She’s probably just jealous because you dress better.
True; I clocked chino cut-offs and navy croc sandals. If anything here is a crime against nature, it certainly aint me.
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@adorexaj
She’s probably just jealous because you dress better.
True; I clocked chino cut-offs and navy croc sandals. If anything here is a crime against nature, it certainly aint me.
Some people are just shit, right? They talk shit, they think shit. They don’t worth. I think you have such an amazing mom. For me, they’re the most importat thing in your life. And having a good one just like yours? That’s wonderful. And she taught you right, because I’m sure you’re gonna be as good as her.
Oh shit, you're actually going to make me cry before I even know your name. Aren't we meant to wait a bit? Isn't this moment meant to be saved for two years into dating when you end up leaving me for a better looking, more interesting/exotic French exchange student, or something?
Yes?
I’M SO BAD AT THIS THIS IS LITERALLY THE SECOND TIME THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME but thanks for the awkward flirting it was actually really appreciated I just thought I offended you!!! And oh my GOSH that would be incredible like I don’t wanna impose if you’re not into it and I don’t know how interested I am in wearing makeup like, regularly, but I guess I just dig the transformative and like, artistic aspects of it, if that makes sense? Like some people can just make themselves whatever they wanna be. I just want to wear some lipstick (gloss? stain??? what’s the difference?) so I can leave marks on everything. But I don’t even know what my colour would be and most people already think I’m always wearing lipstick.
No no, totally not! Please do keep calling me all those awesome things if you want to, I'm certainly not going to be the one to say no. Despite all the word soup going on up there, I totally get what you mean. I mean, I'm not saying you have to continue wearing it or anything, you just seem interested and I thought it'd be really fun. I'll show you stuff, and do your face, it'll be great. Order in the pizza and beer and we'll kiki. And don't worry about your 'colours' or anything, I'll make you look like a hot bitch.
"Mini Me has been screaming for 38 miles. I can’t believe she hasn’t lost her voice."
Oh my God, how the hell do you cope? If it was me, the kid would be in a Moses basket on the first doorstep off the freeway.
Nah, more just white trash. Figured that must be fairly universal.
Dude, don't worry I was only kidding.
Well, for one; I’m a broke bitch who’d rather spend money on food than wigs, and secondly; have you seen how much a good lace-front costs?
Considering I'm a drag queen - yeah, I'm aware.
There's no reason why you can't rock the shit out of a cheaper wig if you work on it enough and sell it with the right attitude. The only 'good lace-fronts' I have are the three I got as gifts over the years.
You are officially flawless. Performing arts and a queen? You could say that the feeling is mutual. Bitch, if you ever need a dress at the drop of a hat, you know who to call.
You live around London? See, I don’t care about meeting people off the internet. I’m impermeable. And I have no filter, so that helps.
I’m Lola. Charlotte normally, but Lola is the best nickname. And thanks! It’s really cute here so far. This is a natural extension of the people I know IRL so double points for me!
Girl, you should not have said that, 'cause I'm for real gonna end up asking you to make me one some day, ngl. And if you ever need a model or anything for your designs, I've never done it before but I'd totally be down. As male or female-presenting, whatever. You basically get two models for the price of one...
Yeah, I do. But even to this day after a whole year living here, I still haven't once seen Sherlock Holmes or any of the Spice Girls; un-fucking-fair, man. Totally feel you about that pesky, non-existent filter though, as one foot-in-mouth syndrome sufferer to another.
Anyone want to recommend a good brand of hair dye that doesn’t slowly mutilate your roots?
Start using wigs instead?
→ "Fancy seeing you here..." » AJ + Francis
Francis was drunk. This was a thoroughly unusual occurrence, and one that in fact happened so rarely he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been this blotted. Probably that time out with the girls, when Ems had picked up that Italian chap and made Francis feel stupid and slow in comparison, even though he and Ems had broken up ages ago, probably months ago, but that hadn’t stopped him slamming back a dozen tequilas and puking in the gutter.
The reason for his drinking had quite eluded him; it had slipped away probably around eight o’clock, which was when he left that bar in Trafalgar with the group of Bosnian exchange students. Now: no Bosnians. The realization made him feel lonesome. Nothing like drinking by yourself to exacerbate the pain.
Francis propped himself up against another bar, in another club, set to another heaving dance track. The world swam shallowly, lights fracturing, faces swinging in and out of focus. His limbs felt as if they were made of sand. As he leaned back against the cheap faux-wood surface, he could almost imagine what a sight he made: sloppy uni student, jeans slung dangerous low upon jutted hips, tight shirt, sweaty hair. Above all was a sickly sense of exhaustion — but the prospect of hailing a cab seemed too much effort, and besides that, he hadn’t even puked once. Once!
"Good to know, mate," the guy smirked, one eyebrow raised. Beer bottle to full lips, kind of like some other lips Francis knew well… Or wanted to know well, if his damn inhibitions would give it a rest for five minutes.
"What?"
"Gay bars tend to shake that out of ya." Tilting his head toward the stage, which was separated from their island pair by a sea of pulsating bodies, strobe lights, and glitter. So much glitter. "You should get out there and dance. Move that fit bod around, what d’you say?"
"Nathanksyou’realright." Clapping him on the shoulder, Francis swayed upright, downing the rest of his beer. The action made his stomach churn unpleasantly, adrenaline, exhaustion, horniness. A familiar cocktail. “Hey, you wanna grab a —”
"…Show on the road!" A tumultuous cheer. Peering over the crowd, Francis vaguely focused on the distant spotlit figure, all hair and sequins, like a giant doll. A heady bass pounced up his spine, the lights swept through the room and splintered into a dozen strobes. Bodies everywhere; chaos.
Pushing his drink to one side, Francis untangled himself from the guy and lurched into the fray. And closing his eyes, he began to dance.
AJ wasn't AJ anymore - not up on that stage. Feeling the rhythm and beat of the music pump through his body, sensing the harsh glare of the stage lights cover his skin from head to toe, and feeding off the raw, sweaty energy of a hyped-up, rowdy nightclub crowd allowed AJ to transfer into the appropriate "Adore" headspace he was used to being in when performing.
He was often posed the question of how did Adore differ from AJ - why did he act differently as her? Well first things first, the chick's a fucking mermaid who's convinced she came from the ocean; that's 'different' enough just on its own. AJ liked to think of her as an exaggerated, caricature version of himself. She played up his strengths and made him stronger, but also cut out the human weaknesses and hid them away from the audience's harsh, judgmental view.
AJ was loud? Adore was louder.
AJ was funny? Adore was funnier
AJ was sarcastic? Adore was even more so.
AJ lets himself be ruled completely by his emotions and carelessly wears his heart on his sleeve? Adore was insensitive and more guarded.
Adore strutted, jumped and grinded her way through the first half of the admittedly sexually-charged song lyrics, constantly bouncing from one side of the stage to the other, collecting dollar tips from the audiences' waiting hands as she went. In true 'Adore' fashion, when her fists got too full of cash, she simply threw it roughly towards the back of the stage so that it wasn't in her way. Surely someone would be along to collect it up for her.
As the song drew towards the middle where there was quite a long stretch of instrumental, Adore pulled the mic away from her face and stopped singing. After taking a second to speedily swipe the sticky, distinctive "stage lights and makeup" sweat off her forehead with her wrist, Adore pounded back to centre stage to address the audience.
"So... what lucky cunt's gonna be joining me on stage, huh? Anyone?" she drawled in a mock-casual tone, as if she didn't just hear the rumbling roar of the crowd's response almost as soon as she started talking.
"Eeenie..."
Adore's eyes swiped back and forth across the audience, just getting a general scope of the people.
"Meenie..."
She began to home in on a particular few people who were dancing already, and having a good time, who would probably be more fun to have on stage.
"Miney..."
Wait a second... who was that? All of a sudden, Adore clocked this one guy right in the middle of the dance floor. Tall, stubbly, handsome, and not taking himself too seriously. He'd be perfect. But wait, did this guy look kinda... familiar?
"Moe!"
She'd called it out loud and clear into the mic, snapping her head round to stare right at him, with her arm stretched out and finger pointed right at the guy past all the other club-goers - just so he really got the message.
"Step right up and claim your prize" she teased, bending at the knee and moving her hands up and down the length of her scarcily-clothed frame to accentuate it, a wicked grin lighting up her face.
@adorexaj: what's the only thing better than one slice of pizza... #bangbang
Okay, it’s so time I do an intro. I know we’re all waiting for it. I’m Charlotte, but please do not call me that. I can cry on command. Don’t make me cry. Lola’s the game, flawless is the game. I’m doing a course in theatre costume design, I’m twenty one, and I’m mainly on here because ladies. Hi.
I’m doing a performing arts degree and am also a drag queen on a tight-ass budget who isn’t good at sewing, so I’m automatically drawn to you. Let’s be friends oh flawless, costume designing one. I’m AJ; welcome!
I finally managed to unpack the last of the boxes and set up most of my new place. Does anyone need an excessive amount of packing boxes? I have a heap.
If I had enough room in my flat to build a massive box fort without pissing off my roommate, then the answer to that question would obviously have been yes.
So... no. But congrats on the updated living conditions!
Oh God help me, I’ve actually discovered a bride out of a reality show from the states. I don’t know whether to laugh or give into the impulse to chuck a cupcake at her just to shut her up.
You shittin' on the USA, motherfucker?
I’m sorry!!! I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything it’s just like I have this problem where I have to always tell people exactly what I think of them and it always just blows my mind ‘cause, like, makeup is SO CONFUSING and you’re so good at it and I just don’t understand. And then you know how when you don’t see someone you sorta forget what they look like until you see them again? So every time it just throws me for a LOOP.
Woah woah woah, chill out! I wasn't being serious or anything, I was awkwardly trying to flirt and it sorta blew up in my face. You're still too fucking sweet for this life, though. I mean, I actually throw someone 'for a loop' - that shit's crazy. I don't do this much, because I generally don't take much want or interest in beating anyone's face except my own very often, but if you want me to show you some stuff, give some pointers, or just do your makeup sometime I'd be down.
jYour mum sounds INCREDIBLE. And that lady was probably jealous that even as a ciswoman she can’t be as pretty as you are! That whole thing about how women are raised to view each other as competition, you know? It’s really unfortunate, though. And it’s extra unfortunate that she’ll raise her children to have the same backwards views. Maybe they’ll come around some day.
She is; my mom is basically my everything, and I'm super lucky to have such an amazing woman as her. I miss her a lot, though. Yeah, that's the part I probably felt worst about. She's being vile and passing her vileness onto the next generation to come, which is not cool in the slightest.
Okay, I've decided that you can only keep calling me pretty and beautiful and stuff like that when you stop being so gorgeous yourself. It don't feel right.
→ "Fancy seeing you here..." » AJ + Francis
"Shit shit fucking damn cunt shit..."
In other words, one should probably not try to apply false eyelashes whilst hopping around, trying to get one's feet into a pair of constricting stiletto heels. 'Cause there's a damn good chance you're going to shove what feels like a thousand tiny needles into your eyeball and temporarily blind yourself. Of course. Normal day at the office.
By this point, AJ had come to welcome this process as normal routine. He'd never been the most organised person in the world, and his messy workspace usually came to match his overactive, scatterbrained way of thinking. He was always left rushing around at the last minute trying to glue down an eyelash, blend his face makeup or tighten his 'tuck'. You could name any aspect of the "getting ready to go on stage" process, and AJ's probably rushed his way through it two minutes before being due to go on stage. When he had to work in groups for a theatre presentation, he was always that one pain in the ass that never seemed fully prepared for anything until he got on stage to perform, then proceeded to slay the hell out of it.
"And please welcome to the stage our next performer, Adore-"
Suddenly the cramped, humid dressing room all abuzz with queens' chatter and masses of hairspray immediately felt like all remaining breathable air had been sucked out of it. His stomach dropped momentarily, in the all-too-familiar way. No matter how many times he performed and how confident he was as a performer, there was always that moment when you hear your cue and feel like you're going to throw up. AJ expertly took a deep breath, and upon exhaling (maybe not so expertly) made the snap decision to snatch a half-glassful of some mystery alcoholic drink someone had left on the grubby, lipstick-stained dressing table, and down it in one. It scorched what felt like a whole layer of skin off the back of his throat, but he knew it was working as he could feel himself begin to loosen up as he strutted on stage fearlessly and grabbed the mic from the stand.
"Are you motherfuckers ready to party?!" she yelled out to the thunderous, receptive mixture of applause and cheering from the audience.
"Then let's get the fuckin' show on the road!"