#i found some soft butch shirts because i am a soft butch :))

[sweaters-and-vertigo]

a couple of absolute GEMS being given away at my community center’s donation drive… everything was free and, as a volunteer, i had to wait until it ended to grab my favorite stuff but i was pretty satisfied with my haul :))

[vaspider]

Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.

This year, I have something a little softer.

Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.

"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.

"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.

"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."

He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."

I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.

The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.

It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."

I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.

Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.

Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.

I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.

Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.

Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.

[sleepy-shutin]

butch here.

go to any regular store that sells clothing, like a walmart or a target or a thrift store or whatever they have around you and go to the men's section. or an online store if that's your jam, but it can be harder to determine the fabric quality or sizings of online stores, so be prepared for that. fun thing about the men's section is that a lot of stuff can be cheaper and higher quality as well, so that's a bonus.

shirt sizing is pretty easy, just look for something that kinda looks like it'll fit you and go with it. baggy is best.

pants are what's the hard part, because pants sizing in women's and men's is very different. men's pants sizing goes by the size of the waistline (where i live in the US, it's in inches), and then the size of the inseam, which is the seam of your pants on your inner leg, up to the crotch. you're going to want to know those measurements before you get any men's pants, and if you're on the shorter size like i am, (five feet give or take), then you're going to have to prepare to never find pants that will completely fit you, length-wise. you will have to settle for cutting the bottoms of your pants off, or rolling them up if you don't like that. you can always take them up yourself or have them professionally taken up if you are aware of any tailors in your area, but that's either work/effort or money and i personally don't care for either.

there's a few things you might want to have in bulk as well, for example, i personally keep a ton of white "wifebeater" style tanktops as undershirts and i have so many of them in a few differnet sizes. i wear these as undershirts, but i also wear them out when i'm not at work and they're very masculine.

on amazon.com, i found this one brand of what looks like women's boxers that are way cheaper than whatever openly queer-branded store online i've been able to find, like rodeoh (multi-packs of underwear cost $80) and tomboy x (which has single pairs of underwear costing up to like $30, and i don't think they sell multi-packs, or i didn't see any). this brand i found is called molasus, and their underwear is very soft fabric, very comfortable fabric, and the sizing seems to run pretty accurately for me. wearing pads in these things is not exactly the easiest thing in the world because they're not really built for that, they might move around a little, but it works.

that's some of my personal recommendations, i hope it helps some.

If any of my followers are AFAB and dress masculine for whatever reason, do y’all have any recommendations or advice on where and how to get clothes for that?

[madd-devil]

Slowly falling in love with Felix part 3! :3

"I don't get why you and Felix argue so much!" Pan groaned as he swung his legs over  a fallen tree. "I have been trying to make you two closer… seriously everyone can tell how much you both are smitten with each other!" 

"I don't like Felix!" You said, your face flushing suddenly because of the blunt statement. "I don't even know where you got that stupid idea…" 

"Come on love, I know how it works. And you know what? You two are my favourites, so get together and stop annoying me with your pointless fighting." 

"I would rather die than assume that…" You mumbled as you finished picking berries. "By the way, it is not nice to play favourites."

"You do it too." He smirked, arching an eyebrow. "With Felix." He sang, enjoying embarrassing you.

You approached Pan and handed him the basket with a look. He shook his head with a small laugh, understanding what you meant. After all, you were truly a mother. He disappeared in a foggy green cloud and you hoped he wouldn't eat all the fruits this time. It was always a bad idea to make him your errand boy, but he was fast and could get to the camp quickly thanks to his magic. 

Being a mother to a dozen of lost boys was not easy. Between breaking fights and fixing their messes, it was clear you didn't have any time for yourself. You didn’t really care to be honest, you enjoyed being useful and were very good at it, trying to raise those boys. 

You sighed as you were closing a hole on Butch's old stuffed animal. The kid would bring it everywhere with him, and even if Felix tried to take it away from Butch, the little one always found a way to find his stuffed animal. It was cute to see that pale and scrawny boy hugging that little plushed dog tightly against his body. 

You smiled as you gave Butch his toy back and he muttered a soft thank you before hurrying back to his group of friends. Felix besides you sighed, clearly annoyed at the childish behaviour and you rolled your eyes.

"Stop mothering him." He only stated, his eyes burning into yours.

"I will do what I want, you are no master to me." You replied, slowly standing up to his level. "Besides, I am their mother, it is my job to care for them." 

The scarred boy smirked at your remark, and you were a little taken aback. You wondered what was going on through his thick skull. He leant down to your level, and you felt his breath on your neck. It sent a shiver down your side, and you started to grow nervous about what was going to happen. 

"You realise they will never be yours, right?" 

You let out a shocked and strangled gasp at his statement and watched how proud he was from saying this. That always had been a tough matter to you, and he knew it. He fucking knew it and used it against you, like an insult. You thought he was above using insecurities, but clearly not. You were wrong after all. You pushed him out of your way, walking out enraged, and tried to block out his laughter. He was mocking you as well. 

He was a bastard. 

You promptly ignored Pan's calls to you as you stomped into the dark jungle and stopped until you approached a cliff's edge. Below it, the sea was crashing against the rocks, and you pondered for a moment. Maybe you should jump, to give your numb body a reaction, or to be away from this mess you pulled yourself into. You just wanted to rest for weeks.

It was never easy to be a mother, to never have someone actually cares about you. You sat down, and pulled your knees to your chest, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. You hated crying about it, but what Felix told you and... and being exhausted from a never ending job clearly had broken you today. 

When you heard someone approaching, you angrily put your head on your knees and closed your eyes, in denial. 

"Go away! I don't want to speak to anyone." 

"I think you want to listen to what I want to say though." 

Your eyes shot up right open and you scowled.

Felix. Of course it was him disturbing your little moment of peace. 

You resisted the urge to attack him, and instead focused on ignoring the lost boy. He sighed and walked up to you, kneeling down in the process. You tried to avoid glancing at him, and looked at the horizon.

"I'm..." He started with difficulty. "I am sorry for what I said in the camp. It was... uncalled for." 

"Did Pan give you a little recital before coming here?" You hissed, finally daring to glare at him. 

"No. I came on my own. I would never lie about this."

You hummed, not fully trusting him. You heard him sighing again and leaving. It was better that way. Felix was like the others, but at least he apologised for his horrid comment earlier. 

Later that night, you went to bed with a pained, anxious and sick feeling in your stomach. Deciding to ignore it, you went to bed quickly, very happy that the day had passed and that you didn’t have to deal with Felix. But, you unfortunately had to deal with nightmares

Hands were tied up to your neck, and you couldn’t even protect yourself. The hands belonged to no one, they just swarmed around in the shadows to grasp you. 

A set of them were shaking you rather roughly, but you couldn't react. A voice reached your ears, you couldn't understand what it was saying. At this point, you wanted nothing but to throw up. In an ultimate effort to fight the nightmare off, you started to trash against the hands.

"Stop moving! It's me!" Felix's voice reached your mind and snapped you back to reality.

Your eyes snapped wide-open and you gasped, realising you had stopped breathing while you were sleeping. You were sweaty and were pretty sure your hair was all over the place. The blond haired boy was holding both of your hands rather roughly, but you didn't want to say anything about it. You felt like something big was going to happen, and a threat was hung above your head. 

Your breath hitched many times as you tried to ask him what he was doing here, but the precious air seemed to stop pumping your lungs and you grasped at Felix's shirt. He immediately took you in his arms, laying down with you as tears fell from your eyes. His big hands circled your back and you slowly calmed down, clutching on to him, your eyes still darting around the tent in the search of danger. Felix must have sensed this, because he kept you closer to him.

"Don't worry, as long as you are with me, no one will ever take you from us. And no one will ever hurt you." He murmured with a soft and the first genuine smile you witnessed him bearing. "I promise." 

You nodded eagerly, you never had the intention to leave Neverland, even when you were the first to witness how horrible and terrible this island could be. You have seen Pan snapped so many times toward a boy, but especially to pirates, and you can't count the number of times you had watched him entering the camp, bloody, with Felix at his side, equally looking dishevelled. You realised that you never questioned them about what happened. The only time a boy did it, the second in command screamed it was to protect them and the island. You didn’t know if it was the truth, if they both enjoyed massacring Hook's crew that always came back or if they felt regret at all.

Finally, you felt your breathing come back at its normal pace. You were feeling tired again, but didn't know if he was going to stay. You heard some snores suddenly, and you looked up to see the blond haired boy already asleep. You didn’t care about the consequences of sleeping with Felix at the moment. It was nice, to finally have one little moment for yourself. Ultimately, you curled on yourself, clutching Felix’s arm and fell asleep as well. 

"(Y/N)! Devin puts thorns in my shoes!" A boy cried as he entered the tent. "What are you doing with Felix?!" He screeched, waking up both of you. 

The blond haired boy immediately blushed when he realised the position he was in, and you completely understood why: you were both tangled in each other limb, and anyone walking through could imagine what had happened. As long as Pan wasn't coming in...

"Come on Felix! At least take the girl on a date before jumping to the most fun part." He chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows with a suggestive tone as he appeared in front of the innocent boy. 

"We weren't... doing this!" You cried, feeling your cheeks heating up, embarrassed as you got up from bed to attend to the lost ones. 

"What were they doing Pan?" The boy asked curiously and innocently.

"Nothing! Now, let's take a look at your shoes, okay?" You smiled at him while taking his much smaller hand in yours. 

As you left the tent, you could hear Pan's laughter echoing in the camp. You bite your lips and ignore the looks of the older lost boys. Word spread like wildfire there. Despite their appearances, the boys were very noisy and you disliked this. 

You spent the day avoiding Felix, and by doing so you avoided your feelings growing for him. What was wrong with you? You hated the way he made you feel but you had to admit: what he did last night was... incredible. You had loved the way he had embraced you and calmed you down almost immediately. After all, there wasn't only bad in him. 

You cluelessly smiled to yourself as you thought this and nearly bumped into Peter Pan, who appeared suddenly in front of your person with that sly look... You knew it, and rolled his eyes at him with a sigh. 

"You are so in love with him, aren't you?" He sang as leant against a tree with his arms crossed. "Felix is shy, so maybe you should... ask him what he feels about you." 

"Of course not! That is private. I am not going to pester him with..."

"But he loves you too!" The green eyed boy cut you and groaned in annoyance. "I just want my favourite lost ones to be... to be happy. I know you both can't hear the music, so therefore you aren't truly lost and I don't care about that. I don't enjoy seeing both of my friends sulking." He admitted, a little embarrassed after pouring his thoughts on your situation. "It's my rules after all. I can bend them or break them whenever I feel the need to." 

You pondered for a moment after what Peter Pan told you. You walked over, and leant next to him as well. Most of the time, Pan had treated you like you were his maid or a mother, often mocking you for being it. But he knew why it was important for you and that you enjoyed caring for the boys. It was surprising for him to be called his friend, and an immense honor. 

"Fine... I will do it. I will talk to Felix." You assured him with a soft smile and you playfully ruffled his hair. 

He snorted at your motion and attempted to do the same to your hair. Two members of a sentry appeared, cutting short to the fun. You stayed next to Pan as he listened to what they had discovered: apparently, Hook and his ship were back to Neverland. You gulped nervously: the last time he came, it ended badly for both sides. You had never seen Pan that furious and enraged. You glanced at the lost boy leader and he commanded you to get back to the camp as fast as possible. You understood why, he didn’t want to endanger you. 

You spent most of the night at the main campfire, wondering when Pan and the two boys will come back. You hoped none of them were injured... Hook seemed stronger and stronger each time he returned to the island. You shuddered as a sudden cold wind reached and you cursed yourself for not having thicker clothes. 

"You look cold." Felix's monotonous voice said behind you. "Here let me..." 

Not daring looking at him, you let him do what he intended. The familiar worn out wool cloak was now hugging your figure and instantly warmed you up. 

"Thank you..." You whispered, not wanting to wake up the sleeping boys. "I think I am just tired." You tried to justify.

"Why don't you go to sleep then?" He asked as he sat down next to you, his eyes staring into the fire.

"I want to wait for the others. I have to make sure they come back safely." You blurted out immediately and worriedly. 

"You are a good mother." The young man murmured, and you swore you saw the tips of his ears reddening a little. 

Remembering your talk with Pan, you gulped nervously and played with your hair for a moment, trying to find the right words to admit your feelings. You were very tense, and hoped he would take it well. Finally, you found some courage in your frail body and looked directly at him. The lost one seemed concerned for a moment but waited for you to speak. 

"Felix I... I care about you a lot." You tried, hoping he would understand. 

"I do too." He confessed with a rare and genuine smile. "I care about you as well, more than the boys actually." 

You sighed in relief with a small laugh. So he was not that of an idiot after all! That immediately reassured you.

"You matter for me... as well as Pan." 

"Wh... What?" You breathlessly stuttered, eyebrows furrowimg in confusion. 

"I care about you the same I care about Pan." He repeated confidently. "I will always have your back. It feels nice to say it."

"Right..." 

You were such an idiot. You thought Felix loved you, obviously, he didn't. Then why was he sometimes... caring? Wasn't he the one who brought you the flowers in the first place? Wasn't it the reason why he messed with you a lot? You shook your head, hoping that your thoughts and feelings would disappear. 

"I am tired. I should get to bed." You said, clearly sounding disappointed and taking off the cloak.

"It is for the best. I will stay, don't worry. You look a bit sick... you okay?" Felix questioned as you handed him back his cloak. 

"Yes... Yes, don't worry about me." You gave him a fake reassuring smile and yet his eyes seemed to understand you were lying but he didn't question it. 

What an imbecile you were, you thought as you stomped toward your small tent. Sometimes you wished you could take out your own heart and crush it beneath your foot. You hated having feelings. 

[bellafarallones2]

a/n: t-rated indruck fluff from #21 on Veronica Bunch's college au prompt list: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

Duck had signed up for Performance Studies because he needed arts credits and because the meeting time, seven to nine in the evening Tuesdays and Thursdays, worked well with the rest of his schedule. He was less happy when the professor emailed out the homework for the first day: a reading that examined the question “what is performance?” for thirteen dense pages without managing to come to a conclusion.

By the time he showed up to the first class, he barely remembered any of the points the reading had made. Most of the other students already seemed to know each other, and were talking in groups when he arrived. Only one man, a tall guy with silver hair whose black roots suggested he’d spent an evening bent over a sink for it, was sitting alone and silent.

“Anyone sitting here?” said Duck.

“You?” said the guy hopefully. He was wearing jeans and a soft beige cardigan over his white shirt, and there was a small rainbow-flag patch on his black backpack.

“I’m Duck,” Duck said. “And my pronouns are he/him.” He still occasionally got read as a butch lesbian, and it was better to establish the pronoun thing right out of the gate.

“Indrid. I also use he/him.”

That was all they said before the professor showed up and class began. The professor genuinely cared about the material, which made the whole thing more interesting, though Duck was still distracted. Indrid had very nice hands, nails painted chipped black, and he doodled the entire class, filling a whole page with spiky fractals.

Finally nine o’clock arrived. The sky outside was pitch-black. “I’m not really looking forward to walking home this late,” Duck said as he stood waiting for Indrid to finish packing up. “Wish I had your punk privilege.”

“Excuse me?” Indrid looked amused.

“You know. You’re tall and you have piercings.” As Duck said that, Indrid stood up, revealing that he was even taller than Duck had previously thought. Jesus, this guy had Slenderman legs. “You look like you could throw a punch.”

“I could use my punk privilege to walk you home, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it, if it’s not too out of your way - I live on High Street next to the REI.”

“Yeah, I’m going that way.”

Duck held the door as they left the building and walked together down the half-lit street. The planes of Indrid’s face looked almost unearthly in the streetlights.

“You an art major?” Duck asked.

“Visual arts and math. I needed to take something in theater or music as a distribution requirement and this was the least theater or music class I could find that was also after noon.”

Duck laughed. “Yeah, I’m in the forestry program and I had to take something artsy.”

Indrid nodded. They walked in silence for a while, but Indrid didn’t seem to mind, his hands shoved into his pockets and his face turned up.

“This is me,” Duck said when they reached the REI. The door to the apartments above was almost unnoticeable next to the brightly-lit storefront.

“Alright,” Indrid said as Duck fiddled with his key. “See you on Thursday!”

“Goodnight!” said Duck when the door swung open, looking around. As soon as Indrid saw that Duck was inside, he turned and walked back the way they’d come. Duck wondered vaguely where he lived; this block didn’t have many students. Ah, well. A question for another day.

--

On Thursday before class Duck stopped at the snack bar for dinner and spotted a familiar head of silver hair. Indrid was drawing, his head tilted at an odd angle so he could both look at the page and drink from the straw on a sixteen-ounce cherry slushy.

“Mind if I join you?” said Duck.

Indrid looked up and his face lit up. “Of course! I don’t mind, I mean. Please sit.”

Duck realized then that what he’d assumed was art was in fact math, that Indrid was taking notes out of a slim, intimidating textbook. Duck recognized a couple of integral signs and that was about it. “Math, huh?”

Indrid nodded.

“I had to take Calc 2 for my major, I wish I’d known you then so you could have helped me with it.”

Indrid laughed, tapping his pencil. “I’d have been happy to. Certainly numbers make more sense than people do, sometimes.”

“Probably more sense than that performance reading.” Duck leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d be down to walk me home again?”

Indrid shrugged. “You’re good company.”

--

Duck met Indrid again at the local park that weekend. Their homework for the week was to record themselves performing in a way they did in their daily lives, and Duck didn’t feel like getting into gender, so he’d decided to show how he performed when giving a nature talk, and he’d asked Indrid to help film. (He’d offered to help film Indrid’s performance in return, but Indrid had politely declined, joking about performance anxiety.)

It was less awkward than Duck had been expecting. He walked around the park, pointing out the fungus on a tree trunk and a frog sitting with just its eyes over the surface of the water. Indrid, filming on Duck’s phone, smiled encouragingly whenever he met Duck’s eyes, and it was all Duck could do not to break his train of thought to grin back.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said when he was done.

“Thank you for the free nature walk!” said Indrid as he handed Duck’s phone back to him. Their hands brushed against Duck’s smooth phone case. “I come here to draw sometimes, but I’ve never noticed all that before.”

--

They watched everyone’s videos in class that week. Most of them were pretty boring. Duck cringed through the playing of his own video, though Indrid had done a good job with the camerawork, and a few of the music majors in the class had recorded themselves playing their instruments, which was at least nice to listen to. And then it was Indrid’s turn.

The video opened on a close-up shot of Indrid’s face. I am an artist, the voiceover said, Indrid’s own voice booming across the classroom. Sometimes I even look like it.

The Indrid on the screen bent his head - he was looking not at the camera but at a mirror behind it, putting on heavy eyeliner and spotty mascara. He switched out the subtle studs along the shell of his ear for something heavier, flashier, chain running between the holes. Then he stepped back from the camera and shrugged on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. A punk jacket. He posed, self-conscious, and as he started laughing the camera cut sharply to his face, again large.

I had an internship last summer with an insurance company calculating risk. He rubbed the makeup off his face with a makeup wipe, his eyes reddening slightly at the contact. He removed the jacket and folded it carefully before placing it out of frame. And then he picked up a pale blue button-down and buttoned it carefully down over his undershirt, and tied a tie in a perfect Windsor around his neck. He removed the bar from his eyebrow and the chains from his ears, which looked rather naked without them.

I perform to look like the things I know I can do. He dabbed concealer over the rosy maple moth tattooed at his neck, one wingtip peeking over the collar of the shirt. Then he held his hand out for a handshake, a business handshake, and sure, he looked like the kind of person Duck would trust to sell insurance. But there was something about his smile, something Duck wondered if anyone else could see. Something that lingered no matter what he wore.

Duck probably should spend less time thinking about his mouth.

--

“So my lease ends in January,” said Duck casually as they turned the corner onto his street. “And I’ve been having trouble finding other places that rent to students in this neighborhood, so I was wondering how you found your place.”

“Oh,” said Indrid, sounding guilty. “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be. I live up by the corner of 16th street and Broad.”

Duck did some quick mental geography as he climbed the step up to the front door. “That’s completely the other direction!”

“I know.” He was dressed like neither an insurance salesman nor a metal punk, today, with gold studs glittering in his ears like grains of sand and a soft, oversized sweater falling off one shoulder. The black roots of his hair had grown since the beginning of the term.

“You told me the first day of class that walking home wouldn’t be going out of your way! You know I don’t need walking home, right?”

“Of course. I just. Uh. I wanted to spend more time with you. I’m sorry for misleading you, we can stop if it makes you feel weird.”

Duck looked down at him. Indrid stood silently, awaiting judgment. “How about you come in?”

Indrid looked up. “I don’t mean to impose, it’s no trouble to walk home -”

Duck held out his hand. Indrid took it and followed him up the stairs without letting go. “You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?” Duck said when he finally had to take his hand back to unlock the door.

“Even if I was, I’d happily resign myself to sneezing.”

Duck opened the door and, as soon as Indrid was inside, crowded him up against it. Indrid slowly lifted his hands, trembling, and rested them on Duck’s shoulders. His gaze beneath his glasses flicked from Duck’s eyes to his lips and back again.

“Can I kiss you?” Duck said.

“Yes please.”

Indrid’s mouth was warm and soft and yielded so easily to Duck’s tongue, fuck, they should have done this sooner. Class would have been so much more bearable if he could have been looking over at Indrid’s lips the whole time knowing that as soon as class was over he could drag him out into the hallway, into one of the gender-neutral bathrooms in the arts building and kiss him silly.

“You don’t have any morning classes tomorrow, do you?” Duck asked when he finally pulled away enough to speak.

Indrid shook his head.

“Want to watch a movie and make out?”

“That sounds perfect.”

[yikesharringrove]

i feel kinda selfish and stupid for asking but it’s been a ROUGH week, i learned that after a year of working up the courage to finally talk to my parents about therapy my session got cancelled and i won’t be able to scheduled a new one until possibly next year and i’m just not doing great, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask could you just write something short and fluffy and happy? you don’t have to, i don’t want you to feel obligated i just wanted to ask, thank you!

Hi! I am SO SORRY you are going through that. Have you looked into some online therapy resources in the meantime? Honestly, I would be happy to do some research if you need someone with you on this, there are some you can text with therapists and they can be pretty cheap and sometimes covered by insurance, it may be something that could help tide you over. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping! I just know how IMPORTANT therapy can be and I want to support you in any way I can!

I’m really proud of you for working towards getting help! Finding the courage to talk to your parents and even just BEGIN that road to getting help can be really fucking scary, I just recently went through that whole thing, and I’m PROUD OF YOU.

Also, for anyone that likes what I put out, PLEASE never feel selfish and/or stupid for asking for a ficlet or a drabble or ANYTHING. I LOVE writing and am more than happy to write special things!

A little modern au of these two being fluffy and dumb 😊

Billy’s phone lit up, nearly blinding him in the dark.

Stevie 💕: bill

Stevie 💕: bill ur not gona belev this

Billy smiled at the misspelled ‘believe’. In the beginning, it would take Steve a long time to text Billy back. He would spellcheck nearly every word, worried that Billy would judge him, his dyslexia. Worried he was gonna embarrass himself.

They’d had a lot of talks about it, that Steve should never be embarrassed around Billy, especially for things that were out of his control.

He squinted at the screen. The picture he took of Steve last summer when they visited California popped up, Steve sitting on the beach at sunset, staring out over the water. He answered the FaceTime.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.”

“Bill, I found a dog!” Steve was chattering away to the camera, his hair was wild, his eyes bright behind his glasses.

“What do you mean you ‘found a dog’?”

“I was hanging out outside and look at this dog!” He panned down, showing a fluffy little dog cradled close to his chest. “I’m gonna name it Dog.”

“A few things.” Billy sat up in bed, turning on the lamp on his nightstand. “First of all, it’s like, three in the morning, why were you outside? Second of all, don’t name the dog you found outside Dog, Steve that’s fucking ridiculous.” Steve moved the camera up to show his own puppy dog eyes.

“It’s cute. This is my dog, Dog.” Steve giggled, Billy melted.

“And why were you outside?” Steve flushed, averting his eyes.

“I um, I had a nightmare and needed, needed to calm down a bit.”

“You need me to come over?” Billy was already out of bed, pulling a hoodie off the floor, tugging it on.

“No, Bill I’m okay. I just needed some air and then I met Dog!”

“Literally too late I’m already coming.” Billy was getting in his car, putting his phone into the holder Steve had installed on the dash after Billy kept looking at it to change the music while driving. “I’m on my way to meet Dracula.”

“Dracula?”

“The dog you found. I’ve named it Dracula.” Steve made an indignant noise.

“No, her name is Meatball and that’s final.”

“Meatball, Steve? Meatball?”

“Yeah, I think it’s cute!”

“You think everything is cute, Pretty Boy. That’s what makes you so baby.”

“I am baby, thank you for confirming.” Billy was pulling into the driveway.

“I’m here, Silkworm. Open the door.” He could hear Steve’s footsteps through the FaceTime. When he was excited he would move like a toddler, jogging super awkwardly, letting his feet slap against the floor.

He heaved himself out of the car as the FaceTime clicked off, Steve throwing open the front door.

“Bill, come meet Lizard!”

“Did you name the dog Lizard now?” He swept Steve up in his arms, kissing his face over and over while Steve squirmed.

“Yes, she has Lizard energy.” Billy put Steve back down, closing the door behind them as they went to meet the excited little dog in the sitting room.

Billy picked her up, holding her out to look deeply into her eyes.

“Freddy. She looks like a Freddy.” Steve just scoffed.

“You’re just saying that because of Freddy Krueger, Bill. I see right through you.” He had his hands on his hips, looking at Billy all pouty. He was wearing one of Billy’s shirts, an old Pansy Division one, the collar stretched out enough to expose his little collarbones, the dark moles dotted along it.

“Butch.”

“What?”

“For the dog. Butch.” Steve’s eyes went bright.

“Like the Butch Cassidy! It’s perfect, Bill!” Steve has made Billy watch probably every western ever made. He loved them. Steve took the dog from Billy, dancing around with her close to his chest.

“Butch, Butch, Butch. My little puppy, Butch.” He was singing to the dog. Billy flopped onto the couch, watching Steve with a soft smile.

“I love you.” Steve turned around, grinning at Billy. He was leaned against the armrest, head supported on one hand. Steve’s ears went a little red.

“I love you, Bill.” He tottered over to Billy, kissing him softly. “And I love you, Butch.” He continued singing nonsense to the dog, dancing around in his little shorts, mismatched woolen socks on his feet.

[heysoup]

Fluffy February Day 4 - Halloween

Phew! I’m a little late, but I managed to make it while the day’s still here. This is day four of @fluffyfebruary and the prompt is Halloween.

Chapter 4: I’ll Be Yours

Pairing: Butch DeLoria/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: During a Halloween party, Susie suggests that the group of teens play spin the bottle. Jamie isn't one for parties, isn't even one for socializing if he's honest with himself, and he definitely isn't excited to play this game. But Butch has been looking at him all night, and something in his heart tells him this might be different.

Ao3 Link

“Thanks for helping, Jamie,” Amata says from where she’s perched at the top of a step ladder hanging colorful streamers along the ceiling.

Jamie smiles up at her from his own task of making Halloween-themed snacks, “of course.”

She climbs down the ladder and brushes her hands off on the pants of her vault suit, looking up at her handiwork with an approving nod. Orange and purple streamers hang in delicate loops from the ceiling. Hanging among them are dainty origami bats – all handmade by Amata and Susie. They even found some old Christmas lights and strung them up along the walls, hoping that when the main lights were turned off it would create some kind of spooky atmosphere, even if they were red and green.

They’re preparing for their first ever Halloween party as ‘adults.’ Now that everyone in their class was eighteen, Amata had finally gotten her dad to cave and allow them to throw a party at the Mack’s apartment, since it was one of the largest. How she managed to pull it off, Jamie has no idea.

He finally finishes icing the last of his ghost-shaped cookies and walks over to join her, letting out an impressed whistle. “Looks great!” he says, and she smiles at him.

Susie and Wally walk out into the living room from the hallway – they’re wearing freshly pressed vault suits that are tailored a bit closer to their bodies than the normal ones, the blue and yellow fabric even more vivid than usual. Susie’s platinum hair is poker-straight and pulled back into a ponytail with a cherry red bow. Her lipstick matches the bow’s color perfectly. Wally’s hair is plain, but neatly combed – they look nice, but if Jamie’s honest, he doesn’t see how it’s supposed to be a costume.

Amata seems to think the same. “So… what are you guys going as again?” she asks, a sheepish smile on her face. Wally rolls his eyes and elbows Susie.

“I told you they wouldn’t get it!”

“Oh shut it, we just have to do the thing!” Susie pulls at her brother’s arm, who groans in response.

“FINE.” They both look at Jamie and Amata with their cheesiest smiles - Susie’s looking much more genuine than Wally’s – and give them a thumb’s up.

“Uh…” Jamie doesn’t see how that’s supposed to clear anything up for them.

“We’re Vault Boy and Vault Girl!” Susie snaps, crossing her arms. Wally huffs and shakes his head before walking over to the couch and plopping down, reaching into the pumpkin-shaped plastic bowl on the coffee table to shove some chips in his mouth.

“I could tell!” Amata says, trying to appease her. “You look great, Susie! I love the lipstick.” She grabs Jamie’s hand and twines their fingers together. “We have to go get our costumes ready now, but we’ll be right back. Party starts in thirty, right?”

Susie nods, changing into hostess mode once again. “It looks really good in here, by the way. You did a great job, Amata” She smiles and then says, as an afterthought, “uh and Jamie, too, I guess.”

---

Back in Amata’s room, she and Jamie busy themselves with changing into their costumes. Amata is dressed to the nines in a slim-fitting black dress with emerald green accents that she had sewn herself with her mother’s old machine. She has a pair of elbow-length black gloves made from leftover pantyhose and a pearl necklace around her neck that Jamie found in the lower levels of the vault. He kept the details of where he found it to himself. Her costume is pretty close to looking exactly like the original Mistress of Mystery, they've just taken a few creative liberties.

She’s sitting at her vanity, applying her makeup and curling her hair when she asks, “so, are you excited?” Jamie puts down the comic he’s reading and sits up on her bed. He’s already changed into his outfit – just a simple flannel, some jeans, aged brown leather boots that his dad had stowed away in his closet for some reason, and the closest thing they could find to a ten-gallon hat, which is currently around his neck and hanging at his back. A plastic pistol and a makeshift paper holster sit beside him.

“Yeah,” he settles with, trying his hardest to sound convincing. It’s not that he isn’t excited, he’s just nervous. He’s already kind of a social outcast, which is bad enough. What’s even worse is that Butch will be there, which was fine and normal, except for the fact that it wasn’t because just a last week they’d technically had their first kiss down in their hideout, which Jamie had freaked out over and literally ran away from, and then proceeded to pretend it never happened. Outside of work they’d been too busy to hang out recently, so this will be the first time he sees him in such a casual setting since. It’s not like he can ask Amata for advice – she doesn’t even know he’s friends with Butch for one and she’s unlikely to approve, and what if she asks about their hideout? It’s too risky, not to mention humiliating!

“Jamie!” Amata is snapping at him, a soft smile on her face. He blinks and laughs, feeling out of breath despite the fact that all his talking was in his head. What a mess.

“Hah, sorry. Just thinking. I’m kinda nervous, but you know how I am with people.” He shrugs, picking at his nails. Amata walks over and ruffles his hair.

“Hey, it’ll be fun!” she says, trying to sound encouraging. She takes his hands in hers and pulls him off the bed. “But if you get overwhelmed just let me know, we can just come back here and listen to something on the radio – I don’t mind.”

Jamie smiles at her and pulls her close, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of her head. Man, he missed her.

---

It’s been about an hour and the party is going pretty well. The lights are all off aside from the string lights, which, as Amata predicted, create a pretty nice ambience. Everyone is chilling out and listening to music and talking amongst themselves. A few people are playing board games and enjoying snacks, some are dancing.

Jamie’s nerves have calmed a bit – Wally had the brilliant idea to bribe Stevie to leave them some beer, which Jamie is sipping on contentedly from his seat on the couch beside Freddie and Amata.

Everyone’s costumes turned out great too, Jamie thinks. Freddie came as a werewolf – he’d ripped the arms off his vault suit and used grease paint to draw brown hairs all over himself. He’d even given himself a little black dog nose and glued paper triangles to a headband that could pass as ears. It’s a little messy, but he put effort in.

Paul decided to be a vampire and he’s dressed almost as well as Amata, in a fancy white shirt, black slacks, and a tie – probably the same clothes he wore to prom. He has a long black and red cape wrapped around his shoulders. The fake teeth he’s wearing keep popping out of his mouth when he laughs, and Jamie grins at the sight of him fumbling to catch them across the room.

Butch is next to him, laughing his ass off, flask in hand. Apparently, he’s supposed to be a Greaser – he’s wearing his Tunnel Snake jacket and his hair is slicked into its usual pompadour. The only difference is he’s swapped out his vault suit for a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, which he says are classic. He meets Jamie’s gaze from across the room and smirks, sticking his tongue out at the other boy. Jamie looks away quickly, his face red.

Christine is across from Amata on the other couch, chatting with Susie. She’s dressed in a long white sleeping gown with matching slippers. On her back, she has small, handmade angel wings. Their puffy feathers occasionally fall off and stick to every surface, leaving a trail all over the apartment wherever she goes.

Susie turns the radio down a bit then stands and claps to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, ghouls and gals,” she giggles to herself, “I think it’s about time we started the real party!” Jamie quirks a brow at her and can’t help but notice Amata’s peeved expression.

Everyone who wasn’t already near the couches crowds around and Jamie jumps when he feels two hands clap down on his shoulders. Butch is leaning over the back of the couch, grinning down at him.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” he says with a smirk, leaning closer to his ear. “Cute costume. Who are ya, Calamity Jane?” He tips Jamie’s cowboy hat down into his face playfully.

It’s supposed to be a jab. They don’t typically act friendly in public; something still just feels off about that and they aren’t ready for their relationship to change that drastically. This feels different, however, and Jamie can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. He hadn’t spoken to Butch all night, he wasn’t sure if the other boy would want him too, but somehow this felt like an invitation.

“Nice costume yourself,” he taunts. He can still feel the heat of the other boy’s body against the back of his neck even as Butch pulls away and stands up straight again. “You supposed to look like a knock-off James Dean?”

Susie clears her throat, shooting Jamie an impatient look. “Anyway, as I was saying,” she continues, the giddy smile returning to her face as she holds up an empty beer bottle. “We should play spin the bottle!”

Butch groans from behind him. “Come on, Susie, that’s such a kid’s game.”

Susie sticks her tongue out at him. “If you could let me finish! We’re going to play it with seven minutes in heaven rules, obviously. This isn’t middle school. We’re adults now.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “So, whoever it lands on gets to go into the hall closet. That more grown-up for you, Butch?”

Butch shrugs, “I guess.”

“I think it sounds fun!” Christine chimes in.” It’s harmless, anyway. Come on, let’s just play. Who knows if we’ll ever be allowed to have a party again?”

---

After moving some of the furniture and grabbing a few pillows for them to sit on they’re all crowded in a circle on the rug in the living room. Jamie is still next to Amata, then Freddie, Wally, Christine, Butch, Susie, and Paul. There’s eight of them, so the odds would be even, but Wally is related to both Christine and Susie – which he continues to complain is unfair.

“Oh shut it, Wally. If it lands on us, just spin again.” Susie snaps and sets the bottle in the middle of the circle. She leans back on her knees, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, actually, there’s two choices. You can either kiss whoever the bottle lands on in the circle publicly,” Christine interjects with a low ‘ooooooh’ and leans closer to Butch, who grins.

“Or!” Susie continues, “you can choose to go into the closet for seven minutes.”

Jamie’s gut twists uncomfortably. He really didn’t want to play this, anyway, let alone when he might be forced to watch Butch slobber on someone. But he’s here for Amata and for his dad, he guesses, who said it would be good for him to behave like a well-adjusted and social teenager for once.

They’re a few spins in and nothing incredible had happened. Wally spun on Susie twice before landing on Paul and the two went into the closet with their handheld games to pass the time. After, Christine landed on Freddie and chose a kiss – which was more of an awkward peck on the side of the mouth than anything else.

Butch rubs his hands together before leaning forward to spin the bottle, making eye contact with Jamie for a split second and shooting him a wink. Jamie’s heart leaps into his throat and he splutters mid drink, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a small cough.

The bottle spins around the circle once before slowing. For a split second, Jamie thinks it’s going to land on him, but it keeps going achingly slow past Paul and… lands on Susie. Christine claps, Amata wolf whistles, and Wally spits out a half-hearted threat about Butch touching his sister. Jamie sees Butch’s smile fade when he looks at Susie, but he catches himself quick and shoots her his most charming smirk.

“How’s about we hit the closet, babe?” he says, laying the greaser schtick on extra thick tonight. Susie blushes red as her bow and stands with him. They hold hands and both go down the hall and into the closet, the door closing softly behind them. Once they’re inside, Christine sets the egg timer they have to seven minutes and the murmur of conversation breaks out among the small group once again.

“How are you doing?” Amata nudges him gently. Jamie didn’t realize he’d just been staring at the bottle, his shoulders tense. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his limbs loose, leaning over to bump their shoulders together.

“I’m fine. This is fun, huh?” He says, trying to convince himself more than anything. He stares at the egg timer, trying not to imagine what could be happening in the closet. He looks back over at Amata and sees her smiling at him, a soft sadness behind her eyes – almost pity. Was he really that obvious?

“I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” he asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Amata just lifts her bottle that isn’t even half empty, a sheepish smile on her face.

“No thanks.”

Jamie walks to the kitchen. He rubs his eyes, his face already feeling warm. He’d only had two, maybe three beers. He definitely isn’t even close to being as drunk as he was when he and Butch… he shakes the thoughts of that night out of his head, dropping his empty beer bottles into the garbage can with a bit more force than he’d intended.

Before grabbing another beer, Jamie pours himself a shot of vodka for good measure. Butch must have brought it from his mom’s stash. It burns like hell going down and Jamie almost gags – how could anyone drink this stuff?

“Yo, Jamie!” He hears Freddie call for him and he grabs his beer and heads back to the circle. Butch and Susie are back. Her lipstick is smudged and she’s fixing her ponytail while whispering excitedly to Christine. Butch doesn’t look much better – his hair slightly mussed up and a bit of cherry red still spread on the corner of his lip. Jamie thinks he might be sick.

The timer goes off just as he sits back down, and Paul walks out of the closet with Amata. He’s scrambling to put his vampire teeth back in his mouth, his cape crooked around his neck, and Amata’s face is flushed when she sits next to Jamie. He can’t help his snort and she slaps him on the shoulder.

“It’s your turn, spaz.” Wally says, kicking the bottle his way. He looks pissed, glaring at Butch. Jamie wonders if they’ll fight later because he played tonsil hockey with his sister. He almost hopes they do, just so Butch can get his ass kicked like he deserves.

Jamie reaches forward and gives the bottle a half-hearted spin, just wanting to get his turn over with as soon as possible. It twirls and lands immediately on Butch. He feels like he’s swallowed a rock.

Butch let’s out a theatric groan, “I ain’t kissin’ you, Nosebleed, so let’s just go to the closet and get this over with.” Jamie’s face is on fire and he slams his beer down on the floor.

“Get stuffed, Butch!” It’s my turn, not yours, so I choose what we do!” Butch quirks an eyebrow at him and barks out a laugh, joined by everyone in the circle – aside from Amata, who squeezes Jamie’s hand reassuringly.

“So, you’re sayin’ you wanna kiss the Butch-man?” Jamie thinks he’s going to die, then. Or kill Butch, and then die. Like a murder suicide. Him and his stupid fucking mouth; he didn’t even think about how that would sound.

“N-No!” Jamie practically yells, his voice a squeak. “Fuck you!” He stands, crossing his arms. “Let’s go, closet then. Get this over with before I kick your ass.” He storms to the closet. Butch gets to his feet and follows him with a smug confidence that Jamie wants to beat out of him.

Suddenly remembering who he’s dealing with Wally says, “Hey! No fighting in my closet. You get blood on my dad’s coats and I’ll pummel you both.” They both turn and simultaneously flip the other boy off before shouldering their way into the closet and slamming the door.

It’s more cramped inside than Jamie expected it to be. Darker, too. The darkness is perfectly fine with him – he doesn’t even want to look at Butch right now. Though, that doesn’t last long as his eyes adjust.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” Butch whispers, his voice and his smile infinitely softer than they were a moment ago. They’re close, really close and Jamie’s head is swimming. Their knees bump when they move and the heat of their bodies radiating through the small space is almost suffocating. He can just make out the details of Butch’s face – the handsome slope of his nose and the playful quirk of his lips. He tries to stay mad, but it’s hard. He wants to kiss him so bad.

“Fuck off,” Jamie breathes, but his aggression is lackluster. Butch’s breath is warm against his face and it smells sweet, like mint. Butch chuckles softly.

“Aw, you’re mad at me?” he coos, leaning in closer and practically pressing Jamie against the opposite wall. “You know I was just kidding, Jamie. C’mon, they don’t know what we do.”

Jamie gulps, wondering if Butch means them just hanging out together or if he’s referencing something more. “As if I’d take Susie’s sloppy seconds ,” he hisses, determined to hold his grudge. Ok, so maybe their first kiss did mean something. He’s pretty sure they’re both drunk again, but they definitely aren’t wasted like before – there’s absolutely no way for Butch to pass whatever happens off as a mistake later. IF something happens.

Butch pulls back a little and looks almost hurt. “Hey, it’s just a dumb game,” he says, tilting his head to try and catch Jamie’s gaze, who refuses to look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, okay? You know how much of a crybaby she can be.”

“Well, I’m not a crybaby, so you can keep it in your pants,” Jamie snaps and crosses his arms, shooting Butch as convincing of a glare as he can manage. The other boy just rubs the back of his neck, his posture suddenly a bit more closed off.

“Dammit, Jamie, ya know that’s not what I mean!” Jamie’s heart is thundering in his ears and his chest is so, so tight. He swallows thickly. He does know what Butch means but fuck it if he isn’t going to make the other boy work for it.

“Maybe I don’t,” he states matter-of-factly. Butch clicks his tongue in annoyance and shoves his hands in his pockets. Jamie can feel the distance between them growing further and he panics, desperate to cling to whatever moment they’re having here.

“What do you want?” he asks finally, his voice barely a whisper as he offers Butch this olive branch. The intensity he finds in Butch’s gaze when their eyes meet almost knocks him over.

“You.” It’s a single word, spoken so softly that Jamie almost can’t hear it, but it steals his breath away, nonetheless. He doesn’t even stop to think when he reaches forward and grabs the lapels of Butch’s jacket. He pulls him close, his eyes closing as their lips crash together in a clumsy kiss. It’s just as good as the last, the other boy’s lips warm and inviting as he returns the gesture with enthusiasm.

Butch grabs the back of Jamie’s head, knocking his silly cowboy hat to the floor, and curls his fingers into his hair. Jamie grins into his mouth when Butch nips his lower lip and he grabs the collar of his shirt, playfully shoving the taller boy against the opposite wall.

“Ow!” Butch hisses when he hits his head off the shelf above them, pulling back for a second to make sure it wasn’t too loud. Jamie’s face goes white.

“Oh god, sorry!” he whispers, letting go and pulling back in embarrassment. Butch just laughs.

“S’fine,” he mumbles, unable to stop smiling. He reaches out and pulls Jamie close again, silencing the other boy’s concerns with his lips.

They continue like that for a while, breathless and excited, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths and their arms holding them close like their lives depend on it. It really does feel like heaven, Jamie thinks, an excited laugh escaping his chest.

They could have stayed there forever, lost in their own little world, but they’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of the door. “Time’s up! You can leave hell now.” Wally is laughing out in the hallway.

Butch and Jamie jump apart, their chests heaving and their lips pink. Butch just grins at him, blue eyes shining with mischief. “Should we pretend we were fighting?”

Jamie laughs. “Sure, but that means you’ll have to admit that I won,” he teases, picking up his hat and turning to leave. Butch grabs his wrist and tugs Jamie back to him. There’s a very serious expression on his face all of a sudden and he's biting his lip like he's thinking before he reaches out to tilt Jamie’s chin up. He leans down and presses one more open-mouthed kiss to his lips and it feels almost desperate. Jamie’s breath is stolen away again, at least whatever was left of it, and when they part, he just stares, dumbfounded, at Butch’s adoring smile.

“Whatever you want, Nosebleed.”

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

High Roller [Butch Cassidy]

A close friend once told her: poker is a lot like sex. That same friend ultimately betrayed her, but Petra sincerely agreed with him on this – position was everything. Not to toot her own horn, but she was damn good at both.

Right now, for example, she was dominating.

“Shit! I reckon I fold.” Butch tossed down his cards with a grumble and leaned back in his chair to watch the rest of the game. If there had been money involved, he would have been flat on his ass by now.

Kid knotted his brows and sat his cards face up on the table. “Me too. I ain’t got nothin’.”

He shot a curious glance to the woman at his left. It was her turn – she was bored to tears – but so far, all she did was stare at her recent hand and bounce her foot like a bobber floating on the water. Kid wasn’t sure, but he reckoned she was about to win again. When her lips curled up into a devious smirk, he knew that his gut feeling had been right.

“Full House, boys. Looks like this round goes to me, ne?” Petra sat down three 9s and two 6s as she laughed softly. Butch held a look of pure shock, which made her laugh harder.

Kid chuckled; he’d never seen anyone play as good as her before. “Well, if that don’t take the rag off the bush. Three hands and we lost every single one. Yer pretty good at buckin��� the tiger, miss.”

“Hvala ti prijatelju (thank you my friend). It was nothing more than good luck I’m afraid.” She was lying of course. Poker was a combination of skill and luck – Petra just wasn’t about to give away her secrets.

The outlaws might have had years of experience over her, but she had position. The difference between winning and losing millions depended on who acted last; who had this position at the table. Too bad money wasn’t involved.

Not like it would do me any good here. Petra gathered up the cards and shuffled them. She was going to purpose another game; there wasn’t anything else to do, but it was late.

Morning came early for the three. She and the outlaws were asked to find a fellow Drifter named Scipio, who had fallen from the back of their wagon during the retreat from the Black King and his army; a battle she only heard about. They were retracing their steps, but so far nothing was to be seen of him.

This was their fourth night out in the wilderness and Petra was starting to grow restless. Card games could only do so much for her. She was craving excitement; not the kind this world presented – slaying people and conquering villages – but the kind she got from robbing jewelry stores. Her purpose in this world was unclear, but Abe no Haruakira insisted that as a Drifter, she had the ability to turn the tide of battle for the humans. The only setback was, that until he found a task for her, she was on the bench.

That being the case, she decided to ride with the outlaws until told otherwise. Now … they weren’t terrible companions to travel with, but in the wake of spending time with them, Petra found that she favored them a little more than she ought to, especially Butch.

In a world where death could happen in the blink of an eye, desire for another person was ill advised.

Yet she didn’t care. Petra was almost convinced that she was imagining all this. It was all so unreal. Therefore, when the beat of her heart would speed up to the thought of giving herself to the gunslinger, she accepted it, rather than try to make excuses as to why it was a mistake. He seemed to like her well enough; his constant flirting was evident.

Life was meant to be enjoyed; that two-faced scumbag told her that.

Petra snorted in disdain and watched the cards cascade down into her open hands. She had enough of thinking about that dunce for one night.

“Who’s for another game.”

Kid shook his head. “I’m played out. Gonna hit the hay before the sun comes up.”

“Get on it then,” Butch voiced. He tossed back his hand in a lax wave as Kid stood up from the table. “I ain’t quittin’ until I’ve won somethin.”

“Better most of luck to ya.” He dipped his hat and muttered a brief good night to Petra as he crawled into the back of the wagon.

There was a moment of racket as Kid situated himself, then complete silence. Not even the crackle of burned wood and flames could be heard over it.

Petra was at last alone with Butch, yet she had nothing to say. Topic starters were not a strength she possessed. Rather than make one up, she divided the deck and reshuffled the cards again.

“You goin’ to play? Or is your nerve gone up in smoke?”

Petra snorted again – more girlie than intended.  “Ne, I am still fit to whip your ass. Only wish there was something worth playing for.” She slipped Butch his cards, aware that his green eyes admired the swell of her breasts as she leaned over the table.

“I’m sure there’s somethin’ we can sweeten the pot with,” he stated thickly. He grabbed the buckle of his belt and tugged upwards, rearing his slender hips as he did. Regardless of whether he meant to or not, Petra felt her skin heat up. “You’ve been eyein’ this for some time; maybe you want it.”

You have no idea. Petra cleared her throat and masked her embarrassment behind the screen of her terrible hand. “Ne, I am not good with firearms; best to leave that to the gunslingers of our motley crew.”

“Shame. I would have liked to have taught you a little somethin’.” Butch glanced at his cards, but he made no indication as to whether the hand was bad or not.

Not like it mattered; once again Petra had the late position. She was going to analyze his every move until the showdown, then dupe him into believing that she had nothing. This gave her valid idea; a pot worth playing for.

“We have all night,” Petra baited. “Maybe I can teach you something; a game to be precise. One that people in my era sometimes play. It’s called strip poker.”

“What in the blazes is that?”

She figured that she’d better show him. Rearing up, she loosened her belt and set it on the table – the canisters of tear gas she was afraid would rupture if she wasn’t gentle enough with them. In addition, Petra included the hostler with her stun baton on it.

“The rules are the same as regular poker, except we make bets with articles of clothing or accessories that we have on our person. Normally you’d start off small, but if someone should raise the deal, then a piece of equal value must be offered. That, or you fold and lose the pot.”

“So, someone is goin’ to be buck naked by the end of this game?”

Petra nodded in agreement. “I put in my bet. Are you going to raise it, Mister Cassidy? Or do you not like taking risks?”

“You bet your ass I’m goin’ to raise it,” he laughed. Putting his duster on the table, he was left in his button-down shirt. He stared at her for a moment, before gesturing for her to place a higher bet.

Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t wearing a coat. Her hooded shirt had to be offered instead. This left her in a thin black tube top that provided him a clear view of her stiff nipples.

“Cold night, ain’t it? Sure ya want to keep doin’ this?”

Embarrassed as she was to be seen like this, Petra again nodded and glanced down at the board. With no way to check, because of the live bet that Butch played, she had to fold early.

Just an unlucky hand, Petra thought bitterly. She gathered up the cards and quickly shuffled and redealt them. In her hand was a red 5 and a red 6; both diamonds. Betting her heeled shoe, Butch raised her again. This time he put in his own shirt and his gun holsters.

A frown marred her beautiful face.

Butch let out a boisterous laugh. “What’s the matter, pretty lady? I ain’t never seen you so mad before; like a rattlesnake about to strike.”

“Ne, I am not mad. Just never realized that you liked to gamble so high – it’s a bit unexpected.”

“I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. Helps that I ain’t got no shame either,” Butch admitted with a smirk. “On the other hand, you have a lot to lose … like that strategy you’ve been sittin’ the entire game.”

Petra grunted in shock; Butch again laughed.

“I noticed, sweetheart. Not a bad way to play; bettin’ small until ya had the pot. But what are you goin’ to do now? The gamble is high and I’m wilin’ to bet that you ain’t got the best hand. How do ya plan to win this one?”

Sorry, but you are wrong.

“Just like this,” she chirped. Her lips curled up into a smirk as she laid down her hand. The board gave her the cards to make an Ace high flush.

“Nice hand,” he cooed while setting down his own.

Full house, kings full of fours.

Petra went pale. How in the hell? She gave him a glare. “You were playing so terrible earlier; amateurish. What is your angle?”

“Just tryin’ to give ya what you want,” he admitted.

“And what would that be?”

Butch smirked from the corner of his mouth. “I think you know, lady. It’s a bit too late to be playin’ the coot here. The moment you suggested we play this game of yours I knew you were aimin’ to bed me.”

“What do you want then?”

She was optimistic. Her face was hot as an oven, but maybe he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

“For starters … what I’m owed. You lost some clothes, and I want them.”

Very well.

Petra stood and moved closer to him. She slid between his open legs and grasped the bottom of her top, then slipped it over her head. The cold air made her instantly shiver.

“Now what? It’s very cold out here.”

He said nothing and offered his lap for her to sit on. The lewd way he patted his crotch made Petra bite her lip in anticipation.

She sat down and rested her legs at his side. A sigh of relief left her as Butch warmed her with his hands. His fingers danced up her slender sides, then separated at the base of her ribs. One hand slid behind her back; the other caressed her breasts.

“I thought you wanted to play until you won something,” Petra cooed. His calloused fingers felt so nice against her soft skin.

Butch again smirked from the corner of his mouth. “Who says I haven’t already won?”

He leaned forward and blew warm air across her nipple. When it peaked, he took it into his mouth and sucked gently. The lovely woman on his lap moaned in reply. Her slender hips bucked against his and her fingers slid into his hair, pressing him closer to her chest. A content smirked pulled at the corner of his lips.

As the outlaw was busy, Petra removed her hand from his messy hair and brought it down to the front of his pants. She unfastened his belt and pulled the zipper down. He pulled away from her chest and generously lifted his slender hips, shimmying out of them; his cock sprang free – no underclothes to keep her from touching him. His breath hitched as her hand enclosed around him, giving him a stroke, then another. Her thumb skimmed over the engorged head of his cock, spreading precum over his taut skin.

For fuck’s sake she wanted him.

“Yer turn; them stockings next,” he murmured.

Petra opted not to correct him – cotton-lycra leggings were a social norm in her era – and removed them; panties she never wore on the job and unfortunately, she died before the job was done.

“As smooth as silk,” Butch mentioned as he cupped her bare pussy; his palm he pressed taut against her clit.

She moaned softly. Carting around a straight razor had its uses. Petra rocked her curved hips against him to enhance the sensation, but he pushed a finger into her wet hole, forcing her hips to stutter and still; she sighed in bliss.

“Please … it’s been so long.”

Butch removed his hand and grabbed her hips, leading her into position over him. She rested the head of his cock against her taut hole and sank down to the base; her eyes rolled back. Wanting more, Petra slid her arms over the outlaw’s shoulders and rocked her hips, bouncing her lower body on him.

He swore and took control of her movement, thrusting hard into her over and over. Petra had no option but to cling onto him and endure it; her release was looming quickly, having not been active for a long time. She wanted to last; to revel in the pleasure that was twisting in her stomach, but she wanted so bad to come undone. And she allowed herself to.

She moaned out and buried her face in his unkept hair, figure quivering from her release as Butch pounded into her. He came soon after inside her and sank in exhaustion, easing from her. Petra was fucked out of her mind from the release of endorphins, but felt him unexpectedly tense up. She leaned back in alarm.

“What is it?”

Butch swore. “I forgot about askin’ ya if you had a condom. Them things are expensive.”

“You scared me.” She sighed in relief, thinking he may have regretted having sex with her. “I had a procedure done; one to prevent me from having kids.”

She liked children, but knew she’d never be able to protect one with her line of work.

Butch put aside the issue and slid his hand into her hair, tugging her closer. She rested against him and shut her eyes; he was too warm.

“I’m beat; don’t know ‘bout you.”

Petra was out. She didn’t even notice the fire had went out as darkness consumed her. No dream was this damn good.

[eeveevie]

dream theory

From this prompt list: marcid - incredibly exhausted

Thank you, @mizlapes​! That’s what I am all the damn time so I can draw great inspiration for this prompt. May have gone overboard in responding and elaborated far more than I needed to. But I’m also world building a bit, since I decided to go for another story with Rosie and Butch :D 

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2240 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie knew she was asleep—she always knew when she was asleep—a talent she had discovered in adolescence after reading about lucid dreaming in her father’s science textbooks. Perhaps the reading was advanced for her age, but nonetheless she was able to trick her mind. Ever since, she had been able to control her dreams on most nights. She was typically a heavy sleeper and the combination made her sleep-cycles very intense when things went awry. And lately, her dreams weren’t going the way she wanted them to.

That evening, she had tried to go to sleep at a reasonable time but found her mind was too restless. In an effort to not disturb her housemate, Rosie snuck downstairs and cozied up in the corner of the couch with her journal, carefully detailing the last few days from memory. She glanced back up at the second story rafters, thinking if she focused hard enough she might hear Butch snoring through his closed bedroom door. She had given him the spare room after weeks of him hogging the sofa—he was starting to develop a strain in his neck on account of the fact he was too tall to sleep on it properly. It was still so bizarre to Rosie that this was where her life had led her—kicked out of the vault and shacked up with Butch DeLoria.

It wasn’t all bad though—he pulled his weight (even if she had to encourage him sometimes), could clean and cook and was surprisingly good company. After the prom stunt, Rosie had been walking on eggshells, carefully guarding her emotions as to not accidentally reveal or do something stupid. She didn’t want to jeopardize what was starting to become a good friendship between the two, something they missed out on while growing up in the vault. She was convinced that with a little bit of time and logic her crush would dissipate and that one day she’d laugh about how ridiculous it all was.

Rosie hadn’t realized she’d been dictating some of these sentiments in her notebook and contemplated crossing them out when her eyes became heavy. She shifted, leaning her head against the back of the couch for a moment as she rested her journal against her curled-up knees. Being that it was well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to rest her eyes for a while and attempt to traverse the dreamscape once more. As the darkness enveloped her, she struggled to maintain focus, trying to craft a pleasant atmosphere for herself. Instead, all she could see was the Capital Wasteland—particularly the Arlington Cemetery.

Her body was moving on its own, soft whispers echoing around her and metal creaking that she wanted to say was just the Megaton home adjusting around her. Frantically she tried to snap open her eyes but found herself paralyzed—a slight panic settled over her and she reminded herself to breathe or it would only be made worse. She floated through the gravesites towards a back plot where a strange man stood with a shovel overlooking a freshly dug grave. He motioned for her to get in, to which she struggled to lean away—something was preventing her.

“Hey,” he spoke. The voice sounded familiar, too quiet to tell. But it didn’t match the unknown, almost faceless man she was staring at. “Come on.”

Rosie couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Again she resisted when the man reached out for her, this time his hands making contact with her arms—it sent a shockwave through her system in how it felt so real. She twisted her body, struggling to wiggle herself free but ultimately could not.

“Damnit, Rosie.”

How did the man know her name? She supposed it was a dream concocted by her brain, the imaginary assailant should know. He gently shook her, his touch a contrast to what her mind was leading her to believe. She responded by pushing her hands out to grab him by the shoulders, gripping tightly as she willed herself to speak, to scream. She didn’t want to get in the grave, even if she knew it wasn’t real. The man shook her again, repeating her name.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, she snapped open her eyes and found her body reacting to delayed signals. Whomever was hovering over her got the brunt and she gripped their arms tightly, nearly headbutting them in an attempt to leap off the couch.

“Jesus!” Butch yelped, his hands tightening around her shoulders as he set her back on the couch before she could get too far. She stared up at him, a mix of shock and embarrassment—caught in the midst of a nightmare and why was he so damn close? “Holy shit, Stitches! You alright?”

Rosie swallowed hard, flexing her fingers when she realized she still had them wrapped around his biceps in a death-grip. He was wearing his white t-shirt, no leather jacket to cover up the muscles beneath, allowing her to get more than a good feel at his skin. When she felt her ears heating up, she let go, snapping her hands back to her sides. Butch seemed more focused on what had just occurred, assuring she wasn’t going to move before taking a hesitant step back.

“Got up to take a piss and saw you down here in the dark,” he explained with a shrug. “Wondered why you weren’t asleep. Didn’t realize you kinda were,” he scratched at the back of his head, and she noted the way his hair was hanging un-styled in bedhead waves. “Didn’t mean to scare ya’”    

She rolled her eyes at his vulgarity but crossed her arms to rub at her shoulders at the strange, underlying kindness in his words. He could’ve just stayed upstairs and ignored her but there he was, making an effort again and unknowingly chipping away at the defenses around her heart. Butch bent over to scoop up her journal that had dropped from her lap in his attempt to rouse her. At first, Rosie was convinced he would flip through it and see that she had been recently (and not so recently) been writing about him but to her surprise he very quickly handed it back to her with a smirk.

“I ain’t no snoop,” he said proudly.

She’d forgive him for the double-negative—turned out Butch could learn manners, but grammar and speech etiquette would have to come later. He sat down on the sofa next to her, the cushion shifting under his weight. Rosie moved, tucking her legs under herself and wrapping her arms around her knees as she leaned back into the corner—physically blocking him from coming any closer. He mimicked her, resting against the back padding so he could face her—their knees and arms knocked together in the small space.

“What’s got you so startled?” he asked.

She shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. They were too curious, and they were too close for her comfort. She didn’t mean to be evasive in her answer. “I’m not sure.”

“Pfft,” Butch replied, furrowing his brows. The back of his hand lightly smacked against her knee. “Don’t you have an answer for everything, smarty-pants?”

Rosie scrunched up her nose at the nickname, shaking her head. With a sigh, she nuzzled her head into the back-couch cushion. “Not for nightmares. Dream analysis isn’t medical science. That’s phycology, and even then it’s a very specialized form of phycology. Practically a pseudoscience.”

“Again with the big words,” Butch teased, smiling. “You saying you don’t know why you were so scared because of a nightmare? Or that you need to study a nightmare to find out why you were so scared?”

“A little of column a, little of column b,” she responded, hiding her amusement when she noted the confusion in his expression. “My…journal is filled with dream evaluations. I haven’t been sleeping well, which is unusual, and I’ve noted an increase in night-terrors and sleep paralysis.”

“Sleep—wha?” Butch questioned, eyebrows raised.

Rosie shifted uncomfortably. “It typically happens when you are waking up and are aware of your surroundings but are unable to move or speak. You hallucinate things that are not really present, almost like you are trapped between imagination and reality. It can be very frightening.”

He bristled. “Jeeze, Stitches. If you ain’t got enough shit to deal with.”

She tightened the hold around her knees. What she wouldn’t divulge was the guilt she felt surrounding the sudden appearance of said nightmares. For months she had been sleeping blissfully, almost as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Even after her father died and while she grieved, sleep came naturally—it was only very recently that she had become plagued by visions of darkness and death—and she wanted to know why. Why now, and not sooner? Psyche wasn’t a perfect science, but she was determined to narrow down a cause like the pragmatic scientist she was.

“Hey uh,” Butch started, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand was tapping against her knee again, fingers tugging against her cotton sweatpants. “I got a theory.”

Rosie quirked up an eyebrow, wondering if her vocabulary had started to rub off on him after all. He sneered at her for a split second in teasing as if he noticed her subtle shift in expression. “Yeah, so, maybe dreams are just dreams and that’s all that’s to ‘em. Don’t let nothin’ in some fancy textbooks tell you otherwise.”

For once, Butch’s advice was actually good. Maybe Rosie was too much in her head about her own thoughts and dreams. If all she did was obsess over every minute of her sleep-cycle, she’d be playing into the mad-scientist trope he’d been teasing her about for over a decade. Subconsciously, she adjusted her glasses and ran her fingers across her notebook.

“Writing is a good distraction,” she tapped the worn cover.

Butch softly laughed, and she realized his hand had moved to rest against hers. Their knuckles brushed with the contact, the heat of his skin radiating up her arm. Rosie resisted the urge to overreact, steadying herself—she really needed to get a grip of her feelings quickly if they were going to continue living under the same roof, let alone continue to travel together.

“A good distraction is a drink,” he suggested. With his other hand he gutted his thumb over his shoulder. “Moriarty’s is still open. Two of us could get a nightcap in, whadd’ya say?”

For starters, she didn’t drink, and Butch knew that. But that certainly didn’t stop him from persisting on occasion, wondering when she’d drop the goodie-two-shoes act. They weren’t living in the vault anymore and didn’t have to follow some Overseer’s rules about abstaining from alcohol while underage. Matter of fact, they didn’t have to abstain from a lot of things—Rosie decided to not let her mind wander. Secondly, she wondered if he knew the implications or innuendo behind what he said—likely not—she blushed, thinking maybe she had read into his words instead.

“No thank you, Butch,” she declined politely, smiling at his overdramatic pout. “I appreciate the offer, even if you should’ve anticipated my answer.” She made to glance at her wrist for the time when she realized she wasn’t wearing her Pip Boy, the device left on her nightstand. Butch wasn’t wearing his either.

“It’s late,” she continued, guessing it had to be early morning. “A better idea is for you to go to sleep.”

He shook his head, leaning closer. “I ain’t goin’ to sleep unless you are too.”

“You are stubborn,” Rosie sighed, allowing a tiny smile to pull at the corner of her lips.

Butch smirked. “So are you.”

He shifted, pushing himself off the couch to stand before offering his hand to her. She gripped it, allowing him to hoist her upright even though she was perfectly capable of doing so herself. The two stood there for a lingering moment, hands gripped just staring at one another and Rosie thought back to just a few weeks earlier when they had been slow dancing in that very spot—how she had imagined what it would be like if they kissed. She wouldn’t dare to make that kind of bold move and there was no rational part of her mind that convinced her that Butch wanted any such thing—even if he didn’t seem eager to let go of her hand.

He nodded his head towards the stairs, and she followed his lead, glancing down at their clasped hands as they walked. Butch didn’t’ release his grip until they were outside their adjacent doors, turning to face her with a grin.

“Remember what I said,” he gestured to the journal tucked under her arm before moving his hand up to brush against her forehead. It was hard to tell if it was affectionate or playful. “Try not to worry that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

Rosie felt her cheeks go warm, and desperately tried to think of a witty comeback but the silence had stretched on for too long. She was destined to always be the quiet, fumbling nerd. Except now it was made much worse with her seemingly unrequited crush. She offered a tiny smile. “Goodnight, Butch.”

He returned the expression in kind, leaning against his doorway as he watched her shut herself away behind the closed door. “Goodnight, Rosie.”

[matildaverse]

Dummies guide to... Nygmobblepot!

❓= Riddler

🐧= Penguin

Season 2

- ❓ undressed 🐧 also there was only one bed in the apartment? They shared it!!!!!

- They sang tunes and murdered people like an old married couple??

- PHONE CALLS ™️ [even Lee thought ❓ was on the phone to to his partner!!]

- Jim “what’s the nature of your relationship with 🐧 ???” ❓ stops to think then 💔 says friends [yees I realise it’s because ❓ was put on the spot but he was still sad!]

- ❓ asks 🐧 if there is anything he can do for him when he’s at GCPD? He was 💯% ready to smuggle 🐧 outta jail??? Where HE WORKS

- ❓ makes mental checklist of what 🐧 asks him to do (and I’m pretty sure he kept his word)

- ❓ is ecstatic to see 🐧 when he is released from Arkham Asylum (crazy jail)

- ❓ rejects 🐧 after he is released from Arkham because he is busy and 🐧 has changed

Season 3

- 🐧 visits ❓ in Arkham, gave him sweater and cookies and found the most difficult puzzle box he could to gift 🎁 ❓

- ❓ knows how to make origami 🐧. Is so apologetic about rejecting him

- 🐧 talking to you is keeping me sane or something...

- 🐧 eat 🐠

- 🐧 knows ❓ suit size “I had to guess” da heck you staring at him??

- ❓ is like bruh you gotta win this election honest .🐧 : love you but nah I’m not good enough now shuddup

- ❓ *love riddle*

- *❓ reprises love riddle* *🐧 answers it* omg the PEOPLE LOVE ME . ❓ looks disappointed 😔 for a split second like “yah sure the people not me hahhahahahah”

- ❓ reaches out to protect the statue of 🐧 mummy from blowing up cause he knows 🐧 cares about it

- Husband moment ™️ - ❓ cleans 🐧 shirt sleeve after 🐧 spilt wine on it and 🐧 calms down around him but is also very open about his problems and insecurities.

- ❓ stands in front of 🐧 when butch attacks. Gets choked! Cue:

[In this scene 🐧 lets go of ❓for a split second in which ❓grasps quickly on 🐧 collar. They feel safe with each other 🥰]

- ❓” I hope you know 🐧, I would do anything for you.”

- The hug that we ALL know was gonna be a kiss like c’mon!! 🐧 had to physically push ❓ out of the way to hug him!!!

- 🐧 falls in love with ❓(canonically)

- 🐧 attempts to confess. ❓ looks a upset when 🐧 goes oh I forgot as if he kinda knew what was up.

- ❓EXTREMELY apologetic about not finding Butch (the guy who betrayed 🐧)

- 🐧” I would be lost without you”

- 🐧 basically arranges a date!!! ❓is down for it but gets distracted by Isabelle (an unhealthy relationship)

- “I understand that you’re meant to wait 24hours before filing a missing persons report buT SIR I AM THE MAYOR”

- Basically every 🐧 scene when ❓ is with Isabelle

- ❓didn’t figure out 🐧 killed her when that was LITERALLY HIS OLD JOB (love made him blind???)

- ❓love is about sacrifice! You didn’t love me cos you killed my gal pal!

- 🐧 actually agrees with him. 🐧sacrifices himself for ❓(even though he tried to murder him???)

- ❓ wth am I supposed to do now??? Panics and shoots 🐧 anyways (suppressing his feelings much)

- ❓ forces hallucinations of 🐧 to keep him for a little longer... 😭😭😭 nobody he met could replace 🐧

- Hallucination!🐧 SANG A LOVE SONG!!!!!💔

- ❓tells 🦊 stuff about 🐧. He CASUALLY mentions that 🐧 is the only one that understood him!

- calling each other names (hairpulling)

- Was that the only plan you had ❓to escape jail???

^You don’t have to hold him like that????

- 🐧 freezes ❓and KEEPS HIM 🥶

Season 4

- ❓cosplays as 🐧 making fun of him in the narrows.

Skip ahead... [I forgot this part]

- Evil❓breaks 🐧outta Arkham...

- ❓helps 🐧adopted son “let’s get ice cream” . ❓is now Martin’s 2nd dad!

- ❓🐧and Lee team up.

- ❓talks to 🐧 like they’re bffs again. *rants about how he had to dress up like and old lady for Zsasz or something???*

- ❓gets tortured and he doesn’t give up 🐧??????

- 🐧saves him. ❓ “you gave up your revenge for me?”

[Context: Sophia Falcons betrayed 🐧 threatened his adopted baby boi (forcing 🐧 to relocate him). 🐧chose to save ❓over killing Sophia which for him is like HUGE (he loves revenge)]

- “I trust you” 🥰

Yada yada.. ❓mildly betrays 🐧 for some reason (later 🐧 forgets it and he hates betrayal it’s like his thing: Rage revenge)

Season 5

- 🐧 saves ❓ life after he been 🔪 🔪 (with the help of a man who TORTURED them both)

- His “I’m going to fix you❓” is soft and sincere (in the 2nd version Idk why but the two times it played it sounded different to moi)

- 🐧names his 🐶 “Edward”

- 🐧 hates whoever 💣 haven! Until he finds out it was❓

- 🐧 *so soft* “ ❓ what have you done” I swear it’s like genuine concern!!!!

-❓🐧 reunite (again) ❓ is 😡 but 🐧 kinda calms him

- ❓: you saved me whyyyy???

- 🐧: “what was I meant to do LET YOU DIE?!” [love you idiot] “...friend...”

- Promise to never stab each other in the back (only the front) as friends 🔪🔪🔪

- Basically the weedding vows of murder husbands if you ask me but hey I might be biased!

- Oh and they’re holding hands in the leaked pics what kinda friend holds hand not to mention they’re hanging together after 10 YEARS (excluding the 4 years they were frenemies + 1 year acquaintances)

I may be looking into some stuff a little bit but I’m mad and it’s midnight. Maybe I missed stuff???

Side note : gifs are not mine

TL;DR

Penguin canonically loves Ed

The domestic phone calls and convos

THE HUGS (mostly the almost kiss)

Wedding Vows

Ten years time they’re still hanging out!!

[briannafrostgirl]

1-25 cause i'm an asshole girlfriend XOX

Love you baby ❤️

1. what is your gender? Can I say Amazon?

2. what are your pronouns? she/her/hers

3. what is your gender presentation like? Hmm... IDK. I think I’m more of a femme, but my dress style is a little butch

4. what is your Gender Euphoria Outfit? Cute crop top and short shorts

5. what makes you feel validated? Being complimented on my hair, clothes, makeup, ect. Tbh, it doesn’t happen nearly enough and it really helps.

6. top five favorite parts of your body (n why you love them)? Hmm... my legs - I’ve always kind of liked the shape of them. My hair - it’s a mess a lot of the time, but it’s a beautiful mess. My lips - they’re probably my most feminine feature and I’m very fond of them. My eyes - don’t know why, just like em. Can I say my breasts? They’re really cute, lol

7. favorite trans meme/bit of trans humor? A few good options I can’t quite remember, but probably this:  https://samael.tumblr.com/post/146212141815/khatoblepas-there-they-are-the-two-genders

8. how did you pick your name? To be honest, i got it from a Lonely Hearts Club doll and then it became the name of my first Wizard101 character. Yes, I was that girl growing up. Then it was an account name/gamer tag. By the time it was time to pick a name, I kind of had always known what it should be.

9. what does your name mean? It’s celtic (like me lol) and it means strong. 

10. do you have any trans pride merch? A trans flag sports bra, a trans flag hat, and a trans flag shirt that I designed myself. I love them all very much

11. recent happy trans moment? This is pretty depressing, but I’m struggling to remember something very recent. I can remember a time a while ago where I was taking pictures of myself naked and I felt very feminine, so maybe that

12. favorite trans headcanon? Black Widow

13. favorite canon trans character? (alt: 2nd favorite trans headcanon?) Going with a 2nd headcannon because I keep not watching the few shows with good trans rep in favor of watching the same cis-centric shows and movies again and again, because I hate starting new shows.

I’ve been headcannoning Ryder from Mass Effect Andromeda as a trans woman for a while now, but lately I said fuck it and now Shepard’s trans too. Whoops ;)

14. favorite trans blog(s)/trans blogger(s)? Oh no! There’s so many!! Aaagh! I follow a lot of really amazing trans bloggers, so no shade at all to anyone not on this list. You’re all amazing and I value you all. 

Now, onto the list. I mean, obviously @sagaofsarahrose  ❤️ She’s incredible and if you’re not following her, you should be. @skylightsofmylife @latex-tiddettes @thefiresontheheight @casey-is-a-jazzpunk and @themaddahlia are all super cool folx who do lots of funny/inspiring/really fucking neat stuff. And like, a million other cool trans people I follow here and on Instagram (less than subtle instagram plug)

15. favorite trans celebrity? I have a soft spot for Teddy Geiger, cause a) my girlfriend loves her and b) I feel like I don’t see enough trans wlw rep in the little mainstream rep we do have, so it warms my heart to see her and her fiance so happy together. Also I just found out she co-wrote one of my favorite One Direction songs, so...

16. song that gives you Big Trans Feels? Can’t Trust the News and Lived a Life by Enter The Haggis 

17. something you wish you could tell your younger self? That being a girl is something you can just do. You don’t have to keep living like this just cause no one ever told you there’s another way. Like hell, that fucked me up so bad growing up. Cause I wanted to be a girl, but I didn’t think there was any way I could. Fuck...

18. what would your Ideal Fashion Look be? Somewhere between lesbian Irish farmhand and lesbian cowgirl. Lesbian

19. (how) does your gender relate to your sexuality? Hmm... kind of a hard one to answer TBH. I think I knew (subconsciously) that I was a lesbian before I knew that I was a woman. But, because at the time I thought I was a straight man, I didn’t feel great about how much I was interested in lesbians. Even now, as a lesbian myself, I still grapple with some guilt and shame when seeking out wlw content (something terfs do not help with in the slightest)

So I guess, I would say they’re intertwined. I don’t know what it would be like to have one without the other and I’m glad I don’t have to (no disrespect to cis lesbians or straight trans people, y’all are valid as fuck. I just personally am very happy with how my gender and sexuality intersect) 

20. do you have a comfort item? I have an emotional support mermaid. Does that count? Her name is Helena

21. what makes you feel euphoric? When my girlfriend says I’m beautiful ❤️/ any time I’m out w/ my mom or sister and some one says “you ladies”

22. what genre of media would you love to see more trans characters in? Superhero movies, video games, Disney princess movies, and Star Trek. Specifically as protagonists and love interests in all of those. Basically just all the things I enjoy (which are all coincidentally absurdly slow with any kind of LGBTQ rep)

23. claim something as trans culture. Someone else has probably done this, but D&D. D&D was one of my favorite things to do growing up, but I’ve only allowed myself to come back to it as a woman and sorta... reclaim it, I guess. So yeah, D&D is now a trans thing (tm) and everyone else has to ask our permission to play (but like, just don’t be a transphobic, queerphobic, homophbic, racist, ableist, sexist, exclusionist dick and we’ll probably let you in)

24. give some love to your trans friends/mutuals (alt: give some love to the trans community in general) Hmm.. I’m not entirely sure what this one means. But if you’re trans (offer not valid for transmeds cause why you gate-keeping? The cis (tm) don’t need our help babe) I love you  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

25. what's your favorite part of being trans? Getting to be me

[trickkombowerskru]

Scars-Henry Bowers X Reader Smut

Request: Anonymous:  the reader escapes abuse from whoever (you pick!) during the night and always ends up sleeping over at one of the bowers gang boys houses (you pick again!),because they let her use their bed. it been going on for awhile and they have a convo about their newly realized feelings and it end with some softish smut :)

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, NSFW, Sex, SOFT HENRY this one isn’t really worth a warning, but I just wanted to say soft Henry would be so rare unless he was around his girl, but nonetheless soft Henry is the best henry and you all can fight on me on that 

You flinch one final time as your brother delivers his last hit, a kick right to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you, as you are their laying helpless on the ground. He slams the door and leaves you there, tears well up in your eyes as you grab the side of your bed to help you get up. 

You tried to get yourself together a bit trying to think of a time when you didn’t dread  coming home everyday, back when your mother and father were alive and your brother, Bobby, wasn’t the abusive, drunken monster he became a few years back after losing your father. 

You wipe your tears a bit as soon as you hear Bobby’s door close knowing at this time of night he would be locked in his room drinking himself to sleep, and sneak out your window heading down to the Bowers’ farm. 

Throughout the few years Bobby hurt you, you found solace and safety in Henry. He always looked out for you,even as kids, he beat up any kids who messed with you, when you forgot your lunch and had no money to buy it he shared his with you even if it would’ve been the only meal he at that day, he was always there for you.

 You never understood why he defended you of all people, but you always gave him the same amount of care in return, bringing him some of Bobby's old clothes, keeping snacks on you to give to him, and helping him avoid going back home as he much as you could. 

So you can imagine his reaction when you showed up at school sporting bruises on your arms, of course you were trying to hide them with a hoodie, but you forgot since it wasn’t the time where it was completely chilly in Derry that you and the boys had made plans to go to the Quarry. You figured you could just make up something and avoid stripping down, it of course it didn’t work.

 “Hey guys I have a really bad headache so I think I’m gonna sit this one out with Pat,” you tell them when Belch parks. 

“Oh we can do a lot more than sit sweetheart,” he purrs at you making you roll your eyes.

 “In your dreams Hockstetter,”

 “You’re a recurring star there Princess,” he says throwing you a wink.

 You shove his face and shake your head at him. 

You two sit back and share and joint laughing at the rest of the boys stupidity before they come out of the water.

 “You feelin’ any better Y/N?”, Belch asks. 

“Yeah I am thanks,” Henry shoots you a look and asks to talk alone, leading to Patrick making a sex joke, and Henry telling him to “Can It” 

Once you’re away from the guys Henry looks at you with concern filled eyes.

“What’s wrong?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve known you since friggin’ kindergarten Y/N I can tell that headache excuse was a bunch of bull. So what’s wrong?” 

With those baby blue eyes staring directly into you, you knew that Henry wouldn’t let up, you sighed took you hoodie off holding out your arms so he could see your bruises. He grabs your arms to look and demands to know who did this to you. 

After that since he knew exactly what it was like to still feel scared and alone at night after a beating, he gave you the option to come over and sleep in his bed when you needed it.

 Of course if Butch wasn’t on the night shift you’d have to sneak in his bedroom window, but you did enjoy the feeling of comfort it brought to have Henry with you. It evolved from him sleeping on the floor to sleeping in bed with you, sometimes holding you if you needed it. 

You shake all the thoughts out of your head as you arrive to the front of the house, Butch’s cruiser was gone and you let out a sigh of relief, trying to stop the rest of the tears as you knock on the door. 

Henry answers and looks at you automatically knowing from your tear stained cheeks and red eyes what happened. He pulls you into a hug and leads you to his room.

“Old man is on some trip this week so you don’t have to worry about sneaking out in the morning.”

”Cool,” you say laying down. 

“I’m not even tired, I just came over because I needed to talk.” 

“That’s fine,” he tells you lying behind you and taking you into his arms, you look at him and see him shaking his head.

“I hate him. This has been going on for years, I hate seeing you hurt like this,” 

“I hate getting hurt, but Hen what can I do?” 

“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him with my bare hands if that’s what you want,” he says in a scarily calm tone. 

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. Besides you have it worse than I do. It’s been going on longer plus because of your rep he can hurt you in more places and people will just think you got in a fight,” 

He sighs.

“Yeah,”

 “Sorry, let’s just change the subject,” you tell him, shifting his his arms. 

“I have always wanted to know though, you’ve always looked out for me, and I guess I just wonder why? Like what about me made you want to be my friend or protect me?”

 “I don’t know, it’s weird it’s like even as kids when I first saw I had a strange urge to protect you and make sure you were okay. And I mean if I’m being honest over the past few years I..uh....I’ve kinda gotten a thing for you. ,” Henry reveals looking so red during the end of it.

You were shocked I mean sure you had thought about it a few times over the past few years, but figured there was no point in having a crush on Henry, since he most likely wouldn’t feel the same way.

 But hearing him say it made all the feelings you pushed down over the years flood back. Your E/C eyes flicker from his bright blue ones to his lips before you both just lean in and years of emotions finally come to surface. 

“Sorry,” he says when you pull away.

 “It’s cool,” you smile back. 

A few more seconds go by before you kiss again and start taking clothes off. When Henry pulls your shirt off, you get self conscious, and cover your stomach, trying to hide the scars Bobby had left on you. 

“Aw come on,” Henry says as his eyebrows furrow and he gently moves your arms out of the way.

“Did he leave those on you?”

 “Yeah,” you tell him looking away. 

He takes his shirt off and turns around, making it his turn to bare his scars from his dad, thick red lash marks decorating his entire back. You reach out to gently graze the raised skin, making him flinch. 

You kiss one and then he turns around, caressing your face, kissing you, and helping you lay back down as he climbs over you. His lips gradually move from your lips to your neck, making you release a moan.

 He pulls back and looks at you making sure you want to continue, you give him a slight nod. Henry goes back to your neck moving down your body with his sloppy kisses, making every inch of your body feel like it’s on fire. 

The rest of your clothes come off in the process and then Henry stops right in between your thighs. He kisses each thigh and then wastes no times as he starts switching between licking at you and sucking your clit. Leaving you to just writhe in pleasure as you grip his hair and pull him closer.

The coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter before you cum all over Henry’s face, while he continues moving his tongue and lapping at you during it. when you come down Henry moves back to your neck, leaving a hickey and then looking at you again touching your foreheads. 

“You ready?”, he asks knowing your a virgin.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. 

You hiss slightly at the pressure of Henry stretching you, but it slowly turns to pleasure.

 “Fuck Henry,” you moan.

He groans as he buries his face into your beck for a third time leaving more hickies. His speed picks up and it drives you insane your moans and his groans go louder and longer.

“H-Henry I’m gonna cum,”

“Do it for me then,”  he breathes.

You both let go at the same time feeling absolutely out of breath and in complete bliss, 

“That was awesome,” you say as you cuddle into him again. 

“Damn straight it was Princess,” Henry replies kissing your temple and throwing his arms around you. 

Before he can say anymore he sees that you are already drifting off, which makes him smirk to himself.

 As you fall deeper into sleep you think about how safe he always makes you feel and now make a promise to yourself that the second you graduate, you will do everything in your power to have enough money to get a small apartment with him, and escape the hells you called home.

[cowboyjen68]

how do i know when a butch likes me also does wearing a suit count as butch dressing? what is the diffrence between a butch and soft butch?

Butch is much more than clothes.  IT is very personal and internal feeling. Like i grew up knowing I was  “something” different, but i remember the very first words that changed my life. “You are the cutest little butch”. I was 23 or so and a very sweet older lesbian said that to me as I happily carried her camping gear.. eager to please  woman and a lesbian. I immediatlly attached to that word. ANd my friends were like “um yeah…duh”.   So the outward indicators do include clothing or shoes.. it is also sort of a “demeaner”. Maybe a swagger or a certian walk or the subtle (or not so subtle) ways she holds  herself. You kind of “feel” it as much as see it. 

It is the internal feeling that we want to “do” for women..make them happy.. not that femmes  don’t have that feeling, but it seems from talking to all parts of the spectrum, it is a bit different.  No one take a offense at this. I am going to put this in terms that make sense to me.  Butches want to make women happy or help with doing and femme women seem to put it in terms of “pleasing” other women by being and more emotional action.  I am not sure that sums it up and all, but that is how I translate the conversations. Of course that is all the superficial stuff. One there is a connection the line are blurred and as complex as that between any people in a relationship. 

So long story short.  A woman comfortable wearing a suit is likely to be butch, if it is something they wear pretty commonly, as opposed to just a one off.  My dad gave me his favorite suit right before he died because he thought i would look good in it and he wanted me to have it.  He knew..

Butches, in my opinion are more likely to stick to more masculine behavior and dress more of their lives, at home, under garments,.. even in ways that others might rarely see. Soft butches might stretch that line a bit and be okay wearing maybe a women’s cut t shirt, or a women’s cut suit.  Under wear that is from the women’s section. I kind of walk back and forth. Frankly, some of that is body type. With weight loss I found myself going from size 40 pants and xxl to size 28 pants and small shirts, so women’s clothes just fit better sometimes.  Still it takes encouragement for me to feel okay wearing women’s styles sometimes.  

Knowing if a butch likes you. This is a general synopsis based pretty much on me. You will get eye contact, held a little longer.  I little smile with the eye contact.  I sometime move a little closer and say hi, or if I get that far without spilling my drink or tripping, I will say hi or strike up a conversation. Don’t rely on the butch to make the move.. we can be just as shy or awkward as anyone. Like is too short.. see a cute one.. Catch eye contact. Give her a smile. Approach her and say “hello”.  At worst you get told “no”.. at best.... :)

[mackenzie-wolf]

You've got a lot to learn P3/?

Becca x Older woman (O/C)

Requested by anon

A/N: ok so this was originally meant to be just one chapter, but as usual it's spiralling out of control and the characters have taken over my brain. This is not the last chapter, I can see at least two more happening. Anyway here's so lesbian stuff 😆

----------

Becca finished the coffee in her hand. It was still a little to hot to drink, burning her tongue and throat on its way down; but as Robynn sauntered out of the staff lounge, becca was hurrying to keep in pace with her. Robynn's long legs gave her the advantage of speed as becca trailed behind her. She was looking back over her shoulder every minute or so, catching Becca's eye as they made their way to tell shop floor. Robynn stopped at a large stack of boxes, most of which were taller than becca and just about Robynn's height. Turning towards a hanging caddy on the wall the the boxes were parallel to, Robynn pulled out a box cutter and pair of heavy duty gloves, handing them to becca.

"You get to work unpacking the boxes so we can display what's inside and I'm going to take care of the invoices. That ok with you?" Robynn asked with an unshakable smile that left becca staring for just a second longer than she meant to.

"I... Yes. Fine with me." She said back with a stiff nod. It bothered becca that Robynn hadn't said any more about wanting to talk to her, but she brushed it off. If it were really important, she would have said. Right? Robynn sat on a lone, plastic chair by the wall, thumbing through the sheets of paper in her hand. Her eyes darted side to side as she scanned each line, making sure everything was correct. Sighing loud enough to make becca turn her head to look at her, Robynn pinched the bridge of her nose. Becca was about to call over the few meters between them to ask of she was ok when she saw robynn reaching in to the breast pocket of her shirt. She pulled out some dark rimmed glasses that were sleek in design. Placing them on her face, she angled them down slightly as she looked back over the invoice. Becca found herself staring again. Somewhere between the cute glasses that made the features of her face compete and the look of concentration that was creeping over her, becca became lost in looking at her.

Just less than an hour later, becca was opening the last of the boxes that contained the large kitchen appliances. She glanced over at where robynn had been sat, only to realise that she had gone. Giving a quick look around, becca didn't see her anywhere so she carried on with her work. Turning to push the now empty box away, she almost threw it directly at Robynn who stood with a cup of coffee in each hand.

"Whoa! Easy there" Robynn laughed, giving becca a coy smile.

"Sorry! I didn't... I didn't see you." She said, trying already to hold back her blush.

"Its fine, no harm done. I thought you could use a break. Sorry I haven't been helping much."

"Are you kidding?" Becca chuckled. "You did the paperwork. That's a pretty big help. If I had to spend another day looking at those sheets I'd go blind"

"Can't have that." Robynn smiled, handing becca her coffee. Becca took off her gloves to hold the cup, bringing it up to her nose to take in the strong smell before taking a small sip. They stood in almost silence with just the sound of the buzzing lights above them and the dull roar of conversation from the small crowds of customers around the store.

"You know..." Robynn began, breaking the silence between them. "...I was going to send you a friend request last night when I got home. I figured that would be weird though. After knowing eachother for just a day, I mean."

Becca's face flushed. She couldn't stop herself from thinking back to last night, in bed. Looking at Robynn's profile, her picture. What it did to her and what she did to herself as a result.

"So, you thought you'd bring it up today because that's, what? Less weird?" Becca grinned as confidently as she could. Robynn's face filled with heat at the realisation and her hand rubbed the back of her neck nervously.

"I... yeah I guess I didn't really think that through" she said with a light laugh. Becca was sure that Robynn was looking at her differently today. The way that she had only done so in short glances the day before. Her eyes crinkled slightly with the smile that was stuck on her and her lips were beautifully curled in a warm grin. Trying to fight back the warm feeling in her belly, becca turned her attention back to the last of the boxes, setting her coffee down on the edge of the cardboard. Picking up the box cutter, she tried to find the nerve to ask what it was that Robynn had wanted to talk about, without sounding like it had been playing on her mind all morning. It had.

"So..." Becca almost mumbled.

"So?"

"I was wondering wha..." before she could finish, the box cutter ran over the tip of her finger that was uncovered by the gloves she had taken off. With a yelp, becca recoiled her hand and gripped her finger.

"Rebecca!" Robynn yelled, moving quickly towards her. She held becca by her arm and looked meaningfully at her. "Please let me see it. We need to get it covered."

Becca's hand trembled as she let Robynn take it. Trying not to look at the blood flowing from her finger, down the back of her hand, Becca's eyes sank to the floor. She could feel some pressure being placed on the cut and gave a wince in response.

"That'll do for now. Come on, there's a first aid kit in the lounge." Robynn said with a calm aire in her voice. Looking back up at her hand, becca saw red spots leaking through the soft white cloth that was now wrapped around her finger. The unmistakable embroidered 'R' was in danger of disappearing under the red stains that were seaping through. Robynn placed her hand on the small of Becca's back as she led her across the store to the staff lounge, stopping only for a moment to tell one of the cleaning staff about the drop of blood in the unpacking area that needed tending to. Once they were in the lounge, Robynn closed the door behind them. She ran the faucet at the sink and started searching through the cupboard for the green first aid box. Once it was found she quickly opened it and pulled out the bandage and tape, bringing it over to becca who now had almost no color in her cheeks.

"Rebecca, I'm going to clean it and wrap it up ok? I promise I'll do it as quick and painless as possible" Robynn said with her ever calm tone.

"Becca..."

"Hmm?" Robynn questioned as she pulled her handkerchief away from Becca's finger, exposing the small but deep cut underneath.

"Only my parents call me Rebecca. Its just Becca to anyone else" her voice was still but shaky as she tried to keep her eyes off of the cut.

"Ok.. Becca. You know you're really supposed to wear the gloves when using the cutter" she mused.

"I was but you distracted me with coffee. There's a lesson to be leaned here" Becca said with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hmm... beware of butch's baring beverages?" At the poor joke, Becca burst out laughing, prompting Robynn to do the same. Trying to keep her mind occupied and off of her cut becca took in a deep breath, as though it would carry her confidence.

"You said earlier that you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh..." Robynn's face suddenly looked like it had stolen the color straight from Becca's with the way it filled red. "Yeah. I guess I did, didn't I."

"So... what was it?"

"I was going to ask you if you..." Robynn cleared her throat nervously. Becca had seen these actions a hundred times before. Every time some flirtatious freshmen or clueless jock had tried to approach her confidently; and failed.

"So ask..." Becca said, suddenly sounding the more confident of the two of them.

"Uhmm. Ok, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come for a drink with some of the team tonight. Not... uhmm. Not that you have to or anything. It was just a suggestion. But it might be fun." She trailed off hopelessly. In almost no time at all, Becca's finger had been cleaned, disinfected and dressed. Looking over the bandage, Robynn's hands lingered on Becca's. Her soft fingers grazing Becca's palm as she looked at her work from all angles. All too soon, her hands moved away.

"Sure..." Becca said softly. "I'd love to." The smile that now glowed on Robynn's face was a sight to behold. Her perfect teeth reflecting the light that seemed the flow from her was dazzling.

"Cool. Yeah, so, do you know The Double Tap?" She asked with a hint of excitement.

"I know the place. What time?"

"Around 9? If that's ok?"

Becca took a moment to appreciate how happy robynn seemed to be when she agreed to go. Someone who looked so in control, now slowly reducing to a hot mess in front of her.

"Sounds good. Shall we get back to work?" Becca laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh..." Robynn sighed, taking a step back from becca, making the distance between them a little more professional. "...Yeah. if you're feeling ok? I'm not really am expert on first aid. If I missed anything I'm sorry."

"Nothing but a kiss better..." Becca's words trailed off. Within the next second she regretted what she had just said, hoping the ground would swallow her whole to save her from the embarrassment of her shameless flirt. She opened her lips to try and form some kind of retraction, but was cut off when she felt Robynn's long fingers wrap around the Base of her hand, pulling it up to her lips. Robynn placed a dainty kiss on the tip of the bandaged finger, barely hiding a wicked smile behind it.

In an effort to hide a wide smile of her own, becca looked away, noticing the bloodied handkerchief still sitting atop the work surface.

"Oh. Your handkerchief... I'm sorry." She said bashfully.

"Don't worry about it. It'll come clean."

"At least let me wash it for you then?"

"If you insist." Robynn smiled, her eyes trying not to focus on becca for too long. "Come on, let's head back before people start to wonder."

The day carried on much as before. Becca and robynn were working together, joking and still giving eachother subtle looks of interest. As it drew to an end, the store was empty, save for a few of the staff still lingering. Becca collected her belongings and was ready to rush out so she would have time to shower and change before going back out to meet with some of her new team.

She returned home and darted to the kitchen, ignoring the looks of confusion her housemates were giving her. James and Zig were at the house too, not that it was unusual to see them there. Becca stood waiting for Zack to move away from the sink so she could attempt to clean the embroidered cloth that was marked red.

"WOULD YOU MOVE?!" Becca suddenly yelled, making Zack jump a full inch from the floor.

"Jeez, sorry!" He said as he slumped away and out of the kitchen. Becca could hear everyone mumbling in the next room; undoubtedly about her. It didn't matter, she had to get this clean so she could return it. Its important to robynn. Important enough for her to have it monogrammed.

"URGH!" She grunted loudly, becoming frustrated when the color faded but stayed clinging to the cloth.

"Becca? What's wrong?" Milly's voice was soft behind becca.

"This stupid thing isn't getting clean!" She mumbled.

"What are you cleaning it with?" Milly asked, peering over Becca's shoulder. Noticing the dish soap in Becca's other hand, Milly sighed. "I could put it in the laundry for you"

"No!" Becca snapped before collecting herself. "I need it clean now. Or, really soon." Milly looked at the cloth again. She noticed the red letter on the corner and recalled her conversation with becca that morning.

"I see. What are you trying to clean off of it?"

"Blood..."

"Blood?! Becca are you..." Milly asked with concern.

"I'm fine! I just need it clean!"

"Relax... I'll take care of it for you. Toothpaste and cold water works best." Milly said, reassuringly.

"How do you even know that? "

"Kaitlyn goes too hard in mosh pits so I've had to work magic on some of her shirts before."

"Oh..." Becca looked to the floor and back up to meet Emily's eyes. "... I'm going out soon. Im going to meet... uhmm, do you mind if I..." Becca trailed off, signalling towards the stairs.

"Go ahead and get ready. I'll put this in the dryer when I'm done so it'll be ok to take with you." Becca stepped foward as though she was about to hug her, but stopped short, letting out a heavy breath.

"Thanks milly." With that she ran to the stairs and up towards the bathroom, fighting the feeling of butterflies inside of her.

[beccaboosthings]

1-50 for the lesbian asks❤️

Under the cut 💖

1. Femme or butch? 

Both

2. Do you have a “type”? If so, describe it

Someone who is kind. I don’t really care about looks all that much

3. Plaid button-ups or leather jackets?

Both

4. Describe your style

Depends on the day. I go between Cutsie, Emo, and Stereotypical Gay Girl with a plaid shirt and a beanie

5. Describe your aesthetic

Wanna be emo kid turned soft

6. Favorite article of clothing?

A super old ripped up sweatshirt that says ALASKA that was a hand me down. its super comfy and i feel safe in if. its like a security blanket to me.

7. Favorite pair of shoes?

My black boots with a platform in them. I like feeling tall for once haha

8. Current haircut?

Basic Bisexual haircut, you know the one.

9. Any haircut goals for the future?

I miss having dyed hair. I really kinda want to go purple again.

10. Describe the best date you’ve been on

Mine and my gfs first movie date 💖

11. Describe the worst date you’ve been on

I don’t have one

12. Single? Taken?

Taken 💖😘

13. If taken, talk about your girlfriend/wife!

She is the best. She is so gorgeous and over all perfect in every way. 

14. If single, what are you looking for in a potential girlfriend/wife?

can’t do this one

15. Describe your dream wedding

I already have my dress planned out in extreme detail, but other then that idk. Lots of flowers. And i really want the color scheme to be pastel blues and purples

16. Do you want kids?

Yes

17. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?

London

18. Favorite lesbian movie?

Tbh i can’t think of any haha

19. Favorite lesbian novel/story?

I haven’t read it yet (but i have bought it and will read it next) but I the only book i can think of that is wlw is ‘Leah on the off beat’ and I can already tell that i’m going to love it

20. Favorite lesbian song?

Any of Hayley Kiyoko’s songs

21. Favorite lesbian musician?

Hayley Kiyoko or dodie (dose she count?)

22. What lesbian stereotypes do you fit into, if any?

My style

23. Ever been assumed to be nothing more than a gal pal?

No?

24. If a woman wanted to woo you, what would a surefire way to accomplish that?

Let me gush about things that i’m into, and just let me get nerdy and excited. Also any positive attention or slight flirting I am putty in your hands

25. Be positive! What do you like most about being a lesbian?

to quote one of dodies songs, “girls, giRLS, GIRLS”

26. Are you more of a cat person or a dog person?

Both

27. Turn ons?

Is it weird if i say thighs? Idk girls with nice thighs are the best. Also collar bones. And hands. And just everything about girls in general. All but the thighs apply to guys too. I’m v bi.

28. Turn offs?

Rudeness. To me or other people.

29. Do you usually ask other women out or do you wait for them to ask you?

What ever works

30. What is your dream career?

Something to do with art

31. Talk about your interests or hobbies!

Anything creative. Painting, sewing, diys, cross knitting, ect.

32. What is the most attractive quality a woman can have?

being caring and compassionate, not only to me but to others

33. Do you love easily or does it take time for you to warm up to someone?

It takes me a long time to really get comfortable with people

34. Ever fallen for your best-friend?

Nope

35. Ever fallen for a straight girl?

No

36. The L-Word: yes or no? (love it or hate it?)

It’s on my list of things I need to watch!

37. Favorite comfort food?

Idk, I guess a bowl of cereal at 1am after a mental breakdown

38. Coffee or tea?

Tea 100%

39. Vegetarian? Vegan? None of the above?

None of the above

40. Do you have any pets?

Yes I have 2 cats 2 dogs a bunny and a little turtle we found on the side of the road

41. Early-riser or night-owl?

Night-Owl (she says at 2am, oops)

42. What is your sign?

Aries

43. Can you drive?

Nope

44. Who was your first lesbian crush?

My current gf 💖

45. At what age did you know you were a lesbian?

I feel like a fraud answering these because i’m bi, but i always kinda knew but I only accepted it at age 15

46. At what age did you come out (if you have)?

15-16 I did it naturally in convos if it ever came up with everyone i have come out to, so it has taken some time for that to happen haha

47. Are you crushing on anyone at the moment (celebrity or otherwise)?

yes my beautiful gf (I love you babe💖💖)

48. Talk about how your day went

Pretty good! I didn’t really do much haha

49. Talk about your dreams/aspirations for the future

I just want to be happy in th future

50. Least favorite gay celebrity?

I can’t think of one haha. Isn’t Katy Perry bi? I guess her if she is lol

[sittingoverheredreaming]

Brought on by that one post in my liveblog about Haruka thinking Michiru wants to draw her like one of her french girls, it’s a fic!

Laid Bare

~1800 words

A misunderstanding leads to surprising, quiet intimacy when Michiru asks to draw Haruka. Set durring S.

The apartment was quiet when Michiru got home. They were in a rare streak of quiet days, equal parts blessing and curse. She worried when Haruka was left with her thoughts too long.

“Michiru?” she called out as if on cue.

She sat in her usual perch by the window-- she brooded like a butch but also like a bird, settling in where she could still touch the sky. The setting sun turned the whole city red behind her. Against that backdrop Haruka was bright and shadowy all at once.

“You know,” Michiru said without thinking, “I would still very much like to draw you sometime.”

Haruka looked up, torn from her cycle of thoughts by surprise. “Y-yeah?” She shifted, scratched her neck. “I thought that might have just been a ruse.”

To an extent, it had been, but not the way Haruka thought. She hadn’t wanted to talk her in or out of being a senshi. She’d wanted to enter that particular space of artist and model, where there could be no walls because if you blocked seeing one way you blocked it the other. She always went through art teachers quickly because of that. She didn’t need to keep anyone who saw in past her facade. Though if Haruka would agree, she’d like to keep her.

“I don’t know if I’d be a good model.” Haruka leaned back. Her movements became stiff. Michiru smiled. Haruka had grace until she knew someone was watching, and then she either overplayed or froze up. “I’ll probably move a lot, or sit wrong.”

“That’s okay.”

Michiru put on a smile and waited. She felt an old buzz in her hands, the one that made her pull on her clothes as a child. She’d since learned not to stress the fabric so, and, more importantly, not to show her weakness.

Haruka turned towards the window. “I mean, I guess if you really want to, it’s no trouble to me.”

“Let me get my pencils.”

She returned and Haruka stood. “You can stay in the window if you like.”

“Okay, this is just easier for…” She cleared her throat and adjusted her collar. “Are you sure about this?”

Michiru made sure to look her in the eye. Haruka didn’t always trust her without that. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Haruka undid her collar button. “Okay.”

She fumbled open a few more buttons. Michiru froze.

“Haruka,” she said, gently as she could. “What are you doing?”

Haruka cocked her head like it was a trick question. “I’m getting ready so you can draw me?”

“I assure you you don’t have to have your shirt quite so open.”

“Oh um, I can’t pull it over my head.”

“What?”

Haruka’s brow furrowed in her Is this another weird rich person thing? face. “It doesn’t come over my head. It’s fitted a certain way, I have to unbutton it.”

“You’re taking it off?”

“Yeah? You said you wanted to draw me.”

“Oh.” Michiru had had life drawing classes, her parents had paid enough to bypass age limits so that she would learn, but this was different. “I didn’t mean-- not like that.” No wonder she had said no. Michiru felt all the accusations she hadn’t said. Creep. Monster. “I’m not like that, Haruka, I wouldn’t…”

“Oh.”

Haruka turned away. She wrestled her buttons back into place. “Let’s just forget this whole thing. I’ve been really stupid.”

“Wait--”

But Haruka fled to her room.

Michiru sank to the floor next to her door, marveling that a little thing like this could go so wrong. She rubbed her pencil back and forth on a page, mindlessly wasting the led.  The shadows grew long and overtook the apartment.

Alone in the dark, she confessed-- “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Something banged into the other side of the door. “What?”

Michiru jumped. She’d expected Haruka to be in bed, out of earshot. “I can’t promise I’m not a monster, but I don’t want to scare you.”

The knob rattled for a moment, but then Haruka seemed to think better of it. “I’m only scared of you seeing me, and of you not wanting to see me,” she whispered through the door. “I know your feelings were fleeting, but I want to be in your head as something beautiful.”

“They weren’t fleeting.” Her greatest sin. “I don’t want to get you hurt.”

Haruka’s fingertips appeared under the door. Michiru slid hers into the spaces between them.

“Would you have said yes that day, had you not thought…?”

“Not yes, exactly. I wanted you to think I didn’t care. But...You don’t scare me, but meeting the girl of-- the girl from my dreams did. And when I thought you wanted… I couldn’t risk you seeing me, seeing how unworthy I am.”

“You’re not… You’re a lot more than I can express.” Michiru dared a squeeze of her hand. “You were going to let me see you now.”

“I just.” Haruka’s head thumped against the door. “I figured there’s no use hiding. You know my darkest sins. You might as well judge me for all that I am.”

“I’m not here to judge you, Haruka.” Michiru wished, just once, she could pull Haruka in and kiss her the way she deserved to be kissed. Michiru herself didn’t deserve that, with what they had to do, what she’d gotten Haruka into. But she wished. “It would be nice. Seeing you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I never…” Never what? She’d drawn naked figures, naked women. But this was something else. “Would you want to, really?”

“I think so.” Haruka squeezed Michiru’s hand with her fingers. “It’s stupid, maybe, but I’d like it if you drew me like that.”

“Do… do you want to come out?”

“Or you could come in here. Maybe.”

“Okay.” She pulled the door open with a shaking hand. Haruka’s room was too big for her, spacious and sterile save for the area around the bed, when clothes and blankets formed heaps on the floor. A desk sat untouched against the wall.

Haruka stood, face pink. “Is this okay?”

Michiru nodded. “I could sit over here, if you wanted to be…” She gestured to the bed. “You should be comfortable, at least.”

Haruka let out a single laugh. “I’d have to trade bodies with someone for that.” She cracked her knuckles. “Do you turn around, or do I just--”

“I can turn.”

The room was warm, suddenly, knowing Haruka was undressing behind her. Fear ledged in her throat. She had to react right when she saw. Neutral. Or maybe not quite, too neutral and Haruka might take it badly. But Michiru wouldn’t want her to think--

“Okay.”

Michiru turned the little desk chair around before she looked, but there still wasn’t time to sort herself out. And then, there Haruka was, looking both incredibly human and entirely extraordinary. She sat cross-legged on the bed. She leaned with her hands on her ankles, her body folding forward with a crease at her stomach. The comforter poofed soft around the hard lines of her body. Even things Michiru saw everyday-- the shape of her hands, the curve of her neck and the wave in her hair-- took on a new beauty in their full context. She could not but stare for a long moment.

“Am I okay?”

Her breath left her all at once. “You’re… art. All on your own.”

Haruka flushed deep red. “You don’t have to go that far.”

“You’ll find,” Michiru said, finding the ground to right herself for a moment as she put pencil to paper, “That I’m in such a position that I rarely have to do anything.”

“What, are you going to buy me self-esteem?” Haruka rocked forward with a little smile, then faltered. “Am I moving too much?”

“You’re fine.” Their eyes met, and for once Michiru let them linger. “I’ve never drawn anyone I knew. Just models.”

“I probably don’t look anything like them.”

“Well, no, but they didn’t look like you think, either. Art class models are supposed to give a grasp of different sorts of bodies.” She focused on her sketchbook. “I like you better than any sort of model, though.”

“You too.” Haruka put her face in her hands. “I mean… You know.”

“Can you put your hands where they were? It’s alright.” Her own cheeks felt warm. “It’s hard to say things a lot of the time.”

“How can you say that? You’re always so…” She rose her hand again to shake as she found the word. “Eloquent.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m saying what I want.” Michiru let herself smile. “I couldn’t ask you for a ride in your car, could I?”

“And I can’t ask you to run away with me.”

Michiru paused. “If we could, where would we go?”

“I dunno. We could get anywhere with your money, and then I’d get some job to keep us there. I’m handy, maybe a mechanic.” She rocked again. “We could get a little place and let the whole destiny thing pass us by.”

“You wouldn’t be happy.”

“Not with that part. I want the right thing, just not the hard parts.”

“I don’t even want that.” Her hand moved in fast strokes for Haruka’s hair. “If we get through this, this whole mess, will you go somewhere with me? I don’t care where, just. Away.”

“Yeah.”

They sat with only the sound of pencil strokes for a long while. Haruka moved in little bits. Michiru ached, both with the heart of an artists and that of a lover, to see all the shapes her body could form. Every twitch gave her a new perspective she wanted time to explore. But this was all she had. Too soon she found herself shading the smallest details.

“I’m scared to show you.”

“All your work is brilliant, Michiru.”

“But this doesn’t capture you, not really.” And once she declared it done, the moment would pass, and things would go back to how they were. “You won’t see how you really look.”

Haruka didn’t push, so maybe she understood.

Michiru paused above the finished drawing. It was beautiful, the shadows played across the black and white Haruka in a way that drew the eye over all her angles and curves. It wasn’t like the real Haruka, but it was close.

“I won’t look if you don’t want.”

“You can.”

Haruka pulled the comforter around her body and padded over. She looked over Michiru’s shoulder, then sank to the floor. “You made me look handsome,” she whispered.

“That’s just what you look like.”

Haruka looked up, her eyes big and vulnerable. “Can we just… sit here awhile longer?”

“I’d like that.”

By morning, they’d be back in the same dance around each other, but for tonight, there was nothing left between them.