himejoshihoard

[himejoshihoard]

to ME fem fortress engie would be an older butch lesbian who, upon a single look, you immediately KNOW renovated her bathroom by hand

[himejoshihoard]

FINAL ROUND:

[himejoshihoard]

just realizing now that yesterday way march 15th

i watched a movie where some dude called caesar is killed on the ides of march completely by coincidence

just watched Bound

funny enough it was my first Wachowski sisters film

that shit was so good

highly recommend

[himejoshihoard]

[himejoshihoard]

just watched Bound

funny enough it was my first Wachowski sisters film

that shit was so good

highly recommend

[himejoshihoard]

Hello! i wanted to say that i absolutely adore your art. its so sweet and brings me such delight. i wanted to ask if you'd ever consider doing nsfw sniperscout yuri?

thank you for all the great art and have a lovely day!

Thank you!!

Ah, I actually happened to have started working on it a few days ago, but only now is it finished 🙏

As always, full ver on bsky 🤭

[himejoshihoard]

day 64

the long due old woman yuri

[himejoshihoard]

GIRLS.

[himejoshihoard]

[himejoshihoard]

"I don't know why you're so shy about it. I think you're pretty."

Twitter voted on a ship yesterday, and these two came out on top. Everyone gets another ToYomi piece from me!

[himejoshihoard]

casual bushfire

[himejoshihoard]

I should probably watch arcane, huh....

[himejoshihoard]

butch4butch speeding bullet. you understand

reupload cuz tumblr is homophobic

[himejoshihoard]

!!THERES BL00D !!!!

post apocalyptic fem sniper. ellie in the santa barbra chapter really suits sniper idk why, guess its the vibe?

for those who dont know much about tlou ii, santa barbra chapter is the worst ellie has ever been, mentally and physically. she lost everyone and everything (kinda like sniper in the beginning of the comics when they first found him)

[himejoshihoard]

happy birthday lesbians

[himejoshihoard]

[tf2 minific] late stage fashionalism

fem!(Sniper/Spy) - rated T - [ao3]

I love the trope of putting Sniper in a fancy suit for a gala mission glow-up so fem!Sniper getting dolled up to be an absolute smokeshow isn’t that far of a stretch, lol. (and fem!spy makes the awooga sfx, naturally.)

I looked at some dresses from the 1960s and THIS is sort of what I had in mind for Sniper, though I did want to put her in a cute 70s mod dress as well (with hat)! Oh well. Next time.

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

+++

The clickety-clack of heels alerts Spy to someone’s presence at the door to her quarters. She doesn’t bother to turn around from her vanity, too focused on setting up the table; make up brushes, various powders, pencils, and sponges all in a neat little row. Tools of her trade, as good as any weapon. For tonight’s gala mission, she’ll need all the help she can get, if not a full on miracle.

“It’s unlocked,” she calls out, bracing herself for what feral monstrosity might tumble through.

The door opens and Sniper stomps into the room. How she manages to stomp so grouchily in heels, Spy will never know, but the last two steps inside are quiet, sliding against the floor with the barest hint of a tap to betray the point of the heels—deliberate and expert in a way that Spy thinks she might have underestimated Sniper’s ability to prowl, no matter what the footwear.

The door clicks shut and now Spy can’t hear any footsteps at all.

She quickly turns around, wary by this new realization, and finds Sniper standing sullenly in front of her like she’s awaiting her own execution.

Spy stares. Her careful makeover plans for Sniper flutter right out of her brain. Aside from her unhappy expression, Sniper looks more put together than Spy could have ever credited her for. It’s almost offensive.

At first pass, Sniper’s dress is nothing too glamorous—an asymmetrical cut at the ankles in light bronze, the satin fabric gathered up to one side in a pretty slope to the floor. It’s not exactly what Spy would call fashionable for this year’s showing but Sniper’s slim body wears it well. The sweetheart neckline should have been strapless, but she can’t fault Sniper too much for opting for thin golden chains to hold the dress up by the shoulders. With the amount of movement that might happen during the mission, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

As for Sniper’s hair, Spy had gotten her hot curlers out in a bid to shape it into something more interesting, but Sniper had already done up her straight-limp hair in a more formal version of her customary braid, now in an elegant French plait, starting high at the top of her head and running over one shoulder. It’s slightly messy, no doubt due to Sniper’s lack of finesse, but the flyaway strands lead to a chic and charming look to her ensemble. Without meaning to, Spy turns off the hot curlers with a frown.

It’s a fitting silhouette. Spy isn’t so blinded by irony and pessimism that she won’t admit it. She can pick out her favorite detail immediately; the way the fabric of Sniper’s dress sits over her small bust accentuates her already tall height, and Spy’s critical gaze can’t help but trail down the long lines of Sniper’s legs. The side mid-slit was certainly a calculated choice, the faint sheen of lotion over tanned skin doing wonders, but more importantly—

“My god, you’ve shaved,” Spy says in an attempt to sound sardonic but her voice comes out genuinely shocked. She is going to have to reevaluate the amount of work she’s been prepared to do. It might actually be very little.

Realization festers in the back of Spy’s mind. It’s not often that she feels threatened. But she could be.

“Y’act like I ain’t never been dragged to church or some fancy dinner party,” Sniper says, folding her arms across her chest. She leans one shoulder against the doorframe, less annoyed by Spy’s observation and more by the situation itself. The fabric of the neckline scrunches, the barest peek of a dark nipple slipping through. Her posture is as unfeminine as ever, shifting the slit of the dress so that it rides further up her bare thigh.

“The kind of churches you’ve gone to, I’d like to know,” Spy says, dragging her eyes back up with a tremendous amount of effort.

It’s obvious that Sniper isn’t used to wearing dresses, but her lack of demure modesty might draw the wrong kind of attention if she ever decides to sit in a chair as she normally would, slouched with her legs spread out comfortably, no awareness of how her dress slides up in all the right—no, wrong places. Spy might need to find a pin to stitch up the slit a little better. Tape the bust some more to avoid any flashing.

Spy turns back to her vanity. She starts going through her drawers for a needle, thread, and pins. Behind her, she hears Sniper groan, mistaking Spy’s furious rummaging for more work to be done.

Quite the contrary, in fact. The actual neckline is fine as it is, the curves doing well to give the appearance of lift, even if Sniper barely fills out the top half of the dress. If it’d been Spy, she would’ve have used the loose fabric to her advantage, letting the thin golden chains slip from her shoulders every so often. It irritates her that Sniper seems to do it all on her own, on accident with no prompting. Sniper simply gives a single shoulder shrug and the strap slides down, hanging in a pretty loop that seems to fit the shape of her lean bicep.

“Well, let’s just say I don’t do much prayin’ when I visit,” Sniper says. “Same as you.”

When Spy swivels back around, she catches Sniper in the middle of hooking the strap back over her shoulder with two deft fingers. The gesture is so far from being flirty, more unconscious than anything, but it plays a part in the maddening way Spy cannot stop staring.

More gold toned jewelry, Spy thinks calmly, falling back to being critical. It matches her skin and the dress. She gets up from her chair to better inspect Sniper.

A necklace with a long ruby crystal on a delicate chain. Short matching earrings to offset the long hair. A brooch will be needed, tucked behind the right ear; for a hidden knife. Extra bullets around the thigh or in the heels if Sniper can manage walking in something higher.

Spy eyes Sniper’s slender hands. Rings. Perhaps one on the fourth finger, to deter some of the men.

She is about to contemplate the width of the band and size of the diamond when she abruptly becomes aware of her own unusual amount of possessiveness. Almost stricken dumb by it.

It’s unbecoming. Embarrassing, even. Right then and there, Spy stubbornly decides to forego suggesting any rings. Sniper is a grown woman. She can fend for herself; from men, women, and spies alike.

“Well? You’ve been quiet,” Sniper says, raising an eyebrow. A bristly, unshaped eyebrow. “Do I pass muster?”

Damn, Spy hadn’t even thought of make up yet. She reaches out to fix the folds of the bust, giving a couple of perfunctory tugs, but with the open slit down Sniper’s left leg, she can’t help but finger the hem in order to brush her knuckles against Sniper’s thigh. Standing this close, Spy has to look up a little more. She barely comes up to Sniper’s chin, an entire head shorter with Sniper in heels.

Spy bites the inside of her cheek. Sniper is no longer all awkwardly thin and lanky limbs—she is simply tall, trim, and completely devastating to look at.

“When you claimed you already had a dress,” Spy finally says, “this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

The corners of Sniper’s eyes crinkle. “Guilty. Demo got it for me. Lotta eyebrow waggling, so I think the jig’s up with her.”

She hitches the shoulder strap back in place again.

“I’ll have to send her flowers,” Spy mutters and primly kneels down to the floor, fingers still sliding along the hem of Sniper’s dress. When the length of the dress runs out, she simply puts her hands over Sniper’s legs. “And a bottle of wine.”

“What?” Sniper exclaims, pushing off from the door. She glares down at her. “Why her? I’m the one sufferin’ here.”

Spy only laughs, and her grin stays in place when she pulls the hem up slightly. Apparently Sniper had taken a butcher's knife to her legs. Spy can see several missed spots and a thin line of hair at the back of Sniper’s calf, along with tiny little knicks that haven’t had the time to scab over yet.

“Trouble with the razor?” Spy asks, amused, even with the simmering heat in her, “Or did you have to use the kukri?”

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll do, right? So what if I missed a couple of spots. Ain’t no one gonna look at my gams,” Sniper complains. “Don’t make me go back to the showers.”

Spy glances up, leveling Sniper with a stare of disbelief. She heroically doesn’t mention that Sniper is at least three quarters leg, and very good legs, once moisturized and smooth. Somewhat smooth, at any rate. She runs a palm down the calf, stopping when she sees a thin line of blood trailing from a shallow razor cut.

“You’re bleeding,” she notes.

Before Sniper can grumble any further, Spy bends down, tilting her head to lick the running drop of blood. Sniper’s leg tenses in her hands, muscles shifting.

“Spy…”

“I don’t want it to stain your pretty dress,” Spy replies, lips against her skin. It still doesn’t explain the slow line of kisses she leaves behind, hardly necessary to wipe away blood or clean a cut, but Sniper goes quiet. She holds Sniper by the calf and beneath the ankle, her grip gentle before tightening in question.

Sniper uses one hand to grab the doorframe. She finally blushes as she grudgingly lifts her leg, the flat of her heel coming up to rest against Spy’s folded thigh with the faintest wobble.

“I ain’t taking this bloody dress off until the mission’s done,” Sniper growls in warning. “Had a hard enough time wrestling it on.”

Spy flashes her a hungry smile, almost dizzy when she has to look so very up to meet Sniper’s glare.

“Oh, we’ll keep it on,” she replies, and ducks under the dress.

---

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

[himejoshihoard]

fem sniper with ruggid masculinity, dirty sweaty smelly crooked teeth grin kind of thing, doesn’t own a mirror and has never worn a bra, a fuckboi of a lesbian, a went-to-hooters-once lesbian, little bit of an asshat but got the goods to make up for it.

fem spy like learning how to tie a tie 14 different ways before actually feeling comfortable wearing one in public. wearing SO much cologne because shes paranoid about smelling bad ever since she stopped shaving even though she feels more like a person now. fem spy like buying mens clothes and having them expertly tailored because she can’t stand the gaps where they dont fit her right. shes on edge. she still feels like a criminal, like a soldier caught out of uniform, like a garçon manqué, lacking, always lacking. not that she would ever let that feeling show.

sniper having this sort of completely absentminded grace, a complete comfort in her skin, just ‘knowing’ how to be

spy being polished, hammer-hardened, something shaped by the cracks shes slipped through. something she made herself into, on purpose.

sniper told her parents she was 'gonna marry the magazine lady’ when she was six. spy came out, if only to herself, in the bathroom of a corporate mixer when she was 34 years old. spy is older, but sniper has been “out” longer, if she was ever really “in”

sniper could never fit in the closet, not at nearly 6'5, she can barely lie to save her life and never knew a world that didn’t tell her she was something less than human. shes never seen the daylight-bathed respectable side of any city. had a hard time fitting into the fragrant, frantic, spun-glass-delicate underbelly either.

so instead she was on her own in the outback so long she forgot to have an ego. became a part of the sun and wind and dry cracked earth. she’s seen bones out there. some of them human. none of them gave her trouble for who or what she was.