#…is their unhinged attraction to certain pieces of clothing….

[sunlightfeeling]

ough he’s so autistic i lobe this character i fear…

Dokushin Kizoku: Episode 2 (2013)

[laenordeservedbetter]

heyy so hear me out obsessed ghostface Sam...

But I Love You!

Words: 2.1k

Pairing: Ghostface!Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Sam would do everything in her power to make sure that you remain hers no matter who she has to stab in the way.

Warnings: (18+), killing, violence, manipulation, cussing, suggestive themes, unhinged Sam(?), confusing ending, not proofread (i had a long day and i'm tired). lmk if I missed any.

The italics in the first few scenes with reader & sam are Sam's inner dialogue/thoughts. This doesn't follow the scream timeline. Here, Sam never left Woodsboro, Tara's still in school, and Sam became Ghostface.

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

It started with an attraction or in simpler terms, a crush - the foundation of all things relationship related.

You turned up to her workplace by chance, caught up in the middle of the storm. It was common sense to stop driving and find a secure place to stay for the meantime. The diner Sam worked at was the closest. That’s how you found yourself acting as the cloud that would pour water on a certain place. Your day had been terrible. You were late to work, customers were more irate today than the previous days, and you forgot to bring your umbrella before leaving. Clothes soaking wet and droplets of water pouring on the floor, Sam was bound to notice you.

At first, her blood boiled. After all, she’d have to be the one to clean up this mess. But when she took a glance at you, her heart skipped a beat. The makeup on your face was smudged, your hair a tangled mess, but damn, “You look beautiful.” Sam whispered.

Your head snapped up, noticing someone else’s presence in the room for the first time. “What?”

“I said, ‘how can I help you?’” Sam silently cursed herself for slipping up.

You don’t notice the lie. “I’m looking for a place to stay for an hour or so. Just until the rain calms down. And maybe food?” The woman has an unreadable expression on her face. “Don’t worry, I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The woman smiles kindly, “Oh, I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Oh? What were you thinking, then?”

“That you might need a change of clothes.” Sam gestures to your outfit.

“You’re probably right.” You say, “Sadly, I don’t have anything else to change into.”

Sam bites her lip, weighing out her options. “We have a spare uniform in the back.” She relents.

“That’s kind of you, but wouldn’t your boss be mad?”

Ugh. Roger.

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him. The only thing you should focus on right now is making sure you don’t get sick.” Sam walks to the room that says ‘staff only’ and comes back less than a minute later to hand you the clothes. “Here. You can change to the bathroom over there.” She points to the lavatory.

“Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” You say, taking your time to go to the bathroom to avoid slipping.

Once Sam hears the door close, she looks to your car parked outside. She can’t let you leave. Not yet.

She grabs her umbrella hidden under the counter and makes her way outside, making sure the bathroom door is still closed before popping the hood of the car open, removing the rotor piece. “Nice and easy.” Sam mumbles, pocketing the piece. She rushes back in the diner, hoping to be there before you can question her whereabouts.

You exit the lavatory wearing the uniform given to you by the kind stranger.

It fits her perfectly. “All good?” Sam asks, handing you a towel.

“Yes, yes. I can’t thank you enough. Not many people would go out of their way to help a stranger.” You shiver, putting the towel around you like a cloak.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Y/n.”

“You have a pretty name.” She says.

“Not as pretty as yours. . . Samantha.” You squint your eyes to read the name on the tag of her blouse.

Sam’s brows furrow, “How did you know my name?”

“It’s on your tag.” You point out.

Sam laughs, like, really laughs. The laugh-at-your-crush’s-jokes-even-if-you-don’t-find-it-funny kind of laugh. What is happening? “Fuck. Sorry. I’m not used to pretty girls complimenting me.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” You take a seat at one of the stools near the counter, smirking, “You must have dozens of women and/or men lining up at your door. With that face and kind heart, anyone could swoon.”

“Nope. Trust me. There’s no one.”

“More chances for me.” You do a fist bump in the air, not caring how stupid you looked. “Yes!”

You see Sam’s eyes widen as she tries to look away.

She’ll be the death of me.

-

As predicted, your car wouldn’t start. Sam gladly offered you a ride to your apartment, where she then asked for your number. You had no hesitation and gave it, thinking her intentions were pure. And they were.

Mostly.

-

That was eleven months ago.

You and Sam are together now and the crush bloomed into something more.

She was the perfect girlfriend. Good-hearted, gentle, caring. You thought you had hit the jackpot until the cracks in your relationship began to show themselves.

At first, it was the little things you noticed whenever you were together in public. Sam always had an arm around you. It didn’t matter if it was your waist or your shoulders or locking your arms together. She wanted to make sure the world knew that you were hers, which was fine. She wasn’t ashamed of you. Though, whenever someone looks at you too long or if they flirt with you despite Sam being there, her grip on your body tightens a little, but not too much to the point where it hurts.

The more time you spent with Sam, the more your friends started to get worried. It’s not healthy, they said. She’s keeping you from seeing us!, they argued. As soon as you shared their worries to Sam, she took effort in dispelling your doubts, telling you that your friends were envious of what you have and that it was normal to spend more time with your girlfriend than your friends, added by reassurance that there was nothing to worry about.

You chalked it off as Sam trying to look out for you.

After all, she is your girlfriend.

Then, there was that moment at a party.

It was a gathering for work. A room full of rich snobs and picture perfect careers. You couldn’t stand it, but your attendance was required. The only upside was that the company allowed you to bring a plus one. Naturally, you asked Sam and she said yes.

Even though you were elated that she agreed to go with you, you didn’t consider the possibility of not being able to talk to her much throughout the night because of strangers chatting you up. Some of them had the intention of asking you out. Though, upon seeing Sam’s deathly stare, they backed off. All but one.

The guy, Michael (tall, brunette, green eyes), would not stop leering at you with a mischievous grin. You felt sick to your stomach, uncomfortable by the way he looked at you, but not being able to do anything about it since he wasn’t actively trying to pursue you. Still, it disgusted you.

Sam’s hold on your waist remains, her jaw clenching, a clear sign that she was getting antsy. “Can we leave?”

You nod, “Yes. They’ve all seen me already, I think. We can finally go.” Despite the looks given to you by Michael, you tried your best to not let it dampen your mood, smiling at your girlfriend.

“Good. Come on.” Sam says, leading you to her car without so much as a smile.

“Hey, Sam, are you okay?” You make her look at you, holding her face in your hand.

Her gaze softens, “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Other than the way his eyes made me feel, I’m fine. I’ll probably forget about it when we watch a movie when we arrive back home.” You assure.

“Who says we’re watching a movie?” Sam’s lips quirk upwards, hands wrapping around your waist as she pulls you to her while your arms move to her shoulders.

“Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Carpenter?”

She gives you a peck on the lips. “It’s better if I show you.”

You ran inside the car in a hurry to get back to your apartment and let Sam do the things she wants to you, the awful looks by Michael replaced by the desire pooling in you when your lover teasingly runs a hand between your thighs.

Again, it was fine. Everything was as it should be. Perfect.

But what came after? Not so much.

-

After you fell asleep, Sam carefully shuffled out of bed. She grabbed her dark cloak and Ghostface mask from the closet, running her fingers over the outlines of the eyes, sighing in relief. It felt good to pick up the mask again. Lately, she hasn’t been going out in the streets as much, having you to thank for that. As luck would have it, you gave her a mission (although inadvertently) at the same time the urge to kill became intolerable.

The job was easily done. Sam found Michael still at the party, waiting for the right moment. Michael went out the house, going for the alley since the bathroom was occupied. That’s when Sam made her move. Michael did not fight back, the alcohol in his veins dampening his ability to form coherent thoughts (assuming that he is better sober than he is drunk). Behind her mask, Sam was bursting with glee. Oh, how she missed it. There was nothing to compare to the feeling of excitement as you witness someone bleed out before you and the satisfaction that comes with it -- well, maybe nothing except you, her girl.

Sam opens the door to her room, anticipating your body still on the bed, sound asleep, but to her shock, you’re situated on the couch, both eyes on the bloodied mask in her hands.

“Sam, why is there blood on that?” Deep down, you knew the answer. You want to hear the confirmation first before you do anything that could potentially put your life in danger.

“I-it’s paint, baby. Tara’s got an art project for school. I-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not five. I know blood when I see it! That is blood!” You point out, frustrated. “And what kind of excuse is an art project?! My neighbor’s cat could make a better excuse.”

“Baby,” Sam’s tone is dangerously low as she stalks closer towards you. “I did it for for you -- for us. The way he was looking at you… I didn’t like it one bit, so I removed his eyes.”

You get up from your seat, going to the farthest corner in the room away from Sam. She does a gesture to signal that she’ll go towards you and you put a hand up in warning. “Stay the fuck away from me! You’re mad!”

“Oh, please. Don’t we all go a little mad sometimes?” She retorted, ignoring your protests.

You flinch from her touch when she touches the side of your face with crimson colored hands. “You’re sick, Sam. I’m calling the cops.”

“But I love you!” Sam yells, her voice breaking at the end. “Can’t you see? I did it for you.”

“You keep saying that, but do you really mean it? ‘Cause if you did this for me, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” You spat, punching her abdomen, followed by a kick to the stomach.

Sam doubles over, giving you an opportunity to run, to call the cops, to do something. “Honey, please. Let’s talk about this! I’m sorry, okay? You know how much I love you. Please stop this. You’re hurting me.”

“I am?” You question in dubiety. Sam is clutching her stomach, tears pouring like a water fountain. That’s the moment it hits you. “I am.” Letting your guard down, you run to Sam, clinging to her like a lifeline, your last chance. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

She shushes you, “Hey, it’s okay, I know.” You close your eyes shut as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much.”

You let her pull you in an embrace, holding your body tightly. How you love her so. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, saying those three words back. She did what was best for the both of you. Nothing can harm you ever again so long as you stay by her side.

“My perfect girl.” Sam whispers. “Do you trust me?”

There was no getting out of this. You’re in it for the long run now. “Trust is a tough thing to come by these days.” You sport a grin against her neck that vanishes quickly, for you don’t want Sam to recognize it. She thinks she has you wrapped around her finger, but she doesn’t know the truth of it. It may be like a game for her, but not for you.

It’s not game over.

Not yet.

[partywithponies]

Characters from movies that I think would've become tumblr sexymen if that movie had come out in the 2010s, and why:

Withnail (Withnail & I) - tall, pale, dark haired, a bit of a bastard but also a bit sad, absolutely unhinged, owner of a posh English accent

Mr. Mistoffelees (the 1998 version of Cats) - if there ever was a feline version of a twink, he's it. he's sweet and quiet but also confident and charismatic. Plus he can do magic! And being a tuxedo cat is also the feline equivalent of being skinny, pale, and dark haired I'm pretty sure

J.D. (Heathers) - this one is self-explanatory. you've all seen the Heathers the Musical fandom, now imagine that but for a more mainstream and giffable piece of media that just recently released

Willy Wonka (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971) - he's weird. he's eccentric. he wears funny clothes and a top hat. he's played by an attractive man. he can be both sweet and cuddly and absolutely terrifying, sometimes both within the same scene. he even sings. tumblr wouldn't stand a CHANCE

Scorpan (My Little Pony: Rescue at Midnight Castle) - doll and toy collecting fandoms are and always have been insane, I have no doubt that if the internet had existed when the first ever animated MLP contented released, people would've gone nuts. And come on, he's a scary looking monster man who works for the main villain but secretly has a tragic backstory and is secretly really protective and fatherly to the cute kid character. Like come on

Cat R. Waul (An American Tail: Fievel Goes West) - he's an evil villainous capitalist businessman. he's skinny. he has a posh English accent. he has brief occasional moments of showing weakness or emotion but ultimately can't be saved or reasoned with. his downfall comes when he's betrayed by the one good guy he sort of had a soft spot for. he wears a top hat. Need I say more?

Rattigan (The Great Mouse Detective) - this guy already had his day in the sun as a sexyman on certain other websites. given the chance he would've taken tumblr too

Ebenezer Scrooge (Muppet Christmas Carol) - okay this one might be a stretch but listen. What is Ebenezer Scrooge if not the original poor little meow meow? Throw in a charismatic performance and some catchy songs and there you go

And of course:

The Once-ler (The Lorax, 1972) - same backstory as the 2012 Lorax, plus a very nice voice, but this time he doesn't even have a face. You get to design your own sexyman. Tumblr loves doing that.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

first of all I LOVE your writing!

What about a prompt with Beth borrowing Benny’s clothes? (could be a little spicy but doesn’t need to be)

Thanks!

Strategies for the Advanced Player

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1336

Summary: "No woman can compete with Benny's love for himself." - Cleo, The Queen's Gambit Benny leaves his things lying around. There has to be something there that'll make him look at Beth the way she wants him to.

She can’t take it any longer.

She thought, when she agreed to this arrangement, that they both understood it for what it was: a ruse. Was Benny’s impressive mental archive of match history something she could benefit from? Yes. Was Beth able to recognize him as a valuable resource? Yes. Was the training he offered, despite those acknowledgements, also just an easy façade for an inevitably carnal relationship? She fucking figured!

Two weeks he’s had her suffering. Two of the five before Paris. Staying in his apartment, drinking his coffee, and sleeping where? On an air mattress that smells like mildew and makes trying to get comfortable enough to sleep an experience equivalent to a child learning to ride a bike (not that anyone ever taught her)—just way too much wobbling side to side.

Maybe Benny does want to keep this professional. Maybe he thinks that much of himself, his stature in the chess world, his imperviousness to her beauty and charisma, his purity as a man truly devoted to chess and coaching a chosen protégé to victory. Bastard. He just might. Except that he can’t be that obtuse, Beth’s certain. She made him aware of her attraction to him and how does he respond? By wearing that fucking robe. Or sometimes no robe! No shirt! Yeah, it kinda brings back memories of her mom dressing way, way down around the house when her fickle husband was still jerking her (them, really, though Beth never felt like more than an observer of the situation or him) around, but that was different. Alma was at sea, depressed, unable to locate even the thinnest straw to grasp. Benny’s flaunting his partial nudity, Beth swears he is. It’s not about relaxing in his own home; it’s about torturing her.

She glares at his back every night he gives her that look and shuts himself in his bedroom. Privacy is a luxury in this dismal apartment and he heightens its appeal by colouring it coquettish. Every morning he emerges, sits across from her at the chessboard, adjusts his pieces—black or white, they alternate, the way the game should be played—with hovering hands and delicate shifts. Making Beth tense. Making Beth want to scream.

Benny’s home is like a vault within a vault. The awkward entry, the narrow trash-lined corridor. The heavy door, the bleak interior. Finally, the bedroom. She’s not sure if it’s her arrival that causes him to draw items of importance close to himself or if that’s how he’s always behaved, but week two cascades into week three and a pounding headache yields to the realization that he’s quit squirreling things away. Away in his room, away from her. Specific things. Copies of books he lectures her about and has always carried back to some secret shelf at the end of the day are suddenly left on the table. One night, Beth expresses an interest in taking a long, solitary walk soon and the next day, she wakes to hear Benny in the shower and find that he’s left her his key on the kitchen counter where she prepares her breakfast. The books and the key have made a transition and become pieces of their communal space. Is this trust? If not for him screwing with her vis-à-vis the robe, Beth would soften at the gesture. Too late.

He leaves his jacket and hat in the living room. The next morning, early, she slips the jacket on over her pink pajamas and slaps the hat onto her head. Clothes are identity—hers are, and so are his. Her mother embroidered a dress with her name and though she saw Mrs. Deardorff take it away to be burned, Beth never saw the fire. It might’ve been beautiful. For years, she wore lusterless browns and bruised blues, nothing ever new, everything the former garment of another orphan. Those were the colours and fabrics of loneliness. Since then, Beth’s only worn another person’s clothes for a particular reason: to feel close to Alma after her death. She dons Benny’s apparel with an eerie mix of that same solemnity and the helium-high humour of a clown. What can she say? The sexual tension’s got her slightly unhinged.

She remembers the interview. The implication of madness. She sits in Benny’s seat, facing his bedroom and wearing his clothes, and props her face delicately against the back of the fingers of both hands, like she does during some matches. Her fingernails touch, making a V below her chin. Unfortunately, her head’s drooping with sleepiness when Benny emerges, but she thinks he still gets the effect.

Halting the morning momentum that always propels him straight across the room to begin making coffee, he stares. He’s still doing it when Beth ceases yawning and blinking. Shirtless. Asshole.

“You want to explain what you’re doing?” he asks.

She glances down at herself. It’s really uncomfortable, sitting with so much jacket bunched up against her lower back. Why would he do this?

“Besides the obvious?” she checks. Benny’s expression says he’s ready to be amused, but he’s not there yet. She’ll need to lead him. “I’m trying a new strategy.”

“Osmosis?”

“Please don’t. I hope I’m not absorbing anything through this jacket. I’m just taking things a step further than reading your book.”

“The fact that you say that like it’s a logical progression worries me.”

Beth laughs, then remembers something.

“Oh!” she says, and holds up a finger before ducking her head and affixing the fake mustache. She raises her head. “Can’t believe I almost forgot.”

Now, Benny laughs.

“What… what is…?” he wheezes.

“I cut a couple strands off your broom. I’ll buy you a new one.”

She adjusts her straw mustache immediately because uttering the promise tilts it. The only glue she could find is very weak, still slick on her upper lip as she presses the straw against her skin.

“Don’t bother. I barely use it.”

Beth sneezes massively; her mustache is dusty.

“I can tell,” she says.

“Take that off,” he instructs, smiling and shaking his head fondly.

She peels the mustache away with a diluted sense of defeat and wipes the dab of glue off with a used napkin as Benny walks over to her. It’s the closest they’ve been—him standing next to the chair as she twists to look up at him. What she anticipates, when his arm twitches forward, is the eternal, fraternal shoulder squeeze. No. He cups her chin.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” she counters.

Gripping the chairback, he bends and kisses her. When he doesn’t hurry to withdraw, Beth slides her hands around his ribs, pressing her fingers to his back. He plucks the hat from her head while their eyes are closed.

“Take that off,” he mumbles against her mouth, then sneaks his tongue inside. The kissing grows heated and she stands, body curving readily with his, hands grasping the back of his neck.

“Is it because I’m dressed like you?” she asks the second his lips break away from hers. She opens her eyes to scrutinize his. “You are pretty obsessed with yourself.”

Benny smiles and watches her. He smooths her hair, then drops his hand to her shoulder. Pointedly, he looks down.

“Take that off.”

Beth huffs and lets go of his neck, pushing at the lapels of his leather jacket to slip back out of it, but Benny reaches for her hand. More than that; stills it, covers it, captures it.

“Ah,” he says, a guttural noise of correction. She hates that noise. He makes it when she gets sick of re-enacting historic matches and plays an original move instead. The sound is both stubborn and apologetic—Benny knows when he’s holding her back.

He lowers Beth’s hand to her side and leaves it hanging there. His come up to her chest, not to remove the jacket, but to undo the top button on her pajamas.

“The jacket—” she starts.

“—can wait,” he finishes.

[valehirvas]

Was your dysphoria early onset or late onset? How did it start or get triggered?

I’ve been dysphoric since before puberty. My earliest memories of expressing a gender conflict were from kindergarten, when I asked my mom to buy me “boy things” instead of “girl things” because I “felt more like a boy”. It’s noteworthy that I was raised very gender-free; my parents most definitely weren’t trying to shove me into a girl box anyway, and I still managed to have these feelings.

It got infinitely worse the closer to puberty I got, at 8 years old I was crying myself to sleep because my future seemed hopeless thanks to my body, the fact that I’d never grow up to be a boy and a man. No particular reason other than that I just felt like I should have been one, and wanted to be one. My dysphoria’s always been very body-oriented, because I quite honestly was oblivious to gender roles and pressures until some years after I hit puberty when it became obvious that girls should be doing and caring about “girl things” like make-up and clothes and I - probably naturally enough - despised the very thought of that. Prior to that I spent my time doing absolutely whatever I pleased and wearing the kinds of clothes that I wanted - after puberty I was a little more conscious about how it wasn’t “proper” for me to wear the kinds of clothes I wanted to, for example, and when I did I just felt like crying because I felt so much more like who I wanted to be. There was a certain sense of doing something forbidden when I dressed in masculine clothes and did what boys did, so I kept it largely to home.

When I met my first other transgender person at 14, I knew instantly that that was what I was, too, and the feelings I’d had since childhood were dysphoria. Too bad this guy was a wreck - used drugs, alcohol and had attempted suicide multiple times - and it scared the shit of me because I thought if I let myself accept the feelings I had or gave into them in any way I’d become like him. So I went DEEP in the closet, if not for sometime later falling in love with a girl to whom I confessed that I’d always “felt like I was a boy”, and told her the male name I wanted to go by. (My middle name now is an alternative to that name.)

It’s noteworthy that at this time in around 2004/2005, transgenderism was a very rare thing to encounter. I hadn’t even known it existed, sans my own feelings, before meeting this one mess of a person. I’d always thought I’m the only one like this before then. So let’s just say it was rather understandable that I felt trapped to a similar fate, and wanted NONE of that.

At 15, I was placed in a group home (long story, basically malpractice by social workers who had a vendetta against my single mother, and I had severe depression), where my supervisor had a habit of borrowing me movies from her collection to watch to pass time. One of those movies was Boys Don’t Cry. Cue me going ever deeper in the closet because now my exposure to being a transgender person was suicide AND murder. I was never gender-conforming through this time, but I desperately tried to at least follow some kind of alternative fashion that was gender neutral, and most of the idols I looked up to were feminine, cross-dressing men at the time. (Visual kei, anyone old enough for that here?)

I reached my breaking point after two years of that - I hit 18, moved out, and immediately went full-time as a trans man, as for the first time in my life I had support from someone who actually knew me and could balance the terror I felt at the thought and helped reassure me that it was ok if I took that path. It was my girlfriend at the time, and although our relationship ended with my transition as she’s a lesbian, she remained my biggest support during and after the most critical parts of starting to live my preferred life. She got to see first-hand how I turned from an unhinged piece of shit into a much calmer, much happier person who could finally focus on something other than the pain I was constantly feeling, which was thanks to me finally letting myself just be instead of trying to cover up my feelings and be someone else out of fear.

The trigger for my actual swap from trying to embrace being a woman (misguidedly, as it was at times) was that I realised that I desperately wanted to grow a beard, and obviously couldn’t. That small thing just kickstarted the entire thing - I wanted more hair, and a little less desperately, I wanted to have a low voice.

As a reaction to my years spent trying to force myself to be more feminine, I went full on truck driver/woodsman aesthetique dude at first, which leveled out with time. Now ten years later I’m a gnc goblin either way, just a much happier one than before. It’s been a long journey here but luckily it worked out for me.

From comparing my childhood dysphoria with my forementioned ex-girlfriend who still remains my best friend to date, I’d say that my experience was both typical and atypical for a same-sex attracted individual. I wasn’t alone with it, but for my friend, her cross-gender desire was much more firmly rooted in the desire to be allowed to do things and go places like her brother, whereas mine was always “I should be able to pee standing up, I WANT to have a penis, why was I born a girl and why is it impossible for me to ever be a boy?” I couldn’t see a life ahead of me because of my body specifically, not because the role of a girl/woman was restrictive to me because it wasn’t. I’ve always been the mud-rolling, sword-fighting type and nobody objected to that in my childhood, I genuinely thought that most girls just picked liking pink and frilly dresses, because in my limited view nobody was forcing them to like those things.

Hopefully this essay answered your questions. I’m open to talk about it more or answer questions, there’s so much to it than this and I’d be writing a book if I tried to make it all fit.

[scorpiaiswifegoals]

Big Lesbian Feelings

Listening to and reading about other people reflecting on realizing they are gay can be very confusing for me because so often it seems tide up in a character or specific person, but I can't say the same. My identity realization didn't pop up as, oh yes this girl is super cute I have a crush on her.  I wish I could, that's a fun family friendly version of realizing you're gay. It's the sexless non erotic version that's palatable to heterosexual narratives of homosexuality. It's the easy to swallow romantic version.

No, I remember seeing art of naked or partially clothed women and feeling a desperate need to see more. Of sneaking, reading cosmo magazine to read about female pleasure and completely being engrossed in it. I remember the very first time I saw a pornographic depiction of a naked woman in a pop up add from a-z lyrics in 2004 and feeling like a switch had been flipped inside my brain. I remember sneaking pornography that was just erotic images of women alone and women masturbating for years and years as my primary source or pornography. I remeber seeing my first androgynous man and being like oh wow this is it yall the perfect parent approvable projection of my desire. I remember getting into bandom fanfiction in elementary school and gravitating immediately to male×male content because the men I liked were palatable when they were kissing each other, but not when touching women. Not when possibly touching me.

 For years and years my greatest adulthood dream was to go and buy a physical pornographic magazine so I could hold erotic images of women in my hands and boldly purchase this content and own it as mine. I snuck looks at every plastic wrapped playboy magazine at the Barnes and Noble. The sexy beach babes calender at the mall kiosk. Sports illustrated swimsuit edition was my enemy and my friend. 

 I remember having romantic fantasies about what it would be like to be loved and finding someone to love but unable to maintain that fantasy if it progressed past violent sex and pursuit. 

I remember kissing my first boy, of making out and having him touch me and feeling nothing and wanting to throw myself at him to satiate the gnawing empty place that men were supposed to fill up. I remember the first time a girl kissed me like technicolor, like a miracle, she did it in front of her mom and not even the fear I felt could surpass the wanting.  I remember wanting to avoid content that was feminine and women focused because I could barely look at girls in school without feeling like I was doing harm to them. Still I craved it. 

Yet somehow for years I didn't understand these traits as lesbiansim. I thought that my desire for girls was a fluke. Something that in some way meant something else. I told someone recently what really flipped the switch for me was about half way through highschool when boys and girls became so firmly separated and the bodies of boys were so different from the bodies of girls. Other girls around me found boys at school attractive and I just couldn't do it. Sure I had my male celebrity of the moment to fixate on and direct all my masculine attraction toward wasn't that good enough??? I'm still not 100% if my most basic appreciation of men and masculine traits are not something I learned how to replicate as a reflection of straight women. 

One of the funniest things in the entire world to me is the ONLY hypermasculine man/character I've ever been interested in is Thor and CH version of Thor is considered a lesbian icon and the lesbian MCU projection. The irony.  

So often I see lesbians talk about all their male friends and having masculine interests and I can't relate to that either. I avoided and rejected all things male. I have never experienced gender dysphoria and have always been highly feminine. I wanted everything in my life to be full of girls and girly. I loved sleep overs and girl scouts and all of those things because they allowed me to exist in a realm where only girls existed. I remember the wild desire of going to a pool party in middle school and the prettiest girl wanted me to jump in with her to show off for some boys that were there and not caring that the boys were watching but caring that she wanted to hold hands when we jumped in.

No I never really cared if boys were watching and I didn't notice when they were, but I learned how to emulate sexiness through consuming so much content made for men. I knew exactly how I should look, and be, and exist in the world based on what men liked. When I discovered feminism and got entrenched in feminist theory and queer theory my world kinda came unhinged because the next few years of my life just felt like pandoras box of rage. I was angry at the entire world for existing the way it did. I didn't want to like anyone I just wanted to destroy the parts of the world and myself that had created the self hating depression monster that lived inside me. 

I still struggle to pull apart how all these pieces got stuck together but here they are. 

The last two years of my life have been about relearning myself. Learning to love myself. Learning to embrace my desires and my truth. I'm finally starting to feel free. Less unhinged and afraid and more connected and at peace. The truth of lesbiansim for me was realizing that sure I was probably capable of tolerating some men touching me if I had to under specific circumstances and sure some men were attractive under certain conditions. Any girl any woman any femme dtf. I realized, sure I had a type when it comes to girls. Girls I preferred and found especially attractive. But as a rule: tall, short, skinny, thick, fat, blonde, brunette, electric green, coal black eyes or ocean blue, 18 or older all girls. This was a REVELATION because when I thought I liked boys it was always only this boy, this week, with this haircut while dressed like this. 

Now that I allow myself to look at women it's like a fucking earth shattering experience sometimes just to go to Target. Lady walking into the store in front of me. Amazing ass show stopping booty. Barista too cute to handle can't order latte barista too cute. Girl in the chips aisle wearing high waisted leggings and a bralette can't look away suddenly I need chips too. 

Gay

Me

I'm Gay

Big Gay Surprise I guess

[frightknights-n-monstergirls]

I Love You, Professor

Original Imagine: Could you write a reader insert with the imagine: scarecrow being your professor, whom you have a crush on?

My first Jonathan Crane oneshot. I’m going more by Comic!Crane more so than Cillian Murphy since we never seen him as a professor in the movies thus not giving me the background knowledge I need to write him correctly. Not sure if there are any warnings so enjoy!

You are getting a PHD in psychology for you to work as a Behavior Analyst by the end of this semester and finally leaving the title as student and going off into the world to live your life.  You weren’t too sure if you wanted to move on especially without getting your secret off your chest to Professor Crane. Of all 7 years at Gotham U, you made sure you took all of Professor Crane’s psychology classes, even though it was about the same thing every single time. You liked his methods in getting the best score possible out of you, keeping you on your toes, and fueling you with spite to prove him wrong. Crane would say in his lectures that no one in the class could gain a good score on his tests. You relished the challenge.

You were a student assistant for Crane, hand picked because of your good grades allowing you to see your professor more often. It didn’t bother you, it would mean that your chances of making it easy were greater. You and Crane had slowly gotten to a relationship of Professor and Protege. Even though Crane is a bitter man, probably twice your age, but you felt a kinship with him. Until you started seeing him outside the University in random incidents in your daily life did you realize that there was a certain fondness you felt for Crane.  By the time you had came to terms with the facts about your true feelings for a certain professor, it was almost time for you to graduate from Gotham University.

You really have no idea were this attraction towards Professor Crane came from. At first you thought it was how awkward his body moves, skinny limbs swimming in his shabby hand-me-down suits, coupled by how tall he is, such a turn on for you. The thrill of having such a giant of a man easily overpowering you, this little fantasy would get in the way of your studies for his classes. Then it came to his obsession: fear, it frightened you but in a good way you never thought possible. Maybe the true reason for this fascination with Professor Crane was the way he could preach fear like a preacher, full of ecstasy and fire. The notion that fear was the basis of everything a human does seems justifiable when he explained it. Whenever a student would challenge the theory, Professor Crane would rave as if he were unhinged, like some desperate, howling demon. How you loved it.

Thankfully, the day before your graduation your professor had agreed to meet with you one last time at your usual spot in a coffee shop. You are walking there now, adored in a light sweater over a nice fitting short dress wit leggings to protect yourself from the late cold front that is sweeping through Gotham. You had gotten him a farewell gift, a pair of cuff links and a brand new tie to wear at your graduation. You approach the moderate sized cafe anxious on how Crane will react to your gifts and confessing your love for him.  Your nerves are getting the better of you as you see Professor Crane in the booth you both have shared on several occasions before you start to sweat a bit thinking the worst before you can even step a toe inside the building. Big round glasses shine with the lights hitting them the right way to make the glass block his steely blue eyes. Your mouth goes dry as you watch Crane’s prominent Adam’s Apple bob when he takes a swig of his coffee wondering how it would be like to kiss along his neck. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before walking in, idle background noise of the lively cafe going mute to your ears as you make your way towards your professor.

Professor Crane looks up from having set his cup down, his usual Americano that you got him to enjoy after getting one on a coffee run. A small pleasant smile stretches on his thin lips that you reflect when you take your seat. “Good afternoon, Ms. Y/N.” Crane greets, formal as per usual. Spider like hands move for your own but they detour towards his cup instead. “I’m glad you could join me one last time.”

“So am I.” You reply a light blush heating your cheeks having taken in note that he had ordered you your favorite beverage. “You got me something.”

“I took the liberty.” Professor Crane blurts out hastily his glasses sliding down his aristocratic nose in distress, “I knew it was your favorite. I didn’t mean to over step.” It was like he was afraid that you would reject his offering…

“No, it’s very considerate of you.” You reassure him by taking a sip of the drink he had given you. It was perfect, just the way you liked it, “Thank you, professor.” Crane appears to be more relaxed after you showed your gratitude like an inverted sigh of relief. The two of you stay in silence for a couple of moments enjoying your coffee and company. While he looks as comfortable as a cat in sunshine, you couldn’t help but feel like you’re taking your finals all over again. Butterflies continue to flutter in your stomach even after you try to burn them with your drink. It was time, “Professor, I have something to give you.” You start out fishing for the box in your pockets, “And I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow in question, as if he were back in the classroom. Giving you the impression that Crane is judging you. A smirk plays on his lips, “Is this were you tell me that you cheated on all my tests?”

“What-no!” You nearly shout feeling a bit offended that he would think that lowly of you, “It’s more than that.” You dart your eyes to see his face, it is in waiting, wanting you to continue. You take a deep breath placing the box you had been looking for on the table, “I love you, professor.”

The silence to you is a bad sign, looking up you see Crane’s blank stare. Then a chuckle escapes his throat followed by a hard glare, “I would have never thought that you would be the one for cruel jokes.” He hisses at you, taking all breath out of your lungs. Did he really think this was a sick joke? “Did you play all your professors or am I just that special? Getting your kicks from the nerdy, geeky Jonathan Crane?” He stood up slowly as he continues to interrogate you. Warmth prickles the corners of your eyes, you couldn’t believe it Crane really thinks you would play him. He hunches down to were you are looking eye to eye “I hope you had your fun!” He growls out before taking his leave.

You feel your heart breaking into pieces as you sit there not paying attention to the murmurs around you from the other people in the building. Hot tears stream down your cheeks without you even knowing as Crane’s harsh words play in your head on repeat. You stay in this state until a barista comes up to you with a cup in hand.

“Here.” He says placing it in front of you, a decent sized mug with espresso and a scoop of vanilla ice cram in it topped with whipped cream. “On the house.”

“Thank you.” You managed to say wiping your tears with your sleeve. That’s when you noticed the box with the gifts is gone. Crane took the box! That jerk! Your sadness completely dissolved into anger, how dare he rip your heart up and take the gifts anyway! But why would he take it? Wouldn’t he be disgusted by how he thought of you to keep anything that reminded him of you? You couldn’t bring yourself to care at this point, you will not ever being seeing him again after tomorrow so what’s the use?

The rest of that day went by in a blurr, the next thing you know is that you are now in a crowd of your classmates. The head of your class is giving a speech on the future and such. Your future looks pretty bleak with that the love of your life just rejected you like a hussy wasting his time. This is supposed to be the greatest day of your life yet you feel like crap. You look around at the ceremony seeing some professors, Bruce Wayne, the Mayor, and then you see him. Professor Crane in the best set of clothes you have ever seen him wear. He looks so handsome, he even tried to tame his rat’s nest of hair. Crane catches you staring, you see his Adam’s Apple from your seat bobbing nervously, he fixes his tie. He is wearing your tie and cuff links! You cover your mouth with your hands in joy making Crane blush a bright red fogging up his glasses. You giggle at how cute he is being, just a few more minutes.

Finally, the ceremony ended allowing the crowd to break out. You look for Professor Crane, but your peers are making it difficult. You get up on the fountain to see over heads until you find a mop of mess peek over the mass of bodies. You rush off towards the mess of hair you love so much easily spotting Crane.

“Professor!” You call out running up to him, a blush still on his cheeks, “I wasn’t playing you.”

“I know.” He smiled down at you, but you didn’t hear him

“I really do love you!” You cry holding his long hands in your own, “I don’t just want to be your student.”

“Y/N…” He tries to stop you again.

“Please, I just want to know if you-” A bony finger presses to your lips to finally shut you up. You blink repeatedly looking up at your professor, the soft look on his features almost made you wonder who this person in front of you is.

“I return the feeling.” Crane cups your face in his hands, you smile tears about to spill out, “You may address me as Jonathan now.”

“Right.” You nod holding his hand in yours walking out of the campus, “I love you, Jonathan Crane.”

[gravitys-empire]

Not that anyone asked

1. Middle name - Aquino

2. Age - 25

3. Birthday - june 15th

4. Zodiac - gemini

5. Color - burgundy

6. Lucky number - i like to believe it's 3

7. Pets - none but i want 2 cats and a rottweiler or a black shepherd

8. Where are you from - philippines

9. Height - 5'5"

10. Shoe size - 8.5 i think

11. sexuality/identification - cisfemale. i've often thought about this but it doesn't feel as if i've any inclination towards anybody else other than cismales. i'm often aesthetically attracted to women and effeminate males but never romantically.

12. What was your last dream about - couldn't explain it if i tried. it was strange as usual, involving my workplace crush...who is taken, and who i don't really think of as often as you'd think for a crush so i'm at a loss for his frequent presence in my dreams

13. Talents - i can dance and draw well i suppose. i can stay up for however long if need be, if that's a talent

14. Are you psychic in any way - probably for the rain or for bad things at work? Hahaha

15. Favorite song - you only get what you give by the new radicals

16. Favorite movie - never could choose, but among them would be Mirrormask, Kill Your Darlings, and Dead Poets Society

17. Do you want children - not at the moment, no. perhaps it'll change as i get older but i've never seen myself rearing children

18. Do you want a church wedding - don't really care for it, but if my future husband wants it, i won't oppose

19. Are you religious - furthest from it and i grew up in a catholic school. i have issues with organized religion.

20. Have you ever been to the hospital - more often than i prefer

21. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law - almost but not quite

22. Have you ever met any celebrities - never actually met one, no, but i was in the same plane as my favorite local celebrity once

23. Baths or showers - we don't have a tub but if we did it'd be baths for me. i only recently discovered the joy of them.

24. What color socks are you wearing - i hate wearing socks at home! but normally they'd be striped so can't say

25. Have you ever been famous - hell no

26. Would you like to be a big celebrity - hell no. perhaps as a ghost writer or a faceless researcher or an anonymous artist

27. What type of music do you like - it varies from blackpink to tchaikovsky but i'm currently in a classical mood

28. Have you ever been skinny dipping - no and i don't think i ever will, unless it's in a clean private pool

29. How many pillows do you sleep with - 3-4, inluding a body pilow

30. What position do you usually sleep in - on my side but i often wake up on my back

31. How big is your house - bigger than i would like as my family seems to want to fill every inch of space with stuff. my room is half empty and i love it.

32. What do you typically have for breakfast - some pastry or eggs, nothing big as i hate big breakfasts

33. Have you ever fired a gun - no but my uncle taught me how

34. Have you ever tried archery - yes but only in a studio

35. Favorite clean word - circumlocution

36. Favorite dirty word - crap

37. What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep - 3 days for my thesis

38. Do you have any scars - plenty but all of them by accident and nothing big

39. Have you ever had a secret admirer - yes

40. Are you a good liar - yes to people who don't know me very well

41. Are you a good judge of character - i like to think so

42. Can you do any other accents other than your own - nope

43. Do you have a strong accent - i've been told that i don't have an accent when i speak english. i'm better at it than my mother-tongue, which is quite sad, really.

44. What is your favorite accent - italian, old american (like in movies), irish, and rich british (i don't know how to explain it, the posh kind but not nasal or royal)

45. What is your personality type - intj? enneagram type 5? unconventional? uncertain? too rational?

46. What is your most expensive piece of clothing - my docs

47. Can you curl your tongue - limitedly yes

48. Are you an innie or an outie - innie

49. Left or right handed - right

50. Are you scared of spiders - yes

51. Favorite food - honey butter chips

52. Favorite foreign food - sashimi

53. Are you a clean or messy person - clean but not anal

54. Most used phrase - well i mean

55. Most used word - well and really

56. How long does it take for you to get ready - 1.5 hours if leisurely, 30 minutes if not

57. Do you have much of an ego - more than i care to admit

58. Do you suck or bite lollipops - suck until they're small enough to bite

59. Do you talk to yourself - only in my head and in my notes

60. Do you sing to yourself - no never

61. Are you a good singer - no, hence.

62. Biggest fear - earthquakes. the complete and utter lack of control unhinges me

63. Are you a gossip - i hope not

64. Best dramatic movie you've seen - kill your darlings

65. Do you like long or short hair - on me i like medium hair bordering on long, on others i like long whether male or female

66. Can you name all 50 states of America - no i never had to

67. Favorite school subject - english, both lamguage and literature

68. Extro or introvert - intro. by 98% according to a popular yet unreliable test

69. Have you ever been scuba diving - no but i would love to

70. What makes you nervous - uncertainty and people speaking about me

71. Are you scared of the dark - no i prefer it actually

72. Do you correct people when they make mistakes - only if it's of consequence and i'm sure of my correction

73. Are you ticklish - in certain places

74. Have you ever started a rumor - only once and i still regret it

75. Have you ever been in a position of authority - yes and i miss it

76. Have you ever drank underage - yes and we thought we got drunk from half a thermos of light beer

77. Have you ever done drugs - yes but disappointingly inconsequentially

78. Who was your first real crush - his name was miguel

79. How many piercings do you have - 2 and they're nothing extraordinary

80. Can you roll your r's - yes

81. Mountains or beaches - mountains. i'm scared of underwater creatures and plants and rocks and sand, but you'd find me swimming like a fish with no lifevest when in deep waters. too many interesting things to pass on, but i can never get close to any of them.

82. How fast can you run - average i'm sure. i go by endurance rather than speed.

83. What color is your hair - 4 shades of brown and ash. i should dye it soon.

84. What color are your eyes - dark brown but i wish they were hazel

85. What are you allergic to - nothing i think

86. Do you keep a journal - intermittently and usually only if i have something to cdomplain about

87. What do your parents do - several things i don't find at all interesting

88. Do you like your age - in relation to my level of success, no. generally, yes as it's bang on a quarter of a century

89. What makes you angry - intolerance and condescension

90. Do you like your own name - i have a complicated relationship with it

91. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they - despite #17, i am enchanted with the names luna, ezra, lucien, and kai

92. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child - again, despite #17, probably a girl only or first and a boy after

93. What are your strengths - VIA test told me judgment and open-mindedness, i like to think so too; i like to think my anxiety makes me think some things thoroughly

94. What are your weaknesses - same test told me spirituality, and i completely agree; carelessness and lack of societal awareness as well

95. How did you get your name - my nickname my mom got from my two immediately older cousins, with a strange spelling from my father's boyhood interest in the german language, my full name i think they plucked out of nowhere honestly

96. Were your ancestors royalty - i think my maternal great grandparents were chinese turned don and doña in my country but i can't be sure as they allegedly changed their last names to avoid discrimination

97. Color of your bedspread - white

98. Color of your room - off-white

99. Style aesthetic - formal grunge, perhaps unintentionally dark academia. i wear a lot of leather shoes and collared oversized shirts, with one blazer too many in my closet that defies all practically given the weather here

100. Reason for your tumblr name - not sure, i didn't get it from anywhere but nor do i remember why i went with it. i like that the phrase hints at this omnipotent imperialist controlling everything, when really it's purely gravity, the most prosaic but as yet irreproducible thing you can think of. it fascinated me. it would have been cognitive miser as in my twitter description but i found it describes me too much and sets the wrong tone.