#I know that women’s liberation looks different to everyone a | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tightjeansjavi · 4 months

Text

The Rite of Movement | part two

“first impressions”

part one | honeymoonin’

A/N: well, well, well, fancy that we’re all meeting up here, huh? 🥵 first, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl who has been feeding my brain rot all day. I appreciate you so so much and your input is extremely helpful 🥺 I do not have a lot of knowledge on the adult film industry, but I’m eager to dive into it with y’all. We all have our different preferences and tastes when it comes to porn, (if you choose to watch it) but for me personally, I’m into porn that is catered to women. And guess who else is? Joel fuckin’ Miller! I hope these impromptu drabbles give you all the warm, fuzzy, and hornknee feelings. In this household, we support sex workers 💗 we also support healthy communication during sex, safe sex, and sexual liberation for everyone. Thank u also to @strang3lov3 for the title 🤍

~word count: 5.0k~

Summary: it’s your first time meeting Joel Miller, your new adult film partner

Pairing | pornstar!joel miller x pornstar f!reader (and a sprinkle of pornstar!tommy miller. More to come in later chapters!)

Warnings: 30s reader/40s joel, general discussions of the porn industry, brief discussions of workplace trauma, mild swearing, kissing, slightly inappropriate workplace relationship, boss/employee power dynamic but it’s only lightly explored in this chapter, voyeurism, light smut, f!masturbation, reader has no physical descriptions, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol consumption, +18, minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

When you moved back to Austin Texas looking for a fresh start after a rather rocky experience doing unsatisfying pornos as a regular on screen talent for the mega studio, Brazzers, you never expected to rejoin the industry through a professional studio. After being fired, you settled on making solo amateur films in an attempt to pay your bills and make ends meet. The only problem was rent in LA was nowhere near affordable, and the pay was significantly less than you’d been bringing in from the studio. That’s when you made the decision to leave the state of California entirely, looking eastward towards a once-familiar home.

Your roots were in rural Texas, and although your parents ultimately disowned you for joining the adult film industry, you still had a support group of fellow transplants in Austin that had missed you terribly.

The porn industry was always evolving, but with these changes came an influx of new content. You had a decent following for a small time account, but without the promotion budget that came with films produced at larger studios, your homemade solo films were inevitably pushed to the bottom of the pecking order, making it difficult to expand your audience. You thought about quitting entirely and getting an everyday job as a receptionist at some corporate office, until one night you stumbled upon a channel account that was based in Austin. “Miller-Co, Real people, real sex, professionally produced for your pleasure.” Surrounded by unpacked moving boxes on your single, sad, sofa, you poured yourself a tall glass of wine and clicked on the first video that appeared on the channel’s page, its male lead catching your eye immediately and you clicked the video details to find his name.

Joel Miller was big in every possible sense. From his hands, to his biceps, to his strong thighs. His cock was stunning. It wasn’t the longest cock you had ever seen, but it was deliciously thick, a girth that had you salivating immediately. Not only was it big, but the more you watched, the more you learned he sure knew how to use it. Despite Joel’s brooding nature, his attentive care to his partners on screen was something you had never seen before. He was a talker, a praiser and it seemed he only did scenes in positions where he could see his partners face while they came. The studio lighting was softer, inviting, and very, very intimate.

You clicked through more videos. Joel’s apparent brother, Tommy Miller, was also a big talker, but he reminded you more of a sweet frat boy with some serious golden retriever energy. In simple terms, Tommy liked to pound it. His style seemed more physically intense and fun, lighthearted even. He could do more sensual, intimacy based scenes, but that was more Joel’s forte, you gleaned as you continued to consume their content. Tommy’s cock had an inch or so on his brother, but his cock wasn’t as thick. What it lacked it girth it made up for with how it was curved, and you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to hit that spot inside of you that sent you keening.

The more you watched these two brothers in their element, the damper your flimsy panties grew. It had been so long since you had gotten off while watching porn that you weren’t even sure if you could have a successful orgasm from it. Boy, were you wrong.

Your clit was soon overstimulated and pulsing beneath the soft silicon of your vibrator. You tossed the toy to the side and paused the video while you caught your breath for a few minutes, coming down from your high. A sense of post-orgasmic clarity settled in your mind and something was telling you that working for this channel’s studio might end up being your calling. A wonderful, horny twist of fate. Your ticket back into the industry that had left you both emotionally and physically bruised.

You couldn’t help the gleeful giggle that slipped past your lips the further you scrolled down the channel’s main page, looking for information on Miller-Co’s parent studio, and discovered a link at the bottom: Auditions.

You scrambled to update your resumé, and threw together a portfolio of your past work and clicked on the link. You submitted your application and downed the rest of your wine before closing the screen to your laptop with a decompressing sigh.

No one could say that you didn’t try.

On the other side of town Joel Miller was just closing up the studio for the evening to meet Tommy at their usual watering hole for a drink. His phone buzzed, notifying him that he had a new email and while he walked to his truck, he opened the email.

He had been recently looking for a new film partner outside of his current talent pool. Things were going well at his and Tommy’s boutique adult film studio, they were starting to see growth, and that meant making sure there was regularly fresh content for their growing audience.

Despite receiving 100s of applicants a day from his online posting on his studio’s PornHub channel, none of them were quite what Joel was looking for..until he opened up your application. Joel got a sudden overwhelming feeling in his chest that you were exactly the type of on-screen partner he was looking for. He exited out of the email and sent a quick text to Tommy. Hey, I'm gonna be a few minutes late. Got an applicant that I think will be perfect.

After sending the text to his brother, he opened the email once more. Your resumé was brief, and a noticeable frown crossed over his face when he saw that you were ex-Brazzers. When Joel was 18 and fresh to the industry, he worked for Brazzers. Being so green, he hadn’t known what exactly to expect, so he suffered through in the name of independence and regular pay, but he had hated it, and especially hated the way it made him feel. The culture there had led him to never wanting to partake in making that type of porn again. There was no emphasis on the comfort of his female partners, little to no communication between the actors, and Joel ultimately was uncomfortable with following through with the things he was requested to do. Half the time it didn’t even feel good. And what the hell is the point of making porn if both participants aren’t having fun and feeling pleasure?

For this reason, he felt wrong viewing the content that you had made with Brazzers. Given his prior experience, he could only imagine what you had gone through, and he didn’t want to see you that way. His business was solely based around respect, consent, and comfort as a top priority.

He opted to view your solo amateur content instead. You were a natural, and he knew that he could easily make you a star, if that’s what you truly wanted. Joel knew that mixing pleasure with business, in this industry in particular, could end up messy, but he never felt so physically and emotionally attracted to another human being till now.

His fingers worked fast on the screen as he responded to the email.

Hello,

It’s after working hours for me, but I just went over your application. You’re a natural, and I would be extremely interested in meeting for an official audition. Here is the address to the studio, and my personal work number.

I am off tomorrow, but if you are interested, I can go ahead and schedule a meeting for noon?

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Joel Miller.

He receives an email response from you five minutes later just when he starts the engine of his truck.

Hello Joel,

I would absolutely be interested in coming in for an official audition tomorrow. Noon works for me as well.

See you then!

He lets out a sigh of relief at your response and despite his goal to remain professional, he can’t help the flush that rises to his cheeks at the thought of filming with you. He sends a calendar invite to your email address with the meeting time of noon tomorrow. He tosses his phone into the cup holder and finally drives to the bar.

“She’s ex-Brazzers. Moved all the way from LA just like you and me.” Joel discusses with Tommy over a beer. He takes a sip from the rim and slides his phone across the table to the opposite end of the booth where Tommy is sitting.

“And she’s only been doing solo amateur content as of late?”

“Yeah, she’s only got a few videos up, but it sounds like she’s ready to dip her toe back into the industry. She’s a natural, Tommy. Real captivatin’ on camera.”

Tommy glances down at your application and lightly taps out a bit of ash from his cigarette in the ashtray resting near his elbow. “That so? Well, guess I’m just gonna have to see for myself jus’ how captivatin’ she is.” He looked over at his brother with a knowing grin and pulled out his earbuds from his jacket pocket and slipped them in.

Joel intently observes his brother watching one of your solo films and when he sees Tommy reach down to adjust himself, he couldn’t help but grin.

Tommy’s cheeks have a bright flush to them as he hits pause on the video, taking out one of the earbuds and makes direct eye contact with his brother. “Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. Those eyes? Brother, I feel like I was being sucked into the screen! God, and her little whimpers? The way they kept gettin’ higher and higher—” Tommy said animatedly.

Joel feels a twinge of jealousy zip up his spine like he was shocked. Tommy’s never been shy, and neither has Joel, but he’s already feeling protective over you and he hasn’t even met you yet. “Yeah, she is a thing of beauty, ain’t she? I don’t know what it is about her, but I love her energy.” Joel comments thoughtfully.

Tommy, being the horndog that he is, can't help but look back down at the screen and the part where the video has paused. Your thighs are spread wide, fingers playing with your clit, teasing yourself while making occasional direct eye contact with the camera. “And god, that pussy? Y’ever see somethin’ so pretty? Bet she tastes like fuckin’ honey.” Tommy drawls.

“Tommy.” Joel snaps his fingers in front of his face in a quick motion. “Don’t go gettin’ too excited now. I’m the one meetin’ with her.” Joel gently reminds him.

“Well, I can see why ya like her so much already, Joel.” He winks and slides the phone back in his direction. “Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a twist. I think just based on this single video, she’s gonna be a good fit. On a serious note, I hope that Brazzers didn’t fuck her up too much.” He reaches for his beer and takes a sip.

“It’s her energy man, it’s infectious. She seems so gentle, soft, but you can tell that she knows exactly what she wants just by looking into her eyes alone.” Joel said rather dreamily.

“Y’gonna give ‘er the ole Joel Miller razzle dazzle then?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully with a chuckle.

Joel rolled his eyes and flipped him off before taking another sip of his beer. “All depends on her comfort level during our first interaction. I want her to know that she gets to call all the shots.”

Tommy tips his beer towards Joel in a mock salute. “And yet they say chivalry is dead.”

At first you wonder if Miller-Co is just another too good to be true scam and Joel had played you, providing you with the wrong address on purpose. Maybe this was a sign for you to never try studio work in the adult film industry again. You were standing outside of a hardware store, triple checking the address while simultaneously looking up at the sign: Miller-Co

Joel is sitting behind his desk when he sees you teetering around outside. He checks the time on his watch—quarter to noon—and smiles. He’s a punctual person himself and always had this philosophy of showing up earlier than planned out of respect for everyone’s valuable time.

He gets up from his desk and walks towards the door just as you’re turning on your heel to walk away.

The door swings open behind you with a sweet chime, and then you hear the raspy timbre of his voice, his smooth southern accent that already has you feeling weak in the knees.

“Are you my 12 o’clock?” He grins a boyish grin that oozes a level of natural confidence and charm that men dream of possessing.

“Oh.” You laugh and fiddle with the strap on your purse. “I totally thought I had the wrong place for a second there.”

“Sorry ‘bout the confusion, darlin.’ Folks ‘round these parts can be…sensitive to what we’re doing here. Gotta be sure they ain’t have a clue what they’re walkin’ by, be discreet, y’know?” He holds the door open with his shoulder effortlessly, and you get a good look at his handsome features. Joel Miller is tall, well-groomed, and there’s something immediately comforting about him. You can’t quite put your finger on what that thing is, but it might have to do with the selfless energy that radiates from the depths of his soft, espresso colored eyes. Or maybe it’s the endearing heart-shaped patches in his gray speckled beard.

“Oh, thank god!” You laugh again, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, and he chuckles. Something flickers in your eyes that Joel registers as unabashed curiosity. He clocks the slight hitch of your breath, your pupils dilating.

“I take it you’re probably used to dingy warehouses, unkempt garages, and the occasional sketchy office building?” Joel quips. He slips one of his hands into the faded pocket of his denim jeans.

“Yeah, how did you know?” You retort with false sarcasm and a small smile.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Lucky guess?”

“Well, you didn’t not hit the nail on the head, Mr. Miller.”

You swear you see him blush, the tops of his cheeks turning a flushed pink color. “Oh, please, call me Joel, darlin’. Mr. Miller makes me feel so..old.” He laughs and subtly gestures to the open door. “And hope ya don’t mind me sayin’ this, but ain’t you jus’ the sweetest n’ prettiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on.” He winks. “Shall we?”

“Oh, please, you aren’t old at all, Joel,” you brush away his self deprecation as his compliment leaves you feeling flustered, the heat beginning to rise to your cheeks. “So, your videos weren’t lying then? You really are a sweet talker?” You flirt back.

“Some days I feel like I am, got a bad back and ‘a that. And, oh, I am quite the sweet talker, darlin’.” He holds the door open for you as you slip past him, brushing up against the rough denim of his jeans due to his sheer mass taking up most of the entryway.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach when your eyes zone in on an all-to familiar black leather couch pressed up against the side of the wall. He notices your immediate discomfort and hesitation and clears his throat alongside you. “We uh—don’t film anythin’ on that, darlin’. It’s there more as a joke than anythin’.”

He sees you visibly let out a sigh of relief as your shoulders relax. You don’t see his face, but his lips are set in a deep frown and he genuinely feels bad. “There’s no leather couches or bright, headache inducin’ lights where I film, darlin’,” he adds softly and steps around you to pull back the chair at his desk.

You’re not even sure what to think or say as he pulls the chair back and you quietly sit down and watch as he sits across from you. “Hey, before we get into talkin’ business, I’m aware that you worked for Brazzers at one point, saw it on the application you submitted, and I jus’ wanted to let you know that me sayin’ ‘lucky guess’ back there was to ease your nerves. I understand what it’s like coming from that world, could tell that you were feelin’ a bit apprehensive, and I didn’t wanna jump right on into discussing your portfolio out in the open, y’know?” He held steady eye contact with you which was something that you normally would be intimidated by, but Joel wasn’t trying to make you feel small, his concern was genuine.

“It’s just been awhile for me since working there, but I appreciate you trying to ease the tension, Joel. I swear I’m not always this jumpy,” you add softly and he smiles.

“S’alright. I understand. I jus’ wanna start off by sayin’ that I want you to be comfortable, darlin’. That’s our first priority. We can film in the studio if you want. Now, personally, I never film here. All feels a bit too sterile for me; got a set up at home to film there. Feels more natural, but if you would rather be here, we can make that work.” He clicks a few buttons on the desktop mouse and pulls up your application so he has it to directly reference.

“Your first priority is that you want me to be comfortable?” The question tumbles past your lips and your pupils are blown wide. In past jobs your comfort was always pushed to the very bottom. It was viewed as insignificant and something that you were told you’d just have to suck up and get over. There was always a limited budget, which meant limited time, which meant little care given to anything other than hard and fast, turn and burn shoot days. And the studio executives cared about little except increasing profits year over year, so time and time again, you’d endured a lack of connection with your scene partners and set crew alike, never more than a quick direction thrown your way. No, comfortable was a far cry from what you were used to.

He’s not taken aback by your response at all. It’s something that he’s all-too familiar with, unfortunately. “Of course, darlin’. That’s the key to makin’ good porn, ain’t it? Both parties gotta be comfortable, otherwise the audience won’t feel connected to what they’re viewin’. All sex sells, but intimacy sells more.”

“I’m just not used to this kind of treatment, Joel. I honestly didn’t even believe that it existed in the adult film industry. The whole notion of comfort above all is just…new for me.”

“I know it is, darlin’,” Joel takes a breath before continuing, “I’m ex-Brazzers, too. Started there when I was 18, and left on my 30th birthday.” This was a piece of Joel’s past that was especially private, it came with baggage he still wasn’t entirely ready to unpack, and yet sharing this with you felt comforting for him.

“Oh my god, did they fire you too?” You lean forward in your chair feeling shocked that someone else in the industry shared the same awful experience as you did.

Joel’s heart shatters when he learns that you were fired. It makes him angry for you and the other women in the industry that were often released from their contracts for frivolous reasons. How could they let someone like you go? You have all the potential in the world with real, raw, talent, and on top of that, you were an absolute knockout. Those motherfuckers had a goldmine with you, and yet they couldn’t see what Joel sees.

“No, darlin’,” he frowns, “they didn’t. My brother and I made the decision to quit on our own. We stayed in LA for awhile with some old costars and made some amateur films before we moved back home to Austin, and started our own studio. I’ve strived to make porn that is catered to women. It’s a market that’s been largely untapped, and I’m lookin’ to shift the industry by showing how profitable it is,” he explains honestly. “And folks deserve to see real sex full of connection and intimacy and even sometimes some bloopers,” he chuckles. “It’s something that I’m incredibly passionate about, and that’s why it’s my utmost priority to make sure that you are respected and feel comfortable.”

You shrink in on yourself when the wave of sudden emotions hit and you don’t even realize your crying till Joel is getting up in a haste with a few tissues in his hand. His eyes are laced with concern as he crouches in front of you. “Hey, I’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean t’make ya cry. I jus’—know how harmful the industry can be, and ‘m tryin’ to build a safe space within it.”

Fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks as you try to laugh through the tears. You feel pathetic for breaking down in front of this man who you have only just met. He must think you’re a lost cause in the industry if you can’t even hold yourself together for more than five minutes. You sniffle as he gently brings the tissue upwards towards your face and gently brushes away your tears. “I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t mean to turn into this blubbering fuckin’ mess.”

“Hey, ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’,” he coos. “Maybe we wanna get outta here for some fresh air? If you’d like? Know a nice quiet coffee shop jus’ down the street. How do you feel about that?”

You look at him through wet lashes and parted lips when you slowly nod. “Uh—yeah. That would..be great. I’m just not exactly comfortable in this environment,” you murmur.

“I understand. No hard feelin’s taken or anythin’. Would you like some help gettin’ up?” He offers you his freehand.

“You’re not..upset?” You question softly and grasp his hand in your palm as he gently helps you up from the chair. His palm is warm against yours and massive in size.

“Upset? No, not at all. I meant it when I said that your comfort is a priority, darlin.’” He affirms.

After you’ve composed yourself a bit, you let Joel lead the way to the quiet coffee shop down the street. He holds the door open for you and lets you pick a secluded table in the back. When you offer to pay for the coffees, he interjects with a small grin and shakes his head. “S’on me, darlin’. G’on now and make yourself comfy,” he nudges you gently towards the table.

It’s a depressing thought to have, but you think about how no man has ever treated you with the kindness and respect that Joel Miller has thus far. It’s the bare minimum, but you appreciate him for it deeply.

He returns with two lattes and places them on the table before taking a seat across from you. “Y’jus’ let me know when and if you wanna continue the conversation, alright? There’s no rush. I ain’t got anywhere else to be.”

You grasp the mug between your palms and let the warm steam wafting from the mug kiss your skin as you look over at him. “Well, I figured it would be okay with me to share with you a list of things I’m not comfortable with?” You lean over the side of the chair and reach into your purse to pull out a folded up piece of paper that you drafted up after submitting the application last night.

He nods and takes a sip of his latte. “Of course that’s okay for you to do. I’ve got a form for you to sign back at the studio that includes a section disclosing your limitations and your personal comforts. We like to keep it on file so we can prepare everyone before shoot day, that way there ain’t any accidental crossed boundaries.” He reaches across the table and gently takes the paper from you.

Despite everything Joel has told you thus far, you’re afraid that he’ll end up being judgemental based on your list. It’s pretty much everything that mainstream porn runs on: bondage, punishment, gang bangs, overstimulation, and anal to name a few. You’re already thinking of getting up from the table, and protecting what’s left of your ego when he sets the paper down, reaches for your hand, gently picks it up and kisses the back of it while looking into your eyes. “This is it? We can absolutely work with this, darlin’. Don’t you worry none,” he reassures you.

His lips against your skin are like two plush pillows. Soft, silky and it’s hard to not imagine what those lips would feel like pressed against either of your own. You expected shame, and instead were greeted with the complete opposite. He validated you, and that alone was making your head spin like a ferris wheel.

“I know you ain’t have any pleasant experiences in the industry, and that’s a damn shame. But I can promise you that you won’t have to worry about none of that with me. Okay, darlin’? Sweet girl, I’m gonna be honest with ya because that’s jus’ the kind of man I am. Y’got some serious talent that I think has been severely overlooked. I can make you into a real star if that’s what you want. I’m simply jus’ actin’ as a guideway for ya. And between you and me? I love my job, and I hope that maybe I’ll be able to turn those bad experiences you had into somethin’ good.”

Your eyes focus on his lips and their movement with each word that flows past them. Neither of you realize how close you’re leaning over the table till you can practically taste the hazelnut latte lingering on his tongue.

“Joel, I swear I heard every word you just said, and please tell me if I’m being unprofessional given the circumstances, but I really want to kiss you right now,” you breathe.

His brow raises and a dimple pokes through his cheek as a grin tugs across the corner of his lips. He chuckles softly, “Well, lucky for you, it’s totally appropriate given the circumstances. Jus’ one of the many perks of bein’ in this industry, darlin’. Unbridled desire is personally one of my favorite things.” He leans in closer, his tone dropping down to an octave that made you tingle with desire, and admits quietly, just for you, “If we weren’t here in this coffee shop right now, I’d show you just how unbridled my desire can be.”

You gripped the edge of the table for dear life. It took everything in you to not rip that man’s clothes off right then and there. That part of you that had laid so dormant was crackling to life again, and he could see those emotions swirling in your eyes. “Maybe we should get those papers signed so that you can show me if you’re really just all talk?” Your brow quirked upwards, mouth lifting into a flirtatious smirk just as his nose brushed against your own.

“Think you’ve seen enough to me to know that I ain’t bluffin’, darlin’.” His hot breath fans your lips as you reach across the table and rest a hand on his shoulder, the other steadying your balance on the table. Joel lifts his hand to your face and gently guides you by your chin. His lips brush yours, testing the waters while your tongue swipes confidently at his lower lip. He surges forward, hand moving from your chin to cup your face where your jaw meets your neck and deepens the kiss. You unconsciously let a soft moan loose, lost in the feeling, and Joel feels his cock come to life at the sound. It’s a good thing the barista behind the counter is too busy watching a YouTube video to see you and Joel practically gorging on each other's faces.

You can feel him smiling against your mouth before he leaves you with a final press of his lips and pulls back, sitting back in his chair, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he brings his thumb up to the corner of his lips and wipes away a stray strand of saliva. “Think I’m gonna get a little somethin’ to eat. Y’want anythin’?” He rasps and reaches for his wallet in his pocket.

“Yeah.” You grin and rest your chin in your palms. “Something..sweet.”

A flush rises to his cheeks as he stands up from the chair and discreetly adjusts himself in his jeans and you giggle at the sight. You’d think it was his first rodeo by how quickly he had grown hard from just kissing you. Then again, Joel did say that he loved his job. And if he treated the less significant parts of his job like that, you were more than looking forward to seeing, feeling, him do the other parts of his job he loved, too.

You sat in that coffee shop for hours getting to know one another. It felt like no time had gone by at all, and it was obvious that you both were feeling that spark of an immediate connection blossoming. There was no denial that you and Joel were physically attracted to one another, but you had no idea what doors were now opened because of this first meeting. The chemistry was palpable, electricity ricocheting off the walls, and that unspoken language between one another was apparent.

“Hey, Joel? I think I’m ready to sign those forms now,” you spoke, wading through the building sexual tension.

“Perfect.” He grins. “Let’s go n’get ‘em signed.” He pats your thigh gently.

Once you’re back in the studio, Joel goes over every section of the documents and answers every single one of your questions with direct thoughtfulness and professionalism. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears when you sign the last page, clenching your thighs to abate the need growing between your legs.

“Now, there’s no rush to filmin’ anythin’ right away, okay? We don’t gotta dive head first if you wanna go home and process all of this, I completely understand. But, if you’re interested, I can give you my address and we can—”

“How about you drive me to your place instead?” You coyly interjected with a grin.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

507 notes · View notes

precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

Text

| Ida’s Law

Introductory Part

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlisting and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life, if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Warnings: disturbing content- if you made it through last one this one should be a breeze, however it picks up where we left off so expect mentions of war, wounds, illusions to past rapes, Nazis being racist fucks, possibly some internalized misogyny about it all and some hopefully very 🥹🤧 reunions

A Note Going Forward: With this part now published, I am happy to open this series up for prompts. Ideally I’d like this series to end up being exclusively prompt-inspired and will be putting out prompt lists accordingly. I think that will be a fun way to keep the interaction going, stretch my own skills and explore all the different scenarios that may intrigue y’all. You’re welcome to come up with your own prompts, too. All are welcome, none guaranteed but let’s be real -I’m obsessed with this AU so I’ll likely do it. For now I’ll be keeping all writing to POW Camp and Liberation and Post-Liberation timelines.

“Well, what do we know?” Ida Brady asked the first officer out on the other side as they began to filter through the laborious processing of the camp. She counted them down, one familiar face after another appearing through the doorway again with no worse indignity than the new identification tags hanging from their necks.

“I hate a guy named Johann, and I like a guy named Fritz, and the lieutenant guy wasn’t bad.” Maureen declared, straightening her precious cap atop muddy auburn tresses. “Who went and named their son Fritz after the last war? I mean really? Who does that to a kid? It’s like he’s making up for it now, though, awfully nice.”

“Mm, I thought so, too.” Ida hummed, “Might keep an eye on that one, work on him a bit. You think, Kendeigh?”

“Work on him yourself, Ida.” Maureen scoffed.

“Not much to work with.” Ida retorted, the first general reference to her disfigurement she’d made. “What do you know? What’s up?” she left off to inquire after Tallulah Smith who came out the other side of processing looking more than exasperated.

“Know? They don’t know squat.” she said, “Never heard of a Cherokee.”

“I’ll be.” Maureen was grinning sharply. “Wasn't enough being a woman for ya Smith, ya had to go and be a brown one.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” She griped, “They kept insisting I was a fighter pilot. That’s what all the ‘dark ones’ are, according to them. Told them I’d rewire their insides and maybe then they’d take my engineering degree seriously.”

“I’d like to see that.” Maureen murmured, drowsiness beginning to take over at the comparative calm of their new surroundings.

“Looks like we got everyone, yeah?” Ida peered over the heads of the crowing room and counted out her charges in a silent tally.

“Looks like.” Smith agreed. “Got billet assignments?”

“I do. Colonel Clark, most senior prisoner here, said the combines are strict but the rooms aren’t. Let’s try to behave until we feel our way, then we can swap, if they allow.”

“It’s going to smell like feet no matter where and who we share it with.” Smith pointed out and Ida heaved a great sigh as if that were the hardest prospect she’d yet encountered.

“Mm.”

“Buck is out there!” Maureen suddenly cried out, grabbing at Ida’s arm, pointing out the window at the muddy yard.

“How nice. Gotta get this sorted first, eyes in, Kendeigh.”

Maureen reluctantly tore her eyes away from her dearly missed pilot. “Yes sir.”

“All right,” Ida’s voice carried as well as it ever had, commanding immediate quiet and attention, “those in the 350th, 419th, -the hundredth!- on me. Gather ‘round. That’s it, come on. Alright, well, we made it, well done. Truly, well done to all of you. Now I know you well enough to not accuse any of you of being pure idiots, just because we made it to where we wanted to go doesn’t mean any of what’s ahead is going to be easy. Be wary, don’t let your guard down, you don’t know plenty of these men and they don’t know you, I’m sure there are measures in place for spying already. Be sensible. I am certain we can rely on the kindness of those in the hundredth, but even then keep in mind, if you are cold, they are too, if you're hungry, you best believe they are hungrier, the last thing we need is a crisis of chivalry in here. Rely on them, except their help, but don’t ever take from them. Understood? And one more thing, since the human spirit is irrepressible I feel it’s warranted to make one more housekeeping note. None, and I do mean none, no inner relations at all are allowed. I don’t care how cold you are, how sweet he’s been, or how much you’ve missed him. The Red Cross aren’t sending rubbers, and don’t ever take the promise of a pull out. Do you want a one-way ticket to a death camp or a bullet to the head? Get pregnant. Simple as that. You think the Jerries think poorly of you now for being female? Try being a matron. The point is to blend in as much as possible, keep that in mind. Whatever you do, keep that in mind. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Colonel?” One voice demurred, raised hand and respectful title only forerunners for an obvious objection incoming.

“Yes? Sanchez, isn’t it? You’re not one of mine, I think.”

“No, sir, 55th -fighters.”

“Yes, well, welcome. What’s your question?”

“No offense sir but- what about the guards?” Sanchez asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Brady replied with typical candor, “I believe so far we’ve seen a mix here. I’m sure our friends can give us tips on who to watch out for.”

“No sir, sorry I meant-“ Sanchez kept her teeth clenched until her thoughts seemed to form better, “-you said no relations. What about the guards? No disrespect meant colonel and I don’t know about yours, but mine -they weren’t pulling out.”

“Mm.” Maureen thought that if Ida smashed her lips together any tighter they’d turn whiter than her skin, the bent aviators she had managed to preserve this entire time did a remarkable job of masking whatever feeling was stiffening her spine to the current degree, but all the same, her spine was stiff, “no offense taken, an excellent point. I’ll inquire about any possible…remedies. Anyone else?”

A multitude of hands shot up and Ida Brady scanned them with bewilderment until she realized her lapse in specificity. “Anyone else with questions, I meant! Saints alive. No? Good, let’s claim our bunks and see about a wash.”

After the dark interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He was searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

The Major’s lanky frame staggered under her surprise attack, perhaps more from shock and ill preparedness than poor rations and a weakened constitution. Or at least Ida, hoped that was the case.

Well, there went all intentions for discretion about partiality on their part, five seconds had gone by and Maureen still hadn’t let go, her valued cap about ready to knock off her head and his too. Seeing the gig was up, Cleven even belatedly brought an arm up to hug her shoulders, his pleased face bashfully pacifying her intensity. “If it isn’t my favorite bombardier.” Cleven mumbled, his lips failing not to tug upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he gave her a pat on the back.

“Buck!” Smith was coming in hot behind Kendeigh and knocked Ida’s shoulder in her haste to get around her and join in. “Thank Jesus you’re here.” she grunted as she squeezed him and Kendeigh both, “I mean -we’re sorry you’re here but since we’re here-“

“Glad you’re here, too, Smith.” he assured her gently, another pat on another back and Ida watched Cleven’s composure began to flake as he took stock of their roughened appearances. “It’s gonna be ok now.” he offered, and coming from someone else that statement would’ve sounded a great deal less impressive than it did coming from him. It also sounded hollow without Bucky’s typical parroting of the upbeat sentiment. “Let’s get you girls sorted.” he nodded at Ida who fell in alongside him, if only to distance and displace Kendeigh and her over familiarity just a tad.

“What’s your Kommandant like?” Ida asked by way of conversation as Gale directed them in a trudge along the brown paths towards his specified hut.

“Think I know him as well as you.” Gale admitted, “Tried to stay low, been no reason for socializing. Wouldn’t advise a trip to the camp doctor though.” He added the last part after a beat.

“Why?”

“Your Johnny says he’s got an experimental mind.” Gale smiled wryly but there was a grieved look behind it that made Ida’s pulse pound in alarm, “If you go in with a cold, you might come out with a radioactive arm instead.”

“Noted.” Ida muttured with a shiver, wishing to god her jacket hadn’t been taken off her a couple stops ago, the sun was waning in the dull sky and the breeze was frigid without it. “Speaking of doctors,” she decided to go for it, “is Johnny -my John- is he alright? At the gate it was such a racket, was he…standing?”

Gale paused in his step up into the combine, brows knitted in surprise and she noticed along with him that their little march had drawn quite a little audience from the fellow inmates. Females in a Stalag -what a novelty. “Yeah, John’s fine. He’s fit.” Gale still had that quizzical look on his face.

Ida swallowed hard and gave him another curt nod, one she wanted to come across as grateful but wasn’t sure it did, her battered cheek was responding less and less to her mind’s commands. “Right. This us?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d try to keep as many close as possible.” He explained, “Welcome to paradise.”

“What did y’all name this shack?” Maureen asked him as she stepped over the threshold, it was dark inside and smelled of lumber and smoke.

“We haven’t.” Gale admitted, forlorn at the realization that things like that didn’t occur to people like him. If Bucky had been here, he’d have had it named in an hour, and something awful, too. Something that would make them all laugh.

“Damn oversight, Gingerale.” Maureen teased merrily but Cleven noticed the dimming light in her eyes as she took in the cramped, uninspired utility of the place. One wooden doorway after another.

“Talked it over with Colonel Clark during your processing,” Gale said, “decided it were best if we mingle you all among the men we know. Boys from your squadrons, friendly faces. A few of you in each room.”

“I call dibs on yours.” Maureen unabashedly grinned up at Cleven but Ida saw how a heartbroken look of protectiveness skittered across his features.

“Alright.” he muttered without a fight for once.

“Mm, Smith, Sanchez, Tong, you in here.” Ida decided and having snapped her fingers she was moving on to the next stuffy room. Asking Cleven at each about their current occupants, and with the precision of memory required of a woman who had to memorize her opponents on the promotional ladder, chose their new bunk mates accordingly.

“And where’s Johnny bunked?” she asked him in a low tone as she watched the next set settle in from the doorway.

“In with me, further down the hall, Demarco, Hambone, a few others.”

Ida seemed to hesitate as she eyed up an extra bunk in the current room that the last of her girls were settling into.

“Don’t be a stick, colonel,” Maureen spoke up gently, a surprising liberty even for her, “you need friends right now. Bunk with us. Everyone’s going to be fine. Can’t be all places at all times, ya know?”

Ida didn’t reply but after a moment she admitted, “I should go see John.”

Gale and Maureen exchanged a look and then moved in unison to catch up to her as Ida Brady walked, brisk as if she were back home at Thorpe and about to pick a fight with Jack Kidd, down the long hall to one of the last rooms. “In here?” she asked Gale, pointing at the closed door -they liked to keep it so for warmth and privacy, and to acclimate the guards to it being closed when the radio was out.

“Yeah that’s us.” Cleven replied, reaching out and snagging Maureen back a step as Ida turned the handle. “Let’s give ‘em a minute.” he suggested, referring to the Bradys.

He held her jacket sleeve for a brief moment before turning it to grab her hand, he’d missed those hands. To his horror their usual calloused elegance was a swollen paw of bruises. “The hell, Maureen?” he whispered in shock, turning it over to examine it, grip strong around her wrist before she could pull away. “Who did this?”

Maureen did her best to shrug, “Some bitch stood on them.” she said simply, and surrendered the other hand for a similar heartbroken inspection.

Kendeigh was indeed not as visibly marred as Ida Brady or a few of the others, but still, Gale kept turning her crushed hands over and over, recalling with vivid agony the way he’d admired them at all manner of work before. To hurt them that way, to restrain her so meanly- “Maureen,” she’d never heard his voice dip so low, and his eyes were simmering where they cataloged her hurts, “what’d they do to you?”

“What’d they do to your face?” she shot back, perhaps more perturbed by the immaculately symmetrical scars on his once porcelain face than her own condition. Women expected the treatment they’d gotten, in some twisted way, but this on the other hand, it disturbed her.

Gale looked taken aback by her question and quickly dropped her hand to touch his right cheek as if to remind himself the scar was obvious to everyone. “Flak.” he replied a beat too late.

“Awfully precise.” she snarked.

“I asked you first.”

“I told you, a bitch stood on them.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“Who it looks like someone had some fun with,” Maureen snapped back, “who did this?”

“What happened to you?” He hit right back but his voice quavered.

“I’m fine now. I wanna go see the boys. Come on.”

“Just- give them another minute.” Gale insisted, pulling her back away from the doorway again, “It’s a lot.” He reminded, “For a brother to see his sister like -that.”

Maureen couldn’t argue with that, besides Gale looked so sad and more fragile than she’d ever seen him, and the gentle hold he had on her jacket was as needy and scared as a child’s. “I’m glad we’re in this together.” she whispered.

“Me too.” he admitted, guilty and sad over how true that was before letting her press her lips to his.

Ida Brady didn’t know what she expected when she opened the door, not much she supposed, just a living brother with any luck. It was a decently tidy room, plates stacked on a rough hewn board at the far end, eight bunks lining the walls, stacked three tall. A table was in the middle and there sat dear old Crank and Hambone too, Murph with Benny. A card game was ongoing.

They looked so fine, quite normal, all in all.

All motion in the small room stopped upon her entrance. Cards were dropped and cigarettes forgotten in open mouthed shock.

“Holy shit -colonel?” Demarco didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and his disbelieving horror over her appearance came through loud and clear in his greeting. She hadn’t seen him at the gate.

The same for Hambone’s face, one that had never bothered to be discreet in pleasant circumstances, much less in shocking ones like seeing a notorious superior officer come in looking about as battered as a body could get -although his torn cheek was one to talk. Crank recovered first, in his mild, stammering sort of way, glancing at the lean figure who still stood looking out the lone window.

“Well, if it isn’t Ain’t Pretty Brady.” Crank clapped uneasily, summoning her nickname from basic just to cut the tension, it served to startle John.

He turned from the window abruptly, blank faced and unblinking as he realized the sister he had been watching for had already arrived. If their ole nan from the motherland had suddenly materialized before him he could have hardly looked more haunted or aghast, wide fringed fox eyes and that straight fold of a mouth -always so very held together, her little brother. Even after his third belly landing.

But those startled unblinking eyes...

Ida wanted to tell him to blink, that it was all alright now, that they were both alive and that it was good enough, it had to be. But she seemed to have fully lost all power over her throbbing cheek at last, she could feel her lips move in a motion she realized with supreme panic was likely a wobble of emotion. She ripped her aviators off, as if seeing her eyes might help his to come alive.

“John John?” she croaked in greeting, oblivious of the childish endearment tumbling off her lips in a room full of soldiers. If it were something their family was in the habit of doing, Ida Brady might have rushed him like Maureen did her pilot, or held out her own hand to be held, asked for a gesture from him -after what she’d gone through, surely it couldn’t have been weakness to want a clap on the shoulder, a flick to the bicep, a little “well done” for staying alive.

But she just stood there and watched him clock her shame. She could feel her swollen lip splitting in real time as the swelling and incessant trembling tore the taut skin apart, they’d passed around a single canteen in processing and it wasn’t enough, the walls of her throat felt collapsed together. Maybe she should have asked for a mirror first, maybe Cleven or Kendeigh or Smith should have told her she’d bring a whole room to a frozen standstill by her looks alone. They’d seen her at the gate -were these meager lightbulbs really so much more illuminating?

“Eye-eye.” Johnny let it out in a breathy rush as if he’d suddenly come to, and then he was in front of her, hands cradling the sides of her neck, thumbs hooked gently under her bruised jaw. A calloused pad swiped away the ticklish trickle of blood sliding the crease of her mouth.

Eye eye -his onetime baby babble for Ida, and she’d never let him forget it.

She could have wept at the useless sentimentality of it, of the gentle familiarity of familial hands, at the seething loyalty storming across his face.

“The fuck did they do?” he articulated at last, voice gravelly as shit but also reminiscent of the squeaky olden days when his castrato role suddenly no longer served one Sunday in choir.

“You’ve got legs.” she answered instead, sounding maniacal in her happiness.

He looked at her like she’d gone fully crazy as well as beat, “Yeah? Yeah I do.”

“They said, they said you didn’t.” she chuckled, a bizarre merriment trying to take hold in her relief, “During interrogation, that bespectacled cunt told me you had your legs crushed when you crashed.”

“No? No- no I jumped.” He insisted, then let go of her face to step back and gesture to two fit legs, as long and lanky as she remembered, as long and lanky as her own. “I jumped, I’m fine. They told you that?”

“Yeah.” Ida said, “Told me the longer I didn’t comply the longer you were without medical attention. I -I’ve been so…uneasy…about you.”

“I’m fine.” He repeated, hands back on her shoulders and she was grateful for it despite the bruises he was gripping, grateful for the way he kept touching her like he was going to hold her together with his own two hands, same blood, same flesh, same memories, maybe whatever she’d lost he could supply back like a blood donation. “Those sons of bitches.” he cursed them.

“Plasma for planes.” she agreed.

He kept looking at her, at her cheek and at her ragged hair and at the missing buttons, “You didn’t tell them anything did you?” he suddenly asked, wide eyed. “You know i’d rather die than have you tell.”

Ida scoffed, and gave him a grin, the best one she could manage with her cheek and split lip, “What do you take me for, Johnny?”

“A cold hearted bitch, I hope.” he returned the small smile but his voice cracked, still that hint of something long gone and juvenile.

“That’s what their Lieutenant called me.” Ida confirmed, a little proud, and sensing a renewal of his inquiries, Ida chose to take the offensive and call out for a conspicuously absent Kendeigh, “Candy! Didn’t you want to tell Johnny about your charming admirer? The Lieutenant?”

Kendeigh came round the doorway hastily, her lips puffy and cheeks oddly red. Cleven followed after and matched her, and his blush did nothing but highlight those scars of his. “Brady.” Maureen greeted, boldly hugging Ida’s very stiff brother without care —due to his red cheeks and rigid shoulders Ida concluded Cleven had given his own inner-relations talk to the men—, “Yes, I wanted to -oh hello Crank, Benny you son of gun- wanted to tell y'all about my ticket outta here -hell Hambone, how’d you manage to get uglier? -see my integrator, he found me fairly fetching. I think one of these days he’s gonna roll up in his shiny car and take me away from here and you’re all gonna wish you’d taken time to learn a little know-how about Alligators and their hibernation tactics in the winter. He was enthralled.”

There was an awkward silence hanging in the room, Crank grimaced a smile out of sheer generosity of heart and Benny Demarco still sat with his cigarette neglected on his open lip. Cleven, used to her preening brazness kept a tight lip, though a thousand questions seemed to swirl in his eyes.

“He the one who stood on your hands?” John Brady asked her without hesitancy.

Maureen whirled round then, comedy hour over and an angry flush creeping up her neck at his directness. “No.” she snapped. “Can’t some of them be alright?”

“A German’s a German.” he countered.

“There’s Fitzs and then there’s Johanns.” she disagreed nebulously and only Ida got her reference.

“And a shower is a shower,” Ida butted in before this became an experiment in an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force “which we need, badly. We’re…filthy.”

“We’ve got working sinks, trough sinks.” Cleven clarified with an apologetic look as if it were his fault the showers only ran once a week and poorly at that, and the water they had was frigid already in autumn.

“Water is water.” Ida reasoned in return, wondering when Johnny was going to finally let go of her arm.

“We’ll clear it out for ya.” Cleven said.

“And we’ll guard the entrance.” John added emphatically.

“Thanks.” Ida muttured, “Some of us could use to mend our uniforms.” she added, refusing to blanch at the subtle inventory of her jagged tears and crusted blood being made by every man in the room.

Maureen at least had her jacket intact. Her cap, too.

“Here, you can have my trousers while I stitch yours.” her John decided and was unbuckling his belt before she even registered the hand gone from her shoulder.

“What?” Ida balked, “You’re going to go ‘round in your skivvies?”

“Not as uncommon around here as you’d think, Ida.” Gale said, a small smile on his face. “I’m afraid order and decorum has gone to shit without you.”

“Well I’m here now.” she replied sternly but didn’t stop Johnny as he stripped.

“And so am I.” Kendeigh grinned and all Ida could do was to bless the saints for having let only one terror into the camp, were Bucky Egan to be here too, things would become intolerably lax. As soon as she thought it she repented it, sending up a prayer for the poor, absent bastard.

“Say Benny, you’re shorter, can I have your pants?” Maureen pleaded.

“Why mine?” Demarco protested, only offended at the height implication.

“Because Cleven’s too tall and I’ve already been in his pants.”

“Maureen!”

“Ida, order somebody to give me their pants.”

“You can have mine.” Crank offered kindly, and then stood up and bashfully began to unlayer. It left him in skivvies, a snuggly sweater and his flight jacket.

“It’s a good look, Crank,” Maureen grinned at the finished product as he handed the trousers over. “I’m seeing you in a different light.”

“Maureen!”

“Just sayin-“

“Take the pants with you to the washroom!” Brady interjected desperately as Maureen looked ready to strip right here and now. “Jesus, Kendeigh.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Maureen ribbed him, out for blood in her tired state and if she couldn’t have that of the Germans she would of her friends’.

“Alright let’s - let’s settle down.” Gale implored, a tired expression firmly etched onto his face and Ida herself considered giving up on the wash altogether and tumbling into the available bunk to court the oblivion of sleep. Were it only blood and dirt she just might, her usual tidiness be damned.

As it was -it was, there was…the filth was so much worse.

And if Ida thought on it too long she’d go mad and want to pour boiling lye on herself to wash herself clean and to kill the shame of it. She’d have to scrub the pants before she gave them to Johnny to be mended, it was bad enough for a brother to see the blood and busted seams.

“Yes, settle down for God’s sake.” she echoed Cleven, and something about her hoarse voice compelled Maureen to temper herself more than any direct order could. “A wash, come on, let’s get the girls. Oh and one more thing, Cleven-“ Ida turned to Gale and found him alert, eager to help. She was afraid she was only setting him up for failure but she had to make an effort to find those “remedies” she’d promised Sanchez. “There any lemons around?”

The incredulous look on his face suggested he thought she knew better, but he was ever polite in his reply, “No, colonel. No lemons.”

“Mm. Nutmeg?” she tried to recall each wicked trick she’d heard condemned when a girl got herself in the family way without the needed family in place.

“No, no nutmeg.”

“Mm.”

“Nothing but potatoes and cigarettes, ma’am. Do you- why?” he asked.

“Nothing.” she assured, “Just, a hot toddy sounds good right about now. You know?”

“Uh,” he floundered, half in suspicion and half in genuine confusion, “never had one.”

“Well then,” she grinned as she passed him, “that’s something to add to our to-do list for when this is all over. Jameson, though, none of that Kentucky stuff.”

“Yes ma’am.” his tone was vacant, smiling concern brittle, “You uh, you alright, Colonel?”

Ida gave him a withering look and then Gale too, had cause to be repentant.

“Come on Kendeigh, let's get the rest.” Ida gestured as she followed Gale back into the hall, aware of Johnny’s eyes still on her, still taking stock, “They better not be in bunks without a wash. Come on, showers, everyone! Out, come on out. You can sleep afterwards. Out! Would one of you be so kind as to wake us up in time for roll call?” she inquired of the male officers straggling behind her in the hall.

“Course! Yeah, for sure.” about five offers went up.

“You wake Me up.” she clarified coming to a full stop, wary of the enthusiasm, “I’ll wake up the rest.”

“I’ll get you up.” Her John said.

He’d probably sit and watch her sleep, too, needle and torn pants in hand, like a creepy little owl but that was one of those things she figured make or break a family, you either find it endearing you have a brother who rarely blinks or you go mad. Today, after all of it, she didn’t mind having a guardian Angel. Or a watchdog. Speaking of-

“Hey,�� she asked him, “you two flew out together, where’s Bucky?”

But no one had an answer for that, not even Little John.

💋Hope you enjoyed AND REMEMBER -prompts are now open.

Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for. 🤓 :

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #Intergrated au #those who can #john egan #john brady #gale cleven #benny demarco #gale cleven x oc #john egan x oc #john brady x oc #Maureen Kendeigh #Ida Brady #Tallulah Smith

136 notes · View notes

androgynealienfemme · 1 year

Text

"Fall 1986. In a women's studies class for which I am a T.A., we are having a discussion about feminine appearance and liberation. Does what one wears reflect one's feminist consciousness? Sexual orientation? One of the lesbian students, a woman with short hair, dressed in faded jeans, a flannel shirt, quartz crystal jewlery, and buttons that proclaim both her politics and her sexuality, says that she dresses as she does so that she'll be visible to other lesbians. She looks for sisters based on what they wear, and says its important that she be able to recognize other lesbians, and be recognized as a lesbian herself, when walking across campus. I agree with her sentiment about visibility; I also know that she would not recognize me, with my nail polish, heels, and curled and colored hair, as a "sister lesbian." Two hours later, I meet my lover in downtown San Francisco for lunch. Together we are markedly visible as queers, not because we are holding hands, but because she is butch enough to be assumed male at first glance, and by corporate standards, I am female, but not very feminine. We are stared at by nearly everyone, several swiveling their heads to keep us in view while their bodies walk past us. At lunch, the group of men at the next table spend more time glancing furtively at us, whispering to one another, than they do eating. Their looks are a combination of hostility, curiosity, and disgust. Were this another setting or a different time of day, I would worry about overt harassment. But this sort of thing happens all the time, and so far we've been safe. As I ask the waitress for more coffee, I think of the lesbian student in the morning class and wonder, "How visible is visible? To whom?"

-""Recollecting History, Renaming Lives: Femme Stigma and the feminist seventies and eighties" by Lyndall MacCowan, The Persistent Desire, (edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

Edit: I sourced from the wrong essay originally. Apologies everyone! Fixed my citation.

#lesbian #lesbianism #lgbt #lgbtq+#lgbt history #lesbian history #butch #femme #butch femme #the persistent desire #queer history #queer #recs #writing #Lyndall MacCowan

1K notes · View notes

artificial-transmutations · 8 months

Text

Perfectly Normal

Devon wasn't a homophobe, really. He was, and he was pretty sure about that, just a normal guy. Not "cis" or "straight" - those were completely unnecessary new words to describe what had a perfectly fine word since ages: normal.

He was a normal man who lived a normal live, had his normal share of girlfriends over the years, had a normal job as a baker and was overall just normal. Even when describing his body, he would use the word: Normal build, not too big or too small, with brown hair in a normal haircut. He wore normal street clothes and voted in the normal, conservative way.

Devon was even, according to himself at least, very tolerant of other ways of life. Sure, he would cast the normal odd look when someone told him that he or she voted for some progressive, liberal or green party, and sure, he was strictly against any of those new woke things, but for example, Devon didn't care if someone was gay.

At least, if those fairies didn't bother him. If they just kept their abnormal fetishes in their bedrooms, everything was fine. Where Devon drew the line, however, was when those people went out of their way to let everyone - Devon included - know of their weird preferences. Those "pride" parades, for example, or when two men had to kiss in public. Or hold hands. Devon wasn't opposed to gay marriage, too, as long as they didn't marry each other. No, marriage was between a man and a woman, and sure, Devon didn't see why gay men shouldn't marry women. Everything else was out of the question, of course, and Devon didn't get why people were branded as homophobic who said such things. It was just a fact: Marriage between two men was not normal.

Devon, however, was a tolerant person. He would allow the gays to exist, even though they were gross. Just keep their distance, and Devon wouldn't have any problems with them.

Everything changed, however, when Devon's best friend, Marcus one day came out to him as gay. At first, Devon was taken aback.

"Why?", he asked, and Marcus replied, "Because I love men. I'm in love with a man."

"No", Devon replied, "I meant why did you have to tell me? This isn't normal, Marcus! Why couldn't you keep your perverse preferences in the bedroom?" Devon tried to keep calm but couldn't help feeling somehow betrayed and disgusted by his childhood friend all of a sudden.

"Devon, I didn't choose to be gay. I don't get how it's not normal. Love is normal, and I'm in love with a man. That's not... not normal. Perhaps you should update what you think is normal sometimes; it's 2023, not 1973."

With that, Marcus left, agitated himself, Devon to his brooding.

This was just unfair. Why did Marcus have to be that way? It wasn't a problem until he said it. Of course, Devon had read the 'argument' of what was normal and what wasn't before, in numerous online discussions that he had been part of, but to hear it from his best friend - former best friend? - made him think. However, regardless of how he shifted the thought around in his head, Devon was unable to come to a different conclusion: Something like that, men sleeping with men, was not - could not be - normal. There was just no way, he could ever see something like that as normal.

Of course, that meant that Devon would have to re-think his friendship with Marcus, a fact that hurt him a lot.

"God, I wish he would just be normal!", he exclaimed to no one in particular. Little did Devon know that a mischievous sprite had been listening in and decided to grant his wish - although not in a way he would expect.

As some hours passed, Devon calmed down more and more. What was he getting so upset about, after all? Perhaps Marcus had been right. It was 2023, and the definition of what was normal was perhaps a bit different from what he was used to. There was certainly no reason to end his friendship with Marcus over that. Devon was straight and... Marcus was gay. That was it. Perfectly normal. It wasn't Devon's cup of tea, but, hey, it didn't have to.

Devon felt really good with that insight. So good in fact that he decided to close the bakery sooner today and grab a bit of coffee in the shop across the street.

He usually avoided the place since he had the strong suspicion that the barista was one of those homos, but suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. It was normal, wasn't it?

So, Devon ordered his coffee and when the barista handed it to him, he said:

"Here you go Sir! Might I add that you look very handsome today?"

Devon felt flattered! Sure, he wasn't gay, but being complemented always felt nice. He smiled brightly and replied: "Thanks!"

"No, seriously, you should think about wearing something more form-fitting. It would suit you well, I think. Perhaps some tank tops to bring out the guns?"

Devon looked down on himself. Yes, he could very well imagine wearing those! His arms were nice and strong from the hard work in the bakery and the colorful tank tops he wore brought that out handsomely. It was sometimes a bit cold in the winter, but since it was always warm in the bakery, those were pretty much his standard attire.

"Yeah, right? I love tank tops!" The barista looked at him as if he had seen a ghost or something, but quickly regained his composure.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Sir." After a short pause, he added: "Would you... mind if I touch them? Your arms, I mean, they're just so strong."

Now, Devon wasn't gay, but he couldn't see anything wrong with that request. A bit of friendly feeling up was perfectly normal, after all, so he just nodded. He was the only customer in the shop, so the barista came over and groped his arms.

"Amazing!" he muttered, and Devon wasn't entirely sure if he was still referring to his arms.

"Do you mind?" the Barista asked, but before Devon could nod again, his hands were already exploring Devon's manly chest that was only clad in the thin fabric of the tank top. After a few more moments, the barista's hands went under his shirt and felt up Devon's abs and chest, with his fingers running through the forest of hair there. This time, he didn't ask for permission, but why would he? This was a perfectly normal thing to do, at least to Devon!

When Devon noticed that the barista wanted to pull off his tank top, he helped him by holding his arms up before continuing to sip on his coffee. It was fairly obvious that the barista sported an erection in his jeans - good for him, Devon thought.

"You know", croaked the barista, "perhaps you should try something more... dangerous than a jeans. A pair of shorts would really work wonders with your ass and your... bulge."

Devon almost laughed out loud. What was that guy thinking?! It was not like he wore any other clothes. Colorful tiny shorts, with tank tops - that was all the cloth he wanted to wear. Not even socks, if he didn't have to. And the tops were optional as well - sometimes, Devon wore only stringy mesh tanks - or none at all. That was normal for him!

Devon jumped a little as the barista pinched his exposed nipples, the ones with the piercings. It was okay, of course, normal even, that's why he had nipples. It just came as a surprise. "Sorry, I flinched." he smiled at the other guy.

The barista didn't reply, he was busy pawing Devon's ass and cock through the shorts with both hands. Devon wasn't gay, but it was good to see the barista was enjoying himself. Apparently, the other man's cock twitched and pulsed within the confines of his pants.

Devon took another gulp out of his coffee and nodded towards the other man's crotch. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Devon repeated the words from his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that." The barista said and went red instantly.

"No, no, nothing to be sorry about. That's perfectly normal, you're a guy after all." Devon said.

"Yeah..." the barista said, hesitated shortly before asking:

"Would you mind giving me a blowjob?"

What a ridiculous question. Devon was certainly not gay. However, giving other men a blowjob was just common curtesy, especially if they asked this nicely.

"Sure, no problem." He said. He took another gulp of coffee and set the cup aside before getting down on his knees. The other guy had opened his pants by now, and Devon took his hard cock in hand and began rubbing it. He knew how he wanted girls to blow himself, so even though he had never done it before, it was fairly easy for him to do it right.

The barista moaned out loudly.

"Damn, that's good! How are you so good at this?!"

Devon gave him an answer, even though it was a little difficult while his mouth was stuffed with cock:

"I don't know - it's normal, isn't it?"

"It sure is!" the barista replied and pushed his dick all the way into Devon's throat.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum! You're making me cum!"

A moment later, the barista shot a load of hot sperm into Devon's throat. Devon wasn't sure what to do with it but decided to swallow and drink it down with the rest of his coffee.

"Thank you!" he referred to the coffee and the gratis cum shot with it, of course.

"No... problem." the barista was still out of breath. "See you again tomorrow evening?"

Devon just nodded. That's what he was doing normally, right? As he exited the coffee shop in his colorful and skimpy clothes, he glanced at his clock. He really needed to hurry now if he didn't want to be late to service Marcus and his boyfriend. Of course, Devon himself wasn't gay, but this was just... normal for him.

#male transformation #mental transformation

389 notes · View notes

glass--beach · 2 months

Note

I've been a fan of your music long enough to remember when you used to identify as trans fem. what's it been like circling back around to that and figuring out your identity now that you're doing it sort of in the public eye?

honestly it’s been nicer this time around. i sense a kindred spirit in every trans woman i talk to and it’s really lovely hearing from those who related to my music and figured out their own identity through that. it’s giving me a space where i know i will be accepted. i still boymode pretty often on the road and before tour was nearly always boymoding… there’s almost a safety on stage but despite being literally a performance it feels more real than when i’m not presenting fem. i’ve also now been girlmode out in public a lot after shows and not attracted any negative attention which is nice. even when there was an alt right harassment campaign against the band account they were gendering me correctly.

years ago it was much tougher for me, wearing feminine clothes at random diy shows or whatever. it was often in spaces that were anti transphobia on paper but did nothing to enforce against transmisogyny in practice. even in explicitly queer spaces i felt outcast. online was even harsher - which is really what made me increasingly scared to present fem as there were more and more eyes on me. there were many many trans women i looked up to a lot then but i felt they were so much braver than me. being nonbinary and vaguely “masculine” became a shield at the cost of being called a dude or a guy or just assumed to be male absolutely constantly, and after enough of it i kinda just didn’t want to show my face anywhere… the irony of having made what many considered to be iconic transfem music while feeling so closeted myself was honestly insulting.

with the recent album release and tour it kinda hit a breaking point because i knew a big wave of misgendering was coming if i wasn’t just honest with myself and everyone else. even saying she/they was softening the blow a bit. lots of people just stuck with they. and plenty of writers & critics still seem blissfully unaware that there is anything queer about me or my band or are simply too scared to write about it, idk. but i feel like i’ve come out of my shell a good bit. i’m not just playing shows, i’ve been able to socialize and party on off days and speak my mind more freely and dress in a way that makes me feel pretty. it’s really like flipping a switch - not just for me, but everybody else. EVERYONE treats me differently when i girlmode and i love it so so much, i feel like others are more willing to open up and to treat me with kindness and (respectfully) compliment my appearance and i feel like women (cis and trans) relate to me more, which is a whole lot better than feeling like i relate to nobody most of the time. it’s an entirely different set of social scripts that just feel so much more “right” to me, so much easier for me to embody, than the male social scripts. i know a lot of people feel like gender is bullshit and bad inherently and good for them but for me that mentality was a way to hide it think. i feel absolutely liberated in embracing femininity! :) thank you for the lovely question, i have so much to say on this

#asks

86 notes · View notes

open-sketchbook · 2 months

Text

on satire

that satire requires clarity of purpose thing fucking broke some people's brains i swear

like i know why it exists, its because some people will use 'its satire' as a blanket defence against criticism, but the problem here is you're having the wrong argument. you shouldn't be trying to say 'no, its not satire', because that is accepting the framing that if it were satire, then holding shitty positions would be acceptable, when the reality is that satire which holds shitty positions still fucking sucks!

but on the other side, like, you can in fact satirize or critique shitty positions through portraying them, its a normal thing that fiction does, there is no such thing as art which can perfectly convey its meaning to everyone because everyone is such a huge fucking category and, get this, people have different views about things

so often, if you portray an accurate vision of a bad thing to show why it is bad, the people who like the bad thing will like it because it portrays the thing they like, and the think the negative consequences of the thing are actually good, even when everyone not them understands it is not

and there's no way to write a thing that will get around that! its not how humans work!

a really good example of this is helldivers 2; the vast majority of normal people understand that the game portrays a fascist state, and does so because the nature of the gameplay involves dying a lot in silly ways, so they made you play unsympathetic idiot assholes so when it happens to you its funny

fascists like super-earth not because they didn't do a good enough job showing how awful super-earth is (it is a constant and blatant theme woven into basically every single mission, tutorial, and line of dialog) but because the things about super earth that are awful are things that they like

there's no clarity of purpose that defeats "i know you are showing me a bad thing, but i am a bad person who likes bad things", or, similarly "i know you are showing me the negative consequences of the thing i like, but i will simply ignore that part"

similarly, if you portray misogyny in something, and your portrayal of misogyny is accurate, misogynists will like it! this is not a flaw of the work, its a flaw of the misogynists!

the idea that this isn't true relies on the delusion that the reason people are fascists or misogynists is because they are ignorant of the consequences, and if shown the consequences, they will stop being fascists and misogynists. this is liberal garbage; they like the consequences.

misogynists think that men making women suffer is good, because it means that men have the unrestricted power over women to make them suffer, and they are in favour of having unrestricted power over women. you cannot portray it bad enough that they go 'oh i get it now'

fascists think that dying stupidly for their country is good, because it means their country is properly engaging in the never-ending darwinistic struggle between people groups they believe in and is unafraid of the consequences, and they are in favour of the never-ending darwinistic struggle because it appeals to their aesthetic sensibilities. you cannot portray it bad enough that they go 'oh i get it now'

portraying either of those things so that normal people understand what it looks like and can have discussions about it is still a valid thing that media can do! like, why the fuck are you allowing various strains of bigots final say in deciding if something acceptably portrays them?

76 notes · View notes

gougarfem · 1 year

Text

i know this is cliché and there are a million posts like this but i'm getting so tired of the pointless infighting on here. and before you accuse me of anything, i'm a lesbian who practices complete female seperatism with the exception of having to interact with male healthcare staff. yes, i'm far from a perfect radfem, and yes, we should all try but I don't think anyone on here meets that ideal. seeing misogynistic slurs and insults thrown at women who are bisexual, het-partnered, or god forbid need a fucking abortion is so saddening when tumblr is one of the only places i feel a sense of community with other feminists. most people on here have at some point been isolated and ostracized for our politics. we're lucky to have a space on a site like this where we can express our beliefs and form a community and have nuanced discussions (look at what's happening to other apps! look how quickly radfem pages are termed on instagram and tiktok!) and instead of using this platform for constructive discussion some of you are spending 4+ hours a day in petty arguments over semantics, attacking vulnerable women for needing medical procedures and cyberbullying anyone who happens to feel attraction to men. we are not going to form a movement like this. no progress will come from this! outsiders see us picking each other apart and are discouraged from radical feminism, men use the holes in our community to tear us apart and make us look like a joke. people go back to liberal circles because their first day on radblr gets them an inbox full of insults and slurs and they quickly see how other women are treated on here.

i can't believe this needs saying but spending your day online calling osa women traitors/c*nts/c*cksuckers/brainwashed, telling detrans women we're deformed and damaged goods and throwing around the r slur is not activism nor is it feminist. some of you need to watch a primary school cyberbullying powerpoint about how there's another person at the end of the screen because i know no one on here would say those things to a woman's face. radical feminism fights for the liberation of EVERY woman, no matter if you personally dislike them or disagree with their choices - and even so, it's common sense that people will be more open to conversation and willing to change if you treat them with kindness, instead of denouncing and dogpiling everyone who doesn't meet your standards. i'm a radfem because so many women aren't. i'm a radfem for the women who wear makeup and insist it's for themselves. i'm a radfem for women who have been "happily married" 10 years and still do 100% of the housework. is that you? are you fighting for these women? or are you on here to boost your superiority complex and put others down? because if that's the case our movement doesn't fucking need you.

i hope some of you think about why you're on tumblr and how exactly you're aiding female liberation or even helping women to begin with. where the majority of other communities are toxic echo chambers, we need to be able to accept differences of opinion and fight for the bigger cause. anything else will alienate the same women we claim to be fighting for.

#lav.txt #long #radblr #radfems do interact #radfems do touch #radblr drama

225 notes · View notes

infinitestalia · 2 years

Note

"As to the girl Nettles, “She is a common thing, with the stink of sorcery upon her,” the queen declared. “My prince would ne’er lay with such a low creature. You need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon’s blood in her.... Therefore, let a command be sent at once to Maidenpool, but only for the eyes of Lord Mooton. “Let him take her at table or abed and strike her head off. Only then shall my prince be freed"

I'm thinking zero chance they include the racist, classist overtones of R's distain for Nettles in the show. Would be great if they did but it seems obvious Saint Rhaenyra is too untouchable a character for ugly, human motivations, her fanbase needs her to be the liberal-minded Disney princess contrasted against Aegon otherwise their support of her makes no sense

Oh, less than zero. Her entire show character hinges on the idea that the only problem in this world is misogyny, which must be the only reason everyone doesn't fall at her feet, and not any of her many, many deficiencies- including her own misogyny. Same character who doesn't attempt to make a difference for any woman bar herself, who steals Driftmark from a female heir for her bastard son, who only cares about misogynistic laws of succession when they affect her:

Rhaenyra’s own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters. It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon. The lands, castles, and coin of Houses Rosby and Stokeworth were awarded to the sons of the two executed lords.

And

At Rosby, she found the castle gates barred at her approach, by the command of the young woman whose claim she had passed over in favor of a younger brother.

She orders the murder of a teenage peasant girl- who is on her side- because she's jealous her noncey whore of a husband/uncle loved her more. Even if they won't show the language used towards Nettles (they refuse to really acknowledge the nasty Targ racial superiority & blood purity angle, I suppose the Velaryon casting makes it harder), her actions should damn her for anyone with eyes.

Her fight is only for herself, she does not want change and betterment for women, be they noble or common. She does not want women to rule after her, she just wants herself to live equal to a man without consequences and does not care for the brave smallfolk she calls "vermin". And I have no issue with that- if they just accepted it and portrayed her for what she is. That aspect made someone like Cersei even more interesting because she made no pretence; she was both victim and vicious perpetrator. Idk who decided that these Targaryen women- who enact the same violence and patriarchal tyranny on other women as the men around them- are righteous feminist queens, made to suffer the greatest injustice in history because they don't get to sit on a throne "owed" to them. They are no better than their male counterparts. They are spokes on the same damn wheel.

For all the hand wringing, she was the freest, most privileged woman in the realm, with a life and choices that almost every other woman would kill for, and she did fuck all with it for anyone but herself. (That too, poorly.) That would make for a fascinating, maddening character but instead we have to see a boring, even less compelling version of show!Daenerys, with none of the qualities that initially made her so great.

#anonymous #anti hotd #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemyra #anti daemon x rhaenyra #Nettles #anti team black

606 notes · View notes

quidfree · 1 month

Note

hello! i've followed you to indulge in your TSH content, having just finished the book and your fanfic Sober II (Melodrama) back to back! (i'm destroyed!!)

i'm wondering if you've given any thought to whether Richard (Tartt's Richard, or yours) is gay or maybe bisexual? he ofc probably would not make that distinction himself - given the time period, or his aversion to that kind of self reflection, or the apparent finality of his relationship with Francis, or maybe all of the above - but it's fun to think about now, especially myself being someone who now IDs as a lesbian after 10 years of IDing as bi.

thank you for your service 🫡

hello! love your username btw. and thank you, glad to have you in the quidfree extended tartt community.

i like the 'tartt's richard or yours' distinction- i would say i do make an effort so that (to me at least) my richard is a plausible iteration of hers, i.e. i do not like to write so that the characters are 'my' versions unless i think the source material is bad (or at least bad in that specific way). but some of my less serious tsh material veers further into the 'my' side of the scale, for sure. anyway all that to say i don't have separate sets of thoughts on 'both' richards, it's more that there's some stuff i'm 100% on being in canon and some stuff i know i extrapolated into the extended materials my tsh fic constitute.

all that aside, i actually do not have strong feelings on whether richard is gay or bisexual. i think both have strong canon grounding and present similar but slightly different psychologies of the character. the obvious thing is that richard is repressing his attraction to men, but whether he's also comphet in his attraction to women is debatable. he's consistently attracted to them and sleeps with/dates them across all of canon, but on the other hand the key female love interests for him are 1) judy, whose interest he doesn't reciprocate 2) mona, who he sleeps with post murder in a fugue state 3) camilla, who he deifies as a feminine ideal and also always lauds the androgynous beauty/looks she shares with her brother of and 4) sophie, who does lend the most credence to him actually being into girls but also is someone he latches onto when his whole group has deserted him and then fails to emotionally connect with despite several years of dating. of course that could be the trauma, the repression, or both! but my point is there's evidence both ways, no pun intended. richard has very distinct ways of thinking about men and women but it's not as simple as one thing- there's his own self-perception/masculinity, his sexism, his homophobia, and his sexuality all playing a part.

you're right that he wouldn't make the distinction himself, though- either way, his canon thought process is very much 'well i'm not one of those' and that's a catch-all. if and when he gains self-awareness it would have to be through a prolonged relationship of some kind, e.g. with francis in sober ii-verse, because one-offs he can excuse and repress. which is why i think once that sort of long-term realisation happened he would think that he had been lying to himself/everyone the whole time beforehand and secretly consider himself a homosexual (regardless of whether this would be accurate).

i think modern day richard would be more likely to call himself bisexual regardless of which option you go with as more likely. you know that quote from obama's biography about reading marx to get with bisexual college girls... that's somehow richard-coded but in the sense that he thinks calling himself 'flexible' or whatever lets him sound liberated but plausibly heteronormative. in any setting francis delights in the corner he paints himself into.

#qui parle #qui repond #girlhunk #richard papen #tsh #the secret history #papenathy #tartt protagonist brainrot

26 notes · View notes

blacksapphhicmaddonna · 1 year

Text

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, ALPHABET MAFIA

just a few reminders:

- first pride was a riot

- black & BIPOC queer people are the foundation of our entire nation and the global culture

- we owe most of our rights and progress to BIPOC trans women/femmes and different communities of lesbians, trans/gnc folks and elders.

- trans people have always existed, they are ancient and indigenous to many cultures and places and are SACRED.

- I’m glad you’re here and there is community out there for you, waiting with open arms. Don’t give up just yet, please.

- rainbow capitalism isn’t liberation

- we are all we have, be fucking better to each other

- lesbians have done so much for lgbtqia+ people and should maybe idk stop being erased for no reason

- biphobia is real and just bc your ex cheated on you doesn’t make it bi folks fault, you’re projecting babe

- being queer doesn’t dissolve white privilege, pls touch grass

- be safe at pride. they’re coming for us all and we need to protect ourselves.

- not everyone wants to use the word queer/dyke/fag etc. I’m glad you reclaimed the slurs used against you, me too, but not everyone wants to and you need to respect that. LGBTQIA+* exists for a reason.

- the black and brown belong on the flag.

- the A is for asexual/romantic or agender, not ally.

- get some pussy (or whatever you do (or don’t do)) and make space for joy! because black/queer joy is revolutionary and fucking righteous just as much as our anger is, too

- Juneteenth coming up too, issa parade in my city fr

- asexuals/aromantics belong at pride. Period. Full stop.

- safe sex is the best sex

- get tested!

- it’s okay to not watch the news. america is hell, go take a nap

- people 100% know themselves better than you ever will, people are who they say they are and you don’t get to decide that for them. respect pronouns, identity, etc. or argue w ya mama/god/someone else cause it ain’t finna be me ❤️

- you deserve relationships that feel safe and actually are safe. Don’t settle.

- learn your queer history. they won’t teach us. they took our elders from us.

- Black LGBTQIA+* history IS Black History.

- we all need to be thankful to the house mothers and the ballroom scene and those who gave us what we have now, regardless of who you are.

- don’t call yourself a stud if you’re not BLACK. wit a capital B and at least one BLACK parent.

- not everyone is out. happiest of pride month to y’all. you’re still gang and we love you just as much. 💗

- our collective liberation lies in the fact that we are all tied to each other. if you’re down for the gays but not the theys, you’re not as decolonized as you think you are.

- shout out to fanfiction writers who have been single-handedly providing queer art/content/representation for years while the industry continues to make a mockery of us or intentionally leave us out. one thing we gonna do is help someone find their queer awakening, and get that story right. love us 🤪 go team

- your life means something. it’s important beyond comprehension. you look good. your ass is fat (if you want it to be). get the mullet as a lil treat.

- LGBTQIA+* people across the board have ALWAYS existed in literally every culture and every continent (and Antarctica counts if you count the cute lil gay penguins😌). Don’t let them tell you different. We are not a “mInOrItY”, we have been MINORITIZED. we are not small, we are great and mighty and have ALWAYS been here. And we always will. We exist in the future just as we have existed in the past. We stand on the shoulders of MASSIVE collective ancestors. If that’s not an indication to keep going, keep fighting, keep laughing, dancing, voguing, and keep showing up authentically - then I don’t know what is.

- it’s gonna be ok baby. pinkie promise.

#pride month #pri DEMON th #black sapphic #sapphic #nonbinary #gang fr #rainbow shit #alphabet mafia #gay shit boutta ensue fr #they/thems assemble #munch szn #pansexual ig

177 notes · View notes

lesbianpraetor · 15 days

Text

Extra Extra Initial thoughts about Furiosa now in bullet point format Summary the movie made me want to write several essays about George Miller's brain, but also I wish somebody had rained him in just a little bit. Spoilers Ahead!

-It was super obvious that George Miller was trying to expand images that he couldn't show in the first (fourth?) movie. Speciallyyyyyyyyy the History Men, Miss Giddy in Fury Road was a character by herself, but now the archetype is well and truly established with a very specific cosplaying Saruman in the desert with tattoos vibe. Also showing in detail the other two citadels, showing the green place, showing the absolutely vile way that the wretched live, going in depth with the war boys million other things as well. I personally loved it and the picaresque sense it gave the movie.

-The citadel looked soooooo similar to Fury Road it was eerie, since everything else looked so different. But I think it made an important point about stagnation and how the men at the top will keep killing the world for as long as they possibly can only even changing their methods when forced to.

-There's a whole extra movie in the vault about how exactly the wives that were there ended up disappearing. how the politics of it changed from women desperately trying to stay there to have the high life to five women deeply committed to their own liberation (with little Cheedo being the only detractor in retrospect when she is spooked by the wider world). I feel like there is a whole lit fic novel in there about them reaching a breaking point. Maybe a situation where Joe throws out all of them and only keeps the very very best because I counted a whole 11 woman in that vault, maybe the Wives from Fury Road are kidnapped all since wretched woman would not be able to give birth without any deformities? Is Angharad that inspiring? I don't think it's the first one because the fact that woman that chose to be there then decided they didn't want to live as things is much more powerful

-the other extra movie is how exactly Furiosa befriended the wives since she actually didn't spend that much time in the vault itself. I did feel it weakened my favourite reading of Fury Road a little bit, but oh well that always happens with new instalments.

-Talking about Furiosa I'm actually so deeply sad that they casted Anya Taylor Joy for this, not even because she did a bad job, although I think Young Furiosa did a much better job, but because I have watched Queens Gambit so many times that her mere presence made me think about the movie in Doylist terms. She also just seems too Holywood? I don't know there was something about her face that made me think that she was CGIed it was too smooth. Did she even shave her head? I felt Furiosa would not have let it grow out in between escaping the vault and joining the war rig crew, and don't tell me she couldn't, everyone else had short hair Praetor Jack had a nice salon haircut. But the acting itself was good! I actually think it was an effects and direction issue.

-Since we are talking about casting Chris Hemsworth did work for me and I'm questioning if I'm having internalized misogyny about him working better than Taylor. Maybe it was the copious amounts of beard, or that he wasn't the main character but I could really inmerse myself in his character and his parallels to not Furiosa, he was a fucking lying piece of shit about that, but to Immortan Joe. Can't quite articulate waht it was exactly but I think it hit whatever Miller was trying to hit with him. Although my favourite casting was the people I didn't know from anywhere, specially Mary Jo Bassa and the Biker Crew. Burn down the media establishment where we even see actors outside of their characters, it ruins the movies.

-Most viscerally hated character from that movie was the organic mechanic though, instant visceral disgust coupled with professional disdain at this point. You are trying to tell me you couldn't even try to steam the bleeding of the man's throat? you are trying to tell me you are giving birth on the floor like a fucking amateur? he probably didn't even know the anatomy necessary to start trying to close a neck wound. And it's cannon now that he didn't create either Immortan Joe's or Rictus breathing apparatus, because they already had them before the prisoner exchange. Absolute charlatan, no this has nothing to do with me still being pissed as hell as to how he treated Angharad what are you talking about? There's one man in the movie that instantly made me think in Watsonian terms I hate his guts so much.

-And in general I felt the hypocrisy of even the men trying to be kind to Furiosa much more keenly in this movie, which is to say that I did like Praetorian Jack as the pinnacle of the archetypical road warrior and parallels to Max are very interesting and I adored how it created even more parallels to Furiosa and Max's character development in the two movies. But, I don't know, there's something about how he carried himself with Furiosa that rubs me the wrong way I just can't quite place how, might need a rewatch. Anyway Furiosa's crush on him that honestly seemed pretty unrequited from his part was fun, although I hope people don't make it the most important part of the movie (it honestly reminding me of Cheedo and the Dag, they even had a similar was it a stolen kiss moment? but I digress, the parallels between him and Max were much more interesting)

-Back to the topic of the wives there was a moment in the beggining when Mary Jobasa didn't kill the woman who claimed to be a mother and then she betrayed her, which both shows the kind nature of the green place, how it really doesn't work like that in the wasteland and how exactly the vuvalini might have been so diminished in numbers. But my favourite part about this scene was when she said "I'm not to blame" that had to be on purpose because I wanted to shout at the screen " THEN WHO KILLED THE WORLD?" so bad. The fate of the world really hinges on the simplest choices since without that little bit of snitching they just get to go home.

-Honestly just Mary Jo Bassa appreciation, she died on the third day but damn what impressive three days. If I write fic it's going to be about her and Furiosa's other mother, who made the movie pass my personal Bechdel Test with the true purpose of the original Bechdel test, to woman talk to each other in a way that let's you see the Lesbianism in their eyes.

-The scenery of the green place definitely deserves a mention as well, it felt so tiny! it felt so different from everything else of course, they didn't linger to preserve both the runtime and the feeling of it being a place almost from Furiosas's dreams. But from space it felt tiny! the space shot of the outback with the most minuscle amount of green made it feel so deeply vulnerable, and the presence of the crows everywhere made me genuinely emotional. It did clearly have enough of everything to survive and for people to thrive and be super healthy, but it seemed like every millimeter was planned to the last detail to be of the best use.

-Honestly I think the relationship between Furiosa and her mother was the beating heart of the movie, I definitely liked the first third more than anything, it felt the most like something new and fully immersed not only in the setting of Fury road but honestly more of Road Warrior in way?, I don't know closest I got to crying was at Mary's death and her little good girl when furiosa killed a man to protect their home was the cutest most uwu part of the movie. Not to mention revenge of her death is the entire point of the final confrontation.

-Also I have to mention Mr. Norton. Mr. Norton I'm free on saturday for tying up to a motorcycle, I'm sure everything you did was totally justified and also super hot, thank you for your dirty rabid woman duties it was fucking awesome how you shot a man and the quartered your former boss.

-Last comment before I forget, that scene where Jack was killed had impressive Hector vibes. Tied to the back of the chariot while hounds eat you and disfigure your corpse? More to add fuel to the fire of George Miller adoring archetypical images, and I do too no complaints, it was gut-wrenching when I realized what was going to happen. The Horde in general had a mixture of Greek Charioteers and Mongol horde I really loved it.

-Also their first fight scene together where they work seamlessly together and then Furiosa threatens his life? classic crazy wasteland, you and Max really were identical. It also cements my idea that the movie is Fury Road backwards, since Max threatened Furiosa's life first and then they seamlessly worked together. I'll have to find where all the beats parallel and how they fit together, to see if I'm right.

In Conclusion honestly excellent movie, I didn't leave with the deep emotions Fury Road made but how much it's making me think about it is deeply appreciated.

#Mad Max #Furiosa #Furiosa Spoilers

39 notes · View notes

donotpush · 11 months

Text

Bumpin' in Europe, 2

second part is here. it's been quite a while, so you might want to check part 1 here :) ALSO, some anons have sent asks with suggestions and stuff about the story, just know that i write them all down and i'll keep them in mind for the future ;)

“Yeah. Just tired. And hot. I mean, it's hot in here…”

So hot in here. You finally spoke, able to spit out a few cohesive words before cleaning your throat as your eyes wandered around the room, avoiding the woman in front of you. A safe one, talk about the weather.

“I haven't seen you in years! You’re all grown up now…” Monica said. “Your mom doesn’t really tells me much about you, but she’s right when she says you’re good looking”

Okay, you know what? There was nothing out of the ordinary in saying the truth, telling her she looked good, right? Everyone loved a compliment from time to time, and being kind was always cool.

“I look different, yeah. But you…” your words lingered in the air, and you waved your hand once again, this time pointing at her middle, tilting your head to emphasize the point. “You look different. I mean, you look amazing… congratulations on the baby.”

She got the point, and the ghost of a smile lingered on her lips for a moment before she looked down at her middle, her hand rubbing her stomach mindlessly. At least the elephant in the room was gone.

“Uh? You mean this?” Looking up at you, she frowned. “Oh. No, I'm not pregnant.”

You lifted your gaze from where it was fixed on the floor, and you swear you could almost feel the color draining from your face as your eyebrows raised and you stammered. Then, she laughed, throwing her head back.

“Just kidding, don't worry” she breathed, “Oh, look at you, poor thing. Of course I'm pregnant…”

Walking next to you with a promptitude that surprised you, all smooth and almost graceful movements, she leaned to grab a mug from the shelf on top of you. Standing on her tiptoes to reach Monica let out a small gasp as she did a visible effort to reach. Her shirt lifted, revealing a bit of her belly that was now right next to your face, and you found yourself with your eyes locked on the sink in front of you as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.

As she moved back, her hand rested on your shoulder for support before she briefly caressed your cheek with a reassuring laugh before she walked back towards the sink.

“Terribly pregnant…” she glanced at you over her shoulder before turning sideways and patting her stomach gently. “Twins, actually. Want some coffee?”

She dropped the fact as if it was nothing, an everyday thing. But you already knew that that was twins, you were just waiting for the official confirmation, and you couldn't help but bite your lip slightly at the thought.

“You and the father must be excited,” you said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. It came out more like a question than anything else. “You both are, right? I mean… kid's always a blessing or whatever."

“Out of the picture,” she clicked her tongue, raising her eyebrows, but the tone was nonchalant. “In fact, I’m not even sure who the father is. Not that I care either way”. She paused for half a second before continuing, her fingers caressing distractedly her stomach, "We're fine as we are. They say three's a crowd".

Oh. For you, that only meant two things. First, Monica wasn’t taken. Not understandable. Who wouldn’t want to marry a woman like that?

And second, the way her tone was light and her face remained straight, free from all shame or from trying to keep a fake modesty as she spoke about who the baby’s daddy was, made you think that she was as sexually liberated as she looked.

Not like she would lack any chances of having a satisfactory sexual life. Even right now, with that heavily pregnant frame that seemed to be the only thing you could notice about her, you doubted she lacked admirers.

Men, women, you were sure she didn’t lack people that would want to share a bed with this woman.

With the last phrase, she turned to look over her shoulder to wink at you. A smirk played upon her lips before she looked away, bending over to pick up a bunch of bed sheets, and you stared at the back of her legs for a moment, your eyes wandering over to her ass.

"Oh, Monica, don't bother," you snapped out of your dumbfounded state as you rushed up to her, ready to help. “Let me take this." You grabbed two bundles of bedsheets from her arms, and after a moment of hesitation, she nodded silently in approval.

“Ah, darling, that's alright, I do love working on my own… but thank you,” She smiled back as she started walking towards the guest bedroom, with you following behind. "As much as I try to deny it, it's been getting harder and harder with this always on the way," she motioned towards the gravid bulge of her stomach. "Good thing you're here. Could use some help with a few things…" she finished, biting her lip and getting lost in thought for a moment.

You nodded slowly, letting out a small chuckle and scratching the side of your neck. The sound made you cringe internally. Well, at least you were having fun this far.

You helped her to tidy the bedroom a bit and soon you had a far better place to sleep than a room shared with a bunch of strangers.

You found yourself admiring the view outside as the sun started to set behind the mountains in the distance. The heat was starting to die down, but there was still that smell of summertime in the air, and you didn't remember the last time you sat outside like this.

"You will like it here" Monica interrupted your thoughts, startling you. "I know it seems a bit boring. But you have the beach, the food is great… you can go clubbing. There's a lot of people your age around."

You took the glass of lemonade in your hand and pressed it against your neck, leaning back into the chair before turning to stare at the woman.

She took a sip of her own drink, and you watched as she placed the glass on top of her protuberant stomach. Your breath caught in your throat as she leaned back distractedly, and lifted her shirt, placing the glass against the bare skin of her belly.

Monica sighed contently, her eyes closing, and you followed the trajectory of a drop of sweat from the glass that slid down her abdomen, running over her belly button before it disappeared on her waistline.

"So" she exhaled, turning to look at you. "What plans do you have for tonight?"

#birth kink #pregnancy #pregnancy fantasy #fpreg #stories #polls #labor #interactive #episode interactive #BIE

111 notes · View notes

blainesebastian · 1 year

Text

sticks & stones

words: 2,546 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “ Austin launches his relationship with his girlfriend, she has a few thousand followers on IG and will post lots of selfies/risque photos and everyone’s tearing her down saying she’s too slutty/Austin is to classy for her?” warnings: none notes: thanks for reading!! slightly different from request. will re-open my requests after i finish this next fic i’m working on :) thanks everyone! tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

You've always been pretty liberal with posting photos of yourself. Your mother has this saying that she got from these old-timey song lyrics that goes 'accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative'—and it kinda just boils down to that for you? You appreciate a lot about your looks, your body, not in a completely conceded way, but in admiration. Too many women in your opinion aren’t fond with their looks or find something wrong with themselves, that's human, and you definitely have those moments. But you've also worked very hard to love yourself, every part of you. Your body supports you, nourishes you, is your home. Not that you post for anyone other than yourself? but you can't remember a time when anyone's ever had a problem with you either.

At least not until recently.

It comes and goes in waves ever since you started dating Austin—it never ceases to amaze you the audacity some people have online, how they're incredibly bold to strangers just because you so happen to be dating someone specific. You melt it all down to jealousy, you quell down the voices in the back of your mind that start to agree with terrible comments you've read and ignore it because what's the point?

You talk yourself out of it bothering you—until you can't.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you doom scroll as your other hand holds a cup of matcha tea. You take a sip every so often but you're not really paying attention to anything other than the commentary on these candid photos that have been posted. You went to this Italian restaurant for dinner with Austin and his sister to celebrate her birthday and you're wearing a stunning navy-blue dress. It's got an open back, thin gold chains holding it together. The front is high-neck and you paired it with strappy gold heels and…really you've worn this dress around your own family and have gotten so many compliments. There's nothing wrong with it?

If you allow yourself to dive into the black hole of what's 'appropriate' for a woman to wear to dinner, you might not ever return. It'll never change the fact that people have strong opinions on absolutely everything and they somehow deem to apply it to you, what you want to wear, or how you and Austin are in your relationship. You and Austin have so much mutual love and respect for one another, he has never made you feel less than or like you should feel guilty or embarrassed for knowing and appreciating yourself.

And he's certainly never complained about what you've worn. You often know what he thinks about your clothes because he tells you—and something that you love best? No matter whether you're wearing a pair of joggers and one of his t-shirts or an elaborate dress from Fashion Week, the compliment is always in the same wheelhouse—'you're beautiful'.

So…why are these range of comments beginning to bother you? Especially when you realize the small sample size is women. You can’t even appreciate when others step in to back you up.

kelly_allen: she wore that to a…family dinner? austin44: yikes jessi1030: 😍😍😍 elvisfan: oh come on guys, maybe they’re going to a club afterwards? stylespreseleyhearted: pretty sure what she’s wearing is no one’s business—besides, do you see Austin complaining?? elvisthepelvis: bro just saying, his last gf wasn’t nearly as slutty

You don't even hear Austin come into the kitchen but suddenly he's in front of you, gently taking your phone out of your hand with a soft expression, "Told you not to look at that crap."

You crinkle your nose—were you being that obvious? "I know," You turn to lean back against the counter as Austin sets your phone face down, moving to stand in front of you and carefully pin you against the surface. His arms create a cage as he tilts his head down to nip at your lower lip, causing you to laugh. "Sometimes it's hard to avoid."

Austin hums lightly, lifting his one hand to cup your cheek. You turn into the touch a little, pressing a kiss to his palm and closing your eyes for a few moments to take a breath.

"It doesn't bother you?" You ask, gazing up into his blue ones, "What people say?"

He shakes his head before trailing his thumb over your lower lip, "It bothers me that you're upset."

Letting out a soft sigh, you roll your eyes to the ceiling before a semi-dramatic huff leaves your lips. You tilt forward a little until your forehead rests against Austin’s shoulder and it’s…a perfectly good spot right now. His arms move to wrap around your frame, squeezing, one hand massaging circles into your spine. Up and down in a soothing motion, almost perfect enough to fall asleep to.

You just…come to the decision that you can’t let it sit with you. It’s alright to let it upset you, you’re human and you have real emotions, but those words don’t have to plant seeds of doubt—there is nothing wrong with utterly being yourself.

Tilting your head back up, you give Austin a small smile, “I love you.”

He playfully grabs your chin with his fingers, his own matching smile as he leans down to kiss you in response.

Everything’s fine until it isn’t.

You kinda remove yourself from social media for a little bit, not deactivating anything, just not actively posting any updates about you and Austin or yourself. It’s definitely unlike you but you feel like you need a cleanse? To just get back on track of just doing your own thing without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And that works for a while.

You’re out and about to grab lunch with a friend and after you’ve done that, you stop at a coffee shop that you frequent to get a latte that you’re only slightly obsessed with. It’s a nice day out so you’re wearing this t-shirt dress that hikes up the leg, showing off a thigh tattoo you have. You’ve paired it with this jean corset that creates a silhouette look, it’s one of your favorite fashion combinations to put together.

You turn to walk out of the café with your order and hold the door for someone behind you and you feel what happens before you even have time to process it. That same person says your name and there’s a fraction of a second where you’re confused because you’re ninety percent sure you don’t know them—

Then, “Slut.” And they toss their drink down the front of you.

You gasp and take a step back out of instinct and your mouth hangs open, not necessarily out of pain even though the coffee is hot, but because you’re shocked.

One of the baristas who know you and Austin well as regulars rushes out from behind the counter to hand you a hand-towel and ask you if you’re alright but…you can barely grasp the towel to begin patting yourself down, let alone answer their question. Emotions are heavy and quick, hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes burn with tears and this lump appears in your throat that is incredibly difficult to swallow over.

You barely push out the words thank you before handing the towel back and rushing out of the doorway, making a b-line for home.

It’s a mixed bag of emotions and maybe you’re pissed off because you have no idea how to actually feel. You’re angry and vulnerable and sick to your stomach all at once, you don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you tear off your clothes and toss them on the floor. You lean against the sink in your stained nude bra and underwear, squeezing the sink, not being able to look yourself in the mirror because you know you’ll cry.

Austin chooses that exact moment to walk in the front door.

You quickly turn the shower on and reach for the bathroom door as your boyfriend wanders into the bedroom, “Hey Y/N.”

And you can’t quite close it now, giving him a ghost of a smile as you leave it open a crack to say, “Hey, just gonna grab a shower.”

But your voice does not sound like your own and Austin immediately picks up on that, taking a step closer. His eyebrows draw together as he touches the door, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” You reply, a bit too quickly.

Now Austin’s concerned, you can see the look right on his face because he knows you’re lying. He gently pushes on the door a bit more, getting you to take a step back.

“Austin—” You shake your head.

His eyes flutter across you then to the stained clothes on the floor, “What happened?”

Your voice changes, just slightly, because now you’re starting to get worked up. You just want him to leave you alone at the very same time that you want to tell him everything. And yet the words stick like glue in the back of your mouth because you know this was one of his fans that’s done this to you and…your interaction with Austin’s fans have always been pleasant. They’ve been nice and thoughtful and respectful so the fact that this happened feels messed up even more than it already is.

“Coffee happened,” You reply, voice sharp as you motion to the floor, “Obviously.”

“Y/N.” He says and it’s gentle, far too gentle and yet it somehow feels like a dagger right between your ribs and suddenly everything spills right out.

“Oh my god,” You scoff out a laugh, running a hand over your forehead, pushing your hair back. “What happened was I was at the café on the corner and when I went to leave, someone called me a slut and thew coffee at me. Okay? Happy?”

Austin stands there for a moment, a mixture of emotions passing over his face, his jaw clenching in that way where you know he’s pissed off. He doesn’t say anything though, like you expect he might, instead he takes a step forward and clasps the back of your neck with the palm of his hand. He draws you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and you’re tense for a long few moments until you just…melt against his embrace.

That’s when the tears come.

There’s no loud sobbing but a stream of silent crying against his shoulder, turning your face into his neck and sniffling, fingers gathering the fabric of his shirt in your hands as your shoulders tremble. He doesn’t move for a long time, just keeps you against him, his hand stroking through your hair and massaging along your shoulders. He pulls back just slightly to look down at you, his hand cupping your cheek and removing a tear track with his thumb.

“M'sorry baby,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You shake your head, sniffling again—your face feels puffy and wet, eyes red-rimmed, a bit congested from crying. A mess, really, can’t even imagine what you must look like. The thing is—he doesn’t have to apologize to you. He’s not in control of any of this, especially his fans. You know it’s not one hundred percent responsibility but moreso he cares that you’re upset, he’s hurt because you’re hurting.

“I love you.” Austin says, tilting your chin up just slightly so that your gazes meet.

That always manages to pull the softest of smiles from you and this is no different, regardless of how terrible you feel. You nod as you rest your hand on his chest, a point of connection, grounding, as Austin tugs you into his embrace again.

A few days pass since the incident and Austin has been relatively quiet about it. It's not that he's ignoring the situation or refusing to talk about it but rather he's just giving you open space to talk to him, or not talk at all. You appreciate that more than you can really put into words, you're not quite sure what you'd say anyways. It's such a push and pull kind of situation—you know that tensions and emotions run really high for fans, they feel a connection to Austin as real as the one you have with him, even if it's not the same at all. You don't want to disrespect that, you get that fans are also what make Austin's work so important—he cares about them and what they bring to the table in terms of his stardom. But at the same time? you definitely feel insulted, hurt, and you don't understand what you've done exactly to deserve such strong words and actions from a stranger.

It's a warmer day out and Austin's decided to take you out because you both have time off (secretly you know he's just trying to make you feel better, but it's working). It's a pretty lazy day, you're wearing a soft yellow sundress, a bit sheer, but it hangs on you beautifully. You're on your way to a brunch after visiting a farmer's market, a tote bag filled with fresh produce, cheese and some homemade fruit pastries that you couldn't pass up.

You wander down the sidewalk, Austin ending up behind you and it takes you a moment to turn around...to see him taking a video of you. Your cheeks flush pink and you kinda give him this look before laughing,

"What are you doing?"

"Filming my beautiful girlfriend." Austin replies, like it's obvious. "Do a twirl or somethin'."

You laugh, shaking your head, "No, stop."

"C'mon, can't be wearin' a pretty dress like that for no reason."

You roll your eyes but you're grinning, so you do what he asks. You do a playful twirl and come to meet him, grabbing his other hand as he flips the video around so that it's in selfie mode, you pressed up against his chest. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips before ending the video. Lazily wrapping your arms around his waist, you watch as he taps open his Instagram on his phone, your eyebrows lifting slightly. You...didn't actually think he was going to do anything with the video he took. He snaps photos and takes videos all the time but they never end up on social media, which is fine, you know Austin isn't as active as you are on apps.

But for him to be...putting this on his story?

"Austin."

"I know what I'm doin'." He replies, drawing an arm around your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your temple and uploads the video to his story with the comment 'main character energy' and you can't help but snort out a laugh because he's ridiculous and cute and…sweet. And you fall a little bit more in love with him in that very moment.

He waits until the video loads before he closes his phone, putting it back into his pocket. Giving you a soft smile, he leans down to brush a kiss along the bridge of your nose. You hum lightly, eyes fluttering closed as you soak in the moment with him.

He definitely didn't need to do that? But it makes all the difference.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

301 notes · View notes

p-redux · 8 months

Text

Weekly Summary October 20, 2023

Hi peeps, lots of stuff happened this week, so I'm going to do my weekly summary instead of individual posts or answering individual Asks. This is a LONG one, so grab a drink, and dive right in for: Ringgate, Sam and the City, and Sam and open letter and follow up statement. Also, starting tomorrow, I'll be off for the weekend, my man surprised me with a trip away to the beach before the weather starts to cool down.

Anyhooo, let's start off with something light. #ringgate. For different reasons some fans get verklempt when Sam wears jewelry, and panties definitely get twisted or wet, depending on who you are, when Sam dons RINGS. Sam wore the 2 rings he's been wearing lately during his appearance on Jimmy Fallon a few days ago. Sidenote: Samshine is EXTRA Samshiny is in this pic. Say what you want about him, but the man is BEAUTIFUL 👇

So, of course, Extreme Shippers are convinced Sam is "finally" wearing his wedding rings because he's married to Cait. Um, one small problem, Caitriona Mary Balfe is already married to Tony McGill. Some Non-Shippers get excited to see him wear rings because maybe it makes them think of when Sam WILL get married. There is something about a man wearing rings. I find it sexy as well. But, alas, these rings are on the right hand and Scottish people wear wedding rings on the left hand. Also, Sam's definitely NOT married to anyone since we've seen him linked to several women lately.

For the people who had doubts the copper looking ring is an Oura ring, it definitely is. Here is what the two rings most likely are. The silver one I'm told by some of the Team is 👇

And here is the Oura ring he's wearing, most likely in Rose Gold. It's basically a ring with a computer in it to keep track of physical stuff, the way a fitbit or Apple watch does. Seems EXACTLY like something Sam would wear 👇 So, let's put #ringgate to rest now, please.

On to WHERE in New York had Sam been hiding. Everyone thought he had left and that his recent appearance on Jimmy Fallon had been taped earlier, until we saw THIS fan pic with him. 👇

My New York sources said he had not been seen at his usual hotel The Crosby. I'm putting out the name now just because EVERYONE knows that's where he stays in New York. He used to stay at The Bowery Hotel, but the last few years it's been The Crosby. None of the usual pic and autograph hounds got pics with him, so we assumed he wasn't staying there. All those hounds have contacts at the different hotels and restaurants frequented by celebs, so they would have been alerted to Sam staying there. Soooooo, if he wasn't at The Crosby, BUT he was in New York, THEN the possibilities are. He's aware too many fans know he stays at The Crosby, so he's switched hotels. Or he decided to rent an Airbnb instead. Or he stayed with friends. Or he does have a lady friend in New York, like some think, and he stayed with her. Who knows...but I'm sure we will find out...

Onto more serious matters. I'll preface this by saying I have made it a policy on my blog to NOT talk about anything political and to also not talk about any world events happening, which are upsetting. This blog is my escape from real life. So, I want to continue on that path. But I'm making an exception this time because based on the DMs an Anon Asks I'm getting there is some confusion as to why Sam posted this message on his social media. I just want to give people some clarity on it. And them move on. So, Sam posted this. 👇

It was in response to Sam and other mostly UK celebrities signing an open letter asking Israel to cease fire on Gaza, and explicitly claiming Pro-Palestine sentiments. If you click below, you will find an article on it and then keep scrolling down and you can read the actual letter. That's the letter Sam signed. A few days later, he clarified his feelings and regretted signing it because it doesn't represent fully what he meant. 👇

Here's the thing the history of Israel/Palestine is LONG and COMPLICATED. And most people haven't done enough research to know it fully. Most people go by sound bytes they see as they scroll social media. Or they give in to confirmation bias based on their political party, nationality, ethnicity, religion, affiliations etc.

I'm not going to get into the specifics because all of the information is easily accessible if anyone TAKES THE TIME TO RESEARCH AND READ THE HISTORY, both of Israel and Palestine...with an OPEN MIND.

The reason Sam got himself in trouble with signing the open letter and then the subsequent damage control message is that he didn't take the time to do his research. In extremely simplistic terms: Most of the UK, and in fact, most of Europe has traditionally been Pro-Palestine (except for European Jews, of course). The U.S. has traditionally been Pro-Israel and are allies. Up until recently that is. Due to the divisiveness in the US since the Trump era, Conservatives (Republicans) in the country became even more Pro-Israel, which then meant Liberals (Democrats) had to be the opposite. The rhetoric that Israel was the oppressor and Palestine was the oppressed grew louder. You had to pick one or the other. You couldn't take a step back and look at the history of the Jews being oppressed pretty much since Moses kept trying to get back to The Promised Land aka modern day Israel and Palestine. Or the Palestinians also being oppressed and their lands shrinking year by year.

The Jews have always been fucked over throughout history. And the Palestinians have always been fucked over, but especially since 1948 when modern day Israel was created. So, then, TERROR GROUP, Hamas decides, we're gonna fuck you over, Israel, REALLY BADLY, and engaged in some of the worst atrocities in recent times. No matter what anyone's beliefs are, when you saw what Hamas did (I'm not going to write the details because it's a horror show we all already know about) EVERYONE in the world should have said "Not today, Satan, not today," and DENOUNCED their savagery.

Hamas is NOT the Palestinian people, Hamas' ONLY goal is to terrorize and destroy. First the Jews, then their allies. Look up in the sky if you're in the US, one day a missile will be coming your way if they aren't stopped. After Hamas committed their savagery, Israel, understandably attacked back. They defended themselves from TERRORISTS trying to literally annihilate them. That was NOT the time to chant Free Palestine or write Free Palestine open letters. Just like after the murder of George Floyd, the Black Lives Matter movement came to the forefront in the US, but you had people countering "All Lives Matter!" Yes, all lives matter, but RIGHT NOW we're focusing on Black Lives, ya dopes. Breast Cancer awareness month. But what about Lung Cancer, Colon Cancer, they're important too?! Yes, but JFC, FOCUS people. Should Palestine be free from Israeli occupation, should they have more land? OF COURSE. But when the world SAW what Hamas did to HUMAN BEINGS, regardless of nationality or religion, the ONLY thing that should have been chanted is "DESTROY HAMAS." Hamas fucked things up for Palestinians, not just Israelis. And because of Hamas' actions, now Palestine is getting destroyed by Israel. And then Hamas will counter attack. And it will go on and on. There should be NO sides. There should only be ONE side, the HUMAN side.

So, when celebs seemingly "pick" a side, especially without considering the repercussions, they will get pushback. I love Sam and he's a good man, but he missed the mark on this one. Not through malice, but rather, naivete and ignorance. By cosigning that letter he didn't realize he wasn't simply signing a Pro-Palestine letter, he was simultaneously signing an Anti-Israel letter, Anti-Jews letter. And the reality is he alienated his Jewish fans, his more US conservative fans, his more centrist fans, assorted other fans...and I'm just going to state facts...he forgot WHO runs Hollywood, has always run Hollywood, and will always run Hollywood, including people who run Starz, as well as WHO are some of his agents, and publicists, hence the "better late than never" damage control quasi apology.

If you're wondering about MY stance: I feel badly for the Palestinian people and I feel badly for the Israeli people. There, that wasn't so hard to say, right? You CAN be Pro-Palestine AND Pro-Israel aka Pro-Humans. In the end, ALL HUMANS want the SAME basic things: food, clean water, shelter, safety and peace for their loved ones. To pick sides is to say that one set of people is more important than the other. And that can't be true. It isn't true. I pick the Human Side. Simple as that.

*big long sigh* Okay, peeps, you can leave comments, but I'm not going to answer them because I'm TIRED now. Also any hate comments, antiSemitic or antiPalestineMuslim comments and they will be deleted, and you will be blocked.

I'll check in later today. And then I'll be off until Sunday evening. Of course, still feel free to DM me and send Asks. I'll answer when I can.

Peace, people, PEACE.

#samheughan #sam heughan #palestine #israel #open letter #uk #us #ringgate #ring gate #newyork #new york #Sam and the City #oura ring

77 notes · View notes