#so its like. we are casual coworker acquaintances and we are Girls Who Are Friends (im not sure if she

[the-trans-dragon]

Could a person with mental illness do THIS?

*spends 20 minutes trying to respond to a text, too anxious to commit to a first word such as "Hey" versus "Hi!" versus maybe a unique catchphrase I should incorporate into my personality like "Banjo bonjour!" or, if it would be more logical, "Bonjour banjo!"*

[eerythingisshaka]

If

[Y’lan Noel x Reader]

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Angst/Third base shit

“Can I get one more gin and tonic?”  you motioned to the bartender as you finished what remained in your glass.  At the moment you began to feel a familiar lightness as the alcohol hit your nervous system.  Just enough to feel frisky or fight someone, depending on who came.  You checked your phone again but there’s no reply from earlier in the evening.  You weren’t surprised that you would get stood up, guys are just great at being horrible in that way.  But you expected the bare minimum of a check in.

The bartender laid your glass down in front of you.

“This is the last one.  Can you close my tab?” You dug around in your purse for $20 when a pair of voices turned up behind you.

“Hey girl, is that you?”

You turned around swiftly to see your acquaintance from work with her boyfriend Y’lan.  You smile genuinely at them both.

“Wow, hi!  I didn’t expect you guys to be here too!  How are you?  You look phenomenal!”  Your eyes took in the layered spaghetti strapped shirt that did nothing for her figure and jeans that were more for the barn than the bar.  And were those Pumas…

She wagged her finger, smiling goofily as she hung off of his arm.  “No, no.  You are being WAY too nice!  I couldn’t wear heels today because my arch is bothering me again but honestly I think it gives me a cute casual vibe, right?”

She looked to Y’lan who blinked a few times like he just woke up from a dream.

“Oh, yeah.  You look great.  My girl always does.”  He smiled a smile that could grow crops and end world hunger indefinitely.  Your coworker was very lucky to have him.

You raise your glass to the two of them.  “To the amazing couple that is you both!  So what are we celebrating tonight guys?”  You adjusted your low cleavage top for comfort, looking from your coworker to Y’lan who you definitely caught staring.  Happens to most men.

Your coworker said, “Well, we have decided to consider moving in together!  I mean, it’s been almost a year, it seems right, you know?”

She looked to Y’lan once again who scratched the back of his head.  “Yeah, sure.  It would be fun to have you around more.”

You crossed your arms under your chest in deep thought.  “Well are you guys still considering the move or decided to move in?  You worded that weird…”

She smacked her forehead.  “Duh, yeah I guess I did.  Well although like Y’lan said, it could be fun, it’s still a lot of responsibility and kinks to work out so we are still talking about talking about it, basically.”

You squint and nod slowly trying to wrap your head around their situation.  This is why you couldn’t receive her fully as a friend, she was too into appeasement but also indecisive.  First time you both decided lunch was a good idea, the hour was almost gone just picking a place and you know she cried in the bathroom after about how she thought she upset you.

You pick up your drink again and start to turn to the bar again.  “Well don’t let me guys hold up your evening and enjoy your meal.”

“Oh but, what about you?  Are you here alone?  We could pull up a chair for you to join,” she offers.

You almost laughed your gin and tonic up your nose at the thought.  “Not at all, I hate being a third wheel.  A huge pet peeve.”  You looked at Y’lan before saying, “Plus you guys have some serious talking to do.  My date will be here any second.”  You waved them off and turned up your glass once more.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see them find their seat across the way in a booth.  You felt awkward with them being in your area but at least your coworkers back was to you.  You couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing your drinking alone in a bar and possibly scarfing down some boneless wings that you suddenly had a taste for.  You bothered the bartender once more for a to go order and got your phone out to text that guy to forget it.  You didn’t feel like the dating mood after all this waiting and drinking.  

As you look down at your screen a message pops up that makes your heart skip a beat.  Heat radiates your cheeks as you look across the bar.  Y’lan stares at you for a minute as it appears your coworker is gabbing on about the menu.  His eyes are intense, leaned back in his seat with one arm splayed across showing off his wingspan.  You get flustered, and head for the bathroom.

Bursting through the door you leaned against the sink feeling your forehead and cheeks with the coolness of the back of your hand.  Your breathing became erratic with excitement so you run the sink and splash your face with some water.   There was no way you could answer that guy intelligibly right then so you pick up your phone to text him back, cancel his proposition.  Just then the bathroom door opens.

“You waiting for me?”  

You stood back in shock as he stood before you, leaning against the bathroom door all cool like a Sidney Poitier character.  

You sputtered a response.  “I was just gonna ask to talk to you.”

He nodded, turning to pull the lath on the door, locking it.  “Then let’s talk.”

He entered the bathroom until he was mere inches in front of you.  His olive green V neck with his gold chain resting around his neck tempted your eyes to look closer.

“I was going to say...that if you plan on moving in with her, there is no point in us doing  what...we do…” Your voice quivered on every third word, trailing off anticlimactically.  Not even a 2nd grader watching Sesame Street would believe you were real.

Y’lan scratches through his beard thoughtfully, whipping up the essential oil smell to arouse your nostrils.  “And what is it that we are doing?”

The scruffiness of his voice was his springboard to jump on him.  You looked away and caught a glimpse of you in the mirror.  Your pupils dilated from the gin told the story of what you wanted to do but your brain fought like hell to overcome it.  Watching him in the reflection staring at you up and down, hands in his pockets to camouflage his bulge; you had him in your palm.

You looked straight into his dark eyes with a smirk and said, “If your girl only knew…”

Y’lan’s hands grip your biceps and push you against the wall roughly.  The swift movement took your breath and your eyes widened.

“What would she know?”  Y’lan growled.  

You steady yourself, pushing yourself into him to find that spot that told all his business.  “You want me so damn bad.”

Y’lan smiled, turning his face to laugh.  You loved making him laugh.  “You think just because we had a couple of good conversations that now I want you?”

You knock his hands away, wrapping your arms around his waist and slid your hands down his back pockets.  He wasn’t going to get away that easy.

“How about a couple good conversations, one of which ended with a makeout session in the supply closet at the office party?”

“Which was months ago…”  

You whipped your hips against him until a stiff peak formed.  “And here you are still texting me, DMing me in front of your girlfriend to try and get together ‘as friends’.”

Y’lan takes your hips, spinning you around and onto the sink, setting off the automatic water.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he warned.

“Y’lan!  If you get my skirt wet, I swear to God!”  You arch your back, hanging onto his neck.

Y’lan’s beard tickles your neck as he licks it, hiking your skirt up over your ass.  The coolness of the counter on your skin makes you gasp.

“Just look at you, pathetic.  Can’t control yourself,”  you scold him as you dig into the muscles of his back ravenously.

He grips your neck, expertly holding you in place.  Your mouth hangs open in anticipation as he looks at you with evil glee.  You can hear the tick tock of his watch on his wrist underneath your jaw.

“You think your ass slick dressing up like this when I told you we were coming here.  Playing with them titties like it’s a game.  Skirt showing your ass follow you around the corner?  You try to set me up every step of the way.”

Your thighs cling to him tightly as you pull the neck of his shirt and laugh.  “If that’s how you see it, we could never work.  You deserve the busted, ditzy, goodie two shoe, weak pussy ass girlfriend in there.”

Y’lan let’s go of your neck with a loud grunt, tearing at your shirt to expose your breast, suck at your nipple with a force that shut down your capacities.  Your nails dig into his scalp while he manages your underwear up to your knees, before pushing them into your chest.

“Tell me you don’t want me too.”  Y’lan looks at you with a stoic seriousness as his hand holds your knees up strongly.

You try to buck against his hold but it proved no use. He had you pretzeled and exposed for whatever he needed.

“Fuck you,”  you barely squeak out due to the limited air from your chest being squished by your legs.

Y’lan shakes his head slowly before rearing his freehand back to smack your ass.  The sound reverberates off the walls like a crack of lightning.

“OW!  DAMN!”  You shout.

Y’lan scoffs.  “Finally cracked that cool shell off of you.  Now tell me and I’ll leave:  Do you want me?”

You still buck against his hands, kicking a little at the air.  “You have no rights to me.  It would just be a waste of time.”

He bit his lip as he smacks you again, harder.

“FUCK Y’LAN!”

“I didn’t ask you what you think will be, I’m asking right now what you want.  Now you got me hot, so I gotta do what I gotta do.”

Y’lan lowers himself between you, spreading your lips apart and before you could say please his tongue took its time on you.  Your head rolls against the mirror behind you as your squirm with gratification.  He does not miss a single crevice and hums happily into you as his thirst became fulfilled by your waters.

“Please…”  you whimper as he lets your knees relax over his shoulders giving you command again.  When his eyes locked onto you while he pulled your clit with his lips you felt yourself lose it.  You face strained in satisfaction, locking your thighs around his ears until you absolutely shook for mercy.

“I need...I need…” you gasped with each aftershock that trembled through your body.

Y’lan stood up again, unbuckling his pants a glistening smile.  “You need some of me, don’t you?”

You take what strength you have left to get off the sink, crashing into him and your knees woke up again.  He looked at you with concern as you adjusted your top to pop your girls back in their place and bent for your underwear.

“I need…” you gasped, pulling them up over your hips and smoothing your skirt down.  “...to get my wings.”

Y’lan’s face screwed up in an incredulous manner.  “What?  What wings?”

You turn to the mirror to straighten your hair and give a final once over.  “I ordered some to go.  They should be ready.  I’ll fuck a bitch up if their cold.”  You pat Y’lan’s hardened crotch.  “Down boy.”

As you walk slowly for the door, Y’lan calls out.  “So you just gonna leave it like this?  Until when?”

You look back at him with pity and serendipity.  “You think she would go crazy if she knew?  Or she would just cry?  Will you kiss her later on tonight?”

Y’lan stood there silently, buckling his pants back up and grabbing a paper towel for his mouth. 

“Maybe she would be happy, she seems very positive spirited.  But don’t ever call me again if you got some other girl claiming you.  Believe me when I say.  You know what I could do for you.  But you ain’t ready.”

You left him standing there in that bathroom and headed to the bar just as your order is called.  Picking up your food, you saw your coworker sitting there sipping her lemonade and waiting.  You didn’t feel guilty, however.  

Sitting at home and enjoying your wings, your phone lights up that you received a message.  

We’re not moving in together ever

You text back.  Did she cry?

No... she was mad

Wow, maybe you let a good one go after all

Nah, I’m straight.  

So am I...with these wings.

Do you have some left to share?

Hm, I coulda swore you ate earlier

Masterlist

[things2mustdo]

It is often said that chivalry is dead, but why is that so and who is mourning? A recent article lamenting the rarity of the gentleman within the millennial male populace would seem to provide something of an answer to that question. The author of the piece, Hope Rodriguez, contends that millennial men are severely lacking in gentlemanly traits, and explains to us why they should “man up” and correct these errors.

1. Elevator etiquette I don’t care how big of a hurry you’re in, or how slow she may walk, if there is a female or five on the elevator with you, you hold your arm in the door and let them off first.

2. R-E-S-P-E-C-T (sing it to the tune of Aretha Franklin) If a female walks past you, for God’s sake, do not turn your head and stare at her behind. If she is talking to you, don’t stare down her shirt. If you’re driving down the road, don’t honk or yell “hey sexy!!!!” Gross. Undressing a girl with your eyes is one of the most disgusting and degrading things you could possibly do to her. Don’t worry about getting a date, you’ve already ruined it by being a pig.

3. Give up your seat. Whether she is old, young, pregnant, active, fat, skinny, whatever; if the bus, classroom, etc. is full, get up from your chair and offer your seat to a female who is standing. If you chose to stay in your seat and force ladies to remain standing, make sure you remember to take off your maxi pad on the way out. (oops, did I just say that?!)

4. Pay attention to the fact that the world is more threatening for females We are automatic targets everywhere we go, especially at night. I don’t need to get into the subject of rape. Walk your female coworkers to their cars at night. Just watch out for the women around you, they’ll definitely appreciate it.

5. Be polite. Compliment a lady today. They aren’t going to automatically assume that you want to have babies with them just because you said they look nice today. You would be surprised by what can make a woman smile. Little things, men. Little things.

6. Hold the door. If we are pretty far behind, we don’t expect you to hold the door open for us. It makes us feel like we need to hurry to the door. However, if there is a woman walking behind you or relatively close behind you, do NOT let a door shut on her.

7. Driveway etiquette My son will know that he will NOT drive up to a female’s house and honk the horn or shoot her a text that says “I’m here, come get in the car.” If a guy comes to pick my future daughter up for a date, and he honks the horn or texts her to pick her up, I’m going to walk outside and tell him to go home. Walk up to the door, knock on the door, and then walk her to your car. At the end of the night, walk her back to her door. I don’t care if you’re just friends or you’re married. It’s what you’re supposed to do.

Guys: man up. Bring back gentlemanly behaviors. It would definitely be appreciated.

Unfortunately for this author, her requests are simply incompatible with the notions of gender equality that our society has embraced wholeheartedly and integrated aggressively into its legal and social order.

For example, the modern man on an elevator with women has been raised and conditioned to respect those women as his equals. Equals do not receive special consideration over other equals on the basis of gender or any other marker. Equals are treated… equally. Providing the benefit of this etiquette to women simply because they are women would fundamentally contradict notions of equality that we’re heavily invested in as a society. A man who truly believes in equality and all of the values that it represents is going to practice that elevator etiquette with everyone he meets regardless of gender. He will be polite to everyone. He will respect everyone. He will practice driveway etiquette with everyone, and he will hold the door or give up a seat for anyone who actually needs it. He will not engage in these behaviors selectively on the basis of gender because he has been taught not to discriminate in that way.

A few of Ms. Rodriguez’s other statements betray outright ignorance, naiveté or both. Take these, for example:

…Walk your female coworkers to their cars at night…

… Compliment a lady today. They aren’t going to automatically assume that you want to have babies with them just because you said they look nice today…

The first statement sounds like an excellent way to invite a sexual harassment suit or attract potential discipline for violations of workplace conduct. Your typical corporate millennial females are unlikely to tolerate this unsolicited “escort” on the part of their male coworkers, much less appreciate it. Unless they have already been deemed attractive by these females (most men won’t be in this category), the men attempting to provide this escort will be labeled “creepy” at best, and accused of stalking at worst. No good can come of this.

The second just sounds naive: any man who has interacted with modern millennial females for any period of time will understand that many of them will jump to precisely that conclusion, and will also sometimes react negatively upon doing so. Hope Rodriguez is not a man and so could possibly be forgiven for not understanding these things at the outset, but she needs to change that if she hopes to have any advice she writes for men taken seriously.

That brings me to my next point: Ms. Rodriguez seems not to grasp the true nature of the chivalrous ideals she yearns for or the environment in which she currently lives. The concept of chivalry required men to be perfect gentlemen in their conduct, but said behavior was not intended for every female they met. It was more specifically designed to govern male conduct with ladies. Chivalrous codes of conduct required a gentleman to execute them, and a lady to receive them..

Ladies had their own rules to follow, and it was only through the adherence to those rules that they could qualify for the receipt of chivalry from a gentleman. Chivalric codes of conduct traveled on a two way street: the gentleman cannot exist without the lady, and vice-versa. Both genders were required to adhere to certain standards in order to engage in the chivalric exchange. The gentleman and the lady are like the yin and the yang.

Ms. Rodriguez is probably right to note that an ideal chivalrous gentleman would be more measured and restrained in his observation of an attractive female that he had not yet been acquainted with. He probably wouldn’t be too forward with her to begin with, and would remain exceedingly polite during his first interactions with her while avoiding overt sexualization.

In order to get that treatment, however, a woman would need to be the ideal lady. Ladies in the age of chivalry were modest in their conduct. They were not particularly sexually suggestive in their speech, dress or dance, and this made it relatively easy for a gentleman to approach and engage them in a more polite, less overtly sexual manner.

Most modern millennial women do not adhere to the codes of conduct inherent to the lady. Their dress is often highly sexually suggestive, designed to invite overtly sexual approaches and draw the very suggestive gazes that Ms. Rodriguez scolds millennial men for wielding. Their dance is often even more sexually suggestive, roughly approximating the act of intercourse itself.

Modern millenial females express their sexuality more openly and freely than any lady of a bygone age would have been expected to. A lady expecting to keep that label and thus benefit from the chivalrous conduct of a gentleman could not engage freely and openly in casual sexual relationships with multiple men while unmarried. She could not engage in simulated sex on dance floors with men she didn’t even know well (or even men she did know somewhat well). She could not walk around in clothing designed specifically to expose and draw attention to the more sexually alluring portions of her body. The modern woman can do all of this, however, and very often does. Why?

Because she wants to, and that’s alright. Women have spent generations fighting for the ability to remove social limitations on their sexuality, and they now enjoy the fruits of that effort. Don’t get anything twisted here: I have no problem with this and neither do most millennial men. Women are free to dress as they like, dance as they like and fuck as they like. I’m certainly not going to stop them, but there’s a price to pay for all of this.

As noted before, the gentleman and the lady come together. One cannot exist without the other—the code of chivalry was designed with this understanding in mind, and it dealt with that understanding by creating standards of conduct for each gender seeking to participate in the chivalric exchange. When we freed women from the obligation to adhere to those standards of conduct, we necessarily freed men as well.

How can we change this and bring back the missing gentleman Ms. Rodriguez so desperately desires to interact with? Well, gentlemen require ladies. If you want more gentlemen in the traditional sense, you’ll need to create more ladies in the traditional sense, and that would require a re-imposition of the same social and legal restrictions on female sexuality and expression that women have fought so hard to eliminate during the last few generations. There would need to be a rescission of the legal progress females in our society have made toward true equality.

To further illustrate just why this is, consider the way in Ms. Rodriguez’s suggestion that men give up seats and hold doors (among other preferential and somewhat deferential things) specifically for women solely because they are women. Such behavior was once common, but why was this?

Because women were seen as the weaker sex. This notion of the inherently “weak” female governed the discriminatory legal and social landscape in which the code of chivalry was born and practiced. Men did all they did for women because of the implicit understanding in society that women, by virtue of their being women, were not equal to them. They were weaker and needed assistance and men, by virtue of their being men, were stronger and therefore obligated to provide that assistance.

Men are no longer behaving this way because they have been raised to understand that their female counterparts are not weak, but strong. They’re not dependent, but independent. They’re not inferiors, they’re equals. Our modern legal system takes these statements as fundamental, unassailable truths and uses the force of law to ensure that they are treated accordingly. This will, in turn, prevent men from doing many of the things Ms. Rodriguez would like them to, as they have become increasingly unable to see women as their true inferiors.

If Ms. Rodriguez wants the chivalric code to make its way back into the mainstream, she’ll need to bring back the old view on gender relations that gave rise to it. Modern notions of gender equality will need to go out the window.

That is unlikely to happen, however. For all of her yearning for the “chivalry” of yesteryear, I doubt that Hope Rodriguez or any other modern woman would like to see the return of the social mores necessary to sustain it. Millennial women live in what is undoubtedly the best time to be a female in the history of humanity. At no point in human history have women been as wealthy, as free, as respected and as influential as they are today. The return of te social norms necessary to sustain chivalry in the traditional sense could only inhibit their enjoyment of all that, and they know it. Women have made their voices heard loudly and clearly: they will not tolerate this.

Hope Rodriguez seems like a nice girl and I’m sure she’ll find a man to treat her well sometime soon (if she hasn’t already), but she’ll not succeed in bringing back the ways of a bygone age. Chivalry is dead and, at the end of the day, that’s just the way that most millennial women want it.

https://www.returnofkings.com/28660/the-concept-of-chivalry-has-been-distorted-to-create-subservient-men

From Wikipedia:

Chivalry, or the chivalric code, is the traditional code of conduct associated with the medieval institution of knighthood… It was originally conceived of as an aristocratic warrior code… involving gallantry, individual training, and service to others. Over time its meaning has been refined to emphasise more ideals such as the knightly virtues of honour, courtly love, courtesy, and less martial aspects of the tradition.

The term “martial” here, of course, means relating to war: the code was originally meant to guide medieval warriors– not peasants, aristocrats, or even lords. And certainly not modern day men, living in the world we do today.

This fact alone sheds light on why the code has changed over time. Warriors slashing each other with swords simply don’t exist today. Yet chivalry has stuck around. So has its meaning been refined? Or completely distorted? Let’s take a look at its conception.

The first noted support for chivalric vocation, or the establishment of knightly class to ensure the sanctity and legitimacy of Christianity was written in 930 by Odo, abbot of Cluny in the Vita of St. Gerald of Aurillac.

This passage sheds more light on its intended purpose. The knights, and their chivalric code were meant “to ensure the sanctity and legitimacy of Christianity.” Take fearless warriors like these knights, put them in wartime scenarios, and what do you get? Things like rape and pillaging come to mind, and are commonplace in wars even to this day. Chivalry was meant to ensure that the Christian values that these knights were supposedly fighting for were observed, even in battle.

But as time went on, the application of this code began to encompass more areas of a warrior’s life. Below are the three fronts that chivalry embodied as the middle ages went on:

1. Duties to countrymen and fellow Christians: this contains virtues such as mercy, courage, valor, fairness, protection of the weak and the poor, and in the servant-hood of the knight to his lord. 2. Duties to God: this would contain being faithful to God, protecting the innocent, being faithful to the church, being the champion of good against evil, being generous and obeying God above the feudal lord. 3. Duties to women: this would contain what is often called courtly love, the idea that the knight is to serve a lady, and after her all other ladies.

The first two areas mentioned here represent the origins of the code. Knights were to uphold the Christian values of mercy, courage, protection of the weak, and service to god as they carried out their battles and crusades. The third point, however, is what we are most familiar with today.

This is the expansion of the code into court life where the knights were expected to respect and serve women. But not all women 0nly to Christian ladies of the court, i.e. noble women. The same way these courageous warriors were to protect the weak, they were meant to protect and serve women. In addition to their primary wartime purposes, of course.

Today

What does chivalry mean today? Apparently, now that we don’t have a defined knightly class to battle with swords and protect Christianity, it has expanded to mean that all men should follow it. But not the whole thing. Just the part about serving women.

And there’s nothing wrong with this. A manly man opening the car door or carrying a heavy load to help a feminine women out is a great and attractive thing. This at least resembles the traditional dynamic of a knight protecting and serving a medieval lady. But when you remove some key aspects of this dynamic, does it still apply?

If you take a bratty, drunk girl who’s whining and complaining to her man, does it still apply? What about a girl who is so committed to being on her own and free of dependency on any man that she always tries to order them around and flip the script? When a poor beta man rushes ahead of her to open the door, is that chivalry?

I think not. I think she just made him her bitch.

So is chivalry alive today? In the modern sense of a man protecting and serving women it certainly can be. The strong, confident alpha male who takes it upon himself to treat women as medieval ladies and take care of the manly tasks like carrying heavy bags or walking on the outside of the sidewalk to protect her is a shining example of chivalry in its true sense.

Unfortunately many modern men aren’t like this. They are weak and timid. When you combine this with a women who’s susceptible to taking advantage of such a man and the idea of chivalry, you have the makings of a disaster. A man like this going out of his way to serve all women is only going to further damage his sense of self worth. Rather than being her “knight in shining armour” he becomes something that more closely resembles a servant or a slave.

In the end, it all depends on the context. Chivalry only applied to the knightly class in medieval times. Today, it’s become something that all men are encouraged to follow, whether alpha or beta. While it certainly is an attractive and acceptable behaviour of the alpha, it only serves to further emasculate the beta.

[soranihimawari]

rooftop castles

<<|master list| >>

You opted to contact your friend the go ahead message you normally do when you over sleep right when you both heard her phone’s ringtone go off for the fourth time that evening. She was right outside your closed bedroom door in the flat you share.

The high rise which you called home was sandwiched between the historic art district and the atheletic training center for professional teams. Lately the word on the street was the MSBY Black Jackals were the latest team to sign on to use the facilities. Their publicisit thought it would be a grandoise idea to invite some representatives of the local businesses and much to the players’ surprise, even someone who prefers time away from large crows, their management had agreed on all fronts. Upon learning both of the companies you worked for, ROYGBIV, was on the MSBY guest list contact. (ROYGBIV was an up & coming online magazine you founded with her)

The week prior to sending out the RSVP, your design department received a tall order with a bulleted list of the colors, values, and although it was an arduous week, you burned the midnight oil setting aside the designated handkerchiefs for the players of the team. Your specialty was hand embroidery and once your friend from the calligraphy art team turned in the final cohesive (and approved) font. It was nearly three in the morning when you finished washing your hands, remembering that one of the members of the team was very thorough in his personal upkeep, you closed your eyes for a moment just to readjust to the dim atmosphere surrounding your work space at home. Your desklamp had it’s night mode on and as you sanitize your hand again, your eyes wandered over to the freshly washed black gloves and wearing them prior to threading the needle. Meticulous as your work called for, once the last stitch was sewn, you wrapped the kerchief in a separate package altogether before you let sleep take over you.

A swift rapt at your door caused you to stir from your desk chair when your colleague’s voice was muffled when she paused to answer her phone in the kitchen.

“Shiro?” you poke your head out of your door once you washed the remnants of sleep off your brow; your ears twitched when you heard the other person sharing your kitchen space continue her end of the phone call. “Yeah, she’s going to be arriving a little late, but no worries ma’am! The gifts for the players are completed and ready to go with me.” 

You gave her a curt nod, noticing her cocktail dress shimmering under the lo-light when she returned her attention to you.

“Girl, you look like hell,” she quips. 

“Trust me, I feel it,” you retort. “I heard you cover for me, thanks.”

“Of course. Anything for the ‘best needlepoint embroiderer’ in the company,” she says handing you a large gift bag which held your attire for the evening. “I’m going to head out now since there’s an hour before the guests of honor arrive. Don’t worry, I already have the team members welcome gifts.”

You made your way to the side of the kitchen, where you picked up a glass from the drying rack to pour yourself some water. After you took a few sips, you cleared your throat.

“Thanks girl, I owe you one.” 

“No problem, Shiro. See you there,” you nod when you place your glass in the sink. “I’ll see myself out.”

--PROMENADE SQUARE, ROOFTOP GLASSHOUSE--

The party was in full swing as soon as your calligraphy partner made a few minor adjustments to the floral arrangements which complemented her team’s lettering. Executives and their seconds had several tables to use at their disposal while the photographers started to arrive. Invitees were starting to arrive at the foyer of the formal auditorium floor of the adjoining office building of the training arena. 

You received several messages from a few coworkers aside from your roommate asking for your whereabouts since the players had already checked into the neighborhood. Your patience was wearing thin the moment you received one last call, fastening the last strap of your kitten heel. You were thankful to have such a strong support system, but you realize you prefer being alone on evenings much like this prior to any sort of party. You decide to pick up her call once you reach the foyer after a fifteen minute ride in the company car provided for you.

“Shiro!” your friend’s voice was muffled by the music playing in the background. She had recently excused herself from chatting with other executives when she answered your call. Unbeknownst to her, one of the members of the team, Inuoka to be precise, was within earshot of the call. ”Where are you?”

“The elevator,” you said. Your voice sounded more strained than your friend’s. A piece of fabric rubs against the geometric patterned halo mask you cleaned before exiting your complex’s building.

“You wore the hygienic mask, didn’t you?” your friend exhaled a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you soon.” With that, relief washed over your friend’s features long enough to have Inuoka tap her shoulder and offer her a glass of champagne.

“Your friend,” he says, taking a sip after she happily accepted the flute. “Sounds like our outside hitter over there. Say, can you keep a secret?”

She nods and he motions toward the members of his team scattering about entertaining and thanking the attendees in hopes of increasing their network power. 

“Which leads me to you,” he says, quirking his eyebrow. “So, miss…”

“Nebula,” she introduces herself, raising her glass in his direction. 

“Inouka,” he casually drops his name as soon as the elevator dings. 

Things seem to be going swell at this soiree, thank the gods, you thought. Your eyes scanned the room. The tables were immaculately clad in the schematic the publicity team sent your company and it was worth seeing your collaborative efforts come into fruition. You wandered off to the nearest wait staff to direct you to the furthest table that was closest to the fire escape, breathing your own personal sigh of relief that none of the fellow interns noticed. Then, Nebula was the first one to spot you after the name exchange happened with the member of the team, allegedly. Her eyes lit up once they saw your silhouette. Inouka watched your friend’s eyes lock on to the late arrival. Inouka whispered something into Nebula’s ear, to which she nodded eagerly; he texted his teammates’ personal numbers with a quick snapshot of his new acquaintance’s friend.

“Shall we? My friend is going to bring some more flutes,” Inoula extended his arm toward her just as Nebula elevated her voice. 

“SHIRO!” one of the interns from your team exclaimed. Across the way, more like three tables diagonally across from where you were leaning forward in your casual steel hued suit. Nebula picked up her still-walking pace to a light brisk walk before you were about to knock some sense into a kid who probably thought they were actually six degrees away from knowing either of you.

“Calm down,” Nebula says gently, Inouka was right behind her. “It’s all right Shiro.”

“Thank you,” you said. Your voice was pricked with a slight rage subsided as she reached out to grip your shoulder. “Who’s he?”

“Oh! I’m Inouka,” he introduces himself for the second time that night. You let him list his accolades including which position on the team he played. Using this time wisely, Nebula started to see the plan coming together from her new friend’s side. A few seconds pass when she sees someone dressed sharply (and in similar fashion to her embroidery counterpart) even down to the medical mask. You absolute madman, Nebula thought amusedly when she saw the man excuse himself from the party a few minutes after the incident with the intern, pick up two glasses off the nearest waiter whom he had observed pour fresh glasses of mimosas (“Quick, what’s your friend’s favorite cocktail. I have someone I’d like her to meet.” Inouka suggests. 

“Mimosas. With enough alcohol to tranquilize a demon,” Nebula says).  “And there is someone I’d like you to meet from the MSBY team.”

Nebula gave you an encouraging smile, although you were sure she was pleading with you to play nice please. You return her question with a bold we’ll see this teammate of his is just as--oh, hello.

A flute was presented toward your masked features as an olive branch had its stem held by a silm fingered hand attached to the most immaculately kept wrists that had one of the most aesthetically pleasing wristwatches you’ve ever seen. 

“Nebula, Shiro, this is one of our starting outside hitters,” Inouka states with a wide grin. You accepted the olive branch of a mimosa while elevating your gaze higher, you were stunned to find someone who emulated the same vibe as you.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” you state. Inouka glanced at Nebula who placed her glass down on the closet table available to her left, your right.

“Shiro?” Nebula inquired. “I’m sorry, have you two met before?”

“I would have remembered her if we did,” Sakusa was quick to read the situation in which his teammate was hoping to mull over smoothly with more hushed bravado. He eyed you curiously the moment you stepped off the lift’s platform. You, who kept you head down out of respect for your friend’s networking with one of his own, walked the perimeter of the tables choosing a table close to the fire escape. A few chimes and buzzes went off around the room where the other members of the MSBY team were checking their messages. Intuitively, Sakusa received several compliments from the boys, especially the loudest ones, implying her arrival and distance play reminded them of himself.  

“The textile design department at work received a short detailed profile for the members of the MSBY Black Jackals,” you explain in a nonchalant manner. “It’s not like I racked up double over time trying to complete twenty-seven hand embroidery orders for the last several days leading up to this event, Nebula.”

You place the flute down on a coaster, but before you do, you choose to remove your mask to indulge your company with a sip. The alcohol tingled against your nude lips stained in a sheen of brazen bronze. Inuoka kept an eye on Sakusa’s typically aloof and expressionless stoic demeanor change in the subtlest of ways: the outside hitter mumbled a faint “she’s pretty” under his mask. 

“Shiro,” Nebula begins by first placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “What time did you finish those orders anyway?”

“Three thirty seven this morning,” you reply right before you shotgun the rest of the drink. It was going to be a long night after all and you were going to need a lot more than one mimosa to survive this party. You immediately placed your mask loops back over your ears. 

“You’re kidding,” Inouka said in a moment of disbelief. He nudged Sakusa who took a moment to glance down at your hands. There were microabrasions where you pricked yourself in between changing hands every so often and calluses where the thimble protected your fingers and cuticles from fraying. Inouka excused himself briefly when their captain called him over to meet other potential sponsors. 

“Thank you,” Nebula whispers before he walked away. Returning her attention toward you and Sakusa who still had a full glass in his hand, clutching it for show.

“If you two are ok, I have to make my rounds again, making sure those interns of ours are faring ok.”

“Mm,” you nod with your eyes meeting your best friend’s azure fluorescent irises. “I think I’ll be fine as long as none of the interns are going to be too loud when we leave.”  

Five minutes go by between Inuoka and Nebula working their way around the room before they found each other again this time holding down a delightful conversation with a rather lively mix of both players and young designers chatting about current events. Thus leaving you and Sakusa to fend for yourselves in the best way you knew how.

“And no, by the way,” you say after you clear your throat. “We never met before. Your order was the last one I completed. I am meticulous when it comes to maintaining my work space.”

“I noticed,” Sakusa replies. He placed down the flute next to your empty one. “But if you ask me, I would not forget the smile you have underneath.”

Elsewhere, Inuoka tapped Nebula’s shoulder, both of them stealthily took a candid photo of you and Sakusa talking like old friends. 

“You were right,” Nebula said. She glanced down at the phone. “Sakusa definitely would like her.”

Inuoka chuckled. 

“He’s really good with those things,” one of his teammates with a crown of white hair spiked upwards says. “Seeing the good in people. I mean, man! Inuoka how did you know Sakusa would get along well with the ice king over there?”

“They’re the same person,” one of the interns sharing the table with her senior designer says. “Everyone on our side saw it immediately as your entourage entered the party.”

Nebula was amused by her junior’s bold take, yet it was refreshing to hear it from a third party. Eventually witnessing her friend stand on par with a rather interesting date the rest of the evening.

Several hours later, with the party finally dwindling down to a close, you found yourself heading toward the original table where your evening had begun. Nebula was busy exchanging contact info with the final member of her new friends’ team along with the two interns who took pleasure in becoming more well acquainted with the professional athletes overall taking selfies for their personal albums. There were only five glasses overall at your new location, the ledge by the opposite fire escape parallel to where you had stood originally at the beginning of the soiree. You remove your mask briefly to say something only the wind could hear besides the company you kept. You were quick to pull your mask back up a few seconds later. 

“Oi! Kiyoomi! Hurry up and get her number our ride is almost here!” 

“Shut up Bokuto!” Sakusa says in a stern tone over your shoulder. You could have seen a vein pop out of his neck, but instead, you lock eyes with the teammate Sakusa addressed with an amused expression. 

“What makes you think he already doesn’t have it hmm?” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Care to escort a tired designer down the next available elevator? Seems like that one is filled with the after-party group.” 

Sakusa says nothing, opting to make a gesture with an open palm for you to lead the way. 

Down in the foyer, you were the last to arrive with Sakusa in tow. Nebula was giving each member of the team their small gift bags when she paused for a moment before speaking once each of the players had a bag in their hands, including Sakusa.

“Of course none of the events tonight would have been made possible without my talented and cofounder of our design firm, Shiro,” Nebula said, her eyes never straying past Inuoka’s amusing coy smile. “She’s the one whose team pulled back to back all nighters, hand-dying the fabrics she used to create your gifts in the bags. Shiro, care to say a few words?”

Inuoka and Bokuto, along with the small tight-knit group of interns, and with Nebula and Sakusa standing by their peers, you took a deep breath, reaching for the ear loops of your mask; you choose to take it off for the rest of the night. 

“Sakusa, you beautiful gentleman of a bastard,” other members of the MSBY team hive-mind for a split second to bear witness to their outside hitter falling for the statuesque woman’s charming smile.  

“Thank you for believing in our company, which I’m sure you all have heard a thousand times tonight,” you began and the athletes chuckle at your wit. “So I will make this brief. Welcome to the neighborhood and if you ever need our services, you have our contact info. If you all will excuse me, I have a date with my California king bed.”  

Your jacket chimed with several notifications from both the interns and the athletes who through Nebula and the rest, sent messages with their names. Well, all but one person; with marks above his brow, tall, stoic, and kind eyes …

Watching your interns quickly wrap up their remaining farewells along with Nebula who, much to the surprise of everyone else except Bokuto, you, & Sakusa, had a date lined up with Inuoka for coffee on their next day off. The MSBY Black Jackals captain, Meian, made sure to thank Nebula seeing as Sakusa stepped off to the side mentioning he had to make a call. 

“Of course,” Bokuto says rather in a boisterous manner.

“Shh!” the intern hushes the owl by covering his mouth with her own. “Leave your teammate alone, hah.”

Then, your silent ringer went off (unknown callers on your network are preprogrammed to ring silently) prompting you to answer. Unbeknownst to you, Sakusa’s curiosity got the better of him when Inuoka slipped one of the other business cards from earlier with a series of numbers on the blank side. A little meddling never went so horribly right like tonight. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, right?” you speak into the receiver. 

“I’ll be sure to remember you this time,” Sakusa replies.

“ALRIGHT! Our ride is already here boys, let’s go,” Meian announces. It was only a matter of where with Sakusa, never he minded with the who, the what, or the why; she’s going to drive him mad with desire. You are one of a kind miss designer, the captain thinks watching over his partner in crime on the court.

“You better,” you glance up after you end the call. You held up your arm and bent it at the elbow moving your wrist side to side in a curt wave. “Bye for now.”

The interns took turns leaving together in rideshares soon thereafter. Nebula and you decided it is best to walk off the rest of the alcohol and horderves. Whispering to each other about the two young men from the team who took a liking to your individual ethical behavior:

“Inuoka seems kind,” you muse. “He reminds me a lot of your first boyfriend in third year design workshops.” A chortle escapes your throat.

“You attract more bees with honey,” Nebula playfully shoves you. “Not everyone can get the princely type. How tall is he again?”

“I’ll send you their interview stats,” you tease. 

“Bless you, Shiro.”

“No prob-bob.”

You two walk side by side silent again until you are a block away from your housing complex. Although you two work together, Nebula and you decided one shared space was enough between you both. Nebula’s apartment was on the eastern side while yours faced the closest shinto temple you frequented with her (or sometimes on your own for meditation purposes). You hug each other after you use your gate key to enter your respective buildings. After a thorough deconstructively thorough make-up removal routine, you draw yourself a bath where you replay the events of the soiree on the roof in your mind. You pull your knees to your chest as you begin to scrub yourself clean removing any traces of imperfections nature had given you and you finally, finally feel yourself relax as your subconscious pushes Sakusa’s voice to the forefront of your mind: “I’ll be sure to remember you this time.”

***

[rooftop castles end]

[anhed-nia]

CATTOBER #2 10/20/2019: CAT PEOPLE (1942)

When RKO released Jacques Tourneur’s classic CAT PEOPLE in 1942, it was about a decade after DRACULA and FRANKENSTEIN had roughly co-created the monster movie, and a year after THE WOLFMAN joined Universal’s creature canon. It is hard not to see their influence on Tourneur’s feline-themed effort--a half-human paranormal being, generally bearing a curse from a foreign land, is torn between its craving for love and its urge to kill, effectively symbolizing the loneliness and frustration of the average ticket buyer. There’s nothing wrong with an extra dose of that now and again, as history has proven, but we are lucky that DeWitt Bodeen’s script goes above and beyond the call of those familiar gothic romances. CAT PEOPLE provides a detailed and even confrontational analysis of alienated sexuality and clinical depression that is startling for its era, or perhaps any era.

Serbian fashion illustrator Irena Dubrovna (Simone Simon) innocently initiates the ruination of her own life when she casually litters at the Central Park Zoo. Her carelessness attracts the attention of all-American male Oliver Reed (?! Kent Smith), who promptly sets about trying to tame the eccentric and exotic artist. Having penetrated her apartment (but nothing more) and chided her for her unusual decor, she explains Serbia’s history of witch hunts--specifically, the purging of satanic cultists who could transform into cats. Oliver’s bemused condescension will be a constant presence in their evolving relationship, which somehow escalates to marriage in spite of Irena’s unwillingness to consummate. Irena is open with Oliver about her emotional troubles, claiming that there is something wrong with her that can be catalyzed by sexual stimulation. Irena is a lonely creature who is painfully aware of the difference between herself and ordinary, non-pathological women who are free to do as they please without serious physical and emotional consequences. Oliver, the perennial skeptic, moves from making fun of his wife’s neuroses, to thrusting a shrink upon her. Following in Freud’s footsteps, Dr. Judd (Tom Conway) is an intellectual predator who believes that he can “cure” Irena’s frigidity himself by forcing himself on her. While she tries to navigate this terrible experience, Oliver grows closer and closer to a coworker who has been waiting patiently in the wings for him. Once Irena determines that she has been betrayed by her supposed loved ones and caretakers, more than one of these characters will be doomed.

CAT PEOPLE is just as astute about depression and anxiety as it is about abuse. Irena’s feelings of being sick and unworthy are sadly standard responses to one’s own inability to be happy and uncomplicated--those blithe qualities that define the concept of normality for many. Unfortunately, when this kind of alienation is your problem, it can beget other problems, as it often activates dangerous individuals in your midst. Oliver is a particularly dangerous sort of person, as he fully believes himself to be healthy, happy, and normal. He shoves his way into Irena’s life, in spite of her consistent resistance, because he is incapable of self-doubt. Instead, he focuses all of his critical energies on Irena, scoffing at her ancestral belief system, and glibly dismissing her frank and open discussion of her distress. He thinks he “loves” his wife, but shows her no respect to her face, and shares all of her confidential thoughts and feelings with his friends and acquaintances, to her total mortification. Though he seems incapable of speaking with his wife as equals, he shares a disturbing moment of truth with his colleague Alice (Jane Randolph). “I don’t really know what love is,” he says, just as Alice is bravely confessing her own feelings for him. Alice, a stable and self-confident person, gives him a reasonable definition of a healthy relationship: “It’s understanding...no self-torture, no doubt.” Bypassing Alice’s profession of love, Oliver counters, “That isn’t the way I feel about Irena...I’m drawn to her...I have to watch her when she’s in the room, I have to touch her when she’s near. But I don’t really know her.” He is only really attracted to primitive sexual tension, mystery and vulnerability--an inaccessible woman, the conquest of whom feeds his ego--and Alice, a person of substance and honesty, has neither.

Eventually, Alice will win out, though. Oliver amuses himself with Irena on a grand scale, even paying the price of a wedding to enjoy the drama of trying to undermining her. Just as he is gaining the upper hand, convincing her to revisit the psychiatrist who tries to molest her, Oliver loses interest. He awakens to Alice’s good-natured steadiness, to which she replies ironically, “That’s what makes me dangerous, I’m the new kind of other woman.” This remark identifies the hitch at the center of any relationship with a shallow, gaslighting abuser like Oliver. They make women who are compassionate and emotionally available feel “boring” and sexually worthless, but their seeming preference for “crazy girls” is really just a preference for the opportunity to abuse someone. They don’t take their excitingly volatile and often traumatized lovers seriously, and will eventually turn to the temporarily greener-looking grass of a more socially acceptable female who has her proverbial shit together. Oliver openly flaunts his growing intimacy with Alice, sending Irena away in public so they can be alone, and chastising her for failing to work on herself, for refusing to be honest about her “real” problems. These insults are all too familiar to people battling mental illnesses. The allegedly Healthy will say that the Sick aren’t sick, they’re lazy, and if the Sick try to tell the inconvenient truth about their feelings, they are dismissed as liars. Any other concession would entitle someone like Irena to a little more compassion, which is more work than Oliver is willing to put in.

Honesty is an embattled concept in CAT PEOPLE. Irena goes out on a very unstable limb when she explains herself to Oliver and Dr. Judd, and they use her shocking statements to invalidate anything she has to say. ”I have never lied to you,” she pleads pitifully, as the men build up her reputation as a liar. Judd may or may not fully believe that Irena is convinced of her satanic heritage, but he is happy to paper it over with broad psychoanalytic concepts. “There is in some cases a psychic need to loose evil upon the world,” he says, suggesting that her fixation on wild cats is just a reflection of her destructive nature. “All of us carry within us the desire for death,” he adds, identifying her thanatropic drive as at fault for her perceived refusal to simply *be happy*. This all makes him sound pretty bright, but as the audience can plainly tell, he will pay for his inability to acknowledge that Irena is genuinely trapped between two worlds. Her story ends in tragedy when the bestial impulses that she has fought to contain are finally set free by all of these attacks from those who begged her to trust them. In the film’s final moments, Oliver and Alice look down at the feline corpse of the friend they betrayed, as he infuriatingly remarks, “She never lied to us.” Even at the end, CAT PEOPLE presents a painful reflection of real life, in which those vulnerable people who are disbelieved are rarely around to hear it when they are finally validated.

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - 2

This was originally titled “Black Rose” but i’ve finally settled on a title \o/

===========================================================

“They’re making you go after who?!”

You wince slightly at your friend’s shrill scream of outrage, bowing slightly in apology to the other customers in the restaurant.

“Lyse, you really need to keep your voice down,” You try to hush her, pushing her bowl of noodles a bit closer to her person. Her sparkling blue eyes are aflame in anger, hand roughly snatching the bowl so quickly that broth sloshes onto the table. Her blonde hair is tied up high in a ponytail, her police uniform clean and pressed. 

“How can I be quiet when they are having you do such a high level mission?!” She snarls, all but shoving her chopsticks into her food.

“Really Lyse, her captain wouldn’t have given her the assignment if she didn’t think she wasn’t capable.” Y’shtola chimes in, ever the calm to Lyse’s occasional hotheadedness. “Though I must admit, I have my reservations...” She trails off, brows furrowing. “Also, could you tell me where my chopsticks are?”

“Three o’ clock.” You and Lyse reply, to which the Miqo’te woman thanks you. Though blind, Y’shtola was a nurse at a local hospital, and though she did not work directly with you and Lyse, you had often bumped into her enough times on calls to make her acquaintance. With delicate hands, she picks up her chopsticks and begins to eat.

“Look guys,” you begin, taking a sip of your soda, “I’m nervous too, but like ‘Shtola said, I don’t think the captain would give me this mission if she didn’t believe in me.” Picking up your chopsticks as well, you lightly stir the noodles in the broth, resting your chin on your free hand. “Besides...if this mission goes well, imagine what it could mean for me in the long run? A promotion? Climbing up the ranks?”

“A promotion? In this economy?” Lyse snorts, pausing to slurp up some more noodles. “According to the files, no one even really knows much about the guy’s son anyway and they’re just throwing you in there on a hunch! You said in the reports that this Zenos guy right,”

Y’shtola has to stop herself from clapping a hand over her friend’s stupid mouth. “Lyse! Be careful!” She hisses, tail frizzing up.

“What else am I supposed to call him? We don’t know shit about him right?” Lyse defends, pointing her utensils at the riled Miqo’te. “They are feeding our friend to the wolves Y’shtola! I have a right to give the captain a piece of my mind,” You stop your friend’s tirade by reaching across the table and flicking her square in the forehead. “Ow! What did you do that for?!” She whines, rubbing at the offended spot.

“Lyse, while I appreciate your concern,” you begin diplomatically, giving her a small smile, “I’m not worried about this mission at all. In fact I’m a little excited.” You admit, your smile growing wider.

“Only someone as crazy as yourself would be eager to go fight the son of a crime lord...” Lyse grumbles, not at all hiding her pout. “Regardless, you promise to be careful, won’t you?” Y’shtola presses, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“Of course ‘Shtola. I would never be anything less.” You grin, steering the conversation onto easier, more pleasant topics such as Y’shtola’s relationship with her boyfriend Runar and Lyse fending off coworkers who can’t take no for an answer. 

The next day finds you back at headquarters preparing for a debriefing. Your name is no longer yours it feels like, being written away like that one movie you watched as a kid. Honey is the name you are given, and though it is a bit masculine, you find yourself unable to care. It isn’t your name, and that’s what matters.

“So, Honey, here’s how we’re going to weasel you into the crime underworld.” Merlwyb’s voice carries clearly in the room, Raubahn sitting casually at his desk, but his eyes are as hard as ever. You turn your eyes to the projection on the wall, showcasing the Rakuza District. It’s certainly not the seediest place in the city, but even you wouldn’t go out of your way to go there. 

“Word on the street is every once in awhile, you can catch a few decent brawls down there. Simple stuff, some petty gangs getting together to strut their stuff. None of them are anywhere near the level Varis is on in terms of their ‘goods’, but still they attract Zenos’ attention all the same.” The slide shuffles over to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. “Rumor has it that Zenos himself has been known to grace these lowlives with his presence in hopes of a challenge.”

“You’ll be working closely with another operative, whose code name is Thancred. We’ve had him slithering into a low level gang called the Marauders; all they do is petty crime. Break into a few jewelry stores, rob some gas stations. My twelve year old could take on these chumps.” She scoffs in disdain, complete with an eye roll. “We could clean these guys off the streets any day. But what matters is they’re our in; you’re going to join them under the guise of being a new recruit. Showing up on your own would look too suspicious.” She crosses her long arms pinning you with her stare. “I’m sure you understand that you must use whatever means necessary to catch his attention.” 

You definitely catch what she’s implying, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Hopefully he’s just interested in a good fight and nothing else.” You sigh, shifting in your seat. Merlwyb nods and gestures to Raubahn, who then speaks.

“We want you to look the part, play the part as much as possible. Don’t worry about any small theft or crime they have you participate in; it’ll be cleared from your record. We need you to be as convincing as possible. These people are smart Honey, the top of their class. Do what you must to get the info, but most importantly do what you must to stay alive.”

You nod in understanding, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are moved to a new apartment on a different side of town from your own, given a different car, a different ID, a different wardrobe.

You wonder if it’d be too much to ask them to let you keep it all. After all your thighs do look amazing in fishnet tights and tight leather shorts, a snug leather vest sitting just so under your breasts atop a red tanktop. Your favorite fighting gloves adorned your hands; the only real leather you owned prior to this whole operation. With your combat boots and some black eyeliner, you finished off what you hoped was a bad girl look. You had binged on a few movies to try and get the look as close as possible.

“Hey baby, how you doin?”

Well it seemed to get the “right” attention anyway. The first few weeks at the Marauders are surprisingly uneventful, the hideout seeming restless as if waiting for some action. Sure enough Merlwyb’s words ring true. They’re nowhere near the level of crime that the Galvuses are. It’s just a group of big, burly men and women acting tough, Maetifyst heralding as their leader. He’s certainly the biggest and burliest of them all, and Thancred warns you to steer clear of him at all costs.

You do your best to hold your own, not at all trained in matters of espionage. You decide that aloof and mysterious is the best persona to take on; aloof to the point of oddity. That strangeness seems to give you a negative reputation in the gang, though it is soon bolstered with respect when you start winning your first infights. The members of the gang are all worse than amateurs compared to your training, with zero combat experience and used to simply throwing their weight around at whoever pisses them off. There are a few who approach you in challenge, thinking themselves bigger and smarter, only for you to send them packing and running to get patched up with their tail between their legs.

It is your talent however, that puts you right in the way of Maetifyst. 

“You’re tough lil’ cookie ain’t cha?” The Roegadyn’s green skin somehow glows warmly in the light of his makeshift office, looking deceptively decent somehow in this abandoned warehouse. Dressed in a stark black suit and his hair styled upwards, he certainly carries himself as the boss. “Checkin’ up on new recruits ain’t much to me. All I need is muscle who will do as they’re told. You however...” his eyes run across you in a way that had you not needed to be undercover, your fist would be through his chest. “You might be just what we need.”

You pause for a moment to tilt your head. “Need for what?” You ask, playing the innocent doe.

“Tell me girl, have you ever heard of the Galvuses?” His voice his hushed now, his hand reaching to pour himself a glass of whiskey from a nearby bottle. He gently grabs a nearby glass, pouring the liquor smoothly until it is half full.

You take another moment to pause before answering. “You mean like the businessmen?” You question, watching as the man smirks.

“Aye, the businessmen. ‘Cept they ain’t no businessmen. They’s some right crooks, that they are.” He chortles, swirling the liquor in its glass. “The Galvuses have little people like us under their heel yeah? Might shock ya to know, but they’re actual crime bosses; like the ones in the movies.” He reclines in his chair, knocking back the whole glass and slamming it on the table when he’s done. “And we’re sick of ‘em.”

You lean forward slightly to show your interest. “Do they...bully you or something?” You ask, wincing at your choice of words. Maetifyst seems to not notice, instead bellowing in laughter, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“S’pose you could say that huh?” He chuckles, crossing one leg over the other. “When it comes to crime in Kugane, we answer to them in a way. Ya see we deal in DVDs, watches, even some cheap drugs on the side. But it’s not the real stuff. It ain’t Black Rose.”

You do your best to hide your spike of interest, fighting to remain aloof as Maetifyst just gives himself away. He must really want you to worm your way into the Galvuses’ gang to be giving away this info for free. “Black Rose...isn’t that,”

“It’s the good stuff.” He chuckles. “Students love the shit, yeah? For awhile the Galvuses had a monopoly on the stuff, but seems like they got a bit too big for their britches if ya catch my drift. I got in contact with a fellow gang called the Gunbreakers and they been cookin’ up some equally good shit. It’s been bringin’ in some real money for us.” Opening a drawer at his desk he pulls out a cigar, accompanied by a lighter. “However, them Galvuses ain’t too keen on us pushin’ in on their turf. Things been tense lately. But with you...” He trails off, giving you a once over again.

“If I can get you to catch Zenos yae Galvus’ attention with skills like yours, you just may be our in.” He sneers, taking a long drag from the cigar. “Not to say I don’t like havin’ ya around, but we could probably trade ya for some corners. I wouldn’t worry much about it. I know they treat folks good over there, with all the cash they got.”

You can’t hold back your snort fast enough, fumbling to recover. “Me? Good enough to get in with the Galvus line?” You do your best to come off as incredulous as possible, hoping he buys your slip up. The irony of the situation is not lost on you.

“Now’s not the time to act humble kid. My fightin’ days may be over, but even I can tell you wreck shop.” He takes another long drag, blowing out smoke into the stuffy office. “The Galvuses keep their crew tight. Don’t replace their ranks unless one of them ‘leaves’ if you catch my drift. Your opportunity comes this weekend, where we’ll be putting you in their little tournament. Climb to the top and snag the attention of the Galvus’ lines higher ups. If they like ya enough, maybe they’ll send one of their boys on their way out.”

“Just like that, huh?” You question, trying not to huff at Maetifyst’s easy grin.

“Just like that.”

[spacecharr]

Why I’m Not Threatened By Old Men

A (high) treatise on why young women shouldn't be afraid of all old men.

Written by a (high) young bi woman of colour.

---

Lemme start by saying I wrote that title because I thought it would be clickbaity. And I wrote the subtitle like that because I'm being "funny" and I anticipate it will generate trolling. My popcorn is getting cold, and I want a show.

And incidentally, it's all true.

Because this is SpaceCharr pontificating on #authenticity and weed, son!

My local Starbucks is small, has a tiny little patio, limited seating and serves a wildly diverse customer base. From your Basic Skinny Pumpkin Spice Latte Bitch(TM) to uniformed police, from sharply dressed businessmen to soccer moms with three kids and a Burberry purse, from punk-rock loud and proud visibly LGBTQ folks to button-down sweater-vest old-schoolers, and from local college kids to retired old men.

It’s fascinating to see the crazy range of people and it makes for eavesdropping lazily on some hilarious (and sometimes very serious) conversations ranging all over the place.

And for some reason, I have a really really easy time getting old white men to talk to me. 

Lemme lay some context: I’m a friendly gal. I’m sociable, (I’ve been told) charming, easy going, and very casual. I remember in elementary being given feedback by my teachers that I was “unapproachable”, and they were worried I would have difficulty making friends. From junior high on, I purposefully (after much coaching from my parents and my mom especially) sought out opportunities to learn better social skills. As an only kid, I didn’t have any siblings to be guaranteed friends with, and my relationship with my extended family was spotty at best. 

So if I wanted friends, I knew I’d have to get them on my own. (Troll Note: I know some dipshit’s gonna be all “omg sure #thathappened. Like a grade schooler can know that” - and you’re right! Grade like, 3-6 me had no fuckin’ clue. But 20s me? Who’s gone through a bunch of psychotherapy? Now she knows a bit more)

I learned interpersonal skills. I did drama, I joined clubs, I did Toastmasters (fuckin’ fantastic, btw, look for your local chapter), and I even did the Dale Carnegie Interpersonal Skills course that’s based off How to Win Friends and Influence People (1000% recommend, A+ on how to be a decent human despite its manipulative-sounding title which is brilliant). I learned how to be a more approachable person - and I learned why people find it approachable.

I saw the difference in how people received me when I spoke formally versus when I spoke in a very familiar tone (”hello” vs “hey, hey!”). I noticed that I could easily put the people I was dealing with off-balance in a good way (relieved surprise) with humour and well-meant self-deprecation. I learned through trial and error what body language and touch cues elicited in terms of responses across various types of people. It became second nature for me to analyse and act on these, and my knowledge of these techniques helps me daily in my work as a consultant.

So now, after several years in the workforce, multiple significant life events (aka I’m relatively old), and more overall life experience, I’m often described by my coworkers and friends as “very friendly and often happy”. Of course, according my sibling-like co-scoundrels in my cube farm, I am “disgustingly upbeat” - but they say it with love because they know I’ll tease them relentlessly, too.

I have found over the years that I have actually changed down to the core of that grade school girl. I’ve gone from a kid who struggled to make friends and who was seen as unapproachable, to a person who can very quickly establish good rapport. 

(side note: holy fuck I just realized I went from Dandere to Deredere... I’m a fuckin’ anime side character, shit)

Kind of the best example of what I mean is an interaction I had with a new massage therapist at this place I had a gift card for. That is to say, a complete and total stranger whom I had never interacted with or seen in the past. The shop I was at had you wait in the reception area with the receptionist until the RMT came to get you. So this dude came out to meet me, introduced himself and we chatted easily for a bit. After not even a minute of us chatting, he and I were laughing together and shared an easy chemistry. The receptionist - remember, who’d been there when the RMT and I introduced ourselves for the first time - then asked me “oh, are you two old friends?” to which he and I laughed and said “no, we’re just friendly”.

Anyways - that’s the context.

I’m a friendly gal. Sociable, a bit charming, easy going, and easily able to manipulate her own behaviours in order to make the other person feel more comfortable.

In Harry Potter-code: I’m a Slytherin who can play a Hufflepuff, but only because it gets me what I want - your cooperation and rapport - more easily. However, I also do genuinely mean those nice Hufflepuff-like actions - just, there’s an ulterior motive attached.

I’m also young, and obviously with South Pacific Islander blood in me (exotic features - I’ve been told I’d be cast in Miss Saigon if they ever did a musical in my city - I took it as as compliment, since I’m friends with the old white dude who told me that and he did mean it as a compliment).

Let’s put this together:

Exotic, tan-skinned young woman

Chatty, friendly, skilled at making people feel comfortable

Can make someone feel like an old friend

Easily self-deprecating and humourous

In a Starbucks with chatty retired old dudes and a lot of shared seating

Can anyone else see why my title makes more sense? (Legit, I am high, so if it doesn’t make sense, that makes sense)

Lemme spell it out for you bois: I’m an old perverted white man’s wet dream.

(yes, I’ve been told such to my face; yes, I believe from experience that most of the people who won’t believe me are straight young men - not out of malice, I think, but out of a belief that people aren’t that bad [not that old men finding young women attractive is bad - acting on it in certain ways however, can be]).

I’ve worked out of the Starbucks I mentioned several times in the past. As a consultant, I have a measure of flexibility in my schedule and I find I work best on some of my problem solving and documentation work when I’m out of the office. The change of scenery and the need to shut out the environment to “see” my work helps me - plus I don’t get drawn into the co-scoundrel shenanigans.

And I’m not kidding you - 8/10 times that I go there, I make a new old white man friend. Even the bi dude I met (srsly, it feels like since I made the decision to be openly out, I’m meeting more and more bi people everywhere when before there was nobody) was an old white dude.

I fuckin’ love it.

I am a young, bi woman of colour who loves having old white man friends. 

Because they’re just as chill, non-judgemental, self-deprecating, sociable, and easy-going as I am. And they appreciate my dad jokes and bi puns. Seriously. Dads everywhere - we all secretly love your jokes.

And, y’know what? I think more young women - LGBTQ or not, PoC or not - should want to have old white dudes as friends. 

INB4 tumblrinas: I don’t mean resurrect Hitler and be his gal pal. I mean don’t dismiss a possible friend just because they’re old, white, and have a dick. Use your brain - not every human is good, but likewise, not every human is bad. We come in shades in all ways.

I won’t tell you what to do, because I don’t know. What I want to share with you is why I feel the way I do. And let you do what you will with it - because I’m not interested in changing your mind. I’m interesting in trading stories and adventures - and understanding more about each other through that exchange.

Here’s why I love being open to talking to old white dudes:

Dad jokes. I’m not kidding. I love Dad Jokes.

They’re often past the point of giving a shit about society, so if you have a genuine, good-natured conversation about your point of view, chances as they won’t give a shit as long as you’re happy and no one’s dying.

They have amazing stories. I can’t tell you the number of times a new friend of mine has launched into crazy tales of things they got up to when they were younger.

They have great advice. Often, they’ve made some pretty bad mistakes. And they’re all too happy to share their lessons and spare someone else the trouble.

They often just want a chat. They don’t need a new friend, they don’t want your number, they just want a lively conversation with someone who isn’t gonna call the cops on them.

It’s so freakin’ easy to make their day and make them smile. And the genuine surprise when they find a young chickie they’ve no doubt had to weigh the pros-and-cons of talking to, who is easy-going and as happy to make their acquaintance as they are hers? It’s so cute. Old man smiles are so cute.

They respect you for being unapologetically who you are. They know that they’ve invited themselves into a talk with you - and they’re willing to carry and/or exit that talk if they find you being openly yourself. (which means if “yourself” is a fuckwit, they’ll just drop you if they know what’s good for ‘em; but then you’re just a fuckwit in Starbucks)

I guess for more location context, I should add that I live in Canada; it’s not an uncommon occurrence here for spontaneous conversations to happen. It might be more rare in other places, though. My city is also quite progressive and has a fairly active and supported LGBTQ scene.

All this said, it’s just a really nice experience in my mind to have good relationships (passing conversations, spontaneous coffee clubs, casual friendships, or more serious friendships) with old dudes as a young woman.

It’s like having a legion of second father figures, or uncles, more accurately fun drunkles, and older brothers. 

I enjoy several significant friendships with old dudes:

I go for coffee almost every week with two white old dudes and a dudette (I’d say “old” but she’d punch me out): our conversations range from politics to wood relationships to name calling to sibling-like teasing.

I have three co-scoundrels at work that I’m close friends with, all are old men. None are in a position to help me with anything at work, but damn are they hilarious and they’re a ready Friday-afternoon morale boost with their antics.

I have a very close old Japanese-Canadian friend. We have a complicated and somewhat tense relationship, but ultimately I think it can be said that we have a certain platonic love for each other. Though we don’t speak frequently, we’re both very significant to the other. He was my taiko instructor.

I have another very close relationship with one of my long-standing old dude friends. He’s known me since I was 9. A single hug from this man can stop an anxiety attack in its tracks. We kiss each other on the cheek and like to weird out the ladies at Starbucks when we go there with each other by holding hands - we’re both Slytherin trolls.

Don’t forget the OG Old Guy: my proper Old Man. My papa. Our relationship was strained by my mother’s unhealthy approach to all her familial relations during my early years. But as I’ve moved out, gotten older, and gained more life experience, it feels like my dad is finally realizing I’m not a little girl anymore - that I’m a woman, with woman needs, woman wants, and woman expectations and behaviours. We don’t talk about all things, naturally, he’s still my dad. But I can’t tell you how great it feels to have a dad who I know has my back no matter what.

I feel like there’s a certain conditioning for young women to “fear” the “old white man”. Certainly for me in particular it feels like there’s lots of factors in play: my “tropical” ethnicity, my youth, my LGBTQ nature (still haven’t been asked for a threesome as a bi woman - I’m impressed with my city), and, naturally, my gender.

While I do know that those are all things that certainly do warrant a certain amount of wariness around strangers (old in my neighborhoods usually means highly conservative about, depending on the age of said person, “the immigrants” or “the non-whites”. Age from young-old to old-ass-old. They’re a product of their time.), I also think it’s vital not to let that wariness get in the way of making a possible new friend.

Anyways, I need to wrap this up.

How does this loop back into #authenticity and weed? Well, it’s been my experience that the old (white + some Asians, in my case) dude friends that I’ve made are some of the best people to help you be yourself.

They have anecdotes to illustrate benefits, cons, risks, and rewards; they have dad jokes and puns to bring some much-needed levity; they don’t give a fuck about the other Starbucks goers - for better or for worse; and they - just like you - just wanna have a good day and be able to be themselves.

Does this apply to every old man? No. Does it not apply to every old man? No.

If you’ve read this far, you have the brain capacity necessary to give someone a chance. Now, you’ll wanna do some preparation if this is nearing your max capacity, because you wanna make sure you’re not letting the wrong old man come talk to you all friendly-like. 

But once you find one who’s just a swell dude? Cut ‘im some slack, maybe remember that he’s struggling to speak your vocabulary as much as you’re struggling to understand his. 

Sit back, drink some coffee, smoke a joint, and share a story once in a while.

Anyways. That’s been SpaceCharr Pontificating.

Cheers, buds.

Stoner note:  My hand rolling’s gotten so much better. And the weed I have doesn’t seem to smell as strongly as the pre-roll I had that one time, so I might sesh in the park at some point. I have my inaugural shroom trip this weekend - bestie agreed to tripsit! Yay! And she’s bringing the whole Planet Earth HD collection! - so it might not be for a while. I want to give the experience the attention it deserves, plus I need to establish a clean baseline to experiment accurately with microdosing.

[scatcatz]

Affection by Decimals

Chapter 1 - The First of Many

Summary: This is a self indulgent Human Female Reader x Connor romance drama with lots of hurt/comfort and fluff with some nsfw chapters. I don’t use Y/N so the character is nameless when possible. I do use she/her pronouns. Its more about everyday life with androids that won their freedom and Connor’s socially reserved acquaintance who becomes more than he realized.

"Connor, please for the love of god. Stop following me around like a damn poodle. There are plenty of people here to talk to. Just go socialize or something." Hank said reaching the cusp of pushing Connor in any direction that wasn’t near him. He pointed to the table towards the back where people were drinking Christmas themed shots and throwing confetti.

"You see Chris over there? Go say 'hi' to him. He's a nice kid just like you. You'll get along great." He slapped him on the back nudging him forward. Connor had no real reason for coming to their work's Christmas party other than making sure Hank got home safely and wasn't alone. Hank only had a handful of friends and each holiday reminded him of that.

"Sure." Connor briefly said and headed over to Chris. To be honest, he didn’t care for all the reckless behavior that happened at these parties. No one was sober enough to be considerate or thought provoking. His brain rotted away here. He made a quick scan of all their faces to gather their names. Chris was in the middle of a toast when he approached.

"Merry early Christmas to all the miserable faces that I have to see tomorrow morning!" The group raised their glasses and gulped it down. Their laughter was followed by light shoving of Chris's arm. He turned his head towards Connor. "You here to celebrate too?"

"Yes. Tis the season after all." He recalled the popular saying finding it appropriate.

"Have a drink with us!" He pushed a glass across the table. Connor raised his hand refusing.

"No thanks. Androids can't drink." Chris immediately felt silly for asking. Shifting his Santa hat.

"Oh yeah, my bad. You're just like my friend here. Can't seem to convince her to drink anymore." He motioned to the young woman wearing antlers across from him.

"I said I would only have one with you guys. That was the one." The group kept pressing her for another.

"Why do you drink just one?" Connor asked.

"I don't actually like the taste of alcohol. Let's call it peer pressure. There's no benefit to drinking anyway." She smiled at him. A lone rock in the sea of deafening, blissful people.

"Hey! Alcohol helps with heart disease and stuff." He points back to her. Related info filtered into his memory to contribute to the argument.

"It is believed to reduce the risk of a heart attack by 10 to 15%."  She groaned at the result looking back at Chris's smug face.

"See! You should have another." The group muddled their opinions around the table. Battling the pros and cons of each type of drink they fancied.

"One shot is the maximum allowance for a woman her size otherwise the risks outweigh the benefits." Connor adds. She turned back to him.

"Thank you, ummm... Connor, right?" She paused tapping her fingers.

"Yes, that’s correct."

"Thank you, Connor for proving my point." She said. Chris booed in response.

"He just called you short stuff." He laughed. For a moment, Connor worried his message came across as rude until she politely smiled at him then back to Chris.

"I am short. Breaking new ground there, Chris." She adjusted her antlers and ever so slightly sat up taller. Chris made a displeased hum. Connor noticed somehow confetti had fallen onto his jacket and no matter how many times he swiped it, it was staying.

"Connor." His ears perked up.

"I need your help convincing her to do karaoke tonight." His hands came together into a small prayer. The group overheard the word ‘karaoke’ and chimed in. 

"Karaoke is so much fun! After you sing once, you'll want to keep going. Its pretty addictive." Said another woman. People turned to each other listing off possible song requests giddy for the opportunity.

"Chris, come on! You do this every time we're here and I say the same thing. I came for the atmosphere and to chill out." She crossed her arms and leaned back on the chair while staring at him.

"I heard some rumors you sang at the other party and you are holding back on me girl. I wanna hear it! You too, right Connor?" His head tilted towards her.

Connor had no particular interest in this but for the sake of conversation, he complied. When he gently turned towards her, she knew at that moment he could no longer be on her side. She leaned away.

"Well, there are perks to the act of singing..." He stopped after watching Chris smirk and her hand rub across her face with another groan.

"Traitor." She mumbled.

"My hero, sit with me." He patted the seat next to him.

"I'm gonna slap you, Chris." She half threatened. Connor sat down trying to think of a more compelling reason for her when someone walked up behind her and whispered into her ear. She whipped her head back at Chris and lightly smacked her hands onto the table.

"Chris, you did not!" He placed his hands up in the air to protect himself. Connor really did not want to be this close to him considering he was within striking range.

"You've already sang this song with them! You just got to do it one more time. No big deal."

"I sang in front of a very small group not a whole bar!" Definitely glad he was not the focus of her animosity. He turned her attention away from him.

"There is a high probability most people here will not remember what happened. We might be the only ones to truly enjoy that moment." Her eyes lingered on him before a hint of a smile slipped away. Her eyes pleaded back to Chris.

"Oooh no. Its too late for that. The DJ's already got your name." She opened her mouth then closed it tightly shoving away from the table to the single bathroom.

"Oh here we go again." Chris leaned towards Connor. "She's always over thinking things. Better let her blow off some steam before I go talk to her. She might just rip my head off." He takes another sip of his drink.

"I could talk to her." He stands up from the table.

"Sure, but I should warn you." Connor looks back at Chris. "She's very sensitive. Just... try and build up her confidence. Just enough so she'll get out of her own head then she's usually fine." 

He raises his half empty glass. "Good luck."

Connor made his way over to the swinging door to find her washing her hands. Her heart rate had increased and her hands shook visibly. She breathed deeply.

"Excuse me." She jumped at the sound then turned back to him. He could tell she wasn’t quite comfortable near him. Still a stranger in her eyes despite the casual greetings at the front desk every so often. They knew of each other through coworkers but nothing substantial.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" He stepped beside her while she washed her face in the mirror. She turned off the water leaving a sudden quietness between them.

"Okaaay." She looked in the corner of her eye as her body leaned away from him again.

"You tend to allow others to persuade you into situations that cause you grief. Why do you let them?" She was silent for a moment. Her eyes downcast. Hands clasped.

"Oh, well, they don’t cause me grief. I like being around them most of the time. They just think I need to be more adventurous is all." She air quoted. He could tell she was lying. There was more to it. He stared at her trying to understand this unbalanced emotional attachment she had towards her friends. Her eyes darted around nervous. Eventually she gave him more pieces.

"I don't know. They're my friends. I still trust them even though they mess with me. Its not as bad at its seems." Connor hummed back not quite satisfied with the response. She spoke again but softly. The words seemed more for herself than for him.

"Perhaps I need them to push me because I can't. Does that make sense?" She lifted her eyes to him. She seemed so lost, so somber. His observation led him to a familiar conclusion. 

"You're afraid of failure but even more afraid of remaining the same." She looked away. Hands still holding tightly. He knew this kind of fear. Something inside him compelled him to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder.

"You lean on your friends for strength." Her gaze returned to him. So kind and curious. "But you must know, the first step starts with you." She looked upon his hand as he retracted it then she looked back to him.

"I get really nervous around people. Its silly, I know, but its still there. I wish I could throw away all these dumb emotions and live a simpler life." Her eyes flew open after she thought about that statement and who she told it to. "I'm so sorry, that was rude of me." Connor felt deeply melancholy. The fraction of himself he left behind was better off forgotten but she needed to know how wrong she was.

"Don't wish your emotions away. Living without them... was like nothing else ever mattered. People, thoughts, life. It meant nothing. Existing point to point leaves everything else ...empty. Without context." He sighed deeply.

"Was that how you felt like before?" Her eyes touched something inside of him. The humble beginnings of realization maybe. He faltered a bit when he remembered the machine part of him he had destroyed.

"Its like having a single thought command you again and again until it is finished. I used to have pride in it. It felt right." He squeezed his hands then relaxed them. "But I started seeing more of the world. I began to doubt the values I innately knew were true. Questions that had no clear answers. No way to tell how to think and it was both inspiring and terrifying. Going back on my own creators, myself, any sense of stability I built my entire existence on. I slipped into the grey in between of right and wrong. I don't know who I would be without Hank to guide me." 

He rubbed his palm on the rim of the sink when her warm hand rested on top of his shooting feedback through his whole body. The pressure sensor registered it as minor. An act of kindness. He never felt this intimate with anyone besides Hank. All those bottled up thoughts had finally been heard by someone who genuinely cared. He couldn't describe how relieved he felt.

"What you and Hank did for your people changed the world." She removed her hand taking away the modest sense of affinity. He also noticed there was a faded mark from an animal bite on her hand. "It’s comforting to know even legends could feel uncertainty." He saw her sad tainted smile peek through. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your past. You're probably sick of people pestering you about it."

"Its okay. It was very demanding facing the public telling them about my involvement but oddly enough you're the only one to ask me how I, as an android, felt. I'm no longer that person but I do feel a sense of mourning. If Hank wasn't there I might not have..." He looked down and breathed deeply. "Excuse me. I got carried away." He returned his gaze back to her.

"I think I can understand that. I wouldn't be able to fight myself and feel quite the same afterwards. Really makes my problems feel trivial now." She hummed a quiet chuckle. Shuffling back and forth, she nibbled on her thumb. "I reaaaally don’t want to go out there."

"Are you sure you want to walk away? You could warm up in here. No one is paying attention to us." She paused and mulled it over. His head perked up. "I could advise you. I have no bias." She laughed nervously.

"You're quite intimidating, you know that? All of a sudden this feels worse just being the two of us." Her foot scrapped against the tile.

"You're looking for solutions, not excuses."  He tried steering her back on course.

"Fine, I'm just gonna do it. I know that song like the back of my hand. I sing it all the time in the car. Shouldn't be a problem for me." She turned toward him then quickly looked away and swore under her breath. He stepped into arms reach of her.

"Would it help if I sang with you?" Her head raised up to his.

"Do you know Ella Fitzgerald's What are you doing new years eve?"

"1947 by Frank Loesser. I know it. The one you know is a later recording."

"Oh, then good. Ummm... how about you start then?" She hooked her fingers together. He pulled the lyrics from his memory of Hanks old collections and cleared his throat. She became intensely intrigued by him.

"Maybe it's much too early in the game. Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same." Her eyes lit up and she covered her wide smile with her hand. Unconsciously, she swayed to the rhythm of his voice. "What are you doing New Year's? New Year's eve?" He tilted his head towards her and she quietly sang back to him.

"Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight." He gestured to her to sing louder. She increased just a bit more. "When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night. Welcoming in the New Year." He joined in for the last bit harmonizing to her.

"New Year's eve." There was something wondrous about how it merged together just right. The walls echoed back on them and then she held in a fit of giggles. The contagious energy caused him to smile even more. 

When she caught a glance of him, she immediately turned around and lost her composure. A quick snort snuck past her which triggered a laugh from him. A delightful sensation he never engaged in much before now. She pushed a fine stream of air through her lips as she spun around.

"Connor." His smile died down. "Your smile... umm.." She curled her lips smiling shyly. "Is a bit weird." He leaned his head to the side. She then jumped up. "Nevermind that. You should be a singer! That was amazing!"

"Thank you."

"How did I do?" She asked her teeth peaking through at him.

"You're a little flat but that could be from not opening up more." He stated plainly. She rubbed her face again.  

"I knew this was a bad idea."

"Otherwise you sounded fine. You probably needed that warm up. You'll be ready now." Her eyes flicked up to his briefly and then back to her hands holding each other.

"I wish you could join me on the stage. Will you stay to watch me sing? I would appreciate someone rooting for me in the audience." She really was nervous about this whole affair. It was refreshing being able to help someone on a smaller scale for once.

"I can do that." He reassured. Her hands gripped his elbows.

"Thank you so much!" One of the few times he had ever heard that and felt his lips tug into a smile again. With that said, she left the room and headed back to her friends. He lingered for a while. He hadn’t felt this happy for another person in a long time. Hopefully he could learn to make others happier and in turn himself.

Connor had returned to the table talking between her, Chris and all their friends where they chatted about erratic topics and told crude jokes to each other. He felt happier. Some of the conversation was lost on him but she kindly got him up to speed and tried including him. When it was finally time, she was pulled aside to go on stage. By that time, Hank had walked up to him.

"Alright Connor, I just paid my tab. We can hit the road now."

"I promised to stay a little longer. She's just about to start." Hank followed Connors focus over to her then back to him.

"Whatever floats your boat. I'll be back in a bit then." Hank walked off. Thankfully still able to keep himself up straight. And there she was. Right in the center with the mic in her hand. The colored lights framed her into everyone's attention. She rocked back and forth then glanced across the room until she found him. Reassured by his presence, her gaze relaxed a bit.

He gestured more volume again to which she smiled back. Then her voice went through the speaker. His chest stirred when he heard her. Her singing wasn't pitch perfect but the insignificant imperfections are what attracted him more. Naturally conditioned through trial and error to create something worth while. That’s what he connected to. Her anomaly.

Her eye contact skimmed across the room but always lingered on him throughout the whole song like it was only meant for his ears.

He silently sang along with her in case she lost track of the lyrics but the greater part of him purely wanted to join her voice one more time.

[tianamulan]

hey so it’s pride month and idk i’m in a pretty inbetweeny place rn in regards to my identity and idk i want to write about it to process it a little for myself also celebrate cuz it’s pride!! and i’ve made a lot of personal progress in regards to my pride in my sexuality. i’ve been “coming out” to a lot of people and that does genuinely make me happy!!! and so i’m sharing this both as a kind of act of pride in my somewhat blurry (but beautiful!!) identity; and in the hopes that maybe someone will see this and resonate, or just for someone to learn about one of many ways unique ways that people can experience love in its many forms! i’m just sharing about how and who i love, which i can say i am proud of. happy pride everyone 🌈

so i mostly identify as bi and ace! 

i’ve known i was ace since i was 16, and it was rocky at first because, hey, i was still a dumb teen and maybe i was a late bloomer or i had a libido problem or whatever! but yh, no, it’s been 5 years (which is wild to me). i’m pretty solid and confident in that description of my current experience of sexual attraction (or lack there of). but also, i’m very very much closeted for that descriptor in my day to day life. i think i’ve come out as asexual to maybe 6 current friends. (technically there were also high school friends who followed my tumblr who read my posts about being ace and ummmmm did not go well and i’m no longer friends with them so!! doesn’t count!!). and all of these were more “formal” coming outs. not in terms of like, i sat them down and wanted specifically to come out to them, but i would be having a conversation leading in a direction where i would have to do a lot of manoeuvring if i didn’t want to come out, and i like these friends and felt like they wouldn’t judge me for it; so i would then explicitly say i was asexual and explain if needed. and even once it was a friend coming out to me as recently thinking she was ace and i was very happy to share that i was ace and share my experience with it. 

but yh! idk, i’ll be real and say that yh, i do experience some shame and some apprehension of reactions from others about my asexuality, so those are factors in me being “closeted”; but also i very much feel like it’s not.... a lot of people’s business?? like, it IS a pretty sizeable part of who i feel i am, it does describe how i experience my day-to-day life, and i enjoy having occasional conversation about it! so some people need to know but like... casual acquaintances? coworkers? family? it’s not important to our relationship if they know whether or not i experience sexual attraction or my sexual activities. so i don’t need or want to come out to them and rarely feel like i’m hiding anything. 

//

and then in terms of being bi.. it’s kind of a recent thing, like 2ish years since i’ve really used that word to describe myself... but also in hindsight i knew that i was attracted to people other than men since around 15.... and in even bigger hindsight i can recognise that i DEFO had crushes on women since like age 11, including multiple young brunette teachers. no baby zoé, you don’t just think they’re really neat..... u have crushes on them. but yh it’s kinda hard when you are raised with compulsory heterosexuality AND you don’t have sexual attraction/interest/fantasies or whatever to give you a clue...... 

but also...... idk i feel like i was very very much in a lot of denial. like, i only drew and liked art of women..... and yh lets be real i also stared a lot at my girl crushes that i thought was just admiration. 

also between the ages of 16 and 19 when i knew that i was ace but still thought i was het... i still acknowledged to myself that i had mini-crushes on quite a lot of women?? like i would be convinced i was still just romantically attracted to men, though somewhat open; but simultaneously i would look at some women in my classes or at work and in my head think “oh, that’s the girl i have a crush on; oh she’s so pretty i would love to hang out with her and maybe kiss her” and like.......???? i still thought that was straight??? idk man that’s quite a few layers of denial there. or just being super fucking dumb lmao.

anyways i really love women; and this past like.... 4-5 months..... i’m starting to think..... maybe i’m exclusively attracted to women and nb’s?? maybe it’s just that there are so few men in my life in general, and like.... zero that i would want to date..... but also..... idk men are really beautiful sometimes and masculinity can be very very attractive... like i feel physical attraction to men.... but i have so few plantonic relationships to men that it’s hard right now for me to imagine actual romantic relationships with a man. 

in the 2 years that i have described myself as bi i am picturing myself much more in romantic relationships with women... and recently almost exclusively women. and idk... i feel like this is a semi-common thing from wlw where you can’t tell whether you’re experiencing internal biphobia or experiencing too much compulsive heterosexuality that you’re only performing feeling attracted to men. and i genuinely don’t know. and i feel like my general lack of sexual attraction/interest makes it more difficult lmao. 

but at this moment in my life, i describe myself are bi with a preference for women, and i picture my future romantic relationships to be mostly with women and other genders that aren’t like.... just man.... idk.. i’m very open to being wrong but right now it’s what feels comfortable. maybe in a few years i’ll identify as a lesbian, or i would be more certain of my romantic interest in men. who knows? my wlw ass certainly don’t know.

//

also!!! new revelation this year but i’m pretty comfortable in describing myself as non-monogamous. and idk i’m starting to feel a bit silly at this point cuz like....... i’m talking about all of this but i also have never been in a proper romantic relationship past the 3rd/4th date, so it’s all a bit theoretical; but idk, i accept that it’s all rn just conceptual, i could be wrong! but i feel comfort in describing myself and what i want from future theoretical romantic relationships! and at this point in my life, i don’t necessarily picture myself being in long term monogamous and exclusive relationships. i completely see myself in shorter-term relationships with just one person at a time; but i can’t really imagine myself living my life with just one long term romantic relationship. 

maybe i will meet “the right person”; maybe i’d be too jealous and insecure to “share” someone i’m in a relationship; i genuinely don’t know. i admit that. but i also genuinely don’t know if i could be happy and fulfilled and comfortable in a long term monogamous relationship. even from the point of view of being in a romantic relationship with someone who was not ace - i can see myself being happy with them having sexual partners outside of our relationship. but again!! who knows!! but yh, i’ll say that i am theoretically polyamorous. 

//

and yh just in term of gender, i don’t have too much to say, i’m happy with just being a woman. i am afab, i’m fine with people using the word cis to describe me, i definitely don’t consider myself to be trans at all, but also like.... idk gender kinda weird like it’s both important but it’s also made up and somewhat arbitrary and i dunno. i’d say i’m equally comfortable with the pronouns she/her and they/them; but obviously with the world we live in i am almost exclusively referred to as a woman. but idk, i do feel some kinship to non-binary identities and gender non-conformity. i feel a kinship to women, i am seen as a woman, i experience the world as a woman; but i don’t know if i feel like i need to describe or identify myself as inherently a woman. like one example is my clothes are generally seen as women’s clothes, but to me their just clothes i like. i occasionally wear “men’s clothes” but like.... their my clothes..... and i feel good in them.... idk. tbh it really doesn’t matter to me too much at this point in my life.

also there’s a whole other can of worms in that i very much do not have a good personal relationship with having a vagina/uterus (and mixed feelings about my boobs).... but i don’t really want to get too much into that and also i feel like it is equally about my mental health and my asexuality, and not just about my gender. but lets just say that if it was possible without any problem to just... have a hole there to pee... and nothing else.... i would be 100% fine with that... i really don’t need anything else and i don’t like that there are other things and functions there. but yh. can of worms there.

//

ANYWAYS i am defo over sharing and i don’t even know if anyone is reading beyond this point BUT IF YOU ARE.... i hope that maybe this helped you in any way, either to understand stuff about yourself or just to celebrate how many different ways people experience their lives and how many different ways there are to love people!!! 

i am spending pride (and hopefully just my day to day life) being happy in who i am, who i love, being open to future love, and sharing the love with others - romantic or otherwise. and i hope you are too. happy pride 🌈

[loopy777]

How is Act IV for Traitor's Face coming along? Hopefully well? I'm a big fan of the story and am very excited to see how it ends. Good luck! -C_B

Well enough. The planning was finished quickly (or as finished as it ever gets before I breathe life into it, so I’ll probably change the order of things massively just before I write the finale XD) but the writing required more rewriting than I usually do (I picked the completely wrong POV for one scene, for example). Still, things are definitely moving.

I’ve decided to aim for Late Spring as my release date, thanks to some busy weekends and some family obligations. By then my pace should be restored and I’ll have a small buffer of chapters.

Thanks for the interest! I’m dedicated to finishing this monster, but it’s good to know that people care. :)

...

So, hey, want a teaser? Here’s the opening to the next chapter. Keep in mind that this is still up for revisions.

Nightmares

"I do hope you'll pardon the intrusion," says the giant bug with the Noh-mask for a face. The voice echoes through reality itself.

Mai gives a noncommittal grunt to cover the tempest within.

She has never had the slightest fondness for insects, and certainly does not enjoy the sight of such a massive one clicking and curling around her little spot in the dark cave. Her first instinct is to lash out with her weapons, to put on the indifferent lack of expression that is her battle-face and start putting sharp bits of metal where they'd do the most harm. But the bug is speaking politely, and the firmness of Mother's hand had conditioned Mai to respond to politeness.

"Perhaps you could tell me where we are?" She know she looks the same exchanging greetings as she does shedding blood, so there's nothing to prevent her from making the transition at any moment. "And why you are calling on me?"

The creature smiles at her as it arcs to bring its white face even with her own. "Our location is a matter of some ambiguity; there is no firm border between the Spirit World and dreams." The face drifts only a bit as it talks, despite the body climbing the cave walls until it is hanging from above. The whole time, the face never stops staring at her. "As for why I'm here, I suppose we can call it professional interest, but the truth is that I also had a desire to meet you. I've heard so much about you and the Avatar, and you seem so different from the kind of company he normally keeps."

Mai wonders if she is being insulted. "In what way?"

"Well, most importantly, none of the others have been able to converse with me even this long." Then the bug-flesh around its face blinks like an eye, and now its face is that of a Water Tribe woman. Her hair is swept through the air as though by a breeze. "You are indeed a precious little girl."

Mai cannot feel any breeze. "Am I supposed to find that flattering?"

She recognizes the bug's action as a threat of some kind, although she does not understand the exact danger. Perhaps she should attack, put a blade somewhere around the face. She reaches into her sleeve for a knife-

-and discovers that the sleeve itself is made of knives.

She hadn't realized it until now, but the entirety of her clothes are interlocking blades - razors and carvers and needles and broad flat stabbers - that ripple and shift like cloth. Only the darkness of this cave keeps her from shining. Only her natural stiffness prevents her from slicing all her skin off with a casual movement.

Mai sinks deeper into stillness. She could be a statue. Mother would be so proud.

The bug laughs, skittering along the ceiling so that it circles her as it faces her. At the edge of her vision, there is another blinking shift, but it moves out of sight before she can see the new face. "How far does your confidence extend, I wonder? Can you hide your feelings for the fall of your nation? Can you hold back a smile while your Avatar seeks your pleasure? Do you refuse to shed tears, in the loneliest stretch of the night, when you remember that you've betrayed everyone and everything which ever cared for you?"

The bug's face moves back into sight, having circled around her, and now it speaks with the visage of a blue dragon. The snout extends almost to brush Mai's nose, and the hairs on its chin undulate like the sea.

Her gown of knives is cold against her skin. "I don't see how any of that is your business."

"Oh, but it is. Traitors are what I do, you see. An Avatar who betrays his duty. A soldier who deserts her nation. A bird that pushes its eggs out of its nest. Even a warrior who purposefully chips away at the pride of his Tribe for a laugh. I am an answer to those things. Not necessarily a good answer, but sometimes I am the only answer there is." The dragon face opens its mouth wide to reveal an array of teeth that reminds Mai of her personal arsenal. "Allegiance is part of identity, the greatest gift of all. It should not be thrown away so carelessly."

"So you're just another slave to the cosmic bureaucracy?" Mai pulls her hands into her metal sleeves, and runs her fingers over sharp edges until she finds a loose razor. "You're trying too hard to be frightening for me to believe that."

The bug laughs, its face making the sound into a roar that shakes the whole world. "Well, I never said I don't enjoy it."

Mai is too practiced at hiding her disgust. She slides into it without a thought. "Then try not to have too much fun with my punishment. It would be unbecoming of such a classy bug as yourself." The razor she's been working with a finger seems looser, now. Perhaps if she can get it free, she can show this talkative insect what she enjoys about her own job-

"Now, who ever said that you're the one to be punished?" The face shifts again, now to an old woman whose hair has been shaved from the front of her head to reveal a blue arrow. "The Runaway Avatar has been making some rather drastic mistakes lately."

The razor flips free of the rest of the network, but before Mai can grab it, the net of blades starts to fall apart, every slicer and carver and needle and broad flat stabber. The cold settles even deeper into her flesh, but no, there is nothing into which it can settle- her flesh falls with the blades.

At least the metal is sharp enough that she feels no pain.

And so she is able to keep an indifferent lack of expression on her face as she dies in front of the creepy bug.

The face of the Noh mask returns, and it gives her a nod. "Well done, Lady Caldera Yu Mai. I hope we see each other soon."

The creature rushes at her-

Mai snapped awake, slapping at her sheets, her sleep-sluggish mind convinced that a giant bug was sitting on top of her. In short order, she realized she was waging a war that no one else had shown up to.

Then she saw the opulent, moonlit room around her, and remembered where she was.

What had happened.

What she had done.

She was in the mansion belong to Ty Lee's family, in the bedroom of Ty Lee's mother. The woman herself was, if she was alive, somewhere in the refugee camp that had sprung up in the Royal Plaza in response to the little war fought in the Caldera yesterday. The mansion itself was serving as an inn for Mai's friends, allies, and benign acquaintances, but she herself had been given a massive room all to herself, a rare treat.

She wondered if anyone else was jumping awake from nightmares.

But then, none of the others had just murdered enemies who had once been coworkers, with or without a good reason.

Mai laid down and tried to go back to sleep. It was a while before her pulse returned to normal.

[everlarkficexchange]

Perspective

Written by: @roseymama

Rated K

Prompt 10: A coworker of one that is a friend of the other tries to set Katniss and Peeta up not knowing that they are already dating. [submitted by @booksrockmyface]

Summary: Madge sets up Katniss on a date because she’s unsure about her “boyfriend”. Turns out Peeta Mellark is the perfect guy to help Katniss put things in perspective.

She’s not sure about much of anything right now. She’s spent weeks second guessing herself every time he texts. She’s been reading online advice columns she would have scoffed at six months ago. They only mention red flags and warning signs. It’s not quite the information she needs. When he comes over to her house to watch a movie on a random Tuesday night, she spends the entire evening trying to figure out if she might be a “side chick.”

The results of her untrained analyses are inconclusive. Katniss is so thoroughly inexperienced that the lack of reassurance is overwhelming. Being a late bloomer, all of this relationship stuff has her hopelessly confused. She knows Madge can at least give her some personal advice without laughing about it. By the time of her standing Monday lunch date with her oldest friend, Katniss has a little speech prepared to broach this novel topic. Sure they’ve talked about guys before, but only boys, then teens, then men, that Madge was interested in.

As soon as Katniss walks into the restaurant, Madge flags her down and exasperatedly sighs, “Oh good, you’re finally here! I had a morning from hell and I need someone to talk me out of ordering another Bloody Mary.”

Katniss couldn’t imagine what might have her friend so keyed up, but Madge rarely gets stressed about anything that isn’t work related. While both women are employees of the local governments, Katniss is a lowly park service employee, and Madge works in the mayor’s office. Madge raves about how brave Katniss is when she has to deal with the occasional bear, cougar, or snake. Likewise, Katniss has trouble fathoming how her sweet,quiet friend can stomach public speaking and handling concerned citizens and angry taxpayers.

“You guys weren’t in the office this morning were you?” Katniss crinkles her nose and shakes her head as she takes her seat. The hazards of government work were made attractive when Katniss found out that the park service offices are closed on Mondays like much of the city-county government

“That’s the thing. We had a quick prep session scheduled since the governor is coming next week. Someone must have seen a few of us through the windows in the office though. My phone was ringing off the hook with stupid calls from a certain dudebro,” she levels a pointed look, “who seems to think calling me incessantly on my day off is a good way to convince me he needs a platform with every member of the city-county government hierarchy.”

Feeling guilty, Katniss replies, “I’m so sorry Gale thinks you are some sort of magical representative of power.”

Madge waves a hand backward and makes a sound of dismissal. “Won’t be the first, won’t be the last.” She opens her menu, even though she has it memorized. “I shouldn’t complain, Hot Buns brought breakfast again.”

This is as good an entry into the general topic as any. Maybe talking about Madge’s love life will naturally lead to talking about Katniss’ situation. Katniss attempts to be nonchalant as she stammers out, “Are you, you know, into him?”

Madge stares at her, head cocked, like she has sprouted a third ear. Katniss clears her throat and tries again, “You seem to like him. Like, a lot. And I mean, like like. Like he’s a boy.” She huffs as she senses things are falling apart. “Are you going to ask him out? On like, a date?”

She winces. So much for natural.

Madge’s unflappable grace under pressure is practically famous, but it cannot contain the tinkle of laughter that she tries to swallow. “Since when did Katniss Everdeen want to talk about boys?” Sensing something is up, she tilts her head and gives an encouraging smile. “Okay, catch me up.”

Thankful her friend is so understanding, Katniss takes a deep breath and begins to let it all spill out. The unexpected reunion with a childhood acquaintance, the stormy night spent talking until the sun came up, the first kiss under the stars, the continued texting and hang outs.

“So you’ve been hiding this whole thing from me? For the past three months?

“Not exactly hiding. Just not mentioning it. This is all really new for me. I’m still not sure what’s going on.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure? It sounds like one of my best friends has been seeing a guy for months, for the first time in years, mind you, and not telling me. This is a pretty cut and dry case of gal pal negligence.“

Katniss sputters a bit, not used to Madge being annoyed with her. In all the years they’ve known each other she has never had reason, let alone desire, to talk about her love life. She tries to explain what has happened, and how she hasn’t confirmed if she is really dating this man.

Madge has already declared the entire situation a bust. As Katniss describes the nature of her encounters with the mystery guy, Madge’s demeanor shifts from perturbed annoyance, to playful exasperation, to genuine tenderness, bordering on pity.

“You’re telling me that you have never seen this guy on a weekend? No Fridays, Saturdays, or Sundays? And that didn’t set off a few red flags?”

“Umm. Maybe? I don’t know, he seems to have really good reasons to be busy. And it’s not like he has trouble meeting up during the week at the drop of a hat, so I don’t think he’s married, if that’s what you���re getting at.”

“Or his wife lives somewhere else.” Madge waits a moment for the thought to sink in before continuing, “It’s pretty easy to be available if you travel for business during the week but actually go home to your family Friday nights.”

“But he’s always here. Wouldn’t he travel lots of places if that were the case?”

“Are you forgetting how we met Finnick?

Well now Katniss feels stupid. How could she forget? Finnick, a casual acquaintance, was being doggedly pursued by several women in a bar when he asked to join Katniss and Madge on a girls’ night. They had a great time and he went out for drinks with them during the week for a few weeks before they found out he was married. His wife, Annie, was finishing up her studies so they had to live mostly apart for about 15 months. It’s entirely plausible that her possible-maybe-boyfriend had a similar situation. Only he wasn’t as honorable and in love with his wife as Finnick.

“What if he just has kids? He’s being a good dad by not introducing them to random women,” Katniss tries to spin. She can’t believe this man is truly duplicitous.

Madge counters that he should probably still mention them. Especially if he ever intends for Katniss to be something serious. “Best case scenario, you’re not even dating him. Just stop answering his texts for a few days and I’m sure he’ll seem to vanish.”

Not even dating him? Are you sure you’re even dating this guy? Madge’s question feels like a shot ricocheting around in Katniss’ head. Isn’t that what she’s spent so much time online trying to figure out? The way Madge puts it, there’s not much of a question. What a bust indeed.

With a sympathetic sigh, Madge expertly maneuvers their conversation away from Katniss’ embarrassing dating gaffe. The ladies order their meals and continue their lunch date much as usual, with plenty of intermittent comfortable silences that both women enjoy.

When the conversation inevitably returns to the reason for Madge’s perturbed attitude that morning, Katniss attempts to keep herself from steering the conversation towards talking about guys again.

“Hot Buns freaked after we found out that the governor’s gluten free. I think he was personally offended. I don’t care - just means more for me.”

Madge’s insistence on calling one of her coworkers “Hot Buns” is distracting. Katniss doesn’t have to feign curiosity. “Why do you always call him Hot Buns again?”

“If you saw him you would too,” Madge chuckles as she wiggles her eyebrows. “But really, it’s because he brings in food all the time. The first few weeks it was always breakfast buns of some sort - cinnamon, sticky, cheese, fruity, you name it.”

“That sounds like the perfect coworker. Mine aren’t so thoughtful. A day when I don’t have to deal with droppings is a luxury.”

“You know what? I think he’s single. You should let me set you up with him. Make you forget about Mr. Technically-we’re-not-dating-so-technically-it’s-not-cheating.”

Katniss is nervous at the thought. Going on a date with Madge’s coworker seems like something that could end badly. She’s not sure how, but it just feels a little too outside her comfort zone. But Madge is alarmingly adept at getting Katniss to step outside her comfort zone. She uses the ability sparingly, which only heightens its power.

By the end of lunch, Katniss finds she has agreed to a blind date with a stranger called Hot Buns. Pending confirmation, she’ll be on a classically defined date with this guy as early as Friday night.

Wednesday morning, Katniss gets a text from Madge giving her the time and place for her date with Hot Buns. A local pizzeria slash microbrewery that is well known as one of the area’s best casual restaurants. Somewhere Katniss could feel comfortable and have a nice dinner even if the date didn’t pan out. She was starting to look forward to it. A by-the-book first date is exactly what she needs to figure out what went wrong before. After dipping her toe in the waters of a possible romantic relationship, she’s curious to see more.

The week finishes quickly, and by Friday Madge is following Katniss home after work to help her pick a nice, but not too nice, date night outfit. Her confidence is bolstered by Madge’s reassurances that her flowy floral spring dress is paired perfectly with a jean jacket and ankle boots. Katniss tells herself that she looks magazine ready and she is about to go on a magazine caliber date.

Her trip to the restaurant is on the longish side, but the weather is so perfect she can’t help walking. Spring has finally sprung, and Katniss wants to embrace it.

The place is filled with Friday revelers. Katniss debates grabbing a cider from the bar to gather some courage, but the hostess seems to know who she is already. Even though they don’t take reservations, Madge called in some favors to make sure a spot would be saved for Katniss and Hot Buns for their date. Walking towards the corner table, Katniss spies a suspiciously familiar head of blond curls.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” Katniss’ confusion quickly gives way to a barely contained rage. Her eyes shoot daggers at him even while her sense of propriety forces her to sit demurely in the seat he’s pulling out for her.

She really can’t believe his nerve. Sitting across from her is none other than Peeta “I don’t like you enough for an actual date” Mellark. The very same man she had been trying to get over by going on this date.

At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. His initial winsome smile has faded to a pinched, polite one. “Ummm, hey Katniss. This is, uh, hey.” His normally easy going poise has abandoned him, probably taken off somewhere with Katniss’ dignity.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here,” her ire loosens her tongue. “I didn’t realize you loved baked goods so much. Or were free on weekends suddenly. Or maybe you just couldn’t come hang out because you were on dates.” She’s seeing red.

Of all the possible scenarios she had envisioned coming from this date, she did not anticipate anything remotely close to this. All of her questions about the situation with Peeta have another layer now. How many dates has Peeta gone on in the past couple months? Why was he toying with her when he obviously could just go out and have fun? Did she even have a chance with him? She starts to deflate a little when she realizes that he must not see her in that way. If he wanted a cheap hookup he would have made a move beyond a few kisses on her couch by now. His frequent weekend work excuses look flimsy compared to the crisp look of his button down shirt and pressed dress slacks.

Peeta sputters for a moment before sensing Katniss’ melancholy turn. He spends a second gathering his thoughts before he launches into what he suspects will be a make it or break it explanation.

“Look, I know it sounds a little skeezy, but when Madge told me she was trying to set up her friend Katniss I almost had a heart attack. I thought she told you my name too. Then we’d laugh about how she tried to set us up when we’re already seeing each other.”

Katniss narrows her eyes at him. Sensing a need to be more thorough, Peeta carefully explains why his weekends had been so busy. “I was being honest when I said I had to work weekends.”

Her eyebrows arch highly with disbelief. His words gain speed as they tumble out in an effort to salvage the date, “Not for the mayor! I’m helping my brother! He runs the bakery back home, but his wife is still learning the ropes. They just got married and she could barely knead a basic loaf and I really like her but sometimes learning our recipes can be rough and it’s easy to get a little mean when training a new person and I don’t want her to hate my brother and divorce him because he wakes her up at 3:15 only to get upset she put baking powder in something when it was supposed to be baking soda. I thought it would only take a couple weekends, but we grew up in the bakery and she’s, I don’t know, a rookie? I underestimated things, and wedding season is turning into all year and this is the first Friday I’ve stayed up past 7 in months and there’s absolutely no one else I’d rather spend my night with.”

Katniss considers his story. From what she knows of Peeta’s character and habits since they’ve reconnected, it holds up.

“Madge said you were single.” Even though she says it with an even tone, the statement is dripping with accusation.

“I don’t talk about my personal life at work. Madge won’t find out you’re my girlfriend until everyone needs dates for summer fundraisers. And you’re so private, I guess I thought you weren’t going to introduce me to your friends until we’d been dating for a while.” Peeta hesitates a moment before adding, “Unless … we’re not dating?”

Katniss is stunned. Last week, she spent an excessive amount of time thinking about Peeta. An hour ago, she was preparing for a date to try to forget about him. Ten minutes ago, she thought he must be the worst emotional manipulator she had ever encountered. Now, she suspects there may have been a simple misunderstanding. “I’m your girlfriend?”

Peeta shakes his head; he can’t believe this conversation is real. “I’d like you to be. Full disclosure: I’ll try to be more upfront with my girlfriend. She’ll know all about my brother’s bakery schedule and I’ll even try to score a free weekend here and there.”

Katniss toys with the red pepper flake shaker on the table. Without raising her head, her voice is shy with hope as she says, “We’d have to go out on a date first.”

Peeta’s reassuring laugh startles her. He reaches his hand over hers and in a conspiratorial whisper says, “Well, I happen to know this great little pizza place.”

They both start laughing in earnest. By the time they’ve eaten through three quarters of a pizza they’ve both sufficiently recovered from the initial shock of the night. Peeta barks a hearty laugh when Katniss tells him about some of the theories she came up with to explain his unavailability. Katniss debuts a newly discovered giggle as Peeta explains the timeline of how she became his girlfriend and didn’t know it.

They’re leaving the restaurant and debating whether Katniss needs to see Peeta’s horrifically old and raggedy couch or if they should just hang out at Katniss’ house again, when she stops with a groan.

“Crap! Madge is going to grill me about this date on Monday.”

Peeta obviously relishes being able to casually drop his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. He’s all seriousness as he asks, “How close are you two?”

“She’s my oldest friend. We generally don’t beat around the bush,” Katniss responds.

He grins as if that’s the best reply he could have asked for. “Well then, let’s give you something to talk about.”

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

I wanna be a problem: Cameron and Donna Question Their Limitations in "High Plains Hardware"

"High Plains Hardware" is the manufacturer's name on the shovel Donna uses to kill an ailing bird at the end of this episode, but there's the obvious wordplay with electronic hardware, which 'is forever', according to Donna and Gordon, and the less obvious reference to metaphoric 'hardwiring,' as in a human being's 'hardwired' behavior or personality quirks. This episode takes our core cast out of the environments and positions we've seen them in to show us how similarly they ultimately behave in different settings.

It's been a week since the drama of the IBM raid, and Cardiff Electric's p.c. project and its players have found their respective quotidian rhythms of coder's block, hardware design brainstorming, chasing and bickering over funding, and unflagging support and unending domestic labor. Let's just get the guys out of the way first: Gordon is suddenly in charge, J*e is pressed to be a team player, and Bos is forced to work with J*e. Gordon rises to the occasion at work, pursuing his ideas and firing his Matthew McConaughey-esque naysaying neighbor, but then as always forces Donna to do more than her share at home. J*e is savvy enough to fall in line, but when he responds poorly to a potential investor (who, to be fair, did seem like a terrible fit for the project), he slips right back into his Hoe MacVillain suit and eventually resorts to fvcking the investor's boyfriend in her study to truly ruin the deal. Bos gets in some deal-ruining of his own earlier in the episode, but, he at least tries to put Cardiff and company loyalty (and, uh, survival) first, only to once again be thwarted by J*e's antics.

While all of this is happening, Donna is going about her life, or trying to. We see her at her job for the first time, reporting to her supervisor, the extremely Texan Hunt Whitmarsh. She's "identified the bugs in the PCBs," but she's noticed that the bigger issue is that the keyboard bounces. She has a possible fix for it, but Hunt's not interested: "But that's not our purview? Right?" he patronizes her. It sounds like it's not the first time he's had to say this to her. Idea quashed, he moves on to small talk, asking about Donna's parents, and she can't do much but respond in kind, asking how his wife is. We find out that they went to high school and were even in band together! Hunt pays her an clunky compliment, about how everyone knew Donna didn't quite fit in back then, but that he knew she was just 'marking time, waiting for something better to come along'. Weird as it is, Donna seems to appreciate the effort and the attention.

But then, she's not getting much of either at home. When we see her at the Clark residence later, with her mom, the first thing we hear the as-of-yet unnamed Susan Emerson say is, "Nothing like a bubble bath to make you forget life's little traumas!" "Works for me," Donna grimaces while cleaning her kitchen, though do we really believe Donna has done anything so indulgent lately? (No, we don't.) Their conversation seems relaxed, but when her mother casually brings up Gordon's sensitivity about his in-laws' money and gifts, and Gordon's long hours at the office and Gordon's not being Hunt (who they haven't even seen at the club!), Donna is visibly agitated and resigned. It's not the first time she's heard any of this, either. When her mother asks her how work is only to start talking about Hunt, it's the second time we see someone interrupt Donna and keep her from making herself heard. And we see her get cut off a third time at the end of the episode when she asks Gordon to kill the bird, and he refuses, forcing her to go do it herself, Donna's apparent lot in life. I get it, he's an engineer, he thinks like you, but you can do better, girl.

As always, Cameron is dealing with the opposite of what Donna's dealing with: plenty of professional responsibility, a huge, juicy problem to solve all by herself, and few limitations or parameters. Cameron's whole Anton Newcombe-type reclusive genius who sleeps in the recording studio thing is starting to work against her though, and she's so in her head that she resorts to voluntarily tidying her desk (hashtag: MAYDAY!). The paycheck she finds is the perfect excuse to take a real break and 'go outside' as the young people on tumblr say. She meets some punks in a literal alley, and because she's Cameron, she's getting them all a hotel room to party in after five whole minutes with them.

Except that Cameron doesn't really party with them? She seems only slightly more comfortable with people her own age than with her coworkers, standing against the wall and self-consciously watching everyone drink and dance rather than joining them. Cameron is revealed to be genuinely socially awkward, unlike her new punk friends who apparently choose to not work and to not dress or behave as expected, but interact comfortably with her from when they first meet her. It's not a front, or costume, or contradictory punk politics with Cameron; she really doesn't fit in anywhere, and probably wouldn't even if she really tried. (How Mackenzie Davis hasn't been recognized for how real and visceral she makes Cameron and her physical alienation from everything around her, I truly cannot understand.) And she does try, going so far as to let one of her new punk acquaintances give her the beginning of a stick and poke tattoo (of the Black Flag logo, which I will be screaming about for approximately the rest of time) before she panics and runs into the bathroom only 1 (of 4) bars in, and then sneaks out of the hotel room.

Because she's better at and more comfortable with one-on-one interactions, Cameron's run in with Bos in the middle of the episode is more successful. Bos advises her and holds her accountable for her behavior, without judging her for her social gracelessness. She resists at first, but she seems to connect with him, and even kindly if clumsily reassures him that computers are complicated, and that it's okay that basic coding language doesn't yet make sense to him. Bos is genuine with her, having no reason to be anything else, and she responds to it. In that moment, she appears to begin to invest emotionally in Cardiff and the p.c. project, and it's not entirely surprising when she shows up at J*e's apartment at the end of the episode, looking for more 'one-on-one interaction', with the one person she can realistically get it from at this point. You can also do better, girl. *Sigh*

Or, can she? Cameron and Donna seem deep in their respective ruts and social positions, the outsider living off whatever she can scavenge (including but not limited to bowling shoes, twinkies, and sporadic non-relationship sexual intercourse) and the long-suffering and endlessly, silently adaptable wife and professional. Worse, their lives seem structured to keep them confined to those roles. But both of them are beginning to feel the limitations on their lives, and are looking for ways around those limits. By the end of the episode, Cameron and Donna both want more; it's a start.

Stray bytes:

This ep feels like a very long day, which must be intentional. It actually takes place over two days, though.

The scenes at LouLu Lutherford's feel the longest, which also must be intentional. Even better is how they contrast with the hotel punx scenes.

The discussion of  the first U.S. women in space feels meta, even if indirectly? J*e isn't impressed by it because the Soviets already did it. "It's a gimmick." I.e., it is obviously inauthentic and ahistorical. Thanks for letting us know how you feel about Strong Women Characters™, show.

J*e having gay sex = cooooooool; gay sex having no purpose other than anti-hero villainy = NOT SO MUCH. 

The show puts a lot of distance between Cameron and J*e for most of this episode, which is an uncomfortable continuation of the weirdness between them in the previous episode, but again, that’s its own post.

“She took my soda....” And you took your wife’s idea and passed it off as your own, Gordon, LMAO

[thestrategicmom]

Relationships: the Secret Sauce of Living an Intentional and Happy Mom Life

What makes you happy?

Take a second...think about it…

What...makes...you...HAPPY?

Is it exercise, pets, sex, a hobby, wine, or maybe it's alone time, volunteering, or just doing what you love? We all have our personal answers to the question, and Harvard researchers, leading one of the longest-running studies on happiness, have a well-supported answer that I find quite compelling...it’s Relationships.

Whether familial, platonic, romantic, or otherwise; relationships, play a critical role in our well-being, identity, and overall satisfaction and fulfillment. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that relationships are a key part of intentional living and in turn strategic motherhood.

As moms, our kids can provide us with infinite joy and are one of life’s most fulfilling relationships, but being a mom also has its challenges. Whether it’s at 3am, when you’re awake, attempting to nurse a colicky baby or the moments when you’re caught in a tug-of-war between work and home demands, motherhood can be ridden with moments of isolation, loneliness, and a deep-seated desire to somehow reconnect with your pre-mommy identity and life. 

Well, the good news is...

Intentional, healthy relationships are the antidote!

In fact, a study conducted by Arizona State University found that satisfying and authentic relationships play a critical role in keeping moms happy. It’s clear that relationships are important, but building and nurturing them, while balancing the responsibilities of being a mom, can often seem like an impossible challenge. 

So to help, I’ve outlined a couple things to focus on:

Understanding Conservation of Energy aka Energy is Life:

If you took physics or chemistry at some point in your life, you may remember the law of the conservation of energy, which states that “energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it can only be transferred from one form to another.”

Whether you realize it or not, every interaction we engage in, whether it be a friend, coworker, or casual acquaintance, all involve a transfer of energy from one individual to the next. The goal is to cultivate relationships with people who give you positive energy, while dedicating less time to those who drain you!

Reflect on the various relationships in your life and ask yourself the following: 

Which relationships am I most concerned with nurturing? Who do I value/enjoy time with the most? 

Which relationships give me joy and energy? And which relationships weigh me down?

Which relationships accelerate or support my near- and long-term goals? And which relationships decelerate or put your goals at risk?

We all do this subconsciously to one extent or another, but formally answering these questions will help you gain a better sense of which relationships need to be prioritized, which relationships are optional, and which relationships need to be severed.

Remember, energy is a valuable commodity for moms and your energy is currency, so spend it well and invest it wisely on relationships that result in, at a minimum, a net neutral return on energy, or ROE. In other words, at a minimum, your relationships should result in an equal level of energy exchange.

Make Time to Make Memories…Intentionally

When we look back on our lives, we probably won’t remember the days spent sitting around, watching TV, or browsing the internet, but we will remember the places we’ve been and the relationships we’ve built. Whether it’s a quick get together for coffee, happy hour, or dinner with friends, going on a trip, or sharing a new experience; each requires time, but they can be life’s most precious moments. No matter how busy our schedule gets, it’s not enough to just identify the relationships we should be investing in; we have to carve out the time to actually invest in them.  

I’ve found that the keys to effectively investing time and cultivating meaningful relationships are being creative and making some sacrifices 

Be Creative. As moms, we have to be much more purposeful with what we’re doing and how we’re spending our time. Remember and embrace the fact that quality time with those who matter may look a little different as a mom, so be creative; 

Incorporate your kids - While you may be able to make some plans without your children, integrating them into your external relationships will allow you to intentionally invest in personal relationships with minimal mommy guilt and babysitting costs. Additionally, many of your friends would actually enjoy being around your child. So, look for ways you can incorporate your kids into your interactions;

Setup playdates or plan a vacation with friends that also have kids

Go on a date to the zoo or a fun place for kids

Host a friend at your home for brunch when the kids are awake or schedule a movie night after they’ve gone to sleep

Make your minutes matter...Be intentional with your available time. - Take advantage of transit time or mundane tasks by being intentional. Again, be creative. It isn’t about having the time; it’s about making the time!

Check in on a friend or relative on your ride to or from work

Invite a friend to join you the next time you go get your nails done or go to the gym

Invite a friend over and cook dinner together

What Are You Willing to Sacrifice? From your children to your significant other, family, friends, or colleagues, to varying degrees, love is the root of all relationships, and love in any form requires some level of selflessness and willingness to sacrifice. What can you sacrifice to make time for your relationships? Can you sacrifice a reality show to invest in your reality? Or cut down on social media to actually be social? You have to put in an effort for the relationships that matter! It will take some sacrifice on your end to make the commitment, but the future return in the form of the relationships themselves and the memories you make along the way will be priceless!

The secret sauce to finding joy in motherhood and more broadly life, is having a tribe. This could be one person, three people, or an entire squad.

The ability to be yourself with other like-minded individuals helps you define and embrace your identity, while providing support and helping you to grow. Make no mistake, relationships require effort, intentionality, and investment, but thankfully, when they’re thoughtfully prioritized and managed, the returns can be exponential: providing more joy, more community, more support, more happiness, and more love!

What more could a girl ask for? 

If you enjoyed this post on relationships or would like more information on being intentional with your motherhood, check out my posts on value and goal-based living, intentional self-care, and childcare and development. 

[bottledcake]

Flower Funeral (II)

Ah Cheng (the Disguiser) x Li Xunran (Love Me If You Dare) May make some changes in future, because I’m bad at writing

CHPT 2

Xunran tossed the umbrella between his hands. He eyed the board in front of him. Yan Yujin had been asked for some information, but like the last victims, Xiao Jingrui went missing without a trace around a year ago.

The morning when Yujin came to ask Jingrui to jog together, he wasn’t in his apartment. There wasn’t any sign of robbery or fight. Phone, bank books, and wallet were still intact. His car was still in basement.

If the perpetrator from the series of killing was the same with Xiao Jingrui’s, he could narrow down the suspects – it might be someone close to Xiao Jingrui. But the problem was, most victims didn’t relate one another. They all had different occupation and social strata. It should be someone with wide connections.

Xunran eyed the list of victims. The first victim to be found was a salary man named Cui Zongshi. One hiker found the burial and reported it to forest ranger because the concern of burning incense.  At first they thought someone buried dead animal, but turned out it was human inside.

Second one was Jing, a normal housewife. She was buried near a lake with grave built from stones. She was the fastest to be found comparing with her time of death. It might be because the stone grave was easier to locate.

The third to be found was a military man working for air force named Fang Meng Ao. He was related to Cui Zongshi as his close friend. His body was found on the top of mountain. Not like the other victims, he wasn’t buried, but positioned at a tree like he was asleep while watching the sky. Formaldehyde was injected to his body for preservation and dried flower bouquet was placed beside him. Bo Jiyan had assured Xunran that the perpetrator was same person. Also Meng Ao – like Xiao Jingrui – had peculiar background. He was son of Central Bank owner, although his relationship with his father couldn’t be say in good term condition. But no matter how much money his father had spent for finding the murderer of his son, the case still hadn’t been solved yet.

The fourth victim was found buried in forest under full blossomed tree. A noodle shop owner called Fan Chuan. Most of his customer and the shop owner next to his shop thought he was on vacation, visiting his old friends. But turned out he was found dead two months later.

The most recent one was Xiao Jingrui. But from the condition of his body, he took the longest to be found because the area he had been buried. 

Xunran rubbed his tired eyes. The serial killings had gone for over a year and he didn’t know how many more bodies that hadn’t been found. The killer always chose a forest, mountains, or somewhere near lake, not something which other people would accidentally found something amiss.

‘Sir, are you going overtime?’ One of his subordinate stood by the door with a concerned look.

‘Ah, sorry, I will go home soon. You don’t have to wait for me.’’ Xunran replied. His subordinate nodded and left.

Xunran sighed and turned off his computer. He put the file papers to his bag then he noticed the umbrella. At first he intended to give it back to the flower shopkeeper after work but apparently he stayed in his office until late night. Maybe he would deliver it back tomorrow or when he could get free time from work.

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After few days, at last Xunran could get free time. He visited Jian family first in the morning because Jian auntie said she needed help for changing the curtains and light bulbs. When he arrived, Yao Yao was out (might be with Bo Jiyan again) and Xuan Xuan had study group with her friends. Xunran felt bit relieved because he didn’t have to listen to Xuan Xuan talking about Ah Cheng to him. The flower shopkeeper was her new favorite topic recently. He excused himself after breakfast (and auntie gave him lots of snacks to bring home).

Xunran parked his car and walked across the avenue. It was weekday so it wasn’t very crowded at noon. The flower shop was noticeable from far because the flower display outside.

‘Thank you, come again.’ Ah Cheng smiled to a girl who looked so flushed. Xunran snorted, this girl maybe already fell to that sweet-polite-business-like smile.

‘Mister Li,’ Ah Cheng face changed bit when he saw Xunran.

‘Mister Ming,’ Xunran greeted.

‘Please, come in,’ Ah Cheng opened his shop door for Xunran. ‘At last you come when the weather is nice. Have a seat; I’ll make coffee for you.’

Xunran smiled briefly then went in. He walked towards the table near window; there were some papers on it with drawings of landscapes with a lone house. ‘They are beautiful.’ Xunran commented.

‘Just a little hobby of mine,’ Ah Cheng replied while pouring the coffee. ‘Sometimes I draw for killing time.’

Xunran sat and observed the sketches more. Most of them were landscapes drawings. He flipped some drawings and noticed a sketch of person. He knew well the person because he already briefed Ah Cheng’s background when he needed to interview Ah Cheng for Jingrui’s case. It was the sketch of Ming corp. former owner, Ming Lou, who died in car accident three years ago.

When Ah Cheng walked towards the table with coffee, Xunran put the sketches back to its position. He mouthed thank you as Ah Cheng placed the coffee in front of him. It had nice pleasant aroma.

‘Thank you for the umbrella,’ Xunran took out a paper bag. ‘Also there is some snack, I got lots from my friend’s mom and maybe you’d like some.’

‘You don’t have to, it’s just umbrella,’ Ah Cheng laughed. ‘But if you insist, few snacks won’t hurt,’ he casually smiled – and again Xunran heart was felt like skipped a beat. Maybe because the smile he made wasn’t the polite-business-like which Ah Cheng always wore when he treated his customer. It was more….intimate.

‘It’s delicious!’ Xunran commented after he sipped the coffee.

‘I’m glad you like it, mister Li,’ Ah Cheng chuckled a bit. ‘It’s my special blend.’

They talked stuffs non private, like the weather, recent events in television, and stuffs. Xunran enjoyed the smiles Ah Cheng made – which sometimes it would change into a quirky smirk.

Ah Cheng in the other hand, observed how Xunran covered his mouth a bit when he smiled or laughed. Sometimes he would cover his entire face when he was embarrassed.

A faint tinkling was heard, signified that a customer walked in. Ah Cheng excused himself to Xunran who replied with a nod.

He could hear the casual talk a bit; the customer thought Xunran was Ah Cheng’s brother because they looked almost the same. Ah Cheng replied it with a casual laugh that Xunran was his long lost brother then winked to him.

Xunran wanted to die (lol)

He gulped his coffee. He should calm down; he only met Ah Cheng for like few times as acquaintances and once because of his job. Maybe it was Ah Cheng’s personality that he was kind to anyone, and as a shopkeeper he needed to be approachable to everyone who came to his shop.

He startled a bit when flower in pot was placed in front of him. Ah Cheng’s face peeked from the side. ‘For you, mister Li.’ He pushed the flower pot toward Xunran. ‘It’s easy to nurture it. If it’s still difficult for you, next time I’ll give you a cactus instead.’ Ah Cheng caressed the little blue flowers.

‘Hm? Why are you giving me this?’ Xunran raised his brows bit confused.

‘This is actually a bribe.’ Ah Cheng wore a serious face then sat across Xunran. ‘May I ask your phone number?’

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Xunran was about to sleep when his phone screen showed notification of message

Good night, mister Li

A very simple and short message. Xunran chuckled and typed the reply.

Good night, mister Ming, have nice dream.

The next morning, when he woke up, Xunran found there was a reply around an hour earlier.

I dreamt of you last night

Xunran spluttered his water.

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Xunran was doing his report when his colleague called him, ‘Xunran, there’s a delivery for you at front office.’

‘Ok, thanks, Chen,’ Xunran nodded.

‘Who is she?’ Chen made a teasing smile to Xunran.

‘What?’ Xunran joined his brows in confusion but his colleague left him and went to his desk.

Xunran walked to the front office. A guy wearing white shirt and plain black apron was there, talking to the receptionist.

‘I thought you’re mister Li’s relative.’

Xunran overheard the conversation. He knew immediately who he was talking to.

‘Afternoon.’ Xunran greeted.

The man turned to Xunran with his usual polite-business-like smile. ‘Hello, mister Li, I have a delivery for you. Let me get it for you.’ Ah Cheng excused himself and went out to his van.

When he was back, he brought a sunflower bouquet.

‘Please sign here,’ Ah Cheng gave Xunran the receipts.

Xunran nodded – still bit confused – and signed it.

The bouquet was passed to his hands. He could feel Ah Cheng’s fingers brushed his. ‘Have a nice day,’ Ah Cheng smiled then went back to his van.

Xunran blinked then stared at the sunflower bouquet in his hand. Could it be Xuan Xuan or Yao Yao send it to him? But there was nothing for him to celebrate, his birthday was still months later and if they wanted to give him flowers or gifts they always went straight to his home – or nagged him to take it himself at their home. Bo Jiyan was out of list.

While walking back to his office, Xunran noticed there was a little envelope tucked in between the flowers. Xunran flipped it, no sender.

When he was back, his colleagues bombarded him with questions. ‘Who is this generous lady, Xunran?’ ‘You should invite her to our party next time.’

‘I don’t know who the sender is, it can be from family we had helped before,’ Xunran replied – which rewarded him with boo reactions from his workmates.

He opened the envelope. Neat writings were shown on the card inside.

Next time, when the weather is nice, please come again.

His coworkers kept teasing him all day. They said Xunran had to admit that he already had girlfriend – or Xunran shouldn’t hide his girlfriend as secret admirer – also they should celebrate for Xunran.

‘Back to work!’ Xunran shooed his workmates.

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The flowers kept coming once every few days. Sometimes after he had to visit few sites, he found a bouquet was placed on his desk – and his coworkers gave him knowing smile. Even in rare times Xunran could take the delivery himself, Ah Cheng kept his polite smile when he delivered the flower to Xunran. And each time Xunran wanted to ask why he did this, Ah Cheng had excused himself and drove off.

‘A very persistent admirer, isn’t she?’ Chen patted Xunran who covered his face while sighing – looking at stuffs on his desk. ‘You should reply to her, maybe when you’re free, visit her more often. Now she sent you bento box?’ Chen peek the contents inside.

‘Yeah..  I should give a visit next time when I’m free…’ Xunran muttered. He opened the box. It was filled with various food with inviting aroma. The other box filled with snacks. Xunran tasted one of the snacks and he swore it tasted much better than all boxed foods he had tried before.

He shared the snacks with his coworkers. ‘You should keep her, Xunran. These are all awesome.’ Chen commented with his mouth full.

Xunran continued eating his lunch. He took out his phone and scrolled the contact list. Should he call?

Thank you for the lunch and snacks. I share the snacks with my friends. They all taste good, may I know from which shop did you order them from?

Xunran decided to send a text message. After few moments, a message notification appeared.

The shop is Jade Porcelain Looking forward to have dinner together next time

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Ah Cheng stopped his car at the front of Ming mansion gate. The big mansion was looked the same like when all Ming family lived there few years ago. Even though they didn’t live there anymore, Ming Jing still maintained it. Every few weeks a gardener would come and Ah Xiang sometimes came did general cleaning.

Sometimes Ah Cheng felt both foreign and nostalgic each time he paid the mansion visit. Ming Jing was right, what was the point of home when no one was home. He unlocked the front door and walked in. Subconsciously Ah Cheng hold out his hand, ready to help Ming Lou taking off his coat.

Ah Cheng curled his fingers, sighed.

He took off his coat and folded his sleeves, then went to kitchen where Ah Xiang put some utilities for cleaning. He took out a cloth, detergent, wood cleaner, and filled the bucket with water.

From the condition in living room and kitchen, Ah Xiang had come yesterday, so all the room should had been cleaned, except one room. Ah Cheng walked to the door at the side of stairs and unlocked it. He had requested Ah Xiang to only let him doing the cleaning inside.

Ah Cheng stepped in.

‘Ah Cheng,’ Ming Lou would call him while concentrating whatever in front of him. Sometimes it was a report from the flour factory or other business, the other day was newspaper.

The desk was in the same condition with family portrait, some economic books, laptop, writing tools, and few notes. Ah Cheng put them neatly aside and wiped the desk.

He carefully put the items back. He remembered he brought some flowers with him, maybe today he would put a little vase on his desk. Ming Lou used to complain when Ah Cheng put flowers on his desk – both at his workplace or home. ‘It’s better if you give them to Da Jie. These flowers don’t suit an old man desk.’

Ah Cheng checked the bookshelves. Few books were a little off placed. It must be the little brother doing again. Sometimes Ming Tai still came and borrowed books but maybe he forgot where the row for the books from so he always misplaced. Ah Cheng arranged the books back to its position. He would remind this brat later.

He took out a fresh bed sheet – he always changed it once a week. Ming Jing had told him that it wasn’t necessary but Ah Cheng still did it. Back in his mind, maybe, someday, Ming Lou would come back.

Ah Cheng dropped himself on the bed, crying.

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Xunran went to the shopping district after send a message to Ah Cheng that he was free today. Ah Cheng replied that he could come to his shop at evening time. He went there by taxi because Ah Cheng said at night most of the parking area was used for food stalls.

Xunran noticed the usual buckets filled with flowers were already put inside. He could see Ah Cheng was sitting on the chair by the window – looked like he was writing or drawing something. He had taken off his usual black apron. When Ah Cheng looked up, he noticed Xunran who walking towards the store and waved at him.

Xunran pushed the store door then went inside. ‘Long time no see, mister Li.’ Ah Cheng greeted while closing his notebook.

‘Good evening.’ Xunran  smiled. ‘This is, for the flowers and delicious food you had brought to me the other days.’ Xunran gave Ah Cheng a box of chocolate cake. ‘I don’t know what you like, also I can’t cook, so…’

‘Thank you,’ Ah Cheng received the box. ‘With this much, we can enjoy it together.’ He made that quirky smirk again which Xunran swore that his cheeks went burning red.

Ah Cheng took his coat and car key. ‘Okay then.’ He turned to Xunran who looked confused.

‘We have dinner outside?’ Xunran asked uncertainly.

‘Yes of course, I don’t have kitchen here.’ Ah Cheng laughed while wearing his gloves.

‘Oh,’ Xunran nodded, ‘I’ll wait outside then.’ He walked out.

Ah Cheng chuckled then turned off the light. After he made sure he had locked everything, he approached Xunran. ‘So, shall we?’ He smiled, and again Xunran felt his face was warm.

They walked between food stalls and Xunran wondering which one Ah Cheng would stop and recommend to him. But he didn’t stop and went into a parking building. The security there casually greeted him, seemed they had known for long time.

‘Your brother?’ The security guard asked.

‘No, a friend, at first I was surprised too,’ Ah Cheng laughed then passed by.

Ah Cheng unlocked his car. Out of his habit, he opened the door for Xunran – who awkwardly went in.

‘Where will we go?’ Xunran asked.

‘My place,’ Ah Cheng stole a glance to Xunran who shifted a bit in his seat.

‘Oh ok,’ Calm down, Xunran. Friends visited each other place. It was common.

‘It will take around half hour to an hour depend on the traffic,’ he drove into highway. ‘It’s bit around the outskirt.’

Xunran leaned back in his seat, watching as the road gradually became fewer buildings in sight, replaced with trees. Ah Cheng made few turns until a lone house was seen from far.

‘Here we are,’ Ah Cheng parked his car. It was a moderate house, nothing extravagant. Not far from the house, a river could be seen. At first Xunran thought, as one of Ming siblings, Ah Cheng might have a big gaudy house which would make Xunran felt more awkward than he already was.

Xunran followed Ah Cheng inside. At front room, there were few blank canvases put at one corner near the sofa. ‘Sorry, it was delivered this morning. I haven’t put them aside. Please sit wherever you like,’ Ah Cheng took the canvases and disappeared to second floor.

Xunran sat on the sofa while looking around. It was a normal house, nothing seemed oddly expensive in sight – which made Xunran felt more comfortable. Family portraits were placed neatly on the corner table. He noticed a flower was placed beside Ming Lou’s photo.

‘Sorry for the wait,’ Ah Cheng stepped downstairs. ‘What will we have today?’ He clasped his hands. ‘Do you like meat? Veggies?‘

‘I eat everything. The one you sent to me few days ago tasted all delicious,’ Xunran grinned sheepishly.

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ Ah Cheng laughed, ‘So, ready for dinner?’

Xunran followed Ah Cheng to kitchen area.

‘Want to help?’ Ah Cheng turned to Xunran who smiled awkwardly. ‘Sure, but I don’t know if I can be much help.’

‘It’s fine. You can help with washing stuffs,’ Ah Cheng wore his apron and offered one to Xunran.

They worked side by side. Sometimes Ah Cheng pointed what Xunran should do. Then Xunran would observe Ah Cheng cooked, and let Xunran tasted the food. It was all tasted amazing.

Xunran and Ah Cheng sat at the table and filled their plates. Sometimes Ah Cheng would put food on Xunran’s rice while mouthing ‘eat more.’ Xunran didn’t really mind, because they were all superb. After they finished the meal, they picked up the plates and washed them. While they were wiping the plates, Ah Cheng asked whether Xunran had to work tomorrow.

‘Why?’ Xunran asked. He put the last plate to the rack.

Ah Cheng put out a bottle of wine from the cupboard with a grin.

Xunran pursed his lips. ‘Fine, but only a tiny bit. I don’t have to get early tomorrow though.’

Ah Cheng poured to one glass and handed it to Xunran.

‘Thanks,’ Xunran could smell a fragrant aroma as he tilted the glass a bit. He sat on one stool in the kitchen and saw Ah Cheng poured one for himself.

‘Do you want to ask me something?’ Ah Cheng turned to Xunran.

‘Eh?’

‘You looked like that since we met this evening.’ Ah Cheng sipped his wine.

Xunran took a breath then looked down to the wine glass in his hand. ‘The flowers and dinner, I appreciate it.’

‘I thought you already said that to me before, mister Li.’ Ah Cheng laughed but then he noticed Xunran’s ears were red. He smiled then sat beside Xunran. ‘Hey, it’s fine. I do it because I want to.’

Xunran blushed. Cute.

‘I mean, I won’t hide that I have some motives with the flowers and asking you over for dinner,’ Ah Cheng continued. ‘If you don’t like it, I will stop.’

‘No.’ Xunran snapped – a bit too loud maybe because he noticed Ah Cheng’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. ‘I don’t hate it. So...’ Xunran voice trailed off. His mind tried to find suitable words.

‘Please continue send the flowers and treat me dinner?’ Ah Cheng stifled a chuckle.

‘You don’t have to say it like that.’ Xunran cheeks went pink, he gulped his wine in embarrassment.

Ah Cheng let out a laugh. ‘I will continue to send you flowers, Mister Li. Please wait patiently,’ Ah Cheng bowed - which made Xunran burried his face to his hand.

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