#my friend called my floor setup a male living space >_> WHICH

[terminalkisser]

WOULD YOU VE WILLING TO DO A QUICK RUNDOWN AS TO HOW YOU SET UP YOUR CRT TO WORK you can dm me if yiu want <- autusm

HEHE id love to!!! ill put it under the cut since its essentially just a bunch of images (& ik Tumblr isnt fond of sending a ton of those at once in dms...)

but rlly its not that complicated ^__^ as long as ya have all the right cords!

it doenst have any brain of its own, so it has two cords on the back - one to plug into an outlet for power, and the other to plug into your computer for your display

the one that goes into the socket is your basic 3-pronger, but the other was given to me with an adaptor! usb goes right into laptop

the monitors colors are a bit off (leans darker with a heavier contrast) but its not TOO offputting, so i just mess with the gamma in the game itself. but i have to fudge around with the crt herself about the SCALING of it..

its meant for 4:3 , which you can see cuts off the UI. but luckily ultrakill luckily has different proportions in the options! sometimes youll have to nudge it left or right, but-

thereee ya go. if you want it EXTRA aesthetic, you can turn on dithering and crunch the quality a bit

when im feeling fancy, i plug in an external keyboard to my laptop and put it in front of the crt to pretend its a computer (and just hide the laptop behind her hehe)..

but uhm. usually my setup is on the floor. so i can kick my legs & play

[mcwriting]

Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!

In which the reader is the musical guest at Saturday Night Live the same week Tom Holland is hosting.

Ship: Reader x Tom Holland

Word Count: 5747 (what in the heck?? my longest piece ever lol)

Warnings: Mild alcohol consumption

Rating: K

Preface: I mention the NBC page program, which is like an intense internship/fellowship with the company where college grads work with at least 3 parts of the company over a year to get job exposure. A lot of famous actors and actresses were pages!

***

Walking into 30 Rockefeller Center on Wednesday afternoon was a surreal experience for sure. As a young NBC page led you through hallways and up to studio 8H, you were getting butterflies.

On one side of the hall was a sign for studio 8G, which hosted Late Night with Seth Meyers, but the page turned the other way, guiding you through doors to the Saturday Night Live studio.

There was hustle and bustle all around you as she took you to your green room, which had a sign printed with your name on it over an NYC skyline. You almost pinched yourself.

You had known for about a month that you’d be performing as the musical guest for SNL the upcoming weekend, but now that you were here for your first rehearsal, things were getting real. 

When your manager had asked if you wanted to play the show, she’d been met by your enthusiastic “YES! Are you kidding me?!” It was even better when she mentioned who the host would be:

Tom Holland.

You’d watched every season of SNL since you were probably in middle school. You could easily name off every cast member but would have to remember to keep your cool until after Saturday.

Another thing you’d need to stay cool about was Spiderman himself. You had the biggest crush on him, but who your age didn’t? He was charming and British, disregarding physical features. You were most nervous to meet him. 

The page let you put your things down and took you to Lorne Michael’s office where he and some of the production team wanted to talk to you about your set. You’d only get two songs, but one of the writers also asked if you’d want to be in a couple sketches, too.

Later that evening would be the normal pitch meeting, where writers who’d spent all Tuesday afternoon and night into the early hours of Wednesday writing finally got to show the host and cast their ideas. They’d narrow it down to eight, so you were surprised they wanted you in not one, but two sketches.

It wasn’t difficult to say yes to that. You wouldn’t be present for the pitch meeting, however, because in just a few short hours you’d be heading down to studio 6B to film a segment for Jimmy Fallon’s show. 

Your management team stayed behind at the hotel to work on details for a couple concerts you had and were planning to head up to the studio before your interview.

After the meeting, you were shown around to familiarize yourself with the studio and stage before starting your first rehearsal. For one song, it would be just you and a piano, but the other song would have a band playing while you sang and did some limited choreography. 

You sat in front of the keys of a beautiful grand piano, stretching your fingers. Someone requested you play one of your songs, so you looked around, as if asking for permission. Everyone in the room nodded for you to play, so you began the tune of your favorite song from your album.

Your voice wasn’t warm and there wasn’t a mic on you, but you got lost in the lyrics and chords like you always did. By the song’s end, you’d drawn a small crowd. They clapped and you blushed when you finished, closing the lid and standing to do a sheepish curtsy. 

Most of the small crowd dissipated and you were talking to some crew about stage setup when someone interrupted you.

“Sorry to bother, but that was incredible. Can’t wait to hear how good you’ll be this weekend,” said a male voice with a distinct London accent. You turned to find Tom Holland right in front of you. 

“Oh, well, thank you! I- I uh, didn’t expect to meet you so soon,” you stuttered, thrusting out a hand. “Y/n y/l/n.”

He gripped your hand firmly and shook it, nodding his head once, too.

“Tom Holland. You know I was excited when I heard you’d be performing the same week I host. The last film I did, we listened to your music like, all the time. You could say I’m a fan.”

Was this real? Tom Holland was a fan of you!? You chuckled.

“I could definitely say the same for you. I love your movies. ‘Been a fan for years.”

You both smiled happily and Tom was about to respond when the page who’d been showing you around the whole time came up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss y/l/n, they’ve asked to get your measurements in costuming if that’s okay.”

“Oh! Yes of course!” you said to her, then turned to Tom. “Sorry. It was nice meeting you! See you around?”

“Of course! Nice meeting you also!”

As the young girl led you away again, you missed where a younger brother of Tom said to him,

“Think you’re in love yet?”

***

After an eventful visit at the Tonight Show that included you and Jimmy playing box of lies and performing one of your songs for the audience, you headed back up to 8H alone. 

You’d remembered leaving something in your dressing room and had let your team go on back to the hotel without you. You’d felt confident that you could sneak back to your hotel safely without causing a big ruckus. It was only a few blocks away.

You were digging in your bag for your phone when you bumped into someone. Each of you said a quick “oh, sorry!” before looking to see who the other was.

It was Tom again.

You hadn’t realized before, but his room was the one right next to yours. It made sense, both of you being guests and all, but you were still caught off guard. 

“Headed out?” he asked. You felt yourself blushing a little.

“Yeah, well. I just finished at Fallon’s and they don’t need me back here until tomorrow so I’m heading back to my hotel to order pizza for my whole team and then crash,” you laughed. 

“Oh yeah? That sounds about like what we’re doing,” Tom gestured back to his brother and best friend, who you shook hands with gladly. 

You talked as you wound through the halls and quickly realized you were all staying at the same place.

“That’s crazy! We were just going to get a cab if you want to just come with us. I’m already paying for it, so...” he offered. You were surprised.

“What? No, no, I couldn’t just ride on your coattails like that,” you started.

“No seriously, y/n. It’s fine! We’re literally all going to the same place and no one can bother us from a taxi cab. You don’t even have to talk to us if you don’t want to.”

You looked at the other two boys questioningly and they nodded, encouragingly nodding for you to accept the offer. 

“Okay, okay! If all of you are fine with it, I’ll come.”

They cheered and you continued in happy conversation as you headed downstairs. A doorman called a cab for you and you piled in. Harry took the front and you offered to take the middle, sandwiched between Harrison and Tom.

Never in a million years had you expected to be in such close proximity to one, much less all, of them. It was a short drive and the driver took you to a back entrance, the place celebrities usually entered.

You still weren’t quite used to the star life. Up until you’d hit it big, it was normal for you to do pretty much everything yourself and stay in relatively cheap hotels like any other person.

Now, your management team handled most things and you were staying in five star places with secret celebrity entrances and prices that would probably make your grandmother faint.

Inside, you’d also realized you were on the same floor, both of you staying in large suites used by many elites over the years. You parted ways, anticipating seeing each other in the morning for rehearsals and later that evening when you’d be doing Seth Meyers’ show together.

***

The studio was buzzing when you entered Thursday morning. Your small team headed straight for the dressing room as you were taken away to a sketch read. Both sketches the writers had asked you about had been greenlit, so you were excited to work on them

“Morning, y/n. How was the pizza?” Tom asked cheekily when you first walked in. A couple of people passing by gave strange looks but said nothing.

“Well, who doesn’t love a good New York slice, huh? I’d say it was pretty darn good. And you?”

“We ended up getting room service, but pizza’s definitely next on my list,” he joked before you were handed scripts and asked to review them. The writers and cast were trying to figure out some basic spacing as you looked over your lines and cues.

You finally got to work rehearsing the two sketches. You broke a couple times when Kate landed a punchline and when Beck accidentally tripped. 

When they decided to move on from those, you where whisked away to wardrobe and makeup to shoot "bumper” stills and videos, the photos and clips between sketches and commercial breaks. 

You were excited to see how they envisioned your style and personality and would bring it to life. The photographer collaborated with you and shot some really incredible photos, both serious and goofy.

Next you were back in music rehearsals figuring out more about the staging and running some diagnostic sound checks. Once lunchtime came around, your stomach was growling.

You just barely caught Tom as you went for lunch, he was finishing up as you built your plate. As it always seemed, you only got a few words in with each other before someone was dragging Tom off for his own photoshoot.

You got to talk to Harry and Harrison for a little bit, too, until your manager asked to have a quick meeting about your schedule. Once you were free, you were taken to costuming to try a few things on and figure out hair styles that would fit the show.

There were more music rehearsals and you read the new scripts (as they had already been rewritten twice now). You were pretty tired by the time someone asked you to head across the hall to prepare for Late Night.

You grabbed a quick bite to eat on your way out of 8H and finished is by the time you were in the doors of 8G and a page led you to your green room, once again located next to Tom’s. 

Since you were both doing SNL together, you and Tom were going to be interviewed together, but you also had the added bonus of being the musical guest again. 

You only needed to rehearse a couple times to get the sound down (it’s not like it’s live, so you could easily restart if something went wrong). Once you were finished, they brought in the studio audience and you got a chance to go back to your green room and chill for a little while. 

Seth had a couple other guests, so while you were waiting, you knocked on Tom’s door to greet him and discuss the talking points each of your management had given Seth.

As the in-house band was warming up, Seth came into the room.

“Well I didn’t expect to see both of you in here,” he joked, shaking both of you hands. Tom had been on the show before, but this was your first time meeting the host. 

After a couple minutes, Seth was informed of the time and made his leave, going out to meet his audience and begin taping. After his monologue and the first guest, you and Tom were called to the stage.

“Now for our nexts guests we have both the host and musical guest of this weekend’s Saturday Night Live, Tom Holland and y/n y/l/n! Come on out here!”

Tom gestured for you to go ahead of him, so you walked out, waving to the cheering crowd. You took the seat nearest to Seth’s desk. 

“Well hello, there. Good to see you two,” he greeted as you settled in. “Welcome back, Tom, and welcome for the first time, y/n.”

“Wait this is your first time here?” Tom asked incredulously. You laughed.

“Yeah! Up until a few months ago like, no one knew who I was. Not even Seth!” you poked right back. Seth jokingly agreed. 

The interview went well, both of you telling some funny stories and explaining how the week was going. Finally, you cut for a commercial.

“Alright we’ll return with y/n and Tom after this short break!”

You were right back to the interview after the commercial “break.” Towards the end of it, you all got off on the subject of alcohol.

“You are 21, right?” Tom asked you. You rolled your eyes and gave an exaggerated hair flip.

“Yes, I am of the legal age. You should know as well as anyone what it’s like to have a baby face,” you roasted, causing the audience to go “ohh!” and Tom and Seth to raise their eyebrows.

“Wow looks like we’ve got a little rivalry now. The real question is who can handle their alcohol better. I think we oughta bring you two back for my day drinking segment to settle this!”

Both of you overconfidently pointed at yourselves when Seth asked who was better with alcohol.

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind!” you exclaimed before the interview finally wrapped up and you got ready to go sing. Tom and Seth stayed at the desk while you performed, which thankfully only took one shot.

As you wrapped up the show, you gave final waves to the audience and then headed offstage. You and Tom walked through the halls together and Seth caught up with you after finishing his outro.

He thanked you both for being on the show, you took a few pictures, then talked for a while. Seth was eventually called away to look at something, so you said your goodbyes to him and continued towards the green rooms.

“You were great tonight. Your voice is phenomenal,” Tom said to you. “and honestly I can’t believe you haven’t been doing talkshows that long. You’re a natural.”

“I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I love to talk about myself,” you quipped. “But seriously, thank you. Everything leading up to now has happened so fast, it’s hard to really gauge if things are going well or not.”

“I can relate to that. It’s hard, but having my family and brothers helps keep me grounded, you know? Harrison, too. They know that they can call me out and, yeah, I might get mad at first, but I understand that they’re keeping me from getting a big head.”

“Yeah I can’t imagine how overnight it must have been for you. My family and friends definitely don’t miss the chance to poke a little fun here and there to keep my ego down, too. You know, it’s nice talking to someone who understands for once. I love them, but unfortunately they’ll never fully get what it’s like, but you do,” you smiled.

You talked a little more, then spilt off to actually go to get ready to leave the building for the night. The upcoming Friday was going to be a long one.

Once again, you let your manager and assistant and everyone leave ahead of you. Regardless of whether you would hitch a ride with Tom again, you could find your way around easily.

You waited by the door until you heard their voices nearing and the boys came into the hallway.

“Oh y/n, you’re still here, too,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I was trying to decide what to do for dinner tonight before I head back to the hotel.”

“Well we’re going to grab some pizza if you want to join us,” Harrison offered happily, causing Tom to look at him funny. 

“Y/n probably doesn’t want to be bothered by us all day every day and plus, she had pizza last night, I’m sure she doesn’t want it again. Sorry, y/n, don’t feel pressured by this div,” Tom said apologetically.

“Honestly, I could eat pizza everyday, so that’s not an issue, and I honestly love hanging out with you guys. You remind me of my friends back home. If y’all want to eat together, I seriously would not mind.”

“Really?” Tom asked incredulously, then recomposed himself. “Well, yeah, sure. We were gonna head back to the hotel to change clothes and then figure things out from there, is that okay?”

“That sounds perfect, except I’m paying the cab fare this time.”

***

In most situations, a group of guys you’d only known a couple of days asking you into their hotel room would be a major red flag, and it probably still should have been, but you threw caution to the wind and went to Tom’s suite anyways.

Harry answered the door and let you in, and inside you found Tom and Harrison on the floor of the living space drinking beers. They both raised their cans up to you as you came in.

All three of the boys were in simple sweats and t-shirts, similar to you in your leggings and sweatshirt. It wasn’t much later that Harry went to the lobby to retrieve the pizzas they’d ordered and you were all digging in, seated around the coffee table talking.

You all discussed random things, poking fun at each other like you were old friends. It was like they’d already accepted you as one of their own.

“How you think this weekend’s gonna go, y/n?” Tom asked between swigs of his ale.

“I’d say pretty good. I’m hella nervous though. SNL is like its own universe.”

“You can say that again. This is like nothing I’ve ever done before.”

“Oh, come on. You two are both going to do great Saturday. Don’t think too much about it and just have fun,” Harrison encouraged as you continued eating.

Throughout the evening, you couldn’t help but pick up on the way you and Tom kept making eye contact. It was brief, but it was different than how you and Harry or Harrison looked at each other. There was something else there.

Your stomach fluttered. Who else could say that they spent an evening drinking with their biggest celebrity crush? And then continually exchange flirty looks?

At one point Tom even tossed a wink at you after cracking a joke, causing your heartbeat to quicken momentarily. 

After getting lost in conversation with the boys, you realized the time and prepared to excuse yourself back to your own room. The coming morning was going to be an early one, after all. 

“Oh man, I better head out. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” you commented, stretching as you stood up. The boys followed suit.

“Wow I didn’t even realize how long we’ve been sitting here,” Tom added.

“Yeah. Thanks again for letting me come over tonight. I haven’t gotten to do something like this in a while so it’s nice to just spend time with people who I don’t pay to hang around me all day, you know?”

“I understand and definitely can agree, since these divs are kind of paid to hang around me.”

You all laughed as Tom walked you to the door. 

“Well. See you bright and early...” you trailed.

“Yeah, see you then,” Tom answered, awkwardly sticking out his arms for a hug. You obliged, squeezing your arms around his neck as his held your waist.

And goodness did he give good hugs.

***

You were definitely tired walking into 8H Friday morning. The caffeinated drink in hand helped a little, but late night beers paired with waking up early didn’t quite go hand in hand.

It wasn’t really a hangover either, since you hadn’t been fully drunk, but it didn’t help the exhaustion from traveling, working the past two days, and a lack of sleep.

The first thing you had to do was rehearse your songs for Saturday as the set team worked on transporting and putting together large set pieces that had been made at the navy yard in Brooklyn.

Tom and the cast weren’t far away, figuring the live show with costuming and quick changes along with doing some pre-filmed sketches. The writers were continually making adjustments and figuring out how things would be done. 

They eventually called you over, too, to rehearse your sketches and film one of them. You had to get used to the costumes and cue cards and blocking of each. There had been some minor changes as well, so you had to be quick on your feet.

By lunchtime, all the cast took a well deserved break to sit and have a bite. The writers were having to shuffle around while they tried to eat as you and Tom sat down to talk some more.

“Hey, sorry to bug you, but do you guys mind if I take a picture or two for the SNL social media accounts?” a page asked while you were munching on sandwiches.

You and Tom looked at each other and shrugged.

“Fine with me,” you answered, Tom giving a similar reply. The two of you leaned in next to each other, holding up your sandwiches and laughing.

A few photos were snapped and you and Tom approved of them to be posted online. You thought nothing of it as you went to more rehearsals, working through the show’s order and trying to get down timing before Saturday’s dress rehearsal and show.

You couldn’t help but laugh watching the sketches, as this was your first time seeing the ones you weren’t a part of. Tom’s comedic timing and dry British humor paired well with the material he was given.

When the day came to an end, you were looking through instagram and gathering your things. You went to SNL’s page and put the post of you and Tom together onto your story, adding the text “Can’t wait for everyone to see my favorite sandwich partner host the show tomorrow!”

As before, you thought nothing of it and posted the story, heading out the door to ride back with Tom and the boys.

***

At the hotel, you and Tom had decided to not hang out for the evening since you’d be having a late, late night Saturday and wanted to get some sleep. You opened up social media as you laid in bed to wind down.

You decided to look at the picture of you and Tom from lunch again and read some comments, hoping there would be some funny ones and whatnot.

Instead, you found hundreds of comments saying “omg ship” and “my two faves together” and “this couple would be everything!!” 

You were honestly shocked to see people saying that about you, especially since you had never heard of your fans indicating that they wanted to see you two together.

Twitter was also buzzing over you and Tom’s picture, some fan pages just talking about either one of you, while others also talked about shipping you.

In your heart, you kind of enjoyed it, since you were hardcore crushing on Tom now, but you had no idea how he felt.

Did he like you back? Did he just think of you as just a friend or acquaintance? Was he secretly dating someone and you were just reading too much into it? 

It was much to think about, so instead you closed your phone and fell into a deep slumber.

***

You didn’t have to be in the studio as early as the past days since dress rehearsal wasn’t until 8pm and the show started at 11:30. You felt better rested than the day before, but butterflies were constantly erupting in your stomach.

You and Tom caught each other at the building’s entrance and went up the elevators together.

“Ready for tonight?” you asked, tapping a foot anxiously.

“Absolutely not. You?”

“Same here. Not only is it going to be watched by millions, but some of the most important people in my life are coming and I’m freaking out a little.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked softly. “And who would that be?”

“Well, my parents and some friends from home. I can sing in front of sold out stadiums but I still get nervous if I know they’re in a crowd. It’s stupid, I know.”

“No I totally get it. My parents and brothers will all be here, too, and my heart races when they watch my work. The best advice ever given to me, though was ‘turn nerves into excitement,’ and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

You nodded and smiled up at him.

“That is pretty good. Thanks,” you replied as the elevator doors opened. 

The halls were bustling with what seemed like every employee as you headed to your green room. It wasn’t long before you were being thrown updated scripts and rehearsing again.

Finally as dusk turned to night, the dress rehearsal audience seats began filling up. You were bouncing nervously in the hall as you watched the cast begin the cold open on a monitor.

“Nervous?” a male voice asked quietly next to you. It was Tom, of course. You bobbed your head from side to side.

“Excited,” you replied cheekily. He smiled and was about to say something else when a crew member came by to lead him to his starting place for the monologue. He gave a quick wave before heading backstage, instead. 

The dress rehearsal went okay, certain jokes and lines being cut and rearranged by the end for time. Thankfully the audience received everything well, for the most part. 

Your own music and sketches felt like a rush, but you were proud. Tom’s advice had really gotten to you, because you were bubbling with excited anticipation for 11:30 broadcast to begin.

There was about an hour between dress and the actual taping, so you scarfed down a few bites of food and tried to shake out some jitters. You also sipped some caffeinated hot tea and did vocal runs to stay in tip top shape. 

Your friends and family stopped by the green room to say hi before they joined the audience, giving you hugs and encouragement for the evening ahead.

As the clock neared 11:30, you were walking down a hall already dressed for your first song when you almost bumped into Tom.

“Oh, hey! Great job at dress! You’re gonna do amazing,” you immediately said, making him beam.

“Thank you! And you too! Your voice is on fire tonight, as if it’s ever not.”

“You haven’t heard me try to sing sick, then. I sound like a diseased animal.” You shook your hands and head to dismiss yourself. “But, uh, earlier I was gonna tell you ‘break a leg’ and then I remembered you used to dance, sooo... merde.”

Tom raised his brows and chuckled. 

“You know that phrase too?” You nodded. “Well then merde to you, too. Oh, and I was wanting to ask if tonig-” 

Tom was cut off by someone once again needing to drag him away to prepare for the show, causing you both to toss waves at each other again. Maybe he’d finish his thought later.

This was it. The real deal. 

You took that as a cue to find your place by the monitors until after Tom’s monologue and the commercial break, when you’d start moving to stand with the band.

The cold open landed well, and you felt chills hearing two of the cast yell,

“And live from New York, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!”

The classic jazz music of SNL played over the intro and Tom made his way down the iconic steps to do his monologue. 

Your heart fluttered seeing him stand on that stage with a wide smile, waving at the crowd. He was dressed in a blue suit and his curls were styled just right. He looked incredible.

The monologue landed well and you felt an even bigger flutter as you heard Tom lead into commercial, saying the iconic line,

“We have a great show for you tonight! Y/n Y/l/n is here! So stick around we’ll be right back!”

With that the camera panned out and cut, and chaos began as the crew moved everyone to set the first live sketch. In the meantime, a prefilmed sketch played, the one you had participated in.

The audience cheered and laughed at your surprise appearance in the sketch, which made you feel really good. You had moved now to a place where you could see the stage in person.

The camera panned in as the audience applauded and the next sketch began. Even after having seen it multiple times that week, you couldn’t help but laugh as the ridiculous character Tom played so well. 

When they cut to another commercial break, it was your time to get ready to sing the first song. 

Your stomach fluttered like it always did before a show, but Tom shot you a thumbs up before the break ended and boosted your confidence. A camera was pointed in his face as he calmly said,

“Ladies and gentlemen, y/n y/l/n,” as he gestured towards you.

The lights came up and you began playing, and you became lost in the music like always. It came and ended quickly, and suddenly you were listening to the cheers of the audience. You waved and bowed in thanks as the cameras panned again.

Up came the weekend update, your favorite part of any Saturday Night Live. The jokes for the segment were typically written on Saturday, so many of them were new to you. 

Tom came and stood next to you during the update with a bowl-cut red wig dressed in khakis and a sweater vest over a button up. You looked him up and down amused.

“Your performance was amazing,” he whispered.

“Thanks. You’re doing great out there. They love you,” you whispered back.

“I sure hope so. Hey I’ve been trying to ask if-” he started, but then was cut off by someone grabbing him and leading him towards stage for the next sketch. Your stomach fluttered again.

What could he possibly want to ask me?

The live sketch transitioned into a prefilm and then you were up again, this song was more energetic and included some choreography, and you felt confident in the shimmering gold bodysuit and boots you were wearing. 

You happily danced and sung after Tom reintroduced you to the crowd and got a large round of applause. There was only one sketch left of the show and you were in it, so the team rushed you into a quickchange booth offstage to put on your costume and a quick wig.

The sketch began and you stood to the side nervously. When your cue came, you burst onto the stage clumsily, as directed by the script. Your character made some inappropriate comments to Tom’s which garnered you many laughs again.

It was satisfying.

Once the sketch ended, all that was left were the goodnights, so you were again rushed off to change into a cute jumpsuit and reaffix your hair. Tom came out in a blue suit with the jacket unbuttoned, a black tee underneath. 

You rushed to take your place next to him as other cast members filed in around you, Lorne standing in the middle of the room watching to make sure everyone came out. The audience applauded as the music played and camera panned.

After they gave the final countdown, Tom began giving thanks to many people, from cast and crew, to family, and to you.

“I want to give a huge thanks to tonight’s musical guest, y/n y/l/n,” he exclaimed, gesturing to you. The crowd cheered and you laughed and waved, giving him a joking elbow. 

“I love you all! Goodnight!” he finally exclaimed. 

With that, the music was brought up and everyone began hugging as the credits rolled. You immediately turned to Tom and he to you, both of you throwing arms wide. 

You wanted to hug him forever, but realized that it would look fishy and there were many people you still wanted to hug and thank.

Both of you pulled back, giving each other a quick “good job!” before turning to others.

***

You were finally offstage and had said quick goodbyes to your family, who wouldn’t be staying for the afterparty. As you headed towards the greenroom for the last time that night, you were stopped by Tom.

“Hey! Y/n,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh my gosh there you are!” you said, turning to give him another hug, this one more emotional and less performative.

“I’m serious y/n, you were incredible. I know I’ve said it a million times but you have a real gift. Not to mention your acting skills,” he said into the crook of your neck.

You pulled away to look at him, arms still loosely wrapped around him.

“Well thank you, but you were great too. Everyone loved you. I loved you out there.” You paused for a moment, arms sliding from his shoulders as you continued to walk down the hall. “You know I had a lot of fun this week. Doing this and just hanging out. I was really nervous to meet you.” 

“I did too, and yeah, we were all super nervous to meet you, too. Like I told you before, we listen to your music a lot. But, uh, that being said. All night I’ve been trying to ask if you’d like to go to the afterparty with me?”

“Oh yeah that’s perfect! Are the guys coming too?” you asked enthusiastically, not detecting the nervousness in his voice.

“No, no. I mean, yeah they’ll be there but...” he stopped and you followed suit. “I’d like you to go with me with me. And ideally leave with me... alone.” 

Your eyes widened and breath hitched. Now it clicked. He was asking you out.

“Oh! Well then... I’d like that very much.” You smiled.

“Yeah?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah,” you answered.

Let’s just say you were singing a different kind of tune that night once you left to your empty hotel room “with him.”

***

A/N: omg omg omg I started this story forever ago but finally got around to finishing it! No new marriage project chapter this week, I thought I’d just post this to hold y’all over ;) Thanks for reading!

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[thecosmicsen]

🎂  happy belated birthday month to fellow ghosty boy,  aka the soft boy Jaewoo is stuck to in any AU,  the one and only @phantombs​  !  🎂

*  :  ✮ ┆   the one in which they both bond with the afterlife  .

call it the synchronisation of two backgrounds harmonising that cultivated this very moment of Jaewoo enthusiastically bursting through Cường’s front door.  the trust that Cường has in him to provide key access speaks volumes of unfathomable confidence despite the striking contrasts between what the two deem as amicable greetings.  typically,  Jaewoo is akin to a sudden blast of nippy wind that tends to slap someone across the face with its sharp stinging icy breeze whereas Cường is the type to snore through category five typhoons.  this indisputable fact about the elder male is what provides Jaewoo with the brazen guts to invade his home so unabashedly since he knows that nothing will stir the unconscious figure.  as according to plan.

detecting the lump in the midst of the blankets,  Jaewoo now enters stealth mode as he navigates his way around the bedroom.  setting down the canister of helium with a slightly louder thunk,  he sucks in his cheeks in horror as he tersely waits to see if it elicits a stir or two out of Cường.  it doesn’t.  with a smug sense of achievement,  he proceeds with the first step of filling up confetti-filled balloons so he can robustly tie them in batches of three with blue ribbons.  what the true finishing touch is the polaroids of the abundant pictures he has taken of Cường over the span of time they have spent together.  besides the absolutely candid shots varying from Cường overlooking the speckles of freshly budded cherry blossoms to him randomly snoozing in an upright position on the park bench,  the polaroids consist of vintage filtered memory snapshots ranging from . . . 

one.  tiny coffee puddles lingering at the bottom of almost emptied mugs.  licked up cupcake crumbs.  overcast cherry blossom shadows merging with the tabletop.  the lining of plush armchairs overlooking the open cafe balcony.  pink-tinged cheeks from the open breeze.  a slumped over snoozing figure,  his mouth slightly agape as he snugly fits in the width of his chair.  it’s ironic really,  sleeping right after a caffeine dose  ?  classic Cường.

two.  rain-streaked panels.  the lazy streaks of dusk filtering through clearing horizons.  idly bustling of Cường’s back faced to him as he gently rifles through his collection of mugs.  thick woolly covered socks perched up together.  a low hum of a cheery tune.  the cheeky grin he flashes when Cường turns around with the familiar scolding look.  “  you’re going to be chilled to the bone,  wrap up the blanket tighter around yourself.  ”  the elder male warns him and he obliges.  

three.  dusted piano keys.  a pair of hands gliding across the ivory.  the other pair patiently listening,  and listening,  and listening.  time stands still in the air,  the concept being sapped away between the gaps of the keys as Cường plays the tunes of a piece so bittersweet.  reminiscing curls his lips downwards until Cường gently grabs hold of his hand and gingerly swaps it with his own.  “  learn to play with me,  ”  he jerks Jaewoo out of his transfixed spiralling stance that threatens to plunge him into a nostalgic dimension. 

four.  flash.  flash.  flash.  another piercing flash.  it washes him out,  bringing out the sallow side of his physical manifestation.  he’s suddenly very self-conscious.  all he is doing is walking along the river,  breeze tickling through his hair.  the only person he notices is Cường with his mobile phone pointed in his direction.  “  wait,  I’m not ready for a picture.  ”  Jaewoo protests,  immediately raising his hand up into a peace sign with a chirpy grin.  Cường snaps a few more before shaking his head,  a fond smile taking over.  “  you silly boy,  does the sun ever need to prepare its shining brightness  ?  nor do you.  ”

five.  buzzing electric hums crackle.  indignant yells from preteens cause a crease between Cường’s brows.  blaring beeps and glowing neon signs cram up any leftover space in the arcade.  they promise many bountiful rewards.  get your hands dirty,  you might win an oversized stuffed narwhale.  Jaewoo rubs his hands gleefully,  akin to a persistent fly about to dig into a tasty feast.  “  I know just the thing you need on the days you sleep for fourteen hours.  ”  pivoting to the flashiest claw machine with Line characters packed like sardines,  he eagerly hunches over with his tongue sticking out in concentration.  he will win this.  inserting his leftover cash in enthusiastically,  he aims the metallic grip of death to the nearest stuffed bunny.  taking in a noisy deep inhale to quell his adrenaline,  he jabs at the pretentiously gaudy red button for the claws to suffocate the bunny to victory.  it works  !  he didn’t expect it to in full honesty but now he can smugly brandish it to the amused male.  “  let’s call him Lele.  now you will never be alone.  ”

. . .  a shrill whistle sounds from Jaewoo as he clambers towards Cường’s bedroom window.  a hoard of worn out older dogs struggle to float up to the window’s height.  but with the aid of Jaewoo’s awaiting palms,  they are safely directed into the warm haven of Cường’s birthday setup.  what’s left is the lighting of candles and the birthday.  the ghost had considered buying a massive rectangular cake to fit the few hundred candles on it but he reckoned that Cường wouldn’t be up for using all of his lung power on blowing out that many candles so he settled for placing fifty seven instead.  not a jibe to the other’s age at all.  

clapping his hands together,  Jaewoo motions at the expectant dogs to go huddle up against the sleeping figure in bed.  beyond eagerly,  they all contentedly clamber besides Cường as they are familiar with the man and his previous visits to the shelter.  the wholesome sight warms his heart and he hurriedly moves to snap a picture of the cosy sight before Cường can object.  by the looks of it,  he still hasn’t fully stirred from his slumber yet so Jaewoo takes the cue to finally begin the slow singing of the birthday cheer. 

“  happy birthday to you,  happy birthday Choi Cường,  happy birthday to you.  ”  the dogs happily grumble along to Jaewoo’s trilling voice in an unique harmonisation to celebrate the cheer of Cường entering another year of life yet again.  

Cường finally arises with groggy eyes,  hair sticking out in random tufts and incomprehesible noises that only those fully acquainted with deep sleep can fathom.  Jaewoo approaches him with his birthday cake,  eyes glazed with delight.  

“  make a wish !  ”  Jaewoo shoves the cake in front of him and Cường indulges him by huffing out the candles in three goes before tugging him onto the pile of puppies on the bed.  “  please don’t tell me you wished for more sleep.  ”  

alas,  Cường has already fallen back into a half-drowsy state but it’s okay.  the cake can wait.  

*  :  ✮ ┆   the one in which they both bear the weight of the crown  .

huff puff.  huff puff.  huff puff.  look at what lengths the young prince goes to.  it takes a lot of cautious scrambling on the ivy-clad bricks.  it surely would have been a call for an immediate plummet to death. had the prince not been thoroughly experienced with years and years of experience in exiting the castle grounds for invigorating quests for adventures,  he wouldn’t have made it beyond a single ledge.  as lithe as a cat,  he even managed to maintain his hold on a staggering wide window ledge that showcased an approaching candlelight,  presumably one of the many patrolling guards.  security had greatly intensified ever since that eye-opening hectic night of ultimate meetings of meetings.  the only leeway he was able to breakthrough and finally make through the fortress was through months and months of extensive study with the aid of prince Cường’s silent cues on illustrating ways on how the other may keep visiting him in his lonely desolate tower.  

evidently,  the legwork pays off since Jaewoo is able to navigate his way through the labyrinth of tenacious security personnel.  it’s extraordinarily exciting to be going through such leaps and bounds to visit your secret werewolf best friend,  son of the rival kingdom that your family swore an oath against  !  

entirely pleased with himself and his progress,  the young prince proceeds with his voyage to the grand tower window after ensuring with a peep that the patrolling guard has moved on.  he makes a quick mental note of how the fourth floor garrison seem to take around seventy five seconds for a quick sweep before moving on with his cat climb. 

it must have been a nasty shock for Cường to have his grand balcony doors thumped on frantically in the dead of the night.  Jaewoo can faintly make out the startled grunt followed by groggy scuffling towards the set of gold-plated doors.  the sight that Cường is faced with upon opening the doors with hesitance is one straight out of the many books that he’s read with Jaewoo in their more relaxed princely hang out sessions.  the moon crescent gently laminates Jaewoo’s tall and proud silhouette with its sheer pearly luminescence glimmering off the many encrusted jewels on his figure. 

“  prince Cường,  head of all mythical protection,  the defender of deep sleep and all other his realms,  you have officially lived to see and enter another blessed year  !  ”  Jaewoo enthuses,  his eyes dancing wild in delight with his self-perceived inspirational opening.  “  despite the beast inside,  quite literally if I may add,  you have persisted and floated through the face of adversity.  a very very joyful and happy birthday to you.  as my gift to you,  I must insist on you going out with me on this clear mid spring evening.  ”

to be expected,  Cường stares at him incredulously before opening his mouth to come up with a gurgle of excuses ranging from it being too late and the best birthday gift he can give is to have the longest nap.  this is all naturally dismissed by Jaewoo with a wave of hands although he switches up his tactic with pleading beseeching eyes. 

“  I swear in the name of all things that I love,  this will be a minimal effort journey for you,  your highness.  ”  Jaewoo holds his hand on his chest to declare his oath.  “  outside your grounds,  I have brought a sled with a comfortable makeshift that I specially made for you.  please please please.  I shall carry you along the entire time.  you only need to walk the distance to and from your bedroom to outside the grounds but even for that,  I can piggyback you for when we are out of sights from your garrison.  ”  

Cường sighs in defeat,  knowing that it takes far more energy to Jaewoo who doesn’t take no as an answer either way.  the duo had been continuously going out for either one of Jaewoo’s gutsy expeditions in his quest for seeking fantastical legends or heading for a cosy hangout in his secret shed hangout.  so it is a familiar cause-and-effect process that Cường has grudgingly gotten accustomed to.  

soon enough,  the two are bundled up warmly and exit their usual and lesser dangerous route from within the castle instead of dangling off precariously on tower walls.  as they veer near the edge of the perimetres of the castle grounds,  Jaewoo begins to piggyback him as promised.  with Cường’s thick plush cape enveloping his body too,  Jaewoo enthusiastically leaps towards the awaiting royal sled concealed underneath the moss of an oak.  

“  see,  I made it like almost exactly like your real bed which you love to lay in so much  !  “  Jaewoo gingerly lowers down Cường after ensuring every speck of leftover moss is flicked off.  almost immediately,  Cường nestles himself underneath the main heavyweight blanket with his eyes flitting shut which is a sure sign that Jaewoo must have accurately devised a mobile sleeping quarters for the lethargic prince.  with the toothiest grin,  Jaewoo leaves his nap to him in peace before securing the sled to his armour.  

as they traverse through the grounds,  a route that Jaewoo deliberately scoured for its even ground to avoid jilting Cường too much,  the night begins to sink in deeper.  an expert in creating handheld torches,  Jaewoo lights the way for himself and his drowsy reluctant companion through the sweeping grand grounds of eclipsing trees.  thankfully, the destination in mind for the birthday isn’t too far off so much of the night isn’t wasted on the journey time itself.  

they arrive to a clearing that opens up the dull moonlit night with a large lake in sight.  there is already a boat awaiting for them  (  a product of Jaewoo’s meticulous birthday planning  ).  the barely illuminated body of water does not do justice for the usual daytime blue-green depths as the night overcasts its murky shadow.  in fact,  it would have been totally understandable if Cường was to believe that Jaewoo dragged him out in the midst of the night to kill him in this open valley.  ironically,  the birthday boy does reflect similar sentiments as he questions Jaewoo as to why they have come here but he does thank Jaewoo for bringing him out in the open air.  

“  behold my dear friend,  you shall see why I brought you here.  ”  Jaewoo holds out a hand in plea before sticking the burning torch into the ground near the docked boat.  “  I’m going to transfer you to the boat now.  I made it extra comfy for you,  do not fear.  ”   admittedly,  the wooden boat does look slightly shabby from what the torch’s amber lighting shows up.  yet the confines of the boat are layered thick with nothing but fleece plush-lined winter blankets and opulent feather pine-stuffed pillows directly from Jaewoo’s palace.  

transferring Cường to the boat takes no more than a second,  the birthday prince not weighing more than mere grapes to Jaewoo who is amped up on adrenaline.  blowing the touch out,  must to Cường’s skepticism,  he hops into the boat eagerly before grabbing the oars to paddle them out and away from shore.  the atmosphere drastically dips to an eerie cloudless night with not a source of light to be found yet Jaewoo keeps on paddling and paddling and paddling.  

“  what do you bring me here for  ?  ”  Cường questions yet again,  sounding helplessly bewildered.  Jaewoo swats at him.  

“  ssshhh,  you’ll see in a moment.  don’t be too loud now  !  ”  Jaewoo playfully jibes despite being several pitches higher than Cường.  setting the oars now with definitive decisiveness,   he stops paddling as he opts to shoulder another blanket around himself.  “  any moment now . . .  ”

as if just to vehemently rebel against Jaewoo’s words,  the pair are left in the sweeping frigid silence in the enveloping darkness.  the lake is completely still.  the air almost stagnant from its lifelessness.  Jaewoo frets about Cường falling asleep again.  before he can reach out for Cường’s arm to harshly pinch.  it begins to appear.  

the fireflies begin to leisurely appear.  each warm glow emitting slowly one by one until it begins to reflect against the clear lake depths,  stark in its crystal clear glowing luminescence.  it starts off with ten good fireflies darting around until a few hundred more show up to entirely brighten up the entire body of water like one of the radiant lantern festivals celebrated in the kingdom.   some begin to glimmer near the boats which causes a cascading effects of pale yellow to light up all around them.  finally Jaewoo can glimpse the entirety of Cường’s face who looks utterly in awe.  he gently holds a finger out,  witnessing how a firefly immediately beckons to his fingertip.  it warms up the features of his face significantly.  

this once,  Jaewoo remains serenely silent as he soaks in the magical sight of the fireflies and their endless etched out glittery reflection on the still lake’s surface.  glancing back to Cường,  he brings out the hidden sack of pastries so he can gingerly stuff one in his mouth. 

“  happy birthday,  your highness  !  ” 

*  :  ✮ ┆   the one in which they are both reliant on coffee and stacks of books  .

yeah,  birthday,  it's your birthday.  if I die,  bury me inside the Louis store,  they ask me what I do and who I do it for and how I come up with this shit up in the studio.  all I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe  !

it is six in the crisp fresh early morning.  the scatter of April’s cherry blossoms softly breeze past the windows.  in the far off distance,  the blue buses agilely shuttle to their timely scheduled stops.  what is there to greet the overambitious joggers is the bountiful stretching of the clear blue skies and its cheery sunshine companion.  what a landscape of utmost urban tranquility. 

skrr,  skrr,  wrists movin,  cookin',  gettin' to it cookin', I'm in the kitchen,  yams everywhere  !

this lyric accurately reveals where the culprit of the booming bass music is located.  what should be another college boy routine of panicked last minute waking up,  rolling out of bed,  brushing teeth and forgetting to comb before running out of the house is not happening.  it’s pulverised along with the vibrating bass that resonates through the tight budgeted walls. 

ah,  Yeezy,  Yeezy,  how you do it,  huh  ?  it's my birthday,  I deserve to be greedy,  huh  ?

whether the actual birthday boy is begging for the chance to be greedy or the chaotic sound source in the kitchen is debatable.  the April birthday boy is was soundly fast asleep in his bedroom underneath the newly gifted weighted blanket and he must be too groggy with early morning drowsiness.  he groans as the bass violently shakes his bed before waiting a few moments to see if the music will miraculously switch off.  perhaps this spring day will bless him with a power shut off to banish the ruckus.  

I show up with a check to your work place then hand the valet the keys to the merces.  tell the DJ play your song,  this shit come on.  what I'm seeing from the back I can't front on.  they ask me what I do and who I do it for  !

as fast as Cường’s lethargic feet will transport him to the kitchen despite it being a mere few steps in their apartment,  it feels like eternity to him.  as he languidly inches towards the kitchen,  the deafening birthday song begins to ring his ears.  it elicits a slight grimace out of him.  his only plan is to lower the music volume to five before noiselessly dragging himself back to bed to flop down to prolong his sixteen hour nap. 

however,  his plans are rapidly crushed to itty bitty microscopic bits the moment he stumbles across the sight of Jaewoo haphazardly dancing along with ardent strong passionate strokes in the midst of the glammed up kitchen.  stray confetti and metallic balloons litter the countertops and corners.  a stack of presents line up on the island as a standout centrepiece on the counter set up for two.  the warm scent of fresh souffle pancakes fill up the air and berry compote compete to overwhelm senses along with the brewing green tea.  when Cường is set to open his presents after breakfast,  he will come to find out that Jaewoo has purchased a drawstring hoodie pillow,  an interesting choice of a pillow,  another ostrich pillow for classes,  an aromatherapy eye pillow,  microwaveable slippers,  a book light for philosophical bedtime reading,  a golden ratio notebook,  a poster,  and a self-heating coffee mug. 

“  finally,  I was beginning to wonder how long it would take to bait you out of bed  !  ”  Jaewoo chirpily waves at the dopy figure in the middle of his twirling hands up motion,  who is seemingly flabbergasted.  it’s an overload of various stimuli to all take in at once at six in the morning.  but to his credit,  Jaewoo begins to lower the volume to a decent level that won’t burst eardrums.  

“  who are those presents for  ?  they better be for you.  I told you,  you didn’t have to do anything for me.  silly boy.  ”  Cường finally remembers how to vocalise after awakening slightly.  

wiggling his finger at him,  Jaewoo jubilantly shakes his head with a smug smile before grabbing hold of the other’s shoulders to steer him to sit down on the island stool.  “  so you are allowed to do whatever you want for my birthday but I can’t do the same  ?   if you do not accept these presents then I will have no choice but to start playing Tinashe at full volume.  you know how her songs get me going.  ”

it appears to be that Cường receives the message so he expectantly grabs his chopsticks.  with a triumphant grin,  Jaewoo pours out a cup of green tea to him before pouring out a bowl of seaweed soup for him.  “  eat up birthday boy,  live a very long healthy prosperous life.  who else will I take to astronomy club  !  I need you alive  !  ”  with his eyes sparkling mischievously,  he then whispers out one final.  “  happy birthday Cường.  ”

[tyrustrash]

Double Rainbow

Hey, all! Here’s my first Julie and The Phantoms fic! @caro-reads @random-nerd-3 I tagged y’all cause y’all seemed interested in the idea. It’s also on AO3 if anybody wants to read it on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726482

He thought once he told them everything would be alright. His parent were assholes, which he figured they would be. That night had less yelling than expected, but just the right amount of disappointment. His father called him every slur in the book as he threatened to make things physical and his mother just cried and wondered where she went wrong. He gathered up everything that he thought was valuable before he stormed out of the house due to his father’s orders.

He walked to the closest park and rested on one of the benches. The rain came down hard. Good for him because it covered up his tears. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that his father wouldn’t immediately be open with having a gay son but hoped he would lighten up because they always told him they would always love and support him. He guessed he wasn’t the only one that lied.

With the flash of lightning, Alex jumped from the bench. He nearly dropped his phone on the concrete sidewalk. Without thinking about what he would say, he called one person he hoped wouldn’t be like his parents.

“What’s up,” the voice on the phone said. He knew Luke would answer even if it was late.

He couldn’t form a complete sentence due to his sobs. “Lu-Luke. I c-can’t. Please.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” The concern in his voice seems sincere. It made him hope that it was real. “Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t come out to him. He just lost his parents and he wasn’t ready to lose his best friends. “My parents just kicked me out.”

“What!” His shouting was loud enough to fill up the empty park. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

Alex got even more upset that he couldn’t tell him the whole truth. “I’m at Frankly Park, in the rain.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What are you-” He couldn’t finish speaking because Luke hung up. He wanted him to stay on the phone longer. He wanted him. He wanted someone that would care about him.

A few minutes later, a car pulled up to the sidewalk. He recognized it as Emily’s car. He walked to it and got in the passenger’s seat. He noticed Luke in the driver’s seat with the most worried face he has ever seen.

“I’m sorry for getting the inside wet,” Alex said without looking at him. His voice was so faint that it felt like a ghost talking.

“I don’t care about that,” Luke told him. “I care about you. What happened? Are you hurt? Do I need to get Reggie?”

Hearing him mention Reggie made him begin crying again. It just hit him that his friends were all he had left and he couldn’t mess things up. He didn’t know how to tell them, nor did he know if they would even be cool with it.

“I just need somewhere to stay.”

“I know a place.” With that, Luke drove off.

A short drive brought them to a garage in a neighborhood. There wasn’t a house attached to it. Walking inside, there was some sort of setup for playing instruments with some couches on the side and a little bed area on the top floor. Alex looked at it in awe.

“What is this place?”

Luke went to the fridge and gave Alex a bottle of water. “Welcome to Sunset Curve’s new rehearsal studio. I was going to show you guys this weekend as a surprise. The original owners didn’t need it anymore and let me buy it off them real cheap. I wanted to set things up before we actually got started in here.”

Alex sat on one of the couches and took it all in. He looked up to the partial second floor which only consisted of bedroom supplies. He figured he could stay there. “Thanks for getting all this.”

“No problem.” Luke sat next to him. “My parents wanted us to find a new place because they wanted the house to be quiet. You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nah, it’s our space now. You’re free to crash here for however long you need.”

Alex couldn’t be more grateful. Luke went out of his way to find them this space and was okay with him living there. Without thinking, he leaned over and gave him a hug. When Luke placed his hands on his back, it made Alex pull away quickly. He just realized he gave his male, and straight, friend a super close and tight hug. It got him thinking if he gave off any signs.

“It’s okay,” Luke said. “If you need a hug, I’m open. I don’t mind.”

Before he could let out any more tears, Alex got up and made his way to the bed on the second floor. “It’s alright. I just need to rest and clear my mind.”

Luke nodded and headed out. Before closing the door, he looked Alex in the face and said, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m all ears. And don’t ever forget that I love you. Reggie loves you. Hell, even Bobby to an extent loves you. You have people here for you.”

When Luke left, Alex started crying again. He thought about what Luke said. Would they really love him when he comes out? Would they end up being like his father? The world didn’t like people like him and most didn’t bother hiding their hate.

His father would make snarky remarks all the time about gay people and make it known that he believed straight was normal. One time when they saw two guys holding hands, his father covered Alex’s eyes and cursed at the guys because he thought they were going to poison him with their disease. When Alex asked what was wrong with them, his father simply explained that they were sick and needed help. When Alex said that he thought nothing was wrong with that, his father took him to church and had him pray for an hour until he caved and said what his father wanted to hear.

He remembered the first time he felt feelings for another boy. He was in eighth grade and there was a particular football player that he gravitated towards. Unfortunately, the football player happened to be his only friend at the time. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but to stare at him whenever they spent time together. He felt his insides shake just thinking about him. He finally understood what the other boys were talking about when they talked about girls. He worked up the courage to start a conversation with him to explain how he felt, but before he approached the boy, he saw that he had an anti-gay poster in his locker. That crushed his spirit and ended their friendship. Now he was worried that his current friends would think the same. He never heard them say anything alarming, but people could put on a show. So much was running through his mind that he needed to let it out somehow. He grabbed his journal and started writing exactly what his heart felt and every emotion running through his body.

Even though he shouldn’t, he wrote about what would happen if the guys ended up not liking him. He wrote about how much their friendship meant to him and how hurt he’ll be if they kicked him out. He wrote an apology to them for lying and not having enough faith in them. After a few tears hit the pages, he placed it on the little table and went to sleep.

A few weeks passed and Alex has yet to come out. He’s been alright around the guys and grew closer to them because of their extra time together. He felt safe with them, or that’s what he thought.

Over time in the garage, Alex has bought different rainbow and Pride-themed things to place around the garage to see how the others would react. It wasn’t much, just some cups, plates, blankets, and stickers for their instruments. It was his way of giving hints without saying anything, and to see if they would mention anything. He made sure that they didn’t see him bring it all in. He almost bought glitter but thought it would be too much.

One day, Alex was on the couch playing air drums when Bobby and Reggie came in and went to the fridge. They poured some orange juice in the rainbow cups.

Reggie took a sip and nudged Bobby. “Hey, man, do you know where all this random rainbow shit came from? It’s getting a little too fruity in here for my liking.”

Alex’s ears perked. He started feeling his heart sink lower into his stomach.

Bobby groaned. “Dunno, but hopefully more don’t show up. Don’t want to be turned.”

Bobby laughed and Reggie stayed silent as they made their way to the rehearsal area. Alex wanted to die. He didn’t want to believe that his only friends had those thoughts. He started having more thoughts the other day when Luke said he never wanted to think about kissing another boy. Alex stayed quiet as he listened to Bobby and Reggie.

“What does that mean?” Reggie asked. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad.”

Bobby shook his head. “Yes, it would. Do you think that that’s right?”

“I mean,” Reggie said, which made Alex worry even more. “I don’t know. With everything the news says, I don’t know exactly what to think, but I do think a little that being homosexual is weird. I mean, girls are hot. I don’t know why guys wouldn’t be into them. However, it’s none of my business what they’re into. And I’m not going to assault them or say anything to them either.”

“I’ll say something.” Bobby’s voice was cold. Alex took note of Reggie’s facial expression of confusion. “As you said, girls are hot. Guys are supposed to like girls.”

“Says who?” They all turned to the backdoor and noticed Luke in the door frame. His tone was a mix of sarcasm and pissed off. “I didn’t know there was a rule stating who we had to like?”

“Come on, man. Don’t defend them as if you’re friends with them. I heard what you said. I remember our talks.”

Alex for sure wanted to die. His heart raced faster knowing that the three of them had talks where they expressed their dislike for people like him. He wanted to get up and run away, but that would look too suspicious.

Reggie got between Bobby and Luke. “Guys, let’s just calm down and talk reasonably.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about what the two of you have said to me, especially since all this rainbow shit started showing up.”

Luke approached Bobby. “Look, I didn’t really mean anything that I said. It was all for fun.”

“What did you say?” Reggie asked.

Luke rubbed the back of his head. “It was nothing. Just some jokes about how the queers like to shove themselves down our throats. That I feel like they check me out when I go to the gym and felt uncomfortable. Nothing serious. But it’s not as bad as what Bobby says.”

Bobby chuckled as if he wasn’t ashamed. “Yeah, but at least I have the balls to say something. Those freaks shouldn’t be out in public. I shouldn’t be afraid to be shirtless at the beach in case one of them tries flirting with me. If I catch one of them even thinking about me, I’ll beat the crap out of them. Those faggots can rot in hell.”

That was it. That was the final straw. Alex started hyperventilating and tried leaving. He stumbled on his way but managed to get out. He didn’t make it far, only to the trees behind the garage. Gasping for air, he passed out.

When he woke up, he was shocked. He was back in the garage and was on the bigger couch. He looked over and saw Luke and Reggie sitting at the table, both seem interested in something. Upon closer look, his eyes widened when he realized they were reading his journal. His heart couldn’t catch a break today.

He couldn’t do anything because they saw him. Their faces look like they’ve been crying for a while. Luke still had some tears rolling down his cheek. Alex’s feet couldn’t move for some reason when they started coming towards him. Next thing he knew was these two straight guys giving him the tightest hug that he has ever had. Alex joined them in the tears.

“We’re so sorry,” Luke said without letting go. “We’re so freaking sorry for what we’ve said. What Reggie and I said truly were meant as jokes, poor and tasteless jokes that shouldn’t have been said.”

Reggie was next. “We love you so much, Alex. We’re sorry for being the worst friends ever. We understand if you hate us. But let me tell you that you are our best friend and we never meant to hurt you.”

Alex’s sobs filled up the garage. He didn’t know what to believe. After hearing all the hurtful things that they have said, it was hard for him to be around them. But he could tell in their voice and face right now that they were genuinely sorry.

“Why?” Alex asked as he broke the hug. “Why would you even say those things? Or even think those things? Are you only saying this now because I’m your friend?”

Reggie got down on his knees and took one of Alex’s hands. “Alexander Oscar Cobb, you are our friend no matter who you are. We were monsters for what we’ve said, and we’re truly sorry and we want to change.”

Luke got down next and took his other hand. A little tear left his eye. “We don’t know why we said those awful things before. Please, you have to believe us when we say that we don’t hate you and we don’t hate others like you. We were just stupid boys that listened to the wrong crowd.”

“What about Bobby?” Alex asked as he stood and walked across the room. The other two followed him.

“He’s out,” Luke said. “We kicked him out of the band and the friend group. We don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Yeah,” Reggie chimed in. “He saw nothing wrong in his thoughts and didn’t want to change. He continued talking shit when he found out the truth.”

Luke moved to be in front of Alex and looked him in the eyes and said, “We promise to never make a dumbass comment again. We’ll learn and grow and do whatever it takes. You’re not just our friend, you’re our brother.”

So many thoughts ran through Alex’s mind that it felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t risk making the wrong move, but he was pretty sure he was going to be happy.

“Thanks, guys,” Alex said as he took their hands again. “And I promise to be honest from now on. Your words mean so much to me and I hope we can all use this as a learning experience.”

At that, they had another group hug and gave supportive remarks to each other. Alex turned his head and stared out the window. He smiled seeing the double rainbow in the sky.

[sesamesaysme]

BOOKS FINISHED IN AUGUST 2019 + word cloud of their subjects

(listed in the order that I finished reading them)

Most of this month’s books were so good that I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them make end up making my Top 10 books that I read within this year. 

BAD FEMINIST by Roxane Gay / July 21, 2019 - August 1, 2019 / audiobook version / Summary - Essays exploring being a feminist while simultaneously loving things that could seem at odds with feminist ideology. / Reaction - Roxane Gay’s writing is SO RELATABLE! She allows that we may have principles we strongly support but we are human. Sometimes we find ourselves grooving to songs while knowing the lyrics are degrading or that are made by artists whose actions we don’t agree with. Sometimes we enjoy shows or movies that we know are mediocre and whose messages are flawed. Sometimes we believe in strong women but we want a man to lean on. These are the kinds of things she discusses in this collection of essays. I also previously read her book Hunger and loved that one too. I need to credit her as the writer who made me start enjoying essay collections. 

ANCILLARY JUSTICE by Ann Leckie / July 29, 2019 -  August 6, 2019 / Summary - A sci-fi book set thousands of years in the future in a time and place where the empire uses AIs to control human bodies as soldiers. First book of a trilogy. / Reaction - The reason I was drawn to reading this book is because I heard that it really makes you think about our use of binary pronouns. There are some characters in this book who do not distinguish between gender. Sometimes the same character will be referred to as she by someone and he by someone else and then she again by another person. Furthermore children are not referred to by gender. It disoriented me and I really appreciate that! Sadly that was the only aspect of the book I really liked. The world and characters felt cold to me. I couldn’t feel anything for any of them and I won’t be reading the rest of the trilogy.

SHOE DOG by Phil Knight / July 23, 2019 - August 6, 2019 / audiobook version approx. 13hrs / Summary - Memoir by Nike co-founder Phil Knight which chronicles the story of the Nike company from even before it was named Nike. / Reaction - I didn’t realize I’d be so interested in a book about how the Nike brand was developed but now I think it’s probably going to end up in my Top 10 books I read this year. How was I supposed to know that Shoe Dog would turn out to be an underdog story? In fact, you can even think of this as following the format of one of those heartwarming sports team movies or anime in which one team member after another is recruited into the fold, each with their own quirks. They meld and develop, then defeat their opponents against all odds. Phil Knight writes that these guys are all losers in some way or other, himself included, and almost none of them are athletic, yet they end up being the perfect team to build one of the top athletic brands in the world. They tackle all sorts of business-y problems with gumption and perseverance and are constantly trying to top their rivals adidas. Of course, since the author is one of the Nike owners, it is all from his POV, so you gotta be careful not to come out of reading it thinking the entire company is right in all of its actions. I’m sure there are criticisms about Nike that are still very valid. But that doesn’t take away from the book being a good read.  

CARRY ON, WARRIOR: THOUGHTS ON LIFE UNARMED by Glennon Doyle Melton / August 7, 2019 - August 10, 2019 / audiobook version approx 8hrs / Summary - Glennon Melton believes that if we stop striving to project a mirage of perfection we can get closer to people and build better lives. / Reaction - From the title alone, I thought this would be a book about gun laws! It wasn’t. It’s a nonfic by a mother who is a recovered substance abuser and now shares her struggles with friends/neighbors/readers to connect with them. I’m not a mother or a wife yet but I could still relate to many of the things she talked about. One part I particularly liked was when she described step by step how to get through your day(s). It felt like much of the advice could help anyone whether they are struggling with addiction, depression, or just having a really bad day. 

THE ARTIST’S WAY by Julia Cameron / August 7, 2019 - August 16, 2019 / Summary - An international bestseller which millions of people have found to be an invaluable guide to living the artist’s life./ Reaction - I would say this is like a textbook or workbook for how to unblock your creativity. A lot of creativity, motivation and productivity gurus these days use morning pages and this is the book from which morning pages originated. I’ve already been doing morning pages for about half a year prior to reading this so I’ve been interested in this book for awhile now. This time I borrowed it using the Libby app so I just read it without doing any of the activities. But I plan to get my own physical copy and go through the program in the book. I have a feeling this’ll turn into like a creativity bible for me that I’ll come back to over and over until it’s dog-eared and in rough condition. 

A GENTLEMAN IN MOSCOW by Amor Towles / August 15, 2019 - August 24, 2019 / audiobook version approx. 18hrs / Summary - Count Alexander Rostov is sentenced to house arrest at the grand hotel Metropol in 1922 Russia. The book then spans several decades of his life there. / Reaction - As I listened to this, it was so easy to picture everything that happened. If you like books that cover a long period of time this is a great one. Rather than trying to tell about every month and every year, the story is formed out of perfectly crafted little vignettes that represent different times in his life and they are all so charming. For example, testing out the sounds that different objects make when they are dropped from the floor above and hit the ground, or subtly helping out a young man on a first date by subtly stepping in to suggest the perfect wine that will neither bankrupt him nor make him look like a cheapskate, sneaking in ingredients to cook the perfect dish behind the back of your enemy, or trying to outsmart a 5 or 6-yr-old in a game of hiding. It’s not a particularly quick read, but it’s so freakin’ charming. And the ending turns unexpectedly thrilling as you find out if our Count makes it out of the hotel or not. 

THE COLLECTOR by John Fowles / August 16, 2019 - August 24, 2019 / Summary - A story of obsession about a young butterfly collector who kidnaps a young art student and traps her in the cellar of a house. /Reaction - I guess this would be categorized as a psychological thriller. The setup is very simple but the character development and interaction digs very deep. Essentially you take two very different people, put them in a small space together and watch the interactions. One is male, the other is female. One knows less culture (as in books, art, music etc.) while the other loves those things passionately. One has no relationship experience while the other does. At times you think, ok, this person’s motives are understandable, and at other times you find their actions incredibly disturbing. Then you start wondering what’s wrong with yourself because of those earlier moments when you found the person kinda relatable. Great read. And you can’t predict at all if the girl will survive. At least I couldn’t. 

BAD BLOOD by John Carreyrou / August 24, 2019 - August 30, 2019 / audiobook version approx 12 hrs  / Summary - Wall Street Journal writer John Carreyrou goes in depth into how it was possible for young entrepreneur Elizabeth Holmes to build a multibillion-dollar biotech startup (Theranos) that deceived countless people even though its supposedly revolutionary blood-analyzing device didn’t even work. / Reaction - Man, it really makes you realize how far money and connections can get you. People were fooled and bullied so easily. Throughout the whole book I was like I can’t believe this happened and I can’t believe that happened and holy crap, they seriously got away with that? The second I finished the book I was online googling what happened to Elizabeth Holmes and apparently she’s happily engaged like nothing even happened. 

WHAT AM I READING IN SEPTEMBER?

- currently halfway done with The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith (but really JK Rowling)

- To the Bright Edge of the World by Eowyn Ivey

- Somewhere Only We Know by Maurene Goo

and the rest will just depend on what becomes available from my holds list on Libby

[evieoh]

skyeward fic: “I’m a Sucker For the Way That You Move”

Skye/Ward, Mature. 5786 words.

His breath is cool on her shoulder as he leans down to murmur in her ear. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Please,” she scoffs, inwardly proud of how steady her voice sounds despite the sudden dryness of her throat. “You weren’t that memorable.”

Instead of reacting to the derision in her voice with the expected bruised male pride, Ward shifts closer to her and she can feel his smirk against her throat when she can’t quite hide her reaction to his proximity.

“Liar.”

Sequel to my stripper!Ward fic, “I’m Just Dying To Be The Friction In Your Jeans” Unfortunately, I started writing this before my ao3 account was deleted. So now I have a sequel to story that doesn’t currently exist. I guess I just have to hope that you guys remember the first part?

Happy Birthday @vesperass-anuna, more stripper!Ward for you babe! I can’t believe how many times this has come up while I’ve been working on it and I’ve had to bite my tongue to keep from ruining your birthday surprise. Hope you enjoy it xoxoxo

(Thanks as always to @stargazerdaisy for being an amazing cheerreader/beta/incredible human being)

Previously: Skye went for a girls night out at the male strip club that Bobbi’s boyfriend Hunter works at. While there, Skye was picked out of the crowd for an onstage lap dance from a tall, dark and handsome stranger who catches her eye. Things get pretty hot and heavy, and Skye eventually recognizes her stripper as Hunter’s irritating friend Ward who she met once and spent the entire night arguing with. The dance left her flustered and confused, and unable to forget about Ward (or his abs), and a month later she ran into him at Hunter’s birthday party and one thing lead to another, which led to the hottest night of her life.

And now we’re all caught up, onto the sequel. (This is kind of unfinished, both due to not having my ao3 account back yet and also being incredibly blocked at the moment. I hope to be able to write a chapter 2 of this part, but it might take me awhile. Hopefully it works well enough as a one-shot too)

Bobbi and Hunter have been in an off phase of their relationship for the last 3 weeks, so when the blonde suggested they all go out to a club on Friday night Skye hadn’t considered the possibility of Hunter being there too. Or more specifically, any of Hunter’s co-workers being there.

So Skye stops dead in her tracks when she spots Ward at the bar, laughing at something Trip said while Hunter glares at the pair of them. Bobbi and Jemma both crash into her back at her sudden stop, and judging by the smug look of faux innocence on Bobbi’s face when Skye tilts her head towards the bar in explanation, Skye is cluing into the setup here fairly quick.

Her friends have never exactly mastered the art of subtlety, and none of them have made the slightest attempt at hiding their feelings about Skye’s refusal to see Ward after the night they spent together on Hunter’s birthday.

(That amazing night that left her with slightly shaky legs and an endorphin rush that lasted at least three days afterwards. Not to mention the goofy grin that would not dissipate and unfortunately led all of her friends to decide that clearly Skye’s destiny lay with Ward. Or that she at least needed to bang him again. It varied depending on who you asked.)

Deciding to avoid her friends’ smirking glances (and that part of her that feels faintly like she’s been hit with an electrical charge at the sight of Grant Ward in the flesh), Skye veers away from her current trajectory towards the bar and heads for the dance floor instead.

It’s still early, or early enough at least, that the dancefloor isn’t too crowded. That is both a welcome thing when it means Skye doesn’t have to deal with random strangers grinding on her or stepping on her feet, and less welcome when she realizes that the lack of a crowd means she doesn’t have a way to hide from Ward.

She can feel him watching her, his gaze heavy on the sway of her hips as she rolls them to the heavy bass beat.

(She is absolutely not swinging her ass for his benefit. Not remotely.)

After awhile though, she manages to, if not exactly forget about him, then at least stop focusing so much on him. The past week had been a stressful one at work; rushing to get a project through approval before the deadline had her entire team working overtime every night. They managed to have everything finished today though, and her supervisor seemed happy with their work. So getting to get dressed up and come out for a night with her friends, to dance and let loose, was definitely needed. Skye lets go of the tension of the week, of her confusing mess of feelings where Ward is concerned, of everything other than the heavy pulse of the bass as moves up through her bones, losing herself in the music.

She’s not sure how long she’s been out there dancing on her own when Jemma appears at her side, trying to shout something at her over the music. After the third try, as Skye gestures at her that she can’t hear a word, her friend finally mimes downing a drink before waving towards the bar. Feeling loose and relaxed after dancing, Skye lets Jemma drag her off the dancefloor and over towards the group by the bar. It’s not until she’s standing right next to him that Skye remembers exactly why she was trying to avoid this earlier.

He smells so damn good. Even avoiding looking at him doesn’t help. All she can think about is how she can feel the warmth of his body this close; flashes of their night together running through her mind and unhelpfully reminding her just exactly what he looks like naked. The sound of Hunter cheering drags her attention back to their friends. Feeling flustered, Skye tries to make her move to put Fitz and Kara between her and Ward a subtle one, but going by the way the latter shakes her head at Skye, she doesn’t think she manages to pull it off. She gratefully grabs one of the shots that Hunter passes down the bar, so happy for the distraction that she doesn’t even bother to check what it is before knocking it back. The tequila burns, but she still reaches for a second one before grabbing Kara’s hand and dragging her bemused friend out to the dancefloor with her.

Thankfully back on the dancefloor it’s still too loud to speak, but Kara manages to make her feelings about Skye’s awkward escape known as she affectionately rolls her eyes. She’s a good friend though, so she lets Skye get away with it and dances with her instead of verbally calling her out.

The two girls dance for a few songs before Skye notices Trip approaching them through the noticeably thicker crowd on the floor. Kara has been very close-mouthed about her single date with Trip but she also has been sporting a goofy looking smile she thinks no one else has noticed anytime his name has been mentioned, so Skye knows something is up there. She’s so focused on getting the chance to get some revenge on Kara for all her teasing about Ward, that she doesn’t even register his looming form trailing behind Trip.  Skye only notices him when she grabs Trip by the hand and pulls him in to dance with her and Kara. So the four of them somehow end up dancing in an awkward circle like they’re at a middle school formal. Soon enough though, Trip and Kara are very noticeably making some non-middle school moves on each other. Skye honestly can’t tell what percentage of their motivation for grinding on each other is their attraction to each other, and how much is just to make it as awkward as possible for Skye and Ward to try and avoid each other in the confined space.

For a second, Skye could almost swear she sees a flicker of something hesitant, almost shy, pass through his features. But then he’s smirking at her, something glinting in his eye like that night on stage. She has the strangest impression of it being like putting on a mask, but then he’s moving closer to her, his eyes on her face as he gauges her response before he gets too close. Skye is gonna blame that memory of the night he danced for her for distracting her too much to remember that standing too close to him is dangerous.

She’s expecting him to say something, surprised when he moves behind her and starts to dance instead. He’s close, but not actually touching her. It manages to be both respectful and maddeningly frustrating, just the lightest touches as their bodies sway to the beat.

By the second song, Skye is pretty sure this is his latest form of torture for her. This almost touching that is only making her hyper-aware of his body while being unable to actually feel it pressed against her. At this point, with the bass throbbing in her blood and the lights of the dancefloor flickering behind her closed eyelids, his presence is the only thing she can focus on. In the end she is the one to close the gap between them, and even as she exhales in relief when his hands come down to rest on her hips, she’s pretty sure she can feel his identical rush of breath against the back of her neck.

She’s never been with a guy who liked to dance. Miles would never dance with her. The times she’d manage to drag him out to a club with her, he would always linger by the bar while she ventured out to the dance floor alone. She could never completely let go though, knowing he was waiting for her, knowing how much he hated the music and the people. Always worrying about random guys on the dancefloor getting too close while she was lost in the music.

Ward is an entirely different experience. Given what he does for a living she really shouldn’t be surprised, but there is still something unexpectedly intoxicating about the way he moves his body. The way the beat flows through his body, the confidence he moves with. The promise in the way his hips roll against her. Skye shudders as she remembers just how well those hips can move and she can tell that Ward catches the reaction, his fingers tightening on her hips for a moment.

His breath is cool on her shoulder as he leans down to murmur in her ear. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Please,” she scoffs, inwardly proud of how steady her voice sounds despite the sudden dryness of her throat. “You weren’t that memorable.”

Instead of reacting to the derision in her voice with the expected bruised male pride, Ward shifts closer to her and she can feel his smirk against her throat when she can’t quite hide her reaction to his proximity.

“Liar.”

His whisper sends a trail of goosebumps from her ear down her arm and it takes her a second to pull it together enough to step out of his personal space.

Skye’s suddenly rethinking the wisdom of those two shots of tequila, as her slightly-softened-at-the-edges brain stumbles on the way to remembering why stepping closer to him instead isn’t the smarter move here. There is something about him that feels like some kind of magnetic pull. She felt it that first night they met, even when they couldn’t stop bickering the whole night. She felt it onstage at the stripclub, his dark eyes on hers as he danced for her. And she definitely felt it the night of Hunter’s birthday, stumbling back to his house, unable to keep their hands off each other. She feels drunk around him whether or not she’s had anything to drink. It feels electric, uncontrollable. Dangerous.

She hasn’t exactly been avoiding him. She hasn’t not been either though.

Ward lets her step away easily, not trying to follow her even as she can see him searching her expression for something. His fingers trail up her back so lightly as they leave her hip though, and the graze of his fingers on her skin feels like fire even through the fabric of her top. It sends all the blood rushing away from her brain and decidedly somewhere lower. Even as she tells herself the truly smart move here would be to come up with an excuse and get off the dancefloor long enough to cool down, Skye finds herself taking a step closer and back into his arms, facing him this time. Apparently it’s too late and her hormones have taken control of her brain already.

He’s definitely smirking now. But there is still something else there in his expression that she can’t quite put her finger on. Skye’s not quite sure if it’s her desire to try and make him feel at least a little as off-kilter as she always feels when he is this close to her, or if she just wants an excuse to touch him. Either way her hands are sliding up his chest to curl around his shoulders, her thighs clenching as she feels the muscles in his stomach and chest tense under her touch. His hands come back to settle on her hips, guiding them to match the movement of his own even as they hold a few inches between their bodies. She’d like to blame the tequila, or Ward for looking like that, or even the DJ. But the truth is, this is exactly where she has wanted to be since she saw him at the bar. It’s what she’s wanted ever since she bolted from his apartment and the breakfast he made for her the morning after their night together. There is something about him that she feels drawn to, that she wants more of. And it terrifies her. She can’t read him, she feels like she’s stumbling into the situation blind and already five steps ahead of a rational level of attraction to a guy she barely knows. Somehow this feels so much more than their first night together, when she could tell herself that all she needed was to sleep with him once and she could get it out of her system. Somehow then she had no problem being bold. But now…now there is so much more to it and her mind is such a mess when it comes to him and what she wants from him. Everything feels like it carries that much more weight.

Her mind might be confused about what she wants, but her body is definitely not. She steps closer, without conscious permission, closing the gap between them as her hips grind more firmly against him. With her body pressed so close to his, she doesn’t miss the shudder that passes through Ward’s body at her action, his grip tensing on her hips. The heat that had been pooling between her thighs coils up through the rest of her body, warmth and tension settling through her as their chests brush with each inhale. His head drops down to rest his forehead against hers, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her, holds her breath in anticipation as she tilts her face up to his. He doesn’t move to close the distance between their mouths though, just lingers there, the rest of the club falling away as they share the space between them. Skye clenches her thighs together against the building ache, her underwear feeling damp as his hips push against hers briefly, but hard enough for her to feel the bulge in his pants. One of his arms is banded around her waist now, and she honestly feels like it might be the only thing keeping her upright. Then one of his legs is sliding between hers and something in Skye’s brain short-circuits as the rough denim of his jeans slides against the soft skin of her inner thighs, brushing teasingly against her underwear before pulling away as she groans. She’s not even really sure that what they’re doing counts as dancing together anymore. It’s like some kind of torture to see who can hold out the longest before one of them actually makes a move, and how far they can each push it before it actually counts as a move. Skye has almost managed to forget the crowded dance floor, where undoubtedly at least one of her friends is witnessing this and will be ready to give her hell about it later. Right now she doesn’t care, all she needs is for Ward to not let go of her. How does he do this to her every time?, she wonders. It’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist except for the two of them.

Her fingers clench as they twine around the back of his neck, her nails scraping over the skin and making him shiver as she belatedly remembers how ticklish he is.

He’s the one who chuckles lightly though, his voice low as he leans in closer to murmur in her ear. “Easy, Tiger. Do you know how much of a pain it was to try and cover up the scratches you left on me last time for work?”

The reminder of the fact that he makes his living being almost naked on stage for random women is a like splash of cold water on her overheated and hormonal body. She tries not to react outwardly, but Ward must notice something from the way he pulls back to study her face. Once again she’s struck by how much she hates that she can’t seem to get an accurate read on him at all while she seems to be an open book to him. It feels grossly unfair and just adds to her off-kilter feeling of a distinct lack of control in the situation.

He’s still staring at her, and she’s not sure what he’s reading in her expression but she kinda doesn’t want to stand here and feel like an idiot, so she pulls away as smoothly as she can manage. Waving towards the bathroom, she tries to smile at him reassuringly as she tells him she’ll be right back. He doesn’t look convinced, if that crease that appears between his eyebrows is anything to go by, and he reaches out to try and grasp her hand as she stumbles away. She waves her hand at him a little inanely and bolts, catching a glimpse of Kara looking surprised as Skye moves past her but she doesn’t stop.

The bathroom is already occupied by at least one crying girl being comforted by her equally drunk friends. Skye smiles at them sympathetically as she edges past on her way to the sink, avoiding the one that is splashed with what looks suspiciously like vomit.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, her face is flushed and her eyes too dark, something a little dazed or maybe hyper in them. Her hands aren’t quite shaking, but her whole body feels alive with nerves.

Skye splashes water on her face, the cold feeling sharp on her overheated skin. Looking in the mirror, she tries to give herself her five millionth pep talk on this topic since the night she spent with Ward. He’s a stripper, she reminds herself. He is a hot as fuck stripper, who undoubtedly hooks up with girls who come to the club all the time. The fact that you look at him and can’t stop thinking about this being something more doesn’t mean this is anything more than just another notch in his bedpost as far as he’s concerned.

And that’s the problem right there. As much as she might come up with a million valid excuses for her friends about why she has avoided him since that night, it ultimately comes down to the fact that she knows that if she let herself feel anything for him it would take very little for her feelings to avalanche into something way bigger than she could control. And something serious is clearly not on the cards here, no matter what kind of thoughts take over her brain whenever she gets too close to him.

Clearly she isn’t capable of keeping her emotions or her hormones in check when she gets too close to him, evidenced by how easily she was ready to go home with him again after dancing with him tonight. So the solution is definitely staying away from him.

Taking a deep breath, Skye stares at her reflection in the mirror and tries to convince herself that that is what she wants.

Then she steps out of the bathroom and her eyes are immediately drawn to Ward. He’s still on the dancefloor, but lingering near the edges now. She can see more than a few women looking like they’d like to make a move but he doesn’t seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to any of them. Instead his eyes are scanning the room and she can tell the moment he spots her as a slow smirk begins to spread across his features. But then something weird happens, it actually looks like a genuinely happy smile. It’s an expression that she isn’t used to seeing on his face, something she’s only ever seen directed at her and only a few times. Something warm blooms in her chest at the sight of it, spreading into a fluttery feeling that settles in her stomach in a way that makes her feel about 13 years old in the most embarrassing way.

Ward starts to make his way through the dancers on the floor, evading the women who try to catch his attention with gracious but firm dismissal, his eyes only on Skye. At first she feels kind of frozen to the spot under that gaze, but then through sheer strength of will she draws on the memory of her self-directed pep talk in the bathroom and she makes her legs move. As she ducks through the crowd and out of Ward’s path, she spots her friends at a table near the edge of the dancefloor and makes her way towards them.

Judging by the look Jemma gives her, Skye’s flustered state must show very clearly as she approaches her friends.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spots Ward again, this time talking to Hunter. His eyes and focus still seem to be on her though, with an intensity that sends a spark of arousal through her traitorous body which seems set on ignoring all of her attempts at rationally talking herself out of this attraction.

“Are you ok, Skye?” Jemma asks, looking slightly concerned.

“Yeah,” Kara adds, grinning at her slyly. “You’re looking a little…overheated?”

Skye narrows her eyes at Kara and from Kara’s responding grin, she knows exactly why.  “I’m fine, Jemma,” Skye says, turning her attention to her (currently) least traitorous friend.  “I just needed a little breather.”

“Sure and you weren’t running away from Ward, when it looked like you were about to burn his clothes off with your eyes alone,” Bobbi says.

“Can you not?!” Skye begs exasperatedly.

“We could,” Kara chimes in. “But I think we kind of enjoy it more this way.”

Skye sticks her tongue out at her friend before swiping her drink and taking a sip. Kara splutters indignantly but the other girls laugh at the two of them. Settling onto the empty stool between Bobbi and Jemma, Skye tries her best to pretend that she can’t feel the weight of Ward’s gaze on her back.

“Come on Skye,” Jemma wheedles at her. “He’s a very attractive, very nice guy who clearly likes you.  Why are you trying so hard to avoid that?”

“Because he’s a stripper!” Skye hisses. It seems a lot easier than getting into her whole psychology of the unwanted foster kid who is still scared of rejection at the age of 25.

Bobbi’s affronted look reminds her that that defense probably wasn’t the best choice either. “And that makes him undateable?” the blonde asks, a touch defensively.

“No! It’s not that, it’s just…” Skye flounders a little as she tries to think of a way out of the hole she’s dug herself into.

Thankfully Fitz chooses that moment to return to the table with a tray of drinks, the conversation momentarily forgotten as he hands them out to the girls.

“Oh, Skye, I didn’t know you were coming back so I didn’t get you one,” the Scot says as he grimaces at her apologetically.

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. “I can go get myself something.”

As she starts to get up from the table though, she remembers what sent her over here to hide in the first place.

“Is Ward still-?” Skye stumbles as she tries to think of a way to describe the way he was looking at her.

Kara apparently has no such problems however. “Watching you like he’s a horny sex panther and you’re the only thing he wants to eat? Yep.”

“So my question is why exactly are you trying to hide behind us instead of getting out there and letting him eat you then?” Bobbi asks with a lascivious wink, definitely aided by her fifth vodka cranberry.

“I am not going back out there,” Skye insists exasperatedly. “Do you not remember what happened last time I danced with that man?”

“You had incredible sex and couldn’t stop blushing for a week? Yup, we remember,” Bobbi says as she gives Skye a not-so-gentle push to her feet.

Looking to Kara for help, her only response is an enthusiastic thumbs up and “Get it, girl” mouthed at her from across the table. Shifting her gaze to Jemma, the response is pretty much the same, only slightly less subtle.

Glancing back out at Ward, she feels that sharp tug of heat pooling in her belly again. He looks so goddamn good. Bobbi’s right; it was at least a week before she could stop blushing and grinning like an idiot whenever anyone mentioned him. Or even anything that reminded her of him. She spent 20 minutes in the men’s cologne aisle when she accidentally discovered one that smelled like him. But the worst part, the thing that has kept her from asking Bobbi for his number or taking up any of her friends on their less than subtle hints at set-ups before tonight, is that it isn’t just the sex. She likes him. A lot more than she feels like she should. Even through the bickering, even with the way she finds it so hard to read his intentions when it comes to her, she feels a connection with him that she hasn’t felt in a really long time. A kind of kinship even if she’s not quite sure where it springs from. Maybe it’s just the bits and pieces of his past that Bobbi has mentioned that make her heart ache because she knows what it’s like to grow up like that. It’s the fact that she wants to get to know him better.

Since Miles she hasn’t even been on a real date. The relationship ended so messily that she’s only just managing to build up a strong sense of herself after the wreckage their relationship left in its wake, and starting something with someone like Grant Ward seems like a recipe for disaster. But still…she can’t deny that she wants him. That maybe, in some reckless part of her that she is getting a little tired of trying to deny, she might want to take that risk after all.

At the moment her fear of rejection is a little stronger however. While their dance made it very clear that he definitely wants something with her, she’s really not sure how much more than that he wants. And she’s afraid that the more time she spends with him the more she is gonna want.

Stuck between her smirking friends on one side, and Ward on the dancefloor waiting for her, Skye feels like she’s about to be ambushed. Instead, she chooses cowardice for just a little longer and turns on her heel and heads back to the bar. Her friends are not remotely quiet in the disapproval of her direction but Skye just flips them off over her shoulder without turning around.

Trip is at the bar with a line of shot glasses in front of him and a blonde guy that she remembers faintly from Hunter’s party. Trip turns and greets her warmly and introduces her to the other guy, Lincoln, before inviting her to join them with the shots. They’re green and syrupy sweet with a tart aftertaste and they go down way too smoothly because Skye is already reaching for her second one.

“So,” Trip grins at her as he waves to the bartender for another round. “You and Ward seemed to getting friendly out there.”

“Not you too,” groans Skye.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice just how friendly you’ve been with Kara.  What is all that about?”  Turning the tables on Trip helps Skye feels slightly more in control, even as she fears it’s only an illusion.

“Honestly, Skye,” Jemma chides, sliding up to the bar.  “Whatever is going on between Trip and Kara is between them.  No need to pry.”

Skye’s jaw drops and she has to work hard to keep her eyes from bulging out of her head.  Her mouth is gaping like a fish, shocked at the double standard amongst her friends.  Coming to the conclusion there is no way she can fight this, she simply spins away from Jemma and grabs the shot from in front of Lincoln and downs it without another thought.  

“So she’s still in denial?” Trip asks Jemma.

“Completely,” her friend replies, as though Skye isn’t standing right there.

“How long do you think it will last this time?” he says.

“Bobbi has her money on 12:30am, Kara is going with closing time, but personally,” Jemma leans in conspiratorially, “I don’t think she’ll make it past 11:30pm.”

“That’s only a half hour away!” Skye interjects, sounding uncomfortably close to a whine.

“Oh girl, I wouldn’t bet against you,” Trip says to Jemma, still completely ignoring Skye.  “Did you see how handsy things were getting?”

“I didn’t see, but I can imagine.  I bet it was cozier than when she was on stage with him and gripping the chair like her life depended on it.  I thought she was going to break it in half.”

“I don’t know about her chances with destroying one of the chairs,” Trip muses, raising an eyebrow at Skye as he grins slyly. “Now, Ward on the other hand might just stand a chance there. I mean, you’ve seen his arms right?”

Jemma’s grin takes on an almost a maniacal glint. It’s official. Skye hates her best friend.

“Oh, I think Skye had a much more thorough exploration than I did,” the Brit giggles as she takes a sip of her newly arrived drink with a flourish. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I can recall a very detailed conversation about the fine details of his physique after we came to watch the show.”

Yep. Definitely official. Skye is in the market for a new best friend.

“It’s not my fault he looks like a fricking Spartan warrior,” Skye blurts out, then claps a hand over her mouth.  What on earth did she just say?!

Lincoln chokes on his drink and finally Jemma and Trip acknowledge her, Trip crowing loudly and Jemma doubled over in laughter.  

“What’s so funny?” that low, warm voice says from behind her.  She can feel him back there, even when he’s still a foot or two away.

She has no idea how long he’s been near and how much of the conversation he might have heard. Skye’s cheeks are burning as she turns around to face him. From the smirk teasing at the corners of his lips she’s pretty certain he at least caught her final comment.

He steps in closer, fully in her personal space now and Skye’s breath hitches a little at the heat of his body against her. His breath tickles against her ear as he leans in to speak in a voice low enough only she can hear him. “Spartan warrior, huh? Good to know my workouts are paying off.”

Skye shivers and unconsciously leans into him, the two of them standing too close to be anything other than intimate now, her shoulder tucked under the crook of his arm as she glances up at him. Smirking, she aims for snarky but the breathiness in her voice kind of ruins the effect. “What? All the women stuffing ones into your underwear every night aren’t enough of an ego boost for you?”

“I’d settle for one specific woman’s interest in my underwear,” he purrs.  

It’s such a ridiculous line that Skye bursts out laughing, but luckily, Ward is grinning right back at her in response.

“Does that line usually work?” she snickers.

For a moment, the cocky mask he wears slips and she seems a glimpse of the slightly nervous, almost bashful man underneath. “I have no idea. I’m not usually the guy with the lines.”

There is something so genuine in the way he looks at her, and Skye feels that ridiculous teenage fluttery sensation settle in her stomach again as she looks up at him from under her lashes. She can see a slight flush on his cheeks that matches her own and her heart is pounding as the fluttering feeling settles into something of a more steady buzz running through her body.

Skye is so caught up in Ward, that she has almost forgotten their friends standing less than two feet away from them.

That is, until a wave of crushed ice and tequila hits her square in the chest.

“Oh my goodness!” Jemma exclaims, eyes comically wide as she puts her free hand to her chest in exaggerated horror while the empty margarita glass dangles from the other. “I am so sorry, Skye, I can’t believe I did something so incredibly clumsy!”

Jemma has never been a believable liar.

She seems to have taken every acting tip she’s ever gotten from soap operas, going by her extreme overacting. Her attempt at contrition is no exception. Her voice rises on all the wrong syllables, giving the effect of someone who is trying out speaking to human beings for the first time in their life. Even Ward is smirking beside her, clearly not buying the charade for a second.

If anything, he looks smug.

Skye can feel the sticky liquid dripping from her hair and pooling in her bra uncomfortably, crushed ice melting as it slides down the neckline of her top and all she can do is stare at her (former) best friend in shock and horror.

“Oh dear, what can we do to fix this?” Jemma all but sing-songs as she fights to hide her growing grin. “I mean, we could try and clean you up a little in the washroom, but that shirt is ruined and you really look like you need a shower, I mean that drink just went everywhere didn’t it?”

And of course Ward steps in so smoothly that Skye could almost believe it was rehearsed.

“My place is pretty close,” he reminds her. “You can have a shower and I could lend you a shirt to wear home.”

Looking between Ward and a not-so-subtly smirking Jemma, Skye feels like she’s at the precipice of something much bigger than the situation actually warrants. If she goes home with Ward she knows she’s only going to be falling deeper into this slowly building infatuation than she already is. But as he holds his hand out to her in silent invitation, she knows that that battle was probably already lost the minute she walked into the bar. There is something almost apprehensive in his eyes as he waits for her decision, like maybe this might mean as much for him as it does for her. It’s that look that decides it for her. Reaching out to take his hand in hers, that spark of electricity that hums between them every time they touch, Skye feels like maybe it isn’t the worst battle to lose in the end.

[womenofcolor15]

See The Shocking & Disturbing Photos Inside The Hotel Room Andrew Gillum Was Found With Alleged Male Escort & Suspected Drugs

Pictures from that peculiar incident involving former Tallahassee Mayor turned Florida Governor candidate Andrew Gillum, suspected drugs and two other men have been released. And they’re shocking, to say the very least. See them inside…

  2020 has been on one!

Days ago, a scandal involving Democratic gubernatorial nominee Andrew Gillum came to light after he was discovered by police at the Mondrian South Beach hotel last Friday in a room that had bags of possible methamphetamine present. Another man was found in the hotel room who was suspected of overdosing on crystal meth.

The Miami Police Department reports that they were called to the scene due to a distress situation happening at the hotel. Upon arrival, Miami Fire and Rescue was treating a man named Travis Dyson for a possible drug overdose. They were also made aware that 40-year-old Andrew Gillum was vomiting in the nearby bathroom. By the way, multiple reports suggest Dyson maintained a profile on the website Rent Men and listed himself as a “pornstar performer.”

A third man named Aldis Mejias told police that he had given his credit card to 30-year-old Dyson for him to rent a hotel room, which he did around 4p last Thursday. They agreed to meet later, and when Mejias came to the room just before midnight, Dyson answered the door and let him in. He says Andrew was in the bathroom at that time as well. Then fell onto the bed and began to have difficulty breathing. Mejias said he woke him up, and that's when Dyson vomited on the bed and collapsed. Meijas then started doing chest compressions.

Once he came to, Dyson was taken to Mount Sinai for further evaluation. He was later deemed to be in stable condition.

Police noted that upon entering the room, they noticed in plain site three small bags of suspected crystal meth on the bed and the floor. When officers attempted to speak with Gillum, he couldn't because of his "inebriated state." They later did a welfare check on him and learned his vitals were normal. Gillum reportedly returned to his own residence after the incident.

Gillum - who has been heavily talked about in consideration for the VP position on the Democratic Presidential ticket - immediately put out a statement after the story broke, saying he never did any crystal meth. He admits he drank entirely too much that night as he was there for a wedding. He then said he would be taking some time away to spend with his family.

As for that wedding....

  Andrew Gillum didn't even show up at the wedding he said he was in Florida for. The attendees said he was supposed to officiate there but never showed up and didn't call. I guess he was busy. pic.twitter.com/5e2bJ0eB9Z

— Black History Guy (@BArchaeologist) March 20, 2020

  One Twitter user claims Gillum didn't even show up to the wedding he was in town to attend. "Andrew Gillum didn't even show up at the wedding he said he was in Florida for. The attendees said he was supposed to officiate there but never showed up and didn't call. I guess he was busy," the Twitter uer wrote.

Days after the incident, Gillum announced he was checking himself into rehab for alcohol abuse. He revealed he fell into a depression after losing the governor’s race to Republican Ron DeSantis. He has also deleted his Instagram account, however, his Twitter page is still up, as of now.

Now, pictures from inside the hotel have been released and they’re disturbing AF. In the flicks (obtained by The Daily Mail), you see plastic baggies of suspected crystal meth, empty beer bottles laying around, prescription pills, along with soiled sheets and pillows. Click here to see them.

There’s also a picture of what appears to be a naked Andrew Gillum laid out on the floor next to a towel with vomit on it. We can't post them here, but you can see the picture that's floating around on social media here.

Andrew has a wife, R. Jai, and three children. We can't even imagine what his wife is going through right now amid this scandal.

People on social media have been sounding off about the incident and are appalled the politician/CNN contributor would get caught up in something some messy:

  I'm angry with #AndrewGillum not necessarily because of what he did to himself, he's a grown ass man. I'm angry because of what he chose to do to his wife and kids. His children will have to live with this for the rest of their lives. PEOPLE think of your family first!!!!

— MOMof3 (@mamabranch) March 21, 2020

    Andrew Gillum’s political career is over. I’m not going to traumatize my timeline by sharing the photos. My goodness. The only people I feel for are his wife and innocent children.

— Kia Richards (@KiaRichards_) March 20, 2020

    The way folks talking about Andrew Gillum lets me know what yall saying behind your queer friends and associates backs.

The not so veiled homophobia is LEAPING OUT

— George M Johnson (@IamGMJohnson) March 21, 2020

  Some people feel it was a set up:

  In the Andrew Gillum photos you can clearly see the third man’s toe, and the “live” photo button on the top of the screen, so this was a screenshot from the third man’s phone. He leaked this. A setup from the start, and Andrew risked his whole political career for it. Smh

— (@_MissLeandra) March 20, 2020

    Who took the pictures allegedly of former Andrew Gillum naked &unconscious in a hotel room?

If you're thinking SET UP you're not alone.

He may have his demons, but it seems someone was definitely out to exploit them.

One white foot tells a much BIGGER story. #AndrewGillum

— T.J. LEGACY (@legacycoleworld) March 20, 2020

    These pictures floating around of Andrew Gillum confirms he was set up for me. I believe the person taking the pictures is the same "friend" who provided "tainted" drugs. I don't feel sorry for Gillum. His access to "white spaces" and lifestyle gave him a false sense of security.

— ScoonTV (@ScoonTv) March 21, 2020

  Dang Andrew! A tragic end for a once bright political career.

Photo: David Herring/Shutterstock.com

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/03/21/see-the-shocking-disturbing-photos-inside-the-hotel-room-andrew-gillum-was-found-with-mal

[strangerfwendz]

May 18

Last night, I messaged brad some selfies of Leo. I’ve decided to name it Leo. He thinks I’m crazy but he joked that I got a new puppy to replace him. He didn’t seem too against it. I fell asleep with the puppy wrapped in a towel next to me. When I woke up I was on the couch in the living room. Brad and I talked a bit it was a nice conversation. My roommates were getting ready for classes and I was sooo tired. I couldn’t get up for a jog. I realized my classes started an hour later that day so I went back to my room to sleep. The puppy was sooo cute! I woke up and put it on top of me and went back to sleep and the little guy went up to my pillow and fell asleep curled up against my face. Adorable!!!

I eventually got up, did a bit of exercise that I learned from fitness club the other day. I cleaned up my bed in the case she messes with any of it and left her on the bed wrapped up in a towel.

I sat with lara, sofia, Julie, and marya at banquet. There was a debate about dress code cause sofia didn’t like that she had to tie her hair up. Especially because she walked through the buffet restaurant and ms anastasiia specifically came over to banquet to tell her to tie up her hair. Just follow the dress code, its not difficult. They were arguing that each teacher has different standards of the dress code and not all of them bother enforcing them or even following the rules themselves. The conversation somehow shifted over to why do we pay so much as globals and where does that money go. Then they called Mr Robert Van Dur Ham over. He suggested that we talk to mr bow about it. Make a case and bring it up to him over email or book an appointment to talk to him at his office. They were serving wine for the main course but it was past 12pm already. I downed the glass of wine and rushed back to palm beach. Leo was still sitting exactly as I has left her, I was relieved and impressed. I swooped her up and went to the pet store that Jason tried to bring me yesterday. Leo was shaking, I was getting anxious. The famous mill mill bar was right next to it pet store up a little staircase. I was really confused when I arrived as the staff was just a little boy? But later on it seemed to be a lady as she spoke knowledgably about the puppy and her products.  But this lady was so short she looked like she never went past puberty in primary school. I asked a bunch of questions about what I should get her and she made a few uncomfortable faces saying, “lets see if she lives first”. Thank you for your honesty but why do you say that? I bought a cage, food bowl, milk powder, puppy food. Jason(les roches) eventually came up to the store but he took so long to come by. When I messaged him earlier before I got there, he said he had just finished taking a shower so he shouldn’t have needed more then 10 minutes. He spoke to the lady and she said the puppy is probably a street dog. Jason threw his hands up and said ‘I knew it! You could buy it in my hometown for just 30 to 40RMB. No one wants it.” Then he sighed and said “oh well, whatever makes you happy.”  Jason’s wife, the driver, came up just as I had finished paying. They helped bring my stuff down. Jason didn’t have classes that afternoon and he skipped his morning class so I’m impressed that he offered to come out to help me during lunch. The driver was very nice to help bring up the things I had bought from the pet store to my room before sending me back to school.  

Vik texted me that I could share the cab with Cesar, some Mexican student from school. He needed to go to the same airport, perfect. I rushed back home after classes, called Andy for a change. Pretty much packed everything I wanted to bring back already, just needed one set of clothes really. I didn’t bother bringing my textbooks except French cause lets be honest, im not gonna study. I quicked setup the cage and put Leo inside. Jason arrived at 3.30pm and I texted Cesar to come up and help bring my suitcases down. I took whatever time I had left to hold Leo a little longer just so she knows I still care about her. Cesar came by, with Natalia who pretty much barged in, whatever. They squealed over Leo for a good 10 minutes of course. I would have loved to talk about Leo a little more but we really had to get going. I grabbed my backpack and Cesar carried both my suitcases down, chill~.

Jason kept asking me about which terminal the my flight was which I understand he’s just trying to help but my freaking ticket seriously didn’t have it written down. Heck, even the flight number was confusing. Eventually he called the airport and checked that it was the terminal one but also that my flight was delayed. Shhiiieettt. Jason said once the flight is delayed , oh man, it gets delayed by the hours and I still have a connecting flight to catch! its especially stressful when the lay over is less than 3 hours, I don’t time for this shit man. Anyways along the way, Cesar was a little panicked too cause he was suppose to meet his friend at 4pm, which made me wonder “why the heck did you stand around my apartment making goo goo eyes at my puppy?” He kept trying to contact his friend which he eventually managed to reach. They charged the meet up place and Cesar wanted to go there straight away, so Jason and I were deciding if we had time to send Cesar off first or not cause they were is different directions but Cesar kept insisting that it shouldn’t be that far from the airport. Jason said it would be an extra cost and we decided to send Cesar off first. Damn that silly boy kept insisting that its just a straight route back but boy that isn’t quite how the roads work around here, those are highways.

Fortunately, things went smoothly after, I got to the airport with enough time to check-in and get to my gate. It was not very busy but the staffs’ attitude really annoyed me. There is a security check-in at the entrance. I find myself standing there in front of the security looking at them like “okay, im standing right here waiting to go in, there isn’t anyone else around. What exactly do you want me to do? HELLOOOO!?!?!” UGH they just dazed off and here I am wondering seriously what if that person is in a rush man. Jeez, it was confusing and slow, the staff are so spaced out and nonchalant, how can I take them seriously? I was pretty irritated, tapping my foot impatiently as I waited in line. The lady at check-in was new, she was just transferred from a different department. She had no idea how to check me in so she asked me to go to another counter. The man at the other counter said I need to go check something inside my suitcase, it was just my old broken phone which I kept to download the rest of my photos but then realized was stupid cause im sure the app would need me to access a vpn in china. I headed over to the gate but when I reached the counter I didn’t realize that I was supposed to return to the check-in counter after checking my suitcase, to get my ticket. Urgh, so freakin annoyed but also so very thankful I know Chinese. God damn can’t imagine how I would survive this semester in Shanghai.

I lost my way a little bit when I was trying to find my gate. I arrived 10 minutes before the gate was scheduled to open but it was still delayed and I hadn’t eaten all day except that bit of bread and wine over lunch. I was craving fried chicken and rushed over to KFC for a quick bite. Yum. I struggled trying to pay attention to the announcements. They were very fuzzy and it felt like the Chinese voice was louder than the English one. I returned to the gate, still delayed. If I knew how long the delay would be, I would have loved to walk around and look at the many shops around but I was afraid that the gate would open at any time. I just sat there moping, listening to my music, and wishing I could sigh harder that I already was to express my frustration.

Finely, we board the plane but the expected arrival time was 11pm and I was suppose to be at the gate of my connecting flight at 10.30pm! Panicked, I asked the flight attendant what was I to do? No way was I gonna make it. I was sat between a grandma with long gel nails and a fancy updo she proudly did herself and a working office lady. During the flight, the lady and I both worked on our laptops then there were snack boxes brought to us. Despite the pathetic appearance, I was curious to try whatever “goods” the box possessed inside.

Afterwards, I started watching a movie while the working lady started reading. *sigh* really boosted the confidence in my own intellect. But whatever, I was entertained by the senseless romance movie I was watching. It had a cute passionate skinny girl who believed in the goodness of frozen food while the male lead was a typical handsome tall Eurasian. Might I just add how handsome the young boy was. God, he had such a pretty boy face. The actor was very good at coming off as arrogant in the beginning too. It probably would have been even better if he could have done it in English for the added intonations in his speech. We landed before the movie could end, I expected that.

Its 11pm and I’m stressing out again. I get off the plane and there is an airport staff waiting outside holding a sign with a light of flight numbers, one of them being my connecting flight. I eagerly show him my ticket for that flight, he says bluntly that there is now way I am going to make it and pastes a big red dot on me. He gives me some instructions about a counter on the second floor, I couldn’t really follow but whatever I’ll figure it out somehow. All the passengers pack themselves on a bus to the terminal and I’m making calls to the airline, they can’t help me because I am missing a code. I let out a sign and mutter under my breathe. A man asks me where I am going, I look over my should and answer accordingly. He had a head of mattered thick dark grey with mixed strands of white. He wore a red T shirt layered with a beige button down and a pair of matching shorts. He looked like an archeologist with a face full of sun spots and a pair of simple glasses. Noticing that he too had a big red dot pasted on his chest, I ask him that same question, he said Singapore. Noiice! From there we start talking in English, man that felt good. We quickly learn about each other as we figure out this shitty situation we’re in. It’s the first time to happen to me but a second time for him. He last time happened in china too, he wasn’t surprised. He explained that in china, especially in shanghai, the air trafficking in terrible. The flights are often delayed. We got our tickets rebooked. My earliest flight was the next afternoon at 2pm while his was at 7am. He decided to go with a flight closer to mine so he could at least get some sleep. He went down to our next destination, where we choose an accommodation of our choice within the two options offered by the airline. I went with the serviced apartments, love those, so much space. We exchange wechat information as we wait for the hotel to pick us up. Eventually, we checked into our rooms after midnight and agree to meet up for breakfast the next morning.

Laurent messaged me! So happy to talk to him again. Its so hard to contact him, miss him dearly. He’s usually busy with his internship in London now but he’s also generally bad at responding to texts. I hate that about him. Anyways I told him about my little trip over the weekend and the whole delayed situation. He said my parents were a little over the top to be spending so much for only two days back. He’s probably right but to them it meant a lot and it was worth the expense. Its there money not mine, especially if it makes them happy. Besides the whole idea of a sudden getaway is very exciting and I get to see my dad!

[ecotone99]

[MF]In the Shape of the Big Dipper

Celine had eyed me curiously while I paid for our lunch at the little grille we found in Charleston. I did spend a lot of money that day, but Celine acted like I was a drug lord or at the pink Caddy level of a pyramid scheme. I simply paid cash to keep better track of my spending, that’s all. Money, much like life, doesn’t last. You can’t keep either, so you must learn to spend both the way you want. I never had a red cent to theorize about until recently, much less a fortune of dirty money to move twelve hours away to avoid confronting. Here I was, though, hiding out in the boonies with nursing students, numbing myself with crab cakes and sweet grass baskets. Trusting Celine wasn’t the hard part— she was a good, Christian girl who didn’t believe in strangers, white shoes after Labor Day, or mole people. The problem was I hadn’t told anyone the truth yet— my parents are thrilled; they think I left to go to school. School is a joke, but I enjoy the curriculum and making my folks happy. I owed them that much; they left the beauty of Palermo, the Catholic Church, and the 20th century behind for me. My ex-fiancé, Rob, was just fine with it. He doesn’t know that I know he had an affair and isn’t so excited I’m moving on to bigger and better things. He screws his next-door neighbor every Saturday, the 35-year-old named Judy, with a hideous affinity for vintage bobble head Dobermans and flesh colored lipstick. His mother told me on my way in the night I left, told me I needed to kick the little bastard to the curb, so I obliged her. She was a wonderful mother.

As important as they all were, I didn’t belong to the Maple Street gang anymore. Diana was the catalyst to my new life. We got to know each other during her monthly check-ups. She

Page 2

was a patient of Dr. Hales, a sweet old man who’d traded Scarsdale balloon boobies, expressionless faces, and ski-slope noses for his beach house. Diana’s favorite thing was to make me uncomfortable, and if she could encourage my wild side, all the better. She often brought me coffee, offered me cocaine a time or two, and told Dr. H he wasn’t paying me enough every time she visited.

After Celine went home, I had some time to myself, so I began to tell myself the truth. Diana had come into the office for a checkup, after which I relented to a long-standing rain check to visit her apartment. She was a fine thief, something she had no doubt spent a long time perfecting, but I worked with the public.

“Please don’t steal the magazines,” I urged her.

“I paid for these, baby, this doctor charges me $500 just to talk,” Diana said.

“Well, they’re going to ask me what happened to them—I’ll be responsible for replacing them.”

“No, not okay, that’s arrogant and unfair. You’re just a kid and cannot possibly be expected to answer the phone, file papers, take a lunch break, then do the same thing until 5 o’clock while corralling unruly patients.”

“Are you making fun of me? I’m not stupid. I choose to be here and interact with the unruly patients, do my job, and find time to craft 200 Christmas cards by hand.”

“Big shit, I bet you never made a croquembouche while glancing up to make sure Pierre’s boogers didn’t fall into your nearly burning glaze.”

Page 3

“Is Pierre your boss?” I asked.

“Nobody has ever had that displeasure—he was my mentor and my friend. He died when AIDs had us all too scared to swap spit with anyone but WASPS.” Diana answered.

“The Princess of Wales wasn’t afraid. Have you seen Dallas Buyer’s Club?”.

“No, I refuse to see Matthew McConaughey in such a state.”

“It was pretty graphic—what are you always seeing Dr. Hales about anyway?”.

“That’s for me to suffer through and you to look at later when I leave, and you file it away.”

“I can’t look at your medical records, they’re all online now.”

“All the juicy stuff is. Since we’re doing personal questions, how long have you been married?”.

“I’m not, well, I hope he proposes soon. We’ve been together for a year, and I do everything I can to make him happy. He just seems so disinterested in me these days; I’m not really sure what to do if he doesn’t.”

“You’re making 200 Christmas cards and have no husband? You never fail to disappoint me, Greta. Come have a drink and read this Cosmo I’m taking home. You’ve been avoiding my invitation for years.”

I took a cab with Diana back to Manhattan after her appointment while my conscious and Changes by 2Pac blared in my head. We pulled up to a gorgeous brownstone that smelled like leather and rain. The first floor was all tile hallways lined in thick, pastel rugs with shiny, mahogany stairs-- her actual house was the next story up. Once we got in there, I sat down with my pack of smokes and decided I was going to stay for an hour, have a drink, and take 1 aspirin when I got home.

Page 4

Once I was settled, I rammed the business end of my flip-top box into the leg of Diana’s white director’s chair. I inadvertently bounced my curls and breasts, the latter nearly out of my shirt. I flipped the first cigarette I touched upside down, placing it back inside to pick another one, just like Pop- pop showed me. Diana noticed my ritual and nodded in approval.

“What’s up D?” I asked, sucking out my first draw.

“Well first, nice tits. Second, your options are now a sex lesson from me instead of the daft editors at Cosmopolitan or the greatest adventure of your young life.” Diana said.

“What’s more interesting than sex?” I responded, carefully tugging up my dress.

“Stamp collectors, the price of bananas, warts.” Diana said.

She walked over to the left of her living space, squinting to see the sunset out of the bright stained-glass window.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t pick the second option, Greta.”

“I don’t need another adventure, D. I’m already uncomfortable.”

“Your coming here is part of it, so just calm down. You won’t have to actually do much more, sweets.” Diana cooed.

“That croak in a bush thing you mentioned earlier sure sounded interesting.” I said as I surveyed her true crime selection. I noticed most were stolen library books, which seemed overly fitting.

Page 5

“You need professional help. Maybe this was a mistake.” Diana said.

“I don’t mean to be rude--I joke when I’m nervous.” I was enjoying myself more than I thought, but it was getting late. I’d had enough of deciphering these interactions for one day.

“I brought you here to give you something.” Diana turned on her heels and walked over to me. “Something I would give to my kid, save only for two facts: I cannot track him down, and I don’t have enough time to track him down. Either way, it will get passed on just as I received it: from strangers.

“You have a kid?” I asked.

“Yes, and I left him just like my parents left me, no family and no explanation but lots and lots of dough. Any more questions?” she said.

“Not right now. Except maybe for what exactly you want to give me?” I asked.

“More than you bargained for.” Diana said as she walked back to her window. She was squinting harder now, to see the stars through the thick smog.

I had worried when I got there that she was either going to kill me or seduce me. Although I think she could have easily done one, and certainly managed either, Diana didn’t bother me again until 2 days later: the Sunday after my visit to her, when I picked up the Times. She was dangling from a gaping hole where that stained-glass window had been, for all the world to see. No cat eyeliner, no hair, and wearing a suit. The glass on the ground below her had shattered in the shape of the Big Dipper.

Page 6

I excused myself from my parent’s breakfast table, taking page 6 and a lox bagel with me to my room. I wondered about a lot for the rest of the day, but the most unsettling of my ponders was the way D had looked. I knew she probably hadn’t started off as a lady, but I figured her masculine days had to have been far behind enough to disregard. I guess it made sense we got along, I was a sucker for complicated men.

I arrived early to work on Monday. Dr. Hales was also surprised that she’d killed herself, although he did admit he was not a psychiatrist. He’d spent Sunday much the same way I did as he had known her for a long time. Apparently, Diana used to be a Mr. David Dawson; her transition required hormone therapy when those medicines were not yet regulated. They caused a rare and aggressive cancer that would have killed her no later than Valentine’s Day. Dr. Hales was trying to reverse her damage, begging her to do chemo, but D had insisted on more hormones: male ones. My best guess was that D had too many regrets about transitioning, perhaps because it made her so sick. When it didn’t work, she killed herself. This was what I resigned myself to believe, and it made me feel better as well as it explained her strange behavior every step of the way.

For the first few weeks after D’s death, I worried about being questioned. I was the last one there, surely someone else knew that. The papers even called it a most unusual suicide, updating the public every so often on the charismatic chef who’d met a gruesome end before they eventually began to lose interest. On St. Patrick’s Day, I got a call from a guy who told me he was a lawyer who wanted me to meet him outside of Bay Ridge about a patient of Dr. Hales. He wouldn’t give any details, but I knew who it was about. Worst case scenario it was a setup to

Page 7

interrogate me about D’s death, best case it was information about her that further explained my narrative. I decided I would make an appearance, no matter how it shook out.

Finally, after 3 hours in gridlock, I arrived at a small, but clean hotel. The concierge handed me two credit card style keys. They unlocked the door to room 340, where I found no lawyer and no cops, but a short letter accompanied by a bank card, checkbook, and briefcase. The letter is where I learned of the more-than-I’d bargained-for gift D had set me up with.

Dear Ms. Cannuciari,

We thank you for your assistance in the removal of D.D., simply some of the most extraordinary work we have seen. He was our most beloved detective, but the betrayal we experienced was far too great. The sum is broken down into 1 million USD in $100 bills, which are lining the briefcase. A secure account with our financial institution will house the remaining 76 million USD until either the day you die or the day you speak of our transaction to anyone, for any reason. Mr. Dawson chose the option that’s no longer available, which is to have your genitals cut cleanly off with a Jian--we greatly implore that you do not Google that.

Thank you again, madam. We do hope you will work with us again sometime.

submitted by /u/SlyFoxJrLady [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/31mLc2Y

[philosphim-best-comments]

William's recipe for a peaceful world.

Skirmishes in the Natural War.  

Dedicated to and Refuge provided by EJP.

                                                            The Dialogue:

Arises from a series of written discussions with Elinor concerning the concept of "female archetypal violence".  

        William's volley:

        We discussed the behavior and social learning environment of girls approximately 12-16 years old.  It is in this period women learn how to use inclusion and exclusion power.  The atmosphere is one in which belonging has a high premium.  Groups (cliques) become one of the important means for self-identification which also parallels the maturing need for individualization.  This skill is one that involves    the power and the judgment of exclusion and inclusion.  The skill is learned in a highly competitive arena not dissimilar to the physical arena which is the natural gauntlet of the male.  Many women feel that this brings out the worst in the female nature.

     In the terms of "female archetypal theory" the underlying situation which inspired this dialogue can represent itself as an example of the “tooth mother”.  The tooth mother is a  seducer who invites the victim into the web with a promise of intimacy or closeness and then does the sidestep or disappearing act when there is a test of the relationship. The seductive nature of the promise of belonging or inclusion is then paired with a slight of hand disappearance or perhaps denial or rejection when the chips are finally called in (or when the boundaries are tested).  Women learn during that period  (12 to 16 years old)  the power which  excluding and including can bring and the exhilaration of remaining above the chaos and disappointment that it produces.  In the abstract this seems interesting but not very significant.  However both of these are true and the lack of significance is the most important.

         Elinor's response:

As to whole heartedly agreeing with your premise -- chunks of it yes. But I guess my effort is towards introducing the female  perspective. Not with the intention of saying female violence does not occur, because I do agree with that premise, but helping  to make the argument more sound.  Been thinking about the use of the word "war". My hesitation comes from my [discussions with male friends] . The idea of "war" crops up in all sorts of contexts. For example, the aging male body and being at "war" with it. Family  struggles -- feeling it's not "controllable" and therefore losing the "war". I think the term "war" is particularly connected to male identity wrapped up in "performance" and "being in control".

For women, the metaphor of "war" for one's connection to the world (and one's body) seems wrong. The idea of controlling what is happening  to you and in the world around you -- don't think that's a female concept. I'm thinking of Tolstoy and his book War and Peace. It was many  many years ago that I read it, but from what I can remember, what impressed me.... His discussion of Napoleon,   he was successful -- he  didn't just lay out a plan and expect his troops to fall into line. He was more  of a weather analyst -- figuring out which way the winds were blowing, where there would be weather trouble spots, and then attempting to maneuver his troops through and around that.  Although I've      picked an iconic male and a "war" to illustrate a female perspective -- still think that shows how women navigate the world.  My point here is -- if the word "war" is strongly tied to a male perspective, if we want to achieve balance in this discussion, i.e. include female perspective, then what would be another word that describes the places where male /female interaction occur?  Got my thinking cap on.

            Next response:

Male vantage point: (as expressed by [william])  "The tooth mother is the seducer who invites the victim into the web with a promise of intimacy or closeness  and then does the sidestep or     disappearing act  when tested. The seductive nature of the promise of belonging which is then paired with a slight of hand disappearance or   perhaps denial or rejection when the chips are called in...  In the abstract this seems interesting but not very significant.  I will be arguing that both of these are true and the lack of significance is the most important."

 In the war between men and women, men may very well be oblivious to this particular power exercised by women.  From a male perspective,  women magically and rewardingly appear, and at the next moment, punishingly disappear. In the teenage world of young women this exercise   of power is made painfully explicit to the victim. In the sphere of male/female engagement, this exercise of inclusion/exclusion remains discreet, less identifiable and therefore less likely to garner an immediate physically violent response.

             William:

1. It seems that what you (Elinor)  said is not incompatible with the following scenario.

2. Women between ages 12 - 16 learn the art of inclusion/exclusion.

3. his art is very effective against males who had none of this training or perhaps aptitude.

We have an example of how nasty this power is in somebody we know well. During teenage years they  got passed around as a prize in the exclusion/inclusion war zone.  Women don't fair well in the war zone and men get slaughtered.  

         Elinor's thoughtful conclusion:

I would add: both sexes pass through a "trial by fire" period. Both brutal and both often wounding the participants.  For men it's a trial of who is the strongest, most straight (accusations of being gay) Etc. For women it's who can be most popular, be included in cliques, can wield the sword of banishment most effectively.   Add to the male trial: who can administer a physical beating and come out on top.

Post discussion:

Talking to the victim who was at the core of this discussion has yielded some more thoughts.   He remarked that before we had an in depth discussions of this he had felt victimized but that had been lost to the feeling that he had really been the author of his own misfortunes.  When he felt that he had been responsible for his own demise he stopped thinking about what had been done to him.  I pointed out that he was in the hands of experts at this craft.  The boundary dissolution was aided by people trying to master that craft. It is kind of analogous to saying to a female, who has been victimized by more powerful male thugs, that the real answer is to work on strength and fighting skills and that alone provides a real solution to the issues.  This culturally does not seem adequate and thus we have a set of laws and customs that try to protect females from the male advantage.  So the equivalent would be to tell males to become better navigators in the realm of inclusion/exclusion politics.  This is not likely helpful.  This is only really learned and honed by the gauntlet of growing up in the female realm during those formative years.

Just as men had to for the good of culture and civilization reign in their superior physical prowess it is incumbent on females to examine their own power and find the appropriate way to protect the planet from it.

In the next section I will attempt to build the conceptual framework in which the above discussion lives.  

                                                            The Concepts

“Male Archetypal Violence” (MAV) (60% of the time employed by males)1 is overt.  Wars, battles, royalty, the military receive most of their powers from this type of violence.  The amount written on this is often called history.  “I had no chance they just...” can be said by the victim.

“Female Archetypal Violence” (FAV) (60% of the time employed by females) is much less known and even lesser understood.   The victim often says “I knew better but...”  This essay will first define then attempt to build a scaffolding on which future thought can be hung.  Then make a convincing case of the importance of this issue and finally issue various apocalyptic pronouncements.  (I.E. Pursuit of this issue might lead to world peace through the evolution of civilization based  on the cultural integration of this violence).

"Hello World".  A computer landmark which designates a certain place in a process.  This place might be a completion, close to a completion or even fairly close to the beginning.  It generally signifies that your environment has been correctly setup so now work can be done. The setup can be difficult and therefore this can be quite an accomplishment.  Or this can be quite a matter of fact stage with all the important work to follow.  In my case this essay represents  45 years of preparation without a promise of success.   This particular one is atypical in that this, is the latest stage, and represents a completion and perhaps closure.

                                                             "Hello World"

[A dream]  I was in a study/dining hall of a place like Oxford or Cambridge. This was a beautiful sun lit room with stodgy furnishings. Many chairs, table crowded the floor space but the room had marvelous high ceilings such that the overall impression was spaciousness. There was a Chinese scroll unfurled on the floor. It was very long and passed by many chairs.  As I was trying to roll it up the doctor  (Johnston) was holding the far end and shaking it, making it very hard for me to accomplish the roll up.  I was quite irritated.

The present chapter started with a meeting with a psychiatrist (the doctor from dream).  I was trying to choose one for my son.  Since I was to pay for it I was trying to assess this recommended doctor.  I happen to throw out that I also could use some help with a topic which from time to time had become important to my life. The doctor said that he had thought and wrote about similar things and that we might try some sessions.

The topic that I brought originally sounded like:  I believe that there are types of violence that men suffer from, at the hands of women, that are not well described or understood but have a profound effect upon them and that they have very little defense against. This state of affairs exists both because of men's pride and nature. This is little explored to the detriment of men and their relationship with females and the world.  It had always appeared to me that generally men lost in the relational world and would resort to the destruction of the relationship in lieu of struggling with the violent forces that resided therein.  I presented this to the doctor saying that I wanted to explore this topic, that I was susceptible to this form of violence, and that if he could help me clarify this situation and make progress towards the writing down of my thoughts that that would provide the basis for a therapeutic relationship.  I was shocked by how much writing and work the doctor had done on topics that were related to my central concerns. I had in my life not found anyone besides myself who had done any analysis of related topics.  In my opinion the doctor had developed a framework in which my felt sense of the situation found a home.  I felt exhilarated and optimistic that finally I would make some progress towards my life goal. (Which is) the destruction of the conceptual universe by freeing men's thought from their dependence on female acceptance (inclusion)2.  Of course, this has not yet happened and  I may be deluded as to the importance of these concepts.  However this is a voyage I have decided to take.

                                                              Definitions and Scaffolding            

"In the same way that present cultural energetics blind us to the positive power of the receptive, they also shield us from its less savory aspects.  When we think of violence, we most readily imagine physical or psychological assault.  Yet there is unquestionably as much potential violence and deception in the receptive[female archetypal violence] half of rhythm as in the expressive[male archetypal violence]"  The Creative Imperative, p252, Charles M. Johnston.

"In patterns of receptive violence, we hear echoes of those destructive descendent forces which I called the suffocating mother and the tooth mother.   In the first...is a bit like... tar baby. Expression brings not expressiveness, but entanglement and insatiable need.  Rather than being received...sucked in...sucked dry..melodrama….”   The Creative Imperative p252

“ ...One way of looking at pseudo-receptivity and receptive violence is that they are ways to attain the creative energy of another without reciprocal vulnerability.” The Creative Imperative p252

"These forces are violent at very least in the sense they suffocate and confuse men's ability to bring fairness and justness…to a relationship" William T P6 essay 1983

                                                             Definitions

--- tenets as worked on in many sessions with Charles M. Johnston---

"Female archetypal violence" is both distinct and statistically more predominant in biological females. (60/40 ration)3

FAV is based on an enforced oneness at the expense of the others (victim's) boundary.  Needs to be agreed to by the victim.  Agreement is fundamentally unconscious (part of its potency).  The buying in thus represents a dissolution of boundary.

Female archetypal violence is hidden and very difficult to see.  Expression in the culture is indirect (not by thought) as novels, poetry, artistic and culture expressions. For example it represents the basis of advertisement which could be seen as a  dissolution of boundary with the promise of belonging and perhaps entitlement.  

The "creative system" 4theory of personality which generated the female archetypal violence framework would assert that everyone along with many different inclinations and traits will have within them elements of female archetypal violence.  These elements will be difficult to see, understand, or grasp and the power that they have are enhanced by its covertness.

Most importantly an understanding of this hidden form of violence is the next step in the advancement of whole person relationship.

---- end of tenets -----

Since this is archetypal female violence it seemed, by the doctor, appropriate that females would be the one to create the analytical literature that surrounds this concept.

                                                              Idea History:

My dilemma - So here I am in 2017 an explorer in the realms of female violence from the late 60's (ever since I met women's liberation in Lethbridge, Alberta) onward.  I wrote two essays in the 80's and yet I struggled to find a framework for this violence. I had to rely on my own experience and my many discussions with other men to derive an approach to what I could clearly see.  I speculated that this was emotional violence.  With the result that emotion pretty much always won out over thought in the relational world.  This 60's belief  was fueled by an attitude that emotion was closer to the truth than thought.  It was more natural and closer to our authentic nature.  It just so happened to be in the feminine realm.  However instead of an emotional utopia what I see are relational talents which are then leveraged to become violent.  Many friendships ended for me when I mentioned that I was exploring the nature of female violence.  These thoughts were drowned in a sea of emotions (sometimes screaming), sometimes just a warning not to proceed.  This to me is thoughticide and never was acceptable to me.  As a result I have felt very distant from the world for many years.

"Shared living spaces! We consider "Mens things" to be juvenile, banal or plain stupid. When moving in together his things "Need to go." Bachelor pad "garbage" is ridiculous! His feelings of sentimental desire to hold on to the pieces of himself that are reflected in his belongings are belittled. He's not sentimental, he is trying to hold on to memories of his singlehood, the grotesqueness of a man living without the guidance of a woman to pick out tasteful items! Absolutely not, toss the shit out your saved you have a woman now!

[My current husband] was so shocked at my acceptance of his things, that to this day he will describe a struggle that never happened when people comment in pure disbelief that there are things in our home that would normally be banned to the shop or study if we had one. A framed hockey jersey and sports figurines in the shared living space, as if the space belongs to him as well as me. I always have to say, "that was a different girlfriend, I never asked you to take your stuff off your walls and shelves!" I just assumed I was moving into his space that he was sharing with me. Now it is our home with our things. Every year when we break out the Christmas ornaments he will ask permission to hang his ornaments. Every year when I look at him like he is crazy and say "Well of course you should!" his response is "Finally after all these years I can hang them!" He is so trained that his things are stupid and unacceptable ( Yes I hate his ornaments I think they are stupid but have never said so, but they're looney toons characters!) That he like blocks out that they have been on all 8 trees we have shared! His ex had a themed tree every year ie:all red and silver or all blue etc. His things were to stay in the box and never blemish HER beautiful tree that she decorated so he could enjoy a beautiful tree.

How would a woman react if when her and her partner went to move in together and he laughed at her things and said "Oh no missy, none of that shit is coming in here. Toss it out, that is all stupid bachelorett garbage. Don't worry I know how to decorate right!" Of course it would never work, she would be angry and insulted. Her things have value, they mean something to her, she picked them up with thought and feeling. Or maybe it was a gift, maybe it reminds her of that day....! [My current husband] was willing to put his shit in storage, he was ready and willing to put it away and expect no empathy or understanding from me. Because in this world, that is how moving in together works! Even when the first time I came here as a visitor, he spent 15 passionate minutes telling me about the framed Jersey. I could have banished it to a closet without batting an eyelash, and he would have pretended it was ok, he should understand how important it was to me to not have dumb things like that hanging around! "Unhooked" 2012 Nikki S. unpublished memoirs

                                                              The Logic of Pursuit

In my 80's essays I commented on  the female cultural orientation towards relationship which leads them to have developed much greater abilities both to build and then tear down within that arena. This is analogous to the male who  in general is able to build or tear down a boat or a skyscraper or even a concept .  I had theories that this was set up developmentally by ”the logic of pursuit”.

"A devastating logic of pursuit set up men initially to lose in the relational world.  The logic of pursuit is a baptism of steel and fire at the gates of relationship.  In this milieu men learn to suppress feelings of weakness and fear.  This game or the threat of this game insures that men will be emotionally off balance and ultimately will not be in touch with their feelings when their aid is required.  Men only somewhat survive when the object of pursuit is well intentioned, agreeable or benign.  Under stress men will be forced to rely entirely on reason which is clumsy, slow, and fairly inadequate tool for successful relational navigation." W.T 1982 p5 "Romanticism and the assault on male value"

Men who are basically socialized to be the pursuer were good at the hunting and capturing phase of the relational world.  However this involved a distortion of their selves (lies and bravado (false/otherwise))  in the subsequent civilized relational part they were not so much at home. The deception which allowed relationship to first occur now becomes a hindrance to intimacy.  One result of the initial foray was that within relationship the lack of initial disclosure became something which hindered flexible and natural behavior going forward thus leaving them to be easily out maneuvered to the point of damage. Where on the female side  disclosures of weakness and vulnerability are expected, perhaps even encouraged (as they gives men a place to fit in).  Thus women come to the relationship with much less hidden. They do not have to spend so much energy in self censure. This further increases the emotional facility gap.  These are of course generalities but we have  a culture in which men are generally disadvantaged in relational navigation.

                                                              Meeting the Doctor

I met the doctor who had a structure and a conceptual framework for understanding what this particular talent was composed of.  It fit my basic model.  My model said that this type of violence resides mainly in the female realm, was hidden and was the enemy of thought. The doctor provided the terminology of "female archetypal violence" which resides most predominantly in the biological female in the ratio of 60/40 (biological females use female archetypal violence 60 percent of the time and male archetypal violence 40 percent time while for biological males the ratio is reversed). FAV is basically hidden and received its power from that trait. It defeats or confuses boundary.  The doctor extended my understanding by showing me that this type of violence must have an element of self-infliction. The boundary which is breached must be at some level of consciousness agreed to (an unwillingness of the organism for separation or exclusion).  The doctor did not hold the same emphasis I had that this was a assault against thought.  However when  a violence of this ilk is finally understood  the conclusion often comes out like: “I knew better but I still allowed it to happen.”

                                                              Considering potency

Even though at first glance it seems like  there is only a slight predominance between men and women in their utilization of FAV. However it actually nets out to a very great potential difference in potency.  It is easiest to understand this point by analogously looking at MAV which has the 60/40 ratio in men.  Its use might be in that ratio but its form is much more effective in the biological male.  This potency in the male archetypal form is much more demonstrative (in your face) which is the nature of MAV anyways.  And if you see male archetypal violence in the simplest physical form. The destruction of the other by force simply demonstrates  that  the superior physical strength of the male realm  produces a much more potent variety of this violence .  Their physical strength gives them an advantage which in general is very hard for the biological female to overcome.   And even though men in general use this form of violence only slightly more then the female part of the population, their use of it is much more effective.  It  is so effective that a body of culture (I.E. you should never hit a women: oft transmitted from father to son) and law try to neutralize this advantage.  The similar type of situation exists on the receptive side of violence. Though females use FAV only slightly more than males would use it, their use of it is much more potent.  A father might smother his offspring in attempt to keep them in the fold but he cannot compete for a title in the smothering mother sweepstakes.  The male just doesn't have the biology/culture to often effectively be both helpless and yet domineering in the same breath.  Here the weakness is just as important as the subsequent strength. The other common form of female archetypal violence is called the tooth mother.  The tooth mother is the seductress.  Promising union and oneness while cleverly giving very little away.  People become the pawns of such violence as their investment is high based on the false air of invitation and intimacy.  Most assuredly the wielding of this is much weighted in the biological females favor.

                                                              What happened to the thought

I have great issue with the lack of truly analytic or structural analysis in the female archetypal realm.  However since female archetypal violence is basically a violence directed against thought it is not completely surprising that thought about it would be at a premium. And that it would appear to most keen observers that a black hole in this regards exists.

                                                              The war against thought

Perhaps the lack of coherent thought on this topic is the most compelling argument for its essential essence being an assault against thought. The definition of female archetypal violence is that which dissolves boundaries and requires the victim to engage in self-infliction. Therefore a boundary of this type which can be compromised by FAV violence must be at least somewhat consciously breached.  This type of internal object must have some thought or thought like structure. Without a definable structure, something that could be identified when confronted or elucidated,  there would be no sense in saying its dissolution was self-inflicted.  A fully unconscious boundary at least in terms of female archetypal violence is no boundary at all. A conscious boundary implies both structure and abstraction. This type of entity is either thought or thought like.

The smothering mother extinguishes the nascent thought of its victim. This extinguishing cannot exist without the willingness of the victim.  One might still hold thoughts of independence or escape but these thoughts do not result in action, only regret and ultimately self-recrimination. In the relational world this exists as a threat of banishment, exclusion or as a tool to suppress discussion, analysis or consideration.

The tooth-mother, the seductress has a different thought assault methodology. Here there is an assumption of belonging. A creation of a one-sided myth.  The seductress dulls are skepticism or critical evaluation.  We are encouraged to create an imaginary union in which the perpetrator gets undeserved special status. We treat this person as special and in the final analysis they treat us as one of the many adulating and exploitable fans.  We have given up that which would demand a careful and rational negotiation for the dispersion of our own resources. At some point we wake up and realize there is no balance and that was given is substantial and what is received is ethereal.

The cult mother (my own extension of the theory) directly tries to destroy or inhibit any thought that is counter to its world view. This is an enforced oneness often using MAV.  MAV in service of FAV. (MAV) Threats of expulsion or harm paired with an implied or real carrot of inclusion (oneness; welcoming back to the family; or redemption).  In my case this was to a posited relational reality. The effective threat of exclusion was used  to squelch my opposition usually delivered in a very shrill voice.   In some major aspects women's liberation of the early 70's operated with this cult like ferocity. Women's emotional facility was seen as much closer to reality than the abstract thought world of the male.  So the female was grounded on an unassailable truth.  Mostly men could only contribute to the dialogue if they had no qualms about the negativity that was heaped generously upon them and were willing to be part of women's liberation auxiliary unit.  It was also necessary for them to believe that in the relational world it was men's violence that was the only truly significant factor.   What a women would/could do or had done could not be compared to the violence that they had suffered at paternalistic hands.  When I tried to say that I believed that the female types of (emotional) preferred  violence (now known as FAV) was potent and needed to be taken seriously I mostly received shrieking.  Sometimes I received pronouncements to the fact that mine was just male abstract thought and it was not to be tolerated. Either way I shut up and realized that I was dealing with irrational violence. I  basically walked away with my own feelings and experience of being male and stuck to my belief that we were dealing with only half the story.  The one sided analysis that I was presented was not possibly accurate.  The cult bulldozing was successful  as I was silenced.  It was easy for me to accept that most of their claims of male's unacceptable attitudes were emotionally true even if their analysis was flawed.  

Extreme MAV sounds like pilfering, bullying, robbing, torturing, killing.  If we were to imagine a scenario of male archetypal violence it might look like:   He came into my house by breaking down the door, then he robbed me, molested my family, pushed me around and destroyed a great deal of valuable furniture before fleeing in a screechingly fast car.  There is not a lot more that needs to be understood.  The violence is obvious and overtly in your face.  This is sometimes considered the violence of the two where the victim is completely other and therefore expendable.  There is no sense that the other is connected to you at all and that its destruction implies some loss for yourself and for your humanity.

                                                              FAV further explored

In contrast female archetypal is the violence of the enforced one.  It creates a sticky, false and unbalanced or overwhelming oneness at the cost of the vitality and independence of the other.  This at its root more accurately and surprisingly could be described as a violence against thought.  The victim has their thought suppressed or destroyed.  At some level this must happen with permission of the victim in the psyche of the victim.  The smothering mother,  the tooth mother and the cult mother  have developed within a milieu of a monumental amount of thought (cultural history and social gauntlet) to be correctly conceived and executed. They must for example be understandable in terms of boundary dissolution, covertness, indirectness.  Their expression is anecdotal or culturally literate. Both the mechanism and the rewards are often unclear.

Often it is only on later reflection that this type of violence is recognized.  So at its core this type of violence demands a great deal of introspection  and contextualization to become understandable.  And given that much of its power comes from it's hiddenness it is easy to see that analytical thought about this  is going to be very difficult.

Elinor explained that the perfection of this type of violence is the result of a great deal of planning and practicing.  The two main components of this is the realization that women are physically at risk in the world.  This is coupled with the fact that they are told they must be a certain indirect way for the good of the world, society, family. They cannot directly confront what they perceive as either not right or not true.  Women are therefore forced to come up with a covert way of coping and thriving in the world.  This task demands  planning, conceiving and negatively scheming in order to pull off either a coped or thrived existence.  The victim of this has their boundaries dissolved;  these boundaries are of a thought like nature.  For it is only type of structure which is truly identifiable in consciousness. And this structure which is thought or thought like is destroyed by tools which are created by a considerable amount of experiential practice.  Archetypal female violence is such a violence, a violence against thought.  If  I read the previous paragraph to my wife she would correct some of my excesses.  The scheming aspect is very minor while the analysis, thought, testing, hypothesizing and verifying that goes on is much more central to the situation.  My wife mentioned that she had not grown up with brothers so men were not really something that she had to learn to deal with.  She had gone to visit her relatives in Puerto Rico and was confronted with boys who were out of control and realized that to deal with such forces that planning and experimenting would need to take place.  In this atmosphere men were to be handled and controlled with the minimum amount of effort.  Men were out of control hulks that needed to be managed.  There was little empathy to be found here.  

“Our incompatibility is BIG! It extends into so many areas, I was originally just thinking about sex, how women view male sexuality. Even that takes off in several directions, we love it hate it, deny it and use it. But it isn't only sex, it is just about every aspect of our lives. How in the world do we share the planet with each other in our constant power struggle? Even to suggest to a liberal woman that we have little empathy for men could get me strung up!” "Unhooked" 2012 Nikki S. unpublished memoirs

“Women have reigned supreme in the relational world since the beginning of the courtly love tradition [a cult like structure].  When they (i.e. Eleanor of Aquitaine) dictated what was acceptable behavior for the civilized court and the social world, Men seem to accept it silently without struggle.  Men who now have had a long history of losing in the relational/emotional world, have and will escape inevitably into the power of the more abstract, business, war, or thought realm.” “Romanticism and the assault on Male Values” 1982 W.T. P4

                                                              Biology

It would be a mistake not to believe that biology is at the root of the issue.  The biology provides the engine, the power.

“I thought women have no idea how this damages and hurts our men. For most women, sex is a want not a need. We can take it or leave it. We can tell our husbands we don't want to do it anymore, but you should still hold me, hold my hand stroke my hair because I need that. Our expectation is that he should react as if we just said I no longer want to use the shower any more, I'm just going to bath from now on because that feels better to me. But I think for men sex is more of a need, part of their health and well being, Not so much like we will die without food and water, but somehow more important than women (most) understand. Then when men are upset about the lack of sex most women don't see the pain and damage, that the person they trust to love them and meet this need denying them causes. They see them as selfish and cruel expecting them to give up their body for the selfish male want. How dare those men! We expect all the empathy to be on the male side, understand "I love you, but I suddenly find myself repulsed by your need to be inside me, even though I used to love it. Just hold me and love me the way I want to be loved because my revulsion of sex hurts me! Hold me and understand me, and for gods sakes don't try to tell me how this denial of sex hurts you! Because this is all about me and my need!" "Unhooked" 2012 Nikki S. unpublished memoirs

                                                              This topic has no thought!

Once the four tenets (60/40 split,  oneness, victims agreement, hiddenness as power)had been agreed upon there was a foundation.  I then worked on getting the best answer that this culture could produce as to why this violence continues  unchecked and unheeded.  I believe that the doctor (because of his already demonstrated sophistication in these matters) could be counted on to represent the culture most convincingly.  

Before I met the doctor this topic had been a vague and disturbing black hole .   This is no longer true.  The three mothers intertwine to create a real context in the analytical realm of this issue.  The cultural stuff erupts into consciousness with a high volume of plays, poems and other expressions  which when pondered can be seen as elucidating  instances of FAV.   For the doctor and this culture, this has been at least tacitly deemed as sufficient material on this topic.  The doctor did express some hope that there would ultimately be a female commentator on these matters.   In terms of analytical matters there is an added reason which explains the lack of a framework of understanding.  The topic by nature resists thought and its power is derived from being in the shadows (one of the tenets).   So from my vantage point  that is the best that our culture has so far presented.

Even the paltriest of subjects have much discussion and if controversial, involving judgment or morality there can be volumes.  So why does this topic have so little?  The doctor’s answer is that there is no lack here and that this is congruent with the indirect nature of the issue.  Its expression is indirect residing in literature, art and popular culture.   This fecundity to me is not reassuring as it simply points out that the need for tough analysis is long overdue. I would say that thought is not very much present here and these cultural manifestations are in fact an anathema to thought.  In culture “advertising”  is the main negative archetypically feminine manifestation.  Advertising lives on the ability to convince us that the road to belonging and achievement is through acquisition and materialism.  Get into the Pepsi generation.  Step into the now. Show the world that you have distinctive and refined taste.  The promise of inclusion if only you would be a consumer participant. This can only be effective if the norm is a sense of exclusion and disenfranchisement.

“[My current husband] was so shocked at my acceptance of his things, that to this day he will describe a struggle that never happened when people comment in pure disbelief that there are things in our home that would normally be banned to the shop or study if we had one.” N.S (sited previously)

There would need to be some cultural evolution of understanding based on and accounting for the indirect material,  before I would even begin to believe that this has been appropriately digested.  I wait for literature that expresses the relational dominance to appear.  I don’t believe there exists another issue of this gravity of which there has seen so little conscious cultural evolution.  The recognition and integration of the archetypically female both positive and negative in the doctor’s and my perception represents the next step in cultural evolution. The next step in interpersonal evolution involves the recognition and integration of the female archetype both negative and positive is  something that we both agreed on.  For the doctor this will happen naturally and in a generation will be part of the culture analogous to gay rights 20 years ago.  For me the topic has not advanced since the courtly love tradition and I see little evidence that this is about to change. While the issue hides in the shadow it is in need of a very strong flashlight.  The interpersonal relational environment is toxic to males and needs a deep cleansing.     I believe the doctor’s argument to be just a smokescreen of avoidance of many necessary skirmishes in the natural war.

                                                              To (the better) half the world:

The shadow side of the archetypically masculine is very well known.  War and all its friends. The archetypically female also has a shadow.  It is this shadow that lacks substance.  In this essay I am trying to convince men both of the reality and scope of a violence for which they have almost no understanding, defense or cognition.  I have historically lacked the ability to convince them not to stick their heads in the sand at a very basic level.  It is a hostile environment for men out there.  And the understanding of that has never been in vogue  or sanctioned by our culture.  It is understood both by N.S. and Elinor that men are in a ridiculous situation which is not to be envied, ridiculed or profited by.

As you can see it is hard for me not for one last time try to convince men that there is a problem and that they might be effective if they would consider it. I think what Elinor has demonstrated, that though she understands the reality of the female behavior as being not understood in its negative aspects yet she also has a very hard time going into a detailed explanation of how this works. But she sees outbreaks of the consequences in the negative image of maleness that plays itself out in this culture.  She agrees that this thing is not without importance and yet is understood little.

Eleanor of Aquitaine told men that they were not welcome in civilized society or with a woman unless they changed their behavior towards women and made themselves clean and worthy.

“One story is that in her effort to shed her rough knights of their unruly ways, she made up a mock trial in which the court ladies sat on an elevated platform and judged the knights, who read poems of homage to women and acted out proper courting techniques. The men wore fancy clothes - flowing sleeves, pointed shoes - and wore their hair long.” http://www.womeninworldhistory.com/EofAreturns.html

Men did not disagree with the pronouncements.  The courtly love tradition and romantic love as we know it was codified from this powerful historical watershed.  At that point there should have been a dialogue about the other side.  What should women do that addresses the equal nastiness on their side of the ledger? Men are very much in touch with the out-front archetypically masculine type of violence and extremely aware of its negative side and consequences however on the female side (they and we) have no such understanding. There is barely an acknowledgment of how much hostility is directed towards men.  The  lack of sympathy which basically exists for the male predicament which is seen and justified but not understood in all its nasty and psychotic cultural presence. Women are not in touch with their negative possibilities in a coherent way.  This both damages men and limits some of the essential power and potency of what the archetypically female should bring to the cultural table.  So I ask women to struggle with this with very little idea about how that is done.  At some level it means create one more skirmish in the natural war.

Women’s liberation has essentially sounded like this through it’s 45 or so years of existence.

"there was a time in which humans did not know of any exploitation, whether it be of man by man or of woman by man. This period was known as matriarchy."

“Violence against women widespread in US

Why do so many women face this form of oppression?”

By Eman Khaleq

January 26, 2012

“Any increase in awareness of rape and violence against women can only be attributed to the efforts of the organized women's movement.

A recent Centers for Disease Control and Prevention survey found that one in four women have experienced physical violence from an intimate partner. Researchers also discovered that for nearly 70 percent of women who were victims of some type of intimate partner violence, it happened for the first time before age 25. Sexual violence, stalking and intimate partner violence are widespread in the United States but are rarely ever addressed.

Violence against women rooted in class society

The origins of violence against women can be traced to the “world historic defeat of the female sex,” as 19th century German socialist Frederick Engels called it.    

Before the emergence of patriarchy and class society, there was a time in which humans did not know of any exploitation, whether it be of man by man or of woman by man. This period was known as matriarchy. This does not mean women were superior to men, but instead there was an absence of male supremacy and the line of descent was established through the female, not the male.

Engels referred to this stage of society as “primitive communism” because the means of production were primitive, based on hunting and gathering, but the social group worked together as a whole to ensure the survival of all its members.”

From: http://pslweb.org/liberationnews/news/violence-against-women.html

                                                              Conclusion

You can see my response in 1983 to 15 years of women’s liberation influence which had and still has a very strong influence in academic circles.  I have come to realize that this is another coming of Eleanor of Aquitaine.   Females stand up to tell men that they are unsuitable to be in the presence of women unless they get rid of their chauvinism, their paternalism, their exploitation, and their regard of women as sexual objects for their ownership and gratification.  When I confronted women’s liberation In Lethbridge Alberta in approximately 1968 I was immediately drawn in.  I was embarrassed by men’s treatment of women and was glad that these attitudes were going to change even if it was much surface dressing. At least it was less overt and therefore made my life less painful. I also basically agreed with the negativity that was being expressed. I saw that paternalistic economy was ultimately something that forced me to be the bread winner.  I also found it disgusting to see women as sex objects.  I could see how much distress it caused women and did not want to be part of that.

At the same time I could not believe that men did not also have a story to tell as I did not see men faring well  either.  What was expected of them in relation to women became so arbitrary and unpredictable that it created an amazing amount of angst and turmoil. I was often told by women that I was not macho enough for them though I was always dating on the edge of women’s liberation movement.  This basic disconnect made me very suspicious of the one way diatribe that was women’s liberation.  But when I expressed my reservations I was shut up and shunned.  As a man I could not accept that a topic was off limits.   Men are abstract thinkers, historically, so where was the thought on this topic.  When women’s liberation was born there was a strong anti-thought attitude but I was a philosopher so I  did not accept this level of negativity and have kept thinking on this issue for the last 49+ years.  Women’s liberation basic tenet that the personal was political has always impressed me as being true.  So I have always believed that when men decide that they have a  plight in this and that  should be known that it should also be profoundly political.  

William C. Teskey Feb 6  2017

                                                              Elinor's addendum:

Men vulnerable because: unaware; need to be loved as refuge from brutal male world but can't openly acknowledge this. Vulnerability seen as weakness in men. Also, men as protectors and defenders, involves a feeling of unworthiness -- self sacrifice for a greater cause. 

MAV: Loyalty to a cause   (Male Archetypal Violence)

The destruction of the conceptual universe by

"Freeing men's thought from their dependence on female acceptance. 

Maybe a goal, but personally a hard thing to do: not to want acceptance. It's a heart thing, that'll always get you. 

Exiled from domestic sphere

FAV  (Female Archetypal Violence)  --forced underground. Little girls are said to to be sugar and spice and everything nice. Which means, growing up female, aggression is channeled into less visible and less direct means and ways. The "darker" less visible side has its accompanying negative imagery. The "tooth mother" vs "bold warrior"? Women are vicious; men are aggressive. 

Balance of power. Two worlds excluding the other sex. Male sphere: business, sport. Both follow rules. Female sphere: relational, domestic, rules implicit, more individual. Both practice exclusion. Women have made some inroads in male sphere. More recently a few men have taken up domestic roles. Both face huge challenges. Seen as threats. Where to start? 

Male inclusion/exclusion based on being members of a club. Economic spheres such as company boards, religious orders. There are rules, requirements to belong. Explicit. Group based. When a member of the out-group wants in, threatens the male exclusivity, rules may be referred to. If rules are overturned, usually in the courts, new extra-judicial strategies are required. In extreme cases aggressive sexual or unadorned violence may be used. Female inclusion/exclusion: more of a personal-interaction skill set. The rules are less explicit then in the male sphere. At school level, a group thing, being part of the in-group. Not based on explicit rules, but intangible qualities, reading the weather (personal and group cues), and use of or access to fashion/personal style. 

Later, friendships and family are the clubs that women belong to. Men are only given temporary passes after agreeing to forgo certain "male" activities and behavior. Women are the rule setters and arbiters. The threat of banishment from this sphere, is a figurative sword hanging over the heads of men. Banishment from the home hearth/refuge. 

Elinor J Powicke

1Males generally use MAV 60% of the time and FAV 40% of the time while females use FAV 60% of the time and MAV 40% of the time.  A discussion of this phenomena will be considerable.  Please see the addendum provided by Elinor .

2Elinor points out in the addendum correctly that this goal of freeing male from their dependence is not reasonable and in discussion we both agreed that this was exactly where their vulnerability lies.  

3“While there is immense individual variation, on the average, the gender balance between poles is 60/40” Creative Imperative P246

4  Creative Imperative, p252, Charles M. Johnston.