuse me, L-Lord Tartaglia?”, a small voice called and he cocked his head to eye the underling standing several steps away from him, clutching a wad of papers and trembling like a leaf. “I… sincerely apologize if this isn’t a good time, but–”

“Not. Now. Don’t bother me”, he interrupted coldly, unlocking the door and stepping into his room before he had the chance to rethink his action.

No doubt Tartaglia was the most approachable out of the eleven, which wasn’t much compared to the unhinged personalities the harbingers had among them. It only meant he was less likely to harm a subordinate out of pure sadism, not that he was a saint. The pitiful eep! the underling let out as he slammed the door was enough to paint that picture for the rest, the message was clear, and he was not to be bothered.

For a moment, Childe just stood there, swaying as black spots danced across his vision. How long had it been since he had a proper night of sleep? It was hard to tell when the past few days were a smear.

He tried to blink, but it didn't clear his vision, everything was blurring together. His head throbbed painfully, and it felt like his stomach followed, sending pulsing waves of dizzying nausea through his whole body. A stale taste washed over his tongue, a warning of what was about to come, he was going to puke, but it still took a hollow-sounding belch that tasted acidic to make him snap.

Childe clasped a hand over his mouth and dashed in the direction he faintly remembered to be a bathroom. He nearly tore the handle off as he opened the door, and next came to his free hand clawing at the wall in search of the switch. The light blinded him for a moment, and it was enough for him to relax his tense throat, allowing for a muffled gag to slip through his defenses.

The noise was harsh despite his hand taking the brunt of it, morphing into a wet gurgle at the end as watery vomit rushed up his throat. He was mere steps away from the toilet when he felt the scorching liquid pushed against his puffed-out cheeks, filling his mouth in the blink of an eye.

Childe knocked the seat open and carelessly dropped to his knees. It was like his stomach was in free fall as he came down and he gagged harshly, practically inhaling the vomit. A spurt broke through his tight lips before he could reach the bowl, sounding like someone had unloaded a water gun on his hand. He nearly flinched as the searing bile soaked into his pants, coating his thighs in a sickly orange, and dripping inside his collar.

He would've cursed if his mouth was free, but it was rare situations like these that teached him to shut it. The harbinger dove for the ceramic bowl, this time making sure he was securely over it before he took his soiled hand off his mouth and let the little he could hold onto drip into the water below.

“Fuck… hah…”, he panted, each gasping breath dotted by spit like his mouth was full of sand. “Why… this always happens?”

He wasn't going to get an answer from the empty bathroom, but he didn't need it spelled out. Nausea, that horrible aching feeling in the pits of his stomach, gnawing at his insides like a pest, it was all left by that ungodly transformation. The toll he had to pay for tapping into these eldritch powers.

Childe leaned closer to the bowl and groaned, his stomach twisting inside of him, letting his tongue out in a plea to end it quickly. He brought a clean hand to his abdomen, holding it there under the unbuttoned blouse as he felt the distinct motions of his innards tensing in anticipation.

He tried to concentrate, his fingers following the swirling feel, making him grow more and more nauseous like his whole body had been thrown inside a washing machine on a heavy cycle. He felt his guts tossing, prompting him to bury his head into the toilet, but all that came out was a hollow-sounding belch that echoed on the ceramic walls.

Not completely unproductive, because it seemed to have deeply disturbed his stomach, setting off painful dry heaves that left him nearly breathless. His struggled retches filled the bathroom, and for a moment he was worried the walls might've been too thin. Who knew how many of his agents could've been glued to his wall, snickering to themselves.

His lungs were burning when he finally managed to bring up something, barely a mouthful of mostly watery bile, drizzling out his tongue and dripping into the water. Despite the thin consistency, he struggled as it kept pouring out, unwavering as his abdomen caved in under his fingertips.

His eyes widened as his weak vomiting suddenly gained volume, and in an instant, he was properly emptying his stomach into the filthy toilet. The vomit smelled awful, like spoiled sour food, but it cleared his head at the same pace it stung his nostrils. He gripped the sides of the seat firmly as his shoulders came down, a string of wet coughs putting a brief end to the downpour coming from his mouth.

Tartaglia blinked in surprise as he stared at the watery grave of his former meal, a smudged layer of a congealed orange and yellow paste, laced in greens and foamy whites. He didn't try to make sense of the colors and texture, whatever it had been was now too gruesome to identify.

He closed his eyes, spitting out profusely in the small window he had before his stomach lurched again, forcing another gurgling retch out of him. Childe let out a pitiful whimper as that twisting pain spread through his abdomen, he frowned and hissed, anticipating the horrible filling of his airways flooding.

No matter how much he tried to prepare himself, it still caught him off guard, and he nearly choked as a final even denser wave of lumpy foul-tasting vomit erupted out of him, nearly missing the bowl. His regurgitated stomach contents splattered onto the water, sounding like someone had tossed a bucketful onto the ocean.

A long moment passed before Childe realized it was safe for him to move, but he still took another minute, just gasping for air as his stomach throbbed inside of him, feeling much like a popped deflated balloon. He still clenchedhis eyes shut, tears of exertion clung to his eyelashes while slimy threads of drool and snot clung to his lips.

Finally, Childe sat back and sniffling as he tried to clear his burning sinuses. He wiped a clean hand under his mouth, runny puke had reached down his neck and was making its way to his collarbone. Forget the sleep his body cried for, he felt sweaty and disgusting.

Childe started undoing the clasps of his blouse, shrugging off the restrictive wear around his shoulders. Gradually, he made it through his undershirt and harness, letting the dirty clothes fall to the floor. He needed a bath anyway, a long and relaxing one, so he could make the laundry easier on himself, he knew he would have to run and hide these.

Before he could undo his pants, however, the sickly harbinger reached out to flush his mess, trying not to look into the bowl again as it swirled and disappeared. He sighed almost dejectedly, and sat back on his knees, heavily considering just giving up and sleeping on the cold hard floor of some cheap hotel now belonging to Fatui.

[devourensarc]

breaks the inbox virginity by suplexing a ginger

— @diiluvies // unprompted

He blames it on the exhaustion that still weighs at the edge of his mind, a bone deep weariness that no amount of sleep has been able to shake. He is staring out across Fontaine's rolling waves and imagining colder, harsher waters — and the sound of footsteps does not break through his thoughts.

But the arms that slide around his middle do, and he snaps out of it with his usual violence. The world turns upside down, but he doesn't need his feet under him to call Hydro to his hands, to form them into familiar blades.

Then his head hits the ground, and pain bursts behind his eyes, sharp and bright enough the world dissolves into a clear ringing for several seconds. The Hydro splashes down over his sleeves as his concentration breaks, and he can feel the grass under his palms, the world spinning again as his body moves on pure muscle memory to roll him back onto his feet.

His vision clears, and the world is too bright, crowding in on him with a splash of vibrant green against the piercing blue sky. The sun bears down on him as the monster he'd once struggled to wield now spilled out of him at the faintest hint of danger.

He grits his teeth and boxes it up and shoves it as far back as he can before he causes another diplomatic incident.

❝ I'll kill you for that, one day. ❞

He turns on Neuvillette with bared teeth, but then it melts into a sickly sweet smile.

❝ I wasn't doing anything besides enjoying the scenery. Perhaps you should spend your time refreshing yourself on diplomacy, instead of attacking diplomats when they aren't looking. ❞

[chilfucked]

You guys ever think about how terrifying and violating this scene must have been for Chil? (analysis under cut)

I want you to put yourself in Chil’s shoes for a moment. You’re at minimum a head smaller than everyone in your party. The only combat skills you have are long range and mostly support, plus you don’t even have your gear right now. You’re balls deep in the dungeon. You’re starving. You just had a near death experience when your party did NOT have the means to revive you (nothing to replace calories. assuming the mimic beat you). And now the people you’re essentially stuck with are ganging up on you.

I get that this is played as a gag but. This is like. Real fear in his eyes. He’s actually scared. TERRIFIED. And rightfully so.

Here you have:

Senshi: The guy you just met who clearly doesn’t respect you or you autonomy not only suggesting to use your tools against your will, but he’s actively physically restraining you. Something that is known to be very demeaning for his entire race and especially to him.

Marcille: The girl you only met a couple of adventures ago who also kind of doesn’t respect you, like, at ALL who’s just sitting there watching.

And Laios: The ONE GUY HERE that even remotely respects you that you’ve just BARLEY started trusting, who is now betraying that trust by being the one to take your belongings and use them against your will. In front of you. After you told him to stop.

Like. Don’t get me wrong, the cutaway gag to this was funny, but that doesn’t change the actual disdain he’s feeling here. This is someone realizing he’s stuck with people he cannot trust in a situation far too dangerous for him to deal with on his own. There’s no respect for him. His autonomy. His belongings. Nothing. None of what he believed earlier is present. I don’t know if this was a contract breach or not, but it was a personal one for sure. I can only begin to imagine what’s running through his head right now, and how powerless he feels here to the mistreatment by people he doesn’t know and or JUST started warming up to.

Sure, he has a moment to justify it to himself here. Everyone’s tired. Hungry. They didn’t mean any harm by it, and in the end it was better for everyone, right? (Ignoring the fact that they could’ve de-shelled the mimic using Senshi’s wok but that’s neither here nor there I guess.) But deep down he knows that doesn’t really make it right. That doesn’t change the fact it wasn’t handled properly. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s not being respected at all in this decision. Not even being taken into account other than to be removed from the vote entirely.

And, at the end of it, you’re still being demeaned. Still being treated like a child who shouldn’t get a say. Your justified anger just being used against you to show how immature you’re being. The louder you yell to be taken seriously, the less seriously you’re taken.

Sure, everything works out in the end. He’s made some of the best friends he’ll ever have in his whole life, but here? Now? Chilchuck is alone. Isolated from anyone he could go to. Trapped, used, disregarded, and more closed off than he’s been in a very long time. Because he was actually starting to trust the people around him again. And for what? It just happened again.

[cutiesgawr]

(🌊); FILLING YOU UP LIKE A WATER BUCKET!

(💧)chara.cters; Scaramouche, Childe, Alhaitham

(☄️) syno.psis; The boys fill your hole with their white sticky liquid !!! ><

(🦈)content. warning; breeding kink(childe), gn!reader, the word “hole” mentioned, rough sex, praise kink, degradation kink, soft sex, marking, unprotected sex, bondage, creampie, kinda soft!scara

(🌀)not.es; My first work post! I hope everyone enjoys this ^~^ not proof-read ! Probably grammar mistakes -#-

SCARAMOUCHE

Your chest goes up and down, your hands are bound behind your back. Your head is up as your eyes are focused on him, he smirks as he continues to move. His hips rolling into yours, in a slow pace. He doesn't say any words just groaning into your ear, he grips your hips. Grabbing a hold of it, you slowly move up and down wanting him to go faster. “Awh, do you want me to go faster, baby?” He says, smiling and grabbing your chin as he squeezed your cheeks and made you nod. “You do? Well, if you keep begging then maybe I will think about it” He says, you close your eyes and bite your lower lip. You open your mouth and you begin to beg. “PleAse! Scara~!” Scara smirks and looks down at you, you let out a hazy smile when he touches your cheek. He pats your cheek and you stick out your tongue, his finger lays on your tongue, you begin to suck. He moves and goes faster, his dick twitches in your hole. Your eyes roll back, your stomach curling, Scara lets out pants as his dick ramming deep inside of you. Oh how you love when his cock reached spots in you, you let out a rather loud moan when he hits that spot in you, your eyes widen. “AHhhH!~” Scara chuckles and goes faster, hitting that spot as you tighten around him, he bites his lower lip. He loves when you tighten around his dick, he loves your warmth. “Fuck, baby doll!” He groans, your binded hands grip at the sheets as you have an urge to grip at his shoulders. Your eyes roll back and you climax, Scara bites your neck and sucks on it, moving his hips faster. “Fuck!” He gasps, you can feel his dick pumping out his seed. He lets out a small whimper, scara glares down and sees some of his white seed slipping past his dick onto the sheets, he smirks and pulls out. Seeing the mess he made in you.

CHILDE

“Chil~de!” You moan out, he smirks and blows into your ear. “Doll, you’re so cute!” Childe chuckles into your ear as you whimper and bite your lower lip. Your sex was leaking out your pleasure, Childe brings his finger to your hole and rubs his finger over it. “Sweetie, now about you just ride me, I am sure that you can do it with ease!” Your face is flustered by his praise, your teeth chatter as shake. You can feel yourself about to climax already but you know that he won't you. “Don't worry, baby! You can cum all you want after I fill you up, sweets!” You nod your head and grip on his shoulders, you let out a deep breath and begin to ride. He licks at your shoulder, holding you close. Your legs shake in pleasure, his dick twitches in you. “Fuck— Sweetheart, lets have our own family!” He says, you blink and he pushes syou on the bed, bringing your legs up to his shoulders. “AHh!” You let out a loud moan which is soon followed by others, he throws his head back slightly. “Want to get you full, I don't think if you can or can't get pregnant, just want to full you up!” He growls, squeezing your hips as your tongue rolls out. “fuck! Fuck!” He says, he kisses you, sucking on your tongue. “I am going to fill you up so much, that it feels like your pregnant” he whispers in your ear, he clicks his tongue as you climax. He groans and closes his eyes, his dick pumps out his seed, filling you up. Was he right about you feeling so full with his seed? Hell yeah.

ALHAITHAM

“Althaitham~” you whine, your finger rubs at his tent. He sigjs and shakes his head. “Sweetie, please. I am busy.” He speaks, you pout and blow in his tent. He bites down on his lip to hold his moan. “Be patient” he says, gently patting your head and pushing you away. “But you’re so hard~” he sighs and grabs your wrist. Seems like your in it for now. “AHh!~ alhait—” you moan. “Shh, be quiet, can't believe your still begging..well, can't blame you, baby” he groans, sounds of clapping is heard very much, your hole twitches and you clench more harder around his dick, he groans and slaps your ass. “Ah!” You yelp, he groans and kisses your shoulder. Your hands are back and your wrists being held by him, he fucks you more faster. You blink away your tears of pleasure, your sex throbs. “Look at me.” He says, you whine and turn your head to look at his pretty face. Once you look at him, he grabs your chin and kisses you roughly. You moan into the kiss, he pushes you onto his desk. Your chest against it, he makes your ass more closer to his dick, holding you up. “Fuck, you feel so! Good girl/boy, you can be so impatient but, archons. Do I love you when you do it!” He groans, your head throws back, your eyes roll back to your head. “Mmh!” You climax, his nails dig into your skin. He pants into your ear, holding you as he reaches his high. Bid dick pumps out, you hear some of his seed softly dripping into the ground, you smile and oh how full you feel.

©2024 CUTIESGAWR | do not copy, plagiarize, or translate my work + dividers/headers are not made by me & some are made by me !

[secretkindoflove]

Raging Wildfires in Chile - Please Reblog!

Over a hundred people found death and counting, as neighbors and volunteers gather to remove debris by their own means. This wildfire has spread along three different cities, urban and rural spaces included. Arson is claimed.

Many people and pets are still missing, their whole lives destroyed by these aggresive fires as they reached urban villages, thousands evacuated from their home. Please help us create some awareness with a little reblog and maybe some help, as firefighters and other official charities [TECHO chile, Desafío Levantemos Chile, Hogar de Cristo] are accepting donations.

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

I would like to remind you that Israel is still responsible for providing espionage tools to the government of Bangladesh…

Yes, Israel has additional guilt, let's not forget about it

Now that I have your attention:

[leclsrc]

keep a place for me – cl16

Charles has been single all his life, and you know the reason why.

auds here... title from this, the song that inspired me to write. u can Never go wrong w frank ocean (facts) one of my top artists of allll time!

Will Charles Leclerc Ever Stop Being a Bachelor?

“This is fucking bullshit.” He shuts the phone off, but the headline’s font has branded itself even behind his eyelids. Irritation simmers just beneath them, his hands gesturing wildly to convey his annoyance to you and Pierre, as you watch with mild concern. He eyes you both. “Bullshit!”

“Not—mate, I love you—but it’s not really.” Pierre eases into it slowly, sheepishly almost. “You’ve been single forever. And the headline is just pointing that… out.”

Charles huffs a little, crosses his arms, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Fine. So what, what do—do they wish for me to get married and have kids within the year?!”

“I don’t think your bachelor status is really a cause of complaint for these fans,” you point out. “I’d think they’re happy. Charles, tabloids spin this bullshit all the time for their benefit and clout.”

“Yeah.” Pierre nods along. “Fans know not to feed into it, so relax. Believe us—your two closest friends. And hey, the fans, they’re actually making a pretty good point, if you think about it.”

Pierre! You yell in unison, heads whipping in his direction.

He throws two arms up, eyes widening at the sudden display of aggression from his two friends, fans the both of you off. “Oi, I’m being honest. Charles has been single since forever. Seriously, forever.” Your eyes refuse to meet Charles’ now that the topic has fully focused on his being single; you gulp instead, crossing your arms. Pierre is a little shit though, and pushes further: “What, did thirteen-year-old Charles get his heart broken, or something?”

“Try seventeen,” sighs Charles, defeated almost. Your eyes flicker to him, his sitting figure, then back to Pierre, whose eyes are bright with curiosity. 

Pierre almost can’t believe it. “Mate?! Why’ve you never mentioned this?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” he clarifies firmly. “At the time. But it’s been so long, I guess. With somebody from Monaco. We’d been proper close then, but I’d always liked her. Maybe love, it was, at that point.”

“Aha, now we’re talking, chat!” Pierre pulls a seat out from the counter you’re all sitting at—your kitchen counter—and leans forward, interested. You remain standing, leaning against the counter, eyes on the tile, breathing slow and heavy. “Then what?”

“Nothing, I just—I told her I liked her on a trip to Paris.”

He lies. Even now, in the clouds of age and patched-up relationships and work and new lives, you can recount the night from memory, a cold chilly one in Monaco on the eve of his eighteenth, on the roof of your family home. He let it all out in one breath, a rushed I love you, and then garbled additions to his confession followed.

I’ve always loved you, he said, pressed when you shook your head no. You kept shaking your head and he kept going. You know I’ve always loved you, je ne cesserai jamais de t’aimer. But even with your hands clasped in his you said no, no, this is wrong, it’ll end badly, don’t want this, please. For us, don’t. For me. 

Because even then Charles had the light of a world champion, the drive of one, and you saw it in him so early. You saw with it the doom of a potential relationship, and resolved to end things before they even started. It wouldn’t happen without it being ruined, you figured, so why let it happen at all? 

“Proper romantic, Charles!” Pierre hollers. “What’d she say?”

You loved Charles so much it was almost painful.

Rejecting him, feigning indifference, pretending you only thought of him platonically felt alien. You played the part well, thought—this is Charles with the funny voice impressions. Charles with a habit of biting his nails. But the truth was, you cared. You cared so deeply, and you were so in love, in the way all seventeen-year-olds are, a childish thing.

You might dismiss the love to be childish, just to ignore how real it was, but it really was real. The love really was something. You’d have done anything for him, and you can place for a fact he would’ve said the same for you. The problem is you’re still in love, living out the stretch of the last few years in silent torture, silent suffering.

And you wish sometimes to be childish again, to be seventeen and say yes, I do love you, ignore the consequences that might come with it. You long so desperately for his love, and the fact that he’s willing to give it makes it more painful, the way you know you will never allow yourself to receive it. The fans, the fame, the danger. Was it worth it? To be wanted, needed by him?

“She said she…” Finally, finally your eyes meet, in a way so different from the usual. With this comes the rush of nostalgia, of hurt, of pain. Of love, unrequited and unconfessed, left abandoned in childhood rooftops. “…just wanted to stay friends.”

[latinotiktok]

¡BUEN DÍA países finalistas de la Copa América! Para los demás, ánimo muchachos, recuerden que todo pasa, menos Uruguay

Es uruguay el nuevo chil-*gets shot*

[ineffable-opinions]

Love In the Air is getting a Japanese adaptation.

Things have come a full circle for MeMindY in a way. It was while traveling through Japan in November 2018 that MAME decided to start a production house to film series based on her novel in her own way.

Looks like it is a fan project of sorts based on what creators has to say on the project website, so it makes sense that it is MeMindY’s project that gets Japanese adaptation. (If not, it would have been GMMTV, BOC or some other government-supported production company that engaged in Thai government’s Commerce Ministry department facilitated “BL as soft power” negotiations with their Japanese counterparts.

more on this here)

This adaptation is not surprising considering the crowd that showed up at MAME’s Japanese fan-meet consisted of older folk too. It reminds me of Chen Hao producing Stay with Me. While I would be happy to have more bottom-up, demand-driven productions rather than top-down, supply-driven ones, it makes me worried too. I had previously expressed my wish for popular BL manga and novels to get live action adaptation. Now, we have a handful of live action based on works that have won Chil-chil awards but those adaptations have been disappointing to say the least.

source

I am a little worried about production quality. Hopefully, they’ll manage to balance cost and quality since this project’s return on investment would be a signal to future initiatives. I am excited for Shoma who gave an excellent performance in the unfortunately gelded adaptation of the super-popular manga 25 Ji, Akasaka de. I am eager to know who will play Saifah (hopefully they'll retain that character) and Chai.

My Insane Wishlist: Non-Thai adaptation of MAME’s BL

Breath – Japanese live action adaptation TulHin was one of the side couples in Love by Chance 2 but I want an adaptation that stays true to the spirit of their story. In addition, it will be really nice to see Hin in violet rope shibari in the hotel getaway scene. All the shibari scenes we got so far in live action BL has been fleeting and of very little consequence. Japan should attempt adapting this into period piece set in Taisho or early Showa era. The novel is well suited for an adaptation set in that period with rapidly changing position of the aristocracy in the society, conflict between old and new orders, nouveau riche industrialists, feudal households with retainers performing multiple functions, specific forms of xenophobia, grand balls, arranged marriages, intergenerational power struggle, familism and ample space for intrigue. Also, Japan has a good track record of being sincere in their depiction of complexities of androphilic male x androphilic female interactions – they can make Tul's struggle heart-wrenching to watch.  

OatShin from Test Love and OatShin Diary – Tamil-Marathi bilingual movie adaptation with Harshvardhan Rane as Shin, Arjun Das as Oat and Suriya as Akira (Shin's cousin brother). In the novel Love Storm from which Love in the Air is adapted, it is Oat and not Prapai who is the best street racer in their circuit. Saifah, Oat and Saifah's girlfriend are in fact friends and classmates from college - depicted in Test Love. Oat's boyfriend Shinji was his junior in college. Shin is friends with characters from Love By Chance. Their relationship starts at the end of Test Love and in OatShin Diaries we get to see them navigate long distance relationship, familial acceptance and work-life balance as salarymen. OatShin has a very cute dynamic - they are a riba CP (reversible couple) with a lot of push and pull. Shin is super sly and sensitive and I can see Harshvardhan teasing the hell out of whoever he is paired with. Arjun Das probably can't do racer very well - so just get him that ATV from Por for added illegality. He would be perfect as Oat and very adorable too.

Try Me: Chai Win – Japanese manga adaptation with minimal censor bars – Chai’s pearlings needs to exist in 2D version.

Try Me: Chai Win – Turkish live action adaptation – I think Pawit-bey has a nice ring to it and I would pay to listen to it for 40 episodes of 2-hour length each. Maybe some over the top honorifics would be more suitable coming from Chai’s mouth like efendi. Mert Yazicioglu or Ali Yagci as Win and Can Yaman as Chai.

Chai appeared in Love in the Air as a crucial minor character who comes to Phayu's rescue. He has a love story of his own with Pakin's civilian* cousin brother, Pawit aka Win, that is complicated by duty and obligations and extortive meddling by Pakin's dad (the kingpin).

[* not in the mafia]

[estoy-muriendo-tras-de-ti]

Wannabewithu

[human-error404html]

[danafeelingsick]

ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2022

@monthofsick

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʟɪsᴛ | AO3 ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

ᴅᴀʏ 19: Sick in the middle of the night

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,6k~

hey hope ur doing well! could i req #19 with scaramouche?? tysm

ᴀ/ɴ hey anon! ilet me warn right off the bat, i had evil in my heart when i wrote this 👹 but i'm not too keen on scaramouche lore, specially now that he's got a ton more and leaks are everywhere, so this might not make too much sense if you're up to it. standard fear of sickness with Childe as caretaker, hope you enjoy it ✌️

TW EMETO

Scaramouche woke up in the dead of night, labored breaths caught in his throat as he fought against the awful feeling of hands brushing over him. Piercing fear quickly morphed into nausea as he cried out, begging this to be a dream, but he soon realized it was real. He whipped his head, his blurry vision slowly clearing, wetting his face as a familiar face came into view.

“Calm down, it's okay”, his voice came right after his gentle smile, emphasizing each word as he slowly waved his hands in front of him, trying to ground him. “Shh… it's okay, see? You were just having a bad dream.”

“I… what?” Scaramouche would've growled if his tight throat allowed it, but all that made out was a shaking whisper. “Tartaglia! What are you…?”

The harbinger tilted his head in confusion, giving the stupidest look Scaramouche had seen all day. Archons, he knew that face so well he wanted to spit at it, spit on that disgusting show of pity. He gritted his teeth, freezing when tears pooled in his eyes and trailed down his cheeks.

“You were crying while you sleep”, Childe informed, his voice now less gentle, sounding almost incriminating to the boy backed against the wall.

“You're lying…”, Scaramouche hissed, hurriedly wiping his face while glaring at the man. Something wasn’t right, there was suspicion lingering behind those lightless blue eyes, but what in the hell did he know that he didn't? “What are you doing here!? Why are you in my room?”

“What are you talking about?”, Tartaglia gave a humorless chuckle, sitting on the edge of the bed, only realizing now how tense he had gotten holding that position. He pointed to his own empty bed on the other side of the room, blankets and pillows were tossed to the ground, signaling a quick escapade. “We're sharing a room, don't you remember? You woke me up.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes in a mix of anger and confusion, looking from him to his own hands. They were trembling, and apparently had been for a while, because only now he noted the aches all throughout his body, like he had been clenching every muscle without realizing. He was sweating uncomfortably, enough for his clothes to glue to his skin, making him feel like he was wrapped in a plastic bag.

“Listen, do you uh, need a moment? You still look a bit shaken up” Childe tried to make a peace offering, putting on the most gentle voice he could, almost as if he was talking to a kid. “I can get you a cup of water if you want.”

”Who do you think you are?”, the puppet promptly growled, raising his head at an odd angle, a nasty scowl twisting his fair face. “Don't act like you care!”

“I'm just worried, okay? There's no need for this”, he tried, but Scaramouche was having none of it. “You look sick. I think you might have a fever.”

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say Scaramouche had short-circuited where he sat, the smaller harbinger was suddenly out of breath, hyper-aware of what was happening to his body. Fragments of his elusive dream came flooding back, rather sensations than clear images, just bright sentiments he'd rather not have. He felt far too warm, it was too much.

The puppet balled his hand into a fist and brought it to his chest, breathing deeply, in and out, trying to calm himself down. His chest felt awfully tight, and he couldn't tell if he was losing control over his emotions once again, or if it was something else entirely.

“I'm not sick. I don't need… anything”, he panted, wanting nothing more than to curl into himself. His heart had lodged itself in his throat, beating painfully there as it tried to claw its way out of his mouth. “Just… leave me alone.”

“Scaramouche”, the harbinger called, not a hint of his usual smug tone, he sounded genuinely worried. “Listen, it's okay. I'll just get you some medicine, and you can go back to sleep. You'll be fine."

The shivering puppet shook his head vehemently, regretting when it felt like his brain rattled against the walls of his skull. Nausea crashed into him all at once, the feeling was unbearable. He folded over himself with a whimper, gasping wetly as his mouth flooded with saliva, bile bubbling at the back of his throat.

“I'm not sick… I can't be sick”, he shuddered, his words coming between heavy panting. He hugged his middle tightly, feeling his chest compress further, his innards writhing like worms under the sun. He broke into a shallow sob, not daring to look up from the bed. “Please… I-I don't want to…”

“Just try to breathe, Scara. It's okay, you're just a little sick”, Childe tried one more time, moving closer to him on the bed, but hesitating before he tried to touch him. “It's okay, you're not alone, see? I'm right here. Now try to breathe, you're going to make yourself sick like this.”

“Make it stop. Please, I don't want to—”, the puppet whined and begged, but was unable to stop himself from spiraling further into panic.

In between short gasps he broke into a gag, choking harshly on his cries, the noise got trapped in the back of his tight throat, clogging it with building pressure. Desperately he tried to swallow it down, but his eyes went wide when he realized he could taste the remains of his dinner, rotting away inside his stomach.

“No, no…”, he muttered under his breath, reciting it like a mantra even as airy hiccups broke the sequence. “Please, I can't. I can't…”

Childe tried to soothe him, landing a careful hand on his twitching back, but the young man recoiled under him, a broken cry making it out of his mouth before he dry heaved. The noise was harsh, morphing into a wet-sounding gurgle by the end, painting a clear picture of how much Scaramouche was struggling to keep his dinner down.

“Wait a minute, let me just–”, the harbinger turned his head away for a moment, scanning the dark room for anything he could use to stop this mess.

Before he could find anything, the rhythmic gasps suddenly halted, but Childe didn't buy into the false sense of security. He turned back only to catch the split second before Scaramouche opened his lips and with a struggled retch that was cut in half, he let out a huge gush of chunky-looking puke over his lap and onto the sheets. The spell was violent, thoroughly painting the sheets a sickly brownish-green color, the smell overtook the room in seconds.

Childe jumped out of bed, a swear pending from his lips when he noticed the stains on his pants, hot vomit seeping through the fabric. His anger quickly died down when he saw Scaramouche, sobbing miserably, slimy threads of vomit hanging down his chin as he stared at his own mess, it looked like a warzone.

The harbinger bit back his own disgust, breathing through his nose as he stood by Scaramouche's side. Slowly and gently, like he could break into several pieces, he patted his back and shushed, trying to ground the boy in his reassuring words.

“Shh… it's alright. It's okay”, he repeated, busying himself with smoothing away the wrinkles in Scaramouche's damp shirt. Anything to take his mind away from that awful stench of sickness. “You'll be okay… ”

“I hate this… please”, the smaller harbinger begged, gulping soundly as the gagging refused to die down. “Make it stop. I don't want to… vomit.”

“Oh, Scara…”, Childe swallowed, feeling his heart break in two. The puppet hitched under his hand, his shoulders heaving softly as he continued to struggle against the overwhelming nausea. “It's okay. If you need to be sick, don't try to fight it. I can clean this up, don't worry.”

He sobbed, refusing to give in, but his body was having none of it, the strain on his lungs made his head swim, his vision threatening to vanish. The cold panic turned his stomach, which in turn threw him further down the well of panic.

Childe held the sick puppet by the shoulders when he pitched forward, his cheeks bulging as he stubbornly tried to contain himself from being sick. It took a couple stunted heaves for the lumpy mixture to violently gush out of his nose, followed by his lips bursting open by the overflow of stomach contents.

Scaramouche hacked painfully as the cascade tapered into a trickle, but not stopping until he finally managed to let it all out. He struggled not to breath in the lumps stuck in his airways, but in came Tartaglia, firmly patting his back like he was trying to resuscitate him.

“Breathe, that's it”, he spoke softly, closer to him than before. “You did, see? It wasn't so bad. You are okay.”

Scaramouche wanted to say something sharp in return, like he always did, but his voice didn't make it past his lips before it died a whimper. Silence was more fitting for such a miserable situation, so he closed his mouth, trying to contain the small sobs jolting his chest.

“Can you stand? I'll help you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up”, Childe offered a hand, which Scara took shakingly, slowly unwrapping himself and sliding off the bed. As soon as his feet touched the floor he felt his knees give out. “Easy…”

Childe ignored the slimy mess covering both of them, and scooped the shivering puppet into his arms. Scaramouche felt much too tired to fight against it, so he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, for once in his life trusting he would be okay when he woke up.

[monratarot]

Colours in tarot

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Colours in tarot can have a variety of different meanings and interpretations, depending on the specific deck being used and the individual reader's understanding of colour symbolism.

These colors are often used to enhance the symbolism and meaning of the tarot cards, and can help to deepen the reader's understanding of the messages that the cards are conveying.

By paying attention to the colours in a tarot reading, you can gain a deeper understanding of the messages and themes being conveyed by the cards.

In the tarot, colours are often used to represent elements, emotions, and themes in the cards. Each colour has its own symbolism and can provide insights into the meanings of the cards.

Here are some common interpretations of colours in tarot:

White

the starting point

purity

innocence

completion and healing

dazzle

emptiness

new intellectual territory

purification

peace

truth and sincerity

cleansing

spirituality

clarity

wholeness and joy

perfect union and purification

color of God or the color of death

mortal chil

egotism

Gray

unconscious state ( ‘shadow’)

lack of prejudice

neutral

unknown outcome

Black

the unknown

visible shadow

mental or emotional darkness

new territory

protection

creative magma

work in the depths445bnn

chaos

regression

death impulse

oppression

Red

heart

mentality or disposition

will

love

blood and soil

energy

passion

material world

activity

animal realm

animal violence

Yellow

consciousness

joie-de-vivre

illumination

self-expression

clairvoyace

awareness

active itelligence

aridity

dry mind without emotions

madness

destruction

envy

mental dissonance (’shrillness’)

Gold

sun

being conscious

eternity

envy

greed

dazzling

Orange

vitality

warmth

arbitrariness

creativity

impulse

Blue

indifference

coolness

the blues

sentimentality

inebriation

spirituality

inner peace and harmony

truth

clarity

receptivity to the eathly power

despotism

tyranny

Light Blue

air

open sky/heavens

clearwater

spirituality

idolization

receptivity to the celestial power

dependence upon the father

immobility

Green

nature

freshness

youth

auspiciousness

inexperience

immaturity

growth

eternity

connected to the celestial powerS

the plant realm

dependence upon the mother

envy

Dark Green

close to nature

vegetative

protracted

long-lasting

nurturing nature connected to the terestrial powers

absorption

Beige

the human body

corporeality

Brown

down-to-earth

“son-of-the-soil”

grounded

Violet

borderline experience

intuition

psychic abilities

spiritual awakening

ancient wisdom

third eye chakra where psychic vision and inner eye reside

supreme wisdom

color of sacrifice

wisdom

sacrifice

death

Flesh

color of living

the present life

example of ambiguous

both good and bad

humanity

life carnal pleasure

animal violence

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