Late, but I’ve been dying to make some work for @kagomes-hanakotobamatsuri ! Here's to make up for Week 1 where I chose the red hibiscus to represent passion. Along with it I wrote a (kinda spicy) little prologue to this piece, which I'm now titling Genki. This can stand alone though!
Genki, The Prologue
(((Word Count: 933 /// Warning for Alcohol use and dubious consent)))
This was a remarkably dumb idea. That thought briefly flitted about in Kagome’s mind, but was overshadowed by the vodka-induced adrenaline telling her to go for it. She was in her final semester of university. She’d been stressed and uptight and severely lacking a social life or any real kind of self-indulgence for over a year now, and once this break was over, she would return to Tokyo and strap in for the toughest final stretch of her academic career. Her friends had pestered her nonstop about what a shut-in she’d become, and Kagome was tired of being known as the group’s wet blanket. So tonight, just tonight, she would allow herself to have fun.
And tonight, at this random party in Osaka, fun was a very attractive guy that she dragged into a corner to make out with aggressively. He was so pretty—at least that’s what she believed. Her eyes were closed and she was pretty drunk, so maybe he was average looking in sobering daylight, but perhaps not. He was admittedly a clumsy kisser, shy and cute, and somehow that was turning her on more.
She didn’t ask his name, nor did she give hers. It went against all her instincts. She was always known for forming connections and bonding with people. Her friends told her she wasn’t the type to throw caution to the wind. She’d never have a wild hookup. She’d always been so responsible. Kagome didn’t take pride or shame in that as an attribute, but god she hated being told what she wasn’t capable of. She was capable of dressing up and going out, she was capable of drinking too much and loosening up, and she was absolutely capable of finding a hot guy to have sex with in a closet. And she was here now in her skimpy red dress to prove it.
“Is this a good idea?” The hot stranger asked, panting as Kagome hiked up her skirt and began fumbling with his jeans.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to think tonight.” She finally got the button undone and pulled his pants down.
“You’re okay with this? I think we’re both—“
She shoved her mouth on his fervently, tongue thrusting back into his mouth, hoping she could convince him to shut up before he made too much sense.
“Drunk,” he finished, but sounded out of breath and dopey.
“I’m okay with this.” He was single. He said he was clean. Those were the only two extra qualifiers that she had needed before she threw herself into his arms. “You want me?”
It was apparently a struggle for him to answer her properly when her hand was already in his boxers, but he managed a, “Yes,” into her shoulder as she pushed them down.
They were in a closet for heaven’s sake. There wasn’t much time or space, but Kagome was wasted and determined as she wrangled them onto the floor, straddling him in the cramped space.
“Good, because I want you,” she confessed into the crook of his neck.
Apparently that hit some kind of switch, because at that moment he grabbed her hip with one hand, and yanked her panties aside with the other, entering her with a groan.
“Oh! Oh yes.” She threw her head back as she clung to his shoulders. They weren’t wasting any time. “Yes, yes, yes!” It was amazing. She’d never felt this hot in her life. “How is this so good?”
“No clue,” he replied. “It’s you, I swear. Or the alcohol.”
She would’ve laughed or thanked him or something, but she was so caught up in the moment that she simply nodded. In the darkness, every sensation seemed to multiply—the squeeze of his hands, the heat of his lips, the oh so satisfying way he fit into her.
“Yes! There! There, there!” It only took a few minutes of rocking up and down, but Kagome was so turned on that she reached her peak just moments later. “So good. You’re incredible!”
In turn he finished to her encouraging moans.
And that was that. After only a brief moment to collect her breath, Kagome kissed his cheek sweetly. “Thank you. That was amazing. That was just what I needed and so much more.”
“Y-you’re welcome,” she couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but his voice was shaky.
“Do you mind staying back for a minute? I… I’m trying to prove something dumb to my friends, so I’ve got to disappear.”
“You have to?” He was so cute that Kagome almost gave in and asked his name, but she was stubbornly holding onto her pride, so she got up before this turned into something more. It would be just like her to get all mushy and exchange numbers and make it all romantic. No. Not this time.
“I have to,” she confirmed. “But it’s not because of anything you did wrong. You’re really wonderful and you seem very nice.”
“You too.”
“Too nice, according to my friends. Nice and boring.”
“You ain’t boring, that’s for sure.”
She giggled. “Just for tonight.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’m really happy it was you, for the record. I hope you don’t feel like I used you, whoever you are, hot stuff.”
He almosted coughed at the nickname. “You made my night, I promise. Get out there and give ‘em hell.”
Kagome nodded, her legs a little wobbly. Then she turned the knob and let herself out, emerging smug and satisfied, but with a slight pang in her heart for the guy she’d left in the closet.
No, she assured herself. No regrets.
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i feel like people are skimming over the uk riots in a way that makes me want to tear my hair out. muslims in the uk are in active danger. immigrants in the uk are in active danger. refugees in the uk are in active danger. people of colour in the uk are in active danger. asian communities in the uk are in active danger. black communities in the uk are in active danger.
there are massive far right riots throughout the country right now and people like fucking elon musk and nigel farage are inciting it and still have a platform to speak. people have used three young girls deaths, people's genuine grief in southport, to try and gain traction for their own racist bullshit and it's working.
a lot of refugee charities have been forced to close leaving many people without support, homes, funding, food, etc. if you aren't able to donate please consider sending a message via the conversation over borders campaign! it will send a hopeful, welcoming letter to a refugee in the uk. there is also a guide to staying safe here.
please do your own research and donate to refugee charities, anti-islamophobia charities, mosques who are trying to rebuild after being destroyed, counter protesters, here are some i've heard positive things about but the list is extensive; southport strong together (support for the southport victims and their families), southport mosque rebuilding, riot repair fund, middlesbrough vulnerable residents, nasir mosque rebuilding, hull help for refugees, bristol welcomes migrants,
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I think a lot of people haven't actually read Flatland so you may not realize A. What Bill's eye mutation means and B. What precisely Bill did to destroy his homeworld.
Bill's home isn't completely the same as Edwin Abbott's Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (notably, women and men can be both polygons #feminism) but we can assume most of the mechanics are the same. The basic premise is that the world is 2D. Everyone perceives the world in a 1D way, along the plane. There's a part of Journal 3 that describes this pretty well.
Bill can see up to the stars because his eye is on the flat surface instead of on the side like everyone else, like this:
(He's also slightly 3D, as we can see in the show.)
But there's one more important Flatland detail. The denizens of Flatland (and therefore likely Euclydia) do still have organs "inside" their bodies. Since there is no depth, they're just on the inner radius of their bodies. The 2007 Ehlinger movie adaptation shows that:
If Bill wanted to "give his world a new perspective" and "show everyone what they were missing," he wanted to get everyone to look upward.
Meaning he probably tilted the entire world.
Meaning everyone not only slid off of the plane, but all of their organs spilled out and everyone died.
...Hence "so much blood."
(The only issue with this is that it doesn't account for the number of times Euclydia is referred to have been burned ("saw his own dimension burn / misses home and can't return", he only has ashes leftover), but I'm sure the act of turning an entire dimension upwards expends a lot of energy.)
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the funniest part of any Robin meeting the JL is that every Robin is so distinctly different from the previous one in terms of personality and vibes that the league literally gets backlash. and like, I don't blame them. not to mention that they are non-meta children that dress as a traffic light and fight crime alongside batman in gotham on a nightly basis. i'd also be a bit concerned.
Batman, literally The Night of Gotham personified in the League's eyes, coming into a JL meeting: This is Robin, my crime-fighting partner.
11-year-old Dick Grayson, dressed in the brightest primary colours possible, vaguely hidden murder behind those eyes, never stops moving even for a moment: Hi!
Superman: That's a child. That's-- Bats that is a child. You let a child--?
Batman, deadpan: You try to stop him. Would you rather he try and murder a grown man with a wire?
Batman: This is Robin.
12-year-old Jason Todd, with the biggest grin on his face, about 3 books in his hand, stars in his eyes and a distinct street-kid drawl: Hey!!!
Green Lantern: That's ... that's a different child. What??
Jason: I stole his tires :)
Batman: Tried to.
Jason, stage whispering to the League: basically did.
Green Lantern: that is a different kid, right?? I'm not seeing shit??
Batman: This is Robin.
14-year-old Tim Drake, bo staff clutched in his hand, a wary and tired expression on his face, more on the quiet side, the literal walking definition of don't judge a book by it's cover: hello
Flash: Where do you even find these--
Tim: I found myself.
Batman: This is Robin.
17-year-old Stephanie Brown, literally blonde, with a shit-eating grin, eyes full of nothing but mischief and the most explosive personality you've ever seen: hiya!!
Superman: I give up.
Stephanie: I know, I have that amazing effect on people.
Batman: This is Robin.
13-year-old Damian Wayne, a literal wet cat that will hiss at you, has a sword, the most judgemental stare you'll get from a teenager, ready to jump anyone there:
Green Lantern: WHY DOES HE HAVE A SWORD?!
Batman: ... he came with the sword.
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