#a brooklyn butch

[abrooklynboy]

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝟓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

Prove It on Me Blues - Ma Rainey

Hold On, I’m Comin’ - Sam & Dave

Something From Nothing - Foo Fighters

I Was a Teenage Anarchist - Against Me!

Butch 4 Butch simping - Rio Romeo

tagged by: @murder-popsicle

#playlist #a brooklyn butch

[situpontheground]

butches in their natural habitat (bookstore)

#self #lesbian fashion #butch lesbian #denim #butch fashion #this is the one where i feel like i would see this post circulating and the caption would be like #lesbians in brooklyn #1991 #whereas in fact this one is #lesbians in cleveland #2024 #not only ok to rb but actively encouraged to rb

[buttercupistough]

[ Miss Bellum giving out assignments and one involves infiltrating a prison group. ]

Blossom: I'll take it.

[ Everyone laughs. ]

Blossom: Why is everyone laughing? I can be tough. I've already infiltrated another prison.

Bubbles: You raised your hand.

Blossom: We're in a meeting.

Miss Bellum: Blossom, you're incredibly powerful and tough but I just assumed Buttercup would be the prisoner. Nothing personal, it's just, she's terrifying.

Buttercup: Thank you.

#source: brooklyn 99 #source: b99 #powerpuffgirls #rowdyruffboys #powerpuff girls #rowdyruff boys #ppg #rrb #blossom #bubbles #buttercup #butch #boomer #brick #rrb brick #rrb boomer #rrb butch #ppg buttercup #ppg bubbles #ppg blossom #ppg reds #ppg blues #ppg greens #butchercup #boomubbles #blossick #incorrect #incorrect quotes #miss bellum

[butchaholic]

#stud #butch #brooklyn #lesbian

[nerdyqueerr]

Oh its newsies day ok a moment of silence for the incurable impact spot conlon had on my gender

#8th grade spot conlon in a local newsies kids production -> butch lesbian #the connection is real #i wish i could play spot again. handsomest lesbian in Brooklyn #newsies #spot conlon

[ratskool]

Hey also forgot to mention that I am now too masculine looking to be considered a woman by t*rfs. Thanks for the gender affirmation, girls, I have now achieved the perfect butch look lol

#Not kidding about btw they really truly thought I was a dude (or at least a trans woman but in their minds they are the same) #I’m sorry if this sounds a little off kilter but…I think your clocking skills might be a bit off #Like the last time I was misgendered was also when I was called also called a slur #But to be fair I was in Brooklyn and did look like a femboy so there #But the fact that I am constantly seen as a woman by everyone and assumed to be one by everyone which does get annoying #When I ID as nb or just simply as a butch lesbian in gender and sexuality literally living in the mind set of gender rules are bs #Only for some very passably feminine cis woman (mean she’s got the perfect body and face by the current standards for beauty) to tell me #That I am a predator and a nasty male thereby reinforcing her own transphobia on to someone she claims to stand up fir #Butch lesbians are hated through and through and it pains me to know that poc women targeted more and get no apology either #And the only way to really prove to them that you’re a woman or ‘safe’ is by disclosing your genitals which is disgusting #And even then they won’t believe you it’s almost as if they want to see your shit like the perverts they are

[photoarchive]

Gerard H. Gaskin, Butch Queen Vogue Femme performers, YMCA, Brooklyn, 1998

[androgynealienfemme]

"When I was eleven or twelve years old, I used to shop in the boy's department at Bloomingdale's, just as the other prepubescent private school girls did. That was where you could purchase polo shirts, Shetland sweaters, and all the other socially acceptable androgynous clothing for our age group and gender. They fit and suited me just fine, but what would have suited me even better was nothing other than an actual suit: the three piece variety mad of thin-wale, beige corduroy with brown simulated leather buttons.

I knew exactly where they hung in the boys' department, and I paid them a visit each time I was in the vicinity. It's funny, but though I can't remember at the time ever seeing a girl or woman in one of these suits, that did not hinder my imagination of what that would look like. Neither did the shortage of real life models ever lead to any questions about why exactly there was one. Somehow I had simply gotten it into my head that such a sight would be wonderful. And, though once again I felt no need to ponder precisely how I knew this, clearly, the most appropriate person to wear such a suit would be me.

Picturing myself in the suit, I was suddenly a lot taller and older and stunningly sophisticated,. The suit seemed to have the almost magical power to make me strong, wise, just. The vision of myself naturally included physical as well as mental capabilities well beyond those of an eleven-or twelve-year-old, but who was I to disbelieve the suit's mystique?

I never tried one on. Although the desire to own one felt perfectly natural to me, it had been met with a mixture of mocking laughter and horror by my mother. Something about her response definitely said, "No." and, "Tell no one." So the suits, like forbidden fruit, remained there untouched by me for years, moved at times from one corner of the department to another, but always just out of reach of my young body's many secret yearnings.

Roughly fourteen years later, as I was walking in the rain, I suddenly realized I was butch. Everything made sense. My butchness came as much more of a surprise to me than my lesbianism, which, despite some years of procrastination on my part as to actually adopting it as a daily lifestyle, I always knew and comfortably accepted.

The way I ever so swaggered and stomped my clunky boots when I walked, and felt sort of proud of it, now made sense. The way I firmly held the umbrella over the woman I love and protected her from the rain as I guided her down the Brooklyn street took on new clarity. The freedom and invincibleness I feel after a close haircut I better understood. The pleasure and vanity I indulge in when I stretch my muscles to lift something that looks heavier than I can manage all at once held new meaning. The childlike glee I feel every time I discover something needing to be fixed in the house and the puffed=up self-importance that fills me each time I fix it had new significance for me. Even my tremendous need for control could now be explained. And my assertive overtures of passion in the dark where I gently bur firmly demand submission most of all seemed to fit.

I gripped the handle of the umbrella tighter and walked along with, I'm sure, the stupidest grin on my face, flashing the woman I love periodic glances of affection as she continued to talk happily, oblivious to the volcano that had just erupted beside her. There, in the rain, as a flood of feelings and enlightenment washed my insides, I had one final glimmer of insight. I at last understood that without ever actually buying the three-piece suit made of thin-wale, beige corduroy, with the brown, simulated leather buttons, I had been wearing one all along."

-"Sweet Suit Suite" Audrey Grifel, The Persistent Desire, (Edited by Joan Nestle (1992)

#the persistent desire #lesbian #lesbianism #lesbian lit #lesbian writing #butch lesbian #butchfemme #butch4femme #lgbtq+ writing #lgbtq+ history

[oh-sewing-circle]

“The Barbara Stanwyck vehicle Ladies They Talk About (1933) seemed, on the surface, to be in the vein of tough Warner exposés and crime dramas, with Stanwyck as a bank robber doing time at the women’s wing of San Quentin. However, after an opening sequence so realistically recreating a robbery that censors feared it could be a how-to-primer, the movie lapsed into Midnight Romance fantasy. Instead of grim prison conditions, Stanwyck’s jail time resembled a stay at a health spa, with glamorous inmates, beauty treatments on demand, and a laid-back air. The only grittier touches (besides Stanwyck’s ingrained Brooklyn moxie) were incidental, such as the inmates yelling ‘New fish!’ when Stanwyck first arrives, and a black inmate talking back ferociously to an imperious white prisoner. Another jailbird in this glossy clink is a muscular woman with close-cropped hair and a cigar clamped in her mouth. ’She likes to wrestle!’ Like the other inmates, this one is spared the dreariness of prison grooming, being permitted instead to wear the standard Hollywood Dyke getup of a tailored outfit and little bowtie. ‘Mmmmm . . . . hmmmm!’ air. Later, less expectedly, we see this butch prisoner’s femme other half. The camera pans across the cells to take in after-hours vignettes that never occurred in any real-life jail, including a slumber party in lingerie, an inmate cuddling a Pekingese, and the butch woman doing an exhibition round of calisthenics. Wearing a pair of man’s pajamas and with the cigar still in her mouth, she goes through her paces to the delight of a frilly girlfriend sitting in the bed next to her. ‘You’re just always exercising!’ the femme marvels. Ladies They Talk About received numerous complaints through the Studio Relations Committee about the robbery scene, about the violence and discussion of prostitution. Only in strict Ohio, however, did the lesbianism cause any problem; Roth’s ‘wrestle’ line was cut. So it remained over the succeeding decades, when women’s prison movies were one of the few places onscreen where lesbians were allowed to exist openly. This one is one of the first."

-From Screened Out: Playing Gay in Hollywood from Edison to Stonewall by Richard Barrios

#Barbara Stanwyck #Ladies They Talk About #1933 #1930s #pre-code #Richard Barrios #lesbianism #lesbian #butch #queer film #queer history #lesbian film #lesbian history #lgbt #lgbtq+ #lgbt+ #lgbtq #film history #prison #pre-code film

[abrooklynboy]

@taliaromanova​ asked: ❛   we cannot escape anguish. it is what we are. [for stella]

“You said it.” Stella’s smile was tight, saluting Natasha with a mug of coffee over the morning paper. Scissors and a carefully clipped out piece laid in the middle of the table, away from any spills. She’s pretending to read the business section.

“Arnie always said if I wasn’t in the obituaries, I should keep on keeping on.” Plenty of whisky and brown sugar cut the drink but it didn’t mask the salt she sprinkled in first nor the salt of her previous tears.

“I...Knew he was going to pass. Visited him the other day....” She never adjusts to this. Stubbornly, she doesn’t think she should. “I’ll be out later. Paying a visit to old friends. Make sure they have everything ready for the funeral.”

#taliaromanova #asked and answered #a brooklyn butch

[buttercupistough]

[ After the Puffs trashed the house. ]

Buttercup: Anyone else have the weird urge to lecture themselves?

Buttercup, as Professor: Buttercup, what are you doing?

Professor, appearing from behind Buttercup: Buttercup, what are you doing?

Buttercup: I conjured him.

#source: brooklyn 99 #source: b99 #powerpuff girls #rowdyruff boys #powerpuffgirls #rowdyruffboys #ppg #rrb #blossom #bubbles #buttercup #butch #boomer #brick #rrb brick #rrb boomer #rrb butch #ppg buttercup #ppg bubbles #ppg blossom #ppg reds #ppg blues #ppg greens #butchercup #boomubbles #blossick #incorrect #incorrect quotes

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 24 May 2014, the campaigner known as the "Rosa Parks of the gay community", Stormé DeLarverie, died aged 93 in Brooklyn. Born to an African-American mother and a white father, she is credited by some as sparking the Stonewall rebellion, as according to some eyewitnesses and her own account she was the "New York butch" who was arrested and attacked by police. Bleeding from a head wound, she began to fight back and called to the crowd "Why don't you guys do something?" When she was thrown into a police van the crowd erupted and the Stonewall rebellion began. Some dispute that this individual was DeLarverie, and point out that a Marilyn Fowler was the only woman recorded as being arrested by police on the first night of the riots. The exact truth of that night will never be known, but Stonewall aside, DeLarverie played a leading role in the LGBT+ community in New York's Village area. As well as working as an MC, bouncer and bodyguard, she carried a gun and patrolled the streets, protecting other lesbians from street harassment or assault, and also raised money for survivors of domestic violence. In our podcast episodes 25-26, participants tell the story of the Stonewall rebellion: https://workingclasshistory.com/2019/05/13/e21-22-the-stonewall-riots-and-pride-at-50/ https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=631982785641607&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[campgender]

“Stone Butch, Drag Butch, Baby Butch” by Joan Nestle

published in A Restricted Country (1987)

1.

New words swirl around us

and still I see you in the street

loafers, chinos, shades.

You dare to look too long

and I are turn your gaze,

feel the pull of old worlds

and then like a femme

drop my eyes.

But behind my broken look

you live

and walk deeper into me

as the distance grows between us.

Shame is the first betrayer.

2.

The birth of Lesbian feminism. New York. The old firehouse on Wooster Street. Wooden chairs pulled across the cobbled floor. Pretty young women form a circle to form a group called the Lesbian Liberation Committee. Two old-time Lesbians arrive, grey-haired, short DAs. They stand on the outskirts. I go to the bathroom on the floor below. Two of the young women stand in front of me. “Why do they have to look like men? I hope they don’t come back.” When I returned upstairs, the grey-haired women were gone. They never returned. Jean and Ginny told the world who we were and what we wanted. Books were written saying the bad old days were over. The national organizations started, the presses and newspapers began, and the grey-haired women receded further and further, as if they had blended into the walls.

Shame is the first betrayer.

3.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

the litany of the unwanted.

I see your eyes smoking

behind the self-congratulations

of the vegetarians

the Goddess worshippers

the healers.

Your magic worked in other places

in church alcoves

in diner toilets

in moving cars

pants with sharp creases

shirts cuffed

hair slicked back

riding Brooklyn subways

at five in the morning

shades worn just right

for mystery, for protection.

Rigid, you walked the gauntlet of their sneers

Hey lezzie, hey queer

and even when it was the end of the line

you kept moving.

A strange witch,

my baby butch.

4.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

leaned me back against the bathroom door

tuned for the intrusion, you sucked my breast.

Alert and wanting, we made love in a public place

because territory was limited.

You pushed my wetness out

only when cunning had won for us a place.

In a subway station toilet

I held your head between my thighs

heard the roar and thought it was

our secret rushing out.

5.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

Sandy tells me of the time

she walked in Prospect Park

with her lover on her arm.

Forgetting they were freaks,

they let the bending trees

caress their day.

The men, outraged by Sandy’s pants

and Carol’s skirt,

attacked with chains.

The women fled,

past playgrounds

past the benches made for lovers.

Sandy, smiling, says

through all the years

they never hurt me,

but we both know better.

6.

A hot dark night on Eighth Street.

Held tight with love,

the butch yells up to a shadow on the wall

all she can see of her lady

who calls out

“I’m here baby”

and we all hear her.

A shrine for separated lovers,

the Women’s House of D.*

They tore it down

replaced it with a garden

but those voices still are there

the lasting blossoms of our surviving time.

Stone butch, drag butch, baby butch

I keep you deep within me

warning voices in a changing time.

Shame is the first betrayer.

*The Women’s House of Detention stood for many years on the corner of Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue in Greenwich Village.

#joan nestle #butch #stone butch #drag butch #baby butch #queer history #butch/femme #poetry #a restricted country #open access #image described #mac’s bookshelf #they are our stigmata #why not take me now as i am? #οἱ λίθοι κράξουσιν

[ramblesbiab]

im doin an introduction post because why not

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

I’m Brooklyn! 🥰

19, She/They 🥰

Baby Butch Lesbian <3 I still have a lot of progress to make in my butchness lol

Trans 😘

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Mostly here to ramble about sapphic stuff, shows I like, and writing, which also usually end up overlapping with each other lol.

Please ask me things!!! I like interacting with people even when I’m bad at it!!!!!

I don’t really care who interacts with me gender-wise since I love attention, but I’ll still leave a DNI for the basics: no queerphobes of any kind, no racists, no people being creepy or weird to me or whatever. I’m bad at DNIs.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

That’s all. Have a lovely day <3

#introduction #sapphic #lesbian #transgender #is me

[possibly-pasta]

QUEER JOY

So last night my partner asked if they could surprise me with a hangout and they took me to a BUTCH vs FEMME OLYMPICS NIGHT!!!!!

We drove an hour to this event space that has a lot of queer nights and it was a DREAM!!!!

there was a relay race that involved putting on a harness and watering a houseplant

the Butch team made me swoon so hard there was an, adam sandler type, a James Dean type, and just every other flavor of butch. The MC was a Very handsome short jewish butch wearing a wifehelper with her hair all slicked back!!! The Judge was the Brooklyn winner of the Twinks vs Dolls competition!!!!

there were so many people saying “i’m butch… Tonight!!” and “i’m for the femmes, Most of the time” and there was a Secret Third Thing category and they were all so beautiful!!!!

I got to see queer people wrestle to eat a piece of candy off of the others ankle where it was tied, i saw a beautiful non-binary person preform burlesque in a challenge to seduce the judge!!!! in the poetry contest this Very handsome Secret Third Thing got up and said “my voice may be dropping, but i still won’t be topping” and the crowd went Wild.

I was invited to smoke weed by a really tall femme in a sick ass goth outfit a mere 15 minutes after i saw her wrestle her butch to the floor. she gave me the gentlest touch on the shoulder and said “we’re going to go have weed, if you’d like to come. you seem lovely”

A Very very handsome butch with her shirt half unbuttoned and her hat slightly askew from the other butches roughhousing gave me the most charming sideways grin as she walked by

there was a small group of millennial gay guys hanging at the bar that just seemed so happy and content to be there and witness the shenanigans in their very normal old navy clothes.

The bartender was in drag and while i was outside smoking, they kicked someone out and used the most Protective and fierce voice to say “Leave this building NOW. DO NOT COME BACK” i tipped them heavily and thanked them for keeping us all safe before i went home.

Not a SINGLE person questioned or looked confused or upset at whoever looking however they wanted stepping up to be on either team.

I got to be with my community and it fucking HEALED me

Thank you to my partner. they know what i needed and brought me to it 💕

#THIS IS YOUR SIGN TO MAKE THE TRIP #I LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE #AND I BET A BUNCH IF YOU DO TOO #BUT IT CAN BE DONE!!! #GONFIND YOUR PEOPLE #i’m fucking Ecstatic #it has spoken #queer #butch #butch femme #femme #femme lesbian #femme queer #queer femme #queer butch #butch queer #non-binary #gay community #lgbt community

[gatheringbones]

[“One afternoon in August 1913, Big Cliff Trondle was hanging out in the back of a café on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, having a smoke, wearing one of his nattiest outfits: a blue serge suit, silk hose, tan oxford shoes, and a newsboy cap. For some unspecified reason, he came to the attention of a passing police detective, who realized he was transgender and arrested him for “masquerading in men’s clothes.”

Prison records are full of “mannish” or “masculine” women, who may have considered themselves “normal,” butch, lesbian, trans, invert, intersex, or something else entirely, but Cliff was the rare early twentieth-century transmasculine person who had the chance to articulate his gender more specifically to the world.

Cliff caused a spectacle in court when he repeatedly refused to give his birth name or change into a dress. On the steps of the courthouse, Cliff told the press, “I’ve always been more boy than girl,” and he sent a letter to President Woodrow Wilson asking for permission to dress that way, though the president doesn’t seem to have ever responded. The first judge to hear Cliff’s case threw out the arrest, accurately noting that it was legal for Cliff to dress however he wanted. Although many people would be arrested for cross-dressing over the course of the twentieth century, the actual 1845 New York State law criminalized “masquerading” only if it was done as a disguise while committing another offense.

Unfortunately, the legality of Cliff’s clothes made no difference. While he was in pretrial detention, a court-appointed probation officer discovered Cliff’s birth name. With that, she found that Cliff was seventeen (not twenty-four as he claimed). He had been thrown out by his well-off family and had passed through a number of institutions for “wayward girls.” The probation officer took it upon herself to ensure that Cliff would be incarcerated and thus, in her eyes, fixed. When the judge threw out his original case, she immediately had Cliff rearrested, this time under a charge of “associating with idle and vicious persons”—aka smoking with men in a café.”]

hugh ryan, the women’s house of detention: a queer history of a forgotten prison, 2022

#hugh ryan #history stuff #gender stuff #currently reading