#gum feminine soap

[pasarinternet]

Sabun Pemutih Seomgum Untuk Perawatan Kulit

Sabun Pemutih Seomgum Untuk Perawatan Kulit   Sabun Pemutih Seomgum Untuk Perawatan Kulit     Sabun Seom Gum adalah produk perawatan kulit yang sedang viral karena dipercaya efektif mengatasi berbagai masalah kulit wajah. Bahkan salah satu variannya yaitu Feminine Soap diklaim bisa membersihkan area kewanitaan. Namun sebagai pembeli yang cerdas, kamu harus mencari tahu asal usul sabun tersebut…

[studdyadict]

Fresh Start: A Teenage Girl’s Clean Hygiene Routine

Maintaining good hygiene is essential for teenage girls and young women to feel confident, healthy, and empowered. Here's a comprehensive clean hygiene routine tailored specifically for us:

1. Daily Shower or Bath:

- Use a mild, pH-balanced body wash or soap to cleanse the entire body, paying extra attention to areas prone to sweat and odor, such as underarms and feet.

- Gently exfoliate the skin 2-3 times a week to remove dead skin cells and prevent clogged pores.

- Rinse thoroughly with lukewarm water to avoid stripping the skin of its natural oils.

2. Hair Care:

- Wash hair 2-3 times a week with a sulfate-free shampoo suitable for your hair type (dry, oily, curly, etc.).

- Use a conditioner after shampooing to moisturize and detangle hair, focusing on the ends.

- Limit the use of heat styling tools and protect hair from damage by using a heat protectant spray before styling.

- Trim split ends regularly to maintain healthy hair growth.

3. Facial Cleansing:

- Wash your face twice daily, morning and night, with a gentle facial cleanser suitable for your skin type (dry, oily, combination, sensitive, acne-prone, etc.).

- Use lukewarm water and avoid harsh scrubbing, which can irritate the skin.

- Apply a non-comedogenic moisturizer after cleansing to hydrate the skin and prevent dryness.

4. Dental Care:

- Brush teeth at least twice a day, morning and night, using fluoride toothpaste and a soft-bristled toothbrush.

- Floss daily to remove plaque and food particles from between teeth and along the gum line.

- Rinse with an alcohol-free mouthwash for added freshness and to kill bacteria.

- Visit the dentist for regular check-ups and professional cleanings every six months.

5. Feminine Hygiene:

- Change sanitary pads or tampons every 4-6 hours during menstruation to maintain freshness and prevent odor.

- Wash the genital area with a mild, fragrance-free soap and water daily, paying attention to hygiene during menstruation.

- Use breathable cotton underwear and avoid tight-fitting clothing to promote air circulation and prevent moisture buildup.

6. Nail Care:

- Keep nails trimmed and filed to prevent breakage and maintain a neat appearance.

- Clean under the nails regularly to remove dirt and bacteria.

- Apply a moisturizing hand cream to keep hands soft and hydrated.

- Avoid biting or picking at nails and cuticles to prevent infection and damage.

7. Deodorant and Antiperspirant:

- Apply a deodorant or antiperspirant daily to underarms to control sweat and odor.

- Choose a product that suits your body's needs and preferences, whether it's a roll-on, stick, or spray.

8. Sun Protection:

- Apply a broad-spectrum sunscreen with an SPF of at least 30 to exposed skin daily, even on cloudy days.

- Reapply sunscreen every 2 hours, especially if swimming or sweating heavily.

- Wear protective clothing, such as hats and sunglasses, and seek shade during peak sun hours to minimize sun exposure.

Remember, good hygiene goes beyond physical cleanliness—it also involves taking care of your mental and emotional well-being. Practice self-care, prioritize sleep, eat a balanced diet, stay hydrated, and engage in activities that bring you joy and fulfillment. By incorporating these habits into your daily routine, you'll not only look and feel your best but also cultivate a healthy lifestyle for years to come.

Here's a list of products for a hygiene routine that are healthy , affordable ,cruelty free, vegan ,non comedogenic , no alcohol , no fragrance and that doesn’t support genocide:

1. Daily Shower or Bath:

- Cleanser: CeraVe Hydrating Body Wash

- Moisturizer: Vanicream Moisturizing Cream

- Sunscreen: EltaMD UV Clear Broad-Spectrum SPF 46

2. Hair Care:

- Shampoo: Acure Simply Smoothing Coconut & Marula Shampoo

- Conditioner: Desert Essence Fragrance-Free Conditioner

3. Facial Cleansing:

- Cleanser: CeraVe Hydrating Facial Cleanser

- Moisturizer: Vanicream Moisturizing Cream

4. Dental Care:

- Toothpaste: Hello Oral Care Fluoride-Free Whitening Toothpaste

- Mouthwash: Desert Essence Natural Refreshing Tea Tree Oil Mouthwash

5. Feminine Hygiene:

- Menstrual Cups: DivaCup Model 1 or Model 2

- Menstrual Pads: Natracare Ultra Pads with Wings

- Tampons: Cora Organic Cotton Tampons

6. Nail Care:

- Nail Clippers: Tweezerman Stainless Steel Nail Clipper

- Nail File: OPI Crystal Nail File

7. Deodorant and Antiperspirant:

- Deodorant: Schmidt's Fragrance-Free Sensitive Skin Deodorant

8. Sun Protection:

- Sunscreen: EltaMD UV Clear Broad-Spectrum SPF 46

9. Oral Care:

- Toothpaste: Hello Oral Care Fluoride-Free Whitening Toothpaste

- Dental Floss: Radius Vegan Xylitol Dental Floss

10. Body Care:

- Body Wash: Alaffia Everyday Shea Body Wash

- Body Lotion: Everyone Unscented 3-in-1 Lotion

Remember to always check the ingredient lists and certifications to ensure they align with your values and preferences. Additionally, prices and availability may vary depending on location and retailer.

[wierdaesthetic]

How I think cod men smell like naturally their body. (hate dni)

so I have this thing called synesthics with basically causes my brain to use more than one sence when triggered for example I can smell pictures, I know it sounds weird but when ever I look at pic of smth or someone my brain makes up what it/they would smell like. (And to my suprice its pretty accurate)

1. ghost

I am 100% he wears Axe body spray in the purple blue scent, and not because its named Marine (haha). Yeah so his notes are axe spray, hormones(the sweet pinappley ones, not the gross just hit puberty boy type) and I think rust for some reason like he was in a mechanical work space. 2. Konig

Now this bitch confuses me as shit. I think he smells like medical equiment but at the same time I think he smells like nothing, netrual. I dont know he has a minty tone tho. So he probs just has amazing heigyne and doesn't over fragrance himself.

3. Price He smells like tobacco Malboro, I bet my ass on that. But I would know cause I smoke more than him (he is 40+ I am beraly 20). But he also smell alchooly BUT BEFORE YOU SAY I AM STEREOTYPING!! I mean like fragrance type alchool, most notably after shave type of scent. Like spicy cinamon but in a more masculine way. 4. Soap

Before yall hoes come for me, sHe pRobS gOinG tO sAy He SmElLs LikE SoAp, NO BITCH. Like I said I aint stereotyping shit today. HE SMELLS LIKE A PHEREMONENAL SLUT not because he is my favourite but because he always sweaty in the game. But I dont think his sweat smells bad honestly, first of all let me let yall in a little secret ... if you exersice, eat heathly and let out sweat (you know ;) ;)) YOUR SWEAT DOESN'T SMELL!! In the best case senario it is even plesant. At the bear minimum he smells like a basic cologe that his ex or ghost bought him for his bday.

5. Gaz

Let me tell you hoes something. BLACK MEN KNOW HOW TO NOTE AND COMPLIMENT THEIR SCENT!! Did you read that or do I need to repeat it. He smells like vanilla, cocunut, sol de janero REALNESS. He has scented moisteraiser every where in his car, in bag, on a keychain, in his mulitary bag EVERYWHERE, I bet you he has one between his cheeks so he can use it mids war. (I AM DYING) 6. Alejandro

Now hear me when I say, I know he smells feminine. Which is not bad at all but I feel like his stuff is florally scented or fruit or something like that, but at the same time I fear he smells like my boy bff cause they have so similar vibes (I HOPE NOT). But also he smell of tattoo shop YEAH THATS IT. He smells exactly like green disinfectant soap with rose peals infusion, exactly that and if you dont know what I am talking about just imagine dentist office smell + roses.

7. Alex Keller

Oh I know he smells good, naturally and when it comes to fragrance. I just feel it in my bones. He smells like oils, honey and anything in that area. I just know he drenches himself in jojoba oil and l know he loves dior. Like thats it, he is an expencive smelling man.

8. Rudy

I mean, he confuses me. I think he is mixure of hormones (again not the disguasting) and expencive parfum. I think he smells "manly", it sounds weird I know. I KNOW! He smells like salty caramel but the sticky type that you can also eat as a chewing gum, if you are from europe you especially from the slavic or balkan area you know exactly what I am talking about.

9. Nikto

To me he smells like home and I bet my ass on that if he was real I would say that as soon as I would met him but I bet most of yall have no idea what I am talking about unless you are slavic. Well he smells like beer but not the alchooly type but the softer type also he smells like grass, nature and wood. Also he smells like tobacco NOT SMOKE but the plant.

10. Keegan

MINT. MINT. MINT. I know this man smells like a colgate ad, I can feel it. He smells exactly how water tastes after you brush your teeth. He smells also like rain but thats a small note, mostly MINT and fresh. If you are afab or use ph balance wash HE SMELLS LIKE THAT.

(no I wont do philip FUCK HIM, unless yall really want it)

Just a bit of my delulu for anyone that caress I CAN SMELL KONIG RIGHT NOW WTF, AS IF HE IS IN FRONT OF ME. It so weird help.

[alerudies]

assorted (head)canons for my fics

they don't have to be canon for you but they're canon in my humble little world where my fics take place so i'm just gonna. slap them all here for referral!

könig 👑

stands at 6'10" (208.3 cm)

is amab but blushes and gets flustered if addressed with stereotypically feminine petnames

grew up in graz, austria

born in 1987, making him 35 years old during mw2

speaks german and english fluently; is learning BSL

has: severe social anxiety, imposter syndrome, ptsd, insomnia, alcohol dependency/addiction, a touch of the ‘tism

has an oral fixation (in every way) - always chewing gum or crunching on mints or lollipops or hard candies

has like 2 distinct personalities; the cocky confident crazed gunslinger and human battering ram out on a job, and then the quiet, "please don't look at me", socially anxious man when back at the base/off a job in general

top 3: 98% submissive, 86% slave, 84% pet

ghost 💀

stands at 6'4" (193 cm)

is amab but doesn't mind a they/them pronoun (not that he would express that to anyone)

grew up in manchester, england

born in [classified], making him [classified] years old during mw2 (he's like. early 40's.)

speaks english and BSL fluently; speaks very rocky spanish after the events of mw2

has: c-ptsd, depression, a touch of the 'tism, alcohol dependency/addiction, insomnia

top 3: 100% switch, 88% rigger, 84% exhibitionist

soap 🧼

stands at 5'8" (172.7 cm)

is FTM trans

grew up in the highlands of scotland (born in inverness)

born in 1996, making him 26 years old during mw2

speaks scots gaelic, scots, english, and BSL fluently; speaks spanish conversationally after the events of mw2

smokes cigarettes

has: bipolar II disorder, ptsd, adhd, disordered eating/history of bulimia, maladaptive daydreaming, insomnia, nicotine dependency/addiction, alcohol dependency/addiction, low iron, a touch of the ‘tism, internalized transphobia, body dysmorphia

pretty much everything from this post

top 3: 100% brat, 100% rope bunny, 100% degradee

[shushubabies]

Teaching Kids Personal Hygiene: Building Healthy Habits For Life

Introduction

Personal hygiene is a set of practices that involves taking care of one's body to stay clean and healthy. Teaching children good personal hygiene is essential for their overall well-being and development. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore what personal hygiene is, why it's crucial for kids to practice it, when to start teaching them, the benefits it offers, and effective strategies to instill these habits in children's daily routines.

What Is Personal Hygiene?

Personal hygiene encompasses a range of habits and routines that individuals follow to maintain cleanliness and health. These practices include washing hands, brushing teeth, bathing, caring for nails, and more. Personal hygiene is a fundamental aspect of self-care and contributes to an individual's physical, mental, and emotional well-being.

Why Is It Important For Kids To Practice Good Personal Hygiene?

Good personal hygiene is essential for several reasons, especially for children:

1. Preventing The Spread Of Germs And Illness

Practicing proper hygiene, such as handwashing, helps reduce the risk of spreading infectious diseases. Children often come into contact with germs, making hygiene critical for their health and that of those around them.

2. Keeping Skin Healthy And Free From Infections

Regular bathing and skin care help prevent skin infections and maintain healthy skin. Children are prone to skin issues, so proper hygiene is vital for their well-being.

3. Promoting Good Oral Health

Teaching children to brush and floss their teeth daily fosters good oral health, preventing dental problems and instilling lifelong habits.

4. Boosting Self-Esteem And Confidence

Maintaining personal hygiene helps children feel good about themselves and boosts their self-esteem. It also enables them to interact confidently with peers and adults.

When Should Parents Start Teaching Kids About Personal Hygiene?

Parents should start teaching kids about personal hygiene at a young age. The process can be broken down into age-appropriate stages:

Toddlers (1-3 Years):

Begin teaching basic habits like handwashing after using the toilet and before meals.

Introduce tooth brushing with a soft-bristle toothbrush and a small amount of toothpaste.

Preschoolers (3-5 Years):

Teach more detailed handwashing techniques, including proper use of soap and water.

Encourage bathing regularly and introduce the concept of cleaning different body parts.

Supervise and assist with tooth brushing to ensure thorough cleaning.

Elementary School (6-12 Years):

Continue reinforcing proper handwashing.

Teach children to brush and floss their teeth independently.

Introduce concepts like nail care and hair care.

Discuss the importance of showering or bathing daily.

Adolescence (13+ Years):

Emphasize the significance of proper hygiene during puberty.

Educate about feminine hygiene and menstrual hygiene for girls.

Encourage independence in all hygiene routines.

The Benefits Of Good Personal Hygiene

Helps Prevent The Spread Of Germs And Illness

Teaching children to wash their hands thoroughly and regularly reduces their risk of contracting and spreading illnesses, which is especially important in school and community settings.

Keeps Skin Healthy And Free From Infections

Regular bathing, moisturizing, and wearing clean clothes contribute to healthy, comfortable skin and minimize the risk of skin infections and irritations.

Promotes Good Oral Health

Consistent tooth brushing and flossing prevent tooth decay, gum disease, and bad breath, ensuring a healthy smile.

Boosts Self-Esteem And Confidence

Practicing good personal hygiene enhances a child's self-image and confidence. Feeling clean and fresh is essential for their social and emotional well-being.

Read more - Importance Of Skin Care In Kids

How To Teach Kids About Personal Hygiene

Teaching kids about personal hygiene requires patience, consistency, and a supportive approach. Here are some effective strategies:

Start By Talking To Your Kids About The Importance Of Personal Hygiene

Explain the reasons behind each hygiene practice, emphasizing health, comfort, and well-being.

Use age-appropriate language and simple explanations to help children understand.

Be Age-Appropriate And Use Simple Language

Adapt your teaching to your child's age and comprehension level.

Use straightforward language to explain the purpose of each hygiene habit.

Make It Fun And Engaging

Incorporate games, songs, and storytelling into hygiene routines to make them enjoyable.

Use colorful, kid-friendly hygiene products to pique their interest.

Set A Good Example By Practicing Good Personal Hygiene Yourself

Children often learn best by observing their parents and caregivers.

Demonstrate proper hygiene practices in your daily routine.

Be Patient And Consistent

Understand that establishing habits takes time, and children may need reminders.

Be consistent in reinforcing hygiene routines, offering gentle guidance when necessary.

Specific Hygiene Practices To Teach Kids

Handwashing

Teach children to wash their hands with soap and water for at least 20 seconds, especially before eating, after using the toilet, and after outdoor activities.

Explain the importance of lathering and scrubbing between fingers and under nails.

Tooth Brushing

Encourage regular tooth brushing, at least twice a day, using a fluoride toothpaste.

Show children how to brush all tooth surfaces and how to floss properly.

Bathing

Teach children to bathe regularly, emphasizing cleaning different body parts, including underarms, genitals, and feet.

Discuss the importance of using soap and shampoo.

Nail Care

Explain the need to keep nails clean and trimmed.

Show them how to trim nails safely, and stress the importance of not biting nails.

Hair Care

Teach children to wash their hair regularly, using shampoo and conditioner as needed.

Discuss brushing and combing hair to prevent tangles.

Feminine Hygiene (For Girls)

Educate girls about menstrual hygiene and provide guidance on using sanitary products appropriately.

Normalize discussions about menstruation, answering questions honestly and openly.

Menstrual Hygiene

Teach girls how to use sanitary products (pads, tampons, or menstrual cups) correctly.

Provide information on managing discomfort and hygiene during menstruation.

Activities To Help Kids Learn About Personal Hygiene

Play Games That Teach About Personal Hygiene

Create hygiene-themed games such as "Handwashing Relay" or "Toothbrushing Race" to make learning fun.

Use rewards or incentives for completing hygiene tasks.

Read Books About Personal Hygiene

Choose age-appropriate books that focus on personal hygiene, cleanliness, and the importance of self-care.

Engage in discussions about the stories.

Watch Educational Videos About Personal Hygiene

Find online videos or educational programs that explain hygiene practices in an engaging way.

Watch them together with your child and discuss the content.

Make A Hygiene Chart Or Checklist

Create a visual chart or checklist with your child to track their daily hygiene routines.

Allow them to check off completed tasks to instill a sense of accomplishment.

Give Your Kids A Hygiene Reward System

Offer small rewards or praise when children consistently practice good personal hygiene.

Reinforce positive behavior to motivate them.

Conclusion

Personal hygiene is an integral part of staying healthy, feeling comfortable, and nurturing self-esteem. By teaching your kids about personal hygiene from an early age and incorporating these practices into their daily routines, you help them develop lifelong habits that contribute to their overall well-being. Remember that patience, consistency, and a positive, supportive approach are key when guiding your children towards good personal hygiene practices. Start early, make it engaging, and empower your kids to take charge of their health and cleanliness, building habits that will last a lifetime.

Frequently Asked Questions 

Q1- At what age should I start teaching my child about personal hygiene?

Ans - It's best to begin teaching basic personal hygiene habits like handwashing and tooth brushing as early as toddlerhood (around 1-3 years). As your child grows, you can gradually introduce more advanced hygiene practices.

Q2 - How can I encourage my child to enjoy personal hygiene routines, especially when they resist them?

Ans - Making hygiene routines fun and engaging can help. Use colorful and appealing hygiene products, play hygiene-themed games, and offer praise or small rewards for completing tasks. Consistency and patience are essential in overcoming resistance.

Q3 - What are some signs that my child may need more guidance with personal hygiene?

Ans - Signs may include consistently dirty or smelly clothing, poor dental health, frequent skin irritations, or neglect of basic hygiene practices. It's essential to address these signs with understanding and guidance rather than criticism.

Q4 - Should I discuss puberty and menstruation when teaching personal hygiene?

Ans - Yes, it's essential to have open and age-appropriate discussions about puberty and menstruation, especially as children approach adolescence. Providing information and guidance on these topics helps children navigate these changes confidently.

Q5 - How do I teach my child about the importance of feminine hygiene and menstrual hygiene?

Ans - Start by explaining the natural processes of menstruation and the need for maintaining cleanliness during this time. Introduce appropriate sanitary products, discuss disposal methods, and emphasize the importance of regular changing to prevent discomfort and infections. Normalize discussions about menstruation to reduce stigma and discomfort.

[sugakuns]

[ʜᴄ] 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: what i think some of the hq characters smell like

ᴀ/ɴ: it’s a joke don’t attack me pls

☾ KIYOKO SHIMIZU — doesnt smell like anything at first but if she walks past you, you can get a hint of a feminine perfume

☾ UKAI KEISHIN — smoke, for obvious reasons but also like cooking cause of his pork buns

☾ TERUSHIMA YŪJI — lynx africa body spray

☾ KAGEYAMA TOBIO — a weird mixture of slight b.o, floor polish (from the gym) and outdoor smell (pls tell me u know what i mean)

☾ KUROO TETSURŌ — his grandpa’s cologne 😭

☾ YAMAGUCHI TADASHI — soap. dove hand soap.

☾ SUNA RINATARO — hot air. like the air when you get out of a hot shower

☾ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — grass

☾ KENMA KOZUME — if hes gaming he might smell a bit musty lol but when he’s out in public he smells like scented soap

☾ SAKUSA KIYOOMI — sanitiser when he uses it but usually he just smells clean

☾ KONOHA AKINORI — calvin klein cologne (but way too strong 😭)

☾ YACHI HITOKA — i get bubble gum vibes..maybe a very feminine / girly perfume

[nenufares-drafts]

Romance: Bodies: Womanhood

Was it is the doomed existence of femininity which made me want to kiss a woman? perhaps not

Smells dismissed as dirty, too meaty, too fishy on my own,

i now covet on the body of another-

To keep my nose on the cleft of her chest,

To breathe in the sticky, salty humidity on her skin.

Of what my fingers were washed with perfumed soap in the dead of the night

Now find a place on the crown of my tongue

Makes me speculate- Do i taste so bewildering myself?

Are my insides not just abhorrent flesh, blood and slow decay

But an opportunity instead.

•

The taste of blended mouths remind me of Recovering from Toothache-

when my gums bled and i chewed on guava leaves for hours, and drank water then

It tastes that way- safe, clean, reassuring, assuaged

Like the existence of sugar and lemon syrup

A sweetness, the aftermath of iron-y salt

Placed in the mouth in the form of release- relief.

The tartness perfectly preserved underneath sheets, within muffled sighs and shudders.

•

•

So i wonder at times

Why odors and textures like such

Make my throat lump up whilst forces of vigour rest within

I'd take my doubts to the wind and beg an explanation

For this feeling of apocalyptic romance i feel in her giggle sometimes

As if I saw the arrow which pierced through her shoulder blade

Marking its route in two precise moles

Which lay across from each other like ill fated stars on either sides of a galaxy

making me feel like I'm waterborne at midday - under the shade of giant banana leaves or moth eaten curtains which smell like camphor

•

But it has become a restful habit, to hold her little head between my palms, always

So when the hour of solitude arrivers does my throat chokes up as a betrayal to the system- in futile protest

I spend days away from my bed, the air conditioner, my pillows, still ringing with her warmth

I return when the dust settles and the hair splits in two- the same night when the waning moon rests in an inky embrace

The sweetness of caramel toffee makes the journey easier, coaxes adjustment.

- AG

[nonbinaryresource]

Hi! Is there a way I can know if im nonbinary or just a confused cis person who doesn’t want to comply to gender roles? I feel like i partially id with my agab but not fully/not all the time. No dysphoria worth mentioning (very limited experiences which i’ve been told could be social dysphoria). I dont gender myself in language if it’s not necessary. I feel like I have too many neg. feelings associated with my agab. Wouldn’t have chosen it (i like my body type tho) but idk what i am

There isn’t a test to determine if you are nonbinary or not. And no one else is able to tell you if you are nonbinary. That said, you could ask yourself some questions to try to dig a little deeper internally.

1. “How do I think about my gender right now?”

2. “How do I think about my gender in the past/future?”

3. “What is the reason I think I am not nonbinary?” 

4. “Do I have a gut feeling that tells me I’m nonbinary?”

There are 3 main aspects of gender:

Gender Expression- How you express yourself Gender Identity- Your own personal sense of your gender    ��                   Gender Presentation- How your gender is viewed by the world

5. “How do I feel about each aspect of my gender (as of right now)?”

6. “Do I like being referred to/seen as a nonbinary person?”

7. “Do I have feelings of euphoria that relate to being nonbinary?”

8. “Am I worried the feeling of being nonbinary will stop?”

9. “Am I worried I will HAVE TO identify as another gender besides nonbinary?”

10. “If a magical person came to me and told me I would be seen by everyone as a nonbinary person, how would I react?”

You could use the step-by-step guide at the bottom of this post while answering the above questions or the ones listed in this post

You could try filling out a unicorn for yourself

This interactive guide helps you go step by step and asks you deeper questions to help you discover your gender identity

This FAQ

I feel like it is important to mention that you can like your body and be nonbinary. You don’t have to have dysphoria and you can definitely identify partially/sometimes as your agab. 

If you wanted to talk to someone about how you feel, you could talk to TrevorProject    TrevorSpace    TransLifeline    GenderSpectrum

With the negative feelings about your agab (whether or not you are nonbinary), you could:

1. Think about the parts of your body that you feel are positive (if you can’t think of any, think about the body parts that are neutral). This is important because it highlights that your body can be a neutral or positive part of you, maybe not in its entirety but at least part of it. Examples:

Pinkey

Toes

Nose

Esophagus (the tube inside the throat, does not include the outside)

Roof of your mouth

2. Try to not judge other people. If you say, “(Person) is too masculine/feminine/neutral”, you could let these thoughts effect the way you see yourself and eventually, that thought could become, “I’m too masculine/feminine/neutral.” (The adjective could be replaced with any “negative” characteristic.)

3. Do something good for your body every day. Examples:

Wear fuzzy socks

Take a shower/bath

Eat some fruit or vegetables

Say something nice to yourself

4. Connect to your senses.

Sight

Look at meaningful photos

Use visual imagery to imagine a peaceful, safe, and relaxing space

Watch fish in an aquarium (or video)

Go on a walk and watch nature

Blow bubbles

Smell

Flowers

Candles

Scented soap

Hearing

Create a playlist

Imagine the sound of waves (or listen to it)

Use noise-canceling headphones

Sing or play an instrument

Taste

Peppermint gum

Brush your teeth

Tea

Touch

Certain fabric

A smooth stone

Weighted vests or blankets

Pet an animal

Touch play-dough or silly putty

Take a bath or shower

4. Practice gratitude for your body. It can be simple things. (Ex. muscles for typing, stomach for digesting, eyelids for blinking, etc.)

-Mod Zay

[jojo-reader-hell]

oh! speaking of the wolf fic that anon was talking about, would you make a part 2 for that? maybe they finally caught the little wolf pup and she gets to meet the rest of the wolf clan of her family. it'd be to cute to see a wolf as massive as the jojo's be around such a smol bean XP

Ask and ye shall receive... like, months later 😂 sorry it took so long, hope you’ll enjoy!

...

“Bunny, don’t you remember your Papa Jojo? I used to hold you and feed you your bottle. Remember? We would cuddle with your blankie and your stuffed rabbit.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

You’re currently wedged into a tight space under an old tree root system. It’s a painful fit, but you’re not going to come out for anything. Especially not with the blue black muzzle of the large wolf at the entrance, currently trying to coax you out of your hiding place. The muzzle is peppered with grey hairs, and a very deep familiar voice emits from the shiny white fanged mouth in a rumble. When you yap at him to go away he whimpers, pushing his nose further into the tight space as he tries to dig you out. It only succeeds in making you press tightly against the root wall behind you, entire body shaking and muscles aching from the twisted position you’re contorted into.

“Bunny please!” He whines.

“Help! Help! Monster! Mama help!” Your barking almost sounds desperate, like you’re being tortured and it makes the bigger wolf howl in frustration, his digging more frantic as he tries to get you out.

“Jojo stop it! You’re scaring the baby!”

A sweet voice barks away the large wolf from digging, taken over by a cream pair of paws even lighter than your mother’s coloration.

“Stop digging. You’re only going to scare the baby even more.” A soft voice admonishes the beast and makes him whine in submission.

“But look how far they are, all the way in the back, what if my Bunny becomes trapped forev-...”

“Shhh... let me try.”

Another muzzle visible next to that of the blue black wolf appears, and a sweet voice tries to beckon you out. Both the newcomer’s scents confuse you, because even though they have that canine whiff about them you can still smell an underlying note that’s definitely more human than anything. It’s a clean smell, just like the Castile soap your mother often uses to clean the laundry because of Jotaro’s sensitive skin. Totally not the comforting patchouli scent of your mother nor is it Jotaro’s stinky musk, so even though it’s a good smell, you don’t have any positive connections to it. It’s foreign and scary, and you begin to whine for your mother.

“Baby, come to your Mama Erina.” the sweet voice coos to you. “Come on out my darling, don’t be frightened. We’re your family and we all are here to help you.”

You’re completely silent, wide eyed as you see her soft blue eye peer through the entrance. Never in your life have you seen something as big as she is (Good Lord, she’s even bigger than your mother!), her cream colored fur is almost white with age. Her mouth rests in an almost human like smile, and her black nose moves as though she’s taking in your scent.

“Come on darling.” She says, extending a paw as though you’ll take it. “Come to me. Come to your Mama Erina who loves you.”

Whoever she is, she most certainly is NOT your Mama. You can see her deeply pigmented gums and threatening pearly white fangs as she talks, and this only cements your stubborn refusal as you duck further into your crevice.

It’s not long before more voices join in, words intermingling with howling and snarling.

“Mother? Mother?! Did you find them?”

“Granny! I looked everywhere and couldn’t find the baby!”

“Jojo, Georgie, come here. I found them.”

Vaguely, you hear the familiar voice of your grandpa Joseph, a wheeze evident in his voice as he’s had a hard time catching up with the rest of the cacophony of paws. You can hear your mother too, conversing with your brother who is grumbling about having to follow you all the way out here and abandon the meal your grandpa had brought for you.

“My Bunny...” moans the blue black wolf in despair.

“Oh land sake’s Jojo stop it.” Scolds the white wolf.

“Mama Erina, maybe I should try getting them out?” Holly is most certainly worried, there’s a tinge to her voice that almost coaxes you to her, but you won’t stir a stump if everyone else is out there.

“You can try, but I’m not sure there’s a way with everyone crowding.” Erina from the sounds of things is still trying to console the one calling you Bunny (you suppose he’s called Jonathan because that’s what they keep saying when they comfort him).

Your mother tries to help, unfortunately compared to the others she’s got stumpy paws that won’t quite reach you, and even though she’s calling and calling for you telling you it’s alright, you won’t move.

“Papa, do you think you’ll have any more luck coaxing out the baby?” She finally sighs.

“‘Course I can! I guarantee I can make my baby pop right out of there like a cork from a bottle!”

“You be careful with my Bunny!” It’s the blue black wolf again, Jonathan, reluctantly moving aside to allow your grandpa access to you.

It was quite surreal to see your once human grandfather as a wolf, Grandpa Joseph’s pelt is much the same as his regular hair color, a deep hickory peppered with the beginning signs of gray. He grunts with the effort of laying down on the forest floor. When he exhales a whoosh of air, his scent completely fills the little space. Wonderful, memorable with the musk of his deodorant and leaving a sweet after smell, sugary like the cola he likes to drink with you on hot days.

“Come on baby. Grandpa’s here.” Joseph coaxes out to you softly.

“Vieni qui vita mia... Granny is here for you too.”

You hear the sweet soft dulcet tones of your granny Suzie using that almost crying tone of voice, that kind she used to use when you were a little kid and you hurt yourself.

“Granny?”

Your high pitched voice strikes a nerve among the creatures present, and you see another cream colored snout press into the entrance. Immediately you recognize the scent. It’s your grandma Suzie Q! You know her smell anywhere: a heady cloud of White Diamonds perfume with just a touch of amaretto.

“Will you come out for me? Please baby? It’s alright. Granny won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You’re almost ready to come out, slowly wedging your way to the entrance where your grandparents soothe you out little by little. But the minute you push your head through the tiny opening you know something is wrong. You scream in your puppy voice, afraid that now you can’t get out as everyone moves in all at once.

“Stay still.”

A deep feminine voice barks out a command, the approach of a brown wolf silenced all of you into submission. She sniffs around you, noticing your little paw that’s caught in a root and nudging it with her muzzle. Her teeth are unnervingly close, you’re unsure if her exposed teeth are a threat display. Her smell is almost indistinguishable from the damp forest soil, completely odorless and lacking the canine whiff, but there’s an underlying musk of pine sap emitting from her pelt that is all too familiar. A memory threatens: being cuddled to a bare chest in midwinter, chapped lips grazing your cheek as you doze off lazily. It’s not your mother who held you during that time. It was the strong human form of the wolf before you, formidable in such a way that suggests her humanity is just as feral as when she is a wolf.

“Move your paw this way.” She commands and nudges at the same time.

You’re so frightened you obey automatically. Not even stopping when she takes you by the scruff in her mouth and helps to yank you out from your prison. You expect her teeth to hurt, but your skin is so pliable on the back of your neck you hardly feel a thing as she pulls you free and into her furry stomach. With her paw, she presses you to the softness of her underbelly, a long wet tongue lathing along the sides of your face as the shewolf begins to clean you meticulously.

You suddenly know her now... so many more memories of her and what had to have been her mate keeping you warm between the two of them as you reached for their faces. The memories are soothing, coming back fast and as if they’ve always been there, just like the memory of your mother laying you on a massive man’s chest, his blue black hair wild and unkempt as he lifts you up to kiss you. Or the memory of another woman with your Granny Suzie, the two of them swaddling you up and hardly able to contain their soft giggles as they place a small hat on your head.

Another wolf, this one nearly a carbon copy of your grandpa, laths at your face with his tongue, telling you in a deep baritone that he’s your great grandpa George and he’s so happy to see you again. Holly approaches and begins naming the ones you don’t recognize in the group, each one submissive when they press against her to get to you. You’re even comfortable enough to allow the wolf that calls himself your Papa Jonathan to shower you in his dog kisses, tail wagging a mile a minute as he squeals about how much he’s missed you, and how he’s got an important gift to give you so you won’t ever get lost again. His mate, your Mama Erina, rubs her head against yours, tail swishing politely as she praises you for how you’ve grown up so wonderfully. All the while everyone crowds around into a big pile of swishing tails, whines, kisses, and reassurances that your big, warm, happy family will help take care of you as you navigate this scary situation.

It’s the one who helped you out, your great Granny Lisa Lisa, that breaks wolf form to place your Papa Jonathan’s old collar around your neck, the little bell makes such a pleasant sound as she flicks it gently.

“For next time.” She advises, “That way when you try to run, you’ll know I’ll grab you by the collar.”

Everyone laughs, adding in how Holly should keep you on a leash, and you’re so overwhelmingly happy you can’t help but to join in the laughter with them.

It’s nice, you decide, to belong to such an unusual family.

[sinkix]

《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here 

✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧

Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library. 

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off. 

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating??? 

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would  also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

🎒: What does your muse normally keep in their bag?

🍕: What’s your muses favourite food?

✿: What is your muses favourite scent?

What does Minato normally keep in his bag? Well... Given the only bag he’s likely to carry at most times is his camera bag, the obvious would be his camera (which-- i’ve been meaning to research a brand for--) lenses, and various other photography kit... If we’re cheating a little to count just “commonly carried items” though-- Then we could expand the list to include a lighter, smokes (brand headcanon also pending--) probably at least a few condoms-- and i think he’d probably be one to carry mints/candy/gum as well. Not just for the off chance that whoever he’s with at the time doesn’t wanna deal with the scent/taste from cigarettes, but mostly as an alternative fixation for times when he can’t smoke.

Favorite food? Hmm... Considering the first thought was toward sweets, we’ll roll with that sort of route lol-- Mostly likely, the favorite spot is tied between chocolate, and either strawberry short cake, or maybe mochi.

Favorite scent? Hoo boy-- I’ve actually had just the thing in mind for this for a while lol-- Going off the lead of bath soaps and what have you, it would probably be one of the collection of body washes he’s tried at one time or another. Mainly scented something like a mix of jasmine and raspberry, generally somewhat sweet, but still with a subtle musky undertone. Outside of that, cliché as it might sound... Freshly blooming cherry blossoms.

{detailed add-on note for that last point-- the scent label/key notes for the body wash i have in mind read as follows: “raspberry noir, amber crystals, velvety rose petals, creamy patchouli, mocha musk” or  “A timeless, feminine, alluring blend of dark berries, midnight jasmine & rich amber” by online description-- which, imo, the jasmine mention is the more fitting flower comparison here, but-- just for anyone who wanted more details on that lol}

[trans-advice]

Hi! Y’all are amazing. Do you have any passing tips for amab girls?

a trend to follow: if a cis woman does it for basic hygiene, then you should be fine when you do it.

do price comparisions for all of these supplies because trying to get all of these will need to become part of your budget.

moisturizers are needed in order to remove makeup & heal skin after shaving. the moisturizer you use needs to be fragrance free because we sometimes develop skin allergies to the fragrances. ponds, nivea, vaseline, coconut oil, are good ones i hear. in a quick pinch, chapstick can work out, but it can be too precise for the job when you need broad strokes.

for shaving, if you have a thick beard, then should probably only use one disposable razor per shaving session shave once per day. if you miss a day it can take several days to get back undercontrol. stypic pencils, hydrogen peroxide, band-aids & neosporin/triple-antibiotic ointment, anti-acne pads are all helpful friends. you won’t need some of those supplies depending on how fast your blood clots/scabs. buy your razors at the dollar tree. buy them in bulk online if you need to. avoid buying razors at walgreens.

avoid shaving your legs because there’s a lot ligaments that you have to stay flat on. you will knick yourself & have to apply bandages to awkward places. this means if you have to shave by while you’re alone, then you shouldn’t do it. i would suggest using an electric razor for these purposes. i have also found that for arms & fingers you can get a lot done without shaving cream & that it is actually better to not use it to avoid nicking yourself by going off the plane. basically with shaving you need to stay on smooth/flat services with the razor. you’ll probably get better with time with recognizing these, but basically look at: 

the muscles in your arms, 

the bones in your hands,

 the way your fingers line up,

how your veins & nerves stick out of your hands.

shave your armpits a little bit. you merely need to brush your razor on it once you get it mostly off. an electric razor would be a good idea. there’s some feminism accepted with keeping the armpits unshaven, but bushes get deem male as heck so hence you need to keep them trimmed. like you need to be able to see the skin. if the hair starts obstructing the view to the armpit skin, then people start seeing it as weird.

you don’t have to shave your pubic region or near it actually. this is because people actually support people who don’t because it filed under sexuality & people tend to be less kinkshamey when they think about sex conceptually & you don’t want to talk about sex to begin with. personally, i only shave because i’ve actually gotten urinary tract infections because of too many fecal germs or whatever in that region. so i just try to trim that for purposes of harm reduction, not style. basically do what makes you comfortable with regards to your pubic hair because everyone tends to respect the live & let live principle with that.

for purposes of cutting down on acne, make your room as cold as possible when you sleep & wash your pillowcases & bedding frequently. (i only get to do laundry once a week because i have to use a laundromat. however, if you have a washer/dryer of your own, then i’d do it like everyday or so.) also avoid touching your face as much as you can (that is why wearing foundation actually helped my acne). go to a dermatologist if needed.

most drug store foundations are “anti-comedogenic” which means you won’t get clogged pores from it. so that means avoid the makeup that aims to clog pores because “smoothness”. i am paying attention to the clogging of pores here because acne will make shaving & makeup worse. perhaps going to a makeup consultation can help with finding the right foundation.

the foundation i use, which i will disclose so you can gauge my complexion when i talk about colors: rimmel stay matte foundation 081 fair ivory. it’s like $6 or $7 at walgreen’s, but $3.29 at target, 2 for $5 online at target. 

when you apply foundation, you’re going to want to: 

take a pea size dot onto your fingers

rub it upward 

in circles 

going from nose to the edges of the face (like towards the sizeburns, but always going upward).

remember to cover the part by the hair line.

it might take several minutes to do, but eventually you’ll get the hang of it to where it’s like brushing your teeth.

use moisturizer to remove makeup from your eyes. wash your face off with like dove soap or some sensitive soap. (do the moisturizer first to avoid getting soap into your eyes)

you need to avoid smelling bad. using a roll-on deodorant that smells more feminine will help out (i like “lady speed-stick” which is strong. i also like suave because tradition, but secret is cool. also fragrances lotions can help in small quantities as a form of like perfume. cis women use fragrances to help cover up menstrual blood. therefore applying little amounts after a showerlike at the elbow crevices, the shoulders, the armpits, the breasts, some parts of the torso, legs, is a good idea. avoid the crotch & butt of course because cross-contamination with feces.)

painting your nails, lipstick/lipgloss, eye-makeup & earrings are definitely stronger ways to pass. 

like red nail polish tends to bleed remnants onto your nails afterwards so i would avoid red nail polish. go to the dollar store & build a spectrum of your favorite colors. (types of pink, types of blue, types of green, types of purple, types of orange, some glitter kinds, etc).

also get a cuticle cleaner/pusher that has a rounded tip for scooping. smelling bad will be bad. it will be super important in order to remove dirt or crud or nasty stuff out of there.

you do foundation before lipstick if you’re having trouble staying in the lines, you can basically put lipstick towards the lip/mouth-gums border & then use your finger to like spread it out. i also suggest curling your lips in & looking for lipstick that goes over the edges. when i put on lipstick it’s often over the lines at the edges of my mouth. if i put on too much lipstick it can be offensive (because of how blackface lips are illustrated), so try to avoid going over as much as possible. if you are still struggling or prefer different feels then using chapstick or lipgloss or flavored chapstick are awesome.

with eyeshadow you put darker eyeshadows next to the eyelashes & lighter eyeshadow towards the top by the eyebrows. if you do the reverse, then you will look more masculine, & like goth/emo dramatic. overall, not a good idea. like doing colorful eyeshadow is already artsy, you don’t want to push it too hard. if you do like darker versions of flesh colors like purple or brown in the spectrum order i just said of light colors by the brows, dark by the lashes, then it might seem “mature”. personally, i prefer artsy, but i’m also an eccentric person. 

i have heard that doing foundation or concealer first, before eye-makeup, is the pro-tip for easy application, but for me eyeshadow sometimes looks too pale when i do that. eyeliner is definitely easier to put on if you have concealer or foundation on. i also like using lipstick instead of eyeshadow sometimes because it’s bolder colors. however, you must be aware of cross-contamination possibilities. 

i’ve also heard about brow trimming, but i do not know anything about it & if you do it wrong it is super noticable. so basically just brush those so they look like uniform/lined-up instead of bushy. but yeah, when you get a haircut, maybe chat them up about it.

for eyelashes, you can simply just take your finger and push your eyelashes away from your eyes to curl them. at dollar tree & family dollar etc, their mascara is never usable, and therefore that product is always a scam.

if you get earrings, then go to an actual piercing shop. do not go to a earrings at like claire’s with air guns… no. air guns break/shatter ear bones. you’ll have to keep those clean as hell. 

hair varies with everybody. hairstyle is very intimate to one’s style identity/aesthetic. (i bring this up because that’s is the point of solarian, lunarian, stellarian, as labels)  so i can’t give much on that. i have heard wigs can be good for when you want to do wild hair. if you die your hair, it can damage it severly. so i’d suggest hair chalks which are like eyeshadow, and those cans of color that goes away in 1 wash. color the tips not the roots, because while it may be messier, you can just cut the tips it gets botched instead of losing your entire head of hair.

so for buying bras, you go by your chest size. the letters a, b, c, d, dd, etc add 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc inches to hold (what would be) your breasts. if you’re in europe (or some other fashion lines) then replace dd with e & carry on. so a 44D is 44+4, a 38C is 38+3.

getting a bra that hooks in front is such a relief. however, if you have to get one with hooks on the back, then you can put it on backwards, hook it while they’re in front of you, from bottom to top, and then turn it around so it’s on correctly.

if you push against the bra & it deflates, you’ll need padding because boobs would fill that in basically if you’re holding like books in front of you or someone pushes into you, that can look like a cone pushed inward. while getting silicone breast cups or breast forms used in sewing would be the most economical, using overnight bladder or period pads for each side of the bra is able to be done when you don’t have a shop for breast forms around. family dollar sells bras for like 2 for $9, but if you can’t fit into those (their biggest size was 44D last time i checked. i’m a big woman, like 5′10″, 230lbs, mid 40′s on the chest.) if you go beyond these bras, it’s easy to find prices of like $25/bra. you’ll probably need 7 to get thru a week, 1 per day.

you will want to put baby powder into your bra to minimize rash development, bra sweat, and help with reusing the bra in case you’re not able to wash it before you use it next.

bras must be handwashed in cold water with soap, one at a time. i use the bathroom sink. if you don’t have a drain plug, then in order to do so, you take a washcloth & roll it up until you can stuff it up/into the drain. to dry the bras, you’ll want to use hangers on clothes line or shower rod or a like a dining room chair.

also in order to have more range, look into like spandex stomach slimmers that also go over the chest. they function like corsets, but look like a-shirts. they can hurt the back like binders do, so i would suggest bras instead of these, but they can be a more low-key way of having some ability to have control over your body & breasts. cis women also use these so basically that’s a trend to follow: if a cis woman does it for basic hygiene then you should be fine when you do it. i’ve thrown my spandex stomach slimmers into a washing machine, and it came out fine. i don’t remember if i thrown them into the dryer, but if you’re worried only keep it in for a few minutes.

if you want to wear like feminine underwear, but want it to be basic, then buy some “granny panties”. they usually come in basic colors, that can be fun. again, family dollar sells some. (at least in my area).

goodwill thrift stores don’t harass trans & gender-non-conforming shoppers. i am not sure of what shops you have around you, but again, save money when possible. also check out target & kohl’s if possible, but they’re more expensive. kohl’s gives coupons to their credit card holders. wearing blouses & dresses will be a big step towards passing.

to cancel erections: flex a large muscle for about 30 seconds or more, like both thighs. If you’re sitting, rest your feet on your toes and push off the ground as if you’re just about to stand up. for me this usually involves like squeezing my thighs near my knees. if you do the wrong muscles (the ones who hold in urine or poop), then you’ll accidentally do kegels which actually prolong erections. therefore, i would suggest practicing this skill in private.

not so much for passing, but for general health: purses, make sure you can fit your entire head in those. never get thin straps (neither width or thickness). if possible get the kind where the connection between the strap & the purse is a hole, because if the strap breaks, then you can possibly replace it with some sort of string, chord, rope, chain.

good luck, peace & love,

eve

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Organization XIII Members Scent Headcanons

Suggested by: No one

Xemnas

Xemnas smells like ozone and energy after a long workout or battle, like the smell of the air after lightning strikes the earth.  When he’s clean, he smells like freshly tanned leather and an unidentifiable soap

Xigbar

Xigbar tends to smell like tobacco or cigarette smoke, as well as gun metal or weapon polish.  He also has a faint energy smell that’s a holdover from his power of levitation.  Has a natural pleasant musk that’s usually covered by the tobacco smell

Xaldin

You know how when the wind happens to flow gently across your face on a cool fall day?  That’s what Xaldin smells like.  Boy likes to keep his sideburns on point 24/7 so he also carries the scent of a pleasant aftershave

Vexen

That icy freezing scent that hits your face whenever you step outside on a cold day; it’s crisp and makes your nose tingle.  Smells like how it feels when you chew 5 gum peppermint and pine needles.

Lexaeus

Zexion thinks it’s hilarious that Lexaeus smells like that cologne you know your dad always wears.  Also smells like sandalwood, the smell of the earth after it rains, and the smell of dust and sand.

Zexion

This sweetheart spends so much time in the library that he smells like the antique smell of old books or old parchment.  Also holds a scent of something inherently magical that no one can quite place, but Demyx thinks it’s a little like eucalyptus

Saix

Coffee beans and ginger - an odd combination that surprisingly works for him, though he isn’t quite sure where it comes from.  Also smells like flowers that bloom best under moonlight, such as night-blooming jasmine or queen of the night flowers.

Axel

At times when he’s stressed or dirty and hasn’t bothered to take a shower, he smells faintly of gasoline and gunpowder.  Normally, though, he smells like old spice, bonfire smoke, and something spicy like red pepper or cumin

Demyx

Salty sea water, sea glass, sand, or driftwood.  However, his shampoo smells like citrus, lemongrass, and grapefruit, which makes him feel energetic and lively

Luxord

Smells like tea leaves, of course!  Tea leaves and sweet cakes and treats and baked goods.  There are also times when he smells a bit like the scent that drifts from a freshly opened bottle of wine or a load of fresh laundry.

Marluxia

Smells like flowers, dirt, and fertilizer, obviously.  It’s that smell you get when you walk into a flower shop or a greenhouse.  Has generally a soft and feminine scent, like a floral lotion set or candle from Bath & Body Works.  In particular, he smells like Dahlias and Gardenias.

Larxene

Sometimes smells like licorice or black cherries, but there’s also an underlying scent that’s vaguely reminiscent of static electricity.  She always smells like something enticing but dangerous, which usually makes people steer clear of her

Roxas

Maple syrup and cinnamon sugar, or other sweet things.  Has a tendency to smell like whatever snacks he ate that day, especially something with a potent scent - sometimes it’s baked cinnamon apples, sometimes it’s snickerdoodles

Xion

My sweet cinnamon roll smells like sunshine, apple blossoms, and cherry blossom trees.  Sometimes also holds the smell of milk chocolate or shampoo and conditioner

[inaroomfulloflockeddoors-jm]

1 ) WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?   Jim: Coffee or tea, mint, and soap, lighter smell than the other two men but it’s there. Sebastian: Musty, sweat, the vague smell of his cologne but he’s not one to overuse it by far. James: Definitely expensive cologne, possibly alcohol mixed in no matter the time of day. Richard: Chocolate mostly, occasionally tea mixed in. He uses more feminine products for cleaning than the other three. 

2 ) HOW OFTEN DOES YOUR MUSE BATHE / SHOWER?  ANY HABITS? They all do at least once a day. Sebastian and James prefer showers, Jim and Richard baths. Richard normally spends the most time in them, loves bath bombs and things. 

3 ) DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY TATTOOS OR PIERCINGS? The body does not, in the inner world, Sebastian has a tiger on his arm and James’ name on his shoulder. 

4 ) ANY BODY MOVEMENT QUIRKS ( EX: LEG SHAKING )?   Jim: Often taps his fingers or bites his lip. Sebastian: Doesn’t really have any, though there are occasions when it’s impossible for him to stay still. James: Doesn’t do anything. To him, those things show weakness, anxiety, fear and he doesn’t let those things out. Richard: Constantly moving, he can’t stay still so there’s a few with him, finger tapping, bouncing, leg shaking, foot-tapping etc. 

5 ) WHAT DO THEY SLEEP IN?   James and Sebastian: Underwear if they have to wear anything. They prefer to sleep naked.  Jim: T-shirt and underwear or checked PJ pants. Richard: He has matching sets of pajamas he wears, they’re really colorful. 

6 ) WHAT’S THEIR FAVORITE PIECE OF CLOTHING? Jim: Denim jacket that he wears a lot. Sebastian: His leather jackets.  James: Probably ties though he loves all of his suits. Richard: He has a soft purple button-up cardigan that he loves.

7 ) WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY WAKE UP?   James: Prepares for the day, bathroom, brushes teeth, showers, changes into his suits. Sebastian: Goes for food.  Jim: Lays in bed for as long as he can before preparing for work. Richard: He’s up and out, bathroom, searching for any sweets he can find. 

8 ) HOW DO THEY SLEEP?  POSITION?   Sebastian: Taking up as much space on the bed as he can.  James: Because of how Sebastian sleeps tends to take up less space “Like a normal human being”. He would say.  Jim: Depends on many things, how warm he is, if he’s with someone else, how he happens to be laying as he falls asleep. Richard: Curled up in the fetal position, as small as he can be.

9 ) WHAT DO THEIR HANDS FEEL LIKE? Their hands are normally quite soft as Jim, Richard and James are all ones for moisturizing (James less so than the other two but he hates dry skin). They do tend to be colder when Jim fronts and very warm with James or Sebastian fronting. Richard, depends on the weather or room temperature. 

10 ) IF YOU KISSED THEM, WHAT WOULD THEY USUALLY TASTE LIKE? Richard: Chocolate. Jim: Tea or mint. Sebastian: Food, depends on what he’s been eating but he’s always eating. James: Whiskey, coffee, both. Mint, he loves gum.

Tagged by: @ouijiisms

Tagging: Anyone interested in this.

[vankoya]

Silver Linings on Hopeless Nights.

✗ Part of the Across the Multiverse series!

Genre | Guardian Angel AU.

Pairing | Jung Hoseok / Feminine Reader.

Words | 2,744 words.

Conspectus | Every time a bad thing happens, without fail, Hoseok finds a feather. But he has not a single clue about where, or who, they come from.

Warnings | Attempted suicide mentions and depressive thoughts, but I promise this is actually really sweet and nothing bad happens.

Every time a bad thing happens, without fail, Hoseok finds a feather.

This is not something that has occurred since always. In fact, he knows the precise day that they started to appear, for it was no more than six months after he had clutched the railing of a quiet bridge with a terribly long drop onto a very frozen river.

It was the first day of January. The first 24-hours of the brand new year, and he had not prepared himself to witness what the rest of the months may hold.

Hoseok remembers the cold, trying to numb parts of him that had already been numb for months. He remembers the silence, save for the infrequent crackle and groan of the ice that he had doomed himself to fall upon. He remembers the moonlight in the frighteningly clear sky, pooling pale white on the jagged, muddy surface like a guide. An X, marking the spot.

But, above all, he remembers the voice, warmer than anything he has ever known.

“It’s not time, my love,” it had hissed so sweetly in his ear, all angry with love like a mouthful of honey fed by a scalding teaspoon. “It’s not time.”

Then, he remembers the heat wrapping around him like a muggy summer storm enclosing on a small town. And before he could even realise that he had climbed back onto the sensible side of the railing, he was already in his car, heading home. Not to the apartment in the city, but to his parents’ house in the next state over, which he had reached near five in the morning. And if him appearing on their doorstep with nothing but himself nor a single shred of warning was not enough to shake them, then him proceeding to inform them on that very doorstep that he had almost jumped, but did not, certainly was.

Things turned around after that day. Not immediately, but gradually, like the slow glide of plum preserves when poured out of a jar. Hoseok moved back to his hometown; away from the ugly memories that clung like claws to the walls of his scarcely inhabited apartment. Hoseok started working for the community garden; outside in the fresh, country air rather than the stale, unfiltered oxygen of an office as drab as an old man’s fashion sense. And there, beneath the forgiving gaze of the sun, his sickly skin started to brown like a polished bronze coin; his brown hair started to lighten, as if woven with golden thread.

He would never say it was perfect. He would not label it as recovered like a red stamp on a classified document. Somedays, the past would weigh down on him like hooks, dragging him into the depths of the sorrow that he had folded and shoved into a small box in the back of his mind. Though it was only made of cardboard, so nasty things were bound to ooze through.

Still, when those days occurred, Hoseok would remind himself of the voice. The one that was so rich with promise and adoration. The one that did not even beg him to stay, but told him with such courage that his countdown on Earth had not yet ended. He had not a clue who spoke it, or whether it was anything more than a figment of his imagination, though he would still cling to it like a handrail whenever the vehicle of his existence would swerve too harshly.

But just when he was about to convince himself that the voice was something his consciousness had created out of some last-second desperation to be saved, the feathers began to appear.

Each of them were different. Some were as small as his palm and fluffy like that of a baby bird’s, and the others would sweep as long and strong as his forearm. But they were all silver. Silver as burnished rings. Silver as stardust painted on a rural, midnight sky. Beneath the sunlight, they shimmered as though embedded with thousands of tiny diamonds, though Hoseok had inspected each individual one thoroughly enough to know better. He kept them like precious treasures in a very un-precious shoebox beneath his bed, which he would open right after he waked and right before he slept in order to ensure that they were all still there.

Still real.

Why they began to appear exactly six months after he almost subjected his soul to the void, he is still not entirely certain. Maybe it was because—the night before the first appeared on the lip of his bathroom sink—he was staring too fiercely at the razor on the soap holder that was meant for his stubble, not his wrists. Maybe it was because too much had oozed out of that tiny box and was slipping over his every thought like a heavy shadow, made for suffocating. He admits that it was his darkest blip since his knuckles had hardened like the ice below him on that bridge, so maybe, he is simply deluding himself and he does know why they came when they did.

A promise. Reassurance.

It’s not time, my love.

Yet, even now, a whole year since the feathers began to appear, Hoseok has no idea where they come from. Or, possibly, who they come from.

It is not like he has not searched. The moment a lick of silver appears in his periphery, he whips his head around at neck-breaking speed. A desperate attempt to see how the feather came to be. He tries to not let the origins of them fester in his mind and eat him up, for they are, without a doubt, supernatural. They are no commonly occurring thing for just anyone who is frequently plagued by those thoughts that linger like an eternal gloom on the horizon. As far as he can tell, at least.

He does not dare to ask his psychiatrist.

Instead, he has come to terms with being okay with not knowing. The otherworldly feathers are simply something that are unique to his person, and that is that. All that really matters is, whenever he discovers them, his mind ceases to be so weighed down like a faux fur coat in a downpour. The clouds drift apart and let the sunlight sift through to kiss and caress his skin; to scare away the shadows and fill his heart with gold.

But it is the first day of January—exactly a year after the bridge—when he discovers the truth.

No, meets it.

Meets her.

The thing is, Hoseok is having a wonderful day. For the middle of winter, the sun is generous; it spills through the clouds and onto his hometown like a bucket of pale yellow paint. He spends his morning tending to the community garden, and helps the 10-year-old twin boys who live down the street with picking strawberries for their grandmother. The afternoon is passed in his own yard, raking up the leaves that last night’s storm stripped from the oak and shook over the garden like a salt shaker. Thus, by the time that the afternoon is taking its final breaths for the day, it is safe to say that his hands are so dirtied that it seems like the soil has simply grown out of the lines of his palms.

And albeit that Hoseok’s day has been as lovely as can be, he finds that, upon washing his mud-marked hands in his sun-spilled kitchen, there is a glimmer of silver in his periphery. But when he swivels his neck at whiplash-inducing speed, as he always does, it is not to see a feather.

Not a lonesome one, at least.

Rather, there is a young woman standing just by the window that is pouring the unusual winter sunlight into the room.

A young woman with a set of very real, all-consuming, silver-feathered wings that hang about her figure like an open cage.

Standing there, with his fingertips still dripping from the running faucet, Hoseok wonders if he should pinch himself or rub his tired eyes. But there is a sense of fear about it. Not the kind that silently screeches in his ears to put as much distance between himself and the angel-like being that is mere feet away, but the kind of anxiety that nibbles nervously at his insides and roots him in place.

The kind that is frightened of her leaving him, even though he does not have the slightest clue if she is, in fact, here to snatch his soul away.

The angel-woman stares, a cocktail of surprise and affection swirling in her wide eyes, which match her wings in their glittering, silver shade. And that is what has Hoseok’s breath stuck like gum in his throat—the unadulterated adoration that caresses her features like gentle kisses. The lovingness of her gaze, which seems to be slowly registering that he can see her in all of her magnificence. And it is for this reason that he knows before she even speaks that–

“Hoseok!” she gasps, and it is the voice. The one that had wrapped around him like arms warmed by the sun. The one that had yanked him out of the darkness and silenced the warring of his thoughts.

“You,” Hoseok whispers, his bones feeling as tight as pulled strings. “You’re…”

“Oh dear, I’m a fool,” she hisses, seemingly to herself, as she presses her fingertips to her closed eyes. Hoseok, awed, can only stare in silence at the wings that shiver around her—the ones made of his precious feathers—until her hands finally drop to her sides. Her gaze settles ruefully on his face, and his ribcage suddenly sags with longing. “I’m sorry, my love. You’re not supposed to see me. Not yet. I shouldn’t have come, but you just… You looked so happy, and I couldn’t help but take a peek.”

“You’re the voice,” Hoseok continues, finally finding the words that were quietly dancing on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken. “The feathers… They were all you.”

She smiles, her wings stretching ever so slightly, and the sight is so radiant that Hoseok’s eyes just about water. “It would be silly of me to lie, wouldn’t it? But I may as well leave no rule unbroken, now,” she says, mirth twirling in her voice as she takes a few tentative steps towards him. The hem of her pearlescent silk dress sashays around her ankles, the tips of her wings slide against the floorboards, and Hoseok does not back away. Rather than feeling his throat close over like a fist is lodged inside of it as she nears, his buzzing nerves calm like a sea being freed from the clutches of a hurricane.

“What… Who are you? What’s your name?” Hoseok whispers as she enters his personal space, and his entire body is overcome with a peculiar sense of relief. Every inch of his being urges him to hold her, and he cannot fathom why. This close, she smells sweeter than spring rain.

She purses her lips, resembling that of a dewy rosebud. “Okay, maybe not all of the rules will be broken. The second one is a little too dangerous, but I can try and humour you with the first.” Her loosely curled fist lifts, hovering between their chests like a symbol of peace. Hoseok makes no visible sign of resistance, and it is only then that she lays her palm flat against the harmonious thud within his chest. At the tender touch, his blood sings a tune of euphoria.

“I’m the one who looks over you. Who guards you and your soul.”

Hoseok’s winged protector smiles, and her hand slides up his throat until it has settled on the side of his face. Her skin is neither hot nor cold, and that does not unsettle him as much as it should.

“Why do I feel like we’ve met?” he murmurs, willingly sinking into the familiarity of her fingertips on his cheek like cinnamon on warm butter. His heart twitches like he knows her—has known her. Long, long before she was leaving him glittering feathers and pulling him away from a drop too high to survive.

“Because we have, very long ago,” she coos, tracing the lines of his face with the care of a lover. “And someday, after you’ve lived a long, happy life, we’ll meet once more and you’ll know me better than you ever have. I promise.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he murmurs, staring right at her mouth like it is a particularly captivating piece of art. He tries to drag his gaze back to her molten silver eyes or the monstrous wings that flutter and rustle like whispers around the both of them, but he finds himself incapable.

“You’re not supposed to for now, but you will,” she says, drawing her hand up the side of his face until her fingers are able to glide through the soft curls of his hair. His scalp tingles like goosebumps. “You’re not even meant to see me, but I was careless. I’ll be punished, but it’s okay. I’m just…” She closes her eyes and breathes in deep, and then deeper, as though her lungs are the size of a lake and are impossible to completely fill. Her fingers come to rest against his throat once more, and her skin is suddenly filled with heat, scorching like the sun that kisses his skin every day. “I’m just wishing to be selfish for a moment. Is that alright? I’ve interfered enough. But please, let me be selfish, just for a moment longer.”

Her eyes, carefully, drift to his parted mouth, and Hoseok knows what she means. He feels it too, their souls urging them to wrap around each other, as though they are a single thing. And so he leans, rather than speaks. He leans, but not too far, because she meets him in the middle with thinly tamed fervency.

Hoseok cannot remember the last time he kissed another like this. Soul-devouring, all heat and love, with not a shred of resistance. Her lips and tongue are precisely like her voice: honey-sweet and burning like flames. And he thinks that he could do this for all of eternity, that he could kiss this nameless angel like there is no other meaning to life than her mouth sliding against his own. Because truly, it feels too good, too perfect, as though their lips were specifically designed to fit with one another.

But when Hoseok opens his eyes, it is to see tears slipping from between her lashes, as silver and diamond-like as her feathers.

“Live,” she whispers against his mouth, and her touch starts to fade like a breeze. But he is already forgetting her before the panic of her loss can begin to settle in.

Live long and happy, and I’ll see you at the end of it all, my love.

Hoseok... blinks into the emptiness of his kitchen. He feels foggy, as if he has woken from a midday nap that he never intended to have. But just as he is about to shake off the odd spell and go about the remainder of his afternoon, a peculiar thought comes to his mind. Peculiar, since it does not feel naturally formed. An intruder, though one that is not unwelcome.

A name, which sits in his head like a soft-spoken suggestion.

A half-hour later, he and his tongue, heavy with courage, find themselves at the florist across the road from the community garden, sweet-talking a number and a date out of the girl who makes even the most boring flowers into something outstanding. When she blushes and giggles as she glides a blue pen over a torn piece of paper, Hoseok feels his heart twist with delight. And there, with the tangerine sunset bleeding through the store’s front window, he does not notice that the knowledge of precious silver feathers in a un-precious shoebox slips from his mind, as if such knowledge was never there in the first place.

From above, where the sunlight shines brightest above the night that is slowly creeping over Hoseok’s hometown, his guardian angel—his soulmate—smiles. She has years of waiting until he is to truly step into her arms and press his mouth to her own once more, but she does not mind.

To her, a long, happy life for him is worth the decades of patience.

Prompt | Unbind Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something along the lines. Requested by @serendipi-tae!

Note | The concept is that the guardian angels are soulmates with the humans that they protect, so when the human dies, they are united with their soulmate. But the guardian angels aren’t supposed to noticeably interfere with the lives of their human, hence why she’s being secretive.

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the following fan fiction is allowed without my permission.

[faveficarchive]

Requiem for a Bitch

Part 5 of Vivian Darkbloom’s White Trash series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Gabrielle’s other sister comes into town and stirs up as much trouble as possible.

I’m gonna put a CW here for people who may need it: there’s absolutely homophobia in this story, and also just keep in mind that this story is honestly really true to the culture represented, and the times. 

"She would of been a good woman," the Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."

—Flannery O'Connor, "A Good Man is Hard to Find"

1. Stroll Around the Grounds Until You Feel at Home

It was a joke.

This was what she thought at first. The matron came in, and said that she would be released in a week. Sure, there would be meetings with the therapists, and the medical board, and all that, but it was pretty much a done deal. State cutbacks, the matron said. And you're an adult now. You don't need a waiver from your parents. You're free. Isn't it nice? You can get a job and an apartment and a boyfriend and you can wear whatever you want and do whatever you want and watch whatever you want on TV without Cindy Sue Deaver going nuts if it's not Full House and you can eat whatever you want and rest assured that there aren't behavior-modifying drugs in it—or are there? And the windows didn't have bars on them unless you ended up living in a real crappy, scary neighborhood. And nobody's telling you what to do. Right? Unless it's a boss or a government or a landlord.

Was the outside world really so different? she wondered. She would find out.

So they gave her money for the bus and food, and new clothes. She had to wear something "nice." Although how a beige skirt from Sears and an white blouse yellowed with age qualified as nice, she had no way of imagining. Maybe fashion had changed radically in the last 15 years, and Sears was now on par with Calvin Klein and Jordache.

The world was indeed a scary place.

She didn't say goodbye to anyone, and flipped the finger to the matron and wished death, famine, and endless curses among various inhabitants, including those who thought they had reformed her, had changed her somehow. They hadn't. Stupid fucking doctors. She dragged a small suitcase, filled mostly with packs of cigarettes and soap and towels and other stuff she swiped from the supply closet before leaving.

The bus stop was in front of some ghostly crafts store haunted with the remains of faddish hobbies. It was hot and in a fit of pique she ripped off the nylons she was wearing with the skirt, oblivious to the looks from the old lady in the crafts store, and tossed them in the trash. She rarely copped to emotions other than homicidal, spiteful glee, but she had to admit she just a bit curious to see home, and how everything had changed, and—most of all—how they would all react to her being back.

She shrugged in answer to this conversation in her head, and lit a cigarette. The bus lumbered to the curb, its doors opened, and she climbed in, glaring at the driver, daring the old man to say anything about "no smoking."

*****

The bus let her out about three blocks from Bob's Garage, near the outskirts of town. She walked lazily down familiar streets—too familiar, she thought with disappointment. All this time, and nothing's really changed. Well, what the hell did you expect? So if that's true, Purdy—the damn idiot—should still be working at the garage. And if he's still there...the thought trailed off, mercifully. She just couldn't think about it all right now.

Nonetheless, curiosity won out, and she found herself at the garage, on the pretext of getting a Coke from the machine outside. Then she walked into the dark cavern of the garage. A pair of blue-jeaned legs sprawled out from under some ancient car. Before she could announce her presence, a pair of arms grabbed her from behind.

The world whirled around her, and she found herself sitting atop a metal tool chest and face to face with a grinning, gum-chewing, blue-eyed, androgynous angel wearing a baseball cap backward. "Hiya, baby," the Angel said, declaring her gender in a low but decidedly feminine purr.

Before she could say anything, the Angel devoured her mouth with a greedy kiss, resplendent with lots of rolling tongue, breath, and moistness. Frantic at being kissed by this freak (yes, a freak, and no, I'm not enjoying this, I can't be), she placed her hands on the hard shoulders facing hers and shoved violently.

Contact was broken. The Angel was momentarily thrown off her Zen High Horse. "What's wrong, baby? Don't pay no attention to Purdy." The dark head bobbed in the direction of the legs under the car.

"Don't pay no attention to me," Purdy echoed from under the vehicle.

It was then that she realized that she was now chewing the Angel's gum. "Ack!" she cried, and spat, sending the little gum projectile through the air and onto the dark, greasy floor.

The dark Angel was grinning at her again. Furious, she smacked the creature—hard—across the face.

Purdy groaned, whether from arousal or empathy, it could not be discerned.

It was like bitch-slapping a rock. The baseball chapeau didn't even budge. And the woman laughed heartily. "You're pretty feisty today, Gabrielle," she growled pleasantly, maneuvering an oily hand under the Sears skirt.

Somehow she escaped these foul attentions—she managed to worm around the tall woman and bolted for the exit. She snatched her suitcase from outside, and ran down the street.

Gabrielle?

The name reverberated like an engine gunned over and over.

My sister is a dyke now? Well, now, that's definitely new.

It was an intriguing homecoming for Hope Hockenberry.

*****

Scant seconds after Hope's sudden departure from the garage, Purdy deemed it safe to emerge from his grimy underworld, where he had found himself getting steadily aroused. He had calmed himself with visions of Johnny Cash nude, and was now ready—and curious—to face the world. "What the hell was that about?" he remarked to Zina as he wheeled himself out from the car.

He stood up and saw the firefighter absently rubbing her tingling cheek. She shrugged, took off her cap, thus liberating the rest of her long hair. "I dunno. She gets awful fruity during this time of the month, if you know what I mean." Zina carefully avoided any blatant mention of tampons, menstruation, blood, female cycle, uterus—knowing that Purdy was indeed like all men and crumpled at the mere mention of the female reproductive cycle and its attendant paraphernalia.

"Before, during, and after, it seems like," he muttered. He sighed, and wiped his hands with a rag. "Anyway, thanks for helping me here, with this one." Purdy nodded at the car. "Appreciate it."

"No problem. I was dyin' to get under that hood for a long time."

"Bet you've used that line before."

She laughed, and straddled her Harley. "Later," she said with a kickstart.

2. The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Mane

The salon was called the "The Clip Club," its original owner being a disenchanted lesbian exile from Staten Island. But now the shop had passed into the hands of a permanently bitter middle-aged gay alcoholic who had never been out of Olympus County. Nonetheless, it was the best hairdressers' in the area, and Gabrielle had been getting her bangs and split ends trimmed there ever since she'd been out of high school and had finally wearied of Lila's jagged little cuts.

Hair freshly shampooed, the little poet waited patiently for her regular stylist while reading Redbook or, more precisely, carefully examining a photo layout of the latest lingerie styles for the fall. Finally, she felt a comb running through her damp locks.

"Shirley, I just need everything trimmed—" Gabrielle looked up, and jumped violently. Her regular hairdresser was not in front of her; rather, Natalie—she of the Shimmy Shack and dubious academic reputation—stood before her, twirling a pair of scissors. And dropping them, thus narrowly missing her own sandalled foot. Natalie hopped awkwardly, then grinned sheepishly. "Hi, Gabrielle."

"Uh, hi, Natalie." Her skin crawled. "Where's Shirley?"

"Trying to cash her girlfriend's welfare check."

"Again? Like she needs another tattoo!"

"Yeah. Anyway, she's out the rest of the day. But I just started working here!" Natalie smiled proudly.

"When?"

"Yesterday, in fact. And, um, I'm free now, so I could do you." The ex-professor wiggled her eyebrows.

"I dunno, Natalie. It's been a while since I've let anyone else cut my hair." Protectively she clutched a sheaf of her blonde hair. She wouldn't even let Zina trim her hair. Especially not switchblade-enamored Zina.

"Come on, Gabrielle. I'm trying to behave myself now. I'm not stripping, I'm not harassing anyone. I mean, look at me. I'm just trying to make a living here." She pouted in a fairly effective manner. "I think everyone deserves a second chance, don't you?" she threw in plaintively.

Oh damn. Gabrielle's shrug was more of a massive, neurotic body twitch. "Yeah, I guess." Can't argue with that. It wouldn't be fair. Zina got a second chance, and a third, and a fourth, and then a lot of parole time. "Okay, Natalie," she sighed.

The former stripper grinned with delight. "Wonderful!" She walked behind Gabrielle, and gently ran her hands through the poet's wet hair. "I really appreciate this," she purred.

"No problem." Gabrielle shifted nervously in her seat. "I just want it trimmed, okay?"

"Uh-huh." The tips of Natalie's fingers gently scraped against Gabrielle's temple. Then the soft pads began working their magic in earnest, exuding a delicate, massaging pressure that made the poet's body tingle and puddle into mushy nothingness.

"Feel good?" Natalie's voice dropped an octave, and Gabrielle's flooded senses grabbed at the deep tones like a life preserver, mistaking the huskiness for Zina's own rich burr.

"Mmmm, yeah, baby." Gabrielle's own voice fell into a low Austin Powers intonation.

"I knew you'd like that." The voice burrowed into even sweeter depths.

Before Gabrielle knew it, someone sounding like Barry White was telling her that she needed a new hairstyle: "Uh-huh. Child, I bet you've had this same style since you were in middle school. And all through high school. Didn’t you? You had this hairstyle when you smoked your first joint. You had this hairstyle when you flunked your first French test. You had this hairstyle when you lost your virginity to that boyfriend of yours in the bed of his pickup truck, with your head banging against the thin dirty blanket where his dog usually slept and which barely cushioned the metal, in time to the AC/DC blaring from the tape deck while you were secretly thinking of Kate Jackson. Am I right or am I right, girlfriend?"

*****

As Gabrielle exited the salon, she couldn't stop running her hands through her hair: It was so…short. She had awakened from a brief, bleary state of unconsciousness to the sight of herself, in the mirror, with this dashing little pixie haircut. "I only know one style," Natalie had said afterward, in an attempt at an apology, and pointed feebly at her own head.

Gabrielle rushed down the sidewalk in an anxious haze. How I love your hair, Zina had mumbled the other night. It was the closest thing to poetry her taciturn lover had ever uttered, and there weren't even no metaphors or similes or even' fuckin' adjectives for Christ's sake but it's all I got, and now it's gone!

When she reached the garage, Purdy was sitting in his "office," watching baseball. "Purdy!" she shouted. He jumped, and started to rummage through a desk drawer.

"You damn idiot, I'm not a mugger," she snapped. "And if I were, you'd be dead by now."

He stared at her. "Gabrielle? What the hell happened to your hair?"

"I got it cut," she said defiantly, as if it had been a premeditated plan of action.

"Huh," Purdy mused. That was quick. She went, got her hair cut, and changed her clothes, he thought, taking in the short tresses, the baggy jeans, the Carhart jacket. "You're really goin' whole hog into the lesbian look, huh?"

"Not quite," she muttered. She had drawn a mental line in the sand at those funny sandals. "Where's Zina?"

"She's gone."

"Dammit, she was supposed to wait for me!" Gabrielle fumed. "I need her for the video store."

"For Blockbuster? Why?"

"Not Blockbuster. We don't go there. Cyrene says it's an evil corporation."

He frowned, confused. "If you don't go to Blockbuster…" he trailed off. And his eyes widened. "Oh Jesus," he whispered. "You don't go to…"

"Yes," replied Gabrielle solemnly. "We go to Him."

He was the Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy, who worked at the tiny video store in town which seemed to have no name (unlike the Clip Club). But it didn't matter, because everybody knew who Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy was and where he worked.

Gabrielle hated going to the "independent" (as Cyrene called it) video store by herself, because Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy always delighted in giving her a particularly hard time; however, he wouldn't dare do so when she was accompanied by Zina, who once, in a shameless show of prowess, bit the head off a cardboard display of Billy Crystal.

And now she had to face Him all alone.

*****

Gabrielle spent several minutes working up the courage to approach Him all by her lonesome. She cruised the dusty aisles, pretending to look for something else in addition to the box she already clutched. She cast a glance at Him. His hippie head was bent and He looked engrossed in the copy of Spin on the counter, but she knew Him. She knew He was just trying to fake her out. He was watching her every move.

She stood at the counter, and carefully shoved the empty video carton in his direction. He did not look up.

"Long week, no see," He drawled.

Gabrielle said nothing.

Head still down, He continued: "Wild Things again?"

"No." She kicked herself mentally for responding to Him. Don’t encourage Him, that’s what Zina always said.

"Or is it a hard core night? Or how about that Rashomon of the modern day porn, The Sapphic Schoolgirls of Sydney?"

She did not respond to this taunt, and was unsure of how much longer she could hold out.

"If I recall correctly, you’ve rented that one 23 times in the last three months."

Employing the use of her middle finger, she flicked the video box so that it rolled over right onto Spin, or more specifically, a big color photo of Korn.

He stared at it. "Beaches," he murmured aloud. Finally, he turned his blue eyes to her. And smiled. Was it a genuine smile? Or another smirk? It was hard to tell, his face was so obscured by the dark, shaggy beard. He leaned toward her, over the counter, as if ready to divulge a confession. "Every time I see this movie, I cry like a baby," he whispered in her ear.

She blinked, still wary of him. "Really?" she asked cautiously.

He nodded. She thought his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He was squishing his lips together and frowning like Tom Hanks. "Really."

Gabrielle was amazed. He is human after all! She laid a hand on the soft fur of his forearm. At that moment he reminded her of the cocker spaniel she had when she was 7. "Why? Tell me," she urged gently.

He sniffled a little. "I don’t know if I can."

"Maybe you’ll feel better if you tell me." She squeezed his arm.

He took a deep, steadying breath. "Because every time I see it, I realize how fucked up Barbara Hershey’s career is."

Gabrielle saw the triumphant Gotcha! in his eyes, and she took the video box and rapped him—but not terribly hard—on the skull with it. "You asshole."

He straightened, startled. "Violence is not the way, Miss Hockenberry."

"You want violence? I’ll give you violence. I’ll go home and tell my girlfriend you bugged me and she’ll twist you into a pretzel. How’s that for violence?"

Girlfriend? Not…Her! He blurted fearfully, "You mean the Kansas City Bomber?" He had taken to calling Zina that ever since she came into the store one day wearing roller blades, which lead to a discourse upon the classic Raquel Welch vehicle and how it was the cornerstone of her career and undervalued for its campiness, which lead them to stare at him with even greater incomprehension than usual. He waved a hand of surrender at Gabrielle. "Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Jeez." He took the carton, padded into a back room, and reemerged with the videotape. After opening the black box and checking it, he handed it to her.

"Thanks," she grunted.

"Look, I’m glad you’re at least renting something different, y’know?" he said. "It’s a shitty movie, but who knows, maybe in good time you’ll work your way up to better, more ambitious things. Like Orson Welles. Or foreign films. Stuff like that."

"Well," she hesitated. "I’d like to."

He actually looked pleased. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed brightly. Zina would hate it, but there was always NASCAR.

He scrutinized her while scratching his beard. "Hey, I tell you what. I’ll make a list for you, of films I think you should see. Nothing too avant-garde or anything like that, but just some basic classics that you familiarize yourself with. And I’ll give a discount card you can use for renting these movies. How does that sound?"

Gabrielle stared at him, touched. Wow, he’s not so bad after all! "Thank you, Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy!"

Ooops.

His expression was something between a wince and a smirk. "Um, my name's Eli. Okay?"

3. Gabrielle: The Other Other Other White Meat

When Gabrielle entered the house, her first instinct was to bolt upstairs and hide in her study room for about a year, until her hair grew out. She was about the make a mad dash for the stairs when Zina emerged from the kitchen. "Hey," the firefighter greeted, blue eyes focused on the Rolling Rock bottle, "thought that was you."

The young poet and perennial student-teacher felt the sarcasm blooming within her, and even though something within her tried to staunch it, nothing could prevent its fleur du mal, a smart-ass remark, from emerging. "Yeah, I guess it could only be me, or the serial killer who has keys to our house."

It was a terrible mistake, for it drew Zina's attention from green bottle to green eyes. And the hair. Chewing her lip, Gabrielle braced for the worst.

"Your hair. You got it cut."

Gabrielle wondered if Zina got her talent for Stating the Obvious from watching—and listening to—TV sports announcers. She nodded, not sure how to read the paling color of the firefighter's blue eyes. Zina circled her like a farmer checking out a steer at the state fair. It'd been a long time since her girlfriend had really scoped her out like this and, she had to admit, she was having trouble breathing, in a good kind of way. "Well," she asked slowly, "do you like it?"

In lieu of a verbal response, Gabrielle found herself quite literally head over heels, flung over a shoulder, and staring, upside-down, at the disintegrating tag of Zina's Levis as she was hauled up the stairs.

*****

"Comfy?" asked the firefighter.

Gabrielle pulled tentatively on the handcuffs which bound her wrists to the bedpost. Goddamn Minya. Why did she have to give these to Zina? "Yeah, I think I'm fine." Her lover had interrupted some promising foreplay to clap the cuffs on her.

"Good," Zina purred, then barked: "Now spread 'em!"

And Gabrielle did. The tip of the strap-on dildo lingered near her opening, like an unctuous, falsely modest houseguest who was secretly dying to stay for weeks, sleep in late, smoke all of your stash, permanently stain the sheets, and eat all the food in the house. But after much flailing of hips and shameless begging, Gabrielle welcomed the dildo with a graciousness that combined aspects of Donna Reed, Martha Stewart, and Doris Day.

She was close—extremely close—when Zina stopped thrusting for a moment. "Did you hear a car outside?"

"Huh? No, no. Baby, whoever it is, they'll go away," she panted.

The firefighter frowned. Her senses were on alert. "Maybe it's my mother...shit, she'll just come in, if she has her keys." Zina scowled at the insanely aroused Gabrielle. "Or if you left the door unlocked again."

"I did not leave the door unlocked!" Gabrielle snarled. However, she was terribly unsure of that fact. "Zina, please!"

"All right, all right." She picked up the pace once again, and Gabrielle's eager hips followed suit. The poet's orgasm began to build, but, once again, Zina was the school bully who smashed it to bits like an unwieldy Lego tower. "Dammit!" yelled Gabrielle, her body convulsing. "Now what?"

"I swear someone is in the house. I thought I heard something on the stairs!"

"Zina, it's probably just your mom and she knows better by now than to come into our bedroom!"

"No, she doesn't! She always forgets!" The last incident had been particularly bad, and left Cyrene babbling about a "primal scene."

"Oh God, who cares?" Gabrielle shouted. She grabbed Zina's mane of black hair in her teeth and gave a savage yank, forcing her lover's gaze back to her own. Releasing the hair with a pfft, she continued: "She's seen us fucking, and so have Hank, Ed, Effie, Boris, Lao Ma, Ming Tien, and even my idiot sister! Everyone has seen us fucking because of that stupid videotape!"

"Gabrielle?"

"What?" shrieked the poet in sheer exasperation.

"Have your parents seen us fucking?"

Gabrielle followed Zina's glance over to the bedroom door...which was now open. The doorframe held both her parents. Both squat little Hockenberrys looked stunned.

The firefighter answered her own question. "Guess they have now."

"Hi, Momma," Gabrielle offered the feeble greeting.

*****

Zina sat morosely on the steps. Down the hall, Gabrielle was stationed outside the bathroom door. Her mother was barricaded inside said room, wailing uncontrollably. The poet's attempts at comfort and reason were lost in the maelstrom of grief for Gabrielle's presumed heterosexuality. Mrs. Hockenberry was a one-woman wake for perceived normalcy.

The firefighter resigned herself to the fact that the old lady would probably be in there all night, since she was so close to a toilet anyway, and probably left her extra pair of Depends in the pickup. So Zina ambled downstairs, in search of a beer, and curious as to what Gabrielle's laconic father was doing down there. Since his wife had locked herself in the room, he had only muttered, "For Christ's sake, Hermione," and wandered off downstairs.

Hockenberry pere had his bulk spread out comfortably in the couch, watching pro wrestling on TV. Zina saw nothing of her lovely girlfriend in either parent, and began to wonder if the lumpy couple had somehow conceived Gabrielle through a happy accident involving test tubes and Chemical X, as if she were one of the Powerpuff Girls.

Her arrival and observation of him did not go unnoticed. His eyes, actually made more attractive by the glow of the TV, studied her with awe.

Zina indulged in her usual gesture of discomfort: She rubbed the back of her neck. "Wanna beer?" she asked Mr. Hockenberry.

He nodded. She padded out to the kitchen, and returned with two Rolling Rocks. She handed him one. As he mumbled " 'preciate it," she sat down next to him.

He appraised her again. "Yer pretty," he mumbled.

"Thanks." She paused. "So's Gabrielle." But that goes without saying since you caught me boinking her, doesn't it?

"Ain't no skin off my ass," he continued. With only four more words, he would break a personal lifelong record for number of phrases spoken in one day.

She nodded.

"I still like her best," he confided. The record thus broken, the factions of his brain that encouraged language usage broke out the Asti Spumanti, peanuts, and noisemakers.

Zina smiled. "Me too."

"Lila's just dumb, like me, and Hope's plain crazy, like her ma. But Gabrielle ain't like anyone else."

So true, thought Zina. She started to raise the bottle to her lips, but stopped abruptly. Wait a damn minute. She stared at him. "Who's Hope?"

*****

Hours passed before Mr. Hockenberry finally rolled on the couch and announced he was going home, without his hysterical wife. Then Gabrielle came downstairs and threw herself on the couch. "My mother's asleep in the bathtub."

"I bet if you run the shower, that'll wake her up."

"You're not being real helpful, Zina. This whole night has been a disaster. I didn't get to watch Beaches, my parents saw us having sex, they know I'm gay, my mom is freaked out and living in our bathroom, and to top it all off I didn't come."

"Poor baby." The firefighter smirked, then guffawed.

Gabrielle glared at her, having expected a modicum of sympathy. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm gonna tell ya what is wrong: What got here is a failure to communicate," Zina drawled in her best Strother Martin-Cool Hand Luke tone.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Zina chuckled, shaking her head in amazement. "This is so cool. It's great." Gabrielle looked at her, puzzled. Zina put her beer on top of coffee table, more specifically, on top of the TV Guide.

"Hey, watch it! You'll get it all wrinkly!" the poet cried. When Zina failed to react, she moved the bottle off the guide.

The firefighter ignored this. "Listen, it's like we're in one of those parallel universes, like in Star Trek. 'Cause this time you're the one with the crazy, fucked-up secret in her past, not me." She giggled again. "This is so great. This time I get to be self-righteous hag." The firefighter bit her knuckle in mock melodrama and worked up little ponds of glistening crocodile tears in both eyes. "How could you keep a secret from me, Gabrielle! After all the underwear we've shared!"

Catching on, the poet gasped. "You know about Hope," she breathed. It was her one dirty secret, aside from shoplifting at K-Mart in the 7th grade.

"Yeah, that's right, baby. Your daddy told me about your twin, Hope." Zina guzzled her beer with relish.

Gabrielle was mystified. "He did? But why? Hell, Daddy only says about three words a day, and they're usually, 'where's dinner, woman?' "

"That's why they came here tonight, Gabrielle. 'Cause of your sister. They wanted to tell you she's out of the loony bin."

"Fuck!" Gabrielle exclaimed in a panic. She bounced around on the couch nervously. "I...shit, Zina, she hates me. Is she in town? Do they know?"

"They don't know yet." Zina stroked her chin thoughtfully, the gesture a result of witnessing Artie stroke his goatee for years on end. "Did you show up at the garage today?"

"Well, yeah, but you were gone when I got there. Why?"

"Uh-huh. Was this before or after your haircut?"

"After." Gabrielle went slack-jawed. "Oh my God. She was at the garage?"

"Yep," the firefighter confirmed. "I reckon it was her."

Zina found her Nine Inch Nails t-shirt in Gabrielle's hot, angry hands. "Did you fuck around with my sister?"

"Gabrielle, knock it off! I was in the garage, for Christ's sake. Purdy was right there. Look, I just kissed her, 'cause I thought she was you." Mock indignant, she straightened her t-shirt. “Sure explains the reaction I got."

"Oh boy, she must have freaked."

"She did. She smacked me."

With a squirm and a lustful growl, the poet affirmed this: "You're very smackable, you know?" Gabrielle's thwarted libido was drawing up a petition for another crack at Zina.

"Save it for after we sandblast your mother outta the bathroom." Zina picked up the Rolling Rock and took a pull on it. She rubbed the cold green bottle with her thumb. "So, uh..." She shrugged nervously. "Why'd your sister end up in the sany-tarium?"

"Cause she's an evil bitch, that's why," muttered Gabrielle darkly. "She..." the poet swallowed nervously, and Zina took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"C'mon, you can tell me," the firefighter encouraged her gently.

Gabrielle squirmed uncomfortably, then snuggled closer to her lover for comfort. "She...she tried to throw me in the barbecue pit when we were little. She had me trussed up to a stake and covered in sauce and everything." She shuddered at the memory. "Thank God Daddy wasn't drunk that day."

"Huh. Wow." For Zina, this explained her companion's perpetual dislike of barbecue. But how come she doesn't like coleslaw?

"That was the last straw. Up until then, it had just been minor things, things you pretend were an accident. Like shoving me in front of the school bus. Trying to sell me to a motorcycle gang. Shit like that."

A memory scratched eagerly at the back door of Zina's mind. She rubbed her jaw nervously. "Hey, what motorcycle gang was that?" Gabrielle looked at her, horrified. "It wasn't Hogs and Harlots, was it?"

Gabrielle went pale.

Zina grinned in her charmingly dopey fashion. "I coulda been your first."

"That's just great," snarled the poet sarcastically.

"Yep." She smirked proudly. "I was always head of the line."

*****

At the near-empty counter of the town’s lone diner sat Hope, picking at a ham-and-egg sandwich and ignoring a cup of coffee. A cigarette proved to be a larger temptation than the greasy items before her, and she lit up. Before long she noticed a crazy-looking woman with big crazy brown eyes and big crazy blonde hair was sitting next to her and staring. In a real crazy way.

"The brat smokes," murmured the blonde woman. "Will wonders ever cease?"

"Get outta my face," snarled Hope.

"Tough talk without your bitch girlfriend to back you up," retorted the blonde.

Hope groaned, realizing that—of course—she was being mistaken for her sister once again. "Look, I'm not Gabrielle. Okay?"

"You've been reading Sybil again, dear? Which personality are you today? The crossdressing kindergarten teacher? The kleptomaniac who bites her nails?"

The ex-mental patient flicked cigarette ash in the lap of her tormentor. Callie screeched. "Why you little—" before she could finish the sentence or lay a hand on Hope, the latter had slapped her across the face, the crack echoing in the vast mid-morning emptiness of the formica-laden diner.

The waitress, sitting alone at the other end of the counter, perked up a little.

Callie saw stars and touched her burning cheek. Wow. She blinked through the tears in her eyes. It isn't the brat! "Who are you?" she whispered in awe.

"Hope. I'm Gabrielle's sister. I've been away for a while, but I'm back." Ash dribbled onto her unappetizing breakfast, which made it look heavily peppered.

"Hope," Callie repeated. "I'm Callie." Hope. Hope is a woman named Hope. I'm hopeless about Hope.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but it's too early and I'm too pissed off."

"Yeah. That's okay, Hope. So...just got into town, hmm?"

Hope nodded. She stared at the dismal sandwich before her, shrugged, and took a huge bite of it.

Wow. Now here's someone who doesn't give a crap about what anyone thinks. "Got a place to stay?" asked Callie.

"No," Hope grunted sullenly. "My parents won't let me stay with them. Fucking assholes."

Is it possible to fall in love within the span of five minutes, after someone has slapped you silly and repulsed you by eating something undeniably gross? Elizabeth Taylor knew it to be true, this magnetic, sudden rush of love that overwhelmed common sense, good taste, and all concepts of decency. And Callie, off her meds, thought so as well. It's funny, the person I love most in the world and the person I hate most in the world look the same!

Idly, Callie pressed a leg against Hope's. "Well, I'd be happy to let you bunk over at my place. Um, there's only one bed, though...."

Hope, slurping coffee, nearly spat it all over the counter. "What the fuck? Is every woman in this town a lesbo now? Instead of the Stepford Wives, you're all Stepford Dykes?"

The waitress looked rather intrigued at this notion.

Callie hastily withdrew her lunging, lustful thigh. "Um, no, don't be silly!" She gulped—a Plan B would be necessary in this seduction. "I'm a minister of God, for heaven's sake!" Plan B being a good bottle of tequila and Artie.

"Fine," said Hope, finishing off the sandwich with one last large, feral bite, as Callie marveled at the capacity of her mouth. "So I'll take the bed, you take the floor."

*****

Zina lumbered into the house and was assailed, once again, with more of Gabrielle's ongoing spiritual crises. The perpetual academic was sitting on the floor with something that, to the firefighter, resembled a giant bong.

My mother…fumed Zina. "What the hell is that?" she grunted, looming over Gabrielle and the thing.

"Hi, honey! Cool, isn't it?" Absently Gabrielle plucked a string attached to the pseudo-bong, and it made a sharp yet melodious noise. "It's a sitar. Eli lent it to me."

"Eli?" echoed Zina.

"Yeah." Gabrielle smiled proudly. "He's Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy."

"But…how did…?" she trailed off. Zina was dumbfounded, yet impressed at Gabrielle's accomplishment. "You made contact," she murmured, awestruck.

"Yeah. I broke the cycle of bad porn, baby. Thanks to Eli." For herself, Gabrielle too was amazed at having broken through his sarcastic veneer. Who would’ve guessed that Eli had a sitar collection, possessed a spiritual side, and ran his own support group for hirsute pot smokers?

"But I wanted to see Prison Pussy IV!"

"Too bad, Zina. Tonight we're watching Truffaut's The 400 Blows."

The firefighter leered. "Well, that might be okay. Especially if you blow me a couple hundred times during it."

"Oh, Zina." The poet gave both a haughty sigh and a withering look of disdain to the firefighter. "It's not that kind of film." Absently, she plucked out a tune on the sitar, which sounded vaguely like "Don't Fear the Reaper" and made Zina long for a Blue Oyster Cult reunion tour.

Then Gabrielle hit a particularly harsh chord. "Honey, I hate to break it to ya, but you're not exactly George Harrison," Zina jibed.

"Sure. Fine. Go ahead and mock me. Don't be supportive. I'm trying to find my way, find some peace in this raging, violent world, and you have to be a fucking killjoy. Fine. I'll just take my sitar upstairs—" Kneeling, Gabrielle scooped up the sitar from its large round bottom and abruptly lifted it into the air. The instrument's upward mobility met with resistance punctuated by a thud and a twang that made her hands reverberate. And then another nauseating thud as Zina's unconscious body hit the floor.

Gabrielle gasped. She wasn't kidding when she said she had a glass jaw! "Oh, baby!" she squealed.

*****

From the trailer's tiny kitchen Callie could see Hope sitting in the recliner, reading the newspaper. The minister maneuvered herself out of plain sight to practice her Slinky Walk, something she had not done since being ordained by Artie into his church.

But love had called for drastic measures. She had pulled out her Daisy Dukes, thinking that, between these and many a vodka tonic, any woman of worth would turn queer. She did not want to implement Plan B unless it were absolutely necessary—a walking penis like Artie was a dime a dozen, but a good bottle of tequila was hard to find in these parts.

Callie heard the rattling of ice cubes. "Coming, my pet!" she cried gaily. She ran to the refrigerator and pulled out the two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, checked her hair in the toaster’s greasy reflection, then dashed into the living room.

"Here you go," Callie crooned in sing-song tones as the beverage foamed and sizzled within the grape jelly glass.

Hope grunted, then pointed at an item in the newspaper. "That's her."

"Hmm?"

"That's the sick fuck that my sick fuck of a sister is screwing." Hope pointed at page 2 of the Chakram Creek Daily Independent Morning News Courier. FIREFIGHTER OF THE YEAR FOR THE SECOND TIME, bellowed the headline. The article was accompanied by a large photo of Zina, de rigueur in firefighting gear, cradling her helmet, and sitting on the back of a fire truck with an anemic looking Dalmatian who had been up for a supporting role in the live action version of 101 Dalmatians but blew its chance on becoming a celluloid hero after humping Glenn Close's leg and peeing on her handmade Italian loafers.

Thus spake the article:

For the second year in a row, Miss Zima Amphipolitti of Chakram Cheek has won the prestigious "Firefighter of the Year" award in Olympus County.

In a brief ceremony at the county firehouse yesterday morning, Miss Amphipollittus was presented with a plaque by the Mayor, followed by the county's newly appointed poet laureate, Gabrielle Hockenberry, reading briefly from one of her own works entitled "Ode to Tremulous Thighs." The winner also received a certificate granting her a year's supply of doughnuts from Krispy Kreme, co-sponsors of the award. The ceremony was brief.

"Yeah, it's great," proclaimed the 52-year-old firefighter. A lifelong native of Chakram Creek, the winner attended high school at various locations in the region, including Chakram Creek High, Henabae High, Our Lady of Spamona High, and the prestigious Athens Christian Academy. She received her GED last year. Before embarking on her career as a firefighter, Miss Amphibian overcame serious drug, alcohol, and legal problems in an effort to make her life "not suck."

"This woman is living proof that you can turn your life around 360 degrees on the right track, and that the parole system is preferable to welfare," stated the Mayor. Miss Amphigrafitti will be on parole until the year 2010.

"Ooooh." Callie bit her tongue. She needed a new picture of Zina for her scrapbook; most of the others were either stained or torn violently.

"What the hell is a poet lore-ate?" snapped Hope.

4. The Way, or The Weigh

Zina's mind was, she would gleefully admit to anyone, not of a scientific bent. However, a kind of academic curiosity inflamed her on the very first day she picked up the free doughnuts from Krispy Kreme: How many doughnuts could Gabrielle eat in one sitting? How much weight would she gain? To maintain her current weight and physique, she would have to increase her weekly can-crunching workouts to what amount? Every day? Every hour? Am I going to get to eat any of these doughnuts? she wailed to herself.

She stopped walking down through the parking lot. Hell, yes. Viciously she tore open the box and jammed a powdered creme-filled in her mouth, where it remained as she kick-started the cycle, navigated out of the lot, pulled up to the first red light, tore down the road until the second stop light, made a left, then another left, then a right, saw Cyrene's Volkswagen outside the food co-op, went past the town limits, picked up speed, wind, and the exhilarating pulse of freedom, then saw the speed limit sign, then the poorly camouflaged state trooper cruiser behind an abandoned grain shed, which reminded her of that weird ABBA song, "Super Trouper." Do they have state troopers in Sweden? Maybe they're nicer there than here…sure, they're super! Super, thanks for asking! And then she almost missed the turnoff for the farmhouse, but swerved at the last moment, made it and sped up the dirt road to the house. By the time she shut off the bike, the doughnut was soggy and denuded of its powder, most of which was congealed around Zina's mouth, as if she were a half-hearted, amateur kabuki actress.

The firefighter took a few seconds to fully devour the thing and wipe her mouth, then she burst into the house. "Hey, baby! I'm home!"

Gabrielle, studying at the dining room table, looked up expectantly. "Hi." The green eyes widened. "Oh my God. You have the doughnuts."

"Of course I have the doughnuts. It's time to eat the doughnuts!"

"I can't."

Zina stared at her in shock. "What?"

"I can't, baby, I can't." Gabrielle looked stricken, and torn. She gnawed her lip. "It's a promise I made. Eli and your mom, they want me to go macrobiotic."

"What the hell's that?"

"It's my way, Zina. It's what I was meant to be. Sugar-free, meat-free, dairy-free…"

The firefighter chuckled in disbelief. "Come on, you don't expect me to believe that. You couldn't possibly give up all those things. I know you, Gabrielle!"

"Then you know that when I've made up my mind, I've made up my mind!" retorted the angry blonde.

"Oh yeah?" Zina tossed the carton of doughnuts on the table.

She watched Gabrielle fight with herself—the young woman's nostrils flared, she sucked on her lips. Her jaw trembled. "No. I won't give in. This is the way, Zina, the only way I'm going to clear my mind and my soul from all the non-recyclable crap in it." She stood up and began to gather together her books.

"Sure," snorted Zina. "Just walk away, like a coward." She peeled off her heavy firefighting coat, its dirty fluorescent yellow stripe dull in the overhead light of the dining room. The suspenders—which held up bulky fireproof pants—were taut and flowing over the munificent bounty of her torso. Gabrielle gulped. Deprived of junk food, she was at least thankful that Eli wasn't insisting on celibacy in this new spiritual pursuit. The firefighter sauntered closer to her. "I want proof, Gabrielle. I want to see that you can really do this. I want you to prove it all night." Zina was very close to her, indeed, almost pressed against her.

Gabrielle moaned and shivered. "Oh baby, you know what you do to me when you quote the Boss," she sighed. She was ready to melt in her lover's arms. But, with panther-like swiftness, Zina pinned her on the floor and handcuffed her to the dining room table. Damn you, Minya! "Do you carry these handcuffs everywhere?" she cried, then struggled awkwardly to sit up.

"Sure. Some people just don't know the difference between a firefighter and a cop." Zina gave a sinister chuckle.

Gabrielle wasn't sure she wanted to know precisely what that statement meant.

Zina knelt before Gabrielle, whose squirming was not the result of pleasure or excitement, but dread. "I'm going to show you my way, Gabrielle." Her purring was richly obscene and slinked its way from her vocal chords to Gabrielle's heart. "Our way. The way it should be. The way it always will be."

In a burst of defiance the little poet gave the handcuffs a savage jerk. "Not fair," she whined. "I don't have any choice, you big bitch."

"Tut-tut, Grasshopper. One always has choices," intoned the semi-wise firefighter.

"Did Lao Ma say that to you? She's as bogus as the new Kung Fu."

"Silence!" Zina hissed. "No more talk. Now is the test, Gabrielle. Now we will see how true you are to your way." The sneering tone strengthened Gabrielle's resolve even further. Until she saw it. It was sudden and swift, merciless in that way Zina could be sometime. The doughnut loomed in front of her like a space station dripped in sickly sweet sticky glaze.

"Krispy Kreme," Zina drawled in a low breathy voice; for added emphasis she ground her hips seductively. Advertising executives would kill their grandmothers, sacrifice puppies to Satan, and deflower Girl Scouts for such endorsements. If they didn't already do so.

Gabrielle wanted it. She wanted it bad. More than anything in her entire life. But, clenching her teeth, she growled, "No!"

"Oooh, very good, Gabrielle. Be strong. Show me, baby. Come on. Show me what you're made of, Grasshopper." Zina unfurled her lovely, languid tongue and swirled it around the moist hole. "I'm gonna eat it, baby," she breathed heavily, "I gonna suck down every sweet drop of it and you'll just have to sit there and watch me. Watch me do it, baby. Watch me."

Gabrielle stopped jerking and panting wildly. She gulped. And she watched as Zina's flawless teeth descended upon the soft, puffy, delicate flesh of the doughnut. "No!" she screamed. With superhuman effort she lurched forward and snagged the other end of the treat in her mouth. Chewing fanatically, she groaned as sugar saturated her mouth. It pumped wildly through her veins as she worked her way to Zina's lips. Mouths crushed together and flakes of glaze exploded from the collision. The firefighter hurried to uncuff her lover, and was indeed successful. They fell to the floor in a love fueled by the Sticky Jewel in the Crown of the American South.

*****

Cyrene, for once mindful of things that she might not want to see, opted to ring the doorbell of the farmhouse. After a few minutes Gabrielle opened it, short hair wild and sticking, clothes rumpled in a fashion that indicated hasty dressing.

The older woman sighed. "Don't you two ever stop screwing?"

"No," replied the poet automatically.

Cyrene's nose twitched as Gabrielle tried to look innocent. "I smell it on you!" the older woman accused. She jammed a crone-like finger in the fair Gabrielle's face.

"I just said we were fucking, what do you expect?" Gabrielle retorted; yet she knew that wasn't what the hippie had meant.

"Nuh-uh, honey. I smell sugar on you. I accuse you…oh man, what's that line in French? Like Zola, said to all those dudes in France: Je…je smellez vous!"

"You can't smell sugar!"

"Can too," the older woman shot back in a petulant tone.

"You can't smell anything, Cyrene. You couldn't even smell the ashtray when you set it on fire last month." Indeed, what was like to be one of Cyrene's senses? They definitely weren't working overtime; in fact, they had been given the pink slip many moons ago. They were the welfare mothers of the sensory world, every Republican's nightmare.

The older woman frowned, relenting. "All right, I can't. But I know you've broken your vow."

"How?"

"You have sprinkles in your hair."

Gabrielle groaned and raked her short blonde locks with her fingers, causing a rainbow of unnatural sugar condiments to shower upon Cyrene's Birkenstocks.

Cyrene stared at her feet. "Just what have you two been doing with those doughnuts?" she asked, suspicious.

"S'all Zina's fault." It was unkind, but Gabrielle hoped her corrupt lover was itching from the powdered sugar in her nether region.

"Isn't it always?"

"As a matter of fact…"

"Aw c'mon, Gabrielle. You can't blame everything on Zina. I know it's easy to do that. When she was younger, I used to blame my lack of boyfriends on her, thinking that guys wouldn't want to be with a woman who had a kid."

"Hmmm."

"But then I realized it was my lack of deodorant. Thank goodness Tom's of Maine started making a decent one!"

"Yeah. That's great."

"Now I beat 'em off with a stick."

"Uh-huh."

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

"No, not really."

"Fine, fine," carped the hippie, sailing past Gabrielle. "I'm just saying you need to take some responsibility," she added haughtily. "And I'm gonna tell Eli at our Legalize Pot Now meeting tonight!"

Gabrielle gasped. "Cyrene, don't! He'll take away my discount card!"

Cyrene heartlessly ignored this plea. "Zina!" she shouted.

The firefighter was pulling a t-shirt over her head when Cyrene entered the living room.

"Honey..."

Zina held up a hand. "Don't say anything, Mom. I know it's my fault. I never should've tempted Gabrielle with sugar."

"Jesus..."

"Please don't be upset."

"But, honey," Cyrene gestured helplessly, "you're going prematurely gray down there."

"That's just powdered sugar."

"Powdered sugar?" repeated Cyrene.

The firefighter nodded.

The hippie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I never thought I would say this, but I think you guys are getting too weird for me."

5. What Would Jesus Do?

Callie's half-hearted dart toss spiraled toward the ground, but just managed to snag the very edge of the corkboard, where it drooped, impotent and clinging. She sighed, and cut another look at Hope and Artie over at the bar. The little blonde was all over Artie, wriggling in his cheap chino-ed lap. She watched as Hope once again jammed her tongue into Artie's mouth.

Apparently, Callie raged, being a whorish little slut ran in the Hockenberry family.

The ex-minister finally lost it when Hope started un-buttoning Artie's shirt. She stalked over to them, still clutching a dart. She tried to clear her throat in a ladylike manner, but merely ended up sounding like Tom Waits preparing to hock a lugie.

Hope and Artie stared at her. "What the hell do you want?" spat Hope.

You, you little bitch! Callie wanted to scream. She swallowed, and composed herself, forcing a bright, fake smile. "My darlings, what do you say we retire to my place?"

"I want to be alone with my little fuzzy-wuzzy," Hope crooned to Artie.

Artie grinned in pleasure, then winced as she began plucking some chest hairs. "Yeah, Callie. Perhaps the lady and I would like to be alone for the rest of the evening."

Oh, you idiots. Your poor, senseless buffoons. "I have a bottle of tequila back at my place."

Hope paused. "Okay." She stood up.

"I'm in," chimed Artie.

*****

Normally Artie didn't mind being passive while screwing. However, his primary objection in this particular instance—on his back in Callie's bed—was having to stare up at the photo of Charlton Heston taped to the ceiling. It was a still shot from Planet of the Apes, with Chuck dirty and resplendent in his loincloth. Perhaps it was the tequila, but, as Hope straddled him and started riding him, he swore he could hear that deep voice snarling, you damn dirty ape! But then—he smiled in fond remembrance—Zina used to call me that too.

Ah, Zina. He closed his eyes. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that Hope's breathless panting and squeals were the deep leonine growls of Zina, that he could smell the beer she liked, that he could feel her prison ID bracelet scraping against his skin. "Oh…oh…oh…zzzzzz…." He was close, and in danger of doing something irreparably stupid. Don't say it! he warned himself. No matter how tempting it may be! He clutched the side of the bed. What is she doing? Dear Lord, it feels great!

But, despite his own self-chastisement, he moaned, shuddered, and released. With the cry of "Zina!" on his lips. Damn.

However, in the tiny moment of bliss after he came, he honestly believed that, when he opened his eyes, his beloved sister/cousin/whatever would indeed be there, with her blue eyes, her lush body, and beautiful sneer.

Instead it was just Hope, carrying an insane rage in her glassy eyes. "What the fuck?" she yelled.

*****

The first thing Callie saw when she opened her eyes that morning were Teletubbies scampering playfully across the TV screen. Her neck felt permanently wrenched into its twisted position, courtesy of a long night on the couch. Carefully, she sat up, and tried straightening her head; but the room spun merrily, and she felt like Linda Blair. Plan B didn't work very well, she thought groggily. What the hell went wrong? She tried, slowly, to remember last night's events while rubbing her neck. Then she grew aware of the empty tequila bottle in her lap.

As Hope emerged from the bedroom, clad in t-shirt and bikini briefs, Callie shook the empty bottle and realized that she had indeed finished off the tequila last night, after Artie and Hope had crawled off to her bedroom. "Oh man, I ate the worm," she groaned aloud.

Hope flopped down on the couch, and gave her a pointed look. "Me too."

*****

Artie straightened his tie and settled down behind his desk for another leisurely day of work at Ares Ministries. Actually, today would be busy. He was expecting a call from Pat Buchanan, and had several issues of Road and Track to catch up on. Nonetheless, the day's activities were nothing out of the ordinary, and every day that passed without some insane encounter with Hope was a blessing. He had not seen her in almost two months, since their ill-fated one night stand. Now there's a euphemism, he sneered at himself; being chased naked around a trailer by some hoochie with a butcher knife who was threatening, quite loudly, to cut off certain sated appendages was not exactly ill-fated.

The most amazing thing about the whole escapade was that Callie slept through it all.

He was organizing the condiments in his desk drawer when Hope kicked open the door.

Oh Lord! He jumped up. "Hope!"

"Hello, Worm," greeted the former mental patient. Ever since That Night, she and Callie had taken to calling him that: The Worm. It was their way of bonding. She sprawled in the chair facing his desk. "Haven't heard from you lately, Worm." She picked a paper clip from a pile of the little metal objects on his desk.

He then sat on the desk, facing her. "Hope, must you call me that?" he implored. "I've been very busy doing the Lord's work. You should understand that." He gave her the same condescending smile he used on old ladies for donations.

"Look, pussy boy, save the crap for the congregation. We have some unfinished business."

He held up his hands. "I know, my dear girl. I used you to satisfy my base cravings. It was shameful. I've been praying every day, and doing penance." It was true; giving up the Ding-Dongs had been harder than he ever imagined.

"You called me by that big bitch's name." Hope was glaring into space and twisting the paper clip so that it resembled a miniature sculpture by Giacometti. "I hate that miserable freak!"

Artie blinked in surprise. "You mean Zina?"

"Everyone in this town is obsessed with her. You, my sister, Callie...even Purdy, for God’s sake. She steals Gabrielle from him, and that poor dumb idiot idolizes her."

He admitted this with a shrug. "Well, she is pretty awesome."

The sharp edge of the paper clip sculpture sank into his thigh, right through the thin, paltry J.C. Penney khakis. "Shit!" he cried, abandoning godliness for the moment.

"You pathetic fool," Hope hissed. "I don't even know why I came here."

Artie yanked the paper clip out of his leg with an unmanly squeak of pain. "Well, neither do I," he rasped, pressing his palm against the wound.

She stood up. "Actually, I did want to tell you something."

He looked at her reluctantly, expectantly.

"I'm knocked up."

Artie said nothing, but wondered if Pat's offer to set up a mission in Sarajevo was still good.

*****

The next stop on Hope's itinerary that day was her sister's house. She had no interest in seeing dull Lila, but Gabrielle was another matter. Ever since her arrival back in the Creek, Gabrielle had been steadfast in her resistance to see her estranged twin. Chickenshit, thought Hope. Now there was nothing left but a direct confrontation. And if that meant she had to go through that big dyke to get at her sister, she would.

Sure enough, the freak answered the door. Zina leaned in the doorway, muscular arms folded over her chest. "Guess they haven't put an electronic bracelet on you yet," greeted the firefighter.

"Look, I'm not here to see you. I want my sister."

Zina hitched an eyebrow. "Really? Then we do have something in common, Hopeless. I want her too," she purred with a wink.

"Stop twisting my words, you freak. I want to see Gabrielle. Now."

"Not possible, Hope Floats. Gabrielle's teaching today." Having acquired an undergraduate degree, realizing its inherent worthlessness, and thus ascending rapidly to the graduate level, Gabrielle was now an indentured servant of the college, teaching freshman lit.

"Fine," snarled Hope. "When does she get back?"

Zina shrugged. "I dunno, could be late. You know how those college types like to sit around and yap, Chicago Hope."

"Will you fucking stop that?"

"Stop what, Ryan's Hope?"

Weaponless, she was about to take a lunge at the firefighter, but once again took note of the brawny forearms and thought better of it. "Look, you, I've got to talk to my sister. It's important."

"What about, Bob Hope?"

Hope sneered. "Why should I tell you?"

Zina sneered back. " 'Cause otherwise you don't have a hope in hell of getting past me, Hope Lange."

"Fine." She glared at the firefighter. "I'm pregnant."

Zina whistled. "Huh. Knew Artie was always lying 'bout being sterile." She looked at Hope. "You wanna come in and wait for Gabrielle?"

"My feet are killing me." Translation: Yes. Nonetheless, she hesitated.

Zina laughed. "You think I'm gonna try to seduce you or somethin'? I've already done it with pregnant women. It's kinda fun, until you get in the way when they have morning sickness." The firefighter shuddered at an unpleasant, unspoken memory, then stepped aside so that Hope could enter the farmhouse.

As she nervously crossed the threshold, Hope heard the door slam suddenly, then felt Zina's hot breath (lightly accented with Rolling Rock) in her ear. "Of course, if you misbehave and lay a finger on Gabrielle, I'll snap your neck before you can say hot pork sandwich."

Hope froze. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Although she had a sudden urge for pork. Smothered in gravy. She made a mental note to call Callie before heading back to the trailer.

"Siddown," Zina ordered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Reluctantly, Hope did so. "Can I have a beer, at least?"

"You shouldn't be drinking. You're gonna a have a baby."

"Look, I was so upset when I found out I was knocked up that I drank all of Callie's peppermint schnapps. The damage is done."

Shit, the damage was done the minute the sperm landed on Planet Egg, thought Zina. "All the same, do your heavy drinking somewhere else, okay?" She offered Hope a can of Coke, then settled on the arm of the couch, where Hope slouched, legs sprawled and tenting her much abused skirt.

Gabrielle's sister cracked open the can and guzzled its contents quickly. She brooded, then looked at Zina. Who was staring at her with those unnerving blue eyes. "So tell me," Hope began, angry voice edged with genuine curiosity. "What is it about you...that makes everyone in this place think you're so fucking wonderful? Why does every man, woman, and child in town either want you or want to be you?"

Zina smiled coolly. The firefighter stood, and assumed a curious stance. She stretched her shoulders, and, with her legs planted apart and one hip jutted forward, holding her right arm just slightly further form her body than the left, she stared at, then through, the ex-mental patient. She looked the very picture of a gunslinger, like Alan Ladd in Shane. Except a whole lot taller.

Hope blinked, and shuddered at a sudden draft between her legs. And she saw that Zina held aloft a pair of suspiciously familiar panties, dangling in flaccid glory from her fingers. Playfully she sniffed them. Then, raising a critical eyebrow, shook her head sadly.

No. She couldn't have. It's not possible. The hysterical thoughts raced through Hope's drug-free mind.

"Now this is definitely where you and your sister part company," Zina said. "Gabrielle would never wear polyester panties." Disdainfully she let the underwear fall to the ground. "So," she addressed her stunned audience of one, "does that answer your question, Hope and Glory?"

6. Seven Months Later

The young man struggled with the straps that bound him to the hospital bed.

"Y'all just settle down there, Pedro," mumbled the male nurse.

"Fuck you, man! MY NAME IS NOT PEDRO. I know I got rights! Where's my car? Where's my CELL PHONE?"

"Sheriff'll be here soon, Pedro, and she'll straighten this all out."

"Stop calling me PEDRO, you stupid cracker!" Simply exhausted, he slumped in defeat against the uncomfortable gurney bed. His best friend had not exaggerated about what people were like outside of Manhattan! They were all inbred and dumber than dirt!

Then he saw an older woman down the hall. She was not a member of the staff, and was holding an infant so well-swaddled that the contents within the blue blanket could have been anything. The woman was dressed like a hippie, he thought, like those old 60s leftovers in the Village who got all nostalgic and mumbly about how much the neighborhood had changed.

Suddenly, he grew wildly, ridiculously hopeful. His eyes bulged. Perhaps this woman could help him get out of here! He wasn’t crazy, he reminded himself, just a drama queen. How was I supposed to know that state trooper would have me committed for observation just for channeling Susan Hayward? Again, he stole a look at the middle-aged hippie, who smiled at him. The woman was the most normal-looking person he had seen since he was caught speeding by said trooper along Shakti Ridge. She might be a beacon of sanity in this white trash hell pit. "Hey!" he cried to her. "Hey, sister! C'mere!"

The woman approached him warily, lightly bouncing the baby in her arms. A motionless dark head poked out from the blankets, the face turned away.

"Hey, man, I can't sell you anything here. Like, this is a state mental hospital! It’s crawling with cops and shit," Cyrene hissed to him in an undertone.

"No, no, lady, lissen, I don't want anything like that." At least not right now. "I need you to help me get outta here. I was arrested just for speeding, and they dragged me in here sayin’ I was resisting arrest and I needed to be restrained for ‘observation,’ which is such bullshit! They won't let me call a friend or my family or nothing! Please, you gotta help me."

"Really, I wish I could, but I can't. I gotta watch the kid here." She nodded at the baby. "Look, they’ll probably let you go after you spend the night, or else they’ll transfer you to Shark Island Correctional…" Cyrene mused, trying to remember particulars from her own experience as the lone Vietnam War protester in the county, and conflating it with her daughter’s extensive criminal record.

"What? Shit!" he shouted.

"Shh!" Cyrene commanded. The baby started squirming and crying. "Aw, man, you woke her up!"

The child turned in Cyrene's arms, facing him.

He gulped in horror. Mami was right! "AYE, MIA MADRE!" screamed Paolo Torqemada. "ES EL CHUPACABRA!"

*****

Hope wasn’t sure if it the was the drugs, the chocolate malted balls that Callie had brought her, or the fact that the goddamn thing was out of her body, but she was happy, and she loved everybody. She smiled as she surveyed her hospital room, head lolling on the pillow, a damp drool stain tickling her cheek. Within weeks she would be back in her old room at the institution and her parents would be saddled with her spawn. Perfect revenge. Let them fuck up another child. Threatening to kill Gabrielle (yet again) was the best thing she’d ever done; it resolved all the problems that this so-called real life had inflicted upon her. Although it had been fun to be out for a while, just given the sheer amount of havoc that she wreaked upon everyone. And the experience did reveal to her that she did not belong out here, in this world, but back in the institution. It was her real home.

She looked away from the window when she heard the door open. It was Gabrielle. She smiled. "Hi, chickenshit! Decided to finally see me, huh?"

The poet lingered near the door for a fast getaway. She had not wanted to see her sister, but Zina—in a burst of wisdom—said that it was better to confront the past and put it to rest, rather than letting things fester like a wound. Not to mention that the firefighter had promised to let Gabrielle use the handcuffs on her tonight.

"Hi," Gabrielle mumbled. "How are you feeling?"

"What the hell do you care?"

"Look, at least I’m trying, Hope. Okay? I’m sorry if I ever did anything to upset you or hurt you. And I forgive you for all the stuff you tried to do to me. And the fact you still want to hurt me."

"You’re lucky that your girlfriend is more of a violent psycho than me. Otherwise you’d be dead."

"I’m forgiving you as we speak." Or trying to, anyway.

"Big of you, chickenshit. Let’s not pretend anymore. I did what I did because I wanted to.

I threatened you ‘cause I wanted them to lock me up again. I wanted to go home. I’ve saddled the brat with Mom and Dad, I beat up Lila, and I scared the crap out of you. I’m feeling pretty damn good right about now." Hope exhaled triumphantly.

Oh, this is useless. Why even try? "That’s pretty impressive, Hope. But just remember one thing."

Hope eyed her sister suspiciously.

"Zina still has your underwear. It’s going in her trophy box." With that, Gabrielle left her sister behind. For good, she hoped.

*****

The firefighter leaned against the wall, close to where the Hockenberrys sat. The reluctant guardians of Hope’s infant had completed the requisite paperwork, and now awaited one last visit with their estranged daughter.

The door of Hope’s room was flung open and Gabrielle emerged, sucking lungfuls of air as if she had just been underwater for the last two minutes.

"How’d it go?" Zina asked, although she could tell, by taking in the pained expression of her companion, that Gabrielle’s conversation with her sister had been less than stellar. Handcuffs and extra doughnuts tonight, she thought. Poor baby.

"She’s fucked," muttered the poet.

Zina, not a doctor and not playing one on TV, nodded sagely.

The baby squalled as Cyrene brought her around the corner, to where the Hockenberrys and Zina awaited. "It's someone else’s turn," she said to them wearily. She thrust the infant at her daughter.

Much in the manner she handed a water hose, Zina took the child, then held her up. The baby silenced in the face of the intense blue stare. "I dunno," the firefighter said to Gabrielle, "how your sister and Artie could make such a damn ugly kid."

"Zina!" chastised Gabrielle, slapping her lightly on the forearm, "stop it! She'll hear you!" Then she stared at the baby and her face fell. "Well, Artie must be hairy, I guess." She looked to Zina for confirmation.

The firefighter winced in memory. "There were times…when I was surprised I just didn’t cough up a giant hairball."

The poet shivered in disgust, then regarded the infant again. "Ah, poor girl."

"Don't worry about her, Gabrielle," Cyrene threw in, "Chupy's made of tougher stuff than that, aren't you, kiddo?" she cooed to the child.

The women looked at Cyrene. "'Chupy'?" echoed Gabrielle.

"Uh, yeah, it's um, Spanish for 'fuzzy one,'" lied Cyrene. She had never gotten a straight answer—or even one in English—from the boy on the gurney, as he had babbled at her in Spanish for five minutes before passing out.

Zina made it official. "Chupy it is then," she declared.

"That's fine for a nickname, but she needs a real name," Gabrielle interjected.

Mrs. Hockenberry took a closer look at the infant and burst into tears. She ran into the bathroom.

"Jesus, somebody's gotta tell Momma that bathrooms are not exactly churches, you know?" the poet complained.

Zina was still contemplating the child. "How about Harley?" she suggested.

"Damn, Zina! You can't be serious. Naming the kid after your stupid bike?" cried Gabrielle.

"Cool!" said Cyrene.

"I like it," agreed Harold Hockenberry.

Gabrielle stared in sheer disbelief, thoroughly amazed at her father taking the energy and effort to formulate an verbal opinion. "Well! I guess I'm outgunned. Welcome to the family, Harley."

"Goin' home, now. Gab, tell your mom not to forget the kid. See y'all later." Harold Hockenberry nodded amiably at all of them, then waddled down the corridor to the exit.

"Shit, now we have to drive Momma home," Gabrielle grumbled. "Actually, first thing, we have to get her out of the bathroom."

Zina turned to Cyrene. "Hey, Mom, go get Mrs. Hockenberry outta the bathroom."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?" retorted Cyrene.

"Smoke some weed. That'll flush her out, so to speak."

With a martyr-like sigh, as if smoking marijuana were a burden akin to eating spinach, Cyrene headed for the bathroom. Zina and Gabrielle were left alone with the kid.

"Guess I'm gonna have to do some stripping again," Gabrielle said.

Zina looked at her, surprised. "Oh yeah, baby? How come? For her college fund?"

Gabrielle was pleased at the fact that Zina was thinking ahead, and thinking of the kid as well. It was a good sign. "Yeah. That and the fact she's gonna need serious electrolysis by the time she's five."

End