2. The Pony with the Stylish Frames (not me)
2. The Pony with the Stylish Frames (not me)
Rain hit the ground in heavy droves as I dug through the trash. I had already found a few cardboard boxes to make myself a shelter for the night, but none of them were big or sturdy enough to shelter me from the downpour, so I kept looking, digging through the refuse for something, anything, which could offer any form of protection.
I turned my attention to another trashcan, opening it to find a few newspapers. They were slightly wet, with the ink running down the paper, but that didn’t matter. My bones, were chilled beyond belief and these papers would still provide some warmth when stuffed into my jacket, even despite their dampness.
As quickly as I could, I began stuffing the newspapers into the available space between my jacket and my fur, a task made more difficult by my hunger. Sure, there was the constant growling in my stomach and the pain that came along with malnutrition, but this was a pain I had grown quite accustomed to as of late. This pain had only gotten worse as my stomach seemed to begin eating itself for survival, much like how my lack of nutrition ebbed away my muscles, making each movement more difficult.
Now, however, there was the constant feeling of being close to fainting. I figured this could be attributed to the lack of nutrition as well, or to the lack of sleep... or to the lack of hope. Regardless of the reason, I always felt tired and in constant danger of falling asleep.
And yet, I knew I couldn’t.
To fall asleep was to die, and I couldn’t die just yet, regardless of how much I would like to.
So I kept grabbing newspapers, despite the pain in my stomach, the aching of my joints, and the atrophy of my bones. A flash of lightning soared through the sky, illuminating the area enough for me to catch a look at my reflection in a nearby puddle. I was so skinny now that each bone seemed to pull through the skin. I had easily been able to see each rib, each femur, each notch on my spine.
“A model’s envy,” I muttered, offering my mirthless laughter as a response to my horrible joke. That’s all I had now, my bad jokes and my imminent death. I shook my head in annoyance as I, with great effort, pulled out the last newspaper, almost dropping it as I read the cover.
Tranny Infiltrates Canterlot Fashion Industry! Public Seeks Action!
Tear mixed with the rain as I struggled to control my emotions, but it was too much. At this point I was exhausted mentally and physically, long past having crossed my limits.
I collapsed, crying into the surrounding puddles,the newspaper falling as well, making most of the familiar print unreadable. And yet, between the parts that I had memorized and the parts that had were still legible, I could still make out the article.
There was a public outcry today demanding the immediate resignation of one of Photo Finish’s top stylists after news that said pony was not in-fact a mare, but rather a cross-dressed stallion, hit the mainstream. In response, Photo Finish Inc. has released a statement issuing a public apology for their oversight and an assurance that the issue will be dealt with, adding that had they been aware of Cotton Candy’s real gender, swift action would have been taken. Despite this public statement, stocks for Photo Finish Inc. continue to plummet, as the public takes to the streets, voicing their disgust.
“I cannot believe this,” Hoity Toity said. “I mean, this pony was in constant contact with my models and none of us knew. I am shocked and disgusted, yes, but my models are outright distraught. I mean, can you imagine what could have happened to them?”
“The way I see it, we have to make a statement,” Uppercrust told reporters. “This pony was a role model to many and a very prominent figure, and now we find out that not only is she a compulsive liar who lied to us all, but she is a he? We cannot have someone with this illness be out there for others to idolize. It is not enough to fire him, we have to make sure everypony understands that this is not just unacceptable, but reprehensible.”
Princess Celestia has declined to comment on the situation at this time, but it is rumored that she is gathering a unit of guards to apprehend Cotton Candy in response to crimes against basic decency. And yet, some argue that would not be enough as…
I could not keep reading.
With a loud wail I wept like I had never wept before.
“I’m sorry,” I yelled. “I didn’t mean to be this way, I wish I weren’t. But please.. make this stop… I’m sorry.”
A large lightning strike illuminated the sky again, followed by a resounding crash.
I bolted up, tears still streaking across my face.
However, I was no longer wet and freezing.
In fact, I was home.
“Sorry about that, these cups are way too fragile!”
I turned to look towards the kitchen where the voice had come from, but I was unable to see the pony who had spoken. Not that I needed to, of course - with that accent there was only one pony it could be.
As the shock of my rude awakening wore off, I became instantly aware of my giant headache, which made it a bit hard to get my bearings on what exactly had happened. Looking around, I noticed that I had apparently fallen asleep on the couch, that someone had put a blanket over me, and that I had apparently been drinking, the last of which meant that something bad had happened. I tried to piece together the events from the previous day, but I ended up coming up blank, as no matter how hard I tried, not one memory resurfaced.
“I know I was the fashion show,” I mumbled to myself. “But I can’t remember anything after that, not even how I got home.”
I continued to sit there and think, oblivious to the mare that had joined me from the kitchen.
“Well good morning Sty!” she exclaimed. “I hope my mishap in the kitchen didn’t wake you. Also, I owe you a teacup.”
I could say a lot of good things about Photo Finish’s voice, but that list would not include her ability to speak at an acceptable level of loudness, especially on a morning such as this one.
“Do you have to be so loud?” I asked, covering my ears. “You’re not helping my hangover.”
I couldn’t know for sure because of those glasses she always wore, but I could swear that she rolled her eyes at me.
“Oh, right, I cannot imagine what type of hangover you must be dealing with,” she said sarcastically. “A whole beer! You must have been quite wasted.”
She then went up to the solitary beer can sitting on the living room table.
“Oh, my mistake,” she said, picking it up. “Half a beer.”
Yea, there was no mistaking the eye roll and the raised eyebrow.
“Leave me alone,” I said, laying back down. “I’m a lightweight; that was more than enough.”
“Come eat some breakfast at least,” Photo Finish said. “You’ll feel better with some food in your system. You’ll feel even worse if you don’t.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic, despite really wanting to.
“Fine, fine,” I said, getting up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen.
“Bagels, tea, and fried hay? Not bad for a breakfast,” I exclaimed, sitting at the kitchen counter, Photo Finish sitting beside me. A soft silence coursed through the house as we ate, save for the sound of chewing or the occasional rattle of a cup or plate which would have been rather peaceful, if not for the question nagging in the head.
“So, as much as I appreciate the breakfast,” I began as I finished my meal, “You don’t normally make a habit of breaking into my home. Is something the matter?”
Photo Finish shrugged as she took another sip of her tea.
“When you first didn’t come back to the fashion show, I didn’t think much of it. I figured that you were out having fun with that blonde pegasus I saw you leave with. But when you didn’t come back for a few hours, I ended up getting worried. You never do well in those types of social situations and since you didn’t come back at all, I assumed something bad happened,” she said. “Since I found you sleeping on your couch next to a half empty beer, I’ll assume I was right to worry.”
And just like that my memory clicked into place, with each scene from the previous night playing behind my eyes.
In a blur I remembered the fashion show.
First, I remembered the wonderful walk I took and the conversation I was a part of. Then, I remembered the closeness to another pony, a closeness I had longed for more so than even I realized.
Finally, I remembered Cloud Kicker.
My thoughts stopped there, replaying the various expressions Cloud Kicker had worn throughout the night: the playful grin, the sensual smile, the hurt stare. I sighed in annoyance, angry at myself for letting any of that happen at all, and for not letting it continue. I was unsure of which was worse.
“Hey, you know I was kidding about you being anti-social, right?”
I looked up to meet the very worried gaze of my boss, and internally cringed as I tried to figure out how long I had been spaced out for.
“I know” I said finally, deciding that I was probably not lost in thought long enough to cause serious concern. “Sorry, I was just remembering things from last night.”
“Care to share?” she asked, to which I shrugged.
“Not much to say,” I responded. “I went to the castle gardens with the pony you saw me with. We had fun, we talked, then we got… intimate. And then I remembered what I was doing. I freaked out and ran away.”
I sat there awkwardly for a long while before she responded.
“So you got intimate with a pony?” she asked.
The question caught me off-guard, causing me to blush slightly and nod slowly despite being annoyed about that being the detail she picked up on.
And then I waited for a response.
“That’s wonderful news!” she exclaimed. “Granted, running away before the real fun was probably not the best thing, but foal steps.”
For a second I almost gave in to the impulse to bring my hoof squarely upon my face. After all, it would have covered the massive blush on my face on top of showcasing exactly what I thought about my boss and her priorities. And yet I somehow managed to fight it, instead taking a deep breath before talking.
“I almost gave up my secret,” I said wearily. “I almost ruined everything because I was lonely, because I was attracted to that one mare. Everything I’ve worked so hard to hide could have been revealed. I still can’t believe I was so stupid.”
I hung my head, feeling a large number of emotions weigh on me. Photo Finish scooted closer to me, a foreleg touching my shoulder, which caused me to prepare for the hug she was about to give me.
Then I fell to the floor as she pushed me off my chair.
“What was that for?!” I yelled from the floor. I looked up to see my boss’ face, which was currently set in a very amused smirk.
“You were being dumb,” she said simply. “I fixed it.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t fix anything! You pushed me onto the floor. I’m lucky I’m not hurt.”
She raised her hoof up to her glasses, adjusting them.
“The way I figure, you’re no longer calling yourself ‘stupid’ and moping around,” she said, using her hooves to do air-quotes for emphasis. “You’re also not going on about how you have to keep your secret at the expense of being close to others. The way I see it, I fixed things.”
She turned back to sip from her tea as I continued to glare up at her from the floor.
"Look, I get that you don’t think my secret is that big of a deal,” I said, “But it is. If anypony were to find out, they would-“
“Bah,” she exclaimed, interrupting me. “They would what? Turn on you? Gossip? Let them. You’re better than that. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to lay a hoof on you. I would make sure of that.”
“They would ask for my resignation, my entire career would be ruined,” I said.
My point was answered by rather stern glare. “Are you implying that I would fire you?”
The question stopped me in my tracks. No matter how panicked I became, or how irrational my thoughts could be, there were a few unyielding truths upon which I could always count on - truths that I would never challenge.
“You don’t always make all the decisions,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “What if they-“
“Do you think I would let anyone in my company get away with making that suggestion?” she asked interrupting me, a steel like edge coloring her voice. “Do you think I wouldn’t intervene on your behalf?”
“No,” I said hesitantly, unable to answer with anything else. She had been the one to find me, to help me present as a mare, to give me a home and a career. And she did it all knowing exactly what I was.
“Good,” she responded. “And never forget that.”
“But they could boycott,” I said, not feeling like letting the argument die just yet. “They could stop giving you jobs and slander your company because you refuse to get rid of me. Even more so if they found out how much you helped me become myself.”
“Then they miss out on my art,” she said, shrugging. “To be honest, I kind of wish that would happen. It would make it easier to see who was worth doing business with.”
She took another long sip of tea as I took in my defeat, aware that there was little I could say at this point to change her mind. Still, it felt good to know that she would stick by me if need be, even if she had to make me feel like an idiot each time she showed it.
“Still, it’s your secret to keep. Not mine,” she said, adding under breath, “Dumb as it may be.”
“Leave it to her to make a fuzz and then brush it off like it was nothing,” I thought, a smile forming on my lips while I made my way back to my seat.
As I sat back up, Photo Finish grabbed one of the envelopes from my daily mail pile and placed it in-front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I haven’t read it,” she said, after taking a deep sigh. “But from the address I would figure that it’s from your mother. I figured since we’re talking about you keeping your secret, there was no better time to give you this.”
I couldn’t help but smile at first as I heard the way she had pronounced the word “mother”. Just the sheer amount of venom packed into those two syllables was enough to cheer me up. It was something I found it endearing, especially considering that she had never asked me to call her mom.
She had found me living on the streets off of the scraps I could find and she gave me a home, food, and shelter. Through the years she helped me live my life as a mare, and she has been looking out for me much like a parent would ever since.
And yet, she never adopted me or asked me to call her mom, never giving an adequate reason for either, not that I really tried to get one out of her. Maybe she didn’t like the title, or maybe the thought of having a daughter was too awkward for her but, whatever her reasons, it never got in the way of how she treated me or of the distaste she showed whenever my biological mother was mentioned.
To me, it showed that Photo Finish was aware and accepting of her role in my life, despite the lack of titles, and that meant more to me than she would ever know.
Still, the warmth of the moment could only last for so long, especially considering that I still had that letter to deal with. With great hesitation I opened the envelope addressed to Cotton Candy, taking as long as possible to unfurl the letter held within.
Sure enough, my happiness faded as I read through the letter, to the point that all I could do was grunt and sigh in anger and exasperation by the time I was done with it..
"I take it was from her then?” Photo Finish asked.
I nodded.
“Oh, good,” she said, bitterly. “And what does she want now?”
“Same thing she always wants,” I said with a shrug. “She wanted to make sure my payment would not be late like it was last month when we had that bank error. Other than that, it’s the usual threats.”
I heard an irritated snort coming from my boss.
“And this is exactly why you need to stop hiding. They should not have this much power over you! To think that they’re blackmailing you like this, giving you all the proof you need to get them arrested, and that you are doing nothing! It’s… it’s...”
“It’s fine,” I finished for her. “I make more than enough money to pay them off and to live comfortably.”
She stood up, pacing for a bit before standing on two legs and motioning around my house.
“It’s not fine, Sty!” she exclaimed. “For the amount of work you do and the amount of money you make, you should be living in the center of Canterlot or in a small mansion close to work where you could relax and enjoy your earnings. Instead you live in a one bedroom house in the outskirts of the city while the ponies who left you a foal to die hungry and alone enjoy your earnings. It’s not right!”
Her shout echoed through my house, filling the emptiness with her anger. My composure slipped as memories from my foalhood came back, made all the more vivid by my most recent nightmare, meaning it took me a while to calm myself enough to speak. .
“I know,” I said once I regained control of my emotions. “I know it’s not right. I know I should have them arrested for blackmail, but doing so would tell everypony what I am. I can’t risk that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Until I can though, this is a price I’m comfortable paying for their silence, even if it means living on only half of what I make.”
She took off her glasses and walked to the other side of the table, sitting in front of me.
I expected to see anger in her eyes.
I expected her to yell at me about how dumb I was being.
I expected many things.
Instead, all I saw was sadness in her eyes and all I heard was a sigh filled with such heartache, that it resonated through my body.
“Do what you want,” she said softly. “It’s your life and your money. Just know that I want to see you happy, and that it pains me to see you go through this because you’re afraid that they will not understand.”
I reached out and held her hoof in mine.
“I know,” I said. “Thank you.”
The ‘mom’ was implied.
We sat there in a comfortable silence for a while longer before either of us spoke again.
“So, tell me about this mare,” she asked, putting her shades back on.
I looked through the rest of my mail, placing my mom’s letter within the stack, before responding.
“Not much to tell,” I responded. “As I said, we walked to the garden, she got close, I panicked. Not much more than that.”
“You were gone for hours,” Photo Finish said. “You must have learnt something about her.”
I took a deep breath, realizing I wasn’t going to get out of talking.
“Well, her name is Cloud Kicker,” I began. Photo Finish ‘s features shifted for a split second, in what I was sure was recognition, but she quickly regained her stoic expression.
“What else?”
“Well, she works as a part of the Ponyville weather team where she lives,” I responded. “She used to be in the military like the rest of her clan before moving away. She has a baby sister… hm.. what else? Um.. She likes sunsets. Oh, and she’s very forward.”
“Yea, I bet,” she said under her breath, chuckling as she did so. “So, when’s the next date?”
My blush returned full-force, with my groans being masked by the sound of me hitting my face on the counter.
“There is no second date,” I managed to mumble through the impact.
“And why not?”
“Because I ran away and left her in a garden,” I said, raising my voice a bit more than I meant to. “I just told you how stupid I felt for letting her close to me like that. I don’t even know if she ever wants to see me again after the way I treated her.”
“Wouldn’t taking her out on a date be a good way to make up for it?” she asked.
“Why do you want me to date her?” I asked, feeling irritated. “If you know anything about her, which I assume you do, then you know that she doesn’t ‘date’ anyway. She just hooks up with ponies and leaves them.”
“But she made you happy,” she pointed out with a knowing grin. “She made you happy and you let your walls down. I want that for you, even if just for a night.”
Something in her voice gave me pause.
I thought back to the garden before everything went wrong, remembering the happiness I’d felt, the comfort, the closeness, the intimacy.
“Maybe I should give it another go,” I thought to myself. Before I had even finished my thought, however, I happened to glance back down at my mail. The unopened letters hid my mother’s threats from my eyes, but not from my mind. Memories and nightmares flashed through my thoughts.
“No, I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t risk it my secret like that again..”
I could almost feel her rolling her eyes at me that time.
“Whatever. It’s your life,” she said. “So what are you going to do about her? From what I hear she does not give up easily on mares she likes.”
“That’s easy,” I said. “She mentioned she was only here for the weekend, which started yesterday. All I have to do is avoid her today and tomorrow, which should be easy enough to do since we have those private fashion shows on both days. Then it’s just a matter of forgetting about her.”
Wow, I have gotten A LOT of positive feedback on this story...
Awesome 
I hope you all continue to enjoy
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Getting some dark back story, and also I was wondering If Photo Finish was a love interest at first. Keep it up.
Good, gooood. I love where this is going, please continue
Photo Finish asks about Cloud Kicker, and then shows surprised recognition of the name when it's said back to her.
2681970
Fixed, and thank you for pointing it out.. that was a big one.
Previous versions had Photo Finish already knowing who she was, but I figured this way was better. I guess I just didn't catch that one after I made the changes.
I think this is the first time I read a fan-fic with Photo Finish, I can say you pulled off her character well. Giving her a side that does care for Sty, but at the same time has most of her personality.
Sty's nightmare sure had some punch. Sty is very lucky to have Photo.
I wonder if Photo is right about Sty not needing to be so secretive. I know for myself, I've had cis people tell me I try to control who knows too much and should just let it go and run with it. This has been something I have been thinking about a lot in the last couple weeks. How right are they vs do they actually understand what cost can be incurred when people know. Still sorting it out.
I have the feeling that Cloud Kicker is going to try again, despite being hurt. The question is what is Sty going to do. With many authors, I would say that it Sty would have fun time with her and have a happy ending, but a few (I can imagine the parasprite doing this) would go for the ending that is harder to make oneself write, which would be the not so happy ending of Sty being too afraid and paranoid.
i1248.photobucket.com/albums/hh499/turbanbomb/scandy_zpsc2875aa3.jpg
2740829
You are absolutely wonderful!
*hugs*
Humm, well I hope you continue to work on this, its definatly interesting. I have transgendered friends, and for many of them, thay lived in fear untell thay learned that thay where not alone.
More, please.
3649669
Well, it is written from Style's perspective, so the title points to the pony with the silver tongue not being her.
I'd also like to point out that transvestite is actually a very offensive term for transgender people. I know you didn't mean for it to offend and to be honest, most people don't even realize that it isn't the proper terminology, but I figured I'd clarify.
Did I prove otherwise?
Yeah, I'm not going to change my mind about wanting an explanation for those "(not me)"s.
Does Photo Finish not pay you?
Or is this a flashback?
To quote a great writer, "stories about ponies are stories about people." (I bet you were expecting me to quote myself. My ego's not that big, nor am I even a writer.) There is always an ambiguity about how human-like to make ponies, and how earth-like to make Equestria. In lighter stories, this doesn't make much of a difference. But when you get into darker territory, it can become quite a minefield; people can easily get quite worked up over things going better or worse than their headcanon would dictate when the potential consequences are serious. Perhaps that is more true for those of us of a more utopian leaning, considering the fundamental tension between utopias and darkness. I can't say I think myself qualified to judge the large-scale impact upon story enjoyment of views I do not hold.
The point is (yes, that intro was completely superfluous), the way I see modern Equestria is pretty egalitarian. This may not hold for every species (Equestria's totally racist), but if you're a pony you'll pretty much just be judged fairly upon your merits, or at worst kind of unfairly upon your past failures. So I have trouble accepting this.
And I think that marks the point that my suspension of disbelief is officially gone for good.
Also, supports my job pressure theory. Just sayin'.
Now, normally, I would leave at this point, not even bothering to post this nascent comment. But I think I'm going to carry on to the end of the chapter, in the hope of providing valuable feedback. I'm hardly a professional reviewer, but I can at least promise to give much a more thorough summary of my thoughts than the average commenter. And the chapters on this story aren't very long.
I fear this leaves me unable to explain myself. When I give up on a story, that decision is final, and not even I can question it. But there is, of course, far more to my opinion than conscious thought, and so I cannot always know why I feel as I do. My best guesses are that I found that implausible even as a dream sequence, or that I find it implausible that it was a dream (likely due to some apparently unforgivable sin against the narrative structure a dream should have). Perhaps it has to do with the story treating Sty's fears as reasonable, if probably overly strong. I certainly can't explain how I make judgements about what the story thinks; sometimes it's hard enough figuring out how I read characters. I don't know if I'm going to be very helpful. I may just bail and leave this pathetic attempt at constructive criticism unposted.
You're either quite egotistical, or missing a word.
That doesn't sound like the Photo Finish I know. I hope you're going to say something soon about her public persona being an act.
So she knows? Does she agree with you that anypony at all
(especially that nag who employs you)learning your secret would be basically the end of the world? Or has she tried to talk you into lightening up a little?Wait. I need to go back and see if I can read all of Photo's lines in Dash's voice. It's not like I'm having any luck reading them in Photo's voice.
No. And my next idea was Cloud Kicker (not that I know what her voice sounds like), but that's not right either. She's too polite for Dashie, and the only reason I really considered CK was because of the "that's great" about the intimacy, and because Cloud can talk similarly to Rainbow at times. So I think Rainbow Dash was the closest, but I can't pigeonhole quite so neatly.
Once again, don't ask me where my statements about what the story thinks come from. But I know that, last chapter, the signals said I was supposed to take Sty's secret as a big deal and potentially disastrous if it got out. And I know that right now, the signals are saying Photo's right. (Not that I was ever questioning the position Photo is currently presenting.) And there has not been sufficient reason for the story's mind to change so.
There's a reason I don't normally set out to give criticism. I'm not good at it, and I can see just fine how I come across like I think my personal opinions are the only things that matter. I don't like giving that impression. I don't want people thinking I'm an egotistical fool. But it doesn't change the fact that I have spent far too much of my life reading, and that it has given me a correspondingly good sense for narratives. And it doesn't give me a way to explain the reasons I don't consciously know.
There's a sentiment I can get behind.
I gather that your mother does not approve of your lifestyle.
Also, unless I'm misinterpreting these pronouns, it would be better to show that Photo is somewhat of a maternal figure to Sty, rather than implicitly telling us. In fact, why bother with labels at all? Figure out how their relationship behaves, show us that, and leave us to decide for ourselves what words fit once we've gotten a feel for the dynamic. I mean, look at Twilight and Spike, for example. Practically everything interesting about their relationship comes not from how they refer to each other, or how others refer to the two of them, but rather from watching their actions.
Just because you can doesn't mean you should.
It may be time to consider plotting against her for her own good. Arrange for her to unintentionally reveal her secret to one pony. Somepony who won't judge her (preferably, somepony who won't even show much surprise, but I understand if you can't get just anypony and can only afford to rule out the complete jerks). And, of course, make sure nopony will ever know you were involved, since this sort of thing is risky and seldom goes over well if it is discovered. But she may not leave you any other choice.
I don't think this line should exist at all. Show, don't tell.
That's just what I think. Or at least what I was able to infer of what I think. I'm sorry it's so fragmentary.
3650006
I'll refer you to my answer on the last comment you posted.
For everything else, I'm going to say spoilers.
Everyone not wanting to read spoilers do not read this.
Good?
K
So, the idea I have for this story is that the whole of Equestria is a lot more forgiving and a lot more accepting than Style thinks. She has deep-rooted fears and notions due to her being essentially kicked out at a very early age. After Photo took her in, she decided to live as herself but to never give up her secret because doing so would mean (in her mind) going back to being in the streets.
She almost died from hunger and exposure, and that stuff kind of changes you.
That being said, the point of the story is going to be her still keeping her secret, but also learning to trust others and realizing that the world isn't out to destroy her. Her baggage is destroying her more so than the world ever could, and in realizing that not only can she be herself, but she can be herself AND be happy.
Cloud Kicker is going to help with that, as is Photo Finish, an incident with Style's parents, and a few other things I have planned.
So to respond to your comment more directly, you're right, Equestria is better than Style gives it credit for and her mindset is kind of unreasonable, though justifiable. (or at least that's what I intended).
I'm enjoying your play by play commentary, though I have to wonder why you're doing it at all. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving reading them but they did seem to have come out of nowhere (especially since I haven't updated this story in a very long time... which thinking about it makes me think I really should go back to work on it).
3649697 Transvestite is a different thing from transgender. You can dress as the opposite gender from your physical sex without having a problem with your physical sex. Obviously one could take offense at being grouped in the wrong category, but that doesn't make either a derogatory term. So I will refer you to the part where I specifically clarified that I said "transvestite" because my judgement of the cues thus far said Sty was not transgender (though admittedly one could debate whether Sty would truly be a transvestite if my first guess were correct and she were a stallion cross-dressing out of some strange necessity despite not wanting to do so, or whether the term implies it is by choice). I stand by what I said as appropriate at the time. It happens to not have been correct, and if you tell me Sty was offended I will probably apologize to her for guessing wrong, but I won't apologize for guessing.
In fact, an amusing point: if you, for example, were born physically female, privately identify as male, but hide it in public by making sure to dress and act unambiguously femininely, then arguably you are both transgender and a transvestite, though to the casual observer you would appear to be neither.
3650213 It's just how I comment. I swoop in out of nowhere and I leave very extensive comments. I like sharing my thoughts and the things I want to say to the characters, and people like reading running commentaries apparently. Everybody wins.
3653205you are thinking of transsexual
You are right in that transsexual and transgender are separate terms,and there are also people who are intersex, gender fluid, and a bunch of other terms. Transvestite, however, IS derogatory. I'm trans and I have belonged to a grand slew of groups and organizations dedicated to educating others on trans issues and terminology so I can discuss with you at length if you wish.
EDIT: Actually, I may have skimmed your response the first time around instead of reading it. You are actually thinking of a cross dresser.
Transgender people are people who identify as the opposite gender, transsexual people are people who have had genital surgery, and people who cross dress are just people who like dressing as the opposite sex.
In any case, transvestite IS a derogatory term, hands down. Still open to talking about it if you so wish.
3653495 "Transvestite" is a more formal-sounding synonym for "cross-dresser." It is literally just the Latin roots for "cross" and "dress" put together. ("Transvest," incidentally, is its much-less-used verb cousin.) I tend to favor words composed of Greek and Latin roots, because they generally mean exactly what they say. And they sound nice. Merriam-Webster Wiktionary Free Online Dictionary Dictionary.com
3657717
Yea, I know, it was also originally the official clinical term. And yet time moves on and things that were considered acceptable are no longer so. The term is not only outdated, but offensive, akin to the n word for blacks or spic for hispanics.
Tranny, transvestite, and certain other words should not be used. I'm letting you know because I'm not as easily offended as others can be, but I know for a fact other trans people who would have a field day for someone using that word around them.
3657861 Sources? I've given some.
A mother who doesn't care for her child is no mother at all
And lo, there be a pony clothed in clouds,
perhaps to truly be a saviour in time.
Stay in light forever more
or be consumed by the blackness
existing only within your heart.
Awaiting further releases.