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seoul-bros · 9 months

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Sometimes...

Jungkook remind me of another very famous Asian artist, Leslie Cheung.

Leslie was a very famous actor and singer. He remains one of the most celebrated artists in China, 19 years after his death. He was also openly bi.

His film "Happy Together" is one of the earliest films in Asia to deal with a gay relationship.

Jungkook doesnt really resemble him physically but I do think their appeal/aura kinda similar?

Like they both have/had a very soft, yet powerful masculine appeal. Their masculinity is not threatening yet very palpable and inciting instead of repelling. Dunno how to describe this any other way.

Also both are Virgos lmao.

Leslie Cheung in his own words

So sorry, I took so long to respond to this but I don't get many messages like this and I wanted to take time replying and try to do justice to what you are saying here. I have been reading more about Leslie Cheung his life and his legacy and in so doing I begin to see where the comparisons you make to Jungkook come from.

Leslie Cheung (1956 - 2003)

“I believe that a good actor would be androgynous, and ever changing”

I remember Leslie Cheung for his performance in the 1993 film Farewell My Concubine. The film won the Palm D'Or at Cannes as well as awards for Best Foreign Language Film at the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes. He plays Cheng Dieyi, a Peking opera singer, abandoned and abused as a child and trained to sing the opera's female roles. The film focuses on his tumultuous lifelong relationship with fellow opera singer Duan Xiaolou and Xiaolou's wife Juxian. It is set against the massive societal upheaval in China in the early 20th century. It's a heartbreaking performance which reminds us of the fragility of love and friendship and the lasting effects betrayal can have upon us all.

"Leslie Cheung gives the performance of his career" Time

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What I didn't know when I saw the film, was anything more about his life. His singing career, his huge celebrity in Asia and the fact that he was an openly bisexual man at a time where globally, attitudes towards homosexuality were at their most negative.

"Your love belongs to you and you alone.....as long as you are happy and, harm no one, do not be bothered by idle chatter."

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I also wasn't aware of the role he played in shaping LGBT representation in Hong Kong cinema and the lasting impact that this has had on subsequent queer films and filmmakers which is perhaps best embodied by the 1997 film Happy Together which you mention.

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"The theme of my performance is this: The most important thing in life, apart from love, is to appreciate your own self"

He was determined to be true to himself in a world that was not yet ready for such honesty. His 2000, Passion tour included eight costumes designed by Jean Paul Gaultier which blurred gender lines. Although the tour was very successful, there was a backlash at home which affected him deeply.

Article Link

"I hope you'll forever remember me, because I will forever remember your cheers and applause."

2023 is the 20th anniversary of his death and it is a testament to his legacy that every year people still visit the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Hong Kong to pay tribute.

There was a commemorative concert in April and the Miss You Much Leslie exhibition is being held at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum until October 2023. Leslie Cheung continues to garner new fans as his films and his music reach new younger audiences.

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This GQ article from last year tries to capture how Leslie Cheung continues to influence the next generation of artists.

Leslie naturally possessed both feminine and masculine [qualities]—not to mention an enigmatic mystique that was just so unique I think no other star has come remotely close to having,” the trans Filipina filmmaker Isabel Sandoval told me. “I think he's the closest we've come to a modern-day Garbo in his sexual ambiguity.”

Jungkook definitely shares that characteristic of tantalizingly blending feminine and masculine qualities to create a unique presence which cannot be ignored.

"Great style is wearing anything you like, regardless of gender"

He is known for rejecting traditional gendered fashion and his support for LBGTQ friendly brands.

On stage he is mesmerizing.....

...and off stage he is grateful and giving with his fans.

"Whenever ARMYs miss us, you can come to us. If you have to go or if you want to go, it’s okay for you to leave us. But always remember, I will always be here."

Although, Jungkook has never and may never talk about his sexuality, I do believe that every day he is trying to be true to himself, show us who he is and live an as authentic life as is possible. He is an icon for this century just as Leslie Cheung was an icon for the last one.

Post Date: 25/08/2023

#leslie cheung #jeon jungkook #jungkook #farewell my concubine #happy together #queer icons

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 1 year

Text

Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 2

(Ch. 26.1) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: With the Gestapo on high alert and a bounty on her head, the stakes are only getting higher for Alix as the night of her mission fast approaches. But luckily, she and Captain Nixon have some help.

WARNINGS: War, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, Nix's functional alcoholism, the usual

A/N: All disguises mentioned are actual techniques used by the OSS, SOE, & CIA! Also, Cisco is based heavily on SOE spy Juan Pujol Garcia (aka Agent Garbo) & several other Spanish Maquisards who fought the rise of fascism in Europe for years before WW2 began!💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 2nd, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix awoke to the sound of hushed voices in the hall.

Cracking a reluctant eye open, she reached for her knife just as the mantle clock chimed.

4 o'clock in the morning.

Splendid.

She must've dozed off waiting for their asset's arrival.

Silently easing herself off the couch, she crept towards the adjacent wall, her path just barely illuminated by a cool sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.

The voices were getting closer…

Alix relaxed instantly as she recognized her handler’s voice, dry bemusement drizzled over his every word like syrup.

"That’s all you brought, Picasso? One bag?"

There was a hearty chuckle from the darkness and then a second voice replied simply:

"They tell me pack light, I pack light."

The speaker's voice had a rather airy, almost nasal quality she hadn't heard before and a pleasant, rolling accent she couldn’t quite place.

Sheathing her knife, the spy subtly retreated to the sofa, managing to be seated just as the two men entered the room.

“Sorry we’re late, Runt,” Nixon remarked as he threw himself into his usual chair and propped his boot-clad feet up on the coffee table.

His gaze flickered over to their visitor and playfully raised his voice just loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Seems like the Spanish can’t keep to a schedule!”

"Next time, you hike the Pyrenees then, chaval," the diminutive newcomer retorted, a toothy grin appearing from underneath his scraggly beard as he removed a faded leather jacket and placed it delicately on the coat rack.

"And I will be the one to drink and complain. Besides, 'Más vale tarde que nunca', as my abuela always said."

As the asset dragged a chair from the kitchen and into the living room, Alix watched him blearily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

He was supposed to be here at midnight, she thought with a pang of irritation. What had taken him so long?

The visitor-- Picasso, Nixon had called him-- was in his early thirties, disheveled in ill-fitting black fatigues covered in dirt and twigs, a dark cotton shirt nearly swallowing his frame whole.

Even in his beaten-in combat boots, he couldn'tve stood more than an inch taller than her and he was so slight that his clothing seemed to hang off him like the rucksack he had slung off one shoulder.

Noticing Alix's scrutinizing gaze, the visitor's smile only widened and the American spy observed a barely-visible gap between his two front teeth that reminded her vaguely of her baby cousin.

"You must be La Mariposa Negra," he noted brightly as he sat down, placing the canvas rucksack onto his lap with care.

"There is a poem in my country called that! Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alix responded stiffly, still trying to figure out who on Earth this man was working for, why he was late, and why he was now sitting so casually in the living room of the safehouse as though he were part of the furniture.

“Ah, qué pena,” the Spaniard commented easily, still seeming far too cheery for the hour.

“But probably it will lose something in translation anyway."

From his chair, Nixon yawned lazily before gesturing to his protégé.

“Agent Martinelli, meet Cisco León Estrada of the Cantabria Maquis. He’ll be in town for a few days on special assignment.”

The Spaniard extended a gloved hand and they exchanged brief pleasantries before he began unpacking the canvas rucksack on his lap.

“We hear much about you on the radio, Mariposa,” he gushed as he placed two detail brushes onto the coffee table.

"How you make the Germans afraid. It will be an honor to work on you.”

Alix was instantly alert.

“On me?!”

"Correct,” Nixon commented from his place to her right, popping a caramel block into his mouth before going on:

"Cisco is a master of disguise. The SOE calls him Picasso for a reason."

“You are too kind, my friend," the Spaniard replied with a modest wave of his hand. “I have had much practice.”

"Donovan called him in for you personally, Runt,” her case officer garbled through a mouthful of candy.

“He’s going to get you– Well, ‘Tanya’ – ready for her big debut.”

A small vial of dark liquid was placed onto the wooden table top with a plink.

"Is that iodine?" Alix asked as she eyed the antiseptic nervously. “Somebody performing surgery?”

The two men exchanged glances.

"Yes" Nixon deadpanned at the same time Cisco answered with a light "No".

"Well as long as we're all in agreement," Alix snorted as the shorter man rose from his seat, scrutinizing Alix with a pensive gaze.

The former model recognized that look and remained still, patiently allowing the artist to work.

Mumbling to himself in Spanish, the Maquisard plucked absentmindedly at the bush of his beard for several minutes as he paced and studied her features, clearly trying to decide where to begin.

After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"The eyes,” the Spaniard stated with a decisive nod. “Then teeth. Then hair.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Breaking an ankle during jump training hadn't been as miserable.

It had been one flash of pain when she'd collided with the ground and that was it. Mercifully, the bone had gone numb. Alix wished she could go numb now.

But instead, it felt like her scalp was being flooded with lava, each strand of hair being personally seared to the root by the peroxide Cisco was using.

She'd been sitting on the edge of the tub in a robe they'd pilfered for what felt like half an eternity, letting her stinging eyes wander the cramped bathroom.

The Spanish asset, Cisco, was standing by the counter, a needle-thin brush in hand as he painstakingly dabbed each pearly tooth of the mold with a thin film of iodine just dark enough to discolor them.

Every good agent knew the devil truly was in the details.

Eating with the wrong fork, a discontinued brand of cigarettes, a discarded receipt with a traceable bank number, even wearing a certain color too frequently could all spell disaster for an agent undercover behind enemy lines.

They couldn't afford to overlook anything; Alix's life would depend on it.

But even with Captain Nixon firing questions at her about her cover from his spot on the tile, all she could think about was the torturous burning sensation of her head and the dark blue colored contact lenses making her vision blur.

"Madonna mía, can I rinse it out yet?" she burst out finally, her fingers clenching onto the side of the tub as she tried to distract herself from the sizzling sting of the liquid seemingly seeping into every open pore.

"Please? Jesus Ch-"

"Only if you are wanting to lose half your hair," Cisco responded, his sharp eyes never wavering from his work.

"And I do not think you are wanting that."

"Where did you go to school, Tatiana?" Nixon quizzed her as he reached the third page of her cover's dossier.

Alix ignored him.

"How much longer?" she inquired and the Maquisard took a quick glance at his watch.

"Thirty more minutes, tía."

"Am I talking to myself?” Nixon complained loudly. “I said, 'Where did you go to school, Tati-'"

"It's Tanya," Alix snapped finally, dropping her voice to a lower, throatier pitch with a thick Russian accent.

"Only my mother calls me Tatiana. And I was trained at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy."

Her case officer didn't miss a beat.

"And your mother? Where did she train?"

A trick question.

"This is joke, yes?" the spy asserted, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an imperious toss of her head as she imagined a spoiled collaborationist socialite like Tanya would.

"We only train with the best. And the best have always been at the Bolshoi."

Captain Nixon gave a silent, grudging nod and Alix could see him fighting a smile at her performance.

"And your dad?" he prompted. "What's your old man do?"

"He is dignitary," she responded, the smoky quality of her lowered voice adding an extra layer of flippancy.

"That is all you need to know."

Nixon nodded his approval and drew a check mark in the margins of her dossier just as Cisco put the finishing touches on her false teeth and sat them on the counter to dry.

"I must get the, ah como se dice…El tinte– " He gestured frantically as he tried to summon the English term.

"Hair dye," Nixon supplied and the Spanish Maquisard nodded enthusiastically, scooting the large box toward himself.

"Sí, yes–" he said between grunts as he tried to pry the tightly-sealed packaging apart. "The dye! Hostia–"

With a huff of irritation, Cisco flicked a knife out from his boot and began to carve the box open to get to its contents.

“You would think–” he muttered in between laborious saws. “– they are hiding gold in here, when really, this– ”

With a final, swift cut, the Spanish operative was able to dip his hand inside and pull out a small package of Auburn Allure buried within layers of cardboard.

“– is all.”

“Dye’s hard to find these days,” Nixon commented as he shifted from the sink to the wall so Alix could finally rinse the peroxide from her hair.

“With shortages and all. Kathy’s always on about it.”

The cool rush of water on her scalp sent a shiver of relief washing through but when she flipped her hair back and looked into the mirror, Alix let out a yelp of horror at the ashen creature staring back at her.

“What did you DO?!” she shrieked as she clutched at the limp strands of her now ghastly-yellow hair.

Skip and Don were going to have a field-day with this.

“Hostia, I told you not to look yet,” Cisco scolded, swatting her hand away from her face.

“You will only scare yourself. Captain Nixon, the scissors porfa.”

Alix opened her mouth to respond but suddenly thought better of speaking sharply to a highly-trained operative with scissors now in hand.

“Not. One. Word." She growled in Nix’s direction and even though it obviously pained him, her case officer made a sarcastic zipper motion across his lips and turned back to her dossier while Alix continued to violently pantomime slitting his throat.

“Ignore him,” Estrada uttered sympathetically, swiping a portion of her bleached hair to the side and clipping it.

“We are not even halfway finished. You must trust me, vale?”

Alix sighed hopelessly and rubbed her stinging eyes again as the operative took the scissors to her beloved hair.

“Vale.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Within a couple hours, Alix had gotten used to the contact lenses and even the uncomfortable dental façade that shifted her jawline but she was still getting used to the overall person staring back at her in the mirror.

The haircut and bangs suited her face surprisingly well but being a bleach blonde did not. Luckily, the Spanish operative had a plan to fix that too.

“Damn Cisco,” Alix remarked in a tone tinged with envy as she watched him combine ingredients like an expert chemist.

"You can do hair, you can paint, you can take a dental impression, you can kill a man in probably at least 5 different ways, is there anything you can’t do?”

The Spaniard contemplated the question as he vigorously shook the bottle of dye.

“Maths,” he declared after a moment’s pause.

“When I was in university, I always struggle in Maths. Painting a scene from memory, no problem, but you ask me to solve a complicated equation? This I cannot do.”

“What did you end up studying while you were in college?” Alix inquired curiously as he began to apply the deep burgundy dye into her hair with patient strokes.

“Art,” was the wistful reply, his hand faltering slightly with his fading smile.

“But I leave university when the Guerra Civil starts… My little brother and I, we fight in the war. I make it out…Diego does not.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alix whispered, instinctively reaching to touch her rosary.

She knew the ache of that loss all too well.

“How did you end up in the intelligence game?” Captain Nixon asked, finding his voice.

In the mirror, she could see a shadow cross Cisco’s face.

“I go home to Cantabria. I see what Franco has done to mi pueblo…mi gente… mis amigos… Everywhere you look, there is death."

He swallowed hard.

“That is why I no longer go by my first name... Francisco.” He spat the word like a bitter curse.

“After what I have seen…All of the things he has done to good people, all of the things he is doing to mi amada patria…I cannot stand –”

His voice broke and he cut himself off, lapsing into a tense silence.

After a moment, he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

“So I put down my brushes… I pick up my guns and I go to the mountains, I join the Maquis. Then the SOE, they reach out to me. They hear of my background. They want to train me in disguise and–”

He finished brushing in the dye and made a half-hearted gesture with the brush as if to say Voila, here I am.

“Bueno, what about you? Why intelligence? I am curious.”

Alix took a deep breath and shifted anxiously in her seat.

What reason could she give? There was only one reason she had stuck with the OSS for so long, only one reason she hadn’t quit the spy game long before.

This operative had just poured out his whole life story to her and she couldn’t even say a name?

“M-My brother,” she forced out, surprised at how brittle her voice sounded as the words tumbled out.

“He, um…He was a Navy lieutenant. He shouldn’tve been there that morning, on the ship, but –”

She took a shuddering breath, the words feeling like sawdust in her mouth as she slowly continued.

“– But he'd stayed the night to mediate some stupid squabble. So he was with his men that morning on the Arizona when…when–”

She shook her head, unwilling to give voice to the awful words, but she didn't have to.

"Entiendo por lo que estás pasando," Cisco intoned sympathetically as he began painting dye onto another section of her hair. "We have both lost much and it drives us here, to make a difference."

"Definitely. I tried to join the Women's Army Corps first," she admitted. "But I don’t take orders well. So suffice it to say, my superiors and I didn’t exactly get along.”

She looked over at Captain Nixon, expecting some sort of quip but he appeared to be studying the pristine white tile, so she went on:

"Luckily, Director Donovan was looking for the headstrong type and knew my father personally, so he asked if I would be interested. And--”

She shrugged, trying and failing to keep her tone light.

“Here I am.”

"Bueno," Cisco chuckled. “My wife, Yessenia, has a favorite saying: 'Pan con pan, comida de tontos'.”

Alix's brows knit in confusion.

“‘Bread with bread'…?”

“A ver, it loses something in translation,” the Spanish operative expressed with another breezy laugh. “Es como...all the same is boring, no? It is good to be different.”

Captain Nixon was strangely quiet throughout the course of the conversation and Alix stole another furtive glance in his direction.

The intelligence officer was taking a sip from his flask with a hollow stare straight past her, at the wall.

He was the odd one out, she realized, and he knew it.

The only one of them who hadn’t lost anything…or anyone.

It suddenly dawned on Alix that she had never known why he had joined the Airborne to begin with or why he had agreed to become a case officer. She never knew why he was so strict with her but lackadaisical when it came to everyone else.

To be frank with herself, Alix realized she had never thought to ask. Even if she had, she reasoned, would he have given her a real answer? Probably not.

But now that everyone else was opening up too, perhaps he just might.

"Hey Nix--" she started and it was almost like her case officer sensed that she was about to inquire seriously about a topic he was loath to discuss because he hurried to cut her off.

“Say, you two mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Madonna mia, you’ve got to be kidding,” Alix groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation before adopting a gruff, mocking tone.

“What happened to ‘no radio for the month, Runt. It's not safe’?!”

“Well first of all," Nixon noted dryly, already exiting the bathroom to retrieve the contraband. "That impression of me could use some work!"

Moments later, he reappeared, radio in hand, and plopped it onto the bathroom counter.

"And second of all," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk at the look of indignance on Alix's face. "Since we’re leaving tonight, HQ gave the okay."

Before the young agent could respond, the saccharine voice of one of Germany's most notorious propagandists came wafting over the crackling airwaves.

“–the Andrews Sisters singing ‘Pistol Packin Mama’. GIs sure love girls and guns, don’t you? Is that why some of you are lending your aid to The Black Butterfly?"

Axis Sally let out a girlish giggle so malicious that it made the spy’s blood run cold and she exchanged worried glances with Nixon, whose expression had darkened instantly.

How did Berlin know she was getting help from American soldiers?!

Where were they getting such detailed information?

Even Cisco blanched as the announcer’s words set in, the dye brush slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, deep red splattering across the tile.

“You are smart men," Sally purred coquettishly, somehow sounding more threatening than if she had been yelling.

"Surely you realize you’re backing the wrong horse. After all, do you know how easy it is to kill a butterfly?”

There was a brief pause and then another chime of haunting laughter as the infamous announcer answered her own query:

“All you have to do is catch it.”