Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It sucked being good at something you hated, Priscilla thought as she dragged her body to one of the practice rooms that had a piano. It seemed like the whole world had been pushing her to pursue music as a career and nobody asked for her opinion. Now she was in art school and. She. Hated. Music. She hated playing the piano, she hated doing the stupid scales and the complicated classical music. It all sounded the same to her anyway. It was predictable, boring. It didn’t matter if she played Jingle Bells or Tubular Bells.

She played for an hour, because she had to keep her grades up and couldn’t do that without practice, but then decided it was enough for today. Closing the piano and the door of the practice room, she hoisted her bag back on her shoulder and walked in the direction of building’s exit when her eye was caught by some movement in a dance room. There was music, of course, some kind of mash up of popular music in different genres, like most dancers used for short performances and auditions. Not very inventive. But the dancer herself was what captivated Priscilla’s attention and before she fully realised it, she had dropped her bag to the floor and was stood in the doorway, just staring.

A tall, slender girl around her age, dressed in black leggings and a light pink hoodie was turning and jumping around with such grace that Priscilla almost forgot to breathe. The music she danced to was mostly pop, but her movements were full on modern ballet. And although Priscilla generally wasn’t a fan of that (falling to the floor repeatedly in a rhythm only the dancer seemed to understand wasn’t really art to her), this dancer made it work. Priscilla was enthralled, couldn’t look always. It was like this girl expressed exactly what Priscilla was feeling but couldn’t say. There was a longing for freedom in the movements, the wish to be her own person, the weight of expectations, captivity in society and family… And all that to some of the most braindead music of the century, more as an illustration of the confounds of daily life than as music to be enjoyed. The dancer fought the music more than she flowed with it. She kept with the rhythm, the beats, sometimes even the lyrics, but it was jarring in the most beautiful way.

And then the music ended, the ballerina laid down on the floor, visibly tired and hot. She rolled over, less than gracefully, and suddenly faced the door, where Priscilla was still creeping. Priscilla felt caught in the act, in some way. So she did the only thing that came to mind. And applauded. She just clapped, while slowly realising that this dancer wasn’t just extremely talented, but also extremely pretty. And she really hoped her face wasn’t turning red from embarrassment but with her skin being as pale as it was, she was pretty sure she looked like an actual tomato right now.

The dancer grinned as she saw Priscilla standing. She got up, tired but gracefully and walked over to the door.

“Were you spying on me?” she asked. She had an accent that sounded vaguely Eastern-European.

“Sorry,” Priscilla said. “You were so good, I couldn’t look away.”

“You think so?” the girl asked and when Priscilla nodded, she did a little happy dance, which looked super cute. Oh lord, Priscilla thought, am I crushing on a girl I hardly know again? The clear answer was yes. “Do you dance as well?” the girl asked.

“Not really… not as good as you. I play the piano.”

“I’ll teach you!” the dancer said excitedly. She grabbed Priscilla by the arm, who had just enough presence of mind to kick her bag with sheet music, theory books and wallet from the hallway into the rehearsal room so she’d theoretically be able to keep an eye on it. Theoretically, because in practice, she was looking at the overjoyed face of one of the prettiest girls she’d ever seen and knew she wouldn’t really be paying attention to anything else. “We’ll start with simple movements! Wait, I’m hot.”

Yes you are… Priscilla thought, as the dancer took off the hoodie and was now in a tank top and leggings. She had the most gorgeous body.

“Okay, first, warm up. No, wait, first: Hello, I am Alexa and I’m your teacher today.” She curtseyed.

“I’m Priscilla,” Priscilla said with a shy smile. She wasn’t really dressed to dance, in her long skirt, crop top and long cardigan. She bent down to take off her shoes so at least those wouldn’t be in the way.

“Good, formalities done,” Alexa said. “Now warm up.” She showed Priscilla a few movements that were quite easy to follow, although when stretching, Alexa seemed to have no bones in her body while Priscilla felt like she was a bean sack made of pure stress. “Try to touch your toes,” Alexa encouraged her and Priscilla didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was her trying to touch her toes.

Alexa’s smile was infectious and even though Priscilla felt like she made an absolute fool of herself, she couldn’t help but enjoy it. After the warm-up, Alexa put on some music and asked Priscilla to try and express how this music made her feel in movements.

“I like to improvise,” Alexa explained. “Choreography is fun, but improvise is more fun.”

Problem was, the music made Priscilla feel absolutely nothing, apart from boredom, apathy and maybe a distance sense of dread. She didn’t want to say that to Alexa though, who looked so stoked with this little dance class, so she tried to move with the music, not really sure of what she was doing. Alexa seemed to notice and turned off the music.

“What do you feel?” she asked. Priscilla shrugged.

“It’s fun, I guess?”

“What music do you like?” Alexa asked. She hopped from one leg to the other or stretched one of them far behind her back. She clearly didn’t like standing still for a long time.

“I’m not sure…” Priscilla said. Somehow, it felt like she was telling Alexa a secret. Everyone had some music they liked, right? Alexa thought for a moment.

“What music do you hate?” she then asked. “Hate is also feeling.”

“Ehm… I mean… I guess… Jingle Bells,” she admitted. Alexa raised her eyebrows but didn’t question it. Instead, she took her phone, that was connected to the speakers, and looked for Jingle Bells. The tones made Priscilla cringe. She had played this song so often as a little girl and it was never good enough. Her strict music teacher always wanted her to be more precise with it, when really, she was doing fine and wanted to play something else.

“Does this make you feel?” Alexa asked and Priscilla nodded. Yes, it made her feel… “Now try to dance that feeling! Make it ugly if you want. Pretty is overrated.”

And Priscilla decided that maybe, this was just what she needed. If the hot dancer girl wanted her to be ugly, she’d be ugly. She made a face, she stretched out her arms, made robotic movements, mimed playing a piano like a badly controlled puppet, she rolled on the ground and reached for the sky as if trying to escape the hell that was Jingle Bells.

The song wasn’t long, maybe a minute and a half, but Priscilla was completely out of breath by the end of it. She should really exercise more. It was all worth it though, when she heard Alexa cheer from the sideline.

“That was so good!” Alexa yelled. “You are real dancer!”

“I’m a pianist,” Priscilla said.

“And you have no music you like?” Alexa asked. She sat down on the floor and gestured for Priscilla to sit next to her. “I sometimes don’t like dancing. I’ve danced since I was a little girl. My teacher was not always nice. She yelled and made me work very hard to be pretty, so now, I dance ugly, to say fuck you.” She giggled, as if she normally never swore.

“Your dance was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Priscilla said shyly. “It wasn’t ugly!”

“Madame Romanov wouldn’t like it.” Alexa shrugged. “But I do. Do you have… tragic backstory?”

Priscilla giggled.

“Mine is kind of similar, strict teacher making me play boring stuff all the times – especially Jingle Bells, ugh – and I’ve done so much music that I’m completely sick of it.”

“I have idea!” Alexa exclaimed suddenly. “What if you make ugly music for my ugly dance and we both say fuck you?”

“What, like punk?” Priscilla asked and Alexa nodded enthusiastically.

“I could wear tartan skirt and fingerless gloves,” she said, slapping her hands on her legs as she got more excited about the idea. “And it is jarring and bad and great!”

“Let’s do it!” Priscilla agreed. She knew, with her brain, that it was a bad idea. The semester was already halfway done, she had so many pieces to practice, so much stupid music theory to learn before the exams, two or three papers to write… but she wanted to spend more time with Alexa over anything else right now. The dancer was electrifying, she was fun and sweet and so, so, so beautiful and Prescilla decided that this was as good a time as ever to choose for herself. And maybe, maybe she’d even get the chance to flirt with Alexa. To put out some feelers to see if Alexa was even into girls and if so, if she’d be into her. And maybe she’d just found her future wife. And if not, at least she found some happiness within this building she hated more with each passing day. That was already worth so much.

Chapter Text

“How about I just let you do this on your own?” Clarissa said with a frustrated sigh. God, Amanda was such a… man sometimes. Amanda rolled her eyes.

“That may be better, yeah. You really have two left hands, don’t you?” she tried to make it sound like a joke, but the annoyance was clear.

Moving in together had seemed like such a fun and cute idea, but now they had to assemble their new furniture and they were tired, it was hot, the AC had taken a day off and everything just kinda sucked. The worst thing: they were currently building their bed. They couldn’t sleep if they didn’t finish this. And with every question Clarissa asked that was just a bit too dumb for Amanda, and with every snappy answer that was just a little too aggressive, the mood sank deeper into the fancy new laminate floor.

“Mark would’ve finished this by now,” Clarissa remarked, sitting down on the floor and watching Amanda struggle with the bed.

“I would’ve finished as well if you had made me a sandwich instead of trying to ‘help’,” Amanda snapped back.

“Well excuse my feminism! I’ll go back to the kitchen, sir, where I belong.” She stood up and walked out of what was going to be the bedroom, into what was going to be the living room.

“Don’t go acting like I’m not a feminist,” Amanda yelled after her, but Clarissa ignored her and that was probably for the best. The bed was way too big to easily assemble on her own, but that still felt more possible than working with Clarissa right now. It was a good thing they had been friends for as long as they had, and had had fights before. Amanda knew everything would be okay later. It was just a stressful day. She shot an angry look at the broken AC before cracking her knuckles and reading the instructions for the bed again, to see what had to be done.

When Amanda was about halfway done, the sun had set. It was around half past nine. They had started this final ‘small chore’ right after dinner. Being overstimulated from working on the house all day in the heat, it was nice to work alone though. Clarissa had turned on music in the living room, which was just loud enough for Amanda to hear and although it was still hot, Amanda had opened the window and was working in only her shorts and sports bra, so it really wasn’t that bad at the moment. She ran a hand through her short hair and looked at the project in front of her. Would she be able to finish this before bedtime? Probably not, in all honesty. She knew Clarissa had a habit of saying she’d go to bed around 11 pm and then stay up until 1, scrolling on her phone, but after a day like today, Amanda herself liked to be in bed by a reasonable time. Sadly, there was no bed yet and she was getting tired. She eyed the mattress that was ready to be put on the bedframe that wasn’t finished. With a sigh, she went into the living room.

“Hi love…” she mumbled at Clarissa, who sat on the couch.

“Hi…” Clarissa answered in a similar tone, but she curled up her legs so Amanda could sit next to her. “How’s the bed?”

“Bad.”

“Bad bed.” Clarissa echoed. She yawned. “Not so easy after all, right?”

Amanda shrugged.

“Sorry for yelling at you,” she said. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m sorry for comparing you to Mark. That was uncalled for.”

Amanda walked to the kitchen and took two cold bottles of beer out of the fridge. She looked around for a bottle opener and when she couldn’t find one, used one bottle to open the other. Despite herself, she did feel a little cool about being able to do that.

“Honestly,” she said, handing Clarissa one of the bottles, “Mark would’ve finished that thing by now. He’s a bit immature, but he is really crafty.”

“So what now?” Clarissa asked. She made room for Amanda on the couch again, who sat down and intertwined her legs with Clarissa’s. “Can we still finish it?”

“Not today,” Amanda said. “I’m so tired.”

“Saaaaaame… But where do we sleep then?”

“Just on the mattress, I think. We can make some room here.” Amanda pointed at the relatively clear area in the center of the living room. They had put most of the boxes against the wall and a lot of the furniture was still to be unpacked.

“Like a sleepover,” Clarissa said. Her tired face twisted into a smile. “Do you remember we did that as kids? When I slept over at your place, we’d get an extra mattress from the attic and then take your mattress from your bed, so we could sleep next to each other.”

“And cuddle,” Amanda remembered.

“Yeah… Insane how long it took me to realize that I liked you…”

“You know, lesbians often get told we just haven’t met the right man yet, but maybe straight girls just haven’t met the wrong man yet.”

“Mark wasn’t that bad. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. I’m happy I’m with you now.”

Amanda decided not to take the discussion any further and just nodded. She had never really been a fan of Mark, maybe out of jealousy, maybe because she just genuinely didn’t like him, but Clarissa had some fond memories of him and that was fine. Amanda had a few exes she wouldn’t like to talk shit about either. She also had some exes she would talk shit about any chance she got, but that was a different topic.*

They drank their beer, which tasted incredibly good at the end of this long, hot day, and then reluctantly got up from their couch to drag the queen size mattress over from the bedroom to the living room. Happy that they had marked the boxes clearly, they found their pillows an blanket without much effort. When the ‘bed’ was made, Clarissa plopped down on it and stared at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe this is our house now,” she sighed, tired but happy. “Hey, you know what would be a really bad idea?”

“Anything other than brush our teeth and sleep?” Amanda said with a yawn.

“Yeah! Wanna watch a movie? My laptop is in my backpack.”

Amanda closed her eyes and noticed she had a bit of trouble opening them again. She was really exhausted.

“You know what… I am gonna brush my teeth and lay down. If you want to watch a movie, that’s fine, but I will fall asleep during it.”

Clarissa smiled.

“I’ll pick one we already watched a lot, so you don’t miss anything when you fall asleep.”

Amanda bent over to Clarissa and pressed a kiss on her lips.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” Clarissa answered.

“Now come brush your teeth too, so we can romantically sleep to a movie.”

Chapter Text

Something Toby really liked about Starbucks was the fact that they always asked for a name. And since none of the baristas cared, Toby could give a different name each day when getting a coffee. Today, the cup said ‘Vienna’, which was definitely a favorite. Toby had tried that name out a few times now and always liked the sound of it. The main problem with it was that being named after a city seemed to be a bit of a family tradition and Toby wasn’t sure if he if she wanted to be part of that. With a mother named Florence by her parents and a father who picked Santiago as his own name at some point, Vienna made her sound even more like a nepo-baby… although the world already knew Toby was one. It also cast a shadow on two of her other favorites: Athena and Venice. She liked Vientiane as well, but had decided she was way too white to be named after the capital of Laos. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d try another flower name, or maybe something dumb to take the pressure off. A non-binary object name like Vase, so if people asked her if this was just a phase, she could tell them that actually, it was a Vase. Her dumb joke made her smile, to the dismay of the make-up artist who was working on her face.

“I love that you’re having fun, darling, but I need you to sit still,” Annemarie said. Toby knew her  quite well, she had worked with Toby’s mom for years now.

The nice thing about growing up the way Toby had, with a fashion designer mom and a dad who was a model, was that she’d always been able to wear girls clothes. Florence designed whatever she wanted to design and asked Toby to model if it happened to be the right size, regardless of gender. It had been that way ever since Toby was a little kid and now, at age 21, she was backstage again, getting ready to show off an amazingly beautiful dress her mom had made. Maybe that was why it had taken her so long to figure out that being a man just wasn’t quite her. Nobody had ever really forced her to be one anyway. She was petite, with long hair and big eyes. When wearing feminine clothes, she was usually seen as a girl by anyone who didn’t know better and sometimes she even enjoyed the confused looks when her voice was lower than people expected and her name was Toby. Sometimes… but increasingly less so, as she got older and her body slowly started doing things it wasn’t supposed to do, like grow a beard. Not a very impressive beard, but still, shaving her chin didn’t feel very ladylike.

And so she decided to just try it out, to refer to herself with feminine pronouns and words, to find a name that wouldn’t confuse people into thinking she was a man, and to see if this worked for her. So far, it did, even if she sometimes tripped up herself out of habit and corrected people into saying he/him, when she didn’t want them to.

Her parents were supportive when she told them, in the sense that her dad started looking up the price of top surgery and suggested some of his favorite plastic surgeons for the job – something Toby wasn’t at all ready for – and her mom changed the measurements on a masculine outfit she was sketching because she’d now have to make that for a different model. Dad thought being a girl suited Toby better anyway, because she was short and not very muscular. “You’ve always pulled off dresses better than suits,” was his comment.

“All done,” Annemarie said, interrupting Toby’s thoughts. “Now what were you grinning about?”

“Do you think ‘Vase’ is a cute and feminine name?”

Annemarie raised her eyebrows.

“Vase? No, that’s a horrible name. Why? Did you get a girl pregnant?”

“I’m just kinda done with being ‘Toby’,” Toby said

“Well, if any name pops into my mind, I’ll let you know. Now shoo, I have more work to do.” She playfully waved Toby away from her chair. “How about Margaret?”

“Oh my god, do I look like a Margaret?” Toby held her hand in front of her mouth, acting shocked before walking off. “Thanks for the make-up, Annie. Amazing job as always!”

With her hair and make-up now done, Toby walked back to the room where her mom had put her dress. The backstage area at fashion shows was often quite chaotic and ill-equipped, so having an actual dressing room was nice for a change. She’d have to wait for mom to put the dress on, since it had quite the intricate corset top that Toby couldn’t close herself. Also, Florence didn’t like it when models put on the clothes without her supervision anyway, always scared that a seam might rip or a button might come off. So Toby sipped the rest of her not-quite-iced-anymore coffee through a straw to make sure her lipstick would stay on and waited.

Another model walked into the room and gasped as she saw Toby.

“Oh my god, you are so pretty!” she exclaimed.

Toby grinned.

“And this is just my bathrobe,” she joked. “You should see me in my dress.” She pointed at the clothes bag on the hanger.

“I’ll faint,” the model said, sitting down next to Toby. “Hi, I’m Penelope, by the way, and I have no filter.”

“Toby,” Toby said, mentally facepalming as she did. Any feminine name would’ve been better than Toby. “And I have a huge ego, so please keep the compliments coming.”

“We make a great team!” Penelope laughed. “Wait, Toby? Are you Florence’s son?”

“Daughter,” Toby corrected her, feeling slightly proud of himself. It was a step in the right direction.

“Whoops, sorry. I should’ve known, to be honest. Florence always makes such pretty things. Of course she also makes pretty girls.”

Toby flipped her long hair over her shoulders and winked.

“Thank you! You look amazing as well, by the way! You must get booked all the time,” she said, realizing that so far, she had only accepted compliments and not given one back.

“I would, if it weren’t for past me to get this one done and ruin my chances for most fashion labels…” Penelope turned her back to Toby and dropped her robe off her shoulders, showing off a large line art tattoo of a teddy bear on her shoulder blade. “I mean, I love it,” she said, pulling her robe straight and turning to face Toby again, “but most brands don’t want anything to distract the audience from their outfits, so I generally only get asked for alternative brands or by designers like your mom, who don’t mind.”

“Or for winter runways, I assume? Since you’re covered then anyway?”

Penelope shrugged.

“Sometimes, but designers are weird. Some don’t like my short hair, some don’t like… well, I don’t know. Maybe my personality?”

“I feel that in my soul though,” Toby said. She stood up, held her hand above her head and then moved it over to Penelope, where it ended around the height of her chin. “They think I’m too short, usually. And for masc stuff I’m not… well, masc enough either. You have no idea how hard my dad tried to push me to grow some muscle, until he accepted the idea that maybe I’d be a female model if male modelling wouldn’t work out.” She rolled her eyes. “Good thing I like that more anyway.”

Penelope giggled.

“Your dad sounds like an idi… interesting person.”

“He definitely is both of those things,” Toby answered.

“So,” Penelope leaned over to Toby and lowered her voice, as if she was telling a secret, “I don’t know how much time we’ll have to chat… But… how do you feel about getting a drink after we’re done and getting to know each other better? Homo, by the way.”

“Sounds good. Homo?”

“Well, people say ‘no homo’ when they mean something platonically, so I decided that ‘homo’ then means the opposite.”

Toby nodded with a grin.

“Oh, yeah, let’s ruin this lipstick after the show.”

Just as Penelope made a face to show that she really liked that idea, Toby’s mom entered the room. She looked stressed, the way she always did before a runway show, with a small sewing kit in her hand, just in case, and a frown on her face that Santiago would probably call in his Botox girl for.

“Ready to get dressed, doll?” she asked. Instead of waiting for an answer, she just took the dress out of the bag and gestured for Toby to get ready to put it on, who quickly dropped the bathrobe. There was no time to make Florence wait on a day like this, Toby knew from experience. “Arm, yes, other arm… head…” Florence closed the hooks on the front of the dress and made Toby turn around so she could tighten the corset lacing on the back. “Suck in your stomach-” she quickly glanced at the empty coffee cup- “Vienna. I like that one. Better than ehm… What was last week again? The one I liked as well?”

“Sofia? Auch, this is really tight!”

“Oh, right, Sofia is fun, because it’s a name and a city as well, but mostly a name, right? It’s gonna be even tighter. You can do without oxygen for an hour, right, doll?”

Toby nodded, grabbing hold of the shelf underneath the mirror to stabilize herself as her mom made sure the dress fit perfectly. Beauty is pain was to be taken very literal today, it seemed. Toby had been mentally prepared though. She’d fitted the dress before and it was quite horrible each time, but so worth it when she looked in the mirror.

“Shoes.” Florence said, bending down to pick up the pair of heels she had chosen for her kid to wear.

“Am I allowed to sit down in this?” Toby asked, gesturing at the dress.

“Absolutely not!”

“Then, can the shoes wait until right before the show?”

Florence looked at her watch with an annoyed expression.

“It is right before the show in my books. I’m not gonna have time to help you into those shoes if we don’t do it now and before you ask, no, nobody else is going to do that. Give me your foot.”

There was no arguing with her mom, Toby knew, especially at moments like these. So instead of fighting back, she just accepted she’d have to stand and walk around in four-inch stiletto heels for the next hour while hardly being able to breathe. But hey, at least mom called her Vienna without an argument.

After putting on the shoes, Florence turned her attention to Penelope and helped her into her outfit as well: a light pink pantsuit that somehow both the most flamboyant and genderless thing Toby had ever seen. It looked amazing on Penelope, but that was a given when Florence designed something.

When Toby’s mom was done and had left the room, there were about twenty minutes left before the fashion show, which Toby and Penelope filled with chatting about fashion, their careers as models and the misery of having to stand in heels and not being allowed to sit down. Toby got it, though. Mom was always very nervous about clothes wrinkling or ripping right before a runway, so Toby decided to be a good girl and endure the 4-inch torture until mom would tell her she could take the heels off again.

The runway itself was amazing – as always. Toby had loved the attention even since she was a little boy. The music, the lighting, the photographers, the audience… it made her feel beautiful and she relished in that for the short time it took to walk to the end of the runway and back again. It was definitely worth all of the backstage stress and standing around in uncomfortable clothing. With a little twirl at the end of the runway, she showed off how wide the skirt was and how nice it flowed, before getting back into the model walk she’d practiced for over 15 years now. She slayed. And it always lasted way too short. There was the finale, where all of the models walked once more and then stood by to welcome Florence to the runway with the model who wore the centerpiece outfit. Sometimes, she let Toby wear it, but today she had someone else for that job. That was good, Toby didn’t like being seen as too much of a nepo-baby anyway. If her mom always made her the star of the show, it would get awkward.

Backstage, after the show, Toby impatiently waited for her mom to help her out of the dress again and to get those shoes off. Luckily, undressing always went a lot quicker than getting dressed, so she didn’t have to stand around for long before she could get back into her normal clothes and shoes. Now wearing a short ruffled skirt, an oversized cropped T-shirt to show off her small waist and some still high but way more comfortable heels, she tried to find Penelope before she would take off her make-up. After all, she’d made a promise.

The backstage area wasn’t too big, so finding Penelope was easy. She was also back in her normal clothes: flared, high waisted jeans and a black tank top. Apparently she had taken the advice that models had to look like a blank canvas quite seriously. She did look good in those basics though, so Toby had no complaints. The silhouette lead Toby’s gaze perfectly to Penelope’s butt, which was a great sight. She chuckled to herself before tapping Penelope on the shoulder. She turned around.

“Hi, you still wanna mix lipstick colors?” Toby asked with a wink.

“Oh my god, yes! I thought you’d ghost me, to be honest!” Penelope answered.

“I drove here with my mom, so I’d be one of the last people to leave anyway,” Toby laughed. “I’d have to hide in a closet to ghost you.”

“Well, glad you’re not in the closet then,” Penelope joked, snaking an arm around Toby’s waist. “Oh my god, you’re tiny.”

“I know. Aren’t I cute?” In fact, Toby was glad she was wearing heels, so she could at least somewhat look Penelope in the eyes. She brought her face closer to Penelope’s.

“So cute,” Penelope mumbled, burying her free hand in Toby’s hair. “And so modest.”

“Modesty gets you nowhere,” Toby said, closing the distance between her and Penelope’s lips. She liked kissing, but it was annoying that a part of her brain was seriously wondering what the combination of Priscilla’s light pink lipstick and her purple one would look like. Although, with the high quality stuff the make-up artists tended to bring, there was a good chance it wouldn’t even rub off. To satisfy her curiosity, and hopefully make it easier to focus on the next kiss, Toby pulled back a little and looked at Penelope’s lips. Yeah, there were a few specks of darker purple but not much blending going on. Good to know. Penelope looked a little confused, but before she could ask what was wrong, Toby pressed her lips back onto Penelope’s for a better kiss this time.

A little while later, both of them stood in front of a mirror, using an ungodly amount of tissues to clean off their faces. Toby sighed at the idea of having to apply all of her own make-up again after this, but the show make-up was just too big and flashy to wear outside with her playful summer outfit. It was such a hassle to be hot.

“Vienna?” Florence poked her head around the corner. “I’ve just been asked for a short interview with a magazine. Do you mind waiting, like, half an hour longer to go home?”

“I’m going for drinks with Penelope, so I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Florence looked back and forth between the two girls for a second and then nodded. “Let me know if you don’t sleep at home tonight, so I won’t get worried.”

“Yes mom.”

Florence blew a kiss and disappeared again. Penelope smiled at Toby through the mirror.

“Love that your mom is so supportive!”

“It’s a great way for her and dad to show the world how progressive and accepting they are, which fits their brand.” Toby shrugged. “It’s a win-win.”

“Not sure if wholesome or cynical,” Penelope laughed and Toby chuckled.

“Welcome to my world. Mom is genuinely sweet, by the way. But yeah, it is on brand. What are you feeling, drink-wise?”

“Cocktails!” Penelope answered immediately. “I need something sweet and bubbly and cute-looking to wash the stress away. With a straw and one of those little umbrellas!”

“Sounds great,” Toby answered. She knew she wasn’t gonna go for something high in sugar… but an espresso martini sounded amazing right now.

Penelope drove the both of them to a cute little cocktail bar a few blocks away. They were idly chatting while Penelope watched the road and Toby’s mind drifted off to merging colors. The lipstick didn’t work out quite how she’d liked, but the idea of two models kissing at the end of the runway and the places they touched changing color… Maybe she could work with acids and bases, or temperature... It wasn't impossible.

Penelope was easy to talk to, Toby noticed despite being quite caught up in her own mind as usual. She was the only person Toby ever met who said they were brutally honest or had no filter and then didn’t use that as an excuse to be a dick. She was a weirdo, but a kind and funny weirdo, which was refreshing. She also laughed genuinely when Toby complemented herself as a joke, instead of rolling her eyes in annoyance. Plus, she looked cute. The more Toby got out of her own ass, the more she realized she had just kissed and was now going on a date with a really cool person. She bet a lot of people would be jealous of her right now and she was just busy thinking about her own looks and future projects. Poor Penelope deserved better. Then again, she seemed to enjoy herself, so it was probably fine. Toby did make sure to give Penelope a few compliments though, about how fun and pretty she was, so she didn’t feel ignored.

It wasn’t that late in the evening yet, so the cocktail bar was calm. Penelope wasted no time ordering “something sweet and sparkly,” at the bar, apparently accepting whatever drink would come her way. The bartender enjoyed that and asked a few more questions to see what he should make for her, presenting her with exactly the colorful, iced, sparkly drink she liked, including an umbrella and glass straw.

“Should we order snacks too? I ate something before I went backstage, but that’s a few hours ago by now,” Penelope asked.

“I’m not that hungry,” Toby said, before even really thinking about whether she was hungry.

Penelope laughed.

“Are you one of those girls who orders a salad and then steals their boyfriend’s fries?”

“No!” Toby said. “I steal my girlfriend’s fries.”

Penelope ordered some mozzarella sticks and held her cocktail against Toby’s espresso martini.

“Cheers.” She took a sip and pulled a face as if God himself had come down to bless her. “Oh, this is exactly what I hoped it would be!” She leaned over to the barkeep. “This is perfect, you are an angel!” Then she turned back to Toby. “Sorry for flirting with someone else on out date,” she giggled. “But you are fully gay then?”

Toby’s eyebrows shot up.

“No? I’m literally here with you, aren’t I?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah…?”

“I’m straight,” Toby said and she got a very confused look from Penelope. Surely, she didn’t look that gay? Sure, she was wearing a skirt and- “Wait… by gay you mean lesbian, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah, I’m gay then.” She sighed. “Sorry, this whole, ehm… being a woman… is kinda new to me. People have assumed I was a gay man, or gay boy, ever since I was about five, so I have a bit of a kneejerk-reaction to that word. Like, I don’t hate men. Some are hot. I even kissed a few, but I can’t picture myself getting serious with a man to be honest. So yeah, lesbian.”

“I totally get that,” Penelope said, taking a long sip from her drink. “Before I cut my hair, everyone was like ‘when are you getting a boyfriend?’ and then I cut my hair and they’re all like ‘are you gaeaeee???’ And like, I’m bisexual, so whatever, but it’s annoying when people assume.”

“I’ve been gay-best-friendzoned so often.” Toby chuckled. “I’ll see a cute girl, gather the courage to ask her out and she’d be like ‘omg yes bestie, let’s find some hot guysssss….’ And I’m like ‘I am a hot guy though?’ Well, not anymore, I guess. I’m a hot girl now.”

“The hottest,” Penelope said. “How long have you been out? As trans, I mean?”

Toby shrugged.

“I’m honestly hardly out now. I’ve always dressed super flamboyant and girly, but I’ve only been using she/her pronouns for a few weeks now, I haven’t decided on a name yet… I’m just kinda trying out how this makes me feel, you know? So far, I’m vibing though. Helps that my parents are super supportive – even if I say it’s part of their brand, they could’ve also had a very different brand, so that’s nice. I’m lucky. Anyway, if you have ideas for names that aren’t Toby… Because I can’t even act like that’s a woman’s name. If it were Tony, at least that could be Antonia or something, but Tobias has no feminine version I think.”

The mozzarella sticks were served and Toby decided it would probably best to at least eat one of them, so she wouldn’t have her espresso martini on an empty stomach, even though they were very fat. Luckily, they weren’t a great match with her cocktail, so one was quite enough as well. She’d make herself a salad or something later, she decided.

“What kind of name are you looking for?” Penelope asked between bites of the mozzarella sticks, clearly having no problem with eating literal fat dunked in fat. It made Toby a little envious.

“Something pretty,” Toby said. “I’ve been thinking of city names, like my parents have…”

“Oh, is that why Florence called you ‘Vienna’?”

“She read that on my Starbucks cup,” Toby snickered. “But I’m not sure if I want to go in that direction. I like Vienna or Athena or Venice, but I also just want to be my own person, you know?”

“How about Little Rock?”

Toby laughed, spitting her drink back into the cup before it would come out of her nose.

“I said pretty!” she exclaimed.

“Or Copenhagen, or… Mexico City!”

Toby shook her head, still laughing.

“No, but seriously,” Penelope went on, looking very pleased with herself that she had made Toby laugh like that, “have you thought about gems? They are really pretty and can work as cool names! Like Jade or Ruby… or Amethyst.”

Toby nodded slowly, considering the options. She had thought of Ruby before, but it wasn’t quite it yet…

“Oh wait! Or Topaz! Because that also starts with To-!” Penelope yelled excitedly. “Or, wait, wait, how about Topaz-Ruby? Because then it starts with To- and ends with -by, but there’s two gems in there. Like your name splits open like a geode!”

Toby’s mouth curled into a smile against the rim of her martini-glass.

“I love that, actually,” she said. “Topaz-Ruby… and people can call me Topaz or Ruby or even Toby then, if they mess up… that’s amazing! Also, that geode-thing you said is so cool!”

“Hey, I’m a writer,” Penelope shrugged nonchalantly. “Words are my thing.”

“Really, what do you write?” Toby asked. Was this the first real question she had actually asked Penelope? Maybe… It had only taken about two hours. She was a little embarrassed about how self-absorbed she was, sometimes.

“Marketing texts by day, erotic fiction by night,” Penelope answered, giggling. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I shouldn’t tell you this because I don’t want you to look it up… but I have this whole online thing about a lesbian vampire/human-couple and they are so hot, I can’t even. And the vampire is, like, really dominant, and the human is a brat and their dynamic is just…” Penelope rolled her eyes up and sighed. “Okay, maybe you are allowed to look it up, because it’s my magnum opus, but it’s also just, you know, erotic fiction… and even I can’t pretend I only write it for the plot, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s so cool!” Toby said. She chuckled. “I think I tried to write something like that once, in high school, but got so embarrassed after the first page that I never touched it again. I can draw though. Mostly clothes, but I’m also decent at not drawing clothes.”

Penelope whistled.

“I can’t draw at all… I see a graphic novel in our future.”

“A very graphic novel,” Toby giggled and Penelope laughed along.

“Cheers to that,” she said, raising her glass.

“Kiss to that?” Toby asked. Penelope leaned in and they shared a quick kiss.

“You’re so cute, Topaz.”

“You’re so cute as well,” Topaz said.

Chapter Text

It had just been a fun experiment at first, but the longer Priscilla and Alexa worked together on their ‘ugly’ music and dance, the more they got into it and after Christmas, when the second semester started, they decided to make it into an actual project for their end-of-year presentation. This meant that now they didn’t just hang out after school or during weekends, but also spent a lot of their practice time together. And so, Priscilla’s paralyzing fear of asking out a gorgeous stranger had slowly morphed into something even harder to deal with: the fear of losing a friend over a crush.

Because she still had no idea if Alexa liked her back, but she knew that she liked Alexa, a lot. A whole lot. A diaries-full-of-hearts-and-the-letters-A-and-P lot. But Alexa was hard to read. She usually wore her heart on her sleeve, but there were a few topics she wouldn’t say anything about. She didn’t even make an effort to beat around the bush, like most people would. She just straight up stopped talking until someone (Priscilla) changed the subject. And one of those topics seemed to be relationships.

Maybe she was asexual, maybe she had trauma, maybe it was just none of Priscila’s business… but any option she could think of made it even less possible to ever tell Alexa how she felt. So they just grew together as friends to the point where they spent almost every minute together when they weren’t in music or dance classes. It was the sweetest torture Priscilla ever endured. Then again, most other tortures Priscilla had endured weren’t exactly sweet, so that was an easy competition to win.

Summer was coming, which meant the end-of-year presentation was close as well. In the last two weeks, almost all of their time was reserved for rehearsals. It had been ages since Priscilla was so caught up in her music. Composing her own music, she noticed, was amazing! She had finally found out why all music sounded the same to her: it was because she listened the same to all the music. She counted the beats, figured out the notes, tried to get the rhythm right, heard the key… pretty much all music she heard, she tried to turn into sheet music in her mind. And that was the most boring and least artistic way to listen to music, in her opinion. Now that she worked with Alexa, she improvised more. Alexa was amazing at reacting to unexpected changes in the music. The first few times they had tried to collaborate, Priscilla hardly understood what Alexa was doing – especially because she hardly ever did the same thing twice. Priscilla could play a piece thirty times and Alexa would come up with thirty different dances. It made Priscilla nervous at first, but over the months, she learnt to let go as well. Mistakes she used to beat herself up over, she now attributed to ‘artistic freedom’. She could laugh about them. She could laugh about music. And that was another reason for her not to tell Alexa about her crush. She couldn’t risk losing this.

Then there was also the fact that Priscilla just didn’t think that highly of herself. She was just a girl – not ugly, not pretty, not remarkable. She hid most of her body under baggy clothes and wide skirts. If she wore crop tops, she made sure to pair them with high waisted bottoms. She was a bit of a grey mouse and she liked it that way, but there was no way someone as impressive and energetic and charismatic as Alexa would see her as anything more than that.

But sometimes they danced together. And they would touch. And Priscilla could swear she’d see something in Alexa’s eyes that was soft and vulnerable and embarrassed… Something she recognized.

Their classmates and other audience members went wild when Alexa and Priscilla stepped onto the stage in their costumes. Alexa wore a short, pleated, checkered skirt with ripped leggings and black jazz sneakers. Her sleeveless, black leotard had a low-cut back. On her exposed skin, Priscilla had written “Beauty is pain”. It wasn’t very visible, though, since Alexa wore her long, dark hair in a whole bunch of braids of varying thickness, instead of the tight bun she normally sported when dancing. Priscilla’s outfit was a bit more modest. She didn’t like showing too much skin, or shape, for that matter. Instead, she wore a tuxedo that was at least two sizes too big for her and that had seen better days for sure. She and Alexa had cut the sleeves to a little bit shorter than would be elegant, so they didn’t get in the way of her fingers while playing piano. They hadn’t bothered stitching the lining back to the outside of the fabric. Her honey blonde hair was mostly put up in a tight bun, but for the jarring effect, they had left a few noticeable strands of hair out.

Priscilla nervously eyed the crowd as she and Alexa bowed. She was glad she’d get to sit with her back to them most of the time, and that the eyes would be on Alexa’s dancing. She would have to look at Alexa, which was nerve wrecking in a different way, but she trusted that they had rehearsed together enough to get through this. Also, she knew that if she messed up, it would only make the performance better. That was their whole concept: if beauty is pain, then ugly must be bliss. So they performed.

The reception was mixed, to say the least. When Priscilla stood up from her stool, a few minutes later, to join Alexa for their final bow, she saw some of the audience members standing up, applauding enthusiastically and yelling and whooping, while others sat back and clapped only because it was the polite thing to do. Their teachers didn’t seem to agree with each other either, with some showing an impressed smile while others were flipping through their papers to see who would be next.

The grades would be published later that week, so they didn’t know yet if they passed, but Priscilla felt extremely relieved anyway as she and Alexa exited the building. They had done it! They had done the thing! There was still some stupid report she’d have to write about it, reflecting on all of their choices and stuff, but for now, they decided to celebrate in Priscilla’s room with pizza, ice cream and some silly party games they had found out they both liked. None of them were meant for two players, but they made up their own rules to make them work anyway.

“Priscilla,” Alexa said between spoons full of ice cream, “we are friends, yes?”

“Of course!” Priscilla exclaimed. How could she even doubt that?

“And friends tell each other secrets?”

“Ehm…” Priscilla bit her lip. Did Alexa notice something was up? Please no… “Well, they don’t have to… but if they’re comfortable telling them…”

“I am comfortable,” Alexa said. She put down her spoon and bent over to Priscilla. Oh, okay, she’s gonna share a secret… that’s better! “Don’t tell anyone, but I am lesbian.”

“What?!” Priscilla yelled, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyebrows were pulled up high. There was hope! There was actual hope!!!

 “Do you not like lesbians?” Alexa asked, confused with Priscilla’s reaction and Priscilla quickly shook her head.

“No, eh, I mean, I do! I… I am too, so I’m… like, I support you! I’m just surprised, is all.”

“You are too what?” Alexa asked.

“Too lesbian!” Priscilla giggled as she heard herself say it. It made no sense, but at least Alexa smiled again. “I’m lesbian too,” she corrected herself, when she had regained her composure a little bit.

“Oh!” Alexa said, sounding very happy. “Do you like me?” She looked Priscilla square in the eyes. She had a habit of doing that. It was her autism, she had explained a while ago. She could either not make eye contact at all, or do it all the time, but there was nothing in between. Priscilla fought the urge to look at the floor. She nodded ever so slightly.

“Yes…” she said. It was hardly a whisper, but Alexa had heard her and her face seemed to break open into a wide grin.

“I am so happy!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around Priscilla, who lost all ability to think. “I wanted to say it months ago, but I said: no, Alexa, don’t ruin project. First project, then love. So I waited.”

Priscilla hugged Alexa back, allowing herself for the first time to really pull Alexa close and to take in the feeling of her deceptively lean but strong dancer muscles, the softness of her skin under Priscilla’s fingers, how her hair tickled when it moved over the peach fuzz on Priscilla’s arms, how nice she smelled… Alexa suddenly pushed her back, but she still grinned.

“Wait, I haven’t said the thing I wanted to say,” she said, which was true and implying wasn’t Alexa’s thing. “I’m in love with you.”

Priscilla had already understood that, but hearing her say it out loud, she felt like she was ascending into heaven and floating on a pink cloud

“So…” Alexa mumbled, bringing Priscilla back to earth for a second. “Do you love me back?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Priscilla said, feeling a little guilty that she didn’t say that immediately. Alexa needed things like these to be spelled out for her. To make it extra clear, she put her hands on Alexa’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “I love you,” she said and added, for clarity: “Romantically.”

Chapter Text

“Y’all know y’all don’t have to use that excuse, don’t ya?” Mr Parker said, shaking his head. “I know what y’all are up to…”

“Daddy, we’re not makin’ excuses! We’re really gonna look for dresses this time ‘round,” Annabelle defended herself. “No more robbin’ banks, no more hidin’ feelin’s.”

“We might even find ourselves husbands, mr Parker,” Butch added, earning her an elbow in the ribs from Annabelle.

“What ya gon’ do with a husband?” she asked, eyebrows pulled up high. “I thought you wanted me!”

Butch’s eyes flitted back and forth between Annabelle and her father before she sighed.

“Sorry... sweetheart…” she chuckled uncomfortably saying the pet name. “I’m used to my own folks. They…”

“Ain’t here,” Annabelle finished her girlfriend’s sentence. “Don’t worry ‘bout them.”

“I know, It’s all just a little new, ya know… and I-”

“If you keep talking, I’m gon’ kiss you,” Annabelle threatened and Butch smiled shyly.

“Oh, well, in that case, I’d better shut up. It wouldn’t be good if you were to just- mmm”

Kissing did shut Butch up, Annabelle had noticed. It was quite effective at that. It also meant that she had accidentally trained Butch into talking more garbage though, hoping to be kissed. That girl was such a dork sometimes, and Annabelle loved her for it. She broke the kiss, but still held Butch’s chin between her thumb and index finger, looking her square in the eyes.

“We don’t need that insecurity no more, ‘kay?” she said. “Not when we’re alone and not when we’re with my old man. We can be who we are.” Butch nodded slightly, letting her movements be stopped by Annabelle’s fingers, even if she really didn’t press that hard. “Good, time to shop for dresses.”

Annabelle let Butch’s face go and opened the front door. She said good bye to her dad and then she and Butch saddled their horses to ride into town.

The nice thing about being lesbian, Annabelle had found out, was that most people forgot it existed. That wasn’t great when it came to feeling seen and heard, but it was amazing when they weren’t looking to be seen or heard. For example, in a clothing shop, where the owner seemed to have zero problems or suspicions when the two ‘best friends’ shared a fitting room. They tried to keep their voices and giggles low as they helped each other undress… and dress again, of course. It was a fitting room, after all, not a bedroom.

Their shopping had a purpose too. Soon, the yearly festival at the Market Place would be held and going there was a great reason to buy some new, festive clothes. Normally, Annabelle would wear a simple dress on normal days (one she could easily ride in) and a fancy one for church on Sunday. But a party dress got to be a little more extravagant. Annabelle was trying one on with bell sleeves half made of white lace. The rest of the dress was a beautiful sky blue. Butch slipped her hand inside of the wide sleeve to stroke Annabelle’s arm.

“You look so good in this color,” she said and then chuckled. “Well, you always look good.”

“Thanks Butch,” Annabelle said with a smile. She looked in the mirror and turned around as well as she could in the small fitting room. It was a really pretty dress. Definitely one to consider! “Ain’t you gon’ try anything on?”

Butch shrugged, looking at the floor.

“I don- I just feel like… like I always look bad in a dress, you know?”

“Bullshit,” Annabelle said. “Am I gon’ have to kiss you again?”

“Well, you can try…” Butch answered, and Annabelle immediately took that invitation, throwing her arms around Butch’s neck and pulling her into a kiss. She really liked kissing Butch, she had found out. She’d always assumed she would, but ever since they had come out to each other, she was sure of it.

“I’m sure we can find you somethin’ nice to wear,” Annabelle promised, after she had reluctantly pulled away. They were here for a reason. If they just wanted to make out, there were better places to do that than a cramped fitting room… She opened the door to the fitting room, still in the blue dress, and made sure to tell the owner how much she liked it. Then she turned to Butch. “Now, you always look amazing in fall colors, like browns, reds, orange, yellow… let’s see if we can find somethin’ like that.”

“Okay…” Butch mumbled and Annabelle had half a mind to turn around and kiss her again, but decided that it was better not to do that in full view of the shop owner. Why was Butch so insecure about her looks, though? She was gorgeous!

Annabelle looked through the racks of clothing until she found something she was sure would look amazing on Butch. It was a wide, brown skirt with a geometric, yellow pattern on it and a matching jacket. She held it up to Butch.

“This would look so good on you!” she said. “Imagine this on your tan skin, with a white blouse.”

“I can try…” Butch answered, clearly not convinced. Annabelle chased her back into the fitting room, impatient to get these clothes off on her.

And they did look real good! The color was perfect, the size was right. The cut showed off Butch’s small waist but hid her small chest and hips and her large arms… it made her look like a proper lady. And she didn’t seem to be happy with it at all, looking into the mirror like someone had just dumped a bucket of cow’s waste on her.

“What’s wrong? Don’t ya like it?” Annabelle asked, a little concerned now.

“I don’t mind the jacket,” Butch said with a shrug, twisting and turning in front of the mirror as if she was looking for an angle she didn’t mind as much. “But the skirt is… a skirt.”

“Ya don’t wanna wear a skirt?” Annabelle laughed. “Wanna go to the fair in your undies?” But her laugh stopped as she saw Butch’s face. She was serious!

“I was thinkin’… maybe pants…”

“To a party?” Annabelle asked, incredulous. She knew Butch often wore jeans on the farm, but that was for working, because it was dangerous to wear loose fitting clothing around the cows, right?

“I just like ‘em better,” Butch said softly. And although Annabelle didn’t exactly get it – weren’t skirts way prettier? She could see in Butch’s eyes that this was important to her, so she just put a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Well, if that’s so, we’re gonna find you some nice lookin’ pants.”

Butch smiled brightly.

“For real?!” she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

“For real! We’re 18, we’re independent and if you wanna wear pants to a party, you’re gonna wear gosh darn pants to a party.”

And this time, it was Butch who pressed her lips tightly onto Annabelle’s – maybe to thank her, maybe to shut her up as well. Annabelle didn’t mind either way. When Butch let go of her, she grinned.

"With you there in pants, maybe I can tell my old man that I did find a husband," she laughed. Did she imagine it, or did Butch look almost proud at that?

Chapter Text

“So, you know my roommate, right? Penelope?”

“The naked one with the shoulder tattoo?”

Tina laughed.

“Shit, is that how I describe her?”

“It’s what I remember,” Amanda said. They were on their way to a house party thrown by a friend of a friend or something vague. Amanda didn’t even really remember anymore which friend had told her about it, but there was supposed to be free booze, a lot of people and music, so she figured she might as well check it out. And seeing that it was Friday afternoon and Tina, her coworker at the tattoo shop had no plans yet, they decided to go together. Amanda didn’t really mind going to parties where she knew nobody. The nice thing about face blindness was that she wasn’t ever sure if she knew someone or not when she saw them, so she had learned to be quite outgoing. But having some bonding time with her cool coworker was great too. So the two of them had gotten into Amanda’s car and were now driving the thirty or so minutes to the host’s house.

“Okay, so yeah, Penelope does have a habit of, ehm, not getting dressed,” Tina giggled, “And she has that awesome teddy bear tattoo.”

“That you did.”

“That I did, but that doesn’t make it any less awesome. If anything, that makes it more awesome. But she has more character traits than just that! She’s really cool. Anyway, she started dating, or like, hanging out with this super hot trans girl. I don’t know, they’re not exclusive, they said, but they are, like, always touching, so well, whatever you call that. Friends with benefits? But, like, thing is: I’m so into her – into the trans girl. She’s called Topaz-Ruby, how cool is that?”

“Uhuh,” Amanda said, because it was all she could say before Tina went on. She tended to blame that on her ADHD, which maybe made sense.

“So now I’m wondering if I’d be the worst person on earth if I ask Penelope if she’s, you know, willing to share? I don’t know! Topaz has been looking at me, I swear… or maybe I’m just being delulu. Imagine if Penelope is like: yeah, sure, no problem! And then turns out that Topaz isn’t into me at all!”

“Tina, volume,” Amanda said, demonstratively putting a finger in her ear.

“Sorry,” Tina whispered, starting her cycle of slowly getting more excited and therefore louder anew. “Anyway, Penelope did say that Topaz was more into curvy girls, which would be great news for me, but why would she be dating Penelope then? Because Nelly is a stick figure. Not to be mean.”

“Hmhm, nothing wrong with being a stick figure.” Amanda nodded down at her own body.

“Yeah no, but if Topaz likes boobs… well, all I’m saying is that I kinda wanna go for it, but I feel like I might massively fuck up if I do.”

“I doubt that Penelope will want to share,” Amanda said, checking the GPS. They were almost there, so she needed to find a parking spot soon. “I know I wouldn’t.”

“I knowwww, but this is different than your relationship, I think,” Tina countered. “They’re not really dating, I think – I’m pretty sure. And me and Penelope have also hooked up before, so…”

“Could you lean back please, so I can see the curb?” Amanda waved her hand as if to telekinetically push Tina back into the passenger seat, which worked. “Honestly, if I had a friend or roommate who’d ask me for a shot at my girlfriend, I’m not sure if I’d even trust them in the same room anymore. So maybe Penelope is different, I only talked to her once, when she was in the shop, so I don’t know, but I wouldn’t risk a friendship over that.”

Tina shrugged and said it’d be fine, before moving on to a different topic, that still somehow turned out to be related to this Topaz girl… or Tina made sure to make it related. Sounded like she was really crushing on her friend’s girlfriend. Amanda couldn’t imagine talking about something like that so casually. Then again, her own best friend was straight and was dating some DIY-obsessed meathead who did push ups and drank beer. Not really Amanda’s type, at all. And yeah, she and most of her female friends also drank beer, but that was different, because they were women and when women drank beer, it looked hot. Clarissa herself was a lot more attractive, but again, straight, so no option either. That, and Amanda already had a girlfriend, kinda, probably. She did see herself as Tracy’s girlfriend, but wasn’t entirely sure if Tracy saw herself as Amanda’s girlfriend. She sure posted a lot of photos in which she was partying with other people. Especially this one guy, who was probably very attractive to people who liked men (tall, dark hair, and people had commented on how nice his smile was), showed up a lot on her socials. And it bothered her, but tonight she’d just have fun with her coworker, maybe make some new friends and not think about Tracy too much.

They went into the house. The front door was open, so the host clearly didn’t mind if anyone showed up they didn’t actually know. That was good, because Amanda wasn’t sure if she knew the host and she assumed that Tina didn’t either. At the very least, neither of them had ever been to this house. But the vibes were good, the music was great and there were snacks and booze. Amanda even managed to find out which friend had told her about the party as she bumped into him and recognized his voice. Stupid face blindness…

As she was talking to her friend, suddenly, Tina stood next to her and nudged her upper arm.

“Isn’t that your girlfriend?” she party-whispered to Amanda, which came down to talking quite loudly into her ear.

Amanda looked in the direction Tina was gesturing and sure enough, there was a girl, about Tracy’s height, with the same perfect tits, bleached buzz cut and questionable fashion sense (you know, some of it is there, some of it is not) on the couch, animatedly talking to a tall guy with dark hair.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, for once thanking her disorder because now she could act like this was just another Barbie girl who just happened to look a bit like her girlfriend and who just happened to be talking to a guy who looked a bit like the dude she suspected her girlfriend to be cheating with.

“Well, if you wanna go say hi, or, like, do whatever, don’t worry about me,” Tina said and Amanda shook her head.

“Nah, if that’s her, I don’t wanna know,” she said, turning away so she wouldn’t have to see the two. “She’s been spending a lot of time with that guy, so…”

“Isn’t she gay?” Tina asked.

“Bi.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

“Now I kinda wanna confront her,” Tina said, putting her half-empty beer bottle on a table so she could crack her knuckles threateningly. Amanda’s eyebrows shot up.

“No! Don’t!” she sighed, “I don’t wanna know… By the way, I thought you were fine with sharing girlfriends?” She laughed without humor, hoping it would lighten the mood, but it didn’t.

“With informed and enthusiastic consent from all parties,” Tina added emphatically. “For real, if you want me to tell her what’s up-”

“I just want to get drunk and dance,” Amanda said. “Look, I’m not even sure if it’s her. I have face blindness, maybe this girl just looks like her. What do I know?”

Tina put her hands on Amanda’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

“Manda, does this bitch make you happy?”

“She does!”

“Really? Or is she just hot?”

Amanda shrugged.

“I mean…”

“You mean…?”

“She’s the perfect fucking hourglass… and those legs, I mean, look at them! And she’s an absolute freak, I-”

“So she’s just hot,” Tina concluded and Amanda nodded reluctantly. “If you were a man, I’d say your blood’s in the wrong place – it should be in your brain – but you’re a girl so you don’t have that excuse.”

Amanda stayed silent. She knew all this. She knew this ‘relationship’ made no sense, but fuck, Tracy did drain the blood from her brain. Worst thing was that this wasn’t even the first time she had cheated – if she was cheating right now, Amanda still had no solid evidence for that, probably because she wasn’t facing Tracy right now.

“We are going to confront her,” Tina concluded and even though every inch of Amanda’s lizard brain screamed it didn’t want to follow Tina, she knew that she had to. She also didn’t have a choice, because Tina was stronger and heavier than her and had a firm grip on her wrist.

The closer they got, the more certain Amanda was that this was Tracy. She could tell from her body language, her laugh and as they got closer, her voice.

“Hey,” Tina said to the guy. “You know she’s got a girlfriend, right?” She nodded at Tracy and then pointed her thumb at Amanda. “Before you stick your tongue back in there…”

They had been making out? Shit, things became harder and harder to deny.

“Amanda’s not my ‘girlfriend’,” Tracy said in a disinterested tone that stung like hell.

“Not anymore, no,” Amanda heard herself say and even though it made her sad, she was kind of proud of herself. Look at that: gay disaster telling her scarcely clad girlfriend to go fuck herself!

“Whatever,” Tracy sighed. “Did you seriously come here to tell me that?” She put her arm around the tall guy’s shoulders.

Amanda was about to say something back, but Tina stopped her by grabbing her wrist again.

“It’s not worth it,” she muttered and then told the guy: “Just know that this is what she’s like, before you get serious with that bitch.” She pulled Amanda away from the two lovebirds. They searched the house for a place where they could talk for a second and found an empty guest room that smelled like someone had just used it to smoke in. Tina pulled Amanda into a hug. “I am so proud of you! You were great!”

As she wanted to let go, Amanda kept pulling her tight. She needed this right now and Tina got the message, wrapping her arms around Amanda again and brushing her fingers through Amanda’s hair. As the shock of what just happened slowly wore off, she felt herself getting sad – not even really because of the break up, but mainly over the fact that she had let things go on for this long. Tina lead her to the bed so they could sit down and Amanda leaned her face against Tina’s shoulder and allowed herself to cry. She didn’t cry much, but it was still nice to get some of it out.

“Thanks,” she said, as she lifted her head up a couple of minutes later and wiped her eyes dry. “You’re really soft.”

“I know I am,” Tina said, jokingly poking at her belly. “For real though, I am really proud of you. You’ve been complaining about Tracy so much over the past few months, so it’s good that you finally ended things with her.”

Amanda sighed.

“Now I just hope she doesn’t come back and-”

“If she does, you call me and I will yell at her again,” Tina promised, rubbing Amanda’s back. “Now, I haven’t had anything to drink yet, so if you want to get drunk, I can drive us back.”

Amanda nodded.

“You’re a great friend.”

Chapter Text

Destyneigh was a beatiful girl with long dark hair and light skin with frekles. She was a vampire hunter and she was asigned to work with Anna, one of the senior hunters. She hated Anna because when she just started out, Anna had bullied her. But Anna was also really atractive and Destyneigh was so mad at her heart mmaking beating so loud in her chest when ever she saw Anna. They had to share a hotel room on they’re way to Transilvania and there was only one bed! You can take the bed said Destyneigh because she didn’t want Anna too say she wanted the bed and than have to share. That’s bullshit we can share said Anna. Or are you scared of me? I’m not scared! Said Destyneigh but it’s unprofesional. Anna smirked. Who cares about profesional? She leaned in to Destyneigh…

 “It doesn’t work like this, P,” Julian said, giving the printed paper back to his friend. “This week is about lesbians from the fandom. You can’t just make a self-insert female character and act like that makes it lesbian.”

“Why not?” Peter asked. “Destyneigh is a girl, Anna is a girl, and they fall in love. That’s what lesbians are, right? Also, she’s not a self-insert, she’s an OC.”

“She’s clearly some kind of wish-fulfilment Mary-Sue character, though! And it’s not like you’re a lesbian in real life.”

“I am!” Peter said, pointing at his skirt. “I like girls!”

“Yeah, but do you identify as a girl? Genuinely? Or do you just like dressing up and pissing off your mum?”

“Well… I mean, it’s about lesbian stories in this week, right? I’m sure not everyone participating is lesbian themselves…”

“They don’t use self-insert characters though.”

“She’s an OC!”

“Can I just say,” Janae interrupted their argument from his place on Peter’s bed, “that I hate the way you spelled ‘Destiny’? It reads to me like Desti-nay, like the sound a horse makes.”

Peter frowned and crossed his arms.

“Well, if you guys are just here to hate on my story, then I won’t show it anymore.” He crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the bin. “I thought you liked my writing,” he said to Julian.

“I do! And I think you’re getting better at it too. You are making fewer mistakes and stuff and you’re having fun, so that’s great. I just don’t think it’s a lesbian story, so it may not fit the event you’re writing for.”

‘The event’ was a fan-organised lesbian writing week for Anna the Vampire Slayer. Most stories Peter had seen so far revolved around the main character Anna and Esmeralda, the hot female vampire who was the main villain in season one, but she was paired up with lots of other female characters from the show: other villains as well as other hunters and civilians. Peter had even spotted a few OCs here and there, so in his opinion, Julian was complaining about nothing. Destyneigh wasn’t even a self-insert. Her name wasn’t like his at all and she had a very different backstory too. She was an orphan, raised by a werewolf who fostered her hatred for vampires. He had a whole bunch of parents. If anyone in the world wasn’t an orphan, it was Peter, with his mom and four dads.

Janae had to leave early, which Peter very much didn’t mind. Yes, they were best friends, but they were also arguing all the time and Peter just didn’t want to argue about this. It was his little project and he had felt a little embarrassed to even show it to the boys, but he also wanted to show them, because he felt that his writing had been getting better, despite his dyslexia. Plus, even if Julian doubted it, this was him exploring his gender, in a way. Part of the fun of dressing up in cute emo outfits was to piss off his mum, for sure, but the clothes also just made him feel more confident. No, he didn’t fully identify as a girl, but if anyone should understand exploring gender, it should be Julian, right? Then again, Julian had known he was a boy for most of his life and started transitioning around age 9. Maybe it was an unfair comparison.

“Do you really think my story is bad?” Peter asked, when he and Julian were back in his room after saying good bye to Janae.

“I don’t know,” Julian said. “If you say it’s not a self-insert but just an OC, then I guess it’s fine. It just feels weird to me if you as a guy are writing about yourself as a lesbian, you know what I mean? It kinda feels like you wanna write hot stuff but don’t wanna think about naked men…”

Peter laughed at that.

“That’s your issue? I’m not gonna write smut! It’s romance! Well, romance and fighting and them being badass. Also, what’s wrong with naked men?”

“Nothing, if you ask me,” Julian chuckled gayly. “I guess it’s fine then. I don’t know, maybe it’s also fine if you do write self-insert Mary Sue smut, I just wouldn’t submit that for the event.”

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about that.” Peter said, feeling relieved. “I’m gonna write some more, okay?”

Destyneigh pushed Anna away. What are you doing? Even if you don’t want to be profesional, I do! She said angirly. She regreted doing that when she looked at Anna again. She looked so beatiful with her dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, checkered shirt that was tied into a knot around her waste-

“It’s flannel, not checkered,” Julian commented. “Also, waist with w-a-i-s-t, otherwise you say the knot was tied around her rubbish.”

-flannel shirt that was tied into a knot around her waist and denim shorts.

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Wait, actually, do you mean she turned her flannel into a crop top by tying it, or did she tie the sleeves around her waist as a kind of skirt-thingy?”

“Crop top, else she’s not wearing a top.”

“Oh, right, yeah no that was what I was imagining, which is why I asked.”

Peter turned around to Julian, who was reading along over his shoulder and smiled.

“Actually, would you want to proofread my fic before I upload it? Correct the spelling and stuff and maybe make things like this clearer?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Destyneigh tried to make herself comfortable on the floor, but it was too hard and she tossed and turned most of the night. If the next night would be like this, she would join Anna in the bed, she thought. But now she was tired and they had to do their job of hunting vampires and there was one nearby. Destyneigh saw it on the vampire-finding device she had made.

“See, it’s not a self-insert. It’s a Janae-insert,” Peter laughed.

“Oh well, no issues there, then,” said Julian.

She and Anna went into an old building that was in ruins to find the vampire. He was very old so he was very powerful.

“Can I make the villain a self-insert then? She doesn’t have to be a lesbian.”

“Sure, whatever. Isn’t the villain a guy, though?”

“Wait, let me just-”

She was very old so she was very powerful. Her name was Vampeter and she didn’t look old. She looked like she was just in her early twenties, in a short, leather skirt and fishnets and a back corset top. Destyneigh thought she and Anna could take her down easily, but they underestimated her. In one movement, Vampeter struck down Anna. Destyneigh screamed:

“Noooo! My love!”

She blushed. She didn’t want to admit her love, but she realised she did love Anna.

“Word says it’s ‘realized’.”

“Well, put the document into British English then.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

Anna crawled to her feet and saw that Vampeter was scared of the love, because she was evil and hated love.

“What did you say?” Anna asked. She was also blushing but also smirked because she had a plan.

“I love you, Anna,” Destyneigh said.

“I love you too!” Anna said.

“Nooooo!” Vampeter cried. “My only weakness!”

Anna crawled to Destyneigh. It was time for the final move. Destyneigh knew what was coming. The other woman came closer and they kissed.

“Aaaaahhhh!” Screamed Vampeter. He recoiled like he was looking into the sun. He tried to change into a bat but he couldn’t. Then he turned into ash. Anna and Destyneigh smiled and kissed again.

“Julian?” Peter asked, turning his chair around to face his friend. “Do you really like my stories?” Julian nodded. “But they are… I mean, I know they are pretty bad.”

Julian shrugged.

“Myeah, but you wrote them, so I like them anyway."