#men have to learn how to identify with both

[nichuuu]

Lemon.

Word count: 13k+

You decide that you don’t quite like Balls (get your head out of the gutter).

Music: odd. Yes, it’s a fancy mansion—5 floors, the works… But you don’t know how to feel about the sole pianist in the centre of the foyer, the one that’s playing some classical piece that has the people around you murmuring about his technique and sound (whatever the hell either of those meant).

People: you don’t know a good half of them. Scratch that—it’s a sea of strangers

Drinks: strong, way too fucking strong for your liking. The drinks are free of charge, and the bartender clearly didn’t shake this Pina Colada well, but you have to drink it if you want to even try and get into the mood of the party. Around you, men in posh suits and women in flamboyant dresses skirt each other, talk to each other with placid smiles—hoodwinking each other with their highfalutin laughs and smiles to establish connections that probably won’t matter in a couple of days. The only person you’ve talked to tonight is the bartender, and that was just to order your drink. 

This whole place stinks of capitalism, and you feel out of place in your cheaper suit and dress shoes. On your right, some guy is talking about how bitcoin and blockchain will make a grand return, some lady is gossiping about the latest Gucci handbag on your left. In front of you, a man and a woman are clearly flirting with each other, bashful grins on their faces as they hold their fancy drinks in their hands and talk about god knows what. You’re wondering if you should ask for a straw from the bartender just to dip your toes in social interaction.

Wonder why Cinderella was so hot on attending a Ball, thing seems pretty bland to me, you’re thinking, watching the tip of the ice that was shaped like an iceberg melt away and sink beneath the surface of your margarita. Some guy in a tux comes by, orders two glasses of Prosecco—one for him, one for the woman next to him. He’s talking loudly, disrupting your peace and quiet. Your solution: move seats.

From a distance—two chairs away from your original seat—you watch as he takes the two glasses from the hands of the bartender, hands one to the woman, then clinks his glass with hers. He’s preternaturally genteel, and you’d know because you recognised him as the guy that got slapped at the start of this whole thing because he grabbed the ass of someone’s wife. Impropriety, but it’s the behaviour of the newfangled rich. 

Now he’s bragging about his car. Nissan GTR fitted with this engine, this ventilation, blah, blah… Whatever it is he’s saying, the woman’s having none of it. You’re no psychologist, but you can tell that she wants to get out of a conversation; her smile is awfully sweet, but you can see that she’s silently importuring him to shut his trap—her eyes give it all away. You pity her, silently sending her your best wishes as the man grabs her by the arm and leads her back into the sea of people. Personally, you’d be screaming if you were in her shoes.

(Off to your left, just at the edge of your vision, you see your boss talking to a woman. She’s getting touchy, really touchy and really flirty; her hand’s on his thigh, fuck me eyes out to play and on full display—A trite tactic used by these types of women to get lucky with a rich man at these type of events. Luckily for her, your boss is quick to bite on to such bait. God bless them both.)

For the record: you’ve never really enjoyed Balls or anything of the ilk, because quite frankly speaking, you’d much rather burrow up in your bed at home and binge Kimini ni Todoke till you were giggling and squealing like a little schoolgirl. Maybe I’m still young, I’ll learn to like these types of events later on, you tell yourself, I’ll need connections at some point, maybe I should start—

A sickly sweet fragrance crawls up your nostrils, truncating all thought. Perfume, you’re quick to identify, and then you’re aware of the presence of someone on your right. Your grip on your glass grows tighter in the slightest; you’re praying—Please just be ordering a drink, please be ordering a drink.

Frankly, you don’t know why you’d ever think anyone would talk to you, an unimportant cog that just tagged along with his boss because he had nothing better to do. Irrational fears are really a funny thing.

Sharp, clear, resonant—three words that came to mind when you heard the voice of the person next to you, the voice that delivered the simplest of orders: Yamazaki. I want it neat. 

Your first thought is, Damn… Neat Whisky? Someone’s having a horrible night, as you turn your face away from her (if you couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be able to see you, right?). And just as you’re wondering if she’s gonna take her drink and leave, your question is answered by the soft creak and even softer rustle of shifting fabric from your right. You bristle.

The glass makes a sound against the wood as it’s gently placed down on the table.

(Now would be an excellent time for a subtitle to come in, one that states in square brackets: Awkward silence.)

You can hear her swirling the liquid around in her glass. Fuck, now this is awkward… You’re thinking, and then you’re wondering if you should just get up and leave, absquatulate, skedaddle—any word that can convey the act of disappearing in an instant—right out of there. But as you start to slide your butt off the chair, that voice rings out once more.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

She doesn’t know how her simple sentence has caged you in the most challenging position (to you at least). Now you’re sliding your ass back into the bar stool and you turn and face her—

(Now that you’re looking at her, your second thought about her comes in: God, she’s beautiful. Dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders like velvet curtains, soft yet somehow piercing eyes, a smile that makes you feel fuzzy all over—probably one of the most attractive women you’ll ever meet. She’s the woman from earlier, the woman that you saw smiling and nodding placidly to that guy who got her the Prosecco. She must’ve found a way to slip away, and she has your full respect for that.)

—and you find that you’re drumming your nails against the base of your glass.

“Shy, huh?” she’s throwing out a guess, watching as the Whisky in her glass slowly swirls to a stop inside the chilled glass. “It’s been a while since I met a shy man. You’re a breath of fresh air.”

You shift in the stool, and your first instinct is to ask her if you two had met before. It’s only after that last syllable leaves your mouth that you realise how stupid of a question it is. You don’t know her, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t called you by your name: she doesn’t know you either. You let her decide whether to oust you as a fool as she scans you up and down.

(Update on your boss and that woman: She’s kissing him now, full on making out. It’s an unsettling sight to behold, and you attribute your queasiness to the fact that they’ve somehow found they’re way behind the woman you're talking to. Your boss doesn't see you; you choose not to see him. God bless them both.)

“Well… Considering that you don’t look the least bit familiar,” she sets the glass down, “and that you haven’t been introduced to me like some product by a crusty, old man… I think it’s safe to say that we’re.”

Now her eyes are on your drink. What are you drinking this fine night? She’s asking, using her chin to gesture towards your Pina Colada. You tell her exactly what it is, and she cringes slightly. They say Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, I say it doesn’t belong fucking anywhere. Oust it as a fruit! she’s telling you, making sure to add a little more emphasis on the word “oust” as she couches her firm belief, something you find rather hilarious considering that it’s your first meeting with her. She sips the Whisky, grimaces a bit, then sets the glass back down to say, we skipped past a lot of formalities, didn’t we?

And here comes the part of talking to strangers that you’re the most comfortable with—Introductions. You think that it is safe to assume that just about anyone would find saying hello and telling someone your occupation much easier than holding up a conversation, what more with a beautiful woman like her. You give her your name, tell her what you do for a living, the usual stuff. She listens, the gleam in her eyes that comes when you’re done talking ever so enigmatic and cryptic. 

“Lawyer huh?” She’s playing with her glass again, “considering were we are right now, I really shouldn’t be this surprised… Yet I am. Little shy for a guy dealing clients on the daily, no?”

Somehow, by the grace of some supernatural force (you call it alcohol), you crack your first joke of the night—I know. The most I ever talked is in court—and you’re relieved that she’s kind enough to humour you (or maybe she really does find it funny. You’ll never know), and gives you an elegant chortle, one that makes your hair stand at their ends as your third thought about her goes through your mind: even her laugh is attractive. Is there anything wrong with this woman? 

And when she tells you her name, you realise why she seems to be exuding this inexplicable aura; Minatozaki Sana, pleasure to meet you, she introduces herself with a generous amount of pizzaz. You’re scanning her up and down at this point, and only now do you take in the expensive dress that dons her slender frame, the same dress that’s accompanied by a glimmering necklace and earrings, 3 rings on her middle, index and ring finger respectively.

“You’re…” you begin.

“The host’s daughter? Yes.”

Now you’re at a loss for words. Well uh… It’s an honour to meet you, is what you plan on saying, but it comes out as a simple, more blunt manner: Oh damn. Sana’s giggling to herself, swirling her Whisky as she watches you struggle to find things to say to her.

“I take it that you don’t come around here often?” she asks. When you raise an eyebrow, she explains how her father hosts a Ball like this every other month to try and find her a “suitor”. Apparently, 27 years old is “too old”  to still be single, so my Dad just gets a bunch of men together and parades me around, she’s carping. The glimmering chandeliers, the array of drinks and food, the vanity of all these people; the dazzling marble floor, the glass sculptures, the embroidered tablecloths; this event, in all its glory and prestige, is all about her. 

Christ, you’re thinking to yourself, money really gets you to places, huh? 

Now she’s explaining how some of the people here are frequent visitors. Mothers and their sons, fathers and their sons, young business men, old business men, middle aged businessman; whoever can afford to come to this lavish Ball—all of them frequent this mansion like moths to a flame, all looking for a chance to ingratiate with the Minatozakis so that maybe, just maybe, they get a chance to get Sana’s hand in marriage. It’s a glorified yet obsolete form of Tinder really.

(Your boss is nowhere in sight now, and you’re pretty sure that the two of them have gone off somewhere to get it on. Maybe this event isn’t just about Sana, it’s about finding a rich person that can spoil you for the rest of your life too. God bless everyone here.)

“So what brings a man like yourself here this fine night?” She seems oddly interested in you (and also very hot on using this fine night as well apparently). You give her the truth that carries your watered down emotions in your tone—My boss asked me to tag along. Apparently all attendees were to bring a male plus one.

Sana chuckles, but it’s one of bitterness.

“So Dad’s reverted to these tactics huh?” you hear her whisper before taking an alarming large gulp of Whisky. She swallows, then sighs, “wonder what he’ll do next… Maybe an arranged marriage?”

Past the frustration and utter disappointment, there’s amusement in her voice. It tells you: if I could, I’d kill my Dad. It’s more of an inference from your end than a message that you’re sure that she’s trying to imply. You always had a bad habit of reading between the lines—probably picked it up from your job.

Sana downs the rest of the Whisky in a flash, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. She scratches her nose, then turns to you and asks, “say, you don’t look like you want to be here, and neither do I.”

Behind you, you can hear the voice of a man approaching. He’s talking to someone—my daughter should like you very much, you seem like a man that suits her taste—and Sana bristles. Her father, you deduce, noting the way that the woman before you is searching around for an exit. Then you blink, and in that split second, she grabs your hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Just like that, you’re running through a crowd of people, spewing a million-and-one apologies as you jostle your way through the crowd, in tow behind a woman you've known for a grand total of 5 minutes. 

A very unlikely start to a romance really.

*

Now the gears in your head are whirring, your stomach’s churning—there’s no other way to describe how you feel when Sana’s looking at you like that from across the table: small smile, a slight gleam behind those eyes, hand under her chin and fingers tapping against her cheek… She’s got you in perdition just with a look. You’re a guy of relatively taciturn nature, and the last time you went on a date was in university. That date went horribly, and now you’re wondering if this one was gonna go up in flames as well. Your brain urges you to say something to her, but your mouth seems to be sewn shut. 

On the other hand, Sana’s poised as ever. “What’s wrong?” she’s cocking her head and pouting slightly, “nervous?”

You're not ashamed to admit that you indeed are, and that you’ve never really gone out on dates in a long time. Sana seems tickled by this—It’s been a while since I’ve seen a shy man. I like it, she tells you—and assures you that she won’t bite. In fact, she’s glad that you’re quiet and not rambling off about some business venture. She tells you, I don’t recall the last time I’ve been with a guy like you, though I’d appreciate it if you assist me in starting some conversation, and you’re slightly ashamed of your reticence. 

There’s a gleam in her eyes when you start asking her some questions on her personal life, and she finds it congenial to gesticulate in a moderate manner as she answers your questions. Her outgoing nature leaves you flummoxed, and there’s barely enough space in your brain to remember everything she tells you about herself. Born in Osaka, likes yoghurt smoothies, likes to take walks in the park, likes this, likes that… You vaguely remember her telling you this on the night that the two of you escaped that event.

(To jog your own memory: She took you to the garden, where the two of you spent the rest of the night strolling amongst shrubs and other greenery that thrived in Spring. The Pina Colada in your system allowed you to hold a conversation, one that lasted long enough for her to take a liking to you. At the end of it all, she gets your number, you get her’s, and a date’s been settled in some french restaurant she patronises.)

“Now, I don’t expect you to remember all of this,” she’s watching the wine leave streaks against the glass, “but if you do, I believe you're entitled to some extra points.” 

“Points?” you’re keen on inquiring, “we’re keeping a scoreboard?”

Sana simply smiles. For asking that question, minus 2 from you, is her answer—not a very good one if you were to be blunt. You can’t suppress a chuckle as you take a sip from your own wine.

Unwittingly, Sana has eased you into her presence. It suddenly feels like you’ve known her forever (if forever meant 2 weeks that is).

A smooth start to a relationship if you do say so yourself.

*

“Sana, there’s people out there.”

“I know.”

“They might hear us.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“We won’t.”

It’s the confidence in her voice that irks you really. The lack of hesitance combined with the sheer lack of shame towards the fact that anyone outside the changing room in this damn Prada store could easily raise a phone over the door and start recording. It’s not that she’s not cognizant of this, but more of the fact that she doesn’t give two shits if someone captures a video of her blowing you in this dressing room. Shameless, aplomb, obstinate, are the three words that come to mind when dealing with Sana at the given moment, but there’s no energy in you to convey this to her, not when she wraps her lips around your cock. The outfits that she chose remain untouched behind her, fabrics still in light while the person that chose them remains active on her knees. 

(Almost a year. Almost a year the two of you have been dating. You thought you’d learned all there is to know about her, yet she’s hitting you with new facts and surprises every day, left, right, and centre. There are probably many more things that you have yet to figure out, but they’ll all come to light in due time.)

Really, it’s on you for not exercising due diligence upon entering the store; you should’ve known better from the moment you saw that look in her eyes while she was looking at a dress. But there’s nothing you can do about it now, not when she’s already enraptured you with that damn gaze—the one that exudes want and lust, the one that’s the leaven to your morality in her eyes. She knows that she’s got you wrapped around her finger when your hand rests itself atop of her head as she slowly bobs her head over your crotch. She’s taking her time despite the situation that she’s placed the both of you in. 

“This has always been on my bucket list,” she’s letting her hand run along your shaft, spreading her saliva with each stroke of her palm. Her nails, freshly done just over 2 hours ago, glisten under the light—partially because of her spit and partly because of the gloss. “Everything about this is just so… Eroctic, isn’t it?”

Christ, she’s really into this thrill-seeking thing, you note as you choke out a reply: Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat Sana (obviously, it doesn’t come out as smooth as it should. No one would be able to get out a full sentence with phonics properly strung together if they too were getting blown in a changing room). She’s got a glint in her eye, but it’s covered by your shaft as she slides her tongue down your cock, nose brushing against the base of your cock, just behind her tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she’s given you head before; she’s building up the suspense and waiting for you to beg for more. You really don’t want to indulge her, you really don’t, but there’s not much you can do when she starts placing kisses on your shaft—base to tip in a fervently slow fashion. How far is she gonna go with this, you can’t help but wonder, but you quickly have your question answered in the next second or so.

“Unenthusiastic?” she quips, “minus four”.

She wraps her lips around you and pushes her head forward, and you almost let the people in the store know that something’s going down in here.

You figure that the feeling of her lips wrapped around your shaft will never get old, not when it sends electricity up your spine and makes your hand ball into a fist in her hair. Her eyes seem to glint as you let out a sharp gasp. Yes, you could be caught by an employee at any second. Yes, you could very well be caught on camera by a customer at any second. There were a lot of things to consider when assessing the dangers of the circumstances that Sana has put the both of you in. Yet, none of them take anything away from the pleasure she’s bringing you, not as she starts to bob her head in beat to the metronome in her head. There’s no point in trying to figure out her pace. 

“Jesus… Fuck… Sana I…” Your voice is—somehow—hushed as you struggle to convey how weak she’s making you, but it’s not like you need to anyway—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of the havoc she’s wreacking upon your senses. The slight tug in the corner of her lips is the suggestion of a smirk, and the muffled noise that rises from her throat is the implication of a giggle. 

There's a knock on the door and you bristle; Sana slows down, but she doesn’t stop. Past the door, the voice of the staff that led you to this very room asks if everything is alright in there, and you’re praying that her eyes aren’t set on the floor. Sana locks eyes with you, then darts her eyes to the door to tell you—Answer it goddamnit. Of course, she doesn’t make it easy for you as you open your mouth, applying light suction to your tip as you find the strength to say: Yep, just give us a few more minutes please, making you choke on that last word and sending alarms blaring in your head. Thankfully, the store assistant is kind enough to leave you with a take your time sir, and the shadow of her feet disappear from the gap beneath the door. It’s then that Sana pops your glistening cock out of her mouth.

“A few more minutes, huh?” She’s got drool on the corner of her lips as she rises to her feet. “Better make this quick then. You gotta keep your word as a lawyer, don’t you?”

Her wit is certainly better than most of your colleagues.

(There are customers outside now, you can hear them talking to the store assistant. They sound vaguely familiar… Maybe you heard them at the restaurant? Or maybe they’re colleagues… No, that can’t be it, at least you hope so).

Now for the record: you’ve seen Sana naked on multiple occasions, be it voluntarily or not. The shower, the bedroom, even a public shower at the pool… You could name a lot more places where she’d shamelessly flaunted her nude body before you off the top of your head. “A body to die for” is a fitting expression for Sana; you’ve always wondered if you’d find her on the top of the Google image search if you were to look up “dream bodies”, and you figure that you can probably get her there if you could somehow take pictures with your eyes as she undresses before you. She’s more methodical than anything, straying away from her usual teasing nature for the sake of being quick (that’s what you infer from her behaviour, but really, she could just be extremely horny and desperate. There’s never a solid answer to Sana’s behaviour). Mini skirt, then top, then bra; she’s going through the motions that she’d usually drag out just to get a reaction out of you preternaturally quickly.

Why is she getting naked in a changing room? You have no clue. Your best guess: she’s doing it for the thrill of it. The thought of getting caught completely nude with her boyfriend speared inside of her must be sending lethal doses of adrenaline through her veins. A pretty solid guess if you do say so yourself. No time for anymore guesses anyway—she’s already brought your hand up to her right breast, and she’s closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of your fingers closing around the semi-firm flesh. Her top lip’s furling behind her front teeth, she’s letting her other hand rest on your arm. She’s telling you where she wants it—did you cum in my ass yesterday? Or was it the day before? Ah, whatever… Give me a fucking creampie—in this soft, low voice that sends a velvet chill down your spine. Then she's kissing you softly, sweetly, nibbling on your top lip as usual, all while pushing you to the corner of the room where your feet aren't visible to those outside, flushing your back against the wall. It’s an uncomfortable fit, but that quickly changes when she grips the middle of your shaft and lines you tip up with her slit. The hand on her tit is guided to that slim waist, your other hand quickly finding its place on that symmetrical, slim figure. 

“I don’t care if I cum or not,” she drawls, trailing a finger down your chest, “I just want your load inside me, right here, right now. Just focus on that, nothing else.”

(Half request, half demand—give her an award for being so damn ambiguous. Subtitles that could translate what she truly means would be really, really handy right now. Alas, such a system doesn’t exist.)

Describing how Sana’s pussy felt would be doing her injustice. The feeling was ineffable. From entering her to hilting yourself inside of her, there was never a second of that process where you had an easy time breathing or thinking. You’ve never been so reliant on your senses to keep you grounded in reality, nor have you ever been so glad that Sana’s nails are digging into your shoulder. This position—facing each other, standing and fucking against the wall of (all places) a changing room—is a stranger to the both of you, but the sheer tightness of her cunt working hand in hand with the intimacy of it all has you welcoming it with open arms.

Your hips are moving on their own, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you start thrusting into Sana. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into Sana in a mindless, slow fashion, relishing the  feel of her skin in your palms, the look on her face, the soft moans that are slowly slipping from her ever so slightly opened lips. Then your ability to think slowly returns, and you’re thinking like a damn neanderthal—tight, wet, hot, so fucking good—as your grip on her waist tightens. Your shaft glistens in the light of the changing room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her slick, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weak. Sana cups your cheek, lifts your head, and it’s now that you see how her eyes have been completely glazed over with lust and want. Her face, her figure down to the sounds she’s making; everything about her, about this, is the phantasmagoria of a wet dream.

If you were being completely true to yourself right now: You couldn’t care less if you got caught. 

And as if on cue, the voices approach as soon as you finish that train of thought. 

“Do you provide altercation services?” It’s the voice of a man, closely followed by that of the store assistant: Of course sir. After you try on the suit, you can note how you’d like it to be altered to your liking. 

A shadow of feet appears at the base of the door. Sana cups a hand over her mouth as the door rattles—the customer trying to open it. You stop your movements, breath caught in your throat as the store assistant tells him to use the other fitting room. Sana’s breath is loud in your ears as a second set of footsteps approach, followed by a female voice that asks, “Is my husband in there?” 

Yes ma’am, is the assistant’s reply. Of course, this is hardly the end of it.

Now, as the woman engages the store assistant in conversation right outside your door, Sana lets the hand on her mouth drop. She flushes herself against you as the store assistant answers, and she whispers, “Keep going”.

Endlessly seeking thrill. Classic Sana.

The logical part of you warns you against doing as she says. Sadly, there’s not much room for logic in your head in the given circumstances, not when your balls-deep inside your girlfriend in a changing room. There’s barely enough room for dilemma to occur; Sana’s the sole occupant of your mind, rent-free, free-hold, and really: she’s the only thing that matters right now. 

She almost, just almost, lets out a cry when you spear yourself back inside her. You didn't expect to start so soon, and neither did she. However, catching her by surprise is a novelty to you, and you relish in that brief rush of smugness before you restart your movements. Her mouth is frozen in a silent scream, but her eyes say all that she wants to: smug asshole, I’ll kill you later. You reply by letting your index and forefinger slip into her still-open mouth. 

“Personally, I enjoy the Italian selection more…” The store assistant’s voice is barely audible to you over Sana’s small, muffled moans that manage to skirt your fingers and Sana’s closed lips, and as the lady starts talking about trench coats, Sana coats your fingers with a fresh layer of saliva, turning your fingers slick and slimy with her tongue as she looks you dead in the eye, as if challenging you: Is this the best you can do? Is this the riskiest you can be?

Every question from her deserves an answer, and your’s is to remove your saliva-slicked fingers out of her mouth, draw a circle with her spit just above her collarbone, then whisper right into her ear: I’m gonna mark you right there. The involuntary gasp that she lets out tugs the corner of your lips up into a perverse smile. Slowly your lips drift down to the glistening spot, and you wait just a moment to build up that sweet-sweet suspense. It’s a split second, but it’s a second too much for her to bear—the way her body tenses when you finally make contact is the clearest indication you will ever receive. And when you start sucking, God does she almost drive you over the edge: she tightens, she gasps, she starts twitching; she loves it, every second your lips stay locked around that sweet spot of skin is bliss to her.

You can hear the door to the other fitting room unlock, and you hear the man’s heavy footsteps as he walks out, no doubt in that suit he had earlier. The compulsory question comes: how do I look?

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you’re almost fearful of the fact that maybe, just maybe, their ears are picking up on the ragged breathing and slightly audible squelching coming from the other fitting room. All consternation dissipates when the woman starts to comment on how she looks, but Sana seems to have an answer to his question as well: So good. So fucking good. Harder, let me feel all of you, fuck me harder. Oh fuck, you’re so fucking deep. 

You look dashing honey. The pitch of the woman’s reply harmonises with Sana’s soft whine as your lips leave her skin, the same patch where you’ve left your purple artwork on. I think we can afford to alter the pants—

Sana crushes your lips against hers, hot breath filling your mouth as you feel her lift her leg. You hold the back of her knee (like the gentleman you are), bring it to your side, hold it there. She bites your lower lip, hard enough for her to pull and tug it as you start losing yourself in her: her scent, her breath, her skin—all of it’s so deliciously addicting. You can’t get enough.

Then she’s going straight to moaning into your mouth, letting those muffled cries permeate in the small space and hopefully not outside the fitting room. She’s wet, she’s tight, she’s everything you need right now. You want, so badly, to pull her apart, ruin her till you can’t put her back together, get her begging at the top of her lungs for you to fuck her harder and harder. 

And you’re almost on the verge of calling her a slut. There’s no need for that though, she knows what she’s made of herself.

—so that they’re a little shorter. I think we could also try—

Sana’s figured out the best way to moan: straight into your ear. She’s not letting up with them, and she’s giving you one hell of an array of sounds. There’s the common ah, the not so common, oh, and the very common shit, fuck, fuck me and so good. Her phonics are so loosely strung together that they’re just a jumbled mess, and you're perfectly ensconced with that; you love hearing those lazy, sloppy cries, and they only seem even more melodic at this volume, at this moment. Fuck, record them and play them as white noise as you sleep.

—changing the colours of the buttons? Ooh! Maybe we could even change the stitching around—

She tilts her head back, and you’re peppering her neck with kisses. She loves it, you know she loves it; all this attention, all this adrenaline, all this carnality she’s invoking—all of it for her. Each time you grunt, she knows that she’s the damn reason for it. Every time your fingers dig into her thigh a little more, she knows it’s because of her. Every kiss on her neck, every inch of her pussy you fill with your rock-hard meat, all of it’s for her. She isn’t vain, nor is she a pick me girl, but she sure as hell knows how to make you treat her like she’s the only girl in the fucking world, and you’re more than happy to give her what she wants.

Because it’s always like this with Sana: if she wants it badly enough, she’ll formulate a stratagem to get it, nip her cravings in the bud before they turn into desires that she can’t control. Mind you, she’s not dissolute; she’s just “riding the highs of life” as she calls it. Pretty bullshit and circumlocutory, but you always let her off the hook.

—the pocket area? That’s my two cents. What do you think darling?

Another moment of silence follows, and Sana seizes the opportunity to nibble on your earlobe. Her leg’s sweaty, slowly slipping from your grasp and trembling from the pleasure that’s giving her voice this lilt when she says: Carry me. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Pleasure, coursing through your veins, makes you comply in an almost servile manner. It’s precipitous, even fatuous to pull such a stunt in a fitting room of all places, but when your hands are supporting her by her ass and her legs lock around your waist, there’s no turning back.

And as the man starts going off on his own preferences, Sana’s wrapping her arms around your neck, letting you get a look at those bouncing breasts as you reach new depths inside of those slick, warm walls. If she could cry out, she would, but those damn customers outside are placing her in a box here, and it’s clearly frustrating her. If you were at your place, her hands gripping your sheets and her juices messing up your quilt, she could moan, mewl, cry and cuss however loud she wanted. In a way, it was funny to watch her hold back, but at the same time: you so badly want to make her scream, undo her right here and now and make her a mess in your arms, but you’ll settle for what you have right now. What the two of you have created is controlled chaos, and should it be released past that damn changing room door, God knows what will happen.

Now it’s the store assistant’s turn to speak, and she’s giving them a rundown of the pricings. Outside, they’re talking about the possibility of a discount; inside, Sana’s talking about how deep you feel inside of. Outside, the man’s trying to guilt-trip the store assistant by saying how exorbitant the price is; inside, Sana’s exclaiming and pleading in a hushed voice—Own me. For the love of God, fucking o-own me!—as each thrust you make into her pussy sends her further and further down this rabbit hole of pleasure. It takes guts to fuck in a fitting room, but it takes the guts of Minatozaki Sana to be this needy while fucking in a fitting room. The risks of being caught are high, the risk of being heard even higher, but neither of those affect her ardour. At a controlled volume, she’s pleading for you to fuck her harder, faster, unravel every single bit of her being while she tries to keep herself together. It’s one hell of a show, and it’s one hell of an experience too. 

(The sight of her perfect body flushed against yours as she’s fucked in the air, the smell of her sickly sweet perfume, the feeling of that divinely tight pussy wrapped snugly around your shaft like a damned glove, the way those sonorously soft moans filter into your ears. Add these together with the fact that the people outside could hear you at any second, and you’ve got one hell of a recipe for a voyeurist’s wet dream. You’re no voyeurist, but everything about this moment is making you feel like one.

Right now, this is everything to Sana. Having you this close to her, feeling that cool Prada air conditioning against her bare body, listening to you grunt and sigh as you piston yourself in and out of that slick, wet slit… All her needs are being fulfilled, all of her senses heightened and primed, aware of every movement you make inside of her pussy. Sometimes, you feel so good and oh fuck, or maybe even oh god isn’t enough to convey how she feels, so she just opts to let out this strained, strangled gasps that tells you everything you need to know—a maelstrom of emotions and expressions compressed and compacted into one simple “hngh” is enough for you to know that you’re doing something right.)

“You like this Sana?” you find yourself whispering. “You like being fucked like a damn slut with people just outside, don’t you? You like everything about this, don’t you?”

Right now, she doesn’t have that capacity to reply. Of course, you know this, which makes you feel all the more smug as you watch, watching as she slips into a state of complete, utter bliss: her mouth hangs open, her eyes are unfocused, she’s barely holding on to you. The purple mark that your lips have left on her neck sears itself into your sight, and it’s joined by the breathtaking view of her breasts loosely bouncing each time you drive yourself into her. Loose strands of hair are flying, neither of you have any hands free to fix them. Her legs are quaking around your waist, neither of you want to stop just so that she can be back down on the floor. Her eyes are closing, you can feel her heartbeat in her pussy, she’s begging, pleading, fucking imploring you to keep going. 

Christ. You want her to moan as loud as she can for you.

It’s hard not to get turned on by the sight of it, and it’s even harder to keep yourself controlled under the rapidly tightening grip of her cunt. Her breaths are shallow, her head is almost completely limp. She may not seem to be aware of it, but you sure as hell are more than cognizant of the fact that the both of you are about to hit that peak that you’ve been chasing for the past God-knows-how-many minutes.

“Sana.” Uttering her name is all that’s needed to bring her back to the real world. When you have her attention, you give her the sentence that she’s been waiting to hear for so damn long: I’m gonna fucking fill you, and It’s like the air gets heavier when she softly whispers, pleads for you to fulfill her new desire; cum with me. I need it so bad. 

Controlled orgasm would take strength to pull off, and you silently pray that you have that strength as you send one final thrust between her shaking legs. Your cock twitches, spasms and the first rope of your warm seed that’s sent into her waiting walls is enough to send her over the edge. She bites down on your shoulder, quick enough to muffle the cry that escapes her throat. The tightening of her walls seem to coordinate with each spasm of your cock, and they sync up, working together to get every last drop of cum out of you and into her. She lets a soft moan escape her lips with each spurt, as though welcoming it, as though each one were something she long wanted and needed. You let out a single, soft grunt, as though thanking her, as though every twitch of her walls that sends a shock down your cock is a treasure to be relished.

So the scarf that she brought in to try is no longer just an ornament like the rest of the outfits. Even after adjusting her outfit, the fabric still can't seem to cover that hickey you left on her collarbone. The simple solution: Sana waits there, you buy the scarf, hand it to her, she puts it on and the both of you walk out of the store like nothing happened, like the both of you really were in there to try on some clothes, then leave. 

It’s unsuspecting, it’s smooth. The store assistant wishes you a good day, and Sana smiles and waves to her, looking exactly like she did when she entered, plus a scarf. The only difference in Sana’s entrance and exit from the Prada store is the load between her legs.

But that’s a secret for the two of you.

*

“Hey. Could I talk to you about something?”

In your two years of dating Sana, never have you heard her this nervous in your life. The fact that your client isn’t responding to you a day before his trial plagues you no more, and your laptop is shut before she can close the door. 

Your posture—arms crossed atop the desk and back straight—is all she needs. The message is implicit: I’m here, all ears, and she smiles softly as she walks over to the bed. The frame creaks a little as she settles down.

“My uh… My Dad is organising another one of those damned Balls again.” The way she intonates her words tells you that the Ball is the least of her concerns at the moment. “It’s gonna be at the usual time.. Usual place… Not like we can move it anyway.”

You offer her a chuckle to assuage her, diffuse the tension a little. She manages a half-forced giggle at her own joke. Is this a transitional opening? Or is this legitimately the subject of her conversation? you’re thinking, and as you sip from your cup, that subtle shift in her posture is shifting the atmosphere of the room. 

She’s scared, but of what?

“I was wondering,” she drums her nails against her knees, “could I… Introduce you to him tomorrow? M-My Dad I mean.”

And now you suddenly understand why she’s on edge. She’s not scared for herself; she’s scared for you. The head of the Minatozaki clan, Sana’s father—you heard much about him, partly because of the stories that Sana tells you and partly from the things you heard through the grapevine at work. In your firm, there’s a whole box dedicated to storing suits that have been opened by him on the intern’s table (it’s a hilariously off-putting thing to say out loud), and from what you’ve heard: there’s another two in the storage room. Personally, you’ve assisted a colleague in one of his lawsuits, and the emails you billed weren’t pretty. You’d be throwing out a fib if you ever couched that you never once thought: It’s a pretty bad first impression of the man, could he maybe… You know… Stop suing people? Please? but you’re not going to let a mere few boxes and one night of reading through emails determine your perception of Sana’s father. 

And hopefully, he won’t judge a book by its cover too.

“I have a trial tomorrow Sha,” you remind her, but it’s not like you actually expected her to remember this; you whispered it to her while cuddling on the couch a solid week ago. “I don’t know when I’ll end. It might be a little tight for me.”

It's undeniable that she sighs in relief. The blush that follows the breath is a clear indication. She’s glad, too glad. You can't help but ask: What’s up? Think I’ll flub everything when I meet him?

Sana does that thing where she wants to answer, but doesn’t know how to: her mouth opens, closes, opens again—longer this time, then closes again. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about; what your father will think of your partner is never not a touchy matter. All touchy matters should be discussed in comfort (Sana knows that you strongly believe in this, that’s why she’s situated herself on the bed), and you join her on the mattress. 

“WIll he feel that I’m not enough for you?” You’re prodding, all while you gently reach for her hand and grasp it in your own. It’s cold, really cold. You’ll warm it up with your palms, keep them there while she replies, “it’s not that… I know that you’re more than enough for me, that’s what matters to him… At least I think so.”

She’s staring down at her hand, the one that’s slowly heating up via the warmth of your hand. Then what’s making you so worried? you’re asking. She folds her bottom in, past her front teeth. You rub her knuckle with your thumb.

“Yea I… I don’t know what’s making me so worried either,” she finally muses. “Guess I’m just… New to this practice. Never had to do it before...”

Because all the men that have tried to win you over have never lasted for more than a week, you complete in your head, smiling as she lays her other hand over yours. It’s cold too—that won’t do.

And as you set another hand atop hers, she’s asking you for a kiss. Luckily for her, obliging her wants is your specialty, and your lips are quickly travelling that small gap between the two of you. Connection is made, and you physically feel her relax. You know. You know that she belides a truth that she’s not ready to divulge. It’s in her kiss, it’s in her hands, and that’s fine with you. You can infer that it’s not something that’s going to be detrimental to your relationship, and whenever she’s ready to speak about it, you’ll always be available.

Now the kiss is done, she’s asking for fried chicken. You counter-ask if the kiss was to soften you up so that she could ask for her Famichiki. Of course, you get a classic Sana reply: a “maybe”, followed by that mischievous grin. You rise from the bed to grab your coat. 

You're glad that the Konbini is just next to your apartment. Sana’s glad that she gets to be close to you as you walk through the snowy street.

“You know,” she’s whispering, “I really won’t mind if you propose to me one of these days.”

You laugh it off, kiss her on her forehead. 

In your head: you note to start looking for a nice ring.

*

Money can get you to places, but it can also get you a private soundproof karaoke room in a club. Three and a half years of dating—that’s all you need to know: you can bet your left kidney that Sana is taking full advantage of that room.

The bottle of Whisky that she opened to get the room is hardly the main event; Sana, slowly slipping out of that tight black dress she’s wearing, foreground to the default music that’s on the TV, has your unwavering attention. The smile on her face could've been mistaken for a sweet one if it weren’t for the fact that she’s getting naked, and the lack of a bra really doesn’t help with her case either.

“There isn’t a time limit to the use of this room, right?” You know the answer to that is no, the lady at the counter told you so. The question is more of a gauge, an instrument that’s helping you assess her plans for the night.

“If you’re trying to know how long we’ll be here for,” she slings her dress onto the couch next to you, and in her stockings and panties, saunters over with a sultry sway in her hips, “my answer is a secret.”

“I have work tomorrow, Sana.”

“Too bad. Call in sick.”

She picks up the glass of Whisky, raises it to her lips. When she drinks, she lets some of that amber liquid trickle out past her lips, down past her chin and onto her tits. In the light, her wet skin glistens and shimmers, and you once again find yourself in absolute awe with the woman before you. And as she straddles you, glass in hand, the way she uses her fingers to tilt your face up to the light tells you that she’s in control. She takes a sip of the amber liquid, swallows it, then brings it to your lips.

“Be a good boy,” she’s tipping the glass as she speaks, a strong way to convey that there’s no room for disobedience, “say ‘ahh’ for me baby.” 

The glass is cold against your lips, the liquor even colder on your tongue as it flows into your mouth at a manageable rate. When she stops pouring, you take the cue, and you swallow all of it in one gulp. The burn in your throat is oddly rewarding, probably because Sana’s smiling down at you, stroking your hair and telling you how obedient you are as you swallow. Then she makes you open your mouth again, pours another portion down the hatch. 

How does it taste, she’s asking, cupping your right cheek as she swirls the glass. You give her a short honest review of it: It’s good. The answer pleases her, and she sets down the glass in her hand to pick up the bottle from the table next to you. 

“Yamazaki, 12 year old single Malt.” She’s letting you see the bottle under the light, though you have to admit that her tits right next to the bottle are a horrible distraction. “My personal favourite.”

She unscrews the cap and takes a swig straight from the bottle, swallows it without even flinching. She’s always been able to hold her alcohol well, and you know for a fact that she can probably outdrink 5 of your colleagues and maybe, just maybe, your boss too. But you’ll never have a fair gauge on how well she can drink in comparison to your peers; she only drinks around you. 

Your face is back in her hand, and she’s got some more things to say—Drink it neat, on the rocks, add it to another drink, it tastes great no matter what—as she starts to lightly grind herself over your throbbing shaft in your pants. But you know what the best way to drink it is, she asks you. She’s not looking for an answer from you, just finding a way to transition from the Whisky to whatever it is she has in mind—you can tell because she leans down to capture lips right after she throws out the inquiry, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. The smell of Whisky is so damn strong on her breath, and the only thing hotter than the burning sensation in your throat is the fact that she’s using one hand to play with herself, the bottle of Whisky in the other. You can hear it slosh next to your ear as she raises it. 

And as she breaks the kiss, the thin strand of saliva connecting the two of you doesn’t stop her from providing the answer to her question—it tastes the best when you drink it right off my body—as she straightens herself. The next second, still playing with herself, she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, tipping it just before it touches those red-tinted lips to let the golden liquid flow down her chest and breasts. There's no time to admire; you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. Her skin glistens with the Whisky on it. It looks like gold in the snow. She smells like lavender and lust.

Your tongue, saturated with Whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Sana gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples—roughly, hungrily. You could say that she’s wasted some perfectly good Whisky, but you say that she’s added complex flavours to an already exquisite meal. The blend of alcohol and Sana’s skin is not something you never knew you needed, but now you do. The novelty of it, the sheer lust she’s emanating, all of it makes her tits taste better than ever, and you find yourself leaving marks on her cleavage, the right side of her left breast, the left side of her right breast; every centimetre of skin that can be reached is marked and tasted—your attempt at dipping your toes in a little control in this karaoke room that is Sana’s domain.

Maybe you’re a little over-indulgent in her, maybe you’re just unaware, but you certainly can’t feel her slipping your tie off your neck. By the time you’re aware of the sudden feeling of freedom at your throat, she’s already wrapping your wrists, securing them together with an intricate knot. You know damn well that even the boy scouts couldn’t untie this one, even if they sent their best member. The theory is only enforced when Sana asks you to try pulling your wrists apart, and it feels like they’ve been superglued together. Satisfied, she feeds you some more Whisky off her body, then it’s time for her fun.

Palm flat against your chest, eyes flaring, wicked smile; Sana pushed you back against the couch with graceful authority—something that only she is capable of. Then it’s onto your shirt, and he’s unbuttoning it with practised dexterity: unfastening, pulling—motions so fast that she has your reverence for mastering the art. She takes a moment, parts the fabric covering your chest and runs a fingernail down the centre of your torso. The nail—painted black with little Sakura flowers adorning it—stops at your belt. It isn’t hesitance that keeps her finger there; it’s the innate cheekiness that makes her linger there a little longer, that makes her smile softly as the other hand joins in and starts undoing the clasp of your belt. Not a word is uttered as she pulls apart your belt, then goes straight for the buckle of your belt. 

Then it’s back to kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing. Sloppy, passionate kissing as she runs her fingers through your hair. The Whisky on both of your breaths mingle. Admittedly, you’re feeling a little floaty, engendering a pleasant tingle on your skin as she starts placing kisses on your cheek, then on your jaw. Next thing you know, she’s sucking hard at the nape of your neck, marking you with those lovely lips, as if she’s placing a wax seal on you, declaring: you are mine and mine alone. And when she successfully sears the shape of her lips onto your skin, she traces the slick outline with a finger, whispers softly, You have no idea how much I want to own you right now. 

The excitement is palpable, the tension even more so. She’s whispering all sorts of things to you—most of them entailing what she’s about to do with your cock—all while she starts to slip your briefs off of your legs. Your cock springs out of your pants, slaps against her ass and twitches on the rotund flesh. The smile grows wider, devilish dimples appear. And for the record: no, she’s not gonna blow you. She’s gonna make herself cum before anything else happens, and she’s going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. 

She slides off you, gets back up on her feet. With her back turned to you, she bends forward at the waist, shaking her ass while she uses her thumbs to hook onto the waistband of her panties. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. She looks over her shoulder, eyes locked on yours. With a little hop, she pushes the fabric down and off her hips, kicking it to the side. Her pussy glistens in the light, flushed pink and folds tantalising as ever puffy and swollen with excitement.

She bends her knees, getting down on all fours.

She wiggles her ass at you, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“Bet you wished,” she gets on her back, spreads her legs to get the spotlight on her slit, “that you could absolutely own me like this right now, don’t you?”

She’s so cocksure. It’s driving you crazy. You swallow, your voice barely audible as you utter her name. She crawls to you, sits up, her face in front of yours, so close, so hot. Her hand touches the back of your head, her voice barely a whisper as she grips the base of your cock—but you can’t, and it’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?—and rubs your tip between her dripping folds, lathering her juices all over your head and smiling all the way through. 

And when you least expect it, she turns and sinks down on your cock.

You throw your head back, groan, the sound of her wetness as she takes your cock into her pussy loud and clear over the music. Your head falls forward again, watching her sink further and further, taking more and more of your cock inside her with every passing moment as she lets a long, drawn-out moan float through the air. When her crotch meets yours and you are fully embedded inside her, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure that leaves open lips. You meet it with a sigh of your own, somehow tearing open your own shut eyes to watch the expression on her beautiful face as you fill her. 

Christ, fuck and god—just some of the words that you want to cry out as she starts to slowly grind herself against you. The ride she’s about to take is one that’s of perverse nature; it’s not going to be a slow, pleasant ride. Naturally, her habit of jumping straight into things leaves her unprepared for what she’s about to experience, so now she has to slowly slowly adjust to your size, like striking the flint over and over next to the fireplace as you hope to get a flame going. Usually, this would be a time where you’d caress that beautiful body, run your hands over that unblemished white skin and pepper kisses all over the places that she loves to be kissed. But she’s not in the mood for that, not when she has this room and you at her disposal. 

Then the fire ignites, and it is merciless, a force of nature—untameable, unrelenting. In your bonds you are unable to resist. You never would’ve in the first place. She begins to move, her pussy tight and slick around your cock. She rides you like she was made to do this, like a pro. She rides you fiercely, roughly, taking you in and out of her tight wet heat, caring little for your comfort or much of anything aside from stuffing herself over and over with thick, hard meat. Throughout it all she is digging into your thigh, crying out like her life depends on it as she goes up, down, up, down—a lewd seat on a merry go round.

Yes, yes, yes—she throws her head back, auburn hair flying like streamers in the wind as she has her way with you—o-oh fuck I need this! I need this so fucking bad! The rhythmic, repetitive motion, her unbridled desire to be filled, it sends you reeling. The pressure on your leg is forgotten, the slight discomfort in your arms pushed out of the way. You can do nothing but watch her ride you. You can do nothing but marvel at how good you feel inside her, how the tightness of her pussy massages your shaft, how the way she takes you so completely into her folds, how you stretch her and make her quiver and quake.

A part of you wishes the mirror were visible from your current position, so that you could watch as Sana impales herself over and over on your cock. You want to watch the expression of pleasure wrangle her cute features, want to watch her full, round breasts bounce up and down, want to watch every muscle of her long, perfectly shaped legs work to throw her body again and again against your cock. But you’ll have to content yourself with the almost equally alluring view of her sweaty back (not that it was a particularly difficult position to enjoy. How could you call it “bad” with the view of her round, full ass as she slams it down against your crotch?). It’s not like you can change anything about this anyway. No—the only thing you can do is sit back, watch, and savour how her ass jiggles as it crashes against your crotch.

Oh fuck, oh yes! I’m so fucking full! I’m so stuffed with this cock!

You lose yourself to the sound of her voice, the feeling of her pussy as it swallows up your cock, the sight of her back arching and her hands shaking. As much as you try, you find yourself unable to move, as though your own pleasure has been drained out of your body, and you are just an observer. You watch as she pushes herself down further on your cock, impaling herself with every thrust of her hips, her voice growing louder and louder as she gets into that dangerous rhythm, the rhythm that makes you think she’s on Acid. Well-formed breasts bounce, you see them past her slender figure. Her shapely, luscious ass ripples. Long legs work overtime, cooperating with the stamina of the girl who is using them to drive herself over the edge like it’s her be-all and end-all. It’s exhilarating. It’s thrilling. 

It’s so fucking hot. 

Oh god. You’re stretching me out so good. This cock feels so damn good!

Two things are getting you at the moment: (1) The sweat glistening that’s building up on her back. (2) The fact that she’s pushing your thighs apart to get more of you inside her. The former sight is a breathtaking process really: beady moisture on that well built back, pooling at all the best places and making her skin glow as some of it slowly trickles down her spine. The latter’s no grain of sand either mind you, maybe even hotter than Sana’s sweaty back if you dare say. Freshly done nails sit just outside the insides of your thighs, the palms that they’re connected to pushing down against the flesh beneath them. They’re indenting the muscles of your thighs, it’s uncomfortable, but only for a second at a time. 

I don’t wanna stop. I don’t wanna fucking stop!

In your restraints, your hands grasp at the flesh that’s so close yet so far, the skin that’s rippling and slapping against yours. Her ass taunts you, tempts you, teases you. It’s so frustrating yet so erotic; you aren’t sure if you should welcome this mix of emotions or reject it before it folds its wings and nestles itself in your chest. The mix of desire and vexation, exasperation and ecstasy—any two emotions that shouldn’t go together are mixing, blending, forming these bubbles in your chest that you can’t explain. 

One woman; innumerable sensations.

You need more. More of everything. More of her.

You wish you could touch her.

You wish you could fuck her.

But all you can do is watch, watch as she starts going down harder, crying out even louder. 

Her body, so flawlessly feminine, is in deadly motion, working you over from the inside like you’ve never experienced. The air is filled with the wet, lewd sounds of her pussy sucking you in your hips slapping against her ass, her moans and groans, her curses that seem to go on perennially, blending in perfectly with that shitty synth in the background.

And you’re just along for the ride.

You have no idea… How good this is.. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And she wants you to see it, she wants you to watch her—it is exactly that kind of attention that she is basking in. So you watch. You watch her, the way she looks back at you, the way her eyes flare as she takes you in, the way her hands claw at your leg. The way she's moaning with that lilt back in her voice. Everything about this spectacle seems like it’s been scripted for some porno, and her body is certainly making you feel like you’re in one. The only grasp on reality that this situation offers is… Well, nothing. And it’s not that there really isn’t anything for you to root yourself in this real world, rather you’re choosing not to make that mental effort to do so; every little corner of your mind is being bled with whatever colour the image of Sana bouncing on your cock is. There’s no room for reality, and it's addicting, enthralling.

Fuck. You can't get enough of her, and you probably never will.

So deep! So fucking… Oh my god!

Your breath is ragged, and it takes every bit of control you have left in you to not cum right then and there. It takes every ounce of focus not to simply give in to her, not to simply melt into the couch, not to lose your mind to the sensation of her tight, wet slick as it swallows you in, pushes you out; fucking itself over and over and over again on your rock hard shaft. You don't know how much longer you can hold out for, and as if she can tell, Sana starts to move faster, her movements getting even more aggressive. The slaps of her ass against your crotch are louder now, and the wet smacking sound of her pussy's getting faster and faster. Her fingers are digging into your leg, her moans more frequent and more desperate. You can feel her tightening around you, the way her walls clamp down, the way her legs are trembling, the way her voice is going up in pitch. 

(It’s the moments of privacy that really get her going; the moments where she can scream and cuss and moan like there’s no tomorrow are everything to her. 

Yes, she likes fucking in public spaces for the thrill of it, but she likes it better when she can hold you freely as you fill her, not having to care for the fact that the way her body’s positioned engenders any discomfort or risk of being heard.

Yes, she likes it when there’s the chance that someone can walk in on the two of you, but the prospect of being able to own your cock, uninterrupted and unheard, thrills her like nothing else in the damn world.

Yes, she likes to see if she can hold in her cries while you’re rearranging her insides in a bathroom stall, but she prefers it much more when she can slam herself down on your cock—be loud and be proud of the fact that she loves every inch of meat that fills her till she can barely breathe. 

Bottom line: she likes chasing that thrill of being caught, but she loves those moments where she’s alone with you in private even more. Now is one of those times, and God… She’s barely herself anymore.

She is a storm of pure, unfiltered lust. And you must say: it’s fucking sublime.)

Then the game changing sentence comes from her, and it's beautiful. 

"I'm fucking cumming!"

The words ring out, clear and loud. And she doesn't stop; she keeps riding you, taking you into her wet hole and milking your cock, using you to bring herself off. It's not until the final second that she slows down, her back arching as she lets out the most satisfying scream that you have ever heard in your entire life. It is all that you can do to watch as she slumps forward, breaths ragged and body twitching as you hold yourself back. It takes everything—every fibre, every cell and every last bit of will—to not cum in her right there and then. And when the final spasm has passed and the shuddering has subsided, when Sana has collapsed against you, your cock still buried inside her, she turns to you.

There are no words spoken, just a mutual understanding of what comes next. She slips off the couch, takes your slick shaft in her hands. A few pumps are delivered, and they’re considerate and slow; she’s good at building tension.

“You’ve already marked my tits. Might as well cum on them.” She’s still got some cheekiness left in her, and that smile is really doing everything for you. 

“Fuck, Sana, I—” “Do it. Paint me.”

You feel the semen gather in your balls before coursing up your shaft and erupting from its tip, landing in thick, wet, warm ropes upon Sana’s creamy skin. Your tip is directed between her cleavage, and the first spurt of cum shoots itself between those wonderful mounds. It’s quickly followed by a second rope, and the third lands on her upper chest. With grace, she manages to direct your spurting cock by the base so the fourth and fifth ropes cover the front of her tits, then the rest don’t matter anymore.

The last ropes of thick, warm semen land upon her face, staining her soft, blushing features with creamy white cum. Some of it lands on her cheeks, on her forehead and onto her open mouth and the thirsty tongue within it. When you finally open eyes you hadn’t known had closed, the picture of Minatozaki Sana, face and chest painted with your warm, thick cum, is one you never want to forget. And as she scoops up your seed with her fingers, she’s got a thing or two to say.

“Excellent load,” she whispers, watching as the cum slithers down her palm. “Plus two to you.”

Just two? Is your reply of false bewilderment. Sana chortles. 

Maybe if you can give me a load up my ass, I’ll consider adding another three points.

*

Now the ring’s oddly heavy in your pocket. 

Sana’s father seems more imposing than he should for a man his size, and looking at the Yamazaki bottle on the desk, you can tell that Sana gets her liking for Whisky from him. 

“I’ve never met you in my life,” he begins, “and now you come here like a friend, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Sana’s head is bowed. In the corner of the office she sits, hands clasped over one another as she listens in silently. No amount of trials or oral submissions could ever prepare you for this tension.

“Mr Minatozaki… I understand that all of this is sudden,” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a raised hand.

“You know boy… You sure do talk like you know everything about the situation.” His voice is nowhere near threatening as he speaks, and it’s absolutely terrifying. “For a lawyer, you sure do sound quite the fool. Guess I shouldn’t have been expecting much considering your background.”

And it’s that very statement that has you on tenterhooks. You’ve never met him, never even seen his face, yet he knows your occupation which you never even touched on, and from the sound of it, knows what went down in your family. Sana’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she watches her father produce a file from under his desk. 

“It’s not the suddenness,” the air quotations he uses hold more weight than they really should, “that doesn’t sit well with me dear boy. No, no… It’s more than that.”

The broad leather chair in his office grows constricting. As he rises from his seat, the foam that holds your butt up seems to depress. And as he begins—if you sauntered in here as just a lawyer, I would’ve let you take my daughter in a heartbeat!—his explanation of what’s grinding his gears, you start feeling uneasy. For context on the severity of this feeling: the last time you felt like this was when you first met his daughter.

But you’re not just a lawyer—he’s opening the file in his hands, flipping through its contents—you’re a disgrace to this very world. You shouldn’t even be in this damn house right now. 

Into the file his hand reaches, and out from it: two mugshots. You bristle; Sana gasps (and it’s not that she didn’t know, rather because she was shocked that her father knew.)

So it’s the next sentence that seals your fate. Frankly, you kind of expected it, but it still doesn’t take away from the sheer bedlam that goes down in your head when Mr Minatozaki waves the mugshots of your parents before your face and shrieks at the top of his lungs. 

This isn’t the way you pictured this going. 

Honestly, you never pictured this happening at all.

 “Do you seriously think for a second that I’d let the son of two druggies—two disgraceful, repugnant, filthy, druggies—marry my daughter?”

*

It’s hard to forget what she told you over the phone after your talk with her father (if you can even call it that): we’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 

Money can get you a nice fancy Ball, some nice Whisky and a private Karaoke room. Naturally, it can grant you a means to keep the son of two convicted drug abusers that hung themselves in their cells away from your daughter. 

So not even 12 hours after that fate-sealing conversation did you get a phone call from your boss. Next thing you know, you’re uprooted from your workplace in Osaka, transferred to the branch in Nagoya; Sana’s number mysteriously changes itself, none of your letters ever reach her. 

It’s over the payphone, months after all of this, that Sana finally reaches you, and she’s ugly crying over the phone. 

We can fix this, we’ll figure something out. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we’ll figure this out. 

In a way, she ended up being right. 

And in your suit, you smile as you watch her walk down the aisle. She’s beautiful as ever, and you feel like that white veil over her face is doing her the biggest disservice ever. The little boy carrying the wedding rings seems a little confused, but it only adds to his adorable aura as he stumbles behind Sana. The flower petals are being scattered, the crowd’s on their feet. They’re clapping; you’re crying. Have you mentioned that she looks beautiful?

Oh? You have? Odd…

But just in case it slips your mind, you tell her how beautiful she is in your head, all while she walks right past you and continues to the stage. It feels like the ring boy’s acting stupid to taunt you for being the fool here. 

In a way, she ended up being right. If “We” referred to Sana’s father and that man on the stage, “We” did indeed end up figuring things out. The invite broke you, and this wedding is breaking you even more. You know that this invite wasn’t sent by Sana—she isn’t cruel. This has the fingerprints of her father all over it: the seat close to the aisle, your wristband to authorise your access to the venue holding the same serial code as your father’s prisoner ID… All of it is him. 

But there’s not much you can do about it is there? You chose to come, you chose this for yourself. There was the option to not come, to tear the invite up and go cry in your apartment in Nagoya, but you bought the Shinkansen ticket here, didn’t you? You walked through the doors of this damn place and took your seat, didn’t you?

And the Yamazaki doesn’t taste as good as it should, and the Spring air is sharper than it should be at the afterparty. They’re over there, congratulating the newly weds and wishing them all the best; you’re over here, sipping on your neat Whisky behind a bush as the music roars on.

It really shouldn’t be a question on how she finds you; she knows you too well to know where you’d go at a place like this. And in her wedding gown, she stands where she is, this look of a god-knows-what mix of emotions simmering on her face. You rub your nose with a thumb, sip on the bitter Whisky as your remedy. No words are spoken, not even a “hey” or “how have you been”—both of you know that there’s no use in starting a conversation here. It’ll go sob, fast, and this isn’t the place for it.

There will never be a place for it.

So why not substitute words with actions? 

So in her bare feet, she hikes up her gown, runs over to you, lunges to close those years of separation between you two to hug you like she used to. The Whisky is knocked out of your hands; you’re knocked off your feet. And in the grass, she buries her head into your shoulder and weeps. 

You always thought that only death would make you cry, but now as you hold her for what may very well be the last time, you realise: you're not as tough as you think.

Like a Lemon, the realisation that comes is bitter, and it has you bawling.

Cause maybe in a world that wasn’t so cruel, you could’ve been the one on that stage.

(Then the two of you could be in love, happier than ever.)

#minatozaki sana #twice smut #sana smut #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut

[doberbutts]

(Different anon here.) I'm intersex and I DESPISE the TMA/TME terms. Transmisogyny and transandrophobia are both useful terms, but neither is "worse," and neither is somehow exclusive. I know trans women who get mistaken for trans men, I know trans men who get mistaken for trans women, I know nonbinary people who get mistaken for both, I know other intersex people who get mistaken for whatever pisses people off the most in that moment.

I get called both a dyke and a faggot from car windows, despite being neither WLW or MLM. I get called a tranny every couple of days, despite the fact that I identify as intersex, NOT transgender!

Nobody CARES what my actual identity is, they just know I've got a body that doesn't "look right," so I'm fair game to harass and abuse. Do I get to call myself TMA despite not being a trans woman? Am I somehow TME despite the fact that I experience what is objectively transmisogyny? I'm not a trans man, I'm not a trans woman, I'm not transmasc, I'm not transfemme--I'm intersex!

Watching perisex trans people play these weird pissing contest games where they try to decide who's most oppressed, while all of them are throwing intersex people under the bus...ugh. Perisex people, do better. Why are trans spaces so fixated on preserving the fucking sex binary?

Out of all of the asks I got, that's pretty close to my frustration with the whole thing honestly. Perhaps because I also am intersex and thus my experience is a bit different than others as well, but I've always been really aware of what lines I have to toe in order to not get hatecrimed in broad daylight. The lines were recently redrawn due to my transition but the learning process has been... rough... as things that I used to have to do are now things that actively create danger for me, and visa versa.

I have another ask in my inbox about the binary thing and I mentioned it when I first joined this discussion about how not every trans person easily fits into "trans fem" and trans masc" and I'm wondering not only what this arguing thinks of trans neutrals and multigender people but also how left out they must feel in this entire thing. Forcibly assigned one way or the other despite fighting to not have to deal with that, or altogether erased and silenced from the discussion.

In my refusal to allow trans men to be erased from conversations that affect them, I need to be careful not to erase mascs, neutrals, and more. I'm not always the best at it, but I think it is important that the effort is there.

[genderkoolaid]

Examples of transandrophobia: i've seen sections of Leslie Feinberg's piece "Sisterhood: Make it Real" passed around this site for literally years, and TODAY was the first time that I saw the whole thing and learned that ze called out cisfeminists in it for getting rid of trans men the second they started transitioning. Like I always thought it was a good piece but I had literally NO IDEA that it talked about trans men because that part was never included in posts about it, even when those posts were calling out cisfeminism for being transphobic. I'm just gobsmacked tbh

This is a great point!

Honestly more people need to read that full chapter. There's a lot of really good points.

Amongst other things, Leslie talks about how "women good men bad" is poor feminism:

Of course, as a result of the oppression women face growing up in such a violently anti-woman environment, some women draw a line between women as allies and men as enemies. While it’s understandable that an individual might do so out of fear, this approach fails as theory. It lumps John Brown and John D. Rockefeller together as enemies and Sojourner Truth and Margaret Thatcher together as allies. This view of who to trust and who to dread will not keep women safe or keep the movement on course.

How feminine men are victims of gender oppression:

The oppression of feminine men is an important one to me, since I consider drag queens to be my sisters. I’ve heard women criticize drag queens for “mocking women’s oppression” by imitating femininity to an extreme, just as I’ve been told that I am imitating men. Feminists are justifiably angry at women’s oppression - so am I! I believe, however, that those who denounce drag queens aim their criticism at the wrong people. This misunderstanding doesn’t take gender oppression into account. For instance, to criticize male-to-female drag performers, but leave out a discussion of gender oppression, lumps drag queen RuPaul together with men like actor John Wayne! RuPaul is a victim of gender oppression, as well as of racism.

How masculine women are assumed to know less about gender oppression:

But I grew up very masculine, so the complex and powerful set of skills that feminine girls developed to walk safely through the world were useless to me. I had to learn a very different set of skills, many of them martial. While we both grew up as girls, our experiences were dissimilar because our gender expressions were very different. Masculine girls and women face terrible condemnation and brutality including sexual violence - for crossing the boundary of what is “acceptable” female expression. But masculine women are not assumed to have a very high consciousness about fighting women’s oppression, since we are thought to be imitating men.

And as you said, how trans men deserve access to women's and lesbian's spaces without having their transmasculinity ignored or seen as being butch-in-denial:

And our female-to-male transsexual brothers have a right to feel welcome at women’s movement events or lesbian bars. However, that shouldn’t feed into to misconception that all female-to-male transsexuals were butches who just couldn’t deal with their oppression as lesbians. If that were true, then why does a large percentage of post-transition transsexual men identify as gay and bisexual, which may have placed them in a heterosexual or bisexual status before their transition? There are transsexual men who did help build the women’s and lesbian communities, and still have a large base of friends there. They should enjoy the support of women on their journey. Doesn’t everyone want their friends around them at a time of great change? And women could learn a great deal about what it means to be a man or a woman from sharing the lessons of transition.

Not that "trans women belong in feminism" wouldn't be a good point on its own, but people's selectivity with which parts of that chapter they share definitely warrant scrutiny.

#m. #ask box

[leeteraly]

I WILL PUNCH MY EX CLASSMATE ON HER FCACE

#she jumps to conclusions so quickly #like the time when she tried telling my own sexuality #and now shes like how can you hate on fiction when i was just making fun of horror #and not even in the way like oh horror is so bad #i just called people who consume horror media losers #as a joke #like learn to take a joke #i was literally the only kid who used to read in my whole entire life #and ur telling me that i dont like fiction? and ur dissapointed in me? #well one who the fuck gave u the right and two why am i defending myself when ur wrong ugh i hate her #also back to when she tried telling me my own sexuality like babes i know ur queer too but i was literally here a year before you #i have explored my sexuality and gender already #i dont need you treating me as if im new to the community #she literally had the nerve to tell me that i am bisexual becaue i would date both women and men AFTER i told her i do not identify as a bi #so yeah shes fucked up stfu

[multidimensionalguidance]

🌟🩺 Chiron Observations #1 🩻🌟

In our natal charts Chiron represents where we have healing powers due to deep spiritual wounds. We may over-compensate in these areas of life or unconsciously put ourselves in situations that wounds us further. We become our own wounded healer, and learn to face and overcome issues of low self-worth and feelings of inadequacy and learn to rise above these issues.

Chiron in our charts is a place of great knowledge, experience, talent, and wisdom. Even if our own experience with the issues are problematic, our experience informs us, and we can be excellent guides and counselors in these areas of life.

In aspects to angles and planets it tells us a story of how we can learn understand ourselves deeply. Strong aspects (conjunction, opposition, or square) can be felt in great amounts and in polarizing ways, but softer ones (trines or sextiles) are like natural talents or ways of being so it can easily go unnoticed.

⬆️ASC/1H ⬆️: these individuals are more prone to acquiring wounds in a physical and/or non-physical ways. Similarly to Pluto in this aspect or house, you can have scar/s around your face or head area. There is a tendency to have a wrong perception of one’s body, almost to a detrimental point which leads to experiencing low self esteem during early life. The lesson Chiron brings here is to learn how to love yourself deeply despite how painful it might be. This is not an easy journey considering how damaging our current body standards are for both men and women, although more painful for the latter. Once you see and learn to love your own beauty it will be easy for you to be a role model for others, since you will shine from the inside out. You naturally have a healers energy and others are drawn to it, specially those who need healing in a metaphysical way. It is truly beautiful to see a Chiron placement like this one grow and develop throughout time. You proudly show the scars and don’t feel afraid of others seeing it. You value your vulnerability and compassion, and so do others. You are not your wounds, but the beauty in the scars that showed you survived.

🌞 Sun 🌞 : there is a wound that comes from not identifying yourself with your core energy, what makes you shine or your talents. It could also be a father wound, meaning your relationship with him might have no been great and needs/needed lots of healing. A sort of discomfort by not feeling entirely related to how others perceive you. Our sun sign is the aspect that shows up the most and easiest to pinpoint, so individuals with Chiron in close aspect to it feel pain from not feeling associated with those aspects of themselves. Ex: A Leo sun conj Chiron might not perceive themselves as someone who gets or feels comfortable with attention at all. They might not even notice their creative side. There is a need for integration within this person. The lesson is accepting all your parts, specially the ones that people point out the most and you just reject with little hesitation. Sit down and think of when and/or who taught you to reject these aspects of yourself. Someone with this conjunction will feel somewhat inferior or very uncomfortable next to those who share their same sun sign, since they feel pain when seeing the parts they deny themselves reflected in others with more ease. Once you radically accept your sun traits, there is high possibilities of becoming an unstoppable force full of confidence. People can feel like being around you helps them heal their father wounds in a way. These natives become the pillar and holding ground to those around them. Always wanting to protect and provide as well, if possible. Remember you are not your father, but the genetically better version instead.

🌚 Moon 🌝: the hurt comes with our emotional regulation here. You are naturally more sensitive than most to your environment and when interacting with others. There is also a common theme of mother wounds, and the rocky relationship being the main cause for developing unhealthy cope mechanisms. Ones that lead you to struggling with understanding your own emotions. It might be easy for you to be very emphatic with others wounds, and people would find being under your care as very healing. These individuals become the mother archetype for others, like the one they might have needed themselves growing up but didn’t get the chance to experience. Their relationships with women or their own soft/nurturing side might trigger these wounds for them. You must realize that the world will never stop throwing triggers your way, and the only way to cope in a healthy way is by learning how to regulate yourself. Breathing techniques, mindfulness, and yoga might be very useful for you. Teach your brain that there’s no fear in triggers, and that you’re stronger than any of them. You will not turn out to be your mothers negative traits. You will not hurt those around you and dismiss their feelings. You are destined to show others how resilient one can be, how emotions are here to just exist or experienced, and not to be rationalized or internalized. The beauty in living is feeling it all.

#astro notes #astrology facts #astrology advice #astrology #astrologer #astrology horoscope #astro community #astrology aspects #astrology lessons #astrology for beginners #astrology observations #astrology basics #chiron #astroblr #astro observations #astro placements #asteroid astrology

[drefear]

Hail to the King (prologue)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

The restaurant was on 5th Avenue, between Gucci and Balenciaga. Miguel stepped out of his SUV and buttoned the suit jacket he had on, glancing around at the glittering lights of the street, identifying certain faces he knew and familiarizing the ones he didn’t. Walking into the restaurant, he glanced at security at the front and they just nodded at him as he walked in towards the hostess stand. The girl looked up at the 6’9 man, intimidated as she kept her eyes down once she realized who he was, and led him to a table towards the back.

This was a normal night for him once a month, taking a specific meeting here to discuss imports and exports to the city and the competition of the other families.

Miguel O’Hara was a name that many feared in this city, The head of the O’Hara family, a facade for the mafia that ran Nueva York, he was in charge of most organized crime within the metropolitan area and some of the biggest drug trafficking rings within the state. Being a mafia boss aside, the man was huge. His hand could wrap around an average man’s throat and crush it without flexing more than his hand.

He walked to his table without really needing to be led, the girl placing the menus down and walking away without a word. He sat and spread his legs a bit, leaning one elbow on the table and thinking quietly. Another presence made him stand and reach forward, shaking the man’s hand.

“Nice to see you again.” He spoke and sat with the man, talking about some business.

You were new. Very new. Your second night. You’d just moved to the city to become a writer, loving the scenery and hustle of the lives here. Visiting when you were young was always the best feeling, your parents showing you around and bringing you around to see the staples of Nueva York.

You had just finished serving another table for a lovely couple visiting the city as you saw someone get seated in your section. Walking towards the table with a skip in your step, you smiled at the two men and waved. “Hello! I’ll be your server tonight, how about we get started with-”

“Where’s Gwen?” Miguel glared at you as he raised a brow, as if you’d disrespected him in some way.

“Oh, uh. She’s not working tonight.” You added, intimidated.

“I only order from Gwen.” He deadpanned as you scrunch your nose in confusion. “Go get Peter.” He demanded, to which you began to boil a bit. How dare he speak to you like this? Yes, this was a very high end restaurant, but no one was allowed to treat you so terribly, to speak down to you. Your mother taught you never to accept that type of behavior.

“I don’t think I will.” You answered, with the same insulting tone he did, the man sitting across him staring at you with wide eyes. “At least, until you learn to speak to me correctly.”

“Do you know who I am?” He hissed, eyes boring into you and standing in front of you with a towering stature, but you didn’t care. Big or small, no one got to demean you.

“No, and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t give a shit enough about a 15 dollar tip to tolerate your rudeness. Learn how to speak to people before you walk around like some bigshot.” You leaned up towards him, eyes narrowed with anger that mirrored his.

Someone rushed in between the two of you and placed a hand on both of your shoulders. “Hey! Miguel, hi, how are you? I forgot to tell you that Gwen wasn’t feeling well today and called out sick. Hopefully, our new little beauty will suffice.” Peter, your manager, spoke with a friendliness in his voice, a familiarity he must have had with Miguel.

The hulking man stood up straighter, still looking down at you with a snarl still evident on his face. “She won’t be working here anymore.” He spoke in a cool tone, as if just asking about the weather. Your jaw dropped and you glanced between him and Peter.

“You can’t- I don’t-” You stuttered in disbelief and watched him unbutton his suit jacket, taking it off. “How dare you?” You got louder now, calling attention from the few hidden tables beside you.

“You have a disregard for who someone is, and you have no patience for others who try to put you in your place.” He announced, ignoring your angry chatter. “You start to work for me right now.”

“What?” You and Peter gawked as he sat back down and handed you his coat.

“I do not work for you.” You growled with hatred dripping from your lips.

“Well, you don’t have another job anymore, isn't that right, Peter?” He flashed a look of Warning to Peter and he looked between you two before giving you an apologetic smile. “Glad that’s understood. Go wait in the car and I’ll be out in ten minutes to take you home and give you your new assignments for tomorrow.” he waved you off and everything in your being shook with rage. You removed your apron and threw it at the large man.

“Fuck you!” You shouted before exiting the building.

Chapter 1

Want to be tagged in the updates? Like this post!

#miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara smut

[fixing-bad-posts]

Heya, I really really hope this doesn't come off as particularly rude, but I was wondering, why would bisexual women be considered lesbians sometimes and I think you also brought up transgender men and genderqueer ppl? For bisexual women, I just am kinda confused, they can be in lesbian relationships and lesbian spaces, but just describing them as lesbians seems kinda confusing because lesbian denotes specifically sapphic attraction at least from where I've always heard it, so wouldn't it be kinda confusing. And for the genderqueer folks or trans folks, wouldn't that just bring their genders closer to feminine and at least from what I've heard from some pple I know, they don't like non binary being seen as more womanly (I've heard it being described as woman-lite before annoying) and instead seen as a more inbetween which it sometimes isn't, because of bigotry and other things since nbs can be both fem or masc or androgynous, but wouldn't non woman lesbians kinda push it to be seen as kinda more fem or that person as more fem? I don't know and frankly I'm just kinda confused. I'm really really sorry that this probably comes off as super rude and I hope you forgive me. I frankly just want to learn a little more and have been reading up but wanted to know what you thought. And I just realized how long this was, so so sorry

hello anon! these days, i usually don’t answer asks like these because i’ve already done so several times, but you seem very well-meaning and confused, so i’ll do my best to help. first of all, please check my faq for resources and links about mspec labels and bi lesbians.

second of all—generally—here is my advice for when you encounter a queer label that confuses you:

1) literally just ignore it until you...

2) meet someone in your life who uses that label, at which point you might (respectfully) ask them what using that label means to them specifically, and why it’s important. i’ve done this in real life. the script is something like,

“it’s really cool to get to talk to someone in real life about this stuff—if i may ask, what does identifying as [insert label] mean to you, personally?”

you might also say,

“i’ve never met someone who identifies with [their label] before. would you mind giving me some pointers on the important things to keep in mind in order to respect your identity/make sure you feel respected by me?”

i’ve also never asked anyone to correct me if i mess up and say something rude, but i’m working on the confidence and charisma to be able to say that, because i owe that to others.

all of that said, i wanted to respond to some of your specific questions, and clarify a couple of things below the cut. to clarify:

1. “describing [bisexual women] as lesbians seems kinda confusing because lesbian denotes specifically sapphic attraction”. to be clear i am not the one describing bisexual women as lesbians, in this hypothetical situation. when i post about bi-lesbians, i am posting in support of people who—for whatever reason—chose that label for themselves. what i am not doing: advocating to redefine the classically understood definition of lesbian for the entire populous.

2. “wouldn’t it be kinda confusing”? yes! i understand it can be confusing, and i commend you for expressing your confusion instead of reacting in disgust or anger. there are so many things in the queer community that are confusing, even to me, and you don’t need to feel guilty for asking questions as long as you come from a place of genuine curiosity. being confused isn’t bad, and defining yourself in a way that confuses others is, likewise, no transgression.

3. “for the genderqueer folks or trans folks, wouldn’t [identifying as a lesbian] just bring their genders closer to feminine […] wouldn’t non woman lesbians […] be seen as kinda more fem”? the answer is: sort of. it depends entirely on how and why the person using this label came to these words. you wrote, “i’ve heard from some pple i know, they don’t like non binary being seen as more womanly”, and i have definitely also heard that! so, for people who feel that way, they probably wouldn’t want a label that evokes womanhood and/or aligns them with femininity assigned to them. but every person is different—so for some nonbinary people, they absolutely do not want to be seen as “woman-lite”, whereas for other nonbinary people, they might want to be seen closer to femme than masc, while still nonbinary. this goes back to what i said at the beginning: best practice is to ask the people in your life how they want you to respect them.

closing thoughts: i hope this clarified some things, but i understand that the topic may still be confusing—feel free to message me if you want a non-judgmental queer to talk things through with. i promise i’ll take you in good faith <3

#ask fbp #anon ask

[mariacallous]

It’s telling that both Dave Chappelle and Ricky Gervais decided to end 2023 by releasing specials in which their comedy pivots to poking fun at the disabled. Could they be more obvious about finding new ways to punch down than targeting people physically unable to fight back?

In a false promise near the opening of his brand-new special and seventh for Netflix, The Dreamer, Chappelle boasts: “Tonight, I’m doing all handicapped jokes,” because “well, they’re not as organized as the gays, and I love punching down.”

Similarly, Gervais decides to have a bit of fun at how we’ve decided as a society to say “disabled” instead of “handicapped” and what that says about us, and suggests further in his special Armageddon, released on Christmas Day, that he’d mock Make-A-Wish kids if given the chance to make videos for them.

And, of course, both men take yet more cracks at the trans community.

Early in The Dreamer, Chappelle tells the audience trans people make him feel like he has to go along with them pretending, as if they’re method acting like Jim Carrey as Andy Kaufman: “If you came here to this show tonight thinking that I’m gonna make fun of those people again, you’ve come to the wrong show,” only to keep going back on his word.

He says he hoped to “repair” his relationship with the LGTBQ+ community – by writing a play for them in which a black trans woman only identifies as the N-word to trip up liberals. He also jokes that if he went to jail in California, he’d identify as a woman so he could tell the other inmates to “suck my lady dick.”

But it’s all just jokes, right? Can’t we just take a joke? Have we lost our sense of humor? Or have they?

Earlier this month, we lost two pillars not just of the comedy community but of our American community writ, as Norman Lear and Tommy Smothers stood taller than most anyone and everyone else in television, standing up to the establishment and protesting the powers that be for the sake of civil rights and humanity.

Now we’re left with Chappelle and Gervais—two titans in terms of Netflix ratings and paychecks—who are fighting for… the right to utter slurs onstage and tell already marginalized people that their existence is a joke for reasons that are nearly impossible to divine. Especially when there’s so much in the world to talk about right now, that they’ve chosen anti-trans rights as their comedy cause célèbre is dispiriting. As Mae Martin said in their 2023 Netflix special, Sap: “Big multimillionaire comedians in their stand-up specials are, like, taking shots and punching down at a time when trans rights are so tenuous and slipping backwards.”

Lear and Smothers used their clout on TV to speak truth to power about America’s involvement in Vietnam and Southeast Asia, the hypocrisy of religion, racism, abortion, homosexuality and civil rights. While great trans comedians such as River Butcher and Jaye McBride resorted to releasing their stand-up specials straight to YouTube this year, which famous straight comedians can you recall sticking up for the rights of trans people in America?

It feels so frustrating to sit and watch comedians with the stature of Chappelle and Gervais devote so much of their time and energy to bullying the LGBTQ+ community when they could be doing anything else on stage. And then they have the temerity to question us, the audience, for not laughing with them.

For his part, Gervais willingly misdefines and misuses “woke” by suggesting, “if woke now means being a puritanical, authoritarian bully who gets people fired for an honest opinion or even a fact, then no, I’m not woke. Fuck that.” Is Nazism or transphobia an honest opinion that shouldn’t get you fired? He then claims in his closing bit that “all laughter’s good,” a concept that would be news to 2005-era Chappelle when he cut ties with Comedy Central precisely because he could hear racism in the laughs during a taping of Chappelle’s Show.

In his Grammy-nominated lecture to students at his alma mater, Duke Ellington School of the Arts, What’s In A Name?, Chappelle claimed: “The more you say I can’t say something, the more urgent it is for me to say it. It has nothing to do with what you’re saying I can’t say. It has everything to do with my right and my freedom of artistic expression.”

But that’s not comedy, either—much like Gervais’ admission in his special that as a university student, his idea of a joke was calling his mother and pranking her by saying he was hospitalized and potentially blind. Gervais said her mom could’ve had a heart attack, but in his mind, he remembers it now as “they could take a fucking joke, right?”

At least Sam Jay, in her 2023 HBO special Salute Me Or Shoot Me, wrestles with her conscience and moral compass over the use of certain words in her act and concludes that having empathy for others is key. “How do the rest of us get here? I don’t know… I’m not going to pretend that I have the answers,” Jay says, adding: “So we’re doing things like we’re policing words, but we’re not policing behavior.”

Anthony Jeselnik, who has built his comedy career on brandishing himself as an offensive caricature of a comedian, told fellow comedian and podcaster Theo Von earlier this year that too many stand-ups would rather get into trouble by saying the wrong thing instead of focusing on their job and saying funny things.

“People think — oh, as a comic your job is to get in trouble. But they don’t want to get yelled at. It’s like, it’s OK to make people mad, but they don’t want any push back. And I think that’s wrong,” Jeselnik said. “As a comedian, you want to make people laugh. This is a quote attributed to Andy Warhol that I love: ‘Art is getting away with it.’ You know, if you put out a special and everyone’s pissed, like, you didn’t get away with it. You know. You need to make everyone laugh that they’re like, ‘Yeah, he talked about some fucked up stuff, but we’re all happy.’ That’s art. Otherwise, you’re just a troll.”

Kliph Nesteroff, a comedy historian whose newest book is Outrageous: A History of Showbiz and the Culture Wars, similarly told me last month that some while comedians see themselves sometimes as “philosophers” he believes they are “betraying their job description because you’re supposed to make people laugh, and philosophers are supposed to philosophize.”

Comedians may claim they can’t joke about anything anymore, but they joke about more now than ever before. The real problem with stand-up today is that too many comedians would rather kick people when they’re down, then lecture us on how we’re too sensitive for not laughing about it.

When Chappelle, Gervais or their acolytes have to incessantly explain that their jokes are just jokes, then they cease to be great comedians—or even comedians at all.

[whoopssteddiefeels]

Penny in the Air

Robin is a lot of things: judgey, hyperactive, anxious, impulsive, talkative, loud- there’s a list okay, and she’s very familiar with it. High up the list is that she is very, very gay (if possible, she’s pretty sure she’s actually getting gayer. She blames Steve for this, as she’s pretty sure it has to do with being able to finally talk about her crushes to someone other than her reflection.)

The point is, she’s gay, so she’s not surprised that she notices first. The Steve-Eddie thing. Because it is, in fact, a thing at this point.

She knows Eddie is gay- knows it like the sky is blue and David Bowie rocks- because of, y’know, the way he is (if she had any doubt, the way he leaned in while calling Steve “big boy”, ew, killed it dead.) Her research suggests this is “gaydar,” but its very unfair, she thinks, that so far it has only detected exactly (2) gays, both men, making it pretty much useless. It has given her exactly 0 information on Vickie.

She empathizes with Eddie’s position. Feels it pang under her sternum when his eyes go soft watching Steve talk emphatically, hair flopping around in that ridiculous way it does. Knows how it must catch in his throat when his hand suddenly retracts halfway to Steve’s shoulder, going to his own hair to cover the aborted movement. Tries hard to not over-identify with the sharp tug he gives there, trying to snap himself out of it (fails because she did literally exactly that when Vickie was in the video store the previous day, almost as if he had seen and copied the mechanism).

The part of the puzzle she can’t figure out is Steve. She’s annoyingly aware that he likes (groan) boobies, thanks Fast Times, and he isn’t treating Eddie like a girl whose number he’s trying to score. That being said, whenever the older boy appears, Steve lights up like a damn Christmas tree. Affection doesn’t have to be romantic; she knows this- wants to hit several of the kiddos over the head with it whenever they allude to her dating Steve- but empathy for Eddie is tinting her judgement, and once you put on the gay rose-tinted glasses it’s hard to unsee the possibility. It certainly seems like flirting. Rearranging his hair every three seconds, drawing Eddie’s eyes to the mane that is his pride and joy. Getting what she can only describe as unnecessarily close when he squeezes by Eddie in the video store aisles or whoever’s living room they’re sprawled in, hands brushing a shoulder, back, or one time his hip under the pretense of maintaining balance. The soft blush whenever Eddie flirts hard in a way he knows can be passed off as a joke. The honest megawatt smile Steve gets whenever Eddie starts in on his usual antics is infinitely more endearing than the smolder he’s learned to use like a weapon.

She usually knows exactly what Steve is thinking or feeling before he does. They’ve got that whole platonic soul mate telepathy thing, and he’s easily the center of her social world. So, since she can’t tell what he’s thinking (other than the obvious but unhelpful “Eddie, yay!”), she’s 99.9% sure, from experience, ok, that it means he isn’t thinking. Like at all. So, what she’s witnessing is instinctive, his body just moving into Eddie’s space because it feels correct, and he hasn’t paused to think about it.

             He’s walking that line of comfortable and affectionate that is ambiguously intimate. Could be platonic, could be more. It would be frustrating for anyone with a crush, but she knows from bitter experience with straight-girl crushes that Eddie must be going insane. And yes, Robin and Eddie are friends, but not close enough for her to open a conversation with “So you’re obviously gay and into Steve, my best friend who I talk to every second of every day, and no he hasn’t mentioned it, and neither have I. What’s up with that?” Similarly, she can’t quite figure out how to bring it up to Steve without accidentally outing Eddie in the process.

That’s the main reason she’s keeping her mouth uncharacteristically shut on the subject. She is not, however, above the occasional raised eyebrow, ok, especially as Eddie’s flirting slowly becomes ridiculously obvious. The man is literally leaning on the counter, chin on his hand, mooning up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve has his hip propped on the opposite side, leaning into the shared space. How are either of them this oblivious, seriously.

~*~

She’s there when the penny finally drops.

They’re not even watching a romantic movie, it’s fucking Life of Brian, all three of them calling out their favorite lines along with the actors, throwing things and generally goofing off. If she takes the armchair to force the boys together on the couch, she doesn’t think anyone can blame her. If she’s feeling a little smug that they both sit in the middle, right next to each other, instead of taking opposite ends, she keeps it to herself. She might not want to stick her foot right in the middle of that mess, but she’s not above setting booby traps.

Robin couldn’t tell you exactly when Steve’s arm went around Eddie’s shoulder; it was somewhere between Eddie practically climbing into Steve’s lap for a “Biggus Dickus” re-enactment, the closeness and flirting safely enveloped in humor, and Steve attempting to force Eddie to “haggle” for the bag of chips. When she glances over from the safety of her armchair, Steve’s arm is trapped behind Eddie’s head, draped over his shoulder on the opposite side. Eddie, usually a constant ball of fidgety motion, is frozen stiff like he’s trying not to scare off a nervous rabbit. Even in the blue light coming off the screen she can see the flush coloring his usually nocturnal-pale cheeks.

The thing is, Steve had just discussed this move with her. Told her to invite Vickie to movie night, recommended light, easily joked off roughhousing and settling an arm around her in a way specifically gaged to judge the reaction. Which means he knows. No way he hasn’t finally figured out what his lizard brain has clearly been screaming for months (seriously, she deserves a medal. Someone tell her future girlfriends about her stamina), not with the way he’s twirling a soft brown curl around and around his finger. He must know Eddie can feel that. And oh. Steve is not-so-subtly glancing to his right, trying to gage that reaction like they discussed, to see if this is ok.

Yup. Robin needs to be literally anywhere else. She tries to be subtle (insert laugh here), muttering “bathroom” and legging it out of the room, seeking the safety of the kitchen. She wasn’t worried though- odds are she could start playing trumpet and those two wouldn’t hear it past the tension of the moment.

 ~*~

In addition to gay, Robin is also easily bored. She hums along to “Always look on the bright side of life,” drifting in from the living room, crunching on some peppery crackers she found in a cabinet in a way that vaguely matches the song’s rhythm. She would just leave the boys to whatever they were going to do (yuck, don’t think about it), but unfortunately the two people most likely to give her a ride home were occupied (seriously, no thinking about it). She’d held out for as long as she could, really, but if the movie was ending, surely she had given them enough time?

Hoping she wasn’t going to regret it, she peaked out of the kitchen, and was relieved to see that 1) everyone still had clothes on and 2) Steve and Eddie were cuddling. Fucking finally.

“SO, BOYS,” she boomed (remember loud is on the list of things she is), trying not to enjoy the way two ridiculous heads of hair jumped and then shifted away from one another anxiously. “Who finally lost the longest game of gay chicken I’ve ever seen?”

Steve’s head makes an audible thump as it drops against the back of the couch, hands coming up to rub at his face as she rounds the furniture to face them, feeling deliciously smug. Eddie gave up any pretense and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, sweater and hair completely hiding his face.

“Shut up Robin, go away,” Steve groans.

“Nope! This has been the slowest burn of all time, you guys were killing me. I have to balance it out by being just as insufferable.” she chirped, doing her best Steve impression, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked.

“Technically, I would say we both won gay chicken since neither of us pulled back. No chickens here. Roosters only, in fact.” Eddie surfaces with a smug little smile, dimples on full display.

“Oh you’re definitely a cock Munson, I’ll give you that,”

“Don’t make me flip you the bird-”

“That’s a bit of ostritch-”

“Well toucan play at that game-”

“I’m so happy I like tits-“

“Why me?” Steve grumbled at the same time Eddie dropped his teasing tone to ask, “Wait what?”

“Me? Lesbian. You? Obviously gay. Steve has been flirting back at you for months you dingus.”

“I’ve been what?” Steve sits up straight, suddenly laser focused on Robin. “I have not. I only realized, like, a week ago-”

He was seriously going to be the death of her.

“Steve. Stephen. My guy. What would you say if I told you a girl had been giving me a hair show, the unnecessary squeeze-by, and big eyes? Consistently. For weeks.”

Eddie starts laughing. Then cackling. Steve went an even deeper shade of red, though she could tell this one was more indignant ruby than embarrassed scarlet.

“Thank you,” Eddie wheezed out, fighting down another fit, picking himself up from where he had slid down the couch. “Oh my god, thank you for fucking noticing that. He was wasn’t he? I thought it was just in my head, y’know, and Gareth always said I tend to imagine signs that aren’t there.”

“Oh I know, you think you have a hard time, girls are so physically affectionate platonically, it’s impossible to tell-”

“Ok. Done with this conversation!” Steve interrupted, standing up between the two of them, hands furiously combing through his hair.

Robin only grinned wider at Eddie. “So, Munson, care to give me a ride home?”

“You know, Buckley, I would be delighted.”

“Hey now-” Steve tried to interject as the two of them moved towards the door.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

“Don’t mention it, fair lady. Your chariot awaits.”

“Wait, hang on, Eddie-” Steve’s tone shifted from confused to plaintive as she stepped out into the night. And she resolutely pretended to not hear Eddie’s reply before he closed the door behind them.

“Sit tight, big boy, I’ll be right back!”

#steddie #steddie fluff #Robin Buckley #Robin POV #steve harrington/ eddie munsion #fic #ficlet #sometimes i write things #fluff #Am I the only one who remember Life of Brian? Biggus Dickus was iconic #I too am a tired lesbian #platonic stobin #gratuitous bird puns #i just think my writing style sounds like Robin so I wanted to try something #letterkenny reference if you squint real hard

[justwritedreams]

Surviving The Game | Mark Lee

Idol Mark x Investigator Reader

Word count: 11.368 Genre: Drama, angst, action. Author: maari Warnings: Mentions of stalking, guns and very sensitive topics with a happy ending bc you know me Note: I think I need to make it clear that this has nothing to do with yandere and personally I don't agree with stalker attitudes or anything like that. If you are going through this in real life, don't be silent, this is not normal. Btw this it’s just a fiction so don't come after me. Summary: An sasaeng turns Mark's life a nightmare and the only solution it's bring the police into this case. And it's your job to make him feel safe again.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

“To be more than a conqueror You have to learn to enjoy the pain If you want to survive the game” “Y/N, come with me, please.”

“Of course, boss.” Y/N stood up from her chair, ready to grab her vest.

“Without the vest.” the boss warned and she looked at him confused but left her protection behind.

She walked beside him anxiously, waiting for him to say something but it didn't happen until they were in the car. No vests, no flashy vehicles. Like normal people.

"Where are we going?" she asked as soon as the boss started the car.

“Visiting a victim." Y/N frowned, she had never done this type of work. Noticing her confusion, the boss decided to explain. “It's a delicate and completely confidential case, it involves a large company that wants a silent investigation.”

She knew how to keep a secret but the anxiety of knowing what it was all about was eating her alive.

"Understood." she replied and silence returned to them both until they reached their destination.

Y/N wanted to know more about the details but she knew that the boss wouldn't talk about the case on the street or while they were going up the elevator, after identifying themselves to the doorman. She was attentive to everything and when they arrived on the floor, they didn't have to wait long after the boss rang the bell.

A man probably the boss's age, if not younger, answered the door and bowed as he faced the boss.

"Detective." the man greeted him and the boss bowed in the same way, entering shortly afterwards.

Y/N did the same and noticed that the man was worried, she walked in behind the boss and felt several pairs of eyes staring at her.

She didn't usually get nervous, she liked to investigate and was one of the reasons why she joined the police but she confessed that now it was different. She didn't expect four  extremely handsome young men to be in the room, staring intently at her and the boss.

She was used to police officers of all ages, so she was struck by the beauty of mere civilians. She had never seen so many handsome men since University.

The four of them got up from the couch and bowed, they seemed more anxious and nervous than Y/N, and she tried not to show how affected she was by the looks.

“Detective, this is Taeyong, Yuta, Johnny and Mark.” the oldest introduced, indicating who was who and Y/N took a good look at the boys.

But the last one caught her attention.

He appeared to be the youngest and was visibly shaken, huge black dots under his eyes that were shaking constantly, but beneath his pale, worried face, he carried an innocent, almost childlike look. Although he wasn't that much younger than Y/N.

“Detective Kim, this is my partner Y/N.” the boss announced and all eyes stopped on her.

Y/N smiled slightly, holding her gaze for longer with Mark, who quickly lowered his gaze.

“Very well, tell us from the beginning what happened.” the boss asked and the oldest signaled for everyone to sit down.

Y/N and the boss sat across from the four young boys who looked at Mark before starting.

“We were returning from a recording that lasted all day, when we got out of the car a woman approached us, she wanted to talk to Mark.” Y/N's eyes met Mark's and he looked embarrassed, the boss pointed for her to write down what Taeyong was saying and she took her phone out of her pocket. “At first we thought she was a random fan who had just passed by on the street and saw us getting down, but after we entered, the doorman announced that the woman had not left the sidewalk.”

Y/N cocked her head to the side when she heard the word fan. Were they famous? Why hadn't the boss warned her about this?

“She stood still for a long time, looking at the building trying to find our floor.” Yuta continued.

“That’s when she started screaming.” Mark spoke quietly and Y/N stopped taking notes to look at him, his small voice made her feel sorry for him.

It was clear that this had affected him in a bad way, it was actually sad.

“We spoke to our manager.” Johnny pointed to the older man who was standing next to them with his arms crossed. “And we didn’t do anything but record it for proof.”

“What was she shouting?” Y/N asked and they looked at Mark, who shook his head and looked down.

"Nonsenses. That Mark couldn’t go without talking to his girlfriend, that it wasn’t right to leave her outside in the cold.” Tayeong spoke and it was at that moment that everyone had the same expression, anger.

Y/N tried to contain her grimace and went back to taking notes.

Reminder: the girl was crazy.

“But the next day she was in the same place we were and the next day too, and now she’s going to where we are.” Yuta showed the discomfort he felt and it seemed like he wasn't the only one.

“It even seems like she knows our schedule better than our own manager.” Johnny commented.

“How long has this been going on?” the boss asked.

"3 weeks?" Taeyong asked Mark and he just nodded, while stared into nothing.

Now Y/N could understand the case.

It made perfect sense for the police to go to their house in disguise, if the idols went to the police station or if they knew that a detective had gone there, it would attract a lot of attention.

From the media, from the fans, from who knows how many stalkers they had. It would be detrimental to the case.

“And when did the messages start?” the boss asked and Y/N looked at him.

Messages?

“A few days before she showed up.” Mark responded and put his hands together, stirring constantly.

“Can you show us?” the boss asked and Mark agreed, taking his phone out of his pocket and moving it around until he found what he was looking for, he handed it to the boss and as Y/N was closer, she held the phone.

The boss approached to read it and Y/N's eyes widened at the amount.

The number was already blocked, but on the same day Mark had received 52 messages.

‘I know where you are’

‘Why don’t you come out and talk?’

‘I see your face in the window’

‘Are you looking for me?’

'You are so cute'

There were some of them, Y/N noticed that the girl was really watching Mark closely and every second as she told him exactly what he was doing.

Psychopath, she thought.

Y/N looked at Mark once again. He was sad, dejected and tired, she could see that. It was clear as water.

Cases about stalkers were not rare, but she had never been at the forefront of the investigations. But now, knowing the story, she could only feel anger and disgust.

How could someone who claimed to be a fan do that?

“Have you ever thought about carrying armed security guards?” she asked and that caught everyone by surprise.

The boys looked at each other, looking for an answer while the manager scratched his head.

“It wouldn’t be fair to the fans.” Mark replied and for the first time held Y/N’s gaze.

She didn't want to notice how welcoming yet sad his brown eyes were, but she did.

“And is it fair to you?” she returned the question.

Okay, she understood the fame part but she couldn't understand why their safety didn't come first, especially since that girl was a perfect sasaeng.

They were obsessed and would stop at nothing. Someone needed to set limits.

“The company thinks it is more prudent for the police to investigate first and then we will see what can be done.” the manager said and Y/N wanted to snort.

She knew what to do, locking the crazy woman in a mental hospital was the solution.

“That’s what we’re here for.” the boss assured, resting his hand on Y/N's shoulder who was still looking at Mark. “We will do whatever is necessary.”

Y/N and the boss talked a little more with the boys so they could have something to start, as well as writing down the numbers the stalker was using to send messages to Mark.

Yes, numbers.

She was pushy, in Y/N's words she was annoying.

As soon as they left, after a long conversation that Mark apparently didn't want to have, they returned to the car with a plan in mind.

Well, Y/N had a rather radical plan.

“You know we’re going to have to check his phone, right?” Y/N asked her boss as soon as they left the street of the building. “The girl probably hacked it, based on her history.”

“I didn’t want to say that at first and scare him.”

She laughed, humorless.

“Boss, the guy is already scared!”

"I know. What did you find of her?” he asked and Y/N slid the file onto her phone.

After looking up her history in every database the police had access to, she found some interesting things.

“She was adopted when she was 6 years old. Her academic record is not the best, she went through several schools in a very short period, she must not have had time to create a bond with someone, her teachers made some notes over the years about her being quiet, introverted and extremely inattentive because she was too busy kissing posters of actors and singers.” Y/N saw the boss staring at her with a disbelieving look. "What? It’s written here!”

The boss laughed, nodding his head.

“I know what you think about stalkers.”

“That they are unbalanced people who deserve to spend the rest of their lives in a psychiatric clinic, am I wrong?”

“No, but it’s not right either.” the boss pondered, searching for the best words. “Cases like this involve a lot more than it seems, Y/N.”

"What does that mean?"

“I mean, you need to see beyond your outrage about this issue. Or do you think I didn’t realize you got mad when they started talking about the messages?” Y/N was silent. “You will be a good detective in the future and that is why I have an obligation to train you until then, I want you to be the best, but for that you will need to act more with reason than with emotion.”

[...]

Although the detective was in charge of the case, it was Y/N who was solving everything, especially because the boss was busier than usual. So he confided in her everything he said about this specific case.

That was why Y/N had gone to the group's dorm again, now she knew about Mark's professional life and how the group was famous, it made sense why stalkers showed up thinking they knew the boys closely.

However, a face that Y/N hadn't seen yet answered the door in confusion, so she held up her badge.

"Goodnight. Investigator Y/N, is Mark here?” she asked subtly and he nodded, giving her space to enter.

“Milk!” he shouted and even though she didn't know anything about him, she could tell that he must be one of the group's vocalists, by his powerful voice.

It was time for him to close the door and turn to face her, Mark appeared running and visibly tired, it was no wonder after all at that time of night they should have been sleeping due to their busy schedule.

“Officer, good night!” he greeted her and looked at her expectantly.

“How are you, Mark?”

"Good." she didn't believe the answer, not after the sad eyes gave it away. Y/N would have continued to hold his gaze if the boy who opened the door hadn't interrupted the brief moment. “This is Haechan, I guess you guys didn’t meet last week, did you?” he introduced and the boy smiled at Y/N.

"Pleasure."

"Equally!" he replied happily and the room fell into an awkward silence.

"Well, I'm sorry to come unannounced but I came to update you on the investigation." Y/N spoke and Mark moved in front of Haechan, pointing to the sofa.

"Please sit down."

She did so, taking off the backpack she was carrying on her back and placing it on her lap.

"First of all, your phone, where is it?"

Mark looked confused at Haechan who was on the same page, he pointed to one of the rooms.

"Charging, why?" He asked, curious.

"I'm going to need a favor. Two in fact." she saw Mark nod and then continued. "Bring your phone over here and cover all the cameras, you two will have to be silent at all time."

Mark looked complicit at Haechan who felt the investigator's eyes switch between him and Mark. The two agreed.

"Why?" Mark asked and saw her become reluctant.

"I need to make sure that what I suspect is happening." She explained without giving many details and received a shy ok from Mark, who got up and went to get his phone.

A few minutes later, while Haechan was silent and looked like he was going to explode, Mark returned. Y/N noticed that he had turned the phone's cover over and the rear cameras were covered, while the front was covered by a Band aid.

Creative, she thought.

Mark handed the phone to Y/N who quickly took the notebook out of her backpack and turned it on, Haechan approached Mark and the two remained standing next to the investigator while she worked tirelessly on the keyboard, concentrated enough to get Mark's attention .

He shouldn't have noticed her face so much, the way her lips held a firm line as she pressed them together, but he did.

In an absurd and boring silence, as Haechan thought, minutes passed until her expression changed.

From concentration to anger.

Y/N quickly turned off Mark's phone and got up from the couch almost at the same time.

"Officer…?" Mark caught her attention, and she looked at him seriously.

"What I thought was right." Mark looked at her expectantly, ready to understand what she meant but it wasn't that easy. She didn't want to be insensitive, so she took a deep breath before speaking. "She hacked your phone, she had access to any and all of your personal information."

Y/N saw Mark react in a common way, complete astonishment and despair. But even though it was normal, she hated seeing the vulnerability in him.

"How? When?" he asked, astonished.

"It is possible?" Haechan questioned, worried about his friend. Mark was whiter than usual, he looked like he was going to faint.

Y/N nodded and placed her hands on her hips.

"Unfortunately, yes. Did you leave your phone somewhere or access any unusual links?"

Mark reached deep into his memory.

"No, I don't access links that easily and I don't take my eyes off my phone. Well, only on the plane when I'm sleeping."

Y/N felt like a click appeared in her head.

So that was it.

"But she would never have access to my flight." He laughed in disbelief and saw Y/N look at him not so confidently. "Right?"

She sighed.

“Are you sure you never saw her before that night?” Y/N crossed her arms.

She had to have left some clue, everyone always did.

"Never!" Mark responded promptly and looked at his friend who was holding his hand to his face and staring into space, thoughtfully.

“Thinking back, I recognized her from somewhere. I remember seeing that face behind the scenes of our recordings.” Haechan replied, leaving Y/N on alert.

“You didn't tell me that before.” Mark accused and Haechan shrugged.

“I wasn't sure, but now that the police officer said it, it makes sense to me. She kept looking in our direction.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling her blood boil. With the case, she had analyzed other reports of sasaengs and the rumors she had heard about agencies allowing them to infiltrate artists' agendas because they had money was disturbing and revolting.

However, this theory seemed to make more sense than before.

"What do I do?" Mark asked, visibly desperate and Y/N raised her hand to rest on his shoulder but stopped in her tracks.

It would be too inappropriate.

That's why she put her hair behind her ear instead of physically comforting the boy.

"I suggest you buy another phone and don't answer any suspicious calls from an unknown number, always keep your phone in your front pocket."

Mark sighed, he looked so tired that Y/N sympathized with his suffering, it was the final reason she needed to speak with determination.

"She'll pay for this, I promise you."

[...]

Y/N closed the soaked umbrella while banging her fist against the door, that routine was becoming normal and she felt a mix of sensations run through her body waiting for the door to be opened.

She smiled slightly when she saw Mark's clean, confused face and his messy hair, but when she looked down at his bare torso, shock took over her body, she blinked a few times and her jaw dropped as she tried to find some words to say but there was nothing.

Y/N didn't want to notice the way that, even though he was so thin, Mark had a defined body. Well defined. It wasn't surprising, after all he was also a dancer, but she couldn't control her body to contain her stuttered speech.

“Ah shit, sorry!” she heard Mark speak after looking at his own body, finding himself only in his sweatpants while the guitar was in his other hand, Y/N looked at his face and saw that his cheeks took on a pink tone.

“It is…” Y/N cleared her throat as her voice came out weak. "It’s ok."

It was more than fine, she thought.

"Please come in." Mark gave her space and Y/N did so, moving next to Mark's hot body who looked anywhere but at her face. She left her shoes at the door, along with her umbrella. “I'm just going to…” he pointed to his body and she nodded frantically, still not knowing what to say, and followed him to the living room.

Mark practically ran with the guitar in his hand and Y/N put her lips together in a thin line as she watched Mark's back but when her eyes went to the waistband of his pants, she turned her head and with her eyes widened in surprise by the thoughts not at all pure that invaded her head, she lightly slapped her own cheek as if she managed to expel the thoughts.

Put yourself together, she thought.

“Sorry, I have this habit of playing the guitar like that.” she took a deep breath before turning to face Mark again, she was disappointed to see him without his guitar and in his gray hooded sweatshirt but she tried not to show it, the boy was embarrassed enough.

She didn't want to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Don’t apologize, please. It’s me who should apologize for coming unannounced, again.”

Mark shook his head and smiled, crossing his arms.

“Apparently you have some more news about the case.” Mark tried to sound subtle but Y/N could find the anxiety in his voice, that was why she took a deep breath feeling her stomach churn with anxiety so she decided to be direct.

"We have the mandate ready." Mark smiled hopefully and was ready to say something when she interrupted him. "But the prosecution knew about your case in advance."

"And?" Mark asked, confused, his frown made him look cute.

"And they want to use this as an example to pressure Congress to pass stronger laws against stalkers."

Mark looked down, the gears in his brain seeming to grind slowly.

"Use as an example?" He questioned and she nodded. "A public trial. Is that it?"

Y/N bit her lip when she saw Mark's very serious expression.

"Yes. The prosecutor believes that with public opinion, especially international opinion, congress will have great motivation for stalkers to be treated as-"

"Wait, officer." Mark interrupted her, raising his hand. "I'm a layman on the subject but this means I'll have to testify in front of the jury. In person."

Y/N scratched the back of her head, feeling her heart sink when she saw Mark's pained expression.

"Yes, Mark. Your testimony at the trial is the main key, just testifying to the police is not enough to convict, it also needs to be in court."

Mark laughed in disbelief and ran his hand over his face, and then through his hair where he ruffled it hard.

He was visibly upset, Y/N understood the reasons but it was the only way to end it.

"Is not fair." he spoke and kept his gaze fixed on Y/N, who felt her shoulders sag.

It was true but he had no choice.

The investigations were practically over, she had nothing else to do.

Now it was with the prosecutor's office.

Mark shook his head and walked past Y/N who just followed him with her gaze, watching him go to the front door angrily, looking for some sneakers.

"Where are you going?" Y/N asked when she saw him put on the pair but had no answer, as Mark opened the door in the next second and walked out of the dorm in long strides.

Y/N ran to put on her shoes and follow Mark, finding him at the end of the hallway.

"Mark!" She called out to him but all she got was silence, which made her run after him again.

He walked out of the dorm and didn't even care about the rain outside as he took long steps down the street, Y/N didn't think about anything other than following him.

"Mark, wait!" She spoke loudly because the heavy rain had already soaked Mark's body and hers, her heavy hair fell in front of her face. "Hey!" she hurried and grabbed his arm, putting all the strength she had into making him stop.

Mark did it, suddenly, and Y/N almost ran into his body for it but she wished she hadn't because now she was staring into Mark's red eyes.

He looked broken inside and out, even in the heavy rain you could see the tears. Y/N felt an uncontrollable urge to protect him.

"What?" he shouted, making her fall silent.

She didn't know what to say, she just wanted to hug him tight enough to ease that suffering.

"I just…" he reluctantly and Y/N kept her eyes fixed on his, encouraging him to continue. "I just wanted, once, just once, to have a normal life like everyone else."

"And what would you do if you were a normal person?" she questioned and saw Mark look intensely into her eyes until he moved down to her mouth.

Y/N didn't have time for any more questions, she just saw Mark approach her in a blur, grab both sides of her face tightly and pull her towards him, their mouths colliding in an almost desperate way.

She widened her eyes when Mark's cold, wet lips took hers, letting a sound of surprise be muffled by the kiss, but Mark's palms covering her skin and his face so close to hers was enough for Y/N to give in to the brief desire at that moment.

She closed her eyes and her hands found Mark's shoulder, feeling her whole body light up with the way his lips moved between hers, tilting her head the kiss became deeper and was the perfect excuse for Mark's tongue seeks hers, bringing his chest closer to hers, their bodies emanating a heat that not even the cold rain was able to stifle.

Y/N sighed when her tongue began to dance in the same fast rhythm as Mark's and she felt his hand hold the back of her neck firmly, sending shivers throughout her body.

The rain, although it made the kiss much wetter and with more saliva than normal, seemed to wash away any kind of insecurity or fear on both sides.

Y/N didn't restrict herself from feeling everything she wanted. She had been attracted to Mark since the first day, and even though her rational side screamed that it was dangerous, she couldn't control the way her heart warmed much more than her body that was touched by him. She felt a peace, a strong connection that she had never felt before.

And Mark, he finally managed to put all his problems aside, it was like he was in another world. One in which Y/N wasn't the police officer who was just there to investigate the case, it went much further. He felt safe and normal.

When they separated, breathing heavy and missing from their lungs, they faced each other once more. Without saying anything, Mark just caressed Y/N's cheek that he was holding and watched her, her lips swollen and red, parted and beautiful.

Y/N kept her hands on Mark's shoulder and lost herself in the current of his eyes, as if it were a black hole that was pulling her. That day, she had promised that she would protect him from everything.

Even if she had to with her own life.

[...]

Y/N sneezed once again as she entered the police station, receiving a greeting from one of her colleagues in which she responded with just one hand.

The headache, the runny nose, the lack of sleep, and being woken up late had everything to do with last night, but none of that mattered to the boss when he saw her.

"You come with me." he pointed at her and continued walking outside the district, she just took a deep breath and turned around, following the detective to the parking lot.

When they got into the car, she dropped her suitcase at her feet and sneezed again.

"Shit." she complained, closing her eyes for a while.

“Did you catch the rain yesterday?” the boss asked and she opened her eyes instantly.

She didn't want to be so suspicious, she hadn't even been able to digest what had happened last night, so she just nodded as she put on the seat belt.

“I told you to use your umbrella.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes theatrically.

"Thank you, dad." the detective laughed at the sarcastic tone, before throwing the tablet that Y/N only noticed he was holding at that moment onto her lap and starting the car.

If it were any other police officer, would never talk with the detective like that. But Y/N was intimate enough for that, and sometimes he acted like he was her father.

"What is that?" she asked, holding up the tablet.

“Unlock the screen and you’ll know where we’re going.” he warned, without taking his attention off the streets and Y/N did as he said.

When she read the title of the article, she felt her blood run cold.

“Lee Mark accused of drugging and abusing minor”

Y/N swallowed hard and wrinkled her nose as she read the article quickly, closing the fists of her other hand so hard that her nails dug into her skin but she didn't care about the pain.

That article was even worse.

And the worst part, it was all a lie. False.

The alleged victim’s “statement” on a social network was too clear for her, in addition to not making any sense, it had only one objective.

“It was the stalker.” she spoke through gritted teeth, trying to control her breathing.

She had no doubts. There was no one other than her who could lie about something so serious.

“I asked intelligence to track the account, of course, she already deleted everything.”

Y/N laughed humorlessly.

“Obviously, her goal was to just throw shit at the media.” she replied angrily.

“And she did, the phone was the same one you identified as the one that had access to Mark’s.”

Great, more evidence against her.

“Can we arrest her now?” Y/N looked at the boss who had a serious expression.

“No, this morning the phone was found.” he glanced at Y/N and took a deep breath before continuing. “On the Han River. I sent a car to her house and the doorman said she hadn’t been there for two days.”

Y/N glared angrily at her boss. It wasn't with him but with the stalker, she wasn't enjoying that Tom and Jerry game.

They should have arrested her last night.

“She knows we’re after her.” she concluded.

“If your theory that she infiltrates the group’s staff is right, then yes.”

“Boss, a lie cannot be proven.” she said, indignantly.

“No, but a true can. That’s what we have to do.” he reminded her and Y/N took a deep breath, looking back at the street.

Anxiety took over her body when she realized that they were close to the company building, very different from the path to Mark's dorm that she was used to, but all she could think about was the boy.

He must have been desperate, much more than yesterday.

Although she should be thinking about her work, it was difficult to control the shiver as she remembered last night and the kiss.

That line was dangerous but it felt so right, Y/N didn't regret kissing Mark because it had only incited the fire of justice within her even more. She needed to help him more than ever, protect him in any way.

“Will SM let the police in through the front door?” Y/N asked as soon as they got out of the car and the boss nodded.

“You can’t even imagine how desperate they are to solve this case.”

Ah, she could actually imagine it.

They entered the building, just showing their badge and entry was authorized, they went to the elevator towards the meeting room where one of the employees had informed them that they would be waiting for them both.

The boss knocked on the door and someone spoke loudly for them to come in, Y/N felt her hands sweat as she entered the room and her eyes searched Mark's, finding him sitting in one of the chairs.

He seemed surprised to see her there but held her gaze, making her heart skip a beat in her chest and memories of last night flooded her head. She could still feel the texture of Mark's lips and the taste of him.

However, she blinked several times when the company's CEO suggested that they sit down, she followed the boss and ended up sitting facing Mark who couldn't take his eyes off her.

She then discovered that in addition to the CEO, SM's lawyer and Mark's lawyer were there, as well as the head of the public relations department.

The meeting had a single objective, to find a way out of that maze.

And Y/N observed everything quietly, listening to the discussions about how they would deal with that without tarnishing the company's image, something that made her raise her eyebrow.

Mark's image should be a priority, or rather, his safety.

She looked back at Mark, he looked not only bothered but irritated too, he kept rubbing his hands while fixing his eyes on a random spot on the table.

“If Mark is sued, we won’t be able to continue with the contract-”

Y/N rolled her eyes surreptitiously. But there was no way she could be listening to that.

"Excuse me." she interrupted, raising her hand and got everyone's attention. “I have an idea, we can set a trap for the girl.”

Y/N's boss looked at her curiously.

"What did you think?"

“It's clear that she is doing everything she can to ruin Mark's life, and I think everyone is aware of that. But you can hush up the case of the false report made on social media.”

"As?" Mark's lawyer asked.

“Release an official note, say Mark has an alibi.” she looked glancing at Mark who had his eyes narrowed at her, trying to follow her reasoning.

“This won’t help without proof.” the head of the public relations department said and she shook her head.

“It will if you say he was with his girlfriend.” she replied with conviction and saw everyone's eyes widen.

"What?"

“But that’s a lie.” Mark spoke a little louder and Y/N looked at him. "I don't have a girlfriend."

She suppressed her smile, she didn't know why but she was happy to hear that from him.

The situation between them would have been much more dangerous if they had kissed while he had a girlfriend...

“Do you want us to defend ourselves from an exposure like this, exposing ourselves even more?” The CEO asked and she nodded.

“Listen to me, if you confirm that Mark is in a relationship and that you hid it to protect his image, in addition to you coming out of this situation as sensible, this will attract the stalker.”

“She’s right.” Y/N's boss agreed, drawing everyone's attention to himself. “The girl has been missing for two days, no one knows where she is. If she believes Mark has a girlfriend, she will come running back to find out who the girl is.”

Everyone was silent, pondering.

“And then, we took action. We take her to jail and the prosecution does its part.”

Y/N looked at everyone's faces, trying to make her confidence convince everyone that the plan was ideal.

They needed to attract the stalker somehow and she couldn't imagine a better scenario than if she believed that Mark already had someone, the girl would change the focus of the threats to the supposed girlfriend.

She faced Mark last, he didn't seem so comfortable with her suggestion but she managed to see something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before.

Hope.

[...]

Y/N wanted to hit herself, she stared at the wall with focus thinking about how she could hit her head without passing out.

Watching Mark after the dating scandal came out to ensure his integrity and watching the stalker appear was perfect.

She had the perfect idea.

Mainly because Mark had been removed from his activities for a few days, the official statement said it was for personal reasons, but Y/N knew that it was all part of the plan to catch the stalker in the act and increase her sentence.

A great idea that the boss had approved.

As long as Y/N kept Mark safe, that she escorted him, and she watched him all night.

Spending all her time outside his apartment doing what exactly? Thinking about the kiss they shared!

Even on duty, with the gun on her waist and her hand nearby in case of any eventuality, she couldn't stop thinking about his lips, no matter how hard she tried.

She didn't know if it was because she had a personal connection to the case and had just felt the need to protect Mark but that kiss moved her in a way that no other had.

It was more than affection.

Mark's sad eyes and the way he looked so small and defenseless in that situation made her feel the need to not only protect him, but also help him in some way.

And as wrong as it was, since she couldn't get involved with the victims, she wanted to do something for him besides work.

To make him feel better, even to vent to someone because she more than anyone knew what an extremely stressful situation it was.

Y/N turned her head and all her attention when she heard the door to his house open slowly, making the noise echo through the silent hallway, her palms were already sweaty before she even saw Mark's shy face.

His dark hair fell into his eyes that were looking for anywhere to look but her eyes.

"It's… um… good evening, officer." His voice came out so shy that she would have smiled if she didn't feel so embarrassed.

The air was tense between them, it was palpable.

"Good evening, Mark." she returned it with a wry smile. "Do you need something?"

"No." He shook his head incessantly, he seemed to search for the right words while holding the door. "Listen, are you going to be out there for too long?"

Y/N sighed, of course he was feeling uncomfortable.

"Until the patrol finds some movement around the perimeter." she explained.

That was the deal.

Mark took a deep breath and raised his eyes to look at her.

"You are not hungry?" The question caught Y/N off guard and she frowned, not understanding. "It's just that I made a lot of food…" he pointed inside his own apartment. "I forgot the members wouldn't be here." He smiled shyly, scratching the back of his head and she watched him carefully.

The police had been very specific, keeping Mark in the dorm was a necessity but they weren't going to put the other boys in danger.

So they all went to a hotel that night.

"I don’t want to bother." She was being sincere, although her stomach rejoiced at the invitation.

"No, no. It won't be uncomfortable." Mark replied promptly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not against what was stipulated, you'll still watch me... just from inside."

Y/N pondered, a huge part of her saying to accept it soon but until she remembered that she was on duty, working to keep him safe.

Except, well, Mark wasn't wrong. He had a point.

"I don't know…"

"Please." Mark's eyes shone with guilt and she surrendered right then and there. "I feel responsible for you being out there alone when you could be somewhere you really wanted."

She felt offended but didn't take it personally, Mark didn't really know her so he didn't know that she was there of her own free will, it was her duty.

"Don't say that, I don't want you to feel that way." She took a step forward, her fingers itching to touch his shoulder, but stopped where she was. "It's not your fault, Mark, it never was!"

She spoke with conviction and he remained silent, only to nod his head shortly afterwards.

"I'll feel a lot better if you at least come in for a drink of water."

She suppressed a smile and Mark gave her space to enter, without hesitation she did so.

The house was much warmer than the hallway she was in before, she took off her boots at the door and walked in, hearing Mark close the door behind her and feeling him watching her.

"Do you want to eat? Seriously, I made a lot of food." He walked ahead and pointed to where Y/N imagined the kitchen to be, a clear invitation for her to go.

In silence she entered and saw that Mark had actually made a lot of food, enough for the whole night. Even though she was about to deny it, her stomach betrayed her and growled loudly the instant she saw the food.

It looked very delicious.

Although there was one thing missing.

"I know, the egg needs to be fried, right." He laughed softly and Y/N looked at him.

Had she been watching the food for so long?

"I’ll just eat it as is." She replied and Mark approached the stove.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it in a second." He offered and she smiled gratefully.

However, Y/N's smile faded when she saw that Mark looked more like he was about to plant a bomb than fry an egg.

Mark took what he needed a little confused, he muttered quietly to himself and she couldn't understand but she imagined it was the steps of the process.

When one hand was free, he scratched the back of his head and looked at the items on the kitchen counter, as if he wanted to ensure he had gotten everything needed.

This was taking a lot longer than a second.

"Mark." she called after him, stifling a laugh.

He looked at her, even more confused and a little shy.

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to fry eggs?" she crossed her arms and saw him frown.

"Yeah!" he responded promptly, scratching the back of his head again. "You just can't guarantee that it's edible."

Y/N put her hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh, he also laughed a little more shyly.

"Alright, I'll do it."

Y/N approached the stove as Mark opened and closed his mouth to retort, but she just raised her eyebrow and reached out to hold the spatula he was holding.

He ended up giving in willingly and their fingers ended up touching briefly, making them both look at each other at the same moment.

Mark walked away, shyly while Y/N cleared her throat trying not to show how much Mark's eyes affected her.

"Do you want a tip?" she asked, to dispel the disturbing silence and he nodded. "You need to get the oil hot before you add the egg."

Mark paid attention as she announced what she was going to do in a step-by-step that seemed much simpler than what he did.

She took the opportunity and made him an egg too, Mark helped put together the dish and they were quickly sitting on the stools ready to eat.

"Seeing you cook, it seemed easy to do." Mark pointed to the egg, laughing and she mirrored the same reaction.

Catching her attention a little on his wide and genuine smile.

"Because it's easy." She noticed and started to eat.

"For me it's much more complicated than it really is, officer." he replied, watching her expression as she ate.

"But you cook well." She spoke after chewing everything. "This is a feast compared to the hot dogs I eat on the street."

Mark frowned.

"Don't you eat real food when you work, officer?"

She looked at him. She didn't like it when Mark called her an officer often, it seemed like every time he said that word a rift grew between them.

"Define real food."

Mark laughed, he didn't need the answer because she had already said it.

They ate some more in silence, although she noticed Mark's uneasiness.

"Can I ask you a question, officer?" He spoke quietly.

"Y/N."

Mark looked at her confused.

"Huh?"

"Y/N. That's my name." He raised his eyebrows and she smiled slightly. "Instead of just officer."

Mark smirked.

"Y/N."

She had to control the huge smile she wanted to give, she had enjoyed hearing him say her name.

"Of course you can." She moved away from the plate, turning all her attention to him. "Go ahead"

Mark took a deep breath and looked at her deeply.

"Why did you become a police officer?"

She swallowed hard, she didn't imagine he would ask her that right away.

She tried to hide how much that question had weighed on her shoulders and frowned.

"And why did you become an idol?"

He shook his head, his eyes shining with stubbornness.

"I asked first." He remembered and she nodded, looking down at her hands that were in her lap.

"I know how you feel." She shifted on the stool and looked somewhere in the kitchen, avoiding Mark's eyes. "With this stalker thing. You're not the only one who has someone chasing you everywhere."

Y/N suddenly fell silent, her mind flooding with the memories she had forced herself to forget.

"Ex boyfriend?" Mark asked reluctantly.

Y/N looked at him again, smiling sadly.

"I wish it were." She shook her head and he looked even more confused. "I had a childhood friend, we were inseparable in kindergarten but I ended up having to change cities shortly after and lost contact. In elementary school, on a random day, she showed up at the same school, she had enrolled there. At first I thought it was great because I didn't know what had happened to her so I would be able to have that friendship again." She took a deep breath before continuing. "But I had grown up, met other people, had new friends... and she didn't seem to like it very much. She was jealous of all my friends, she said she liked the same guys as me. I started to think it was strange, but it was only in middle school that I started to feel weird around her. She did everything she could to be near me, all the time, as if… as if…"

"You had an intimacy that no one has ever had." Mark concluded and she nodded.

She laughed, sadly.

"Yeah, but it wasn't like that. She wasn't my best friend, the memory I had of her was very different, and her jealousy bothered me a lot so I tried to stay away."

"But it did not work." He guessed.

"Yes, it seemed that the more I moved away, the more she tried to be close to me. She even followed me home several times, sending me messages in the early hours of the morning wanting to question me because I had posted photos with my friends." she sighed. “She said I was the reason she self-harmed.”

Mark's jaw dropped and he watched her helpfully.

"She sent me sensitive photos of slit wrists every time and I always felt guilty. But the messages started to be more frequent and she started threatening me, threatening my family, saying that I had told her to kill herself , although it wasn't like that, I had just warned her and tried to help that if she continued doing that she would end up killing herself. I was so angry because I didn't think there was a reason for that. Until I had enough."

"How?" He crossed his arms and she then realized that Mark was really interested in the story, so she continued.

"I joined the police academy, I was always afraid that she would do something against my family so I thought I could protect them if I was a police officer. Then I decided to change cities, I wanted her focus to change, so she wouldn't need to focus on what to do against my family. I left all social media, I never showed up in the city again."

"And then?"

Y/N scratched her head, this was part she had never told anyone, not even her family. She then got up from the stool and crossed her arms, turning her back to Mark and heading into the living room.

He followed her, he was curious and also worried, but he felt relieved somehow. He had identified with her story.

"And then I ended up here." She opened her arms, turning to look at him. "I was feeling safe enough, until…"

Y/N looked down at the floor, running her hand over her forehead while Mark didn't take his eyes off her, a little reluctant.

"Until?" He urged her to continue but seeing that she was still silent, he took a step towards her.

"Until I was assigned to handle your case." She raised her gaze again to Mark's, seeing him change his expression to one of surprise. "I said I know how you feel because it's the truth. I understand the fear you're feeling."

Y/N saw Mark's eyes falter so she took a step forward, getting closer to him.

"I know it's desperate and that you will do everything to protect the ones you love because that's exactly what I'm doing." Mark looked away and, unable to contain himself, she brought her hand to his face, making him regain eye contact. "If the trial appears on TV, if it's public, she'll find me."

"So you think I shouldn't testify?" he asked quietly, his shoulders so shrugged that it gave him a very fragile image, one that Y/N didn't like.

She shook her head and moved closer to him, cupping the other side of Mark's face with her free hand.

"Quite the opposite. You need to testify." she spoke firmly and he stared at her lips. "You have to end this or else you'll spend the rest of your life hiding."

“But what about you, Y/N?” he asked, worried. "What will happen to you?"

She sighed. Even though she knew that maybe her life would become a nightmare, that wasn't what she was worried about.

It was Mark's life that was at risk, he might never do what he loved again because of a false accusation and if she had the power to stop that from happening, she would strive to help him.

"I'm finally going to put an end to this story. I'm going to stop being the scared, terrified victim." she replied with certainty, a conviction that took Mark's words away.

He just stood there staring at her determined face, he saw a strength in Y/N's eyes that infected him.

He had to do that not only for him or the people he loved but also for everyone else who was going through the same situation.

If he had a chance to start a change, he couldn't let fear stop him.

And as strange as it was, she gave him a security he had never felt before.

Then his eyes dropped to Y/N's lips, not wanting to hold back anymore, Mark moved closer to touch them softly with his own lips.

She slowly closed her eyes at the light contact and had to force herself not to let out a sigh.

However, when Mark hugged her waist and brought her closer while his lips moved skillfully against hers, she simply gave in.

She forgot everything. Her past, her history, what she was doing there, what her mission was.

Mark took her out of orbit and it was intoxicating, all she wanted was to stay there with his warm lips moving slowly against hers, appreciating every inch and tasting her without rushing.

From Mark's face, her hands went to the back of his head and hair, moving his head to the side so that the kiss intensified.

Mark didn't stop the kiss until Y//N hit her back against a hard surface, it was only with surprise that they separated to realize that they were glued to the glass door of the balcony.

She laughed softly, followed by Mark's laugh as he raised his hand to her cheek. Y/N just watched him, with wobbly legs and dropped her hands to his shoulders while Mark caressed her face.

They didn't need words, the only thing that was exchanged there was complicity.

Mark's sideways smile indicated before he tilted his head that he intended to continue what they had started.

If it weren't for the ringing on his phone, notifying him of a new message. He took a deep breath before walking away.

"Y/N. Over."

Still a little dizzy from the lack of air, she reached for the communicator on her waist, watching Mark walk to get the phone from the sofa.

"I am here." She responded, forcing her voice to come out steady.

She saw Mark using his phone with his back to her.

"We saw some strange movement around the back of the building."

Y/N's entire body became alert, her rigid posture appearing again.

"What?"

Y/N didn't take her eyes off Mark, he was motionless.

"It was near some trash cans so we walked around the street to be sure what it was."

She took a deep breath, not liking it.

Mark turned to her, his eyes wide and an expression of pure shock that made Y/N look at him suspiciously.

He turned the phone screen and she returned her attention to Mark's shaking hand until she realized that a video was playing.

She felt her blood boil as she recognized the place and people in the video.

"We didn't find anything."

In front of her, on Mark's phone, a video of the kiss they had just exchanged played with a zoom clearly enough to identify both of them.

Y/N swallowed hard, not knowing what to do for the first time ever.

They kissed with so much passion that even though she didn't feel guilty, she felt embarrassed that it was recorded.

She looked at Mark, who even confused, had understood everything.

"Stop the car and go up to the building. Now." She ordered before turning off the communicator.

Y/N ran a hand over her face while Mark scratched the back of his head, staring at his phone screen again.

"She is here." He spoke quietly, with his eyes lost on a specific point on the phone. "She is here!"

Y/N took a deep breath and approached Mark.

"Hey." She rested her hands on his shoulders. "Mark, look at me."

He obeyed, scared.

"How did she do it?!"

"Don’t do that. That's what she wants, to make you scared!" she reminded him, making him nod.

"She sent the video with a message." He handed the phone to Y/N, who quickly took it, breaking the contact established with Mark.

She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes angrily after reading 'If you don't come and find me, your girlfriend will become famous'.

"I'm tired, Y/N!"

She opened her eyes, looking at Mark, he shook his head nonstop, completely disbelieved.

"I can't take all this mess anymore."

"You can, Mark, you're strong!"

He wet his own lips with his tongue and pressed them together in a thin line.

"You are right." He looked at her, making her raise her eyebrow in silent question. "I need to testify. I'm going to testify."

[...]

Y/N was hurriedly walking down the corridor of the police station, it was early in the morning and even though her body was tired from not having gone to sleep yet, the anger and hatred that coursed hotly through her veins left her more awake than ever.

She entered her boss's office without knocking and when she saw him standing next to the table, she found that he was already waiting for her.

He took a deep breath, his hands in his pants pockets.

"What about Mark?" he asked, worried.

"I left the patrollers there." she replied after closing the door with a thud, heading towards the chair in front of the table.

Y/N threw herself into the chair, being watched by her boss.

"Great, so we can talk." She nodded, the boss then handed his phone and she looked at it with a frown. "About this."

Y/N turned her attention to the phone and felt her blood suddenly run cold as she reviewed the video of the kiss between her and Mark.

A lump formed in her throat and she had nothing to say for a few seconds.

"How… who sent you that?" she raised the phone, after closing the video, irritated.

"She sent it to another deputy from another police station." he explained, returning to his chair and sitting down, to face Y/N. "Lucky for you two, he is a good friend of mine and realized it was a case of blackmail. This hasn't been leaked to the press yet."

She swallowed hard. She had nothing to explain to her boss because the video was enough.

"Y/N, I warned you about your emotions in this case."

"Boss, I didn't plan any of this-"

"I know that." He raised his hand to stop her. "But it doesn't make any difference anyway, because that kind of involvement is too dangerous."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Getting emotionally involved with a victim in cases like this rarely ends well." he leaned back in the chair. "Know that I'm not removing you from the investigations just because everything is ready."

She swallowed the answer she wanted to give. It wouldn't be fair to her.

"It would be very difficult to explain why to the supervisor and both you and Mark need to protect yourself from this type of gossip."

She nodded.

"The girl said that if Mark didn't find her, this video would be exposed, but apparently she can't keep her word." She huffed, irritated.

"I thought you better than anyone understood that these kinds of people can't be trusted."

"I'm always surprised." she replied in disbelief.

"I'm going to talk to Mark's lawyer by the end of the day." she frowned, that information was new to her. "We need to get him out of the country as soon as possible, we can't delay it any longer."

Y/N felt her shoulders sag. They were fighting against this possibility at all costs but apparently there was no other way out.

"With the warrant issued, she won't be able to leave the country and so we caught her."

"Let me tell him." she begged, being closely watched by her boss. "Please."

"You overstepped, didn't you?" he crossed his arms after a while of silence.

Y/N swallowed hard and looked at the boss in complete surprise.

"What?"

"You fell in love with the boy."

Y/N felt her entire body shiver and her jaw dropped slightly as words failed her, she wanted to deny it with all her strength but her body didn't obey.

Didn't obey because she agreed with the boss.

Didn't obey because it was true.

At first it was pure need to protect him, she identified with his case in a very personal way. But after the first kiss, she felt her heart leap out of her mouth every time she thought about him, which ended up being very constant because her entire attention was focused solely on Mark, either because she was working on the case or because she was thinking about what had happened between them.

She rubbed her cold hands, still trying to find an answer, which wasn't coming.

"Boss-"

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me.” his voice sounded much calmer than she imagined. “You can’t imagine how common this is.” she smiled, embarrassed. “But you know what happens now, don’t you?”

She frowned, confused.

“You became the main target.”

“I’m not afraid of her.”

Y/N felt the blood bubbling hotly through her veins every time she thought about that stalker, it was the fuel she needed to do what was right. She wanted justice, that's all.

And she would, one way or another.

[...]

Y/N drove down the streets that would lead to Mark's house, her only purpose in talking to her boss was to ensure Mark's safety. First they would take him out of the apartment and take him to a safe place before boarding him on a flight back to Canada, it would be for a short time but enough to arrest the stalker and begin the trial.

He would come back, that was obvious, but that didn't mean that Y/N's didn’t heart sank and anguished when she remembered that she wouldn't see him for a few weeks.

She wanted to make sure he was okay.

“Attention vehicles, report of suspected robbery at a grocery store.”

Y/N turned up the volume on the radio to hear better and frowned when the location was mentioned, a street next to the one where Mark lived. When the center repeated it, Y/N's mind worked quickly and was soon fitting all the pieces of the puzzle together.

That was why she accelerated the car even more, turning on the siren so she could pass between the cars more quickly. She felt her heart racing faster than the car she was driving and she shook her head, wishing that what she was thinking wasn't happening. However, all her fears became clearer when she didn't see the patrol car on the street outside Mark's house. Y/N got out of the car before she could even turn it off, pulling the gun from her waistband as soon as she set foot on the street.

Her hands were shaking and she had to hold the gun tighter than necessary, she didn't enter the building through the front door, she went through the back and was very attentive to every inch, she went up through the service elevator. She would have taken the stairs if she hadn't known that it had been on purpose, she knew where to go and wouldn't need to analyze the floors of the building as protocol said.

The climb to Mark's floor felt like slow torture and when the metal doors opened, she took a deep breath before leaving. She swallowed hard when she saw the apartment door slightly opened and there was no longer any doubt for her, she felt her heart beating in her ears and her jaw clenched as she approached the door without making a sound.

She raised the gun forward with one hand and with the other she opened the door suddenly, she didn't see anyone in the entrance hall so without thinking twice, she entered the house.

She didn't hear any noise and that made her alert, but when she went to the living room she felt her shoulders give in slightly, the strength seemed to be lacking in her legs but at the same time her instinct reacted by raising the gun towards the stalker who had a knife pointed at Mark's neck.

Y/N swallowed the growl that almost escaped her mouth and aimed for the girl's head, she was ready for that with her finger on the trigger, the stalker didn't even make the effort to hide behind Mark.

She just didn't shoot because Mark's terrified face and tears weighed heavily on her heart. The rational part of her brain knew that if she fired there and now, with the blade's proximity to Mark's skin, she would risk his life.

And that was everything she wouldn't do.

“It took you long enough.”

Y/N took a deep breath, controlling the urge to tell her to fuck off.

That crazy woman was still cynical.

"What do you want?" she asked through gritted teeth, gripping the gun tighter.

“I already have what I want.” She smiled widely, bringing her face closer to Mark's to plant a kiss on his cheek, who tried to pull away with a disgusted grimace. “It’s right here, isn’t it my love?”

“And why all this theater to get me here?” Y/N questioned, glaring at her. “You were the one who made the anonymous report of the theft.” it wasn't a question.

Because the stalker's insolent smile said exactly the answer she already knew.

"Of course." she replied with a tone of obviousness. “How did you expect those two idiots guarding the door to let me in without me being seen?”

“They weren’t going!”

"Exactly." she shrugged. “That’s why I needed to get them out of my way. You should thank me, police officer, I spared their lives.”

Y/N laughed in disbelief.

“You won’t kill a fly.”

The stalker smiled devilishly and pressed the knife further into Mark's neck, making him raise his head to try to get away from the blade, Y/N held her breath.

“Don’t provoke me, officer, you don’t know me.” she threatened.

"Okay!" Y/N agreed. “Get away from Mark and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I walk away and you shoot me. You're smart." she grabbed Mark by the shoulder with her other hand.

Y/N was becoming distressed by the exaggerated proximity so she raised her hands, removing her aim from her head.

"Is it better this way?" she asked angrily, raising her eyebrow.

“I don’t know how Mark got interested in a coward like you.” she teased and Y/N locked her jaw. Okay, she wasn't going to fall for that conversation, it was purposeful and she knew it. “But you know it can be funny.” the stalker slightly raised the hand that was holding the knife and Y/N paid attention to the movement. “Almost like a joke.”

Now it had become too personal.

"You're right." she smiled ironically at her, who looked at her in surprise. “I’m really smart.”

Before a blink of an eye, Y/N aimed the gun at the stalker and fired. The shot echoed through the apartment and Mark flinched to the side in fright, Y/N kept her stance firm and the gun still extended as she saw the stalker fidget on the floor, reaching for her injured shoulder.

Y/N approached in long strides, placing herself in front of Mark protectively, the girl struggled to try and hold the knife that had fallen a little away.

Y/N shook her head and kicked the knife away, far enough away that the stalker couldn't reach it.

"You are under arrest!" she announced before turning to face Mark.

Y/N felt her heart sink when she saw Mark devastated, he seemed like he couldn't breathe and that made her place a hand on his shoulder.

“Mark.” she called softly, seeing him run his eyes around the room, scared. “Hey, it’s over.”

He nodded before looking into her eyes, the exchange of glances was quick but for them it lasted an eternity, until Y/N shifted her attention to Mark's neck.

It was marked and red, but no injuries. It was enough to breathe a sigh of relief, she felt her whole body tingle with the adrenaline that was beginning to subside.

She put the gun in her waistband and took her phone from her pants pocket, calling for backup.

After the call, she lifted the stalker and handcuffed her, leaving her sitting on the floor near the sofa. Then, being very careful not to scare Mark, she led him out of the apartment. Only then would they have privacy to talk.

"Are you okay?" she asked, calmly analyzing his face.

He swallowed, drying his sweaty hands on his pants.

“I guess… I guess so.” he took a deep breath.

“I know, after all the adrenaline wears off your body feels sore.” Y/N's fingers itched to touch Mark's face and this time she didn't hold back.

She made him look her in the eyes. He had a mix of emotions there and it was enough to hug him.

Y/N buried her face in the back of Mark's head and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, shaking so much that she had to pat his back to try to calm him down.

She wanted to envelop him with the certainty that everything was okay in the same way that the heat of his body enveloped her.

"You saved my life." he said, his voice being muffled by the hug. “I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Y/N smiled lightly and moved away, seeing Mark's grateful smile up close.

"You don't need to. Just live your life like you have been doing and that’s enough for me.” Y/N's eyes dropped to his lips.

She fought the urge to kiss him one last time and so she bit her lower lip.

“So it’s like this?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at Mark's question, not understanding. “Is this how we’re going to say goodbye?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out as she didn't know what to say, she shrugged sheepishly.

“If you want to-” she started but was interrupted by Mark, who got close enough so that their noses were touching slightly.

Y/N got lost in his eyes, which begged her to stay.

"Don’ go away." he asked and she smiled slightly. “It's going to be hard being away from you, officer. I survived the game thanks to you.”

#mark imagines #mark scenarios #mark lee imagine #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenario #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you #mark lee x reader #mark lee #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct x reader #nct x you #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream x y/n #nct dream x you #Maari

[waitmyturtles]

I am all caught up on Cooking Crush (!!!), AND --

I did some tag diving, AND --

I am reading Fire and Dynamite differently than many in the pack, it seems.

As I'm catching up on these posts.... I don't see Dynamite as a stalker for a second. And I think I understand the context of Fire's sudden emotional change, from angry rejection of Dy to becoming a total puppy.

I see Dynamite and Fire both as products of internalized and externalized homophobia.

Does Dynamite come off as a wackadoodle hardcore flirt to start? For sure. This face is not a sympathetic face! (Although I was CACKLING at it.)

I posit that Dynamite went so hard, so unrealistic, on his flirting to Fire, because -- he's used to getting rejected.

(source: @moonkhao!)

If Dynamite's own dad rejected him for who he is, then -- Dynamite can possibly act however he wants to, to whomever, because he may very well think he has nothing to lose.

Fire reacts to Dynamite with disgust and anger. I posit that due to Fire's fear of

1) admitting his own queer preferences, 2) his fear of coming out, specifically to his mother, and 3) the confusion of not understanding, identifying, or realizing his own feelings, that Fire's initial reactions to Dynamite are ones of extreme rejection.

I also think that what's happening there is that Fire is initially rejecting HIS OWN FEELINGS, and HIS OWN REALIZATIONS.

Enough research exists to demonstrate that internalized homophobia leads to these kinds of distressed emotional states.

Fire in the car, as he and Metha are cruising? Fire's considering something. And it makes him tingle.

He needs booze to open up more. And then when he's sober, he rejects it again. And Dy sees Fire with Jane, and gets frustrated with Fire's mixed messaging.

Fire doesn't know how to authentically communicate at this point, because, yes -- one point in which I'll agree with posters on the tag is that he's had to learn to be submissive in order to placate an OVERLY demanding mom. He's used to hiding his true self.

But Fire is also AFRAID OF HIS MOM. He's afraid of her rejection!

Like, that's no good!

I think Fire's sudden change to becoming a puppy-wuppy is: HOMEBOY'S FINALLY FOUND LOVE! Love that satisfies his needs as his own authentic self. He doesn't need to hide anything from Dy anymore, because Fire's not hiding anything from HIMSELF anymore.

Most of the parents in this show are not good parents! Dy's dad can go to hell. Ten is forced to submit to his dad's demands. Fire is forced to submit to his mom's demands. That's very common in Asian parenting -- but we also have good parents! Unky's parents welcome him home in happiness and pride. Prem's grandma is a G.

Do we not think that this robust background information on where these men hail from is not impacting how they're behaving in their current relationship states? It is.

And I believe that the places of fear and rejection from which Fy and Dy come from exactly explains how they got together, and how they are together now.

I LOVE THEM, YER HONOR! DyFy 4ever!

#cooking crush #cooking crush meta #cooking crush the series #cooking crush the series meta #fire x dynamite #dynamite x fire #dynamitefire #dy x fy #fy x dy #dyfy #it's definitely dy then fy #tenprem #i didn't actually forget about tenprem we just get much more info about them lol #neo trai #aungpao ochiris #the dynamite defense squad

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A tall thin (and sumptuously gorgeous) blonde doll, with a rakish eye patch and military uniform worn with no socks and low black heels carries a huge green duffel and a smaller bright red suitcase. Pink target sights appear all around her, and the ginchy floral pattern with swirls behind her has been repeatedly attacked, revealing the metal around the bullet holes. Text reads, “263 FREDERIQUE BARBAROSSA - SMALL GOD OF ACTION FIGURES.”]

•••••

“What’s that, kid?  You want to know the difference between a doll and an action figure?  Oh, you’ll get lots of stories from lots of sources on that one.  People who’ll say brushable hair or changeable clothing makes something a doll, and ignore all those full-size GI Joes with both.  People who’ll say possibility makes an action figure—and here comes Made to Move Barbie, and fuck, is Barbie an action figure now?  Lots of people telling you lots of things, and those things don’t match up, but it doesn’t matter, because they got to have an opinion, loudly, and where they come from, the louder an opinion is, the more true it is.  They call this ‘debate.’  I say they need to buy a dictionary.  But come closer, and I’ll tell you the difference.  You listening?

“Marketing.  It’s all marketing.  Because see, some clever Charlies so far removed from their own childhoods that they didn’t remember what it was like to look at a teddy bear and see it prowling through the primal forests, those assholes decided that boys wouldn’t play with dolls.  That dolls had been so conceptually tainted with the essence of girlhood that boys would sit idle and bored before they’d play with a doll.  Never mind that actual patterns of play didn’t support that—never mind that it was parents who refused to buy dolls for their precious little men, because their own ideas about gender were so rigidly-set that they couldn’t imagine anyone disagreeing with them.  The people in charge needed a way to sell toys to boys, and kids like to play with tiny people.  Gender’s got nothing to do with it.

“So the people who run the markets decided that some dolls were action figures now, and defined the category so loosely that almost no one could tell what they meant.  Now ‘doll’ and ‘action figure’ are more of a vibe than anything else, and you can learn a lot about a person by how they identify the things around them.  Is Barbie a doll?  Is He-Man an action figure?  In the end, when they’re both up to their chins in mud, saving the world from an evil mastermind from the planet of the Care Bears, is anybody going to say it really matters?

“Are you?”

#smallgodseries #Small Gods #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

[genderkoolaid]

I'm sorry, I don't understand how gender liberation and gender abolition are different. Isn't the goal of both to get rid of all gender stereotypes and masculinity/femininity and let everyone do what they want? /gen

So first off I wanna say these are my subjective understandings of these terms; some people agree with me but I've seen others who use both "liberation" and "abolition" interchangeably.

My definitions:

Gender abolition = getting rid of gender entirely, creating a completely genderless society Gender liberation = ending gender as a tool of control, allowing people to engage with it on their own terms

Gender abolitionists view gender as being inherently harmful, while gender liberationists view gender as being neutral and capable of being used in positive ways. An abolitionist standpoint may be that nothing should be considered masculine or feminine; everything should be gender neutral. A liberationist perspective may be that while nothing is inherently gendered, people can self-define "masculine" and "feminine" (or anything else) as long as they are not forcing others to live by those definitions. I started identifying with liberationism instead of abolitonism because I felt that abolitionism can easily end up as a form of cultural colonialism. I feel that when we understand gender as a social construct, we can take control over that construction and shape gender in more healthy and liberating ways. The beauty of being a sapient person is that we can reflect on our cultural creations and consciously construct and re-construct ideas like gender as we learn more about the harm of genderism and sexism.

I think both kind of have a "do what you want" mentality, but abolitionism looks more like "nothing is masc or fem, so you can do whatever and not think about gender" whle liberationism looks like "anything can be masc or fem or literally anything else, so you can decide how you want to engage with gender." Both would probably reject gender stereotypes like "men do x/feminine people do y" since both acknowledge that gender isn't an inherent trait (although inherent traits may lead people to identify with a certain gender).

Its hard for us, right now, to imagine a version of gender completely dissociated from the harms of genderism and sexism. But I believe that it is possible for gender roles to exist in a post-gender world, where someone engages in these roles not out of habit or expectation but because they have Seen The Truth (that its all made up) and decided to play with it anyways. Either way, a society based on gender abolition or gender liberation would have a fundamentally relationship with gender and sex than we do, so its hard to say exactly how these may look when put into practice- ultimately I think that it would depend on whether or not the people in a given community have the collective desire to continue constructing gender.

#m. #ask box

[puppetmaster13u]

@f4nd0m-fun here (I hope they allow us to ask with secondary blogs soon)

Just how wild do you like your Batfam cryptids? I've got ideas for days.

One is a wing fic where all the bats essentially end up half demon. Thomas and Martha make a deal with Alfred to help fix the city and clean up the curses and everything, and. Alfred asks for 'the souls of your descendants' at the point, not caring much for humanity but hoping to get ahead of those pesky demons in his soul collection (so and so said he has Constantine's soul but that's only a piece! What about a bunch of souls that have been tainted by the spirit of a city that has never had reason to hope? Now those are some rare and dark souls).

The Waynes were hoping he'd take their souls instead but he refuses (maybe they're too full of hope or something) but, over time, he grows attached and ends up giving Bruce a shard of his power, allowing him to transform into a demonic winged form based on an animal for his protection after his parents die. When he's young the form is a snowy owl, but once he come back and became Batman his wings have changed. Each of the babies is the same way. As Robin, they gain their baby wings, but, once they move to a new name, their wings evolve.

'The Demon's Head' isn't just a fancy title, the Al'ghul's are demon descended, so Damien is at least a quarter demon even at the beginning, but Alfred's power can't be passed genetically like they thought, so he was born grounded. In this, he shows up sooner, Talkia asking Jason to take Damien with him to his father since she knows her father will kill him for being wingless.

Tim, poor baby. He couldn't fly as Robin because his wings were a shattered mimicry of Jason's Robin wings. He felt like he was in the shadow of the previous Robin, making the 'replacement' nickname sting even more, but, eventually, he grows into the wings of a cardinal and learns to fly.

I'm not sure if Alfred marks Barbara as his person, but if not, maybe he regrets not doing so, thinking that she might not have ended up paralyzed if he'd given her power. But also she's not really considered a 'Wayne descendant' life the kids Bruce adopted, so he'd have to directly make the deal with her. Maybe he does this with Stephanie when she comes along, still thinking about how Barbara might've been better off with a deal. Also, he keeps trying to hold off on gathering their souls because he's grown attached. I figure he'd probably end up wanting to turn them into proper demons too tho when they eventually die but, for now, until the city has been restored (if it ever will be), the Batfam is essentially immortal, and Alfred might be pulling some strings so no one realizes the Waynes are as well. As a side note, I debated Alfred x Lady Gotham for this story.

-

Then I had a dpxdc version of this where the wings were still demonic in origin but basically Scarecrow and Bruce are many many family lines removed cousins from an ancestor who was siblings with Jack Nightingale. On top of that, Danny had wings but they got charred when he was electrocuted. This one also has Clock x Pariah and they have wings due to something to do with ghosts, Danny gets a cloak made out of their feathers while his ghost side slowly grows its own wings (but he'll never have wings as a living again).

-----

Sorry for the long send, I got a bit carried away, but if you want I can dig up my AU again and share what I have for the wings at least, not sure what else I've got written down.

#colony of bats AU

Honestly I love both of these ideas, but what if they were say, combined.

Alfred gifts Bruce a shard of his power- everyone knows the Waynes have wings, even if in most cases too small to fly. But the wings are feathered, usually bright and flashy for the men who inherit the trait.

Which means they're very identifiable. But like you said, Alfred gets (ugh) attached to this little mortal. He's practically raised him and honestly thinks it's adorable watching him manipulate the other richfolk at galas into thinking he's such a "polite young man." Bruce is practically his baby!

So he gifts him a bit of his blood (which we know via Constantine can extend ones lifespan including giving them a bit of healing) and an itty bitty piece of his own power. Just enough for Bruce to be able to willingly call upon it. Just enough for him to disappear into shadows. Just enough for his eyes to gain a hint of an unholy glow. Just enough for a hint of claws. Just enough for feathered wings to shift into jagged mimicries of his own.

You know what could be an interesting thing? The wings are Realms in origin. We know the FentonNightingales separated into the Fentons and Nightingales some time after Jack, so whose to say that the Nightingales didn't get into magic. Perhaps they were given a gift to thank them after a bit of protection or assistance. And the infinite realms are well, infinite. It attaches to all worlds, including say the more demonic ones. But whose to say none of the Fentons made a deal or three in the generations following. They were witch hunters after all, perhaps they need something to keep up with the "traitors" of their bloodline.

Perhaps a deal which resulted in those matching wings.

Now, how could they find out their relation with the Fentons? While there could be the adoption route, what if instead it was right after Danny's accident.

He died screaming, visibly got electrocuted, his wings are torched, there's no way they're not taking him to the hospital. Which means things like blood tests, maybe even a donated organ or two because someone doesn't get blasted with that much electricity without consequences.

Which, it's the batfamily, they definitely have alarms set up for any sort of family pings for both themselves and their rogues. Just in case.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Also had no idea where to put it but if this includes demons and ghosts feeding on fear, or emotions in general, then Scarecrow could be instinctively attempting to feed and grow his wings. Also he deserves raven or rook wings. Maybe a jay's if you wanna go for color.

Oh my gosh, even if Alfred and Gotham don't get together, they definitely have tea together and spar. They're definitely co-parenting either platonically or romantically, it doesn't matter this is their specialist lil boy. Who then brings even more of the specialist lil ones ever!

God I love the implications of Clockwork and Pariah creating a cloak of wings for a ghostling for them to use as their feathers slowly grow back. Love what that implies for the culture of the ghost zone. Love the idea of it maybe having an influence on Danny's wings in ghost form since a ghost's appearance is influenced by their image about themself.

#ask answered #batman au #batman #dc #dcu #dcxdp #dpxdc #cryptid batman #cryptid batfam #normally I don't really like demon aus #but this is honestly really interesting in implications #I am honestly here for this and am very interested #Would the batfam also get wings (that is feathered ones) #What is Constantine's reaction to Batman #Does it ping similar to a half-demon or something else #Does he just think it's a Gotham thing since like 3+ portals to hell have been opened there #I honestly don't think Alfred would let Jason die #Like demon blood is actually kinda OP in the DC world #We've seen Constantine stabbed through the center (like practically split in half hotdog style) and heal pretty freakin easy #Okay but wings #like wing ideas #Jack has condor wings (very big & also death implications) #Danny deserves lil dove wings as bby before they're scorched #They deserve to be similar to galaxy when grown back #White flecks from Clockwork & the darker bits from Pariah with hints of his own colors swirling together #Jazz has either a finch's wings or cockatoos #OH #Bruce has nicobar pigeon wings #Closest living relative of the dodo #And it is Gorgeous

[thepradapariah]

Your Rising Sign ✨. The Male Gaze 👀. & Female Character Movie/TV Tropes 📺.

Are you the manic pixie dream girl or the femme fatale?!

Astro Observations 🪐

Using Movies & TV shows, I’ll be talking about observations I’ve made about rising signs! This is just my opinion! You are more than welcome to share your thoughts in the comment section!

(If you know your sidereal Rising Sign Naksaktra EVEN BETTER!)

Disclaimer:

BARE WITH ME HERE!!! This post is written in a VERY generalized way. I am not trying to be exclusionary at all! I want this to be a fun post about movies & astrology. Please be creative with your pronouns if needed! This post is for anyone who wants to read it, no matter your gender or preference, but it will be written in traditional cis-gender fashion, BUT!!!!! I have tried to incorporate all female identifying communities within the examples! I hope there is something for everyone :)

Before we begin:

Definitions:

✨What is the Male Gaze?

“In feminist theory, the male gaze is the act of depicting women and the world, in the visual arts and in literature, from a masculine, heterosexual perspective that presents and represents women as sexual objects for the pleasure of the heterosexual male viewer. In the visual and aesthetic presentations of narrative cinema, the male gaze has three perspectives: (i) that of the man behind the camera, (ii) that of the male characters within the film's cinematic representations; and (iii) that of the spectator gazing at the image.” — Wikipedia

✨What is a Character trope?

“A trope is an idea, pattern or motif that appears often enough in a particular art form that consumers of that art form begin to form particular associations with that idea.” - The Novel Factory

Introduction:

Men tend to be VERY simple creatures. Yes, they may present themselves as the broody artist w a checkered past or a sci-fi-nerdy-glasses-wearing-type fellow who LOVES Star Wars & Comic-Con. But believe it not, both these men have something in common…Their simplicity. Most men see life in black & white. They tend to take things at face value & rarely feel the need to dig deeper into something unless they are called to. This is not to over generalize (or perhaps that’s exactly what this is) but to draw attention to the straight forward attitude men usually have towards life. (I blame this on their primal hunter/gathering nature, but that’s another topic for another day). Men tend to prefer life & communication to be clear & concise, whereas woman tend to be far more “colorful” in our approach. We don’t spare any details when talking w our girlfriends about the latest gossip as if it’s our life’s duty, where men can sit in silence, playing video games & be perfectly content. In fact, I learned in sociology, that men can actually have ZERO brain activity happening at times (besides the automatic stuff, like breathing lol). Meaning— men can actually sit & think about nothing. Women, not so much, we are constantly stimulated, thinking & planning ahead. Because of this cosmically cerebral mis-match, the way men & woman tend to view each other can be a point of contention. Woman tend to over complicate men & men tend to over simplify woman. Thus giving us the ongoing battle of real complex female characters VS. the over simplified version of them through the Male Gaze. Do men think woman just sit around playing in make-up & fashion, bursting out into random tears & having pillow fights all day? If you ask Hollywood— probably. In this post, we will be specifically looking at how men over simplify woman using Movie/TV tropes & comparing them to the display of our rising sign, &/or if you know it, your rising Nakshatra.

You should know, that before I got into tarot & astrology, I graduated from the film school at New York University. So I am WELL AWARE of the film/tv writing process & thought this would be a cool way to combine my education of films & my love for astrology to teach & critique how woman tend to be represented in Cinema & Television— and in return, real life. (Art meets Life, amiright?)

There has been a discourse in the film & tv world about how woman are represented through the male gaze. I’m sure you’ve heard of the “manic pixie dream girl” trope over saturating the market right now. (Don’t worry, we will get into this later). Woman feel as if these are shallow representations of the feminine experience. While I agree with this statement, usually we don’t see very fleshed out, complex & interesting woman from male writers. (*cough cough* Euphoria Season 2.) I’m arguing here that until we form deep & intimate connections with men, they tend to see us, woman, as these movie tropes, IRL (in real life). If you don’t understand what I’m saying, hang in there w me.

Because men tend to be simple & take things at face value, they can miss out on the nuances of the woman they are with. How many times have we seen in movies a wife gets a haircut & the husband doesn’t notice? See, no eye for detail, or subtlety. Those small details that make us unique from other woman tends to go over their heads from time to time. And in a day in age where woman are generalized more on a mass scale through social media, it’s easy for men to get carried away thinking woman are all the same or simply, just not that complicated. This isn’t a bad thing, per say, this is just the default until we are able to build a lasting, deep connection between masculine & feminine energy.

In this post, we are going to be breaking down this “conundrum” by RISING SIGNS/1H/Nakshatras. Why? Because the rising sign is how you are seen in the world. The first house rules the body, & what people project on to you as well as what you project onto other people. (The beauty of the 1H/7H axis…more about this later) As a sidereal astrology girly, I think the first house/Rising Sign Nakshatra rules the personality more so than the sun & moon sign. After all, it is called “person”-ality, & the 1H is the house of person, whereas the 7H is the house of partner.

✨Why Does this Matter?

Well first off, it matters how much you want it to matter. This post is for inspiring self expression. By seeing how you effortlessly come across through the male gaze, you may be able to craft your own unique persona or perfect one of these tropes. I am not writing this post because you have to see yourself the way men see you or over simplify yourself while getting to know someone, I’m writing this to give you some indication of HOW men see you so you can put on a SHOW! I’m hoping this gives you the encouragement to take your narrative into your own hands & present your femininity in a way that’s true & authentic to you. I am an absolute FAN of these female tropes. Movies & tv shows have helped me curate the kind of woman I want to come across as. Nothing like seeing a great character on TV that you want to emulate. We all have the ability to play pretend. Look at using the male gaze as a game of dress-up. You can ALWAYS play the part in the ever going Hollywood Film— Your Life.

✨What is the First House?

The first house is the house of first impressions— the cover of the book men are judging.

Because your first house is home to your rising sign, to put it simply, the first house is how you come off to others at first glance. Even though I’m sure you’re a beautiful, complex & intriguing creature, for the sake of this article, we are looking at the first house through a “shallow” perspective. You may feel as if these descriptions don’t fit you at all, in fact, you may feel like this is the total opposite of who you actually are! (Blame the contradiction of 1H/7H axis for this one) However it’s not about how you feel, it’s about how you come across…

Read this article as if you are your crush meeting you for the first time. (Read that again, very meta, I know). The Male Gaze in movies/tv has been argued to be lazy & uninspired writing. I personally think that’s just the male gaze in general. I kid, I kid. Lol. But seriously…they are very simple minded, so we can use this to our advantage to give some of the best performances of our lives!

***If you are reading for your Sidereal Vedic Rising (which is HIGHLY suggest), please look up the degree, so you can read for the specific Nakshatra)

(If you are a man reading this, I don’t mean to drag you. We all know the childhood fact, Men are from Mars & Woman are from Venus. Lol.)

Through the Male Gaze, we will be breaking down how you come off through your rising sign & placements as Classic Movie & TV Character Tropes.

How to Read:

✨IF YOU KNOW YOUR SIDEREAL VEDIC RISING NAKSHATRA: Read that first! That will be the most specific to the trope. (I didn’t double dip, each nakshatra is only used ONCE)

______________

✨If you DON’T know your Sidereal Rising Nakshatra & your reading as a Western/Tropical Girlie———>

✨You can read for the sign in your first house (your rising sign) &/or planets placed in your FIRST OR SEVENTH HOUSE!

✨7H placements cast a direct aspect on your 1H, so if your rising sign doesn’t resonate, check your 7H placements! They have a major influence as well!

✨If you have multiple planets in your 1H &/or 7H, the planet with the LOWEST degree is the dominant planet. Ex: If you have Saturn at 26 degrees and Venus at 2 degrees, you would read the Venus tropes.

✨Unlike men, I’m giving you some flexibility (Lol) Your placements may overlap. For example, if you’re a Pisces Rising— read the blurbs for Manic Pixie Dream Girl & Girl Next Door. One description will probably fit better than the others, but you got options! If you know your sidereal chart for your rising Nakshatra, you’ll get

***There is NO direct correlation between the signs & Naks picked, this is a matter of opinion, so I put what I felt worked!***

Please please please keep in mind, movies & tv characters are larger than life, so please have fun with this post!!! This is over the top!! If you can imagine that you were an old Hollywood glamour queen or a modern cinema starlit, this would be your starring role!!!

⚠️ I do not want to offend ANYONE by using traditional gender pronouns. I am a cis-gender heterosexual female, so I am writing from the perspective I know best. I am NOT trying to say this is the only perspective that matters. I have included cis-woman, trans women & lesbians as examples in this post. Please feel free to share any insights you have, no matter the gender, non-gender or perspective! I’m truly open & supportive. This is not an exclusionary post.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!!!! I am using Movies & Television shows as examples, so be prepared!

⚠️ Of course, special shout-out to my little sister! Without her, none of this would be possible!!

On with the Show! 🌹

💋 Manic Pixie Dream Girl

Nakshatras: Ardra, Punarvasu, Swati, Vishika, Mula

Zodiac: Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces (All Mutable Rising Signs) & Aquarius

Planets: Neptune, Mercury, Jupiter (1st or 7th House, lowest degree)

Tarot Card: Princess of Cups (Earth & Water)

✨Definition

“[The Manic Pixie Dream Girl] exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures… [The MPDG] seems to exist only to provide spiritual or mystical help to the protagonist. The MPDG has no discernible inner life. Instead, her central purpose is to provide the protagonist with important life lessons. “

-Wikipedia (Manic Pixie Dream Girl was coined by Nathan Rabin)

✨The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is arguably THEE female movie trope of the last 40 years in pop culture. As movies moved away from the Bombshell aesthetic of the 1950’s, most notably, Marilyn Monroe; Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s introduced a new kind of woman. (Even her last name, go-lighly is a play on her attitude towards the world) A woman who throws caution to the wind & isn’t afraid to take risk. In fact, this woman LIVES to take risk! She flutters in & flutters out of the Male gaze, usually chasing some wild dream of being a fashion designer, writer, actress ect, OR is a notch above (or under, depending on how you look at it) an aimless sexy hobo. Regardless of her career ambitions, she’s always as creative as she is elusive— yet somehow, is always able to drop into the male’s life right in the knick of time, whisking the male away on some fever-dream like adventures. Encountering the Manic Pixie Dream Girl almost ALWAYS accompanies a spiritual Awakening for our male protagonist. Upon meeting this woman, usually in some weird, “only happens once in a life-time” way, his world gets thrown into a chaotic flurry. Everything he thought he knew he now knows he never knew anything about it at all. He questions life, he questions reason, he question society, capitalism, the “American Dream”, etc. This is BEST demonstrated by Marla (Helena Bonham Carter) in Fight Club, directed by David Fincher. (If you haven’t seen this movie, you MUST (18+), Brad Pitt is at PEAK sexiness…s/o to the Female Gaze lol) Fight Club is a wicked tale of a man fighting himself, society & his own psyche after meeting a woman who mirrored him so closely, it triggered a masculinity awakening. This is the function of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. She is so free, so unbound, so fluid, & feminine, she helps to bring to life the masculine side of a man by reflecting his own inner chaos back to him.

As a Ardra, Punarvasu, Swati, Vishika, Mula Rising or Mutable Rising Sign: Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, or Pisces, this could be one of the ways you appear through the male gaze. Because your temperament & view of life can be so changeable, you can come across as a free-spirit, a loss soul, or a wonderer. Perhaps you are, & perhaps you aren’t, but as quickly as you change a hairstyle, you change your goals in life. The male feels as if he needs to tame you, give you structure, security or direction OR he feels like he wants to join you! Break away from the daily grind of life, break societies expectations of him & rendezvous w you, eating cereal, painting & watching cartoons all day. You can represent a child-like wonder and be the embodiment of the “wild-side” of life! As the mutable rising signs of the Zodiac, you tend to be moody & unpredictable. Through the Male Gaze, men may find it hard to connect with you because you always seem “elsewhere”. You always seem a little dazed, perhaps a little confused, but certainly “pixie” like in your approach to life. To the right male, you are fascinating, like a Jackson Pollock painting (the splatter paint dude) in the works— each stroke improvised, never knowing where the paint is going to land, but intrigued more by your process than the final product.

✨Music:

Female Gaze: Like a Bird- Nelly Furtado

Male Gaze: Sex And Candy- Marcy Playground

✨Examples

Holly Golightly- Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Jules- Euphoria

Summer- 500 Days of summer

Robyn Brooks- High Fidelity

Helena- Fight Club

Cat- Victorious

Issa- Insecure

Raven- That’s So Raven

Bubbles- Powerpuff Girls

Emily- Emily in Paris

Sally Bowles- Cabaret

💋Ice Queen

Nakshatras: Jyestha, Dhanishta, Uttara Bhadrapada

Zodiacs: Aquarius, Libra, Cancer, Scorpio

Planets: Saturn, Uranus, Moon, Venus

Tarot Card: Queen of Swords (Water & Air)

✨Defintion:

“…Cool, reserved, and giving nothing away. She may want love as ardently as anyone, but she masks her soft heart behind a wall of ice. It is up to someone else, typically her Love Interest, to soften her cold demeanor and win her love.

The Ice Queen is considered dangerous to love because she will not (or cannot) love back. She's not much for friendship either, preferring to be alone.” tvtropes .org

✨The Ice Queen is cold & unforgiving. She IS the resting bitch face personified, unimpressed & unfazed by those around her. Seemingly aloof, the male in the story is always trying to breakthrough her tough and unbothered exterior. Her coldness posses a real challenge to anyone who is interested in her romantically. She’s just a bitch. And a bad one at that! The Ice Queen is stern in her appearance & her approach to life. Usually divorced, or widowed, but doesn’t have to be, she walks as if she carries the weight on the world of her shoulder. She’s been abandoned by happiness in life, but she’s so regal, no one knows how deep her scars cut. She can resemble the Boss Bitch/Diva trope, because she normally holds a lot of power, but she carries a certain detachedness that is unique to this trope. She is NOTHING nice. The Ice Queen is hard to please & has no issues letting people know she’s unsatisfied. The Male wants to “warm her up”, breakthrough her cold exterior & get to know why she is so damn mean! In some cases he succeeds, in others he realized she’s just a mean & shallow as he originally thought. Elvira Hancock in Scarface is the prototype for this feminine character trope. Not only is her nose typically buried nose deep in snow (if you get it, you get it), she’s. a. straight. cold-hearted. biotch. She’s unbelievably gorgeous & unapproachable, & this is exactly what draws the male protagonist in to her. But even after the male “wins her over”, she was never satisfied. An Ice Queen to her CORE, she was never one to be defrosted. Defamed? Maybe…Defrosted…never.

It’s worth noting that the Ice Queen is usually HIGHLY fashionable. Not the cheap stuff either— the Ice Queen is a Queen none the less. She’s not the T-shirt & jeans girl next door, or the purple hairdo manic pixie…she’s class & sophistication. First rule, you gotta be hot to be so cold.

If you are a Jyestha, Dhanishta, Uttara Bhadrapada Rising or an Aquarius, Libra or Cancer Rising, or have Saturn, Uranus, the Moon, or Venus aspecting your first house, you may find that you come across as the Ice Queen through the male gaze. You carry a certain reserved & detached aura upon first meeting someone. Rarely would you put all your cards on the table. There is also a certain maturity that you carry with you when you walk into a room. Men will assume “oh, this girl, she’s been through some stuff”. You may find that you are somewhat withdrawn in social situations, although people may be very drawn to you. You don’t necessarily care about being liked, but you certainly care about being respected. You come off as if you don’t tolerate any kind of messiness. Men may think you play hard to get or that you just think you’re better than the average. Whatever! You don’t care what they think. You’re too busy reading or being an intellectual (whatever that means lol…this is the male gaze we are talking about). Again, to the right egotistical man who believes he can “warm you up”, you are a welcomed and ongoing challenge. The Ice Queen is the female trope of male dissatisfaction. When a Male encounters the Ice Queen in cinema, she tend to represent a part of the male that will NEVER be pleased, content or accepted. Normally the man after this cold woman’s stone-cold heart is trying to prove his worth to the world around him, & the Ice Queen serves as the perfect trophy. If he can impress her/have her, he can impress anyone & have the World! The Ice Queen is the ultimate prize for the male protagonist w ego/self-esteem issues. Nothing humbles a man quite like a cold-hearted bitch. You may find in your dating life, Male’s feel the need to impress you for no good reason..or maybe you enjoy watching men walk on their heads for a date w you! Either way, as the Ice Queen female trope you carry a certain air about you that commands attention & respect. You carry authority over yourself & those around you. The male gaze says although your intimidating, your worth a try to shut down all the haters, even if you’re hater number 1!

✨Music:

Female Gaze: Needed Me- Rihanna

Male Gaze: Roses- OutKast, Cooler than Me- Mike Posner

✨Examples

Elvira Hancock-Scarface

Camille- The Sapranos

Lady Mae Greenleaf- Greenleaf

Elsa- Frozen

Jade- Victorious

Elekta Evangelista- Pose

Claire- House of Cards

Molly- Insecure

Lucille- Arrested Development

Betty Draper- Mad Men

Mother Shannon, House of Balenciaga- Legendary

Cersei Lannister- Game of Thrones

Dominique La Rue- Harlem Nights

Gru’s Mom- Despicable Me

💋Femme Fatale

Nakshatras: Ashwini, Bharani, Ashlesha, Purva Bhadrapada, Shatabisha

Zodiacs: Aries, Scorpio, Cancer

Planets: Mars, Pluto

Tarot Card: Queen of Wands (Fire & Water)

✨Definition

“A femme fatale,sometimes called a maneater or vamp, is a stock character of a mysterious, beautiful, and seductive woman whose charms ensnare her lovers, often leading them into compromising, deadly traps. She is an archetype of literature and art. Her ability to enchant, entice and hypnotize her victim with a spell was in the earliest stories seen as verging on supernatural; hence, the femme fatale today is still often described as having a power akin to an enchantress, seductress, witch, having power over men. Femmes fatales are typically villainous, or at least morally ambiguous, and always associated with a sense of mystification, and unease.”

-Wikipedia

✨The Femme Fatale is arguably the most ICONIC of the female movie tropes. A popular trope of Film Noir “movement” in the late 1940s, early 1950s, the Femme Fatale is a sexual seductress with a naughty side. Enchanting as she is dangerous, the male gaze ogles her, even though it may cost him his life— or at least his job & social standing. Medusa is one of the best representations of this trope. If a man locks eyes w her, he’s as good as dead— yet, time & time again, men tried to defeat her, only to meet a tragic end. As time progressed, the story of the woman who turns men to stone (definitely a sexual innuendo if you ask me) found new life in television & film. The Femme Fatale is a beautiful disaster just waiting to happen. She’s wild, like the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but she has a certain knack for danger and crime. She lures the male in & traps him like a spider in her web. The male is usually a little weary of the woman, but is overcome w her grace & charm, or he’s truly an unsuspecting victim who gets completely taken advantage of an entangled in whatever mess she’s made for herself. One way or the other, the male often ends up in a position of life & death after lusting after this dark & intriguing beauty. The film, Carmen Jones, starring Dorthy Dandridge, is a classic tale of a woman w loose morals who ends up (spoiler alert) dead. Unlike most of the other female tropes, the femme fatale almost always suffers consequences for her actions. She either ends up in jail, or dead, or kills her lover, or he ends up in jail, or her lover ends up dead. Tragic, I know. Again, think of Medusa…she killed everything she laid her eye on, & then ultimately had to be killed. (RIP Medusa, you were a baddie). No one gets out scotch free when dealing w this character. The femme fatale is mysterious, almost like a mythical creature or an enchantress, & the male is instantly drawn into her, whether they exchange words in a bar, or she simply flicks her cigarette & he rushes to relight it. One thing is for sure, she lives by her own rules & is bound by nothing…not the law or death itself. She’s usually a criminal minded free-spirit, manipulating her way through life to survive.

If you are an Ashwini, Bharani, Ashlesha, Purva Bhadrapada Rising Or an Aries, Scorpio, or Cancer Rising, or you have Pluto or Mars aspecting your 1H, you may come off as the femme fatale through the male gaze. Your dark, broody & secretive nature is fascinating to them, and they want to join you on a passionate journey through time & space or save you from whatever sticky situation you may have put yourself in. They want to play detective & you are the perfect case to crack. When the femme fatale enters the male’s life, she instantly posses a threat to his usually naive understanding of the world. She’s not your typical housewife— far from it. She challenges the traditional social construct of beauty & submission. Normally from a troubled/difficult past past, the femme fatale will only submit to law & death, she’s been forced to learn the ugly sides of life & uses them to her advantage. You may find that male’s tend to want to dominate you or control your direction in life in relationships, but you are REPULSED by this notion. This trope teaches men (and woman sadly), that freedom comes w a cost. Hopefully it’s not your life, but if it is, you sure make a sexy corpse!

✨Music:

Female Gaze: Wild side- Normani

Male Gaze: Dirty Diana -Michael Jackson

✨Examples

Filomena (Sophia Lauren)- Marriage Italian Style

Cat Woman- Batman

Carmen- Carmen Jones

Dr. Frank-N-Furter (played by the wonderful Lavern Cox)- The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Jennifer- Jennifer’s Body

Gilda (Rita Hayworth)- Gilda

Amy Dunne- Gone Girl

Laura Biel- 365 Days

Alex Vause- Orange Is the New Black

💋Queen Bee/Mean Girl

Nakshatras: Krittika, Purva Phalguni, Chitra, Purva Ashadha

Zodiacs: Libra, Capricorn, Aries, Leo, Taurus & Gemini

Planets: Venus, Mars, Sun, Mercury

Tarot Card: Princess of Swords (Earth & Fire)

“The Mean Girl trope had us all believe that the dark side to womanhood is catty, conniving competitiveness.”

The swaddle.com

“Mean girls are often overly concerned with appearance. They may place a high priority on their clothing, their make-up, and even their weight. Likewise, they may zero in on these things in others, pointing out everything from acne and weight gain to clothing choices and hairstyles.”

-theteenmagazine.com

✨Somewhere between The Ice Queen and The Diva, there lies a sweet sour sweet CLASSIC female trope that always leaves the girls GAGGING in disbelief, like “did she just say that?!!” The Queen Bee/Mean Girl trope has her fair share of representation in film & TV, particularly in teen dramas, but she is NOT limited to high school. The Queen Bee is in charge, she knows what she wants, she knows how she likes it & she has ZERO problem letting her loyal subject know. Sometimes, she is portrayed w a deep deep deep DEEP down heart of hold, but most of the time, she’s just a straight biotch from beginning to end. You DON’T want to cross her, or you just might end-up on her ever growing hit-list. If there is one thing Ms. Mean Girl can do..it’s hold a grudge. As stated above, the Queen Bee/Mean girl trope serves the stereotype of the cattiness & competitiveness of femininity. And it is a fact that in the wild, the female animals are usually far more aggressive than their male counterparts. (Think Lion, or a Mama Bear). Boys may have their sports, but lady’s have their looks & they will secure that W come hell or high water all the way to Prom Queen.

If you are a Krittika, Purva Phalguni, Chitra, Purva Ashadha Rising or Libra, Taurus, Aries, Leo or Gemini Rising, OR if you have Venus, Mars or the Sun aspecting your 1H/7H, you may come off as the typical Mean Girl Trope through the Male Gaze. You’re aloof, yet decisive about the things you truly care about— like— “Wednesdays, we wear pink”. You keep people on the tip of their toes with witty banter & effortless conversation. If they don’t know the latest trends, the current celebrity gossip or who dumped whom…well, you’re just not interested in what they have to say, so why bother? You can play the villain easily & have no problem being unliked as long as you are respected. You are a social butterfly, a socialite, if you will. You know how to make the streets talk with admiration & envy. People may be afraid that they can’t meet your standards, but good, they probably can’t. NO UGLY FRIENDS is the motto— people may think you actually hold try-outs for who is allowed to sit with you at the table. Through it all, you know how to take control & lead— this energy oozes from you as people seem to just step aside as you sashay down the halls. Always up on the latest fashion, you always come w your A-game and your enemies will NEVER catch you slipping. There is a beautiful confidence that you exude because you know you are the one and only. People may be extremely intimidated by you, but the real ones will bow at your feet.

The shadow side of this trope is the shadiness. Queen Bees/Mean girls are known for being just that—MEAN. People may assume that you are quite backstabby & mischievous. YOU, of all the movie tropes, don’t mind playing

d-i-r-t-y! People perceive you as never wanting to let go of that crown & you’ll do whatever it takes to keep the social order in tact. Think “Status-Quo” High School Musical w Sharpay, the ULTIMATE representation of this trope, screaming from the top of the cafeteria! (THIS IS NOT WHAT SHE WANTS! THIS IS NOT WHAT SHE PLANNED!!!!!) She didn’t care who she had to cut, scheme, lie, trick, plot & sabotage to make SURE Ms. Gabriella did not get the spotlight w her man, Troy. Think of the lengths you’ll go to to get what you want. You come off as spicy, cunt-y (in the best way), & beautiful. You are a glamour girl & never afraid to throw some shade here & there, making you the ultimate reigning Queen Bee!

✨Music

Female Gaze: Feeling Myself- Nicki Minaj

Male Gaze: Mad at myself- Issues

✨Examples

Maddie- Euphoria

Regina George- Mean Girls

CoCo- Dear White People

Lulu- Pose

Toni- Girlfriends

Emma Roberts in Coven & Scream Queens

Blair- Gossip Girl

Cheryl Blossom- Riverdale

Santana- Glee (Rest in Peace)

Buttercup- Powerpuff Girls

Alison DiLaurentis- Pretty Little Liars

Sharpay- High School Musical

The Heathers

Penelope- My Dog (LOVE HER, but she’s such a Bitch—a bad one though lol)

💋Ingenue/Damsel in Distress

Nakshatras: Mrigashirsa, Rohini, Hasta, Revati

Zodiacs: Cancer, Capricorn, Libra, Aries (All Cardinal Rising Signs) & Pisces, Taurus

Planets: Moon, Venus, Saturn

Tarot Card: Queen of Cups (Water) Libra, Aries

“The ingénue usually has the fawn-eyed innocence of a child but subtle sexual appeal as well.”

“The damsel in distress is a recurring narrative device (or trope) in which one or more men must rescue a woman who has either been kidnapped or placed in general peril. Kinship, love, or lust (or a combination of those) gives the male protagonist the motivation or compulsion to initiate the narrative. The female character herself may be competent, but still finds herself in this type of situation.”

Wikipedia

✨The Ingenue/Damsel in Distress is one of the most recognizable female movie tropes to date. From the tales of The Greeks, to King-Kong, to Broomhilda from Djengo— there is always some damsel…somewhere…that is…in fact…in…distress. The Ingenue is a naive babe, just learning the ins & outs of life. She’s pretty, she’s unassuming & adorably doe-eyed, full of wonder for the life ahead of her— just waiting for a strong man to show her the way! The ingenue is common, but in the best way. She’s not an ice-cold bitch like the Ice Queen or the Queen Bee, but she sits more in her femininity that the Tomboy or the Diva. She’s divine & subtle and a man is always lurking around the corner, waiting to whisk her away from all the evils in the world. If this sounds like a Disney Princess, it’s because it is. Most Disney Princesses would fit into the Ingenue/Damsel in Distress character trope, but just like most of the Princesses, no matter how young & impressionable, the Ingenue is usually the one who makes a way for herself in the end.

If you are a Mrigashirsa, Rohini, Hasta, Revati Rising or a Cardinal rising (Aries, Cancer, Libra Capricorn) or Pisces, the male gaze may perceive you as the Ingenue/Damsel in Distress trope. Your beauty & grace exceed you, & your youth is ever-present. When the male sees you, they just want to protect you & hold you dear. You spark masculinity in those who are attracted to you because you come across so soft & gentle. But don’t get it twisted, you can be a little spicy! You certainly have a little sass to you, but you try not to wear it on your sleeve. You are a true darling to those who are deserving. You serve ultimate demure womanliness & you seem to glide through any room you’re in. Although your impulsiveness & naiveté may land you in some sticky situations, there’s always a lovely leading man just beyond the pines to lead you out of the darkness and into their arms (Awwwwwwwwwww). You may be the type to need help opening the pickle jar, or clumsily fall into some big strong arms— you don’t mind being on the receiving end of affection & people just swoon over you. Unlike the Door Next Door, there can still be an “unapproachability” factor to you. You’re not the girl from down the street, you’re the new girl in town; a little lost, a little curious, but always cute! You may find that men tend to underestimate you & you’re constantly trying to prove yourself. OR you can find yourself in situations where your voice tends to be over powered as you get lost in a sea of toxic masculinity! Either way, you know how to leave a room in awe. You carry just enough mystique & intrigue that male’s fight to know more about you, but yet they just feel as if you’re a naturally good person. You’re coy, but not too coy. You’re shy, but not too shy. You are the perfect “woman”. You may have a past, but your future is always bright! A hero waits around the corner for the perfect time to catch you when you fall or introduce you to a world you didn’t know existed.

As the Ingenue/Damsel in Distress, your energy is POWERFUL, almost as if you’re sexily yelling “Fire! Fire! Save me! Help me!” when you walk into the room. You know how to keep the male gaze & they will break their necks to see you eloquently walk by. Before the reign of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, you were the trope on top— the beautiful default representation of hyper-femininty in the 20s/30s/40s. You set the standards for the early starlets, they were nothing if they weren’t the lovely ingenue!

✨Music

Female Gaze: Bring Me to Life- Evanessance, Pretty When I Cry- Lana Del Ray

Male Gaze: Let Me Love You- Mario

✨Examples

Betty Draper- Mad Men

Celie- The Color Purple

Neytiri- Avatar

Autumn- P-Valley

Daisy- The Great Gatsby

Persephone- The [Abduction] of Persephone

Irene- Drive

Angel Evangelista- Pose

Disney Princesses

Broomhilda- Django Unchained

Piper Chapman- Orange Is the New Black

Mississippi- P-Valley

Penelope- The Odyssey

Satine- Mulan Rouge

💋Girl Next Door/Tomboy

Nakshatras: Anuradha, Uttara Ashadha, Shravana

Planets:Jupiter, Venus, Neptune

Zodiacs: Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces, Taurus, Libra

Tarot Card: Princess of Pentacles (Earth)

“The girl next door is usually from a small town or an un-flashy neighborhood. Her personality tends to be down-to-earth, supportive, and approachable. For both her main boy and her culture at large, the girl next door embodies an idealized, wholesome femininity.”

-the-take.com

✨The Girl Next Door/Tomboy Trope is by far the most realistic & relatable female trope of all. She’s not flashy. She’s not mean. She’s kind & sometimes even “one of the guys”. She gives off an innocence that makes her irresistible to the male gaze because she’s just so darn cool. She’s “not like the other girls”. Although she may prefer a comfy t-shirt & jeans, she’s comfortable in her femininity. She doesn’t try to compete with other woman— even though other woman my try & compete with her. Why? Because she’s usually the girl surrounded by all the guys— not because she flaunts her beauty, but rather because she’s not stuck on herself. She challenges the status quo demonstrating that sexy can be fun, sexy can be sweet & sexy can be “normal”. Zendaya is arguably the IT girl of a generation & she usually plays this type of character. She comes across as someone you can sip cool-aid with after she beats you in a round of basketball! For some, that’s sexier than Marilyn Monroe herself! This is the All-American (no matter the race) beauty that only lives a few doors down. This trope is most likely to be in the “friend-zone”, until one day the male realizes…”OH MY GOSH! SHE HAS BOOBS!”

If you are an Anuradha, Uttara Ashadha, Shravana Rising OR a Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces, Taurus, Libra Rising, you could come off as the Girl Next Door/Tomboy female trope. You’re approachable & not stuck on yourself & that makes you highly desirable through the male gaze. You’re simple & non-demanding like some of your other female counterparts and this makes you a breath of fresh air in a Kardashian fueled instagram dystopia. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you know how to clean up nicely! When it’s times for you to put on a skirt & heels, you knock ‘em dead. You’re stunning! But you’d much rather lead with personality than looks. You have an effortlessness about you that can’t be obtained by just anyone. At times you may feel a bit awkward about your sexuality, but again, through the right male’s gaze, this is SUCH a turn on. This is an extremely powerful trope because you are realistic. You may have big dreams, but you feel like you come from humble beginnings. You’re authentic to yourself, not to Chanel & Gucci. Sometimes, you may feel overlooked & one-up’d by the “popular girl”, but there is ALWAYS someone who thinks you are the most beautiful girl in the room because you light up the room like no body else & don’t get me started on the way you flip your hair & how it gets the boys overwhelmed. You don’t know you’re beautiful…and that’s….that’s what makes you so beautiful. How lovely!

If you are the Girl Next Door Trope, you don’t have to worry about putting on a show to impress the boysies around you. Just continue to be you’re cool & down to Earth self. Even though it seems like we live in Shallow Land, where everything is based on superficial looks & flawless instagram selfies, you’re super special because you don’t give in. Don’t conform & don’t rush to be the “it” girl. You don’t need the BBL & the thick lashes. (NOTHING IS WRONG W THIS!!! NOTHING~~~) Your natural beauty is more than enough through the Male Gaze!

✨Music

Female Gaze: All You Wanted- Michelle branch

Male Gaze: Hey There Delilah- The Plain White Tees

*sorry I couldn’t link it! Ran out of space!

✨Examples

MJ (Zendaya)- Spider-Man

Zoe- Grownish

Victoria-Victorious

Monica- Love & Basketball

Bella- Twilight

Justice-Poetic Justice

Peggy- Mad Men

Moeisha- Moeisha

Betty Cooper- Riverdale

Blanca Rodriguez- Pose

Apollonia- Purple Reign

Danielle- The Girl Next Door

💋Diva/Boss Bitch

Nakshatras: Pushya, Magha, Uttara Phalguni

Planets: Sun, Saturn, Mars

Zodiacs: Leo, Scorpio, Taurus, Aquarius (All Fixed Rising Signs) & Sagittarius, Capricorn

Tarot Card: Queen of Pentacles (Earth & Water)

“The strong, dark, beautiful woman. She's often a go-getter, chasing stardom, wealth, or just recognition for her talents. If she becomes an Idol, she's not constrained by the pressures of always appearing youthful, innocent, and approachable.

Part of her allure is instead her maturity, either in personality or in sexuality. When she walks in the room she not only turns heads, but she demands respect and won't hesitate to set you straight if she doesn't get it.”

-tvtropes.org

✨The Diva/Boss Bitch Female trope is THEE BADDEST BITCH. She’s worked hard to get where she is & she isn’t going to let some MAN come along and knock her off her thrown. This female trope demands a certain level of respect when she walks into the room— all heads turn because they know she’s the boss, just waiting to give quick & sharp directions. Usually fashionable, because she can AFFORD it (hello!), she knows how to command in any setting while looks good. A trend setter! She may be one of the most intimidating of the female tropes through the Male Gaze, on par with the Ice Queen, because the Diva carries a certain masculine energy. She usually is running things & bossing men around herself. She doesn’t let her sex get in the way of her ambition & talent. This character trope is not afraid to speak her mind because she knows she has just as much right to a seat at the table as anyone. She’s hard to impress & won’t settle for anything less than perfect. Mediocrity will NOT FLY with the Diva. She expects & she will have the best.

If you are a Pushya, Magha, Uttara Phalguni Rising or a Leo, Scorpio, Taurus, Aquarius, Sagittarius, or Capricorn Rising, you may come off as the Diva/Boss Bitch female character trope. You seem to prioritize work, success & your ambition over friendships & relationships. You force the males who gaze upon you to reevaluate their own status & merit in the world. They know you can’t be easily swayed & have to step to you with their best foot forward. Usually depicted as an insatiable boss, men may feel you’re an insatiable lover— demanding & hard to please…whatever, this doesn’t stop you! You know what you want & if they don’t get it for you, you’ll get it your damn self. You come off as self-assured & somewhat egotistical. You’re proud of your work & you expect to be treated like the BOSS that you are. If someone has a problem with that, well then, they can just get in line! Olivia Pope in Scandal is a great example of this trope in action. First, she has a J.O.B. & she’s DAMN good at it. The best, even. Her sex appeal through the male gaze is due to her wits & her competence. Like you, as soon as she walks into the room, people know it’s business time.

If you are the Diva/Boss Bitch Trope, don’t let ANYONE discredit your hustle—not another woman, not a man…NO ONE! You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and it shows because of the way you carry yourself. You can be one of the classiest tropes of all & that’s more impressive than you could ever know. Your beauty lies in the fact that you are sophistication personified. Your intrigue lies in the fact of your rarity! Not every woman is as ambitious or as capable as you are. You make men shiver when they lay eyes on you because you have an aura that screams “STEP YOUR GAME UP OR GET TO STEPPING!” Never try to dim who you are. You’re bossy & you’re the bitch they all LOVE to hate! Let them! You’d probably hate you too if you weren’t you because you are just too fly to handle! Confidence oozes from your pores because you know your stuff. Although it’s lonely at the top, you enjoy the view of downtown from your corner office! It’s hard to compete where others don’t compare Ms. Diva! Own it!

✨Music

Female Gaze: Flawless- Beyoncé

Male Gaze: Ms. Independent- Ne-yo

*sorry I couldn’t link it! Ran out of space!

✨Examples

Olivia Pope- Scandal

Blossom- Powerpuff Girls

Miranda Priestly— Devil Wears

Annalise Keeting- How To Get Away With Murder

Sylvie- Emily in Paris

Jaqueline- Boomerang

Shug Avery- The Color Purple

Cookie- Empire

Mercedes- P-Valley

Matron “Mama” Morton- Chicago

#astrology #vedic astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astrology notes #astro observations #music #rising sign #movie tropes #Spotify

[gay-otlc]

Transmasc Lesbianism

I'm a lesbian. I'm also a straight trans man. This might confuse you, but you may want to consider looking at perspectives of gender and sexuality that differ from your own and don't fit into neat little boxes.

A definition of lesbian that has been gaining popularity in queer spaces is "non men loving non men." This was meant to be inclusive for nonbinary lesbians, as an alternative to "women loving women." However, the phrase is very flawed. I've spoken about this elsewhere, but the main points are

It categorizes all nonbinary people alongside women. In this context, "non-men" comes off as "women or nonbinary people who are basically women." Not all nonbinary people, even if they're non-men will feel comfortable being labeled as a lesbian, since the term has feminine connotations and can cause dysphoria. It's unfair to put them in this box just because they're not a man.

Attraction is complex and cannot be divided into "attracted to men" and "not attracted to men." This disregards people who use the split attraction model (different romantic and sexual orientations), people who experience alterous attraction, people with fluid sexualities, and more.

Gender is complex and cannot be divided into "male" and "all genders that are not male." The identity most blatantly erased by this is multigender identities- people with multiple genders can be both male and a gender that is not male. There are also genderfluid people who are sometimes male, demigender people who are partially male, or nonbinary people who don't identify as male but may refer to themselves with masculine terms such as boy or man anyway.

The focus of lesbianism should not be excluding men. Mindsets like this are echoing TERF rhetoric that seeks to exclude transfeminine lesbians because TERFs wrongly consider them to be men. And it's annoying to make our identity about men or lack thereof, when we don't need to be talking about men at all- our community is about our shared attraction for women, because women are great!

Awesome, we've got that out of the way. If you're still reading this and going "but you can't be a trans man and a lesbian, lesbian means non men loving non men!!!!!", then I don't know what to tell you. Read the list again? Go through the other posts linked? Maybe log off tumblr?

If you read all that and you're willing to accept that not all lesbians will fit into "non men loving non men," and you don't understand but you're open to learn, read on! By the end you might still not understand, but you don't need to understand me to respect me.

For some context, here is a description of my gender and sexuality.

Gender: I'm a bigender trans man. To put it as simply as I can, my gender is primarily male, but I also have some of the female gender. I'm comfortable being seen as solely a man or both a man and a woman, but not solely a woman.

Sexuality: I'm sexually attracted to women almost exclusively. As mentioned at the beginning of the post, I describe myself as a lesbian (or gay, sapphic, etc). I also describe myself as a straight man (or straight transmasc, transhet, etc).

How can I be both?

That's where my multigender identity comes into play. I'm a man and a woman. I'm attracted to women. This makes me both a man attracted to women and a woman attracted to women; a straight man and a lesbian.

Like I said earlier, male is my primary gender and being female is more secondary. So, I'm primarily a man attracted to women, and to a lesser extent a woman attracted to women. Internally, I perceive myself as more of a straight man than a lesbian. I get a lot of gender euphoria from calling myself a straight man, and the feminine connotations of lesbian can sometimes make me uncomfortable.

So, why do I still identify as a lesbian?

Although I consider myself and my attraction to be mostly transhet, that's not really how I interact with the world around me. I'm out as bigender to some people, but I'm also closeted in many contexts, and I don't pass very well even where I am out. This means I navigate my life as someone generally perceived as a woman, who is attracted to women. Even if I don't always consider myself to fit fully with lesbianism, a majority of people will interpret me that way when they find out I'm attracted to women.

Lesbianism is a label I found my home in, for many years, and it still means a lot to me. I spent a long time defining myself as a lesbian and existing in our community, and it's a significant part of my identity.

The way I experienced my attraction growing up was a lesbian experience, not a straight experience. I consider myself a straight man now, but I didn't grow up interacting with the world as a heterosexual child. I was expected to have crushes on boys and was mocked for not fitting into that. I was called a lesbian in a derogatory way when I was ten, and I found power in reclaiming that. When I realized I was attracted to women, I spent years feeling like a freak for it until lesbians communities helped me to be proud. Lesbian is the label that most accurately describes my history and my experience as a young queer.

Also, although the label lesbian sometimes causes dysphoria, I sometimes get euphoria from referring to myself or being referred to as a lesbian. I especially get euphoria from being a butch lesbian. I take so much joy from my butch identity. And while referring to myself as lesbian in a joking manner, with phrases like "I'm so gay for her" or "not to be a lesbian but oh my god," might not count as gender euphoria, saying them makes me happy, and that's enough for me.

So, why do I identify as a man? Because I am one.

Why do I identify as a lesbian? Because it describes my past experience and the way I interact with the world as someone perceived as a woman. Because it's important to me. Because I want to.

Why do I use these labels that contradict each other? Because these are the labels that are right for me, and I have every right to have a confusing identity.

Thank you for your time.

#holy shit this is a long post #i'm so sorry if you actually read all that. i don't know when to shut up </2 #lesbian #men and non men #transmasc lesbian #male lesbian #transhet lesbian #bigender lesbian #multigender lesbian #bigender #multigender #transmultiphobia #<- because it is transmultiphobic to be an ass to me about my identity #gender shit #pride tag #important #so many tags jfk #i will shut up now