#Coming from a Butch and a trying-to-be-Bear

[kainekillinggod]

I feel like the sapphic community ((not lesbain or mspec but specifically ppl who use the term Sapphic)) is like. Very white. And very anti-masculinity

And this is mostly referring to online,

The portrayal of 'sapphic' relationships always seems to be femme4femme or whenever it's butch4femme the femme is always light skinned and dainty and innocent while the butch is dark skinned and masculine and cold

Whenever I encounter things not labeled as Sapphic but more so wlw/nblw/nblnb it's I guess to sayBetter????Like I'll see specifically lesbains talking abt things and it's never been racially exclusive whereas specifically sapphic things have??????? I'm not sure if that makes sense

Also to say I've never seen sapphic having butch4butch.

[yameoto]

butch pussy + femme cock = using you

tw; free-use, somno, cnc, morning sex, butchpussy (vi) femmecock (cait), implied bratty!reader. wc; 1.2k

vi and caitlyn linger at the doorway, to your shared bedroom. patrols are a bitch—and it is not always that they can get home, early. it's never been a problem exactly. except—

“ah..” vi’s mouth waters.

dawn crawls on the horizon. its heralding light seeps in through gossamer curtains, spilling out to bask your sleeping form in an unmitigated glow. your very nude, sleeping form. as if teasing them—you let out the most adorable yawn, in the midst of sleep. your leg curls upwards, covers slipping off.

caitlyn swallows, hard.

the two of them are immediately seized with an irrational jealousy for being so robbed from witnessing you, like this. “since when does she sleep naked?” “suppose it’s hot nowadays.” caitlyn answers airly, as if her nails aren't digging into the heel of her palm and the tent in her trousers' isn't stiffening. urgently. since when did she have the libido of a teenage boy? vi elbows her, voice teasing—if not equally as hoarse. “cupcake. you’re packing.”

"like you're not thinking the same." caitlyn scoffs, and vi can't argue with that. she is thinking the same. if the same, is the idea of hovering over your blissfully relaxed figure, splayed out on the bedspread. tearing off her pants and—

“..perhaps, we could.. indulge.”

“oh, baby. you read my mind.”

you wake, to a burning in your lungs, and your cunt. there's a stuffy headiness enveloping your head, something hot and wet and slippery pressing up against your chin. you open your mouth, only half-consciously, when your tongue meets salt and your eyelids flicker open in sleepy befuddlement. heat, and muscular thighs clamp down on either side of your head. a rough hand twists in your hair.

vi jerks you tongue-first into her cunt. your, whatthefuckisgoingon??? comes out more like; "mmrmgh?”

"poor baby. can't breathe, huh?" vi only shoves you deeper up the wedge of her thighs, your nose burrowed into the curls of her hot-pink bush and mouth at her sopping pussy. "oh, right there, princess."

she hisses, wresting you by the hair and rubbing her slickened folds against your face. your hands are scrambling at the mattress, each and every attempt at speech muffled by the squeezing of vi's legs. she pants in pleasure, as you pant in need, into her pussy—choked out by the sheer force of which vi's thighs are coiled around your head. she eases up, just enough for you to wriggle your mouth to gasp for air, and release a breathy, plaintive whine—eyes sleep-glazed and blinking hard, trying to get your bearings. c'mon, now—get with it; you're being suffocated by your girlfriend's pussy. not four AM on a workday and your chin is coated with slick. vi lets out a petulantly dissatisfied noise when you're gulping air for too long—shoving your head back down with a low growl. "don't—hah—you fuckin' stop."

you're so preoccupied with trying to breathe, head spinning, cogs whirring at a slow, slow pace as it attempts to process the fact you're gasping into your girlfriend's pussy; you almost don't realise the burning in your belly has rescinded to a low simmer. mistake.

"don't tell me you forgot about me, darling." like caitlyn can sense your distraction, there is a blinding jolt of lightning that crackles through your body as she gives you an idle jerk. something twitches, and you realise, belatedly, there is a cock inside of you. you tense up, and your walls clench. caitlyn's moan is dizzying.

"ah—ah.. fuck, sweetheart. you feel almost as good as you did, before."

vi presses up flush against your face, groaning as she rocks, grinding picking up the pace. of course, the tighter she holds, the less you can breathe, and your limbs jerk, fingers fisting into the sheets.

"stop squirming. you're only going to make it worse." caitlyn's pace is leisurely, manicured nails pinching either side of your hips. she rolls her hips forward, teeth biting down at her bottom lip. "it's a shame. you made such a good cocksleeve. all relaxed. pliant." 

it feels wrong to hear words so vulgar rolling off her silken tongue, so casually, so early-in-the-fucking-morning, as if you haven't heard filthier come out of her mouth. the shock of it is wearing, giving way to the blazing warmth that so throbs in your pussy that you can't believe you hadn't noticed. though perhaps, that was the whole point.

"you didn't expect me to wait my turn, did you?" oh, caitlyn is definitely smirking. you can hear the smug undercurrent in her voice; even if you can't see a thing, other than the swollen nub of vi's clit and the hastily-cut bristles of her bush as she gets off, chest rising and falling in shallowing breaths. caitlyn, however, is still only working in idle, languid pumps. like she's savouring your sleep-ridden compliancy; how you are, for once, thoroughly silenced by the clench of vi's pussy and vice of her thighs.

"you—mm—do look pretty when you shut up." vi gasps out, and you can feel her cunt pulsing around you, you want to whine, grumble, protest—anything—but the press of your lips only spurs her on, the hand in your hair yanking you deeper. vi's breaths stutter, tensing. "..shit." vi cums, her weight on your chest shifting, smushing you against the mattress as she squirts, right down your throat. caitlyn barely moves, content to, apparently, continue using you as her personal cocksleeve as vi humps out her orgasm against your face, milky fluid and your own saliva—from having nowhere to go—completely immersed in heat. caitlyn's thrusts are lazy, and vi's grinding vigorous. your chest is tight, thoughts almost nothing in your light-headedness, mindlessly gaping open and simply taking it.

the second vi collapses, thighs finally, finally lifting off your shoulders—caitlyn rams her cock into you. no longer muffled by vi's cunt (though, her cum still dribbling out from your lips), you cry out. you really can't catch a break, can you?

"shh." caitlyn commands, and now, you can see her eyes flicker up at you in annoyance, though beneath the gaze—gleams amusement. she slides herself in, deep, and your own hips rise in instinctive reaction, whimpering, lungs all used up.

you manage to do as caitlyn says, and shut up, chests heaving as you needily gulp in the mercy of fresh air. vi's large hands skim your bare chest, circling your nipples, thumb swiping underneath your breasts. "easy," she husks, voice gravelly, as if you have the energy to go anything but. or perhaps, she's talking to caitlyn. you can't tell, because caitlyn is certainly not going easy—and you are paying the price. in fact, she's begun to jam her hips with vicious force, pace vigorous—pulling out, ever-so-slow, before plunging back in again. there is no longer any restraint; as if she has held herself back, enough, and deserves this. to plow your pussy and drink in each and every broken gasp it elicits.

she thrusts, particularly brutal. you gasp—throat raw—and you unspool all over her cock, body betraying you. caitlyn's pupils dilate, just like that, at the sight of your cum oozing out in thick, creamy bursts around her base, with each slam of her body—has her head falling back, throat baring. her hips falter, before she drives inside you, harsh and hard—one last time—and paints your insides sticky.

[genderqueerdykes]

being cisgender is just not an option for a lot of intersex people.

i was never given the option to be cisgender anything. every part of me that deviated from what a girl or boy "should" look like spelled trouble. because i dressed and acted very masculine, before puberty, people called me a bulldyke, a butch lesbian, a "girl pretending to be a boy" and "not a real boy". i was never "feminine enough" to be a woman.

after puberty hit, i started growing a beard, and my shoulders and chest got broader and more square. my body became more "masculine", so suddenly, i was labeled as a "boy pretending to be a girl" and "not a real girl". after I started testosterone, i haven't stopped being called a faggot, a fairy, a sissy or a pansy because i'm not "masculine enough" to be a man despite being a bear.

there's no winning in the eyes of a society that's so focused on binary this-or-that choices. i had no hand in the matter, this all happened way before I started testosterone HRT. in fact, even when i was placed on estrogen HRT to try to "correct" my intersex traits and symptoms, i still wasn't gendered or seen as a cis woman. i was still the same tranny bulldyke. no matter what i do, my intersex and transsexual traits will always be weaponized against me; whatever sounds the "worst" at the time, or whatever invalidates what i want.

in order to liberate trans people from this struggle, we must also liberate intersex people, for our struggles are virtually one in the same. our fight for body and identity autonomy is shared. it will always be impossible for me and other intersex people to be viewed as cis anything while white American society remains focused on pointing out the "differences" between men and women, instead of embracing the similarities we all can and do have.

intersex and trans people owe it to one another to disassemble these dangerous attitudes and shut them down when and where possible. it's not only trans people who face this struggle- intersex people deal with never being able to pass or be clocked as their actual gender from birth a lot of the time. people MUST understand that women and men come in all types of bodies, shapes and sexes, whether or not they chose to look like that. and whether or not they chose doesn't matter, they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, which means being gendered correctly despite how they look or sound.

[archangeldyke-all]

currently thinking ab loving on sevika she deserves the world :((( im tired and cold n i just wanna cuddle w her n have sleepy soft sex aughhh i need her so bad my wifeee

ROSE <33333 i love this i'm gonna combine it with this other ask i got because i want to pamper our wife

Hey Angel!!

Not sure if you've done this before, or are at all interested in this lol.

But I'm thinking butch or stud reader seeing how much sevika is overworking herself (possibly council member sevika?) but they dress up, get her flowers, make her dinner. Or it doesn't have to be anything fancy, maybe running her a bath and giving her a massage. Just sevika having someone to look after her, and however much she protests she's secretly loving it.

I love the idea of reader turning up at her door with a bunch of flowers, a bit nervous

Might be a bit weird lol, totally ignore this if ya want. Hope you had a wonderful new years and Christmas if you celebrate!!

-🌱

men and minors dni

your girlfriend's been busy lately. endlessly busy.

when you started dating sevika, she was an overworked, underpaid grunt for silco. now she's still overworked, though the pay is much better as the ambassador of fucking zaun.

where you used to catch sevika for a few hours at a time at the last drop between her important meetings, now, you're doing the same thing in the fucking council building in piltover. sevika's office is the size of your childhood home. both of you get headaches from the constant stream of sunlight leaking through the giant windows.

you're used to sevika's erratic, unpredictable schedule. but, you're both still adjusting to the bone deep tiredness and anxiety that come with her new responsibilities.

so when you get to her apartment for your weekly dinner date and she doesn't answer; you figure she's running late at work.

you use your spare key to let yourself in, slipping off your fancy dress shoes and finding a vase to display the flowers you brought her in.

you flit around her kitchen, collecting old coffee cups and cereal bowls and loading them in the dishwasher-- just trying to help her straighten up a bit. you know it gets away from her when works rough.

you lose yourself in your tidying, forgetting about your dinner reservations, mindlessly cleaning and fantasizing about your girl.

someday soon you won't have to come over to sevika's place to clean it for her, because you'll be living together. for the time being, sevika needs to live up in piltover as a requirement for her first year as ambassador, but you've been counting down the months until your co-habitation together. on sevika's rare free weekends you've even gone house shopping up on the promenade-- zaun's side of the river, but less of a trek up to the council.

a loud snore breaks you out of your haze, and you giggle as you tiptoe toward your girlfriend's bedroom.

and there she is: not at work but here, fast asleep on top of her covers, her fancy work clothes getting wrinkled as she curls in on her side.

poor thing. sevika doesn't nap willingly, and she clearly didn't mean to fall asleep before your date-- she's just exhausted. you pout a little, pushing her hair out of her face as she snores.

well, fuck it. if sevika needs to spend your date night sleeping, you're not gonna make her do it alone. you carefully pull off your suit jacket and slide out of your trousers, grabbing a throw blanket and being careful not to disturb her too much as you crawl into bed beside her. you over the pair of you up and drape an arm across sevika's waist, settling in for sleep.

two or three hours later, you're awaken to gentle kisses being pressed to your forehead. you're smiling before your eyes can fully open. "g'morning." you mumble. sevika chuckles.

"'s almost ten." she says. you shrug.

"good nap?" you ask. sevika pouts, and you reach up to scratch at her scalp.

"it was needed. 'm just sorry i slept through our date."

"don't worry about it, sevi-bear." you whisper. "we can order delivery pizza and watch a horror flick on the couch."

sevika hums happily, cuddling closer to you. "sounds amazing. just ten more minutes, 'kay?" she asks.

you laugh and shake your head. "no, baby, don't go back to sleep, y'know you won't wake up until morning if you do. and you need to eat something. i doubt you ate lunch..."

sevika pouts. "but 'm so tired." she whines.

you giggle and dart forward, nibbling at her earlobe. sevika gasps, her hands coming out to clutch your hips and drag you closer to her. "i know a fun way to wake you up." you tease. sevika giggles, intertwining her legs with yours to grind against your boxer-clad thigh. you chuckle, slipping your hands down to fondle her ass through her pants and ducking your lips down to suck on her neck.

"fuck." sevika sighs. "b-baby." she stutters. "kiss me." you groan at her request, pulling away from the hickey you were sucking in her neck to smash your lips against hers. sevika whimpers in your mouth, her arms pulling you so tight you struggle to breathe. eventually, she pulls away with a gasp. "y-you take such good care'a me." sevika whispers.

you groan and shove her onto her back, pawing at her pants to get them open. "it's my favorite thing to do in the whole world."

sevika growls and starts shoving at her waist band, desperate to get naked. you scramble between her legs, licking your lips at the promise of what's to come. (haha. cum.)

she's so warm, her body so cozy from the nap and cuddles, and when you finally get between her bare thighs you have to take a moment to breathe in the scent and sight of her. she smells like arousal and a days' worth of sweat and sleep and sevika. she looks fucking desperate. the dark curls of her cunt are soaked and clinging to her skin, and her clit's poking out sweetly, twitching and begging for attention.

"fuck, i could drown in you." you whisper.

sevika growls and makes your wish come true with a harsh tug to the back of your head.

you bury your face against her, letting her grind her clit against your nose while you lap up her leaking cunt, groaning at the taste of her. you reach up to claw at her hips, keeping her pinned to your face while you do your best to devour her.

sevika's shaky and sweet; still waking up, still too tired to care about how she sounds. and she sounds adorable-- soft little squeaks and surprised gasps escaping her, noises she'd usually bite her lip to muffle.

"y-you feel so good." sevika whines. you hum against her, closing your eyes for just a moment at the praise. sevika grunts. "no, no look at me-- fuck!" she whines when you open your eyes, blinking up at her while you shove a hand down your boxers to relieve the ache between your own thighs.

she's so perfect. she tastes like heaven, and she's desperately trying to keep her eyes open through her pleasure so she can keep looking at you.

"baby, fuck, i'm gonna cum." sevika groans. you nod against her, pulling away to gasp for air before diving back down, sucking her clit in your mouth. sevika squeals, and her thighs clamp around your head.

you cum at the feeling of her strong thighs squeezing your head. she cums at the broken, muffled moans you let out against her clit. when she finally lets you up for air, your face is soaking wet.

sevika bursts into laughter at the sight of you. "shit-- did i waterboard you?" she asks through giggles.

you giggle, wiping your face off on her shirt. "almost. i'm getting really good at holding my breath, though, thanks to you."

sevika pulls you on top of her, clinging to you as she cackles. "fantastic date night." she declares. you laugh.

"we haven't even gotten out of bed yet!"

"i'm just saying, we're off to a great start!"

"you go call for delivery, i'm gonna draw you a nice bath." you say, kissing her cheek as you get up. sevika groans and pouts.

"don't leave yet!"

"baby, if i stay any longer we'll both fall asleep." you point out.

she huffs then rolls her eyes. "fine. but will you at least get in the bath with me?" she asks. you grin.

"of course. who else is gonna give you a shoulder massage?"

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[gatorbites-imagines]

can i request for power bottom Butcher (the boys) overstimulating subtop male reader until he's basically crying and shaking? :3 bonus points if reader has powers (but is not a sup)

Billy Butcher x Supe male reader

Ficlet

This lit something in my brain, but I am also tired, so the writing might be kinda messy. I didn’t have any specific powers in mind, but spiderman was in the back of my mind, so kinda based off that.

It’s been hard to get in the smut writing mood for a while, so im tryna dip my toes back into it. Hopefully it’s still good even though I’m rusty.

not proofread 🤞

The motel room was hot and humid, sweat running down the side of your forehead and into your hairline. You could taste the salt whenever you licked your lips, the dingy mattress under you soaked from all the sweat and other bodily fluids that had left not only you but Butcher as well.

The yellowed sheets were streaked with dirt from his heavy boots as he crouched above you, your chest shuddering as his strong hands grasped tightly at your calves. If it wasn’t for your healing factor, dark bruises would have dug into them a while ago, but they faded as soon as Butcher left them on you, making him grumble something about supes and their stupid powers.

You were the only one naked out of the two of you, body glistening in what little light passed in through the blinds, your hair a mess and eyes wet from unshed tears. Butcher had only kicked off his pants, even dragging them down and off, leaving his boots on before he had clambered up onto the bed and shoved your legs up by the knees.

Amazon position, you think it was called, something you had only seen online once or twice. But here was Butcher, smirking down at you as you grip at the sheets, tearing the cheap covers like tissue paper as you panted and moaned. There was something feral in his eyes as you tried to hump up into him, but the way he held your legs and pressed his weight down on you made it almost impossible, even with your super strength.

“B-Butch” you pant out, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to find the words, tongue feeling thick and useless, leaving you floundering like a fish out of water. You two had been going for hours, or rather, Butcher would push and pull at you, put his mouth on you, or jerk you till you were almost there. But then he would pull back, patting you on the head and telling you “Be good” before doing something else.

It could be anything from scrolling through the few channels on the cheap motel tv, to him going out to smoke a cigarette, or leaving to just wander the area or going to the store. The last one he had done before he came back to climb on top of you as he was now, his sturdy body bearing down on you so deliciously.

You were so close, close enough that it made you feel like you were about to cry. Something Butcher could easily tell, if the growing predatory smirk on his face meant anything. A warbled cry left you as he pulled up and off you again, a slick wet noise sounding as his hole pulled off your cock. You didn’t need to look to know that your length was a deep pained color, your balls so full and heavy that they felt almost as tortured as your cock.

Butcher laughed, voice heavy and dominant in the way that made your brain feel like mush melting out of your ears. Your bottom lip drew up and wobbled as you tried hard not to beg or cry, vision growing so blurry with tears even as Butcher’s hand reached down and patted your cheek. “Come on pup, you can take it, can’t ya?” he laughed, his voice so deliciously taunting and cruel that it made you throb, precum pouring out of your slit and down your sensitive aching shaft.

“Ya wanna be good for me, I know you do. My little supe” Butcher purred, leaning down just enough to ghost a kiss against the crown of your head. His satisfied tone made the tears spill over, a shaky sob leaving your chest as you dug your fingers into the mattress, a loud rip ringing out throughout the motel room.

The tsk that left Butcher made your heart ache, another pitiful pained sob leaving you. But this time it was not from the gut aching need to cum, but the very idea that you might have disappointed him. As his hand cradled your face more surely, you couldn’t help but nuzzle into it, kissing at his callused palm as you whimper out broken slurred apologies.

The silence felt heavy and loaded, but in the end, Butcher just sighed like one would sigh if they found out their pet had chewed up the carpet. “Can’t expect a supe like you to control himself. But ya did good enough, good boy” he rumbled out. And before you knew it, that tight wet heat was swallowing up your cock once more, punching the breath out of your chest as you keened, lost for words as Butcher started riding you like he was punishing you.

“come on boy, cum for me, show me what a supe like you has to offer” he growled out in that hot purred way, his weight slamming down on you as he worked his knees. You felt dizzy, sweat pouring off your body as you gasped and let out noises closer to a bark than a moan, the noise punched out of you every time his weight fell on your own.

It was almost enough, but there was something missing, even Butcher seemed to realize this. So, as you cried out tears of edging and sensitivity, Butchers strong hand grasped your chin, pressing his thumb and fingers into your jaw to make it unhinge and hang open. Your vision cleared up just enough to see him purse his lips, and watch as he spat into your mouth.

You couldn’t even tell if his spit had hit your tongue before you came, a noise coming from deep inside your chest as your entire body shook, jolts and quivers rushing through you as your entire lower body burned. It felt like you were underwater, his deep voice nothing more than a pleasant hum as he presumably praised you, his body pressing down on yours more insistently until you could only imagine he had finished too.

You felt like a well loved toy when he rose up off of you, standing on the ruined torn mattress as you spread out like an unfolded piece of paper, silent tears still running down your cheeks as you shivered from the aftershocks. A shaky whimper left you as you sensed Butcher getting off the bed and leaving to somewhere, but he was back before you could start crawling out of that blurry but pleasant spot you were in.

Butcher pressed kisses to your sweaty hair as he wiped you down, his voice low as he rumbled more praise and words of affirmation, even though he knew you couldn’t fully register what he was saying yet. His beard tickled as the kisses traveled down to your cheek, before they pressed against your own, Butcher leaving a sweet lingering kiss on your bitten lips.

Easily Butcher picked you up, moving you to the second bed of the motel room. There was no saving of the torn monstrosity that had been the bed he had played with you on all day, with the large rips and the stuffing spilling out. Hed remember to leave extra cash for it when you two left.

With a sigh Butcher shrugged off the rest of his clothes, crawling into bed beside you, letting you melt into his hairy chest as Butcher scrolled through the few channels on the tv. He settled on some Spanish telenovela, a loving huff leaving him as he felt your hands sticking to his chest as you lost grip of your powers. With a last kiss to the top of your head, Butcher settled back, letting you take all the time you needed to come back to earth. After that, he would get some food and drink in you, and a shower, you both needed that.

[aoelustious]

(A lil rambling on queer discourse outside and inside the fandom from a genderfluid bisexual)

One of the most enduring tensions within queer communities — especially as queerness becomes more visible in media, fandom, and state-sanctioned institutions — is the question of assimilation vs radicalism. And no, this isn’t new. We’ve been circling this debate since at least the post-Stonewall era, and arguably since before the term “homosexual” was even coined.

I. “Normalization” as Strategy

The move to normalize queerness — to make queer relationships legible to heteronormative society through things like marriage, monogamy, parenthood, or even just public respectability — has roots in practical survival.

Think: the Human Rights Campaign’s messaging, “Love is love,” marriage equality, queer representation in sitcoms and yogurt commercials.

This direction can be read as a bourgeois political strategy (Duggan, 2002), often referred to as “homonormativity.” It prioritizes “acceptable” queer subjects (cis, middle-class, often white, often masc) who resemble their straight counterparts as closely as possible — except for the gender of their partner.

And it’s true: this has tangible benefits. Legal protections. Cultural legitimacy. Safety.

But this approach also comes with costs. It sidelines queer people who don’t fit the norm — trans people, poly folks, kinky folks, poor people, disabled people, racialized people. It risks transforming queerness from a challenge to dominant systems… into a rebranding of them.

II. “Preserve Queerness” as Resistance

On the flip side, there are those who argue that queerness should remain fundamentally oppositional. That queerness is not just about who we love — it’s about how we live, what we disrupt, how we imagine new futures.

Think: José Esteban Muñoz’s Cruising Utopia, in which queerness is positioned as something not yet here, something utopian, always pointing beyond what is.

Here, the critique is not just of heteronormativity, but of the institutions that structure all our lives — the nuclear family, capitalism, the state, colonial timelines of success. “Queer” is a method, not just an identity. A verb, not just a noun.

But this view can also become rigid. When queerness is defined only by its capacity to reject, it risks becoming inaccessible to those who do want things like marriage or kids — especially if those things weren’t always accessible to them before. We shouldn’t turn queerness into a test people must pass to be “valid.”

III. And Yes, This Applies to Your Fanfic Discourse

This debate resurfaces constantly in fan spaces:

– Is shipping fixed top/bottom roles inherently heteronormative?

– Is using seme/uke language a form of internalized oppression?

– Is “switch hate” in fandom actually just queerphobia in disguise?

And the answer is… it depends. But more importantly, intention and context matter.

Queer codes like top/bottom, bear/twink, fem/butch emerged from the queer community as tools of navigation, identity, intimacy, and play. That they’re sometimes messy, stereotyped, or commodified doesn’t erase their history or usefulness. And yes — these codes have always intersected with fandom culture. Sometimes clumsily. Sometimes joyfully.

Fandom is not a political campaign. It’s a liminal space where fiction, fantasy, and projection collide — and trying to impose rigid moral frameworks onto it flattens the complex emotional and cultural labor happening there.

If you critique top/bottom dynamics in fic because you believe they replicate heteropatriarchal logic — fine. That’s a discussion worth having. But if your critique shames people for their preferences, you’re reproducing the same moral purity logic you claim to oppose.

IV. The Problem of the Queer Police

The worst-case scenario here is that we start using queerness not as liberation, but as a tool of internal policing. When queerness becomes something that must be performed correctly to be respected, it loses its radical potential.

If your queerness is only valid when it aligns with a particular brand of politics or aesthetics, we’re not breaking binaries — we’re just building new ones.

Queerness contains multitudes. It can be domestic or deviant. Normie or revolutionary. Tender or obscene. Apolitical or hyper-political. And it is still queerness.

To quote Eve Sedgwick:

“People are different from each other.”

And that includes how they ship, write, love, protest, fuck, and self-identify.

We don’t have to collapse queerness into one monolithic definition to protect it. We just have to trust that its range is part of what gives it power.

[androgynealienfemme]

"There is a kind of connection that I sometimes have, with certain people, a way of trust that only comes with people who have what I always think of as a butch heart. That's not quite right. Some of them don't identify as butches; some, in fact, hardly identify as anything even in the same zip code. But's it's a very boy way of being bigger than, a sturdy and quiet way, taking care of everyone around you as best you can, always trying to fix it, always stepping up to do the crap job that gets no recognition, and also of being so gentle, so generous, so nonjudgemental of other people, believing that they are doing their best.

Is that sexist? I don't mean it to be. I mean to describe this way of some masculine things, so different in its energy from other ways of caretaking. In Yiddish, this is referred to as being a mensch, which also means a man. There's a part of me thatr wishes I could separate it entirely from gender, and another part which sees it as exactly right that this is gendered, that there are ways of butchness that are composed of the best of masculinity and leave all of its borrish excesses behind.

But I met this butch, a handsome writing with a toughness about him that I recognized as the result of his life for the forty-six years before he and I crossed paths, a toughness that even still showed an underlying playfulness. That he had been able to keep that place alive and tender in the hardness of life made him light up my eyes as someone who would know some of the things I knew, someone who would honor the same places in me, and we started talking. Talking turned into flirting, and flirting turned into intention. We made a date to spend an evening together seeing what our combined toughness and playfulness might mean when we took our clothes off, a kind of old-style faggot good time without a lot of expectation about who might or would do what, to or for whom.''

"Laying Down with A Butch” Butch is a Noun essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

[julietslament]

The Butcher and The Rabbit Ch. 1

Stone Butch!Huntress x High Femme!Reader

Summery: You lived exactly as you were supposed to. You said your prayers by night. Married the correct man and filled your time as a homemaker. Everything as you were told, yet none of it could prevent the war reaching your doorstep. Forcing you to flee your constructed reality. Straight into the past you left to rot in the woods.

Content Tags/Warnings: DEAD DOVE, Allusions to SA, Slight Gore, Captor/Captive, Eventual Smut, Dubcon, Horror Themes, Childhood Friends to Strangers to lovers

A/N: This will be a very self-indulgent Dark Fic. I will add to the tags as they come.

The sun falls like a guillotine. Its last vestiges of light illuminating your path as you slink through the wood. Pine needles fall onto your shoulders as you push branches out of your way. The red forest was dense, a horrid maw—your only salvation.

Your footfalls are tentative and unsteady. In your haste to escape you had shoved on your husband's hunting boots. The laces are still undone, and the soles twice your size. Paired with the fact you weren’t even a runner on your best day these boots were life threatening. If you were thinking clearer perhaps you would take them off. Endure the forest floor with your bare feet, but the light dust of snow had you far too worried about frostbite. As if you would survive that long.

In the distance, the boisterous sounds of soldiers echoed through the trees. Hounds on a fox trail. Barking for the thrill of the chase. 

Yet you would not be barreling through the trees like a spooked deer; you had to be clever. You knew these woods better than them. You knew they were strangers, and the forest would treat them as such, but would it be kind to you? 

The canopy above darkens. The last rays of the sun fade behind you. As you struggle to make out the overgrown path in front of you the sounds of men grow closer. Too close.

How? Were your tracks so easy to follow? Had the forest forsaken you? Gripping at the jagged bone hanging from your necklace, you prayed under your breath pleas that you would live. Words of worship falling do the dirt beneath your boots. 

Moving along branches dig into the fabric of your sleeves. The foliage grows thicker. Holding your skirt aloft could not even save it from the grasping branches. Bark-laden fingers trying to drag you back. Pulling you away from the path. Perhaps you should listen, but how could you? The only thing your mind could focus on were all the things that could happen to you if you were caught.

Dogs will hunt. 

Until the rabbit hangs limp from its jaws.

Are the trees getting closer together? Unable to stay low to the ground, the bush too thick, you were forced onto your feet. Looking around it was dark. Too dark, you could barely make out your hands in front of you. Your chest rises and falls as you try to get your bearings. Your body twisting this way and that, not even the moon could pierce the branches above you. Was the moon even out tonight? Were there ever stars in the sky?

An inexplicable terror fills your bones. The darkness is suffocating. Standing still as thoughts begin to swirl around in your head. In your head? Or were the trees whispering to you? 

‘Where are you going?’

‘Are they close?’

‘They have to be.’

‘you can hear them.’

‘I can hear them.’

‘You can hear them’

‘I can hear them right behind me.’

A hot huff of air blows a strand of hair into your face. Your body goes rigid, sweat beading down the back of your neck. As you listen. The sound of air huffing. In then out. Breathing? No. It was smelling you, inhaling your scent. An animal?

Out of the corner of your vision, you see a light, a lantern dancing around the trees. Without a thought you dart towards it, possessed by your fear. You barrel towards the beacon too afraid of the beast behind you to think of the dangers in front of you.

You can’t hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears but you know you're being chased. You can feel it. The aura of a predator. Reaching its claws towards your back. The lantern gets closer. Hope fills your chest. You can make it! You're gonna make it.

As you reach the ring of light, its glow warming your face, a gunshot rings out. Sliding to the floor you duck. Then it’s only a second before you discover your mistake. In front of you, with a lantern in his hand, stands a man dressed in uniform. His pistol raised right where you had been standing. It seems the rabbit has run straight into the jaws of the hound. You don’t stay a second longer as he yells over his shoulder, no doubt alerting his comrades that the hunt has ended.

Pushing yourself up to your feet you stumble forward. Once again sprinting into the unknown. Relying only on the adrenaline pumping through your muscles you barrel through branches. This time you can hear the footsteps rushing behind you. The light of their lantern is close enough to see in front of you.

Another shot and the bark of a tree explodes next to your head. Forcing you to pivot. A hard left that sends you straight into a thicket, thorns dig into your skin. Ripping at your clothes but you can’t stop. Tearing yourself through the clawing branches, the sounds of fabric ripping mix with the laughter of your pursuers. Finally, you feel your hand hit bare dirt. Digging your nails into the earth you clamber forward.

There’s no path ahead anymore but that doesn’t matter. 

‘Need to get away.’

‘Need to run.’ 

Fear pushes you further. Your limbs grow numb, your breathing impossible to control but weakly you persist. Until you feel the trees open up. This is it. The forest is giving you a way forward.

One step, and you're straight back into the ground. Head slamming flat into the dirt and before you can even think a scream tears through your throat. Pain flares through your ankle, burning up your leg. 

Twisting around you try to make sense of the sudden, searing pain in your ankle. However, the darkness doesn’t even allow you to see your oose and tugging your leg back only makes you cry harder. Fat tears of despair fall down your plump cheeks. Reaching down you feel for any blood but your fingers meet the cold texture of steel. Digging its jaws deep into the soft leather of the boot, puncturing your flesh.

‘This is it. You're caught.’

‘They’re going to kill you.’

‘They’re going to do worse than that.’

The voices chase you still. Furling the fear that grips your being. The steady thrum of dread that shields you from the pain. 

Soft light begins to glow onto your pathetic figure. What a sight you must be. Covered in dirt. Bloodstained and unable to stop your desperate sobs. Shaking like a newborn lamb.

Light fills your vision. What should be a guiding star is now the beacon of your execution. 

The hounds have finally reached you. Just as they always would. Just as they always had. 

Three of them, dressed in army fatigues,  burst out of the trees. Boxing you in. Only one of them held his gun aloft, pointing his pistol straight to your head. He stood in the center, the other two had weapons of their own. One a rifle hanging idly in his grasp. The third, holding a lantern of his own, gripped a knife in his fist. Each of them leering down at the prey in their grasp.

As your eyes darted between them they began speaking in a language foreign to you. Not speaking to you of course but with each other. Discussing something. Their body language was so casual it left your hair on end. The words didn't make sense, but they didn't need to. What else could they be talking about?? What other reason could they have to chase you so far? Your death would not be a swift one.

Leisurely the one with the knife begins sauntering towards you. Then something snaps in your brain. You scream again. Now in a fury as if that’s going to deter him.  Spitting and hissing as a final act of self preservation. The man’s smile only widens. Cooing words at you as his leather-gloved hands reach towards you. Hands that would never touch you. 

In a blink, you watch as a hatchet buries itself into the side of his cap. His wide eyes locked on yours still as he stumbled to the side. Gasping for words before falling to the ground. You can’t tear your gaze away. You stare as his hands still twitch. His lantern still clutched tightly in his grasp.

The soldiers behind the now corpse start yelling into the trees. Both now with guns at the ready, aimlessly pointing them into the shadows. You turn your head left. Then right, trying to get a glimpse of this new danger. Peering into the bush the lantern light just barely touches a few feet beside you.

An eerie silence descends on the red forest. Not even the sound of the wind through the trees to calm your nerves. 

One of the soldiers creeps forward, shining his lantern deeper in. The light swallowed by the pitch black. He speaks in commands, you think as if ordering the shadows around him to surrender.

In front of you soldier with the rifle stands frozen, his grip on his gun too tight. You can see him trembling. He takes one step back then a great hand reaches out of the darkness. Gripping him by the hair and dragging him backwards. A scream pierces the air, the sounds of struggling. Then something that sounds of wet branches snapping.

To your left, you can hear the last soldier standing scream out, before shooting wildly into the bush. Releasing as many bullets as he can, the shots pounding through your skull until all you hear is clicking. You don’t look as the soldier desperately fumbles to reload. No, you can’t look away from the darkness in front of you. You shouldn’t. 

‘Watch. Witness.’

Stalking into the light you see the face of a rabbit. A wooden mask splattered with blood affixed to the face of a hulking body. Towering over the scene. Muscles taut as they reveal themselves. The sleeves of their tattered shirt rolled up to the elbow, exposing the blood trailing up their forearm. A large wood cutting ax is held firmly in their hands, but the only thing you could focus on is its eyes. A pale blue that brings back memories of when you were a child. Of stories, your father would tell you. Of bodarks roaming the wood. Of the stryga that huntsmen

Lost in your admiration you flinch as the creature from the wood lunges forward. In two swift strides, it has him by the neck. The wood cutter's ax sunk deep into the muscle of his shoulder, as though it were only butter. He barely has time to scream before he’s thrown to the ground. The thing presses a bandaged foot down onto his chest, pinning him to the earth. A predator hovering over its prey. With his body pressed down the ax is yanked from his skin. The masked figure raises the weapon above their head and you suddenly realize it’s a woman. The ax swings down, cleaving his face in two. 

You can’t bear to look anymore. Can’t bring yourself to open your eyes or even will your limbs to stop shaking. Your hand goes to your necklace. Trying to seek any form of comfort in your last moments. It goes quiet again, and you wait for the ax.

You feel something. Cold fingers brush softly against your calf. A sharp yelp escapes your throat. A knee-jerk reaction as you open your eyes and come face to face with the bloody rabbit mask. She’s crouched down next to your trembling body, you hadn’t even heard her get closer. She doesn’t acknowledge your scream, merely inspects the trap still locked onto your ankle. With her so close now you can make out the features of her face. 

The mask covers all but her lips and jawline. Scars travel from beneath the bloody wood, marring her pale skin. One cuts straight through her top lip, pulling it up just enough for her canine to peak out. Your gaze drifts downwards, following the contours of her neck. More scars. All the way to where her broad shoulders are hidden beneath the ragged cotton of her shirt. Her clothes seem worn. They look like things men in the village would wear.

As you drift slowly back up to her face, pale blue eyes stare back at you, fixated on your features. Her head cocked to the side. As if she’s trying to figure something out. 

A hum fills the silence. A lullaby. One that you’ve heard thousands of times as a child. She’s singing a lullaby under her breath. You're not sure how to react. Something about this fills you with a sense of peace. Some nostalgic feeling, from winter's past.

A dirt-covered hand reaches towards you. Moving the hair from your face. Gently, her fingers trace along the contours of your cheek. Mapping out your features. Delicately she trails a line down your neck, following the cord of your necklace. Towards your panting of your breast. Stopping at the small animal jaw dangling from your neck. Fingering the edges of its teeth. 

She’s leaning over you now. Staring intently at the worn bone. Her steady breath fanning against your cheeks. She shifts and you feel her other hand brushes against your waist. At the sound of you gasp. As if you’ve burned her. 

The lullaby cuts off, and for a moment you just stare at each other. Before her gaze darts to the ground and she seems almost… bashful, you think. Slowly your mind begins to come back to you. Thoughts racing as to what you should do. She wasn’t threatening you, in fact, she had saved you. Hope fills your chest once again. 

Sparing a glance at the mutilated face of the fallen soldier behind her you hold onto that thought. Sitting up a little straighter you lean closer to her, tilting your head to meet her gaze.

“Help me, please.” Your voice is hoarse. Hardly able to speak above a whisper. 

She looks at you. Startled. Like she was amazed that you could speak. She stares for a moment, long enough for you to worry about her intentions. That perhaps you were mistaken. That maybe you would meet the same fate as those men but she turns to look at the trap still clinging to your boot. 

With a practiced hand, she presses down on the metal. A click and the jaws are released.

Relief floods your lungs as you're able to pull your leg back. The pain lingers but something stops it from fully reaching your brain. Perhaps the thick leather saved you from a broken bone, you hope. Leaning down you go to take off the boot. Desperate to know what lies beneath but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Don’t.” The first word she says to you. Her voice is rough, harsh as the winter, and coarse as sandpaper. Sounding as if she’d never used it until this very moment. 

Your hand stills as you stare up at her. Unable to deny the authority in her voice you can’t help but listen. Watching as she slides her hand up your arm. Goosebumps shoot up your skin. Her other arm scoops under your legs. Then before you can protest, she hauls you over her shoulder, careful of the pain in your leg.  

The last thing you see is the corpses of the soldiers, fading into the red pines. Their remains swallowed by the earth as this strange woman whisks you away.

[karlachismylife]

Me: scrambling to finish homework before my linear algebra class

My brain: can you imagine fem!ghoap tho?

I can't, I'm my biggest fucking enemy. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE FEM!GHOAP THO?

Fem!Soap has absolutely Harley Quinn vibes, batshit crazy with a sprinkle of pyromania and several decades of unmedicated ADHD. If Soap got his haircut inspiration from some local punk band in his hometown, fem!Soap was the leader of said band, adding to Mam's grey hair every time she returned with new tattoos. Was playing football, when a new kid tried outcasting her cuz she's a girl, went on to beat the shit out of him.

That story about a higher ranking officer Soap punched? Sleazy motherfucker was harassing other women on the base and was unfortunate enough to choose fem!Soap as a target.

Walks around in tank tops and sport bras, all muscle no boobs, probably has a couple fake teeth, always is the one fellow female soldiers turn to when they need to get rid of assholes in the pubs they go for drinks to. Absolutely relishes in being called a "fucking butch" and whatever else those pathetic men try to throw at her, quickly fizzling out when they realize her biceps is the size of their thighs. She worked hard to be better than them, no matter how much some of her family wanted her to be a bit more... traditional. Not her Maw, though, Maw always said if her little Jenny wanted to be a soldier, she could be a damn good one.

Regularly participates in armrestling matches (banned in several pubs where she got carried away and broke someone's wrist) and pays for the round whenever she wins.

All those girls (and some guys) hanging off her elbows, and everyone assumes she's going home with one (or several) of them every time.

And fem!Ghost? She might have a horrible reputation, people spreading disgusting rumors about her past and what's under that mask (doesn't bother her, truth is so much more gruesome). Keeps to herself, grim sense of humour doing nothing to make her seem more approachable. A looming shadow, the personification of horrors they tell about what war and captivity do to women - and that's for those who actually know she's a woman. Most people just assume she's a big fucking guy, loose hoodies helping pass, deep, hoarse voice - never came back as it was from the time with Roba, broken by her screams with an ugly scar on her throat on top - only adding to confusion.

Too much baggage to unpack, all those things done to her easier to cut off with the dirty blond hair she buzzes to avoid the fuss. Every chance of having a family robbed of her in horrific ways, loneliness feels safer. Easier. Everyone's better off without needing to bear all those tons of crap she hoards on her broad shoulders.

Sits apart from the main company on those outings, nursing her bourbon and freaking people out - if she gets hit on, she sends everyone off with a few words. Even Soap, the blasting (sometimes too bloody brightly) sunshine, seems to fail with illuminating that shadow, all her attempts to get closer shut down. Maybe not as harsh as the others, but Ghost thinks - everything she touches is destroyed in torturous ways.

Soap shouldn't suffer because of her.

Until one day the chair in front of her lone table gets dragged back with a disgusting screeching sound, a heavy thump signaling of a huge (drunk) body plopping down across. Ghost doesn't need to look up - she can detect Soap by the stupid mutt's loud breathing, for fuck's sake. How many did she have?

Too many, thinks Ghost when a tanned arm lands on the table, resting on the elbow in a ready to wrestle stand. Must've been some kind of bet, no one else brave enough to challange big Scottish butch - so bored Soap, naturally, comes to one person she probably deems a worthy opponent.

"Not gonna let me back out, are ya?" Ghost shakes her head with a chuckle and finishes her bourbon, putting the glass down lazily and forgetting to pull the mask back down.

Soap's arm hits the table so hard it nearly cracks the wood - mere seconds.

Disarmed by a crooked, scarred smirk her big blue eyes are so obviously glued to.

"What now? Buy me a drink?" Ghost tilts her head. There's a shocked crowd around them, someone collecting a hefty win.

"Buy ye two and ye owe me a rematch."

Stupid mutt with blue eyes. Ghost wonders if she'll whine like a puppy riding her burly thigh.

i have somewhat a part two here

[thepunkranger]

Resident Evil Characters - A Summary

Note: This is entirely my own opinion and said with a heavy dose of humor

Please enjoy

Chris Redfield

OG

Started as a twunk

Became an angry gorilla man???

Alpha Male™️

Punches boulders

Wants you to marry his sister

Smoker

Hide yo kids, hide yo wife

Rude to wait staff

2/10 - Just a guy. Hit him with your car

-

Jill Valentine

Other OG

Arguably better main of RE1

Master of Unlocking

Bisexual Bob™️

Butch

Supercop

Once got mind-controlled into going blonde

Rocket Launcher babe

PTSD

Big Strap Energy

Giant anime gun

10/10

-

Albert Wesker

OG Baddy

Sunglasses

Thinks he’s cool

A little too into Chris

“What are we going to do this game, Albert?”

“What we do every game, Alex: try to take over the world”

Matrix jacket

Maybe a vampire?

Looks like my uncle (derogatory)

4/10

-

Barry Burton

Bear

A+ line delivery

Just happy to be a part of things

Wishes his daughter would talk to him

Comes through in a pinch

Got lost on his way to The Last of Us

Father figure

Not dead out of sheer dumb luck

8/10

-

Rebecca Chambers

Baby butch

Sees the best in everyone

Autism be damned, my girl can work a shotgun

Sporty

Mommy Domme/Babygirl switch vibes

Sweet coffee addict

Doing fine, thanks for asking

Awkward thumbs up

9/10

-

Billy Coen

Bad Boy™️

Never bothered to take off his handcuffs

Tattoos

Mullet???

Moral standards

Strong silent type

Whole situation could’ve been avoided by just talking about his issues but no

Queen fan

7/10

-

Leon S. Kennedy

If a golden retriever became a human and then got kicked every day of its life

Having a really bad first day

Into dominant women

Dumb 90s haircut

Uses comedy as a coping mechanism

Hair grows in direct correlation to his level of angst

“Hey demons, it’s me, ya boi”

Sexy

Dog lover

Certified Good Boy™️

Fucked up a perfectly good rookie is what you did. Look at it, it’s got depression

15/10

-

Claire Redfield

College student stuck in the zombie apocalypse

Soft butch

Humanitarian

Forced her brother to teach her how to knife fight

Really into motorcycles

Leather jacket

Rocket Launcher babe #2

Always has at least one adopted child with her

10/10 would ask to babysit

-

Ada Wong

Mommy. Sorry. Mommy- sorry. Mommy-

Grappling hook

Badass spy

Emotionally distant

Soft spot for cute cuddly things (Leon)

Femme fatale

Book lover

Chaotic neutral

Crossbow 😍

Could step on me and I’d say thank you

Rocket launcher babe #3

10/10

-

Sherry Birkin

Goosebumps protagonist

Worst parents ever tbh

Surprisingly good under pressure

Please someone get this girl some therapy

Supergirl

Smartest person here

One hell of a shot

The trauma is immeasurable

Somehow still doing fine

Loves her weird adopted family

8/10

-

Carlos Oliviera

Himbo

First POC main?

Went from three polygons and a white boy haircut in the original to actual gorgeous South American hunk in the remake

Lost his accent along the way for some reason

#1 Jill simp

If Dug from Up was a guy

Only trustworthy person in the whole series

Just wants to help

Gorgeous gorgeous hair

Loves strong women

Hakuna matata

Touch-starved

10/10 would peg

-

Steve Burnside

Twink

Who is this sassy lost child?

Hot Topic employee

Into Claire (she’s too old for you bud)

Choker

Thinks he’s edgy

Whiny

Daddy issues

1/10

-

Luis Serra Navaro

If Puss in Boots was a human

The Most Extra™️

Luscious flowing locks

Definitely into bondage

Used to work for Umbrella

Trying to make up for it

Don Quixote references

Bisexual

Good with his hands

Praying for a threesome with Leon and Ada

10/10

-

Ashley Graham

Basic white girl

Always getting kidnapped

Master of Unlocking #2

Razor flip phone

Ada Wong bisexual awakening (same)

Good with a wrecking ball

Makes Leon catch her every time she has to jump a ledge (also same)

Would like to go to Hot Topic, please

7/10

-

Sheva Alomar

Player 2

Second POC main

Bad AI

Too good for her game

Willing to go on a suicide mission with a guy she just met

Left handed

Deserves a better stylist

Only good part of RE5

Literally my girl got done so dirty just give her another chance please

10/5

-

Moira Burton

“It’s not a phase, dad!”

Probably gay

Weak arms

Skillz

Box dyed her hair at least once

Simple Plan playing in the background

Childhood trauma

7/10

-

Piers Nivans

Trying his best

Appreciates a good steak

Sick of Chris’ bullshit

Good with a rifle

Just a good man

German Shepherd boy

Self-sacrificing

8/10

-

Jake Muller

Wesker’s son

Daddy issues

Who invited Ronan Lynch here?

Quips for days

Bad boy

Loves the type of woman who can kick his ass

The Most Edgy™️

9/10

-

Ethan Winters

Husband of the year

Trusting

Surprisingly chill

The most basic white man in all of RE

Hands? What hands?

Functionally a lizard

Would still love you if you were a worm

Just casually knows how to craft bullets

Moldy

8/10

-

Mia Winters

Toxic girlfriend energy

Literally possessed

Dark sense of humor

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss

Casually working for a bioterrorism organization

Does actually care about her family

Definitely doesn’t have a penicillin allergy

If you can’t be the girl of his dreams, you can at least be the feral swamp witch of his nightmares

2/10

-

Zoe Baker

Lesbian

Mold intolerance

Southern accent thicker than grandma’s gravy

Picked last on the playground

Somehow okay despite her brother being Like That

Joe’s favorite

Science skills

8/10

-

Lucas Baker

Jigsaw

Didn’t even need the mold

Probably got at least one true crime documentary made about him

Working for Mia’s bioterrorism organization

Left his classmate rotting in the attic

Just the worst

0/10

-

Alcina Dimetrescu

Mommy

Please step on me

Elizabeth Bathory vibes

Just fucking huge

Can turn into a dragon

Lesbian

9/10

-

Karl Heisenberg

Grimy

Tumblr Sexyman

When robotics majors get weird

Fights with his siblings

Doesn’t actually care at all about Miranda

In cahoots with the lycans

7/10

-

Rosemary Winters

Mommy and Daddy issues

YA protagonist

Badass

Childhood trauma

Into the Mold-verse

Alternate universe Sherry Birkin

8/10

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 18

And Now For a Message from Our Sponsors

Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Robin Buckley does not believe in stereotypes. At least she tries not to.

“Oh my god,” She gasps anyway, running to one of the beds, “it's true what they say.”

Billy looks miserable, but she can see that’s he’s valiantly trying to hide it, “That this is where the magic happens?”

“No! About boys and their navy sheets. These mythical creatures… this must be their hatching ground,” Robin says, presenting the bed she presumes is Steve's, due to the prevalence of Michael Bay movie posters above it.

Despite whatever happened in the bathroom that has the two guys stuck together like sticky rice, the joke does release a tiny bit of the pressure bearing down on the room.

“I’ll get you new sheets,” Steve grumbles, leaving Billy in the doorway and yanking a cheap plastic bin from under the bed. To Robin’s delight he produces… a second set of navy sheets.

“Are you gonna sleep with Billy?” She asks, wincing as soon as it’s out of her mouth.

Billy is looking at her like if a tragic haunted babydoll in an antique store had a butch lesbian makeover and a five o’clock shadow. She wishes Steve hadn’t offered so adamantly that she stay the night. She’d felt slightly like a third wheel at the bar, but that’s nothing compared to this.

Still, it wasn’t like any of the boys were in any shape to drive her home. So here she is in the land of empty gatorade bottles and men’s speed stick. It’s really astonishing to her what she’ll do for her sad bisexual bestie.

Steve glances at Billy, face flushing. “It’s no big deal. We’ve done it before.”

Billy looks like it’s a damn big deal, actually, but he just shrugs, heading to one of the two dressers and grabbing a pair of sweat shorts off of the pile of unfolded laundry on top, before darting briskly into a door near the one they’d just came from.

Steve instantly leans in closer to her, gesturing weakly with the handful of sheets.

“Sorry, he’s just having a bad night,” Steve whispers.

“Are you sure you want me to sleep here? Isn’t there a couch or another room or something?” Robin fidgets, snatching off the stupid cowboy hat and throwing it on Steve’s bed.

Steve grimaces. “I love my brothers but… I wouldn’t sleep on the couch or a loose bed in here.”

“What about Jason’s roommate’s bed-”

“No! Trust me, you don’t want to go there!”

“But you’ll sleep in Billy’s?” She gestures to the navy-sheeted pile on the other side of the room. Billy Hargrove has a silk pillowcase, which for some reason makes it feel more real, and she suppresses a nervous giggle.

Steve’s brow furrows, and he shakes his head almost too quickly to be seen. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you-”

“Bathroom’s free,” Billy mumbles as he comes back in. Without the armor of his jeans and attitude he looks weirdly small, shuffling over to his bed and flopping across it.

“Cool,” Steve looks around frantically. “Robin, you wanna borrow some sweats? You can go first and I can-” He gestures at the bed.

“Right. Yeah, that would be great.”

He grabs some hopefully clean sweats out of his own overflowing pile at the foot of his bed, and an old soft shirt with greek letters on it. And Billy does smile wanly at her when she rushes off to the bathroom.

And lo, it  is all so, so awkward.

Robin knows from awkward. Wrote the book on awkwardness. And even then, this is awkward.

Because she had Billy all wrong. She’d spent so much time listening to Steve wax poetically about how he had no shot, that she’d forgotten something she knew before she’d even actually known them: that Billy Hargrove was without a doubt into Steve Harrington. Bro-jockery aside, she’d use to see them around campus and actually get the warm fuzzies.

Because she’d spent all of high school without a single date. The only other lesbians for miles had been a pair of older women, who had been great, but not exactly the warm community she’d been looking for. And then in college with the GSA she’d felt a whole lot more included. But that feeling had never left, even when she’d got her first college girlfriend, and then swiftly ex girlfriend.

She didn’t really know them beyond a few random rumors, and now she realizes she’d just assumed they were together but damn, didn’t she have the evidence? Especially after tonight, seeing them orbit each other like Saturn and her rings.

Robin pulled out her phone and locked the door.

Me [12:26 am]: What I was going to say was that our whole strategy needs an overhaul. Billy likes u. I don’t know what the Jason thing is even about bc he hardly looked at him all night.

She sets the phone on the sink and nearly leaps out of her skin a minute later when it buzzes and she ends up smacking her knee into the edge of the toilet while in the act of taking off her jeans.

Steve-o Burrito [12:29 am]: Its not like that he was just being close to me because of the night he was having I think I just need to be his friend right now i can’t make a move on him

Me [12:29 am]: Is he ok?

Steve-o Burrito [12:30 am]: Yea its just like private stuff can you make sure no one knows he was at a gay bar

Steve-o Burrito [12:30 am]: not that I think youd out him at all

Me [12:31 am]: I’ll be careful. Is he in the closet in the rat?

Me [12:32 am]: *frat

Steve-o Burrito [12:33 am]: something like that

Me [12:35 am]: I won’t tell, cross my heart and hope to die.

Steve-o Burrito [12:35 am]: shit, what about the GSA people?

Me [12:37 am]: I’ll text Jason. He won’t tell and neither would anyone in the GSA but we’ll be safe

Steve-o Burrito [12:37 am]: i’ll text him too i think he knows but Billy shouldnt deal wioth that shit

Robin changed swiftly into the too-big sweats and shirt, and leaned against the counter to text Jason, whose answer came almost immediately.

Treasurer JC [12:37 am]: Already knew, but thank you for reaching out. Will notify the group as needed. Have a good night.

Robin rolled her eyes. Why did he text like a wind up soldier?

She splashes some water on her face and rubs the cheap mascara off with her hands. Not her first choice but she’s not about to use the toilet paper in a frat house to take anything off. The bathroom isn’t a total sty, but it’s certainly not what she would call clean. There’s no spare toothbrush, which sounds about right, because she’s now pretty convinced neither of them bring anyone back here. Hopefully the mouthwash will do until morning.

Which is why it’s no shock at all when she comes back and they’re practically in bed together. Billy had his face almost hidden in the pillows and Steve is leaning over him and rubbing his shoulder slightly.

“Bathroom’s free, Steve,” She says, rather than just get married already.

Because how can Steve seriously be so blind.

“Be right back,” Steve says, giving Billy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and leaving the two of them alone.

Robin wanders over to the newly made bed, trying to look anywhere but at Billy. There’s only so many empty alcohol bottles she can pretend to be interested in. If it wasn’t way too late she would have walked home, and left them to their situationship. She perches on the edge of the bed.

Me [12:49 am]: Billy is for sure into YOU dingus. 

Steve-o Burrito [12:50 am]: he’s in a weird mood right now or he’d bee more friendly. It’s not like that uou’ll see

Me [12:51 am]: Friendly is not the word I would use, you 2 were doing the bump n’ grind on the bill.

Steve-o Burrito [12:51 am]: So did Jason and connor. Circumstantial evidence.

Me [12:52 am]: I’m not trying to prove in a court of law what anyone can see with their own 2 eyes.

Steve-o Burrito [12:56 am]: I just wanna drop the whole thing. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Girl troubles?” Billy’s low voice almost makes her jump.

“God, I wish. Got to have a girl to have troubles,” she mutters, eyes flashing to the bathroom door.

“He’ll be there for a while. Hair stuff.” Billy says confidently. He’s lying on his side, looking up at her from his pillow. “Plus he’s drunk. Slows down the whole process.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“Sorry I cut the night short,” Billy says after a beat, “I thought I saw someone I know. Freaked me out.”

“Someone from home? Where is home anyway?” She asks, twisting her hands together in her lap.

“California.”

She snorts, “why’d you ever come to Indiana?”

“I got a crazy full ride. Plus my best friend was going here so it all kinda just happened.”

Robin ought to be asking for some kind of information to further the cause, but she has no clue how to ask without giving Steve away. She’s too tired for this shit.

“What’s your major?” She asks, copping out.

He smirks at her like he can smell the desperation in her small talk. “Biochemical engineering.”

“In here?” She blurts out.

He frowns for a second before his eyes go wide with recognition and he sits up a little, leaning against the wall to prop himself up. “Oh, in a frat. Shockingly, it works. I’m rush chair, so I do all my duties in the first two weeks until the pledges are members. I’m pretty good at studying when I have to, and I have to. At least I don’t have it as hard as Stevie.

She cocks her head to one side. “Hard?”

Also, Stevie? She would have to tell Steve about that.

“He’s the party chair and he’s always having to write these long ass papers, and make short films.” Billy shakes his head.

“Huh,” She tries to unclench her back. “Also, we have a ton of night classes.”

“Exactly. At least I can do lab work hung over. One time he tried to show me this freaky ass movie, the camera was spinning like a top.” Billy shivers. “Math never does that shit to me. Stevie’s like a machine though. He always does the party plans on time. Probably working on winter formal stuff already.”

It was cute that he couldn’t stop talking about Steve for even a minute.

“What’s winter formal?”

“Bunch of houses get together for a big dance at the end of January. Nice stuff, Dean Baumen even comes,” Billy smiles fondly. “Last year they had this snowflake theme, and steve had me up until about 3 am cutting those fuckin’ things.”

He must catch her watching him intently because he sits up a little straighter.

“All the arts majors have it rough, I mean. Every time he’s in a play, Eddie goes postal trying to come to our meetings and still do his rehearsals.”

“Who’s Eddie?” Robin tucks her feet up on the bed, hugging her legs to her chest.

“Long haired guy, he’s Carver’s roommate? Didn’t you meet him at the party?”

She shrugs, “Maybe I forgot. It must be weird for Jason.”

“Weird how?”

“His roommate having the same name as-”

“Talking about me?” Steve swings back inside, his slightly drunk-hazed eyes darting between them.

Billy chuckles, “we have better things to talk about than your sorry ass.”

Robin laughs with him, “Yeah, Steve. It’s not all about you.”

“Alright, fuckers,” he leans over and turns off the light, “jokes over.”

“Yes, mom. Goodnight, mom,” Billy giggles a little more. 

“You two better not start being friends.” Steve warns, and then there’s a loud smacking sound.

Robin scoots back into the bed, groping for the edge of the blankets in the semi dark. “Did you run into something, Steve?”

“No,” He says tightly, still from the general vicinity of the bathroom. “Shut up.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” She sings out. “Goodnight, Billy.”

“Goodnight, Robin.” Billy mimics her tone at the same time that Steve mutters, “G’nite.”

There’s some shuffling, and another sound like a shin smacking into wood before the other bed squeaks.

The terrible though occurs to Robin as she shoves herself between the sheets, but she’s not about to tell them not to fuck. Steve would have a full meltdown.

She doesn’t know exactly what happened between them tonight, and why Steve is so adamant on dropping the plan. But…

“Goodnight, Stevie,” It’s so quiet she barely hears it.

“Goodnight, asshole,” Steve says, but it’s as gentle as any nickname.

She can hear a bit more movement, negotiating space, and stares at the poster closest to her head on the way.

It won’t be long until Steve isn’t her one single friend anymore, as long as they can get their heads out of their asses. She really hopes that she meets someone soon, maybe someone like that Heather girl from Steve’s party, only gay.

Hopefully if there’s someone out there for clueless bisexual frat boys, surely there was someone for Robin too.

There had to be.

[angryblackprincess]

I love pathetic women

Give me a butch who crawls on her knees to me, staring up with glazed eyes like I'm the only thing in the room. So eager to please, to give and say thank you for it. Leaning into my palm, pressing her face to my skin like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to now.

Give me a stud who's so shy - when we brave the world together on instinct, she steps behind me. Trying and failing to conceal all her being behind a girl who's 5ft3. Grasping my hand in a manacle grip, and yet she is still the self-appointed prisoner. Pulling her along as we weave through crowds and civilizations, head bowing to my ear to whisper what she wants.

Give me a masc who's like a guard dog - biting people's heads for the simplest of things, blood dripping down her jaw as she comes to me for absolution or congratulations. Face like a bear trap: cold and empty waiting for the kill. Silence, imposing silence before snarling, and then teary eyes. Hands searching for impression or delight as if it is to be growing from my body like an accessory bone.

Give me pathetic women; needy, touchy, obsessive, hated, shy, angry, too much, not enough

Give me pathetic women

[lycandrophile]

if you feel comfortable sharing, how do you identify now?

mostly, i just call myself a trans man now. i really haven’t spent too much time trying to find a word to replace transmasc in my vocabulary.

i haven’t really fully disidentified with transmasc either. when people talk about transmascs as a collective, i still consider myself part of the group they’re talking about. i still describe the process i’m going through as a transmasculine transition. and transmasculinity as a concept, as something lived and embodied, is still really important to me and my understanding of my gender. it’s less that i feel no connection to the word “transmasc” and more that just saying “i am transmasc” doesn’t really accurately describe the way i relate to the word anymore.

it’s partly because i just…don’t consider myself to be all that masculine. i’ve never been particularly feminine either, but even femininity is something i can at least put on for a little while; masculinity is a complete mystery to me in a lot of ways. i don’t know how to do it. and i’m not just talking about cisheteronormative masculinity either — i have so much admiration (and often envy) for the butches and bears and drag kings and other people who embody queer masculinity, but that doesn’t come naturally to me either. so it feels weird to identify myself using a word that puts so much emphasis on masculinity when i don’t see myself that way and i doubt anyone who knows me would either. i’ve played around with using transandrogynous instead for that reason, and i think that’s probably the most accurate alternative.

but i still mostly just find myself not really caring about defining myself on the basis of masculinity, femininity, androgyny, or any of those concepts because none of them are as important to me as the fact that i’m a man. whether my presentation would be best described as masculine, feminine, or androgynous can and does change from day to day, month to month, year to year. but regardless of which way i present myself, i’m always a man. that’s always what i want people to know about me. the underlying assumption of my manhood is what makes me comfortable exploring femininity and androgyny at all. so if i have to define myself, why not just say i’m a trans man?

it’s also partly because the way people define the word transmasc has shifted in the years since i first came out and started describing myself that way. when i first learned it, it was pretty much universally understood as an umbrella term that included (but also extended beyond) trans men. so when i started identifying as a man, transmasc remained a broader but still accurate identity. but now, i see more and more people defining trans men and transmascs as two distinct groups, and while there is still a general understanding that trans men can be and often are transmasc, there are also a lot more people who assume that if you describe yourself as one, you must implicitly be excluding yourself from the other. and because my identity as a man is so important to me, i’m not comfortable with saying “i’m transmasc” if people might assume me saying that means I’m not also a man.

and i think it’s partly because transmasc is a label i leaned on a lot when i was at a point where part of me recognized that i was a man, but i resisted calling myself a man because of all the baggage that came along with that. it was a compromise — a way to get “close enough” to what i actually felt, to get people to use the right words for me and get the right idea about me, without having to say “i am a man”. because back then, manhood was something inherently worse in my mind and the minds of the people i surrounded myself with than the nonbinary identity i’d been claiming until that point. but now, i don’t feel that way at all. i love manhood and men and being a man! so for me, letting go of transmasc as a label and giving myself permission to just say i’m a man has been an important part of accepting the fact that i am a man and learning that being a man isn’t a “bad” way to be trans.

basically, my identity hasn’t really changed at all, i just realized that saying “i’m transmasc” is a less accurate way of describing my gender than just saying “i’m a trans man”.

now, that’s not to say i don’t have other ways of describing my identity or that my understanding of my identity hasn’t changed a lot recently, but that’s a whole other can of worms and god knows this answer is long enough already. suffice to say, my gender is much more complicated than 100% Binary Man, Same Gender As A Cis Man, but i don’t worry about explaining that to every person i come across. if someone is so unfamiliar with me that they have to ask me to define my gender in the first place, then as far as they’re concerned, i’m just some fucking guy.

[archangeldyke-all]

masterlist 6

u and sev take isha and jinx to the theme park 🐇

sevika struggling to say i love you

sometimes isha talks 🐇

punisher song-fic

transfem reader asking sevika about bottom surgery

little fucker and isha COMBINED 👶🐇

pampering councilor sevika

club mom reader misses sevika 🪩

childhood baby butch lovers 🖇

having your own bedrooms in the same home

transfem reader making sub sevika gag on it

stay at home mom sevika :,) 🐇👶

more childhood baby butch lovers 🖇

sevika's face puffs up when she eats

sevi-bear in her bear jammies

family sleepover!! 🐇👶

what kind of music she likes

baby butches secret admirer high school lovers 🖇

and even more of the baby butches🖇

reader with a prosthetic leg

cowboy sevika goes on vacation 🤠

doing sevika's full glam makeup

butch baby reader gets jealous 🖇

club mom reader waiting for sevika to get her 🪩

cowboy sev being a bad influence on the kids 🤠

isha teaches little fucker how to sign curses 🐇👶

ranvika origin story ⚔

baby butches get their first hickeys 🖇

paramedic sevika saves you at work

sevika's nipples distracting you

club mom getting hit on at work 🪩

bedtime routine with the babies 👶

baby butches snowball fight 🖇

deaf reader 🐇

sevika can't sleep without you

baby butches babysit

ceo sevika makes up for a mistake 💼

pe coach sevika english teacher reader 🏫

how sevika reacts to the twins news👶

pe coach sev teacher reader go on a date 🏫

you and sevika spy on little fucker's date

meeting sev post breakup

jinx trains little fucker to 'attack' 🐇👶

polyglot sevika

grandma sevika and reader 👶🐇

club mom and sev's wedding 🪩

vi sees teacher reader and sev at the gay bar 🏫

sev and reader are rival pirate captains

teacher reader and coach sev trying to hook their students up 🏫

isha wants a pet bug 🐇

how sevika reacts when you push her away while sleeping

little fucker coming out 👶

sevika switching shoes with you

baby butches acting clueless pre-dating 🖇

sweet loving sex with ceo sev 💼

paramedic sevika saves reader from bad crash

taking photobooth pics with her

little fucker has her baby 👶

fake-hating part 2

more paramedic sev

sevika decorating her home

teaching her how to swim

[genderqueerdykes]

I don't want to come off as entitled by asking this, but I see you dress more 'feminine' and still ID as butch. I was wondering what the identity means to you as someone who doesn't look like how a butch "should" look? What is the connection there? I hope this doesn't come off as rude, I'm just trying to keep myself from being closeminded in any way and am interested in experiences of others.

i don't really see this as rude! i get a lot of asks where people say both "butches should be able to wear dresses and skirts" and "butches can only dress and look certain ways". there seems to be a lot of contention and gatekeeping over what a butch person should look like, not saying this is what you are doing- i see it constantly in the wild

it's okay to ask these kinds of things because i think a lot of people are confused about the origins of the term butch. butch just means queer masculinity- a queer masculine person can look, act, and dress like anything. there is no set dress code or look for a butch person. i have a phrase which i repeat in these scenarios: the butch is in the person, not the presentation. i see a lot of butches ache and long to wear dresses and other "femme" clothing all the time

i have a complex relationship with both femininity and masculinity due to being intersex. also, i have been living with being called a butch dyke derogatorily my entire life- it's something that's highly close to me. some may postulate that the term "bear" would fit me better, and i have used it in the past, but i'm not sure that one's quite right either. i honestly don't really know if i fit into the femme-butch binary.

due to having DID, some days i feel butch, and other days i feel femme. i am not an unshakeable person, and i have been wondering if the term femme would suit me better these days, given the direction i've pivoted in on the whole. it's a tough thing- queer masculinity to me involves being feminine. it seems confusing, but queer masculinity does not always have to be super macho. a masculine person can display queer masculinity by being feminine, too. the way someone dresses shouldn't have an impact on how they feel on the inside

it's an interesting thing to think about for sure! you caught me right at a time where i have been questioning this, myself. this exact question dawned on me just a few days ago. i was a lot more butch in the past, but i've gravitated toward a more femme experience in recent years. i don't know if i'll ever truly abandon the term butch. it's something i've been getting called my entire life. and i don't think dressing in a feminine way makes someone not butch, but i will say this is something i have been questioning lately!

the thing is, with queer identities, questioning and figuring out what really applies to you takes time. you may find a term and go "oh that's me!" right away, only to discover later on down the road that may not be correct. just because i was hyper masculine in the past doesn't mean i can't be hyper feminine now, you know? things change and shift. maybe at one point I had more butch alters than i do now- change is inevitable in a plural person, and it's hard for us to quantify how many of us are butch vs. how many of us are femme

considering i was already questioning this, this has given me more to think about, for sure. i think it's important to ask these kinds of questions because it may jar you into considering things you haven't before. while butches can present any way they want to, i have been feeling way more femme lately. perhaps i'm a butch who dresses femme, or maybe i've grown in ways where i've discovered that identity doesn't suit me as well as i thought it did. maybe things just changed. so thank you, i'm going to continue considering if that's the direction i'm more headed in lately. :)

[docholligay]

How did you get bit by a rattlesnake??? I want the story!!

It was a hot, sunny day up in Helena, Montana, and my girlfriend at the time--a cattle ranch kid with Young Leo good looks and a bad attitude that was only surpassed by my own--decided that we should go for a hike up in the nearby gulch. We called a couple of friends, packed some sandwiches and beers, and went on our way.

The hike itself was mostly a nondescript affair, in that I'd done it dozens of times. Just off of a bunch old digging sites from the gold days, down into some trees and then up along a rock ridge.

The ridge would be the problem, here.

I'm a decent person to hike with, a lot of the time, because I'm great at keeping bears away. I like to talk, and my voice carries, and I am in good enough shape that it takes something to wind me. So we're cresting the ridge, where we're going to sit and drink a beer, so I'm looking forward to it--a fair criticism of my hiking style is that I don't like to sit and look, I want to achieve the objective--and I'm talking along about some irrelevant bullshit, as I am wont to do.

Which means I don't hear the rattle. I hear my girlfriend.

"Doc! Don't move!"

Which I immediately disobey by whirling around to face her. At my ankle is a huge fucking rattlesnake. Before anything else can happen, it lashes out and digs both fangs into my calf, then dashes off into the grass.

Now, there's a certain calm in the worst that can happen just having happened. What the fuck else was going to happen, a grizzly come screaming out of the bushes? unlikely.

We're about four miles in, so the decision is made that because we're about an hour or more drive from the hospital, we had best try to keep me immobile. So between my girlfriend and her friend, they take turns packing me out of there like a goddamn mule.

Every few minutes, she's asking me, "You okay?"

"Minus the giant puncture in my calf, I feel fine"

About 2 hours later, we get our way to the truck, a 1980s Silverado with a grey side strip and flaking paint, and an hour after that, we get to the hospital. Now, having sat in the car for an hour gives people plenty of time to stop being tired, and start being worried, and my girlfriend has taken full advantage of this opportunity. There's no point in giving everyone an earful while you're all doing whatever it is you can--at least if all four of you are Montana kids, which we are--but the second we get the truck parked, she throws me onto her back and runs into the emergency room.

I can only imagine what it must have looked like from the inside of that waiting room, some butch dyke in a rolled-sleeve western shirt piggybacking a twin braided redhead with burnt shoulders and short shorts, like some kinda goddamned redneck rodeo.

And she comes in yelling, "My girlfriend's been snakebit!"

Well, after some conversation with the doctor and more than a little snickering from the nurses, I get asked if I'm doing okay. I tell the doctor same as I told her: Other than a pretty annoying puncture wound I feel fine.

Burning? No.

Tingling? No.

Any kind of blurred vision? Not at all.

So, come to find out, rattlesnakes aren't quite as stupid as you think, and half the time when they bite humans they don't envenomate, because they know they can't eat it. They don't tell you this, because they want you to come to the damn emergency room.

I walked out of there with a fancy-looking bandaid.