Measurements are helpful, but having them isn't the same as having the person that they belong to in front of you.

Take Violette's dad. He's a big guy, but just looking at a photo of him wouldn't convey how much space he takes up when he's in a room. His personality is just as broad as his body, and no numbers on a screen communicating how large his chest, stomach, and biceps are is going to capture the way he's always hoisting Violette up for hugs or slapping his knee and belly-laughing whenever he tells a good joke.

So, the custom-made tángzhuāng that his family had shipped over ahead of time? While it's expensive and constructed out of beautiful red silk, embroidered all over with an intricate golden dragon pattern, the artisan who created it should have given him more inches in every seam to account for his exuberance. When he excitedly raised his arms after putting it on, the fabric strained. Now, he's standing stock still like he's afraid the seams in the shoulders and sides will split if he breathes wrong.

"Is this how brides who think they gotta lose weight feel?" he asks with an uncharacteristically wry chuckle.

Violette howls like she's been wounded and hugs his arm. "No, Daddy, you're perfect! It's the shirt that's wrong!"

We were upstairs planning our outfits for the days before the wedding when Eric arrived with the special delivery, so Violette's wearing a beautiful longsleeve lilac qipao that was included for her. In contrast to Eric's, hers mostly fits, only the slit rides high and open thanks to her plump thighs, so they may have to reel that in. I like it, but it's probably sexier than necessary for her dad's wedding.

"We'll have them adjusted when we arrive. Your parents did warn they might need further tailoring," Jett says as he straightens the sleeves on his top.

He has his own tángzhuāng, but to differentiate it from Eric's, his colors were inverted to gold with red detailing. The tailor did fine by him, and he's used to the tightness of close-cut menswear, so he seems comfortable (or as comfortable as he ever gets).

I'm the only one left out of the modelling session. My outfit for the wedding is at home. We already decided my family will be wearing western formal wear, since we're basically Jett's representatives. His parents were invited, even though everyone told him not to bother. They RSVP'd "No" via the only aunt of mine who still talks to my dad. Cowards couldn't even tell him directly that they wouldn't show up.

Not like I want them there. My dad cut off contact with them soon after I started using they/them pronouns. They hadn't made it that long the first time around, since they faded out when Jett adopted me. This time, they left with a bang rather than a whimper--my dad exploded during a private conversation and told them to go to hell. I have no idea what was said, but the aftermath was the angriest I've ever seen him.

A year after that, with new powers and a big head, I asked my dad if he wanted me to try and "fix" his parents' thoughts. He just put his hands on my shoulders and told me they didn't deserve it. The older I get, the more I understand what he meant.

I stand up and approach Jett. "Violette's looks the best, but I'm biased," I say. He flinches when I put my hand on the frog button at his collar, but I'm just straightening the woven red threads. "Somehow, you managed to catch second place. Until Eric gets his fitted right, that is."

"You know I always think he's number one," Jett says. Then, he turns his face to side, notices the princess eyeing him, and hurries to add, "But, of course, Violette is lovely too."

She responds by hugging Eric's arm tighter. The way she's stroking the fabric of his jacket, she must like the texture.

"Daddy, it's not too late, you could still marry me instead," she says with all the sugar and syrup of an ice cream sundae.

"Violette!" Jett and I object at the same time. How embarrassing.

She sticks her tongue out as Eric carefully extracts his arm from her grasp and pats her on the head. "Don't tease them, baby, one of them might think you mean it."

"I do mean it," she whines, but then she snickers and darts away as Eric goes to ruffle her hair. The catlike squint of her eyes tells me she got the reaction she wanted out of both of us.

She joins me in front of Jett, measuring him up with her hands on her hips. We bully him less than we used to--a good 30 percent!--but he remains a favorite target. Saving our lives only earns you so many points. Knowing this, he starts to sweat under her gaze.

"I'm being so nice to you, letting you have him," she says.

"That's true." He's smart enough not to argue.

"And you get me too sometimes! You better be grateful!" She leans past me and into his space, forcing him to tilt back an inch. The skin on the back of her neck, right above the stiff collar of the qipao, tantalizes me into placing my hand there. She's soft and warm.

"Yes, you've been incredibly generous, you really--you don't have to do that," he says, fumbling for the right words.

"It's part of the deal. Oran too!"

Jett sighs and glances at Eric for backup, but he's busy trying to take his new garment off without popping anything. "Indeed. Just... like old times...?"

"You've really got to work on your memory, Uncle Jett." I grin as he tenses up. The hodgepodge of images and feelings he's saddled with sting at my awareness when he focuses on them, but I poke the fire-ant nest regardless. I worked hard to train him. He should remember the important details.

"I wonder why I might possibly--" Jett begins, but before he can get too snippy, Eric (having shed his silken prison) comes in with the save.

"Hey now, are y'all ganging up on him?" Eric bends down and picks Violette up like she's a naughty puppy he just caught chewing on the couch.

"No no no, I was being really nice!" she protests as he slings her over his shoulder and turns in a loose circle. Bubbles of laughter float out of her as he spins.

I wasn't around to see her younger years, but I imagine their dynamic has always been like this. His "punishments" for her are gentle redirections at best, downright giving her what she wants at worst.

"Gee, Uncle Jett, you could probably pick me up like that, why don't you? Aren't we close?"

"You'd bite."

His deadpan comeback startles a laugh out of me, and then he follows suit, the tension between us dissipating like a tall wave that loses momentum right before the shore, until it washes up at my feet with nothing more than a whisper of sea foam.

Unfortunately, the positive atmosphere is broken by a sound that means trouble: the song that Eric has assigned to his mother's call. I'd never heard it until the wedding planning started, but I know it well now. It must be worse for Violette and Jett.

"奶奶, leave us alone," Violette grumbles as Eric puts her down. He cups her cheek and presses his thumb against her mouth in a shushing gesture while he excavates his phone from his jeans' pocket.

Eric slides his thumb across the screen and says the equivalent of "Hi Mom" before diving into rapid-fire back-and-forth with her that I don't have any hope of understanding at my level. At least he uses Mandarin, not Shanghainese, so I snatch a word here and there. He mentions the clothing, colors, and something about tea. Better than nothing, but I wish I understood more.

How nervous am I to visit a country where my abilities will be undermined by the language barrier? Not as much as the old me would've been, but still pretty damn nervous. I won't be able to read most everyone, and the direct thoughts I can stealthily insert don't transcend language. I've tested it; if I drop a thought in Japanese into an anglophone's head, they just get confused. It's only when I tap into feelings and memories that I can bypass words, but that takes a lot of energy.

That's why I studied orders and directions more than anything else. That, and the words for family members. Knowing Violette, those three things will come in handy.

"Aw, hold on, Mom," Eric says in such abrupt English that I have to cover my mouth to silence a laugh.

While his thoughts are unclear, Eric's emotions linger, just like my mom's do. I sense a spicy mixture of fondness, respect, and irritation toward his mother that is plenty recognizable. According to Violette, he usually gets along with her. Unfortunately, she's running this wedding with the strictness of a drill sergeant, so they keep butting heads.

The volume in Eric's phone is loud enough that I can hear his mother's distorted voice crackling with age and distance. It's morning for her, so I assume she saw the package had been delivered and called to check in. They must be arguing, either about the clothes or some other issue, from the way his voice rises and drops. Even casual Mandarin sounds somewhat dramatic to my ears, but this is something else.

As their voices continue to roller-coaster, Violette wrinkles her nose like a fussy rabbit and comes over to me. I wrap her up in a hug, then shift and cup my hands over her ears. These days, I know how to help her when she's overwhelmed, and we can always leave, no questions asked.

"Upstairs?" I say against her hair, but she shakes her head.

Waiting works. The arguing finally breaks off into laughter and apologies from Eric. The next few exchanges are warm and calm. He even ends with "I love you" in English, though his mother scoffs and tells him to go eat dinner instead of answering in kind. My mom loves that particular maneuver.

Jett loudly sighs with relief once Violette's grandmother is off the phone, causing Eric to chuckle and throw an arm over his shoulder.

"Get it out while you can, 'cause we gotta be all smiles and manners next week," Eric says.

"I know. I worry about you more than me," Jett says while pinching the broad bridge of his nose, right under his glasses. "Anything I can help with?"

"Nah, nah, it's normal stuff. She just wants things her way. She doesn't like me doin' any of the 'bride' parts, but I told her it's settled. I gotta remind her I'm not a kid, I'm a grown man. Traditions or not, I get a say in it."

Jett nods, and for a moment, the two of the lean together like sturdy trees. It's funny to think of either as kids. Jett turned thirty last month, Eric's four years older, and both have lived a lot of life in that time.

"Tell her I'm the kid instead," Violette says as she leaves my arms. Now that tempers have cooled, she's back to her princessest self. She squishes between them like she owns any inch she can find. Which, frankly, in this house? She does.

"That's right!" Eric says as he makes room for her. "And your grandma knows not t'say a bad word about my little angel. Everybody's gonna love how brave you've gotten."

"I know! They're gonna love it so much," Violette says. Her face sings with innocence, but I know the measure of her and exactly how much depravity is hiding behind those eyes.

* * *

I do end up staying the night, though I have to get up early and leave--after rousing my sleepy Violette from her slumber with kisses. Maybe a couple more weeks of waking up together in Shanghai will convince me to move in for good. I wait patiently as she yawns and pushes at my shoulders with uncoordinated hands.

"Bwuh," she says through her curtain of messy hair when I don't let her roll over and return to dreamland.

"Remember, I'm not the only one with work to do."

"Bwehhhhhh," she complains, but that's enough to get her out of bed and into the bathroom to comb her hair. I head downstairs to grab something from the fridge for breakfast (Eric won't mind).

After eating but before I leave, I poke my head into her room. She's focused on the corner, where the painting that will be her wedding present for Eric and Jett stands on an easel. It's an exuberant and colorful portrait of them: a larger-than-life orange, red, and brown Eric with his arm around Jett, who's shining with blue, green, and black. He's smiling in the shy way he does when he's letting himself be happy. She's restarted it no less than four times, but it's really shaping up this time.

"You got this, babe," I tell her.

"Bye," is all I get in return.

I don't take it personally. Nothing brings the serious out in her like a challenging piece of art. I'm sure she'll knuckle down and finish it soon so there's time for it to dry before we travel. Until then, I can handle a little grumpiness.

The rest of the morning is hectic: driving, printing in the library, assuring my dad I'm alive when he texts, finding my professor's office to submit my paper in person because he's old school, eating lunch, then finally dumping myself into my usual plastic chair for Christy's final. It's a different room than the one she taught in last semester, but basically the same layout. There's a whiteboard, a desk and podium, windows on one wall, and a row of desks. My chair and table is near the back.

"Hey Green. And here I thought teacher's pets got to skip the final," says the lanky tan girl with a buzz cut sitting in the chair next to mine. She's slumped low, so low that her long legs are stretched far under the chair-and-table set in front of her.

I roll my eyes as I open my messenger bag to grab a pencil, though I also raise my hand and meet her halfway for a fistbump.

"Shove it, Reed. I gotta take the test like everybody else."

She smirks when I don't deny the favoritism. I can't! Christy does her best to act professional, but she already liked me as an enthusiastic student, so adding the sexual aspect made it worse. She calls on me way too much. It's not so bad that anyone suspects we're fucking, but Reed (first name Ginger, but nobody who actually knows her calls her that) rags on me about being a suck-up.

Don't let Reed know that I actually slept with her in my past life. The idea unsettles me now that we're friends. We talked for the same reason both times--she's openly queer, I'm openly queer; we find each other. But, back then, I focused on getting in her pants over anything else. She's not exclusively attracted to women, so she saw me as a reasonable alternative after some suggestion. Her body was...

I tap my pencil against my desk to break the train of thought.

Nerd.

Asshole.

The ghosts in my head, none of them real, rattle their chains nonetheless. I make a mental note not to introduce Reed to Violette. Some boundaries are worth keeping. Violette agrees, but her idea of where that line is? Well. We're farther apart than we used to be.

"Yo, that actually reminds me, I gotta tell you what I found," Reed says as she leans across the aisle toward me. I raise an eyebrow and glance at the clock at the front of the room. There's a few minutes until Christy typically arrives, so I lean over.

"Yeah? What's up?" I don't like the mischievous sound of her thoughts, but she's not revealing the details there either.

She holds up her phone screen so that no one else in the class can see it. It's a screenshot of a Tinder profile. A headless but all-too-familiar close-up of freckled cleavage takes up most of the screen. She's wearing a red dress she's worn to class, the fabric pulled down to emphasize her assets. My eyes widen in recognition before I can shut down the emotion.

"No way," I mutter, while internally screaming Christy! Violette said to be discreet, didn't she?!

"Eh? Eh? Don't even deny it, I saw your face! Think I should swipe right and see what happens?" She waggles her eyebrows at me.

"Why are you even on there? Are there any lesbians left on Tinder?"

"Don't dodge the question!"

Not like it worked! Ugh, get me out of this conversation. I fumble for a grasp of my powers and try to think of a decent response. "It's not cool, right? Like, a violation of privacy or something?"

I need to leave her alone! I think this for Reed, loud enough that she winces and slumps forward as it hits. Whoops. I panicked!

Luckily, the words do the trick. Once the kickback has passed, she sits back up, and her mind papers over the brief disruption.

"I wasn't gonna do it for real, don't have a cow." She spins her phone around her finger by the grip on the back of it and slots it into her pocket like a gunslinger holstering a pistol.

I'm sighing with internal relief when the woman of the hour walks in with our finals in hand, wearing the same distinctive red dress as the picture. Mercifully, there's a black tank top underneath the deep v-neck, but Reed turns to me with a shit-eating grin anyway. It takes everything in me to maintain a neutral expression.

You are in so much trouble. If not for the wall of protective vines that has grown to encircle her mind, I'd shout it in there directly. Too bad for her. She doesn't get a warning.

* * *

* * *

"I'm really, r-really sorry, I won't wear it ever again, I promise, I really really really promise," Christy says when I pull the gag out of her mouth.

She's on the guest bed, and besides the gag that was plugging her squeals until a moment ago, she's handcuffed and blindfolded. Her words are somewhat drowned out by the loud buzzing of the clit vibrator that's been sucking orgasms out of her for some time now, leaving her beyond overstimulated.

You might be imagining the rude reception Violette and I gave Christy once she arrived, but at the start, Violette was gentle with her. In fact, she gave her a happy hug as soon as she saw her. The two act like they've known each other forever--like sisters, I suppose. But the kind of sisters in porn Violette would watch, based on how much she loves to nuzzle her face into Christy's chest. I think she might like her tits more than I do.

It was only after the cuddly greeting that I ordered her upstairs and bound her. She was game for the handcuffs, but the more we piled on, the more anxious she got. Violette sat on her hips and sucked on her nipples, left then right, to soothe her as I pushed toys into both her holes. By then, she'd realized I was mad at her, just not for what, but she was smart enough--see, her brain can work!--to go quiet and submit. The gag in her mouth was the finishing touch.

I took the opportunity to play professor for a bit, lecturing her about how anyone can see her acting like a slut on the apps, and if she wants to keep me and her big sister happy, she better ensure her succubus life stays separate from school life. After she heard me out, Violette placed the clit vibrator and held it there as Christy started to squirm. Since she's blossomed, her body has become as sensitive as Violette's, so the vibrator pulled an orgasm out of her fast. Too bad she had nowhere to escape the stimulation after that. That was when she really started making noise.

Violette and I leaned over from either side of her and made out while listening to her muffled whimpering until we were breathless. It felt so good to have Violette within reach while Christy shuddered underneath us. She's been our special project, a way for me to practice toying with someone again without feeling too bad about it. She's like Violette! She loves it! Even if she was satisfied laying dormant before we came along, she's so much more vibrant like this.

She just can't be too vibrant.

Now, I think she's learned her lesson. I nod at Violette, who removes the vibrator from her clit. Christy swallows a breath then lets it out in one long, shaky sigh.

"You swear you'll be more careful?" I ask as I run my thumb around her swollen lips, wiping away the excess drool.

"Uh-huh, I swear! I'm sorry!" I can't see her eyes through the blindfold, but I bet her blue eyes are big and watery. "I-I was just thinking about you two leaving, and I wanted to find someone right away, and that dress is sexy..."

"Aw, poor Christy," Violette says, and I think for a moment she might say I went overboard, but then she grips the base of the toy in Christy's pussy and starts pumping it in and out of her. "You'll be on winter break, I'm sure you can find lots of dick out on the town."

I cover a snort and nod like Violette is very wise. "For sure. It's cuffing season, and you've gotten better at catching big boys, right?"

To emphasize my point, I tug the perky nipples standing hard atop her freckled breasts.

"Oh, I'll try!" She squeaks it as she arches her back. I grit my teeth to hold in a groan. The bouyant motion of her chest is tough to look away from, almost overwhelming when I'm staring right at it. Not nearly as bad as Violette's body when she's using her full power, but not shabby for a girl whose evil mother once said she wouldn't amount to much. This is what a good teacher can do.

"Violette, stop for a second," I say. She pouts slightly but stays her hand.

"Do you want her there?" she asks.

"Nah, since you like her front so much, I'll take the back."

"Ooo, good idea." She helps Christy sit up without further instructions. I can't help but grin at how simpatico we are.

Christy, obedient as ever, bites her lip as she settles shakily onto her knees.

"Um, like this, Vee-vee?" She sounds like the younger one, including one of the cutesy nicknames for Violette she's used since their little succubus mindmeld.

"Good girl," Violette assures her. She puts her hands on Christy's arms to steady her, and I take that as my cue to tug the toy out of her ass and replace it with my cock. I used lube. We are not at magical, perfectly supplicant holes with Christy yet.

"Ah!" She folds toward Violette as smoothly as a bow pulled taught, and I feel rather than see Violette start to move the dildo in and out of her pussy.

It'd be fun if Violette had a cock. In any way--trans girl, cis guy, magic, or some secret fourth option. We could really feel each other then. If she liked it, of course. Only ever if she liked it. Her face would be so adorable, I bet she'd do that bunny-nose wrinkle of concentration as she tried not to cum, and when she inevitably did she'd make such adorable, high-pitched gasps. I push deeper inside Christy as I imagine it, eagerly moving back against Violette's movement of the toy.

I won't tell Christy that I got off inside her while thinking of Violette for the nth time if you don't, okay?