#sometimes it's genuinely not fair to the opposite gender

[blood-orange-juice]

About Childe and his weird gender again, expanding on this post.

I think it has a lot to do with how gender is constructed. Male gender has very clear-cut prescriptions, mostly it's everything that is considered "good" or "human" in current culture. The expectations it places on a person may not be realistic or achievable but they are very clear. Great importance is also placed on separating itself from Everything Female. Things That Are Too Much. Things that break the current culture meaning-making procedures.

Women, while having quite a few prescriptions of their own, also deal with whatever fell through the cracks. Someone needs to ensure the world still functions and reality is never completely covered by whatever official model of the world we currently have.

So women deal with the things men have the luxury not to notice. Mostly bodily and psychological aspects and societal injustice that are not supposed to exist in the ideal picture of society men have imagined. (to be fair, it happens to anyone oppressed and othered. the task of not letting the oppressors meet with reality is delegated to them. I'm just talking about women specifically in this post. but there's a reason oppressed minorities always have ties to supernatural in folklore)

In a way, feminine women are very scary. Walking semiotic horrors.

And I explain all this to say that Childe can be perceived as feminine in two ways.

First, with his disregard for all and any societal norms he just doesn't follow the normal gender prescriptions. He plays a superhero/knight role because it's shiny and it reminds him of the stories he loved as a kid. He doesn't suppress his love for his family because it brings him joy. He looks pretty because looks are a weapon too. He does all these things that would be either stereotypically masculine or painfully unmasculine for anyone else who cares about what society thinks, but he doesn't really see any difference between them. He truly, genuinely doesn't care what others think.

Second, he's also painfully aware of the dark and insane parts of the universe everyone else has the luxury to ignore. He also knows no one cares so he dances around the things a normal guy would never have to deal with (it's such a stereotypical female experience. sometimes I wonder if that's why women rarely like Lovecraft. it's not scary or exciting to them, it's just Tuesday).

But that's just our perception, a trick of light. These are not necessarily gendered.

He also gives an impression of someone extremely vulnerable, yes, but I don't think he handles his vulnerability in a feminine way. He just doesn't hide it and we are used to labeling everything vulnerable as feminine.

He also doesn't really do anything feminine-labeled in a characteristic female way. He isn't really in contact with his emotions (despite having a lot of them), him caring about people takes the form of "protector and provider". his cooking... have you seen his cooking? He doesn't look for support and doesn't try to build things that last. He doesn't accept his vulnerability. If anything, he's trying to pretend he has no vulnerabilities and maybe no psyche at all. He's self-sacrificing in a very male way too. Because he was there and because he could and because it's a cool thing to do.

So he's just that. Himself. Someone outside of gender.

(or rather his gender is knightcore)

If we perceive him as feminine it says more about how our culture perceives gender than about who Childe is.

Also, quoting my previous post, it's a part of him being full of contradictions. For every thing that he does he also does the exact opposite, and this holds for gender too.

Yes he lives the male power fantasy. He also does it in an incredibly feminine way. I think this was Hoyo's original intention and then it blossomed into this human disaster we see.

And to end up on a joke, surely you all have seen that leaked art that is theorised to be Skirk but could have also been an early design of Childe before Hoyo decided to make him a guy.

#any gender is a wound #men are wounded by rules that are too strict #women by the violent lack of sense in the world #some of us by both of those #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #I also think that's why nb folks are sometimes seen as flavours of being female #because male gender is so restrictive #so everything that doesn't fit into it is perceived as female by the broad public

[nerdygaymormon]

Alma 41:10 : Wickedness never was happiness

Behold, I say unto you, wickedness never was happiness.

If wickedness never was happiness then what make you joyful is not wicked.

I know queer people who find peace and happiness in expressing their gender identity. I know queer people who find fulfillment and joy in a relationship with a partner. This verse testifies those things aren't wicked.

Others may declare we are temporarily happy but this will fade in the long term. Sometimes they'll say that we are not experiencing real joy, or that we aren't being honest. My experience is people who say those things usually don't have friendships with queer people. They don't know someone who was experiencing a great deal of anguish until they started transitioning, and how right it makes them feel. They think heteronormative relationships are fundamentally different from queer ones, but brain scans show people experience love the same way no matter the gender of who they love.

Would it be fair to say that the opposite is true? Those things which bring you despair, sadness, discouragement, misery, dissatisfaction, gloom, melancholoy, pain, and sorrow are wicked. I'm not talking about short-term pain to achieve longer-term goals, but things which genuinely have a negative impact on your health and mental wellness.

Loneliness is one such thing. Humans are social creatures and need connection, so to say a whole group of people are required to alone forever is a wicked thing to require of them.

This verse from the Book of Mormon is a guide to help us evaluate what is wicked and what is good.

#queer faith #queer scriptures

[trashytoastboi]

I'm nervous cause this is the first time sending anything to your blog but I was wondering if I could request a poly with Penguin and Shachi? I love them so much 🥺 they're so adorable and funny. Could I get fluff and a little bit of smut with them? If not that's completely okay.

(Also, tell me why I think they're both stoners 😂 I would love to smoke with them)

Heyya!🍞 please don't be nervous, promise I don't bite 😋🍀 and of course! I'm happy to write for these underrated dorks♡ The two of them certainly do give off stoner vibes 🤣🤣Sorry for the long wait on this and hope you enjoy~

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(Gender Neutral)

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Headcanons: NSFW and SFW - Penguin x S/O x Shachi (Poly)

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Warnings: NSFW (Threesome, implied double penetration, lowkey exhibitionism, overstimulation)

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🐧Penguin🐧 & 🍳Shachi🍳 - SFW

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🐧🍳 Penguin and Shachi are pretty relaxed when it comes to their relationship with {Name}, both developed a crush when {Name} had first joined the crew. Originally they both regarded it as a passing interest, maybe because {Name} got along really well with them. It became pretty obvious that it was more than just the way one would think of a friend. Penguin and Shachi had confided in one another due to their feelings. In the process of which both had admitted how they felt towards {Name}. Neither wanted to damage their relationship with eachother nor did they want to let go of {Name} until Shachi suggested that they could both date {Name}, permitting they were alright with the arrangement as well.

🐧🍳 The initial relationship had its notable honeymoon phase and its fair share of unfamiliarity and awkwardness. As all relationships start, there is the need to learn about one another. The preferences, boundaries and just random things about each other as well. Thankfully the three balanced each other out well and managed to settle comfortably into the relationship without any hardship.

🐧🍳Penguin individually truly is a textbook romantic, he valued the ideas of dates and spending time together. Planning outings, giving little gifts and tokens as well as remembering every anniversary. He is also very proud of his shiny and fancy pebbles collection. One of his little tokens to {Name} for their 100 day anniversary was one of his favorite pebbles.

🐧🍳 Shachi is a bit of a polar opposite in comparison because he preferred spontaneous displays of affection and spending time together. Often there wasn't a date plan more of a 'we'll see how it goes and where the night takes us'. Although food accompanied these dates more often than not. It was rare if Shachi planned something not involving food. He also had a habit of making up little songs to sing to {Name}

🐧🍳 Was not all that unusual if Penguin and Shachi had little bouts of conflict in regards to what they wanted to do. {Name} didn't mind all too much so long as they could all spend time together, they were agreeable to most plans unless it really caused Penguin and Shachi to start fighting. The fight consisted of whose choice or idea would be better. It never really spiraled too far out of control though. {Name} took precautions to make sure it wouldn't get to that point. Usually by making a suggestion of their own they could reach a peaceful consensus.

🐧🍳 One of the more friendly natured competitions that arose between the two is one of contending for affection and attention. Sometimes it is very chilled and other times it's very obvious that they enjoy capitalizing {Name's} attention. It's more accurate to say they are like puppies it's not done out of spite or any unpleasant intention. They genuinely just love getting attention from {Name}.

NSFW

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🐧🍳 They can be an equal mix of subtle and bold, Penguin and Shachi will dance around the topic, subtly hinting to wanting {Name}. They will drop very obvious hints here and there, more often than not riling themselves up in the process all the while {Name} plays dumb to all of it. Solely to watch just how far Penguin and Shachi will push themselves, rile themselves into such a worked up state before outright telling {Name} exactly what they want and are going to do to them.

🐧🍳 Penguin and Shachi are very familiar with one another due to years of working in almost perfect tandem in combat. They use that skill in the bedroom as well. Solely focused on pleasuring {Name}, coordinating their actions for the greatest capability. They love the moans that they are capable of eliciting from {Name}, and wanting to watch their partner lose their minds to ecstasy. Personal incentive fuels the two but also the fact that it turns them on so much as well is a bonus. The underlying moral of the story: Penguin and Shachi are quite big with overstimulation. For {Name} and themselves.

🐧🍳 Penguin adores biting, hickies, just anything to leave marks on {Name's} body. He tries to leave marks everywhere he can, Shachi who noticed this habit got a bit jealous. To combat that jealously he will leave marks of his own. Both will absolutely lose their minds if {Name} is the one to initiate and leave marks on Penguin and Shachi. They will wear it like a badge of pride, unabashed about their hickies, bite marks and even scratch marks. If there is any complaint it's usually as to why {Name} didn't leave more.

🐧🍳 The usual way of going about things is threesomes, but that's not to say that Penguin or Shachi won't try to capitalize on {Name} when the opportunity presents itself. Both Shachi and Penguin could agree that having {Name's} sole attention was quite pleasant. It they felt like being pampered and they would try to create situations where they could enjoy {Name} all to themselves.

🐧🍳 Very open to each other's tastes and kinks, including exploring and experimenting with some new things. Once Shachi randomly decided to kiss Penguin while {Name} was beneath them, getting a front row seat to their make out session, and accidentally got a nosebleed. Penguin and Shachi took note of this, the fact that {Name} would get turned on when seeing them kiss and made sure to occasionally put on a little show, exclusively for {Name}~♡

🐧🍳🍋 Penguin, Shachi and {Name} were so occupied and tied up with one another they didn't pay attention to anything happening outside. They were far too focused on sharing and indulging in the pleasure of the situation. {Name} let out little moans and whines feeling the way Penguin and Shachi thrusted at opposing paces. {Name's} back felt the warmth of Penguins chest while he sweetly kissed their neck. Shachi placed a kiss on {Name's} lips, the feeling of being trapped between the two of them while being driven to the edge again is pure bliss. They tried to keep their voice down but struggled to do so when everything was just driving them mad with lust. The languid pace, and calm kisses seemed to contrast the overwhelming feeling {Name} experienced. The occasional chuckles from the two men seemed to prove the intention while watching {Name} come undone again. They all decided this on a whim, truthfully neglecting some of their chores in the process for a little private time. Their clothes didn't remain on for very long the moment they were in the room. The little sounds and touches that drew each other wild, knowing all the little sensitive spots to rile them up. For the most part they tried to keep it tame, tried to keep it quiet as to not disturb their crewmates with knowledge of what was going on behind closed doors. Law didn't really seem to get it, he knew that three of his crewmates were skipping out on chores and would be damned if he found them skipping out again. He saw the closed door, and didn't think twice before opening it. Law was greeted by the interesting scene of {Name} pressed between the two pirates, a mess of entangled limbs. He awkwardly stood there not knowing where to cast his eyes, even if he wasn't looking, the sounds made it obvious as to what was going on. Penguin looked back and nonchalantly greeted him, "Oh captain!" Shachi chirped, {Name} was far too occupied to greet him and they sank their teeth into Shachi's shoulder to keep their voice in. Penguin and Shachi let out strained grunts and gasps feeling {Name} tighten so much around their cocks. Law turned around, shut the door and immediately deleted the sight from his brain. "Shachi didn't you put the sock on the door?" Penguin inquired, his hand trailing up to play with {Name's} chest. "Hm? I did, see its over there" Shachi pointed towards the door, the sock hung on the handle... of course on the wrong side.

#one piece #penguin one piece #shachi #trashytoastboi #gender neutral #penguin x reader #shachi x reader #shachi one piece #one piece penguin #heart pirates #gender neutral pronouns #gender neutral reader #sfw #ns.fw #lemon #smut #unholy toast #romance #poly #fluff #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #one piece scenarios #one piece scenario

[hush-writes-preg]

i’ve been wanting to say this for a while, and im still not sure i’m gonna say it right, but i really appreciate your blog. i’ve been having issues with my ovaries for a while and it’s still not clear if i’m fertile or even gonna get to Keep my ovaries much longer. it’s been really stressful, because i really want to be able to get pregnant, and i might never be able to. but one of the worst parts is that i’m transmasc, and a lot of people- including my own family- can’t wrap their heads around being a man and wanting to be pregnant. even other transmascs seem to think i can’t actually be trans and genuinely want this. people pity me cus they think Society is what made me feel this way, and they have to “help” by convincing me this is something i don’t actually want.

you and all your followers have been the opposite of that. seeing so many other transmascs who openly (and sometimes desperately) want to experience pregnancy has made me feel like so much less of an other. seeing people who aren’t transmasc but have transmasc friends/partners being so encouraging and supportive when this is something they want has felt so validating. it’s such a positive and welcoming environment here, and it’s so comforting.

so i guess the main takeaway is everyone should keep being horny, because there’s at least one person who really appreciates it.

Hey there, Aster! Thanks for hopping into my inbox with your kind words! 💖

I've said it before, and I'll continue saying it long into the future for old and new followers alike-- this blog exists because I believe that everyone deserves the opportunity to feel appreciated, validated, and seen in regard to this kink. I don't care what parts anyone was born with, what parts anyone has now, or what anyone's age(18+)/gender/sexuality is. Anyone can feel the desire to be pregnant or to impregnate someone else, and that feeling should be celebrated.

I'm sorry to hear that you've had so much trouble with your original plumbing, Aster, and that you aren't sure if you'll be able to conceive. That's a really shitty situation to be in when you actually want to get pregnant. I've known a few people on Tumblr who are in similar health-related situations, and I just wish I could give all of you a big hug (if it's wanted). It's really not fair. The universe is pretty shit for allowing that to happen in the first place. But you're not alone, okay? I don't know how much comfort that offers you, but there are folks out there who commiserate, understand what you're struggling with, and hope that you'll be able to eventually find happiness regardless of what happens.

And yeah... family and society can suck big time sometimes. OFC you can't be male and want to carry a child, right? /s In my opinion, those people are nothing more than gatekeepers who have no business being involved in your body and business. The knowledge that these kinds of opinions are so commonplace really pisses me off. The desire to procreate is a ridiculously ordinary (though not universal) part of being human, so why shouldn't anyone be allowed to use the parts they have to make a baby if they want to? Or be allowed to find other reasonable ways to make it happen? :throws-table.gif:

Ugh. I'll get off of my soapbox now.

All that said, if the space I'm nurturing and the community we're all building is one of support, encouragement, and affirmation, then that's a dream fulfilled for me. We may be stuck feeling like an Other elsewhere thanks to societal stupidity, but not here. Here we're all as incredible and sexy and fertile as we wish to be, and I refuse to hear otherwise.

You're awesome, Aster. Try to stay positive, do what you can to take care of your troublesome bits, and love yourself the way you are. And if you ever need to vent about this stuff, my DMs are open, okay?

I adore all of you horny, breedable fuckers. 💖 Don't any of you forget it.

#hush answers #pocket-stars #hush speaks

[mycovenofchaos]

Hi Anon reader #1 here : I've shuffled my deck for the request I got about 𝖠𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗇 & 𝖬𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖾. How are they in person, in relationships/ friendships and physical appearance.

𝗔𝗱𝗺𝗶𝗻'𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴:

I pulled the first two cards 𝗞𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 & 𝟯 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝘂𝗽𝘀: The 3 of cups is a card of joy, friendship, celebrations. The card features three women dancing in a circle raising their cups in the air, in a toast. Celebrating something and party hard. This could represent Admin as a party girl, she takes everything with fun and always out making her day and building good connections. She could also be a hard worker, most of her time she give it to work. The three of cups reminds us to take time to celebrate with people we love. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝟯 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝘂𝗽𝘀 also describes the person as, someone sociable, joyful and sometimes the heart of the celebrations and gatherings. She could also be the type who embody the spirit of camaraderie and bringing people together, and creating sense of enjoyment.

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 : The 3 of cups represents her as a vibrant type of person, she could be marked by a bright and engaging smile, expressive eyes, light colored eyes, down turned or medium sized to small eyes. Fair skin tone.

Moving to 𝗜𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀/ 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀 : ( The kinght of wands describe her as a very compassionate, outgoing and the one who take the lead in everything in a relationship.She embody a natural genuine love, care. A high sexual activity probably too lmao. The suit of wands represent high sexual energy. As a friend she is also genuine, care about her friends, make those around her appreciated and valued. She could have at least one favorite best friend or two in her life. Or would probably consider them like. She also attracts to her both people from same gender and opposite gender. Also any men she meets they find it hard to search someone like her, leave an impression on them. She is creative and passionate in her career, possible working in business, making art, or taking leadership in her team work.

𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲'𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴: I pulled for her 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 & 𝟰 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀:

The first card Queen of Swords is the card of honesty, objectivity and independence. The cards shows a queen with stern look on her face, sitting on a throne, she gives off an aura of confidence. She knows what she is doing. This card reminds us that honesty and justice are important principles to build a relationship of any kind. Possibly this is important in Maddie's life . Next card 𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 , describes her as Joyful, radiant and lively. Often it marks the person as a celebratory type of person. Same like Admin she is party girl too lmfao. She could be the type who lift you up just by comforting words throwing around, care about the ones around her as well. Cherish friends over all. She may cary herself with an air of confidence and joy. You'll also find her at the center of gatherings or social events. She attracts probably attention wherever she goes from both genders like Admin, same and opposite gender. A high sense of spiritually and good coach. Outgoing and Has lot of friends.

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲: The 4 of Wands following the Queen of Swords and the Page of Cups at the bottom of the deck. Her appearance she might be vibrant, wears summer colors a lot. Like light blue, light green, peach. Sweet smile, attractive eyes, medium sized or deer eyes. Fair Skin. Medium height.

𝗜𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀/ 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀:

She is a loyal partner and friend, as in The Queen of Swords represented her. As someone who prefers honestly in her relationships, also she is the type who cherish friendships a lot. Even in with her partner she makes the friend and girlfriend type of relationship. The 𝟰 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 also represents her as someone sociable, welcoming and exudes a sense of warmth, nurturing and festivity. High Sexual energy. She may have the natural ability to make others feel included and valued.She could also possible easily to make men fall for her. She might be passionate and talented possibly have more than one talent 👀. Possibly good in work as event planner, arts, healer or gardening. or any role that involves creating joyful and celebratory experience. 😁🥰

OMG!!! The readings are absolutely amazing 🤩 I am jealous and I want one for me too, please!!! 😂😂😂

@lonelybubblething and Admin, look!! ✨🔮

🎴 Reading by Anon Reader #1!

[davekat-sucks]

Why did Eridan get done so dirty in homestuck and pesterquest? It's not fair, he's one of the cooler characters.

A prince I would always bow to wwhenevver he appears. A character that shows the horrendous side of the planet he lives on, taking advantage of the hemospectrum for being born on top, shows his own flaws, view the moments he genuinely cares for others when not seeking out the necessary relationships that his home planet enforces, the despair of dying from an unbeatable foe, and punished properly when those dark emotions made him make bad choices. Eridan is one that I love him as an antagonist and do believe that if he had gotten better treatment, he probably would play a bigger and best role as a villain compared to Gamzee. Or have potential to become good upon confronting his flaws and actions. People tend to exaggerate some of his traits like desperate for love due to personal experiences and sometimes ignore moments when he was not a horny motherfucker. Even now, people will label him as incel for that reason. Other characters said some innuendos or have some questionable sexual talks, but the excuse is either played for laughs and not flirtatious. Sometimes forgetting other characters like Equius or Gamzee have their own lewd moments. They also dislike him being racist towards lowerbloods, but forgets he is close friends with Karkat, Feferi points out that he never executes his plan to kill all land dwellers, and other characters like Vriska and Equius take pride in the blood. For Vriska's excuse, it's Vriska. Did nothing wrong bluh 8luh huge 8itch. For Equius, it's his moiraillegence with Nepeta that makes people think he is not so bad, despite that Equius would forbid Nepeta from being close to the lowbloods out of fear for their influence Not only that, people forget Nepeta also has to calm and tame the blueblood down for his own violence. It's not been brought up about how Nepeta became close to him, but Equius must have been quite unstable before Nepeta came along. Some fans can't accept the worst side of him, even when things like helping Feferi to feed her lusus or not wanting to die from an unstoppable enemy is understandable why he did what he had to do. We have seen what would have happened if Vriska fought Jack, causing a doomed timeline, but not many fans gave her shit for it. I don't know how or why they give Eridan a gender arc in the first place if it meant retconning existing canon material from the webcomic. Like how could Sollux's lusus(lusii) accept his son's choices if he is CHAINED UP ON TOP OF A BUILDING TO NOT CAUSE HAVOC. Is it because he is one of the few cis-males that is interested in the opposite sex at some points and want to get rid of that? I would believe it, considering the John June crap. Can't have based boys like John Egbert, Eridan Ampora, Caliborn, and Dirk Strider be around. Guys who accept themselves or enjoy being what they are.

It sucks with how Homestuck is treated to this point. Many characters have fallen from grace or altered because of bad writing to win the crowd with progressive brownie points. Eridan falls into that latter and I hate it. Not as wworse like others, but still just as bad. Best to stick with certain ones that you are cool with canon and ignore anything else beyond Act 6. It may be hard to find fanart or fanfics that portray him like a tool, but when you see it, you know that author/artist understands him and are not afraid to show it off because that's the kind of person Eridan is. Don't forget to also give money to artist that are able to commission it. Sometimes the most interesting kind of characters are the ones that shown their worst side. How it came to be growing up to the consequences it has upon them. They aren't perfect, but it gives potential for them to grow as a character.

#Eridan Ampora #Homestuck #homestuck epilogues #Pesterquest

[rememberxyou]

wanted connections: alan bruno !

* if no cap is stated, then it is currently open to 3+ muses. that said, a cap may be put in place if too many people flock to it. all connections are open to any gender unless otherwise stated.

his twin brother / the ford to his stan ! obviously this would be the case of picking up a new characters afhldks but literally think of stanley pines vs. stanford pines. as explained in the intro, alan and alex ( ‘al’ and ‘lex’ ) grew up relying on each other, close as could be ! in their youth, their differing, almost opposite, personalities clicked together perfectly. but, the older they got, the more the opposite became true. y/m ( alex ) became more obsessive, more withdrawn ; alan became more deceitful, more aggressive. it culminated in a terrible falling out. alan moved to stars hollow four years ago. whether y/m moved earlier or later is up to you ! ( 0/1 ) ( must be amab )

high and dry ! romance is not something alan understands. he’s heard of the concept, but he’s never felt it. thus, he and y/m met somewhere ( be it a chance encounter, through a dating app, etc. ) and hit it off. perhaps it was a drunk decision, perhaps it wasn’t, but the two decided to leave their meeting place and boink. now, even if there was no romance ? the sheer fact that alan got along with them and had good sex with them was enough to prompt him to leave in the morning, no goodbyes... and leave them with a hotline. conversely, if y/m woke up before alan, they could’ve done the exact same thing. ( preferably 24+ )

i can’t believe it’s not butter ! by trade and by hobby, alan is a conman. from slight scams to counterfeit bills to identity fraud, the man’s done it all ! and this includes having scammed/conned your character. although the status of the town -- aka, how small it is -- has made him more wary of anything big and/or traceable, they managed to figure it out.  conversely, they did not manage to figure it out and he is still scamming them.

a naive customer ! this goes hand-in-hand with the above. basically, y/m comes into kim’s antiques a lot ! while most people usually see through his little lies about the products, but still buy them because what harm had it really done ? y/m genuinely believes every single thing he says. ( 0/2 )

a dog sitter ! he’s honestly half convinced that the man who sold him rexy saw his scam and scammed him right back -- some counterfeit money for a possum -- but he loves that odd animal. he loves that odd animal to the point that, if he can’t be around for just a day, he will get him some companionship. but he doesn’t trust just anyone with rexy... can you believe he trusts y/m enough ? ( 0/1 )

friends ! the man’s a sleazeball, but he’s gotta have some friends. he is, after all, a sleazeball with a heart of gold ! and once you’re friends with him ? he’s actually a great guy ! a lot of ribbing, sure, but it all comes from a good place !

friends with benefits ! different from high and dry in that the two were already friends. clearly since he hasn’t had any romantic feelings for them before, he won’t develop any now, right ? right ?! ( 0/2 ) ( 25+ )

frenemies/enemies with benefits ! i mean... that kind of speaks for itself. ( 0/2 ) ( 25+ )

frenemies/enemies ! with a personality like his, he’s bound to have caused some rifts along the way. thus, these two find themselves at each other’s throats a fair amount. perhaps they get along sometimes, perhaps it’s just permanent hatred !

others: reluctant confidant ( something something i’m drunk and my brother hates me something something ), neighbors, etc.

[brick1458]

For the next few posts I'm going to be posting my newest book a princess and her sheriff

Chapter 1 rain, feelings and sleepovers

Maretime Bay

A beach town where everypony knows every pony in the town. Quiet, yet busy. It's a classic stereotypical

village-y type town that is in its own little bubble. There's no chaos, crime, trash lying around, or any big dramatic events. However, not to be boring, the town did have its fair share of events and holiday celebrations. Now, with the other two pony-kind included, it had much more to do, with more busy streets on said holidays. But again, the town being so 'quiet', it was a benefit for the five ponies that caused all three known pony kind to become allies, rather than hide away and despise the other. A true Equestria was brought back to life, because of five ponies of all races; Sunny and Hitch, Earth Ponies, Izzy, a Unicorn, and Pipp and Zipp, two Pegasi.

The new Brighthouse was more advanced than ever before. After the incidents of it being damaged, it was updated and repaired with some more modern technology from both Bridlewood, and Zephyr Heights , along with air conditioning, actual lights, crystal ambient lighting, electric heat, and more. With this, the size also grew, specifically for four of the five ponies. The girls wanted to stay in Maritime Bay, and Sunny took the opportunity to offer them to stay with her, as they could help keep up the Brighthouse, help pay for it, and keep it less lonely. Hitch on the other hoof, for obvious reasons, decided to keep his residence to his little apartment home in the center of Maritime Bay, making it easier for him to get to his office, and the fact that he was of the opposite gender.

The second part of that argument to Hitch and the girls wasn't really a big deal. After all, they were friends, and adults at that. But again, Hitch wanted a few things. One was to let the girls be girls, and enjoy their own time with each other, and to also have a little bit of personal privacy. He loved all of them very much, but sometimes personal space meant nothing to them. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes after a long and hot day at his post caused a tolling effect, and Hitch wanted his own time. This Sunny understood, but always reminded him that he can come to the Brighthouse whenever he pleased, giving him a spare key.

This is when Hitch realized he really hadn't gone up to see the Brighthouse, or the girls all that often. He really did have a big job to do. Unfortunately, Sprout was let go, not by Hitch, but his mother had forced him to resign to work in her factory, to hopefully one day take a high ranking position. While Hitch did miss the fact that he did have a second in command, he did think that Sprout was currently on a good path, as after seeing him a couple of times in the past week, has noticed Sprout is much happier and says that he is content with his life.

Hitch was currently sitting idle in his office, tapping away on his new phone, scrolling through Pipp's social media accounts. Having nothing to do at the moment, he took the opportunity to look through the princess' platforms to see what she was up to. If there was one thing that Hitch was not happy with, it was that he didn't see his friends enough. Pipp on the other hoof, out of the other three, was different. He thought she had a really good

soul. Yes, she was very posh, and while still being able to pull off her little persona of being miss perfect, he knew she was a really down-to-earth pony, often being much smarter than she may come off as. He knew that she genuinely cared for her fans and friends, and that she really could give encouraging advice. She was also unusually easy to talk to, being the least awkward one in the group. It's not that the others weren't hard to talk to, but Izzy was sometimes an oddball, a loose cannon, Sunny was a little naive at times, and Zipp, Zipp actually did give good advice, but it was hard to get it out of her, as she often was a bit of a tease.

As Hitch was scrolling through posts of Pipp, he stopped on one. posted one day ago. It was just her, fully in frame, slightly angled to the right of the photo that showed her entire body, simply smiling at the camera, standing at the fence of Maritime Bay and the ocean. No caption, no hashtags, just her. Her wings folded to her sides, front legs together, rear slightly stanced apart. A small smile showing no teeth. Just a simple photo. If there was one mare that got to Hitch, it was this Pegasus. He really never thought he'd be interested in a Pegasus, but here he was, staring at a photo of one, who also happens to be one of his best friends.

Hitch knew he should have asked her weeks ago if she wanted to go hang out one on one. His ego would have surely been able to cope with the stress of asking somepony he liked out on a one on one 'date' type hang out, but that was not the case... not, even, close...

Staring at the phone once again, he dragged his attention to the clock on the top of his phone's screen. Five o'clock. Thirty more minutes until his shift was over, and to be put on standby.

Looking back at Pipp, about to continue scrolling, his actions were interrupted by the door to his office opening. He looked up to see four mares, Sunny, Izzy, Pipp and Zipp. He put his phone down and smiled.

"Hey guys, how are we doing this evening?" He said, his words classically dripping with his high as a kite ego.

Sunny just looked at him, and then to Pipp. Pipp looked to Sunny, and then back to Hitch. This caused his smile to fade slightly. 'Okay... no response I see?'

Pipp walked forward silently to Hitch, the rest of the girls hanging back. The only sound omitted was the clip clop of her hooves. Now his smile was gone. "I-... is everything okay girls?"

Now Pipp was smiling, as well as the rest of the girls, giving Hitch a slight hope that he wasn't about to get hurt or something.

Pipp stopped, now at the front of Hitch's desk. She put her front hooves on his desk and finally spoke in confidence with a smile. "You're coming to the Brighthouse tonight, and you're staying over."

Hitch simply blinked before regaining his loss of focus from the eyes of the princess.

"Pipp, I'm not staying over." He smiled, knowing what was about to happen. "C'mon, you know I'm not going to leave here until I get the answer I want..."

This caused Hitch to lose his focus slightly once again. This was the time that the others decided to join in. Sunny walked up to the plate. "Why don't you come over with your toothbrush and an extra pillow and you can stay late. If you don't feel like walking back, stay in the guest bedroom." Of course Sunny would offer a 'you really have no choice' scenario. Hitch knew that he was being played here. He knew that the girls would keep him till as late as they could, to the point where Hitch wouldn't want to risk walking back home.

"Come on, Sheriff, come to the Brighthouse for me." Pipp said. 'Now where did that come from?' Hitch wondered.

Sighing, Hitch conceded. "Okay, okay okay fine. I'll stop by eventually."

"Nope, you're going as soon as you clock out." Pipp responded, her voice dripping with satisfaction as if she just burned him with a comeback.

"How exactly?" He responded, his attitude coming back, now smiling in a taunting manor. This however did not faze the smaller mare.

Her wings shifted as she leaned towards the earth pony stallion, causing his mood to shift into pure panic, his ears flat against his head, body shifting backwards into his chair. "Because I am gonna stay here until you clock out, walk with you to your place, and then get you to the Brighthouse. 'You've gotta be kidding me...'

"Can't argue with that Sheriff." Zipp butted in.

Hitch took a deep inhale. "Alright then." He said calmly. This caused the girls to suddenly cheer very loudly, surprising the stallion. With the three other mares cheering, calling out that they would see him soon, Hitch and Pipp just stared at each other, Hitch with a blank look, and Pipp continuing to smile.

Now Hitch knew several things about Pipp, or at least he wanted to believe that he did. He knew that she was not a shy pony, which explains her very relaxed state when streaming, which also explains their current situation. He also knows that she can be a bit of a flirt, often confusing the stallion. His ego hardwired him to come off as a flirty type, but it was Hitch just being Hitch. When it came to talking with Pipp he did flirt a little bit with the pink mare consciously, knowing fully well what he was doing. However, when she flirted back, it made him slip up, often losing his cooled attitude. But this wasn't just how she acted towards Hitch, it's how she acted towards everypony, mare or stallion. It didn't matter. Lastly was her total lack of knowledge on personal space.

The personal space part was a big question mark for Hitch. He didn't know if it was a Pegasus thing because Zipp didn't nearly show as much affection as her sister. He also

didn't know if it was because they were royalty, and they really never had contact with anypony because of their status, resulting in different behaviors? Maybe?

"So, Hitch," Pipp started off, holding her phone, scrolling on some sort of platform. The way she said that. The only way to describe her tone was alluring. 'Wow, if that wasn't a sound I didn't want to hear all the time, I don't know what it would be'. He turned his attention to her. "Are you having fun looking at my social media accounts?" Wait what? Hitch blinked at this question before realizing it was his phone that she was holding. 'Oh my stars, I must've never turned it off'. Hitch cringed internally before trying to come up with an excuse.

"I-ye-uhm.. I... got bored, and wanted to see what the most famous pony in Equestria was up to... Yeah!" Hitch felt the temperature around him rising.

The clock on his desk beeped quietly, telling the two that it was time for Hitch to switch over to standby. He got up, thanking the fact that he just got saved by a clock, and went to his timecard, punching it in the machine, logging his time to the town's shift system. He walked back over to the pink Pegasus and grabbed his phone. "C'mon we should go before it gets cold." Walking to the door, they were met with a disaster.

Torrential downpour. Now it was Pipp's turn to become shocked.

"Wh... what do we do?" Pipp asked, "We can't get to the Brighthouse in this, we'll get sick." Hitch was surprised at the fact that Pipp knew this. Again, her knowledge of life and everything else sometimes still shocked him. While this wasn't too hard of a situation to puzzle together, Hitch knew that most ponies wouldn't assume this, and just book it to wherever they need to go, getting sick in the process. If they tried to get to the Brighthouse in this rain, with the temperature dropping significantly, specifically 45oF on the temperature gauge next to Hitch, they would surely catch some sort of illness. There were only two options. Either stay here in the office, (no screw that), or go to his apartment down the street.

The rain was so loud, Hitch had to raise his voice, "Let's go, and quick. My place is down the block.

When reaching Hitch's newly built apartment, the two were absolutely soaked, as if they were fully submerged in water. The street had a very thin layer of water due to the extreme rainfall, resulting in a splash effect whenever a step was taken. Hitch quickly took out his key fob from his bag, and held it up to the scanner, unlocking the main doors to his apartment, 10X Maretime Bay. The four story apartment was owned by a company based in Zephyr Heights, and was brand new, with the newest technology. Modern furniture, big glass windows, screens on the wall to control the lighting, heat and air conditioning, and much more than one could imagine. The outside spoke for itself. Soft LED ambient lighting went up the length of the building in between the windows, slowly changing to different shades of blue. The key fob did its job, and the doors automatically slid open. When they reached the top floor, Hitch got his key and opened his apartment, a one bedroom one bathroom unit. He let Pipp walk in and she looked at her surroundings. It was as new as it gets, granite countertops, ceramic cabinets, stainless steel appliances, modern furniture, integrated ceiling speakers and subwoofers, ambient lighting, a huge TV, wood planked shelves holding a few stray books on law and magazines, and more decorations and furniture about the place.

Pipp then realized shortly after walking in that she was shivering. She turned around to Hitch, who was using a shaky hoof to turn off the air conditioning, setting it to a warm 73oF. "Sorry, I usually have it cooler in here because it's hot by the time I get back from all the glass. Uhm... let me show you to the bathroom if you want to warm up, I have a steam function in my shower. Never thought I'd ever use it..." Hitch mumbled the last part. Pipp followed him to his bedroom. The bedroom was much like the living room and kitchen; modern and contemporary. The bed was attached to the wall to give the impression that it was floating, along with ceramic nightstands also attached to the wall. To one side of the room was Hitch's personal desk and laptop, facing the big window, currently showing rain. To the other side were two doors, one showing some clothing and bags, so his wardrobe. The other must be the bathroom.

Hitch, sorry for being so forward, but how in Equestria can you afford this?"

Hitch laughed. "You'd be surprised if I told you how cheap it was. Only about 860 ish bits after all the fees." Pipp's eyes widened. "What?"

They got to the bathroom, showing a matching floating ceramic sink, a square cutout for water to drain, the faucet coming out of the mirror, a gray toilet, and a walk-in glass paned shower that looked like it was years ahead of its time. The ceiling had soft light strips that illuminated the whole room, fading to different colors slowly to give a calming ambience. Ceiling speakers were also here with subwoofers just like the bedroom, living room and kitchen. The whole bathroom itself was finished in black granite, with a little bit of white waterfalling around it.

"Go ahead," Hitch said with a shaky tone, stepping aside.

"Hitch you look freezing..." Pipp said worryingly moving up to the stallion.

Hitch's eyes started to dart side to side as she moved to him, ears flat. "Wha- I- y- what me? I'm fine!"

"Hitch, stop." This scared the stallion.

"Listen, just come with me in the shower okay? It'll warm us both up."

"Uhm" Hitch became a mumbling mess.

"Hitch I'm not kidding, let's go." Pipp's tone took a turn for the more aggressive, as if she was directing him.

"Isn't that weird? Two friends, in a shower... together?"

Pipp smirked knowingly. "Only if you make it weird sheriff." She walked past him, put her gold tiara on the sink, and continued to the shower, a small sway in her movements. All

he could do was just silently follow.

Hitch closed the glass door to the shower and stood behind her, watching as she inquisitively looked at the touchscreen on the shower wall.

She turned back to Hitch, causing him to look away. She smiled. "Something got your attention?"

He said nothing. "Well, are you gonna turn on the shower? I have no idea what all of this is."

Hitch internally scolded himself and shifted past her and tapped away at the screen. The near invisible side vents started to pour out heated steam silently, and the above shower head immediately poured out hot and soothing water in a very slow fashion, another benefit of 10X, instant hot water. The shower head covered the entire perimeter of the shower from above, giving both ponies a full calm stream of hot water. No part of the shower floor was untouched by this. The above speakers started playing soft instrumental classical music, barely audible, yet enough to be able to make out each instrument being played. Pipp sighed and mumbled nonsense. Hitch just closed his eyes, still trying to process this.

Pipp looked into Hitch's assortments of shampoos, noticing her brand. "You use Mane Melody?"

Hitch's eyes opened, and he nodded.

"Do you mind?" She asked.

Hitch understood why she wanted to use the shampoo. All that rain would probably cause her hair to get all frizzy. "Sure, I don't mind."

She gave him the bottle, turning around. "What are you doing Pipp?" Hitch asked.

You don't think you could help me, do you?" Pipp turned back around to face Hitch, smiling with a knowing look, as innocent and naive as she could get.

"Sure." Hitch said in an almost whisper.

He squeezed a healthy amount on her and started to work around her mane, then her back, and cautiously around her legs, underbelly and tail, trying to respect her. He then took the removable shower head on the wall, and turned it on to a low setting, rinsing Pipp.

That was until the silence was basically shattered by six words put together to make one mind-blowing sentence. "I know you like me Hitch."

Hitch immediately stopped when she said 'like'. His stomach dropped, his heart feeling like it was beating in his throat, unable to say anything. Pipp didn't say or do anything, knowingly waiting for his response.

"I... wh, ye- What?"

She softly laughed and turned around, grabbing the shower head, and sitting down, rinsing the rest of herself off, looking towards the stunned pony. "We all know Hitch."

"Really?" Hitch suddenly blurted out, not realizing he basically admitted what Pipp assumed, now 100% confirming her suspicions.

"Hitch, as a mare, and an influencer, I know body language by just listening. I... have to be honest, I didn't really believe that it was true until Sunny asked me if it seemed that you liked me. I was glad that I wasn't the only one. I didn't want to assume anything because of my own feelings towards you." Hold up, wait what?

"Whoah whoah whoah wait hold on. You feel the same Pipp?" For what felt like the millionth time today he was stunned.

All Pipp did was nod.

"Wow..."

Pipp suddenly shifted forward to Hitch, causing him to look back up to her eye level. "Does this surprise you?" Pipp showed genuine concern now, ears flat, and eyes full of worry. There shouldn't be any reason for him to be this shocked.

"I just... I mean, Pipp, you are way out of my league. You're royalty, a princess. You have your whole life together, and-"

"And you don't? Hitch you have a career, I just got my life sorted out and you've had your sorted for years. I may be younger than you but that's not the point. And don't you dare say that I am out of your league. You are so much more than you might think Hitch."

For the first time tonight, Hitch smiled instead of being shocked at Pipp's actions. "You're out of my league Pipp."

"Wrong." She responded, a smirk across her face, spraying his chest with the shower head.

"H-hey! Haha!" Hitch backed away slightly. When he looked back to Pipp, she was smiling, white as can be teeth showing. Ears down in a sexy-like fashion. Her smile was genuine, filled with pure desire and passion. This slightly faltered Hitch.

He then became slightly alarmed when she sat up, moving up towards him, their noses millimeters apart. All Hitch could do was stare, frozen, awaiting Pipp's next move, and boy oh boy did she make it a bold one.

She shifted forward, slowly and softly meeting his lips. She closed her eyes, and put a little pressure into him. He eventually let his mind go on autopilot as his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly to the right to make their kiss more comfortable.

It was only a few seconds, but when she pulled away, it felt like minutes went by... maybe it did.

All she could do was smile at him, as his mouth slightly parted, wanting to say something. She instead said the words after the kiss. "C'mon let's finish up and get to the Brighthouse."

Pipp started to shift around Hitch to return the favor of helping him with the shampoo, but he stopped her. "Wait hold on Pipp..."

She did what she was told, and looked at the stallion. "Wh... What does this make us Pipp?"

And then she probably gave the best answer he could realistically hope for. "What do you want it to be, Hitch?"

She got her answer from Hitch's sudden confidence, as he leaned back down to Pipp's slightly lower height, and lightly kissed her for a brief moment. "I want it to be something more than friends." Classic Hitch, straight to the point.

As they finished up in the shower, and using towels to dry each other off, they went back into his bedroom to see the window showing the same amount of rainfall, lightning also now being present.

"Okay I am not going back out there." Pipp said with annoyance, putting her tiara on one of Hitch's nightstands. "How has it not stopped yet?"

"I have no idea. I've never seen anything like this in Maretime Bay." Hitch was in disbelief himself.

"We could always just have our own little sleepover." Pipp suggested, smiling at the slightly taller pony.

"Uhh, heh, sure." Hitch smiled with just a small tinge of embarrassment. "You can take the bed, the couch is nice to look at but not so to lay down on."

Pipp snorted at this. "Hitch, we are sleeping together."

"Wait, -don't you think that's a little fast?" Hitch returned to his jumbled state.

"Hitch, we're just sharing a bed, we're adults. It's not like anything is gonna happen tonight... well, apart from a cuddle?" Hitch eventually nodded, going over to the tablet on his wall, turning off all the lights in his apartment, and lowering the blackout blinds to the window, a boom of thunder butting in as the automated blind came to a stop at the floor.

Pipp made herself comfortable in the bed, getting under the covers, waiting for the stallion as he fiddled with the tablet on the wall. All she could do was smile. She was bummed that they weren't at the Brighthouse, but also very ecstatic that she finally got what she wanted in her life. When getting to know Hitch, she realized that he was the missing piece in her rather happy life.

Hitch hesitantly came to the other side of the bed, stopping at it. "C'mon Hitch, I don't bite..." He slowly moved to lift the covers. "... that hard." That last part from Pipp caused him to smile, easing his nerves just a little bit more.

As he settled on his side of the large bed, he laid down, shifting his body to look at the princess currently next to him. She was smiling, looking as if she was the most confident pony on the face of Equestria. She really was a vision. Her looks could practically break the rules. Every feature of her was untouchably sexy and far out of this world. Pipp then shifted forwards, and grabbed Hitch, snuggling into him. His whole face heated up as he didn't know where to put his own hooves. Pipp took the lack of movement as an opportunity to give Hitch a little reward, moving his hooves for him to her midsection, to where her wings sat, neatly folded.

At first she almost flinched... almost. Her wings, like any pegasus, were quite sensitive, and an intimate place when their significant other showed affection to them.

Hitch could not believe how soft they were. Sure they looked soft, but wow were they soft.

They sat there, embracing each other, looking one another straight in the eyes, Pipp smiling, and Hitch slightly at ease. Pipp decided to calm him down more by simply leaning up to him and going in for another kiss.

Hitch this time accepted it. As they both leaned into the kiss this time, the kiss lasted much longer than the first one. After minutes of this, they parted, breathing slightly labored, both satisfied with their situation.

"Goodnight Hitch." Pipp smiled, looking at her newly acquired coltfriend. "Goodnight Pipp." The sheriff responded. Both eyes closed, and silence was brought into the room, apart from their calm breathing.

Well, that is until Hitch suddenly broke it. "Pipp..."

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow morning we're gonna have to tell the others."

"Don't worry, I texted Zipp."

Hitch chuckled. "Of course you did."

"Well, you're also going to explain tomorrow what it was that I did that gave away the fact that I had an absolute mega crush on you." This caused Pipp to laugh.

"Okay, Mr. Investigator Hitch." Pipp said, planting a kiss on his nose before settling back down, sleep coming to them both.

[rosiewitchescottage]

JK Rowling is NOT a transphobe, says Andrew Doyle

I think we need to get it straight that most people being called ‘transphobic’ these days, are NOT speaking a word again trans people.

 (Back in the day a TERF was a radical feminist, who wouldn’t treat any male trans woman as a woman.)

J K Rowling, and quite a few other people, many of them trans women and trans men themselves, speak fully in support of trans people.

BUT

The argument has been, and continues to be against Self ID, the idea that a man can just say ‘I’m a Woman’ and we’re meant to treat him as one, or a woman say ‘I’m a man’ and we’re meant to treat her as one.

Listen to elder trans people like Buck Angel, and you hear tales of a slow, lengthy process, involving a lot of therapy, to make sure that transitioning is indeed the right way forward. And I’d think that you need that, with such life, body and mind changing medical intervention.

Today, a vulnerable and confused child or teen can be given body altering medication within hours of a first appointment, a man, who’s done little more than put on make up and a dress, sometimes not even that, can enter women only spa pools, toilets, prisons etc.

And yes!  Whilst most of the Self ID ‘I’m a Woman/It’s Ma’am” crowd aren’t a physical threat to women at all.

This laissez faire attitude IS allowing very dangerous, criminally predatory men to simply say ‘I’m A Woman’ after they’ve been sentenced, and off they go to women’s prisons.

 There’s no ignoring the very worrying stories of rape and pregnancies that have occurred.

This Can’t Be Allowed To Go On. It’s bad, both for female women. and for the tiny number of genuine trans women who really do need to be in women’s spaces.

                                **************************************

None of it’s the same as the experiences of Buck Angel, Blaire White, Rose of Dawn, Marcus Dibs and the many others like them.

Being trans should mean something very specific. And those specifics are linked inexorably with biology.

You want to dress like a woman?  be a she/her, have a woman’s name etc, because you ‘feel like a woman’?  Then I’m happy to treat you as a woman.

But I won’t pretend that this makes you biologically female, and therefore exactly the same as me. It doesn’t. You aren’t ‘a woman’ for real.

And I won’t even say this an accusation. It isn’t, it’s just a fact.

Yes. There are ‘true’ trans people, who ‘Need’ to live fully as members of the opposite sex. And I respect that.

But their experience isn’t Self ID. It’s completely different, and that difference matters, a lot.

I see Self ID as simple gender non conformity. And I have absolutely no argument with that.

A man who expresses feminine. A woman who expresses masculine. A man or a woman whose self expression in androgynous.

I respect it all. Bring it On.

#youtube

[hearts2free]

Presenting...

Character Profile: Yuukana Ritsu

(結叶律)

(pic from this picrew)

Appearance

Yuukana Ritsu is a fair-skinned girl with a height considered above average for a female, but is shorter than most of the Twisted Wonderland cast.

She has rose-pink eyes and blue-grey hair, which supposedly reaches her shoulders but is cut short for the sake of disguising as a boy at Night Raven College.

Personality

Ritsu is a meek, gentle individual who treats others with respect and kindness. As a sensitive person herself, often she would choose over her words depending on the person.

Her observant nature allows the girl to pick up subtle emotions beneath spoken words or behaviors. Though, at times, this trait causes her to over-analyze one's actions.

Despite being level-headed, Ritsu can be quite sarcastic and impulsive, even has a bit of tendency to act violent if angered or overwhelmed.

Due to an incident in the past, she hates being underestimated. This contributes to her habit of bottling up all negative emotions, also to an extent, her nonchalant front.

Though, once she lets down her guard (to those she comes to trust), she is shown to be more blunt, flirty and playful.

Background

Ritsu is from a loving family of four---father, mother herself and a little brother. Being the first-born child, she strongly feels the responsibility to act more mature for being a role model for her silbling, and also for make her parents proud of herself.

Although many praise Ritsu for her well-behaved nature, some of her peers/classmates deem her as "Goody two shoes", "dull" and "naive" even, which often makes her feeling like "not fitting in" with her schoolmates. To add on, the fact that her childhood friend talked about this behind her back added salt to her wound, though Ritsu in the present seems to be gotten over the inccident.

While on her way home after a hangout, she comes across a weird black carriage towering her. Before she knew it, she is unconscious, in a coffin and transported to Twisted Wonderland.

Triva

Due to Crowley having trouble in pronouncing her name, Ritsu suggests him to call her by "Yuu" instead (shortened from Ritsu's last name "Yuukana")

Another reason Ritsu prefers to be referred as "Yuu" is that she doesn't wants to get too attached to Twisted Wonderland

Pop and vocaloid are the types of music that Ritsu is into

Ritsu’s singing voice is a husky one, which differs a lot from her usual softer speaking tone (sorta like the Japanese singer Aimer)

Traits of Ritsu's ideal boyfriend: honest, smart, gentle, reliable and cute

Other than cutting her hair short, Ritsu avoids talking as much as possible to avoid her real gender exposed

Crowley provides voice-changing potion for better masking her girl voice, to which Ritsu sometimes "forgets to drink" its horrible taste is definitely not the reason

Despite Ritsu's hard efforts of disguise, the twst bois ends up either discovering or noticing her true gender as each of their respective arc goes on

Ritsu's measurements are B60,W54,H77

Ritsu hates sports with a burning passion. Unfortunately, this hatred continues worsening mainly because of Vargas

Despite the above, Ritsu would occasionally go jogging with Deuce, Jack and Epel

As a family-oriented person, Ritsu misses home a lot

Contuing (12), her pastime of reading romance stories somewhat becomes her coping mechanism

Ritsu enjoys movie nights with Ace. Their taste in movies are quite similar

Despite their quite opposite personalities, Ritsu is surprisingly in sync with Ace in terms of "not really fired up"+"don't get me involuntarily involved in a trouble not concerning myself"

Ritsu is genuinely curious about how Epel can deal with Grim more calm than she is when he himself is easily riled up

Out of all first years, Ritsu prefers hanging out with Deuce the most because their wavelength are quite similar. Except when the boy is in delinquent mode

Out of the NRC boys, Ritsu is afraid of the tweels the most.She is also fear of Jamil and Sebek intially.

Out of the Octavinelle trio, Ritsu fears Jade the most because (unlike Azul and Floyd, to which she at least has some sort of inking of their thoughts based on what they day) she can never figure out what's on his mind

Ritsu has study sessions with Riddle on a frequent basis

Ritsu and Ruggie are friends with benefit, in which the former gets part-time job recommendations from the latter in exchange of making him a meal per service

Ritsu occasionally works at Mostro Lounge because the paid there is relatively higher than the odd jobs she does for Crowley

Ritsu develops quite a lot fleeting crushes throughout her time in NRC. She had liked Deuce, Ace, Silver and Ruggie Not counting Riddle there coz the girl ends up falling in love with him for real (In alternative timeline, the former three remain the same but with Ruggie and Riddle switched)

Kalim's energetic side sort of scares Ritsu as that reminds her of childhood friend

Ritsu sees Trey as a big brother figure and Cater as an elder sister figure(?) despite her being older the latter two by 9 months(♣️) and 1 month(♦️)

Ritsu is secretly glad of the fact Leona actually respects woman because what he says towards her could be worse if she's a male instead

Ritsu was initially crept out by Rook, but the two become friends as she gets to know him in book 5 and book 6Rook is the most dedicated supporter of my RidoYuu

Ritsu becomes a keen Vil fan after everything she's been through in book 5

Ritsu is intrigued by the mysterious aura around Malleus and Lilia and would like to know more about them

⚠️Warning for Eng!twst: this fact contains a minor spoiler for book 6⚠️

Ritsu initially wanted to join the board game club, but ends up not joining only because she has no choice when Grim decides to start a Gastronomy Club himself

#Twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst yuu #Not twisted from any Disney characters #Canon Yuu is not to my liking #Thus I'm making my own protagonist #Yuu but spammed with all my fave personality traits #first time making an oc

[piltrafas]

Biphobe anon here. I have a question, but no hard feelings if you ignore: What assumptions am I making? Is it because I don't expect people to see things from my perspective?

I saw your RB on my initial ask. I can clarify:

attraction inevitably leads to action

bisexuals are promiscuous and less prone to monogamy

bisexuals are more likely to cheat

[some] bisexual women are just quirky straight women (or the flipside of bisexual men are just gay men in denial)

I don't buy into these points. Maybe I'm not communicating well enough to get that across. I sometimes suspect the "quirky straight woman" stereotype on account of having dated somone who fit this profile.

When I talk about uncertainty, I mean that I expect most bi partners to want a straight relationship for the long term. It has nothing to do with cheating.

Hi, anon! I can try and explain ~ To get it out of the way, let me just say: in regards to your messages (when I commented on your assumptions/ask ratio I was thinking of the previous ones too) I made a lot of assumptions myself because I genuinely can't connect the dots of the stuff you talked about so it became a game of free association trying to understand. I have no doubt I'm misreading, overthinking a lot of it, you might disagree with your own phrasing or my interpretations, etc and as you say, you apparently don't recognize in yourself the biases I mentioned, and that's fair, I don't know you so I can't judge.

I decided to break down all my initial impressions so at least you'll have an easier time seeing what it looks like from my side. This is long as fuck because I had fun breaking it down. Gives me an opportunity to examine my own thought process, ya know?

how do you deal with the uncertainty of dating someone who is bi?

Uncertainty when dating someone bi is far from universal. When reading the message it seems you think that that uncertainty is, well, a certainty. I'd expect someone who is aware that this is a personal thing might phrase this differently, something like: "I have feelings of uncertainty in regards to dating someone bi, how can I deal with it?"

so how can you not be wary of a bi partner?

You're wary, you assume others would be too. If you wanna expand on how these things connect I'd be very curious. It's never occurred to me that a relationship's dynamics might change based on my partner's sexuality. In fact, I have never even asked what sexuality label anyone used? I have never been asked either. If someone hits on me they're attracted to me, that's all I care about. I actually don't think I've ever said the word bisexual aloud in my life outside of memeing. It's hilarious how it's just not something that organically comes up in conversation in my experience.

Is the fear that they will break up with you eventually? I genuinely don't understand what the wariness is about.

When I talk about uncertainty, I mean that I expect most bi partners to want a straight relationship for the long term.

Why do you expect that? I think this just comes across to me like you're projecting, that maybe if you could choose to be in a straight relationship you would and you can't see why everyone else wouldn't. You mentioned you live somewhere conservative, so I expect that plays a role? Then again, wider society is more socially progressive here, but my area is actually full of religious people that wanna make their faith everyone else's problem and none of the bi people I know or their partners think this and I'm struggling to think where this idea comes from. The people I know that have a set idea about who they wanna date long-term decide it more in terms of things like: whether they want to move abroad, want to marry, want to have children, are okay with adoption, and things of that sort. This doesn't automatically make their ideal partner the opposite gender. If anything, the reverse of what you propose is more familiar to me, because a couple of bisexual women I know exclusively date women (for different reasons iirc). I guess the point is that people with a long-term gender preferences are bound to exist, but they're certainly not the majority or even common ime, and because of that the expectation you have that most people want this seems out of proportion. But yeah, for the record, the qualifier of "long-term" is what gave me the impression that cheating and/or promiscuity play a part, by the way. It's a common stereotype that people say they're bi in their youth just to slut it up but will go have a "respectable" relationship once they settle down a bit. I don't know how you think of sexuality so we might be operating on completely different frameworks here but I think if you wanna make out with women, for quirky reasons or otherwise, then you're not exactly straight to me. (To each their own, I'm not gonna tell anyone how to identify, just a personal appraisal I guess). You said you knew someone like that, but I don't, so I'm not sure how one defines who fits the stereotype: bi women that abandon that label later? The ones that get cold feet about being out? Bi women that end up in long-term relationships with men? I know a malicious version of these people exists, I know they do. There's 7 billion people in the world and there's bound to be a subsection of people roleplaying at any number of things to get whatever attention/power/money they think they'll get out of it, but how statistically significant is this really? Is it worth even thinking about when dating? For me, no. YMMV.

Literally nobody else acts like this is the case outside of the internet.

That's. Simply not true? Just. Even virulently homophobic communities have queer people existing, living content, if private, lives. Some of them are even out and proud and fight for queer rights publicly. I just don't know how to disprove this one, short of dragging you to dinner with me and my friends. About half queer, half not. When conversations touch on sex or romance, no one is playing the pronouns game, no one blinks an eye, no one is worried or ashamed or self-conscious. "Out and proud" looks different for everyone. People who are content with their queerness exist where you are too, you just can't tell on sight. And I mean, personally, I feel no more pride in relation to my sexuality than I feel in connection to anything else I am (that I haven't achieved through hard work), the 'pride' of queerness for me is a direct counter to the shame people try to give me. But I'm certainly not unhappy or ashamed or would pick anything else if I had the choice nor have I mentally locked myself into a relationship with someone of a different gender just so I can pass for straight. In my life I've met exactly one person who agonized about their queerness.

I’m not going to blindly uproot my beliefs and agree to everyone’s outlook just because that’s the polite thing to do.

… is that the polite thing to do? No one responding was asking you to uproot your beliefs for their sake, and if they were they had no right to. But someone challenging what you say, disagreeing, explaining how they moved past their similar feelings isn't demanding anything of you in terms of character growth, in fact, dare I say the outlook most people have on anyone magically changing decades worth of feelings is uh, pretty bleak? It's a nice fantasy to think if you phrase something juuuust right, just persuasively enough that it will make a difference, but it's a fantasy, and I bet the average person reading wasn't holding their breath or grabbing the pitchforks. But for what it's worth, I agree with the overall point you made. We shouldn't blindly accept people's words.

I seriously doubt that half the people who go around telling others to go to therapy have actually done it themselves.

I mean. I hate therapy, I undiagnosed myself and stopped going at multiple points. It's painful and expensive, and that's a feature not a bug. I tell people to go to therapy because I have been to therapy and it's a great tool to change your life for the better. It's hard. I only manage it because I have a group of people that hold my hand through all of it, answer all my questions, helped me find a good professional, taught me how to judge that, taught me how to make the most of each session, and so much more. Accessibility for this kinda stuff is shitty, it sucks, I found it in internet friends that don't even speak my native language. But anyway, yeah, this one, this one is just wild to me because IDK about where you live, but where I live it's actually a stereotype that people who go to therapy get a lifetime debuff that makes them unable to shut the fuck up about it. I think you probably got a lot of words about therapy on account of the aforementioned debuff so I won't go point by point on what you think a therapist does and such, because I bet people have explained, but yeah, your ideas regarding that are disproportionately cynical and at times just plain wrong.

I think it’s important to be honest about my feelings, even if that means being an ass.

No one with a brain is gonna think you're an ass for being honest about your feelings. It's about context. I don't think you're an ass but if I did it would have more to do with your generalizations than with your honesty. You didn't come across badly imo in the offensive sense, just like you were spewing BS.

I don't think the appeal of this is something that anyone here has the background to really grasp.

I think you'd be surprised. A lot of people that I know that hang out/lurk that tumblr (and that are hardcore socialists or anarchocommunists for example, ideologies I don't share) have backgrounds of having been anti-sjws, or hanging in far-right crowds. So did I! A lot more people than you think get the appeal, either because we were there in the past, or our friends were or are attracted to certain parts of it now. Like you said, though, it's not an ideal environment, so people move away. And listen, maybe people won't admit it aloud or whatever, but that doesn't mean it's a category of people that doesn't exist.

I'm sleep deprived and English is hard and a bunch of this probably sounds condescending, so I'm sorry about that. Feel free to come back and call bullshit on all my stuff now (and name yourself something other than biphobe anon if that grates lmao)

#im a longman i guess #tl;dr is that i like typing to procrastinate on actual work and you shouldn't bother reading any of this LOL #basically if i feel generalized i will write 2k words about it at the drop of a hat #gomen #bad queer blogging

[animezinglife]

It is absolutely imperative that some people not be allowed to work with the opposite gender when the job involves serious topics and some degree of persuasion.

#funny #personal #life in your 20s #former flame #ex-crush #ex-whatever #sometimes it's genuinely not fair to the opposite gender

[blossom-hwa]

Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters​ challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.  

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

#inkidz #destinyverse #districtninewriters #kpopscape #skz #stray kids #stray kids changbin #skz changbin #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #stray kids changbin scenarios #skz changbin scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids changbin x reader #skz changbin x reader #seo changbin x reader #fluff #angst #tw death #tw blood #tw suicide #reincarnation!au #soulmate!au #time and time again #scriptura-delirus

[homosexuhauls]

Joanna Moorhead

Culture of silencing any challenge to prevailing ideology is damaging academic freedom, says professor

The press release that accompanies Prof Kathleen Stock’s new book says she wants to see a future in which trans rights activists and gender-critical feminists collaborate to achieve some of their political aims. But she concedes that this currently seems fanciful. As far as she is concerned, the book, Material Girls, sets out her stall – and she knows a lot of people will find it distasteful.

Stock, a professor of philosophy at the University of Sussex, says the key question she addresses – itself offensive to many – is this: do trans women count as women?

Whatever else about her views is controversial, she is surely on firm ground when she writes that this question has become surrounded by toxicity. But the problem for her is, at least partly, that many people do anything they can to avoid answering it. “Very few people who are sceptical talk about it directly, because they’re frightened,” she says. “It’s so hard psychologically to say, in reply: ‘I’m afraid not.’”

Stock is at pains to say she is not a transphobe, and also that she is sympathetic to the idea that many people feel they are not in the “right” body. What she says she opposes, though, is the institutionalisation of the idea that gender identity is all that matters – that how you identify automatically confers all the entitlements of that sex. And she believes that increasingly in universities and the wider world, that is a view that cannot be challenged.

“There’s a taboo against saying this, but it’s what I believe,” she says. “It’s fair enough if people want to disagree with me, but this is what I think.”

That last statement is loaded, too, because the gender identity row is closely linked, especially on university campuses, with freedom of speech. Campuses are a minefield for those wanting to discuss these issues, she says, and she has faced calls for her university to sack her. So she is supportive of the government’s controversial plans for a free speech bill, which critics including English PEN, Article 19 and Index on Censorship have argued will have the opposite effect.

In a joint letter, they argued that the legislation “may have the inverse effect of further limiting what is deemed ‘acceptable’ speech on campus and introducing a chilling effect both on the content of what is taught and the scope of academic research exploration”.

But Stock backs the bill: “I think vice-chancellors and university management groups have shown that they can’t manage the modern problems around suppression of academic freedom. I think there are some genuine instances of unfair treatment of controversial academics, and those academics should be able to seek meaningful redress.”

This week the University of Essex apologised to two professors, Jo Phoenix and Rosa Freedman, after an independent inquiry found the university had breached its free speech duties when their invitations or talks were cancelled after student complaints.

Stock grew up in Montrose, Scotland, the daughter of a philosophy lecturer and a newspaper proofreader, and studied for her degree at Exeter College, Oxford, going on to do an MA at the University of St Andrews and a PhD at Leeds.

Having come out as gay relatively late in life, she now lives in Sussex with her partner and two sons from her previous marriage. She regards her OBE, awarded earlier this year for services to higher education, as a signal that her views have at least some backing in the establishment.

“Academics being online, students being online – it’s introduced a whole new landscape for dealing with controversial ideas, especially when those ideas are controversial within your peer group or a student body. Threats to academic freedom don’t just come from China, or millionaires trying to buy a library wing for your college; they also come from students whipping up a petition within seconds of you saying something and trying to get you fired.”

Sometimes, she claims, it is more insidious than sackings: “For academics [the gender identity debate] has a chilling effect, because academics believe their careers may suffer in ways that are less visible: they don’t get promoted, or they’re removed from an editorial board.” The net result of all this, she says, is an impoverishment of ideas and knowledge, and damage to the dissemination of information.

Because another of Stock’s key arguments in her book is that her own profession, academia, has failed to look in detail at some claims made by trans activists. She questions some of the data that gets shared regarding violence against trans people, saying that a lot of it is produced by groups that adhere to a particular narrative.

“I don’t doubt that transphobic crime occurs, but I want to know to what extent it occurs in a way that could help the trans community better understand the problem it faces.” She’s disappointed, she says, in some fellow academics for not rising above the fray. “I thought the point of philosophy was that you would be able to argue things without resorting to ad hominem attacks – I thought that was the point of our training.”

How, then, in her view, have we got to where we are? Stock takes issue with Stonewall, the LGBTQ+ charity, which campaigns for trans inclusion and opposes the views of gender-critical feminists. The charity’s Diversity Champions programme is very popular on campuses, and Stock believes this has in part “turned universities into trans activist organisations” through their equality, diversity and inclusion departments.

Beyond this, the introduction of student fees has played its part in the current situation, Stock believes. “As soon as students started to pay, they became customers, and universities became much more deferential. They started talking about coproduction of knowledge, giving them much more choice over the whole experience.” The problem with that, she believes, is that “some young people come along with fixed ideas about gender identity theory, and it’s awkward – especially when universities are branding themselves as LGBT-friendly and queer-friendly.”

Philosophy is a vast space, most of it without risk of abuse. So what keeps her in this particular arena? “I was bullied as a child and I think that gave me experience of social ostracisation and toughened me up,” she says. “I’ve also got amazing support. Sure, some philosophers and colleagues are against my views, but others are very supportive.

“Plus it’s personal for me: I’ve struggled with my body in terms of femininity. I could easily aged 15 have decided I was non-binary or even a boy. And I feel very worried for teenagers who are now foreclosing reproductive possibilities and their future, or damaging their bodily tissues in irreversible ways, based on an idea that they may come to relinquish at a later date.”

One tragedy of the gender identity debate is how hate-filled and polarised it has become. Stock says she has suffered online abuse, but makes it clear that she is going to continue to state her case.

Material Girls: Why Reality Matters for Feminism by Kathleen Stock is published by Fleet

#Kathleen Stock #gender critical #material girls #radical feminism #philosophy #radfem safe #was pleasantly surprised to see this in the guardian #although jfc could you walk on egg shells more

[lokislittlesigyn]

Luck of the Dice - Loki x Reader [Oneshot]

Part 1 of Sigyn’s Angst-to-Fluff Drabbles

Inspired by Cozy’s Fluff-to-Angst Fun and Games!

Pairing: Platonic!Loki / gender neutral reader

Warnings: None. Except maybe some pillow fighting? Nobody gets hurt.

Author’s Note: This is probably very silly and underwhelming, but I hope it’s still enjoyable. Wanted to try writing something not-specifically-romantic. Romance is great! But you know what? Friendship is great too. <3

@lucywrites02:

A prompt for you 💔

"I lost everything and you're laughing!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It really shouldn’t have gone this far. 

Then again, when you and the god of mischief were left alone in the Avengers Compound for a weekend, what could anyone expect? After all, you and Loki were close friends. Or, as close as anyone could be with the god of mischief. He had a calm and collected demeanor, usually keeping to himself. Far from the alien god-king hellbent on destruction you’d been led to expect.

No, Loki was different. And, with most people, distant. He rarely (if ever) showed his more sensitive side to anyone - except, perhaps, for you.

So, on this weekend when most of the team was out on small missions, and Tony had gone with Pepper for a press conference on the other side of the country, you and Loki were left to your own devices. You’d spent the day alone for the most part, but eventually your friend found you, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he was lonely. 

You decided a proper hangout session was in order. 

Eventually the ordered-in pizza was long since eaten, and a ridiculous romantic comedy you’d turned on just to hear Loki’s groans of frustration with the plot, long since watched. The two of you chatted for hours, until you suggested playing a game. Loki seemed intrigued, and agreed to play along - but not before declaring he would absolutely win. You responded with a playful scoff and “I’d like to see you try.”

Now you both sat on the floor in the main common area of the compound. Distant drones of the television, the volume of which was reduced to a whisper, sounded in the background. You sat cross-legged in your favorite pajamas, a blanket around your shoulders. Loki, clad in long, soft sweatpants and a dark green shirt you gifted him at last year’s holiday party, was settled across from you. He sipped tea from a mug - which Thor had given him at that same party. He never seemed to use it when Thor was around, but you knew it was his favorite. He was sentimental. You liked that about him.

You’d already explained the game’s rules, going through the ins and outs and technicalities, and giving him the chance to ask any questions. Although he hadn’t attended many Avengers “teamwork building” game nights, he must’ve been listening, because he caught on to the game exceptionally fast.

It all went downhill from there, however.

Okay, maybe introducing the god of mischief to Monopoly wasn’t your best idea -

But it wasn’t your worst idea either, and you’d stand by that.

Besides, most of the games at the compound were strictly for groups, and the others, far too risky. You were not about to open the Pandora’s box that was playing Uno with the god of mischief. 

The two of you played had already racked up properties and utilities. But the moment Loki’s top hat playing piece hit St. James’ Place, your heart sank. He’d completed another set.

“I believe that’s mine.” Loki motioned to the property card and smiled, handing over the appropriate play-money. 

You traded it for the card, grumbling slightly under your breath.

“What was that, my friend?” Loki snapped the card next to his three and a half complete property sets, along with his railroads… This just wasn’t fair.

“Nothing…” You huffed. But you still had a chance. You had Boardwalk and Park Place.

He had no idea what was coming.

“...Just thinking of how you’re going down.” You smiled.

Loki scoffed. “Oh, I’m quaking in my boots.”

The game continued. You built a few hotels, and felt much better about your prospects… Until Loki got hotels too. 

It’s fine! If he lands on those, you glanced at your completed red and pink property sets, along with your prized deep blues, He’s toast. I just need to make it past the orange…

You looked at the board. Gulped. 

Your poor little dog piece stood at the precipice of certain doom. Currently situated on the Electric Company, your own property, you had to roll just the right number to dodge Loki’s looming hotels. He really was ruthless.

“Any day now.” Loki smirked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I was just thinking.” You shook the dice in your hands.

“Thinking?”

“Yeah. I do that sometimes.”

“Surprising.”

You glared at him, then rolled the dice, moving your piece to - New York Avenue.

Oh, no.

Loki held out an expectant hand. You grumbled, handing him a stack of money from your hand. You were dreadfully low on cash - maybe investing in all that property wasn’t the best strategy… But how else were you supposed to win? You had to win. If the team found Loki had beat you at any game, they’d never let you live it down. 

Loki rolled next, of course dodging your properties perfectly. Your next turn landed you on another one of Loki’s properties, and you forked over the necessary money with a grimace.

Loki merely chuckled, his fingers shuffling through the stack of paper to make sure everything was in order before filing them onto the plump stacks of fake bills before him. Then he rolled - dodging your properties again. You groaned out loud.

“Something wrong?” He smiled.

“No way you’re rolling so well.”

With a shrug, Loki sat back, watching you roll. “Luck of the dice, I suppose.”

“Some luck!” You rolled.

Pennsylvania Avenue.

Your fate was sealed.

Loki had bought the green properties first - of course he had - setting them up handsomely with full upgrades. You looked at the god across from you, and recognized in an instant how intensely frustrating his smug looks could be. His shoulders shook, his knuckles placed in front of his mouth.

Wait...

“You’re laughing?!” You exclaimed.

Loki chuckled, only half trying to hide it as he raised his hands in mock surprise. “Me? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, but it was choppy with laughter.

“You are! You’re laughing!” Your face heated up. “I lost everything and you’re laughing!” You grabbed a nearby pillow, swinging it at him. He blocked it with his arm, shooting you a devilish grin.

“Oh, come on. What did you expect? I never lose!”

“Oh? Really? You never lose?”

“Never.” Loki smirked. You glared daggers at him, never relenting with your squishy weapon, though each blow was deflected by his arm “Woah- Hey. You’re awfully violent,” Loki chuckled, “Need to sit down?”

“Shut up!”

“Perhaps a rematch?”

“Not in this lifetime!” You laughed, chucking the pillow at him and returning to your previous spot. He grabbed it, snorting with indignance.

“Attacking me will get you nowhere, you know.” Loki held the pillow aloft, flashing you a smirk. “But then again, the first stage of grief is denial, eventually leading to acceptance-”

The next pillow you tossed hit Loki square in the face. Even he laughed, though not before tossing it back at you and hitting you in the chest - you chuckled, holding it to yourself.

“Now that I’ve demolished you in that silly game, why don’t we settle down?” Loki stretched, wiping his loose black curls back from his face. “It’s late.”

You checked the time - woah, when did it get that late? “Ah, yeah, you’re right. And you get cranky when you don’t sleep, so.” You stood, stifling a yawn.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki was standing across from you, his brow furrowed.

“What? You’re always grumpy after a bad night’s sleep. You are.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snorted through his nose, though you noticed a twinge of humor in his expression. “You’re the one who’s grouchy in the mornings. Absolutely unbearable.”

“Oh, hush.”

Loki chuckled, settling onto the opposite couch. 

As you snuggled onto the couch underneath your blanket, you swore to yourself you’d never play against the god of mischief again. Then again, seeing him laugh and smile so genuinely almost balanced out the annoyance of losing… Maybe you could be partners in the next team game. You had a good chance of convincing him to join, after all. He seemed to trust you.

You looked over at him. Yes, Loki must’ve trusted you, because he was already asleep on the other couch with a serene expression. He looked so calm, so… Happy. You smiled to yourself.

Maybe losing was worth it after all.

#oops! all fluff #loki x reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x reader platonic #loki x reader fluff #angst to fluff drabbles

[oldfritz]

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one. 

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’  Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous