#fem would be easier

[technically-human]

Hey, don't cry. Ghost yuri, okay?

(Now that you know the girls, they need to meet the boys!)

[dukeofthomas]

Do you see my vision

[wraithsoutlaws]

been spinning an idea around in my head that would be like a community participation thing but idk if anyone would be interested in it or if its worth seriously considering >.>

[ollyollyaxe]

bits from a yuri chainshipping wip 🖤

something something 'fate will bring them together in every universe' etc. etc.

[tittysuckersworld]

i need someone to talk about fem soukoku with me please

[apheliia]

hydrangeas (the name of my demon slayer fic!) snippet upon ye... since chapter 1 is like, insanely long, i can afford to give you guys a big snippet teehee. @soleillunne

“Onee-chan! Onii-chan, look!” the brighter of the twins, Muichiro, exclaimed as he ran up to them, stumbling cutely to a stop before thrusting his arm outwards and up towards them. In it, a little flower was clasped. “It’s for you!” Amusedly trailing behind the boy were both parents and his slightly older brother, whose hand was held only somewhat securely in his mother’s. They waved with a bright smile at their parents before turning their attention back to their brother and kneeling down. “Aw,” they cooed. “Thank you Mui. That’s really sweet.” “Yuichiro has one too, but he’s too shy to give it to you,” the boy commented as he gently, gingerly placed the flower behind their ear. “Oh?” they replied, a teasing lilt in their voice as they curiously shifted their gaze from the youngest twin to the eldest. Yuichiro puffed out his slightly flushed cheeks with childish irritation that they had to actively restrain themselves from cooing at. “Is that so?” “Don’t say that, Muichiro,” Yuichiro huffed, shaking his hand free of his mother’s grip and reluctantly shuffling over to them. “Here,” he murmured, tucking his flower behind their other ear. They stared. Yuichiro knew instantly that he was in trouble. ‘Trouble,’ of course, meaning nothing serious–only that they were going to relentlessly tease him until the event became overshadowed by other tease-worthy occurrences. “You know, that’s cute,” they teased, hands reaching out and gently patting each of their heads, “you guys are the cutest.”

[eegnm]

do you know how SEXY your art is? 🤪 IM JS LETTING U KNOW BBY ❤️❤️

Omg thank you so much <3 i try i do TRY!!!

[subconsciousmysteries]

Men are absolutely losing it because women are seeing through their bullshit and I'm here to watch their collective narcissistic meltdown

[luciferfemme]

Being on dating apps is truly like .. well all of these women are models

[kulliare]

realizing now how uncomfortable i am looking at myself in photos is both because of the trans thing but also general appearance issues

[sub-aki]

do we have a set mutual donor? Curiosity

// depends on the exact setting but in a Revelations path I usually think either Rinkah or fem!Corrin being the surrogate for a Niles/Subaki kid

[babybluelove2]

what listening to too much lesley gore as a thirteen-year-old in the present time will do to you (if you are a female ben hanscom and also being stalked by a demon clown) (alternatively titled: i’ll cry)

is this anything ? does anyone care about the extremely niche version of the losers club that i made up in my head where they are all girls and also dating ? ive been having fem ben hanscom thoughts so much that i thought i would share. u can take this if u want to

~♡~

Ben Hanscom was having a bad day, to put it in schoolgirl language. The talking-to-your-mother-crying bad day, the she-holds-you-and-tells-you-everything-will-be-alright bad day. Except that wasn’t it. Because Ben Hanscom has had bad days before. Schoolgirl bad days. And she has learned to not go to her mom after them; it just makes her feel worse.

Anyway, she had this feeling, gut deep, higher-power-level, that this was not a schoolgirl bad day. That this was just going to be a bad life, at least for a little bit. Things were bad. She could deal. She was good at distractions, at keeping herself company.

Ben Hanscom was a dreamer. A Lisbon girls dreamer. (Her words; she had watched The Virgin Suicides once when she was eleven because she heard one of the characters was named Bonnie, like her. Upon watching, she felt connected to the Lisbon girls. Like if they were her friends, they would understand her in the ways her mother never could. 

Bonnie Lisbon hangs herself at the end of the movie.)

She was thirteen now, Cecelia’s age, and had taken to writing in the margins of her favorite books, the ones she kept close to her heart. She liked poetry the best, it described the things she couldn’t form the words to herself, the liminal loneliness that permeated her very being.

Thirteen-year-old Ben Hanscom’s existence was poetry and music. Because music could fill a room. Music could be laughter or tears. Music could be It’s My Party by Lesley Gore. 

According to the tobacco-chewing man who worked at the Virginia record store, Miss Lesley was “vintage”. Ben hadn’t known that by vintage, he had meant irreparably damaged. It’s My Party was one of the only songs on her I’ll Cry If I Want To vinyl that played all the way through. She didn’t mind much. It was her favorite song on the album. A basic pick, but Ben didn’t pride herself on her individuality. The things that made her noticeable in a crowd were the things she hated most about herself. 

So it was an It’s-My-Party bad day, although Melanie Martinez’s rendition of the melody was more fitting objectively. She sat on the cheap mattress on the floor of her new bedroom and cried, Lesley Gore singing slightly off-key in the background. Today, the middle of March, was her first day at Derry Middle School. It was shit.

As a sort of first-world survival mechanism, and because of her destiny as an empath, Ben could sort out the good people from the bad. When she was little, she insisted on seeing the good in everyone, but she found with moving and new schools and a distinct lack of friends that she never got close enough to anyone to find their good. Usually this meant a lot of neutral. People would blend into the background, the type to not interfere if things got ugly when the bad presented itself. 

At Derry Middle School, there was no neutral, just bad. It vibrated in the sound waves of her teachers’ voices refusing to call her Ben (“Don’t be silly, Bonnie. Ben is a boy’s name.”), dilating the pupils of her judgmental classmates’ glares. At lunch, the only flavor she tasted was the putrid peach of anxious nausea. There were no empty tables when she entered the cafeteria, so she stood around awkwardly for about a minute-and-a-half and then hid out in the bathroom for the rest of the period.

The people were mean. It took her all of five minutes to run into Henry Bowers, who told her she’d better leave his town before she regretted it, like she had a choice in the matter, and said a few choice words about her weight that would inevitably take residence in the back of her thoughts always. She slipped out of the back door after the end-of-day bell, avoiding him and going back to her aunt’s house, her new home.

The record skipped. It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to. Cry if I want to–cry–cry–cry–

Like a girl with a car-crash-induced stutter, the song caught on the word cry, over and over. It was enough to elicit a reaction from the distraught teenager in the room. A little on the nose, she thought bitterly. Ben rubbed her tears into her complexion as she went to remove the record.

She had meant to hit the off button. Someone else would say their finger slipped, but Ben knew better. 

Her book of fairytales was packed away in a box somewhere. It was pink with golden sparkles and a built-in ribbon-bookmark. She didn’t need it in front of her to recount any of its tales. Sleeping Beauty was her best friend in second grade, far more reliable than anything else in her life. She used to write little confessions to Aurora, schoolgirl-bad-day musings next to her hopes and dreams.

Sleeping Beauty was cursed to prick her finger on the spinning wheel, just like Ben Hanscom was cursed to prick her finger on the needle of her record player, only she didn’t fall asleep for a hundred years.

She gasped a breath in when it happened, sticking her pointer into her mouth where it was bleeding. 

The music was still playing–cry–copper was on her tongue–cry–everything felt surreal; maybe she had taken her daydreaming habit too far this time–cry–her mom always said she was too separated from reality.

The vinyl shattered. She screamed, startled, covering her face out of instinct. A shard lodged itself into her arm, right through her baggy hoodie. Another cut through her baggy sweatpants. 

She scanned the room, maybe looking for her fairy godmother to step into view, rambling about how that wasn’t supposed to happen and she’s sorry, let me clean you up, darling. Or for someone entirely human to tell her she was going insane. But she was alone, the sudden quiet buzzy and disorienting.

After a pause that ensured one of her cousins wasn’t going to come and investigate, Ben moved to the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to look at the vinyl residue littering the carpet.

She was crying again by the time she pulled the pieces of vintage Lesley Gore out of her body. She had stopped some time before and was paying for it. Her tear ducts had finally caught up to produce sobs that died with the air that struggled to reach her lungs. Her clothes were ripped, and she wasn’t really in a position to afford new ones. She was in pain too, though she didn’t really feel it; all of her senses were being eclipsed by phantom hearing–cry–cry–cry–

It met Ben Hanscom that day, and her life would never be the same.

(@amorasalvatore i posted this whoops ty for listening to my ramblings)

[lokh]

of course hair starts looking nicest when u intend to cut it. eye roll

[agnesandhilda]

wearing just eyeshadow as a complete makeup look is underrated tbh. just keep the bright colors forget everything else

[blackkat15]

The two flavours of men on dating apps I've used:

*DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC* *DICK PIC*

ur ugly lol nobody would want you womp womp

[shslpunkartist99]

I always had this idea that Leroy doesn't care how people refer to him (he/she/they), but if he doesn't think he'll get to a friend-type level with someone, he'll either refer to himself as "Pudding" or "Leia", and accepts the she/her pronouns.

However, on occasion, he'll say his actual name and act super cute, just to throw someone off, if they aren't used to saying they/them