4x14 - Maura is family.
my understanding of the show Supernatural
Femslash February is almost here again! Be sure to spread the word and check out the FEMSLASH FEBRUARY TAG this upcoming month.
Original Femslash February PostFemslash February is a month to celebrate the relationships between the women in stories, something which doesn’t get nearly enough love or recognition in fandom (or within the stories themselves, oftentimes).
If you’re a fanwork creator—whether a fic writer, a fanartist, a graphic maker, or something else (fanmixes, podfic, cosplay, anything goes!): decide to focus on f/f for the month. Make (at least!) two fanworks for f/f pairings throughout the month. Tag them #femslash february. (x)
A challenge for Femslash February: write more femslash about Black women (Tag: femslash february celebrates black women)
Femslash February AO3 Collection
Wrangletangle’s Femfeb Highlights - last year, wrangletangle highlighted various femslash-centric tags on AO3, which is a great resource for people who are looking for f/f friendly fandoms
Femslash February Trope Bingo
If you’re looking for prompts:
Femslash February Prompt Repository
Multifandom Commentathon for Femslash February
Annual Femslash Kink Meme
Femslash February Prompt Resources
(Also happening in February is February FemFest, a month-long event for celebrating comic book ladies and February 1-4 is Comics Femslash, so be sure to check that out as well)
Anonymous asked: Do you like submissive men?
oh i don’t discriminate, i trick and murder all types of men.
and then i have sex with girls.
my celebrity crushes always start with “who the hell is this” and always turn into “that’s his right nostril I can tell”
Glee/Leverage crossover fic in which Parker is Brittany’s badass older sister, Eliot is skeptical, and Hardison is just confused.
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.
Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)
When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.
Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.
Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.
Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.
Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.