#this was meant as practice for their expressions n dialogue. ended up being very fun!!

[veryberrybad]

i NEED the sexy poll to be real in universe, it’ll never not be funny to me

[emilycollins00]

I love your writing so much! 💙 Can I maybe have some hcs with Misumi (the boy deserves more recognition, he's just so precious!), Juza and Tasuku when you casually blurt out that you like them and then after realizing what you've said, run away or at least try to hehehe Thank you <3

Hello sweetie 💕 Oh, and I love that decided to request, so let me instead thank you!

Yes, I can concur too Misumi is so lovable I can’t deal with myself. And the others! Dear me do I know we need more people to spread their preciousness.

Here you go, please enjoy!

Misumi

Oh, he would loooove hearing you say that.

He would find you so cute!

Out of these three boys, I think Misumi would be the smoothest when reacting to your blurting

He would accept the fact that you both like each other and continue with what you were doing 

Prepare to be attacked by his adorable clinginess

It would happen during one of his many triangle hunts. Misumi and you would be walking around Veludo Way, enjoying the day the weather had let you after a week of summer rain.

You both had already collected a fair amount of triangular items but Misumi was still looking around, humming cheerfully next to you. He was floored when you said you’d go with him.

“Aaah! Y/N, Y/N! Look!” he pointed to an airplane that flew not too far.

You looked up, smiling after discovering the reason for his excitement “I agreed to take the big triangular rock with you, Misumi, even though we’ll get yelled at later… but I really don’t think the wings of a plane will fit in your room”

He looked at you in such deep thought it was funny “Mmm... What about the garden?”

“I think Tsumugi-san would cry. And then the rest of the dorm. Maybe we could go look inside a toy store to see plane toys?”

Misumi gasped beaming at you “Yeah, I want to go with you! I love hunting triangles but more if it’s with you!”

You scratched your neck, smiling bashfully at the ground. You became a mess when he started saying things like that “Yeah, I like you too Misumi”

Your smile froze.

Misumi tilted his head “Uh? You like me, Y/N?”  

You felt yourself heating up. The five seconds of silence after this literally ripped your soul from inside.

When you would finally look up, you almost screamed as you practically bumped heads with Misumi due to his proximity “Ey, Y/N, Is that true?” he asked again. 

Was he smiling? What was going on? You lost control of yourself when you saw his bright face. Your chest started thumping fast. You and your big mouth.

“I… have? Liked you for a while I mean…! I, a-at first I didn’t know much about theatre or…! But your play was so much fun to watch and w-when I got to know you....”

His smile would get bigger as you keep blabbering about how much you admired and enjoyed your time together. How you found amazing what he did. It made Misumi overjoyed to see how much you cared for him “I’m glad! I like you too, Y/N!”

“-and so, wait, what did you just say, Misumi?”

“Come on! Let’s go find more triangles together to show everyone!” He pulled you towards him “Then you could also stay for lunch! Omi’s going to make sandwiches!”

And just like that you would both resume your walk, with Misumi’s hands strongly intertwined with yours now. You’d lie if you said you weren’t still shook but it was so Misumi-like that you couldn't help but laugh and squeeze his hand, gaining a squeeze in return. 

You really liked him a lot

 .

Tasuku

I think by that time you blurt it out, he might have noticed some weird behaviors from you from before

But I don’t think he would connect dots until he hears you?

Might try to talk to you

However, you would opt to hide in the first place you find

Mr. Stoic strikes again with his conversation skills but he’s trying hard to win you too, I promise 

Even i got confused

It occurs during a late-night rehearsal

Tasuku had already been coming a few times as a guest actor for your theatre plays and you had been lucky enough to work with him in this new one.

After the official rehearsal, he asked you to stay a bit more to read again your characters final dialogue. You were portraying an ancient-future teller while Tasuku was your attendant, Adam, in love with you but unable to do anything due to status as a subplot. He would supposedly die in the final act to protect your honor.

Ah, the irony

“They are comming” you moved around the practice room.

“Everything has been prepared at your disposal, wise teller”

He was so good at every character he worked with damn, you were jealous. You paid attention at your pose, nodding serene “Very well, that’s why I like you, Tasuku”

“…Y/N?”

You looked at him and then back at your script. Repeated the action. Shit.

You would try to follow up but would be too overwhelmed and embarrassed to keep acting as if nothing had happened. Before he said anything to you, you asked for a break and left the room.

Now you were siting in the storage room, locked up.

What were you thinking? Just what were you thinking?? You just blurted out that you liked the very same man who said that he found dating and merely going out a waste of time a few months ago!

You heard the door’s knock moving “Y/N? Are you here?”

“Wrong, Y/N is not here”

“…Uh, then, could you tell them that” he cleared his throat from the other side of the door “I don’t mind…” he sighed, placing his hand behind his neck to calm down “I… would like to talk about what they said in the practice space”

Your heart thumped hard in your chest. You were preparing to get so rejected so what was all of this? You kept hearing him talk behind the wooden door.

“Look, Y/N, I… was going on a similar route so it’s okay. If anything, you were faster”

Did he mean what you thought he meant? Confused, you opened the door, finally making eye contact with the actor “Tasuku, I know you are trying to make a point but I’m really embarrassed right now and you really lost me with those sentences”

Tasuku exhaled, expecting something like that. He was not the best at expressing himself outside of acting plays.

He enjoyed your performances. A lot. Hell, he would find himself going to see your acts three or four times whenever he discovered you were on stage. He definitely knew it was unusual for him.

You were earnest, hard-working, and serious about what you did. And he admired you for that. Tasuku felt he needed to get to know you more... and then the guest act job appeared.

He had planned to ask you after finishing the play. He was somehow expecting getting rejected (he didn’t have a good reputation in that department) but obviously now, you hiding after blurting you liked him, called for a change of plans.

“What I mean to say is… care to come with me for a drink?” he offered you his hand.

It was his turn to show you how serious he was.

 .

Juza

This sweet boy would be SO confused dear me

He might even think you meant as a friend?

But obviously your actions don’t look like it

So from then on, it’s a challenge to see who is able to finish a full sentence until you both calm down

You two are so cute together I’m full

You had had a crush on the dessert loving teen since the start of the school year, when you saw him confronting some boys that were supposedly sending hate mails to the famous actor in your school, Sumeragi Tenma.

Being in the same class as him helped you to get to know him better. Although it had been a bit of struggle to befriend him. You enjoyed your conversations with him, found funny how his face contradicted his actions. However, most of your class didn’t think the same.

“Maybe you should smile more?”

He did.

“Good! Now you just have to get rid of that glare”

Juza sighed frustrated. It wasn’t going to work. You two sometimes met after school to find ways he wouldn’t look so… menacing in the eyes of others “This’stupid. I should stop. It’s our last year anyway, not much left ‘till we leave”

You crumbled inside when you heard him say those things “It’s not like that Juza, I’m sure our classmates are changing, just slowly. You even receive greetings and goodbyes from them now right?”

“I guess…” He sighed. If anything of that was true, it was thanks to you. You were always there smiling and making conversations with him, so other people started too “S’okay, at least I got to meet you” He really meant it. He felt lucky just with you. You always looked behind the person’s first impression, helping anyone in need. And he really admired that. He also found out not long ago he was kind of infatuated with you. But that was another story he didn’t mind leaving aside.

Oblivious to any of that, your heart melted at the amount of earnestness the boy projected “It’s not fair though, wish everyone saw how amazing you are and how much I like you” you blurted out unconsciously.

“Uh…What?”

“Like I said, you’re amazing and I… like you?” you ended the sentence in a faint voice. Your smiled dropped, realization in your face.

Juza would most likely stand there, shocked as he saw you running away, still processing what just happened.

You, on the other hand, would probably be wondering which would be faster if jumping from the window or throwing yourself off the stairs. Both options looked better than the current situation. Your heard him yell as he ran after you.

When he caught up, he would realize you were blushing deep red while trying to avoid looking into his eyes. A few seconds went by in silence, both of you trying to catch up lost air. You decided to end it quickly

“I’m sorry Juza, it just came out and-”

“You really like me, Y/N? …Me?”

You got quiet. He thought you would start explaining it was as friends, as he imagined, when he saw you nodding while looking at the floor. His heart fluttered.

“Are you…”

“I mean…!”

You both stopped each other to let the other speak

“I didn’t think you…”

“I could understand if…”

You two would look at each other and finally laugh at the silliness of the situation, what was wrong with you? Calming down, you tried one last time

“I like you too”

“I like you”

As they say, three times really is the charm

_________________________________________________________

Aaaah this headcanon was cute, real cute. I tried my best with these confession/blurtings so hopefully you liked them!

Have a wonderful day!💕

[tinalbion]

Oooooh Tiiiiinnnnnaaaaa! I have an ask for youuuu~ Could I pwease get some Sammy Wescott? You haven't written for him yet and I reallllly want to see what you could do with him! I have some dialogue prompts for you too! We got - "Are you wearing my shirt?" - "Take it off. Slowly." - "If you keep making those sounds I'm not going to be able to stop myself." Thank you, bless you, I love you! AND most importantly have FUN with this one eh? ❤❤❤ You the best!

Bex! You big-brained and big meat having QUEEN!

I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND YOUR AMAZING PROMPTS!

And as always, I love these boys and I am very happy to finally have written something for Sammy, 

He deserves so much love and praise.

I now know that I am addicted to writing for these boys and I will never stop, especially since I need to practice for the collab we got going! 

I hope it meets your expectations and I hope you vibe and DIE HAPPY with how it turned out!

Love ya, girl!

❤❤❤ 

*

*

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.6k

--

“Just A Reminder”

--

Nothing beat sitting by the fire when the chill in the air was a bit too much and you wouldn’t trade those evenings for the world. 

When you weren’t at camp, your family would have bonfires almost every weekend, it was such a relaxing time and it always brought you back to the good memories of camping as a kid. So whenever the counselors wanted to have a bonfire, you were more than willing to attend, even though they tend to get a tad rowdy after a few cold beers.

Sam was a bit reluctant to attend since he figured he’d be the babysitter of the adults, but when he would out you were excited about it, he laughed it off and agreed to accept your invitation. You had asked him late afternoon after chatting a bit with Kizzy and Tori about it, the girls convincing you easily enough to come around and have a good time as they blasted some good tunes and enjoyed the last week with no kids present, it would be one of the best nights for the fire! It didn’t take much to get you to agree.

You were getting ready for the hangout as you changed out of your sweaty counselor clothes and hopped into the shower, but you weren’t sure what you were going to wear so you rummaged through your luggage and found an unfamiliar tee shirt. It was a bit larger than your usual ones, definitely smelled more masculine, like a hint of cologne and woodsy, maybe some smoke. It was Sam’s, that’s right! He borrowed it to you when you were pushed into the lake near the boathouse, you had neglected to return it since your days had been so busy, your thoughts weren’t really focused on the shirt. 

Your thoughts then drifted to Sam and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you smiled, the memories you made this year would be unforgettable and you were more than thankful to have met him, and knowing he was actually coming to the fire was a blessing since he rarely liked to be in the group due to the fact he played the parent to the group. When you promised him it wouldn’t be like that this time, he did that little smirk you adored so much and scoffed, still unsure if he made the right decision, but you would be there and it would be worth it.

The time came and you had slipped into a pair of faded cut off jean shorts, his tee shirt draped over your frame, then you finished it off as you shrugged into an oversized flannel long sleeve. It was only a few minutes past the time the group had suggested for the bonfire to start so you were making good time as you trekked across the large grassy field, the small cooler draped over your shoulder that you decided to bring last-minute, packed with some goodies for the group to share if they desired.

You spotted the roaring flames from a couple of hundred feet away, the sound of music echoing in the area and the apparent sound of laughter only grew when you had gotten close enough. You saw Sam sitting on one of the picnic tables and sipping gingerly at the beer in his hand, his eyes looking around and making sure everything was going smoothly. His eyes scanned over the small group again and saw you just walking onto the concrete area, your eyes locked and you couldn’t help but smile shyly as you walked next to him, the breeze in the air causing you to shiver. 

“Hey Sam,” you greeted cheerfully, setting down the cooler onto the table, “you guys been here long?”

“Nah, I just got here about three or four minutes ago, the rest of them maybe about ten minutes,” he explained. He reached down beside the table and grabbed a bottle from the half-melted ice, then he handed it to you. “Made it just in time for the ghost stories.” He didn’t sound very thrilled about it.

Last time he told a ‘spooky story’, shit hit the fan really quickly. 

He shook the negative thoughts from his mind and tried his best to occupy them with something else. The music playing on the radio was enough to help if only a little. 

You smiled and thanked him for the drink, your eyes following his and watched as the crowd had sat in a circle around the firepit, their attention focused on Jason, who was talking about his time at an old camp that was hundreds of miles from this one, something so cleverly nicknamed ‘Camp Blood’. You were intrigued by the story but immediately could tell Sam wasn’t having the best time right now. You took a breath and sat down next to him on the bench, looking at him with a concerned expression, but before you could speak, he cut you off.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asked curiously, beer still against his lips as he was blatantly staring at your chest. “Wait, are you not wearing a bra either?” His voice was lower this time, almost a whisper. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass you in front of these goofs. 

You blushed in response and took a large sip at your beer. “Yes and yes, happy?”

Sam smirked and looked at you with a gleam in his eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course. You’re here.”

The comment made you want to bite your finger to quiet the squeal that almost surfaced, it was so incredibly cute. Sam was like that, always so sweet and thoughtful of what he said when you were around. Timid and introverted were the best ways to describe him, but what could he say, you brought out the fun side of him. 

You cleared your throat and smiled awkwardly. “Hope they haven’t got too out of hand so soon,” you mentioned casually, hoping to take attention from the lack of underclothes and focus it anywhere else right now. 

Sam’s attention was back on the counselors and he scoffed again as he watched how the flames behind them roared higher as Gerald added more firewood to it. “Yeah, they’ve been good for the time being, but it’s still early. I just don’t wanna end up scolding them again like I always do.”

“I notice Buddy isn’t here, he okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s just not one to join in on the drunken festivities either. I invited him, said we’d be there, but you know him. He wants to get a head start on packing everything up before the week is out. He said he’ll be happy to make tomorrow night’s fire though.”

You nodded in response and smiled, hoping Buddy didn’t just say that to make you feel better. Either way, you knew he wasn’t exactly the most social creature, so you would make it up to him by throwing him a little fire of his own with just the three of you. For tonight, you figured hanging out with the rest of the crew would be good for you guys.

“Hey Sam, you got any scary stories?” Gerald asked a few minutes later.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, not this time, guys.”

“What about you, Y/N?” Gerald directed his attention to you. 

“Nope, out of luck tonight, Ger,” you giggled and nodded your head to the song that began to play. “What about karaoke?” you offered instead.

“Aw hell yeah!” Kizzy shouted. 

A few others reacted with positive sounds while only a few groaned and shook their heads. Either way, the night’s activities were divided up amongst the group, but you and Sam sat at the table and chatted away about the plans you both had for when you went back to your normal lives. You had scooted a little closer to him and leaned your head against his shoulder as he talked, listening while your eyes focused on the fire. 

That’s when the group had all collectively yelled when a certain song came on, the amount of beer in their guts already sloshing around and impairing their motor skills. Sam groaned and was about to stand up and stop them from acting up too much, but you placed your hand on his wrist, grabbing his attention. 

“Come on, let’s let them have some fun,” you offered as you stood up and stretched your arms. 

His eyes were on you again, grazing over your chest as he could see your breasts so easily when your arms lifted high above your head. He wondered if you did this on purpose, just for him to see and to take notice, to think of you in such dirty ways while everyone around them was clueless to your actions. 

Sam stood beside you and walked alongside you as you both grabbed one more drink, silently sneaking off when the others weren’t paying much attention. The counselor breathed a sigh of relief when you were both hidden amongst the trees, the sounds of shouting and laughter fading. 

"Thanks for the distraction, Y/N, I always get a little weird near the end of the season. Always feel bummed, I miss this place when I'm gone." Sam looked up at the dark Louisiana sky and sighed, his mind elsewhere as you both walked the well-known side trail. 

You looked over at him and knew exactly what he meant because you always felt the same way. It was work, sure, but it really didn't feel that way when you and the kids would all enjoy swimming or canoeing together, it was a wonderful experience. You smiled and reached out for his hand, slipping your fingers in between his. "I get it, Sam, I'm just glad I have a new camp to attend every year." 

Of course, it was because of the boys, they were the reason you didn't want to leave, the reason you had felt the best you ever felt in the longest time. 

Your eyes darted up to the sky as soon as you stepped onto the hill, the one Sam told you about that was best for stargazing, and he wasn't wrong; it was incredible. You both looked up and just silently enjoyed the sights and each other's company, the late-night summer's breeze picking up only a little. 

Sam was the first to sit down and he patted the grass beside him. "I remember telling you about this place, my little getaway from everything," he began to ramble, "and I came up here the first night I knew I started to feel something for you."

"Sam, I came out here to have a good time, not to cry and feel emotional," you groaned and wrapped your arm around his, feeling his surprisingly firm muscles under the thicker fabric of his sleeve. 

He laughed and bumped his head against yours, his way of showing affection. "Oh, I'm sorry miss co-counselor, I forgot you like to be the happy one, right?" He teased as he ruffled your hair. That led to you both pushing one another until the mood became too heavy to ignore and you pushed for a kiss.

It started off light and soft, his skin causing yours to bristle with excitement as his hand reached out and slid to the back of your neck. Anytime Sam would allow his fingers to glide across your skin, your immediate reaction was to release a content sigh, which he always took notice of. It happened so quickly that you ended up sliding into his lap, your legs on either side of him and you straddled him as your kisses never stopped. 

It was Sam who pulled back first and smiled up at you. "I gotta say Y/N, you look pretty good in that shirt. Almost makes me regret not leaving it with you sooner." 

You smirked and ran your hands through his hair, the softness tickled your fingertips as you leaned in to kiss him again, indulging yourself in the overwhelming feelings that began to bubble up within you, the same feelings you were dealing with back in your cabin. The heat began to grow as your mouth on his became hungry and needy, your tongue grazing his lips as your hands slid from the back of his neck and drifted down to his collarbone, your fingers smoothed against his chest. He let out a satisfied hum and pushed further into your kisses, fighting as much as he could against the hardness that began to form in his jeans from your touch. His eyes were closed and he was so focused on just feeling you beneath his touch as if you were going to disappear from him forever like he needed to memorize the way you smelled and the way you felt. 

His breathing was heavy when you pulled away from him to adjust yourself, and that’s when Sam had changed on a dime completely; he wrapped both arms around your waist and rolled you over where he was now on top of you, his body between your spread legs as he looked down at you with an animalistic expression that almost made you rethink your choice of getting him worked up in the first place. Wordless, he worked on the button of your jean shorts and quickly tugged them from you, placing them off to the side where he also quickly abandoned his shirt. Your hands instinctively made their way to his chest rubbing against the hair that covered him there, his breaths now becoming close to panting while he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder and placed his hand just shy of your ankle, his other hand rubbing on the front of your panties, teasing you with his light, feathery touches. You let out a needy whine and wiggled under him, thrusting your hips upward to signal you wanted more than just a gentle touch.

“Sa-am,” you moaned as you reached up to cup his cheek, rubbing against the little stubble that started to grow in. 

He smirked and kissed your thumb as an incentive, but he had plans for you and you just needed to be patient. He quickly freed himself from his own jeans and groaned when his hand grazed himself, the mere thought of you around him already filling him with excitement. Sam’s thumb slowly started to work against the bundle of nerves that was aching to be touched without even moving your underwear aside. You cried out his name and groaned as he would rub circles against it and not even on your bare skin, it was torture!

“C’mon Sam, take ‘em off, please?” you whined, your eyes meeting his momentarily, the strain in your voice was apparent that you wanted him so badly you could barely contain your muffled sounds. 

“You ask so nicely, Y/N,” he commented as he leaned down again and gave you a lingering kiss, “but I feel like I should take my time with you tonight.” 

You were about to protest until you suddenly felt his fingers slip beneath the hem of your panties and slide against your folds, making sure you were prepped for him, but you were already soaking wet from the intense makeout you both shared. He smiled, satisfied with the outcome, and then pulled the thin article of clothing down your legs, removing your leg from his shoulder to dispose of them completely. You were eager for him to continue since you knew how well he’d perform with his fingers and his mouth, his gift, as you playfully called it. He always begged you to not refer to it like that, but secretly, he loved it.

Again, your leg was placed onto his shoulder as he laid on his stomach in the grass, his mouth finally making contact with where you needed it most. A sigh a little louder than you anticipated escaped your lips and you didn’t care, your fingers in his hair and yanking at it firmly, begging him to go faster. He didn’t oblige though you trembled beneath him, he was keeping his word and using his tongue in long, slow strokes against your heat. Every so often, he would circle it around your clit, which would cause you to arch your back and hold your breath.

Sam had finally finished teasing you, edging you to the point that he stopped mid lick and pulled away from you, licking his lips with an impish grin plastered on his face. You pouted and looked up at him, resting against your elbows as you propped yourself up.

“Sammy, why’d you stop?” you complained.

He sat upon his knees and wiped the little bit of juices from his chin. “I told you, babe, I’m taking my time with you. Now sit up for me?” His voice was lighter this time, sweetly said as he looked you over. You did as he asked and sat up for him, eager to do whatever he asked of you. “I think you need to be out of that shirt, so take it off. Slowly.”

Sam’s new attitude was one that was unexpected but so very welcomed, but for some reason, you had been feeling rather shy about his request, your hands hesitantly resting at the bottom of the shirt. Once you swallowed the lump in your throat, you looked directly into his eyes and smiled while you slowly pulled the shirt up, revealing your stomach. Painfully slowly. You could see even Sam was getting restless as he watched you reveal every inch of skin until you got to your torso, revealing the lack of coverage you flaunted this evening. He scoffed and reached out to you, his hand grazing your breast as his thumb rubbed over your nipple ever so slightly as he gauged your reactions. 

When you finally lifted the shirt over your head, you threw it behind him and practically tackled him to the ground with your bare form over him, one hand placed in the grass beside his head as your other hand slowly made its way down and gave him a single stroke. A hushed moan of your name left his lips as you moved your wrist in such a way that wanted him to come already, your hand still stroking him tortuously slowly, his strained groans dragged out in the night.

“Aww Sammy, if you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself,” you warned softly.

He laughed and reached his hand up to cup your cheek. “And if I don’t want you to stop?”

That was all you really needed to answer your question, so with a smile, you crawled on top of him and straddled his hips, slowly placing his length against your throbbing sex, not allowing him to enter just yet, but letting him slide it against you, which made you moan you his name, the need so very palpable in the moment. It was a wonder you had lasted as long as you did with the teasing, but the way he spoke to you was so fucking hot, you needed to show him what he did to you. 

After a few times of rocking your hips back and forth against him, his cock so hard against you as you teased him, he finally lifted his hips, which surprised you and caught you so off guard that you fell forward, but Sam caught you in time with both arms tightly wrapped around you. His face was buried in the side of your neck as he suddenly plunged within you mercilessly, his hips slapping against yours and the sound of wetness sticking to you both made you lose yourself almost as soon as Sam began to fuck you.    

He was merciless as he lifted you just right where you didn’t have to do a thing, you just allowed him to hold onto you as he slammed into you repeatedly, your cries only growing with each deep thrust, and his mouth had been on yours, the exchange of sloppy kisses almost ending as quickly as it started when you both felt the other starting to tense up or clench down. Sam threw his head back and groaned out your name, again and again, your voice already so taken that you could barely manage to speak let alone take a breath to cry out his name in return. Sam was the first to come and his orgasm only fueled yours to happen soon after, and it took you a moment to roll off of him and catch your breath beside him in the grass. You didn’t care that you had been feeling all sorts of stickiness drip down your thighs, but you could care less as you lay there beside him, you hand found his and you held onto it and gave it a squeeze. 

“Well, that was something else,” you commented after a few moments of silence. 

“Good I hope,” Sam replied with a small chuckle, “but remind me to leave a shirt at your cabin again if this is gonna be a regular outcome.” He turned to look at you and you both laughed, his forehead gently touched yours and you sighed happily.

At least you were able to stargaze after all.  

[literallynothingbutvictuuri]

Hello, loves! So, I recently saw another masterlist post like this and as I’ve written a fair number of victuuri fics, I thought it could be fun to make one as well!!

I’ve written 27 Victor/Yuuri fics (no other ships involved) and all of them (except for one) are complete! This list compiles all of them neatly together and I can give some author insight into my own personal favorites versus which ones are my most popular, etcetera. 

The list will be compiled in alphabetical order! All relevant tags, ratings, author’s notes, and short(er) summaries will be shown in an organized manner. 

If interested, click the read below! Much love to you all and I hope you’ll like one of them, maybe!!! ❤️❤️

KEY:      ** = author’s favorite     bolded = top 3 kudos’d    IMG = embedded images in fic    

Abstract Intuition ~ Teen/3.2k words  ~ Introspection, Japanese Myths, Dreams vs. Reality ~ a/n: weird! loved writing it though ~ in which Yuuri understands more about himself than he thinks he does and believes in a Japanese supernatural being 

Aegri somniavana ~ Teen/2.3k words ~ Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Depression, Panic Attacks ~ a/n: sad! sad sad sad! if you don’t want to be sad, do not read this! ~ “The love of a half-dead heart will keep you half alive” 

a blessing in disguise ~ Teen/WIP~ AUs: Fantasy & Royalty, Witch Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Mutual Pining, Magic & Wizards, Light Angst, Fluff & Humor, Child Victor (at times) ~ a/n: one of my favorites concept-wise, will update one day! ~ Victor gets cursed. Yuuri does not. Yuuri most definitely feels like he is though.

can’t buy love, but you can try if you’re a ridiculous man like Victor Nikiforov ~ General/495 words ~ SAPPY, old victuuri ~ a/n: domestic victuuri makes me so soft :’’) ~ Victor loves spoiling his grandchildren. 

Chair AU (series with 2 fics) ~ General/505 words ~ why ~ a/n: yes it’s that fic the terrible and infamous chair au, yes i wrote that, yes i am aware of its contents, yes it is ridiculous ~ yuuri is a chair

ethereal ~ General/877 words ~ Introspection, Canon Compliant ~ a/n: romantic drabble ~ realizations

even Time ~ Mature/18k words ~ Time Travel Fix-It With A Twist!, AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Poisoning, Depression, Complicated Relationships, Non-Linear Narrative ~ a/n: this was my 2nd yoi fic! there are two ways to read it (one chapter for each way). this is quite sad, but also… not ~ in which yuuri and victor get it wrong until time comes in and allows for them to get it right

finally ~ General/1.8k words ~ Mutual Pining, High School AU, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff ~ a/n: ngl i wrote this so quickly and did not expect people to like it as much as they did ~ in which everyone got the memo that Yuuri and Victor are “totally dating” except for Yuuri

going places ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Pre-Canon, AU- Canon Divergence, Self-Reflection, Adolescent Sexuality ~ a/n: my first fic!!!!!!!! i wrote this right after ep 3 was released, this was basically my take on how victor and yuuri knew each other before the reveal in ep 10 :3 ~ viktor remembers and yuuri helps

hearts beat ~ Teen/1.4k words ~ Introspection, Angst, Canon Compliant, Insecurity, set after the beginning of episode 12 ~ a/n: i wrote this for a friend actually :3 this isn’t as sad as people seem to think? like? it’s better afterward as seen in the show? people acting like i broke them up smh ~ Yuuri doesn’t see what Victor sees in him.

in sickness & in health ~ General/511 words ~ Sappy, Sickfic, Domestic ~ a/n: cute drabble :( ~ Yuuri takes care of his whiny and sick husband.

in sync ~ Teen/442 words ~ Introspection, Falling in Love ~ a/n: soft :( ~ heartbeat

inevitable ~ Teen/972 words ~ True Love, Domestic, Insecurity, Sappy Fluff ~ a/n: this is probably my favorite work for domestic victuuri ~ Victor had a bad day and comes home and snaps at Yuuri. Cue little fight and makeup. :)

love (leaf) pile ~ General/354 words ~ Fluff, Victor is Extra ~ a/n: this one was so fun to write! ~ Yuuri shows Victor the glory that is jumping in leaf piles!!

love letters are too cliché ~ Teen/7.2k words ~ Pen Pals, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Coming Out, College AU (sort of), Letters ~ a/n: this was definitely one that took a lot of me to write for some reason but i’m proud of how it ended up uwu ~ Viktor and Yuuri are pen pals. They both get more out of it than they originally thought.

moonstruck ~ General/712 words ~ Canon Compliant, True Love, Gentle Kissing ~ a/n: i think this was my first ever drabble? i was so soft when writing it ~ moon·struck (adjective): unable to think or act normally, especially because of being in love.

Much To Do About Everything ~ Teen/24.8k words ~ Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Misunderstandings, Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Fluff and Angst, Rivalry ~ a/n: this work is more dialogue heavy than my others and it was very fun to write that dialogue :) ~ Victor and Yuuri won’t stop complaining about each other. Phichit and Chris, being the wonderful best friends that they are, just want them to shut the hell up. Starfleet Academy/Star Trek/Much Ado About Nothing AU

**Pigeon Alley ~ IMG ~ Teen/35.5k words ~ Famous Actors Victuuri, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Insecurity, Implied/Referenced Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Non-Linear Narrative, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Media Attention ~ a/n: one of my personal favorites, writing this fic helped me in more ways than one ~ What’s meant to be will always find a way. Victor and Yuuri? They’re meant to be.

the rain before the rainbow ~ IMG ~ Teen/7.6k words ~ ANXIETY, Anxiety Attacks, Insecurity, Introspection, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Lack of Communication, Sick Makkachin ~ a/n: one of my more emotionally taxing fics honestly but working with Bee was so fun ~ Yuuri is anxious about marrying Victor.

recovery & the sun ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Character Study, Recovery, Drabble ~ a/n: one of my my darkest fics (if not the darkest) and also one where i wrote it just to project some of my own feelings ~ Yuuri understood in a way that Victor had never expected, had never even hoped.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy ~ Explicit/1.7k words ~ Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, basically Yuuri rides Victor while Victor wears a cowboy hat, kind of a crack fic? ~ a/n: fjfjfjfjfjfjjfjfjjfj why ~ When Victor receives a cowboy hat from a fan, Yuuri may or may not want to devastate him.

strength ~ Teen/1.1k words ~ Gender Dysphoria, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Established Relationship ~ a/n: so this fic haunts me bc i think i misinterpreted the prompt wrong (didn’t see the “him” at the end there) and a big part of me wishes i wrote yuuri as a trans GUY and i feel bad whenever i think about this fic but some people liked it and yeah ~ Yuuri feels dysphoric and Victor comforts her.

sunflower ~ Teen/1.2k words ~ Slight Angst, Introspection, Femininity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Fluff, Sappy ~ a/n: one of my fave drabbles! uwu~ Yuuri realizes it’s okay to like wearing dresses.

touch ~ General/439 words ~ True Love, Anxiety ~ a/n: this is also another one of my fave drabbles ~ Viktor and Yuuri express their love through touch.

**The Universe’s Secrets ~ IMG ~ General/5.3k words ~ Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Sappy, Introspection, Canon Compliant, Tension, Relationship Study, Developing Relationship ~ a/n: another fic that took a lot of me but i’m proud of writing and ALSO another fic where i very much enjoyed working with jercy~ 3 times Victor smiles at Yuuri + 3 times Yuuri smiles at Victor. 

The World Opened With You ~ IMG ~ Teen/10.6k words ~ Famous Victuuri, Violinist Victor, Pianist Yuuri, Musician AU, Depression, Family Issues, Sappy, Introspection ~ a/n: this fic really popped off huh !! i honestly never expected it to and it meant a lot that it did and thank you STILL nikai for making gorgeous artwork, i really loved working with him too :( ~ Victor and Yuuri are paired up to play a duet together. More things come from it than expected.

[therethinkers]

get out: black educator edition (new orleans schools)

by a black educator in new orleans | pen name barbara jean wells 

The 2015-2016 school year was easily the most traumatic work year of my adult life. I was a teacher at an alternative high school in New Orleans, a job very similar to one I left in Philadelphia. Alternative schools are intended to address the pushout crisis by creating spaces for students who have not found success in traditional schooling environments. Sometimes this is simply because they need a smaller environment than those provided by traditional schools. Sometimes it’s because they are the kids who have dropped out or been pushed out of the charters that claim to be educating ALL of our kids. Sometimes they are kids in the justice system, or young parents caring for children of their own. The possibilities are endless. It’s a population that I am very comfortable with, having worked in alternative education for a few years and also one that I care deeply about because of the unique challenges and struggles that come with serving youth.

Despite my passion for, and comfort with, alternative education, last year led me to question the very foundation that I had built my career as an educator on. I cried a lot, emoted on facebook, journaled during professional development meetings, frequented happy hours with other educator-friends and soaked it all away over margaritas paired with chips, and salsa (yes, we’ll need another pitcher). I worked out for self-care, got a therapist to maintain balance, and dug into my yoga practice to begin meditating regularly. I did the usual things one does when they’ve got a stressful job.  

When those folks are teachers, all of the above are done with student stories sprinkled in between. Exasperating, funny, touching, and annoying moments with kids that make the job everything that it is. But when my coworkers and I went out to vent about a stressful day, the kids weren't the main topic of conversation. We talked about them, sure, but much more of our dialogue was spent on how racism played out in the daily grind of our work as educators. We vented about administrators whose savior complexes were evident in the very way they spoke to and about students. We talked about how meager the expectations were of our low-income, predominately Black kids. We talked about the lack of ability for our white coworkers to even acknowledge the life differences between themselves and their students, so great was their desire to be colorblind. And more than anything, we talked about how the behaviors that spawned from these beliefs about Black kids and the communities they came from indicated the same age-old (and, well… racist) idea that our students should not be expected to excel.

What I realized halfway through this school year was that my desire to center Blackness in the classroom, to help my students unlearn most of the things that the media told them about themselves, still had to be done within a racist system. Perhaps this isn’t shocking to folks of color who are teachers, but after 9 years in the profession, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. The progress I felt like I was making in the classroom with my students was directly counteracted frequently by other staff members in the building: those who looked down on them, made wild assumptions about their lives based on stereotypical views of Black communities, and centered conversations about the kids on their academic deficits more than anything else.

So what exactly did this look like on a day-to-day basis?

Extreme white saviorism

For starters, the level of white saviorism was intense. In this alternative school setting it translated to exceedingly low expectations of students and their futures. In one staff meeting, a white teacher claimed that it was actually a great thing if students ended up working at local grocery stores after graduating because at least, “they weren’t in the streets shooting each other up.” Others nodded along in agreement.

The idea that they were essentially “saving” kids from themselves and the communities around them drove some staff members to befriend kids rather than encourage their academic or personal development. One white teacher whose actions were particularly infuriating, let’s call him Mr. Frank, taught special education students who struggled behaviorally and academically.  In this setting, it meant his class was full of the Black boys who could not sit still. Students dubbed it the place you go to “listen to music and eat snacks.”  In meetings, Mr. Frank spoke openly and often about all the academic tasks he felt like students were incapable of even trying. These ideas help to explain some of the trash that passed for rigor in his classroom. He let students print Wikipedia pages and paste them to trifolds for final project work. He excused them from completing assignments and rarely failed kids regardless of what their effort or attendance looked like. Instead of encouraging academic growth in any meaningful way, he took kids to the store, bought them food, and handed out money. Let’s pause here, because many of these things sound incredibly sweet when done by a family member or friend. And yes, relationships are super important when teaching. But building them isn’t the ONLY part of teaching. As educators we focus on building relationships with kids in order to better TEACH them. To do this we have to actually believe in their intellectual capabilities enough to push for their academic growth. Mr. Frank didn’t see the second part of the equation as important though. He thought so little of the kids’ intelligence that there was no urgency in actually teaching them. He was there to be nice to them. To call them his “boys.” To make friends.

Mr. Frank’s existence as a 60-something year old white man didn’t stop him from greeting Black kids as the n-word and jokingly calling a young woman a “ratchet ass bitch” in front of a group of males in order to get a laugh from them. In previous years before I had arrived to the school, Mr. Frank had a co-teacher who was a gay trans man.  When students in his class had been verbally assaulting, and in one instance physically taunting the co-teacher, Mr. Frank simply ignored the situation. He claimed his co-teacher needed to make better relationships with the kids, instead of using the teachable moment to encourage students to confront their blatant homophobia and transphobia. It would not have been easy. But actual, true teaching never is.

Over the course of my year there, it became clear that Mr. Frank’s class was a fun holding cell. Its sole purpose was to have somewhere to put kids. And with the low expectations and easy grades, it wasn’t difficult to see how the desire to be a savior to his idea of poor, broken, Black kids translated to the goal of befriending his students rather than teaching them.

the following is a snapshot of interviews with teachers and students about their experience.

The privileging of white voice/ opinion

Outside of Mr. Frank’s outrageous everyday actions, another obvious indicator of racism in our workplace was the constant approval of white opinion and the subsequent shutting down of voices of color. One white teacher who was covering a Black educator’s classroom told students that their definition of racism, one that recognizes that all whites receive benefits and privileges from systems of white supremacy, was wrong because it made white people uncomfortable. He justified his assertion by coolly stating that he could speak to the issue because his partner was mixed race.

Over the course of the year, several teachers of color had complained about Mr. Frank’s behavior, specifically about their discomfort with him using the n-word and how his decision to do so made the workplace feel unsafe. They were told several times, “He has his methods.” Early in the year, a young Black woman was hired as his co-teacher but didn’t last in his classroom a month before needing to be placed with another educator. She expressed to me that he often seemed unprepared to teach and when she asked for lesson plans or outlines, she was scolded. He told her, “You don’t ask questions. I’ve been doing this for years. I’m the surgeon, you’re the assistant.” When she went to the principal with complaints of being treated condescendingly, she was reprimanded for causing trouble and made to sign a contract stating that she would never discuss Mr. Frank with other teachers while on the school premises.

Later in the year, when I tried to organize a meeting with a few teachers of color to talk about how best to deal with a white man calling Black kids the N-word, and brainstorm coping strategies for the growing list of racial microaggressions at work, I was called into the principal’s office for a meeting with her and the dean. Some folks suspected that someone had ratted me out and brought the principal the information. Others insisted that she regularly read staff emails. Either way, in the meeting I was made to apologize for my unprofessional behavior, despite the fact that I had previously addressed the principal with my concerns and was dismissed without any promise of further action.

All these instances taught an easy lesson. Other teachers of color and I quickly learned that if you had issues with how white teachers treated you, you kept your mouth shut. If you questioned how certain practices and behaviors were impacting students of color, you kept your mouth shut. And if you wanted to address issues of microgressions that made the workplace toxic, you didn’t discuss it at work in hopes of bringing about change. You went to happy hour with people you trusted and cried.

Valuing Intention over Impact

One of the major things that became apparent to me during my time at this school was how heavily white people who made the workspace uncomfortable leaned on their good intentions. Because everyone meant well, because everyone could couch their behaviors in the altruistic deed of educating Black kids with huge academic gaps, they did not seem to mind if their actions had negative impacts on coworkers of color or even the Black children they were supposed to be serving. When I realized this about my boss and coworkers, I began to see how strongly whiteness seeks to protect itself in schools. Everything from Mr. Frank’s “methods,” to teachers doing work for students they didn’t deem capable, to oft-expressed colorblind sentiments that white teachers used to make connections between themselves and the kids, were excused and never questioned because the people who did or said them “meant well.” It didn’t matter what impact this had on the kids and it sure as hell didn’t matter how it made staff members of color in the school feel.

It was around this time that I began to draw connections between law enforcement and education systems in this country. I knew from the many instances of cops who got off for murdering unarmed Black men and women, that whiteness in their institution also tended to protect itself. And much like with law enforcement, the issues that exist in education aren’t addressed as system-wide problems indicative of attitudes and biases towards people of color. Instead we discuss the few bad apples. In the education field, this means the teachers who DON’T care at all. They are essentially, the teachers with ill intent.

The problem with this approach is that most all white folks, teachers and otherwise, never see themselves as bad apples. They know that they mean well so they assume that they couldn’t possibly be a part of the problem. At this alternative school, the white folks who caused a great deal of the microaggressions could barely hear us decrying their actions and language. I imagine because our complaints were drowned out by the sound of them patting themselves on their backs every day for their hard work.

Recently, I read a headline that announced that percentages of Black teachers in the classroom have fallen drastically in the past few years. I didn’t bother reading the article because I felt like the wounds from last year were a little too raw for me to willingly subject myself to stories about why others like me may have been driven off. Halfway through the year when I was processing the notion of the education system being corrupt and failing to serve Black and Brown students, I posted a rant on Facebook. In it, I reflected on nearly 9 years in the education field and the experiences it took to get there. I specifically recalled going to grad school with people who made sweeping generalizations about Black/ Brown communities and consequently stereotyped their students as well. I remember smoking cigarettes after classes with fellow students of color lamenting the fact that some of the people in our Ivy League program were already in positions of power in schools full of Black children. I remember how proud they seemed of themselves for taking on the work of “fixing“ kids and schools, despite the lack of desire to fix their own racist viewpoints, language, approaches, etc.

Like last year, I brushed it all off over happy hours. I was still hopeful then. I thought that I could teach Black and Brown youth in a way that centered them, their stories, their beauty, and their lives. I did not consider that those grad school classmates who thought so little of us, and that people who shared their ideas, were already running the system and starting the charter schools. I did not consider that fighting for my kids essentially meant fighting against these people. It was a battle I was unprepared for when I first started teaching in 2007. It is a battle I expect to fight for the rest of my life. Though the new hope is to one day do it within an institution that is willing to take on the fight with me. This would save me from a career of holding my tongue until I get to half-priced drinks with other teachers of color who have learned that silence is the only way to stay in the ring.

[acehotel]

INTERVIEW: LYNN BREEDLOVE

Note: The following interview contains sensitive material that could be triggering for some readers.

Lynn Breedlove speaks calmly, honestly and resolutely. Nothing obscured, nothing censored. Through decades of work as a musician — Lynn was the founder and frontperson of the first American out dyke punk band Tribe8 — a writer, comedian, activist, CEO and radio personality, he has become a vanguard and visionary, working fiercely and fearlessly on behalf of trans, queer, POC and working class communities. Lynn Breedlove is revolutionary in his thinking, even if just for the radical potential he sees in unexpected things — the simple act of conversation, the nuances of a joke, a rubber dick, a ride home. In an era of immense uncertainty, Lynn is a light through. 

Lynn was a keynote speaker at last week’s New York Live Arts' Mx'd Messages Festival, a series curated by Justin Vivian Bond that examinines the idea of a world without binaries — across gender, politics, theology, sensory perception and race. We were lucky enough to catch up with Lynn to chat about the beauty of vulnerability, the 90s queer punk scene and what daily resistance looks like. 

You’re so prolific. You’ve written novels, you’ve toured in bands, you’ve had your own comedy show and radio program and you’re the CEO of a ride-sharing company. Do all of these satisfy different artistic parts of yourself? Or do you feel closer to one, and feel the need to constantly experiment with others?

LB: I have two talents, writing and performing, which I have spent some decades honing in to some semblance of skill. There are a million different options to express myself using those two talents. Stand-up comedy, music, books, radio. The easiest thing for me to do is get up and write, but then there’s the way of organizing the writing. That’s where I have to involve other people to help me, and it becomes a collaboration.

What is the collaborative element to performance?

LB: There’s an energy loop that happens between me, whoever I’m on stage with and the audience. All these different loops inform what happens next. It’s ongoing.

I was struck by your email signature, “Courage is fear with breath.” Writing can be a very private and personal endeavor, whereas performance opens things up in a very public way. How have you found the courage to translate the private to the public?

LB: I feel like self-disclosure is just a totally innate, natural impulse for me. I'm just like, "Blah, blah, I'm sad, my cat died." It's over-sharing. I've had to consider whether or not I wanted to put any boundaries on that. Sometimes I just blurt it all out, run around with my dick out, do all kinds of shit and later, years later, I'm like, "Oh my God. What were you thinking, dude? Really?"

Apparently people were entertained and it made whatever impression it was supposed to make. I don't even know if it made the impression that I wanted it to make. I let my gut tell me where to go and then if I have to make amends later with my brain, then I do.

With One Freak Show, my door was always open. I always loved to get off stage and talk to the audience members.

I was dealing with some pretty edgy stuff — a lot of discussions about what it meant to be trans. The whole LGBTIQ community — which is not a community, but a group of communities and individuals who have a whole bunch of different opinions about what to do and say — was having some issues communicating and accepting each other, so I was really interested in talking to people after the show and getting feedback.

And people would be like, "Well, you know, this part was weird, this other part was weird, too. And I would say, "Well, what do you think would be better?" Or "Do you think this part was too over the top?" And I'd be like, "Dude, can I tell people that I got your permission to say that so that they don't think that I'm making fun of stuff?"So, it was just really great to have that [dialogue]. There was one really memorable conversation with this guy. It was a daytime Tribe8 show where I had chopped off the rubber dick and threw it in the crowd and it bounced off of somebody's head and everybody felt better. Well, this guy didn't feel better. So, he went to talk to me after and said, "My God, this really hurt". And I was like,"Was that upsetting for you?" He was like "Yeah, yeah. It's abusive and I'm triggered." And I said, "Okay, well check this out. Imagine, you walk down the street everyday and you're in constant fear and constantly having to worry, just a nagging basic undercurrent that you're going to get raped. Everyday because everybody everyday is afraid. And every second that you're not looking out, you get attacked and jumped. And everybody you know has been raped. How do you feel about them? If that was the case, do you feel like you might want to sing a song that is symbolic of your suffering? Hm?" And he was like "Hm, maybe". And I was like, "Yeah, well that's how we feel. We walk around, feeling that way and we've gotta have a cathartic ritual. And we've gotta work out the anger somehow." And he’s all, "Oh okay."

So, I could have a friendly conversation with a guy afterwards and turn it around. And hopefully, he could go out into the world for the rest of his life and talk to all the guys that he was gonna talk to about this and spread different news.

Do you think that humor can be a medium to discuss change?

LB: Absolutely. It's the only way for me. Your heart opens when you laugh. Comics can tell funny story after funny story after funny story and then they come in at the end with the zinger and make you cry. Love that shit.

You lower your guard when you're laughing. You've got everybody laughing at themselves and each other and everybody's forgiving. And then you're okay. And that's how we learn.

But if you're constantly wagging your finger at people and saying, "You should do it this way because you're wrong," nobody will listen to that. They shut down. Nothing gets in.

So, yeah, humor is crucial, but comedy rots. Richard Pryor, for years, would say the N word and later, he was like “I'm actually not gonna say the N word anymore”. With One Freak Show, I use the T word a lot and I’ve been discussing whether or not it's okay to use the T word if you identify as trans, even if you use that word to describe yourself and you have for years, and suddenly along come some other people who are like, "Well, I don't like that word." What does all that mean? What does language mean? What does coping mean? So with humor, it's now. And then next week it's gonna be something different. And you have to constantly stay on top of where your culture is, where your society is, where current events are and what is okay to say and what is not okay to say, how to describe your experience and how to not describe it.

Lenny Bruce talked about racism. I thought it was very effective in 1965, but now, the words that he used and the concepts, the points he was trying to make, even if they were trying to take away power from people who had it, couldn’t be made now the way he made them then.

Does it retroactively make it less effective?

LB: If you look at Mark Twain’s Huck Finn, he used the N word quite a bit. But his intention behind using the N word was to say, "This is what southern society and southern culture is now. It's racist." It's built into their language. Language is culture and LOOK AT IT. And the only person that's transcending this culture is a child that's pushed out on the periphery by poverty. That kid is free to choose a different way. Even he is constantly questioning, "Is this right?"

And then they have people saying, "Let’s ban this book." I think we need to use a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer to figure out how we want to discuss ideas.

What do you think daily resistance looks like?

LB: Well, the first thing I have to do everyday is not go to my phone and look at the latest nonsense that DT, Dick Tater, is doing. (That's the drag name I made up for him.) That's not gonna drive me.

What drives me: I wake up and I do spiritual practice, first thing. Prayer, meditation, yoga, shooting hoops with the pals — whatever it is that helps ground me in my reality. And then, I feel solid enough to go connect with my people. And then, after I write my morning pages, and I know what I feel and what I think, and after I’ve written my dreams down and I see that I'm having stress dreams about the apocalypse, I can asses where I am. Then, I can go and look at the news if I want.

Maybe I'm just gonna get to work. I'm gonna hire people that I like, that I feel need work and that I want to work with. People that are POC, trans, queer — these are the kind of people I want to work with, that I want to make art with.

I want to create a world that includes people that I like and that I respect and that I relate to. And people that are all on the same road of resisting together by the things that we do everyday. Whether we're in a band together or we work together. That's how I want to create my world.

And then, if I have to chain myself to a fence, well that's great. Because I'm gonna be ready for that. Because I will have spent the previous month gearing up and being strong. If you keep revving at 100 rpm all day long and go to every protest and sing your guts out, you're going to burn out.

How do you think punk has changed from the time of its inception? How do you think it functions now in terms of art, music and politics?

Well punk seems to be a whole bunch of different iterations now. It started in the late 60s with Iggy Pop and Lou Reed and all those guys, and then later with Patti Smith and Bad Brains and everyone else.

And then you have the “four white guys” for ten years in the 80s. And Black Flag was one of those four white guys bands. But, now there's a lot of trans, queer, non-binary, non-gender conforming, and lots of different cultures coming through with the punk ethic, carried through all different styles of music. It's not as restricted by verse-chorus-verse-chorus 3 chords, monosyllabic grunting. There's drag and guerilla drag that I feel lbelongs in the punk category because of its ethos. Because it's accurate in what it represents, because it’s fucking it up, because it’s folk music, basically.

Like Woody Guthrie, but it doesn't have to be a guy with an acoustic guitar. Anybody that's bucking the system with music falls into the punk category.

Yeah, it's protest music. Tribe8 was insanely influential in that scene. You were deemed leaders of the queer punk revolution. Can you tell me a little bit about the impetus for Tribe8 and how it all came together?

Me and Silas had just gotten sober and we had a lot of energy and we had to put it somewhere. And I was just around, spouting and spewing all kinds of rhymes about being a dyke and all my hilarious mental illnesses like, "I just want to manipulate my girlfriend. I just want to play games with her head. I want her to do some mental push ups. I want her to apologize and beg.”

I thought it was hilarious and so did my friends and they were like, "Why didn't you put that to music and get a bunch of people together and make a band and play at my birthday party?" And we did. So then boom: we were all of a sudden a band and people were throwing panties at us.

But to be fair we did pass out the panties.

You passed out the panties?

LB: We passed out the panties to our friends to make them throw panties at us.

Still, that must have been a really good feeling even if you knew it was going to happen.

LB: It was hilarious. Everything we did was spoofing boy glam rock and stupid stadium rock shit that dudes had been doing for 20 years. That influenced us greatly. And we loved that. Silas grew up in Vermont, listening to Bon Jovi. "Livin' on a Prayer" and Motley Crüe.

We loved it — but it wasn't about us. And it wasn't for us and it wasn't by us. We had to reclaim it and then put a new spin on it. It was [a reflection] of what I was learning as an alcoholic in church basements. Which was that you've gotta look at your shit and then you've got to laugh at your shit. And you've got to tell people, "This is my shit, it's so ridiculous. But here it is."

That's where I was, and I feel like we all got to do that for a minute. We were like, "Oh my God, I fucking love Bon Jovi. That is so dumb but I do. So how are we going to work this in so we love it?"

They have so much fun. People with power and privilege have a bunch of fun. And for the people who don't have power and privilege that’s just sit on the sidelines and go, "Wah, they get to have all the fun..." That’s not necessary.

You see people singing gospel at church and you feel like you can't be a part of it because of your big queer mouth. But fuck you. I just did it. I'm Aretha Franklin and I just sang a gospel song about fucking, how about that?

What was the queer punk scene like in San Francisco in the 90s? Do you have a favorite memory?

LB: What happened is that all of a sudden it looked like the dyke scene was going down because all the dyke bars closed at the same time. I don't know what happened, all the dykes got sober at the same time and they couldn't fucking keep the bars open because they would come in there, order a Calistoga, pick out another babe and come back five years later and do the same thing. They couldn't stay open.

Calistoga, classic.

LB: We had to do something, so everybody started to go to straight bars and asked them if we could have a queer monthly or weekly night. And so we'd start having these queer punk dance parties, like Rebel Girl, Junk, etc. Then all these bands started cropping up all over the place, like DeathCard 13 and Her Majesty the Baby and so much other stuff. All these dykes and fags started to make bands happen and that was amazing because before that queers had to go to the disco if they wanted to hang out with other queers, and they had to order a fucking martini or a beer and they had to listen to Sylvester. Which was great, don’t get me wrong. I love Sylvester to death, and I loved Doing the Hustle in the 70s. But when I went home with my friends, we would listen to Queen and we would listen to Rock and Roll.

But you couldn't hear Queen at The End Up. You had to listen to Sylvester, which was great. Again, Sylvester was amazing. I love Sylvester. Sylvester created an amazing moment in the 70s where we were like, "Oh, my God. This guy is our guy and he is on the fucking radio." (At the time, we called Sylvester “he”).

But what the 90s queer-mo punk scene in San Francisco was about was the culture. It was kind of the epicenter of the queer punk scene and when we went to Europe and stuff we would bring that culture with us. New York had its own whole other thing, which was pretty rad. I would say the dyke punk scene was happening primarily in San Francisco. Then we would carry it like a little flame around the world and say, "Look at what we're doing! We've got the Butch/Femme thing and the Punk thing and we have mohawks and a face full of metal and ink and rubber dicks," and they'd be like, "Whoa."

How did other places respond?

LB: Well, most people were like, "Yeah, that's cool. For you. But we're not going to do that." New York did not actually get the Butch/Femme thing until maybe like the late 90s. I think a bunch of femmes moved there from San Francisco and they had to have a Butch makeover party at Meow Mix because they were like, “There are no Butches in New York. All the Butches are wearing lipstick and barrettes. We can't do this. No. So, they threw Butch makeover parties and, of course, all the dykes in New York wanted to go have babes fawn over them and put them in wife-pleasers and cut their hair and put them in boxers and fucking ties or whatever, but when they were done they're like, "Okay, now can we go on a date?" They're like, "Yep. All right." So, that happened.

But also, when we went to East Germany in the early 90s, well, what HAD been East Germany — the wall had just gone down a couple years earlier, but nothing had changed culturally — people were hella mad at us. They did not get the humor at all. They did not have humor in the DDR. That was wrung out of them and beaten out of them and if you wanted a sense of humor I guess you want to jail in the Yellow Misery, I think that was the name of the women's prison. The dudes were like, "Fuck you. How dare you. Really? You cocky bastards. How dare you walk around acting like you're something. You think you're something? You're not something."

They didn't get all the twists and turns of irony that we were pulling on them. They didn’t have the pool of reference, they didn’t get any of it. Everyone was wearing stonewash and the girls had big hair. They all looked like they were straight out of the 70s. It was scary. They were like, "You are a bunch of privileged Americans walking in like you think you're something, with your dick out."

They hated us, but in San Francisco when dudes would come to our show, they totally got it. They loved it. They fucking deferred. They got into the back, they got out of the mosh pit, they let the dykes take over. Bike messengers and strippers were always dating and stuff and they'd have a gnarly badass sex-positive feminist thing going on. So if you were a dude trying to date some badass chick in combat boots and cleavage in the 90s, you better fucking figure out what the hell she's trying to put down if you wanted to get laid. If you don't do what they say, you ain’t getting none of this. The dudes were pretty rad and feminist and standing up for their babes. And they still are.

We just did the Women's March a couple of months ago in San Francisco. First of all, there was what seemed like a half a million babes walking down the streets for hours, hours, hours down Market sStreet. Some of them had their boyfriends, their men with them, that had the coolest signs that were like “Her body, Her rights.” “Quit telling my woman what to do” kind of attitude. Just perfectly-worded signs that you're like, "Oh, my God. These guys get it."

Usually guys will just be like, "Oh, that's your thing. I'll just get out of the way." In the 60s, when feminists first started doing that, dudes were like, "Yeah, the pill will be good because I'll get laid more." So, I mean, yeah. We're getting somewhere.

I hope so.

LB: But the more things they change, the more they stay the same. Shockingly, there's also been this undercurrent rising — which for some folks has not been such an undercurrent. It's been really obvious and in your face. If you're a person of color or if your trans or a daily target of bigotry, you're going, "Yeah, no, this isn't really a shock."

I kind of thought that we were doing better. I thought people actually were changing. I actually did things that the assholes were in a way smaller minority and I was like, "Yeah, it's too bad you don't like having a black president. Isn't that hard? Shut it." I didn't feel like there would be such a major backlash of a retaliation, "You made us be led by a black man for eight years. Now we're going to fucking fuck you up." Really? Whoa.

Hopefully it’s the last, desperate gasps of that ideology, grasping at it as if for air. At least now it’s becoming visible for everyone that there’s so much darkness among us. We’ve always known it existed, but it’s actually showing itself in large, monolithic, terrifying ways.

LB: That’s really important. Awareness begets action. If any of us have been in denial about what level of bullshit exists, what element of bullshit exists in this country, we now know. Now we can deal with it. It's not going to be dealt with totally painlessly. I'm going to Europe and I feel like I have to sew a fucking maple leaf on my backpack.

What has been keeping you inspired?

LB: I'd say there's a lot of stuff being put out by trans women of color and people of color in general which is very inspiring. There was a video I saw the other day about parents of color teaching their children what to do when they see the police. It was heart breaking. It was fucking heart breaking. That that's what a person has to do to keep their child safe. Telling them, when you see a police officer, that is not your friend but you have to show them respect anyway and you have to put your hands up and say, "I have nothing to harm you," and this child is five years old. You know what I mean? But okay. That is what MLK would say, when you're going to sit at the lunch counter, you're going to have to maintain dignity and not fight back and you'll have to put your hands up. Gandhi said it, too. All the non-violent resistance actually worked and yeah, people understand and they're organizing and teaching them how to do that in the world. I think it is amazing.

What else. Coming together and organizing and saying to each other, "Okay, now who can get arrested? Let's not let the trans people get arrested. Let's not let the people of color get arrested. If they get arrested, they’re going to have shit to deal with, but if you're a white person who's never been arrested before and you're cisgender and you're not too queer looking, great, let's get you arrested. You'll be fine.“

I love the way we're all coming together and willing to resist. We feel because we have lived in a country with certain ostensible ideals, we do feel like we have some power to speak up and the difference between us and Franco’s Spain or Mussolini's Italy or Hitler's Germany is that we have that.

We're all “hell no.” I love how people are rising up. The city of San Francisco is planning a Trans Cultural District at the old Compton’s Cafeteria, named after one of the first riots against the police where trans people rose up and were like, "No, we're not going to tell you what kind of underwear we're wearing." This was before Stonewall. They’re getting a whole block of real estate, and it’ll have transitional housing for trans women coming out of prison. There will viable employment situations. I mean, I love that we just keep delving more into that kind of thing.

The more bullshit you want to raise about what bathroom I need to go in or whether or not I can get an M or an F on my passport and whether or not you're going to let me cross a border or let my friends cross a border, the more I'm just going to make my shit fucking be cool right here, in my house, in my neighborhood. I'm going to really work on my local politics, my local culture.

I love the way cities are saying, "Oh, we are going to be a sanctuary city. No, we're actually not going to do what you say.” The New York Police Department standing up and being like, "No, we’re actually not going to harass immigrants. Fuck you." That's what needs to happen.

The police, the military, the people who have the guns and the sticks and the badges, they need to not fall into the trap. My mom was raised in Nazi Germany so I grew up asking, "Hey, mom, why did the [Holocaust happen]?" She was like, "Well, we were scared." People were always saying, "Well, I was just following orders." It's like no, that can't be your excuse. If your order is wrong, you can't follow it. You do have to take that to your grave, knowing that you're responsible for following an immoral order. So I was really impressed by the New York Police Department.

What advice do you have for queer and trans youth?

LB: One of the first things that happens when a dictatorship comes into power is that people start to anticipate a new law and start voluntarily following that law before it’s even a law. They start doing things that they think the government is going to want them to do as a defensive move. Censoring themselves, hiding who they are...It’s important that we become even more visibly queer. Even more visibly trans.

But again, everybody has their own way to resist and for a lot of people, visibility isn't the thing. That feels unsafe.

Everybody needs to follow their own gut about how to do that, but I feel like maintaining integrity and staying really connected with your community and not isolating oneself is crucial. Because I think it seems really alluring to go lock yourself in your house and sit in front of the little glowing screen and just drink and smoke a lot of weed and take a lot of pills and just pretend it's not there. No. I mean, it's easy for me to say because I’m clean and sober 27 years so I can't expect everybody else that's already been drinking and smoking weed and popping pills all day to suddenly decide, "Now's a good time to stop."

But I do think what's needed right now is clarity. I feel like the higher you are, the easier you're going to be to manipulate and taken down and thrown in jail and have other things done to you. You have to get your brain cells together and connect with other people with their brain cells and we need to be strong physically, mentally and spiritually and fuck shit up. They want us to be scared and to be high and be ineffectual.

Right.

LB: There was a trans person performing the other night who was totally amazing and she was like, "I'm so freaked out, so I am really high right now. I have to be really high all the time because that's how I'm dealing with this.” There were several trans women murdered in New Orleans recently, and that was really, really scary for trans women of color. That is a terror. I definitely would not judge somebody who feels that drugs or alcohol is their only out, but there are a lot of people in the world that will help you out of that. If you feel like that's your only option and you don't want that to be your option, there's a lot of people that will guide you to other options.

Tell us about Homobiles.

LB: Well, there's Homobiles  [the rideshare service] and then there's The Homobiles, the band.

Homobiles the ride service was started before Uber. Uber existed as like a limo service, a black car service, and it was kind of high priced and Lyft did not exist. We started zipping around doing this text thing, loosely inspired by my all girl bike messenger and truck messenger delivery company called Lickety Split. Homobiles were really time-oriented and all about queer people and those who are, because of their gender or sexuality, a little more vulnerable at night in the city.

We were handling people coming out of gay bars that cabs were whizzing by and ignoring and then Uber was like, "Wait a minute. This looks like something good. Let’s do what they're doing business model wise, only it’s for profit," and then Lyft came in and they were like, "Yes, we're going to do this." They became billion dollar global industries in that space, but we became a non-profit. Basically, the way it works is if you have money, good. Donate it. It goes into this kind of transportation fund and if you don't have money, then great. You'll still get a ride. There's no price on safety.

We really like to help people get home from their sexual alignment surgery. Maybe they don't want to get in a car with some random person that's not going to treat them with the dignity that they deserve. They want to get into the car with people who have some sensitivity training. The public utilities commission actually pointed out Homobiles when trying to regulate other rideshare services. They said, “See Homobiles is doing it right. You guys should do it like them. Don't discriminate against people because of their race, their gender, any of that. Treat them with respect. Don't gouge them.” I feel like even though Homobiles isn’t the only option, any time you get into a [rideshare] vehicle these days, 99% of the time you're going to be treated fairly and with respect because of the standards that Homobiles put into place. I’m pretty happy about that. It would be nice if we made a million dollars, but the primary goal is everybody's getting home safe.

What about Homobiles the band?

LB: There's a band called The Homobiles. We sing songs about cars and babes but also crimes and change. Ed Varga, who was the creator of Homo A Go Go, is the drummer and his wife, Corrie is the violinist and Stephany Joy Ashley's the executive director of St James Infirmary, which is a clinic for sex workers in the Tenderloin. She’s the singer and I'm the singer and Fureigh from the Shondes plays guitar and Mya Byrne is the bass player and we're about to go to New York to play this fabulous of refuting binaries called Mx'd Messages. And yeah, that's that. We’re having a good time.

Thanks for reading. If you’re an artist, too, feel free to use code ARTSCHOOL for a discount on any room at Ace Hotel New York.