#I am shaking hands with butches

[impmakesart]

Girls out, having a fine day in the sun.

[possibilistfanfiction]

hey!! saw you reblogging some of your butch bea stuff & just wanted to tell you that it lowkey changed my life and that if you ever want to revisit that universe you’d have at least one very avid & enthusiastic reader. there’s no pressure though — im grateful it exists at all!!

[i am going to be completely honest, i have no idea what this little prompt fill is but i love butch bea sm, it's soft & basically plotless. feeling so normal about her this pride month lol. also some lilith pov for the culture.]

//

not that you like people, but if you had to pick a favorite, under deep duress, beatrice would be at the top of your list. not that you would ever, ever tell her that, but, unfortunately, you're also pretty certain she knows. and, to your utter horror, you find that you have a reluctant soft spot for ava — you try to contribute it to beatrice being your sister, and therefore ava is basically your sibling-in-law, because they're not married yet but you watched beatrice say goodbye and you watched her grieve and you watched her fall in love, disgustingly, every second of every day, when ava returned. and, sure, ava is steadfast and faithful and far too brave and saved the world, twice, but, like. his relentless optimism and terrible sense of humor is too much sometimes.

but, you remind yourself when you get his text — he's your family too. someone who should have never forgiven you, you remember, like acid leaking in your stomach, but ava has always been too generous. and so you answer with an eye-roll emoji but also I'll be there in ten.

it's not the first day that ava has asked for help, and you're sure it won't be the last, but these days don't happen all that often anymore. you understand, though: your wings ache and sit heavy some nights when you can't sleep, and even if you fly over mountain ranges or tropical fjords or the flat, gorgeous planes of the savannah, deserts and oceans, the world — this admittedly beautiful earth, better than all the heavens — isn't quite enough to hold your sorrow. or, maybe it holds it along with you, and you can't quite put it down.

so you diligently mask your scales with jillian's annoying but very useful tech, and you put on an outfit that nun-you would have deemed inappropriate and nun-beatrice would have blushed furiously at, and teleport from your favorite room, tucked away in the middle of nowhere on a tiny island off the coast of iceland to beatrice and ava's sunny, big house on the beach. it's cool today, though, the day covered in a marine layer that's lingered for months. beatrice looks surprised when you show up in their kitchen, where she's staring off into space while, apparently, very slowly unloading the dishwasher. ava says hello from the living room, where you assume they're on the couch with korra by their side.

'hello, lilith.'

you pop a fresh grape into your mouth from the bowl sitting there in lieu of greeting.

'those are for ava,' beatrice says, and her hands shake and you can tell from the set of her shoulders that ava was right, that the world stings in your palms and up your spine, and sometimes you just need someone to see you through it until it calms.

'he can share,' you say, eat another one and swipe the bowl with beatrice scowling after you as you walk into the living room. ava is, unexpectedly, watching some reality tv drivel — so what if you're caught up on all ten seasons of vanderpump rules, it reminds you of hell if anyone asks — but she smiles sincerely when you hand her the bowl, one you're pretty certain beatrice had sculpted and glazed with her own hands.

'i can share a few,' ava says, and you don't bother to stop yourself from scratching korra's head in greeting when ava nods. you can admit that korra is awesome; she has loyalty to ava but at least you can understand that one. she's wearing a hoodie you know is beatrice's favorite, so it's ava's favorite too, and a beanie; ava hadn't mentioned it, but you know on really bad days her body has trouble regulating its internal temperature too — and if the pile of blankets at the foot of the couch is anything to go by, you're guessing that's happening too.

'you've looked better.'

ava rolls her eyes and beatrice flicks you on the back of the head. 'so have you,' ava says, but you look hot and so you know by that lackluster insult she really is in a good deal of pain.

'ava's back is bad today,' beatrice says, as if that wasn't completely obvious from the way ava has a heating pad and special pillow and is propped up on the couch with korra attentively lying next to her, ready to get anything or alert if she needs to.

'lots of hand spasms,' ava says, 'which are the worst, who knew?'

the only reason you refrain from making a dirty joke is because you'd never want them to think you have ever, for one moment, thought about their sex life. 'well, i'm taking beatrice for a bit,' you say, which is just what ava asked for, 'so maybe some heavier duty pain meds and a nap? we can bring you a late lunch.'

you feel beatrice stiffen behind you. 'i need to be here today,' she says, clipped and anxious. 'what if ava —'

'what if i what, bea?' ava says, without any malice, but with a glint in her eye that even you know to be careful of. 'i just need to sleep today and watch some stupid tv. we can go through all my rehab exercises in the evening again, like we always do.'

beatrice's jaw is clenched, and she bites her bottom lip.

'bea,' ava says, and reaches for her hand, and, not for the first time at all, do you feel a little out of place. lonely, and sad, and aching: they are in love, however much it annoys you. there's a care there that you're fairly certain you will never have, and never be able to give.

'a few hours, beatrice,' you say. 'that's all.'

ava had texted that beatrice had been losing track of time and tasks all morning, which is a sign you'd all started to understand as a bad ptsd day, not infrequently leading to a panic attack or a flashback if she's left to her own devices. usually, they won't have bad days at the same time, some divine knowledge of something, but today the stars hadn't lined up.

but beatrice sighs and then nods: she knows herself, knows when her brain is misfiring or misaligned, when things aren't quite as real as they should be. ava's hands are in painful, involuntary fists and so it's up to you today, to hold beatrice's through it.

'great, now that that's settled,' you say, when she offers nothing else. you take her wrist and, just for fun, teleport her right into the middle of the ocean, until she's spluttering and yelling but then, blessedly, lets out a laugh. you teleport her right back to her shower and even ava is grinning from inside. 'get ready,' you tell her, throw a towel at her from the neat stack in their patio bin. 'see you in fifteen.'

'don't have too much fun catching up on vanderpump rules without me,' she says, color back in her cheeks and a clarity seeping into her eyes.

'i hate that show.'

'sure,' she says, dismissing you with a wave of her hand, and, fine, you do join ava on the couch, but it's only because he's high and divulges, eagerly, beatrice's latest cooking mishap. beatrice comes in from their bedroom a few minutes later, looking a little steadier still, in soft, tailored pants and an oversized t-shirt, tucked in precisely. she's put contacts in and has sunglasses slipped into the collar of her shirt, a thick, fancy watch on her wrist. ava, even in a lot of pain, looks like they might start drooling. 'great.' you fling a pair of pristine birkenstocks at beatrice, who catches them with a scowl, 'you look fine to be in public. let's go.'

'bye, baby,' ava says, frustratingly unfazed by you. beatrice smiles, gently, her eyes clear for the moment when all she has to focus on is ava, and kisses her forehead, gently cups her jaw in her hand. 'love you, have fun.'

'i love you too,' beatrice says.

'no fun,' you say, and ava's still laughing as you touch beatrice's elbow and teleport on your way.

/

'this is my sister, lilith,' beatrice introduces, and, like, whatever, your heart swells in your chest and you feel warm and kind. you sink into it — only for a moment.

'nice to meet you,' beatrice's barber says, offering her hand with a genuine, easy smile, not batting an eye that you and beatrice look absolutely nothing alike; you feel warm and kind again when you think about beatrice talking about you as her sister to people you've never met, that you matter to her enough to mention. 'i'm xavi.'

'xavi, cool.'

beatrice sits down in the chair, comfortable and present, even though her hands still shake, but it's clear that this is a space she's always been made to feel safe. somewhere she's always been made to feel seen, which you realized, over the past few years, she had never had, despite how much you had — and still do — still love her.

'same thing, bea?' xavi asks.

bea nods. 'you can take the skin fade up a little higher, i think. it just grows so fast.'

xavi nods. 'sounds good.'

and it's not like you don't spend a fair amount of your time with beatrice and ava, because they live somewhere beautiful and it brings you deep joy to annoy them, and, like, drag brunches and queer bars are admittedly very fun, but to see your sister just be is kind of moving. and maybe she realizes that too, that it's special you're here, that it's special you're allowed to be here, in this space that is very much hers, the quiet hum of the clippers in the background, while she chats with her barber about the latest ridiculous episodes of love island — which, yes, you have watched; yes, you do participate in the conversation after beatrice includes you immediately, because you're only so strong and it's always been a summer tradition of yours to watch nightly — and they laugh together. you laugh too, and then all of a sudden beatrice is crying, and xavi turns the clippers off carefully. beatrice snakes a hand out from under her cape and tries to wipe her eyes.

'i apologize,' she says, really trying to get it under control. 'i — sorry.'

'she's having a weird day,' you offer, and beatrice nods with a sniffle. you don't bother to explain further — that's beatrice's to tell, if she ever wants to — but it seems to calm beatrice a little bit.

'sorry,' she says again. 'i — i'm just happy to be here,' she says, adds a quiet, 'as i am,' and xavi just squeezes her shoulder.

'i'm happy about that too.'

beatrice lets out a big breath and steadies herself; you feel relieved too that you won't have to deal with a panic attack in the middle of a barber shop while beatrice's hair isn't nearly faded properly. 'i never cry.'

you roll your eyes. 'if by "never" you mean five to ten times a week...'

beatrice shoots you a glare through the mirror and you just grin, all teeth.

xavi laughs a little and turns the clippers back on. 'it's okay,' she says. 'you're secret's safe with me.'

/

admittedly, beatrice's hair does look great, a clean fade and a little messy pomade on top, but you've already complimented her on this haircut twice so you're certainly not doing that again. you walk with her along the street her barbershop is on, that she knows well and it hits you quietly that you know it well too. you don't have a home — you haven't had a home in a while — but this might come close.

years ago, before the war, before all of it, on a bad day the two of you would go at it for hours sparring, blood on your knuckles and along your teeth and once mother superion had been irate when you got such a good shot in beatrice's eye was swollen shut for days — but there is no war anymore. there are small battles, but beatrice hasn't fought since she got hurt; even though she's better now, with a sturdy rod down her femur and scars that don't seem to bother her much down her abdomen, you think, unofficially, that she's not ever going to fight again.

you don't have the same fate, you know, but for today you look beautiful in an easy bright blue shift dress and sunglasses, your hair dark and long, and beatrice's hands have stopped shaking.

'sushi?' you ask, a reach, maybe, but when she smiles you know you were right.

it makes you realize, too, when you sit down at a restaurant you've come to so many times with her — and ava, too — that you know the server, who greets you both by name and brings you shishito peppers and spicy edamame without you even having to order. beatrice relaxes in her chair after a second on the patio, lets out another deep breath.

'all right?'

she takes her sunglasses off and nods. 'thank you.'

you shake your head. 'you're my sister.'

you mean it: i have not forgotten who you are; i have not forgotten who i am. you mean it: i love you. even if the words get stuck in your chest, even if you can't quite say them — you mean it.

'plus,' you say, 'you're paying, and i'm ordering the best sake on the menu.'

she laughs, bright and easy, and shrugs. 'you know the catholic church and my horrible parents are footing the bill anyway. we should order whatever we want.'

you remember when you were nineteen and beatrice was brand new to the ocs, how much you felt frustrated by her, deeply: she was earnest, and so serious, and very hurt, but kind in a way you never could be. the pressure sat heavy on both of your shoulders, but she held it with grace. 'could you have imagined this life when we first met?'

she seems as surprised by your question as you are that you even asked it, but her smile is easy and she runs a hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh. 'i think i would have had a heart attack if anyone had told me even a sliver of what my life is now.'

you wait a beat but then you do laugh, because it's true. your server brings you your sake and some sashimi you'd ordered, along with some scallops that are your favorite. ava sends a text in the group chat the three of your have — which you refuse to really participate in, but fine — saying that she's doing fine, that she had to take a fever reducer but korra's been on top of anything she needed to get so ava hasn't had to try to get up, that the protein smoothie beatrice had made her had been fine and she's just going to try to sleep some more. it makes beatrice relax even more, palpably, and you understand, in some way.

'you've retired, haven't you?'

she calmly swallows her tuna and then puts down her chopsticks. 'fighting? yes.'

it's simple and it's big and it's quiet. you knew already.

'but i'll be around. you know i enjoy research, archival, collaborations with jillian. i'm not — this will always be part of my life.' it's unspoken too: you will always be part of my life. and you know she means it.

'good,' you say, and for the first time in longer than you can really remember it feels like you're able to offer a benediction.

her eyes are soft as the clouds burn off, finally, as the afternoon turns warm. 'i — i want to live a long life.'

you can't say anything, but you can nod. you want that too — for her, for all of you. 'plus,' you say, 'ava was even worse than normal when you got blown up.'

she rolls her eyes, as glad for the levity as you are. you drink more sake and order more sushi and laugh as you watch people walk by on the street and beatrice offers — delightfully and playfully kind of mean — commentary about some of them. she's been your person for a long time, you remember, her gentleness despite bullets and arrows and bombs, despite holy wars, despite knuckles — yours, or hers, or both — split open to the bone. beatrice holds her chopsticks easily, steadily, and the scars on the tops of her hands shine white in the sun, but they've faded. you can only see them if you know where to look.

[sydsaint]

ALL MY SOLO SIKOA STANS COME GET YALLS CONTENT! 📣📣📣📣📣📣

Summary: The reader gets settled in with The Bloodline alongside her brother, Sami. Along the way, she learns that a certain Samoan has had his eyes on her for a while now.

"Come on! Just hit him, already, Sikoa!" You shout at Solo from below the ring apron.

Jimmy and Jey shoot you a glance from either side of you, and Sami tugs at your leg to get you to come down to the floor. You hop down to where your brother is waiting and give him an annoyed look.

"Y/N, come on." Sami scolds you. "You aren't helping." He reminds you.

You roll your eyes, annoyed that Sami even made you come out here with him. "You're the one that said I needed to come out and support the team more, Sami." You remind him in an accusing tone. "So here I am, supporting the team. And we both know that Sikoa could have Butch on the mat and begging for mercy in an instant if we wanted to."

"Just be nice, please." Sami sighs and jumps up to join the twins.

You remain on the floor and Jey tags into the match. Solo slips out of the ring and hops down to the floor to recover before he's needed again. You lean on the ring post with your arms crossed and watch him catch his breath.

"You're staring." Solo catches your eyes on him, that usual scowl plastered on his face.

"Just looking out for my team." You reply dryly and avert your gaze for the time being. "Look's like you need to work on your cardio, Sikoa. All out of breath so soon, big man?" You can't help but tease him.

Sikoa stands back up straight, obviously irked by your words. But he chooses instead to hop back up to the ring apron and rejoin his brothers.

A few minutes later a brawl breaks out in the ring and you try your best to stay out of the way. Much to your dismay, Ridge Holland comes around the corner as you are making your retreat.

"Y/N." Ridge locks eyes with you.

"...Ridge." You swallow and take a small step back. "I don't suppose that we could talk this out, could we?" You ask him with a nervous laugh.

Ridge shakes his head and advances on you. "Fraid not, love." He shrugs and begins closing in on you.

You go to turn tail and run for whoever happens to be closest to you at the moment. When you turn around, Solo is just getting done tossing Butch into the barricade.

"Yo, mister enforcer." You hurry forward and slip behind Solo. "It's time to put some of all that muscle to good use." You put a hand on the back of his shoulder and point at Ridge.

Solo nods and uses a hand to push you back a little bit before he lurches forward and tackles Ridge to the ground. You then proceed to watch Solo pick Holland up and backdrop him into the announce table before he stalks back over to you.

"There, happy?" He asks you with a sour expression.

You glance at Ridge now laid out in the rubble of the commentary table and nod. "Yeah...thanks, Solo." You thank him. "What now?"

Solo surveys the area and decides that it be better if you weren't in the way anymore. "Come on, stay close." He barks an order at you and you nod.

Solo muscles his way through the chaotic carnage of people fighting all around you and stops when you get to the top of the ramp.

"Thanks." You thank Sikoa again once you're at the top of the ramp. "I'll be backstage. Go kick thier asses." You send Sikoa back down the ramp to help Sami and his brothers.

You step through the curtain and find Roman waiting with Paul at his side. Roman beckons you over to his side once you're through the curtain so you hurry over to him.

"Where's everyone else?" He stares down at you with judgment in his eyes.

"I didn't want to keep getting in the way." You reply sheepishly and rub your arm. "Sikoa muscled me up the ramp so he wouldn't have to watch my back the whole time." You explain.

Roman nods but doesn't give you a verbal reply. You cough and take your place waiting at his side silently. While you wait you watch the tv monitor and see Solo on poor Ridge Holland again. You know that Sikoa is a pretty violent dude. But this is a bit much, even for him.

Eventually, The Bloodline all file up the ramp and come through the curtain. Sami walks over to make sure that you're alright.

"I'm fine, Sami." You assure him. "Solo got me out of the way before things got heated." You nod to Solo a few feet away talking to Roman and Jey.

Sami glances at Solo and nods. "Yeah, he's definitely in a mood tonight." He chuckles. "I mean did you catch the way he went at Ridge Holland?"

"Yeah..." You nod. "I think that might be my fault." You rub the back of your neck. "Ridge was sort of intending on bothering me before the fight got intense. I ducked behind Solo and sort of asked him to handle it."

"Oh, well, that explains it then." Sami chuckles like you've just answered a question for him.

You furrow your brows at your brother. "Explains what?" You ask him.

"Why Sikoa went off on Ridge," Sami replies like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Holland was messing around with Solo's girl. Very bad move on his part." He chuckles.

"His girl?" You reply. "Excuse me? Since when?" You shake your head in disbelief.

Sami chuckles again and ruffles your hair affectionately. "Oh, Y/N. My naive little sister." He teases you. "Sikoa's got quite the crush on you."

"He does?" You glance over at Solo still talking with Roman and Jey. "Since when?"

"No clue." Sami shrugs. "I've known for a while now. Why do you think that Madcap Moss stopped talking to you? And Ricochet as well for that matter?" He asks you. "Sikoa's been scaring them all off so he's got you all to himself."

"Has he now?" You turn and stare at Sikoa. "I liked Madcap." You frown.

Roman and Jey break away from Sikoa to talk with Paul and Jimmy. You take your chance and march over to Sikoa to confront him.

"Hey, Solo!" You catch his attention as you march over to him.

Solo turns to you, his scowl a bit softer than it usually is. "Holland won't be bothering you again anytime soon, that's for sure." He informs you.

"Yeah, him and any other man that dares speak to me." You mumble. "Is it true what Sami just told me? You've been running off guys I'm talking to without my knowledge?" You confront Sikoa.

Solo nods casually. "Yeah, so?" He replies with a shrug. "You ain't need to be talking to any other man but me, girl." He informs you. "And we both know that you're into me. So what's the issue?"

"Excuse me?" You reply in shock. "What's the issue?" You repeat him. "Last time I checked, you've never even asked me out on a date." You remind him.

Solo doesn't reply at first, but you can tell that he's got some kind of idea brewing. After a few seconds of you waiting for a reply, Sikoa shrugs and puts a hand on your shoulder to orient you towards the door.

"What are you doing?" You ask, digging your heels into the floor to stop Sikoa from moving you.

"You want to go on a date so bad?" Sikoa replies casually. "Come on then, get a move on girl." He pushes you towards the door. "Yo, Roman! I'll catch you all later, man. Y/N and me gonna be busy for the rest of the night!"

You try and protest but Sikoa has you out the door and heading for the garage before you can get a word out. You can hear Roman and what sounds like Sami both laugh as you are dragged off.

[wetdyke]

I need them on top of me, fucking me through orgasm after orgasm until they cum inside me

but they know how I love to be overstimulated, so after they pull out, they would slide my pretty glass dildo all the way inside me. the mix of her cum and mine would be more than enough lube

I want her to fuck me with the toy, their free hand wrapped tightly around my neck, until my whole body is shaking and I'm whining incoherently, only stopping when she's satisfied that she's wrecked me

when they pull the toy out, making me gasp, they would gather some of the cum leaking out of me on their fingers and have me lick them clean (maybe taking a few pictures of me to show me how fucked out I look)

then they would hold me in their arms and kiss all over my face, telling how good I am and how I always take it so well, reminding me that she loves me as i slowly come back to reality

(minors dni. this is about butch/femme lesbian sex. she/they pronouns for me and my butch.)

[bunnydoggy]

I want to be domestically abused and loved by my butch In equal measure.

"oh honey it's not abuse, your a little masochist and daddy is just taking care of you. You know I love you.'

And they are right. A good housewife should always help their butch de stress. Do house chores, worship butch cock

Moaning with a pure sort of love as they push me down to my knees and strap slap me

"awww my good little femme, some people have different kinds of love, it just so happens you like being hurt"

Their hands would start out gentle, groping my tits knowing what a fucking cow I am. Then they'd start slapping me harder, and hitting me

"your taking it all with that precious smile on your face, the more I hit you the more you love it. Don't you bunny?"

"Yes daddy!"

After my butch is stress free they'd probably rub my aching body ever so gently. Kissing my forehead and making sure I know how good I did. They might offer to reward me for taking everything so well but I shake my head.

"Aw of course you don't want anything for your service, your service is the reward in your brain isn't it honey? Let's get you all taken care of "

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

106 (Butch Deloria First Kiss Drabble)

Word Count: 905

The Lone Wanderer burst out of Vault 106, coughing and spluttering. She took two steps out into the sunlight, and then collapsed onto her knees. Behind her, she heard Butch gasping for air. She closed her eyes.

It had all felt so real. Butch had come at her, swiping at the vulnerable, tender flesh of her throat with Toothpick.

She trusted him with her life. She wouldn’t be travelling with him if she didn’t. But it was a hard image to shake.

“Nosebleed?”

It was an old nickname. It reminded her of a younger, angrier, crueller Butch, but still, it was oddly comforting. The mean Butch of the past might’ve been a thug, but he wasn’t a murderer.

His hand landed on her shoulder. She was pretty sure he was about to help her up, but she couldn’t help the way she flinched.

“Hey, hey…” He said her name almost tenderly, pulling his hand back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Feeling her strength return, she pushed up off her knees and stood.

For the first time since they’d exited the vault, she looked at Butch. He was looking worse for wear. His eyes were red. His normally perfectly sculpted hairdo was sticking up in places. Loose locks of hair were curling down on either side of his forehead. In all honesty, she kind of liked it. She knew that if she told him what state his hair was in, he’d fix it, so she didn’t.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “We’re too exposed.”

The sun was setting by the time they found the unoccupied ruins of an old house. There was a bed that still had a mattress, and the mattress wasn’t mouldy, so it was good enough.

The previous tenants of this place had made a makeshift firepit, so she busied herself building a fire. The roof had a gaping hole in it, which, in this case, was actually good for ventilation purposes.

As she was heating up a tin of pork n’ beans, Butch said “Are you gonna tell me what you saw in there?”

“I’m not sure you wanna know,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Ever since we left that place, you’ve barely looked at me! You didn’t even let me help you up earlier! So yeah, I guess I kinda wanna know what’s bothering you.”

She stared into the firepit. “You first.”

Butch let out a defeated sigh. “Okay. Alright. I saw my ma. She told me what a disappointment I am, of course. And then I saw her… I saw her…”

She looked at Butch. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking up at the sky, but not really seeing it. Given how how frightening he found the sky, that was quite something.

“She was dead,” he said at last.

Feeling a little guilty for pushing him, she shuffled closer to him. He looked away from the sky and back at her. Their eyes met. She felt a familiar warmth inside her that she’d spent the past few weeks trying to ignore, but it was getting harder and harder.

“I saw my dad,” she started. She hadn’t intended for this to be the hard thing to talk about, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, her lip wobbled. In spite of her best efforts, a couple of tears escaped.

Butch was watching her face carefully. When she seemed unable to get any other words out, he said, “Nosebleed, I’m so-”

“That wasn’t it,” she said, silencing him. “I also saw you.”

He frowned at her. “Me?”

“You and the other Tunnel Snakes. You tried to kill me.”

His brow creased. “That’s… I mean… You know I would never-”

“I know,” she said. “But it scared me.”

“Well… I’m sorry.”

That drew a laugh from her, surprising both of them. “What are you sorry for? It’s not like you actually tried to kill me.”

“I know, but…” He sighed. “I’m an asshole, right? You know that. I know that. I know I hurt you a lot when we were kids. I don’t want you being scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” To demonstrate her point, she shifted closer to him. Her arm brushed against his. “If I was, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Well… Good. But you should know that I would never hurt you again. Not on purpose.”

“I know,” she said. She was leaning into his space now. His eyebrows shot up, but he opened his arms to let her get closer.

When she kissed him, it felt like something clicked into place. Tentatively, his hands fell to her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in closer.

When they separated, she was practically in his lap. He expected her to pull back fully, but instead she settled herself there, arms draped loosely over his shoulders.

“Hi,” he said, looking more flustered than she’d ever seen him.

“Hi.” She smoothed a lock of his hair back into place. She expected him to object, but was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. “Just so you know, I know I don’t have to be scared of you. If it came to fight, I’d win.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He had a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I know so.”

“Wanna bet?”

She let out an undignified squeak as he tackled her to the floor.

Masterlists.

Taglist info.

[lakesbian]

@bestbutchbracket

Rationally I am aware that this bracket is Not That Serious. For fun, even.

This did not stop me from accidentally putting together an entire campaign video and essay for Lake. She's butch butch, in the way that was incredibly important for me to see on TV, and seeing her in the bracket made me legitimately really happy. I wanna share the butch Lake highlight reel with the participants who haven't heard of her before and don't have time for 1 1/2 hours of television over a Tumblr poll!

So I present to you all: An organized highlight reel (of lots but certainly not all) of Lake's Butch Moments, plus a bonus essay. The people should be properly informed about their candidate options before they vote!

She really does deserve a win, despite not being one of the "iconic" options. She's one of the best butch characters I have ever seen, and I'm damned picky about what I call butch representation. She's not just gender non-conforming--she's the main character of an entire season about her struggling against systematic oppression and asserting her right to exist no matter how many times she's told she's not a person. She faces police brutality, she faces dehumanization, she faces constant bias, she faces being systematically discriminated against in favor of a gender-conforming girl and a boy, she faces being told that she doesn't even exist, and every step of the way she defiantly asserts: I am a person, I am not the feminine girl you want me to be, and I am going to keep living no matter what.

And she's just so deeply butch even beyond the big sci-fi metaphor-driven narrative about oppression. She's cool, she's strong, she's kind and thoughtful but she doesn't take any shit. She loudly criticizes toxic masculinity. She's brave, she's scared, she's tough, she's silly, she's angry, she's loving, she's loud. She contains all the multitudes I recognize and love in other butches. She's the sturdy person her friend can lean on when he accidentally steps in mud and needs to lift a foot to shake it off. She blushes and stammers when a group of pretty girls compliment her buzzcut. She's got massive boots and a DIY'd tank top. She hates cops. She gives hugs that could break backs. She's eking out an existence in a world that explicitly doesn't want her.

Lake is honestly something special. Infinity Train was the only time I've ever gotten into a completely mainstream and fairly popular show and then, out of nowhere, received an entire season explicitly about someone like me living my experience. I know that Sailor Uranus and Mo and Jess Goldberg and all those characters are iconic, but I'd legitimately place Lake in the same tier as them in terms of quality of representation. I cried the first four times I rewatched her season because of how familiar it was. Infinity Train is a sci-fi show, but it's primarily about people being people, and its depiction of Lake's gender non-conformity (addressed primarily through a very literal sci-fi metaphor in which her being made of metal acts as a handy stand-in for gender non-conformity whenever her appearance is being discussed) is painfully, wonderfully, recognizably true to the butch experience. She's the bracket's baby butch--both a relatively newly made character and canonically young--and she deserves a win to welcome her into the ranks of famous butch characters.

C'mon, vote Lake so she can proudly show off her new crown to all the older, more famous butches in the poll. They'd be proud of her. After all the time she's canonically spent being unfairly stuffed into boxes, she deserves a little recognition for what she actually is: hands-down one of The Best Butches you can find in any media.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

i love having a fucked up gender. i'm a butch. i'm a twink. am i a woman? who knows. am i a man? good question. i'm a boygirl. i'm a girlguy. i'm masculine in the way an amateur drag king might accidentally fuck up his masculinizing contour because his hands are shaking from nerves. i'm feminine in the way a butch dyke might enjoy wearing her femme girlfriend's long skirts once or twice just to twirl around in it and feel like a princess for a few minutes. i wanna have a beard so i can wear makeup and not get immediately assumed to be a cis woman. i fucking love gender it's so weird

[possibilistfanfiction]

hello :) feel free to ignore if you're not taking prompts anymore but I can't stop thinking about bea and 'now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good'

[whoever sent this prompt a bazillion years ago, know i've been thinking abt it forever. sry it took this long but a sweet little cam pov, butch bea universe, post-canon]

//

'hey.' you're careful to make sure your footsteps, while soft, are audible, and that you don't move too quickly; beatrice hasn't been a nun for years now, but you're certain that, if you scared her in the middle of the night, she could have you on your back with a broken collarbone quicker than you can even blink.

as it is, though, she turns to you with a soft smile and then gazes out at the waves again, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms tight around them, chin resting atop. you're wrapped up in a thick blanket you'd taken from the foot of your bed — you know ava always makes sure it's in your favorite of their guest bedrooms whenever you plan to visit — and beatrice is in a soft sweater, a beanie pulled down to sit just above her ears.

it's the middle of the night and dark by the sea, but the lights from the city, perpetual and unrelenting and hopeful, create an ambient haze.

'all right?' she asks quietly.

'oh, yeah,' you say. 'just jetlagged.'

she hums, not uncurling, still not looking at you. her posture is easy, albeit a little sad, a little small, but she's not tense; you know your company is welcome.

'are you okay?'

she seems to weigh her answer. 'i couldn't sleep.'

you don't have to ask more to understand: you're the one who found her at the arc, sitting stone-still; you're the one who held her, hours later, as she had a panic attack that seemed to roll on and on in waves; you're the one who quietly kept tabs on her in the eight months ava was missing as she waded through the world steeped in tangible grief. you know every detail of her recent injuries, her recovery progress months later. you have your own nightmares too.

'ava's okay?'

you know he is; beatrice wouldn't be skulking away at 3 am on the beach outside of their house if he wasn't. still, it gets her to smile. 'fast asleep, taking up three quarters of the bed. korra is taking up the rest of it.'

you smile; korra has a habit of cuddling with you when she's off-duty and you're visiting, but you know if beatrice leaves ava's side, korra is immediately there, even if it's just to sleep.

'is your leg bothering you?'

it gets beatrice to unfurl, just a little, and stretch her left leg out along the sand. you'd gone running with her the day before, easy along the water, and she hadn't shown any signs of soreness, but you know sometimes, especially if there's going to be rain, her hip aches. 'no,' she says, 'it's okay.' she lets out a deep breath. 'i'm okay.'

you nod; you know well enough by now to not press the issue. you've seen so many people you love — ava and beatrice included — injured, in pain; some people you have loved have died, and there was nothing you could do to save them. it is not an easy life, to save the world.

you let the waves roll in and out peacefully. beatrice is your big sister, has been for years and years now. eventually, she sighs and turns to you, fiddling with the engagement band on her left ring finger, a marker of one of your favorite joys. 'do you really think i'm — ava wants to marry me.'

ava, since, like, four days into knowing beatrice, has been in love with her, you're pretty sure, and they've been together for years, have built a life and won a holy war and built a life again — so of course ava wants to marry her. but, still, 'yeah,' you say. 'she does.'

beatrice shakes her head, like she can't quite believe it. on bad nights, maybe she can't.

'bea.'

she twists the band around her finger, then takes her beanie off and runs a hand through her short hair. you scoot closer to her and bump her shoulder with yours and wait for her to look at you. 'ava is just — he's been through so much. he's hurt, so much. and he deserves to have the most beautiful life.'

'that's true,' you say, because it is, in every way. but, 'in what world is that life not spent loving you?' you're sure beatrice has made up a million reasons why it isn't true, some nonsense about her not being patient enough, not being kind enough, not being sure enough about who she is, not being free enough to want things, not being excellent or extraordinary enough. 'listen, i was rooting for you ages and ages ago, okay? i meddled as best i could.'

it takes a second, and it's watery with unshed tears, but beatrice laughs quietly. 'i do remember that.'

'bea, you have to know by now, right?'

you watch her jaw clench; sometimes love, especially ava's love, so generous and so bright, is hard to swallow, is even harder to stomach.

'you don't have to be perfect. you just have to be good.' you touch the ring on her finger and than lace yours with hers. 'and you are so, so good.'

you're definitely not surprised to see her sniffle and wipe below her eyes. she steadies herself after a few seconds, but not in a way that makes you ache. instead, she puts her beanie back on and finally turns to you with a smile. 'thank you, camila.'

'no need,' you say. 'you love us all so well, every day.'

her eyes are soft. 'i try.'

you squeeze her hand.

'tomorrow morning,' she says, 'you have to act surprised, because ava has this big brunch planned so we can ask you extravagantly.'

'go on, i'm loving the concept so far.'

'will you officiate our wedding?'

it's maybe, or, like, definitely, the best question anyone has ever asked you. 'are you kidding? of course.'

'you're sure? it's — it's a gay wedding, and you're technically still clergy, and —'

you roll your eyes and, for good measure, elbow her in the ribs. 'you're out of your mind if you think i care about any of that, let alone believe it. you're my favorite couple. also, we've been to like twelve drag brunches together? i've told you multiple times i think ayo edebiri is hot.'

'well, i just —'

'it would be the greatest honor of my life, beatrice.'

she hugs you, tight, and the next morning you do let ava order an extravagant amount of food and then ask you again; you pretend to be surprised and he sees right through you, playfully huffs at beatrice but then just whoops and hugs you anyway when you obviously agree. it's easy, to bask in her light, in their love. at their wedding, in front of the same ocean, on the same sand, as you hold beatrice's childhood bible with its careful notes and occasional doodles and recite love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres; love never fails; as bea cries the entire time in a perfectly tailored suit and ava, in her wispy dress, gossamer and lace, laughs and wipes her tears — it's easy to know that this is what god meant. a union, steadfast, devoted, faithful, you say; a holiness worthy of the divine.

[mysticfemme]

Thinking about waking up to my butch easing his fingers into me, fucking me softly at first and speeding up as I start to whimper and moan. Having to bury my face in his chest because it feels so good I can barely stop myself from how loud I'm getting. He'd whisper soft praises in my ear, all whilst pounding his fingers against my g spot.

I'd whimper and whine at him, trying to tell him what I needed but unable to form a coherent sentence. He would smirk at my desperation but still recognise what I needed and start to move down my body, kissing my chest, my stomach, my thighs, before pushing my legs apart. His fingers still pressing right where I need them, one gentle stroke of his tongue against my clit would make me scream, sending me close to the edge.

I'd be begging for more, barely coherent with how close I am. Each stroke of his tongue feeling like heaven on earth. His lips, wrapped around my clit and sucking like his life depended on it would send me over the edge. My legs shaking and my hands gripping his hair as I screamed, moaning his name repeatedly. I'd lose track of time with how long my orgasm was, collapsing underneath my butch as he moved back up the bed to kiss me on the forehead and scoop me up into his arms.

men dni

[docholligay]

Ichigo has the right idea. All food should be meticulously categorized by how feminine or masculine in aspect it is.

Absolutely. How am I supposed to order something if I'm not sure how feminine or masculine it is? What sort of approach to culinary gender am I taking here? It's a difficult task, though, and I will start the ball rolling:

Ice cream: Cold. Determined. A river of sweetness within. Delicious once melted in warmth and safety. Masculine, but in the way your Navy SEAL butch gf is.

Cake: Beauty and grace, delicacy and polish, and only the cook knows that hours of whipping eggs and beating butter made that possible, covered in frosting that will hold up under pressure and heat. Definitely High Femme.

Canned wine: This is a real man's drink.

Champagne: Feminine, obviously.

Salad: Requires so much violent cutting and chopping to make, leaves hand torn, forcing oil and vinegar together with a forceful shake this is basically war against god and nature in a bowl, absolutely masculine, the Napoleon Bonaparte of foods.

Steak: Delicate attention to detail and a subtle approach to the application of heat and seasoning both are necessary to not damage the meat. Little is added to it--this is a product of gentleness and subtlety, despite the flavorful outcome. Verdict: This is the ideal 50s housewife of foods. Such hard word to appear so beautiful and effortless. Absolutely feminine.