xenobutches assemble
Chapters
Chapter 01: colony nine (belmont)
Chapter 02: agniramoth (belmont)
Chapter 03: world tree (belmont)
Chapter 04: keves region (belmont)
Chapter 05: new los angeles (belmont)
Chapter 06: alrest titandom (belmont)
Chapter 07: hidden village (belmont)
Chapter 08: endless sea's world (ebby)
Chapter 09: the classic ardainians (ebby)
Chapter 10: rare blade paradise (ebby)
Chapter 11: the golden country (ebby)
Chapter 12: aionios moments (ebby)
Chapter 13: city toxicity (ebby)
Chapter 14: seasbians (ebby)
Chapter 15: house leaders (ebby)
Chapter 16: future redeemed (ebby)
Chapter 17: grenada galactic (null)
Reyn butch.
Kissie desiree, kite their child
It takes a soldier to have the stones to date the blacksmith's daughter, obviously - even if Xord is just a boisterous feel-good fella who means no one any harm in the peaceful state of the colony so long as he's got some ingots for his hammer to bash.
Désirée teases Reyn that he'll have to keep up his top-ranked push-up record if he wants to keep her hand, but they both know that's not the kind of strength she's in the market for.
She wants someone soft and understanding in their strength, someone with thick, wavy hair that defies a crew cut. She wants someone who guards his own giving heart as much as he guards the people he loves.
And if their son comes with stammering, self-defeating tendencies that he surely didn't get from either of his parents, then there's that work to be cut and muscled through as well.
It's Reyn who encourages her to become a sculptor, to take after her father's diligent (if at times wild) passion for taking care of people through his gifts. It's Reyn who recommends her to Kenny Rohan for tutelage. It's even Reyn who offers to intercede on her behalf, with Betty.
But Kite will learn no inner strength at all, if one butch fights the battles of the entire family. He'll freeze, fawn, fidget, then lash out. So Dee tries to let herself be leant upon too. There are...some arguments, yes. Still, Reyn is reliable, regardless of the challenges.
Vanea and Melia are both so lesbian and in love to me
As are Linada and tyrea
Consort. It's a polite enough word, spoken by nobility and meant to delineate the proper ritual of companionship, but it can also be derisive. Consorting with the Machina, are you? Courting the widow of the Mechonis, while the people of the Bionis yet lick their ether-stained wounds?
Melia thanks the stars for the union of their two great titans, however. Her position as the intended sole surviving Antiqua member saddles her with the duty of someday taking a consort of her own, that the royal family might live on.
Legacy? Of course it's important. Of course she wants to honor Kallian and her father in any way that she can. But a man, for the sake of the sex? Indeed not. Melia will make her own affairs, with the fair chieftess Vanea of the Hidden Village, and be much the happier for it.
Then there's the matter of Tyrea, of her half-and-half-again sister. It could be argued that she needn't be told to set her grudges aside, that her pride is her own, but the fact that she comes around to finding peace with Linada is the most contenting possible conclusion, in Melia's mind. Oh, and Vanea approves too - they share a point to stay in agreement with any such official decisions.
Two sets of lovers, matched with a perfect mate, feathers and headpieces formed into headdresses that speak to tradition far more reverently than any political marriage would have done.
Leadership driven by love is the strongest kind, actually.
Xc2 wise. I think adenine is an aroace lesbian. To me
As a matter of logistics, Adenine has no hands with which to hold those of a potential partner. Yes, she's ten fingers and two palms, opposable thumbs and knuckle joints, but the books blocking off her wrists make it a difficult thing. She's rather untouchable, unreachable, in that way.
It's no problem. She doesn't feel burdened or encumbered.
People - that is to say, other Blades - flirt with her, and the attempts roll right off of her as if her pages were waterproof.
Countless innuendos, asking for transfers of knowledge or private discussions. Adenine engages them literally, as they are asked, and considers that whoever is asking is entitled to whatever answer they get.
Some are equally direct, such as Nim, who only wishes to speak the languages of the animals, truly. Finch, as well, is in earnest when she asks to be blessed with a more secure source of memory. Adenine acquiesces or refuses as she sees fit, each in turn.
This is not at all to say that she doesn't greatly enjoy the company of all the female Blades that request the pleasure of her company. While she doesn't feel the attraction, herself, she is grateful to be...courted, in this way. Right? She needs some distraction from her books.
(She also often finds herself requesting to touch and gain physical enlightenment as to the purpose and function of various other Blades' special features. She won't deny that chances to explore what women have to offer are most enticing.)
Xc3 ashera/Ethel/eunie are all lesbians in love
Rank and reputation drove Aionios with a greater impetus than the Flame Clocks, now. All the knowledge of the centuries prior to Ouroboros' awakening served to sometimes color, sometimes taint each soldier's preconceived notions of the others, whether within the same nation or beyond.
Eunie, the queen of friendly fire, is just cracking to get on with her new world. She needs a break from the mold of the core team. She needs her own identity, her own people.
She didn't have anyone from a past incarnation. Just Moebius D, and a poked-out eye, a husk paralyzed in the midst of screaming fear.
So now she assembles an Attacker and a Defender to complete her trio. If she's going out, rolling her last chance at the dice, she's taking Ethel and Ashera with her.
Ethel needs a break from all that severity. Ashera needs someone to care that she's sparkin' alive. And they'll do it, together. They will.
They'll watch each other's backs. They'll uphold their roles, their promises to each other set in motion.
While there's no winning the war for any of them, against Z or anyone else, they'll drive themselves to the best they can possibly be. And if they're going out, they're going out together, three hearts as one.
Two wolves and the hawk that watched them. Three songs of lust, twined together into steel-banded rope.
"I really don't wanna die, now," says Eunie.
"But, it would be nice?" Ashera teases.
Ethel just shakes her head.
Murderess is the femme to irinas ever suffering butch
"Hey! You, Murderess!"
Irina stops cold to hear the accusation, before remembering herself and the fact that, much as she'd like to forget it, Murderess is a BLADE who walks through the streets of the administrative district on her off days just like anyone else. Just like Irina.
And it's not the first time Irina has been confused for her arch...femme from behind.
She sighs, sets her feet, and turns around. Keeps her arms crossed, for sure. The man vying for her attention is wearing a frankly nasty expression, but it melts away to apologetic disgruntlement once he sees the shape of the bangs and the color of the eyes that stare back at him.
"You're not Murderess..." he trails off, sensing his own redundancy.
"She wishes!" crows Murderess, slinking in like she'd planned it.
Irina says nothing. Doesn't even let herself groan. Whatever business Murderess - well, Sharon, if it's above-board, which it definitely isn't - has with this man, she can decide for herself how to conduct it. If she wants to dismiss Irina, she will. That's her responsibility, regardless of Irina's erstwhile destination.
It's sour sugar, the way she carries on and twists the situation to suit herself, shoving away the man's discontent like yesterday's body to be buried.
She's tougher than Sharon is. She knows she is. They're just fighting for different things, and they always have been.
When the going gets tough, here on Mira, can she count on Murderess?
Some whispered midnight admissions say yes.
I think you could make Rex a butch lesbian and that also works with whoever you pair her with
Rex has always confused people. He's an incredibly straightforward person, and yet his very presence confounds.
Too young. Too short. Too earnest. Too boyish, yet not particularly masculine. Put another way, he's more than just a few years removed from ever becoming a man.
And Rex finds that that suits him just fine. Surrounded by so many powerful women in every varying stage of maturity and experience, he finds herself acclimating to the ways of women who love women, who show themselves as protectors in a niche that no broad-shouldered braggart ever filled or even thought of.
The perceptions of the people around him soak into her bones; she's casual and open-hearted, yes, but she's serious. He's the very picture of unexpected chivalry.
Curiosity about intimacy leads her to want to ask bold questions, to make respectful propositions. She wants to learn how this is all done, and where it all came from.
Maybe Nia will tell him - they'll talk about it later, you know. Maybe Mythra will honor her with a smirk and a knowing nod. Maybe Pyra will share in the discovery's joy with her - no, scratch that, of course she will!
Niall might once have been a suitor. Now he's just a friend. And, you know, that part never has budged aside. Rex still fights for family, for peace and rejuvenation. She just does it with the flag of a unique womanhood draping her back, reaching his age of confirmation with a bounty of realizations in tow.
Prox is bisexual and thinks eleqa is straight but eleqa is very much a lesbian you understand
Drawing the water for all of the inhabitants of the Fallen Arm to consume is a solemn and critical task. Prox conducts herself with extreme gravity, intending to stop for nothing and no one in her quest to replenish the source at the Ether Light.
She knows the way to Zakt Spring, of course. She knows which paths to walk on the beach, where the corrupted and hostile M67 unit will not be able to detect her outside of its range of sight. She knows how to spontaneously camouflage herself from Flamii, trying her best to swiftly cool the colors of her helmet to match their natural sea-breeze blues.
Prox carries no airs, though. She flatters herself nothing particularly special.
Eleqa, however? She would have had no reservations whatsoever at investigating that sensor malfunction (well, one supposes it's a proper function, but wrong place and wrong time).
If only she were a male Machina so that Prox could ask her out... Not that Prox wouldn't ask a female! No, no, she'd love to ask Eleqa right now! But that would be an intrusion, she's sure.
She admires Eleqa, noble lady, far too much for that.
Two acquaintances passing in the night. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Eleqa just keeps her patrol, patiently, wondering when that lovely Prox will realize that for a woman to keep the gate guard, salvage scrap parts, and recommend community aid for a depressed fellow, et cetera, even in progressive Machina society, is quite the lesbian thing.
Melia is definitely a femme who went through a bad comphet situation throughout one. That one comic of her being awestruck by milf sharla hit me like a truck
Tyrea is also lesbian supreme, I love the idea of her and Vanea eventually becoming a thing since they have so much in common
Vaneas devotional to meyneth was a bit gay imo, she's definitely High Femme by Machina standards
It does seem rather foolish, looking back now, doesn't it? With all of the changes erupting across their world, all of the colossi to be scaled, all of the gods to be defied, who in their right mind would have thought that Melia's focus should have been tuned to winning the heart of someone so oblivious and so otherwise occupied as Shulk?
There are steps, here. There are processes. There are ways in which Melia will, in the end, make herself up, as a feminine creature with wings of crepe and lace and silk. Her delicacy will gild her, her fingertips silvered and fine.
(Sharla, her greatest supporter, will one day wow her with an even greater extension of the ways in which women can exert themselves.)
And then, Tyrea. Tyrea, whose affectation of the orange-striped spectrum that gravitates her toward the statuesque Vanea as a perfect suit, is somewhat significantly more subtle. The gradient in her hair, pastel yet stark. Her clothes and her boots, vibrant maroons and daring cuffs about thighs.
Vanea loves Tyrea. She does, she does, her window to the world of the High Entia and the Homs alike. And yet, when she considers what - rather, who - has brought her this far, her loyalty returns to Lady Meyneth.
It's specifically indelicate, but she remarks to herself that staring up into the open cavity of Meyneth's bosom while in a state of absolute devotion might...elevate one's appreciation for femininity, appreciably. Might change the entire race's trajectory.
Morag and Bridghid are C4T butch femme to me I love them so much. Morag being a lady knight is absolute prime bait for me
Mòrag is not very tall; it's the way Ardainians come, and those with the whispers of a mixed heritage especially. Still, next to Brighid, her stunning and otherworldly Blade, she appears as a staunch bastion, a firm-legged evader with command of armies upon armies.
Next to Brighid, of course, because Brighid's flaming spirals of azure ether styled into the appearance of hair (by the Architect, that is, and then the Jewel does the rest) lick the ceiling while her battle-inappropriate ballgown scrapes the floor. Her voice is deep and throaty, her rare moments of command even more arresting than Mòrag's consistent parley.
Together they are unstoppable. It needn't even be said. And though it takes some especially bawdy soldiers - who will soon see rigid discipline - to snicker about their private affairs, it is true that the palace suite that houses the Flamebringer and her heart of fire sees equally well-ordered practices between two women who infinitely admire one another.
Brighid's hair doesn't need brushing, but Mòrag is the only one permitted to touch it, if ever it should. Mòrag's chest is bound, and Brighid is the one that helps her into her alternative armored corset. There are laces upon laces to be secured as the Special Inquisitor is readied for audience, ruffles to be smoothed and plumped and arrayed with belts, vials, knives.
All this preparation, primarily just to share themselves with each other. Each public appearance is merely the faintest glimpse into Mòrag and Brighid's storied, historied, united world.
I will begrudgingly accept Sheba but I do not claim her!!!
I also think that adenine and agate would have been very cute together Isurd is absolutely their kid in my headcanons
Is it rude, to say that Sheba demeans them? Is it exclusionary, to say, well, we don't claim her?
But for all anyone allows that Blades even experience attraction to each other (that is to say, not only to their Driver of no choice), it might be nice if they weren't universally perceived as haughty.
Sheba? Well, it's true, she does love girls. She does insist that her harem- ahem, her entourage, be comprised of solely female attendants. And that's all fine and good. If she ever actually engaged with any of them on a lasting personal level, she'd have something to say about it.
Adenine and Agate wonder what it means about them, then, if what they feel is determined to be ultimately more subtle than that. How to differentiate, for example, their academic curiosities versus their aesthetic sensibilities?
Everything Adenine experiences, she views through the lens of her research; the pursuit of truth, indeed. Meanwhile, Agate quests to find something new and unknowable in the earths of Titans, and she begins to think that she has truly found it, in Adenine.
Maybe there's no difference. Maybe it's a beautiful synthesis.
Any child born of a union between them would be, thus, maximally neurotic and tactical. Isurd, dawn-pale and sediment-slender even beyond the bounding time of Blade bodies' hyperextensions, is the best of them and the worst of them, in one.
That must be how these things go, however. They inspire themselves. They reinvent themselves. They always go on.
My Haze headcanons are funnily enough quite hazey but she's definitely sapphic. Again the devotion to her lady knight that :pinched_fingers:
Haze...she's never known herself. She's always seen herself through the eyes of someone else.
Lady Lora's eyes, first and foremost. Those are the eyes she uses to scout the forest, to prune the trees, to pet the deer and spot the birds. And Lady Lora's eyes look back at her with such love that Haze decides, I must be made of love. I must be here for love. It must be what has created me.
And yet Jin is not so warm.
But it's something special, to be devoted. Something sweet and something thoughtful, hardworking and earnest bearing no matter the squall or the storm. It's something innate of herself that she can give. Obviously, Jin's example shows that it's not every Blade of Lady Lora who composes herself this way.
Spirits of the air, bend to my will, she says - just as she will bend her every spirited whim to the wishes of her lady. It's only natural, or perhaps more than. It's certainly perfectly right.
That essence, which she carries forth, to be shaped and suited to the gaze of a woman; to have tender hands and tenderer thoughts, but then again fierce in defense like no man could ever be.
It doesn't bear comparison. It lives beyond the fold. It is the fold, of a soft cotton sheath and a fine velvet ribbon with the tie of a saintly grace.
It is everything of girls' love in a single moment, pursuant to the winds of time.
Sena is my favourite baby butchling there's just something so intriguing about her desire to protect and be there for the women in her life. She gets it from her mom's :muscle:
Ashera is my disabled mentally ill butch rep I love her so much. Dunban for lesbians and I ate it up. I think outside of aionios she would definitely dress and present more masc.
There are ways to be essentially, elementally useful to your comrades that don't involve being the protector. There are ways to make oneself unobtrusive that don't necessitate being the one to make the bad guys butt out of the way.
This is somewhat demonstrably true in the very presence of the battle role system. Attackers are meant to be able to be squishy. Healers, the same. The choice to be not just (just) a healer coupled with the choice to be a tank-from-ogre? That's telling that something in Sena's upbringing triggered her to be the valiant vanguard for every girl she attempts to befriend.
Just like her mothers, who made up a two-woman army and led it from the top. Someday, Sena will be a leader. For now, she's the best masclet she can be.
And then there's Ashera, who throws caution to the wind and howls, interested in protecting nobody but classing into defense all the same. What had her mentor given to her, to get into her blood in such a way?
Maybe that's just what happens when the funny chemicals running high in Dunban's brain get switched the other way. Still, the particular presentation is a throughline: masculine and swaggered, sports bras and carabiners instead of cravats and vests. It's less about binding, more about adjusting the chest just the right way. Using it like a wicked and wonderful weapon, like shaking the loose marbles God gave you and seeing what rolls its inferno wheel on out.
Whatever Shania and Ghondor had going on is crazy and toxic but the yuri of it all. The next time around they will hit it off normal style I swear
Another life. Another life. The people of the City say it so humorously, blending their gift of single-lived memory with the soldiers' questionable boon of reincarnation to imagine alternate timelines, idyllic and impossible ones.
In another life, you would have loved each other, no easier than saying it and seeing it done. You would have supported each other. You wouldn't have had to fight each other. You would have been perfect complements lending each other canny compliments, instead of perfect enemies ever twisting the knife.
Sure, it's obvious. It's convenient, anyway. But what these elders don't seem to understand is that it's a very specific type of other life that would grant these promises to these wounded girls. Moebius couldn't give it to 'em. In this life, Ghondor'd never take it. And Shania's snuffed up beyond all recognition. The soldiers all say it, and it's true.
But the parts about Ghondor, even still, that have learned to love girls independent of competition, of expectations and remonstrations, have loved Shania most of all: most bitterly, and most sweetly; most messily, and most neatly. The same for Shania, who laced butterfly kisses into her bootlaces and tied heart-shaped crosses into her hair.
Made for each other, from the House-top on down. Made to make each other crazy, instead of ever to soothe and harbor. Some things just turn out this way.
They'd be happier to know it, perhaps. Happier not to have to weep and dream - but then, what do dreamers do?
Fiona and Irma ohhhhhmy god. I did do a doodle of an older fiona where she was more masc ill have to find it (She learnt it from grandpa). Babies first lesbian situationship and it ended like that.
If there's ever a jarring sound from a soldier of any colony, even Colony Mu, it's the signal that one of them is sniffling. That she's sniffling, one should say - because they're the lot of them little girls, except for Tallow, and there've been whispers that he might have been a little boy to begin with but if he ever grows up it'll be into a sort of a woman.
Whose whispers? Doesn't matter. Point is, when Proudbanner Fiona is brought to tears, and not just the tears of complete emotional overwhelm, you know something's wrong. You know something's buggin' her.
"I just want to be strong!" she wails, fists balled at her own sides because there's nothing soft about Triton to grab, let's face it. "I just wanted to be...like Irma. I thought it was wonderful, to want to be like Irma."
Irma had been rather rude to Triton, but he'd liked her alright anyway. And even with the path of deception, she'd not been entirely inadmirable.
"Ye can be strong, Fiona. Truly, ye are even now."
She shakes her head, stubborn tears tracked to her cheeks. "I want to be strong like you are. Not like a little girl..."
Maybe Triton's the best culprit on Aionios for one who'd tell someone (say, Lanz) that they hit like a girl. But even still.
"Well, nothin' stoppin' ye wi' that, either."
He could see it, plain as seashells, in his foggy mind's eye. "My, and don't ye look handsome..."
Masha is also a high femme just look at her. Her and Monica have an ongoing weird situationship trust me it's so real
Presentation is everything, for Masha. Her very career, outside of that little trifle about being a House Leader, depends upon it. Her every inch is decked out, from long- and fine-nailed fingertips and painted toenails to the intricate stripes and twists in her hair and headpiece. Then makeup, latex leggings, rosette and décolletage...
Her rings: dazzling, of course, incisive as they are sharp, and representational of her scintillating soul. Her furs, exquisite and extravagant, cinching her right in at the waist. It's not to display wealth, not to make a showing of her time dedicated to her self-craft while others must toil, no. It's simply the way she lives, down to the pure and unfaceted core of her being.
Now, Monnie dearest...? My, but she's beautiful, with those caramel-wavy curls. However, beyond protective styles, the poor thing has hardly a concept of self-care, let alone a higher and more personal vision. She wears that dreadful harness, which is a charmer when it comes to enhancing Monnie's forward-facing assets but which does so very little for the central sparkle of the thing.
Not careless. Never careless. Just unfortunately otherwise occupied. Always. Perpetually. Or, off-and-on.
She really could do to accessorize - and Masha has told her so, on various occasions. Only on about half of those occasions is she willing to listen, and even Masha, the artfully poised and legendarily lauded lapidarist, whose deft hands and quick eyes have decorated scores of numbers both lost and found, runs out of patience eventually...
For FR I think linka is bi like her parents but panacea and Nael are definitely gay. Panlinka is very cute I wish they had more to do in the main story.
Nael definitely ends up with a Shion expy in my mind.
Panacea and Linka are drawn together by circumstance, convenience, at first. The daughters of late heroes, whose deeds and impressions yet linger in the conjoined worlds only as afterimage, lightning bolts' posteminent shadows, can't help but compare.
"My mum was the level-headed one. My dad was the nut she had to keep tightened, or else he'd go off on tangents everywhere."
Linka nods her agreement, but bites back the confession that both of her parents did like to go on many such tangents, with mutual consent, to explore their own tastes and test the strength of their cosmic partnership. She's like that now. Well, maybe not wandering, but calmly bisexual.
Panacea will have to look elsewhere for a lesbian counterpart. Na'el is of no relation to her, descended many centuries down the line, even sterner in her butch ideals but lacking of a place to steer them. Clipped to each other by the click of a carabiner, in all honesty.
Someday, in the unattenuated and endless expanse of Aionios, Na'el will find her destined partner. Maybe someone scatterbrained but brilliant, with glasses like Linka but braids like Panacea. A researcher, desperate for the scientifically-founded answers while Na'el runs on ether-laced promises.
Ever the star-searching schemer, Panacea pieces it together. Oh, she'll solve this puzzle sooner or later, with Teacher's faith on her side.
For now, Na'el is beautiful, and talented, and wild. Linka looks on, non-judgemental, as Panacea quietly tugs her fingers through the thicket of hair between fluffy ears.
Liesel. Discuss.
Helmet or not, Liesel sure stands out in a crowd. Her walk has a swagger that, regardless of prior military affiliation, most BLADEs don't and in fact can't carry. Might have something to do with those custom Skell flight shoes that don't just prioritize form factor over function. Not skintight leggings like the Sakuraba styles, not simultaneously tits-out and clunky like the other Grenada offerings.
What, the pink hair? Well, the mim itself comes with it. No roots, no problems. But back on Earth, Liesel had spent many a pretty penny on those monthly dye jobs and undercut combos. The image of her with medium-texture natural ashy blonde hair, parted just to one side of center and hanging halfway down her back, is distant and uncomfortable. Ugh, and braids?
Enough about that, though.
Liesel's most defining trait, the thing she's most proud of while also smugly stowing it away, is her relationship with Alicia. Besties, right? She leans into it instead of "leaning in" like all that leftover leadership training of the 2020s was meant to teach. If people are gonna be snarky about her, she can snark right back. It's her god-given right to be the easy butch the mid-21st needs, handy with emotional support and conflict resolution but not so much with household worries (see: fixing the cabinets and keeping them stocked).
Always pushing herself to be stronger, faster, and maybe even a bit humbler. Fine, Leesh'll show her where the crow needs to be eaten. No sweat.