#cw. sexism

[enter-sandmann]

Ozzie's Taglist ;

| Masterlist | Information page | Rules FR |

Here is where the list of tags I'm willing to write for are, this list will grow as my blog does...

Accepted/in use Tags:

Yandere Syndrome, Lima Syndrome

Dub-con/Non-con, Coercion/Rape, Marital Rape, Pseudo-incest, Incest,

Forced Relationships/Marriage, Baby-Trapping, Predatory behaviors, abuse of law enforcement,

Abuse, Domestic abuse, Child Abuse, Sexual Assault, Harassment, Grooming, Attempted Suicide, Murder, Stalking, Sexism, Infantizing,

Any kind of kinks

——

No-no's

Pedophilia, Bestiality

Racism

Scat or piss kinks (or any other than follows this line)

Yandere readers

Oc's

Canon x Canon

[theangryman]

One person was banned almost immediately.

The other person was not banned until they made another post revealing that they were posting videos of their partner.

One person was harassed and bullied and told that they were lying.

One person was given advice, told about how they could improve their situation.

This is why kink is not safe. There is more compassion and kindness for someone who admits to wanting to kick their partner in the face than there is for someone who has received that treatment.

[heartless-aro]

So much of the arophobia directed towards aromantic heterosexual men seems to be rooted in willful ignorance about what aromanticism actually is and how allosexual aromanticism differs from sexual objectification. Aromanticism is experiencing little to no romantic attraction towards others. That’s it. It isn’t the same as sending unsolicited dick picks to strangers or reducing women to their bodies. When a misogynistic man disregards a woman’s personhood in favor of treating her as a sexual object, it isn’t because he doesn’t experience romantic attraction to women. It’s because he chooses not to value women as people.

That has nothing to do with whether or not the man in question experiences romantic attraction. You can respect someone’s personhood without being romantically attracted to them. In fact, if you can’t respect a woman’s personhood without being attracted to her, then that is misogynistic. However, there is nothing inherently misogynistic about finding a woman sexy (even if you aren’t romantically interested in her!), nor is there anything inherently misogynistic about having casual sex with a woman who has enthusiastically consented to having casual sex. (Because, yes. Women CAN consent to having casual sex without being tricked into it via false promises of romance. Women are fully capable of deciding for themselves what they want to do with their bodies. Just because a woman does something with her body that makes you uncomfortable—like casual sex—doesn’t mean she’s a helpless victim who needs you to rescue her from her own autonomy.)

It also just seems so bizarre to me to claim that aromantic heterosexual men don’t face any stigma related to their aromanticism. Do you really think a man who has never had a crush on a woman won’t face any stigma for that? If a heterosexual man says that he has never gone on a date or has never had his first kiss, how do people react to that? Social norms for how men engage with romance are different from how women are expected to engage with romance; that doesn’t change the fact that men are still expected to engage with romance in certain normative ways.

Of course, aromanticism is not the same as just not going on dates or not kissing people. That is just one of many ways that aromanticism can look. But aromantic experiences are diverse, so it’s difficult to give a one-size-fits-all example of how aromantic heterosexual people are affected by arophobia. What I’m trying to express here is that aromantic people often don’t engage with romance in the way that society expects us to (if we engage with romance at all) and that, furthermore, men are often perceived differently when they do not conform to those expectations.

[froggybogwitch]

The horror of Motherhood in ACOTAR

The title Mother is soaked in blood.

Basically all the mothers we see are either dead or suffering, yeah? The act of being a mother, chosen or not, almost always leads to violence or suffering. There's an element of sacrifice to it, yes, but rarely is made willingly. Often these women are simply collateral to the desires and goals of the men around them. Cassian's mother, raped and worked to death, forced to carry a child she did not want, then forced to give him up by the men who inflicted him upon her. The Lady of Autumn, forced to carry son after son after son, for a man she never wanted to touch, bound to the birthing bed for as long as Beron willed it. The Lady of Night, tortured, beheaded, mutilated, her pride and joy taken as trophies to hang in the halls over her murderers, for the crime being at the right place, at the wrong time. There's a real sense of horror and violence embued into the role of mother, in acotar, and none escape it, not even Feyre.

All of this is compounded by the fact that textually, they are remembered almost exclusively by their suffering. None of them are given names, or speaking lines or any influence over their children beyond the second hand trauma they passed down. They are vectors of pain and grief. Motherhood is not beautiful in ACOTAR, it's an act of violence against the women it happens to.

I don't think this was an intended pattern but I can't help but notice it in the way the characters defined by their motherhood are treated.

[probablybadrpgideas]

So! I was going through the Champions RPG Villain sourcebooks to compare descriptions of male and female villains.

In case you are wondering, slight over half of female villains had some variant of "attractive" in their appearance section, while only around 1/6th of male ones did. But you know, comics are weird about women and so are games based on them, this was ten years ago, more at eleven.

No, the reason I bring it up is because while there were twelve male villains whose appearance section explicitly called them unattractive, there was only one canonically unattractive female villain.

Here she is:

And you can tell the person writing these descriptions has never been on tumblr, right?

-Pencil

[dathen]

Another day, another “why didn’t Victor just make a woman with missing body parts to gift as a custom-made wife-slave to his other creation :// worst human being in history!!”

[very-gay-poet]

people wonder why we still need feminism when boys in my class were comparing what the suffragettes (/womans right to vote movement in the uk) did to get the right to vote (hunger strikes, arson attacks, destroyed property where the majority of people would notice, leaving behind notes to say that they did it, etc, etc) to Hitler. They were comparing woman who just wanted to be fucking equal to men and get the right to vote for all woman (not just rich white woman like the suffragists did) to HITLER.

[velvetvexations]

saw a friend say "theyfab crusade" bc she was worried someone would go on a rampage if she asked them to delete their rb of her post and having her type "theyfab" in the discord just rubbed me the wrong way as i am pretty much the only tmasc in there like i get being worried about others taking ones words the wrong way but i wish more people understood that not everyone is out to get you and it is infact a small group that is actively trying to harm others

idk the situation just felt off to me

hope youre havin a lovely day miss velvet n thank you for all your support n lettin me kinda vent in your inbox

I woke up like five minutes ago and in that time I've gotten two separate asks about transmascs being depressingly passive to outrageous transphobia and raising only the meekest of objections.

She hatefully used a slur for a group she doesn't belong to! That's not a situation feeling off, that's transphobia!

Please I love you so much stop being so okay with these things.

[sickofthis666]

Isn't it batshit crazy that when a famous man is accused of rape, two kinds of testimonies come forwards simultaneously:

A part of people who knew him/his circle, (employees, friends, coworkers, lovers, etc) will say, horrified:

"We didn’t know. Who could have thought? He never acted like that with me"

And another part will say:

"Everyone knew. Everyone. For years. Decades. It was an open secret. The whole industry knew."

[yu-huuuu]

"Your body, my choice"

"Your microdick, my knife🥰🔪"

[dreamwatch]

Hello, I've Waited Here For You

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #18 - Prompt: Freak | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: period typical attitudes to women, period typical homophobia, internalised fat shaming, period typical sexism, sexist language | POV: Matt (Freak) | Pairing: Steddie, Matt/OC | Tags: Falling in love, CC is a family, secret relationship

I hope this makes up for yesterday.

Matt has always liked girls. Sadly, girls didn’t hold him in the same high regard.

He’s not an idiot. Yes, they were freaks in high school, no one liked them, boo hoo, but even then he was the odd one out. Because Jeff was seeing that irritating mathlete for a while there, Gareth went on a couple of dates with Samantha-what’s-her-face, and Eddie had actual women hanging off him at The Hideout, though he always seemed pissy about it. Fuck, even Henderson and Wheeler had girlfriends, though they don’t live in Indiana.

Actually, yeah, that’s probably bullshit.

And Matt? Nothing. If he looks at a girl he gets a curled lip and a side eye for his troubles. Because no one wants the fat dude. So he doesn’t talk about girls, and the boys don’t ask. It’s a pleasant status quo.

When they move to LA and start playing proper gigs in proper venues, suddenly girls are interested. But there’s a hierarchy.

The really pretty ones attach themselves like limpets to Eddie and Jeff. The shy ones hang around trying to catch Gareth’s eye. And then the bored friends who struck out with everyone else will rock up to Matt like they’re doing him a favour. It really fucks him off. But he’s a nineteen-year-old virgin and it’s slim pickings.

So he leans into it.

He doesn’t exactly sleep around, but if the opportunity presents then he’s not saying no. Girls come to a gig, they queue up for their spoils, the guys do whatever it is they do, and Matt gives some bored hanger-on a good time. 

But he rallies, chin up, he’s going to be a rockstar, women are going to be pounding down his hotel room door, and he’s going to be swimming in pussy. Really bored, would-rather-be-washing-their-hair pussy.

Jeff moves in with his new girlfriend, a sweet student named Melody. She’s going to leave him when she realises he doesn’t understand the concept of putting the toilet seat down.

Gareth moves his girlfriend in to make up the rent. It’s a fucking disaster, and they all fight constantly. In the end, they all go their separate ways: Gareth and the girlfriend in one direction, Eddie and Matt in another.

The new place is ok. Eddie is weird when it comes to girls. He lets them paw at him a little before he gets antsy, like an overstimulated cat. Like he wants it but doesn’t at the same time. So the apartment is girl-free, everyone goes to bed early, and by the way, did he mention he was going to be a rockstar?

Another backstage, another endless stream of girls pawing over all the bands, and another night of Matt nursing a beer and being ignored.

He’s thinking of leaving when he sees her.

She’s sitting in a dark corner on her own, black leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and long hair that looks dark pink under the lighting. He wants to find out what colour it really is. She glances at him occasionally, before looking away as if she’s trying not to get caught.

He’s never done this. Never approached a girl. He’s always left it to them to come to him. But she’s beautiful, and they’re only in town this one night.

“Uh, are you with anyone?”

She nods. “Yeah, um, Sandy. She’s over there with Eddie.” 

Sure enough, Eddie’s looking exasperated while Sandy practically climbs in his lap. Matt laughs. 

“She won’t be long, trust me. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“I’m—“

“Matt.” She smiles, shyly. “I know who you are.”

Damn. 

“Matty! Hurry the fuck up!”

“I’m trying!! This fucking—“ he scrabbles at the bow tie and yanks it off for the fifth time. Fucking thing is ruined. 

Eddie slaps his hands out of the way. “Let me look.” He scowls. “Jesus— why did we think we could do this? We wear fucking t-shirts for a living for Christ’s sake.”

There’s a knock on the door before Steve Harrington pokes his head inside the room.

“Hey, sorry, but the bride-to-be just arrived.”

“Oh fuck.” Matt can feel his insides flopping around like they’re looking for the exit. Why is he doing this, why is she doing this? She’s so beautiful and she could have anyone but—

“Hey! No zoning out, we don’t have time!” snaps Eddie. He glances at Steve. “Do you know how to tie these things?”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

He can’t figure his life out at all. In eight years he’s gone from school freak to minor rock star, he’s marrying a beautiful girl, and to top it all off, Steve Harrington’s tying his bow tie. Is he high?

“There ya go, you look awesome man.” Steve claps him on the arm. “I’ll see you out there,” he says, but Matt doesn’t miss how he looks at Eddie as he says it. 

Then it’s just the two of them.

There are a lot of things he wants to say to Eddie. He’ll get round to some of them later when he’s blind drunk and crying. But he needs to be sober for this.

“Just one of us left.”

Eddie smiles sadly. “Well, you know me, confirmed bachelor.”

“You know… if there was something you wanted to tell us. That— that you thought you couldn’t—”

Eddie shakes his head. “Matty—”

“—just listen. Please.”

Eddie freezes, eyes fixed on the floor.

“We love you. And if there was anything you ever wanted to tell us, we would be over the fucking moon to hear about it. And… and Steve’s a good guy.”

Eddie looks like a deer caught in a trap and Matt hates it. Hates that Eddie feels he can’t share the most important part of his life with them because the world is so shitty he couldn’t even be sure his best friends would be okay about it. So it stops now. 

They’re a family. Gareth and Bonnie, and Jeff and Melody, and Matt and Lily. And Eddie and Steve. 

[islandofthedollz]

❤︎ Imagine Jimmy forcing you to wear a maid outfit that the size is a bit too small for you and forcing you to clean the house Jimmy notices that you didn’t clean something right. He yells at you for not doing 1 simple thing something that women are supposed to be good at and he pulls you into his lap and spanks you. You start crying of how hard his spanks are starting to get when he gets annoyed and pushes you off his lap he undo his belt and pulls down his pants and forces his cock down your throat. He brutally thrust at your throat until he throws his head back and quickly remove his cock from your mouth and comes all over your face. Then he bends you forward your face hitting the carpet and you rapes you for being a bad maid. ❤︎

[picklepie888]

So word got out that Nickelodeon has decided to cease production on a new animated show called Phoebe and Her Unicorn because, according to an executive, "female lead cartoons don't sell well." To show just how backwards and idiotic this statement is, here is a compilation of beloved animated series which were both created by women, and have a female protagonist.

[wendigoruble]

💙Tall Woman: Date Prep💙

This series will be told in short bursts and will explore the canon themes of Franco's sexism and misogyny. Basically, I want a large lady to take him down a peg ;)

That being said, there are misogyny and sexual themes ahead

It seems like just yesterday they met at the diner. She towered over him, tall as the ceiling. Her soft amber hair framing her face. Smooth shoulders sloping down to that heavy rack. Those long, long legs that ended in beautiful baby blue stiletto heels. Any man would be weak on sight, for that Franco is certain.

What a perfect woman, the best he'd ever seen.

It'd taken a lot of will to not fall to his knees on that dirty floor. It took even more to make his words come out right when dropping every pickup line he possibly could. Even hiding his pacifier away in his pocket and giving that crooked smile he prayed was charming enough to strike a good cord. He had gotten a giggle out of her, he'd gotten a name even. She didn't run off, in fact she sat beside him with this amused looking grin. Looking at him like he was cute. Maybe she picked up on how flush his cheeks had gotten.

Most importantly, during their entire interaction, he got a date. His ticket into what surely would be the best night of his life. And he didn't even need to pay for it!

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Franco looks himself up and down in the mirror. Tilting his head slightly he twists his hair into a nice swoop with his fingers. He's dawned his best baby blue pinstripe suit, thrown on some expensive cologne, hell he had even gone as far as to brush his teeth for this. It'd been a good while since he pulled out all the stops for a lady. Even longer for a woman he's not paying.

“Don't fuck this up,”He mumbles to himself as he pockets his pacifier then adjusts luparas holster which he covers her his coat,”You're gonna get that woman and ride her to your grave.”

With himself as ready as he can be he heads out to pick her up. It's an anxious drive though. He can feel his palms sweating against the steering wheel the more he thinks of her, of what she may be wearing. He hopes and prays she has on those heels again and that nice short dress. Showing off those long smooth legs that he desperately wants to hold onto for dear life. Franco curls his fingers as he bites his bottom lip. That familiar warmth swirls around in his lower gut as he relaxes his hands and brings one down to his thigh. He's got half a mind to fluff himself before getting to her house. Wouldn't she like that? Women love a man who's excited to see them. If she knew he was already getting off to her that would be endearing. Surely she'd smile, praise, be flattered.

If only he could actually get it up right now.

Eventually he pulls up to her home and he honks the horn while leaning slightly out the window. His gaze trained on the front door and the lights behind the home's curtains. There's a brief flicker of a shadow before she steps out and his eyes go wide.

She's got on the most beautiful strapless dress. It's sparkly red and comes down to mid thigh with red heels to match. His gaze travels up her legs, all the way up to meet her eyes when she's at the side of the car. She puts her hand on its roof and leans forward. Franco swallows thickly as he struggles to meet and hold her gaze.

God she makes him weak, especially with such a perfect rack just inches from him. So close he could just about lean in for a sip. She could just hold him there and crush him like a hot little grape. Squeeze the life out of him even, and he would say thank you.

“Nice ride you got.” She says with a smile that he's barely catching.

“Hah.. Thanks…”

“Where are we headed by the way?”

She walks around the car with even strides. Franco can feel the slightest twitch between his legs with each click those heels make on the pavement. When she slips into the passenger seat he feels small, so small. She has to look down at him. It takes a moment for him to find his words as he shifts the car into gear.

“Wher- ah! Thought I'd treat ya nice. Take you to a steakhouse for something good. I got us reservations and all.” He steals a quick glance at her shoes again.

Those heels could pierce his heart in two.

[kittenquasar]

Since I've started passing as a pretty woman (unless I open my mouth too much lol) I've had a few men treat me weird at the store.

Cut for me experiencing misogyny if you're interested

I'm not talking about like the cute half smiles they do when they think you're nice to look at, those I like. What im talking about are the usually older guys who'll make little comments when you don't, I guess give them attention?

Now I have audhd, learning how to be in a busy grocery store is a skill I had to learn. It's like driving, like a dance where as long as we all follow the steps everyone gets on their way without causing too much trouble for each other. Eye movement, personal space, how long waiting is appropriate before you ask to be let by, the little interactions when you accidentally bump into someone. This takes practice for some of us. This is why these men stand out so much to me:

These older men put up arbitrary rules for you to follow around them, they want you to thank them for letting you go past them (even when they're letting others by they look at only me and make the comment). When passing them they'll make a comment about how I didn't say that I was passing them(???) This is something I've just never experienced before looking like this.

Why are they so weird?? Like screw off guy I don't owe you shit. One of these days when I'm feeling confident i want to drop my voice and respond "sorry bro" it my deep tranny voice just to teach em a lesson. But you know.. Every cis woman I tell this to makes a pensive yep face like this is just a fact of life that sometimes a stranger is going to make you uncomfortable for no reason just for being a woman. I've heard about men being weird but like, I didn't get it until it happened to me. Yuck! And this'll happen again and more often as my voice gets better and I look less and less like a guy. This is real "welcome to being a woman" moment I guess lol

[hamsternella]

Stranger - Stalker!König x Fem!Reader

He was huge. Definitely not the first time you'd seen someone tall; but this man was truly huge. Not just a prominent body, but a dull face with eyes as opaque as the ocean during a storm. Thick arms with rough ends like his hands, and broad shoulders. The legs were long, sinewy under the pants. They carried him steadily from one end of the field to the other; with tense, bored, disinterested bearing. He was like a guardian statue pacing a battlefield. Mrs. Figgs had told you about it. Alexander, the neighbor across the street, had finished his service not long ago. He came back for minimal issues, perhaps the custom of a neighborhood that would help him dull the ghosts that hung around his neck. The children's laughter at noon could muffle the plaintive murmur that penetrated his ears; and for a moment, even watching him with confused steps toward one of the snack tables, you came to suspect that the nights would be less cold than where his blood came from. Alexander König was his name. It was your first time seeing him live. He seemed to have a simple car with which he shortened distances throughout the city, but his engine broke down and the mechanic had it in his garage. Thanks to that, and the fundraiser for a school project that you only found out about after the move, you were able to witness him. Nothing out of this world, but curiosity had been satisfied. You could stop creating faces for him in the constant of a block, lost in the scribble-laden sheets scattered in your studio. What a pain. You waited for Alexander to move away from the tables so you could get closer to devour a bite; but the man was still stuck under one of the umbrellas. You waited a little longer. The instant became an eternity, and eventually your glass was empty. You had no choice but to approach with your stomach bouncing with joy. For a moment you suspected it was nerves; perhaps a ridiculous doubt when you came face to face with your neighbor's hunched back.

''May I?'' you asked. The tone was softer than you expected.

Alexander made a half-turn, and as soon as he connected glances with you, he returned to the usual position since the morning: the body slightly hunched, and the face facing a direction opposite to the face of the companion. You didn't feel attacked at all; the sweet breads and morsels on the table caught your attention.

''Do you recommend any?'' you asked again, this time louder.

Alexander straightened slightly. You heard him snort under his breath as he did so.

''It would be risky to recommend if I don't know you well enough,'' he replied.

You twisted your lips to avoid a smile. The accent had taken you by surprise. As you nodded, you began to feel that curious weight of stares. The constant pressure building; the warmth caressing the back of your neck as you paid for two pieces of sweet bread. When you turned around, the opaque gaze of the ocean held you in place for a moment. You stretched out your arm to hand him one of the loaves.

He arched his eyebrows, slightly intrigued, but accepted your gift.

''Thank you,'' he said.

''You were taking your time,'' you explained. ''I don't know if it's what you usually eat, but it looks tasty.''

You walked away from the bread stand, starting to march towards an area overshadowed by a couple of trees. You didn't know at what point you stipulated it; but it seemed to be an implicit agreement to walk side by side to rest in the cool while you ate bread.

''I couldn't find my wallet,'' he began to say. He had taken the first bite seconds later. ''If I had, I wouldn't have bought this, I'm sure.''

''What? You don't like it?'' You looked at him, trying to read his gesture.

It was complicated to know what he felt. The guy seemed to wear a mask all the time. Battlefield customs? You downplayed it, and focused on biting into the bread.

''It's tasty, actually,'' he replied. ''I'm not used to it.''

''You mean the sweet stuff? You're not used to sweet tastes.''

''No; it's not my, uh... It's not my cup of tea, I think they call it,'' he muttered in confusion.

A chuckle stuck in your throat as you swallowed the piece of bread. You nodded with a smile painted on your face. Both of you stood watching the children play in the center of the fair, surrounded by parents. It was an enjoyable way to taste the sweetness of the bread; the crust was so soft and moist that it stuck to the roof of your mouth. You savored the warmth of the crumb until you had only the bag left in your hands. Alexander had rolled it into a ball and started playing with it.

''You're new, aren't you?'' he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. ''I remember seeing a moving truck a few weeks ago.''

''Yup. The house is very nice, really. I couldn't resist.''

''Yeah,'' he mumbled. ''It's a nice neighborhood, too.''

His voice was lost in the wind. He seemed less tense than before, and the dullness in his gaze was almost dissolved with the light filtering through the treetops. For every gust dragging a branch, opening a path; you discovered a tint of very light blue, hidden behind the eyelashes. He had his eyes half closed, as if lost in an inner silence. He seemed to rest awake.

''The first few nights I had stormy dreams,'' you began to relate. ''By the second week, I found myself sleeping like a baby. The murmur of the wind seemed to filter in an almost magical way through the houses. I like the warm mornings, too. The children add such a wonderful touch with laughter on the way to school.''

Alexander raised his head to look you in the eye.

''Are you a writer?'' he suddenly asked.

''I'm a painter,'' you replied with a smile. ''Forgive me if I took you by surprise; but it's something I can't control.''

''I could understand if you're a writer, because you live on words. But you paint. Why can't you control something that's not even good for the canvas?''

You looked back at the children. You didn't find any. People had started to move closer and closer to the exit, back home. Some stalls were being dismantled as the sky turned pink.

''I was told the same thing in school,'' you replied. ''They were all surprised to see me leave for art college. I could write, I have, but it's not the same. If my hands itch, it's because I have something else to show. I have plenty of words; but they're no use if the images don't show up in my mind.'' You looked Alexander in the eye again. ''I have spent a whole week longing to see you. I imagined your face, and it was difficult because although I had many words to describe it, I didn't manage anything. The words serve as my guides; and the images are the result. I talk a lot, I express myself clearly, but I feel it is not enough. I'm overflowing with a repulsive creativity that I have to express if I want to calm my anxieties.''

You were silent for a moment. You paced a fixed point behind your companion, looking for a sign.

''Yes, that's right, I can write. Words do little for a painting other than guide it to its final form. But it is so... I don't know. It's so pretty. I love it. I talk, and I talk a lot; and every time I do I end up discovering something new about the world around me, and its indescribable beauty.''

''I'm not very good with words,'' Alexander replied after another while. ''I couldn't even understand what you said at all. I'm not an artist.''

''I'm sure there's something you must really like,'' you said softly.

He looked you in the eye.

''What if it's something I started doing today?''

''It also counts.''

''Would it sound too incoherent to answer you that it is 'talking to you'?''

This time you didn't hold back your laughter. Alexander laughed with you. The sound of his was gratifying after having noticed him so tense all morning.

''For not being good with words, you're accomplishing a lot right now, Alexander.''

''Do you know my name?" he asked, slightly surprised. ''I suppose Mrs. Figgs told you.''

''She also told me you were very good with locks,'' you said. ''Could you allow me your services?''

The house was beautiful, but definitely old. Your mother had warned you about buying houses with worn out locks, ceilings or columns. She used to tell you that it was best to avoid certain problems in the future; but as soon as you saw that beautiful studio in a room, with its large windows overlooking the trees on an avenue leading to the city, you were smitten. How expensive could it be to fix the locks? Alexander being your neighbor, with his knowledge at your fingertips, it had to be a message of destiny. Some kind of indication of how right your decision had been to buy the house, in that beautiful neighborhood; with leafy trees and children's laughter in the morning, fueling the flame of an inspiration that blossomed as the days went by. An artist's blessing reflected in the light coming through your windows. Alexander remained silent, looking you in the face. You stood admiring his features; the way it was suddenly much easier to notice that he was relaxed. You tried to find that opaque ocean in his eyes, but all you saw were waves caressing the edge of his gaze. With the evening breeze falling over the two of you, you almost felt like you were resting quietly on a beach.

''Well,'' he suddenly replied. He settled back in his place, straightening up. ''I don't have any problem with it. But I'm going to have to see them first.''

''Sure!'' You got up from the floor, smiling. You glanced up at the sky, now darkening. ''I think it's about time we left.''

You heard the sound of a heavy body moving. When you thought to turn around, a hand rested on your shoulder, surprising you. Alexander's face shadowed from above, searching your eyes. For a moment you had forgotten how tall he was.

''What is your name?" he asked. ''You haven't told me.''

You introduced yourself. He nodded, averting his eyes for a moment to savor your name in his head.

''I'm Alexander König, but you already knew that. You can call me Alex.''

''And in my head can I call you König?''

''Why is that? Any special reason?" he asked with a smile. ''But yes; you can call me whatever you like.''

''Because it sounds so much better than Alex. It sounds special, I don't know. I haven't heard a name like that.''

''Too special if you can't pronounce it right either, I guess,'' he replied with a shrug.

You felt your cheeks hot with shame. You had come to assume you couldn't pronounce it right the first time anyway. It wasn't that easy. König ignored the gesture, and began to walk slowly toward the center with the rest of the people.

''Are you going to stay?'' you asked. ''I can stay with you and help clean up what's left.''

''You should leave now. You must be tired, and tomorrow morning I'll be there to check your locks.'' Konig gave you one last look, and returned to a tense bearing as his figure moved farther and farther away from you. ''Rest well.''

You stayed in place for a moment. For an instant you saw him turn to where you were; but as soon as his eyes met yours, his head turned quickly and he went back to the boxes on the lawn. You couldn't hide a smile as you walked home. A new friendship: mission accomplished. It hadn't been as scary as you had thought. Maybe fate was on your side.