#group accommodation packages

[teamtripsnz]

Team Trips New Zealand Flyer

Information flyer for Team Trips Zealand Group Travel Packages.

[shimlainternationaltravel]

[muntitled]

Campus Culture | L.DH

Pairings: Himbo!Haechan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Haechan turns into a completely loveable but mindless replica of himself when inebriated and only Drunk Haechan might be able to seduce his uptight roomate... it only counts as a drunken mistake if it happens once, right?

Sfw Warnings: Roomates AU, Fwb to Lovers, Forbbidden Relationship, Confessions, Fluff, Alcohol consumption, Angst, CollegeAU, Himbo!Haechan

Nsfw Warnings: Smut (+18, Minors DNI) Fwb to lovers Roomate!Haechan, Perv! Haechan, Dub/CON, Grinding, Choking, Premature Ejaculation, Handjob, Needy!Haechan, Rough sex, Oral Fixation, Nipple play, Unprotected Sex (don't be dumb), Cervix Fucking, Breeding Kink, Cum Play.

A/n: This is more of an enemies to lovers if you squint. If you feel triggered by very slight depictions of bullying, please be wary. I also had no idea where I was going with this. It all just kinda spewed out. ANYWAY, I love Himbos

Usually, you're better equipped for an evening with Haechan's juvenile friends coming over and doing whatever it is that boy's seem to do once they're inebriated in each other's company.

"The bear emerges from hibernation,"

Haechan's voice is like that of a nature documentary narrator, and his head is in his hands as he leans over the armrest with a smile on his face.

“Rested, and in search of something to sink her teeth into.” You remain stoic faced as you breeze past the group of boys on your way to the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

With only a shallow counter to separate the two spaces, you're still roused by the sight of Haechan in your periphery, legs spread and head thrown back as he watches you with a dopey smile.

Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun and Jisung murmur their greetings dismissively, still vividly engrossed in their game while Chenle types away at the screen of his phone, his mind all together trapped in cyberspace. You breathe out airly as a vague sort of peace befalls you. This has become your norm.

They are so incredibly loud, Haechan's friend's are, that their cacophony bled through every thin wall in your shared apartment. So loud, in fact, that you were made privy to every degenerate, delinquent, and downright disgusting little detail that swam about in their conversation.

Whenever they were over, there was a vibrancy permeating throughout the apartment, which was either attributed to Haechan's need to speak at a higher octave than the rest of the group or Chenle’s obnoxious, though admittedly contagious laughter.

Not everything was daisies and sunshine, however.

You were made subject to Haechan's incessant teasing and petulance that only seemed to double in the presence of his friends. You ignored him, viewing his behavior as a package of a roommate system (more accurately: needing his money to keep yourself and your academic pursuits afloat.)

Even more harrowing is the fact that Haechan is completely accommodating, dare you say, even hospitable (when he's sober). It was very difficult to hate him. No matter how badly you wished to let your vexation infect the inner crevices of your mind... he always made sure to let you know in advance.

He'd knock softly on the door (a by-product of a covenant you both had forged upon deciding to live together. Knocking is something akin to treading carefully through a graveyard. Sacred) letting his usually loud voice simmer to a whisper because he almost always caught you studying at your tiny, disastrous desk and he'd say, "Hey, just a heads up, they're coming over tonight,"

You did not need clarification on the ambiguity of who 'they' were but your heart would plummet all the same.

His warning would allow you, not only to stuff your headphones around your neck, for easier access whenever the noise became too oppressive, but it also allowed you to grab the snacks and food necessary before locking yourself in your room.

Not attributed to any social anxiety, but Haechan's friends had proven to be... difficult to bear in their own ways. There was Chenle, Renjun, and Mark, who held a sort of distinguished naughtiness that you fancied way more than Jeno, Jaemin, Jisung, and Haechan's borderline flirting.

It had proven very difficult not to be included in their antics, especially given the very annoying fact that their energy was so freaking infectious.

As you proceed to turn on the kettle, Haechan speaks up once again. “Since you're already there… a coke, please, Madame.” He knew that you knew that he did not actually want a coke. He just wanted to see you vexed.

“Your legs are in perfect working condition, last I checked," your face remained stoic as you said, “Get your own coke.”

Jaemin immediately cackles to Haechan's right, prompting a light snicker from Chenle and the rest. Haechan sends a worried gaze towards them before bringing his eyes back to yours. Now he's on a mission to piss you off even more.

“C’mon...” he whines in an over indulgent American accent. “Be a doll and hand me a coke-I mean a beer." He stretches his neck from side to side, now deep into his theatrics, "I'm a man-”

The knife clanks on the counter as you scoff, “Since when?" You ask, "And what is with this ‘I'm a man’ stuff?”

Haechan only swats animetedly at the air, “It's cus I'm a man, Jagi. You don't get it cus you're not a ma-”

“Yeah,” you say, turning to prepare your noodles, “I don't wanna know actually.”

There's a sudden influx of celebratory hollering from Jaemin and Jeno, while Renjun and Jisung groan in defeat, signaling the end of their game.

Jaemin turns to you as he says “You seriously don't remember?”

You let the silence speak for you.

“He’s been like this ever since the asexual comment.”

The laughter escapes your throat as you shift your eyes to a now moody and grumbling Haechan. His arms are crossed as he avoids eye contact.

“Seriously?! That's why you've been on such a toxic gym bro kick?”

The flamboyant accent is still present as Haechan says, “Hey man, if you're not gonna get me a coke, just say that, I've got places to be people to see-”

The snort leaves your lips before you can stop it, “You've got a psych textbook to see and you're not even seeing that.”

“Stop with the celibacy jokes before he becomes worse!” begs Renjun.

Your mouth is open in false accusation, with the hints of a smile present, “It's quite literally not my fault Haechan's a virgin.”

“I'm not a virgin!” Haechan whines, letting his previously infuriating accent dissolve into his perfectly infuriating normal voice. “I have sex, all the time, tell her Jaemin. Tell her I have sex.” Your eye shifts easily to Jaemin, who only shakes his head.

“Ah, I told my therapist I'm trying to be more honest in my day to day,"

Now your laughter bubbles up to the ceiling, and you're throwing your head back, eyes shut.

“You all make me wanna kill myself.” Says Haechan, pushing himself up from the couch. The sight of him approaching sobers you ineffably from your laughter. He's not particularly tall, but there's a quality about him that asserts itself as height. A silent substitute.

“I’m being falsely accused of being a virgin, I have to get my own cokes?! What is this life of mine?!" A snicker escaped the confines of your lips as you empty your noodles into your bowl. Your albeit small little laugh was a sound so pretty, Haechan could not help but perk his ears up at the sound.

He inched his way slowly into the kitchen as you took one giant unladylike bite from your noodles. Unbeknownst to you, Haechan shares a glance with Chenle over in the living room. One that prompts Chenle into stabbing Renjun in the ribs with his elbow. They were all watching as you tried to shuffle past Haechan.

Haechan, who wouldn't let you pass until heard him say,

"Not a virgin." The words were veneered in a quiet whisper and in those few seconds, you were convinced the globe had stopped spinning on its imaginary axis. You became hyperaware of yourself, the noodles still very much inside your mouth and the soup dribbling out the corners. You clumsily wipe at your lip as you gaze up at him, smiling away like the Cheshire Cat.

While your heart proceeded its cataclysmic aself destruction, Chenle released the first snort. A snort that prompted an entire wave of laughter from his gaggle of friends. They were all laughing now. Haechan's face melted into a spout of his own laughter until he was doubled over.

"Mm," your nostiled flared , "I'll be in my room," You had disappeared in a hurry, hellbent on returning to your room. Hellbent on calming your runaway heart.

While you were nursing wave after wave of embarrassment, Haechan's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Don't even try," Jaemin snickered, noticing that look in Haechan's eye as he stared after you. "She's locked up tighter than a prison. You'll only get your wittle heart broken."

Your eyes were practically glued on the endless enriching notes written by Achebe, Lamming, and various other authors you revered religiously. Your studying had been going swimmingly until the arrival of a drunk, slightly dazed Haechan, indicated by the heaviness of his bloodshot eyes and the slight sway in his form by the door. Haechan was a very different person when he was drunk. He got sloppy, as if he was at constant war with reality.

The following Friday had arrived with the small promise that you were to stay in your room for the foreseeable evening. You had chosen to occupy yourself from Haechan's 'get together' by sitting at your desk, like most of your nights: Completely absorbed in perfecting your English Lit notes on Post colonialism.

You both pause, in a vague liminal space until he breaks the silence with a breathy slight slur, “Well, this isn't the bathroom,”

He lived here. He should know where the bathroom is, inebriated or not.

Your eyes narrow. You can't help but snap in a manner that makes you forget all your civility.

“Evidently,” you say with an unimpressed drawl.

There is a tone in your voice that was specifically crafted to have him cringing away from you, like most men on campus tended to do. You were too much of a straight arrow for them, too narrow-minded with not enough complexities and not enough strings that needed detangling. Most men saw that you could smell the bullshit from a mile away, and you were very much aware of what they referred to you as…

Instead of shrinking away like you initially expected, a small, almost thrilled smile curls at the ends of his purt, heart-shaped lips. He only steps closer into your space.

Uptight.

“Don't you need the bathroom-”

“No, don't do that,” You're scowling at him but still, the bear refuses to retreat.

Your messy desk where you remain seated in a chair seems to catch his attention until soon, he's leaning back against the desk in front of you.

“You don't want me here?” He asked, genuinely confused as if everyone was just dying to be in his presence, “I'm not sure what you're busy with over here, but I could help,” He says, swiping a large hand over at the piles of notes scattered on the desk.

“I shouldn't have to tell you not to invade my personal space, Haechan. If this is some stupid dare-"

“I'm going to fucking kill you when you're sober-”

“Only strangers can invade each other's space, Jagiya," he whispers, snortingbas if you were the one acting silly here. “We're not strangers. I'm your dumb virgin roomate, right?"

Your eyes widen imperceptibly as you push yourself up from your chair.

“I'm not even that drunk.” He deadpans. It's as if this boy is unable to mask whatever emotion that seems to pass through him at that very moment.

“Are all these notes yours?” He asks, picking up one of your discarded notes. You strive to grab at the flimsy pieces of notepad paper in his hands, but he swipes it swiftly out of reach every time.

“I just wanted to check on you.” He beams as he pushes himself further along your desk.

“Haechan, you're messing up my system-”

“You must be really smart,” he whispers, and you immediately chastise yourself for letting his words erupt a sudden electrical storm through your once steady heartbeat. “Your handwriting is so pretty too… woah,” he admires before you see his eyes quickly peek about from the paper, “I really like smart girls,”

You find your voice, hidden somewhere in the depths of being flustered. He interrupts you, all the same, “It's okay to say you're smart… I think that's really, like, hot-”

It's impossible to account for the events that followed in a somewhat episodic format because nothing like it had ever happened to you before.

One moment, Haechan is gazing down at you like he wants to eat you and the next, his hand is wrapped around your throat, pulling you up from your chair until your lips are crashing onto his… You had not perceived just how touched starved you were, until you found your inhibitions melting, and you were kissing him back just as fiercely. He was impatient and sloppy, pushing his tongue in too quickly while his hand marked up every inch of your body. “Pretty,” he mumbled in between wet kisses, “You so pretty… y'just feel so pretty.” Once Haechan's lust was involved, the rest of his brain, it seemed, shut down like the finishing hours of a toy factory. He was switching your positions, pushing you onto the desk as he trailed kisses down your neck.

“Your friends,” you murmured before throwing your head back, offering him better access, “We can't.”

“We can,” he nodded, while pushing himself in between your legs, “We can because I want to,” He punctuated his sentence by thrusting his sweatpants-clad hips right against your core. He seemed to have quickly caught a liking to this form of intimacy because soon, Haechan is breaking apart fromcthe kiss to gaze down at his hips pushing against your core.

His breath is peppered with a soft and dazed, “Woah…”

He nodded very slowly, “I like this very much.” Haechan said with grave finality, which evidently was the calm before the storm. You locked your hand around your mouth as Haechan sank his fingers into the sides of your hips, grinding his bulge against your core like there was nothing else that mattered. He brought your hips to meet each of his stuttering but hard thrusts and your head fell back in the stuttering… constant… impact.

“See?” He says, “See how good it feels?” he mumbles incoherently, now in a violent pursuit of his own orgasm. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, feeling his cock twitching in his sweats. A feeling that usually let him know the end was near. He quickly clamped his hands on the underside of your ass before lifting you slightly off the desk, just enough to move impossibly closer between your legs.

He hugged you, wanting to feel your soft tits pushing up against him as he was grinding you both to a quick orgasm.

“You're close aren't you?” His voice cracks when he says, “Please be close, because I'm so fucking close-”

But all you're able to do is fight to keep your eyes open as you watch the slightly cracked open door. “H-Haechan-”

“Look at me, Cupcake,” he practically whined before forcefully bringing your eyes back to him with a flick of your chin.

The eye contact sent him down a rampage of lust and his hips stuttered as his mouth hung open,“F-Fuck, just like that- you're so good-” he lifted his baggy shirt, to watch himself thrust one more time before his rhythm crumbled and his hips stuttered as he came in his sweats.

You did not have the energy to tell him you didn't cum, only sprouting a brand new vexation as he swayed his way in search of the bathroom.

That had been your first and last devious encounter, before you avoided him like the plague. It had not taken much, because Haechan was vastly more sensible when he was sober. Emerging from his room like a bear out of his den and rubbing his messy head of black hair as he grumbled, “Did I do something weird last night? Or stupid?” He groans, “I have this feeling that I did something extra stupid and weird last night.” Although your heart plummeted minutely, you saw this as a lifeline and you took it.

“You were drunk, Haechan, so you probably most certainly did.”

You allowed yourself to live in the peace of sober Haechan until things once again only got dangerous on Friday nights, when his enablers would all congregate in the living room, tossing back cans of beer.

Your quick trip to the bathroom had ended with Haechan looming in the doorway, once again. With a near constant pout he exclaimed, “I missed you!”

“You see me everyday,” you grumbled before making your way to the sink to wash your hands. There was a bubbling in your stomach, that you would only dissect later. Whether it was excitement or frustration at seeing him this way.

“Still missed you-”

“I think you missed my body,” you said, before drying your hands, “Not me.”

“Both. I missed both,” he says, before beaming the sunniest, brightest smile you had ever seen on a face. You had to look away as you stepped towards him, for your sanity.

“Please move, Hyuck-”

“I wanna play,” he says, “We had so much fun the last time,”

“You fucking seduced me the last time and I fell for it like an idiot." You sighed deeply, "I studied myself to exhaustion. Im such a fucking idiot.”

He looks deep into your eyes as he very seriously says, “Don't say that-”

“What do you like about me? I mean what could you actually like and appreciate about me-” For all of 5 seconds the boy is trapped in a worrying daze. As the seconds tick on, your blood pressure rises and you're pushing roughly at his chest, which once again proves to be futile. “Fucking move, Haechan. I'm not doing this with you.”

His whines soar higher, “But why?! I didn't even really get to see your boobs, please let me see your boobs?” you stop his hand on its way to cup your breasts in mid air. He slumps

“You make me wanna kill myself.” He grumbles before stomping away to rejoin his friends. As Haechan sat down he breathed out heavily before whining, kicking and punching at the air. His friends, seeing nothing new with his tantrum, did not entertain it as they played their games.

Haechan just couldn't understand. He wanted you and, based on everything that transpired, you wanted him. So why not just let it happen?

You were making things too complicated and complicated is not something he enjoyed very much.

Haechan did not grasp onto much but you make it exceptionally clear that you did not want the interaction to be made public knowledge, and he, surprisingly obeyed your wishes. Your only enemy, it seems, were these hangouts Haechan scheduled with his friends. You liked to avoid unnecessary juvenile squabbling when necessary. You had to study instead, until you built the proper revenue to buy an apartment of your own, free from Haechan's provocation.

But you had fallen asleep.

The dusk bleeding into darkness until you were peeling your face off of your Classical lit textbook and nursing a grumbling stomach...

Your ears perked and your stomach sank as you heard boyish laughter bleed in through the cracks of the doorway. They had already arrived and you had zero rations to combat this venomous hunger.

It was guaranteed to be a short and curt journey past the small apartment living room, into the kitchen. A journey whereby you would pray you evade the group of boys invading your shared living room. Or at least one boy in particular...

Had Haechan been a non factor, your anxieties would have been perfectly nullified, but tin the wake of a troublesome post-study hunger, you had no other choice but to venture out into the living room.

You had hope your trip would be a curt one, entertaining not a single, word, jab, or comment as you were on your way to fly to the kitchen. Your feet stopped you before you could make it. Arrested in stark realisation that there is no noise at all. You round the short corner to find Haechan seated patiently on his couch with his hoodie up, tapping away at a mobile game while humming angelically. You immediately noted that he was sober and that set your mild frustrations at ease.

“Oh, hey,” you murmured, before swaying over to the adjoining Kitchen, separated only by a shallow counter. As you stare down at your yoghurt, you miss the way in which Haechan's face snaps up at tye sound of your voice. His feet fly off the coffee table and he rights himself infinitesimally.

“You guys aren't hanging out today?”

“There's a party somewhere on campus,” he switches his phone off and stuffs it into the pocket of his goodies as he shrugs, “Didn't feel like going.”

You walk back into the living room, and Haechan watches as you nod silently before planting yourself on the couch next to him. He's very perceptive and plants a couch cushion behind your back in the process. You realise then that you much preferred him this way.

“I'm having a hard time guaging the fact that you didn't wanna get drunk,” although a short chuckle escapes your lips, Haechan is not laughing. “I don't always think about getting drunk, you know.” The smile disappears from your face automatically as you bring a spoon of yoghurt to your lips.

“Of course… sorry-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Haechan watches your tongue lightly poke out and nip at the yoghurt before lazily bringing his eyes back to you. “If anything, I should be sorry.” An immediate wave of discomfort washed over you when the words left his mouth. So he was aware.

“Drunk Haechan sucks,” he says, “You don't have to make excuses for him.” You're caught in a wave of silence, your yoghourt forgotten on your lap. He wants to pull back but he has your attention now and it's fueling him with all the confidence he needs before he's scooting closer on the couch, until your thigh is directly against his.

“Earlier in the week you asked me what I like about you-”

“Haechan, you don't have to-”

The discomfort bled into embarrassment now and you fought to get up but he placed his hand on yours.

“I don't remember what I said,'' his lips pout lightly as his eyebrows furrow, “I don't know if I said anything at all. I just… want you to know that I wasn't quiet because nothing came to mind. I was speechless because it was like trying to list the stars. Tiring and fucking endless.” He breathed out, before looking away abashedly, “You're a good cook,” he says, “you always make us something to eat for Friday nights. You're so driven, in a way that is equal parts obsessive but also really fucking hot.” Your mouth parts slightly and Haechan's eyes once again lazily drops down to watch them. His voice is airy and loght as he says, “Fuck, and you're so pretty and smart.” He's speaking purely from a place of lust and admiration, which only has you melting further. You much preferred this Haechan.

“You make me feel safe because I know you always have the answers…” You let his words hang stagnant in the air for a while, letting yourself marinate in the pleasure of it, while his own thumb rubs circles around the back of your hand.

“I mean…” The Insecurities were steadily sinking in because by the laws of campus culture, you both were not supposed to be together. Your names were met with different responses and different emotions attached to them. You'd hate his popularity to diminish because of you. Instead of spewing out these words, you only whispered, “Are you sure? I mean, think of what people-”

In a series of swift movements, Haechan's hand cradling your own had gripped down tighter before dragging your hand until it was flush against his bulge. He releases a heavy breath as his eyes fall momentarily shut. Gritting his teeth together as he throws his head back in momentary euphoria as if he had been waiting to do this.

He brushes your hand up and down as he says, “Don't you dare ask me if I'm sure.” He says, unable to stop himself rutting against your hand. A wave of confidence soon falls until you're taking control and crawling your hand up to the waistband of his sweats. He whines in anticipation as you stuff your hand inside until you are cupping his underwear-clad bulge in your open palm. Haechan's eyes are heavy when he swings his head lazily to you, watching you watch his hips lift to graze himself against your hand.

“I need you,” he whispers, before raising a hand, immediately cupping your breasts, “I need you so fucking bad.” He can feel the presume wet the tight constraints of his boxers and he locks his jaw tighter. “I wanna fuck you, Cupcake,” your stomach warms at the reiterating of the nickname he had given you when he was drunk and equally ravenous, “Please let me,” He juts his hips up with every whine that escapes his throat, “Please-”

“I need you too-” before the words even leave your mouth he's lunging at you in a wild kiss. “Fuck, your lips are so soft,” he mumbles before forcing his his thumb into your mouth and watching with heavy eyelids as he lowers you onto the couch. Your jaw goes limp as Haechan, seemingly entranced with swiping his thumb along your wet tongue.

“So warm,” he murmurs as he hovers above you. Haechan lowers himself between your open legs, “Your mouth I'd so fucking pretty, so fucking warm-”

He sounded exactly like he sounded when he was drunk. Sloppy, incoherent and not making much sense. But you could not discount the pool of wetness that glistened your underwear as Haechan continued to play with your tongue.

“Fuck-” He whispers, watching the saliva coat his finger as he unconsciously thrusts his bulge once again into your core. He seems too realise that he hadn't, in fact, pulled his cock out and he curses lightly before hurriedly moving to do just that.

“Your boobs-” He whispers as he pulls his aching cock out, “Please let me see-”

Before the words even leave his mouth you're pulling your shorts and top off swiftly. Haechan immediately doubles over, thrusting into the air once before he's fisting the base of his cock, as if he was on the cusp of cumming.

“F-Fuck, I think I need to fuck you now-” He said, already sinking deep into you. Your moans fight valiantly to drown out his perpetual whines before he buries his face in between your neck and shoulders. He's breathing heavily as he begins to fuck steadily up into you, releasing little melodic ‘hah, hah, hah's as he peels back to look down at you with heavy pussy-drunk eyes.

“Fuck it feels so good, Haechan,” he thrusts harder at that before lowering his lips to your nipple and sucking without ever breaking eye contact. The stimulation from your nipple and the head of his cock bumping into your cervix has your mind spinning with euphoria. You haven't even cum yet but this feels like you're trapped in that same state of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby you're so tight around my cock,’ his breath blows down against your wet nipple and you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. “If you carry on like this you're gonna make me spill inside you,” you throw your head back, mouth parting even wider as a chorus of moans leave your throat after his sentence.

“F-Fuck you want that? You want me to cum inside you?”

You cannot speak, completely fargone at this point but your cunt still clenching around him is all the answer he needs before he's ramming into you with urgency. “Fuck, you,make me feel so good Cupcake-” He's once again pressing his fingers into your mouth, as of needing to feel the warm wetness just to get off.

He's looking down at you as of you hung the moon, “F-Fuck I'm cumming-” He fights to keep his eyes open and watch you whine around his fingers as your own orgasm crashes in violent succession. You're both fighting to press your hips together, he's fighting to stay inside as an endless string of cum flights to push him out. You're both breathing heavily, both staring into each other's eyes as Haechan pulls his middle and index finger out of your mouth. You're absolutely speechless as he cleans his fingers with his own mouth, all without breaking eye contact.

“I… can't believe I came like that-” You say, eyes caught in a daze.

“Shit- I was supposed to rub your clit, wasn't I?” He's already slipping out of you and craning open your legs.

“N-No, Haechan I came, I promise I came. Fuck-” He's rubbing small circles against your puffy clit, using his cum as lube. “You have no idea how badly I needed you cumminh around my cock like that,” he says before spraying a gentle kiss against your knee. He's playing with your cunt, not to bring you to orgasm, you realise, but unconsciously. “We're boyfriend and girlfriend now, right?”

You snicker lightly before nodding with finality. Thus, as the beginning of a new but interesting dynamic, in which you drove Haechan to study more while he, in the same breath, got you to open up more. He dropped your inhibitions and coaxed you out of your comfort zone…

[mariacallous]

Recently, Planned Parenthood released a statement on the Oct. 7th attacks and the broader conflict between Israel and Palestine. Their statement condemned Hamas’s attacks on civilians, and specifically condemned sexual assaults committed against Israeli women during the violence. They also noted how thousands of Palestinian women and children had been killed in Israel’s counteroffensive, stated the need for Palestinian women to maintain access to reproductive and maternal healthcare, and condemned both anti-Semitism and Islamophobia.

The social media reaction to such a balanced and empathetic statement? Furious, unrelenting anger.

The statement was quote-tweeted thousands of times by social media users outraged by the statement. Planned Parenthood was accused of spreading Israeli propaganda, ignoring Palestinian deaths and fabricating rape claims, and enabling genocide. These outraged users aren’t conservatives who always oppose Planned Parenthood—they’re progressives furious that an organization they normally support put out a statement they hated. Now there are calls to end donations and Planned Parenthood staffers are fighting with donors. Their own employees, affiliates and organizers are making public statements against them.

This outcome was predictable to anyone with even a cursory knowledge of social media dynamics. And it raises an obvious question—why release a statement at all?

Metastatic social justice

It’s actually quite common for organizations and activists to get into hot water these days by addressing areas outside their expertise. Trans activists in Vancouver loudly insisted there can be no Trans Liberation without Palestinian Liberation, which caused pushback all over Canada. Two years ago, New York City’s Pride organizations courted controversy by excluding LGBT police officers from the city’s Pride parade in the name of racial justice. There are YIMBY housing organizations taking a stand on abortion rights and climate organizations demanding a Federal Job Guarantee.

There’s a common theme here. Organizations that appear to be single-issue advocacy groups are increasingly commenting and taking stances on issues outside of their narrow focus. Activism is becoming more global in nature—if you are an activist for one cause, you’re expected to speak up about all causes now. It’s not enough to ‘stay in your lane’, you need to be protesting and advocating for all forms of social justice. Pro-choice advocacy is now part of your racial justice non-profit. Jobs packages are in your environmental bills. Your LGBT organization has a stance on ‘Defund The Police’ and your housing group has a stance on Israel/Palestine. Social justice is metastasizing.

This phenomenon has happened on the right as well—see the NRA transitioning from being a somewhat non-partisan group to essentially being an arm of the GOP—but it’s especially striking in the current progressive movement. There’s a real sense in which NYC Pride is no longer an LGBT advocacy organization, but rather an overall progressive social justice organization. That may sound like an exaggeration, but they kicked out a gay organization (the Gay Officers Action League) to accommodate another form of social justice. It’s the internal logic behind a LGBT Pride march excluding LGBT people.

This also explains the online fury at Planned Parenthood. Their statement was thoughtful and balanced, but deviated from the dominant and overwhelmingly pro-Palestinian progressive narrative. Their donors expect them to advocate not just for progressive goals in women’s health, but progressive goals everywhere.

This type of activist mission creep risks stunting the progress on the core issues that social justice advocates care about.

The downsides of missions creep

The urge towards mission creep comes from a reasonable place. If you care so deeply that you spend your free time (or your career!) as an activist for a particular issue, the odds are that you also have strong feelings on many other issues. You’re also likely to live in a bubble of activists and people who think like you, and so your conversations professionally and socially may often center around all sorts of political issues. But as an activist it’s important to remember that most people you’re trying to reach are not like you and don’t think like you.

The typical voter is over 50 and does not have a college degree. They also don’t think about politics all that much. They are far, far away from the mindset of a typical activist. And when they do have political opinions, those opinions are far more varied and haphazard than a committed political partisan would guess. I think a few minutes scrolling the twitter feed of the American Voter Bot is invaluable to understand how voters think. This bot takes real voters and profiles them in brief tweets. While some look as expected—a Democrat who supports gun control, for instance—many look like this:

Most people are a confusing mix of demographic signals, issue positions and partisan identification, and they rarely fit squarely within one political tribe. That’s the danger of turning a single-issue advocacy group into a generalized progressive messaging group—you’ll end up alienating a far wider group of potential allies than you realize.

If Issue Group X declares loud progressive positions not just on Issue X but also on gun control, abortion, Palestine, Medicare For All, trans rights, free trade and school prayer, they won’t attract a large diverse group of people who care about Issue X. They’ll end up attracting a narrow slice of progressive activists who are ideologically pristine enough to agree with them on every issue.

The ultimate result of activist mission creep is that your issue ceases to be something that people across the ideological spectrum can work together on. It becomes coded as a red tribe vs blue tribe issue, gets swallowed by the general culture war, and progress grinds to a halt as partisan warfare starts.

The most likely outcome of Planned Parenthood voicing an opinion on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict is not that they make any difference at all towards that conflict. It’s that they alienate their own supporters with differing views on Israel/Palestine. They’ve undercut their own ability to make progress on reproductive care and reproductive rights for no gain.

One thing at a time

None of this is to say that individuals shouldn’t care about many issues at once—they obviously should. And general purpose ideological organizations can and should tackle many policy areas. But it’s a poor strategy for single-issue groups to try to become general purpose organizations. There are real benefits to staying in your lane.

One example of a movement that has done a reasonable job at this is the pro-housing YIMBY movement. While there are some instances of YIMBY groups straying from their purpose, for the most part they’ve done a good job staying narrowly focused, and that that focus has allowed them great success.

YIMBYism is a far more ideologically diverse movement than many people realize. There are conservative YIMBYs, neoliberal YIMBYs, Democratic YIMBYs, libertarian YIMBYs, and many left or socialist YIMBYs (although in true socialist tradition, some want to break away from the YIMBY label and create a sub-label PHIMBY). This isn’t just a feel good story about how conservatives and liberals can be friends—this has a real impact on YIMBYs getting things done. It’s part of why you see both Republican and Democratic officials at the local level working towards YIMBY solutions in different cities, and why those solutions can often pass without bitter partisan warfare. It’s why the YIMBY Act in Congress had Republican and Democratic co-sponsors. It’s why YIMBYs are scoring victories in blue states like California and red states like Montana.

This sort of thing matters. YIMBYs are a big tent and they’re getting things done. It’s hard enough to make real change happen on a single policy or a single issue. Whole movements try for years and still sometimes fail. Single-issue groups trying to address every issue at once aren’t going to succeed. The urge towards mission creep is strong, and too many groups are weakening their core strengths to address problems they can’t solve. Single-issue organizations shouldn’t burden themselves with having the answer to every question, with having a stance on every issue, and with having to be all things to all people. It’s ok not to comment. It’s ok to stay in your lane and just work on one problem. It’s ok to try to change the world just one issue at a time.

[ckret2]

Chapter 25 of human Bill is the Mystery Shack's prisoner and somehow befriended Mabel: in which Bill and Mabel make friendship bracelets. It's heartwarming. Bill is not, I repeat, not secretly up to anything nefarious.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the chapter, Bill is secretly up to something nefarious.

####

"I'll be back in exactly one hour," Ford said. "Be finished showering by then. You've got everything you need, as well as..." He looked disdainfully at a baggie of shampoo and conditioner sample bottles, "your gift from the Northwests."

Bill eyed the Northwests' little care package skeptically. Four entire separate products that were supposed to be used all in one shower. He was drowning in mammal-cleaning slimes. What a waste of his time. "You don't expect me to use allthis junk, do you?"

"Frankly, as long as you aren't bald and don't smell like gnome urine in an hour, I don't care what happens between now and then."

"You're the most merciful warden I've ever had, Stanford."

Ford wasn't sure if that was supposed to be sarcasm or an awkward glimpse into Bill's sordid history, so he just shut the bathroom door. "One hour."

"One hour!" Bill waited until he couldn't hear Ford's footsteps; and then he turned on the shower, fished a crushed cider can and eight candles out of his hoodie, and stood on the wooden crate by the window.

Over the last few days, he'd spent every spare private moment using toothpaste and toilet paper to polish the bottom of the can into a perfect, shining, concave mirror. Now, he held it up to the window with one of the candles, using the mirror to focus the sun into a point on the wick of the candle... and...

It took a couple minutes of agonizing patience, but finally the wick smoked and then ignited. Yes. Moving carefully so he wouldn't douse the flame, he used the burning candle to melt the bottoms of the other candles just enough to stick them to the floor, lit them in turn, and in the middle Bill quickly made a (frankly terrible) drawing of Kryptos by finger painting with a tube of toothpaste.

And then he knelt in front of the candle circle, and—quietly enough that the shower covered the sound—he started chanting.

Some humans called Bill a dream demon. It wasn't exactly wrong, even if calling him a dream demon was kind of like naming the entire human race "the mountain bikers."

Which was to say, if Bill was a "dream demon," then so were the rest of his people. The other surviving shapes could cast themselves like shadows onto the walls and floors of other dimensions, slip through the cracks in reality that were too thin to accommodate the depths of three-dimensional creatures, and wander through the higher dimensions' mindscapes.

It was just that it was only one of their many side hobbies rather than their main pursuit as a species—and not a particularly popular hobby, at that. Most shapes weren't into taking safaris through aliens' dreams.

Out of the shapes Bill still hung out with, Hectorgon wouldn't do it; he appreciated why Bill went on his psychic excursions for the everyone's benefit, but skulking in a higher plane's second dimension made Hectorgon feel voyeuristic—and he'd only gotten more uncomfortable with the idea since his three-dimensional makeover. Bill could wheedle a majority of Amorphous Shape into a sightseeing trip once a millennium or so, but they were just a passive tour group who would be lost without Bill as their tour guide. Kryptos alone had taken enough of an interest in alien mindscapes to make the leap from "occasional tourist" to "frequent traveler." He was the only one other than Bill who spent enough time on Earth to network with the locals; and he was the only one other than Bill who had bothered to set up a summoning ritual, in case an earthbound buddy wanted to ring him up for a party.

Kryptos's party line was going to be Bill's salvation.

Which was a shame, because Bill just knew Kryptos would be annoying about this for the next million years. He'd worry about finding a way to bully Krypt into not lording it over him after he was safely back home in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion.

But when Bill called, nothing happened.

That wasn't right. Nothing wasn't supposed to happen. Even if Krypt didn't pick up, Bill should feel the spell working. The sound of the shower should pause. The air should go still and cool. Everything should be gray.

Bill opened his eyes. Nothing was gray. He checked each candle to make sure they were all lit, checked his drawing to make sure it looked right—it wasn't exactly flattering, but the lines were straight and the angles were correct, and anyway it was recognizable enough to work for the summoning. He remembered the words, he knew he remembered the words.

Try again. He shut his eyes. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas, veritas. Te invoco, te invito." And then, not because it was necessary but because he was getting mad, he tacked on, "Responde mihi, quadrum defututum! Culum tuum calcitrabo!"

Nothing. The world went on un-paused. Bill remained awake. He opened his eyes to the vibrant, colorful, tragically real world around him.

It didn't make sense. Even without his powers, he should be able to reach Kryptos. Any human could do this ritual, and Bill knew a whole lot more than any human. Either Kryptos was dead (unlikely; but without Bill there...), or something was blocking Bill. The block could be inside him—maybe the Axolotl was sealing off even this paltry little magic—or outside, some sort of shield blocking the mindscape. But whatever the source, the result was the same:

He couldn't get a call out. Nobody, not even his oldest friends, could hear him.

He stared at Kryptos's ugly mug for a long moment; then blew out the candles, hid them and the crushed can back in his hoodie, used toilet paper to wipe the toothpaste and wax off the floor, and got in the shower.

If he wanted to get out, he had to make new friends. He'd been making some good progress lately, particularly with Mabel. Perhaps it was time to test just how far her compassion could get him.

####

Prisma the Rainbow Fairy said, "Gee, Sunny Cat, I haven't seen you spending time with Teddy Tender lately. What happened?"

"He's a killjoy," Bill said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. "He's a wet blanket."

A sunshine-yellow bipedal cat said, "Teddy's so sad today, and it's making me sad. I don't want to hang out with him when he's like this!"

"That's what I said," Bill said. Heckling the characters helped distract him from the urge to scratch the exposed skin on his arms until he scraped it off his bones. After showering, his hoodie had been confiscated for a round of emergency post-eye-bat-repellant laundry, and he was temporarily back in a reject gift shop t-shirt. He felt exposed.

Prisma said, "Sometimes when our friends are sad, all they need is another friend to give them a hug or tell them they care. It'll help them feel happier."

"I don't know," Sunny said. "When I feel sad, being around other people makes me feel worse."

"Everyone's a little different, Sunny. Why don't you offer to hold his hand and see if that makes him happier?"

"I guess I could try."

"Nah, it's too late for Teddy," Bill told the TV. With some glee, he added, "The most caring thing you could do is put him out of his misery."

Mabel, sitting up on the couch with three colors of embroidery floss tangled around her fingers, lightly kicked the back of Bill's head. He grinned wider. Mabel said, "Bill, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"Was I supposed to?"

"It's a beautiful June day and I'm inside with you, so you could at least pretend to. I thought you were a good liar."

"I've never told a lie in my life," lied Bill. "But okay, fine. I've seen the error of my ruthless ways. Maybe there's hope for Teddy yet."

Mabel nodded, mollified. She set aside her current project and rummaged through her bag of embroidery floss. "Hey Bill, what's your favorite color?"

"Gold!"

"Why did I ask. What's your next favorite color?"

"Every color simultaneously superimposed over each other, instantly blinding you!"

Mabel tried to picture that. She imagined a rainbow that was also a laser that was also iridescent. Her mental image looked a lot like Prisma's combat magic. "You have such good taste."

"It takes good taste to recognize good taste!" Bill mentally reviewed the last couple minutes of conversation, saw an opportunity to bolster the "reforming monster" image he was trying to sell to Mabel, and added, "By the way—thanks for sticking around just to keep me entertained!" (See: he can say thank you unprompted.) "This sure isn't where I'd want to spend my afternoon," he laughed wryly, "but unlike me, you have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah," Mabel sighed. "It stinks. I wish you could go outside with me."

Bill quietly, smugly filed that statement away for later use.

Mabel pulled a couple fresh rolls of embroidery floss out of her bag and got to work with them. "We can't set off fireworks inside the shack. Or play with Soos's paintball guns."

Bill's smugness vanished, leaving behind only the hollow feeling of missing out on a lot of fun. Fireworks and paintball guns. Those were three of his favorite things: explosions, colors, and interpersonal violence.

Mabel went on, "And Candy's saved up three years of Magic Vision Poster calendars to wallpaper the inside of her closet. She read online that if you cross your eyes just right to make them all look 3D at the same time, you can hallucinate going inside them! We're gonna try it out tomorrow. That seems like something you'd like."

"What!" Bill groaned. "I've always wanted to see an autostereogram poster with two eyes! Now here I am, stuck in a stupid meat body, and I don't even get to enjoy the only thing binocular vision is good for?"

Mabel patted his shoulder.

"Back home I've got a chair with autostereogram detailing. I've never actually seen it work. And where is it when I've got two eyes?"

"I think they've got Magic Vision books in the kids' section at the library," Mabel said. "Do you want me to check one out for you?"

Bill glared at the TV, silently fuming. Then he muttered, "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."

The low-stakes drama on Color Critters was resolved when Sunny asked Teddy Tender if he wanted to maybe hug or hold hands until he felt less sad, and Teddy revealed he felt bad because he was lonely when he hadn't had a play date with a friend in a while. Sunny and Teddy went to the playground together, the gray swings and slide and seesaw blooming orange and yellow as they played. Crisis of the day concluded. Prisma watched proudly, before joining in the play herself. Bill was not jealous of their freedom to go to the playground.

As the credits rolled, Mabel said, "There! Give me your hand!"

Bill stuck his right arm straight out to his side. "Why—?"

Mabel wrapped something thin around his wrist, and there was a quick tug as she tied it off. "Bam! You just got friendshipped!"

"What?" Bill pulled back his wrist to examine Mabel's handiwork. It was a bracelet made out of embroidery floss knotted together into a flat band as wide as his thumb. "What is this?" Stupid question.

"A friendship bracelet!" (Of course it was a friendship bracelet; he was passingly familiar with the art form, he'd seen it centuries before they were called "friendship" bracelets.) "Make a wish."

He wished to get his body back.

"You've gotta wear the bracelet until it breaks, and then the wish'll come true."

And if he believed that, he'd already be chewing through the knot. "And, why am I getting this?"

"Because we're friends!"

"Oh." Well. Yes. Obviously.

He examined the bracelet more closely. The band formed a zig-zag pattern of black and metallic gold triangles; and Mabel had tied glass beads that looked like eyes over several of the gold triangles.

"I didn't have every color simultaneously, but I thought the black would make the gold pop." Mabel pointed at the triangles. "Look! It's you."

"I can see that." She'd used nazar beads for the eyes—a dot of black ringed in blue and white. A little eye-shaped lucky charm humans had been using to ward off the evil eye for millennia. Cute. He laughed, pointing at the beads. "So is this supposed to protect me from the evil eye, or am I the evil eye you're protecting everyone else from?"

Mabel was thirteen. Mabel hadn't put any deeper thought into it than these look like eyes. All the same, Mabel didn't hesitate before replying: "I'm turning your face into a protective charm! Now you've got to keep everyone safe!"

"Oh." And that, too, Bill quietly filed away.

"I expect you to take your new job seriously," Mabel said, pointing at him. "Don't let me down!"

"You give me a gift with my face on it and then tack on a bunch of extra terms and conditions. Very slick, kid." He admired the bracelet. It really was a pretty fine offering. He hadn't been gifted textiles in a while. "But all right! I've never gone back on a deal before," lied Bill.

Though it galled him to get something without a way to pay back the favor. It felt uneven. People don't want a god who grants miracles worth less than the tribute he'd been offered. He ran down his usual list of tricks—he couldn't snap his fingers and summon up a dream gift, he didn't have any useful info he could offer without prompting an interrogation session with his jailers, right now he couldn't even call somebody else to pull some strings on her behalf... His gaze drifted over to Mabel's bag of embroidery threads. He could see beads and a couple more friendship bracelets inside. "How many of these are you making?"

"A bunch! I'm giving one out to each new friend I make this summer."

That'd do. "Teach me."

"You what?"

"Teach me." He turned around to face the couch and pointed toward the bag. "You're making them anyway, right? Just show me as you go."

Mabel stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? She thought he was serious.

A broad smile stretched across her face. "Okay!" She dug beneath her supplies for a little dog-eared friendship bracelet pattern book. "What kind of jewelry making experience do you have? Especially involving beads or knots."

"I can tie a living creature's blood vessels into quipu knots that spell my name—all without breaking the skin!"

"That's great! Can you do it with embroidery floss instead of blood vessels."

Bill eyed the bundle of floss Mabel held out. "Yes."

"Perfect!" She shoved four thread colors in his hands, a pair of scissors, a jar of pony beads, thought better and quickly took back the scissors, and added a roll of parachute cord. "I'll teach you everything I know. Even my secret trick to keep the edges from going all wobbly! We'll start you on chevrons and then move up to teardrop loops and triangle ends." She put her hands on Bill's shoulders, looked him in his uncovered eye, and said, "I'm gonna make you a friendship bracelet master."

Solemnly, Bill said, "I'm ready."

####

Ford squinted blearily into the living room.

Sitting alone on the far side of the room, Bill was bent over the living room table, fussing with several multicolored strings and a few beads.

Bill glanced at Ford from the corner of his eye, and then—with a faint smirk—turned back to his project without a word. Oh, he wanted Ford to ask. He was dying for Ford to ask.

It was too early for this. Ford wasn't dealing with it before coffee. He shook his head and shuffled onward to the kitchen.

Stan was already up, eating eggs with some unidentified liquid meat poured over them. Over the past year, typically Ford had been the earlier riser; but this summer Stan had gotten used to Ford pulling late nights downstairs as he worked on his research, so he didn't comment on Ford's sleeping in as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

But Stan did look at Ford's face and immediately ask, "Okay. What's the latest Bill bullsh... soup? Bullsoup."

"He's..." Ford tried to figure out what Bill was doing. "Making jewelry in the living room, I think."

Stan grunted and nodded. "Yeah, he was doing that yesterday with Mabel."

"Well, now he's doing it by himself."

Stan raised a brow.

The Stans leaned around the living room doorway to watch Bill. 

Bill was engrossed with picking out a mis-tied knot, frowning deeply in concentration, one eye squeezed shut and the other squinted. He smoothed out the thread, his face relaxed; and then he glanced at the doorway, did a double take, and his shoulders went up around his ears. "What am I, a zoo attraction? Shoo! Scat!" He waved them away. "I'll throw salt at you!"

Ford raised his palms defensively. Stan said, "Okay okay, we're going."

They retreated to the kitchen.

"Well?" Stan pressed. "Is he up to dangerous voodoo stuff?"

"I'm fairy certain Bill doesn't practice Vodou."

"Answer the question, smart aleck."

Ford ran through every form of magic incorporating strings or knots he could think of. It was a pretty short list, and most of it was used for protection or binding separate things together. "Not that I know of," he said dubiously. "But it's more likely he's up to something I don't know about than it is that he's doing arts and crafts. Don't you think?"

Stan considered that. He shrugged. "Eh," he said. "It can wait 'til after coffee."

Eh. Ford was tired. He didn't want to go to red alert over some string and plastic beads. He sat down with his mug.

####

"I'm home!" Mabel called. "Biiill, I couldn't get you a Magic Vision book! The pictures in Candy's closet started moving, and I don't know if we were hallucinating or if we accidentally summoned an invisible holographic horse you can only see when you cross your eyes, so we decided to burn the posters and library books to be safe! Do you know if Magic Vision Posters summon things...?"

"I wish," Bill said. "But hey, I've got something better. Gimme your hand."

Mabel held out her hand, half pulled it back, and said, "Why?"

"Relax." Bill grabbed her wrist, tied on a bracelet, and said, "Make a wish!" He grinned. "You're impressed, admit it. Tell me you're impressed."

Mabel studied the bracelet. "Whoa." Purple, green, and orange threads formed lacy loops around a central thread, forming an endless wave that rolled up and down. The threads passed through several star-shaped pony beads, making the wave look like the tails of shooting stars. "A Peruvian wave with a perfectly straight center cord. That takes crazy precise string tension." She looked at Bill. "I have nothing more to teach you."

"Thank you, teacher."

"Is this supposed to look like my sweater?" Mabel asked, studying the pink in the tassels tying the bracelet on. "The one on your zodiac thing?"

"Sure! You gave me one that looks like me, I gave you one that represents you. Friendship's supposed to go both ways, right?"

"Bill! Is this why you wanted to learn to make friendship bracelets?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Biiill! You're being so nice!" Mabel flung her arms around him. "I love it!" And then she took off, running laps around the living room, cackling madly and waving her braceleted arm in the air. Abuelita, who'd been watching TV, calmly turned to watch Mabel zoom around.

Oh, this was great. Look at this, Bill was the best at being a friend. Everyone who'd ever ditched him was a moron who didn't know what they were missing out on. They could've gotten personalized friendship bracelets. Maybe he should have offered Ford a friendship bracelet? No, that was stupid, why would Ford prefer a friendship bracelet over unimaginable cosmic power. But then it didn't have to be either-or, did it? Ford's favorite color was red, what went with red?

When Mabel had gotten the enthusiasm out of her system, she trotted back out to the entryway and hugged Bill again. He endured it. "You won't stop making friendship bracelets now that you've made this, will you?" Mabel asked. "You're such a natural at it! And you need more hobbies that are constructive instead of destructive."

"Ouch, kid. I'll have you know I have plenty of constructive hobbies."

"I don't believe it. Name one thing you like creating."

"Weirdness bubbles."

"Name one thing you like creating that doesn't terrify people."

Bill pursed his lips. "Agree to disagree. Anyway, I'm not getting out of the friendship bracelet game just yet. In fact, I've already got another few projects in mind."

####

Bill plopped down at the kitchen table across from Mabel. "Hey star girl. Guess what."

She looked up from her cereal at the dark rings under Bill's eyes. He had one eye squeezed shut; he could usually keep both open when he'd just woken up. "Were you up all night?"

"Doesn't matter. Time is an illusion and I can see the projector. I'm counting that as your guess. Look." Bill tossed two matching bracelets down on the table between them, deep watermelon pink and minty green, shaped like macrame chains with hearts where each link of the chain met.

"Aww, little hearts."

"Thought you'd like the hearts."

Mabel picked up one end of the bracelet and slipped it on—and then noticed the long coil of embroidery floss connecting the end of one bracelet to the other. "Bill? What's this for?"

"Didn't you say a few days ago that you wished we could go outside together? I thought up a perfect solution!"

With a sudden sense of dread, Mabel realized that the chain pattern and the string connecting the bracelets made them look like an extremely long pair of handcuffs; but before she could take off her half, Bill picked up the other bracelet and said, "There's a little magic in these, look. When both ends are being worn—" He slipped on the bracelet, and Mabel felt its matching pair gently tighten around her wrist. The string connecting them vanished into thin air.

Mabel gasped. "What—?"

"Poof! It's like a ghost: still there, but invisible to human eyes. We could even go into separate rooms and it'll connect us through the walls." He demonstrated by waving his hand under the table. "But we can't get farther apart than the length of the thread. I gave it about ten yards." He plucked up something invisible and gave it a tug, and Mabel felt the bracelet go taut against her wrist. There was no force, no matter how hard Bill tugged she didn't feel like the bracelet was pulling her; rather, it felt like the other end of the thread was tied to an immobile boulder preventing her from moving further away, until she moved her hand closer to Bill's to give the thread a little slack. "And..."

Mabel tried to jerk the bracelet off her wrist; it stuck around her hand. "How do I get it off?! Bill—!"

Bill put a finger on her hand, stopping her. He said, "Neither of us can take our end off until we both decide we're ready. Like... now." He winked; and the bracelet suddenly loosened again.

Mabel pulled it off with a sigh of relief.

"Unless one of us dies or something, I guess," Bill said thoughtfully. "That'd deactivate the magic. It'd be pretty gristly to have to keep sharing a friendship bracelet with a corpse!" He laughed. "Anyway—"

Mabel chucked the bracelet in his face. "That was mean!"

Bill blinked in surprise. "What was?"

"You tricked me!" She cradled her wrist against her chest, heart still pounding from the brief unexpected captivity.

"I did not!" He took the bracelets back and started coiling up the thread between them. "You put yours on before I even said anything."

"But you could have warned me before you got us stuck together!"

"Sure, I could have, but would you have kept it on then?"

"No, you jerk. That's the point!" She looked around for something else to chuck at Bill's face, plucked a dry piece of cereal from her bowl, and flicked it at his nose. 

Bill endured his punishment without flinching. "Well, sorry, but I had to demonstrate how they work somehow." He twirled the bracelets around one fingertip. "This solves your whole 'can't let the big scary triangle out unsupervised' problem! Slap these bad boys on, and I've got automatic supervision that I can't escape! Maybe this'll convince the adults that I can be trusted outside, right?" He ate the piece of cereal. "So? What do you think?"

She thought he was still a jerk. All the same, she studied the chain bracelets. "Did you just make me a gift that's actually a gift for yourself?"

He didn't even look a little bit ashamed. "I prefer to think of it as something we'll both benefit from!"

"Bill."

"C'mooon. You know you want me out there." He lowered his voice. "Who else in this town will help you break into the pet shop to dye the dogs' fur?"

Oooh. Mabel should not have told Bill about that ambition. "Well..."

"Or help you grill hamburgers with sprinkles. You know Stanley's never gonna do that for us again," Bill said. "Or what if you need a drive somewhere, huh? The guys with licenses are gonna get tired of trips to the craft store eventually."

"You can't drive!"

"Of course I can drive, didn't you see me during—?" Bill's eyes widened. "Oh no, you didn't see! I can't believe you didn't see my car. You, you would have loved it."

He seemed serious. Maybe he could drive. "You... shouldn't get to drive."

"What if it's an emergency and I'm the only one who can do it. Do you want me in the driver's seat with or without a leash?" He spread his hands in a shrug. "And anyway... think of everything else we could be doing together outside. Purple poodles and pink pugs are just the start, my friend."

Mabel hated when she knew she was being manipulated but Bill still made a good point. She bit her lip and glanced at the clock over the sink. A tour had just started; the gift shop should be empty and the vending machine safe to use.

She got out of her seat, taking her cereal with her. "I'm gonna run this by the household magic expert."

Bill rolled his eye. "Fine. Tell Sixer we're out of apple cider."

####

"Tell Bill we got three packs last time," Ford said. "If that's not enough to hold him one week between grocery trips, then he has a drinking problem."

"Okay, but what about the bracelets?"

Ford set aside the book he'd been reading and studied the bracelets. He slipped one on his wrist.  "Mabel, would you mind putting on the other side?"

"Sure!" She pulled on the bracelet. It tightened around Ford's wrist and the thread between them disappeared. Fascinating.

After a few minutes of experimenting to see how they worked, Ford was fairly sure this was a spell he'd learned about years ago, although he'd lost the details when he tossed his second journal in the bottomless pit. Usually it was done with metal chains—but the spell should make the bracelets nigh on indestructible while the magic was active, so, as promised, it would contain Bill. As long as he didn't murder the person on the other end of the spell.

"So can I take Bill outside?" Mabel asked, hands laced together and eyes wide. "Please please please?"

"You did hear what I just said about murder, right?"

"We'll bring someone else along! Bill wouldn't try to kill me if someone else is standing guard!" (At least she still recognized that there were circumstances where Bill would try to kill her.) "He's been stuck inside for weeks. That's not healthy! He needs to stretch his legs, get some sunshine!" She smacked Ford's desk as a thought occurred to her, "And we need to take him clothes shopping. I can tell he's uncomfortable in gift shop t-shirts and Abuelita's skirts. Does he even like skirts?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Does he even have underwear, or is he still wearing Soos's old swim trunks?"

Ford winced. "Melody was kind enough to pick some up a few days ago." But he could admit it had taken them longer than it should have.

"What about the rest of his clothes? Does he have a bra?"

"Wh—" Ford sputtered. "Does he want one?"

"I don't know, I haven't asked. It might be more comfortable. He has a lot of chest."

Lord. Ford closed his eyes. He did not want to think about bras.

"Pleeease?" Mabel said. "I wanna take him clothes shopping. He's probably never explored human fashion before! He's got to find his style. I can be his style consultant."

Aha. So that was what Mabel was getting out of all this: a person-sized dress-up doll.

Truth be told, they probably should take Bill outside. Depending on how Fiddleford's research proceeded, destroying Bill could take weeks, if not months. If there were ever an emergency, they might need to relocate Bill quickly—so it was better to ensure the bracelets worked as advertised before they became necessary.

"Fine. But this won't be a regular thing," Ford said. "Ask Stan when he can go. And your brother—I'd rather Bill know the numbers are stacked against him. And he's not allowed to talk to anybody outside the shack. You, Dipper, and Stan will have to intercept anybody he might speak to."

"Don't worry about that! I've got the perfect solution," Mabel said. "What if Grunkle Stan doesn't want to go?"

"Ask him to talk to me. I think I can convey the importance."

"You don't want to come? Are you too busy figuring out how to kill him?" Mabel's gaze moved to the books Ford had been reading.

Ford suppressed the urge to shut the books and hide the papers beside them. Mabel wouldn't be able to understand the books anyway: it was an ancient Roman historian's description of augury—fortunetelling with birds—and a Latin reference dictionary he was consulting to help him translate. He was more afraid Mabel's gaze would fall on the pages next to the books, where a few vocabulary words from the mystical, mythical language of the birds had been scrawled out in Bill's distinctive chicken scratch.

No, Ford wasn't busy figuring out how to kill Bill. He was still waiting to hear back from Fiddleford about the feasibility of synthesizing or replacing the quantum destabilizer's Dontium; and, in the meantime, he'd allowed himself to believe there was nothing else he could do on his own... and by now, he'd gotten thoroughly distracted. Going through Bill's notes, verifying his claims, following up on the leads he'd subtly slid in. Bill's miniature grimoire was the most dense magical text since the Emerald Tablet. Opening it up was like a cryptography puzzle mixed with a dissertation research project, and each sentence was a fractal flower of information, a bud that bloomed into a dozen more buds that each bloomed into a dozen more.

It was amazing. Enthralling. This was the kind of research Ford was made for. He was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.

He hadn't told anybody what he was doing while Fiddleford worked.

"No, not that," he told Mabel, "I just don't want to spend time around Bill. Especially on what's essentially a social trip. Stanley can... handle it better."

"Oh," Mabel said. "That makes sense, I guess."

Ford glanced uneasily at Bill's papers, then looked away before Mabel could see.

He was so caught up in his own shame at getting caught toeing at one of Bill's traps, he didn't notice the quick shameful look on Mabel's face for the same reason.

####

(Thanks for reading! Please drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed, y'all's commentary is what helps keep me writing. ❤️

Also I feel like Google translate can handle the Latin pretty well if you wanna see what Bill's saying at the start, but it's important to me that you know Google is wrong about "quadrum defututum" and it can actually be more accurately translated as "you square slut.")

[141goblin]

Soft: Chapter three. John.

CW: Suggestive, John Price being a bit sneaky and manipulative. Slight possessiveness.

A/N: I had to write this one from John’s pov to fuel my silly little brain worms 🪱

—> Chapter two

I spend the early afternoon both getting ready and helping the boys set up in the mansion. Despite my protests, they were all adamant on throwing me this big, ridiculous party for my 40th birthday and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I put on a ridiculously expensive suit that i’ve hired for the evening and begin to greet my guests as they filter in, each of them giving me warm smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek. None of it is of any interest to me, though. If i had my way, i’d be spending tonight in the local pub, eating good food and washing it down with one too many pints. Nevertheless, I do my best to look interested and actually make an effort to enjoy the night.

I’m doing my rounds of thanking everyone for coming, when I spot Johnny and his bird. Twiggy little thing, looks like she could be a supermodel. She’s pretty, sure, but hidden behind them like a lost puppy is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.

Big, soft woman, all wrapped in red silk, like my own personal birthday present. Pretty round face framed by a few loose curls, tits practically spilling out of her dress while the bottom half flows down her wide thighs and calves, accompanied by a pair of heels that look far too uncomfortable. Her big, blue eyes are looking around the room, taking in the sheer size of the place. Bless her, she looks like a child at Disneyland.

Johnny leads her over to the bar with his bird and I make a mental note of the drink in front of softie; blueberry martini. I’ll make sure the waiters keep them coming for her. Thing as sweet as her deserves as many sweet drinks as her little heart desires.

Johnny and his bird start making their way over to the rest of the lads and I see her hop up onto a barstool. Bloody fucking hell. Her perfect, round arse completely spills over the edge and her feet don’t quite reach the floor. I feel my cock twitch in my suit pants and I blink a few times to get rid of the image of the pretty, soft woman beneath me as I make her writhe and cry in pleasure, digging my fingertips into those plush hips of hers.

I make my way over to the group to get some information on her, a name, or something, anything. Either that or I keep calling her ‘sweet, soft thing’ forever. Fitting, I think. I greet the lads and give Johnny’s bird a curt nod. Got to be polite, but don’t wanna give her the impression I want her. I don’t. I want her sweeter, softer counterpart.

“Who’s your friend, Amelia?” I nod towards the bundle of sweetness wrapped in silk that’s got her pretty arse perched on a bar stool that’s far too small to accommodate her beauty.

“Oh.” Amelia chirps with a sympathetic smile in her direction.

“That’s my best friend. She didn’t really want to come here tonight, but we come as a package deal.”

I let my eyes linger for a second longer before giving Johnny a nod. He knows what to do and he immediately turns on his heels and makes his way over to the sweet thing. If there’s anyone that can convince a girl like her to join us, it’s Johnny. I see him flash his signature toothy grin and instantly know he’s working his magic. Good lad. Get her for me.

Within a few minutes of them chatting, she’s waking her pretty arse over to me. She stands there like a little girl, unsure of what to say or do. I want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her pretty round face silly, until there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s the most beautiful thing to ever grace this planet.

Not yet, John. You’ll scare the poor thing off. Got to get her first.

Just as i’m putting a collar around my desires to make the soft, round woman mine, she excuses herself, voice all soft and quiet. Shy little thing. I’ll work that out of you, Dove. I give her a minute to collect her thoughts before following her out, hands stuffed in his pockets. I have a plan, I need to stick to it and she’ll be mine before Christmas. Maybe even with a ring on her finger.

I see her sat on the bench outside the mansion. Poor thing looks defeated. Every single fibre of my being screams at me to touch her, comfort her, kiss her silly. Not yet, John…

“You alright, dove?” I ask, standing behind her. Even from behind and sitting down she looks beautiful. Messy curls cascading down her back, arse pressed against the stone bench. I spot the cigarette between her fingers. Didn’t peg you as a smoker, Dove. Bad habit, that. Gonna ruin your lovely lungs. Then again, i’m not one to speak. She wraps her lips around the stick of nicotine and sucks. In that moment, it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to rip it out from between her lips and replace it with my tongue. Or my cock. God, she’d look so pretty with a mouth full of me…

“Fine, thanks.” She replies. He response is short and clipped, probably a sign she doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t care. I want to talk to her. I need to talk to her.

I ignore her silent signal to be left alone and sit down beside her on the bench, my thigh pressed against hers as I hold a cigar idly between my fingers.

“Not a fan of parties like this, I take it?”

I want to know what kind of girl she is, what she’s into, what makes her tick. What’s her idea of a good night out? Is she the type that loves getting dolled up and drinking fruity cocktails all night? Does she prefer a night in? The burn at the base of my skull tells me I need to know.

“You could say that.”

There it is, we’re starting to get to the bottom of why she’s sat outside, sporting a frown on that pretty, freckled face of hers. I want her to like me, so naturally, I leave out the fact that this is my birthday party. I don’t want her to think i’m such rich ponce that throws parties in mansions, just for shits and giggles. That’s not who I am. If i’m going to make her mine, she deserves to know i’m not that kind of guy. From what I can tell, she’s not into those men.

“Mm, I get it. Not for everyone.”

It’s not like i’m lying to her. I’m just conveniently leaving out the details.

Something must’ve snapped in her pretty little head because she starts to rant, saying that parties like this are for ‘rich arseholes’ or something along those lines. In all honesty, I wasn’t listening. All the blood rushed from my head to my cock the second I saw the fire in her eyes. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck the attitude out of her or pepper gentle kisses all over her gorgeous neck while she rants.

When she finishes, I laugh, genuinely amused. The poor girl clearly isn’t having a good time and is taking comfort in me, blissfully unaware that it’s a party for me. I see her flushed face, anger mixed with embarrassment. I’d pay good money to see that face every day for the rest of my life. An idea pops up in my head and I store it away for later.

“Feel better, dove?” I ask, turning to look at her as she scowls out to the courtyard like she has a personal vendetta against grass itself. She gives me a little hum and I smile to myself.

I tell her i’ll be inside if she decides to stay, and leave her to her thoughts. Hopefully that little rant of hers helped her to cheer up. I can’t decide what I like better, her smile or her scowl. As I go back inside and see that people are now sitting down at their respective tables, I internally groan. It’s getting closer to my least favourite part of the night. The speech. I flag down the nearest waiter and shove a few ten-pound-notes into his hand.

“When the lady in the red silk dress comes back inside, the one sat at that table,” I point to where Johnny and Amelia are sitting.

“Bring her a blueberry martini, and keep them coming. Thanks, mate.”

The waiter gives a curt nod and scarpers off to retrieve the drink from the bartender once more. I come to a decision as I wait to make my speech. I need to see that face of hers again, all rosy and wide-eyed. This should be fun.

I get up on stage and gather everyone’s attention, thanking my room full of guests for coming to my party (even though I didn’t want the party in the first place, it doesn’t hurt to be polite). Then, when i’m certain I have the attention of my dove, the fun begins.

“Here’s to us rich arseholes, at least pretend to be on your best behaviour, eh? Here’s to a good night.”

I raise my glass of whiskey and the room erupts in laughter and amused cheers. My focus is on one person, and one person only. And, by the looks of it, my birthday wish just came true. Soft little things sat there, face bright red, practically melting in her seat from the sheer embarrassment. Might’ve been a bit cruel, but worth it to see the look on her face.

After another hour or so of mingling and small-talk with people I don’t care for, I see my soft girl make her way over to the bar. She orders another one of those blueberry martinis she loves so much. Silly girl, I paid a man to bring them to you. Then, a glass of water is placed in front of her, too. Good girl. Smart decision. Amelia seems to have some sort of girls sixth sense because she makes her way over looking like a concerned mother. I watch them for a few seconds and then Amelia makes her way back over to us.

“We’re gonna call it a night.”

All the lads give her a hug goodbye and I take this as my chance to catch my sweet soft girl before she goes home. I see her sitting on the same bench as before, looking equally as defeated.

“Leaving so soon, dove?”

She seems to jolt a little at the sound of my voice. Jumpy little thing. I wont hurt you, sweet girl.

“Afraid so… Past my bedtime.”

She’s funny, too? God, she’s perfect. I let out a laugh, and her round little face blushes and she shivers. Poor thing must be freezing. I take off my suit jacket and drape it around her shoulders, almost testing the waters, but I can play it off as being chivalrous. My jacket basically swallows her form, despite the fact that she’s a wide, beautifully plump thing.

“Hm. Shame. I quite enjoyed that little rant of yours.”

She pauses for a few seconds, and I can practically hear the cogs turning in her pretty head. She turns to face me, brows furrowed and her bottom lip stuck between her teeth.

“Listen, about that-“

She’s about to apologise, I can feel it. And I can’t let her. This beautiful, soft girl can do no wrong in my eyes.

“No need to apologise, dove. I liked the honesty. Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

Ha, there it is. She freezes, her brain trying to compute if she just heard me right. It’s funny to watch the cogs turn as he comprehends being complimented. I’m going to compliment you until you can think straight, perfect girl. Before she can say anything, Amelia is grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into an uber, while my pretty girl keeps her eyes on me, even looking back as the car drives off.

Luckily, I managed to pull some strings and get Johnny to sneak onto Amelia’s phone to get me my pretty girls number. I make a mental note to text her later. Might even use my jacket as an excuse to see her pretty, round face again.

I wonder what she’ll be doing when she gets home, changing into some cute little pyjamas, or maybe even running a hot bath and lowering herself into it, her tits and perfect, soft belly sticking out over the water level.

Tags: @izziyuwh @a66-1

[seabirdtxt]

.Irminsul checkout -b <Realm Within>

You, the Creator, explore the possibilities the teapot realm has to offer and try to make accommodations for your surprising new roommates [< prev] [Blog tag] [next >]

Notes: Genshin SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. all relationships are currently platonic! WC. 3k

----- ⚘ -----

Meeting Tubby was just as entertaining as you’d hoped it would be. The flustered teapot spirit nearly dropped her porcelain hat when she saw you, offering to give you a personal tour of the realm mansion (as if you hadn’t designed the interior yourself), calling up Chubby (who was mortified to admit that he hadn’t brought any new stock today), and frantically rearranging furniture as your group roamed the mansion grounds despite your protests that everything was fine as it was. In the end, she settled for hosting you and your two companions over a pot of tea.

The Traveler remains silently amused as they watch you trying to behave politely while Tubby continuously refills your cup with fresh sunsettia tea. Beside them, Wanderer discreetly tosses the contents of his cup over his shoulder with a grimace. 

Inevitably, between her stuttered rambling and your patient reassurances, Tubby notices the empty cup and refills it with more tea. Much to Wanderer’s displeasure.

“- and if you need anything to eat, a- any snacks or meals, I would be most honored to procure them for you, Your Grace!” Tubby continues, with you nodding along politely. It seems better to let her vent it out than to stop her, at this point.

“Tubby, would it be very troublesome to get a teapot realm for Their Grace?” the Traveler interjects, saving you from having to placate the bird adeptus once more. “It would be practical for them to have a place of residence while they stay in Teyvat.”

“O- of course!” Tubby nods so quickly you almost fear that her hat will fly off her head. “I can contact Streetwise Rambler posthaste! If you have any preference in shape or colour, Your Grace-” 

“Anything you might have readily available is alright with me,” you reassure her. “As long as it has space to accommodate multiple guests, I don’t mind too much what the outside of it looks like.”

“T- that can be arranged!” the teapot spirit exclaims, topping up everyone’s cups before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The three of you stare awkwardly at the space where Tubby used to be. Eventually, Wanderer gets up and disappears into the mansion, effectively trading places with Paimon as the little sprite returns from within after apparently having raided the Traveler’s pantry.

“Hey!” She exclaims through a mouthful of cookies. “Where did Tubby go? Did you guys drink all the tea?”

“She just went to get a teapot for Their Grace!” the Traveler explains, snatching a package of cookies from Paimon’s tiny hands, to the sprite’s protests. “She should be back soon. I can pour the tea for you, if you want.”

You sit back and enjoy the mindless chatter between the two, and sometime later Wanderer emerges from the mansion with several boxes stacked in his arms. The Traveler jumps up with a noise of surprise.

“Hey! What’s all that stuff?”

“I’m moving out.” Wanderer states, as though it’s obvious. 

“Good riddance!” Paimon says, waving a biscuit at him threateningly. “It’s about time you moved out, young man! How are you supposed to learn about the human world if you’re cooped up in the Traveler’s realm all the time? Go outside and touch grass!”

“There’s grass in the realm, Paimon,” the Traveler points out. 

“Argh! You know what I mean!”

“Of course, I’ll be moving in with the Creator, ” Wanderer continues as if Paimon hadn’t spoken at all. “Someone needs to keep the other two clowns in check so they don’t wreck the nice home Their Grace will surely build.”

“And that someone couldn’t be anyone else?” you ask, and immediately cringe when his piercing eyes turn toward you.

He huffs with amusement. “Nobody knows them better than me,” he shrugs and shakes his head. “Plus, who knows what my second incarnation will get up to? We don’t know how Irminsul resolved his appearance in this world, so he may yet be part of the Fatui, for all we know.”

“If he’s like you after the Joruri workshop fight, y’know, after you lost the gnosis and all? He’ll probably be weak and powerless,” Paimon says. “Just completely incapable of fighting in any meaningful way. Yes offense.”

“Offense taken.” Wanderer replies with the same tone, shooting a glare at the sprite over his shoulder. “I’ll have you know I’m more than capable of wiping the floor with you, with or without a gnosis.”

“You realize you’re bragging about your ability to beat up the physical equivalent of a two year old?” you interrupt before they could start arguing. They both send you equally scandalized looks, and Paimon splutters and mimes stomping as she tries to defend herself from the accusation of being a child. 

“Guys, let’s all calm down for a second,” the Traveler sighs, rubbing their head just as Paimon launches herself at Wanderer and knocking over cups and the magic tea kettle, and Wanderer fends her off with one hand, balancing his stack of boxes with his other arm. He swings around to avoid her tiny fists, knocking over the table and chairs in the process as he dances out of her reach.

 “Guys, seriously! Tubby will be back any minute now-”

Just as the words leave their mouth, the adeptus in question suddenly reappears with a lovely little porcelain teapot in her wing-hands. She takes in the scene, of you and the Traveler standing with your arms outstretched to restrain, and Paimon and Wanderer having a spat amidst the wreck of her tea set and furniture.

With a choked gasp, she promptly drops the new teapot.

----- ⚘ -----

After some profuse apologies on everyone’s part, Tubby repairs your new teapot and her furniture with her adeptus magic. She hands you the teapot with reverence, quickly running you through how the Realm Within works (even though you already know) and then ushering you out of the Traveler’s teapot excitedly.

“I hope you like it!” Tubby chirps, feathers fluffed with happiness. “Your teapot spirit is a good friend of mine, I’m sure he will take excellent care of your realm!” 

You and Wanderer are ejected from the realm, finding yourselves standing in the glowing Irminsul chamber, outside the Traveler’s golden teapot with the stack of boxes and your porcelain teapot. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Nahida speaking, likely addressing Scaramouche and Kabukimono.

“Okay! here goes nothing,” you exclaim, placing down the teapot reverently. You grab the realm dispatch that Tubby had given you, visually identical to the one you remember seeing in your game’s inventory but with a red and gold tassel.  You hold the strip of wood in your palm and allow yourself to attune to the magic inside it. 

Despite not feeling any different after a few moments, you hand over the dispatch to Wanderer, who attunes as well. Once the process is complete, the two of you place your palms against the sides of your teapot and allow yourselves to be warped to the new realm.

Immediately upon appearing in the realm, which you notice is modelled after the same landscape theme as the Traveler’s, a cheerful little basketball-sized grey and yellow teapot spirit floats up to you.

The spirit, looking very much like the little cockatiel-coloured finches from the overworld, greets you with a happy whistle. Where Tubby and Chubby are usually sitting in a fancy teapot-shaped vessel, this one is sitting in a small, but equally ornate, teacup. 

“Hi! Hello! Are you my new master?” the tiny adeptus chitters, clapping his wing feathers together. “I’m your teapot spirit! I’m so happy to meet you!” 

“Oh great, another one.” Wanderer snorts, then pushes past you and into the mansion with his boxes. You gently hold the teapot spirit to avoid him getting knocked back by the motion.

“Don’t mind him, he’s not very social,” you tell the finch, who looks up at you with adoration. “How about you tell me about yourself?”

The finch reluctantly extracts himself from your hands and floats in front of you, feathers twisting shyly.

“Th- this one doesn’t have many interesting things to tell,” he admits. “Not like Rain Calmer and Jade Seeker… This one hasn’t even been granted a small-name yet…” 

“Oh…” you reach out and pat his head. “That’s okay, I can give you a nickname if you really want one.” 

“Will you?” the finch gasps, and surely if beaks could smile…

“That can wait for a minute,” Wanderer calls from the mansion’s front door, leaning against the open door frame. “Can we get some furniture in here first? This place is emptier than Dottore’s soul.” 

“Oh! Of course!” The teacup spirit hurriedly follows Wanderer into the mansion, with you trailing behind them at a slower pace.

As you walk through the mansion, a collection of Inazuman and Sumerian-style furniture begins popping up around you. You follow Wanderer as he moves from room to room, decorating the first one in purely Inazuman decor, the second with a blend of Inazuman and Shneznayan furniture, and the last with simple Sumerian amenities. Satisfied, Wanderer dumps all his boxes on the floor of the third room.

“Okay, great.” He nods at the nervous finch, then points at the door. “Now you guys, get out.” 

You beat a hasty retreat with the teacup spirit in your hands, just barely making it out before Wanderer slams the door behind you. You peer down at the little finch, trying to smile in an encouraging way.

“How about we check out the other rooms while he settles in, shall we?” You offer, and the teacup spirit nods enthusiastically. 

You deck out the remaining rooms with whatever nation’s theme inspires the teacup spirit’s artistic expression. For your own room, the last one you two decide to tackle, you choose a mix of all the nations’ furnishings. It creates a bit of an aesthetic mess, but it seems fitting to want a piece of each place. 

You clap excitedly for the little finch, who blushes fiercely and coos under your attention. 

“Aw, shucks,” he warbles. “I was just doing my job…”

“Nah, you did great, bud!” You reassure him, patting his fluffy head again. “Now, how about that nickname, huh?”

“Wow, really?” 

“Sure thing! How about, hmm…”

You squint at the teacup spirit, thinking really hard about a potential nickname. You know Tubby and Chubby’s nicknames aren’t really related to their adepti names, but it still would seem helpful to have something to go off of…

“... Cup…” You mutter to yourself, eyeing his little teacup seat, and the finch spirit perks up at the sound.

“Hm?” The adeptus makes an adorable noise of confusion, head tilted to one side as it eagerly awaits your final decision.

“... Cuppy.” You finally say, more confidently. The newly named Cuppy vibrates with excitement. “Yeah, I kinda like that. Well, nice to meet you, Cuppy!”

“Wow! Thank you so much!!” Cuppy exclaims, crashing into you and doing his utmost to hug you with his stubby little wings. “I’ll cherish this name forever!”

“That has to be among the dumbest names I’ve ever heard, Your Grace,” Wanderer’s voice sounds behind you, and you turn around to stick your tongue out at him. 

“W-wait, Your Grace?” Cuppy suddenly lets go of you with a gasp. “You’re the Creator?!”

Before you can say anything in reply, the poor teacup spirit promptly faints in your arms. You quickly make sure Cuppy is alright before giving Wanderer the most exaggerated frown you can muster.

“What? Don’t look at me like that,” he scoffs. “That's what you get for picking such a stupid name.”

“Says the guy who came up with ‘country destroyer’,” you retort. 

“It sounded cool at the time!” Wanderer snaps, clearly embarrassed by his past self’s taste.

“Maybe for a ten year old.”

“Well of course it sounds dumb in Common, in Inazuman it’s a lot better.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

----- ⚘ -----

You and Wanderer exit the realm after Cuppy wakes up again, and you comfort the teacup spirit by telling him that you’re not mad at him and that he’d done nothing to displease you. Reassured, but only barely, Cuppy tearfully accepts your praise and promises not to let you down. 

You resurface in the Irminsul chamber for a second time, to the hilarious scene of Nahida restraining both Scaramouche and Kabukimono within glowing green cubes a few feet above the ground. Scaramouche is beating against the transparent walls and furiously shouting, from what you can tell since the cubes appear to be soundproof. Kabukimono is sitting in the far corner of his cube, sulking with his arms crossed.

“- and that’s why it’s important to try and let go of any leftover resentment you harbor toward one another,” Nahida appears to be mid-lecture, wrapping up one of her points as she addresses the two puppets. “Otherwise you will fill up with anger and anxiety like a glass of water that is overflowing, and you will eventually release the surface tension and spill all your negative emotions and make a huge mess that everyone else will have to deal with. You may not realize this now, but the result of your quarrel will be very tiresome to those around you. If you spill water on a very important research paper, or a valuable book, or even a quick pencil drawing on a napkin, you will create irreparable harm to those you have affected, no matter how big or small the consequence appears to be.”

“The metaphor got away from you again, Buer.” Wanderer decides he’s heard enough and brings his hand down on the small god’s head, patting her. She looks up at him with a patient smile.

“Wanderer, Your Grace! Have you sorted out the living arrangements?” She asks cheerfully, releasing the Dendro cubes and allowing the puppets in time-out to drop to the floor in ungraceful heaps. 

“We did!” You confirm with equal enthusiasm. “We even have a nice teapot adeptus named Cuppy who helped us out with the decorating and everything!”

“That’s wonderful!” Nahida nods and gestures to Scaramouche and Kabukimono to approach, which they do with some measure of caution. Especially on the Balladeer’s part. He eyes Nahida with newfound suspicion, making sure she doesn’t perform any more Dendro abilities on him.

“Are we going to teleport into your new house?” Kabukimono asks, eyeing the porcelain teapot with intrigue. “The same way you and the Traveler teleported earlier?”

“That’s right, you just need to hold this piece of wood for a minute so that the realm magic recognizes and authorizes you as a guest,” you tell him, holding out the dispatch. Kabukimono takes it delicately, staring at the dispatch with wide eyes even though nothing obvious happens.

After his minute is up, Scaramouche snatches the dispatch out of Kabukimono’s hands and grumbles in annoyance as he looks anywhere but at you guys, allowing the magic to attune to him as well.

Once everyone is ready, you bid Nahida a quick goodbye and show the two puppets how to use the teapot to teleport. As you feel yourself warp in, you watch their expressions.

Wanderer is the most composed, having grown used to teleporting thanks to the Traveler, while Kabukimono seems a little dizzy but not overly bothered. Scaramouche, on the other hand, looks positively nauseous, much to your amusement. 

The four of you land in varying degrees of balance on your feet, with Cuppy stuttering out a greeting and ushering you all into the mansion.

Kabukimono is most pleased with his room, plopping down onto the floor mat with a wide grin. An array of tools lines one of the walls, and the adjacent wall opens to a sheltered view of the outside and a small forge. You turn to look at Wanderer as an awestruck Kabukimono takes in his accommodations.

“... What?” Wanderer scowls when he notices your look. “I just know what he’d like, okay? Don’t think too hard about it.”

Scaramouche’s room is next, and he walks in a few paces, has a look around at the very specific combination of aesthetics, and then kicks the door shut in your face. You’re not sure what else you expected from him.

Wanderer’s room is last, and though you already saw it as he was having it customized, you have a quick peek into it.

The Sumeran decor, though relatively plain, is used to great effectiveness. A desk takes up half of the far wall, accompanied by a mostly empty bookshelf and a tall lamp. A few boxes are pushed against the bookcase, unopened so far but you can guess what the contents will be. On the other side is Wanderer’s dresser and bed, and while you know he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep it’s nice to know that he included a bit of comfort for himself anyway.

“Okay, see ya,” Wanderer says, but you interrupt him with a gentle tug on his sleeve. He looks at you with annoyance and mild confusion.

“Thanks for helping me with the decorating,” you half-whisper, a grin spreading across your face. “Who knew you had such good interior design taste?”

“Whatever,” Wanderer huffs and looks at the floor. “It’s just because I knew you would make a mess of it like you did in the Traveler’s teapot.”

“What? No I didn’t. My decorating was just fine!”

Wanderer rolls his eyes at you. “You have a room filled to the brim with random unrelated junk.”

“That’s my storage room,” you state matter-of-factly. “I needed to reach a certain level of adeptal energy to get the maximum currency reward.”

“You say that as if I know what you’re talking about.” Wanderer deadpans and crosses his arms. “It’s still just a room of junk to me.”

“Fine! I see how it is.” You throw your hands up in amused outrage and stomp out of the room. “I guess decorating is your problem from now on, since you’re so good at it or whatever.”

Wanderer nods with a satisfied smirk. “As it should be,” he says before pushing his door closed.

[star-junk]

Only Bones

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Alastor x ReaderOC, Vox x ReaderOC, Future Lucifer x ReaderOC

Second Person POV, Change of POV, Slow burn (or fast burn - really moving through the plot quickly), please forgive the typos.

Warnings: Dark Themes: Altered state of consciousness, possessive behavior, mention of dv, non-con elements in the future, cannibalism and just things not being nice--it's Hell.

General Notes: Still not sure if Alastor will remain ace within the confines of my story. Also, operating under many assumptions for Season 2 so walk with me on this one.

Ch 2 Notes: I know nothing about TV production so I'm just winging most of this bit. Also Kudos to you if you know the song used on this chapter. Continuing with the breakneck pace bc otherwise I'd spend 5 more chapters setting shit up.

Chapter 2:

You're packaging the last bit of the pies into neat little boxes. These are smaller than the regular size you sell at the shop, they were a pain to cut but the buyer did offer to pay extra for the commission and well, how could you say no to that? They ordered every kind you had too, including the herb and cheese ones - had to pay Kory, the local smuggling succubus, extra to get the three different kinds of cheeses you needed.

The water with the devilfoot root comes to a boil, you hurry over to take it off the stove before the root disintegrates making the whole thing undrinkable. Pouring it on a separate container to sift the bits that did come off, you then add the crimson scarab from the jar of crimson scarabs Jo catches for you—and that should do it: Your very own calming remedy!

You close the old almanac gifted to you, placing it back into your tote bag to close shop too. Jo was long gone for to rest as instructed to be up for an early start tomorrow. 

Covering yourself with your old worn shawl, you adjust your tote bag underneath to brave the elements for the short trip back home. This part of the city was usually quiet compared to others, but you could never be too careful. The dagger in your bag is always accessible if you needed it—and you had needed it before. 

As you walk you’re already thinking of tomorrow, of the financial possibilities if the buyer likes the pies and they ask you to keep coming back. You might be able to reach your goal sooner than you think and though you know you shouldn't get too excited, a glimmer of hope still shines within you.

Your steps feel that much lighter over the filthy city concrete below.

------------------------

You hold on as Jo makes a sharp turn. “Are you sure you don’t want some of my tea? You seem nervous.” 

“Nah, I’m good.” He replies. You know he's a bit of road demon but today he seems more on edge, he’s also way more chatty than usual. “So anyway, I told her she needed to get real for once and… “

You take a big gulp from your thermo letting him talk through his nervousness as VoxTek Tower comes closer. It was visible from the third floor of your apartment complex and it always seemed like such a distant aspect of life here in Pentagram City, so inconsequential to your own afterlife—but up front? You can literally feel the corporate presence sucking away your soul.

You’re directed towards the back once you pull up, and are given directions to the studio coordinator who made the order. 

There’s chaos all around you when you pull up, huge props and costumes wheeled to and from. Groups of technicians with lights and camera in tow. People with phones and clipboards shouting orders. Your van and cart of pies oddly fit right along the organized mayhem. 

“This is kinda cool.” Jo says hauling down one of the carts. 

“Right?”

Both of you do your best to avoid running into anyone on your way to the elevators, which are thankfully big enough to accommodate the carts.

The 13th floor is just as busy as the ground floor, maybe even more. You attempt to follow the sign that reads: SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE WITH FYTOR when a horde of demons rushes past you. 

“He’s here!” “Shit, do we have everything ready?” “If anything goes wrong, I … !” 

Jo glances at you and you shrug until you see him.

Vox, the CEO and owner of the VoxTek Enterprise.

He made sure his image was unavoidable if you resided in any part of the Pride Ring, more so than any of the other Overlords if you were one to keep up to date. 

“Wow.” Jo says.

And he’s right, the Overlord has so much more presence in person, towering over those crowding him.

“Woah there, no pictures, no pictures.” He says while fixing his coat, all long limbs and charisma. “I’m here on business, my valuable employees.” 

“And so are we.” You remind Jo, who continues to gawk at the Overlord.

“I’ve seen two Overlords in less than a month, it must be a sign or something, Nuria.” He says, glancing back.

“I hope it's a sign for wealth.” You reply.

Soon you’re at the back of the set, speaking with Myrna, the bizarre horse-snake chimera mix. “This all of them?” She asks with the same thick southern accent you heard on the phone.

“Yes, ma’am, all hundred of them.” You answer. Jo is ready with receipt and pen. “Now if you could sign here just to verify our delivery.” 

She ignores you as she grabs one of the pies, taking it out of its tiny box eating it all in one bite. You and Jo look at each other, unsure now if you’ll be paid. This wouldn’t be your first time, not because of the quality of the pies but because it was Hell and people were generally assholes, specially when it came to paying up sometimes.

“Oh Goodness Gracious!” She finally says, turning around to sign your form and grabbing another pie from the cart. You breathe easy again. “Set them over there, sugar.”

“A pleasure to do business with you!” You offer a smile and a handshake. “We hope we can continue catering your events!” 

“Of course!” She responds already walking away ignoring your hand. You sigh, so much for networking. 

You get busy anyway, moving some things around in the already lavish snack table to make room for your delivery Upon seeing who was visiting, the elaborate set up made sense. “I think we’re going to need another table.” You finally admit defeat after playing tray tetris, some stuff looked too expensive to touch.

“Let me see if I can find someone.” Jo offers.

And you’re left there to wait while he does that, that's what you liked about Jo an observant self-starter, you should look into increasing his pay soon. You're thinking that watching the crew work, it really does take a lot of manpower to get production on air. You kind of wish you had been invited to the ‘Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister So What?’ Set instead. It was your guilty pleasure, putting it on as background noise while you worked on the pies for the following day. Maybe you’ll get lucky and see one of the actors on your way out. 

“Homemade pie?! It’s been decades!” A crisp male voice says from behind. 

Great, a potential customer! “Oh, our shop has been op— “ It’s Vox, the very CEO you saw on the halls before. He's leaning over the table taking in the smell.

“Are you the owner?” He asks sizing you up, his eyes going from your horns, face, body and finally settling on the wings at your hips. He quirks a brow at the sight, you hide them further back, a knee jerk reflex whenever people looked at them too long. You hated them.

“I sure am, sir. A pleasure to meet you.” You extend a hand out before he comments on the wings.

He takes your hand, doing a little bow to meet your eyes. “Well I do love a woman that can cook!” You do your best to keep the frown off your face. But aside from that, it was truly impressive to see the Overlord up-close. The light from his screen engulfs you in the low light of the set as his upper body tilts closer and you have to squint to keep the light from hurting your vision. “One so pretty as well. Are you one of the guests. What do you go by, doll?” 

“You’re too kind, sir. Nuria is the name. And no, sir, we're just here for delivery.”

“Vox, Sir! We were looking all over for you. The producer is eager to meet you.” A crew member emerges from one of the curtains. “Follow me, please.” They urge.

“Of course, of course. My apologies.” He answers, brilliant smile back on. “But I hope to see you around, Nuria.” He says letting go of your hand with a wink and a light sting of electricity from his body to the underside of your wrist. Your hand pulls back startled, he chuckles as he struts away.

Jerk, you murmur under your breath.

Jo comes back a few moments later dragging a large folding table borrowed from somewhere. 

“Let me give you a hand!”

You finish fairly quickly after that, when Myrna comes back again, taking the last bite of her second pie and seemingly ready for a third one. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.”

“Really?” Jo chirps. And you don’t have the heart to say no, your wrist still tingling from her boss' "greeting."

You’re herded to a corner though, where several screens show different angles of the set. One screen dictates what’s to happen at which times intervals during the show. One segment draws your attention. Special Guests, it reads, the name of the performing musical group - and then a live performance of a song you immediately recognize.

Sudden screaming from one of the hallways leading to another part of the studio has you and Jo glancing around. There’s the sound of slamming doors and objects being thrown around followed by a string of swears accompanied by several footsteps running towards the source of the screams.

“What the fuck is going on now?!” Myrna screams into her headset as she follows the chaos.

“Maybe it’s time we skedaddle?” Jo suggests scratching his cheek in mild concern.

But now it’s you who doesn’t want to leave. “We’ll be fine, Jo, besides I really want to see this.” You point to the screen. “Mamá Tozi, my grandmother, used to play this song all the time when I was little. It’s an oldie but a goodie, didn’t expect to see it here of all places.” You explain. “Want me to teach you how to dance cumbia?” 

“No?“ 

Too late you’re already grabbing his hands, placing them in position. “Let’s see, it goes 1, 2, 3… Nunca es suficiente para mí… ” You step forward, tilting one hip to the side and then to the other. It’s a bit difficult without the actual beat of the song but you manage following your own, “Tan-tan-tan, tan... “ Jo tries his best to follow along. “Porque siempre quiero más de ti. Yo quisiera hacerte más feliz.” And then a hum for the parts there’s no words for. You move his hand while keeping the other in a loose grip so you can do a half twirl and return to position, then motion with your hand for him to do the same. He follows through and you giggle as Jo rolls his eyes but continues to follow along. “Mi corazón estalla por tu amor. ¿Y tú que crees que esto es muy normal? Acostumbrado estás tanto al amor.”

“You know the song?” Myrna asks out of nowhere, you let go of Jo's hands (you hadn't notice when she came back.) “Have you performed before?” She presses.

“No… ” She didn't need to know about your previous stint at the Feisty Minx.

“Well there’s always a first time for everything.” Oh you did not where this was going.

“Turns out the vocalist for our scheduled group is feelin’ a little under the weather t’day, and by that I mean she’s too fucking wasted to even stand up, so we’re gonna need to improvise.” We? Who’s we? “Our CEO is here.” Our?

“Well I do wish you the best of luck and would you look at the time, Jo, we should be driving back soon.” You say looking at the black screen of your phone, then search for Jo’s hand again to get out of there as quickly as possible. But Myrna’s talons snatch your arm first. 

“Hey!” Jo tries to reach for you, but she easily pushes him back with the other hand. 

“You’ll do just as well.” She sneers.

“There’s no way you think I’ll get out there to put on a performance! Are you nuts?!” You drop the professional act, glaring at her instead - trying not to wince in pain, her grip hurts.

“I don’t think - I know you will.” She says, you’re standing on the tip of your toes with the way she continues to hold onto you. “Or there won’t be any payment for the order, AND I’ll make sure to run your little shop’s reputation to the ground. Would that be enough motivation for you?” 

“Oh yeah?” Jo speaks up, “You don’t know who you’re messing with!” Myrna hisses at him as response.

“I want triple the pay for the pies.” You say before Jo says anything else. There’s no need to involve Rosie.

Her eyes narrow. “Whatever.” She says and calls for a dressing room assistant. 

“Nuria, but… “ Jo whispers.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine, and we’ll make a killing on this one.” You smile as Myrna drags you further back. 

__________________________________________________________

He sits right on the front row.

Fights the urge to yawn while waiting for the next section as his employees scamper behind the camera. Someone offers him a second cup of whiskey which he takes without even looking to see who is offering it, he should really try to make an effort to actually engage with them. It was easier to win them over with feigned kindness than by force (though his peers would disagree). Especially now that they had the entire playing field to themselves.

It was the reason why he was there at all. To ensure the 'magic of TV' ran smoothly for captivating quality content. Their plan to monopolize Hell depended on them capturing as much support from the public as possible, by any means necessary. Indeed, with the battle against heaven broadcast he could feel himself growing in influence and power as every wretched sinner tuned in to watch. So strike and improve while the iron is hot was one of his many mottos.

It’s all he thinks as he watches the Host announce the next performer.

The lights dim as the cameras focus on the stage.

The lively melody of a trumpet is followed by the rest of the band’s instruments as flood lights cast over the vocalist at the center of the stage.

A tight sequin dress glimmers with the curve of her swaying hips, her shoulders also moving to the beat of the music.

But then she sings and suddenly it's the most interesting thing he’s seen all week. 

“Oh thank fuck!” Vox overhears one of the producer’s heads loud-whisper to someone on his right. 

“ Y tú te vas jugando a enamorar. Todas las ilusiones vagabundas que se dejan alcanzar.“ Her voice young and smooth in Spanish, he understands very little but knows them to be of a romantic melancholic nature. She spins, grabbing one of the trumpet players to accompany her on her dance and her solo dance from before flourishes with the new companion.

“Who’s that?” He finally asks, curious.

“She’s ah… an up and coming artist.” The producer’s heads answer in unison, then go over his notes to look for her actual name. The CEO watches as the ratings are directly sent to his screen. 

“Oh yeah?” He says taking a swing of his whiskey, liking the data he’s receiving.

“Nunca es suficiente para mí. Porque siempre quiero más de ti.” Her voice rises without losing the harmony in it, the musicians behind her faithfully follow her rhythm, nearing the end of the song. The numbers on Vox’ screen hit are all time high for the month, impressive considering this show’s underperformance in ratings.

“Wowowee!! How do you like them apples?” Fytor, the Host, gestures for a round of applause that goes on for some time. Someone whistles in admiration. “Los Demonios Azules!! Premiering our cultural segment, everyone.” He says for one last round of applause before the cut. 

And just like that, the vocalist who sang with such charm and charisma only moments prior drops the microphone and yanks the colorful fur wrap off her shoulders to throw it on the floor as well. Vox barely catches the moment she also yanks the gloves off her hands, stomping off the stage in a petty tantrum that could rival one of Val’s. 

“Well, looks like your little variety show gets to survives another year!” Vox remarks as he gets up from the chair. Both of the producer’s heads beam at the news. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He says, adjusting his clothes in place before zapping himself away from the set to the dressing rooms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re taking off the gaudy and incredibly heavy earrings you were made to wear when a spark of electric blue appears behind you and you get up alarmed holding onto the dresser behind you. “Holy— “

VoxTek’s CEO materializes before you. 

“Greetings, my dear!” He smiles, “I don’t believe we were introduced.” 

The initial shock wears off quickly. “Yes we were!” You tear the humongous blonde wig off your head, then smear part of the makeup off with one hand. 

There is a pause where only the muffled screaming of the neighboring dressing room is audible. The band you performed with was infighting over the close call they had thanks to their drunken vocalist. 

“The pie girl?!” He asks incredulous after a moment before doubling over in laughter as if you just told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Your fists tighten at your sides.

“Is everything ok in there?” Jo asks knocking at the door. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Be there soon, just taking care of a new fan.” You shout, voice dripping with sarcasm. You’re angry at being made to perform like a little wind up monkey but him laughing over it infuriates you even more. “Your bitch of an employee, Myrna, threatened to withhold my pay for the pies if I didn’t replace the singer.” You struggle to untie the gladiator shoes. How the fuck did they tie these damn shoes on you?! “Your guests suck, by the way.” 

“My sincerest apologies, my dear. I’ll make sure you get paid, money is not an issue.” He says going on knee to undo the knot. You pause, surprised by the gentleness in the sudden action. He takes all the time in the world taking off the shoe, then motions for the other foot placing it over his knee, no minding soiling his very expensive looking trousers.

“Ever thought about a career on television?” His tone is casual as he works.

“No, sir,”  You reply, all anger fizzled out, but quick to take your foot back, “I already have a contract with someone.”

The expression on the screen changes, now intrigued. “Oh? And may I know who the lucky demon is?” Hoping the answer will deter further questions you answer truthfully. 

“Rosie.” 

His screen glitches for a second, distorted static repeats the name. “Ro-rosie? Cannibal Town's Rosie? You don’t say!” 

You immediately sense that might have been the wrong answer, having forgotten the intricate web of relationships Hell’s Overlords maintained - and if his reaction was anything to go by, Rosie might not be someone he particularly cares for, for whatever reason. 

You reach for your clothes inching towards the door with the sequin dress still on, you don’t want to find out what else he might say. Or do over the new information. 

“Yes, sir, now if you’ll excuse me.” 

He slams the door shut when you open it and for a moment prickling fear overtakes you. Shit. You’re too scared to meet his eyes, feel him instead stand very close to you, but then the tie holding your wings together at your back to hide them comes off.

“This one hid from me.” You don’t need to see the cocky smile displayed on his screen as he speaks, “Here’s my assistant’s contact if you ever get tired of making pies, doll.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the offer, sir” You whisper, tone calm despite the lump in your throat, taking the card offered. 

Jo straightens up when the door opens. You school your face into neutrality so as not to freak him out. 

“C’mon, let’s go.” 

Though you’re sure he catches a glimpse of the CEO as the door closes behind you.

________________

You work in silence for the rest of the week, the small tv in the shop’s kitchen remained disconnected, missing several episodes of Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? Testament of the bad taste the trip to VoxTek Tower left in your mouth. But it was nothing a good bath of crushed roses and herbs couldn’t fix. You had Jo do the bath too to make sure las malas vibras didn’t linger, even if “This is Hell, Nuria, we are all made of bad vibes.”

And before you knew it, Rosie’s new shipment arrived and that occupied your mind instead.

“No heads this time, Theo?”

“Nah, old hag Susan got it in her head that she wanted to start a forever soup business. Rosie would only let ‘er have the heads though.” 

“I see.” Works for you, that was the least favorite part you liked to work with, all that hair and eyeballs… made it hard to pretend it was sinners—not just regular game meat. Some things you don’t think you’ll be able to get used to no matter how many years passed down here.

You worked quickly, more than usual, finding yourself eager to see Rosie. Maybe out of some odd need to feel reassured under her protection. Which is how you found yourself at her place in less than two days.

You’re almost done at the Town’s plaza uneasily distributing the pies, without major incident. They listen, for the most part, Susan giving you a bit of a hard time but Theo was there to reinforce authority where usually Rosie would be the one overseeing the distribution. Today though, you were told, she was entertaining important company.

“Well, that’s the last of them.” You keep one for Rosie. Theo walks you to her place, chatting about the colony’s new found reputation from dangerous bloodthirsty savages to dangerous heroic bloodthirsty savages. 

“I’m sure that’s gotta count for something, Theo.” You nod along as you walk up to Rosie’s.

“Nuria, my precious girl!” Rosie calls out as soon as you enter her place. She’s coming for a hug, you barely have time to move the pie out of the way as she smothers you into her bosom. She seems more cheery than usual. “Come, come. I want you to meet my friend.” She says pulling you along to a table at the back. You don't think much of it this time either - as she's always trying to get you socialize more.

“Alastor, honey, this is Nuria! The girl I told you so much about.” 

Her long fingers wiggle as she motions to the man sitting by the table.

Alastor? Oh but that can't be...

You're frozen, pie in hand as the Radio Demon himself stands, the shadow covering his form dissipating to reveal his tall slender form. 

So this was The Important Company. 

“Charmed!” He smiles, the crackling static of his voice immediately setting you on edge.

Rosie's hand at your back gently pushes you forward to respond.

“Likewise, sir.” You manage, taking his hand in greeting. The handshake is solid and unexpectedly friendly.

"Oh now, Nuria, is okay—he doesn't bite, for the most part!" They both chuckle at the shared joke. You force yourself to chuckle along too.

“I stopped by your pie shop the other day, but it was about to close I’m afraid.” Of course, you heard all about it from Jo.

“Ah y-yes, my assistant did mention it. But please do visit again, we do make a couple of extra pies for special clientele.” You had to, some people didn’t take no for an answer.

“It wasn’t necessary, I was just passing by and the smell got my attention. It worked out for the best, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to try them in such good company.” He motions to Rosie.

“Oh Alastor, there you go again.” She says absolutely smitten. “Let me make us some more tea now that the refreshment is here. I mean the pie, Nuria, don’t fret.” You laugh; ha-ha! Yes, funny.

“Well then,” Clearing your throat you set the pie on the table, “it’s been a pleasure— “

“Aht, aht aht! I know what you’re about to do, dear, and I’m not having it.” Rosie’s hands rest at her hips. “Sit down, you’re a guest today.” 

“Oh but I… “ You shut up when she levels you with a look, not quite threatening yet, but getting there. You have never taken her there. Still, “I can help prepare the tea, I know this great recipe— “

“Sit down.”

You sit on the nearest chair. 

“Be right back~!” She shimmies away to her kitchen.

So you’re left alone with her friend. You knew at the periphery of awareness of the rumors about Rosie and the Radio Demon being close, but you never expected, nor in all honesty wanted, to run into him or any of her acquaintances. In and Out was your tried and proven method of operation. It had kept you safe, figures the one time you decided to stay at the VoxTek Tower you would—

“Lovely weather we’re having today.” His static voice takes you out of your thoughts.

“Hm? Oh yes, quite nice, I mean as nice as it can get.” You answer. 

“My, Rosie was not kidding when she said you were a very new here.” He observes, and you’re not sure how to take that. “How are you finding the new lifestyle?” He asks, tone polite.

What an odd thing to ask, miserable of course - everyone was miserable down here, but you get the feeling he wasn’t looking for honesty as much as just conversation. So you oblige. “Well, all things considered. It’s not too bad I suppose. I haven’t been purged yet so there’s that.” 

“Ah, an optimist, a rare breed. My cat could learn a thing or two from you.” He says crossing his legs.

“Your cat, sir?” 

“Please, call me Alastor, we can’t be that far apart in age when death came to us.” 

True, but calling him solely by his first name felt odd with the way he talked and just his general seniority over you in hell. “Um, what year did you… erm pass? if it’s not too rude to ask of me?”

“1933! And what a year it was.”

Oh wow. “That was during the Great Depression, am I correct? My grandmother was born during that period in history, quite amazing when you stop to think it.” 

“Well I have been called old in nastier ways I suppose,” He laughs, your hand covers your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult.”

“Oh it's quite alright, I was merely messing with you!” He chuckles, “It sounds like your grandmother was very precious to you.” 

“Of course, my grandmother was a very wise woman, though I think most would say that about their mothers.”

“And you would be right, my dear, mothers, grandmothers, matriarchs—all irreplaceable pillars of support in a decent society.” He responds and maybe you were being way too dramatic when Rosie introduced you to him.

“Tea is ready~! I hope both of you are getting along.” Rosie sings-songs with a tray of freshly brewed tea. 

“We’re getting along just fine.” Alastor replies. 

“Good, good.”

You busy yourself with helping Rosie cut the pie, serving two slices, relieved Rosie thought to bring cookies alongside the tea so you would have that instead. 

“I hope it’s to your liking.” You serve Rosie’s guest first as she watches on, pleased.

“I’m sure I will, dear.” He replies. And it’s so strange how different, how normal, he actually is from the rumors on the street. They made him seem almost otherworldly even by hell’s standards. 

“Delicious as always, Nuria.” Rosie exclaims at the first bite. You smile in response. “Go on, Alastor, give it a try.”

He follows suit. “There has yet to be the occasion where you have been wrong, my dear friend. One can still taste the panicked screams.”

Now that made him sound closer to the stories about him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh she calls you ‘sir,’ Alastor, isn’t she precious!” She says pinching your cheek. 

“I already said there’s no need. But I do appreciate the good manners.” He replies before taking another bite of the pie. “You know Charlie has been talking about a Grand Re-opening ceremony for the Hotel. I think these tasty treats would do a wonderful addition to the event!” 

You almost choke on your tea.

“My Goodness, you are right!” Rosie’s dark eyes set on you expectantly. “What do you say, Nuria?”

Clearing your throat, you think of the nicest way to refuse. “I’d love to but I think we’ll be taking a break from commissions for a bit.”

“Oh? But didn’t you just get a really big one from VoxTek?”

You cough to clear your throat, oblivious to the way her guest’s eyes narrow at the mention  “Yes, well… “

“Don’t tell me they didn’t pay you!” You can hear Rosie’s mood quickly souring, her demeanor darkening.

“No, no! On the contrary, they paid me thrice as much but—hm. I should, maybe I should start from the beginning.” So you tell them how your little jokey-joke dance forcefully landed you in front of the cameras and consequently with an offer by VoxTek’s CEO himself to work for his company, omitting the specific detail of how the offer was extended to you. “The whole ordeal was very degrading to be completely honest. I’m just thankful Jo and I were able to leave in one piece.”

“Ha! Why this sounds like the plot of a spicy novel!” The Radio Demon chuckles bemused. “A regular girl’s break into stardom by a sudden twist of sheer luck!” Rosie swats at him with her fan when she sees you’re not laughing along this time.

“Alastor, can you not this once?” After glaring at him she turns to you. “That’s terrible, darling! I’m sorry that happened. But do let me know if they ever give you any more trouble.” She says placing a hand over yours.

“Thank you, Rosie.” You already feel better about telling her about the ordeal, all you needed was to feel safe. “I think I got it for now.”

“That’s my girl.” 

“Well rest assured, Nuria, Charlie has far more class than the demons at the Vee tower. I can arrange for a visit if you’d like. I think it would benefit you as Rosie tells me you're saving up to move out of Pentagram City, though I can't imagine why anyone would want live away from such wonderful daily entertainment.” Oh wow, Rosie really did talk a lot about you. “Think of it as helping a friend of a friend.” His face and eyes are all sweet charisma, they look almost genuine. And you wonder if he’s only nice to you due to his friendship with Rosie or because he really is just like that with some people. “The reward could be handsome, she is the Princess of Hell after all, I’m sure you’ll be able to name your price once you charm her.”

Oh boy, the delivery van will be due for maintenance soon too…

“Does she have a date for the re-opening yet, sir?” 

Both Rosie and her guest share a smug look of triumph. 

[wraith-caller]

TWLID and Godwyn's questline really does take a massive beating since Fia is the primary character of it, and she is 1. Not a TWLID 2. Has zero connection to Godwyn himself. She wants to argue about the persecution of TWLID but she doesn't have any TWLID in her posse, and there's never any indication that TWLID are even conscious thanks to their situation regarding souls. Like I get she's fixated on Godwyn as it's a way to fulfill her cult-instilled function but with someone SHE picks, but it doesn't give any insight into Godwyn himself or what the hell it might mean for him to be forced into becoming First Dead.

IDK I think the quest could have been handled better to say the least.

It's kinda true yeah!! I honestly think part of the problem is fans trying to package it neatly as a metaphor for a real world -ism so they don't have to touch the harder questions the plotline raises. If we just blindly accept that TWLID are no different than like Omen or Misbegotten, it's easy to say 'of course they're being unfairly maligned and shouldn't be killed! they're just a persecuted culture!'

But that's not at all what's going on here. TWLID are victims of a disease, much like the Omen. But unlike the Omen, they were already dead to begin with, and their souls are gone, making it even more morally and philosophically confounding. What are they exactly? Are they aware and sentient like everyone else, or are they just going through the motions? Do they have any wants? Do they really see themselves as some new cultural group in spite of the fact they were, in life, various peoples from various cultures? Do they want to live like this? Or would they rather be put to rest, given the state they're in? They can't die, which plenty of people will point out is an awful fate when it comes to condemning Marika for removing the Rune of Death. So doesn't it apply here, too? Shouldn't the dead be allowed to die?

Deathroot is clearly an existential threat to every living thing in the Lands Between, and I've never seen a single fan argue otherwise. Yet suddenly, when it comes to the consequences of deathroot, there's debate to be had. Like you said, we don't get any insight into Godwyn or his thoughts on the matter, and I really think it's because he simply has none. His soul's gone, so what's left? The only one representing TWLID as a positive thing that ought to be protected is Fia, who has 1) been conditioned from birth to be more than comfortable with the dead and 2)something to gain in seeing her own dreams realised in laying with Godwyn as opposed to one chosen for her. People frequently hold up Rogier as another champion for TWLID, but actually reading his dialog doesn't support that. He wants to save them, and that could mean any number of things. Besides this, he doesn't revere Godwyn, and he's not resentful of the Golden Order the way Fia is, so it seems fair to believe his perspective on the matter is distinct from hers.

Fia and Rogier's explicit agreements begin and end with saying TWLID are simply misunderstood and unfairly maligned. But she goes further than him, saying that we ought to be cementing their existence into the laws of reality, which is where it gets iffy. It makes sense to see the Golden Order's mass culling as cruel when there is likely a more humane way. It makes sense to have compassion for TWLID and want something better for them. It doesn't make sense to say they ought to be forced to keep living when we don't know if that's what they even want.

I know I harp on this a lot, but I really think it's better suited to be a story about our relationships to death and the dying. It fits so well with the ethical questions and real life struggles surrounding terminal illness, euthanasia, dying, and our fear of death. We have people stubbornly resistant to it, people who just ignore it, people arguing over it in either direction, we have the will of the dying being overlooked and pushed aside to accommodate the desires of the living, we have questions about what is the humane thing to do for someone who can't advocate for themselves. Fia's personal story revolves a lot around her fighting for her own agency, so it'd work wonderfully in a story asking us questions about the agency of the dying imo.

[s7ray-cat]

PSA for any LGBTQ2IA+ people traveling abroad

This is a link to the LGBTQ+ Travel Safety Index

(Disclaimer: These are excerpts from an article I found)

These are some tools to find safe places to travel for LGBTQ2IA+ people:

LGBTQ-specific travel news and safety basics

U.S. State Department ✈ A section of this government-run online resource offers basic pointers for LGBTQ travelers such as travel document checklists, general safety tips, and information about travel insurance and various U.S. embassy locations.

Equaldex ✈ Launched in 2014, this interactive map-anchored website keeps a running tab on LGBTQ rights–related laws around the world via a global network of user contributions.

National Center for Transgender Equality ✈ This Washington, D.C.–based advocacy organization addresses information relevant to gender-nonconforming and transgender travelers. It features a particularly comprehensive guide to airport security that addresses concerns related to potentially intrusive TSA screening procedures.

OutRight Action International ✈ Formerly known as the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission, this nonprofit publishes news, studies, and reports on LGBTQ issues around the world that can help travelers stay informed about safety in various destinations.

Erasing 76 Crimes ✈ Journalist and LGBTQ advocate Colin Stewart heads up this news-oriented blog that spotlights global developments related to LGBTQ rights spanning countries across the Middle East, Asia, Africa, Europe, Oceania, and the Americas.

GoAbroad’s LGBTQ Study Abroad Guide✈ For queer students interested in studying abroad, this PDF provides a wealth of information, including tips for coming out to a host family, LGBTQ-specific scholarships, and a list of queer-friendly study abroad programs.

LGBTQ-friendly accommodations and services

The International LGBTQ+ Travel Association ✈ This website acts as a one-stop-shop for all things related to LGBTQ travel planning. It brings together a massive network of queer-approved hotels, transportation providers, tourism boards, travel agencies, tour operators, event promoters, and local media in over 80 countries worldwide; it also maintains recommendation-based travel and business blogs.

Purple Roofs ✈ An LGBTQ mainstay since the late ’90s, this booking website showcases small, family-owned bed-and-breakfasts, hotels, vacation rentals, inns, and tour companies worldwide. It also hosts a variety of related travel resources, including event listings and a dedicated LGBTQ travel blog.

World Rainbow Hotels ✈ This modern travel directory combines a curated list of stylish, queer-friendly hotels in countries where attitudes toward gay, lesbian, bisexual, and trans travelers are for the most part accepting. The website also features an image-driven blog full of travel inspiration, global news, events, and other articles.

Travel Gayand Travel Gay Asia ✈ These twin booking sites serve a predominantly gay male audience, pointing international travelers to city guides with relevant information about bars, clubs, saunas, shops, beaches, and events, as well as queer-friendly hotels across the globe.

GayCities ✈ A similarly gay male–focused online travel guide, this web resource recommends gay-friendly bars, clubs, restaurants, hotels, shops, gyms, and more in 238 different cities from Cape Town to Mexico City.

In addition to explicitly LGBTQ outlets, you can now find pages dedicated to LGBTQ consumers on mainstream online travel booking sites like Expedia and Orbitz. Queer-oriented promotions and packages are also often offered by big-name hotels such as Marriott and Kimpton.

LGBTQ-specialized tour operators and agencies

LGBTQ-friendly tour operators for organized trips

For LGBTQ travelers who’d rather leave trip planning to the experts, award-winning tour operators such as Outstanding Travel, Zoom Vacations, Out Adventures, Toto Tours, Detours Travel, and Concierge Travel all offer a diverse array of international group and private trips. International tour operator R Family Vacations also designs and leads LGBTQ family-friendly trips (plus a few new adults-only options) on land and at sea for public groups and individuals. The queer-run wilderness education organization, The Venture Out Project, operates LGBTQ-specific backpacking trips in the United States for teens, adults, and families.

LGBTQ-friendly cruises

Inclusive travel company Vacaya hosts curated LGBTQ getaways on chartered cruise ships, as well as to all-LGBTQ international resorts. The popular lesbian travel brand Olivia Cruises has been running entertainment-filled cruise, resort, adventure, and riverboat group trips exclusively for queer female–identified travelers since 1990. And cruise company Source Events, which caters predominantly to gay men and their families, organizes both all-gay charters and private LGBTQ groups aboard larger cruise ships (as well as personalized cruise journeys and on-land group itineraries).

Related Free Travel Apps to Download Before Your Next Trip

LGBTQ-friendly travel and networking apps

From joining queer-specific networking groups, to checking for upcoming LGBTQ events in different cities, to starting important conversations about shared experiences through hashtags such as #travelingwhiletrans, LGBTQ travelers have long relied on social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter when planning for domestic and international trips. More recently, meetup apps have created new opportunities for connection between LGBTQ travelers.

Apps (available on iOS and Android)

Meetup ✈ This stalwart community-building platform is a great tool for connecting with fellow LGBTQ folks and getting to know local queer scenes on the road. The “LGBTQ Meetups” section points app users toward various happy hours, professional networking events, book clubs, and hiking groups, as well as playgroups for LGBTQ parents.

SCRUFF Venture ✈ Gay dating app SCRUFF recently launched a travel-oriented edition aimed at making it easier to connect with LGBTQ people “before and while you travel.” By clicking into one of the app’s 500-plus destinations, users can view members marked as “visiting now” or “visiting soon” in each given location. The app also provides travel tips from city “Ambassadors” (members who volunteer to give advice and recommendations to visitors), plus updates about LGBTQ issue–related travel advisories.

Refuge Restrooms ✈ This important resource for trans, intersex, and gender-nonconforming individuals maps out safe restrooms in various countries around the world, which users can search for based on proximity to a location.

Related Seeing the World Through Rainbow-Colored Glasses

LGBTQ-focused travel magazines and blogs

Magazines

Out Magazine’s online outpost Out Traveler covers everything from luxury LGBTQ-friendly hotels and nightlife hot spots to the latest must-have gadgets for jet-setters. Passport Magazine, available in both digital and print formats, touches upon a wealth of topics related to LGBTQ travel, with sections devoted to food and drink, hotel reviews, product roundups, and events. Also worth checking out is Connextions Magazine, which compiles long-form hotel reviews, human interest stories, destination guides, and other global lifestyle content relevant to LGBTQ travelers. (The print and digital publication also has a Spanish edition.)

Although not their main focus, many widely circulated LGBTQ lifestyle outlets like the Advocate, Curve, Autostraddle, Diva, and Chill also feature travel-related news, commentary, city guides, hotel reviews, profiles, and more.

Blogs

Touted as “a lifestyle blog for men and other stylish travelers,” the popular blog Travels of Adam hosts op-eds and personal essays, LGBTQ travel tips and hacks, and restaurant, bar, and hotel reviews in destinations from Egypt to England. Married couple Auston and David head up another gay male–focused travel blog called Two Bad Tourists, which features navigating international gay-friendly destinations, festivals, and events.

On the queer female travel blog Dopes on the Road, you can expect to find a wide range of content, from travel diaries and safety tips to pop culture commentary. Beautiful photo galleries, travel journals, LGBTQ profiles and interviews, travel tips, and destination guides dominate Once Upon a Journey, a helpful travel blog from lesbian couple Roxanne Weijer and Maartje Hensen.

[coochiequeens]

No one is entitled to biological offspring and how can they include surrogacy in the Act without implying that couples are entitled to women to be surrogates?

A trio of Democratic senators are introducing a "Right to IVF Act" that would, among other things, force private health insurance plans to cover assisted reproduction treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF), egg freezing, and gestational surrogacy.

The measure provides no exception or accommodations for religious objections, all but ensuring massive legal battles over the mandate should it pass.

The "sweeping legislative package" (as the senators describe it) combines several existing pieces of legislation, including the Access to Family Building Act and the Family Building Federal Employees Health Benefit Fairness Act sponsored by Sen. Tammy Duckworth (D–Ill.), the Veteran Families Health Services Act from Sen. Patty Murray (D–Wash.), and the Access to Infertility Treatment and Care Act from Sen. Cory Booker (D–N.J.).

Booker's contribution here is probably the most controversial. It requires coverage for assisted reproduction from any health care plan that covers obstetric services.

A Reverse Contraception Mandate

Remember the Affordable Care Act's contraception mandate, which required private health insurance plans to cover birth control (allegedly) at no cost to plan participants? It spawned some big legal battles over the rights of religious employers and institutions not to offer staff health plans that included birth control coverage.

Booker's Access to Infertility Treatment and Care Act is a lot like the Obamacare contraception mandate, except instead of requiring health care plans to cover the costs of avoiding pregnancy it would require them to cover treatments to help people become pregnant.

The bill states that all group health plans or health insurance issuers offering group or individual health insurance must cover assisted reproduction and fertility preservation treatments if they cover any obstetric services. It defines assisted reproductive technology as "treatments or procedures that involve the handling of human egg, sperm, and embryo outside of the body with the intent of facilitating a pregnancy, including in vitro fertilization, egg, embryo, or sperm cryopreservation, egg or embryo donation, and gestational surrogacy."

Health insurance plans could only require participant cost-sharing (in the form of co-pays, deductibles, etc.) for such services to the same extent that they require cost-sharing for similar services.

What Could Go Wrong?

It seems like it should go without saying by now but there is no such thing as government-mandated healthcare savings. Authorities can order health care plans to cover IVF (or contraception or whatever) and cap point-of-service costs for plan participants, but health insurers will inevitably pass these costs on to consumers in other ways—leading to higher insurance premiums overall or other health care cost increases.

Yes, IVF and other fertility procedures are expensive. But a mandate like this could actually risk raising IVF costs.

When a lot of people are paying out of pocket for fertility treatments, medical professionals have an incentive to keep costs affordable in order to attract patients. If everyone's insurance covers IVF and patients needn't bother with comparing costs or weighing costs versus benefits, there's nothing to stop medical providers from raising prices greatly. We'll see the same cost inflation we've seen in other sectors of the U.S. healthcare marketplace—a situation that not only balloons health care spending generally (and gets passed on to consumers one way or another) but makes fertility treatments out of reach for people who don't have insurance that covers such treatments.

Raising costs isn't the only issue here, of course. There's the matter of more government intervention in private markets (something some of us are still wild-eyed enough to oppose!).

Offering employee health care plans that cover IVF could be a good selling point for recruiting potential employees or keeping existing employees happy. But there's no reason that every employer should have to do so, just because lawmakers want IVF to be more accessible.

It's unfair to employers—big or small, religious or non-religious—to say they all must take on the costs of offering health care plans that cover pricey fertility treatments. And Booker's bill contains no exceptions for small businesses or for entities with religious or ethical objections.

A lot of religious people are morally opposed to things like IVF and surrogacy. This measure would force religious employers to subsidize and tacitly condone these things if they wanted to offer employees health care plans with any obstetrics coverage at all.

As with any government intervention in free markets, there's the possibility that this fertility treatment mandate would distort incentives. IVF can certainly be an invaluable tool for folks experiencing infertility. But it's also very expensive and very taxing—emotionally and physically—for the women undergoing it, with far from universal success rates. The new mandate could encourage people who may not be good candidates for IVF to keep trying it, perhaps nudging them away from other options (like adoption) that might be better suited to their circumstances.

'Access' Vs. Whatever This Is

Since Roe v. Wade was overturned, many Americans have worried that the legal regime change would pave the way for outlawing things like contraception or IVF, too. Encoding into law (or legal precedent) the idea that fertilized eggs are people could have negative implications for these things, even if many conservative politicians pledge (and demonstrate) that IVF and birth control are safe. In response, some progressive politicians—perhaps genuinely concerned, perhaps sensing political opportunity (or why not both?)—have started talking a lot about the need to protect access to IVF across the country.

As much as I agree with this goal, I think IVF's legality is better off as a state-by-state matter. That said, the "protect IVF nationwide" impulse wouldn't be so bad if "protecting access" simply meant making sure that the procedure was legal.

But as we've seen again and again over the past couple decades, Democrats tend to define health care and medicine "access" differently.

The new Right to IVF Act would establish a national right to provide or receive assisted reproduction services. In their press release, the senators say this last bit would "pre-empt any state effort to limit such access and ensur[e] no hopeful parent—or their doctors—are punished for trying to start or grow a family." OK.

But that's not all it would do. The bill's text states that "an individual has a statutory right under this Act, including without prohibition or unreasonable limitation or interference (such as due to financial cost or detriment to the individual's health, including mental health), to—(A) access assisted reproductive technology; (B) continue or complete an ongoing assisted reproductive technology treatment or procedure pursuant to a written plan or agreement with a health care provider; and (C) retain all rights regarding the use or disposition of reproductive genetic materials, including gametes."

Note that bit about financial cost. It's kind of confusingly worded and it's unclear exactly what that would mean in practice. But it could give the government leeway to directly intervene if they think IVF is broadly unaffordable or to place more demands on individual health care facilities, providers, insurance plans, etc., to help cover the costs of IVF for people whom it would otherwise be financially out of reach.

This is the distilled essence of how Democrats go too far on issues like this. They're not content to say "People shouldn't be punished for utilizing/offering IVF" or that the practice shouldn't be illegal. They look at authoritarian or overreaching possibilities from the other side (like banning or criminalizing IVF) and respond with overreaching proposals of their own.

The proble with increasing access to IVF is what happens when the couple needs a surrogate to have biological offspring? Will they beg and pester the women in their lives? Will the affordable IVF compensate surrogates fairly?

[teamtripsnz]

Keep up to date with our latest launch in New Zealand.

[unlimitedindia]

Visit The Amazing Rajasthan Tour and Travel Packages

Embark on an unforgettable journey with Unlimited India's Rajasthan Tour and Travel Packages, where history, culture, and adventure come together to create the perfect family vacation. Rajasthan is not just a destination; it's an experience that transports you through time, offering something for every member of the family. From the majestic forts of Jaipur to the golden dunes of Jaisalmer, every corner of Rajasthan tells a story. Our family-friendly packages are designed to cater to the diverse interests of all age groups, ensuring a holistic and enriching experience. Whether you're marveling at the intricate architecture, participating in local festivals, or simply soaking in the vibrant atmosphere, Rajasthan promises memories that will last a lifetime. With our meticulously crafted itineraries, your family can explore the state's treasures with ease. We handle every detail—from comfortable accommodations to guided tours—so you can focus on creating lasting memories. Capture the essence of Rajasthan's rich heritage as you delve into its royal past, experience its colorful traditions, and enjoy the warmth of its hospitality. Choose Unlimited India's Rajasthan Family Tour and Travel Packages for a new journey where every moment is a step into the heart of India's cultural heritage.

[hazygrains]

December 16 - 17 | Mount Pulag, Playground of the Gods

After nearly nine years, I revisited Mt. Pulag. Back in March 2015, I climbed my first mountain with my family, but we only made it to peak #2. We were tired, but it didn't bother me much as I could already see the summit from there. Now, my work friends planned a Mt. Pulag climb, and not wanting to miss out and eager to reach the summit this time, I agreed.

We were a group of 12, and most of us brought our partners on the trip. Fortunately, the GA Outdoor package we had came with homestay accommodation, so camping, like the first time, wasn't necessary. Plus, we had the whole van to ourselves. So, we planned this trip in October, giving us 2 months to get ready. I even signed up for a gym membership just to be somewhat physically fit for the climb.

Anyway, we hit the road as soon as we were all picked up from our designated points at around 12 am on Saturday. By 8 am, we had already reached Bokod, Benguet. After stopping at a clinic for the required medical checkup and grabbing breakfast, we went to the DENR office for another mandatory orientation about the national park. Upon arriving at Baban’s homestay at noon, we were free to do anything we wanted until the lights-off schedule at 9 pm.

Our wakeup call was at 1 am the following day, and we were supposed to be geared up and ready at the ranger station by 2:30 am. Despite being the first group to start the trek, unfortunately, half of our members were not adequately prepared for the hike, allowing other groups to overtake us on the way up. Our group got split, with the first batch advancing ahead, and us lagging behind. As a result, we ended up being the last group to reach the summit. Even though the hike was initially planned as a 5-hour trek to the summit, just in time for sunrise, it took us almost 8 hours to reach the peak instead.

The struggle to reach the summit was no joke. The pathways were muddy, slippery, and rocky—all worsened by the rain and fog. The cold temperature added another layer of difficulty to the trek. Some of us almost gave up, but I was glad we kept going. We continued at our own pace, and it took us until almost 10 am to finally reach the top, with the first batch waiting for us at the summit for an hour. Imagine waiting in the freezing temperature. Anyway, the first batch told us stories of what happened at the peak when they got there. They said it was so crowded, and people were fighting over their turns to take photos at the Mt. Pulag summit board signage. Unfortunately, there was no clearing, so they had no view, just fog.

The moment we reached the summit, we were rewarded with a clearing. Now, we could see the blue sky and a clear mountain view. Though clouds and fog still came and went every now and then, overall, the weather improved. There was even a rainbow! We stayed there for almost an hour, enjoying the moment, the view, and the accomplishment of reaching the highest mountain in Luzon. And, of course, we took tons of photos. I was beyond grateful. The journey we went through is definitely one for the books, one that we will look back on and cherish.

The reverse journey took us 5 hours, and the descent was just as grueling. I was thankful for my knees for not giving up on me; they honestly hurt because the force I exerted on them while descending was much greater than on the way up. Additionally, my backpack, loaded with all my stuff, made my arms and back tired, and all I wanted was to lie down and sleep. Asis and I didn't pack any decent food; all we had were nuts and sour gummy worms. We should have brought sandwiches—imagine the pain, the hunger, and the struggle. Oh well. I was also thankful for the habal-habal ride on the last part of the trail. We all booked one each, and from there, they dropped us off at our homestay, saving us from another 3km walk. I just couldn’t continue anymore.

Once we arrived at the homestay at 3 pm, we immediately ate our late lunch, freshened up, and fixed our stuff because we needed to head back to the metro. We arrived home at around 1 am the next day, and most of us took a day off because we might end up dead if we still decided to work in the office. Lol. So yeah, I can now proudly say I’ve conquered Mt. Pulag—definitely a nice way to end the year.

By the way, we were also rewarded with another rainbow on our way back to the homestay. Additionally, the sunset on our journey back home to the metro was simply breathtaking. The vibrant, gradual colors of the sunset—purple, pink, orange—and the silhouette of the mountain range, it was truly a sight to behold. I was just in awe.

Photos were all taken using Olympus Superzoom 800 Film stocks: Kodak Gold 200 and Orwo Wolfen Color NC 500

[indiatriangletours]

How to Choose the Best Golden Triangle India Tour Packages?

India Triangle Tours - Mystic India Tourism

Embarking on the Golden Triangle India Tour is a journey through the rich cultural tapestry of India, offering an unparalleled experience of history, architecture, and vibrant traditions. Choosing the best Golden Triangle India Tour Packages can elevate your travel experience, making it memorable and hassle-free. Here’s a comprehensive guide to help you select the ideal tour package for an unforgettable adventure.

1. Understand What the Golden Triangle Tour Entails

Before diving into the details of selecting a tour package, it’s essential to understand what the Golden Triangle encompasses. The tour covers three iconic cities:

Delhi: The capital city, a blend of ancient history and modern marvels.

Agra: Home to the Taj Mahal, a UNESCO World Heritage site and a symbol of love.

Jaipur: The Pink City, known for its majestic forts and palaces.

These cities form a triangle on the map, hence the name Golden Triangle. Each city offers unique experiences, from Delhi’s bustling markets and historical monuments to Agra’s Mughal architecture and Jaipur’s royal heritage.

2. Determine Your Budget

Golden Triangle India Tour Packages vary widely in price, catering to different budgets. Decide on your budget before starting your search. Consider factors like accommodation, transportation, meals, entry fees to tourist attractions, and additional activities such as guided tours or cultural shows. A clear budget will help narrow down your options and ensure you get the best value for your money.

3. Choose the Right Duration

Tour packages can range from a quick 3-day trip to an extensive 10-day exploration. Determine how much time you have and what you want to see. A shorter tour will focus on the highlights, while a longer one will offer a more in-depth experience, including visits to lesser-known attractions and more leisure time to soak in the local culture.

4. Look for Customization Options

A good tour operator should offer customizable Golden Triangle India Tour Packages. Customization allows you to tailor the itinerary to your preferences, adding or removing destinations and activities based on your interests. Whether you’re a history buff, a foodie, or a shopaholic, a customizable package ensures you get the most out of your trip.

5. Check the Inclusions and Exclusions

Carefully review what is included in the tour package. Key inclusions to look for are:

Accommodation (hotel ratings, location, amenities)

Transportation (type of vehicle, comfort level, driver’s expertise)

Meals (number of meals per day, type of cuisine)

Sightseeing tours (entry fees, guide services)

Any special activities (cultural shows, workshops)

Also, check for exclusions such as personal expenses, optional tours, and tipping. Knowing what’s included will prevent any unexpected costs and help you plan your budget better.

6. Read Reviews and Testimonials

Customer reviews and testimonials provide valuable insights into the quality of the tour packages. Look for reviews on trusted travel websites and social media platforms. Pay attention to feedback about the tour operator’s reliability, quality of service, and overall customer satisfaction. Positive reviews from past travelers are a good indicator of a reputable tour operator.

7. Evaluate the Tour Operator’s Experience and Expertise

Choose a tour operator with extensive experience and expertise in organizing Golden Triangle tours. Experienced operators like India Triangle Tours - Mystic India Tourism have in-depth knowledge of the destinations, ensuring a well-planned and smooth travel experience. They can provide valuable insights, tips, and recommendations to enhance your trip.

8. Consider Group Size and Travel Style

Tour packages can be group tours or private tours. Group tours are more affordable and offer the chance to meet new people, while private tours provide a more personalized and flexible experience. Decide which travel style suits you best. Also, consider the group size for group tours – smaller groups often provide a more intimate and enjoyable experience.

9. Check for Safety and Support

Ensure the tour operator prioritizes safety and offers reliable customer support. Look for packages that include travel insurance, well-maintained vehicles, experienced drivers, and knowledgeable guides. Reliable customer support is crucial in case of any issues or emergencies during your trip.

Conclusion

Selecting the best Golden Triangle India Tour Packages involves careful consideration of various factors, from budget and duration to customization options and safety measures. By following this guide, you can find a tour package that aligns with your preferences and ensures a memorable journey through India’s iconic Golden Triangle. For a seamless and enriching experience, consider India Triangle Tours - Mystic India Tourism, a trusted provider with a reputation for excellence in Golden Triangle tours. Happy travels!