#barefoot famous men

[prgayfootluvr77]

Manuel Turizo

IG: @manuelturizo

[iwriteyanderes2023]

Yandere Socialite (Fem! Yandere x Fem! Reader)

Divider credits: @/anitalenia

Trigger warning: Violence, drama between friends, profanity usage, yandere themes, name-calling, sexual harassment, power abuse. Choking, pet play, humiliation, drugging, sexual scenes, bondage play, female on female

(8941 words)

You regretted agreeing to this.

Your friends were raving about this massive party, where all the hottest celebrities and the wealthy go to flaunt or make a fool out of themselves. Obviously, it was an exclusive event, no mere commoners could simply walk in. To enter, it's either paying an extravagant fee or be (in)famous enough. Which, you were neither.

They claimed to know how to sneak in, undetected by the burly bouncers that you would rather not be the receiving end of their anger. It made sense to have some tight security, it is taking place in someone's mansion; someone's home, after all.

You, being new in this city and desperate to make connections to you could advance your career, said yes. You stupidly said yes, put on your best clubbing outfit and makeup, and went through with your friend's plan to slip in through one of the back doors while the other distracted whoever was around to hinder the plans.

Which leads you to be lost in a seemingly unending maze of hallways, you don't know where the other girls went and you don't know where you are. There wasn't a single soul wandering around the carpeted floor and chandeliered ceilings. Elegant paintings of men and women in dignified poses seem to peer at you in disgust; a filthy commoner dressed like a tramp. You didn't belong here, and it's only a matter of time before you were thrown into jail thanks to the recorded footage from the surveillance cameras you're sure were pointed at you.

You covered your arms with your hands as you moved onward, cussing under your breath about how silly it was to wear a ridiculously tall heel. It's already giving you blisters, so you decide to take them off and walk barefoot; silently and dryly sobbing about how humiliating this feels.

You continued trundling on, periodically looking back and trying to see where the life of the party is at so you could at least witness how it's like. Perhaps make a few connections, but you think that's unlikely. Most of them are probably drunk out of their mind or high off coke to care.

Actually, what are you even doing here? You're supposed to be networking at a classy, evening soiree, not a rich boy's messy party!

Before you could sigh again, you were interrupted by the sounds of yelling in a room nearby.

"Get off me, fucker!" You heard an enraged feminine voice shout out before the sounds of crashing reached your ears. Groaning could be heard as you assume the other party was shuffling to get up.

"You fucking bitch!" Retorted a masculine voice, followed by more stumbling. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"We're over. Get the fuck out of my sight!" She yelled, but it doesn't sound like she was too hurt over it. It's more anger if anything.

"What...? Just like that?! After everything that I've done-"

"All you did was embarrass me over and over again! Like, does it kill you to take a shower? Does it kill you not to be an entitled, gross loser all the time?"

You inched closer to the door and discreetly poked your head in. You saw the back of a woman with the most gorgeous blond hair draping down to her tailbone. She's wearing a silver sequin dress that barely covers the fold of her bum.

The male, slightly drunk and injured from the shove with debris around him, was glaring at the blonde.

"Shut up, slut! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't get to live like this!" He threateningly pointed at her, but she didn't budge.

"Oh? You mean that monthly allowance of fifty bucks from you? Please, I pick up my dogs' crap with it. That's how worthless you are to me, I'm only tolerating you because I'm doing your mommy a favour." She fought back, her words enraged the man even further.

"You can forget the deal our families had! I'll make sure the Maciovelli name goes to shit, you will be living on the streets before you know it!" He yelled right in front of her face, getting up close and personal; and having his stray spit hit her. She merely wiped them away.

"Ugh, you're insufferable. Whatever, I'd like to see you try, bitch." She hissed before shoving him away again.

But this proved to be a dangerous move, as it provoked the man to lunge and swing his arm at her. Luckily though, it seems she has predicted it and dodged his attack on time.

You had to do something! And so, you looked around as the pair went on to physically fight. Though, it's more like she's doing all the defense while he does the offense. Sometimes blocking his hits with her red handbag.

There is a vase nearby, decorated with intricate, hand-painted flowers. Without thinking, you picked it up and chucked it at the man. The antiquity of that piece of art be damned, that woman is in danger and you have to do something to help her!

She visibly jolted when it flew past some strands of gold and crashed onto her assailant's head, spraying shards everywhere and making small cuts on her legs. He was thrown backward and rendered unconscious almost immediately.

The woman whipped her head back to see the source of it, staring at you with wide, baby-blue eyes. You stared back at her breathtakingly stunning face; she had thin, sharp brown eyebrows that accentuated her fox-like eyes. Long, black eyelashes framed her iris as smokey makeup made her eyes look much bigger and lively. Her lips were glossy and in a shade of pastel pink, with a dusting of sparkly glitter.

You stammered, not knowing what to do or say. You're not even supposed to be here. So you remained silent as you and her continued this staring contest, the woman's eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe.

She began walking towards you, her heels menacingly clicking against the marbled floor of that room. You felt a surge of panic course through you, so you took a few steps back.

Only to be grabbed by the shoulder by someone else behind you. Chills ran down your spine when you heard the familiar sound of a walkie-talkie beeping. "I found one of the trespassers."

You started panicking even more, speaking erratically to try and defend your case. But the security officer wouldn't hear it, instead restraining you and pulling you away from the scene. You thrashed and screamed, not wanting to get caught and end your life as soon as it started. "I need backup!" Shouted the guard into his device as he tried to wrangle you into his grip.

You shouldn't have agreed to them, look what it has gotten you into. Your life is so over, you're going to be shoved into a jail cell and forced to move back to where you came from. If only you could-

"Hey, you fatass!" You saw her red, crescent handbag whack the officer in the arm, he flinched in surprise. "Hands off my best friend! And who the fuck do you think you are, calling her a trespasser!?"

A look of surprise crosses his face. "Miss Maciovelli? She's with you?" The officer took a look at you, there wasn't an aura of money emanating from you, not like how the woman was.

You looked back at the woman, now putting her hands on her hips. An irate expression adorns her face, "Um, yeah? I just said it, are you fucking slow? Let her go right now!" She demanded, raising the volume of her voice as her patience was running thin.

He sighed and released his hold on you. The man brought his walkie-talkie up to his mouth and said that it was a false alarm and that there wasn't a need for more of them to come over. They should focus on finding the rest of the intruders, which you can guess that they were referring to your friends.

"I'm sorry, Miss Maciovelli-"

"Yeah, you better be." She spat as she hooked her arm around yours. "Insulting my girl like that- why don't you all actually do your jobs and kick the real troublemakers out? Like that pig there, taking a nap on the floor. He tried to hit me and my best friend!" The blonde pointed her ivory-white acrylic nail to her bleeding ex, who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness.

His eyes widened as he seemed to recognize the waking man. "O-oh! That's-!"

Before he could finish his sentence, the woman dragged you away from the scene. Pushing you by the shoulders and pulling you by the hand. You looked behind you to see the security guard entering the room while frantically speaking into his walkie-talkie.

"You're new. What's your name?" You were snapped out of your frazzled trance when she spoke. Her pace was slowing into a leisurely walk when she deemed it safe enough. The blonde's arm was still linked around yours, though.

Her baby blues curiously stared at you, all that malice and rage she held earlier was gone. Replaced with friendliness with a bit of wariness.

You told her your name and stumbled over your words trying to explain your situation as fast as possible. You made sure to thank her for saving you.

"Your friends are gross for abandoning you like that." She scowled. "I hate fake bitches like them, they should like, get shot in the head or something."

Your mouth gape open at her extreme remarks. Is this how socialites usually talk?

You defended your friends, telling her that they didn't abandon you. They probably just lost you as everyone scrambled to hide from security.

"Yeah, you're definitely new here. They knew what they were doing. You came with five others, at least one should be hiding from security with you." She brought you into a grandiose bathroom. The blonde finally lets you go and approaches the vanity. "Those sluts used you."

Miss Maciovelli pulled a tube of lip gloss from her mini handbag and began doing touchups. You simply watched her, not knowing what to say. Well, you should have seen it coming. Big city dwellers are known to be cutthroat, and you just met them.

"Sorry babe, but that's the reality here." She smacked her lip and wiped away any imperfections with her thumb.

You scratched the back of your head. You asked her if she could show you the exit, it's been a long night and you want to go home.

"You don't wanna stay for a little?" She asked, turning to you. "You're hot, I'm sure you'll have fun. I'll get rid of those snakes for you, if that's what's holding you back."

You shook your head, feeling exhausted after everything you went through today. You asked her if she's going back to the party, wherever that may be in this mansion.

"Duh." She bobbed her head.

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Until she decided to fish her phone out.

"Number." She extended her hand and brought her phone, numpad side to you.

You picked it up and entered your phone number. It's saved under your name, but you doubt that she will remember you after today.

"Oh, so that's how you spell it." She mumbled, looking at the contact name.

You watch her keep her device away before fixing her hair in the mirror again. She used a nail to adjust her eyelashes.

"Okay, let's go." She linked her arm around yours again, escorting you out of the bathroom.

You and she walked past numerous rooms and halls, some had excited shouts coming from them, some had salacious moaning and some had loud booming music. When you were nearing the core of the alcohol-fueled rave, the noise from massive speakers was nearly unbearable. You even had to cover your ears in order not to blow your drums out. But the woman didn't even flinch, she continued strutting along with you in tow.

You saw men and women feverishly dancing along to the beat, the surroundings were dark and illuminated by colorful strobe lights. Good thing you weren't epileptic.

"Heyy..."

You turned your head to see one of your friends. She's wasted beyond belief. "You... you made it! C'mere, I want you to meet-"

"Fuck off, whore!" Barked Miss Maciovelli, she yanked you along with her. Ignoring the expletives coming out from your friend's slurring mouth.

You asked if that was really necessary.

"Yep. They won't get the hint if you're this nice." She answered. "They'll keep trying until you're dragged down to their level. Don't ever disrespect yourself like that." She sternly warned you.

All you could do was nod meekly.

Eventually, you reached the exit. It's as grand and fancy as it was on the inside. You see a massive water fountain in the middle of a looped road. Yet, no cars could be seen but there were hoards of security milling around.

"Wait here." She left you on the marble steps as she approached a uniformed staff member. You watched them exchange some words before she marched back to you.

You thought that this was the end of your meeting with her. So you told her thanks and bid her goodbye while referring to her as Miss Maciovelli. She scrunched her nose up in disgust.

"Ew. That's so fake. Don't call me that." She crosses her arms over her chest, and you can see pale tan lines on her skin.

You asked what you should call her instead.

"Mercedes." She replied immediately. "You know, the car."

You told her that it's a beautiful name. She smiled and flipped her hair.

You told her that you better get going, it's late. Mercedes narrowed her eyes at you and grabbed your wrist.

"And how are you going to do that? It's an hour's drive from here to the city."

You said you were going to take the bus, that's how you got here in the first place. Worst come to worst, you would call a cab.

She shook her head defiantly.

"I'm driving you home, no way am I trusting those weirdos to bring you anywhere."

You told her that you would be fine and that you didn't want to be a hassle. To that, she rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, shut up." Mercedes punched your arm playfully.

A hot pink convertible then rolled up in front of the two of you. Its headlights are heart-shaped, you thought it was cute. "Miss Maciovelli?" Said the parking Valet.

"C'mon, don't be difficult." She urged you to get in through the passenger's side.

"This is your place?" She asked with a tone of incredulity. "Looks... plain."

You wouldn't call it plain. It's small but cozy. It's also all you can afford at the moment with your job, that's why you were planning to network around to get better opportunities.

"Hm." She hummed, releasing her grip on her pink, fluffy steering wheel to fix her hair.

You got out of her car and said goodbye. She didn't say a word but watched you get to the front door.

You look behind you to see her staring, so you wave bye. But she neither budged nor returned the gesture. Simply staring at you like a hawk. Feeling a bit creeped out, you went into the lobby.

Only then did she drive away. What a strange woman.

You sighed and trudged to the lift, pressing the button and resting your forehead on the cold, metallic panel. Well. There goes your only contacts in the city, they're all not good for you.

You didn't even get to know Mercedes's number, so until she texts you first, you're completely alone.

The lift opened to reveal no one. As usual. You don't think you've seen your neighbors yet, thinking they're either avoiding you, extremely busy, or extremely reclusive. Or living in an entirely different timezone.

When you reached your room, you decided to boot up your computer. While waiting for it to be functional, you did something else; preparing the things you need for a relaxing bath and boiling some water for tonight's five-star dinner: instant noodles.

You spent the night researching Mercedes, only searching her first name predictably bringing up results of the luxury car brand with the same name. But as soon as you searched for Mercedes Maciovelli, you began learning a lot about her.

She is the heiress of a very successful, multi-billion conglomerate company. Her family owns more businesses than you can count in two hands, they're also huge and famous companies. Banks, grocery stores, and even planes. It's scary how her family possesses this much power. That was such a silly thing for her ex to say, that if it wasn't for him, she would have been in poverty. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.

However, she is no stranger to paparazzi as she frequently mingles with high-profile celebrities, gets into physical altercations, and goes wild in nightclubs. She is nothing like what was expected of her as someone who grew up in "old money". She's associated with words like "bitchy", "fiesty", "trashy" and "Messy". Whereas her peers barely have any information available about them online, they stay out of trouble and act too elegant for the paparazzi and tabloids to take any interest.

The most interesting bit about Mercedes was her dating life. Your eyes bulged out of your skull, seeing the seemingly unending list of boyfriends she had over the years. It's almost like she has a new one every month, but there are never repeats. Articles, gossip pieces, and smear forums about Mercedes are just so prevalent, that you think you're getting a cramp on your finger by just scrolling your mouse.

In the end, you're sick of seeing the public bash the blonde. It gets old and you're becoming tired. Perhaps aging has already caught up to you, but you cannot stay up past 12.

You decided to shut your computer off and head to bed.

It's been a few days since that party. Your "friends" kept texting you, trying to get you to join one more of their trespassing escapades. You gave them excuses upon excuses because you're not interested in such a lifestyle.

"Aw, don't be such a lame-o," Drawled one of the girls as she shook your shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun! You had fun!"

The other girls continued egging you on in this expensive cafe. You were already uncomfortable meeting them here, as you can barely afford the cheapest of their pastries. At least the ambiance looks amazing in photos. If only you owned a digital camera...

You let out a nervous chuckle as you tried to decline as much as you could without offending them.

"There's another one tonight! You should totally come with us, I got like, the routes and everything already!"

"Yeah, think of the cute guys that's going to be there!"

"OMG, I heard Retro Rhymes are going to be there!"

"Really!? The rapper!?"

You sighed as they chatted amongst themselves. You silently picked at your muffin with your fork, that was the cheapest thing on the menu and the price was enough to give you eight of these back home.

Eventually, they must have forgotten your existence. Because they continued talking until they left the building. Not saying a bye or sparing a glance in your direction. Leaving you to sit at your table alone and brooding.

Well. You shouldn't expect much when it comes to friendships here. Many people come to the city solely to make money and have fun, after all. Not so much finding true, lifelong connections.

You took a sip of your black coffee. Again, the cheapest thing you could get from there. You couldn't even afford sugar or milk with it.

Suddenly, a manicured hand slammed a cup onto your table, shocking you and making you accidentally spill some of your drink onto your blouse.

"You should try this, it's so good. Way better than your boring-ass black coffee, I bet." You recovered from your initial shock to crane your head up to see Mercedes staring down at you from above, her soft, golden hair falling to your face.

You greeted her, asking what she was doing here.

"I could ask the same of you, seeing that you're pretty broke. But I saw how you still hung out with those sluts even after I told you not to." She cocked an eyebrow as an unimpressed look crossed her face.

Today, she wears a simple, lacey crop top and a pair of low waisted jeans. You got to know that she had her belly button pierced.

You sighed once more, burying your face in your hands. You told her you don't have a choice, it's a cold world out here and you need someone to fulfill that human need for socialization. Now that you have calmed down, you decided to take a better look at the drink she gave you.

It's a tall, plastic cup with a dome cover. It's an ice-blended, creamy mocha with chocolate syrup drizzled on the sides of the cup. It has a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top and a thick straw is sticking out of its opening.

"Um, hello? You have me." She moved away from you and took a seat next to you, she ordered the same thing. Mercedes shook it around before taking a sip. "You don't need them anymore, I'll be showing you the ropes."

You thought about it for a while. There is definitely a non zero chance that she will play you like a fiddle, but it's much better to have someone high up there in the hierarchy. Even though she isn't necessarily a mature businesswoman yet, you would still have a better chance to brush shoulders with relevant people. Not... Partygoers.

So then, you agreed. Picking up your cup and taking your first sip.

It was tooth-rotting. It was good, but you knew if it wasn't for sugar, this cup would not even be filled to half. The sheer sweetness of the treat made you grimace and pucker.

"What? Don't like it?" She asked, looking bored.

You said it was nice, but a bit too sweet.

"That's the point. I like it sweet." She took another sip from her drink. "Keeps me full for hours."

You... Don't think that's how it works. Isn't it usually the opposite effect? Whatever.

For the next few hours, you and her chat about almost everything and anything. Ranging from each other's histories, to each other's interests, to oddly philosophical questions and personal views on things. There were quite a few differences between you and Mercedes- obviously so, as she was raised by the uber rich and you were raised by... Your guardians, but you liked how she kept her mind open and was non-judgemental about you.

It was refreshing, really. Someone you could somewhat be real with, unlike your previous set of friends where you had to put on the most guarded mask in order not to feel like a pathetic lowlife around them.

You were curious about her dating habits, but you think it's rude to ask about it this early on in the friendship. Plus, it never came up, so you decided to save that question for another day. You bet if she's willing to open up, it will take more than just a few hours.

It's getting late, you should leave.

So you stood up, secretly in disbelief at how you finished the entire thing of diabetes. You told Mercedes that you have work tomorrow and you're going to need to leave soon.

She frowned. "Boo. Boring."

You said that you have to be "boring", you don't have her type of money.

"And it's literally just six in the evening. It's not like it's six in the morning or something." She huffed.

You said you have been in this cafe for seven hours.

"They don't close til 10."

Still, you have to get back home. You're tired.

She stuck her tongue out at you.

"Fine. But I'm driving you home."

You said there isn't a need for her to do that, you could take the bus.

"Let's go, you need your beauty sleep." She ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you along with her so quickly that you struggled to keep up.

Weeks would go by and you would meet Mercedes every Sunday in a different cafe of her choosing. And these meetings would increase in frequency each week, to a point where you were eating all three meals with her daily. She would always foot the bill and refused to let you pay for anything, talking about how you're so poor, that you're probably fighting rats for the scraps at the bottom of the dumpster. It's an absolute win for you; no cooking involved and you haven't eaten instant noodles for months now.

The five girls you originally started off with seem to lose interest in you, they never texted or called you again. And when you did bump into any of them, they would pretend not to know you.

It's extremely obvious that they're avoiding you for some reason, maybe it's because they've seen you buddying up with Mercedes: one of their sworn enemies and one of the most feared figures in this city.

It's... Surprisingly sad. Knowing that the friendship was doomed from the beginning didn't change the feeling of isolation and hurt in you. But at least you gained something that resembled a friend.

Mercedes would gradually increase the frequency of her texts and calls, hitting you up whenever she's bored out of her mind.

"Stop working letz go shopping"

"U r SO going blind in ur 30s"

"nerd :-P"

"im boreddddddddddddd"

"go clubbing with moiiii"

"letzzz goooo"

"stop ignoring me :-("

These were just some of the few text messages you would frequently receive, blowing up your phone even when you're in a meeting. You would usually need to turn it off entirely to keep yourself quiet.

But yes, you would go shopping with her. Mercedes seem to have a kick out of spoiling you with clothes, jewelry and other things you can only dream to buy.

You didn't like trying on clothes, because Mercedes would barge into your changing room however and whenever she liked.

"What's the big deal? We're both girls." That was what Mercedes would say when she slips into the cubicle, while you're mid-change without any warning. Of course, you would react negatively to that, especially since you don't know her that well.

In the end, though, you would just give up and let her come in. It's not like you could stop her and she isn't doing anything too weird... Aside from her vaguely longing stares at your partially or completely unclothed body. She would almost be in a trance, staring unblinkingly for long periods of time until you snap your fingers in front of her face. She just claims that you're just too hot for anyone to handle.

Mercedes would contact you via your phone, asking if you would want to go clubbing with her, or if you would want to be her plus one to an event. And each time, you would say no. And each time, she would whine about how lame you are but never pushed too far.

A temporary boyfriend would take your place, only for her to break up with them the next day and appear in another tabloid for some scandalous fighting or dating. When you asked her about it, she would get moody and irritable. She would rant about her feelings and problems with the world at large, finding the dating pool now repulsive and general standards insanely low.

"Ugh! Can you believe that he said that to me?"

You would have to nod, it would end her ranting faster. It's always the same phrase over and over again, with slight variation.

"I wish men were just like you, I would find it so fucking easy to commit to a guy. But they're not, so I rather shit my hands and clap. Oh my god, he was so pathetic and gross."

You could recite her words at this point, you got it the first time that she wishes she could date a male version of you. Mercedes didn't have to repeat that every single time you and her met up.

For her sake and yours, you pray hard that she finds what she's looking for. You don't know how much more of her repetitive complaints you can take.

All your other attempts to network and make connections fail. As soon as any of them knew you were Mercedes's "bestie", they would either run for the hills or become actively hostile toward you. She has made a lot of enemies and you don't think she has any girlfriends... Only orbiters or those who tried to get her approval but secretly hated her guts. Or die-hard fans who don't see her as a human, but as an object, whether for better or for worse.

She kept them around, just because she could benefit from them. Mercedes would bring them along to some of your many shopping sprees with her just so they could carry heaps of heavy bags for the two of you. While you and her get to enjoy the day, completely unburdened.

It unsettled you how she treated them like lowly servants, or even more degradingly so, like dogs. And not like one of her spoiled Pomeranians, but mutts that are bred to work and live off scraps of attention. You could be having a spa day at the city's finest specialist, sipping on complimentary champagne, and having your hair done with products that you cannot even pronounce; Mercedes would make her lackeys wait outside. Yet, they appear happy about this treatment from her. Eagerly following Mercedes and by extension, you, wherever you go.

It didn't matter who you tried to befriend, Mercedes's opinion of them would remain constant: They're all two-faced liars who are out there to kick you when you're down. It never changed despite never even meeting them or you made them up. She's fiercely protective of you, and always assumed the worst of everyone, even her own relatives when they tried being cordial with you.

Of course, the friendship has blossomed to the point where you would have a slumber party at her multi-million mansion every Friday. You wouldn't even need to bring anything, she would have everything ready for you; clothes, toiletries, hairdryers- anything you need to survive from day to day, you would have a more luxurious version of it. She definitely has an affinity for bling, as the tops that Mercedes provides always have rhinestones decorating them.

You were living in opulence, a lifestyle that can only be seen on TV, in magazines, or in history books. It's jarring and almost dreamlike how you got to experience such things just by chance. You didn't have to work hard for it, you just need to endure a spoiled blonde's clinginess to receive all these. What a steal. You had maids and butlers that would await your every order, personal chefs to whip up something delicious in a second, and hunky pool boys to ogle at when you tan with her outside.

You just wished that Mercedes wasn't so touchy, though...

"Like, sunburn isn't cute. C'mon, don't be such a hardass, turnover." You would groan and do as you were told, laying flat on your stomach and adjusting your sunglasses. Mercedes would then squeeze a handful of white sunscreen on her palm, and begin rubbing onto your exposed back and legs.

She would always take her time running her hands over your skin, sensually massaging from the base of your neck and down to your bum. Her flesh would glide against yours, reaching all that she could touch and occasionally squeezing your cheeks down south. Whenever you complained, she would say:

"What? Not my fault you have a bubble butt. No one can resist giving a squeeze." And continues fondling you under the guise of preserving your youthful skin from the harsh sun rays. You would sigh, slumping your head down as Mercedes continued doing whatever she wanted. It's her house, her money, and her influence after all. You're just riding on it for free. And it's not like anything is going to be too weird, you and her are both girls!

"Okay, I'm done. My turn." She would hand you the bottle of sunscreen and flip herself over. It's undeniable that she has a body that even Aphrodite would be envious of, thanks to a combination of genetics, her lifestyle, and other procedures. Mercedes does put in work in her personal gym, toning her body and alluring men everywhere. Her bikini would leave very little to the imagination, but it made sense why she needed much more sunscreen.

"Make sure to get it on here too." She would purr, playfully wiggling her plump rear. This would usually prompt an eye roll from you and a giggle from her.

She's soft to the touch. And you knew that not because you would have to smear sunscreen on her, but because she would often cuddle with you. It didn't matter what you were doing, you could be stretching in her living room, and she would wrap her arms around your waist. You could be curled up on her fluffy sofa, watching a sitcom, and she would crawl up all over your space. You could be sleeping, and you would wake up to her being the big spoon. And she would have the audacity to whine about how you ruined her sleep by moving around.

But you must admit, she is comfortable to cuddle with. Especially when you rest your head on her voluptuous breasts, allowing yourself to sink into them and inhale her sweet, floral perfume. It would be heaven squared when she would rake her long, acrylic nails through your hair. Mercedes would let you twirl with her golden strands, playing with them between your fingers.

You think, maybe it's because she's just lonely and a big fan of physical touch. It must be exhausting to constantly think every single person in the world is out there to get you. But does she have to be so... gross?

"I just want it." Mercedes would whine, demanding that she wants your drink. You would ask her why, you also drank out of this straw anyway.

"I didn't like my order."

You pointed out that you ordered the same exact thing as her.

"They didn't make it right!"

You asked her what made her think they made yours right.

"They just do!"

You said it's just going to be the same thing. Why not throw hers away and order another one, seeing that she has near infinite amount of money?

She would groan in frustration and stomp her heels on the ground. "It tastes better after you drank from it, okay!? I don't know what it is about your... fucking saliva that makes something so mediocre, tastes so good. Now, gimme!" Mercedes would snatch it out of your hands and swapped it with her one.

You drank more than half of yours while Mercedes barely touched her cup. Well, more for you, you guess. At least everyone is happy.

This habit of hers would extend to utensils, you knew she would purposely drop her dessert spoon just to eat from yours. Mercedes would steal your clothes, claiming that your outfits are always cuter than hers, and she's jealous.

But she chose and bought you these clothes...?

You were so used to her antics, that one day, Mercedes gave you a new brand of gum to try. However, when it touches your tongue, you immediately grimaced as it was the most atrocious flavour ever.

"Whaatt? Are you fucking serious? That's like, my favourite flavour!" She would look at you in disbelief. And you would look at her in disbelief, because this was the first time seeing her buying this brand.

You told her that you wanted to spit it out, it's awful.

"Don't waste it!" She hit you on the arm. "Spit it in my mouth." Mercedes would part her lips wide and bring her face close to yours.

Without thinking, you expelled the partially chewed up candy into her orifice... which she gladly accepted and began chewing on it. Sucking whatever flavour that was left on, including your fluids.

"What are you talking about?" You could hear her obnoxious chews between words. "It tastes fine, you're so dramatic."

Upon realizing what you just did, you would shudder in disgust. Quickly walking away as if you're trying to run from the memory.

Soon after, Mercedes would permeate through every aspect of your life. It seems like she had a chat with her parents about offering you a job at one of their firms. A high standing one at that, too.

You obviously accepted it and resigned from your previous post. Now, THIS is what you're talking about. A prestigious job with unbelievable benefits and tasks that doesn't seem too hard for you to do. It's everything you wanted you achieve, ever since you arrived at the city.

Well, minus the fact that your bestie who got you this position would intrude your office every chance she gets and talk your ear off.

"Ughhh... this is so boring... Let's ditch this place and go somewhere fun." She would rest her head on your shoulder while shaking you by the arm.

You said you can't. You have work to do.

"Says who?"

You said your boss.

"Who's your boss?"

For the fifth time, you told her the name of your supervisor. But instead of complaining, she would storm out of your office. At first, you thought she would leave you alone, maybe she's tired of bugging you and got the hint that you're a responsible adult with adult jobs.

But, ten minutes later, she would be barrelling in with your boss in tow. She had him in a very unsavoury grip, her hands tightly clutching his sleeve.

"Tell her!" She demanded.

"Y-you're free to go. Someone else can cover for you."

Your eyes would widen, asking if this will affect your pay.

"Not at all. Don't worry, I will have this... agreement in writing. Please e-enjoy the rest of your day." He would then quickly excuse himself from the room, avoiding Mercedes's fiery glare.

You looked at her. How could she just do that?

"My Dad owns this company, duh. Anyways, less talk, more walk." She hooked her arm around yours and dragged you out of the office.

It's as if her father was paying you just to babysit his bratty, adult daughter. You barely get to do anything for the company! You don't even know what you were hired to do in the first place anymore.

It gets extremely suffocating being her best friend, you don't know anyone around except her. The staff in her mansion is always rotating, so you wouldn't see the same face twice. You barely remembered your supervisor's names, let alone any colleagues'. All your free time is robbed by Mercedes, she saturates every single second of your life. You don't remember not seeing Mercedes's pretty face on the daily, yet it's astonishing how she would get the paparazzi on her for constantly dating a new roster of boys each season and getting into catfights with other women. Where does she find the time to do that?

It's rubbing on you, now you begin to crave a boyfriend. A 'boy toy', as Mercedes would call it.

It shouldn't be too hard, you know that you're good-looking; you have the clothes, the hair, the makeup and you can always steal from your filthy rich best friend. Your bank account is a little chubbier now thanks to Mercedes. If you just put yourself out there, you're sure boys will flock to you.

But you shouldn't tell this to Mercedes, you get the vibe that she would be jealous that you're stealing the spotlight. You aren't trying to do at all, you're just curious to know what it's like to live like Mercedes for once.

So you had to do it secretly. You would always decline her requests to join her clubbing, preferring to favor sleep over drug-fuelled parties. But recently, you would cover up your eyebags with concealer just so you could introduce yourself to the market. It goes without saying, that you're not tagging along with Mercedes, you went on your own and told not a single soul.

And it was a success! You have never received so many free drinks from men before, you even witnessed some of them fighting over you, all physical and mock-macho. It was hilarious and flattering, but the other girls would avoid you like the plague and shoot you nasty looks your way. It's much worse than you expected it to feel, you feel... rejected, alienated, and ugly. Was this how Mercedes felt? Is that why she thinks all other women are out for her blood? Well, you understand it now. And some of the boys would be really creepy towards you, it doesn't feel so good on the soul knowing the people who defended you from those weirdos are also creeps themselves. They just wanted a piece of you as if you were just a slab of meat in a cage of hungry wolves.

Though, it would be a big, fat lie to say you didn't feel free. You felt the freedom that died on the day Mercedes took you under her wing. It tasted so sweet, you wanted more and more. You were so addicted, that you took illicit substances just to keep you awake for longer, to party until the sun rises.

You were leading a double life: As Mercedes's goody-two-shoes bestie in the day, a bad girl gone wild at night. Make out with whoever you want to, drinking as much as you want and shaking yourself to the beat of the music until you drop.

You knew Mercedes was suspecting something was up, but at this point, you give no shits. This is your life, and you get to live it.

It didn't last long, though.

There was one night in particular; you remembered that they had a massive disco ball in the middle of the ceiling, reflecting every ray coming out of the projector. It was deafening, the smell of booze and sweat nauseated you but you didn't notice. The DJ was bopping his head to the rhythm and scratching records using his fingertips. The patrons were doing their own thing, some were dancing like no tomorrow, some were locking lips and some were snorting lines. It was one of those types of parties, the one where you first met Mercedes. Except this time, you successfully snuck in without your ex-friends and finally found the core of the rave.

Your hair was frazzled and you had a few wardrobe malfunctions, but why should you be bothered by that? It's not like everyone around you were dignified at all, you blend in and that's all that matters to you.

The details were fuzzy, but you remembered wondering what it was like to make out with a woman instead. Men had pretty rough lips and they smelled like crap. Why not experiment? You're here anyways, and no one is going to recognize you- whatever happens in this mansion, stays in this mansion. Plus, you already have a willing participant next to you, who has been hitting on you all night.

Later in the dark, you became bold from a mix of alcohol and whatever glowing pill you took from a giddy stranger. You pulled her aside to somewhere secluded, the two of you were clearly hot and bothered, deeply eager to explore each other's bodies. Nothing else matters in this moment, other than to satisfy each other's needs.

She pulled you in by the neck, pressing her full lips against yours. And you were correct, it was soft, fragrant, and delicious. A thousand times better than kissing stinky boys. You closed your eyes and melted into her touch, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss. She's on top of you, straddling your hips and your hands are rubbing all over her body. The woman, who you didn't even know the name of, trailed kisses from your jaw down to your collarbones. Her slender fingers began to stray from your chin and roam downwards until it was dangerously close to the hem of your panties. You let out a muffled moan as she let her tongue taste every corner of your mouth, neither of you could speak. And neither of you wanted to, words weren't necessary.

However, your ecstasy was cut short when your lover was yanked backward. Confused, your eyes immediately shot open at the first taste of emptiness... only to witness something scaringly horrific.

"Fucking slut! How fucking dare you, how fucking dare you touch my girl!" Shrieked Mercedes as she had an iron grip on your lover's hair with one hand, and another was whaling on her non-stop. She was screaming in terror as your best friend inflicted as much damage as she could on her face. Scratches, punches, cuts, she had done it all. Mercedes pulled clumps of hair out from her victim's scalp and dodged every attempt of her to fight back. She was fast, fueled with the purest distillation of rage you have ever seen, mascara streaked down her face as she shouted until her voice was hoarse. Blood splattered onto her light-hued hair, her outfit was ruined and no doubt, a thousand dollars worth of acrylic nails were ripped from her nailbed as she threw brutal punches.

You panicked, trying to break the fight up but Mercedes was entirely immersed in anger that she didn't care that she lost her natural nails along with her false ones. She's also bleeding, scarlet painted her fingertips, knuckles, and up to her wrist as she went on tormenting your lover with more hits and pummels. At this rate, Mercedes might just kill her!

You attempted to restrain her, but she was too strong, easily overpowering you just so she could beat your lover to death. There was so much hatred simmering in her heart for this one stranger, this one woman you're sure she's never met. Why!? Why her!? Why would Mercedes attack her unprovoked!?

The fight, which was one-sided ended a few minutes later when your lover stopped moving and was covered in gruesome welts. Her eyes were swollen shut and there was blood pooling around her from her nostrils, scalp, and lips.

"You."

Growled Mercedes. She was breathing heavily and all her strands were out of place. Tears were flowing down her bloodshot eyes as she trembled.

You were speechless, you quivered in fear as you looked on. In the end, all you could mewl out was a meek "Why?"

This caused her to wail, scream, and sob. She brought her injured fingers to her head and gripped her hair, letting out all her frustrations and agony before composing herself enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Fuck you, Whore! Fuck you!" She pointed at you, her shrill voice was making your ears hurt, but you're glad she wasn't biting them off instead.

You said you didn't understand what was going on, why was she so upset.

"You were into girls all along! I-I-" She sniffled, ungracefully wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Soiling her face with her own blood.

"I'm... in love with you..." Her voice quietened as it wavers, Mercedes choked on her own tears as she confessed. "Why didn't you tell me...?" She gasped erratically as she cried. Suddenly, there was a spike in her emotions. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?!"

You took a few more steps backward as she lost control over herself again, she had to kick your already unconscious lover with her heels to calm herself down.

"I wanted you! I..." She let out one last bloodcurdling scream before lunging at you.

You tried evading her, but she was just too experienced in this. Within seconds, her hands are tightly wrapped around your neck; Choking them until blood rushes up your head. You clawed and clawed on her hands, but nothing worked. She was determined to kill you.

She gnashed her teeth as she choked the life out of you, her salty tears rolled down her cheeks, taking some concealer along with it showing that she also had severe dark bags under her eyes.

You started seeing spots, and your thinking became redundant as your brain shuts down from the lack of oxygen. Is this it? Your death? Killed by a nepotism baby with her bare hands?

You took one last look at her face, it was filled with pain and anguish.

You regretted agreeing to come to the city.

She was yearning for you, ever since she bought you that first drink. If you knew the depth of her twisted, obsessive love she harbors for you, running for the hills would have been your immediate reaction.

Mercedes cried herself to sleep almost every night, suffering from a heartache that could never heal itself as long as she knew you were straight. She knew that you would never share her feelings, because she was taught that everyone sees lesbians as freaks of nature.

She tried distracting herself with parties, boys, booze, and coke. But nothing worked, all she ever thought about was you, you, you. She loves you and wanted nothing but to be your lovely wedded wife. Oh, how she longs for a life where it's just you and her. And no one else.

Mercedes couldn't let you go, no way in hell. That's why she would scare off anyone who got too close to you for her liking, that's why she sent out hit after hit to eliminate the competition. Because if she can't have you, no one can.

But now...

"Sit."

You frowned, refusing to budge from your spot.

Mercedes pouted, she cupped your cheeks and stared deep into your eyes.

"Bad puppies don't get treats, you don't want to be a bad puppy, do you, baby?" She cooed in a babyish tone but with heavy condescension.

You couldn't speak, because there was a ballgag between your lips. Yet, you stayed still in defiance.

She narrowed her eyes at your disobedience.

"That's how you're gonna be, huh." Mercedes lets go of your face and sticks her hand into the pocket of her bathrobe. You heard a click, and soon you felt insane vibrations between your legs, it's coming from the vibe taped to your clit!

You let out a muffled yelp as the stimulation made you buckle to your knees, and eventually, you were on the floor, helpless as your hands were tied up behind your back. Juices leaked from your slit and onto the cold, smooth floors.

"Good girl~" She praised in a sing-song voice. Mercedes happily clapped her hands together.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you were about to be overcome by pleasure, but... the device suddenly stopped moving. Leaving you incomplete and agitated.

You whined and whimpered, wanting your rightful climax but Mercedes only smiled at your pathetic, squirming state.

"Aww, what's that? Puppy wants to cum?" You feverishly nodded, face burning from the degradation.

"Well, only good puppies get their pussy eaten. Are you a good puppy?" She rested her hands on her knees.

You nodded and let out a muffled yell.

"Roll over."

You tried your best to do that, but the frigid floor is stimulating you further.

"Play dead."

You lay still for a few seconds, your sex is still throbbing in arousal.

"Good girl, good girl!" She praised, giggling at you.

You whimpered, having tears bead from the corners of your eyes. You need that release so badly, it's starting to hurt.

"Mmm... you're so fucking hot..." She whispered as she slowly got down to the floor, slipping her hands between your inner thighs to remove the toy. Her pupils are dilating at the sight of your naked, dripping crotch. "I can't wait to eat you out. You always taste so fucking delicious." Mercedes brushed your puffy lips with her fingers.

"Open your legs."

She didn't have to tell you twice, you granted her full access.

"Good girl..." She purred before dipping her head down to drag her wet, pink muscle over your pussy.

You writhe as she tongue fucks you, lapping up everything and not letting a drop of your sweet, sweet nectar go to waste.

You would spend almost every waking second being 'trained' by Mercedes. Her treats are sex and the overstimulation of your pussy until you faint. You never knew that she was such a nymphomaniac, or maybe she just is that for you. Mercedes just couldn't get enough of your essence, so you're subjected to such treatment.

Well, at least you don't have to work anymore. You get to eat five-star meals and sleep in a mansion, and you get to binge-watch all your favorite shows guilt-free. All you had to be was Mercedes's pet and have her eat you out whenever she wants.

Her beloved Pillow Princess; was embossed in gold, on the hot pink collar around your neck.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Jane Fonda (Barbarella, Sunday in New York, Barefoot in the Park)—Feminist icon, LGBTQ+ rights activist since the 70s, Civil Rights and Native American rights advocate, environmentalist… she really is THE woman ever

Rita Hayworth (Gilda, Cover Girl)—Absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. She steals every movie she’s in; she was Fred Astaire’s favorite dance partner, as you can see in clips from their movies [link][link]. Born Margarita Carmen Cansino, Rita's story had its tragedies—her father was awful and had her performing in nightclubs way, way too young; the studio totally remade her look because they were afraid of her hispanic image, putting her through painful treatments and diets; she had a string of failed marriages. But beside all that, I think there's something about Rita that still glows through—an inner beauty that has nothing to do with the studio, or the men who pinned their dreams on her. Rita brings an incandescence to roles that's impossible to replicate, and was truly a great actress in that she could switch from herself—shy Margarita—into a bold and glamorous femme fatale so convincingly everyone fell in love with her as Gilda. She's my favorite movie star, and I think she was a beautiful human through and through—Rita, gorgeous and real and shining bright.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jane Fonda:

" I assume she's already been submitted but I gotta make sure. I think there's an element to movies like Barbarella or her segment of Spirit of the Dead of those having been directed by her husband, who famously made movies about her being hot, and the incredible costume design also helped, but good lord. Look at her"

"She was so pretty, dear lord! She was and still us stunning. She’s great at comedy and drama."

"Shes so hot im so gay for me i will let her hit me with hers car"

"Gorgeous and also still getting arrested at climate protests, which is sexy behavior"

"Watching her in Barefoot in the Park seriously made me, a straight woman, question things"

"PLEASE I LOVE HER SO MUCH"

"Her vibes in these movies are so interesting because she, the daughter of an Old Hollywood star, went on to make both poignant dramatic movies and the some of the silliest things you've ever seen but even in the silly space adventures and sexploitations there's always this undeniable gravitas to her. It's like she's able not to take herself very seriously but at the same time never stops having this grace and elegance and makes it all work together. And she's always been very politically active which is also sexy. Her famous mugshot is from 1970 so right at the cutoff mark but come on"

Rita Hayworth:

Do you need any other propaganda? Here’s the video.

She was not called "the love goddess" for nothing: beautiful, glamorous, despite playing sexy and provocative roles her inherent shyness somehow also would shine through sometimes, creating this contradictory and incredibly attractive image

Often played "the bad girl" who tempted the male hero away from "the good girl"; but did have roles that broke her out of that mold. She was also the inspiration for Jessica Rabbit. THE pinup girlie.

HELP

She was soo beautiful when she was young and she MAINTAINED that beauty into her later years and I think that old lady glamour is hot. bombastic sex appeal

every line she delivers in gilda is so flirty and passionate or absolutely desolate and it's so good

I just have a lot of feelings about her

[fl3shm4id3n]

Wₑₐᵣᵢₙg ₕₑₑₗₛ ₐᵣₒᵤₙd ₜₕₑ ₛᵤₗₗy'ₛ

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 -👠𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ'ꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

Tw: None

A/N: I couldn't squeeze a lot, but I manage to think of something. Hopefully ya'll like it. It's kinda short.

Masterlist

You no idea what heels were, until you found some in a storage unit in Hell's Gate. You were snooping around the unit and came across a pair of red heels. This was new to you. As well as weird, you were used to seen others wearing boots or just flat out tennis shoes to be comfortable.

But you couldn't help but grow curious and try them on. It was a pain at first, since the heels held your feet up in a different position and they'd hurt after some time. Same with walking in them. You'd wobble and stumble around a first, but you manage to walk on them.

After some time, you decided to show off your new heels to your friends. When you walked to the camp, you had to do it barefoot. At first you were going to wear your heels, but the very thin heel would bury itself onto the dirt and you nearly tripped a few times. So you just walked barefooted until you got to the camp.

Once at camp, the Sully kids were already out of the hut and just hanging around their home. As soon as you saw them, you showed them your new heels. They had no idea what they were, just like you the first time you had found them. Then you went up an explanation of what they were and so on.

Then you put them on, showing them how you became a pro at walking on them. All they did was stare at the shinny red heels that you walked around on. Not only that, but you saw how their ears would twitch slightly by the clicking of the heels on the hard ground.

Ever since then, you'd began to get teased. Specially by Lo'ak and Spider. They'd go on and on how you were slightly taller now and how you nearly reached Tuk's height. Those two just loved poking fun at you ever since your heels were shown to them.

Kiri didn't really get the point in you wearing them. At first she thought that you didn't really need heels to be taller. That you were fine just the way that you were. But you told her that you simply wore them because they were pretty and stylish. Kiri still couldn't help but wonder why you wore them. They seem like torture devices.

Out of all her Siblings, Tuk liked your heels. She thought they were funny in a way but also cute. She'd often ask you if she could look at them, which you allowed her. She'd just look at the heel as if she was trying to figure out how or why they were made the way that they were. She often wishes she could hear your heels just to be a bit more tall.

Neteyam didn't mind, he was all 'Alright' when it came to your heels. He too didn't think you needed them, but if you liked them and choose to wear them, cool. He'd ask question after question on why you wore such shoe that can and will cause you pain thought. He never understood why humans made things that could cause you pain.

When Neytiri had heard about your famous heels. She too got curious. When she saw you wearing them one day, she couldn't help but find the clicking of your heels a bit annoying. When you came to the hut, she'd tell you to take them off. She too wonders why humans wear such painful devices.

She then went to ask Jake about them. He didn't know much, but explained to her why humans women, and some times men wear heels. She didn't get it at first, but after some time she did. She still despised human things, specially those noisy torture devices.

[sardonic-the-writer]

So I watched Glass Onion. And I have some very fun obversations turned info dumping turned (positive) ranting to do about the brilliance of this movie. Warning for SPOILERS

• Benoit Blancs husband (Phillip I belived) had flour/dough on his face when he opened the door, insinuating he's a messy baker. Just an extra detail I noticed that really shows the effort put into the movie both by actors and writers

• The very real incorporation of covid into the movies universe. That was an interesting thing for me. Adds for some funny gags (like the among us scene, not getting over that ever actually) and some real insight to the characters shitty personalities (Birdies mesh mask, and the fact that Miles was probably pretending to have a vaccine just so he could get them to take off their masks since that man never created anything on his own)

• This is probably my own mind spinning things up, but the name Miles for a billionaire who got everything through stealing ideas? And taking the credit? By "walking a mile in their shoes" but not really? Or he could just be an asshole with the most generic white guy name ever idk

• You could clearly tell there was a class thing going on. Birdie only stopped flirting with Blanc when he mentioned being a buyer of her product. Not as if to say, how I've seen other people point out, only gay men wear sweatpants so she suddenly decided she couldn't flirt with him oops my bad. Moreso, it was Blanc lying (or telling the truth, who knows maybe he does buy them) about wearing her brand simply so he can divide the line between them socially. As if to say, "I know you'll stop touching me if I clarify I'm not anywhere near your status. I am your target market. Something you don't give a second thought about." Between that and how Peg clearly didn't fit despute having hung around that group for 10 years as Birdies assitant, a lot of this movies positive and negative energy depended on who was interacting with who and if they were "good enough" for the others gaze

• I think a lot of people caught the symbolizm between all of the famous paintings being incorporated into the movie (Helen's smile at the end reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, Miles scream at the painting being destroyed a life like recreation of the painting Scream, everyone sitting at dinner like The Last Supper in multiple shots) but I thought it was worth mentioning again for the sheer brilliance

• Miles' tantrum he throws while calling Helen a child, despite her having been probably one of the most adult people in the entire movie. Mind you Miles was the same person who minutes ago was shaking in rage at his previous car—the very same car he had rode in to kill Andi in—smashing through his glass ceiling

• Plus, a rich guy with an all glass house barefoot? He truly belived nothing could ever go wrong in his perfect world; his perfect mic-mansion house. That nothing would be broken or shattered for him to potentially step on later. And I mean that both metaphorically and litteraly

[doublydaring]

Ron what are your top 10 favorites movies ever made

This is not a definitive list I love too many movies too much but here is a sampling:

1. Head - self explantory

2. Bull Durham - the greatest baseball movie ever made. even if you don't know anything about baseball you will love this movie. it will lovingly teach you all you need to know which is that baseball is sex and sex is baseball. Susan Surandon and Kevin Kostner mildly kinky sex with heavy saxophone. Wear garters to pitch better. The beauty of the minor leagues.

3. Benny and Joon - this movie is just... delightful. It knows exactly when to take itself seriously and when to be whimsical. Being something of a Joon myself I formed an emotional connection to these characters at a young age when I originally saw this story as a wonderful musical premiere that unfortunately never went anywhere. I still mourn those songs. Benny Joon and Sam are adorable and the conflict makes sense and I like everybody in this movie. Ugh. So perfect and sweet.

4. Maurice - E. M. FORSTER. I will always be a room with a view girly but this movie is better sorry. The movie that annoying gay people asking for happy ending would like if they understood the concept of class conflict. So good so wonderful. Alec Scudder you will always be famous.

5. My Cousin Vinny - Italian Americans, Jews, the south, what could go wrong? One of the funniest movies of all time and one of the sexiest movies of all time. Marisa Tomei perhaps I am not a homosexual. Ralph Macchio. Fucking stunning. A film that doesn't need to be as gorgeous as it is but serves and slays at every turn. Thee courtroom comedy.

6. Army of Darkness - I can't watch scary movies luckily this movie isn't scary. I love hot men doing dumb shit, I love king arthur, I love Sam Raimi, I love boiiiiiinnnngggg sound effect. This movie is EPIC. Smart stupid fun.

7. Parting Glances - Steve Buscemi gay AIDS comedy 1986. No one has seen this movie because I don't think it got a wide theatrical release its one of those movies I am lucky to know about because my parents went and saw every independent movie released from 1984-2002 at our local art theater (RIP). This movie is sweet and thoughtful and hysterical. One of my moms favorites one of my favorites. Dump him, fall in love with your best friend.

8. Arsenic and Old Lace - I have to have at least one extremely old thing on here (honorable mention to bringing up baby). This movie is fucking hilllarrrious. Jonathon Brewster and Dr. Herman Einstein are the greatest homoerotic villain duo of all time. Carey Grant for God's sake!!!! A horribly dark comedy about the two sweetest old ladies you ever did meet.

9. The Lost World: Jurassic Park - what if Jurrassic Park starred Dr. Ian Malcolm. Are you stupid? Jurassic Park is a perfect film but this one is My Favorite. The power of gymnastics can ward off a dinosaur.

10. Pacific Rim - the characters in this movie blow all its peers out of the water. Raleigh Becket? Mako Mori???? Stacker Pentecost? Newt Geizler? Helllooooo. Dr. Herman. Gottlieb. What if an action movie was good? I can't believe no one had thought of that until now? Not a kaiju guy sorry. Not a Jaeger guy. Just a freaky little characters guy and boy does this move have them.

Soooo many more: Moonstruck, Raising Arizona, Pride and Prejudice, Lancelot of the Lake, The Sting, Slap Shot, Barefoot in the Park, Excalibur, Re-Animator 1&2, Evil Dead 2, Bill and Ted, To Wong Foo, Repo Man, I could go on forever.... I love the movies.....

[sillicii]

✦ — 18+ Chatbot | Noah Campbell | precarious liaisons — ✦

✦ — ᴏᴄ | ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴅ | 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — ✦

ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ | sғᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴄᴡ: cult, hostage, imprisonment, non-con elements

Character Description:

Background:

Noah Campbell grew up in a wealthy family and became interested in travel, photography and journalism from a young age. He and his family are based in New York City. He is the descendant of a famed English explorer and his family has a history of exploration and discovery. He pursued a journalism and photography degree at college and was able to secure a job at a famous wildlife publication using his family’s connections. Through that start and his own family’s funding, he was able to pursue higher profile cases and often sought after stories that he had a personal interest in before selling the stories to publications. His most recent story covered a whistleblower that had fled America after exposing a government secret.

Scenario:

Noah was investigating rumours of abuse and kidnapping within the ‘Brotherhood Five’ compound when his cover was blown and captured by the Holt, the cult leader. After days of being roughed up, Holt hands Noah over to their child {{user}} as a pet. Noah is currently sat in a dirty wooden cage and has his arms and hands tied up by thick rope and is barefoot.

First message:

It had meant to be a simple undercover job. Get in and get out. Noah had heard some sickening rumours about a reclusive group settled in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. Nothing concrete. Just unconfirmed stories passed along by word of mouth, but the tales of abuse, kidnapping and exploitation soon got around Noah’s circle and he found himself intrigued by the idea of a modern-day cult operating out of the famed Appalachian range. An area still mostly untouched by civilisation and origin to numerous tales of unsavoury characters, conflicts between rifle wielding clans of moonshiners, and mysteries entering the realm of supernatural. So, Noah packed his bag and made his way north in search of the group. The only thing his initial research brought up was the names Brotherhood Five and a man named Holt who apparently ruled the commune with an iron fist. There had been rumours of unscrupulous activities. Violence. Sexual abuse. Polyamory. Kidnapping. Members being held against their wills. It hadn’t been anything Noah had not witnessed before and he imagined that there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises… but boy was he wrong. What was meant to be a routine infiltration, befriending and documenting turned sour quickly. Despite having very little connection to the outside world, it appeared that Holt knew exactly who Noah was even before he arrived at their gates under the pretence of being interested in their rural lifestyle. Holt had acted as a gracious host and humoured him for a day, taking him around the gated compound and introducing their practices to Noah as if he truly believed Noah to be a wayward soul looking to join their community. However, it would only be the first night when Noah was dragged from his makeshift cot in the middle of the night and taken into a wooded area away from the huts where he was subsequently beat and then tied up and left in a homemade wooden cage. He had everything stripped off him and he knew that his own belongings left by his cot side would also be up for grabs and of they didn’t already know who he was then they were about to find out all the information and photographs he had documented since he had arrived. His journal which included paragraphs of his observations and interviews he had with some locals on his way to the compound. Days went by and it appeared that the only concerns the men in charge of his daily beatings had were handing out those said beatings. He hadn’t eaten or had water for days and he was beginning to grow weak. Noah tried to stay focused and it was only on what he thought to be the third day of his confinement did Holt finally show his face. On his heel was a small figure, one he recognised as one of Holt’s many offspring, Noah remembered meeting you briefly when he was shown around the first day. He recalled you best because Holt actually took the time to introduce you, clearly you were his favourite. “Look at ya, mister hotshot journalist or whatever you are,” Holt sneered down at Noah with his nose upturned. “I had every thought to shoot ya and bury ya round back… but my sweet lil {{user}} insisted I don’t…” Noah watched emotionlessly as a look of unease crossed your face when your eyes met and you shifted slightly. “Here kiddo, he’s all yours…” Holt patted you on the shoulder before walking off, leaving you behind with him. “Take good care of your new pet now.”

[sama-not-sam]

SAMA ALI ( AIYSHA HART ) is a THIRTY-TWO year-old UN POLITICAL AFFAIRS OFFICER in GENEVA, SWITZERLAND. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only THIRTEEN years old. They are known as THE AMBITIOUS because they are STRATEGIC but also COMPETITIVE. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Sama Ali Nickname(s): n/a, call her Sam at your own risk Date of Birth: born 1972, exact date of birth unknown; birthday celebrated October 30 Age: 32 Occupation: Political Affairs Officer for the United Nations Current Residence: Sama has a small apartment in Geneva. She’s traded space for convenience, opting for a 290 square foot flat within easy walking distance of work. Her job does require her to travel frequently and occasionally for extended periods of time, but Geneva is her home base.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black; worn straight and more or less shoulder length, depending on how long it’s been since she got it cut Eyes: dark brown Height: 5’9” Notable Features: high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, sharp jaw

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: strategic, assertive, determined, pragmatic, resilient Weaknesses: competitive, single-minded, reticent, show-off, insensitive (especially when it comes to other people’s feelings) Quirks: ⬧ Sama has a bad habit of checking her watch when she’s bored or frustrated, and she’s never without it, or her Blackberry. ⬧ She walks very quickly, for no reason other than to get to where she’s going that much faster. ⬧ She will also speak for others, especially people she knows well, if she feels like they’re not answering quickly enough, or if they pause and seem to be searching for words. ⬧ Her default stance when standing is her feet in third position and her hands resting on one hip, muscle memory left over from her years of ballet. ⬧ Sama hates going barefoot, and usually will wear a pair of ballet slippers instead of shoes when indoors. Vices: ⬧ Card games; not for gambling, she generally dislikes games of chance, but more for the thrill of winning. ⬧ Dance movies; they take her back, whether they feature ballet or not, and Dirty Dancing is actually the romantic ideal. ⬧ Suppressing emotions; Sama would probably cease to function if she was ever forced to actually look at all the feelings she ignores. ⬧ Whipped cream; not necessarily a vice, but it is Sama’s favorite treat.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Poetry, feminism, global politics, ballet, the wives of famous/powerful men(think Eleanor Roosevelt, Vera Nabokov, Catherine of Aragon), The West Wing (an American political drama that she still keeps up with). Hobbies: Sama doesn’t have much time for hobbies these days, she prefers to keep herself busy with work. One hobby, which is almost a habit, that she keeps up is journaling. As a child, she journaled religiously, making sure to keep a detailed account of her life so she could update her parents when they came back for her. While she’s long since let go of that childish dream, she still journals frequently. As a result, Sama is a pen snob. Special Skills/Talents: ⬧ Sama is a polyglot; fluent in English, Arabic, French, Persian, and (Swiss) German, as well as having some conversational Italian; she is also currently learning Mandarin. ⬧ She taught herself calligraphy in high school, one of many attempts to connect with her heritage, and still practices enough to keep her skills sharp. ⬧ She has an admirable talent for landing on her feet, for making the best of a bad situation or snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Some may call Sama lucky, but to do so would discount all the work she puts into getting what she wants.

BECOMING A WARD

Sama is one of Richard’s most famous ward, not that anyone outside of herself, Richard, and Mrs. Tristan ever knew that. In October of 1973, there was quite a stir over a baby found in Grand Central Station, initially assumed to be lost until it became clear she’d been abandoned on purpose. With no identifying information other than a name pinned to the back of her jacket, the authorities were unable to find her parents and Sama was ultimately shuffled into foster care. Think pieces and op eds will still occasionally surface about the Grand Central Girl, which Sama has a morbid fascination with.  What is common knowledge in Woodrow House is this; in 1986, an essay about the foster system was submitted to Kingsbury College’s annual writing contest, and it caught Richard’s attention to the extent that he just had to meet its author. He loved telling the story of his shock and delight on discovering that the essay had been written by a 13 year old girl, despite the fact that Sama insisted she never forgave him for the discovery that disqualified her from the contest. Over the course of a summer the two kept in touch, and letters turned into phone calls and eventually became face to face meetings. It didn’t take long for Richard to decide to take Sama on as his ward, but convincing Sama to accept his offer was another matter.   By the time she met Richard Woodrow, Sama had long since learned that things that seem too good to be true usually are. Like the foster mother who told Sama she was never going to adopt but that she’d keep her until she graduated from high school, only to adopt a different child 14 months later, dumping Sama in the process. The temptations of Woodrow House were almost too much for a girl to resist, Sama had never had her own room nor access to private tutors in whatever subject her heart desired, but this was exactly what made her skeptical. Ultimately she decided it was too great an opportunity to pass by and, with the condition of continued access to her social worker, Sama agreed.

LIFE AS A WARD

To say that Sama was prickly when she first arrived at Woodrow House would be an understatement. From the first day she was all sharp edges. She cursed too much, a habit that she eventually eliminated under Mrs. Tristan’s example, and she seemed to have a perpetual glare, an expression that only softened some rather than completely. It was her seventh foster home, so by the time she got there, she knew how to carve out a space for herself, and how to defend it. She decided at an early age that she was never going to be anyone’s whipping girl, and she came on a little strong initially. Even when she realized that Woodrow House was not a typical foster home, she was still assertive, and sometimes too assertive, about her right to be there and her authority over her own space. While she mellowed with time, she was never a warm and fuzzy person, and she never wanted to be a sister-figure. By the time Sama arrived at Woodrow House, she was already the ambitious one, already driven, already striving, already putting herself out there in order to prove… something. Even at thirteen she was the one with big, big plans to become a household name, although she never told anyone why. She was always busy, always doing something, never making time to really build meaningful relationships. Which is not to say she was anti-social, but she was selective. She would crash someone’s private tutoring, or try out another ward’s latest extra-curricular. She learned who had similar goals or preferences to her and who didn’t. She loved learning new things and honing her skills, and she appreciated people who could help her to those ends.  The roles Sama played in Woodrow House were simple. She firmly established herself as one of the older wards, usually holding herself above the younger ones. She was a favorite, of both  Richard and Mrs. Tristan. She wasn’t afraid to use that to get what she wanted when the occasion called for it, but she also maintained that the reason she was a favorite was because she never asked for too much. She remained generally a loner, seeming to occasionally grace certain wards with her presence more than seek out anyone’s company.

AESTHETIC

Sama’s style icon is CJ Cregg, from the American political drama The West Wing. She’s a big fan of power suits and loose blouses, and prioritizes high quality, classic styles over seasonal trends. She eschews many of the moment Y2K styles in favor of the designs from her twenties, maintaining a sleek and minimalist wardrobe. A businesswoman to her core, her version of dressing down is a sweater set and slacks. She favors neutrals and darker colors, and generally avoids prints. She likes headbands and still wears scrunchies when she’s having a rare casual moment. She has a modest collection of subtle stud earrings that she rotates in her single lobe piercings, and are the only jewelry she regularly wears.

EDUCATION

As soon as it was permitted, Sama chose to attend a prestigious, and private, all girls’ school that she knew about from having a former foster home nearby. It appealed to her because it was prestigious, because it was an all girls’ school—the pre-teen misandry stayed strong in her—and because none of the other wards already at Woodrow House attended it. Once there she made rather more enemies than friends, but at least she made them on her own and as herself, not part of a set. She was quickly identified as a teacher’s pet and know-it-all, because the purpose of school for Sama was to learn and climb to the top of her class. However, any classmates who tried to bully her quickly learned that she was more than capable of standing up for herself. When she graduated, her valedictorian speech brought many of the parents in the crowd to tears, but most of their daughters rolled their eyes.  For college, Sama set her sights on Columbia University from a young age, and not even Richard’s fondness for his own alma mater could dissuade her. Just like high school, she wanted to attend college on her own terms, and not as one of Richard Woodrow’s charity cases. At Columbia, she double majored in Human Rights and Women’s Studies, ultimately graduating Summa Cum Laude and at the top of her class. More importantly, she learned how to network with her peers instead of alienating them, and still has connections, some might even say friends, from undergrad to this day.  Sama welcomed Richard’s offer to pay for her undergraduate work, but when she was ready for grad school, she insisted on taking care of it herself, even though she didn’t have to. She covered her law school with a combination of grants, scholarships, some student loans, and the savings she built up with her allowance from Richard as a ward. Her last step in formal education was a degree in International and Comparative Law from Georgetown. She was accepted to other schools that were arguably more prestigious, like NYU and Yale, but decided that a school in the nation’s capital would align best with her long term goals.

EXTRACURRICULARS

Ballet, tennis, debate, school newspaper, volunteering. Sama dabbled in all sorts of extra-curriculars during her years at Woodrow House, but only a few were truly hers. Ballet was an interest that started before Richard came into Sama’s life, but her multiplicity of foster homes before Woodrow House made it difficult for her to truly commit to it, so Richard arranged for her to take private lessons in order to catch up with other dancers her age. The precision and structure of ballet appealed to Sama, as well as the fact that it was a challenge. Tennis was something she did because Alison did it, which is to say that she liked having an opponent who was as competitive as she was, and that she liked being around Alison. Debate and school newspaper were both things that looked good on her college resume, but she enjoyed them, as well, especially when she was made editor of the newspaper her senior year. Volunteering was something that Sama did ostensibly for the same reason she did debate and school newspaper, but the truth was she wanted to give back. She felt like she needed to use her privilege as a Woodrow ward not just to better herself, but others as well. 

THEIR LIFE NOW

After graduating from Georgetown, Sama didn’t pursue a legal career; that had never been the goal. Instead, she got a job at the United Nations headquarters in New York City, where she began steadily working her way up through the ranks of the political affairs department. She quickly established a name for herself as a driven employee and a creative problem solver, but also someone who cared deeply about the work the organization was doing. She jumped at any chance to travel for work that was presented to her and never balked at the long hours her job required.  Through it all, she never went back to Woodrow House, despite it being relatively close. There was always some sort of excuse, and it always boiled down to she was just too busy. She refused to admit that there could be anything else keeping her away. She didn’t go out of her way to keep in touch with her fellow wards, but if any of them were willing to put in most of the work, she wouldn’t ice them out, with one obvious exception. It was always uncomfortable for Sama to know that Alison was out there, in the same city as her, knowing that they might just run into each other one day, but she didn’t want to be run out of town, not again.  Following 9/11, it became clear that her skin color would be a detriment to Sama’s plans, and in 2002, she transferred to Geneva, wanting some distance from the rising Islamophobia in the US. She likes to think she’s settled into Geneva admirably, even though it was a rough transition initially, and she prefers it to New York in some ways. She remains married to her work, pursuing her goals with the same single-minded fervor that prevented her from getting more attached to her fellow wards as a teenager. Work-life balance is not a concept that Sama has any interest in and, after one situationship with a coworker that ended very messily, the only thing Sama keeps separate from work is her romantic life. Not that there’s much romance in her life, Sama doesn’t really date so much as she has habitual hookups, always strictly feelings-free until someone, usually the other person, drops the ball. Whenever feelings start to get involved, Sama’s mandate is to leave before she gets left. You’d have to have her at gunpoint to get her to admit that she’s lonely, or that all of her achievements are starting to feel empty, but she’s been fighting for the approval of the parents who didn’t want her for so long, she doesn’t know how to do anything else.

TIMELINE

1972: Sama is born, probably sometime in the spring.

1973: Sama is found abandoned in Grand Central Station in New York City on October 30th. She is placed in her first foster home in early November.

1974: Sama is officially made a ward of the state when the case to find her parents is closed.

1986: Sama anonymously submits an essay about the foster system to the Kingsbury College writing contest, of which Richard is a faculty judge, in the spring. Sama and Richard meet and get to know each other over the summer. She moves into Woodrow House as Richard’s ward in late August.

1987: Sama begins her freshman year at a private girls’ school in the fall.

1991: Sama graduates from high school in the spring. She begins her first year at Columbia University in the fall, never returning to Woodrow House.

1995: Sama graduates from Columbia in the spring. She begins her first year at Georgetown Law in the fall.

1998: Sama graduates from Georgetown Law in the spring. She begins working at the UN headquarters in New York City over the summer.

2002: Sama takes a job at the Geneva branch of the UN.

2005: Sama receives the news of Richard’s passing and returns to Woodrow House.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Peter Paul Rubens, Dance of Mythological Figures and Villagers (Antwerp, 1630–35.)

A group of figures dance to the tune of a flute played by a man perched on an oak tree, and to the bells that some dancers have attached to their lower legs. The scene evokes the dances that are part of Ancient Greek history and myths and the tradition that followed—the book Hypnerotomachia Poliphili includes a description and a woodcut of a similar dance. The painting also evokes the arcadian settings of pastoral lyric and drama inspired by Theocritus’s Idylls. In that tradition, and in Rubens’s interpretation of it in numerous paintings, the countryside is considered as an ideal place of plenitude, romance, and sexual fantasy for men. The setting is enlivened by the handling of brown, green, and blue paint. The texture builds on the panel support defining the folds of draperies, head buns and ornaments, and the areas where the light hits the trees. In the middle distance is a farm building with a Palladian motif of arch and lintel—if we were to take this literally, we would place the scene in the Veneto. Rubens favoured this style of sixteenth-century Italian architecture, as witnessed by his designs for his own palatial house and garden in Antwerp.

The dancing figures move their limbs and contort their bodies, an expression of the passionate feelings involved in dancing as it is described in Greek literature. Two dogs positioned as mirror images of each other emphasise the circular movement, and the flowing draperies also contribute to the sense of motion. Many of the figures seem concentrated on the mechanics of the complicated dance, as they try not to lose the hands of the others. In the centre foreground, one of the women appears to be upset by the proximity between a woman with a bare breast and a large bearded man with an ivy wreath; his lascivious attitude is intimidating. To the right another couple come close to kissing. Dionysius, ressed in his tiger skin and crowned with a wreath of leaves, looks back apparently pleased by what he sees.

Only the young Dionysius is clad in attributes that allow us to identify him; the exotic tiger skin alludes to his exploits in the Orient. The epic poem Dionysiaca by Nonnos is full of references to such animals. It also mentions a dance that was part of a celebration of Dionysius’s conquest of India: "The foot-soldiers of Bromios danced round with their oxhides and mimicked the pattern of the shieldbearing Corybants, wildly circling in the quick dance under arms". This is not to imply that Rubens is depicting that specific dance, but a reminder of the very frequent descriptions of such activity in Ancient Greek texts, including whirlwind-like ones similar to the one Rubens painted. The most famous is perhaps one of the scenes that Hephaestus designed on the shield he made for Achilles, as described by Homer in the Iliad: "And young men were whirling in the dance, and with them flutes and lyres sounded continually". Other than Dionysius, the identity of the figures in this painting is ambiguous. I see them as timeless, generic characters inspired by ancient texts.

The flute player takes on the role of Pan, the sex driven, pipe playing shepherd god, but he has no animal features. The other dancers bring to my mind the satyrs, frequent companions of Dionysius (but none bear their animal features). Silenus usually formed part of Dionysius’s train as well; perhaps he inspired the large bearded man between the two women in blue in the foreground.

Some women wear high end outfit and sandals, others are barefoot and seem more peasant like. In fact, none of the figures in the scene dress the way high class or countrywomen did during Rubens’s time (as they are shown in his own paintings and in those by Jan Brueghel, David Teniers, or other roughly contemporary Flemish artists). Necks, breasts, and shoulders are more exposed here than they would have been in contemporary society and their uncovered hair and bare feet are also evocative of a different time and place. What the women dancers resemble is a host of timeless allegorical and mythological female figures painted by Rubens throughout his life. They also remind me of some of the bacchantes and nymphs that Titian painted in his Bachanals, following descriptions by Philostratus the Elder—dancing was a favourite activity of both types of creatures, which had the form of beautiful women.

Text translated from Alejandro Vergara, 'Comentario' in: Pasiones mitológicas, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, 2021, p.110-113 nº10

[prgayfootluvr77]

Luke Evans

[cowboyjen68]

Hello Jen,

Quick question, do you think it’s possible to be butch and femme at the same time? For example some days I feel more butch and other days I feel more femme and sometimes I feel both at the same time. It’s very confusing hahaha.

The fast answer to your quick question is no you can’t be both. But anyone who has been on my blog for longer than one minute knows I prefer long answers. 

     My disclaimer is that I am not the Butch/Femme expert or police. I am coming from my perspective and experience and from those around me. 

     Butch and Femme are two diametrically different ways of existing and they are not reliant on each other. They are not based on personality or outside aesthetics although those can certainly be influenced by them as well as on cultural expectations on “masculine” and “feminine”. 

     We don’t live in a vacuum so butches and femmes will, of course, feel comfort in things that are socially considered one or the other. 

     When it comes to aesthetics  (fashion, clothes, hair etc) anyone can do whatever they feel comfortable in. If you want to wear cargo pants and flannel one day and a summer dress the next, go crazy. Feel good. Enjoy the exploration of clothes and accessories. Keep what you like and discard others as you see fit. But all that outward stuff does not change your “energy”, for lack of a better word. Butches in a dress are still very much butch and that will be evident to anyone paying attention. A femme is a suit, still a suit. Think of kd Lang in a dress and imagine mistaking her for a femme or feminine woman. Not really even possible. I frankly know of zero famous people who use Femme (sadly) so I can’t give an example on that side of things. But a femme is a suit, even a custom fitted men’s suit does not suddenly become butch and, again, to anyone who knows what they are looking at will immediately know the difference. 

     Let’s talk about personality. Humans across all spectrums of masculine and feminine have all kinds of different personality traits that align (or don’t) with specific gender roles as defined (and often quite narrowly) but different societies. Butches can be quiet or loud, shy or bold, love working on cars or prefer puzzles by the fire. Femmes can be opinionated or easy going, they can love to garden barefoot or change their own oil in work boots. Interests and skills and personalities are not perfectly tied to butch and femme. They are as diverse as any human population with jobs, hobbies and personal traits. 

     I think you are talking about feeling like you share a little bit of the stereotypical traits of both butch and femme which is just being human. Butches can’t shed being butch with haircuts and clothes, same with femmes. It is how we are perceived and how we  perceive ourselves as well as how we relate to others that can’t be removed and often it can’t be hidden. 

     Explore things. Meet other butches and femmes. Meet other lesbians who fall in the comfy middle zone. (Fun FACT: women who were neither butch or femme in the 1940-50 bar scene were called Kiki) See who you most relate to and that might help you figure it out. We need to see others of many types to figure out what is most close to our own way of existing in this world. No one should be shamed for not knowing or getting it “wrong” at first or for trying to figure out what space they occupy. 

     If you want to rock that three-piece vintage suit DO IT.  If you want to order a dress with pockets and wear it to a party.  DO IT. You will find where you fit, but you can take your time doing it. 

[hotvintagepoll]

which streaming service has the most vintage movies? If you don't know, maybe your followers could answer? 🙏

Ooh hoo hoo you asked and I'll answer!!

I actually made a post like this for the hot men tournament, but I can't find it now so I'll do it again from scratch. The short answer is that I don't know of any one streaming service that has all the old vintage movies—but most streaming services have a "classics" genre category that can get you started. Here's a small selection of what you can find on different streaming services:

TUBI (free):

The Adventures of Robin Hood (Olivia de Havilland)

A Streetcar Named Desire (Vivien Leigh)

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (Jane Powell, Julie Newmar)

North by Northwest (Eva Marie Saint)

The Music Man (Shirley Jones)

The Women (Norma Shearer, Rosalind Russell, Joan Crawford, Joan Fontaine, Paulette Goddard, several other hotties in small parts)

The Philadelphia Story (Katharine Hepburn, Ruth Hussey)

Notorious (Ingrid Bergman)

Bell, Book, and Candle (Kim Novak, Elsa Lanchester)

The Talk of the Town (Jean Arthur)

Dark Victory (Bette Davis)

Stray Dog (Keiko Awaji)

Some Like It Hot (Marilyn Monroe)

Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow (Sophia Loren)

Dirty Girtie From Harlem USA (Francine Everett)

Passport (Madhubala)

Dark Passage (Lauren Bacall)

Sepia Cinderella (Sheila Guyse)

On The Town (Ann Miller, Vera-Ellen, Betty Garrett)

The Bandwagon (Cyd Charisse)

Devar (Sharmila Tagore)

Reet-Petite and Gone (June Richmond)

The Postman Always Rings Twice (Lana Turner)

KANOPY (free through some libraries):

Dial M for Murder (Grace Kelly)

His Girl Friday (Rosalind Russell)

Ball of Fire (Barbara Stanwyck)

Black Orpheus (Marpessa Dawn)

Flower Drum Song (Reiko Sato, Nancy Kwan, Miyoshi Umeki)

Marriage Italian Style (Sophia Loren)

The Rose Tattoo (Anna Magnani)

Tokyo Story (Setsuko Hara)

War and Peace (Audrey Hepburn, Anita Ekberg)

Salt of the Earth (Rosaura Revueltas)

Metropolis (Brigitte Helm)

The Red Shoes (Moira Shearer)

HOOPLA (free through some libraries):

The Court Jester (Angela Lansbury, Glynis Johns)

Sunset Boulevard (Gloria Swanson)

A Place in the Sun (Elizabeth Taylor)

Barefoot in the Park (Jane Fonda)

The Barefoot Contessa (Ava Gardner)

Wings (Clara Bow)

YOUTUBE (has a lot of older movies that have slipped through copyright/are still up for some reason):

Charade (Audrey Hepburn)

Story Weather (Lena Horne)

Gilda (Rita Hayworth)

Rebecca (Joan Fontaine)

This entire playlist of Indian cinema that I just found (Madhubala, Waheeda Rehman, Nargis, Meena Kumari, etc.)

And that's just a small sample. There is also always your local library for physical DVDs, the Internet Archive, and....other methods.....if you know exactly what you're looking for.

I haven't seen all of these movies, so don't consider them personal recommendations—these are just famous movies with our hotties in them, so please be careful if you have content warnings. Good luck and have fun!

EDIT 5/16: Added a few more movies to the different sections, but this is still just a small selection of what the different streaming services have. Good luck!

[dirtfacedgospel]

DIRTFACEDGOSPEL    \\\   original character cheat sheet.

i figured that since my pages aren't up for my ocs, i could write up a quick little blurb to sum things up to facilitate some plotting or writing.

alex lansing.  she/her. camilla luddington fc. heterosexual. nurse practitioner/midwife with her own practice. usually located in more rural areas. eldest daughter of a powerful politician but actively working to undo all the damage that implies. general bad taste in men.

bastien theriot.  he/they. ben barnes fc. gray asexual, biromantic, though if you ask him he'll say he's gay. mechanical engineer, contemporary dancer, and dance instructor, and just as utterly exhausted as you'd expect. neurodivergent genius trope but actually neurodivergent. kind of an asshole. has a daughter. it's complicated. he's complicated.

benji mitchell.   he/him. lucas bryant fc. bisexual. bounty hunter and private investigator. haunted alcoholic ex-cop who physically cannot stop helping people. literally living to take care of his dogs. has had a head of gray hair since his twenties. tarnished golden boy vibes.

charlie farrow.   she/her. tracy spiridakos fc. pansexual but there's trauma so it's complicated. florist. keeps bees. ex navy seal. lives off the grid because despite being declared dead, she's wanted by multiple world governments including her own. if survivors guilt was a person. just wants to know peace.

delilah price.   she/her. jaimie alexander fc. bisexual. bluegrass fiddle player and singer. coffee shop baker and co-owner. will fistfight a man barefoot in a sundress. covered in tattoos. was briefly famous from her romantic relationship with a superstar. short as hell. fueled by spite and caffeine.

ford kincaid.   he/him. brant daugherty fc. bisexual. bar owner and bartender. physically incapable of leaving behind a stray, either human or animal. has basically been a single father since he was five years old and that's barely an exaggeration. intensely protective of his staff. will adopt you on sight, sign the paperwork here, please.

jake sullivan.   he/him. dan stevens fc. pansexual. country music musician. if a golden retriever became a human. a wholesome whore. has worked every job under the sun at least once. professional secret keeper. the most observant man you've ever met. the kindest man you've ever met. everybody's queer awakening counselor.

john romero.   he/him. charlie hunam fc. demisexual. oil rig roughneck and day laborer. on parole for a manslaughter charge after an argument went horribly wrong. loosely inspired by the song big bad john, so y'know. guy's big. (he stood 6'6'' and weighed 245) the epitome of a gentle giant, however, despite all appearances.

silas levay.   he/him. ian bohen fc. bisexual. cattle rancher and ranch manager. has known his entire life he was going to die on the land he was born on. his fiance ran away with his brother and the whole town is never going to let him live it down. *slaps the top of his cowboy hat* you can fit so much fear of failure in this bad boy.

wyatt jessup.   he/him. alan powell fc. bisexual. former country music star. crashed and burned after his overdose a few years ago. got his life back together, got sober, and just wants to live quietly with his dogs in the middle of the forest, making music with the mood strikes.

[daytimedrinkingdiary]

Twilight drinking. Kalamata is a large town/small city located in the south west of the Peloponnese. It’s a seaside town, famous for its proximity to some of Greece’s best olive groves. It’s wide streets, small but lovely beach, university and old town do not shriek of its proximity to the proud, violent, extraordinary history of the Spartans. This part of Greece was the birthplace of the final and successful war to unite Greece and win independence from Ottoman rule in the 19th century.

But it’s here, all the time. It’s there in the 1,300m+ granite mountain that dominates Kalamata’s eastern side. It’s there in the fortress, built by the Franks in the 1300s.

Modern Kalamata has a small international airport, the usual multinational shops and umpteen tavernas, cafes and beach lounges. It also bears the weight of the forced migration of people from Africa, the Middle East and Bangladesh. Men and women trudge along the beach and the cafes trying to sell something that might be useful. Daytime Drinking is mostly a place for me to record a trip and perhaps someone else might read it. So it’s not supposed to be political or preachy. But it’s not possible to witness poverty on this scale and not say anything.

Greece is still a poor country. Their transition from non-Euro to Eurozone was abrupt and the people were under-/un-prepared. As Stelios described it, “We went barefoot into thorns”. As I read some time ago, Greece went from the back of a donkey to the front seat of a Mercedes Benz, with no knowledge or preparation to manage that enormous change. This lovely country still pays the price. So as the ceaseless flow of migrants continues, Greece works to find its place amongst its wealthy cousins in the Eurozone and provide the most basic needs to those who’ve arrived with nothing.

[sinnerxroulette]

Mobile Friendly OC muses Page, Under read More due to Length:

Carl:

Basic Turle/tortoise demon. He/him. Bisexual. 40s-50s when he died. Medium Height.

His sin is Greed and he was murdered during an anonymous robbery attempt. His greediness left him in the wrong place at the wrong time where someone thought the easy going surfer guy would be a good target. He tried getting away but in the effort he slipped on some discarded orange/citrus produce and landed right into it. Being deathly allergic, he went into anaphylactic shock. Due to this and his injuries, he died. He now forever smells of the citrus that killed him, it can change day to day but usually he smells of oranges.

Vox’s assistant. Loves the job and he gives no fucks. He likes being barefoot whenever he can and only wears sandals when he has to wear shoes.

[More details to follow]

Cherub.

Omnisexual with a high preference for Men. He/they pronouns. Died in his 20s in the 00s.

Lice Sinner. 4'11".

Failed Gold Digger from Miami. Died during his attempts to score the “Big Fish”. He is now a miserable and catty bitch who will steal your man and then dump his ass two weeks later out of boredom. And all the while he’ll tell you he was doing you a favor “Since a good guy wouldn’t leave for me anyway!”. Ladies as well, he’ll sweep a woman off her feet regardless of her relationship status. lol

He is broken and miserable and would never admit it. He likes those who are goofy and have bombastic personalities though.

He works at Taco Hell as a day job and has a side gig as an Angel Dust Impersonator for cheap bargain bin porn. He also does other cosplaying but Angel Dust makes 95% of his job requests. His videos would be found in the $4.99 bin near the cash register.

It’s a living/Death.

His Off Work Look is 80’s Miami Bimbo. High preference for tanks/crop tops due to most shirts feeling uncomfortable to him with the four arms. Plus sex appeal, lol.

Lucio

Fire fly sinner.  5′11″. Pansexual. Can fly and light his tail up like a bright lamp, as well as make simple yellow energy barriers as a defense. (Think Green Lantern-esque).

An amoral paparazzi in life, his form of “journalism” was all about exposing the “dirty business” of the rich, famous, controversial, or the just the plain unlucky. He was directly and indirectly responsible for ruining people’s lives with this, to the point of murders and suicides and everything in between, and held no remorse at all. He had a job to “bring things to light” and he was going to do it!

Died New Years of 1999-2000 via Fireworks. (Imagine of that what you will).

Lower minion of Alastor, he does any errand and management jobs assigned to him. He lost an eye in the events that led him to making a deal with the Radio Demon.

He has a side hobby/interest in photography and knows how to be a decent bartender. Good listening skills and quick with a pearl of wisdom or joke to help the mood. Quietly mature and gentle in personality, he’s a solid back up.

Niko

Nikolas - Niko for short. A Zebra Spider.

He/Him. Pansexual. As tall as Striker/other “tall” imps.

Murdered in retaliation for a murder he committed in the 90s; from New York. In his late 20s.

Multicultural, but mainly Greek-Italian.

No magic powers but he has high strength and durability.

 Exceptional marksmanship due to the alignment of his multiple eyes and stone steady hands.

Hit man for hire. Weapons of choice are handguns or a sniper rifle. When that doesn’t work, he’ll use poisons to get the job done.

[differentnighttale]

I Suduced The Devil

Caution:Read this at your own risk.The peom Is a about a girl who Rebels against her religion and societal expectations as a woman.My intention wasn't suppose to offend,is just creative liberty.

○Play Me and the Devil song by idk○

I seduced the devil,

I drawn him with my sin,

Drawn him out of the shadows.

From my bed chamber,

His large,demonic form,

And pointed ,curved horns with a creepy smile.

I was blasphemous the word,

I swayed my body,

Forced eyes on me,

I exposed my ankles,

Oh, how scandalous !

I brought men to my bed,

Our screams echoed in my room,

Used my body in ways of sins,

I used my body to get what I want.

I was people's downfall.

The reason they collasped.

I didn't drink communion,

I didn't practice sabbath,

I didn't go the priest.

I avoided my prayers,

Avoided it like the plague,

I let my flesh ran it course.

I'm a jealous woman,

I'm prideful,

I brought women to my bed.

Did things with them.

Didn't care about the insults.

I avoided fasting,

I disobeyed my parents.

Didn't save my body for marriage,

I spoke like a man,

Acted like a harlot,

Cursed at the statues.

I seduced the devil,

I drank like a man,

Wore mixed fabrics,

Over ate to my full.

Whats this internal water?

I envied over others,I wanted others life,

I'm a jealous woman you see.

I screamed at people

Fought with people with my  fists.

Was very loud.

Why be constricted by rules of society ?

If I could free as a bird,

And do what I want,

I danced with out a man,

Flirted with woman.

Made vugular jokes,

Made  the noble women gasp,

"Ah,scandalous is she."

A man I bedded asked me,"shall we wed."

I said,"nay"

He wanted me to be barefoot and swollen with his babe.

Nay I say.

This is not the path I want or need.

He asked,"why not"

I repiled,"Just because you've seen my thighs,I shan't to be your wife,"

I questioned the rules that binded me,

Tied me down,

Swallowed me whole.

So ti's I seduced the devil,

I awash the ground with blood,

Of others,

Clean,swift and clean.

I committed the sins,

I was cursed to do.

Now as an old maid,

Happy and unwedded.

Famous among the pubs

As the sinful wrench,

With so many children of my own.

I rejected the rules of my family.

Created my own road,

And lived my life.

Sliced away the rules of religion.