#i could have a genderless day and hear a ''good boy'' or ''good girl'' and be like 👀 yess hello thats me

[rouge-the-bat]

"i only have a gender when its funny" how about only having a gender when its kinky

[naneun-no]

Ramble Thoughts on 3D ft. Jack Harlow:

- Feels like 3D is something that would have come out in 2006? I’m not mad about it but it does feel like Gen Z is taking this whole Y2K revival thing too seriously 🥹 like y’all have some big Air Force Ones to fill and I’d rather see a fresher take but okay

- Speaking of Nelly people are acting like they’ve never heard a rapper objectify a woman before and it’s kind of odd. I think maybe people haven’t listened to Jack Harlow before if they’re surprised by the contents of his verse. I’m not saying we can’t ask for more or expect more but the shock I’m seeing is kind of strange.

- JK does not sound that good...? To me. It seems like he’s maybe in too high of a register? Or maybe it’s too many minor chords for me. Not that he can’t hit the notes effortlessly but it’s just not a pleasant register to me? This is a song I can see getting stuck in my head in an annoying way and not a “omg I have to listen to it again turn it on” way, which is a bummer.

- I love the dancing, and the fire hydrant bit at the end was very cool visually.

- This whole thing reminds me strongly of some of Pharrell’s more controversial hits in the mid-aughts, especially Blurred Lines. Except… Blurred Lines was a better song 😬😬😬 if you’re gonna talk about women like they’re pleasure dolls in 2023, at least make sure your song is unusually good. Just my humble opinion.

- I think objectification is an interesting topic and we could go on about it, but some of the shocked and horrified responses I’m seeing on Twitter are from NSFW fan fiction writers (of which I am one full transparency) and artists and there is a blatant hypocrisy in that that I find somewhat amusing. Like. Very few of us are truly innocent of ever sexually objectifying someone else and let’s just be honest about that. Not to mention the objectification of Jung Kook’s every body part that has been happening recently, even up to as recently as the promotions for this specific song. Like… hang on a minute. We can all collectively drool over and go feral for and zoom in on his shirtless chest and talk about his waist and his nipples and his belly button but… god forbid he shares a song with someone doing the same thing? Idk maybe I’m oversimplifying.

- The “girl”!! Oh, people are gonna be mad. Why can’t he always only ever sing his songs to a faceless genderless “you”?! Because A) he is not writing these songs and requesting a gender change to a song that someone else wrote would be a declaration. B) I’ve said it before but it’s entirely possible he is into women. Again, he didn’t write this one but in a recent performance he did intentionally swap out a pronoun that he could have skipped and so let’s not make too much of it but let’s also not ignore him over and over again for the sake of our own beliefs. Not with bi visibility day still in the rear view 🥲 C) His behavior toward and about Jimin has not changed so I have not changed my attitude toward their relationship. Simple as that. D) he did not write this song. If he is queer he is closeted. Chill out.

- I want more for him, I’ll just say it! Lol. I think he has so much musical potential and right now it feels like we’re just waiting for him to actually come into it. But I do love the choreography, the boy band vibes, the confidence. I think I’m appreciating Left and Right more and more as time goes on; that seemed like a really excellent creative fit and the concept was so fun. But maybe I’m projecting my wishes onto him. It’s his career, not mine 😅 he is his own person, he doesn’t owe me a damn thing.

That’s all for now, just sort of felt like word vomiting this morning instead of doing anything productive. Would love to hear others’ thoughts!

[enbesbians]

Hi there. I am currently struggling with my gender. To put it simply, my birth gender is female but lately I've been feeling a detachment to it. Some days I feel like a woman and other days nothing. Just me. I don't know if that makes sense. But I've simply deduced that I'm non-binary. I've read a lot about it, but I still have doubts. Also, I think it's a bit related but I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I want to look like a masc because I find myself more attractive that way and I feel more comfortable than my feminine version. I've always used to be a fem but as I said, I'm more comfortable in my skin as a masc. The problem is that when I see tiktoks of women wearing make-up and pretty clothes, I feel the need to become a feminine again. I used to love doing my makeup and I want so much to do it again. However, I tried it again not long ago and was repulsed by make-up, if I do say so myself. I'm really lost.

hi there pretty thing, firstly i want you to know that what you’re going through is absolutely okay. self discovery is such a hard thing to process and it can take a very long time to feel content within yourself and just know that each step you take is like leaping over mountains, you’re doing an amazing job.

i want to congratulate you even if you don’t feel so sure you’re nonbinary. if you do so happen to change, im still proud of you. gift yourself the opportunity of self care and think of it as character building— ‘this is who i am now’. no matter if you see others wear pretty clothes, makeup, dresses or anything opted to be feminine, you can still be pretty and masc presenting. oh all the pretty mascs in the world… you’re definitely one of them. if you feel comfortable that way, then be kind towards yourself and continue to present yourself that way. you don’t need to appear something else you don’t resonate with just to be socially ‘pretty’ since you were afab.

you’re so pretty in your boxers.. you’re so pretty in your jeans and ‘boy’ shirts… you’re so pretty in your masc styled hair. you’re a pretty person no matter how unfem you are and choose to continue to be. the prettiest in fact.

ive dealt with similar issues and even to this day being a nonbinary person (they/them pronouns) i give myself a hard time in what i feel comfortable in and what i deem to be androgynous in how i present myself. im moreso masculine and grew up as a tomboy— im tall… i have a deep, raspy voice so whenever someone would hear me over the phone they automatically assumed i was just a little boy. i knew i didn’t want to be a girl at the age of 6 but i also knew that i didn’t want to be a boy either. i slung myself around when it came to clothes, hating the fact that i was forced to wear dresses and look all pretty and proper in formal settings. having my legs being shown felt like hot lava was being poured against my thighs— i felt so exposed. my body is very curvy and so lots of people commented on that too and i SWORE id never wear makeup because of how it was presented in media— only for women and feminine presenting people.

one time when i was 13, i was given money to buy any type of clothes i wanted and i ended up in the male section— a dark crimson and black strapped shirt with a little pocket on the left side of my breast— i wore that so goddamn much it didn’t even seem like i had any other shirt. my gender felt affirmed and i felt so comfortable.

as i grew and was able to dress how i wanted to dress, i present as genderless, adding things that were both fem and masc, but how i put it together made it seem like it was neither. anything you put together doesn’t have to have a certain gender to it— it’s how you put it together and style yourself. my love for gothic/horror makeup felt easier to wear because i didn’t have to do full glam with good thick eyebrows, shimmer shadows and bold red lipstick, i could wear dark eyeliner, deep red shadows, maybe even dramatize my cheekbones. with makeup, you can manipulate your face in any shape or form. i think the way makeup is presented it makes it seem like there’s only one way of wearing it and it enables femininity… that’s not true. it can affirm masculinity and androgyny, it’s all how you put it together. trial and error and in the end you’ll find something that fits you.

to sum it all up, it’s amazing that you’re so self aware about what makes you feel good— keep paying attention to that. keep wearing things that makes you feel ‘pretty’ without needing to be like those girls on tik tok. be kinder to yourself and realize that whatever you want to try is okay and if you so happen to not like how it looks on you, then try something else. it’s a learning process and it might seem hard in the beginning— dreadful and never ending, but once you find the clothes that hang off your frame just right and if you want to, find makeup that can highlight your masculinity, god you’ll feel like you’re on top of the fucking world and ill be there to smile.

if you ever have more questions, ask away. im here. just try not to be so hard on yourself. sit down and breathe… don’t compare yourself to others, they don’t matter. pay attention to you, be selfish and find your true self you’re searching for.

[wowzerwyrm]

As a cis guy, I’ve been considering going on estrogen and HRT.

Cis, in this case, being that I was born male, identified as a boy in my youth, still do identify as a man and use He/Him pronouns, and have no desire to stop if/when I do start on HRT. I probably wouldn’t still label myself as cis at that point, but until then I am just a guy.

I’ve been generally genderqueer and non-conforming, at least as far as I could be in the church I was raised in. Pink ties and long hair and occasional painted nails was closer to blasphemy than not half the time, but I was lucky enough to have a mother and sisters that had fun playing dress up with me so long as I didn’t actually wear a skirt to church.

Now I’m out of that church and in a world and a city where trans and genderqueer people are common, where my colorful socks are standard, where I don’t have to be limited to shoulder-length hair or even skirts. I can genuinely do whatever I want now.

And I’m thinking about HRT.

I’m not a girl, or at least not exclusively. Maybe genderfluid, maybe something else. I don’t feel dysphoria about presenting as a guy, and I’ve always enjoyed being seen as having positive male qualities. But I also think I would enjoy being seen as a girl, more often that I am now.

And under it all, it I had to give myself a specific label or gender based on how I feel inside, (at least compared to how I hear other people talk about it) I’d probably go with agender, or genderless.

I think, if gender is a construct and a performance, then it’s one I enjoy being an actor in, but for others more than myself. At home, I don’t feel any urge to wear anything particularly defining, and I don’t really want to transition in any way just for my own sake. Almost entirely, it would be so I could go out in public presented one way or another, meet people, make friends, flirt, play the part I’ve chosen for the day.

I’m thinking about HRT, so I can more easily do both. I want to be closer to androgynous, not so I can avoid the gender binary but so I can more easily play either part.

And, most importantly, so I can be a little weird about it.

I want to push some of the norms and expectations of those around me, have interesting conversations. I want to follow the rules of being either a guy or a girl so I can more easily break them in interesting ways.

Sometimes, I’d like to just be a girl in the eyes of others, body shaved, makeup on, outfit casual and normal, chill, friendly. Sometimes I’d like to be a little more sexy, loud, silly.

Sometimes I’d like to be a guy, tall and confident and cool and kind, or maybe with ripped jeans and funky clothes and hair styled all over.

I want to go outside as someone else, see how people react to it, and play into it, play around with it. I don’t know what my coworkers will think if I grow boobs but never tell them to call me different pronouns, and it makes me nervous, but also interests me.

I’m just worried, mostly, that I won’t be able to keep up with the image in my head. It’ll be a lot of work, and I’m not sure if some of the side effects will be worth what I’m trying to achieve, especially when I have other priorities, art and writing as well. As well as if I choose to bind fairly often, that won’t be good for my ribs long term.

I’ve got an appointment tomorrow to go in and talk about it and possibly get started on hormones, if I choose to. I’m excited, and nervous, and not sure what I’m going to do.

[morgana-ren]

i need. More repressed shigaraki

Oh babe you asked for it and so yougot it 

Part I and II here

At this point, it’s been a few weeks, and Shigaraki is as close to coming to terms with his feelings for youas he’s going to get. That’s not saying much, since now that he realizes the trouble he’s in, that means he’s going to have to actually do something about it, right? Now, our boy is a man of action, but this? This is uncharted territory for him, and he doesn’t like that one bit. 

He’d rather go toe to toe with All Might than act on what he feels for you. Battles are a matter of strength, calculation, and strategy. Worst comes to worst, he could retreat and try again another day. But this? Too many variables, too many questions. Feelings are irrational and random, and there’s no way to calculate that.

Plus, if you reject him, it’s gameover, and there’s no continue. He’s not sure he could handle that. 

It drives him insane whenever he thinks about it, which is far more often than he’s comfortable with. What if you said no? What if you said yes? Then what? What could he possibly offer you?Ask you back to his room to play video games together? Then you would definitely notice the slowly accumulating pile of your ‘missing’ undergarments he’s been hoarding. 

He’s too notorious to take you out somewhere nice, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t know where to begin. Brush his ratty hair? Cologne? Pull out your chair and kiss your hand after he gives you flowers? Pleh. 

Make you dinner at the hideout? Hope you like ramen and soda in a Dixie cup. This man is barely learning how to do laundry for himself, let alone cook. Not to mention, he’d never hear the end of it from the rest of the League. The infamous Shigaraki smitten? What a joke. 

The thought makes him want to wretch. 

Truthfully, he wants you to want him for who he is. He wants you to be content with your head in his lap while he plays his game, stroking your hair between rounds. He wants to hear your gentle sighs as you sleep curled up next to him like a cat while he just watches you nap peacefully in his room. He wants you to not shy away when he brings his lips to yours, for you not to care about the broken, scratchy texture of his mouth as he kisses you. 

In his mind, he might as well ask for his family back. He figured it had been made plenty clear over the course of his years that he was nothing special to look at. He spent most of his time isolated, so he never garnered the skills to be charming. The only girls he’s ever really talked to were the ones he taunted on online matches or subordinates when he gave orders, and those two things were genderless in his head. 

He had never bothered to figure outthe complex formalities of dating, since it was usually so far from his mind. Even when he had a surge of hormones, he could usually handle it with his hand and a few hours alone. He could forget whatever it was that had triggered his arousal. But you were always around, always near by. It was driving him to the limits of madness, and his libido was redlining and on the brink of explosion. 

Even from across the base, he could swear he could smell you. His heart would begin pounding in his ears whenever he heard your voice. He couldn’t even look at you anymore since his pasty skin would certainly flush if your eyes lingered on him for too long, and that would be a dead giveaway. 

He had begun becoming protective of you, positioning you near the back during an attack where he could protect you because he couldn’t stand the thought of you getting harmed. When you were in the thick of battle, he was always there, always watching. He knew you weren’t harmless. Not with the skillful way your feet could dance around your enemies,but he watched regardless. Completely enthralled with the gentle sway of your hair as you evaded a hit, the curve of your leg as you brought the heel of your foot into a heroes chest. 

Not to mention the way your body moved, a brutal clash of ferocity and femininity that made his knees weak. 

It had almost gotten him wiped more than once. 

You were becoming a distraction. One he didn’t quite know how to deal with. He was never one to beat around the bush, but this was something so far outside of his expertise. He had spent grueling nights trying to find something, anything  he could do to woo you, but it always ended up with him feeling foolish as he replayed your rejection over and over in his mind. 

He did have one strength though. One tiny little advantage. 

You admired him. He knew that much. 

Ever since the first night, he had been acting different around you, and you had definitely taken notice. He had been distant, cold even, and he knew you weren’t taking it well. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he would turn away and ignore you. He had pulled you back from the front of battle and you figured it was because he thought you were stupid and inept. He wouldn’t even look at you anymore, and he knew it was hurting you in one way or another. 

Your cute little head had rationalized his behavior as him hating you. Like he was shoving you off and even annoyed by you. You didn’t understand what you had done wrong, and you were trying so hard to get back into his good graces, desperately trying to appeal to him one way or another. 

It was adorable. You wanted so badly for him to like you. If only you knew how much. 

Even now, you sat curled up on the sofa in the main room, watching him as he played his game. Everyone else had long gone to bed, but ever since his switch in disposition, you had been staying up later and later, trying to understand why he was so dismissive of you lately. You figured if you were the only one he could talk to, eventually he’d relent, and damned if you weren’t persistent. He admired your tenacity. 

His four fingered grip on the controller was shaky and slippery, palms sweaty and overheated. He could feel your gaze switching between the back of his head and the game, occasionally asking him questions about what he was playing and the story line, which he would answer in short, one word answers. Every molecule in his arms ached topull you into his lap and explain every single thing in express detail, teach you how to play, quiz you and “reward or punish” you based on how attentive youwere.

The minuscule amount of self control he had kept him from doing it. 

Instead he maintained his facade of aloofness, like he was simply tolerating your presence. He could tell it was disheartening you, and it yanked on his heartstrings, but he refused to let himself act on it. It would be too slippery of a slope. It wasn’t time yet. 

Yet, it didn’t matter how far the moon traveled across the sky or how curt his answers were, you stayed put. You only left once to put pajamas on (thankfully not the ones that drove him into a frenzy, but just a pair of sleepy pants and a tank top) and had been glued to the spot ever since. A little past midnight and he could hear you yawning. Few hours beyond that and you were nodding off. He even told you to go to bed once or twice, and you’d only respond with “I’m okay.” 

Truthfully, it made him feel a little fuzzy inside that you were so determined to be his friend. Tomura was used to sleepless nights and insomnia. He wasn’t entirely sure that you were,and he knew you had a busy day that day. The fact that you were so adamant about staying by his side despite that filled him with warmth and only served to increase his ever-growing neediness for you. 

However, around two thirty, he heard you jostle behind him. His heart sank, figuring that you were leaving despite the fact that he knew it was an inevitability. I mean you had to go to bed sometime, right? His eyes couldn’t help but follow you through to the door, lingering unprofessionally long on a certain rear curve beneath your pants, having to physically restrain himself from touching you. However, instead of turning toward the bedroom area, you headed to the facilities. 

You weren’t leaving, you were going to the bathroom. 

His suspicion was confirmed when he turned around and your cell phone and drink were still strewn about the table behind him. Your drink. That you were drinking. Your drink? Your drink...

He reaches his hand in his pocket and pulls out a bottle of prescription pills. Sleeping pills Kurogiri had gotten for him when his insomnia had reached an all time high and was making him sick. He kept them on him in case he ever needed them, but he still had plenty left... 

He eyes the liquid, and then the pills. Back and forth. Back and forth. He knows exactly what he’s thinking, but refuses to admit it. He wasn’t seriously thinking of drugging you. Was he? 

You were so cute, so trusting. Leaving your drink out in a villain hideout where anyone could tamper with it. You looked so tired. You weren’t taking care of yourself. Taxing your own body Just to keep close to him. But you could do both. You could take care of yourself and stay close to him. 

He was going to help you. 

Pushing up from his chair, he pops the bottle open and shakes a pill out into his hand. Wait, better make it two. Just in case. You needed your rest. 

He makes sure to keep an ear out forthe bathroom door as he creeps toward your beverage. When he’s certain he has time, he plops the pills into your drink, quickly stirring it with his lengthy fingers so that it’s dissolved by the time you come back. When he’s satisfied,he holds up the drink to the light, just to make sure there’s no stray pill dust lingering around that could catch your attention. 

He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s helping you! You really should be sleeping you know, and it’s his job as leaderto take care of you if you won’t take care of yourself. 

He hears the door open at the farend of the hall and he scurries to his seat, nearly stumbling over the giant bulk of cords that lead to the tv. Regardless, when you enter the room again, he’s sitting in his same spot, game unpaused and face impassive. You’re none the wiser to his little trick. 

You shuffle back to your little cove on the sofa and settle in, pulling your blanket up over your hips before turning and watching him play again. His lip can’t help but curl in a devious smile as he hears the familiar clink of the glass as you lift your drink to your lips, taking several deep gulps. Mission completed. 

Over the next hour, your movements become sloppier and eventually fewer and farther between. By four am, he can hear you breathing even out completely and you’ve stopped moving entirely. He’s fairly certain you’ve fallen asleep, but he needs to be sure.

“Hey.” 

No response from you. 

He says it again, a little louder and more harsh this time. 

Still no response. You never ignore him, so you must really be out. 

He pauses his game, slowly lifting himself up from his sitting position and turns towards you. Much like he expected, you are dead asleep on the sofa, your drink completely empty. It’s now or never. 

He practically crawls toward you until he’s standing at the foot of the sofa, leering down at your sleeping face. You look so peaceful, so tender, so cute. He can’t help but to lean down and gently press the tips of three of his fingers to your cheek. Your skin is warm and welcoming, the complete opposite of his bony digits. So he lets his hand relax a bit, keeping his pinky and his thumb held outward as he lets his palm rest on you as well. 

He traces over the gentle curve of your face, cradling your cheeks and feeling up around your forehead, making apoint to brush the stray hair out of the way. He watches you as you sleep, trying to engrave your features into his memory intimately since it’s something he can’t do when you’re awake. Before long, he realizes he’s sitting on his knees, leaning in so close to you that he can feel the gentle breeze of your breath against his skin. He’s aching now, wants to be able to grab you so hard it hurts but he knows he can’t, so he’ll settle for exploring. 

One of his fingertip makes its way downward, tracing the outline of your slightly agape lips. The texture is sucha stark contrast to his own that he almost pulls away in insecurity. You’re so soft, so plush. It’s nothing like the cracks and crevasses that mar his own flesh. He can’t help but move his hand slightly downward, poking innocently at the plump jut of your lower lip. 

He does this for a moment before he realizes he’s trying to fool himself. He don’t want to poke you. He wants something else. 

It takes him several minutes to workup the courage, and several minutes more to get close enough, but eventually he’s so close to you that his mouth is barely brushing against yours. He wantsto do this when you’re awake, wants you to want it too, but it seems like nothing but a distant fantasy. This seems like this the best he’s ever going toget. 

Gingerly, he pushes down, pressinghis lips to yours. 

It’s innocent at first, at least until the taste of you makes its way inside his mouth. Like an animal feasting on its first taste of human blood, this sparks a dark, carnal need in him that twists his resolve into dust. It doesn’t take long before his hand is clutching the side of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he slips his tongue betweenyour pliant lips. His other hand is resting on your exposed collarbone, dangerously close to the curve of your breasts. 

He lets his instincts take over, sighing into your mouth and rapidly spiraling into total mental failure. He’s biting on your lower lip and sucking, tongue exploring every last centimeter he can reach. He wants more. He needs more. He doesn’t know much right now but he knows if he can’t have you, he will fucking die. 

It isn’t until he hears you moanthat he practically short circuits. Your arms are covered in goosebumps, andyou’re wiggling slightly in your sleep. Both of your lips are gratuitously coated in his slippery saliva, mingling your fluids into one intoxicating taste. His mind is going blank and his vision is practically tunneling. He can feel his hand on the strap of your tank top, practically ripping it down.

He’s losing control and he knows it. So he does the only thing he can do. 

He shoves himself away from you like you were on fire. 

He kicks away from the sofa so fast it practically rips his pants off, tearing the hood of his hoodie off his head as the bottom gets caught beneath in the friction. 

The noises emitting from yourthroat, however innocent, are positively sinful in his mind. Your unseen gravitational force is trying to lure him back in, hands moving of their own accord as they reach for you again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much and if he doesn’t stop now, he knows he’s going to do something that both of you will regret. 

The whine he produces is akin to a kicked puppy dog. He wants it, he wants it so badly and he could take it if he wanted. But he can’t. He can’t do that to you. Preferably when the time comes, he wants you to be just as willing as he is, maybe even more so. He has to lock his desires away for another night, despite the screaming and reeling in his mind. 

He yanks the console cord out without saving, chucking the controller into the corner and shutting down the tv. He cements it in his mind that he’s going to leave you be, however badly every bone in his body is protesting it. As he goes to leave though, he spares you one last glance.

Your body is still goosebumped, and you’re shivering slightly. Your blanket had fallen halfway down your thighs during his craze, and now you were probably cold. Guilt chides him into returning to you one last time, if only to pull your blanket over your shoulders. 

He contemplates carrying you to yourroom, but ultimately decides against it. It would raise too many questions. You’ll be safe here, no one would hurt you. You might wake up with a slight muscle cramp, but it’s nothing compared to the bumps and bruises you get on thedaily. You’d sleep like the dead too, catch up on all that rest you’d been sacrificing for him. 

He flips off the light and stalksdown the hallway to his room, leaving you to your slumber. He’s acutely awareof the straining beneath his jeans, kicking his legs awkwardly to avoidchafing. He concedes to himself one thing though. He’ll make a detour to yourroom. It’s laundry day tomorrow, and things tend to get lost. You wouldn’t miss a thing or two. 

[hazzabeeforlou]

Digging Deeper

Thanks @alienfuckeronmain for the tag, this I’ve loved reading everyone’s, and I tag @taintedlav @rahashirley @raisemybody @twopoppies @cuethetommo @metal-eye and @seasurfacefullofclouds1 if anyone wants to play!! 

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? ink color matters less than ball-point-ness... 

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? I want a witch’s cottage with a giant messy garden on the edge of the moors and a forest a million miles away from everyone. So country. 

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? I’ve actually stretched myself this summer! Am learning French and guitar, and idk if it counts but learning my new job which I NEVER thought I could handle lol since I’ve never worked retail 

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Honey ;)

5. What was your favourite book as a child? Well I have to say Narnia and Redwall, but when I was very tiny I loved this book about a girls who could whistle and speak to animals (named Mable) and the Velveteen Rabbit, and a book called “The Lost Princess” which is fucking amazing, by the precursor to CS Lewis, George MacDonald

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? I usually take showers because baths take too much time. Also baths are romantic and that makes me sad, and also I have to look at my body which, ug, not prepared to do that all the time rip

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Mer. Fucking. Maid. Though I’ve always wanted to fly too, I used to spend HOURS in the water just underwater swimming with my legs stuck together just pretending to be on ocean adventures

8. Paper or electronic books? I usually much prefer paper, but since I got these blue light blocking glasses I am finding i’m fine either way physically. Soul-wise though, yeah, paper

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? Probably my mango colored crop hoodie that I once smashed melting frozen blueberries on and then spent hours and days getting the stains out...

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? My real name is super boring and typical, though I do like it. I enjoy my tumblr name a lot, Toni, and it feels more genderless and constrictive than my actual name lol

11. Who is a mentor to you? I’ve had so many great teachers, but the biggest lesson I’ve learned in life is that so many you admire can be deeply flawed. I have lots of trust issues. I only take advice from a select few people, and they don’t include anyone ‘old and wise’ lol 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? Oh for sure, I used to want to be an actress or a rock star or whatever. Famous author. I would fucking LOVE to have a platform and help people and cheer people up and see people grocery shopping and have instant friends. I know that sounds terribly naive but I’ve said before I share a lot of Harry’s personality, and I just love flirting with people and smiling with them and giving hugs. Now, I would want to be famous as TONI me and not real me, because then I could never be myself because my fam would find out rip

13. Are you a restless sleeper? Depends on my mattress. Currently, yes, ugg. I wake up in an omega nesting scene from a fic every morning

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? Unfortunately yes. 

15. Which element best represents you? idk I usually say fire but I’m feeling more water lately 

16. Who do you want to be closer to? I’m working on getting to know my amazing sister better, and that’s been lovely.  

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? All my friends have been long distance for actual years, so i don’t miss anymore more than normal. I am missing just... the POTENTIAL for someone. This indefinite distancing is wearing on me. 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I was like two or three, and we were out on a full moon walk and I was in my stroller in the red sheepskin bundled up, and I remember coming up our sidewalk and looking at the world and moon and thinking, “remember this moment, or you’re going to grow up and forget how wonderful it was.” Also when I was five I had a breakdown on my mom’s lap because “I’m going to grow up and be too big to be sung lullabies to!” and I didn’t want anything to change EVER  

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? I used to make a concoction of rye crackers, mustard, and pickles. Don’t ask

20. What are you most thankful for? all the opportunities I’ve had in life. I’m so massively privileged 

21. Do you like spicy food? depends on how hot

22. Have you ever met someone famous? I saw a few celebs in NYC, Shosh from Girls, the guy from Monk, Tim Gun, John Oliver (and his golden retriever) and I passed a drunk as a skin Alec Baldwin outside Lincoln Center one day. Probably other people I didn’t recognize. Oh and S**** M***** rented my instrument right before covid hit here, and drunk him (or high him) couldn’t believe he had a h*** to play around on, and then I saw him staring at mountains being the most stereotypical rich white boy ever, also he did not send out gay vibes but don’t let that stop your Shiall, please don’t let it  

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? I almost always start with the new year and do like. A day. And then forget. 

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? PEN

25. What is your star sign? Aries sun, Aquarius moon, Pisces rising

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Depends on the cereal, those golden grams were BEST thoroughly soaked in milk fight me 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? make the world a little better 

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? Yes but you know, i’m the worst at making time for it. Still getting through that Brief Interviews with Hideous Men or whatever it is

29. How do you show someone you love them? Just thinking of them and doing little things to surprise them, I think

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Yep the smaller and more crush friendly the better 

31. What are you afraid of? I really do not. like. limb loss. no horror movies for me EVER

32. What is your favourite scent? wet Labrador because it means there’s a WET LABRADOR

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? surname always unless I’ve always known them by firsts. Religion, man

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I have this dream of buying up all the land shitty developers snatch up in this country and ceding it back to its rightful owners. I’ve legit cried over little forests turned into parking lots, thanks Joni Mitchell 

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? pools are so clean and have no sharks or jellyfish. that said, they also have no waves... 

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? turn it into the store it was closest to. I’m the lawful good box and yes I hate it

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? YES in Breckenridge one year I saw a fucking meteor shower! I’ve wished on some, they’ve never come true I don’t think. 

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? I’m too scared to have children even if I could (I can’t) because of the pressure of what would fuck them up and what wouldn’t 

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? I love my baby tat @alienfuckeronmain gave me, idk if I’d want another one someday, maybe a sister tat with my sis

40. What can you hear now? The fan, my typing, my parents watching old TV shows

41. Where do you feel the safest? With a pet outside in nature somewhere

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? putting limits on things /myself/people

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? You know I used to really DREAM about this shit, but since I realized I would have genetically DIED in any other era, and that my dreaming was a literal result of white privilege since it would fucking SUCK to be anyone else (I mean even now it’s awful wtf) I just. Stick with the present. 

44. What is your most used emoji? the laughing face. oops. 

45. Describe yourself using one word. Supercalifragelisticexpialidocious

46. What do you regret the most? I have so many. social. anxiety. nightmares from my 28 years of life that haunt me

47. Last movie you saw? l think it was the Downton Abbey movie? 

48. Last tv show you watched? Monk 

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. Surplumn. a really divinely wonderful thing, like ‘oh her lips are surplumn’ like a juicy chocolate mousse and perky breasts idk 

[hlupdate]

Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

Im gonna come to you for this because you're honestly like an idol to me (Im sure you hate to hear that lmao) and I feel like you would understand. You're non-binary right? I can't remember if you spoke about it but you use "they/them" pronouns and Im gonna assume that for the sake of the question. Either way! I've been questioning identifying as something other than cis-gendered. How did you know? And have you told people? What's the difference between relating to and empathizing with a problem

oh my god klsnalksm;lakdns;am i’m so honored thank you, but really i’m no one to idolize i’m an unemployed adult who is stuck in life who makes jokes and shit posts about fictional cats but thank you sidjk;lsz;

sorry this took so long to answer i was too tired and i wanted to think on it for a while so i can answer everything well and be at least hopefully a little organized and my answers/explanations to be legible

also this is getting long so i’m putting the rest of this under the cut wheeeeeeeeeeeeee

Yes! I am (at least partially) non-binary, I’m genderfluid and for me in particular I’m a girl sometimes, both a boy and a girl mixed together, and something in between all at once and at different times depending on who knows what, i’m like when you put soda in a cup and then put all of the different fountain drinks in at varying amounts and you do that each time you go to the restaurant but with different amounts of each soda, but like it’s USUALLY a pepsi base

anyway, it took me a long time to know, or i guess realize that i wasn’t cis because i guess i didn’t know i could? but in hindsight there were a LOT of signs and starting when i was 17 i think i started dipping my toes in different gender identities after i found out about the term “demigirl” and that’s what i kind of stuck with for a while

and then i questioned myself like am i really trans? i’m afab and identify as a demigirl does that really count (yes it does) but anyway after i went to college i was like no i think it’s just because several of my friends were questioning their gender, i’m a girl, and it wasn’t until a couple years ago that i finally FULLY realized “no, my gender is fluid, and i am a girl PLUS somethings between boy and girl and sometimes they all mixed together, sometimes all at once, sometimes individually (though very rarely FULL boy)

some things that i recognize in hindsight were signs (or were just weird foreshadows/coincidences of me being a mix of genders and it’s amusing now) include:

-when i was like 7 or 8 or 9 or something i made an image of what i’d look like as an adult in my head (or just older since in my fantasy i was 13 years old because that was obviously old enough to be a billionaire and own a castle and adopt children and a million animals and be a pokemon master, but i thought of an adult body) and my face was pretty feminine but my body shape was very masculine, flat chest, rectangular body shape, wore men-styled-ish jeans, and thickish arms

-in 7th grade for “some reason” i spent several moments thinking about what would happen if one day i came in as a boy named michael (since that’s kInD oF the “male” or “masculine” version of my name) and if like they’d recognize me or if they’d change my name on the registration or if anyone’d get confused or anything, this was also the year i found out that sex changes were a thing, i think, either 7th grade or 6th grade

-and the big one(s) for like my ENTIRE LIFE, even to this day, i would feel so confused if a girl talked to me like i was another one of the girls, specifically if they would like ask if their shirt tag was poking out and asking me to fix it, or ask if their bra strap could be seen through their shirt, asking me if their hair or clothes looked okay, asking to walk to the bathroom with them, GOING to the girls’ bathroom in general, chaning in the girls’ sometimes even being called a girl entirely, etc. made me feel

weird

like an “i’m not one of you” or “i’m not entirely like you” feeling and i thought that it was just because i’m awkward and shy and anxious that i went into the wrong room and then later oh i’m just gay and then to my realization: “oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh that’s why” and “oh, i was anxious i went into the wrong bathroom/changing room, but i also felt like i shouldn’t be in that room anyway because i’m not just a girl or not entirely a girl”

i also have and had a lot of dreams where like i was either a guy, felt almost genderless entirely, or where i would for some reason go into male bathrooms/changing rooms even though i’m not a guy (entirely or mostly)

also i i realized my favorite shirts were the ones that made my boobs look smaller or less existent, my voice would confuse me, either it being too high or low and make me confused uncomfortable because it “didn’t fit” my gender, and sometimes being called a girl or someone saying i looked like a woman made and makes me uncomfortable, and i guess the most nsfw/graphic part of this is that sometimes i fantasize and/or wish i had like

a mix of genitalia and i wish i could change my breast size and upper body shape to be flatter/more rectangular, but it’s mostly the genitalia thing, the body shape changing parts don’t happen ALL the time and not as much, but still sometimes especially if i see someone’s more masculine body and i’m just like “wow i wish that were me”, though being overweight kind of helps in that because my body shape looks more neutral, if i was thin i might have more problems with that

also, especially lately for some reason i get very irritated or uncomfortable if certain people call me a girl or she/her, very certain people i’m okay with calling me a girl and she/her but to people i don’t know well or aren’t super close to i don’t want to be referred to as she/her i don’t want to be perceived as she/her i want to be referred to as they/them

a lot of people have much more intense feelings and it’s more obvious, but they can often times be a lot more subtle and it’s okay if you don’t have INTENSE feelings of dysphoria, there’s also gender euphoria, which i think i, personally, experience more than dysphoria

i like it when people act or refer to me gender neutrally, i like it when my chest looks flatter, i like it when people use they/them for me, i like it when i feel content about knowing that i’m not cis and that i’m a mix of genders, i like thinking of myself as a gender mutt/mix or whatever, it feels GOOD, euphoric

i guess it’s hard to tell if you’re empathizing or relating, and i can’t tell you which one it is since i don’t know the particulars and i don’t know you, but what i DO know, is like 99% of time, if someone has to ask themselves “am i cis?” or “am i straight?” the answer is “no” because cis or straight people almost never even think about it or question their identity and even if the answer DOES end up being “yes, i am cis” then that’s absolutely perfectly completely valid and fine, you figured out who you are and you were in a mindset and in a safe enough space that you could figure it out for yourself and find out more about yourself

and finally, as for the telling people thing, it depends on the situation, i don’t really talk about it in real life, none of my biological family knows because my parents have shown pretty transphobic and nbphobic tendencies and if i told my brother or his fiancee then they’d start treating it like it’s some special thing and basically do that straight people thing where they like overcompensate being happy for you or supporting you or where they start talking about their other friends who aren’t straight or aren’t cis and famous people or characters that aren’t cis or straight and like i can’t deal with that

all of my friends know though, and i’m open about online and i don’t have any significant other(s) to tell but if/when i get in a relationship and on dating apps i’m explicit that i’m non-binary and genderfluid and basically not cis and before i get in a relationship i plan on talking to them about it and being like “hey if you see me as a cis girl this will not work out” they’ll also have to respect my sexuality of course and see me AS bisexual and demiacearo, not straight if i’m dating a guy and not a lesbian if i’m dating a girl, never date someone who doesn’t respect your gender or identity or doesn’t see you as who you are, or won’t let you have some wiggle room to let you figure out who you are, so that’s an extra piece of advice there for ya

i hope that made enough sense! sorry this was long and i might have blabbered on, but i hope at least some of this helps!

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 6

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3 Chapter summary:  Vexen returns to Radiant Garden and becomes Even again, but relationships at the castle remain tense and awkward. A new arrival further mixes things up.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He finds the boy outside, his eyes turned skyward. He looks exhausted; Vexen’s able to get uncomfortably close before Ienzo notices his presence. The boy’s head snaps down.

They hold eye contact for a very long time.

“Even,” he gasps.

He smiles. Sweat is crawling all along his body, pain in his chest; but he tries to remain composed. “Oh, little one. It is good to see you.”

“This was your doing," he says. “You… you could’ve told me, you know.” A wry smile.

“I’m a coward. What else can I say? The thought of speaking to you again was more than I could bear. This was the only way I could begin to atone.”

Vexen can see the weight of exhaustion within him. He’s positive the poor boy hasn’t rested a whit more than was necessary to remain alive. “I suppose you know you were successful,” he says softly. “Xehanort is dead. It’s over.”

Vexen’s feeling faint now. “Is that so,” he says.

“Even?” Ienzo asks. “Are you alright?”

He collapses before he can say anything more.

When he wakes, he’s in his own bed in his old quarters, not the med bay. His fever has broken, leaving him covered in a thin, unpleasant film of sweat. His body feels odd to him, achy. And while he feels a faint throb of remorse, it’s not nearly as strong as after the first reformation. He forces himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his head.

All of a sudden he feels old; his joints ache in a disorienting way. He knows he’s nearing fifty (or, depending on just how long he’s been hiding, has passed it), but for the first time it’s a tangible number.

Even forces himself to his feet and lurches over to the mirror over the dresser. He’s breathing hard. He looks terrible--flushed, sweaty, his hair disgustingly greasy--but this doesn’t matter.

His eyes are green, not gold. The piece of Xehanort’s heart inside of him has perished. He knows this almost instinctively.

It truly is over.

Perhaps for this reason, he sinks to his knees and sobs.

---

Just because Xehanort is dead and Even is human again, that doesn’t mean there’s time for leisure. He’s weak and underweight from his weeks of hiding, but he tries not to spend undue time in bed unless it’s unavoidable. He stumbles through interpersonal contact--reunions, conversations--in a numb haze.

The castle is exactly the same, but it’s gone through hell. Everything is either filthy, or broken, or misplaced, or some combination therein. His own human clothing, when he roots through the drawers, has been eaten by moths and mice alike. And seeing that Ienzo has co-opted his lab coats for himself--in the moment he needed them far more--he spends more time in those early days sewing than anything. It feels good to make something with his hands.

His lab is desolate, desecrated, fragile glass doors broken, supplies stolen, missing, or compromised. He spends days cleaning and reorganizing. It doesn't seem to do much good.

They've been left another replica by one of the true vessels. It was its user's desire that it go to Naminé. With Kairi presumed dead, it was a logical fallacy to figure out how to seek her heart; he and Ienzo spend hours in circular discussion, but neither of them can come up with anything good. The best they can do is prepare the replica for implantation, and wait. Ansem, quietly, is nearby, as he seeks to apologize to the girl. Apparently he wasn't the only one who suffered a great deal of moral degradation. This is actually a comfort to Even, because as the days pass, his remorse again goes heavier. He lacks composure; often he gives in to fallacies of weakness, breaking down almost distantly when he has moments to himself.

It doesn't take long for Naminé to arrive. It occurs to Even that not everything about the heart is possible to understand. When she wakes, the three of them are there. It will always give him a thrill, to see the replica go from a genderless, colorless sort of mannequin to a realized human being.

She sits up. Slowly. She seems a bit dizzy. Ienzo tries to assuage her, but it's Ansem who speaks first. "My dear girl," he says. "I am truly sorry for what we've all put you through. I realize we have not made your existence easy; that, in fact, I have made it something of a hell. I hope that, with this new chance, you can find peace. And if there's anything--any small thing--we can do to assist you, let me know at once."

Naminé seems to struggle with her words. Even takes her vitals, notes with a distant pleasure how stable they are; she's taken to this body like glue, exactly as easy as Roxas and Xion did theirs. "Where's Roxas?" She asks.

"At Destiny Islands, waiting for you," Ienzo says gently. "Riku has arrived to bring you there, should you desire it."

Her blue eyes gleam. "Yes. That's what I want." She looks slowly at each of them, but it's Ienzo's eyes she seeks (she's had the smallest amount of trauma with him) when she asks, "Kairi… where is she?"

"We're not sure," Ienzo says. "Sora is seeking her… I'm sure he will find her, if he's determined enough."

Even has known Ienzo for years. He knows when he is lying. Zexion was better at it. Despite Ienzo's trepidation, Naminé nods. "Then I should wait for her," she says. "I can just… go?"

"Of course," Ienzo says gently. "I can escort you, if you like."

She shakes her head. "That's okay," she says. "Thanks."

"It's the least we can do." Ienzo gives her a gummiphone, a brief tutorial on how to use it. "So you can be in contact with your friends."

"My friends." She smiles. "He's just outside?"

"Yes. He'll be waiting."

They all watch her go. There are a few moments of awkward silence. Ansem faces Ienzo. "You've done well, my boy," he says gently, and though Ienzo nods, Even can see his eyes on the floor. "You should get some rest. You look exhausted."

"There's still so much to be done," Ienzo says. "The computer must be tidied up--I'm afraid the committee and Sark have--"

Even touches his shoulder, feeling the boy flinch just the slightest at the unanticipated touch. "You've worked so hard. I know human exhaustion is still unfamiliar to you, but your body is more fallible than a Nobody's. You need rest, fluid, and dare I say it, a few square meals." He tries to smile. "Please sleep, Ienzo. You are no longer so alone."

Even wonders if he's imagining it, or if Ienzo's eyes are watering. "I… will try," he says softly. "Please don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything."

"I'd much rather see you healthy," Ansem says. "Go, my boy. It's alright."

They watch him go. And then it's the two of them.

"Well," Even says. "I do have some affairs to attend to. I should like to write a report about Naminé's implantation."

"...Certainly."

Even takes a few steps, then hears Ansem's voice:

"Even?"

"Yes, Master?"

"How are you faring?"

He meets Ansem's rusty eyes. There's still something missing from them. "Healthy enough," he says. "Realizing I am old, as well as a fool. I've no idea where to begin unraveling what I've done."

"You're not the only one," Ansem says. He shakes his head.

"What is it you've done?" Even asks, incredulous.

Ansem chuckles darkly. "More than sit limply in the realm of darkness, I'm afraid."

"...I see." His heart is beating hard--anxiety, and repulsion. "If it's… all the same, I should like to take my leave."

"Of course. You needn't my permission anymore."

He scoffs a little. "I wasn't asking for it."

---

Even doesn't feel quite right; he doesn't feel at home here, and neither, he suspects, do the others. For the most part, they avoid one another aside from the lightest and most superficial greetings. Even knows he needs to confront them, for any number of reasons--their mistreatment of the boy Ienzo, the atrocities they committed in the Organization, the fact that they threw Ansem into the darkness--but he does not feel able. He doesn't feel able to do much at all, actually.

He can feel the basement in his periphery, its suffering, his own follies like a magnet--

Even finds it difficult to consistently keep down foods, to sleep. He knows it is likely stress, and he sees the numbers when he draws his own blood. But how to alleviate any of this pain? How to begin? How to start to atone?

With the weight of his own burgeoning humanity, he feels nearly incapacitated. He tries to write, to create reports detailing all that happened--if so to organize his own thoughts--but often he finds himself staring into space. For the first time he despises his awareness, his intelligence, because Even is acutely aware he is becoming depressed.

Nobodies’ minds largely reject mental illness, mostly to ensure survival of the body. But as a human, it’s all coming back, the repercussions. And if the mental health situation was bad for Radiant Garden before, now it’s completely desolate.

Worsened by facts of the Fall.

Ienzo brings him tidings of it, quietly--the young man went to visit with the restoration committee, to see if there was any more news worth passing on. He’d left his lab coat at the castle. Without apprentice or Organization garb, the boy looks downright strange in civilian clothing. His teal eyes are empty, and drawn from exhaustion. “Even,” he says in an odd voice. “Have you several moments?”

“...Of course. Ienzo? Are you alright? You look ill.”

“Leon was… catching me up on town affairs,” he says slowly. “I knew this world fell, and was restored, but to hear the stories of it…” He swallows thickly and won’t make eye contact. Even gestures for him to sit on one of the stools in the lab; he does, heavily. “He… was kind enough to insist that it was not our fault. But we planted the seeds. Even. ”

“...I know.”

Slowly, Ienzo nods.

“I’m sure what you feel must be overwhelming,” Even says softly. “You’re no longer used to emotion, how it physically impacts the body. But don’t let it weigh so heavily, Ienzo. You were a child--mentally ill and manipulated. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I should have known better. And that doesn’t begin to touch what I did after.”

He doesn’t know what to say, where to even begin. “Child--”

He swallows, blinking quickly. “I… I have something I must attend to.”

Even should’ve followed him, tried harder--but he can’t.

---

In strange moments, he finds himself thinking of Demyx. Not quite with fondness, or even concern, but curiosity and a sort of worry. If Xehanort’s heart had been purged from Even, it should have been purged from the boy as well--meaning he’s lost his means to travel. Yet, he worries. What if a piece of Xehanort remains? The others worry about it too, to a smaller degree; they talk about it in hushed voices. Easier to discuss this than the emotional rot.

It turns out he doesn’t have to worry long.

In a moment ripped clean from the past, Dilan approaches him in his quarters. “Have you a moment?”

“That depends.”

“There’s something I think you’ll want to see.”

Dilan brings him not to the med bay, but rather to one of the empty apprentice rooms--one of the ones that, had they been graduated, would likely have belonged to Isa or Lea. Even sees the black heap on the bed. “We found him about half an hour ago,” Dilan says. “He was asking for you.”

Even approaches Demyx slowly. He’s unconscious, shuddering--no doubt in the throes of a fever like Even was.

“Why has it taken so long?” Dilan asks.

“Dilan, I know it’s been a while since we’ve been researchers, but I trust you did not forget about relativity.” If Demyx has been shuffling from world to world--each with its own different time signature--it makes sense that, to him at least, this is only happening now. To his body, Xehanort has only just been defeated. “I know what this is. The part of Xehanort’s heart that’s been instilled in him is dying.” He rolls up the boy’s sleeve, begins taking his vitals, wondering all the while if his were anything like this. Racing heart, fever, low blood pressure. “Would you do me a favor and get the boy some blankets?”

“Will he--” Dilan hesitates, and his lip curls. “What will become of him?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“But this means he is--”

“Unable to leave Radiant Garden, yes.” Even looks at him. “Please. Sooner rather than later. He is very unwell.” As gently as he can, he eases off Demyx’s boots, his ragged and muddy coat. No doubt as soon as the pain started, the boy sought him for help--he knew no one else to turn to. He settles the boy onto his side, a precaution in case he should vomit, and covers him.

Dilan watches this with a sort of morbid fascination. “He really did help you?” he asks, incredulous. “He really… turned against the new Organization?”

“In his own way. I’ve no idea why--but I’m grateful.”

“I should tell the others.” He shakes his head. “Do you remember the boy’s name, from the old life?”

Even frowns. “You know, I don’t,” he says. “I’m afraid I never paid much attention to the neophytes.”

“Very well. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he wakes.” With a scowl, Dilan leaves.

Even brushes a strand of hair out of his own eyes and looks back towards the boy. “You couldn’t bear to let me have  a moment of peace, could you?”

Almost as if in response, Demyx shudders more intensely and curls in on himself.

Even sighs. “Very well. My work is cut out for me, I see.” He takes a pen light out of his pocket, pulls the boy’s eyelid back. Unpleasant, yes, but he has to know. The boy doesn’t react hardly at all. Even notes with relief that the small sliver of iris he can see is Demyx’s natural teal. “Get some rest,” he murmurs. “Goodness knows you’ll need it.”

It isn’t long before the cavalry comes. Ienzo and Ansem, in tandem, like nothing’s changed. Ienzo’s expression is stricken; morbidly fascinated. “...He’s not a vessel?”

"I don't believe so. I've already checked his eyes. Not gold. Look." He demonstrates for them.

He hesitates. “Do you think he’s trustworthy?”

"I do not believe he'd cause any harm to us," Even says. "He was rather helpful with the replicas." "The boy holds no ill will. We did not speak much, admittedly, but he seemed all too happy to get a move in edgewise," Ansem says. "I believe he was merely swayed. And we can sway him back to us, if need be." "I'll monitor him, but he should be up and about before long." Even shakes his head. "Nasty business. At least it's all over now." He takes the coat. "I'll put this filthy thing in the wash with mine. Best to hold onto. Just in case." If he’s learned anything, it’s that nothing is impossible.

Ansem follows him out the door, but Ienzo remains, an odd, unreadable look on his face. “...This is what you went through?” he asks softly.

Even looks over his shoulder. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Much the same. It’s just us that went through it this way. He’ll be human before long.”

Ansem nods. “I suppose you and he only have fragments of a heart, rather than a whole one, like the others.”

“...I presume.”

“What does that… feel like?”

Even stares at him. “I’m still puzzling that one out, I’m afraid.”

Ansem nods slowly. Like the rest of them, the clothing he’s bought is secondhand; gone were the days of pristine, professional garb based on their status. Back to patching, darning, mending. He looks more like someone’s grizzled grandfather than a former king.

Even’s sure he himself doesn’t look much better. “I should like to draft a report about this,” he says. “Unless there’s something else you need.”

“We should figure out what to do with the young man,” Ansem says.

Even shrugs. “Demyx is an adult. As… eccentric as he is, he’s capable of deciding his own fate. Nor is he an amnesiac. Once he is well, he can leave.”

Ansem sighs. “Should he have nowhere else to go?”

Even scowls. “You and your strays,” he spits. “All that’s done is get us in trouble.”

The little readability in Ansem’s expression is quickly replaced by indifference. “You’re a different man, Even.”

“Well, what did you expect of me? It’s been twelve years, multiple transfigurations of the self. I’m no longer so amenable, and for that I apologize.” He feels his nostrils flare.

Ansem smiles darkly. “No, you’ve hardened.”

“I would not have survived the alternative.”

The words fall, heavily. Ansem crosses his arms. “...Quite. Well, I’ve my own work to do.”

Even launders both cloaks, revulsion making his skin prickle. Demyx, when he checks, is still unconscious, though his fever has broken. He’ll wake soon. He’ll likely have many annoying questions. Perhaps Ienzo can field that for him--the boy seems to have more patience now that he’s human.

Even, on the other hand, has less.

---

Demyx’s presence does shift things. To Even’s annoyance, the boy truly doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s as though he’s puncturing a hole in their insular world, forcing them to confront things they wouldn’t have otherwise. He’s quieter, less effervescent than he used to be. For the most part, he seems unsure of what to do with himself. This is perhaps the sole thing, aside from their reformation, he and Even have in common.

He examines the young man one last time. Aside from being too thin, he’s otherwise healthy. “Now, tell me, what was the process like for you? I’m still trying to understand it. We were the last two Nobodies whose reformation didn’t necessitate some sort of murder-suicide. It goes against almost everything we’ve learned so far.”

Demyx hesitates, flinching a little. “Painful,” he admits in a low voice.

When he says no more, Even scowls. “I seem to recall a time when I could not get you to shut up. Now, when there’s actually matters of interest, suddenly you become as taciturn as Aeleus.”

Demyx drops his eyes. Even feels his frustration building. Truly, along with anger and guilt, this is all he really feels.

“I’m trying to understand so that I can help you,” Even says slowly.

The boy takes a moment to gather himself. Gone is Demyx’s quick, though nonsensical, tongue. Even wonders if there’s some deeper change, if his sense of self has shifted like Ienzo’s. Of course it would impact the younger members all the harder. Even himself dimly remembers those days (a lot longer ago than he would like to admit), when the struggle to find oneself was a constant. “It just started hurting at one point,” he says.

Even jots that down. “Your heart?��

“Yes. Well, I guess not technically. And then the pain just got worse, and I felt like I was dying, and then I tried to open a corridor to find you, but it took a few tries. I passed out and then when I woke up it was gone.”

That all tracks with Even’s own process. “Yes. Yes, my experience was similar. Did you experience weakness, feverishness, and delirium as well?” He shrugs. “Well I did have dreams--but they’ve stopped.”

Dreams? All Even can recall is darkness. “What kind of dreams?” he prompts, the words nearly coming of their own accord. The curiosity, the desire to know more.

“I… I don’t know. This place I don’t quite remember. Something about Keyblades.” “...Fascinating,” Even mumbles. “I wonder if you were seeing some of Xehanort’s memories.” “...Maybe,” Demyx says, flinching a little.

“But if that fragment had bound to you so tightly, I’m surprised it let go as easily as it did. Perhaps Xehanort willed it when he passed.” If only he had other vessels to interview--

Then again, what kind of fool wants that?

Even looks into his eyes again. Still teal. No visible indication of anything remaining. Then again… if Demyx is dreaming… perhaps it might be good that he’s still here. “I have a favor to ask of you.” He hands the boy a notebook. “Keep track of your dreams to see if anything like that happens again. I will as well. Maybe we can divine some meaning from them.”

He sighs. “Homework?”

This is so typical. Of course he wouldn’t have changed as much as Ienzo.

“This is for the advancement of important scientific research!” Even snaps. “Don’t you see what we can learn?” He shut his eyes tightly, a headache beginning to throb. “Why did it have to be you?”

The boy glares at him. “Good question. I’m gonna go now.”

For several moments Even sits, his head reeling. There’s no need to be nasty to the boy, but yet it rose from him almost involuntarily. More like Vexen than Even. Though much too emotionally soft to be Vexen. He’s crammed somewhere between the two.

I’m too old to be dealing with this.

Before long, though, Demyx is back, this time with Aeleus. Something’s shifted. His eyes are wide, watery, and his breathing sounds wheezy, labored--

A sound of nightmares and hours spent consoling Ienzo--

“My powers,” he says quickly. “Where are they?”

Of course nobody else told him. He guides the trembling boy over to a chair. “It’s our biology,” he explains. “Now that we’re human, we’ve no need for our weapons, our powers.”

“...Our powers are gone?” he asks, his eyes dull.

“In all probability--yes. It’s unusual for humans to have abilities as specific and powerful as we did.” Nobody power is tied to the will, an expression of the self in the absence of a heart--though doubtless Demyx won’t understand this explanation.

“Can I get it back?” “I never thought you cared about fighting.” “This isn’t about fighting,” he says desperately. “Without my sitar, I--” Even’s lip curls. “Oh. That. I’m not certain what I could do for you, Demyx.”

He says nothing, but his eyes are wide, horrified. But really what can Even do? Give the boy false hope? What would that achieve?

“You could have a look in the marketplace. You might find something there that might help you make noise. Now if that is all you’re concerned about, I have work I need to tend to.”

With a quick, pained breath, Demyx leaves. For a moment, Even sits with his head over his notes, trying to conclude. Slowly, like honey, he feels something seeping into him.

There was absolutely no reason to be so short with Demyx. Not when the boy has assisted him.

He groans a little and stands, pacing slowly. After a moment, he holds his palm out, calling gently towards his shield. Sure enough, he feels nothing. It’s gone back to sleep inside of him, no longer needed.

It will only be prudent, to follow up with the others. For his reports.

Dilan and Aeleus both answer in the negative when he asks. And while he knows what Ienzo will say--well, it never hurts to be thorough.

The young man is camped at the computer, where he’s more or less lived these past few days, combing through the disaster that is now their archives. The committee saw fit to completely overtake the computer, and whatever codes it’s been fed to try and decrypt things has it working poorly. Ienzo was never particularly interested in computer science; what does the boy need to know?

“Have you a moment?” he asks.

Ienzo does not even look up, still pulling things this way and that. “Of course. Whatever is the matter?”

"You no longer have any of your Nobody abilities, correct?"

He looks up, squinting. “That is correct. Why is it you ask? You haven't either, have you?" "I have tried, and I cannot," Even says. "I wanted to make sure. He found out." "Who? Demyx?" Even nods. "I wonder if my tone might have been too sharp. He did look rather distressed. But what is it I'm to do? I'm not a miracle worker. And if I'm being honest, I'm quite content with how silent things are around here." "Strictly speaking, there is nothing we can do. Aside from have patience. Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to have dropped off those clothes. My memory has not been great lately." "You've had a lot on your mind," Even says gently. "I suspect we all have. I'll be glad to not see another one of those infernal cloaks. So drab. So… cult-like."

Ienzo looks back at the screen. "Master Ansem said essentially the same thing. I suppose I should take care of it now." His expression is grim, unhappy. Even’s glad that he’s not the only one feeling negatively about this. "I shall walk with you." The decay has only seemed to grow more noticeable. Water damage and erosion abounds, and everything is full of filth. The heavy carpets, once beautifully embroidered, are threadbare. For some reason Even feels the need to chat, to engage. The boy looks so wilted. "It's a shame. Things here were once so beautiful. If the committee were not so busy we could use their assistance. This place is a shell of what it once was." “You have to admit it feels rather significant.” Ienzo and his metaphors. The boy never did give up reading. "Too on the nose, for my tastes.” He shakes his head. "We're not shells of who we once were. We've changed and adapted. You most of all. I miss being so pliable." But Ienzo does not receive this as a compliment. “So I’ve heard,” he says darkly. “I assure you it is not as easy as it looks.” He wishes Ienzo would tell him about it. “My apologies.” Ienzo hesitates. “If only times were simpler," he says. "I feel as if I've no time to look after myself--what with Sora's disappearance and Demyx's arrival." "Sora's disappeared?" He knew of Kairi’s death--but he figured the fool would be back by now. Ienzo smiles tiredly, and explains in a few clipped sentences that Sora sought to find her heart. Despite the gummiphone, everyone has lost track of him. Even blinks. “How curious. I wonder if there’s any of his data somewhere?” "Sora's? I do not know. I'm not sure how his friends would feel if he were a replica, though." Even sighs. "I've tried to recreate Sora's heart, and we know what happened with that," he says. "As proud as I am of Xion's sentience and personhood, unfortunately his heart is so special that it seems to be a moot option. Best not to give them hope." It’s the hesitation that tells him everything he needs to know. "I thought I'd taught you better," Even says. "You should have heard Riku's voice." "I'm surprised you feel so strongly about him, not when you have such poor memories of him." Riku was nothing but a thorn in their side at Castle Oblivion--defying the odds, resisting all attempts at control. But Ienzo’s reaction is completely inexplicable--he flushes and raises his voice. "That was your replica, might I remind you," Ienzo snaps. Even raises an eyebrow. "The Riku replica? What about it?" He stops cold. “Never mind.” There’s something going on here. “Boy, tell me,” he says sharply. Ienzo’s tensed; his hands hover near his throat (in a flash, Even remembers the bruises, the scars). “Ienzo?” Even prompts. The boy gasps, a pained sound; fear floods his eyes. “Oh, Ienzo.”

"If you must know," Ienzo forces out between breaths, "Axel had the Riku replica kill Zexion." "He did?" Even laughs, despite himself. "Axel killed Vexen." And yet somehow the bastard became a guardian of light. Such brutality. But he has no time to think about such things; Ienzo’s distress is clearly the priority. “How is it you’re feeling?” His voice brings back a gut-punch of memory. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what it is I’m feeling.” He tries to soften. “Intense, paralyzing panic?” he offers. “Yes--perhaps--” He’s breathing like it hurts. "You should sit down and focus on modulating your breathing," Even says. He helps the boy down to the floor. Aside from his size, it’s almost exactly like all those times before. "It's alright. This is a normal reaction to recalling something traumatic-" "Believe me, I know," Ienzo hisses. "I am perfectly aware of what this is." His eyes belie the opposite.

"Count to ten," Even says. "Deep, steady breaths." Even sees him struggle to bring himself back under control. The wild, barely-contained agony he saw when he first reformed is back, flooding Ienzo’s every breath. He feels his heart begin to ache, dully. “Why is it you do not feel that way?” Ienzo asks. "Perhaps my heart is not quite as developed as yours," Even says. "Perhaps it is that I have not processed it all, yet." Yes, that’s it. No wonder he feels so scrambled. "I do not wish to speak of it at the moment," Ienzo says thickly. He pulls away from Even’s touch. "I must… I must go." By the time he can find the courage to say it, the boy’s long gone. “...Wait… Let me help you…” Perhaps it’s because of Ienzo’s panic attack, but Even finds himself remembering that moment with utter clarity. Begging for mercy, for his life. Being struck, twice, pinned down like one of his own experiments. Then a fire within, so bright and hot and not at all instant. Again, he cannot keep down his dinner. This will not do. Even tries to rest, because he can feel his body crying out for it--but despite what he told the boy, he can’t respect his own weakness. He dresses, flinching as his fingers brush the scars (he still has not seen himself fully in a mirror, and he surely doesn’t plan on it any time soon), and begins walking. He has any amount of things to do, but he cannot bring himself to go to the labs. So he walks, noting the autumn chill. He’s forgotten how frigid Radiant Garden can be in the fall and winter; normally he would not mind, but he no longer has Vexen’s immunity to the cold. “Even? Is that you?” He pauses; but it’s only Aeleus. “On a round?” The man shrugs. He’s wearing no uniform, carrying an old flashlight. “I… was feeling restless. Were you as well?” “...Quite.” “Would you mind if I… joined you?” Even immediately tries to reject the invitation, but finds himself saying instead, “Not at all.” So they walk, for a long time in pure silence. It doesn’t feel awkward, but it’s not comfortable, either. “You’re… alright?” Aeleus asks slowly. Even blinks. “I…” He begins. “I know,” Aeleus says. Their footsteps seem almost deafening in the darkness. The night is so calm, Even notes; with darkness withering, it’s cool as silk. “Tell me something, Aeleus.” He chuckles. “That depends.” “You… do you also feel as though you are in between?” He mulls it over. The flashlight casts strange shadows over his features. “Yes and no,” he says at last. This makes Even laugh as well. “I feel as if… I’m meant to be here,” Aeleus says. “In this place, at this time. I will do what is needed, what is asked of me, humbly. And be pleased my fate is not worse.” “...That so,” Even says softly. “I wish to… find my own ways of atoning,” Aeleus says. “Mostly… I would like to be here for Master Ansem, for Ienzo.” “...Have you spoken to him? Ansem.” “Only for a few moments,” he says. “I cannot find the right words to apologize.” The night seems suffocatingly silent. “You were there, that night?” “I… yes.” He looks at his hand, clenches it into a fist. “It was as though something came over me… enabling all the most evil pieces of myself. To give that final shove… was easier than I want to admit. But it’s his eyes I remember most.” Even cannot catch his breath. “It wasn’t betrayal, not like you think. He… he looked at me, and I could tell he knew, knew what we'd done. He said…” Aeleus exhales heavily. Even touches his shoulder, feels the tension there. “You don’t have to tell me.” ““I thought you were stronger than this.”” “That’s what he said?” “...Yes.” Even gives Aeleus space, silence. He admits slowly, “I was going to run.” “With Ienzo?” “Yes.” He digests this. “I wonder what would have happened.”

---

There’s no point in thinking about what might have happened. Because it didn’t. Even isn’t naive enough to believe fate steered him on this path; he’s done this all to himself, to the boy, and to the others as well. The guilt cuts him like a knife. Where to begin? The question cycles in his mind over and over again. As he composes his reports, sitting there, alone, like nothing has changed and yet everything has changed. Where has the time gone? They’ve all suffered and aged, but have they grown at all, the way he told Ienzo they have? Himself, especially? How can he begin to erase his sins? Can he plan while his heart feels like it’s rotting?

[coptergal]

***Do NOT look at this story if you don't like any of the following; Mpreg, Swearing, Blood and dark themes! Viewer discretion is advised!!!*** Okay ^^ Please don't hate, this the first fanfiction for me.

"A few days before the trial and yet Chester, The cutest boss from BINR has fallen sick to some fucking illness or whatever bullshit!!! What if he dies? We can't let it happen!" I said to my friends Angie, Himiko, Tenko, Shuichi, Kokichi and Korekiyo. "Maybe It's something only magic can cure." said Himiko with a look of reasurance. "It could be pregnancy?" Angie thought. "Shuichi, Why don't you state your opinion?" Kokichi teased. "I wish I could say no to Angie but *Sniff* it does seem too plausible." Shuichi answered with tears in his eyes, Slowly turned to jealousy. "It's fucked up as to how girls are more attracted to fucked up shit like tentacles than a darling detective like me." he said. Everyone gasped at his words and started mummering with concern. "What has gotten into him?" asked Tenko. Shuichi yelled "SHUT THE FUCK EVERYONE!!! I'M NOT JEALOUS, OKAY!!! I'M JUST FEELING LONELY, OKAY!!!". I fired the first truth bullet "That's wrong!". Shuichi was stunned but finally admitted to jealousy. I calmly reassured the detective that love will come to him and that it already did and I pointed at Kaede Akumatsu. "Go get her, Tiger!" I said. Shuichi blushed. Two days later after that, I was busy rubbing Chester's belly for fun and because it's kind of cute. Then I pressed my face against it cause I was so in the moment(Think of it like giving a puppy belly rubs.) but then I heard idk, A heartbeat. I brushed it off a me being too much into cuddling the treasure chest too often(Can't help myself, He's just too cute, Could a cute creature like Chester hurt you?).

Me: *Hears heartbeat* Am I hugging you too tightly, Boi?

Chester: *Blushes* Can I at least poke you off me?

Me: *Slowly lets go of Chester* I find you adorable.

I continued to rub his belly until my hand felt an abnormality in his abdomen so I slowly walked backwards and ran. I told a friend @sally-the-pack-leader about it and she mentioned mpreg. I am a giant fan of that kind of stuff so I got curious and asked "Does that mean when I pressed my hand against Chester's belly, I felt a baby kick my hand?". Sally answered "Yee!". I was shocked but exited. "Chester is having babies??? OMG OMG OMG!!! HE'S PREGNANT!!! I gotta tell my other friend Angie about this!" I told Sally. Sally asked "Doe's she like mpreg?". I responded "She mentioned it too.". Sally replied with a thumbs up. I ran up to Angie Yonaga with an exited look on my face, Hugged her and said "Chester was actually pregnant!". She responded with "Atua was right!". We both danced with excitement over this.

***The Day of The Trial***

It was trial time and we were all nervous. Monokuma wasn't the judge but a lawyer instead. A lawyer on our side. Angie, Tenko, Himiko, Shuichi, Maki, Miu, Kaede, Korekiyo, Kokichi, Toko, Makoto and Tsumigi were on our side aswell. And so was @lil-miss-misfit, @emmys-mpreg-corner, @professionallydeadinside and @cr1spy-s0da. However, Kirume, Gonta, Kiibo, Monaca, Monika, Agent Smith, Celestia Ludenberg and Sayaka was on Bendy's side. Along with @sally-the-pack-leader, mad-hatter-ison and the Fgteev family. Intense music started playing in my head. My heart was racing like wild. It's been a few weeks since the practice trial but I'm still shacking like a fucking leaf, My heart pounding in my chest all the while Chester grabbed my arm tightly to the point of almost breaking it. "What was that???" I thought. I snapped back to reality to find out Chester grabbed my arm extremely tightly that I felt a crack in my arm. I looked at Chester to see a look of pain on his face. I was worried for the poor creature and asked "Are you okay!?". He responded "Fuck no! I'm in exrutiating agony bitch!". I looked at the judged and yelled "OBJECTION!!!!". The judge yelled "YEAH!?!?". I shouted "JUDGE!!! THE DEFENDANT IS IN AGONY!!!!". The judge looked over to see what the cluster fuck was going on and yelled "Intermission! Pause the trial!". Chester jumped into my arms whilst gripping in agony. Sometime later after almost making it half-way to the hospital on foot, Chester yelled "I CAN'T TAKE THIS PAIN ANYMORE!!!!". I found a nearby bush to take a quick rest in so we both hid there. Just as I was about to pick Chester up and continue the run to the hospital, He grabbed my arm and said "Don't worry about me, Land lover.". I looked at him with tears in his eye when he said that so I stayed in the bushes with him and told him the conclusion. "Chester... This isn't... Your intestines. ... This is a baby.". Chester looked and me and yelled "WHAT!?!?". I kneeled down to comfort Chester and explained how I came to such insane conclusion. "I was chatting with @sally-the-pack-leader about it and she was the one who gave me that answer.". Chester asked "What kind of land lover comes up with such insane conclusion?".

***Childbirth in the bushes***

In about two hours, Chester was finally understanding his own situation better. He was breathing a bit hastley but calmly. I told him to push. He was indeed pushing. I grabbed a few leaves to pat his head with. Chester just looked at me and reasurred me that he was gonna survive the labour. I kissed his forehead and told him "You're doing great.". More hours passed. Chester grabbed my arm again for support as he started pushing again. He was slipping in and out of consciousness a bit. After that, Awakening in absolute agony. I told him "You're gonna be fine.". He just looks at me a bit and continues to breath and push. Sometime passed and finally what looked a human newborn came out from the treasure chest's nose. "It's a GIRL!!!" I exclaimed at the sight of the newborn. Chester looked exaughsted when I said "Congrats, Honey!". I quickly nudged him while holding our new born. In my head I thought "Oh good god, I hope this isn't a real life Clannad scenario." but then Chester woke up and asked "Am I dead?". I immediately answered "Actually you're alive. You actually pulled through.". Chester looked at the child that came out of him and held it with curiousity "All that pain caused by you?" he said to his newborn daughter. "C'mere!" he said as he hugged the newborn. As soon as Chester was recovering, He felt a sharp pain in his abdomen so he handed his daughter to me. I looked him with worry and asked "Chester-kun? Is something wrong?". He looked at me and said "I think it's happening again.". A few more hours later Chester gave birth to another child but this time, It looked like the trilobite from Prumetheous. Neither Chester nor I knew the newborn's gender and claimed it was genderless. Chester then goes into labour, One final time. I told Chester to breath and then push for one more time. Then after the last contraction, He gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I congratulated Chester for pulling through and surviving the labour. We named our daughter "Kaibako", Our son "Mozen" and our trilobite child "Kaizuchi". The End

[wellamarke]

@humanschallenge Day 4 ‘naming day’

this is thoroughly inconsequential and silly but I had fun :’)

•••

The baby is covered with a soft yellow blanket, one of the many Flash had produced as a celebration of having her hands back under control. Niska looks down at the new arrival, and nods to herself. Good. The child looks healthy. She reaches down to lift one tiny hand, checking that all the fingers are present and correct. Immediately her own finger is taken captive, the baby’s fist closing like a vice. Again, good. That’s a healthy grip. She doesn’t pull away.

From the bed, Mattie watches her with amusement. “Getting acquainted, Aunty Niska?”

Niska looks up at her. “We’re not doing that.”

“Hmm, I think we are, but talking’s a little way off yet, even for Turbo-Baby.”

“Turbo-Baby?” Mia echoes from the foot of the bed.

Mattie grins. “I forget you haven’t been here. Well, before we had a name, we had to use something, and Niska would keep going on about synthetic hybrid DNA and all that…”

“So there is a name now?” Max asks, intrigued. “I thought you were still arguing about it.”

Leo and Mattie share a glance.

“Argue?” says Leo sweetly. “Us?”

“Constantly,” says Sophie with a frown. “But go on. Tell us her name. Who won?”

“It’s not about winning, Sophie…” Mattie says, in the pious older-sister tone she’s been prepping for the upgrade to pious mother tone. “And we are going to tell you, but Dad and Toby are running late.”

“You can text them it,” says Sophie. “Come on.”

Leo grins. “Up to you, Mattie, but as far as I’m concerned, Niska’s the one whose face I really wanted to see.”

Niska gives him a Look and disengages the baby’s grip on her finger.

“You’re naming her after Niska?” Sophie says, brightening. “That’s cool. Much more badass than Hope.”

“No, Soph. Alright. Let’s do this.”

The new parents grin at each other. Everyone else waits, filling the spectrum between excited curiosity and thinly-veiled irritation.

Leo lifts the baby carefully from the incubator and sets the bundle down in Mattie’s arms.

“Everyone,” says Mattie grandly, “Meet Thomas.”

This news is met by a few slow synth-blinks and a small surprised sound from Sophie, who now seems even more impressed.

“Cool! There’s a girl in my class called Michael. Like in Star Trek. Names should be genderless, that’s what Mrs Kilburn says, I’m definitely calling my kid Sophie even if…”

Mattie giggles. “Sophie, stop for one second.” She puts her finger on her lips and nods her sister’s attention away from the baby and over to Niska, who is on her third or perhaps fourth blink of acclimation.

“A boy,” says Niska eventually.

“Yes,” says Leo.

“I mean, adhering strictly to the gender binary, for now,” Mattie amends. “You could still get your way at some point in the future, I suppose, Nis, but until we hear otherwise…”

“Until we hear otherwise, you took a fifty-fifty guess and got it wrong,” Leo crows. “The Violet Queen is fallible after all.”

“Don’t call me that,” says Niska, although she doesn’t sound quite as cutting as she might. Shrugging loose all pretence at dignity, she adds, “I’d even prefer Aunty Niska.”

Mattie chuckles, and looks down at her son. “You see, I knew she’d come round.” She nods to where her phone is buzzing away on a nearby table. “Somebody get that?”

“It’s Dad,” says Sophie, picking it up. “Dad? You’ll NEVER guess.” She pauses. “No. But Dad, the baby’s a boy.”

She rolls her eyes and sets the phone aside. “He says his grandchild is ginger and that’s what matters.”

Amid the laughter, Mia leans forwards. “How will you tell Laura, Mattie?”

Mattie’s smile takes on a mischievous element of guilt. “We already called her. I didn’t want to spring the ‘Tom’ thing on her in case she hated it.”

Mia smiles back. “It’s a nice gesture. Have you decided on any other names? Tom Hawkins, Tom Elster...?”

“Hawkins,” says Leo quickly. Mattie glances at him, surprised.

“That name can die with me,” he adds. “It doesn’t stand for anything good.”

“You could just be a Hawkins too, you know,” says Mattie airily.

“Is that a proposal?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“If you want it to be. I propose that all of you take ‘Hawkins’, actually, though, if you don’t want Elster. Well, all except Her Royal Highness the Violet Queen Aunty Niska Schaeffer.”

If looks could kill, Thomas would be an orphan by now.

[inkabelledesigns]

When we were younger roleplayers

So a friend of mine recently uploaded an older comic she did detailing an experience from her youth involving her first time roleplaying. This story really speaks to me, so I’ll link it here for you to see. 

https://twitter.com/WolfenWingsShop/status/1135553476526821377 

You know, this makes me wanna tell some of my own roleplaying stories, because boy do I have a few. ^^’’’ My nutcracker friends Freckle and Pepper hear be joke about ‘The Night of Angst Mountain’ far too much, but that’s only been within the past year. The story I’d like to tell you today come from when I first came online, back when my only account was on YouTube and we roleplayed in the comments sections of our channels. 

Let me tell you the story of dreamerofchaos1 and her first time working as one of the Freedom Fighters.

Let’s set the stage. I was 14 years old, the year was 2011, and I had finally been deemed old enough to get a YouTube account. I’d asked my folks if I could have it for my birthday that year, which is March 29th. On April 2nd, my dad made a YouTube account for himself and then helped me to make mine, just so he could keep an eye on me should I ever need his help, but for the most part he wasn’t watching what I was doing. I had made this account intending to post tribute videos, you know, those fan art slideshows set to a popular song, and that is what I started out doing, but during that summer, I ended up hanging out with a bunch of roleplayers, and sometimes it was hard to distinguish fiction from reality. I’m still not sure how that started or how I ended up meeting these people, but we were an interesting bunch. A lot of this is really fuzzy for me

To start, even though we called ourselves the Freedom Fighters, it wasn’t at all the Freedom Fighters from the Sonic SatAM or Archie comics. We had a Sally, Tails, and Sonic who were barely present, otherwise, it was a lot of fan characters (most of which were recolors of Sonic, Tails, and Amy), along with an emo version of Kirby, Stitch and Angel from the Lilo and Stitch TV series, and a few others that referenced other franchises. We had a lot of fun on fictitious scenarios together, having picnics, fighting the Suppression Squad, it was a good time.

I didn’t stand out a ton among the good guys, but I definitely had my stuff together a little better. I didn’t have a character when I started interacting with everyone, but I developed one around the theme of my username named Dreamer. They were a tanooki that was an imaginary friend abandoned by their creator, a little girl named Ruth, that needed belief from other people in order to exist. Note that I refer to them as a ‘they.’ At that point in time, nobody online knew what my gender was, they all just kind of assumed I was a guy, and I didn’t say anything about it. I specified that my character was genderless, since why would an imaginary friend need to have a gender? But because you basically WERE your character unless you were in YouTube’s Inbox system, everyone thought I was a dude. To be honest...at the point in time, all of my friends outside of the web were dudes with the occasional girl that was super tomboyish. I was the girly one, I could never be “one of the guys,” and more than anything, that’s what I wanted. I’ve grown out of that now as an adult, I’m much happier just being me and not worrying what other people think about my body parts. I never directly lied about my gender, it was more that nobody ever asked, but eventually I did come clean about it. Unfortunately, the minute people found out I was a girl, my PMs (private messages, which are the same as DMs, but there was some amount of respect in actually keeping it private back then) got flooded with boys that wanted cybersex out of me, which was disgusting and utterly embarrassing, but that’s a story for another day.

The Suppression Squad was the main group of enemies, hell, the character you saw causing trouble the most was Miles, aka the Anti-Tails from Moebius/Anti-Mobius. That’s where I found two of my closer friends, Venice and Violet. Venice was the Anti-Silver, a fanmade concept as Silver never officially had an Anti version in the comics, using the concept art of Silver from Sonic 06 back when he was Venice the Mink. Violet was a fan character who was his girlfriend. Venice played a lot of different characters though, including a villain named No-Heart that had some Kingdom Hearts inspired elements. Sadly Venice, or rather Wyatt, dropped off the face of the earth, I never saw him again after YouTube changed its channel layout and everyone gave up our games there, but I do hope he’s doing well wherever he is. Same with Violet, or rather Whitney, I saw her a few times on deviantART, but not much. 

There are a few roleplays that stick out to me from that time. No Heart stealing Dreamer’s heart and having them fight for the villains temporarily is one of the finer memories, hell, when I had her betray everyone and join the bad guys for real later on was quite fun. Duking it out with an evil clown and Anti-Guy from Paper Mario was kind of cool too. But the one that really sticks out to me is the one with Albert Wesker. Now, Albert Wesker is a Resident Evil character to my understanding, but I have no idea what his story is, and I wasn’t smart enough to look it up as a kid when this was going down. This guy came out of hecking nowhere, I never did learn who played him in the end. I remember he was going after everyone with needles, and once pricked, they’d be under his control. Dreamer of course had ended up kidnapped and trapped in wherever his domain was. Being the rebellious and narrow-minded child that I was, I had Dreamer go off on a long speech about how Wesker would never win, and good would always prevail over evil, blah blah blah, it had to have sounded so stupid and naive to him. 

And then he killed my character. That had never happened before. Another player ended up godmodding them back to life with a “revival seed,” but like? It was so garbage. I felt so bad about it after the fact, like yeah, we beat the bad guy, but I felt like a dirty cheater, and I was! But it dawned on me why it happened later on in time. There was no formal system to how any of this worked, just a set of unspoken boundaries that were never crossed, and therefore a lot of godmodding happened, where people would be defeated who shouldn’t have been, powers were unfair, etc. But the thing is, I was one of the few who ever bothered to get creative with my attacks and have some sort of strategy, which in turn meant that I was often the one doing most of the fighting. During the Wesker stuff, I was the only one online that actually had any of that going on, the rest were content to play damsels in distress, that’s why my character got revived. I think Wesker showed up one more time after that and there was a fair fight before they disappeared, but dang. It was an interesting experience. I think it was the fact that I was the only one doing anything in battle that I opted to join the bad guys for a while, not to mention the good guys weren’t all that great to me. There was a lot of hugging and saying “you’re one of my best friends” all the time, but no one meant it, it was just fluff. 

I wasn’t there for fluff, I was there for action, to do something, to challenge myself. Yeah, I wanted to make friends, friends with respectable people who were interested in actual plotlines. But I didn’t find that there, I didn’t find that anywhere in an RP community up until recently. Things have changed with my style over the past eight years. I’m a lot slower to jump to combat nowadays, in fact fighting hardly ever comes up, which is nice, even though I do have times where I miss it. I think I’ve realized that I’m happier being in a smaller group, about three people, where we ask each other about the plot and figure out where its going with a mix of improv and planning. One day though, I’d love to run an RP blog where I invite a bunch of people to participate in the chaos, one where I get to run the story and challenge them to survive. That was the idea behind OATS, maybe one day I’ll be able to run it. For now though, I’ve got some bigger fish to fry than roleplays. ^^’’’ Still, it was fun to reminisce on this, I hadn’t thought about this for a while. 

[laboratorioautoral]

Lol i got hit me with your best shot stuck in my head now, so how about a chance meeting at a club with it playing? Preferably with missing each other and not instantly realizing who they are dancing with?

I guess I got a bit too excited about this plot and things got…Hotter than I expected. So…This is M rated for security reasons. Not sure if that’s what you wanted, but I hope you’ll enjoy it nonny.

Itwas claustrophobic inside the club, but she wasn’t going home thatnight without being completely wasted. Arya grabbed a shot of tequilabefore she could try to reach the stage and listen to whatever bandwas playing.

Ithad been Myrcella’s idea and it was surely a bad one. Cella’sbreaking up with Trystan wasn’t even something unusual, but she haddecided she would have a girls’ night and picked the lamest club intown.

Thesongs were old rock’n roll. Something nostalgic and loud, all aboutrebellious youth and booze. It reminded Arya of one of those musicalsSansa was so fond of. Rock of Ages or something…Well, at least TomCruise was worthy of her time and patience, and the music was dope,but Arya honestly wished Cella had a better sense of fun than a GunsN’ Roses cover, or something just as bad.

Tequilawould have to help Arya to get through the night. Maybe she couldfind a cute boy and have some fun. Preferably forget what Robb hadtold her earlier that day. This is not the time nor the place foryou to think about him! Her mindscreamed over the noise in the room.

Jonwas back in town. That was no big deal. He was just a guy. One ofRobb’s mates and surely not better than Theon…Just another guy,except that he wasn’t. Not for her.

Somecrushes are embarrassing, but that in particular should have turnedto smoke a long time ago. It was ok for them to be friends. When Jonleft town Arya was probably too young for him to think about her asanything but Robb’s little sister. She was probably in the friendzone – if such a thing existed – or maybe in an even morefrustrating position. Arya was probably placed in an altar among anydeities he might worship. Some genderless being.

Thatwas probably why they kept talking along the years. It was harmlessand Jon missed home. They had always been close and they talked abouteverything, until they didn’t talk anymore. Since he found anotherto date. A real woman for sure and a red head to make it worst. Thatwas too much for Arya to bare and she had been the one avoidingcommunication for most of the time.

Ithad been a good decision and she was fine with it. She even datedsome guys along those years. IfJon appeared right in front of her, Arya wouldn’t even recognizehim at that point. She was incollege now and she was way more confident than she had been in thepast. Nothing could possibly make her lose her cool, or so shethought until that morning when Robb told her that Jon was in townand had asked about her.

Shewas a mess ever since and at least Cella, the loud music and thebooze would keep her away from doing something stupid…As long asher cellphone was out of herreach.

Afterthe second shot Arya decided that she would need more than alcohol tokeep her entertained. She need a guy. Someone to flirt with and havesome kisses. Casual sex was also a possibility but she doubted thatshe would be in the mood since the only thing inside her head inbright neon lights was Jon’s name.

Aryalooked around and tried to find someone worthy of a second glance.Like a she-wolf sniffing the air looking for a prey, Arya tried todistinguish between the shadowy figures all around. A dark and smokyroom surely didn’t make it easy and the alcohol seemed to improveeveryone’s looks around her.

HitMe With Your Best Shot wasplaying and at least that song spoke to her soul in a very particularway. Arya couldn’t help moving her hips a bit as she walked aroundthe club and leaving Myrcella behind. It was a discreet attempt atdancing, but she wouldn’t give away her talents so easily andcertainly not in that place full of guys dressed in black leather.

“Hey!”Someone shouted behind her, trying to call her attention, but Aryacouldn’t hear until the guy touched her shoulder. “Hey, you!”

Aryaturned to face whoever it was. Maybe something had fallen from herpockets and the guy was trying to return it to her.

Ohmy gods! It was the only thingher brain managed to process about the stranger standing in front ofher. Dark curly long hair,a full and well cut beard,lithe and elegant even all wrapped up inside black jeans and leatherjacket. Oh baby…You had to be exactly my type, hadn’tyou? I think we could be friends tonight.Her mind at this point was roaming among all of her wildestfantasies.

“Hi!”Arya answered simply. “Can I help you?”

“Maybeyou can.” He said before flashing a sly smile at her. One of thosemeant to start that game she liked so much. Small talk, sensuousmoves, slow hands and clothes falling all around if she was luckyenough. The guy offered her his hand. “Will you dance with me,Miss?”

“Idon’t dance!” Arya shouted so he could hear her over the loudmusic.

“Ithink you do!” He replied insistently. “C’mon! Just a dance.”

Wellyou’re a real tough cookie with a long historyOfbreaking little hearts like the one in meThat’sokay, let’s see how you do itPutup you dukes, let’s get down to it

It was just a dance. It couldn’thurt and he was handsome like the devil. She had a thing for a shortaffairs with tall dark strangers and that guy was surely her type oftrouble.

Arya accepted his hand and theystarted to dance in the middle of the club. Nothing too complicated,only some random moves dictated by the alcohol and the lust. He was aterrible dancer, but she could overlook that as long as he made it upfor her with a mind blowing kiss.

Hitme with your best shotWhydon’t you hit me with your best shotHitme with your best shotFireaway

Aryaspin around and turn her back at him. That certainly felt like aninvitation for him to come and chase her and at least the guy got thehint. His arm held her by the waist and pulled her body closer tohis. Arya swayed her hips in the rhythm of the music, just to teasehim a bit.

Heburied his nose in the curve of her neck. His beard tickling hersensitive skin and making her shiver in anticipation for a kiss thatdidn’t come for a while. His hips tried to follow hers and hesmelled of cigarettes, bear and post shave cologne. Something in thatsmell was inviting and familiar, but Arya couldn’t tell why.

Youcome on with it, come onYou don’t fight fairThat’s okay,see if I careKnock me down, it’s all in vainI get rightback on my feet again

Thatguy was a gentleman through and through. He teased, he provoked, butnever once tried to cross a few lines, like kissing her neck orsliding his hand under her pants. He was waiting for her to make upher mind and go down that road with him. She had the wheel, she wasin control and the gods knew she loved it.

Aryaturned around again and looked directly at him. His hand restedagainst the small of her back and pulled her closer once more. Theyforeheads touching and their breath entwined as they flirted with thepossibility of making of that dance a one night stand.

FuckJon! I already have company tonight!Her mind finally decided and Arya threw her arms around his neck andkissed him hard. That guy wasn’t much of a dancer, but with a kisslike that she couldn’t care less.

Hishands got bold and grabbed her ass covered by her tight jeans. Thatwas a kiss you only get to experience once in a life time, when youeither think you are gonna die or when you are so high that the worldaround you might be ending.

“Wannago somewhere quiet?” He asked in a low voice close to her ear.

“Can’tgo for long. My friend is waiting for me to take her home.” Aryaanswered lazily. Why did she agree to give Cella a ride?!

“Wecan be quick.” He replied sensuously. “Or she can take an Ubberback home.”

“I’ma good friend, ya know?” Arya grinned at him. “You’ll have togive me one good reason to leave Cella behind.” The guy smiled ather as if he was the catthat just ate the fucking canary.

“Iwant to suck you until your toes curl.” Oh gosh! If that wasn’t areason good enough for her to tell Cella to find another ride backhome, than Arya had no idea of what it was.

“FuckCella! You lead the way.” Arya answered.

Theywalked out of the club and got inside an old black Camaro that wasparked outside. He pressed her back against the car and Arya closedher eyes to receive another kiss. His hand unzipped her jeans andslid under her pants to rub her clit.

Hewas good. He was verygood.

Herbreath became labored as his fingers played with her body. He kissedher neck as Arya got half way to paradise. If that was just theforeplay, she could barely wait for the real deal. It was only fairthat she would repay his gesture and to feel him hard, thick and hotin her hands made her feel the most powerful creature on earth. For amoment his fingers stopped as he gasped for air.

Heheld her wrist after a few strokes, making her stop completely.

“I’mnot doing this in a parking lot.” He said with difficulty. “I’mstaying at a hotel a couple of blocks from here. Not fancy, but ithas a nice bed.”

“Ifwe are doing it tonight, you should at least tell me your name,stranger.” Arya grinned at him.

“Ladiesfirst.” He insisted before getting his hand out of her jeans andtry to recompose himself.

“It’sArya.” She said lazily.

Fora second there was utter silence between them as they stood in a darkparking lot. Arya sensed a change in the air. Something between shockand panic.

“AryaStark?” He asked breathlessly.

Hitme with your best shotWhy don’t you hit me with your bestshotHit me with your best shotFire away

Thatwasn’t what she had expected to hear. Yes, there was somethingfamiliar about him, but Arya was pretty sure she had never seen thatguy before. Long hair, full beard, leather jacket…He looked likemost of the guys inside the club, exceptfor the white wolf emblem on his chest.

“Jon?”Her eyes were suddenly wide open and she thank the gods for thatfucking parking lot being too dark for him to see her bright redface.

“I…Ican’t believe it.” Jon was clearly in panic at that point. “How…?You are a kid! How did you get inside this place?!”

OHGREAT! After getting his hand under her panties now he wanted to giveher drive license a look! Arya was pretty sure that some deity up inthe sky was having a great laugh at her expenses.

“I’m21.” She said as a matter of fact and pretty annoyed by his suddendistress. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grown woman.”

“No!You are Arya!” He insisted in the middle of his panic attack. Thatcouldn’t get any worst, could it? “You are Robb’s little sisterand I should…I should probably take you back home before eitherRobb or Ned come for my head.”

“Gosh!I forgot how dramatic you can be at times!” She rolled her eyes asshe tried to straighten her shirt and fix her hair. “It has beenwhat? Seven years? I wouldn’t stay frozen in time waiting for youtocome back and mess up with my hair.”

“Arya…Idon’t…I don’t know what to say!” Jon answered exasperated.“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Well,guess what?” Arya looked directly at him and this time the tequilaand the sheer need for him took the best of her. Sometimes all thatyou need is five seconds of insane courage. “I’m not and I’mstill waiting for you to suck me until we both forget our names andI’ll not pretend that I haven’t dreamed of this for most of myteens so…You either get your shit together so we can continue withwhat promises to be a hell of a ride, or you go joying the church andembrace celibate, but if you turn your back on me you’ll have tolive with your conscience and all the “what ifs” inside your headforever.”

“Whatthe fuck, Arya?” He looked at her scandalized for a second.

“Youwere with your hand inside my jeans to not say something moreintimate, so…We are going to hell anyway.” Arya said as a matterof fact. “It’s up to you to decided if you are going to enjoy theride or not. Robb doesn’t have to know what we do in dark parkinglots.”

“Fuckit!” Jon growled and Arya prepared her spirit to turn around andpretend that night never happened. She just wanted the ground to openand swallowed her whole so she wouldn’t have to look at his faceever again. “Get inside the car.” Jon commanded angrily andkissed her one more time before the night got wild.

[housebearshouseparty420]

Just a convo with a friend the other night where I flesh out why I want third time to be a charm.

Do you think i'm pregnant for real? Its just, if i am right now and it all works, my mom would 100000000% have her faith restored honestly, with me, i'm like, oh another disappointment, guess i should be used to it and yet... My mom would be like  A CHILD? BORN! IN JANUARY?! GOD IS REAL! IT IS LIKE MY MOTHER AND YOUR NAMESAKE NEVER DIED! IT IS A SIGN! And uh me being born a girl was her old sign :-/

And it would be nice to give her a different sign...like the two signs do not need to negate each other for you to believe that things are not just senseless and random I know I said, but my mother really and truly believes that the only reason in the whole world for her mother to die decades before her time was if the baby was a girl and like 2 months later I was there and a girl and I am a real and true miracle to her My brother is like a wonderful beautiful perk of the universe letting her have two nice things but I am the better thing in this one instance. Knowing a first grandchild was coming got my grandfather to keep from committing suicide like his brother. There is a lot of pressure on unborn or yet born children to fix things for people. That’s not what I’m doing here. I just want a baby to love? Even now I try not to think of my future child in binary terms of a son or a daughter, I imagine a warm genderless blob, I’m not asking to know the sex, I’m not having a gender reveal party, I’m ‘team green’ if you will.  But people knew my maternal grandmother was going to die and placed all of this hope on me... Like don’t wallow don’t mourn a baby is coming, don’t drink yourself to death, don’t look for the whys of death because there’s why of life right in front of you, never has there been such balance nor has justice been so poetic. To lose a woman and gain a woman.  It is how my mother wraps her head around a trauma to make sense of the universe. She is still badly hurt. She talks about her mother who I never met whenever we talk, but her father who died about 8 years ago now, and I have very clear memories of, she never brings up in the same way. My mother says I am my grandmother’s soul, she says I am her own soul, she says my femaleness will guarantee her longevity in the scheme of things because of our cosmic uterus connection?  My brother has never gotten a conversation like this. I have asked him. I have asked her. I was told as family politics go, that a first grandchild is a good social position, a first grandson that does not continue on his maternal grandfather’s name is a waste of a good boy. I got to hear and absorb all of the toxic masculinity and never had it be about me. Regardless, everyone loves him. HE DOES BETTER ON PAPER like, he owns 4 vehicles and went to business school and owned his own failed company and likes sports and has no tattoos and ppl really like the straight white dude aesthetic he gives off which is: good ol' boy likes sports and beer and don't mean nothin' by his subtle rightwing jabs all day WHICH WORKS FOR HIM AND IF I COULD HAVE FEWER CHALLENGES I WOULD FUCKING TAKE IT like imagine god came down right now, like, Kenny, we can hit redo and you'd be born a boy BUT you'd never learn the femmey empathy bullshit and would probably be a big wanking racist who coasted by life without ever knowing challenge and would ultimately be of weaker character me: HIT RESET MOTHERFUCKER! Like if i ended up just happening to still be a nice person that's great, but i should not have to exist as "well things sucked and you didn't turn into a Gotham villain so you know, that's worth more than a penis when you think about it” No it isn't? not to me-- but this is my lot in life and how I feel like I can set things right somehow, since living my life is such a blow to everyone around me. Point is: if my mom will believe me being male will UNDO her mother's passing into the next world being one of ease and proof of divine intervention, then surely, the baby being born the same month, when there are so many months would provide some comfort.  I am happy to have a baby of any month, but I would like that baby soon because I am running out of time/money/spoons and have been on the verge of a meltdown (about this) for 2 years now...   I articulated this VERY carefully to a gender therapist and to a regular therapist about how my brother could transition and it would be weird a little weird since there has never been any indication that he is not feeling at home in his body because he’s such a man’s man BUT there is not the same unraveling of destiny at play? I want her to know that while I respect her belief that where my life started was significant, where my journey takes me should be the focus from here on out.  What I tend to believe is that, people can use whatever coping mechanisms and structure that gets them through, it doesn’t matter if it’s weird, it doesn’t matter if you agree, if it is not hurting anyone-- and had I continued on afab and continued identifying as a woman, this would line up perfectly and no one would question if it was really all that weird, since it would just be a mother trying to keep her own mother’s memory alive through her children. People name their kids after relatives all the time. People say you have your nana’s eyes all the time. That’s not that weird. However, a straight cis male gender therapist who’s empathy was severely lacking, since he purposely deadnamed me as a trick to see if I would fight for my gender in an appointment, I was uncomfortable but because I didn’t raise my voice in a psychiatric wing, I didn’t want it enough, when really I wanted it enough that I would passively take abuse so that I could have my T letter. He  was like, ‘sounds like your mom is just nuts’ and she is otherwise a very giving, loving, generous, understanding person except the best and worst year of her life was the same year. In any other situation in the entire world I would not for a second question her love for me. Dad loves me but I always fear does not know me or anything about me. I was not an easy child. I cannot explain my nervousness any clearer.  I am very anxious because I have decided to come out as trans and announce my pregnancy on the same day so that there can be no misunderstanding about who and what I am from this point onward.

[manifestoe-blog]

A couple of months ago I interviewed my one of my closest friends, the lovely Nina White, about an album of her choice in pursuit of getting to know her better through her relationship with music in her life. We discuss No Doubt’s ‘Tragic Kingdom’ in relation to female anthems, ska revival, being a little bit punk, the frightening prospect of having to sing on stage with your ex about your relationship, and the impact of the album in her life thus far.

So Nina, tell me about the album that you’ve chosen.

I’ve chosen Tragic Kingdom by No Doubt, which was released in 1995. I was only 3 when it was released; however they slowly released singles from the record until 1998 so I am guessing I was pretty late to join the party. My mum bought the cd for me, and it’s fair to say that I thrashed the absolute shit out of it until I was about 16. I honestly listened to it all the time; it was always on some kind of rotation, whether it was in the car, or in the six stack, whatever.

So you were listening to it pretty consistently for that solid 8 year period?

Yep, pretty much - it was one of those albums that I have never gotten sick of. Actually, a few days after you asked me to do this, I pulled it down from the shelf and played it in the car, and like four tracks in it started skipping. That poor CD – it looks as if it was strapped to a tire and driven on tarmac. I think it actually did really well to get through four tracks! It has survived a lot of years… coming on twenty.

This was their first really popular album. They spend 2 and half years recording this album in 11 different studios and by all accounts it was utter chaos. The name Tragic Kingdom is a nod to Disney Land which they grew up almost literally I the shadow of in Anaheim – always too poor to go, but able to hear what was happening there from their houses down the street.  

No Doubt were just so different to everything else I was listening to at the time because this was music that was written and lead by a woman, and while there was other female driven music rocking around at the time like say, Courtney Love or Garbage (who I was peripherally aware of, but not into then) Gwen wrote songs that were more relatable to me at that age. . She also managed to do that in a really fun and interesting way - and their visual language always really stuck with me as well. They were playful and chaotic and experimental and seemed to enjoy fucking with people’s expectations of what they were supposed to look like, and what they were supposed to sound like. I think the thing that draws me back into it every time is their exuberance, they’re wild.

Pre “Gwen Stefani, The Brand”, baby baby Gwen, is everything that I wanted to be in life. She's powerful, she doesn’t give a shit. She is just up there having a good time, stomping around in those bloody big boots with such contagious energy. I don’t think that their music is particularly punk, but their attitude definitely was. And the best thing about this album in my opinion, was that it was her first time writing (before that her brother was their songwriter), so everything is genuine and authentic because it was her first time. It was before she could even have the chance to construct something marketable. It was about her life, the shit that was going on, it was just her first coming out as who she was. The way she was performing is just so incredible; it was more masculine than anything else that I had seen at the time, yet she was able to do so without denying her femininity in any way. She was merely presenting herself the way that she is, and having fun doing it.

What are some of your highlights of the album?

Well, my highlights are different now to the highlights I had as a kid. In saying that, the first track Spiderwebs has always been one of my favourite songs off the record. It just sounds really fun and funky, but it’s actually pretty subversive. The track is basically about being pursued and harassed by a guy that you have no interest in. I really liked it as a kid because of how much of a banger it is, but now as an adult I like it because I can really relate to being dogged by someone and told you should take it as a compliment, when you really just want to tell them to fuck off.

Just a Girl is another obvious one because it has become a bit of an anthem. Just a Girl, Sunday Morning, and Don’t speak were the most recognizable songs from the album, and Just a Girl is the more punk track, when I was growing up everybody knew that song, and everybody knew Don’t Speak. To be honest, I didn’t really like “Just a Girl” as an adult until I saw a video of them performing it live, and it was like “FUCK YES. LOOK AT WHAT YOU USED TO BE! Dammit, Gwen.” It made the whole thing come alive again as something more than just a well thrashed track on a ‘90’s greatest hits’ playlist.

Anyway, I guess the whole album is centered around two main themes: coming of age, and the transition of an intimate relationship. I think these themes are the reason why it has continued to be relevant through different eras of my life. Don’t Speak is always going to have some kind of universal relevance; if you have an argument with a loved one or you break up with someone, any kind of emotional friction.

Or like in Sunday Morning, you’ve got themes of coming to terms with who somebody is and how they treat you. And how, I suppose, you may have been in a love bubble where you are allowing somebody to treat you a certain way, and as things progress you start to notice the power balance in the relationship. The whole thing is just so damn relatable, and almost dystopian. “I thought I knew you, I got a new view, I thought I knew you well, oh well.” It really captures that moment where the fog clears and you see someone as a person, not an ideal.

All these experiences that are shared in the album related directly to relationships within the band, especially the relationship between Gwen and Tony (the bass player) who had been dating for 7 years and broke up when they were writing the record. They then toured for something ridiculous like three years and had to play ‘Don’t Speak’ a totally autobiographical song about their personal heartbreak in front of thousands on stage every night.

I can’t help but just think about this in relation to all of the talk surrounding Fleetwood Mac and Rumours. They were writing, recording and then performing these intense songs about one another, and it weirdly creates this form of mythic speech around it all, which completely adds a whole new level of intrigue. I think it’s this whole appeal of an ‘artist coping mechanism’, which is ultimately often idealised, but is just so different to what we can get away with in day-to-day life.

Yeah! And I guess it is weirdly insular as well. The community for them is so incestuous, for want of a better word – they live in each other’s pockets constantly with little escape from each other’s bullshit. It’s a far removed experience from most people’s romantic complexities.

All of these themes are symptoms of situations that are often massive grey areas, but ones that we all go through at some stage and to some degree. And to be able to see people dealing with themes in a public and performative manner is just so intriguing.

You were saying before, about the simple fact that she was a woman writing and performing these songs, she was becoming this absolute icon, and it was super important to you hearing this female perspective. Is there a particular song or lyric that comes to mind in relation to how hearing her female perspective has influenced yours?

Yeah definitely, there are two that come to mind. First one being “Just a Girl”, because when I was little, that song was what sparked the realisation in me that being female meant that there were certain expectations you were supposed to conform to.  That song kind of slapped me out of the pretty much genderless, tomboy period of my childhood where I could get away with dressing like a boy, playing with the boys and there was no sexuality implied in that.  It was kind of like a trigger for me, to be more aware of what was expected of me within my gender, and I just hadn’t had to grapple with those expectations yet. There is a lyric in that song, “take this pink ribbon off my eyes” which directly refers to that feeling for me.

She wrote this song when she was 24, after she had to drive home after rehearsal at a late hour. Her bandmates, all being male, could just drive home and go to bed, but because she was a girl she would have to knock on her parent’s door to let them know that she was safe. The song is really about her coming to the realisation, through all of these subtle everyday experiences, that she was being treated differently. It documented a moment of clarity for her where she realised how much she was coddled and overlooked as a woman and how fed up she was with all the gendered bullshit. I guess as an adult it’s always a nice reminder not to take that kind of shit complacently in your daily life.

The other one that comes to mind was important to me a little bit later in my life, was “Excuse Me Mr.” Its the second track on the album, and it explored the feeling of waiting having to wait around for validation from people more powerful or important than you. Especially as an adult, female, creative trying to make a living doing what I’m passionate about, this song is just such a good reminder not to wait around for opportunities or support to fall into your lap and just get on with doing it yourself.

My sweet sweet Nina, thank you so much for telling me about Tragic Kingdom, this conversation felt like a trip to the Magic Kingdom itself. Would you mind summarising why you love this album in a few sentences for me?

Thank you so much for having me! I love this record because it was the first album that I l truly loved and it has aged with me like a good whiskey. Tragic Kingdom sort of ended up being the unlikely soundtrack to my life. It didn’t necessarily guide me, but it definitely made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my experiences. Especially as I’ve always been a bit of an awkward human, and it was good to know that there were some other awkward shitheads out there with me, doing their own thing and totally killing it. It’ll always serve as a reminder that it was okay to wear big boots, and be goofy, and that the people that matter in my life will still love me and stick around anyway. Yeah, that was pretty nice.

[add-v-bae]

Text Roulette (1)

Rating: T

Pair: Chanyeol x Reader x Baekhyun (poly relationship) Word count: 1,037

Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six | Part seven | Part eight | Part nine | Epilogue 

Gif found on Google

You furrowed your brow as you continued to stare at the message that was on your phone, sent from an unknown number.

‘Hello, random stranger! You’re a lucky winner of being a random number that received a message from us! Do you accept your prize?’

You bit your lip and sighed. What did that even mean? Was this one of those texts that were supposed to rip you off?You continued to stare at it for a little longer before shrugging, deciding to leave it alone and go start dinner.

After you were done, you came back and saw you had another message from the number.

‘I guess not? Come on, we’re not that bad.’

You paused. That sounded like an actual person. You decided to actually respond this time, see if you can get answers.

“Who are you?”

You sat back on your bed as you awaited a response, hoping it was actual people and not some stupid text bot disguised as it.

‘I would be Baekhyun, and I’m here with my friend Chanyeol. So you decided you wanted to talk to us?’

You pursed your lips. Chanyeol and Baekhyun. So you have two people talking to you? You still weren't completely convinced though.

“Send me a picture of the two of you”

After you sent it, you realized it might have seemed like a weird request, but it apparently didn't faze them, because you soon received a picture from them. 

You nodded slowly, and after checking on google to make sure it wasn't from there, you studied the picture some more. So, what you’re being told is that two beautiful boys were texting you, as a random number? 

Your phone pinged as another text came in, assumingly from the two boys.

‘Now that you’ve seen us, can we see you? Get a name maybe?’

After thinking about it for a moment, you decided, why not. They sent you a picture of them, you might as well do the same. You took a quick selfie and sent to them, as well as your first name.

It took a bit for them to respond, assuming it was still Baekhyun texting you. It wasn’t until five minutes later when you got a text from another unknown number.

`Hello it’s Chanyeol, Baekhyun’s been looking at his phone for a bit now, he wasn’t expecting the only person to answer us to be a girl`

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Someone as good looking as those two couldn’t possibly be awkward with girls, could they?

“It’s not a big deal, is it?We can pretend I’m just a genderless enigma if you want.”

The answer was almost immediate.

`Oh no, it's fine. We were just surprised.`

You were about to send a quick “okay” message when a message from Baekhyun came up.

‘Hey, are you going to keep talking to us? You seem pretty cool.’

That caught you off guard a little. You weren’t necessarily sure how you seemed cool since all you’ve done is question them and send your picture and name. However, you weren’t going to turn down the compliment, especially since they seemed pretty interesting themselves.

You glanced at the clock and noticed it was almost midnight, something you didn’t want to see since you had to be up at 6.

“I’m down for it. I have to go to bed though, work in the morning. Night, you both”

You waited until you got a text back, wishing you a good night before going to sleep.

The next day, you’d forgotten about the night before, going on about your day. It wasn’t until you were getting out of work at 2 that it came back, in the form of a text from Baekhyun, a selfie with the text ‘Just woke up, good morning Y/N’

Good morning? “You just woke up? What time did you go to bed?”

You got home before you managed to get a response from him, your phone buzzing from where you dumped it on the counter when you walked in. ‘Around 6, maybe 630′

“6 in the morning?? Don’t you have work or school or something?”

The answer was almost immediate. ‘I work from home. Kind of. Speaking of which I should start doing that. Ttyl’

You took your phone and flopped down on the couch, ready to destress from work. Play with your phone answer texts, maybe take a nap. That last one sounded particularly appealing, maybe you should do that. You grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and snuggled up, about to let sleep take you for an hour or two when your phone buzzed yet again.

You groaned and checked it, planning on leaving the person on read when you saw it was a text from Chanyeol. You opened it and it was a picture of him. Unsurprising, it seems they both really like to take selfies, especially when they first wake up. However, this one didn’t come with a message, just a picture of him with his hair messy and sleep still in his eyes.

“Well hello to you too. You work from home too?”

You tried to get comfortable again while you waited for him to respond, which ended up being a lot sooner than you hoped for. `Kind of? What made you think that?`

You thought before just sending “Baekhyun.” It was simple and to the point.

That seemed to clear it up pretty well since he sent back `Oooh. Yeah we work together. We perform in restaurants and stuff, I play guitar and he sings. He’s on his way right now to work on it.`

You thought before responding. Huh, so you’ve been chatting with two handsome, musically inclined men. Teenage girls would be losing it if they were you right now.

“Well if you’re gonna be busy I’ll let you go. I wanna hear you guys perform sometime though.”

`Why of course. One of us will send it to you sometime. See ya!`

You stared at the text for a while before sighing. You couldn’t explain it, but you had a strong feeling in your gut that these two were going to be an interesting part of your life.