#conversation and self-disclosure do not come naturally to me

[britneyshakespeare]

David Copperfield describes flirting from the perspective of an alien

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi! Tips on how to not say much? I’m a huge chatter box and find myself over explaining with no remorse. I can’t stand the quiet due to the environment I grew up in, the person was a narcissist that forced me to continuously speak around them because they’re extroverted and hate the quiet. So now I’m stuck with this habit as an adult.

Hi love! It's great to hear that you're so self-aware and understand the source of your oversharing tendencies. Acceptance is an important first step for sustainable behavior change.

I would say some general rules to follow include:

Ask questions before adding new information: Make use of follow-up questions to enrich a conversation before sharing your personal opinions or anecdotes. This practice allows you to remain engaged, appear interested in the other person's thoughts and experiences, and provides you some more time to decide what information you feel comfortable/appropriate to expose.

Consider the nature and depth of your relationship: Contextualize every conversation as social, professional, introductory, familial, friendly, or intimate (with friends, partners, or trusted family members). Decide on what topics or levels of self-disclosure you think (or know) are appropriate for each type of relationship. Unless it's an intimate – or at least friendly – relationship, never say anything you would be displeased with other connections hearing about. Act as though your sentiments could be displayed on social media for others to see. If you wouldn't text it, don't disclose it. Consider making a "do's" and "don'ts" list of potential conversation topics before heading to an outing, event, or conversational setting if it helps to ease your anxiety.

Find ways to transmute this communication, but make it self-referential: Journal your thoughts as a stream-of-consciousness exercise or as though you’re speaking to a close friend. Draft a document that reads like a short dissertation on a topic that you would love to talk endlessly about but know would be a disservice to your reputation or mysterious allure if you shared it with someone else (an embarrassing story, details of a work fiasco, sex stories, a fight with a family member/romantic partner, a hot take or controversial opinion on a polarizing topic, etc.). Write anything that comes to mind. You can even create a voice memo as a mini-podcast to yourself to get your feelings out.

For more tips, I've linked by guide on how to stop oversharing and remain a bit more "mysterious" in conversations.

Hope this helps xx

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[existslikepristin]

Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

[catrasredemption-moved]

Just wanted to say this because of the Catra redemption talk: My abuser had been the victim of long term, severe and complex abuse. They were very young when they took on the enormous responsibility of managing my family. They ignored their own true needs and mental health and subsequently continued the cycle largely to feel more powerful and in control when they were actually hanging on by a thread, sound familiar?

Learning to like Catra was a struggle for me, but she’s now one of my favourite characters. If not my most favourite. Why? Because she made the choice to be better. She reached out even when she knew people had every reason to reject her. She did as much as she could to really look at herself and listen and think about how she needed to change. It wasn’t for power or control or to stick it to someone, but because she had wants and needs and was able to allow herself to be vulnerable enough to address them honestly. She started to show who she truly was, playful, protective and true to her values. If you know what to look for, these things are demonstrated with meticulous detail. Especially her recovery being a difficult process of two steps forward and one step back.

Healing relationships where abuse has been present is difficult. Often impossible. Forgiving someone who has been abusive to you is a personal decision and frequently based on the quality or depth of the relationship before the abuse started. But someone who genuinely works on themselves and starts to change should be given the time and space to do so. They aren’t owed relationships with the people they hurt, but we, the abused, have every right to allow them back into our lives if we feel safe enough to take the chance. That’s why I forgave Catra. I wanted to give her the chance and she didn’t disappoint me. That’s why I support other people forgiving her, even after everything she did.

This was a very nice, if somewhat bittersweet ask to get at the end of the night. I’m going to continue under the cut,but basically, lots of talk with my own abusive experiences.

My mom and stepfather gaslighted me for most of my life. Made me feel like an inconvenience, like a leech that just sucked life and money out of them, like I was worthless because I couldn’t contribute, to the point where I am now married and still worry about “wasting” food (wasting being eating food).

While still living with them, I got into a relationship with a girl. Let’s call her V. She was... complicated. We found out later she had undiagnosed and untreated borderline personality disorder, and it made her downright vicious. She’d lash out at me if I was out of contact for more than five minutes, even if I was at work or spending time with friends. And none of this was out of nowhere - she was also emotionally and psychologically abused by her parents.

Full disclosure, I was in love with V, and I kept giving her chances. We broke up four times in the span of a year, always initiated by her pushing me away before I could leave her, then coming back a few months later, usually after catching up to see how I’m doing on Tumblr, then initiating conversation. She’d acknowledge how terrible she was, apologize, promise to change, to be better again.

Our last and by far messiest breakup was April 2015, mostly because I finally grew a backbone and told her I was tired of her fucking games, and to never contact me again. I blocked her everywhere I could think of and cut off any access she might have to me. I even changed my tumblr url just so she couldn’t accidentally find me again. I knew this was the final final final final breakup, and I was exhausted and depressed, and felt like I was going to be alone forever.

Fast forward to October, I’m tentatively dating a new girl - call her Shai - and I have vague hopes that maybe she’ll work out. She’s smart and she���s funny and she already knows my last relationship broke me, and she’s willing to take it slow.

Then one day I get an email from V, because of course email is the one thing I didn’t think to block. She was writing to let me know that she was trying to get her shit together, she was on medication, she was going to therapy, she was building a support system that wouldn’t be on one person’s shoulders. So I gave her a chance. I told her I had a girlfriend and that I would, under no circumstances, consider dating her again. She understood. She still understands. We’re still friends now, five years later. Because she for real, actually put the work in to try and be a better person. Shai - now my wife - knows I’m friends with her and is supportive, because she also knows what it’s like to be a deep dark hole that almost drives everyone away, so as long as V doesn’t fuck with me, we’re good.

And to be clear, I was no angel during those miserable four attempts at a relationship. Especially toward the end I started getting angry and lashing out and standing up for myself.

And, like you, I think this is why I appreciate Catra as a character so much. Because I’ve seen the real time struggle of someone who just doesn’t know how to take care of herself and handle her emotions, and how absolutely self-destructive that can be. But Catra takes that first step forward and tries. And Adora accepts her, for all her mistakes, and all her flaws, and cares so deeply for her. And if Adora wants to forgive her, then good. It just goes to show how unbreakable their friendship really is

PS - V and I still talk. Usually random two-line conversations here and there, but they’re funny and nice and natural and feel like friendship. She’s still working so hard every day to be a better person. And I see so much of her in Catra, so I might be a little biased. Catra’s trying, and Adora wants to help her try. and... honestly, I feel like that’s the moral of the story. If someone truly wants to change, you can choose to shut the door your mental health, and that’s fine. Or you can reach out and give the person another chance. It’s all your choice.

Anyway my meds have kicked and now I’m really tired so I hope some ounce of this made sense. Thank you for ending my night with this, though

[yandere-daydreams]

Hello void, I will happily surrender my remaining right if I can just have some bastard todoroki and protective Bakugo.

It’s really just their natural states of existence, and while there’s nothing I can do about that, they’re nothing I want to do about it, either. Chaotic is their default setting, and I don’t plan on questioning that.

TW: Slight Dehumanization, Learned Helplessness, Mentions of Death, and Imprisonment.

~

There was still a layer of frost coating Katsuki’s shoulder, if you looked closely.

You couldn’t tell if he was purposefully ignoring it, refusing to give Shoto the satisfaction of seeing him shiver, or if his body temperature was naturally high enough for him to ignore the remaining ice he’d been pelted with. It soaked into your hoodie as you clung to his arm (Katsuki’s hoodie, rather – you’d been forced into it as soon as the chaos had died down), attempting to hide behind his bicep, pulling your legs onto the loveseat when that failed to make you feel as small as you needed to. Usually, you didn’t try to be this… touchy, but it wasn’t like you had a choice, in this situation.

You could still feel his hand around your wrist, his eyes burning into you, his fingers bruising your skin as he refused to let you budge. It’d been after the fight, after Shoto made his discovery, before this ‘sit down’. He’d told you not to talk to Shoto, not to agree with Shoto, not to do so much as look at the intruder, not unless Katsuki said it was alright. A threat hadn’t been included, but it was implied. You’d been shut in that closet far too many times not to know what would happen if you disobeyed him.

But, your curiosity still got the best of you. Enough to listen when Shoto broke the frigid silence.

“So, collateral damage was the best thing you could think of?” Shoto’s tone was flat, unaffected, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. It was genuine, even if Katsuki’s discontent growing more evident at the comment. “I mean, Support Heroes die all the time in natural disasters. One dying in a terrorist attack they wouldn’t have even been called to just seems… fake, y’know? Like a conspiracy or something.” He scanned over you, briefly. “I guess it was, though.”

“I didn’t plan it, moron,” Katsuki disregarded, crossing his arms and stripping you of your defenses, leaving you to lean into his side for any kind of a shield. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see this idiot run head-first into falling rubble,” He explained, nodding in your direction. “And you didn’t have to reset the dislocated arm they got, afterward. You didn’t have to lug their unconscious body back to somewhere safe, either. Anyone would’ve done the same thing. I was just doing my job.”

Shoto nodded, understandingly. “It’s your job to kidnap injured Heroes, now?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ice-For-Brains.” Without warning, a hand shot out, dragging you into his lap and bringing you front-and-center, despite Katsuki’s prior warnings. You reacted off instinct, burying your face in his shirt and turning your back to Shoto, but it didn’t seem to matter. Even with your vision obscured, you could feel a tug to the metal collar around your neck. Katsuki was as intent on showing off as ever, even if he tried to act like he wasn’t. “It’s quirk-canceling, see? And I’ve got a nice set-up in the other room, safety-proofed and all that shit. I’m doing this so (Y/n) doesn’t get hurt again. We came close enough once, I ain’t risking it.” He paused, if only to throw a glare at his counterpart. “Even if I have to lock you up to make sure of that.”

“It won’t be necessary.” Shoto was still curt, standing as he brushed off the remaining ash on his clothes. There was a burn-mark on his sleeve, a bruise on his cheek, but you could recognize him, even if the connection wasn’t personal. Vaguely, vaguely, he looked familiar. The two of you hadn’t been close, and everything before your… relocation seemed blurry. You’d been there, but barely. Like it’d been someone else living through it. Still, his touch didn’t feel bad as thin fingers carded through your hair, drawing you out of your self-made shell gently. Katsuki was never gentle. He tried to be, but he wasn’t. Shoto didn’t seem as aggressive, even if the victory was a small one. “Share, and there won’t be a need for conflict. That’s fair, right?”

“Share?” The question was incredulous, utterly offended. He pulled you a little closer, but didn’t move to push Shoto away. “They aren’t a fucking toy–”

“You don’t want to go to jail, do you?” You couldn’t help but perk up, your attention shifting to Shoto as soon as the words left his lips, consequences be damned. But, Shoto wasn’t looking at you, anymore, his neutral expression now facing off against Katsuki’s scowl. “You’ll be arrested, (Y/n)’ll be taken in for rehab, and I’ll be the one to take responsibility, both for not noticing my friend’s crimes and for the victim of his paranoia. That, or you just give me a key to whatever I’ll need, and we never talk about this again. It’ll be easy for you, considering the alternative.” He stopped, for a moment, thinking. “I could kill you, too. I don’t want to, but I could.”

Katsuki opened his mouth, preparing to spit out something vile, but he was stopped by a knock at the door, muffled sirens finally making their way through the thick walls. “Fucking cops,” Katsuki mumbled, a frown ghosting over the corners of Shoto’s lips. “It’s probably about the noise, my neighbors are nosey motherfuckers. How do you feel about a bad break-up?”

Shoto didn’t hesitate, shrugging as he straightened his back. “Works for me. My agency’s already got every department in the prefecture under a non-disclosure agreement.”

There was a nod on Katsuki’s part and Shoto moved to answer the door, but Katsuki stopped him with an obvious cough, standing with you still in his arms. You knew better than to try to walk on your own, by now, just wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck. Shoto might let you walk, but you’d never ask. He might let you, but if he was anything like your pre-established captor, he’d wouldn’t take kindly to a well-meant suggestion. “I’ve gotta put ‘em away first, unless you want to have the same conversation with the guys outside, too.” Again, Shoto glanced at the entrance, but Katsuki didn’t give him time to answer it. This time, he seemed more nervous than anything, shifting awkwardly as he continued.

“You should come, check everything out. You’ll… you’ll have to see how it works eventually, right?”

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

Idle Hands Are the Devil’s Tools

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar X Reader

Summary: You are a bartender at LUX, growing to be one of Lucifer’s closest friends in the human realm, attraction swelling in the both of you for the other. On one closing night at the club, Lucifer decides to bet a little wager with you when Detective Decker needs your help for a case and you want to decline. Exotic dancing, lingerie, seducing a crime lord, jealousy, lust, and chaos, the devil’s specialties, soon follow. 

A/N: okay so full disclosure I have not seen much, only like eight episodes into the first season but already I’m in love with a general idea of the so far storyline and characters so I hope you guys enjoy this little story because a lot of you requested it and I’m excited *maniacal, evil laughter* feedback is loved and appreciated as always! i wrote this filth in like one night so have fun with this and if yall want a continued part of just smut then fluff lemme knowwww anyway PLEASE ENJOY

Warnings: sexiness, dirty talk, alcohol, infuriating sexual tension, stripper reader, FLUFF, language, near death experience, JEALOUSY hehe, dom! Lucifer, FILTH I SWEAR, implied smut

You clean up the bar counter, wet rag covered in cleaning spray, eyes lifting and making direct contact with your boss, Lucifer. His head tilts to the side, curiously and expectantly, like he wants you to say something, as if telepathic conversation between you two should be second nature, always knowing what he’s thinking. 

“You’re really not going to do it?” he asks, alluringly soft voice with that British lilt in it that so many find attractive, maybe that’s why he chose it. Sex appeal.

“Do what?” you ask, evading his gaze the second it turns serious, turning around and wiping down random bottles, aligning them on the shelves.

“You know what, darling,” he sighs, a huff a laughter. “The case Detective wants your help on.”

You stiffen at the mention of Decker’s request, when she came just a few hours before, “She doesn’t need my help... anyone can do it.”

“Well, she chose you, no one else in a one hundred mile radius has an impressive skill set in both martial arts and stripping...” his lips curl when saying the last word, you scold him, narrowing your eyes. “I also wouldn’t mind seeing the latter. I’ve only ever seen you in your uniform,” he scrunches his nose, excitable. 

You look down at the sensible attire, a black tank top and dark washed jeans with holes where the knees are. You look back up at him and chew on your bottom lip, pondering that forever reoccurring question of if he’s just being his normal flirty self or if he truly sees you in another light. You only ever come up with the former as the answer. He’s all dark, black suits, raven, slicked back hair, and stormy eyes, all cut from jagged stone, onyx and obsidian. He’s untouchable. 

“Stripping put me through college when my parents refused to,” you explain, point blank and to the point. “I haven’t done it since, I quit when I made enough for tuition. It paid the bills and kept the lights on, but the men there... I won’t ever forget the way their eyes made me feel...” you gulp audibly when you remember those disgusting glances, how objectifying they were.

Of course it wasn’t every patron there, some were respectful. Some even got you a good lay, and others sometimes paid an entire month’s rent, but those late night visitors, they were the ones that led you to quit. 

“I don’t want to ever feel like that again,” you look at Lucifer and he knows you’re telling the truth, your glassy eyes and wavering stance. 

“Y/n...” he says sincerely, reaching across the bar to thread his fingers through yours. You freeze. 

“I can assure you at my club, I only let in the best people, they’re hand selected. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, they will be punished and out of the club as soon as you say the word. I wouldn’t be pushing this so much, dear, if it wasn’t so vital to the investigation and to get this crime lord and stop him from killing anyone else, you have to distract him long enough for the cops to get inside. We need you.” He needs you.

“Luci...” you whine slightly, breathing deeply when you catch his stare. “I-”

“Can you do this?” he asks, tongue dragging across the pillow of his bottom lip, twitching in the corners. “For me, beautiful?”

This is one of those moments that has you pondering the stance of your relationship. Because you can’t say no to those eyes. And he knows it.

“You’re terrible,” you sigh, giving up, squeezing his hand before letting go, slipping from his grasp. “But yes, fine, I’ll do it. Because you basically guilt tripped me into doing so.”

“You are only human,” he teases, wearing a cheeky smile when he swipes the liquor from your fingers and pours two glasses. “Don’t worry, love, you’re going to have a devil of a time...”

You take a long sip of your drink, pointing at him accusingly, “Stop it with the puns or I’m out.”

“I’ll also put a little wager on the endeavor, pet, and make it interesting,” he sits up straighter, the nickname he uses for you sending an ice cold chill down your spine. “If you make at least a grand tomorrow night, I’ll tell you what I desire.”

“I have always wondered...” you take another sip of the smooth drink, the burnt amber taste gliding down your throat with ease. “Can you really pin it down to just one thing?”

“For you I will,” he looks at you, genuine. “And if you don’t make that much, I get to ask you. I never have gotten the chance.”

“What’s stopping you from doing it until then?” 

He smirks, “Nothing, I suppose. This is much more fun, though, wouldn’t you say, kitten?”

“Okay, then. Deal,” you extend your hand to him and his eyes are alight, scarlet fervor.

He grins wickedly, shaking your hand, “This’ll be such fun.”

~~~~

Maze looks you over, feline eyes slit with her bottom lip caught between her teeth in deep concentration. You two are in the back of the club, music and bass pounding in the dance room while she studies your attire, your new work uniform while aiding in the case. You’re covered head to toe in a gaping fishnet body suit, a black strapless bra laying over atop your breasts and a pair of black lace panties to match with a pair of ebony, Louboutin stiletto heels, a weapon in themselves. She places a com in your ear so you can covertly communicate with Lucifer and Decker.

You feel out of your element, but also incredibly empowered, now that it goes by your rules, what you say goes. Maze put your hair in curls, minimal makeup with a dark lip, and she’s smiling, licking her lips deliciously.

“If Lucifer hadn’t already called dibs on you, mortal, I’d have you right here myself...” she traces a finger down your torso, stopping at your panty line, crimson lips cut from ruby.

“Dibs?” you ask, confused but also intrigued. “When did he do that?”

“If you really don’t know...” she looks at you. “Then you’re an idiot.”

“Bitch,” you scoff.

She smiles, leading you to where you’ll be dancing for the night, “Sure, but at least I’m not an idiot.” That’s clueless to my boss’s affections.

You huff in annoyance before stopping at the individual pole where you will be performing for the night, the club already packed with crowds of dancing, grinding bodies, sweat and musk. Lucifer catches your eyes from across the room, he’s stunned for a moment, like he’s stuck in a moment of shock and he can’t move. You’re breathtaking. 

He smiles, lifting a single eyebrow in question, calculating your next move. The crime lord Decker described to you sits on the couch adjacent to the poles and designated dancing areas, his greedy eyes already laying over you and you know you have him hooked. 

You look back at Lucifer and hook your leg on the steel pole, spinning around, positioned upside down when you flash the devil a wink. 

He’s taken aback by the gesture, eyes wide as saucers, chest rising and falling at the unknown twist in his gut. You slide back up, walking around the wooden square allotted for your dancing, letting the music seep into your bones, move your hips and sway your curvy body to the beat of the song, one you requested. You turn away from Lucifer and lock eyes with the crime lord, you wiggle your fingers in the smallest of waves, flirtatious when your lips move upward, all planned and perfected. The man is caught under your spell and caught completely off guard, perfect for a distraction. 

Your hand graces the pole once again when you twirl around, hand running through your hair when you dance to the rhythm of the playlist, eyes closed and letting your body do the talking that your lips can’t. Already both men and women have been throwing wads of dollar bills, in the hundreds now. 

Lucifer’s eyes fall over you more than once, but unlike everyone else’s, they hold adoration, admiration, he can’t look away. 

“You’re doing this on purpose...” he growls into his ear com, nursing a hard scotch on ice, eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Whatever do you mean, Luci...” you swing around once more, landing in the splits when you face him, laying down fully, face in your hands. His jaw drops.

He’s never wanted someone this badly. It’s like your touching him without actually doing so, your eyes doing all the work for you.

“You look ravishing.”

You belly laugh, throwing your head back when you look at him, smug, “In the way that I look intriguing or that you want to ravish me yourself?”

He sips his drink, fire licking his irises, flickering in flames, “Both.”

“Guys, focus,” Decker scolds in the mic, interrupting the staring contest, having you continue back to dancing, looking back at the crime lord. 

He waves you over, a stack of cash beside him that he pats, wanting a personal lap dance. Your skin crawls at the way his eyes trail over you, lingering in places he shouldn’t, but you know it’s for the case, so you can save people. You smile at him, forced, walking down the platform and over to him. 

“He want’s a lap dance, Decker,” you whisper, the loud music enough to mask your talking. “What do I do?”

“That’s not apart of the plan, Detective,” Lucifer bites, voice dripping with venom, eyes aflame. 

Decker mulls it over, “It’s... actually perfect. Do it, y/n, you’re not in any danger and-” 

“She could get hurt, we didn’t plan for this,” Lucifer says, another foreign feeling in his chest where his heart should be, clutching the absence and his jaw clenches. “W-what if she’s uncomfortable?” 

“She can do it, because if she does, we have more than enough time for the cops to swarm in and take this guy down, ten minutes tops.”

“I can do it, Luci,” you promise. “He’s only human, right?” you say, voice unsteady when you see the gun in his pocket, burly bodyguards on either side of him. 

Lucifer’s chest clenches and he’s forced to watch you straddle the man’s lap, smiling openly at the murderer, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. This hurts more than the injuries, when the Detective shot him, this doesn’t even compare. It resonates through his whole being, he’s rooted to the ground and the fear in your eyes when you throw a look at him kills him further. 

“The cops are close,” Decker tells you. “Just a little bit longer and we’ve got him.”

The man beneath you suddenly frowns, “What’s that voice? Do you have a com in? Are you a cop?” He shoots up, pushing you off, you barely catch yourself when you stand. 

“Shit!” Decker curses, footsteps immediately following when she runs down the main staircase, gun aimed at the criminal’s head, a sure shot from there. “Alright, LAPD, hands up, asshole!”

The club goes into a frenzy, crowds running out the doors when they hear her yell, giving the perpetrators an easy exit. And in the heat of the moment, the crime boss grabs you, arm around your neck and restricting your airway with a gun pressed against your temple, the cool steel on your skull. Your eyes sting with tears, a damned lump forming in your throat you can’t bear swallow, and Lucifer sees you across the club. 

His eyes light up, and he realizes he was wrong earlier, this pain was worse, so much worse. It takes him over and makes him vulnerable beyond repair when he runs over to you but the criminal is two steps ahead, moving with you to the exit, pressing the gun into you further. 

“One more step and I’ll shoot!” he tightens his grip around your neck and an empty tear slips past, but you dare not make a noise. “Don’t test me!” He clicks off the safety and you flinch.

You mouth a soft, It’s okay, to Lucifer, watching his face fall, true sorrow in his features.

“You picked the wrong woman to hold at gunpoint,” his chest heaves, but he’s calm and collected, eerie and still like a lake at midnight, the only reflection of light being the moon. “Let her go.”

“Step back or I’ll kill her-”

Lucifer flashes his real face, scarlet and devilish, monstrous and the man drops his gun in a fit of fear and confusion, eyes wide. You knock your head back and headbutt his nose, enough so to knock him out, dropping to the ground unconscious. 

You breathe heavy and the tears finally fall. A single, broken sob escapes, you cross over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, crying into his chest, staining his signature purple button down shirt. His arms, once stiff at his sides, encircle around your waist and tug you to him, no space between you both except the fabric of his clothes and lace of your ensemble. And there’s no words needed. His hands rest on the small of your back, and for once they have no intention of ever wandering.

~~~~

You step into the shower, closing the blue tinted, glass door behind you. The hot water slides down your skin, close to scalding, cleaning off the day you’ve had, especially that man’s hands, gripping your waist. Hands on your hips. You close your eyes and tilt your head up, water rushing down your face, waves lapping at skin, kissing your cheeks with warmth.

You step out of the shower after washing your hair, wrapping a towel around yourself when you walk out of the bathroom, water droplets running down your hair and face, coating the tips of your lashes and your pink lips. Lucifer, leaning over the bar and nursing a drink, turns when he hears your wet footsteps advance into the main, sitting room, dark eyes trailing over your figure. 

He’s been acting off ever since the incident at LUX, driving you over to his apartment, letting you use his shower, laying out a fresh outfit for you, and offering you a guest bed to sleep in for the night. He thinks it’s his fault, all this, being held at gunpoint and almost being shot, this entire mess in the first place. Guilt is aching in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

And he’s barely talking.

“Lucifer?” you ask, meek and quiet, afraid you’ve already overstepped too many boundaries just being here. You know it’s a bad idea.

“Yes, darling?” he answers just as softly, still not quite looking at you, just staring straight ahead at his cabinet of drinks, ice clinking in his crystal glass of scotch.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns his head in your direction, close to snapping, “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I got sloppy and it almost cost us the investigation... he overheard my com-”

“You’re apologizing... because Detective spoke too loudly and he heard? You’re apologizing for almost getting killed?” he turns fully to face you, setting his scotch calmly on the bar counter. 

“Don’t blame her.”

“I don’t. I blame myself for roping you in and getting you involved...” he groans, frustrated, walking slowly towards you. 

You frown deeply, confused at his sudden change of heart, regret in his features, the wrinkles in his brow when he furrows it, “Even so we still got him in custody, there’s no harm done, Luci-”

“There could have been!” he yells, eyes rimmed with scarlet. “You could have died, y/n! I could have lost you and it would have been my fault...” his voice wavers, and you gulp, realizing what’s going on. 

He was scared.

“Lucifer...” you whispering, cooing softly, a melodic lullaby put into his name. 

You step on the tips of your toes to cup the side of his face, rubbing your thumb over the stubble on his cheek. He’s trapped.

He’s never experienced tenderness like this before, such love and care in one’s touch, all for him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s softening, melting into your palm and he’s a puddle at your feet, eyes locked with yours and he’s thrown away the key. He presses his lips to the inside of your palm, sending electricity through your veins, sparks on your fingertips that shock his skin.

“Stop.”

He pinches his brow, confused, “What?”

“Stop,” you tell him, lips kicking up in a small smile. “Stop blaming yourself, I was sloppy, I admit it, Decker was loud... but I agreed to it, that’s on me. I knew the consequences and I knew what would happen if things went sideways, but he’s behind bars, and I’m not dead. I’d call this a win.”

His jaw tightens, “He put his hands on you.”

“He did...” you agree. “But I’m a big girl,” you laugh, both hands on his face now and he lets you, leaning into your touch like a moth to a light, succumbing to its own undoing. “I handled it.” And something comes over him. 

“I should handle him...” he pushes you against the wall, you inhale sharply when you hit the cool material, gripping the front of your towel. 

His eyes fall over your face, “For touching what’s mine.”

You open your mouth to speak, say something, anything, but you don’t object, you can’t. It happens so fast, both your wrists in one of his hands pinned above your head, pressing you further into the wall. 

And he kisses you. 

Your eyes flutter close and he groans into your mouth, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, tongue soothing you when it licks your own. Like coal igniting fire, aiding its own demise. His other hand runs down your neck, ripping off the towel that covers you until you’re bare before him, dripping in more ways than one. He finally lets go of your wrists and you wrap your arms around his neck, his arms looping around your waist and it’s clashing teeth, tongue, and lips, a frenzy of hands and it’s not enough. Not enough. He drinks you in with a hunger that can never be sated, your fingers carding through his ebony hair and tugging, harsh and vindictive. He growls, the devil but still a man, and you make him painfully so. 

He picks you up, hands under your thighs when your legs wrap around his torso, soaking his clothes but he doesn’t give a shit, never breaking your kiss when he carries you over to the bed, tossing you on the mattress. He looks you over, hungry and vicious, lips exploring the maps of skin before him, biting and licking all the curves, dips, and sweet spots, finding what makes you tick. 

Kissing down your stomach, eyes still holding onto yours, “Tell me, my love... what do you desire?”

“Y-you,” you say, voice shaky and unsteady, gulping down the lump in your throat that makes it hard to breathe. 

He smirks, malicious, crawling back up your body and he sucks on your neck, marking your skin with love bites, littered with remnants of him. 

“You won the bet, didn’t you, darling?” he kisses the curve of your jaw, licking the lines of your throat, and all oxygen leaves you. “I suppose I have to tell you what I desire, then, don’t I?”

“A deal is a deal,” you smile, equally as excited as you are scared for the answer.

“You,” he scatters his lips across your chest, kissing your breasts. “To ravish you like the goddess you are... to love you wholeheartedly and truly.” 

He wraps his lips around your right nipple, swirling his tongue expertly, biting and sucking. His fingers pinch the other, rolling it between his index and thumb, so damn good it’s scary.

You never thought you’d hear him say the L word, and to you, a mortal, no less. You never thought you’d love him too.

“Luci... you’re still wearing clothes,” your fingers fumble for his shirt, tugging it so hard that the buttons pop off, falling off of him. “That’s hardly fair.”

He grins wolfishly when he resurfaces, “Eager, aren’t we, kitten? If you wanted it rough, all you had to do was ask...”

[tsarinastorm]

Stare Blankly- Adam Sackler/Reader- Part 1, Chapter 6

*This is a prequel to my upcoming fic, “Same World.” My work is also on Ao3

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3  Chapter 4   Chapter 5 

You walk into your apartment and find Hannah sitting at the table on her laptop, with notes scattered everywhere and Marnie sitting down on the living room floor playing with Grover. Your dog River runs to see you, but then returns to befriend the baby. You say hi to all of them then go to your room to change into a more comfortable outfit. You unpack your takeout, and make plates for all three of you. You sit down on the couch with your plate, and you start to tell them about your run-in with Jessa, “I ran into Jessa today. She was fighting with some guy and couldn’t pay for her food.”

“Well that’s classic Jessa. She’s always a hot mess, she causes all of these problems not caring about anyone else’s feelings and then doesn’t know why everyone is mad at her.” Marnie says and Grover starts reaching for a toy. Hannah adds, “Yeah for someone who wanted to be a therapist, she’s not very self-aware. She starts fucking and dating my ex-boyfriend, doesn’t tell me, then is shocked when I didn’t tell her I was pregnant.”

“Do any of you talk to her anymore?” You can’t help but ask because adult friendships go through waves.

“No, I told her that I wasn’t mad at her anymore but she’s not my friend. I have no idea what her life is like and she doesn’t know mine.” Hannah says and you can tell that she’s not as over it as wants to sound. Marnie then shares, “She wasn’t even supposed to be there for brunch that day and that was the last I saw her or heard from her.”

“UGH! Fuck! This article is going to kill me.” Hannah yells as Marnie shushes her. Hannah’s picking up her notebook and is bent over her laptop again. You sit down across the table from her, and ask, “What’s your article about? I thought you were copyrighting?”

“I am, that’s my day job but I got this article freelancing. It’s supposed to be on Mothering conference I went to.”

“See that’s why I don’t do essays most of the time. It’s easier to write other people’s emotions than your own. What’s the problem? How was the Mothering conference?” You ask so you can help her get through her writer’s block or maybe give her a new angle for the piece.

“It was supposed to be ‘empowering’ but it was all about mothers feeling perfect all the time and didn’t talk about the struggles facing mothers every day. I’m a proud, and ‘empowered’ single mother and it is hard, it’s really fucking hard. I don’t know why they just didn’t talk about that. Like you be a great mom and still acknowledge it’s difficult. It was façade feminist: looks feminist on the outside but hollow on the inside.” Hannah says and sighs. She walks over and picks Grover up, he smiles up at her. You then realize that’s what Hannah should write about.

“Why don’t you write what you just said about the façade feminism? Explain why it felt that way to you. And you know talk about how great being a mother is, but also how difficult it is.” You say and she smiles and says, “Yes! That sounds like a great idea!”

Hannah sits down and starts typing at a rapid pace. You and Marnie put on a new show on Hulu while Grover naps peacefully.

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

               “Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it! I know you’re not a dramatist like me, but I think you’ll have fun!” Your friend, Kirsten says as she leads you through her party. You had met Kirsten in law school, and she was working for legal, but her real passion was theater. She was a terrific actress and had never been afraid to put herself out there. She had a larger than life personality that you had grown accustomed to. This was her birthday party but of course, she had a band playing and had a skit plan.

You’re catching up with Kirsten as Adam Sackler walks through the door. Attempting to avoid him, you head towards the restroom. Before you can make it too far, Kirsten pulls you back and says, “Y/N, this is my friend Adam, we’re in the same cabaret group.”

Adam looks at you awkwardly and you look at him awkwardly. “Oh I know Adam, I didn’t know you were in the same cabaret group.” You finally say, and then Kirsten moves close to Adam and clutches onto his arm. You know Kirsten well enough to recognize that move:  she’s going to flirt with him to see if he’s interested. Not that it means she’s interested in him, she likes to play the game more than anything. You can tell that Adam isn’t sure what to do with attention so you smile as you watch the exchange. Kirsten eventually moves along, and Adam moves to stand next to you. When you make eye contact with him, you both burst out in laughter. Once the fit of laughter has settled down you suppress your next comment.

“Kirsten is one of a kind. She’s putting the moves on you.” You raise your eyebrows provocatively at him and he shrugs his shoulders in an innocent way back at you before replying.

“She’s great but not my type.”

“What is your type then?” You question because Kirsten is gorgeous, bubbly and certainly not dull. From his relationship history, you can’t determine what his type actually is.

“You.” He’s observing your reaction with his amber eyes that you feel are boring holes into you. The look on your face is that of pure astonishment. Then, you laugh uneasily because you’re both flattered and unsure how else to respond. A change in topic is much needed at this time.

“I never saw you as a cabaret guy.” You comment.

“Well this cab group is very innovative and challenging, plus I like the artistic vision. And it’s a good break from my day job.” He says and takes a drink of his seltzer water.

“What’s your day job now?”

“I’m working on this indie film by a Romanian couple which talks about immigration and family. Think a modern A View from the Bridge meets Cassavetes, if you know who he is.” Adam remarks and watches a dance group take to the middle of the floor.

“Yes, I know who Cassavetes is, he was a true visionary. Have you ever read his thoughts on method acting?” You ask. You loved some Cassavetes movies and enjoyed the class you took on him in undergrad. Adam seemed be intellectual and opinionated therefore you assumed he’d have some commentary.

“He has a point that if you mentally become the character then it’s” Kirsten interrupts Adam’s statement by grabbing his arm and yours, dragging you to the dance floor.  Adam shows off his eccentric dance moves and you have nothing but respect for them as you throw a couple of your signature moves too.  And this dance party goes on for hours.

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

Adam was walking home from Kirsten’s party with Y/N, who was tagging alongside him carrying her heels in her right hand. He was shocked when they walked out of the venue that she took off the shoes she was wearing and pulled a pair of rolled up flats out of her bag to put them on instead. After dancing for hours, the two headed home, choosing to walk together since they were going in the same direction. That’s when the conversation continued. Adam had just told Y/N about some of the stuff that he wrote, and she grabbed his arm, turning him to face her.

“Wait, you write too? Why have you never mentioned that before?” She says in an offended voice. He comes up with some rationale, “I don’t know, you never asked. I write about my life.”

Unable to think of any real reason for why never told her before, he tries to deflect.  They begin walking again in order to not cause a pileup in the middle of the street.

“I bet your stuff is good. You’re very honest, which is rare anymore. Did you write the movie about you and Hannah?” She says as if she’s putting the dots together for the first time. Adam wonders how she knew about the film about his relationship with Hannah, and now he anxiously hopes she never watches it. He remembers that she’s roommates with Marnie, that’s probably how she knows about Disclosure. He shakes his head yes, choosing not to answer verbally. She stops at the corner since this is her street. Adam hopes he’ll see her again soon.

“Marnie and I are having this apartment warming thing this Friday, you should come.” She tells him and he responds with the obvious reaction, “I’d like that but are you sure I’d be welcome with all of them being there?”

“Yeah, Marnie is inviting who she wants to and I want to invite you.” Y/N says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Adam is still surprised so he says, “Wait, does this mean you like me?”

“I tolerate you and you tolerate me. Plus we have shared interests.” Adam smiles at her like an idiot as Y/N walks away down her street. He thinks that this is good. He can survive being around Hannah and Marnie if he gets to spend time with Y/N.

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

The restaurant bustles around you as you wonder why you agreed to meet Jess for lunch. She had contacted you to invite you out as a way to thank you for helping her out. You ordered coffee and sipped as you waited. Mentally you determined that if Jessa didn’t arrive in exactly five minutes, then you would pay for your coffee and leave but then you see her outside smoking a cigarette.

“Okay so I married to this finance guy named Thomas-John who lived in Williamsburg,” Jessa says laughing, and you respond by saying, “And the fact that he had two first names and lived in Williamsburg wasn’t a red flag? Every guy I’ve ever met with two names has turned out to be a total douche. Not to mention, the people I’ve met from Williamsburg.”

“Well I was young and stupid.” Jessa says. The two of you ended up chatting once she did arrive, and you realized that you actually thought she was fun to be around. She might not be a “best friends” type of girl but you enjoyed being around her.  She continues, “I like my lifestyle, I’ve lived it since I was five years old. But everyone else has moved forward and I feel like I’m in the exact same place.”

“What do you really want to do? There has to be a way to accomplish it, and you could always do it in a non-traditional way.” She thinks about what you said, and you wonder why you’re giving her life advice when she more than likely won’t listen to you at all. Jessa raises her eyebrows and finally answers, “I want to help people figure out their lives and their trauma. I thought I wanted to be a therapist but I’m not sure if going back to school is my thing.”

“You could be a life coach. Talk about your struggles and how you got through them. Help others in similar situations.” Honestly, you couldn’t imagine Jessa sticking to anything: she was too much of a bohemian free spirit. She started smiling and thanked you for the advice, she said that she’d work on starting that. For whatever reason, you decided to invite her to your apartment warming, and she said that she’d be there.

“But you should know that Hannah will be there, and Adam was invited too. I don’t know if that will be awkward for you.”

“Uh I can manage, I’ll see you then.” She gives a hug before you both leave to go your separate ways. You suddenly worry that inviting Jessa might prove to be a mistake.

[ohtomatotome]

Awakening the Commander

Game - Character: Midnight Cinderella - Albert Burckhardt

Female MC

Genre: Smut. NSFW. Dom/sub kink exploration.

1750 words

   -----

“Are you close?” His question was followed by a thrust of his hips, sweet and slow.

You and your boyfriend Al had slept together five times before. Not once were you able to reach orgasm. 

Tonight seemed doomed to be the sixth time. 

The first time it happened, he was very thoughtful and eager to help you get off afterwards with amazing oral. But every time since, he had worked hard to get you to cum during foreplay so you could at least have one orgasm just in case it didn’t happen during sex. Which it hadn’t. 

He was your first lover. Was this sort of thing normal? You didn’t know. Who could you even ask that sort of question to? The internet was no help. You knew that you could peak when you masturbated alone -- no problem there! It wasn’t his size; he was well-endowed and had tremendous stamina. 

The two of you had tried all sorts of positions. He had your body singing each and every time. But there was a point that the pleasure would plateau and hold steady without going over the tipping point. The small part of you that was a masochist secretly delighted in that exquisite sensation of your own body denying itself release. 

But the greater part of you was frustrated beyond belief. 

And that’s where you were tonight. 

He was nestled above, making love to you, gentle and tender as always.

“No.” You answered quietly, and you found yourself continuing after a short pause. “But … I might get there if you, um, get a little rougher and … and call me a g-good girl…”

No answer. 

In the dim light, you could make out a foreign expression cross his features. You blushed furiously and looked away as his gentle thrusts slowed down. You were sure he would think you’re a freak now. You should have never let your submissive kink show! Did you totally turn him off with that suggestion? You held your breath. 

Feeling him shift his weight, he took your hands from their grasp on his shoulders and started to lower them.

“If I hold you down, would that help, too?” His voice sounded naturally curious, as if testing a theory.

Was he --? Was he going to get into this and do it for real? Your breath caught in your throat. You gave an affirmative “Mm-hm” and a tiny nod, afraid that if you moved anymore than that it might disrupt this dream. 

He pinned your wrists above your head to the mattress. Heat trickled through your veins. You marveled at the rush of euphoria that came from such a simple gesture! 

“I can definitely be rough with you.” He paused and gave you a smile you had never seen on his lips before. “If you say ‘please’.”

“Uh...”

Your mind blanked. He really, actually, truly was going through with this! It was like one of your fantasies!

You gasped audibly as he tightened his grip and gave a single thrust just to remind you he was still rock hard and buried inside you. 

“You can say ‘please’, can’t you?” A teasing tone entered his voice.

Oh! He never teased you! You swallowed thickly, scarcely able to believe this was happening.

“...please. Please be rough with me.” Your voice sounded so small.

He bent down and looked closely at your face. Without his glasses on, he couldn’t see you that clearly. You figured he was trying to get a better read of your expressions. 

“But I don’t think I can call you a good girl…”

You tried not to let your disappointment seep into your voice or show on your face.

“Oh.” 

What should you say to that? You opened your mouth ready to say that it was okay, but then he leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “...Because good girls cum on their master’s cock.”

Your heart stopped. You were SURE it stopped. Oh, nope. Not stopped. It was simply thudding so rapidly that it felt as if it wasn't beating at all. Blood rushing made your ears pound. 

This was it. He was pinning your wrists down, teasing you, and using all the right words and tone. Oh God, this was exactly what you were craving! You knew you should be looking obedient like a demure sub, but you couldn’t help the triumphant glow in your eyes and the exuberant grin splitting your face.

You let out a squeak as he bit your earlobe before pulling away from you. He switched his hold on your wrists with one hand, and used the other to hoist your hips higher. Then the most mind-numbing fucking in your life began. You squealed and moaned over and over. The way he mercilessly slammed into your pussy was blissful. You closed your eyes.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes popped open the instant you heard his command.

“You like getting fucked hard by your master, don’t you?” That deep voice sent jolts of pleasure straight to your loins.

“Yes!” The answer was immediate. You didn’t even think before opening your mouth.

“Yes, what?” He prompted, each word punctuated with a deep thrust.

“Yes, master!” It was practically a scream.

Could this night get any better?!? You were floating on cloud nine, being pounded into rapture. You moaned as you concentrated on the feeling in your core. The snapping of his hips was the perfect rhythm. Wrists fidgeted a teensy weensy bit, just to feel his grip on them to remind you that you were being held down. His grunts turned into low hungry groans as his gaze bore into yours with ferocity.

“You want to be a good girl don’t you? You better cum before I do.” He never talked dirty like this in bed before. Your heart was doing triple flips of joy.

You could feel your center give a little spasm; it filled you with hope. Finally! He must have felt it, too, because he growled through clenched teeth.

“That’s right. I want to feel your pussy squeezing down on me when you orgasm.”

His thrusts started to get erratic. You were so close to ecstasy. That tightening coil in your belly was about to spring undone. Just a little more … just a bit … you just wanted something to push you over...

“Come on. Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum for your master.”

Your brain silently screamed YES SIR. That was it! His encouraging command was EXACTLY what you needed! Your channel clenched down hard on his length, and you let out a guttural shout at the overwhelming release. He fucked you slower through your waves, grunting out the words “Such -- hnnngh -- a good girl … ahhh.” 

His own orgasm followed in a moment. When he was finished, he let go of your wrists and rubbed your arms up and down as he looked down at you with loving eyes. “My good girl.” His deep-voiced praise was the cherry on top of this sexy sundae. A contented sigh left your lips and eyes fluttered closed at the delicious feeling enveloping your chest at those words you longed to hear.

    -----

After cleaning yourselves up in comfortable silence and snuggling together under the sheet, you traced patterns in his chest hair with your fingertips, finding the proper way to start talking about what just happened. You gently cleared your throat. 

He reached out an arm to his bed stand for his glasses, putting them on and looking at you expectantly.

“I was hoping you’d be… um, into... that sort of thing, but you never gave any indication.”

He let out a gentle scoff in reply. “Neither did you. Until tonight.” The inquisitive look he gave you spurred you on to keep talking.

“You’re so commanding with the troops. You always take charge in any situation, and you have this dominating presence everywhere you go. You constantly encourage me to improve my self-discipline…” You paused a moment, grasping for the right words. “So… I thought you’d naturally be like that in bed, too. I was a little, eh... disappointed when every time we had sex it was so …. Nice. And gentle. And sweet.” You gave a short sheepish giggle at how shameful and silly that sounded out loud.

A thoughtful pause followed. “Hm. Disappointment? Is that what was keeping you from reaching orgasm, then?”

You had never made that connection, but it seemed plausible. “Maybe it was, I guess? Subconsciously anyway.” 

You wanted to explore a different vein of this topic, though. Your cheeks turned a little pink as you stammered. “Um … so that stuff you said and did -- it... it was all really really great. Um, exactly the sort of things I was hoping for. Did you … er, were you hiding that all this time?”

Thankfully, he didn’t laugh at your flustered state and took your question seriously. “You mean, was I holding back by being gentle? Doubtful. I genuinely wanted to treat you lovingly as the woman I treasure. I tried to show that in my love-making.” 

His honest response simultaneously gave you warm fuzzies and made you cringe abashedly at your own selfishness.

He pushed up his glasses and continued “I surmise I was channeling the material I had seen in porn. But now that you mention it, most of what I watch tends to have that domination theme to it. When you asked me to call you a good girl, something switched on inside me, like an electrical circuit was suddenly activated. As if I was hardwired for it, but never had a chance to put it to use before. Perhaps I’m more into being a Dom that than I thought?”

Your brain buzzed at this surprising disclosure. An exciting idea popped into your head. You gave him a coy look. “Maybe we could watch that porn together, and try out some of the things in it…?”

A reddish hue began to creep over his cheeks. He coughed dryly into his fist. “Ahem. You, ah, wanting to watch porn with me is an arousing thought all by itself, but using it as a tutorial? That is second-level hot.”

You discovered his firmness brush against your thigh as you cuddled closer. Your hand traveled down his chest until it wrapped around his dick. He bit his lip as you stroked him a couple times. A devilish grin wreathed your face as you brought your lips close to his ear to whisper in a sensual tone.

“Mm, seems like this particular conversation has got you ready to go again, Commander… And this time we can take it sweet and slow the way you like it.”

[sunstide]

CANON DIVERGENCES

                in regards to the new novel that came out highlighting more of sun and his canonical history, i thought it would be prevalent for me to spell out a few things regarding my sun and where he lies in the fandom now. i’ve had sun for...a very long time. over four years, and i’ve put far too much time and effort into who he is to just wipe clean and start new. but, thankfully, by some grace of god, the information revealed about him tends to align with most of what i’d initially thought or him, aside from a few key points. which...i’ll discuss now...long winded much? 

             full disclosure, i haven’t read the book. i’ve just been going off snippets i’ve read and wiki pages, so bare with me if get a few things wrong.

first and foremost: my sun still has his mother. her name is miah wukong, her fc is fang from final fantasy, and she is the light of sun’s life. he loves her more than he thinks he could love anyone, but she is quite literally all he has in regards to family, and ties to his old life in vacuo. she is the only thing in his life that has been a constant, and even her sun had to leave behind. 

in the book, i believe it’s mentioned that sun is an orphan, and moved around vacuo constantly to keep with the rains and to stay alive. i’m not sure on specifics why, but this is a hc i don’t mind adopting, aside from the orphan part. for a homeless, poor faunus boy, moving around with his mother and a tribe of vacuain faunus natives doesn’t change my sun’s narrative much, in fact enhances it a bit from his original hc. he was given a lot of responsibility from a young age to help protect their group from grimm, and learned to fight much like blake did; outside of a huntsman prep school, more on his feet and hands on experience. i used to just have him living in the streets and learning to fight that way, but this is just as fitting, if not moreso.

his mother encouraged him to move to vacuo once he managed to hone his hunting skills, and he applied for school in haven and was accepted on a full scholarship. that’s why he moved, to have a better shot and succeeding. until he moved in to the dorms at the academy, sun had never had a room or bed of his own. 

i hear somewhere that the book alludes to sun being illiterate? which i’ve sort-of, kind-of hc’d from the beginning, but not to such a full extent. sun did not attend a formal school until he was nearly 13, and as a result, his book-smarts were severely behind those in his age group. he can’t read very well, and he is absolutely terrible at math. but he makes up for it in his street smarts, and his ability to formulate and execute plans. he survived this long in the desert for a reason, and a huntsman academy is the only place someone could get by with having a severely lower reading level than those of his peers. while he’s not completely illiterate, his reading level is at that of about a 4th grader. he is very self conscious of this. 

it’s also mentioned, multiple times apparently, that sun is referenced as being a bad leader by both his teammates and team cfvy. and, quite frankly, i don’t really hc that. i do hc sun as being aloof and a guy who doesn’t always think things through, but when it comes to his friends and family (this includes his team), sun goes above and beyond to make sure they remain safe. i think, my sun’s biggest downfall, is the former. he so desperately wants to fight the good fight and take on the world for his friends, he often doesn’t consider that they too might want to go along and fight as well. which is a conundrum, considering he had a similar conversation with blake, but sun sees it as his duty rather than a burden he bares like blake. if he comes from a good heart, it can’t be wrong, right? 

but as far as his leadership skills go, the biggest thing he needs to work on is his commitment. due to his nature growing up, and the constant moving from place to place, sun is indeed scared to put too many roots down at once, because history tells him he’ll just have to uproot again. he didn’t leave his team behind out of fear, but rather because he thought he was expected to go where he is most needed. go where you need to.

so yea, that’s the basics for now. i do plan to sit down and actually read the book at some point, but this is just the general basic idea of what’s going on with my sun moving forward.

[a-woman-apart]

Astrological Compatibility

After experiencing all that I have this year, I definitely believe that astrology does play a role in compatibility, in the sense that astrology is a pseudoscience based around how time of birth, planetary cycles, and place of birth affect personality. It was developed by human beings at a time when scientific methods of interpreting data were not developed to where they are today. 

If we take a look at how this might play out from a more scientific perspective, think of the “nature vs. nurture” argument. Nature applies to traits that develop either from genetics or during fetal developmental. Nurture applies to external social and developmental factors that contribute to personality after birth. 

There does seem to be a correlation between what season and month people were born in and certain personality traits. It is definitely true that levels of sunlight can have a huge impact on human health and development, but light exposure and seasons can be vastly different across the globe (especially in moving closer and farther away from the equator), which is probably why detailed astrological charts involve looking at birthplace. 

It also provides perspective on why there are differences between the Western and Chinese Zodiacs but there are still some similarities in the way traits are applied. For example, in the Western Zodiac we have “Earth, Air, Fire, and Water” and in the Chinese Zodiac we have “Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water” because human beings across cultures understand how valuable these elements were to our survival. 

Human beings are pattern-seeking creatures, so it isn’t any surprise that they personified these elements and began correlating them to aspects of human personality. It was just another way of trying to make sense of the world, and I am not surprised that when astrologers examined the natural world and the cosmos (as better astronomical tools became available) they began to make connections between children born in certain seasons and certain personality traits, and I don’t believe the correlation is completely nonexistent. 

The issue we see is that some people tend to think that personality is a fixed thing, and that when someone is born a certain way [nature] their traits are entirely resistant to change [underemphasizing nurture]. 

Even if astrology can offer us some predictors about how a person’s character might develop, we have to remember that personality has nothing to do with whether someone is a “good” or “bad” person. Some people may be more or less outgoing than others, more or less athletic, more or less organized, more or less playful, and more or less “nice” than other people, but that has nothing to do with their morality or ability to be a good romantic partner, friend, sibling, or parent. 

The strength of a relationship is almost entirely dependent on the values of the parties involved.

Whether “star-crossed” or “star-aligned”, the strength of peoples’ relationships is entirely dependent on whether or not they are based on honesty, mutual respect, and compassion. We all know that some people we love have habits that may occasionally-- or frequently-- grate on our nerves, but our choice on whether to continue living with and loving that person is rarely just down to personality. 

We all have that person in our lives with a grinchy, McScrooge disposition, but we love them because they keep their word and you know deep down that they’ve got a good heart even if they don’t always show affection as easily as other people do. 

We also all know someone that is the life of the party, loud, fun, almost obnoxious in their zest for life, but we wouldn’t trust them as far as we could throw them when it comes to any major responsibility. But we still love them anyway. 

And with have to admit to ourselves, that sometimes love is not enough.

Love is never an excuse to allow someone to run roughshod over your boundaries, devalue your ideas, and monopolize your time. Love alone will not save any relationship where either party lacks respect, trust, and compassion.

After ending many relationships this year (including one that I held in very high value) I found out that it isn’t about personality. “Ugh, she’s such a Virgo!” is not a mature answer for why you can’t get along with your best friend, boss, or mother. 

I know that Kati Morton used to say “some relationships are bad recipes” and I don’t really believe that anymore. I don’t really believe that people share mutual blame like that for why things fall apart. It’s fine to admit that someone annoys you or gets on your nerves, but when there is that much bad blood with someone you used to be associated with, I think that boundary violations-- either on your part or theirs-- are to blame. 

I used to lean towards a belief in “star matches” but now I truly believe there are no incompatible signs.   

I know that I tend to lack romantic chemistry with most of my fellow Air nomads, but I always have amazing conversations and a kind of instant connection. I know that from experience, Water signs are amazing listeners. I know that I tend to have a shared drive with so many Earth signs, and that Fire signs have a unique capability to humor and delight. 

Fire signs can also burn your whole life down if you let them. Water signs can be secretive and vindictive. Earth signs can be so stubborn that they won’t admit a single flaw. Air signs can be unreliable and aloof. 

But guess what? So can everyone, because we all have aspects of each element inside of us. Leaning a certain way does not make us more or less bad or good. It just makes us human. 

As I reflect on my experiences this year, I am far more interested in how systems of meaning develop, than the systems themselves. Astrology, just like religion, was developed by humans who desperately wanted to provide an explanation for the mysterious workings of the cosmos, our planet, and the human heart. I think whether or not astrology is “real” is far less important than the history and traditions associated with it. 

Each of the signs in the Western Zodiac has a unique mythological creature and story attached to it. It was only this year that I found out that Capricorn is represented by a half-goat, half-fish creature (essentially a mergoat), and I learned that my sign (Libra) was only introduced into the zodiac later, because there was too much intensity going on between The Virgin (Virgo) and Scorpio (the Scorpion, duh) and Libra was brought in to balance things out. That is the reason why Librans are the only members of the zodiac family to not be represented by a living creature. 

I also found out that this might’ve been part of it because human beings have been liking the number 12 for a good minute, so we had to even out that odd 11 sooner or later. In my numerological deep dive I also found out that Romans were freaked out by the number 17, because it was written “XVII” and that, along with the fact that it was a weird prime number, really upset their sense of symmetry. In general it seems humans are not fond of numbers that cannot be divided by anything other than 1 and itself. So 9 is in, but 13 is out, and its probably more this, rather than the fact that we don’t want a snake sign in the Zodiac, that so many astrologers soundly refuse to recognize Ophiuchus. Obviously we make an exception for 0 (both a number and not a number) and also 1 and 2.  

I “wiki-walked” more and found out that a number of prominent musicians have superstitions regarding numbers, probably because our profession is way more about keeping time and counting than most people realize. 

Also, it’s been fascinating to find out about “the ages” which require incredible math to calculate. We are apparently just beginning the “Age of Aquarius” and a lot of changes that were predicted using past data seem to be “coming to pass.” 

Full disclosure: you can’t use astrology to predict the future of the planet anymore than you can the future of your relationship.

I use astrology to help me understand the past, but I do not trust the validity of horoscopes because it is impossible to know the future. I have developed a saying “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it echoes.” Economists, political analysists, climate scientists, and other experts in their field do not make their predictions based on “hunches” or mysterious esoteric knowledge, they make their predictions based on interpretation of data, and even if these predictions can be incredibly accurate, they are not completely infallible. 

In other words, you aren’t going to experience relationship troubles during “Mercury in retrograde” unless you expect and believe you will, or some other unrelated event causes it. The only difference then is that because you were hypervigilant, you shifted your own behavior in a way that exacerbated the issues, i.e. “a self-fulfilling prophecy.” 

If your marriage or friendship is failing, “astrological differences” likely aren’t the main culprit. Similarly, you should never dismiss your intuition that something is wrong just because your horoscope said, “You will find true love in December” and that is when you found it. That’s called a coincidence, and they’re everywhere. Trust yourself and trust your instincts. Your own personal patterns matters much more than what a stranger or an algorithm has predicted about you. Don’t try to “follow the signs”, test things out and see if things you find in your chart actually line up with what you’ve been experiencing. 

I really do believe in some kind of carnal divinity, a common life-energy that is connecting all living beings to one another. Don’t let your natural light and vitality be dimmed by people who enjoy burying their own light under a bushel. It isn’t a matter of “good” and “evil” in so many cases, but it really is about what kind of life each person wants and/or is willing to tolerate. 

That beings said, welcome to Sagittarius season! I hope you all find your inner flame archer and ride on your metaphorical horse legs right into your destiny. 

[bornincolorpod]

Hey! Here’s a little intro about me and the show :) ! about me ! my name is maya i’m 16 i use they/she/fluid pronouns i live in cali! pisces sun, aries moon and rising :) ! interests ! i love to learn which may sound lame but it is so much more than just lame. it can be so much fun depending on how you go about it. i love learning on my own terms, knowing my personal learning style and attention span lol. right now i’m self-studying korean and algebra 2 which you can check out on my studyblr one of my biggest passions is color guard. i’ve been doing color guard since the 7th grade (5 years!). i played other sports before but nothing has stuck like guard has. i intend to continue being apart of the sport after high school. i love a wide range of genres of music. from k-pop to indie to r&b i’m constantly making playlists and finding new gems to play on repeat. i’m in band, specifically wind ensemble. right now i’m in the process of making a , what i would call, a flawless transition to oboe from playing trombone. i’ve been in band since the 5th grade (wait that’s 7 years : 0). i also love to draw and paint in my free time. it helps me relax and focus o something that doesn’t have to be perfect or fit a rubric. ? why a podcast ? i’m a naturally extroverted person which, up until now, was a side i hid from others. starting podcast meant that i could express myself without worrying about filtering or changing who i was. i love having the hard conversations that need to happen. i also love hearing other people’s experiences and point of view on topics, whether or not i agree with them or not. full disclosure i didn’t start a youtube channel because of how much work and time it takes to set up, but that is something i plan on diving into farther along the line it’s my dream to work at the radio station of my future college or get a space at a studio to record and edit my show instead of in front of my bedroom window lol i just really love the feeling of being a part of a community and making new connections ? what does “Born in Color” mean ? ever since elementary school i’ve known that i was treated differently because of my skin tone,my race. i’ve constantly suffered through microaggressions and not so covert racism my entire life. these experiences have shaped how i see the world which is where i am coming from on my show. ! some podcasts i love ! black girl in om black girl podcast books & boba dissect how did i get here? not your average mai the thick teenager therapy side hustle pro still processing thank you for reading

[euphoriablogadjl]

EPISODE ONE

17-year-old Rue (the main character), returns home from rehab with no plans of staying sober. Rue quickly buys drugs and begins using again. Promptly after, her mom forces her to take a drug test- which she fakes giving her the clear to go out tonight. To commemorate the last week of summer before school starts, there is a party at Chris’s house (football jock but a nice guy). Before the party, a new girl in town Jules has an aggressive hookup with a much older man. Nate (popular high school quarterback with toxic masculinity problems), and Maddy (Nate’s on again off again girl), spend the night trying to make each other jealous. Chris and Cassie (Chris’s crush), have an interesting sex scene. At the party, a group of guys asks Kat (Maddy’s friend), if she is a “Prude or a slut,” soon after she loses her virginity. At the end of the party, Nate stands over Jules, pulls a knife on her, and says,- “you want some attention”. She screams, pulling the knife on him and slitting her arm. Rue follows Jules out of the party and asks to go home with her. Rue takes care of Jule’s wounds as she undresses. The episode ends with them in bed, looking at each other with major sexual tension, and the final words of the episode is Rue saying, “wanna get high”. 

There is a lot to unpack in this episode but I am going to begin with how race is represented. Rue comes from a middle class mixed background, her mother Black, and her father white. This alone defies racial stereotypes, that people of color are only supporting roles, not the lead. This can be supported by the UCLA Hollywood Diversity Report of 2019, which states, “only 2.2 of 10 lead actors in scripted TV are people of color”(15). In the series, the characters are shown questioning their sexuality and gender, although the actual cast is almost entirely cisgender, majority straight, mainly white, and vaguely diverse. In this episode, of the main speaking characters, two are Black, one is Latinx, one is Brazilian, and 4 are white. It is also important to keep in mind that the creator of this show is a white man, writing for a Black woman with no understanding of her identity. Missing in his “writer’s room,” would have been a Black woman who can touch on these issues more closely- a missed opportunity. One instance where race and gender could have functioned in this episode was a sexual encounter with Cassie(white) and Chris (Black). Chris tries a new sexual technique on Cassie by choking her, she is extremely appalled, and when she asks him to stop he does. Did he stop because he is a good guy that likes her, yes most likely? But there is underlying white-privilege and gender privilege that could have functioned if he had not have stopped. This is an interlocking system of oppression that we discussed in Professor Judd’s first academic lecture. She says, “The stratification of racial power in this country uses gender and gender-stereotyped to shape racial ideology”. In this situation, the stereotypes at play are: 1) white women are fragile and need protection, and 2) Black men are potentially dangerous. 

Joan Scott writes the article, Gender: Still a Useful Category of Analysis? to show society that gender and sex do not exist independently of the connotations produced by them. She writes, “The deconstruction insisted that sex, like gender, had to be understood as a  system of attributed meaning;  neither was about nature,  both were products of culture”(11). It is important to recognize this and understand that gender, and therefore gender norms are socially constructed and not a basis of sex. Given this, I am going to analyze gender norms as social and separate from sexual identity. Also, since this is only the first episode, there is not enough information to presume any of the characters' genders as other than cisgender. There are a lot of instances in this episode where gender norms played a role, one of the first being Jules’s hookup with an older man. Both of these characters are white, so race is probably not a contributor but the man is much older and Jules is an insecure minor. Much of the encounter shows him standing over her and petting her, exposing this toxic function of power that this male has. He treats her like a pet telling her she is “clean,” and a “good girl”. Jules lets this happen but this encounter is statutory rape regardless. Why she lets this happen could be several things. It is exposed at the end of the episode that she may be lesbian or bisexual as she and Rue show a lot of sexual tension, so in this scenario, she may be struggling with underlying questions of sexuality. Also, he is portrayed as a strong powerful man who may hurt Jules if she does not comply- which plays on a socially constructed gender stereotype. There are lots of instances in this episode where men are shown verbally objectifying women, another common gender stereotype. In one instance a group of guys ask Kat if she is a “prude or a slut,” and she answers because this sexualization of women by men is accepted, and they then take this a step further saying,”Fat girls give the best head”.  In 30 seconds these men have objectified her physically and sexually and her perceived role as a woman is to comply. 

In this first episode, people’s sexual orientation has not yet had time to come to light, at this point we can only presume that people are heterosexual except for Rue and Jules. At the end of the episode, they show Rue holding onto Jules while romantically riding the bike, and at the end of the episode, they show Rue and Jules looking into each other's eyes in bed- foreshadowing at a potential sexual interest. Through research, I learned that Jules injects herself with hormones in this episode. To me, I thought she injected herself with drugs or something therefore forcing me to realize my shortcomings. I am analyzing this show as a white, cisgender woman who has little knowledge about the techniques of drug use or the appearance of hormones. With this new knowledge, I can make a presumption that Jules may be transgender, which in the landscape of media is groundbreaking to feature a queer romance with the main character. My oblivion to Jules’s possibility of being transgender may mean that the show defied common transgender stereotypes in media. According to the 2020 movie, Disclosure, transgender people were portrayed as perverts, psychopaths, dangerous, prostitutes, hyper-sexualized, and humorous, and in this episode none of these stereotypes took place. 

Samuel Levinson has said that one of his goals in creating Euphoria was to start a conversation, but who has access? Euphoria is an HBO show which comes with a $15 a month price tag, compared to Netflix’s $8.99, and is only available to HULU users with a premium membership. Samuel’s desire to create open dialogue may not be widely available to people under different socioeconomic circumstances which according to the 2016 Census is largely determined by race and ethnicity. One lurking political implication of the show is the role of makeup. Even in the first episode, there are many instances where makeup looks are very unique and push society’s expectations. Samuel says, “Makeup is a way of transcending mainstream archetypes and stereotypes by embracing a more fluid, boundary-pushing mode of self-expression.” This quote reminds me of reading in Gendered Lives: Intersectional Perspectives, when Loan Tran says, “the way gender is embodied indicates a tremendous blossoming of human possibility”(38). This way of thinking about gender expression as a beautiful “possibility” is a wonderful concept and one I believe Sam is bringing to life. 

Bureau, U. C. (n.d.). Census.gov. Census.Gov. Retrieved November 12, 2020, from https://www.census.gov/en.html

Disclosure | netflix official site. (n.d.). Retrieved November 12, 2020, from https://www.netflix.com/title/81284247

Hollywood diversity report 2020. (n.d.). Social Sciences. Retrieved November 12, 2020, from https://socialsciences.ucla.edu/hollywood-diversity-report-2020/

Jafar, S. (n.d.). The overarching cultural impact of hbo’s new show, ‘euphoria.’ The Science Survey. Retrieved November 12, 2020, from https://thesciencesurvey.com/arts-entertainment/2019/11/24/the-overarching-cultural-impact-of-hbos-new-show-euphoria/

Nissen, D., & Nissen, D. (2019, June 5). ‘Euphoria’ creator sam levinson opens up about drug addiction at premiere. Variety. https://variety.com/2019/scene/news/euphoria-creator-sam-levinson-opens-up-drug-addiction-1203233881/

Tran, Loan. “Does Gender Matter? Notes Toward Gender Liberation.” Gendered Lives: 

Intersectional Perspectives, 7th ed., Oxford University Press, 2019.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, RACH You’ve been accepted for the role of TAMORA. Admin Rosey: You’d think that a person wouldn’t REALLY be charmed by Trinity. I mean, why would they? She’s terrifying and otherworldly. I don’t know how you managed to do it, Rach, but in that interview you had me completely and utterly charmed by Trinity -- her voice, her mannerisms, everything about her had me sighing in total infatuation. But then you reminded me of who she was -- a beautiful, terrifying monster. Shaped by tragedy, but still learning and evolving. I am so incredibly happy to finally say this: everybody, welcome Trinnity Zakarian onto the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

IN DEPTH

Alias | Rach

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 8.5 ; These quarantimes are doing  wonders for my activity levels.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  | See below!

Current/Past RP Accounts | I play Jules over at @julianaxcapulet ;)

Character | Tamora; Trinity Khalida Zakarian 

Trinity - “Triad”

Khalida - “Deathless”

Zakarian - “God has remembered”

What drew you to this character? |

If I were to compare Trinity to Juliana at face value, I’m not sure that I could select two more different characters, but I suppose that is part of what draws me to Trinity. She is so different from what I typically look for in a character and there’s something deeply and darkly alluring about her character. There’s a certain cleverness, a certain craftiness that I sensed in her bio that initially drew me toward her. Despite her inability to feel emotion, I think she has a surprisingly strong grasp of the human condition. She has a unique perspective and furthermore, a unique understanding of people, one I think does her both a great service and disservice in the land of Verona.  

I think time and time again I am drawn to characters who experience this very quintessential loneliness, but when it comes to Trinity, there’s a distinct lack of longing for companionship which intrigues me. Here is a woman that has only ever come close to loving one thing, a son that was stolen away from her in the wake of the greatest betrayal. Her story is so tragic but clearly unfinished. I love the idea that the loss of the thing she held dearest is what marks the beginning of her story, rather than the end. If death is the beginning of Trinity’s story, then perhaps life is the end and I am extremely excited to see how that could possibly play out. 

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

One. 

Full disclosure, Titus Andronicus is one of my favorite tragedies but I find myself thoroughly interested in where Trinity’s story departs from (or rather begins at the end of) her namesake’s story. As mentioned in what I wrote about what drew me to Trinity, I am fascinated by how her character blurs the line between beginnings and endings. Her character stands to exist so non-linearly in such a forward-moving world. Shakespeare’s Tamora, Queen of the Goths, is driven entirely by revenge, but Trinity is a character who has had her revenge without facing the same untimely fate or consequences of her namesake. So how does Trinity exist beyond the fulfilment of her revenge? The Montagues have given her a place to plant her roots, but where and how does she grow from there? There is a ghostly quality to her presence, but it is an enduring one and I want to explore how Trinity’s spirit endures. She has already begun to develop a legacy, one written by outsiders and onlookers to her life, but what does Trinity want the world to remember of her? How does she honor her son’s memory? Is it through big, public acts or rather, through smaller, everyday actions? 

My suspicion? It’s a combination of both.

Two.

I am intrigued by how Trinity is a character that simultaneously manages to be wholly content and entirely discontent at the same time. It’s a strange line to walk. She wants for nothing, but is solely driven by this constant yearning to feel. Trinity is such a stranger to the hungry ambition that seems to drive so many of Verona’s people that I would like to see her have a taste of what really drives her new city. I would like to see Trinity put in a situation where some form of ambition is encouraged, if not required of her. Perhaps, the Montagues task her to further develop her ties to the Russians elite, or better yet, encourage her to further integrate herself into Verona’s high society, where she cannot merely slide by on the nobility of her last name. Trinity is well acquainted with the art of acting, of maintaining a presence, but what happens when what is required of her is something that must come from deep within? How does she adapt? Are her suspicions confirmed that all tasks and ventures are equally empty? Or better yet, does she find an additional avenue of finding that warmth she aches for? Does she find a new way to slow her brutal decay?

Three. 

This may sound strange, but Trinity’s connection to Mona was one that managed to surprise me, to catch me off guard (in the most pleasant way, of course). The notion of envy from a character that is so intrinsically distant from emotion adds this wonderful nuance to her character. It’s this wonderfully humanizing quality that somehow manages to still feel characteristic and honest of Trinity. There are hints of this passion throughout Trinity’s bio-- the spark she feels when her son is born, the desperation in her bones when she stabs her wife. I love the idea of such grievous, deplorable emotions being the tipping point for her, which is why I would really love to explore what else within Verona can ignite such fury, such wrath from detached being like herself. Besides Mona, I would love to explore the different emotions that can be pulled from Trinity through her different connections. Conversely, there’s a part of me that wants to see Trinity become attached to something, to someone, especially because I know it’s something she would be resistant to, something she may not even recognize within herself. I think there’s a lot of potential ways that it can be taken (maybe with Grace?), but I would be very excited to explore how that might unfold.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Always

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

Tw: murder, death, blood, torture (kind of)

What is your favorite place in Verona? | 

To have a favorite, is to have attachment, Trinity thinks. She is keenly aware that an attachment is not something she possesses within the confines of Verona borders, or perhaps, possesses at all. In truth, she does not particularly care for Verona. Faron had promised her that the warmth of Italian summers was incomparable, though she’s been rather underwhelmed by the mellowness of the Veronian sun. Every now and then she finds herself longing for the endless, Russian winters which were at least bitter enough to send a chill through her bones. 

“The Lamberti Tower.”

“Why?” the interviewer presses further, as if intrigued by her lack of elaboration. His reaction alone alerts her to the nature of his being-- he’s the typical journalist type, addicted to the thrill of uncovering secrets and stories. He’s eager and objectively handsome enough to make something of himself, but perhaps too curious, too invested in his art for his own good. She thinks she might see something in him but she’s not sure what. 

She contorts her lips into what passes for a pleased smile, though the creases beside her eyes fail to form, “I like the view from the top.”

The interviewer pries no further and Trinity decides he may actually possess enough self-control to go far in life. 

What does your typical day look like?

Trinity takes in the question, absorbing it before formulating a calculated response in her head. It’s a much preferred question to the previous one and it’s one Trinity supposes she can humor for the time being-- no revealing of attachments, no nostalgia or falsified wistfulness. 

Since the passing of her son, her days have begun to blur together-- only identified today, tomorrow, yesterday. She puts no faith in the distant future that she does not know, for she sees her life in two acts: before her son and after her son is born. Alexei’s death marks the end of her life, as he takes her heart with him to the grave. It’s a morbid finale followed by a somber epilogue, in which she must continue living. 

“The day begins in the early hours of the morning, when my sleep breaks,” Trinity begins as though she is narrating a story known well by her missing heart. 

“And then there are the meetings and of course, more meetings…” she draws on with the tilt of her head, as if to highlight the fact that they are engaged in some sort of meeting right now. She recounts the numerous times those around her have complained of their lengthy meetings and in truth, Tamora doesn’t really care. She has no particular affinity for small talk nor discussions of projected growth, but there was something to be said for the time that they managed to fill. What else was she to do with her countless hours of the day? There was nothing leisurely about her life, no excitement to be captured from the monotonous joys her brethren seemed to so easily delight in. She could feign delight and desire with a flawless accuracy, but it did little to hide the ultimate truth that there was no spark to be found behind those hollow eyes. 

“Meetings can be so dull,” she adds for good measure, leaning in towards the interviewer, as if to confess something honest. Really, it’s just an easy lie, one with a dangerous relatability that manages to produce a nod of agreement and knowing smile from the young man she sits with. He’s charmed now, confident that he’s managed to peer into her mind, elicit some great secret from a locked vault. Little did he know that if he were to truly see inside the woman before him, he would be consumed whole by a dark and tormentful emptiness, a ceaseless, gruesome night with no end in sight.

“After finishing up my personal work, I like to return home and unwind...perhaps even watch a movie. I’ve always been partial to films ever since I was a child.”.  

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you liked movies, Miss Zakarian,” the interviewer notes, with mild interest scribbling something down on his notepad for the first time during the duration of their entire interview. 

“Doesn’t everyone like a little escapism?” she replies, actively curling the edges of her lips into an easy smile, an expression so well-practiced it seemed as though it was the most natural response in the world. 

This time Trinity had afforded him a half-truth, for indeed she did occupy her time with the occasional movie, though never with the intentions of escape (she had long known of their ineffectiveness). Rather, there was something educational to be taken from films, to absorb the mechanics at which actors expressed themselves so convincingly. Films were like holy scriptures to her, unflinching in their portrayal of the human psyche, even if not always intentional. There were lessons to be learned from even from the worst actors, just as there were lessons to be learned from the worst kind of people.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? 

The ghost of her smile fades just as quickly as it had formed itself upon Trinity’s face. Mistakes were certainly treacherous territory. 

The answer seems increasingly unclear to Trinity as she sees herself gazing into her wife’s eyes one final time, as she plunges a knife into her lover’s heart, over and over again. Her eyes are dry, for she cannot yet weep for the child she has lost at the hands of a woman she had sworn her life to. She had sealed her wife’s fate without a moment’s hesitation and made her pay for her wretched crime, in the only way she knew how. Trinity had watched the life fade away from her wife slowly, her eyes glazed over, devoid of sentiment, ensuring her beloved knew that the price of her betrayal was her life. Only when they are both truly gone, does she finally dissolve. For one brief, shining moment, her grief manifests in a tidal wave of anger, sorrow, rage, and tears and it is the last time she ever comes close to touching life. Alone in her cursed home she falls apart, clinging the body of her dead son tightly against his chest as his blood pools around her, drenching her dress in an unsightly crimson.

When Trinity finally leaves her home she never returns, nor does her heart. It’s remains had been left behind to turn to ash, along with everything else she had ever loved.

She attempts to discern what marked the beginning of the end, what had set the stage for such tragedy and betrayal but she finds herself largely unsuccessful. Each moment was interwoven within the next, each choice could be traced back further and further until her memory turned to oblivion. 

“Identifying one’s biggest mistake is a futile endeavor,” Trinity replies aloofly, her counterfeit charm giving way to something far more harrowing. If the young man before her was so eager to peer behind her mask, then she supposed she ought to offer him a glance. “Every mistake is merely a summation of what has come before it.”

“So, your biggest mistake is being born?” the interviewer frowns, attempting to gather whatever scraps he can from her cryptic response. His tone suggests confusion but there’s something that resembles intrigue that forms upon his well-sculpted features. 

Trinity presses her lips together firmly but does not correct his assumption.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? 

“Tasks implies a sense of duty...” Trinity replies pointedly. The very notion of a task seemed to involve some sort of great undertaking, which much like sentimentality, was not something Trinity had ever associated with. She makes a conscious effort to lace her cool fingers together in her lap. If the young man were to shake her hand now, he was sure to be frightened by the chillness of her touch. 

“And you do not possess a sense of duty?” the interviewer prods, though this time he’s managed to more effectively mask his surprise at her response. He seems more engaged now, fascinated by the woman that sits before him, desperate to unearth more of her secrets.

“I did, once,” Trinity nods, affirmatively and she sees her young son’s face in the corner of the room. He’s looking at her imploringly, with bright eyes and she sees the only spark of life she’s ever known. “But I am no longer beholden to that duty.” 

“Why not? Did you succeed? Did you fail?” 

“Success and failure are not metrics of difficulty,” she answers, “Just as some people fail at easy tasks, others succeed at difficult tasks.”

“And you?”

She gazes through the young man before her and her eyes settle on the wall behind him, as through she could see straight through his skull. He looks nothing like her Alexei, but she finally understands what she’s recognized in him the moment they met. His eyes are so bright, so full of promise, that she’d like to sink her cold thumbs into the sockets of each eye and push harder and harder until she felt that warmth, that brightness, even if only for a few solemn moments. 

 “Success, task, failure, difficult-- they’re all just words, маленький, empty words. It would serve you well to learn that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Arguably, Trinity's loyalty to the Montagues likely failed to constitute loyalty at all. It was merely a convenience, if that. 

“Where do your loyalties lie?” she asks, turning the question back towards him. 

“I’m journalist, Miss Zakarian...I’m loyal to the truth,” he says, and Trinity cannot help but grit her teeth slightly, a rare reaction from the otherwise largely unresponsive woman. What could this man possibly know of the truth? 

“So you truly possess no ties to the Montagues, then?” Trinity clarifies, as she stands from her chair stepping closer to the young man, cupping his face, her icy fingers searing into the warmth of his skin as she examines his every feature.

“No...no,” he replies, his eagerness mounting as his own hands settle upon her waist, gazing at her with a hunger she cannot possibly begin to relate to. “Honestly, they would probably prefer if I wasn’t around. They don’t really like independence around these parts...but you do, right? You’re really not like the rest of them are you?”

“No, I am not,” comes from the lips of the corpse-like woman and it’s the first truly honest admission she’s made through the entire interview. She looks at him vacantly as her fingers slowly slide from his jaw to his throat until they settle firmly around his neck and begin to squeeze.

She looks on as his expression morphs from excitement to confusion to desperation which manages to send a single tingle running down her spine. He attempts to struggle but her grasp is too tight and by the time he’s realized his fate it’s too late. His body releases one final shudder before eventually falling limp below her. With two fingers, she drags his eyelids shut with mild satisfaction as she has finally managed to extinguish the light.

She exits the room silently and glides to the hallway void of any emotion. When they eventually ask who finally took care of that terribly nosy young journalist, she’ll collect her payment but not before her lips curl into that well-practiced and reply, “A ghost.”

Extras:

Mock Blog 

Pinterest 

[settlingtheocean]

"Right Mindfulness”; going beyond “me” to go beyond anxiety

Those who are familiar with meditation may be familiar with the word “mindfulness”. Those are familiar with Buddhist meditation may be familiar with “right mindfulness”. This is a word that, for some, may create feelings of discomfort. Who has the authority to say whether mindfulness is “right” or “wrong”? Isn’t that judgmental and/or moralizing gatekeeping? Speaking for myself, I occasionally come up with this kind of thinking and can understand the concern, however I think it’s worthwhile to question this weariness. After all, we should consider that perhaps our desire to be “more mindful” is concurrent with a desire for goodness, even when we say it isn’t. If we didn’t think it was somehow good to be mindful, we wouldn’t do it. “Right” mindfulness, any way, is not the mindfulness that makes us say “you’re doing it wrong and I’m doing it right.”

The Satipatthana Sutta describes “mindfulness” as being mindfulness of the body, feelings, mind, and mental qualities in and of themselves. In the Buddha’s teaching, all of one’s efforts are for the sake of freedom from suffering. This is right mindfulness, and conversely, wrong mindfulness holds objects of mindfulness as they relate to the world. The Sabbasava sutta expresses the differences in attitude well:

This is how he attends inappropriately: 'Was I in the past? Was I not in the past? What was I in the past? How was I in the past? Having been what, what was I in the past? Shall I be in the future? Shall I not be in the future? What shall I be in the future? How shall I be in the future? Having been what, what shall I be in the future?' Or else he is inwardly perplexed about the immediate present: 'Am I? Am I not? What am I? How am I? Where has this being come from? Where is it bound?' ... Bound by a fetter of views, the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person is not freed from birth, aging, & death, from sorrow, lamentation, pain, distress, & despair. He is not freed, I tell you, from suffering & stress.

...

[The well-instructed disciple] appropriately, ‘This is stress... This is the origination of stress... This is the cessation of stress... This is the way leading to the cessation of stress.' As he attends appropriately in this way, three fetters are abandoned in him: identity-view, doubt, and grasping at precepts & practices. These are called the fermentations to be abandoned by seeing. 

As a Taijiquan practitioner, this teaching would make me feel uncomfortable because it made me wonder if my taiji practice might be wrong; in taiji, we’re mindful of the body in a way which is meant to be conducive to health and well-being, but also in a way which is concerned with martial application. Is my taiji practice wrong mindfulness, then? Similarly, some who are familiar with popular teachings of mindfulness (so often for the purpose of success in business, relationships, etc) may experience discomfort at the slightest utterance of “right” - that’s so judgmental, some might say. If mindfulness has been helpful in one’s more worldly endeavors, it would be a bummer to taint that with this consideration that “maybe I’m doing it all wrong.”

Before beginning to write this, I was reading Erving Goffman’s book, Stigma. Erving Goffman is a sociologist who studied social interactions on a small (micro) scale, helping us understand the role of social and personal identities in human social behavior. Stigma is more specifically about how humans carry stigmas, external signs which lead one to be discredited by so-called “normals” when they are made apparent - one can be discredited by being deaf, depressed, dark-skinned, etc. Because of this potential to be discredited, it’s natural that humans would want to avoid the disclosure of their stigma. This leads into a phenomenon known as “passing”, where the person does what they can to avoid disclosure and be classified as “normal”. 

It is here where we find problems of anxiety and social isolation, as the endeavor to prevent disclosure of the facts of our life requires us to be rather circumspect on our behavior and fearful of letting the truth get out. Goffman offers two quotes to illustrate this:

‘We have many ingenious tricks for disguising or minimizing our blocks. We look ahead for “Jonah” sounds and works, so-called because they are unlucky and we envy the whale his ease in expelling them. We dodge “Jonah” words when we can, substituting non-feared words in heir places or hastily shifting our thought until the continuity of our speech becomes as involved as a plate of spaghetti.’

...From a homosexual:

‘The strain of deceiving my family and friends often became intolerable. It was necessary for me to watch every word I spoke, and every gesture that I made, in case I gave myself away.’

It occurred to me that this is a perfect example of wrong mindfulness - but not in the sense that, “okay, somebody should really tell these people to suck it up and do a better job next time.” Moreso in the sense that paying attention to one’s daily life like this is surely stressful. Does anybody want to live like this? Based on my own experiences with anxiety, I know that the way I pay attention to the “triggers” and the anxiety itself plays a big role in how that anxiety unfolds. Despite the fact that my anxiety was largely conditioned by rather hurtful behaviors of my peers, If I believe in everything anxiety says, I’m bound to remain stuck in anxiety. Speaking for myself, it wasn’t until I started learning about “Right mindfulness” that I began to realize I could be free from this anxiety.  In the case of anxiety, one is mindful of their speech and bodily actions, but in a way that is just plain stressful: mindfulness for the sake of avoiding emotional pain (like the plague) and a compromised personal identity (as if it were made of glass). This is mindfulness which takes the objects of experience as one’s “self”, or as pertaining to a “self”, or as being owned by a “self”; the objects of attention become means for managing one’s social identity so that one may avoid being discredited or shamed. For those familiar with Brené Brown, one may understand this mindfulness as being a mindfulness concerned with shirking away from vulnerability because of the potential to be shamed for our supposed (and often imagined) failings. 

This is “wrong mindfulness” not because it’s morally evil, or just because you’re not doing what the Buddha said. It’s called “wrong” simply because it isn’t “right” for one interested in the pursuit of peace, just as a square hole isn’t “right” for a round peg. Wrong mindfulness is mindfulness that is not only concerned with the world, but is bound with suffering. When we take the body as “me”, or when we hold it relative to an imagined social identity, we begin to get anxious and defensive. The seeds of anxiety are planted as soon as we begin to attend to things as they relate to “self” or a “self” as it exists in the “world”, hence the Buddha’s notion of “inappropriate attention,” quoted above.

In this case, “right mindfulness” isn’t about following a dogma, or even being “right”; attachment to dogmas and a preoccupation with being “right” are not just concerned with constructed identities, they are bound up with stress; the stress of being argumentative, doubtful, obstinate, arrogant, and conceited. Rather, "right mindfulness” or “appropriate attention” is concerned with attending to the world in a way which doesn’t perpetuate our suffering, especially the suffering caused by inappropriate attention. For this reason we don’t seek to become “better at breathing” or “really good at being mindful all the time” but rather we learn to attend to our body in a way which not only puts us at ease, but also helps us understand our suffering; right mindfulness is the mindfulness which makes things clear, not the mindfulness which makes us bound and confused.

But not only does “right mindfulness” give us peace in the moment, it also protects us in the future. Erving Goffman notes that when passing, one takes on a self-imposed (and sometimes externally-imposed) duty to prevent disclosure of their stigma. However, he notes, this doesn’t mean one is free from disclosure; one is not free from being discredited or shamed even if they pass successfully. This is because there are those who are “wise” - those who, while not necessarily stigmatized, are wise to the ways in which the stigmatized hide their stigma. Goffman gives the example:

“Why don’t you try a chiropractor?” she [a casual acquaintance] asked me, chewing corned beef, giving no slightest indication that she was about to knock the bottom out of my world. “Dr. Fletcher told me he’s curing one of his patients of deafness.”

My heart skittered, in panic, against my ribs. What did she mean? 

“My dad’s deaf,” she revealed. “I can spot a deaf person anywhere. That soft voice of yours. And that trick of letting your sentences trail off -- not finishing them. Dad does that all the time.”

In this way, passing is revealed to be “marked with dukkha” - it is not a reliable refuge. One’s mindfulness to guard their identity may make one feel secure, but once the conditions for one’s sense of safety are undermined, suffering arises; in this way, the seeds of suffering are planted in “wrong mindfulness”, because the sense of security, comfort, or even happiness that is sustained by this kind of mindfulness is insubstantial and must be sustained by a rather stressful and anxiety-ridden effort. Once the foundation has been uprooted - the bottom knocked out - then the fruits of one’s efforts are destroyed.

It is here where mindfulness clearly becomes more than just a mere tool or faculty that can be employed to make us “more mindful people” or “brave leaders” or “better and more sensitive lovers”. It becomes a tool by which we come to understand the very things which not only create external suffering (e.g. rocky relationships), but also internal suffering (a desperate longing to be a self that is perfect and free from ridicule).

Going back to my concern with taiji, one should note the concern revolves around fear: that "my" taiji is wrong which would mean "I'm" wrong. This is perhaps one reason why people feel uncomfortable with "right" and "wrong": it puts their sense of self at risk; few want to be "wrong" because they'd rather feel "right". But it’s at that point where one is worrying about “being right” and “not being wrong”, in this sense, that one should remember: this is dukkha. It’s suffering. And it’s also here where, if we practice something like taiji, perhaps we should consider: what am I practicing for? What are the results of my practice? Am I investing in attitudes which are harmful to myself or others? If this practice feels good, is my attitude toward that pleasure causing unneeded suffering? To what extent am I too reliant on this practice - do I feel afraid because I miss a taiji session or don’t do the form right?  

Here, thoughts of “right and wrong” aren’t what’s being bypassed, but rather it is the self-position which is being put aside in favor of “right” and “wrong”. In other words, we think in terms of “right and wrong” in the context of actions, consequences, and suffering - not “right and wrong” as it pertains to a “self”. With this consideration, “right mindfulness” need not be feared. Instead, we can use it as a reminder to be honest with ourselves in our pursuit of peace or goodness in life. If we’re afraid to drop our practices that are in some way worldly, first we should really take a look at that fear and consider its connection to an identity (perhaps an “identity-at-risk”) we’ve constructed around those activities. If the activities were themselves wrong, or if it was wrong to pay attention to the world in any way, then the Buddha wouldn’t have praised virtues such as generosity (which occurs within the social world), nor would he have praised the hard-working layman with a righteous livelihood, nor would he have formulated rules for laypeople and monastics which themselves relate to the world, but on a more fundamental level relate to suffering and the cessation of suffering. Worldly things have their purpose, but it is when we attend to them in a way based in delusion that we begin to sow the seeds of suffering. It is for this reason that the Buddha distinguished between a “right” and a “wrong”.