#I can point to plenty of discomfort I had with masculinity

[queerishly]

.

[sarcastic-cookie]

|Hannibal Chrollo x Starling Reader| A Strange Occurrence Part 2

Once again special thanks to @skyyletai for the idea. If you haven't read the first part, you can read it here Part 1. Barely any Chrollo in this one sadly, but don't worry there will be a lot more Chrollo in the next chapter.

The wind swept through the dense forest, lifting your hair and sending chills down your spine as you sprinted. Every step you took resulted in broken twigs and the forest floor ruthlessly digging into the soles of your feet, gradually wearing through your socks. The fabric yielded to the sharp edges of the sticks and stones, causing an irritating, stinging sensation. The discomfort almost had you lamenting leaving your sneakers behind. However, you knew their absence was crucial to avoid making noise that could betray your location to your pursuers, which would hinder your escape.

Your lungs felt like they were going to burst, but the echoing voices hot on your tail told you that if you stopped now you wouldn’t make it to see the light of day ever again. And so, even with your lungs screaming for a reprieve, you force your legs to run faster. 

Honestly, you never thought you could run so fast. People really don’t give the human body’s fight-or-flight instinct much credit. The horrifying sight of your little brother’s corpse surrounded by a multitude of others replayed over and over in your mind. Salty trails made their way down your cheeks as you recalled the gruesome spectacle. ‘B/n,’ your little brother’s name echoed throughout your head as you ran. 

Out of the blue, a clearing appeared just up ahead before you. However, you knew if you went for the opportunity to escape now they would surely follow you and you wouldn’t have anywhere to hide. You frantically searched around for a hiding spot, and your eyes landed upon a sturdy oak tree to your left. Its gnarled branches would make for perfect concealment. The sound of the voices began to get closer alerting you that you needed to act fast or you were doomed.

You dashed towards the tree and quickly began to climb. Your heart pounding with adrenaline. As you began to swiftly ascend, the tree’s rough bark dug into the soles of your feet similar to the floor. Gritting your teeth through the pain, you kept going knowing that if you didn't, you would be in a world of pain. Midway to the top of the tree, you heard voices once more, but more distinct this time, as they came from directly below you. Causing you to climb faster. 

“Where da hell did that bitch go?” Came an angry shout from below. You identified the voice as masculine. Taking that as your cue, you hastily made your way to the thickest and sturdy-looking tree branch ensuring it was out of sight. Your body screeched at you to stop as you maneuvered it towards the branch, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. You almost cried tears of joy when you successfully reached the branch. Well, almost—your left foot became ensnared in one of the small gaps. Silently, with bated breath, you tried to meticulously pull your foot free as you strained to listen to your pursuers' conversation. 

“I don’t know genius! Yur da one who let her get away!”  A feminine voice raged, belittling the first. “What do ya mean I let er’ getaway? Johnny’s da one who fucked up!!” The third man, who stayed silent up until this point, looked offended at the first man’s accusatory tone. “Cuse’ me? Ur da one who failed at catching our dessert! I was sneaking up behind er’ when you made the fatal mistake of bumbling round’!!!” The third man, supposedly named Johnny, went off on the other. As the discussion between the three began to get heated, you panicked, praying that they didn’t decide to look up as you continued to try and yank your foot free. “Enough, both of ya! She ain’t ere’. Besides, we got plenty of sacrifices already. Our lord will be more than satisfied. Now quite ur blubbering and get movin’ fore we get any more unwelcomed guests,”  the woman interjected. The other two groaned in resignation, knowing she was right. With disappointed looks, they began their trek back to where you guessed was the clearing where you discovered the corpse of your little brother. 

Relieved that they were finally leaving you waited until they were a good distance away before applying more force into wrenching your ankle free of the gap. You almost succeeded, but you, unfortunately, shifted too far back on the branch, causing you to fall backward. Fortunately, the gap still hugged your foot, preventing a nasty fall. You found yourself panicking once again as you dangled over the edge by your ankle. 

‘Great! I finally manage to escape that weird cult only to find myself dangling upside down from a tree. Brilliant Y/n, brilliant,’ you thought, cursing your terrible luck in your head. Scared for your life, you instantly latched hold of the nearest tree branch you could get your hands on. Assuring you secured a safe grip and that the branch wouldn’t break, you then began to try freeing your ankle once more. As you tugged and tugged, the branches surrounding the gap finally began to weaken, allowing you to free your now scrapped-up ankle from the gap’s clutches, but that also meant you were no longer dangling upside down as your leg joined its counterpart. Leaving you now dangling in the air by the single tree branch you had managed to snatch hold of during your plight. ‘I feel like a damn monkey,’ you thought, as you quite literally dangled above your doom.

Carefully, you slowly let go of the branch with one hand and grasped another. Once you were sure it was a sturdy branch, you let go of the first, grasping the new branch. Assessing a good place for a foothold you carefully shifted your body weight and lifted your right leg placing your right foot into the hold. As you made progress upwards, you were able to place your left foot into another foothold. Granted, it was causing you to scale the tree higher, but hey it beats falling to your death or obtaining broken bones. Finally, you were able to scale the tree to a safer area before making your way down. You were careful to not get any of your lower extremities caught again. Silently cheering when your feet hit solid ground, you immediately booked it for the clearing without looking back. 

Well, that’s what you believed before the earth below you collapsed. You screamed as you sank into the massive maw of the chasm beneath.

Cringing as you felt hands encased around your throat, gradually draining the life out of you. You pinched your eyes shut, not desiring to witness who or what was strangling you.

“It’s your fault you know! He’d still be alive if you weren’t such an incompetent sister!” 

“No!!” You narrowly managed to call out, opening your eyes only to encounter your own e/c eyes glowering down at you. Hostility could be seen in your eyes, hatred seeping into your soul.

“NO!!!” You shrieked as you sprung up in bed, your heart feeling like it was reaching to leap out of your chest. You quickly started to take in your surroundings, acknowledging it was merely a nightmare as you fell back onto your back. 

Your heart rate gradually lulled down as the blankets embraced your quivering form. Understanding that you couldn’t possibly go back to sleep after that dreadful nightmare, you got up to make some coffee.

As you prepared your drink, you gazed at the time, merely to sigh in disappointment. “Only 3:41 in the morning, seriously!?”

“I suppose I could utilize this opportunity to additionally examine the case. That reminds me I should see how Dr. Lucilfer is doing. I have yet to visit him in his new location.”

The coffee pot went off, signaling that your coffee was done. You poured yourself a glass and took a sip as you stepped out of the miniature kitchen and ascended toward your work desk. 

Your roommate's deafening snores echoed throughout your shared flat. You laughed a little at the racket he was creating, making sure to pocket it in your brain to tease him about it later.

As you sat down in your chair and unlocked your laptop, you clicked on the folder for the case file saved to your computer. Opening your desk drawer, you retrieved your binder of notes.

So far you had four suspects: “Kotaro Okumura a thirty-nine-year-old male who had lost his four-year-old daughter Alcina Okumura due to an automobile accident a few years ago, thirty-four-year-old female Aoi Suzune, ex-mother of two six-year-old twin boys named Nobuki, and Kuro Suzune that passed away due to a house fire, twenty-three-year-old Ann Sawata who had only recently in the past few years had two miscarriages, and lastly, Devon Costello a twenty-six-year-old male who roughly about a year and a half ago lost his newborn daughter Willow Costello due to a mysterious illness.

“You still focusing on that case N/n?” Came the voice of Leorio Paradinight, your roommate. 

‘I must’ve been so engrossed in the case that I was unaware Leo had stopped his obnoxious snoring.’ You thought, grimacing. You turned your desk chair to face him and gave him a nod.

"You ought to give yourself a rest. I got popcorn alongside some cheesy horror flicks."  He said wiggling his eyebrows. You sighed and shook your head after grinning a little at his silliness. "I'm sorry Leo, but I need to solve this case in order for me to get a wink of sleep at night."

He nodded in understanding. “Well if you change your mind I’ll be waiting over here all by my lonesome with movies and popcorn,” he said before plopping onto the couch.

You cracked a small smile and went back to work. Your cell phone began to ring just as you turned back around. You furrowed your brow in perplexity. “Who could be calling at 4:08 in the morning?” You muttered catching Leorio’s attention, confusion was written all over his face in a similar fashion to yours.

‘Unknown number?’ 

“Guess I  better answer it,” you said, accepting the call. “

Hello,” you said with a slight tinge of annoyance in your voice, only to freeze in fear at the voice on the other line.

“Hello, little raven, may I speak with you once more?"

You swallowed your nerves.

“Dr. Lucilfer, how unexpected.”

Taglist

@0vendettaself

[phantalgia]

An Angel On a Cloud

The title of this is intentional, it has nothing to do with death though. It's an ode to someone I miss a lot. Someone I know is still out there and hope is doing well. There are other people I miss a lot too. And I want to talk about them as well at some point.

Cloud was my first gay crush. But at the time and even now I still deal with a lot of internalized homophobia so I did a lot to repress those emotions. He was still a great friend nonetheless. I met him on VRChat if I remember correctly, and it was also with another person and it was one of my early friend groups with other people.

I split off with that friend group due to personal reasons and it was just the three of us. We had a minecraft world at the time and spent a lot of time there and just sharing feelings and thoughts and jokes.

Outside of the three of us. Me and Cloud would just do one on one calls with each other. Each time after work, he'd call me on his way home. He cared a lot about me, he wanted to be around me a lot. I....really took him for granted.

He was proud of me for pursuing art and encouraged me a lot and always asked me how I was doing with it (I quit because of an event, save for another time). He was really involved with my life. We called pretty much every day and things would get borderline romantic.

Because of internalized homophobia, a lot of feelings were repressed and I was disgusted sometimes. Because of that things never went anywhere. And dealing with a lot of self hate, I self sabatoged the friendship twice by ghosting. For the first time a new phenomenon had occured to me that I never thought would be possible. Something I still struggle to understand or believe today even: It's possible for myself to mean so much to someone's life that my absense causes them great pain and discomfort, heartache...heartbreak.

Again, I still to this day struggle with understanding it, I have had more of those events happen with other people as well. But I’m learning to accept that people want to be around me slowly.

Cloud himself was such a sweetheart. I still remember how cute he looked, but the picture of him is getting blurrier and blurrier unfortunately. He was a very sensitive person. He was just angelic, innocent, and had a very cute and soothing voice. He was into a lot of cute stuff, so he wasn't a big strong and tough stoic or anything like that. Not to say he didn't have any strength, what I mean is that he wasn't a stereotypical masculine person. I think he liked the Sims, so that should tell you a little bit of what I mean XD.

He was a breathe of fresh air, but I wouldn't know that until years later when I would never see him again. I was still in my edgelord phase, must have been 19-20 at the time. So a lot of those calls with that other person I mentioned would just be liberal usage of "nasty language". Which then gets into the type of person Cloud was. We tried to get him to say a slur, but he stayed stern with his values and wasn't pressed. So he did have strength, he wouldn't break even under peer pressure. And he had values. Which just made him more attractive in retrospect.

I could make a whole topic about the things I've learned about how "edgy" and "dark" humor is a tool to encourage far-right violence. But that's going into another blog I’m working on. You can watch NonCompete's: The Pewdiepipeline on youtube. It's a good one. There's plenty of videos on the topic of the alt-right pipeline. Which is the blog I’m working on with my story while giving it a more societal context rather than just purely personal.

Cloud cared a lot about me and I’m not sure why. What did he see in me? Faith? Hope? I was a toxic loser. Perhaps in my moments of vulnerability, my silliness, my pursuit of art, and just how I looked attracted him which gave him faith in me. I can't remember if I have ever been vulnerable with him many times, we just existed with each other and got distracted with whatever it was we were doing.

There came a point where I would discover that Cloud was also very very damaged.

The Rain Cloud

It was one late night and we were both in Minecraft...it was just your usual Minecraft session. I don’t really know what sparked the conversation...I don’t know what we talked about that caused it. But Cloud just told me his experience with being gay in school.

He told me that he was bullied a lot for it. And that even one time he was trampled on by an entire class. And nobody cared. He cried to me. I don’t remember what I said. All I remember is what he said and his crying branded into my fucking head. Perhaps I said that "I was there for him" or something along those lines. I don’t know. But then that was the first time he sounded a kiss for me, thanking me for being there for him. It was late that night and we both called it a night.

I don’t remember when that was. But I won't forget it. And I won't forget the hurt I caused by leaving him, twice. He really was almost unforgiving. The second time, he understandably had some animosity towards me. I just moved on at that point. We just disappeared into different directions in the world.

But im getting ahead of myself, I remember one of those times when I came back to see Cloud again, he seemed different.

A Cloudless Night Sky

His voice changed after I stopped ghosting and came back. He sounded less exaggerated. And I asked him about it because it was so noticable. And he told me that he forced the higher pitched voice when he spoke to me to try and get me to like him. It felt strange, like something was off.

The last time I can think of speaking with him was when I had a very traumatic night in my old neighborhood. I won’t say what but it was something I never experienced before. I told him about it, and he just kind of didn't seem to care all that much about what happened to me. Or understood the trauma of it.

I think this change in his behavior was my fault. He really seemed like he wanted to care but he didnt want to be hurt again. And I cant blame him. He put up with me long enough and he didn't need any more of it.

I haven't talked to Cloud in years and have no way of getting into contact with him. The only other way is to hope that he gets curious and tries to find me. But it's been years and I imagine he has moved on, hopefully for the better.

Cloud Is One of Many Ghosts That Haunt Me

Today, I’m still looking for Cloud, and other people too that I want to make seperate posts about. Not necessarily literally looking for him. But metaphorically. I’m trying to find someone like him out there, if I cant see Cloud again. But...they have yet to appear. There isnt anyone like him. The impact, the vulnerability, the sweetness, the cuteness, the sensitivity. I have yet to find "him" or her or whoever. I have yet to find someone so invested in my life they want to keep up with me, call me every day, cry to me, be that cute, sweet, innocent, and "my type".

To Cloud, Who Will Never Read This...

Cloud, I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I loved you and I still do. I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry for hurting you so many times. I’m sorry for trying to make you say things you didn't want to say. You were much more further along than me and deserved so much better. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for not being honest about my own struggles.

But Cloud, you've done so much for me. Without you, the seeds you planted in my head that just needed time to grow. I wouldn't have realized the things I have realized today. You have had such a huge impact on my life and I can't thank you enough. You are just the sweetest angel I ever knew. You helped me in accepting myself years later. The longer I’m away from you the more I realized how much I took you for granted.

I hope you’re safe out there Cloud. Safe and content. I hope you found or find a lovely man who is looking out for you the same way you looked out for me. I just can't thank you enough. And I’m glad I can finally say: Cloud, I love you, without being disgusted with myself. I love you Cloud, I won’t forget you. Take care...

[back-on-my-bullsh-again]

no i mean im QUITE happy youre willing to chitchat about this and having a background like you mentioned is definitely a bonus point. and i understand you have life outside of social media so i dont expect fast replies or a reply at all.

answering your question, i would say…. ‘trad feminine’ maybe means having female characteristics? *typical* bio female stuff, i mean. the ability to get pregnant, to have vagina, etc. (yeah i know not everybody can or wants to be pregnant & not everybody who has a vag is a woman etc.). however almost everybody knows how a person with female characteristics or a typical woman looks like. of course its conditioned, like gender, since im sure a …say what… a 1-2 year old wouldnt know what a female is and wouldnt even give a shit about it. so back to the point, being pregnant = feminine but feminine =/= woman. one can be/have any gender, since thats just another term without concrete meaning…?

you know what. im not sure id like it if feminine/mascule would have a concrete definition. i sure as fuck dont undertsand any of this gender stuff. like, literally, nothing. why is it here, why do we need it, why does someone feel connected to it, how is it created, why cant we get rid of it, why is it meaningless…

Sorry for the delay. I had a pretty busy weekend. But I have been thinking a lot about this. And having this conversation with you has been helpful to me because I'm working on a personal project that touches on some of these things, so chatting about this is allowing me to organize my thoughts in a more coherent way.

Anyway.... I think this is where a lot of people get caught up talking past each other in discussions of what is feminine or masculine. Because, to me, what you're describing as traditionally feminine are things that I describe wholly as aspects of biological sex that exist outside of having any sort of gender expression. To describe something as feminine is to say something is expressing a gender. A feminine gender expression might mean wearing a skirt or wearing makeup (both of which are only feminine in our current understanding of gender and at previous points in history have been masculine or gender neutral). But aspects of gender expression exist outside of a person's gender or their biological sex and, because none of these categories are strict binaries, a person can have labels that to normative society appear to contradict. Which, I think, is how you and I have ended up in conflict. Because you are drawing a line that connects female to feminine. But that is an arbitrary line. There are plenty of female people who are not feminine and would have their feathers ruffled at someone referring to them as such. I'm not even talking about trans people who were assigned female at birth. My initial thought was butches. I've known plenty of butch female women who completely rejected the feminine. They did not want to be labelled feminine. So, by connecting anything female to anything feminine, there would be a coercive assignment of feminine to people who flat out reject the label.

Your line connecting pregnancy to the feminine is one that is so common in society and it is that connection that was my main source of discomfort in and around pregnancy. But nothing relating to gender, gender expression, even sex categories, actually mean anything. All of it is socially constructed. And all social constructions mean something different at various points in history and will, no doubt, mean something different in the future. So, since anything can be anything. Why must pregnancy be feminine and why must feminine be female? There's no real answer. Just like there's no real answer to any of the questions you end your ask with. Things just are how they are or they're not, depending on the angle that view them or even the way you feel that day. And I think once I personally came to grips with that, it made it easier to just vibe with my identity. It still hurts when people try to ascribe some sort of sex or gender category onto me based on their own ways of viewing those categories. But I'm no longer trying to fit myself into boxes that don't make sense.

[riversfire]

@scoatneyhall I’m obsessed w your comments in the notes, it’s got me taking a long lunch just to think about these two some more…

In “real life” timeline there’s quite a bit of unseen time between the first hug and the funeral. However, in narrative timeline, the second point follows quickly after the first, creating a stronger association between these two points for the audience. It’s nearly the next we see of Jamie! not counting background and a throwaway line in a group scene. I tell myself it’s for the best (shortest distance between two points and all) but if I ever do think about how much time we didn’t see, it does start to drive me mad!

Ultimately though, at least we have pretty obvious ties that bind. Notably, a big part of Jamie’s speech at the funeral is about his own development into a better person, showing that he’s in quite a good and healthy place despite what could be expected from someone who punched his dad in front of the whole team a few weeks before.

Though Jamie himself says twice that he said what he said to Keeley bc the funeral got him fucked up, the general vibe is not of someone spiraling, out of shame, hurt, sadness etc. It’s someone who’s finally had the sense knocked into them, who knows what he wants and that he deserves it. It’s really not about either Keeley or Roy, it’s explicitly about Jamie’s own relationship with himself, as he says it’s what he has to do not to hate himself.

Blaming it on the emotional turmoil of being around dead people does imply that he hadn’t been planning to do it for long (if you trust Jamie’s excuses for his behavior to the people he cares most about what they think of him). But it’s also true that he wouldn’t have arrived at that moment the way he did without major self-development preceding it, and there’s no doubt that both Keeley and Roy had a hand in him getting to a place where he felt he could understand himself and be proud of himself and really love himself in a thoughtful and healing way and not as a shallow knee-jerk defense mechanism.

He cites Keely as the instigator here, which is forever true, but we can’t ignore that last we saw him he had just stood up to his dad and gotten intimacy and support from Roy in the immediate aftermath of that, and that experience with vulnerability led almost directly into this emotional space.

For Roy, the moment of vulnerability that spurs him on is finding out what Jamie said at the funeral. The aftermath of that is an opportunity for Jamie to demonstrate his growth and for Roy to recognize his own need to adapt his behavior to that growth. To grow together, if you will.

As pointed out in the notes, there was also time between the funeral and when Jamie told Roy, giving Jamie plenty of time to stew over it in a space where Roy was treating him as a friend and all of those interactions were colored by knowing he had gone behind Roy’s back and that Roy would act differently if he knew. It’s a very juicy fan fiction gap tbh, and quite an interesting writing choice to insert that tension into scenes between Keeley and roy and to skip right to resolution of that dramatic irony as far as RoyJamie is concerned.

I can only make sense of it by assuming we’re meant to focus on Roy’s big developmental strides here. The juxtaposition of his reaction to Jamie vs. Nate illustrates that there is much more going on than standard toxic masculinity/jealousy/love for Keeley here. After all, Roy’s thing with Jamie predates his relationship with Keeley, and ultimately post dates it as well.

I think part of Roy’s anger in 12 is that deep down he knows he doesn’t hate Jamie for it. He knows the old him would’ve been livid, but he finds that when Jamie apologizes to him, his emotions do something unexpected, and his only explanation of it is that he forgives Jamie. That makes him uncomfortable. And that discomfort makes him angry. It makes him realize that his reaction has very little to do with his or Jamie’s feelings towards Keeley, and everything to do with his own feelings toward Jamie. His anger has hurt inside it, and fear, and disappointment, and even hope, the same way his humor in the funeral episode came from a place of grief and loss. Over and over we see Roy struggling but ultimately succeeding in naming his emotions when it comes to Keeley and Phoebe. It takes him longer to accept that Jamie (or any man, but especially Jamie) makes him feel emotions besides anger, let alone to acknowledge those feelings aloud… and this is the point where he understands there is no turning back from that with Jamie. The vulnerability of that makes him angry. But he recognizes that isn’t fair to Jamie or to himself. He moves past the anger and starts to change.

But yeah, we see only glimpses of this. We see it in the big moments. The hugs, the offer to train, Roy telling Jamie about his granddad. But we don’t see the everyday of it. We don’t see the baby steps of relearning how to treat each other in the tentative time that always follows a big gesture. I do mourn that.

Thinking about the timeline between man city and the funeral - thinking about Jamie after the punch, so vulnerable like that, and Roy, and the intimacy of the first physical gesture from Roy that communicated his genuine care for Jamie, probably paradigm-shifting -

And then how Jamie immediately decided the obvious next step was to confess his love for Roy’s girlfriend… like they were never normal about each other, but somehow his whole thing got even weirder once roy started to respond.

Not to imply that Jamie’s confession wasn’t about Keeley too, I think he genuinely was feeling those feelings for her. But it’s the way that Roy’s hug switched something on in him, and that that something is bound up in romantic love and physical intimacy… yeah.

[aro-comics]

Fashion Analysis (Part 2: Outside of Amatonormativity Alone)

[Note: This post is a part of a series analyzing self-expression, fashion, aromanticism, and how they interact with other parts of identity. For full context please read the whole thing!]

Outside of Amatonormativity Alone: Sexism, Homophobia (and/or Transphobia), Racism, Ableism, and Other Factors That can Impact Self Expression 

My comic was originally meant to be a light hearted joke. I’d always been told I’d want to dress up one day, be pretty and feminine once I fell in love with a boy (BLEGH). I was so certain that I would never do that, and now … here we are. I put lots of effort into my appearance, present feminine, all in the hopes I’ll impress a very special someone - a potential employer at a networking event. I think there’s a certain irony to all of this, and I do find it funny that I managed to both be wrong and completely subvert amatonormative stereotypes! 

But having the chance to think about the whole situation, I realize now that my changes in presentation reflect far more. The pressure I felt to dress differently are still influenced by fundamental forms of discrimination in society, and I would be remiss to not address these inherent factors that were tied with my experiences alongside my aromanticism. So in this section, I will briefly cover some of these factors and summarize how they can influence people’s self expression as a whole, before discussing my own experiences and how these factors all intersect. 

Sexism

The pressure on women In This Society to uphold arbitrary norms is ever present and often harmful, and while I wish I had the time to discuss the impacts of every influence the patriarchy has on personal expression, to even try to cover a fraction of it would be impractical at best for this essay. Instead, since the original comic focuses on professionalism and presentation, this is what I will talk about here. 

Beauty standards are a specific manifestation of sexism that have a deep impact on how people perceive women. It’s a complicated subject that’s also tied with factors like capitalism, white supremacy, classism, and more, but to summarize the main sentiment: Women are expected to be beautiful. Or at least, conform to the expectations of “feminine” “beauty” as ascribed by the culture at large. 

They also tend to be considered exclusively as this idea that "women need to be beautiful to secure their romantic prospects, which subsequently determines their worth as human beings. The problematic implications of this sentiment have been called out time and time again (and rightfully so), however there is an often overlooked second problematic element to beauty standards, as stated in the quote below: 

“Beauty standards are the individual qualifications women are expected to meet in order to embody the “feminine beauty ideal” and thus, succeed personally and professionally” 

- Jessica DeFino. (Source 1) 

… To succeed personally, and professionally. 

The “Ugly Duckling Transformation” by Mina Le (Source 2) is a great video essay that covers the topic of conforming to beauty standards through the common “glow up” trope present in many (female focused) films from the early 2000s. 

“In most of these movies, the [main character] is a nice person, but is bullied or ignored because of her looks.”

Mina Le, (timestamp 4:02-4:06)

Generally, by whatever plot device necessary, the ugly duckling will adopt a new “improved” presentation that includes makeup, a new haircut, and a new wardrobe. While it is not inherently problematic for a woman to be shown changing to embrace more feminine traits, there are a few problems with how the outcomes of these transformations are always depicted and what they imply. For starters, this transformation is shown to be the key that grants the protagonist her wishes and gives her confidence and better treatment by her peers. What this is essentially saying is that women are also expected to follow beauty standards to be treated well in general, not only in a romantic context, and deviation from these norms leads to the consequences of being ostracized. 

The other problematic element of how these transformations are portrayed are the fact that generally the ONLY kind of change that is depicted in popular media is one in the more feminine direction. Shanspeare, another video essayist on YouTube, investigates this phenomenon in more detail in “the tomboy figure, gender expression, and the media that portrays them” (Source 4). In this video, Shaniya explains that “tomboy” characters are only ever portrayed as children - which doesn’t make any sense at face value, considering that there ARE plenty of masculine adult women in real life. But through the course of the video (and I would highly recommend giving it a watch! It is very good), it becomes evident that the “maturity” aspect of coming of age movies inherently tie the idea of growth with “learning” to become more feminine. Because of the prevalence of these storylines (as few mainstream plots will celebrate a woman becoming more masculine and embracing gender nonconformity) it becomes clear that femininity is fundamentally associated with maturity. It also implies that masculinity in women is not only not preferred, it is unacceptable to be considered mature. Both of these sentiments are ones that should be questioned, too. 

Overall, I think it is clear that these physical presentation expectations, even if not as restrictive as historical dress codes for women have been, are still inherently sexist (not to mention harmful by also influencing people to have poor self image and subsequent mental health disorders). Nobody should have to dress in conformity with gender norms to be considered “acceptable”, not only desirable, which leads us to the second part of this section. 

Homophobia (and/or Transphobia)

So what happens when women don’t adhere to social expectations of femininity? (Or in general, someone chooses to present in a way that challenges the gender binary and their AGAB, but for the sake of simplicity I will discuss it from my particular lens as a cis woman who is pansexual). 

There are a lot of nuances, of course, to whether it’s right that straying from femininity as a woman (or someone assumed to be a woman) will automatically get read a certain way by society. But like it or not, right or not, if you look butch many people WILL see you as either gay, (or trans-masculine, which either way is not a cishet woman). This is tied to the fact that masculinity is something historically associated with being WLW (something we will discuss later). 

This association of breaking gender norms in methods of dress with being perceived as a member of the LGBTQ+ community has an influence on how people may choose to express themselves, because LGBTQ+ discrimination is very real, and it can be very dangerous in many parts of the world. 

I think it’s very easy to write off claims in particular that women are pressured into dressing femininely when it is safer to do so in your area; but I really want to remind everyone that not everyone has the luxury of presenting in a gender non-conforming way. This pressure to conform does exist in many parts of the world, and can be lethal when challenged.

And even if you’re not in an extremely anti-LGBTQ+ environment/places that are considered “progressive” (like Canada), there are still numerous microagressions/non-lethal forms of discrimination that are just as widespread. According to Statistics Canada in 2019: 

Close to half (47%) of students at Canadian postsecondary institutions witnessed or experienced discrimination on the basis of gender, gender identity or sexual orientation (including actual or perceived gender, gender identity or sexual orientation).

(Source 3)

Fundamentally this additional pressure that exists when one chooses to deviate from gender norms is one that can not be ignored in the conversation when it comes to how people may choose to express themselves visually, and I believe the impacts that this factor has and how it interacts with the other factors discussed should be considered. 

Neurodivergence (In general): 

In general, beauty standards/expectations for how a “mature” adult should dress can often include clothing that creates sensory issues for many autistic people. A thread on the National Austistic Forum (Source 6) contains a discussion where different austistic people describe their struggles with formal dress codes and the discomfort of being forced to wear stiff/restrictive clothing, especially when these dress codes have no practical purpose for the work they perform. If you’re interested in learning more on this subject, the Autisticats also has a thread on how school dress codes specifically can be harmful to Autistic people (Source 7). 

In addition to potentially dressing differently (which as we have already covered can be a point of contention in one’s perception and reception by society as a whole), neurodivergence is another layer of identity that tends to be infantilized. Eden from the Autsticats has detailed their experiences with this in source 5. 

Both of these factors can provide a degree of influence on how people choose to express themselves and/or how they may be perceived by society, and are important facets of a diverse and thoughtful exploration of the ways self-expression can be impacted by identity. 

Also, while on this topic, I just want to take a chance to highlight the fact that we should question what is considered “appropriate”, especially “professionally appropriate”, because the “traditional” definitions of these have historically been used to discriminate against minorities. Much of what gets defined as “unprofessional” or otherwise “inappropriate” has racist implications - as an example, there is a history of black hairstyles being subjected to discriminatory regulation. Other sources I have provided at the end of this document (8 and 9) list examples of these instances.  

Racism (being Chinese, specifically in this case): 

For this section, I won’t be going into much depth at all, because I actually have a more detailed comic on this subject lined up. 

So basically, if you were not aware, East Asian (EA) people tend to be infantilized and viewed as more childish (Source 10). In particular, unless an EA woman is super outgoing and promiscuous (the “Asian Bad Girl” stereotype, see Source 10), IN MY OPINION AND EXPERIENCE it’s easy to be type casted as the other end of the spectrum: the quiet, boring nerd. On top of this too, I’ve had experiences with talking to other EA/SEA people - where they themselves would repeatedly tell me that “Asians are just less mature”,  something about it being a “cultural thing” (Yeah … I don’t know either. Maybe it’s internalized racism?). 

Either way, being so easily perceived as immature (considering everything discussed so far) is also tied to conformity to beauty standards and other factors such as sexism and homophobia, which I believe makes for a complex intersection of identity. 

[Note from Author: For Part 3, click here!]

[musical-chick-13]

Promising Young Woman: Thoughts

This is going to get spoiler-y, so I’m putting the rest under the cut. Due to the nature of the film, hard trigger warning for discussions of sexual assault and abuse.

I’m so torn about the ending of Promising Young Woman because...I genuinely get what the creative team was trying to do. Some people are still out here making light of sexual assault and roadblocking justice, making the discussions about "career damage” for the perpetrators instead of closure and safety for the victims. People still say, “Well if it really happened to you, why didn’t you just come forward,” not realizing just how little those in power actually care about listening to survivors and granting them justice. It makes sense someone would create a movie reflecting this. It makes sense to want to give those types of people a wake-up call into how bleak the process of realizing justice for sexual assault is. Maybe if people saw how little these victims are listened to and the ways those who pursue justice are destroyed, they would be forced to take this seriously. Maybe showing that bleakness would awaken sympathy and discomfort that would make people reevaluate how they treat those in their lives who are at risk of sexual assault and how they allow those at-risk people to be treated. Maybe people need to see how bad things are before they start to care.

I get it. I 100% get it. I get that the point is that it had to escalate to the guy committing what is universally considered to be a “real” crime (murder, in this case of Cassie specifically) before Nina posthumously received justice. I get that the point is that justice for sexual assault victims is so hard to come by that Cassie had to literally give up everything, up to and including her life, in order to get it. I get that the point is that this is how it is for women, and it’s ugly and dark and, at times, hopeless. So the problem isn’t that I didn’t get the movie.

But I guess I don’t understand why we need another movie like that. There are plenty of movies (and other media too) that depict horrible things happening to women in graphic detail. There are plenty of fictional media about abuse and/or sexual assault. There are plenty of fictional media that go for a gritty or realistic angle, even in regard to these specific topics, talking about the inherent viciousness of the world, how humanity is depraved, how hard it is to make something good happen. There are so many stories I could point to (many of which I enjoy greatly, don’t get me wrong) that talk about how fucked up everything is and that make me feel like any attempt at kindness or trust or faith in others is useless. Any woman can look at thousands of pieces of media and walk away from them feeling like there’s no point, like no one understands, like misogyny is a horrible disease with disastrous consequences. Most women don’t need to see women brutalized or dealing with the fallout of brutalization onscreen in order to understand the gravity of sexual assault because we live with it. If the goal of this movie was truly to be subversive, wouldn’t the unexpected thing be a display of someone achieving justice? Can it truly be subversive if it plays into the same endgame of female brutalization we see in every other piece of adult-oriented media? (Especially when, in terms of subversion, we already had the excellent twist of Ryan being part of the problem, of not really being a “nice guy,” of being played by a beloved comic icon who suckers us in as well as Cassie, who maybe didn’t actually rape Nina himself, but was still directly involved in what happened to her and was just as responsible. This was a twist that said something. That drove home the danger women face and how pervasively insidious rape culture and toxic masculinity are, and that those things don’t always look like Obvious Asshole Frat Boy Brock Turner. These kinds of dangerous men can be anyone we know, and there are many different ways in which they can traumatize women. The Ryan twist was a story beat that brilliantly reinforced the film’s message while still being a bold, fresh narrative choice. The authentic subversion provided by this twist rings, for me, pretty hollow in light of Cassie’s brutal misogyny-motivated murder by suffocation and the feeling bleak futility it leaves in its wake.)

All of which leads me further to the question of who is this movie supposed to be for? Entitled, asshole men who don’t believe sexual assault is a real problem aren’t going to change their minds after watching a movie. Considering the name of the film is Promising Young Woman, they probably wouldn’t ever watch this in the first place. Anyone who already cares about or, heaven forbid has actually experienced, sexual assault isn’t going to need a reminder that the world treats survivors terribly, they already know that. Is it meant to mobilize those who have a general sympathy for others and a basic understanding of moral decency but perhaps don’t know just how bad victims have it? That’s the only target demographic that makes sense here. And that’s a noble goal. Getting people to put their money where their mouth is, to pay more than just the general lip service of “sexual assault is bad” and actually care and bother to do something.

So, I guess my problem with all of this is that the trailer promised a very different movie. Not that that in and of itself is bad! Ex Machina is one of my favorite movies, and it was...not quite what had I expected going in, either. But the type of people who flocked to this particular movie for the good-for-her revenge plot suggested by the trailer were people who already were aware of the terror of sexual assault. People who just had a passing disgust at rape but didn’t have any personal investment in fighting rape culture (which I assume, as per the previous paragraph, is the intended audience for the movie’s message?) probably wouldn’t have had a pressing desire to see this, unless they are extreme fans of Emerald Fennell’s previous work or of Carey Mulligan (which, fair). The misleading nature of the trailer, I think, works in disservice to what the creative team was trying to do. Sexual assault is a very tricky topic to begin with, and depicting it has to be handled with utmost care. It’s an extremely triggering topic, and I think in this particular case, misrepresenting the movie could present a danger. Survivors walking into this thinking they can handle the subject matter because they believe they will see a woman experience healing, find relief, or get justice may walk out of it let down at best and with a debilitating panic attack at worst. If you are going to make a work about such a delicate, disturbing topic such as sexual assault, one that even the mention of it can have such a severe negative effect on people, I think you have a responsibility to represent that work honestly.

I applaud this movie for making me think. I applaud this movie for committing to what it wanted its narrative to be. I applaud this movie for even bothering to talk about rape culture at all, much less make it the focus and driving force of the plot. And far be it from me to tell a sexual assault survivor how to make a movie about sexual assault, or to tell survivors how to feel about a movie’s depiction of their experience, especially since I am not a sexual assault survivor myself. This might have been the movie Emerald Fennell needed to make for herself. I can understand that. I’m quite familiar with the desire to punish your own characters in order to make sense of what has happened to you. The amount of ableism I’ve faced in my life and the stress of being a queer woman in a relatively small town need to be reflected in a realistic, discomforting, ugly, often downright upsetting manner in the things I write or the media I see in order for me to relate, feel seen, or find catharsis. I’m certainly not going to rag on Emerald Fennell if that was what she needed. If that’s the case, I just wish that the movie had been honest about what it was from the beginning. If it was supposed to be an artistic catharsis of personal demons, let it just be an artistic catharsis of personal demons.

All in all, I don’t think this movie is a blight on humanity. I don’t think it should be cancelled with a capital “c” and a trademark symbol. I don’t think Emerald Fennell Doesn’t Get It or that This Movie Is Bad And If You Like It You Should Feel Bad. It’s far from the worst attempt at discussing rape culture and the things that make its existence possible. BUT I do think they should have made a more honest, forthright trailer instead  of trying to pull one over on the audience via misdirection. I don’t think they should be trying to present it in terms of “subversive feminist horror-comedy,” and, ultimately I don’t think they should make this movie out to be some sort of profound, biting, original commentary when it ultimately can’t back up that designation.  

[ambarto]

if you feel like sharing your thoughts about trans elves, i would love to hear them :)

Why of course I would!

Now, if we go strictly by Tolkien’s logic (which I will discard very soon) one may come to the conclusion that trans Elves may... sort of not exist? Everything I can find seems to suggest that Tolkien Elves are born in a body that is the “right” one for them and tailored perfectly to them, and that aligns pretty well with the idea of Elves being his perfect Catholic babies (source: a lifetime of Catholic school).

But I’ve got a lot of beef with the “born in the wrong body” thing that gets applied to trans people, and I know a lot of trans community shares my thoughts on that. I’m not saying certain trans folks don’t feel that way, nor am I saying they are not valid in their feelings, because they most certainly are. But there are also plenty of trans people (both dysphoric and non) who find it reductive to just describe themselves as that, and many trans people who say, if they could choose whether to be trans or not, they would still choose to be. There’s plenty of reasons and experiences connected with being trans past body dysphoria. I’m aware I’m not talking for the entire trans community, and that some people will not share my views, but I find myself uncomfortable with reducing my experiences to “my body bad”. I’m nonbinary and that would be it for whatever body I was born into, even one I was not in any way dysphoric about.

So my opinion is that trans Elves are most definitely a thing. Now, the question is: how would the rest of society view them? Because yes, on one hand, it would be easy to picture that they could consider transitioning as being in some way a slight against Eru, if Eru gave them supposedly perfect bodies.

But the reason I don’t think that would happen is that we are told that Elves are incredibly in tune with their fea. Just think of Elven mother establishing a connection with the child during pregnancy, or marriage bonds. It’s possible that there could be “fea doctors”, who can reach people’s fear to see if there are any troubles with it. And there are also the Feanturi and their Maiar, who could also take care of such a work. And in that case, it would be easy enough to see if there was a mismatch between an Elf’s assigned gender and what gender the Elf actually was. Maybe that could even be detected by a marriage bond, or something of the sort. The Elf version of therapy sessions with a trans specialist could very easily be someone taking a glimpse into their fea and realizing that yes, what they are saying is true, their spirit is in fact male/female/neither as they said it was.

There could still be people trying to patologize this transness - arguing maybe there was a mistake in the development of either fea or hroa, trying to find an explanation or a way to realign the two. There could be people who would see trans Elves as doing something wrong, in a way, but I believe they would be a minority. I think most Elves, when presented with the fact that trans Elves’ fear and hroar worked in that way and that the only way to ease their discomfort was to treat them as the gender they were would mostly accept it. While there could still be some transphobia, it wouldn’t be of the “they are just faking it” kind that we know, more like “there’s gotta be something wrong with them”, a sort of trans/med point of view (no, trans/meds who may be reading this, I do not accept your criticism).

There is also, that I find interesting, a passage on tolkiengateway that says, regarding Elves, “Their spirits are in considerably greater control of their bodies” compared to Men, which also makes me think perhaps an Elf with a significantly high control over their fea could in some way influence their hroa to align better with their gender. I’m not talking about full blown reassignment surgery, but maybe they could bring some small changes not too unlike some level of HRT, like maybe some fat redistribution, things like that. Which could be further “proof”, let’s say, of the actual transness of the individual, because if that person we think is a girl insists on saying “I’m a boy” and they do in fact develop a slightly more masculine figure because their fea is making the change, well maybe he’s a boy after all.

Also, I do believe this society with a more widespread acceptance would also naturally lead to less Elves perceiving their bodies as wrong. One of the criticism to “born in the wrong body” is, after all, that many trans people feel that it’s so aggressively marketed because it makes us more palatable to cis people. On the other hand, here we would have trans Elves who yes, would at times feel dysphoric, but they would also have a supportive society that helps them transition both socially and physically (as much as possible, at least, because we’d also have to figure out whether or not they have good surgery), and on the long run the common trans narrative would probably be “Eru made you this way, he works in mysterious ways, he probably had his reasons”. In this setting trans Elves would more likely go by “I was born in the body Eru gave me, which needed a bit of tweaking here and there”.

If other trans people don’t agree with my analysis, I won’t fight them, because it’s not my place to tell anyone my idea of being trans is better than someone else’s. But within my own experiences and thoughts, this is my general idea on how would trans Elves be considered.

[islamicrays]

Dear Parents,

We need to talk.

It's about your teens.

And specifically about your teen girls.

Here's the thing. This culture is destructive to teen girls. They're being sexualized and infantilized at the same time. The society around them tells them to aspire to every type of adult behavior imaginable and to look up to women who put their sexuality on full display 24-7, but at home and in their religious communities they are told they are "too young" to know things and are in constant danger of being harmed.

Do you know what these opposing messages do? They chip away at their self confidence, self worth, and most importantly their trust in YOU.

Why? Well, the obvious answer is because you're the minority. The other reason is because there are plenty of other external sources and individuals who are ready, willing, and eager to TELL THEM EVERYTHING they want to know which makes your silence seem like a betrayal or a statement of distrust in them.

See how shaitan works?

He knows better than anyone that kids, teens, heck even adults, we all have one thing in common: WE WANT TO KNOW WHAT WE'RE FORBIDDEN TO KNOW.

That curiosity is not something that can be switched on and off by your command. It's there all the time and every time new information comes to them, no matter how big or small, their ears perk up and they are completely tuned in.

So, the point of all of this is you need to PLEASE stop thinking that restrictions are the only answer to keeping them out of trouble.

They're NOT. There are other ways!

When you keep them uninformed but restrict their every move, you make them vulnerable and susceptible to being manipulated, deceived, and misinformed because Iblis is right there in their ear egging them on to find other ways of satisfying their curiosities.

So what's the solution? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE HAVE HONEST CONVERSATIONS ABOUT FEMALE SEXUALITY AND EMPOWER THEM TO KNOW IT IS A GIFT TO BE CHERISHED AND PRESERVED, NOT A CURSE OR A SHAME TO BE HIDDEN & EXPLOITED.

Framing female sexuality like it's something dirty and wrong or ignoring it all together and pretending it doesn't exist is precisely what leads to a lot of young teen girls struggling with controlling their urges, impulses, and curiosities. They eventually turn to external sources like friends, media, and/or the Internet/social media for understanding and answers.

And this is when things can quickly turn bad.

When young teen girls feel things they don't know how to manage but have access to social media which is nothing more than a gateway to a plethora of other problems, they are likely to fall victim to predators.

I said earlier that this society is destructive to girls, and I stand by that. It's also destructive to boys, but in a different way. For girls, they are bombarded with so many messages that dupe them to think their bodies and their sexuality can be used to acquire power. This is a LIE. The truth is they are lambs sent to the slaughter, and who's doing the slaughtering? Boys and men.

Just as girls are duped this way, boys are duped to define their manhood and masculinity in quantifiable terms; the more conquests, the stronger, the better, the manlier.

So when I say that girls are likely to fall victim to predators, I am talking about toxic boys and men.

These are the ones lurking in the shadows, waiting to find the weakest among the prey. They look for discomfort and distress, because they're signs of weakness and that's how they know to strike.

So they scroll through IG feeds, Snapchat feeds, FB, and whatever other platform they have access to, and look for the girl who was NEVER taught she had power and she could preserve it. They look for the girl who is taking selfie after selfie, each time revealing a little more skin, a little more desperation in her eyes. They look for the girl who looks lonely, insecure, and hungry for validation.

Offline, at school or elsewhere, they look for the girl who is a little more "approachable", nice, attentive; the one who seems awkard with her body. She's the one who doesn't seem to carry herself with confidence because she's uncomfortable in her own skin. She might slouch, she might wear skin tight clothing because that's what's in style and what she's been duped to think makes her look good, but she's terribly insecure and constantly fidgeting, checking herself in every mirror she passes, etc.

Think about why this happens? Maybe because YOU taught her the WRONG message about her body, her sexuality, and the definition of modesty. Maybe because YOU taught her that if she's a "good girl" she feels shame with her body and hides every sign of her changing body because of it and never utters a word about it.

This is PRECISELY WHY she's confused and sending mixed signals whether online or out and about!

BECAUSE THERE ARE TOO MANY CONFLICTING MESSAGES.

Imagine a prey in the wild being called in one direction and then another, constantly. Is it any wonder why they get hunted down so easily?!

Do you get it?

Your daughter(s) is feeling things she doesn't understand without any outlet or healthy coping mechanism (because you've shamed her into silence), but is simultaneously being BOMBARDED by every other influence in her life to look and behave as an adult female would!

We have to change our way of communicating with our young girls about their bodies.

We need to STOP delaying or denying our kids the right to be informed.

We need to have healthy, balanced, and NON-puritanical conversations about sexuality.

And we have to better define what modesty is and teach our girls that ...

Modesty is about EMPOWERMENT.

Modesty is about HONOR, not shame.

Modesty is about SELF-RESPECT & DIGNITY.

Modesty is about BASHFULNESS before One's Creator.

Modesty is about understanding DECORUM and PROPER PLACEMENT.

Modesty is about TAQWA.

Ya Latif, there is so much more to say. I spent hours today talking to a group of moms and then a couple about these very delicate topics, so my heart is heavy. Forgive me for the length of this post.

Please look for part 2, coming soon, where I will discuss how to teach your daughters about "The Predators [Players] Playbook" and how to avoid becoming the prey, in sha Allah.

May Allah ﷻ protect our youth and guide us all. Amin.

Ustadha Hosai Mojaddidi

[princesscandijane]

How do you feminize you? I've tried many times without success :/ so sad

I will tell you it was not an overnight thing, and it did take some work.  In fact it took me years to get to this point. Somethings were certainly easier than other.  These are the things that I did and if you are able to, I would suggest the same. Being a sissy is all mental, so much that I still have so much to learnFirst and foremost go at your own speed.  Don't rush into anything that you are not comfortable with.  Treat this like yoga, push yourself, but if it is too much take a step back. This applies to everything I mention below. There is still so much I have to experience but I am going at my own speed, and that's ok.Next thing is CHASTITY!!! I cannot stress this enough but take that little clitty of yours and lock it up 🔐 It intensifies the feeling by sooooo much.  If you are new to chastity then start off slow. It may feel a little uncomfortable at first, so take it an hour at a time, and work your way up.  When I started I had no interest in chastity, but after hearing from so many to try it out, I finally did, and it I haven't looked back.  Best purchase for any sissy. I doubt you will find a sissy that has tried chastity that will say otherwise. These days chastity is my natural state, and couldn't be happier 😄  How deep you want to go is up to you, but be careful you may find yourself at the mercy of merciless key holder 😧Another thing that helped was filling my sissy hole. If you are new to this, take this slowly, do research, do not be stingy with the lube, start small and work yourself up.  I started with a finger, then got a butt plug, then bigger butt plugs, then dildos, then... we'll see lol  John Mulaney does a great job describing the first time something goes up there https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNlyZSvsNjw The first several times I put things in my bum, it was not comfortable, butt after a little bit it starts to feel pleasurable.  Thanks to toxic masculinity, a male experimenting with anal pleasure is less than man, great for a sissy mindset, but horrible for society.  You don't have to be a sissy, gay, you can be a 0 on the kinsey scale and enjoy some ass play, and it certainly won't make you any less of a man.  I do remember the first time I used a butt plug I was a little sore the next day, walked a little different, and couldn't shake the thought that my bum has been filled. Don't focus so much on having the elusive sissygasm, and just enjoy the feeling.  Besides sissys don't always get to cum.Speaking of cum, EAT IT. That is one of those barriers a sissy needs to break.  Start with your own cum obviously. It is something that all of sissys want to do while we're horny and touching ourselves, but once we blow our load we feel super deflated and lose our nerve.  I started with lifting my legs in the air and trying to shoot it in my mouth. I got some in my mouth, but a lot on my face, I had to scoop the rest off my face and eat it.  I went from finding cum to be 🤢 to 🤤🤤🤤Go smooth.  This one took me longer than it should of.  It is not weird to be male and be smooth. I get advertisements on Hulu about manscaping.  If nothing else shave your clitty.  Even if you want to be the manliest man, or whatever, anyone sucking your cock and balls will appreciate not getting hair in their teeth.  I certainly don't want to deal with an amazon to suck cock lol As far as legs, arms, torso, arm pits, tell everyone you think it is disgusting, because it is.  Steve Carrell or check out Hugh Jackman's legs when he's deadlifting vs any movie with Ryan Gosling, Matt Damon, or any other modern sex symbol topless. What I'm getting at is you can be smooth and manly in public, yet also get the wonderful feeling of being smooth as a sissy.  The feeling over anything over freshly shaved legs feels amazing, you would be surprised on how much feeling hair interferes with.  Once I put stockings on my freshly shaved legs, I never wanted to be hairy again.  Get and wear clothes that make you feel sexy and cute. This seems easy, but is super tough.  At least for me it is.  I don't know fashion at all, and I am learning that what is amazing on the model will not work for me, so much wasted money lol #sissy struggles The important thing though is that it makes you feel sexy.  A good wig also helps, anytime you can look in the mirror and see the sissy you envision the better.  But do not be critical.  Every sexy photo, or even unsexy photo you see of mine is picked from a lot of really bad pics. There's angles and lighting and things I don't know 'cause I'm not a photographer. Practice giving a blowjob.  You don't have to buy a dildo, though you should lol but go to the vegi department and pick up some phallic veggies treat it like a cock.  Suck it as if it were a cock, I learned from Fast Times at Ridgemont High https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZ-MY6zjRHU you don't have to deep throat, but learning is such an accomplishment, certainly has made me hungrier Exercise, being a sissy should be a motivator to exercise.  Exercersing isn't the funnest thing, it's tough to do, and really hard to keep up with.  A sissy needs to take care of themselves, there are so many programs out there and gyms, and ways to keep in shape. I am a bit of a fitness person and so it is certainly easier for me. There are a lot of programs out there, but what you need to find is something that you can reasonably do forever (insert for-ev-er meme).  It doesn't have to be anything super cazy, but if you can find 20 minutes 4 times a week to workout than you will be on a great path.  Working out is exausting, you will sweat, you will get sore, you will feel discomfort, and at times it is not fun.  Fight through those down swings, think of your goals. Having a sexy body does take work. Anyone that you idolize online, or invision yourself is probably someone that takes care of themselves and spends time suffering at the gym.  I say suffering, because sometimes it is, but find an exercise routine you like.  And do not worry about gaining muscle and being unsexy with muscle.  First you need to gain some muscle, muscle is healthy and burns fat, and is sexy. You can have muscles, be a sissy, and be healthy at the same time. I am 130.8 and I do all types of exercises.  I did and still do have to work on having this weight, at one time I weighed 160lbs. There are plenty of exercises out there, most important is to find one that you can foreseeably doing for the rest of your life. But all your exercise is nothing without the next part and that is.  If nothing else, do some yoga.  The benefits to a sissy should be pretty obvious lolLearn to cook and diet:  Out of everything in the world, not just sissy, but the world, well not the whole world, actually the first world this should be done.  Only in the first world do we have these problems, but that is what you eat. They say "abs are made in the kitchen" for a reason. You can't reward yourself from a hard exercise with a double cheese burger, large fries, and a beer.  Find a diet that you can sustain for the remainder of your life. There are so many amazing recipes out there that are healthy and delicious.  Stay away from refined sugars, simple carbs, and all those bad foods, use a food app, don't cheat yourself, because that's the only person you are cheating.  And learning to be a good cook will certainly make you more desirable for any mate.Celebrate the small victories.  Progress can be slow at times, but it is still happening, be sure to acknowledge and internally celebrate.  If you see any progress be it lb less on the scale or taking that bigger plug, be happy about the progress, and do not ruin it.  Start Today. Anytime I want to make big change, I like to say things like "tomorrow I will", "after this last ...whatever", "when the universe gives me a sign." Those are only excuses I give myself to not do something.  You don't have to do everything today, but start with something.  Got super high and mas drunk sense I started so this may not make sense nos more

I also used sites like these which were super helpful http://sissy-university.com/ and https://sissylover.com/sissy-school/

My Goddess thinks I may be over explaining lol 

[threewaysdivided]

I saw your conversation about Sam Manson. I was talking to Imekitty about this, but I’ve noticed a few things that (sort of) make Sam’s relationship with her parents seem more like teen-drama than actual hardship. If you look closely, she’s got a lot in common with them: outspoken political-activism, possible shared-interest in vintage clothes, and no shame in saying they don’t like certain people. Also, after the Fentons, they were the first to volunteer to use the Ecto-Skeleton, risks and all.

(In reference to this post.)

It’s been a little while since I rewatched DP so I’m not well-placed to do a detail-analysis implication-breakdown right now, but yeah - that fits with the overall impression I remember getting.  To me they came across as being sort of old fashioned set-in-their-ways conservative and snooty, and maybe a bit too Pleasantville -  but more often in the way of parents who do genuinely want good things for her and to be able to be proud of her despite not really understanding her interests, choices or friends and being very bad at expressing it.  Plus she seems to have her grandmother fully in her corner a lot of the time.

I really wish that the writers had committed to one or the other; either making it clear that Sam’s martyr/ persecution complex is mostly just regular self-inflicted teen-drama BS and giving her an arc addressing it, OR fleshing out the idea that she faces a lot of judgement/ pressure/ control/ nonacceptance in her home life and that her negative traits are a bi-product of defensive/ coping mechanisms resulting from that strained dynamic, rather treating things with Roger Rabbit Rules.  

(Which isn’t to say that a person can’t have similar interests/ personality traits to, and positive interactions with, their parents while still having a strained, broken or even abusive relationship with them on a deeper level, but the show never really goes hard enough in either direction to make it work.)

As mentioned the last post, this is kind of a consistent pattern across DP - the writers tend go with the low-effort first answer for whatever is Funny or Awesome or Convenient in the moment rather than putting in the work to find a solution that’s consistent with the characterisation, themes and world-lore overall.  There’s enough internal contradiction in the show that I don’t think it’s actually possible to take every canon detail as canon without fundamentally breaking things.  And in some ways that’s kind of cool; it makes the series more open to interpretation, and trying to distinguish authorial intent from authorial incompetence and come up with theories that account for as many pieces of canon as possible is really satisfying.  But, you know, it’s also kind of bad writing in general.

I think the thing that bothers me about Sam’s characterisation in particular is that - where it tends to be more obviously out-of-character when it shows up in other places - there’s a pattern to the inconsistency with how the writers handle Sam:

Throughout the series there’s a double standard in how Sam sees herself/ seems to expects others to act, compared to her own behaviour:

Despite being pro-pacifism she’s okay with smacking Tucker and encouraging Danny to destroy the trucks she doesn’t like

Sam values self-expression and is a feminist, but derides other girls for wanting to express themselves in a conventionally feminine way

Sam doesn’t like being forced to conform to others’ values but is okay with forcing others to conform to hers

Despite being anti-consumerist she shows very little discomfort at, or awareness of, her lavish home life and material belongings

She encourages Danny to take the moral high ground towards his bullies but has no problem antagonising and getting into petty verbal spats with Paulina herself

Sam stalks Danny and his love interest out of jealousy/ protectiveness but threatens to end their friendship when he does the same

In Mystery Meat, when Danny tries to express his discomfort/ anxiety, Sam hijacks the conversation to complain about her own parents instead of listening.

In One of a Kind Sam photographs Danny and Tucker hugging in their sleep, without their knowledge, with the stated intent of putting it in the yearbook, then uses it to blackmail them into silence. 

Side note: this joke is also tacky on a meta-level because it boils down to “male intimacy ha ha toxic masculinity no homo amiright?“ Would have been nice if show didn’t use low-key sexist humour as much as it did.

Instead of expressing that she’s hurt by Danny’s “pretty girls” comment in Parental Bonding, Sam retaliates by pushing him to ask Paulina out - a move she knows will most likely result in him getting publicly shut down and humiliated.

Then, after getting the result she wanted, she comes over to gloat and insults Paulina, rather than dropping it now that her point’s been made, which is what ultimately sets off the episode’s subplot.

In Memory Blank Sam permanently physically alters Phantom’s appearance to better suit her tastes while he’s not in a position to understand or give informed consent, then lies when Danny notices and asks about it later.

To be clear this definitely isn’t the be-all-and-end-all of her character and it’s not there 100% of the time - there are plenty of moments when she is loyal and generous and helpful and sincerely kind and where her stubbornness comes in handy.  But it’s the aggregate pattern of all these small instances that drives a crack through the foundation of her character integrity; producing this insidious undercurrent alternate-reading of Sam as someone who, at a deep level, just doesn’t respect or recognise that the emotional needs, pains, opinions, autonomy and boundaries of others are as real and valid as her own, and who responds to criticism with passive-aggressive hostility.

Again, I think that’s why people are so quick to point out that line from Phantom Planet, even though we all know the episode was a complete mess.  None of the examples above are particularly bad in isolation - you can’t really point at any one of them and say “oh no, bad girl” without sounding like you’re making a mountain out of molehill and irrationally hating on her just to hate on her.  It’s an uncomfortable slowburn pattern of subtle micro-transgressions that accumulates across the series - a “you might not notice it but your brain did”.  And it makes sense that it would be the worst-written episode that amplifies and brings that regular bad-writing undercurrent close enough to the surface for people to consciously recognise and use it to articulate those frustrations.

To wit: Not because it’s most telling of her character but because it’s most telling of the specific bad writing that regularly hurts her character. 

And again, from a storytelling point of view, it’s okay for Sam to have flaws.  She’s a teenager!  She’s learning.  She’s allowed to be egocentric and self-important and do things that aren’t the best at times.  It’s okay if these are her character weaknesses and a source of conflict with the rest of the cast.  But again, for that to be satisfying something really should have come of it.  It would have been nice if the writers were willing to have any self-awareness about these flaws being flaws that a person should recognise and grow past in order to have healthy relationships with others.  But they didn’t - because it’s easier to keep her as she is - to the point that they’ll actively bend the narrative to roll back or skip over moments that would have necessitated that growth.  So, even though they call attention to her flaws, the writers end up rewarding and enabling them instead of letting her learn.

And again, this isn’t meant to hate on Sam.  Hanlon’s Razor in full effect: it’s clearly a result of authorial/editorial incompetence rather than deliberate malice.  I know this isn’t the intended interpretation.

My preferred reading of Sam Manson is that she’s a Rosa Hubermann/ Hermione Granger/ YJS1 Artemis Crock-type character.  Someone who’s passionate and forceful and maybe a bit abrasive and hard to love at a glance, but whose core nature is compassionate and sincerely kind and loyal-to-the-death for the people they value.  I wish I could 100% like her without caveats; to be able to say that even if I don’t agree with her flaws I can at least understand that they’re a valid product of the life she lives, that they make her who she is and that she’s trying her best to be a good person who will get better despite them.  

But I can’t because the writers don’t give her that.  They’re always prioritising other things over the integrity of her character.  They don’t give her background enough time and context to make her negative traits feel resonant with it (because that would take time away from the Wicked Cool Radical Ghost-Fighting Superhero Action™) and the framing and plotting doesn’t give her chances to recognise or grow past them (because that would mean character development and those negative traits are an easy source of cheap conflict).  The writers just don’t seem to care all that much about Sam - her actual character, who she is, how she came to be that way, what she wants or how her negative traits would actually play against Danny and the others.

And that sucks.  Because she has a lot of potential to be a well-rounded and great character.  I’ve seen plenty of fics that seize that potential and roll with those gaps and the result is very good.  I wish I could like her canon depiction without feeling like I have to actively ignore a bunch of latent behavioural red flags as the price of entry.

She deserved better.

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Nine): We’re Covered In Lies and That’s Okay

Notes: I’ve given up on maintaining proper consistent schedules for my fics, but I want to attempt to update at least once every other month for each of my series that are going on rn. I always wanna say thanks for some of the replies/comments on my last chapter that were really supportive and awesome about my disaster of a situation with grad school. I struggle to like respond and be a functional human being, but i read everything and love you all.I will be trying to like alternate posting chapters to each series, monthly. So like, April is Tsun, May will be Dahlia, but uhhhhhhhh every time i try to be consistent, it blows up in my face so that's cool. 

Word Count: 7,152

Warnings: This one is pretty tame, cursing, some pettiness. I introduce a new OC cause i can’t fucking contain myself. 

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” 

“Please,” Anais shakes her clenched fists in a begging motion, “please, please, please!”

The day has passed by easily enough, no snags or major confrontations from the idiots in the penthouse. A nice relaxed day of normal work with Anais clinging to her side, as they teach each other languages. It won’t be long before Tsuneko has to return her to her parent’s room for the evening, they’re walking that direction on the VIP floor.  All it took was mentioning maybe giving the young girl a present for her to start begging excitedly. Of course, Tsuneko already has the small pompompurin coin purse in her pocket, something she won in a crane game, but doesn’t need. 

“Hm, let’s see, maybe we can make it a reward. Do you remember how to sign, ‘hello, my name is Anais’?” 

“Yeah, see,” Anais replies with a big grin and signs the greeting, perfectly. 

“Here, you’ve more than earned it,” Tsuneko tells her, before handing over the little plush coin purse. Her blue eyes sparkle the second she sees it and she hugs it to her cheek. 

“I love it!” 

One of Anais’s hands wraps around Tsuneko’s, the other clutches around her gift, as they walk towards the room. The young girl is practically skipping as they near their destination. 

“Tsuneko,” a familiar masculine voice calls out, Mr. Bucci. 

“Hello, Mr. Bucci,” Tsuneko greets him, Anais hides behind her leg, shy around the strange older man, “Anais, this is Mr. Bucci, he’s a friend of my boss from Italy, why don’t you say hello?” 

“Ciao,” Anais murmurs, still a little awkward, but Mr. Bucci gives her a kind smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, say, Tsuneko. I’m sorry to be a bother, but would you mind showing me around the hotel? I’d get lost in a paper bag I’m afraid.” 

“Ah, I’m showing Anais back to her parent’s room at the moment, but if you could wait for just a moment, I can be with you shortly?” Tsuneko offers, even if the room isn’t far away, she wouldn’t feel comfortable just abandoning Anais on the VIP floor alone. 

“I don’t mind at all, go ahead.” 

Tsuneko excuses herself and Anais, leading the girl down the hall down to her parent’s room. She has a quick chat with Esme, about when the family is visiting Puroland, as well as the fact that Tsuneko may have days in the coming week where Ichinomiya will ask her to work outside of the hotel. It’s officially the second week of the bet and she’s expecting him to make a full force effort before the end of it, since he doesn’t seem keen on just giving up. She says her goodbyes to the family for the night and returns to Mr. Bucci in the hallway. 

“Sorry for the wait, sir,” Tsuneko apologizes as they start to walk towards the elevator. 

“It’s no problem at all,” he pauses for a moment, “I’m starting to understand more and more why Eisuke seems so enamored with you. Sweet, cute girl, great cook and good with children.” 

“Mr. Bucci,” her stomach churns at the thought of Ichinomiya’s saccharine fake smile, “you’re far too kind, I’m sure Mr. Ichinomiya isn’t quite as fond of me as you think.” 

“Nonsense, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Uh,” she stutters as they reach the elevator, wanting to escape this conversation, “so, do you think you know exactly what you’re looking to do? I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the casino, but there are also museums, theaters, pools, plenty of restaurants with food from all over. There’s actually an Italian restaurant, people say the food is really authentic, but I wouldn’t really know, personally.” 

“Actually,” he cuts off her rambling, “I was hoping we could have a chat over dinner. I’m sure Eisuke won’t mind.” 

She’s sure he wouldn’t, so long as Tsuneko doesn’t out his bullshit. Her regular rooms are all cleaned for the day, the only thing left on the schedule is cleaning the penthouse. So, it’s not impacting anyone else in the hotel and she tells Ichinomiya she was buttering up Mr. Bucci, he won’t particularly care. 

“Yeah, that should be fine.” 

It’s an awkward elevator ride to the floor with the restaurants, Tsuneko’s arms are folded behind her back to feign some sort of confidence, despite how badly she wants to run. She can’t say for certain what Mr. Bucci wants with her, perhaps just mining her for information about Ichinomiya, but why would he need her for that. There’s a devilish part of her brain that reminds her this would be a chance to out him, to tell Mr. Bucci all about the little game Ichinomiya is playing. 

But she can’t bring herself to do something like that. Ichinomiya is an asshole and all-around garbage excuse for a human being, but his success affects more than just him. If the success of the Tres Spades continues to grow and get more money, the employees continue to prosper and make more money. The Tres Spades isn’t some shitty corporation that pays them minimum wage and no benefits. Tsuneko’s situation is an extreme case, she knows that, despite his piss poor personality, Ichinomiya and the Tres Spades take care of their employees. 

Not to mention, another hotel, means more job opportunities for people who may need them. People who were like her when she applied, desperate and needing a source of income, could have an opportunity to do more than survive. 

Plus, if the hotel expands across the globe, it can help employees in other ways. She thinks of Chisato and Itsuki, the two are basically engaged, but can’t movee beyond that point if they want to because gay marriage isn’t legal in Japan. Chisato has been with the hotel for years and can’t just move to elsewhere without having a job at least as good lined up. If there were more locations, in places where it’s legal, she could have both. So, if the Tres Spades expands…

As much as she hates to sound like a capitalist, helping Ichinomiya really does have ripple effects that help more people. She has to find a balance of not fucking herself over, but not hurting anyone else in the grand scheme of things.  

Tsuneko would message Ichinomiya, to at least let him know why she’ll be late cleaning the penthouse and so he doesn’t suspect she’s going out of her way to ruin things. But the only way she has of contacting him is the pager which is on a speaker and she’s not giving that man her phone number. 

They arrive at the Italian restaurant the Tres Spades has and Tsuneko immediately feels out of place. It’s mostly guests here for a nice dinner, dressed to the nines, while she’s in her maid uniform. The mixture of cleaner products and sweat is still heavy on her skin. 

They’re shown to a table and Tsuneko is trying not to anxiously bounce or move around in her seat. Mr. Bucci orders wine and she gets water, he seems to be beating around the bush, dragging her discomfort out.  Tsuneko forgets what she ordered a moment after she orders it. Mr. Bucci is the dictionary definition of calm, as he takes a sip of his wine, Tsuneko is sick of this. 

“What did you want to talk to me about?” 

He puts his glass down on the table and gives a small chuckle. Mr. Bucci has never struck her a mean or cruel man, but he’s a mob boss. There are so many dangerous places this conversation could go. 

“Cutting right to the chase, are you?” 

“My heart can’t handle doing anything else.” 

“There’s no need to look so scared, relax, eat.” 

She pops an appetizer into her mouth but can’t quite appreciate the taste through her nerves. The attempt seems to appease him to some degree, as he clears his throat to speak again. 

“Carolina has become rather infatuated with Eisuke, despite him having feelings for you.” 

“I don’t think he-”

“Please, humor me,” he puts his hand up to make her shush, “I know Carolina has been taking things out on you, which isn’t right, but she’s always felt her emotions very intensely. If your and Eisuke’s relationship were to go further, it would crush her, and she’d only get nastier with you.”

Is this entire dinner about warning her away from Ichinomiya for Carolina’s sake? Because that’s not an issue. Tsuneko wouldn’t waste her time fighting over a man she liked, let alone one she’s actively trying to avoid.  

“I know it’s asking a lot, but it would be nice if you and Carolina could become friends.” 

“Huh?” 

“I was hoping from the way he acted last time they met, perhaps he had feelings for her as well, but it can’t be helped. If Carolina could see you as more of a friend, less of a rival, I think it would be good for both of you.” 

“Uh,” that’s not what she expected, “if this is all about getting me to make nice with your daughter, I’m not sure there’s much I can do. I’m not exactly the one making it, uh, contentious. And even if I did, I’m not sure if it would make her feel any better about Mr. Ichinomiya.” 

“I know my Carolina can be difficult, but I do think it would help for her to have a friend here.”

“I’m not confident that I’m the best choice for that.” 

“It would mean a lot to me if you tried, maybe a girl’s day for the two of you could be arranged?” 

Tsuneko chews her lip and pokes at her meal, unsure of what to say or do. Her leg bounces beneath the table. Mr. Bucci strikes her as sincere, he genuinely wants the best for his daughter. And Tsuneko can see his point, Carolina doesn't strike her as the type who probably has a lot of female friends. The kind of mentality where Women are competition and men are some sort of prize. Which is exhausting. Both for those around her and surely for her as well.

"If you can get her to agree, I'll be more than happy to spend a day with her."

"Wonderful. I'll let you know when a date is arranged." Mr. Bucci smiles at her and Tsuneko prays Carolina refuses. The meal concludes with Tsuneko trying to hurriedly eat her entree, as to not waste the previously untouched food, and Mr. Bucci insisting on paying. 

Her mind wanders as she makes her way to the penthouse, she thinks of what he said, about believing Ichinomiya might have had feelings for Carolina. Everything he does, especially for business, is intentional. Even the smallest gesture calculated. He doesn’t give soft smiles or too long touches by accident. 

And while Carolina might be the type to misinterpret signals, her father doesn’t seem as apt to do so. Which, makes her wonder, did he lead Carolina on for the deal? Not that she thinks much of him to begin with, but that’s another layer of gross. 

She arrives at the penthouse, seeing a mish mash of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Baba and Kisaki are the only two of the auction managers there, but there’s four women gathered around them. Three she doesn’t know and one, she’s sadly familiar with, the girl who insulted her weight at the event Ichinomiya dragged her to. The women are undoubtedly beautiful, dressed in short seductive dresses. They’re guests, or at least she has to assume so, which sadly means Tsuneko needs to be well behaved. It’s one thing to mouth off to the assholes who bought her, but actual guests of the hotel she has to behave around. 

“Hey, princess,” Baba greets her, a woman with long red hair on his left and another with raven black hair on his right. The girl from the event is next to the red head, while another blonde is practically sitting in Kisaki’s lap. 

The three unfamiliar women give Tsuneko a quick once over but seem to ultimately decide they don’t care about her presence. While the one she’s met before, maintains a sharp cruel gaze. Unlike the other three, she doesn’t even seem to be fawning over the men, almost bored with this. 

“I’m here to clean,” Tsuneko announces with a customer service smile, “would anyone like anything to eat or drink before I start?”  

Kisaki and Baba shoots her confused looks, no doubt taken aback by her kind attitude. However, she can’t risk being inappropriate around actual guests. 

“Make yourself useful and get us some wine,” the familiar woman pipes in, showing off her empty glass like Tsuneko is too stupid to understand otherwise. 

“Of course.” 

She gathers the empty glasses and makes her way to the penthouse kitchen area.  There’s a bottle of fancy red wine on the counter, from whenever they first served it, so she tops off each glass and brings it out to them. 

“So, you let maids up here?” The redhead asks, twirling a crimson lock around her finger. 

“Koro’s special,” Kisaki taunts, despite his sugary sweet smile, and she bites her tongue, only sending him a quick pointed glare. 

“I’m the penthouse maid, Tomori Tsuneko.” 

“I think the dog name suits you more,” the event girl tells her, her eyes sharp. She’s a pretty girl, a shaggy pale blonde bob hair and burnished orange eyes. 

“You’re so mean, Kaede,” the blonde on the arm of Kisaki’s chair gushes out, like it’s cute. 

“If that’s all, I’ll begin cleaning now.” She at least has a name to attach to the mean girl, though she’s not sure how much that will actually help her. 

Tsuneko busies herself with cleaning the lounge, letting the residents become background noise. She manages to catch that Baba is reading the girl’s fortunes with cards. All of them but Kaede, oohing and aweing over it. 

“Hey, pretty lady, come over here,” Baba calls over suddenly as Tsuneko is dusting, every fiber of her being wants to tell him to shush and let her clean. But there are guests, actual guests here. 

“Is there something you need, sir?” She says instead, hoping the sir will somehow get her point across. Yet, Baba is smiling like a damn idiot. 

“Do you wanna have your fortune read?” 

There’s an annoyed twitch behind her eye, she is working. She can see Kisaki gremlin smirking out of her peripheral vision. They’re trying to push her buttons. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m working, sir.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to be shy, you know you can always call me Micchy!~” 

He winks at her, three girls giggle, but Kaede still shows no signs of being entertained. Instead, her nose wrinkles. A clatter of glass as she smacks her finger into the stem of her wine glass, knocking it from the table. 

“Ah!” Tsuneko flusters and rushes, she catches the glass before it shatters, but red wine drenches the front of her uniform. It soaks and chills through the fabric, making it stick to her. 

“Couldn’t let you slack off for too long,” Kaede tells her, voice hushed and a mean little smirk pulling at her lips. 

The door to the penthouse opens within the next moment, Ichinomiya and Oh entering the lounge. Like moths to a flame, suddenly the four women all flock over to them, abandoning Baba and Kisaki. 

“Eisuke, it’s great to see you again!~” Kaede gushes and he narrows his eyes. 

“We were waiting for you to get here!”

“I didn’t think we’d actually get a chance to meet the king!” 

“You’re even more attractive in person, oh my god!”  

“Are you okay?” Baba asks her, suddenly close and in her personal space. 

“Yeah, better on me than on the linoleum,” she awkwardly tugs at the wet chest of her uniform, cold drops of wine rolling down her cleavage, that Baba’s eyes seem to follow, “nothing got on your cards?” 

“Of all the things for you to be worried about,” Baba looks her in the eyes again and sighs, like he’s dealing with a child. 

“I mean, I could also worry about how you two just got ditched for Ichinomiya,” she teases, voice low, as Baba carefully takes the glass from her hand. He’s being, nice. 

“We’re used to it by now, some girls will do anything to get close to boss.” 

“What’s going on here?” Ichinomiya questions, glaring at the women for a moment, before his eyes land on Tsuneko and her wine-soaked uniform. 

“We just thought, it’d be okay for us to come up here and spend some time with you,” Kaede tells him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I take it, we know who’s to blame for letting you up here,” Oh glares at Baba who just grins. 

“What’s wrong for having some beautiful women here?” 

“Women who find it necessary to throw wine at my staff.” Ichinomiya narrows his eyes at Kaede, he doesn’t even have to wonder who’s to blame. 

“Accidents happen,” Kaede waves it off, “she’ll be fine, why don’t we have a drink, just the two of us?” 

“Get out.” 

“Huh, don’t be ridiculous-”

“I don’t have time for this, get out, now.” 

Slowly and with their heads hanging down, the women leave the penthouse, like they’ve been scolded. Which, she supposes isn’t that far from the truth. 

“Ugh, I can still smell their perfume,” He’s not wrong, the smell of expensive perfume still hangs in the air. 

“Are you sure you should talk to guests like that?” 

“They’re not staying here.” 

“What?” 

“Those women just hang around in the casino, like flies,” Oh explains. 

“God damn it, I was polite for nothing!” 

“It was so funny watching you try to behave yourself.” Kisaki snickers. 

“Oh shut up, now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says and starts to head to the door, wine making her thighs stick together awkwardly. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ichinomiya stops her. 

“I’m gonna go change then come back to clean, the wine didn’t get on anything else, so don’t worry.”

“You’re going to let guests see you like that?” He narrows his eyes at her, and she looks down at the mess on her uniform, not that she needs to, she can feel it sticking to her. 

“Well, it’s not going anywhere on its own.” She flails her arms out, glaring at him, what the hell does he expect?

“I’ll see if Kenzaki can bring you up a change of uniform.” 

“Come on, you can get cleaned up in my bathroom and we’ll get your uniform taken care of,” Baba says, placing a hand on the small of her back as he leads her towards his suite, even though she knows where it is, his hand is welcomed warmth against the chill of the spilled wine.

She steps into his bathroom, familiar with the elaborate set up. The sun is just starting to set, shining orange golden light in through the giant window. 

“There’s bathrobes for you to change into or you can borrow some clothes from me if you’d like.” He winks, because of course he does. 

“I’ll take the bathrobe.” 

He gives a melodramatic pout and she pushes him from the bathroom. The door shut behind him, she takes off her shoes and starts to unbutton her uniform. Her eyes dart between the tub and the shower, immaculate. The idea of relaxing back in a hot soapy bath looking at the sunset out the window, sounds so nice. However, reality is a cruel mistress, and she doesn’t have the luxury of taking her time and relaxing. She’s technically on the clock and she’s better off just taking a shorter shower. 

There’s a bit of relief from the sticky wine, tacky on her skin, when she lets her uniform drop to the floor and peels off her stockings. The worst of the mess is off her, but it’s well soaked through the layers to her skin. She can even feel the residue on her nipples where it’s dripped down and soaked through her bra.  Her underwear joins the pile of clothes and she starts up the shower, steam filling the room. 

She leaves a towel over the stall door and steps under the hot water. There’s an array of the hotel provided items with soft clean neutral scents, but she notices a few of Baba’s products as well. They’re all rose and jasmine scented, floral almost romantic scents. Not that different from her own shampoo, but just slightly stronger. Of course, he drinks rose tea and uses rose soap, like the cheesy schmuck he is. Those thoughts don’t stop her from using it. Tsuneko’s muscles relax as she washes the grime from her skin and hair, not just the wine but the sweat of the day so far.  

The door creaks as she’s massaging soap into her breasts, she jolts, a slick mess of suds and water in the shower stall makes her feet slip. She just manages to burrow her fingers into the towel before she yelps out, her ass hitting the floor. Pain shoots up her tailbone. The door swings open further. 

“Tsuneko!” Baba’s voice jumps an octave as he rushes into the room, whirling around to see her. She scrambles to place the towel, so it covers her chest and groin, though she feels like he probably already got an eyeful in the amount of time it takes her. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” 

“Are you okay, I heard you yell?” 

“Yeah, because you opened the fucking door!” 

“Uh, oh,” realization seems to dawn on him, and he covers his eyes before turning his back to her, “I was going to get your clothes, so we can send them to be cleaned.”  

“You couldn’t have waited?!” 

“The quicker they’re washed the better, you don’t want the stains to set.” 

“Just go!” 

Baba flusters about for a moment before grabbing her pile of wine-soaked clothes and leaving the bathroom. She heaves out a deep sigh, once she hears the door shut behind him. Tsuneko gets back up on her feet, the towel is completely soaked now, so she tosses it aside. Fearful of another interruption, she finishes up as quickly as possible. 

She shuts the shower off and does a quick dry off.  They’re probably still sticky, but she goes to grab her underwear, to find they’re not there.  Great, so not only has Baba seen her naked, but he knows what kind of underwear she wears. And, she’ll be wearing a bathrobe with nothing underneath,  around them all. Lovely. 

The bathrobe is clearly meant for an adult man and she doesn’t see any in smaller sizes. It’s soft fluffy white material, she pulls it on, she feels and looks a bit like a marshmallow, but that’s not a complaint. Plus, the excess fabric should make it easier to stay covered. It sags a little low on her shoulders, the sleeves hang over her hands, and the bottom drags across the floor as she leaves the bathroom. 

Baba is just outside the bathroom door and she can’t help the pout that pulls at her face, asshole. He’s smirking in response and her fist is connecting with his side in the next moment. He barely flinches at the strike and she can feel the muscle beneath his shirt. 

“Pull that kind of shit again and I’ll castrate you.” 

“I only had the best of intentions, scouts honor.” He gives a cheesy little smile and scout salute, that she isn’t buying for a second. 

“Hmmph.” 

She lets out a huffy noise as she fixes her still damp bangs and moves towards her stuff that’s on the side table. Baba must have taken them from her pockets when he got her clothes. There are wine stains on some of her sticky note pads and a bit on her phone case, the phone itself doesn’t feel soaked, however. It’s already been scratched all up, she’s not sure how much more it can handle. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down, somehow you just manage to get prettier and prettier.” 

She rolls her eyes at his compliment, despite the heat in her cheeks. It’s sweet and she’s sure he’s right, the only one who’s seen her with her hair down fully was Kisaki when he was fixing it for the event. She twirls a still damp lock of her around her finger. 

“You never lay off with the cheesy shit, do you?” 

“I’m just an honest man.” 

“You walked in on me showering and stole my underwear!” 

“I was honestly trying to help.” 

A heavy sigh escapes her as she puts her phone in the robe pocket and heads to the lounge, hopefully Kenzaki has brought a change of uniform for her. Baba follows after her, Kishi is on one of the couches smoking a cigarette. He managed to miss the chaos, lucky him. 

“What the hell?”

“Don’t ask.” She waves him off, dismissing him and his smoke cloud as she takes a seat. Tsuneko is careful to fold her legs in the chair so she stays cocooned and covered in the robe. 

“One of Boss’s fangirls got a little testy.” 

“There are no spare uniforms in your size, so you’ll have to wait until laundry services washes yours,” Ichinomiya explains to her. 

“So, what I’m hearing is I’m getting overtime pay?” 

Ichinomiya sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t argue with her. At the very least a bit of extra money in her bank account, but now she’s stuck spending time with them. Last time she was actually sat down with them was when Ichinomiya gave her the confidentiality agreement, before she proposed the bet. She can remember just how tense and rigid she was, now she’s curled up in a robe. 

She fiddles with the edge of the robes sleeve, suddenly aware of the strangely vulnerable position she’s put herself in with them. Hair damp from the shower and still down, not a smudge of makeup, in nothing but an oversized robe. Something about it all seems cozy, comfortable. She curls her knees in a bit closer at the thought, as if providing a bit more protection. 

“Since you’ve got time you want to get your fortune read, now?” Baba offers, smiling. 

“Aren’t you a little old to believe in that kind of shit?” 

“You wound me and so soon after our special moment together in the shower.” 

“Don’t say shit like that!” She reaches out and smacks him with the long sleeves of the robe, it hits his face and he just keeps grinning. 

“Don’t tell me you’re into old men, now, Koro.” 

“He walked in while I was showering!” 

“You really have the worst luck, don’t ya?” 

“You’re telling me. Speaking of shitty luck and women who hate me, Mr. Bucci wants me to spend time with Carolina.” 

“Does he now?” 

“And you actually agreed to that?” 

“What was I supposed to do?” She shoots Oh an incredulous look. 

“I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea, princess.” 

“Mr. Bucci is gonna talk to her about it, best case scenario she refuses and worst case scenario I have to suffer through a day of her snide little insults.” 

“Did you forget they’re mafia members?” 

“And Carolina is jealous of you.” 

“So,” she shrugs at Oh and Baba’s implications, “she’s not gonna do anything crazy.” 

“You can’t let your guard down around people like that.” 

“What’s that suppose to mean, slacker?” 

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Kishi and Oh are glaring daggers at each other, Oh’s hand starts heading towards where she’s sure his gun is. She tries not to snicker and starts scrolling through her phone again. Ichinomiya clears his throat, stopping the short-lived altercation. 

“Make sure you take your pager.” 

“Why, so you can badger me when you want coffee?” 

“Just do what I say.” 

“Just do what I say,” she mocks him, not bothering to look up from her Instagram feed. Chisato posted a cute selfie, that she gets a glimpse of before her phone is pulled from her hand, “hey!” 

Kisaki has a hold of her phone, he’s perched himself on the arm of the chair she’s sitting in, his smarmy gremlin grin on his face. She doesn’t need him going through her phone, she’s already had one of them see her practically naked today. 

“What are you look- hey,” she grabs her phone and yanks it from his hand, before pushing him off the chair arm. He gives a little yell, before his ass hits the floor. 

“Don’t touch my phone.” 

He shoots her a disgusted look from the floor and she hears the other men snickering. 

“You’re so aggressive,” he says, glaring at her. 

“Do you have something on there you don’t want people to see?” Baba asks, smirking. 

“What is or isn’t on my phone is none of your concern.” 

“You’re not helping yourself.” Ichinomiya isn’t looking up at them, but he’s smirking just the same. 

“You’re not wrong.” She sighs, hiding her phone away back in her pocket. 

There’s a knock, before Kenzaki steps into the lounge, carrying a laundry bag. 

“Tomori’s clothes have been washed.” 

She’s already out of her chair and making a beeline for Kenzaki, plucking the laundry bag from his hand and muttering a thanks before heading towards Baba’s bathroom. Tsuneko double, triple, checks that the door is locked before she starts to change back into her uniform. There is absolutely no signs of the wine on her uniform, the laundry services at the hotel are beyond amazing. Once she’s changed and tucked everything back into her uniform pockets, she’s able to get back to work. Cleaning the lounge and suites doesn’t take her much time at all

Tsuneko returns to her dorm later than average, going through her nighttime routine of caring for Kiyo and preparing for that stupid auction. The only thing unique to the whole process at this point is crossing off days until the end of the bet. It’s the final marker of the whole routine now, the last thing she does before she closes her eyes. 

The next day at work isn’t quite as entertaining, Anais is enjoying Puroland with her family. Meaning, Tsuneko is left to her own usual routine. The first part of her shift passes by calmly and she gets to go enjoy lunch on time. Sakiko is eating a later lunch, Chisato and Itsuki got their lunch breaks to match up and are having a more romantic venture. So, Tsuneko decides to go out grab a quick bite during her break. Chisato already warned her that the gossip about Tsuneko working in the penthouse is only getting worse, so she’d rather have some distance between herself and her coworkers for a moment. 

After filling her stomach with hamburger steak and catching up on Monster Lovers during her solo lunch, she’s headed back to the hotel. There’s a soft breeze blowing through as she reaches the backlot, just as a group of unfamiliar men venture through the back door. What are they doing? It’s always something at this fucking hotel. 

“Excuse me, sirs!” She yells out as she starts sprinting after them, whatever reason they’re here, she plans on finding out. They don’t stop or respond out of earshot as she starts into the hotel. A glimpse of their back as they venture down the stairs, down to the basement level, she yells again. No response as they continue towards the sub-basement level, Wonderland. 

“Hey!” Her voice jumps up another three octaves as she rushes down the final set of stairs. There are even more unfamiliar men there, a line forming out of Wonderland door. Men shoot her confused looks. It’s all random men of all ages and appearances, though, most don’t seem too pleasant. 

She stomps and pushes her way through, all of the men shooting her dirty looks as she elbows her way through the crowd. Finally, she manages to make it into Wonderland. The Hatter is at the table across from one of the men, who have flooded the room.  He has a notebook open before him and is scribbling notes, like he’s interviewing them. 

“What are your hobbies?”

“Horse races, dog races, poker, pachinko.” Some man tells the Hatter in a gruff voice. 

“Oh, so you’re a gambling man then. How much would you say you usually bet at once?”

“Everything I have at the moment.”

“You like high stakes bets then!”

“I borrow money from friends sometimes, tell ‘em I’ll pay them back with interest.”

“Have you paid any of these friends back?”

“Not yet.” 

“Alright then. Next, please,” he calls another strange man forward to take the other’s place, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Hey.”  

“I have several questions I’d like to ask you; do you live nearby?” 

“About thirty minutes by train, I guess.” 

“Yes, that’s a very fine distance; what are your hobbies?” 

“Afternoon naps.’

“Pffff,” she scoffs, making both the man and the Hatter looks up at her. 

“Alice! Where have you been?” The Hatter shoots her a bright smile, while the man is glaring. He barely looks old enough to drink, so if he’s trying to look scary, it’s not going to work for him. 

“I just got back from my lunch break, what is all of this?” She gestures to the crowd of men. 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not in the slightest.” 

“I’m having auditions for the new March Hare and Dormouse.” 

He’s not seriously letting strangers back in here, so soon after being robbed. 

“And where exactly did you find these men?” 

“I put an advertisement up on the website craigslist.” 

“What?” Her eyes grow wide, that’s so dangerous, people have been killed from doing stupid shit like this. 

“The online world is dull compared to Wonderland, but it’s very convenient.” 

“No way, nope,” she shakes her head emphatically, “you’re not doing this.” 

She pulls a chair from the table and climbs to stand on it, drawing attention to herself as well as seeing over the crowd of strangers. 

 “Alice, what are you doing?” 

“Hey,” she calls out, “I’m sorry, but you all need to go! The position is closed, there is no job, sorry for the trouble, you gotta get out of here!” 

“Alice!” The Hatter’s yell cuts through the disappointed grumbles of the men, she’s never seen him so angry, “please, do not act selfishly like that!” 

“Selfishly!?” 

“They all came out to be interviewed and you’re being rude!” 

“I’ll show you rude, everybody get the fuck out!” She stomps her foot down on the chair for emphasis. 

The Hatter is glaring at her as the men slowly make their way out of Wonderland. She needs to call Kenzaki and let him know, in case any of them get wise ideas about venturing through the hotel and causing trouble. Tsuneko hops down from the chair as the last man meanders out, grumbling under his breath about how good the pay was and she shuts the door behind him. 

“Why did you interfere?” The Hatter is glaring with a heavy, childish pout. 

“Because that was beyond stupid, that’s why!” 

“I must find a new March Hare and Dormouse! You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point, I don’t give a shit about the hare and mouse!” 

“Did you forget how lovely our parties were?” His face falls from anger to sorrow, unable to quite meet her eyes. 

“Did you forget that you were robbed like, two days ago?!” 

“Of course not!” 

“And what, you thought you should just have more strangers here?” 

He bites his lip and doesn’t meet her eyes, brow furrowing. 

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was? Any of those men could have robbed you or worse! Did you even think about that? Huh, what if I came down here and found you fucking dead, ‘cause you let anyone with a pulse and internet just waltz on in.” 

“I-”

“And what about everyone else here? What if one of them decided to go do something to a guest or one of the workers? For fucks sakes, even if those men weren’t bad, what if they found out about the auctions? What do you think Ichinomiya and them would do to keep them quiet?!” 

“I-”

“You could have gotten yourself and someone else killed, you can’t do this shit!”

His butt hits the ground with a thump, he’s plopped on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his pouting face there. Watching an actual seven-year-old child felt less like babysitting. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, getting her phone from her pocket then punching in Kenzaki’s number. 

“Hey, yeah, it’s Tomori. We’ve had an issue in the tearoom with security, everyone is safe, and nothing is taken. But I think it might be good to keep an eye out for any strange characters.”  

Kenzaki assures her it’s taken care of and she hangs up, looking over to see the Hatter still hasn’t budged from his new spot on the floor. She sighs, she knows he wants his dream Wonderland tea party, but he can’t sacrifice his own or someone else’s safety for that. Tsuneko chews her lip, the March Hare and Dormouse didn’t do much, other than arrange furniture. She can do that; god knows the pair of them weren’t conversationalists. 

Most of her plushies are licensed characters as are most of the ones in her crane games, so they probably won’t work for him. She does a few searches for dormouse and hare plushies, it takes her a few moments to find ones cute enough to add to her cart. Tsuneko sits on the floor next to the Hatter who’s still pouting. 

“I just wanted to have our tea parties again,” he mumbles against his knees. 

“I know, sweetie, but hey, how about these?” She nudges her phone against his knee, getting his attention. He finally looks up, eyes soft with unshed tears and biting at his lip before looking at the phone. 

“Oh…” 

“Would that work, having stuffed animals instead?” 

“Would you be happy with that?” 

“Well, yeah. I mean let’s be honest, the March Hare and Dormouse weren’t exactly shining conversationalists. All I care about is that you’re safe.” 

“That’s good then,” he says with a soft smile. 

“Okay, I’ll order them and the tea party will be complete before you know it.” She pats her hand on his back, hoping the gesture can convey even just a bit of comfort. He seems to relax under her touch. 

The door rattles open and all that comfort is useless as Ichinomiya steps into the room, no doubt Kenzaki informed him of the situation. The Hatter visibly curls into himself as the CEO’s harsh gaze lands on him. 

“What happened?” He doesn’t ask for, so much as demand an answer. 

“I-” The Hatter stumbles over his words and stalls, that shy soft-spoken boy shining through the façade. She squeezes his shoulder tight. 

“There was a little issue, he let in a few strangers…but they’re gone now.’

“You let strangers in, again?” 

“Um…”

“I already ripped him a new one. You know why it was wrong, right Mads?”

He nods his head, hat nearly falling over from the force of it. 

“And you’re not gonna do it again, right?” 

Another nod. 

“See, it’s fixed, I just wanted to make sure Kenzaki knew what happened, just in case.”

“I can’t have just anyone coming down here.” 

“He knows, he knows.” 

“He can talk for himself.” 

“Not with you scaring him, he can’t.” 

“Is this going to happen again?”

“No, I won’t do it again…” The Hatter mumbles out a response. 

“I’m holding you to that.” There’s a subtle threatening edge to his words, like a father threatening to ground his son. 

“He knows, go, go,” she tries to shoo him off like a fly, earning a glare, “I’ll make you coffee when I clean the penthouse later.”

“Obviously.” He sneers and gives another stern look towards the Hatter before finally taking his leave. 

She spends a few more minutes with the Hatter, ensuring he’s feeling better before she goes back to work. Her shift passes by with her on edge, looking out for any of the men from the Hatter’s auditions. None of them seem to have spread out to the hotel or taken up causing trouble, so she’s able to finish up work with little trouble. Other than a moment of annoyance when she makes Ichinomiya his precious coffee. 

“You guys wanna get drinks?” Chisato asks as they’re leaving the locker room. 

“You sure that’s a great idea with little miss pervert here?” Sakiko points a thumb in Tsuneko’s direction, a hint of pink in her cheeks. 

“I’m not up for it anyway, so don’t worry.” She playfully shoves her as they leave out the back entrance. With the stress of the Hatter’s little auditions, this is the kind of night meant for cozy pajamas and ferret cuddles. 

Chisato and Sakiko wave a bye to Tsuneko as they venture off towards the bar, her towards the dorms. Her steps halt, who’s outside the dorms? It’s a younger man, mess of auburn hair and green gold eyes, leaning against the building. A moment passes by before she realizes where she’s seen him before, he was one of the men interviewing with the Hatter. What on earth is he still doing here?

“Hey!” She yells out as she marches over towards the guy. 

“You really do yell a lot, don’t you?” He comments, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“What are you still doing here? I told you to go home.” 

“And why would I do that?” 

“’Cause there’s literally no reason for you to be here.” 

“What’s the deal with the dude in the basement?” He asks suddenly and it’s like ice water’s been dumped on her. Of course, there had to be one person who stuck it out to ask questions. 

“That’s none of your business.”

“Alice, was it?” 

“Tsuneko, now go home.”

“I’m Hachirou, look, if I can’t make a buck off of this, I at least wanna know what the hell is going on,” he pleads as she’s opening the door to the complex. 

“Go home and stop answering craigslist ads, it’s dangerous.” 

With that she disappears into the complex, heading to her own dorm. Once there, she peeks out the window, watching as Hachirou finally takes his leave. She clutches her good luck charm and hopes that will be the end of it, for his sake more than her own. 

[blackwoolncrown]

Genuine question, so I’m bi and even if I’m not out I’m still bi because I feel that attraction regardless if I’m in a relationship or not. But I recently realized I am very much non-binary, but I’m part of a very conservative, religious, middle eastern community in which I will always be perceived and treated as a woman. So, am I still non-binary? That’s not really the question I’m trying to ask. I’m just struggling with wanting to exist as I am beyond gender but not being able to

1. Being non-binary is a personal, internal feeling and has no bearing on whether or not people around you acknowledge this. That’s how gender works. This is why a woman with a body perceived as a ’man’ who is misgendered daily is still a woman. Our genders are ours, the struggle is having them validated and properly perceived by others who generally rely on gender norms and bioessentialism to interact w people.

2. I feel your struggle, evne down to the ‘this isn’t really what I’m asking’. Being nonbinary is very much a thing but it can be impossible to give language to because our entire language was written around binaries. We are constantly struggling to manifest and find in life an experience that we have tacitly been denied language to. We can work towards it and build it but it is not easy at all. I struggle with this constantly, and literally recently have been dealing with how this is playing out painfully in my own life. I do not have all the answers, but here’s my philosopy [TW: EXPLICIT DECONSTRUCTION AND INVALIDATION OF GENDER]

My background is esotericism and philosophy. While those things did not give rise to my internal feeling of being they did help structure and give it language which likely ‘fleshed it out’ a little bit. So that’s the disclaimer.

To put it in brief pretty much all core philosophies or enlightenment or religious mysticisms admit that the thinker must go beyond the world as presented and see through to its undifferentiated state. Gender being a construct is no new idea, but most people intellectually accept it and then refuse, outright or subconsciously, to actually apply that to their life and inspect where their identity is informed by gender and then actually divest themselves of it. It is said, in many ways, in many different schools of thought, that the essential, highest, or core of human being, of human consciousness is both genders, or undifferentiated in gender; concepts of gods and ideas as ‘male-female’ or genderless (like angels) abound. You being Middle-Eastern yourself may have an intimate knowledge of spiritual ideas of beings who have transcended gender. This concept is sometimes represented as embodied (male-female or genderless beings) or as transcending the body (having nothing to do with what form the physical body takes). Scientifically speaking, even the universe itself has been found to not work on a binary at all, but to be fundamentally quantum; that is, fundamentally emptiness (nothingness, undifferentiated-ness, openness) that only collapses (limits, manifests, chooses) once a point is perceived or made to interact with something else.

I don’t think this is simply a thought experiment or an end-goal of studious practice though that is one way to get there. I think this is the basic form of human consciousness and while gendered people can endeavor to arrive at this point through spiritual, religious or philosophical practice, there are plenty of us throughout history ( more here now due to the exposure of information perhaps) for whom ideas of gender construction didn’t ‘stick’ either because they made no sense (they fall apart at the slightest investigation) or because they cause pain (you know that feel).

While it is liberating to exist in this state, uninhibited by the limitations of a binary, this ecstasy and openness is removed whenever it is invalidated. Now, for a cis person this happens rarely because they live in a world that reinforces that their body and their gender are perceived socially as ‘correct’. When it does happen, they find it upsetting, but again it’s very infrequent. Enough that they can maintain a very rigid and unfractured sense of identity bound to their gender. They spend almost all of their time in a gender euphoria so present it becomes background noise. When trans people who are men or women exist in the world, their experience of gender invalidation can be much more common and much more distressing. Their gender euphoria comes from affirmation of their gender, and dysphoria is inflicted socially when they are misgendered. If you are the kind of nonbinary that you and I seem to be (which I must put this way because not all of us have the same experience of gender though most of us have a same experience of struggle), gender euphoria is much more fleeting because any assignation of binary gender feels limiting and confusing. Rare euphoria comes when we see or experience a ‘mixedness’ or ‘completeness’ that is very very hard to depict or express so we don’t get it often. Dysphoria comes whenever gender is assigned; there is no ‘correct’ one because very few people understand us– we ourselves largely are denied language to even explain it to them, and ears that listen!! There are no channels we can go down to have our gender affirmed because it is our lack of gender specificity that feels most comfortable, yet this is an entirely gendered society where the idea of a person is gendered by default and almost always tied to some aspect of the body.

I think that a problem we face is that to actually understand our undifferentiated/quantum gender state, people would have to accept an entire deconstruction of gender which, as an idea, may be abrasive to their sense of identity. Gender is a metaphysical construct- i.e. it is nowhere to be found in the physical body. People who are attached to the mental security their sense of binary gender gives them do not want to hear that their gender is just an idea they have assigned meaning to.

 I find it frustrating because it’s not particularly hard IMO to not do this: to understand each other not as men or women or gendered at all but to see our habits and needs and ways of life as being valid because we are human, human animals seems very easy and I wish people could do that more often. If I am nurturing that is not because I am a woman, because men can nurture too, can’t they? It is because I am human and the human species exhibits nurturing behaviors. If I am obstinate at times, it is not because I am being masculine, it is because human beings can exhibit bullheadedness and irritation at times. So on for desire, kindness, selfishness, resourcefulness, kinship…We do not need to gender these things for them to be real! But because we have, people are kind of stuck on that, despite the fact that the gender of certain attributes and behaviors can differ from society to society! If there is gender, it is always in relation to its opposite- men are not masculine and women are not feminine- men are masculine dominant and women are feminine dominant. The gender ideas should always be coupled into a whole, but I digress.Another question I raise myself and you may have wondered is if this is nonbinariness or the frustrating alienation of being perceived and treated as a woman, for surely discomfort with the gender identity of ‘woman’ is, ironically, quite common in womanhood. My answer is that, much like bisexuality, people considered women are much more likely to allow internal questioning to dissolve gender binaries or rigid gender role expectations because in a patriarchy, men’s gender brings benefits and women’s gender brings none. We don’t get anything really great out of the deal, and so we’re less likely to stick around and accept it. That doesn’t invalidate the fact that we’re nonbinary, because again ‘nonbinary’ isn’t specifically a ‘third’ or ‘other’ gender– it’s an experience of being that exists outside of the gender binary completely. It is the experience of finding gender as a concept too small to fit into.

You can be nonbinary in and of itself, and you can also be a nonbinary woman- a woman who identifies with the experience of womanhood but whose concept of womanhood is other than that of binary gender. It’s up to you. I sometimes use this designation but it is largely social- an admission that while I do not fully identify with it, I am born into womanhood and am experiencing life perceived as a woman, yet form a non-binary internal position.You in this moment are deeply nonbinary. It is not a fashion, it is not an outward expression. It is a deep inner presence and experience of unboundedness, unfixedness, and vague, undifferentiated immensity. It is, in my opinion, too big and ineffable to fit into any box, any outfit, any name. And so in this world we may find it difficult to interact with others who are always attempting to collapse us into gender, to cut us down to a digestible size, to see only tiny bits of us at a time. It is frustrating. To be honest I flirt every day with the idea of giving up and going to a monastery but I know good and well that monasteries, too have their gendered ideas for all their sweet talk of transcendance. 

I wish I had sweeter words to offer but still, yes you are nonbinary. You are what you are before people perceive you and regardless of whether they are capable of seeing you in fullness or not. That cannot be taken from you.

[sgtcalhouns]

The Man

Tamora pays Felix a visit at work. 

howdy folks, i FINALLY finished this thing. this fic is 5000+ words of marital goodness that’s got a little something for everyone--there’s fluff, there’s a tiny dash of hurt/comfort, and of course there’s some nsfw goodness because i am who i am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy!

The summer sun blazed down on Tamora as she got out of her car. She had never visited Felix at work, so she wasn’t sure where exactly to find him, but she followed the sounds of construction until the beginnings of a house came into view through the trees. The moment a group of workers was visible she spotted him—he was several inches shorter than the rest of the crew, which made him easy to find. He was carrying a beam of plywood over his shoulder and she watched as he set it down on a workbench. She was too far away to hear their conversation, but Felix seemed to be instructing another worker to use an electric saw to cut the wood into pieces. 

Felix was the super at the apartment complex in which they resided, but he had been hired by a local construction company to help build a new neighborhood nearby. Woodworking was more of a hobby for him, but he was well known in the community for his craftsmanship and the company thought it might be helpful to have a fresh set of eyes on their work. Big projects like this weren’t his regular occupation, but it was an opportunity to learn something new and earn a little extra money, so he accepted the job with enthusiasm. 

Tamora smiled as she watched him work; she recognized the look of quiet focus on his face as he used a large electric screwdriver to connect the exterior wall to one of the beams. He had taken off his shirt, and she could see the places where his sweat had soaked through the sleeveless undershirt he was wearing. She couldn’t lie, seeing him exert himself like this had a tiny spark of arousal stirring within her. 

“Who does he think he is, telling Greene what to do?” she heard nearby.

“I don’t know why they brought him on in the first place,” another man replied.

She turned her head and saw a small group of workers sitting under a tree getting a drink of water and—apparently—gossiping about her husband.

“Exactly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” someone agreed. “Probably couldn’t pick up the jackhammer if he tried.”

The group laughed and Tamora’s blood boiled. Even from this distance, she could see the underlying muscle tone in his arms and back that lie beneath his soft exterior. Maybe Felix didn’t fit the antiquated definition of masculinity that his peers ascribed to, but she had never thought him less of a man for it. Their dismissive and downright mean attitudes were almost enough for her to give them a piece of her mind, but she held back, knowing Felix didn’t like the sort of confrontation that such an affront was bound to cause. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and stewed in silence.

“Hey there, miss,” she heard from behind her. “Can I help you?”

She turned and saw one of the crew members waggling his eyebrows at her. He was sprawled out on the ground as he lounged beneath the tree and there was a certain amusement in his eyes that made Tamora want to slap the arrogant smile right off of his face.

“No,” she answered, turning back around.

“Aww, come on,” he replied. “Don’t you want a real man to show you around?”

“I’ve got a man, thank you,” came her curt reply. “Besides, I don’t see any real men over here.”

The rest of the group laughed at their friend’s expense as Tamora turned away from them once more. She was contemplating approaching Felix in order to avoid saying or doing something she would later regret, but in that moment he finally turned to wipe the sweat from his brow and noticed her standing there. His face lit up in an instant as they locked eyes.

“Tammy Jean!” he called out to her.

Tamora’s frown relaxed into a smile as they locked eyes. He ran over to her, removing his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket so that he could hold her hands as soon as he was close enough to do so.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in cheerful disbelief. 

“I finished my errands a little early and I wanted to see you,” she said, giving his hands a squeeze. “I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.”

“There’s no such thing as a bad time to see you,” he said with a grin. He leaned up to give her a kiss.

Around them, they could hear the murmurs of the crowd as they gawked in disbelief.

“No way,” someone said.

“This has to be a joke. There’s no way he is nailing that.”

“That pipsqueak doesn’t even know what to do with a piece of ass like that.”

Their jabs may have been quiet, but Felix and Tamora heard them loud and clear. She could see the sudden discomfort in his body language, the way his smile faltered just slightly as their words met his ears. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private?” he asked.

She nodded and he led her inside the frame of the house. Most of the house was incomplete, but there was one room that had all four walls, and Felix pulled aside the tarp that covered the doorway and followed her in.

“We just finished this room today,” he said. “I know it doesn’t look like much yet.”

“It’s pretty big,” she commented. “How swanky is this place going to be when it’s all said and done?”

“I’d describe it as medium swank,” he said. “Three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms. Nicer than most, but not too over-the-top.”

“Good. I was worried we’d have a bunch of new neighbors driving Escalades and putting little sweaters on their dogs,” she chuckled. “I can work with medium swank.”

He gazed at her, reflecting on how lucky he was to be with her. Little moments like these, moments when they laughed and joked with one another, always reminded him how much he loved her.

“I’m really happy to see you, Tammy,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said with a tender smile.

“Gettin’ a visit from you today was a nice surprise,” he said. “The fellas outside sure seemed surprised when they realized who you were.”

Tamora nodded in agreement while trying her best not to bring up what had happened outside. Before long, she found herself unable to hold the words back.

“Do you always let them talk about you like that?” Tamora asked.

“It doesn’t bother me any,” he said with a shrug. “I know what people think when they see us together. And I know you’re way out of my league.”

He gave her a small grin as he nudged her arm.

“Felix, I’m being serious,” she said, though she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“So am I,” he replied, taking her hand. “They see me standing next to you and they think it doesn’t make any sense, but it makes perfect sense to us. Let them talk. We know the truth.”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked. “What’s the truth, then?”

“The truth is that I am crazy in love with you,” he said, pulling her close and reaching for her other hand, “and I’m fairly certain you feel the same way.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” she teased.

“The truth is nothin’ makes me happier than being around you,” he said with a smile, “and nothing makes my heart beat faster than a kiss from you.”

He closed the gap between them and kissed her, allowing it to linger for a few heated seconds before breaking the connection.

“The truth is,” he murmured, and Tamora could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke, “I really wish we were at home with some privacy right now.”

He kissed her again, releasing her hands to snake his arms around her waist instead. It was Tamora who broke the kiss this time.

“Funny you should mention that,” she said, and he could see the glint of mischief in her eye.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some crazy idea cookin’ up in that head of yours.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not interested,” came her coy reply.

“My lunch break is only an hour, you know,” he pointed out.

“That’s plenty of time for what I’ve got in mind,” she said.

“Oh yeah?” he asked. Tamora bit her lip and grinned as she nodded in response. “Care to enlighten me?”

“That corner over there looks pretty inviting,” she said, tilting her head toward the empty corner in the back of the room.

“The corner? Tammy, there’s nothin’ but hard cement and plywood over there,” he said, eyeing her with a quizzical expression. “I thought maybe you wanted to take the truck to one of the wooded areas nearby and—”

“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere,” she said, taking his hands and backing up toward the corner, dragging him along with her.

“But how—?”

His question came to an abrupt stop as Tamora pressed her back against the wall and yanked him forward. He braced himself against the wall and his face landed barely an inch from hers. She looked into his eyes and he could see the desire smoldering from within her brilliant blue irises. The sight stirred up a warm tingle in his belly just as it always did. Five years of marriage had done nothing to diminish the hunger he so often felt for her; if anything, their deepening connection only made him want her more. As he lost himself in her gaze, he could see the wheels turning in her mind.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur.

“You’re not what they say you are. They act like you’re weak but that’s not true,” she said. “I have half a mind to go back out there and tell them what I think about their opinions.”

“Tammy,” he scolded gently.

“But you’re right. It doesn’t matter what they think, because I know the truth about you.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“The truth is, you’re a better man than any of them will ever be,” she said.

“You think so?” he asked as he reached for hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.

“I know so,” she answered.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and couldn’t stop himself from letting his lips wander to her jaw, where he continued lavishing her with attention.

“The truth is, you’re really good at that,” she sighed as his languid affection found its way to her neck.

“Well, you’ve given me lots of practice,” he replied, and she felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin.

“The truth is, watching you use power tools out there turned me on a lot more than I thought it would,” she said.

A rush of desire spread through her body at the memory. Goosebumps ran across her flesh, causing her nipples to harden within the confines of her bra. With every breath she got a delicious bit of friction as her body moved against the fabric, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She grabbed Felix’s hand and pressed it against her breast, humming with pleasure as he took the hint and fondled her over her shirt.

“So that’s all it takes to get you hot and bothered, huh?” he teased. “All that time I spent tryin’ to figure out what makes you tick when all I needed to do was bust out my power drill.”

She reached down between them and rubbed her palm against the small bulge that had made an appearance in the front of his jeans.

“The drill you’ve got is perfectly fine,” she replied.

“So that’s what you want, huh?”

Tamora nodded and reached for his belt.

“I feel like I should remind you that we’re at an active construction site right now,” he said.

“Okay,” was her nonchalant response.

“And the only thing stopping someone from seeing us is the tarp over the doorway,” he said.

“I don’t care,” she replied.

“Okay,” he shrugged. “As long as we’re on the same page.”

He kissed her and his hands slid down to her hips. He pulled her flush against him and she could feel his erection as he pressed his body against hers. She unzipped his jeans and reached inside, pulling him free from the denim. His moans were muffled into her mouth as she began stroking him, but as she held him in her hand she could feel that he wasn’t where she wanted him yet. That was no problem—she had an idea that was sure to rile him up.

Stroking the male ego had never been a priority for Tamora—if anything, the opposite was true—but this was different. She needed Felix to know that he was everything she needed in a man, despite what others said. It was a strange mix of emotions, arousal and anger and a need to prove to him that she still wanted him more than anything. While he hadn’t given her any cause to believe that he doubted her desire, she remembered the insecurity he felt at the beginning of their relationship. They had come a long way since then, and the last thing she wanted was for him to return to that place.

“You know, I wasn’t planning on doing this when I came here today,” she said, her voice low.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked. “You got here and just couldn’t resist my rugged manliness?”

He gave her a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned her shorts.

“Something like that,” she replied with a smile. “I was shocked when I saw you without your shirt on. You’re always so put together, it’s kind of hot to see you undone.”

His hand slipped down between her legs and his fingers got busy stroking her over her underwear.

“Mm, and the way you took charge out there,” she sighed. “Those boys act so tough, but you’re the only one who knows how to get the job done.”

His lips were on her neck and she felt him exhale a shaky breath against her skin.

“They think they know what a man is, but they have no clue,” she said. His hand made its way beneath the fabric of her underwear and his cock hardened in her grip the moment his fingers met the wet heat between her legs. “Luckily, my man’s got it all figured out.”

“Tammy...” he said, the word escaping on a breathy moan.

“You know what I want?” she asked. “I want you to pick me up and pin me against this wall.”

Tamora released her grip on him and slid out of her shorts. The rest, she knew, would need to stay on in case they were caught in the act. While it wasn’t a regular part of their routine, they had done this sort of thing more than a few times and had their fair share of close calls. Over the years, they came up with a few essential guidelines to help prevent being seen, one of which was to keep as many layers on as possible; this way they could dress quickly if someone were to come into the room. 

Felix reached for her hips and gave her backside a firm squeeze before sliding her underwear over to the side. Any semblance of logic or reason had long since vacated his mind; he was running on pure, unadulterated lust now. He pressed the tip of his erection into her folds and pushed himself inside her, biting his lip to keep his voice down. Tamora hooked one of her legs around him and he picked her up, keeping a firm grip on her thighs. It took a moment of adjustments to get comfortable, but things got moving quickly. He rocked into her as she wrapped her legs around his back, and she leaned her head back against the wall and watched him.

The disheveled, unkempt look he was sporting aroused her beyond belief, and watching him come even more undone as passion overcame him only made the feeling more intense. He leaned forward and left messy kisses on her neck and collarbone, occasionally pressing his face into her chest to muffle his small sounds of pleasure. Once his kisses reached the collar of her shirt, he whined as he realized that he had no use of his hands in this position, which left him unable to remove the obstacles between his mouth and her breasts. Tamora chuckled as she caught on to his struggle.

“I really shouldn’t take them off, you know that,” she said with a soft smile of amusement.

“I know,” he pouted. “But normally I can at least pull things out of the way enough to give you something. I know how much you like it.”

“Well, if you insist,” she teased.

She pulled her shirt up and her bra to the side, just enough to reveal one of her breasts to him. Felix dove right in, lavishing her with enthusiastic attention. Her free hand gripped his hair and held him in place as he brought her nipple into his mouth and sucked on the small bud. His lips and tongue worked the sensitive spot just right, and her toes curled as she let out an involuntary moan. He pulled his face out of her chest and looked up at her with a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Voices down, remember?” he said with a grin. “We can’t have anyone finding us like this. I could get fired.”

“Let them find us. I think the general public could learn a thing or two from watching,” she replied. “Besides, this is just a temp job anyway.”

“That may be true,” he said, “but do you really want anyone spoiling our good time?”

“I don’t know, I think a captive audience might be kind of fun,” she said.

“That’s where we disagree,” he responded, looking up at her with a wild, untamed lust burning in his eyes. “I want you all to myself.”

A passionate frenzy took over him then, and he leaned up for a hungry kiss as his thrusts gained momentum. Tamora wrapped her legs even tighter around him and pulled him close by the shoulders. Felix took a step forward, leaving no space between them. Her nails clawed their way up his shoulder blades as she sought out something to cling to—something to keep her grounded as pleasure pounded through her in waves. His groan of delight was muffled against her mouth, and he broke the kiss to look into her eyes.

“I wish I could touch you right now,” he murmured, and his breathing was ragged as he pressed a few tender kisses along her jawline.

A seductive grin played at her lips as she reached down and ran her fingers over her clitoris. A shiver coursed through him as she let out a quiet moan. He directed his attention down between them where she had begun gently rubbing circles over the top of her folds.

“T—... Tammy,” he gasped, panting for breath as he struggled to keep his arousal in check.

While he took pride in being able to please her with his touch, no one knew her body better than she did. She took the same no-nonsense attitude she used in her daily life and applied those same principles while pleasuring herself. Never one to waste time, she got straight down to business, and the sight never failed to turn Felix on beyond belief. Watching her like this could easily bring him to his knees—it had in the past—but he did his best to remain strong until she was satisfied.

His struggle was short-lived as he felt her body begin to tremble. He looked up and saw Tamora bite her lip to suppress a moan as she brought herself closer to the edge. One hand still had a firm hold on his shoulder, and her nails bit into his skin. He could feel his arms growing weaker by the second as his body gave itself over to pleasure, but he was determined to finish things where they had started. In her eyes, he was strong enough to support and please her, and he was going to deliver on that belief.

Felix leaned into her, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck as she rolled her hips against him. Each thrust brought them a notch closer to release, and they sped up in the hopes of reaching that peak. It was Tamora who reached it first, her nails scraping at his shoulder as she rode out each delectable wave. He could feel her walls pulsating around his cock as her orgasm died down, and her breathing was labored as she struggled to remain quiet. Watching her experience that bliss and knowing he was at least partially responsible for it never failed to tip him over the edge, and before he knew it he was seeing stars as ecstasy took hold of him. The only word that came to his mind was her name, which he uttered in whispers and quiet moans until the wick of his passion had finally burned out.

Still breathless, he craned his neck to kiss her. He felt a sudden, desperate need to feel her lips on his, as though he needed the sensation to survive. She responded with enthusiasm, teasing him with her tongue, and he relished the taste of her mouth as they came down from the high. They were still breathing heavily when their connection was broken, and they took a moment to collect themselves before locking eyes.

“You know,” he panted, “I do have power tools at home, too.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “I think I’ll just visit you at work more often.”

“That’s fine by me,” he said with a smile.

They shared a tender kiss before he set her back down on the ground. The muscles in his arms ached once they were free of the weight, and he made a discreet attempt to stretch them out. Tamora took notice and reached for one of his arms.

“Sore?” she asked.

“A little,” he answered. “I’d say it’s worth it, though.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find a way to help you relax tonight,” she said. “A hot bath, maybe a massage.”

“That does sound nice,” he said. 

“We can’t have you straining your muscles,” she said. “Then you won’t be ready for next time.”

“Next time?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh yeah. I’ve got plans for every room in this house,” she answered. “What room is this supposed to be, anyway?” 

“The kitchen,” Felix replied, stuffing himself back into his pants and pulling up the zipper on his jeans.

A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she pulled her shorts back on.

“Just imagine some preppy suburban family moving in here not knowing that two random strangers had sex in their kitchen,” she chuckled.

“Well, I was thinkin’...” Felix said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her close. He rested his chin in the dip of her shoulder. “What if we were that preppy suburban family?”

“Come on, be serious,” she said with a laugh.

“I am,” he said. “Don’t you think it would be nice to move out of the apartment?”

“We can’t afford a house,” she pointed out. “Besides, you work in the apartment building.”

“I can always commute. I don’t need to live there to do my job,” he replied. “Plus, I um... I got some big news today.”

“What news?”

“They’re offering me a job. Full-time, as a supervisor,” he said. “With that kind of money, we could definitely afford to move.”

“Are you going to take it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered, and she felt him shrug. “It’s honest work and it’s good money.”

“You know, you could’ve told me that earlier,” she said with a smirk. “I doubt they’d want to promote you if they caught you having sex on the job.”

“Hey, I was off the clock,” he teased. He turned his head and kissed the side of her neck. “But seriously, Tammy. Think about it.”

“I don’t know, Felix,” she replied. “Are you sure this isn’t just the afterglow talking?”

She gave him a playful nudge.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this ever since I started this job. Then I got that offer today and it just seemed like the right time to start talking about it,” he said. “We’ve been married five years and we still live in that small apartment. I love the life we’ve shared there, but just imagine what we could do with all this space.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“With two extra bedrooms, we could have a guest bedroom and still have space for an at-home gym,” he said. “Q-Bert would have so much space to explore, and maybe we could finally get a dog.”

Tamora took a moment to envision the life Felix had described.

“Plus,” he leaned up and murmured in her ear, “if we had a house, we wouldn’t have to worry about being quiet when we make love.”

“Alright, that one was definitely the afterglow talking,” she said.

“Maybe you’re right,” he laughed. “But in all seriousness, it would be nice to know we’d never be interrupted by Gene with a noise complaint ever again.”

“That’s true,” she replied. “The last thing I want to see during sex is Gene’s mustache.”

“I’m just glad he believed us when we said we were rearranging furniture,” he said.

Felix kissed the back of her shoulder and they fell into a comfortable silence. After taking a moment to reflect on his thoughts, he spoke again.

“When I really think about it, I guess what I want is to give you a real home,” he said. “Something permanent that belongs to us. A place where we can paint the walls or tear up the carpet if we want to, because it’s ours.”

Tamora stayed silent as she contemplated his words.

“I know you’ve had a lot of instability in your life. All I want is to give you the life you deserve, one where you don’t have to worry that everything might disappear,” he said. “There’s so many things that are out of our control, but I can control this. I can build us a house that is sturdy and strong and that’s built to last. I can make sure it’s perfect for us. For you.”

She couldn’t deny the warm feeling in her chest as he spoke. His vision for their future was full of love and comfort and stability--all things she never had before she met him. It hadn’t even occurred to her how much she needed the permanence he described, but he had a way of seeing through her and digging out the vulnerabilities she tried to hide. 

“It’s a big decision. We don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said. He released his hold on her and turned her around to face him. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

She reached for his hand and he smiled as she intertwined their fingers.

“I will.”

They headed outside so that Felix could escort Tamora back to her car. As they walked out of the house together, she found that she was still angry at the way he had been treated by his coworkers. Even now, the looks of disbelief and quiet jabs that passed between them made her blood boil. She’d had about enough of this.

“I should be home around five,” he said once they reached her car, which she had parked next to his truck. He was apparently oblivious to the jeers from his colleagues as he smiled up at her. “If you get a hankerin’ for something specific for dinner, let me know. I can stop by the store on my way home.”

“Don’t make any stops,” she replied. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

The suggestive tone in her voice made him blush, and he looked down at the ground in embarrassment. Tamora tilted his chin up with her index finger and pressed a searing kiss onto his lips. He was completely at her mercy, practically melting into her as she deepened the kiss. When she broke their connection, he was red-faced and panting for breath.

“I think you should take the job,” she spoke against his lips. “I’d like to see you show these boys who’s boss.”

She pulled away from him and he leaned forward in an effort to recapture her lips. Once she was out of reach, he seemed to snap back into reality—at least enough to stand upright on his own. That dreamy, love-struck smile still adorned his face as she took a step back.

“Five o’clock,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

“Never,” he sighed.

“I love you, Felix,” she said.

“I love you too, Tammy Jean,” he replied.

His chest swelled with happiness as she turned to leave. While she had come a long way in terms of being open with her feelings, she was rarely the first to say ‘I love you,’ and she was never so vocal when they were in public. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of him, she just preferred to keep those feelings private. Hearing her announce her love for him in front of all of his colleagues made him feel like he was on top of the world. He sighed and leaned his elbows on the hood of his truck and watched her drive away with his chin in his hand. Behind him, someone gave a low whistle.

“I can’t believe that’s the Tammy Jean you haven’t stopped talking about,” one of his coworkers said. “Now I understand why.”

“Yeah, one of these days we’re gonna have to sit down and have a beer together so you can tell us how you managed that,” said another.

“I can’t believe you’re married to such a babe,” the man closest to him said. “She’s unbelievably hot. You’re a lucky man.”

“I sure am,” Felix agreed before turning around to address the small crowd that had gathered behind him. “Tamora’s beautiful, smart, and funny, and she makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. But you know what else?”

“What?” the group asked.

“She’s also a marine,” he said, and his tone became much more serious as he spoke. “And if I ever hear any of you speaking that way about my wife again, you will sorely regret it.”

He scanned the crowd, making pointed eye contact with every man there. Suddenly, his tone shifted right back to the cheerful and friendly handyman they had all been accustomed to. 

“Well, I believe I’ve got about fifteen minutes of my break left,” he said, clapping the man closest to him on the shoulder and giving him a bright smile. “If you fellas’ll excuse me, I’m going to go enjoy the lunch that my Tammy packed for me.”

The group watched in stunned confusion as Felix whistled an upbeat tune and walked back toward the house. 

“...Anybody else notice the scratch marks on his shoulders?” one of them asked.

“Those look pretty fresh,” someone else pointed out.

There was a moment of silence as they looked back and forth between Felix and the house and pieced together the information they had been given. After a few seconds of contemplation, it finally began to click.

“Yeah...” said Greene. “And that hickey was definitely not there this morning.”

[globerjk]

The Designer, Her Model and Her Hero (1)

For the ML Secret Santa @mlsecretsanta exchange. This is my gift to @chelseaapproved

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“For the millionth time Plagg, Marinette it’s just a very good friend” Adrien said exasperated. His Kuami was convinced that the boy had feelings for his classmate and was taking the opportunity to tease him once they got to the bathroom before leaving school to go to Marinette´s place for the afternoon.

According to what the little cat kept saying over and over again for the past few months, his chosen -more often than not- showed a softer side for the pigtailed girl who sat behind him at school and now that the boy had agreed, or rather offered himself as the model for her latest fashion competition, Plagg didn’t seemed able to shut up about it.

The assignment was to present a model, male or female, wearing a business casual outfit with a twitch.  The aspiring designer´s first choice had been Alya, but once he overheard them talking about it at their free period he got strangely annoyed and jump at the opportunity to volunteer as a replacement once Marinette´s bestie confirmed that she would most likely be on a trip with her family the same weekend of the event.

Marinette got a little nervous and mumble something about measurements, closeness and fittings that Adrien didn’t quite understand but with the help of an exited Alya and an amused Nino they manage to get her on board.

Marinette tried to at least convince her other friends to join her an Adrien for the first session but Alya had plans to hang out at the zoo with Nino even though he didn’t seem to have any idea about it.

“Plans for the zoo, you say?” Marinette asked.

“Yes! Important plans!” Alya answer with confidence.

“Plans your boyfriend had no idea beforehand” skepticism written all over beautiful blue bell eyes.

“What are you suggesting Marinette?” Alya said smugly “That I´m making up excuses to ditch you alone with your new model? Now why would I do that?” then turned her attention to the boys “Any guesses, Adrien?”

Adrien was taken aback and asked Marinette instead “Want me to try to come up with an answer?

“No!” Shouted Marinette

“Yes!” Said Alya at the same time so the boy turned to Nino whispering “Should I get involve?”

His friend just laugh and place a hand to his shoulder moving him from where the girls were arguing again.

“Dude, time has taught me that when they get like it’s better to just move far, far away and not get any of those girl’s attention when they argue. Believe me when I tell you that you never, ever, want to get in the middle of that and that nothing, and I mean nothing, you say is going to be the right thing to let out of your mouth”

After a hiss from Marinette and an apology from Alya they took off, each couple on a different direction. The walk to the bakery was quiet and Adrien felt like maybe he was imposing on his designer friend with this contest thing.

“I can help you look for another model if you prefer” he said once they were about to enter her building and Marinette was still as nervous as she´s been the entire walk.

“Why? You don´t want to do it anymore?” She asked with big sad eyes.

“No! It´s not that at all, I´m the one who offered, remember? It’s just that you weren’t really sure and we pressure you. Then the argument at the school steps with Alya before leaving… and you´re awfully silent since we left those two.”

She seem genuinely disappointed that he even suggested another person to help with the contest. -Does she want me or not- He thought -she is definitely giving me mixed signals-

“I´m sorry. I was just… umm... Just... Distracted” She hurried to reassure him

“Distracted?”

“Yeah… thinking about… umm… alterations! Alterations to the design because I have cero time to start from scratch so I´m keeping the original design I had for Alya that I loved. Now I have to make it a good fit for your masculine I mean male body” She said it all in one go and got a little fluster at the end.  They entered the front door to the bakery, said a quick hello to her parents and went upstairs to start working.

Once she began adapting her concepts for a boy´s body and showing him her ideas something occurred to him.  It could be distracting for the judges if they knew he was a professional, not to mention what the other contestants may assume given that he was also the heir to a fashion empire, so they agreed that in order to make this all about the design and not the famous guy wearing it, the twitch in the project should be a fashionable mask.  Marinette´s first suggestion was to make it Chat Noir´s stile, but sensing Adrien´s discomfort she rapidly discarded the sketch, or rather saved it for another occasion.  It was a great design after all and she was very fond of the Cat super hero.

“I´m sure you can come up with something different, Marinette. You are really talented… I mean, look at this sketches and it’s only been a week since you started working on them for Alya” Adrien said to a blushing Marinette while admiring the first drafts for the alterations.

“T-thanks Adrien, I guess is better to go with something completely original for the mask as well.  Something that doesn’t make you look like someone else but rather something inspired by you” Marinette answer trying to minimize her stutter and then added in a low voice “and you are plenty inspiring”

“What?” Adrien turned to look at her.

“What?!” she panicked

“I´m sure I heard you say something else”

“No you didn´t” She said with a high pitch voice.

“Okay, I must be imagining things” He dismissed, smiling and returning his attention to her design book.

Marinette let out a sigh and resume her search for types of masks on her tablet.  She didn’t remember to change her computer home screen so turning that device on was in no case an option near this particular visitor.

She actually unplugged it just to be sure it wouldn’t activate by accident.

The rest of the afternoon was relatively calm, as where the other days they got together to resume her work.  Marinette found it easier to be around Adrien when focused on her project, so even the day when she had to actually touch him for measurements, they survived with minimal blushing and stuttering from both.

The mask she ended up making covered almost all of his face, leaving just his right eye on display which, according to the judges, was one of the most interesting parts of the garment.  She also gained extra points for originality since most of the other contestants went with different mixes of denim and formal fabric (denim shirt and black slacks or denim pants with suit jackets).  Marinette opted for a look more on edge, having a trending journalist as her first inspiration and a young hot model as her second.

The attire was what could be described as simple but chick and could easily be worn every day.  Adrien did the catwalk that day in a white form fitting white polo shirt with black skinny trousers and a simple but elegant leather jacket at hand that he put on at the end of the road.

She won the first place. 

---

“You know kid… at this point I’m going to need some proof” The black cat resumed the teasing while eating what felt like the must smelly cheese known to men.

“You keep saying that she’s just your friend, but I could sense the love in the air since you gave her your umbrella. And that was like three whole years ago”

“It was pouring outside and we happened to have a ride home, she didn’t” Adrien defended while cleaning the excess of makeup he used to disguise the one eye he had on display for the contest.

“She lives across the street from school, but whatever” Plagg continued unimpressed “Anyway… you ditched Kagamy on your first date to help Marinette up when she felt on the ice and then went running after her, followed her to the bathroom, even though she had her own date there”

“I... I ran after a friend upset. That’s how friendship works, you should try it sometime” The boy turned to poke on the cats little belly

“Again, I will need some prove. You kept trying to date fencing girl and somehow always got back to your soft looks directed to the baker.  After today? Nothing you say will make me change my mind” Plagg insisted

“She won, I was next to her as her model! Would you have want me to ignore her and not congratulate her? I was right there and just…”

“And just have to get so overly excited?” Adrien was interrupted “You carry her and turned in circles with her on your arms… her feet didn’t touch the floor for at least half a minute there” The smirk in Plagg´s expression could be even overheard.

“It was a big contest! This can open all kinds of doors for Marinette, so what if I was happy for her… Of course I care about Mari, she is my friend”

“If you call her your friend one more time I’m going to scream” The Kwami said “Just for my sanity and I believe for your happiness, go and try to prove me wrong”

“Okay! I’ll go and prove it to you. Plagg transform me” Adrien roared already in his transformation pose.

“I didn’t mean right now….” Plagg snarled as he was suctioned to the ring.

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Blood Spatter - Part 1

It’s the shrill and frantic screaming of a phone that abruptly interrupts the dreamless dark of my sleep. Thundering jackhammers valiantly try to drown out the sound with blinding pain in my head.

“Fuck, shut the fuck up,” I growl, pawing around wildly for the location of my phone until I somehow coincidentally manage to hit the answer button. “What?”

“Miho?” comes an urgent male voice that makes me cringe for more than one reason.

“Jesus Sebastian, stop yelling,” I hiss, covering my eyes with my forearm though the room is already dark.

“Maybe if you answered your phone when I call you, I wouldn’t have to,” Sebastian argues, his tone a blend of relief, worry and scorn. “Where the hell are you?”

For a moment I ponder this answer – I should be more concerned that I have to think about it.

“Home,” I finally determine.

“Are you sick?” he pursues. “Mieke, Kara and I opened the club without you, but that’s never happened.”

“Oh shit,” I curse, sitting up far too suddenly for the likes of my migraine. “Mmph, um… I’m sorry, I’ll…”

“Are you sick?” he repeats more seriously.

“No, I… um…”

I… um… struggling to answer that question – why am I struggling to answer that question?

“Some guy nearly hit me with his car,” I respond finally, the memory hazy. “I hit my head when I stumbled.”

“I’d ask if you’re all right, but clearly you’re not; I’m coming over,” he states, leaving no room for argument.

“Fine, you can drive me to work,” I conclude, pushing back the duvet and wriggling into a sitting position.

“We can discuss it when I arrive,” he grumbles. “Don’t do anything crazy in the meantime.”

Pfft, like I ever do anything crazy.

 There is nothing interesting about my getting ready for work routine, except that my headache wanes a little. Still, I’m sloshing some aspirin around in a glass when he buzzes my intercom.

For a few seconds I look at him on the LCD screen, admiring the strong line of his jaw, the faint hint of stubble and the fall of several dark strands of hair that constantly fall across his forehead.

I’d be lying if I didn’t think there might be a better – more fun – way to get rid of my headache’s remnants.

“Are you going to let me in?” I hear his voice through the speaker, and I break from my lascivious reverie.

“Sorry,” I apologise, though he can’t even hear me, and in what seems like a far too short time, he’s travelled up several floors and is knocking on my door.

“I’m angry with you,” are the first words from his mouth, and though he’s frowning, he’s looking me up and down with an analytical eye.

“Thanks, Dad,” I mock, turning to get my handbag, but Sebastian takes my wrist and slowly forces me to straighten.

“I’m not done checking you over yet,” he grumbles, and there’s a pout in his voice though his expression remains stern.

His hands begin on my cheeks, large hands I always feel could crush my head and yet are so incredibly gentle as they graze my skin.

“Sebastian,” I whisper in complaint – but the downward intonation of his name, and the tilt of my head against his palm, betrays my alternate agenda.

“Don’t you ‘Sebastian’ me,” he huffs, sliding his hands deliberately down my throat as he leans closer to examine a contusion on my left cheek. “You’re never late, never sick, never out of touch, and with… well…”

His sentence trails off, but I know exactly where it was going.

“I was afraid,” he admits, and I actually think he’s being serious.

This guy, who I feel has never been afraid of anything in his life, his brow is now creased, and my reflection in his sometimes-animalistic brown eyes wavers with genuine unease.

“I was afraid something had happened to you too,” he adds, shifting his weight, and when I cannot help but form a slight smile, I think I see him faintly blushing.

“As if,” I snort, slapping his chest with the back of my hand before scooping up my handbag. “I was an assassin in a past life.”

  It takes a little more convincing to get Sebastian to allow me out of my apartment, but eventually he drives me to the club – on the provision I let him drive me home after closing. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this. Though he’s come home with me plenty of times, our relationship has never been more than a mutually agreeable meeting of flesh and pleasure. The depth of his disquiet is surprising, and I’m not sure how to take it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mieke glares, the moment we enter Pale’s foyer.

“Easy, tiger,” Sebastian grunts in Mieke’s direction, then heads off to do the rounds.

“Overslept,” I tell her sheepishly, and it’s not really a lie.

“Oh yeah? Well I didn’t – I got here three hours early because Seb’s losing his shit about you not answering your phone,” she huffs, but I can tell she’s not actually mad at me. “Kara’s already doing rounds in the basement.”

“Sorry, I’ll get to work, Boss,” I smirk.

“You might want to start with Mr. Lambert in the lounge,” she suggests, and I know she sees the way I’m suddenly more focused. “Thought that’d get your attention,” she sniffs. “And tonight, believe it or not, he’s alone.”

“That’s weird,” I agree. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without a harem.”

“Right?” Mieke nods. “Go and take advantage.”

No harm in buttering up a VIP.

The man is an immaculate specimen, the kind who conveys so much with his mere presence alone. His suit is easily worth as much as the entire contents of my wardrobe, clearly custom tailored to emphasise his best physical features: and god damn, those features. They’re a sonnet of masculinity, a rousing canticle of sculpted muscle in perfect proportion.

Intimidation is not something I’m used to submitting to, but every time I’ve had cause to interact with Kiril Lambert – billionaire CEO of KeepsGuard Risk Management and Insurance – I’ve had to struggle against a tide of uncertainty and doubt.

He makes me feel small: I hate it, but affix my best smile as I approach, and bury the instinct to act meekly behind a fortified wall of self-confidence.

“With compliments of the house,” I smile, placing the tray down on Kiril’s table, before taking the uncorked bottle of very old and expensive whiskey in hand.

“It’s my understanding, you are the house,” Kiril points out blithely as he adjusts his silk tie slightly, but for a few seconds I find myself enchanted by the nonchalant motion of his hand. “So it’s you I have to thank. Join me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, but for some reason, I don’t feel offended by his assumption; I am no stranger to this type of attention in my club – without being arrogant - but in this instance, I shock myself by acting completely out of character.

Compliant.

I put it down to my headache and try to cover a grimace with graciousness.

“It’s my policy not to mix business and pleasure, Mr. Lambert,” I tell him casually, but slip into the booth opposite him nonetheless, “but since you’re Pale’s resident celebrity, I’ll make an exception.”

“Is that the only reason?” he enquires, eyes fixed on my fingertips, apparently fascinated by the way they dig into the wax sealing the amber liquid behind crystal and begin to peel it away.

“What would you like me to say?” I ask, pouring carefully into his glass before pushing it toward him.

I sense my quip is a dangerous one, but simply can’t help playing his game.

“That you’ve finally given in to your burning desire for me,” he replies: so blasé, it almost doesn’t sound like the words of a consummate playboy.

Here is a creature blessed – sublimely handsome, connected and wealthy – oh he never wants for companions.

Normally, I would scowl at such a line, but he drops it so effortlessly I actually laugh.

Then regret it.

Grimacing, I resist the urge to rub at my temples and straighten my back.

“Something wrong?” he queries, slowly coiling his fingers around the whisky tumbler.

It’s such a simple gesture and yet I find it so incredibly sexy I nearly forget my pain.

The unusual green of his gaze pierces through my attempts to appear unaffected, and though I have reassurances on my tongue, I find myself barely able to inhale, let alone form words.

“Ah, it’s just a headache,” I finally manage, and frown at how breathless I sound.

“Late night?”

At this I scoff.

“I run a club, I’m practically nocturnal,” I point out, but thinking about the night previous makes the pain increase threefold.

“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckles, “but that doesn’t explain your obvious discomfort.”

“I had a run in with… with a…” I begin, then cringe when it feels as if my brain is expanding, threatening to burst from my eye sockets.

“You look like you’re in need of a medicinal dram,” he declares, turning his glass slowly by the rim, casually observing my growing distress.

“Hm, if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be from the top shelf,” I murmur, trying to blink away the stars sparkling across my field of vision.

“Then please,” he beseeches, though the two words again sound more like an instruction, “allow me to make you feel a little better.”

Men like that don’t beg.

Ever.

Used to being propositioned in my own club by drunken idiots, I totally take it in my stride – though I find my answer uncharacteristically more flirty than is routine.

“And how might you achieve that, Mr. Lambert?” I question, tweaking a crooked smile despite the continuation of heavy drums in my head.

Before his lips even part, his eyes flicker somehow more brightly, and again I find myself transfixed by the way emerald flames seem to dance within their depths.

“Kiril,” he corrects, “and I have myriad ways.”

His voice low – the brush of velvet across my skin, and that alone seems to dull the war raging between my ears.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to call one of London’s most successful CEOs by his first name,” I point out, not that I believe in elitism.

“This successful CEO is offering it to you,” he shrugs, it being his first name, not the lewd other it that suddenly invades my mind’s eye. “But for now…”

His fingertips are cool, smooth, as he turns my right wrist over onto his palm, and I flinch at the unexpected contact.

“Close your eyes,” he orders firmly, and before the thought can even register, I’m smothered in the darkness beneath my lids. “Just breathe,” he whispers, a breath I can almost feel against my cheek though I know he is still across the table.

A shudder ripples through me, tingling that begins at the stroke of his thumb against the pale underside of my wrist, and gathers momentum up my arm.

“And that’s just my thumb, Sparrow,” I hear him say, see his lips moving and the hungry blaze of his stare though my own eyes remain closed.

But did he even speak? I can’t tell, but I respond anyway.

“Oh really?” I sniff, wanting to smirk at the boldness of his allusion, but the deepening pressure of his thumb into my skin, the tendons, warns me not to.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing against one point that for several seconds makes me feel dizzy.

Then the clattering discomfort of the marching band parading through my brain is silenced.

Everything falls silent.

The sweet jazz piano.

The quiet chatter of staff and other nearby patrons.

The clink of glassware.

Until a new rhythm emerges – faster and faster and faster, until the pounding of my heart is almost unbearable.

“How did you…” I exhale, finally opening my eyes.

Pain free, I meet him halfway, though the intensity of those penetrating meres threatens to cause my calm to crumble.

“Magic,” he smiles confidently, continuing to gently caress from my wrist, along the lifeline of my palm.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I struggle to the surface, swimming valiantly out of a verdant ocean to break eye contact and reclaim my hand.

“What the hell is going on?” I wonder, for I can feel him crawling across my skin, sliding to places hidden beneath my clothes.

I have seen him in Pale plenty of times, and while I’ve acknowledged his inexplicable beauty, always pausing in my rounds to perve discreetly, I now feel an almost overwhelming magnetism that sticks me to my seat.

But there is someone else observing us; I can feel Sebastian’s scorn as surely as if he was waggling his finger disapprovingly in my face.

“Looks like your boyfriend doesn’t like me touching his property,” Kiril snickers, taking my other hand when I look in Sebastian’s direction. “Not one to share I take it.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but I should…” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Stay,” he commands quickly, a word from his mouth before he even thinks it over; he surprises even himself, as much written in the sudden – though fleeting – change in his countenance.  

Because that makes it so much better.

“Excuse me?” I snap, and whatever hold he’d had on me shatters. “Pardon me, Mr. Lambert, I should resume my duties. Please enjoy your drink.”

He lets me go, regaining his air of self-importance, but I hear him as I walk away – am sure I am supposed to.

“I think I would, very much.”

“Fraternising with customers now?” Sebastian almost accuses, the moment I am within earshot, and I feel myself souring further.

“Any issues?” I redirect, but Sebastian has me caught in a purposeful gaze.

“Miho,” he levels. “Kiril Lambert is not someone you want to get involved with.”

“Oh yes?” I sniff, undaunted by the seriousness of his expression. “Successful, influential, wealthy, and not shy about spending his money here,” I add.

I leave off how hot Kiril is – no sense in provoking Sebastian.

Working his jaw, Sebastian stares at me, attempting maybe to transmit his disdain via telepathy.

“It’s already not my night,” I sigh, finally heading for the stairs. “Please don’t make it worse.”

Surprisingly he doesn’t follow to my office, which is just as well.

Still, it means I’m alone as I flop down behind my desk, and beyond, Jazz’s empty workstation screams out her conspicuous absence.

It just doesn’t feel right without her, and it’s not just about the physical space she should be taking up – she means so much more to me than that. Her absence is like a hole, carved right through my perception of everything; we’re sisters in all but blood, and the only family either of us have left.

“What did he do to you?” I hiss to the room, but further ponderance of Konstantin’s involvement in Jazz’s disappearance is brutally shoved away by the feeling of someone driving an ice-pick through my skull.

But that isn’t the only sensation.

Against the lacquered wood I ball my fists, leaning forward like it might make the pain less severe, but my mind is tugged in the direction of a solid collision.

The ground.

Wet under my body.

In the darkness, afraid, and barely clinging to consciousness.

Vaguely I hear a question and a name.

“Alex?”

Groaning, I blink away the vision, and through clenched teeth I breathe moist patterns against the desktop. The images, the sensations, the emotions all feel so real.

Then it’s Kiril Lambert who floats into my mind; the gentle touch of refreshingly cool skin against the flush of mine lulls some of my present affliction. Desperately I want him to caress me again, and I realise it’s not just because of the way he so easily chased away my resurging migraine.

“And that’s just my thumb, Sparrow,” I hear him purr again, and though I hate the diminutive, I cannot deny the growing knot in my stomach and the tingling warmth in places I’d like to experience his other fingers.

Resisting the urge to allow my own hands to wander, I settle for some more aspirin and paracetamol, before heading back downstairs to work.

 Adding to my pre-existing irritation, the sensitive throb of my nethers doesn’t fade as the night wears on, any more than my headache. Crossing the basement nightclub dance floor, nodding to Kara as I go, I’m afforded the occasional, incidental bump in the right spot and it sends a shudder of pleasure through my body – and though Sebastian and I have enjoyed each other’s company many times since he came to work at the club, it’s Kiril Lambert who flashes into my mind.

Avoiding him is suddenly not so easy when my feet seem to have a will of their own, but I stop in my tracks on the far side of the lounge, when I find he is now not alone.

“Of course he’s not,” I chide myself. “Come to the club and just sit there for hours alone? Him?”

No indeed. He’s surrounded by his typical entourage of slender beauties, who stroke down his lapel, touch his skin, murmur against it.

Perhaps he feels my gaze as it lingers too long, because he looks through his company at me; they don’t seem to notice he is no longer with them, as surely as if he’d gotten up and walked away.

“Feeling lonely, Sparrow?” he smirks, I see the question glow in those green pools that penetrate me so thoroughly.

And I don’t even think I mind, not that I’d ever admit it aloud.

”Ah, not lonely, something else?”

His smile grows wider with certainly as his gaze wanders down my body.

“Am I actually hearing him in my head?” I scoff at myself. “You have bigger issues to worry about than your libido.”

“Speaking of bigger things…” I hear him grin, as I turn away and force myself to shift toward the lounge bar.

Which is just as well considering the insolent flick of my hair causes a chandelier to drop and brain me: not literally, obviously, but that is certainly how it feels.

Clutching the edge of the bar, I lean against it heavily with my eyes tightly shut, and Morris the bartender is quick to show his concern – and he is not alone.

Faintly, I hear a woman yelp, then the touch of a hand against the small of my back.

“Still broken, Sparrow?” Kiril whispers into my ear, leaning a little over my shoulder.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I gasp out, trembling and unable to open my eyes.

Though Morris puts a glass of water in front of me, I don’t notice, too busy shaking, too busy glaring into the face of someone I vaguely recognise and the way his teeth are bared threateningly.

“Where is she?” I hiss, losing my legs to slump back into Kiril’s arms, whimpering pathetically.

“What did you do?” Sebastian barks, and his voice rings in my ears as he rushes up to pull Kiril away by the shoulder.

Kiril’s response is to slap Sebastian’s hand away, but he neither confirms or denies his involvement in my debilitated state.

Had I not been just about ready to empty my stomach on any available pair of shoes, I might have wondered at the ferocity of their accusatory glares, that, and the origin of the prevailing notion in my mind – both a source of agony and truth.

“Alex knows where Jazz is!” I exclaim breathlessly, but the moment the sentence is from my mouth I want to curl into a ball. “Fuck me…”

“Another night, perhaps,” I vaguely hear Kiril murmur.

“Back up,” Sebastian commands savagely, and I feel his arms close in around me.

So warm, but there is something I suddenly miss about delightful prickle of cool skin, and from Sebastian’s embrace I blink away tears to fix my watery gaze upon Kiril once more.

“Where’s Alex?” I hiss, but my body is suddenly exhausted, and I collapse against Sebastian’s chest.

To this I get no answer, not that I could actually process it if I had.

All I want is for the evening to swallow me completely, to wrap me in darkness that steals away the terrible vortex of torment tearing my brain to shreds.

 __________

 With refined detachment, Kiril watched Sebastian easily sweep Miho into a princess carry, but he found himself captivated by the limp swing of her arm when the other man stepped away. Crushing a surprisingly tenacious desire to snatch Miho away like a jealous dog over a bone, he instead watched Pale’s head of security disappear with his prize, without stirring further.

He was by no means oblivious to Miho’s amateur – though by no means insignificant - investigation into the disappearance of her business partner; he was aware she’d ruffled many feathers by shouting out the name Konstantin in places she was sure she’d be heard.

Oh, she’d been heard.

Smirking, Kiril didn’t even bid farewell to his vacuous company, and left Pale without a fuss, pressing his phone lightly to his ear.

“Ah cousin dear,” he drawled, his free hand in his pocket as he strolled down the street. “I love what you’ve done with that problem from last night.”

There was a short silence, before a female voice responded.

“Are you following up?” she queried and didn’t sound especially impressed about it. “You?”

“Pure happenstance,” he shrugged, even though his cousin could obviously not see him. “I heard the girl nearly got herself killed by one of Konstantin’s fanboys.”

“What’s your angle, Kiril?” she asked suspiciously. “Why the interest?”

“We both know full well she’s hunting for Konstantin because he’s abducted her friend,” he responded – because abduction was no big deal. “What I don’t know, Narumi, is why you didn’t erase her desire to find him.”

“You don’t think her sudden disinterest in the location of her business partner and best friend would be a little suspicious?” Narumi volleyed, and Kiril could tell she was annoyed – just as she always became annoyed when he challenged her. “Especially to the likes of Sebastian Ross.”

“Oh yes, and he is very interested in her, a real knight in shining armour,” Kiril chuckled, stopping at an intersection to wait for traffic.

“Don’t provoke him, Kiril; I don’t need the headache,” Narumi sighed, and Kiril got the impression of her rubbing her temples. “For once it’s Konstantin causing a stir, and unless you want Konrad on the warpath, just stay out of this and let me handle it.”

The mention of Konrad caused Kiril’s top lip to peel back in a sneer.

“Where is Konstantin and his little friend?” he grated between his teeth, stepping – no, stalking – across the road.

“I haven’t located them yet,” Narumi admitted. “He’s doing a remarkable job of concealing himself.”

“Remarkable, isn’t that him just all over,” Kiril huffed, abruptly taking the hand of a passing woman.

She looked at him quizzically, before smiling and staring wordlessly: starry-eyed.

“If you find him before I do,” he continued into his phone, leading the woman along with him, “tell him I said hi.”

“Just stay out of this,” Narumi warned. “I mean i…”

But Kiril hung up and tucked his phone away, focusing on his present company.

“Hungry?”

__________

 In the darkness of my apartment, I’m alone again with Sebastian. Murmuring a mixture of concern and how much trouble I am, he helps me to the bedroom and sits me down on the end of the bed.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says in a low voice, his hand still resting on my shoulder. “Think you can get undressed by yourself?”

There is nothing untoward about his question, not even a hinting undercurrent of lust; he could take advantage, but he doesn’t – that’s the kind of man he is.

“It’s not so bad anymore,” I reply, slowly sliding the jacket from my shoulders.

No sudden moves just the same.

“I’d say you’re working too hard, but I know that’s in your nature, so, what’s going on?” he questions, and though it’s dim I can see him frowning. “In the year and a half I’ve known you, you’ve never had so much as a sniffle.”

“There is the whole best friend missing and nearly getting run over thing,” I point out a little snappishly, but it’s a measure of my low tolerance levels rather than any actual anger I have toward him. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, I don’t know – I just have this terrible feeling something horrible has happened Jazz, that I’m so close to finding her but she’s just beyond me reach.”

Blinking, I find my cheeks wet again, and Sebastian gently wipes his thumbs across my cheeks.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, and though he’s a seriously impressive looking man, this inquiry leaves his lips unsure, tentative.

If I was able to think more clearly, I would certainly challenge him; though we care for one another as friends, he made it clear very early on our relationship beyond that was just physical: a way for us to relieve some of the tension in our lives without romantic entanglements and all the obligations that come with. He has never stayed and never asked to, always leaving when we’re both satisfied.

Saying yes might lead to something I don’t need, but I know right now I don’t want to be alone.

My chin drops forward before lifting again, and the warmth of his palm cupping one cheek is a reassurance I’m grateful for.

“Okay,” he smiles simply, crouching a moment to unzip my boots and slide them away. “Hop into bed, I’ll get you that water and be right back.”

Sighing, I undress to my panties and slip a t-shirt on – normally Sebastian wouldn’t get to see such a thing, the Miho ‘home-body’ in her unflattering night clothes, but it’s not something I worry about.

What I want is to be held, and stroked, and told everything will be okay – that I’ll wake up tomorrow and Jazz will be back, no harm done, and this blasted headache will be long gone.

Wordlessly upon his return, Sebastian strips down to his underwear and joins me beneath the duvet, leaving me no time to appreciate the stirring cut of his physique. Instead, I settle for the strong coil of his arms around me, and snuggle against his firm chest, inhaling slowly.

“Just close your eyes,” he whispers into my hair, but it’s not his voice I hear.

Kiril Lambert.

His are the fingers weaving softly through my hair, his breath against the side of my head, his ankles entwined with mine. Just as it had, sitting across from him in the booth with my wrist in his grip, the pain my skull abates, and I am left with a slowly growing ball of tension in my stomach.

“You okay?” Sebastian queries, leaning his head back.

My answer is to kiss him, a slow and searching notion, probing for interest.

The tense of his body and then the smooth of his hands down to the small of my back is his response, but he ends the dance of our tongues.

“I don’t think this is what you need right now,” he tells me, but his body is already telling me what he needs.

“I don’t want to think,” I hiss, my voice a little hoarse, and his response to the trail of my fingers to the band of his boxer briefs and beneath is to clench his jaw. “So get naked and fuck me.”

These words are the kind of vulgar imperative I might use in a moment of passion to provoke him, not the kind of thing one says while vulnerable; but I can’t help it, I suddenly need it.

Also surprised he hesitates, but not for long when I palm him firmly and bite into his lower lip, at which point Kiril takes hold of the hem of my t-shirt and tears it all the way to my throat.

Yep.

It’s Kiril Lambert’s weight I feel pressing over me, and into me not long after, his shoulder-blades I’m digging my fingernails into and his hips my legs are wrapped around. Gentle at first, I feel he doesn’t want to hurt me but is definitely holding back – he needs encouragement, and my teeth sinking into the taut flesh of his shoulder and the arch of my body to deepen our contact provides this.

The night is a heavy blanket that hides us from each other’s sight, but through the fierce thrust and grab, and the heady thickness of panting breaths and desirous moans, I can clearly see the ravenous depths of Kiril’s gaze by which I am willingly consumed.

PART 2