Become ungovernable

But, you also have the "more" of it all. Shane doing as he's told from the off; Ilya effortlessly slipping into the dominant role right from the start and Shane revelling in the submission, before they've even gotten physical with each other. And you have "no" in that Vegas bathroom. 'No, you are not in charge here'. 'No, you cannot have what you want, even though you did exactly as I asked'. 'No, this is not on your terms'. 'No, you will wait until I decide I want you'. And then you have Shane standing there, at the cottage, revelling in the fact that Ilya is finally here, in his space, with him. He's preening, patiently waiting for Ilya to touch him; for Ilya to kiss him; for Ilya to decide what it is they will do now. Because he's a good boy. He won't act out of turn. He won't presume he's owed a kiss. He will wait for Ilya to decide what he deserves.

We see this a little bit when she waits while Shane's 'freaking out' to see how Ilya will handle it.

She likes that Shane has another person in his life that can support him - one that he is probably much more receptive to than his mom and dad. Yuna knows about that first hand - it was so much easier to let David bare some of her burden than her parents. And vice versa.

So Yuna has no problem stepping back and allowing Ilya to be Shane's main support person.

Yuna: Hi honey! Just saw the game. Is Shane okay? Ilya: He is okay. Very grumpy though so maybe no phone calls tonight.

Yuna loves that Shane has such a wonderful, understanding partner to lean on. It's really all a parent wants, to know that their child will be taken care of. And Yuna is very confident Ilya will take care of her Shane.

The first time she's absolutely confident of that is when Shane is downright angry.

"No, mom, it's fucking ridiculous," Shane fumes, blinking. He's gotten better over the years, but when he was little, he couldn't get angry without crying.

"I know," Yuna agrees with him because that is usually the best thing to do. She glances over at Ilya, who seems relatively unbothered at Shane's anger.

"It's in the contract for a reason," Shane continued, paused, and then smacked his hand on the table. Not hard, but hard enough.

At that, Ilya stood up. "Come on."

"What?"

"We are going to the rink," Ilya stated simply, grabbing his and Shane's jackets from the coat rack.

Yuna winced. Shane didn't get angry too often, but ordering Shane around when he was angry never went well. He was going to-

"Fine," Shane said tightly, grabbing the jacket Ilya held out to him and walking through the door Ilya held open.

Yuna raised her eyebrows.

"I will fix," Ilya said quietly to her, smiling. "Tire him out. We will be back before dinner."

"Okay," Yuna smiled back, surprised.

As she locked the door behind Ilya, she found herself realizing she really trusted Ilya with Shane.

He was so confident with what Shane needed, so in step with him. After years of hearing how her son was emotionless, hard to read, anti-social, blank stare, etc. She knew he wasn't. He was so expressive and she didn't understand how others couldn't see that. But Ilya could read him so well - he always seemed to know what he needed, even when she didn't.

you learn that the world is so much more complex than you were taught, and that that's okay, and that there's an endless supply of things you can learn or watch or experience or think about if you want to. if you're lucky, you loosen up, stop putting so much pressure on yourself. if you're lucky, you learn to recognize that negative inner voice, and whack it with a baseball bat until it hushes up. if you're lucky, you learn to treat yourself gently, not because you are fragile but because you are worthy of gentleness. (i hope you are lucky.)

"Sorry, I don't mean to offend--"

Which of course, I brace for hell, since he is around 60, and i am a gangly cryptid that people usually struggle only to find the right slur to apply to. But i dutifully keep my work voice and go "nah nah, don't worry, what can I do?"

He hits me with "Are you--uh, I've been saying 'thank you ma'am' but are you... okay with that? What should I call you?"

And i live in a small conservative pocket within one of the most liberal states in the US, so my experience in public is varied. People have guessed, they've gone with she, he. they, they've awkwardly avoided it, but no stranger had ever asked me.

So i panicked and chuckled. This felt kind of like walking into a fake tumblr post. I said "Oh, you can call me whatever you want, its fine."

Any cis person would probably sound a little insulted. i knew i was confirming some kind of gender fuckery, but giving him the out that he didn't have to change anything. Fucker kindly smiles though, and like. Pounces. Asks, much more confidently, "But would you prefer sir? What are your pronouns?"

He's on script now, I'm astral projecting to a different plane where i'm a bug on a well lit microscope and my throat's a little tight all the sudden. I say, "Oh. I uh--I use they/them."

I use they or he, but 'they' is the language curveball. I know this, which is why i usually just let people use whatever. He nods, and I choke out (because its been a bad bad day, autoimmune flare pain on top of record high patient numbers) "Thanks. No one... has ever asked me. Have a good day."

He told me the same, I booked it, because the dim room was hiding watery eyes but not for much longer. Got it together in a nearby closet (ha) and moved on.

Came back later on in the evening because I had promised to visit when his wife was there earlier in the day. She's sweet, he's sweet, I do my usual spiel, he avoids any 'ma'am' studiously, but on me going to head out again, hits the dilemma of having no polite substitute for 'ma'am' or 'sir' that isnt gendered in some subtle way, and he's fucking trying, but this is not second nature obviously.

So what comes out is "Have a wonderful night, Them!"

Beaming, proud, right next to his extremely confused wife, who he seems to have not outted me to (nice) who now thinks he's probably having a stroke (funny, but not nice lmao)

This is not metaphorical. I mean actual, literal pieces of paper/plastic/metal/whatever explicitly erected to inform the public.

“How did you know this was the right trail?” I read the sign.

“Wow, how did you know what that flower is?” There’s a SIGN.

“How did you know we needed to use the side door?” THERE IS A SIGN POSTED ON THE FRONT DOOR.

Just…why are we having such different experiences of the world? People can read. I KNOW they can read. There’s nothing wrong with their vision.

Just. READ. THE. GOD. DAMN. SIGN.

This also applies to:

Syllabi