#i know at least 5 other lesbian artists i like more than chappell and it isnt because her music is shit its just not my thing

[wiishopwednesday]

tumblr user boiling down disliking plain pop music into misogyny i said yeah im sure

[girldragongizzard]

Epilogue 5: The Artist of Being a Dragon

In early May, I guess, Chapman and Nathan got together again at the Makerspace and made me a set of bluetooth headphones I can wear.

Because Chapman is involved, they have a mix of retro-radio and classic cyberpunk styling. They have a cherry wood finish with a gorgeous laser etched esoteric circuit print on them. The metal parts have a rose gold color. And the pads are real leather. And they are weirdly durable. I am unable to scratch them.

Still, Chapman begged me not to take them into a fight.

They're pretty special, because, like my tablet they have an indefinite battery life, and they don't block much outside sound. Wearing them is like having a surround sound system arrayed out on my rooftop, with me in the middle of it. The music can end up being louder than other noises, but if it isn't, there's nothing in particular keeping me from hearing anything else.

Before dracomorphosis, I would have preferred sound blocking headphones, to manage my sensory processing disorder. But now my ears work the way my brain expects them too, and I really need to be able to hear what's going on in the rest of the city. Especially if another dragon is calling out. Especially right now, while I'm still constructing an egg in my uterus.

I kind of feel like "uterus" is the wrong word for that, as much as I like having one. Mine's more of a fucking crucible.

"Fucking" is the operative word there, you know.

Anyway, they did this because several of my humans thought that music would help calm me down and help me bide my time between suitors and other distractions. And, I honestly really appreciate it.

So, then, Kimberly gave me Chappell Roan's "The Rise of Fall of a Midwest Princess" and holy shit. Lesbian music is Like That now?

If you were to reread my trilogy while just listening to that album, I think it would make a pretty good soundtrack and give you an overall better feeling of what it's like to me. Though, I have some other music now to add to it.

Incidentally, I've been listening to that album almost nonstop on repeat, except for when I'm exploring her other music, and going down little pop culture rabbit holes. For instance, a few days ago, I heard her cover of "What's Up?!" by 4 Non Blondes, which I absolutely remember losing my shit to when I was a teenager. So, I had to revisit their music, and that particular album, "Bigger, Better, Faster, More!".

Did you know the lead singer of 4 Non Blondes was an out lesbian while she was singing for that band?

I did not.

I would have thought at least Kurt Loder on MTV would have told me, but nope! I do not remember that happening. Maybe I missed it.

It turns out that nearly every female led band I loved when I was a teen was queer in some way. And also, like, Billie Joe Armstrong of Greenday. What?!

So, anyway, I had a little week of collecting both old and new queer music, and that's my whole playlist now. I've also got Mary Lambert in there. And Karen O and Metric, though I'm not sure if either of them are queer, but they fit in the mix really damn well anyway. Oh, oh, and Halsey's song "I'm not a woman, I'm a god." And then the Nimona sountrack led me to Santigold, and she led me down the path of Black queer artists, and now I've got Jackie Shane and Janelle Monae. And I'm asking Kimberly to hook me up specifically with trans artists.

And she's like, "Darling, I'm in five bands. Here's my Bandcamp."

If I had a bedroom wall of my own, it would be slathered with posters by now.

I've never understood that, but I do now.

We might be headed toward the latest hottest Summer on record, with an utterly devastating hurricane season to follow, and I might be a harbinger of massive evolutionary upheaval during one of the world's biggest and fastest mass extinction events, but humanity sure is showering me with the best music ever at just the right time.

Sorry if that seems like flippant disregard for events that are killing way too many people and other animals, but things are changing. It's not going to turn out the way it was going to just a year ago. The future is different now. And you're part of it.

All of this is to say, though, that on this afternoon I'm listening to that Chappell Roan cover of "What's Up?!" while lounging on my rooftop, giving everyone else a break from my intensity. And my tail is flipping back and forth to the music, kind of like a cat's. If a cat had a little single-horned thagomizer to make a satisfying thump with.

I have no visits scheduled for the next three days, and I'm just letting myself get lost in the music.

I've listened to this song enough, I might be able to sing portions of it. Not as words I understand coming from my mouth, but as music. A sort of whistling that sounds a lot like the instruments, and maybe occasionally the vocals.

I might actually be trying to do that. And it might not sound great to anyone without my headphones on, but I'm alone up here and no one can stare at me or tap my shoulder.

And yeah, some of my neighboring dragons might be complaining occasionally. Or, they're reacting to something, but I've got my eyes closed and I don't care.

And then I feel it. My Artistry sensing nerve gets plucked.

It feels like a chittering skitter, with some snaps and ratchety clicks. There's a rhythm to it that matches the music I'm listening to, and reminds me a little bit of a dolphin and a little bit of Nine Inch Nails. And in particular, I find it soothing. Soothing and energizing.

My muscles want to relax every time it repeats, and I also feel the need to look.

Which I do.

I've already pinpointed where it's coming from, so my head has turned and is tracking the source before I even open my eye.

There's an Artist in the sky.

And like Fenmere, they are a dragon.

Their colors, in the crudest of terms, are green, gold, blue, and brown. But, like, whole gamuts of each of those colors. There are too many words to pick from to describe them. They're almost opalescent in places. It's like if a forest were a sunset with wings, talons, tail, and the most glorious head of teeth, horns, wattle, eyes, and scales.

Holy crud, that face. That pattern of scales!

Have you seen the wattle and jowls of a dragon iguana? Do a search and look. It's like that, but shaped a bit different, because their head is more like a cross between a melanosuchas (a type of really cute caiman) and an ankylosaurus. And I might have more visions of more animals in my head than I've ever realized.

I'm wondering if there's more to it than nearly fifty one years of an intense special interest in dragons and animals that look kind of like us. I almost distract myself from the wonder that's circling me by thinking about this, but I really can't.

If you could just see the flight muscles at work on this creature.

The shape of those claws!

My child must —

I mean.

I don't see any kind of material offering in this person's possession, so they must be here on some other business, Artist to dragon, or dragon to dragon. Or they are mistaken about my willingness to bend on my own demands.

Unless they're carrying it in that generous crop of theirs, and they'll barf it up for me. That'd be —

Um.

This is an Artist, Meghan. Do not fuck with them.

I touch my tablet twice to turn off the music, sort of to irritate myself out of my infatuation, and manage to call out, "What?"

As I do that, I notice that I also jerk my chin up once, slightly gaping my jaw, and slam my tail down on the roof. And I know that that means exactly the same thing as the English word I've just uttered.

"I come, your Highness, bearing the gift of language for you and many enticing traits for your egg to choose from," says my latest suitor. Only, they say it by jerking their chin up twice, chirping and trilling, tilting their left wing down toward me ever so slightly, and wiggling their ass mid flight as they circle.

The "Your Highness" part is just my brain's interpretation of servile deference, and I have to say I react to it as if it is genuine and not at all embarrassing.

But, OK, as I'm succumbing to this rakish drake, I do need to take an aside to address something that's been bothering me. Irking me. In the wake of defeating a very wealthy and powerful white supremacist, it feels pretty gross to be so focused on collecting desirable genetic traits for my child. Even now, I'm reacting to it by thinking about who I should fuck next to compensate, and that's not a charitable way to think about whoever that might be.

Except, look. We're not here to breed a new master race. I do not believe we're meant to replace any lifeforms on the planet. We're here to mix things up, and inject more creative diversity back into all the species of the planet when they might need it the most. I don't know exactly how, when all we can work with at the moment are the more complex and larger animals.

But, like, imagine this. This is just a wild hypothesis I just made up on gut feelings and instinct, and maybe something that's going on between me and this draconic Artist. What if we're not actually changing anything for the current megafauna of the planet? What if what we're doing is actually on the microscopic level, with bacteria and single celled eukaryotes, with fauna, flora, and fungus? All of it? Maybe even viruses?

What if every time we have sex with another creature, we're collecting more than just their reproductive gametes, but also their microbiome? And mixing that with our own?

What if our own microbiomes are as diverse as we are? And spreading and breeding with the rest of the world on that level?

What if my child is to be a culmination of all of the life I've sampled, maybe even eaten, so that they can carry that diversity with them as they go find a new territory?

And you might worry that we might bring new and wildly dangerous diseases, and that might be the case. But we live in harmony with humans now. We are part of your lives and well being. A symbiotic relationship forged in myth and dream. What if, for those of you who are close to us, we're also sharing some of our immune system, because that's what all our microbiomes can be?

Like, all of this is just raw speculation, with no evidence sparking the thought. Just wishful thinking based on horniness and some internal sense of identity and purpose I feel I was born with. And this sex drive that makes me want to fuck everything that's willing.

With a mythological being such as myself, there's got to be a reason for that, and this is what I've come up with.

Maybe I'm lying to myself and to you, but I think we represent the opposite of what the racial purists are fighting for. That's what I want us to be, at least. I want life on Earth to live long and diverse and beautiful, and to explore all the ways it might do that.

But still, for my first time around, I'm restraining myself and focusing on people I can talk with in some way for potential mates.

And by the Shadows of the Moon, this dragon that's cruising around me is using the language of my own dreams to talk to me, and I'm talking back!

"My name is Dragon," they say. "And I am visiting every Dragon Queen to offer myself to her egg and elucidation."

Dragon. Are they the Artist of Being a Dragon? Is there such a thing?

And Dragon Queen? Is that what the whole "queen" thing has actually been about? The term we're going use for this year's egg layer? I kind of like that.

"Elucidate me, Dragon. What do you know?" I demand.

"Allow me to land."

"Do, and prove yourself."

They circle one more time and swing wide so that they can come in straight and slow to land in front of me on the very edge of my roof, giving me as much room as possible. Then they take a few steps forward, bowing their head low, tail and wings high in the air, talons to the ground. Their tail is rigid and shaking, reminiscent of the convulsions of a cloacal kiss.

The royal audacity of them!

"Go on," I say. I could dash my tablet on the sidewalk below and it would not impair my ability to speak with this one. And the only noises we're making are infrasonic to humans and quiet enough that dragons a block away wouldn't clearly hear us.

"My Art is being me, and I am very good at it," they brag. "But I did not fully understand it until nearly a year ago, during dracomorphosis. I have always been a dragon, but I did not know the word for it until it was invented. And I couldn't speak to other dragons until you existed. You have given me the meaning I've been seeking my entire life. And I am here to thank you for it."

"Humans would call you Silvertongue," I observe, masterfully withholding my true feelings behind a mask of indifference, I think. But, ooh, if they aren't lying, that's some valuable information! "Tell me more. But drop the act."

I feel their skittering shift, and then they lick the air with a tongue that is silver colored.

"Like the grandest of stories, I can change my shape to resemble any creature I like. My form is as malleable as your own voice, and so is yours. You can already take another form. I can and will gladly teach you the rest of that skill, and set you on the path to exploring it for yourself," they report. "Also, anyone who drinks a portion of my blood can speak to any animal, including humans. And I am prepared to give that gift to you, should you accept it. In return, I only ask of you to accept my sweetest intercourse, and whichever of my natural traits your child wishes to retain for themself."

"You are very bad at not talking like a courtly suitor," I comment.

"I am a courtly suitor, My Queen," they say, bowing again.

"You are also an Artist, and I've been told not to trust Artists. By other Artists," I say.

"Wise," they admit. "I would tell you the same. I would tell you not to trust me. But you need not. If I offend you at any point, strike me down and consume my body. I will let you."

My body is telling me that I have never heard anything so hot in my entire life. I feel myself going a little crosseyed with it.

I take a very deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose, knowing that even that gesture is an expression that speaks volumes to Dragon, here.

Also, I have to say. As a trans person and therian who has experienced a significant amount of physical dysphoria, this talk of my child choosing their own physical traits from the samples I collect for them? The idea that they could have some kind of agency before they even exist? That's making me melt, even if I don't know if it's true.

I want it to be true.

Still, I feel like I should test this individual definitively somehow. Something to get them to show me their true devotion. I want the dragon magic that they say they can teach me, but if I already have it I can figure it out myself. No, it has to be something personal for them.

But what?

Oh. I know what I need, actually.

I reach for my tablet and use it to message Rhoda. And I make Dragon wait so that I can tell her, "I have a strange Artist here courting me. They call themself Dragon." I look meaningfully up at Dragon, then back down at the tablet and send the question, "May I ask you to judge them in your own way, and give me or revoke your consent for them to court me? I'll take any answer, including figure it out myself. I just wanted you to have a say, if you want it."

After a little bit, I get the reply, "Meghan, that's a lot."

"It is," I reply. "I am a little overwhelmed and about to say, 'yes'."

"Cool yourself, and make them wait," she tells me. "I'm on my way up now. I want to get a look at them."

"Thank you. I love you," I respond.

I get a black heart emoji in return. It's her thing for me when she's too busy to type anything else, and she's being reassuring.

"Wait," I tell Dragon.

"Very well," they reply.

And we both settle down and loaf. They're smiling. I'm not. I'm watching them like they might steal my food.

Then I think, Rhoda shouldn't have to open that hatch by herself, so I get up, keeping on eye on Dragon, and go to open it for her.

I'm well ahead of her movement, of course. She takes the elevator, and I'd expect nothing else of her. But also, she doesn't walk all that fast. And I sit there on my haunches, resting on my foreknuckles, tail wrapped around me, watching Dragon.

Eventually, I hear her cane. And then she softly curses before climbing the ladder, cane clanging against it, and coming into view.

I hold up a limp-wristed claw for her to use as a handhold, and then gently help to lift her out of the hatch, so she can step easily onto the roof.

And she steps forward and hunches over her cane and squints at Dragon.

"Can you talk, or do you need a device?" Rhoda asks.

I feel that stuttering shift again, and then Dragon replies, "I can talk."

"You're too fancy," she states.

"I am the Artist of Being a Dragon," Dragon responds. "How else can I be?"

"Crude. Monstrous. Of the people," Rhoda tells them. She gestures expansively at Fairport, and I know she's indicating my neighbors. "You know. Good qualities."

"Ah."

"Eh," she waves a hand at them. Then she turns and heads back toward the hatch. Stopping there, she looks up at me and says, "This isn't my business. This is dragon stuff. It's up to you."

I expected her to say something like that, but I still feel an incredible amount of disappointment. I don't want our relationship to be that divided, particularly over this. She matters to me, and the impact that I have on her life matters to me. Since I am going to lay an egg and see to it that it hatches, I want that child to be as compatible with her as possible. If she wants nothing to do with my child, that's fine. I just want her to have every opportunity to negotiate that relationship herself! I want her to know that it is her business if she wants it to be.

This breaks my resolve and I feel the need to tell her. Before I can stop myself, I'm stretching to reach my tablet and pull it within talking range to say, "I want this be your child too. If you want."

The look on her face startles me, such an intense mix of emotions, and she asks, "How?"

"Somehow," I respond. "Maybe Chapman help."

She is fully informed by now about how my breeding works. She knows I'm opening myself up to every dragon in town, and why, and she agrees with it. And she knows I've marked myself as not open to humans on my app account. And I've already said multiple times I intend to take all of the childcare into my own claws and mouth. I'll accept help from my family, meaning her and my other humans, but I won't expect it. It should be disappointingly light work, in any case.

She closes her eyes and relaxes every muscle with an exhale of breath, then turns more calmly and looks at Dragon again.

"I can see what you see in them," she says. "I imagine they can teach you a lot, too, of course. And the more we both know, the better." She squints at me with a grim but satisfied smile, considering me in some way, and then points at Dragon and addresses them, "You. Come down to our apartment and have dinner with us. You and I have gotta talk some shit before I let you court my girl, you hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," says Dragon.

"That's a good start." Then she turns to me, "And you. You shoulda asked me sooner. But I get why you didn't. You were thinking of me and tryin' a give me space, and I appreciate that. But you should know that if you hadn't a asked just now, we'd a had a talk later tonight." She grins, looking really smug. "And it sounds like it mighta gone well anyway."

—

After a long talk with Dragon, I decide I do not want to be able to talk to or understand seagulls, so I forgo that particular offer. Even if it means I won't ever be able to speak a human language fluently, I'm fine with that. I can fully speak and understand draconic now, and people can learn that if they need to.