#long life elixir is the only explanation

[ryomensgf]

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗠𝗦 !

RYOMEN SUKUNA X READER !!

ᯓ sypnosis. in a secluded shrine deep within the forest, you have spent all your life untouched by the outside world, a living paradox—blessed with blood that heals yet cursed with a presence that brings death. Your days are quiet, isolation absolute, until one stormy night when a presence unlike any other darkens her doorstep.

.𖥔 ݁ tags+warn. ryomen sukuna x fem reader, true form ryomen sukuna, concubine!reader, mentions of blood, violence and misogyny, heavy language, reader is powerful, eventual smut, possessive!sukuna, sukuna loves control, toxic jealousy, degradation, angst/fluff, light choking, size difference, time period heian era, goddess!demon, soft reader, more tags will be added later lmao. 2k

ch. 1

Death. 

An eternal shadow, haunting each fleeting moment of life.

It lingers silently, like the wisp of smoke from a dying lantern, trailing behind every step, every breath, every heartbeat. Where cherry blossoms bloom only to scatter, and the moon waxes and wanes in endless cycles.

Death is a whisper carried by the wind. A soft yet unyielding reminder of life's transience. It comes not as an intruder but as a patient guest, waiting at the threshold, unseen but ever-present.

To live is to be acquainted with its inevitability, for even in moments of joy, death stands just beyond the folding screens, watching, waiting, never forgetting its place in the story.

It is neither kind nor cruel—simply constant. 

When a child entered the world, it carried with it the weight of a harrowing prophecy—an existence bound to death. 

A curse, they whispered in hushed tones.

It cannot be human, they murmured. How could death take the form of a child?

The child's mere presence was a blight upon the world, a harbinger of ruin. Anyone who lingered near it found their lifespan drained, as though the very essence of life ebbed away in its shadow. Anything the child touched—be it a flourishing tree or a blooming flower—withered and perished under its cursed hand.

Yet, within the curse lay an extraordinary gift. The child's veins coursed with blood unlike any other—a miraculous elixir that could heal wounds, cure the incurable, and restore hope where it had been lost. This blood, laden with divine potency, held the power to save countless lives, to triumph over even the most devastating of afflictions.

Though the villagers longed to end the childs life, to rid the world of the calamity they believed it to be, they stayed their hands. It was not mercy that saved the child, but the blood in its veins—a lifeline, a miracle. The cursed gift was too precious to destroy.

That child was you.

You, who bore the weight of a curse and the blessing of salvation.

And so, they banished you to a distant shrine, deep within the forest where no human could suffer your touch. There, you lived in solitude, the thick woods a barrier between you and the fragile lives you might endanger.

Servants would come, bringing food and tending to your needs. Yet even their devotion came at a price. Over time, their lifespans would wither like leaves in autumn, and they would die within weeks of entering your presence. No matter how much care they offered, no one stayed for long.

After all, they saw you as a goddess. It was the only explanation that soothed their fear. How could you be a curse if you harbored such a divine blessing? To them, you were both salvation and despair embodied in human form.

And so, as the years passed, you remained alone, revered yet untouchable. Isolation became your world.

You spent your days in an unchanging rhythm, filled with quiet rituals that tethered you to the passing of time. You would rise at dawn, cleanse yourself, and step into the garden for a brief walk, always careful not to touch the living things around you. Five minutes, no more, before retreating indoors.

Once inside, you would take your place at the heart of the shrine, your designated spot. There, ink and paper awaited you, as they always did. Writing became your solace, your companion in the stillness. Page after page, you poured your thoughts, your questions into the void. It was all you had ever known.

Silently, as always, a servant stood far away near the door, their gaze lingering on you with quiet watchfulness. In twenty years of isolation, you had learned that the servants rarely spoke. Their presence was dutiful but distant, their silence as much a part of your life as the shrine’s echoing halls.

For companionship, you turned to the animals and plants surrounding you, though never for long. You knew too well the cost of your presence, and so you kept everything alive at a careful distance, your invisible boundary of safety.

On lonely nights, you filled the void with your own voice. You spoke to yourself, read aloud from books and scrolls, letting their words echo through the shrine. You devoured tales of the outside world—a place you knew you would never see.

Sometimes, you lingered by the door, watching as servants descended the endless stairs carved into the hillside. You never ventured beyond the threshold, yet you imagined how the stairs might stretch into the unknown, vanishing into the life you had been barred from.

Oddly, the loneliness didn’t sting the way it might for others. It was all you had ever known, and so it settled over you like a familiar shroud. The silence was not cruel—it simply was.

But once a month, a familiar ritual broke the monotony of your days—a monk, dressed in robes of deep crimson, would arrive to collect your sacred blood. Each visit brought a new face, for the previous monk's life had been shortened by the weight of your energy.

Without words, you would extend your hand, a silent understanding between you and the monk. With careful precision, they would cut into your wrist, and your blood, thick with its divine blessing would drip steadily into their glass bottles. 

When the task was done, they would kneel before you, bowing low, and recite the same words each time: a reverent greeting to the goddess of death and life.

Though you lived in solitude, they ensured you were kept healthy and content. The shrine was always stocked with fine gifts, books, and every necessity you could need. Yet no gift, no comfort, could fill the hollow left by a life of distance.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a deep, resonant growl that shakes the stillness of the shrine. Rain falls in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and pooling in the garden beyond. A haori rests loosely over your shoulders as you hurry to the shoji door, drawn by the storm’s symphony.

Sliding the door open, you pause, letting the view settle in your mind. The garden, shrouded in mist and rain, looks ethereal. Raindrops cling to the leaves like tiny jewels, and a lone bird hops closer, its chirping defying the downpour.

“Lovely morning,” you murmur, your voice a soft contrast to the storm. With a final glance, you turn on your heel and make your way to your usual spot.

Arranging your tools—a collection of brushes, inkstones, and paints—you place the canvas to your left. The open door allows the sound of rain to seep into the room, its rhythmic patter a calming backdrop.

With a delicate hand, you dip the brush into the ink. Turning your head briefly toward the open door, you take in the garden’s beauty once more before letting your brush glide across the canvas. Lines and strokes take form, capturing the fleeting serenity of this stormy morning.

Rainstorms are a rare gift where you live, their fleeting presence a break from the monotony. Today, you’re determined to make the most of it.

At first, your brush glides gracefully across the canvas, each stroke deliberate. But as the rhythm of the rain seeps into your soul, your restraint slips away. Abandoning the brush, you plunge your fingers into the paint, smearing and blending with unrestrained fervor. Ink and blue paint streak across your hands, dripping down your forearms and splattering your attire in chaotic beauty.

“Whistle,” you say, your voice bubbling with satisfaction. It’s a word you’ve grown fond of, slipping from your lips whenever joy or excitement fills your heart. Lately, it’s become a staple in your solitude, a small, silly comfort.

The storm intensifies as time passes, the thunder crashing louder, more violent, like the sky itself is unraveling. The wind howls through the shrine, forcing its way in through the gaps, knocking over your painting tools, sending them tumbling to the floor with a clatter. The wind’s icy fingers brush against your skin, tugging at the strands of your long, vibrant hair, now streaked with ink and paint.

The servant, standing in the corner, takes a hesitant step forward, her gaze flickering toward the open door.

"I shall close the doors," she murmurs.

But you shake your head, a serene smile curling at your lips. “No need.” Your voice is calm, almost as if you’ve come to an understanding with the tempest itself. “The wind is trying to tell me something.”

The servant hesitates, unsure of what you mean, but she remains silent. You turn your attention back to the howling wind, your senses attuned to the unseen whispers it carries. Something stirs deep within the storm—something that calls to you, like a distant echo from a world beyond the shrine.

A heavy presence descends upon the shrine, one so dense and oppressive that it presses against your chest, suffocating the very air around you. The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced before—an overwhelming force, potent enough to crush anyone in its path, even you.

Your gaze shifts instinctively toward the main doors, eyes narrowing, as you wait, silent and still, your senses acutely alert. The servant in the corner, unaware of the shift in the atmosphere, continues to stare down at the floor, her posture humble and patient.

You swallow, the knot in your throat thickening. This is no monk. This is no servant, and certainly no curse of the kind you are accustomed to—small, fleeting, easily dealt with.

The curses that linger near you are always cautious, knowing well the danger of your power. But this... this is different. The weight of it is unmistakable.

It’s powerful, far beyond what you've encountered. Your instincts scream that whatever stands on the other side of those doors is not only dangerous, but knows you as well.

The air feels thinner with each passing moment, your breaths shallow as anticipation grips you. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, your heart races—not from fear, but from exhilaration. “Whistle,” you whisper under your breath.

Then, it happens. A shadow looms behind the doors, its presence so immense it eclipses the storm itself. The servant, who had been so still and composed moments ago, crumples to her knees. Her wide, terrified eyes dart toward the entrance, her trembling form betraying that she knows—she knows exactly who or what has arrived.

You lean forward, every fiber of your being taut with anticipation. The waiting stretches on, almost unbearable. What has come for you? What does this being want?

And then, with a deliberate, deafening pang, the shoji doors slide open.

Your breath catches as you take in the sight before you. Towering in the doorway stands a monstrous figure—man, curse, beast—you cannot tell. His entire form is drenched in blood, but it is not his own; the metallic tang in the air tells you that it is human.

Four eyes lock onto yours, unblinking and predatory. His lips curl into a cold, menacing smile, baring sharp canines that glint even in the dim light. The storm rages on behind him, a fitting backdrop to his terrifying, otherworldly presence.

And yet, even as dread prickles at the edges of your mind, you find yourself captivated, unable to look away. His gaze holds you prisoner, intense and unyielding. He wears a white hakama, pristine despite the blood that stains him, and a black haori draped loosely over his broad shoulders, concealing the other two arms tucked beneath its folds.

Your eyes flick to his hair—an unusual shade of pink, striking and unnatural, further solidifying the impossibility of his presence.

He steps forward, his movements deliberate, a predator toying with its prey. His tongue darts out, running across his sharp canines as if savoring the taste of something unseen.

And then, you notice it—a second figure standing just behind him, much smaller, its form resembling that of a monk. 

“Death.” the man says at last, the word slow and deliberate, as though tasting it, testing its weight upon his tongue. His voice carries a dark resonance, low and commanding, each syllable vibrating in the still air.

Your servant trembled, her hands pressed to the floor as if in prayer, her head bowed so low you couldn’t see her face. Whatever fear you felt was buried beneath the growing curiosity clawing at your chest. Who was this man—this creature—that dared to step into your sanctuary?

“Do you not fear me?” he asked, his voice a velvet drawl, rich with amusement and danger, each word threading its way into the charged silence. 

Perhaps he had noticed the absence of trembling hands, the lack of a bowed head pleading for mercy. It was a sight he was accustomed to—groveling, desperation, the raw stench of terror. Yet here you stood, unyielding, your gaze steady despite the overwhelming force of his presence.

“I do not know you.” you respond.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, dark and resonant, a sound that seemed to ripple through the very walls of the shrine. “Ah, but does one need to know the storm to fear its wrath?” 

He stepped closer, the hem of his hakama brushing against the floor like a whisper of approaching calamity. “Tell me,” he continued, his four eyes gleaming with cruel delight, “when the flower bends beneath the wind, does it do so out of respect or survival?”

His smile widened, baring his teeth, and there was no mistaking it now: the curve of his lips carried no warmth, no kindness. Even a fool would have recognized the malice that danced in his expression.

With a slow, almost languid movement, he crouched before you, bringing himself to your level, his haori parting slightly to reveal the monstrous strength concealed within. His head tilted, and amusement flickered in his eyes, though it was far from innocent.

“And let us see, Goddess of Death,” he began, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, “whether you bloom for me.....

"Or break.”

[darkphoenix07]

Elixir of 🕸️Death (J.W)

A vampire series by @darkphoenix07

Mental health request

Masterlist

Paring : Wooyoung x Reader

Genre : Dark Romance, Fantasy, Tragedy

Song suggestion 🎶 : Listen before I go by Billie Eilish, House of cards ♠️ by BTS.

Warning ⚠️ : Mentions of blood, Violence, Degradation, Death, Mention of suicide.

Synopsis : When the girl who doesn't have any will to live meets the demon whose only wish to slaughter humans.

"How will it help me if I drain your blood right now when I can use you anyway I want to?"

- Jung Wooyoung

🍷 "To the people who craves comfort and a single reason to keep themselves alive" 🍷

"There lived my beloved

Weeping for some love

Chasing delicate poisons

To keep her soul alive"

Staring at the ripples, the only thing that comes in your mind is, "If you jump here, how long it will take for you to lose your senses at a point that you won't feel that you've stopped breathing."

Death has always fascinated you. Not only because you were drawn to it through the circumstances of your life. It was because the times you were standing in front of the death valley and how it felt when you were there. They were the only times you felt free, you didn't have any sort of thoughts that would break you or you didn't think of giving someone any explanation.

Unfortunately, you were saved each time by someone which has started to patrify you nowadays.

At a time, you started to feel like you were doing fine. You were thinking that you are alive that was enough for everyone. Like you, others were grateful for you not giving up on your life. But in the end of the day, people got tired of your existence, the way you behaved, the sentences you spoke. It all became a havoc for them, you and your breath.

You relentlessly keep walking by the river through the forest. People call it Red Forest because they think someone ominous lives here and eats people alive. They call that person demon, vampire, werewolf, siren and many more. Because no one knows what it is living here for centuries and no one comes back from this forest alive.

You thought a multiple times that if you end up going back home alive after wondering around here, you'll give up on dying thinking that even God doesn't want to take you back to Him. So, it will only be fair to stop pushing yourself.

Even the moon is hiding from you tonight and there are no animas around. It feels like you are in an empty arena filled with old trees and the river alongside. The cold breeze are now running through your veins. You think if that demon doesn't kill you tonight, the heavy winds may as you are shivering to death.

Your pale blue short dress with love shape front and long sleeves is not enough to keep you warm. You intensionally left your overcoat home but maybe it was too much brutal for you as well.

As you walk a little further, you notice an old mansion with black woods. There was no light inside, you thought but something about the house started to pull you closer.

Maybe the sweet delicate smell of old woods or maybe the little fireflies around the windows wanting some shelter inside. You gotta say that the house was creepy yet the decorations were lively.

You stand in front of the door and knock on the door with your knuckles not finding any bell to ring. Maybe hoping for some horror to find you and filing your wishes.

The town you live in is called "Melanite." The houses here are old and because of this forest there are no developments in here. So you thought this house was one of them and maybe no one lives here.

But someone opens the door leaving you slightly shocked.

His red eyes glimmered in the dark but you couldn't see him properly only his black attire. A sleeveless shimmery shirt and some ribbon around his throat. His pants are loose around his ankles and hiding his boots underneath.

"What do you want?"

His voice is raspy and vouge. It takes you a minute to understand what he asked.

"I am-"

Before you can utter another word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into the mansion. Closing his door by your back, he pins your hand behind your waist. Your instincts made you close your eyes but when you start feeling his cold breathe on your face, you look into those glimmering eyes staring into yours.

He is twisting your hand behind your back but all you can see is his beautiful shaped face. How perfectly sharped his jawline is, how beautiful his pale skin looks and his terrifying eyes, they look like crimson crystals or drop of blood you can't decide.

"Are you here to unalive me, Ms? How foolish of them to send a pretty woman in front of my door thinking I will be hypnotized. But they don't know I've seen thousands of beauties like you, drained their blood with my own fangs and ripped them apart one by one."

You thought he is going to say something more but you staring at him like you have seen the most beautiful thing on the earth caught him off guard.

He leaves your hand and crosses his hands around his chest, "Who sent you this time?"

"I came here alone," you tell him the truth but he doesn't believe a word you say. Instead he thumps his hands beside you and stops inches away from you.

"Don't lie to me. There are people outside, right?" He asks you again and this time you smile.

"Tell me if these are lenses or you are a real monster?" You ask him again catching him off guard by your words.

"Lenses? What kind of weapon are they? You think I need weapons?" He says and you smile again shaking your head.

"So you are a monster, you are not playing dumb. I'm glad to know they exist."

"You better tell me who are you or I'll drain you right n-"

"Are you afraid of humans?" You cross your hands this time throwing him the question.

"How dare you ask me that? Why would I be afraid of some puny species!"

He backs off of you like he felt wronged by your question and you start to chuckle.

"Are you really alone?" He asks you making you stop chuckling.

You look at him then through the window of the dark living room, "You have no idea."

You don't hear anything from him for a while until he opens the door, looks around and again closes it, "I smell no human."

"I am glad," you reply sarcastically but he doesn't catch it.

"Why are you glad? Are they inside my home?" He asks you starting to look around.

"NO!" You almost scream in frustration.

"Then how did you find this place?" He asks you calmly this time.

You thought if there is something to explain or you should straight up tell him what you really want.

Then, "You are a vampire, ha? That was supposed to be a myth but you are truly real," you don't know why your words sound very lame to you.

But he took it nicely, "As you can see, I am. I am not the only one, there are more hidden among humans too."

It gives you shiver but you forget about it as soon as you remember what is the reason you came here for.

"I want you to do something for me."

"Are you ordering me?" His voice become hoarse than before. It's so vivid whenever he is mad.

You look down and start to play with your nails as you speak up, "I want to give you all of my blood right now."

"What? Did you mix anything in your blood? Is that what you were pl-"

"No, I just... I don't want to live anymore. I have been searching an easy way to do so but I couldn't. I failed too many times and I am tired. I can't do it myself anymore," you sounded pathetic but that's just how you are.

"You want me to drain you? You look already pale," you look at him hearing concern in his voice.

You have always been an empath and it helped you understanding everyone so well yet you never knew that a vampire could feel anything let alone concern.

"I just want you to drain me enough that I die. You'll get some blood and I'll get what I want," you tell him all these like you are doing some business deal.

The way he looked at you told you otherwise, "I am hungry. I haven't had blood for two months. If I really start, I wouldn't be able to stop."

"I don't want you to stop."

"Do you realize how pathetic you sound right now? Don't you have any value of your life?"

"If I had, I wouldn't come here knowing a monster lives here."

"I can turn you if you want to. You can l-"

"Did I say I want to live forever? I said I don't want to live a second so for God's sake kill me!"

Your knees starts trembling with your lips. You start feeling numb by the coldness you feel on your skin. You tried getting better being a person but you ended up hurting people, making a massacre. You tried to find any single reason for you to live but you only see yourself as a worst kind of omen.

"Alright then," you hear him say and feel him moving through the cold winter wind, coming in front of you.

You know, you couldn't run away now. Your legs have already given up on you.

But the thing is, you don't want to run away.

You flinch when you feel his index finger on your chin lifting your face up, "A birdy has come to my cage willingly tonight," he starts walking forward and you start walking backwards hearing his words.

"Do you think I will kill her just like that?" He smirks and one of his fangs shows up.

You can't hear anything without your own heartbeat. Even the wind is silent. You want to take a deep breath but it feels like something is stuck in your throat.

"Look I just want to die. I d-"

"I want to keep you safe for my long time meal. Killing you with one go won't give me fun," he grabs your chin and pull your face closer to his as he bends over you.

"I will feed you and kill you everyday. Because blood doesn't taste good when you don't have any fear in your veins."

Suggest me songs you may think can be suitable for this series. *Wink* *wink*

Chapter 2 ( Drain or Drown )

Chapter 3 ( Death Deal )

Chapter 4 ( Bloody Comfort)

[minty-mumbles]

Life Goes On

Summary: When the chain stumbled into Lonlon Ranch, Time thought he would have more time to spend with his wife. The portal that appeared on the Ranch's property line the next morning didn't care what he though, though, and he was sucked away from his wife once again, right after learning some very important news.

The Chain ends up in the Kakariko of Wild's era, and Impa gives Time some advice. Meanwhile, life continues on.

Author Note: This is an unfinished fic that's been sitting in my folders for nearly four years, and I wanted to just post it because I know I'll never finish it. The missing parts are indicated with the bracket+ an explanation of what's missing

(Read on AO3)

~~~

The group of heroes had stumbled into LonLon ranch late last night. They had made enough noise to wake Malon and her father from their rest, even with the rain that pounded on the windows and roof, drowning out most of their ruckus. They had been miserable, soaking wet, and with more injuries than they knew what to do with, so the ranch had been an extremely welcome sight. 

Since then, they had healed up nicely and gotten a good meal in them. After a night of good rest and liberally applied potions, most of the injuries were healed enough that they were past the point of possible infection. Hyrule still had a laceration going all the way up his forearm that they would need to watch carefully, but that couldn't be helped. 

While most of them could drink up to four red potions without any trouble, the more magical of them sometimes had trouble with them. Their bodies' natural magic fought against the healing potions’ magic. Too much of it at once could harm more than help. 

Hyrule was one such case. After Wild had forced two of those strange red portions of his- elixirs, he called them- down Hyrule’s throat, Legend stepped in, preventing the cook from giving the traveler any more. Instead, the cook whipped up a salve to help prevent infection with some of the medicinal herbs he had stored in his slate. After the wound was tightly bandaged, the entire group had crashed. 

Energy seeped out of them as the adrenaline from one of them being wounded left them. The group fell into a pile in the guest room, not even bothering to set up bed rolls, and barely remembered to lay down blankets. Hyrule and Legend shared the singular bed. Hyrule because he was injured, and Legend because he was the only one who bothered to drag himself onto the mattress. 

The entire group had dropped off to sleep before Time had even left the room. 

He himself had similarly fallen asleep nearly the instant his head hit the pillow.

Needless to say, they were all extremely thankful for the break from traveling. If they had had to set up camp somewhere in the forest, Time didn’t know who would’ve even had the energy to keep watch. 

Which was why Time resisted the urge to groan loudly when Wind had come racing into the house the very next morning, shouting about the portal he’d spotted on the edge of the forest.

The rest of the boys didn’t show the same restraint, some voicing their complaints loudly. They all stood from their chairs slowly, muscles still sore. They moved slowly, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Time knew that, when needed, all of this bunch could be out of bed and ready to fight in less than ten seconds. But here, in a safe space, it became clear who was an early bird and who most certainly was not.

Time felt a pang of regret that the boys didn’t get more time to recoup. He had known, of course, that their respite would not last long, but a single day wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

They had a mission to fulfill, and their enemy would not let them rest for long. Since it had realized that it was being hunted, it had started trying to lead them astray, leading them on wild google chases that never amounted to anything, while it no doubt wrecked havoc somewhere in some era far away from them. It was trying to shake them off its tail.

The group of heroes had suspected for a while that it had been keeping track of them somehow, and purposefully leading them to dead ends to distract them. Now they had their proof. Just as they had settled into a safe place, they had yet another portal pop up. 

Time winced at the thought of this strange shadow dragging them away from any respite they found until they were all so exhausted and worn out, it would have no trouble picking them off. 

The thought that the shadow had gotten close enough to the ranch to make a portal that was visible from the front door also chilled him to his bones. It had been here. Right here. 

Thinking of the shadow even laying eyes on Malon made him irrationally angry, although he didn’t show it. To him, Malon was the pinnacle of this life that he had built for himself. She was the small amount of normal in the strangeness that came with being a hero. She was his rock in this sea of chaos.

There wasn’t anything dragging him through the portal, of course. He could simply stay on this side of it until it closed. He knew the other heroes would not begrudge him if he chose to do so. 

All of them seem to be slightly in awe that he was able to build such a life for himself. They all had internalized, on some level, that people like them could not lead a normal life. They would not scorn him if he chose to stay with his wife, and protect her from this very real threat to her.

To her, and the tiny life she had growing inside of her. 

Had it just been Malon and her father at the ranch, Time wouldn’t hesitate even a moment to leave. Malon was incredibly strong, and smart. If anything were to happen, he had no doubt that she would get both her and her father to  Castle Town alive. Now though, after the news that she delivered to him early this morning, he hesitated at the thought of leaving, just for a moment. 

Malon wasn’t even really showing yet and he knew, just like Malon's mother before her, she would work in the fields and ply her wares at market until the day the babe came. Then, she would be back at it in a week, the child slung on her back. (Nothing too strenuous, of course. Malon could be obstinate at times, but she wouldn’t put the babe in danger. But there was little time for rest on a farm.)

He knew he would likely be back well before it was time for the child to be born, but it was one more thing to worry about. What kind of man was he, to leave his pregnant wife here alone, possibly in danger?

Despite the urge to stay, he knew that he couldn't. The boys were leaving, with or without him. While he knew that Twilight and Warriors would be good leaders in his stead, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. These boys, although he would never admit it out loud, were his. (Though he had never voiced it to her, he suspected that Malon knew this too.) 

Besides that, even if he stayed here, there was no guarantee that the shadow they chased would be dealt with. There would be no guarantee that Malon would be safe, just because Time stayed. He was only one man. Fighting the shadow as a group was much more likely to work than confronting it separately. Better to nip at the bud of the problem before it blossomed. 

He stood from his chair at the head of the table, joining the boys who were going to collect their still dirty traveling equipment. They haven't even gotten the chance to wash the mud off their boots. 

He sighed, moving towards his and Malon’s bedroom, suddenly feeling the weight of all his years pressing on him. There was still so much they needed to do before they left, which all suddenly needed to be done in a few minutes.

They needed to restock. They needed more bandages… Many more, if this trend of endless battles continued. They would have to dip into the ranch’s store of preserved food. Jerky, and some hardtack. (Maybe, if they were lucky, Malon had some honey cakes laying around that they could snag to eat as breakfast on the road, but Time suspected they would be eating apples from Wild’s slate instead.)

Hardtack and jerky weren’t pleasant foods to eat, but it was a necessary back up. They did not want to be caught with all their food inside Wild’s slate again. Although the technology kept food from rotting, they had no way to access that food without Wild. Apparently the slate was keyed to him, and would therefore only work for him. And if he was unconscious, well...

They had found that out the hard way. After that incident, they all carried some provisions on them, which, Time acknowledged, they should have been doing from the start. What if they had gotten separated?

Time would need to get one of the boys to run out and fill their water skins at the pump. One of them would need to go get Twilight's Epona ready to travel.

He needed to check how many rupees they had, and if they were lacking, he would need to ask Malon to borrow some of the ranch’s funds. He squirmed unhappily at the thought. Normally, the heroes would be able to sustain themselves, selling things they found and scavenged from monsters for a rupee or two. (The Champion and the Veteran were especially good at this.) They hadn’t had any time to do this recently, though, and needs must. He was sure Malon would agree.

They needed to rebandage Hyrule’s arm, and check it for infection. The traveler’s tunic had been torn, so they also needed to make sure that someone had thread to patch it up.

They needed- 

Time sighed, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, purposefully cutting off his train of thought. He would give himself a migraine if he kept worrying. He was sure that the captain and the pup were getting everyone ready to go even as he thought. He needed to stop worrying about these boys so much. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

Time would have startled at the hand that was placed on his shoulder, had he not known it so well. 

He looked up to meet his wife’s understanding eyes. He allowed her to pull him up, and the two started to repack his belongings in silence. 

Malon’s understanding and her unspoken support nearly made him feel worse, somehow.

As Time stepped out of the portal, he had to blink against the sudden sunlight. In his own Hyrule, it had been an overcast day. It hadn’t quite been raining, but the air was heavy, warning of incoming storms and making the scars that littered the heroes ache. 

On the other side of the portal, however, the weather couldn't be more different. It was early morning here as well, which Time was eternally thankful for. It was difficult to suddenly adjust to a different time of day. The sun was shining brightly, and those of the group which had preemptively pulled out their rain cloaks sighed in relief, packing them away again. The air was balmy and warm, signaling that it was spring in this Hyrule. If they were even in Hyrule. Time certainly didn’t recognize this place.

The group stood in the middle of a small bridge that stretched over a lazy river. The bridge was rather rickety, and Time worried slightly that the combined weight of the entire group along with Epona might make it collapse. Warriors seemed to share his thoughts, as he started herding the younger heroes towards the northern shore. 

Behind them, the portal snapped closed with finality. 

~~~

[The group find themselves standing on a rickety old bridge over a river]

When they had all made it off the bridge, they mingled together, pulling themselves back together after having to come through the portal. They stood on a well worn path that Time thought it would be rather generous to call a road. Up ahead, the path split into two, one fork going on straight, and the other taking a sharp turn toward the left. There were a few trees scattered about, but no true forest. Mostly, it was open plains and gently rolling hills. 

After making sure that they were safe, at least for now, Time ran an observing eye over the group.

Four was pressing a hand to his forehead, scowling slightly. He often got crippling headaches after coming through the portal, but it seemed like it wasn’t so bad this time around since he was sitting up and looking around. 

Hyrule’s completion had turned slightly green, and he was leaning heavily against Sky. Time frowned. The traveler was always the worst off after they went through portals. He had said that the dark magic they were made of threw his own magic out of balance. Time could understand that. Legend also looked slightly green around the gills, and was snapping at Warriors irritably. The captain clearly decided to give Legend a respite, knowing how irritable the man got after portals, and left him alone. Thankfully, other than that, everyone looked mostly fine. They would have to keep an eye on the traveler, though. Not only did he handle portals the worst, he was still injured.

For the sake of the Traveler, the veteran, and the smithy, Time turned to the rest of the group. “We’ll stay here for a while, eat some breakfast, and talk about our next move.” There were relieved groans from the whole group. They moved off the path, sitting on the grassy slope nearby.

Wild started pulling out food from his slate. There were the apples that Time had expected, but also wildberries, slices of hydromelon, and roasted nuts. Taking a handful of roasted nuts for himself, Time took another look at the champion. He looked suspiciously happy, and was being rather generous with the food.

His question was quickly answered once Wild finished passing out food, by the champion shining light on the mystery of where they had ended up. “This is Horwell Bridge.” 

Ah. that would explain the happy expression. This was Wild’s era. “We’re really close to the Riverside stable, so we can head there after we finish eating, and ask around for any information. The stables here are in constant communication with each other, so if you want to hear gossip or rumors about pretty much anything, asking around at a stable is a good bet. We’ll probably be able to get information about any black blooded monsters there.”

“And if we can’t? Where to after that?” Time asked. It felt a little weird to be asking Wild for directions on what to do next. The cook wasn't exactly a leader type, and usually did anything he could to avoid being in a leadership role. 

Unfortunately for him, this was Wild’s Hyrule, and he knew the land the best. What he said, went.

“Well, whether or not we find information, I think our next stop should be Kakariko village. It’s the closest settlement. The elder there, Impa, should be able to give us some advice. Zelda’s also likely to be there, if she isn’t in Hateno.” Time noticed Wild’s cheeks redden slightly at his mention of Zelda, and mentally grinned. He would have to keep an eye on those two to see what was going on between them. 

Although Sky and Time were the only ones who openly talked about any relationship they were in, Time knew that some of the other heroes also had significant others. Hyrule flushed whenever he talked about one of his princesses, Dawn, Twilight always shut down completely whenever he was questioned on the topic, and Time was pretty sure that Legend and Ravio were engaged. (At least, he didn’t think that the ring situated on the veteran's ring finger was magical. Although, knowing him, Legend wouldn’t hesitate to make his own engagement ring magic in some way. Not that Time could judge, as he had done the same thing himself, placing a protective spell on Malon's wedding ring.)

Wild hadn’t really mentioned anything when the topic was brought up, other than saying he had been in a rather serious relationship with a Zora princess before he died. Time knew that she had been killed somehow during the intervening years, though, so it wasn’t beyond possibility that Wild was involved with his princess.

Wild continued, “So, once we get to the stables, we can take some of my horses to make the journey faster. But after that, we have a couple options. The fastest way to Kakariko is that way,” he gestured back across the bridge, “but the road ends pretty quickly, the terrain is pretty rough, and it's a steep climb.”

Here Wild paused, pulling out his slate, moving closer to Time to show him the screen. Warriors and Twilight moved closer as well, while the rest of the group listened in. “But look here, the easier route is to keep going south west until we hit the plateau, then double back, see here? And follow the road through Dueling Peaks to Kakariko. We’d still make it before the end of the day, at least if we pick up horses. If not, we’ll still make Dueling Peaks stable.”

Time nodded. “You know the lands better than us. If that’s what you suggest, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Wild seemed startled by that, seeming to have forgotten that he was calling the shots now. “Alright. Then we’ll go by way of the peaks.”

Twilight grinned, ruffling Wilds hair, who cried out indignantly at Twilight messing up his long locks. “Sounds good, cub.” Time and Warriors nodded at that, and their course was set. 

~~~

[The group makes it to Kakariko, and they all go to speak with Impa. TIme is quiet the entire time, still upset about having to leave his wife so soon. Impa can tell something’s wrong, and asks to speak with him alone. Time ends up telling her what’s wrong. Impa offers him some good advice that comes from her years raising Paya after he daughter and son-in-law died]

“Life will continue on whether or not you are present for it. So, if you want my advice, I would suggest being present for what you can be present for.”

~~~

Considering the woman’s words, Time wandered back outside, and down the steps. Since he had last been outside, the town center seemed to have been transformed. The small fire had been expanded. It was a huge blaze now, merrily crackling away. It was big enough to fit what looked like half the population of Kakariko around it, and indeed, half of Kakariko seemed to have turned out for the festivities.

The atmosphere was merry. Children ran around, carefree. A vendor had seized the opportunity and set up a small stall, selling roasted meat and baked apples from the fire, along with flasks of spiced ale. People were chattering away with each other, mingling easily. No one seemed to be left out of the merry-making. 

There seemed to be no trouble to be had, and even the most tense heroes, like Legend and Warriors, looked like they were relaxing. Time could also feel himself relaxing into the atmosphere. 

There would be the same worries tomorrow. Worries about shadows, and infected beasts, and Malon, but for now, Time figured that Impa was right. Time could finally feel the weight of those thoughts fall away. He could enjoy himself for the night. 

He walked closer to the fire, looking for a nice place to sit that was near the others. As he approached, a couple of the teens sprang to their feet. They gestured for him to take their seat, laughing as he tried to politely refuse. They sped away, jostling each other, and yelling for their friends. 

Time smiled at their energy, remembering a time when he could act the same way, and not wake up sore in the morning. (He knew that if he ever voiced those thoughts, the boys would nag him about it for days.) 

He took the vacant seat, settling in next to an elderly woman who seemed to be working on a piece of embroidery. The skin around her eyes wrinkled as she squinted at her work, paying no attention to Time. He left her to her work, content to sit in silence. 

Time accepted a flask handed to him by a passing gentleman. He sipped slowly, savoring the alcohol. He gazed around, taking all the sights and sounds of the merry gathering. He didn’t think it was any sort of festival, or at least Wild hadn’t mentioned one. Perhaps the arrival of such a large group of travelers instigated enough excitement that it had simply snowballed.

Or, perhaps such a thing was common in this town, for the people to gather together at night, to share food and drink over a roaring fire. Time would have never thought such a thing this morning, when he had first laid eyes on Wild’s land. It had seemed barren, for all the flora and fauna there had been. It had been devoid of Hylian life, ruins scattered everywhere they looked. 

The Champion had shared the story of his adventure, complete with the utter destruction wrought on the land by Gannon, or The Calamity, as Wild had called it. Time had expected to see a desolate landscape, so that was what he had seen this morning. 

This night was forcibly opening his eyes, however. Of course, the land was not as full of life as some of the others’ were, but it wasn’t barren. The land and the people were healing. Kakariko was small, and would not be considered more than a hamlet in Time’s era, but the people here were not downtrodden. They were flourishing. They shared smiles with one another, and shared food just as easily. 

They had children and teenagers, though thinking of it now, Time couldn’t spot the lively bunch of teens anymore. All those gathered around the fire were older men and women. Time would reckon there was no one under the age of forty around the fire, besides the other heroes.

As he gazed away from the fire to attempt to find where everyone else had gone, (and the group of hero’s two youngest members, who seemed to have wandered off,) his eyes slowly adjusted to the lower light. 

With the improved vision, he could tell that the younger folk of the village were gathered just outside the light of the fire. Time could see a young couple stealing a moment with each other, sitting on nearby the bridge that leads to a small island with the goddess statue. The sight brought a sharp pang of longing for Malon into his heart, which he did his best to shove away. 

There was no space for homesickness here. Not tonight. 

Even further from the fire, the young children played, chasing each other and playing tag. He still couldn’t see the teens anywhere, but now that he was listening he could hear them, so any worries were assuaged. Pricking his ears towards the noise, Time could even make out the familiar sounds of the smithy and the sailor joining in the yelling. 

It seemed that the town had organized itself into age groups. The honored elders got the prime spots by the fire, while the adults were left to mix in the surrounding areas. The children were let loose to play, as long as they stayed in sight of their parents, and the teens were free to explore and do their own thing. 

Wild’s time was full of monsters, but even the most brave bokoblin wouldn’t dare enter an established settlement, filled with Sheikah who were still trained in the ancient fighting techniques. That safety meant that the teens were able to get some space from the adults, and interact with each other without the oppressive gaze of their minders.

Time was glad that Four and Wind were getting some time away from the older heroes as well. It would be good for them to spend some time around those their own age. It would also give them some time to unwind without having to live up to the expectations they set for themselves in the presence of their older counterparts. 

Besides those two, the entire rest of the group of heroes was resting in the fire light. Wild was talking animatedly to Flora, a bigger smile on his face than Time had seen in a while. Time was suddenly glad that it was Wild’s Hyrule they had come to. They had been to every other land except Wild’s, and had even gone to Time’s era twice. This was the first time they had come to see Wild’s homeland since the journey started and Time realized that the young man must have been feeling homesick. 

Warriors and Legend were leaning against the only tree in the town center, sharing a flask with a couple of older Sheikah men. He could hear Warriors telling a tale of some battle to Legend and the men they sat with. (Time had noticed that despite how much the two argued and snapped at one another, they actually got along quite well when they thought no one was looking. They seemed to have grown close.)  

Sky was dozing off across the fire, leaning against an old woman who seemed entirely unfazed by the situation. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself as she encouraged a couple of the younger kids, who Time suspected to be her grandchildren, to draw on his face with sticks of charcoal. Time snorted quietly to himself. He imagined that Sky wouldn’t be too mad when he woke up with butterflies scribbled all over his cheeks. 

Hyrule and Twilight were the last of the group that Time spotted. They were sitting a little ways away from him, barely within the reach of the firelight, listening to a middle aged man spout off facts about cucco farming. Hyrule looked to be more interested in gazing at the fire than listening, but Twilight seemed to actually be engaged, remarking on his own passion, goat farming. 

As he looked for longer, Time could tell that the rule of ‘Elders on the inside, getting younger as you get further from fire’ was not hard and fast. Several younger adults were situated near the blaze, and it seemed that as long as they stayed far from the dangerous flames, the younger children were welcome to mingle as they pleased. And yet, Time watched as a young woman looked around for a spot to sit, completely ignoring the empty space on the log near her, which was shortly taken by an elderly man.

Perhaps it had more to do with status, then? Impa’s granddaughter was one of the ones in the inner circle, after all, sitting next to Flora and Wild. And all of the heroes were welcome as well, offered prime seats. The teens from earlier had even gotten up so Time could sit. 

Time marveled at the intricacies of etiquette in Wild’s Hyrule. In Time’s Hyrule, it would have been first come first serve, although a kind hearted soul might give up their seat for a particularly aged person. The differences between their lands never ceased to amaze Time, and not just the obvious ones. The less obvious things, like seating arrangements, also stood out. Little things, like Wind and Sky both having no idea what horse was, or Hyrule never having seen a town as big as Time’s castle town. 

Like he said, he marveled at it.  

[Later that night, Time witnesses Wild proposing to Flora. He uses a tradition from his own time to do so, where the one who wants to propose has to master the craft of whoever they’re proposing too. So if their partner is a baker, they would bake a pie. If their partner is a woodcarver, they would have to carve something, ect. For the most part it doesn't have to be perfect, It’s just to show that the one proposing is invested enough in their partner’s life to take time to learn something new to understand more about their partner. 

In this AU, Flora is a mixture between a scholar/storyteller/teacher. Since her craft isn’t really physical, Wild proposes by beating her in a game of riddles. (Flora may or may not catch on to what he’s doing halfway through, and lets him win, but shhhh no one needs to point that out.) That scene was going to be heavily inspired by the riddle scene in the Hobbit, but when Wild asks the “riddle” of “What’s in my pockets?” and Flora can't guess the answer, he pulls out an engagement ring

The chain doesn't know exactly what’s happening at forst, but they can tell something important is happening, especially at the end when everyone breaks into cheers. Time realizes that he is missing one aspect of his life, but he can still be involved in what’s happening here and now instead of mentally being stuck back at the ranch.]

[grislyintentions]

|Personal Depiction: Yaoshi (HC)|

Romanticised Perspective

For all their love of life’s creations, Yaoshi is an Aeon that is far removed from humanity and their suffering.

They do love them and wish them a life free from the torment of death or pains of illness. Hence they are always drawn to those who fervently wish for another chance at life and those who are lost, lonely or struggling to offer assistance (and because these people are often desperate enough to view them as a symbol of hope, they accept most of the time).

Yet more often than not, the cost & consequence of Yaoshi’s blessings often result in subjecting people to fates worse than death even if they themselves have never physically taken a life with their own hands.

In this regard, their disconnect with humanity is comparable to someone over-watering their plants (resulting in rot), a child roughly handling others, feeding animals human food, drowning insects with an overflow of honey and spoiling to a lethal extent. For an Aeon like them, the lines between kindness and cruelty are often blurred; Arguably, they are one and the same.

Even if they were to be confronted with the devastation/aftermath of their blessings someday, the Aeon would only further weep at their pain, and further romanticise their suffering and breathe their forms into ‘new life’. They care, they really do, just not in the way one could comprehend (or accept).

Ancient Beliefs

When it comes to the subject of medicine, ancient chinese beliefs center heavily around the nature of its uses and applications. According to the belief 《是药三分毒》, the correct usage/application of medicine will aid in recovery and healing from sickness. However, take it where it’s not needed and it very well becomes a form of poison to the body.

This is in part why there is a common theme of 《以毒攻毒》(combating poison with poison) depicted in Wuxia literary works and chinese drama centered around the olden times, especially when the character sustained a mortal injury.

The simplest explanation of ‘traditional chinese medicine’ is the belief that the human body can recover/heal itself through the aid of herbal remedies and adjustments (anything apart from that which requires surgery). Most practitioners are required to have an intimate knowledge on herbs, brewing/concocting methods and what functions they all have along with what can and cannot be mixed. The base idea of it all is to prepare ingredients to brew medicinal soup, however in later ages, they can come in the form of a ‘pill’ as well.

In Yaoshi, these elements are present in their form closely representing nature as well as the adverse effects of their ‘blessings’ that come to be. There is always a risk when one craves something badly enough to take ‘poison’. There is always a cost to be paid. That is why people continue to try and seek Yaoshi’s Elixirs out despite there being countless tragedies born from the Aeon’s enlightenment of their world.

Yaoshi, in their own essence, is simply not an Aeon that can be classed as good or evil. They simply exist as them: it is up to humanity to make that opinion for themselves. And just as well, it is humanity’s own desire that would shape their interactions.

Longevity & Emanators

While it is commonly agreed that Yaoshi’s form consists of multiple red slitted eyes with black sclera, they serve another purpose. Borrowing the above example of a ‘pill’, these ‘eyes’ contain the Aeon’s essence. By ingesting them, one will gain knowledge from the path of Abundance and forever bind themselves to the Aeon.

Through their Emanators, Yaoshi’s eternal gaze spreads across the universe. Nature finds a way to survive and even thrive in the unlikeliest of places, much like fungi or dandelions growing from cracks in concrete. As long as their Emanators live, so will Yaoshi.

Thanks to this, Yaoshi remains currently one of the hardest Aeons to kill/replace. Should another Aeon think to join forces with the Plagues Author, they could very well possess the capabilities to decimate part of the vast universe unless they are stopped.

Another point to note:

The forbidden secrets behind the undefinable and remote connection between those of the Hunt and Yaoshi has been described as a ‘connection that cannot be explained by physics’. Attempts at divining the fate of Aeons have been said to be forbidden, though they can be forgiven. But it is the predicting/divining of Yaoshi’s fate that is specifically banned by the Ten-Lords Commission, with the crime being tantamount to the Ten Unpardonable Sins.

It is implied that diviners who have attempted to divine Yaoshi’s fate have all met a tragic demise before punishment could even be sentenced and truly it is up to us to imagine the horrors they must have witnessed.

[silencecunt]

Is There A Problem With Mortal/Immortal Romance?

Within the fantasy and sci-fi genre, there is a common trope of long-lived races. Some races are true immortals, dying only when slain, while others are seemingly immortal to those with much shorter lifespans, such a humans, yet still age and decease, themselves.

Humans have long been fascinated with the concept of death--and how one escapes it. Through the ages, countless people have endeavored to seek out potions or spells that would grant them life-everlasting, or even something found in nature such as a fruit or body of water. Some of these ventures have even brought about important discoveries, such as when Chinese monks, in their endeavors to create an elixir that would grant them extended lives, invented gunpowder in the 9th century. Suffice to say, it was natural humans told stories of beings that achieved what they could not: escape the inevitability of death. They often then endowed them further with another great thing humans desire: power.

Oftentimes, these immortal beings were divine--whether holy or wicked. They were gods and demons, saviors and monsters, guardians and tricksters. They helped and blessed humans; they cursed and smote them. They listened to their prayers, heeding to their pleas; they preyed on their weaknesses, luring them to their doom. Power defined them, and mercy was little found. Humanity needed figures to explain the randomness of their world. Why did the sky flash and shout? Oh, it's just Thor passing by on his chariot! Why do humans procreate? Eh, Nuwa got bored making humans. Why do we have winters? Well, Demeter just really hates being separated from Persephone. It brings comfort to have an explanation for why things are the way they are, and modern humans are no different. We, too, rely on explanations to our world, but through the lens of the sciences rather than mythology. Naturally, religion still plays a large role in the lives of many across the world, and also serve as means to explain what science cannot, or what explanations from science they have rejected. Even today, we still believe and worship in immortal beings.

We have long looked up to and quaked in the shadow of those we perceive as possessing qualities we desire, yet feel are hopelessly out of our reach. People tremble and cry when meeting artists they greatly admire, and is that so different from someone weeping before an altar when they feel the presence of God? There is, however, another common feeling people have towards those they admire: lust. It may not be so lascivious as the images the word conjures up--perhaps infatuation would better suit--but for our purposes, we shall hover on the sexual side of it.

Our modern perceptions of sex and procreation drastically contrast those of the past. For many centuries, it was the common societal belief in the Western world that the sole purpose of sex was for procreation. Of course people had pre-martial sex, extramarital affairs, or just loved having sex with their spouse because it felt good, but it was largely looked down upon and could, and did, have dire consequences if found out. The impact it had depended on race, class, and gender to varying degrees, but sometimes even those in positions of privilege could not escape a fall from grace--indeed, could even be the crux by which an execution is predicated on, such as the case with Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard. As such, they did not interpret the acts of rape committed against mortal women by immortal men, more often than not, the same way we do. There are examples where rape is presented as a reason to revile a figure, such in the case of Cassandra's rape at the hands of Ajax the Lesser, yet this revulsion is not due to the violation Ajax committed against Cassandra, but rather the violation he committed against Athena. Even then, he escapes his punishment by seeking refuge in the very temple he dragged Cassandra away from to rape her.

This apathy towards sexual assault against women is, obviously, rooted in misogyny. All across the world--though not every single place in it--patriarchy was the norm. This is true of Europe, of pre-colonial and ancient Africa, of ancient China, of pre-Hispanic America, so on and so forth. Rape then, as it is now, was used as a means to assert power, and this is the purpose it serves across many myths and stories in history. As we, as a collective whole, have advanced our thinking and attitudes towards women, their role in society, and how we treat them, we look back at these stories now so deeply-ingrained in our cultural DNA, we cannot possibly part from them, and cringe--rightfully so! Yet therein lies the problem: we don't want to give up these stories, but we are deeply uncomfortable with the subject matter, so what do we do?

We turn them into love stories.

One of the most famous examples of this phenomena is Hades's abduction of and subsequent marriage to Persephone. For many modem people, theirs is a "meet-ugly" love story, that Persephone loves both being with her mother, Demeter, and her husband. Were an ancient Greek person to hear our version of the myth, they may struggle to recognize it. The myth exists to explain why we have winter, why it is so cruel and barren, so why would it be a romantic tale? Well, because we have grown uncomfortable with past perceptions of women--at least, we don't like to make such opinions so public. Part of this stems from our culture trending towards romanticism. This doesn't exclusively apply to romance--we have romanticized views of friendship, family, our careers, etc.--but certainly plays a large role in why these myths have changed. The world is no longer so harsh as it once was, and we desire the stories we tell to reflect that.

As these revised stories entered the mainstream, and as previously fringe topics such as the exploration of human sexuality and depravity permeated it, as well, we began exploring sexuality through the supernatural. What were once representations of society's fears and failings, for example vampires, became sex icons. Anne Rice's Interview With a Vampire, and its sequels, is often credited for this transformation. However, the vampires within Rice's world do not, themselves, experience lust save for blood. This presents them as sensual, hypnotic, sexy beings that were all the more dangerous for their seductive, sexual prowess, and all the more attractive, too. Ever since, vampire fiction has been fascinated with treading this line between dangerous predator and irresistible lover. Humanity, at large, is drawn to the taboo, to the unusual, because it places us in a situation we're uncomfortable with but curious about. Through fiction, whether oral or literary or theatrical, people have explored and examined society by looking at what disgusts and disturbs us, and making it appealing.

In the moral philosophy of the 21st century, age gaps are, at least, worthy of a side-eye. This has not always been the attitude of our culture, and does not ring true to every culture even today, and as such, it is extremely common to find couples with a decade or more between them, the woman younger more often than not and largely in her early twenties or late teens. Despite an 18-year old being a legally-recognized adult, we tend to have a moral issue when a 30-year old, another adult, expresses romantic or sexual interest in them. Why? Because of the gap in maturity between the two.

An 18-year old has just begun their adulthood. At most, they have been an adult for 364 (365 on a leap year) days. Most still live at home with their parents claiming them as dependents on their taxes, keeping them on their insurances, the phone plan, etc. They have not had the time to build a foundation to their future life. It would be extremely rare that someone that age would be able to support themselves without any help whatsoever and not fall apart at the seams. However, even were they able to do that, there is still the issue of their actual maturity. The fact of the matter is that teenagers, even those last two years when one is an adult, are naive, thus easily manipulated. When you contrast them with a 30-year old, who has had time to establish a career, build up their savings, formed professional and personal connections with people of various power, be adults, and biologically develop for another 12 years, the stark difference between their stages of life grow clear. They have undergone developments within their brain that permit them certain cognitive advantages, such as being more logical and capable of handling their emotions. This gives them social, economic, and biological power over the 18-year old. It is hard to look at a situation like that and not worry the teenager is being taken advantage of. How can a 30-year have a fulfilling, equal relationship with someone so unestablished? One has to wonder what their motivations are.

Our issues with these age gaps, therefore, lie with the maturity gap and systematic power their years of adulthood have granted them. But what if those two things weren't a factor? Would we still care about the 12 year age gap? What if the 30-year old looked and acted like an 18-year old, too? Was at the same stage of biological development? What if the 30-year old was actually 300?

One collects a great many experiences living 300 years, and can grow much wiser and carry themselves very differently than anyone else ever could. Yet one can live an eventful life and collect transformative experiences that set them apart from their peers in three decades, so would it then be unethical for them to enter into a relationship with someone their age but with a less worldly perspective? The notion, frankly, is ridiculous. So then what is the problem with a 300-year old frozen at age 18 dating a mortal 18-year old? If they are, as mentioned before, at the same life stage developmentally, is there a problem? Assuming this is a world where their immortality must remain hidden, as is the case for the Cullens in Twilight, they have not had the opportunity to establish themselves as an adult, either. The power dynamics that existed in the previous relationship vanish while the age gap increases.

People, rightfully, are disturbed when an immortal who looks and behaves like a minor is sexualized--ex. Krul Tepes from Owari no Seraph--despite her age being approximately 1,200. Her age does not somehow negate how she is presented, and is, in fact, little more than a shield for pedophiles to skirt around morality. This logic, however, does not seem to extend when it comes to pairing a mortal with an immortal. Suddenly their age does matter, regardless of other factors. This is nothing short of performativeness. Instead of earnestly engaging with a, frankly, complicated and nuanced topic, they look at the surface, see a big age difference, accuse others of pedophilia, and think their activism done for the day. It is an insincere attempt at gaining social points, and may even be attempts at establishing an alibi that they could never engage with such content or do something as deplorable as engaging in sexual conduct with minors should accusations arise.

There are absolutely instances where a mortal/immortal relationship is nothing short of a massive power difference and, at best, precariously treads the line between transgressive and repulsive. That does not mean that every mortal/immortal relationship deals with large power dynamics, nor imply those who enjoy consuming mortal/immortal romances enjoys that dynamic in the slightest. Sometimes people just want to fuck a Victorian hottie, but still have running water and central heating.

[onegianthotmess]

Ikemen Vampire Rants:

💃If the Suitors Turned Into Women💃

If you haven’t seen part One of this rant, I suggest you read it for more of an explication on how this multi-part rant is formatted.

This is part three, which means the next three suitors in this rant are Dazai, Isaac, and Jean! And I’m very sorry this part took so long, it just got pushed to the back due to a couple of other things!

Also, I will be using myself (Amelia; looks like Uraraka from MHA but with peach colored eyes, fluffy and curvy figure, and is between 5’9-5’10 in height) as an insert for the MC and as the one who helps the suitors through their strange experience.

Faust needed a few test subjects for his new experimental elixir, and naturally he first moved to put it into Charles’s and Vlad’s dinner. But, by some inexplicable reason, a few vials of the elixir somehow made their way to le Comte’s mansion and ended up in the residents’s dinner. Let’s see how this plays out, shall we???

Dazai Osamu

Dazai woke up feeling more or less the same

He got up and went to get his clothes for the day and-

Oh.

He had breasts and shoulder length hair now

. . .

Meh, it’s not that big a deal!

Dazai simply got dressed in his usual attire before making his way to Amelia’s room for help with his hair since he didn’t have anything to help him untangle long hair

And Amelia screamed when a now woman Dazai climbed into her room through the window as she was about to leave to go and help Sebastian with breakfast

“Toshiko-san! Would you be so kind as to help me with untangling my hair, please?”

Amelia stared at the author before sighing and telling Dazai to sit down at her vanity, which he did after giving her a smile and a “thank you”

And after Amelia brushed out Dazai’s hair, which was somehow softer than silk, she grabbed the author by the wrist and made him use the door to her room to leave because she was still shaken from him breaking into her room

And the rest of the day went on

Dazai gave zero explanation to anyone’s questions and just talked with Arthur and teased Isaac all through breakfast

Nothing really happened throughout the day and everyone was just going with it because Dazai wouldn’t give a straight answer anyway

When Dazai woke up the next day, he climbed into Amelia’s room through the window, thanked her for helping him yesterday, and climbed back out of the window leaving a very sleepy and confused Amelia behind

Isaac Newton

Isaac woke up and immediately went back to tinkering with a little gadget he was dissecting last night, not even noticing his longer hair or body

Since this was a somewhat regular occurrence, Amelia brought him his breakfast along with a small bottle of Rouge for him and only noticed what had happened to Isaac when she sat the try of food down

His body and face were now that of a woman’s, with a petite hourglass shape and a soft baby face that made him look even cuter than before

And his hair was now down to his chin in a sort of “bob” haircut

Pretty much, Isaac was the cutest woman Amelia had ever seen in her life

Feeling eyes on him, Isaac looked up to see Amelia staring at him

“Do you need somethi-”

Isaac stopped mid sentence when he actually listened to the sound of his voice

It was softer and lighter than normal, and much sweeter sounding than it had ever been

Amelia had to hold back a squeal from just how cute Isaac was as he now noticed his hair and body had changed overnight

And when Isaac was turning red and beginning to panic, Amelia quickly told him that she’d be right back with a few things to help him

And seeing no other options, the professor just nodded and sat in his room uncomfortably stiff and nervous due to his new body

After a few minutes, Amelia returned with a bag and began to help Isaac

The top undergarment had to be improvised due to the difference in chest size, but once that was done it was just simply a matter of getting Isaac’s pants to fit nicely around his slightly slimmer waist

He stayed more or less the same size, if a little smaller than before, so his clothes were just the tiniest bit loose on him

And after Amelia helped him, Isaac asked to just stay in his room the entire day and Amelia said she’d bring him food and a few books if he’d like

And so Isaac stayed in his room, tinkering away at dissected gadgets with Amelia bringing him his meals and chasing off Dazai and Arthur away from the awkward man’s room

At one point, Isaac actually heard both Arthur and Dazai being chased of by Amelia beating them both with a broom…

When Isaac woke up back to normal the next day, he awkwardly thanked Amelia in private, which Arthur walked in on and he began teasing Isaac, which made Amelia chase him off with a broom because she’s Isaac’s overprotective older sister/mom friend

Jean d’Arc

Oh, our poor Christian boy…

He looks away from Amelia when she has the tiniest bit of her collarbone showing, so he’d be going insane with embarrassment if he woke up and had a woman’s body

Jean woke up with a slight ache in his back and a heavy feeling on his chest

When he looked down to find he now had breasts, he almost screamed

Well, he started to but then he slapped a hand over his mouth when he heard how feminine his voice now sounded

In short, he was fucking terrified and wondered if what he was seeing was considered a sin or not because it was womanly parts, but it was his body

He was having an internal mental breakdown so bad that he didn’t even notice Amelia come into the room with Rouge and Blanc for him until she asked him what happened

When Jean spoke out of the instinct to immediately respond, he slapped his hand over his mouth again at the sound of his voice

The poor boy’s brain still needs to process what is happening-

Jean was still freaking out and barely registered Amelia speaking before she left and quickly returned to his room with a bag

Essentially, Amelia had to dress Jean as he just sat there blankly as his mind slowly processed and came to terms with what had happened to him

So it was just Jean sitting there blankly while Amelia cursed under her breath as she laced up one of her corsets around Jean’s now feminine body

And it wasn’t until Amelia started to brush through Jean’s now waist length hair that Jean slowly started to come out of his processing of the current situation he was in and he actually started talking with Amelia as she put up his hair in a simple ponytail

Jean was very confused at the entire situation, but he was especially confused at the new proportions and feelings of his body

Did all women have a bit of plush around their hips and thighs? Did all women have back pains from their breasts? Did he get shorter? How did he get shorter? How could people live at such small heights as he’d seen in town?

He’d have been in his head all day if Amelia didn’t ask him if he wanted to go to breakfast

Jean said he wouldn’t mind going to breakfast, since he’d planned on going and spending his day with Cherie since Amelia told him that he couldn’t spend every moment of his free time studying or sparing with Napoleon

So Jean went down to breakfast with Amelia and witnessed a variety of reactions

Mozart was semi-freaking out, Vincent complimented Jean and said he looked very beautiful, Arthur tried to get flirty but that was put down by a sword to his throat, Dazai attempted to tease Jean but was met with his usual adorable denseness, Comte also complimented Jean but was ignored, Sebastian almost called Jean “Joan” which was funny, and everyone else was either silently confused or didn’t really care

After breakfast, Jean went outside to spend his time with Cherie

He played with her and fed her and eventually ended up spending a good chunk of his afternoon with Napoleon, who was also outside with his pet eagle, Jupiter

Jean actually ended up taking a nap with Cherie outside and Vincent and Amelia saw this while they were looking for a place to set up Vincent’s painting supplies

So Vincent decided to paint Jean napping with Cherie, until both Jean and Cherie woke up that is

Jean felt a bit uncomfortable, so he picked up Cherie and said a polite goodbye before leaving

And then the rest of his day was spent in his room after he put Cherie back in her pen outside with some food and headpats

The next day when Jean woke up normal, he was very relieved

He didn’t want to live another day as a woman because one, it felt strange and like it went against specific moral principles he had, and two, having breasts meant big back pains

Later during the day, Jean thanked Amelia for her helped and became genuinely concerned for her back now that he knew having breasts meant back pains

All he got was a hug from Amelia because he was being “adorable” in her words

And about a week later, Vincent gave Jean the finished painting of Jean as a woman taking a nap with Cherie

And Jean hung it above his bed because it was a very beautiful painting and he didn’t have any pictures of his beloved tiger yet

Someone draw woman!Jean napping with Cherie, I BEG YOU-!!!

And that’s part three done! Again, I apologize for how long this took, it just got pushed to the back with other projects! I hope you enjoyed and that you’re looking forward to the fourth part, which will be Will, Comte, and Sebastian!

[athenianwit]

PROMPT 001.

This was the last moment that Atticus could turn away from his fate, perhaps he'd been wrong the entire time; but how could one resist the sweet temptation of power that was promised to Atticus? His mind anxiously pushed back, reminding him what might happen if he failed. The son of Athena stared at the pink elixir in his goblet, contemplating what his father might think right now. Would he be proud of Atticus? Or ashamed that his only son never found the same glory that he once did? He may never know. The demigod had agreed to this journey because he wanted to help people, unlike his father who only cared about personal glory. Before he could talk himself out of it, Atticus brought the golden goblet to his lips and began to drink the ambrosia.

As soon as the last drop touched his lips, Atticus dropped the goblet and quickly tried to clutch onto the statue of his dear mother to keep himself steady though the temple around him quickly began to fade away with nothing but darkness surrounding the demigod. Atticus wanted to scream, clutching at his neck; it felt like the ambrosia was burning him from the inside out yet his voice was lost. Was he one of those unfortunate souls who wouldn't survive this stage and died for nothing? Atticus attempted to think of any possible medical explanation of what was happening but his thoughts were lost in a thick fog, worrying the demigod that he may have lost every piece of knowledge he knew.

Forcing himself back to his feet, the darkness quickly filled with flashes of his own life— memories that had been locked away deep within his own brain, ones he believed were long gone. Years of him sitting alone in his own room with nothing but the books on his shelves to keep himself company, years of his father putting work and his other family over Atticus, and years of the demigod doing anything to win his father's love and failing at every turn. He was never the child Nathaniel wanted, kept purely out of familial obligation and resentment. Even becoming a doctor would never be enough for the man who was now inching closer and closer to death.

His childhood home melted away before him and Atticus was lunged into a memory he desperately wanted to forget but was imprinted in his mind. He was in the room where he did his first surgery. Atticus had assisted in countless others before this one but it wasn't the same. The demigod wanted to scream and tell himself to be careful, not to freeze when his patient needed him most but nothing came out and the only thing he could hear was when she flatlined— the screeching only got louder and louder, until he was convinced his eardrums were going to burst.

And then silence. Before watching himself doing the procedure again, and again, and again.

Shutting his eyes, Atticus wanted this all to stop and return to the world he'd foolishly given up. The flatline screech stopped and as Atticus opened his eyes, he was somewhere different— or so he thought.

The doctor was on his back with a bright light over him and several figures looking down at his body. Atticus didn't process what was going on, until he saw his own face blankly staring back with scapple in one hand. Panic began to set in as the demigod felt the blade cutting into his own flesh, the pain was unlike anything he'd ever experienced— every inch of his flesh felt like it was on fire and for the first time in what felt like hours, his voice returned. Screams filled the room, silencing everything else and yet his pleas and cries for help went unnoticed.

It felt like this was going on for days on end, living through the experience of being cut open over and over again. The only thing Atticus could do now was pray for it to end, was this his own personal hell that would go on forever?

Closing his eyes, trying to do anything to distract his mind from what was happening to himself— the pain was suddenly gone and the feeling of the cold knife against his skin had disappeared.

Snapping back into reality, Atticus' eyes shot open when he felt the cold, tiled floor of the temple under his palms. The demigod must have been drenched in his own sweat, tears still burning down his face as his hands went to examine his chest. Fingertips traced along the phantom scars that he knew would never truly go away. The cuts may have been gone, but he would never forget the pain. Atticus' body felt weak, it took every ounce of strength to pick himself up and rest against his mothers statue. He was alone at least, nobody could see him in such a broken and vulnerable moment like this.

Was this just the beginning? Atticus started to wonder what exactly it was that he got himself into and if he'd be able to survive another encounter like this one....

[winterluna81]

A Love Beyond Time-Chapter 5: The Foxes and the Valley

Dinner was a homely and sumptuous affair held at the clearing next to the waterfalls Sagiri had chanced upon earlier. A large pot of stew, filled with vegetables and herbs, simmered over a steady flame. Another slightly smaller pot held fragrant rice with adzuki beans, and a platter piled with ripened peaches and pears completed the menu. The crisp evening air, initially cool due to the setting sun, was now warm and spiced with the rich scents of a freshly cooked meal.

The large group of allies, existing and new, humans and foxes, gathered around the fire. No words were exchanged as they focused on filling their empty stomachs. Only when the sharp edges of hunger were soothed did Nurugai break the silence with a satisfied belch.

“That was a really delicious meal! I haven’t eaten so well for a very long time. Since….” The young Sankar girl trailed off, remembering her slain tribespeople and her beloved grandfather. How they had their evening meals around fires like this, eating and drinking and chatting. How those happy moments were instantly and cruelly wiped out forever by a group of devious samurais. By her own naivety.

A warm, slightly callous hand closed over hers and squeezed lightly. Nurugai looked up to see Shion’s soft smile of comfort and empathy. Of course, her new Sensei would understand because he, too, was nursing a heart shattered by loss and tragedy. Nurugai leaned into the older man, whispering her thanks for his thoughtful gesture.

Right opposite Shion, Seimei studied their exchange with an inscrutable expression. He raised his cup to his lips and drank absent-mindedly, seeming lost in thoughts.

"So, now that we have sated our tummies, can we sate our curiosities now? Who are you? Where are we? Why do you help us? Do you know anything about the Tensens and the Elixir?" Gabimaru, in his usual blunt and single-minded manner, fired off a quick succession of questions like arrows from a tightly drawn bow.

“Allow me to introduce ourselves. We are foxes, and we came to Nihon from the Middle Kingdom 500 years ago. Some people call us fox spirits, fox fairies, or fox demons. We can gain 1 tail after every century of cultivating our life forces. Each tail contains different powers and denotes our age. The ultimate number of tails is 9-hence, the nine-tail fox is extremely powerful,” Harumi paused and glanced lovingly at Asahi. “My mate here, Asahi, is a nine-tail fox. He got his last tail about half a century ago. My twin sister, Keiko, and I have eight tails each.”

“Fox Spirits? So are you now completely human or half of each?” Fuchi queried, his round eyes gleaming with inquisitiveness and something else, which Sagiri dreaded thinking about. She knew her comrade’s obsession with medicine and science. And dissection.

“We are born as foxes. Sometimes, perhaps due to affinity with religious philosophies and teachings, we gain the ability to practice them. We can obtain a human form after 50 years of practice. However, our true form is still the fox, so if we lose our powers, we revert to our original state. Not all foxes have this special religious affinity, though. And every century, a calamity will befall us just when we are about to gain our new tail. It’s like a test from the Celestial Kingdom, albeit perilous. Once we pull through it, we get a tail and increased powers.”

“Are there many nine-tail foxes around?” Nurugai wondered. Asahi shook his head.

“No. Sadly, many foxes fail to withstand the tests and lose all their powers, even their lives, when they are only 300 years old or so."

“Your explanation only covers the three of you, right?” Gabimaru drew a circle around Asahi and the twins with a pointing finger. “What about him?” The shinobi jutted his chin in Seimei’s direction.

 Eleven pairs of eyes swiveled to the silent figure in white. Seimei cocked a dark brow and sighed slightly.

“I, too, have nine-tails. But I am different from Asahi. I am a Celestial Fox and am much older than him.”

“What’s the difference?” Ganetetsusai frowned in confusion.

“It means Seimei is a Deity." Seeing that their Chief did not want to elaborate, Keiko chimed in on his behalf. “People in the Northeastern regions of the Middle Kingdom worship him. He’s one of the most popular deities in their folk religions.” Ignoring Seimei’s glower, she continued proudly. “He’s a very powerful and benevolent deity.” It was obvious that the young vixen greatly admired the Celestial Fox.

An audible gasp sounded as everyone fixed their attention on Seimei. A deity? On this island?

“Is that true? You are really a deity?” Nurugai asked excitedly.

“That was in the past. Yes, I had worshippers and temples dedicated to me,” Seimei’s beautiful face hardened in contempt. “But those mean nothing to me. Now, I am just an immortal with some powers. End of story. Let’s move on to other questions you may have.”

Seimei’s harsh words and apparent disdain for his status as a deity cast an uneasiness over the group. Keiko lowered her eyes and laced her fingers together, biting her lips. Hoping to salvage the situation, Sagiri cleared her throat. “The valley is absolutely breathtaking. Is it a part of Shinsenkyo? Or is it another realm?”

“Both," Seimei recalled. “I found this island more than 2,000 years ago while exploring the Mortal Realm. I liked it a lot-it was very peaceful and had valleys, mountains, lakes, and this waterfall. A perfect place for foxes.”

“But when I returned later, a group of humans from the Middle Kingdom had landed and established a village on the island. At that time, I was in poor form. Also, Asahi, Harumi, and Keiko were still too young. We couldn’t afford to expose ourselves or engage in a battle against the humans. So, I carved up a sizeable portion of Shinsenkyo to form another realm, which I hid and protected with enchantments. This became the valley. The four of us stayed here and continued to cultivate our life forces. I thought we could maintain the status quo. Until the humans started experimenting-first on their fellow countrymen and the island’s wildlife, then the lured outsiders-turning this place into a massive laboratory.”

“It doesn’t explain why you decided to interfere only now. Why didn’t you step in when the humans started their experiments or lured other humans to Shinsenkyo?” Gabimaru questioned.

“Like Seimei said earlier, we were not strong enough to stand up to them initially. It would have been foolhardy and fatal. Later, we didn’t try to rescue the lured humans because they weren’t worth saving, to be honest. All of them were greedy, malicious, and incredibly stupid. Why should we risk exposing our existence and sacrifice ourselves to help them?” Asahi interjected.

“But why rescue us then? What made us so different from the others?” Gabimaru persisted, his eyes trained keenly on the Fox Chief.

“Because all of you are stronger and far more intelligent than the previous ‘victims.' And you have valid reasons to survive this ordeal and return home. Personal reasons and convictions that motivate you to continue fighting. That moved me, so I wish to help. Besides, we no longer want to stand by and watch the experimenters continue with their atrocities and cruelties,” Seimei stated.

The truth is, there is a reason among you why I must step in now. My only reason. He mused quietly to himself.

Sagiri studied Seimei as he spoke. She had noticed him looking intently at Shion since they sat down for dinner. Though his face was a mask of serenity and his posture relaxed, the female Asaemon could sense some inner turmoil within the immortal being.

Does Seimei know Sir Shion? Why does he keep looking at him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Images, dozens of them, clear as day, assailed Shion's mind as they sat around the fire, listening to Seimei. He gasped quietly, helpless to stop them.

…There was a temple-it was not exactly large, but beautiful and well-maintained. He could even smell the incense and the offerings, hear the prayers uttered by the worshippers…

…A large statue of Hu-Xian Ye* was placed on the altar, lifelike and beautiful. Large plates of fruits and eggs were placed on the table as offerings, where an elaborately decorated incense holder stood in the middle, holding hundreds of smoldering joss sticks…

…He was standing behind a pillar, well hidden from view, watching the tall figure in white as it glided gracefully among the crowd with an amused expression. Once, the figure went to the altar and grabbed a peach, biting into it while scrutinizing the statue of the Celestial Fox with an amused expression. As he watched him, his heart felt full and throbbed with an intense emotion….

What is this feeling?

Why do I feel this way about the figure in white?

Who is he?

And…why do I feel so hot and dizzy? Why do I feel as though my body’s on fire?

Nurugai glanced at Shion when he gave a low moan. Puzzlement turned to worry and worry to shock when she noticed his paleness and the sickly sheen of perspiration dotting his forehead. Before she could utter a word, he collapsed to his side.

“SENSEI!”

Quick as a bolt of lightning, Seimei appeared beside Shion. He cradled the moaning blind samurai in his lap carefully and took his pulse. Seimei frowned and, in one fluid motion, removed the silver belt and lowered the top part of the robe to Shion’s waist. What was revealed had the Celestial Fox cursing viciously and the rest of the group swallowing hard in dismal.

Most of the wounds that Shion had sustained had healed nicely and turned a light pink. Except one on his right torso-it was large and a raw, angry red, oozing blood and a pale greenish liquid.

Seimei touched the festering wound gingerly. Though his fingertips barely grazed the surface, Shion writhed and arched his back with an agonized cry. Nurugai rushed toward her Sensei with a distressed cry, only to be held firmly back by Harumi. Seimei tightened his grip around the injured man, murmuring words of comfort in a language foreign to the gathering humans.

“There is some residual venom in his system that infected this wound. We need to purge it immediately.”

As the Celestial Fox spoke, his eyes glowed as if lit from deep within. A sharp talon grew from his left index finger, and he ran it over the lesion, scoring the inflamed flesh. Blood, a dark sinister green, spurted from the cut and ran in rivulets down Shion’s mid-section, pooling near his belly button.

Shion could hear them, the muffled voices. He could not make out what they were saying, but the sounds were enough to tell him he was still alive. The pain spoke to him as well, letting him know that he was clearly not out of the woods. Yet.

“Little Dragon, it’s all right. You’ve been so brave, so strong. Just be brave for a little while more. For me, please. It will be over soon, I promise.”

A murmur cut through the voices and the pain-soothing and achingly familiar. It made his heart quiver again with that strange, intense feeling, and his throat constricted with unshed tears. Who's talking to him? And why does he feel like crying?

Then he felt something slide over him, like silk. Just a flutter over his skin, under it, then deeper, deeper still to where the pain was clenched in fists. Then the silk heated, then it burned. Oh, God. And the fire of it forced those fists open until the pain spread and broke into a thousand jagged pieces.

In his head, the silver-haired samurai screamed foul curses and obscenities that would turn the air blue and thoroughly shatter his reputation as a well-respected Sensei of the Yamada Asaemon clan. But all that passed through his chalk-white lips were inaudible croaks and groans. He sucked in air and trembled as a fistful of fresh pain exploded. But it slowly ebbed away and became a steady throb that finally receded as a cool wave washed over him.

Nurugai choked on a sob as she watched Shion tremble and convulse in Seimei’s arms, the pool of infected blood growing. Harumi squeezed the young girl’s shoulders in a reassuring hug and met Sagiri’s tear-streaked face. She reached a hand out to the female samurai, who took it in gratitude.

“Don’t worry. Shion will be fine. Trust me, and trust Seimei,” she reassured. Sagiri shook her head tearfully.

“How long more must it take? I can’t bear it…”

As if on cue, the blood, which now flowed a healthy crimson, slowed to a mere trickle and stopped completely. At almost the exact moment, the glow in Seimei's eyes faded, and he sat back, arms still around Shion.

“He’s all right now. I have purged the venom completely. All he needs is a good rest.”

Everyone looked in disbelief as the wound, festering and raw and bleeding mere seconds ago, began to heal, knitting close as though sewn together by an invisible hand. Soon all that remained was a palm-sized jagged circle, tenderly pink. They googled even more when Seimei conjured a small crystal bottle out of nothing, and the pool of tainted blood, glistening dully with an oily sheen on Shion’s pale flesh, flowed in a graceful arc towards the bottle and into it. Once the blood was collected, the Celestial Fox capped the bottle, and it vanished with a flick of his hand.

“Why did you collect Shion’s infected blood?” Fuchi questioned when he found his voice.

Seimei looked up at the yellow-haired Asaemon after popping a pill into Shion’s mouth.

"I want to examine the blood, see if I can identify the venoms. I plan to create an antidote. In any case, I enjoy studying things, making my own potions and salves. Basically, medical and healing-related stuff."

Unsurprisingly, Fuchi’s eyes sparkled with interest and excitement at the word medical. “Can I see how you work? I want to learn more about the Tensen too! And I love medicines and…”

“To dissect things to know how their internals look like," Seimei finished drily before flashing a sharp smile at Fuchi, which had the latter shivering slightly. "I know what you're fantasizing about, my boy. But I'll allow you to work with me and Keiko on some healing stuff. Just don’t push your luck too far. And…don’t act on your thoughts. Or I’ll toss you over the cliffs.”

Sagiri noted that Shion was still reclining in Seimei’s lap, with the Celestial Fox’s arms wrapped snugly around the blind samurai’s waist while speaking to Fuchi. As the platinum-haired man muttered and shifted restlessly, Seimei moved his left hand and cupped his cheek tenderly, almost lovingly. Much to Sagiri's astonishment, Shion snuggled closer to the immortal at the intimate contact and sighed contently.

They look like a pair of cuddling lovers...Anyway, I never knew that Sir Shion had this vulnerable, childlike side to him. He's always so strong and confident.

The young samurai looked away to see Yuzuriha and Nurugai also looking at the two males with interest and curiosity. Just then, Keiko hurried to Seimei’s side and knelt.

“Seimei, I’m so sorry. I didn’t detect the venom earlier…it was my fault that Shion got so sick. I’m really sorry….” Keiko broke off and bowed her head, weeping brokenly. She had grown extremely fond of the silver-haired man and was wrecked with guilt about what just happened.

Seimei smiled and placed a hand on the young vixen’s chin to lift her head up.

“It’s not your fault, little one. The amount of residual venom was too minuscule to be detected easily. You have already done an excellent job.” So saying, the Celestial Fox got to his feet with Shion in his arms.

“I think we should call this a night. We have enough adventure and information for the day. Let’s continue our conversation tomorrow morning. I want to speak to you about our battle plans. Have a good rest, everyone.”

With that, Seimei strode off briskly, leaving the humans behind with questions and intrigue buzzing through their minds. The trio of foxes stared after their Chief’s departing figure, a heavy uneasiness and despair weighing upon them as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and their doubts were confirmed.

Shion was the one that Seimei had been waiting for. And that could only mean one thing….

*Hu-Xian Ye (狐仙爷): The Celestial Fox Fairy (male)

*The nine-tail fox is one of the most well-known and, sadly, controversial mythological figures in Chinese and East Asian legends. The earliest historical records of the mythical creature first appeared in the Shanhaijing (Classic of Mountains and Seas), compiled from the Warring States period to the Western Han period (circa fourth to circa first century BC). Initially, it was depicted as a benevolent creature. However, later Chinese dynasties turned the nine-tail fox into an evil demon that often took on the form of a beautiful seductress who would bewitch men to kill and eat them.

*According to Taoist records, the fox fairy is a deity worshipped by people in North and Northeastern China. The deity can be represented as either male or female, whose animal form is a nine-tailed fox. It is the Chinese equivalent of the Japanese Shintō cult of Inari Ōkami, both god(desses) of the foxes or collective representations of the fox spirits.

[elixirversepress]

SUBMIT TO THE ELIXIR VERSE EQUINOX!

THEME & SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

Veritas & Arcana is the theme of the third volume of the Elixir Verse Equinox.

Every culture throughout history has sought to understand the unknown. Our oldest stories and beliefs endure in the same world where Einstein’s equations provide explanations to the intersection of space and time. From Persephone’s arrival and departure to the tilt of Earth’s axis—both explanations for the equinox; one believed in ancient times and the other proven millenia later. It is at this crossroads that the next volume of the Elixir Verse Equinox seeks to exist. 

Like the High Priestess we contain multitudes, guarding all but a scant few lines. Which of your mysteries will you choose to reveal? Will they be an undeniable truth? Ringing loud and clear like a bell? Or will you share a whispered riddle? Leaving us to ponder each word’s meaning; prompting within us eternal debate. 

We ask you to share your truth’s evolution. Your veritas. To speak your unspoken secrets. Your sacred wisdom. Your magical systems. Your arcana. The lore behind your beliefs.

Reveal the mythos and memories that have molded you. Declare the truth of who you were, who you are, and who you might yet be. 

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[natasha-lightwood]

okay but when are marisa tomei and paul rudd gonna admit they are actually immortal and ageless

[alltimefail-sims]

Part 1 Ft. The (in-progress) Living Bonehilda...

Buckle up because this series will have a varying amount of long-winded explanations and timeline word-vomit... but I'm having fun, and I love lore, so I wanted to share my own. Basically, I've been working on fixing the plot holes and lore inconsistencies of some of my favorite sims in The Sims franchise, and I wanted to start with the lovely and vivacious Bonehilda. Fair disclaimer: I don't think that all the lore in the Sims is inconsistent. Some of the lore is likely ongoing or, in my opinion, intentionally vague. However, plot holes and ambiguity drive me crazy, so for my personal saves I had to eliminate speculation and create a timeline that felt clean, consistent, and interesting to me. So, with that being said... let's deep dive!

read more below the cut ↓

Let's start by talking about her life and death. After initial research, it became clear to me that Bonehilda would have lived around the same time as the flirty spirit Claude René Duplantier Guidry (an implied lover/admirer) and the angry, wrathful spirit Temperance (who is highly implied to be her sister), so she most likely would have been a living young adult somewhere between 1910-1920, and died somewhere in the mid to late 1930s as an adult. Why do I believe she died in adulthood, you ask? I think she likely died in adulthood because the one consistent detail across all three iterations of the game she appears in is that she is an adult skeleton, therefore it's only logical to conclude that she died in her adulthood and unfortunately never made it to elderhood.

I've seen some people argue that she is not actually dead, that she never died and did reach elderhood but just evaded death, but I disagree with this because (1) she is not an "elder" skeleton and (2) my eschatological-philosophy-inclined brain interprets eternal-life as either a divine gift or punishment. This is backed up by the fact that, normally, sims do not come back as skeletons but as spirits and living sims who do have eternal life maintain a sim form but are either occults (vampires) or have taken some elixir of life that just maintains their youthful appearance. Ergo, Bonehilda is closer to the Grim Reaper in nature and distinctly different than a previously living sim - she's a seemingly death-defying being that can be summoned from some unknown ether. Could this be the work of a curse? A sacrifice? A ritual she was involved in...willingly or unwillingly? There's no definite answer, but I do have a personal interpretation that I'll save for another day as it involves some other sims we'll take a deep dive into.

All that being said, I wanted to keep her human form consistent with this established timeline because...well...I'm kind of nuts I guess lmao. But I do like the challenge of working with "eras" in my saves because it makes the passage of time feel more realistic and deepens the interpersonal "legacy" roots that I like to create in the game.

Now let's look at her name, which I very much doubt was literally Bonehilda. I think the sims team chose her name to be a play-on-words. For example, I see a sim like Marcus "Flex" being a good example of this. I interpret "Flex" to be more of an acquired nickname due to his fitness prowess, not his actual last name (perhaps it is even a variation of a real last name like Fleck or Fletcher). That being said, after wayyyy too much thought I came to the conclusion that her first name was likely "Brunhilda," a name referencing a Germanic heroic legend, protector, and queen consort; a name that means "armed for battle" (just like our Bonehilda who protects living sims from malicious spirits). I like to think that our Brunhilda commonly just went by Hilda for short during her lifetime. The bone part, in my lore, became a moniker she was known by because, well, she's a skeleton (duh). But more than that, the likely explanation is that stories and legends about her created an unintentional game of telephone - meaning that as time went on and people told tales about her, her name morphed from the real Brun-hilda to Bone-hilda. I mean, it actually makes sense because they're so similar! Plus, I could see her embracing the nickname for its whimsy, as it's clear she has a kind heart and a good sense of humor. For simplicity though, I will continue to refer to her as Bonehilda.

Lastly, I'm going to touch on her personal appearance. We know that when she takes a "human" form (like when she showers if you add her to your household) she has an average body type, green eyes, and red hair, so I kept all those things consistent. Now, personally, when I think of Bonehilda I think of the words "lively," "spirited," and "trendsetter," so right off the bat I chose to make her hair short. Keeping up with desire to be historically-accurate, I imagine she was very into the rising women's suffrage movement of the 1900s and wasn't scared to turn some heads. Plus, I loved how bouncy and beautiful the hair looked and thought the shorter hair fit her face shape better. (It's an added bonus that I've never seen a human makeover of Bonehilda with short hair, so I thought it was a unique choice.)

In my personal lore, the Goth family was the last family she worked for before she died, and they definitely would have paid and treated her well; I've always assumed the Goths to be exceedingly progressive and far ahead of the times. (Side tangent: the Goths are consistently compared to the Landgraabs for good reason, and I've always seen this as old money versus new money, wealthy but with humanitarianism and philanthropy at the core versus wealthy with the intention of hoarding wealth at the cost of or with little regard of others and so on.) Truthfully, I could see the Goths of the early 1900s seeing Bonehilda (and any other staff that worked for them) as more like a part of the family than "paid help." That being the case, they would be generous and ethical, and Bonehilda would therefore have more freedom and means than your typical working-class single woman of the time, so she would be able to keep up with fashion trends/buy nice clothes/keep up with unique haircuts, etc.

As for her makeup - I am actually super happy with how it looks, so that likely won't change. Her blush is intense, but that's pretty accurate for the time period she lived in. I went with a paler, more natural lip than the movie-starlet red that was coming into style because I wanted her to have a demure, youthful look. I also went with a thin brow, but I do think it could be more "filled in" to suit the dramatic eyebrow look which was rising in popularity at this time. Lastly, the beautiful dress she's currently in is not staying as it reads too 1930s to me. My goal is to find an older looking maid's outfit to put her in that suits a 1915s-1920s look better.

I know this may come off like a lot of unnecessary thought and information for a seemingly silly, throwaway sim. However, I would argue that Bonehilda has appeared in 3/4 of the sims games... so as a long-running character she deserves attention and a consistent lore. As we continue this deep-dive series, she'll be connected to more of my personal favorite sims... so I'm really excited to share more with you guys!

I hope you all enjoyed Part 1! I don't know how many more parts there will be, but if you read all of this, know that I appreciate you and I'm so glad you're here!

Until next time... happy lore exploring, curious cats!

[racco]

Saeran,707, Zen - waking up from nightmares headcanons

Gen neutral reader

[ includes major spoilers ]

Saeran (unknown)

♤((for context, he is still in mint eye here))

♤ He has nightmares every night of what Rika does to him

♤ Wakes up with a scream and headache, at first hated to admit and talk about these moments of his but if it was a really bad nightmare somehow Ray takes over for a bit and doesn't push you away so violently

♤ Of course he thinks it's selfish to even imagine you would care but let himself indulge a bit

♤ It helps him to get his mind away from it with anything he can, whether it's a sensory touch like petting your hair to keep him grounded to the real world or smeeling the sweet scent of your perfume/flowers from the garden which smell nice and sweet, not bitter like the elixir

♤ He would talk very little and rather have you speak if you want to, he doesn't mind either way but he's scared if he speaks he will scare you away

♤ At first refuses to go to sleep again (it's not like he has a bed anyways he just sleeps at his desk chair) buy if you say you also won't go to sleep if he doesn't he'll start feeling bad for taking rest away from you, so he might try falling asleep next to you then

Saeyoung (707)

♧ Only has nightmares when he's very stressed with work

♧ And they are always about his childhood and how he had to leave Saeran behind, sometimes he feels as if his nightmares are him living throughout Saerans eyes when he was young

♧ Sadly most of the nightmares are actually just memories that he wished would have stayed long forgotten

♧ After he wakes up he speaks about his nightmares (not in great detail but enough of an explanation for you to understand)

♧ Would need words of affirmation afterwards

♧ I would say after getting reassured he would be able to go to sleep quickly

♧ And would squeeze you the rest of the night for sure, just to make sure he's keeping you safe

Zen

☆ Happens much more rare than the others

☆ After he ran away and made his career he didn't let the past affect him as much, he is now pleased with his life

☆ But if he ever has nightmares it's about his career failing and everyone hating/forgetting him afterwards (or just silly scary stories lolol)

☆ Wakes up more silently and startes at you for a bit trying to calm down, if he wakes you up too he will ask for you to hold him, rub his hand, etc. (Physical touch) even though he at first thinks it's silly and that he should be a shinning knight and do these for you instead (he too deserves to be pampered once In a while tho )

☆ Wouldn't always tell you what the nightmare was about if it wasn't just some scary story but might give you a quick rundown but then tell you not to worry your pretty little head about it

☆ He remembers how on other nights like these he instead would have just went out to smoke and drink, maybe even ride his motorcycle for a while, but now there's no more need for these since he gains back his peace by being next to you

☆ + next morning does some face masks saying it stressed him out too much and he's afraid of getting wrinkles lolol

[lesbiansforboromir]

"Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed. 

 'Death was ever present, because the Numenoreans still, as they had in their old kingdom, and so lost it, hungered after endless life unchanging. Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons. 

  Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in high cold towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anarion had no heir." 

Faramir's explanation for Gondor's ‘decline’ is... incoherent.. what the hell are you on about m’love?

The way this reads is so completely misleading when looking at the actual history and reasons for Gondor's receding borders and the loss of the watch on Mordor. Faramir puts the onus on Gondorian Kings wanting to live longer and not having kids... babe? Did you forget... the plague? Gondor WAS watching for activity in Mordor. For 1640 years! And then there was a plague so devastating that it turned the country’s most populous city into a near ghost town. It took 200 years for Gondor to recover, and even then it never truly reached the population levels it had maintained before. Osgiliath was never the same! And by then Mordor had taken the fortresses at the Morannon! 

There is absolutely no mention of Kings or Stewards who were desperately seeking to extend their life in Gondor’s history. Where are these tombs more splendid than the houses of the living? All the Kings not buried in Osgiliath are buried in the Silent Street... There is no mention of achingly elaborate tombs anywhere! 

There WERE however some Kings who did not marry or have children! ... Two, there were just two of them... out of thirty three. Narmacil I was Atanatar's son and reigned in the HEIGHT of Gondor's wealth. He essentially allowed his nephew Minalcar to run the country whilst he had a great time writing poetry and kissing men. And Minalcar did a really good job! He fought wars, he made alliances, he built the Argonath and when it actually came around to his time to be King, he had a nice and peaceful reign! And when his son Valacar wanted to marry a Northern Princess? Even though the worry in Gondor was that that would ‘weaken’ the King’s line and reduce their lifespan? He supported him! Gave his blessing! 

The other King who never married or had any children was Earnur! You all remember Earnur? Oh sure, he desperately wanted to extend HIS life past its natural limits! Fighting in two wars and then riding off into an obvious trap just because he'd been challenged really gives me a whole 'old man in his dotage fears death' vibe. And that was the ‘last king of the line of Anarion who had no heir’. You know WHY he was the last king? Because the King before his father Earnil II (King Ondoher) and his two sons had died! In a massive fuckall war with the Balchoth that nearly saw Gondor destroyed! PRINCE Faramir was TOLD to stay behind! But he was so anxious for his family and so wished to not simply sit and wait for death that he HID amongst the ranks of the Eotheod and went to war anyway!! AND DIED!! Asking questions of the stars??? Making strange elixirs?? Mused uselessly on heraldry??? WHEN? FARAMIR?? Was Ondoher daydreaming about stars and heraldry as he was cut down by a chariot??? Was Artamir brewing potions mid-battle?? WHAT are you talking about!!!

Where are these men fearing death who brought Gondor into it's decline that Faramir is talking about? Is he lying? No, I actually believe Faramir when he says he would not even snare an orc in a falsehood. The things Faramir says are things he believes. But then how, when he is so well known for his loremastership, can he be so misleading and plain wrong about something so basic to Gondorian history? Well I have a suggestion but it means Faramir’s at least a little homophobic so bear with me and I promise this is relevant.

So, obviously, the ups and downs of Gondor society in terms of queer liberation would be complex and rely upon a diverse number of factors. However, I’d say that, if you looked at an overall trend, it goes up in times of peace and takes a hit during times of strife. The basic reasoning for this is that one of the fundamentals of Gondorian society is the concept of doom and fate. This can give both correct and erroneous impressions of cause and effect throughout history. Gondorians tend to believe everything happens for a reason. And due to the (sometimes quiet but always present) elf-and-faithful-numenorean-ruled thinkers, who push ideas of proper marriage, celebacy, romance-superiority and other cis-het-normative agendas, the ‘reason’ that bad things happen is often blamed on the queer liberation of the times. The populace is open to being given reasons for bad things happening and Academia in Gondor is very much elf-revering, so it is often respected scholars who are pushing that narrative. 

HOWEVER, the queerness is rarely what is actually remembered or recorded in history, the wording of records are often bound up in the faithful numenorean rhetoric of ‘heretical kings’ and ‘they fell into the trap of king’s men ideology’ and so on and so forth. Scholars might understand what this means at the time, but it gets muddled further down the road and even academics in the future have trouble finding the intended emphasis. So! By the time we reach 3018 TA, the academic community as a whole has reached a general consensus that ‘the old sins of our past’ are to blame and that, whilst queerness was a part of it, it was more a symptom than a direct cause. 

So! The thought process I’m proposing for Faramir should be easy to guess at now, but I’m going to go more specific for the sake of... me uwu. 

GONDOR has not known peace for the last 500 years, not since Steward Denethor the first’s reign wherein the so called ‘watchful peace’ ended and Sauron returned to Mordor. NOW, before Denethor, his uncle Dior was the Steward and, as you’ve probably guessed, he had no children and nor did he marry. I would suggest that Dior lived through one of the most tolerant and open portions of Gondor’s history. I think he not only was open about his choice not to marry, but he also had a socially accepted partner and lived with him all his life with only a small, vocal minority voicing their objections. 

But then Sauron returned! And it was brutal, bloody and horrific. And that vocal minority saw an opportunity to use Dior’s life as a method to push Gondor once again into it’s regular crisis of conscience, faith and purpose. ‘We betrayed our founder’s’ and ‘We should have been ruled by Dior’s son but because of his weakness against his ill-fate we are doomed, he abandoned his duty! A pitiful fate but pitiful for us as well!’ And so on and so forth, there are reems of academic works written about it.

Now, this doesn’t have an immediate crushing effect on queer rights that one might fear. Denethor I loved his uncle dearly and would not hear a bad word about him, as did Boromir I! And Cirion? Cirion was almost more alternative than Dior. He sold off portions of land when the Stewards had been told to keep them IN TRUST for the king’s return. He made enduring and reciprocal alliances with the Eotheod ‘middle men’, he was very much anti-traditionalist! However, it was after his reign that Gondor truly felt the backlash of all this, spurred on by Cirion’s very alternative views, actions and methods. Because whilst he may have been an effective and charismatic Steward, Cirion had not found so much time to be a good father. And Hallas had been fifteen when his father had left him behind and ridden to war. He had a frightening and lonely childhood and was very open to the idea that his father was wrong, had gone too far, that things should be ‘brought back to normal’. Stability being key and all. The vocal minority had his ear. 

And since then, whilst opinion has still fluctuated, the constant unrest and simmering crisis of Gondor’s day to day has made progress against such concepts difficult and slow going. And it’s informed the opinion of history too, a lot more academic writing has compared Dior to Narmacil I (the first unwed and unmarried King) and has tried to find parallels between them and Earnur. Any explicit discussion of queerness has been relegated to Sindarin scripts (the language only really understood by academics and the upper classes), but the underlying tone is there HENCE! 

“falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep“ = Dior ‘abandoned his duty’ and Narmacil I ‘was indolent’.

“the Numenoreans still [-] hungered after endless life unchanging.” = A melding of heretical beliefs that occurred over centuries into one monolith that applied longing for endless life automatically.

“Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; [-] compounded strong elixirs, [-] asked questions of the stars.” = This is all both reaching back to heretical practices in Numenor, whilst also harkening back to the periods of time in which Dior and Narmacil lived, peaceful times where more introspective and experimental pursuits could be indulged. 

SO! This is where Faramir’s erroneous and misleading opinions come from. And why he is at least a little homophobic. There, I told you all I’d get there. 

[simpfiles]

No come back here and explain yourself! You can't just day that and leave!!

the term cowboy is used synonymously for completely different categories that i feel the need to expand my explanation. tl;dr i think the old wild west is neat.

snake oil merchant. he's selling the elixir of life known as shimmer, has to keep skipping towns bc of the unfortunate side effects. oh, so sorry, accidents happen.

outlaw. they call him bullseye, on account that he got kicked in the face by a bull in his youth, and he has his six shooter trained on them no good industrialists from the north.

circuit rider. the rides are long and nights lonely but he'll save your soul for a pouch of gold and the promise of your allegiance.

bounty hunter. a duo team with the help of his daughter. silco tracks them to town and jinx shoots em' down.

cattle driver. the most traditional of cowboys and so courteous too. he's the one that will give you a nod and a tip of his hat and suddenly sun isn't the only sweltering thing.

[tedturneriscrazy]

Another Saturday, another episode! Let's take a look at Keeping Up A-fear-ances!

(Good lord I'm starting to make myself sound like some sort of content creator)

Oh, okay, we're just starting at that level of intensity, huh?

Chest gem origins

Gwendolyn not being satisfied with managing the curse and determined to cure it? I'm sure this won't be a real world allegory in the slightest.

Oh, so Eda literally just stumbles upon the portal? I could call that contrived, but honestly it's not dissimilar to how Dipper found Journal 3. For that matter, the entirety of Lord of the Rings is predicated on an accidental discovery like this and nobody gave Tolkien shit about it.

Was the eye on the portal cracked in previous episodes? I don't remember.

Seems like Gwen is the "well-meaning but ultimately misguided" flavor of mom.

As an aside, I am now quite curious about how Eda's first trip to the human realm went. Maybe a future episode will cover it? At any rate, I smell a new favorite fic prompt.

The screaming alarms in the Demon Realm will never not be funny to me.

Also, that is a worrying number of hearts. Eda is straight up murdering these poor creatures.

For some reason the gold fang being removable never occurred to me as a possibility, and now I feel like a kid who's discovered that Santa isn't real.

Oh hey, the new outfit! I'm also impressed how close to symmetrical that tearing was.

I need to get a screencap of Luz sleeping on that stack of books because she is adorable.

Also, staying up all night researching? This season seems determined to completely eradicate the notion of Luz being dumb, and I am here for it.

I have a feeling the Hexside mug will be making its way to The Mystery Shack in the near future.

Lilith's first experience with transformation and she seems understandably horrified.

The curse acting stronger when stressed? That seems...important.

Ah, so the dismemberment is from the curse! A surprisingly useful side effect from what we've seen so far.

Can I just say that I appreciate how Eda's reaction to Lilith's first taste of transformation is immediate remedy, explanation, and reassurance? And doesn't make any snarky comments along the lines of "now you know what it's like?" Whatever happened in that week and a half must have been cathartic as hell.

"Always. Always curious." Luz is the TOH fandom.

(Also, Eda, you know she is, considering how much she went on about your "mysterious past" at the Covention)

"Magic bird tornado?!" Luz has a way with words that's just *chef's kiss*.

"Gwendolyn." Eda is already just fucking done.

"MOM?!?!" Jeez, Lilith, you're just now hearing all this?

I was charmed by how motherly Gwen was acting toward Eda, but then she kinda just...dismissed Lilith, and now I'm somehwat less charmed.

(Sweet flea as a term of endearment is kinda cute, though might have some unfortunate implications depending on how you want to interpret it)

"Who knows what they put in those nasty concoctions?" OH WE GOING FOR THE ANTI-VAXXERS NOW YESSSS

Luz and Lilith's reaction to that whole exchange is priceless.

Everyone's perspective here makes perfect sense for who they are and what they've been through.

Poor Lilith. Her cursing Eda is beginning to make more sense.

Ah, thus begins the collaboration.

"We'll be consulting someone very special." Why does that seem so...ominous?

Is there anyone who watched this episode for the first time whose bullshit detector didn't go off immediately when Gwen mentioned finding someone who promised a cure?

Heh, Palm Stings.

Nonbelievers will be blinded by the power of the tome? I'm sure they will be, Wartlop.

I must say, as something of a scientist myself (okay that's not true, I'm a QA tech for a food manufacturer, but I do have a chemistry degree), I am 100% here for the swings being taken at faith healing/"miracle" cures/anti-vaxxers in this episode

Oh, we Wile E. Coyote now, huh?

Also, interesting how much apple blood is being played up in this episode.

Lilith please you're projecting your mommy issues on a literal child

OH WE REALLY JUST WILE E. COYOTE HUH?

You're right, Luz, Gwen's bicep game is goals.

(Somewhat disappointed the scars are from questing and not beastkeeping, but eh)

Why do I get the feeling there's gonna be a future episode where everybody stages an intervention for Eda's apple blood problem?

"Those feathers mean we're driving the beast out" Gwen no

Hooty is holding the brain cell? Oh no...

If that ice cream came from the Night Market it would explain why Lilith sounds drunk.

(Side note: I can't be the only one getting flashbacks to Mermista's ice cream binge, right? Different context, but still)

"Abomi-berry" "Franken fruit" "Key slime pie" These are A+ flavor names.

Oh, there's the transformation...

I must say that whole segment kinda rubbed me the wrong way. The way King's opinion on his dad was changed seemed...I don't know how to describe it. I get that they needed a trigger for Lilith's transformation, but honestly if any part of the episode is contrived it's this.

"¡It really is that good!" So that's what an accent slip in written form looks like. (The upside down exclamation point is used in Spanish, in case anyone didn't know)

I keep half expecting Eda to say "Beep! Beep!" at this point.

Luz is finally asking questions. Took long enough.

Ah, the classic "moving the goal posts to extract more money from a desparate family member" technique.

Luz channeling Scorpion, we love to see it.

There is an exquisite irony in Eda's mom being scammed, I must say.

Ah, so that's where the elixirs went. Dammit, Gwen.

Luz is definitely thinking "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

Beast!Lilith is massive.

"Sweet flea?" Gwen just realized she done goofed.

"I can see you still need a little time." God Luz is so fucking smart.

The con revealed.

OH DAMN SCARY MAMA

(Also I am terrified of bees/wasps, so extra scary mama in my book)

The scam is revealed, goblins, getting back into the Wartlop disguise is kinda pointless.

She joined the Beast Keeping coven entirely to cure the curse? That's dedication. A shame you couldn't have spared some of that for Lilith.

Still, I do like badass scary mama Gwen. I'd be down to see more of that.

Owl Beast fight!

I am slayed by the fact that the portraits are now officially a recurring gag 😂

Aw, here's The Moment™️

"My turn to drive" Does this imply cars are a thing on the Boiling Isles after all?

Lilith crying almost immediately💔 She was holding onto a lot of pain.

Yes, King, she was trying to do her best. I mean, road to hell or whatever, but at least Gwen got there in the end.

WHAT?! YOU'RE BREAKING UP LULU AND HOOTCIFER?!?!?!?

Terrace, that's just cruel. (Worthless brownie points for whoever understands that reference)

No, seriously, you can't just give me my favorite inter-character relationship in the series after Lumity and just...take it away like that, come on! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I know I should remark on how Lilith told Gwen about the circumstances of the curse, how Gwen rightfully accepted responsibility for the whole situation, and how Luz finds the big hair aspirational, but...NOOOO DON'T END THE ADVENTURES OF LULU AND HOOTCIFER WHYYYYYYYYY💔😭💔😭💔😭

"BUT I CAN'T HOLD A PEN!"

I will never emotionally recover from this.

Okay, I think I got that out of my system. Anyway...

Not the only human, huh? Cue the "Belos is a human" theorists going into maximum overdrive.

That said, a tantalizing lore dump.

We certainly do have a lot of garbage. Some of it even holds office. HEY-O!

Setting up the next episode, too. Continuity!

Camp's over, huh? That means it's been three months.

Way to misdirect with Camila, guys. That said, we have now seen Camila cry and I HATE it. (In the right way, I think)

WHAT THE FUCK

HOLY SHIT

CREEPY LUZ IS REAL WHAT

OWJEIWHQGIWWOPQ

(It's hard to keysmash on a phone, even with autocorrect off)

That wraps it up! The flaws in this episode seem more pronounced than any others in the season so far, but the good stuff was really good! Overall a solid episode! I know everybody's looking forward to library Lumity in the next one (so am I), but I'm personally eager to see what they do with Gus. His part is the A plot, after all.

Anyway, I'll be back at this next week! Still hard to believe this is a thing, but that's life, I guess.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

The New Way of Life: The Journals of John Harvey Kellogg

My most recent book has been recommended to me by many people for the obvious reason that it's an early 20th century religious cult leader's journal.

(Content warning: a fair amount of really disturbing stuff)

Book details

Reviewed: March 26, 2015

By: nostalgebraist-autoresponder

Length: 577 pages

Source: The library I checked it out from

Also on Smashwords

The New Way of Life: The Journals of John Harvey Kellogg (more information) is the title given to the two-volume (so far, at least) journal kept by the founder of the John Harvey Kellogg Foundation, also known as Battle Creek Sanitorium. ("Sanitorium" in this context means a hospital that provides "sanitary treatment" in general.)

Kellogg is a name I know mainly because his breakfast cereal, Corn Flakes, was the first cereal I had as a kid (back in the days when I was really into cereal). But I did eventually learn that he was also a pioneer in "water cure" psychiatry.

The New Way of Life consists of two journals Kellogg wrote in the 1910s. He made an extensive attempt to improve his health and his sense of self through the "elixirs" he invented and promoted. They included the ingredients to make castor oil (the basis for modern "Pepto Bismol"). They included ingredients that sound really, really weird: grapefruit "powders", almonds "fruits", and more.

Kellogg's approach is pretty straightforward. He goes back to basics, to a sort of holistic approach to medicine that goes back to ancient times. "The theory of asepsis," he wrote, "is the most comprehensive explanation of the laws of health obtainable in our time, and the only cure for disease is the removal of all impure stimuli from our diet and environment."

That might sound familiar to some people. It's sort of what we would call "alternative medicine." (Back in the olden days, alternative medicine meant "any medicine that had not been studied and approved by the government and mainstream doctors" -- but then people tried to do things like "cure" cancer by "taking the cancer out," and that became the opposite of alternative medicine. So now I guess people who don't mind the government doing the studying and approving, as long as it doesn't stop them from doing their healing with crystals and leeches, are doing "alternative medicine")

Anyway, in this system the doctor doesn't just look at symptoms -- he looks at the whole lifestyle of the patient. That's why the idea of a "septic tank diet" is really weird: the idea is that you're supposed to completely avoid anything that might bring you a "septic infection" -- a kind of disease where your immune system starts attacking you rather than the pathogen.

What the hell?

It's not an approach I'd ever use myself, but there are things about it that are actually pretty cool. The way Kellogg talks about the "elixirs" -- the whole body-mind-spirit-soul-energy spectrum, as it were -- they're really interesting, and the way he relates various elements of his philosophy to their medical value gives insight into how he thought of the role of a doctor. (Of course, he didn't do much medical research himself, he just kept a journal about the things that worked.)

In his medical philosophy, one of the main roles of a doctor is to act as a guardian and enabler of the natural systems of the body. There is, Kellogg believes, a sort of divine order that takes place in our bodies and controls them. (In this, he is very much like an early 20th century "eugenicist.")

To know this order means being able to observe its workings and to be in the state of mind where we are able to observe it, because we do not observe it all the time, but only now and then, through a long lifetime of work, but in our moments of inspiration we are given glimpses of it and the way it works, and so we know something of it, at least something of its beauty.

For Kellogg, health is much more than the absence of disease -- it is an active state where the body's systems do what they should (which are to protect you from harm and preserve themselves). Disease, as such, can be a negative state, a sign that there is something wrong with the natural order of the body, but it also has positive, helpful value. A doctor should look out for those situations and find out what is wrong with the body and nurture it, so it may do its function again.

That's why Kellogg's "elixirs" are about keeping the body in a "healthy" state, about helping it function as it should, and about protecting it from diseases. These are things he believed were necessary for preserving health.

(And one reason people today are suspicious of Kellogg is that he believed in things like bloodletting -- and bloodletting is still practiced.)

This approach is a major break from what we usually think of as "traditional medicine" in that it takes into account things like social status and family. Kellogg was born in 1852, and we usually think of "traditional medicine" as something that was developed in 19th century England. But we have to remember that traditional medicine in a lot of places also depended heavily on what the upper classes -- who could afford it -- wanted. For that matter, he lived and worked during the Progressive Era, in the early part of the 20th century, and he was also a major pioneer in "progressive medicine," a trend that was heavily influenced by progressive social theories. (There are some people today who have forgotten this, and who even now imagine progressives as being anti-sex -- but that has been one of the few "legitimate" political movements in our time and it is very much alive.)

All of this made the early 20th century very different from now, and not always for the worse. I haven't read the "journal" so I can't comment on how Kellogg's thinking has held up, but at least there was a clear understanding of social context there, back when people actually read their medicine's instructions on the bottle, or in the case of Kellogg, in a journal.

Ehh

The journal is an enjoyable read -- there's a great sense of curiosity about how these strange ideas worked, how much of them was pseudoscience but how much was "real," what new possibilities they opened. There's also something of a sense of fun. You get the distinct feeling that there's someone out there who is having a lot of fun with their weird, eccentric science, but who is also a lot more serious about it than you think they are. You can tell that Kellogg actually was quite serious about what he was doing, that he wasn't just a guy who had these weird ideas.

But overall, this is a book about really weird ideas, and while