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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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"mithrun is the only real monsterfucker in dungeon meshi" is objectively the funniest bit you can get out of his everything, but in all seriousness i think his attraction to his love interest is deliberately overstated—and that makes sense, because romantic jealousy is a classic and digestible motive, which is explicitly what kabru was aiming for in condensing mithrun's backstory, and also because until chapter 94, mithrun wasn't willing to admit to the true nature of his desires.

but because romantic envy is both classic and digestible, it probably isn’t a unique enough or complicated enough desire to tempt a demon’s appetite. mithrun’s wish, as far as we can figure from kabru’s reduced retelling, was to have a life in which he had never become one of the canaries, and that carries like 3857 implications and desires within it. that’s delicious. his love interest acts as sort of a red herring to his motivation for making it, though. (side note: i'm saying "love interest" here because, keeping in mind that i barely speak japanese on a good day anymore, "想い人" is something i'd usually take as just kind of an old-fashioned and romantic way to refer to a lover, but in context i wonder if both the connotation of yearning and the vagueness are intentional, and i think this phrasing gets those aspects of it more effectively. anyway.)

mithrun considered his love interest to be untrustworthy. there was a minute where i thought that comment might be about a similar-looking elf (yugin, one of his squad members), but comparing the two…

the "sketchy" arrow is definitely referring to the elf we know as his love interest—the bangs go toward her right, she only has the one forehead ornament, and, most notably, her ears aren't notched.

every time she’s given a full-body depiction in his dungeon, she’s drawn as a chimera, with the body of a snake from the waist down. (side note: the “what if a dungeon has chimeras before reaching level 4?”/“then the dungeon lord is unstable” exchange just being mithrun grilling his past self alive is so funny. he’s so. but anyway) there are a couple things about this.

first, the snake part of the chimera appears to be modeled after some species of coral snake mimic

which, in the biology-for-fun manga, i… doubt is a coincidence, especially with the added context of the “untrustworthy” comment. the dungeon’s conjured illusion of mithrun’s love interest was a harmless copycat of a venomous original. for whatever reason, he felt this person was a threat and made up a "safe" version of her to be in a relationship with, and while it’s definitely possible to be attracted to or even love someone you find to be toxic and/or intimidating, when you take that into consideration alongside the configuration of her body, you get some interesting implications.

which brings us to our second point: if we assume that mithrun was not in fact fucking a snake, then sexual attraction, at least, was so far removed from his idea of a relationship with this person that he did not even bother to keep her dungeon copy human enough to maintain the illusion of the option of a sexual relationship. this is somewhat echoed in the depictions of their interactions, which also imply a frankly unexpected romantic distance. she kisses his cheek and he doesn't seem to react; she's at the edge of a narrow bed with only one set of pillows, on top of his blankets while he's underneath them.

the kiss is particularly interesting because it seems to contrast the text. kabru's narration tells us this was everything mithrun could have asked for, but mithrun is there looking unreadable to pensive, likely because this is right before the panel that makes it clear things in the dungeon are beginning to go wrong.

walking through this backwards for a minute, we have the physical barrier of his bedding and the spatial separation inherent in a bed made for one person, the emotional barrier of his mounting anxiety getting in the way of his ability to enjoy the affection he sought, and... the snake, which historically carries the connotation of temptation, yes, but also mistrust, barring physical intimacy. okay. ok. if a dungeon reflects the mentality of its lord, all of this might suggest that mithrun was not able to have any real desire for a relationship with this person. his unwillingness to be vulnerable or let another person in was insurmountable. but in that case, why was she such a focal point that she remained to the end, after his dungeon had stopped creating iterations of his friends to come and visit him? why would he get so upset over her meeting with his brother that he became lord of a dungeon about it?

well. mithrun's brother was also interested in her, probably genuinely. and mithrun had to win.

you have an older brother who your parents completely ignore, probably in part because he is chronically ill/disabled and almost definitely in part because he received a ton of recessive traits that resulted in rumors that he was an illegitimate child. you are aware, most likely because those same parents fucking told you, that you actually are an illegitimate child. but they keep you around because you had the good fortune of looking just like your mother. what can that possibly teach you but that you, like your brother, are disposable?

it's utterly unsurprising that mithrun, under these circumstances, developed a pathological need to be better than everyone around him. people don't keep you otherwise. i'd argue this is also why he says he looked down on everyone he knew while milsiril claims his dungeon reeked of feelings of inferiority—he sought out people's worst traits and prioritized them in his mind to protect his already extremely fragile sense of self-worth, and all the while he tried to be as likable and high-performing as he possibly could be. his parents disposed of him anyway, but even then he tried to keep up the performance. he was kind to everyone. he never once lost to a dungeon.

when he saw his "love interest" meeting up with his brother, what he saw was himself being replaced by a person his parents had always treated as worthless, and if that was what they thought of the child they'd kept, what value could anyone possibly see in the bastard they'd given away to die? mithrun and kabru tell the story like he wanted to win this unnamed elf's heart, but it was never about being with her. it was about cementing his worth, proving that he didn't deserve to be thrown away.

and so it's particularly cruel that his demon discarded him, too. but maybe it's also particularly gentle that, in the end, there was someone who refused to even consider giving up on him.

kui laid it out in three panels better than i could hope to.

yeah. it's love. you wanted to be loved, even when the only way you were able to understand it was through the desire to be wanted, and you wanted that so badly that the idea of being consumed felt like the promise of finally mattering to someone.

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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Could you do a suggestive mithrun x tallman reader fic where the reader somehow managed to become friends with mithrun and they ask if they can touch his ears out of curiosity (I just like the idea of elf ears being sensitive)

Ya! This one was fun 💕 thanks for the prompt!

1800 words

Mithrun x Tall-man Reader

no tws except for smoochin and a suggestive tone

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You had a measure of decorum. Not much, though. A teaspoon, maybe. A teaspoon of decorum. Yet, that still existing decorum nearly stopped you from doing what you currently wanted the most:

To touch an elf’s ear.

Pattadol said no. Fleki laughed at you and said ‘keep dreaming’ as if you’d just hit on her. Lycion became a bit flirty in a way that threatened you. Cithis also said no. Otta… also said no, out of loyalty to her current partner. Otta’s response made you wonder what the implications of ear touching were to elves. Was it intimate? Was it embarrassing for them? Was it considered rude if you didn’t know the person well, like how using a half-foot’s first name was considered rude for strangers? That teaspoon of decorum caused you to hesitate.

Mithrun, though, wouldn’t care. Mithrun hardly cared about anything. And you were friends, sort of. He didn’t outright call you his friend, but that was fine, you could live with that. He put up with you. That was fine. Fine.

You knocked on the door of the little apartment above the noodle shop. Mithrun’s monotone, though muffled, voice told you to come inside. You found Mithrun on the floor, on his knees and hunched over the baseboards. He wielded a toothbrush like a dagger as he scrubbed at the nonexistent dust, and only spared you a glance, but said no greeting.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Mithrun clean like that. It was yet another habit Milsiril had instilled in him during rehabilitation, though you had a theory that Milsiril only taught him to clean so ardently because she thought it would come in handy for hiding murder evidence.

Mithrun’s home was simple. It was near empty aside from the most basic furniture. Yourself, Kabru, and several of the Canaries had given him little decorations. The pillows on the couch with the badly embroidered cows on them were from Otta. The simple, thick white curtains were from Pattadol. The painting of Mithrun’s assist dog dressed in royal garb was from Lycion. And most of the utensils in the kitchen were from you, given to him after you saw him attempt to eat spaghetti with a spoon— he knew better, but couldn’t be bothered to buy proper utensils.

As you took a moment to watch Mithrun scrub, your mind began to wander. Was this truly worth it? You’d only recently read about how soft elf ears were, yet you hadn’t been able to get the thought out of your mind. And they were so cute, too, with how they drooped and perked up. You’d even seen Mithrun’s ears droop when he pulled his hair back. It wasn’t as pronounced as other elves’ but no less endearing.

“What do you need?” Mithrun’s voice yanked you from your mind. It was as if he’d grabbed your shirt and pulled you forward, making you stumble for words.

It would be easiest to just blurt it out. He wouldn’t be offended. He might give you the look, but it wouldn’t bother him, surely. Yet, it was as if you’d hit a mental wall. What seemed like such a simple request ended up stuck in your throat, refusing to climb.

Mithrun sat back on his haunches and raised his head to look at you. He rested his forearms on his knees, toothbrush dangling from his fingers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were his ears.

You knew that look. He was expecting something. And he would stare in silence until you blurted it out.

“I want something,” you finally said.

“I already asked what you wanted,” Mithrun reminded, monotone.

“Technically, you asked what I needed, and this isn’t really a need. I mean, it feels like a need, but it’s really not. I can live without it. However, I would like it. It would please me.”

Mithrun didn’t miss a beat, “And you know how much I wish to please you.”

“Okay, smartass, tone it down,” you put up a hand, shooting him a glare, “I’m really nervous, so don’t make this harder for me.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“No, you were being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re just trying to make me squirm,” you accused, “you’ve become a sadist after regaining your desires, huh? You like watching me struggle?”

Mithrun only slightly raised a brow, “A bit. But use your ears, I wasn’t being sardonic.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but pause. “...I’m going to think about the implications of that statement at a later date. For now, on the subject of ears, I have a request.”

He finally stood, brushing past you to deposit the cleaning brush into the sink and washing his hands in a water basin. After drying them, he went to pull the rubber band from his hair, but you made a panicked squeak at the sight, which gave him pause.

“Don’t,” you pleaded as he looked at you blankly, “keep your hair up.”

If Mithrun was confused by the request, he gave no hint. He kept his hair up, though, as he strode through the little apartment and sat on the couch, gesturing for you to join him. You’d done this a hundred times before, sitting next to him in comfortable silence as you both focused on your own things— Cithis called it ‘parallel play’ as if you were kids on a playdate. You’d spent hours on this couch, resting an arm over the back of it as you curled your feet up and talked. Mithrun would usually cross his arms and fold one leg over the other, staring at the wall as if he were ignoring you. He wasn’t, he never did— sometimes he did, but you forgave him.

You took a deep breath as you plopped down beside him gracelessly, your nerves taking over your joints and rendering you a clumsy mess. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, though, it wasn’t as if this was a big request. It would only last a few seconds, and you’d have your curiosity sated. If Mithrun didn’t want you to touch his ears, he would simply tell you, and you’d both move on with your lives.

Yet, Otta’s earlier answer rang in your mind. She wouldn’t let you touch her ears ‘out of loyalty.’ What did that mean?

It was yet another statement that you’d have to consider at a later time. For the moment, you tried your best to get comfortable as the request rose in your chest. It was undeniable.

The words broke through the dam and flooded your mouth. “I would like to touch your ears, please.”

You watched as Mithrun stiffened. His good eye widened for half a second before he schooled his expression. He didn’t look at you, gaze glued to the wall, but the slight raise of his brows betrayed his surprise. Surprise. Why was he surprised? Was ear touching offensive in elven culture? Mithrun didn’t even acknowledge elven culture most of the time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked at you. Your heart clenched and it felt as if someone had punched both your lungs, but you managed a smile. You knew you looked stupid, shoulders slumped and eyes wide and smile shaken. But he didn’t look at you like you were stupid, he looked at you like you’d just spoken gibberish.

“You want to feel my ears?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I like soft things, and they look pretty soft. I asked the other Canaries first and they all said no.”

Mithrun cracked a little smile. It was barely there, but you could feel the amusement coming off him in waves. “Of course they would all say no. They know better.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but he’d yet to give you a straight answer. “Whatever. Can I please just feel them, at least a little? Then I’ll never ask you for anything again.” (That was a lie and you both knew it.)

Nonetheless, Mithrun’s gaze flickered around the room. It didn’t look like he was scanning anything in particular, but rather letting the thought absorb. Once he returned to you, he slowly nodded, “I doubt I have any nerve endings left, so it’s fine.”

Nerve endings? It didn’t matter, you were so close to your goal. Some called you single minded, you preferred the description of ‘determined.’

Slowly, you raised a hand. The moment felt monumental. The air was thick with anticipation that set you on edge, raising the little hairs on your arms. You let out an exhale as if to prepare yourself, then gently brushed your fingers on the soft skin of his cut ears.

You traced the jagged tip. Then the lobe. Then the back. Mithrun leaned into your touch and his eyes threatened to flutter shut, but he managed to send you a look, “Don’t look so excited.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered immediately as you tried to school your expression.

He let his guard down, his eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. There was a hint of gravel in that exhale that sparked a fire in your lower abdomen.

You should probably stop.

“There are definitely nerve endings left,” he murmured.

You gently took his other ear and began rubbing the tip.

Mithrun lowered his head a little, brows furrowing and lips forming a frustrated frown. He leaned in. Only when you looked down did you notice how tightly he gripped his pants. His knuckles were turning white. The sight just made you want to press a little harder…

Wait.

If you’re getting hot, and if Mithrun is breathing that heavily, then—

Otta’s words made sense. Lycion’s flirting made sense. Elf ears are erogenous zones.

You’d asked every Canary if you could basically touch their privates.

More horrifyingly, you’d asked Mithrun if you could touch his—

It felt as if your face was on fire. You tensed, slowly pulling back, but Mithrun’s hands went to your cheeks before you could react. And his lips were on yours. Eager. Hungry. That spark in your abdomen flared and spread and suddenly you were a bonfire. He held your face a bit roughly, and the kiss was desperate. You should probably kiss back, you thought.

You let yourself melt into the feeling, but kept your fingers on his ears, gently massaging the soft skin. He let out a gasp between kisses before diving back in. His chest pressed against yours and you took the hint to lean back on the couch so he could slip between your legs and consume you entirely.

The mortification concerning the fact that you’d unknowingly sexually harassed all your friends was temporarily set aside. At the moment, all you knew was Mithrun, and this new power over him that your curiosity had bestowed upon you.

You will, most likely, use it for evil.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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I'm kind of at a point where the "queer spaces" i feel safest in are the ones that have a pet cishet dude or two hanging around

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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!!رمضان مبارك

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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I love you banana bread that's so salty and bitter my face just sort of wrinkles into itself

No vanilla extract because my recipe doesn't call for it.

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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Great news everyone. There was a kitten wandering in the drive thru at work and my inner warrior cats kid tried to be a hero and capture him.

I have now suffered multiple puncture wounds and have to go to the emergency room.

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merxkiisms · 1 year ago

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did I ever tell yall I used to think charlie chaplin was a drag king. for like three years straight

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merxkiisms · 2 years ago

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Yet another fox/exotic animal rescuer that turns out to be nothing more than a hoarder. Always felt something was a bit off about her. About a year ago I started to hear rumors of just how bad the rescue was and saw a video from there of multiple foxes crammed into tiny, filthy crates. Looks like it's all come out now. The original post includes screenshots of the full USDA report, which makes pretty shocking reading. (WARNING: original post includes a photo of a dead cat which I have blurred here)

This is why I don't trust any of these fox or exotic animal rescues. So many of them turn out to be pretty awful behind the front that they show on social media.

There's also a petition to get this person charged for animal cruelty and prevent her from being able to own any animals in future

#animal cruelty cw #animal abuse cw #animal death cw #dead animal cw

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merxkiisms · 2 years ago

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I Am No Coward

(Part 2)

Mizu x Fem! Reader

Summary: You find out that your brothers wife cannot cook for shit.

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You and Mikio hadn’t spoken since your last argument. It wasn’t much of an argument as much as it was you just yelling at him, but regardless you both hadn’t talked since. You said nothing to him any time he entered a room, you turned away and continued whatever activity or conversation you held before he entered.

Oh you were mad, beyond that even, but you tried your best not to let it show when around Mizu. Despite your anger towards Mikio you didn’t want it to affect how Mizu viewed him, if she even valued your opinion that much by this point. You helped her out with chores that Mikio had more or less just tossed on her, which were things that you had already been in charge of beforehand. You constantly told her there was no need for her to help, and that if you handled it before, you could handle it now, but she would always insist on helping.

So you let her.

It was coming close to sundown so you gathered up as many ingredients as you thought necessary and set them out to begin cooking. As you had set out your ingredients you had noticed someone enter the room through your peripheral vision. You turned a bit, not wanting to give the person your full attention or acknowledgement in case it had been Mikio, but you quickly realized that the person was actually Mizu. Now knowing this, you greeted the woman with a wide smile and beckoned her to join you.

“Would you like to help me prepare the food?” You asked as she knelt down beside you. She looked at all the ingredients you had set out with a confused look very evident on her face.

“I can try… but I’ve never actually cooked before.” She admitted, looking up from the food and towards you. Your smile never faltered, as you turned back to the now heated pot before you.

“We all have to start somewhere right? Here, why don’t you chop some of these.” You instructed, pushing some vegetables towards her and handing her the knife. You could see her eyes light up almost the instant she looked at the knife, happy to finally see something she knew how to properly use without help. She nodded at you before chopping to her heart's content. You on the other hand began to get the spices and other parts of the meal prepared before the vegetables.

You were nowhere near the level of a chef, you simply had to learn the hard way what worked with cooking and what didn’t. In the very beginning of your stay with Mikio, you fondly remember him taking at least some time out of his day to help teach you some basics to cooking. You wished you could somehow convince him to go back to the way he was, but you couldn’t change him and you knew that, and at this point you didn’t want Mizu to get hurt trying. She was his wife after all but you still felt awful sitting by and watching as he ignored all of her attempts to get on his good side.

On the bright side of everything, you truly enjoyed Mizu’s company and you made sure it was obvious to her. She always seemed so genuinely interested in everything you showed her how to do, from cleaning the stables, to cleaning the house, feeding the horses, and now even cooking. She was making an effort to adjust to this new life and she had not a single complaint about it. It had taken you a moment to get used to two other people being around all the time, but when it came to Mizu you welcomed it with open arms.

She was a lot more clumsy than one might initially believe her to be. The amount of times she had tripped or dropped a bucket while cleaning was enough to count on two hands. It seemed to you as if she wasn’t used to the apparel she now wore everyday which struck you as a bit odd, but you truly didn’t put any more thought into it. If anything, you found her slip ups pretty adorable for someone so tall and quiet.

“What do I do with them?” You heard Mizu ask, snapping you out of your thoughts almost immediately. You looked towards the dark haired women, quickly noticing the now entirely full plate. She had minced every single thing you had given her and it was clear that she was eagerly waiting for more.

“Oh, just set those aside for now. Here take this.” You instructed, handing her a small bowl of spices as you grabbed the stacked plate of vegetables.

“Just add a pinch into the pot while I try and find…” Your voice trailed off as you continued to search the area for your missing utensils. You could’ve sworn you had placed a ladle out along with the rest of your ingredients. You turned every which way, not seeing it anywhere as you placed the plate down and stood up. You looked back at Mizu who was holding a now empty bowl of spices, but this fact had gone completely unnoticed by you.

“You can add a few of those in, I just need to go and find a ladle.” You said, pointing at what Mizu needed to do next before walking off. Once you had quickly found the utensil you had needed you returned to the room to find Mizu now holding three barren spice containers. This time you indeed noticed.

Your eyes widened as you looked towards Mizu, then the pot, then back at Mizu who was just looking at you with a blank stare. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought, there's a possibility she might’ve just added the right amount and… the rest just disappeared.

You knelt down near the pot, carefully stirring the soupy concoction with your new found ladle, and very carefully gave it a small sip.

Your face very quickly contorted into a sour grimace as you placed the ladle down. You noticed how Mizu’s blank stare very quickly turned to disappointment and you immediately felt horrible, despite the whole situation truly not being that big of a deal.

“I should’ve been more descriptive.” You reassured Mizu, she had told you she never cooked before so you probably should’ve taken more caution when instructing her.

“Is it fixable?” She asked, looking towards the plate of vegetables with a hopeful gaze.

“As much as I want to approve that idea, those aren’t going to fix this.” You joked, earning a bit of a pout from the woman. You snickered a bit at her reaction, before handing her some water. “This should dilute it a bit.” You offered, handing her the bowl. Just as she was about to pour the water in you stopped her, having thought of a harmless yet still annoying prank. You grabbed a separate bowl and poured some of the non-diluted soup in, then told Mizu to continue pouring the water in. She watched you set the bowl aside with pure confusion before adding more water.

“What’s that bowl for?” She asked, now putting the empty bowl down.

“Don’t worry about it. Now where are the vegetables?” You questioned, it wasn't exactly directed at Mizu, it was more or less just you speaking aloud. You both search around the very small area taken up by your cooking materials before you spotted them. You reached for them with haste but you hadn't realized that Mizu had too. She had managed to put her hand on the side of the plate before you had, so you ended up lightly grazing her hand with your own. You immediately retracted your hand, not wanting the moment to linger, but at the same time there was some part in you that did.

You very quickly just chalked it up to an intrusive thought, afterall you were not going to make moves on your brother's wife, you accidentally touched hands, it was nothing more than that, calm down.

So that's what you did, you retracted your hand and paid no mind to the action as if it had never happened before telling Mizu to throw the vegetables into the broth. She nodded, doing just as she was told, and dumped them in and as if by some miracle, the food began to smell really good, just the way it should.

While you both waited for the food to finish cooking, you thought it a good time to just talk to the woman.

“So… How are you and Mikio getting along?” You asked, turning to Mizu who was now blankly staring at her hands that were placed carefully on her lap. You could sense the inner turmoil on whether or not she should answer truthfully, so you decided to help her out a bit.

“If you wish to speak ill of my brother, trust me I won’t be mad.” You began to reassure her lightheartedly. “I guarantee that your complaints would equal mine.” You continued, earning an acknowledging smile from her.

“I don’t think he likes me all that much.” She admitted quietly as if she was ashamed to have said so. You looked towards her with a bit of pity evident in your gaze, not because you pitied her not being liked by Mikio, but because you pitied her for even valuing his opinion of her in the first place. You had to remind yourself, she is his wife now so it would only be natural for her to want him to at least show some approval of her. That only made his current treatment of her even more upsetting in your eyes.

“I’d say not to pay him any mind, he’s just a grouchy old man who doesn’t see potential in anything that wont get him back his honor.” You explained, sounding as if you were joking but you both knew you werent.

“Has he always been this way?” She asked, turning towards you a bit more to show her interest in your response. You smiled a bit, not looking up at her as you told her,

“No. He used to be very kind and patient, I’m sure you would’ve loved him had you met him before… but now? Ever since he lost his title he’s been so hellbent on regaining his honor that he truly doesn’t care about much else.” You rambled slightly, your hand balling into a fist a bit as you clutched onto the fabric of your clothes, trying not to let yourself get lost in the emotions of what was. As much as you missed the old Mikio, you knew even then he still had his flaws. You remembered vividly how he refused to teach you anything related to fighting, he claimed it was too dangerous but once you had argued it was more dangerous for you to not know how to defend yourself, he dropped the topic entirely and avoided you any time you would try and bring it up again.

That’s why you were so intrigued when you found out that Mizu was able to fight. You had hoped to one day work up the courage and ask her to teach you because you knew, especially by this point, your brother was in no position to change his mind. You figured now was not the best time to ask as you looked up to the woman whose brilliant blue eyes were staring back at you, a sympathetic expression on her face.

“Well, at least you know if you ever get tired of dealing with him, you can always come and find me.” You smiled at her, trying to cover up any negative feelings you might have let slip while thinking about your brother. You wanted her to get to know him for herself and make that decision on her own. The last thing Mizu needed was someone telling her how horrible her husband is, after she had just married him, that was sure to go south fast.

Mizu gave you a small smile before turning back to the boiling pot which definitely smelled like it was ready. Very eager to try her first guided attempt at cooking, Mizu began to pour out the soup mixture into different bowls.

You, however, had kept the bowl with leftover undiluted soup and purposefully placed it down where Mikio always sat.

It hadn't taken long for both Mikio and Mizu’s mother to join you two at the table, both of them just as eager to eat as you and Mizu were. Before you ate however, you made a point to Mikio that,

“Yours is a special recipe, I just wanted to try something different than usual.”

Making sure to keep any of the blame for the tastefully challenged meal off of Mizu. Both Mizu and Mikio looked towards you, the same lack of certainty spread across their faces as they looked towards Mikio’s bowl. It didn’t look too much different from the rest of the dishes, but the moment Mikio placed the bowl to his lips and took not even a full second of a taste, he knew what was wrong. His face scrunched just as yours had done when you originally tasted the extremely strong broth. He immediately placed the bowl down, trying to suppress the urge to cough or spit it out to not look bad in front of Mizu and her mother. You watched on in glee as he proceeded to make himself look like an idiot, all while he sent an unrelenting glare your way.

“I see you must have forgotten a few steps.” Mikio muttered through several coughs. You merely smiled, very cheekily one might add, at the man before commenting,

“I guess you’re just not strong enough to handle that taste.” You shrugged before sipping your own food, which evidently tasted much better than his. He knew you were trying to get under his skin, the worst part in his eyes, was that it was working. He knew you were upset, he knew you didn’t like the way he had been acting, but he also believed he knew what was for the best. He believed if he continued working everything would go back to the way it was and then you would no longer have a reason to be so petty towards him. He wasn’t ready to be swayed on his thinking, so he wouldn’t be.

The three of you ate in peace before Mikio fully placed his bowl down and stood up, claiming that he had more work to finish up before leaving the room in silence. Mizu looked towards the door the man had just walked out of. Her expression wasn’t easy to read but she definitely didn’t exactly seem sad that he had left. She then turned to you, gesturing to Mikio’s now abandoned plate and asked,

“What was that for?”

“Just… some sibling rivalry. Nothing really.” You answered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. In a way you were rivals but you just hadn’t realized how yet.

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merxkiisms · 2 years ago

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Astarion Romance Headcanons 🥀

SFW:

Side glances when you're besides him

Full on staring when you're not

Immediately looking away when you catch him

"You know the way he looks at you, don't you, soldier?"

His pinky itching towards yours when you're walking, wanting to hold your hand but unsure because, is it too much? Will you reject him?

His hands scrunching up your shirt tightly whenever you hug. He's always the last to let go.

You hold on longer and longer each time because he doesn't want to let go.

His kisses are tender and needy.

He likes the warmth of your hands.

Thinking of what tones will suit your perfume the best. He'll gift it to you after all this is over.

He'll sew the holes or tears in your clothes over the night and pretend he doesn't know what happened next morning.

When you move to kiss his cheek he will grimace in annoyance but lean in as you do it.

"Be careful around Astarion, (Tav). He's not serious about you.", the others will warn you. And Astarion will worry you'll heed their words more than his so he'll do so much to prove his love to you, not knowing that you already trust him (even if that is an objectively stupid thing to do lmao).

He started sleeping next to you from the moment you had sex but ever since you've entered the shadowlands, he ends up cuddling in the middle of the night. He misses the sun.

He likes kissing the palm of your hand or its back.

Likes to pack your bag before you leave camp.

"No one's ever going to love me like that again."

Ever since you told him that there's more to him than just beauty and sex, that he's hilarious, for instance, he finds ways to make you laugh. He loves it. He's started being a lot more sarcastic and makes more jokes just to hear your laughter. He'll never admit it, of course. Other than maybe when it's only you two.

Doesn't believe he will be able to love again if you let go of him.

"Don't be so nice to me." he says with round, needy and pleading eyes.

Thinking of ways he can show others you're together so others know you're not available.

Hiding his jealousy, terribly.

He will rip the throat out of anyone with malicious intent towards you.

"I will wait the whole of my life for you, Astarion." He doesn't believe it at first, but the longer you go on without sex the safer he feels and the more he wants you.

NSFW:

He sometimes cries silently at night, wishing he could make love to you without it feeling so tainted. He wants it so badly, but his past experience prohibits it. The pain of wanting something and being unable to have it only because of himself is too much. He blames himself too sometimes. Wishing he could give you more.

"I don't mind waiting.", you'd say.

"I do. I can't have you, no matter how much I want you.", he'd say.

When you cuddle him sensing he's upset, he will bury his face in your neck to hide his tears. The smell of you is comforting.

Needing you everytime you're tender with him.

Getting aroused when you hug during a kiss.

Wanting to kiss your skin all over, to make you cry from pleasure as you bury your face in his neck.

Wanting you to hold on to him for dear life as you climax.

When he's finally comfortable enough and takes charge of his own sexuality, he'll be so needy.

Realising that the two nights he had sex with you were nothing compared to how good making love to you feels.

When you give up all control to him, letting him do to you as he wants, the pleasure is almost too much bear. The power he feels is palpable and knowing it is you who trusts him so much will drive him near mad.

He will lose control many times so you have a safe word.

You both think of the stupidest word possible as a safe word. Something that makes you both laugh when it's used.

He likes over stimulating you, making you beg and he'll kiss you to calm you.

"It's okay, you can do it, darling.", he'll say stroking you even further and kissing your tears.

"Does that feel good, my love?"

The more you beg the more he loves it.

He likes playing with your hands, holding them in his, touching your fingers, comparing them to his while you rest on his chest, still warm from him being inside of you.

Resting his head against your chest to hear your heartbeat.

Staring at your face and body intently. Taking in every little reaction you make and replaying them over in his head throughout the day.

Staring at you longingly when you're both with the squad, failing terribly at focusing in battle or conversation.

Getting aroused when you're covered in blood.

Seeing you fighting, in general, turns him on. The smell of your sweat, your rapid heart beat, the way your body moves, all of it now only reminds him of making love to you.

Telling you to say his name whenever he's feeling good and you'll chant it as you cum. He loves how it sounds from your lips.

Resting his forehead against yours as he's close to cumming.

"Look at me.", he'll command you.

He likes when your hands rake his hair, pull his hair, tug it whatever. That slight bit of pain arouses him. Better yet, if you bury your nails into his skin.

He likes to look at you falling asleep. It's such a gentle thing. How can someone so strong otherwise be so soft around him? Why him? Why did someone like you choose someone like him? He can't believe he has you.

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