#prepare for dyke posts
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i want… i want GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!
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i got a carabiner for my keys. btw
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the lack of dykes n more specifically butch dykes in post apocalyptic media is bizarre bc every single lesbian i know is the most prepared person in any room n not even for survivalist reasons we do that shit for fun
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Let’s Go Lesbians! 32 Books for Lesbian Visibility Day
TODAY! is Lesbian Visibility Day, the first day of Lesbian Visibility Week – April 26, 2024. We are, I’m sure you’re shocked to discover, celebrating with LOTS of lesbian books! 15 people contributed to making this list, all of us sharing our absolute faves, from graphic novels to epic novels, from memoirs to horror fiction, with explicit rep and implied. With this many awesome books to share, we’re prepared to guarantee that everyone who loves wlw lit can find something new to them on this amazing list!
Interesting Facts About Space by Emily Austin
The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel
Belle of the Ball by Mari Costa
Kiss Number 8 by Colleen AF Venable & Ellen T. Crenshaw
She Wears the Midnight Crown Anthology
Delilah Green Doesn’t Care by Ashley Herring Blake
The Scapegracers & The Scratch Daughters by H.A. Clarke
Spinning by Tillie Walden
The Girl from the Sea by Molly Knox Ostertag
The Ruin of Angels by Max Gladstone
The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson
The Red Scholar’s Wake by Aliette de Bodard
Siren Queen by Nghi Vo
She Gets the Girl by Rachael Lippincott & Alyson Derrick
Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle
One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston
Those Who Wait by Haley Cass
Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree
Into the Bloodred Woods by Martha Brockenbrough
From Here by Luma Mufleh
Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel
Are You My Mother? A Comic Drama by Alison Bechdel
A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine
Female General, Eldest Princess by Please Don’t Laugh
Clear And Muddy Loss of Love by Please Don’t Laugh
This Is How You Lose the Time War by Max Gladstone & Amal El-Mohtar
Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire
A Restless Truth by Freya Marske
The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz
Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead by Emily Austin
Can’t get enough books with lesbians? Yeah, us neither – this new list for 2024 is on top of THREE rec lists of titles featuring lesbians that we posted last year.
Lesbian Visibility Week Recs Part 1
Lesbian Visibility Week Recs Part 2
Duck Prints Press Short Stories with Lesbian Characters
You can also view this list (along with all our other wlw faves!) as a shelf on Goodreads!
See a book you want to buy? You can grab it through the Duck Prints Press Bookshop.org affiliate shop!
What are YOUR favorite reads with lesbian characters?
#duck prints press#wlw characters#lesbian characters#queer books#queer fiction#queer non-fiction#lesbian visibility day#lesbian visibility week
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Read my pinned post BEFORE you interact: like, reblog, reply, dm, ask, or follow. Must be over eighteen years of age to interact. 18+ only. You do not have my consent to "Like" this post without reading my pinned first. MDNI.
DNI: no/maps, loli, icky kink, "icky" blogs, unspecified "hard" kinks, unspecified "gross" kinks, unspecified "taboo" kinks, unspecified "dark" kinks, ddlg (specifically, doesn't apply to all cgl), older men / younger women, incest, forced fem, detrans kink, misgendering, misogyny, matriarchy, patriarchy, race fetish, fat fetish, feeder, gainer kink, dyke breaking, corrective rape, tradwifery, cucking, infidelity, cheating, hot wife, trophy wife or husband, cucking, pregnancy, alphas, sigmas, femcels, beastiality, zoophilia, allocishet "straight people" kinks and any conservative ideals romanticized or fetishized in kink play or in vanilla romantic and sexual relationships.
allowing me to stay over in your guest room which has, unbeknownst to me, been created into a fully inescapable- yet seemingly safe and normal bedroom. it's true purpose has always been to be the dungeon you'd keep me in so you could prove your loyal devotion to me.
the first night you focus on making sure i'm comfortable and at ease. hidden cameras detail my sleeping schedule and you're prepared for the next phase. we spend some time together during the second day, but mostly you're preparing for something special that evening... at night, once i've fallen asleep, you begin.
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dimly lit monitors power on to display obscenely pornographic content, hidden speakers play binaural and hypnotic audio, and soon i am surrounded by a barrage of subliminal ideas designed to coerce me into becoming more deviant. the moment i stir awake, everything is shut off automatically. i've no idea what is going on, but my head feels fuzzy.
during the day, i seem a bit out of it, but otherwise don't notice anything unusual. like a vacation, i finally begin to relax after a few days. on the fifth night, you continue this nightly programming and increase the volume and lighting just so. when i wake, i catch a glimpse of my surroundings that immediately fall silent and i question whether i saw anything.
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in the morning i notice some of the clothes i don't wear often have been replaced with similar, yet more revealing styles. i angrily question you about going through my belongings and you act so unaware, surprised, and frightened that someone may have broken into your house that i actually believe you. i help you get new locks and install security cameras to watch over all entrances and windows. i ask you to stay in the room with me that night, and you make a bed on the floor next to mine. nothing more happens, a few uneventful days pass...
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i suggest you move back to your own room, feeling silly for being scared, you only continue to build my trust in you by comforting me and making me feel safe. everything will change soon enough, bc while i visit a friend during the day, your plans to move into the third phase begin.
all my clothes are replaced with very revealing styles, except for my usual pajamas that i lay out each day. i don't see you when i get back, but figure you're out or taking a nap. i don't know you've changed anything yet, keeping to my new routines in your home. by the time we usually have dinner together, you join me a bit later than usual. and when i retire to bed, it's all so mundane.
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while i sleep, you turn on the programs. they increase as i squirm in bed, getting louder and more visible. this time, when i wake up, everything stays on as i look around startled and confused. i try to use the remote to turn off the tv, but nothing i do works. i decide to leave the room, scared to stay inside with all the overwhelming perversion around me. when i try to open the door, it's locked. the windows appear to be locked from the outside... i yell out for help, not wanting to believe the situation i'm in, and the obscene volume increases. the more i yell, the louder it gets, until my screams are nearly indistinguishable from the loud moans and cries of pain and pleasure. i go back to bed and cover my head, trying to make it all stop and i somehow manage to fall asleep again.
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in the morning, i wake up like normal. as if it were all just a horribly bad dream. i go take a shower and when i look for something to wear, all my clothes are gone. i'm in a towel, my used pajamas already added to the laundry bin in the other room, and all the clothes i have to wear are not mine. i go to leave the room and the door is locked, just like in my dream. i hear you yell out that breakfast will be ready soon, and i should hurry up so it doesn't get cold. how can you be so normal when something strange is going on here? i find the most "comfortable" outfit i can to make do, and after getting dressed the door is unlocked, like i was never locked in to begin with... i felt so confused and wanted to tell you, but i also felt overcome with shame. was it just my mind playing tricks on me?!? ♡
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NO: lurkers, likes only, inactive, empty, or blank blogs. DO NOT LIKE MY CONTENT. DNI. ♥️
#cnc kidnapping#cnc somno#nsft fantasy#nsft concept#somno fantasy#hypnosis#soft cnc#obsessive love#dumbification#stockholm syndrome#lima syndrome#domb brain
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Transfem Stevie who figures it out when she goes to a gay bar with Robin (post s3?) and meets another transwoman and has a Huh, you can do that? moment.
i sort of Went Off on this one lmaoo. bc im incapable of not steddifying everything this is now T4T Steddie 2: This Time They're Lesbians- with trans girl eddie cracking stevie's egg
PLEASE NOTE: this is set in the 80s, so they use kind of outdated terminology for trans people. also there's a d slur used in a positive, self-ID way. overall the vibes are good but the language is questionable. do with that what you will lol
When Robin asks Steve to be her ‘emotional support heterosexual’ (her words) for her first visit to an Indianapolis gay club, Steve prepares himself for a night of ‘hey, have you met my friend Robin’, pointedly not hitting on any girls, and politely declining offers of drinks and dances from guys until he’s buzzed enough to admit he’s curious. And so far, that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Robin’s off dancing with a girl after Steve assured her about ten times that he’d be fine on his own. He’s just debating whether or not his inhibitions are lowered enough to go dancing when his thoughts are interrupted by a voice to his right.
“Steeeeeeeve Harrington.”
Steve turns, already cringing. Anyone who says his name with a tone like that is someone who is not going to be thrilled with seeing him in a gay club. The thing is, Steve has no idea who this person is. Can’t even really tell if they’re a guy or a girl. Their features are fairly masculine, all lean muscles and square chin, but they’ve got long, wild hair and heavy eye makeup. The cropped muscle tank with ‘Massive Dyke’ printed in lurid red muddies the waters even further.
“Oh, hey… uh…” Yeah, Steve’s pulling a complete blank. They look kind of familiar? He’s definitely seen them around. Somewhere.
They roll their eyes. “Not surprised King Steve doesn’t recognise me. Especially looking like this. What are you doing here?”
Steve sighs a little. “I’m here with a friend. She was nervous to come alone so I’m here for moral support and wingmanning.”
“Yeah, sure,” they scoff, and Steve frowns even more.
“Look, I know I was a dick in high school. And I’m genuinely sorry if I was a dick to you. But that was four years ago. I’ve grown up, and I’m here to be a good friend. Can you let me do that?”
The person blinks, and then looks a little sheepish. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” they say, before extending a hand. “And it’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
Steve smiles and shakes the offered hand. “Oh, yeah! You ran that club my kids went to- dungeons and dragons, right? Cool to see you again, dude!”
Eddie’s face does a complicated little wiggle before- “Uh, not a dude, man.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m a girl, now. Still Eddie, though, it’s just short for Edith now. Have you heard of transsexuals?”
Steve shakes his head. “I’m pretty new to this. I know, like. Five words.”
“Well, easiest way to put it is that I was born a guy, but I feel more like a girl, so now I’m, like, switching.”
“Switching…” Steve says, trying his best to look genuinely interested and confused. He generally doesn’t struggle too hard to look confused, but he’s a little worried Eddie will think he’s being a dick about it. “You can do that?”
Eddie snorts, gesturing down to herself. “Clearly.”
“Huh,” Steve says. Frankly, this is blowing his mind. “Why doesn’t everyone do that, then? Like, no one likes being a guy.”
“Ye- wait, what?”
“Like, the sexism of being a girl would suck, obviously. But everything else sounds great! Like, you get prettier clothes and you can wear makeup- and girls are so nice to other girls, I've always been kind of jealous of that.”
Eddie looks shocked, but Steve's on a roll now, almost forgetting she's there as he continues thinking aloud. “And like. Girls’ bodies are just. Better, y'know? Like what do guys have, muscles? Girls can have muscles too, but girls are just so… like, everyone wants boobs, right?”
Eddie has a strange look on her face. “I mean, I do. Because I’m transsexual.”
“When you’re transsexual, do you get boobs? Like, do you- wait, is that rude? I feel like I wouldn’t ask another girl about her boobs.”
Eddie’s silent for a moment, looking at Steve in bewilderment, before she seems to collect herself. She takes a swig of her beer and then smiles at him. It looks both welcoming and like she’s in on a secret, and puts Steve at ease. He can see why the kids were so obsessed with her in high school.
“You know what, ordinarily it would be kind of rude, but I have a feeling this conversation is… not what I thought it was gonna be,” she says, and Steve tilts his head a bit in confusion. “So yeah, I do have boobs. You can take estrogen as a little pill, and it basically does puberty for you again. You get boobs, a little extra fat on your hips and thighs, and your skin gets softer. Here, feel.”
And then Eddie takes Steve’s hand and slides it up her shirt. His brain immediately turns off. And yeah, there’s definitely a gentle swell there. They’re small, but Steve can feel the squish of them. Her nipples are pierced. Steve thinks he might die.
“Wow,” he squeaks, about five embarrassing octaves higher than his normal tone. “Cool!”
Eddie grins as she removes his hand from her tit. “Yeah, cool. I’d let you fondle them a little more, sweetheart, but they’re still growing. Kind of sore.”
Steve blushes, rubbing his hand on his thigh and desperately trying to will his boner down. “Man, I wish I could grow boobs,” he sighs, a little wistfully.
“You can, y’know,” Eddie says, with a little chuckle and a soft smile. “What’s stopping you?”
That. Steve hasn’t considered that. A hundred things come to his lips- he’s not like that, he’s not one of those- a hundred things that he knows are absolutely terrible reasons. If Robin were here she’d either be whacking him upside the head or giving him that really sad look she does whenever he’s mean to himself.
“Hey,” Eddie says, speaking softly and laying a gentle hand on Steve’s knee. It shocks him out of his spiral as he looks up into her big brown eyes. “Y’know, I’ve got some makeup in my van. If you wanted to try some things out. No one here will judge you.”
“I- yeah,” Steve is breathless. “I’d like that. Uh- my friend-”
“Oh, is she real? I’ll be honest, I kinda thought you were doing the ‘oh I’m not gay I’m just here for a friend’ thing.”
Laughing, Steve looks out over the crowd. “No, she’s real. Let me just let her know I’ll be gone for a moment- honestly she’s probably halfway to third base with some girl anyway-”
And sure enough, Robin is more than ready to let Steve wander off once he peels her off a pretty girl on the opposite side of the club. He rejoins Eddie, who leads him down the street towards her van and helps him into the back. She takes out her makeup bag, cracking jokes about their wildly different styles while she delicately brushes powder over his face. She generously refrains from threatening to take his eye out with the eyeliner pencil (more than once at least), and apologises for not having anything more ‘babygirl’ than her bright red lipstick. Steve can definitely say this is the most fun he’s ever had in the back of a van.
Finally, masterpiece done, Eddie rummages in her bag for a little compact, presenting it to Steve with a dumb little bow. Steve takes it with a roll of his eyes, and prepares himself with a deep breath.
The person in the mirror is beautiful. Glowing skin, huge doe eyes lined with smokey eyeliner and lashes a mile long, practically sinful lips. Steve almost doesn’t recognise himself, except that he does. He really, really does, in a way he now realises he never really has before. It’s the first time he’s ever looked at his face in the mirror and not wanted to change anything.
“You’re a really pretty girl, Stevie,” Eddie says with a gentle smile.
Steve can’t look away from the mirror. “Yeah,” she says, a red-lipped grin stretching across her face. “I really am.”
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“Break Me Please”
A softer story to cleanse my palate a bit. This started as a short post but I am a writer so it turned into this lol.
18+ Trigger Warning: Light Homophobic language
Original Post: I Need some overzealous politically active uppity dyke in my town to discover my small but growing kink blog and try to blackmail me….
She and I have been fighting over the right way to respond to hate speech at pride events. I wanted to get the input of the community first, organize counter protesters and arrange for security and safe rides home. You wanted to act right away. Go get some people together and slash their tires and graffiti their homes. You’re mad at me after a debate between the two of us got particularly vicious. You search and dig for anything you can use to get me to back down, and you hit the Jackpot.
While rubbing yourself and going through your sapphic porn blogs before bed one night you go to block some dykebreaking blog that ended up in your feed. But the writing looks so familiar. You read a few more of my posts and start to DM me. After a few days you offer “Talking to you has been really fucking hot, if you tell me your name I’ll record myself screaming it out while I cum.”
I give you a fake name.
You start to lose it. “Cut the shit I know who you Fucking are I have your number in my phone.”
“Then text me.” I say.
You prove who you are and that you know who I am. I refuse to talk about it anymore through DM. You invite me to your place to discuss terms.
“Shut it down and quit volunteering. If I hear you’re trying to break any dykes ever again I’ll expose you for the pig you are.” She says as I scan the area. Nice house, if a little messy.
“No.” I say, and I stand up. “In fact I think I know why you didn’t just tell everyone in the first place whore.”
You instinctively back up a pace. “What are you talking about?”
You pull out your phone. You prepare a quick email and show your thumb hovering over the button. “Touch me and I’ll hit send.”
I walk towards you slowly, I grab your wrists and push you against the wall, your phone drops from your hand and clatters to the ground. I stare deeply into your eyes for a long moment before kissing you deeply and passionately. You kiss back surprising me. And we have a long, near-violent make out session. When I pull away to bite and kiss your neck I can hear the mixture of animal lust and self loathing in the soft involuntary moans between breaths. I can feel your body cede control to me and you stop resisting me pinning you to the wall. I release one of your hands from my grip and go to gently fondle your breasts, then move to start tracing my fingers around your areolae before pinching and tweaking your nipple with my finger. “Fuck you have nice tits dyke.” I say in a breathy whisper.
You push me away and slap me, it’s like you came out of a trance. “Fucking pig, get away from me. I like girls, you can’t turn me.”
I look you up and down with an animal lust in my eyes. “Then stop me. Say no, do something about it.” And I kiss you again, you can’t help but think about how my rough thick tongue would feel against your clit… you pull away and spit in my face resisting your own primal urges. “Pig, I’ll never let you fuck me.”
I wipe the spit from my face, and I shove my hand down your pants with one hand. You move to stop me but it’s too late, I’m already prodding and exploring your already wet little pussy with my finger. You gasp as I do and squirm a little in embarrassment. “You like being choked whore?” I whisper as I nibble your earlobe. You moan gently and nod affirmatively. I wrap my free hand around your throat. You grab my wrist but you don’t pull away you push my hand harder against your throat. “I don’t want to turn you. I want to break you, I want you to know for a fact your gay when I finally break you on my hot pulsing misogynist dykebreaking cock.” As I plunge a second finger inside you, pushing and wriggling and exploring. After savouring your each and every moan and movement, I use my finger to search for your swollen clit and gently prod it. Your leg twitches involuntarily as I do.
“It’s been a while hasn’t it. It’s been long enough it doesn’t even matter what you want, your body is telling you what you want.”
Your heart is thumping, your body hot with shame and desire. Your breathing is heavy as I continue running my finger around your clit, you start to feel something stirring inside you. My pace changes and I start to find a steady rhythm. The muscles in your back twitch and you let out a loud “Fuuuuuck yessss, keep going.”
I struggle to maintain my position as your body writhes in pleasure. “Dont. Stop.” You whisper as you prepare yourself. And I stop. I pull my fingers from you and remove my hand from your throat. You are practically vibrating with built up tension and you collapse, but the lack of release causes something to bubble up inside you….
“What the fuck?” You say, still breathing heavily. Frustrated. Unzip my pants and pull out my hot, stiff and throbbing. You look at it almost mesmerized. “Dykes only get to cum after I’m done with them.” As I let my cock fall on your face with a satisfying *slap*.
“I don’t suck cock.” You say looking at me defiantly.
I get on the floor with you, then I put my hand down your pants again and start fingering you furiously. “Does the good little dyke want to cum?” You gasp and try to contain yourself, but after mere moments you find yourself saying “Please let me cum.” Then I pull out of you and say “Then suck cock like a good little lesbian.”
You hesitate as I press the tip of my cock against your pretty lips. I grab your short hair as I push my cock slowly into your mouth you begin bobbing your head as I make demands. “Watch your fuckin teeth.”
“Deeper” “Faster” “Use your tongue.” In frustration I grab the back of your head and start fucking your face for a short period. I grunt and moan in pleasure as I do. You tolerate it briefly before pulling away, coughing and choking on spit and pre-cum.
“God you’re shit at sucking cock. I was gonna let you get away without taking away your gold star… but it looks like I’m gonna have to break you in after all.”
I roll you onto your back and pull off your pants. Kissing your body and neck, drawing my tongue down your torso and along your hip bones. I move back up and give you one more passionate sensual kiss as I position the head of my thick cock at the entrance to your pussy. As I start to push inside inch by inch, you start to gasp and moan and writhe in a mixture of pleasure and light pain as my cock stretches you. I accidentally go too deep and hit your cervix, you wince in pain. I start to slowly pump myself in and out, careful not to go too deep. As I do you feel this ache inside you. “Ah! Faster” you moan. I pick up the pace and start angling myself to find the perfect position. You start to buck your hips and eventually match the rhythm of my thrusts. Moaning like a beast in heat, I lick my finger and begin searching for your clit. I prod draw my finger around it for a moment and enjoy your now loud ravenous moaning before remembering the correct motion. As I find it, I hear a brief “Ah! Fuck”.
I whisper in your ear as you start to build up to an orgasm once more. “Are you gonna be a good dyke and cum on my cock?” A flash of defiance hits your face before I thrust into you again and you give in. “Yes, make me cum on your dykebreaking cock please!” Instead of stopping I continue, I wrap my free hand around your throat again while trying to maintain my position through your body’s spasms of ecstasy. “Fuckyes Fuckyes Fuuuuuuuuuck.”
And I feel it start to hit you. My cock thrust into you as my finger rubs your clit and your body explodes with violent waves of pleasure. Your eyes roll back into your head and you relax and let wave after wave hit you. As I release my grip on your neck and the blood rushes back to your brain you briefly black out.
When you come to, you’re on the couch with a blanket over you. I’m making tea in your kitchen. I bring a cup over to you and I ask “So, still going to expose me?”
You look up at me as if seeing me for the first time all over again. “No. Thank you, I needed that. I think… I think I’m starting to understand now.”
We still argue and fight all the time of course, but now you just take all that pent up frustration and let me fuck it out of you. Nothing has changed really, except now the butchest dyke in town is nothing but a whore for my cock.
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🐺🥩--INTRO POST--🛸🐾
welcome to my blog! i do whatever the fuck i want
I SOMETIMES POST/REBLOG SUGGESTIVE/LIGHT NSFW CONTENT
DNI PROSHITS MAPS ZOOS ABDL/AGEPLAY/DDLG GO DIE
anthony/tony - he/him EXCLUSIVELY - 18
art requests: open! - pwyw comms: open! - oc asks: OPEN!!
hi hello i like the internet i like colors i like pixels i like games i like animals i like dykes and faggots and butches ohhhhh beautiful sexy transsexuals ohhhhh.......... i post about whatever i like so many thngs i have so much love in my heart for all things but also im a huge fucking hater i love to complain and hate on things ok so be prepared
i really love wolves theyre one of my favorite things ever so awesome and cool and i love them
i love lps i currently have around 600 figures in my collection
legend of zelda twilight princess best zelda game and then oot and then minish cap ohhhh loz so awesone
idk it shouldbe apparent what my interests are by looking at my blog
im traumatized as fuck and live in an abusive household i have a lot of shit happening to me all the time and im really mentally ill and have untreated physical disabilities
if yyou want you can donate to me via venmo or paypal
my carrd if you like, i hope to have my own neocities eventually to replace it
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This comes from the next (last) chapter of Head Over Feet. Honestly not sure when I'll post this chapter, but not before Smut Week. Anyway, have some Kristanna cuteness til then!
🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻
Anna jumped at the ding of her email, just Olaf letting the office know the men’s restroom on the 4th floor would be out of order for the next three hours.
She took a deep breath and wiped her damp hands on her non-absorbent chiffon skirt. It wasn’t the right material for work, especially on a stressful day, but Anna was feeling particularly rebellious. And prepared.
She reached for the single strand of pearls hanging from her neck and twisted it around her fingers while she remembered how they got there.
She had been running late that morning because everything she tried on looked even more Laura Petrie than the one before, and Kristoff’s knock took her off guard.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered with her hands on her hips.
“I just need a second,” he said, and he looked her up and down as he shut the door behind him.
His smirk looked smug because Anna had smiled when she caught his eyes lingering.
Anna raked her eyes over every surface of his body, the crisp cleanness of his stiff collar, the sharp, symmetrical knot of his tie, the smooth chisel of his jaw, and the still wet helmet of blond hair protecting his head. He was dependable like a statue, but there was only so much he could withstand before a smile cracked through his lips and his eyes sparkled warm with devotion.
Anna lifted her hands to his cheeks so he wouldn’t crumble.
“I wanted to give this to you personally.” He handed her a box that must have barely fit in his jacket pocket.
Anna opened the white, unmarked box, flashing her eyes at him repeatedly as she did so. Inside was a magenta colored leather envelope, folded over with a snap.
Anna’s heart pounded when she looked at him with widened eyes.
His eyebrows shifted while half of his mouth curved a little more.
The bottom of the box fell to the floor as Anna opened the snap. Her fingers traced the strand of pearls, shiny with hints of pink and blue.
“Kristoff,” she said, her voice choking unexpectedly, “this is too much!”
He took the strand from the envelope and held the ends apart. Anna held her hair up as she turned around. He kissed the back of her neck before wrapping the pearls around it.
“You can’t be a real mid-century housewife without pearls.”
Anna snorted as she dropped her hair.
“Did you know that Mary Tyler Moore fought the network to wear pants for one scene in every episode of the Dick van Dyke Show?”
Anna smiled and he said, “You’re more powerful than you know.”
“You know a lot about classic tv!”
“Mary Tyler Moore was my first crush.” Then he whispered, “She still does it for me.”
Anna giggled and said, “Thank you, Kristoff. I love it.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Almost as much as the strawberries.”
He pulled away and she said, “Olaf told me.”
She was pulled back to the present by another Outlook ding, a calendar appointment, followed by a knock on her door.
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A Queer History of SNL, Part Two
And here is the second half of our two-part opener for this new season. In this episode, we look at LGBTQ-themed recurring Saturday Night Live sketches airing in the year 2000 and beyond. Basically, this one gets us from The Girl With No Gaydar to Bowen Yang, and that’s actually a pretty good synopsis for the evolution of queer-inclusive humor of on this show.
Our next installment will be the first deep dive into a specific era of SNL, starting with the “Not Ready for Prime Time” era, and that will be coming in November. So look forward to that — and meanwhile prepare for a little bit of cultural whiplash.
Listen to part one here.
Here are the sketches, in order:
Girl With No Gaydar (S27E17: The Rock, 4/13/2000)
Donatella Versace (S30E18: Johnny Knoxville 5/7/2005)
Two Gay Guys (S32E4: Hugh Laurie 10/28/2006)
Deep House Dish (S32E7: Matthew Fox 12/1/2006)
Vincent Price Holiday Special (S34E16: Alec Baldwin 2/14/2009)
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i'd love to hear more about why u didn't like barbie if it's not a problem for u
it’s not a problem! i do want to preface by saying tho that i did actually love seeing it and especially in the theatres with my dyke best friend!! and we had the time of our lives.
i wrote a very long and messy film review about barbies take on feminism and the patriarchy, i could post that if you’d be interested? :)
it also just. rubs me so in the wrong way seeing ryan gosling being peoples favorite thing to come out of the barbie movie. it just proves to me, imo, that barbies message went completely unheard. i absolutely loved his performence too but like. did we watch the same film? do we really think it’s funny that ken got bored of ruling a pareiarchy bc it didn’t include horses? is that actually funny or is it just unbelievably insensitive and out of touch? because i personally think the latter.
my main thing tho is basiaclly just that i had expected the film to do something literally anything new. to say something we don’t already know. i could name several films with the same feminist take and i just genuinely thought it would do one single radical thing. and it didn’t, in my opinion, and it left me very disappointed. i can’t name one single (new) thing the barbie film did for women/feminism if i’m being completely honest. it wrapped itself up in a neat little package towards the end saying ’everyone matters!’ w a cute little bow on top. men (because kens are still men) didn’t have to apologize and ryan goslings ken is everyones favorite part. from a movie about patriarchy and the sidelining of women. it just doesn’t sit right with me at all.
the kens are literally my enemies like what they did was unforgivable? they were men brainwashing and taking advantage of women and they didn’t even have to apologize and now we’re all obsessed with ’kenergy’? they should’ve at the very least be held responsible, but no they got an apology instead. while the barbies literally didn’t get a single one. is kenergy rly something we want? was he really keanough?????? i swear if i ever meet a man saying he’s a ken / is kenough i will kill him and then myself
some people may think i’m overreacting or that i’m a buzzkill but this is is genuinely how i feel about it. i see women say ’this is a film for all women!’ but i didn’t feel that once? i didn’t feel included once in the narrative and im definitely not being represented by barbie. it brought me back to when i was in the closet and i felt alien to everyone around me. i felt strange and ugly and wrong. this was a film for heterosexual women, imo.
in my defense, i am a film student film with a bachelor’s degree in film science, so i do feel confident in my own reading of the film. i am also well read on feminist theory and have been educating myself for years (and still do). it’s two things i’m very passionate about and literally you couldn’t spend even half an hour with my friend group, all dykes, before it turns into political/feminist discussions hahahah. i trust my judgment in how i feel about the film, but i’m not trying to change anyone else’s mind and im definitely not saying it wasn’t a good film. i’m absolutely not automatically right because of this. this is simply my reading of the film.
however, i find it very difficult not to engage with media, especially film, critically as someone who studies film and intends to make it my career. and i tend to engage critically from a gender perspective based on feminist theory because i honestly just can’t help it. a huge part of me didn’t want to engage with barbie critically because i had the time of my life watching it. i had so so so so much fun. but sadly, here we are
i had a similar experience when, in film history class, we started every single morning watching silent films. i fucking love silent films but let me tell you, the people who made silent films don’t love me or care for women. every morning i had to prepare myself to watch a woman get murdered by a man. a reminder of how women have been treated in cinema. a reminder that a woman isn’t a person, she’s a plot device for the male protagonist. the men in my class never noticed, whereas me and my uni friends (all girls) felt rather affected by it every single viewing. film theory hits different depending on who’s watching the film
that’s why i wanted barbie do just something new. it’s a film literally based on feminism and patriarchy and it still ended with a woman apologizing to a man. she still had to fight him off trying to make advances. she still had to do the emotional labour for another man.
it was just tiring. i wouldn’t have this opinion if it hadn’t made it so clear that the literal plot is patriarchy and feminism. that’s why i feel so let down
#barbie movie#sorry for being terribly mean but sometimes i feel like people call themselves feminist without knowing what it means#without reading feminist theory#it’s not just a statement#it actually means something to actively be a feminist#wiho sorry this whole post is kinda pretentious
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I met a Satanist in Ireland two years back, and like they had the vibe down, like all the stereotypes but he made it look fun. Shaven head, goatee, suit, business card, two babes on his arms, velvet voice, I’d just lucked into free drinks at the art gallery across the street, and then on crossing the street there he was, exiting the restaurant I was about to enter. Pleasant fellow. My brother’s convinced he was the actual devil and I was an idiot not to make a deal with him then and there, since he left me one of his cards as well as a photo (just of him, he didn’t think it was best to have me in the same photo) when I asked. Do you get up to those level of vibes, or is that just Irish Satanists? Because it does look fun.
idk sounds to me like you just met a super charismatic dude that just happened to be a satanist.
he may have fit a stereotype, but a) he may have done that intentionally, and b) not all satanists fit into that stereotype.
(i certainly don't and my practice doesnt fit the popular red & black & spikes & metal aesthetic)
hell of i know if i have "those level of vibes." i'm just a poor fat chronically ill dyke trying to get by. i couldn't even tell you what sort of satanism he practices or if we practice anything close to the same thing even if we use the same words to describe ourselves.
some advice if you want to get into satanism:
stay far far away from any organized group. there isn't a single one out there that isn't super fucking shitty and run by literal nazis
don't bother with LaVey, he aint great either
keep an eye out of antisemitic shit and learn how to recognize dogwhistles and conspiracy theories
don't trust a single fucking person who claims to have any sort of authority over this kinda shit or some sort of ultimate secret knowledge. nobody goes around trying to convert others like Christians do unless they're trying to start a cult.
this blog isn't really for my religious practice any more, but if you have more questions you're welcome to hop in my dms and i'll link you my actual blog for this and/or send you some good blogs and youtube channels worth following to do a little learning and exploring.
quick edit: also i'm really sorry how blunt and informal this all is. i was not prepared for this sort of ask on this blog and i dont want to get too far into my religious practices when people are here for me to be a goofy horny weirdo. i will happily discuss this in much better detail on my religious blog.
i suppose if more than one person wants to know it or you just don't feel comfortable revealing who you are by contacting me in my DMs i could be persuaded to link it in a rb of this post
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i don't know if anyone remembers but after christmas i posted about the dangerous floods in my town and how people were preparing to evacuate. Now I can finally say that the water has gone done and it's no longer at a dangerous level! All dykes withstood the water with added sandbags thanks to the many many helpers! Everyone in the evacuation zone was now able to return home safely and "only" two streets leading to other towns are destroyed. No house had big damage, only some cellars had a bit water in them. Also, this was the first time in my life I ever saw the floodgates closed in my city
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i'm glad i have like, a pretty okay relationship with my body and physical appearance because if i didn't i genuinely think my ex would have driven me to a fucking eating disorder with how often he tied my size to his pleasure. asking me to tell him my measurements during sex, asking me if i can get smaller in the waist, always saying he wanted to fuck me when he saw me doing yoga in the mornings because of how my ass looked in yoga pants. and maybe he thought it was fine because i was comfortable with my appearance, except that's not true. when i was dealing with eating issues for a year post-covid infection i told him how much his comments about my body upset me -- that i didn't want him to sexualize how small i was getting, that it made me uncomfortable because i didn't want to be losing weight, it wasn't on purpose, i was sick and miserable -- he said he didn't mean it, it was something stupid he just said during sex, it wasn't for real. only to keep making those comments during sex for the next two years anyway. raw measurements got him off; raw measurements are my form of body-checking. me telling him yes i'd shrink my waist for him got him off, not because it gave me any pleasure but because we wouldn't have to have an argument about it if i just went along with it. but it wasn't for real. it was only sex. it was just words that happened when we had sex. and he always wanted sex because i never did; he thought it was because i didn't find him attractive, when it was really just that it became something emotionally exhausting. the things that gave him pleasure made me feel like shit.
and it really wrecked him when he thought i wasn't interested in sex because i didn't find him attractive. he was always someone hyperfocused on his own appearance, which we always chalked up to his social anxiety. his persistent feelings that people found him ugly, were always talking behind his back or making snide comments. taking forever in the bathroom to preen his face multiple times a day even though he wasn't leaving the apartment. complaining about his weight gain, that little extra layer of fat in his stomach that was negligible, his own disgust that he was no longer the size 32 he was at twenty-three, oh how awful that he's a size 34 ten years later. maybe he pawned some of that anxiety off on me because i was more self-assured. he would simultaneously be baffled at my ability to throw on clothes in a minute and walk out the door for an errand, and use it to his advantage because i would get things done faster than him. i wasn't spending upwards of an hour in the bathroom preparing to get a half gal of milk from across the street. i'd call it jealousy if it wasn't just an extension of his control issues. he made it angrily known that he thought my leg hair was revolting, as if it were a punishment; his penchant for hyper-grooming himself was diametrically opposed to my laissez-faire attitude that both allowed me to do our errands quicker alone than together or on his own, and somehow didn't weigh heavy or at all on my personal perception or make me self-conscious. (meanwhile, i am self-conscious about my unshaven legs, still; it's something i do to battle my own conceptions of femininity, beauty, the social pressure laden on me since i was nine years old for no functional reason. it's partially because i can, and partially to explore what i want for myself versus what i do to adhere to arbitrary societal expectations. i'm just at least willing to look my self-consciousness in the eye.) maybe it was a little too "queer" for him -- after all, all of these issues only built up after i told him i was bisexual in 2019. in words he said it was fine, but in action he was severely insecure about this development. he hated that i knew that a certain bar a couple blocks down from us was a lesbian bar, even though i had never been there, even though the area we lived in was branded "dyke slope" before the baby strollers took over. he didn't like that i talked about gender or feminist issues even though it was one of my main focuses as a sociology minor in college. it ended in the ruin of one of the closest and most rewarding friendships in my life. it wouldn't have happened if i was straight. he didn't start taking such issue with me, didn't start focusing so much on the exact proportions of my body that he couldn't touch unless it would lead to sex, until i told him i wasn't straight. maybe it came in quieter shades when we were younger. it feels loud to me now.
in the end, i had said multiple times that it seemed he preferred who i was when he first knew me -- 18 years old, straight, small, falling over myself to appease other people, appeasing him five years my senior, smaller. he denied this in words but never seemed to get to a point of actually respecting who i had become by 28. it always felt like a battle when i felt myself changing because he was someone who was only sometimes in my corner. he was forever unchanging; he won't admit it, but he wanted me to be forever unchanging, too, or at least only changing in ways that still fell comfortably within the lines of his person. for the ease of never having to reconsider those lines or redraw them in order to invite change to his own life. i don't know. i'm a thousand miles away from the outline of his body now. the outline of his body that he doesn't even fucking like. fuck him.
#tw for weight and body image talk. and sex talk. and general shitty ex boyfriend talk.#me reading back my own post: wow this guy sounds like the fucking worst. and also: wow misogyny is real. who would've guessed.#this is the one time my intense self and situational awareness is coming in clutch for me.#🛹
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prepare yourselves for SO MUCH soap-posting on main..... i have become obsessed with the eastenders dykes
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im sorry i have to say this i dont want to offend but ur mom is so fucked up. every time i see a post youve made or tags youve written on another post and it starts out like "one time my mom" i prepare myself to hear the most buckwild shit imaginable. i hope ur ok
No you're fine!! Don't worry about being offensive lol.
My mom has been going to therapy so she is kinda working on some of her issues but she's still an utter shit show
Little bit of a rant under the cut, tw for mentions of abuse/slurs/assault/self-harm/etc. All pretty vague but better safe than sorry.
And, thank you for being concerned. It means a lot.
My mom is incredibly emotionally abusive (she would be physically abusive if she could be but she has carpal tunnel in both wrists and is also half a foot shorter than me so the few times she's tried it didn't really do anything). I know that. Took me a while to realize it. I remember there was this one time - I was 14 or so - and she was screaming in my face and I was just zoned out wishing that she would just beat me to a fucking pulp so I could have physical evidence of how she hurt me. So that there would be no 'oh she didn't mean it' or 'maybe I misunderstood, I should stop being so sensitive' or whatever. I craved confirmation of my pain. That's how I finally accepted it was abuse.
Admittedly she had a fucked up background (was abused as a child and had an abusive relationship) and it severely messed her up. Being raised in a strict Hispanic Catholic household where the elders were always right, anything going against God was horrible, and you were constantly criticized for the way you looked and acted, none of that helped either. First time I met my great aunt (the one who raised my mom) she told me I was disgustingly fat and should starve myself so boys would want me. So I see where my mom got it from. I think that's why I lost it so hard at Turning Red.
Things didn't used to be this bad. When I was younger my mom and I were really close, y'know? But then I hit middle school and started forming my own opinions that differed from hers (and started showing more clear signs of nuerodivergence) and shit hit the fan. It's one of those things where 80% of the time we get along fine but then the other 20% she's basically calling me a dyke-slut-whore-retard etc etc. Don't remember if I mentioned this or not but I'll throw it here again anyways, she refused to let me go to therapy when I was in middle school (when I was suicidal) because she 'didnt want to be the mother of the crazy kid'. When I was in highschool and was self-harming she screamed at me because 'what if the boys see it then they'll never want to date [me]' and then bought me a cardigan so I could cover the marks. She refused to acknowledge I was autistic until I could use it on my college applications. She always makes sure she's the biggest victim in the room. Constantly talks about/threatens suicide when I call her out on her shit. Dumps all of her emotional problems onto me. I was fucking six or seven when she told me about my dad's affair, and she's just continued sharing every little thing with me ever since. I make jokes about it but honestly,,, if she wasn't a Catholic who believes suicide = Hell, I'd be afraid she would kill me in a murder-suicide thing. I've had friends who have met her irl tell me that if I ever suddenly disappear they're just gonna assume she was involved somehow. So. Idk. There's a lot more shit she does that I haven't talked about yet because it hasn't come up, but yeah it's always the weirdest shit.
Oh I am definitely not okay. I have a pathetically low self-esteem and need constant validation or else I assume everyone hates me because that's how I grew up. I really wanna talk about myself and my oc work but I get anxious that everyone will hate it and think it's dumb and insult me for it because that's how it was growing up. I call myself an idiot because that's what I was always called growing up. I will put up with massive amounts of abuse/manipulation because that's how it always was growing up. Any time someone compliments me my initial reaction is to assume it's a sarcastic insult because that's how it's always been growing up. I've had people tell me that sometimes they feel shitty about their home life but then they look at my mom and remember how great they have it, so at least my trauma serves some greater purpose.
I try my best to remain positive and laugh about things, and that helps somewhat. My Life Is A Fucking Soap Opera And I Will Liveblog That Shit. I probably should get into therapy but since I'm not even allowed to talk on the phone without my mom listening at my door, that probably won't happen anytime soon.
Idk guys. If you have a decent parent then go give them a hug. And if you don't, then, rip to us.
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