#i havent felt gender euphoria in years. i dont think i ever felt it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lighthousegod · 2 years

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Something abt being on the aro-spectrum that I havent seen a lot is talk about feelings of jealousy.

I am a jealous person, and I'm only figuring that out as an adult. I was jealous as a kid, too, but I never thought of it in a way besides platonic. Eventually I stopped having best friends so I stopped being as jealous and bitter when my friends hung out with other people more than me.

Even though I knew I had a tendency to get jealous of others when I had a "best friendship," I never considered myself fo be jealous in a romantic context. Any time anyone would get angry when their partners talked to someone, especially straight couples who's members talked to the opposite gender, I would get confused. Like, you're officially in a relationship, right? Why would your partner agree to that if they wanted to be with some other person?

But as I got older, I understood more. I had one "crush" in my highschool years, and when he flirted with or dated other people I HATED MY LIFE it felt so gross. I always felt like I needed to change, or that I wasnt as desirable, and I needed to try harder. He did end up liking me back, but nothing ever came of it. The euphoria of him liking me back lasted maybe a night, and then it was gone. And it left a pit in my stomach. The worst feeling in the world, feeling disgust toward a thing that had made me feel alive for the first time in my life.

But, nonetheless, in all that drama I discovered that I WOULD probably get jealous if I had a partner, just because of how much I overthink. And i think that's where i sort of differ from a lot of arospec people? See, i dont want a romantic relationship necessarily. I dont need to do all the sappy shit like buying flowers and calling each other babe, or even going on dates really. But I do want something adjacent to that. I dont hate the idea of touching, even though I sort of have a phobia to that, but I DO hate it if I think about it romantically. I love the idea of holding hands in this sort of nostalgic way, like how I used to with my parents when I was a kid. I dont mind the idea of someone playing with my hair the way people used to when it was long, like they admired it so much they had to run their fingers through it. Hugging doesnt sound so bad when it's done in that protective, grounded way. Like hugging someone after a long day, or early in the morning. Just standing there like that. Even kissing sounds okay sometimes, if I dont think about it too hard. I'm sure it feels good. I'm sure being that close, that intimate with someone, would make me feel good. A combination of being comfortable and still feeling that rush of emotion. That sounds like a dream. That sounds fake. It makes me sad to think I may never experience that.

But then, I can think about the same things in a romantic way and I immediately want to turn and run. Holding hands in the way couples hold hands is so weird. I've never held a boys hand before. When I hold my friends hands, it feels awkward. I can hold my father's hand, I guess, but his hands are so calloused that they barely feel like hands. When I hold my father's hand now, I feel almost nothing at all. Thinking of someone playing with my hair like, say, a husband would do for his wife, or vice versa, or wife for wife or husband for husband or partner for partner, any combination-- it feels wrong. It's too sweet. Like, sickly sweet. The way they smile up at each other. It just feels so empty. Like whatever they're feeling just doesnt exist for me. Theres a void there, I think, where that feeling is supposed to be in my head. Hugs and kisses dont feel right from the couples in the movies. I much prefer the ones between close friends that I WANT to be the main couple, i guess. Like, take stranger things for an example. I love steve and eddie, and if they hugged, even platonically, I think I'd lose my shit. I wouldnt care much for a romantic hug between steve and nancy, but I dont really feel much for the platonic ones between steve and robin either. So, for some reason I like this weird in between? But that's not the point. Back to the matter at hand.

All that stuff I mentioned before, about how I can like all this stuff in a weird, alterous way as opposed to platonic or romantic or familial, one thing stays constant: I dont want whoever's doing it to do the same with other people. I DO want to be Their Person, and I want them to be Mine. Not in a possessive way, that's weird, but yknow. I want to want to be around them. I want them to want to be around me, too. And I want to like each other the most.

Lots of aromantic people talk about how they dont understand why friendships arent held to the same standard as romantic relationships, and trust me, I have been there, but I definitely am not exempt from that sort of "ranking." I have people that claim we are best friends, or really close, but I just dont bond with them the same way they do to me. It doesnt click. I like them platonically, I like to be around them, but I'm not attracted to them. Not like I was to my "crush" in high school, or like I am to all the pretty boy characters i think about in my head, or even my best friends from elementary school. Nothing my friends and I do is special to us. We arent exclusive to each other. And to some people, that doesnt matter one bit, but not me. I guess I'm selfish, but man, I wanna be someone's favorite. I want someone to like me the most. Even though I dont know how to kiss and might not even want to, and my personalities not that big, and sometimes I dont have much to say at all, and sometimes more than anything I just need someone to make me feel like I'm not floating through life without making a connection at all.

But that's such a big job. I worry I'm not worth the work. I'm not sure I would be able to work that much for someone else, so it wouldn't be fair. It would be so imbalanced, like I was taking advantage of them or something. I can't do that.

Nonetheless, the best analogy I can think of is beds. Not having sex in beds, just literally sleeping in them. Some aro people want their own bed in their own house. Some want to share a house AND a bed, with one person or with a whole group. But me? I'd like to live with friends AND my person. The best friend, or the partner, or whatever they are to me. And I want my own bed, but if I ever have any troubles sleeping, or they do, I want each others rooms to be the first we go to. I want to love someone so much that I choose them to ground me every time. How amazing would that be? To not have each other, but still be connected. To have some in between, "other" sort of love that does is not just built on trust, but IS trust. Trust that you are wanted, you are welcome, and you are special. Being something more than friends, more than lovers. Helping each other be whole on their own. Knowing they love you not because you're friends, not because you're partners, not because you're family, not because of anything. They just do.

I do want love. I really, really do. I want love the way I love the ocean, and the way I love music. I want to be loved that way. The attraction to the beach that humans have had for centuries. The tendency to make tunes out of nothing, to hum just to hear the sounds. Even if the ocean is dangerous. Even if the song is off-key. I want love that is instinctual, that is unexplainable. I want love that has no reason. No words to explain it. I want the love that existed before we had the word for it. Before there were friends and lovers, there were just companions. Two people who chose each other. And they may have not been able to speak the word love, but I'm sure it was stronger than what we have now. I'm sure, if you sit still, you can still hear it.

#aromantic Achillean #oriented aroace #bi oriented aroace #aromantic #asexual #alterous attraction

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parasiteking · 1 year

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hi arc no pressure to answer this but i was just wondering if you felt comfortable answering could i ask how did you know you were bigender? slash maybe how do I know if I might be bigender?

hi leo!! yeah, i'm comfortable answering that! this may be a bit long but like- im telling a lot just incase it any part of it helps you realize something. (i also enjoy talking about my identity & the journey of how i got here TBH)

im specifically male & female bigender. i also identify with a lot of xenogenders, but (what i call) my primary gender(s) is being male & female bigender. bigender can be any two genders though!! but this will probably mainly apply to male & female (or similar genders like demiboy/demigirl, ect.) bigender experience.

growing up as a girl, i always felt a connection with guys. i always wanted to be included in what they were doing! in school, i had primarily male friends while only having a very small amount of female friends (irl wise. i had a lot of female friends online) the only time in my life i had primarily girls as my friends was in elementary school, but i wasn't ever happy.

i was always very happy when guys would treat me like they treated other guys- not in a "treating me like decent respect" kinda way, but just treating me as if i were a guy.

ive known i was bisexual since i was 7 or 8, so i've been in queer spaces online since i was very young. since i was young, i was also very easily influenced by older people. i ended up in a lot of transmedicalist spaces. i never thought about exploring my gender identity because i liked being a girl! but in the back of my mind, i always wondered what it would be like if i made an alt account and pretended to be a guy, using he/him pronouns n stuff. at one point, i did run an account using he/she pronouns because "the mascot im using uses he/him but i use she/her but idc if people refer to me as he/him ONLY because of the mascot" <- complete fucking lie i was in denial becuz i was friends with a lot of transmeds, but didnt know i was also a guy at the time. just liked he/him

its a long story, but a mix of my boyfriend realizing he was a trans and openly supporting xenogenders & neopronouns, us cutting off a toxic transmed friend, and me entering fandoms that were more inclusive made me realize like. hey maybe this stuff is ok. and immediately i was like oh fuck. im bigender.

i looked back on my experiences and it just. fell into place. one time i received major gender euphoria because a guy hugged me in a way that guys stereotypically only do with guys, and it was still such an important memory to me over a year later (and still is 4 or so years later even though i havent seen the guy in forever.) everytime i was referred to with he/him on the acc i went by he/she pronouns on, i felt so damn happy. i daydream being a guy, not because i hate being a girl but because i just loved the idea of being a guy so much, and not out of like, being tired of sexism or anything. i just wanted to be a guy just cause!!

gender dysphoria was never apart of discovering my identity for me, i only developed it after the fact. my gender dysphoria is different than others (from what ive seen from The Average Trans Person) & im shy to talk about it publicly so if you do wanna ask about that just send another ask & ill answer privately. that being said gender dysphoria is NEVER a requirement to being trans, and i wouldve never found out i was bigender if i didnt get rid of that idea.

ANYWAYS, thats just me!

for you, my advice is to self reflect i suppose! think about your relationship with whatever genders youre considering being bigender of, how do you feel about those genders? how do you connect to them? how do you feel being referred to as pronouns typically associated with those genders (i know pronouns dont equal gender, this is just smth that helped me) or terms in general that are associated with those genders? would you feel happy as both?

im not good at advice im just a silly kid on the internet U_U anyways i rlly hope this helped u in some way. if u have anymore questions id LOVE to answer!! <3

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cartoonnutter · 3 years

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i dont think I've ever drawn a trans headcannon for a character that wasnt mine untill last night

8 years after beginning my transition, all the medical and legal shit done and dusted, and Im sitting there looking at it feeling that little bubble of gender euphoria I havent felt since I was a teenager

fuckin wild man

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targentis · 4 years

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wait wait how did you realise you kinned Descole? also how is it like realising you kin a character in general

this is my favorite story to tell oh my god thank you for asking. DFGFDGHS this is going to get really long im sorry

okay so mind you i just kin willy-nilly nowadays but Descole was only like...my second kin ever. so i was being really PICKY. at the time i only kinned Joker from Persona 5 and i was trying to keep it that way. i was like unfortunately i am a kinnie..............and i have one kin. what a fool i was.

luke @kirbapy and i had just become friends at that point, and i reblogged one of his pl posts. and he was like “wait do u know what pl is?” and i was like “oh yeah my mom and i used to be into it back in the day” and one day he just said like “ok im gonna kin assign you someone from pl.” and he gave me a whole list of people (i think Clive, Descole, and Randall?) and i was like cool i dont remember who any of these people aRE HGHDHD

one thing i DID remember, though, was watching Eternal Diva and LOVING IT when i was a kid so i was like hey...we should watch Eternal Diva together. cause you know. that was back when rabb.it was still alive..............

so luke and i watched Eternal Diva, and god please don’t make fun of me but i thouGHT I KINNED OSWALD AT FIRST. idk Composer Brain said that bitch who composed this opera is Me. composer brain was WRONG because the minute Descole started talking i just. i Felt It. i am not sure how to explain it but it’s the exact same feeling i used to get when looking at Joker, where like, ur heart starts palpitating and youre like Well This Seems Familiar and youre kinda like !!!!!??!?! yeah that’s what i decided to pin down as the kinnie feeling. tbh i havent felt this feeling about anyone else in a long time idk this is why i say Des is my only real kin now FDGHDFHG

i didn’t actually accept that i kinned him right away even AFTER all that i was still like “oh I don’t kin Descole, JOKER does.” but here’s the thing, dude. i have memories. i have So. Many. Memories from my Des canon. i cannot say the same for any of my other kins FGHDFHFG AND. AND!! i had kinnie dreams from as far back as 2017 (and those are only the ones i wrote down)!! like...i dreamt about the lighthouse in San Grio, and that airship chase scene, and the lift in the Obsidian Tower...just to name a few. OH and one of the Masked Gentleman’s miracles too. and i recalled Raymond by name from a few recurring dreams too--mind you, i didn’t even know the 3D pl games EXISTED until this year. so. idk man, my only explanation for all this is that I’m Descole.

god i could talk about this all day. there’s just. so much here. i’m sorry this ran on for so long dfhghdhfh i knew it would. this is barely scraping the surface too like i just...there are identifying details about my Des specifically that luke drew years before he met me, and there are just so many things i do and say that make sense by viewing it through the lens of I’m Descole.........and tbh? i just really like being Descole. lmao! it’s true! im trans so i know what gender euphoria is like but there is also a similar euphoria that comes from being perceived as that masked bastard. hence my. name. and no before anyone gets on my ass about this im NOT equating being trans to being a kinnie im just saying the feeling is similar DFHGHDFHFFH god okay ill stop talking now soRRY ADKGJDFHSGJ thanks for this epic question ily jak

#beneath the ask #im gonna tag this as #fave #because this is my favorite question.#thank you jak #i would pay ppl to ask me about kinnie hshit tbh

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decadentrpg-blog · 5 years

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WELCOME EMILY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF HELOISE DELACOUR

Admins Note: Heloise was certainly a difficult choice to make but after much assessment, I want to say that I absolutely adore what you’ve brought to the table! From build up of her background to every little historical reference that was placed within your application, it cohesively created this duality that Heloise has! I’ve enjoyed every interaction she has as well as the clarity and rationale behind her thinking! Your faceclaim request for Virginia Gardner has been approved. Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Emily

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: Twenty-two

Timezone: GMT.

In Character Application

Full Name: Heloise Delacour

Sexuality: Lesbian.

You like girls. No, that’s wrong. You love girls. You love the smoothness of their skin. You love their gentle curves, their bodies like oceans, refreshing and divine. You love stroking their hair as you lie between sweat-soaked sheets, curling it around your fingertips. You love sharing lipstick shades so it won’t get too messy when you kiss and the sound beaded dresses make when they hit the ground. Most of all, you love who you become around them. Bursting at the seams with euphoria, without a trace of shakiness in your footsteps, you unveil the creature you fought so hard to become - self-assured and valiant. You always slipped into her without thinking about it, knowing instinctively, that this was right. This was who you were supposed to be.

Gender/Pronouns: Cis-female, she/her

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor.

The hat was adamant. They wanted you in Gryffindor. They wanted you to learn to harness your own roar, the find power in your sort of bravery - perhaps even to tame the brasher instincts of your peers, to calm the storm inside of them. Not every kind of bravery favours the bold, the defiant, the loud. There are different kinds of bravery. The courage to carry on when the chains around your neck drag you to the ground. The strength to try and try and try. The valour in turning yourself into an anchor, a steady weight for the rest of the world to ground themselves on. There are all sorts of bravery in this world, each as useful, each as needed, as the last. Children, yourself included, see so much, but so little at the same time.

You didn’t glimpse the potential in yourself. You wouldn’t for many years yet.

But the hat knew.

You pleaded for Hufflepuff, knowing you’d be able to carve a home out of the house. The world underestimated badgers, sneering at their perceived lack of intelligence, wit or ambition. You didn’t see that at all. You saw steadiness, a bedrock to build a person upon. It wasn’t a leap of faith. But society couldn’t be built around those who flew. Someone had to be waiting, down below, rooted to the earth, ready to catch falling angels.

The hat laughed.

“Better be…” Panic rose in your chest, a knot tightening inside of you. “GRYFFINDOR.”

They weren’t unkind to you. But you were the fawn in the pride of lions, the hovering figure in the background, the mute who never could make herself heard. Years later, with your personhood more fully attached, half of you wistfully wishes you could go back and do it better. Do it again. And yet, in your heart, you know there’s no value in looking backwards. You must journey on.

Head canons:

Trigger warnings for violence, war, alcoholism and mentions of abuse.

I. la petite fille

Your father - and you only have the confidence to say this now you’re a fledgling, grown to use her own voice - always cared far too much about what people thought. Cream of French society, darling of the elite, a career-hungry politician intent on climbing the ladder. Ironically, the sunshine in your soul can be traced directly back to him. And yet, where yours is woven into the very essence of your being, a warm touch to steady a storm, an easiness to still a monster, a brightness to diminish the darkness, his is a mask, a choking falseness. It was that, more than anything else, that scared you. He changed before your very eyes - shaking hands and kissing cheeks one second - to plotting behind their back the next. Nothing about him was real. He slipped between your fingers, never a solid thing to hang onto.

(The feeling, you know, is mutual. You were a grand disappointment. Too timid to follow in his footsteps and too honest to lie. You’re mostly strangers now, each unable to understand the other).

Your mother you know a little better. An English rose, she fell for your father’s charms one summer, a fling that never was supposed to turn into a marriage. You were the bump that interrupted those plans, the shame that would have befallen her good name. Both parties were hastily married and that was that. You’ve always wondered if she blamed you for it. Always been too afraid to ask. Your mother, you know, was miserable, far far away from home, shackled to a man she barely liked, forced to play the part of politicians wife. When she played it well, there was harmony in the household. But if she slipped up…all hell broke loose. And her, with her love of expensive wine and flirting with other people’s husbands, did mess up. You never witnessed the war inside of your father unfold, merely lived its after effects. Silently, you’d pull a blanket over your mother’s quivering frame and give your father his favourite cigar.

(As you grew, you became rather good at predicting the ticking time bombs. So before the storm ravaged, you nearly always scrambled to safety, grabbing your teddy bear and retreating to the back of the wardrobe. You never found a secret world in the back of there, but you did find safety - and that was a comfort in and of itself).

Peacemaker, your father would sometimes say with affection, your mother with scorn. You’d gulp and nod silently, opinions kept to yourself. Over time, a survival instinct became a pattern and from a pattern into a habit. Such things are hard to shake.

Ii. maison choisie

Your mother hailed from London’s big smoke and your father made Paris his home, so you’ve always been accustomed to cities - you could even say it’s in your blood. But nowhere ever felt like home more than your Grand-Mere’s home a stone’s throw from Amiens. Reluctantly, with great effort, your father would make the bi-annual privilege there, dragging your mother in tow. You never had to be forced, you galloped ahead, a country girl at heart. There was something so liberating about Amiens, especially in the summer, where the line between the fields and sky was impossible trace and wildflowers bloomed. Your grandmother was kinder than your parents, the only one who could pull you out of your shell - but even then, only when you were alone. More a hedgewitch than practiced individual, she used to set you upon a stool as she practiced her potions, entrusting you with the responsibility of stirring from time to time. She was the one who taught you that magic had more than rigid purpose, that it would be as beautiful as life itself.

She also taught you a second, valuable lesson.

You remember the very first muggle you met. You remember them because they waved joyfully as you stepped into the town square - and knew your father by reputation, your Grand-Mere by face. Your father, ever the diplomat, turned his face away, pretending not to have heard. You, bashfully, didn’t meet their eyes either. It was only later, when your parents had been placated by a bottle of wine or two, that your Grand-mere took you aside.

“Why didn’t you wave back?” Dumbstruck, you look for somewhere to scurry away and hide. Gently, she took your hand into her own. “I won’t hurt you chérie.”

“Maman et Papa didn’t.” And you never were awfully comfortable around strangers, bashfulness seizing control of you.

“They were wrong to.” Bopping your nose, your grand-mere drew giggles from you. “They didn’t wave because he was…” her voice strained over the English word. “A muggle. Have they told you not to talk to muggles?”

You shook your head.

“Don’t let them. There will be some, especially when you go to school, who tell you not to talk to witches who have muggle parents. You musn’t let them order you around. No one is any better or lesser because of the blood in our veins. Even muggles…they’re not witches. But they’re not the enemy. After all, if I never spoke to a muggle, I’d never speak to anyone! Never forget that.”

You promised you wouldn’t. You haven’t since.

Iii. armes de guerre Ultimately, it was war that drove you away from your beloved France and your cherished Grand-mere, who refused to stand down and flee when the German troops overran Amiens. You like to imagine she would not take a cowards way out, apparating whilst the others were rats in a barrel, trapped by the advance. You like to imagine she fought to defend her farm with every trick up her sleeve. You like to imagine she remained strong and valiant until the very end. But you’ll never know. The war snatched her from you, her story lost to the wind. All you had left was an owl from the French ministry and the personal condolences of the French Minister La Magie.

It took you a very long time to summon the courage to return. And even then, you couldn’t do it alone. Kenshin stepped in without being asked, the year after you left Hogwarts, stability at your side as you confronted the ruins of the happiest parts of your childhood. Violence had ravaged the landscape, scarring those who survived. Left with nothing, you saw the hallows of hunger in their sunken cheeks and poverty wrecked on their bones. Beauty had perished and been left to die. But in the ruins of her farm, you saw all was not lost. The Peach trees were still rooted, their bounty just as sweet. The goats, against the odds, made it out of the shelling alive. The old stool you had once assisted your grandmother had merely cracked, not splintered. Life went on - and through the cracks of darkness, light emerged.

You saw something of yourself in that light.

A hopeful creature, timidly taking her first steps into the world. A passionate believer in the strength of goodness, in victory and vanquish over evil. That progress, ultimately, would triumph. That even in the face of blasphemy, there is room for beauty, for brightness. The trick is in finding it and nourishing it, so that it may grow.

From seed to sapling to great oak.

The spark within yourself ignited that day. You felt your grandmother’s presence and smiled. You mourned, not in sadness, but in joy - for all the happiness that had been, for all that would yet come.

The world treads down on optimists, mocking their faith. But you’ve learnt there’s courage in that kind of relentless determination. That day, you felt its whispers in your soul. That day, you swore to let it go free.

Iv. soldat improbable The time that followed ‘The Great War’ was supposed to be the long peace. If you look with hooded eyes, you’d find that in the cityscape of New York. Illicit drinking. Parties that last until dawn. Jazz bands. Woman’s emancipation. There is so much beauty, so much progress. But squint harder - and you’d find an underground war, a cold one, lurking just below the surface. It’s cause is more just than any muggle one ever fought. It isn’t a battle between great powers, princes and their cousins. It’s between right and wrong, progress and past, egalitarianism and inequality.

You know you’re not a likely candidate to fight in it. Most overlook you, sneering at your daintiness, soft smiles and open heart. They should understand that it’s what makes you strong, too. All you want is some small part in this larger battle, to be a part of the greater good. More than anything else, you’re a visionary, able to picture a world beyond this hatred. If you can see the brightness, you can be the brightness, a bedrock for those wearier than you, a guide for those who might come in your direction. You’re no warrior, not in the conventional sense, but not every battle should be fought with a weapon. Some need softer tools. You could be that person.

It is the sum of your duties with Dahlia. You see yourself in her, the girl you were but a few years ago, timid and unsure of the power in her own voice, but possessing a rosy heart. She deserves better. You long to show her that, to share your brightness and certainty in betterness, to pull her from the den of snakes and away from the Pride Society. You’re not asking her to fight, for the Coalition, for you…never. You simply want to help her. You would do anything - give her the means to runaway, a safe roof to shelter under, because you long to see her flourish. You’re just so afraid of failure…of failing her, your duty and yourself. The powers against you are overwhelming, those who wield the weapons lethal. The horrors she confesses terrify you. Light, as bright as it is, can be snuffed out. That is your greatest fear where Dahlia is concerned.

V. Coup de main As fun you’ll admit the parties Wren and Kenshin drag you out to are, you couldn’t carve a life out of them. Pleasure is for hedonists - and you do not count yourself among their ranks. When you found your own voice, the grit beneath porcelain skin, you were determined that it should count. You sought purpose in yourself, a way to matter. Almost as if you were trying to prove yourself…to yourself.

You found clarity in the most unlikely of places. A non-descriptive building in Queens - that would appear empty to an unsuspecting muggle. It’s purpose only became clear when you stepped inside, finding an overworked and overwhelmed refugee agency. In the aftermath of the great war, the creation of a dozen new states in Europe, thousands of wizards chose to emigrate instead, heading to the United States in search of a better life.

It’ll be tough work, the supervisor warned, staring you up and down, disdainfully. You bit your lip. Old habits die hard.

I’m tougher than I look. Promise. Your voice rang with clarity, in how true that statement had become.

You began volunteering on a trial basis. You distributed donations and held shaky people in your arms. You played with children and made puppets dance. After a fortnight, you began to offer your services as a translator, hoping to connect people into the interior of the US. A little while after that, you suggested you could be used by the organisation at large, rather than ad-hoc.

You felt a rush in your chest, advocating for yourself. You felt strong and brave and…right.

VI. bizarreries personnelles

Here are the little things that make you, you.

You never broke the habit of walking on your tiptoes, a legacy left from a childhood full of ballet dancing. Slender limbs, porcelain skin, your teacher used to sigh and wish you centre stage. Bashfully, you refused, your cheeks darkening. The spotlight was never yours to claim.

You cannot cook without making a mess. In your presence, the kitchen comes a bomb sight, ravaged by war. Nose flour-stained, fingers sticky, you chase Kenshin around the kitchen. You always catch him. He always allows himself to get caught.

Your pastries are infamous, light and puffy, the sort only the french know how to make. You refine your recipes with magic and tap your nose whenever anyone asks for their secrets. (Later, in fine ink, you pen them a letter, containing the details).

You despise British food. You ate dutifully at Hogwarts, too shy to even dream of asking for an alternative. Toad in the hole. Pies. Casseroles. Blegh.

You bit your fingernails until you were fifteen years old. Your mother enchanted them after that, exasperated at your lack of self-control. The spell has long worn off, but the manicure never lasts long. It’s a nervous tick.

You used to chew your hair. You threw off that habit by twelve.

Birthdays are your favourite times of the year. You take great pride in the gifts you give friends, a thoughtful gesture behind each one. You do, however, despise your own birthday. Being at the centre of attention makes you uncomfortable, you’d much rather spread and share the joy. Luckily, everyone’s learnt not to throw you surprise birthday parties. Instead, you have small, intimate gatherings.

(You and Kenshin have a ritual. A cupcake at midnight as eve becomes day.)

You’re hopeless at keeping plants alive. There isn’t a green bone - or thumb - in your body. You failed herbology miserably.

But you’re incredibly attentive when it comes to writing in your diary, daily and in french, to prevent eavesdropping eyes. A habit you haven’t shaken since your days in Gryffindor.

Your patronus is a lamb. An individual with a lamb patronus has a sort of natural innocence about them, and have a very serene disposition. They are kind to most, though they tend to have a difficult time reaching out and expressing themselves. They have a shy aspect of them that is not only social, but inner, which makes them hesitant to do many things. That said, they are very patient and calm creatures, which allow them to be workable with this nature.

You talk too much when you’re nervous. Far too much. About things that have nothing to do with anything. The weather. The latest show that opened on Broadway. The dance craze everyone’s talking about. Whether you should get a bob. You blabber, filling the space with…words. It’s endearing to most, but you despise it in yourself.

Your wand is 9 ½”, french-made and slim. Beech and Unicorn Hair. “The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his or her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant. When properly matched, the beech wand is capable of a subtlety and artistry not seen in any other wood, hence its lustrous reputation.”

Languages are your forte. You have a knack for wrapping your tongue around them, inheriting a little of your father’s silver-tongued mantle. French is your mother tongue, but you’ve added English, Spanish, Italian and a pinch of Latin to the mix.

When you’re making a bold declaration or gesture, you rehearse the words in your mind the night before, like a politician preparing for a speech. You muse over the most effective way to get your point across, the comfort a person will be most receptive to, or whether it’s better just to hold someone and let them cry.

Connection expansion:

I. meilleur ami (Note: I’m happy to change all of this if the Kenshin player disagrees, this is merely my interpretation).

“Mon Frere…” Kenshin catches your grin. Deliberately, his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Ma sœur” You wince at the deliberately butchered pronunciation, but smile nonetheless. He’s always had a particular knack for that, drawing the happiness out of you. And you for him. The only label that fits your description is that of platonic soulmate. Or big brother. For truly, the lines between friendship and family have blurred, that you can’t tell them apart. Certainly, he feels more like family than your own blood ever did.

You met on your tenth day at Hogwarts, in the middle of Herbology class. Devil’s snare wrapped around your hand, you panicked, but were too shy to raise you concerns, suffering in silence. Where few did, Kenshin noticed you - and calmed you down with that bluntness of his. Before you knew it, you were smiling, then laughing and then free. You’ve been attached at the hip since - and shall be, until death do you part. The years did little to change the pair of you. Where some friends grow apart, you grew together, slotting like two jigsaw puzzle pieces. By third year, you were spending Christmas together, Kenshin sensing your unspoken reluctance to go back to France and face the holidays with your parents. After your first one together, you confessed the truth, honesty no one had even known. But most of all, he brought light into his life - different to yours, more brazen and bold. Like two twinned suns, strung across the sky. He is your confidante, secret keeper, joker, dance partner and now, roommate.

The latter made sense. When the two of you ended up in New York at the same time (it’s impossible to imagine the two of you oceans apart, impossible and terrible and dreadful), it made sense for the pair of you to find a two-bed apartment in Manhattan and make it your home. You are as compatible roommates as you are friends.

And, for the first time, he made a house a home.

II. le fruit interdit (Again, I’m happy to alter things dependent on plotting w/ Prosperina’s player) You shouldn’t want to kiss her. If you are the doe, she is the wolf - a huntress determined to strike clean. In your heart, you know you should hate that dynamic, as you know you should despise her - resent the intimidation that rises through your bones, abhore the uncertainty she makes you feel.. You should be afraid. Very afraid.

And in so many ways, you are. You’re scared of what your attraction to her says about you, now that you are both girls grown, living with the choices you make as adults. You aren’t school children anymore, you aren’t praying to be noticed, doodling hearts with your names encased in it. You’re fearful of what might happen if you find yourselves alone, in a dark - or a light - room. But you’re more frightened, in a strange way, of nothing happening at all.

With Prosperina, there are so many unspoken anxieties, so many things you can’t possibly wrap your head around, that you can’t possibly know. Why she notices you now. When you began to crave the burn. If the risk is worth a moments ecstasy. How beauty could wear such thorns.

You know, now, how Eve felt, in the Garden of Eden. Just one bite, the snake hissed. Just one kiss, Prosperina whispers. You have no wish to shed your wings and toss yourself from Paradise’s gate. But she’s just as beautiful as any angel you’ve ever gazed upon.

In Character Paragraph:

Thursday night, 9pm sharp, the Yale Club. Dress elegantly. Heloise didn’t need to glance down at the invitation to know its contents, her heart having memorised them ten times over, skipping a beat each time it paused at a cursive. Even Prosperina’s writing was beautiful. She would have liked to say that the invitation was unexpected, out of the blue and had been firmly rejected. Yet, since she distastes lies, she could not.

Heloise had, however, made an attempt or two to excuse herself. Sending an owl in return, she had outlined her disapproval of the Pride Society and its galas in no uncertain terms. Prosperina had take an age to respond - deliberately, Heloise supposed, to make her nerves hop and jump. When she had, Heloise could almost taste her tone. It’s not one of those. It’s for charity. Don’t you support charity? She had caved. Heloise couldn’t be sure if that was strength or weakness, good or bad.

Three days later, another letter had arrived. Wear pink. It matches the blush on your face.

Stepping into the room, Heloise steeled herself, a picture of defiance in angel-white, beads reflecting the light back.

Not so long ago, she would have cowered, a ghostly slip of a thing, trembling in the corner. Glass of champagne stitched to her hand, she would have sipped until someone had taken pity on her - and even then, she might have fled. That worked under the assumption she plucked the courage to attend at all. Time sandpapered everyone, some for the better, others for the worse. Heloise liked to think she took after the former.

The first eye she caught was from across the room, her gaze instantly drawn to the slip of a girl shrouded by demons, unable to do anything but stare from her cage. Dahlia. It hurt to see her here, to see the shackles bound and to know she was powerless to help. To approach her, to take her hands into her own and wrap her arms around her shoulders was to betray her newfound friend, to expose her doubts to the world. There was cruelty in watching her suffer - but there was greater cruelty in taking a hammer to the foundations below her feet. That wasn’t Heloise’s job. Hers was to encourage Dahlia to flutter her own wings, to learn how to fly. All in good time. Smiling softly across the room, she let her face say what her tongue couldn’t. Stay strong, keep the faith.

The second pair were Prosperina’s - appearing from nowhere, sneaking up behind. Departing from conventions and norms, she didn’t bother with small-talk. “You look ravishing. But not as pretty as you would have had in pink.”

Tongue-tied, Heloise searched for a response. No one had the power to shrink her anymore, now that she had freed her voice from its restraints. And yet, that didn’t mean anymore wit had returned to it. In times like these, she prayed for Kenshin’s presence at her side, always ready with a sharp retort, the sort that drew him closer to someone. Or even Wren, brazen and bold, who spoke without thought. You don’t want to impress her! One voice screamed.Not like you imagined you might, a lifetime ago.

And yet, a little bit of her did.

Heloise spurned her interest. But a little bit of her didn’t want to do without it either.

“I - Thank you. You look…” Staring at Prosperina for the first time, Heloise felt the breath be stolen from her lungs. Divine. Enchanting. “Like a million bucks.” Slanting her voice into an American accent for comedic effect, she immediately regretted her choice no sooner had it been said. “And this…it’s certainly big. Very big. I suppose that’s good. The more people you can fit in, the more donations you can collect for charity.”

Prosperina laughed. Heloise was never sure if she was being laughed at or with. She preferred to think it was the latter.

“The committee had a few reservations. Something about…vermin control. The guest list is rather exclusive, you see.”

Confusion flashed across her face. It wasn’t as if New York was a stranger to rodents…but something about her tone, about the look on her face…made it clear that it wasn’t animals she was referring to. Without noticing, Heloise had become a player in the game. The smile froze on her face. “I sure hope that isn’t a reference to the architects who built the place. Or the perfectly nice people going about their business on the floor below. They’re not doing any harm.”

“Ah yes, the No-Maj’s, as our Yank friends love to say.”

Heloise tensed on the mention of that word. She despised it. No-Maj. So…derogatory. And rather rude. As if they didn’t count as people, or deserve respect, on the merit of something they didn’t have - and had no choice in having. “I hate that term. I hate - you shouldn’t talk about them like that. Nobody should. They’re hardly hurting anyone. And technically, this is their territory so really we should - be respectful.” Exhaling heavily, she steadied herself.

“Oh,” Prosperina leaned in, all smiles now, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “You’re such a doll. I was only playing. But I can be nice, if you ask nicely.” Her touch felt like electricity, the sort of chemistry that couldn’t be duplicated or faked. When it was real, it was real. “I’ll go fetch us expensive champagne to make amends.” Half-purr, she broke off and Heloise dropped her gaze. “Pink Champagne, I think.”

Cheeks deepening into rosy-red, Heloise watched her depart, wishing she could look away.

Extras:

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moidse · 4 years

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bruh, i like them. they are sweet and caring and kind and smart and all these things... i just, dont fantasize about being with them forever and shit. i guess im not sure if that’s me like growing up and being realistic or like im settling..

i just need to be with someone who like really turns me on... like they do try to fuck me and i appreciate them working through a lot of their trauma to even get to being mostly nude around me and fucking me and going down on me... its just like... my orgasms are soooooo small ... like yeah i cum.. but its such a baby orgasm and it isn’t super satisfying.. i cum harder when i masturbate...

and it’s just not as hot as i want it to be for a number of reasons... and these reasons i do not see changing because my partner just isn’t sexual the same ways i am...and sex isn’t as hot unless both ppl are into it... like ive never heard them like yearn for me sexually... like they never talk about my body like it just turns them on,,, they never talk about me like im a hot piece of ass which i am lol... but i know they literally told me they don’t desire sex and its just like ... i just cannot see myself happy in this situation forever.

i think this has been challenging for me because i’ve had ppl in the past call me a fukboi and say like i only wanna fuck and thats it... but thats not true.. i wanna fuck and have a romantic relationship... and its like i have a romantic relationship and not the fucking i want and desire. And i dont think they will ever be what im looking for... it’s like i dont wanna blame them, i know they have issues talking about shit... but i do not understand their logic of not saying their sexual preferences str8 up ... i just think if you are going to be looking for someone to date and you dont want to fuck you should bring that up sooner than 3 months into talking to this person... like what really happened was i was already so invested in them at that point i felt like i had to try to make it work... and this whole time has been me trying to see if this can be something that will be sexually satisfying to me... which i’ve never entered a relationship like this... usually we have sex pretty instantly and then see if we can have a connection and with then its like we connected and then now im trying to see if we can have a sexual connection and like i appreciate them trying and im glad they finally got over their nerves and go down on me now but .... it still feels like something is missing and that’s why im not eager about buying a d cuz im like i know it aint gonna hit right.... sigh...

i just miss the passion.... and honestly seeing gaby and mals tweet exchange reminded me like shit thats what i misssssss. i miss having that type of dynamic with my ex... lol i wish i wasn’t still thinking about them often but the sex was NEXT LEVEL... and i str8 up went from the best sex i’d ever had to the worst and it irks me... maybe my therapist was right that i shouldve ended things back when they first told me they are asexual..idk i dont think im bad for trying to make it work.. like i know there are different types of asexual so i really didn’t know if it could work or not... but like i dont even feel all that horny or sexy around them... and then when i come home i feel like i can express my sexuality more online-- like with porn and shit and idk seeing that tweet and it leading me into fantasies... like.. also usually when im with someone i aint really looking at porn cuz the sex is so good..

it just sucks,, like i am a switch at heart.. and i ideally want a partner thats a switch... like it irks me they dont want me to fuck them, like i never get to top and express that energy with them and i never get to feel like a boi and fuck them with my d and they dont even want my d ... and that blows... with my ex i felt so much gender euphoria because they were so into me having a d and me fucking them with it and shit and they would fuck me and grind up against me like i had a d and it was so so so validating and i had never felt so much gender validation through sex before and it felt amazing...i loved how they thought i was so hot just in my boxers and my black t... like it all felt so validating... and they never once have said i look cute or hot in my underwear and its like... idkkkkkkk i dont like that. it makes me feel like im not being seen like how i want to be seen honestly... like i want you to see me as a cute boy you want to grind up against and feel how hard i get.... and sometimes im a cute boy who wears lacey shit... but im mostly just a cute boy who wears briefs ... its just like,,, the way we have sex i feel more like a gurl and i don’t like it...

I want to be with someone who is okay with dating someone with a d...

i feel like what made me being a fem bottom boy to my ex so hot was i was already topping them like most of our relationship... i already felt fully seen as a handsome hot top boy and the feeling i felt being that and being seen as that in public with them felt amazing... which i was surprised... but i honestly loveeeee feeling like im the boy in the relationship... even tho blah blah i know things im more complex then that.... but i love the idea of being with someone and when we are out in public ppl assume i have a d and dick this person down... like!!! the pride and passion of it!!!!!! i miss!!! seeing that tweet from gaby just publicly bragging that they are the top in their relationship and dick down mal just reminded me of me being with my ex like i loveeee that public display or just having a mad dope sexual relationship with someone...i miss it!!!

I def feel a romantic connection to them but i dont feel a strong sexual connection to them and i just think about like... the idea of looking for someone else... i just do not think this will ever be a strong sexual relationship for me that makes me feel like a hot boy.

its just like,, i havent been out and trans and fucking for more than like a year .. and like with my partner and this hookup in chicago.. like once i said im trans i have bottom dysphoria yadda yadda.. they were like okay and started fucking me like i have a d and respecting me in this way ... and my partner has never done this and i know its because it doesn’t come natural to them because they just dont wanna be fucking by a d or by a gd v lmao... and its SUCH a turn off to have to spell it out for them and be like yooo grind on me like ur riding my d but like you like it and its something that youve been craving for hours and you can’t believe you finally get to ride me... like....

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