#but I’d be so happy if i could just manage a more androgynous voice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enbycalicocat · 4 years ago

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Day 10: 5th of February, 2021

At the tender age of almost twenty-six, Ellie already felt as burned out as if she were in fact sixty. She wasn’t even working a ‘proper and serious’ job, as her dad liked to say. Apparently manning a store was not an adult enough job for him. In fact, none of her jobs had been adult enough. Once, Ellie had worked at a book store, which he didn't like either of course. The manager there was about thirty-something, older than Ellie by at least ten years. Or that’s what Ellie thought. And the woman was dedicated to that store. She put her everything into her job. Ellie wondered how she would feel if she heard Ellie’s dad saying her job wasn’t ‘grown-up’ enough.

Probably about as invalidated as Ellie felt.

On top of the ‘kid’ job, Ellie hadn’t graduated from university yet. That one was an ongoing issue with her parents, a very serious one. More than her choice of work. They said her only job was studying (uh, hello? It’s not? She also had a full-time job to attend?) and that they could not consent what she was doing with her academic life (as if she needed their ‘consent’ to take longer to graduate).

The thing was, Ellie wasn't doing it on purpose or anything. She really put a lot of effort into her classes. And she really wanted to graduate, for no better reason than making them happy and get them to stop stressing her with their beliefs of when she should’ve graduated (which wasn't very healthy, Ellie was aware). But she just couldn't. For some reason, university was unbearably exhausting for her. It was something that made her tired to the very marrow of her bones. She hated it, with passion and fierceness. Hated it like nothing in the world.

After nearly six or seven years attending university (she changed degrees after the first two years and had to start again from zero in the new degree), the girl had come to a conclusion. University and her just did not get along well. Mind you, not studying and her. Not learning and her. No. University and her. There was a difference. Ellie liked learning. And she didn’t mind studying. Her problem was university. She didn’t like the courses, didn’t like how they were taught, didn't like the grading system.

Why was she studying then? Because in this country you went nowhere without a university degree. That’s why.

Ellie wanted to go nowhere. But her parents wouldn’t let her.

And hence, the burned out feeling mentioned before.

When life felt particularly crushing, Ellie liked playing simulation games. Specifically, farm simulation games. And that was what the girl was doing currently. The little guy on the screen moved according to the commands from the joystick, the arrows, and the buttons under her fingers, as she made him check to see how tomorrow’s weather would be and if she would have luck today.

I wish I was somebody else.

The guy on screen watered his little patches of crops. The watering can soon needed to be upgraded soon.

Really? Somebody else? With a whole other personality?

Ah, these crops were ready to be picked up, that meant money would be coming in today.

Hmmm. Now that I think about it, no. I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be me. I like me. And my personality. I just don’t like my life. So let me rephrase that. I want to have a different life.

And… Done! All the crops were watered and she had picked up everything that matured. Now, off to sell the results of her hard work.

Another life? What kind of life would you want? What would change? Your major at university? Like you haven’t tried that already.

Ellie ignored her very own voice berating herself as she separated the vegetables. The normal and silver ones would go to the shipping box by the house. The golden and purple ones would be sold at the local produce store. Because the girl cared about her reputation in town and didn’t want the neighbors saying the stuff she grew tasted horrible.

No, I wouldn’t change majors. That would make no difference.

The girl rolled her eyes at the screen in front of her, as if the tiny hardworking guy from the game or the television set could somehow be made responsible for annoying herself.

Well, what then? What kind of life would you want?

Finally at the supermarket, the guy walked over to the cash register and began to sell the crops. What kind of life did I want? She had not the slightest idea. Yet, as she watched the guy standing by the counter, pausing in the middle of counting, an idea occurred to her.

Well, first of all, I would’ve fought harder to give voice to the crippling gender dysphoria I felt when I was younger. I don't know that we would've been able to afford a sex change. Or that my country even allowed that back then. But if I had at least fought to have that very present male 'side' of me acknowledged, I would now be happily living as an androgynous being. Because I didn't, at present time I'm just a girl trying to hide her biological gender characteristics. If hormone therapy was in fact an option back then, and I had started it early enough, I wouldn’t have these annoying piece of crap breasts that do nothing but hurt and bring me trouble.

Continuing to sell the produce she'd harvested, Ellie imagined she'd look just like my character on screen. Slightly masculine, but also slightly femenine. Keeping people guessing as to which category to put her under. She could already picture this new life in her mind.

The day she... no, they, told their parents about how they sometimes feel very male. How sometimes the female gender biological characteristics feel weird, odd, off, like something was missing. Then going to school.

School...

How would school be? The bullying probably would've been the same. But they would feel happier about themselves, about their body, about the way they looked and dressed. They probably would've developed a whole different set of mental issues and gone to the psychologist no matter what. But Ellie wanted to believe that it would've all been better than what her school and younger years where actually like.

Oh, that’s a good start. And then? What else would be different?

Focusing back on the game, she finished with selling, and started buying the new seeds to replant the crops that had been sold. I also needed to buy fertilizer because the one I’d used had disappeared as soon as I picked up the crops. If my production rate continued like this, I would be able to buy the next bag and have more inventory space. And after that, I could expand my crop patches. More crops planted, more veggies to sell, more money coming in, and more money meant upgrades could happen faster.

Noticing all the planning and business decisions going on in her head, another idea came.

I would refuse university from the very beginning.

The guy on screen, the pixel Ellie, walked back to his farm with his seeds and his fertilizer, significantly poorer, for now.

No studying? How would you make a living then?

When the guy was home again, she got to work immediately, fertilizing, planting, and watering. They had other things to do that day.

I would make a living by…

At first, she’d thought about being a farmer, like the pixel Ellie. But in this country, farming meant working for the corrupt government, because all the new plots of land belonged to them. And there was no way, that was happening. Also, here having a farm meant no electricity, no running water, no wifi, no signal, no modern stuff. So, as much as she liked farming in game life, that wouldn’t work in real life.

Ah, pixel Ellie was running out of energy and they had no food in the backpack. So, they ran inside to quickly cook something in the house’s kitchen. Real life Ellie would love to make different dishes, there were some dishes that sounded really good. But this game was about how much energy you got from food. Hence, the importance wasn’t on the dishes name, or its ingredients, it was on how much it refilled the bar on the bottom right corner of the screen.

That’s when another idea came to her.

How about cooking? I could go to vocational school and study to be a chef. I really like cooking. Though, more than cooking, I think I would love to be a baker. I like making cakes, and cookies, and that kind of stuff. I mean, I don’t mind cooking, and I put heart into what I make. But I only have real honest fun baking.

So, instead of doing it as a hobby like you do right now, you would do it to earn a living? Remember the last time you tried to make a living out of one of your hobbies?

Writing.

That had been the worst mistake of her life. It got the poor girl into the biggest writing slump she'd ever experienced. All because Ellie had tried to make a living just as a writer and the pressure ate her alive. Until she developed anxiety so bad that Ellie just could not write without feeling like she would have a panic attack at any second.

Yeah, not so good an idea then.

She got the little pixel guy moving again. Everything farm related was done now. Let’s go fish and earn some money for that backpack.

For a while, the girl just played. Eyes glued to the screen. Thinking about nothing but her utter failure to be a human being. What did I want to do in freaking life? How was I supposed to make a living when I wanted to do nothing? How was I supposed to be a functional part of society when everything seems like an unbearable pressure and everything makes me have panic attacks? I would adore to take the pressure out of things. Maybe then I would enjoy them. Maybe then I would be able to have a stable job and a stable income and be a ‘grown-up’.

How about you stop trying to find ways to make a living out of the things you love? We have proven time and time again, that doing that will just make you end up hating them.

Sighing, tired and frustrated and angry with herself, Ellie threw herself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I don’t want to be a fudging billionaire. I don’t want to have some big-shot job. I don’t want to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or an engineer, or any of that crap. I’m happy with my stupid kitchen store job. They pay me more than a big percentage of the people in this country. Never mind if we compared it to what the people without a college degree earned. Even if I graduated there was no guarantee that I would get a better paying job, proved by the millions earning minimum wage out there. in any other country my job would be enough to pay for rent, food, and some luxury expenses. And I have enough free time to write as much as I want, because I don’t bring work home. So, tell me what the hell is wrong with just quitting university, dedicating myself to the store, maybe wind up as a personal secretary or manger later on, and write in my free time?

For once, there was silence in Ellie's head.

Indeed. What is wrong with doing that?

She sat up on the bed, looking around as her mind whirled.

That would take the pressure off writing. And I could literally just do it for fun. And my income wouldn’t depend on whether I write or not.

The heart in her chest was beating wildly. Excited. Happy.

I can't make enough to be independent with my current job. But to be honest very few jobs in this country would pay me enough. I would have to earn a couple hundred bucks a month, and short of becoming an escort I didn't know what would make me that amount of money. So, I could move out of this country. Go live with my family overseas and do the same simple things I did here. I could be a part of society. I could make a living. And not depend on my parents.

And, you could also open up a ko-fi or patreon page, have people donate if they want. If they feel like it. That way no pressure is added to you as the author, or to your readers, and you could have some extra income.

She could picture it already. How happy her life would be.

And then Ellie remembered her parents. The fact that she didn't have a passport and obtaining one cost around a thousand bucks. The fact that she had no belongings to sell to pay for the plan tickets. Her cowardice. Her nervousness. Her anxiety.

All at once her body felt completely exhausted. The energy seemed to have been sucked out of the girl and she let herself fall onto the bed, staring at the wall.

No hollywood dreams. No millions of dollars. No sports cars. No. The only thing I wanted was to be happier with my body, to quit university, to have a peaceful job, and write. That was the life I wanted. The life I couldn’t have.

So simple. And yet so far from reach.

A tear rolled down the corner of Ellie's eye, it traversed the bridge of her nose, continued down the underside of the other eye, and finally found the mattress. More and more tears followed its path.

Prompt: 10. Write the autobiography of the life you weren’t brave enough to lead.

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werevulvi · 4 years ago

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Not the anon you replied to but I think the nonbinary argument falls apart for me because no one can be truly sexless nor a hermaphrodite person so this idea that they "should" be is like someone feeling they should be a minotaur or a fairy. It's so disconnected and almost entitled to bend reality that it grates on me, especially when its combined with some flavor of "but it's not a mental illness!".Even from a health pov there is no viable HRT that makes u both. And no gonads+no HRT = bad

Well, that's alright. I might just not see it from the same perspective as you. I don't really view nonbinary as one specific thing, but rather as on a greyscale kinda between male and female. It is not saying that mixing male and female traits on the same body in various ways necessarily "makes" a new gender, or truly sexless. The "gender" is merely personal interpretation.

I still battle this with myself, so it's difficult to talk about, but since I'm the only nonbinary person who's brain I know well enough to speak of... I guess I'll try.

First off though, usually the point with nonbinary isn't to be a specific "third" sex, sexless or to be some mythological hermaphodite. Humans cannot become truly sexless or be both sexes for real, but at the same time females cannot become males or vice versa either. So is it pointless to transition (with hormones and surgery) at all then?

Because at the end of the day, we're all just bio males and bio females, regardless how we feel about it, and regardless if we transition or not. That's what the reality is. But wanting to look different and putting a gendered meaning into that difference, isn't necessarily wrong, bad or illogical to me.

Like I have a teddy tiger which I sometimes refer to as simply "my tiger" even though she's not a real tiger. Because the toy resembles a tiger, and was made to resemble a tiger, it's logical enough to call her a tiger, even though it might sometimes be important to specify that it's made of fabric. Likewise, a nonbinary person might just be a female who looks partially male and partially female, due to hormones and surgery, like myself. To then say that me looking both male and female and liking it "makes" me nonbinary is no more untrue than saying that the soft toy "is" a tiger.

Because I resemble a mix of both sexes, just like the soft toy resembles a tiger. I cannot produce both sperm and eggs so I am not of both sexes for real; and my tiger cannot roar nor scratch, and is not a living creature, thus it is not a real tiger. Often times we call things not only what they are, but also what they resemble. Especially when it comes to art and other creations, but really all sorts of things. Like comparing someone's red hair to fire, or calling my balcony during hot summer days a sauna, even though red hair is not actual flames and my balcony is not an actual sauna. Why? Because it help with communication. Parables are important to describe things or to make a point. I even made another parable to describe a parable, to prove a point with a parable, just now.

Granted that most nonbinary (and binary) trans people do not view themselves as a parable to the gender of the sex they consider themselves to be, but I do.

So, consider the fact that transition doesn't actually change the person's sex, only polishes the surface to either look like the opposite sex, and/or some ambiguous variant of both/neither sex, but it can still make that person feel better about themselves. Is it then pointless for them to do things that make them feel better and find ways to lead a more functional life, regardless of how redundant it might seem to you? Because to me, the point of transitioning is not to become something else (whether that be male, female, sexless or a hermaphrodite), but to reduce dysphoria to improve over all life quality for the dysphoric person. And yes, dysphoria is a mental illness. I wouldn't wanna argue against that. I view my dysphoria as the defect, not my sex. And no, transitioning doesn't help every dysphoric person, but I think it's pretty clear that it helps for some. So then there's just not that much of a difference between... say, transitioning with T and top surgery to live as a self-perceived man - and transitioning with only T to live as a self-perceived half man-half woman. Because neither of those two examples can truly become anything other than a female anyway, so why does it matter? It might not matter to you, but it probably matters to them.

Also, I don't think anyone "should" be of the other sex or some other variant either. I just think people can do whatever they want with their own bodies if it makes them happy, and call themselves whatever they want if they feel that's useful for them somehow.

Both males and females, as well as intersex conditions that look ambiguous exist. Fairies and minotaurs do not. Even if they might be loosely based on bulls and fireflies. I could literally fool people to believe that I'm both male and female by simply saying some stupid shit like "I was born with both a dick and a pussy" because a lot of people have heard that can be a thing, even though they would know it's rare, they likely know it's humanly possible in some way. Getting people to believe I'm a fairy or minotaur would probably be a lot harder, unless they’re 5 years old.

How much or what kind of dysphoria somehow has doesn't really matter, I think. Dysphoria is dysphoria. And yeah, I would at least be willing to possibly extend that non-dysphoric people who seem genuinely more satisfied with themselves post-transition. Because then so what, good for them.

But yeah, I know even I have an easier time accepting certain types of nonbinary more than other types. Someone wanting no genitals, I would personally find very concerning, but someone wanting both a dick and pussy, I wouldn't be nearly as worried about. Someone wanting physical changes that can realistically be acquired through hormones, surgery, etc, would not be as concerning for me as someone wanting... say for example a big beard but not a deeper voice, and start dabbling with testosterone anyway.

You're right that there is no hormone that makes you "both" but it's possible to look androgynous in various ways with the hormones available. Sure, I may pass as male, have a beard and flat chest, but I also have a curvy figure and a pussy. To me, that's kind of a way to look like "both" sexes at once. Not evenly, and not like a hermaphrodite stereotype, but it is a combination of male and female sex characteristics that together makes me look kinda half and half. How I "achieved" that was simply by first going through female puberty (naturally) and then taking testosterone (on standard, "full" dose) for a significant amount of time, and get a mastectomy. Totally doable. Although my personal results depend highly on my genetic as well, of course. For other variants of androgyny, some manage to achieve that with low dose hormones, or going off the hormones after a shorter time on them. Some also go on and off hormones (not sure how healthy that is though.) Not everyone gets their intended results, but I have seen many variants that have looked good to me. I’m not advocating for getting one’s gonads removed and then not take any sort of hrt, or doing hrt without a knowledgable doctor’s supervision.

So really all I can say is I'm generally okay-ish with the concept of nonbinary, but some aspects/variants of it does concern me, make me uncomfortable, make me roll my eyes, or even viscerally upset me. I'm still quicker to critisise nb than I am to defend it, however... I do both critisise and defend it.

Whether I want to admit it or not, I'm practically nonbinary myself, even though I scoff at the concept and can name a hundred things wrong with it. I don't wanna label myself that, though. I hate it.

Let me put it this way: In an ideal world I'd just exist as myself like this, take my testosterone just because I like it (and not because I'm x, y or z gender), dress however I want (without it being questioned to mean I wanna be x, y or z gender), and be openly proud about my bio sex being female (without people telling me they don't believe it), without having to label myself anything at all. Alternatively, I'd also be fine with carrying a label which doesn't exclude ANY of those things I like being/doing with my body, style, name, etc.

But thing is I don't live in an ideal world. I live in Sweden. And in Sweden, we call freaks like me nonbinary. Because women don't wanna take testosterone to look like bearded men in dresses, and (trans) men don't love being female. Only nonbinary people do. So I’m only really nonbinary because I don’t fit any other label, and well, most people I know/come across dislike it too.

At the end of the day my body is just me and I just am like this. It doesn't actually "mean" anything, other than that I had dysphoria and acted on it. I love being female and I love being transitioned. Thus, I feel like I am in some highly abstract and vague sense "a little bit of both" sexes, and I don't think that's a particularly strange conclusion to come to, given my situation. I don't mean it literally. It's just how I relate to my body, and it's how the world relates to me. Sure, far from everyone “reads” me as nonbinary, but the sheer number of people who have told me I should identify that way... is flabbergasting, seriously. It’s like 20+ people who told me that, unprompted. Both people I’ve known, and strangers.

So, as I'm reluctantly trying to slap the uncomfortable nonbinary label on my own ass... perhaps I "shouldn't" invalidate my own kind, while I'm at it. However, the only thing I'd kindly ask of others to "validate" about me is my humanity, and to respect my bodily autonomy. If others think of me as a man or woman, both or neither, I truly do not care. But would I ever truly advocate for the nonbinary community? No, I don't think so. For the most part it’s regressive and goes against my values. I'd rather have gender be done away with, because ultimately I think that's a much better goal... even though it’s a pipedream. We can all dream, right?

So I mean... I'm probably not the best person to come to for some solid argument in support of nonbinary.

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enbyleighlines · 5 years ago

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Would you consider writing Jiang Cheng's response to Nie Huaisang's confession as anpther one of the modern mdzs fics? Maybe with Wen Qing as well since I know she and Jiang Cheng have a relationship too? I cannot get enough of the modern au. I already love the way you write nhs so much and I need them to have a happy ending 😭

Absolutely, my friend! I’m glad to hear you are enjoying them~

—

On the night of his Jiejie’s wedding, Jiang Cheng drives Wen Qing and himself back to his apartment in silence. Both of them are exhausted from the long day, so the lack of conversation isn’t unusual or awkward.

Still, Wen Qing must have sensed something. As soon as they settle in for the night, and Jiang Cheng is about to climb into bed, she speaks up.

“Something on your mind?” She asks, looking up from the book she had been reading. She is marking her place with a finger.

Jiang Cheng knows that if he brushes off her question, that she will simply shrug and go back to reading. She will drop it, and probably not bring it up again. That is just the type of relationship they have. It is casual, surface level... a little cold. They both keep each other at arm’s length, metaphorically speaking. Their bodies can touch but their hearts can not, not for long, not long enough to risk forming an attachment.

Of course, Jiang Cheng also knows that he’s only lying to himself. He has already grown attached. Wen Qing just doesn’t need to know that.

When Jiang Cheng doesn’t immediately answer, Wen Qing folds the corner of the page she is on and sets the book aside. She gives the empty side of the bed a few pats. “Come on,” she says, “Say what you want to say, or forever hold your peace.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but sits down beside her anyway. “Nie Huaisang said something to me today,” he begins.

Wen Qing raises a single eyebrow, and waits patiently.

“They... told me that they like me,” Jiang Cheng confesses, trying to keep his voice tight and emotionless.

“Okay?”

“Ever since high school,” Jiang Cheng continues, “Can you believe that? Holding onto a crush from high school that long?”

Wen Qing snorts, but at least she tries to hide it behind her hand.

Jiang Cheng flushes, remembering that he is still harboring a crush on Wen Qing that had begun in high school. God, he can be such a hypocrite!

“Well,” Wen Qing says, “What did you say?”

“What could I say?” Jiang Cheng counters, deflecting by pure reflex. He feels the guilt he had suppressed earlier begin to bubble back up. “I told them... I didn’t know what to think. I mean, they sprung that on me so suddenly! So I said I’d give them a proper answer later, after I’ve thought things through.”

Wen Qing hums. Even as exhausted as she is, she clearly sees where Jiang Cheng is going with this. “And how do you feel about Nie Huaisang?” she asks, knowingly.

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng admits. It’s the not knowing that is messing him up, but he doesn’t say that. “I mean, Nie Huaisang... they’re assigned male at birth? I think that’s what they’re calling it these days. And I’m not gay. So I shouldn’t be attracted to them.”

“But you are?” Wen Qing guesses.

“Is that weird? Am I gay now?”

This time, Wen Qing is unable to hold back her laughter. She giggles into her fist, clutching her stomach with the other hand.

Jiang Cheng scowls and waits for her to finish.

After a moment, Wen Qing meets his gaze again. She’s still smirking, though, that little curl at the edge of her lip that drives Jiang Cheng wild. “If anything, you would be bi,” she corrects him, “Unless you no longer find me attractive?”

It’s a dig at him and they both know it. Jiang Cheng shoves her shoulder, and she only laughs some more.

“So we can rule out you being gay,” Wen Qing teases.

“Will you take this seriously?” Jiang Cheng grouches. “Just answer the question. Is it weird, for me to be attracted to Nie Huaisang?”

Wen Qing gives him another smile. This one is genuine, almost fond. “Of course it isn’t weird,” she says, “You might have a slight attraction to men, or you could just find the concept of androgyny attractive. As much as I wish human sexuality was as simple as movies and TV would have us believe, it’s far more complex than that.”

Jiang Cheng considers that. “Is there a word for... being attracted to androgynous people? As well as women?”

“Probably,” Wen Qing answers, “but I don’t know what it is. I find the concept of labels limiting at best and misleading at worst. But if you think it would help, I can do some research for you.”

Jiang Cheng leans back against the headboard. He doesn’t know if it would help. He supposes Wen Qing might be right about the labels thing. Any time they’ve attempted to put a label on the strange relationship they share, it’s only ever ended in heartache. And, on that note, being attracted to Nie Huaisang isn’t Jiang Cheng’s only problem.

“Hey, Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng murmurs, “Are you... jealous, at all?”

Wen Qing sighs. “You know I’m not a jealous person,” she reminds him, “Why? Do you want me to be jealous?”

He kind of does, but he won’t ever admit it. And it’s not jealousy itself he craves, exactly, just the confirmation that maybe Wen Qing feels a fraction of what he feels for her. That maybe she considers him a part of herself, something she doesn’t want to lose.

Wen Qing sighs again. “We’re not exclusive, either,” she adds.

Jiang Cheng is painfully aware. He spits, “I know.” And then, “But have you actually ever... slept with anyone else? While the two of us have been a thing?”

Silence fills the room. Wen Qing fidgets with the ends of her bangs. “I’m too busy for that,” she deflects.

They’re both living a lie. That much is clear. Jiang Cheng blows out air though his teeth, and attempts to put his temper and ego aside for the moment. “So is it really fair, then, if I ask Nie Huaisang out on a date?”

Wen Qing surprises him. She reaches out and puts her hand over his, lacing their fingers. “C’mon, don’t they say everything’s fair in love and war?”

Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath. It’s the closest Wen Qing has ever gotten to admitting that there is love between them. He gives himself a moment to savor the little victory. And then he says, point blank, “I want to know if you’re okay with me asking Nie Huaisang out on a date.”

“Yes,” Wen Qing answers easily. She gives his fingers a squeeze. “Will you be okay asking them out on a date?”

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng admits.

“What’s holding you back? Be honest. Is it the whole gay thing?” Wen Qing’s smirk has returned. “I hope you realize how dumb that sounds to me. I did the whole gay panic thing back in middle school. That’s child’s play to me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jiang Cheng finds himself smiling now, too. He remembers that Wen Qing was the first out and proud person he ever met. He remembers her wearing bi pride pins on her backpack, and how she was always the first person to put bigots in their place. She’s always been the strongest and bravest person he knows. He loves her so damn much. He only hopes that one day he’ll find the courage to tell her.

“So what’s really holding you back?” Wen Qing asks.

Jiang Cheng’s grin falls. He feels bad saying it aloud, even if he knows Wen Qing won’t judge him. But he says it anyway. “I’m afraid of hurting them,” he admits, “What if things go great at first, but when it comes to... getting intimate, I freeze up? What if I don’t find them attractive under the makeup?”

Wen Qing squeezes his fingers again. “That’s always a possibility,” she tells him.

“And I know I don’t know shit about being transgender or nonbinary or whatever,” Jiang Cheng continues, “but I heard that being misgendered hurts. And what if Nie Huaisang thinks I’m misgendering them, by not being attracted to them?”

“I don’t know,” Wen Qing says.

That shuts Jiang Cheng up. He looks at her, surprised. “What?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” she repeats. Her expression is so warm, so affectionate. “There are no easy answers, Jiang Cheng. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But I think it’s a good sign that you thought so much about this. It’s clear that you care about them. So... I think you should ask them out. You clearly want to.”

“I do want to,” Jiang Cheng confesses. He puts a hand to his chest, and is startled to find that his heart is pounding. When did that happen?

Wen Qing leans over and gives him a peck on the cheek. “So ask them out,” she whispers.

Then, she rolls over, turns off the lamp on her side of the bed, and goes to sleep.

But Jiang Cheng stays awake for a little while longer. He listens to his heart beat, and replays the conversation they just had in his head.

His fears and concerns are still there. But somehow, they feel more manageable.

—

It takes three days for Jiang Cheng to work up the courage.

Finally, he texts Nie Huaisang and asks them to meet him for a morning coffee at a locally owned vegan cafe and bakery. He figures it’d be the kind of place that Nie Huaisang would enjoy.

Jiang Cheng choses a table near a window. It makes him feel a little less claustrophobic. And then he waits.

Nie Huaisang arrives right on time, orders a latte at the counter, and brings it with them to sit in the booth across from Jiang Cheng. The nerves are apparent in every move they make, every little twitch of their fingers conveying intense anxiety.

Jiang Cheng wants to sandwich those fingers between his warm palms, and make them stop trembling.

“Good morning,” Nie Huaisang says. It sounds like they tried to sound nonchalant, but instead they just wind up squeaking on the first syllable.

It’s endlessly endearing. Jiang Cheng rubs the back of his neck. “Hey,” he replies.

Nie Huaisang looks down at their latte, and the foam heart on top. They swirl the spoon, distorting the image. “This is a nice place,” they say, “Cozy, and vintage. How long have you been coming here?”

“This is my first time,” Jiang Cheng answers. He doesn’t want to talk about the cafe! But he doesn’t know how to shift topics smoothly.

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang says. They peek up through their feathered bangs. Today, they’re wearing an oversized striped sweater, almost long enough to be a dress, over some leggings. As always, they look incredible.

Jiang Cheng has long found himself uncomfortably enthralled by Nie Huaisang. Their sense of style is— well, Jiang Cheng doesn’t know anything about fashion, so he doesn’t have the right words to describe it. But whatever it is, it looks good. It looks better than good. Jiang Cheng often avoids looking directly at Nie Huaisang for that very reason. But now that he’s looking, he can’t look away.

Nie Huaisang fidgets nervously, no doubt uncomfortable being under the heat of Jiang Cheng’s stare. “So,” they say, “What... have you been up to?”

It’s obviously not what they had meant to ask. Jiang Cheng suddenly realizes that he’s being a total douche for letting this drag on for so long. And so he blurts out, “I wanted to talk about what we talked about at the wedding.”

Nie Huaisang startles. They avert their gaze, and then ask, “O-oh...?”

“You said you liked me,” Jiang Cheng says, and then wishes he didn’t. Surely Nie Huaisang knew what conversation he was talking about! He berates himself inwardly for a moment, and then continues, “I wanted... to ask you out on a date.”

Nie Huaisang audibly gasps. They put a hand to their mouth a second too late to muffle it. “What...?”

“To the zoo,” Jiang Cheng adds, “Uh, you like the zoo, right? You like animals.”

“I do,” Nie Huaisang confirms. Their voice is so very small. Clearly, they had not expected this outcome. “But... I’m confused. You said... you said you don’t like men?”

“You’re not a man,” Jiang Cheng points out.

That gets a huge smile from Nie Huaisang. It lights up the entire cafe. “I’m not,” they agree, with a breathless sort of glee choking their throat. But then, the smile falls. “But I’m not a girl, either.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng says. He straightens his spine, and tries to channel a fraction of the courage Wen Qing possesses. “I still think I’m straight, but I want to take you out on a date anyway. Maybe that means I’m not really straight, but right now, I really don’t care. I just want to take you to the zoo. And maybe to dinner, afterwards.”

Nie Huaisang looks like they don’t quite believe him. But they nod. “Okay,” they murmur, “I’d like that.”

#asks #livenarrator #mo dao zu shi #sangcheng #chengqing #drabbles #leigh’s writing #mdzs modern au

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texastheband · 4 years ago

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Crowd Pleaser

Interview by Nigel Farndale, Photography by Ellen Nolan Taken from The Sunday Telegraph - July 31, 2005

Sharleen Spiteri used to be a shy boyish hairdresser who got called 'son' a lot. But then she grew up into a famous, flirty pop star who knows 'how to be a woman' and regularly gets proposed to on stage. What went right? By Nigel Farndale In a noisy London bar Sharleen Spiteri is hearing voices. 'Sorry' she says, distractedly turning round in her seat. 'I keep hearing someone say, "That's Sharleen from Texas."' That must be the curse of being a public figure in a public place, I suggest. 'No, it's the curse of my bloody hearing. I can separate sounds really well. Too well. In the studio I have to listen to a mix from about three rooms away. My nickname within the band is Radar.' This seems quite brave of her band. Radar was the nerdy one with the glasses in M*A*S*H. Spiteri has a reputation for being a loud, feisty, broken-nosed, leather-jacketed Glaswegian. I'm surprised they dare call her anything other than 'boss', or possibly, given that she also describes herself as looking androgynous, 'sir' Today she is not wearing the black leather jacket, but black jeans are in evidence, and a black top, and these complement the 'Sharleen Spiteri look': dark, blunt-cut hair that she has to flick constantly from her dark, sultry eyes. But that is not to say she looks intimidating, or is lacking in warmth. She has big, puffy lips for one thing, and she is wont to chew on these coquettishly. And she is chatty. Very, very chatty. 'I can be a bit of chatterbox,' she warns redundantly. 'It was a habit I picked up as a hairdresser.' That was when she was 17. It was meant to be a temporary job before taking up a place at the Glasgow School of Art, but she found she enjoyed it and would have liked to keep it up had she not, on a whim, auditioned for a new band being formed by Johnny McElhone, a guitarist with Altered Images. The five members of the band - all the rest are men - decided to call themselves Texas, after the Wim Wenders film Paris, Texas. Spiteri and McElhone wrote 'I Don't Want a Lover', a bluesy number featuring a Ry Cooder-style slide guitar, and it went straight to the top of the charts. This was unexpected, so much so that Spiteri hadn't even given up her £2-an-hour hairdressing job. Their success looked shortlived though, as two follow-up albums flopped, but then, nearly a decade later, in 1997, came the album White on Blonde, a mix of dance, rock and soul which produced one hit after another: 'Say What You Want', 'Black-Eyed Boy', 'Halo', etc. Now, at 37, Sharleen is a regular on rich lists and Texas have sold some 20 million albums worldwide. 'My band is very aware I am the front person,' she says, talking rapidly in her Scottish burr. 'They knew that when they joined. I told them, "The attention will come to me and you won’t seem as important, so just accept that and don't feel paranoid about it." Bands break up when egos come into it.' Spiteri and McElhone still write all the songs - they have a new single out this month - and such has been the closeness of their partnership for the past 20 years, you have to wonder whether their actual partners feel jealous. Spiteri has been living in Primrose Hill with her boyfriend Ashley Heath, a fashion journalist, for the past decade. They have a three-year-old daughter called - and, remember, we're talking about pop stars here - Misty Kyd. So: does Ashley get jealous? 'I wouldn’t think so, but that is a question I can’t answer. I spend a lot of time with Johnny and as well as working together, we are best mates. But Johnny's wife is also one of my best mates. And Ashley sees a side of me that Johnny never sees, especially as we have a child together.' Even so, it must be odd for Ashley to see men holding up placards at Texas concerts, as they do, declaring their love for Spiteri and even proposing marriage. Doesn’t that bother him? 'You're probably better asking my dad that question!' Her father works for her; he is in charge of the lighting when Texas is on tour. When Spiteri was growing up, though, he was a captain in the Merchant Navy. 'He did three months on, one off. It seemed normal at the time. We were quite chuffed about his job. It seemed glamorous. I remember the massive walk-in fridges they had on his ships. My dad was cool. He smoked weed and shit, and was a bit of a hippy.' He could be a disciplinarian, though. 'I had to be home by nine during the summer holidays and one night I was late so I ran through the park and went straight into a tree and broke my nose. I got home with my nose bleeding and my dad just said, "You're six minutes late and you're in for a week." I wasn’t even allowed out in to the garden.' That's called imprisonment, I point out. 'Yeah, but it taught me a bloody lesson.' Has wealth and fame changed her relationship with her parents? 'No. I was always close to them and I still am. I'll take my mum out to dinner with my girlfriends and we'll have a giggle and a laugh.' Are these the starry girlfriends one reads about in the society pages? The Madonnas, the Stellas, the Gwyneths? 'Nooo. My best friends are Gilleen and Raggy. They are ma girls. They are like ma backbone. We're the three witches. We look after each other.' Does she divide her friends into celebrities and non- celebrities? 'No, no, no. Not at all.' But surely celebrities find it easier to relate to each other because their circumstances are mutually abnormal, that is why they tend to flock together? 'I don’t think of it like that. I've met these people through work, as it were, and being in a place they would be. Just because you are both famous, it doesn't mean you are going to get on. Trust me I've met a lot of famous people I don't like. Really don’t like.' And the ones she does like, how easy is it to go from superficial encounters at starry events to deep friendships? 'I met Stella [McCartney] first, many years ago when her dad was doing a TV special and I was invited to sing on it. We just clicked and drifted into friendship. She invited me to one of her shows in Paris. I invited her to one of my shows. I thought she was cool, she thought I was cool. We got on well together as two women. It wasn't at all starry.' And Madonna? That friendship, I gather, wasn’t even a matter of them bumping into each other. Madonna summoned Spiteri for an audience. 'Madonna just rang up and said, "Do you want to come to dinner?" and it was either a yes or a no and I said, "Yes." That's just an easier way for her to meet people she thinks she might want to meet, because there is always such a fuss around her when she is in a public place, What can I say? I enjoy her company, her conversation. She's lovely.' She has some glamorous male friends, too: Tom Ford, Ewan McGregor and Thierry Henry among them. The last-named announced the birth of her daughter to the world by scoring a goal for Arsenal, then lifting his shirt to reveal the words, FOR THE NEWBORN KYD. Has parenthood had an impact on her social life? 'To an extent. You have to think about babysitters. I'm always thinking, "Oo, it's 11 o'clock. I’d better get to bed because I'm up in the morning at seven with Misty"'. Spiteri rummages around in her shoulder bag and produces a photograph of her Aryan looking daughter. 'My mother is German and her blonde hair and blue eyes have jumped a generation to Misty. My grandmother's French, my grandfather's Italian, so I'm a bit of a mongrel.' Children of the rich and famous have a habit of growing up dysfunctional, does that worry her? 'Look, I know Misty's going to grow up very lucky. She's already got privileges. She went to bloody Live 8, for God's sake. At three years old! But I think about how Stella grew up to be so normal despite having such a famous father and I don't worry. For me, more than anything, I hate bad manners. I just want Misty to have good bloody manners and to understand what it means not to have everything you want.' The McCartneys sent their children to state schools in order not to spoil them; will Spiteri do the same? 'No. It's partly because I think it will be easier for Misty not to become the centre of attention if there are other children at the school whose parents are pop stars. It will probably help that Misty has the surname Heath.' Does Spiteri think she might change her name to Heath at some point, too? 'I don't know. Marriage is not a big issue in my life. It's neither here nor there for me. It's not for feminist reasons. I don't want to be "the future woman" or anything. I just don't care enough about all that.' She may not be the woman of the future, but does she think of herself as 'a working mother'? 'I'm completely hands on. At night I'm normally the one who puts Misty to bed. But I do have a nanny. I wouldn't want to have Misty hanging around the studios.' Does she feel guilt as a mother going out to work? 'No, but I cry more easily than I used to. You become more emotional. But I don't feel guilty, because I know Misty is well looked after. If she wasn't happy, I'd give this up in a second. In fact, I keep thinking that's what I might do anyway: run off to the country and breed chickens. And I would love Misty to have a brother and a sister.' As we talk an unexpectedly pragmatic side to Spiteri emerges. She turned down modelling contacts for Calvin Klein, and even the Nicole Kidman role in Moulin Rouge, it transpires, because she didn't want to compromise her image as a serious musician. 'I thought, if I do a movie, I may be rubbish at it. I know I'm good at this, though. Music. And this is what pays my bills.' (I'm tempted to remind her of David Brent's opinion of her alternative job prospects in The Office - 'We're both good in our own fields. I'm sure Texas couldn't run and manage a successful paper merchants. I couldn't do what... well, I could do what they do, and I think they knew that, even back then - probably what spurred them on'- but think better of it.) So, she's sensible with money? 'I'm not stupid with it. I don't know what I'm worth, to be honest, but I do make sure I know what is happening with my money I don't know how much time I have left doing this and I don't want to end up middle-aged and having to sell everything.' I ask if Spiteri worries about ageing: might she consider cosmetic surgery when she is older? 'Never say never. I was supposed to have my nose fixed for medical reasons when I broke it, because the gristle has grown in the way and I sometimes find it hard to breathe. The only reason I never did was I was worried it would effect my singing voice.' Does she use her looks to manipulate people? 'Am I a flirt, you mean? Of course. You've seen the photographs of me. You've seen the videos. I know how to be a woman. I don't manipulate people with it, though. I have a look, but I'm not beautiful. I'm androgynous. I think I look better now, though, than I did when I was younger. I grew into my face. As a kid I was skinny and geeky-looking, not an attractive child. None of the boys ever fancied me. I was always the mate. It was a bit gutting.' Was there a moment when she recognised that men did fancy her, after all? 'I don't know what they do find attractive. I think I look a bit strange, to be honest. I hide under my fringe and I have a big nose and a big mouth. I know my big mouth is a good feature and I do use it. But there's no point having a nice mouth if you're not a nice person, so I try to be nice. It's complicated, attractiveness. I don't even know for sure what I find attractive in a man.' Given that she thought she was unattractive as a teenager, did she feel self-conscious standing up on stage as an 18-year-old? 'I couldn't look at the camera. I was awkward and I knew I looked like a boy. Even in Texas, at the beginning, I used to get called "son" a lot. I'd get on buses and the driver would say, "That's one-twenty, son." She's more complicated than she seems at first, this Sharleen Spiteri: a self-deprecating rock star; a bohemian friend to the stars who likes to have a quiet game of Scrabble on the tour bus after a concert; a mother who worries about her daughter's manners, and makes financial plans for the future. More confusingly, she seems to have been a painfully shy teenager who became an extrovert, first as a chatty hairdresser then as a rock star. I'm confused, I say. How does that transition work, exactly? 'Well, I was fine on stage because I just became immersed in the music and blocked everything else out. And being chatty with strangers as a hairdresser was fine because they were one-on-one relationships. But I had been very shy at school, in a group, you know. I found it difficult to communicate with a class I felt I had nothing in common with. I was interested in music and art and being a goth. The other girls were only interested in pulling boys and drinking wine down the Goldfish Bowl in Loch Loman. I look at people with complete confusion when they talk about school being the best years of your life. I hated it.' Spiteri is less vain and egotistical than I expected, and I am pleasantly surprised when she insists on paying for our drinks. Afterwards, as we walk round the corner to her record company to watch her latest video, she tells me that there are some days when the paparazzi will follow her car and take pictures of her popping to the corner shop for milk 'and I hate that. Hate it.' And even when she turns up for a formal event and there are photographers waiting outside 'the palms of my hands start sweating and I can't breath and I think, 'Why am I doing this?"' Yet in her new video her lack of self-consciousness is remarkable. Indeed, she spends most of the time writhing around provocatively. 'Oh yeah,' she says, when I point this out. 'It was an easy one to film, that. I was on my back most of the time. Like I said, I do know how to be a woman.'

Dress by Louis Vuitton. Stylist: Cheryl Konteh. Hair: Raphael Salley at Streeters. Make up: Sam Bryant at Holy Cow

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

#article #redbook #sharleenspiteri #sharleen spiteri #ellen nolan #sunday telegraph

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pinks-recovery · 5 years ago

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Long time no post

So amongst many things thst happened during my absence, I accepted the fact I'm trans.

So basically my life has been a rollercoaster. I gained like 25 pounds and here's the kicker. When I dressed masculinely, used my binder, and went by Theo I wasnt HAPPY with the weight gain but I could manage it. I've been able to separate gender dsyphoria from my eating disorder. My previous desire to "be small because it's safe" in a lot of ways was just to make myself more androgynous/masculine. This doesnt erase the eating disorder, and I'm somewhat slipping with that, but I can recognize now that I dont hate weight gain because I feel fat or think I look ugly, it's because it makes me more feminine, get my period back, my chest gets bigger, my hips, everything is just wrong.

And this isnt new. I have always felt some form of dsyphoria from a young age, I just never had the word for it. Around 15-16 when I learned what being transgender was, I think I knew but I was afraid. I didnt feel free to discuss this, and I just pushed it so far down and the depression, self harm, eating disorder and suicidal thoughts took place.

While accepting I'm trans has somewhat assisted with the ED (although dsyphoria plays into my ED too so idk) it has brought a fuckton more issues that I have no clue how to manage and have no access to therapy or even my dietician. It's like once I began to attempt to relieve this deep sense of discomfort I carry with me everywhere I go by dressing masculinely, I realized how shitty I was always feeling, because it did help. Getting my binder made me cry with happiness.

I know clothes dont define gender, but I've been wanting to wear boys/mens clothes since I was 10. I have always hated my chest and even before knowing what top surgery was I wanted to cut them off.

But now I notice everything that makes my skin crawl. I'm back home for the summer and being called she and her again hurts. My name is Theo. I'm not your pretty daughter. But they dont know so I cant fault them. It's my height, my voice, my hair. I'm too small, my body isnt right. It's that when I try to explain that I need a new jacket and wallet because I'd rather freeze than wear a pink women's jacket and having a women's wallet makes me dsyphoric, my friend says I talk about color like it matters. It's the fact she didnt get it and I couldn't explain that left me feeling so alone, with this huge hole in my chest.

So yeah, I guess my eating has improved. But I feel so many self destructive urges, the first time in a while I've had serious suicidal thoughts not at time where my brain was so deprived of nutrients it couldn't think clearly. I'm depressed and so fucking dysphoric. And it fucking sucks because I know it's not because my body is starved and my hormones are fucked and I'm dying. I'm healthy, and my ED is relatively manageable right now. It's because I have no clue how to come out or even if I should, I cant access therapy, I feel so alone, and I cant work or leave the house due to quarentine, and I'm finished with school. I am only alone with my thoughts and this intense need to escape my body. Every time they call me she I die a little more inside, i swallow a little more hurt.

#mental health #mental illness #depressed #transgender #trans man #eating disorder #eating disorders #eating disorder recovery

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aiden-png · 5 years ago

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On Starting T

10/22/19

I don’t really do journals or blogs or talk about my personal life much to be honest. I don’t share much online anymore because I don’t know most of the people who follow me, and some who do I don’t feel comfortable being candid with. However, I think it’s important that I document my feelings and experiences through my transition for others so they can have the info I didn’t going in.

Today I started T. I’m on .2 mgs every week, so .4 mgs biweekly when I inject. I’ve been trying to get on T for over a year and have wanted to start since I was 16. Last year I could’ve gotten on with help from my college but I couldn’t afford the $75 blood tests out the gate to do so. I moved to a new school this year and I’m very happy but the things in place here for trans folk are far less.

I got a referral to my clinic early in September via the health center at my college and went to see them right away. They don’t do informed consent so I needed to attain a referral letter from a “mental health professional” saying I was fit to make the decision, had gender dysphoria, and should be placed on hormone therapy.

It took 5 weeks to get this letter.

I tried to go through case management at my school because by the end of September counseling slots had filled entirely until late October. The case manager met with me quickly and promised the letter by the end of that week. Then communication cut off. With persistence I finally got the letter and made an appointment at the clinic for the next business day.

I was able to get on a low dose of testosterone by request and explanation. It’s always been difficult to explain what I’m looking for from my transition, as I’m not a binary trans person. My gender doesn’t exist, hence the Neutrois label, but my experience of having no gender is complex to lay out for cis het folks.

I’ve been out as Neutrois, using the name Aiden and they/them pronouns for 4.5 years now (and the name Aiden has been legal for over 1 year too!) but most are slow to adapt to this change. My name is pretty much respected but my pronouns aren’t “real” and many choose to ignore my preference entirely and just call it like they see it—female. My whole goal of transition is to change this perception, and not just how others see me, but how I see myself. I can’t explain what I want to see in the mirror when I’ve completed my transition. I don’t have terrible dysphoria anymore because I managed it with my depression and anxiety and now it’s simply a dull ache I can ignore 90% of the time. But that other 10% I try very hard to forget about, and so I can’t explain how masculine is too masculine to others. I figure I’ll find out as I slowly crawl into that territory.

I’d be happy to stay on T for years. I might find I never hit the point I think is too far into the male binary, that may not actually exist. It’s how I see myself that matters. I’d be far happier being called Sir 9/10 than being called Ma’am. I’m only certain of a few things, like how I want my voice to pass as male over the phone, and how I want to still look masculine enough when wearing feminine clothing that I’ll hear both Sir and Ma’am.

The terminology and phrases that make up our language are still very binary, with Mx. still rarely used and no inbetween available for third or agender folk. I wouldn’t want to be called a mother or a father, I’m not really a boyfriend and certainly not a girlfriend, I’m not a niece, I’m not an aunt, but I don’t want to be a nephew or uncle really either. I ask my sisters to call me their oldest sibling, but I know it’s hard to change the words society drills into you. Just like my distant relatives I see very rarely still don’t call me Aiden, just like most people don’t use my pronouns or even call me he/him.

I have a hard time being assertive with the people I love. I want my transition to help me love how I look, because I love myself but it’s hard to accept the things I see in the mirror when I’m never satisfied with how I look. Maybe when my voice has dropped and I’ve grown taller and stronger and more masculine I will finally shift in their perception enough to change their thinking. I hope one day I will tick over into neither male nor female enough that people find themselves using they/them simply because they can’t figure out what box to put me in.

As long as there are only 2 boxes I will always aim to fall between. I don’t aim to fit into a binary concept of gender.

When I got my prescription for T I had to try to qualify my transition goals and it made me think, but I still can’t do it. I got the script and the vial and needles are in my room, tucked lovingly into a drawer for my biweekly dose. I used to be scared of testosterone and never thought I’d feel comfortable doing hormone therapy, but a few years ago I researched some more and found a few accounts of nonbinary folk using low dose T to achieve an androgynous appearance. I’d never considered this route, and many providers still haven’t.

When I got my prescription I rushed to the CVS, hopped from foot to foot while waiting for them to finish filling it in my excitement. I was surprised at the $11 I was asked to pay for a 3 month supply of needles and a years supply of T, fully expecting to pay upwards of $50 for a medicine I was assured might not be covered by my insurance. I scheduled my nurse visit for the very next day, same time, and waited.

The first time I felt nervous was about an hour before the appointment. I wasn’t concerned about the effects, but about the injection itself. I’ve never had an Intramuscular injection done before, let alone injected myself. It’s a daunting and scary concept. I’d read up and watched videos in the weeks leading up to getting T, finally allowing myself to research further after years of abstaining out of fear I’d never get there. I’ve heard several conflicting things about injections and had many questions for the nurse, who took my eagerness, nervousness, and shakiness in stride.

I asked to inject myself, something I was terrified of but knew I needed to do. I wouldn’t be coming back every other week to have a nurse do it for me. She walked me through each step, from cleaning the head of the vial, to pushing air into it to force the syrupy medicine out, to preparing the correct area on my upper right thigh, and finally the 90° angle at which to put the needle in. I was terrified, my hands shook so much. I tried my hardest to stretch the skin taught and took a minute calming myself down before I sunk the needle in. It didn’t really hurt, to my relief. I hurt my wrist with the force I needed to press on the plunger, and it was so thick it took a couple minutes to get it all in. When it was all over I didn’t bleed at all, and I smiled because I knew I’d done it right.

There was no bump, which there can be with how thick the medicine is. I rubbed my leg and felt no pain, and as I’m writing this about an hour later I really only feel a dull ache.

Online some people write about how they could feel the T working the same day, or even see it’s effects the first couple weeks on, but for me I’m patient. I feel nothing yet, and I hope I don’t feel anything for a long while. I’m in this for the long haul, I’m prepared to wait a year or more before I see the effects I’m looking for. I’ve waited 4.5 years to transition and now that it’s finally happening I’m prepared to stop whenever I need to. If I experience any adverse side effects I plan to stop right away. And it will never be my intent to stay on T forever.

As much as I want to be more masculine, I love my curves and my feminine aspects (well, at least half of them). I hope to get them back in the future, or to never lose them. I’m looking to achieve something very different from hormone therapy and pave my own path forward. Top surgery looks to be in the near future, and that’s what I’m really waiting on. T is just for myself, and it makes me happy simply to be on it.

#neutrois-info #ftn #ftx #testosterone #tw injections #transgender #neutrois #agender #hormone therapy #hrt #blog #low dose t

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the-queer-look · 5 years ago

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flannel scarf and glitter hairspray

Name:Adrian

Age: 25

Sexuality: Demisexual, Lesbian

Gender: Genderfluid

Occupation: Banking – postgrad english major

Location: Campsie

I like to present myself in an androgynous way. Most of my clothing is pretty masculine in the sense that I do prefer pants and a shirt for comfort reasons, but if it’s a hot day, I’ll wear a dress, and I don’t feel invalidated by that. I still enjoy slight touches of feminine influences in my life, and definitely don’t shy away from traditionally feminine colours or anything like that. I don’t use makeup, but mostly that’s because I don’t know how to use it, rather than not liking it. I’ll put on eyeliner and lipstick and be done. My girlfriend will suggest foundation or contouring, and I just say “nah I’m good” and don’t bother to learn. I have a glitter hairspray that I use to seal in my makeup on the few occasions I do try to use it, and it gives me a nice sparkle. Probably terrible for my skin though.

Growing up as a Muslim, I frequently get asked “When did you know?” in reference to being a lesbian, and when I came out to my friends I had a bit which I’d rehearsed to explain it. When I was around thirteen, this exchange student came to our school and I was very quickly drawn to her. She was very good at art, and a very cool person, which let me have the incredibly lesbian chat to myself of “I just want to be her best friend!” I remember writing specifically in my diary “I just want a best friend. Just friends, not gay.” we got really close, and I eventually came out to her, and told her that I liked her, and she was accepting of it, which was nice, and we both then had to manage our way around her realising that she was asexual, all while we were thirteen. Her being asexual wasn’t off-putting to me, I was just thirteen and didn’t know how to approach it. Hell, she didn’t know how to approach it, because she didn’t know the label for it.

After that, I began to examine the relationships I’d had with other girls all my life. When I was very young, I remember thinking to myself “I wish I was a boy” because all of the boys in my class make my friends cry, and I think that if I were a boy, I could just make them happy, if I were a boy I’d know how to be better to them. But looking back at it I just… I was so gay, and just trying to be as straight about it as possible. I thought it would be fine if I were a boy, because then I would be allowed to like the girls and they would be happy with me. I also remember sitting in a circle in school and playing a spin the bottle truth or dare game, and always getting offended if someone didnt answer the obligatory “if anyone in our class was a boy, who would you date” question with me. If I was second choice? Offended hahaha.

I feel like there wasn’t much of a change in the way I presented myself from before realising I was gay to after, because I already accidentally dressed like a stereotypical lesbian. I guess I picked up a few extra flannels? And before it was just “I like flannel” and then became “flannel makes me gay, and gay people will know that im gay, and I wear a headscarf, so I need to let other gays know that I too am gay, so I will wear a flannel over my headscarf, and that will be my signal to all the other gays that I too am in fact gay.” and it worked great.

Realising that I was genderfluid was a much more drawn out process. When I turned eighteen I started to enjoy it when people would mistake me for a boy, I was beginning to dress very androgynously, my voice is deeper than an average cis girl, y’know. After I took off my scarf and got na undercut, people would mistake me even more. I eventually went and made a facebook account using the name Adrian, a close anagram of my dead name because I wanted to have an online space where I could be me and apart from my family. But then people who I knew in real life who’d added my new profile started calling me Adrian to my face and at first I, or my girlfriend at the time would correct them, but soon I realised that I kinda liked it, and I’d like to just go by Adrian. And that started to lead me to the point where I was examining my gender, and learning about different terms for trans and intersex people, and I thought that maybe nonbinary would be cool. I thought for a long time that I might just be a trans boy, but I also really didn’t want to go through the transition process, I’ve never wanted to go on testosterone, or have top surgery, or be wholly one of the boys. I’ve always felt comfortable in the little inbetween between boys and girls, the concept of gender as a spectrum is a very positive one for me, and I like existing somewhere on that spectrum. Genderfluid feels most comfortable for me right now, I like being able to embrace both my masculine and feminine side at will, and it suits the changing nature of my personality, and I hate the idea of sticking in the box of binary gender.

I feel like my presentation changed after realising my genderfluidity. Not so much in embracing my masculinity, but instead in embracing my femininity. I had always felt like maybe I couldnt be feminine because of how llong id spent dressig in a traditionally masculine style, but after realising that I was genderfluid, I made an effort to express that side of myself, and to not be boxed in by conventions.

I feel like stereotypes can be a bit of fun I the lesbian community, like when I was just coming out and still dressing as a very muslim woman, flannels were honestly my godsend, I felt gay even though I didnt look gay, I could just have the flannel on with my scarf and identify myself to the community. But at the same time there are a lot of stereotypes that I don’t like – there’s a lot of biphobia, based on bisexuals wanting to have fun with girls, but not settle down with girls. And that sort of negative stereotype annoys me because it’s just gatekeeping at that point, by saying that you cant really be into girls if you’re also into guys. It also invalidates the experiences of everyone who had to practice compulsory heteronormativity when they were kids, because we were always told that boys being with girls was the default, and that was what we were supposed to go for. Some people’s lesbian inner voice isnt as loud as other peoples, they would have dated men, but that doesn’t make them any less gay than anyone else. I hate the idea of gold star lesbians, just because you havent slept with a man doesnt make you better than someone who doesnt. I’ve never slept with a man, but I dont feel more valid than anyone else, if anything I feel less valid because they at least have had the experience to know that they’re definitively gay. When they’re in a bit of fun, stereotypes can be fun, but when they turn that corner into something toxic, it becomes a real problem which we need to be much more vocal about criticising and removing from society.

I feel like there are more and more mainstream shows that are coming out and showing positive representations of the LGBT experience. They do lean on stereotypical looks for their characters, but I feel like thats just visual shorthand so they dont have to do a lot of work with the characters, and can just front load a lot of their personality through their outfits.

I know for a fact that the internet is and will continue to be an incredible resource for queer people, as it gives us a chance to create a safe space to explore our identities in private. I for one wouldnt have even known that lesbianism was a thing without the internet because of my sheltered upbringing.

full gallery on facebook

#genderfluid #lgbt #LGBTQIA+#gay #lesbian #demi #demisexual #photography #identity #interview #portrait #muslim #queer #pride

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a-second-hand-sorrow · 7 years ago

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Goodnight (Klaus Baudelaire X Reader)

WC: 1876

Warnings: Um idk, lots of mentions of snakes

Summary: When the Baudelaire’s are sent to live with Dr Montgomery they don’t expect him to have an assistant, let alone one that they can befriend or perhaps, in Klaus’ case, fall for.

A/N: I’ve been watching a lot of ASOUE, and I’ve got a lot of love for Klaus Baudelaire so I’ve written this. It’s set during the Reptile Room.

As Mr Poe’s car pulled up out the front of Dr Montgomery’s house the Baudelaire’s were more than intrigued by the thought of their new guardian.

What would they look like? How would they speak? And most importantly, why did they have an excess of reptile shaped topiary outside their house?

“Well, Baudelaire’s, here we.” Mr Poe cut himself off with a harsh cough, something the Baudelaire’s had become accustomed to by now.

“Here we are, Dr Montgomery’s house. Now, I must head back to the bank, but I ensure that the three of you will be polite to the doctor.” Mr Poe said, ushering the Baudelaire’s up to the front door of the large house.

“Thank you, Mr Poe.” Violet said, adjusting Sunny in her arms as she spoke.

“I must leave, but don’t hesitate to contact me at Mulctuary Money Management if you have any problems with your new guardian. Goodbye Baudelaire’s!” He said, waving at the children as he got into his car.

Klaus took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell, as Violet was preoccupied with Sunny.

The door swung open to reveal a girl about Klaus’ age, and Klaus’ eyes widened slightly.

“You must be the Baudelaire’s. Please, come in.” She said, and Klaus’ eyes didn’t leave her as they entered.

“Are you Dr Montgomery? I don’t mean to be rude, but you look a little young to be a doctor.” Violet said, and Sunny said “Booscha!” which meant “I agree with my sister.”

The girl laughed loudly, and Klaus smiled at the sound of her laugh. It had been a while since he had seen anyone that happy, especially anyone that pretty.

“No, I’m definitely not Dr Montgomery. My name is Y/N, and I’m Dr Montgomery’s assistant, in a way.” Y/N said, stretching her hand out for the Baudelaire’s to shake.

“I’m Violet. This is Sunny and that’s Klaus.” Violet said, attempting to gesture in the direction of her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” She said, shaking Klaus’ hand. Y/N tried to fight the blush on her cheeks as their hands joined, and she knew if Monty was there he’d make some joke about how her cheeks were as red as the underside of a red-belly black snake.

“Y/N! Who are you talking to? If it’s another sales representative I will set the androgynous cobra on them.” A voice called from upstairs, and Y/N chuckled softly.

“No, Monty. It’s the Baudelaire’s.” She called, and there was a bit of rustling before Dr Montgomery made his way down the stairs, a wide smile on his face.

“Hello Baudelaire’s! Oh, it is so wonderful to see you all!” He said cheerily, shaking their hands eagerly.

“Hello Dr Montgomery.” Violet said, and the doctor scoffed slightly.

“Monty, please. Perhaps Uncle Monty if you feel comfortable enough with me. I assume Y/N has introduced herself already.” Monty said, gesturing to the Y/H/C girl.

“Yes, she has.” Klaus said, and Y/N looked at him with a soft smile on her face.

“He speaks.” She muttered, and although the words could be interpreted harshly, Klaus knew that she meant them in the kindest possible way.

“Well, with introductions out of the way, how about a tour? I’d give it myself but I have a very important meeting to attend at the Herpetological Society. I trust Y/N to give you the full Montgomery Tour Experience.” He said, and Y/N smiled bashfully.

“Thanks Monty. Now Klaus, Violet, Sunny, follow me.” She said, gesturing for the Baudelaire’s to follow her.

Follow her they did, and their first stop, oddly, was the kitchen. “I would be an awful assistant hostess if I didn’t offer any cake or tea. Monty wouldn’t stand for it, and neither do I.” Y/N said, laughing slightly.

Klaus let out a little sigh, and Violet turned to look at him quizzically. He immediately went red, averting his eyes from the gaze of his sister.

“Thank you for offering, but I’m fine.” Violet said, and Y/N nodded, putting the kettle on anyway.

“Well, how about you Klaus? Want anything?” Y/N asked, leaning against the countertop.

“A cup of tea, please. I’m not very hungry.” He said, and Y/N smiled, pulling two mugs out of an overhead cabinet.

A silence settled over the children as Y/N prepared the tea, and both Violet’s and Klaus’ minds were working overtime to try and assess Y/N.

“I don’t mean to pry, but why are you working for Dr Montgomery? Shouldn’t you be in school or something like that?” Violet asked suddenly and Y/N turned to face her.

“Well, my brother Gustav used to be Dr Montgomery’s full-time assistant and I just did mundane things, like sort out papers and feed the reptiles.” Y/N said, passing Klaus a mug of tea.

He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and Y/N smiled at him genuinely, causing his stomach to fill with butterflies.

“But the other day Gustav left Monty a sudden letter of resignation, and just disappeared. Knowing the people Gustav got involved with, I think that he didn’t resign. I think he was murdered.” Y/N said, her voice growing quieter as the sentence came to an end.

“That’s awful.” Violet muttered, and Sunny made a noise of agreement.

Klaus locked eyes with Y/N and for a moment there was an unspoken conversation between them, one of mutual understanding of grief and loss.

“Anyway, now I’m Monty’s full-time assistant which has been very boring until now. If that’s everything, we can continue with the tour.” Y/N said, and her eyes began gleaming with a look that Klaus had seen a few times before, in the eyes of his older sister when she was about to show him something incredible.

“Our next stop is the Reptile Room.”

Later that night, after their tour of the house and many hours spent enjoying the Reptile Room, it was finally time for the Baudelaire’s to go to sleep.

“Now, bambini, it has been a wonderful first day with you, and I look forward to the rest of your days here. Goodnight.” Monty said, and as he was about to leave, there was a knock on the door.

“It’s just me, Y/N. Can I come in?” She said, pushing the door open slightly.

“Of course, Y/N. This is your house as much as it is mine. I thought you’d know that by now.” Monty said, and Y/N opened the door fully and stepped in.

Klaus took note of how good Y/N looked in her nightgown, and he tried to hide his blushing face.

“You look like the underside of a red-bellied black snake, Klaus.” Y/N said quickly, feeling good that for once that comment wasn’t directed at her.

Monty chuckled, winking at Klaus very conspicuously. “She’s quick, our Y/N. Isn’t she, Klaus?” Monty said, and Klaus’ face went a brighter red.

“Yes, she is.” Klaus said quietly, and Y/N sent him a sympathetic look.

“Well, goodnight children. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Monty said, followed by a chorus of ‘goodnights’ from the Baudelaire’s and Y/N as he left.

“Sorry about Monty. He loves to tease about as much as he loves snakes.” Y/N said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s fine, really. Light hearted teasing is better than verbal abuse.” Klaus said softly, flashbacks of Count Olaf’s degrading treatment of them flooding back into his mind.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you, Klaus?” Y/N said, and Klaus nodded, shifting slightly so she had more space to sit.

“How have you found the place so far?” Y/N asked, and a smile fell on all three of the Baudelaire’s faces.

“It’s wonderful, and Uncle Monty is so much better than our last guardian.” Violet said, with a hint of disgust on the word ‘guardian’.

“I agree with Violet. It’s amazing, and I’ve seen so many incredible things.” Klaus said, his eyes lingering on Y/N just long enough to make brief eye contact with her before going as red as his favourite sweater.

“I’m glad to hear that. We haven’t had anyone decent stay here in a long time. I mean the screeching iguanas roomed with me for a bit, but that’s the closest I’ve come to visitors in a while.” Y/N said, chuckling to herself.

The room fell quiet, and Klaus took that moment to get a good look at Y/N. Her Y/H/C hair fell past her shoulders, her eyes seemed like a kaleidoscope of colours, and they shone whenever she smiled.

“Do you mind if I stay with you three tonight?” Y/N whispered, fiddling with her nightgown as she spoke.

“I see no problem with that. Are you okay with that, Klaus?” Violet asked her brother, and he nodded, causing Y/N to smile.

Klaus smiled too, once he noticed that her eyes were shining brighter than he’d seen them shine before.

“You can share my bed, if you want.” Klaus suggested and Violet gave him a look that was a cross between surprise and smugness. A look that irritated Klaus to see coming from his sister.

“Really?” Y/N, who was willing to sleep on the floor, said, surprised at Klaus’ generosity.

“Of course. It was either that or you sleep on the floor, and I would feel awful if you had to do that.” He said, and Y/N’s cheeks went a dusty pink colour.

Violet let out a yawn that Y/N believed to be genuine but Klaus, who had known his sister his entire life, knew to be fake. He sent Violet an irritated look to which Violet responded with a smirk.

“It’s really late, and clearly Violet’s tired.” Y/N said, and Violet nodded.

“It was great meeting you Y/N. Goodnight.” Violet said, and Sunny babbled something unintelligible as Violet switched off the lights.

The room was engulfed in darkness, and Y/N and Klaus took in deep breaths. “Well, goodnight Y/N.” Klaus said, shifting slightly under the blankets.

“Goodnight Klaus Baudelaire.” Y/N said, pressing a brief kiss to Klaus’ cheek. Well, it was meant to be his cheek, but Klaus turned his head slightly and Y/N’s lips ended up on Klaus’.

The kiss was only short, but after it ended and the two of them had sorted out a suitable sleeping position, it seemed to be all Klaus could think about as he rested, with Y/N’s head against his chest.

Monty was awake well before Y/N and the Baudelaire’s, but after about an hour he decided to go and check on them to see if all was still well.

When he slowly opened the door, he did not expect to find such a picturesque sight in front of him. Sunny and Violet sleeping peacefully, and Y/N and Klaus cuddled up together.

He could tell from their first meeting that there was a spark between Y/N and Klaus Baudelaire, and as he thought about the two of them his mind drifted back to some old friends of his… Lemony and Beatrice.

Monty closed the bedroom door, a smile on his face as he walked down to the kitchen. Montgomery Montgomery was blissfully unaware of the traumatic events that were to unfold over the next day or two, but that morning he was happier than he could remember being in a long time.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #klaus baudelaire #klaus baudelaire x reader #klaus baudelaire imagine #louis hynes #asoue imagine #asoue x reader

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emilyplaysotome · 6 years ago

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Chapter 6 - Friendnapped

Catch up on Chapter 1 - 5 here! (or just Chapter 5)

It’s never pleasant seeing an ex move on, especially when you’re not entirely sure that you want your ex to be an ex in the first place. Compounded with the fact that his new girlfriend was everything that I wasn’t caused every fiber in my being to want to flee.

Thankfully, my legs refused to listen.

Instead I stood frozen and watched as she accepted his hand (one that dwarfed her own) and he helped her stand tall once more in a way that reminded me of how he had been there for me. She was far more feminine than I’ve ever been in my life, with a slender frame that complimented Zyglavis’ more androgynous features. Standing next to her, he looked like the God he was in a way that he never did by my side - proud, masculine, and strong.

I forced myself to stay present, assuming that the king was rooting for me to run from such an unpleasant scene, giving him the upper hand when it came to Zyglavis’ new life in this world. At the moment, sharing a kiss with the man I had assumed I’d share my life with only a few weeks ago seemed impossible but I did my best to stay strong in face of adversity.

Instead of running away I apologized further, introducing myself to both of them and handing the woman my business card in an attempt to prove to her that I was a normal, capable woman and not some crazy person off the street.

“Really,” I said again, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok,” she said in a tone that was far less aggravated than the one taken during our initial exchange.

“Please, allow me to pay for your dry cleaning or something.”

“No, it’s fine I…”

“Thea, you should take her up on it,” Zyglavis said sternly.

“Thea?”

“Yes, sorry. I didn’t say my name did I? And this is…”

“Zyglavis.”

He said his name flatly, barely looking me in the eyes. His gaze was firmly on Thea and I assumed as a result that he was checking to see if she was alright. I knew Zyg long enough to know that he could be a bit of a worrywart when it came to the object of his affection, and I could feel the muscles in my chest constrict as it sank in that he might never worry about me in that way again.

Thea tucked a strand of her long, jet black hair behind her ear and with a similarly cold expression noted, “Well, I suppose. Naomi was it?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you Naomi, that’s very kind. Most New Yorkers probably wouldn’t even offer.”

“Oh that’s not true,” I said with a forced smile. “We get a bad rap but we’re actually a lovely group of people.”

Zyglavis kept glancing behind him at the hostess inside and each time he did I could feel my new reality sinking in.

He and his new girlfriend (a clear upgrade when compared to his last), were going to have a nice dinner and here I was keeping them from it. Seeing him again reminded me of how much I missed him - a fact that the chaos of the past few days had distracted me from.

I missed my best friend. Zyglavis had been a loyal, kind man who was always there for me no matter the circumstance. He was a man who could sometimes be too strict and slightly too grumpy, but underneath it all always had my best interests at heart.

For a moment, everything seemed incredibly surreal and I almost felt as if any second he and this woman would laugh and tell me the past week was all a shitty joke. I wanted so desperately to go back to what was instead of what is, but I knew that I had no choice in the matter once the hostess popped her head outside and called, “Ziggy? Table for 2?”

“We will be in shortly,” he said politely to the hostess, and then with a sigh addressed Thea. “Ziggy? Really?”

She giggled and for the first time I saw how beautiful and blinding her smile was, “I couldn’t resist.”

Zyg shook his head and before she could run away I exchanged contact information with Thea under the guise that I would follow up with her in regards to the cost of her dry cleaning. I then was forced to watch him hold the door for her as they went inside - not once did he even so much as glance back at me.

I stood there dumbstruck for a moment and once I was certain that I was alone again, a maelstrom of emotion hit me with such strength that I was not only caught off guard but found myself rushing to a trash can nearby and vomiting into it. I never thought I was capable of something as dramatic as becoming physically ill over seeing an ex, but the king’s trials always managed to surprise me.

It shouldn’t have taken a meddling king for me to understand what I had with Zyglavis, but far too often we take someone for granted until they’re gone. For ten years of my life I lived having friendships, but never having someone who I could call my own. I never experienced having someone who was able to be there for me the way that Zyglavis always was and now that he was gone I felt adrift.

Looking back he had constantly been present in the sense that my apartment was always taken care of, and at the end of every difficult work week he’d bring back chocolates made especially for me, as a small token of his love and appreciation for the life we forged together in this world. He was always up for listening to my problems and for laughing at my funny stories or holding me during the difficult ones.

He was a best friend in a way I’d never experienced with anyone else, and even though he proved to be more imperfect than I ever thought an otome man would be, that made him and the relationship all the more real.

By the time I was back at Meg’s I was a certifiable mess with runny mascara, tinged with the faint smell of vomit. I planned to hop in the shower and then to try and pack my things in order to distract myself from what Thea and Zyglavis might be doing together, but when I opened the door I soon realized that I was not alone.

“Omi? What the hell happened to you?”

Meg was standing in the foyer of her apartment hanging her light spring coat up in the closet. Down the hall, I saw her away bag on the floor of the living room and figured she had just gotten back.

“I thought you were coming home tomorrow?”

“I was, but I missed New York and my parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh. Welcome back. Are you doing ok?”

Meg shrugged and it was clear that my friend and I were in similarly messy places. Even though she hadn’t been gone long I knew her well enough to see that she wasn’t sleeping. On top of that she appeared a good deal thinner than when she’d left and having gotten her through a previous breakup in college, I was well aware of the fact that she didn’t eat when she was stressed or upset.

She crinkled her nose and straightforwardly blurted, “Omi - why do you smell like vomit?”

If I hadn’t had such a difficult day, I don’t think I would have told Meg the truth in that moment. I think I would have made something up or vaguely addressed bumping into Zyglavis but for whatever reason I found myself saying, “You know me well enough to know that I’m not a liar, right?”

Meg shot me a curious look and nodded, leading me to the living room and prompting me to tell her the whole story - the real story.

I watched as she looked on skeptically as I spoke, occasionally clarifying that I “really believed” that I had gone to the world of my “weird anime games” but ultimately let me tell my tale. I knew how far fetched it must have all seemed to her, but when I got to the part about the games not working, I pulled up the facebook posts as well as old screenshots from Zyglavis’ route that fans had posted online.

It was then that Meg’s disbelief started to wane (in addition to the fact that in all of our many years of friendship I’d never once misled her in any way and I had no tangible reason to concoct such a strange story now). She pulled up a photo she had on her phone of all of us from a few months back (before her breakup or mine) and compared the man by my side to the cartoon man from the post.

“Holy shit.”

“I never told you any of this because, well - I know it’s pretty unbelievable and…”

“There’s more?”

“Well..I was afraid you’d judge me if you knew that I chose to be with a cartoon character from a game. I mean how many years did I watch you guys…and now…”

Meg quickly cut me off, “And now we’re both in shambles thanks to two dudes. Doesn’t get more real than that even if he started as a cartoon character.”

“His new girlfriend is stupid pretty,” I complained.

Meg hesitated for a moment as she sank dejectedly into her couch and said in a quiet voice, “You know, I didn’t tell you guys this but Noah broke up with me for some chick he works with.”

“What?”

Meg scoffed, “Yeah. If you didn’t already smell like barf I’d have us doing shots or some shit.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it hurts more knowing that he gets to be happy and I have to be hurt.”

“I’m sorry Meg…”

I could see that Meg was trying to be strong as she fought back tears, biting her lower lip in an attempt to stay in control of her emotional state. I always considered her someone who was pretty tough and resilient and as a result, seeing her in this state amplified the hurt that I was already feeling. She sniffled and tried to shake off her tears as she focused on my problems over hers.

“So wait - this asshole…the king? He just showed up and ruined your relationship?”

“Well, I mean I kinda had a hand in it too. I started to take Zyg for granted and…”

“But you didn’t even get a chance to work it out right?”

“No.”

“Fuck that. And fuck his new girlfriend - if you want him, you’re going to get him back.”

I loved the fact that even though Meg was heartbroken, she was still so angry on my behalf.

“I don’t know,” I said skeptically. “The king said I’ve got to win all my ex cartoon men back and right now 3 are unaccounted for, the one I want most has moved on, another tried to mug me, and the last one I have a date with in a couple of days. The odds are not in my favor.”

“Nah, fuck that noise. We’re New Yorkers - when the going gets tough we’re used to it because so are we.”

“You are maybe…”

“No I’m a mess, but I”m still going to help you. We’ll find your cartoon men and at least one of us will get to live happily ever after, ok?”

“Meg…”

“You’re gonna make me cry if you look at me like that and you still smell like puke so go shower and we’ll come up with a plan after.”

“Meg…”

“Omi! I swear!”

I knew Meg didn’t want to cry but I couldn’t help myself from doing so. Not only did she believe me (or at least was being kind enough to pretend that she did), but she said she’d help me.

I was immediately brought back to that day during the Revance tweeter takeover where I fantasized about having my friends’ support as I made my final decision on who I wanted to bring back to this world. For the past few days I’d reminded of what it was to be on my own once more and how it felt to have to do everything by myself and bear that burden alone.

Now, thanks to Meg’s generosity I would have a partner in crime and I owed her one for it.

I returned to the living room freshly showered and vomit free, and took out my notebook re-creating a space in Meg’s living room similar to the one in Zyglavis’ bedroom way back when. I even told her about my operation GTFO area and with a dry laugh she noted that was “a very Naomi thing to do”.

Meg also set up a few online profiles in order to help me in my search, and talked me through the fact that we had eyes on 3 of the 6 men. Toshi and Jin were completely MIA and the mystery suitor of mine was most likely not Shunichiro. Meg had me make a list of every otome man I’d met who potentially carried a flame for me during my time down the rabbit hole and when I handed her what felt like a reasonable list based on the information I had, she smirked and noted, “Girl, get it.”

“You don’t understand what it was like - they’re all programmed to want you when you’re the MC.”

“I mean, I’ve seen Zyg so I have a pretty good idea of what this world is like. Perhaps you can take me with you next time,” she joked. “In the meantime, I’ll look out for these names as I swipe and you should call the switchboard to see if Jin is NYPD.”

“Ok…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a moment where I paused and Meg looked at me with a skeptical expression, “What?”

“You do believe me, don’t you?”

“I mean...do…ish. You have to understand, I can’t really wrap my head around -”

There was a bright light that filled the room, in addition to the sound of a snap and a familiar presence that caused Meg to practically jump out of her seat. The king glared at me, and with a chuckle I found myself muttering, “speak of the devil.”

As I once had, I glanced over and saw Meg struggle to accept the reality of how crazy it all was. It was strange to see my typically eloquent friend stammer next to me, but it was all short lived as the king snapped his fingers for a second time, causing Meg’s eyes to glaze over and her stammers to fade. My friend would have a hard time not believing my story once she returned from her catatonic state, and with a sigh I knew that I’d done something that prompted an IRL visit from the king versus a cheeky text.

“Well I see that you’re up to your old tricks,” the king snapped. “The agreement was that you were able to find them and romance them - not that you’d have help.”

“I don’t believe the issue of having help or not was ever stipulated in your terms and conditions,” I snapped back. “And I hardly have the home court advantage considering what I’ve seen the past couple of days.”

“What have you seen? He was always a criminal - even in my world, was he not?”

“Yes but -“

“And that didn’t stop you the first time around, now did it?”

“It absolutely did stop me!”

“Mmmm tomato tahmahtoe,” he said flippantly with a smile, and I realized that as much as I was a thorn in his side, the king was clearly enjoying himself.

He tossed his long silvery hair back and with an unreadable, etherial smile paced before me as he considered what having an ally in this world might do to his game. It was obvious that I was one of the few people who was capable of throwing curveballs his way and as much as it annoyed him, he obviously relished how unpredictable his life was when I was in it.

“Well,” he said finally, “I guess we’ll do this.”

He snapped his fingers and Meg disappeared from the couch beside me.

“You’ll get her back once you’ve found them all on your own. I think that’s more than fair. Very generous in fact!”

“That’s not fair at all! You can’t do that you -“

The king threw back his head and laughed, “Oh Naomi. You silly, silly girl - haven’t you realized? I can do whatever I want. You’re lucky I’m even letting you play in the first place.”

And with that, he snapped his fingers and left me all alone once more.

Chapter 7

If you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend or buying me a coffee!

Thanks for reading :)

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#scm zyglavis #star crossed myth fan fiction #star crossed myth fanfic #voltage fanfic #voltage fandom #Voltage fan fiction

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spiteweaver · 7 years ago

Note

can i request 8, 9, and 16? if it's still open

Absolutely!

Under the cut for length!

(Send me a number, y’all!)

8 is Faust!

1. What is their romantic history like?

Romance was never Faust’s thing until settling down with Holloway. He was a hit it and quite it kind of guy. There were some people he had long-term physical relationships with, but never any that he loved.

So his romantic history has been, well, Holloway.

2. What songs would you put on a playlist about this dragon/ what songs would they put on a playlist of their own?

Cleric Beast - Tsukasa Saitoh (current theme)

Mourning - Keiichi Okabe

Ain’t No Devil - Andrea Wasse

Big Game - Everything Everything

Gooey - Glass Animals

The Swan - Camille Saint-Saëns

3. What are their guilty pleasures?

Haven’t you learned by now that none of these men have any shame?

4. If they have a bipedal form, what does it look like? Do they have a faceclaim? What kinds of things would they wear?

Unfortunately, I haven’t exactly decided on his canon “human” form. I know he’s tall, pale, and has Plague eyes, but, beyond that, it’s a work in progress.

He tends to dress on the casual-formal side, though. Waistcoats, dress shirts, very nice shoes. He’s all about presentation, so you’ll never catch him looking anything less than his absolute best.

5. What is their most traumatic memory?

I don’t want to reveal too much of his past, because I might reveal it in-lore someday, so, for now, that’s classified!

6. What kinds of dreams do they have?

Faust doesn’t dream. It’s not meant to be impossible for him to dream, like it is Dreamweaver, but he just doesn’t.

7. What foods do they like? Which do they dislike?

Do the souls of the innocent count?

He’s a fan of meat; the rawer, the better. Technically, Imperials can ingest plants just fine, but he’s pretty much a strict carnivore. The only one who’s ever been able to get him to eat his greens is Holloway.

He makes exceptions for things made out of plants (wine, sauces, etc.), but he won’t most plants themselves, raw or otherwise, if he can help it. The few exceptions to this rule are: raspberries, cherries, and tomatoes.

8. What is their best physical feature?

Most certainly, his devilish smile.

9. How do they fight/what weapons do they wield?

Faust is skilled in hand-to-hand and melee combat, but he relies most strongly on his magic. Very few in Feldspar have ever borne witness to his use of it, so it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what sort of magic it is. However, it is distinctly demonic and non-draconic in nature.

10. What are their thoughts on the Beastclans? Do they like them? See them as allies? Nuisances?

Faust thinks them quaint, but has no interest in them beyond entertainment. Watching them struggle endlessly against dragonkind amuses him. He’ll say so to any Beastclan that asks for his opinion, too. They couldn’t retaliate even if they dared.

He won’t go out of his way to be cruel to them, but he has no qualms making a joke of them when they give him the opportunity.

11. What are they like in bed?

For the most part, casual. He doesn’t get fired up often. That isn’t to say he has a low libido; if he could spend all day in bed with Holloway, he absolutely would. He’s very laid-back about it, though, and prefers to take things at a leisurely pace. Slow, methodical, and very, very teasing.

When he does get fired up, he’s exactly what you’d expect of a demon. Mindless. Bestial. He can go for days without stopping. His goals shift to breeding, with pleasure being merely a happy side-effect. He fucks Holloway with every intention to pass on his genes (even if, generally, this isn’t what actually happens).

Then, when it’s all over, Holloway receives some much-deserved worshiping, along the lines of, “You are the single most beautiful man I have ever met,” and, “My God, I am the luckiest man in the universe.”

12. What are their biggest turn-ons/turn-offs?

Turn-Ons: formerly, innocence and the corruption of it; currently, just Holloway, everything he does, everything he says, he can get Faust going just by smiling

Turn-Offs: the usual suspects (watersports, scat, etc.)

13. Do they have any kinks?

He has quite a few of the usual kinks, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bondage, dominance/submission, but probably his biggest thrill comes from watching Holloway masturbate. That’s usually when he goes the hardest in bed, so Holloway does it whenever he’s craving some animalistic demon fucking.

9 is Holloway!

1. What is their romantic history like?

Like Faust, Holloway was never one for romance. He fell for Faust almost the moment they met, and has been in love with him ever since (though, for a long while, he claimed to have moved on). Faust was his first and only love, so he’s quite happy now that they’re married, with five beautiful children of their own.

2. What songs would you put on a playlist about this dragon/ what songs would they put on a playlist of their own?

Human - Of Monsters and Men (current theme)

Using You - Mars Argo

How Do You Like It - Jynjo

Bellyache - Billie Eilish

Colors - Halsey

Teen Idle - Marina and the Diamonds

3. What are their guilty pleasures?

As if a demon would ever feel guilty for their pleasures.

4. If they have a bipedal form, what does it look like? Do they have a faceclaim? What kinds of things would they wear?

Seeing as he’s a shape-shifter, he can look however he wishes. His current favorite form is tall, lithe, dark-skinned, with white hair (of varying lengths) and golden eyes--with or without horns. His other common form is a pale, blue-haired, androgynous youth with sea-colored eyes and a multitude of beauty marks, but the former is the one you’ll most often see him in.

Clothes vary. He typically wears some form of jewelry, whether it’s rings, or necklaces, or piercings. He can have somewhat of an eccentric style, and he’s very fond of cross-dressing. Usually, he’ll dress comfortably, but stylishly.

5. What is their most traumatic memory?

I wish I could tell you, but, oh, the lore...

6. What kinds of dreams do they have?

In stark contrast to his mate, Holloway dreams almost every night--and they are some of the most bizarre, surreal dreams Phantasos has ever had the pleasure of viewing. He gets along with Holloway for more than just their struggles with gender identity.

7. What foods do they like? Which do they dislike?

Holloway is much less picky than Faust. In fact, most of his favorite foods are fruits and vegetables--but his absolute favorite is cheesecake. Offer him cheesecake, and you will instantly earn his favor (and it’s always nice to have a demon’s favor).

There isn’t a lot he dislikes. He’ll eat most anything if he’s hungry enough.

8. What is their best physical feature?

Whatever you want it to be.

9. How do they fight/what weapons do they wield?

Holloway’s main defense is his shape-shifting. He can form weaponry out of his own limbs, change the physical make-up of his entire body, or just grow to immense sizes and deal with enemies that way. Really, he’s kind of a jack-of-all-trades.

However, he doesn’t like fighting, so he’ll more than likely flee if no one’s life’s on the line.

10. What are their thoughts on the Beastclans? Do they like them? See them as allies? Nuisances?

The same as Faust’s: they aren’t a nuisance, but he looks down on them and views them more as occasional entertainment than anything worth his time.

11. What are they like in bed?

If I may be blunt, A BIG OL’ SLUT.

Holloway has the most absurd libido of any of Feldspar’s residents. Every moment not spent being plowed by his husband is, in his opinion, a moment wasted. He loves Faust so stupidly much that he literally cannot stand not being physically connected to him.

Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but it gets across how much he loves sex pretty well, I think. He is loud, and crude, and not above begging to be fucked--and Faust loves all of it. The louder Holloway screams, the smugger Faust becomes. Meanwhile, Holloway is always seeking to get the same passionate reaction from his husband, and, when he manages it, oh, it’s ecstasy.

He’s experienced, he’s naughty, and he knows too well how to get a rise out of Faust.

12. What are their biggest turn-ons/turn-offs?

Turn-Ons: Faust; Faust; Faust; that thing Faust does with his voice; Faust; did I mention Faust?

Turn-Offs: the usual suspects

13. Do they have any kinks?

Holloway shares a number of kinks with his husband--exhibitionism/voyeurism, bondage, dominance/submission, but nothing gets him going like a bit of role-play. Faust is the forceful demon lord, and Holloway is but an innocent toy, whose only joy in life is to please his master.

It’s corny, but he LOVES it.

16 is Roark!

1. What is their romantic history like?

Roark’s never made it past the flirting stage. Not once. He talks a big game, but, when someone reciprocates, he turns into a bit of a flustered mess. Beautiful men intimidate him.

I don’t think he’s ever even been on a proper date.

2. What songs would you put on a playlist about this dragon/ what songs would they put on a playlist of their own?

Pontiff Sulyvahn - Yuka Kitamura (current theme)

Donut Hole - KYO

The Sun - Maroon 5

Ramble On - Led Zeppelin

Primadonna - Marina and the Diamonds

Paralyzer - Finger Eleven

3. What are their guilty pleasures?

Trashy romance novels, for sure. This man probably enjoys Beleth’s shipping fics.

4. If they have a bipedal form, what does it look like? Do they have a faceclaim? What kinds of things would they wear?

(It’s a really cartoonish representation of him, but these are the basics.)

He wears armor, white with golden accents, during working hours and missions abroad, but prefers simpler clothes, like those pictured above, in his downtime.

5. What is their most traumatic memory?

I’d guess whatever it is that made him feel his homeland. He claims he left of his own volition, on a sacred mission, but, seeing as he refuses to say what that mission is, he probably left for darker reasons.

6. What kinds of dreams do they have?

The strange kind that are very frightening in the moment, but that, when repeated aloud, sound nothing short of hysterical.

7. What foods do they like? Which do they dislike?

Shocking for a man with so little conviction, Roark is a bit of a health nut. If it’s loaded down with carbs and calories, sure, he might like the taste, but it’s doing NOTHING for his figure, and a knight must be fighting fit. He likes a variety of things, but particularly anything especially healthy, and always in moderation.

8. What is their best physical feature?

His hands. They’re strong and rough from years of wielding a blade.

9. How do they fight/what weapons do they wield?

Roark is a swordsman, but has trained with polearms and other melee weapons (he’s just not very good with them). Although he’s not the best swordsman in Feldspar, he’s still quite skilled, as well as light on his feet. His preferred build is a sturdy blade with a sturdier shield.

10. What are their thoughts on the Beastclans? Do they like them? See them as allies? Nuisances?

He’s suspicious of Beastclans, but not outright prejudiced. Given the long history between Beastclans and dragons, both parties are somewhat justified in their caution, and Roark has had more negative experiences with them than most in Feldspar.

He keeps an eye on them.

11. What are they like in bed?

Roark is almost assuredly a complete and total virgin, and, if his flirting skills are any indication, he’d make a very poor lover. However, that makes him a bit of a blank slate, for you to build upon. If you’re interested in the innocent type who will blush and stammer then slowly melt into a puddle of exceptionally lewd goo once you’ve fucked them, Roark’s your man.

(He will absolutely expect a long-term relationship out of you at that point, though, so be warned. Roark is not one you can hit and quit.)

He’ll never be as suave and debonair in bed as he is out of it, but he’ll try his best to make you happy, and, really, that’s what counts.

12. What are their biggest turn-ons/turn-offs?

Turn-Ons: forcefulness, roughness; dirty talk; hair-pulling; being told exactly what naughty things his body is doing while he’s being fucked; men of, ah, considerable size

Turn-Offs: the usual suspects

13. Do they have any kinks?

Roark is a masochist, though he’ll never admit it (and, in fact, one of his kinks is being exposed as a masochist). He loves being humiliated, dominated completely and utterly. Leave marks all over his body, bite him, bruise him, claim him as yours.

The man’s a cocky little shit in the streets, but once you’ve got him in the sheets...

#asks #flight rising #fr #c: faust #c: holloway #c: roark #anonymous

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beautiful-liu · 8 years ago

Text

Chapter 20 - Remember me - Kryber

Title: Remember me

Pairing: Kryber [Amber Liu x Krystal Jung] Fandom: f(x) Genre: Drama, romance

Summary: The bad ass androgynous girl Amber Josephine Liu with a sex, drugs and rock-‘n-roll attitude whom everybody seemed to fear and admire at the same time, with the flash of a smug smile on her handsome face, and a sigaret or lolly pop in her mouth, depending on her mood. A leather jacket always hugging her shoulders, ripped jeans and a loose tank top that displayed just a tiny bit of her sports bra when she lifted her tattoo-filled arms. Everyone was weak for Amber Liu. Krystal simply didn’t see it. Until that one night she accidentally met her, and met a whole other person than the stories she had been made to believe. Word count: 4000 Rating: T A/N: Excuse the grammar mistakes. This is my first time writing a multi chaptered fic. Hope y'all enjoy the progress!

Read it on: AO3 & asianfanfics

Moodboard: x

The following week, there was no message back. Krystal's heart had ached when she had sent the good-bye message, but she knew it was for the best. They'd never see each other again, and she could live a happy life. Well, it wouldn't be as happy as it could have been if she had just chosen for love instead of the company, but she was willing to sacrifice that piece of her for the company. Krystal had actually already found piece with her decision. It was easy to pretend there had nothing been going on between them, that their one night stand was just a fling and that it had been a desperate need for love. But they both had someone else who loved them. Kai and Luna deserved their love and Krystal perhaps was ready to give it him now. With an eased mind and heart, she had walked into Jung Internationals that morning. With her favourite mug filled with steaming coffee, she walked up towards the meeting room. Today was Liu Economics and Jung Internationals' monthly meeting. Jackie would be coming t discuss any problems. The whole conversation would probably be about her father and Krystal's future. Usually the meetings were quite casual. Jackie often brought her two seconds in lead and her father brought Krystal. Because Krystal was still the vice president, she'd be alone now, meeting the others by herself. She didn't mind much. Jackie was a gift and she was one of the nicest persons she knew in this industry. More than often her father was silenced by the two eagerly discussing ladies. So why couldn't she do it on her own now? Without a thing on her mind, she entered the meeting room. Eloisa had already put a bowl with good-smelling buns on the table, together with a few small plates. There were five glasses with water with icecubes. Krystal didn't even realize that there was one too many. She sat down in her father's spot, at the head of the table. Until Jackie arrived, she played on her phone. Today she didn't have any appointments but Jackie, so she'd have a 'chill day' for once. Other problems could wait. A quarter passed by, and Krystal was just about to take a look on her watch what time it was, when she saw people enter. With Eloisa on front to guide the small group of people — even though Jackie would probably know the way by now — they entered the meeting room. Krystal put her phone away and stood up to invite them all. Jackie immediately walked over to her, shaking her hand like they always did. Krystal smiled widely. "It's good to see you again, I hope you have been well?" Jackie asked her. Krystal nodded. "Of course. I hope you have been well too?" she asked. Jackie chuckled in response. "Always." Jack sat down at Krystal's right hand. In the mean while, she shook the hands of the other people who came in; Jackie's two vice presidents. One was an older, Afro-American man with a skin that seemed to be made of ebony. His temples had already turned grey, but his eyes were still lively and bore this playful glitter. "Nice to see you again, Jackson," Krystal said. Jackson smiled and nodded. "You get prettier every time I see you, Miss Jung." Krystal gave him a soft slap on the shoulder, and Jackson chuckled. He sat down next to Jackie. Behind him came a tiny latina, with black hair reaching all the way 'till her butt. She had a clapboard in her arms and a pen between her fingers. Her eyes were almond shaped and friendly, with some light make-up. She was younger than Krystal, some sort of apprentice. Jackson was momentarily Jackie's second hand, but if there was something to happen to Jackson, she was going to take over. "Hello, Valentina," Krystal greeted. The girl smiled back widely, showing her white teeth. "How's it going, Krystal?" Valentina asked, as she sat down. Krystal chuckled. "I'm fine, thank you" she replied. "Shall we start then?" Jackie coughed to clear her throat. "Actually, I'm still waiting for someone, but I'm sure she'll arrive in a few moments." Krystal raised her eyebrows. Normally, Jackie didn't bring anymore people than Jackson and Valentina. "Well, if she'll arrive soon, we can just start, can't we?" Krystal said, smiling kindly. The other agreed by slowly nodding their heads. Eloisa took the small plates and handed them out to the four people at the table. They all took a small roll. Jackson immediately took a bite and so did Jackie. An hour passed and Krystal doubted whether the extra guest Jackie had invited was still to come. So she had eventually just begun with the meeting. As predicted, it was all about her father and the future of Jung Internationals. Krystal told them all about her father, how he was in the hospital at the moment because his blood pressure was extremely high, causing him not to be able to be the Chairman of Jung Internationals anymore. Instead, he would pass his title to his daughter in a few months. Krystal didn't tell Jackie that she would get the company as a wedding gift. Even though she and Jackie were rather close — as close as you could be as collegues — it was weird to talk with her about Kai and her upcoming wedding. Jackie was still Amber's sister, and if she told Amber anything about her wedding and the overlapping handover of the company, would she be able to make up that Krystal had chosen the company over her? And otherwise, it'd still be awkward. Work and private life were best lived separated. Even though Jackie Liu couldn't directly make decision in Jung Internationals, Krystall still valued her opinion more than everything. The two women were much alike, but Jackie had a few years extra in age on her, meaning she also had a few extra years experience in business. She had become a CEO one year ago, so she'd be the perfect person to judge her and the situation. "I think you'll do well, Krystal," Jackie said, after Krystal was done telling her story. "You have the same intelligence and insight level as your father and with a fresh dose of feminism, I think you can take Jung Internationals to a whole new level." Jackson and Valentina immediately agreed loudly. Krystal noticed from the corner of her eyes someone coming at the meeting room through the glass door, but she didn't pay any attention to it. It was probably Eloisa. "Yes, I think that-" Jackson started. The door opened, someone stepped in. Valentina gasped. "What do you think, Jackson?" a familiar voice said. Krystal froze in her seat. Her breath got caught in her thoat. Her nails digged into the soft wood of the table, leaving marks. All the colour drained from her face. Her body almost seemed to be in shock. Amber stepped into the meeting room, a half-grin on her face. Krystal didn't dare to look behind her, hoping that if she didn't see her, that she wouldn't be there. "You didn't forget that I'd come, did you?" she asked. Krystal winced at her voice. Jackie sighed and looked at her sister. "Like we could ever forget you. You're too present. Sit down, please. I brought my little sister, because she wanted to see what my average day looked like, she asked me to. I hope you don't mind, Krystal?" Jackie asked. Krystal opened her mouth to say something, but her throat had become so dry that it was hard to speak. Her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. "N-no," she eventually managed to get out, in a voice that was suddenly too hoarse to be normal. Krystal sat down across from Jackie, on Krystal's left side, immediately taking one of the buns and taking a bite. She immediately sunk down into her chair, with her legs spread and a piece of bread sticking out of her mouth. "Great," Amber said enthustiastically. "Then, ladies, don't be bothered by me, continue with your conversation. I'll just listen and observe." Krystal still didn't dare to look at her. She was so close, close enough that Krystal could smell her parfume. A summer breeze... She almost could feel herself loose consciousness because of that. Krystal hadn't expected that she'd see Amber anymore. It wasn't like they were in the same industry, or that they had communual friends or that they lived near each other. They would only see each other if one of them made an effort... Amber made an effort, she realized. She came here on purpose. There was no way that Amber Josephine Liu, who had turned her father down several times when he asked her if she wanted to work at the company, suddenly was interested in Liu Economics, let alone wanted to attend the meeting with Jung Internationals. Amber was here for Krystal, no doubt. "I-I have to use the bathroom" Krystal stuttered. With her teeth sank deep in her lower lip, she quickly stood up, with shaky legs, and walked as fast as possible about of the meeting room. Almost tripping over her feet, Krystal eventually found the bathroom. She immediately opened the tap and splashed some cold water in her face. Her arms shook when she held herself up against the sink, looking in the mirror, seeing how the drips of water ran from her face into her neck and over her back. She felt like throwing up. Even though she was shivering, her cheeks were burning hot, scorching almost. "Fuck..." she breathed. She placed one hand on her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. "Fuck, fuck fuck..." She had never known that Amber would do this. In fact, she would've expected her to move on quickly too, because she hadn't heard anything of her anymore. But now that she was here, it was obvious she was angry, really, really angry. And there was no way to avoid a confrontation. Would she have the guts to tell Amber what she had done? Krystal knew she didn't. But she needed to go back into that meeting room, she could not stay away forever. Even though she'd rather dissapear right now and never come back... Krystal dried her face, fixed her hair and walked back. Amber and Jackie were chatting up, just like Jackson and Valentina. Only now she got a good look of the woman. Her lower lip contained several old wounds, little cuts that had just begun to heal. Her right eye looked like it had been blue for the last couple of days, but that it was healing now too and the skin had almost returned to the previous colour. She wore her leather jacket, a black, tight fitting t-shirt and dark grey jeans with open knees. Her hair fell casually across her forehead, probably to reveal her eye. Jackie and Amber both looked up to her as soon as she came in, although only Jackie had a smile on her face. Krystal sat down at the head of the table again and cleared her throat. "Is it necessary to discuss more, Jackie? I told you everything about my father and-" "You wouldn't want us to leave, now, do you?" Amber interrupted, chuckling softly. It wasn't the light chuckle she usually let people hear. It was a bit dark, with a hidden undertone that she actually didn't mean well. Krystal froze. That was exactly what she wanted, for them to leave, but it wasn't supposed to be so obvious. Jackie shot her younger sister a foul look. "I'm sure Krystal has much more to do than talk with us all day now that her father is in the hospital. I think we're all through for today," Jacke hissed, more to Amber than to Krystal. The woman packed her stuff. "My apologies for neglecting you and Liu Economics. Expect better communication in the coming few days," Krystal quickly said. Jackie turned to her and smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it. Just keep me updated on your father, it's such a shame the old boss is having so much trouble with his health." Krystal nodded. Jackie was the first to get up. Jackson and Valentina followed. Amber looked at them for a moment, probably weighing her options, but eventually got up too. They all shook her hand, showed her a smile or nodded... except for Amber. She just walked past her without saying a word. Krystal could feel the ice beaming off of her. Her throat was swollen with sadness. The group of people left. Eloisa led them downstairs again and Krystal quickly dissapeared into her office. With a sigh she let herself fall onto her leather couch, immediately burying her face into the soft pillows. God, how she felt horrible. The look on Amber's face had cut right through her heart. Betrayal and sadness and anger all piled up into one horrifying look that made her tear up too. She laid there for perhaps five minutes when her body grew restless and she got up from the couch. Krystal was about to walk back to her desk and start up her laptop — a good dose of work always did her well when her mind was troubled — when she heard the door open. "I don't need coffee yet, thanks Eloisa," Krystal said, without looking up. "I'm not your cheap coffee lady." Krystal almost choked on her own spit. She stopped, frozed right where she was. The door fell shut, she heard footsteps coming closer. Her cheeks burned like they were on fire. Her hands formed fists and she pinched so hard that she felt her nails dig painfully in the skin of her hand. Amber's hand grabbed her wrist, turned her around so that they were facing each other. Krystal couldn't help to look at her eye immediately, her bashed lip that was still dark purple. She had to suppress the urge to touch her face with the tips of her fingers. "Amber..." Her voice was tiny, barely hearable, but Amber chuckled mischievous anyway. She rolled her eyes and let Krystal's wrist go. Her smile dissapeared from her face, and suddenly it turned annoyed, angry. Her frown caused her whole forehead to wrinkle. "Are you not going to ask me why I'm here? Or perhaps... do you already know?" she added, as she pulled up one eyebrow. Krystal shook her head. "How did you know where my office was?" she asked her. Amber chuckled and rolled her eyes again. "You know, it's not more than child's play to break into here. Chumming up to your personal assistant who's so clearly into girls — and probably into you too — stealing her key card in a hug and getting in here was too easy. You should change your security system to the new face recognision system like we have, much more diffecult to get into." Krystal frowned. She was a tad disturbed by the fact that Amber had just chatted up Eloisa just to break into her office. Incredibly smart, of course, something she could've expected from Amber but she couldn't help to be a little bit jealous. Focus, Soojung, she thought. You let her go. You shouldn't be jealous. You're being ridiculous. "Why are you here?" she asked icily. Amber huffed. "Because we had something, Krystal. And it mightn't have been much, but it was something and you shut me out without a reason. I want to know why so I can decide whether you're just a bitch playing with people's hearts or a sad, misunderstood girl who's having a hard time." Krystal blinked a few times with her eyes, completely taken back by Amber's words. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, Amber. Fact is that we can't be together. I only just was the first one to end our fling." Amber's eyes squinted together. "Fling?" she spoke the word with care. "That's what I am to you? A fling? Someone you can replace at any given moment?" Krystal opened her mouth, at first to say something to calm her down, to tell her that she wasn't just a fling. But she closed it again and looked down. She'd only make it worse. Amber was rigid. "I think I was wrong about you then. I thought you hadn't changed a single bit, that you were still the same girl I knew eight years ago. But this shit company changed you for the worse. I didn't know you'd be as stupid as this," Amber spat. Krystal stepped back, but Amber just stepped foreward so they stayed close. Krystal's heart beated fast in her chest, pumping adrenaline through her body. "I have not changed... that's why I did it... I chose the company over you just like I chose my father over you when we were eightteen..." Krystal said softly. Amber huffed. "That's bullshit. Back then at least you had a valid reason. Your parents are assholes and they'd be rude to us if we went on. Your father wouldn't have taken you in in his company et cetera, et cetera. But this time, Krystal, you do it because you're too lazy to face whatever concequences there are to be. Has it ever occured to you that you can have both and that you don't have to choose between a good career and a miserable life or no career and a good life. You can have both but I don't think you can even see that far. You choose the path that is the least trouble to you so you cut me off. Why on fucking earth-" "BECAUSE YOU RUINED ME!" Krystal blurted out in pure desperation. Amber fell silent. Her lower lip quivered and she started at the other woman with tears in her eyes. "Because you ruined me..." she repeated, softer. "I could have lived a troubleless life, you know? If I had never met you, I would've never goten into this mess. I could have loved Kai with all of my heart and I would not have to choose between my heart or my brain. We'd both be happy... and the worst part is that I wouldn't want it to be that way. I loved us, I loved what we had. I love the thrill of cheating on someone whom I don't love, I love loving you because it makes me feel alive in this dead world. But if I don't see you anymore, I thought, my life would be okay. Not as good as it would be if I had both you and the company, but it would be okay. And i'm okay with living an 'okay' life. It's enough for me, I can handle that... But when you're around I feel like giving up everything I've worked so hard for. and if I be with you now, then the sacrifice we made when we were eightteen would be in vain too. You make me want to do things I would never do if it was someone else and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for being in love with you, Amber, don't you understand?" Tears were now freely running over her face, and she didn't even try to hide them. Let Amber see how much in conflict she was, let her see how much she hated this situation and how much she wanted her. She looked down to her shoes, sobbing soflty. Amber stayed silent for a moment, then started to talk. Her voice was softer now, but still angry. "I won't let myself be pushed aside like that anymore, do you hear me? I won't be treated like some piece of old garbage. So I'm asking you right now, Krystal Jung, if all you feel about me is a fling. And if it was just a one time thing. I will go. I will leave and you'll have your happy perfect little life with your boring Prince Charming. But if I'm not, then I'm going to do everything in my power to stay and I won't be pushed over anymore. But you have to tell me. Am I just a fling to you?" Amber was out of breath when she ended her talk. Going from almost screaming to almost crying had exhausted her and Krystal knew how she felt. Holding in your emotions took every muscle of your body to keep everything inside. Krystal sniffled, looking back up to her. She smiled apologetically. "I can't tell you you're a fling.. because you are not," she said, in a broken voice. "We both know it." "Then act like it. Act like I'm the only person you will ever love." Krystal sniffled again. "You know I cannot do that," she said softly. "Then what are you willing to do for me, Krystal? Because all you have done is take little parts of me and there's nothing more you can take because you already own me. You already have everything. But there's still a whole lot of you that I have never seen before." Amber's voice had turned darker. Her gaze had deepened even more. By the look of her body language — her formed fists, her tense shoulders, her fastened breathing that idicated her troubled emotions — Krystal knew she almost lost her. It hit her like a truck that Amber was physically so close, but mentally so far away. And perhaps, that was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Krystal stepped foreward those last few centimeters and without even fully thinking through, she grabbed Amber's jacket firmly and placed her lips upon hers. It was supposed to be a soft kiss, but Amber's hand immediately shot up to her neck to cup her face and deepen the kiss passionately. They turned into a mess of rough kisses and panting against each other's lips. Krystal let herself be pushed against the desk, willingly let Amber do whatever she wanted because she knew this might as well be the last time. Tears streamed over both of their cheeks. When Amber pulled back, Krystal sought with her lips after hers, not wanting it to end. But Amber placed her hand upon Krystal's shoulder to keep her on a distance. Amber stayed close though, breathing hard and fast. Krystal was dazed on the scent of her parfume. It was enough to make her faint. "I'm giving you one last chance, Krystal Jung. Third time lucky," Amber whispered. Her voice was hoarse and husky, causing a shiver to run over her back and her belly to twist with lust. "Decide what you want. Two days. I won't receive any cowardy texts of yours anymore. You'll come to my apartment to tell me your answer, face to face. If you're only one minute late, it'll be over, even if you answer was to choose for me." And suddenly, she was gone. Amber had let her go, turned her back and walked with big strikes towards the door. Without saying anything more or looking over her shoulder, Amber left her office, whiping her cheeks right before she stepped around the corner and out of Krystal's sight. Still not being able to breathe properly, Krystal could only just stare at the spot Amber left, her mind still blank and her heart still racing. Eventually she calmed down a little, but with the calmness, the realization what had happened also came. With a grown she hid her face in her hands and cursed at herself. She heard a door open and a chuckle to fill the room. "Really, Miss, one hot husband on one side and fierce rebel like her on the other side? I'd be having a midlife crisis too." Krystal quickly whiped the tears off of her face and ran with her hand through her ruined hair. She looked up to her personal assistant and managed to place a weak smile on her face. "Oh, Eloisa, you don't know half of it..."

#remember me #kryber #krystal #krystal jung #jung soojung #jsj #amber #amber josephine liu #amber liu #f(x)#fx #f(x) fanfiction #fanfiction #f(amber)#f(x) amber #f(krystal)#f(x) krystal

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nonbinaryriley2 · 5 years ago

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1 Year on T: 3/7/2020

It’s been a year already, and I am loving the changes! Acne, appetite, and sex drive finally calmed down to a more manageable level (although I did stay at .3ml so that also helped).

I’ve continued to see same changes, and I’ve reached a point where I’m happy where I am. I’m a couple weeks late posting this, but I hit the one year mark the week of the 7th and decided that was my last dose. I’ve been off T for two weeks now, and I still feel good. My voice is deeper than the last post, and my face is a little more masculine.

At this point, if I dress like a man, that’s what people see me as. I performed at my local Irish festival on the 7th and 8th (Irish Step Dance) and women wore skits, men wore slacks. I wore slacks and presented as male. The whole weekend, I was treated as a man. Not once was I called ma’am, and I even used the men’s restrooms. No one said anything to me about it or even looked twice. Even the men in my school who saw me before T didn’t seem to think anything of it. (It was really nerve racking, because I hadn’t ever used the men’s room before unless I was with my cis male friend as backup. I kept waiting for someone to say something, but they never did. I was being called “he” and “sir” so much though that I was more worried about using the women’s restroom. It felt good, but I’m definitely not comfortable in the men’s room yet.)

I felt like that was a good time to stop. It was nice being treated like a man for the weekend, but I’m still nonbinary and don’t want to be seen exclusively as a man. I still sometimes get called ma’am when I’m dressed more androgynously, which I guess is the goal? I’d like everyone to recognize me as nonbinary, but there isn’t really a way to “pass” as nonbinary. I think I’m as close to that as I can get. More importantly though, I feel good. I like the way I look and sound, and I don’t think I want anything to change more than it already has. I’ll give it a few months to be sure, but I think I’m done with my physical transition.

I’ve been self isolating as much as possible with everything going on, so I’ve taken the opportunity to let my facial hair grow out for about a week and a half, just to see what it does. I wouldn’t ever be able to grow a full beard and mustache, but there’s more there than I expected. Most of the hair is on my sideburns and under the chin/neck area. I could probably grow a decent goatee if I wanted to, though it would take a long time, but my mustache would only be on the sides of my upper lip. The hair doesn’t quite fill in all the way through the middle. I prefer the clean shaven look for myself anyway, but it’s nice to know what I can grow if I ever change my mind.

A final summary of changes (unless I decide to go back on T):

- Some bottom growth, but not nearly as much as I was worried about

- Deeper voice, but I can pitch it lower or higher depending on which gender I want to pass as. It leans more masculine if I’m not paying attention to it, which I like.

- I’m still sometimes seen as a woman, but with the short hair and androgynous clothes, its probably about even if I’m seen as a man or a woman. If I dress like a man though, that’s typically what people are going to see me as.

- Patchy facial hair, but if I shave some of it, I could probably grow a goatee if I wanted to.

- No menstruation the whole time I was on T (it hasn’t come back yet, but it’s only been a couple weeks. I’m not looking forward to that, but its expensive and a long recovery time to get a hysterectomy, so it’s something I’m just going to have to put up with)

- Since stopping T, sex drive, acne, and appetite have all gone down even more. as an asexual, adult, who stopped growing vertically years ago, I’m happy about all three.

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texastheband · 5 years ago

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The Best Little Sex Bomb In Texas

Interview by Miranda Sawyer, Photography by Wayne Maser Taken from British GQ - January 2004

There are many reasons to like Sharleen Spiteri. She's broken her nose four times. She once painted a mural of Che Guevara that covered her dad's garage wall. She understands that sexiness is more than "tits and arse. Well, straightforward tits and arse, anyway". She owns the original Blondie Parallel Lines mini-dress, given to her personally by Debbie Harry. She has a voice that can sound as heartworn as Dusty Springfield, as bed-borne as Chrissie Hynde. Her favourite term of abuse is "complete fanny". And, unlike most women, she looks fab in mens clothing. Actually, she's the type of insouciant beauty that would look good in a black sack; which is lucky, as that's what she appears to be wearing. We're in J Sheekey's restaurant in Covent Garden. Sharleen's just come from Top Of The Pops, where she and her band, Texas, performed their recent single, "Carnival Girl", with Ragga MC, Kardinal Offishall. She's still wearing her telly outfit: a black all-in-one, though she's swapped her take-your-eye-out stilettos for take-your-knee-out bower boots. Her hair is blunt-cut and tickles her eyelashes. She is small, dark-eyed, full-mouthed, French-looking; sultry, like her photos, but not sulky. In fact, Sharleen doesn’t stop chatting, in her throaty Glaswegian tones, about any topic you care to bring up: films, food, fashion, stripping... There's been a suggestion that she and I, as thirtysomething bonnes viveuses, would like to spend the evening in a strip club. But the only one that Sharleen will even consider checking out is a hardcore gay men's kit-off night in a notorious East End pub.

"You'll not drag me to any of that Spearmint-Rhino-Peter-Stringfellow naff old rubbish," she roars. "We'll go to Amateur Night at the White Swan. There's £1.ooo for the best act!" She announces this to me, but also to the J Sheekey waiting staff too, who clearly know and like her. "You'd better tell me all about it," says one to her, conspiratorially. "I want size, technique, all the details..." Sharleen is good at making friends: whether stars (Madonna, Stella, Gwyneth), or us lesser mortals. She's fearless, unsnobbish company, with a lewd anecdote or two up her sack-sleeve, and, unlike many famous people, she knows how to listen. She'd have made a great hairdresser. "I was a great hairdresser!" she laughs. "My tips were wicked! And people told me everything - I got loads of scandal, stuff about wife-swapping circles. But what I was really known for was when people brought in pictures of celebrities and said, 'That's the way I want my hair'. I'd put my hand over the celebrity's face and say, 'Is that really what you want? Cos we don't do faces in here, we just do hair."' She tells it like it is, does Shar. Ask her whether Texas is a democracy, and she says: "No way. Texas is me and Johnny (McElhone). The band formed around that, we write the songs together and the rest of the band either gets that or gets out. And they're totally fine with me getting all the attention. They're happy getting the money and none of the grief." The tuneful pop-rock band that is Texas formed in Glasgow in 1986, when 18-year-old Sharleen, a hairdresser and art student, met Johnny McElhone. Johnny, then 23, had played bass in Altered Images (he joined when he was just 15: his parents had to sign his contract for him), and later, in Hipsway. On a whim he asked Sharleen if she wanted to sing for a new band he was putting together. The audition was arranged, "but I never turned up", says Shar. "I thought he was sleazing me." Luckily, Johnny, who wasn't, called again. This time Sharleen went along, sang Culture Club's "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me", and Texas were formed. The first song Johnny and Sharleen wrote together was "I Don't Want A Lover". In between spoonfulls of potted shrimp, Sharleen explains that she'd never thought of herself as a singer, because every Spiteri sang. Her father's family is Italian, her mother's French, and at reunions, every family member would have to perform a song, wether they wanted to or not. "But I never got attention, because my cousins did the crowd-pleasers", she sniffs. "Never a dry eye in the house when they sang." Sharleen didn't approve of such obvious tactics, and when Texas got a record contract, she was prickly with it, insisting on always being pictured with a member of the band or with her guitar, never being interviewed separately, dressing mannishly, not smiling. Her idols were Chrissie Hynde, Patti Smith, Siouxsie Sioux. It was the late Eighties. She was Scottish. She was serious. In 1989, "I Don't Want A Lover" went Top ten in the UK, and Texas' first LP Southside, sold 1.3m copies. But the two follow-ups, Mothers Heaven and Ricks Road, didn't do so well, and around 1995, the band went into crisis mode. "We were nothing in Britain," says Sharleen, "but, because we were successful everywhere else, the record company were tiptoe-ing round us. I knew I wasnae important: I felt like screaming, 'Stop wrapping me in cotton wool!' Also, in Glasgow, everyone knew us, we were big fish in a small pond. I'd rather be a small fish in a big pond. The whole atmosphere was making me claustrophobic. So I moved to Paris." Paris proved "un tonique" for our Texan trouper. Sharleen wrote "Say What You Want" on a Paris rooftop, drinking a large glass of red wine. She met fashion journalist Ashley Heath, her partner, at a party. (They bonded over an argument about music.) Being away from home, and being able cope with that, boosted her confidence. Though you wouldn't think it now, Sharleen was "very, very, quiet" at school: not quite the ugly mate, but the one that boys approached, not to ask out, but to ask if her friend would go out with them. "The whole time I just thought, `What the fuck am I doing here?"' She left at 15: she has no contact with any former classmates. Anyway, in 1996, the Shiny! Sexy! New! Texas appeared, with Sharleen very much to the fore. For the first time, she had the self-assurance to use her languidly erotic looks. In videos, she rolled around in sea shallows, and made fully-clothed love to some lucky model. In pictures, she pulled at her hair and bit her lip. She was incredible sexy, but not straightforwardly so; what she was, was cool. It irritates Sharleen when people think that this was somehow acquired illegally: that her chic was painted on late, without serving her dues, manipulated by the boyfriend or her record company. As she points out, she found her feet first in fashion and art, and her hairdressing skills took her on shoots around the world. Sharleen does have that fashion instinct: she loves seeking out new designers and musicians, collaborating with them before they get too well-known. "But everyone gets to know about them in no time at all now!" she laughs. "You know, there is no story behind how I got cool. Of course I'm trying to be cool. Everyone is. And I always was cool: at least I thought so. Even in 1989, when I was wearing a biker jacket and jeans, trying to be more androgynous than everybody else, referencing the Clash, I thought I was dead, dead trendy. I did it myself. I didnt even have a stylist until [the band's fifth album] The Hush."

And of course, she could have done Miss Wet T-shirt until she dissolved and it wouldn't have made any difference if Texas hadn't come up with the songs. But they did: White On Blonde was a Number One, four-million-selling smash, that produced four Top Ten singles ("Say What You Want", "Halo", "Black Eyed Boy" and "Put Your Arms Around Me") and earned Sharleen and Johnny an Ivor Novello Award for Outstanding Song Collection. The band's next two LPs, The Hush (1999), and The Greatest Hits (2000), also stormed the charts. Texas have now sold 20m records worldwide. Weirdly, though, it wasn't until 2001, when the band took another break, that Sharleen truly came to mainstream attention. Over the last few years, Sharleen Spiteri has moved from being the hip bird out of Texas to becoming Heat fodder. Blame that heady contemporary combination of famous friends, and getting pregnant. Still, the interest took her by surprise. "You expect to have your photo taken if you're at a fashion show, or coming out of a posh restaurant," she says. ": when you're struggling with your shopping, looking like a whale? Cheers. Being pregnant is really the best time to be papped, you know." She's squared up to paparazzi in the past, slamming her car into reverse and almost driving into a following photographer, then getting out and ranting at him through the window. "The whole time I was having a go, he and his mate wouldn't look at me, they just looked straight ahead. The before he drove off, he said, `See that car on the other side of the road? He's following you too."' Still, she managed to avoid an embarrassing picture when, at eight months pregnant, she locked herself out of her house near Regent' Park and had to hoik herself and her bags over the iron gates: "Now, that really would have been a horrendous sight." One shot that everyone did see was of Sharleen's friend, Arsenal's Thierry Henry. On 10 September 2002, the day after Sharleen's daughter, Misty Kid, was born, Arsenal played Manchester City; Henry scored the winner and ripped off his shirt to reveal a slogan that read, "For the new born Kid". "That could have cost TT 30 grand," grins Sharpen. Luckily they decided not to fine him." "TT" often pops over for a chat. Does Sharpen ever feel weird when famous people come round? Only once," she muses, "when Debbie Harry came over, and was sitting in my kitchen eating dinner, being so nice. She was such an idol of mine when I was young. But otherwise, it's only when it freaks someone else out. I don't divide my friends into celebrities and non-celebrities, don't think like that. So they mix up in my house, and it's only when a friend phones up the next day and goes, `That was some evening!' that I think about it."

Still, I think it's important to Sharleen to be accepted by credible famous people, because she's spent so long having her band dismissed by snotty critics. Despite her own hipster kudos, despite the band's collaborations with the Wu-Tang Clan, Rae and Christian, and now Kardinal Offishall, Texas' music has often been labelled "safe", or naff". Having TT and Debbie et al onside shows that she is cool and that, allied with her immense songwriting success, means she can cheerfully say, "Sod the lot of you". The girl is fashion-conscious, she wants respect: you can't blame her. Anyhow, celebrity fact alert! Coldplay's frontman Chris Martin now lives in Sharleen's old flat: "We call it the House of Hits," she grins. And there are more of those coming: Texas' latest album, Careful What You Wish For, is Peppered with potential hits that play to the band's proven strengths: catchy, dreamy tunes, evocative guitars and Sharleen's gorgeous voice. The new single, "I'll See It Through", has all this in spades, and sounds like Dusty Springfield singing Burt Bacharach. But there are plenty of other singles there: "Telephone X", a Blondie-style stomp; "And I Dream", which recalls the exuberance of Madonna's "Ray Of Light"; the title track, a hand-clapping singalong. After 16 years in the business, it's obvious that the girl knows what she's doing. Unfortunately, after three hours at Sheekey's, I'm not sure that I do. The wine has gone down very easily, the conversation hasn't stopped. We've discussed DIY - Sharleen's great at it, especially shelves; underwear - "I am very particular about my knickers"; scars - Sharleen has five: forehead, hand, left eye, both knees; the hyperactivity of parents - her retired merchant seaman father does the lights for Texas' live show; the madness of boyfriends - Heath initially told his mum and dad that Sharpen worked in Glasgow Airport, but forgot to tell her: "I couldn't work out why his mum kept asking me about Duty Free." Misty Kid gets a few mentions: she's a climber, like her mum; stubborn, like both her parents. We spend quite some time talking about song-writing. Sharleen starts a new notebook for each Texas album and fills it with ideas and lyrics. Sometimes she only needs one, sometimes three. Careful What You Wish For was a two-notebook LP. She has no formula for writing, and she'll always sacrifice a word for a melody.

But, well, bollocks to such serious talk! It's stripper-time! Off we go in search of a place where pecs are expected and the knackers hang free. The White Swan is legendary as being the place where Michael Barrymore came out; it's an old-school gay man's pub, rather than a metrosexual bar. Its Amateur Night has gained a bit of a reputation recently, as a night of laughter and never forgetting. We pull up outside and skip to the door. There's a sign that says "Men Only Tonight", but we are undeterred; after all, Sharleen is a "dykon'' in a boiler suit, and my shoes are certainly sensible. But a big, bald man stops us at entry. "No women," he says, shortly. Sharpen argues; her female friends have been in before. No luck. We try chatting up some arriving punters, to no avail. Sharleen doesn't resort to "do you know who I am?", but you'd think they would: she played the London Astoria's self-explanatory G-A-Y a week-and-a-half ago, and was recently featured in gay magazine Boyz. She tries again. The big, bald man says bigly, baldly: "Go away." Curses! Thwarted. "Goes to show that you can be as famous as you like and it's not a passport to everywhere," shrugs Sharpen. "Shall we go back to mine? I'll get my boyfriend to strip." We do; he, thankfully, doesn't. And, chat-chat-chatting in her big comfy kitchen, the plasma screen playing MTV with the sound down, Misty's toys strewn across the floor, you understand why Sharpen attracts cool people. It's hardly sensational but, the simple facts are: Sharpen Spiteri is talented, hilarious, and the sexiest night out you can have when everyone keeps their clothes on.

#article #carefulwhatyouwishfor #British GQ #GQ #Wayne Maser #WayneMaser #SharleenSpiteri #Sharleen Spiteri #Sharleen #Spiteri

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missboomissquick · 8 years ago

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Like many outsiders, Frank Ocean betrays an obsession with identities and objects just beyond his reach. In an excerpt from the Boys Don’t Cry magazine released last week alongside an album, Blonde, a visual album, Endless, and a music video for the song “Nikes,” Ocean writes about an image of a young girl in a car. “I put myself in her seat then I played it all out in my head. The claustrophobia hits as the seatbelt tightens, preventing me from even leaning forward in my seat. the pressing on internal organs. I lean back and forward to release it. Then backwards and forward again. There it is—I got free.”

Later in the note, he remembers, “Raf Simons once told me it was cliché, my whole car obsession. Maybe it links to a deep subconscious straight boy fantasy. Consciously though, I don’t want straight—a little bent is good.” Ocean is describing his car fanaticism, an obsession that has defined him, while simultaneously articulating a deep alienation. He does not fit the stereotype of the straight, suburban boy with an encyclopedic knowledge of automobiles. In fact, he seemingly finds it easier to access his memories through the figure of the young girl, whose seatbelt invokes a gut memory of entrapment.

To say that Blonde is not straight is an understatement. The album—along with the visual album, art magazine, and “Nikes” video—bends genre, bends gender, and bends time. Ocean drives his car across countries and decades, meandering, and zig-zagging. Returning again and again to scenes from his childhood and adolescence, Ocean leaves linearity by the side of the road. Music becomes a vehicle capable of impossible movement, carrying us inside a thought, inside a moment, inside a fantasy.

Blonde’s unconventional narrative mirrors the real-life story of how the album got here, and all the different forms it has taken throughout its extended gestation. Since the release of his last album Channel Orange in 2012, Ocean has been teasing at this return, releasing various release dates only to abandon them. The journalists who have been burned by broken promises and the fans who have eagerly awaited Ocean’s sophomore album have condemned the singer as outrageously, unnecessarily evasive. Perfectionism is one thing, but what’s the point of setting deadlines only to defy them? Or building a staircase when you should be making music? Or stepping so far out of genre that half the tracks on your album don’t even have a drum beat?

Frank Ocean dashes expectations and refuses definitions for a reason. His phobia of labels and limits isn’t just an affectation—its essential to his art and his self-expression. In 2012, on the cusp of Channel Orange’s release, the critically acclaimed artist published a description of his first love, a male friend who didn’t romantically reciprocate. Ocean’s sexuality is, as he describes it, “dynamic”—a self-assessment that hasn’t stopped journalists from pigeonholing him as bisexual or gay. This refusal of conventional terms is becoming more and more common among younger generations, who increasingly reject binary constructs. Dynamism is at the heart of both the artist and his oeuvre. It’s also part of an ever-evolving definition of queerness.

Just like Blonde, which refuses to stand still, queerness is less of a location or endpoint and more of a horizon. In the words of queer theorist José Muñoz, “Queerness is not yet here… Put another way, we are not yet queer. We may never touch queerness.” Here queerness is defined not by a destination or a term, but by constant motion. For Ocean, this theorization is tantamount. As Ocean told GQ in 2012 in regards to his uncategorized sexuality and music, “I’m giving you what I feel like you can feel… The other shit, you can’t feel. You can’t feel a box. You can’t feel a label.” By refusing to claim an identity, he reserves the right to constantly redefine.

This is not to say that Blonde fully evades the question of homosexuality. In “Good Guy,” Ocean croons about being taken on a date to a “gay bar.” The date then fizzles into romantic disappointment: “I know you don’t need me right now / And to you it’s just a late night out.” Ocean’s LGBT influences are also on display in “Ambience 001: In a Certain Way,” a short interlude on Endless that samples the voice of iconic drag queen Crystal LaBeija.

But Ocean references bitches just as often as he references boys. It’s the kind of irreverence and mutability that makes Ocean such a difficult gay icon, and such an intriguing queer one. Frank does not seem inclined to take on any responsibilities as the hip-hop world’s pre-eminent gay artist—a label he’s never claimed and does not seem likely to. While he wrote eloquently and openly on the Orlando Pulse shooting, Blonde doesn’t contain any similarly political gay statements or eulogies.

Throughout the album, visual album, and magazine, he seems more preoccupied with disorientation than orientation. While Apple Music lists the album as Blonde, the cover art reads Blond. This interchangeable masculine and feminine is at the heart of the video for “Nikes,” a song named after a traditionally masculine hip-hop fetish. The video weaves together shots of Ocean in glitter and heavy makeup with nude men and women, dancing in angel wings. Ocean’s ability to sample from gendered aesthetics and expectations even as he pulls from various genres and indulges in multiple media reveals his unflinching commitment to flexibility in all things. And while Frank makes this restlessness look like art, and even makes it look like fun, it’s more than just lighthearted experimentation. To define oneself leads to pressures and responsibilities—to produce another Channel Orange, or to pen the next gay anthem. On “Nikes,” Ocean shouts out Trayvon Martin, musing, “That n**** looked just like me.” Identities, from race to sexual orientation, can trap, define, even kill. Artistically, they can stagnate. And so, Ocean keeps moving, citing over 40 musical contributors on an album that refuses categorization or ideological co-option.

Of course, the way Ocean approaches queerness is partly pragmatic. Hip-hop has never had a gay superstar. As a community, the hip-hop world is still plagued by homophobia, and prohibitive molds of masculinity. While male rappers are expected to abide by certain conventions, there appears to be a loophole for MCs who have expanded their artistic reach. One example is Young Thug, a rapper who was featured in Calvin Klein’s Autumn/Winter 2016 campaign. In a video for the brand, Young Thug spoke to his penchant for pulling outfits from menswear and womenswear, explaining, “I feel like there is no such thing as gender.” While Young Thug’s remarks triggered a bit of a backlash, with hip-hop fans and media outlets musing on his sexuality, there also seemed to be an increasing understanding that queerness isn’t synonymous with homosexuality. It’s also important to note that Young Thug stated his progressive philosophy in a fashion forum, not on a track or in a Breakfast Club interview. Jaden Smith was similarly embraced by sartorial tastemakers for his androgynous style, proving that while gendered experimentation might be rare in hip-hop, its male denizens can find precedent and encouragement by dipping into outside worlds.

Like Kanye West before him, Frank Ocean is exploiting this distancing loophole by presenting himself as a multi-faceted artist. By making stairs, shooting film, and producing magazines, Ocean defies the rapper label just as he shirks a gay or bisexual identification. By deliberately refusing to be known as a gay rapper or a bisexual man in hip-hop, Ocean can partially skirt the homophobic bias that the hip-hop community can’t seem to shake.

Queer, which is not a single, stable identity, might be more accurately described as an active critique of the normal and the normative. Normality is not universally accessible, or universally desired. The queer subject, forced to the outside, is given the complicated gift of perspective. Blonde is made rich through this looking in. Frank Ocean, a sexually fluid, black man who attempts to defy gender, is just the outsider to take on America in 2016. In Ocean’s capable hands, the familiar becomes strange. In Boys Don’t Cry, Ocean queers Americana, photographing a man putting on his underwear in a field, and sharing images of young men with automobile logos shaved into their heads. In a featured poem, Kanye West manages to write a deeply unsettling ode to the most ubiquitous fast-food joint in America: McDonald’s. In “Nights,” Ocean is homeless in Texas after being run out of Louisiana by Hurricane Katrina. In all these complementary projects, things that are quintessentially American—McDonald’s, cars, the South—are taken and made unfamiliar and disquieting through the lens of race, trauma, and sexuality. Ocean’s unique commentary, and the alienation that informs it, is a quiet, powerful critique.

In the wake of rights-based victories like gay marriage, some queer activists have questioned a movement that prioritizes the chance to be the same over the freedom to be different. This is where Ocean, and his rejection of the straight, comes into play. In a piece from Boys Don’t Cry titled “Boyfriend,” he writes, “I could say that I’m happy / they let me and my boyfriend become married / I could say that I’m happy / but cross my heart I didn’t notice.” It’s as if Frank is deliberately playing with expectations or hopes for his gay politics by claiming apoliticism. Of course, queer folks might argue that this apathy toward marriage equality is a deeply political rejection of homonormativity. And Ocean goes both ways—on “Seigfried,” he ponders and then ultimately dismisses the allure of the heteronormative. Ocean wonders if his lack of convention makes him a “fool”—“Maybe I should move / Settle down, two kids and a swimming pool.” But in the end, he wagers, “I’d rather live outside.”

In Blonde, “living outside” is a personal sacrifice and a risky wager. Barred from the acceptability of straight love or the stability of a legible gay identity, Ocean has no choice but to keep moving, and keep longing. Vexation and disappointment are everywhere, and satiation seems impossible. With such an uncertain future, he looks to the past as he heads for the horizon. On “Futura Free,” the final track on Blonde, Ocean excerpts an old conversation between his childhood friends from the hip-hop crew Odd Future. On an album marked by romantic disillusionment, this return evokes the family making and platonic love that is so vital to queer communities. In a world where love disappoints and normalcy isn’t an option, there’s an art to making your own family, and finding intimacy in unexpected places.

Ocean’s steady stream of emotionally unavailable partners, unanswered texts, unfulfilled dreams and missed connections speaks to a specific brand of disoriented desires. In common parlance, sexuality is often reduced to orientation. But queer theory proposes that the desiring subject is so much more than the gender of the person they have sex with. This is certainly the case for Ocean—Blonde isn’t about who he loves, but how he loves them. His bravely broadcasted intimacy is proof that boys do cry, that sexuality can be fluid, that love can be unrequited, platonic, queer, and cruel. He makes the familiar strange, but he also makes the strange familiar. Even the most traditionally masculine straight boy will see pieces of himself in Ocean’s fluid oeuvre—childhood memories that could belong to any of us, texts that sound familiar, landscapes we’ve seen, half-asleep, out the window. In queering the world and chronicling the queer, Ocean’s bent masterpiece brings under-represented modes of desire to the mainstream.

via DailyBeast // 8/25/16

#frank ocean #queerness #blonde #boys dont cry #love him

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