#she always has it on her hip like the butch she is we love to see it <3

[mizusnose]

ahem so I just read your college fuckboy mizu headcanons (which I loved) and was wondering if I could request a lil something about fuckboy mizu genuinely liking the reader so she makes changes to convince the reader she's serious. Reader would probs be SUPER skeptical bc casual relationships isn't their thing but it'd be so cute. Obvs you can just ignore this if you don't want to do it my mind has just been mizu brainrot lately

so i’ve been letting this one marinate for a bit BUT: reader who gets together with Taigen to spite Mizu who won’t get serious for reader. Cue the jealousy, club shenanigans, and poet mizu (!!)

boyfriend by dove cameron for max brainrot

———

Taigen was a fine boyfriend. All things considered. He was better than most of the guys you’d been with before, and he had a motorcycle that he’d let you take pics with and post them on your feed.

But, he wasn’t Mizu.

This point had been made several times. Mostly on Taigen’s end. His constant whining of I see the way you look at her, god I bet you thought I was a woman huh, better yet—you wished I was her huh!

He wasn’t wrong, necessarily. It wasn’t your fault you’d gotten bored and decided to go to Taigen’s fencing practice. It wasn’t like you’d intended on falling head over heels for the hot butch lesbian who had a mean smirk and a sweaty jaw when she whooped Taigen’s ass.

You still remembered the way she had her neck bared, her hair falling over her shoulders, the beat of her heart nestled in between her collarbones, the dark green of her veins under her skin.

So, yeah, maybe you did have a thing for Mizu, who may or may not be your boyfriend’s biggest rival.

Heavy quotations on the rival part since Mizu didn’t give a shit that Taigen hated her—in fact, she didn’t care that the majority of the lesbians, bisexual, and bi-curious girls on campus hated her guts.

But that was what made her interesting.

You’d thought about it often: her, telling you to leave as soon as you’d come on her tongue or strap or fingers, (whatever was fine, you weren’t picky.) and you’d feel that tug in your tummy and your jaw would relax and fall open and—

“hah, did you come?”

And then you’d be back where you started: dating Taigen and fucking him and not being able to enjoy it or come or anything.

The thing was this: You’d only ever been in long-term relationships. Never dabbled in casual one night stands that Mizu was rumored to stick by. Even if you did want her, her time was limited. And you didn’t exactly love sharing.

So, when Taigen complained about having to go out this weekend to “bond or some teammate trust building shit, pfft, as if we aren’t trying to kill each other every practice. Not to mention Mizu will be there,” You convinced him to go, and for you to tag along. As moral support of course.

Now as much as Taigen loved telling you how much he hated Mizu, he liked coming to the thought of her much more. You’d done it quite often, bring Mizu up in sex, the way she’d fence and made him look like a fucking loser. How good she’d look kissing you, having you, taking you away from him. You’d both come then, not just him.

So you supposed it wasn’t that weird to be crushing over Mizu. Especially when the weekend came and the alcohol was sweet and fizzy and the wine dark and bitter, and the club lights shimmering on Mizu’s skin, her hair, her hands as she came up behind you.

“Hey.” She said. Simple, easy, confident. Her hands brushed your exposed back, the bend of your hip, the jut of your ribs.

“Hi.” You said. Sultry, warm, quiet so she’d have to twist closer to hear you when you gasped as she held your waist, tighter this time. A little mean, “I have a boyfriend.”

And she’d chuckle, and pull away and quirk her dark eyebrow up, “Really? Him?” A barely there glance at Taigen who was with the other fencing team members taking body shots off one another, “I could be a better boyfriend than him, you know.”

She spun you around, the steady heat of her palm always on you, “You know me.” It wasn’t a question. You saw the way Mizu’s eyes dragged across your body on her way over, her tongue on her lips as she stared. She knew you were Taigen’s girlfriend.

“Been watching.” She brought you closer, shifted her hands and then you were close. Closer than you’d ever been to her before.

She smelled heady and like pinewood. The plane of her chest was defined, sturdy, and you wondered if she had small breasts, if they were sensitive.

“Can’t believe I almost went home when you’re here—all alone.” She smirked, the same damned smirk you’d replay in your mind as you masturbated and thought of her, “Think I might just steal you from him, hm?”

Her hands slipped up your back, to the bottom of your nape, a demanding grip: there one second, gone the next. She watched your face, your lips, your neck.

“Does this usually work on other girls?”

You pushed away then, your legs wobbly and your underwear damp. You wanted, but you knew exactly what Mizu thought of you: an easy thing, something of Taigen’s. Good for a night, forgotten the next.

So you straightened your clothes, and met Mizu’s confused gaze, “I have a boyfriend.”

Mizu’s mouth twitched. Barely. But you’d caught it as you turned, and headed to the bartop. Even if Mizu was who you’d wanted, being a one-night stand wasn’t what you wanted.

So, you walked back over to Taigen, beers in hand, and watched Mizu as you kissed him wide and dirty. Her glare a steely weight in your belly, and on your beating cunt.

You’d make Mizu yours, one way or another.

——-

Let’s make this a 2 parter. Poet mizu will have to wait. Thanks for the ask :)

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #headcanons #mizu x fem!reader #fanfiction #ask

[possibilistfanfiction]

Butch Bea with thoughts around top surgery? (if it's not a consideration for her/them totally no worries) would be interesting to hear Bea deciding and/or confiding in Ava abt it - your writing of feelings is always so good tysm

[ok if ppl don't want this in the butch bea canon then that's fine BUT if ppl do... this is sweet. i love this prompt]

//

you've seen beatrice come out of surgery before, but this is different. her eyes flutter open reluctantly, although she'd already woken up for the nurses before they let you come back to the pacu. you're sure she'll be nauseous, because anesthesia always makes her feel sick, but when she finally manages to look at you steadily, she smiles.

'hi baby,' you say, and you're in the same kind of sterile hospital as you have been before, when things have been bad, and scary, or hard. but this — this — is so, so beautiful.

'hello ava,' beatrice says, her voice rough from being intubated, hilariously formal for being so obviously high.

'how you feeling?'

'pretty good.'

'yeah?'

'a little sick to my stomach. but — everything went okay?'

you run a hand through her soft hair, kiss her forehead. 'it went really great.'

her smile breaks your heart a little: you know, now, more than anyone else in the world but her, how long she denied herself this peace.

'your surgeon said she'd be by soon, and you'll be able to see.' she leans into your hand with a sigh, and you rub your thumb along her cheekbone. 'you can rest while we wait for her.'

she's asleep almost immediately, her long lashes and her freckles and when she had brought top surgery up, months ago, with shaky hands, you had held her in your arms and held her jaw in your palm. 'there are very few things that could make me love you less,' you had told her. 'this will make me so proud of you, and so, so happy for you.' she had nodded and kissed you, salty, relieved tears down her cheeks. 'my only condition is that, if you feel like it, you wear shirts as rarely as possible at home. or out, i'm not opposed to that either.' and she had laughed and you're more sure, every single day, that the world isn't supposed to exist to harm or to hurt.

you hold her hand in yours, update your sisters and friends that bea is awake and fine and loopy, promise lilith that you'll send some good videos of her soon, and a few minutes later wake her when her surgeon knocks on the door.

'i can see?' she asks, excitement evident even through the fog of anesthesia, and you love her.

'we want to keep the padding and compression on for the most part,' her surgeon explains, but then she smiles. 'but yes, for a minute.'

bea nods and you help her sit up a little in bed. you're no stranger to surgical dressings and drains at this point, but you've always found them necessary at best, gross and painful at worst. but you watch beatrice get to look at the curved scars that span her chest, the bandages over her re-grafted nipples — you watch her entire face light up and her shoulders set and she grins and starts to cry. you look too, and she is so, so beautiful; you feel tears burn at your eyes too and then she looks at you and laughs.

her surgeon smiles too. 'your swelling well go down, and the drains will come out in about a week, hopefully.'

'it'll be even better?' she asks, disbelief and awe.

you squeeze the top of her hand, the deep reverence in her voice filling your whole body with unspeakable joy.

/

it takes a few weeks for her to be back on her feet, a few months until she gets to go surfing and to the dojo again. but you make sure she's comfortable and order all the food she wants; you wash her hair for her and empty her drains. you are no stranger to being cared for — by beatrice, with tenderness — and, when it's your turn, you realize, time and again, that there's love there that moves heaven and earth.

'ugh.' lilith rolls her eyes when bea walks out of the hall from your bedroom, joggers slung low on her hips, drying her hair. all of the swelling has gone down and her nipples have fully healed.

'hello, lilith,' bea says. 'so nice of you to drop in uninvited and then complain about brunch.'

'oh, i wasn't complaining about brunch. i like these pastries.' she waves the pistachio croissant she took off of your plate around for effect. 'i'm complaining because i feel like i'm going to have to see your abs for years now, all the time.'

'i'm so very sorry,' bea says, definitely not sorry at all. lilith has been in and out every few days to check up on bea, so it's all a very silly charade at this point.

'i am happy,' lilith says, taking a bite of the croissant and then continuing, her mouth full, just to bother bea, 'that you're doing so well. and feeling so happy in yourself.'

'thank you,' beatrice says, her strong back turned to you as she makes both of them tea very precisely. 'chew with your mouth closed, please.'

#butch bea 🥺🫡 #prompts #avatrice fic #avatrice #wn fic #there's like... so much more here but a lil smth!

[thecameronchronicles]

Don't Test Me

TW: DOM!JJ. Smut. Language. Semi-public sex. 

SUMMARY: JJ’s POV when his secret Kook hook-up pushes him too far with her bratty attitude. 

WORD COUNT: 2200

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Heyyy! Can you do one where kook!reader is kind of a bitch and she has this fwb thing going on with jj but nobody know and one day she’s a butch to him at his work or something so he has to put her in her place and goes all dom on her 🥺

Don’t Test Me

You think I would be used to it by now. After all, it wasn't like anybody knew how I could alter that attitude into an orgasm in less than five minutes. But she was pushing absolutely every one of my buttons for the thrill of it. Getting off on treating me like the garbage that her friends saw me as, even if we were both aware of the way SHE loved to get dirty. And I let her because I was just as addicted as she was, if not more so. The thrill of knowing I got to tame that attitude the second her friends turned their backs or she would leave an expensive piece of lingerie behind as a souvenir of our forbidden tryst, it was a high that brought her to the Southside strictly for this game and me to Kooklandia for the same reasoning. 

But today, she was exceedingly entitled. Doing so in a way that accentuated my favorite parts of her as she would tease what she knew neither of us would act on. As she commented how I was taking too much time cleaning off her table, she would do so while pushing her breasts upwards in my direction. Those doe eyes I knew well to tear up from making her take me behind those full lips would make me clench my jaw and she would endorse harder still. She knew how to keep my eyes on her and did so throughout my entire shift, belittling me in the process. But dammit, if it wasn't so sweet coming from her... 

"I need to talk to a manager..." Her voice echoed in the locker room of The Island Club, where I had managed to keep my job since the summer, all to be closer to her. To be accessible to her. To trace her skin under the table when feigning dropping something and even being available for her in situations such as now. 

"Excuse me," She continued as my jaw was tense because tonight she hadn't come alone. She brought Topper, frosted tipped Kook prince, who she was hanging over all day. Doing so just to piss me off. And she had. And if I would wage anything that she wanted this reaction. She wanted me to make her pay for it. 

And so she would... 

"Not sure if I'm the one to talk to. Just the busboy..." I explained while reaching just past her to clock out for the day, the next satisfying beep coming from the machine set on the wall, my second favorite sound next to her purring my name as she came beneath me. Over me. Didn't matter. 

"You'll do..." 

"Maybe Topper could help you. He seemed hands on enough..." I shot back, not caring to hide my honest jealousy as I was. I hated the idea of anyone touching her. She was mine. End of story. Because she knew I was just as much hers. She ruined me for anyone else. Not that I tried. 

"But I want your help..." She spoke, hand to my chest to keep my attention as well as keeping me from leaving. But I wanted her to work for this. I had to spend the last eight hours watching her fake interest in a natural nemesis to us pogues, all for that smile of victory she held now. A smile that if I didn't know how good it felt wrapped around me, I could have swiped off of her. 

"Sorry princess, not sure I can help with what it is that you need-" 

"But you always have..." Her lips brushed my cheek as her hand began to lower. "And I thought I took care of you-" something in me snapped. Any patience I had would hold a stall as I looked at her now, ringed hand on her hip as her eyes widened as I had her against the wall of the otherwise vacant room. 

"You want to know if you made me hard, sweetheart? Any girl within the club could be responsible for this, doesn't make you special-" 

"JJ..." Her eyes narrowed in hurt as I scoffed. 

"Oh so you don't like the idea of me fucking someone else? But you want me to see you with someone else all day? His hand on those same thighs I had my face between last night?" She swallowed hard, my words clearly affecting her,  "Bet he doesn't know how many times my cum has dripped out of your pussy and onto those expensive little heels." 

"JJ please." 

"Funny...Sounding a bit desperate princess.. can't tell me Top isn't taking care of you, with an ego like that-" 

"He didn't touch me-" 

"Not like I can, you mean? Because otherwise you had his fingerprints on every part of you but that special little spot you know only I can get to.. " I had her completely pinned, my knee between her trembling legs as her fingers ate into my arms. And I loved it. I loved this desperation. 

"The one I can get to when I curve this finger just right-" 

"Jesus, JJ, please, I'm so wet..." I needed to feel her. Lesson needing to be taught or not, I needed it. For that, I lifted her panties over my knuckles until my hand came to a rest at her sex. 

"But how am I supposed to know if this is for me or him...hmm? For all I know, you could be leaking his cum..." I pulled my fingers to my lips, her eyes following and her jaw fell slack as I tasted her. 

"Nope...that's ALL you, isn't it, sweetheart?" She was manic, suddenly attached to my lips as if they supplied her oxygen. And I would allow it for a time, needing it more than proving some point. But then I was reminded. The descent of her hand around my cock told me of my fleeting dominance. And for that, she was turned to the walk. 

"You know how I feel about your little dresses...and what they do to me...right?" 

She nodded. 

"Has to spend my entire shift imagining bending you over every surface just to get through it..." 

"You can do that now..." 

"And give you what you want...don't think so, princess. Not after your teasing." 

"Please, JJ, I'm sorry..." My hand trailed across your hips, between her breasts, and at her neck, turning her face until my lips fell to her ear. 

"Don't lie to me and say things you don't mean, I thought we were past that. We both know you wanted to tease me…You wanted me to have all these dirty little thoughts…and so you’re gonna make good on them." I drug her across the locker room and to the small bench before sitting onto its ledge, taking her to her knees. 

"Such a pretty little mouth...but I just know you remember how I like it best, don't you?" She nodded, her want to please me had me throbbing. 

"What would all your little kook friends think if they saw you on your knees for a pogue cock, hmmm?" 

"Wanting it inside of you-" 

"JJ-" 

"Unless you want Topper’s or Rafe's-" 

"No!" 

"No?" I moved down to her, hand tightening in her hair. 

"Then show me." She was motivated in all things, an angel and demon in the art of her mouth. Such sweet lips, innocent and even cruel, could bring heaven to anyone. But a devilish set of eyes training to me as they watered with a damning of her reflex. 

"You love it, don't you, sweetheart? You just love being on your knees for me, isn't that right? Look so fucking good crying over my cock after teasing me all day-" But as I spoke these words, I saw her hand drift between her legs. It took little to make her feral, and I loved just how little. But she still had a lesson to learn and the only eagerness she was allowed to show was for me. 

"Let me see those fingers-" I held her hands to my thighs. "You don't get to feel good. Not right now. And keep that shit up and you won't get to at all. This is about me. Making it up to me. So do it." I leaned closer strictly to taunt her. 

"No hands." But I needed those moans of pleasure for her. So I lifted my foot between her legs, her eyes fading in approving relief, before I allowed her this friction. Those moans vibrating my entire cock as she took me in stride. I almost pitied her. Gasping and gagging, drooling and crying, riding my foot in desperation and need. Moaning and groaning...yep, almost... 

"Fuck, princess....you could make me come..." She nodded, eyes wide with that mutual want. 

"But you don't get to get out of this that easily." I took hold of her wrist and pulled her to the table across the room, one used to hold an array of uniforms, now half spilled onto the floor from the force of her body taken against it. Skirt lifted and panties finally removed, I couldn't take the tease for another second as I removed my cock and ran it between her folds. Those familiar lower lips kissing around me in desperation like a woman starved. 

"Let's get one thing straight." I explained, my dominant hand wrapped around her neck and the other still around my cock in preparation of the penetration, "You can have your little attitudes..." I was suddenly inside of her, her gasp making me smirk to know I would always surprise her with my length or maybe my width. Didn't matter what, I relished in knowing it was because of me. 

"But don't expect to not get fucked out or them when we're alone." I scoffed into her hair as I pulled her tighter to me. 

"But that's what you wanted isn't it? You wanted me to fuck you like this...Because you want everyone to know just HOW well you take me...is that it? Or you want me to fuck YOU until you're screaming all the way back to the Southside so everyone knows your mine-" 

"Yours-" I had to stop myself from coming on the spot. A beautiful, bratty, brilliant Kook belonging to me. Desperate for me. Needing me for something other than to fix her car or serve her brunch. She just needed my body and what it could bring to her, bring from her. 

"Yeah? Then prove it. Come over my cock so I can take what's mine...And give you what’s yours…" 

"JJ..." She led my hand to her clit, which I forced off. 

"Have I ever needed guidance to make you come before? Hmm?" She shook her head before laying her head against my shoulder. Her body language lighting a fire within me to go faster and deeper, my finger flicking in swift flicks until she was trembling. My favorite motions from her. Knowing she was close. Knowing I was the reason. Fuck, I was close too in knowing that. But I made it last. I thought of anything but how good she was. How wet she was. How deep I was. 

"I'm gonna come, JJ!" Her hand wrapped around my dominant wrist. "You're making me come!" 

"Yeah?" I retracted from her, turning her to face me. I wanted to watch her desperations. It meant more than my own release. With a hand in her hair and the other projecting two fingers into her sex, easy to penetrate with how she dripped for me, I had one ambition. 

"Then give it to me. Stain me with your cum, princess. Let me walk out of here having made you squirt so they all see nobody is better than me....they don't even have to know it's us...but they'll know it's me..." 

"JJ! Fuck!" 

"Let go. Stop fighting me." 

"I don't want it to stop!" Her hands gripped onto my shirt. 

"Don't worry, I'm still gonna come inside you...just needed to see you beg for it." 

"Please please please, JJ, please..." She spoke in whimpers as she came to that high. 

"Come-" Before the entirety of the word could be spoken, she came in spurts. 

"Holy shit-" She breathed as I scoffed. "My princess just squirted all over my uniform..." I looked at her to take in her spent expression, "And she STILL wants more?!" She nodded, fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt. 

"I need you to come inside me, JJ!" 

"Then make me, sweetheart." She set the pace I would finish, battling against my thrusts for dominance I would only grant when favoring the desperation she had to make me come. Her body moving in waves to mine, her expressions pained in overstimulation but in further need of wanting more. And I gave it to her. As good as I got it. 

"Want me to come inside you, you said?" 

"Yes JJ!" 

"Yeah?" 

"YES! Please JJ!”

"Then take it, sweetheart." I brought myself as deeply inside of her as I could before feeling her clench around me in a second release of her own, spilling over me in another cascade. 

"JJ-" 

"Next time you pull shit like that, flaunting some other kook....you won't get to come..." I threatened, kissing her sweetly to seal yet another moment, before leaving her behind and returning to my side of the island, taking a piece of her while leaving a part of myself, as always.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn22 @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

#jjmaybank #jj maybank x reader #jjsmut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obxsmut #outer banks

[the-promise-has-been-made]

I feel like I wanna go see Hadestown like... six more times, just so I can focus on one specific character each time because they all have such unique little quirks to their performances. But specifically:

Hades has this super camp, cocky confidence. Like, when Chant 2 was happening and he and Persephone were circling around the workers and Orpheus, the man was STRUTTING!!! He had more of a hip sway that any other character, he was on a cat walk and we were all just peasants! You coud tell me right now Zachary James has a background in drag and I would believe you wholeheartedly, I am convinced that man can walk in heels better than I can. Right after the lights shorted out after 'I CONDUCT THE ELECTRIC CITY!' man stood there like a class 1 slut with 'tell you wat, young man' like, sir? Sir?!! Like I don't know, the patrick page recordings always had something very dignified to them but this Hades was SEXY and he knew it! But at the same time, he was so insecure about Persephone. Thre were so any instances whre he tried to reach for her, and she moved away, or pushed away, and it was breaking him, visibly. Such fantastic nuance. Like every time he tried to be vulnerable with her, it failed and so he dialled up the cockyness instead and it just got away from him. That's what it felt like. Like 'shit, well, now I committed to this now I gotta see it through!'

And Hermes giving supreme butch energy, flirting with Persephone. Hades was worried about his wife in the arms of the sun? Bro, you should be worried about the God witth feathers on their feet, they're out to steal yo woman. But also, the way Hermes knew how it all would turn out thrughout the whole thing. Like, with the other characters, it doesn't feel like that. But Hermes is the narrator, they break the forth wall, they know the song. It's in the way they gently touch Eurydice's shoulder before the show even starts, as if asking for permission to tell her tragedy again. It's in the way they look at her when she goes to pay for her passage into the underworld, the unspoken 'are you sure? We can still do this another way it doesn't have to be like this' but because they know how the story has to go, they can't actively interefere. Because that's not how Hermes operates. The sour disappointment when they tell Orpheus that Eurydice is gone, and that she cried his name before she went, there is veiled accusation there that Orpheus could have - should have - stopped this but wasn't listening (and maybe even shame that Hermes themselves did not stop it even though they knew what would happen?). The long stretches of silence at the Road to Hell reprise, with Orpheus just sitting there, sobbing, and Hermes just letting it settle in for everyone - no music, no other sounds, just the very quiet '...It's a sad song...' Oooofff.

And of course... Orpheus. I don't know if it's just the different voice and accent, or if it's because I saw this one live, but the Broadway recording always sounds very theatrical to me whereas Dónal Finn's performance was RAW. Absolutely gut-wrenching. He managed to bring across the sweet charme and comedy in Wedding Song, the hesitant insecurity in his own abilities in Epic 1, the determination in Wait For Me 1, where he is still confident that he can do this, that he can bring his love back. And then he gets to the Undeworld and is completely broken. Is It True is actually devastating. The way he first just lies on the floor, forcing the words out in pain, in resignation, before the workers hear and join his song and he gathers new strength and not just strength but also the ANGER that this is supposed to be the world when he KNOWS the world can be better than this. Like, in the recordings, I knew from the lyrics this was a song meants to unite the workers in protest but DAMN in the performance I actually wanted to stand up with him! And then he sings his whole heart out in Epic 3 and for a moment there, he's that boy again when Eurydice says 'you finished it!' and he goes 'I did!' and throws his hands up in glee. And it looks like everything is going to work out. But Doubt Comes In tears all of that away, because the entire time, when he sang there were others there with him. When he sang Epic 3, everyone sang along like it was supposed to be, like Hermes said 'the Gods sang their song of love, and the world sang it with them' but when he sings now, on the dark road, there is no echo, there is no one answering his song, it's just him and the cold wind, and the doubt personified as the fates in the back of his mind, and he is absolutely losing it. You GET why he turnes around. It's not because he doubts Eurydice's love. It's because he doubts that HE is actually worth walking back in the cold for, it's doubt that he would not be tricked by the Gods. He doesn't doubt her love, he doubts himself! And it was devastating. A devastatingly raw performance. I hope he wins awards for this show, I've never seen anything like it.

#Hadestown #I am still shooketh

[poorlittlegreenie13]

Modern Jo/Maybelle thoughts?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING, I HAVE A CLEAR VISION

This is part one, part two is here

This got ridiculously detailed… sorry

My vision is that they start off as neighbors in an apartment building.

Jo lives alone because Greta recently moved in with Carson, and Maybelle lives with her kids so Jo just assumes she’s straight because guys come to her apartment a lot.

But one day Maybelle knocks on Jo’s door early in the morning, dressed in pajamas, holding a baby & is like “Gosh I’m so sorry to ask you this but my hot water isn’t working and you seem like the handy type, would you mind taking a look at it?”

JO IS IN LOVE.

And she is the handy type so she’s like, of course, anything for this woman 🫠

Maybelle’s apartment is so cozy and warm Jo would be looking around like she’s stepped into Oz (ha)

Maybelle just worriedly paces around the bathroom rocking the baby while her other kid, a little boy, runs around the apartment like a maniac.

Jo’s like… are you okay?

And Maybelle gets so sad and tearfully explains that she’s gotta make breakfast and get the kids to school and daycare, and then she needs to take a shower and get ready and she can’t be late to work again because if she gets fired it’ll be a huge problem for her family.

Jo’s lesbian brain is like… must make nice girl stop crying.

So she fixes the hot water pretty easily (because I believe in my heart that she could fix anything she set her mind to) and Maybelle is soooo pleased but she’s still running late

So Jo, who just really wants to help, nervously asks if it would make things easier if she watched the kids while Maybelle showered?

Because she presents as so butch & masc, she doesn’t want Maybelle to get creeped out.

But sweet Maybelle just grins and hands Jo the baby, thanking her profusely.

Jo finds herself with a sleeping child in her arms and another child running around her ankles.

She’s chill about it though, I think she would be able to earn the respect of kids yk what I mean?

Maybelle gets out of the shower and comes into the kitchen in a fluffy bathrobe with a towel on her head, taking the baby from Jo and kissing her head, and then kissing Jo’s cheek without thinking about it.

Jo is blushing smiling and kicking her feet (metaphorically)

Maybelle is just smiling at her.

“Well now you’ve gotta let me make you breakfast!” she says, expertly balancing the baby on one hip as she starts to cook scrambled eggs.

Nobody has made Jo breakfast in a loooong time

I cannot overstate this, Jo is in LOVE with this woman

After that morning, things seem to break in Maybelle’s apartment more and more…

Jo always fixes them for ber

Maybelle always kisses her cheek and thanks her

Maybelle also starts bringing Jo over leftovers from her cooking because she’s pretty sure Jo eats takeout every night & Maybelle wants to make sure she’s getting hearty meals!

(those meals are made with love)

Jo is so fucking flattered

Maybelle loves making Jo blush, she thinks it’s so cute

Jo buys Maybelle’s little boy, Tommy (I am making that name up) a birthday present & Maybelle makes her sit down and eat a piece of cake with the family

One night Maybelle shows up at Jo’s door looking a little bit embarrassed and she’s like “Tommy really wanted you to join us for a movie night. We’re watching Wall-E!”

Jo just smiles at her. “Tommy did, huh?”

Maybelle smiles at the floor, then looks back up at Jo, blushing herself. “Well, we all like having you around, Jojo.”

Jojo 😭 Jo would be SOLD

Maybelle sits next to Jo on the couch, the baby in a bassinet next to them, Tommy on the floor.

Halfway through the movie, Maybelle’s head would drop onto Jo’s shoulder.

Jo would freeze. Because she still thinks Maybelle is straight and really doesn’t want to ruin their friendship.

But Maybelle just looks up at her with wide eyes and says “Do you mind?”

Jo shakes her head quickly. “Course not.”

Maybelle smiles, snuggling up to Jo. “I’m just so darn tired,” she murmurs, bringing an arm around Jo’s waist. “And you’re so cozy.”

Gay panic. Gay panic.

Jo can’t move, it’s like when a cat falls asleep on you. She tells herself Maybelle probably doesn’t get a lot of sleep and is just taking advantage of the quiet moment.

But against her better judgment, Jo lets her arm settle around Maybelle’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

Live Maybelle reaction: 🫠🫠🫠

When the movie ends, Tommy jumps on his mom to wake her up.

She laughs and hugs him and for a second they’re all cuddled there on the couch, and it’s the first time Maybelle hasn’t felt alone as a mother in a long time.

She sits there for a second longer before making herself get up & put Tommy to bed. It’s second nature for Jo to watch the baby at this point.

Once he’s asleep and Maybelle carries the baby to her bedroom, looking over her shoulder and waiting for Jo to follow.

Jo feels like she should probably go home but is not about to turn Maybelle down.

“She’s asleep,” Maybelle says, setting the baby into her crib next to the bed and turning to Jo. She smiles and says, “Thanks for keeping me company.”

Jo is like “I like keeping you company!”

Maybelle smiles. “Don’t you ever get lonely in that big apartment all by yourself?”

Jo scoffs, and though she’s never really thought about it before says “All the time.”

“You could stay here sometimes,” Maybelle says, biting her lip. “If you wanted to.”

“With you?” Jo asks.

Maybelle nods, smiling sheepishly. “I told you I like having ya around. You’re a lot better than any man’s ever been.”

Jo basically never leaves after that.

They never officially start dating, it just kind of happens.

When the kids are at school/daycare the next day, Maybelle stops Jo in the doorway as she’s leaving, laughs nervously, and kisses her on the lips.

Jo is so surprised she forgets to kiss back.

Maybelle just laughs at herself, high pitched and nervous, and shuts the door in Jo’s face.

After a few seconds of standing there like an idiot, Jo knocks and the door flies open, Maybelle practically jumping into her arms as Jo actually kisses her back <3

I am going to do a part two, this ask awakened something in me.

#aloto fanfic #a league of their own #a league of their own fic #aloto #aloto series #a league of their own series #jo de luca #jo and Maybelle #maybelle fox #jo x maybelle

[popentertainmentconcertreviews]

Tears For Fears & Garbage – TD Pavilion at The Mann – Philadelphia, PA – June 21, 2022

In their recent concert at the Mann, Curt Smith of Tears for Fears was discussing working on their recent album The Tipping Point. It is their first album in 18 years, and only the second album of the new millennium. In fact, it is the only the second album they have done as a duo since Sowing the Seeds of Love in 1989. (Smith left the band from 1991-2000, during which time his band partner Roland Orzabal released two albums with other collaborators as Tears for Fears.)

Smith said as they were working on the new album, they were hearing from all sorts of people in the business, trying to hook them up with hip young writers and producers who could update their sound. Finally, Smith acknowledged, they realized it made sense to recognize the fact that they had grown older, and to just keep on doing what they always have done.

Yes, Tears for Fears has gotten older – we all have – but on this comeback tour they still sound mighty tight.

They led off with the new stuff, playing the delicate ballad “No Small Thing” and the electro-vibed title track from “The Tipping Point.”

However, then they pulled out the big guns, tearing into a slightly hard-edged take of their first number one single from the summer of 1985, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” Performed live with a full band it lost a touch of its new wave synth feel, but it still sounded like brand new all these years later.

The rest of the set continued the mix of old and new, with favorites like “Mad World,” “Change” and “Head Over Heels” (done in a medley with “Broken”) keeping the nostalgic energy up. All the while lesser-known newer songs and album tracks like “Badman’s Song,” “Suffer the Children” and “My Demons” showed the band’s progression and eclectic diversity.

Not surprisingly, the set only included one song from the two albums in which Smith was not with the band, and that one, their last hit “Break It Down Again” fit like a glove. The sweetly psychedelic “Sowing the Seeds of Love” has aged well, bringing a touch of retro-flower-power to the fore. The band also playfully interspersed a snippet of the old Wings single “Let ‘Em In” into their own fan fave “Secret World.”

One of the finest moments came in the gorgeous and tragic ballad “Woman in Chains,” in which the backing vocalist Laura Evans did a stunning master class in gospel vocal power, taking the lines originally done by Oleta Adams on the record.

By the time they led into the encore with a gorgeous take on “Head Over Heels” (still the band’s finest song to my ears) the crowd had settled into a sweet groove. Then they came back to close out with a three-song encore which included a driven take on their early single “Change” and then shut things down with the band’s classic sing-along protest “Shout.”

Post-grunge hitmakers Garbage, featuring fiery frontwoman Shirley Manson and drummer Butch Vig (the unofficial fifth member of Nirvana during their heyday and the producer of their classic Nevermind) got everything started with set that was fire. Like Tears, they started up with a couple of lesser-known more recent songs – “Automatic Systematic Habit” and “The Men Who Rule the World,” before slamming into their hits with a scorching take on their 90s classic “Stupid Girl.”

Surprisingly, in this 12-song set, they skipped over one of their biggest songs – the 1999 soundtrack favorite “No. 1 Crush” – but the set included all the band’s other favorites. And I have to give extra credit for the fact that they pulled out a dramatic take of their underrated James Bond theme “The World is Not Enough.”

Their songs still felt coiled and venomous as Manson screeched her way through fan faves like “Queer,” “Push It” and a sweet medley of their song “Wicked Ways” mixed in with Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus.”

She also did a surprisingly restrained but still powerful version of arguably their biggest hit, starting “Only Happy When it Rains” as a pensive ballad before bringing the beat up slightly, even giving it a bit of a reggae vibe, then eventually exploding into the second chorus as the band turned things up to 11.

So it sounds like Smith was only partially correct on his judgment of his band – and his opener, too. They may have gotten older, but they still can rock the house.

Jay S. Jacobs

Copyright ©2022 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: June 23, 2022.

Photos by Jim Rinaldi © 2022.

#Tears For Fears #Garbage #2022 #Concert Reviews #TD Pavilion at the Mann #Philadelphia #Jay S. Jacobs #Jim Rinaldi

[kittieprettieprincess]

I can't wait to be a pretty lil stay at home trophy wife to the most handsome sweet loving butch ever 🥹🥹🥹 just ughhh I know I'm waiting until she finds and pursues me but I can't wait dude 😫😫 I can't wait to be all sweet and domestic and lovey dovey wif someone and sit on her lap anytime she sits down just to curl up in her arms bc I'm so small. Wrap my arms around my future wife and give her sweet kisses all over her handsome face 🥹🥹🥹🤭 eeeeeeeeee

Thinking about being home all day. Maybe the Monday after a good relaxing weekend in bed and around our home with my partner. I'd wake up early in the morning to read the word and have my coffee, as well as making hers to wake her up. I'd walk into our room and place the coffee on her bedside table. Then menacingly tiptoe closer to the bed only to crawl on top of her and lean over her sleeping face to give her morning kisses. I wouldn't stop kissing her everywhere until she wakes up and flips us over so that I'm underneath her now, completely pinned. Safe under her weight, receiving kisses sweet and tantalizing, I giggle, "Daddyyyyyy stoop 🥹🥺🥺 tickles!!!"

"Okay, okay baby I'm sorry. Daddys sorry honey. I love you lovebug." She'd say as she leans down to kiss me once more.

"OH, did my sweet girl make her daddy coffee?? Thank you babydoll."

"Of course Dada 🥰."

After a few more kisses we head to the kitchen where daddy makes us breakfast as i sit on the island counter, watching and swinging my legs about. Probably messing around with Penny my stuffed bunny and giggling to her about how handsome daddy looks making food for us both.

After daddy is finished making our breakfast she sets our plates down and quickly lifts me off the counter and back into her lap as always. Just like every morning. I sit in her lap and we both eat breakfast together. Separately, but we're so conjoined at the hip that we always stay with me in daddys lap. It's where a princess belongs of course 😌 sometimes daddy may have to feed me bc baby gets distracted playing with Penny and play feeding her. Then, once we've had our meal, daddy quickly has a shower and gets out. When she gets out, she comes out of the bathroom to find I've set her work clothes out neatly on the bed. Already sprayed with her favorite (and mine) cologne. She gets dressed and meets me at the door where I kiss her goodbye and tell her to come home quickly and to message me when she arrives to work safely.

While my bubbas is at work I'd most likely clean our home on a good pain day or do laundry. House chores and the like. Before her lunch break I'd make her a nice meal and get all dolled up to take it to her. The thought of my future butch being able to brag on their pretty little wife and how good I am to them. Constantly doting on them and feeding them yummy meals and treats. I'd of course make sure to make one of my loves favorite desserts as well. There'd be a sticky note applied to it that says, "there'll be even more dessert for you when you get home ❤️." I'd wait all day for her to get home. Constantly missing her and thinking about how badly I can't wait to run up to the door as soon as she's home so she can pick me up and give me more of her sweet kisses I missed so much. She'd try to put me down complaining of getting my pretty slip dress dirty, but instead she's turned on more when I tell her,"Fuck me dirty. I don't care. Well shower after anyway daddy."

"Please, show me how much you missed me honey."

Yanking her shirt off to reveal her sports bra and muscles,I lean down to her kneeled on the ground between my legs to kiss her again.

She slowly moves her hands dirty from work up my legs to grab and knead at my thighs.

"So fucking pretty baby, God. Smells so sweet."

I laugh and hook my legs over her shoulders. Interlacing my hands through her hair and pulling her close against my lacy panties. Her favorite of course. Pink with the little bow on the front. I can feel her cold wedding band against my skin as she moves her large, tough hands up my body underneath my dress to grab at my breasts. Kissing me and telling me how much she missed me, I tell her I missed her even more.

How much I couldn't wait for her to get home so I could kiss her and hug her. Smell her scent and be in the arms of my safe place. How much I thought of her getting home so she can take me however she wants because my body belongs to her just as hers belongs to me.

The thought of planning for babies. 🥹🥹 OH GOD

Picking out a donor that looks like my wife so that our bubs look like us 🥹🥹I can't wait to carry babies for my wife someday. Just the thought of it makes me so happy dude. The thought of carrying my loves child inside of me. Our babies 🥹 them constantly rubbing and kissing my belly as it grows and talking to our baby. Even reading books to them so they'll be super duper smart and cool 🥹 going to appointments and crying together over Watching our Bubba grow 😭😭😭😭

Even if I couldn't carry our babies I still can't wait to have a family with my love someday. Whether it's through adoption or biology I don't care.

I just genuinely can't wait to meet my person in God's timing bc I'm so tired of trying to make it work with mascs that are emotionally unavailable or settle for the "daddy" title when it's something they don't really like, just because they like me. I can't wait to find my butch daddy so I can be taken care of and loved the way I deserve and to be able to give all the love I have for them in return for everything my lovely butch husband does for me 🥹

I can't wait to be a pretty little femme wife to my butch someday and I hope wherever she is that she or he depending on pronouns, is safe. I hope she thinks about me as much as I think about and dream of her and what it will be like to be her girl someday 🥹🥹🥺🥰

[summertimeflamingo]

people are sooo weird about groomed poodles they’re like “yeah only annoying rich pretentious people style their poodles like that” you’re telling me you wouldn’t customize your dog if you got a poodle?? your dog would look like a bland human skyrim default man and my dog would look like an electric blue lizard man with a mullet. my dog might HAVE a mullet. unless my hypothetical pre-pet research indicated it was unwise for the pets health somehow that bitch would get a new haircut every time it grew back out and it would be BRIGHT PINK (radish water babes, as long as it isn’t allergic you can dye any white animal you like pink unless it can’t get wet like rabbit chinchilla etc just dab someone on and magic pink pet just be smart about it and have water and radishes) i’m poor as fuck i’ll do it with kitchen scissors like i do my own hair lol (also my big sis cuts it with a knife sometimes and it makes it a cool texture that styles really well but i wouldn’t use a knife on a dog cuz they move around a lot i don’t trust that bitch to stay still i’m not even allowed 2 use them on myself much less a wigglebeast LOL) like if i ever got a poodle they would have to classify her a traffic hazard. neon green collar ultramarine leash dog sunglasses if she likes them. it would be sick. you guys just aren’t Enlightened like me and you let rich people ruin things for you. they can’t steal CustomDog from me. people are gonna be like “what the fuck is that” when i walk around with my awful triangle dog and i’m gonna love it. this was just me complaining about a cool idea getting passed up and now i kinda want a poodle 🤔🤔🤔

#i hear they’re VERY smart and i love an animal that can both be trained and troublesome. enriching eachothers lives and shit #like she would look immensely silly but she would also be genuinely loved #can’t get a dog like that anytime soon tho bc space and money and we already have cassiecass my darling dearest kittykat #hashtag cass i am coming to kiss your fluffy white head #also yes if you’re wondering it Is because i cut myself using the knife #i am 16 i am Allowed To Use Knife i don’t live in a hell house #just not on hair #ITS HARD TO DO THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD WITH A KNIFE #also i was NOT paying attention #i get caught in the Thrill Of The Haircut #ooo i’m due for a new one soon aaa i cannot post face pics bc obvious reasons but maybe i will post a drawing of the new me #this last one was experimental and it turned out good but not perfect until the very last few cuts when i figured it out but #this next haircut should be spectacular but this time Big Sis has to do it. she’s probably better anyways she is the knife expert #she says the best one is a hawkbilled knife and having tried with a hunting knife pre adoption it’s soooo much easier to use they’re right #they let me use their favorite knife that they use for everything #she always has it on her hip like the butch she is we love to see it <3 #hashtag butch rights #i look kinda like my icon except my eye is only a little fucked up not totally blued over #and my hair isn’t purple rn #rn it’s natural black and next is blue but i’ll get back to you soon purple i love you mwah #god i love talking

[audreydoeskaren]

Thank you for answering my last question, for this one, with all the knowledge you have. I would love to hear your own insights and analysis on the clothes, hairstyles, and accessories in this YouTube video. It is called "China Fashion Show in Shanghai, 1929, 90 years ago"

Link to the video (enhanced version)

I looove this video! More than obliged to analyze the fashion here.

Right off the bat I’m immediately captivated by their perfectly plucked eyebrows and satisfying hair. So you have three ladies in very representative styles of the 1929-32 Deco period, as I like to call it. You have two cheongsam (left and right) and a aoqun with vest, whose skirt seems to be constructed in a gathered style that resembles a contemporary Western robe de style evening dress.

Source

French robe de style designs.

Source

Deco period cheongsam.

In 1929, the sleeves were beginning to become tighter and less flared compared to previous years while the collar rose in height, eventually becoming a buttonless style that would be known as 筒子领 tongziling or "tube collar". This aoqun seems to have a tube collar that fastens at the side. You can see the side fastening in this shot, as well as the dense Marcel waves on her short bob (emphasis on short).

It's always lovely to see the back of hairstyles, nonetheless one so neatly coiffed. In my recent post about the 100 years of fashion video I mentioned a faux-butch look created by long hair brushed back, this is what I meant. I really appreciate how the narrating lady (the one in the robe de style) described their different hairstyles as "we have each solved the problem in a different way", acknowledging both long hair and short bobs. This is very refreshing compared to the narrative pushed by a lot of period dramas that short hair=good and modern and long hair=conservative and backwards. Both long and short hair were considered valid modern hairstyles!!

As to their earrings, yess these long, dangly earrings were very popular in the Deco period (I'm coining this term today). I think they look so cool.

Source

Deco period cheongsam and earrings.

The lady to the left mentions how her buttons are embellished with diamonds (or rhinestones? she rich if they're real diamonds oh my gosh), which is really fun since I've never paid much attention to buttons in this period. Love the giant flower, wearing flowers in one's hair regardless of occasion is truly Chinese heritage ahahaha.

The lady to the right has this bob that is curled at the bottom, which was another massively popular hairstyle in this time. They really summoned the holy trinity of Deco period hairstyles somehow.

Aoqun lady confirms that this is an evening dress so my robe de style hypothesis is correct!! Skirts and dresses of the Deco period were knee length with a dropped waist that rested at hip level. She probably has stockings on seeing how shiny her legs are, and she has the perfect evening shoes. In the late 1920s, Western shoes with a pointed toe, curved Louis heel and buckle at the front were very popular. This shiny/beaded texture was likely to differentiate them from day shoes.

Source

Late 20s evening shoes by Fenton Footwear.

This brocaded wrap coat is *chef’s kiss* perfection. Paul Poiret is proud. 

Source

1929 Marshall & Snelgrove evening coats advert (I’d love to find actual Parisian images but I don’t speak French😭)

Then we reached the end of the video. This video is so informative and beautifully made, 10/10 would recommend to anyone interested in 1929-32 fashion.

#chinese fashion #vintage fashion #1920s #republican era #cheongsam #vintage hairstyles

[facegodandwalkbackwards]

I’ve decided that Renesmee is a trans boy <3

He figures it out in his fifties. Before then, he just figures he’s like his Mom, a little tom-boyish, a little butch. He’s not like other girls, he says. His Mom tells him that’s normal, she was like that, too. And if he feels a longing for the boys in his classes, well, that’s also normal, she says. Wanting someone is the first step to a happily ever after.

Renesmee thinks that sounds trite, but he’s young and doesn’t quite have the exact words to describe why he doesn’t like it. Why ‘happily ever after’ feels confining.

When he reaches his twenties--in real time, and not just in growth--he asks Benjamin about happily ever afters, because he knows his Mom is young, too, by their people’s standards. Benjamin has come to visit every now and then, not for them--he’s not especially attached to them--but because Jacob sometimes drives to Oregon or Idaho to meet up with him and have coffee. He tells Renesmee that they might be possible, but Amun thinks there’s really only ‘happy for now’s. He admits he feels that way, too, sometimes--that he wants to believe happy can be forever, but he knows some day Jacob will stop coming to meet him, and he, too, will die.

During the events of Breaking Dawn, Jacob told Benjamin why the wolves phase, and Benjamin--worried that his presence there might bring more pain--decided that if they were going to be friends, he would never come visit Jacob on his land. Renesmee wishes he could convince his own family to stay away, but ‘the weather’s just too good for us, there,’ he is told. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older. We can blend in with the humans easily there. Besides, we’re never there long enough to do any real damage.’

Except wasn’t he living proof of that being a lie?

His Mother doesn’t see it that way. ‘They weren’t forced to help us,’ she tells him. ‘Jacob, Leah, Seth--they wanted to help. They chose to.’ And he isn’t so sure that’s true, either, but arguing with his Mother never gets him anything productive. Especially when his Father always, always takes her side.

In his thirties, the family--the coven--wants to return to Forks. Renesmee says no, but is overruled by a vote. He goes along at first, but he doesn’t stay. Three nights into their arrival, the aging and grey-haired Taha  Aki--Billy Black, as he’s known, now--comes to visit the house and all but begs them to leave.

Paul and Quil and Embry had just stopped being able to phase, he tells them. If you come back now--are you really going to make them go through this, again?

And Renesmee thinks that maybe his Mother will finally understand. They’re not supposed to be here. But Edward says they won’t stay long enough for it to matter--just three years. That’s all. And when Carlisle and Esme agree, Bella’s convinced.

He doesn’t make a decision right there; he can’t. He’s learned that Alice is too conniving for Renesmee to get past without careful planning.

That night, he leaves. The note, hastily scrawled, tells his family he’s going to live with the Denalis. There are phone calls and tears and accusations. How could he do this to his Mother? Doesn’t he understand how hard it is for them all, living somewhere they aren’t wanted? Doesn’t he understand that he’s still too young to get why he should just come home and ignore Billy? It doesn’t sway him one bit.

Tanya and Carmen try to convince him, themselves. Your family is just worried about you, they say. They just want you to have a good life. Don’t be too hard on them. He knows it costs them nothing to say that.

And he misses them, if he’s honest with himself. Nostalgia is a drug and he wonders and wonders if he made the right choice, but he thinks about the fear in Billy’s face and feels sure.

In those three years, he grows to resent the Denalis. Every conversation that isn’t about why he shouldn’t feel bad for the pack--for the people who killed Laurent (and nevermind that he was hunting on their land, nevermind that he broke the rules, first)--is about how much his family misses him. It’s maddening. Renesmee is mad.

It’s Garrett that gives him an out. You know, he tells Renesmee one cold winter night, days before the Cullens planned to come up north for a decade or so before beginning their standard rotation again, you don’t need a coven. It’s nice to have. They’re helpful if you’re in trouble. But there’s nothing so freeing as going solo, bound to nothing and no-one, going wherever you like as it strikes your fancy. Good way to avoid making decisions, he says, and the little smile tells Renesmee that it’s an invitation. Go, it means. I’ll take the blame for you.

Kate isn’t thrilled when she gets a call from Alice, frantic that Renesmee is gone--just gone, heading west? No--south, now. No--now he’s leapt into a river she doesn’t recognize and she can’t make out what direction he’s going in. Garrett’s been in trouble, before--he knows if he waits a few months, it’ll be fine.

The years on his own are more than Renesmee could ever have hoped for. They’re freeing and wild and beautiful. He hunts in forests and deserts and oceans, and learns how much he can love himself--and still, something feels off. A sour note in the song. Something not quite fitting.

At first, he imagines he’s lonely. He’d always been with his coven, after all, and maybe that’s just what loneliness feels like. Except even in cities, even in the busiest cities in the world, he feels out of step. It’s something deeper.

He grows to resent the name he was given; when he was younger, it had felt weird. Like he was the stand-in for the people whose names he held. Now, he wondered how much truth there may have been in that. When Renee had died, Bella had leaned on him so much, fretting and trying to care for Renesmee as she had once for Renee.

He thinks about being called EJ if he had been a boy, and what that would have meant when Jacob eventually became mortal again. He decides he hates that name, too--but it does feel closer.

Renesmee goes through names like seasons, circling around an answer, reaching ever closer to it and yet feeling so far removed.

It’s in Brazil that he finds it. He’d lost track of seasons and finds himself there in the middle of Pride, and he sees men with breasts. Men with soft faces. Men with scars and furred chests and socks stuffed into their pants. He sees men in the vibrancy of transness and falls in love.

Rio, he decides, is a much better name. Rio feels like home. Rio is learning that he can bind all he wants; his bones don’t bend like a human’s do, and it’s not like he needs to breathe. He experiments with hormones, different dosages, different types, things he’s stolen off supply trucks in the middle of the night. For a long time he thinks they won’t do anything, that he’s too vampiric to use them until one day he wakes up different.

For his best guess, the venom pushes on one side or another of absolutes. Rio thinks he’s built up enough testosterone that the venom corrected overnight. His chest aches and his thighs ache and his chin and throat hurt like he’d been punched hard enough to knock him out.

When he looks in the mirror, what looks back feels right. He’s no taller than he had been, before, but his face--there’s fur, there. A thick beard and mustache and sturdy eyebrows. He’s got fur on his chest where there once were breasts. He’s got straight and narrow hips, and hairy legs, and he cries because his body has never felt so much like home.

If he ever meets the Cullens, again, it’s long after he’s remade himself. There’s a vampire in Georgia, he’s heard, that has the power of granting shields, an echo of the forcefulness with which she protected others in life. He doesn’t need to do much to convince her to place one on him. They’re alike--so similar they could be family. She’s not so human as he is, but she knows what it is to want a different body.

Her shields are different that his Mother’s were. One moment, Alice can see him--the next, he’s gone.

Rio stays in Georgia for a while. It’s lively, there, and he enjoys the company. There’s no spark--no romance--just a desire for kinship. When Berta chooses to leave, he follows her. It’s not a coven; they’re not bound to each other. They split apart sometimes, come together again decades or centuries past. And Rio stays away from Forks.

And he is happy for now.

#twilight #renesmee #jacob black #edward cullen #bella swan #rio

[ghost-in-the-hella]

Hi could I prompt 38. holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition and Pricefield please? ^^

Better hella late than never, right? According to the prompt list, 38 is actually "swinging hands back and forth, skipping like children" so I've thrown that in as well as holding hands and pulling to the next exhibition. Bonus hand holding!

I've also decided that Victoria wasn't the only Blackwell student to survive the storm in this particular story, because fuck it. Let some people live.

---

Chloe loves date nights. She and Max never really got a chance to officially date; after all, once someone has let an entire town and most of its inhabitants get razed to the ground for you, ‘dinner and a movie’ feels like a bit of an unnecessary step. They’d left Arcadia Bay that day and just sort of naturally shifted from “Max and Chloe: Best Friends Forever” to “Max and Chloe: Old Married Couple” pretty much immediately. They had been together for three years before it occurred to either of them that they had never actually ever gone on a “date.”

Regular date nights became a thing shortly thereafter, and even though they both acknowledge that the whole thing’s a bit silly considering how joined at the hip they are, date night is usually Chloe’s favorite night of the week. She loves getting dressed up and going out with Max, letting the world know that they belong together. She loves feeling like a ‘normal’ couple, one with an appropriate meet-cute story instead of one forged in magic and mass destruction.

Plus, Max is just so fucking adorable when it’s her turn to plan a date.

Tonight Max seems extra nervous about whatever she’s got in store, which is endearing but also a bit silly because Chloe literally always loves her dates no matter what they are. Max could take her to a stupid sporting event Chloe gives zero fucks about and she wouldn’t care as long as she could sit next to her girlfriend and hold her hand.

Chloe’s pretty sure they’re not going to watch sportsball or whatever, though, judging by the way Max is getting all dressed up. She’s wearing her best black slacks - she even got out the ironing board and pressed them, so this shit is serious - and the dark blue button down shirt that Chloe always teases her about because she got it in the kids’ section (but damn if it doesn’t bring out her eyes). She’s paired it with one of the many neckties she’s collected from thrifting, a thin black and brown plaid number she’s tied and untied and retied half a dozen times in the past twenty minutes.

“...Should I be getting dressed up for this?” Chloe asks. “‘Cause I hella feel like I should be getting dressed up for this.”

“You don’t have to,” Max rushes to assure her. “But, um, it’d be nice if you did? But you don’t have to. No one’s gonna, like, look at you funny if you’re in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever.” Her face pales. “Oh, fuck, maybe I’m dressing up too much. Is this too much? Should I lose the tie?”

“The tie is adorable.” Chloe puts calming hands on her shoulders. “Chill. You look amazing. I can’t really tell you if it’s too much or not since you won’t tell me where we’re going, but… I’m gonna say you look perfect.” She pulls out a pair of skinny jeans that don’t have any holes in them and the collared shirt and vest she wore to Joyce’s third wedding. “Here. I’ll match you. We can be fancy together.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“Are you saying you don’t want to see me in this vest again? Because I seem to remember you wanting to rip it off of me last time I wore it.”

Blush stains Max’s cheeks. “Um. Yeah. Okay. Vest is good. Yes to the vest.”

Chloe chuckles and enjoys Max’s admiration as she changes into her dapper-butch best. She usually opts for comfort over fashion, but fuck it. It’s date night.

They hold hands through the subway ride, the crush of bodies around them putting wrinkles in their fancy clothes. It’s a Friday night, so they’re far from the only people in the car dressed up for a night on the town. Every time the train lurches to a stop, Max loses her footing and bumps smack into Chloe’s chest. Two years in this city, and Max still hasn’t gotten her subway legs. “Landlubber,” Chloe teases the fifth time it happens. Max sticks out her tongue in response, because at heart she’s still a bratty eight-year-old. Chloe responds in kind, because same.

Their destination is a museum, and Chloe is far from surprised. “Nerd,” she whispers affectionately in Max’s ear as Max drags her toward the building by her hand. It’s all lit up like a party. Max has taken her to a fair few openings at galleries over the years. Apparently, this is the museum equivalent. There’s wine and cheese and dozens of people spinning artsy nonsense. They are neither the fanciest nor the least fancy people there.

For an art shindig, it’s pretty cool. The music isn’t really Chloe’s style, but it’s live which is always cool. There’s a fuckton of finger foods being passed around on trays and living on long tables.

Max holds her hand tightly, which isn’t that unusual for the first few minutes in a new place. She lets Chloe haul her to the food tables and doesn’t needle Chloe for piling up a plate with more food than is reasonable. Normally, Max would then drag Chloe from art piece to art piece, lingering for a painfully long time at some, maybe occasionally pointing out an artist in the room whose work she admires but who she can’t get up the nerve to talk to (and then almost dying of embarrassment when Chloe marches her over and introduces them both, then thanking Chloe profusely once the ordeal is over).

But this time, Max is being weird. This time, Max is the one trailing Chloe around the room, glancing around impatiently as if she can’t wait to move on when Chloe lingers too long at an artwork. “All good, Max?” Chloe asks.

“Mhm,” Max grunts tightly. “Totally fine.”

“This show’s pretty cool. You try the goat cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon? They’re fucking phenomenal. We should fill our pockets with them.”

“Mhm…” Max’s eyes trail off toward the hallway.

“Seriously, dude. You wanna create the diversion, or shall I?”

“Mhm…”

Chloe frowns. “Okay, cool. I’ll streak around the room and you fill your pockets with as many dates as you can grab before security makes me put clothes on.”

“Mhm…”

Chloe lightly digs an elbow into Max’s side. “Babe. This date is getting kinda lonely without you.”

Max blinks back to reality. “Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry! I’m just… kind of distracted.” She squeezes Chloe’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go to the next exhibit, okay?”

Chloe shovels the rest of her food in her face and ditches her empty plate before Max drags her into the hall. “So what is all this?” Chloe asks as Max speedwalks her through the next room, barely pausing to admire the artwork.

“There’re a couple of different exhibits opening tonight,” Max tells her. “I’ve been really excited about it for a while.”

“Really? You coulda fooled me. Max, you’re gonna sprain an ankle if you jog past the art any faster.”

“Sorry,” Max apologizes again with a cringe. “This is supposed to be our special date night and I’m ruining it…”

“You’re not ruining it,” Chloe assures her. “But you are acting hella weird. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on of your own free will or do I have to tickle it out of you?”

Max grabs Chloe’s hands preemptively with a look of panic. “No tickling. Please.” Her cheeks turn red and she glances around nervously. “There are totally famous artists here,” she says with hushed reverence. “And probably, like… agents and gallery reps and people like that.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t embarrass you in front of them,” Chloe chuckles. “But you’d better start talking, Caulfield.” Max worries her lower lip between her teeth, deep in contemplation. “I think it’d be better if I show you,” she says at last in a voice filled with determination. She releases one of Chloe’s hands but grips the other tighter. “Come on,” she says, “follow me.”

Even if Chloe wanted to, she couldn’t decline without risking injury: Max’s fingers have her own in an iron embrace and when she starts walking with a purpose toward a nearby door Chloe needs to scramble into action before her shoulder gets yanked from its socket. “Woah, okay then,” she mumbles as she chases after Max.

Chloe can’t remember the last time Max’s palm felt so sweaty pressed against her own. If Max’s fingers weren’t so firmly locked into her own, she’d be in danger of slipping right out of her grasp. “Where are we going?” she asks breathlessly as they race through one room to another, then down a hallway and into yet another room filled with artwork that blurs on the walls as they run past. Max doesn’t seem to notice the stern looks of the security guards they pass, which is so uncharacteristic that it’s a little alarming.

“You’ll see,” Max pants as she drags her into another room then stops so abruptly that Chloe has to slam on the brakes not to bowl her over. She takes a deep gulp of air and lets it out. “We’re here.”

Chloe takes a moment to let her lungs stop screaming - damn, she really needs to quit smoking - then starts looking around. It looks like… an art exhibit. Photography specifically; no wonder Max wanted to come here. Photographs in understated frames on every wall and every partition. Some small, some large, some so big they’re basically murals. Some as small as… polaroids. Huh.

Max’s grip slackens but doesn’t release. “Come on,” she says in a nervous voice. She tugs Chloe’s arm gently, and Chloe follows her over to the small squares displayed salon style (Chloe’s been going to way too many art shows) on a far wall. Chloe’s heart thumps in her chest. “Max, is this what I think it is?” she asks in a small voice.

It is. Holy shit, Max’s photos are in a museum. A legit, honest to god or what-the-fuck-ever museum. It takes Chloe a minute to remember to breathe. “Oh my god, Max,” she chokes out at last. She’s shaking, she’s so fucking proud. She has to wipe her eyes multiple times before she can actually see what she’s really looking at.

They’re beautiful. Candid shots from Max’s day to day life, little glimpses into who she is and what she loves. Tea rising from a steaming cup with a delicate handle and Kate Marsh’s equally delicate hand resting beside it. Chloe’s bare back as she naps on the couch after a particularly tiring day of work, their rescue cat Cassie curled up on the tangle of her legs. Sunlight shining through Lisa’s leaves and casting shadows on their bedroom floor. Chloe standing outside Max’s job waiting for her shift to end, smoking a cigarette under the No Smoking sign. A cup of black coffee next to an open copy of The Thief’s Journal like a goddamn instagram shot because Max is still a fucking hipster. Chloe putting on eyeliner, framed by their bathroom door. Chloe, shirtless, cradling Cassie to her chest like a baby. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.

Her heart swells. She’s always loved Max’s work, but even with her limited art knowledge she can tell that Max has improved by leaps and bounds over the years. She recognizes these photos; she helped Max pick them out months ago. Some call for artists Max didn’t think she was good enough to submit her work to. “You did it,” Chloe says softly. “You applied.”

“At the last possible moment,” Max admits. She looks a bit like she wants to throw up. “I almost didn’t do it. But you helped me so much with choosing the photos to submit and with filling out the application and… You just believed in me so much. So I thought maybe I should try to believe in myself, too.”

Chloe slips her hand from Max’s and immediately pulls her into a fierce hug. A lump fills her throat as she fights back tears. “Damn right,” she forces out, trying to sound gruff and failing miserably. “I am so fucking proud of you, Max.”

“Thank you,” Max says, muffled against Chloe’s chest.

Eventually Chloe releases her with a huge grin. “My partner, a big time photographer with art in a museum. Wait’ll I tell Dana and Kate.”

Max groans in pleased embarrassment. “It’s only a temporary exhibit,” she protests halfheartedly. “It’s not like I’m in the permanent collection or anything.”

“An exhibit for New Voices in the World of Photography,” Chloe replies, pointing emphatically at the vinyl letters on the wall. “And it’s in a legit, actual museum, Max. Like, you know I’m impressed as fuck when your work hangs on, like, the walls of a shitty restaurant or whatever, but this is the big time.” She gestures at the wall text. “They’re calling you an emerging artist. That means you’re coming up in the world, dude. They expect great things of you, they’re looking forward to seeing how your career progresses and are honored to champion your work... Have you actually read this?? This is incredible, Max.”

“They’re saying it about all of us, not just me,” Max mumbles self-consciously.

“Yeah, but they’re saying it about All. Of. You. Not ‘everyone except Max Caulfield, she got in by mistake.’ You’re included in this.”

“I guess so…”

“No negative vibes. Be proud of yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” Max chuckles sheepishly. “I’m trying.”

“Good.” Chloe snorts. “Have you told Victoria about this? I bet she’s shitting herself.”

“Um, I didn’t have to. She got in, too.”

“Well… Good for her, then.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, crap, does that mean she’s around here somewhere?”

“Probably,” Max admits.

“She’s probably too busy hobnobbing with the famous folks to notice a couple of plebs like us. I guess we should probably say hi at some point, though.” Chloe shudders.

Max jostles her shoulder. “She’s been way more chill since she and Steph got together. We actually had a really helpful conversation about photography the last time we saw each other. She’s pretty nice when she’s not convinced she isn’t allowed to be.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. But in the meantime, why don’t we stare at your incredible pictures some more and then we can check out the rest of the exhibits. The night is still young.”

Max indulges Chloe’s fussing for a few more minutes, letting Chloe take pictures of her with her phone as she poses by her photographs even as her embarrassed blush gets redder and redder. Eventually, she convinces Chloe to move on so that the other people circulating the room can actually see her art, too.

“Okay,” Chloe sighs reluctantly. “I guess it’s rude to hog all the Max Caulfield originals all to myself.” She reaches down and squeezes Max’s hand. “As long as I can hang onto the original Max Caulfield original.”

Max laughs and squeezes back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It starts off innocently enough, just a little sway to their hands as they walk through the rest of the exhibit. By the time they’ve reached the hallway they’re straight up skipping, arms swinging back and forth between them like a jump rope building momentum. Chloe can’t remember the last time she felt this light and easy, skipping and giggling uncontrollably with her best friend like a couple of giddy kids.

So what if there are famous people there? So what if Victoria Chase is probably watching them from a distance like a particularly judgemental hawk? So what if the security guards are distinctly unamused by their hijinks. Chloe’s partner has work in a goddamn mother fucking museum. Chloe’s partner is proud of herself.

Who gives a fuck what anybody else thinks?

#pricefield #life is strange #fanfic #ghost writes #prompt ghost #prompt fill #prompt fic

[possibilistfanfiction]

For a prompt: Butch Bea being soft and tender when Ava needs some extra TLC for whatever reason!

'ughhhhhhh,' you say, as dramatic as possible, while you flop back onto bed. you do your best to flop on top of beatrice, your favorite place, you think with a smirk.

she puts her book down and runs a finger up and down your spine, featherlight, unbothered by your head on her chest and your hips against yours.

'do you feel any better?'

'no,' you groan.

'not even a little?'

'fine,' you say, 'maybe. maybe a little.'

she rests her hand in your hair, playing with the strands softly. you squirm around until you can see her face. she has on her glasses, sage green acetate, mostly round frames, that she'd gotten a few months ago when you had seen her squinting at everything in the distance and pestered her until she went to the optometrist. she came home grumpy and with some trial contacts that had been a fucking saga to get in her eyes the first few times, but she'd gotten the hang of it and wears them out most of the time, but she wears her glasses at home, especially when she's working on her computer. they're fucking adorable and you tell her that, over and over again, because you want her to know but also because the little blush beneath her freckles kills you every time.

'whenever you feel like releasing me, i'll go get you your cold meds.'

'i can't breathe,' you groan. it's not true, but your nose is stuffy and your throat hurts and you have a headache; you'd felt sick the day before but it had gotten worse overnight, and hadn't gotten all that much better with the hot, steamy shower bea had suggested. you tuck your snotty nose into her neck and she just brings her arms around you, unfazed. 'this is so stupid. what good is the halo if it can't heal me from a measly little cold that's ruining my life?'

'i'm sorry you're not feeling better, ava.'

to be fair, you have pretty significant chronic pain and issues with mobility, and it's been a journey — of your own, and with bea — to sort through your feelings around disability, and care, and being cared for. but a cold is easy; everyone gets colds, and beatrice is happy to help you. she's always happy to help you — quiet and competent and so cute, in a cutoff tank and boxers. eventually, you roll off of her and pout, still in a thick robe.

'do you want anything for breakfast? i can make your favorites, or something gentler, if you're not too hungry. i think the meds won't be great on an empty stomach.'

'maybe just some scrambled eggs.' you put your hand on her hip, the v that sits beneath the waistband of her boxers. 'and toast?'

'we have muffins, from the bakery, that i picked up yesterday, if you'd rather that? but i'll make whatever.'

'fuck yeah, muffins.'

she laughs and kisses your forehead, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 'okay. i can bring it up if you'd rather.'

'i'll come down.'

'are you sure? i don't mind.'

'i know,' you say, and you do: beatrice loves you all the time, in the smallest of moments, in the gentlest of ways. she listens, when you want to do things on your own, even on days where your pain is significant and your mobility is extremely limited. when you do ask for her help, she just nods and does whatever you need without any pity, without any anger. with love, with love, with love. 'hey.'

she tugs on some joggers and then runs a hand through her hair, messy from sleep, and your heart swells. she was worth it, you think — dying and saving the world and coming back from hell — she was so worth it. 'hmm?'

'i love you. i love you so much.'

her smile is tender, just for you, sunbathed. 'i love you too.' she takes a few soft steps toward you and kisses you gently.

'i'm gonna get you sick.'

'i don't get sick.'

you roll your eyes. 'well, i'll take care of you in a few days when you do.'

she laughs and kisses you again, then sits on the edge of the bed and pulls purple socks into her feet. when you had first come back to life, you had been blown away by the biggest things: the ocean, the stars. you still are, all the time, but now — the curve of her spine under her shirt, the pull of the strong muscles in her arms, the way she presses her thumbs into her arches before she pulls on each sock — you're blown away by how wonder is stored in the stitching; wonder is stored in the lifelines of her hands that you trace while you get coffee near your house, or the way she lets you clean up her neckline between haircuts, or the champagne you share some nights, just because you're alive, and together, and that's enough. joy is not meant to be a crumb, you remember — and your joy is stitched everywhere with her. your joy is infinite.

beatrice makes you breakfast and you eat it curled on the couch; she brings you cold medicine and it makes you feel high as fuck; you walk into a wall trying to bring your empty plate to the dishwasher. bea just laughs and leads you by the shoulders back to the couch; she brings you a mug of tea and you only manage a few sips before you start to fall asleep, your head in her lap.

a few days later she has the sniffles and the a fever in the middle of the night, and you make her soup and tea and hold her, even when she sneezes all over you.

#they are little!! they are happy!! #avatrice fic #prompts #avatrice #wn #butch bea 🥺🫡 #i guess its in that universe lol #ava w a cold

[jojo-reader-hell]

You know what we ain’t had in a minute? The Big Gay™️.

Hello yes who wants to relive their high school days in such a way that us young queers didn’t have to stay in the closet?

Jolyne x Fem!Reader x Foo Fighters x Hermès Costello: Butterfly

This is dedicated to the girl who wanted to date me in junior year but I was too fucking closeted to understand that I wasn’t really into my ex boyfriend all that much.

Oh boy! High school queers!

Welp, remember those shitty homecoming dances where we were stuffed in tight dresses and wearing ugly ass makeup? That’s the place I’m taking you back to today.

The dj is actually pretty good. It’s definitely a playlist you’ll be recreating in ten years with your girlfriend on your 10th year anniversary.

He let you and your friends even get a good scream session in listening to Lil Jon uncensored.

Hey, there’s nothing more satisfying than being a group of girls at sixteen screaming about to the window to the wall to the sweat drop down your balls and making all these bitches crawl. It hits different.

The “aww skeet skeet motherfuckers aww skeet skeet goddamn” in unison? *chef kiss*🤌🏼

Unfortunately your boyfriend ditches you about halfway through the dance for some other chick and you end up being the sad girl crying in the corner of the bleachers, your black dress with the cats and pink polka dots can only bring you so much happiness.

One of your friends tries to comfort you. She’s the one who told you in art class that she’s bi and you confessed your own secret, so she knows just how to help you feel better.

“Don’t cry... You see that girl over there? She said if you’re into girls she’d totally want to dance with you. Do you want to go dance with her?”

You look up through runny tears to see the aforementioned girl staring at you. She’s wearing a scandalously lovely dress, twirling the rainbow of bracelets she has around her wrists.

A punk queen named Jolyne Cujoh.

She’s even wearing neon green lipstick to the dance.

You’ve seen her before. She’s the girl you’ve always been envious of.

Was it really envy/jealousy of her attractiveness? Or was it longing?

Jolyne is the kind of girl who mixes Juicy Couture with Tripp pants. A mix of 90’s chola and scene kid.

Her friends are checking you out too, the hot Afro Latina with dreads is making kisses at you. The cute enby one wants you too, bedroom eyes at you while suckling on a straw plunged into a big gulp.

Your other friends are nearly pushing Jolyne in your direction when they see you wiping your tears.

She’s beautiful. She’s even got Sailor Moon buns going on, and in the flicker of the lights she can see your starry eyed expression.

You’re very flattered she asked to dance with you.

It just takes one nod.

Crazy Town’s music starts playing when she approaches you, it’s all so perfectly orchestrated that there had to have been some outside help. The antithesis of butch, but still looks like in any kind of relationship you’d be the fragile one.

Yet when that chorus hits you with talk about the lady coming over because she’s your butterfly, you understand suddenly why they added the sugar baby part to it.

Like yes ma’am.

You’ve never been gayer in your life when you see her stand over you for a minute, then sit with you to take your hand.

“You want to dance with us?” She asks.

She has to yell a little bit so you’ll hear her, but you nod quickly and smile when she wipes your eyes.

Lifting you up from your seat, the next thing you know is she’s dragging you out to the floor, got your back pressed against her chest, hands on your waist as she slowly begins to gyrate her hips in time to the music.

Oh holy Jesus king of the Jews.

How fucking touch starved are you???

She made your legs shake.

You made her go crazy.

Did you even deserve this? You’re not sure and just dance out seductively to the three minutes thirty seven seconds of this song.

To you it feels like an eternity.

At some point you hear a commotion. It sounds like your now ex boyfriend getting into it with Jolyne’s friends. The disruption doesn’t bother you in the slightest, not when suddenly here comes Jolyne’s non binary partner sandwiching you between the two of them.

How the hell is the staff not stopping you three nearly dry humping on the floor? It’s probably because of the gorgeous girl that’s come up to wrap her arms around Jolyne and her friend.

There’s a whisper of Tres Flores in your nostrils when she leans down to whisper something to you, tawny warm skin brushing against your cheek.

“Hermosa...” she purrs.

It’s like a horny teen boy’s wet dream: death by being completely smothered in girls.

Except spoiler alert: that fantasy belongs to the gays now.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure stone ocean #jjba stone ocean #stone ocean #hermes costello #jolyne kujo #jolyne cujoh #foo fighters #foo fighters x reader #jolyne cujoh x reader #hermes costello x reader #wlw #hello yes I am gay #jjba x reader #where my lesbians at #this is to all my bisexuals that are closeted #I see you baby #you’re valid #butterfly #crazy Town #gay

[arcticdementor]

Sitting on the couch watching TV earlier this month, my wife read to me a headline from her iPhone. “Listen to this,” she said: “There are only 15 lesbian bars left in the entire country.”

“Great,” I said, “We’ll each get our own.”

Lesbian bars have always been vastly outnumbered by bars for straight people and gay men, but in the 1980s, there were more than 200 lesbian bars in the U.S. What happened? Well, a lot of them sucked. The first lesbian bars I went to in my early 20s were dank, smoky caves where women in khaki shorts and backward caps grinded on each other to Outkast. They could have been frat bars if not for the notable absence of men.

…

But there’s something else going on right now, because it’s not just lesbian bars that are disappearing; it’s lesbian as a category itself.

After Portland’s last lesbian bar closed in 2010, as Ellena Rosenthal explored in the Willamette Week, there were attempts to start lesbian-specific nights at various venues, but most avoided the L-word to appear inclusive of trans and nonbinary people. One event, called Temporary Lesbian Bar, apologized after being accused of condoning “trans women exterminationism” for using the labrys — a double-headed ax that symbolizes female strength and has long been a part of lesbian iconography — in their logo. That event still exists (or did before Covid), but the organizers make sure to advertise that, despite the name, it’s “open, inclusive, and welcoming to all people.” (Oddly, these fights only seem to occur around women’s space, not men’s. If gay bars, bathhouses, and clubs go extinct, it will be because of Covid, not because of infighting over inclusion.)

Portland may be a parody of PC, but it’s not an outlier. When I came out in North Carolina in the early 2000s, the term “lesbian” was fading and “queer” was rapidly rising. Most of my peers saw lesbians as stodgy, old-fashioned, and uncool, whereas queers were hip, edgy, and inclusive. Yet “queer” is vague enough to mean nearly anything, so the label says less about your love life and more about your politics. (I propose we all start using the Kinsey Scale instead.)

The flight from “lesbian” has accelerated since. An academic in the Southeast, who asked to remain anonymous, told me that when she mentioned to a colleague that she’s a lesbian, the colleague “reacted like I’d confessed to being a Confederate Lost-Causer. She told me that the term is outdated and problematic, and I shouldn’t use it.” So the lesbian keeps quiet about her identity: “It’s like living in a second closet.”

Not long ago, it would have been the Christian right stigmatizing homosexual women. Today, it’s also from people who call themselves queer.

…

Nonbinary people say that the identification liberates them from the prison of gender, but for others, it doesn’t dismantle gender roles and stereotypes; it reinforces them. It legitimizes the idea that there’s an intractable gender binary in the first place. Instead of saying, “I’m a woman and I reject gender roles,” NB ideology says, in effect, “I reject gender roles and therefore I’m not a woman.”

Joycelyn MacDonald, the editor-in-chief of the lesbian site AfterEllen, has seen the NB ideology pushed by well-intended people and she worries about the unintended consequences. “When we say that femininity is equivalent to womanhood, we leave no space for women, gay or straight, to be gender non-conforming,” she told me. “Butch lesbians especially have fought for the right to claim space as women, and now women are running from that instead of boldly stepping into it. It’s another way of saying ‘I’m not like other girls,’ and it’s demeaning to other women.”

This is not a popular position in some queer communities, and AfterEllen is routinely accused of being transphobic. In 2018, Rhea Butcher, a nonbinary comic, tweeted: “You don’t represent me or my friends and your website is a sham. You’re not a lesbian/bisexual website, you’re a TERF website.” (“TERF" stands for “trans-exclusionary radical feminist” and is not, to put it mildly, a compliment.) Butcher’s tweet is typical, and it’s part of what makes having this conversation so fraught.

There’s been no clear polling on the shift from “lesbian” to “nonbinary,” and so my sense that the lesbian is endangered is purely anecdotal. But there are plenty of anecdotes. After I put out a call on Twitter asking lesbians for input, my inbox filled with emails from women who said vast portions of their friend groups have adopted new labels and pronouns. But none feel like they can openly discuss it, which is apparent by the number who asked to remain anonymous: all of them.

…

Some feminists argue that women are so oppressed in society that opting out of womanhood is a way of opting out of oppression. I’m skeptical. Why didn’t women do this decades ago, when oppression was objectively greater? Besides, enbies are more likely to be Smith undergrads than, say, immigrants getting assaulted at the border.

And there’s another not-so popular explanation: that it’s a fad, a form of social contagion.

I’m aware that this will be offensive to some people. The concept of a fixed, internal gender identity has become sacrosanct, and it’s viewed as something deeply personal and meaningful, like the soul. But humans are social creatures and we are easily influenced by our peers. This isn’t a moral judgment, just a fact, and I’ve seen how it plays out in my own peer circle. First one person comes out as nonbinary, then another, then another, and then one day half the dykes you know go by “they.” Add social media to the mix, and fawning profiles of nonbinary people in the press, and you’ve got yourself a mass cultural phenomenon.

I ran this theory by a therapist who specializes in LGTBQ issues. (She asked to remain anonymous, so I’ll call her Tara.) Tara told me that while the most common complaints of her young female patients involve gender identity, it’s not an issue with older patients. The older ones struggle with their sexuality or their relationships, but aside from a few transexuals with dysphoria, gender identity doesn’t come up. And young women, in particular, are prone to social contagion. We’ve seen this in many areas: eating disorders, cutting, exercising, yawning, strange fits of laughter, and even (forgive the term) hysteria.

When I asked Tara if social contagion could be the cause of the nonbinary movement, she paused for long enough that I thought she may have hung up the phone. “Yes,” she said. “But I can’t really say that to anyone.” The professional risks are too great.

#katie herzog #substack

[henshengs]

About Rule 63 fanworks

I was asked yesterday to elaborate on my genderbend opinions, as a trans person, which I’m happy to do, and I’ve thought about it a bit today to make sure I’m not saying something off the cuff and not thought through. Still, this is a sensitive, complicated topic, and I’m open to discussion on it.

This also got long, so I’m putting it under a cut.

So, obviously I can’t speak for all trans people. No minority group is a monolith in our opinions and this is particularly the case for the transgender community because our experiences are so very diverse and individual.

I am very rarely hurt or offended by genderbends/genderswaps/rule 63 fanworks. I know people for whom this is not the case, and I believe the pain involved is very real. The thing is... living in this world is inherently kinda painful when you’re trans. This world’s not built for us. All kinds of random things can cause me pain throughout my day. Store mannequins. My own reflection. Lesbian poetry. Pictures of other trans people. When something triggers my dysphoria or feelings of alienation, I have to stop, acknowledge the feeling, and then consider whether the thing is, outside of hurting me, contributing to the ignorance of and hatred of people like me by its very existence.

I don’t think the basic act of asking, “What if this character who is a cis man, was a cis woman instead?” does that. I think if anything, it opens the door to then ask “what if he was a trans man? Or a trans woman? Or nonbinary?”

Asking “what if this story was about a cis woman” lets cis women talk about their experiences and see themselves in stories, something I think is valuable! and also can lead to stories exploring sexism and misogyny, things which affect all trans people too!

In the rest of this post I’m going to use the terms “rule 63″ and “genderswap” to refer to the act of creating a fanwork changing a cis/presumed cis man to a cis or not-specified-to-be-trans woman, because this is the vast majority of the work under that label, because most fictional heroes and iconic characters are cis men, and because people who create cis man->trans woman or cis woman->trans man content, in my experience, usually use terms like “trans headcanon” instead.

(A lot of rule 63 fanworks don’t explicitly specify that the now-female character is cis. We can presume that most artists aren’t even thinking about the possibility of the character being trans, but we can presume that for 99.99% of all art, anywhere. It’s not a unique evil of rule 63.)

The claims that rule 63 is inherently transphobic, rather than just something where it’s good to be extra careful to avoid transphobia, as far as I’ve seen, use two arguments: A) that making the character a cis woman is wasting an opportunity to make them a trans person, and this is transphobic, and B) that rule 63 fan art is gender essentialist and cissexist, because it ties gender to physical characteristics.

Argument A doesn’t hold up for me, 

because couldn’t one then say that reimagining an abled white cis character as an abled white trans woman is racist and ableist? that reimagining them as an abled trans woman of color is ableist? No transformative reimagining can cover every identity. We say “write what you know” and talk about Own Voices, and that includes cis women who want to write about the experience they know. 

It’s also not fair to tell trans people that we must always think about trans experiences, even in our fiction. A lot of the time we don’t want to have to write or think about dysphoria and discrimination and we want to live in the heads of cis characters or even just characters whose AGAB is not mentioned! 

And it is also, imo, not a great idea to pressure people who may not be educated about trans experiences to write about trans characters just because they want to explore sexism or write about lesbians. 

many, many trans people first begin exploring their gender identity through creating cis rule 63 content, because it’s ‘safer’ than directly engaging with trans content.

With argument B, I agree that a lot of rule 63 art looks like this

and this sucks. To me, though, it’s important that it’s not the genderswap aspect that makes it suck. Artists who do this are also designing original characters with sexist, gender essentialist designs. Artists who don’t draw sexist art in general, also don’t draw sexist rule 63.

(yes, I know She-Hulk is not a rule 63 of regular Hulk. But you guys know the kind of art I’m talking about.)

I’ve also noticed a genre of fanfic that’s like, “if these characters were girls, they’d be sensible and conflict avoidant and none of the plot would happen!” or “what if these violent, tragic male characters were Soft Lesbians who braided each others’ hair” and again, I assume these authors write canonical women the same way. The genderswap part isn’t the bad part, the sexism is. 

Non-sexist rule 63 actually, in my opinion, fights gender essentialism and cissexism. When a character is exactly the same except for the ways a gender essentialist world has shaped and pressured them based on their AGAB, that’s a strong statement on the constructed nature of gender! 

But the argument that making /any/ change is gender essentialist, is... I understand where it’s coming from. I am a trans person who presents androgynously and I am a hypervisible freak because of it. I would love to live in a society where visible gender markers weren’t a thing! Unfortunately, we don’t live in that society. We live in one where we are constantly under pressure to conform to one of two profiles. There are almost no gender non conforming male characters in popular media. And changing a gender conforming cis man into a gender conforming cis woman seems to me to be a neutral action at worst. Not to mention characters from historical canons, who would be under a ton of pressure to conform. 

For physical body type characteristics... 65% of all speaking roles in Hollywood are cis and male. It’s harder to get statistics on other forms of media, but it’s undeniable that overall, most stories are told about cis men who do not have breasts or wide hips. Changing the story to be about a cis woman who has those features is introducing more diversity! 

I typed “rule 63″ and “genderswap” into the tumblr search bar today, and I saw a lot of art of women with a variety of aesthetics and body shapes and characteristics, who looked like people I’d see out at the mall.

Again, I sure do wish we lived in a post gender society. But we don’t, and in our society, everyone, myself included, looks at a picture of a person and gender categorizes them based on appearance. It is not wrong for someone to draw “Geralt the Witcher as a hot butch woman” and give her some physical markers generally agreed upon to denote ‘butch woman’ rather than ‘gender conforming man’ to tell the viewer that that is what they have drawn. Just as it is not wrong to draw “my OC who is a hot butch woman who fights monsters” and give her those markers. 

Finally, both arguments against genderswaps are, in my opinion, flawed because they implicitly posit the act of creating fanworks of the original, cis male gender conforming character design, as neutral. I think this is incorrect. I think that if you’re going to argue that drawing a cis male character as a cis woman is transphobic, you have to also argue that drawing the character as a cis man is transphobic. But I’ve only seen people do this when a trans headcanon becomes extremely popular in a fandom.

Again, I’m just one person. I’m also biased, because firstly, as I mentioned, rule 63 doesn’t usually trigger my dysphoria; secondly, I almost always come down on the side of “don’t limit what people can explore in fiction; ask them to explore it more sensitively or with more content warnings instead.” 

I definitely encourage creators to seek out and listen to a variety of trans opinions. But this is mine: I love rule 63, I make a lot of it myself, and I think if no one created it we’d lose something awesome. 

At the end of the day, what I really want is more trans content*, but I’d rather have cis rule 63 than just stories about cis men. 

Also: I personally have nothing against the terms genderswap or genderbend. I don’t think it reinforces the gender binary to acknowledge its existence by saying you’re ‘swapping’ the character from being cis with one AGAB to being cis with the other. But I can definitely see the argument against it, so I don’t blame anyone for going with rule 63 instead.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading; I hope you have a nice day, and have fun creating and consuming the fanworks your heart desires. I’ll end by linking this comic, which is just eternally relevant.

(*by which I mean: trans content created by other trans people, that matches my hyperspecific headcanons, likes and dislikes, and doesn’t set off any of my often changing dysphoria triggers. See what I said at the start, about transgender existence being constantly mildly painful. There are many awesome aspects to being trans! This is one of the less awesome.)

#rule 63

[dietraumerei]

Femslash February 6: Stars

AO3 Collection | Thank you to @ineffable-wives-central for the prompt list!

Aziraphale and Crowley stargaze, and remember their first night on Earth.

(Set in my Renovations universe. All you need to know for this story is that it's essentially canon, and Crowley has a physical disability that means she sometimes uses mobility aids. And Aziraphale is very butch, and very handsome.Rated G.)

“Mind some company?”

Aziraphale actually startled, then smiled over at Crowley. “From you? Never, darling.” She laughed as Crowley settled smack on her lap and stowed her crutches, snuggling up in Aziraphale's arms.

“Well you said...”

Aziraphale laughed and rubbed Crowley's arm – her darling's hips were starting to act up again, and it always took a day or two to adjust. “By the way, your new raised bed is built.”

Crowley brightened up at that. “Dove! Thank you so much, I'll plant some winter crops in there tomorrow.”

Aziraphale laughed and flexed a little, pretending it was a stretch, and snuggled her demon a little closer. “How're the old hips, darling?” Crowley had spent the day in the house, doing small repairs that needed doing – and a big one or three, which meant they hadn't even had dinner together.

“Absolute bastards, both of them,” Crowley said cheerfully. “But I'm getting by fine.” She sighed happily in Aziraphale's arms, just as the sun went below the horizon. “Let's stargaze tonight. Just like this.”

“Well, of course,” Aziraphale said, and snapped her fingers, ensuring that a bottle of quite good wine and two glasses – already full and the wine breathing a bit – were on hand. It was Crowley's turn to caress her, her cool fingertips tracing Aziraphale's collarbone, exposed when she had – feeling rather scandalous – unbuttoned the top two buttons of her work shirt.

“You're so handsome,” Crowley mumbled, and kissed her collarbone. “Can we play something where you rescue me from grave danger and nurse me back to health again soon?”

Aziraphale laughed, and promised they could play just exactly that soon, in between pressing kisses under Crowley's ear. “The very gravest of danger. I shall carry you away, if you like.”

“Yes, please,” Crowley requested, very happy at the thought. She smiled at the rumble of Aziraphale's laugh, and reached for their wine. They toasted each other silently and sipped, settling down to watch the stars slowly come out.

“Clear night,” Crowley said at one point. “'s'nice. Remember the first night?”

“Of course, dearest,” Aziraphale said. “It was so lovely of God to make a cloudless night and show off the stars.”

Crowley grunted, and Aziraphale laughed.

“It was a desert, you know,” Crowley said. “Not much to do with God, not directly.”

“Well of course, but I wanted to see if I could rile you,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “And that was such a lovely night. Really something special.”

Crowley made another grumpy noise, knowing full well she was only playing into Aziraphale's hands. Her soft, strong hands. That were holding Crowley.

God, she hated her life some days, she thought, snuggling into Aziraphale's lap more firmly while her own sweet angel kissed her hair.

#good omens #ineffable femslash february #ineffable wives #my fic