#She is legally allowed to be drawn in any form

[mooncalfe-art]

If you're allowed to say, what aspects of Venus aren't you allowed to use? I suppose I was under the assumption that The Next Mutation was mostly free game to be used in other TMNT products. Or does Saban still own a lot of its constituent parts? Considering Ninjara's latest appearance since the Adventures series (unless you count the infamous furlough issues) is about to be in a background in DLC for Shredder's Revenge It's kind of bonkers how many disparate parts of this long-running series are not owned by Nickelodeon at this point and just held onto by various companies.

I don't have a specific list handy but the two main things I was told "no" on are we can't use the full "Venus de Milo" name and we can't give her a braided mask/bandana. At one point I tried to make her more visually similar to the Next Mutation version and they had me pull back from it. I originally wanted to reveal her true name as Mei, a nod to her Next Mutation name, but that didn't fly either.

I don't know the exact ins and outs of the legal aspects, it's all pretty complex and a lot of it seems arbitrary and more "better safe than sorry" than explicitly legally-binding, but yeah I think Saban still owns Next Mutation to some extent if not in full. Even the Next Mutation DVD set that came out recently-ish doesn't have Nickelodeon or Viacom anywhere on it.

I remember in the early days of IDW we were told we couldn't use Ninjara, but then more recently turns out we CAN use her! Another example of how arbitrary and malleable this stuff is, Lita was originally supposed to be Venus, I designed her as Venus (hence her yin-yang tattoo and tessen/fan weapons) and she was even written as Venus at first (it was going to be that Jennika would be a big tennis fan and named Lita/Venus after tennis player Venus Williams) but then at the last minute I was told we couldn't use Venus, so I had to rename her and change her into a new character. Then later it seemed like we COULD use Venus after all so I started working on introducing her again, but then after we'd already released images and promos from issue #127 there was a brief scare where it looked like we actually didn't have clearance for Venus AGAIN! For a minute I thought I was going to have to rename/rework Venus again into a new character, I thought I was going to end up with TWO almost-Venus-until-the-last-minute characters, but then at the eleventh hour things worked out. WHEW.

It's also weird even for characters that Viacom does 100% own, like for example we tried to use Tatsu from the 1990 movie but we were told no (so we changed it to Natsu who ended up working out pretty well if I do say so myself) because of likeness issues. We're generally not able to use any character that was originally played by a real person in live-action form whose face can be seen, like Tatsu, Keno, Danny, Vam Mi, etc. It's especially weird because Tatsu was used in the 2012 show and he's clearly based on the actor, Toshishiro Obata, but I think there are probably some weird byzantine stipulations like 3D CG models are okay but drawn media is not. It's all very weird.

ANYWAY!

[circa-specturgia]

Graves

A scene between Cyril and Adira, my power couple of Generals, meeting to honor their fallen, after coming back from a mission with maybe one too many close calls.

Some context: Caspian is Cyril’s adopted son; initially adopted simply for the legal purposes of giving him a guardian, and a citizenship, however Cyril, and Adira, have grown to care for him more than for just a student

TW // Discussion of death, mention of young person death.

The morning was cold steel - sharp, metallic. Cutting into her skin, condensation - freshly drawn blood.

By the time she’d gotten there, he was already standing by the gate, a handful of white flowers with a neat silver ribbon tying them together, a satchel over his shoulder, the silver clips the same as the rings in his hair, and rims of his glasses.

They didn’t speak as she stopped in front of him, waiting for a second before he sighed, and followed her down the path hewn stone arch, turning his back to the city piercing the gray clouds, far behind them.

They made their way to the top of the hill path in similar silence, looking out over the cliff overlooking the sea, grasses rolling like the dark waves below. White polished stones, like fallen stars, dotted the earth. A dozen, slightly more. They both knew the exact number, memorized. Carved into memory.

Their breaths fogged on the air, a cold wind running through their hair. The scars of old, healed wounds ached, every heartbeat a pulse of dull reminder. They stopped for a moment, looking out to the emptiness, a hollowness consuming them, their hearts like drums beating in the hallows formed of their chests.

“How many years now…?” Something, anything to break the silence. To not be alone. He knew the answer, but speaking was better than the noise that would fill his mind if he didn’t.

“31.” Her reply was calm, unwavering. Not a hint of shakiness, but, Cyril had known her long enough to know how she hid it. Underneath it all, it was all still there.

The breeze kicked up the mist of the waves crashing on the rocks below, the droplets like needles scratching their skin.

“Starting from the eldest?”

He mustered a nod, following her to the end of the row, dew in the tall grass cold against his sandaled feet.

One by one, they stopped by the gravestones lain in the grass. A white flower, and a coin set face up left on each, the sleeping soldier given a prayer.

One by one, they remembered each soldier.

A moment of realization at one of the last of them rooted Cyril to the ground. Memories flashed like the glint of a dagger, ripping into his chest, a hand finding the cold marble to hold him steady.

‘Marius Rosenwood - A good soldier, a beloved son.’ Etched beneath two insignia, one of the crown, one of the legion. The same Cyril wore.

“He was Cas’ age…”

Adira squared her jaw, trying to find something to say, before he did so for her.

“I won’t allow any more names here. I won’t let their lives slip through my fingers.”

“Cyril—”

“If there will be another, it will be mine.”

She took the remaining flowers from his hands, the stems having been smoldered and burnt in his grasp, walking to the next stone. A moment passed before she spoke, without looking at him.

“Or mine.”

A bit of a contrast to the previous scene with the two of them, but one I'm glad to finally finish. Hope you enjoyed.

[obsessiveyand]

My character for Rick and Morty

Heavily inspired by the fanfic on AO3 Anomaly

Sasha 🚀 28 🚀 Female/Human 🚀 Dimension K237

5'4" - 154lbs - 💜 - 🎶 - 🌌 - 🥂 - 🍰 - ⛈

Bad ending and Happy endings available

TW for bad endings/ Gore, Abuse, Stockholm, kidnapping, body modification, possibly self harm, death, etc but these are welcome in RPs

🌌Backstory🌌

💫💣Maybe she's a masochist, but baby maybe so is he💣💫

☆Infinite yous, Destroy infinite mes, and we call it love.☆

🎶🚀High Enough - K.Flay🚀🎶

Sashas are a lot like Mortys, in the sense they are meant to be partnered with a Rick, However Ricks don't need a Sasha the way they need a Morty. Its more recreational. Sashas need a Rick to feel complete. Not every Rick meets their Sasha. This causes a vacuum of want/need.

Some Ricks will take other Ricks Sashas for themselves. The amount of Sashas in existence have slowly dwindled over time. Most dying in Rick related accidents, Getting stranded as get away bait, experimented on, and more. Rarely do Sashas get their happy ending with a Rick.

On a genetic level, Sashas are considered the perfect partners for Rick. Their devotion and obedience allows them to put up with Ricks eccentricities. Their urge to please and be useful to their Ricks runs on a molecular level, almost inescapable for a Sasha.

Because of this they generally find their demise at the hands of a Rick, Much like the Mortys. Every Sasha leans on the creative/artsy side of things, usually painters, musicians, anything involving the arts, ccasionally found as elementary teachers or coffee baristas.

When a Sasha meets a Rick, they are automatically drawn to them, this could also be said for a Rick. Certain groups of Ricks formed to figure out the reason Sashas exist and what drew the two together. This led up to many horrific and immoral experiments involving the Sashas.

Because of this, in certain dimensions parents of Sashas who had learned from other dimensional versions of themselves that this was to be their daughter's fate, began sending their Sashas away, in hopes of hiding them, or slimming their chances of ever meeting a Rick.

🎶🚀Deathbed - Bring me the Horizon🚀🎶

This was to be the fate of our Sasha. Her mother, in hopes of protecting her from a future of one sided devotion sent her away with a stranger who promised to hide her away, at "the end of the universe".

Swept away to live a new life in space. Though she didn't expect "The ETU" To be a shit space bar floating at the edges of a desolate area of the universe; in a completely different dimension than the one she called home. She found herself dropped off and a silent deal made for her. She would now work at "The ETU" until her company seen fit.

Only 17 at the time, her new employer found Sasha had an aptitude for music, able to read sheet music easily and pick up the piano like a natural, so he arranged to have her pay her way by playing the Piano for his patrons. This slowly brought new clients, which made boss happy.

So for the next 11 years Sasha grew up in the run down bar, playing piano and, as she got older, singing on stage. The ETU generally housed bounty hunters and other miscreants, seedy patrons but hella parties. The Bar itself was a large space ship that constantly floated freely Through space, causing its exact whereabouts to constantly shift which made it the perfect spot for less than legal deals or activity. Sasha grew used to this way of living, always kept on a tight and short leash by her employer who, now considered her more property than people.

Now 28 and still performing for her /savior/ Bernardo, she knew very little of the ways of space, which was ironic for someone who lived there. She was rarely allowed to sit at the bar after or before performances, her socialization with others kept very short. Bernardo didn't Want any risk of his little bird trying to spread her wings and leave, as he had become quite accustomed to her company at this point. And Sasha had shown no interest in anyone nor of the idea of leaving ETU so there was no reason to change the way things were. That was until..

A drunk older man stumbled his way through the steel doors of the ETU, He had wild spiked blue hair and fair skin, his face red with a drunk intensity as he belched his way towards the bar. This is the moment that would change Sashas life, forever; for better or worse.

🚀🌌🎶Do you feel it - Chaos Chaos 🎵🌌🚀

Sasha generally wears cozy large sweaters, "They make me feel safe and warm" often accompanied by a pair of rolled shorts and knee high socks. Sneakers are a must at all times "Hey never know when I may need to run for my life, sneakers are both fashionable and practical" when she's home and around the house her shoulder length brown hair generally falls loose, unless she's in the kitchen, on adventures its always a high pony, advice from Rick "W-wouldnt want your - your You know it gett-ting caught in something" Most of her clothing consists of soft colors, greens blues and yellows, some pinks, greys and off blues.

Sasha can be clumsy, not as clumsy as most but clumsy enough Rick finds himself bandaging her up after most adventures "Do-Do you need glasses or some sh-it, how-how , why can't you fuc-king see where you're going"

Ricks biggest Sasha based pet peeve is that Jerry asks her to play commercial jingles on the piano every day all day, and of course Sasha complies "You-You could literally, fuck-ing literally ask her to play .. you know.. m-morty the guy with the fingers morty wh-who was it morty with the piano" "uhmm you mean Mozart, Rick?" "Thats the guy, Jerry you you waste of space you-you could literally ask her to play Mozart and you land on stupid annoyi-ing jingles that that just take up brain space" "Awe Jeez Rick I-I kind of like the - the jingles" "Of course you do Morty"

🎶🚀Sex with a Ghost - Teddy Hyde🚀🎶

Sasha spends most of her time at the Smiths house, only going with Rick and Morty on certain adventures, generally ones Rick thinks she may be useful, but sometimes just because. At home she spends her time playing the Piano in the living room and working on new songs, cleaning up after Rick so Beth doesn't have to, and helping Morty with his homework when he's around. Sasha also took it upon herself to tidy the house and occasionally cook for the family, anything to keep herself busy while Ricks off on adventure after adventure. If she's not doing any of that then she's most likely off with Summer somewhere or getting wine drunk with Beth.

🎶🚀Breezeblocks - alt-J🚀🎶

Drinking with Sasha

Sasha never complains or broods about her and Rick, However she has been known to open up about her feelings, towards Rick and how he makes her feel negatively, when she gets too drunk, This is the only time Sasha truly let's on how Rick negatively affects her, Drinking is the only time she let's herself be vulnerable, and thats only because she has such less control of herself when intoxicated. Otherwise Sasha would never do anything to make Rick feel like, or look like, the bad guy. She puts him on a pedestal even if she can't help it, and it really shows when she's drinking. It can go from talking about how worthless she feels to how amazing it is to be near him in only a few seconds, its sick and toxic and inescapable for her.

Sasha tries not to get drunk often, having a glass or two of wine with Beth is one thing, but leaning Over Summer talking about how much she loves her while barely being able to stand is another, Theres definitely been more than once where Sasha has gotten too drunk or passed out in precarious places, Rick calls her a flight risk after finding her passed out in an alley after a night of drinking at a club with Summer. He specifically doesn't bring her apocalypse bar hopping because he doesn't want to have to find her before a planet burns out. There's so drunk you're the life of the party, than there's so drunk you're just trying to numb your entire existence, Because deep down Sasha is in a lot of pain, She knows what's between her and Rick isn't healthy but can't admit to it unless she plastered, and Sasha doesn't know where the middle is, so its a hit or miss.

If you are drinking with Sasha be prepared for random dancing and breaking out into song lyrics that may or may not suit the current situation, Sasha is a sucker for Karaoke and after a few drinks all she wants to do is play piano or sing her heart out.

If you wanna read my other OC posts, just type Sasha into my search bar!

☆Please note, Sasha is not a Diane replacement, If Rick had to choose between the two he would always choose Diane☆

In dimensions where Ricks are happily living with their Diane's, Sashas are usually living a normal life, however most who are more fortunate to live like this generally feel like they are missing something, often trying to find meaning in their lives, or they no longer exist in that dimension due to other Ricks, who choose to take misplaced or /unused/ Sashas for themselves.

If Diane's existed more predominantly I believe we would also see Ricks aside themselves with grief and other traumas, stealing Diane's, killing and replacing their Ricks, or as we seen from Prime just straight up killing the happy family.

Sashas are not Diane replacements, as its rare for a Rick to fall truly in love again, they are merely conduits of pain for Ricks.

Sasha truly does love Rick, for her being part of the Smith family has been the greatest joy of her life, finally living back on earth and, for the most part, living a life free to do as she pleases. It has come with many dangers and heartbreak, but she will always remain loyal to Rick and the rest of the Smith family.

^most of the songs posted can be found here^

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

One of My Beloved OCs/Self Inserts

Doc - Rei Nakatomi, the My Hero Academia ‘self-insert’ who is more her own character by now. 

QUIRK: Biokinesis (She can manipulate anything living -such as plants/animals/humans/organic material that is alive) 

DRAWBACKS: She can pass out if done too much (length of time varies, it can take weeks at the most severe), requires living material to work to lessen drawbacks (plants are preferred, but can use living creatures)

Is never seen without her iconic coat (A mixture of a doctor’s long coat and a lab coat, made with plants when Kawii was young and still new to her own quirk). Her coat has 2 forms, as she can manipulate it with her own quirk: A normal coat with long sleeves that goes down to her knees for when she is out normally/working, or a sleeveless trench coat with a hood when she’s out with ‘special’ work, with a mask to cover her face (mask has a green plus sign). Usually has her hair up in a messy/neat bun, depending on where she is working that day (Messy for league work, neat for clinic work). Avoids wearing clothes that show a lot of skin unless at home, so her usual look in public is long business pants, heels, sleeveless turtleneck, and her coat. When dealing with Overhaul, gloves and surgical mask is applied. Sometimes wears glasses to add to the ‘look’ of being a doctor, especially if meeting a new client. She doesn’t wear jewelry normally, unless given by Kawii.

Doc is a stern, more serious woman. Distrusting of most, if not all, of humanity, except those she is already associated with. Kawii, her beloved younger sister, is the only one who gets to enjoy the full unedited form of in-private Doc, who is a gentle, kind woman who only wants to live life the way she wishes and provide for her beloved family. Otherwise, they meet her public form, who is a very blunt, almost cruel woman who cares only for reward and money, if they can be bribed to assist with anything in the first place. She runs her clinic with an iron fist, or at least that's how most see it. Her pricings for any modifications are near extortion, villains willing to pay her prices however are never disappointed. However, villains are not the only ones who she takes as clients. Any and all who come into her clinic are welcomed, and depending on who they are, they are gifted a different side to the ‘legendary’ doc. Civilians get a deadpan Doc, who states their prices (far cheaper than most doctors) and gives them a full work up. Children and animals are given more kindness, usually given assistance without payment required. Vigilantes are given what she is given, the friendlier they are, the more polite she is. Heroes… may not leave alive, depending on how close they are to Kawii and what they came in for.

Doc is Demi, both in romance and in sexuality. She has to be able to trust someone fully and completely before she would ever allow such emotions to take hold. Due to the trauma she has dealt with in her youth, she truly cannot see herself trusting anyone outside of her family. If she did, however, Romance with Doc would be a very wonderful thing. She would work tirelessly to ensure that her partner would be well taken care of and they got everything they desired. Doc is a very loyal partner, a poly relationship would not be best for her. Once someone is her’s, they are HERS. She does not share. Marriage would be a long drawn out process, as she is not the type to marry quickly. It would take a few years, perhaps even a decade, of being in the relationship to get her to consider actually getting married. Seeing as she is more on the villainous side, you would think she wouldn't want a wedding and it would be a marriage in-spirit only… However, deep inside, Doc would enjoy an actual wedding, with the legalities included. Children would be a very hard sell to Doc, as she does not want them cursed with her quirk nor have to go through what she did. It would take years of trust and communications to even get a serious talk with her about having children. Even then, it’s more than likely a lost cause… for biological children. Adopted children however are much easier to convince Doc to take care of, especially if they are downtrodden or come from bad homes. The law would not have a chance to stop a Doc from saving a child. She would be an awkward mother at first, however she would soon get into the swing of things. Children raised by doc would be stubborn, proud, and extremely intelligent.

I got the idea of her from reading a fantastic work called 'The Greatest Healer in the World" by Mai_Beyblader, which you can read here!

My beloved sibling did art of Doc and I love them so much for it:

[mousewiththetea]

First thing! This drama will have the tags #MarshCupsNMore so you can shuffle through it easier later on when posts are getting harder to find!

This will also have #marshside

Because the topic is just of marshmallow-buscuit-blog

-

Comment: this whole situation on outting other people is doing nothing but trying to bring harm to others. It started with vague posting then a callout post in which they used my screenshot(btw if you are reading this. Stop using it. You apologized and still had it up. Went behind my back to post it at that)

No one deserves harassment. Essp when it’s just people not communicating to eachother. Feelings got hurt.

What’s the end goal to this? To hurt people in the way you felt hurt? An eye for an eye??

There’s something your misconstruding.

Having an art style that seems to be more voluptuous on female antatomy isn’t a bad thing.

On Cup’s side there hasn’t been any pornographic images that we know of showed to minors that are clearly following them.

Most evidence is gonna be scarce on this situation when it comes to showing people that Buscuit had drawn Nsfw over artwork as a joke because they had erased it after.

All that there is so far is word of mouth. Take it how you will. Believe us or not ⟟ can’t make you do something.

-

But i know just form experience that it happened.

-

My whole opinion on that?

I understand when your friends are laughing and joking along with it, it doesn’t seem like ⏃ problem. But you have to realize as an adult that you have to separate yourself from minors when drawing or joking about this.

You can go either way.

We were all old/young enough to be joking around like that. (17 last year when it happened while she was 18)

Or

A legal adult Still should not be able to joke about cock and balls around 17 year olds because that’s kinda weird.

-

Along with the other stuff like the aus about tea and the devil… uh yeah it’s just subjective if you like it or not.

They are allowed to do whatever they want with a character because it’s just that. A character. If you don’t like the way they are portraying it? That’s fair, you don’t have to like it or dislike it.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions.

[lyreleafblog]

☽ Crystal Magic / Part One ☾

After years of therapy and many hours of candle lit meditation, I have realized that the reason I became estranged from my spirituality is because other human beings deliberately used it to manipulate me. Now that I am more self-aware and able to identify that kind of manipulation, I am longing for an aspect of my identity that I’ve been keeping myself away from. It’s interesting to be disabled and still find oneself drawn to the earth-worship that celebrates our own uniqueness here in a world where calling someone “special” is a school-yard insult.  Following a decade of questing to figure out if a physical science could explain the so-called healing properties of crystals, I discovered that the answer is that it simply doesn’t matter whether science has an accepted, stable explanation. Science can only vaguely guess how the Tylenol I just took magically immunized me against the sensation of my dulled-out-neurosurgery contractions. 

 Instead, I have learned, through trial and error, the science of biology is not only perhaps more important to my goal, but itself is as much of a science as the science of cinematography. Less of a science, really, and not at all an equation—biology follows the patterns of communication.  It is a process that neither high priestesses nor philosophers nor doctors or chemists can properly articulate.  In a world of genetics, everyone is biologically imperfect, and imperfection is the very variable that thwarts our demise. The science of biology is so powerful that for nearly ten years after I was diagnosed with bradycardia, deliberate, diligent efforts towards daily meditation— towards meditating in the doctor’s office while sitting bare-assed in a paper nightgown— did much more than make me feel normal in myself, but presented a level of confidence that demanded my autonomy. I don’t want to, and I look like I know what I’m doing, so people have listened.  I didn’t want to be “The Sick Woman” like my mother had always been to me, and so I refused to become her.

 But now, I know better. I know better than to fake normalcy in front of my doctors. The secret of my weakness protects absolutely nobody because I am a 25-year-old adult and there is no longer a risk over the legal supervision of my neglect. I no longer must pretend that I am not sick to escape localized or systemic abuse. 

 The things I haven’t talked about are incredible. I’ve been talking about talking about them for years while I am never ready. Have I told you just how deeply this tribulation can devastate a lineage? I’m sure I’ve muttered about it in stupid, cryptic, passing glances. Like a little whisper on the wind, I’ve been tickling my audience, covertly trying to pull this experience out from within all of us so that I can compare myself against it.

 Allow me to put it simply: no, I did not have magical auric vision for seeing ghosts and dragons like the Christian Counseling service my mother dropped me off at when I was in first grade would have somehow, apparently, permanently convinced everyone else of; instead, I had un-medicated seizures. My mother of course simply would not have such a thing. She was the one with real problems, after all—with arthritis and endometriosis and a clinically labeled somatic disorder that she refused absolutely any form of psychological intervention over.  Despite that I was born weeks before my due date with an infection serious enough to prevent me from even going home in the beginning, I was never allowed to actually be sick. Instead, I had to role play as being spiritually broken.

 In real, scientific and clinically-repeatable reality, I was not the spawn of a voodoo curse. I had multiple neurodevelopmental abnormalities, all of which with offensively practical, simple and very truly human therapies. I grew up in a household that defaulted to blood-ghosts when they didn’t already have the answers to their predicaments. Somehow, they still knew better than to let the outside world become aware of the depth of that phony ignorance. Children like I was seldom invite friends (spectators) over. The series of (non-biblical) therapists I’ve had over the course of my lifetime have all explained it away with the infamous label of “neglect.”

 That’s why I stopped— why I put the pendulum and the cards and the long skinny rainbow candle collection into a box under the bed and then tortured myself for craving the connection that had, in some way, always been there for me. Did you know that this connection is a big part of my marriage? Of course you didn’t. Nobody knows. The blood-ghosts got me, after all, but not in the way my parents were ever expecting. I still hear the voice of my own old crone talking down to me over a flame lit crucifix at the dusty, cigarette-ash-stained iron wrought kitchen table. It appeared like a scene from the original “Carrie.” I remember looking at one of her eyes—just to the left, behind her head, at the idyllic floral pattern on the country curtains a much more normal version of her had once hung over her sink window. She described how stories of hell terrified our savage ancestors into walking with her lord. I sat baffled at the hypocrisy that a great spirit became a white-but-middle-eastern man all because of Christopher Columbus—who we hated, despite enthusiastically adopting his beliefs. I stuffed all the quartz and more colorful variations of quartz into an old flimsy shoe box and left them in my closet, under my S.O.’s utterly unused paintball bag, for years.

 My health dwindled. No, it wasn’t because I’d shaken the sand and crystals out of my baggy, paisley pockets. It was because I’d had them there in the first place. I surrounded myself with the walls of a man-made echo chamber so that every sound I heard was merely a reverberation of my own, already existing thoughts. Crystals in my pockets would keep me healthy, therefore, I believed, I didn’t need to save up for medical appointments. Moreover, I had long deluded myself into my own pseudo-spiritual rabbit hole—one that is so extremely common that a hashtag describes it.

The #vegan community wasn’t exclusively self-perpetuated. I hadn’t really thought the lifestyle would be feasible for myself until the pediatrician my step mother had selected for me cooed in approval over my sixteen-year-old-self-declared-vegetarianism. “In fact,” she went as far to say, “You could even go vegan and still get all of your vitamins and minerals.”

 She proceeded to explain that I could get my iron from raisins! Y’know, I once had a teacher who told me that everyone gets exactly one exclamation mark that they’re allowed to use for the rest of their lives. I choose to implement it just then because I really want to convey to you the valley-girl enthusiasm in how this middle aged doctorate-wielding woman told me, a visibly anorexic teenager who still used four fingers to hold a pencil like a toddler, that raisins would cure my pre-vegan low iron levels.  Unfortunately for everyone involved, I would outwardly lie about my health in all possible situations and do nearly anything to avoid both medical examinations and treatments. There are reasonable reasons for this behavior—at least, reasonable given the cognizant capacity of an awkwardly neurodivergent, neglected teenager—that I will not get into here. I successfully avoided much supervision of my health. When I turned 18 years old, my health insurance became much more expensive and I was removed from the plan. This ensured that I wouldn’t be able to have my health monitored even if I had been willing to allow it. I opted to keep up with my life-long-prescribed meditation.

 I doubled-down on what, at the time, was an overwhelming majority opinion in the scientific and medical community. Meat was bad, phytochemicals and fiber were good. Nobody could possibly eat too many fruits and vegetables, ahahaha. Salt was, of course, super-very-bad for you because it caused bloating! Bloating just so tanked my body image. Like I had mentioned in my prior entry on this blog, I was a happy-go-lucky-ed-recovery girlie—one who had once had a doctor and therapist supporting my newfound restrictive diet. I found every possible justification for my behavior.

 There’s a bit of a lesson, I suppose—the moral of the story that I’m sharing with you today is this:

 Humans can justify anything.

 Justification doesn’t require justice—which is an immeasurable, immaterial, ethical philosophy vocabulary word— but merely willpower. Justice might describe something more value-centric—as in, fiscal value—but justification is the decision to subscribe to a set of beliefs, against which to compare the actions of oneself and others—and even more ironically, is so mutable and fragile that each individual warps it circumstantially. I had suddenly found myself consumed a new system of justification upon my lifestyle change. My new sense of justice was validated by pillars of authority I once felt like I had been rebelling against. I will clarify now that apparently, those pillars of authority have a bit of a controversy regarding their alleged support of some parts of the new justice system I had taken on. At the time, however, it was hard to find a legitimate shred of scientifically literate doubt in the idea that abstinence from animal foods prevented all known diseases.

 I remember a time much more recent than my aforementioned kitchen curtain scene. Instead, in this memory, I was a messy, frumpy 18 year old runaway in a town I’d never even been to, sitting on the tip-jar-penny-littered carpet of my $375 per month apartment bedroom. I remember hurting, aching, really, with my spaghetti-arms wrapped around my abdomen, and swaying back and forth in the warm sunlight of northern Florida’s golden autumn afternoon. As my insides curled and twisted, I retched and dry heaved next to my box spring set up. I kept telling myself that it couldn’t really be all that bad. I simply was just a very dramatic human being—maybe thanks to all those high school years spent analyzing Tarantino’s foot fetish through his so-called art. The thought of it all being in my head was an addictive, dark and disturbed comfort that had long kept my sensitive mind from facing the reality of being born disabled. It was like a lucrative secret—it feels, if one can even postulate such a thing—the same way that not eating for days once felt in my mind. I feel like I’m winning when I succeed at hiding the pain.

 So, I told myself, over and over, that I had already gone above and beyond to eliminate the risk of sickness from my life. I was living a lifestyle that the global authorities on health and nutrition were broadly claiming eliminated much of the risk, so I justified my action by repeatedly regurgitating what, at the time, was one of the most common opinions. I crafted my little echo chamber and refused to communicate with conflicting information. As I sat there weeping on the floor beside my bed, way back in 2015, in that sparsely decorated, crummy little apartment room, I recited instructions I’d received years prior in less-than-ideal-therapy. I told myself that my pain was a fuzzy-wuzzy-pink pillow, scratchy and stringy and present. I tried as hard as I could to depersonalize the sensation into a mental object I could then discard. No matter what I told myself, it continued to feel real to me.

 I was willing to keep this charade up for quite some time. I believed in my adoptive ethics so thoroughly that I was clearly willing to suffer for them—after all, the only thing really wrong with me was just anxiety, right? I went as far as humoring the idea that perhaps my own suffering was somehow divine in itself; Christlike, since that’s the branch of religiosity that had framed my upbringing—and to be Christlike, I would, like Christ, suffer at the mercy of life around me. I force-fed myself dated, blurry slaughterhouse footage from establishments whose exposure had long ago warranted and attained their closure to mentally drive myself farther into my position. Sure, my hormones were clearly failing me and my pain was taking me over, but at least I wasn’t being skinned for leather-making.

 It all tied back into a warped sense of spirituality. Many spiritual and religious practices discourage an overbearing ego and even go as far as to claim that human existence is inherently plagued by our spiritual inadequacies. At the root, many western practices argue that humans are incapable of perfection but should strive to be some form of tolerance or good for the sake of our own larger wellbeing. Egoists, however, perhaps even King James type of egoists—have found many ways to flounder the values of individual interpretation. Instead, egoists infiltrate the sensitive, vulnerable communities who flock towards the historical and perhaps even anthropological inclination of human beings towards some form of religious practice.  

 I had allowed my egoist-prescribed sense of ethics to supplement that missing component from my life. As I’d described, my notion of spirituality revolved around my own incapacity for a long time, so my newfound connection to the world around me, which I nurtured, supposedly, through my disciplined actions, occupied a void that I was raised longing to fill.  This obsessive behavior made it far easier for me to cling to my beliefs, especially since they coincided along a natural vice towards avoiding food. As I ached on, and things worsened for me, I began seeking every possible solution that my new religion tolerated—but never, of course, considered that my own behavior might be playing a role in the pain I experienced.

 I remember this period vividly, with a curdling sense of horror, because of the mix of confused desperation that strung me along through it. At time, my blessed little group of girl friends and I would frequent the expensive Co-Op grocery stores. Never-mind my face-consuming acne, which I spent great efforts pining over “all-natural-cruelty-free” labels for any product that didn’t contain some form of comedogenic oil, I also disproportionately veered our trio towards the extra-expensive isle of supplements. B12 and niacin, magnesium, iron, and zinc were readily available, right alongside the devious little bottles of mysterious, magical hormone-curing pills. I had already done my own (little g) google research, fully aware of some of the grossly underregulated concoctions I wanted to blame my next catastrophe on. I struggled to find Vitex and Dong Quai that didn’t come stamped out in those little gelatin capsules—as I was a pectin-only type of gal and would apparently rather suffer than take (fake) medicine (that I didn’t yet know wouldn’t work). I came across some vegetarian Evening Primrose on one little shopping trip and added it into my arsenal.

 I took fistfuls of these pills every single day. To this day, I take a lot of pills most days and I know that I probably will for the rest of my life. Still, nothing can compare to the discomfort of having to take these three bulky pills evening primrose pills three times a day. I remember my period had come and gone without nearly as much incident or a reliance on nearly as much ibuprofen after a month or so on my magic-oil-pills.

 Oh, boy, did I think I had done it all. I remember bragging to my friend, who ironically, has EDS too, and was diagnosed years before I was, (and who has been a tremendous help and friend to me since the day I met her) about my au-natural period pain remedy. I have no idea how she ever had the stamina to tolerate my bullshit and to this day I still do not.  I obviously had no idea what I was talking about. Nevertheless, I sure thought I did… at least for a few more months.

 It was right around the time that I started dating my partner when it seemed that my new all-natural-cruelty-free-supplement had suddenly and inexplicably stopped working. Older, more mature me questions if the coinciding pint of ice cream he and I somehow consumed in one sitting every Friday night might have been just a little too much sugar for my extremely fragile endocrine system to handle. My pain became horribly, upsettingly bad all of the time.

 I had no insurance at the time, so I used a service called prjktruby to initially talk to a professional about my pain and figure out a reasonable route for treatment. Right away they recommended that I take a pretty conventional combination contraceptive and encouraged me to skip as many periods as I wanted to by avoiding the placebo pills.  Being that I had started a relationship that had the capacity to result in a pregnancy for the first time in years, I was excited by the prospect that this class of medication is even more effective as a contraception than some of the others available. Believing that I was perfectly healthy, too, besides what I thought were a few supposedly “minor” issues I had been diagnosed with earlier in life, I saw no reason to actually monitor my own vitals or get regular bloodwork while on this medication.

 The medication did not effectively stop my menstruation which was much of the purpose of going onto it.  I had also developed a new host of symptoms that were extremely debilitating. I had honestly completely forgotten that my pre-existing stomach issues were something worth mentioning to a doctor, so when I did finally talk to one about the side effects of the medication, I would up getting re-diagnosed with IBS. I was experiencing what were pretty normal symptoms of my already existing stomach issues, however, and just didn’t know because I had only experienced other symptoms of it previously (and since). More concerningly, this doctor ensured me that my combination-hormone medication was not responsible for my symptoms and argued that perhaps I was misrepresenting the accuracy of my perfect use of the pill. I did some more googling.

 As it turns out, there don’t seem to be many studies that do a good job of testing this out—even now, far into the future. On google scholar, I couldn’t find one to reference here. But, fortunately, in the areas that science has wrongfully or willfully ignored, we can fall back on the philosophical source of deduction itself; we can rationalize anecdotes and draw inferences from existing ideas.

 Looking into the realm of existing ideas, I discover many articles with a similar ring to them. One begins with “Even though several hormones…specifically control the activity of the gastrointestinal tract, there has been curiously little research to date on the role these hormones might play in IBS. However, there are a few indications that aberrations in gut hormones may be a factor in IBS symptom production” (Palsson & Whitehead, 2017). It’s clear that there is evidence that supports the anecdotes of the masses. Speaking of the anecdotes, let’s take a moment to explore some of those as well. This thread in an online forum is just one miniscule example of someone’s experience with this phenomenon, but one comment paints a broader picture. User kd1410 writes “In the back of my mind I’ve wondered if birth control is the root cause of my IBS issues (I know it’s somewhat common from reading here).” User goldstandardalmonds replies “You’re right it’s common from reading here. It’s been posted about here a lot. I’ve also come across it on r/askdocs periodically so it isn’t out of the question.” It would have appeared that other people had already been exchanging about this dialogue.

As any good google-er does, I compiled the data I could find and deduced my way into a decision. I took myself off of the hormonal medication. Now that I had a boyfriend and what not, this was a rather big deal for a number of reasons. I still remembered my partners tragically bad attempt to convince me that he was in fact completely okay with using good old, reliable rubbers.  Regardless, it was evident to both of us that this medication was having some kind of negative impact on my health, and so we went into our new plan together.

My symptoms kind of, maybe, slightly improved. I remember announcing that I could see colors more clearly and felt like myself again—which is another oddly common retrospective comment among birth-control-abandoners. I had again decided to experiment on myself with the herbs, oil-pills and period-cramp-teas. I naturally persisted with my strict vegetarianism. Mind you, I had previously had what were identified as allergic reactions to both eggs and dairy products—namely, from using shampoo that contained either product—and I couldn’t imagine that adding those ingredients back into my diet would have had any kind of positive impact, so of course, my abstinence was the one aspect of my consumption that I never thought to change.  Again, my health seemed to temporarily get better. Then, it got much, much worse.

One of the darkest times of my life occurred in that period between the medication, Aubra, and what would eventually become my next, and this time permanent medication, Norethindrone.  Shrouded in a depressing cloud of darkness, my household became very still and quiet during that lull between medicinal interventions. Days began to blend, enmeshed entirely by the unbridled experience of pain. I remember feeling grateful, initially, that the worst of my so-called period-pain had again seemed to retract back down to only a couple of weeks out of every month, but before I knew it, the sensations of menses became borderline omnipotent in my life.

 It was around this time that I remember losing most of my general mobility. Now, an older, more mature version of myself can see that the pain in my abdomen disabled me to the extent that the rest of my body would become dramatically weaker from my lack of using it.  At the time, I was only 21 or so, and had neither the self-awareness nor the physiological experience necessary to infer how chronic pain causes cumulative damage to a body, even in areas outside of its source. Rather, from my perception, it simply felt like I was dying.

Every day, it seemed, another new problem emerged. I remember that I had started having trouble with my daily ritual of walking home from work. I remember noticing severe pain in my shoulder as I would try to style and brush my hair in the mornings. I had trouble with every kind of food I could possibly eat—but especially, and specifically, the foods that had for so long been pushed by society, healthcare providers and every other outlet I had ever encountered as being the healthiest choices possible. My food troubles were agonized by the even still worsening chronic nausea and vomiting that by now I’d been living with for many years. I persisted in my egotistical earth-worship.

The crystal magic hadn’t quite finished draining out of me at that age. I replaced a worn-out, molded tarot deck that I’d had since childhood with new, shiny, clearly synthetic-gilded cards, hoping that perhaps paying some form of financial respect to the tools of whatever divine I had yet discovered would have any chance at changing my current path. I prayed to non-existent entities while repetitively reminding myself that my innate speculations against their reality were the true origin of my physical suffering. I threw up almost every single thing I ate and ran off the fumes of the American Spirits I’d stolen from my partner to keep in my wallet. Somehow, as my hair thinned and my skin yellowed and aged decades in a matter of months, I still didn’t think to question the raw-fruit-and-kale-salad.

Eventually, somehow, my partner found something online on one of the many, many days we spent in our damp little roach-infested Our-First-Place-Together. He had encountered either an article or a forum or something that explained one layer of the living conspiracy that is endometriosis treatment. At that point, I had become so desperate for relief that, while I clung to the soymilk and spirulina, I had decided that, fuck it, I needed whatever surgery it was that my father had told me my mother once underwent for her own endometriosis treatment. Known as laparoscopic ablation, this operation consists of creating small incisions where a surgeon then uses a tool to burn the lesions of suspected endometriosis. This process achieves nothing and is entirely a waste of both the duration of human life and the limited resources in the medical world (in my totally unqualified but inevitably correct patient-opinion). My partner, however, in his research had found that other people self-reported benefiting from a different kind of surgery—one that was markedly less likely to result in recurrent pain or damaging scar tissue.  Excision surgery was a different ballgame and perhaps even more importantly, to the matters of science and research, that is, the excision surgery (cutting the diseased tissue out in entirety) technique allowed for genuine pathological analysis to occur. By one technical definition, the ablative treatment of suspected endometriosis could not actually itself warrant an authentic diagnosis because the diseased matter, once destroyed by heat, would become unidentifiable.

I think that this was probably one of the first times in my life that I felt a sense of hope regarding the scientific-medical community. I had always been a science-kid growing up, to the extent that, to this day I have held onto a ratty old science-achievement-certificate, still framed, buried deep in the crevices of my closet so that I might never rid myself of this lethal battle between crystal magic and underfunded medical research. Suddenly, science had the answers again, and suddenly, I found myself looking at this gaunt, ugly girl in the chipping full-body mirror and wondering how I’d let her fall so far into so-called grace.

The story of how I first got my health insurance through my job will be an article all on it’s own, so I’ll save that tale for  later date. To simplify, I got insurance and my partner and I began our pilgrimage from Tallahssee, Florida, to Jacksonville, where Dr. Michael Fox operated out of Jacksonville Center for Reproductive Medicine or JCRM. Dr. Fox is a life-saving surgeon with the bedside manner similar to that of a schoolyard bully. In his office, after watching me wring my skinny little vegan fingers while explaining my magical pain, he metaphorically turned me upside down and shook the crystals out from my pockets.

“A vegetarian or vegan diet is one of the single worst things you could possibly do to your health.” (I sure hope I’m not misquoting him, but since he’s vocal about this perspective online, you can probably find some of his opinions in your own research) He had told me. He insisted I immediately quit my diet—which was also my entire identity due to its ethical associations-- and eat as much meat, cheese, eggs and the like as I possibly could. I was around 95lbs and I was given to goal to get to the triple digits—but ideally 103lbs, before my own endometriosis excision. I had a few months, but if by the date of my pre-op, I was not a safe weight, my surgery, that I had been waiting and fighting and suffering and dying for, would not happen. I would then loose my job from my inability to work, and after that? There would be no after that.

I made the weight. Then, there was my heart, which worried me because on the morning of my surgery, as we left while it was still dark, I ended up puking in the grass on the freeway, as my stomach was processing the bowel prep a bit slow. Vomiting always at least temporarily worsens my heart rate, so I assumed the worst—that I’d find myself sitting there waiting for anesthesia for them to come and tell me that, despite even throwing my system of ethics away and gaining weight, I’d eventually find myself writhing outside, unemployed and utterly hopeless. To my surprise, on the most important day of my life, my heart, for once, decided to simply play along. My vitals were strong. I was strong—strong enough, anyway.

[legalupanishad]

Muta Marriage: Concept and Laws

This article on 'Muta Marriage: Concept and Laws' was written by Charvi Jain, an intern at Legal Upanishad.

Introduction

The idea of muta marriage emerged in ancient times when the Arabs had to travel far from their homes for extended periods of time due to battles, pilgrimages, or commercial journeys to prevent both from engaging in prostitution and gratifying their sexual appetites. This article will focus on familiarizing the reader with the concept of Muta Marriage, its origins, and the question surrounding its legitimacy and legality in India. It will also critically analyze similar practices and the position of women participating in these marriages.

What is a Muta Marriage?

The term Muta denotes the meaning of enjoyment or pleasure. Muta marriage is entered into by a man and a woman for the sole purpose of sexual fulfillment. The time period of the marriage is decided beforehand and hence it is temporary in nature. The payment of money to the female partner is a requisite. It is recognized by Muslim Law in the Shia sect (Athna Ashria school). This type of marriage is sort of a consensual cohabitation between individuals who have attained the age of puberty. However, they should not be under a prohibited degree of relationship.

Comparative Analysis with other forms of Marriage

Unlike in other forms of marriages, the concept of divorce isn't recognized in muta marriages. The marriage can be terminated on the grounds of the death of either party or the expiry of the time period of marriage. Since it involves the concepts of compensation and deciding the terms beforehand like the duration of cohabitation, it can be referred to as a contract. Due to it being a contractual arrangement, the woman has no right to maintenance, and the two do not inherit from one another. A mu'tah union's offspring travel with the father. No extension of the mu'tah is allowed, but if a new arrangement is made with new pay for the woman, cohabitation may resume. The guidelines for mu'tah are set in stone, for instance, a temporary marriage contract can be drawn up for a time period of one hour to 99 years; it cannot be for an indefinite amount of time. This clause sets apart muta from nikah, or perpetual marriage, which has no temporal restriction. Traditional Muslim jurisprudence allows a maximum of four wives for a Muslim man to form a marital union with but in mu'tah, there is no restriction as to the number of Мu’tаh wives.

Laws surrounding the marriage

The completion of the marriage ceremony doesn't require the presence of witnesses. Both parties to a marriage have certain rights and obligations during and after the culmination of marriage. The woman is a party that has the right to lay down certain conditions and requirements e.g. Maintenance in exchange for the sexual favour provided by her to the husband. If she refuses to be intimate, then she has to return the amount of money she obtained in the form of monetary compensation. Abstinence is also required to be observed by the woman up to two menstrual cycles after the expiration of marriage. The husband reserves the right to unilaterally revoke the marriage. There are also provisions for a fixed stipulated time period for the meeting of partners and the number of sexual acts for a given period of time. The dower must be repaired. It could be considered a permanent or conventional marriage if the dower is indicated but the period is not. If the term fixed dower is not provided, the marriage is effectively void.

The legitimacy of Muta Marriage

The Sunnis which is the dominant sect of Islam, perceive muta marriage as a form of prostitution and hence is disapproved of them. However, it is considered legitimate by the Twelver Shia sect, which is predominant in Iran and constitutes 90% of India's Shia population.

Position Of Women

The males without any doubt occupy a dominant position in muta marriage which further perpetuates the gender discrimination rampant in a patriarchal society. We can turn blind eye to the fact that this marriage is indeed a form of prostitution. This temporary nature of marriage put women in a vulnerable position, subservient to the man.

Indian Scenario

The matrimonial practice of Muta is not widely prevalent in India, with Hyderabad being an exception as similar practices of temporary marriages can be seen. However, they're not enforceable in courts. There are instances of affluent men from the middle east or Arab region coming to Hyderabad to form a union in the form of muta marriage with young ladies which doesn't last long. There are several judgments concerning the regulation of muta marriages in the Indian legal system. One such judgment is Sadiq Hussain v Hashim Ali where it was that children born out of wedlock in muta marriage are legitimate and are entitled to inheritance from both parents. Additionally, as stated in the ruling in the case of Hasanali Mirza v. Nushrutali, if the cohabitation starts in the Muta but lasts longer than the time period The parties are presumed to have prolonged the term to include the entire time period, and any children born during that time will be considered legitimate. According to Shia law, a muta wife is not entitled to maintenance. However, in Luddun v. Mirza Kumar, it was determined that she was qualified for maintenance as a wife under the requirements of section 125 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1973.

Conclusion

In this global era, a social institution like marriage must conform to the ever-evolving ideals of society. Hence, we need to reevaluate where the practice of mu'tah fits in. There is a need for disapproval to maintain the dignity of life of women and children, which are important principles enshrined in our constitution.

References

- WHAT IS MUTA MARRIAGE AND WHAT ARE ITS CONDITIONS, available at https://www.writinglaw.com/muta-marriage-a-marriage-for-enjoyment/ (last visited on 30th December 2022). - Supra - Mu'tah, available at https://www.britannica.com/topic/mutah (last visited on 30th December,2022) - Laws related to Muslim Marriage : know more about it, available at https://blog.ipleaders.in/marriage-under-muslim-lasw/ (last visited 30th December, 2022) - Ritojit Dasgupta, "Muta Marriage- A Deep Insight", Corpus Juris The Law Journal,2582-2918, (2009). - Supra - Sadiq Hussain v Hashim Ali AIR 1916 SC 27 - Hasanali Mirza v. Nushrutali AIR 1998 SC 572 - Muta Marriage Under The Muslim Law, available at https://lawcorner.in/muta-marriage-under-the-muslim-law/ (last visited 30th December, 2022) Read the full article

[coatl-cuddles]

HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY HATSUNE WOOM-IKU I LOVE YOUUUUUI

[feastfic]

I feel like throwing out random Lobotomy Corporation headcanons for now (sick, and tired but I want to do something but can't draw. It's hell!) and I have a ton, can't be fixated on a game for two years and expect me NOT to have Thoughts!!! /lh

• The facility recognizes the difference between sentience and sapience. Every Abnormality has some sense of sentience, but only a few have sapience. Sapient Abnormalities, no matter their danger classification, are considered the most dangerous of their specific class.

• Nothing There is an interesting case, because it's gaining sapience. If this happens, and it begins to full recognize itself as something, things are...well, they're gonna get a hell of a lot harder :)

• As it stands, it's recently documented that child Abnormalities grow and develop similarly to human children (they can't bring actual kids in to test some theories; moral, legal, and ethical reasons and mumbo jumbo /lh.)

• Abnormalities know of one another, but most aren't allowed to see one another, for safety reasons. They don't need another case like Yin/Yang, or Red/Wolf.

• The Express Train to Hell is a living being, of a sort. The ticketmaster in the booth is something like an extension of the train itself, and controls it even though they're considered separate entities. It's something like a hivemind.

• Queen Bee's drones are very very similar to actual bees. They follow pheromones, can be drawn to certain colors and smells, and become inactive in dark rooms. Once this was discovered, suppressing them has become much easier (although employees still have to worry about spores.)

• Funeral of the Dead Butterflies escapes to help other employees meet their end faster. He does it out of no malice, but sees in most of them that their roads lead to a short end anyway; many of which are gruesome and bloody. He wants to make it painless for them — his butterflies are much gentler than gunshots or being gored.

• The Mountain of Smiling Bodies goes by a LOT of names. Employees give it both serious nicknames (Murderer, the Mountain, the Black Tar Beast) and way less morbid ("that bitch", Smiley, The Very Bloody Caterpillar.) It also has it's name frequently shortened to just MoSB for convenience.

• MoSB is also voracious. Its body is constantly decaying, liquefying and falling apart. It needs to consume huge portions of meat on a daily basis just to keep its form, which also helps suppress its chances of breaching. However bringing food in is still extremely risky; the meat smell tends to rub off on the handler and MoSB has had more than one occasion where it's mistaken an agent for another part of its food.

• Der Freischütz is very cold. Fitting, given how incredibly hard it is for him to feel much of anything as well. Cold and distant to others, while also being trigger happy with the rifle the old Devil had given him. He relishes in being the new Devil, and uses that power more than he should.

• Most Sephirot have a secret favorite Abnormality. Malkuth's is the Express Train since she likes it's punctuality; Netzach likes Wellcheers; Yesod finds admiration in both the Plague Doctor/Whitenight and One Sin for their order; Hod likes Melting Love (even if she wishes they could stop infecting agents!); Chesed with his attitude has grown a fondness for any child Abnormality (but especially Child of the Galaxy); Hokma is surprisingly a fan of Der Freischütz! He reminds him of an older era from when he was younger.

• Gebura loathes Abnormalities, and Binah simply doesn't care about them enough to form favorites.

• Yesod has undiagnosed but chronic OCD. It's developed into him getting psychotic symptoms that still linger even in his robot form.

• Chesed also has depression, but is recovering from that. His lax attitude is his way of finding light even in the bad situations of Lobotomy Corporation because he doesn't want to give in to the horrors of the workplace.

[zee-writes-and-draws]

Normal world AU where the different buildings are just random groups of people and all of them ended up moving to the small village near the supposedly ‘haunted’ mountain that Samon and Enki grew up on bc property values are low as shit, and all of the minors are adopted by the guards. Qi has basically just grabbed Upa and Liang and ran the hell away from the Chinese mafia. Samon sees this random man dragging two half-dead children with him and this is now the very first time any of the new residents of the village find out the ‘hauntings’ that lowered property values were just a teenage Enki post massive growth spurt and a very small and over-energetic Samon that haven’t been seen in well over a decade.

- Hajime has, unfortunately, agreed to look after Jyugo and Nico while Rock and Uno try to find legal jobs, but it’s a lot on him. He and Seitarou help Uno and Rock fight a case to get custody of the two minors. Yamato is helping Tsukumo get a restraining order against his former agent and various paparazzi, as well as going to therapy so he doesn’t constantly feel the need to put on a persona in front of others. Hajime is a teacher at the local school (since there’s a decent number of local kids and then the building children), Yamato is the school’s coach, and Seitarou sells uniforms/cute festival stuff but is also occasionally seen working with the age 7 and below kids because they’re all very small and nice.

- Kiji is trying to cure Honey of his anger management issues and Trois of his pyromaniac tendencies. His day job is making and testing makeup that everyone buys, like mascara and eyeliner and hair gel. His second in command is working in one of the other small shops, selling everyone clothes (he and Seitarou make the clothing together).

- Kenshirou is only here because some of his dogs are sick and this village has been weirdly good for their health. Along the way he lets Musashi and Hitoshi stay with him because they help on chores and the dogs love both of them very much. He helps with the local stray problem by opening a shelter and rehabilitating most of them (the few who can’t be fixed to near-perfect health are still loved and cared for). Hitoshi bakes lots of food and sells it at Shiro’s restaurant, which is also why his presence is appreciated. Musashi tutors online part-time after Mitsuru rigged up wifi for them. Between all three of their jobs they can afford a place that’s small but has four tiny rooms so each person can a private space. (They sleep in the living room that’s been transformed into the group bedroom).

- Mitsuru is considered the local nuisance in so many ways, but after all of his loudspeakers and amplifiers have been confiscated he’s forced to resort back to regular hand-made instruments, so he at least gets to learn something entertaining as he irritates everyone with his noise-making. He and Momoko live in the same house but there’s a line drawn on the inside and outside that splits the house in half so everyone realizes in all of ten seconds they’re not actually together together, just saving on rent as long-term friends. Momoko works on managing the more official stuff to keep the town from being erased. She’s the unofficial (until the next election of course) mayor of the town at this point. Mitsuru’s day job is rigging up stuff like wifi and helping Hajime with his shop class at the high school.

- Shiro moved here after hearing how wonderful the cuisine is. He approves of being able to gather fresh ingredients on the mountain. Rock is frequently seen at his restaurant, both as a customer and as a worker. Hitoshi was recruited within a week. (Hajime has some mixed feelings but Rock mostly stops acting like an idiot after the first day, so it works out well)

- Inori and Ruka moved here years ago (and dragged the Daisen brothers with them) and are pretty much the only residents who were here before everyone started moving out and the buildings moved in. They’re the only ones initially who know the story behind the hauntings and never shared it out of indifference. Inori works in construction of new buildings/clearing rubble from the old, the Daisen trio help train the different sports teams at the school, and Ruka technically co-owns the makeup business with Kiji but his preferred job is as an unofficial swimming instructor because the two of them don’t get along.

- Samon and Enki bring the village supplies and materials from the mountain and trade this way. Samon has a notable weakness for ice pops, popsicles, and zakuro shaved ice, which he gets to surprise Enki on days it seems like he might want it. The new residents are all pleasantly surprised by how sweet Noriko is. Shiro offers her a job after trying some of her desserts. She bakes on weekends and holidays only to avoid overexerting herself, but the rest of the time her jobs include checking people in, taking orders to Shiro and Rock, and keeping peace if someone starts arguments. Houzuki is the area acupuncture specialist and medic until the Otogi family moves in, but he switches to full time acupuncture and massage therapy after they take up the practice. (they’re better than him at medicine anyways and he’s ok with admitting it).

- Liang and Upa love training on the mountain. Rock joins them frequently, often chatting with Liang as they race up. Qi is marginally less interested in physical activity, but he’s willing to make the hike up with them because of the amazing plant both during the hike and at the arrival itself. In the long run, doing some exercise in this form helps him with his mental health a lot and makes him happier. Tsukumo joins occasionally and talking to Qi helps him gradually come out of his shell.

- Trois takes to the challenge of trying to be constructive in building things instead of weapons and explosives. The downside is he frequently teams up with Mitsuru (who has the most equipment necessary) and therefore there are unique ways of getting around the idea of non-destructive inventions. Honey figures out ways to get Mitsuru his speakers back on the condition that he can use the wiring for his capsules.

- Nico ends up really sad about the lack of wifi so he tries to work with Mitsuru to improve tech, but he’s got a hard time reading the manuals so now Musashi, accompanied by either Uno or Trois depending on the day, can be seen teaching Nico how to read instruction manuals.

- Yamato is still very proud of his Japanese heritage, but he also frequently encourages others to appreciate the culture they live in and the culture they came from. Thanks to him, there’s a small festival hosted each year where everyone brings something like food or games or clothing from their culture and share it with everyone.

- Kiji takes it as a personal challenge to help teach normal world culture to at least one of the Gokuu brothers. Enki is far less willing to go along with the idea that he needs help from someone, so it’s Samon. Inori, who had a similar idea for the last eleven years, is currently trying to teach Samon how to drive. It’s yielding mixed results, but he takes really well to motorbikes. Hajme and Samon have a brief ceasefire whenever the subject of motorcycles comes up.

- No one is allowed to bring up the time that Hajime got lost in the mountain. No  one.

- Kuu comes and goes as he pleases. Mostly he stays at Hajime’s house but sometimes he’ll somehow appear wherever Samon Enki and Noriko are presently staying and lies down in the lap of whoever is trying to meditate. Enki tries to ignore Kuu (and fails), Samon will give him small scritches and complain about Hajime in a quiet tone, and Noriko feeds and pets him.

- In their spare time, many of the adults critique the prison systems they rescued the others from. Kiji, Hajime, and Kenshirou work with Enki to fix things on a bureactraic level, frequently accompanied by Momoko when she isn’t a sole representative in front of various international governments. Hajime knows the prison model perfectly, Kenshirou understands the police aspect that ties into it, and Kiji has several decades of experience serving as a prison guard, and their combined knowledge leads to many of their proposals being pushed pretty far up the ranks. 

- Samon is working on fixing prisons on the level of how each inmate is treated. All the official and formal changes in the world don’t change that there’s also issues with inmates not receiving care, sufficient entertainment, decent things for purchase and not just whether or not they can afford them, all sorts of stuff that slips past the cracks in the paperwork. He’s also the one who’s pushing for  more rehabilitation programs with Kiji and Mitsuru’s help. Between Samon’s knowledge of physical needs of people, Kiji’s balanced addition of general knowledge of what kind of education and paperwork prisoners need for proper rehabilitation to stick, and Mitsuru’s experience in communication, they have a very solid structure. Mitsuru’s ability to middleman and talk to Momoko also helps push their ideas forward.

- Slowly the buildings become more friendly towards one another. Upa smiles more because Nico helped him get out of his shell, there is a photo of Tsukumo laughing as himself for the first time hanging on the wall of Shiro’s restaurant, and Kenshirou’s dogs all adopted different humans to befriend and bond with. Qi gradually gets over his fear of dogs thanks to Musashi and ends up adopting one who works as a service dog for him and keeps him away from panic attacks and self-harming attempts, as well as (gradually) learning how to tell what kind of health Upa and Liang are presently in and alerting the doctor if necessary.

- The time-honored tradition of feuds between the different non-inmates and adults in charge of them continues, but they added in some new competitions. There are now options for multi-building tug-of-war, kids vs adults (and variations) relays, one v one competitions, and general tomfuckery. Most of the time Momoko is the referee, Mitsuru commentates, and although they rarely join in, they tend to tag-team and secure a near-effortless victory. If it’s every person for themselves, Momoko wins unless distracted by Hajime, at which point the rule of funny is frequently used to determine a victor.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.03

10/21/2020

Garden of Delights

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,411

Warnings: angst, jealousy, talks of death, talk of sickness, infant sickness, neglect, fluff

A/N: As I said, writing itself right now. lol I’m not really sure how long this story will be. I have the basic premise set and a small plot, but if I choose to make this around the size of Pseudo Princess, I’ll have to come up with a bigger plot than the simple one I’ve got. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I know I certainly loved writing it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Seriously, Thor doesn’t reblog as easily as Bucky or Steve on tumblr, so I TRULY appreciate it.

Please do not RESPOST any of my works on other sides or blogs.

REBLOGS always welcome!

You’re still laughing gently, hiding your chewing behind your hand.

“Stop.” You plead, looking across the table at Thor.

Both of you seated on opposite heads of the table. To your left is Loki, smirking with no shame at the stories just relayed. To your right is Brunnhilde, sipping her wine…well, guzzling would be more apt.

She’s teetering left and right, elbow on the table as she shakes her head at Loki across from her.

They lock eyes and Loki scoffs, “Don’t pretend as if you didn’t want to stab him too when you first met him.”

“I never said I didn’t!” She argues, plopping her glass down a little too hard and the glass makes a loud clink that draws everyone’s gaze.

“Why did you want to stab him?” You ask her, reaching for your own glass of regular wine. Thor had promised that you didn’t want to try the Asgardian mix.

“You won’t wake for a week. Trust me, Your Highness.” He’d been super proper, and it was a little annoying, but you understand why he’s being so careful. He wants to impress everyone, especially the two who sit beside him.

To his left sits a woman, absolutely drop dead gorgeous with creamy moon skin and raven hair. She’s certainly one to watch out for as Brunnhilde had said.

She hasn’t smiled once since she gave you a small stiff grin as Thor had introduced you.

Even now she watches you, her hand resting on the table, a little too close to Thor’s hand for comfort.

Her fingers seem to be inching their way towards his and you feel the beginning bite of fangs in your mouth at the thought of her hating you because she wants Thor for herself.

This also makes you sad because you don’t meet women who are as unique as she, but Lady Sif has drawn a line and you find yourself on one side with Thor while she watches from the other, despising your very existence for taking the man she covets.

On Thor’s right is a man with his dark hair in dreads. Beautiful amber eyes stand bright against his dark skin, and the luxurious gray armor he wears, sits pretty on his muscular form. To his own right is a sword, placed between him and Loki.

He looks less amused by the story Loki and Thor just told them but when he meets your gaze, his eyes betray an amusement. Heimdall, protector of the Asgardian borders, has a soft spot for his King and his friends.

“To put it short,” Brunnhilde begins, popping her lips as she lifts her wine to her lips again, eyes locked on Thor. “He’s a bit of a doofus.”

Thor’s burst of booming laughter in infectious and you laugh too, just as Loki, Brunnhilde, and even Heimdall chuckles along gently.

Lady Sif is the only one who doesn’t laugh but merely smiles as she look at Thor as he shakes his head overwhelmed with amusement.

You know what she sees, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are endearing. The sparkle of his one blue eye. The loveliness of his golden bearded face all stretched into a stunning smile.

“I am not a doofus!” He protests, then clears his throat and taps his fingers against the table as he makes his face as serious as he can manage. “What way is that to speak of your King?”

Brunnhilde throws her head back outrageously tickled by his words.

“You may be my King, but that does not make you any less of a doofus than before you earned your crown.” She throws at him and Thor laughs again, shaking his head as you quietly chuckle with them, loving this exchange and the ease at which they seem to be.

“What about that made you want to stab him?” You ask her, everyone’s gaze drawn to you and Lady Sif’s smile vanishing.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.” Brunnhilde teases. “My condolences. Being married to this buffoon will be a true test of your character.”

Although her words are said as a joke, your heart gives a small lurch as you meet Thor’s gaze again, and this time he holds it, his own face falling a little to only a soft smile as both of you replay the conversation in the hallway once again.

“I’ll just have to try my best.” You tell her, a small shrug of your shoulder. “He seems alright so far. No major red flags. Besides the obvious.”

Thor’s smile is completely gone now, his brow furrowed as he continues to stare at you, his breathing a little deeper. A little more labored.

You’re nervous as you speak, voice shaking a little as your heart pounds and aches.

“What’s that?” Loki asks, also serious suddenly, picking up on the tension between you and Thor.

It might seem like you’re letting it go on too long on purpose, using it to make everyone uncomfortable, but really you just have to find the strength to speak as your nerves begin to get the better of you.

“Well,” You begin, voice still shaking. “I mean, look at him.”

And they all do.

“He’s also been really nice to me.” You admit, because aside from the unanswered question in the hallway, Thor has treated you respectfully, politely, with genuine concern and compassion…so far. “I think the deal was that I’m supposed to marry him and it’s alright if I don’t love him but, how long can I really resist?”

Brunnhilde scoffs, purging the atmosphere for everyone else of what you’re saying allowing them to relax and laugh at your strange way of telling them you find Thor attractive.

“At least your worries about your wife not liking you are assuaged.” Heimdall claps Thor on the shoulder, visibly shaking his body, but Thor’s intense gaze is on you alone.

Swallowing hard, you reach for your wine glass and take a deep drink, so conscious of Thor’s stare.

Dinner goes on just as it began and before long, Thor is back to laughing and chatting while your own attention is given to Loki and Heimdall whenever he remembers something he’s wants to ask.

When all plates are cleaned and glasses sit empty, dinner officially over, Sif turns hard eyes on you.

“So, I hear that you don’t have parents.” The interest is forced. She couldn’t care less about you or your life.

“Yeah,” You nod. “Um, they died a few months after I was born. Plane accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Heimdall laments kindly.

Beside you, Brunnhilde has her head in her hand, elbow on the table, eyes shut and mouth slightly open.

She’d just been talking so this is new.

“Thank you, but I don’t remember them. My only sorrow comes from never having a family.” You admit. “I grew up in a school—well, really it was an orphanage, but it was run much like a private school with uniforms that the government provided along with a minimal education. I attended until I became a legal adult and my lawyer, came to give me my inheritance.”

“Why weren’t you adopted?” Sif asks, her voice full of well-hidden venom that you can hear only because you know to look for it, her hand is inching towards Thor’s again and while he’s not your husband yet, the urge to stake claim over it is strong.

The way she asks also makes you feel as if she’s waiting to see exactly what is wrong with you. What can she use against you?

You smile, a smirk really, knowing what she’s up to.

You’re not unkind, but you bristle when attacked and Sif is making it easy for you to be defensive.

Searching within yourself for the strength to keep yourself calm, you take a deep breath before you answer.

“I wasn’t a healthy baby. I was sick, all the time. There was even a night my fever became so high that the doctors were sure that I would be left with brain damage. So, they watched me grow, expecting defects, but I got sick less and less the older I got.

“My speech and motor functions were top tier, and my learning capabilities were also fine.”

Everyone is silent, watching you with somber expressions. You’re a little on edge with them paying you such close attention, but this was the point of the dinner. To get to know each other.

“Unfortunately, potential parents were warned about the possible challenges I might face as I grew older, which put many of them off. While they wanted an infant, they didn’t want one that was broken.”

“I’m sorry for their ignorance.” Heimdall offers. “Clearly you grew up to be a lovely woman, but even if you had not, I’m saddened by their lack of compassion.”

You can only smile at him, having come to terms with the facts of your childhood long ago.

“Anyway, that’s why no one adopted me. So, a true family is something I’ve never had. I’m…” You blink, wondering how honest you want to be here. “I think it’s one of the things I’m looking forward to most. After tonight, I’m more convinced than before that this is will be a good environment to build a family. You’re all so nice.”

Loki, Brunnhilde—who’s awake again—and Heimdall are smiling. Lady Sif sits stiffly, her hands pulled onto her lap as she keeps her eyes locked on the empty plate in front of her.

Your heart stutters as you meet Thor’s eyes again. Staring deep into the single blue orb still locked on you.

“As conflicted as my past with the people in this room has been, I promise you, that is the right decision.” Loki assures you, a peaceful smile on his face that somehow comforts any misgivings you’ve been having.

At least about the people you’ll be around daily.

Your conversation with Thor in the hallway is a different matter, and one that you really want to finish.

“Well,” Brunnhilde slaps her hands on the table, rising to her feet with a little sway. “I think that’ enough pleasant conversation for me. I am tired-”

“And drunk.” Loki adds.

“-And that.” She agrees. “I need some sleep. So, Y/N, Your Royal Highness this has truly been a pleasure. I will be by in the morning to see you about wedding arrangements. Not too early though, you know—”

She steps out from in front of her chair, already walking towards the door large double doors.

Heimdall rises too, then Loki, Thor, and Lady Sif.

You stand last, fixing your dress as you do, making sure it isn’t stained. Luckily, it isn’t.

“This has indeed been illuminating.” Heimdall agrees, moving over to you to take your hand and press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Your Highness, it has been a true pleasure. I look forward to getting better acquainted with you.”

Loki is smiling, standing by the door but then he turns his eyes on Lady Sif.

“A word, Sif?” She looks at him, freezing beside Thor where she’d already begun to take his arm to pull his attention. “It won’t take long.”

With a sigh, she gives you one look before moving out the door in a huff, Heimdall following. Loki gives Thor a nod, something silent passes between them. With one final nod to you as well, Loki leaves.

“I really am very sorry that Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun could not join us. Unfortunately, the Warrior’s Three are highly sought throughout the galaxies.” Thor says, moving towards you with calm slow steps. “They should be back for the wedding though.”

“I’m excited to meet them. Everyone was so kind.” You observe. “Well, almost.”

Thor looks confused, stopping just at the corner of the table beside you, his fingers nervously tracing the shape of the edge.

“Seriously? You didn’t notice?” You shake your head, somehow finding it funny. “I think Brunnhilde might be right about you being a doofus.”

Thor laughs once, blows a quick raspberry in denial at your conclusion. “Why do you say that?”

“Thor, Lady Sif hates me.” You point out, it’s so obvious to you and was obvious to Loki too at least.

“No.” Thor shakes his head.

“She kept trying to grab your hand! She kept glaring daggers at me.” You sigh. “She’s in love with you.”

“Sif is like a sister.” Thor tells you, as if this negates her feelings as well.

“She’s still in love with you.”

Thor sighs. “I’ll speak with her.”

“Don’t bother. I think Loki’s beating you to it.”

“Walk with me?” He asks, and your heart goes into sudden arrest.

Fingers nice and tingly, you swallow the lump in your throat. “What?”

“I would like it very much if you walked with me for a while. The night is not over yet, and despite the exhaustion of my court, it’s not actually that late yet. The gardens my people have cultivated for the palace are beautiful. I’d love to show them to you.” He offers his hand, waiting patiently for you to take it but you can only gawk at him.

“Isn’t it cold outside?” You ask, on edge.

Thor drops his hand. “Oh, right. Estrid?”

She’s already waiting by the door, auburn hair looking slightly disheveled.

“Ah, Estrid.” Thor smiles, big dopey grin on his face. “Oh, your hair…”

He gestures and she quickly fixes it.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” She gasps.

“No, no. Just looked funny.” He eases her, and she calms instantly, smiling bashfully. “Can you fetch Her Highness a jacket?”

Estrid turns and rushes from the room but returns only seconds later with a long navy cloak. It isn’t a jacket, but it will match your dress nicely.

“That’s not a jacket.” You observe, feeling self-conscious.

Thor takes it from her and holds it open for you. There’s a clasp around the throat that will sit against your collarbone. “It’s a cloak. It’ll keep you just as warm as a jacket.”

You turn for him and he slips it over your shoulders, holding it until you turn to face him then he quickly fastens the clasp.

“Better?” He checks, fixing it around you.

You can’t find your voice to answer. Heart is racing. Damn him. This isn’t going to work if he keeps being sweet.

He offers you his arm and you hesitate, timidly wrapping your hand around the lower part of his large bulky bicep again.

“Wonderful.” He smiles wide. “Estrid, Her Highness will be in later, please prepare her bedroom so that she might go to sleep as soon as we return.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsies quickly then turns and rushes out to get your room ready.

“She doesn’t have to do that.” You tell him, turning to watch her flee. “I can make my own bed and stuff.”

“It’s her job.” Thor tells you. “Will you take it from her?”

You think about it carefully, and despite the fact that  Thor is a warrior and has travelled around the world sleeping in terrible places with no comforts at times, you understand in this moment that having servants is something he’s used to.

“No.” You realize and make a mental note to let these people do their work without putting up too much of a fight.

Thor leads you off down a side door into another dark wooden hallway with beautiful cobbled floors beneath your feet with a long carpet running its length. No one seems to be walking around in this hallway which makes you think it’s more secluded.

“Did David tell you I like flowers?” You check, wondering how much information Thor has about you.

“No? I didn’t know that though. That makes this even better.” He realizes.

You lapse into silence, hand trembling around his bicep as your mind replays the last two hours, picking apart every moment, every word shared, and every lingering look Thor had given you.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” Thor asks, his voice much lower, quieter.

It’s an intimate volume and it startles you, giving you a little bit of a delay in your response.

You meet his eyes and he’s staring right at you, soft smile stretched across his lips. It’s more a peaceful expression, calming.

And yet, it has the opposite effect on you, and you gasp a little as you catch your breath. Your heart is pounding through your ribcage.

“It was good.” You nod, looking towards the large stone archway up ahead. One of the doors stands open, the Norwegian night beyond.

You can see a splash of beautiful green beyond and can already hear the soft tinkling of flowing water from what is probably a fountain.

“And the conversation?” He asks, tilting his head to one side as he gives it better thought. “Aside from Sif.”

“They were all super nice, Thor.” You smile, honestly grateful to Loki, Brunnhilde, and Heimdall for their warm welcome. “I wish Lady Sif had been more open. She’s been fighting at your side for a long time, right?”

“She has.” Thor nods, as the two of you break through the doorway and you’re greeted with an elegant garden larger than even the circular room you’d first met with Thor in.

Your jaw drops and you stop walking, gaping at the collection of flora and fauna each piece delicately pruned and cared for. There are certainly several small fountains, dark gray with small underwater lights to provide the garden with diffused illumination.

Despite the chilly night, the garden makes you feel warm with flowers of every color. Roses in white and red, lilies with stunning white, carnations in pink, wine, cream, yellow, and purple. Throughout the roses are smaller pink flowers you don’t know but they’re adorable and the fragrance in this garden is intoxicating.

“Wow.” You whisper.

“You like it?” Thor asks, smiling a little wider as he waits for you to take your long look.

“It’s beautiful.” You nod.

“Come.” He pulls you along gently, urging you to walk again.

You follow, your hand sturdier around his arm. “Do you like gardens too?”

Thor nods. “My mother used to cherish her garden. When we arrived, it was the first thing I had commissioned. They were finished building it before they even finished the palace.”

“She passed?” You wonder, looking up at the echo of sadness in his eyes.

“A while ago.” Thor nods. “I miss her counsel. She was always the voice of reason and logic in my life.”

“I’m sorry.” You offer, hoping it’s a comfort.

You reach up with your other hand, wrapping it around his arm too.

He looks down at you, eyes searching, confused? But his smile never wavers. “Thank you.”

The two of you lapse into silence again, you busy looking at every flower you pass in admiration, Thor lost in thought.

“I’m going to miss my herb garden.” You lament with a sigh.

“You had an herb garden?” Thor wonders, turning his attention back to you.

“Just a small one. I only had some rosemary and thyme. I wanted to grow some mint, parsley, basil, and dill but I didn’t get the chance.”

Thor stops walking, gently shakes his arm to make your hand slide down along his forearm. As it falls, you takes hold of it.

You’re startled, but you don’t pull away, your mind devouring the information you can gleam from this moment as quickly as it can.

His hand is warm. No…it’s hot. Like he’s had it shut for a long time. The skin is a little rough, calloused, but not uncomfortable. You can just imagine the battles he must have fought. His hand is so big. Fingers wrapped softly around yours. He gives it a squeeze and you feel it in your core that this isn’t going at all how you planned.

You almost want to run to your room and hide under your blankets with the speed at which you can feel yourself dropping your guard to him.

The plan had been to marry him, never love him, and live your life as best you can and probably take a lover at some point. You should be able to love too.

But it isn’t supposed to be Thor. You’re not supposed to fall for him.

You remind yourself of his refusal to be honest with you. You remind yourself that his heart is already given and accepted. Jane loves him too, even if she won’t marry him to prevent him from marrying someone else.

You can understand why she can’t give up her life to take on this one. It’s a lot to ask of anyone.

It helps you grasp onto reality, to remember the conversation before dinner and his inability to commit to honesty when It comes to Jane.

“I have something to show you.” He tells you and pulls you down the length of the garden until you reach a greenhouse.

Thor releases your hand and throws the doors open before holding his hand out for you to take again.

You do, and he pulls you into the narrow but long space. Each side is lined with planter boxes, each box holds a different herb, including all of the ones you mentioned before, and some you have never seen before.

“What is this?” You gasp, reaching for a particularly strange one in a deep blue, almost black color.

“It’s the Asgardian version of lavender.” He tells you, placing his other hand over the one you’re reaching out for it with. “But it stings a little for humans to touch with bare hands. There are garden glove in the box by the door if you want to cut some for your room later. It smells wonderful. My mother used to keep some on her desk.”

“I can take some?” You gasp, turning to look up at him and he’s standing so damn close, you shrink in surprise.

“Of course.” He smiles at you, “This is your home now. Anything in these gardens is yours to have.”

He’s so fucking nice! You hate him.

You’re too stunned by his proximity to speak, hands twitching under his own. He seems to realize what’s got you tongue-tied because he takes a step and one hand back but keeps hold of the other.

“I wanted to talk with you, it’s why I’ve brought you here.” He pulls you along, and you give the herb garden one final look before he shuts the doors and moves back towards the center of the garden.

There you find several white marble benches around a small manmade pond, surrounded by more flowers.

Thor leads you to one of these benches, then extends a hand towards it so that you’ll sit.

You do, nervous suddenly as he sits beside you, taking his hand back for the first time since he began to show you the garden.

“You’re making me nervous.” You admit, your mouth moving before you can stop it. Anxious is not a good state for you.

“No.” He assures you, shaking his head, full of concern. “No, please don’t be nervous. I only wanted to continue our conversation from before dinner.”

“Oh.” You nod, expecting to be denied the honesty you want.

How will you use his refusal to do it as an excuse to not fall for him if he agrees to it?

“You’re right.” He nods, turning in the seat to face you a little better, your body mirroring his.

“I am?”

“Yes.” He takes a long deep breath. “After everything that was said during dinner, after watching my friends meet with you and get to know you, I realize that you’re right in what you say. I am asking a lot from you. More than I care to admit.”

Your mouth is suddenly dry.

“Did you mean what you said?” He whispers, a trace amount of uncertainty in his deep voice.

“What did I say?” You ask, voice not as quiet but still a little breathless.

“About falling for me?”

“Oh.” Your brain goes fuzzy and your heart is probably going to burst through your chest like in that one horror movie you watched as a kid.

“Truth is, I chose you because you were different.” He nods. “Not, different from regular humans. Most of them are very much like you, which is great. I love humans. But compared to the other ladies that came to meet for this purpose, I…if I’d wanted someone who would turn a blind eye while I and Jane continued to see each other, then I should have chosen one of them.

“They knew what was expected, as did you, but I didn’t consider how the difference in you would affect your own responses.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me anymore?” You ask timidly, feeling a rush of emotions all mixing together, turning into confusion.

You’re almost happy that he doesn’t want you anymore. You won’t have to marry him and deal with Jane and a life of standing by watching him be with someone else while the world thinks you’re together.

Another part of you, the part that’s already out of your control—even though you’ll never admit it—can’t help but feel depressed that he’ll be married to someone else.

“No!” Thor rushes to assure you, sliding over closer so that he can take your hand again, his knee touching yours. “No, that’s not at all what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that I understand what you meant. I know why you were upset. I’m sorry that I did not consider this whole thing more carefully from your perspective.”

You feel a wave of relief and know you’re screwed. It’s already too late.

“But I need you to answer my question.” He says.

Your eyes go wide at the audacity of this man as you laugh because it’s so funny of him to need that of you when he couldn’t return the favor before. “You didn’t answer mine!”

He smiles, chuckling. “Answer mine first.”

As you consider him, blue eye staring at you with no restraint for the way his gaze makes you feel, your mood grows somber, all traces of your laugh gone.

“Yes.” You sigh. “I’ve never been in love before.”

You shrug.

“And it’s not like you’re not…I mean…You know damn well what you look like.” You growl.

Thor laughs, throwing his head back.

“And then you come in with that voice and you’re not rude or…I mean, you were a little mean with the whole asking me to put up with being married and having no love in it. Like, I get that it might be normal for royals or whatever, but I’m not really royal. I haven’t lived in a palace with servants and a crown on my head.

“I grew up in an orphanage with no friends. No one has ever loved me. My parents loved me, I think, but they died and no one has cared about me like that since. Even now, the only person on my side is David, and I know he only stuck around because he felt bad for me. He’s also getting paid by my estate, so…there’s that.

“I’m not asking you to love me. I know that you love someone else, but I was only asking for you to be open with me about it. If you want to meet Jane, fine. Meet her. But do it somewhere that I can’t see. Do it but tell me that’s where you’ll be so that even if rumors fly in my ear that Thor is meeting with his mistress, it won’t hurt as much. It won’t make me feel as stupid, because I already know that’s where you are.”

Thor’s hand over yours grows tighter, his face lamenting for who knows what reason, because you’re not in his head but you can see that he feels bad which is stupid and you hate him for it because it means he cares.

You only just met him but with every passing moment in his presence, you fall more and more. It’s not love yet. You know that. It can’t be a crush because you know him too well. You like him. You’ll admit that.

“To answer your question more clearly,” You take a deep breath, exhaling quickly to wipe away the excess of emotion that surged forward suddenly. “Yes. I meant it. I don’t love you now, but I think I could.”

Thor nods, looking down at your hand, turning it over in his own.

The silence feels endless! He won’t speak, but his thumb keeps caressing your hand and you kinda wanna bite him for it.

“If my mother were here, she’d be disappointed in me. She’d tell me that I should let go of Jane. She met her, and while she liked her but…We are clearly moving along different paths and as much as I love her, she is not the one for me. Not anymore. My mother would definitely think so.

“I think she would have really liked you.” He admits, and his words give you comfort. “She would have called me a fool to pass up such a sweet and level-headed woman.”

“I’m not that level-headed.” You confess. “I’ve got anxiety issues sometimes.”

Thor smiles.

“I think she would have been right.”

Wait, is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“I will talk with Jane tomorrow to…to break things off. It won’t be the first time for us to part ways and I think in the long run it will be better for us both.”

“Thor, you don’t have to-”

“But I do.” He nods, meeting your eyes. “I need to let go of my past to embrace my future. And that’s you and New Asgard. It’s my people.”

“I want this marriage to work.” He continues. “I chose you and I meant that choice. Out of all the women I met, your picture of an ideal marriage was the closest to mine. It would make me happy to live that life with you.”

You’re breathless, chest heaving as you struggle to find a coherent thought.

Thor seems to realize that you’re struggling because he places your hand on your lap, tapping it gently before scooting back a little to give you space.

He’s so fucking massive! How is it possible that this is seriously your life? This God will be your husband. You’re going to have his kids?!

Your cheeks burn, neck burns, ears burn, legs suddenly clenched together as the fear from before runs quickly through your mind.

They’d wanted a maiden and they got one. Will he talk about it with you later? You can’t bear to talk about it now. You’re too embarrassed and overwhelmed by what he’s saying.

“So,” He starts, rising to his feet to tower over you. Then he falls, gliding gently onto one knee before reaching into his pants to pull from his pocket a small brown pouch.

He opens it, turns it over, and into his hand tumbles a shining silver ring.

“I chose this before I knew you liked flowers but now that I know, it makes me glad I picked it.” He smiles, “It just made me think of you when I went searching so, I hope you like it.”

He grabs it with two fingers, pinching the thin band delicately to hold it upright so that you can see the stunning design. A round diamond rests in the middle, shining brilliantly at the center of what looks like a lotus flower made of smaller diamonds filling its leaves.

You hate him because you absolutely love this ring. You love the sight of him on his knee in front of you. You love the way he scoots closer so that he can hold your hand easier as he gently straightens it and presses the ring to the tip of your finger.

“Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you be my Queen?” He asks, and you’re so silent, he grows visibly nervous. “Please?”

You laugh at the hitch in his voice, the plea there.

“Yes, stupid.” You laugh again.

He chuckles as he slips the ring on your finger, then after a moment of hesitation, he hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you down to meet his lips.

Eyes wide, heart stopped, you freeze as hot lips fry your nervous system.

[opalmaplehibiscus]

Information as to Why Twisted Wonderland is NOT an Otome or Dating Sims Game

Hello Everyone! It’s been a while~ ヾ(•ω•`)o I finally found the courage to write Twisted Wonderland content after what happened a couple months ago, when I literally just came back, and while writing a couple of analysis I thought I would write this as an informative rather than an actual analysis of the game.

DISCLAIMER: This post is NOT by any means demeaning otome games or dating sims whatsoever. This was written to clear the misunderstanding people had on the genre of Twisted Wonderland and that anyone should be allowed to be play without feeling restricted or thinking it’s not something they want to try because of misunderstandings. Do NOT use this post as a source to offend people but please use it to inform others.

It’s no longer old news that Twisted Wonderland frequently gets called an “otome game” or dating sims by people who never played the game before. People on twitter, youtube, and even those that were trying to or supposed to advertise the game have often categorized it as such. This wouldn’t have been such a big deal had people recognize and acknowledge that the game isn’t after being explained to about it, but after hearing their arguments as to why they refuse to change how they think about it, the frustration pent up for nearly a year has finally bubbled over.  Buckle your seats everyone cause today is the day this argument ends once and for all!

First off, let’s start off with what makes an otome/dating-sims an otome/dating sim. Both are very similar, where, according to Japan’s Wikipedia, Nico dictionary, Kotobanks, and many more Japanese dictionary sites, otome games (i.e. 乙女ゲーム)  are games which includes a female MC who has the opportunity to attract the very attractive male characters in the game and enter a love route with each of them separately or harem-like. Dating sims are a bit different. Dating sims (i.e. 恋愛シミュレーションゲーム)  falls into to two definitions with the first one being the exact reversal of otome: MC being male, the love interest characters being very attractive females. The second definition is the one many are familiar with – a romantic visual novel. Believe it or not the first definition is the original definition of what dating-sim games are, the second meaning derived from many attempts of using the term “dating-sim” incorrectly by the English speaking gamers to the point society now believes it’s the actual meaning.

However, this difference doesn’t change that both otome and dating sims are very close. Both genres include gender-specific MC(s) (there’s been games where a player can play either male or female), handsome/beautiful characters with their respective love routes, and a main plot to follow. In addition to this, when the game is in mobage format, there’s going to be showers of fan service in the form of events and gacha-cards, though, arguably, it doesn’t change the fact that the MCs would still be interacting with the characters romantically.

So, from the explanation written above, Twisted Wonderland falls into that category, right? Sorry not sorry, that’s wrong. Sure, Twisted Wonderland has many characters to swoon over since…I mean…they’re drawn and written by Yana Toboso and her staff and…there hasn’t been anyone so far who had the capability of saying no to characters she personally had drawn or created. But! It doesn’t mean that the game is a dating sim or otome.

One of the reasons Twisted Wonderland isn’t one of them is how the game is set up. There are no routes the MC can enter nor can the MC pick and choose which characters to focus on in general. Like FGO and Granblue Fantasy, the MC solely follows the main plot and has to interact with all the characters they’re introduced to whether they like it or not. The same logic is applied when playing events – the MC will be participating and talking to all the characters involved in the event. Not once does the game give the opportunity for the MC to choose who they can talk to and participate in the event with the person they chose. The only time it’ll be one-on-one is, most of the time, getting the desired character’s card through gacha or when the event sets the story where the MC has no choice but to talk to a character one-to-one. For the latter though, the MC isn’t going to be able to wish for the character they want to talk to – it’s completely random and up to the writers who they want the MC to interact with.

For otome and dating-sims alike, especially in mobage format, the MC has the opportunity to choose who they wish to focus on and interact solely with the characters they chose whether it’s the main story, event, and card story. It can even be arguably said that otome and dating sims focus solely on the MC and their love interest interaction more than anything else. As for Twisted Wonderland, again, that does not happen. Twisted Wonderland, in addition to progressing the main story and revealing more about the characters involved, focuses on everyone’s interaction with each other including the NPCs. The game shows the other characters that aren’t interacting with the MC talking to other characters and what role they were playing while the MC was busy with the group the writer had them interact with during that time. Even in the card stories, most of the card stories involve more character-to-character interaction rather than MC-to-character interaction.

Speaking of which, the MC in Twisted Wonderland, the game, is gender ambiguous.  Not once did the game developers and story writers mentions the MC as a specific gender like the other romance games. Heck, most of the characters don’t even use a gender-specific pronoun such as 彼女 (“kanojo” = she) or  彼 (“kare” = he) when referring to the MC. They usually refer to the MC by their given position, 監督生 ( “kantokusei”  = prefect). The only exception is when the game’s mascot and MC’s buddy, Grim (the blue-fire monster), who uses あいつ ( “aitsu”) which is a gender neutral pronoun that holds the vague meaning of “that one” or “that person”. There’s also the fact that the MC’s default name is ユウ (“Yuu”), which is name used by either genders in Japan and how the MC uses gender neutral pronouns when regarding themselves  as 自分 (“jibun”) and others as 貴方/あなた (“anata”).

Even during the official advertisement, official summary, official game archive book ( i.e., Twisted Wonderland Magical Archives), and posts made by the staff on twitter, not once did they specify the gender of the MC. In fact, they never once even specified the gender of the audience they’re targeting the game towards nor say anything about there being romance or any hints of harem-esque situations that involves the MC in any shape or form. The most “direct” statement made by Twisted Wonderland’s staff was from an email a fellow Twisted Wonderland fan had sent to the staff after a magazine had advertised the game as “Disney’s first game for women”. The email from the staff mentions that they wanted the game to be enjoyed by everyone, REGARDLESS OF GENDER. (link to said post here)

If they had any intentions of making the game otome-like or dating sim-like, Aniplex, Disney, and Twisted Wonderland staff would’ve mentioned that the game has romance or the possibility for there being romance when releasing the story summary, game system set up, and their ads. Not only would they have done that to get the audience they wish to target but speaking of it legally, they are required to mention it since there’s liability on their part on informing their customers on anything they need to know in regard to the game they’re playing. Age restrictions, fees, game play, and the like – Twisted Wonderland also had to go through the same process like any other visual novel games to be developed and released.

In a way, Twisted Wonderland can be seen as another Touken Ranbu or KanColle, but with an actual main story plot to progress through. All three games’ MCs are gender ambiguous, great characters to throw-er-spend money on, and have fun game plays. Sure, unlike Touken Ranbu and KanColle, where their MCs continues to be gender ambiguous in their anime and manga adaptation, Twisted Wonderland’s MC in the manga adaptation ended up being male – however, a statement was released by Yana revealed that the MC in the game and the MC for the manga are not the same people. (Link here) Meaning, the “real” or “official” MC’s gender continues to be gender ambiguous for the sake of continuing to attract all genders to play the game.

All of this being said, Twisted Wonderland is a fun, visual novel game and supposed to be enjoyed by everyone – each to their own way and passion. No one shouldn’t be discouraged from playing it solely because of false advertisements or misconceptions made by others who haven't played the game yet.

I hope this clears things up and hopefully helps others persuade people into playing the game! 

[on-maars]

Indigo Night

Just a cute lil fic based on this post because it was honestly hilarious.

Title doesn’t really have anything to do with the fic, I just like the song. 

Read it on AO3.

It’s a quiet night inside the fire station.

Eddie is comfortably seated on the couch, waiting for their next call but secretly hoping he can sleep until the end of his shift.

Hen is seated on his right side. She seems focused on a book but from the way her eyes keep shutting every few seconds, Eddie knows she’s one second away from falling asleep.

Chimney’s there too, sprawled on the armchair, his eyes fixed on the television currently broadcasting an old episode of Friends, his mouth agape.

And then there’s Bobby, seated at the table, focused on some documents. Only Buck is absent, probably still fast asleep in his bunk downstairs.

“What you doing, Cap?” Hen asks from the couch, her voice low.

“Just getting the paperwork ready for when Eddie and Buck finally get together.” Bobby answers and his voice is deadly serious but a small smile still stretches up his lips at the edges. Eddie whirls his head around and rolls his eyes at him.

“That’s hilarious, Cap.” He says sarcastically and sighs, throwing his head backwards until it touches the backrest of the couch.

“He’s not wrong, y'know.” Chimney adds. “Just tell the damn man you’re in love with him already. This is getting embarrassing.”

Eddies lets out a small laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. There’s no point in denying it any longer – he thinks. Because he is. In love with Buck, that is.

And it’s not breaking news either. It might have been a few years ago, might have been a few months ago, even. But not anymore.

It seems to be a widely accepted truth among the 118. Whether it be among his closest co-workers or among the b-shift as well, everybody just seems to be in the confidence. Nobody questions it. No-one even doubts it. It’s just there, so vibrant, so loud, and Eddie just came to the conclusion that there was simply no need to acknowledge the elephant in the room. No need to make it clearer than it already is. Not after what happened. Not after that day.

Not after the shooting.

Christopher knows, too. Eddie thought he had been discreet enough not to arise suspicion from his own son, but when this one asked him whether the reason he broke up with Ana was because he was in love with ‘his Bucky’, Eddie realized that he had read it all wrong once again. Christopher was just too damn smart for his own good.

Even his own family. Abuela, Tia Pepa, his sisters, all of them confronted him with the truth the day after his break-up with Ana.

“For the love of god Eds please tell him because we’re getting real tired to hear you whine about it every single time we have you on Skype.”

And in his defense, Eddie’s trying. He’s trying really hard to get the message through the thick brain of his best-friend but he may as well waste his breath.

“Yeah well.” Eddie starts and rubs his temples with his hands, holding back a yawn. “I’ve been trying, guys. Buck is just… Clueless.”

“Maybe it’s time you use a more direct approach?” Bobby dares asking after a few seconds.

“Clearer than making him the legal guardian of my own son?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“Fair enough.” Hen admits quietly. “But you know, maybe you should just be m-”

The rest of the sentence dies in her throat as Buck makes his way upstairs. His steps are heavy with sleep, a steady beat that gives Eddie more comfort than he’d care to admit. His hair is completely disheveled, his face grizzled as he makes his way towards the couch. He takes a seat next to his best-friend, their thighs pressed together and that’s just another thing that drives Eddie crazy, the way Buck always seems to seek comfort in his arms, whether it be after a short nap inside the fire station, after a long shift or a hard call.

And who’s Eddie to deny him? He can’t.

So once again, he lifts his arm and his face softens when Buck instantly leans against him, shyly, discreetly, as if he’s still wondering if it’s allowed, as if he’s still wondering if that’s not crossing a line in their friendship. Eddie wraps his left arm around his shoulders and ignores the knowing looks of both Hen and Chimney, tracing small patterns on Buck’s chest instead.

“What were you guys talkin about?” He says, his voice still groggy from his nap.

“Eddie’s new crush.” Hen says so naturally Eddie almost misses it. But then Buck suddenly sits straight, whirling his head around until his eyes are fixed on him.

“Your… Your new crush?” Buck asks and his face scrunches up in the most adorable confusion Eddie has to physically refrain himself from cradling his chin and kiss him right there on this couch. “You… You didn’t tell me you were… Interested in someone.”

“Yeah well… That’s actually the reason I broke up with Ana.” Eddie tells him, looking at his best-friend without batting an eyelid. For a few seconds, Eddie thinks he can see a flash of hope and longing cross his best-friend’s eyes but it’s gone just as fast. Buck’s eyes still shuttle back and forth, though, as if performing an internal scan of his face and Eddie only wishes he could know what kind of thoughts invade his best-friend’s brain.

“Oh.” Buck only answers, looking away. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and there’s that faraway look plastered on his face, the one he gets when his brain is working too fast for his head to catch up. “I- I didn’t know.” He adds. “That’s cool, man.” He says, his tone so cheerful and it’s like a switch flipped in his brain. There’s no confusion, anymore. No hesitation. No hope either. Almost like he pushed these feelings far, far in the back of his brain and forced himself to adopt his good old careless, bright and sparkling attitude.

“Yeah. I’ve actually been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for, like, six months now. No response.” Eddie says. Hen snorts next to him.

“Wow they sound stupid, Eds.” Buck answers.

“But they’re not.” Eddie contradicts him. “They’re really smart, actually. Just… dense.”

“Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like I don’t know… ‘Hey I love you.’”

Eddie raises his eyes until they fall on Chimney and Hen who’re both watching him with so much expectation and what the hell? Eddie thinks, the opportunity is right there and it’s too good to be true and he would be damned if he didn’t use it.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He says, and takes a deep breath before adding: “Hey Buck, I love you.”

“Yes exactly!” Buck answers, smiling big and Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion. “Just say that!”

“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie whispers while pressing his hand on his forehead, disbelief clearly shown on his face. Hen dissolves in laughter and Chimney hits his head with his book, like he can’t quite believe he saw that scene with his own two eyes.

“If that flies over their head then sorry Eddie, but they’re too dumb for you.” Buck adds after a few seconds, and really, Eddie always prided himself for being a patient man but there’s only so much he can do. “What’s her name?” Buck goes on asking and Eddie sighs.

“She’s a he, Buck.” Eddie instantly answers, exasperated. “He. Masculine. A guy. I like dudes, alright?”

“Really?” Buck smiles. “Do I know him?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Hen groans, rolling her eyes.

And just when Eddie thinks he got through to Buck-

The bell rings.

The call is not bad. Nothing too major. No fire. No major injuries. Just a small car accident, the people involved more frightened than injured. They still take a few minutes to make sure everyone is okay and Eddie’s honestly thankful for the distraction.

Buck is there with him and they’re working in sync just like they always do, but his friend seems to be in a faraway land, his face constantly scrunched up in confusion. Eddie can feel his gaze out of the corner of the eye and there’s nothing more he wants than to turn around and kiss him to finally remove any doubt from his best-friend’s head but they’re on a call and Eddie knows that this is probably the least suited place to have that kind of conversation.

They need to keep it professional.

The drive back is silent, filled with an uneasiness no-one dares to question. Buck is seated right next to him in the ambulance, their shoulders touching with every turns and jolts. No-one questions it anymore. They stopped doing that a long time ago. Hen and Chim are there as well, facing them, invading their safe space and so Eddie gently nudges Buck, making sure his best-friend knows he’s there and ready to talk as soon as they can have some form of privacy.

When they get back inside the fire station, Eddie is once again drawn to Buck. He takes a seat next to him on the couch and smiles to himself when Hen, Chim and Bobby all collectively decided to give them the room.

Eddie can sense the anxiety radiating from his friend’s body and so he decides to take the matter into his own hands and gently catches Buck’s wrist and regularly taps his soft skin with his index, until he can feel his best-friend’s body relaxing next to him.

“Eds, this… this guy.” Buck starts, his voice uncertain, filled with doubt. “Is he uh... a good friend of yours?” He asks and Eddie knows there’s more to it than Buck lets himself express.

“Yeah, Buck.” He answers, squeezing his wrist and looking up at him. “The best-friend I’ve ever had.” He says and Buck’s breath catches in his throat.

“Well for the record, I- I’m pretty sure he likes you too.” Buck says, glancing at him nervously but looking away just as fast.

“Oh, you think?” Eddie teases him and that brings a smile to Buck’s face.

“I know.” He corrects himself. “I know he does. He just- I guess he just didn’t know how to tell you, and- and he also needed to be 100% sure that this was the direction you two were taking to- to actually do something about it.”

When Buck looks up, Eddie smiles softly at him and runs his right hand through his hair, letting it on the back of his head afterwards, making sure he has his undivided attention before saying these next few words.

“Then maybe you should tell him he’s it for me.” He says, and then adds: “I’m all in, Buck.”

“I love you.” Buck blurts out but he doesn’t stop there. “And I love Christopher. So damn much.” He adds. “So damn much.” He repeats. That makes Eddie smile. “But- Eds, you- I’m a lot of hard-work and I- I’m so messed-up man you have no idea how messed-up I am.” Buck marks a pause, and adds. “I mean, who am I kidding, of course- of course you do because you’re you and you’re putting up with my shit all the damn time and I’m just-”

Eddie cuts him off by pressing their lips together.

His thumb rubs his cheek while the rest of his fingers play with the roots of his hair. Buck’s palm is pressed on his chest and the next second, Eddie can feel Buck’s fist hold his shirt tightly, creasing it.

“There’s nothing to put up with.” Eddie says against his lips, cupping his cheeks with his hands to make him look up. “Alright?” He adds.

“Alright.” Buck’s voice is still fragile.

“Good.” Eddie says. “Glad we got that cleared up.” He adds casually and Buck scoffs. “Next time though, maybe be a bit quicker on the uptake?”

“Oh fuck off.” Buck says, nudging him playfully. He stays silent for a while before adding: “Can we go back ho-” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, correcting himself. “Can I hang out at your place tonight?”

Eddie sighs and intertwines their fingers together.

“Course you can.” He only says. “This is your home too, Evan.”

[groovybaybee]

Circle

words: 6.6k

(orgy!harry)

I’d had no idea what to expect, no notion as to what the evening may hold for me. All I had were bits and pieces, clues to lead me to a night I would never forget. A string of events which had brought me to that evening.

 A brief conversation with a friend, her experience at some new club sketched out vaguely for me, eluding to beautiful men and women and newfound passion ignited within her. My curiosity peaking, I had agreed to allow her to submit my details. She had sensed my hesitance at putting myself out there, assuring me privacy was of the utmost importance, something I later came to appreciate as an NDA was slipped through my letterbox.

I had let the document sit on my desk for a few days, finding myself drawn to it every time my mind wandered from whatever contract I was drafting or reviewing, allowing myself to slip open the manilla envelope and peer inside. Familiar with legal documents, I had assumed I would find errors in the form, legal loopholes one might exploit, however, it was iron-clad. The document covered all grey areas, ensuring that the signor would be well-aware of any legal consequences should they breach any of the terms set out. The letter stated plainly that anyone caught providing explicit details to another party, whether that be a personal acquaintance or the media, of the events bound to transpire, would be duly punished. It emphasised the importance of anonymity within the group of attendees, and ensured safeguarding measures taken on their part to protect the identities of all those involved. At this point I was wondering what I was letting myself get involved with.

 At first, I had assumed this would be some kind of nightclub full of high society types looking to partake in meaningless one-night stands without the ramifications of involving someone not in the industry who may be able to sell their story and make a financial gain, thus the need for anonymity. However, after signing and returning the document, trepidation began to set in, wondering what organisation I was getting into bed with. This was more than a night out. This was going to be, as my friend had explained, an experience that I would not want to forget.

 Trusting her, I let the mystery of it all excite me, adrenaline spiking when I received an envelope through my door. Inside was a small black business card, embossed with a golden circle on both sides. Alongside the card, was an acceptance letter of sorts, thanking me for my interest and inviting me to attend an event this Saturday. I was informed that a car would come to collect me, driving me to the location of the event and would return me whenever I desired to go home. If I changed my mind at any point until then, I simply had to text ‘OPT-OUT’ to a number at the top of the letter.

 I never sent that text. On the contrary, I allowed the excitement to pour through into my everyday life. I bought new lingerie, just a simple sheer black set that hung off my body in a beautiful way. Everything about this ‘club’ exuded exclusivity, and I wanted to blend in no matter what happened.

 When Saturday evening finally rolled around, I could barely sit still, nerves and excitement swimming around in my stomach as I sat in the back of the black Lexus I had been provided. The driver had opened the door for me, offering me a polite greeting, before slipping into the front seat and driving us to our destination without another word as I texted my friend, the anticipation growing almost too much to bear. Watching the city pass through the tinted windows, I allowed my mind to slip into thoughts about the clientele I would encounter. I had been ensured that all members signed the exact same form as me, so I assumed they also valued privacy highly. I wondered if they would also be involved in the entertainment industry, admittedly all I did was draw up contracts and aid in negotiations for a record label, but I found myself accompanied by celebrities and notorious figures more often than I ever might have expected, even forming friendships with some of the clients the label represented.

 Upon our arrival to the location, I almost asked the driver if he was sure that this was the right place. The building looked like any luxurious apartment complex, no loud music, no drunken patrons stumbling in and out of the building. Nevertheless, I thanked the driver, and made my way indoors. My heels clicking against the marble flooring was the only real sound as I passed through the lobby, making my way into the lift as instructed by the letter, selecting the button for the penthouse.

 As the lift rose, I wondered if this was about to be the revelation of some horrific prank. Perhaps when I stepped out on to the top floor, there would be everyone I knew with cameras pointed at me, telling me I had been Punk’d. However, I swiftly reminded myself that the show was no longer airing, and I was being moronic.

 Finally, the lift doors opened once again, and I was confronted with a large, white marble foyer, at the centre of which was a woman sat at a desk, another woman behind her. I began the walk towards them, finally hearing some faint music and beginning to relax under the knowledge that I was, probably, in the right place.

 “Hello,” the seated woman had said, offering me a polite smile once I reached the desk.

 “Hi,” I greeted her and showed her the small, black card I had been instructed to bring along, “I’m not sure I’m in the right place—”

 “Oh, you are,” she had replied brightly, taking the card from me, and scribbling something down on the desk. “It’s your first time here, yes?”

 “Yes,” I nodded, my voice sounding smaller than I would have liked it to, the formalities throwing me slightly off balance.

 “Welcome,” she said, her cheery exterior never faltering for even a second, “Rachel here will take you through,”

 The second woman had stepped forward by this point, offering me a genuine smile and gesturing for me to follow her down an adjacent hallway. I did so until we reached a cloakroom of sorts, providing me with a space in which to leave my coat and bag, ensuring that they were safe and would be returned to me upon my departure, explaining briefly that electronic devices were not permitted past this point. I had nod at intervals to show my understanding and complied with her requests. Then, she led me to a set of double doors, ensuring me that I would be well taken care of inside.

 “We hope you have a pleasurable evening,” Rachel finished.

 I had thanked her and listened to the sounds of her heels diminish as she left me on my own. Taking I deep breath to calm any nerves, I slipped my hand around the door handle and pushed it open. Inside the penthouse apartment was nothing like I had imagined. I was instantly greeted by a young man holding a tray topped with flutes full of champagne. I uttered a small thanks and proceeded through the space.

 Whatever I was expecting, it was not what I received. I found myself in the middle of a beautiful living space, with floor-to-ceiling windows and luxurious leather sofas. The space was filled with elegantly dressed individuals, reminding me more of an industry young professionals’ mixer than whatever sex-filled dungeon I had been expected. The atmosphere felt very relaxed, the whole room seeming to laugh and chatter freely. Perhaps this was some sort of speed-dating and I had just severely misread the information I was given.

 Taking a few more steps into the room, I made eye-contact with a woman around my age, brunette and beautiful. She had smiled gently at me, before excusing herself from her small group and gliding over to me.

 “First time?” she asked, a small smirk playing across her painted lips.

 “That obvious?” I replied, earning a genuine chuckle from her which helped put me at ease somewhat.

 “I can give you the tour if you like… I’m kind of a regular,” She offered.

 I had nodded appreciatively and allowed her to take my hand in hers to lead me around the place. She introduced herself as Samantha, call me Sam, as we ventured through the apartment, smooth beats lining the place. As we walked through, she showed me the ‘main room’, which was really just the living room, where the majority of the guests were mingling, her telling me that it was still fairly early. We delved deeper, heading down the main hallway of the place until we reached a fork and she had me choose left or right. I selected left and she walked me through the next section, showing me more rooms, a few bathrooms situated between bedrooms. Each bedroom seemed to house some of the overspill from the main room. In the first bedroom, a group were sat on the bed, laughing and talking as they sipped at their glasses of champagne. The second bedroom we reached held two women standing in the centre, making out. A little afraid of intruding, I moved to step back into the corridor, but Sam stayed in her spot, sharing a smirk with the room’s inhabitants.

 “Just giving a newbie the tour,” Sam had said, earning a wry chuckle from the couple.

 “Feel free to circle back round,” said one of the women before turning back to her partner, pushing her hair behind her ear, and returning to their previous position.

 “Are you into girls?” Sam asked evenly as she led me back out of the room, focussed more on leading me than the abrupt question.

 “Uh, yeah, I think I like a bit of everything,” I mumbled, my head feeling a little scrambled as I tried to comprehend where I was.

 Sam continued to lead me down the hallway. It was at this point that I noticed that all of the bedroom doors were propped open, people drifting in an out with ease. A pit of suspicion grew in my stomach as Sam led me further along the corridor. My hurried assumption was beginning to be confirmed when we reached our third bedroom, filled with about ten people scattered across the room, all comfortably watching pornography together on the large-screen television.

 “Sam?” I asked, pulling her attention away from the couple fucking on the screen and back towards me. When she prised her eyes from the spectacle, her lids were a little hooded as she eyed me, “Is this an orgy?”

 “Not yet,” was all she had said, a grin forming across her plush, red lips.

 I had involuntarily taken a step back at her response, shock overwhelming any other sensation. At witnessing my reaction, Sam had followed me and led me back into the corridor and away from the room.

 “Obviously, you don’t have to do anything, and you don’t have to stay if this isn’t what you thought you were signing up for,” she said in a calming tone, somehow understanding my surprise to find out that I had wound up at an orgy.

 Definitely not speed-dating.

 After allowing the information a second to sink into my brain, and a large sip of champagne, the shock began to subside, and curiosity took over. I mean, it was never something I had actively sought out, but had always been a bit of a fantasy, even just to attend and watch.

 Seeing the panic leave my body, the smirk I was quickly becoming familiar with returned to Sam’s lips.

 “I’m okay,” I told her, letting a small, breathy laugh escape from between my lips.

 “Want to go back to the main room? I have some friends you might like,”

 I accepted her offer with a nod and let her guide me back through the crowd of people in the biggest part of the property, the number of people having almost doubled since we went exploring. Still, the atmosphere in the room had not changed, everyone still stood talking and laughing as they got to know other people.

 Sam guided me to the group of people she had been talking to before she excused herself to speak to me. She introduced me to them, and we fell into conversation easily. Not long after, the majority of the group disappeared to explore the place and make use of the facilities, leaving myself, Sam, and a man a little older than me, James, clean-shaven and also a brunette. He was undoubtedly attractive, standing a full head taller than me and I certainly spotted muscle definition beneath his white dress shirt.

 The three of us spoke for a while, conversation lubricated by a glass of champagne or two. After discovering that we had a good rapport, the three of us decided to move somewhere a little quieter, Sam promising me to finish our tour. As we walked down the main corridor of the apartment, we took a right, peering through a few rooms as we passed.

 The first room we passed was fairly crowded, people undressing, lips and limbs tangled throughout. Collectively, we agreed to move along, finding the situation more interesting than inviting. We moved away, passing a closed bedroom which James explained meant the individuals wanted a little privacy.

 The second room we encountered proved to be far more enticing than the first. In that room two men lay either side of a woman, hands roaming gently across her naked body while they remained fully or partially clothed. While one pressed kisses to her mouth and neck, the other shimmied down the bed, licking and kissing his way up the length of her right leg, from her feet to her thighs he seemed to place hot kisses, occasionally adding a little pressure with his teeth until he was arching underneath the two of them. I found myself transfixed on the scene in front of me, my lips parting to allow for the heavy breaths in my chest to escape. They all looked so beautiful, bodies moving fluidly with one another as if they had been doing this for years. Maybe they had.

 Only the gentle touch of fingertips on my bare forearm brought me away from the congregation in front of me. It was Sam. That hooded look in her eyes was back, this time accompanied by the tugging of her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked starved, and all I wanted to do was feed her.

 “James says there’s an empty room,” she told me, her voice a few tones lower than it had been for most of the night.

 Wondering quickly how long I had been watching the trio, clearly enough time had passed for James to slip away, locate a vacant room, and communicate that information with Sam, all without me noticing his absence. I nodded my head and let her hand slip into mine yet again. We walked down the hallway together, until we reached one of the last rooms, finding James stood by the floor-length windows, looking down at the city. At our appearance, he turned back to us, a gentle smirk on his lips at our interlaced fingers.

 Sam pulled me into the room gently, making her way to the large bed and dropping my hand as she settled herself on her knees in the middle. James joined her, sitting closer to the edge, and sharing a quick, excited kiss with her.

 “Only what you’re comfortable with,” Sam reminded me softly, her gaze softening at seeing me stood a little way away from the two of them.

 I nodded, grateful for her care, before slipping a hand up the length of my back and pulling down the zipper of my dress. I allowed it to loosen, pushing it over the curve of my hips before letting it drop of its own accord and taking a step closer to the bed. The look in the pair’s eyes made any reservation or self-doubt leap out of the enormous window. Both assessed me with a darkened gaze. James’ sight trailed over the expanse of my body with a lick of his lips, reaching his hands out for me to take. I took them and allowed him to bring me over to the two of them, seating me between them.

 From behind, Sam’s hand reached out to touch my shoulder lightly, pausing to gage my reaction before receiving a positive and breathy sigh. Her fingertips traced lightly across my collarbones, trailing up to my neck to turn my head until our faces were mere inches apart. Her lips were soft and buttery when they met mine. Her kisses were delicate as they moved from my lips to my jaw, down my neck and to my shoulder while James reached a hand out to gently turn my head back to him. I could not help the smirk that tugged at the corners of my lips upon seeing his reaction to the two women in front of him. He had loosened his tie and was watching intently as Sam’s hands began to travel across my flesh. I pressed my lips to his, a hand coming up to reach into his hair as his lips moved eagerly against my own. His lips followed Sam’s path, beginning to kiss down my body. Grateful for the moment to catch my breath, my eyes wandered to the open door and I let a smirk cross my face, deciding to leave it that way.

 Returning to the duo, I pulled at James’ tie, bringing his lips back up to meet mine, hurriedly loosening the fabric knot and discarding it. His hands left my body, fingers worked quickly to unbutton his shirt and rid it from the scene. In the meantime, I placed my hands over Sam’s and guided them up from their position on my waist, up to lay across my breasts. I felt her groan against my neck as her hands gave an instinctive squeeze at the tender flesh. A gasp escaped my lips, my hips involuntarily rolling at her touch.

 “She making you feel good?” James uttered lowly; his voice throatier as lust overtook him.

 All I could do was hum in agreement, a small nod as my eyes settled back on James’, now shirtless, frame, enjoying the way his muscles seemed to flex and relax sporadically as he watched us. I felt Sam shift beside me, pressing a kiss to my breast through sheer black material. Her tongue slipped across the fabric, my nipple hardening against her mouth. Her hand reached up, slipping the cup beneath my breast, and encircling the pert nipple with her lips, providing a little suction that made my back arch into her. She gazed up at me with a smirk, clearly enjoying the physiological effect she was having on me.

 “Really good,” I said, a slight whimper accompanying my words.

 “Wanna feel even better?” she had asked, looking up at me with bright, mischievous eyes.

 I nodded and let her move me on the bed, settling me between James’ outstretched legs, my back to his chest as he leant against the headboard. He peppered soft, sucking kisses along my neck while Sam undressed completely. She had returned to us, fully nude, crawling up the bed, trailing her tongue up the length of my leg, just as the man in the other room had done. Clearly, she had been watching me intently, noticing the way my breath had hitched at the sight.

 “Can I?” Sam mumbled against the flesh of my thigh, her eyes drifting from between my legs up to my face.

 All I could do was nod, desperate to be touched by her. She pressed a kiss over the sheer panties before hooking her fingers under their waistband and tugging them down. Almost in unison, James licked a long stripe up the side of my neck as Sam copied the motion across the length of my pussy, a small smirk playing at her lips as she tasted my arousal. James’ lips passed along my jaw, settling over my ear lobe, tugging ever so gently. Meanwhile, Sam took her time to explore my preferences, observing each and every reaction within my body as she licked, kissed, and sucked different parts of me.

 My eyelids fluttered shut as the two of them worked to pleasure me. It was electrifying, understanding in that moment why my friend had encouraged me to come. The excitement in the room was palpable. Breathless moans tumbled freely from my mouth, back arching between the two of them, feeling Sam’s actions grow sloppier beneath me as she buried her face deeper into me, desperate to taste every last drop of me, while James grew hard against my back, his hands ghosting across my body, manipulating my breasts and playing with my nipples until I was writhing above him.

 “Mind if we join?” I heard a low voice ask, something familiar about its tone.

 My eyes shot open, instantly locking on to his own from his position in the doorway. It seemed strange to see him in such conventional, formal clothes. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms, and tailored black trousers; no pops of colour, nothing necessarily to draw the eye. He looked like everyone else that night, I suppose that would have been his intention. Clearly, the majority of the attendees would recognise him, but he was not intentionally drawing focus, there to be a part of the experience rather than to be a spectacle.

 It didn’t shock me that he was with a man and a woman. They stood behind him; their fingers curled around his each of his biceps. Harry always attracted attention, something we joked about the last time I saw him; the two of us having a casual lunch while ironing out some contract details before being accosted by paparazzi. It didn’t really shock me to see him at an event like this either. It was no secret that the man oozed sexuality. Honestly, it made sense to see him at a place where he could explore that sexuality, push his limits, and make others feel good while doing so.

 What had surprised me, however, was the intense, hooded gaze he fixed on me. Not sure how long my friendly acquaintance had been standing there, watching as I unravelled at the work of two strangers, the thought brought an intense rush of blood and heat to my cheeks. Immediately, I began to worry about the repercussions of being seen like this. Then, I saw the look in his eyes, the way he followed every roll of my hips, the way he brought his bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted me, or at least a piece of me.

 “Up to you, baby.” Sam had muttered against me, not stopping her motions despite our new company. James nodded into the crook of my neck, confirming his comfort, agreeing that it was my choice. My choice to decide whether or not to allow the man I worked with from time to time to not only see me at my most vulnerable, but to allow him to touch me in that state.

 I nodded my head instantly. A reflexive smirk painted itself on Harry’s lips, quickly looking to his male and female counterparts before moving forward. After just one step, he slipped his hands to the buttons of his shirt, making quick work to rid himself of it before reaching the bed. He sat beside where Sam laid, watching her movements hungrily. His new friends sat themselves on the bed too, both disrobed to their underwear, watching keenly as we played beneath them, each starting to gently touch the other.

 “Can I share?” Harry asked, looking between Sam and myself to sense any discomfort.

 When we both nodded, the grin returned to his face before he dipped down, pressed a kiss to the top of my thigh then slipped his tongue between my legs. I felt a deep, rumbling groan against my dripping core, him moving deeper, sliding his nose and mouth up the length of my pussy. As he settled his lips around my clit, sucking lightly, his eyes cast up to mine. They were dark, his gaze unfocussed as he licked at me as though I held the magic elixir of life. He moved wild and free, occasionally flattening his tongue, and dragging it back and forth across the width between my thighs, his eyes shutting tight whenever he did, fully wrapped up in his motions.

 My body jolted under his touch, his mouth sending me into overdrive; hips rolling and grinding down against his mouth, back arched to the point it almost became painful, loud and desperate moans slipping freely from my lips. I had no control. And I adored it.

 Sam and Harry took turns sharing the pleasure they gave me, alternating between providing and watching with carnal gazes. Between the two, they quickly had me melting underneath them, on the verge of begging as Harry’s friends sat either side of me, each wrapping their lips around my nipples, licking and sucking deliciously. Ten hands on me, five mouths. I was a mess, calling on God to explain how one person could deserve this much pleasure.

 My eyelids squeezed shut tight, but the darkness only heightened the sensitivity of my skin, each graze of a finger or swirl of a tongue drawing expletives from my lips. I am not sure how many hands slipped beneath me, keeping me elevated until I felt like the queen of an ancient civilisation, but this new angle was more than enough to push me to my climax. My hips ground violently against whoever’s mouth, hands thrown outwards desperately seeking something to cling on to; some awareness that world still existed, and this was real. My body buzzed, blood fizzing through my veins as I came back down, lowering into the mattress as people pressed soft, sweet kisses to my body.

 My eyes eventually fluttered back open, seeing Sam in between the two people I did not yet know the names of, clearly excited by their presence and keen to get to know them.

 “Well done,” Harry purred into my ear, having placed gentle kisses up the length of my torso.

 At that moment, a look was exchanged between the two of us, our chests occasionally meeting through the heavy rise and fall of our breaths. My eyes flickered to his mouth, his lips and chin slick, covered in me.

 “Hi,” I greeted him, a breathy laugh exchanged between us.

 “Hi,” he replied softly, bringing his hand up to cup my face and press a gentle kiss to my lips.

 The kiss was warm and tender, however, the look that flooded his face when he pulled away was anything but. He looked at me hungrily, watching the way James’ hands gently caressed me as I came down from my orgasm. Sensing the effect seeing my body react to another’s hands was having on Harry, I slipped out from his touch, turning over and sitting up on my knees. I took a second to appreciate the two men beneath me, laying shirtless in almost-matching tailored trousers. Each excited me in different ways. James was muscular, clean-shaven, and seemed to be drawn most to watching others’ pleasure, while Harry was a little leaner, tattooed, and looked ready to pounce in the blink of an eye.

 Meeting James’ eyes, he smirked as I lowered myself to press kisses from his chest to his stomach, hands grazing up his thighs to unbutton his suit trousers. Feeling myself become antsy, I made quick work of ridding him of his clothes and taking him in my hand. It elicited a light gasp from him, clearly having been confined by his boxers for too long. I let my tongue slip across my lips before taking the very tip of him in my mouth, gently moving my hand along the length of his shaft. My gaze flittered upwards to his face, keen to see the parting of his lips as he allowed soft moans to tumble from them. To my surprise, he was watching Harry as much as me, his eyes jumping between the two of us as his hips drove up in search of more. Dropping my gaze, I looked to Harry, noticing the way he looked at me; half-lidded, his irises almost black with lust, observing the way I took James deeper in my mouth. He looked a little jealous. To this day I’m not sure who he envied more.

 “Can I fuck you?” he asked me deeply, swallowing hard while he awaited my response.

 Slipping James from my mouth, I nodded my head, a strong of saliva still connecting me to the man beneath me. Bottom lip tucked tightly between his teeth, Harry let out a mix of a hum and a growl. He pressed a quick kiss to my mouth before reaching behind him to grab a condom from the glass bowl on the nightstand, refusing vehemently to tear his eyes from the sight of James’ cock between my lips.

 Settling himself behind me, I felt his hands sliding across my back, unhooking my bra with one hand while the other roamed the expanse of my back. His fingertips glided down my spine, across the curves of my waist and hips before both hands ghosted over the swell of my ass, grabbing eagerly at the fleshy parts, and delivering a light smack to the right cheek. I could not help but smile around James at him, hearing Harry groan when his actions seemed to speed up my movements.

 I worked James with both hands, tongue swirling messily around his tip. My ears pricked up to the sound of slapping flesh, spotting to my right Sam laying on top of the other woman, lips reconnecting softly as she was fucked from behind. Excited to mirror her slightly, I felt my back arch, hips tilting towards Harry. I could have sworn I heard him chuckle breathily, before leaning over me, one hand moving my hair out of my face as his lips tickled the shell of my ear.

 “You want this?” he whispered, his free hand teasing his cock against my pussy, slipping the head of it between my pussy lips and taking extra time to guide it over my clit.

 I hummed, giving a little nod as my head continued to bob up and down James’ dick, each motion getting sloppier as I salivated at the thought of being filled by the two of them.

 “Sorry, didn’t quite hear that,” his voice was a little louder this time but still husky and deliberate, confidence growing.

 “Yes,” I had gasped, desperately rocking my hips against his for some kind of friction or stimulation; anything he could give me I wanted.

 I could feel him smirk against my skin before he pressed a kiss just behind my ear.

 “Good girl,”

 Before I had a second to drink in how good that sounded coming from him, he pushed himself inside of me. He leant back up, grasping my hips in his hands as he filled me completely. My pussy ached as he withdrew himself, desperate to feel him again. A needy whimper tumbled from my lips.

 Pretty soon I became a mess under him. I melted under his touch. Each thrust of his hips elicited a shocked moan that even James’ cock could not muffle. Every movement had my eyes rolling back and mouth-watering. Harry felt delicious. Every rut of his hips aroused me more and more, the sound of our bodies meeting repeatedly sounding like music to my ears, a sweet, carnal cacophony. From his grunts and groans of my name, and the way his fingers dug deeply into the flesh of my hips, I could tell the feeling was mutual.

 I hoped for bruises. I wanted some reminder of his hands on my body. I needed to know that the moment had been real, and that we had both been consumed with one another.

 A hand cupped the side of my face, bringing me back down to Earth. It was James, looking down at me with a dark gaze as I tried my best to pleasure him. Having Harry behind me really threw off my rhythm, each time our hips met my jaw slackened. His eyelids flickered up to Harry, he smirked, and then came back to me.

 “Too good?” James had asked, a slight teasing lilt in his voice.

 I lifted my head, pulling him out of my mouth but unable to fully shut my mouth as Harry picked up his speed. Meeting James’ line of sight, I nodded with watery eyes. He returned my admission with a gentle smile, removing his hand from my face and slipping it around his cock. He began to pump his hand slowly, his movements lubricated by my handiwork. Our eyes disconnected as he looked behind me and nod his head.

 At this, Harry took full advantage of my newly liberated upper half. One of his hands slipped from my hip around to my chest, using it as leverage to pull my body upright. Immediately, his lips attached themselves to my neck, puckering and sucking at the sensitive flesh. His breath was heavy in my ear, and this new position gave me a chance to appreciate the quieter noises I had missed; the soft pants and whimpers he made when my hips tilted to meet his. The new stance also allowed him to reach deeper inside me, each thrust almost knocking me forward.

 A hand in the centre of my chest was all that held me to him. The other snuck its way from my hip to nestle between my legs. His fingers made soft, gentle strokes around my clit. Tight, deliberate circles contrasted his messy thrusts, teeth nipping at the skin of my shoulder as his hips worked quickly and roughly against me.

 Still sensitive from my previous orgasm, these two sensations drew me close to the brink of a second in record timing. My body ached for him as Harry held me even closer to him, desperate to make me come by his actions. In an act of urgent desire, I grabbed at the hand on my chest, dragging it up to my throat. I heard Harry groan wildly at the action, his head lifting to press his lips against my ear.

 “You tap my hand if its too much,” he said softly but confidently, waiting until I nodded before applying any pressure.

 The pads of his fingertips began to dig into the skin at my neck, slowly controlling the blood-flow to my brain. Gentle choking was all I needed for my moans to become extended, head thrown back against his shoulder as he thrust harshly into me. It was all too much in the most delicious way.

 “Come for me,” he growled, his voice deeper than I had ever heard it, too raspy for me to be able to deny him.

 When his fingers started to move quicker, and sloppier around my clit I was a goner. A hand shot into Harry’s hair behind me, instantly grabbing a fistful as he fucked me through my second orgasm, uttering filthy words of encouragement as my body tensed, then relaxed into him. Removing his hand from my neck, he brought it down to my abdomen, holding me upright as my muscles lost their strength.

 “I want you to come…” I whispered breathlessly, my eyes shut as my head rested on his shoulder.

 “Yeah?” he panted, clearly creeping up to the edge of his own climax.

 “Come inside me,” I had nodded weakly, desperate to know what would happen when he came undone.

 I did not have to ask again. His hips picked up their speed, moans became more concentrated until he stilled inside of me. His body shuddered against mine, lips finding the skin of my neck one more time as he slowly rode out his high.

 A soft giggle left my lips as I titled my head to look at him. When he met my gaze, it was impossible not to press a kiss to his flushed cheeks. He looked so precious; hair an absolute mess and eyes barely open.

 “Hi,” I had greeted for the second time.

 This time he just gave me a soft chuckle, eyebrows furrowing at the sensation of still being inside me as we laughed. He pulled out of me gently, a kiss to my shoulder blade as he did before stepping off the bed to discard the condom.

 It was only at this moment I remembered my surroundings. Instantly, I looked to James, a slight pang of guilt for having left him hanging while Harry fucked me. However, the feeling quickly subsided when I saw Sam straddling him, both of them smirking at me.

 “Not bad for a rookie,” Sam managed to comment before turning back to James and pressing her lips flushed against his.

 “Wanna come get cleaned up?” Harry asked me softly as he returned to the bed. He had taken one of my hands in his and was looking at me with the gentlest gaze I had ever seen on him.

 I nodded and allowed him to lead me to a bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. He was patient with me as I stepped down from the bed, waiting as I adjusted to putting pressure on my weakened legs. Once inside, he locked the door and had me stand with him in the shower, already having grabbed the showerhead. He checked the temperature of the water before running it across my body. The water was just hot enough to melt away the strain in my muscles, continuing the dream-like feeling I was experiencing. I held my hair away from my body to avoid wetting it as Harry covered me, the showerhead in one hand and a soapy washcloth in the other.

 “Can I do you?” I asked softly, still feeling a little fucked out and floaty.

 Harry just smiled fondly at me, nodding his head, and passing over everything he held. Bathing with Harry was not what I had expected to come from this evening, but I could not say I minded as I watched the way his body melted under the hot water. Despite the steam, I could see the grin on his face as I washed him carefully, before nodding happily to myself when I deemed him clean.

 “Not bad for a rookie,” Harry had teased gently, shutting off the water and returning the showerhead.

 Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped me in a soft, pale blue towel, using it to pull my body to him. Our chests grazing, I peered up at him.

 “Was it obvious?” I asked, bottom lip tucked between my teeth as I wondered curiously if I exuded inexperience.

 “Not at all,” he had reassured me, “Kind of wish I knew you weren’t used to all this… Would have gone easy one you,”

 “I don’t want you to,” I quickly responded with a shake of my head.

 “You don’t?” Harry grinned smugly, catching my mistake.

 “Didn’t… Don’t, whatever,” I mumbled, casting my gaze to the ground in embarrassment.

 “Oh, now you’re feeling bashful,” Harry chuckled gently, tilting my face up to meet his gaze with a simple finger under the chin, “I really enjoyed fucking you. We should do it again.”

 “You have my number,” I managed to tease, earning a wry smile from him that made my stomach squeeze excitedly.

 “I was thinking tonight, my place?”

[ouyangzizhensdad]

i've debated with myself so much about madam yu and saw you rt that post defending her and i read it but it still didn't sit right with me, i'm not chinese but i am from one of those taugh love mom cultures and still find her extra bad, i asked a few chinese people who don't stan the book and they were horrified at the defense and said that it was not normal, sure she shows regular ch mom characteristics but she's like the hyperbole of a ch mom so does anyone own the monopoly of wha's normal?

Hi there anon, 

This is only my pov and I cannot speak from the perspectives of Chinese and Chinese diasporic people, nor for the people who wrote on the topic of Yu-furen (I can only speak of how I interpreted the posts I came across).

My understanding of the situation, however, is that they are not attempting to do with these posts what you are suggesting. You ask “does anyone own the monopoly of what’s normal”, which suggests you believe the posts meant to give a definitive answer on what is ‘normal’ behaviour, when in reality the posts seem to have been made with the opposite aim in mind: to remind people who do not share the cultural background of the intended audience of MDZS that there does not exist a single definition of what constitute “normal” behaviour and that fandom discussions dissecting every single action or word of Yu-furen’s toward any character to portray them as “clear signs of abuse” has been difficult to stomach and might even feel imperialistic for people who have been raised by parents who came from a cultural background where some of these very behaviours are not regarded as abusive.  

These posts, in general, have also seemed to attempt first to explain the nuances of Yu-furen’s relationship to WWX, which often gets wrongfully portrayed as her unequivocally being his adoptive mother or a legal guardian. She is not a mother figure to him and does not act toward him from that position. These have also aimed to remind people that the behaviours and care we feel are “owed” to “children” as a group are spatiotemporally specific, and influenced by a variety of factors--in this case, WWX being the child of a servant and a disciple of the sect. By reminding people that, in her position, in that specific spatiotemporal moment, Yu-furen would have been allowed to be much more extreme in her disciplining or could have simply refused to let WWX stay in Lotus Pier, what I feel these posters are doing is not telling Westerners that they personally think it would be appropriate behaviour towards a child, but rather highlighting that this means something wrt how Yu-furen is characterised in the context of the novel considering that the intended audience of the novel would be aware of that reality. Differently put, that it suggests a framing of Yu-furen as someone that does bark more than she bites even if she does bite. And aside from the irrelevant surface-level readings of Yu-furen as a sort of “girlboss” that seem to originate mostly from the CQL-verse in any case, I’ve never seen anyone suggest that she is irreproachable. All the serious analyses I’ve seen acknowledge that Yu-furen is meant to be a complicated figure or acknowledge that she abuses her authority in the sect by giving WWX punishments she does not bestow on other disciples. What they seem to disagree with is the ways western fans make sweeping generalisations and accusations without the relevant context, which comes off to them as insensitive and coming from a place of cultural ignorance.

Maybe it is time for a discussion that humanist thought, that which underlines so much of our modern understanding of rights and social progress, flattens spatiotemporal differences (or, as they often talked about, cultural differences), staying deeply rooted in Western supremacy when it aims to provide a single answer to what is right and what is a right. It can verge very easily into the evangelical and the imperialistic: we have only to look at the influence of the “global” LGBT movement has had on erasing  localised social organisations and identity markers by superposing themselves unto them as more intelligible ideas through which to barter for rights with the political class. Or worst, by having the “global” LGBT movement frame localised expressions of queerness as not progressive enough or harmful (sometimes I think back at Gaudio’s ethnography of queer men in the Hausa-speaking region of northern Nigeria, and how the men who took on the penetrative role in sex  generally switch to self-reference and being referenced in a feminine way and using “women’s talk”, and thinking “wow, they would be so cancelled or condescended to by tumblr kids 😬”). 

The point of this tangent is not to underline that everything about humanism or its influences on modern life are bad, but that it is an intellectual “tool” that can be do harm and be imperialistic and racist (since it is generally the White, Christian-adjacent, Western standards that are posited as the moral truth that defies differences in cultures and material contexts). And most of the discussions of what “adults” owe to “children” (ideas that are generally treated as homogeneous and clear-cut across time and space, as apriori categories), of what rights are owed to children, exist within these frameworks. Or, they might exist within the framework of “science,” as if science itself cannot be influenced by Western imperialism and researchers’ biases. Reading western language acquisition research and comparing it with cross-cultural ethnographic sociolinguistic research on language acquisition really highlights how some of the science that informs “good parenting” in the West is incapable of realising how much the material and cultural context of the West influences the results that are supposedly controlled. 

Or, again, the idea that science can help us define clearly and once and for all where the line between shitty actions and abuse, or discipline and abuse, should be drawn, is to me one that cannot be dissociated from a belief that science can provide us with definite truths about our existence as social animals as if these sort of truths were not inherently positioned and negotiated. It is an uncomfortable idea, isn’t it, to realise that two people can be against abuse but at the same time not draw the line at the same place? How do we best grapple with the discovery that “abuse” is not an apriori category but rather one that is constructed according to varying forms of positioned and shifting knowledge and experience? I do not have an answer, but I certainly think that fandom arguments will probably not be the best place for that level of philosophical discussions. 

To conclude, anon, I do want to acknowledge that your ask seems to come from a place of concern and perhaps even hurt. And that is perhaps why the posts from Chinese diasporic people in the fandom might appear to you as dismissive or flippant towards the interpretations of other fans of the novel. But perhaps without this prism of concern and/or hurt through which your perception of these analyses are filtered, you might have been able to notice a lot more nuance to their points than what your ask suggests. And that is not a criticism per se, but simply a reminder that, sometimes, some topics are difficult for us to approach clear-headed and to receive differing perspectives in good faith. In any case, I am certainly not the arbiter whose opinion on the topic will finally settle these debates, as such you might want in the future prefer to direct your questions (politely of course) to people who penned such analyses or who can speak from the relevant cultural perspective. If your aim in sending me this ask (because I reblogged a post you disagreed with) was to judge whether I passed your litmus test for being “morally just” to decide whether anything I have to say on any other topic is still worth paying attention to, well I suppose you now have your answer. 

[angeli-marco-writes]

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.