#he feels very performative in his masculinity and rowdy

[russell-crowe]

RUSSELL CROWE in texas: 30 odd foot of grunts (2002)

[anboringday]

A Date With Lenny | Part 3

Pairing: Lenny Summers x F!reader/OC

Summary: Lenny and his lover spends some quality time together in Valentine. Head over heels for one another, things get heated between the two rather quickly ;) 

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: NSFW/Explicit

Read on ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Arms linked, Lenny and I sauntered out of the crowded saloon. It was a lively night in Valentine, a constant stream of interested visitors trotted through on horseback. Fellers loitered outside the stores, laughing and chatting boisterously. Penned pigs squealed, stray dogs panted in the heat, and chimes rung as doors opened. The noise and activity of the teeming little town was disorderly and loud, but not unpleasant. In fact, it was quaint. The people here were unfettered, spirited, and unapologetically free.  

Normally, I felt rather small and out of place in the company of strangers, but with Lenny beside me, all my silly fears and insecurities melted away. He escorted me through town in his black brushed cotton vest and matching trousers, his shirt and neckerchief both a pristine white. And god, he looked damn fine too, putting every other man in attendance to shame. Ever so often, the women that crossed our path would stare, sometimes tripping over their own feet as they took in his remarkably handsome face.

But he was all mine, and I made it known to the world by keeping my arm hooked possessively around his. Occasionally rubbing his strong shoulders. Stroking his toned biceps. He’d return the affection by showering my cheeks with tiny, playful kisses as we strolled aimlessly along Valentine’s dirt road. We had no destination in mind, no grand plans, or schedules to keep. We were simply enjoying each other’s company, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Cradling a flask of whiskey to his chest, Lenny took a swig. “See, the saloon wasn’t so bad, right? We ate a full course, top-notch quality meal in absolute peace, undisturbed—no bar fights, and only a few drunken bastards got rowdy and ruined the mood. Usually it’s much worse.”

“We have to keep a low profile,” I muttered. “We’re lucky no one recognized you.”

“Have you forgotten that I am the living embodiment of luck—” He tripped over a rock and tumbled clumsily, landing on his backside with a rough thud.

My heart skipped a beat. “Lenny!” I hovered over him. “Are you okay?”

With the cutest, goofy grin plastered to his face, he patted himself down for injuries. “No broken bones…I’ll live, I reckon.”  

His wide, bright smile was contagious. Holding the hem of my flowy skirt, I crouched to his level and surveyed him briefly. Besides being stricken with a bad case of the giggles, he seemed fine. “Of course, you’ll live. You have an obligation to keep breathing, Mr. Summers, ‘cause I wouldn’t last a day without you.”

“Is that so? I guess you’re stuck with me then…forever!” His arms enclosed around my waist, he tugged me to the ground playfully.

“Get off, you silly man!” With a hastily suppressed snicker, I squirmed about in his warm embrace. “Release me!”

“Nooo, you can’t get rid of me—not ever! You’re all mine. Just submit already, woman!” He attacked my cheeks with a frantic rush of kisses.

I smothered a chuckle from the sensation of his beard stubble brushing against my skin, but once he started tickling my sides, my voice rang up a scale and crackled hysterically. Whenever I tried to pull away, he’d draw me right back in, fragrantly fun, carefree, and mischievous despite the dozens of onlookers in our midst.

I tickled him back, and Lenny’s laughter was so jubilant, pure as the Heavens above, childish even despite his adulthood and masculinity. His mirth was like the summer sun and the stars at the peak of dawn. Whenever I heard it, no matter the time of day or weather, the world brightened.

Breathing in his tantalizing, uniquely familiar scent, I nuzzled my nose against his. “I love you.”

Stiffening abruptly, a rush of red stained his cheeks. His voice lowered, quiet and shy. “Hey, you’re making me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. There’s folks around—I’m not blushing, am I?”

“You are. It’s adorable.” I stood and extended a hand to him. “Now get up outta that dirt, silly.”

“C’mere, Sugar.” With a captivating smile, he lured me down to his level once again. He tipped his chin toward the sky. “Look at the stars, ain’t they pretty?”

Pinpoints of silver peeped in and out of the masses of gray clouds overhead. It was going to rain soon. I wiped the dust from my skirt. “You’re ruining my outfit, handsome.”

“What does it matter? I’m just gonna take it off you anyway.” He took another sip of his whiskey.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, cowboy.”

Music blared from the nearby saloon, a live performance it sounded like. There was clapping and cheering, a soulful feminine voice filled the air, blending in elegantly with the strum of stringed instruments.

Lenny’s brows shot up. “You hear that?”

I nodded. “It sounds lovely.”

He tossed his whiskey aside and rose, lifting me along with him. Taking my hand in his, he preformed a courtly bow, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

“Dance?” My face heated at the proposal. “H-here?”

“Right here, right now.”

Filled with embarrassed discomfort, I lowered my head. “There’s an awful lot of people around, Lenny.”

“Don’t be scared. We’re in this together. Just focus on me, okay?”

Arms encircling my waist, he anchored me against him, swaying to the music. I was tense and on edge at first, I’ve never danced in public. Let alone in the center of town where just about every neighboring feller, woman, loyal steed, and child could take a gander.

But once his hazel gaze found mine, our bustling surroundings melted away. Hypnotized by the shimmering sparks of gold in the depths of his eyes, all I could see was him. The way his lean body glided with effortless rhythm and fluidity. How his muscles flexed and rippled with every slight movement beneath his shirt. Following his gentle motion, my arms slid around his neck. He was my world, and the moment was ours.

“We coulda done this in the saloon, you know,” I said.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “I know going to that saloon in particular was my idea, but uh, honestly…I didn’t feel comfortable in there.”

“Why? Did one of those drunkards do something? Say something? I swear, if there are any inbred yokels around here, you just point me in their direction—”

“No, it wasn’t that.” He gave a shaky laugh. “Every fella in there was eyeballing you. It ain’t no crime to look but…” His voice trailed off.

I frowned. “I didn’t notice anyone was staring, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, don’t apologize for being the prettiest girl in town. You got all the women in the West green with envy and the fellas? They salivate over you like a pack of rabid dogs after a bone. And regardless of all that, you chose me. Feels like a dream. The best damn dream.” He dipped me back and kissed my temple. I held onto him as his full lips drifted to my neck, brushing over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes on a moan when he caught the lobe of my ear between his teeth, the spontaneity of it all warmed my heart, and awakened a fierce ache between my legs.

With he straightened me, I was near breathless and dizzy. There was an applause, and whistling coming from over my shoulder. Lenny’s grasp on me was strong and clinging, as if I could slip through his fingers at any given moment. “You’re mine, I’m yours, and now everybody knows it.”

I flushed, perversely flattered and delighted by his possessiveness. “You know, this isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘keeping a low profile’,” I whispered.

“So, about that…” He grinned sheepishly, a boyish smile so cutely at odds with the wiry, solid sexuality of his body. “I ain’t the best at laying low, never have been. Everywhere I go, something or somebody starts kickin’ up a fuss and I get dragged into it. For example, some fool gets robbed—by no fault of mine, might I add—then that same fool gets brave and winds up with a bullet in his gut. And of course, being the law-abiding citizen that I very much am, I got no choice but to intervene.”

I smiled. “So, all this time you’ve been playing the hero? Everything the lawmen said about you was a lie?”

“The law ain’t never been fair or smart.”

“That much is true.” The sky rumbled, and the clouds began to shed some heavy droplets of rain. Folks began to retreat indoors, while a select few preferred to take shelter under the general store awnings.

“Well, there goes our audience,” Lenny said. “A real shame, too. I was getting used to the limelight.” He took off his brown leather cowboy hat and gave it to me. “Here, Sugar. For your hair.”

“Thank you.” I nuzzled my face to his chest. “We should go. The storm is only going to get worse.”

Seemingly unbothered by the rain, he tilted my chin up and settled his mouth on mine. A rush of warmth flowed through me, the soft sweetness of his kiss weakened my knees. Gradually, the pressure of his lips increased, and I surrendered myself to him. His tongue stroked slow and tenderly over mine. Our connection was wildly passionate and undeniable. I was so absorbed by him, possessed by his sweet love, I hardly noticed the drizzle running down our faces to where our lips connected. The cold rain mingled with the uniquely wonderful taste of him.

The working of his mouth against mine made me hot. Restless. I pushed a hand into his gloriously damp hair and sucked on the bottom of his lip, tracing my tongue over its perfect fullness, nibbling, gently pulling…

The sound of his groan was so satisfyingly deep and erotic, my core throbbed, uncomfortably wet. Lenny broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “Damn…what are you doing to me?”

I smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gripping my hips, he crushed me to him, the impressive package between his legs brushed my thigh. “I…I-I need to be inside you,” he confessed with some difficulty. “I’m aching.”

Moved by the extent of his longing, I stood on the tip of my toes and reclaimed his lips, my palms sliding all over his lethally sexy body. We were drenched in the chilly, pouring rain, but not even the forces of nature could keep my hands off him. “There’s a hotel next door,” I said between kisses.

Lenny nodded an assent and lifted me off my feet, my legs hooked around his waist. He carried me across the road and through the hotel’s swinging doors. The lobby was empty.

“I’ll be just a minute!” a voice I presumed to be the receptionist called out from down the hall.

Still holding me in his powerful arms, Lenny leaned against the front desk as we made out with reckless abandon. The soul-reaching massage of his lips sent shivers rippling up my spine. Raising my skirt a fraction, his hips started moving, the hard length of his cock grinding sinfully against me through the confides of his pants. Oh, god…a deep hunger stirred inside me. I had to have him—all of him—and it had to be soon. Or else I’d go crazy.

I held onto him for dear life, trembling from the hot, delicious friction. I didn’t care who was watching. I was way past the point of shyness, the primal desire to be fucked by this beautiful outlaw was at the forefront of my mind. It was all that mattered.

My skin burning hot and flustered, I whimpered. “I want you, Lenny.”

Muscles tense and visibly shaking with lust, he uttered huskily, “Fuck, I want—I need you.”

I buried my face in the crook of his corded neck, ravaging his skin with love bites and licks. “How bad do you need me?”

“Real bad. More than anything. I’ll beg if I got to. I’ll plead. I’ll get on my damn knees right now.” He swallowed deep, his expression tight and eyes smoldering. “If we don’t get a key soon, I might just bend you over this desk and fuck you right here.”

I trembled. It sounded like a threat as much as a promise, the scorching intensity of his words so unlike him. He was losing his composure, the desire stripping away his inhibitions and calm, sweet-tempered mannerisms. Only I could do this to him. It was a major turn-on and confidence boost.

“Here I am!” the receptionist finally arrived, scrambling into his rightful place behind the desk. His presence was a blur, I was too preoccupied enjoying the softness of Lenny’s lips. I could probably come like this, just by kissing him if we went at it long enough.

“Good Lord Almighty!” the receptionist gaped at us. “You kids need a room immediately! Luckily for you, we have one available. Just one. It’s been a big night for tourism, with that band of fancy folk from Saint Denis parading through town, playing their music and causing a ruckus. I don’t understand how anyone can get anything done with all that darn noise and commotion—”

Lenny shoved a hand into his satchel and flung a couple dollars at the chatty receptionist. It stopped his ranting, thank goodness.

“Second floor, first room on your right.” Once he passed over the key, Lenny whisked me upstairs. Heedless of everything and everyone, our hot, lingering kisses didn’t break as he fumbled with the lock. A moment later, the door opened, and we were inside a dimly lit room bathed in candlelight, rain softly drummed against the windowpanes.

Lenny dropped me on the bed. I reached for his vest and ripped it open, the buttons scattered across the hardwood floor. “Get naked, cowboy.”

He laughed, shrugging out of his shirt and suspenders, and then unbuckling his gun belt. I ran my hand down his chest in awe. His deep brown skin illuminated by the warm, flickering light, he glowed like flames piercing the darkness, radiant with transcendental beauty and mystery. I wanted him so bad, it hurt.

I nuzzled my face against the solid ridges of his damp, god-like abdomen. “Christ, why are you so perfect?”

“Perfect?” He pinched my cheek playfully. “Aw, you really think so? Arthur told me the same thing once, but he was drunk and vomiting in a pig pen outside the saloon when he said it—”

“Lenny…” Grinning, I swatted his hand off my cheek. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Flashing an apologetic smile, he tossed aside the wet hat on my head and helped me out my clothes with gentle finesse. I went for his zipper, freeing his thick cock. My mouth watered. He was rock-hard, and throbbing. I traced the flat of my tongue along the heavy veins coursing his length, slow and worshipfully.  

He fisted my hair, restraining me just before I took him into my mouth. “Nuh-uh, Sugar. That can wait. Lay down.”

My brows raised. Apparently, Lenny was in charge tonight. I obeyed, curious of what he had in store.

The heat and clean, woodsy scent of his body took my breath away once he came down on me. “You’re beautiful.” He plumped one breast in his hand, kissing my neck, his lips grazing back and forth over my tender, flustered skin. I squirmed from the heady sensation. My legs locked around his hips, silently urging him to make love to me already. Near mindless with need, I struggled to find my voice, to formulate words. All that slipped from my throat was tiny, helpless whimpering.

He took himself in his hand and stroked my slick entrance, the soft nudges of his cock head agonizingly teasing. I arched my hips, my body straining toward him, desperate for a connection. He was making me wait, avoiding my clit and somehow resisting the temptation of fucking me despite my pleading.

“Lenny, please. What are you waiting for?”

“Hush now,” he said. “You’ll be ready for me soon.”

“I’ve been ready for you for the longest. Since this morning.”

He nipped my neck, sucking feverishly. Surely leaving a mark behind. Inflamed and trembling in distress, I rolled my hips against the rigid column of flesh he so cruelly teased me with. Patiently, he coaxed me to the brink of insanity. I was soaked in my own wetness, creaming madly for the feel of him inside me.

Raking my nails across his back, I pulled him closer. I needed him to fuck me more than I needed my next breath. “Now,” I gasped. “Need you now.”

With an expert shift of his hips, he pushed into me hard, and so pleasantly deep.

“Oh, God, yes,” I moaned, shuddering, clenching around him. Finally. Warmth struck my heart. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, too long—

“Don’t come,” he murmured, his palms slipped under my hips and cupped my behind, squeezing.

“Excuse me?” I was so close to the edge already. How the hell did he expect me not to go off?

“Good things come to those who wait. It feels so much better in the end.” Lenny started to move, his thrusts lazy and tortuously slow. “Can you do that for me, Sugar? Can you make it last?”

The cadence of his soft-spoken, drawling words sounded so sweet in my ears, so delicate. A fierce ache struck my chest. I was hopelessly in love with him, and more than willing to submit to his every need and request.

“It’s not fair,” I mumbled, my vision blurred with tears. “You have no idea how good you feel inside me.”

“Trust me, I-I do.” Lenny’s leisurely rhythm came to an abrupt halt, his body shivered violently. Jaw clenched, a groan slipped through his lips, tension contorted the gorgeous features of his face. Holding back seemed to be affecting him as well.

Quickly regaining his poise, he resumed screwing me. Lenny knew my body so well, all the tender spots that demanded attention and how precisely to stroke them. It was all muscle memory to him at this point. Over and over, his cock rubbed the bundle of quivering nerves clenching, aching for his touch.

Gripping the sheets with white-knuckled force, I smothered an upsurge of sobs, thrashing against the overwhelming need to climax. I was burning from the inside out, our bodies sticky with sweat. Trembling uncontrollably, I couldn’t hold back for much longer…

“Don’t come,” Lenny repeated. “Make this last. Just hold on.”

“I c-can’t. It feels amazing. Jesus, Lenny…” Tears escaped my eyes. I was falling apart, utterly and irreversibly lost in him. “I love you. I-I love you so, so much…”

He kissed away the tear tracks on my face. “Hold me. Don’t you let go.”

I released the covers and clung to him. His heavy-lidded gaze snagged with mine, searing into me. He sighed heavily, from pleasure, tension, or both—I couldn’t tell. His hips still surging at a moderate, deliberately restrained tempo that was driving senseless, I blurted, “Slow down. Please. I’ll come if you don’t slow down.”

“Will you now?” A wicked smile pulled at his lips. “I thought you wanted to come, Sugar. Why the change of heart?”

My back arched as his hold on my behind grew bruising. He lifted my hips into his thrusts, and I cried out, my core boiling and tightening with a pressure so severe, I feared I’d snap in two if I didn’t give into my bodily cravings soon.

“I won’t come,” I panted. “Not—not until y-you say so.”

His hazel eyes softened, sympathetic almost as he watched me quiver helplessly beneath him. One hand clasping the side of my face, he kissed me with a heartrending tenderness, his tongue caressing mine. Yes.

“Come for me,” he fucked me harder, dominating my body, although his voice was honeysweet against my lips. “I need to feel you…”

With his permission, an orgasm erupted inside me like a volcano, molten pleasure spreading from my core and overcoming the entirety of my body in a scorching wave. It was remarkable. Explosive. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I let out a shrill cry, writhing under Lenny’s sweat-slick muscles. His name spewed repeatedly from my lips as he fucked me into blissful oblivion.

The climax surged on and on. I was melting, drowning in the immense ecstasy of being loved by him, pleased by him. He was my everything, and without him I was empty and hollow. I could die in his arms right now and regret not a thing, because I’ve never truly lived a day until I met him.  

The connection we shared was incredibly intense, inside and outside the bedroom. But when we were making love like this, intimately linked, giving and receiving pleasure from one another like our lives depended on it…our bond felt unbreakable. It was frightening how deeply I adored him—an outlaw. A man the law wanted strung up by a noose…

A muscle twitching in his jaw, he rode out my climax until the clenches faded; then he slowed down his pace, burying himself inside me languidly. He sucked in a harsh breath, eyes dark and dilated, his strong body convulsed furiously. He was teetering on the edge of an orgasm, still denying himself the pleasure he’s been working toward all night long. The glaring self-control and perseverance Lenny emanated was something to be envied.

I gathered his hair in my hands, kissing the side of his damp throat. “You’re shaking, handsome. Do I feel that good?”

“Yes,” he rasped, pounding into me erratically, his balls slapping against the curve of my behind. “Oh shit, yes.”

A bead of sweat dripped from his chin onto the corner of my lip. I slid my tongue along his sculpted jawline, collecting the saltiness with a soft murmur of satisfaction. He tasted so good, and the scent of his lust smelled even better.

“Why don’t you come inside me, cowboy?” I teased, my voice husky. “You know you want to.”

He clasped the nape of my neck, his gaze burned into mine. “Do you want me to?”

I had just as much control over his body as he did mine and I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Lenny. Come.”

With a serrated groan, his beautiful cock jerked, spurting hotly, flooding me with his heat. His hips ground against mine, he emptied his load as deeply as he could inside me. I don’t know how long we laid there holding each other, spent and panting. Eventually, our breathing steadied and our bodies cooled.

“Leonard Summers!” a rugged voice shouted from outside, piercing the calm serenity of the rain. “We know you’re in here! Give yourself up, boy, there ain’t nowhere left to run!”

Lenny shot up from the bed.

Still wrapped up in a sex-induced daze, my brain struggled to comprehend what the hell was happening. Lazily, I sat up, covering my exposed breasts with the sheets. “What’s going on?”

Lenny inched to the window and glanced furtively though the blinds. “Lawmen,” he winced. “A lot of ‘em.”

I shivered, my heartbeat sped up. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was, Sugar. Maybe you were right—coming ‘round here was, in fact, a real bad idea.” His teeth gleamed in a lopsided smile, confident and reassuring despite our unfortunate circumstances. “So, uh…you know how to handle a gun, right?”

My eyes widened. Oh no…

[keichanz]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

hey @britonell​. do you remember Ride? yeah. that’s the one. anyway i have absolutely positively no explanation for this other than the fact that i’m a slut and also i’m blaming @clearwillow​ and @lemonlushff​ for this because they will know exactly where in the fresh fucking hell this came from. 

now if you’ll excuse i’m going to crawl back into the hole i came from and actually attempt to finish my 654 WIPs i have kthxbye.

anyway this is a follow up of sorts to my oneshot Ride because i have no self control. so here enjoy Stripper Inuyasha in chaps and a Stetson as i make him fucking line dance across a stage *cackle*

brief smut at the end but nothing exceedingly detailed because i’m lazy.

“Kagome,” Sango groaned, following her friend through the packed club and raising her drink above her head in order not to spill it as she meandered through the sea of people and tables. Jesus, this place was huge! “Why are we here again? And how the hell were you able to bypass that line? It was like a mile long!”

“I told you already,” Kagome called back over her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on her beer as she headed toward the only empty table in the entire establishment, reserved for a one Kagome Higurashi and guest. “We’re meeting someone.”

Sango didn’t fail to notice Kagome did not answer her second question and she sighed in irritation. Her best friend wasn’t telling her something and for the life of her she didn’t understand why. Kagome had always told her everything, and vice versa. There were no secrets between them, and that was why they were so close. But she also trusted Kagome and knew if it were truly important, her friend would tell her so Sango let it slide and muttered an apology as she bumped into a table while squeezing through the narrow paths. The tables were clustered so close together it was almost impossible to maneuver between them, but they managed and finally reached where Kagome had been leading them.

Gratefully sliding into the cushy seat beside her friend, Sango glanced around and couldn’t help but notice their table, which had been suspiciously empty in a fully packed club, was near dead center of the place and with a clear view of the stage not too far from them. It was empty at the moment, but the show hadn’t started yet, so not a surprise. Above the dull roar of chatter and laughter, Sango could hear a low beat coming from the speakers situated everywhere, standby music as the “performers” no doubt got prepared.

Sango flushed and took a sip of her Cosmo. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed Kagome to talk her into coming to a damn strip club of all places and she’d only given in because she was tried of her friend constantly bugging her about it. Hopefully after tonight, and after meeting whoever Kagome wanted her to meet, Kagome would be satisfied and never ask her again. These places just weren’t her scene, though of course she had nothing against strippers. Hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do.

Sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, Sango sighed and set her drink on the table before turning her attention to the woman beside her. Dressed similarly like herself in a short jean skirt, cowgirl boots and a cami to give off that western sort of feel – something about the theme for the night apparently, from what Kagome had told her – said woman was grinning down at her phone with a soft blush on her cheeks, biting her lower lip as her fingers flew across the screen, no doubt typing a text message to her the new man in her life. Sango hadn’t met him yet, and every time she asked about him, Kagome would blush darkly and dodge the subject.

Not very unusual behavior for her friend, if Sango was being honest with herself. Kagome had always been reserved and shy, easily flustered and quick to stutter out an excuse if she was feeling embarrassed or awkward in a situation. So the fact that Kagome had chosen here of all places to meet their friend was very strange, to say the least. Still, despite herself, Sango was curious and knowing Kagome would just avoid the question again if she asked, she resigned herself to wait as patiently as she could for this friend of hers to show up.

Well…at least the seats were comfortable and the alcohol was good. And also free. Sango frowned. Wait a minute, how the hell—

Unbidden the lights shut off, plunging the club into darkness and instinctively Sango knew the show was about to begin. The lights lining the edge of the stage started glowing and there was a tangible buzz in the air, a heavy anticipation that blanketed the eagerly awaiting patrons. Sango was surprised to find herself actually a little excited, sitting up straight in her chair, staring hard at the dark stage and…

Wait a minute. She squinted, leaning forward. She could see figures on the stage, dark silhouettes moving into a triangular formation with one person in the front and four more branching out behind him. Her heart rate increased when she realized it was the dancers—the strippers. Ohmygod she was about to see a strip show—

Beside her Kagome could hardly contain herself, biting down on her lip to counting her squeal of excitement as she bounced a little in her seat. Though it was dark, she could just barely make out Sango’s face and she grinned from ear to ear to see her attentively staring at the stage, looking just about as excited as she felt.

Kagome couldn’t wait to see her friend’s face when she told her one of those dark figures standing motionless on the stage was her boyfriend.

Throughout the club, all the speakers hummed as the volume was cranked up, but at first there was nothing but static. Every few seconds a brief burst of music broke through before fading back to incomprehensible white noise, as if a radio dial was being turned to find that perfect frequency. This went on for another few seconds before the faint twang of a guitar was audible, the notes growing louder until an undoubtedly southern melody could be heard clearly above the gentle crackling of the static.

No lyrics accompanied the melody, no voice crooning out words of country roads, sweet potato pie, or mama. Instead all that could be heard was just the strumming of the guitar getting louder while steadily growing faster, the anticipation building, thrumming through the joint and creating a charged, restless energy until—

Silence.

A crackle, followed by an incomprehensible jumble of words, as if several radio stations were playing at once burst from the speakers, and then it was followed in short order by a widely familiar, but altered recording.

“Th-th-there’s a snake in my—”

A husky and positively sinful masculine laugh abruptly cut it off, echoing seductively throughout the club, and the wicked sound sent pleasant shivers down the backs of damn near every single female patron in the audience. Warmth pooled low in Kagome’s belly and she bit her lip because she knew who that laugh belonged to.

And then finally - finally - everyone’s attention was directed toward the stage as one by one, the dark silhouettes that were standing immobile were suddenly illuminated starting with the two in the back. The middle figures were next, first left, then right, and then finally at the head of their triangular formation, silver hair, golden eyes, and a positively devilish smirk was revealed on who was no doubt the star attraction of the joint.

While the patrons went wild and hollered their vivid appreciation, Sango’s mouth dropped and her face went very red as she took in the five figures standing on the stage. While fringed brown chaps coupled with black western boots concealed their legs, it was very obvious they wore nothing underneath them by way of the black briefs that were clearly visible. A matching brown suede western vest hung open from their shoulders with nothing else and expensive looking Stetson hats completed the cowboy look and honestly, Sango was kind of digging the look and she really wanted to know who the one with the small ponytail and charming smile was…

The response was deafening: riotous applause, exuberant cheering, screaming, shrieking, high-pitched whistling erupted from the audience. From beneath the brim of a sleek black Stetson, amber eyes found and zeroed in on a head of dark hair and melted caramel eyes in short order, sitting at her table as he knew she would be. Their eyes met and she smiled, a secretive curl of her lips that was returned with a flash of fang and a suggestive wink.

His girl blushed and bit her lip and fuck she was so goddamn beautiful.

If he’d bothered to take his eyes off of her for even a second, he would have noticed her friend beside her choking on her drink at the exchange, clearly shocked.

The beat dropped and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her, Inuyasha adjusted the microphone headset – specially designed for his ears in mind – closer to his mouth and with one hand holding the brim of the black Stetson on his head, the other hooked into his chaps, and he waited for the next cue before starting the memorized choreography.

“Boys,” he spoke into the mic and behind him, his “boys” moved to the beat with him, holding a similar pose with one hand holding their hat and the other hooked in their chaps.

“Now, remember what we’re here for,” Inuyasha continued, purposely adding a southern drawl to his voice that elicited several hoots of appreciation from the crowd. “This ain’t no half-cocked or eight second rodeo. Ain’t no kiddie rides or little ponies up in here.”

In sync, Inuyasha led his fellow performers into a quick country two-step the flexed the muscles of his abdomen. More whistles and hollers of female appreciation were issued as he drawled, “Nah, what we got here is the real deal. We got them one of a kind”—slide a hand down the stomach—"large and in charge”—hip roll—“rough and ready”—step back, a little spin—“motherfucking stallions.”

Cheering amidst rowdy laughter and shrieked encouragement was the response to that and Inuyasha gave a fang-baring smirk, his low chuckle rising above the din of the crowd thanks to the mic close to his mouth.

“And believe me when I say,” he continued, kicking out his booted feet and transitioning smoothly into an easy line dance, “there ain’t nothin’ half-cocked about ‘em.”

More screaming and cheering, wolf-whistles and cat-calls abound and yeah Inuyasha had to admit, he was soaking it up like a fucking sponge.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen.”

The five men spun around in a brief circle and with practiced ease caught the prop that was tossed to each of them from off stage, not missing a beat before whirling back around to face the audience and straddling what they held in their hands—a hobby horse toy, the one where a stuffed horse’s head was on the end of a stick.

“A gentle reminder”—Inuyasha turned sideways, tilted his prop so the horse head at the end of the stick was pointing upward, and very suggestively stroked his hand up the wooden shaft—"that you must be this tall to ride”—feminine giggling, shrieks of laughter and more hollering met his ears at that and he grinned—“and that any lightheadedness or tingling sensations are completely normal.”

More hilarity and cheering, the crowd restless, impatient, so Inuyasha decided it was time to wrap up his little speech. After performing some rather provocative dance moves with their props that had every woman in the building feeling rather flushed, the five performers tossed their props back to the hidden stagehands and while Inuyasha strutted to the end of the stage, the other four took position behind him, preparing to put on one hell of a show.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, cowboys and cowgirls,” he began and once more locked eyes with his girl, a devastating smirk curling his lips upward at her flushed and star-struck expression. “We kindly ask that you sit back, hang on tight, and enjoy…”

Strobe lights flashed, spotlights swiveled and bathed him in an ethereal glow, and the smirk that stretched across his face was all fang as golden eyes flashed from beneath the rim of his hat, dangerous, alluring, positively wicked.

“…the ride,” Inuyasha finished in a husky growl and as the crowd once more roared their vivid appreciation, the hanyou whipped off his headset before tossing it carelessly to the side and then fucking moonwalked back to his position, tipping his hat forward so only his smirking mouth was visible as he waited for the cue. It started only seconds later, the music reverberating throughout the club, and as one the performers started the largely anticipated show.

Only vaguely did Kagome recognize the beat that was pouring from the speakers, some kind of remix of the song The Git Up by Blanco Brown but it hardly mattered. They could have been dancing to something as ridiculous as the big butt song and Kagome would have been just as captivated, as enthralled as she was right now watching her man gyrate and pivot on the stage like he owned it. A lot of his moves were familiar now – both from being considered a regular here now and from his private little shows he gave her after hours – and Kagome suspected no matter how many time she watched him work those hips and roll that toned stomach, it would still have the same effect on her every single time, warmth pooling in her belly, heart beating fast, and a familiar ache developing between her legs.

Stealing a glance at the woman beside her, Kagome was thrilled to see that Sango was in a very similar state, her face redder than she could ever remember seeing, mouth parted in awe, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her gaze was focused solely on Inuyasha’s friend Miroku. Kagome had met him shortly after she and Inuyasha had started seeing each other officially and though he could come on a little strong at times with his wandering hands and flirty nature, he was a good man and Kagome genuinely liked him. Charming, witty, and with a surprising sense of humor, she knew he would be perfect for Sango and she decided to ask Inuyasha what he thought about setting them up.

But not until later, though, because right now Kagome’s attention was thoroughly ensnared by one silver-haired, golden-eyed Adonis as he drifted across the stage, flexing muscle, smirking devilishly, and every so often tossing her little winks that never failed to make her erupt into elated, girlish giggling.

By the time the first show of the night ended a disappointingly short five minutes later, all five performers were sans their vest and chaps, strutting around on the stage in naught but their boots, briefs, and Stetsons and looking utterly fucking delicious while they did. For the finale, the toy horse props had been made a second appearance and then the show had taken a very unexpected, but also very appreciated twist that had captive audience roaring with applause, cat-calls, wolf-whistles, and general pandemonium as every woman collectively lost her shit.

Each performer, with Inuyasha going last, briefly disappeared behind a screen that had been discreetly rolled onto the stage while the audience had been distracted by sexy dance moves and when they emerged, the briefs were gone and the hobby horse was held between their legs in such a way that the stuff horse head deliberately concealed any stallions from their screaming fans.

The dancers bowed and in another move that delighted the audience, each man removed their Stetson and tossed it into the crowd. Predictably they were fought over, women clamoring over each other to get to the precious souvenirs first, but Kagome ignored them all. Conveniently Inuyasha’s black hat found its way to her and she blew him a kiss as she placed it on her head to which her man winked at her with a grin before the stage went dark.

Giggling, Kagome turned to Sango to ask how she enjoyed the show and found that she was holding he own hat in her lap, a flush on her cheeks and a slight smile curling her lips. She recognized it was the one Miroku had been wearing and she smirked. Her little plan might be easier than she’d anticipated.

“Sooo,” Kagome drawled, not even bothering to hide her smirk as raised a brow at her friend. “Nice hat. It’s safe to say that you enjoyed the show?”

Flush darkening, Sango muttered something and proceeded to ignore her friend by putting the hat on her head and tugging it down over her blushing face. Kagome cackled and without removing the hat, Sango flipped her off. Kagome cackled louder.

Deciding to spare her friend further embarrassment, Kagome left to get them two more drinks and by the time she returned, Sango had cooled down and smiled her thanks when Kagome set a Manhattan down in front of her.

“Yes,” Sango sighed as nursed her drink and her smile was almost dreamy. “Yes, I admit it. I enjoyed it.”

Kagome simply waggled her brows and sipped at her amaretto sour, but before she could say anything else, she spotted a familiar figure, now dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, weaving through the sea of tables and people, fending off grasping hands of appreciative women. His honeyed gaze was zeroed on her, however, not once looking at any of the women that tried to get his attention and Kagome felt that familiar warmth bloom in her chest. She felt it somewhere significantly lower as well, but that was nothing new and she tried to ignore it as her boyfriend approached with his signature smirk.

“Ladies,” Inuyasha greeted and bent down to sweep his girl into hot kiss, caging her in his arms with a hand on either arm rest. “Baby,” he rumbled, pulling away and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmmm,” Kagome hummed and tugged him back down for another one. Inuyasha chuckled and happily obliged, getting lost in her taste, her scent, the way she twined her fingers in his hair and snagged his ear to massage the sensitive flesh. He growled, lifting a hand to cup the back of her head, tilting it back so he could plunder the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, nip her lips with his fangs, and suck the soft flesh into his mouth. Kagome moaned for him and the sound went straight to his—

“Inuyasha, get your tongue out of your girlfriend’s mouth. You’re being rude.”

With a grunt, the hanyou reluctantly pulled away and leveled a peeved glare at the source of the voice.

Unfazed, Miroku stared blandly back, arms crossed while next to him, eyes impossibly wide and mouth open in shock as she sputtered incoherently, Sango gawked incredulously at them.

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha grumbled something but nonetheless complied, dropping one last kiss to his girl’s mouth before standing up and gesturing at Kagome to stand up. She did, and he took her place in the chair before tugging her back down to sit on his lap. His arms went around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder and Kagome wiggled around to get comfortable before resuming sipping her drink, calm as you please, like she hadn’t just been making out with her hot as fuck stripper boyfriend.

Recovering from her shock while Miroku not so discreetly looked down Sango’s shirt at her cleavage, Sango jabbed an accusatory finger at her friend and screeched, “Your boyfriend is a stripper!”

Kagome blinked and smiled a mite sheepishly. “Um…uh, so, Sango, remember when I said we were meeting someone here?” She chuckled nervously. “Well…”

Without warning Sango snatched her drink off the table and drained it in three large gulps.

Miroku practically had fucking heart-eyes as he gawked at the woman who had just downed a strong cocktail like it was nothing.

“Fuck, marry me,” he murmured, barely aware of what he was even saying and then he promptly forgot how to breathe when the woman of his dreams suddenly swung her gaze his way, racked her eyes up and down his body in an evident once over, and then made a noise of approval as her eyes lingered somewhere considerably lower than his face.

Feeling warm not only from the booze in her system but also lingering effects from the captivating show featuring the very sexy man before her, Sango abruptly got to her feet and pegged her best friend with a look. Kagome blinked and innocently widened her eyes. Sango snorted.

“You,” she said, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk later. And you.” She spun around and jabbed her finger in Miroku’s face. His eyes crossed as he stared at it. “You’re coming with me.”

Then with that, completely ignoring the couple nestled in the chair with matching knowing looks on their faces, Sango stormed off, head held high and like an obedient puppy Miroku followed after her, nearly stumbling in his wake and ignoring the hands that reached out to him as he passed by.

Kagome and Inuyasha stared after her, one gaze amused, one slightly bewildered.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome deadpanned. “Meet Sango.”

Inuyasha snorted and maneuvered her around on his lap until her legs were draped over the armrest and her arms were around his neck. He buried his face in her neck and kissed the soft skin, ears flicking at her soft sigh.

“I think Miroku likes her,” he pointed out a little needlessly since it was obvious the guy was already half-way in love with her. His friend always did like a woman that could hold her liquor well and Sango’s first impression had been stellar.

“Hmm,” Kagome hummed and her friend was the last thing on her mind as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and ran her fingers across the hard lines of her man’s defined abdomen. “I like you.”

Inuyasha smirked and kissed his way up her neck. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” Scratching lightly with her nails just to feel him shiver against her, Kagome slipped her other hand into his hair and found one of his ears, fingers stroking the soft flesh. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” Inuyasha growled into her ear and nibbled on the tender lobe before trailing his tongue along the delicate line of her jaw.

Breath hitching in her throat as his devious mouth licked and nipped at her skin, Kagome swallowed back a moan and slyly slipped her fingers further south to flutter over the crotch of his jeans as she leaned up and confessed her secret in a sultry purr.

Inuyasha’s entire body stiffened as her naughty words registered in his brain and he groaned, head falling back to loll against the backrest of the chair as his devil of a girlfriend snickered impishly on his lap. Damn, but his girl was dangerous, and fuck if he didn’t absolutely fucking love it.

“Well?” Kagome purred and he could feel her warm breath wash over his jaw as she laved the skin with soft kisses. “How ‘bout it, cowboy? Shall we go for a nice hard ride on your stallion, or you gonna make me settle for a boring little pony show?”

Her fingers flitted over the hardening crotch of his jeans again and she felt an answering pulse between her legs, thighs squeezing together to relieve some of the building tension.

With a low growl designed to tell her just what he thought about her cheeky little teasing, Inuyasha surged forward, caught her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss and then suddenly he was on his feet and dragging her toward the employees only backstage entrance. Breathless, aching, and trembling, it was all Kagome could do to keep up with him, shamelessly admiring the flexing muscles of his back and his tight ass in those jeans, but then her back was suddenly against a wall, her hanyou had wedged himself between her legs, and his hand was up her skirt, claws hooking in her damp panties and tearing the fabric completely off.

Kagome gasped but it turned into a moan when her lover hitched her thighs around his hips and then hastily unfastened his jeans, freeing the stallion that was rearing and ready to go from within. He cursed, she laughed, and the next minute he was inside her, grinding her into the wall, swallowing her moans with his mouth and returning them with heated growls of pleasure.

He fucked her against the wall, in a rarely used dark hallway somewhere behind the stage, and as Kagome clung to his shoulders and begged him for more, harder, faster, please, Inuyasha snarled and complied as her naughty little confession rang in his ears over and over, fanning the flames of his passion, his hunger for this woman all-consuming and never ending.

“I want your full cocked, large and in charge stallion inside me in the next thirty seconds and it had better be longer than any eight second ride.”

i want you all to know hat i could not. stop. laughing. as i was writing Inuyasha’s sexy little speech and that i am very proud with how it turned out rofl also yes i did make Inuyasha line dance anD I’M NOT SORRY 

on another note, i didn’t put as much detail into the dancing this time because one it’s a fucking pain in the ass to write out detailed choreography; two, the actual dancing wasn’t a huge part of the plot, and three, i’m a lazy piece of shit and just wanted this done. also yes i’m aware that last line is kinda lime and anti climatic but i couldn’t think of anything else lmao 

for anyone curious, the eight second thing references bull riding. a cowboy must stay on a bucking bull for eight seconds without touching any part of the bull or yourself or using any spurs, ropes, ect.  

[otheliame]

Day 4: “A Man In Love”

thank you @gentapprentices for such a fun week so far!! im loving seeing everyone’s masc folks having a fun time!

I actually wrote a fic on this, Shift about my apprentice Jamie coming to Vesuvia and meeting Asra for the first time, and then later Nadia, Muriel, and Lucio before the Plague. It’s stinking cute, and here’s a little segment from the first chapter, the Magician, when the fated two meet in the most cliche of circumstances. It’s written from 1rst person POV, 9 years before the canon.

The sun glimmers brightly overhead as I make my way down the crowded streets, weaving between shoppers while keeping close to the fringes of the walkways. I cusp around the edges of the multicolored stalls to avoid the majority of foot traffic, but it’s proving hard as it’s a particularly busy day in the market, everyone is out and about, not just buying but lingering, talking over each other with excited voices in large clusters spanning the entire street. Something’s happening in Vesuvia today, something special. As much as I’d like to know what that something is, I don’t want to get caught up with the crowd… it’s been a long day. 

Today of all days I feel my patience is shorter, Isaac was a bit more of a hardass than usual and it makes the above-average bustle of the street that much more difficult for me to handle, every voice seems to multiply and reverberate in my thoughts like the vibration of insect wings. I’ve lived here for a month now, trying to get by and make a living and it’s been alright thus far, especially since Ksasthra took me in; here is better than there and there was worse than that, so long and so forth, unimportant details now because this is better. Vesuvia is going to be better for me. I can feel it. 

A colorful stream from a showcased scarf plays in front of me on a caught breeze as I try to make my way through the market stalls heading towards the lower district, I have to duck to avoid the hawking shopkeeper so I don’t get drawn into a purchase. Luckily, the multitude of customers I have to dodge and weave to get through keep them busy enough to not pay me the slightest attention. I just finished my shift at the local community theatre, doing basic backstage work for all sorts of performances, and right now I want nothing more than to hide away in my small, shared apartment by the waterfront and rest, especially while the one who agreed to house me, Ksasthra, is still back at the theatre for work until much later. The work I did today wasn’t particularly stressful or anything, but being around my coworkers just made me tired. I still feel like there’s hot breath on the back of my neck wherever I turn, and even now it’s still a hard thought to shake. 

I originally questioned my own decision in living in a city - I’ve never lived in an area with more than a hundred people in a given spot - but at the time I made the choice, I thought I had no choice. There just aren’t any jobs out in the foothills, and I never learned how to live off the land alone. Though, mostly it was the fact that my attempts to blend in or hide in the vast, sparsely populated, wintry lands of the deep northeast proved largely unsuccessful. Soon I had the realization that my best bet of finally being left alone was to find someplace where I could melt into a crowd. And in order to melt, one must first find a crowd, so to the city I had to go. Vesuvia was the largest, farthest city I could’ve gone to without taking a boat, so it was to Vesuvia I went to escape… to escape. It helped as well that the further south I went, the less people’s gazes would cling to my shoulders, which I quite liked. A lot. I’m not sure why though, for I’m certain I stick out like a sore thumb anywhere. Up north it was the… things… I could do. Here it’s the fact that everyone is colorful and loud and I’m not.

I don’t like being around people, usually because people also don’t like to be around me. I’m… weird, for lack of a better word. I have certain… abilities that other people don’t have, and in my experience if you have something that other people don’t they either envy you or fear you, and both of those things are the worst emotions to see on other faces. But here, in a city full of so much vibrant color, varient life, people of a hundred different types… I’m just another uninteresting face. That’s what I wanted when I came here. It’s thoughts like this that keep my grounded when I get too overwhelmed by citylife around here, such as now, when I’m just trying to get home. Before I came to Vesuvia, I would see the amount of people on this street alone over the span of several months. It’s still very… difficult to get used to this new atmosphere, even three months later. Almost to the street corner, almost there, then I’m home free… Maybe I can finally finish that book Ksasthra gave me… 

Suddenly, over the jumbled voices of the shoppers on the street, loud, victorious trumpets resound through the air, stealing all eyes from their tasks to the mouth of the street far down the way. I look up and peer through the heads and shoulders of onlookers to try and see what it is that’s causing such a disturbance before I realize that regardless of whatever it is, this is the perfect opportunity to escape through the crowd to the lower district. Quickly I turn and make my way there, but as I grow close to the corner I realize that whatever is happening is also happening on this end of the street; I see mounted soldiers in gleaming silver armor bearing unfamiliar emblems on tall, colorful standards and shining trumpets, using both of these items to loudly announcing the presence of someone important, someone that I now realize is about to enter this street. 

Other shoppers quickly seem to realize this as well, and like a tidal wave people start to shove others from the middle of the street into the outskirts, pressing shopkeepers back behind their stall counters and pushing everyone in their way into the wooden fixtures. I barely get out of the way just as a burly masculine figure makes his way through but I get caught up in the wave as others start hurrying out of the street’s center, I scurry to keep upright. 

Suddenly I get shoved back by a gaggle of inattentive shoppers trying to get out of the way right as I try to duck between stalls. I trip and lose my footing, I let out an innately sharp cry as fear of being tramped leaps into my throat but before I hit the ground I smash straight through a market stand’s doorway, which was just a wooden bar draped with a velvety, purple cloth hemmed with gold trim. My shoulders smack the cobblestones as a multitude of things fall on me from the counter’s surface, ripped down from when I took the tablecloth with me. I hold up my hands as I’m hit with a waft of rich, heady herbs and dried grasses, then with strange light smacks, like a small stack of papers just fell on me. 

Hands reach under my arms and pull me a little farther backwards into the stall I had fallen into, the touch startles me so much I flinch, making the hands immediately disappear. An intimate voice like honey and wind gasps by my ear over the loud din of the rowdy street, “Are you alright?” 

When the strange hands touch me I snap back to attention and regain my bearings like the flare of a starting fire, I sit up and blink as I try to figure out where I am right when I meet the stranger’s gaze… layers of periwinkle, lavender, and lilac, glimmering like stardust in the evening sunshine. They appear masculine presenting, young like me, definitely not old enough to be considered fully gown, with hazelnut skin that gleams like bronze armor and thick, fluffy, silver-white hair that hangs over those starry eyes in wild, soft curls. Starry they are in more ways than one, because the stranger stares at me with such an awestruck expression I suddenly feel incredibly self conscious half-lying on the floor of their stall - it must be their stall, as they’re the only one behind the counter… The counter I just fell through getting pushed by the crowd. 

“I…! Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I stammer in embarrassment, brushing myself off as I perch my feet in preparation to stand, though as I do I realize I’m covered in all kinds of herbs, dried flowers, and other reagents that I must’ve accidentally taken with me when I ripped this cloth off the counter in my fall. There are also a dozen or more rather beautiful cards scattered on the cobblestones, though they are like no deck of betting cards I’ve ever seen, even at a passing glance and I can tell as such. An array of masks also accompany this strange collection, the first two I see is one that depicts a fox with little ornamental gems hanging from the ears, the other that’s rugged wood configured in a bear’s face with runes carved into its realistically crafted fur. The stranger’s hands linger no longer on but near my shoulders as I pull myself upright, he continues to stare at me with wide, owlish eyes as I speak so fast my words bumble over each other, “I didn’t mean to, that was completely on accident, please forgive me-!” 

“It’s alright!” The boy quickly speaks again with that same gentle, sweet tone, gripping my shoulders to return my gaze to his lavender hues rather than to the cobblestones now littered with his stall’s offerings, and this time I don’t flinch. His lilac eyes flicker across my features then down over my form, checking for injuries as he mutters, “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

I shake my head, kneeling down as I try to gather the fallen reagents and masks onto the purple cloth and recollect the fallen, oriental cards, “I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m so sorry, I should’ve been paying better attention, let me help-” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” His hands, with long dextrous fingers, smooth palms and marble-carved knuckles breach my vision and stall my hands where they are hovering over the cloth, returning my gaze back to his. I start when I feel the sparks under my skin where we touch, but now that I’m paying better attention I realize it’s not simply just me being startled by the touch, but rather it seems to be some sort of… energy… coming from this boy. A deep torrent of something, power, internal lightning, vitality, runs under his palms like I plunged my hands into the rush of a waterfall. 

He smiles at me when I remeet his gaze, a warm and amicable smile that showcases a handsome dimple in his left cheek as he hums, “Really, it’s alright.” 

I let out a slightly relieved breath, and look back down at our conjoined hands over the spilled tablecloth. Does he feel it, too? I’ve never felt someone’s aura so tangibly before- 

I realize this must be strange, how I loiter over his hands, so I quickly clear my throat and pull mine away. “Erm… What do I owe you for your lost goods?” Idly to distract myself from the embarrassment I pick up a small fallen herb between my thumb and forefinger, I think it’s a rose petal as that’s what it smells like, then one of the fallen cards; it depicts a plain with a sun hanging overhead with long, golden beams down onto the grass, a numeral 0 at the bottom to show which way is up or down I suppose. It looks hand painted too, very ornate and intimately crafted, it’s incredibly impressive, did he paint this himself? I hold these two things up with a curious hum, I glance back up at the stranger after a moment and tilt my head to the side,  “What’re you selling, anyway?”

The boy looks at the rose petal in my hand, then at the card, and then back at me with that same owlish look as before right as the air rings with more trumpets, and the crowd just outside of the safe haven of the stall begins to warble. Intrigued, the both of us rise up to look over the counter just in time to see a carriage driving by through the carved path in the streets that the people have rushed to clear. The carriage is richly ornamented, emblazoned with the same colors as the crests the armored knights accompanying it carry, and obviously is not Vesuvian made, drawn by one white, one black horse with thick, luxurious manes. In the open windows the pulled back, rich violet drapes reveal a regal, female presenting person inside. I only get a few seconds to see her through the crowd, though just by her long, royal facial features and her stature alone I know that she must be some sort of powerful noble, most likely from a far away land. 

Once the carriage passes and the knights fall in on her, the crowds bustle and burst with noise, people whisper amongst themselves theories of who this newcomer is. I idly recall that there was supposed to be some big summer festival happening soon, so perhaps she’s here for that. Though, I’m not very keen on politics or current events beyond that a war just ended, so I don’t know much beyond that. And, frankly, it’s a miracle I know that much. The politics of this land are very different than they are back up in the depths of the northeast. There things are… very different. 

In my peripheral I see the stranger moving again, so I turn towards him just as he lifts the herbs, the masks, and the cards, which we had collected onto the fallen tablecloth, back onto the counter. Then he lifts a hidden leather satchel from within the stall’s inner walls and pack them away inside it, slotting the cards carefully in his palm as he goes. The movements of his arms draw my gaze away from his face for the first time and instead to the layers of colorful cloth around his person; his half-buttoned baby blue tunic that reveals his sternum and a little more above a dark magenta scarf with gold fringes that hangs across one of his shoulders and around his neck. He also dons a vibrant pink, blue, and peach overcoat without sleeves covered in radial patterns, and black trousers that his blouse is loosely tucked into. I swear I see something move around his waist beneath his coat but before I get the chance to investigate further he turns in my direction. Beneath his scarf I catch a glimmer of gold, a choker; it’s engraved with waved designs and somewhat blends in with the rich hues of his skin. Below that a turquoise pendant on a leather chord around his neck hangs over the bared part of his chest in a manner that makes it gleam like the depths of the sea in the sunlight. Richly adorned with beautiful baubles, just like everyone in this city, yet somehow… different. Unique. 

Suddenly I realize just where my eyes are lingering so I quickly snap my attention to his face, where it should have been this whole time. As soon as I do he fixes his gaze to mine and speaks in a low hum, “It doesn’t look like anything was damaged, no need to worry.” A sudden, sly smirk slightly plays the edge of his lips as he catches my gaze, I wonder idly if he caught me looking over his form as he adds with a more heartfelt touch, “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

I blink at him in surprise and feel another rush of crimson snaking its way to my face, I have to clear my throat and rein in my thoughts to pull my attention back to the present. “Right! Of course… Yes. I mean, good. That’s good to hear. That nothing was damaged, I mean…” Jamie, please. I glance over at the broken wooden shards on the ground and paw them with my boot as my mouth continues to run, “Not even something for the stall door?”

The amusement in the boy’s eyes lights like sparks flying from a blacksmith’s hammer as he regards me, a small chuckle escapes his lips as he begins to fold the now-empty tablecloth on his now-barren stall. “If you’re truly so troubled…” He pauses as if he’s reconsidering his words but after the moment’s hesitation he continues, his expression morphing from teasing and playful to curious and… hopeful, almost. “I was just going to close up shop anyway to get dinner… I wouldn’t be opposed to company. Would you consider that a form of ‘repayment’?” He says this with a lilt of sly humor, the light of the evening sun making his gaze seem to truly dance with entertainment.

Now, I am no fool, but for a moment he almost had me thinking that I was one, as my mind reeled and somersaulted over itself trying to figure out what he was implying, but once it finally hits me like a clock striking midnight I blink with a stunned hum as I nervously worm my fingertips into the strap of my satchel around my shoulder. “... Oh!” 

The boy’s gaze softens, quickly adding after a moment as he folds his tablecloth in triangles, “Only if you want to, of course. It’s not every day that someone falls into my stall… I simply can’t help but think it’s a sign of some sort. I’d love to know what kind of sign it is by getting to know you a little.” 

I raise an eyebrow at the other in surprise, thumbing my satchel idly as I respond slowly, tasting my words, “A sign?” 

He looks back at me with an amused raise in his lips, and only then do my thoughts suddenly jog and dig into the scene I find myself in. The herbs, the curious, colorful attire, the cards… cards unlike any playing cards I’ve ever seen. “Oh.” I murmur, flickering my gaze back to his bemused expression, “Are you one of those fortune tellers? Do they let you do that so young?”

The boy smiles and chuckles, placing the tablecloth in his satchel before he splays out the cards in his palm before him, I can see him counting them with his thumb as he answers, “I suppose some would call me that. Though I don’t think there’s an age limit on reading cards…” Content with the amount of cards he has, he returns them into a pile and slides them into a hidden pocket in his apparel before his hand sweeps before me and gentle takes up mine, before I can react he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles with a gentlemanly bow, I can feel his lips move on my skin when he speaks in a playful hum, “But you may call me Asra.” 

I swallow thick on a sudden knot of roots in my throat, I smile shyly and chuckle as he releases my hand and straightens back upright. Nervously I laugh a little, simply out of nerves because no one has done that to me before. “... Right. Okay, uh… Asra.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Asra the fortune teller regards me with what I think to be an expectant look, after a beat’s pause he tilts his head to the side with a raise in an eyebrow, “And you are?” 

“Oh!” I blink and laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck as I feel the heat return to my cheeks, “Right. Names. Introductions… Er- I’m Jamie.” 

“Jamie.” Asra echoes, nodding in response as he seems to savor the vowels on his tongue before he gives me a soft smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

I start slightly when someone jostles the stall, apparently on accident as they were attempting to get by a group of people wagging their jaws. When I look back at Asra I see his gaze is flickering across my features with a pensive expression I’m not quite sure what to do with as he moves like water around me towards the hole in his stall where the latch once was. “Have you ever been to the bakery down the block?” He asks suddenly, pausing in the entrance and looking back at me over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. I shake my head, prompting the fortune teller to smile with genuine amusement as he holds out a hand towards me, an open invitation. 

I hesitate, looking at him then at his hand for a long pause. Of course strangers are never to be trusted, but he is rather visually unassuming in terms of combat skill so I have faith that I can handle myself if this one were to try anything. I have been able to protect myself plenty of times in the past. But paranoia aside, I can’t lie, I am a little intrigued by their… disposition. I do find myself wanting to get to know them better, and this aura of theirs… I simply must know more. And I hadn’t exactly had other plans for the evening… 

This may as well happen. 

I slowly take his hand. 

...

Wanna know what happens next? Keep reading !

[possiblypeachy]

tea & schemes. (7)

―; summary: who knew that fight clubs could be so romantic?

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 3.3k

―; warnings: light swearing and a wee bit of violence.

―; A/N: good lord this chapter made my heart do the big !!! i just love them and i hope someone else does too :,,)) even as the writer of this i feel like im torturing myself so please take this and like... coo over it with me im begging--

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

To say that Florence Abberline had any idea how underground fighting rings operated would be the biggest lie of the century. The only thing she could correctly assume was that there would be blood and lots of noise. On both of these counts, she was right.

The building itself appeared to be some kind of disused warehouse, converted into a space for men (and the occasional woman) to tap into their more primal side and beat the ever-loving God out of another person. Honestly, she wouldn’t have expected anything less and, despite being perhaps the only woman here in a dress such as hers, Florence was simply itching to get in view of the ring. Nothing was more therapeutic than watching round upon round of fighting-- well, she assumed at least.

A shove came to her arm and man, waving a bottle of something in the air, swept across her peripherals. She grimaced, abstaining from passive-aggressively ‘bumping’ back into the man, and leant into Jacob-- a necessary gesture to be able to hear one another. “I feel like I’m going to be mugged.” Her eyes drifted to a woman dressed in red; she had been eyeing up the rings on Florence’s fingers since she’d walked in here. “I’m certainly not getting into the ring to fight for my possessions either.”

She felt a hand just above the hump of her hoop skirt and his body shifted to her side, obscuring Florence from the staring woman’s view. “I reckon you’d have a good chance in there.” When she shot a harsh glance at him, he was grinning back down at her. “You’d floor them with your looks alone.”

“By that you meant that I am dazzlingly beautiful rather than anything nasty, I hope?”

“Of course, dear Flor. I certainly didn’t mean that they’d take one look at the Hell in your eyes and piss their poor britches.” 

Florence’s jaw shifted to one side, faux offended, and a laugh slipped past her lips. “You must have a bladder of steel then, Jacob, because the sheer amount of times I’ve had to look at you like that is astounding.”

“No. Actually,” He shuffled them through a particularly small gap, during which Florence realised Jacob didn’t smell half bad. Then, to herself, she cursed; what kind of observation was that? “my trousers are just very thick. Evie tends to have the same effect so they’re a needed precaution.”

She snorted when she laughed next, bordering on her hysterical pig squeal of a giggle. The curl of Jacob’s lips made him look like the cat that got the cream but, between manoeuvring them through the tight crowd and trying to ensure greedy hands don’t pick at Florence, he didn’t have the chance to glance down at her to see if that dimple was pressing into her cheek again. 

The cheering became rowdier and more… animated the closer they came to the ring and, every couple of steps, either Florence had to duck out of the way out of an arm or Jacob had to move his body to act as a human shield. Despite it all, she didn’t seem dampened by the less-than-gentle hospitality and had taken to looking upon the fighting in wonder. Could Florence throw a punch? Certainly. Could she throw a punch like that? Most certainly not.

Blood splattered across the floor just as the pair reached the side of the ring, blending quite seamlessly into the already stained stone below. Florence flinched slightly, less in fear of the fighting and more in fear of getting anything on her dress and having to explain it to Freddy later. She could already imagine the look on his face if he saw her here, though she suspected that circumstance wouldn’t occur; Freddy didn’t tend to attend underground fight clubs for leisure. 

When Jacob muttered something to a man in green, who had been whooping and hollering at the side of the ring, a small gap was made for himself and Florence. It was a… cosy space; Jacob was at her side now but had to tuck a portion of his body behind her, shoulder against hers and hand still on her back. At least it meant for easier conversation.

“Who’re you rooting for?” He asked, leaning down to her somewhat and pointing toward the ring. 

Her eyes flickered between both fighters; one was a particularly tall bald bloke who seemed to employ brute strength over any other strategy, whereas the other was a smaller brunet-- a nimble man, it seemed. Just as Florence went to speak, the larger of the two landed a bone-breaking hit to the brunet’s nose and, through a sympathetic grimace, she pointed to him. “That one. It doesn’t matter how fast the other guy is; baldie’s tall so he has a long reach.”

Jacob hummed but Florence couldn’t hear it. Hazel eyes continued to watch the fight and, for the brief moment in which she gave a quick glance up to his face, Florence realised that Jacob had a particular passion for this sport. 

“You really love this, don’t you?” She asked but Jacob, too captivated by the deadly dance going on within the ring, didn’t answer her. Two fingers, readied like a little spear, prodded at his ribs to get his attention and he made a rather unlikely yelping noise as a reaction. Holding back the beginnings of laughter, Florence asked again: “You’re quite enraptured, Jacob. Like a good bit of fighting, do we?”

He nodded his head, frowning as though he was weighing up his own opinion. “You could say that, what with me being the champion here and all.”

Although he didn’t yet allow his gaze to dart toward her to gauge her reaction, the squeeze to his bicep and the wide eyes in his peripherals told him all he needed to know. “You’re the champion?”

“Yep!” His eyes finally met hers and he couldn’t even consider keeping up his smug facade any longer, breaking out into a grin. “The majority-appointed king of the ring. See? I told you King Jacob had a lovely ring to it.”

Florence laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, your majesty, calm down with the ego-boosting.”

“You think calling me ‘your majesty’ will do anything to help that--”

“M’lord!” The pair turned to see a top hat swimming through the crowd. Florence gave Jacob a side glance but said nothing until the disembodied voice finally… well, became embodied. “It’s so good to see you here today.” A man appeared; he was a bit taller than Jacob but a lot lankier and seemed to hop towards them like a pleased little rabbit.

He was a performer then, Florence assumed. 

“Hello, Robert. How are things in the ring this afternoon?” A hand came out to shake the man’s shoulder in greeting but his eyes flickered to Florence. At the same time, a wave of recognition crashed across her expression and she looked Robert up and down. As it turns out, Jacob was right; he did have a peculiar sense of fashion.

Robert sighed in perhaps the most dramatic way a man could, throwing his arms up at his side and walking-- no, floating-- around them to be closer to the fighting. “Terribly boring, Mister Frye. There’s no life in the ring-- no zest!” Behind his back, Jacob and Florence gave each other a look before Robert turned around again. “There is one way the afternoon might get more interesting?” He let his sight drag to Jacob, a light in his eye that hinted at his true intentions.

“I wasn’t planning on fighting today, Robert.” Jacob gestured to Florence beside him. “I was just introducing Miss Abberline to the glorious world of underground brawling.”

Robert looked from Jacob to Florence, sizing up how close they were standing with a smile. “There’s no better way to impress a lady than demonstrating your raw masculinity, m’lord! Imagine it:” He pushed between them, an arm slung over Jacob’s shoulder while his other hand swept across Florence’s vision, “he’s in the ring, all scowls and sweat and muscle. He lands another crippling punch and the crowd goes wild! He looks out into the masses and spots her-- his good luck charm. He may already be the champion of this ring but his only true desire is to be the champion…” He leaned closer to Jacob, pressing a hand against his own chest, “of her heart--”

“Woah, Robert, maybe we should slow it down with the whole--” 

“Sounds splendid.” Florence interrupted, shooting Jacob a devious little glance as he removed Topping’s arm from around his shoulder. “I think I’d enjoy seeing you in the ring, Jacob.”

He huffed a small laugh out through his nose but had no time to retort. Robert broke out into a grin, gesturing with great vigour toward the ending match. “Wonderful! See, m’lord? Even the lady encourages it.”

Jacob opened his mouth once, closed it again, then looked between Robert and Florence, defeated. There was a moment in which they were both simply staring at him and he sighed. “Well, I’m not one to deny my adoring followers.”

Florence gave him a half-smile, amusement dancing in the honey of her eyes. “You’ll have to prove to me that you’re worthy of your title, King Jacob. I’ll be here, looking pretty and being a-- what was it?-- good luck charm?”

He laughed, already being ushered away by Robert, and pointed to her. “If I win, you have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I’m satisfied.” 

The dimple in her cheek appeared, grinning at his daring, but he was now too far away for her to offer a definite answer. Florence only held her hands up, shrugging playfully, before Jacob disappeared into the crowd.

Oh, what fun this would be. 

Before Jacob had even emerged again from that shady backroom that he’d been all but dragged into, Robert had begun to energise the crowd with promises of the champion and “life-changing bets”. Florence was glad that a few of the Rooks still surrounded her, keeping her safe from the rowdiness of the masses behind her-- and ensuring no fingers sneak toward her and snatch away her valuables.

There was cheering from one end of the room, presumably the reaction to Jacob finally making his way to the ring. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly, Florence began to scour the crowd in hopes of spotting him. When she noticed a few men slapping someone on the back-- that someone being Jacob, she grinned and waved hoping to gain his--

Wait.

Wait.

Her smile shifted into a rather conflicted expression.

Was his chest bare?

Despite there being plentiful men here wearing nothing besides trousers and the hair on their chest, Florence had a strange feeling that seeing specifically Jacob like that was a level of intimacy that they hadn’t achieved yet.

‘Yet’? Goodness, Florence Abberline-- pull yourself together.

However, before she could pull her eyes to a safer zone, her sight caught onto his-- what were they? Tattoos? She squinted again, subconsciously leaning closer to the ring that he’d just entered to figure out what they were. One was most certainly a bird of some kind but the other one was so small that Florence couldn’t quite--

It was then that she realised that the tattoos were slowly getting closer to her, which meant that Jacob was too. Her gaze snapped upwards to his face and she was met with a self-satisfied grin, one of his brows raised. With wide eyes, Florence shook her head, going to tell him that she wasn’t ogling she was merely studying his tattoos, but a bell began to ring and it drew Jacob’s attention away. 

Damn it all. She wasn’t going to hear the end of it. 

His usually relaxed demeanour hardened into something altogether far more intimidating as soon as the ringing stopped. Robert shouted something but Florence couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, encouraging the other men to “get a good hit on Frye!”. The fight had started, she supposed.

Now, not to say that Florence had ever doubted Jacob’s abilities but… well, that’s exactly what she seemed to have done. She had presumed he had a good knowledge of weapons and how to use them-- not his bare fists. He was a lot faster than she’d anticipated and seemed to have a rather strange sense for when an attack came toward him; Jacob had not yet taken a hit, despite a few men laying, immobilised, on the cold floor below. 

Speaking of which, surely it was unfair to pit one man against so many?

The crunch and crack of someone’s leg gave her the answer to her own question: one man wouldn’t stand a chance in the ring against Jacob and even those who fought in groups were fools. 

Thanks to her wondering, Florence hadn’t realised she’d started to cheer for him, as though it were second nature, at the side of the ring. It had begun as a gentle clapping then evolved into a wide grin spread across her face. At one point, when Jacob had floored two men-- both taller than him-- at once, a loud cheer erupted from her, the root of the noise deep within her chest. The volume startled the rook beside her and Jacob himself, it seemed, since his eyes flickered over to where she stood.

At that exact moment, a skinny little man punched Jacob in the side, hoping that it would distract him enough to land a hit on his stubbled jaw. Unfortunately for him, Jacob caught the man’s wrist before it could connect with his face and slammed his own fist into the bloke’s gut, winding him. Florence didn’t even have time to feel a sting of guilt for pulling Jacob’s attention away from the fight. Hell, he didn’t even seem all too fazed by the hit he got before.

She continued to cheer, though perhaps more quietly this time, and she could feel her heartbeat through her veins. He was doing so well and the only way she could describe the bursting in her chest was pride. In a way, perhaps she’d become a bit star-struck; Jacob Frye, a renowned and celebrated fighter, was her friend, had decided to bring her here, went out of his way to speak to her-- it made her feel so very special. God, how stupid.

The next few rounds came and went in the blink of an eye. Florence wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline that was making the world go by so fast or if it was the fact that she was simply enraptured with the whole ordeal. By the time she got home, she’d likely still be shaking with excitement; she’d just have to tell Freddy that she read a particularly interesting book in the library-- one about fighting, as to drip a small portion of her actual day into the story.

Three rings of the bell marked the end of the fight and, as suspected, Jacob stood victorious with little more than a reddened cheek, a bruise forming below his collarbone, and bloodied knuckles. Robert hopped-- as is his way-- into the ring to declare that Jacob had defended his rightful title; Jacob seemed very pleased with himself, for want of a better word. 

Moments later, he clambered over the barrier between the crowd and the ring, sweaty and breathing heavily, patting his forehead with a little rag to remove, at the very least, the sheen on his face. Despite all this, he broke out into a grin as he made his way to her. “How’s my good luck charm, then? Did you enjoy--”

In an act that surprised the both of them, Florence, without much thought, pulled him into a tight hug, balancing on her tiptoes slightly so she could comfortably bury her face into his neck. It was a gesture borne of gratitude or congratulations or… something like that. One half of her regretted making such an idiotic, rash decision but the other half felt Jacob’s hands on her back, a thumb rubbing gently across the fabric of her dress, and she smiled. 

As she pulled back, hands gliding from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, Florence was grinning and Jacob seemed to mirror it. “That was glorious, Jacob! I mean, the precision of your hits was--”

God, the light in her eyes was beautiful.

“-- astounding and when you countered that blond bloke? Amazing! How did you know to--”

Would it be too forward to kiss her?

“-- dodge at that moment? It’s like you have some… superhuman ability. I’m still--”

Oh, he wanted to kiss her.

“-- shaking from it all and I--” She paused, sighing through a small smile and averting her gaze for a moment to think. Florence didn’t notice this but, at the same time, Jacob seemed to lean towards her, following the movement of her head. When she looked back to him, she became acutely aware of how close they were, how one of her thumbs absently traced the curve of his neck, how she could feel his breath on her skin.

Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her lips.

Florence felt her heart skip.

Did she want to kiss him?

Her lips parted and honey eyes searched hazel ones for any signs of dishonesty-- something that she should’ve looked for with Thomas-- but she found nothing besides warmth and a sense of... adoration? 

Fuck.

Her hands moved from his shoulder back to their previous position on his neck. Using this as leverage, she pulled herself back into the hug and quietly hoped that he wouldn’t be able to feel the stammering beat in her chest. 

Oh, God preserve her; she did want to kiss him. She wanted to take Jacob’s stupid face in her hands and kiss him. 

What a predicament.

Florence Abberline was falling in love again.

“Thank you.” She whispered to him but she wasn’t sure why. For bringing her here? Perhaps. For making her feel special? Maybe. For prying her heart open again with little jokes and smiles? Just as likely. 

A few moments passed in which they both felt like they had missed an opportunity but they found comfort in one another regardless. Then, Florence finally pulled away fully a soft smile forming on her lips. “Well, I do believe that I should be on my way home, lest Freddy start thinking Willard’s stolen me away.” 

“Give me a moment to… well, dress--” She huffed out a laugh, dimple making its mark in her cheek, which encouraged Jacob to grin too, “-- and I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, Jacob, you don’t have to. You’ve already done plenty--”

“I insist.” There was a certain genuineness to his smile that made her cave.

“Well, who am I to turn down a king, hm?” That devious little light reignited in her eyes again.

He breathed out a laugh and mirrored her impish smile. “Remember our bet? You have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I--”

“Hold on. I never agreed to this bet--”

Jacob had begun to back into the crowd and, thanks to this, he cupped a hand to his ear, “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to hear you, my loyal subject.” Florence’s jaw protruded in annoyance, crossing her arms beneath her chest, but a begrudging smile played at her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to wait until I return, eh?” Then, he turned and was swallowed by all the tightly-knit people. 

She shook her head, watching after him with a certain look of disbelief in her gaze.

She liked Jacob fucking Frye.

God, how her brother would hate that.

[saltyblazestudent]

Moonlight a critique of toxic masculinity and black masculinity

Tanner Roberts

MSCT 1010 Battista

11/07/2018

   Moonlight:

A critique of toxic masculinity and black masculinity

By Tanner Roberts

       Moonlight is a 2016 drama directed by Barry Jenkins, and is journey into the life and struggles of Chiron a black and gay man growing up in Florida. We see Chiron’s troubled childhood with him being bullied by other boys and his own mother. We see Chiron in high school start to recognize and feel shame for sexuality, and we see him act on his urges during his first homosexual experience with his friend. We later see Chiron as an adult and he has been shaped by spending time in prison and putting up walls and denying his true self to protect himself.  The film reveals many problems with how toxic masculinity is socialized into young boys and some of the consequences of that. It also heavily criticizes many of the problematic norms embedded into black masculine culture.  

 The film uses the characters Juan and Chiron’s peers like Kevin to illustrate issues with toxic masculinity and black masculinity in particular. Juan is a Black Cuban immigrant who also happens to be a successful drug dealer and Chiron’s peers like Kevin are all ‘Urban’ Black kids living in rough neighborhoods where “being hard” is key to surviving. Juan finds young Chiron hiding in an abandoned motel room after he is chased into hiding by some bullies. Right away the film is introducing us to some of the problems in which the ways boys are raised to be masculine. Chiron is shown to be sensitive or “soft” along with being psychically smaller than many of the other boys around him. The boys around him perceive his small stature and drawn back nature as weakness. Chiron is from an early age identified as “Gay” by his peers before Chiron himself even really recognizes it.

 “My Suggestion is that the body becomes its gender through a series of acts which are renewed, revised, and consolidated through time.”- 1. (Judith Butler Performative acts and Gender Contruction)

 The movie goes very far to affirm that in black families gender roles are placed on children from a very young age. We see this when Chiron goes to play soccer with friends and is questioned as to why he didn’t feel like sticking around and playing rough and rowdy with the other boys. When he responds that he “just doesn’t like it” his friend Kevin jeers him and asks “Why do you let them walk all over you” referring to the boys that bully Chiron and already call him gay despite Chiron being only 9 and not being aware of his sexuality. Kevin continues his speech to Chiron with “You gotta show em you hard”.  This point about being “hard” comes back up many times and is usually tied to violence. It is used as a means of protecting ones’ self and their pride. If someone is messing with you hit them to show them that you can’t be messed with. If Someone hurt you, hurt them back to teach them a lesson. It’s a lesson that is taught to many young men but is an even more prevalent ideal In lower class minority groups epically in families where male guidance or father figures are absent. Another issue that Chiron faces is family issues. Chiron’s father is absent and his mother is addicted to crack cocaine and acts incredibly erratically. Chiron’s Mother is also a source of abuse as she like Chiron’s peers recognizes his homosexuality even before Chiron does going so far as to call 9 year old Chiron a “faggot” to his face. Chiron finds shelter with formerly mentioned drug dealer Juan and his girlfriend Teresa. Juan has an interesting role in Chiron’s life as well. Juan acts as a surrogate father to Chiron when Chiron has to escape his mother, but Juan is the one selling crack to Chiron’s mother thus making Chiron’s situation worse in the large scheme of things. Juan does try to rectify this by acting as a good influence on Chiron and teaching him to swim and just being generally nice to him. Juan’s drug dealer lifestyle does have an effect on adult Chiron and it’s not in the way Juan would’ve wanted but that will be touched on in a bit.

““Little Boys like playing rough games; little girls however are full of sugar and spice” is predicated on a whole set of ideological premises” 2. (Stuart Hall, The Whites Of Their Eyes)

 After his childhood we see Chiron as a teenager In high school. He is what some might describe as a “Nerd” he wears button up shirts and the jeans that are not the most stylish which I believe is another point where the director is criticizing stereotypical traits of masculine black men having to dress “hard” or gangster to appear like men. He is also just as drawn back and reserved as he was as a child because now his peers and himself are even more aware of his difference in sexuality. We see also during his teenage years toxic masculine behaviors being reinforced even more. In his culture and his economic standing violence is viewed as necessary. In his community of lower class broken minority families violence is also not uncommon, but most disturbingly is that violence in Chiron’s world is equated with manliness and honor. So to be a man and to protect your honor you have to be prepared to be violent. While violence is praised however, feelings and emotional healthy responses are looked down upon. Men who cry in Chiron’s society are equate with femininity which is than, equated with homosexuality, which is than associated with psychical weakness. So being that Chiron is not only gay but also in touch with his feelings (and having many reasons to cry considering his home situation) is often an easy target for bullying and harassment. Chiron eventually does open up to his friend Kevin where he reveals that he cries and Kevin reveals that he wishes he could cry to, they then share a homosexual encounter together realizing and accepting each other for who they are. Chiron’s moment of happiness is ruined the next day when one the school bullies peer pressures Kevin into helping him beat up Chiron, and out of fear of being ostracized by his peers Kevin complies and helps beat Chiron.

It is after this beating we see Chiron start to follow down some of the more dangerous paths of toxic masculinity. After his beating Chiron find the Bully who orchestrated the whole thing, a young man named Terrel that has a science class with Chiron. Chiron walks into his science class, walks up behind Terrel, picks up a desk chair and proceeds to beat Terrel over the head with it getting himself arrested. Chiron’s decsion to follow a path a violent revenge landed him in jail and when he is released we see him start to follow in the only father figure’s footsteps he’s known, Juan’s.

“Later the concept of “ Adventure” -one of the principal categories of modern entertainment moved straight off the printed page into literature of crime and espionage”- 3.(Stuart Hall The Whites Of Their Eyes)

We see Chiron after he has been released from prison and he has now moved to Georgia and his new personality is almost unrecognizable. He is now “Hard”, he sells drugs, drives an old Cadillac with the same crown decoration on the dash board that Juan had, he carries a very large pistol, and describes himself as “on the street”. He even goes as far to have the flashy teeth Grillz and jewelry associated with gangster rap and the drug dealer lifestyle. Chiron has bought into the Toxic masculine lie and more specifically the Black male mold for the Alpha male role. He takes no shit anymore but he is also deeply separated from his emotions and no has resorted to crime to feel like a man.

“I have always worried less about the men I love being manly men than about them being free men- unimpeded in achieving health and happiness as their Black selves. Free men make good partners. Free men make good daddies. Free men make good men.” –4 (Tamara Winfrey Harris Shedding (Moon)light on Toxic Masculinity)

 Chiron is eventually contacted by Kevin who still lives in Florida who tells Chiron he misses him and apologizes for the fight that he was a part of. It’s in his reuniting with Kevin that the two kind of put it all out on the table and they express their feeling for each other, how they have moved on, and their feelings about the situation. The eventually come to terms with their feelings and the movie ends with a shot of Kevin and Chiron cuddling and comforting each other implying that they have accepted not only their pasts but their present and who they truly are and want to be.

 “How Life Goes on despite the trauma and how Chiron’s already fragile state is put in jeopardy by everlasting loss, both psychical and spiritual, and doubt reinforced by what society wants him to be.” –5 (Circo Di Lella Moonlight: the slow defeat of Toxic Masculinity)

 Moonlight in my opinion is about a boy discovering manhood. Although he learns manhood is different than what he thought it was. Man hood isn’t being “hard”, it’s not being violent, it’s not taking unnecessary risks like selling drugs, and it’s not who you are sexually attracted to.  Being a man is accepting the who you are inside, it takes courage, and it takes honesty to one’s self. A man can be in touch with his feelings, a man can cry, and a man can love another man and still be a man.

      Sources

1.    Judith Butler, Performative acts and Gender Contruction

2.    Stuart Hall, The Whites Of Their Eyes

3.    Stuart Hall, The Whites Of Their Eyes

4.    Tamara Winfrey Harris, Shedding (Moon)light on Toxic Masculinity

5.    Circo Di Lella Moonlight: the slow defeat of Toxic Masculinity

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Kiss It All Better (1/2)

Summary: And it’s true; there’s something about her life, stuck here in this sordid night time world that makes her rankle at the world’s injustices even more, be they her own or someone else’s. Still, she has Gold, and sometimes just snuggly cuddling like this is enough to make her feel better and calm the rage inside.

There's a stag party at the club, and after a particularly trying shift, Gold decides to make Belle feel better in the best way he can. Part two of the Bouncers and Shakers series.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompts: "bad day, drink, cuddling" and "stilletos/high heels, party, dirty talk". The fic straddles both prompts with elements of both in each chapter. 

Rated: This chapter is rated T and has no smut. Chapter 2 will have smut. 

=====

Kiss It All Better

The club is at peak capacity, definitely the busiest that Belle’s ever seen it, and she’s rushed off her feet, no chance of respite for the foreseeable future. There’s a stag party in and they’re a rowdy disruptive bunch, already half-cut before they arrived. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Dove and Tiny patrolling the stage area. It’s not just the bar staff who’ve had their work cut out for them tonight. She hasn’t seen Gold, but she knows he’s around, quietly masterminding proceedings and keeping an eye on the situation like he always does.

A young man, already deep in his cups, staggers over to the bar from the nearest stage where Dorothy has just finished her dance. Belle shakes her head. No more for him tonight. From the way he and his friends were acting earlier when Ruby was giving him a lap dance, he’s the groom to be. She raises an eyebrow as he slumps slightly, beckoning her over frantically. She wonders what his fiancée would say if she were here.

“Sir, you’re drunk,” she says as she comes over.

“Yes,” he slurs enthusiastically. “Very drunk. Rum please.”

Belle shakes her head. “No. I’m not serving you any more tonight.”

“But why not! I’m perfectly ok!” he protests, then lets out a wolf whistle as Ariel drops her panties on the main stage.

“I’m not serving you any more,” Belle repeats.

“But I’ve got money!” The man waves bills at her, and a glint comes into his hazy eyes. “Hey, maybe you could take it.” A leery wink follows. “Show off what’s under those cute little booty shorts of yours.”

Belle rolls her eyes. It’s not the first time she’s been offered money to get on the bar and strip, and it won’t be the last. She leaves the drunkard and goes over to serve another, slightly more sober group.

“Hey!” The guy keeps trying to get her attention even though Mulan is reiterating that he won’t be served any more alcohol. “Hey, sweetcheeks!”

Belle sees him out of the corner of her eye as he grabs the remnants of someone else’s drink and tosses at her back before Mulan can grab his hand and slam it flat on the bar. The groom is unperturbed and just laughs, starting up a chant of ‘take it off, take it off!’ as Belle plucks at her vodka soaked top. To be honest, it’s actually quite nice to have the cold from the ice against her skin where she’s overheating in the stifling club, but the shock of the sudden attack has her frozen to the spot. The dunkard’s cronies have joined in the mantra and half the club’s attention is now focussed on the bar.

“Belle, poppet?” Jefferson’s hands steer her away from the bar towards the back. On his way, he grabs the walkie talkie from it position next to the gin bottles and barks into it.

“Gold, get that stag do out of here now.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m doing it with pleasure,” Gold’s voice growls over the connection.

“Are you all right, poppet?” Jefferson asks once they’re in the locker room.

Belle nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s just the suddenness, you know?”

Jefferson never fails to make her feel better simply by dint of his appearance. He’s the only male shaker in the joint and when he was told that the uniform for the girls was hot pants and high heels but he’d be wearing jeans and sneakers, he promptly turned said jeans into his own hot pants, reasoning that if the girls got to show off their beautiful legs, then he should too. “I thought that the best way to fight the rampant sexism was to show them quite how ridiculous it was.” But management still hasn’t changed the dress code and Jefferson continues to wear his hot pants in solidarity with his fellow shakers. Sometimes he even wears the heels as well, if he really wants to make the aggressively masculine patrons uncomfortable, but given his inability to walk very far in stilettos, that only happens on special occasions.

There’s a huge commotion from the bar, and Belle surmises that the stag party is taking umbrage at being told to leave. Jefferson catches her eye.

“Want to watch?” he asks.

Belle nods and quickly pulls a dry top out of her locker, changing and following Jeff back out into the bar.

Gold is looking absolutely glorious to behold and it’s almost enough to make the bad day worth it. The entirety of the club is now watching him, the music still pounding out but no-one dancing. Ariel’s halfway up her pole, mesmerised, and Ruby’s sat down on her client’s lap, arms crossed over her breasts and a ferocious expression on her face. Ruby is Belle’s best friend among the dancers and they look out for each other.

“I will not tell you again,” Gold says, and the menace in his voice sends a shiver down Belle’s spine. “Get out of this club or I will call the police.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” the groom is protesting, and his mates are egging him on.

“You assaulted a member of staff and you’re drunk and disorderly,” Gold continues coolly. One of the stag party seems to have come to his senses and is tugging on the groom’s sleeve, urging him to leave, because Gold’s fingers are flexing on his cane handle and Dove and Tiny have come over and are standing behind the group looking menacing, as if they’re about to pick them up bodily under the arms and toss them out of the window. Belle wouldn’t put it past them; they’re certainly strong enough and they’d protect the girls with their lives. The groom, unfortunately, does not take heed of his slightly more sober friend’s warning, and decides that obviously, the most sensible course of action is to take a swing at Gold. His reaction is like lightning, bringing one hand up to block the blow and knocking the drunkard’s feet out from under him with his cane.

The suddenness of the action shocks everyone into silence, even the DJ, who is so stunned by the scene that he forgets to put the next song on. Gold nods to Dove and Tiny, and they take care of things from there as he comes over to Belle.

“You ok?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. The tenderness is so at odds with his previous demeanour, and Belle smile,s because whilst working in this place can bring out the worst in them, they can always bring out the best in each other.

“Do you want to go home?” Jeff asks. “I’ll clock you out, no-one need ever know.”

Belle shakes her head. She’s seen worse than having a drink thrown at her and if she goes home then she’ll only be waiting around for Gold.

“No, I’ll be fine,” she assures Jefferson, but she glances across at Gold. “Maybe a five minute break though?”

Jefferson catches the look between them and raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure five minutes will be long enough?”

Belle rolls her eyes. “Very sure, Jeff.” She takes Gold by the hand, leading him off into the locker room. Once they’re alone, Gold slips his arms around her and she buries her face in his shoulder with a contented sigh, feeling safe and loved and ready to conquer the world if her feet didn’t ache so much.

“You’re so resilient and remarkable,” Gold murmurs, stroking her hair.

“Not really,” Belle replies. “I’m always an angry little thing on the inside.” And it’s true; there’s something about her life, stuck here in this sordid night time world that makes her rankle at the world’s injustices even more, be they her own or someone else’s. Still, she has Gold, and sometimes just snuggly cuddling like this is enough to make her feel better and calm the rage inside.

“We should probably get back out there,” she says eventually, although she really doesn’t want to move.

“We probably should,” Gold agrees, but he makes no move to release her, and Belle giggles against his shoulder. The music has long since started up again outside, and they sway a little in time to the thumping beat, completely at odds with the tone of the music.

“What are you thinking about?” Belle asks presently, once they’ve been silent for another minute or so.

“Mmm.” Gold addresses himself to her hair, kissing her scalp above her ear. “I’m just thinking about all the naughty things I’d like to do to you to try and make up for the bad day you’re having.”

Belle looks up at him and she can see the little twinkle of desire in his eyes.

“Hold that thought,” she says, bringing her arms up to hook around his neck and pull him in for a long kiss. “Store them all up and tell them to me on the way home.”

“As you wish.” Gold pecks a soft kiss to her lips and lets her go, and together they return to the front of house. The club is back to normal now, as if the stand-off with the stag party never occurred – the bar is booming with business and the dancers are performing their acts. Belle returns to her position behind the bar, Mulan and Jefferson both shooting her questioning looks. She smiles in reassurance. She’s fine, and if Gold is to be believed, then she’s going to be feeling even better soon.

[vocaotome]

(Fanfic) 5 times Katsuki Yuuri jerked off to Victor Nikiforov in denial+1 time he still did it with acceptance

An Yuri!!! on Ice au fanfic set in the universe of the amazing fanfic Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya (Kazliin on tumblr)! Yeah, this is a fanfic of a fanfic, written for the "thank you for stepping on us" event which is basically the discord server dedicated to this fic celebrating Kaz and that she finished umfb&mha~! The other posts can be found under the #thankyouforsteppingonus tag. 

EDIT: This must be a sign from god, but today is also Kazliin’s birthday! Happy birthday, dear kaz!! Stay awesome and keep murdering us <3</p>

Fic under the cut! I’m posting this a bit earlier to make the event deadline and still adjusting the writing in the later chapters, so only the first chapter can be found under the cut atm.

1.

Physically, Katsuki Yuuri during his adolescence had been no different from a regular boy.

In the dead of one summer night, a ten year old Katsuki Yuuri had woken up from the blistering heat only to find his underwear uncomfortably tight, which, on closer inspection, was because of a certain part of his body being much more hard and swollen than normal.

Yuuri did what any young boy without any idea of what’s happening to his body would do-he freaked out. He had no idea what caused this strange occurrence, but he knew that his dick isn’t supposed to defy gravity and stick out like that. A bizarre pulse ran through him when he tried to push it down, which made him snap his hands away from his crotch like it had burned him. Feeling helpless and lost, he tried to go back to sleep hoping that he’d be back to normal when he woke up.

But sleep was elusive that night for Yuuri. Worries about how he would go to school the next day if his abnormal state persisted kept him up, and he only managed to fall asleep when he almost passed out from exhaustion. Thankfully the next morning there was nothing strange about his lower body, and Yuuri tried to brush it off as something he had imagined. 

But after it happened again a few nights later and also the next, he realized that this might become a regular occurrence. He wished he could directly ask someone, but as he didn’t have any older brothers or any boys close to his age he was comfortable enough breaching such a private topic with (Takeshi briefly came to mind but he immediately rejected the idea, his irritation caused by the frequent teasings of the older boy still too fresh in his memory). 

He tried to figure out what he could on his own-the swelling didn’t hurt but made it hard for Yuuri to pee, it went away faster when dumped with cold water, and also if Yuuri became mentally upset (he’d rather avoid the latter option, even though the first one was more physically uncomfortable). What he had heard from eavesdropping on some of his more rowdy classmates gave him the impression that this was a pretty regular thing, not some weird disease, and didn’t have to be reported to his parents (thank god), so Yuuri tried to accept this phenomenon as a bothersome but unavoidable part of life.

Things didn’t really change when one year later Yuuri fell in love with the grace and the beauty of a sliver haired boy on the ice. He was still the same quiet, awkward, ordinary Yuuri who felt too small and too big in his body all at once, apprehensive of the rapid changes in his growing body but also eager to become bigger, better, someone who could flawlessly replicate the moves of Victor’s performances without butchering them because of short and floppy limbs. 

If his body was more unruly during the nights when his dreams were full of flashes of silver and faint memories of gliding across the ice hand in hand with another, he was not old enough yet to figure out the meaning behind it. The only thing he registered was his desire to share the same space as Victor, to skate on the same ice as him, to bare his soul as freely and beautifully.

Even on that fateful day, only a few hours before this dream was shattered to pieces and remolded into something burning and fierce, Yuuri had still believed that Victor was the most beautiful person he ever had the fortune to lay his eyes on. The memories from both Victor’s short program and his free skate-the sharp movements of his slim, toned body that seemed to be declaring his tacit claim as a god on the ice, and the soft, fragile dance across the ice that had enraptured Yuuri’s heart and soul-filled his thoughts even when he saw the boy in person. There was little he could think of except how desperately he wanted to reach Victor, truly reach him in ways more than one, although for now he was satisfied with the few moments he got.

Those moments had seemed to stretch forever as Victor faced him, his lovely eyes bright and twinkling with a smile that made Yuuri wish he could bottle it up and look at it every day as a reminder of the goal he was working so hard for. 

But before Yuuri could wrap his mind around the intensity of that strange craving, the venomous words that left Victor’s lips the very next moment had destroyed it. The soft touch of Victor’s hand patting his hair felt like something he had dreamed of for so long, but not like this, never like this when it was nothing more than a show of contempt without any affection behind it.  

Despite Yuuri’s earnest efforts to not think about Victor after he returned to Hasetsu, determined to forget the jarring difference between that angelic face and the cruel soul hidden beneath, the dreams still continued, albeit with a much different air from before (and less frequent because of how often he crashed into a dreamless sleep after a day of grueling practice). In the past even if he didn’t remember the details of his dreams, he always remembered the feelings they left behind-excitement and hope, glances of a future he was going to create with his own hands. 

But now he could only see Victor skating all alone in the middle of a vast, icy expanse, gliding away from Yuuri every time he got close, mocking and unreachable in his perfection. Victor’s smile in the sole poster that had survived Yuuri’s rampage was the same, an ironic fulfillment of his wish to have a reminder of his goal, never mind how that goal had become twisted into an abomination of its original form.

The following couple of years Yuuri threw himself so hard into training that he didn’t have time for anything else. He often felt like an alien when his classmates excitedly chattered about the things that interested them, be that the newest video games (which Yuuri would’ve loved to try out but he didn’t have enough time, not when he was still so behind), the dullness of their assignments (Yuuri could never emphasize with their laid-back attitude, not when he felt so guilty about all the extra expense his skating put on his parents and it was only natural he paid them back by at least doing his best at school) or the pretty girls and boys they were interested in (the idea of being attracted to someone because of their looks without knowing them personally was so confusing to Yuuri, and he didn’t understand why Yuko rolled her eyes when he told her so).

The last topic, in particular, was something he still had trouble with even after he finally moved to Detroit. All the people in his age group-both from his campus and his rink-were so much more confident in their sexuality and free in their affections that Yuuri wondered if his lack of interest in any kind of casual companionship meant there was something wrong with him. 

Although Yuuri would never look down on a person because of their looks (he promised himself that he’ll never be like Victor, cold and cruel and stepping over fragile hearts), he wondered if his choice of profession had made him have overly high standards when it came to physical attractiveness. Most of his close acquaintances were athletes with attractive, toned bodies, and although Yuuri himself was plain and boring to be with, he was aware that he had managed to at least keep his body fit and strong thanks to his intensive training.

Thanks to the poster of Victor that still smiled arrogantly on their dorm wall, Phichit had teased him that rather than Yuuri’s standards being high in general, his standards were Victor, and that’s a high hurdle to pass for any of the poor souls that tried to hit on Yuuri (Yuuri didn’t remember that happening ever, and wondered what drugs Phichit was on). Besides, the idea of Victor being his standard of beauty was ridiculous-Yuuri had come to hate the man even more after their brief exchange at Junior Worlds and being reminded of how he would never be acknowledged by the other man unless he managed to kick him off his throne. 

Just because sometimes he found his breath hitch during Victor’s routines when his movements complimented the tight lines of his body that had grown strong and masculine while still maintaining his swanlike grace, that didn’t mean anything other than the cold, clinical fact that Victor got lucky enough to both blessed with handsome genes and a puberty that had been kind to him. 

And good enough taste in fashion to flaunt those good looks, curse him.

That being said, Yuuri was no longer completely ignorant of what his body’s reactions meant. He had gotten a basic idea of things years ago when he first got access to the internet, and at the age of sixteen he was well aware that he had a normal sex drive for a teenager of his age, despite his complete disinterest in finding a partner to actually do something about it. While he didn’t really have anyone he found attractive enough to fantasize about, the mechanical motions of jerking off were pleasant enough, and a good way to let off steam. He hardly ever thought about anything while he did it, and tried to just get things over with considering the lack of privacy in the dorms. 

Very rarely-he could count the instances with the fingers of a single hand-when he had their room to himself, was mentally in a good place and also had a considerably lighter schedule than usual, he had tried to experiment a little bit with his own body and figure out what makes it tick. But even during his awkward attempts at fantasizing he had only managed to think up scenarios with imaginary faceless partners, uncomfortable with the idea of allowing anyone he knew so deep into his private space, even if it was all in his head. 

The occasional dreams-always too dim and abstract for his liking-were also similar, though at least they had helped him figure out that he liked gentleness, strength and flexibility in a partner. The idea of dreams reflecting a person’s desires made sense enough, and Yuuri had to admit that he had a preference for the dreams where he was being supported by a pair of strong arms as his mystery lover worshipped his body with a rain of caresses and kisses, treating him like he was something beautiful and precious no matter the ridiculous the overall scenario was.

So saying that a sex dream (Yuuri wondered if it was the right term since no sex took place, a small blessing allowed by his lack of experience) involving Victor Nikiforov after his humiliating defeat at the hands of the very same man was confusing would be a massive understatement. 

It made him almost want to completely stop thinking about anything even remotely sexual, a decision that solidified the day when Victor’s face from that stupid dream (unnaturally soft and adoring and yet so passionate) popped up in his mind while he was on his bed in the middle of a jerking-off session.

Yuuri had almost bitten his tongue in surprise when that happened, and he would’ve just stepped into the shower and blasted his crotch with ice-cold water if he had been capable of it. But too far gone and only seconds away from finishing, Yuuri could only close his eyes in embarrassment and anger when he couldn’t will his weak legs to move.

Phantom Victor, just as cruel as his real life counterpart, took advantage of this, and Yuuri could almost imagine him leaning over him as he whispered encouragements into Yuuri’s ear, could pretend that the hand working his dick wasn’t his own but another’s, could delude himself that warm weight on his back belonged to a strong, wide chest and not the thick woolen blanket that was too hot for Yuuri by this point.

Yuuri was so, so confused and his lust-riddled mind felt like it was clouded by a thick layer of fog, so he just kept moving his right hand frantically, desperate to escape this baffling torture as soon as possible. The last thing his traitorous mind dreamt up before he broke was Victor biting into his shoulder (even though it was just Yuuri’s other hand digging into his own skin) and telling him that he could come, and Yuuri should’ve been indignant because he didn’t need anyone’s permission to come and definitely not Victor’s, but his body and mind must have been conspiring against him together because that only drove Yuuri into the most powerful orgasm he could remember having, making him bury his face into the pillows to muffle the unbidden scream that left his throat. He collapsed onto his bed like a doll with its strings cut, the strategically placed towel below him wet and sticky with the proof of his madness.

Yuuri suddenly had the feeling he had opened the door to something should’ve remained shut for the sake of his sanity, and he was proved correct over the course of the next few months, much to his chagrin.

[hannahobee]

*SEMINAR 5* Interviewing a Fan.

 Have you seen a live match where Arsenal have won? How did that make you feel?

“Seeing them beat Tottenham made me feel very happy and proud to be an arsenal fan. It made it seem worth the money and worth the journey and sometimes the pain of supporting the club”.

North London derby between Arsenal and Tottenham are particularly exciting to watch due to the rivalry between the teams. It seems Arsenal fans can define themselves from what they’re not (Tottenham fans) and that definition makes them feel more strongly and passionately about the team.

 How would you describe an Arsenal fan? Who would they have to be? What would they have to do?

 “I think anyone can be an Arsenal fan, there’s no rule saying who can and who can’t be. Most of the fan base seems to be male, but that just goes with football as a whole. There’s lot of degrees of fans as well, there’s people who go to every single match with a season ticket then there’s some people who haven’t been to a game but are still really strong Arsenal fans, but that doesn’t make them any less of a fan. It completely depends on your financial situation, you may not necessarily be able to afford to go to every single match, but you can still watch it on t.v.”

Alex acknowledges that most of the general public isn’t able to afford to go to many live football matches, but comes to the conclusion that that doesn’t make them any less of a fan anyway. Just because of someone’s financial situation, doesn’t mean they have any less passion for the team. He also has observed that most of football’s supporters are male, but explains that anyone can be an Arsenal fan, so from Alex’s point of view no one would be turned away because of their gender.

 Do you feel you share common thought with most if not all arsenal fans?

 “Well… Currently there’s a bit of an issue because recently the manager, Arsene Wenger, hasn’t been performing recently, we didn’t make champion’s league last season for example. It’s created a big divide between Arsenal fans, there’s Wenger ins and Wenger outs. I am a… It depends but I think Im a Wenger out, I think we need change in the club. When it comes to the game a lot of that is forgotten and we all just support the club”

Alex doesn’t feel that he shares the same feelings towards the club as the other 50% of the fan club. It is interesting that he also doesn’t believe anyone is more of a fan than another person just because of their experience of the club, and so it seems he has an open view of who is in the fan base and who isn’t.

 How did being a fan of Arsenal help your social life and confidence at school?

 “A lot of my friends support Tottenham (the rival team) there’s a lot of banter around that subject when we talk about matches. Because I support Arsenal, I’m involved in football in general, that means you can go to matches with friends or meet up and watch some football. I don’t just watch Arsenal matches I watch a lot of different matches as well.”

It seems it isn’t so important which football club Alex supported during school, just that he was a fan of football in general. It allowed him to form friendships inside and outside of school.

 Have you ever seen a girl being shunned/turned away/criticized for enjoying/playing football? If so, how do you think that affected her?

 “I haven’t witnessed that before, just when we were playing in primary school, girls never really joined in in the first place. I did an after school club, there were one or two girls who signed up by choice and no one ever mentioned anything, they were included just as much as anyone else.”

Alex has never personally seen it happen, by using the word ‘witnessed’ perhaps he acknowledges that it does happen, but not to his knowledge.

 Do you think you would be as much of an Arsenal fan if we lived in a world where football was female dominated?

 “That’s a very difficult question to answer… that’s a good question at the same time. That’s a very deep question about society. I feel like I wouldn’t be interested in it as much but I don’t know why. Just when I compare other things that I’m interested in in life, not many of them are female dominated. When I was younger I would be interested in things my friends would be interested in and football is something that is often associated with boys.”

Football has been made to sell to men and to make them feel as if it enhances their masculinity. I feel Alex subconsciously covers that in his answer, he feels as though he wouldn’t be as much of a fan but he isn’t certain why. I think something he finds particularly appealing about it, even if he doesn’t explicitly realise it, is that football is a predominantly a male community because it has been marketed to feed their ego.

 Are there any Arsenal slang words? If so what are they?

“Yeah there’s a few. There’s A.F.C which is just Arsenal football club. Gooners, which describes an Arsenal fan, you can also say you’re a gunner.”

 What is Arsenal fan t.v?

 It’s a relatively new channel on youtube but it’s gained popularity in the last few years. It’s just a channel for the fans to voice their opinions on the games and on the club in general. There’s one guy that runs the channel and he interviews the fans, and anyone can really be on it as well, he records them after each match, A lot of people have blamed that channel for the divide in the fan base because a lot of the views that are broadcasted onto the channel are quite negative. I think maybe originally it started out for fun, with slight incentive behind it… if you’re making a youtube channel you want people to see it, I think there probably is some incentive behind it to ‘get big’ on youtube because now the guy in charge of it is earning quite a bit of money from it.”

It is interesting that the material passed around between Arsenal fans that should supposedly unite them, is in fact the material that many Arsenal fans blame for the big divide in the club. It seems Alex also has a slight suspicion that the person who started the sharing of that material started the channel for personal gains.

 Do you see abusive/offensive behaviour when at a match and how does it make you feel?

 “At most matches you’re going to get fans who are abusive, usually towards the opposition, just swearing or laughing at the opposition. A lot of the time it’s also abuse to the Arsenal players themselves when they mess up, then also to the referee if they make a decision against Arsenal. A lot of it is in the moment and nothing is really meant by it… most of the time. Sometimes fans fall out with each other when the team isn’t doing well. I’ve never personally seen anything too bad. It’s a completely different environment there’s like 60,000 people all in one area all watching something they’re passionate about… It’s an intense and nervous atmosphere. There’s always going to be shouting so you expect it when you go in, if you saw someone shouting just out in the street when it’s not a stressful situation it would be different.”

Alex puts the slightly offensive language and rowdy behaviour down to the fans passion for the team and the stress that comes with the desperation for their team to win the match. He explains it is expected to hear some swearing in a space where there’s 60,000 people intently watching something that matters to them. It would be different to hear abusive language out on the street for no good reason. I am interested to know how much football fans feel for their club and how much it really affects them when they lose, I don’t think I’ve ever really considered how happy or sad someone could become because of a football score.

[elanavela514810-blog]

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After watching Aint Got No Fear, we had a Q&A session with Mikhail.

Josh: How are the kids to work with? They looked a little rowdy, like the way they’re going like this [signals]? [laughter]

MK: Oh no, they’re totally performing that.

Josh: Okay so they’re not like that normally?

MK: They’re not, I don’t tell them how to perform. I think what is interesting is that they’re at this in between age – between being men and being children, like one moment they’re being children and the next they want to be gangstas and I think there’s this kind of inconsistency which I quite like, because of that age being 14 years old and the kind of models of masculinity they have or aspire to, they come from videos where they see rappers doing this or that [signals] but they’re totally over-performing it for each other. The thing is I never tell people what to do, so with young people I’m usually on good terms with them because I don’t think my role is to tell them what to do, on the contrary they should tell me what to do. I think it’s nice, sometimes they were rowdy but I quite like it.

Sammara: Did you come into contact with any of their parents since you showed some projects in the village?

MK: I came in contact with them and of course the parents were invited to all of this but a lot of the kids only have one parent or if they have two they work a lot which means they’re absent quite a lot so it wasn’t so straightforward to meet the parents. But of course we needed permission from the parents to work with the children so when the children knew they were interested in taking part in the project we gave them a form and said can you show this to your parents and ask them to sign it? The thing is we received the forms back signed but I don’t know who actually signed them, could have been them… I don’t know. There were a couple of parents who came to Whitstable Biennale to see the film. We organised a coach to bring them, that day was very nice because parents, grandparents, very young children– their younger brothers came, so there was like three generations which was very nice but there hasn’t been a follow up although I’ve tried many things but I understand it’s not easy and expensive to follow the life of the video.

Tsw Wai: So you’re an artist who does socially engaged projects, so art is no longer an individual thing but a collective experience, so how does this translate to your own personal vision as an artist?

MK: That’s a very good question because that is also my personal vision. I sometimes think wherever I go there’s a kind of ship and I try to kind of steer it, not telling people what to do but somehow whoever’s interested in coming on board, developing a project with them. I create, I suppose a conversation with people, you know this communal vision. There is always a kind of material focus, I’m very interested in sound and the voice so that‘s a consistent aesthetic development that you see from one project to the next. Yeah, I mean I don’t know how else to answer this question. My individual vision, I guess when I do these projects is not different from what it is that we create together, it’s part of it.

Chiara: Do you think of the way your work practically transforms the space and the lives of the people you work with, the process but also or the legacy or if it has the power to transform?

MK: Well, I always think about this because I have to leave and that’s the thing. These children are not in my neighbourhood, they’re somewhere else, and I’m lucky that most of my projects are Britain so I always think what the legacy of the project is. The answer is not really straightforward I think. When I work with older people for me, it’s always easier. Working with this group and a project in 2013 with younger kids aged between 5 and 11 in Italy, I become similarly attached and especially with this it was very painful. Actually, on my way back on the train I’d cry because it was just impossible! How can I leave when they wanted me to stay longer and do things with them and I was really thinking what can an art project do? They live in a kind of difficult place but then they will give me feedback, unsolicited feedback which remains. A boy wrote to me saying ‘oh yeah, I’ve been feeling very blue all week except for when you’re here and I can’t wait for you to come back to the project, I really enjoyed it’. Just things like that are amazing. This project is very important to me but actually it’s very important to them, it really means a lot to them to make something and I think what else comes across is how it might change their visions of themselves in the future.

So, at some point I give them cameras and one of the boys, he’s a very talented photographer naturally and I told him ‘you’re super talented and have amazing potential’, I think he’s not used to receiving a lot of compliments so he didn’t say anything. Then later on they’d ask me where I’ve been to during the week because sometimes I have a crazy schedule and I’m in three countries in three days, and Eddie (the boy) said ‘oh my God I would love that travelling to places’ and at that point I told him ‘you’re a very talented photographer, how about thinking of becoming a photo journalist?’, and we just left us with that. A month later I was talking to his mum she told me ‘this project is quite important to Eddie I think because one, he is very excited about it. You know his dad’s a lorry driver, he doesn’t know anything else, and the other day he came up with the idea of becoming a photojournalist! [Laughter]

I think it kind of made them realise that there are other possibilities, other ways of thinking about themselves in the future which is something positive I think.

Valentina: How often do you keep in touch with them?

MK: Now? Depends. Usually when there is an event connects the project I messaged them on Facebook. Sometimes they’re really amazed that I put something on Facebook and there’s like 200 people responding to it and they’re like ‘Oh my God’  and they’re really proud.

Renee: I had a question about the boys drumming on the police helmets, you said you were going to tell us a story about that?

MK: Yeah, I don’t know if people got it because, it was quite a short sequence. It came out of both humour and being angry.

R: Yeah, a kind of protest but in a kind of jokey way.

MK: Yeah, it’s a kind of jokey reversal of roles because usually you see police helmets hitting civilians and this was a kind of a reversal of that, they’re making music and noise out of it. So there’s another one which most people don’t really see but it’s totally fine, at the end of that sequence there’s an image of an inflatable pig on the ground which some people got when we showed it. It was a combination of two things, one of them was a girl told me ‘I’m going to be in your video only as long as I dress as a pig’, so I said ‘okay I’ll bring a pig’- also because she loves pink- and then you can be in my film. But on the day we were shooting that she wasn’t around, she didn’t turn up so the boys said ‘yeah but the police are pigs’. I guess there were quite a lot of parents who thought what did you use our children for? [Laughter] But I think it’s subtle enough that it’s not offensive unless a police man watches it in which case if they’re offended I would love that!

Sammara: Do you think this particular film made any political changes in the area, like an enrichment centre for young people?

MK: I very much doubt that. That connects with some of my despair when I was working there and even thinking that that place is so infrastructurally neglected by the government; this is not a job for an artist, this is a job for politicians and the local councillor to address these issues. I don’t have the skills nor the resources to bring change what it’s doing is bringing light to an issue for people to discuss and be aware of. The film been seen by thousands of people not just here but internationally so we generate debate but I think the most important thing is that it actually has brought about some change in relation to the kids and how they feel about themselves and their confidence. I think at the beginning of the project they probably thought was impossible for them to make a film, I mean how do you even begin to make a film or write a song? For me that is my important.

There are artists/activists whose work specifically targets politicians and highlights I suppose in a confrontational way political issues but I don’t think I have that in me. I have very strong opinions about politics but usually my character is a bit gentler, in a more humanist way, thinking about how can I work with people to do something that is interesting for them and bring something to them. It’s kind of more emotional and psychological the kind of change my projects bring rather than large-scale political. I wish I had the skills but I don’t think I have. I’m outspoken but I don’t have the calm; I think if I was having a debate with a politician I would probably freak out, I think I probably lose it. [Laughter] I’m not able to keep myself together. You know what I mean, when you’re upset and you’re kind of losing the plot and you don’t know what to say.

Hafsah: I noticed how you felt quite passionate about the interview, being controlled by the police and the raves being shut down. How can you relate to them, have you had an experience yourself that you feel like you’re being controlled by someone who is in authority?

MK: Oh my God, all the time! [Laughter]

School was terrible, I mean my school was absolutely terrible in terms of being controlled and also hit by my teachers.

Josh: What, you were hit?

MK: Hit, of course I’m slightly older than you, I was hit by my teachers.

Josh: With a cane as well?

MK: Cane as well. I’ve been slapped which is so common, so humiliating for someone obviously bigger than you, more powerful than you to hit you! You know they’re going to win anyway and I knew I was going to lose anyway so what’s the point? It was not an equal battle but I mean I do feel angry every time my ticket is controlled. From home to Saint Pancras station I have been photographed by I don’t know how many hundreds of cameras then I have to go to the ticket barriers, then get on the train and within five minutes there’s someone searching my ticket because I’m suspect, I mean everybody is a suspect, everybody is a potential thief, everybody has potentially cheated! I mean to think about it there’s so much distrust that you think that I’ve been able to evade all this surveillance and the ticket control and the controller on the train, I just think that this is a culture of suspicion which I absolutely despise and it makes me very angry, well this amongst other things. [Laughter]

And I guess there is one more point, the older generation. I feel very controlled by the political class that is slightly older taking decisions that don’t represent me and I know don’t represent your generation. Like what happen with Brexit referendum, I think the older generation who will not be so much affected by it. All of us actually have said the people that are going to have to live with the consequences more than us are the generation that are just coming after us. Let’s have some sort of consultations in school and get some indication into what young people are thinking, people who don’t have a political voice yet because they’re 16 or 15,  let’s ask them to have the some sort of political debate about this and maybe each school to give some kind of result, an indication throughout the country as to how this younger generation thinks about this issue, that could have been taken into account but you see the older generation that have the power didn’t care about this which I think is horrendous. It doesn’t matter what side it was even if the results were pro Brexit I think we should have asked younger generation so I’m angry about that too!

Akraam: Were you at the Lulu dress rehearsal (ENO)?

MK: Oh right, yes I was.

Akraam and Mo: Yeah, we remember you, you were sitting in front of us and you were wearing this same hat.

MK: Really, I think it was similar.

Renee: And you had on a big coat.

MK: Oh yes, I remember now, it was the light blue woolly coat.

Josh: Where did you get your hat from and your clothes?

MK: It’s from a place in Covent Garden called United Nude.

Josh: I’m googling it now?

D&S: And when you were working with the young people do you wear these clothes?

MK: No, I tone it down.

Thanks Mikhail!

After meeting Mikhail, the Invitation & Design team worked on the final idea for the poster for publicizing the event and the message to accompany it. It was challenging to come to a decision for an image upon which we all agreed but we finally went with a combination of two images that each represented freedom and control. I’m really excited about the event, as I think the group have worked together to create a great collaborative work and I can’t wait to see how the afternoon turns out.

Jemima

[duchamp-and-sons]

Here’s a transcript of our discussion with him: 

Mikhail Karikis: Renee mentioned the word socially engaged project, do you know what that might be?

Sammara: Is it that you work with the different boys in the film? I read that on your website.

MK: Thank you for being honest.

[Laughter] 

MK: Yeah but as a practice in general- socially engaged art practice- what do you think might be?

Hafsah: Involving the public?

MK: In principle, this is what it means. Then how would you engage the public and why would you engage the public? So maybe in the last decade or so, I’ve created works that belong to this genre which for me means that I don’t work in the studio, like a lot of painters or directors, they would know their plan in advance of what they’re going to make and then go and shoot. Usually my work is site- specific, meaning that I’m always developing my projects in specific locations with people who inhabit these locations, people living there or working there and usually through my work I’m trying to understand what their lives are like, how they make a living, what relationships they have and then we develop a project together. So it’s not as if I’m kind of going there, picking up a camera and filming them and then go away, I mean some people might call this socially engaged but actually where is the engagement? I usually develop relationships when I make these projects and it takes usually quite a lot of time and then negotiate with the people that I collaborate with on what it is to make.

After watching Aint Got No Fear, we had a Q&A session.

Josh: How were the kids to work with? They looked a little rowdy, like the way they’re going like this [signals]? [Laughter]

MK: Oh no, they’re totally performing that. 

Josh: Okay so they’re not like that normally?

MK: They’re not, I don’t tell them how to perform. I think what is interesting is that they’re at this in between age – between being men and being children, like one moment they’re being children and the next they want to be gangstas and I think there’s this kind of inconsistency which I quite like, because of that age being 14 years old and the kind of models of masculinity they have or aspire to, they come from videos where they see rappers doing this or that [signals] but they’re totally over-performing it for each other. The thing is I never tell people what to do, so with young people I’m usually on good terms with them because I don’t think my role is to tell them what to do, on the contrary they should tell me what to do. I think it’s nice, sometimes they were rowdy but I quite like it. 

Sammara: Did you come into contact with any of their parents since you showed some projects in the village?

MK: I came in contact with them and of course the parents were invited to all of this but a lot of the kids only have one parent or if they have two they work a lot which means they’re absent quite a lot so it wasn’t so straightforward to meet the parents. But of course, we needed permission from the parents to work with the children so when the children knew they were interested in taking part in the project we gave them a form and said can you show this to your parents and ask them to sign it? The thing is we received the forms back signed but I don’t know who actually signed them, could have been them… I don’t know. There were a couple of parents who came to Whitstable Biennial to see the film. We organised a coach to bring them, that day was very nice because parents, grandparents, very young children– their younger brothers came, so there were like three generations which was very nice but there hasn’t been a follow up although I’ve tried many things but I understand it’s not easy and expensive to follow the life of the video.

Tsw Wai: So you’re an artist who does socially engaged projects, so art is no longer an individual thing but a collective experience, so how does this translate to your own personal vision as an artist?

MK: That’s a very good question because that is also my personal vision. I sometimes think wherever I go there’s a kind of ship and I try to kind of steer it, not telling people what to do but somehow whoever’s interested in coming on board, developing a project with them. I create, I suppose a conversation with people, you know this communal vision. There is always a kind of material focus, I’m very interested in sound and the voice so that‘s a consistent aesthetic development that you see from one project to the next. Yeah, I mean I don’t know how else to answer this question. My individual vision, I guess when I do these projects is not different from what it is that we create together, it’s part of it.

Chiara: Do you think of the way your work practically transforms the space and the lives of the people you work with, the process but also or the legacy or if it has the power to transform? 

MK: Well, I always think about this because I have to leave and that's the thing. These children are not in my neighbourhood, they’re somewhere else, and I'm lucky that most of my projects are Britain so I always think what the legacy of the project is. The answer is not really straightforward I think. When I work with older people for me, it's always easier. Working with this group and a project in 2013 with younger kids aged between 5 and 11 in Italy, I become similarly attached and especially with this it was very painful. Actually, on my way back on the train I'd cry because it was just impossible! How can I leave when they wanted me to stay longer and do things with them and I was really thinking what can an art project do? They live in a kind of difficult place but then they will give me feedback, unsolicited feedback which remains. A boy wrote to me saying ‘oh yeah, I’ve been feeling very blue all week except for when you're here and I can’t wait for you to come back to the project, I really enjoyed it’. Just things like that are amazing. This project is very important to me but actually it's very important to them, it really means a lot to them to make something and I think what else comes across is how it might change their visions of themselves in the future. 

So, at some point I give them cameras and one of the boys, he's a very talented photographer naturally and I told him ‘you're super talented and have amazing potential’, I think he's not used to receiving a lot of compliments so he didn't say anything. Then later on they’d ask me where I've been to during the week because sometimes I have a crazy schedule and I'm in three countries in three days, and Eddie (the boy) said ‘oh my God I would love that travelling to places’ and at that point I told him ‘you're a very talented photographer, how about thinking of becoming a photo journalist?’, and we just left us with that. A month later I was talking to his mum she told me ‘this project is quite important to Eddie I think because one, he is very excited about it. You know his dad’s a lorry driver, he doesn't know anything else, and the other day he came up with the idea of becoming a photojournalist! [Laughter]

I think it kind of made them realise that there are other possibilities, other ways of thinking about themselves in the future which is something positive I think.

Valentina: How often do you keep in touch with them?

MK: Now? Depends. Usually when there is an event connects the project I messaged them on Facebook. Sometimes they’re really amazed that I put something on Facebook and there's like 200 people responding to it and they're like ‘Oh my God’  and they're really proud. 

Renee: I had a question about the boys drumming on the police helmets, you said you were going to tell us a story about that?

MK: Yeah, I don't know if people got it because, it was quite a short sequence. It came out of both humour and being angry. 

R: Yeah, a kind of protest but in a kind of jokey way.

MK: Yeah, it's a kind of jokey reversal of roles because usually you see police helmets hitting civilians and this was a kind of a reversal of that, they’re making music and noise out of it. So there’s another one which most people don't really see but it’s totally fine, at the end of that sequence there’s an image of an inflatable pig on the ground which some people got when we showed it. It was a combination of two things, one of them was a girl told me ‘I'm going to be in your video only as long as I dress as a pig’, so I said ‘okay I'll bring a pig’- also because she loves pink- and then you can be in my film. But on the day we were shooting that she wasn't around, she didn't turn up so the boys said ‘yeah but the police are pigs’. I guess there were quite a lot of parents who thought what did you use our children for? [Laughter] But I think it's subtle enough that it's not offensive unless a police man watches it in which case if they're offended I would love that!

Sammara: Do you think this particular film made any political changes in the area, like an enrichment centre for young people?

MK: I very much doubt that. That connects with some of my despair when I was working there and even thinking that that place is so infrastructurally neglected by the government; this is not a job for an artist, this is a job for politicians and the local councillor to address these issues. I don't have the skills nor the resources to bring change what it's doing is bringing light to an issue for people to discuss and be aware of. The film been seen by thousands of people not just here but internationally so we generate debate but I think the most important thing is that it actually has brought about some change in relation to the kids and how they feel about themselves and their confidence. I think at the beginning of the project they probably thought was impossible for them to make a film, I mean how do you even begin to make a film or write a song? For me that is my important.

There are artists whose work specifically targets politicians and highlights I suppose in a confrontational way political issues but I don't think I have that in me. I have very strong opinions about politics but usually my character is a bit gentler, in a more humanist way, thinking about how can I work with people to do something that is interesting for them and bring something to them. It's kind of more emotional and psychological the kind of change my projects bring rather than large-scale political. I wish I had the skills but I don't think I have. I'm outspoken but I don't have the calm; I think if I was having a debate with a politician I would probably freak out, I think I probably lose it. [Laughter] I’m not able to keep myself together. You know what I mean, when you're upset and you're kind of losing the plot and you don't know what to say.

Hafsah: I noticed how you felt quite passionate about the interview, being controlled by the police and the raves being shut down. How can you relate to them, have you had an experience yourself that you feel like you're being controlled by someone who is in authority?

MK: Oh my God, all the time! [Laughter]

School was terrible, I mean my school was absolutely terrible in terms of being controlled and also hit by my teachers. 

Josh: What, you were hit?

MK: Hit, of course I'm slightly older than you, I was hit by my teachers.

Josh: With a cane as well?

MK: Cane as well. I’ve been slapped which is so common, so humiliating for someone obviously bigger than you, more powerful than you to hit you! You know they're going to win anyway and I knew I was going to lose anyway so what's the point? It was not an equal battle but I mean I do feel angry every time my ticket is controlled. From home to St Pancras station I have been photographed by I don't know how many hundreds of cameras then I have to go to the ticket barriers, then get on the train and within five minutes there's someone searching my ticket because I'm suspect, I mean everybody is a suspect, everybody is a potential thief, everybody has potentially cheated! I mean to think about it there’s so much distrust that you think that I've been able to evade all this surveillance and the ticket control and the controller on the train, I just think that this is a culture of suspicion which I absolutely despise and it makes me very angry, well this amongst other things. [Laughter]

And I guess there is one more point, the older generation. I feel very controlled by the political class that is slightly older taking decisions that don't represent me and I know don't represent your generation. Like what happen with Brexit referendum, I think the older generation who will not be so much affected by it. All of us actually have said the people that are going to have to live with the consequences more than us are the generation that are just coming after us. Let’s have some sort of consultations in school and get some indication into what young people are thinking, people who don't have a political voice yet because they're 16 or 15,  let's ask them to have the some sort of political debate about this and maybe each school to give some kind of result, an indication throughout the country as to how this younger generation thinks about this issue, that could have been taken into account but you see the older generation that have the power didn't care about this which I think is horrendous. It doesn't matter what side it was even if the results were pro Brexit I think we should have asked younger generation so I'm angry about that too!

Akraam: Were you at the Lulu dress rehearsal (ENO)?

MK: Oh right, yes I was. 

Akraam and Mo: Yeah, we remember you, you were sitting in front of us and you were wearing this same hat.

MK: Really, I think it was similar. 

Renee: And you had on a big coat. 

MK: Oh yes, I remember now, it was the light blue woolly coat. 

Josh: Where did you get your hat from and your clothes?

MK: It’s from a place in Covent Garden called United Nude. 

Josh: I’m googling it now? 

D&S: And when you were working with the young people do you wear these clothes?

MK: No, I tone it down.

Thanks Mikhail! 

After the discussion, the Invitation & Design team worked on the final idea for the poster for publicising the event and the message to accompany it. It was challenging to come to a decision for an image upon which we all agreed but we finally went with a combination of two images that each represented freedom and control. I’m really excited about the event, as I think the group have worked together to create a great collaborative work and I can’t wait to see how the afternoon turns out.

Jemima