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Idk if youâre taking requests rn but Iâve been re-reading your pseudosâ fics and Iâm wondering how would reader deal with being on their period in that alien world
Youâre haunted by the oh-so familiar spectre of your period just before it starts, in the sporadic pangs that curl through your abdomen and the all too troublesome hit to your energy reserves.
With a dawning horror, you realise whatâs coming. An inevitability that youâd almost forgotten about in the throes of being dumped in an alien world with nothing but the clothes on your back.
To start, you are absolutely, categorically sure that Pseudo cannot find out about it. You donât think you could live with the embarrassment. Heâs already going beyond the call of duty by keeping you alive and fed in a world that has no place for you, and you refuse to burden him with any more of your humanness.
Youâve been dealing with your periods for years after all, you can manage to navigate through this hiccup perfectly well on your own.
You never realised how good youâd had it when tampons and sanitary towels were just a quick nip to the shop away. Itâs a Hell of an adjustment to try and make do without them.
Youâre almost certain that the gruff Hermit has noticed how your shirt seems to shrink steadily every hour or so. Thank God youâd been wearing your oversized t-shirt when you were cast onto the beaches of Zenozoik, and not some silly little tank top. Thereâs plenty of fabric to tear strips from it, where you wrap them over and over around the gusset of your underwear. You always slink away from the camp to do it, under the guise of needing to relieve yourself.
It's far from comfortable and brings the ever-present apprehension that the scraps wonât catch every leak, but your hands are tied and itâs the best you could think to do in a pinch.
You dread to think of what will happen if you run out of shirt, the hem has already been torn all the way up to your naval where it had once hung halfway down your thighs and you curse yourself for not being more sparing. The fear of running out of fabric also invites an even more stomach-churning thought; What happens if youâre still stuck on Zenozoik next month?
It doesnât bear thinking about. One day at a time, you remind yourself sternly.
You try your best to hide it from Pseudo. But while he might be a gruff, oblivious grump most of the time, even heâs not dense enough to miss the tell-tale signs of pain when he sees them.
âYou hurtinâ?â he asks point-blank one night, staring unwaveringly at you as you lay on your back in the grass, just out of range of the light cast by his campfire. He aims for aloof, misses spectacularly, and lands on undeniable concern.
Stiffening at the sound of his voice, you manage to utter a quiet, âNo,â which is about as convincing as one of Eoâs sales pitches.
Heâs⌠worried isnât quite the right word. Bothered. Heâs bothered by your behaviour. You keep disappearing, and every time you tell him to give you some privacy, heâs left pacing tracks in the dirt, plagued by the idea that youâll either be snatched up by one of Geminiâs goons, or that youâll just⌠vanish. Just like that. As easily and inexplicably as youâd appeared in his life.
The Boy notices that youâve been glum, absent and unusually quiet of late. He worries aloud to his Guardian, wondering if heâs upset you somehow. Pseudo confesses that itâs far more likely youâre upset with him, not the Boy.
You overhear their conversation and make an effort to be more chipper, despite the pain that threatens to double you over and the horrendous discomfort of travelling through Zenozoikâs harsh landscape when every ten steps seems to jostle more blood from your body, and youâre forced to hide your grimaces lest you risk drawing the attention of your companions.
But their attention is already on you, Pseudoâs most of all.
Youâre hurting. Heâd know the look of pain even on a face as strange and otherworldly as yours. What he doesnât know, is why you seem so determined to hide it.
He watches you like a hawk â the hand that rubs tenderly over your stomach, the twist of your lips when you squeeze your eyes shut and bare your teeth once you think heâs fallen asleep, like something is digging into your flesh with its claws.
Itâs three days into your ordeal that everything comes to a head.
You donât even notice that Pseudo has dropped behind you as you all make your way up the winding, cragged slopes of the Zonectic Mountains. Youâre too deep inside your own head, only pulled out of it when his voice suddenly cracks through the air behind you. Â
âKak!â
Your head shoots up and you falter, nearly tripping in your haste to turn and see where the danger is.
You havenât even made it halfway around when Pseudo promptly slams into your back.
âHey!â you cry as he hauls you off your feet and all but frog-marches you towards a large, flat-topped boulder protruding from the centre of the trail.
As soon as your knees hit the side of the rock, he stops.
Ignoring your bleats of alarm and the startled Boy squawking questions in his ear, Pseudo presses an enormous palm between your shoulders and forces you down, bending you at the waist until your torso is pressed against the rough, cold rock.
With a belligerent yell, you attempt to lift your head and glare at him, barking out his name. âPseudo! What the Hell do you think youâre-!â A sharp, shrill scream tears its way out of your throat when the Hermit suddenly pushes two calloused but gentle fingers right into the gusset of your trousers, probing carefully at the stiff material.
Bursting into a panic, you kick back reflexively, your heel connecting with his shin.
He grunts, pulling away slightly and giving you enough leeway to twist your head around to see him holding his fingers up in front of his face, inspecting them through narrow, jaundiced eyes. The pads of his fingertips... they're...
Oh⌠Oh god, no.
âYouâre hurt,â he growls, feverish and urgent, and thereâs malice in his words like a jagged blade, pointing at whoever dared to lay their hands on you. You can see his mind racing back, trying to pinpoint the moment it must have happened.
Now, you think, would be the perfect time for a monster to show up and finish you off. Itâd probably be less painful than being bent awkwardly over a rock whilst Pseudo turns his focus onto the spots of deep, dark crimson staining the back of your trousers.
If he werenât so alarmed, he might have balked at the intimacy of touching you here, but right now, his only concern is finding out how bad the damage is and fixing it.
You nearly have a heart attack when his fingers slip beneath your waistband and start to pull.
âLet me see,â he grunts whilst you thrash against his grip, shrieking his name so loudly that your voice cracks with fear, and thatâs what finally gives him pause.
âGet off!â you blurt.
âWe need to heal you,â he utters, suddenly whipping towards the Boy who has landed on the ground nearby, anxiously wringing his hands, âKid, you can heal her right? Use me. Use me to heal her, now!â
âOh, for godâs sake, Pseudo,â you snap, âLet me up! Iâm not hurt!â Â
âYouâre bleeding.â
Hopefully to death, if the embarrassment doesnât kill you first.
There are tears glistening at the corners of your eyes, and Pseudo spots them in the grey light, going rigid as he watches them break free of your lashes and roll down your cheeks. âIf you let me go, Iâll tell you whatâs going on,â you promise, âJust, please stop!â
And as if he finally registers the compromising position he has you in, and the terrified whites of your eyes, he pulls back, allowing you to whirl around and press your spine against the rock behind you, sinking down until you hit the ground with a thud.
Youâre beyond mortified, sick with humiliation. The tips of your ears feel like theyâre sunburned, and you canât bring yourself to meet Pseudoâs gaze, not even when he drops to his knees in front of you and stares hard at your face, his bruising fists clenched on top of each thigh.
âWho did this to you?â he rumbles dangerously.
You never thought, in all your wildest dreams, that youâd one day have to explain the menstrual cycle to a seven-foot-something Hermit who has never even met a human before, let alone one who suffers with periods.
The Boy, you send off to one side, far enough away that he wouldnât be able to hear the conversation between you and his guardian. He sulks, of course, worried out of his feathers, but after some protesting, he begrudgingly obliges.
You try to keep things clean for Pseudoâs sake, the details arenât important. All he needs to know is that, no, youâre not dying. No, youâre not injured, followed by a much more emphatic âNo!â he cannot see where youâre hurt!
His expression falls steadily from indignation to shellshock over the course of your explanation, and his eyes flick down to your ripped shirt when you tell him how youâve been⌠hiding your problem.
âEvery month?â he whispers when you're finished, swallowing thickly.
âYup,â you groan, popping the âp.â
Psuedo looks down at his hands, twined together in his lap. âKak,â he utters, peering back up at you after a moment to add, âKakâŚâ
âPreaching to the choir, Soods.â
Now heâs the one whoâs embarrassed. âWhy didnât you say anything?â he presses, pretending the nickname doesnât cause his stomach to flip.
âBecause!â Curling your arms around your knees, you bury your face in them and huff, âItâs embarrassing.â
âHow come?â
âI mean⌠The blood, itâs from⌠you knowâŚâ You trail off, pulling a face. People generally donât like hearing about it, youâve known other men who blanch at the mere mention of periods, so why would Pseudo want to know the gory details?
âBloodâs just blood,â he sniffs instead, âDoesnât matter where itâs from.â
Hesitant, you draw your gaze up from behind your knees and blink at him tiredly. Huh.
"Shit... M'gonna need some new trousers," you deflect, missing the streak of inspiration that darts across Pseudo's face.
Heâs fairly miffed that you didnât tell him about the issue you were having sooner. Could have saved yourself a lot of trouble.
The very same night, Pseudo pitches camp and leaves you there with the Boy, telling you both that he has an errand to run. Heâs barely gone an hour, but by the time he returns, both you and the kid have fallen asleep together, the latter clutched protectively to your chest within the tent.
Itâs too dark for anyone to say they saw the fond smile working at Pseudoâs jaw.
With a grunt, the Hermit drops down near the firepit and gets to work.
The next morning sees you groggily pulling yourself from the tent, only to almost trip over a neat pile of cloth on the ground. Gawking, you realise theyâve all been cut into strips, clean and soft and⌠the best thing to suit your needs. And there, next to the pile...
"Ha... Sneaky bastard," you murmur, holding up a pair of loose, black breeches. They'll be enormous on you, but they're clean, and they're wearable. And they're black. Harder to see stains on black clothes, after all.
Suddenly misty-eyed, you turn to see Pseudo crouching over the cauldron with his back to you.
When you open your mouth to croak out a quiet but grateful âthank you,â he merely grunts in response and twists around to toss something in your direction.
Fumblingly, you manage to catch it, glancing down at the smooth, glass vial in your hand. A fizzing, scarlet liquid sloshes within.
âSomethinâ I cook up if ever I eat food that's gone bad,â Pseudo elaborates, shrugging a shoulder and turning back to his fire, âMaybe itâll settle your stomach too⌠If you want.â
He pretends not to hear you pad softly across the grass towards him.
Even crouched down to tend the flames, heâs still tall, but not tall enough that you canât reach.
Planting your hands gently on his bulbous shoulders, you feel the muscles jump slightly at your touch. It must be testament to how much heâs coming to trust you, because while Pseudo gives a start, he doesnât pull away. Merely frowns at the flames near his feet in confusion as you lean over his shoulder and push your mouth close to his ear.
âThanks Pseudo,â you whisper, and before you can think better of it, you press a chaste kiss to the side of his temple, hardly minding the coarse, leathery texture beneath your lips. A week ago, you might have quailed at the idea of putting your mouth near him. Now? It doesn't seem so bad.
Itâs over in a moment, and youâre already disappearing from the camp with the vial and a handful of the cloth strips in your arms by the time Pseudo's ears have stopped ringing.
He hasnât moved from the firepit, though his eyes remain wide open, staring dumbly at the orange flames as they crackle and spit around the kindling.
Suddenly, from the tent behind him⌠âOoh~! Pseudo likes Y/n~!â
The Hermit has to resist the very reasonable urge to hurl his ladle at the teasing bundle of feathers. âDo not!â he argues.
âDo too!â
âDo not!â
âThen how come youâre letting the cauldron boil over?â
Al Udeid Jantung Militer AS di Timur Tengah Yang Dirudal Iran
SURAU.CO. Iran baru saja menggempur pangkalan militer milik Amerika Serikat di Qatar. Puluhan rudal melayang di udara dan menghujam di pangkalan yang terletak dekat kota Doha ini. Pangkalan ini merupakan pangkalan militer Amerika terbesar di Timur Tengah. Apa yang ada di pangkalan ini sehingga Iran menggempurnya?
Pangkalan Udara Al Udeid di Qatar merupakan fasilitas militer paling vital bagiâŚ
Clash: Artifacts of Chaos - You play as Pseudo, a master of martial arts who lives as a recluse in the strange land of Zenozoik.
Coming to Steam, Epic Games, Xbox & PlayStation on Feb 9, 2023
ABOUT GAME:- When you cross paths with the Boy, a small creature whose mysterious powers have attracted the attention of Gemini, the Mistress of the Artifacts, you decide to protect him, unaware that much greater forces are involved.
EXPLORE ZENOZOIK
CRUSH YOUR OPPONENTS
CUSTOMISE YOUR COMBAT STYLE
RISE TO THE CHALLENGE OF THE RITUAL
A RICH STORYLINE
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
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Plenty of compass work on this red course at #eastforklake in Ohio. #ocin #olou #oblue #caoc #ico #orienteeringyouth #orienteering #oryantiring #orientering #mapsport #extremesports #adventuresports #gohardorgohome #stayactive (at East Fork Lake State Park)
Capping a nine-day visit across the region that included stops in India,Afghanistan, and Pakistan, U.S. Senators Tim Kaine and Angus King traveled to Qatar, where they met with Qatari Prime Minister Sheikh Abdullahbin Nasser bin Khalifa al-Thani and visited Al Udeid Air Base, home of the Combined Air and Space Operations Center (CAOC) which functions as the ânerve centerâ for the ongoing airâŚ