#something something silly little gay women

[the-rat-eatery]

Red and Blue from “This is how you lose the time war”. This has been sitting with my unfinished works for a *while* but I decided to finally finish it. It’s a really great sapphic novella and I think everyone with a fondness for pretty language should absolutely give it a read!

Also oh my god please click for quality, tumblr absolutely fucking butchers it

[pitchsidestories]

taste II Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1018

a/n: dear readers, this short, a little silly but cute oneshot was inspired by this request here, happy reading. 🫶🏻 🐈‍⬛

Autumn has finally arrived in Barcelona. Leaves painted in red, orange and yellow started to fall from the trees for one last dance. Baghera was entranced by what nature did and watched everything from her favourite spot in the living room close to the window.

Every year you both were falling in love with that season of the year, as it might be an ending to a summer you fully lived, but also the beginning of something fresh and new.

The champion’s league was about to start and games under the lights were always something special, alone the thought of it filled you with giddy excitement.

“Girls, I invited Esmee for dinner. That’s alright, right?”, you asked your girlfriends who were already in the kitchen.

“Yes, of course, kjaerste.”, Ingrid nodded friendly, standing in front of the stove. While Mapi was launching around in one of the chairs in a sitting position which screamed gay, and parents would judge because of bad posture.

“She was so sad that her parents left again. I thought she could use the distraction.”, you continued. The sad face of the young player was still fresh in your memory.

As a foreign player yourself you knew that being separated from your family for such long periods of time was hard especially when the nights got colder and the daylight shorter.

When you first came to Barcelona at Esmee’s age you were glad that Mapi and Ingrid welcomed you into their home with open arms, the appartement you began to share with them turning into a home away from home soon.

“That’s very sweet of you.”, the Norwegian commented, her forehead covered in frowning lines, looking concentrated at the recipe ahead of her.

“What’s for dinner?”, Mapi questioned smirking.

“I��ve something delicious planned.”, Ingrid announced delighted.

The Spaniard and you took a curious glance at the cookbook before exclaiming, faces formed to disgusted grimaces. “Pumpkin soup?!”

“Why do I have two children, one who has no patience and the other has the taste bud of a toddler?”, the dark-haired women groaned in response.

“Excuse me?”, you replied, pretending to be offended.

“I said what I said.”, Ingrid declared who tried her best to suppress a smile.

“Can’t you make some chicken nuggies?”, you asked your girlfriend, giving her puppy-eyes which you hoped would warm her Scandinavian heart. Often this worked out perfectly fine.

“Please, please, please.”, Mapi supported your suggestion loudly.

“Girls, seriously?”, Ingrid sighed, the defender and you knew from her sigh alone that you both had won in the question of what’s going to be for dinner.

A knocking on the door interrupted the discussion. You opened the door for Esmee and led her into the kitchen.

“Hi everyone. Ingrid, what are you cooking? Can I help you?”, the young player asked politely, peeking over the shoulder of the tall Norwegian.

“I’m making pum-…“, she started, one last attempt to get someone on her side.

“We’re having chickie nuggies!”, Mapi and you announced simultaneously.

Finally, Ingrid gave in: “Yes, we’re having chicken nuggets…“

“Thanks, love.“, you thanked her, beaming.

A small smile appeared on her face as she nudged your side: “You’re lucky I love you two so much.“

“We love you too, amor.“, Mapi replied, kissing Ingrids right cheek while you got on your tiptoes to kiss her left.

Esmee cleared her throat, making sure you hadn’t forgotten that you had a visitor.

Blushing, Ingrid pushed the two of you away and got to work.

You grinned at Esmee: “Hope you like nuggets, Esmee.“

She nodded happily, looking a bit relieved that it wasn’t pumpkin soup: “I do.“

“Then sit down while Ingrid shows us her cooking skills.“, you joked.

Ingrid rolled her eyes next to you. Of the three of you, she was definitely the best cook so making chicken nuggets was beneath her actual cooking skills.

Still, she managed to present you with a batch of perfectly crispy nuggets, a homemade dipping sauce and a bowl of fresh salad. You were all athletes after all.

“This is…“; Esmee said between two mouthfuls of salad.

“Delicious as always.“, Mapi completed the sentence for her, gleefully biting into a nugget.

Ingrid smiled across the table, seemingly happy that you all enjoyed her food: “Thank you, girls.“

“You’re the best cook.“, you agreed with the others.

“I’ll try the pumpkin soup another time though.“, the Norwegian warned you jokingly.

“I promise we’ll try it then.“, you assured her. It was only fair that she would get her pumpkin soup.

“Appreciate it.“

The food was quickly gone, leaving the table cluttered with empty dishes.

Mapi leaned back in her chair with a yawn: “Now time for a nap.“

“Thanks for the dinner, girls.“, Esmee said after she made sure that Ingrid didn’t want any help washing dishes.

“No worries, you’re always welcome here.“, you assured the young player and pulled her into a quick hug before she left.

You smiled to yourself as you closed the door behind her, you loved providing a safe space for the young players, making sure they had everything they needed even if it was just dinner.

“Y/n, Ingrid, hurry up!”, you heard Mapi call from the living room.

Ingrid left the kitchen, rolling her eyes: “That kid has no patience.“

“You still love it.“, you laughed as the two of you entered the living room where Mapi laid sprawled out on the sofa.

“Come into my arms, my loves.“, she laughed, making space for both of you on each side.

You didn’t even think twice as you launched yourself onto the sofa: “Coming!”

“All here.“, Ingrid smiled as she took the other side of the sofa.

Mapi sighed with content, wrapping one arm around each of you: “That’s how I like it.“

“Sandwiched on the sofa? We know.“, you teased her.

Ingrid chuckled lightly, reaching over Mapi and intertwined her fingers with yours: “Me too. With my two favourite children.“

With her eyes already closed, Mapi mumbled something unintelligible, already snoozing.

You cuddled closer into her side.

There was nothing better to do on your free day.

[ghostgirl-22]

i think art identifies as totally 100% straight but squirms whenever he gets the slightest bit of male attention, and patrick is just waiting for the realization to hit him (and maybe trying to help him realize it, in his own way)

Poor baby— he’s so lost <3

CW:18+

—-

Art thinks he’s straight and that’s fine. Patrick’s not gonna argue his sexuality with him. He sees things in black and white. In his mind there’s straight and there’s gay and that’s it. They’re lying in bed one night watching a gay episode of Date My Mom on MTV and Art’s made up his mind. “I couldn’t even imagine it honestly, I’m just so attracted to women,” he explains matter of factly. As if one negates the other.

Patrick’s actually coming around to the fact that he, himself, probably likes both.

One too many nights spent jerking it while thinking about Art stepping out of the foggy bathroom, towel sitting low on his glistening waist, wet curls in his eyes. Art bent over in front of him on the tennis court while they’re in the middle of a doubles match. Art sitting across from him on his bed, legs spread wide, skin flushed, hands shoved down his pants moaning while they watch the Mummy on TV and perv over Rachel Weisz (and Patrick secretly on Brandon Fraser). Either way he’s starting to realize he likes at least one boy. A lot.

The reason he thinks Art is a repressed little liar is because of how squirmy he gets when boys flirt with him. Boarding school is so weird. They’re with boys all the time. The girls dorms are on the other side of the school and there’s something about being all cooped up together, sweaty and close, hormones going crazy that’s led to some… experimentation.

And plenty of boys want to experiment with Art. He’s blue eyed, easy to blush, long brown lashes, pretty smile, and the perfect little slutty waist. Of course he gets all kinds of male attention and he absolutely falls apart every time.

The flirting could be a little or a lot. It doesn’t matter… Art gets silly for it. Little compliments and he’s sitting on his hands, grinning too much. A bit of teasing and flirting and he’s giggling when things aren’t even funny. Fucking giggling.

Patrick’s present for a lot of it. Boys teasing him during gym class snapping at his waistband, the kind of immature grade school teasing like pulling on a girls braids repeatedly because you just want her to notice you. All that before they start calling him pretty boy and asking what color his underwear is and he really gets antsy. Then by the end of class there’s Art, cheeks pink, eyes bright. And he’s letting them take turns looking down his pants to see the color for themselves.

The little games of footsie with Sammy Kline under the table in the cafeteria. Art acting like it’s not flirting but they’re going back and forth all period, exchanging glances. Art’s all antsy, sucking on his spoon by the time lunch is over. And Patrick accidentally walks in on Sammy touching himself in an empty bathroom right after.

Or when Art is play wrestling with Jamal Butler after practice and he squeezes Art’s thigh just under his knee because he’s so ticklish there and Art is giggling and kicking and whining “stop it.” Breathless and airy, his weight settled on Jamal’s chest. Patrick tightened his grip on his phone, thinking Jamal would try to kiss him but Art pushed him down and grinned all flushed. “I beat you.”

Jamal playfully messes with Arts hair when they get to their feet and Patrick notices the way Art shivers for it. When Jamal leaves to get dressed Patrick is also aware when Art needs to adjust himself, just the slightest bit.

Art’s not just oblivious to the fact that what they’re doing is flirting, he’s oblivious to his own flirting.

He doesn’t think it’s flirting when he lets boys give him little things. An extra orange juice at breakfast. (“Please, can I have it? I’m still really, really thirsty.”) A candy bar from the vending machine. (“I’ll marry you if you get me a snickers right now.”) A hoodie to wear if he’s cold while they sit in the stands waiting for their match to start. (“I love you so much, I can’t believe I forgot mine.”) He’s always soft and tentative when he asks as if he can’t have whatever he fucking wants. As if boys don’t fall all over themselves for him.

Patrick’s probably in that category of flirting, giving Art everything… taking Art’s everything. Sharing cigarettes, drinks, food, clothes, a bed… everything he can.

Patrick’s actually obsessed with it. Can’t stop jerking himself off thinking about the ways Art gets all flustered around boys. Wiggling in his chair, bouncing his leg, wetting his lips, chewing on his thumb, on his clothes, on his pen… needs to put something in his mouth. These anxious little ticks. Art can’t name the feelings he’s feeling but Patrick knows what they are. They share the bedroom, he can hear it when Art’s touching. Knows he’s not really thinking about his girlfriend.

It’s with Patrick that boundaries consistently blur. Like the day when Jamal didn’t kiss him and his girlfriend was out of town and he’s crawling into Patrick’s bed asking him for help to practice so he can kiss her better. As if they don’t both know better.

And god forbid if Patrick points any of this out, or ever asks him about his behaviour. Art would laugh it off. He’d say Patrick is exaggerating and that those boys are just being friendly, they don’t want him. Besides it makes no sense because he has a girlfriend. But he’s still stuck in black and white… doesn’t really see all the colors of the rainbow yet.

Patrick finds it all amusing…one day it’ll hit him like a ton of bricks, like when he discovered it was okay to like both Nsync and the Backstreet Boys at the same time. Not that he’d ever really admit that he likes either but that’s a whole different story.

Patricks gonna be there to kiss him on that day too.

(Idk i wrote this on the clock I fear…sorry if it’s all a mess…but so is Art 😅)

[chainsawworld]

G-d I know this is the fandom website I get that but for once I would just like to see actual discussion of the media just once

I'm gonna finally watch knives out btw

[copper-16]

You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here. 

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right? 

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to. 

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls. 

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients. 

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there. 

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally. 

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along. 

It’s just, nobody had. 

But perhaps that would change. 

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back. 

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling. 

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town. 

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where. 

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike. 

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded. 

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action. 

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear. 

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet. 

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet. 

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet. 

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like. 

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in. 

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table. 

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to. 

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man. 

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.  

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head. 

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot. 

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken. 

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.  

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk. 

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”   

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do. 

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name. 

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally. 

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion. 

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room. 

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence. 

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them. 

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble. 

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive. 

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act. 

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune. 

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble. 

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her. 

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs. 

And god was Misa wrong. 

This woman wasn’t attractive. 

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop. 

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk. 

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid. 

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now. 

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high. 

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work. 

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English. 

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded. 

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin. 

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman. 

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out. 

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation. 

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious. 

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name. 

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes. 

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s. 

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily. 

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on. 

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers. 

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers. 

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different. 

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her. 

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully. 

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair. 

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt. 

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently. 

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen. 

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless. 

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away. 

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care. 

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer. 

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly. 

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy. 

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason. 

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low. 

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. 

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back. 

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette. 

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise. 

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back. 

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body. 

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid. 

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman. 

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow. 

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought. 

It was her choice. 

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly. 

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat. 

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing. 

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree. 

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap. 

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power. 

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it. 

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless. 

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own. 

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling. 

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core. 

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier. 

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs. 

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace. 

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons. 

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed. 

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second. 

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning. 

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to. 

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something. 

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more. 

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots. 

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more. 

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished. 

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest. 

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other. 

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly. 

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful. 

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate. 

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten. 

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk. 

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such. 

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with. 

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways. 

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like. 

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again. 

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her. 

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly. 

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance. 

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently. 

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own. 

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time. 

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually. 

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises. 

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her. 

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace. 

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there. 

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire. 

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut. 

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful. 

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin. 

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere. 

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette. 

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed. 

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow. 

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while. 

[quarterlifekitty]

This might be random, but I love seeing COD have such a fun and girly fandom.

For years, it's been this macho game for macho boys. Like the player base was always gross and toxic and misogynistic. And as a nerdy gamer girl back in my tween/teen years, I was always at the end of that.

So having girls come in and take over and take this ultra serious macho thing and make it fun? Make it silly and goofy and soft? Take these huge macho men and call them our husbands and edit them with bows on to techno beats? It's so healing man.

Okay, so I wanna start by saying this is not a personal attack, I’m not trying to be mean, just something I wanna give a little statement/rant about.

Firstly, I have been in a similar boat much of my life. I have always been a nerd girl and have struggled with the atmosphere created by male fans. Obviously the worst of the worst is in online games. In most games I keep voice chat and text chat off at all times for online play. It’s a toxic environment.

But I think referring to what’s happened to the COD fandom as being a girl thing is reductive. In my little corner of this website, a lot of very prominent writers are not women and/or not gender conforming. In many fandoms I’ve been in during my adult years, trans men in particular have been a huge driving force— especially in writing fanfic.

(I’ve also seen a lot of COD art that looks Tom of Finland as fuck… we cannot appreciate the modern art of the male body without giving some respect to those who laid the foundation! Many of the kinks and subcultures that I and many others associate with COD owe much of their prominence to gay men. Bikers, leather, pup play, piss, and so many more have a rich history in cruising!)

Struggling with toxic masculinity in fan spaces is not something suffered only by girl nerds. Like in most places in society, the issue is intersectional. It’s not just a space where women have been excluded, but where LGBT people, POC, neurodivergent people, and so many more are excluded.

Also, while I do not take issue with how anyone else chooses to engage in the fandom— I personally try my best to remember that at its core, COD is military propaganda. So even if we were to say “COD is for the girlies” or some such, I would not call that a “win” for women. It’s a very “do you think Margaret thatcher effectively utilized girl power” type of thing.

[t0rn4d0273]

HELLO SONADOW NATION HERES MY SONADOW HEADCANONS

(Buckle up. I have a lot.)

Shadow is under the aromantic label (little or no romantic attraction) and Quoiromantic (being unable to distinguish between platonic and romantic). Despite never having interest in a woman, he still identifies under the bisexual label (he’s very uncertain if he’s fully gay, so being under bisexual puts that at rest). He is also asexual, having no interest in anything sexual, as well as just not feeling sexual attraction at all. Much like sonic, it repulses him.

Shadow dislikes touch in the first place, but will sometimes take sonics hugs. He doesn't like handholding (he is good in private, not in public) but is fine with cuddles.

When shadow is feeling any form of anger or sadness, he tends to withdraw and be alone. Sonic just stays with him unless told not to.

Shadow also loves fuzzy blankets. He has a heated blanket that he got for no reason, he loves that thing.

Sonic is plain old bisexual, finding interest in most genders but still having a preference, which is men. He's had crushes on both men and women in the past. sonic is also asexual. He has no interest in any sexual activity, finding it slightly repulsive just like shadow.

Sonic likes giving/receiving hugs and loves the texture of shadows fur.

Both can be slightly clingy sometimes.

Sonic is one of few who actually knows shadow, his like trauma and shit and never uses anything he knows will hurt him (ex. Maria) in anything (ex, if they're like arguing, he isn't gonna pull the trauma card and remind shadow of his failures).

Shadow is not actually the biggest fan of kissing anyone on the lips, but will sometimes do it in private if both parties consent (CONSENT IS IMPORTANT.)

They have very clashing tastes, while sonic likes busy places, shadow would prefer the quiet places like hills, roofs, the moon, etc. in terms of dates. I actually think shadow wouldn't care for going on actual dates

Silly little thing I wrote:

“*sonic falls or smt idk and shadow imminently scoops him up, to a very surprised and gay panicked sonic waving him off after a second, muttering “im fine”*

Tails: HA. Pay up.

*knuckles disgruntledly hands over a $5 bill*

Sonic *now back on his feet*: are you guys betting on us?”

Their friends make bets on the two when they’re bored.

Shadow legit just calls sonic sonic, he does not do nicknames. Sonic loves nicknames but doesn't indulge in them as much as he likes, he does call him shads a lot though. Sonic calls shadow hot topic sometimes, shadow is only mildly annoyed by the name.

They're both equally shit at cooking

Sonic has to FORCE shadow to eat something other than

Sonic has some form of adhd

Shadow has ptsd and autism

Sonic gets bridal carried a lot (Sonic can carry shadow, he just doesnt lmao)

The dumbass rolled his ankle one time or something, tried running and fell on his face. Shadow scooped him up and carried him the rest of the time.

Shadow would def paint his nails if he has nails

Shadow will tell sonic when he rambles too much because he does that a lot

one of the ways shadow manages to be alone is teleportation. Also, hc he'll just like zap around the same room if he's like having a panic attack. It’s almost a stress response for him, he tries to go somewhere else but he’s so focused on what happened that set him off that he ends up stuck where he is.

Sonic knows some guitar, sometimes he plays (albeit not too greatly) for shadow

Shadow needs melatonin to fall asleep properly

Sonic is fond of gummies whereas shadow prefers chocolate

shadow got his love of coffee beans from agent stone (movie universe)

Sonic prefers beanbags and shadow likes hammocks

Sonic is like me he a chronic yapper he will not stfu ever

Shadow likes chocolate covered oranges (they're a British thing I think)

Im not saying that sonic thought being slammed against the glass was hot-

Shadow goes to agent stone and sonic goes to either tails or maddy/tom if they’re having a crisis

Shadow really only developed romantic feelings, although he didn’t recognize them, when he got to know sonic on the moon, when they yapped about stars.

The two have stargazing dates

They’ll almost cuddle during movie night, sonic mainly the one doing all the cuddling (aka laying on shadow) Shadow returns the cuddles hesitantly and just basically protects him

Chocolate covered coffee beans are also another favorite of shadows

Shadow is very destructive when angry, he’ll try to hurt something. It’s a side effect from his time with the doctor and in the ark. He enjoys the sensation of just destroying stuff, it helps him calm down.

Shadow is fascinated by but hates water, it reminds him too much of the lab.

Shadow has a lot of ptsd induced panic attacks

Aside from his multitude of trust issues and trauma, plus his aromantic identity, one reason shadow was hesitant to and still is hesitant to show affection is his fear of vulnerability.

Sonic kicks in his sleep sometimes, it’s very annoying to shadow.

Shadow also dislikes crying, just in general.

Shadow would wear leather or black jean jackets sometimes

They both have a talent for art, shadow is better at drawing and sonic is better at watercolor or painting

It was so difficult for shadow to show any form of care for sonic

Shadow has nightmares. He maybe gets one peaceful dream a month, or just no dream often.

Whereas Tom and maddie are parents, stone is more like an older brother to shadow

Shadow actually went to hot topic. The gang took him to one. It was funny. He actually did get a shirt, some pins, and a couple accessories

Knuckled genuenly didn’t know the two were dating for like three months.

Sonics smile reminds shadow of marias

Shadow would casually smoke every so often

Sonic is extremely frightened of thunderstorms

Sonic and shaodw both have crazy issues- shadows is probably worse on the surface because sonic keeps his hidden

When I say shadow isn’t a fan of physical touch I mean he’s okay with it, but he will not hesitate to use violence if someone touches him when he’s “in a mood” (/refehehs). He most normally will not like nor tolerate most touch for more than five seconds. Ask him before engaging.

On their phones/communicators they have custom sounds for the other

Rouge endlessly teases shadow 90% of the time

Uh that’s about it I think im sorry please don’t kill me (new fan here- lot of these are movie hcs I wrote down after seeing the movie (im on my 16th viewing)

[kuruk]

I think if people focused less on who "gets" to say certain slurs and instead utilized common sense it wouldn't be like so hard to talk about. don't like hearing dyke out of men's mouths obviously but it's sweet when it's in the context of gay men supporting lesbians but that also doesn't mean I'm gonna let any random man call me that as long as he's gay. using it jokingly in gay friendships is nice but there's definitely limits and it can accidentally turn disrespectful and you can't assume it can't, and that's true the other way around too which people forget because fag is a fun word so people forget to have tact and be a normal kind person who's careful about the feelings of the people around them.. and when people argue about whether bisexual women can say dyke or not I just feel like well I think I have to ask like what does the person in question feel about it? is there any guilt or weird feelings about it? do you feel like you're doing something wrong or like you need someone to validate permission for you to do so? honestly sometimes there's a reason for that, if you're currently in a committed relationship with a man you might feel some guilt or weirdness about calling yourself a dyke which is because it does look kind of silly to do that yeah I'm probably gonna roll my eyes a little.. not saying you can't simply even utter it but it also depends on context and your company at that moment and the subject of the conversation and you should be fine if you use common sense and that doesn't mean I see you as less gay or that you have it easy it's just an awareness everyone should have

[miwiheroes]

Hi welcome to miwiheroes <3

*australian accent* 'Ello this is Eli, president of miwiheroes club and I realised I never made an intro post, also this is a little masterpost where you can find all the analysis/ byler rambling posts without having to scrolls through my account :D

I'm 19 years old

At university for psychology

he/him

I may look like an aggressively straight man but no one knows i'm actually hyperfixated on shipping two queer guys from a sci-fi netflix show

I'm a capricorn, infp, bisexual and trans ftm

my hyperfixations right now include byler, severance (on appletv+), link click, aot, the magnus archives and dan & phil <3

i'm from england

my spotify is 'figflower' and: Here are my byler playlists!!

i never used to write analysis on film but thx byler tumblr because i've been missing out

if you were wondering, my favourite characters from stranger things are (in this order): will, mike, hopper and el <3 okay see ya

MY ANALYSES:

(i will update these as i make them. my more massive analyses are highlighted in blue)

ANALYSES I'M MOST PROUD OF:

This theoretical model of relationships + ST couples

Mike and Will and El cannot be replaced by a different gender - they are tied to a queer narrative

All my Airport Scene Analyses

Blue and Yellow theory is completely canon

Will is not getting a new love interest in S5

Season 3 ending scene full analysis

Mike and the theme of promises

OTHER:

The D&D Substitute scene is Mike questioning his sexuality

Byler + Reciprocal Looks of Love

The existence of a Love Triangle proves Byler endgame

The Painting Lie is Chekhov's Gun

'The Will Voice' isn't a thing Bylers made up

The original S3 ending script reveals inner thoughts

Mike's lack of attraction to women other than El

Purposeful blocking analysis

Purposeful music choices and music titles

Will's understanding of Mike makes the audience root for Byler

Mike has to be wrong about needing to love El

Elmike breakup vs Byler fight contrast

Phonegate canon or not canon? analysis

Mike's bedroom detailed analysis

How Mike treats El's letters vs. Will's art

Mike's conversation with El in the grocery store is queer coded

Byler parallels with other canon ships

Answering a mileven ask part 2: electric boogaloo

Answering a mileven ask part 1

Mike's self-sabotaging avoidance to incriminate himself

Silly queer coding jokes

The M&M Scene

Will's 'I'm not gonna fall in love' is a bigger proof than you think

Confirmation that Mike jumping into the quarry was about Will

Milkvan's conflict, Byler, and the concept of understanding

Byler and the insane amount of Closet Imagery

Season 1 Mike is extremely queer-coded

What if Mike's gay from the beginning of S5 like Will in S4?

You're not delusional: What I noticed when I wasn't a byler

Thinking about the monologue…

Mike is clearly thinking about Will in the Snow Ball scene

Light is symbolic for truth = byler endgame

MY FICS:

My AO3 Account: miwiheroes

vibrant days (caution to the breeze) - 15,204 words

Mike and Will's relationship has been secret for 2 months. Neither of them want to bring it up, but things build and build until it becomes more of a burden than just a little mutual understanding. Will's growing up (and getting drunk) and it's impossible for Mike to stay in the same place forever, with words always on the tip of his tongue.

aka mike and will are hiding their relationship and avoid talking about hard subjects

is my timing that flawed? - 14,621 words

In the aftermath of a harrowing escape from the Upside Down, Mike and Will grapple with physical and emotional wounds. Faced with Will's new plan and doubt of what's real and what's not, Mike must confront reality and something that he had never been able to truly control.

aka wound cleaning fic + a devastating cliffhanger + Will not knowing what's real and what's not

it's rotten work (not to me. not if it's you) - 15,919 words

Ten years after everything, and Will hasn't been able to shake a debilitating fear of anything medical-related. So when the only option and smart thing to do is get a blood test from the hospital, Mike is sure to take the time to be there for him.

aka will needs a blood test but has a phobia of needles and mike takes time off work to support him

what you really want - 46,456 words

aka a s5 speculatory mike wheeler-centric fic about his internalised homophobia and a lot of moments where he's not so clever about his feelings with will

our hearts were singing - 13,724 words (dnf)

aka karen invites mike and will over for christmas, but mike still hasn't told his whole family about his relationship, even after a year of them definitely not-so-platonically living together. maybe it's time.

you can't help but become the sun - 16,267 words

aka mike offers to be will's reference, they talk about mike's self-esteem issues, and more shenanigans with paint ensue

stay with me a while - 9,515 words

aka mike confessed to will to save the world, but will wasn't conscious enough to say it back. when he wakes the next morning, they have a lot to talk about.

life used to be so hard - 5,697 words (incomplete)

A collection of drabbles and short one-shots that tell a non-chronological story about Mike and Will's life after the UD. Stay tuned to put the pieces together and figure out a full story <3 Further explanation is in the notes of the first instalment.

the boy with the thorn in his side - 21,781 words (incomplete)

aka mike figures out his sexuality in the worst way possible, but as always, will is there to help. in more ways than one.

MY BYLER EDIT COMP ON YOUTUBE

Have fun! And if you don't ship byler ur allowed to interact but if you want to hate on it, please don't interact! I'll just delete any hate because I personally think there is no space for homophobia or negativity on my page.

You'll also find 0 byler doubt here. I don't want to worry people. So ily <3

[shotoyami]

Non-conformity

word count: 1.1k

pairing: Scott Sumers + male reader

warnings: none for this one! (unless gay panic is something that needs to be warned?)

genre: fluff

notes: Scott Summers is a bisexual man, that is my own personal headcannon. you cannot tell me that there wasn’t any tension at all between him, Jean, and Logan. I love my silly gay man, he’s just a little cutie patootie. please enjoy this first post of mine here, and I’m starting on my ask/requests as soon as this is posted! <3

additional note, I’ve already edited this post, so please let me know if I missed anything at all!

Scott has always been comfortable with his sexuality. There’s nothing to question, you know? He’s got it all, a pretty girlfriend (who’s becoming questionably close with Logan as of late, but there’s no need to be all possessive. He trusts her), good friends who support him in everything he does, a mentor who cares sincerely about him.

But then, what doesn’t he have? Well, a biological family, for starters. That was gone a long time ago, but it’s nothing to dwell on.

As of late, though, there’s just something different. Something just isn’t right. And he can’t even begin to place a finger on the exact cause of the sudden uneasiness.

Sure, it could just be Jean and her closeness with Logan (damnit Scott, you sound like an obsessive clingy boyfriend–) that’s causing this new feeling, but something tells him it just isn’t that.

No, this is completely different, and it’s so strange that it only seems to happen when–

“Good morning, Scott.” A voice cuts through his thoughts, causing Scott to glance up. There it is again, that funny feeling. He clears his throat, offering a small, sort of awkward smile toward the man in front of him. “Hey- uh…good morning, (y/n). How are you?” He cringes to himself– gosh, he sounded like such a dweeb.

The man dorkily grins back, chuckling at the brunette’s awkwardness, “I’m alright.” He glances back toward someone behind Scott, his grin faltering. Of course, this only makes said brunette more curious, and turns to glance over his shoulder. It’s like a sinking feeling, but is it as bad of a feeling as it should be? Jean is…kissing Logan. In front of everyone. He should be furious, shouting and cursing. But something tells him to be relieved. That he’s free.

“-Scott. Hey, you alright?” He snaps out of his thoughts, looking back at the man he’d been conversing with periously. “Yeah…yeah, I’m alright. I kind of figured that was coming sooner than later.” Scott winces internally, knowing he sounded too nonchalant. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he so happy that Jean had publicly cheated on him and technically ended their relationship all at once? He notices (y/n)’s frown, one all too familiar– it’s one of pity. “Are you sure?” All he can do is nod. What else is there he could possibly say? Normally he’d be devastated, probably sobbing in his room to himself, but this isn’t normal. This isn’t a normal case. Not when all Scott can think about is the man in front of him and how much he wants to see him without that stupid oversized sweater–

Oh. Oh.

The realization slowly dawns upon him, the feeling starting to make more sense. Is he..? No, he can’t be gay. Scott’s only ever dated women. Women love Scott, and Scott loves women. But (y/n)’s a man.

It’s making his head spin– this made no sense, he’s never had any interest in men to this point, what’s different? What changed? Does (y/n) even like men? All of the women love him, so it’s not too far fetched to assume him straight, but in this day and age, isn’t that also offensive?

“Summers.” (y/n)’s voice cuts through his thought’s yet again, the man frowning still, now with his hands on Scott’s shoulders. “Are you hearing me right now? Maybe I should just walk you back to your dorm, I get it, this is a lot.” He gestures back toward the hallway that stretches between the vast amount of dorms within Xavier’s school and Scott finds himself eager to follow.

As they walk, the pair are thrown into a comfortable silence– er, well, comfortable on the outside. It’s awkward internally for Scott, trying to find something to say. How to voice his thoughts without being creepy. “Hey, (y/n)?” The named man hums in response, solidifying the obvious fact that he’s listening, and Scott continues, “Have you ever thought about…I don’t know, sexuality?” Scott cringes at how awkward he sounds, yet again, but he’s surprised to get a thoughtful hum in return. “Yeah, sexuality is weird. People are just so open, and it’s easier to make yourself open to ideas and thoughts, but at the same time, you don’t want to be too vulnerable and end up hurt. It’s a big tug of war that’s always staked against your favor.”

That’s…a rather interesting way to put it. “What about you in particular, (y/n)?” Scott can’t help but want to know more– no, he needs to know more. “Well, the easiest way to put it would be to just call myself queer and move on with it,” he jokes, grinning playfully before sighing as his voice comes down a pitch. “But, in particular, I’d probably label myself bisexual. You know, men and women and such.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “Labels suck though. It shouldn’t have to have a name or make you different, everyone just wants to love and be loved equally.”

Scott finds himself melting at the thought, to live in a world where anyone could be anything and do anything– within reason, of course– but even he knows well that it’d never happen. Take all of them being outcast a mutants, for example. “What if I’ve been gay this entire time and never even gave it a thought..?” He mumbles, questioning himself and everything he’s known thus far. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” (y/n)’s response is reassuring, comforting. Scott can’t help it, he grabs (y/n)’s wrist– loosely, of course, in case it made the man uncomfortable. “...(y/n), I…I think you’re my gay awakening.” The man pauses, looking quite bewildered for a moment– to be expected though, this is all very sudden. However, he relaxes a bit afterward, a soft smile haunting his expression. “That’s not what I was expecting to hear from you at all today, Summers. Is this because of Jean, or is this legit? After all, your emotions are going to be pretty heightened after-”

Scott squeezes his hand, silently begging for (y/n) to stop reminding him, for now at least. “No, I’m serious. I guess everything with Jean just really solidified it for me. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy being with her- well, at least until that last part. But something about that never felt right, you know?”

“Is this your corny little gay confession?” (y/n) teases, though he’s being genuine, nont quite making fun of the brunette. Scott’s expression finally relaxes for the first time that day, no longer pensive or distant. 

“...yeah, I think it is.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Madhubala (Mughal-e-Azam, Barsaat Ki Raat, Mr. & Mrs. '55)—The Venus of India; heart-throb of all who saw her; responsible for the sexual awakening of every single desi lesbian I know (including me!) And my god, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Look at the subtle grace with which she moves, and that smile - the kind of radiant smile that can make you laugh with sheer delight, or cry because of its hidden pain. Those wild curls! That Cupid's bow! The way she tilts back her head and smiles at you with mischief dancing in her eyes! She has a way of looking at the camera that makes you feel she's sharing a private joke just with you; it's something about that quizzical twist of the lips and eyebrows. As an actress, she is inimitable; she seems to effortlessly inhabit roles ranging from a heart-broken courtesan to a laughter-loving socialite. Fun fact : she's had quite the fan following in Greece! Stelios Kazantidis even wrote a song as a tribute to her.

Linda Darnell (Hangover Square, Unfaithfully Yours, A Letter to Three Wives)— Her dick is ENORMOUS. She was Fox’s resident bad girl for a while, and she was goddamn sexy during it. She could also play sweeter, and she was still beautiful when she wasn’t crushing men beneath her heels, but also she sometimes crushed men beneath her heels and it was really hot

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Madhubala:

An icon of Bollywood, who was well known for her beauty and has continued to inspire performances and songs into the 21st century. She was at times described as "the number one beauty of the Indian screen" and "the biggest star in the world".

SHE IS EVERYTHING AHHH. JUST LOOK AT HER SMILE-

She's been nicknamed the Marilyn Monroe of India and was one of the highest paid actresses in the Hindi film industry (the term Bollywood did not exist yet) during the 1950s. Also an extremely talented dancer and singer

SHE'S JUST SO STUNNING, like seeing her eyes IMMEDIATELY CAPTIVATES YOU, THE DANCING, THE BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! She worked in Bollywood for over 20 years and passed away at a sad early age of 36, BUT THE IMPACT SHE HAD WAS UNMATCHED!!!!!

That sassy sideways glance she does always has me WEAK AT THE KNEES. And when she's making silly faces at the camera to mimic someone ahhhh my gay little heart <3

Linda Darnell:

LOOK AT THOSE EYES. She redefines sultry and dreamy.

ok i have a lot of feelings about linda darnell. she was so complex and messy and talented and just such a tragic figure and deserved so much better. her mom basically ignored the rest of her kids in favor of pushing linda into hollywood, which led to her missing out on a lot of childhood experiences, prevented her from enrolling in college, and caused some mental health issues later in life. it’s especially heartbreaking that she met such a preventable end so early in life, and i always wonder what might’ve happened if she had been able to make more movies. she also disliked the hollywood social scene, which i think is totally valid of her. anyway, i loved her in a letter to three women and unfaithfully yours, and especially in no way out, which i think is one of her better roles, really showcasing her acting ability. and the fact that she never really got recognition keeps me up at night,, in my heart she has all the oscars

[tanadrin]

Imagine one day a new social trend starts spreading. It’s something unbelievably dumb. Not harmful per de, but truly silly to believe. Let’s say, I dunno, healing crystals start going mainstream. Everybody’s talking about their crystals. It becomes impolite to criticize people who believe in healing crystals. They become a big part of people’s personalities, and people on TV start talking about them, and one day years down the line politicians are debating funding for crystal-based medicine. And through it all you are sitting there going, what the fuck is happening. I thought we were all on the same page on this. You want to get along and be friendly and open minded but you cannot pretend to believe in healing crystals, this is nonsense, and when the topic comes up you refuse to lie about it. This eventually starts to have social consequences—they’re that popular!—but what can you do? You cannot pretend a lump of quartz can cure the flu or whatever. It’s just all so unbearably embarrassing.

I think what the centrist/liberal/center-left reactionary turn driven by culture war stuff feels like. And I think the key emotion is probably cringe. Not hate, not fear, though those emotions may reinforce the turn. I think in a lot of cases people who imagine themselves pretty open minded and flexible have as part of their worldview something they thought was bedrock social consensus—on the level of “healing crystals are silly woo”—so bedrock maybe that it didn’t even need to be a conceptual boundary they actually policed in their minds.

For instance, when she started her anti-trans turn, JK Rowling made a big show of not being really anti trans, just arguing that Some People Had Gone Too Far. She wasn’t a frothing religious reactionary, after all. And I believe that’s probably true! I think Rowling probably did have a mental model of sex and gender with a little bit of give in it—of the “we can humor the odd weirdo” type. But as the discussion of trans rights in the UK got more serious over her lifetime, trans people went from “the odd weirdo” to “a recognized minority,” and eventually this ran against a bedrock belief that on some level men are men and women are women and never the twain shall meet. To act otherwise was just too embarrassing. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in the name of political correctness.

Other people whose brains have been eaten by the anti-woke mind virus (as @eightyonekilograms calls it) have something going of the contrarian in them, who enjoys yelling “up yours, woke moralists!” or w/e. Im thinking of ppl like Glenn Greenwald here, or Dave Chapelle, people who seem not to feel alive except when people are mad at them. That’s a separate but interesting dynamic. And there are people like Graham Linehan who become totally unhinged through this process of auto-radicalization, moths drawn ever closer to a particular source of validation within their chosen reactionary subcommunity, until they are truly parodies of themselves. That is also an important dynamic, but it’s one that only takes hold after the initial turn has begun.

I think the role of that feeling of cringe, that refusal to entertain an idea because it is too embarrassing (even if it does actually have a decent body of research behind it, unlike crystals) is important to think about, because I am interested in how to get people over it. I know that feeling has affected my own thinking over my lifetime. I wasn’t raised particularly conservative, but I had to learn not to cringe at a lot of feminist thought before I could appreciate it and learn from it. I explicitly didn’t have that cringe when it came to gay people for whatever reason, so it never entered my mind that it might be a problem. I remember being surprised to learn when I was very young that some boys wanted to marry other boys, but my response was “huh. Go figure.” Because for whatever reason I had not picked up that this was something I was supposed to be grossed out by. A general doctrine of empathy, of trying to understand people on their own terms, can help forestall some of this stuff, but it’s not foolproof in either direction—I don’t want to believe crystals have healing powers if it becomes socially popular to do so, just because it is socially popular to do so! And if they do, I don’t want to not believe they do just because it is socially unpopular!

(Obviously the crystals thing is not a one to one metaphor for the trans thing, so don’t read too much into that. Maybe astrology would have been a better analogy. Also I’m not talking just about people whose reactionary turn is predicated on trans issues—I think this dynamic applies to everything from gay rights to the Tridentine Mass. But trans issues are a handy example bc, as the adage goes, somebody posts once about trans people and they never post anything normal again. I think the classic rapid-onset trans derangement syndrome is closely tied to the fact that gender norms are a really deep element of many people’s social-consensus-based worldview, and so challenged to that worldview are felt as really cringe.)

I’m curious if other people who grew more liberal in their thinking over time had a similar experience of having to overcome what was basically a feeling of embarrassment at certain ideas.

[pitchsidestories]

flowers II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

a/n: hi, this is purely fiction but we were inspired by Lucy's instagram story at Diada de Sant Jordi, we hope you guys like it. 😊

warnings: mostly fluff, it's only slightly suggestive at the end of the oneshot.

masterlist I word count: 1628

Despite the loss in the champions league half final against Chelsea on saturday, you observed that the atmosphere in the team wasn’t too bad at the start of the training, perhaps because it was Diada de Sant Jordi.

It was one of your favourite festive days of Catalonia as it concluded two of your favourite things next to football which were flowers and books. Plus you were looking forwart to spend some quality time with your two girlfriends Lucy and Ona in the evening.

“Bona Diada de Sant Jordi.”, the woman who was filming the team for social media chirmed while you all were slowly entering the pitch.

“Feliç Sant Jordi“, you wished into the camera smiling, Ona next to you waved silently with a huge grin on her face.

Right behind you two Lucy and Keira passed the media person, the English defender shouted: “Happy Jordie-Day!”

“Jordie-Day?”, Ona asked, rising an eyebrow in question.

“Jordan Nobbs Day?”, the older woman explained laughing.

“Ignore her, Oni. She knows exactly what today is about books, roses, and dragons.”, you winked at her.

“And Jordan.”, Lucy added with a childish smile.

Curiously Mariona turned her head to face you and your girlfriends properly:” Do you three lovebirds have planned something special after training?”

“No, not really, except for dinner tonight. Also, can’t believe they let me do the grocery shopping alone.”, Ona groaned.

“Hey, someone has to take Narla on a walk.”, the older English woman defended herself.

“And Mapi needs my help with book shopping.”, you added, throwing innocent looks at her.  

“Excuses!”, the youngest of the three of you replied.

“We’ll do the cooking and cleaning afterwards I promise.”, you told her in a soothing tone.

“I hope so.”, she nodded satisfied.

“Now that everyone knows what to do after training.”, Lucy begun before picking both of your pairs of football boots and running away from you.

“Lucia!”, Ona and you scolded her.

“What are you waiting for?”, the dark-haired woman questioned you giggling looking more like the little girl she once was instead of the over thirty years old person she was now.

This gave you the chance to catch up with her.  

“We got you.”, Ona cheered as the three of you tumbled to the ground laughing out loud.

“Here are your shoes, Oni.”, you said before you put your own boots on.

“Thanks.”, she muttered, still with a big smile on her lips.

Slowly Lucy got up, padding both of your backs encouragingly:” Come on, girls.”

“Coming.”, you exclaimed excitedly. The weight of the loss on your shoulders felt lighter when you three were able to laugh about silly moments like this.

Right after training, you said goodbye to your girlfriends and met up with the still injured Mapi in a bookshop. The two of you strolled through the shelves, browsing for the perfect books.

Excitedly, you picked out a book and held it up for Mapi: “Have you heard about this one?

Your teammate eyed the book curiously as she took it: “No, is it gay?“

You smirked. Typical Mapi.

You pulled another book from the shelf and handed it to her: “No, but this one is.“

It was a poetry collection by Mary Oliver which Mapi took with an uncertain look on her face.

She flipped through the pages: “Do you think Ingrid would like it?“

“Hm, wait. Here’s one about three women of a family. It’s set in Barcelona and a café plays an important part in it. I feel like that’s more an Ingrid-book, don’t you agree?“, you said as you gave her the third book.

You knew you found the perfect match when you saw Mapis eyes lit up.

She skimmed the blurb of the book and looked at you with a bright smile: “That is so Ingrid!“

“You should gift her that one.“, you suggested happily.

The defender pressed the book to her chest: “Thanks. I know why I asked you to help me with that.“

You could feel your cheeks turn red so you turned back towards the books: “You’re welcome.“

Mapi watched as you picked up the poetry collection again: “Are you getting it for your girls too?“

You nodded as you walked towards the checkout: “Yes, we love to read out loud to each other in the evenings.“

“That’s disgustingly sweet. Didn’t Lucy was into stuff like that.“, Mapi scrunched her nose.

You giggled: “Don’t tell anyone. Lucy wants to make everyone believe that she’s so tough.“

“Promise. I won’t say a word about it.“

“Thank you but Ingrid and you should try that too. It’s very relaxing.“, you suggested.

Mapi only winked at you: “We’re busy doing other stuff.“

“Oh, trust me, we do that too.“, you laughed, knowing full well that your girlfriends were insatiable.

“Oh, I bet you do.“, she smirked.

You tried to switch the topic quickly when you realized that other people might be listening: “Now that we’re done book shopping… Coffee?“

“Please. I need some caffeine!“, Mapi laughed.

“Me too.“, you agreed. But a small flower shop next to the book store caught your attention. They were selling gorgeous bouquets of roses.

“Wait here. I’ll just get those flowers.“, you told Mapi before walking into the shop and reappearing with the wrapped up bouquet just a few minutes later.

“That’s a huge bouquet.“, the defender commented, watching you carry the unwieldy package.

“It’s beautiful though, right?”, you said, looking almost as admiring at the pretty flowers like you usually did at your girlfriends.

“Very.”, Mapi admitted before she pulled you into the direction to the café, the smell of fresh coffee beans already promised a delicious coffee and a fun chat about everything and nothing.

Meanwhile, Alexia celebrated the special day with the girlfriend and the dog by walking at the Passeig de Gracia. It might have been a bit too busy for her taste, but the midfielder wanted to get her love something she only could get there. Both admired the Casa Batlló which was decorated with roses in front of them when the Barcelona player spotted someone very familiar:” Hi Narla and Lucy.”

“Hi.”, the English woman grinned, holding proudly the dog leash in one hand and in the other beautiful red flowers.

“Oh, the roses are stunning.”, Olga remarked smiling.

“I hope my girls like them too.”, Lucy responded, her cheeks turning slightly pink which didn’t get unnoticed by her club captain.

“Who thought Lucy Bronz is a romantic.”, Alexia teased the defender.

“I’m not but those two are. So, I’m delivering.”, the slightly older woman explained.

“That’s cute.”, Olga hummed.

“I know.”, Lucy laughed.

“See you, Lucia.”, the blonde said goodbye, so did her girlfriend and the English player.

Glancing at the watch around her wrist Lucy realized that was time to slowly return to her home.

Almost at the same time Ona and you arrived on your front door. The Spanish player happily exclaimed while entering the appartement:” Hi girls, you can start cooking I bought the goods.”

“Perfect., you nodded, after a moment you couldn’t hold it back any longer and added, look, I got you two those flowers.”

“Hey, get those out of here. I bought some already.”, Lucy joked.

“What, no, I got some too!”, Ona chuckled.

“Are you saying we have different bouquets of flowers now?”, you lifted an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes, we do.”, the youngest of you three smiled sheepishly.

“One for the kitchen, one for the living room and one to put into our bedroom.”, the English woman decided.

“Sounds like a plan.”, you agreed with her before Lucy, and you started cooking.

The dinner that followed was filled with laughter and love. Because it already was quite late you three moved your conversation into your bedroom which smelled of fresh linen and lightly of fresh cut flowers.

“Y/n, show us the book you got from shopping earlier.”, Ona demanded excitedly.

“Alright make yourself comfortable.”, you told the women you loved.

“Wait. I’ll make us tea before you start.”, the English defender got up from the bed quickly, suddenly remembering what she wanted to do to make the moments especially cozy.

“She’s so British sometimes.”, the Spanish player muttered amused.

“Honestly.”, you giggled.

Patiently you waited until Lucy returned with her tea cup in hand. She placed the hot beverage on the bedside table and made herself comfortable next to you.

Ona planted her head in your lap.

“Ready?“, you asked.

Lucy took a sip of her tea before she gave you a nod: “Ready.“

Smiling, you opened your book and started reading a few poems.

Your girlfriends listened quietly.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life.“, you read.

“Easy. Making you stop reading now so we can do other fun things.“, Lucy smirked, putting her hand across the page to keep you from continuing.

Ona sat up in excitement: “Right. We’ll continue with the poems tomorrow.“

You groaned: “You two are always so impatient. At least let me put the book away.“

Carefully you set down the book on the bedside table, next to Lucys now cold tea.

“No, time for that!“, Ona protested, pulling you back on the bed with a grin.

You raised an eyebrow: “Excuse me?“

Lucy just shrugged and slipped her hand under your shirt: “You heard her.“

“Okay, okay.“, you laughed, letting yourself relax under her touch.

“Finally.“

Ona moved closer to you, starting to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck while Lucys hands continued to move across your body. You enjoyed every movement. Your girlfriends knew how to make you feel good and you could not wait to give it back to them.

“Wild and precious life indeed.“, you sighed.

a/n: would you guys be interested in just a Luna fanfic ? <3

all pictures are from pinterest.

[mihii-i]

HEELELO i found a fellow ddlc fan AND they write femreader YES >:D personally i fricking love monika and yuri and i got a bunch of ideas i wanna write but im burnt out to a crisp currently sooo

headcanons of what makes monika warm and flustered since she doesn't really get shy that easily

yuri x really bubbly and loud reader headcanons

you don't have to do both or any but i really like your ddlc stuff <33

i hope you have a good day/night!!!

what gets monika flustered hcs.

Pairings: monika x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, hint of natsuri mentioned, none really, wuhluhwuh I can’t do this girls kissing warning anymore let’s go gambling gambling is that all u ever say I hate gamblinggggg, I hate homophobessssss, can I get more ddlc with female reader im so tired of seeing male reader male reader aaaa, screaming in lowercase because my cw are always in lowercase aaaaaa ofc not proofread these are fvcking headcanons, sorry lemme phrase that nicer, not proofread.

A/N: omg feel free to ask the yuri one in a seperate ask because I can’t do two different requests in one- BUT YES I DO FEM READER FOR DDLC we are in such a shortage of ddlc x female reader content when salvato himself literally ships the club members together and we know full well that most of the ddlc fandom rn is just depressed gay women (ngl some of the weird ddlc modders from 2018 made me wanna puke so it’s refreshing to be present with fem reader content now 🕯️

Oh my GOD like you said already, it’s rare to see Monika get flustered by pretty much anything, so either you’d have to try extra hard, or just find those little weak spots that make her happy.

Since she’s more accustomed to popularity and attention for a few brief moments, Monika would genuinely appreciate if you checked up on her often. Even if it’s just for small things. Like asking if she ate or if she needs any help with managing the club.

She doesn’t get all stutter-y per se, more like you can see her smile to herself and her cheeks dusted over with a light pink as she drags her heart pen across a blank page, cheek resting on her palm with that dreamy look burning in her emerald eyes.

Handholding is also another huge thing!!! (Yes ik handholding before marriage how scandalous)

Holding her hand in the hallway is one thing, but when you two are alone? That’s a whole new level of intimacy for her to be fair.

Monika seems to be the type of woman who prefers intimate moments to be sort of a display of affection and how close you two are, meaning that they can just be random little things that make her happy, rather than the usual extra cliché actions that are typically displayed to be intimate.

If you’re sitting next to her after school while she’s writing poetry in an empty classroom, leaning your head against her shoulder as you lace your fingers with her own, she will DEFINITELY be thinking of that moment for the whole day.

Another silly thing that isn’t ’traditionally romantic’ that gets her flustered has to be complimenting her poetry!

She also adores when you show interest in it, and even go as far as analyzing the metaphorical language and symbolism of her style, basking in the moment of you showing interest in something crafted by her own hand.

Especially cause it feels like you’re looking into her soul (which is what she puts into her poetic works), and trying to dig deeper to actively find out more about her, rather than being content with knowing just the surface level of who you would want her to be. And in her eyes, that’s practically the definition of love, and goes to show how much you truly love her.

LET ME TELL YOU do little things like buying her a drink from the vending machine or write a little heart on a poem you write for her and she’ll be so giddy inside it’s cute.

I also feel like she’d like it when you abruptly hug her from behind, since the feeling of your arms, whether they’re skinnier or thicker than hers would bring her comfort knowing you’re just squeezing her.

If I’m being so real right now, I feel like she gets flustered by almost everything you two do in private, since she has to keep up that popular ‘perfect’ girl front in the hallways.

OOH ONE I FORGOT TO MENTION Monika would make an exception to getting openly red in the face whenever you gush about her to the other club members, especially when she doesn’t know and they tell her about it!

It would go something like most likely Natsuki walking up to Monika—probably because you lost a bet to her for god knows what competitive bullshit you two were doing, and straight up tells her something along the lines of:

“Hey Monika, you know (Name) kept yapping about how you have the prettiest smile she’s seen? Also, I think you’ve got a huge fan of your poems now since she can’t shut up about them.”

To which Monika would try to quickly compose herself from her initially flushed state and spew out an uncharacteristically quick sentence like:

“Ah..tell her she’s more gorgeous than I could’ve imagined then!”

And this little pink gremlin would run back to tell you before going back to wherever she was next to Yuri.

yes I added a sprinkle of natsuri don’t complain about and just pretend it’s in a friendly way if you don’t ship it ig

Overall, I feel like Monika would just get flustered by any affection of yours done in a private setting that really conveys the depth of your love for her. <3

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR LETTING TJIS MARINATE IN MY REQUESTS FOR TOO LONF OMG but honestly this was so cute and fun to write

But this may not be what exactly u asked for so I apologize 💔

nevertheless I hope you still enjoy the food yayyy <33

[unnamedly]

MY HEADCANONS FOR TDAC (main cast) CHARACTERS LGBTQ+ WISE cause although I don't find it important per se it still effects the way I look at the characters.

Going in alphabetical order:

Bubble- I don't necessarily see them as anything? If that makes sense. Like just unlabeled on everything, but not even calling themself 'unlabeled'. Bubble is Bubble.

Caine- AROACE. THERE NO WAY BRO ISN'T. My headcanon started immediately when I saw his face with the Moon. The absolute look of fear. That is an ace man if I've ever seen one. "Let's get outta here before the moon starts getting frisky!! o.0 " His desire to keep everything as pg as possible?? I dunno, he just gives me ace vibes ong. AND THEN- I just personally can't see him as being romantically into anyone. Like just an example, the scene in the restaurant. Typically in scenes like that in the media it's portrayed as a romantic evening/date. BUT IT WASN'T. It was him with his fucked up dog 😭 COMING BACK AFTER THE NEW EPISODE?? THAT MAN IS AROACE!!!!

Gangle- That is a nonbinary person if I've ever seen one. Demigirl perhaps?? Either way, I'm jealous of the androgyny that mfka has. I'm not too sure sexuality wise, as a multishipper. (I honestly j consume most tadc media so I'm not sure if that counts as being a multishipper lol) I would like to think that they use she/they pronouns and is maybe pansexual. (:

Jax- I was dreading doing bro. I wanna say cis man?? But I can also see agender using he/him. Gender just isn't something that concerns him. His only concern is being a little bitch. LMAO. And sexuality wise?? He's definitely got some queer flair to him. So imo Imma just say queer. :3 Like he knew he was gay to some extent?? And just stuck with the label. ALSO ADDING ON AFTER THE NEW EP, in my opinion he doesn’t have any interest in figuring out gender or sexuality, he only likes being an absolute bitch LMAO. I like him though so I GUESSSSSS it’s okay. Maybe.

Kinger- OKAY. SO. HE'S CISHET. AN ALLY. BUT CISHET. I personally hate when fandoms see a weak and/or smaller man and immediately label him as trans and/or queer. CAUSE BRO, MEN CAN BE MALEWIVES LET THEM BE!!! He's definitely the typa man to be called babygirl. Like imagine Jerma or Paul Dano, a silly cishet man who is in fact babygirl.

Pomni- BISEXUAL WOMAN. Bros got the bi-haircut. That's my only reasoning./hj But seriously?? As a bi person myself leaning toward my gender?? I can genuinely see that for her. It's canon, trust/j

Ragatha- SAPPHIC. THIS WOMAN LOVEEEESSSSSS KISSING OTHER WOMEN!!!! She loves women so much. It’s always a good day to be gay if your Ragatha.

Zooble- Non-binary. (Duh lol) But I’d like to say sexuality wise they lean more towards women. Zooble loves kissing women. Not as much as Ragatha, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

[vulcajes]

100 follower event 🫶🫶

Holy fucking shit. I can't believe 100 people actually follow me and my silly little Marauders posting. Thank you so so much to everyone and all the friends I've made on this hellsite! If you told me when I made my account in August, that I'd be here I would never have fucking believed it. But here we are! Ik this is a bit overdramatic for 100 followers but let's be fr I'm the most dramatic bitch on this app 😭 Anyways, to celebrate I've decided to do a little ask game (more details below) in a classical literature theme!

Christmas tree | intro post

Send me the emoji/name of the prompt in an ask and you shall receive! (Note: there isn't a limit and it'll be active until 07/01/25! Go crazy!)

🖌The Picture of Dorian Gray — let me stalk your blog and I'll make you a moodboard

🎆 The Great Gatsby — tell me about yourself and I'll assign you an aesthetic

🇺🇸 Little Women — send me a general vibe of books you like and I'll give you book recs

💞 Romeo and Juliet — tell me a bit about yourself and I'll ship you (platonically or otherwise) with a character from one of my fandoms (Criminal Minds, Doctor Who, Marauders)!

🏠 Wuthering Heights — tell me something about yourself and I'll I give you a location you have similar vibes to!

🐖 Animal Farm — tell me a bit about yourself and I'll give you an animal based off of vibes!

👁 1984 — ask me anything! (Note: I'm not gonna dox myself lmfao)

🔔 The Bell Jar — send me a ship and trope you like and I'll write a microfic based on it!

🦇 Dracula — tell me something about you I give you a supernatural creature you remind me of!

🎀 Lolita — I translate anything you want into French

🔒 Crime and Punishment — ask me literally anything about my WIPs (what ships they include, if I'm doing a particular au, etc)!

MUTUALS ONLY!

👻 Rebecca — I make you a shuffles!

❄️ Anna Karenina — I give you a quote from a book/movie I like based on your vibes!

🦋 The Collector — I tell you my favourite things about you!

🦢 Jane Eyre — Give you 5 songs you remind me of!

👧🏼 The Virgin Suicides — I make you a playlist!

Tagging my beloved mutuals 🫶🫶

@twogolddoubloons89 @fridayisbestday @enbysiriusblack @mrstellmeafuckingsecret @circe-butbetter @garden-of-runar @kawaiibarty @prongstuff @deadatthealtar @marylily-my-beloved @sadnappo @rainystarssx @obviouslyaweasley @evanorphia @soulfullives @definitionoffuckup @forbiddenwilds @siriusblackcombatboots @ofmyneck @very-gay-poet @summerboybabe @hotchniss12 @ephemeralstarss @nyx-taylors-version @lilyevansirl @choucon @bralnwashed