Hey guys, Sunny here and welcome the second masterlist for my yandere content! If you would like to see the first one, I will leave a link to it here.
If you would like to read my original works, I will leave a link to that masterlist here.
If you are interesting in reading other content Iâve written, Iâll leave the link to that blog here.
If you would like to make a request, the rules for them will be here.
While reading, please be mindful of the triggers that are featured in these pieces. You are responsible for your own Internet consumption, not me. If any of the warnings say minors dni, I ask that you do not read it if you are a minor. I want this to be a place for everyone to enjoy reading what they like and not a place to cause drama or trouble for anyone here.
Furthermore, just because I write yandere content does not mean I support unhealthy and toxic behavior. These stories are for entertainment only.
So, with that being said, please feel free to look around and have a good time! :)
started: 7/29/24
updated: 7/12/25
Solo Leveling
yandere! sung jin-woo boyfriend headcanons
yandere! sung jin-woo x gn!researcher!darling x yandere! cha hae-in imagine
yandere! sung jin-woo with next-door neighbor darling! imagine
yandere! sung jin-woo with kim dokja!reader mini series [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [christmas special]
yandere! sung jinwoo jealousy headcanons
yandere! sung jinwoo with a vampire! darling headcanons [request]
yandere! sung jinwoo with a childhood darling who sees his post-system appearance for the first time [request]
soft yandere! sung jinwoo with cosplayer! darling headcanons [1] [2]
Villains Are Destined To Die
platonic yandere! penelope eckhart x fem!reader x yandere! callisto regulus imagine
yandere! callisto regulus with fem!reader headcanons
The Princessâ Jewelry Box
the thief who stole from the princessâ jewelry box mini-series [completed]
< Iâm Just Trying To Return To My Old World, So Why Won't The Female Leadâs Father Divorce Me?! > [soft yandere! regis adri floyen with kim dokja! reader mini series]
[ch.1]
Affection bribery with Maximillian Kasin Ashet and fem!reader headcanons [request]
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, mention of pregnancy/childbirth, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period. TayĆ« was the word to refer to Yoshiwaraâs highest paying courtesans before it was changed to oiran by the mid 18th century.
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest. Special thanks to @jinwoosbabyboo for being a beta-reader and making sure this chapter was ready to be shared with the world~.
Series Masterlist
You blinked. âI do not see why we cannot share a meal, husband.â You said after a moment. âBut from now on, I will not tolerate any dirt being dragged into this house.â You stepped up from the floor and walked towards the sink and grabbed the wooden bucket lying next to it. You lifted the wooden seal off the cistern, scooped out fresh rainwater with the ladle until the brush sitting inside the bucket floated, creating small ripples in the water. You carried it back over, setting it down on the floor with a soft thump. You glanced back at Gabimaru, who looked very confused at the sight of the bucket.
âThe rice will be ready in fifteen minutes.â You replied. âUse the brush to remove the dirt from your sandals. When the water turns brown, take it outside and dump in the drainage that is located outside, not near the well, or you will contaminate the water.â You pointed at the cistern. âRefill it with the ladle, and then I will give you a rag to wipe the floor. If you have questions, ask me.â
Wives were supposed to do all the cooking and cleaning while the husbands spent their days in the fields or selling their wares at the market. You were not a traditional wife, and Gabimaru the Hollow was not a traditional husband. Truthfully, you had expected him to defy you, exclaim that the task is too degrading for a man like him. But he surprised you when he took the bucket, sat cross-legged at the entryway, and scrubbed away the dirt with the efficiency and speed of a man who could crush a manâs windpipe with four fingers. Or close to it. The chiefâs conditioning of his greatest shinobi was deeper than you had thought, and that worried you.
Perhaps in the end, it is better to have a husband who listens to his wife than ignores her.
He finished the sandals, left them by the door, and then went outside with the bucket. He came back just as you had finished slicing the vegetables and refilled the empty bucket with the ladle, not wasting a drop of the clean water. He asked you where the rag was once the wooden lid closed on top of the cistern with a clunk. You placed the knife down on the counter and handed it to him, where it had been playing next to the clay jar where you kept the ginseng.
âThere are eight minutes left.â Then you turned away, grabbed the knife again, and carefully slid them inside the rice pot, watching it bubble. You glanced back at the counter, then at Gabimaruâs back, before you grabbed the jar. You opened it, then carefully shook it out. Ginseng was not an herb that grew in the field; you would have to go to the market by the docks to gain it. However, Gabimaru seemed to put in all of his remaining energy into making your home spotless again, so he earned this reward.
You quickly sliced the ginseng and added it to the pot, watching the steam rise from it followed by the earthy, bitter aroma cutting through the riceâs starchy sweetness. You peeked inside the jar. You were going to have to get more on your next trip to Edo, or at least after you finished your rounds in Yoshiwara. But that will wait for another day. You thought, closing the jar and placing it back where it belonged. Unless Gabimaru will want to see where I purchased it? No, he wouldnât do that. Heâs a shinobi. Shinobi stay hidden in the shadows. You glanced back at Gabimaru. He had just placed the rag in the bucket, rung it out, and resumed his task of cleaning the floors. He also stands out too much, so that would be more trouble than itâs worth.
Eight minutes trickled down slowly, and it was quiet in the house except for the shift-shk-shift of Gabimaru rubbing the cloth against the tatami mats, the plunk-spash of the cloth being dunked and rung out, the splish of the wet cloth smacking the floor again. A steady, predictable rhythm as you pulled out two, tiny lacquered tables. One for you, and one for your husband. A sensible wedding gift from the woodcutter.
You carefully lifted the lid up from the pot, and saw that the ginseng had been cooked through the rice perfectly, turning the color from white to pale yellow. You collected the clay bowls and scooped it out with a wooden paddle.
âItâs ready.â You announced, placing the bowls and chopsticks on his table. âCome and eat. Daikon isnât effective on the body if it is cold.â
Gabimaru stopped, then looked up at you, and blinked. âCan I at least throw out the dirty water? Or are the floors not clean?â
Your eyes widened slightly. He was asking you if he did his task correctly before he allows himself to eat. Just how far does his conditioning go, from complete obedience to asking his own wife for permission to sit at the table? You walked over to him, examined the bucket of murky brown water, and then at the floors, from here to the entryway.
âYou have done well.â You said. âBut if it bothers you, then you may go outside and throw out the water. Leave the bucket outside, it will need to be cleaned with lye soap afterwards. Hurry up, or lunch will be ruined if you dawdle.â
Gabimaru nodded, and swiftly stepped outside. Not even a minute passed before he sat across from you at the table, but stiffened when he saw the dish. Of course he would be worried. You thought dryly. This is probably the first time he saw daikon being prepared like this. You placed your bowl on your table, and picked up the chopsticks, and took a bite. You maintained eye contact with him as you chewed slowly then swallowed. A habit from your days as a taster at the Jade Pavilion, one that is still with you in this life. âThe food is safe, husband.â You said calmly. âThe rice is a different color because I added ginseng to it.â
âYou added medicine.â Gabimaru said. It was more of a confirmation than a question.
âYou smell like a wet dog.â You countered. âBased on the musky scent, you traveled through a riverbank to come back home. Thatâs why there was mud on your sandals. Because I had you wash it off immediately, I am not able to identify from which direction you traveled from or the path you took.â You shrugged. âPerhaps itâs better that way. You have finished your job, and now you will eat. The ginseng will help with your fatigue.â
âWives arenât supposed to know these things.â
âI am your wife, which is irrelevant at this point.â You said smoothly, pointing your chopsticks at his bowl. âEat or I will force-feed you. I may not look like, but I can pry a jaw open if I am determined.â
You watched Gabimaruâs body stiffen before he slowly grabbed his chopsticks. They hovered his bowl for a moment, then he picked at it, and placed the portion into his mouth. His eyes widened for a moment, and then he began to eat. Not how a man would be as if he were starved for days, because not a single grain of rice landed on the table. He ate quietly, and quickly. Like he was afraid the food would be taken away from him.
âSlow down, husband.â You commanded softly. âThere is more. It isnât going anywhere except our stomachs.â He listened to you again, the tension in his shoulders loosening and the pacing of his eating slowed, and steadied, the chopsticks clinking against the bowl. He was not inhaling the daikon anymore. Good.
âLeave the bowl and utensils on your table when you are finished, then head to the outside bath. I will meet you out there to light up the firewood and with a clean yukata. Just make sure to remove anything that might be sewn on the inside so nothing breaks, or gets damaged, when I wash your uniform.â You blinked. âActually, if youâre carrying any poison, leave them here. Iâm curious to see if you use aconite and neurotoxins on your missions as the rumors say, or exaggerate.â You smiled, closing your eyes as you placed a hand on your cheek. âIâm actually curious to see how it would take for my body to weaken and buckle with paralysis if I injest the pufferfish poison by itself or if its more effective if I eat with food~.â
When you opened them, Gabimaru was looking at you as if you had grabbed a kunai and slitted his body from the stomach down to his hips. You frowned. âWhat?â You asked. I have done nothing yet and heâs looking at me like I am about to commit a crime against the village.
ââŠYou are completely insane.â
âI am an apothecary.â You corrected. âAnd I will take those poisons from you, husband, so go outside and get cleaned up.â You extended a palm, your smile brightening again at the thought of sampling the poisons he carried with him. âNow.â
But Gabimaru did not heed to your request, not at least for a moment until he sighed heavily. He stood up, collected his bowl and chopsticks, and placed them on the counter, followed by two small clay vials, each with a cork dyed a different color.
âBlack is aconite. Red is an extract from a fully grown male pufferfish. Donât take both of them at once, or you will actually die and the chief will make me marry again.â
You waved him off his concern. âI have a remarkably high tolerance, husband. And even if that were to happen, I would prefer if you took Yui as your bride. You are probably the only one I would trust with her happiness in the event anything ever happened to me. Now, hurry up. It looks like it will rain.â
"Gabimaru."
"Hm? Did you say something, husband?"
"...Nothing."
You moved quickly outside. After you had placed a clean gray yukata inside a wicker basket, you immediately set up the small changing screen for your husband to strip down privately. While he did that, you collected the chopped firewood that was stacked neatly a few feet away from the well. You placed them underneath the tub carefully and used flint to ignite a small orange-red flame.
You blew on it, nurturing its growth until the flickering steadied, the rising heat brushing against your skin for a moment, then stood up from the grass, brushing off the dirt from your kimono with the back of your hand. You looked at your husband, well, the back of his head. âThe water will warm up soon, husband. Did you find the wash pouches?â
"What wash pouches?â Gabimaru asked, his monotone voice carried on the wind. âI just saw the yukata. If theyâre scented, I have no use for them.â
You blinked. For a man who is incredibly observant, he really did not know how to clean his body properly, did he? For all he know, he might have just wiped off the blood and dirt with a damp cloth and called it a bath. You froze. Wait, did he even wipe himself down before stepping in the tub?
âHusband.â You said icily. âPlease do not tell me you just took off your clothes, did not wipe off the river mud, the sweat, and any blood from your body before stepping into the clean tub, where there is clean water. The water I spent almost half an hour pulling from the well.â
Splish.
âWhy do I need to do that? If itâs off of my body, then Iâm clean.â
The muscle in your jaw twitched. âThat is not how you wash yourself, and your methods are unsanitary. Out of the tub, now.â
âBut you said-â
âI know what I said.â You cut off sharply. âWhen I said I will not allow any more dirt to be tracked inside the house, that rule also includes my husband scrubbing himself until his skin is pink with the wash pouch behind the screen before he soaks in the tub.â You glanced up at the darkening skies, then back at Gabimaru. âHurry, or you will sleep on the porch tonight.â
Hey guys, welcome back to another WIP post~! I have officially returned from my hiatus in March, and had intended to write in April but sadly life got in the way of creativity :( So with that being said, letâs get started~.
For those who may not know already, part five of Submerged Devotion has been posted, so if you are into LADS with a reverse isekai concept mixed into it, this is a fic for you~.
Fans of The Shinobiâs Apothecary, I am working on the next chapter. I actually sat at my desk today and typed up 2,022 words but I can you right now that this is not even close to being finished. If Iâm following the story beats of my current outline, then Iâm looking at maybe another 2-3k to be added to this chapter and thatâs not including the research Iâve scribbled down on sticky notes~.
I do have a potential LADS project for Mermay, outline included with MC x Non-MC!Reader being the main pairing. If you would like to read this concept, comment on here with a đ§ââïž~.
Thatâs all I have for now, time to dig into some homemade curry and rest before writing again~! :3 See you on the next post~! đ
cw: major spoilers for Submerged Eclipse myth, character death, fem!reader, reverse isekai situation, non-mc!reader, minors dni, references to The Shape of Water.
Synopsis: Your first day in the research facility doesn't end the way that you hoped would happen.
author notes: hello~! I have finally returned from my hiatus with another chapter, and just in time to celebrate the first anniversary of this blog~! Special thanks to @mia-menaceinaction and @jinwoosbabyboo for helping me polish the earlier drafts~! @dissociativewriter and I hope you will continue to support this collaboration with likes, reblogs, and comments~! Credit goes to the rightful owner of the artwork above that I found on Pinterest.
divider by @saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist
After changing into the designated uniform for the research facility - a pair of khakis, an indigo polo shirt with the aquarium logo threaded on the left side in white string, and non-skid sneakers that have been your faithful companions for six months - you went right to work. You checked the temperature of the tank, balanced the chemical levels until they were optimal, and helped create a menu for Rafayelâs dietary needs with the veterinarian. Based on his lore from the game, his preference for food was deeply connected to the sea, so he would often choose seafood platters. Because he had been living on dry land as a disguised human, it would make sense for a Lemurian to include vegetables that had high levels of hydration, packed with vitamins and electrolytes, like lettuce and cucumbers.Â
There wouldnât be any issues with purchasing most of the stuff with the monthly food budget, except for the spicy shrimp. Sorry Rafayel, Iâm afraid you canât eat your comfort food until the vetâs given you the clear. You thought as you walked out of the office and towards the break room to grab your lunch. It might complicate things if everyone here finds out that you can eat human food with little to no issues, and God help us if someone gets the great idea of feeding you something thatâs actually poisonous to a Lemurian.
This was your job. To look after Rafayel, observe his behavior and make sure the wound on his tail was healing properly. The downside to this job, at the moment, is that he is choosing to ignore you in favor of swimming around in his tank. At first, you had thought he was being stubborn because he hadnât eaten since last night. But when you spoke to the veterinarian, the only other person with high enough clearance to get close to the Lemurian, he had confirmed that the asset had eaten based on the menu you had created earlier: kale and salmon, weighted in equal portions to ensure proper nutrition and avoid unnecessary weight gain.Â
Asset. The word referring to Rafayel by Keyes and the other employees left an unpleasant taste in your mouth when it rolled off your tongue. He wasnât an asset. He was a sentient creature who could call upon the ocean and flood a human civilization as retribution for being in a tank.Â
But you were getting off track again. Where were you? Oh, right. Rafayel was in his element as a drama queen; by that, you mean of course that he was being incredibly stubborn and acting petty, even with a full stomach. Getting his attention was a lot harder than it looked, but following him around and around the tank was also counterproductive. How were you suppose to communicate with him effectively? When you brought up the idea of putting on a wetsuit, Keyes immediately shot it down with a frown. He would not allow you to get in the water with Rafayel until he and the staff have done more tests to prove that he wonât be aggressive and attack other aquatic techs. Plan B consisted of you just sitting cross-legged near the edge of the catwalk, calling out to him in a soft voice with loosened shoulders and a smile. Body language was just as important as using words when handling animals and humans.Â
Plan B failed spectacularly as Plan A had done. Or gone up in flames, got dosed with water, whichever analogy made sense.Â
By the time the clock struck seven, there were only three individuals left: Keyes, Rafayel, and you. You werenât ready to leave yet, not until you could establish some form of communication with him. The downside to it was that Keyes had to see the phenomenon for himself and document it. For example, if he saw you using sign language or say a word to Rafayel and the Lemurian could mimic it, then that was proof of the latterâs intelligence. That is the keyword; he would see it, not hear it. That was your job, and why you had a digital voice recorder shuffling around inside your pants pocket. You werenât too keen on finding out the influence a Lemurianâs voice had on a humanâs mind when in close proximity, though it was better for Keyes to believe your theory that Rafayel was a siren than discovering he was a character from a dating game.Â
You looked up at the catwalk, took a deep breath, and climbed up the steel stairs. The fluorescent lights bounced off the water, though right now it looked more like a mirror that had been severed from the morning sky and liquified in Rafayelâs tank. Fitting for a sea god who has literally swum into your life.Â
You sat down, placed the recorder by your side, and pressed âplayâ. âRafayel?â You said. âRafayel, are you there?â A beat of silence passed. âI know you can hear me, and I know you are ignoring me. I want to know more about you, to understand you, but I canât do that if you keep this up. Can you give me a sign? Maybe splash your tail once for yes, twice for no? Like this.â You slammed your hand against the steel catwalk. Once, then twice. âCan you do that?â You asked. Nothing happened.Â
You sighed, bringing the recorder up to your mouth. âFirst evening of observation. The newcomer, whom I will refer to as Rafayel in these logs, has shown no visible interest in communicating yet. He might still be adjusting to his new environment, away from the ocean where rescuers found him. The cause of his injury appears to be from a boat propeller - â You yelped, pulling the recorder away from your ear as it suddenly released a piercing screech, getting louder and louder until it lapsed into a hiss of static.Â
You blinked. âThe hell?â You turned it off, then back on and pressed âplayâ. Gone. Nothing remained of your recording except for gibberish in the background of static. âOh man, you have got to be kidding me.â You turned back towards the tank, frowning as you held up the recorder in the air. âDid you do this?â You asked. âHow did you do it? Can you tell me at least that?âÂ
You knew from the game that Rafayel could be petty, but you didnât think he would take it to another level when he was a Sea God and outside of it. Or his coding, for all you knew. Thatâs how he was before, right? Strings of data and code before he manifested here, in your world, as a growing pain in the ass. When you did not see the water ripple, any sign that he even acknowledged what you had just said, you knew this was at least a sign to quit for the night and try again tomorrow.Â
You shoved the recorder into your pocket and descended down the catwalk, the thumpthumpthump of your shoes pressing against the steel quieting to squeaking of the tile floor as you crossed the room towards the exit. Keyes must have seen it all, and realized it that there wasnât much else for either of you to do at this point. You reached for the double doors, more than ready to change out of your uniform and head back home when a loud âbangâ reached your ears.Â
Blinking, you looked your shoulder and froze. There was Rafayel, floating in the water with one palm pressed against the tankâs glass and the other curled into a fist as it rose again, then slammed it again, making another loud âbangâ. If you werenât tired, hungry, and utterly ready for this day to be over, you could definitely appreciated how his flowing hair created a halo of purple around him, the shimmering of his light-blue tail emphaziing his ethreal beauty. Not to mention there was his pretty face, his pecs, his abs, annd you were stopping right there before your brain went into dangerous R-rated territory.Â
Rafayel pointed up, towards the waterâs surface, and then back at you. Wait, he wanted you to go back up the catwalk? Why? Was he finally going to talk to you, or did this mischievous little fish have something else in mind? Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Shaking your head with an exasperated smile, you began your ascent back up to the catwalk. When you reached the top, Rafayel was there, waiting for you, his entire body submerged in the water except for the top half of his head. His webbed ears flickered back and forth, eyes never leaving yours even as you settled down on the catwalk, shoulders back and chest clear. You tucked your legs into a casual cross, resting your hands lightly on top of your kneecaps.Â
Even if he couldnât understand your words, you hoped your body language conveyed to the Lemurian that you were not going anywhere until everything had been said.Â
âIâm here.â You said carefully.Â
Rafayel blinked rapidly, then raised his head from the water, right to the edge of his chin. âMy beloved bride.â He whispered slowly, with the reverence of an oracle whose prayers the gods had finally answered. âI have found you, at last.âÂ
âYou know who I am.â
âAs you know me, my bride, from the moment our eyes met on that fateful day.â His gaze drifted down from your face towards your chest, and then suddenly his expression darkened. âWhat is that?â He hissed, jabbing a webbed finger in your direction. âHow dare you?!â
You blinked. âWhat are you -â
âWhy did you let the humans cover up our bond mark? Are you ashamed of us, of what we have?â The waters churned, twisting and colliding against the tank. âDo you want them to tear us apart again?âÂ
"Iâm not sure how you could figure that out when itâs covered by my shirt and bandages, but there is a good reason.â You said, surprising yourself at how calm you sounded even you were panicking on the inside. When you saw him about to open his mouth to argue, you raised your hand in the air. âYouâre upset. I get it. Just hear me out before we say something to each other that we will both regret, okay?â
Rafayel stared at you long and hard before the tiny whirlpools disappeared. âSpeak.â He said finally.
âHumans are fragile as they are strong. If I had left alone, not covered it up or even put medicine on it so the skin can heal, it could have progressed into a serious infection. As for why the humans touched it, they were curious. Wanted to make sure that I have isnât contagious. Which is why they took a small piece of it, bond mark included, to ensure that itâs safe for me to work and not spend a night in an intensive treatment unit. I follow the directions, keep it covered until the next appointment, and my skin should heal. I donât believe a scalpel can sever this bond mark if itâs truly that important. Am I right?âÂ
âFragile,â Rafayel repeated, just barely nodding. Thatâs rightâyou were fragile. So easy to hurt. You had already died in his arms once; he could never let that happen again. âIâll allow it this time,â he grumbled. âI still donât like it, though.âÂ
âYou donât have to like it.â You replied. âThereâs a lot to learn about this world, about humans, just as I have a lot to learn about you, but only if youâre willing to let me in. Canât have our first day together ending with a misunderstanding that can be resolved with communication. Iâve seen way too many dramas with that troupe and it is not appealing in real life.âÂ
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, mention of pregnancy/childbirth, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period. TayĆ« was the word to refer to Yoshiwaraâs highest paying courtesans before it was changed to oiran by the mid 18th century.
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest. Special thanks to @pa1nrema1ns for being a beta-reader and making sure this chapter was ready to be shared with the world~.
Series Masterlist
The tea blend for Murasaki House was not finished yet, so you journeyed to Kaguya House and made your last delivery on the major boulevard. Contrary to the belief of the madams and owners, you didnât limit your services to the established houses in Yoshiwara. The yĆ«jo courtesans may not be revered as the tayĆ«, their services in The Koi Pond and The White Tiger were more readily available to customers looking for a night of bliss.
It was strange how these houses on the lower side of Yoshiwara reminded you more of the prized flowers that once flourished in the Veredigris House. Perhaps it was because the courtesans were more open in their affection towards you whenever you visited them, like what they were doing now.
â[First Name], it is so lovely to see you~!â Setsuna cried out, her willowy frame gliding across the reception hall towards you. The sweet scent of her jasmine perfume tickled your nose as she embraced you. Her dark-green tresses fell over her shoulder, a striking contrast to the kimono she knew would draw a gentlemanâs attention from a rival house and into her chambers. She prided herself on wearing the classic white polka-dotted pattern with elegance, how the teal obi coiled around her curves just right, and her expressive, dark brown eyes were the main selling point.
Setsuna was full of herself, and she had a right to be. If there werenât clusters of men waiting to spend an evening with her, she wouldnât have lasted as long as she has working in the brothel. Courtesans who are arrogant or too violent would be kicked out the moment a customer complains about her attitude and doesnât put in the effort to improve on it.
âWeâve hardly seen you since you got married! Has that big, mean husband of yours been keeping you away from us?â She rested her chin on top of your head. âHow dare he do such a thing!â She pouted. âWeâve had you first long before he dared to ask for your hand, and we are your precious patients, so our health comes before anything else! Isnât that right, my darling kitten?â She purred in your ear.
If you werenât already used to Setsunaâs clingy yet endearing personality, you would have thought that she was trying to flirt her way out of entertaining someone who wasnât to her particular taste.
âMy husband is busy with his work as a traveling merchant, and he comes from a good family. It was fortuitous that my father approved of the match at all.â You replied, the half-lie, half-truth rolling off your tongue. You had practiced what you would say to any of the courtesans if they got curious about your home life. A carefully crafted piece of fiction to let their minds wander with silly fantasies and not question any variables, but then again no one really cared. It was just small talk, for that purpose, to talk and be distracted before work.
You tilted your head back slightly so you could properly look at Setsuna and smiled. âThere is no need to worry for my well-being; I can take care of myself.â It was true. You had survived this long without getting kidnapped by flesh peddlers or swindled by shady merchants who claimed to have rare ingredients from across the oceans, and so on. Really, getting married to Gabimaru wasnât the most terrible thing to have happened to you - in this life, or the previous one.
Setsunaâs pout deepened. âI still donât like it.â She declared. âAnd I never will. But if you are happy, then I suppose that has to mean something, doesnât it?â
âThat is all we could ever hope for our dear little apothecary.â A low, velvety voice crooned. You swiveled your head to the right, seeing another familiar and popular courtesan of this house making her appearance even though she should be resting.
But then again, you have never seen Momiji not working. If she were not entertaining guests in her room, she would be in the office, helping organize the books and making sure business ran smoothly if the madamâs back was preventing her from doing so. There were rumors she would take over The White Tiger once Lady Izumi retired, though thatâs all it was. Mere speculation. Her long brown hair was halfway pulled back, and a lacquered hairpin held it together; its grass-green beads enhanced her natural beauty and highlighted the color of her eyes. A bright yellow kimono with pink and red plum blossoms adorned her voluptuous body, held together by her favorite purple obi but loose enough to expose her shoulders to enticed clients who would want to see more of her milky skin.
Momiji smiled at you. âI pray the gods bless your marriage with fortune and fertility. I assume youâve come here to deliver our monthly remedies?â
âOf course.â You said.
Momiji nodded. âPlease wait here, then. I shall return in half a moment. Setsuna, donât even think about taking her to your room.â She eyed her fellow courtesan with a raised brow, who shrugged innocently and had yet to release you from her clutches.
âI have no idea what you are talking about,â Setsuna replied. âIâm just having a nice little chat with our kitten, now shoo.â She waved her hand as if she were trying to brush off dirt from her sleeves. âYouâll have your turn with [First Name] after me.â
Momiji rolled her eyes in exasperation and left. She returned shortly as she had promised, and the two of you made an exchange that came as naturally as breathing. Coin for medicine, inquiries on health, and additional orders to be made within a week's time. She gave you a brief pat on the head, and left, dragging Setsuna by the wrist, who whined and tried to wiggle away as they went up the stairs to the second floor, and then disappeared from your line of sight.
The work was finished. It was time to return home. Tomorrow you will return to Yoshiwara and collect information for the chief. Or, you glanced to the right. Perhaps it wouldnât hurt to stop by the marketplace for a bit. It had been a while since you had gone anywhere in Edo besides Yoshiwara. Maybe you could find a bargain on some ingredients for dinner tonight, stock up on a few things. So that was what you were headed, weaving through the congested streets, bartering with vendors, and filling up your basket once the purchases were made: fresh fish wrapped in bamboo, tofu, noodles, vegetables, and sardine oil to light the paper laterns in the house, should you need to do some light reading at night.
By the time you had finished with the shopping, it was already mid-afternoon. You needed to start heading towards the path leading to the mountains or else you wouldnât reach the village until nightfall with the amount of items you were now carrying and on foot. As you hurried down the street, your ears caught worried whispers being murmured amongst the crowded area.
âDid you hear? A shinzĆ from Yoshiwara has gone missing!â
âSurely you jest! Yoshiwara residents treasure them as much as their tayĆ«!â
âIndeed they are! Which begs the question: who in the right mind would dare -â
âHush, donât you dare finish that sentence! Let the police find the shinzĆ, and pray that she is safe instead of what you were just implying! Do you wish to bring misfortune upon the house she represents?â
âI was just thinking out loud!â
âYou donât think before you speak, you silly fool!â
Your brow furrowed. A shinzĆ had gone missing? If this were true, then it was indeed terrible news for the houses in Yoshiwara. Although the tayĆ« are revered in the Nightless City, their beauty is fleeting. Should a tayĆ« be forced to retire, her apprentice would step in and take her place, allowing the cycle of fortune, fame, and house rivalry to continue without ever stopping. That was what a shinzĆwas, as opposed to a kamuro, an attendant who supported the tayĆ« in every way possible, from doing chores to running errands in the city, supporting her public appearances as part of the entourage, and occasionally secretarial work.
But this was not the rear palace, and you had no authority to be investigating an ongoing case. You were an apothecary in this life, with no connections to royalty and no reason to get involved. Donât draw attention to yourself, [First Name]. Do not make the same mistakes as before. Focus on what needs to be done and nothing else.
That was what you kept telling yourself as you scurried out of Edo, though perhaps that wasnât the best word to describe your sluggish pace on account of all the items in your basket. You were not physically strong as Gabimaru, but you could compartmentalize your own suffering if it meant to treat others who needed someone with your skills, someone whose survival - and worth - was tied to her usefulness.
The old fox summoned Yui back to the main house. His excuse was that she had been away long enough to help you get settled into your new home, and no, it could not wait until after lunch. That was all the masked shinobi would tell you. Yui, gentle Yui, promised to come back and visit you soon as they led her away, suddenly making the food you had brought back seem like a waste. Perhaps you could rub some salt onto the fish so it wouldnât spoil? Surely there was some stored away in the kitchen.
You blinked. Salt, rice, and daikon. If you had everything, then you could make yourself some rice porridge. The meal would tide you over for the rest of the afternoon, allowing you to focus on the housework and preparing the next batch of medicine to make. Dinner was another matter to worry about later, if you would even be hungry by then.
âIâm home.â
You froze. The knife in your hand stilled, angled against the wooden cutting board and barely grazing the daikon you were about to slice up into tiny pieces while the rice was being boiled over the firepit. You looked over your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Gabimaru stepping over the tatami mats with his mud-caked sandals on. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled through the mouth before you placed the knife down and turned around, hands folded neatly in your lap.
âWelcome back, husband.â You smiled, hoping that your expression was convincing enough that you were happy to see him and not lamenting just how much time it would take to get the dirt out of the mats, or worse, if he had tracked it to other rooms besides the kitchen. The old man raised your husband to be less than human and more like a weapon to be used at his beck and call, you silly girl. A voice chided in the back of your mind. Itâs all right to be annoyed, but thereâs no reason to be angry with him.
As much as you wished to deny the existence of a consciousness without physical evidence to prove this theory, deep down you knew it was true.
Perhaps instead of going on a walk with him in the morning or cooking a meal together as Yui had suggested that the two of you do when he returned from his mission, you could teach him other things. Like how to remember to leave outside shoes by the door, and to show gratitude for every meal. Things that a normal couple would do. Or would Yui say the opposite and scold you for thinking like that at all? You inwardly groaned. You had no idea what you were doing.
But for the sake of this arranged marriage, to have an amiable relationship with your husband, even if it never goes beyond physical intimacy, you will try.
You were grimacing. When a wife grimaces like what you are doing now, then he, the husband, must have done something wrong. At least that was what the other shinobi muttered to each other when they talked about their wives and thought he wouldnât pay any attention to what they said. But Gabimaru the Hollow sees and hears everything because that is part of his job. Listen, observe, and report. Kill if necessary.
But he was not on a mission - he had finally come to his wife and you were not happy with him. Why though? He looked around. Nothing seemed out of place in this new house. In fact, everything seemed cozy. Was that even the right word? Or was it comfortable? The house was clean too, except there was a trail of mud behind him -
Oh. Oh. That was why you were grimacing.
Gabimaru felt his ears burn. âIâm sorry.â He stuttered, leaning forward and quickly unlaced the strings of his sandals. âI didnât mean to make the floors dirty. I wasnât trying to make you angry. I justâŠwanted to hurry back to your side.â He looked at you sheepishly. âCan we still have lunch together?â
Hey everyone, I just wanted to you know that I will be taking some time off from here starting tomorrow, and come back in the beginning of April. The next chapter for The Shinobiâs Apothecary is scheduled to be released next weekend at the usual time, and Submerged Devotion is still an active work in progress with my collaborator @dissociativewriter.
I still want to write stories, but right now? I need a break to refill my creative well, and take care of myself.
Which of the following Hazbin Hotel prompts should be my next series after The Shinobi's Apothecary or Submerged Devotion are finished?
âïž đ»
đș đŒ
Voting ended onFeb 26
âïž đ» = After penning the final chapter of a successful psychological thriller series, all writer!reader wants to do is take a few weeks off and catch up on some much-needed sleep. Sadly, her editor wants writer!reader to start working on the outline for her next book as per the renewed contract with the publishing industry, and it's in a genre she really doesn't want to dive into: romance, specifically, the kind of romance that's all the rage on social media: dark, toxic romance. So in search of inspiration and research material, writer!reader begrudgingly travels around the country and learn all about serial killers, landing at her final destination weeks before she is due to submit a rough draft: New Orleans. What could possibly go wrong in Crescent City, except maybe being out of a job? And what was going on with the antique radio she bought on a whim, playing Ella Fitzgerald at three in the morning? Romance, obsessive behavior, spoilers for seasons 1-2, mention of Prohibition.
đș đŒ = The chronicles of an overworked employee at Voxtech who is way beyond giving a flying fuck what happens anymore. Was it mentioned that the reader was reincarnated inside the Helluva universe and knows what exactly will happen, but all she wants to do is just get through her shift and not get caught up in her boss' obsession with the Radio Demon? No? Well, here is the memo. Welcome to Voxtech, trust us with your entertainment! Isekai'ed concept, obsessive behavior, romance (?).
The streets of hell flooded with the usual sight of violence. Those who just happen to be lucky found themselves inside for the day spending a nice and actual romantic day. Rarely did love birds go out for the holiday. Typically that was reserved for singles going out for too wild parties and bars. Getting wasted and wasting whatsoever they saw in sight for the thrill of it.Â
Cannibals especially would be eager to participate this time of year, if only to decorate their town in a banner arranged with intestines spelling âHappy Valentineâs Dayâ and real hearts from whatever poor soul happened to run into them stolen from right behind their rib cages to be hung on the occasional street lamp.Â
You werenât quite sure how they got to twist them up so flawlessly without tears or rupture. It could be chalked up to decades of practice. Even while in the war when you had developed a strong stomach, did you think a person would be soâŠcreative with what they had to work with.
The one Valentineâs day you treasured in your heart that was still very much in your own body was when you were alive, serving your days as an Auto Memories Doll. Writing for others who could not do it for themselves. A job you took almost mechanically yourself until you learned to live and love up to your timely death. You had written love letters for lovers, the elderly sending thoughts to those who passed, inspiration to poets and fellow writers who in turn gave it back as well. This day of affection and cherishment seemed to never fail you to bring you to a nostalgic feeling even after decades in hell.Â
Currently you were in the library in the Hazbin Hotel with your dear friends and your typewriter; a gift from Sir Pentious before his erupted departure of his supposed death. If you could call that now. With the events of the past weeks or monthsâyouâve lost track with the whirlwind of eventsâredemption confirmed, the rise and fall of The Vees, Luciferâs capture as well as Alastor and whatever schemes he may have had. Lotâs of things have happened but one thing you hadnât expected was an angel at your doorstep. More specifically your feet thrown right in front of you from a portal.Â
You silently peered down at the blonde angel, Abel, if you remembered correctly. A sweet guy who made his rounds greeting everyone at the hotel enthusiastically, after the battle against the Vees of course, and for reasons unknown to you, armed to the teeth with gift baskets to anyone he meant and taffy candy in the other.Â
He had been tagging along with Emily, another angel but a seraphim to be exact who had adamantlyfought for redemption alongside Charlie and Sir Pentious guide in heaven. They had been a more steadily frequent company around the establishment. Emily kept up with the progress of the hotel in person, catching up with the new friends she made down here and delivering letters and messages that the first redeemed soul could not deliver himself. She even had a special hat she wore when delivering those, naming it something that was beyond your recollection besides a pun.Â
Abel, although, only came around if Emily went. Perhaps the nerves of being with the condemned. Someone of angelic background and the son of Adam who was ridden with anxiety as him most likely felt comfortable with a friend around in such a harrowing place. Not that he didnât seem to not form any relations here. As anxious as he appeared, he seemed to be a very open and relaxed individual. While younger than the blonde, your limited knowledge was overshadowed by his own. Not that you had minded. Different circumstances and such tended souls to prioritize differently. To each their own. It was kind, should something allude you, he had an answer or be ready to seek on your behalf. Kind indeed he wasÂ
The same two celestial beings were at the moment shoving each other. Emily opening a portal in hell with too much ease for someone of her rank to be doing. You suppose there was no real harm (many would argue against this statement as there was in fact multiple dangers in the hotel ranging from the actual King of Hell who was more-so a figurehead if you thought too hard about it, the radio demon with no known strings tied to him and even Niftyâs ever-growing army of roaches).Â
âEmmy please, it was just a suggestion! A thought reallyâa really, really, dumb thoughtâletâs just go back and we can watch another rom-com together with the gang,âÂ
Having made a portal, the sight of them wrestling to the floor was a comical one that made you watch on in curiosity. Limbs tangled in the push that made them cross realms and a variety of classic gifts. A blue soft bear with a top hat, a bouquet of flowers that was quickly being demolished under the struggle and a chocolate box in the shape of a heart. Anything else was tossed by a heaving Abel, face deeply red. Whether it was from Emily tackling and seizing the man inâŠwhatever this was or some embarrassment, it was unclear to your eyes.
âNonsense! Itâs the perfect time. All we have to do is find them! Oh, this is so exciting-â, the high angel chirped with an odd determination in her eyes.Â
A simple cough from you had them swerving their heads. Abelâs face bloomed a red that only tinted darker. Emilyâs eyes only glowed as she squealed. Unable to pinpoint what was the cause of this unexpected surprise visit or the ever growing grin on her face as she pulled her friend from the floor. It was akin to watching a dying man seeing his own death before heâs directly shoved in front of you as the seraphim has nothing to offer but a squeal before she scooped up the remaining bundle of holiday assortment into his arms and pushed her friend right in front of you.Â
A clear grin on her face, the pupils of her eyes dilating alarmingly if you werenât already used to such behavior from Charlie. Really, they could declare each other as sisters and no one would argue. Her words only inspire more confusion but as you look back at the angel and the palpable stress practically seeping from his pores and the hint hue adorned on Abelâs face is clear, a new wave of understanding hits you.
âOkay bye-bye, see you later. Have fun!â With a mad cackle, she makes a dash for her portal and closes it before he has the idea to flee back as well.
â...â
â...â
Thereâs a beat of silence between the two of you, before a nervous smile cracks on his face and offers up a single flower from the crushed bouquet to you, a humble teddy bear and a box of chocolates.Â
Author's Note: It's been a while since I've posted! Sorry for the spelling mistakes, i made this last night. This is for a friend @forbidden-sunlight who I meant to write a Christmas fic for but time had slipped away from me and now we're already in February! Dedicating this fic and this quick doodles too I made to them. So Happy Valentine's day to all the lovers and fellow singles. This was pretty short but I hope you all enjoyed. I'm more of an artist so writing is a bit hard for me. Absolutely go read my friend's Hazbin Hotel Violet AU. It's a fun read!
yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader Valentine's Day scenario
Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], obsessive behavior, vulgar language, knowledge based on the first four episodes of the 2024 series.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!
Hey guys, welcome back to another Hazbin Hotel fic, starring Hell's one and only Radio Demon, Alastor and his little darling!
This is a collaborative piece with @isuckatwritingsobenice with special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing-desk and @riddle-simp for providing criticism and feedback. If you would like to read the one that started it all, I'll leave a link to it here.
As always, bullying is not tolerated here. If you have nothing nice to say, please do not say it. Furthermore, if you believe the warnings listed above will make you uncomfortable, please leave now.
For those who have decided to stay, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on for tonight's broadcast :)
Although he had figured out why you were and what he needed to do to push you in the right direction, Alastor was still annoyed with what he wasâŠfeeling towards you.Â
When his mother died, he had stopped feeling. There was no reason to keep feeling when the only person in his entire world was gone. Is that the reason why he became a serial killer? Who knows. Is she the reason why he keeps smiling, because he always remembered her saying that you never fully dressed without one? Absolutely! Why bother wearing a frown all the time when he could keep everyone on their toes with a smile and a salutations over the radio?Â
So why is it that when he thinks about you, it is like his mind is torn between annoyance and fondness? Why does he have the urge to simply hide you away from the world and keep you all to himself instead of making your misery even greater for his own amusement? He doesnât know and if he doesnât figure out why, he knows he will lose his temper very soon. Charlie had already demolished the second to last wall of his patience on the insistence that everyone in the hotel should participate in a crafting session to celebrate a human holiday. Valentineâs Day, of all things.Â
He is a gentleman. And a gentleman, as his mother has always taught him, is to never raise his hand against a woman. She did not say anything about Luciferâs delusional daughter who believes that the people of Hell can be redeemed. Even you, someone who is just as rational and calm as he, believed in her. That a sinner had a chance to go to Heaven when their actions in life are reflected on their afterlife. Itâs common sense, really.Â
So why couldnât you see that? Even Vagatha was starting to have some doubts too. But she would not dare say what is truly on her mind about this passion project to Charlieâs face yet due to her incredibly strong loyalty towards the princess.Â
Regardless of his observations of these two ladies, Alastor found himself caught in the enigmatic web of emotions as he observed your seemingly indifferent facade from his favorite chair in the parlor. He was not helping with decorating the hotel. You were though. You stood underneath Charlie, steadying the ladder she stood with gloved hands as she pinned strings of pink and red paper hearts over the hotelâs entryway. Vagatha was nearby, busying herself with other tasks, including asking Husk to please not drink all of the red wine, they are saving it for tonight! Angel was flirting with Husk. Husk shot a rude gesture in return. Niffty was making the hotel spotless again when she already cleaned it a few hours ago. Alastor had no idea where Sir Pentious was and frankly did not care.Â
When he had decided to help with the hotel, he was just going to watch from the sidelines and let everything run its course. But there was something being formed here. A connection was beginning to make itself known and he did not like that. The Radio Demon comes and goes as he pleases without being tied down to anything or anyone. If this feeling continues to fester inside of him, why heâll toss himself into the fiery pits just so that he could be his old self again!
âAll right, these are all done!â Charlie said happily, pulling away to look at her handiwork with pride before she averted her gaze to you. âYou good there, [First Name]? Sorry I had to pull you away from gardening to do this!â
âI donât mind.â You said. [Eye Color] irises watched as the princess began to climb down, each step squealing creak-creak beneath her stilettos. âWhat will we do about snacks and dinner? We already have the drinks covered through Husk.â You held out a gloved hand to the princess on the third step from the bottom. Charlie gladly took it, but not before she spun you around, the bone-white skirt billowing slightly to reveal the laced-up boots on your feet.Â
âDonât worry, weâll figure it out! In fact, Iâll make a grocery list for Niffty right now! Then weâll need to see if we can add anything else. Ooh, maybe something for the staircase? Or the chandelier? This party is going to be so much fun! Canât you feel the love in the air, [First Name]?!â
You blinked at her. âNo.â You carefully distanced yourself away from her. âBut I do remember there is something I need to bring inside before I forget about it again. Iâll be right back.â
You bowed your head to them and scurried across the parlor, making quick strides across the parlor and taking a left underneath the intricate railings of the grand staircase. There was a light click, and then there was silence.Â
The hotel, constructed on the hill, possessed a limited garden space that showcased carefully manicured flora. There was also a greenhouse. Both locations were left unexplored by Alastor because he knew the flora you had carefully tended to, and in his opinion, it was too soon to share his secret just yet. However, he did know that the door under the grand staircase, the centerpiece of the hotelâs architecture, was how you always traveled around.Â
 Each corridor held secrets, inviting exploration and mystery within the confines of the Pride Ringâs overlook. But the door you took was a shortcut to whichever place you desired to go to: the garden or the greenhouse. Fifteen minutes passed, and then the door opened again.Â
Walking out of the staircase, everyone saw the bright red roses cradled carefully in your gloved hands.Â
Charlie squealed in delight, racing towards you with wide eyes. Vagatha followed close behind. Angel just looked up from his phone to see what was all the ruckus in faint interest.Â
âOh my gosh, oh my gosh! You did it, [First Name]! You really grew something!!â Charlie all but shouted, her excited cries bouncing across the vaulted ceilings. Vagatha leaned forward, a small smile stretching across her face. âGreat job.â
âIt was a little tricky, but I was finally able to figure out the proper fertilizing formula, including a place where they can get just enough sunshine but not so much that the petals would not be burned. An inch of water each week. Too much water and I might actually kill the roots.â You explained. âSince the weather doesnât change much down here except for the occasional acid rain, these actually had time to grow.â You then took one flower, holding out to Vaggie. âFor you.â You said, then placing another one in Charlieâs hands. âAnd you. If youâd like to make them last for a little longer, put them in a vase with sugar water.âÂ
Charlie beamed. âThank you!â
âThanks.â Vagatha said.
 You inclined your head, then crossed the room and proceeded to pass around your hard earned flowers to everyone. You kneeled down to Nifftyâs height, tucking one behind her ear before standing up. She jumped up and down in happiness, causing the flower to fall but she caught it, holding it as if itâs the most precious treasure she had ever been given. She promised to give you something in return, to which you politely declined.Â
You walked over to the bar and handed a rose to Husk. He stared at the flower, then back at you before he put down the bottle he had been drinking from on the counter, plucking it from your hand. âThanks kid.â He muttered, laying it next to him and then taking another swing of his booze. Angel immediately slid into one of the booths, grinning toothily at you.Â
âGot any for me, toots?âÂ
You held out a rose to him. He made a flirty joke and promptly shoved it in his chest. âSo~? How do I look?â He crooned, batting his eyes at you as he pushed up his chest floof right in front of your face. Honestly, when will this whore learn this is not how someone speaks to a lady?
Your countenance held a fleeting perplexity at his vulgar words and actions, your brow furrowing for a moment before your stoic expression returnedâŠthough Alastor could seeâŠan inquisitive expression in your eyes. You were thinking about something. What he did not know and he was quite curious to see what you do next.Â
So he sat in silence and watched.Â
He watched you stretch your hand outwards, carefully extracting the rose from Angelâs person. Angel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to complain when he froze midway as you artfully placed it on the right side of his head. You withdrew, casting a scrutinizing gaze upon him before nodding in approval.Â
âFlowers adorning your hair enhance your allure far beyond the glimmer of rainbow glitter or imitation jewels.â You said. For the first time since he arrived at the hotel, the famous pornstar Angel Dust was rendered completely speechless. The only thing he could stutter was a âthanksâ, a faint red hue staining his pale face.Â
The gradual decay of the rose in your hand did not escape Alastorâs notice and he was delighted. A manifestation of the latent powers he possessed, to cause living things within a certain distance to wither. He smirked, appreciating the subtle dance of his influence. You spun around, meeting his gaze. âPermission to approach, sir?â
Husk gagged. Vaggie groaned. He laughed.Â
âOf course you can~!â He said. Oh, you were trying so hard to respect his personal space, how adorable! Goodness, hadnât you caught on that he only touches people that he is interested in? Why, heâs touched Charlieâs shoulders so many times that he is shocked that Vagatha hasnât tried to stab him out of jealousy!
So you approached him. But when you held out his rose to him, it was already dead.Â
You were shocked but you did not need to say anything; your face, and your eyes, told him everything. He was pleased and amused all at the same time. What would you do next? He thought. You looked down at the rose, then back at him. Carefully placing the other rose, the one that wasnât completely decayed yet, on the coffee table. Your gloved fingers coiled around the stem of his rose and deftly snapped it in half. You took another step, and leaned forward to pin it to the left side of his coat.Â
You took a step back. You looked at the flower, then back at him. âIt still suits you.â You said. âAlthough it is dead, a decayed rose suits you just as much as a fresh one.âÂ
Alastor felt his withered heart pulse under his skin for the briefest moment until it went still again. He knows he is a dapper of a gentleman, someone who takes pride in his appearance and knows how to use it to his advantage. But hearing your compliment made him preen in his seat. Almost. He had a reputation to uphold.Â
âComing from you my dear, that is the highest praise I had never believed would be uttered from your lips~!â He said, abruptly standing up from his chair and staring down at you with a grin. âNow that Iâm all spiffed up, itâs your turn~!â
You tilted your head to the side. âI donât understand.â You said with an expressionless face.
âI just remembered that I have an errand to run in our dear city, and I am in need of your skill sets~!â He was rambling. He knew it and it was pissing him off because the Radio Demon does not stutter or act flustered around anyone. He snapped his fingers, feeling the familiar thrum of his magic as it left his body, evaporating into a plume of red mist that covered your body before it disappeared as quickly it had come. Gone was the same outfit you wore every day, and in its place was an outfit much more suited for any self-respecting woman; a light pink sequined flapper dress, a rope of pearls around your neck with a nice little cloche hat to top it off. And he mustnât forget the pair of white heels on your feet!
Yet just as the applause track echoed across the parlor, Alastor noticed that you looked away from him. You were uncrossing and crossing your adamantine skeletal arms, the gloved hands being the remaining piece from exposing the scars of war entirely to curious eyes. Â
Oh. Oh. You were even quivering? Such a shame.Â
Trying his best to ignore the disappointment gnawing at his bones, Alastor sighed and snapped his fingers again, dispelling the enchantment on you and simultaneously replacing the outfit with somethingâŠ.much more suited to your style, but matching him in every sense of the word. A white ruffled white blouse poking out from the collar of a red waistcoat, a matching ruffled skirt that covered your legs and stretched to your ankles, where the black-heeled stilettos peeked out from. The white gloves were dyed to onyx, and the cute hat was replaced with one that had a wider brim with a black rose stitched on the side. In your hands was a red parasol. But his favorite, personal touch was the ruby brooch shaped like a stag, like him.Â
Replacing the emerald one you wore every day, supposedly in memory of Major Gilbert. The man whom you claimed did not love him romantically since you cannot love. That tad-bit he had overheard when you shared one thing about yourself in the group exercise.Â
But more importantly, you no longer seemed anxious. In fact, you were back to your normal, monotone self~! How wonderful and annoying!
Alastor grinned in approval, twirling his microphone expertly between his fingers before rapping the end of it against the floor with a loud thump. âNow then, shall we be off, my dear~?â He said, extending his arm for you to take. You looked at him, then back at Vagatha before you stepped towards him, very cautiously placing your gloved hand in the crook of his arm. It took a lot of self-control to not pull away in disgust from the contact, but he held onto his composure because he is a gentleman not a brute.Â
âNow then, let us be off~!â He bellowed.
âYouâre supposed to actually be helping us around the hotel, not fucking off, you prick!â Vagatha yelled, her lovely silver hair standing on end as she swore in Spanish. Charlie was trying to calm her darling down with a sheepish smile, wishing the two of you a good time and donât worry about a thing. Alastor just grinned and quickly led them out of the hotel, down the steep hill and into the city.
Though as soon the two of you were parading through the streets, you immediately pulled away from him and stood exactly five feet behind him. He could not help but feel amused by your antics, nor the relief of actually having his personal space back even when he had offered his arm for you to take, not the other way around. You knew better than to initiate contact. Although unexpected joy hummed in his veins, thisâŠgenuine connection, this bond, began to chip away around the edges of his collected facade. And as the two of you continued your walk through the Pentagram at a steady pace, there was also this irritable and irresistible annoyance starting to bloom in the back of his head and quite frankly it was beginning to give him a headache. Why is he feeling so many things at once? Canât feelings have an arranged timetable so he doesnât lose his reputation as a fearsome overlord?Â
Why are feelingsâŠso damn complicated? Why?Â
Not wanting to sink any further between the allure of your company and his own resistance to vulnerability, Alastor began to hum a little tune to distract himself. He did not want to think. He refuses to fall even further than he already has. He turned his head slightly, gazing at you from his peripheral vision. You were looking around curiously, watching sinners live their sinful lives and probably wondering why you had earned the same damnation as they did. At least that was what he initially thought until he saw your eyes darting from the street corners, the buildingsâŠah. The cameras.
You were worried about Vox seeing him after he had put the little pest in his place last week? Oh, you were quite a little darling, werenât you?
âThereâs no need to be concerned about those tiny picture boxes, my dear!â He exclaimed suddenly. âThis face was made for radio, the proper medium to express oneself!â Â
â...Youâre certain?âÂ
  âOf course! Now it should be around hereâŠah-ha! Here we are! Follow me or you might get swept up by another gentleman!â Alastor joked as he quickened his pace towards a mortar-and brick building sandwiched between two other more modern buildings on the other side of the street. The restaurant, embraced by mortar and brick, stood between modern edifices. Its interior exuded a warm ambiance, with dim lighting casting a subtle glow on polished wooden tables. The booths were nestled in the back, providing a private setting for the two of you. The menu possessed an array of culinary delights, promised a refined venison experience.
 Rosie had recommended this place to him a while back, but never got around to it after he left for his sabbatical seven years ago. You did not keep him waiting, matching your stride with his and the hostâs.Â
Despite just how much the host trembled in fear at the sight of him, handing out the menus and stuttering the name of their server, the host couldnât stop staring at you with a dazzled, licentious look in his eyes. Alastor had to hold back the urge to make the server part of his menu. Or maybe he shouldnât? Perhaps this youngster needed a reminder just who he is?Â
ââŠAlastor? Alastor? Sir?â
Your voice called out to him, the barest hint of concern laced with curiosity before he shook himself out of his thoughts. âYes, my dear?â He asked.Â
âAre we doing a reconnaissance mission?âÂ
 The static around him screeched to a halt, and he stared at you with an incredulous expression.Â
âI beg your pardon?â
âYou had said that you needed my skill sets on this outing,â You said, blinking at him, folding your gloved hands together on the sleek wood table. âMy specialties from serving in the war include that as well as hand-to-hand combat and weapon handling. IsâŠ.this about new territories that are up for the taking? Why was the extermination date moved up to six months? Or this mission on a need-to-know basis?â
âŠHe knew you were oblivious to Angelâs flirtatious remarks and modern slang, but he did not think that it would extend that you did not know that when a gentleman takes a beautiful lady for a night around the town, it means he has the intention of courting. What sort of life had you lived before coming down here? More importantly, how does he explain without looking like a complete fool?
The Radio Demon thought for a long moment before a proverbial lightbulb went off inside his mind. Yes, he thought delightfully. That will do. Mirroring your position - spine straight, bony fingers interlaced, and placed neatly on the table, maintaining eye contact. He spoke.Â
âConsidering your skills-set, I wanted to see if you are truly as talented as you claim to be~! And there is no better way to evaluate a personâs worth than through a simple test. A game, if you will!â He leaned forward, pushing a wave of his powers throughout his body, releasing it from the bottom of his shoes and scattering throughout the establishment. Well, his friends at least. Now for the rules.Â
âMy shadows are somewhere in this restaurant. Some are easy to see at first glance, some are not~! Find all six of them, and you get a prize! If you guess incorrectly, however, then you must truthfully answer a question I will ask. The time limit will be until we leave, and you must maintain eye contact with me at all times! Since this mission isâŠ.a personal one of mine, you must be able to blend with the crowd and not draw attention to yourself, to us, or this mission will be compromised. Any questions?â You shook your head.Â
âWonderful~!â He bellowed in delightÂ
And then the game began.Â
Between interruptions with their server and mild conversation, you whispered where each shadow as you looked at the second side of the menu, unable to decide what to try. He obviously recommended the venison, and he would either say you found a shadow or guessed incorrectly. By the time you had informed the server of your entrees, you found three out of six. You got two tries wrong. Alastor got two questions out of you.Â
âWhat was your life like before coming down here, my dear?â He asked.Â
âI served in The Great War as a soldier of the Leidenschaftlich Army. My commanding officer was Major Gilbert Bougainvillea.â You answered. âWhen I was relieved from my duties, I worked at a postal company until my death.â
âAnd do you know what it means when a gentleman asks a young lady to join him for an outing?âÂ
You opened your mouth, and then closed it, confusion flitting across your face for the briefest moment until you answered him. âI do not.â You said slowly. âFrom my experience in the barracks, the men would escort the young ladies that have caught their interest to the pub or somewhere elseâŠand they would not come back until past curfew. The major would lecture them if he caught them. He told meâŠit was a sex thing. But I was too young to understand what he meant back then.â Â
Alastor almost choked on his venison at your words, his equilibrium thrown off for a moment before he quickly recovered, swallowing the delicious morsel and maintaining his dignity by wiping his mouth with a napkin. âIâŠsee.â He said slowly. âAnd you are aware that this is not that kind of courting, correct?â
âYes.â You answered. âBecause you do not like anything related to sex, which is perfectly fine.â
âBut do you know that when a gentleman courts a young lady withoutâŠthat in mind, it is because he has a romantic interest in her?â He asked, staring at you straight in the eye. âAnd he would like to get to know a little more in a setting that does not include any third parties?â There. He thought as he saw your eyes widen just a fraction. Understanding. You were catching onto his intentions! Finally, another emotion! You have shown him another expression besides indifference and confusion! Good job! Now will these blasted feelings finally go away? Out of sight, out of mind as they say!
Then the look on your face melted away, becoming a mask of stoicism as you answered him softly.Â
âI appreciate the sentimentâŠ.but I am afraid that I am no longer capable of feeling emotions, at leastâŠwhat it truly means to love someone. It can come in many forms and is expressed differently with each person. The romantic senseâŠit isnât meant for me. And Iâve come to terms with that when I was alive, and when I came here. I am grateful for what I already have.â
In the back of his mind, Alastor had actually thought he would get another reaction out of you, perhaps seeing your cheeks turn red and hear your heart thumping against your rib cage. But at the cost of hearing someone actually reject his advances?
That does not seem quite fair, does it? He chuckled darkly in amusement.Â
âHm~. You say that you are no longer capable of expressing yourself beyond a grim facade? I beg to differ, my dear. I have seen you show discomfort, anxiety, and understanding all within a single day of being in my company. I can guarantee thatâs the most I have ever seen of you since you came to the hotel.â He craned his head to one side, still smiling. âBut fear not, I wholeheartedly welcome a challenge.âÂ
With that being said, he graciously decided to extend the little game with the progression of their meal, right up to when the waiter brought them your desserts. There were still three shadows to find, and he continued his line of questioning, observing your reactions and demeanor as you answered him.Â
Alastor will not lie and say that your rejection of courtship did not bruise his pride. He was used to being feared and worshiped in a single breath. Being liked was something else entirely, yet being disliked? Quite rare, with the exception of Vox and the other Vs.Â
âYou can certainly keep me on my toes, darling.â He said playfully as he stood up from his seat, walking to your side and offering his hand. You stared at him owlishly before placing your hand in his gloved one.Â
âMy mind cannot change that easily Iâm afraid, Alastor. You are wasting your time.â You said.Â
âWe shall see, my dear. Perhaps you just need a little moreâŠpersuasion.â He replied, before delivering the final question to you, a personal one: how many had you killed when you were a soldier? You replied. I cannot remember anymore.Â
He was quite stunned at your answerâŠbut he was satisfied, and that was all that mattered. He knew more about you than Charlie probably could ever pull out of you during a group exercise. No one else. Not Husk, Not Niffty, and certainly not Angel Dust nor Sir Pentious. And that gave him an advantage over anyone else who would be so bold as to approach you with a romantic intention.Â
âI see.â He hummed. âCome, come, youâve passed the test~! And I did promise a prize to the winner~!â
Instead of the traditional flowers, chocolates, or stuffed animals that were given to a lover on this atrocious holiday, Alastor had purchased new ink ribbons for your Remington typewriter and another pair of leather gloves. Perhaps he will allow you to keep the outfit he dressed you up in. You did wear the same thing every day. It was better than trusting Angel Dust with upgrading your wardrobe.Â
You thanked him, the barest stretch of a genuine smile stretched across your face as you cradled the bag that held your gifts before it disappeared as quickly as it came, and you focused on the road ahead. Yet to him, the fearsome Radio DemonâŠit was such a smile that lasted long enough to commit it to his memory, and reinvigorate his desire to pursue you.Â
After all, no one else in this cesspool is worthy to court the soldier maiden of the Hazbin Hotel except for himâŠ
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warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, mention of pregnancy/childbirth, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period. TayĆ« was the word to refer to Yoshiwaraâs highest paying courtesans before it was changed to oiran by the mid 18th century.
author notes: hello everyone, and happy valentine's day weekend~! :3 I know the posting for this chapter is a little late, work has been keeping me from writing on regular basis, but better to be late than not at all~! I hope you will continue to support the series with likes, reblogs and comments~! I seriously wouldnât have made it this far without all of you, my dear readers, and Iâm excited to write the next chapter once I have more free time to do so~! :3 If you would like to be tagged for future chapters, comment with a đż~!
Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest.
Series Masterlist
âWhat exactly does an apothecary do?â Gabimaruâs monotone voice pierced through the tranquil silence of the early morning, the sun just rising over the horizon. You blinked in surprise, glancing away from the illustrated scroll in your hands and at your husband. You do not know why, but he has been coming to your work shed as soon as you returned from the fields, lounging on the veranda like a cat while you organized the herbs you collected or self-studied until it was time for you to leave the village for the day.
You had tried to shut the door on him, assuming he was just looking for a place to take a nap without being bothered by everyone else, and he did not like that at all. He has visited here without fail for two weeks; yesterday he asked about how people can mistake parsley for water hemlock and the most effective method to remove poison from a snake bite if there was no antidote available.
âI compound medicines, offer medical advice to patients, and study poisons.â You answered airily. âBut you already know that.â
âYeah, I do. Still doesnât explain why the midwife asks for your help with delivering babies, though.â He tilted his head. âDoesnât she have an apprentice?â
âRangiku helps keep the mother calm during labor, and she does an excellent job of it.â You said. âSpiritual support, singing, encouraging the mother to synchronize their breathing when the contractions begin, she can do it all. Lady Aoi believes she will be ready to move forward in her training within the next year, though Rangiku is still a young and unwedded woman.â You turned back to the scroll. âItâs possible that she might be let go as an apprentice for the sake of giving birth to a child herself.â
âSo you help with the birthing process?â
âYes.â Your fingers traced over a picture of a tree where a cluster of mushrooms grew. âIt becomes a completely different story if there is a child in the breech position, however.â
âThe breech position?â Gabimaru parroted. âIs that bad?â
You looked back at him. âIt is.â You turned around, maneuvering your body towards the veranda with the scroll resting loosely in your hands. âThe babyâs head positioned towards the birth canal guarantees a safe delivery with minimal complications. But if I were to touch the motherâs stomach, and I feel the babyâs head instead of the buttocks or feet, then they are in the breech position. That complicates the delivery, endangering both the mother and the unborn child for many reasons.â You listened them with your fingers. âThe babyâs head could be trapped inside the motherâs pelvis, the umbilical cord comes out first before the baby, which could cut off their oxygen supply, or even trauma to the head due to hemorrhaging.â You shrugged. âThere isnât enough evidence to prove that theory is true as of right now.â
âAnd you can tell if it will be a breech delivery just by touching the motherâs stomach?â Gabimaru said, his eyes widening slightly.
âThe uterus is where the child develops from a fetus, but close enough.â You replied. âIf I suspected that to be the case, Lady Aoi and I would try to guide the babyâs body gently into the correct position for delivery. If that failed, however, I would have to bring a surgeon from the city to cut open the motherâs stomach and extract the child from there. But even to do that, I would need the chiefâs permission. You know how he feels about outsiders visiting Iwagakure beyond requesting a job for the shinobi or simply passing through to reach Edo.â
Gabimaru stared at you for a moment before nodding. âMakes sense.â Thatâs all he said before he leaned back, stretching his lithe body across the veranda. âBeing an apothecary sounds hard.â He said, his gaze still trained on you. âJust donât push yourself to where you might do more harm than good, or the chief will get mad.â
You raised an eyebrow. âI know. Thereâs no need to worry, husband, I know my place. I would do nothing to embarrass you.â You swung your body around, away from the open door and towards the organized shelves, the scent of mugwort and Kuro-moji tickling your nose. You had gathered some yesterday, tied them together and suspended from the rafters so that they could dry out before using them. They made excellent leaves for brewing tea, among other things.
After this conversation, the work-shed fell into silence again. You had expected Gabimaru to leave you alone, head to the shinobi training grounds and prepare himself for the next big job. Instead, when it was time for you to depart for Edo, he had remained in the same spot on the veranda, watching you pack up your wares inside your basket and close up the shed. His gaze never left yours, and then he raised his hand up. As if he were saying good-bye and to be safe on your trip.
Had he consumed a poison that made him act out of character or docile? If so, how had you missed the symptoms? That was the first thought that crossed your mind, because the idea of Gabimaru willingly spending time with you was nigh impossible.
But when you changed the bandages on your arms in front of him, he seemed utterly fascinated with the self-inflicted imperfections. He knew which was a snake bite or a chemical burn just from a glance.
Since you had no access to willing human test subjects or animals, you used your body for these experiments as you had done before in your previous life. The difference this time was that you developed a lotion that helped speed up the healing process. As long as you remembered to apply it every day without fail, they wouldnât look as scary as they did to Lord Jinishi when he first saw them. Perhaps that was why Gabimaru was at ease when he asked you about them, what you discovered from your experiments, etc.
The following morning you found rolls of bandages sitting on the veranda, neatly arranged. A thoughtful gesture from your husband, to which you repaid in kind by leaving corked glass vials of various medicines outside his room; you werenât sure if he would use any of them, though it was better to be prepared for any jobs that come through Iwagakure. The glass vials had been a gift from one madam after treating her staff for a bout of stomach flu, proclaiming that they had come from an exotic land. As much as it pained you to part with something so rare and practical for your work, Gabimaruâs health came first. You could find another way to get access to these little trinkets, somehow, someday.
A week later you found two baskets stuffed with herbs - all neatly organized by type and carefully arranged - and clay bottles filled with venom. You immediately asked Gabimaru what type of venom and how he did acquired it when he graced you with his presence on the veranda, but he evaded your questions with his questions. How would you tell the difference between spider and snake venom? Could you create an antidote once you knew the symptoms, or would it require further study since humans have different reactions, like allergies?
You were torn between tackling him in a hug from the immense joy that was bubbling through your body at such gifts or spiking his tea with a laxative for his vague answers. You chose the former, since that little prank might earn a scolding from Yui.
In the weeks that followed, you felt something change between you and your husband. Something that wasnât the same. You couldnât quite understand what it was, only that he had spent more time lingering on the veranda of the shed whenever you were around, occasionally helping you with sorting out the herbs you brought back from the fields. He even reminded you to come back inside the estate to eat or wash up instead of Yui. She might have put him up to it under the pretense of being a good husband, but there was no evidence to support this theory.
You hoped things would continue for as long as possible.
Five months passed. When the chief had sent Gabimaru and three shinobi to handle a sensitive job for a wealthy client, the house had finished construction. Building one this far out in the mountains was difficult, with the lack of young men who werenât shinobi and supplies to the materials needed to lay the foundation. If anything, you had expected to remain under the chiefâs roof until the winter, when the first snow fell.
According to the wretched old man, everyone in the village had volunteered to help with the building of the house. Gratitude towards their apothecary, and how they wish to make it a fine one for your and Gabimaruâs children to grow strong.
Was it terrible then, to feel happiness and sadness in tandem? You were leaving your old home behind to start a new life, but Yui would remain in the main house as the last, unwedded daughter. Your heart twisted at the thought. You wanted Yui to marry well, to have a husband who would treat her well. That she could still smile and be so joyful showed just how strong she was in a society where a womanâs face reflected her value as a wife.
But if you ever had a say in this arranged marriage, before the village chief had given you to Gabimaru as a prize for obedience and loyalty to the village, you would have insisted that Yui was a more suitable wife for the Hollow than you ever could be. She was loyal, kind, and could communicate what was on her mind more effectively than you ever could. It would have put your mind at ease knowing she would be in good hands, protected by the strongest shinobi who never stayed at home for long, granting her the slice of freedom she had always wished for, what the chief had denied her when he burned the left side of her face.
Women are never to leave Iwagakure. That was his warning, both to her and to you. He wasnât above hurting Yui again to prove his point, and to put in your place should you ever step out of your role as a wife. So you held her tongue, and wished you could give her more than the opportunity to create umbrellas to sell in the village in her room at the estate.
Perhaps that gave you the idea to allow her to stay in the new house with you until Gabimaru returned from his mission. To ensure that there are no evil spirits lurking in the rafters and everything was smoothly. By doing so, surely a brood of children with your husbandâs hair and your eyes will be born by next spring or sooner. As soon as those words left your lips, the chief immediately gave out orders to the servants and household shinobi. Anything to bring more powerful offspring into the world, more shinobi under his command.
Everyone benefited from the situation, yourself included.
The chief assigned two shinobi to carry all the tools and equipment from the work shed to a corner in your new home. Exposure to moisture or sunlight would cause irreversible damage to your inventory, sealed jars of dried herbs and the snake venom included. The larger pieces, such as the herb grinder and the cabinet where you stored ready-to-use herbs in case of emergencies, would have to be brought to the house another day, or at least until you can figure out where you could put everything without overcrowding the living space.
Yui helped wipe down everything, giving the mats and floors a thorough scrubbing before she moved on to air out the futons. There was already a fire pit in place, though the condition of the sand, the wood, and the teakettle had seen better days. A housewarming gift, perhaps?
âAll you need is a good shine.â You murmured as you held it in your hands, then glanced at the pit. âDefinitely will need to find sand and wood that arenât waterlogged.â Naturally, you gave these tasks to the shinobi who stood outside the house doing nothing except grumbling under their breaths. Surely with their keen eye and agility, replacing these things wonât be such an arduous task for them to complete.
They complied, albeit reluctantly, because they knew what could happen if they disobeyed the chief. After they finished, you assigned them additional tasks: organizing dried foodstuffs such as rice and pickled vegetables, filling a wooden barrel with water for drinking, cooking, or diluting medicine, and helping Yui hang the linens. The shinobi grumbled the entire time, and immediately departed as soon as they were no more tasks to be finished, Yui cheerily waving at them just as the sun set. Once they were out of sight, they were out of mind as soon as she closed the door with a ssh-k.
She somehow had the energy to prepare fish miso soup for dinner and usher the two of you for a long soak at the public bathhouse. Although you could still use the bathhouse at the estate, you preferred not to. You didnât argue with Yui when she insisted on going to bed early, not when your body was sore from the work done today. There would be more to do tomorrow, but tomorrow was not today. Not yet, anyway.
Morning came in several hours, and you were back in the fields collecting herbs. Once you had returned from your outing, Yui welcomed you back with a warm smile and breakfast already made. You thanked her for the meal with a small smile of your own before digging in.
The rest of the afternoon involved sorting and arranging the rooms, including a surprise visit from a merchant in Edo. He delivered a goemon-bucho, claiming the madam from the Murasaki House had bought it to âcongratulate her apothecary on her marriage, and consider it a down payment for future medications since the girls need to earn their keepâ.
Despite all her talk of generosity, Madam Misao was always about business and a penchant for keeping track of debts, individual and within the house. A hawk-eyed old hag with a love for money. Greed produced a successful brothel, which trained many famous tayƫ over the years, even when most of the licensed houses in Yoshiwara were owned by men with more power than she had.
She tolerated you because you kept her girls healthy, and you tolerated her snide remarks on how you were wasting away your prime on medicine when you could make money in your sleep. Perhaps she could keep those comments to herself now that you were a married woman. Or she might not and still try to coerce you into working for her by falsifying a debt that couldnât be paid off any other way unless it was as a yĆ«jo, a woman of pleasure.
Girls being legally sold off for a lump sum by the prominent male or head of the family to pay off debt or to have one less mouth to feed had been a common practice in Li, but kidnapping and selling them against their will was against the law. In this world, anything goes so long as it meant there would be no shortage of women to please clients with higher social status and a fat purse.
Perhaps you should prepare a delicate blend of herbal tea for Madam Misao as thanks for her gift. If not to express your gratitude for her generous gift, but to remind her that without you, her girls would not make money. You shared this idea with Yui, and her entire face beamed with delight as she sprung suggestions on what teas would go with different snacks, and if a tiny sprinkle of something extra special would be too cruel or ruin your business relationship with Madam Misao for saying such ânice thingsâ about her dear sister.
Tempting, but ultimately counterproductive in the grand scheme of things. Most of the intel you collected for the chief came from Murasaki House, so you needed to keep things professional, or else the chief might actually sell you off to a brothel once your usefulness expired.
The merchant and his apprentices installed the goemon-bucho in the back of the house before leaving, wanting to get back to Edo before nightfall.
When the moon rose over the clouds, you and Yui spent the evening in quiet productivity; she painted umbrellas that would be ready to sell at the market tomorrow morning, and you were preparing medicines to deliver in Yoshiwara and the Hanamachi district. If Yoshiwara becomes lively at night, then the Hanamachi district focuses on training the girls who arrive there because of poverty or debt. Once they had proven their worth, they would be sold to any of the established brothels, becoming either a kamuro - a servant girl to the tayĆ« - or a shinzĆ, the tayĆ«âs personal attendant, a companion who might have the potential to become a tayĆ« like her master.
If a wealthy client purchased them in Yoshiwara, the Hanamachi district would receive a percentage of the commission fee from the brothel, using the money to buy more girls, and the cycle would continue.
Thatâs why it was imperative to ensure that your patient - a young girl named Sera who had developed a fever and was isolated from the others to prevent it from spreading - receives this last batch of medicine. If the owners had followed your prior instructions, then all she needed to do was keep resting and staying hydrated with tea that must be taken with the medicine you had given to her seniors a week ago. Frequent urination will flush out the ailment and allow her body to recover to its previous vitality.
You just hoped that they wouldnât get too impatient and force your patient to start the lessons again when she was in no physical or mental condition to do so. If they did, then she would take longer to recover, or worse, die and the disease would spread to the other girls. A scenario you want to avoid as much as possible.
The next morning, your routine as an apothecary began again. You woke up, dressed quickly and quietly without so you would not wake up Yui, and just barely hopped onto the back of a cart filled with hay that was on its way out of the village. You got off the cart halfway through the trail and walked to the city on foot, the wicker basket on your back jostling with each step you took, the sound of clay jars and dried herbs making a disjointed cacophony of clankkgshhhkclankkgshhhkclankclankclank.
An hour later, just as the sun rose over the mountains, the familiar archway welcoming visitors to Yoshiwara was within your line of sight. Finally, you thought. Why did it feel like the trip here took longer than normal? You shook your head. You must be imagining things. Nor was it to time to ponder such a trivial matter when there was work to be done.
Your first stop was the Hanamichi district. To your delight, Seraâs health had progressed in the direction it should with the medicine you had prescribed. You informed the owners, a couple, of the good news as you gave them the last dose. Just one more day of rest, and Sera shall be more than ready to resume her lessons. Naturally they werenât too happy that their investment was being put on hold again, but did not put up a fight and thanked you for your due diligence as they walked out of their establishment.
You passed through the district; the chatter from the busy main street transitioned to something softer, calmer even, as you made your way towards the brothels. The latticed wooden windows of each establishment, where the less expensive courtesans displayed themselves to catch the customerâs wandering eyes, were empty. The teahouses were open, as were the kabuki theaters. It all seemed like a normal day in Yoshiwara, but you could feel a heavy gaze on your back as you passed by, which was an odd thing in itself because you were unremarkable and non-threatening. No one cared what an apothecary did here so long as it did not interfere with their personal agenda.
So what was this tension in the air? Had anything happened since your last visit? These questions bubbled in the back of your mind as you greeted a male attendant of Okamoto House, who lead to the back of the first floor where the offices were; one for the owner, the other for the madam. Lady Omitsu had requested to have a batch of laxatives prepared for her tayƫ Yakumo. The patient had been suffering a serious bout of indigestion as result from eating rich foods provided by her client. Lady Omitsu needed Yakumo to be ready to serve him again tonight, to dazzle the spectators who would watch her walk through the Nightless City with her retinue, led by the patron who had purchased her company for the evening. There were many men who would compete for the attention of a tayƫ, even if the price to share a delightful dream with an educated beauty was astronomical.
âThere you are!â Lady Omitsu stood up from her low desk, her oval face creased with impatience as she sashyed towards you, the cyan sleeves of her kimono billowing behind her plump frame, earthy brown hair elegantly pulled back in the maru-mage style, a rounded chignon pinned on top of her head. This symbolized her married status to the community. If she were unwedded, her hair would have been styled differently. Her small, almond eyes narrowed.
âYou took longer than you promised, apothecary.â She snapped. You opened your mouth to apologize for your tardiness - to which you had no recollection of promising to arrive here first thing in the morning- but clamped it shut when her gaze sharpened. âI am not interested in hearing your excuses.â She pointed a finger over your shoulder, and your basket. âGive me the medicine, tell me how it must be administered, and leave. Time is money, and I am not losing Yakumoâs client to Orihime of all people.â She hissed. âThat wretch of Agatsuma House will not win this time. Everyone knows my tayĆ« is more cultured and well-developed than that child she bought.â
You bowed your head. âAs you wish.â Competition between houses was as fierce as ever, even when you did not grow up in this pleasure district.
You followed her into the kitchen. You instructed the madam to continue giving Yakumo light meals and tea. If she were to take the laxative with heavier or rich foods, her symptoms would worsen and recovery would take longer than just a few days of rest and hydration. You showed her how to administer the medicine and took your leave, the purse of coins tucked into the sleeves of your kimono.
As you bowed your head towards the irate Lady Omitsu and her attendant, your ears picked up the sound of wailing. Not the kind caused by an ailment from indigestion, but by grief.
An apothecary does not speculate what went on behind the closed doors of these gilded gardens unless there is tangible evidence that proves otherwise. You spared a single glance at the banister leading up to the second floor, where Yakumo and the courtesans would entertain their guests, then left Okamoto House, shutting the door behind you.
Hello everyone and welcome back to another WIP Wednesday post, the first one for the month of February~!
To start things off, the line edits for The Shinobi's Apothecary chapter three are finished! I had planned on posting it this coming weekend but due to putting in overtime this week, it has been pushed back to Valentine's Day weekend so that I can go re-read everything one more time and make sure it has been polished to the best of my ability~.
With that being said, I am working on chapter four. The word count for this segment will be much, much shorter, probably around 500-1k. I wish I could make it just as long as the others, but I am at the end of my outline/notes that were written hastily in November when I wrote the rough draft for this fic đ I need to revise some of the world-building elements and make sure there arenât any plot holes. I really want this story to shine without placing any further strain on my health~.
On the plus side for my Submerged Devotion readers, the outline for part five is just about finished. I hope to start working on the rough draft within the next week, but it will depend on my work schedule since I am putting in a lot of overtime at the office from now until March.
I want to thank everyone because oh my goodness me I almost fell out of my chair when I saw the followers count for this blog today! Almost 800 followers?! I had to log off and log back in to make sure it wasnât a glitch lol.
Taking a page of out of my friend @dissociativewriterâs book, whom by the way is an amazing LADS writer and just celebrated a milestone of their own, I will write a long LADS x non-mc!reader fic, which will be decided through a poll that will go live once we reach 1k subscribers :3
Thatâs all I have for now, have a great week and Iâll see you all on the next WIP post~! đ
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, mention of childbirth, murder, gore, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period, references include historical articles and a fascinating post about the different types of arranged marriages in Japan posted by @kazenofuji. I will leave the article to that link here if anyone is interested in reading it.
Shout-out to @jinwoosbabyboo for taking the time out of her busy schedule with proofreading this chapter~.
Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest.
Series Masterlist
His name is Gabimaru the Hollow. He wasnât sure if that was even the name that his parents had given him at birth. The village chief killed them when he was a baby, so perhaps in the end it doesnât matter. Becoming stronger and doing jobs for the clients were the only objectives a shinobi should concern himself with.
Being a shinobi is a way of life, ideally better than being a merchant or a farmer. Very few survive the rigorous training; in exchange, the shinobi would possess strength, speed, and agility beyond an ordinary person, which allowed him and his fellow peers to carry out their tasks perfectly, with no regard for life whatsoever.
Eventually he proved his worth by challenging the previous shinobi who held the title of Hollow, and the chief rewarded him by marrying off to one of his daughters. A sign of utmost respect, they all said, villagers and shinobi alike. Hope for the village, because if Gabimaru the Hollow is strong, he will most definitely breed stronger warriors for us, for the chief.
But he had already been an honored guest of the chiefâs estate and received more than enough coin for the completion of his tasks to put food in his stomach or a roof over his head should he choose to live on his own. He needed nothing else, yet not even he would dare to decline a gift from the man who had raised him to be a perfect killer.
Bearing children is the sole purpose of the women in the village, so it wouldnât have surprised Gabimaru if the daughter chosen to be his wife would be much older than him; after all, the chief has had sired many children over the years, including those who had entered his house as a concubine. Not that he has seen them, nor cared enough to seek them out. The person introduced to him as his bride was average; enormous eyes, a small nose. and a face that showed she ate well, yet not enough to saw she overindulged in her appetite. Hair washed and combed, a large white uchitake with cranes robe draped over her shoulders, yet underneath the extravagant cloth was a weathered light green kimono with a burgundy obi tied around the waist in a traditional Nagoya knot. She also wore sandals, which were worn out and covered in an inch of mud and specks of grass. That was the first thing Gabimaru learned about his new bride: she spend a lot of time outside, which would also explain why she had freckles.
She seemed ordinary, but he knew she hadnât been sheltered nor naive as per his initial impression before the wedding ceremony. If she were a clueless child who believed everyone is inherently good, then the chief wouldnât have trusted her to leave the village and work in the city as an apothecary. What work would he make his daughter do, and why would entrust her into the care of the Hollow as a bride? Gabimaru could only speculate. Perhaps the chief wanted to make sure that his daughter didnât run away or spill secrets to their enemies. That would make sense, considering how often she visited the pleasure district, whether it was to deliver medicine or treat patients who wished to be discreet.
The brothels were respectable businesses on the surface, offering relaxation for their clients if they could afford it. A place where men - single or married - could indulge in their vices. Men could freely discuss state matters and secrets, seeing the women they paid to entertain them were too stupid to understand what they were saying or simply didnât care enough to listen. But the walls listen; they hear everything. Information that spilled from loose lips that were tipsy from sake and pleasure can be bought or spread as gossip, depending on the brothel. It was a simple but effective information network.
And the only one who was privy to it was his new wife, the apothecary. The chief wanted to keep it that way, if only to have some kind of leverage over Iwagakureâs enemies, rivaling shinobi villages included. The shogunate wasnât bothered by it so long as Iwagakure didnât meddle too much in his affairs. Without the shogunate, then Iwagakure wouldnât have as many jobs available to Gabimaru or the other shinobi to put food in their stomachs.
That was just the way of things in Iwagakure.
After he realized this â that his marriage is really nothing more than a surveillance mission â Gabimaru thought it would be prudent to understand his targetâs day-to-day schedule and report anything out of the ordinary to his new father-in-law.
The job began as soon as dawn broke on the morning after the wedding ceremony. Although he was a married man now, tradition dictated that his wife must sleep in a separate room from her husband so long as they are living under the roof of her father. They could not share a room unless it was for procreation or they had their own home, which was currently being built at an undisclosed location.
When he saw the last shoji door on the right - connected to Yuiâs room, who is the second youngest child of the chiefâs daughter and apparently his wifeâs favorite sister â Gabimaru immediately noticed that it wasnât closed. Had someone sneaked inside the estate without the Hollow noticing?
His rough hands flexed, ready to deliver a killing blow to whomever might be on the other side of the door. Three, two one.
He pushed it open, a kunai in his other palm, and then blinked. There was no intruder, and neither was his wife. Aside from a writing desk and a changing screen, there sat a neatly folded futon in the middle of the sparse room.
You must have closed it enough to appear you were in the room without alerting the servants or waking up your sister. If that is the case, then you must already be on foot.
Gabimaru left the estate as soon as his sandals were tied around his ankles, wordlessly hopping through the trees. He found his wife quickly; she was dressed in the same green kimono, a wicker basket strapped to her back with a stoic expression on her face. She paused, her sandals kicking up dirt as she looked up in the trees, making his breath hitch as her eyes almost made contact with his.
Gabimaru froze, his body completely still. He didnât move, nor did he breathe until his wife resumed walking, her attention averted back to the path in front of her. It led to a vast field of herbs, where no one but the midwife and his wife, the apothecary, could enter and use them as they saw fit. Anyone else who went there without the chiefâs explicit permission would be executed.
He watched her kneel on the wet earth, smiling softly as she carefully examined the foliage of each herb with utmost care, running her thumb across some of the large leaves before she looked at others. She placed them all in her basket with utmost care, even when she was pulling them up by the roots. An hour and half later, she left with her wares and returned to the estate to place them in her work shed. Then she was off again, catching an ox cart that would take through the mountain pass and into the city. She spent hours there, moving from one pleasure house to another, delivering medicines or treating ailments. That concluded Gabimaruâs first day of observation.
The days that followed shared a similar pattern, except for disappearing into a back room in each of the pleasure houses with a male servant guarding the door. Gabimaru concluded this was how she received information to deliver to the chief and vouched that she had not gone to anyone else that evening. The chief was pleased and dismissed him. The midwife came to the estate one early afternoon. She needed his wifeâs help with delivering a set of twins to a couple, and was gone until nightfall. The birth was a success, though it seemed to have exhausted his wife immensely as she staggered back to the estate, her kimono covered in splattered blood. Despite that, she still rose at dawn and headed to the fields to collect more herbs, and started her day again as if nothing had ever happened. She wore a burgundy kimono with white peonies and a black obi. The servants took the green one to be laundered, or she gave it to them.
Either way, it would take a while for the blood to be washed out.
Gabimaru felt something settle inside his rib cage - it was unpleasant, an itch, an urge to grab his wife and drag her back to the estate, to her bedroom, so she could rest. He would have done so, probably, if the chief hadnât sent him out to do a big job with two other shinobi. When he came back, he was the tired one and in need of some pain relievers, and he knew you had to have some in your shed.
But instead of screaming in terror at seeing her husband in ragged clothes or covered in drying blood, his wife pulled him inside her shed and treated his wounds with the same hands that handled herbs with utmost care.
How was it possible that someone like her was the chiefâs daughter?
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period, references include historical articles and a fascinating post about the different types of arranged marriages in Japan posted by @kazenofuji. I will leave the article to that link here if anyone is interested in reading it.
Special thanks to @luna-azzurra for helping me to describe Gabimaruâs eyes than just amber irises đ if you are looking for writing references or prompts, I highly recommend checking out their blog~!
Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest.
There was no warning, no way you could predict that this would even happen because that wretched old man was like a certain sly fox you had known in your old life. Incredibly wily, possessing a silver tongue that carried the weight of his authority in Iwagakure, speaking in riddles with a stony face that made him extremely difficult to decipher his body language.
He simply introduced you as his daughter, stating how you were trained from a young age to know your place - a bold, odious lie - and he expected many children that would be born from your marriage. Hah, ridiculous. Your brow twitched, trying to hold back a roll of your eyes as you smiled tightly at your new husband. You hoped it reached your eyes in any shape or form to hide the discomfort clawing at your mind, the weight of the uchikake bridal kimono on your shoulders.
You really thought he would postpone your marriage ceremony until Yui left the house with her own carefully selected spouse, not before her.
At this moment, all you could do was stare at the young man sitting across from you and contemplate how such an arranged marriage could work out, or even how to divorce him amiably without throwing Gabimaru out of the estate. Nothing â you came up with nothing. That was the problem with a yĆshi-engumi marriage. It was an unusual practice in this era, where the father-in-law adopted the groom into the family as his son-in-law. If Gabimaru angered your father, he would remove him immediately from the family tree. He would lose everything.
You analyzed Gabimaru carefully, taking in everything you could see from where he sat.
He appeared to be no older than your age - sixteen, maybe seventeen summers. His white hair was tousled as if heâd been running his fingers through it countless times before he came to this room. The angular lines of his jaw still possessed the softness of a teenager, but no light reflected in his eyes. You imagined innocent joy once filled those amber irises, like a bonfire dancing under the stars surrounded by laughter. But life doesnât seem to have been kind to him. His eyes are like the coals in a firepit, glowing dimly before they slowly die out as the evening air wears on. Hollow.
What has he seen? You wondered. What did the village chief do to him? More importantly, amber was not an accurate description of his eye color, but orpiment. Why? Because it brought back the memory of the investigation surrounding the yellow arsenic, and remembering how it all happened was keeping you calm. Funny how memories from a previous life can provide comfort at unusual times.
Your skin prickled at the thought of the emperor, who deflowered little girls and kept them in the rear palace, discarding them once they became young women without batting an eye. And yet from one of them, a son was born and for unknown reasons he had become a recluse, spending all hours of the day painting in isolation. He used the orpiment as a pigment for his yellow paints without realizing it was poison. Chronic exposure to arsenic through skin contact and inhalation destroyed his mental and physical health over time. It was also the reason why his corpse had not decayed for over a year, and caused the empress dowager to believe she had cursed him.
âTreat him well, my child, and bring honor to this family.â The foxâs silky voice broke through your mind, causing you to blink rapidly. âAs is customary in our village, you two shall stay here until your own residence is ready. The best laborers are toiling away as we speak.â You watched him rise from his seat, black robes billowing behind him. âWe shall let the newlyweds be until the celebration banquet is ready.â He left the room, followed by the first wife Miyu. Then Yui, and an entourage of servants and shinobi. When the last shinobi closed the shoji door behind him, an awkward silence crept in.
You truly did not know what you could say to him. Apologize for being married to you against his will? Please treat me well, even though we are complete strangers and today is our first meeting without a lavish wedding ceremony because the village cannot afford to do such pleasantries when there are mouths to feed? But staying silent and staring at the floor changed nothing, and at this point all you could do was hope that everything would be fine. So you smiled; a sweet, innocent smile to show Gabimaru that you were looking forward to the days ahead in this marriage.
Whether it was because he did not want to waste any more time on you or wished to curry more of the chiefâs favor, Gabimaru stood up from the tatami mat and left you in the room, smile still stretched across your face. Well, this was not what you were expecting but you supposed it could have gone much differently if he possessed a violent temper or immediately belittled you, to remind you that you belong to him now and not the chief as if you were nothing more than livestock.
Itâs a sad truth, and thatâs how people treated women in this world. You only hoped that no one would kidnap you and make you work for a eunuch again, or worse, in a pleasure house. You could only thank the gods for allowing to find clay and use it on your face to replicate freckles, or else this situation would have been much worse should that old man find out what you truly look like.
You were more than happy to work for the pleasure district as an apothecary, just not as a sex worker, even though you have nothing but the highest respect for them and what they do to make a living.
Time was a blur after that night, and eventually you found a silent routine with Gabimaru. It wasnât awkward or tense like before, justâŠcomfortable. You would wake up early with the sun just peeking above the horizon and dress swiftly. Slipping out of the house to check on the fields. Once you collected what you needed, you would head around back to your work shed, nestled in the back of the estate. Using the mortar and pestle to grind some into powders and placing others in amber containers, labeling and storing them away to protect from the sunlight and moisture until it was time to use them.
Once all the orders were done and packed to deliver to the city, you would study some herbs. It was fascinating how the usage and effect of these herbs in this world were so similar to the ones in your past life, even the poisonous mushrooms. For example, gan cao or licorice root can be used as an anti-inflammatory and heal the stomach lining. Some names for these herbs are different, though. This worldâs gan cao was referred by another name, anise hyssop. Aphrodisiacs still come as exquisite chocolates, or a special blend of green tea with carefully picked ingredients to boost dopamine, like roasted hojicha or sweet kamairicha. Matcha tea was the most popular and expensive choice. You never handled abortion drugs since there were plenty of these circulating in the pleasure district. Pity you couldnât piece together an alcohol distillation apparatus for obvious reasons, but mainly to make disinfectants which would help conduct further experiments and save lives, but having enough space to do your work in the early hours of the morning was enough for you.
When the roosterâs cries echoed in the sky, you knew Yui would arrive soon, cheerily announcing that breakfast was ready to be served and no, you couldnât eat in the shed just so that you could continue your self-studying. You still asked though, only to tease a laugh out of your sister or a solid flick to the forehead depending on her mood.
Breakfast was held in the dining hall every morning. The chief would sit at the head of the table next to Miyu, as she was the one in charge of the other concubines and managed the household in his absence. Yui would be on the left. You were seated on the right, and Gabimaru would sit opposite of you as he was your husband. Sometimes he would be there, or he wouldnât, depending on the length of his missions. When he was there it was awkward unlike your early morning routine.
You tried to make small talk, asking him if he slept well, but he just stared at you with no emotion in his eyes before he disappeared from the estate without a trace. Were questions like that not asked of him before, even during his training? That was odd, considering how valuable he was to the village as a shinobi. Unless that was the reason. He was not treated as a human being who had proven himself to carry the mantle of his predecessors, rather as a weapon wearing a humanâs skin; honed, sharpened, and prepared to do any job given to them by whomever can afford the services of the Iwagakure shinobi.
A perfect weapon, but at what cost?
After everyone finished breakfast and the servants removed the dishes, they all continued with their day, yourself included. Gabimaru had his job, Yui had her own business selling homemade umbrellas that were popular with the villagers and the occasional tourist who had enough courage to travel through said Iwagakure to get to the city, and you were in the city running around fulfilling deliveries, checking on patients, etc.
Dinner was a short-lived affair; even shorter than breakfast, and everyone in the house was in bed as soon as the cicadas began their nightly song.
But one autumn evening, you decided to forgo the privacy of your bedroom and crept to the work-shed to do some light reading in hopes that you could fall asleep afterwards. The last thing you wanted was the chief finding out that you could read and write just as well as a noble, including what you really look like without your make-up on. You were examining an anatomical chart of the nervous system when you heard a knock emitting from the door. Puzzled, and a little worried as to who would come here so late in the evening except for one person, you quickly hid the scrolls beneath the loose floorboards of your work table and rose to your feet.
âWho is it?â You called out. Silence. âYui, is that you? Whatâs wrong?â
She was the only one in the house who would have noticed the light from the work shed since the window in her room provided an obvious vantage point of it. No one else would bother to come hereâŠunless it was someone with a grudge against you. You were about to reach for a scalpel discreetly hidden on a shelf between loosely bounded books and ink stones when a gravelly voice growled on the other side.
âItâs me. Let me in.â
âMe?â You parroted in confusion, hand still hovering in the air towards the scalpel. âIdentify yourself.â You commanded. It was that or they might lose a finger, whichever came first. You were not taking any chances. Then you heard an annoyed sigh before the voice spoke again.
âGabimaru, your husband. May I please come in, wife?â
You blinked. Gabimaru was here, outside of your shed? Now that was a concern. Why would he come here? Unless â
Fueled by pure instinct and muscle memory, your feet carried you to the door, and your rough fingers curled around the door handle, pushing it to the right with a loud rat-tat-tmp. The light from the oil lamp spilled out from behind you just barely illuminating the battered shinobi who stood, barely, before you. You scanned him, taking note of his tattered clothes soaked in blood. Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist as you yanked him inside. You head swiveled around the courtyard right left in the trees the bushes and up towards the roof because shinobi were sneaky like that before you closed the door behind you with a loud thamp.
You guided Gabimaru to the tatami mats. âSit.â You said tightly.
He did and watched you intently as you darted to the shelves where you kept the salves, disinfectants, and of course, linen. You did not ask him questions, nor did you feel it was your right to just yet. In truth, all you were really worried about was time. How bad were his injuries, when did he receive them and how long did he let them go untreated? Minutes, hours, days? Depending on his answers, you could either prevent any infections that could lead to amputation or allow a disease to fester and spread through contact or the air.
You placed the supplies on his left and started to mixed together herbs in the bowl, your pestle clanking against the clay. âDo you feel lightheaded?â You asked.
âNo?â
âNausea, headache?â
Gabimaru scrunched his nose. âNo.â
âWell, we can remove concussion off the list of injuries, but Iâll need to run a few more tests to be sure that you are coherent.â You stood up, grabbing another clay bowl and went to the water jug, lifting the lid and dipping the wooden ladle to spoon enough clean water to fill it, and walked back over to him. âI will need to remove your shirt to check for other injuries, so please pardon me.â You reached out and gripped the upper part of his uniform, only to have your progress be halted by scarred fingers coil around your wrists like vines.
You blinked, looking up at him. âItâs fine if you do not consent to a physical evaluation, but it will be hard for me to properly diagnose the extent of your injuries if I do not see it for myself.â You matched his intense stare with your own.
âI can take care of them.â He said. âI just wanted to see if you had something for pain relief.â He released your wrist, allowing to take a step back if you were scared of him. But you didnât, and simply raised a brow at him.
âYou are aware that pain relief will not stop an infection from, yes?â You said cocking your head as you crossed your arms. âIt would be neglectful of me to simply give you an herb that can provide pain relief and not treat the wound that is causing the pain.â
âAnd you canât make a proper evaluation at a glance?â He frowned, sucking his teeth. âThe chief said you were good.â
âI simply know how to optimize a patientâs treatment based on an evaluation that includes examining their body, nothing more. Not to do so is neglectful on my part and in my practice as an apothecary.â You said, glancing down at his body, his bloodied clothes growing darker as more blood soaked the linen. âIf you would permit me, I can at least disinfect the wounds and wipe you down with the water and clothes I have here instead of taking you straight to the bathhouse for a soak.â There would also be a risk of contaminating the bathhouse water if that were to happen, and make any wounds he has much worse, but you kept that thought to yourself. If you pressed any more, you had a feeling heâd hiss at you like a cat, unhappy with being pushed into a corner even if it is for his own health.
He stared at you for a long moment, amber irises unblinking before he closed them. âYouâre serious.â
âQuite so.â
âAnd you would only do what you said? Just clean the wounds and apply medicine?â
âYes.â
âYou wouldnât try to take a peek?â
Your own frown deepened. âNo, of course not.â I have never heard of a shinobi who was concerned about his chastity, let alone a married one. You thought. Is this another lesson that the old man had drilled into Gabimaruâs mind before he announced our marriage? Then again, should you really be surprised at this point?
âI would not do such a thing, I assure you. Doing so would be unprofessional and inconsiderate towards not only my patient but my husband.â You tilted your head slightly. âUnless you would like me to do everything blindfolded, but that would take much longer.â
Gabimaru was silent, and he stripped down, starting with the tengui kerchief coiled around his neck followed by the teppo-sode top right there in the middle of the work shed. You persuaded him to keep the tattsuke-bakama style bottoms on his person until you have finished examining his upper half. For someone who was worried about his virtue, he disrobed himself quickly. You would have to scold him for his lack of modesty another day.
Thankfully, the number of shallow cuts outweighed the deeper ones scattered around his abdomen, hips, and one on his left hand. The deeper cuts had to be cauterized and stitched together with a needle. Gabimaru was not pleased, but he kept his mouth shut and allowed you to do the work even when he seemed to want nothing more than to take care of it himself; the way he hunched his back, the deepening tell-tale twitches in his fingers. In this shed, the man known as the Hollow acted more like a cat than a shinobi ready to kill under the chiefâs command. After spending more than an hour of washing, rewashing, changing the water and rags, stitching and threading the needle with more thread, Gabimaru was cleaned and covered in gauze; the grounded herbs, which had thickened into a paste with oil, was smeared into the mouth of the wound so it would speed up his healing. His legs, ankles, and thighs were fine, only bruising that must have started two days ago? Three?
âNo fractures or broken bones â good, good.â You mumbled to yourself.
The candlelight bounced off of the wall as you continued to treat Gabimaru, double-checking the tightness of his bandages and being absolutely certain you missed nothing that he didnât tell you in relation to his current symptoms.
âYou are all finished.â You said finally, putting away your supplies and wrapping up the dirty linen, the bowls, and the needle with makeshift mittens. You would have to instruct the servant to get rid of these things and bring them to the furnace to destroy the bacteria. You glanced at the tatami mats before you clicked your tongue.
That might include the removal of the tatami mats.
Another reason you wished you had an alcohol apparatus; it would be easier - and more cost efficient - to simply disinfect the bowls and wipe down the mats instead of throwing them out, finding new equipment with the allowance you receive from the chief for your work and doing business in the pleasure district. In the grand scheme of things? It wasnât much to live on your own independently. Quite unfortunate. âDo not take a bath for at least two days, and come back tomorrow so that I can change the bandages and apply new medicinal herbs.â
âThere is no need for you to do that.â Gabimaru said, pulling the uniform top over his head. âYou have done enough already.â
âIt would still be wise to make sure that they are healing properly - â
âI heal fast.â He spat, cutting you off. âI am Gabimaru the Hollow.â
You felt your brow twitch. You werenât sure if you should feel less worried that this shinobi, your husband, possessed the ability to heal within days, or if you should allow your curiosity to examine the extent of said ability by poisoning his food and drink, gradually increasing the dose until you were satisfied with the results. But you had a feeling he wouldnât appreciate it, and the last thing you wanted to do was anger your spouse even further.
So you pushed that idea away, into the back of your mind and shrugged. âYou might think you are hollow, yet you still bleed. That proves you are alive, does it not?â You saw him stiffen, shoulders going rigid.
Oh, dear. Perhaps you had gone too far?
You were about to apologize when he vanished in a cloud of smoke. There was no trace of him, except for the sight of the shoji pushed all the way to the right, letting in the night air.
âSleep well, husband.â You murmured, moving to close it, making a loud clack. You sighed, pressing your forehead against the paper screen. You needed to get better at communicating with others; it had been a problem during your time at the imperial palace, unintentionally causing misunderstandings between you and the people you had cared about. This time, you needed to do better. You have to, because even if Gabimaru might never see you as a lifelong partner in the romantic sense, in this arranged marriage, you hoped that at the very least, you two could be friends. Now? It seems like even such a thing was impossible.
Hello everyone, hope you all have been well! Iâve been focusing more on my other blog @acaffeinated-constellation, and this is the story Iâve been focusing on! Comments and feedback on it would be greatly appreciated~! I would recommend reading the prologue first before this chapter~! The link to the series masterlist is in the authorâs notes~!
