#sapphic energies are criminal

[zhaleys]

[mlleclaudine]

Meagan Good Reunites With ‘D.E.B.S.’ Co-Star Sara Foster & Director Angela Robinson For 20th Anniversary, Jordana Brewster Calls For Sequel

by Glenn Garner - Deadline, June 23, 2024

After 20 years MIA, the D.E.B.S. (Discipline, Energy, Beauty, Strength) are back together again and teasing a potential (not-so-secret) mission.

Meagan Good and Sara Foster, who starred together in 2004’s D.E.B.S., reunited Saturday night with writer and director Angela Robinson to celebrate the sapphic cult classic’s 20th anniversary with a Cinespia screening at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, in partnership with LA Pride.

“This film, for me, was an opportunity to do something different,” said Good as they introduced the film. “And then it became something where, now when people come up to me and they say, ‘Oh, I loved this movie’ or ‘this movie really inspired me’ or ‘made me feel seen,’ it wasn’t just an opportunity to do something different. It was an opportunity to be a part of something that’s important and fantastic.”

Foster echoed her co-star’s sentiments. “I will say that in 20 years, a lot of good things have happened to me in my life,” she said. “And to this day, one of the best things is people coming up to me and saying, ‘D.E.B.S. made me feel comfortable being who I am. D.E.B.S. made me realize who I am, who I want to be.’

“And it’s happened consistently for 20 years. So, I’ve done a lot of really shitty movies and a lot of shitty TV shows, but this is a movie that made a difference, probably the only thing I ever did that made a difference, at least in the movie business,” added Foster.

Foster starred in the action comedy — based on Robinson’s 2003 short of the same name — as Amy Bradshaw, a gifted recruit at a top-secret women’s paramilitary academy. During a mission to take down the illusive super criminal Lucy Diamond (Jordana Brewster), Amy develops an attraction to the enemy and finds her loyalties tested.

Although the movie’s marketing watered down its LGBTQ themes and it ultimately grossed less than $100,000 at the box office, D.E.B.S. has gone on to cult status among its intended fanbase.

“We made this so long ago, and my goal, our goal collectively was, I just wanted to see a teen movie that I wish I had when I was a teenager,” recalled Robinson. “And we had such a blast making the movie, and we had a great premiere at Sundance. And then the movie came out and totally flopped.

“But here’s the thing, I was so bummed out because I was like, ‘It’s not gonna get to the audience that I wanted to see this movie.’ And then you guys went and found it. Then somebody would tell me ‘yeah, I rented it in the video store.’ And I was all mad at the time … that they weren’t advertising it as a gay movie. But then it became this kind of underground thing where people would tell me they rented it at the video store or passed it or watched it on TV or something like that. And then it’s grown into this today. So, I want to say thank you so much.”

Robinson also thanked her wife of 25 years, Alexandra Kondracke, “who told me not to take the script and stick it in the drawer like I was going to,” as well Sony Screen Gems’ Clint Culpepper and Stacy Kramer, “because I can’t believe anyone gave us money to make this, but you did, and it’s amazing.”

“But mostly, I want to thank all of you for coming and being here and supporting D.E.B.S. because a bunch of people have come up to us collectively, and they said, ‘D.E.B.S. changed our lives,'” added Robinson. “And that’s incredibly gratifying to see all these years later.”

Although Brewster was in New Zealand and unable to attend the reunion, she graced her friends and fans with a video message, in which she imagined an “older, wiser Lucy Diamond. Has she learned her lesson? I don’t know… Probably not.”

“Have fun. I love you guys. I’m with you in spirit,” added Brewster. “And bug Angela about making a sequel, please.”

[ur-mentallyill-wench]

Ima do some community making everyone gay sexuality hc cause why not

Troy- i feel like Troy is gay do you guys remember when he and Abed both went on a date with the librarian and he fully expected Abed to win and when he didn’t his only reply was asking why she didn’t pick him. Troy is 100% gay and in love with Abed (maybe not in love but guy for sure)

Abed-Abed is kinda like Troy but I think he’s bi cause he has had more chemistry with girls and shown interest in them also his bi sweater. I think he loves Troy a lot but doesn’t think of it romanticly (and maybe it’s not even romantic) but especially cause he hasn’t had many friends I don’t think he’d question the nature of their relationship. I do think if Troy ever confessed they could date if Abed liked him or not although I rhink he does

Annie-I feel like Annie is sapphic in some way, especially because we see how all of her attraction to men is based on ideals she has in her head and , I’m not sure if she’s fully a lesbian but she’s definitely not straight and once again lots of internalized homophobia but in this one like very internalized

Britta- britta is a hard one but I feel like she’s bi or bi-curious like I feel like she’s kissed and slept with girls before but only while drunk or to piss if her parents

Jeff- I don’t care what his sexuality is but regardless he just gives bi energy. I feel like he’s just happy with anyone being into him, case and point being how upset he was when the dean started liking that criminal guy (ok another point I just thought of re watching the show is the pottery episode, he totally was somewhat into Rich or whatever his name is)

That’s everyone I have an opinion on so your welcome🫶😊

[fruity-phrog]

Ten favorite Sapphic ships?

You know them, you love them, Lumity. They were always there for me and I love them. Also Amity tall strong gf canon.

The best goth x pastel, Bubbline. They were my first ship and I have so many terrible fanarts of them from 2019. Also, I spent an hour in the dark pretending to be both PB and Marcy in a fic. Yesterday.

The girls that invented polyamory, Sashannarcy. Do I need an explanation? Autism energy x angry energy x no energy. Sasha stops Marcy from doing stupid shit, but Anne has to stop Sasha and Marcy from doing stupid shit together.

Heart of gold x heart of gold, an underrated ship dynamic, Scorpfuma. Yes, this is substantially higher than Catradora. I just think Scorpia's progression in s4 was so sweet and mainly down to Perfuma's acceptance.

Dipping my toes into more mature audiences with Harlivy. They are just very cute and anarchist, which I adore. Also, the comics are so sweet. And Harley is so in love with Ivy.

The perfect ship name, Juletheif. You're telling me that when an international criminal that you have been aiding leaves a large bouquet of roses at your doorstep and you hug them whispering "Thank you" while wearing her signature clothes, it's not gay??

Moving into live action, Ronance. They just have so much more chemistry than the other ships both girls have (Except for Vickie and Robin, they have vague chemistry but Vickie spent three minutes with Robin whereas Nancy lit a molotov cocktail for Robin to throw)

The queen herself, Garnet. She meant so much to so many people watching Steven Universe and the wedding will always be monumental in cartoon and queer history. Besides, Stronger Than You slaps.

Yes, this is quite low - Catradora. I just think Catra didn't have enough redemption time, but I like it none the less. It's so hard to rewatch the seasons tho, watching all the shit Catra did and just yelling "NO STOP THAT'S YOUR WIFE."

Bit random but Mabeficia. When we were watching the golf episode my brother said "They're like Lumity" (meaning enemies to friends) and it stuck in my head.

Lmao I hope you weren't expecting a simple short list bossman <3

[embodies]

ok.... ship ideas for the muses that come to mind in no particular order!!! very mild n.sfw references, not going to tag but fair warning.

alisha : i need someone to love her despite being unable to touch her, to teach her love is more than physical affection / lust. it would be unbearable and angsty to have no contact but when her power changes and they can touch.... best sex in the world i can't lie

bellamy : he's so easily impressionable / corruptible i just want him to be blinded by what he thinks is love and isn't even necessarily that? i have a cop verse for him which could easily be swayed by a criminal he's going after or similar, same with factions in t100 although i hate canon

dean : hunter couple? unhealthy bc it's all they know and like... if they stop hunting maybe they don't have chemistry anymore??? OR dean's hunting your muse and uh... for whatever reason that gets complicated hehe <3

elizabeth : tbh let her break ur muse's heart and shatter it with her heel

jesse : post - show new identity, gets with ur muse, feels like he's living a lie, opens up about it all, veryyyyyy angsty traumatising maybe there's a breakup and make up... ALTERNATIVELY.... childhood sweethearts and he's then recognised by your muse years later after brba has happened :') uh oh... i'd also LOVE just a cute neighbours fallin for each other plot (NOT same lines as canon with jane, different font similar style)

faith : i just need chaotic sapphic energy i'm not gonna elaborate

mike : i would LOVE to interact with his canon relationships tbh if anyone wants to write jess or emily i would DIE!!! but generally speaking he goes absolutely OBSESSIVE post game and it's unhealthy and i need someone to be along for the ride but also like... wanting him to stop hunting for the shit that killed his friends

generic ship dynamics i need, open to any applicable muses:

bonnie & clyde / killer couple vibes

friends with benefits

hate sex tbh, enemies to... just more enemies

fake couple or alternatively couple in secret

snowed in sharing a bed i don't care if it's cheesy

immortal/mortal couple?

destined to be together in every lifetime

our muses see each other 1 day a year by habit no matter how far they drift apart, some days they just smoke cigarettes until dawn others it gets emotional other times they hook up, just forever meeting up no matter how long they haven't seen each other for

[wolffyluna]

So... sapphic steppe atrocities and death game streamers? :O

I'm going to start with Death Game Streamers, because that's a bit easier to explain succinctly.

Death Game Streamers

20 minutes into the future, full dive VR exists. You can feel pain, feel the touch of objects, and generally really fuck about with the physics engine. One of the most popular games to play and watch is a game that gives you a lot of creative tools to build and make things, including other games. Think if Minecraft, Gary's Mod, and Second Life had a weird VR baby.

And of course, there's lots of streamers for this game, and a big audience too, for every plausible way to play this game.

There's a big subculture for Hunger Games-esque games, where if you die in the game-- you don't die in real life. That would be absurd. But dying hurts like hell, because audiences for that really love it when the pain sim is turned up to high.

And the story is about the blossoming romance of two streamers invited to such a game-- and the way it goes Very Weird because it is happening while they have a constant audience and can't easily communicate about it-- between a pvp sweat and someone who is usually a builder and infamously bad at pvp. ("Hey, that sounds like--" NO IT DOESN'T. SHUT.)

Sapphic Steppe Atrocities

I love it, I have so much worldbuilding for it. It doesn't have a first draft yet. The plot is broken and I have to fix it.

A long time ago, humanity devoloped faster than light travel. You could travel to other worlds! But you couldn't travel back in your life time. Still, plenty of people sailed out to the stars, and colonised new planets. And this mostly went fine!

Except, a significant minority of planets had something, somewhere Go Wrong, and they lost the science fictional technology and and ended up varyingly in an Ancient/Medieval/Early Modern equilibrium.

Like the poor planet of Unnamed, where the use of Mega Smallpox as a bioweapon kind of took out everyone who knew how to run the power plants and the pharmaceutical plants, and also a lot of the survivors came from one of the several High Control Low Tech religious groups that moved to the planet? It's pretty medieval, in both technology and society (because well. a lot of the way modern society can be so modern is because we have consistently plentiful food and energy and access to birth control, etc.)

Faster faster than light travel has been invented, and so now all the human planets can be in contact again! Yay! ...and now people need to work out how to deal with The Bad Planets.

Staying out of the ring, we have: The Space UN! Who have regulations against giving technology or assistance to any society that is not a democracy, so no one, like, gives a tyrant a nuke.

In the blue corner, we have: Future! A representative of a semi-criminal group that believes that "no, what the fuck, the people living in medieval dictatorships deserve medical assistance, and we are giving it?" Her nom de crime is from a quote from Benjamin Franklin to Edward Jenner about how "future nations will now [how cool smallpox vaccination is]" because she is so strongly on Team We Made This Fucker Extinct Once and We Will Do It Again. This is planet is her first assignment, and it is Going Poorly!

In the red corner, we have: Sabina! A representative of Pax Imperia, that believes that these planets can be fixed by Just Authority With The Power To Enforce Itself Through Violence, and are as imperialist as their name implies! Sabina is a romanaboo who on all levels except physical has a greek statue as an icon, and who annoyingly put a lot of her points into Charisma.

Thrown into the ring against their will, we have: Alit and Ngaya! Two warrior women from steppe pastoralist groups at war. They had to flee a battle into the enemies-to-lovers wilderness, thanks to Pax Imperia interfering with lazer guns. They're respective cultures have very different opinions about women fighting. Ngaya has tied herself to an idea of the Ideal Warrior that is eating her alive. Alit is going "'on a journey of revenge, dig two graves?' Oh, no, we're going to be needing a lot more graves than that."

And it's a lot about how technology shapes society, and about gender, and about [wiggles hands] how to reshape a world full of suffering. And Alit and Ngaya are going to kiss, damnit. (And maybe Future will get involved, too, everyone has two hands.) (There are also plans for a fucked up Sabina/Ngaya flirtation, because they are Worryingly Similar People.)

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

Okay i realised i dont talk about my ocs nearly as much as i should on here so have a shitty description of all the main characters to my current wips!!! (also this is me begging for more asks about my writing)

Power doesn't guarantee glory

Oriana Mckoy:if jenna ortegas wednesdaay addams was a 19 year old ace sapphic girl who has had way too much pressure put onto her

Salveria Ramel:silly lil guy (shes a 16 year old girl), was heavily based on my friend worm, is probably autistic, i adore her, you should adore her too.

Alex Ruinde:disaster gay (whos in denial ahout being gay) with abandonment issues

Mathew Mckoy:cinnamon role with an inferiority complex

Aria Allen:chaotic neutral lesbian who would gladly commit arson if given the chance

– – –

Paint analogy

Antoine Villeneuve:noble gentleman in his early 30s who like just learned what emotions are

Vixen Valentine:his dramatic, extroverted, goth best friend who forces him to be social

Celestine Maxwell:eccentric inventor girl who everyone is kind of scared of (she said she was going to dissect their brains, that was just her way of saying she thinks they were interesting)

Arden Clayborne:three goblins in a trench coat trying to act like One Fancy Dude(™️)

Melian Doyle:emo teenager in the body of a 29 year old man, he looks like hes going through his third divorce, in reality hes sleep deprived and on his third cup of coffee

– – –

Six of hearts

Ollie Miller:15 year old bisexual disaster with asthma, go to pick up line is "you take my breath away." (hes also the younger sibling and it shows)

Jackson "Jackie" Miller:gay, deaf, autistic teen boy with severe anxiety (he is the older sibling and it shows

Sage Arlene:short lesbian with pink hair and two dads

Terry Crow:Nonbinary theater kid who survives off of energy drinks

Via Wilson:Sages girlfriend, proof trans girls are fucking beautiful, her and jackie bond over being the introverts of the group

Rosy Moren:One of the rare instances of me writing a character who loves life

– – –

The inhuman fascination with the human mind

Orion:human, but in an inhuman way

Oz:he doesnt talk, but he will glare at you from across the room until you crack under pressure and run away, pretends they dont care about the others, spoiler alert:they do!

Opal:my darling, god help my poor darling, why did i give them such awful friends

Nathalie:inhuman, but in a human way

– – –

The sparks of hope that lead to fires of change

Casimir:carefree prince dude whos life wouldve been so much better if he was born into a normal, nonroyal family

Fletcher:spoiled brat who has committed murder

Celeste:girlboy who works day and night and night and day, no matter how she tries its all the same, they breeze on by, and hes left behind (if any of you got that reference marry me)

Alistair:stern knight dude whos life wouldve been better if their dad wasnt a knight

Cordelia:tall, mysterious, elegant woman whos intimidating and yet strangely motherly, she found a bunch of teens who had been screwed over by the royal family's existence and went "im taking you in. youre all my children now."

Rigil:pretty chill, down to earth dude, its pretty easy to forget that hes part of a group of criminals

Cyrus:emo teenager. (complimentary)

Fredge:pure chaos in the body of a 15 year old enby

Tip:bloody little girl

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

  The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. ��Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

  “Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

[nopeferatu]

Hello everyone! Long time no post but heres my piece for the @usukustwiceperyear event! The theme was the 20th century so I decided to set my right after queen Victoria's death, marking the beginning of the Edwardian era in England!

Just a little explanation of a few of the historical tidbits i put into the piece here and there:

1. It was heavily influenced by many of famed art nouveau artist Alphonse Mucha's art works, but if you know your Mucha then one in particular may stand out to you as being the biggest inspo 👀

2. The title of the piece itself, Palone-Omi, is a slang word meaning 'lesbian' from a coded language called Polari. Polari was used by many people on the outskirts of English society as a way to privately communicate with one another, including sailors, criminals, sex workers, and queer people!

3. While there is no officially titled "Lavender Garden" in London (as far as I could tell in my research process), I decided to set Amelia and Alice in a garden of full of purple toned flowers because lavender as a color has been used to covertly symbolize homosexuality since the late 1800's. Violets, more specifically, have been used to symbolize lesbianism and sapphic love dating back to the 6th century!

Anyways i hope yall like this, this piece singlehandedly killed my motivation to make anything new because it took so much time and mental energy out of me lol. Also make sure to check out the anthology listed on the usukustwiceperyear blog, the link is on there!

[synnthamonsugar]

Hi, just checking to make sure you're not overloaded from the sheer sapphic energy of the Eris/Mara part of the collector's edition booklet

I don't know if you'll like this answer, but while I headcanon both Eris and Mara as bi, I personally read their relationship as a friendship rather than a romance!! (Though, Eris/Mara is a criminally underrated ship and I'd love to see more art and fics exploring it even if I don't personally ship them.)

All that being said, the Eris and Mara part of the collectors edition booklet killed me. And brought me back and killed me again a few more times. (Spoilers for the WQ CE booklet below)

The idea that Eris was willing to cross into the Ascendant Plane to bring Mara back (AGAIN!!!) and that they confronted Savathun and Dul Incaru and survived knocks my freakin' socks off. I am NOT immune to the power of love and friendship overcoming all.

And Mara saving Eris' life, finally repaying the debt she owed Eris for securing her ascendance/immortality, and a physical mirroring of her saving Eris from the darkest moments in her post-hellmouth life made me go absolutely wild. The vulnerability and intimacy of that moment! (I am also not immune to hurt/comfort, in case it wasn't already clear.)

Not to mention the fact that none of this was done without significant emotional challenge. Mara carrying the essence of Oryx and becoming so like Oryx that Eris could barely stand her ........ that Eris was willing to endure (essentially) the locus of all her suffering because she so loves Mara, the trust and pain and kindness and tenderness that exists between them... platonic or romantic, this is the sort of relationship dynamic that nourishes me. Bless.

[mini-and-mighty]

I just found there's an entire fandom specifically around Rizzoli and Isles- and think they should have been a lesbian couple and I am VALIDATED!

Seriously i thought literally no one watched this show it doesn't have the same cult following like Law & Order or Criminal Minds

AND SOMEONE ELSE SEES THE SAPPHIC ENERGY THAT RADIATES FROM THIS SHOW!

[ryann-rosss]

ranking panic! at the disco albums based on gayness

6. pray for the wicked

definitely the straightest album, but that doesn’t mean that there are gay moments in this album. shoutout to the inclusivity of dancing’s not a crime “just wanna be your boyfriend, girlfriend” (even though it doesn’t include people who don’t identify as male or female but he tried) and old fashioned’s “medicatin’ every day to keep the straightness in order”. also the overpass is just. gay. “i have a shirt that keeps your smell”? “lipstick boys”?? the overpass is criminally underrated, but anyway, that’s another discussion :))) i give pray for the wicked maybe a 4.5/10 but it honestly depends.

5. a fever you can’t sweat out 

since we are only basing this on the studio recording (live performances + their tours are a whole other story) i’m putting this second to the bottom. not really any songs which are distinctly homosexual, although there are heaps of references to chuck palahunik, a gay author, and lines from “time to dance” directly taken from dialogue spoken by a trans woman (i think? i haven’t read invisible monsters, sorry). also a lot of fans of this album are just?? generally gay?? exudes gay energy?? probably more gay moments and lines i’m forgetting, but this is that for now. a solid 6/10 for the studio recording only, so not counting any live moments lmao.

4. death of a bachelor 

i hear what you’re saying - “a death of a bachelor?? over a fever you can’t sweat out?? what sacrilege!!!” - but like, hear me out. golden days. just. golden days. golden days is actually such a fucking gay song. there are. no. fucking. pronouns. and the adjective used to describe the lover, debonair, is only used for men. house of memories and the good the bad and the dirty is sO GAY i cannot!!! like!!! also hallelujah!!!! this album is actually good!!!! fight me!!!!!!!!!!!! an 8/10 for gayness, and you can fight me!!!

3. vices & virtues

people always say he turned all of ryan’s gay lyrics to straight songs about sarah but?? like?? hurricane is such a gay song, i will NEVER shut the fuck up about this. literally, i cannot take in a heterosexual way, i’m sorry. and the calendar? written about his (male) ex-bandmates but talks about having sex with them? pardon me? okay, i will admit that this album probably has the most female pronouns, but that doesn’t make it about sarah? like all of these songs are salty songs about his ex. also pete wentz helped brendon with the lyrics and it really shows, oh my god. the gayness is strong in this album. 8.5/10 for gayness.

2.  too weird to live, too rare to die 

this. is. such. a. gay. album. he is literally smoking RAINBOW in the cover, pardon me? girls/girls/boys is an anthem for bi/pan/omni/other people and it’s on THIS ALBUM. dallon wrote that about his PANSEXUAL wife (breezy weekes, bless her) and it’s when all the flags come out in the concert! they made gay merch for it!! and donated it to charities helping young lgbtqiap+ people!! and CASUAL AFFAIR. oh my GOD. literally about a gay fucking fantasy, he actually fucking SAID IT!!!!!! there’s an anti-gay ad in the mv, and it was supposed to be on the track as well!!! and, okay, i know it’s a bonus track but all the boys!!! i know it’s about loving a girl, but, it also says ALL THE GIRLS love the girls too!! um?? sapphic representation?? yes please!!! thank you dallon!!!! also i know i talk a lot about gay energy but come on. gay energy. this is such a gay album. 10/10 for twtltrtd.

1. pretty. odd. (1000/10)

what did you expect? like honestly?? firstly the whole fucking aesthetic?? flowers?? pastel?? they really did say gay rights. and the songs. where do we even fucking begin with the songs on pretty. odd.? literally, all the songs. nine in the afternoon is about a parade of lovers. like? okay. okay ryan ross. she’s a handsome woman’s title is about a butch lesbian, and you can fight me. spencer smith literally said butch lesbian rights. if i go to hell?? do you know who homophobes say are heading to hell?? that green gentleman (things have changed)?? “i never said i missed her when everybody kissed her, now i'm the only one to blame”?? also i have friends in holy spaces is literally about gayness. and northern downpour?? don’t even fucking begin with n*rth*rn d*wnp*ur. reinvent love?????????? okay i’m not going to unpack every single song in this album, even if i totally could, but my point is that it’s literally all so fucking gay. the energy from this album is gay. if gay was a sound it would be this entire album on repeated. literally....the sound of it is homosexual. the gayest album panic! has ever produced, and possibly the gayest album made in the history of music. 10000000/10.

[lauradonnelly]

where’s the merthur criminal minds au bcos merlin=spencer and i guess that makes arthur derek??? anyway morgana is emily

you know anon i scoured ao3 once (a long time ago) and couldn’t find anything 😭 i should check again ahshdhdjsja

merlin WOULD be reid...chaotic nerds who never know when to shut up and who live to annoy their boyfriends 😄

tbh i can’t decide who arthur would be??? he’s like this weird mixture of morgan and hotch (it’s the emotional constipation and how he shuts people out). i guess if i had to pick one character, morgan would be closest though.

can gwaine be garcia hbnnfhshadhsj

but: the absolute 💖✨💖sapphic energy💖✨💖 of morgana as prentiss...ma’am please step on me

[artificialqueens]

Chapter One: We'll Show Them (Sashea)-Luci

An: I haven’t done a chaptered fic in a while, so I decided to work with a request I got. I have exams in 14 days so when those are over I’ll be writing lots more, but I’m hoping to find the time to update everything. Hope you enjoy! Slight mention of homophobia, but nothing too bad!

Summary: Sasha Velour’s anchoring job at Good Morning Bitches is put in jeopardy when her sexuality is questioned, and she isn’t sure her boss can save her this time

The window blinds were pulled half-heartedly shut; the gaps wide enough to let in streaks of sunlight. The entrance room that lead into her work was narrow, and the light found its way to every corner of the room.  The light bounced off the red brick wall opposite, blinding Sasha when she was forced to walk through the beam of light. She drew her left arm up to her face, shielding her eyes from the harsh sun. Sasha’s time management was questionable at best and she couldn’t be sure how early it was, but judging by the sun still rising in the sky, it was too early for her to be awake. The coffee she held in her free hand burned her palm, but she was grateful for the energy it provided. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon distracted her nose from the streets of Brooklyn. Sasha brushed down her pencil skirt, checking for stains before she proceeded. That was the downside of being an artist, paint found a way to manifest itself everywhere. She moved aside the poster that read ‘Quiet on set!’ and pushed open the door ahead.

Sasha tried to slow her rapid breaths, panting from running into the building. She grimaced as she checked the time on her phone. Her feet were already starting to hurt as she stumbled down the streets of Brooklyn to make it on time to work for the first time this week. It was Thursday, and she’d once again failed, by 20 minutes. Sasha wished she could say that was a record, but it was actually one of her better days.

The room was alive with cameramen and directors, each shouting instructions at each other. Lights focused on the set in the centre of the room, highlighting the news desk. Sasha glanced at it, a feeling of unease washing over her. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be allowed to sit in the chair. She turned away from the set with a grimace on her face. Her eyes caught sight of her boss, who was leaning on a chair outside her office, as she flicked through papers in her hands. She was talking quietly with one of the directors, Alexis Michelle.

Perhaps in any other circumstances, the woman perched next to the desk hidden by another figure, would’ve blended into the background. But Shea Coulee wasn’t able to blend in. The smooth curve of contour that shaped her cheekbone was drawn to her ruby lips and her eyebrows arched to her temple. Her dark brown curls fell past her shoulders, the artificial lights catching the blonde highlights. In other words, Shea Coulee could be photographed in front of each wonder of the world and still take all the spotlight. Of course Sasha thought she was beautiful; everyone did. Shea was a sight to behold, and Sasha imagined she was too, but for different reasons. The news anchor stood with her mouth agape, staring in the direction of Shea, the coffee in her hand beginning to go cold. Shea hadn’t yet seen her approach, but everyone else had. They watched her awkwardly, the tension in the air being felt by everyone in the room.

“Hey Shea.” Sasha greeted sheepishly, waiting nervously for her to wave Alexis away. The woman gave Shea and Sasha a weary look before walking away to leave them in peace.

“You’re late. Again. In fact, I don’t think I can think of a time when you’ve actually been on time.” Shea narrowed her eyes, her foot tapping impatiently.

“I’m sorry, I promise I’m trying. The bus was late and the traffic was terrible and-” Sasha was interrupted when Shea took the coffee from her hand and pressed it to her lips to quieten her.

“Look, I can’t keep saving your ass; you know it’s difficult for us at the moment.” Shea sighed, giving Sasha back her coffee after a deathly glare. If looks could kill, Shea would have been assassinated.

Sasha contemplated what she should say; “I’m sorry that my time management is almost as bad as being the lesbian news anchor that is apparently literally Satan herself” didn’t really seem to cut it.

Shea must have noticed the regret in Sasha’s eyes because her face softened. She placed a hand on Sasha’s shoulder gently.

“We’ll get through this; just try not to fuck anything else up.” Shea smiled sympathetically. Sasha leaned into her touch, ignoring the glare Alexis was shooting in their direction.

Shea took the cold coffee that Sasha had forgotten about and pressed it to her lips, delighting in Sasha’s disgust as she took a sip. Shea was perfect; but everyone had a flaw. Sasha hadn’t expected Shea’s to be her strange enjoyment of cold coffee. Sasha shook her head as the pair walked over to Shea’s desk, coffee placed next to her pile of work tauntingly. Sasha wrinkled her nose at it.

Shea’s eyes bore into hers, lustrous onyx meeting pale topaz. Sasha wanted to shy away from her gaze, but she decided to attempt to establish dominance. Of course, it didn’t work as Shea gave her a bright smile and Sasha felt herself melting onto the desk. Not a professional image, but an apt one. Shea’s smile was as strong as her character and Sasha couldn’t help but feel intimidated. She was reminded of her first day as a news anchor, the fear of being live crushing any confidence she’d previously mustered. The butterflies in her stomach were back now, except they seemed to have turned into those giant moths she was deathly afraid of.

“So,” Shea asked cheerfully, “have you read the script for today? We get to do a story together. Lucky us; getting to discuss the riveting effects of gas prices on American rednecks.”

Sasha laughed loudly and wiggled her eyebrows, “Fascinating.”

“Oh indeed it is Miss Velour; this is the hard-hitting reporting I always dreamed of. This, my dear, is why I went to journalism school.” Shea proclaimed, gesturing wildly to the camera crew and bright colourful lights that illuminated the background.

“I’m so glad I get to witness you reaching the peak of your career.” Sasha grinned.

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better to share this experience with.” Shea announced, mimicking giving a dramatic speech. Sasha rolled her eyes as she walked over to her own desk, still shaking her head at her boss when she sat down into her uncomfortable faux leather chair. Still making faces at Shea, Sasha hadn’t noticed Alexis approach.

“Look, weirdo, tell me what’s going on.” She asked quietly, taking a seat in front of the anchor. Sasha frowned in offense.

“It’s not exactly professional to call me a weirdo, Alexis.” She countered. Sasha and Alexis were close, especially after Alexis taught Sasha how to read the Teleprompters without messing up. Sure, it had taken a few weeks, but Sasha had been grateful that she’d managed to learn at all.

“Don’t you start talking about professionalism, Velour. I see how you’ve been acting with Shea, are you kidding me?” Alexis hissed.

Sasha’s eyes widened in bewilderment as she frowned up at her co-worker. Alexis had taken a hard stance; crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow. Sasha bit her lip, shrinking into her chair. She felt as though she was a criminal being interrogated, and Alexis’s cool stare made her feel as though she actually was guilty.

“I haven’t done anything.” Sasha stated simply. Mentally, she cursed. That’s exactly what someone who had done something would say.

“The show’s views have gone down since your interview last month. Do you even remember that homophobic guest we had? If that sexual tension with Shea carries on, you’ll get fired.” Alexis’s worried warning was vague, but Sasha knew what she was talking about. She’d basically come out to America, which was definitely a country that didn’t want a sapphic news anchor. Or, at least, that’s what the stats had shown. Sasha had been on thin ice since, and it wasn’t getting better.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” Sasha mumbled.

“You say that all the time and I guarantee you go and do something extremely stupid very soon after it. I can’t save you, and Shea sure as hell can’t. The station managers already think she’s way too soft on you, considering she’s not only head-anchor but also general manager.” Alexis sighed, smiling sympathetically.

A hand fell on Sasha’s shoulder, and the surprise made her gasp loudly. Judging by the scowl on Alexis’s face and the deep laugh from behind her, Sasha guessed that it was Shea. Sasha spun around, meeting the sparkling eyes and wide grin of her boss.

“You scared me. I don’t have the right health insurance to pay for a heart attack at work.” Sasha pouted mockingly, her hand clutching her chest as if she could demonstrate her elevated heart rate.

“Well, you better bring that up with my superiors then, as a heart attack is very likely in a boring news job.” Shea joked, pulling Sasha to her feet.

“Come on, we’re supposed to be on air in,” Shea paused to mime looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist, “no minutes. Let’s go.”

Shea pulled Sasha towards their positions at the news desk, where two chairs had been placed. Two men directed them to their seats, barking instructions at them. The producer of the show counted down, holding up his hand and counting down on his fingers. Sasha waited for the last finger to drop and the light to switch on, indicating that they were about to go live.

Sasha wondered when they’d started sitting so close. The distance between them was paper thin, and Sasha could almost feel the minuscule hairs on Shea’s arm on her own. She could smell the floral perfume on her wrists and she could feel the gentle exhale of breath. Their knees brushed, causing friction as the fabric of their tights came into contact. Sasha stared into the lens of the camera, making sure her face kept up its wide smile. She glanced quickly at Shea, noticing the same charismatic smile. To the audience at home, through the television screens, the tension between the two couldn’t be observed. They couldn’t see how close their bodies were beneath the desks, or how shallow their breaths were.

“…they’ll be more on that story as it develops.” Shea finalised, turning to Sasha as she waited for the other anchor to pick up on her queue.

“Keep watching for Alexis Michelle, who has lots to discuss with a special guest. That’s all from us today.” Sasha waved at the camera, offering her signature goofy smile to the audience. Shea blew the camera a kiss, which was her own iconic gesture. The light in front of them, that was currently a blinding red, turned to a dull white to signal the end of their live segment. The cameras turned away from them and Sasha finally relaxed, slumping into her chair. Shea did the same, turning her chair to face Sasha.

“I’m glad the red necks aren’t giving up, gas price protests are really inspiring.” Shea announced with a sarcastic hum. Sasha laughed loudly.

“They’re really changing the world, aren’t they?” Sasha added, still laughing as she spoke. Shea nodded in mock confirmation, opening her mouth to speak. She was interrupted by Alexis running up to the pair of them, a note scribbled on a piece of paper. Sasha saw her name written down and she felt her heart stop beating for a moment. She knew this wouldn’t be good.

“Sasha, the bosses want to talk to you,” Alexis greeted in a hurry, “what are they upset about?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything?” Sasha asked; frantic worry evident in her eyes. Sasha had many experiences with her bosses, but not one of them had been good since she interviewed for the job 3 years ago. The feeling of dread had been one she was familiar with by now, and it hadn’t become any less bearable to walk to the third floor. Most of the trouble she caused was fixed by Shea, the news director and her co-anchor, but the few times she’d been called to the station managers had worried even Shea. Shea was in charge of Sasha, so she wasn’t worried about punishments. However, Shea’s bosses didn’t care about Sasha like Shea did.

Down the corridor, Farrah sat behind her desk that was positioned in front of the superiors’ offices.  She was buried deep in paperwork, and Sasha often felt sorry for the young woman. She was fresh out of university, and had been running after Trinity for months. The assistant was the sweetheart of the crew, and everyone knew it. Her short blonde hair was curled perfectly and her doe eyes sparkled whenever you asked her how her day was. Farrah leaned forward, elbows resting on her desk, as she flashed Sasha a smile.

“Hey darling.” Sasha greeted, trying not to wear her defeated emotions on her face. Farrah either didn’t notice or care about Sasha’s internal turmoil as she kept smiling and greeted her fondly.

“What brings you here?” Farrah asked as Sasha anxiously paced in front of the desk.

“I have a meeting.” Sasha mumbled, embarrassed. Farrah frowned and shook her head.

“Oh, again? Trinity’s in her office, just walk on in. And good luck.” Farrah waved in the direction of Trinity’s office and watched Sasha pityingly as she shuffled towards the door.

She knocked twice on the glass door, and she could see Trinity look up in surprise. The older woman beckoned her in with a flick of her hand. Sasha quickly studied Trinity’s expression, hoping to get an indication of her mood. Her face was smooth and youthful from years of plastic surgery, and her lips were drawn into a pout, only partly from the fillers. She was frowning, and Sasha knew that didn’t mean good news for her.

She took a seat in front of Trinity’s desk, shuffling in her chair. Trinity’s eyes stared deeply into hers, and Sasha guessed she was probably trying to deduce her emotions as she previously had.

“Look, Velour, you know we’ve had some issues with you since your interview. You understand that it’s nothing to do with you personally, but we’ve lost 20% of our views since. We can’t afford it. We’ve discussed the future of your career and we can’t find an alternative to letting you go. If they decide they don’t want you as an anchor at the public meeting, then we’re going to have to consider something drastic. I’m sorry.” Trinity explained.

Sasha was sure that her boss spoke for around ten more minutes, but she lost concentration. She was staring blankly at Trinity, her face pale and her hands shaking. Trinity had excused her, apologizing weakly as she left the office. Sasha didn’t stop to explain to Farrah, and she didn’t walk over to Shea when the woman gave her a curious look. Instead, she walked, slumped, to the back room, making sure no one could hear her rapid hiccupping breaths.

Sasha’s soft sniffles could be heard from the back room as she locked herself in the small room. She had never been claustrophobic, but it felt as though the room was closing up on her, trapping her against all four dark walls. Tears left tracks in her foundation, and her mascara had proved to not be waterproof at all. She began to hiccup as she verged on hysteria, the tears becoming more uncontrollable.

“Miss Velour, if you don’t open this door in 2 seconds I will kick it down and smack you.” Sasha’s head shot in the direction of the door as she heard Shea’s loud shout from the other side. She contemplated ignoring the warning, but she knew Shea had heard her crying. She hesitated for a moment, buying her time to wipe away the smudged mascara. She pulled the door open, seeing Shea standing in the doorway with two coffees in her hand.

“Thought you could use some caffeine?” Shea offered, holding out the larger coffee to Sasha. She thanked her quietly, grateful for the warm liquid that refreshed her dried out throat. Shea hugged her tightly, sitting down next to her on the battered loveseat.

Sasha opted not to speak, worried that her voice would come out whiny and cracked. Instead she just rested her head on Shea’s shoulder, taking deep breaths to control her breathing. She was still crying, unable to stop the tears, but Shea’s strength was a great help. They sat in comfortable silence until Shea turned towards her to speak.

“Do you think you’ll ever do something with your art?” Shea asked, her eyes drawn to the stain of pale blue paint on Sasha’s collar.  Sasha glanced down at it too, rubbing it with her thumbs to try and get rid of it.

“It’s not like they’ll ever be an art segment on this damn show, and I’m too broke to afford an art studio. Hell, I can’t even afford paints; did you know I get the bus to work? That’s why usually late, by the way.” Sasha sighed.

“I can always come pick you up before work. We could get breakfast first, maybe.” Shea offered, a charming smile masking her nerves. Sasha scuffed her feet on the wooden floor and stared down at her feet. She wondered when she’d become a schoolgirl with a crush. The last word poisoned her mind as she bit her lip, the mere thought of it making her flinch. That was definitely, one hundred percent the last thing she needed.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, thanks.” Sasha beamed.

“And don’t give up on your art; I’m sure I won’t be the only one who adores it.” Shea promised. Sasha nodded gratefully as Shea drew her finger under Sasha’s eyes to wipe away a stray tear. Her heart fluttered from the intimacy.

“You’re a really great distraction, you know that?” Sasha mused, leaning into Shea’s touch.

“I do my best, bitch. Also, don’t tell my boss that I called an employee a bitch.” Shea spoke, reaching her hand over to Sasha so she could press her finger in front of her lip in a silencing gesture.

“I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow, Shea. And thanks, for everything.” Sasha spoke, her mouth turned up into a slight smile. She kissed Shea on the cheek before leaving the room to get the bus home. She picked up her bag from her locker and sped up, practically running out the door as she realised she’d be late for the last bus of the day. Shea shook her head fondly.

Shea walked over to her desk, bag slung over her shoulder as she got ready to leave. A flash of colour caught her eye as she found a post-it note stuck to the screen of her computer. She frowned, confused, and pulled it gently so she didn’t rip it. She was glad everyone had gone home, especially Sasha, so that no one could see the immense smile growing on her face.

The post-it note in her hand was a faded pink, with a drawing sketched on it in a gel pen. It was a troll like figure surrounded in roses. Its bushy eyebrows mirrored Sasha’s, and its teal skin was coloured in with a felt tip pen. Sasha had often called it her alter ego, and its Gollum-like voice she impersonated always made them both laugh until their ribs hurt. Shea smiled at the picture in her hands. The pink post-it note joined a cluster of others on the top of her computer. Each was a different colour and was decorated with a different drawing. Some had little messages scribbled underneath the drawings. The latest was not an exception.

‘Sorry for being a fuck up.-Sasha <3’