#pridewrite2022

[makerofmoodboards]

A historical lesbian moodboard!

[pridewrite]

Here they are! I'm pleased to share the official prompts for Pridewrite 2022. There's plenty of options, so, hopefully you have enough time to plan before June. 🌈✨️

(Alt text is attached to each image)

Cast.

[wolfsbanesparks]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

In which Billy comes out to his teammates as transgender, attends his first Pride parade and ultimately decides it was worth the hassle

Hey y'all! Happy Pride month! Even though June is almost over, I wanted to write something for Pride. So this is a little cheesy, self indulgent one-shot of Billy getting some love and support from his teammates!

I'm also posting this for the following themes for the Pridewrite Challenge 2022: Parade (#pw8), Complicated (#pw25), Superheroes (#pw alt 28) Transmasc (#pw29)

I was going to do more stories for this challenge but June turned out to be a busy month and my fics always end up longer than I expect them to. But I'm happy to at least get something out for y'all!

This was partially inspired by all the wonderful trans Billy content I've been seeing on Tumblr recently, so thank you all for the lovely content!

I have so many queer Justice League headcannons if you want to hear them. And I'd love to hear your queer headcannons if you have them!

[aiyexayen]

pridewrite day 19 (yes it is) prompt: time/change

Xie-wang doesn't sleep with a knife under his pillow. That would be insane; who would take the extra seconds to twist and fumble for something they need so immediately? Not to mention the risk of an attacker searching the pillow first and using his own blade on him, which he would absolutely deserve for being such a fool.

No, Xie-wang doesn't keep a knife under his pillow. He keeps poisoned needles in his hands.

Small ones, easy to manoeuvre, easy to hide. It wouldn't be any better to keep a blade in his hand than under the pillow, after all; any enemy attempting to attack him at night would see it and know, would target the weapon or have time to prepare for it. He'd only do such a thing as a decoy, and that would just get in the way.

But needles? No one will see them coming.

To make them a viable option he's had to train his body into a very specific kind of sleep since he first began his training to be an assassin. A careful, motionless sleep, so he doesn't risk stabbing himself. For security, it's small price to pay.

--

It is four years into Xie'er's life at Siji Shanzhuang, the first time Wen Kexing forgets his fan.

He notices this not because Wen Kexing makes a fuss but because noticing things is what Xie'er does. And because like recognises like.

He assumes that fact is also the reason why he was never asked to leave once he'd completely healed, and has never once been asked to swear fealty or accept discipleship. Instead he is allowed to wander the grounds as he wishes; the most anyone asks of him is if he can run an errand, or his opinion on new decorations. No questions, season after season. He even spends his days garbed in familiar pretty blues and whites that no one has ever demanded he take off.

Like recognises like.

So Xie'er recognises the way chronic survival shapes a life:

the way Zhou-zhuangzhu's pockets practically jangle with potions and antidotes, or how on good days he's somehow always the first to taste any food that reaches the table and on bad days he's the last;

the way that Xiang'er still takes an involuntary tiny step toward whatever direction her ge should be in whenever she's startled or threatened, before the conscious stance she takes at her husband's side;

the way Liu Qianqiao never turns her back on an unexamined corner of any given room, or how her idle fingers make perfect knots in any stray strip of fabric;

the way that Wen Kexing never so much as takes a bath without his fan in arm's reach.

Until he does.

Until they're ushered out of the dining hall to see Xingming make good on his boast that he can finally outpace Chengling at the signature swift-moving steps. They've only just hit the courtyard when Wen Kexing idly pats his sleeve, then his other sleeve, hands coming away empty, and gives a little laugh, quiet and to himself, turning back without a word to fetch his fan from the table inside.

Xie'er is the only one who even notices him slip away--ah, no, he's not; he catches Zhou-zhuangzhu paused as well to look thoughtfully back at the doorway for a brief moment before nodding and turning back to the group. Xie'er himself can't seem to do the same. He watches until he sees Wen Kexing re-emerge, sees his hand withdraw from his sleeve as he steps over the threshold again.

Xie'er almost lets out an undignified huff of disbelief. Even after that, the fool is going to simply keep it in his sleeve? Not hold onto it, not remind himself that the comforting weight of his weapon is still his to command?

Indeed, Wen Kexing seems entirely unaffected, the way he all but dances up to Zhou-zhuangzhu's side and leans into his personal space, only to be pinched affectionately by the latter. Kexing waves his hand imperiously at something Weining says, and then grins to follow it up.

Realising that he hasn't so much as taken another step and the group is pulling far ahead of him, Xie'er reminds himself to breathe and strides back into place. He does not look toward Zhou-zhuangzhu or his chattering wife; like recognises like, and he does not want to know if he was observed in his own observation. It happens unnervingly often, here at Siji Shanzhuang. Sometimes he wonders why he even stays with how irritating they can be about it.

No, he doesn't look over. He does, however, take stock of his own blades still strapped to his wrists, on impulse, and tries to imagine ever going without them. Impossible.

Wen Kexing is certainly a skilled weaponless fighter. And logically, of course, there are many skilled and trusted fighters here. Former assassins, ghosts--the sheer level of competence in this small group alone, the rest of the sect aside, could take on a small army, most likely. And further, why should they ever have to? This place is safe. As safe as anywhere Xie'er could imagine. Safer.

But how can even that be enough for Wen Kexing? To such an extent? Xie'er grinds his teeth, trying to let it go and failing.

Ever oblivious to his moods, or at least refusing to pay them heed, Xiang'er sidles up beside him and yanks on his arm, her hand closing unknowingly around one of Xie'er's daggers, pressing the flat of the sheath into his skin as she tugs. Strangely, his shoulders untense.

"Xie-gege, don't be so slow! I've bet so much on Chengling and you have to help me laugh at A-Ning when Xingming loses. Lai, lai, lai!"

Xie'er rolls his eyes but lets Xiang'er pull him out of his thoughts and into the evening's tomfoolery.

--

Later that night Xie'er sits on the edge of his bed, alone in the near-dark. Voices and a bit of music, followed by the faint scent of wood smoke, still float delicately to his open window from the main courtyard where the most reckless disciples occasionally stay up a bit too late drinking. Aside from them the pleasant hush of nighttime at Siji Shanzhuang falls soft in the corners of Xie'er's room, in the hall outside.

His muscles are pleasantly sore now from the spar Xiang'er talked him into after the dessert she'd also talked him into, and then the subsequent activities in her room with Xiao Cao which they had not needed to try very hard to talk him into. The back of his neck is still damp from the cloth he'd washed up with and the breeze from the window blows a chill down his spine. All in all, it's a perfectly ordinary night.

By the light of one candle, Xie'er turns a little glass vial this way and that in his hand. Inside it are poison-tipped needles.

How long he sits there he doesn't know. The voices outside grow dim; the moon glows brighter. The night noises of insects and frogs keep his controlled breath company. It's a perfectly ordinary night.

With shaking hands, Xie'er puts the vial down on the table beside his bed. A moment later, he gets up and takes it to tuck into his locked box. He blows out the candle. He lays down on his bed.

It's a perfectly ordinary night.

It takes many hours, but sometime before the dawn Xie'er finally sighs, fetches a knife to slip under his pillow, and falls asleep.

[mslaevateinn]

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Hi everyone !

This is not exactly a fill, but @pridewrite​‘s prompt for Day 7 is 'Role model' and I couldn't resist. I don’t usually care much for youtubers and other content creators (they can be cool, but I don't follow them), but this lady here is the exception.

May I present you...

Jessica KELLGREN-FOZARD

I found Jessica completely randomly a few years back and never looked back. She is a content creator who specialises in vintage fashion (with tutorials!) She looks fabulous in her outfits and regularly posts new ones!

Per her own words, Jessica adds ‘vintage lesbian fabulousness to a life with disabilities and chronic illnesses’.

She discusses the previous subjects in her videos, mixing serious ones about her disabilities, some about queer history, and quirky ones with her wife Claudia and their cute dogs. These tow lovely ladies also had a baby last year, so you will also have videos about how they’re raising their kid as lesbian moms.

Here is her youtube chanel and here are a few of her looks

[Image Description] Three pictures: top left corner shows a close-up of a black pair of vintage shoes. Bottom left shows a portrait of a red-haired woman, Jessica K-F, who is tying the ribbon of her dress. Her hair is curled in a vintage style. Her dress is bottle green with black lace. Third pic on the right show Jessica’s entire outfit: green and black dress and black shoes. [End ID]

[Image Description] Picture of two women kissing: Jessica K-F and her wife Claudia. Jessica on the left is wearing a navy blue, short sleeved dress with soft pink roses. She has a rose in her red hair. Claudia on the right is wearing a raspberry-pink dress with sleeves that end above her elbows. Her black hair is falling over her shoulders. [End ID]

[Image Description] Mirrored picture of Jessica. She is wearing a white pullover with gold flowery decorations above a navy skirt. She is wearing red flat shoes and is standing with the help of crutches. [End ID]

[guesswewillsee]

Pridewrite Day Nine

Heart/roses

I've been coughing up petals for years now

Choking on the thorns that line my throat

Love is love is love is love

They want to be soft

I still taste blood

My heart might not have beat in months.

My fingers drum against my collarbone-

Something rhythmic as a temporary replacement,

I think it died in there.

I line my mouth with roses to cover up the smell.

I flush my system with reassurances

I choose not to care

This too shall pass

I can be a whole person by myself

I don't need anyone else

I cut desire out of my tongue

Bleach the stains of others' touches off of my skin

Sexuality is

By definition

About others

At least a little bit

I choose not to care

I've never kissed a girl before

I choose not to care

I fill my ribcage with poetry

This is what I was meant to house

I learn not to care

I don't need a heart anyway

I turn to tin and rust

I rest

I wait

I don't need a heart anyway

[daydreamidea]

Gender Envy

He was punk, wearing leather gloves and a jacket covered in patches. She didn’t do ballet anymore, but her immediate love of his whole aesthetic could not have been more obvious. Dove was struggling with something she would need more time to understand, but in the moment sheer adoration was the best she could muster.

She wanted the rocker look, the leather and the spikes, the confidence and presents that he radiated. Was he really that perfect? No, looking back Deven knew that little him was off by a few miles from the class we worked for. He had been scruffy, rough around the edges and in from them. But he was unlocking just what he had been missing at the time, he had been the pinnacle of masculine that he wanted but couldn't understand. The best he could do was score the dates he had.

Dove had dated him, Jonathan? Just John? It had been almost 15 years so Deven didn’t really remember him all to well. He did know his face though, and the shock of seeing his only ex at a concert was electric. It was seeing someone he loved once upon a time, but it hadn’t really been Deven, and he could see some new maturity in his gender idol. Deven was twice as old as he had been the last time they had met, and when they had it was more or less just a passing acknowledgement. He had become what little him wanted, the handsome man with a musical career and money, respect, class, and confidence. He had a beautiful fiancé too, and she was more amazing than his teen self could fathom.

It was exciting to actually recognize how much he liked himself, and Deven looked over himself in the mirror before bed. the scars which created the body he loved, the tattoos and piercings that made the superstar aura radiate in dressing rooms. He worked hard to have this self-love, and the gender envy he had felt so long ago was what he saw in the mirror. What he wanted to be was who he was now, and the pride he took in that was what he loved the most in his reflection.

[snugasabugbear]

D&D Pride Prompts 2022: "Cottage", Zandek / Galax

Zandek was on the far side of the lake when he heard the teleportation, a sharp crackle that managed to travel all the way from the cottage and across the waters to his large, flat ears. It stood out well against the sounds he had grown used to while alone within the forest valley. The stillness of late summer had quieted the usual rustling of the trees, leaving it to the insects and birds to fill the air with their own melodies.

It was nearing evening, and he had just reached the treeline when the stark sound of magic drew his attention from his own song he had been humming. He stopped, taking a moment to readjust the entire trunk of a tree he had been carrying on his massive shoulder, and beamed as he heard the magic end with a light flourish. There was only one person he knew who crafted his spells with such embellishments, and him being here only meant one thing.

He set off quickly along the bank, moving as fast as he could without losing his grip on the tree trunk, a feat his eagerness made quite difficult. Less than two minutes later, Zandek had reached the path leading through a patch of wild shrubs and up to the cottage’s front door. It opened, and the small figure who emerged was barely out the door before she used her wings to leap into the air directly towards him. The blue kobold covered the distance between them before he even had time to set the log down. When she collided his chest and threw her arms around his neck (barely making it over his collarbone on either side) he let the trunk roll off his shoulder and thunderously crash onto the ground behind him without a second thought. What else could he do, of course, but wrap his own colossal arms around the person he loved more than anything else in the world after two whole months apart? 

“Galax,” he breathed through a tusked smile. No words other than her name came to him to say, but it was the only one he needed. She only stopped pressing herself into his mane when he repeated it again, and turned her yellow-green eyes up towards him. He would never tire of the blissful smile she wore on her draconic face when she looked at him this way. Her sharp teeth poking from her mouth drew a chuckle out of him; they were something she had used time and time again to scare the many people who pissed her off, but to him they had been adorable for a decade now.

She put a hand on either side of his head, and he let her pull his forehead down to meet hers. They both closed their eyes, taking in nothing but each other’s presence.

“Missed you, Zan,” she whispered. She sounded tired, he thought, likely from the endless deliberation between the Circle of Eight and the Council of Waterdeep that she had been looped into some months ago. 

“I missed you too.” He hadn’t know exactly when she would be back, but he had sworn every day since she left that he would provide for her every relief he could when she returned. A throat being cleared from the open door of the cottage finally drew their attention from each other to a tall, blonde human in impeccably clean white and gold robes.

“Didn’t she cast a message to you every single day?” Merridoch teased lightly, his finger running over a small goatee beneath his chin. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s getting late and you won’t be getting rid of me until I get some of Zandek’s cooking.”

~~~

Merridoch stayed true to his word, but Zandek was more than happy to prepare a dinner only one of his oldest friends was deserving of. Once Galax’s traveling things had been put away, the three congregated in the kitchen so they could talk while Zandek prepared their meal. Normally, he was limited by the ingredients that he and Galax had managed to stock up on. What they grew themselves they had in abundance, but any finer spices, seasons, or oils were entirely dependent on what they were able to find from traders who passed through the nearest village. However, this was not a problem when they had one of the most powerful conjuration wizards on the Sword Coast at hand. Within no time, Zandek was preparing a perfect spit-roast pheasant meal for the three of them, Merridoch conjuring nearly every new component as he needed it.

“Every time I’m here,” Merridoch said as he sat back in a cushioned chair, waving his hand idly and drawing a Moonshaen batter from the aether, “I feel like I understand what the rest of the world looks like to you, Galax.” He motioned to the spacious room around them, its ceiling reaching fourteen feet above the floor and a few of its tables standing over five feet tall. While the home technically only had one floor, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to think it had two from a distance based on its height. When Zandek and Galax had started building the cottage, it had been an early decision to make it large enough for Zandek to move around comfortably. He’d greatly appreciated the improvement, no longer feeling like his nearly eight foot tall form was being confined like it had been by the low, cramped ceilings of Waterdeep. The house’s furniture had similarly been built with both his and Galax’s sizes in mind, leaving it filled with things like enormous cabinets right next to tiny arm chairs, giving the cottage an almost whimsical fairytale-like look in most rooms.

Galax snorted, perched on one of the shelves near Zandek. She had changed out of the stately outfit she had arrived in, a white and gold collared robe with long, flowing sleeves, into her more typical beige and brown bodice and hood.

“Hmm,” she squinted, a slight smirk on her face. “I don’t think you’ll know the experience of being me unless you also have to deal with a cocky wizard who thinks he’s charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“Galax, please. I’ve cast Clone on myself multiple times. I know exactly what it’s like to deal with a wizard who is absolutely charming enough to get away with whatever he wants.”

“What I’m hearing is that the only person who can stand you is yourself.”

“What I’m hearing is you’re jealous I can give myself the gift of my own company.”

“We’ve got entirely different definitions of ‘gift’ then, Merri.”

Zandek couldn’t hide a grin as he listened to the two. Their version of friendship was not something he fully understood, but despite the bickering, or perhaps even because of it, he knew it was friendship nonetheless. He couldn’t help being reminded of the year they had spent adventuring together in Waterdeep, all of them living out of the bar previously known as Trollskull Manor but they had renamed “Leaf’s Spirits”. In spite of everything that had happened during that year: the explosion in the alley, nearly being killed by the Xanathar on multiple occasions, even the Blood War and the battle against the renegade demi-god that had called himself “The Emperor”, he would go through all of it again to keep what it had given him.

When the two had finished their current squabble, they told him some of what had occurred during Galax’s time away in Waterdeep, though they only went into light detail on most subjects. It wasn’t that Zandek didn’t care about the current events of the city he had once called home, it was simply that most things involving higher levels of the Waterdeep government went over his head. They did spend a bit more time on their meeting with one Rhyze Ascaelia, the newly named First Paladin of Valaeros. As far as Zandek could tell, the talks had largely been about how the city would approach relying on the divine in times of need, and if such a thing should even be considered after the incident with The Emperor. From the sound of Galax and Merridoch’s testimony, not very much had been agreed upon.

Over dinner their conversation turned towards the rest of their previous adventuring party. They had magic to thank for their ability to stay in contact with everyone regularly, but a short message spell still paled in comparison to getting to see them in person. Merridoch was the one who got to visit each person most regularly, and they couldn’t have someone better to tell the others the stories of their time on their own. It was nearly midnight when he reluctantly admitted he couldn’t delay his return to Waterdeep any longer.

“A wizard’s work is never finished it seems, something I wish I could have warned my younger self of before ever trying to become one,” he joked as he finished the teleportation circle they usually kept partially finished in one of the back rooms.

“Would that have really stopped you from learning magic?” Zandek asked from the doorway, Galax on his shoulder.

“Not in the slightest,” Merridoch said without hesitation, disappearing the piece of chalk into his hand with a wink. “Don’t be strangers, you two. And if you are, I might just drop by when you least expect it.”

“That really may not be the best idea, Merridoch,” Galax wryly remarked. “Surprising a cleric sounds like a good way to get a firebolt to the face.”

Merridoch laughed, turning back to them as the teleportation circle lit up behind him and pointing at the two with both index fingers.

“Counterspell.” 

With a final smirk, he fell backwards into the circle and disappeared in a shower of golden sparks. The air crackled again as the magic dispersed, returning the room to darkness and silence other than the insects chirping outside.

“He’s truly incapable of not having the final word,” Galax sighed, shaking her head.

“I think just when he’s talking to you. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, honestly. Would it be unreasonable to say I would prefer fighting The Emperor again over having to argue with the stubborn fucks on that council for another month?”

“You’re a lot braver than I am to go up against them in the first place.” He leaned his head into her as he walked them both through the main sitting room. Resting on the ground in the corner since it was too heavy to hang on the wall was his Starmaul. Zandek hadn’t looked at it closely for some time, and only now noticed the light layer of dust now forming on the large blue rock that made up its head. He smiled slightly, content in letting dust continue to gather on the weapon.

“How about I put out the rest of the lights? You can head to bed and I’ll be there soon.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, though she couldn’t finish the last word without yawning. Zandek chuckled, opening the door to their bedroom for her. Their ‘bed’ wasn’t on any sort of frame. Instead, there was a small horde of blankets, furs, and pillows covering the ground beneath the far wall, illuminated by the moonlight coming through the skylight that took up over half of this room’s ceiling. Zandek knelt down and offered his hand for Galax to use as a step from his shoulder to the floor. She put a hand on his cheek before he could stand and led him down again, his forehead pressing against the white line that ran from between her horns to the end of her nose. It was something they had done for so many years now, but it still made his heart beat faster every time. “Out of everything these last two months, falling asleep without you may have been the hardest part of all.” He sighed and leaned further into her. The exact same thing had been true for him.

“I’ll make sure not to be long, then,” he whispered, and kissed the scales between her eyes. “Welcome home, Galax.”

~~~

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