#we love a lesbian who shaves her head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

our-transmasculine-experience · 11 months ago

Note

Sorry this is a bit of rant, but I hate toxic masculinity and gender norms so so so much because now I'm subscribing to them, and I cannot stop myself. Sometimes I want to wear a dress, but if I do, or even so much as think about it, my body shudders or I want to vomit. Because the idea of being seen as feminine even in the slightest way physically hurts me, and its all because of the way I was raised. I'm in an extremely conservative household, and there is so much toxic masculinity. My brother has fucking curls for gods sake, he is a cis man and my dad makes remarks about how its gay (otherwise sayings its feminine) to take care of his curls!

Now me being a closeted trans guy, every time I hear my dad talking to my brothers, or talking to other men when women are around there is such a stark line between the two groups. My dad and his friends and my brothers are MANLY MEN AND WOMAN CANNOT BE IN THE MEN GROUP while the women around me kind of drag me into the stereotypical womanly position and giggle and joke around and there's so much internalised misogyny. I had my mother the other day berate me for not shaving my own damn legs, her big point was that it was 'unhygienic' even though my dad is covered in hair. Then the real point came out, apparently not shaving my legs makes me look like a lesbian!

It sucks man, it just sucks. I love my brother though because even though he also as equally as transphobic as them, he doesn't subscribe to their weird toxic masculinity and honestly he's the closest I'll ever come to being out of the closest.

I used to think my sister might be in the closest but as we get older and she conforms more and more to my parents ideologies I realise I was just fooling myself. And I hate being like this, because my family are good people in general and their not unkind to me, or treat me poorly, they treat me really well, I'm really well off and I'm grateful to them. But if I ever came out, I would be cut from this family so quick it would make my head spin.

Being around all these stereotypes just feeds my insecurities because sometimes when I listen to the things the men around me say I know its so misogynistic and I know I should strive to be better than that, but I can't help but really want to fit in with them because all I want to be seen is as a boy. But I never will be. I really really fucking hate it (excuse the language) when the women in my family try to pull me into their side. I hate that my older brothers just see me as my dad's daughter from his second marriage, I love them so much and I just want to be friends with them but I'll never get that, my younger brother will though BECAUSE HE'S A CIS MAN!

Its selfish, I'm really selfish for thinking like this, because I live really really well, I have parents who love me even its not for who I actually am, and we have money. Seeing how bad others are living compared to me and then complaining about my household is selfish I know. I just wish these stereotypes would go away, I wish I wasn't trans, I wish I was a normal girl, but I'm not, I'm a boy, I'll never be a girl and it's the worst thing in the world. It doesn't help either that I'm bisexual and got outed by my so-called best friend and had to pretend it was just a phase that I grew out of. I want to scream, but I can't, and I won't. Because if I ever want to succeed in this world, I need my family's support.

I hate this, because I do love my father and my mother and my brothers. I just know they only love the girl they see. That's what I hate. My mother keeps telling me to dress like a girl, to be a normal girl, and honestly her acknowledging that I am not like your average female is the closest I'll ever get with her acknowledging that I'm trans. But I still love them, I love them so much, please don't think that they are bad people because they really aren't. I just cannot fucking stand how they continue to think that trans people aren't really trans or that being trans is 'demonic' its screwing with my head. I know they would never utter a bad word against a gay or trans person they met in real life but god the things they say when the curtains close.

Not to mention that all the stereotypes have ruined having children for me. I want children, I want to get married, but I can't! I can't get married! I can't have children because all I can think about is how that is the 'WOMAN'S POSITION' EVEN THOUGH ITS NOT! But if I ever have kids or get married, I will be shoved right into the 'I told you so' 'You're a woman!' I will be put in the feminine box, and I hate it! I will just be another woman who got married to a guy that pretends to be nice in public but is not so nice at best and full on abusive at worst behind the scenes which seems to be the constant with every woman I know. God forbid I ever married a woman!

Sorry that this was long, I really needed to rant. I'm honestly so grateful that the internet exists because I can't be out in real life, but I can be out online, even if no one actually knows who I am. Thank you for listening have a great day! I love your page so much it brings me so much comfort and joy!

i would get tf out of that environment as soon as you can. never apologize for feeling unhappy with that situation because most people would be, too. that sounds horrible, and i’m really really sorry that you have to go through that.

best of luck, brother.

#transgender #lgbt #transmasc #lgbtq #queer #trans #ftm #trans guy #trans boy #trans man

29 notes · View notes

inquisiorastoria · 2 months ago

Text

To Touch the Sun authors note: I wanted to write sad lesbian inquisitor fic for a specific audience (me) for a game that is 10 years old, enjoy! < 1k female inquisitor x cassanda tags: yearning, unrequited love/feelings, religion mention

I never believed in a higher power. But now, as I stand behind you on the balcony, the sun settling into the lines of your scars, Maker, take me—I want to meet your eyes the way you meet mine.

You cursed me at first; you blamed me for her death and all of your suffering, yet even as I was your prisoner, I couldn't hate you. Trying to ignore you was like trying to ignore the sun. Even if I was blind, I could still feel your heat, the beams of light dancing across my skin. Your presence was everywhere, forcing its way through the cracks of my heart, making me believe there could be something more each time you say 'we' or 'us.' The Inquisition, being your Herald, I told myself I could maybe believe in the Maker if you were standing there beside me.

Back at Haven, I watch as you, again, sharpen your sword, steel shavings falling and staining your trousers, your whetstone scraping against the blade, again and again. I watch, mesmerized by your calm confidence, no arrogance to be found. I wonder what sort of woman you are when you aren't sharpening yourself, the blade of your mouth sharper than any weapon. I wonder if you realize how your presence is hotter than any forge.

You learned to trust me, a woman of no standing, with decisions greater than any I have ever known. You prop me up, light my path when I feel like the darkness of the Fade will consume me; you turn my head up from the ground to face the road ahead with dignity and strength I didn't even know I had.

It's hard not to love everything about you as much as you try to force everyone away. Your orthodoxy, your tradition. It should have turned me away like it has turned many others away. Your dedication to the Maker grounds you, and yet you will never know how those same roots have woven tendrils into my heart. You are so rooted to your ways, so assured of what is right, your ideals toeing the line of bigotry. But I am blind to all of your flaws, maybe not blinded, but accepting. Because the sum of all your qualities draws me in instead, a glow from inside you that cannot repulse me no matter how different we are.

You say as the right hand of the Divine, you give, you take, you make a fist to be the enforcer. But who stands beside you at your right hand? Do you know how badly I want to take your fist and soothe your bruises? Kiss the scrapes of your knuckles and feel the calluses of your sacrifices against my face?

You don't need protection. Your guard is up to all, not just me. Yet, I daydream more than I should, much more than I ought to. Feeling the crushing weight of never knowing what it could be like to soothe your aches, to hold your heart in mine, to tell you that I can take your pain away. Will you ever know me?

I feel the ache grow each passing day, your attention never drifting, Maker, how I wish it could drift to me. Another battle comes and goes, metal against metal, and I watch as you carve out your place and our destiny in this chaotic world.

As strong as you are, you are not immune to suffering, to pain. I see it in the flash of your eyes as you speak quietly about your brother. And for all of your muscle and discipline, you still are flesh. You can be cut down just as anyone. In those moments, as I push a flask of potion to your lips, all I can think about is how I wish I was made of glass so I could be the one to give you the kiss of life that keeps you tethered to this earth, to me.

I am no worshiper of the Maker, but Maker, take me, the void that lives in me where religion should be; when I look at you, you make me truly believe in the Sunburst throne. You draw me to my knees, like a page from the Chant; you turn me from skeptic to devout; your light is a balm to my weary, tired soul, outshining the anchor in my hand.

When I finally tell you how I feel, you are flattered of course. But you are swift and polite in your rejection. Like most things, you treat my confession in your own pragmatic way, which I've come to love to hate, cutting my feelings off quickly and cauterizing them so there's no chance of them growing back again. I try to tell myself it was nothing but harmless flirting; it meant nothing, and I can return to simply being your friend, the one that teases and pushes, the one who doesn't take anything seriously, the one who can get over my little crush. But as I turn away, my humiliation is fresh, a raw, open wound that makes it impossible to believe that it won't ever stop the scalding ache that lives in me now.

Maybe the distance you've given me now is a small mercy; you're giving me a chance to realize nothing can happen, to return to my work, and to be the Herald you believe I am. And that's all I can do, return and play my part for you, always being in your orbit, but never being able to venture nearer again out of my predetermined path. I should have known not to try to reach out and touch the sun. Because, in the end, I have nothing but a burn to show for it.

Now her hand is raised A sword to pierce the sun With iron shield she defends the faithful Let chaos be undone —Victoria 1:3

header/divider credit to @saradika !

#dragon age #dragon age fic #dragon age ficlet #dragon age cassandra #idk how to tag fics on here #cassandra x inquisitor

6 notes · View notes

ivyblossom · 6 months ago

Text

I used to be a pantser, but now I'm a planner, and I have a spreadsheet that keeps track of everything that's going to happen in every chapter of my story. The number of chapters I have planned is how many chapters AO3 says the story will have, which is how many rows there are in my outline spreadsheet.

But what keeps happening is that I plan to have certain things happen in the story, but then doing just the one bit of the plan ends up taking up much more space than I expected, probably because I decided to linger at random in some unnecessary places in the story for no apparent reason, but then it turns out that like that unnecessary place so it stays, and then the whole thing gets longer. I love that fanfiction is all about doing what you want and screw it if it's unnecessary, right? My pantser tendencies are still a factor even when I have a very clear and solid outline. I am a feral creature and my movements cannot be anticipated.

Lately every time I write something for this story I stop myself and think, "this feels like a really big departure from the rest of this story, do I really want to take it to this place?" but it's all in my outline, it can't be that big a departure, and I decided to take it to this place months ago. So I don't know what that means.

This chapter introduces Susan Pevensie to my weird, canon-respectful but now a bit canon-fighty story. Because what happened to Susan was never okay, and you can't write a story like this without trying to make it right. We love Susan in this house, and she will get her happy ending even if it kills me.

Some random story-related observations:

Every narrator is unreliable in their own unique way.

Weird memory tricks remain one of my favourite things.

Peter Pevensie is my favourite person to give genuine 1940s slang to, it is the highlight of my week to write his dialogue. Apparently I have decided to give him ADHD, because he keeps blurting out super offensive things that he then needs to apologize for saying, which makes him seem like a dick, but I mean, if you're going to be a High King and a swordsman and all that, you're going to be a bit headstrong, amirite, and why not through impulsivity in there while you're at it? He rips everyone a new one at all times but he loves you a lot, can't you tell?

Edmund has oral fixation in this story and he has had it this whole time, it in of my original outline, you can see it there if you look. He got himself in trouble by asking for Turkish Delight, and he still wants to put things in his mouth, it's just who he is, sue me.

Edmund starts out as a dick, but he's actually the loveliest person underneath that, but Eustace Scrubb starts out as a dick and is always a dick, no matter how redeemed he is by the fancy lion who undressed him and threw him in the pool. He always rushes to judgment and we should always doubt him, because in his weird little Mormon heart he is very much still a dick.

Lucy's a lesbian and keeps hooking up with uninhibited women with shaved heads OR mer-girls. They all fall in love with her in ways that permanently change who they are as people because Lucy is a life-changing experience, but she gets bored faster than even she wants to and ends up moving on to the next one, causing much life-shattering and heartache.

I'm having a very good time writing this story.

#fanfiction #Narnia #Edmund/Bacchus #I've added quite a lot of Susan Pevensie in this one #I didn't get enough sleep and so I'm rambling a lot

10 notes · View notes

finefiddleheaded · 9 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#cassie sandsmark #wondergirl #i have so many emotions about this girl #sorry for the essay #I've just been thinking about this for a while

13 notes · View notes

resident-gay-bitch · 10 months ago

Text

Let’s be honest here, if James and Sirius were girls (into eachother or not) they would be known as the “lesbians” around school.

As someone who went through highschool as a girl having a very close friendship with a girl (and let’s face it, yes I was desperately in love with her and no it didn’t end well, but that’s bedside the point because these rumours went around before I fell for her) we were Always asked if we were dating and when we denied it people didn’t believe us. And if people didn’t think we were dating they thought we wanted to date, and yeah it was primarily guys thinking that which I’m not even gonna get into because that’s a whole sexist fucking gross thing there, but still!

You can’t tell me, if you’re like gen z or in a generation where queerness is known through your highschool and like not the worse thing in the world, that you didn’t have a set of girl best friends that everyone thought were in a queer relationship.

I happened to be in like, almost all the “lesbian” rumoured relationships at my school because, after the first one, I shaved my head and became the school dyke and then any close female friend I had meant I had to be in love with them and if they seemed smiley around me back it was assumed we were dating.

But like, James and Sirius were That Close, and if they were girls, they Would be The Lesbians. If they were just best friends, everyone would assume they were lesbians. If they were secretly in love with eachother and never said anything until it was too late, everyone would assume they were lesbians. If they were dating and just didn’t tell anyone, everyone would assume they were lesbians. If they were dating and did come out and tell people, no one would be surprised.

I think there’s something special about that. And I know from personal experience being known as the lesbian couple of the school even when you’re not isn’t the greatest, but like as someone who’s experienced that and also experienced it in a more positive way (where people were just supportive and wanted us to date because they genuinely thought we’d be good together and we liked eachother) it’s just something that’s bound to happen.

Apparently you can’t have two girls that close to eachother that aren’t your typical “straight laced “normal” girls” and have them not be cast as the school lesbians.

James was a quidditch captain nerdy smartarse, and Sirius is an alternative black sheep with severe mummy issues. They’re gonna be the lesbians.

And I adore that.

#someone write me a fic about it #and make them kiss and be in love #ALSO no hate to ‘normal’ girls obviously. it’s just there were a lot of girls in my highschool with close female relationships similar to my #own and they were never cast as lesbians because they fit into the typical norm of girl that guys liked. you know they were very feminine #and would hem their dresses to be shorter and shave their legs and what not. I’m talking in the earlier years of highschool too. and they’d #just be very typically feminine and often be involved in boy drama and blah blah blah. where as me and my friends cast in this category were #often seen as weird. or at least I was. we weren’t seen as pretty in the way they were and often had hairy legs still or came to school #without makeup. we were kinda nerdy or had strange humour and less of a fashion sense.#mostly we were just a little bit different. especially me. and so yeah we got casted as the lesbians. especially me because I was typically #undesirable to those mysoginistic sexist teenage boys 👍👍👍#wow I did not mean for this to turn into a little rant #it was just a midnight thought that kinda made me laugh that I could relate too. wow. go to sleep jay #jay talks #prongsfoot #James potter #sirius black #James x sirius #marauders #sapphic prongsfoot #lesbian prongsfoot #lesbian James #lesbian sirius

7 notes · View notes

justsome-di · 2 years ago

Text

Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 17

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years. Until his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

“This is Kris and Clara,” Martin said. “The couple friend I mentioned. Guys, this is Marcus and Alex.”

Kris and Clara sat on the couch, glasses of wine already in their hands.

Lesbians.

Huh.

For some reason, Alex hadn’t expected Martin to have gay friends.

“I’m Kris.” She had very short, coily hair that was shaved down at the sides and piled up high on top. She wore a flannel top and chunky combat boots. All Alex could think about was how much Eve would have loved to know where she shopped.

“I’m not Kris.” Clara had longer, blonde hair wrapped up in a bun piled on the top of her head. She wore a short-sleeved button-down top that Alex was 90% sure he also owned. There was a joke there about lesbian and gay man fashion, but Alex would have to think about what it was.

Eve was going to be thrilled that Alex had spent his evening with a married lesbian couple. He was going to have to memorize every single detail about them just in case Eve had a million questions.

“I’m Marcus,” Damián said.

“I’m Alex,” Alex said.

“They’ve told us all about you two,” Kris said.

“Not really,” Martin said. “We really only told them a few things.”

Damián opened his mouth but then quickly closed it. Alex could feel him holding back another harsh comment.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Damián said. And then turning to the women, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Martin gestured to the sitting area, trying to nudge the awkward greetings to an end.

Alex had never been to a co-worker’s apartment before. Martin and Sam’s place was cute. Larger than his own. There were paintings on the walls and one wedding picture hanging above a short and wide bookcase. There was a framed picture of a cockapoo who, in real life, was currently sitting between Kris and Clara, getting plenty of pets.

Damián must have noticed the dog at the same time as Alex because he let out a coo, “A dog!” and sat on the loveseat across from the lesbians.

“His name is Yam,” Martin said.

“His name is Yam,” Damián cried.

It was like his heart couldn’t take it.

Kris and Clara released Yam and gently nudged him to Damián. Yam jumped down and, eager for attention, trotted up to Damián’s ankles. Ecstatic, Damián picked him up and set him on his lap. Yam’s tail wagged so hard he was almost hitting himself. His backside thrashed around from the force making him lose his balance on his hind legs.

“His name is Yam,” Damián repeated to Alex.

“I heard.” Alex took a seat next to Damián and patted Yam on the head. He narrowly missed getting his hand licked. “I’m more of a cat person.”

“Well, now you can be a cat person and a Yam person.” Damián lifted Yam’s front legs and turned him to Alex. “I think he likes you.”

Yam’s tongue lolled out of his mouth like it was too big to fit inside. He looked at Alex for a few seconds before turning towards his approaching mother.

“He looks indifferent,” Alex said.

“We named him Yam because he looked like a Yam when we rescued him,” Sam said. She scratched the underside of his chin. “He likes to be scratched here.”

“I’m obsessed,” Damián said.

Yam was a light brown, almost orange color. His fur curled up to hide almost all of his face. His eyes and nose were barely visible. If it wasn’t gaping open, Alex wouldn’t be able to see his mouth behind his bushy mustache.

Martin passed two glasses of wine to Alex. He quietly thanked him and tried handing one to Damián. Damián was too distracted by rubbing Yam’s floppy ears to notice, so Alex laid the glass on the end table.

They sat around the living room. Sam sat with the other women, and Martin took the only chair in the room. It was a spacious area. The “sitting room” sat lower than the rest of the apartment, and that simple design made the apartment feel so much more bougie. The step down made the area feel like an actual room.

It could fit way more furniture than Alex could ever dream of having in his own apartment. Maybe it was the advantage of having double income. Or maybe it was just that Martin definitely made more money than him. Either way, Alex was jealous.

“So, Alex,” Kris said. “We know you work with Martin, right?”

“Yeah. I’m the administrative assistant in our office.”

“Ooh. Sounds fancy.”

“It’s just a nice way of saying I’m the secretary.”

“But without him, we would all be late to meetings and not a single fax would be sent,” Martin said, laying it on so thick Alex thought he might need a shovel to dig through it.

“You guys send faxes?” Clara asked. “Are you only allowed to operate like it’s the 90s?”

“They’re more secure than emails, and they don’t violate HIPPA,” Alex said, finally ready to finish the thoughts he had tried telling his co-workers for years. “A lot of medical offices still request them for privacy reasons. And when we deal with patient information, we have to follow the same guidelines.”

“Hmm,” Kris hummed. “I never knew that.”

“Neither did I,” Martin said. “So, better put, Alex also keeps us from getting sued.”

Alex didn’t respond. He only gave Martin a quick glance.

“Marcus, Martin and Sam didn’t tell us what you do,” Clara said.

Without looking up from Yam who was now receiving a great two-hand scratch under his chin, Damián said, “I’m a sex worker.”

Alex held his breath. He cautiously turned to Kris and Clara. Their eyes were wide with surprise. Or maybe awe. It was hard to tell with all the blood rushing from his face.

“That’s genuinely so cool,” Kris said.

Damián shrugged. “It’s just a job. I like working with people, so I found a very people-y career.”

“Right. That’s how I feel. Only with dead people.”

Damián finally looked up from Yam. “Okay. Explain, please.”

“Kris is a curator in a museum,” Clara said. “She likes to make it sound as dramatic as possible.”

“I like the idea of people, but I don’t like being around them.” Kris held up her hands. “Not that I don’t like hanging around you guys.”

It earned her an obligatory laugh.

“I think I get it,” Damián said. “The idea of community is more palatable than going out and seeing people sometimes.”

“Studying how people interact is always less exhausting than actually interacting with people. I don’t lose any social battery this way.”

“I could be around people all day.”

Alex believed it. Damián was thriving sitting on that loveseat, surrounded by five other people and a dog who was begging for more affection.

“What do you like about people?” Damián asked. “Is it how people visit museums to see stuff about other people? Or is it how you can study people who are dead?”

“It’s a bit of both,” Kris said. Her eyes were bright. “When I get to pick up a bowl from a thousand years ago, I think about who else has held it, how it was used for the first time, all that shit. I get to learn about how it was made, and I can imagine who made it. Or when we get a toy, I just think about how an adult, somewhere, had to have made that for a child. And that child had to have been so excited to play with it. But I get to hold it now, all these years later, and years after me, someone else will hold it, and we all become part of this huge thing that started out as mundane and routine for the people who first handled it.”

Alex must have been more uncultured than he had initially known because he had never thought about museums like that. To him, they were quiet, dim buildings filled with stuff that looked a little bit like the stuff he had in his own apartment. He had never taken any time to think about the people attached to those things. He had never taken any time to think about how his things were attached to himself. Maybe in a hundred years someone would find his French press and feel connected with him over a shared love of pretentious coffee-making techniques.

“I think about sex work like that,” Damián said. “I get to meet with a client, and I get to be one part of this person’s life. And a lot of the time, people say sex work is free of all feelings, you know? Like in Pretty Woman, Vivian has that whole thing where she doesn’t kiss anyone because it’s too personal? I don’t think you can manage to isolate all feelings with sex work. I’ve had so many clients who just want someone physically with them, and then they feel relief and reassurance and, just, simple companionship. And sometimes that’s all they need to motivate themselves to find more personal connections with other people, and then I become a dot in that social web.”

Alex’s heart swelled. He could listen to Damián talk about sex for hours.

“That’s beautiful,” Clara said. “You have to be an extrovert for the job, don’t you?”

“I think it helps,” Damián said. “For your own sake. But I know some introverts who recharge alone between clients and won’t leave their apartments unless they’re working.”

“Unlike you right now?”

“I like people! I get my energy from others.”

There was no mention that he was, in fact, working right then with his client sitting right next to him.

Everyone settled into conversation. Alex even felt comfortable enough to start talking at times, offering his insights on the state of history museums, the medical industry, and even weighed in on what Yam’s Halloween costume should be. A firefighter, he agreed, would be the more ethical option over cop.

And then, finally, Kris and Clara asked the question Alex was hoping he wouldn’t have to answer.

“How did you two meet?”

Alex and Damián looked at each other. Martin sunk low into his chair.

“Well,” Damián said to Alex. “Do you want to tell them or?”

“You can,” Alex said.

Damián tried looking casual. “It started out as a prank. Someone hired me pretending to be Alex and told him that they were setting him up on a real date with a friend. And they let me believe it was just a normal appointment. He went through a whole dinner thinking it was a blind date, and I thought he was a client. Needless to say, things got a bit awkward.”

“Oh god.” Kris curled her lip up in disgust. “Isn’t that identity theft or something? Who did that?”

Martin, face red, sheepishly raised his hand. Damián gave him a pointed look.

“Martin,” Clara groaned. “What the hell? That’s not funny.”

“That’s what I told him,” Sam said.

“It wasn’t just me,” Martin said. “It was a few guys at the office.”

“What the fuck?” Kris said. “Why would you do that to them?”

“I didn’t—It wasn’t—I feel really bad about it. I’ve been trying to apologize for two weeks now, but I keep botching it.”

Sam’s face was also bright red, but she didn’t confess to her own faux pas.

Damián nudged Alex, tossed a glance at Martin, and shrugged. Alex was pretty sure he knew what he was asking, so he nodded.

“We can forgive you,” Damián said. “Totally. You’ve been absolved of all your sins.”

Martin looked quite pleased and relieved.

“Yay!” Clara clapped. “Martin, you’re still a dick. Your work friends are a bad influence on you.”

“Yeah.” Martin pulled at his sweater. “They might be.”

Alex wanted to hear more about that. He wanted the gossip on Andrew and Stu—mostly Andrew. He had endured their bullying for years, he wanted to know how the inner workings of their circle were dysfunctional.

But Damián laid his hand on Alex’s back, and Alex’s brain short-circuited. Every nerve ending in his body lit up in ecstasy.

“We can move on,” Damián said. “I’m glad Alex and I met, and that’s all that really matters. And, really, the more we dwell on it, the worse things get. Alex and I are ready to put it all behind us.”

He was now rubbing Alex’s back, his fingers moving up and down his spine. Alex was completely out of commission. It was such a simple touch, and yet Alex’s heart was racing. Something under his belt was starting to wake up, too, and Alex was scared that Damián kept going, he was going to pop a boner right there in front of everyone.

“In that case, does anyone want to play Trivial Pursuit?” Sam asked.

Kris groaned. “I was hoping you would forget about it this time.”

“Nope! We never forget!”

“I do want a rematch.” Clara pointed at Martin. “I’ve been studying.”

“You’ve been studying?” Martin asked. “Studying what?”

“Everything.” Clara waved her hand around in gentle, slow circles. “The world.”

Kris sighed and drained the rest of her wine. “Let me go to the bathroom before we start. I need to walk through the breathing exercises my therapist taught me.”

“I’ll get the game,” Martin said.

“Clara, I made little, tiny desserts,” Sam said. “Can you help me carry them in?”

“Only if they’re super cute tiny desserts.”

And somehow Damián and Alex were alone, awaiting a game of Trivial Pursuit. Even Yam had gotten up to retreat to his dog bed in the corner.

Damián pressed his palm flat to Alex’s back. He leaned in close until his nose almost touched Alex’s ear. “Are you doing okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Just let me know if you’re not, and I can make something up to get us out of here.”

He laid his other hand on Alex’s knee, and that felt. Different. There was no one around who could see. There was no one to convince they were a real couple. If they were truly alone, if there wasn’t a risk of anyone stepping back in in the next minute, Alex wondered what Damián would do next.

“I think I’m actually enjoying myself,” Alex said. He was breathless. He’d have to excuse himself to do breathing exercises of his own in the bathroom.

“Good!”

Everyone returned, and Damián pulled his hands away from Alex. He left behind little cold patches on Alex where his body heat had been.

Clara picked up a tiny cookie, complimenting Sam on how she managed to make it so little. Martin sat up the board on the coffee table.

Alex hadn’t played Trivial Pursuit in years. It had been popular right before he was born, and he was familiar with the maroon box that sat in his parents’ hallway closet. Martin and Sam had an updated version that boasted its newness on the front. No more answers like “West Germany” or questions about what briefly-popular 1950s actor won an Oscar in what year.

“We’re kinda nerds,” Kris said. “Martin is the best out of all of us because he knows so much useless shit.”

Alex looked at Martin, sympathetically. His secret was safe with Alex. Martin could be a closet nerd as long as Martin was kinder to Alex and Damián, which Alex was confident was going to happen.

They split into their teams and rolled their die to decide who would go first. Alex let Damián choose their color—blue—and grabbed the first card for Martin and Sam. He cupped his hand around the back to block the answers.

“’What was the first music video to air on MTV?’” Alex read.

“‘Video Killed the Radio Star’,” Martin said.

Alex flipped the card over over. “Yup.”

“That one was easy,” Damián said.

“Everyone knows that,” Kris said.

Sam rolled again. An impressive four. Clara took a card and read a sports question. Sam answered correctly. The pattern continued, annoyingly, for another two turns until neither Sam nor Martin could answer what the former capital of Japan was.

“Alex, Damián,” Kris asked, “who hosted the first FIFA World Cup in 1930?”

Alex had never paid attention to soccer. He was impressed he even knew what sport the World Cup was for. But Damián’s eyes were wide, and he inched forward on the couch cushions.

“Uruguay!” he shouted—though he didn’t need to shout.

“Yeah!” Kris cheered.

“Do you like soccer?” Alex asked.

“Haven’t I told you?” Damián asked.

“No. It’s never come up.”

There was so much more about Damián Alex wanted to learn. He wanted to know what sports teams he cheered for, what his favorite meal was, what he actually did when he wasn’t working.

“Well,” Damián said. “I like soccer.”

“Roll again,” Clara told them, stern. “Talk about soccer later.”

Alex rolled a two. They were now one tile away from their first plastic piece of pie.

“’What are the members of Queer Eye referred to as?”

“The Fab Five!” Damián and Alex said in unison.

“Gay advantage,” Clara said, rolling her eyes and smiling.

Alex wanted to ask Damián if he wanted to watch the show later—the original. There were so many good memories of watching it in high school, in secret. Not that his parents cared. They also watched it on occasion, and Alex would always pretend like he had something better to do rather than sit through an episode with them, a confused feeling of guilt stirring inside him.

Damián and Alex crushed the next three questions, getting their pie piece for Science and Nature. Damián nudged Alex every time they answered a question right, smiling and laughing.

Kris and Clara pulled ahead eventually. Then, Martin and Sam caught up. In the end, they all had five pieces and were leaning into the board like children.

Alex had never seen Martin relax and laugh. He was usually so stiff at work. Now, he looked goofy.

And Damián looked wonderfully happy. He was beaming. After two correct answers, they had landed on the pink wedge tile—the last one they needed to win.

“’What 1990 romantic comedy film was based on a Roy Orbison song?’” Kris read.

Damián’s mouth fell open. He grabbed Alex’s arm.

“You know this,” he said. “We just watched it together last week. I mentioned it, like, two hours ago.”

They had only ever watched one movie together.

“Pretty Woman?” Alex asked.

“Goddammit!” Kris shouted, trying to throw the card down on the table. It gently floated down among the others.

Sam groaned and fell into the back of the couch with her arm dramatically thrown over her eyes. Martin scoffed. Clara quietly applauded.

And Damián grabbed Alex by the shoulders.

“Did we win?” Alex asked. “Was that it?”

“Yes! See, I knew it was a good idea to force you to watch Pretty Woman!”

And Damián wrapped his arms around Alex, pulling him into a tight hug. Alex froze there for a moment. Damián’s body was warm around him. Slowly, Alex laid his hands on Damián’s back. He could feel Damián’s shoulder blades, strong and poking out just a little. He could feel his heartbeat and the softness of his sweater against his skin.

They pulled apart, Damián keeping his head low as he turned back to the board and the others. Alex couldn’t see his face. He could see just part of a smile.

“And Martin and Sam’s win streak comes to an end!” Kris cheered.

“You fuckers,” Martin said, though he was smiling, cheeks rosy from the excitement.

“This feels good,” Clara said. “Cathartic. And we’d love to celebrate your defeat, but we should really head out.”

“Us too,” Alex said. It was already going on 10. It would be his bedtime soon.

They helped tidy. Damián carried empty wine glasses to the kitchen and complimented Sam on her wine choice for the night. Sam spoke so easily to him, the tension from the week before forgotten between them.

“You and Marcus are a cute pair,” Kris said.

Alex, his heart starting to ache, shrugged. “Thanks.”

“You two just… mesh well. I know you haven’t known each other for long, but I hope it all works out.”

Alex looked back to the kitchen at Damián. He was wrapped up in a conversation with Sam. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted.

They did mesh well. Alex firmly believed that. Damián was fun to hang around even if that evening had added another $200 to Alex’s bill. God. He was going to cry the day that Venmo transaction went through and his bank account reached an even sadder number than it was already at.

“You two are good together,” Martin said, face flushing. “So it might sound wrong, but I’m glad we did go through with the prank.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Martin—“

“You’ve always been so timid,” Martin said. “We’ve known each other for, what? Six years? And this is the first time you’ve ever come out of your shell around the office. Whenever Marcus picks you up, you smile at him and rush out with him. You’ve never done that before.”

“I’ve never smiled before?”

“You’ve never smiled while running out of the office with someone else.”

Alex hadn’t realized he had been so sappy towards Damián. How embarrassing.

“I didn’t know you watch me from across the office,” Alex said.

“I usually don’t. But I really have felt guilty about the prank. And whenever Marcus comes in,” Martin lowered his voice. “Whenever he comes in, Andrew and Stu—mostly Andrew—has something to say, and I don’t know. They’re kinda pissing me off. So I let them leave on their own at the end of the day, and I end up watching you guys.”

Wow. That was way more thoughtful than Alex had ever expected.

“Can I ask why you guys did it in the first place?” Alex asked. “The prank? It was really stupid.”

“It was Andrew’s idea. I don’t know why he thought of it, but he said that if we got you a prost—a sex worker, then it would be doing you a favor. That you needed to loosen up. And Stu was jumping in, and then I couldn’t really say no.”

“You could have,” Kris said. “You could have said no.”

“I could have,” Martin said. “And I should have.”

But then Alex wouldn’t have ever met Damián, and he wouldn’t be sitting in a group of people who could be potential new friends. And he would have never gotten the chance to see the softer side of Martin.

He knew what peer pressure was like. He was starting to see the type of person Andrew really was—a bully, obviously, but a really nasty one.

“It’s okay,” Alex said. “I guess it worked out.”

But God, wasn’t that selfish? Damián could have been in real danger.

Damián walked up behind Alex and laid his hands on his arms. It was more touching than Damián really needed to do for the job. “Ready to head out?” he asked, rubbing Alex’s arms up and down.

Alex rose, wondering if that was how couples really acted. Damián grabbed Alex’s coat before sliding his own on. Kris and Clara lingered behind, slowly making their way to the coat rack.

In the elevator down to the lobby, Alex thought about Kris and Martin’s words. What was that hug about? And did Damián notice how Alex smiled at him?

“Do you want to do something else?” Damián asked.

“What?”

“It’s still early. We can go out or something.”

“It’s almost 10.”

“Ooh. Sorry. Forgot you have a normal job.” Alex thought Damián was being sincere for a moment. “I can take you home, and you can tuck yourself in bed and go to sleep for a whole eight hours. And then you can go to your little office job.”

Damián’s lower lip was jutted out in a fake pout. Alex shoved him with his shoulder.

“You’re making fun of me,” Alex said.

“We’re young! Let’s get a little ice cream or something and then you can go to sleep.”

Alex wouldn’t have said no for any reason. He followed Damián to the curb and climbed into an Uber to get to what Damián claimed was the best ice cream place in the world. Damián sat closer to him in the car than he needed to be.

Their date was over, after all. Damián could have gone home, job complete. $200 added to the total. But he was insisting on more time with Alex. And Alex could only tell himself that something good was happening.

#nobody ends up dead #writeblr #writblr #original writing #writing community #writing #queer fiction

23 notes · View notes

nervousron · 2 years ago

Text

Chronological Lazlow Jones quotes and facts from Vice City, up to GTAV

22 year old radio intern Lazlow covers his eyes and hides in the corner when ladies enter the recording booth without their shirts

“Im 100% rebel. I got kicked out of school after the 12th grade, man” (for non-american readers, this would be university)

“Dont sell out. I never will”

“I am the master of darkness - that’s why my name’s Lazlow”

“Remember, Im going to be famous one day.”

Lazlow’s V-Rock Radio job application was sent in hand written calligraphy with a bouquet of flowers

Lazlow was in high school band

“I flunked school cuz im parkour”

He is pro gun and conservative

“How is that fair? I mean Im white, middle-class, very erudite -um, yknow, whatever that means- but people just respond badly to me, i don't understand it”

“-and you keep saying ‘im from the streets’, Yknow what dude? Everyone has a street in front of their house, that doesn't make you cool”

“Its kinda been a dream of mine to sleep with housewives…”

“I love your strap, you’re a great guy!”

Lazlow was tricked into joining the military briefly

Lazlow’s mom sent him to inversion and conversion therapy

“This is the west coast. I’m only into lesbians, man”

Lazlow breaking into tears when a caller continuously encourages Lazlow to shave his bush so his dick looks bigger

“Hanging upside down to sleep doesnt make you cool, or alternative. I know because I tried it”

A guy called in saying he moved from Hampshire and Lazlow told him his english was good and asked if it was hard getting used to the language

As of gta III Lazlow is married. As of IV he is divorced, balding, and has a mustache. His wife left him for his best friend after he brought home a heavily drugged woman for a threeway.

He used to look at his best friends dick when he was sleeping.

(About the Brittish)“I think they were speaking English before we were. I mean, the people here were speaking Cherokee and Shoshone.”

Lazlow gets upset when a man implies spanking kids is okay. He gets even more upset when he realizes the man doesn’t have kids and just wants to be spanked

“My father was strangely silent my whole childhood, which y’know, explains a lot”

“So you would MILK your grandmother like some kind of TEAR COW?”

Lazlow pushed a hotdog salesman’s head into a pot of boiled hot dog water and tried to drown him. This was a very cathartic experience for him.

“You stick your hand down a stripper's panties, yknow, and you discover a pair of balls. Well guess what baby? The bitch is back. But im not a bitch, Im a man. Uhh-”

Lazlow was regularly caught kissing men backstage at concerts in the 80s

Lazlow mentions its easier to spike women’s drinks with GHB in Liberty City than Vice City

“Go play sudoku and die peeing on yourself”

“You’re not my type. I prefer unconscious chicks or milfs with stretch marks”

Lazlow has tried blogging, being in porn, vinewood, working glory holes, and taking "facefulls of pills" to be happy.

“dude. Can you really not rub your junk and talk about schools. Dude. dude.”

“And you just wish that ONCE you could share a bed with someone who wouldnt get creeped out by the pictures of my ex wife on the nightstand”

“You can catch an STD! From a Him/Her!”

Lazlow bites strangers when he’s mad

“Im a RAGING heterosexual”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Y’know, I’ve worn some panties. Its not weird if a chick asks you to do it. Then its hot”

He begs strangers on the street to watch him windmill his dick online.

“This mustache once got me laid. Yeah, Yeah.”

“Isnt there one where theres a cup and two girls…”

He accosts Fred Armisen in the street. Fred is somehow much worse than Lazlow.

“DUR DUR DUR text message. EL OH EL”

“You’ll NEVER get to experience the 80s”

“For once, Lazlow is not getting bummed. I’M doing the bumming”

in Episodes From Liberty City, Lazlow’s mother and step-father pay for his radio show and he lives in their home. He hates his step-dad and new step-sisters

“Im the g-spot of radio”

“I’m here to stay. Like the national debt. or syphilis.”

Lazlow’s brother is a tv producer

Lazlow promised $2 to a man to follow him down the street with a saxophone to set atmosphere for his radio show

“I’ve really gotta spread my scent right now. And by that, I mean pee”

Lazlow’s step-dad is a mortician

Lazlow is pro choice, but only because he doesnt want to be a hypocrite

Lazlow’s sister was supposedly kidnapped. He claims he did not personally murder her.

“Nicaragua. Which is a company that sells nicotine… water”

“Do have a second for gay rights?” “Okay, a second. Sometimes five minutes if I’m drunk and nobody’s looking”

Lazlow makes his intern follow him with a camera and pretend to be paparazzi. It backfires.

Lazlow got hairplugs some time between IV and V

Lazlow invented podcasting

“It’s not molesting if they’re ugly. Trust me, i’ve been doing it for years”

“Molesting is when they’re human and cant complain, or dont like peanut butter on their junk. Those sheep wouldnt have complained if they COULD have. They were loving it!”

Lazlow’s intern tells everyone at the gay bar that Laz wants to get railed by three guys. Lazlow, not understanding spanish, is very excited by the attention.

Lazlow knows space facts off the top of his head

Lazlow Wants to cum in zero G

He has a grandma fetish

Lazlow talks about his experience of getting pissed on by groups of strange men

Lazlow is "Left wing", but only because he doesnt want to be fired

Through tears “I dont understand valleys or clouds, it sounds like a nursery rhyme”

Lazlow told the press Michael "molested (him) into cutting his hair"

Lazlow got roofied at his Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting

Through tears “Tony? Can we hug? Please? You shouted at me a lot… And Tony? I dont think you can say ‘Gay Tony’ anymore, it’s not PC, the internet will go crazy”

Lazlow spins records at kids birthdays

“He wants me to beatbox, i’m gonna fuckin get LAAIIDDD”

“One more scandal will ruin me. I’m WOKE now”

#lazlow jones #grand theft auto #gtav facts #im working on replies i promise #but i listened to all his dialogue at work today so. lazlow time

30 notes · View notes

the-elderly-are-evolving · 1 year ago

Text

gay twilight princess character headcanons bc it pride month

look im sure someone else has done it but idc i have A Lot Of Feelings rn and they have 2 go somewhere so get on board or get off ma ass about it

Link:

u no him, u love him, he has like 3 pixels in this game and all of them r doing their best!

he's coming from a conservative little backwater (i say this as the unfortunate alum of a conservative little backwater myself-- sorry, but Ordon's main export is like. goats or w/ever, there's no way there aren't any trump supporters in that town), but i think once he travels around n gets 2 experience different things on his quests n shit he starts 2 unravel some of that internalized homophobia & becomes a great ally and, dare i say it, a little bi-curious

"but, gabe," i hear u say, "link is such a nonbinary icon, what about the transmasc & transfemme gender envy???" and 2 that i say mmmmm yea yea ik, but i don't think he sees it in himself yet, i think that comes later when he's got more adult confidence n shit. like i can see a 20's/30's link with long luscious braided hair wearing crop tops and mini skirts 2 show off his sick nasty battle scars while he picks ppl up at the bar

final verdict is bi and, later, genderqueer, although i think he's one of those ppl who doesn't really care about labels/ pronouns bc he is simply 2 busy sparkle emoij boots the house down slaying monsters hahahah get it im hilaris

Midna:

now that's a she/they if ever i've met one

one of those ppl whose gender presentation is mostly just looking like a scruffy & stinky goblin cretur 95% of the time except 4 that like. 2% of the time they actually make an effort and turn out****

def has a bro-code friendship w link where they both just don't talk about their feelings and instead r violent together love this little war criminal & her dog best friend

ur 1st instinct is lesbian, but look a little closer, and u will soon realize that this is simply a pansexual with a strong preference 4 women in their natural habitat

i think she is trying 2 b a responsible queer bc she knows link is unfamiliar w the community n she is trying 2 b a good ambassador between link n the gays uhhhhh unfortunately she is simply 2 busy trying 2 commit crimes & being like. a chronically online 20-year old or however old she's supposed 2 be & i think link comes away more confused than ever b4

****couple things here: a) ik that doesn't add up to 100%-- i am gay, what part of do not talk 2 me about numbers don't u understand b) ik midna was literally cursed 2 b an imp by zant, but it doesn't change anything in my mind and u can't convince me that she didn't just pull out her "true form" bullshit 2 try an seduce zelda at the end of the game c) no i have no personal experience with this gender presentation at all how dare you insinuate anything of the sort i have totally showered this week totally now shut up

Zelda:

Lesbian, no further questions ur honor

Furthermore, femme lesbian, often gets Assigned Straight On Sight & is very tired of getting hit on by straight men

One of those gays who wear wacky silly n fun statement earrings so other queer ppl know they're gay

We don't actually see her a lot in this game so there's not much 2 go off of with her characterization... this zelda has had a lot of pressure put on her what with being the sole leader of her people in this time of extreme stress, & so i think she is very competent & composed & controlled, but out of necessity, which will prob lead her 2 rebel later in life & act out a little when the country is not at war & she gets to be more of a child again.... basically what im saying is twilight princess should've had a sequel n it should've started w zelda deciding she's punk now, shaving her head, and making link help her run away from home

EDIT: how did i not see this b4...... i have been a fool...... zelda is secretly an astrology gay. it's one of her guilty pleasures bc she knows it's prob not real n the planets prob aren't doing anything w ppl's personalities, but she can't help but b like oooh but wouldn't it b fun if the real reason zant was such a little bitch was just bc his pisces is in retrograde?

#twilight princess #legend of zelda #loz tp #loz headcanons

11 notes · View notes

variaoftevinter · 2 years ago

Text

sera (dragon age) fanfic

sera x oc, leliana, dorian, scout harding all mentioned!! sorry for sm smut i swear i'll have more story based things soon. like way way more

content: lesbian SMUT, afab reader/afab sera, oral, f!ngering, teasing

“Do you intend to join the contest tonight?” I hear Leliana say, looking up from my table in the corner.

“Contest?” She hands me the flier in her hand.

Archery Contest! Saturday! All challengers welcome*! Sister Leliana to judge!

*Except Varric and Bianca

“What is this, why are you showing me this?”

“It’s Saturday.” Leliana says, smirking.

“Maker, is it really? I haven’t been able to keep track of days since the boat ride. Then there was the month’s training, then there were the weeks on horseback-”

“Sorry to spring this on you, Zena, but I paid good money for your training, and I’d love to see my future assassin at work.”

“Aren’t I supposed to go by Florence now?”

“Fatine.”

“Who are Bianca and Varric?”

“Bianca is the biggest crossbow you’ve ever seen. And Varric is a dwarf whose aim is worse than a blind man’s.”

“I don’t have my bow.”

“It’s a good thing then, that I have it right here,” She picks up the bow she had strapped across her back. It is my bow. Damn. “I know you are nervous, Zena, but the stakes are low. What are wooden targets to a trained killer?”

“I don’t normally shoot for an audience.”

“Oh come now, Zena, that’s quite enough of this whining!” I chuckle, begrudgingly rising from my seat.

“When is this competition?”

“Any minute now.”

“Maker!”

She leads me outside to a corner of the Skyhold fortress. There are people of the Inquisition milling about, sharing mugs of ale and chattering amongst themselves. Three or four have formed a line, bows drawn and warming up to compete.

Leliana gently nudges the bow into my hands, and I take my place with the competitors.

“Hello everyone,” a dwarf with strawberry blonde braids steps forward, attempting to address the crowd, to no avail. “Hello all! Hey, hi,” the murmuring diminishes. “Thank you all for coming out to our archery contest! It’s good to build camaraderie by showing support for each other,” she says, teeming with nerves and excitement, “And to have some fun now and then!” She smiles giddily at her own joke, but the others remain quiet, unsure how to react. I clap. She looks over, startled, but appreciative for the awkward solidarity. Others join in for a round of applause.

“May the best archer win! If all competitors could take their place we’ll get under way shortly,” a few more people step forward from the crowd with their bows. “Oh, and thank you to our Spymaster Leliana for judging today! Thank you!”

Leliana steps forward to explain the rules. She is clearly not half as into the whole camaraderie and support thing as the host.

We will go in the order we arrived in (I’ll go fifth), and whoever scores the lowest each round (does the worst job hitting the bullseye) will be eliminated. First round I hit the closest ring to the center, gaining some murmurs of approval. Some, but not many, did just as well, many did worse. One Dalish elf got a bullseye, leading to roaring cheers and applause, and some eye-rolls from their competition.

After some rounds we were down to seven people. The Antivan kid in front of me nocks his arrow, beginning to draw, when I hear an-

“Oi!” The boy jumps, loosing his arrow into a wall, narrowly missing some spectators. I turn my head to see who just called out.

She’s an elf with her blonde hair cropped short to her jaw, a sight I would normally find unladylike if my own hair wasn’t shaved to the scalp for ease in combat. She couldn’t be older than 22, but she dresses how my five-year-old would dress herself. A bright red tunic with the ugliest plaid breeches you’ve ever seen.

“Am I late to the party?” She calls out, all eyes on her. Leliana rolls her eyes.

“We’re halfway through the match,” the hostess says, visibly frustrated, “but, this is all just for fun,” a reminder more for herself than anyone else. “Sure, Sera, you may take your place among the others.”

“Thanks, Harding,” She says, satisfied. She looks for a place to go, then squeezes between me and the Antivan. “So was that your turn, or…?” She says to the boy.

“I should hope not!”

“No, child, that was not your turn.” Leliana reassures him. He goes again, his arrow landing toward the outside of the target, his confidence shaken.

Then it was Sera’s turn. In one fell swoop she grabbed an arrow, drew it back, then fired with no hesitation. It hits the dead center of the target.

“Shit!” A man behind us swears, the competitors erupting in anger.

“Oh you lot are gonna have to get used to this. The real challenge has entered the game!”

I know this is all in good fun, but fuck her.

“May I go now?” I say to Sera, still standing in front of the target. She whips around to face me, looking shaken. Her expression warps into one of amusement, a corner of her mouth lifting.

“Sorry, my lady. Don’t let me keep ya.” She bows out of the way. I sigh, drawing back the bow. I close one eye, my tongue sticking out in ugly concentration. I fire. Mine hits the bullseye too. The crowd celebrates, cheering and jeering. I can’t help but grin to myself as I head to the back of the line. Sera is glaring at me, a mixture of intrigue and bitterness in her face.

“Looks like you’re going to be trouble for me, lady.” I laugh.

“And you, me.”

“I’m Sera.”

“I know. I’m Fatine.”

For every perfect hit Sera got, I was somewhere between good and great. But I stayed in the game, and so, of course, did she. When it was down to three, I matched her bullseye again, leaving us as the final two. By this time, a very large crowd had gathered, waiting with baited breath to see if I (the mysterious and sexy underdog) would beat Sera (Sera). I managed to keep up with her move by move, but she was effortless in her perfect strikes. My turns took concentration, hesitation, and thought. I moved slow. But she smugly watched me strategize each of my moves. Her certainty that she was going to win pissed me off, even though yes. She would probably win. Miraculously, I kept up with her for over ten agonizing rounds. Swiftly she draws the arrow and fires. It hits to the left of the bullseye. The crowd is in shambles.

“Fuck! God damn it! I don’t friggin’ care about this bullshit anyway. Fuck it!” Sera is swearing up a storm.

“Now, now you haven’t lost yet! Pull yourself together, woman,” I coo at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looks at me with her big puppy-dog eyes, her mouth agape. I lift my other hand and gently raise her chin, shutting her trap.

“Now let’s see how this all turns out, why don’t we. Hm?”

“Argh!” She swings to the side. As I nock my arrow, I wonder if it’s even worth winning. She’s so mad at herself right now it’s pitiful. But there is a lesson to be learned from this– life is full of disappointments, after all. I draw back, steady myself, and fire. My most beautifully symmetrical shot yet. People yell and cheer, jumping up and down, celebrating how the Mighty has fallen. Sera simply slumps her shoulders and lowers her gaze.

“You did good, Sera!” I call out as she walks away. She pretends not to hear me.

“We have a winner! Congratulations, Fatine!” Scout Harding proclaims. I lock eyes with Leliana, and she gives me a nod of approval, a twinkle of pride and mischief in her eyes.

⇼

“Everybody raise a glass!” The bard sings out, ferociously strumming an old Tevinter tune in the winner’s honor.

The tavern comes alive after dark, the glee from the competition still fresh in the air. People were finally drunk enough to start dancing, I watch as they pair up and start swinging each other around. No one knows this dance in this part of Thedas. I stay at my same seat in the corner, challenging myself to finish a bottle of wine alone.

“Are you going to drink this bottle alone?” A young man with dark skin and a mustache says to me.

“If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying.”

“Mind if I assist?” He takes a seat across from me. His accent means he’s a ‘vint as well, and it’s clear he came from money. Some magister’s son, probably.

“You can imagine my surprise when I heard the winner was from Tevinter as well, there aren’t many of us around here.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you military?”

“My father was. I… was a slave.”

He chokes on the glass he had poured. I had intended to break the news a little gentler.

“Oh.”

“It’s alright. What House do you hail from? You might know my old mistress.”

“...Pavus.”

“I served the lady of House Adonis,” I watched in secret horror as he put the pieces together. “I’m sure I’ve run into you at a party at some point, the two families intermingled often!”

“Yes I’m sure.”

“I do love this dance!” I offer, the music picking up. I look around the room to see the bard playing her heart out, and people hopping around to the tune like the country bumpkins they were. I see a flash of blonde hair on the other side of the crowd. There Sera is, a wallflower in bloom, still moping.

“Would you like to dance with me then, my lady?”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” I take his hand and we make our way toward the crowd. They egg us on, exclaiming in excitement as we begin the Matryoshka. Others sort of catch on to the steps of the routine, and soon the room is booming with dancers.

Dorian and I laugh with each other in a moment of solidarity I never could’ve predicted.

I bump shoulders with a tall freckled man and he murmurs an apology. His dancer partner is Sera– who does not look happy to be in his arms, her eyes locked on me. Dorian, knowing his cue, trades partners with Sera. He spins into the arms of the other gentleman. Sera slides a hand on my back, awkwardly guiding me through the energetic dance.

“Hello, sore loser.”

“Oh, shut it will you. I’m trying to play nice.” I firmly grab her jaw, forcing her gaze on me.

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll keep it that way.” She pulls at my hair teasingly. I groan. The alcohol has made me bold and flushed my cheeks red.

I grab her upper arm and lead her off to the side. I back her into the wall, my form pressing against hers.

“You need to learn how to behave when someone outdoes you.”

“And jus’ how should I behave?”

“Graciously. Take it like a lady.” She giggles and swivels me around with her forearm, switching our positions, my back pressing against the cold stone.

“Oh, I’ll shut up and take it. But not like a lady.” She whispers into my neck, the sweet heat from her voice raises the hair on my skin. I feel myself open up, my heartbeat pulsating with lust. She brings her mouth to mine, so close our lips brush against each other. But she does not kiss me, she only takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs.

⇼

The second we are in privacy we’re rushing to get naked. We pull at each other’s tops, I lift her shirt off over her head to find she has no bra on, her breasts surprisingly full on her lanky frame, her beautiful brown nipples hard as daggers.

Before I can even get my hands on them she’s kneeling down in front of me. I claw at my legs, anxious to get my bottoms off. She laughs at my desperation. She eases my trousers down and peels off my underwear. My face grows even hotter with shame at how soaking wet they already are. My pants are still around my ankles when she looks up at me, smiles, then parts my thighs and gets to work with her tongue. It’s all I can do to brace myself against a bookshelf as she makes gentle, slow circles on my clit. I cry out, the pleasure making my knees buckle.

“More pressure, Sera, fuck it feels so– fuck!” She purposefully ignores my request, keeping her contact light, prolonging me from coming. This makes me even louder, My moans so guttural I hear her chuckling between my legs. I look up at the ceiling, letting waves of ecstasy wash over me, When she slides two fingers inside of me, stroking my walls with that same slow pace. I expect her to tease me for my wetness but she holds no judgment, she feels proud. She goes harder on my clit, but doesn’t change her speed at all. It’s agonizing. I fall to the floor, my legs giving up on me, and she only uses my position to bury herself in me, my legs spread on either side of her. I stuff a hand in my mouth to stifle the sounds. My body is shuddering, my cunt is throbbing so hard that it’s almost painful. I cry and swear the whole way to my slow, torturous climax. She pulls away, her eyes still hungry. My breath is shaky and loud. I’m speechless. She stares at my sweaty, glistening form and all I can do is look back. I laugh. She smiles. From her spot between my legs she slides off my boots, and with her assistance I get fully naked. I guide her down below me so she’s laying flat on the ground.

“Sera, you’re beautiful.” I say in earnest as I guide her pants off her legs. She runs a finger along my cheek.

“You’re a gorgeous creature yourself, lady.” I sit over top of her and part her mouth with three fingers. She stares into my eyes as she takes the fingers down her throat, Moistening them up for herself. I remove the fingers and wrap my hand around her neck. She whimpers as I lean forward and kiss her passionately.

Our tongues intertwine, lightly brushing up against one another, until she pushes her way to the back of my throat. I push back and we make out, skin to skin on the floor of her room for what feels like forever.

I trace kisses down her neck and onto her collarbone, making my way to her supple tits, and I suck on her nipple, flicking it with my tongue. She moans violently. Hers are as sensitive as mine. Got it.

I take my hand off her throat and bring it down to her heat. Her pubes are so blonde you can hardly see them. Cute. I brush over the area, lightly teasing every fold. We don’t talk much while we fuck, but her cries tell me she’s begging for more. I stick one finger, then two, then three, inside of her while my thumb presses against her clit. I squeeze my fingers together while inside her, and she cries out even harder. I bring my face close to hers.

“Come on baby, you can cry into my mouth.” I whisper, then lock lips with her again as I continue to finger her in strong pulses. She does as I told her and shudders, groans, and sighs frantically into our kisses. Her warm smokey breath does crazy things to me. I open my palm and slap against her cunt, she jolts and cries out in surprise and euphoria.

“Faster, please. Please,” I give in and increase the speed. Her legs shake forcibly as she cums into my hand, her warmth spreading all over my fingers and palm. She watches from below me as I lick it all up in delight. “Damn.”

I roll over beside her, the cold floor soothing my overheated body. I turn to face her and see that her eyes never left me.

“If you’re the prize I get for second I can’t imagine what the Maker would’ve given me for winnin’.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, letting my hand rest on her soft cheek.

“You’ve been a most worthy opponent. I like you a lot, kid. For what it’s worth.”

“From you, it’s worth a fortune.” She collapsed onto me, our mouths colliding as she rolled on top. We fucked until we succumbed to sleep. I woke up on the floor to the sunlight pouring in, and a still naked Sera pressed against me. I smile to myself as I think of what else the Inquisition could possibly have in store. This was just the first night here, after all.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #sera dragon age #sera x reader #sera x insquisitor #sera x trevelyan #sera x lavellan #sera x cadash #sera x adaar #lesbian smut #sera fanfic #sera smut #sera fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age smut

33 notes · View notes