alex, a character in CONSTELIS VOSS, has a great ass. however, the ass means something aside from being a rump worthy of repute and we're going to talk about it. this article exists because i (kira leigh) have lost my silly little marbles.
no, that's not quite right. i've lost the ability to be usual in a nonsensical world run by asshats. today, i'm coping by writing about ass in all lowercase.
please enjoy an article about butts that's as smart and absurd as the character in question.
defining the stern to steer the conversation
what is a butt?
what is a butt? to make it simple, it's rounded tissue attached to your backside, located posterior of the pelvic region. you don't merely sit with it, but you shit from it, use it for dancing, walking and many other activities. as it stands (firmly above your legs), the ass is both bodacious and integral for living.
many have worshipped the butt over the centuries. there's been fine art of ass, sir-mix-a-lot's epic track and more. in the politics of sexuality, there are ass-appreciators, tiddy-theorists, tummy-lovers and even thigh-guys, but at the end of all things there is always the rear.
i'm an ass-man myself, but that's a bit besides the point. i like butts for another reason: psychological warfare.
what is an ass if not a beacon?
what is hot violence if not asstagonism?
alex voss is a curious character. born from trauma, he's at once the villain and hero of most stories i write. however, equal parts chaos, caboose and cheekiness make it hard to get a handle on the heinie of it all. why did i write an actual attack helicopter with a brain-bending rump as thematic staple?
and why does he canonically wield so many guns? 🔫🔫🔫
all answers converge on the keister: alex was made to provoke different responses in different demographics by being what he is and doing what he does. thematically.
he's a queer, angry, too-pretty man-thing aware he's written and hot. for that reason, he's a weapon of ass destruction that i aim—as the creator of his buns of steel—to exploit liberally for maximus damage.
alex's asstagonism lives in observation. since the dawning of his dumptruck in group writing arenas, he's been an unlikely sex symbol. nothing suggested this rainbow demon could bring all the boys, girls, gods and questionmarks to the yard, but he did.
as he shares 4th-wall antics with deadpool—and has a hell of a temper—i wrote him to subvert this booty-call at every available moment.
posterior peering without permission? shot. put him in a situation that risks his fanny? stabbed. a powerful prat trying to put his patukis in its place? punctured with a rusty pipe through the organs. beyond the blissful backside lives social commentary on the act of looking and what you get for doing it wrong: graphic violence.
more importantly, alex was created to be sexy evil—and i hope if i've made him properly—inspire outrage in certain onlookers to create chaos for a cause.
panic! at the badonkadonk
hypothesis: smart gays break brains with booty
there's something furiously fanny-tastic about packing so much ham-heat that it confuses the cishets. i have experience in this matter, both in literary worlds and in factual reality where my rump resides.
in group storytelling, other writers often grappled with the logic of writing their character hopping on rainbow omnibutt, even if they shouldn't have. character a hetero guy? woops not anymore. alex a literal murderer? details, details.
there are a million reasons why alex was (and is) too hot to handle, tush notwithstanding, but all of this happened anyways.
the ass of it all took up free real-estate in my brain: just what was it about this behind that baked the buns of logic?
in real life, my dummy thicc cheeks have the very same habit. try as i might to quite simply exist, the ass announces itself before my arrival. it's the feature i'm most known for, besides being so queer that anyone attracted to me is rendered 20% more gay on principle.
blend the fictional with the factual and you get a curious concept haranguing my hams: what happens when obnoxious cishets get confronted with a desirous derriere far outside their comfort zone? panic! at the badonkadonk.
it's my hope that in creating a character so asstagonistically unstoppable that—if my work picks up steam—cognitive derriere dissonance breaks brains with booty.
i would very much like to witness many angry honey nut non-queerios wage war against this rump. it'd afford an opportunity for a can of conversations and build a career on caboose carnage. excellent.
but how is alex's ass a psyop?
consider the performance of patootie
i have, in my long life as an ass-appraising author, never considered myself a provider of patukis. in the series alex lives within—CONSTELIS VOSS—there exists no lurid sex scenes, no zoom-in on the behind, absolutely not one single description of them cheeks. weird that i'd market books via his backside if nothing in-text has the gift of glutes, right?
robo-butt goes brr only in marketing, to discomfort the fragile, make statements about society, play with the politics of posteriors, turnout trauma, or cloister consent into cosmos-law.
alex the assassin isn't sexualized, he's weaponized. in fact, he's about as canonically sexual as bath salts. sex is a fraught activity for the twink with a terrific tuckus and a buttload of trauma—which readers will soon get when his blistering backstory breeches.
shaking ass is a tactic for survival or a way to meet goals. that's it.
now you know why and how alex's ass is a psyop. i hope not only does this op-ed help you understand my literary quirks, but maybe the fanny euphemisms will convince you to browse the backside of my work.
that's one observation my derriere's definitely down for—and all ass-umptions aside—the danger twink certainly wouldn't mind his can creating career advancement for his quirky creator. 😉
— k. leigh