#glasses simple short hair probably a plaid button up. it was the 80s. you could do anything if you looked like that. its crazy

[bmpmp3]

and unfortunately i am like the equivalent of one of those true crime girlies but like, with white collar crime and corporate scandals. except instead of getting paranoid about random people minding their own business being serial killers coming for me, i just keep telling every tall skinny whiteboy friend about how much financial crime they could get away with if they put on the right posture and confidence.

[artificialqueens]

The Tinder Chronicles (Lemon x basically everyone?) - Mermelada

A/N: Bonjour Bonjour Bonjour, long time no fic! I’m currently job-less, so have naturally developed an obsession with the Canadian dwolls! This is (hopefully) going to be a multi-chapter lesbian/bi/pan AU, with lots and lots of appearances from different queens as Lemon figures her life out. I have a vague idea of what direction I want the story to go in, but I am always open to suggestions and feedback! Gros bisous à toustes! (Gender neutral French still looks a bit odd, but we’re going with it!)

Lemon tapped her yellow acrylic nails against the screen of her phone. It was now or never: she could either wallow in her post break-up misery for another two months; or she could finally start piecing her life back together and get back on the dating scene. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of her current emotional turmoil, blinking, sighing, and finally pressing the ‘download’ button on her screen. For the first time in three years, she was single. And for the first time in three years, she was going to use a dating app.

The icon spun for a few seconds, the app finally opened on her screen. This, she supposed, was the easy part. She decided to link her Facebook profile to speed things up, and pressed the buttons that she was a woman, interested in women. Not wanting to spend too long on a profile she wasn’t even sure she’d use, she chose her current favourite photo of herself to head up her profile, an adorable portrait of her sat on her kitchen floor, in plaid pyjamas, cuddling her dog. Nobody needs to know that an hour after the bliss pictured, she’d cried herself to sleep, once again unable to shake the feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy from her mind. She quickly followed by adding an assortment of photos from her Instagram which she felt best “advertised” herself: posing happily in front of the theatre where she’d just performed, cradling a giant bouquet of flowers (from her grandma, bless her); holding her leg in a grand-battement in the ballet studio, clad solely in a black leotard and bright yellow legwarmers; staring seductively into the camera lens at the dinner table, which could have been sexy if it weren’t for the floating crab claws above her head, courtesy of an off-camera Jan; and a simple selfie she’d taken moments before at her desk, with her thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and her hair tied back in a messy heap on top of her head. She looked at the five images, hoping that people would be able to see the kind of upbeat, loyal, and fun-loving person she really is. Or, at least, the person she can be when her heart isn’t broken. Next came her bio, which she really couldn’t be bothered with, so she just wrote the only vaguely amusing tagline she could think of: “Pucker up, motherfuckers.”  

Happy with her choices, she finally clicked the ‘save’ button and waited. The loading screen turned and twisted for what seemed like an eternity, which almost gave Lemon enough time to change her mind and delete everything. But before she could even contemplate quitting, the first profile sprung up in her hand.

Priyanka, 29

Within 10 miles

Wow, this girl – sorry, grown ass goddess – was stunning. There was no other way of putting it. Lemon bit her lip as she scrolled through the photos, holding back her giddy excitement at the prospect of getting to know with Priyanka.

Nope, she thought, don’t get too carried away. She hasn’t matched with you yet. She probably hasn’t even seen your profile yet. And she also probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you, you dumb bi- Dropping her phone and jumping onto her bedroom floor Lemon resorted to the best way of controlling her anxiety she could: doing a handstand against the wall, while singing the national anthem. The first time she attempted it was after her dad – in a panic himself – had suggested it, not sure how best to look after his daughter as her breaths shortened and her pulse raced. As it turned out, it was the perfect distraction for her adrenaline-fuelled brain, and she now kept it as her secret weapon against her hidden anxiety monsters. Maybe she could share it with someone else one day. As she finished the last long note, she stood back upright and lay back on her bed, carefully timing her breathing.

Okay, now where was I…?

Priyanka was hot. She had a picture sat on a beach in a blue and white striped bikini, followed by one in a beautiful white and gold lehnga, taken in what looked like a garden, but Lemon’s favourite was the candid snap of a laughing Priyanka in the middle of a street, surrounded by people, holding a pride flag around her shoulders. Without needing to think anymore, Lemon swiped to the right…

…and nothing happened. Without feeling too disheartened – she had only just downloaded the app, after all, these things take time – she read through the next profile.

Rita, 33

Within 10 miles

Now Rita was completely different from Priyanka, but Lemon wasn’t complaining. Her main profile picture was an artsy selfie, with her short platinum hair sleeked back, making her look every inch the sexy business lady Lemon loved. As she scrolled through the pictures, she learned that Rita was clearly a lover of the 80s, as she was definitely not afraid of bright make-up or loud, monochromatic clothing. Glancing down at bio, it simply read “Je me sens sous-titrée”. Lemon may have dropped French as soon as she was allowed at school, but it only added to her already growing intrigue. Even more enticing, however, was the final picture, where Rita appeared to be dressed as a young Céline Dion, passionately serenading a hot dog. Swiping right was a no-brainer.

The next profile quickly followed, with Lemon once again swiping right.

Kyne, 21

Within 10 miles

She was younger than Lemon would have usually gone, sure, but Kyne was pretty. She was tanned and toned and had perfect eyeliner and was a final-year mathematics and statistics major?! Sign her up!

Kiara, 22

Within 10 miles

“Kiki wanna kaikai, maybe you’ll be my type ;) “. That was all the next girl had written in her profile bio, the suggestive nature making Lemon audibly snort. She would definitely be down for some fun with Kiara, she had to be a supermodel! The tall girl was a vision in red, with her dark hair cascading down her back as she posed for the camera. It was an obvious right-swipe.

Tynomi, 39

Within 10 miles

Okay, so maybe Lemon had forgotten to set an age filter, but now she was glad it had slipped her mind. Tynomi was exquisite – if Lemon could have a figure like that at 39, she’d be a very happy girl. There was no bio to read, only four photos. In the first two, Tynomi was wearing a skin-tight lime green t-shirt dress, standing on a balcony looking out to the sea. In one, she started moodily at the camera, her honey-blonde hair gently blowing behind her. Though in the second one, Lemon could practically hear the laughter radiating from the tall woman, her mouth wide open and teeth sparkling in the sunlight.

I wonder what was making her laugh like that, Lemon pondered, zooming in to where she wishfully thought she saw the faint outline of a nipple through the thin material. Maybe one day I could make her laugh, and then I’d laugh at how much she is laughing, and we’d be so happy together… Uh oh, control yourself, Lem. Focus. Let’s not get carried away… But fuck, please choose me, Tynomi!

Boa, 25

Within 10 miles

Lemon stared at the profile, pursing her lips. She knew deep down that as much as she told herself she didn’t have a type, all of her past fixations – yes, including she-who-must-not-be-named – had one thing in common. They were all skinny bitches. But Lemon wanted to change that, she really did, she is now at an age where she needs someone she can bond with on a deeper level and have some fun with. And Boa looked very, very fun: her profile picture was her sat on a bale of hay while dressed as a cow, how could you not be entertained?! The rest of her photos followed a similar theme, until Lemon reached the final one, which took her breath away. Boa stood on a spiral staircase, with a huge smile upon her face as her sparkly silver dress hugged all he curves.

She’s funny, she’s pretty, she has amazing tits… let’s do it!

And then, she saw it. To say she felt her eyes pop out of her head, her lower jaw hit the floor, and her stomach turn inside-out would be an understatement. Two months after blocking her on every platform she could think of, two months after deleting every photo of her, two months after having her heart shattered… There she was, staring straight into Lemon’s soul.

Juice, 31

Within 10 miles

Lemon’s mind went blank. In her haste to get the beaming picture of the girl she may-or-may-not still be in love with off her screen as quickly as possible, her thumb slid the screen to the right. Before her brain could even catch up with the atrocity she had just committed, a bright, white notification popped up on her phone.

“CONGRATULATIONS! You have matched with Kiara!”