#‘girly raise your standards’ I’m sorry but I have no idea when I might find someone attractive in that way

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Damn, my history of taste in irl men is questionable at best, but at least the girls seem pretty normal???

[kazuzuha]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three

part one ; part two ; part four ; ...

this work is protected by copyright. copyright © kazuzuha ™ 2021

It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...

Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.

That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew. 

It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help. 

Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.

That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family’s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.

After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.

Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa. 

Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies. 

All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could. 

That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.

I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.

“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”

Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?

As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider. 

“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers. 

Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”

The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.

“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”

“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”

After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude. 

Ah, right, I wanted to run away.

It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.

I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.

Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.

I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.

“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”

I left three days after that.

The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.

White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning. 

The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature. 

TBA

[near-seth-experience]

This Pride Month, I’ve been thinking a lot about my relation to Gender.

Before I get too deep into this post, I just want to preface this by saying I am not well-informed on the matter. At least, not anywhere near as informed as I’d like to be. I don’t know which terms (if any) may be offensive. If I make any broad statements about gender, I am referring to it specifically in regards to the topic of MY gender. That is to say, if I write something like “gender is insignificant”, this should be read as “my gender is insignificant to me.” It is not my intention to diminish others in any way, and I’m not trying to provide any hot takes or spark debates and conflict.

This post is just for me to lay out my thoughts with the hope that someone who actually has a clue what they’re talking about might help me figure out where my gender identity might lie. This is a long post of personal rambling, so sorry in advance, thanks for reading, and here’s a “Keep Reading” cut for the sake of your dashboards:

Truth be told, I’ve never actually sat down and seriously thought about my gender before now.  Heck. I didn’t even know Aromanticism was a thing until last year, and I didn’t know that it (or asexuality) had their own spectrums of varying identities. This past year, upon realizing that I’m Aspec (I’m still trying to pinpoint where specifically on those spectrums I stand tbh) I’ve focused most of my LGBT+ related internal reflection in that area. This past year, I’ve been pondering attraction:

Who am I attracted to?

Do I experience attraction?

How do I experience attraction?

Are there any prerequisites in order for me to experience attraction?

Am I actually attracted to someone or am I just really freakin’ lonely?

Am I actually attracted to someone or am I just really freakin’ horny?

Things like that.

Frankly, I won’t exactly know how to identify in that regard until I actually have romantic and sexual experience, and I’m a big ol’ 26 y/o virgin who has never even had a relationship or first kiss (lmao I know, right?) I can’t say for certain how I respond in those situations, so I can’t say with certainty that I’m one thing or another. So, anyways, I’m at a bit of a standstill in that department, so like I said at the beginning of this post, I’ve been thinking about Gender recently.

Gender!

So, I’ve always identified as a (cisgender) male. I’ve got the corresponding bits, and until recently I did not recognize the dichotomy in definitions between Gender and Sex. I thought the two words were interchangeable because that was what I was raised and taught to believe. But now that I know better, and recently I’ve been thinking “oh, so I’ve been identifying my gender on the basis of my sex, but is there a gender identity that is more applicable?”

I don’t have any issues in regards to accepting my physical attributes, but I do not like gender (or at least the binary) as a concept, and I cannot stand the idea that this stuff should have any sort of influence or bearing over my behavior and interests.

Like a lot of people, I grew up having to put things back on the shelf. The only time my mom bought me something that was a “girly color” was when I got a necktie to match my friend’s dress for a school dance (She was wearing a hot pink dress, so I was in all black with a hot pink tie, we looked fresh af). My childhood wasn’t mine. I grew up playing soccer, wrestling, baseball, football, hunting, and fishing, all because my ancestors ate up some ancient rhetoric that declared boys shall be athletic outdoorsmen, and any who aren’t are deemed lesser.

I never liked being told I couldn’t have or do something because it was supposedly intended for a different type of person, and similarly, I didn’t like being held to the standards and stereotyping of conventional masculinity.

I don’t want to write an essay about every instance and aspect of my personality that goes against the notions of gender and society’s expectations of me in regards to gender, so I’ll leave that there, but as things stand now, I just.... don’t care?

I don’t care if I’m sharing a bathroom with a transgender individual because it’s a bathroom.

I don’t care if I’m wearing a feminine color, because it’s a just color.

I don’t care about what pronouns people use for me, because they are referential. If people are referring to me with pronouns, I’m probably not around to hear them. Pronouns are for talking about me, not to me. Even if I’m in a conversation with multiple people where I can hear myself being referred to, I’m not gonna jump in and correct people because I just don’t care.

If someone see’s me out in public, they’re gonna talk about me with he/him because they see I have a beard most of the time, and that’s a very visible and predominately masculine feature. It’s my understanding that pronouns are frequently assumed because it is up to the speaker to convey their subject clearly to their audience.

I think it’s for this same reason that I will continue to tell others that I am a man despite not personally identifying based upon that which it entails. A lot of people haven’t wrapped their heads around the whole gender vs sex thing. I don’t want to cause any unnecessary confusion because that’s just more trouble than it’s worth for me. I’ll still say I’m a cis male online and on dating sites because if people want to find a hairy person with male hardware, that’s what they’ll search, and I do want to be found.

My gender doesn’t really matter to me, so my gender shouldn’t really matter to you. I’ll say I’m a man because it’s easier for you, but I’m not gonna think less of myself for going to college to write poetry while others expect me to be doing something macho. I’ll say I’m a man because, if you must know, I’ve got a penis, but I’m not gonna think less of myself for ordering a fruity drink while the rest of the guys get their beers.

I’ll say I’m a man, but really, I just don’t care.

“Male” isn’t my identity. Seth is.

I’m still learning, and so there might be something that is more fitting, but I suppose I’m actually something like Agender, Non-Binary, or Gender Non-Conforming???

anyways thanks for reading I love you