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jeminy3 · 5 years

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Role Reversal

Another very old thing i’ve finally gotten around to polishing and posting.

This is, (like most of my fics), a collection of things I really wanted to see written about - and a bunch of things I'm very horny for.

Namely: Queerplatonic/Friends-With-Benefits Royai, BDSM with Dom!Riza and Sub!Roy, Roy in a Dress, Riza in a Pantsuit, Other Very Sexy things, with a big bonus of Genderfluid/Transfeminine Roy with Riza being supportive… in her own way.

Pronouns will change. NSFW warnings will show up as necessary.

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

If anyone assumed Riza Hawkeye was too straight-laced to enjoy the finer things in life, they were sorely mistaken - she just preferred things a certain way, that's all.

A good example involves her current situation: she's politely refused partaking in any alcoholic drinks during the event she was currently attending, instead getting her fill from sparkling apple cider. She greatly dislikes inebriation, as it never agreed with her in her experience, and she prefers to stay fully aware in her waking life. Besides, the gold-colored drink looks no different from champagne - tastes better too, in her opinion.

In this way she can keep her ever-watchful eyes as sharp as her namesake as she scans the room - a hotel lobby dressed up for a politically-motivated cocktail party - taking note of the building's layout, entrances and exits, where the hotel staff cycles in and out from, and how the attendees and their attitudes ebb and flow as the party progresses.

In a word, she likes control.

It applied to any situation in her life - on the battlefield, in the office, even in her dog's behavior training. She was a force of order in a world of chaos, making sense out of a senseless world, even if the effort was fruitless in the grand scheme of things - if anything, the endlessness of the process was a strange sort of comfort for her.

"The only constant in this world is that it's always changing." One of the few things her father ever said that she actually agreed with.

So whether she was organizing files, lining up gun sights, or in this case, keeping an eye out for either potential danger or her friend and superior officer making a fool of himself, she was in her element.

The aforementioned friend and superior officer, Colonel Roy Mustang, stands not far from her, on the other side of the hors d'oeuvres table they were currently haunting in order to appear as engaged as possible without actually giving a damn.

Newly-appointed Fuhrer Grumman is gathered with the Amestrian Generals and other industry leaders several feet away, chattering endlessly for most of the past hour or so. This event was the latest in many political gatherings that were supposed to strengthen ties between leaders and ensure potential partnerships, but in reality, they were a waste of time. The stubborn, incestuous nature that the Amestrian government's kept up for the past however-many-centuries meant that most of the time, these gatherings really only succeeded in fluffing up peacocking feathers and inflating already-bloated egos.

She never liked these parties. Neither did Roy.

Riza looks at him again. At a glance, Roy appears to be enjoying himself - he's standing at attention, leaning slightly on one hip and balancing a flute of champagne in one hand, head raised with (feigned) interest in whatever the Brass were prattering on about.

But Riza can tell he's anything but relaxed - on close inspection, she can see deepened stress lines around his eyes and nose, his lips pressed into such a thin line they've nearly vanished from his features, and the hand bent behind the crook of his back clenches and unclenches repeatedly, fingers aching for some kind of physical activity, no doubt.

Riza certainly can't blame him for being so tense, after all they went through recently - specifically, the Promised Day and the fallout that's occurred afterwards. It's been difficult to navigate the massive power vacuum left in the wake of Bradley's death, along with everything else about the homonculi and their master, but they're managing as best they can. Cutting off the head of the dragon was a good step, but only that - a step in the long, long climb towards a democracy free of war and corruption.

Things will certainly improve once Grumman lays the groundwork for Roy's ascension - despite personal misgivings with her grandfather, Riza has no doubt he'll do his job well - but for now, it's slow-going. Unfortunately, Roy was never good at sitting quietly and waiting. He'd be a terrible sniper, she says all the time.

Right now, he more resembles a spring wound too tightly, shuddering with anxiety and liable to snap in the form of the wrong words at the wrong time when the wrong person approached him. Which would be awkward at best, disastrous at worst, so Riza decides to circumvent that possibility altogether and approach him herself.

She crosses the distance between them by navigating around the table's end and approaching his front slowly, getting his attention with a nod and gentle smile. He loosens significantly at the sight of her, already a relief for his no-doubt-bristling nerves, and she doesn't miss the small sigh that escapes him as she settles at his side and hooks a hand through the loop of his bent arm.

She looks up at him and speaks low, enough to not be heard by anyone else in the vicinity. "Holding up alright, Colonel?"

Roy snorts softly, and responds in kind to keep up their privacy. "As much as I can."

"Same here," she murmurs. "Remind me when this is over again?"

Roy rolls his eyes in Grumman's direction. "Knowing him? Probably in another hour, at the very least."

Riza groans softly. "Can't we leave? They've clearly finished mingling with our brigade. Breda and Falman are already gone."

Roy blinks. "They are?"

"They slipped out the back when the waiters were refilling drinks for everyone." There's a tinge of envy to her tone, as she'd caught sight of them for a few moments as they left, but only just.

Roy scoffs. "They could have said something."

"Guess they forgot to, in all their eagerness."

"Eager to leave their superiors in the dust. So much for loyalty." Roy chuffs with annoyance, lifting his champagne glass to his mouth.

Riza merely shrugs noncommittally. "Heymans's only as enthusiastic as his people-reading allows, and even Vato has his limits. Who knows, maybe they had plans."

That makes Roy nearly spit up the champagne he's sipping. He clears his throat to recover. "Erm, hm- plans?"

Riza lids her eyes and looks at him through their corners, like she always does to look incredulous. "They're grown men with lives outside of the military, sir, don't be surprised. I'm not."

"Uh- of course, of course," Roy mutters, wiping his lips with a thumb and doing his very best to not look perturbed at the idea of Breda and Falman having unprofessional affairs, bless his heart.

In light of having nothing better to do to entertain herself, Riza decides to needle him further.

She cocks her head, murmuring in a more teasing tone of voice. "You know... we could make plans too, sir. I don't think we'll be greatly missed here anymore - might be a restaurant or two worth checking out on this street... unless you'd rather head straight home, of course."

Roy shifts on his feet, his eyes flitting to and away from her a few times, but he says nothing for a few moments. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and brings his glass to them again. "Mm. Maybe," he mumbles into the glasswork, taking another sip.

Riza lets her hand in his arm travel up and along it, considering him for a few moments. Maybe, hm? She could leave it at that, but all this talk of "plans" and night-time activities is drumming up a swarm of ideas in her brain with increasingly suggestive detail and fervor. Neither of them are strangers as bed-mates - even now, Riza can imagine clearly the curve of Roy's backside under his suit - but it has been a long while since they spent such time together.

Their last time was... almost a year ago now, actually. Before Hughes' passing, if she remembers correctly... Then it's no wonder she's felt so empty and frustrated lately. And Roy, with the tragedy still weighing heavily on his heart - she can't imagine how he must feel.

But then, perhaps that's all the better reason to bring this up.

Riza's errant hand travels up and along Roy's shoulders, and he tenses slightly at the touch - then suppresses a small shudder as she slide her fingers along his spine, down to the small of his back. (She stops short of cupping his ass - there's people around, after all.)

He's definitely wanting , but he won't admit it verbally... not without more encouragement.

Riza leans in and changes her tone again, this time leaning more into the... enticing side of things, but not dipping into ridiculousness. All the while she keeps her stern timbre, and the result is a special sort of commanding tone used between them only in utmost privacy.

"It's been a long time, sir. I think we're both due for some... release, after all we've been through, wouldn't you say?"

She holds Roy's gaze as she speaks, watches him blink once, twice, several more times, a little slower each time. The start of a flush colors his features, and he works his throat, swallowing despite not consuming anything.

He's thinking about it. Definitely thinking about it. But all he says is, a little hoarsely, "...I suppose."

Still resistant? Well, the man did have a bad habit of denying himself his own desires in favor of overworking himself to the point of exhaustion, out of his own obsessive need to always be working towards his goals in some way, every day, little by little. Whether that be by actual work back at the office, or work on his carefully-maintained reputation via fake-dates with his sisters or deathly boring social gatherings like this one.

It's not the first time Riza's had to push and prod him into taking an actual break from his stresses and let himself loose, and it won't be the last - ironic, when everyone calls her the workaholic who can't relax.

Looks like she'll need to sweeten the pot for him - so, she brings out an old favorite of his.

"You know I hate this dress," she mutters, shifting uncomfortably within the confines of her cocktail dress, nothing more than a tight black tube of fabric suffocating her legs and torso as far as she was concerned. "Chafes me terribly. If it wasn't for parties like this, I'd have thrown it out already."

"Mm." Another noncommittal hum from Roy. He knows this very well.

"...But times are changing, after all," she continues. "Maybe I can get rid of it soon..."

She tilts her head and fixes him with a knowing look. "That is, unless you can find some use for it, Colonel."

Roy's eyes widen slightly, and the subtle color on his face deepens into a distinct blush.

Among the many secrets Riza keeps for him, one is Roy's occasional indulgence in wearing dresses and other feminine clothing. He grew up in a brothel after all, raised by a gaggle of women who enjoyed involving him in games of dress-up and fashion experiments. But at some point in his boyhood the activity grew from a silly game to a rather normal thing, supported and encouraged by his foster family, and he kept it as a private hobby well into his teenhood, when Riza first met him and learned of all this - this is far from the first time they've negotiated the exchange of each other's garments.

He'd kept it up even as far as his Academy days. But alas, when the mountain of military pressures wore him thin - eventually overwhelming him with the tragedy of the Ishvalan War - the activity was shoved into the dark recesses of his shame, and his favorite dresses gathered dust in his closet in much the same manner. Fortunately he could be convinced to try them on again with some encouragement - much like what Riza was doing now.

She quirks her head further, amused at Roy's quiet flustering. "Of course, it'd have to be adjusted for your size. You've said one of your sisters is a seamstress, correct?"

He swallows again, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Ah- Victoria is, yes."

"Good. If we leave now, I can have it dropped off at the Madame's place by morning, and she can have it ready for you by tomorrow night."

Roy forces a chuckle as his eyes jerk to his sides, as if wary of eavesdroppers. "Hah- You act like I've already agreed to this, Lieutenant."

She holds his gaze. "Well, do you?"

Roy opens and closes his mouth, but says nothing, just stares at her. He can't seem to decide on what to say, his eyes twitching this way and that as a hundred questions and counter-arguments seem to flicker behind the lenses of his eyes, his mind an indecisive projector. Finally, he shifts to stare down at his dress shoes, mouth and throat still working, but he tenses his jaw shut.

He needs something genuine. Riza edges closer, snakes the arm at his back around his waist, squeezes gently in more of a side-hug than a teasing grope. She drops both the eroticism and the sternness from her voice, this time aiming for something closer to how they spoke as teenagers, watching the clouds go by as they lay upon the Eastern hillsides of her birthplace.

"I know it's been a while, but- I think you'd look nice, Roy."

Roy relaxes visibly, deflating with a small sigh. He closes his eyes for a moment, no doubt savoring the reassurance, verbally and physically.

When he looks at her again, his confidence has returned, somewhat, in the form of a small, crooked smile.

"Well- I am curious to see if you're right."

---

By the next evening, they've have made good on their mutual promise and laid some exciting plans for tonight, to say the least - Roy for his planned outfit, Riza for... everything else. Neither of them have gone into too much detail, of course. Half of the fun was the pleasant surprise.

After finishing her setup - part of which involved dropping off Black Hayate with a trustworthy neighbor who petsits on the side - Riza received a nervous but eager phone call from Roy stating he's ready to go, so Riza has donned her best pantsuit and now drives through the darkened streets of Central to pick him up.

The suit's far better than the cocktail dress. She sits comfortably in her dark slacks, with a black collared suit jacket of fine material cinched beneath her sternum, revealing an elegant white button-down shirt that's topped with a long, pointed collar bending sharply away from her neck. She complements it with some makeup - enough to doll herself up a bit, but not excessively so - medium-heeled dress shoes, her usual silver double-earrings, and her blonde hair falling freely across her shoulders.

She busies her mind with total concentration on her driving, for now - the temptation is strong, but she mustn't distract herself with thoughts of fondness and excitement over tonight's coming activities. Soon enough, she comes upon the sprawling luxury apartment complex Roy lives in, large enough for each home to qualify as a townhouse more than anything else with their second floors and guest rooms. She settles into its parking lot, humming to herself as she exits her car and makes her way to his front door.

Riza raps on the door with her knuckles. There's a shifting somewhere beyond it, and then Roy's voice calls out distantly. "Come in - the door's unlocked!"

After briefly amusing herself with the idea of Roy being too dolled up to answer the door without spraining an ankle, she opens the door and slowly enters. She's greeted by the sight of Roy's parlor: Like the rest of his somewhat-sparse apartment, it only contains necessary furnishings, a few personal heirlooms and effects, and various books and folios for Alchemy and military research. Ever the extrovert, he spends most of his time at work, out on the town, or in the homes of friends and family - for many reasons, he dislikes being alone.

Roy's lithe form rises from a small couch in the middle of the room as Riza steps over the threshold and closes the door behind her. As she takes in the sight of him, eyes widening, he does a small twirl and rests a hand on his hip.

"So- how do I look?"

Riza stares. She could say that her former dress looks quite a bit different on Roy's person, but that would be a tragic understatement.

There's a new slit down the side for ease of movement, the straps have been cut and re-sewn to loop around his neck instead of his shoulders, and the back's been left permanently unzipped to allow room for his broad upper body. The result is the dress becoming a scandalous open-back halter top, leaving none of his arm and back muscles to the imagination and offering enticing peeks at one of his long legs through the slit. Whatever still covers him clings tightly to his body, maybe a half-size too small for him, but it accentuates every dip and curve to a maddening degree.

And on closer inspection, his exposed leg seems to be encased in a thin, dark sheer legging that rises halfway up his thigh and stops there, offering further excitement in flashes of cream-colored skin near his hip. And- is that a garter belt? Oh my.

It also appears Roy has decided to complete the look with some stylish shoes, an application of makeup, and glittering jewelry. The shoes are black pointed pumps, high-heeled and confirming Riza's suspicion about his ankles, but he seems to be keeping his balance well enough; Small clip-on earrings dangle from his un-pierced ear lobes, tiny red gems hanging from silver chains; His face is lightly powdered to soften his features, and his smoldering eyes have been made even more so by a layer of shimmering eyeshadow and coal-black mascara. Even his lips have been supplemented with a rich maroon-colored lipstick.

To top it all off, his dark hair appears freshly-washed and brushed smooth, not gelled and slicked back like his usual formal attire. His bangs sway above his eyes in a much more harmonious fashion than usual, neatly tucked behind his ears at their edges.

"Y- you look stunning, sir," Riza says, after finding her tongue again.

Roy's thickened eyelashes flutter towards the floor, his cheeks flushing bashfully again. "Thank you. But it's debatable whether I compare to your natural loveliness, Lieutenant."

"Well," Riza pauses to clear her throat, feeling very dry suddenly, "Ahem- I'd disagree there, sir. It's obvious you've gone through quite the effort."

Roy's eyes briefly roll toward the ceiling. "God, was it ever. It's been so long that I had to ask Chris and the girls to refresh my memory on how to do this again. I'm still amazed they were willing to help me so much on such short notice. Especially Victoria - damn miracle-worker, she is. Sailed through the sewing job like a ship's captain."

"It shows," Riza murmurs, not entirely listening. As he spoke, she's taken a few steps closer to further admire the details of Roy's person. Yup, there's definitely a garter belt under there, straps and all. Panties too, most likely...

...She realizes she's been staring too long when Roy clears his throat this time. "You seem, ah... eager, Lieutenant. Shall we get going?"

Riza tears her gaze away from Roy's hips to meet his eyes, where his bashfulness is starting to melt away into amusement as he studies her. She feels a bit like a stray dog caught drooling over glistening cuts of meat in a butcher's shop - probably looks like one too. But really, who could blame her, with such an enticing specimen before her?

She clears her throat again, and, remembering her manners, extends an arm to take Roy's hand.

"Ah- of course. It would be my pleasure, sir."

Roy tugs at the fabric around his hips to allow his legs freedom, and his form is even lovelier in motion as he steps forward (a little wobbly on the heels, but he's managing), and outstretches a hand toward Riza's.

But as she takes Roy's fingers in her own, a thought crosses her mind - rather, an important observation. Roy went through an awful lot of preparation to dress up for tonight, employing both his own skills and those of his foster family... Far more effort than for an actual public outing, where all he really does is clean himself up a bit and throw on a suit, some cologne, and an offensive amount of hair gel.

This is different - there's a sincerity to Roy's beauty here that makes it seem like its achievement was just as much for his own benefit as it was for Riza's. Maybe even more so... As if he's actually... perhaps...

"...Or should I call you 'madam' instead?" Riza asks suddenly, meeting his eyes.

Roy's movements towards her shudder to a stop, and his eyes nearly bug out from his sockets. He stares, frozen, for a moment long enough for Riza to fear that she's crossed a line that should not have been crossed right now.

But thankfully, in the next moment his eyelids flutter, once again downcast and bashful as his blush deepens further, now spreading down to his neck. He clears his throat and struggles to respond. "I- I, uh..."

Again he squirms with indecisiveness, but this time he's faster to settle on an answer. He shakes himself out of his stupor with a literal shake of his head and says finally, "Um- No. No, that won't be necessary, Lieutenant."

Riza resists the urge to sigh with relief, nodding graciously instead. "As you wish, sir."

She takes his hand - her hand, perhaps, if she decided not to take Roy's words at face value, as she usually does.

For a few years now, Riza's held the suspicion that some of Roy's private interests - like his preference for dresses - may be much more than simple hobbies for him. More like an integral part of a blooming identity, bursting to reveal itself as more than simply a man, but locked within his many insecurities and the social cage he's trapped himself within to achieve his goals. At this point, Riza is certain this must be true, at least to some degree.

Who knows, maybe Roy was even more than a woman, extending beyond the usual binary. She always did have a penchant for breaking boundaries - perhaps their heart was as wild and shapeless as a flame, flickering between genders as the mood struck them. It would only be appropriate.

Either way, Riza was ready and waiting to accept this part of Roy wholeheartedly - she couldn't call herself their dear friend and dutiful Lieutenant if she didn't. But she is also patient, so for now, she'll sit by and agree to their preferences like she always does - watching, waiting, until they are ready.

From what she can see now, it's still a difficult thing for Roy to express openly - it's plain as day in his face. His mouth is a thin line again, and his eyes dart about nervously as they leave his home, alert for random passersby. Personally, Riza was fairly certain that no one would recognize him as he is now, especially under the cover of night, but he's justified in being paranoid; if word got out that the handsome, swaggering bachelor known as Colonel Roy Mustang dressed in intensely feminine outfits and had distinctly unprofessional (and un-normative) nightly affairs with his First Lieutenant in his spare time, who knows what kind of scandal it'd start, especially in this tumultuous political climate?

Riza squeezes his hand for reassurance and picks up the pace as they walk down to her car. Luckily, there's no one in sight on this particular night, and the darkened streets are bare and quiet. Still, Roy only sighs with relief once he's seated comfortably in the passenger seat, the doors are closed and locked, and they are safely on their way back to Riza's abode. He breathes more and more easier as they watch familiar streets and buildings pass them by, even more so when Riza occasionally brushes the skin of his arm and exposed thigh with her non-driving hand.

His eyes sparkle with eagerness, and Riza has no doubt that hers look the same.

---

Riza's apartment is much humbler compared to Roy's, even a little cramped in places, but it's all the more cozy. As much as she spends most of her waking life at work, she still makes the most of her private time and space; affording herself all the necessities to live comfortably, but also enough luxuries to please her heart and make up for the lack of them in her childhood.

Despite the lingering evidence of Hayate's presence from a vague musk in the air and hairs on the furniture, she's made her apartment far more appealing as a social gathering place than a stark, stuffy hotel lobby. There's warm, low lighting via candles and oil lanterns (leaving most of the electric lights off), the air is sweetened with smoke from a stick of burning incense on her coffee table, and a radio in the corner scratches out pleasant, jazzy tunes.

The furnishings are equally warm, mostly wooden and in earthy colors to remind her of Eastern forests in the fall, and are kept clean and neatly arranged to allow close but still-comfortable proximities. One could call it downright homely, if not for a few things - like a set of garishly bright yellow window curtains, a glass case holding a collection of cheaply-imitated Xingese pottery, and her personal gun closet standing proudly along the wall of her parlor.

Many people call her odd for these things - Roy is one of the loudest. "You have the strangest tastes, I swear," he says for the umpteenth time as he crosses the threshold, taking it all in before shooting a cheeky grin at her. "You should really bring Edward around sometime, you have a lot in common."

Riza rolls her eyes and pokes him in retaliation. "I'll consider it, sir. Now sit down before you fall off those heels."

Roy puts out his decorated lips in an exaggerated pout. "Pardon me - I am the Flame Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang, thank you very much," he says haughtily. "And it'll take much more than a pair of shoes to bring me down. I've trained myself well, as you can see."

He turns and saunters away, demonstrating his barely-kept balance by swaying his hips from side to side as if he were walking down a catwalk instead of Riza's hallway. He'd at least get a round of applause for the effort, as he almost sends himself to the floor in his efforts to reach the small dining set that's just aside from the kitchenette. He doesn't bother to mask his relief at not losing his footing completely, smiling and giggling as he takes his seat. Riza can only laugh as well - it's so rare to see him like this, child-like and comfortable in his own skin.

Dinner is retrieved from a set of covered plates on the kitchen counter, a luxurious meal ordered from a restaurant that's famous for its fine dinners and delivery options. They discussed their preferred meals ahead of time, and knowing that Roy dislikes anything charred or flesh-like, Riza serves him a bowl of stir-fried noodles and vegetables on a bed of golden rice, which he enjoys heartily. Riza herself indulges in a perfectly-seared fìlet mignon with roasted asparagus on the side, all topped with a rich, earthy sauce. For drinks, they've cracked open two bottles of Riza's personal stash - more sparkling cider for her, red wine for Roy.

They talk about the finer points of cooking and recent news here and there, but mostly they pass the time enjoying the food and each other's company quietly. When they've finished, Riza leaves their dirty plates on the table to be cleaned later, at the moment much more concerned with joining Roy on the corner-couch surrounding her coffee table to sit and talk more comfortably while finishing the last of their drinks.

Roy is even more relaxed with good food and drink in him. He stretches lightly, then sinks into the corner-cushions with great contentment, a playful smile on his lips as he crosses his legs and twirls his wine glass in one hand. He resembles a large cat lounging upon its perch - so much so that Riza's half-surprised he isn't purring.

She takes her seat just across from him. "You seem awfully content for someone who didn't even eat their fill," she teases. "There was a good portion still left on your plate, and we never even touched the desserts."

Roy's eyes crinkle with amusement. "If I ate all of that in one sitting, I might not fit into this dress anymore. I'm taking a risk as it is."

That seems obvious enough, as Riza watches the dark fabric straining precariously around his bent legs and hips as he shifts in his seat, filling tautly around his now-slightly-wider middle. She licks at her teeth under her lips, savoring the lingering taste of meat there. Despite the food in her belly, her appetite is far from sated.

"It's a shame," she starts, balancing her cider in one hand and letting the other come to rest upon Roy's exposed knee, "How rarely you wear things like these, Colonel. If it were my decision, I'd hate to keep this kind of beauty behind closed doors."

Roy tenses for the briefest moment at the contact, but doesn't move or uncross his legs - a good sign. He smirks at her over his wine glass. "I hope you're not implying that I should dress like this at whatever political gathering we're dragged to next, Lieutenant."

"Well... I think it's a possibility," Riza says. "Perhaps someday, in the future."

Roy sips his wine, not looking at her anymore. "Hm. The distant future," he says, his voice hollow within the glass.

Riza studies him, a bit crestfallen - alas, she can only prod him so much. For now, maybe a more humorous slant is needed.

"I suppose. It would give everyone a terrible shock... good for a laugh, at least."

Roy snorts softly. "God- I can certainly imagine it. Grumman would flip his lid completely if he saw me like this."

Riza snickers. "I don't think he'd even recognize you. Probably try to flirt with you again."

Roy exaggerates a disgusted groan. "I've had quite enough of that from him. For a lifetime, I think."

"No need to worry, sir. I wouldn't let him near you." Riza allows her voice to dip into enticing commands again, and she makes her intentions clear with her thumb rubbing small circles into Roy's legging-encased knee.

His smile becomes knowing. "Defending me from your own family now, Lieutenant?"

Riza shrugs. "We were never close anyway. And it's my job, after all."

"I think we both know that your dedication extends far beyond your sense of duty by now."

Roy sells the tease with a small, sly wink in her direction, ever the charmer. Even Riza isn't immune to his wiles, but she is better at being less obvious about it. Like now, as she resists the urge to giggle and lets it out as a small sigh instead, setting her drink on the coffee table and spreading her hands.

"Guilty as charged. But really, can you blame me?"

She shifts forward to let her hands come to rest upon Roy's legs again, this time squarely on his thighs, especially the exposed one, letting her fingers rub more and deeper circles into his skin.

"You are a... unique sort of individual, after all. One of a kind, even. A very precious commodity."

Roy lids his eyes, watching her movements. "You flatter me, Lieutenant."

"I only tell the truth, sir."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Except the times when you don't."

"Only when it's necessary."

"Like?"

She recalls the first thing that comes to mind. "Like when a pea-brained homonculus thinks they can fool me with an imitation of you."

Roy's eyes squint slightly, unfocusing. There's laughter there, but also something cold and unpleasant.

"Of course," he murmurs. "You've told me of that battle, before I... intervened." He's picking his words as carefully as he picks around the sharp, painful edges of the memory, and all its associations.

Riza regrets bringing it up. She got too caught up in the bantering - it was the most recent and harrowing situation she could think of in which she lied to survive, but still...

She shifts closer, sliding her hands up and along Roy's hips, settling one in the dip of his waist and the other beneath the lip of his dress slit, right into the warmth of his thigh-skin and centimeters away from his ass. The distraction works - Roy refocuses his attention on her again, drawing in a sharp breath and arcing his back forward ever-so-slightly in response to the touch, pushing his chest against the taught fabric of his dress.

"Anyway," Riza murmurs, keeping up the distraction with massaging fingers and the return of her dominant tone, "I'm only being honest. As much as I am your Lieutenant, you are my Colonel. In other words... you are mine."

Roy breathes out, sighing wistfully. "I am?"

"Always."

He lids his eyes and whispers, "Show me, then."

"Gladly."

Riza leans in further, snakes her arms further up and around him as she crosses the distance between them, and catches Roy's lips in her own.

And oh, to taste him again - she missed it so. There's the briefest tinge of unpleasantness from the chalkiness of his lipstick, but it's easily miss-able among the dozens of others flavors that color his mouth and tongue. There's bits of his dinner, bits of the wine, hints of mint and cologne from leftover toothpaste and mouth spray. But mostly it's the warm, sumptuous flavor of his mouth against hers, and Riza eats it up more hungrily than the richest steak money could buy.

Her hands are just as gluttonous. Her light massaging turns into a deep groping at Roy's waist and thigh, the waist-hand circling around to his back to wrap around and draw him in as they shift their bodies closer. The thigh-hand savors the softness of him there, working steadily forward and up until her fingers are slipping under the lacey edge of his underwear and stroking the flesh of his soft, plush ass.

Roy's body was a bit softer than one would assume - a consequence of his drinking tendencies and incorrigible sweet tooth. On top of the occasional temptations of various pastries and desserts, he always has his morning coffee with cream and three lumps of sugar, and takes his evenings' alcohol as fruity gin and sweet vodkas. Despite a daily exercise regimen that he's (mostly) faithful to, he still spends most of the workday sitting at a desk, so the sugars haunt him in the form of a significant layer of fat on his lower stomach, hips and thighs.

Not that Riza was complaining, mind you. Quite the opposite - the extra flesh gives her more of him to savor, and Roy himself enjoys the extra attention, as he always does.

He hums with deep-throated pleasure against her as they keep kissing, shifting and grinding closer and closer. At some point he had the presence of mind to set down his wine on the coffee table and his now-free hands grope Riza in kind, grasping at her waist and lower back through her suit jacket and undershirt (avoiding the area across her shoulders, where she dislikes being touched for obvious reasons).

She allows this for now, caught up in the heat and excitement - they've both tipped their hands before even reaching the bedroom, but again, it's been a while and they've been very stressed lately. So Riza can't blame herself too much when their love-making becomes so feverish that her ass-groping hand pushes a few centimeters too far in its ministrations, and by the time she realizes she's crimping and tearing Roy's dress slit further open, it's too late.

There's a small sh-rrrip! down at Roy's side, and they both freeze momentarily. Riza pulls away and, looking down, sees that her wrist and forearm had tested the limits of what little space was left between the dress and Roy's hip - the small seam that his sister probably took great pains to cut, pull apart, then re-sew, has now been torn and frayed at its corner, its tiny threads stretching and breaking apart around the now-larger area of Roy's exposed thigh.

Riza withdraws her hand, mildly flushed with shame. "Oh- I'm sorry, sir. And after all the trouble you went through..."

Roy, slightly disheveled between his mussed hair, blushing face and smeared lipstick, studies the damage with more bewilderment than anything else - then chuckles with amusement as he meets her eyes.

"It's alright, Lieutenant. No great loss. It was a quick and dirty sewing job anyway, can't be too surprised."

Riza's fears are eased, but only so much. "At least extend my apologies to Victoria; it's her work, after all."

"A work she full-well knew the purpose of," Roy says, his eyes sparkling with something between lust and mischief. "Trust me, apologies aren't needed."

Riza catches her breath. He predicted this? Cheeky devil...

And sure enough, Roy's smile becomes predatory. "Besides, all of this..." he gestures across himself, especially around his greater expanse of exposed skin, "...Always belonged to you first, Lieutenant. It's only appropriate that the owner of a great gift should tear off its wrapping."

For a rare moment, Riza fears she could actually lose her composure for once - she comes very close to deciding to fulfill that proposition with feverish hands and teeth, right here, right now, abandoning all plans and further foreplay. She barely stops herself - and it must show in her face, as Roy's smirk becomes downright devilish as he watches her. Damn him and his wiles.

"You-"

Riza decides not to finish that thought, not quite trusting herself at the moment. Instead she tugs him back in, silencing his much-too-smart mouth with another kiss.

She swallows whatever retort Roy planned on making with ravenous teeth and tongue, supplanting small moans of needs into his throat, even hungrier than before. Her grasping arms and hands all but claw at his exposed back and shoulders, snaking down his backside from the tactically-safer direction of his dress's open back. Her fingers dive down the slope of his spine into the soft landing of his ass again, now with a bit more freedom and easier access.

Roy takes it all in stride, groaning low and deep in his throat and squirming against her ministrations. His skin is flushes with heat and moistens with sweat everywhere that she touches, and his dress's tiny creaks of protest increase in frequency as he shifts, no doubt feeling an increasing need to have it off.

And, to none of Riza's surprise, she feels one of her roving hands brush over a distinct bulge now forming in the front-side of his groin.

The touch draws a needy moan from Roy, and the moment of blind lust ebbs away enough for Riza to reclaim a bit of clarity - she should more seriously consider slowing her advances, now. At this rate Roy will come undone long before she can show what she has in store for him - and make him fall apart in ways she prefers.

She draws away to catch her breath, but doesn't quite relinquish their closeness, hugging his waist and resting her sweating brow against his. Roy is only more lovely in his further-disheveled state - sweat and saliva mix with makeup and strands of hair, sticking and dripping against his features, and at this distance she can see his dark eyes practically sparkling with inner light.

She presses feather-light kisses against the warm skin of his cheek. "Oh, the things I could do to you, Roy," she murmurs against him.

Roy closes his eyes, hums with expectancy. "Tell me, Riza."

"Ah- words escape me," she whispers, slightly breathless. "But I promise, it'll be a night to remember."

Roy hums again, gently nuzzling against the side of her head and pecking at her ear. Riza savors the more-tender contact as they cool off, breaths deepening and heartbeats slowing. But her loins still prickle with need, and there is no doubt that Roy feels similarly.

A few moments more of small, tender touches and she's had her fill. Eager to make good on her plans, Riza shifts away to stand up from the couch, begrudgingly releasing her hold on Roy save for a lingering hand that catches his own and gently tugs his arm up with her.

She bends down to press her lips to his knuckles, meeting his eyes.

"Shall we get started, sir?"

Roy smiles serenely as he rises to his feet. "Finally- for a moment I thought you'd never ask."

---

NSFW warnings: Dom/Sub roleplay, mild humiliation, whipping, spanking, pegging, dirty talk, more gender/pronoun stuff

---

Minutes later, Riza is in her bedroom, relinquishing herself of her clothes and jewelry as she waits for Roy to finish freshening up in the nearby bathroom.

Having hung and folded away her pantsuit in her dresser, she bends further to the bottom-most drawer to tug it open - there, under a discreet layer of towels, is a small menagerie of sex toys and harnesses, freshly cleaned and sanitized, ready for use.

She hums to herself as she retrieves a few in particular for her plans tonight, setting them upon her bedcovers and fiddling with the last of their straps and buckles. She smiles as she hears the soft sounds of rushing water from the bathroom, thinking of Roy, herself, all that has come to these moments.

Over the years, Riza has found that her desire for control applied equally to bedroom activities. As she explored the extent of her own adulthood, she's spent some time here and there quietly scoping out various sex shops in her spare time, especially since their transfer to Central. It didn't take long before she found herself drawn to the BDSM scene - it held inherent power dynamics, gratifying roleplay, and cathartic exploration of feelings and desires in a safe, regulated space, all in a multitude of forms of methods according to one's personal preferences... Simply put, it was right up her alley.

She was private about it, like she is about most things in her life, and fairly sparse. The most she's spent on are a few lingerie items, a phallus or three, and a whipping apparatus. Recently she's added an especially... interesting new purchase to her repertoire, which she's excited to try for the first time tonight - as she finishes the last of its preparations, she sets this particular toy just under the edge of the bed, to retrieve later as a delightful surprise for her partner.

Roy is far from the only one Riza's had - she's had several conquests under her belt (usually quite literally), but there is no doubt that Roy is one of her most favored, and also her latest and most proud achievement; only recently has she finally got him to not only re-embrace his dressing tendencies, but also his enthusiastically submissive sexual preferences. In layman's terms, he is very much a bottom - and like most aspects of his character, this is usually cleverly hidden beneath his surface. But like any buried treasure, it was both delightful and delightfully rewarding to uncover.

It's taken a few years for them to reach this level of comfort with each other - even longer to discover and accept these qualities about themselves.

Those early years were terribly awkward - mostly just terrible. They were still reeling from the slaughter they'd been forced to carry out in Ishval, desperately laying the groundwork for the rash, idealistic plan Roy formed in response, and generally just trying to come to grips with the frightening adulthood they'd been thrust into after their idyllic childhood dreams had been shattered. Sex and romance were far from their minds for a long time - they simply did their best to maintain even a shadow of their former friendship within their new dynamic, remolded into something cold and formal, haunted by specters of death from both the past and the future.

But eventually, Riza's empty heart yearned for sustenance in silent, suffering cries, and Roy drowned his own in so much booze and loose women he was practically dizzy with misery. It figures it would take a team of cheeky subordinates and Hughes' prodding to get them to even acknowledge the tension between them.

Ah, Maes... she misses him so much.

He made this whole "relationship" thing look so easy. Of course, that was all part of the trick - he and Gracia were frighteningly good at hiding their uglier qualities . But just as much, they made it clear how much work a stable, life-long relationship took to stay that way. She learned a lot in her conversations with them.

Such as, how to be unafraid to take the lead in a bedroom situation in which one's doof of a partner keeps trying to top you when it's clear his heart's not into it, but he's fooled himself into believing otherwise. Then how to embrace one's power as you lay upon him, riding him until he's a trembling, starry-eyed mess underneath you, and you can feel a whole world of possibilities opening up between you.

After that, it's mostly a matter of communication - "Just keep talking," Maes always said. Which they did, and still do.

But with all their progress, there is still the lingering question of whether this "relationship" of theirs was truly romantic or not. Riza and Roy were definitely more than friends by now, and their mutual devotion to each other was unshakable - and yet, neither of them have felt a great need to commit to the other wholly and completely, no matter what the circulating rumors would imply.

...And besides, the very last thing either of them want is to be tied to each other that way, considering their troubled pasts and already-stifling professional lives - and Roy knows better than to impose such a thing on her.

So, you could call them lovers, sure - but there was still nothing entirely traditional about their coupling. Perhaps it's only fair - they'd always had a penchant for quietly rebelling against tradition.

Speaking of, a lovely image of rebellion finally enters the room and makes himself known with a small cough.

Riza turns to see Roy standing at her bedroom's entrance, freshened up, comfortable, and ready to be at her mercy. He's washed his face clean of makeup, and removed his earrings and high-heeled shoes (his stance is more relaxed now that he isn't balancing precariously on them), but otherwise, he remains fully dressed.

Riza cocks an eyebrow as she looks him up and down - she herself still wears her button-down shirt to cover her back and shoulders (again, for obvious reasons), but leaves its front wide open, revealing her to be wearing nothing else besides her underwear. Her bra is dark and lacy, modest enough to cover half of her breasts, but only that much, leaving a healthy amount of cleavage showing. Her panties appear average, but closer inspection shows them to be of thin, lacy material that leaves little to the imagination in terms of her curves.

It suits her - Riza may appear modest at a surface level, but she is still very much a woman with wants and needs. And now, she acts upon those needs.

She retrieves the first toy of choice from the bed - a long, thin riding crop, made for use on humans instead of animals. Its tip is of a softened leather, nothing that will draw blood or severe welting, but will certainly bring sharp, painful pleasure with enough speed and force. Riza prefers this over a paddle, as she enjoys the long, precise strikes she can create with it. This, and its natural connection to Roy's surname, made it too amusingly appropriate to pass up.

Roy, also aware of this, smiles with amusement as Riza approaches him with the crop in hand, swishing it lightly.

"Finally ready, are you?" Riza teases, easing into her dominant tone as she eases them into their roleplay for the night. "You know I don't like waiting too long."

"My apologies, Lieutenant," Roy replies. "I only wanted to be... properly ready for your enjoyment." His voice and expression is demure, but still holds the ever-present air of cockiness that Riza is always eager to challenge - and eventually break.

She makes this intention clear as she circles him, crop in-hand, touching lightly along his curves with her other hand and drinking him in with her eyes, as if he were a sacrificial maiden brought to the mouth of her cave. She finds herself pinching at the fabric of his dress where the slightly-torn slit is.

She meets his eyes. "Still want me to tear it off?"

Roy flutters his lashes, still smiling. "If it pleases you, Lieutenant."

Riza clicks her tongue, feigning disapproval. "Shameless. You're practically begging for it."

"Not quite, but I am very eager."

Riza shakes her head, chuckling. "Of course you are."

But she begins to think of this more seriously, studying Roy's face, and she can't tell if he's suggesting this out of wine-fueled lust or otherwise. Perhaps he's eager to be rid of the dress so he doesn't end up banishing it to the back of his closet after tonight, like he's done to so many other garments - left to gather dust for months on end when he falls into another depressive spell.

Either way, Riza ultimately decides against it.

"It is tempting... but it'd be such a shame, don't you think? Your sister worked hard to finish it in time, and you do look so lovely in it. I think there's still some... uses to be had." She lets her words drip like honey, watching Roy's smile widen ever-so-slightly as he hears them.

Roy purses his lips and nods. "True enough."

Then Riza draws closer, slipping her hand fully into his hip, feeling the skin of his ass and the lacy edges of his underwear, growling softly. "And don't worry - I'll have you begging yet."

Roy trembles deliciously at the touch, and she doesn't miss the suppression of a moan in his throat.

And so their play begins in earnest - Riza leading with possessive touches, stern commands and flicks of her riding crop, while Roy submits to her with expectant looks and quiet responses, only speaking to answer her.

"Now- I want you to be still, and quiet. You are not just my Colonel, you are my toy - a lovely, pretty toy, to do with as I please. Toys don't move or talk back. And they are not allowed to touch me until I say so. Understand?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"No matter how close... or how tempting..." She draws even closer to Roy's front, snaking her arms about his waist and pressing her body flush against his. "You... will not move."

She savors the feel of his body against hers, her breasts pressing against the quickening breaths of his chest, his bulge twitching slightly near her hips. She traces the curves of his backside with her hands as she dips her head into the crook of his neck to breathe in his scent.

"Yes," Roy whispers, strained and breathless. His arms tense at his sides, and the rest of him trembles, no doubt fighting every urge inside him to reciprocate her touch. With her body exposed and in such close proximity, it would be very, very easy.

But, he does not move. After drinking her fill, Riza draws away and smiles up at him, smug. "Impressive," she purrs. "Who would guess that the great Colonel Mustang was so good at following orders?"

Roy relaxes, catching his breath for a moment. "Only when they're from you, Lieutenant," he says softly, fluttering his lidded eyes again. Even without most of his makeup, he is still beautiful - soft cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, full lips and dark hair - and with the light in his eyes and rosy redness dusting his cheeks, he seems so soft, so demure, so... feminine.

Hmm... Perhaps this is another opportunity to prod his insecurities into a more confident light.

"Aw- so sweet. So eager," Riza purrs, rubbing circles into Roy's hips with her thumbs. She watches his face as he savors the sensation, squirming against her touch, barely suppressing small moans and a tiny smile.

She makes her move. "You're such a good girl."

Roy's eyes widen at the words, and his blush darkens - but he says nothing, and doesn't show any obvious signs of protest or discomfort. Actually, Riza can almost hear a small sigh escaping him... Perhaps she was correct after all in referring to Roy as a woman earlier.

The opposite could still be true, of course. Maybe he was just in the mood for being feminized tonight - he did have a thing for humiliation - but if that were true, he wouldn't have spent so much effort in dressing up for the occasion, would have settled for a slapdash mockery of an outfit for the full 'sissy-ing' effect. That and he would have called the 'madam' gesture earlier unwanted, not unnecessary. So Riza feels confident in her first assumption.

But, just to make sure... Riza draws close again, not to tease, but to whisper in his ear. "You don't protest this, do you, madam?"

Roy's breath hitches, throat swallowing. "I- Erm. N- not if it pleases you, Lieutenant."

Riza's hands travel up his backside again, this time to rub comforting circles into his back. "It's not all for my pleasure - it's for yours as well, you know this."

"Mmm." Roy hums nervously, dips his head with a nod to confirm. Whether it's for the feminine pronouns isn't entirely clear, though - poor thing, perhaps his head won't let him get the words out.

Riza sighs lightly, kissing small apologies into his neck and collar bones. "You know our safe words," she murmurs in her normal tone. "Tell me when it's too much."

"Mhm." Roy grunts to confirm again, but this time he sounds more sure of himself - herself, rather. Riza decides she will address Roy as such, if only for tonight, and until she says otherwise. She will be regarded as any other female lover - she is beautiful, after all.

"Good," Riza says aloud, picking up her dominant tone again. "Because you are lovely, madam- ravishing, even."

She continues pressing her lips along Roy's neck and shoulder, tracing the line of the halter-style straps that travel up and to the back of his neck. She catches some of it in her teeth, lifts her hands to the knot holding them together, and in one swift motion, unties the top of Roy's dress so that it falls away around her waist, fully exposing her chest.

Riza is mildly disappointed, but not entirely surprised, to see Roy was not sporting a bra underneath. Ah well.

Instead Roy startles, flushing further, and her arms jerk upward and inward as if ready to cover herself - no doubt ashamed of how unflatteringly not-feminine her body is. Riza stops this with gentle hands on Roy's wrists, maintaining eye contact.

"Like I said - you are one of a kind, completely unique, madam," Riza says. "Always have been. Frankly, I feel honored to have someone so precious in my company tonight."

Roy relaxes at this, eyes softening with warmth and appreciation. And Riza smiles - but just to prove her point, she moves her hands to Roy's breasts, tracing her curves, and teases at her nipples. She pinches one between two fingers, drawing a small groan from her.

Riza watches Roy's face, savoring the way she squirms under her slightest of touches - and then dips, bringing her lips to Roy's captive nipple, catching it in her teeth, lightly licking and nibbling. This brings out more and louder groans from Roy, chest starting to heave from her breathing - and yet she is as still as she can be, still keeping her arms lowered and making no moves to reciprocate the touch.

But Riza only pushes her further - she continues her ministrations as her free hand reaches down and around to the front of Roy's hips, to the small bulge in the fabric between her legs. She grasps at it, feeling the warm, twitching head of a cock, and Roy gasps softly.

"Gorgeous," Riza whispers into Roy's skin, relinquishing her nipple. "So beautiful. How jealous our squadron would be of me, having our lovely Miss Colonel all to myself."

She moves her lips to Roy's other breast, and continues her worship of her partner's chest with her mouth, and of her cock with her fingers, gently stroking Roy through the layers of fabric. All the while, Roy is a twitching, sighing, moaning little mess.

Riza chuckles, and whispers into Roy's other breast as well. "One day, they'll see you in all your glory. They'll understand just how lucky I am. Maybe the whole country will, someday..."

At this, Roy tenses slightly, her moans and squirms subsiding. A pallor seems to fall over her, and she chuckles darkly under her breath. "Hah- That'll never happen..."

Riza stops her movements, relinquishing her hold and drawing away. Giving Roy a glowering look, she raises her riding crop and strikes at Roy's thighs, drawing a small cry from her.

"I said no talking," Riza tuts. "Especially so negatively. Bad girl."

Roy grunts in response, lowering her eyes and head in shame, submission - but it isn't clear whether the punishment was entirely welcome.

Riza reaches up to cup Roy's chin, gently lifting her head and forcing her to lock eyes - a common tactic she uses to assess her partner's state of being without breaking character. It's also handy in her play with Roy, as a way to make her feel smaller, despite how she physically dwarfs Riza by a significant amount.

Right now, gazing into Roy's dark eyes, she sees them to be twitching and slightly reddened with moisture - signs of an inner pain, a great sadness. Something between her words and touches may have brought about another wave of dysphoria in Roy - well, time to remedy that.

"I said you are beautiful," Riza says sternly, never breaking eye contact. "And I am in control right now, so what I say, goes. Understand?"

Roy lowers her eyes for a moment, wetting her lips nervously. Riza brandishes her crop again, now to tap it upon Roy's hip - like a race horse, it is not to harm, but to let her know it is there.

"You are a beautiful, smart, powerful young woman," Riza commands. "And I won't hear otherwise, or you'll get punished again. Do you understand?"

Roy shivers, caught between Riza's hold and her crop, and it would not be unexpected for her to bring out a safe word now - but she instead she relaxes, and meets Riza's eyes again. The gloom that seemed to take hold of her is ebbing away, replaced with that familiar light of confidence that Roy wears so well. Her breathing evens out, and she gives a small nod.

Riza smiles. "Good girl. You were doing well beforehand - I think you're due for a reward."

She releases her hold on Roy's chin and lowers the riding crop, allowing Roy a moment to relax. She deposits the crop back on the bed, leaving her hands free to take Roy by the waist. Another sigh escapes Roy as Riza holds her, then leans forward to kiss at her breasts again. "Come now, I have just the thing."

Then Riza gently pulls her towards the bed, leading her by the waist, almost like a dance - one in which her partner is carefully undressed as they glide across the floor. By the time Roy has been spun about and settled into a sitting position on the bed, her dress has been pulled down to gather around her knees, then her ankles, and then the smooth fabric has pooled onto the floor.

And just as she's been looking forward to all night, Riza sees the full extent of the dark, lacy leggings and garters Roy was wearing underneath, complementing her long, slender legs, complete with a pair of panties that can hardly contain her erect cock by now. She looks positively scrumptious.

Riza casts long, hungry looks across her form. Her hands drink in the sensation of Roy's legs encased in the thin, silky material as they travel down from her knees, then up from her ankles, settling above her thighs where her bare skin peeks out.

Riza hooks a finger around one of the garter-straps holding up the leggings as she locks eyes with Roy again. "My, my- You've certainly dressed yourself up for tonight," she purrs.

Roy flutters her lashes again, and lets her voice heighten in pitch and soften in tone to lean more into her femininity: "Well, of course- a proper toy should look nice for her master, after all."

Riza grins, equally excited from Roy's tease and embracing of her gender. But, needing to keep up the play, she lets her smile turn wolfish. "You're so eager to please - too eager."

Her finger holding the garter-strap pulls away, stretching the material, then lets go, making it snap against Roy's thigh-skin. Roy bristles at the sensation and lets out a startled cry that's clearly exaggerated, then bites at her lower lip, whimpering softly. Ever the actor, she sells it extravagantly well.

Riza stifles a giggle as she rises to her feet. "You naughty little thing - you'll get your just desserts, but I suppose I'll give you your reward first. Lay down on your stomach."

Roy obeys, flashing a coy smile as she lowers herself onto the bed and rolls over, leaving her backside facing up. She folds her arms under the pillow and rests her head above them, arcing her back in such a way to show off as much of her round ass as possible in her new position.

Riza doesn't bother to stifle another laugh as she watches Roy, walking around the bed at the same time toward her nightstand. From it she retrieves a small, sweet-smelling bottle, and pours an oily substance from it into her hands, smelling even stronger. She rubs it between her palms as she joins Roy on the bed, sitting beside the other's hips.

"Since you've been so stressed lately, I'll give you a little massage - then you'll be nice and relaxed for what I have next."

Roy hums in response, rising into a small moan at Riza begins working her oil-encased hands into her shoulders. She works her way down, rubbing out the remaining knots of tension in Roy's muscles, all along her spine until she's reached her hips. She pinches at the beginnings of a larger person's love handles peeking out above Roy's pelvis, and when she looks up again, she sees that Roy has sunk so deeply into her pillow she looks almost half-asleep. Which won't do at all - Riza quietly unhooks Roy's garters, pushes down the hem of her leggings, widens the leg-holes of her panties, then takes a firm hold of Roy's asscheeks with both hands.

Roy startles back into awareness, moaning and twitching her hips as Riza kneads her asscheeks vigorously, clearly not for any clinical reason - merely to revel in the smooth, soft roundness of them, so much like perfect little balls of dough.

"Mmm," Riza hums, "You naughty thing - I keep telling you to lay off the sugar, and yet here you are, with your chubby little ass."

She eases up on her ministrations a little, giving Roy a chance to catch her breath and respond. She turns her head on the pillow to not-quite look back at her. "You know I can't help my tastes, Lieutenant - I simply won't settle for less."

"'Settle,' hm? Getting uppity, arent' we?" Riza growls. "Time to put you back in your place, then." And she demonstrates by drawing back, lifting an arm, and striking Roy's exposed ass with an open-handed slap. The little dough-balls jiggle deliciously with the force, and Roy cries out in both surprise and arousal, tensing and arcing her back.

"Oh, do you not like that? Too bad," Riza tuts, and spanks her again, then again for good measure, drawing a similar response each time - a jolt that sends Roy's body writhing, and a thrill of excitement through Riza's being.

"I've been nice to you so far, but you're far overdue for some punishment," Riza says, standing off from the bed and wiping off her oily hands on a nearby hand-towel. She retrieves her riding crop and stands by Roy's bedside, towering over her prone form.

"Oh no- please don't," Roy whimpers, exaggerating it as usual, as she can barely hide the excited smile that plays at the edges of her lips. Riza doesn't doubt that her own face looks the same. This kind of roleplay has been a favorite of theirs for several years, though tonight's exploration of Roy's gender has put an exciting new twist on it. Either way, Roy's protests are only a part of the play - never take her at her word, after all. If she really wanted to stop, she'd use their safe words.

Riza smiles devilishly. "You've been a very bad girl." And with one hand bracing against the small of Roy's back, she lifts her riding crop and begins whipping it vigorously against Roy's ass.

Whack! Whack! "You've been hanging around far too many other girls - you're just like them now. A proper slut, aren't you?" Riza's dirty-talk is as relentless as her blows. She relishes this role - it's ideal for satisfying her needs and venting her frustrations, considering the hardships she has endured, and will only continue to.

Whack! Whack! "And you love this, don't you? I can see you getting harder down there. Simply shameless." Roy's ass turns pink, then bright red in color as the blows continue, and her cries only grow in pitch and frequency. Soon she's making muffled groans into her pillow, face fully buried into it.

Whack! Whack! "Just look at you - your big round ass out in the open. Just imagine if the others saw you like this - the whole team coming in one morning and seeing you bent over your desk."

Whack! Whack! "Even better - imagine we're at another one of those parties, your slutty ass on full display for everyone to see."

Roy bucks her hips, hissing through her teeth. "No, please," she says, "Ah- anything but that-"

WHACK! An especially hard blow. "Quiet! You know you'd love it, you little whore. You're imagining it right now. All those guests, all those Generals, everyone looking at you so hungrily."

Roy dips her head back into her pillow again, stifling a loud groan.

Whack-whack! "Your reputation ruined in an instant - instead everyone knows Roy Mustang as the biggest whore in Amestris, putting out for anyone to get what she wants. Instead of the top you're going straight to the bottom, under every cock they plow into you. But don't worry- I won't let them touch you, not one of them. Not until I've had my fun first."

Another strike, and then a few more, and now Roy was just writhing against the bed, clutching her pillow like a lifeline, ass cheeks resembling a pair of ripe tomatoes, her cock wetting her panties with precum. From what Riza can see, her eyes are squeezed tightly closed and leaking a few tears - she was reaching her limit.

Riza gives her one last whack for finality, but without the usual force, more of a love-tap than anything else. "There- have you learned your lesson, little lady?"

She pauses to allow Roy to recover - and herself as well, letting her arm rest and her adrenaline and arousal to subside. The silence sinks in for a few moments.

Roy pants, breathing herself back into coherence. When she can speak clearly, her voice is watery. "N-no... Please, Lieutenant, give me more. I've been so bad- the worst..."

Riza chuckles, but she's slightly concerned - normally Roy would play along and say she's had enough. "Aw- but your poor little bottom looks so sore," she says, petting at Roy's bright red backside.

"I need it," Roy murmurs into her pillow. "I- I deserve it." Her voice is quiet, near-whispering, and edging dangerously close to a sob. Ah- she's dipped back into her self-loathing, poor thing. Maybe the roleplay went too far again...

Riza changes her petting to a soothing rub, and her tone to something softer. "Easy, now- I say whether you've had enough. I'm in charge, remember?"

She rubs at Roy's backside, gently, massaging away the tension that's recollected there - soon Roy is relaxing again, and she hums in response. "Mm..."

"Tell you what," Riza continues, "Be a good girl and hang in there just a little bit longer, and I'll give you what you really deserve."

Roy seems to perk up a little at this, shifting her head to glance behind her. As she does, Riza retrieves another bottle from her nightstand - from it, she pours a cool, slick liquid onto her hands, and she rubs her palms together to warm it with her body heat.

She notices Roy's eyes brightening across the bed, and Riza grins. "That's right - time to make you nice and loose. Spread your legs for me."

Roy obeys, even more enthusiastically than Riza predicted - she not only spreads her legs, she shimmies them to and fro as she hooks into her panties and leggings with her thumbs and shrugs them down, pushing them down to her knees and exposing herself fully.

"Oh ho," Riza chuckles as she approaches Roy again. "Trying hard to be a good girl again, aren't you?"

"Only for you, Lieutenant," Roy responds, in a voice that's somewhere between a sweet little housewife and an amateur prostitute, maybe both at once.

Riza can only laugh. "You're adorable," she says, dipping into sincerity for a moment. This colors Roy's cheeks with another embarrassed blush.

She reddens further as Riza gently spreads her ass with her hands, giving easy access to her hole. "Now, don't come yet," she warns. "Only when I say you can, or you won't get your reward."

"Yes," Roy breathes.

And Riza enters her, carefully, with a lubed finger - she stops as Roy hisses and tenses, waits for her to adjust. Once she feels the muscles relax and Roy gives a signal, Riza pushes in further, and repeats the process until she can fit a second finger inside.

Roy makes all sorts of noises and movements in her efforts to not come - she even arcs her back and lifts her hips so that her dribbling cock hangs limply in the air between her thighs, denying herself any physical contact.

Luckily it doesn't take very long until she's ready - there's hardly any resistance once Riza pulls out her fingers. She pats Roy's ass affectionately. "What a good girl... Stay right there."

And now Riza finally pulls out what she's been waiting all night to use - her latest and most prized toy so far, a strap-on harness and dildo she'd hidden just under the edge of her bed. She steps into it and begins clipping it on, stifling another excited giggle. "Now, turn around."

Roy rolls onto her back in time to see Riza tightening the strap-on and giving an experimental tug on the dildo - when they lock eyes, the roleplay breaks down for a few moments as they flash each other giddy, excited grins.

This is slightly new territory for both of them - in the past, Riza would usually pump a dildo in and out of Roy by hand, sometimes plugging it in while stroking her off to finish. The mechanics aren't so different here, but the manner of applying them definitely is, and they're both equally excited for it.

Riza is quick to clear her throat and get back to business. "Ahem- that's right, I'm going to fuck you just like you want, you little whore."

Roy's eyes grow to saucer-width, practically sparkling, and she nods enthusiastically. Riza applies a layer of lube to the dildo, then steps forward, smiling as she watches Roy scoot herself closer to the foot of the bed. She dutifully lifts her knees, allowing Riza to take hold of them and pull her panties and leggings off of her legs completely, leaving her completely naked and oh-so vulnerable.

Riza lifts Roy's knees to rest on her shoulders, grasps her thighs, and carefully guides the tip of the dildo toward Roy's entrance - all the while brimming with excitement and arousal at this new position. She pushes the dildo inside with one hand, uses the other to brace Roy's thigh, all the while glancing between it and Roy's face to make sure she isn't hurting her. She pauses when she notices Roy wincing, continues when Roy nods to urge her on, and soon enough, half of the dildo is securely inside. Then, with a hand still covered in leftover lube, she finally takes hold of Roy's cock, hot and tremulous in her grip.

Roy was moaning loudly at this point, more from pleasure than pain, squirming around the dildo with a need for more friction. Riza takes ones last opportunity to tease her. "Yes - you love it, you slut. You can come now, but you wouldn't have much choice in the matter with such a big cock in your ass."

"Oh, please," Roy whimpers.

Riza smiles. "Told you I'd make you beg."

And slowly, Riza begins bucking her hips, working the phallus deeper and deeper until she's buried it to the hilt inside her partner. Then she carefully pulls out, gives a moment for them both to breathe, then works it back in again, and in this way she slowly and carefully fucks Roy at an easy rhythm as they acclimate to the toy. All the while she strokes at Roy's cock lightly, and just as slowly.

And Roy just writhes against her, twitching and moaning with an open, lolling mouth, her sounds lilting back and forth in time with their movements. She does her best to keep pace with Riza's movements in the grind of her hips, even as she aches for more, occasionally bucking against her in silent pleas for more. Her hands twitch uselessly at her sides 'till she digs her fingers into the bedsheets beneath her, grabbing fistfuls of fabric in a vicegrip.

"Please- harder, please," Roy whines between sharp gasps of breath, not quite looking at anything, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.

Riza can only comply. She hums with satisfaction as she picks up the pace, faster and harder in both her thrusting and stroking. Soon she's pounding Roy senselessly, the haze of lust taking over completely as she gives into the raw, primal nature of their copulation. The slapping of skin, the deep grunts and moans, the all-consuming heat - the appeal of this action for natural phallus-owners is crystal clear to her now.

Riza's only regret is that she can't feel anything through the dildo - she could more accurately hit Roy's prostate otherwise. But going hard and deep like this seems to do the trick just fine, and she gets more than enough pleasure from just this - the feel of her hips slamming against Roy's, her cock pulsing against her fingers, watching her come undone just beneath her.

By now, Riza's own womanhood was throbbing within the confines of her undergarments, because on top of everything else, the base of the dildo presses deliciously against her clitoral area every time she thrusts forward. She can feel her cunt wetting into the fabric of her panties, and again she half-wonders if she may lose her composure before Roy for a moment.

Only a moment, as the evidence is to the contrary.

Roy is completely senseless now - body shuddering, eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open with loud, strained cries. Any words she's saying are barely coherent, but they seem to be the usual - 'god,' 'yes,' 'please,' and 'more.'

The 'yes'es become more pronounced as Roy approaches her edge, squeezing tears from her eyes as her wails grow into high-pitched whines. Riza's nearly breathless with the effort of her thrusting, but she finds the lung capacity to choke out one last command.

"Yes, yes- come for me, Roy."

And with one last, deep thrust and a hard stroke of her cock, Roy finally does, and hard.

Her body locks in place for a moment, then shudders violently as shockwaves course through her, undulating her spine and rocking her trembling hips and thighs. Her throbbing red cock sprays copious amounts of cum across her chest and stomach, and her cries rise into a loud, long scream of pleasure that peters out into a deep, satisfied groan.

The reaction is so intense that for a moment, Riza's instinct is to fear she's hurt her - but then she remembers that Roy hasn't had this kind of action for nearly a year, on top of the drawn-out foreplay. And besides, she's always been embarrassingly loud.

Breathless as she watches her, Riza gently squeezes droplets from Roy's shuddering cock as she rides out her tremors, at the same time pulling her hips away to remove the dildo, resisting every urge in her to keep thrusting toward her own climax, not wanting to overwhelm Roy further and having a better idea for that anyway.

She briefly presses her lips to one of Roy's thighs. "Beautiful... absolutely gorgeous... You did so well," she whispers, a little hoarse.

She forces her trembling hands to lower Roy's legs, then unwork the belts of her strap-on to pull it down and off. She kicks aside the toy unceremoniously - she'll clean it later. For now, she has a much more pressing need. She crawls onto Roy on the bed, grasping along the curves of her body - Roy feels so relaxed beneath her hands that she's surprised she can still feel bones inside her, not having turned to mush from the heat enveloping her entire being.

Trembling and weaker in the hips than she predicted, Riza drudges up the last of her composure to make one last demand as she straddles Roy's stomach. "Huff- We're not done yet- You- you still have a mess to clean up, slut."

Roy hardly notices her, still swimming in the sea of post-orgasm bliss, but Riza nonetheless begins tugging down her panties, a significant wet spot in their center. She stands on her knees to pull them down and fully expose her dripping cunt, and at this, Roy finally takes notice.

Riza scoots closer, moving her hips up and past Roy's chest. "Time to - huff - use that whore mouth of yours for something useful- Ah- Pleasure me, Roy." Her tone falters toward the end, between her exhaustion and her precariously-desperate need.

Roy's eyes widen, but she grunts and nods, probably too tired and hoarse to respond verbally. She adjusts herself to grab Riza's hips, savoring her curves with her hands as she urges Riza's slickness closer. Then she's sitting squarely upon Roy's face, her legs spread out across her pillow as her lower lips meet Roy's own.

Roy's silver tongue wasn't just skilled in conversation, and begins to eagerly demonstrate the many techniques she employs to garner so much popularity with women in her suave bachelor persona. She quickly parts Riza's slit with her tongue, darting at and around her clitoris and drawing shockwaves from her; she moves down to her vaginal opening to stroke along its rim to bring her shivers; and all the while, her fingers work themselves into the curves of Riza's ass to tease at her other end.

Roy works faster, deeper, employing every part of her mouth to service her partner, and Riza is quickly reduced to a moaning, twitching mess atop her. She grasps the bed's headboard to brace herself against Roy's ministrations, and as much as she'd love to draw this out and savor it further, the coil in her belly and sparks in her veins are already too tight and hot to be denied their climax.

Then Roy begins sucking upon her clitoris, and any attempts to continue their play, or speak at all, fall apart as quickly as Riza does. Her orgasm quickly crashes through her and leaves her as a deep, loud groan, stars speckling the back of her darkening vision.

And yet Roy is relentless, continuing her licking and suckling as Riza trembles and wails above her, lapping up her juices like a hungry animal. Perhaps she was enacting some kind of revenge, or was simply insistent on giving Riza some fraction of the pleasure she'd dished out - either way, Roy continues eating her out for a little while more, overstimulating her until she's too tired to continue.

Roy signals this with a gentle push, urging Riza off of her. She does so, all but flopping onto the other side of the bed as Roy scoots herself back towards her pillow and catches her breath. Riza has to close her eyes for a while, so great is her exhaustion - she stops short of falling asleep, however, forcing her eyes open to check in on Roy.

Roy is a sight to behold now - naked, hair a mess, skin splotchy, face and chest covered in semen and fluids, not to mention the welts and oils decorating her backside - and she is only more beautiful than before. Her half-lidded eyes hardly register the world around her, dark and sparkling like a night in the clear-skied countryside, pooling with leftover moisture and a deep, satisfied pleasure.

"Roy." Riza speaks softly to get her attention. Roy opens her eyes fully to look at her, and the sparkle of her eyes brightens further.

She rolls to her side and extends her arms to wrap around Riza's shoulders, drawing her in for a hug. "Thank you," Roy whispers hoarsely. "Thank you so much."

Riza chuckles against her chest. "So you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes- God, yes. More than that, I- You were right. I... I needed that."

Riza pulls back her head, enough to meet Roy's eyes again. "Even calling you 'madam?'

Roy blinks, once, twice, breathes out slowly. "I... Yeah. Yeah, even that."

Riza smiles. "So I guessed right."

Roy laughs, a weak, breathy sound in her throat. "I think you officially know me too well, now."

"I only do my best, madam," Riza says, a breathless little tease.

"You certainly do - and you are. You're the best, Riza," Roy whispers, giving her a half-hearted but nonetheless tender kiss to the lips - which is wet and tastes of Riza's own essence, but she pays it no mind.

When they pull away, silence settles in again, and they simply lay there, watching each other breathing, drifting slowly towards unconsciousness - until a thought crosses Riza's mind. Truthfully it's more like a small worry that's plagued her all through their copulation, and she feels the need to voice it before she falls asleep and forgets it completely.

"Um- I should ask. What should I call you?"

Roy, almost half-asleep again, opens an eye. "Mm?"

"I mean- if you're serious about... this," Riza gestures vaguely, "Is there another name you would prefer?"

Roy closes her eyes, squeezes both, then wipes a hand across her face, groaning softly. "Erm- I don't... really know, honestly. It's still..."

She blinks a few times again, and when she leaves them open, there's that distant, burning look in her eyes, the one she wears every time she snaps a flame into being - no, this is different. This is quieter, more introspective. She's searching inside herself, but not for any Alchemical formula or dark, terrible memory.

"...I'm still figuring it out," she says finally. "Roy is still fine, I don't really mind. I mean, I'm not even sure if this is even... well, a real thing. Maybe it's just for tonight. Or nights like this - you know, just for the roleplay-"

Riza silences her with a finger to her lips. "I get it," she chuckles. "Whatever it is, you don't have to justify it to me, you know."

Roy smiles around her finger, but there's something sad in her expression. "I know- I think I'm justifying it to myself more than anything."

Riza hums sadly, moving her hand instead to brush aside Roy's mussed bangs. "I'll only ask what I always do - talk to me. Tell me everything - or at least, anything I can do to make this easier. I don't want to have to push you again, like tonight."

She cups Roy's cheek with her palm, and Roy sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. Her throat moves, but she says nothing - perhaps nothing more needs to be said, for now.

"Listen- whatever you are - or want to be - I will support you. Always. Just like I promised," Riza says, just to put it in words that Roy can hear, making it absolutely clear and unshakable.

Roy opens her eyes, soft with moisture again. "Even into hell..." she murmurs.

"Even into hell," Riza echoes, and she withdraws her hand and lays back, letting her eyes be pulled shut by the waves of exhaustion and bliss that still lap at her. She watches Roy one last time as her vision unfocuses and drifts into dreamless sleep.

Her last conscious thought is of Roy - her, him or otherwise - and how lucky she feels to be the retainer of such a proud, beautiful flame.

END.

#royai #trans roy #trans royai #sub roy #dom riza #jeminy3 art #jeminy writes

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hyphenednation-blog · 4 years

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What it truly approach to be an anti-racist, and why it's now not the same as being an ally

It become three months after Ahmaud Arbery become shot with the aid of a former police officer while jogging, two weeks after Breonna Taylor turned into shot and killed in her home by way of the police, and six days after George Floyd died underneath the knee of a police officer.

These names are only some of the various Black Americans who have been killed by using the police within the beyond decade alone. But it was Floyd's death that intensely woke America as much as police brutality and the horror of systemic racism that has seeped into America's underbelly because slavery started out inside the US four centuries ago.

The Black Lives Matter movement, which originated in July 2013 after George Zimmerman turned into acquitted for the killing of Trayvon Martin, is out in full pressure throughout the nation and worldwide.

But for a non-Black individual to fully apprehend anti-racism, they should endeavor to understand the underlying context of Reid's Tweet: Black lives (and voices) had been marginalized and silenced to the point of death for centuries. They've been trying to inform us about the deadly problem of institutionalized racism; the white community has not been taking note of them and has not been appearing to fix it.

Racism towards Black Americans isn't perpetuated amongst white Americans alone, and Black Americans are not the simplest racial group to be afflicted by racism. That is to say, racism and anti-racism exist in multitudes. But it was white European colonialists who were at the helm of slavery 400 years ago, laying the inspiration for today's structural racism that everyone is born into.

In learning and scripting this article, I became transported returned to my readings and research on colonization and racism from college African American literature classes. I realized with soreness that I shouldn't have stopped my education on the difficulty just because I no longer had a proper class — perhaps I faster could have understood how racism has embedded and benefited my day by day life. But I also realized that my white privilege isn't a burden to bear, but a manner for me to enact alternate.

The first step is getting to know what racism and anti-racism are, what it means to be anti-racist, and a way to take action. The guideline beneath is only a beginning point of understanding it all.

What is anti-racism?

"Anti-racism is an energetic and conscious attempt to work against multidimensional elements of racism," Georgetown African American studies professor Robert J. Patterson advised Business Insider.

Patterson, who wrote "Destructive Desires: Rhythm and Blues Culture and the Politics of Racial Equality," brought that we want to collectively shift our taking into consideration racism as conscious, intentional, overt movements to unconscious, covert, and unintentional movements. He brought that whilst racism can manifest individually, it often occurs institutionally.

When abolitionist Anthony Benezet based America's first abolition society in 1775, it is able to have signaled the first recognised act of anti-racism in America. Anti-racism has its foundations in abolition and the post-liberation fight for structural trade as well as 20th-century civil-rights movements, Malini Ranganathan, a faculty team lead at the Anti-Racist Research & Policy Center at American University, told Anna North of Vox.

But it's difficult to trace the exact beginning of the term "anti-racism."

Merriam-Webster will tell you the first recognized use of "anti-racist" become in 1943 — the equal yr Marxist historian Herbert Aptheker dismantled the longstanding argument that African Americans typical slavery in his book "American Negro Slave Revolts."

Aptheker, who later became the literary executor for creator and civil-rights activist W.E.B. DuBois, eventually overturned the then extensively held idea that each one whites universally accepted racism in his book "Anti-Racism in US History: The First 2 hundred Years."

Today, anti-racism is perhaps maximum closely related to Ibram X. Kendi, the founding director of American University's anti-racist studies center (who is now moving to Boston University to open an anti-racist center there), who popularized the concept together with his 2019 book "How to be an Anti-Racist." In it, he wrote: "The only way to undo racism is to always discover and describe it — and then dismantle it."

What does it mean to be anti-racist?

You don't need to be free of racism to be an anti-racist, Ijeoma Oluo, creator of "So You Want to Talk About Race," once tweeted. "Anti-racism is the dedication to combat racism anyplace you locate it, which include in yourself. And it's the simplest way forward," she wrote.

Racism perspectives a racial institution as culturally or socially inferior. An anti-racist, in line with Kendi's book, is "one who is expressing the idea that racial groups are equals and none desires developing, and is helping coverage that reduces racial inequality."

But to recognize what an anti-racist is, one ought to additionally apprehend what an anti-racist is not: a non-racist. There is no such aspect as a non-racist, Kendi writes, as it indicates neutrality.

"One endorses both the idea of a racial hierarchy as a racist, or racial equality as an anti-racist," he says. "One both believes issues are rooted in organizations of human beings, as a racist, or locates the roots of troubles in strength and policies, as an anti-racist. One both permits racial inequities to persevere, as a racist, or confronts racial inequities, as an anti-racist."

Patterson, the Georgetown professor, stated that humans "collapse identification and behavior" when they misconstrue now not being racist as being anti-racist. In the process, they underappreciate how action alerts anti-racism and underestimate their very own influence in dismantling the structures that guide racism.

Patterson stated Kendi's view of anti-racism highlights the way racism is socialized into behaviors — how racial inequities and disparities are embedded in private and public life. We should unravel those behaviors via thinking about and pulling back assumptions we make approximately "the naturalness of things," he stated.

If your default wondering is "I'm not racist," a greater knowledgeable point of view would be spotting how you're informed and influenced by way of the embeddedness of race and institutionalized racism.

"It's in reality critically thinking about and studying how race subjects in seemingly nonracial context," he stated.

To be an anti-racist, Kendi said in an interview with Vox, is to admit while we're being racist and then challenging those racist ideas.

"We adopt anti-racist thoughts that say the problem is strength and coverage whilst there's inequity, now not humans." That is, it's far the gadget, not a racial group, that wishes to be changed. "And then we spend our time, we spend our funds, we spend our strength hard racist policy and electricity."

What is the difference between an ally and an anti-racist?

"I assume that human beings suppose that racism is Black human beings's trouble," Patterson said.

It isn't always. Misunderstanding whose trouble racism is and who can fix it misplaces the weight of obligation to solving racism directly to the disadvantaged group.

"Racism is a white hassle," Robin DiAngelo, sociologist and the white anti-racist creator of "White Fragility," informed The Guardian in a February 2019 interview. "It turned into built and created via white humans and the remaining obligation lies with white people. For too lengthy we've checked out it as though it were a person else's trouble, as though it turned into created in a vacuum."

That leaves the onus on white people for non-public ACCOUNTABILITY : Understanding and spotting the financial and social advantages and privileges this machine bestowed upon them (which include this writer) and taking action to transform these conditions.

This involves getting beyond white disgrace and guilt. While white people today didn't create racism, activist Ben O'Keefe tells Vox, they can choose to confess that they gain from it and acknowledge their power in converting conditions.

"We don't want you to hold the load of your privilege," he said, addressing the white community. "We want you renowned it and to use your privilege, sell good, and to fight oppression."

But in the usage of white privilege for distinctive vantage points to speak approximately anti-racist practices, it's important to now not talk for Black humans's experiences, Patterson said. That "kind of reinforces the concept that Black people can't speak for themselves or that you need a white voice to authenticate what the Black attitude is," he said.

The act of doing additionally marks the difference between an ally and an anti-racist. An ally, Patterson stated, is someone who supports the cause and is interested in the issues, however doesn't as explicitly interact in actions. "An anti-racist is extra actively fighting towards the structures, et cetera, that perpetuate racism, while an ally might be in a extra supportive cast role," he added.

To be clear: It is movement that lies at the heart of anti-racism. As Kendi wrote in a December 2018 article for The Guardian, "A racist or anti-racist isn't always who we are, but what we're doing within the moment."

Keep in thoughts that anti-racism isn't approximately sitting on information, however acting on it.

Here's where you could start.

Educate yourself. Read approximately privilege, histories of race, and oppressed voices with the help of anti-racism reading lists from courses like The Strategist and Time.

Identify steps to take by talking to friends, family, and peers.

Check out this Google Doc of anti-racism resources.

Volunteer or donate to organizations combating racist rules that create and assist racial inequality.

Call out racism while you see it and espouse anti-racist ideas to help change racist policies.

Patterson said most of these exceptional steps will create an arsenal of demonstrative ongoing hobby that isn't just "for the hashtag." For example, remember how these movements could play out whilst you're in a board room discussing diversity and inclusion or in a college-admissions committee discussing test ratings and supposedly objective measures, Patterson said.

It took too long for non-Black human beings to capture directly to the Black Lives Matter movement. But now that the white network is listening, we all want to apprehend our strength in creating exchange. And Kendi stated it great in his interview with Boston University earlier this week: "You have to agree with alternate is possible on the way to convey it approximately."

#ACCOUNTABILITY #ALLY #ANTI-RACISM

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artofloveliness · 4 years

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Rule #5 on Being Lovely: Don’t play hard to get. Be hard to get. Have standards—real, good ones—and stick to them. Bend them for nobody.

Molly-Ten-Years-Ago loved this rule. Molly-Today loves this rule. Molly-Over-The-Past-Ten-Years wanted to live by this rule…but of course, that’s not how this story goes.

Mostly because she didn’t understand Rule #5. As I’ve said before, Molly-Ten-Years-Ago was a strict lady, but she didn’t always know her target and what lies beyond. Truthfully, I only recently began to understand what the rule means and how to institute it now.

Arguably, the hardest part about having legitimate standards, that Young Molly never could have warned her future selves about, is that you cannot help the acute disappointment you endure when someone walks away because of them.

Did I overestimate my own worth?

Am I not good enough for my own standards?

Did this person not believe my value was worth the rules I set in place?

The next hardest part is that you want to bend your rules to convince the person who walked away that you are in fact worthy of said rules. I have done this so many times, in order to give someone the time and space to see what I knew to be true about my own worth.

But therein lies the danger! This is the trick that has taken me years to catch on to!

When we allow someone into our lives who does not meet our standards, we have actually taught this person that they can have unfettered access to our peace. Even though they may not want it.

And, regrettably, they absolutely will treat us as such.

Which brings us to Rule #5. It has been incredibly tempting for me to write this as a what-to-look-for-in-others type of post. And once again, that causes me to endure days of writer’s block…which probably means that it is not in fact what my heart feels called to discuss.

What my heart does feel called to discuss is somewhat counterintuitive, at first glance, which is what took me so long to figure out! Rule #5 is so lovely because at its core is the truth that having standards actually allows you to accept others as they are.

How can that be, Molly? It feels mean (dare I say, un-lovely?) to say that someone doesn’t meet my standards. Isn’t that a cruel way to interact with others?

To which I will say: No, my friend.

First, I want to say the reason we might feel mean instituting our own standards, is because we know how hard it was for us to meet them ourselves! That being said, ideally, the standards you create are standards to which you hold yourself (read: they are humanly possible).

Next, I’d like for us to look at it this way: when I bring someone into my life who, at present, does not clear the bar I have set for myself, what I am actually doing is deciding for them that they will change later, while enabling the behaviors they exhibit which do not meet my standards.

This is another way we do a disservice to ourselves and to the other person in the scenario. Just like with Rule #4, we have chosen to make the decision for the other party.

What decision is that, Molly?

Well, I am so glad you asked.

The decision the new party must make is whether or not they are willing to accept the terms and conditions of a relationship (romantic or platonic) with you. And when you ingratiate someone into your life who very clearly does not meet your standards, you have made the decision for them, that they must change what they might actually not be willing to change.

When it comes to allowing others into our lives, we get to assess what they bring to the table (and they should be doing the same of us!).

A great set of basic standards might look something like this:

Must have a job, contribute to their place of living, and be able to support themselves

Demonstrates integrity

No criminal record or drug use

Emotionally, physically, and financially responsible

Introspective

Knows how to mitigate conflict

Wants to improve themselves to be their best

Is conscious of and working through their issues

Notice that each of these points depicts a person who will not only build themselves up, but is on a trajectory that could grow upward with yours, instead of detracting from your momentum.

Notice also that each point on this list does NOT dictate to someone’s appearances, personal preferences, viewpoints, religious beliefs, passions, et cetera, et cetera. If these are items that you feel inclined to add, you may do so, in a compassionate manner.

As we come to know ourselves, and who we want to be, and how we want to be, Rule #5 becomes crucial. Our growth and development does not occur in a vacuum. We do not exist in a world devoid of the human condition.

And remaining true to the changes we want to see in ourselves can become challenging in the face of those we choose to spend time with, especially when they do not wish to meet these basic requirements.

So we must be selective and careful about who we choose to engage. Romantically. And platonically.

Because the people we surround ourselves with ultimately become representatives for us. Our friends and significants teach the world how to view us as individuals.

Even more importantly, our chosen circle shows others how they are permitted to treat us. Or behave around us.

Our standards beget our treatment.

Molly-Over-The-Past-Ten-Years allowed people into her life that affected her more than she wanted to see. Because Molly-Over-The-Past-Ten-Years didn’t like to disappoint others by walking away or guarding her self.

She spent a lot of time with a variety of people. Some good; many not-so-good.

She grew close with the people who have built her up. She spent too much time with others that tore her down. And she entertained some who exhausted her spirit entirely.

And what’s important to note is that each of these people is entitled to their own path, their own decisions, and their own behaviors. Without pressure from me to exist in a particular manner.

But so was I.

And the meaning of this rule is that I am also entitled to hold people as close to, or as far from, me as I deem fit. And doing so is not a cruelty, rather an acceptance of what may or may not come.

Because not everyone deserves the same access to you, your heart, and-or your time. And those who choose to walk away from you in the face of your standards, are showing you that they would indeed take you for granted, either as a friend or a partner.

We’ll talk about boundaries in my next post. But there is a quote I love about boundaries, that applies here, as well:

"The only people who get upset about you setting boundaries are the ones who were benefiting from you having none."

Your standards should not feel like a standoff, where the person who caves first has to cater to the other’s whims. They are your guards. And they help you to discern when someone does or does not make the cut to certain levels of your life.

Your standards should be systems that you set in place to help you achieve your goals. And anyone who stands in the way of your doing so (whether by the way they treat you, their lifestyle, their habits, or their intentions) should not enjoy the privilege of You.

From now on, I will only allow someone into my world that can match my enthusiasm and zeal for life. Because this rule is about being so focused on meeting your standards and achieving your goals that you simply cannot undersell yourself.

This rule is about standing firm in your worth, and believing in the quality, not the quantity, of individuals who will choose to meet your expectations.

This rule is about knowing how hard it is to meet your standards, because you endured the challenge of them yourself!

This rule is about accepting that some individuals may want access to your life, but will not be granted such access until they make the choice to shape up.

So, let’s wrap this up:

What are systems you have set in place to help you live your best life?

How do these systems translate to the standards you hold yourself to?

When have you allowed someone into your life that may not have honored your standards?

How do you help the people in your life to honor their own standards?

#rulesonbeinglovely #rule number five #lovely #loveliness #standards #friendship #relationships

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quicksilverlightning · 4 years

Text

The Interview, Ch. 3

It was a few days before he looked up the web address she had given him, caught up as he was with work at the school. It was a lazy Saturday morning when Toshinori popped open his laptop and typed into the search bar.

He found her blog easily enough and clicked on the link where he was greeted by a familiar photo; himself, grinning, one arm around her shoulders as she lifted the camera with a shyly happy expression. Below, a short caption:

We aren't strangers anymore

along with a post recapping the day:

My first meeting with All Might was something of a disaster; thankfully, I managed to keep myself together for the second time! Having met the man twice now, I feel comfortable saying that he really is as nice as he's always seemed on television.

He clicks on the link in the first paragraph, curious about her take on the day they met. Most of the post is a simple recap for her readers, but the writing is interspersed with thoughts and diversions that offer surprising insights into her personality. It's easy to see why she has something of a following.

He was so kind; just being near him was giving me flashbacks to Kamino - something I still don't feel ready to write about - but he sat with me, letting me work it out of my system. He made me tea. I think it was chamomile.

Huh. So she was in Kamino Ward that night. It does explain a few things about the meeting. Obviously, it wasn't just nerves causing her to act so jumpy. He files the knowledge away for another time.

His hero form is something of a persona he puts on, but it's not exactly a mask - more like an exaggeration. The person is kind and brave and strong, while the hero is all those things taken to the extreme. It's a matter of intensity, not honesty.

That catches his eye, and leaves him a little breathless; he's seen the thinkpieces floating around, comparing his dual identities, but this is the first time someone has so clearly understood.

"Intensity, not honesty," he murmurs the phrase to himself.

I know a lot of the reactions have centered on things like "scarecrow" and "skeleton," but I was put more in mind of a sunflower.

Toshinori guffawed at that - skeleton he was used to, and scarecrow was understandable, but sunflower?

Tall, lanky, yellow hair, sunny disposition - I mean, it fits, right?

Sunflower. The descriptor wasn't one he would have ever thought of, but it did bring a glow to his chest. Yes, he could work with sunflower.

_______________________________________________

Direct message from: Sunflower220 It occurred to me after posting a few comments on your posts that I might need to send you a direct message. I suppose a sudden influx of comments from an anonymous stranger would look rather odd, yes? I don't want my behavior to be interpreted poorly, but your ordinary adventures are every bit as fascinating to me as my hero career must be to you.

It's been a long time since I was a civilian - even now, I occupy a unique place in society. My power is gone, but the fame remains. Seeing the world from the perspective of the people I protected through your posts was an absolute joy. I will, of course, back away if you wish it - I understand that the attention may be overbearing, even unnerving, and I don't wish to cause you any discomfort. Thank you for giving me this glimpse into your world.

Regards,

All Might

P.S. - I was absolutely tickled to be compared to a sunflower! I made it my username - do you like it?

Direct message to: Sunflower220 Thank you for the heads-up, but I don't mind at all! I'm glad you enjoy my ramblings. You've fought to protect us all for such a long time - if I can do anything in return, even this small joy, then that's enough heroism for me.

And I love your screen name! The 220 is for your height, right? It suits you!

Direct message from: Sunflower220 Ah, so you are a fan, to know my height so easily.

Direct message to: Sunflower220 Well, yes. Everyone's a fan of All Might, especially now.

Direct message from: Sunflower220 I must admit, I find myself bemused to still be so highly regarded by the world. I'm flattered that so many people still see me as a hero.

Direct message to: Sunflower220 Why? You are.

_______________________________________________

She cleaned my room while I was gone. Picked up the floor, vacuumed the rug, made the bed. The mess makes her grouchy, twitchy. But my mess and her mess are different creatures; hers are monsters to be conquered; mine are companions to be loved. A perfectly smooth river stone; ticket scraps to each concert; a woven basket crafted in Mexico. My bookshelves overflow and my floor is scuffed and my desk is covered in paint stains and each flaw is a memory and each mess is an experience. My rumpled bedsheets know the curve of my body; my shoes are always ready to walk out the door; the bottom left drawer of my desk gets stuck, and I’m okay with that. It’s fine. It’s secondhand, worn and loved, and does its job faithfully. And when it gets stuck, I only need to pull a little harder.

Comment from Sunflower220 You are so very gifted at capturing the magic in the ordinary; I'm honestly jealous! My desk only gets covered in paperwork.

Ah, thank you! I do have a proper desk for all kinds of paperwork, but this one was for my little art-stuff desk.

_______________________________________________

I had lost count of the stations. Was it seven, or eight coming up? There were no numbers on the platforms. I could feel the train beginning to slow down as the iron girders outside became less of a blur. The train stopped.

I saw him then – that shock of white hair, shining between the shadows of people boarding the train. I stood up, making my way through, trying not to bump into anyone, or their luggage. The newcomers seated themselves quickly, like they knew exactly where they were meant to be. Like they had always been on this car.

The whistle blew suddenly and I jumped, jerking my head to the window. Only Dios was left at the station, and the doors were still at the other end of the car. My stomach lurched – I had to get off, now. I pushed my way past, no longer mindful of tact; it was blocking my way. I jumped over a travel case; I think I may have elbowed someone. Something caught my foot and I fell, grabbing at a train pole to steady myself – my hands slid right down and I landed on my face. My stomach lurched again and I scrambled up, trying to kick off the handbag loop my shoe was caught in. The lady in her seat didn’t even look up from her hands.

I heard the train hissing as the steam began to build. I looked up – Dios had rushed up the platform, right to the door.

“Get off the train!” Another hiss as the pneumatic doors began to close. I kicked off my shoe, tripping again, trying to reach the end of the car, too late. My hands slammed against the window. Dios looked at me briefly from the other side, and disappeared suddenly as the train lurched. I fell for the third time in as many minutes, just catching a glimpse of white hair running to the engine car.

Comment from Sunflower220

Well?! PLEASE tell me there's more to this story. What happens next?!

I don't know! That's as far as my dream got before I woke up!

_______________________________________________

I'm not suggesting that Endeavor can reproduce asexually, but has anyone ever actually seen his wife?

Comment from Sunflower220

I wish I could simply laugh this off, but, unfortunately, I have not.

_______________________________________________

Bit of bronchitis. That's what I get for waiting so long to go to the doctor I guess. Thankfully, it wasn't very advanced and I'm largely out of the woods after two weeks of illness, even if I did cough so hard I made myself vomit today. That was a new experience, let me tell you. I didn't go to bed until 7am this morning, so my sleep schedule is once again shot to hell. I went to eat breakfast, then went to bed. I've got a few days of antibiotics left, and I'm on a steroid I have to take very 12 hours. Still a bit sensitive to light, but I think my headaches are gone.

Comment from Sunflower220

I feel a little silly commenting on a post that's years old now, but this is so relatable to me. Late nights, out-of-sync circadian rhythm, the coughing - believe me, you can vomit up much worse from coughing like that.

You don't have to feel awkward about commenting - I like it! It's like getting a little reminder every now and then. I actually haven't had bronchitis since his post, so that's something to be grateful for ^^ I'll take your word for it about the coughing though.

_______________________________________________

The poetry professor doesn’t look like she’s from Kentucky; she doesn’t look like anyone from below the Mason-Dixon Line with her high heels, patterned stockings and lion’s mane of blonde corkscrews. But sometimes she talks about Momma, chicken wire fences, and bare feet summers and maybe I could see her in scraped-knee jeans instead of pencil skirts.

Throat cancer took his hair, but not his brain, nor his chipper attitude. He strides long, like a black-necked stilt of his native Louisiana, and whistles like a fox sparrow underneath his fedora. His classes lay cuckoo eggs in our ears that hatch into vague feelers of ideas, burrowed somewhere in the unconscious until we collage it with the other wreckages of forgotten memory patterns that sleep in nests made of mirror shards and Christmas lights.

The education professor is a whirlwind of high energy and charisma on his best days. Lately though, his blue, Pilot ballpoint pens are running empty, ink pooling in messy splotches on ungraded essays. The strain of two positions, teacher and administrator, gets to him. His exhaustion makes me tired; to see the vitality being siphoned out of his slender frame by the routine wear and tear that has faded his two-button jackets, frayed his loose shoelaces, and settled, like those last drops of ink, into the hollows under his eyes, until a good night’s sleep bleeds the lakebed dry.

Comment from Sunflower220 Were these were all teachers of yours? The descriptions are so real.

Yes! I butted heads with the poetry professor all the time; I hated her classes, but I had to take them for my degree.

I sympathize with the education professor - I too find myself exhausted after a day of dealing with students.

He's one of my best friends - we're still close, years after I graduated.

That's wonderful! I hope I can say the same thing about my students in the future!

_______________________________________________

What kind of tree is Kamui Woods supposed to be anyway? Oak? Willow? Ash? Cedar? THE WORLD NEEDS ANSWERS!

Comment from Sunflower220

I'm partial to cedar trees myself! That said, I have no idea.

I love cedar trees! They smell divine. But my favorites are willow trees and cypress trees - I love cypress roots.

Is there something special about the roots?

Yes! Cypress trees that grow in swampy areas have these "knee" roots. It's probably easier to look it up than to explain.

I see! It does look rather strange, all the roots poking up through the water.

It's neat though, right? There's a mountain trail I used to hike as a kid that went past loads of cypress trees. We used to balance walking on them, and played in the hollow trunks. Once, I saw a wild snapping turtle on the other side of the bank, so that was pretty cool.

_______________________________________________

There's this thing I do when I stay up late; I get more and more tired the later I stay up, but, if I make it past a certain point, usually about 4AM, I can stay up indefinitely. I say indefinitely because I don't actually know how far I could go - I've never been brave enough to really press it. Anyway, I couldn't sleep Sunday night/Monday morning. Could. Not. Sleep. Around 4:30AM, I realize it's not happening and get up. My legs were bothering me for some reason, so I hit the gym for 20, 30 minutes. Still not tired. Hop in the car for a drive. Still not tired. Keep driving and somehow end up some thirty miles away watching the sun rise at 7AM over the river.

It's about 8AM by the time I leave and not only am I not tired, I'm actually feeling kinda invigorated and excited about life. I suspect I was high on the lucidity of no sleep, but nevertheless. I'm still not tired, so I go to a local cafe for a buttermilk spice muffin and a hot chocolate.

Finally got home around 9 or so and went back to bed because I didn't know what else to do with myself.

Comment from Sunflower220

I've had many a night like this, though it usually had more to do with adrenaline than anything else. I can honestly say that not having to deal with that anymore is one good thing about retiring.

At least you had a reason to be awake; just being up for no good reason sucks. Usually I can manage to get down eventually, but something like this seems to happen to me at least once a year.

It could be worse; there could be nightmares instead.

I've become familiar with that in the last few months.

_______________________________________________

A conversation with my former professor:

"I don't even remember what it was like being 29. I think it was miserable." "It is. Just gonna be miserable for the rest of my days." "It gets better when you're 30. And it gets better again when you're 40. By the time you're 50 - " "Is that what you tell yourself to comfort the blows of old age?" "Yes. I'm comforting myself right now."

Comment from Sunflower220

Is this the same teacher from that one post I commented on?

Yes! The education professor. We try to chat on the phone at least once a week.

You're making me excited about teaching! I want to have a relationship like this with my students one day. They're going to be great heroes.

They have a great hero to learn from.

_______________________________________________

The universe hates me. I sincerely believed it in that moment. It hates me. Only a hateful universe gives you a perfect moment when you’re that miserable.

But maybe it made it up to me later. Halfway home, past Conway, I start getting close to the rain I’ve been expecting and up ahead it’s all stormclouds. The sky is this dark blue grey color and the lightning is this creamy off white shade – you could see it lighting up between the clouds and behind them, undulating back and forth and then bolting in a sudden release of energy like birds startled by a gunshot. The bigger flashes were a purer white with a soft blue tinge. They were the ones that lit up the whole sky.

So I’m home free, crossing the river and halfway across the bridge the rain just stops. It picks up again when I get across, but in that halfway point I’ve got lightning on one side and the last smoky traces of dusk on the other stretching out like a painted desert and I’m the only person on the bridge, watching the world split in two.

Comment from Sunflower220

Have you ever considered writing screenplays? I can see this image in my head like a film reel. It's beautiful and dramatic.

I've always loved finding the place where the rain stops; it's like the world is a little bit thinner there. It's a strange, almost unnerving feeling, but one I've chased in the past.

I think what you may looking for is called liminality, or a liminal space. Places like airports, crossroads, rest stops, hallways - they're bridges to other places, but don't really serve a purpose in and of themselves. Places of transition from one thing to the next.

Historically, the concept of liminality has been used to describe rites of passage, especially the passage from childhood to adulthood. Many cultures have some sort of ceremony the child has to go through before coming out the other side as an adult. But, in the time between starting and finishing the ritual, the person is considered neither child nor adult - they exist in a liminal state until the ritual is complete.

Now that I think about it, you're probably pretty familiar with liminality, aren't you?

_______________________________________________

Direct message from: Sunflower220

Sorry for the radio silence - I didn't mean to drop off so suddenly, and then it turned into a few days.

I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About liminality. You're right - I am very familiar with the concept, though I never had a name for it until now. You wrote once that the difference between my forms was "a matter of intensity, not honesty;" in six words, you captured something I've never been able to explain. You do did it so succinctly, so effortlessly, that it left me a little bit stunned.

I have been All Might for so long; in many ways, I'm re-learning how to live without that intensity. I understand liminality because I've been in a liminal state for going on six years now. To finally have a name for it feels like a relief. More than that though, it's immensely gratifying to feel understood, by what you captured so easily in half a phrase. I'm grateful to you. Thank you.

The day we met, you told me that you didn't want to be someone else that took something from me. But I'd like to give you something all the same:

My name is Toshinori.

#yagi toshinori #All Might #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfic #mha #bnha #the interview #still salty about the lack of line breaks #oc is not an oc

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tervacious · 5 years

Link

I first spoke with Dianic Priestess Ruth Barrett about how to create a Samhain ritual, which you can check out HERE. In part 2, we get into the roots of radical feminism.

AfterEllen: I wanted to talk to you about lesbian feminists embrace of Dianic spirituality. In the 1970s a lot of women turned away from the religions in which they grew up, because they identified them as patriarchal, and they turned instead to a new women-focused spirituality.

Ruth Barrett: I want to name one of our foremothers Mary Daly, feminist theologian, she languaged for many of us the realization that as long as god is male, the male is god. It was one of those took-your-breath-away paradigms that was hiding in plain sight. So for a lot of us in the 1970s-80s the notion of ‘how do we recognize spirituality, religion, politics? and how does patriarchy affect all of these things?’

There was this examination that continues to this day. As your readers know, our lives don’t take place in a vacuum, they are always in a context of history or herstory.

In the 1970s as women were working primarily for equal pay, reproductive rights, equity in the workplace, all of those things, the notion of a feminist spirituality did not enter the consciousness for some time. That had to do with the fact that Marxist politics was influential on the left. Religion was the opium of the people. Spirituality was a distraction from the work people needed to do to be free. It wasn’t until the latter half of the 1970s that women started to think about it differently.

Z Budapest is a Hungarian-born immigrant who came over after the communists had invaded Budapest, and she brought with her her mother’s folk traditions, folk religion. She also became a feminist, so she began to merge these two things.

Around 1976 or ’77 she was arrested for fortune telling in LA, it was against the law. It was the witch trial that occurred in LA in that year. That got the attention of the feminist movement of the time. They had struck out against that woman for tarot reading. The movement took notice and things really went well from there. It was a spiritual revolution. The idea of ‘where do we oppress ourselves from the inside?’

This is what I came up in in my teens and early 20s. Where are we complicit and colluding with the values of patriarchy that we have been indoctrinated into?

AE: You had mentioned the witch trial of Z Budapest

RB: The “Year of the Woman,” let me point out.

AE: Was Z a lesbian?

RB: Yes, and she still is (laughs).

AE: So the movement takes up the cause of women’s spirituality. There was a fair amount of denigration of women’s spirituality within the movement I imagine, in the same way there was the denigration of the “Lavender Menace.”

RB: Many women did not embrace the idea of a feminist spirituality. You have generational trauma over patriarchal religion and rather than seeing it as something that could be healing, there was an outright rejection. There was a lot of Eastern influence and New Age thinking that entered goddess spirituality as well. The Dianic tradition was based in radical feminism, but the larger goddess movement was not necessarily. It really depended on who feminists ran into, in terms of what they could relate to.

I founded a community in Los Angeles; I was ordained in 1980 and that community is still going. It’s the longest running Dianic community. The work that we do is not only personal, it’s political. We do work to counter the dominant power in the best ways we can. We work to heal from the effects. To model the way we want to see the world, through our activism.

It’s because we came out of Second Wave feminist politics. Those who identify in the Dianic tradition still have some form of political activism in terms of their magic and their rituals.

The Dianic tradition — in the beginning most of us were lesbian — but it grew and is now not specifically lesbian. A lot of people assume it’s a lesbian religion, but it’s not. It’s for any female who identifies with those values of radical feminism.

AE: Oftentimes patriarchal loyalists and people who want to denigrate older women make the claim that crusty, old, privileged, white women bought into Dianic traditions or goddess traditions because they buy into gender essentialism. Can you speak to that?

RB: Well there’s a lot of goddess traditions, so there may be a seed of truth regarding some of those traditions. But let’s look specifically at Dianic tradition. Gender essentialism is a misunderstanding coming from the fact that Dianics focus on the sexed body as a metaphor for life. Gender is arbitrary designations of behaviors or characteristics ascribed to the body, whether you are female or male. The women that come to Circle are very diverse in their presentation. It was not just women in flowing robes that were participating, then or now. There were women who were not conforming to gender roles. Essentialism is put on goddess traditions, but Dianics don’t focus on a [gendered] duality. When you don’t focus on a duality, you don’t have the issue of genderism [the gender binary]. In the Dianic tradition, we are whole unto our selves. We model wholeness, so it’s not like females have this one set of characteristics and males have the other. It means we have it all. I can wield the sword and I can cook a meal. Whatever would be gendered behaviors or skill sets — it’s not like, because I have this body I’m more this or more that “naturally.”

That’s what’s happening now because of trans/gender ideology. At the same time people think we’re getting away from the binary, we’re actually reinforcing it. Essentialism means I’m a sexed female, therefore I’m more prone to these attributes and of course these characteristics are gendered. And Dianics just out and out reject that. Who made this up and whose cause does it serve? Where did we get this notion that we have a male side and a female side? What they’re saying with the duality of [masculine or feminine] behaviors or attributes is a crock, we are all whole.

Women can be and behave and aspire to whatever we want and the only thing stopping us is cultural conditioning. That’s the opposite of essentialism.

AE: So Dianism puts forth that there is no single way to be a female.

RB: The maiden/mother/crone metaphor is just a way to talk about our lives. The maiden is youth, mother includes warrior, amazon, creatrix, and crone is the woman who is elderly. Phases of life like the inhale of woman’s breath, you sustain that breath for a moment, then you exhale. It’s a way of talking about cycles. Creation, sustenance and death. So there’s many ways we use language to talk about it and the women-centered symbols is another way to talk about that.

AE: There has been an explosion of women returning to personal practice, a mainstreaming of witchcraft. To the point that there was a witch starter pack that was going to be sold at Sephora.

RB: It may be an entry point for women. You can’t see me rolling my eyes right now, but I also want to think, “what could be positive about this?” The backlash reveals the idea that power in the hands of women is inherently evil. In a sense to normalize it, to do divination or turning inward for guidance, the idea that we could assist one another in our healing — that’s not a new idea, that’s an old idea. Becoming commercialized may trivialize it, but it also means that this idea is no longer terrifying to women to consider their own power or their own authority.

AE: But this might be the first spark for a woman to turn inward for guidance. There is a wide commodification of witchcraft and ethnic and folk traditions going on right now, certainly Sephora is the worst example of trivializing and feminizing since it is part of the multi-billion dollar makeup industry. It is also happening on Etsy and Instagram from boutique sellers. But it’s so interesting that this came from a makeup store since this is one way that women participate in our own feminization and conformity to gendered stereotypes.

RB: It’s also interesting that there’s this thread in magic of “glamoring” and that has to do with influencing others to see you in a certain way. So I hate the stuff, but I’ve put on mascara or something knowing that if I do it with perfect application, I’ll be treated in a certain way.

AE: As a feminine-of-center lesbian, I don’t want to denigrate makeup-wearers, and I definitely wear makeup sometimes, but it’s so true that in liberal feminism the party line is that enacting gender stereotypes can be empowering.

RB: In liberal feminism, anything goes. There is no consistent analysis.

Glamoring, the definition is the quality of fascinating alluring or attracting. Glamoring, in magical terms, can be a charm, enchantment, or witchery. Glamoring is taken from the intentional creation of an illusion.

#surprised to run across this #after ellen has been such a joy

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thinkingthedivide-blog · 6 years

Text

A Rational Case For Optimism

Those who know me will know that I have generally not been an optimist about most things. I wouldn’t categorically call myself a pessimist, but when it comes to macro issues such as industry, government, and organized religion, it has seemed as though the powerful bodies that be are always a disappointment. Given the assumption that the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior, it seemed logical to surmise that large groups of people (except for the ones I belonged to of course) would generally not act in a manner that benefits the greater good. This rationality, however, is flawed on many counts.

Now in some sense, the pessimist is correct: negative and painful things will most definitely occur. But by that logic, the optimist is also correct. People will always find things to be happy about. We always have. If we did not find moments of joy, even in dark times, then I’m not sure our species would have gotten this far. Given this fluctuation between subjectively good and bad experiences, both the pessimist and the optimist have ample “objective” evidence to support their claims. This makes building an argument based on fact and historical evidence a futile exercise, as both sides will be more than able to render a case that demonstrates the virtue of their worldview. So if easily manipulated facts cannot get us to the ideal schema, then we must depend on a bit of rationality.

Knowing that death is inevitable, it is highly improbable that I will escape pain (both physical and emotional). When people close to us die, it is an intensely painful experience. If everyone dies eventually, then this pain is ineluctable. Worrying about pain only causes me to suffer more now (when there is no apparent need for suffering). Drawing conclusions about the future that predict an adverse outcome (as pessimism dictates) seems only to cause worry in the present. Is such cynicism objectively incorrect? As previously established, no many “bad” things happen all the time. Yet by focusing on the potential for future “bad” (which is a given), pessimism only serves to provoke anxiety in the now.

Why are worry and anxiety in the now unfavorable? Here I will invoke some objective facts and subjective experiences as this is a verifiable point. While our acceptance of the importance of mental health is still in its nascency, we generally tend to agree that physical suffering is “bad.” Well, it turns out that anxiety is implicated in a range of physical maladies such as heart disease, gastrointestinal disorders, and respiratory disorders. If we are in agreement that physical suffering is bad, then logically we must conclude that anxiety (a potential cause of physical suffering) is also bad. (To my fellow anxious folk who are now spiraling at the thought of their anxiety causing a multitude of physical maladies, please read the italicized postscript at the bottom of this page, the point of which is: everything is ok.)

Speaking as someone who has lived something of an anxiety-ridden life, I can tell you that it is indeed physically uncomfortable. My partner and I lovingly refer to my amygdala as “Big Myg.” (The amygdala is associated with regulating emotion and anxiety is linked to large amygdalas.) This makes sense right? The brain generates emotions and is also responsible for coordinating muscle movements. If the brain is creating anxiety (regardless of whether or not there is an external cause), then fight-or-flight instincts would dictate that the brain must tell the body to tense and prepare for whatever threat is on the horizon. As no actual threat can be assessed and subsequently countered or dismissed, the body and mind remain tense. I can attest to the muscular tension, nausea, clicking jaw, and marinara-esque body odor (anyone else? no?) that are attributable to anxiety. I consider these states to be less-than-optimal.

You might posit that my physical anxiety is a “first-world problem” and not something worth this magnitude of verbiage. This is a valid point. Is my physical discomfort resulting from anxiety such a terrible thing? Perhaps my anxiety comes as a natural cost to creating a more technologically developed world. Perhaps that technologically developed world, in turn, alleviates the more severe physical suffering of people in objectively more dire conditions. That is a fair position and one I would wholeheartedly agree with. But does that mean that I and my anxious brethren must live in an anxiety vortex (because it is one hell of a vortex) indefinitely for the sake of alleviating more severe physical suffering?

As a human, I am programmed to desire the most efficient course of action. We would not use tools or depend on agriculture if this were not the case. With this premise in mind, I ask whether anxious thoughts, not spurred by the present context, are efficient? Modern science is pretty clear on the fact that multitasking is a myth. The brain can only focus on one thing at a time. If you’re anything like me, worrying involves obsessing over scenarios yet-to-come (or ruminating on outcomes that were not to taste). If waking hours are limited, and if we can only focus on one thing at a time, then cycling through a series of possible adverse outcomes reduces the quantity of time that can be spent thinking about other things.

If pessimism induces worry and anxiety, then it must reduce the time and brain-space for potentially more constructive thought processes. The neuronal circuits devoted to worrying could instead be put to use creating strategies to empower the developing world. They could be used to invent technologies to address issues of climate change and sea level rise. They could be used to identify a neighbor’s needs and what resources you might possess to help them. They could be used to better understand a point of view you disagree with. There are infinite positive possibilities, big and small, for the use of those neurological networks. Remaining in a pessimistic state eliminates these possibilities by virtue of limited time, and must inherently create a less ideal world. Pessimism, at best, is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Optimism, on the other hand, is not anxiety-inducing. It may help now to clarify what I am not arguing for. I am not arguing for an optimistic view in which we ignore the present situation and simply believe against all odds that things will work out with no positive inputs from us. I am not arguing that people daydream of specific positive scenarios that may or may not come to fruition. That is akin to worrying about specific negative events the future may hold and is a similarly useless application of brain cells in the context of progress. Rather, I am suggesting that in our efforts to combat the ills of our society we take a more general optimistic view. This view is something to the tune of “If I do good, the world will be ok” or whatever mantra works for you. This leaves headspace to address specific strategies and present-day facts with a clarity that pessimism does not allow.

In order for me to take action, I must believe that my effort will yield a positive result, and action is undoubtedly needed in the face of our current political toxicity. Remembering that even the largest groups are comprised of individuals, we can rightly assume that individual actions and speech contribute to zeitgeists at large. If, like me, you need the promise of a result to inspire your own efforts, then keep that simple premise in mind. Poof! That, my friends, is optimism. Our actions and speech, positive and negative, do not exist in a vacuum. We may never know the impact of our deeds or ideas, but an impact will most definitely be felt. The question is, which way do we want to move the needle?

Activism is essential and an undeniable component of widespread change. But marches, elections, and phone-banks take but a small fraction of the time we have available to us every day. In each moment of our day-to-day lives, we have a choice about how to approach the tasks at hand. We can choose to be friendly or distant. We can choose to pick up the trash on the road or to leave it be. We can choose to check in on our neighbors or bunker down in our households. We can choose to be kind or harsh. But make no mistake, every action and inaction is a choice and has a consequence.

Imagine what the world would look like if every single individual were optimistic about what they could accomplish with a friendly smile and a conversation. Imagine the needs that could be met, the information that could be shared, and the human connections that would undoubtedly ensue. I think we would agree that that would be a positive thing in and of itself. Optimism, too, is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

*To my fellow anxiety tornadoes: I alluded to several physical ailments that can be the result of anxiety. Try to remember that we do not know what the future holds. If you are presently cycling through the "what-ifs" of those diseases, take a moment to think about it this way: if you are able to think about what might happen in the future, is there anything right now that is a threat to your safety or life? If you are reading this, then you are likely not in imminent danger.

I suggest the following only because it is the course I have taken, there are infinite paths you can choose to deal with anxiety (and it can be dealt with - that's the good news). If anything in this post made your stomach drop and sent your mind spinning on an "I am going to die/suffer because of___" spiral, then I recommend that you talk to a friend or therapist. My anxiety reducing cocktail consists of the following: therapy, friend-dates, exercise (any flavor), an SSRI, and an educated/conscious understanding of each of these ingredients. Your cocktail might look different. Ask yourself this: do you have anything to lose by tackling your anxiety head-on? What is the worst that could happen? If you are dying of one of these anxiety-induced diseases (which you are likely not), wouldn't it be more pleasant to not be anxious in the process?

#optimist #optimism #hope #optimistic #pessimism #pessimistic #philosophy #half full #half empty #action #responsibility

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch

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How on Earth did we survive two years without new episodes of Netflix’s brilliant sketch comedy series I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson? The first batch of six episodes premiered on April 23 of 2019 and proved instantly iconic.

Contained within the season’s roughly two-dozen sketches was absolutely hilarious and essential comedy that provided ample memetic kindling for the internet’s conversational fire. For the focused enough mind, it’s entirely possible to communicate with one’s friends exclusively in I Think You Should Leave memes. Lord knows, I’ve tried it.

Thankfully, ITYSL season 2 has finally arrived on Netflix after its COVID-19 delay. It features 28 sketches that range from “pretty funny” to “I can’t stop laughing. Oh God, I can’t stop laughing. It hurts, surely this is the end. Surely, I will die.”

Check out our rankings below and then begin yelling at our chances like Spectrum is dropping your network.

28. Credit Card Roulette

If nothing else, Tim Robinson and I Think You Should Leave co-creator Zach Kanin are incredible comedy scouts. Through two seasons, the show’s sketches have been a who’s who of up-and-coming comedic talent, like the wonderful John Early who is featured in this sketch. Unfortunately Early is not served well by the material here, which doesn’t rise to the same ludicrous heights as season 2’s other sketches. The best moment is Early’s immediate resolve that he’s not paying the bill, but the sketch doesn’t go too far after that.

27. Dave’s Poop Double

The sketch that serves as the cold open of season 2’s final episode doesn’t get things off to the best start. The concept of Tim’s “Luka” hiring a guy who looks just like his coworker Dave to take monster shits every time he gets up is certainly fun but missing an important layer of added absurdity. Luka is probably the best name for any of Robinson’s random characters yet though.

26. Little Buff Boys Pt. 2

Season 2 features many more callbacks to previous sketches than the first season did. This followup to Little Buff Boys is the worst of the bunch but still quite funny. Perhaps the only thing more absurd than a Little Buff Boys competition is someone being proud of running “one of” the biggest LBB competitions in the Greater Cincinnati area. This sketch also passes up an easy Cincinnati Chili joke in favor of creating the truly vile “cherry chuck salad.”

25. Detective Crashmore Trailer

This trailer for action thriller Detective Crashmore is funny enough on its own but doesn’t reach another comedic level until the AOL Blast interview two sketches later. Still, I unironically want to see an action film with a lead character whose main quip is “Eat fucking bullets, you fuckers. You fucking suck. You fucking SUCK!”

24. I Should Have Got That

I Think You Should Leave deserves a big spread in AARP magazine. No other sketch show revels in the talents of older comedians quite like this one. After 81-year-old comedian Ruben Rabasa stole the show in season 1, season 2 ups the ante with many more sketches letting old folks shine. It’s Bob McDuff Wilson’s turn this time around and his child-like obsession with his student’s burger kills right up until the shockingly dark kicker.

23. Office Surfing

“I almost killed myself, Jullliieeeeee” is one of the best line-reads of the season. The sketch it’s built around isn’t too remarkable but man, does Robinson knock that one out of the park.

22. “No, I Don’t Know How to Drive”

This is a quickie but a goodie. Robinson’s characters break down in tears quite often this season and this is one of the better occasions. How far have Tim’s characters come – from reveling in the existence of four-wheeled motorcycles to looking at the inside of a car and weeping “I don’t know what any of this shit is and I’m fucking scared.”

21. The Capital Room

Speaking of top tier comedic talent, thank God Patti Harrison stopped by another season of I Think You Should Leave. This time around, we get two heaping doses of Patti. This one, the first of the two, is the inferior but still quite great. In the span of roughly 30 seconds, Harrison unveils the saga of a woman who A. Got sewn into the pants of the Thanksgiving Day parade Charlie Brown float, B. Hates all bald boys, C. Sued the city and won a fortune, D. Is now helplessly addicted to wine, and E. Is tragically self-aware that her money will run out soon.

20. But It’s Lunch

Just like last year’s opening sketch, “But It’s Lunch” (this is probably a good time to mention, that I’m naming all of these things myself. You could very easily call this the Hotdog sketch but that would confuse it with last year’s hotdog sketch) sets the perfect opening mood. The sight gag of Robinson’s Pat trying to stealthily eat a hotdog is wonderful, and the fact that things so quickly escalate to hotdog surgery and puke is just sublime.

19. Carber Hotdog Vacuum

The follow-up to “But It’s Lunch” occurs a full two episodes later and proves to be a hell of a pay-off. Robinson’s unnamed character (who is obviously Pat) very quickly reveals that there is one very specific reason he made this hotdog vacuum invention and you’ll never guess what it was. We all make mistakes. We shouldn’t be fired for them.

18. Insider Trading Trial (Stupid Hat)

This sketch somewhat mimics the experience of trying to explain what I Think You Should Leave is like to someone who has never seen it. “So, this guy took too small a slice of toilet paper…” or “…and then he has to have to have sex with his mother-in-law.” “Insider Trading” rotely describes the bizarre behaviors of one of Robinson’s deeply strange characters, Brian, as it’s being read into the court record. Brian and his stupid fedora with the safari flaps is in attendance to provide a visual aid. As are some hilarious flashbacks in which Brian attempts to roll the hat down his arm like Fred Astaire and instead encounters only wheelchair grease.

17. The Ice Cream Store is Closed Today

Before he was a criminal lawyer, Bob Odenkirk was one of the most legendary sketch writers of all time. It’s only fitting that he stop by ITYSL season 2 to provide his comedic blessing. Odenkirk is great from the get-go but this one doesn’t really get rolling until the end when Robinson finds himself truly immersed in the fictional life of this sad old man. “His wife’s sick but she’s gonna get better” is a shockingly emotional moment amid pure farce.

16. Barbie and the Blues Brothers

This is the sketch that climbed the most in my rankings upon a second viewing. What first seemed to be a waste of Conner O’Malley’s manic comedic energy became a semi-classic once I submitted to its strange vibes. I don’t even know what to call this one but Robinson’s character refusing to stop dancing as Barbie the dog melts down is hilarious. O’Malley is better served by last season’s “honk if you’re horny” sketch, still he gets some bangers in this time around like “She thinks he’s a whole new guy because of the glasses and the hat” and “it’s her house, she’s doing what’s right!” Robinson once again closes this nonsense out with some well-earned tears. “It’s just me, Barbie. I’m not the Blues Brothers.”

15. Jaime Taco (I Love My Wife)

“Jamie Taco” is a prime example of just how rapidly (and how well) I Think You Should Leave is able to veer into pure nonsensical genius. At the top, this sketch comes perilously close to making an actual statement about how men are too quick to pretend like their wives are horrible nags. This sketch, however, has its sights set on something much dumber…and therefore better. Our hero (played hilariously by Richard Jewell’s Paul Walter Hauser) loves his wife because she helped him through his darkest moment, which just so happens to be when snotty young actor Jamie Taco refused to let him say his Henchman lines in a play.

14. Comos Restaurant

All hail the return of the great Tim Heidecker! Heidecker, of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! fame, is one of the few comedians with a strange enough sensibility to be reasonably seen as an I Think You Should Leave forerunner. His season 1 turn as a walnut-obsessed jazz douche is a classic and this one reaches similar heights. This time, Heidecker’s character, Gary, and his lovely date, Janeane (Tracey Birdsall), have good reason to be annoyed by their date night at the sci-fi cosmos restaurant being interrupted by some hacky jokes. Of course, they use this opportunity to reveal that Jeannine’s mom used to drink puke for the Davy and Rascal radio show to pay for school supplies. It’s oddly refreshing to have a Heidecker character given a game partner and Gary and Janeane make one great team.

13. Detective Crashmore Interivew

While the Detective Crashmore trailer is the setup, this interview with AOL Blast is the punchline. Detective Crashmore is played by Santa Claus, because why not? Actor Biff Wiff’s gruff, nasally Midwestern timber is the perfect accent to accompany this lunacy. This is a Santa who in one breath demands to be taken seriously as an actor (Billy Bob Thornton-style) and in the next admits to seeing everyone in the world’s dick.

12. Sloppy Steaks (I Used to Be a Piece of Shit)

From here on out, it’s nothing but absolute homeruns. “Sloppy Steaks” could very well have been number one on this list and few would have batted an eye. The setup here is amazing as it gives Tim Robinson a reason to essentially have beef with a baby. The baby cries because he knows Robinson used to be a piece of shit. But don’t babies understand that people can change? That’s funny enough to begin with, but the real gut-busting moment here is the reveal of what “being a piece of shit” really means. In this case it means slicking one’s hair back and dousing the steaks at Truffoni’s with water to make sloppy steaks.

11. Johnny Carson Impersonator

Just a quick rundown for those who are confused…

Johnny Carson = Can Hit. George Kennedy = Can’t Hit. George Bush = Can’t Hit.

10. Driving School (Her Job is Tables)

This is the rare I Think You Should Leave sketch that actually provides an answer to all the lunacy. As Robinson’s character’s Driver’s Ed class watches Patti Harrison’s actress in some dated videos, they can’t help but wonder what she does for a living. “Tables,” Robinson answers over and over again. This would be funny enough on its own but the reveal that Harrison provides tables to Monster Cons is a rare and valuable moment of “Ohhhhh that’s why” for this show. Equally as valuable is Harrison, who really sells that those tables are her lifeblood.

9. Claire’s Ear-Piercings

One has to wonder how much time goes into choosing the perfect “order” for the sketches in I Think You Should Leave. Two seasons in a row now, the show has selected pitch perfect opening and closing sketches. This closing number is oddly melancholic as the Claire’s orientation video for girls who want to get their ears pierced somehow gives way to one 58-year-old man named Ron Tussbler’s existential dread. If we really get to see the “highlights” after we die, forcibly fake laughing every ten minutes to make the voyeuristic experience all the richer sounds like a good strategy and not sad at all. Hang in there, Ron.

8. Little Buff Boys Competition

What. A. Crop. It was a virtual certainty that ITYSL season 2 would feature a spiritual successor to the classic “Baby of the Year” sketch in season 1. Thank God “Little Buff Boys” is up to the challenge of replicating that magic. This one has all the right elements to be another hit: Sam Richardson (in a wig this time, no less), a grand pageant hall, and some precocious youths. Troll Boy also joins the canon of young ITYSL characters who everybody instinctively hates alongside Bart Harley Jarvis.

7. Tammy Craps

There’s something weirdly nefarious about this commercial for a poisonous doll that doesn’t have farts in her head anymore. It’s a criticism of late stage capitalism crossed with the cursed nature of the Annabelle movies…while not being like either of those things at all. In reality, this is just another absurdist concept sprung from the terrifying inner depths of the writing staff’s mind. It also happens to be a particularly great one. The girl weighing her clothes down with rocks so she can hit the magical 60-pound threshold to safely play with Tammy Craps is one of the best gags of the season.

6. Karl Havoc

“Little Buff Boys Competition” and another upcoming sketch are likely to produce the lion’s share of memes and quotes from this season of ITYSL. But the one quote that’s stuck in my mind most aggressively comes from this hilarious episode 1 clip. The sight of Robinson’s Carmine Laguzio posing as the dead-faced freakshow Karl Havoc and muttering “I don’t want to be around anymore” is quite simply one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed. This is a marvelous, unnerving, utterly hilarious sketch. That there are somehow five better sketches speaks to how strong this season is.

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5. Dan Flashes Pt. 1 (Office)

I Think You Should Leave is now two for two in introducing the most cutting edge items in men’s fashion. Season 1 featured the arrival of the highly practical TC Tugger shirt. Now season 2 ups the ante with the stylish Dan Flashes. This sketch succeeds because it takes a simple question “Why is Mike laying down during a business meeting?” and divines the most outlandish answer possible. Mike isn’t eating because he’s spending all his money on Dan Flashes shirts.

4. Dan Flashes Pt. 2 (Hotel Menu)

It’s one thing to introduce a hilarious concept, it’s another thing entirely to put it into practice. This second entry into the Dan Flashes canon is amazing. Back in part 1, it seemed as though the intricate patterns on the Dan Flashes shirts have a hypnotic effect on men who look exactly like Tim Robinson. Seeing the reality of that – pasty men battling one another to get their credit cards to the cashier before the other – is truly hilarious stuff.

3. Coffin Flop

This is the second sketch of the entire season…the second! And holy shit, does it set a strong precedent for what’s to come. This impassioned message from the Corncob TV CEO for Spectrum to save his network and its precisely one television program is a masterclass in shock humor. Watching body after body busting out of shit wood somehow never loses its grim luster. Somehow, in a sketch that features dozens of naked corpses flopping to the ground unexpectedly, it’s Robinson’s monologue that hits the hardest. “This world is so fucked up. And people are mad at me because I showed a bunch of naked dead bodies with their spread blue butts flying out of boxes? Really?”

2. Calico Cut Pants

Every episode of I Think You Should Leave season 2 features five sketches save for episode 4 which has only three. And that’s because episode 4 is dominated by a near 10-minute epic called “Calico Cut Pants.” In many ways, Calico Cut Pants is the platonic ideal of an ITYSL sketch. It takes place in a nightmarish world where every bizarre action only leads to an even more bizarre reaction. Nothing ever cools down. There is always something stranger on the horizon.

In this instance, Mike O’Brien (longtime SNL writer and the creator of the terminally underrated comedy A.P. Bio) plays an office drone who enters into a living hell merely because his co-worker helps him out of a mildly annoying social jam. Robinson’s character introduces him to a website that advertises pants with piss stains on them. That’s all well and good but once you know about Calicocutpants.com you Always. Have. To. Give. It’s like PBS, but more demonic. This remarkable sketch includes everything that’s great about this show, right down to characters with inexplicable idiosyncrasies like Tim Robinson’s adamance that doors must always be held open for him.

1. Ghost Tour

The funniest moment in ITYSL season 2 (and maybe the funniest moment in the history of the world) occurs in this sketch. Tim Robinson’s character has been admonished for his potty mouth during a ghost tour over and over again. The tour guide even said he’s ruining his job. But this poor man sincerely cannot understand why he’s in trouble. This is a tour for adults and he’s following the rules by using adult language. Like any good Robinson character, he truly believes that he’s the sane one and it’s the rest of the world that’s taking crazy pills.

So in his darkest moment, the man musters up his strength through tears and delivers the following query:

“Not trying to be funny. Not trying to get a laugh. I don’t want anybody to have the worst day at their job. But. Do any of these….fuckers….ever blast out of the wall and have, like a huge cum shot?”

Cue: riotous, damn near apocalyptic laughter. What a treasure and blessing this whole show is.

I Think You Should Leave season 2 is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch appeared first on Den of Geek.

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