#lesbians will see a leather jacket and a t shirt

[mvrcetune]

i was lying, put your clothes back on we're discussing the matching lesbian energy of 70s sandy west and 80s jodie foster!!

[thecanadianweeb]

Barbie Movie Review (TW: Spoilers!)

So I saw the barbie movie yesterday with my GF and her mother too.

Since people were wearing pink to the movie, i wore my pink Y2K tracksuit that my aunt got at a flea market for me. My gf wore a pink dress with a leather jacket. My tracksuit totally fit the vibe! Anyways my theater was full of gays, including us.

So the movie starts really wholesome, with feminism as it's motto... until barbie starts having an existential crisis. Then she goes to the weird barbie, the black sheep of barbieland. The weird barbie tells her that whoever is playing with her at the moment is causing the crisis. Then she goes to the real world and ken is the tag-along (man) child.

In the real world, barbie meets Barbra Handler while sitting on a bench, while trying to regain memories of who was playing with her.

she finds out that it was a high-schooler named Sasha. she goes up to find her, while ken starts getting into conservative politics.

Eventually, Mattel themselves finds out that barbie has escaped her world and ended up in the human realm. they then send out agents to get her because it could have serious consequences on both worlds.

Barbie soon finds Sasha, but then gets roasted by her because she hates barbies due to unrealistic (body) standards. Barbie sits down on the curb of the school and cries until Mattel's agents find her. Barbie is kinda happy to see them because she's always wanted to see what some of her creators have done. Meanwhile, Gloria, Sasha's mom is picking her up when she sees barbie getting picked up by Mattel but is too late.

When barbie is at Mattel headquarters, she explores the building and goes to the CEO's office. They then put her in a box that nearly kidnaps her, so she makes a run for it while the agents chase after her! Meanwhile, Ken is going back to barbieland with his new political agenda.

While running away from the Agents, Barbie runs into Ruth Handler, The mother/creator of Barbie itself! She tells barbie a secret escape method and it works! Barbie then meets Gloria and her daughter. They stare for a bit with a lot of queer-coded Sapphic tension. Then barbie flops into the car due to the agents catching up. Which cues a car chase scene!

in this car chase scene, Gloria and barbie talk about their problems and find out that SHE's the one that's messing with her life. Gloria also talks about her male partner is all by himself, practicing his spanish on duolingo. eventually they get away from the agents safely, and barbie takes the two newfound friends back to barbieland, which has now been turned into kendom. Barbie is obviously unhappy, because her friends have been turned into sex slaves with maid outfits! (Weird, right?) The constitution was also about to be changed too!

Barbie then becomes incredibly depressed and goes to the only refuge left: Weird Barbie's house! the other barbies which weren't brainwashed were staying there for safety as well. Then there's a narration stating that Margot Robbie probably wasn't the best actress for this scene, because ya know.

The Mattel agents realize that changes have aleady been made to both worlds and send the agents into barbieland to stop it as well!

Then there's an actual commercial for a depressed barbie doll, which is super funny. but also kinda sad.

Gloria and Sasha decide to go back to the real world, but ken has issued the construction of a Donald Trump-esque wall! And what's worse, Someone hitched a ride on the pair's Car! Turns out that it was just Allan, and he's actually a nice guy trying to escape the conservative government. Then out of nowhere, He literally jumps out and punches the Construction workers, serving as a distraction!

Gloria and Sasha have an "Oh Sh*t, we gotta help her" moment and go back to help save Barbieland! they end up finding her in the strange Barbie's house. And Gloria gives an inspiring speech about life and it's hardships. She's also wearing a shirt with the Lesbian flag colors on it!

Eventually, the refugee barbies and Gloria come up with a plan to undo the ken Regime (that's what I'm gonna call it) and bring order back.

this plan includes cheating on all of the other ken dolls and making them fight against each other, lord of the flies style.

it ends up working and everything is back to normal. when the kens come back from a homoerotic lord of the flies battle, they see that their changes have been undone and are upset. Ken tries to seduce barbie, but she ignores it bc they are both gay in denial or possibly bi/aro, etc. the girls then tell the kens that they are enough if they stop being stupid and actually be supportive for once.

Then the agents meet up and talk to barbie saying that's she's the hero and deserves a happy ending with ken. Barbie disagrees, saying that she doesn't know who or what she wants to be. Then Ruth comes back and tell her about how she was her actual mother and it's up to her to decide her destiny in an inspiring speech. Barbie then decides to stay in the real world and it's unclear if the portal was left closed or open. Same thing with ken and barbie being gay. All it shows in the end is barbie asking if she's celibate, which is a recurring joke in the film.

I think since it has an ambiguous ending, barbie might actually be in a poly relationship with Gloria and her partner.

Anyways, TLDR, Barbie has an existential crisis, gains a girlfriend (Both ways ig) and discovers herself.

If you are a Parent, don't bring your children to this movie unless they can handle mature topics or you are willing to explain stuff. it is rated PG-13 in my country, however. Other than that, A great movie! (unless you have mommy issues)

[starscatteredsky]

Can I get tips on punk things to do for a voidpunk who isn't otherkin/therian? (Love your blog, love alterhumans in general, you guys are the coolest! It just gets a little bit discouraging seeing mostly kin-specific content filling the voidpunk tag, if that makes sense.)

punk ideas for voidpunks!

pt: punk ideas for voidpunks!

go to a protest about something you care about!

learn about other punk subcultures!

listen to the music!! punk music is amazing, and there are so so many cool and different sounds to it. all punk music is good punk music! no gatekeeping :D

Make a battle vest or crustpunk jeans! they don’t have to be expensive to make! all we used for our battle vest was an old thifted leather jacket (we cut the sleeves off), an old T-shirt to cut into pieces for patches, white and red paint, safety pins, and a needle and thread! (we also studded ours with piping bag tips, and want to make pop bottle pins!)

learn more about anticapitalist movements

be a nonconformist, and reject societies labels!

fight loudly for what you believe in

follow other punks! punks love sharing fun and cool tips/music/general things, and the punk community is such an amazing and welcoming one!

don’t worry about how you choose to express your punk-ness!! theres no rules in punk self expression, that’s the whole point!

hope these help, fellow voidpunk! we totally get what you mean /gen lots of us are all sorts of punk, nice to see others!! -mono

Requests open!!!

[image description:

a DNI banner with the background being the promotional image for Little Nightmares 2. The writing reads:

"DNI: radqueers, proshippers, radfems/TERFs, antikin/antitherian, homophobic/ ableist/ anti ACAB/ transphobic/ rasist/ antisemitic/ xenophobic/ antitheist/ anti athiest/ bigoted in any fashion, NSFW/sh/ed/cringe centered blog, fakeclaimer

Before you interact: We are pro mspec gays/lesbians, anti endo/tulpa "systems", enjoy MCYT/DSMP, pro self diagnoses with extensive research, multiple alters are punks/ anarchists"

end description]

[narcissadeville]

Dream Date | a butch x femme story

It’s almost noon when I leave the house. I almost never go anywhere these days, save to get coffee or food or ever so rarely to browse a store that isn’t online. So I consider this a rare treat. First coffee then, a trip to the bookstore. I’m in search of a specific tome. A book on lesbian nuns of all things, and I suspect the local bookstore might have such a thing. It’s a small enough town, and I happen to live close enough to the town square that I can walk without much trouble so I do. There’s a coffee shop I’ve never been to before on the way according to my phone. Under normal circumstances, I would go to Starbucks as it’s usually the easiest but I figure if it’s on the way I might as well try something new. 

The walk was blessedly short and more importantly, it was a beautiful spring day which meant it was just warm enough to be comfortable but not so much as to be sweltering and therefore unbearable to walk in.

The coffee shop is exactly as I would have imagined upon entering, warm, cozy, inviting, and full of life, mostly plant life.

There are a few people ahead of me, so I have some time to study the menu and get a feel for the sorts of drinks they serve. I tend towards tea on account of the fact that coffee makes me jittery, and I see a tea choice that looks appetizing enough and decide to order that. It’s a spicy chai tea with oat milk that looks absolutely divine. 

I order my drink and make my way over to the other side of the cafe to wait for my drink. There’s light jazz playing over the radio, mixed with the sounds of quiet conversation. There’s a certain ambiance in this place that feels almost dreamy. I’m not sure if it’s the fairy lights, the music, the plants, or just the fact that exists at all but I can’t help but fall just a little bit in love with the place. Someone calls my name and I take my drink gratefully, and make my way toward the door. There’s a part of me that’s tempted to stay longer. It’s comfortable and the atmosphere draws me in like a siren song and I’m tempted. But there’s a book calling my name so I press on instead. I make my way to the door, lost in thought and tea, and I don’t notice that someone else is coming to the door at the same time, and we run smack into each other, our arms colliding. My tea jostles but thankfully only sloshes a little over the lid. 

“Sorry,” I hear a voice say from beside me. I turn towards the sound and almost feel as though my legs might buckle. Easily the most handsome butch I have ever seen in person stands beside me. Looking rather sheepish. They’re wearing a black leather jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans and it’s all I can do not to swoon. Their dark curly hair frames their face perfectly. I’m certain I’m blushing as I stare into the warm pools of their brown eyes. My mouth opens and I attempt to formulate words but all I can manage is the letter I.

After a moment, I regain my composure and say. “Okay,” I feel stupid the moment the words leave my lips, but they don’t seem the least bit bothered by it. They smile and oh I can feel myself blushing again. Their smile is wondrous, and I lose all sense of where I am then and there. Before I know what’s happening, they move and open the door, holding it for me in a sweeping magnanimous gesture that makes me want to blush and giggle and swoon.

“After you,” they say. I blush again and make my way out and back into the street. 

“Thank you,” I reply. They smile again, and we turn in opposite directions. 

I’m still riding the high of our interaction as I walk down the street toward the bookstore sipping my drink. Trees line the sidewalk to my right and shade the sun's rays from me, a fact for which I am most grateful. 

It’s a good drink, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re a regular there. 

Should I start coming back? Maybe I might see them there again? I’m half way down the street from the coffee shop when I remember I was going somewhere, and pull out my phone for the instructions. Thankfully I’m not too far off course. I manage to continue the rest of the walk from the coffee shop to the bookstore. This portion of the trek is longer than I expected and most of it is spent reminiscing over the handsome butch I just met. 

In my own imagination, I am not shy exactly, it’s just that whenever I see someone I consider attractive, I lose all ability to speak in any sort of coherent way. I tell myself that if they are regular and I have more opportunities to see them in the future it might make it easier to work up a rapport. Oh, who am I kidding? Even if they are a regular, I very much doubt they would talk to me. 

After a half an hour of internal monologuing, I reach the bookstore. It’s not a gay bookstore but something about it just feels like it could be. Perhaps it’s just the vibe that all bookstores feel somehow inherently safe to me. 

I’ve always loved books, ever since I was a kid. In those days reading felt like a beautiful escape from a humdrum life, now I was lucky if I could work up the energy to read a few pages at a time. I was hoping a story more suited to me would help. 

The bookshop was a welcome respite from the outside air which was starting to get considerably more sticky as the afternoon wore on. Or perhaps that had simply been from walking there. Either way I was thrilled to be inside an air-conditioned building and a bookstore no less. The smell of ink and paper immediately filled my nostrils and I felt like I was home. 

I had come with a purpose true, but the moment I had arrived I found myself wandering down various isles with no particular purpose in mind. I let my feet carry me in any direction they wanted to, and my eyes sought out any cover or title that looked like it could be interesting. I was so engrossed in my wandering I once more found myself running into a person, this time right into their back. I groaned to myself, embarrassed that I had run into another person twice in the same day. 

“Sorry,” I said. They turned around and I would have gasped; once more the same handsome butch from the coffee shop. What were the odds, I wondered? Surely astronomical. It was a smaller town sure but not so small that it was likely that I’d run into them in this exact same store at this particular time and this isle. 

They smiled, “Well hello again,” they said. There was a casual demeanor to their tone that made me almost feel at ease. Were I not so damn nervous. I smiled, sure I was blushing again. 

“Sorry,” I repeated. 

“Don’t be, I’m glad you bumped into me again.” 

My mouth hung open at that, and I blinked in search of anything intelligent to say, but came up empty. It is worth noting that I am rarely at a loss for words. I would consider myself rather good with words generally, yet here I was, fumbling for anything resembling a sentence. 

“We might want to sit down somewhere, I’d hate for you to run into me and get seriously hurt,” they said. 

At this I simply blushed. Say something, my brain hissed at me. “I might enjoy it if you did,” I said. I cringed at myself, had I really just said that? 

To my surprise however, they laughed. A deep, mirthful laugh that instantly put me at ease. “How about I take you out to lunch first, and see where the afternoon takes us?” 

I blinked, there went my words again. I could hardly believe it, I was actually being asked out, on a date, in person. Was this really how it happened? I had only seen such a thing in films before, I knew I had to respond before they thought I wasn’t interested. 

“I’d love to,” I said. Or at least, I thought that’s what I said. I’m pretty sure what I actually said might have been more of a garbled mess of such a phrase. Fortunately for me, they didn’t seem to care. Instead they smiled and said, “Great. What are you in the mood for?” 

“I’m pretty new to the area I admitted, but I’m down for whatever.”

“Adventurous, I like that in a girl,” they said as we made our way out of the bookshop, all thoughts of the book I had been planning to purchase completely erased from my head. Adventurous, I thought with a laugh. Nothing could be further from me, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. Outside the bookstore, they turned right toward the parking lot with me trailing behind them like a lost kitten. When they finally stopped it was in front of a motorcycle, it was black and if I was honest the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. They grinned mounting the bike with ease. “You ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle before?” They asked.

I had two choices. I could lie and potentially risk life and limb for a total stranger, or I could tell them I was scared shitless and admit I'd never even seen a motorcycle up close let alone ridden one.

Naturally, I did the only sensible thing I could do. 

“Sure,” I lied trying to mount the bike like they had. The dress I was wearing didn’t exactly lend itself to it, but I didn’t care. As soon as I got on I stared awkwardly at their back. 

“You may want to hold on. She’s got a little kick,” they said. I blinked, not seeing anything to hold onto. I had seen in movies girls holding onto their riding partner, but surely she didn’t mean… the engine roared to life and my heart leaped up to my throat. Without thinking I wrapped my arms around her waist for dear life, burying my face in her leather-clad back. She smelled amazing. A mix of leather, and just a touch of musk and cologne. She revved the engine and we took off together out of the parking lot. 

It wasn’t so bad, I thought to myself. I had calmed down almost immediately, at least that was until we exited the parking lot and the motorcycle shot down the street at what felt like an unreasonably high speed that caused me to wrap my arms around their waist once more, desperately clinging to the only lifeline I had. They didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. In fact, as they took off down the road, making a bit of a sharper-than-necessary turn, I almost got the impression they were trying to show off for me. This thought was short-lived however when the motorcycle’s engine popped suddenly and bucked me. I clenched my thighs to the metal and gripped them so tight I was sure I would have cracked one of their ribs. When we finally reached our destination, a restaurant I had never seen before it was all I could do not to kiss the ground. I felt as though I had been just taken on a wild ride on a stallion. I carefully extricated myself from the bike and they followed suit, smiling at me. Distinctly I got the impression that they knew I had been lying. No one who had ridden on a motorcycle before would have been that terrified. Thankfully they didn’t call me out a fact for which I will be eternally grateful for forever. The two of us made our way towards the restaurant, their hand at the small of my back. It was all I could do not to blush again. When we reached the door, they moved swiftly to open it for me and not a second later their hand was at the small of my back once more. 

It was almost unbelievable how fast they seemed to move. 

They had chosen, a quiet diner where we could chose our own seats, we did, the back of the diner, away from other guests. Ours was a half moon booth, they slid into the middle and I slid in the other side, next to them. Without a second thought they wrapped their arm around me and pulled me close. Were it not for the distinct smell of cooking eggs wafting from the kitchen I would have been certain this was a dream. 

“I hope you don’t mind being so close,” they said. 

“I don’t mind at all,” I replied. How could I possibly? What femme in her right mind would mind? 

“I admit I’m not usually this forward,” they said. “But after I ran into you for the second time in the bookstore I thought you can’t let her get away again.” 

It took everything in me in that moment not to make a self deprecating comment. Not to say something along the lines of, ‘are you sure you’re talking about me?’ I had promised myself I wouldn’t do that anymore. Still I couldn’t quite stop myself from asking. “Oh, why is that?” 

“Well for starters you’re easily the most beautiful femme I’ve ever seen. But besides that… I can’t really explain it.” For a long moment, I had no idea what to say. It’s not that I lack self-confidence per se, but I’m by no means self-absorbed enough or perhaps quite confident enough to call myself the most beautiful femme. Surely this handsome butch has seen many a beautiful femme, I think.

Several years ago, when I was still attempting to date men, I would have assumed this was merely a line to get into bed with me. But this felt incredibly genuine like they really meant it. Unlike with any man, if this was a line, it was going to work. They could have asked me to follow her into a life of crime Bonnie and Clyde style and I would have. Easily. 

“Thank you,” I said thought it felt foolish. They smiled. 

“I’m just being honest,” they said. 

When the server arrived, they ordered for me, another thing I had only ever dreamed of, and they held tight to me for the remainder of our lunch, we talked about everything and nothing, and I still couldn’t get over it. A real date, a date that had come from me doing something different and leaving the house. It felt like a dream, like a fairytale. I was terrified that at any moment I’d wake up back in my bed. 

Only I didn’t. 

Lunch ended, and we went to see a movie, then strolled the park, then went for a late dinner. The day flew by and the next thing I knew it was nearing midnight. Had we really been out all day? I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so comfortable and joyous and just myself, and I was reticent to let the date end. As they dropped me off back at my house and gave me their number, I knew I couldn’t let them go. 

Wrapping my arms around them, I smiled, “You’re welcome to come in,” I said. 

They grinned, giving me a look filled with a multitude of promise. 

“Much as I would love that and I…” they looked me up and down and let out something between a grunt and a moan that sent shivers down my spine, “I would love to. I have a rule about not sleeping with a girl on the first date.” 

It was all I could do not to pout. They must have noticed it too because they smiled and wrapped their arms around my waist. “Can I kiss you?” They asked. 

“You can do a lot more than that if you like,” I replied. 

They laughed and pressed their lips slowly to mine. I gasped, lips parting to give them entrance. I felt their fingers dig into my hips then as they deepened the kiss. Their tongue exploring my mouth. It was all I could do not to moan into the embrace. It was hands down the best kiss of my life. Their lips trailed down from mine, down my chin, towards my neck. I gasped, letting out a moan as they sucked hard onto my throat. My fingers dug into their back. “Please,” I begged. 

“Please what?” They whispered against the flesh of my neck like a prayer. I shivered. 

“Please I need more,” I whined. 

They smiled, pressed their lips to mine once more, and pulled away. “Just needed to mark my spot,” they said. I whined. “Promise we’ll do this again and I’ll make it very worth your while.” 

I shivered at the promise of their words. “I’m holding you to that,” I said. They got onto their motorcycle with a grin, and the last thing I saw was their tail light as they sped off into the night. 

Walking back to my room I wondered briefly if I would ever see them again. Or if this had been just a passing-by-night thing. A once in a lifetime fairytale of an event that had happened miraculously not to be repeated. 

To my great surprise, my phone vibrated and I pulled it out to find a text from them: 

I had a great time today, shall we plan another date for tomorrow? Or later in the week?

I stared at my phone grinning from ear to ear. I could hardly deny to myself it was real now. Shocking though it was. We planned our second date, and as I crawled into bed, exhausted from the long day, I felt all at once as though I was floating on air. 

The date of my dreams with the butch of my dreams, I thought to myself. Holy shit I did it. 

[finefiddleheaded]

Hot take, but I actually really, really love Cassie Sandsmark's current costume.

It just... it looks like how I dress. I see me in that. I see my evolution in her evolution.

I too was an awkward (unwittingly) queer kid who thought every other girl in existence was born with innate knowledge I had no way of obtaining. In my younger years I generally looked like a dorky string bean.

Then as a preteen and teen I leaned real hard into being a tomboy. At the time my idea of fighting the patriarchy was to ~not be like other girls~, but if I'd allowed myself to be truly honest with myself I would have recognized that i actually didn't feel all that happy wearing baggy, oversized clothing and being mistaken for a boy. There's nothing wrong with that, let me be clear. But to me it was either THIS or THAT. And wearing or doing anything "girly" was giving in to the patriarchy. And that's not a really healthy way to make life choices.

Obviously Cassie did the opposite, leaning way into "doing girl right," but we were both reacting to same principle: there's a right way to be a girl and there's a wrong way and you need to either gather or throw away what doesn't conform. I was looking for a fight. Cassie was looking to belong.

What broke this mentality for me was moving to an art school thousands of miles from the heteronormative white suburb I'd grown up in. I met so many different people with different experiences of the world. And wow! Lots of them had personal styles that weren't Boy or Girl or Popular Subgroup with Distinct Rules (when i was a teen it was emo, scene, punk, prep.) And I started to go "hey no one knows me here... maybe I could try on being sexy or girly or pretty or cutesy or dye my hair or shave my head. Maybe i can play. No one here cares, there's no one to fight."

But poor Cassie had to try to do her wobbly, awkward self-exploration in front of the world, while standing next to Dianna Prince and Donna Troy (and getting bullied at school.) Everything she did or didn't do with her self-presentation was automatically in conversation with their choices. And as one would expect, often her attempts ended up looking either painfully clumsy or "not herself."

In college I had a close friend and roommate (a lesbian - i was the "token straight" in my friend group which lol no i wasn't), whose style embodied feminine cuteness. She always wore heels and had perfect makeup and wore pretty long skirts. Like Cassie did with Cissie, I paid attention to how she put on her makeup and copied stuff. She gave me tips when I asked about it. I felt awkward and clumsy and self conscious (and looked it, too.) After a bit I moved on, took a little bit with me (a lot of it wasn't my thing and honestly felt like i was cosplaying someone else) and starting trying other stuff.

Over time I also became acquainted with the wider queer community and learned the gender binary was false to begin with. (God, I wish I'd known sooner.)

ANYWAY what ended up happening was that I pieced together a really comfortable, eclectic style that's first purpose is to make me happy. Sometimes I wear makeup. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes i look like a witch with tall edwardian boots. Sometimes I look kinda punk. Sometimes I look like I stepped out of a historical picture. Sometimes I *do* wear baggy oversized clothes. I have brightly dyed hair. I've tried an undercut, and pixies, and long hair and the bisexual bob. I wear a large hat and a leather jacket and heels. I wear sparkly nail polish and bright red lipstick and I absolutely don't gaf what shape my eyebrows are.

But that took years and years of saying "oooh I like that look" and going home and trying it on. (Sometimes with the additional queer head scratcher of "do I like this look or am I just attracted to this person?" Yeah, definitely not something i can imagine Cassie ever thinking lmao)

But funnily enough you wanna know what makes up the bulk of my outfits nowadays? T-shirt, leggings, comfy skirt, and leather or jean jacket. And comfy 1920s workboots. Why? It's comfy and I feel cute with very little effort!

Anyway, that's why i earnestly love Cassie's stylistic evolution and back and forth with femininity (even if I have to retrofit/reclaim some uhhh pretty sexist stuff from the people writing/drawing her.)

Because this girl? She looks like she looked in a mirror this morning and went "damn, I'm cute." She looks like she chose that skirt bc it's comfortable and fun to twirl in and for the snap the fabric makes when she's flying. She looks like she feels cool with that jacket on. She looks like she put that eyeliner on and went "fuckin nailed it" when she got the point she wanted.

[bl-bracket]

Round 1: Vegas (Kinnporsche: The Series) vs Yoo Sinbi (First Love Again)

[Submitted Reasons Under Cut]

Vegas: "The sheer cunt this man slays. He only needs to wear a silky or velvet top with a simple necklace gracefully draped over his collar bones, flash his cheekbones and you're done. But then this motherfucker actually gets covered in blood, sports a white suit, then a leather jacket, and makes sure he's dressed to the nines in a disco chic suit to start a coup. He also manages to make a plain t-shirt look hot? Wears his birthday suit well, also. Don't get me started on his waist; he deserved to be in at least one crop top. Vegas is a gay man who dresses like a classy masc lesbian. Half my wardrobe is inspired by him now. That's just on the fashion. I haven't even touched on the fact that he had his cousin's ex-boyfriend fake engaged to him while he was flirting with his ex's current boyfriend solely to frame him for the crime of being a mafia mole, while there's implications that he and the *actual* mole were possibly involved too? Mans was busy!"

Yoo Sinbi: "canonically nonbinary cat spirit, do i need to elaborate?"

[sharpth1ng]

Scream Wardrobe Hcs PT 4- Sidney Prescott

This is mostly based on her aesthetic in scream 1, it changes quite a lot after that (this is how I'm picturing her in debaser at least).

Mom Jeans

I'm not roasting her here, mid/high rise boot cut jeans were popular at the time and she looks hot in them

I'm thinking she goes for the levis 550 or 560

2. Overalls

I know for a fact that she has at least 2 pairs of these, she's a lesbian come on. Bonus, later in life she'll wear them with a bandana.

Also fml imagine how cute she would be in the oversize dickies ones (to the left) I can't

also idk why but these seem like final girl threads

3. A collection of cozy swearters from places like GAP, FILA and Tommy Hilfiger

Sid and Billy both have a GAP sweater that they pull down over their hands because thats what you do when you're closeted apparently

She mostly goes for lighter blues, purples and pinks

4. 90's girl brands like dELiA's (yes thats how the brand capitalized their name??) and Limited Too

She definitely used to go through the dELiA's catalogue with her mom to pick out back to school clothes every year (ok I made myself sad)

She wears a lot of high neck t-shirts and tank tops, plus some of those matching shirt+cardigan combos they used to sell

5. Corduroy and Denim Jackets

She hasn't upgraded to her final girl leather yet but omg look how cute the corduroy is

She always has chaptick and a little pack of tissues in the pockets and she will offer you some tissues if she sees you crying/sniffling

6. Hand me-downs from Tatum

Tatum likes to dress her up for parties and then decides she likes her clothing better on Sid so she just gives it to her

Every time this happens Sid is equally as embarrassed and flattered and constantly ends up doing that little look down/hair tuck thing she does

Sid would never have picked these out for herself but they do make her feel cool

Also these are both from dELiA's

7. Classic White Adidas & Leather boots

Pretty sure the boots are the Steve Maddens she wears in the movie and tbh I'm obsessed, she's ready to kick shit already, she's a beautiful butterfly waiting to emerge from her cocoon and kill her ex.

I like to imagine that she wasn't sure about buying them but Tatum hyped her up and they're her confidence boots now

But also my girl loves a white trainer, I think she's been wearing these forever and just always buys a new pair when they wear out. They're comfy but also cute and she's a practical girl.

8. Inexplicable grandma nightwear

sorry Sid, Billy was a gay bitch and he shouldn't have negged you like that but also WHAT IS THIS

Tatum thinks it's cute though

Why did I choose to pick out their underwear, I did it once so now I feel like I have to:

Sid is wearing fruit of the Loom briefs with her crisp white ankle socks and her grandma nightie and she will fucking kill you if you mess with her

More:

Randy

Billy

Stu

[headcanonsandmore]

‘Murder On The Dancefloor’ Chapter One

Summary: Tegan and Nyssa Jovanka-Traken are finally married, and off on their honeymoon (courtesy of the Thirteenth Doctor). However, the hotel-resort on a seemingly tranquil planet is not all that it appears...

(My first foray into the murder-mystery genre, including the version of Tegan and Nyssa from my 'Wedding Of The World' fic, although you won't need to read that fic before this one)

~~~~~~~

                                                   Read on AO3. 

~~~~~~~

‘Almost ready?’

Nyssa turned, smiling, to her wife. Tegan was grinning at her, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. As ever, the Australian looked effervescently beautiful, dimples in her cheeks as she smiled. She was wearing a pair of capri trousers and a stripey t-shirt. Unlike Nyssa, who had grown into her curves over the passing decades, Tegan had still retained that distinctively angular quality to her figure.

It drove Nyssa mad, and she loved it.

‘Very nearly, my darling,’ Nyssa replied, before zipping up her bag. ‘I still can’t believe this new face of the Doctor insisted on gifting us a honeymoon.’

‘Me neither’ -Tegan crossed the room, placing a kiss on Nyssa’s cheek and wrapping an arm around her waist- ‘I just hope they’ve picked a nice place; knowing what that time lord is like, we’ll end up on some frozen-over moon somewhere with a Dalek invasion happening.’

Nyssa giggled, leaning into her wife’s side.

Her wife.

Goodness, it was thrilling to finally refer to Tegan as that. After twenty years on Terminus, Nyssa had been reunited with Tegan and had settled with her back on Earth. That had been over ten years ago now, but they had unfortunately had to wait until Australia had formally recognised marriage equality. They had basically been married for a long time before that, but it felt good for it to be… official.

Even better was that Nyssa’s children, Neeka and Adric, had been there to witness it. Both of them adored Tegan (who, in turn, adored them both). Both Neeka and Adric had been absolutely wonderful in their eagerness to help out in the run-up to the wedding, even helping Nyssa and Tegan choose what flowers they wanted. Eventually, they had decided on a selection of flowers that mixed Australian varieties with earth plants that reminded Nyssa of the fauna on Traken.

‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ Nyssa said, softly, pressing a quick kiss to Tegan’s cheek. ‘We’ve gone through worse.’

‘You’re telling me; I didn’t track you from halfway across the universe just to have us broken up after our wedding.’

‘Agreed,’ Nyssa said, giggling again. ‘Although I think the inclusion of that same time lord probably helped matters.’

‘Maybe a little,’ Tegan cheeked, squeezing Nyssa’s side. ‘It was nice to see that leather-jacket man again at the wedding; he’s a bit more sensible than the others we’ve met.’

‘You are a little harsh, Tegan.’

‘Can you blame me? Although, I have to admit, it was nice seeing the cricket man again. Surprised he cried that much, to be honest.’

Nyssa nodded.

‘I was talking to Yasmin about it during the reception; I think our Doctor was always worried that he’d let us down, so maybe he was glad to know that we’re both happy.’

‘I suppose,’ Tegan said, now nuzzling into Nyssa’s neck and pressing another kiss to her skin. ‘And I am happy, Nys. So happy.’

‘So am I, my darling,’ Nyssa said, cheeks dimpling as she smiled. ‘I feel like the luckiest person in the universe.’

‘Pretty sure the lucky one is me. I spent two decades thinking I’d never see you again.’

‘Tegan…’ Nyssa said, turning and slipping her hands around Tegan’s hips. ‘You know fully well that I spent those decades thinking the exact same thing.’

‘Fair point,’ Tegan said, grinning. ‘God, I can’t believe we’re married now. We sure took our time, didn’t we?’

‘Well, we could have been dating when we were travelling with the Doctor,’ Nyssa replied. ‘Only you didn’t seem to realise I was in love with you.’

‘In my defence, I was a repressed lesbian who was terrified to lose her best friend.’

Nyssa giggled, and pressed a kiss to her wife’s lips.

‘So… ready to go?’

‘Yes,’ Tegan replied. ‘Let’s go.’

                                                       *

 ‘I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times; for a Time Lord, the Doctor is terrible at punctuality.’

‘I’m sure they simply got the coordinates wrong by a few minutes.’

The two women were stood out in the back garden of their house. The Doctor had said that they would be arriving at roughly 10am, but it was now etching closer to 10.35 and still no Doctor.

‘Why does that surprise me?’ Tegan said, frowning a little. ‘You’d think they’d have improved since they’re now… wait, how much older is this one compared to old cricket boy?’

Nyssa tried not to laugh at the nickname.

‘I believe the Doctor’s current incarnation is approximately several thousand years older.’

‘Wait, really?’ Tegan exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. ‘I hope Yaz knows-’

There was the sound of ancient chains clanking, and the familiar blue box appeared on the lawn. The TARDIS seemed to grown somewhat over the years, because Nyssa definitely remembered it being a lot smaller.

The doors opened.

‘Heya!’

The latest face of the Doctor -a blonde person with a pronounced Yorkshire accent- bounded up to them, accompanied a few paces later by Yasmin Khan, who waved a hand in greeting.

‘Hello, Doctor,’ said Nyssa, smiling. ‘Hello, Yasmin; thank you both again for organising this for us.’

‘Least we could do!’ the Doctor replied, smiling as they gestured the couple to follow into the TARDIS. ‘You’re m’friends, after all; we couldn’t not give you a pressie!’

The TARDIS console room had changed a lot since the last time Nyssa had been inside it. The last time was when the leather-clad man had dropped her and Tegan back in Australia; the console room had been slightly dingy-looking with lots of coral. Now, the coral looked more like bright yellow stalagmites, with a shorter one sticking up from the central console. It was definitely more of a welcoming room; although, judging from what Nyssa had suspected about the time lords, maybe there had been a reason for the previous console room looking so rough.

‘I promise you,’ the Doctor said, grinning as they gestured widely with their hands. ‘You two are gonna have the best, most relaxing honeymoon ever!’

‘As long as we’ve not attacked by Daleks halfway though, I don’t care, Doc,’ Tegan said, an arm wrapped around Nyssa’s waist. ‘I just want to spend some quality time with my wife; no space shenanigans.’

The blonde time lord glared at her, brow now furrowed. Just for a moment, Nyssa thought she could almost see the same face that she and Tegan had known back when they had been travelling with the Doctor all those years ago.

The Doctor put their hands on their hips

‘Oy, don’t sass me, young lady!’

‘Big talk,’ Tegan cheeked. ‘Coming from someone who looks young enough to be my child. What are you, thirty-odd now, Doctor?’

The time lord spluttered in irritation for a second, before Yasmin laid a comforting hand on their shoulder.

‘You focus on the coordinates, love,’ she said, smiling kindly at her partner. ‘I’ll fill in Tegan and Nyssa on the details.’

The Doctor softened slightly as they looked at Yasmin, before nodding and heading over to the central console.

‘I’ve checked,’ Yasmin said, smiling cheerfully at Tegan and Nyssa. ‘Saatera is about as dangerous as a Welsh village on a rainy Sunday afternoon; you’ll love it.’

Tegan sighed.

‘Alright, fine,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Yaz; it’s just, given the Doctor’s track record-’

‘I know,’ Yasmin said, chuckling softly. ‘Understandable.’

Nyssa smiled.

‘Thank you, Yasmin,’ she said, shaking the young Yorkshirewoman by the hand. ‘Tegan may act tough, but I know that she appreciates it far more than she lets on.’

‘My pleasure,’ Yasmin said.

‘I don’t act that tough,’ Tegan said, sounding a little miffed. ‘I’m an Aussie; that’s just how I was raised.’

‘I know, my darling,’ Nyssa replied, pressing a kiss to her wife’s cheek. ‘And I love you for it.’

Looking suitably mollified, Tegan smiled, giving Nyssa a quick squeeze on the hip.

‘Oy!’ exclaimed the Doctor, from the central console, sounding annoyed. ‘None o’ that in here; your honeymoon hasn’t started yet!’

Tegan opened her mouth, no doubt to direct an acerbic comment back towards the Time Lord, but Nyssa gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and the Australian settled for an eye roll instead as the TARDIS began to shake around them.

                                                          *

 The hotel itself was gorgeous. A chic, prettily decorated building in the art nuevo style, it stood multiple stories high and as long as several football pitches. The main doors were large and sturdy, with gleaming glass windows. Large potted plants stood on both sides, with the pathway up to the main doors dotted with similar plants at regular intervals. The ground beneath Tegan’s feet was well-swept and beautiful, her shoes giving a crisp noise against the stone.

They had both said goodbye to the Doctor and Yaz; the Time Lord had parked the TARDIS on the front lawn. Normally, Tegan would have been worried about causing a scene but, since no staff member had appeared to demand the removal of the large blue box, it all seemed to be fine. The Doctor, hand in hand with Yaz, had promised that they would return to pick Tegan and Nyssa up in a few days. Tegan and Nyssa had then said their goodbyes, and the TARDIS had dematerialised.

Saatera seemed to be roughly similar to Earth, albeit with a planet-wide climate similar to the south of France; sunshine, mild humidity and the occasional threat of rain.

Pushing through the main doors, the two women emerged into a wide plaza, a huge welcome desk on the far side, with rich furnishings everywhere. The wallpaper was of a deep red, which complimented the shade of carpet. Polished marble columns ascended up towards the ceiling.

Tegan and Nyssa approached the main desk.

‘Good morning,’ said the receptionist. They were humanoid, with immaculately combed hair in a deep, lush purple. Their accent, to Tegan’s ears, sounded southern English. A tag on their shirt front indicated their given name to be Maximillian. ‘Mrs and Mrs Jovanka-Traken, I presume?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Nyssa said, leaning against the desk and smiling sweetly. ‘I believe our friend the Doctor has booked a room for us.’

‘The bridal suite, yes,’ replied Maximillian, handing over an immaculately designed silver key. ‘Would you like some assistance taking your bags up?’

‘Nah,’ Tegan said. ‘We’ll be fine; which floor is it on?’

‘The five; the lift is just through the main hall, at the far end.’

‘Thanks.’

The two women headed across the hall, trailing their wheely suitcases behind them.

‘So… floor five?’

‘Probably one of the Doctor’s little jokes,’ Nyssa said, pressing the button to call the lift.

‘Of course it bloody is,’ Tegan cheeked. Nyssa grinned, cheeks dimpling in the cute way Tegan had always loved. The Trakenite was wearing a simple blouse and skirt that really accentuated her-

Well, Tegan knew exactly what they accentuated. And Nyssa clearly knew it as well.

A few minutes later, the two of them were standing outside the bridal suite. Nyssa pushed open the door, and Tegan followed her inside.

‘Wow.’

A delicately and simply arranged room, the bridal suite was definitely “wow”; a large, immensely comfortable-looking bed was the centrepiece, as well as a sturdy oak desk and wardrobe, with assorted cabinets. A couple of dressing tables and a three-piece suite completed the room. Another door, half open, showed a beautifully made bathroom, complete with a free-standing bath.

‘Oh, goodness,’ Nyssa said, eyes widening in delight as she stepped into the centre of the room.

Tegan closed the door behind them, and moved her suitcase over to the side. She then turned and smiled over at her wife, leaning against the wall. The Trakenite was beaming as she turned to look at the Australian.

On Terminus and then on the planet she had been forced to stay on, Nyssa had been given basic rations as opposed to anything resembling decent meals. However, since arriving on Earth, she had lost her prior slight countenance. And the onset of the Trakenite equivalent to the menopause had accentuated her curves further.

It drove Tegan mad, and she loved it.

‘Tegan, what are doing?’

‘Well,’ Tegan said, her eyes slowly drawing up and down Nyssa’s form. ‘I suppose you could say I’m admiring the view.’

Nyssa’s face pinkened as she giggled.

‘Oh, stop it.’

‘Never,’ Tegan grinned, walking over and slipping her hands around her wife’s waist, giving Nyssa a gentle squeeze. ‘God, how am I this lucky?’

‘We both are,’ Nyssa said, fingers tracing softly over Tegan’s shoulders. ‘You are too critical of yourself.’

‘Well, if you insist,’ Tegan chuckled, before placing her lips softly against Nyssa’s.

They had kissed many times. Countless times. But every single one was more amazing than the last. Maybe Tegan was just being soppy, but she had found herself falling more and more in love with Nyssa every passing day that they shared together.

‘So…’ Nyssa said, slowly tracing a finger up and down Tegan’s spine. Tegan’s hands had already slipped down her wife’s lower back. She gave a gentle squeeze, causing the Trakenite to let out a soft squeal. ‘What do you say to the two of us starting our honeymoon in the traditional way?’

Tegan smirked, stomach beginning to fizz with anticipation.

‘The… traditional way?’

Nyssa grinned, her eyes sparkling.

With a sudden movement, Nyssa gently pushed Tegan back on the large bed behind them. With a delicious smirk, the Trakenite climbed astride her wife’s hips. With her long bushy hair dangling over her shoulders, Nyssa leaned forward and pressed another -far less chaste- kiss to Tegan’s lips.

‘Traditional way,’ she purred, against the Australian’s skin.

Tegan grinned, as Nyssa’s hands began to roam, up into Tegan’s hair and down towards her waist. This was shaping up to be a rather wonderful honeymoon.

                                                     *

 ‘Have you been enjoying your stay thus far?’

Tegan found herself blushing as she nodded in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she could Nyssa giving a very satisfied smirk.

The two of them were seated in the main hall for lunchtime. The weather was still bright outside, and sunshine was illuminating the entire place in a lovely warm glow. It had been several hours since the couple had arrived at the resort.

And those several hours had passed rather wonderfully.

‘Y-yeah,’ Tegan said. ‘Lovely room. Is the hotel well established, then?’

‘It’s our first season,’ replied Maximillian. ‘You and your wife are actually the first guests we’ve received, outside of the board of directors.’

Maximillian indicated a small party of people, sat on a long table further along the room. They were all facing slightly away from where Tegan and Nyssa were sat, giving the two women a good view of each individual person. All of them looked similar to humans but Tegan knew that could mean anything, given the different life spans of humanoid species in the universe. For goodness’ sake, Nyssa wasn’t even human, despite all appearances to the contrary.

‘It must have taken a while to organise the construction of the hotel,’ Nyssa said, speaking to Maximillian.

‘Yes,’ replied the man. He leant over, so that only Tegan and Nyssa could hear him. ‘By the sounds of it, it was a laborious task, and I don’t just mean the actual building process. The shareholders do not get along.’

Tegan stared at the various people lounging on chairs. It was true that none of them seemed especially thrilled to be around one another.

‘That older gentleman there,’-Maximillian gestured subtly to a man dressed in a tweed jacket and matching trousers- ‘is the main business partner; Victor Crudgeonleigh. Very wealthy; most of the capital for the resort was raised by him.’

‘He looks a bit like an old army man,’ Tegan muttered, noticing Crudgeonleigh’s bald head and huge moustache.

‘You would think so, but he doesn’t talk about his past,’ Maximillian replied, now sitting down on a seat next to Tegan. ‘It’s rumoured that he won his fortune in the casinos of the Andromeda Galaxy.’

‘And the slightly younger man to his left?’ Nyssa asked.

‘Alex Alexson; he’s a local bigwig in the area. His family have owned much of the land for generations. It’s thanks to him that the resort was able to choose its location here-’

At that moment, the main doors slammed open, and a woman strolled through. She was tall and statuesque, with a bop of ash-blonde hair atop a head that seemed chiselled like marble. She was wearing a short mini-dress, with a fluffy mink coat draped across her shoulders. A cigarette-holder was in one hand, while the other carried a dark clutch-bag.

The woman breezed past Tegan, Nyssa and Maximillian without so much as a glance, before settling down in a chair next to Crudgeonleigh. After placing the clutch bag on the adjacent table, she draped one leg over the other and drew on her cigarette with a lazy, polished air.

‘Tania Swoosh, I presume?’ barked Crudgeonleigh, with an irritated expression. ‘I take it you have a good reason to keep us waiting.’

Swoosh blew out a ring of smoke, her jaw fixed in a confident expression.

‘Being fashionably late is my forte,’ she replied, with a slight wiggle of her head. ‘And, yes, you may presume.’

‘Oh, stop being melodramatic, Tania’ said Alexson, an attempt at an ingratiating smile on his face. ‘How are you, my dear?’

‘Can’t complain, old boy,’ she replied. ‘Rather nice place, this resort. Although I should hope so, given the amount of money a certain man has helped pour into it.’

Tegan guessed she was not referring to Crudgeonleigh.

‘Did the letter not say why you were invited?’ Alexson asked.

‘Not a jot,’ Swoosh said, with a shrug. ‘But I suppose that’s to be expected. He called me, and here I am. Like a prize cat he bribes with treats.’

‘And the treat is…’

Swoosh took another draw on her cigarette.

‘No explanation on the letter; therefore, it’s a mystery. And I love a mystery.’

At this moment, Crudgeonleigh looked down at his watch, looking irritated.

‘Where is that man? Tapper!’

A man appeared through the doors on the far side of the hall. He seemed to be a few years younger than the other members of the board, but his face was prematurely lined. He wore a simple suit, and his shirt collar has been ironed neatly, albeit in somewhat of a hurry.

‘The old butler to the lead board-member,’ Maximillian said, in a whisper to Tegan and Nyssa.

‘Hello, Rudolf,’ Swoosh said, as the man sat down in a seat. ‘I see you’re still following my ex-husband around.’

Tegan and Nyssa shared a look.

Ex-husband?

The doors opened again, and another man stepped through.

He was old, with a large pounce that strained at the jacket of his suit. He was balding, with a bad combover. A pair of horn-rimmed spectacles were perched on his nose. His shoes were well-polished and hit the floor beneath his feet with a sharp clack each time.

‘Frederick Finchley!’ exclaimed Alexson, standing to his feet. ‘As I live and breathe, how are you, good fellow?’

Finchley smiled as he approached, and shook Alexson’s hand.

‘Very well, thank you, old friend,’ he replied, smiling. ‘Are we all here? Ah, Tania, how good to see you again.’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Swoosh replied, before drawing on her cigarette. ‘I take it you will explain why I’ve been dragged away from my estates in the Spiral Galaxy? I trust it wasn’t just for pleasantries.’

‘I will once the reverend joins us; he and I were just discussing the finer points of gentlemen’s tailoring.’

The doors opened again, and into the hall strode a man dressed in back, with a small goatee beard. He looked vaguely familiar, and Tegan wondered if she had met him before.

Oh, well.

‘My friends!’ Finchley declared, smiling at the other shareholders. ‘I have called you here today for a special purpose; I am pleased to announce that I would like to offer each of you the final shares in the resort… my shares, to be specific!’

 ~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you enjoyed it!

[caroldantops]

The Marvels was great. 10/10. Only thing is I wish they would’ve had Carol be more grunge like in the first movie. I know I know it’s been like 30 years and a lot has changed but it was such a good look and I literally went crazy over her in Cap Marvel with that leather jacket and the NIN shirt 😵‍💫

tbf we only see her in her laying around her spaceship look and her suit! but also i for one am all for carol being That Lesbian who exclusively wears t shirts and basketball shorts everywhere

[i-mybrunettelady]

motion, road, roots, favourite and change for cass and alternate for the three commanders in a modern day au <3

Ayy <3 Will do three Commanders first!

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU! // modern AU

Nyra always has this vibe of confidence and power to her, but also simplicity, with some drama. Her clothing in any AU wants to get heads turning her way, but also she uses herself as the main selling point to get the impression across, if that makes sense? She's also not very revealing in her clothing, so modern AU Nyra can absolutely be seen in jeans and tight fitting t-shirts that go as high as her collarbones, or even turtlenecks. She owns one (1) leather jacket and one (1) pair of combat boots, probably.

But the main thing is that she's also a suit-wearer, coat and suit wearer. She'd unironically wear a suit. Think something like this.

El is equally slutty in canon and in modern AU. He'd still rock thigh highs, boob windows, booty shorts, fishnets, all the drama. Lots of jewelry. Has his hair in a manbun. He wants people to look at him; he wants attention; he wants people to see how comfortable in his body and sexuality he is. (And I don't mean the fact he's gay - sexuality as a whole.) Cares equally little for decorum.

That being said, since modern AU El is a uni professor, he does dress somewhat more academically at work, but still in vibrant colors and popping details that make him, him.

Likewise, Ren preserves her love of fashion and femininity. She loves the color pink, so I imagine her in flowery tops, skirts (not necessarily miniskirts - I think she'd go more for an under the knee length), lacy shirts and heels.

She'd also go for a more timeless and classy look, cocktail dresses, a small black dress. Nails are always on point and done, not really long, but not short either (discounting the lesbian nails, of course.)

Cassposting on main

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Cass is one graceful bastard. The way I see it, he always moves as if he's about to run, or at least be able to easily spring into a run. He's also a long bastard, so his steps are very big and he walks kinda fast. It's very hard to walk beside him sometimes. He also moves with absolute awareness of his height, because he doesn't feel like hitting his head against something. He's also kinda flexible too.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

I only have vague details here, unfortunately. What I do know is that his clothes and gear are patched as shit. He wears something until it's absolutely falling apart. His pants are always too short and reveal his ankles. He also has a hard time finding a big enough boot so he wears what he can find until it's in fucking tatters. (Honestly, it's just the fact that he's big, just all around big, and has appropriately big hands and feet. Cons of being a giant I suppose. Zenaida, provide your contracted Wayfarer with high quality clothes and replacements for them.)

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

When he was living in Vodena, he had long hair, as is fashionable; when he moved to the Spire, he kept his hair short and started growing it out near graduation. He's kept it long since and the absolute longest it's been is waist-length, which is what he has up until episode 2, where he cuts 1/3rd of it off because Rona absolutely devastated it and he hadn't really had the time and resources to properly take care of it. Right now, his hair is boob length.

He had both tattoos done between the fall of the Spire and meeting with Aeran in Karth. They're pretty big tattoos, two half-sleeves, and plans on getting more inked in the future, with at least one whole tattoo sleeve.

As I mentioned in the Discord server once, his tattoos are a sign of his love for places and people. He doesn't just get them done for the sake of having tats; he wants memories on his skin, and reminders of love, which comes rarely to him. Every tattoo he gets means something to him, although not everyone will get an explanation as to what exactly.

And uhh.. his feelings on his hair are... a lot. It's been a source of shame, reclamation, pride, comfort and beauty to him throughout the years. His hair is a straight up narrative element to his story, I swear! He wouldn't change it for anything. And good luck trying to get him to have short hair again.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

I may have mentioned in passing, somewhere, that if he had all the money in the world and was able to dress however he pleased, he would end up with a look that's very Vestran in vibe. In my personal headcanon, Vestrans aren't as flashy with their clothing as opposed to Arathians, who absolutely have had an influence on Vestran fashion, so things are changing a bit, but y'know. The vibe is still there - Vestra is still its own culture.

Only thing he's able to realistically do about this is with hair. He's had a lot of practical braids that are just very inspired by him going all around the country during the civil war. He doesn't flaunt it, but if you're familiar with the way Vestrans style their hair, you're defo gonna be able to see it in the hairstyles Cass wears.

[calyxthenerd]

the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color

“I gotta say, when I found out Marinette was gonna be swamped with a project, I was kinda nervous about going to Pride with her friends when she wasn’t there, but you guys are awesome!” Aurore admitted, twirling around in her white sundress, the lesbian flag tied around her back flowing with the movement

“It’s chill, I almost didn’t come because Mari wasn’t coming either, and then Nino got sick, Marc and Nathaniel holed themselves inside because it’s too sensorially heavy for them, Sabrina and Chloe are in the New York Pride right now, Mylene and Ivan are all the way in the front, leading the protest side of things, you must know where Mireille is better than I do” she smirks “Kim broke his leg last week and Max is with him, since both their parents are busy and he needs help getting around, Felix took Adrien and Kagami to London for Pride because apparently “it’s the best place to experience their first one” so it’s just us, but we’ll have fun anyways!” Alya replied, checking the Bi hearts she got done in the booth behind them and smiling at her “I put the bi in bad bitch” shirt she got on Etsy, she also had on some jeans and sneakers, with a flannel around her waist

“We should split up! I want to see how many hot dogs I can eat in ten minutes!” Alix exclaimed, they had on some regular sneakers and basketball shorts, they also had on a shirt that said “don’t hit on or misgender me unless you want to get decked” and in the bottom, in smaller letters “and not in a kinky way” and a backwards cap with a clock pattern in the aro flag colors, with a nonbinary pin and a they/them pin on it, all commissioned from Marinette

“It would be best to divide ourselves in groups, based on what we’re interested in seeing today” Luka chimed in, he decided to take some notes from his dad’s fashion sense and wear bell bottom leather pants and a jacket, both with a fade of the bi flag colors and lots of sparkles, he had nothing on underneath the jacket, he settled with combat boots for shoes

“Yeah, I really want to check out the artist booths, i promised Nath and Marc that I’d stop by later with something for them, and I want to get some stuff for myself too” Zoe added, she had a black shirt with “I’m pan, I’m autistic and I like to draw, just like our lord and savior Rapunzel” in white, with a picture of Disney’s Rapunzel on the bottom, a white flowy skirt and a jean jacket with the pan flag stitched on the back

“I agree with what Lulu said” Juleka mumbled, she and Rose decided to go in cosplay, because they thought it would be fun, so she tied her hair in space buns and put on a large dress with long sleeves and a black vest with grey stripes and strapped several throwing knifes to her body, no one but Rose and Luka knows where they are

“Yeah!! I really want to see Jagged play later!” Rose had on a pink crop top with long, puff sleeves, and some frills in a darker shade of pink on the collar, and pink Turkish trousers, she also put on a long brown wig in a braid, and some brown contacts

“We’re gonna see it on the best seats anyways, since we have both his kids with us right now” Alix smirked

“Okay, back on the main topic, who wants to do what?” Alya piped in

“I’m taking Jules and Rose to the artist booths, Zoe can come with us?” The older boy looks at her, she nods, grabbing on to his offered arm “so you don’t get swept a way from the crowd” he said and her cheeks flush slightly as the girls start giggling and whispering to themselves, they then head out for their destination

“Cool, now that that’s settled, I’m gonna go record Alix making themself sick by eating so much” the bespectacled girl stated, dragging her pink haired friend away

“I’m gonna go up to the front to interview the activists up there” Aurore says, to no one in particular, since the rest of the group had already left, before setting off

—————————————————————

“Who thinks I can’t eat 30 hot dogs in ten minutes?” Alix hollers, everyone in the immediate vicinity of the hot dog stand, who’s owner happened to be their cousin, that’s the only reason there were 30 hot dogs for them to eat, turns their head, Alya standing off to the side, recording it all

“I bet you can’t!” a teenager in the background challenges, and as the crowd parted, it was revealed to be Kim, on rainbow crutches and an Uranic flag hoodie with basketball shorts, Max sitting on his shoulder, wearing a matching hoodie and an ace bandana around his neck, paired with jeans, reading Radio Silence by Alice Oseman

“Kim-man! You’re here!” Alix runs and almost jumps on him before Max whistles, making them stop, yeah, he pavloved his jocks into stopping when they were about to do something so stupid he couldn’t get them out of the following mess

“‘Lix, he’s got a broken leg, he doesn’t need you to mess with his balance” the young genius chastises

“But you’re sitting on his shoulder?” they frown

“He literally begged me to, and it’s the easiest way to sit down and read a book while keeping an eye on him and not losing him in a crowd, you can get your hot dogs to go and climb on the other one and we can find a better place for it, Alya, I assume you’ll be coming too?” he explained

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world, we could swing by the Luxembourg Garden to shoot it?” Alya wondered aloud

“Alya, we’re just finding a spot that isn’t crowded and shooting it there” Alix said, having already gotten her hotdogs and climbed on Kim’s other shoulder, and they walked off, with Alya scrambling to follow as she filmed

—————————————————————

“Look Kaka, those earrings are so pretty!!!” Rose tugs her girlfriend along to a stand selling jewelry

“Yes, they’re really pretty, blossom” she follows along

“So Zoe, what kind of thing of art do you like doing?” Luka asks

“I- uhm- I like spray painting, doodling in my sneakers and in the corners of textbooks, but my main thing is acting and play writing, I went to Broadway with my dad every time there was a show on, back in New York” she rambles, flustered, trying not to oggle at his chest

“I bet you look really pretty onsta-“

“Hey look, it’s a whore and a bisexual who doesn’t want to recognize it!” someone yells, from a group that was passing by them, but unfortunately for them, Rose heard it, and she turned on her heels, zeroing on the guy who said it

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” She narrowed her eyes

“I said, he’s a whore and she’s a bisexual who doesn’t want to admit it, you bimbo” and that’s when Juleka, who was unsheathing one of the, very much real, knives she was carrying, pounced, slashing the guy’s arm with a snarl, after that, it dissolved into chaos, making even Aurore, who was interviewing an activist nearby, turn around and try to stop it

That’s how Alya, together with a very joyful Anarka Couffaine wound up at the police station to pick up the five teens, as Alix got a stomachache from all the hotdogs and Kim and Max had to take her home, Juleka had one of her space buns on her forehead and the other on top of her ear, nursing a few scratches and a bruise in her collarbone, in addition to the bruised knuckles all of them had, Zoe had black eye and a split lip, Luka had some bruises on his ribs, peaking out from under his jacket, Rose had a green looking bruise on her cheekbone, her wig was half falling off and her top was almost torn down the middle, only being held by a thread

And that’s the story of the first time this weird group got arrested together (but definitely not the last) and how Zoe and Luka got together in a holding cell while they were waiting for someone to pick them up, and that became a love story for the ages

[gatheringbones]

["Many leather queens presently live in large concentrations in a small area of the San Francisco Gay ghetto, an area known in Gay slang as the "Leather Belt." They parody the supermasculine role so often expected of men by publicly displaying themselves in tight leather jackets and tight leather pants, dark glasses, and slick-down hair. This all sounds "masculine" enough, but it is accompanied by high-pitched voices, limp wrists, a positively swishy walk, gossiping, and touching each other in a "feminine" manner, and a complete lack of visible body muscle. Sometimes the black leather pants are missing a round shape over the ass, displaying saggy grey long johns to complete the disturbing, clownish effect. But what else can you expect from people who refer to the draft as "Uncle Samantha's meat call"?

The second gay cultural characterization and parody of "masculinity" is in the Lesbian butch as she appears in Gay bar society especially and in the Lesbian street ghettos and on Halloween, when she will add a mustache to the black leather jacket, boots, slicked-down hair, T-shirt, tattoo, and wad of keys hanging at the belt. Having muscles (or wishing to have them) and walking in big strides are part of the butch role for women, making it all the more of a shock when the observer sees or hears that what is so obviously "he" is really "she." These two extremes of "role remodeling" are acted out in full by only a tiny number of Gay people, and usually only for that segment of their lives when they are passing through the Gay underground culture and are trying out different social attitudes learned from other members of Gay culture. Most of the time when Gay men use the word butch about themselves they are talking about much more minutely leatherish (or even tweedish) characteristics, such as an extra thick watchband. But when we observe the extreme butch and leather queen postures acted out, we can use them to separate characteristics from gender and begin to perceive the basis of this society's ideas of "masculinity" and "control, authority, strength."

And of course, social values influence how freely expressive the individual Gay person can be. One of my lovers had a long-legged, dykely stride to match her gestures, posture, low-pitched throaty voice, and general butch character until she was eleven or twelve. At that time her aunt and her mother cornered her and tied a rope between her ankles to teach her to "walk like a girl." After a week of this torment, her natural walk became a jolting, caught-up-short lurch that made her otherwise graceful body look as though she were about to fall over as she walked along. She hated this crippling, referring to it as "the time they hobbled me," but by the time she grew up it was permanent and she could not walk any other way."]

judy grahn, from another mother tongue: gay words, gay worlds, 1984

[bbg100]

My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix", published in 1994. Susan Stryker.

---

During the performance, I stood at the podium wearing genderfuck drag-combat boots, threadbare Levi 501s over a black lace body suit, a shredded Transgender Nation T-shirt with the neck and sleeves cut out, a pink triangle quartz crystal pendant, grunge metal jewelry, arid a six-inch long marlin hook dangling around my neck on a length of heavy stainless steel chain. I decorated the set by draping my black leather hiker jacket over my chair at the panelists’ table. The jacket had handcuffs on the left shoulder, rainbow freedom rings on the right side lacings, and Queer Nation-style stickers reading SEX CHANGE, DYKE, and FUCK YOUR TRANSPHOBIA plastered on the back.

(Pictured: Not that performance.)

Monologue:

The transsexual body is an unnatural body. It is the product of medical science. It is a technological construction. It is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than that in which it was born. In these circumstances, I find a deep affinity between myself as a transsexual woman and the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Like the monster, I am too often perceived as less than fully human due to the means of my embodiment; like the monster’s as well, my exclusion from human community fuels a deep and abiding rage in me that I, like the monster, direct against the conditions in which I must struggle to exist.

I am not the first to link Frankenstein’s monster and the transsexual body. Mary Daly makes the connection explicit by discussing transsexuality in “Boundary Violation and the Frankenstein Phenomenon,” in which she characterizes transsexuals as the agents of a “necrophilic invasion’’ of female space (69-72). Janice Raymond, who acknowledges Daly as a formative influence, is less direct when she says that “the problem of transsexuality would best be served by morally mandating it out of existence,” but in this statement she nevertheless echoes Victor Frankenstein's feelings toward the monster :

“Begone, vile insect, or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust. You reproach me with your creation” (Raymond 178; Shelley 95).

It is a commonplace of literary criticism to note that Frankenstein’s monster is his own dark, romantic double, the alien Other he constructs and upon which he projects all he cannot accept in himself; indeed, Frankenstein calls the monster

‘‘my own vampire, my own spirit set loose from the grave” (Shelley 74).

Might I suggest that Daly, Raymond and others of their ilk similarly construct the transsexual as their own particular golem?’

The attribution of monstrosity remains a palpable characteristic of most lesbian and gay representations of transsexuality , displaying in unnerving detail the anxious, fearful underside of the current cultural fascination with transgenderism. Because transsexuality more than any other transgender practice or identity represents the prospect of destabilizing the foundational presupposition of fixed genders upon which a politics of personal identity depends, people who have invested their aspirations for social justice in identitarian movements say things about us out of sheer panic that, if said of other minorities, would see print only in the most hate-riddled, white supremacist, Christian fascist rags. To quote extensively from one letter to the editor of a popular San Francisco gay /lesbian periodical:

"I consider transsexualism to be a fraud, and the participants in it . . . perverted. The transsexual [claims] he/she needs to change his/her body in order to be his/her “true self.” Because this “true self’ requires another physical form in which to manifest itself, it must therefore war with nature. One cannot change one’s gender. What occurs is a cleverly manipulated exterior: what has been done is mutation. What exists beneath the deformed surface is the same person who was there prior to the deformity. People who break or deform their bodies [act] out the sick farce of a deluded, patriarchal approach to nature, alienated from true being."

Referring by name to one particular person, self-identified as a transsexual lesbian, whom she had heard speak in a public forum at the San Francisco Women’s Building, the letter-writer went on to say:

"When an estrogenated man with breasts loves a woman, that is not lesbianism, that is mutilated perversion. [This individual] is not a threat to the lesbian community, he is an outrage to us. He is not a lesbian, he is a mutant man, a self-made freak, a deformity, an insult. He deserves a slap in the face. After that, he deserves to have his body and mind made well again."

When such beings as these tell me I war with nature, I find no more reason to mourn my opposition to them-or to the order they claim to represent than Frankenstein’s monster felt in its enmity to the human race. I do not fall from the grace of their company-I roar gleefully away from it like a Harley-straddling, dildo-packing leatherdyke from hell.

The stigmatization fostered by this sort of pejorative labelling is not without consequence. Such words have the power to destroy transsexual lives. On January 5, 1993, a 22-year-old pre-operative transsexual woman from Seattle, Filisa Vistima, wrote in her journal, “I wish I was anatomically ‘normal’ so I could go swimming. . . . But no, I’m a mutant, Frankenstein’s monster.”

Two months later Filisa Vistima committed suicide. What drove her to such despair was the exclusion she experienced in Seattle’s queer community, some members of which opposed Filisa’s participation because of her transsexuality- even though she identified as and lived as a bisexual woman. The Lesbian Resource Center where she served as a volunteer conducted a survey of its constituency to determine whether it should stop offering services to male-to-female transsexuals. Filisa did the data entry for tabulating the survey results; she didn’t have to imagine how people felt about her kind.

The Seattle Bisexual Women’s Network announced that if it admitted transsexuals the SRWN would no longer be a women’s organization. “‘I’m sure, one member said in reference to the inclusion of bisexual transsexual women, “the boys can take care of themselves.” Filisa Vistima was not a boy, and she found it impossible to take care of herself. Even in death she found no support from the community in which she claimed membership. “Why didn’t Filisa commit herself for psychiatric care?” asked a columnist in the Seattle Gay News. “Why didn’t Filisa demand her civil rights?” In this case, not only did the angry villagers hound their monster to the edge of town, they reproached her for being vulnerable to the torches. Did Filisa Vistima commit suicide, or did the queer community of Seattle kill her?’

I want to lay claim to the dark power of my monstrous identity without using it as a weapon against others or being wounded by it myself. I will say this as bluntly as I know how: I am a transsexual, and therefore I am a monster. Just as the words “dyke,” “fag,” “queer,” “slut,” and “whore” have been reclaimed, respectively, by lesbians and gay men, by anti-assimilationist sexual minorities, by women who pursue erotic pleasure, and by sex industry workers, words like "creature", "monster" and "unnatural" need to be reclaimed by the transgendered.

By embracing and accepting them, even piling one on top of another, we may dispel their ability to harm us. A creature, after all, in the dominant tradition of Western European culture, is nothing other than a created being, a made thing. The affront you humans take at heing called a “creature” results from the threat the term poses to your status as “lords of creation,” beings elevated above mere material existence. As in the case of being called “it,” being called a “creature” suggests the lack or loss of a superior personhood. I find no shame, however, in acknowledging my egalitarian relationship with non-human material Being; everything emerges from the same matrix of possibilities. “Monster” is derived from the Latin noun monstrum, “divine portent,” itself formed on the root of the verb monere, “to warn.” It came to refer to living things of anomalous shape or structure, or to fabulous creatures like the sphinx who were composed of strikingly incongruous parts, because the ancients considered the appearance of such beings to be a sign of some impending supernatural event.

Monsters, like angels, functioned as messengers and heralds of the extraordinary. They served to announce impending revelation, saying, in effect, “Pay attention; something of profound importance is happening.”

Hearken unto me, fellow creatures. I who have dwelt in a form unmatched with my desire, I whose flesh has become an assemblage of incongruous anatomical parts, I who achieve the similitude of a natural body only through an unnatural process, I offer you this warning: the Nature you bedevil me with is a lie. Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense. You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic womb has birthed us both. I call upon you to investigate your nature as I have been compelled to confront mine. I challenge you to risk abjection and flourish as well as have I. Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.

[bl-bracket]

Round 3: Tiffy (Lovely Writer) vs Vegas (Kinnporsche: The Series)

[Submitted Reasons Under Cut]

Tiffy: "she's just so hot and she rides a motorbike what's more gender than that"

Vegas: "The sheer cunt this man slays. He only needs to wear a silky or velvet top with a simple necklace gracefully draped over his collar bones, flash his cheekbones and you're done. But then this motherfucker actually gets covered in blood, sports a white suit, then a leather jacket, and makes sure he's dressed to the nines in a disco chic suit to start a coup. He also manages to make a plain t-shirt look hot? Wears his birthday suit well, also. Don't get me started on his waist; he deserved to be in at least one crop top. Vegas is a gay man who dresses like a classy masc lesbian. Half my wardrobe is inspired by him now. That's just on the fashion. I haven't even touched on the fact that he had his cousin's ex-boyfriend fake engaged to him while he was flirting with his ex's current boyfriend solely to frame him for the crime of being a mafia mole, while there's implications that he and the *actual* mole were possibly involved too? Mans was busy!"

[pronouncingitwang]

[image text:

Alice Y. Hom In the Mind of An/Other

I often wonder what white lesbians think when I walk into a lesbian nightclub. Am I the first Asian Pacific lesbian they have seen? Do I exist in their minds? Do they see me as an exotic sex kitten or as a submissive/passive plaything as perpetuated and manipulated by the media? Do the stereotypes of Suzy Wong, of prostitutes, and of geisha girls in the mainstream heterosexual world become transposed and translated into the dyke world? Do the images of an obedient domestic or meek, unassertive girl come to mind? Am I a tasty treat dim sum to be sampled and an hour later they are hungry again? Do they see me as butch, femme, or androgynous? As a woman of color does that mean I am a better lover than my white counterpart? Will my exoticism make her come better? Maybe they are surprised to see me because Asian Pacific women stereotypes are so ingrained in the heterosexual context that Asian Pacific lesbians do not even come to mind. Considering the power of social conditioning it would not surprise me if the stereotypes about Asian Pacific women are internalized and believed by lesbians.

What do they think?

Once my Korean dyke friend and I were accosted by a white lesbian at Crystal Images, a Connecticut lesbian bar. We are minding our own business, watching the women dance and my vision is temporarily blocked by a woman with her hands in a prayer position, bowing and murmuring, "An-yo." We stare blankly at her and she asks if we understand Korean. "All Asians look alike," was the thought that raced through my mind. "No, I've been colonized and led to believe that English is the only acceptable language. So much so that I cannot hold a decent conversation with my parents in Chinese." She went on to say that she had some Asian friends and that they were "just the cutest things, small and dainty like China Dolls." "Fuck you!" flashed through my mind. I went to this bar to be empowered with other lesbians and I was disappointed. I did not have that validating experience I sought. I was not in the mood to educate (I'm tired of educating white women). I did not want to waste my breath on unhearing ears.

What did she think?

When I am in a lesbian club or bar I am always scoping. If I am not dancing, I like to watch. I take it all in with a sweeping glance, the sweaty, undulating clothed and black lace bra clad bodies on the stage and dance floor swaying to the backbeat of house music. It is another world, far away from the dry, sterile, mainly heterosexual academic environment that I live and breathe during the day. I feel good to be in this atmosphere of women prancing, pressing and thrusting at each other, arms and legs touching everywhere. My face is flushed with energy and streaked with sweat as two women sandwich me, laughing and losing balance as they freak with me. We fall to the floor like dominoes, my back leaning against one and the other on top. A new position. My eyes wander to a short-haired woman, skimming over the torn jeans cuffed above big black shoes and white T-shirt neatly tucked in by the big black belt and covered by the ubiquitous black leather black, jacket. She looks like me. I notice all the short-haired women brown, red, grey, and blonde and dyed. My fetish for short hair is well- known amongst my friends. They tease me about it because they say that I want to go out with myself. An element of narcissism always pops up in same sex couplings.

What do I think?

I ventured into Girl Bar, a Los Angeles lesbian club, for the first time and saw around twelve lesbians of color out of 100, which made me sort of happy. At least there was a representation of color. Creamy-white clubs make me feel uncomfortable and different. I saw another Asian Pacific lesbian and we looked at each other but that was it. Did she see me as competition? Did she turn away for fear of being identified with another Asian Pacific lesbian? Did she think she was the only Asian Pacific lesbian, as I sometimes have felt when I go to new places? Was she happy to see me, as another sister in the sometimes white, alienating dykedom? I am always excited when I see another Asian Pacific lesbian because it makes me feel less lonely. I realize that there are others like me who face similar experiences. Yet, I was afraid to approach her because of my own insecurity. Many of us are caught in the process of de-colonizing our minds that have been fucked up by dominant society and culture. Internalized self-hate causes some Asian Pacific lesbians to turn away or run when they encounter other Asian Pacific lesbians.

What does she think?

The majority of lesbian literature and culture portrays only white lesbians. Sappho is nice but she does not represent me. Images of lesbians of colour are minimal. Even when we are represented (see the November/December 1990 issue of On Our Backs with Kitty Tsui) there is a distinct reification of her exotica in that erotica. The caption highlighted her great popularity with the readers. I read it as proof that Kitty is seen as an exotic "other." A double invisibility shrouds the Asian Pacific lesbian. Although snow queens and rice queens are more visible in gay clubs, I would argue that there are snow dykes and rice dykes out there in lesbianland. My Asian dyke friend does not go out with other Asians. She does not find them attractive because she grew up in a white neighborhood believing that she was not attractive. Self-contempt is "natural" for the lesbian of color given the dominant culture's overpowering influence in all aspects of our lives. Media, books, magazines, schools, and people interact to create a system where dominant culture (read white) remains in power. is a common sight to see Asian Pacific lesbians at clubs and rallies, where we notice each other but we actively and consciously remain distant. We mirror each other, but we are afraid to look in. We are magnets that should be attracted to each other, but we are polarized.

What do we think?

I go home and my mom comments on my short hair. She says in Chinese that I look like a boy. In the same breath, she presses the same old line that I should only go out with Chinese boys. My oldest sister echoes her sentiments. "I bet you have a lot of white boyfriends," says she. "No way!" I answer honestly, smirking and throwing a knowing glance to my other sisters that know. Will they accept a nice Chinese girl? My family knows that I am different, especially from my appearance. I get insinuating remarks about my genderfuck look but my sexuality is never questioned. I walk in greeting my mother's friends and they exclaim in unison Chinese, "Oh, so this is the daughter that has been away to college. She is so pretty and smart." But I catch their eyes scrutinizing my butch/androgynous attire and I see their surprise as I am introduced as a daughter and not a son.

What do they think?

An Asian Pacific lesbian faces an alienating lesbian community and a hostile Asian Pacific community. The Asian Pacific community denies her existence and the lesbian community does not validate her existence. I am homeless. I want acceptance from both communities. I want both communities to understand my experience. I cannot separate the various identities that I possess in order for approval. Both communities must realize and acknowledge that Asian Pacific lesbians have played an active role in shaping and implementing their agendas. And tokenism will not be accepted. While I am waiting for both communities to get their respective acts together, I am finding empowerment and validation in Asian Pacific lesbian groups and with other lesbians of color. We look to each other for support and guidance.

What do you think?

/end ID]

Source: The Very Inside; An Anthology of Writing by Asian and Pacific Islander Lesbians and Bisexual Women - Edited by Sharon Lim-Hing

[khaleesitargaryenvoice]

The Game: Stranger Things 4 way

So this is pure smut. an idea i had while playing a game of Uno. Please enjoy. it ends a little abruptly. This is a one shot. 

18+ to read. Minors be warned. 

Eddie x Fem Reader x Robin x Steve

TW: P in V. Oral (M & F receive) 4 way. masturbation. doggy style. lesbian. bisexual. cum eating. cream pie. 

“Uno?” Steve raises a brow as the box lands on the coffee table with a soft thud. 

“I can’t find my cards, but this will be just as entertaining.” I smirk. 

Steve, Robin, Eddie and I are gathered around my coffee table. My parents are out of town so, I decided to have a few friends over to keep me company. We are high and a little tipsy from the cheap booze Steve brought. Robin thought it would be fun to play a game. Eddie is the one who suggested poker. I take a sip of the bitter drink, wincing as it slides down my throat. Steve begins shuffling, a little annoyed with the idea of the game. We begin playing a few rounds. I’m a champion, as usual. I smirk as I claim another victory. 

“Now I see why you’re single. You just sit here and play Uno all the time.” Steve jabs, taking a swig of the drink. 

I grab the joint from Eddie’s fingers, pulling it to my lips. I flip Harrington the bird. Robin and Eddie laugh. I release the puff of smoke into the air. I slip Eddie the joint again. He takes the next hit. 

“You’re just mad that I keep winning.” I stick my tongue out. “We could always make this more interesting if you want, big boy.” I tease him, leaning across the table. 

My cleavage hanging from my top. My boobs threatening to spill from the flimsy fabric. Eddie is sitting next to Steve. He notices, licking his lips as he places the joint back between his plump lips. I give him a wink. 

“How?” Eddie asks, not allowing Steve a chance to accept or deny the proposal. 

Eddie’s tongue hangs against his lower lip. His eyes seem a little darker, his voice deeper. A pool of wet, heat forms in my panties. I feel my cheeks flush. My eyes meet his now. 

“Strip Uno anyone?” I ask around. 

Robin turns red. Steve scoffs, sputtering. He’s unable to form words. Eddie smirks, giving me a quick wink. I scan the room, shuffling the deck. I explain the rules as I do. 

“It’s easy. If you lose, you take something off. Last one with clothes on wins…or looses, depending on how you look at it.” I wink at Eddie. 

Eddie and I have been friends since my freshman year. Now, Robin, Eddie and I are expected to graduate this Spring. Eddie and I have always had this flirtatious friendship. This back and forth banter that is so easy. I’ve always enjoyed being around him. He’s sweet and funny. But lately, maybe it’s been the weed or the intense closeness, but Eddie looks hot. He’s sexy and all I can think about his stuffing his cock down my throat and feeling his fingers knuckle deep inside me. 

“I’m down.” Eddie’s deep voice breaks my dirty thoughts. I smirk, nodding. 

Robin nods, “I’m in.” She chirps. 

I turn my attention to Steve, as I begin passing out cards. I purse my lips together. Our eyes holding each other. Steve and I have some history. Last year, we got a little drunk at his graduation party. We somehow ended up in bed half naked. From what we recall nothing but heavy petting and maybe some kissing occurred, but there’s always been this lingering tension after that night. 

“Alright Harrington, you in? Or are you scared you’ll have to show off your goods?” I bite my lip, my eyes falling down his body. 

He shivers. His cheeks turn a dusty pink. Steve shakes his head, slamming his hand down on the table and collecting his cards. “Let’s play.” His eyes narrow at me. 

Round one…I claim Steve and Robin’s socks, and Eddie’s jean vest. 

Round two…I claim Steve’s shirt, Robin’s sweater and Eddie’s leather jacket. 

Round three…Eddie actually won one. He took Steve’s jeans, Robin’s t-shirt, and my sweater. 

“This is bullshit.” Steve mutters. 

After another round, Robin claimed Steve’s undershirt. He’s now left in his boxers. Eddie took off his shirt. I hand Robin my socks. My eyes fall on Eddie’s bare chest. His tattoo glowing in the soft lighting. He notices me staring. He gives me a wink. I avoid his eyes, feeling flushed. I resort to teasing Steve to distract me from Eddie’s body. 

“Aww, poor baby.” I tease. The cards slide through my fingers as I shuffle for the next round. 

“Fuck yes!” Steve shouts, winning his first round of the night. 

Robin and I roll our eyes. Eddie laughs lightly. “A little too excited to get me out of my jeans Harrington.” The metal head throws his dark wash denim at the former jock. 

Steve tosses them to the side. He rolls his eyes. Robin slides off her jeans, leaving her in a pair of boy shorts and a simple black bra. I notice Steve and Eddie’s eyes looking at her breasts. I can’t help but look too. I’ve seen them before when we’ve gone shopping. They are supple, plump. Her bra cups them beautifully. My eyes fall back onto Steve’s who’s clearing his throat. The smug grin growing on his face. I peel the Queen crop top off my body. I toss the top at Steve’s face. It falls into his hands. The room grows silent. I start shuffling again. My, now exposed boobs bouncing as the cards flip through my fingers. I glance around the room, noticing how still it is now. Robin’s cheeks are redder. She’s seen them before, but never fully exposed. Eddie bites his tongue. His eyes glued to my chest. Steve sputters, mouth parted. I lean over, shutting it for him. I give a little nod. 

“What?” I finally break the tension. “I don’t believe in bras, unless they are absolutely necessary.” I spill honestly. I deal out the cards. As I glance at my hand, I still feel their eyes on me. “Guys, are we gonna play or stare at my boobs all night?” I ask.

“I vote the later.” Eddie’s tongue hangs back against his lips. I blush harder. 

The three finally break eye contact with my perky breasts and we resume the game. 

Steve actually won another round. Robin tosses her bra to Steve. I stand up, shimming my skirt over my hips. I toss it to him. I see Eddie’s eyes following the curve of my ass. I peer down and see Robin doing the same. A small exhale escapes her plush lips. Steve smirks, enjoying his victory. Eddie also stands up. My eyes fall on his fingers as they peel off his black boxers. Eddie is the first to be naked. My eyes widen at the sight. I involuntarily lick my lips, panting lightly. He smirks, and shoots another wink towards me. 

Steve clears his throat, avoiding Eddie’s dick—or trying to. It’s hard to not notice it. 

“Alright, Munson’s out I guess.” Steve mumbles. Eddie takes his seat, downing his drink quickly. 

“No,” I answer. “He’s able to play. Just if he looses…I guess we’ll come up with something. But he has a chance to win again.” I sit back down as I explain. Eddie’s eyes fall on me again. He gives a wide grin. I can’t help but let my eyes fall below the table. Oh yeah, defiantly wanna stuff his cock in down my throat. 

Steve deals out the cards this time. Eddie prevails. Robin, Steve and I all hand over our underwear. Eddie takes my and places it in his pocket. My face grows heated. I notice Steve growing annoyed. Robin just looks flushed as she scans my body. I can’t help but squirm under her gaze. 

“So now what?” Steve queries. 

“One more round. Winner decides what happens.” I wink. Everyone agrees. 

This game is intense. It comes down to Eddie and I. We each have one card. It’s a yellow four. I cock my head to the side. I wanna win. I wanna suck his cock. I wanna make them watch. Maybe have Robin eat me out, while Steve plays with himself. I shake the imagery from my head. Gotta stay focused. Eddie ends up drawing three more cards before finding one. Robin throws down another yellow. 

“Bow down bitches.” I throw my last card, a wild card, onto the pile. 

Groans fall from everyones lips. I laugh, grasping my hands to my chest. My fingers fall down my body. Tracing lines over my curves. I hum, glancing around the room. Robin looks nervous, Eddie wears his signature smug grin and Steve, as always is annoyed by my antics. I pretend to ponder. But not long. I allow the hazy high and drunken nature to over take my sense of reason. 

“Alright let’s see. What to do with you all.” I bite my lip. My eyes fall on Eddie. “For starters, let’s make some room. Boys move the table to the side, please.” I bat my lashes. I watch their muscles flex as they move the table. I nod in approval. 

I turn to Robin. She gives a small smile. We’re sat on our knees. Our bodies facing each other. I lean closer, our breasts nearly touching. I place a kiss on her lips. I wait until she gives full approval. She pushes a little harder against mine. We fall onto each other. Our lips crashing. Our hands fall on one another’s hips. I lick her bottom lip, begging for entrance. She opens. Our tongues fight for dominance. I hear the boys heavily panting. I break away, not only for air, but to give instruction. 

“No touching boys. I’ll be with you in a minute.” I pant, breathlessly. My eyes lull back into Robin’s kiss. I push her onto the ground. My body falls on top of her. We grind against each other. Our clits rubbing, creating friction. We moan into the kiss. 

“Fuck.” Steve whispers. 

“That’s hot.” Eddie huffs. 

I break from Robin’s lips. I force her head down to my boobs. She begins sucking them. Our grinding intensifies. My eyes flutter open. The boys are dying to touch themselves. I giggle, moaning. Enjoying the attention. I pull from Robin. I peer down at her, placing one last kiss on her lips. I bring my body up. I hover my cunt over her face. She lowers me down onto her lips. She sucks and licks my sopping cunt. Devouring it fully. I throw my head back, groaning from the intense feeling. I force my head back down. I look at Eddie through my lashes. I wiggle my finger, beckoning him to come closer. He stands in front of me, giving me perfect access to what I want. 

“I have been wanting this for so long now.” I moan out as Robin continues to work her tongue. 

I kiss Eddie’s tip. Swirling my tongue around his already beading head. I hallow my cheeks, taking him in. My fingers play with his balls as my mouth shoves his cock down my throat. Eddie moans louder. My name spilling off his tongue. I peak through hooded eyes. Steve looks so alone—and so turned on. I pull Eddie from my lips. I work his shaft. Pumping him with my hand. “Touch yourself Steve. You too, Robin.” I command. They obey. Steve begins pumping his cock. Robin swirls two fingers over her clit. Eddie’s eyes fall to mine. I peer back up at him. I take him back in my mouth. Sucking harder. I grasp his hand, placing it on my head. I silently tell him to fuck my mouth. His fingers tangle in my hair. His rings pulling small strands as he hits the back of my throat. I moan at the feeling. The vibration from my throat sends Eddie closer to the edge. Robin hums from my moaning, forcing me towards the edge. My eyes never break from Eddie’s. He watches me cum in Robin’s mouth. I squirt onto her lips. She laps up every drop. Eddie sputters, muffled moans spill from my lips as I feel his seed shoot down my throat. I swallow—hard. Steve looses it. He topples over, cumming all over the carpet. Exhales, pants and gurgled moans fill the room. I roll off of Robin. I rearrange the setting. Robin is now sitting with her back to the couch. My head is placed between her legs. I lick her sopping cunt. Eddie kneels behind me fucking my sensitive and swollen cunt from behind. Steve’s erection returns full force. He goes for round two. I decide to help him. I wave him over. I take turns between Robin and Steve. Sucking his head, fingering her. Licking her cunt, jerking him off. All while Eddie pounds into my cunt. I moan, grumbling, begging for release. He goes deeper, slower. As I finish off Robin. Her pussy squirting in my face. Steve’s cum coats my hand at the sight. I fall face first into the carpet as Eddie picks up his pace. He throws my lifeless body against his. His fingers shoved into my mouth. I suck them off. Steve pants, crawling towards us. His tongue finds my clit. He licks the bundle of nerves as Eddie’s cock buries deep in my cunt. My walls tighten around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. Through hooded eyes I see Robin touching herself. I beckon her over. My lips find hers. We kiss. I moan as I cum over Eddie’s cock. Eddie sputters, trying not to fall over as he cums deep inside my pussy. Steve laps up the cum that spills from my hole. His tongue licking part of Eddie’s dick as he does. I pull away from Robin. Eddie pulls out. Steve cleans up my cunt with his tongue. He shoves his cock into my aching entrance. He swivels his hips, pumping into me quickly. Getting himself off. He cums inside me. He cleans up that mess too. Heavy pants and agonizing groans fill the air. We each find our clothes. Slipping on something—for our modesty.