#but it would be nice to have a group of just Queer people who can come together and be there in group

[silverislander]

my parents really seem to want me to pick up choir again now that i have a steady job and i really dk how to feel abt it

positives:

i do like and miss choir/ensemble music in general

i would like to join some kind of group outside of work (i really don't get out enough)

it might be a great opportunity to make friends which is hard for me. i should take any opportunity to do that that i can

on that note, might really help my anxiety

negatives:

the only choirs that i know of around here are either 1. women's choirs or 2. church choirs and i really very much don't want to join either for reasons i hope are obvious

i haven't really sang in a long time now. my anxiety got so bad i can't play or sing in front of others anymore, esp my family

i have had pretty bad experiences w making friends in musical spaces before esp w voice. i will get put in the soprano section and i am fully expecting that at least some of the other women there will treat me like i'm diseased bc i'm butch

^^^ which will absolutely make my anxiety worse

honestly i am mostly only interested in hanging out w other queer people. i just want to meet other people like me yk? it's lonely

now there is in fact a queer choir here and i am Looking at it (have wanted to join since the pandemic if i'm honest). however. their practice times are the exact same time and date as my mom's church band practice every week. so i have no way to get there. and i'd have to contend w my whole "not out to my family" situation and do the fucking hoop jumping w names/pronouns shit, esp for concerts. which is a nightmare

[thesadboisguidetolife]

.

[crowdsourcedgender]

My zine, 'Label Coining as an Artform', is finally done! Transcript/Image ID underneath (warning: it's long). Printed version in a reblog.

[Image ID: A series of pages in a zine. The text is handwritten, and all figures described are simplified stick figures.

Page 1: ‘LABEL COINING as an ARTFORM in large text. Below is the multicolored MOGAI wheel, with three figures taking pieces of the colors and using them for art: sculpting, cutting a piece of paper, and painting. Below is ‘a MOGAI (& LIOM!) zine by Elliot/Hesper aka @ crowdsourcedgender on tumblr. Under the text are five pride flags: aro-spec, veldian, alterhuman, xenoman, and schooldoodlic.

Page 2: ‘Label Coining’ in large pink text. ‘(in this context) is the act of creating a word (and usually flag) for a certain experience!’. Next to this text is a figure filled in with pink with a speech bubble full of pink shapes, talking to someone using a cane holding out a hand and expressing a question mark. Below reads ‘generally a queer experience, but does often include or incorporate disability, neurodivergence etc.’ A figure asks ‘Why?’ and the text reads ‘I would say these are the ‘core tenets’:’. In a cloud next to this text is a blue and purple pride flag with purple text reading: ‘like this cool prosopagnosia flag I made!’.

The bottom half of the page is split into two columns: ‘Understanding’ and ‘Community’. The first column has a purple arm amputee explaining a purple rectangle to another purple person who is thinking ‘that’s me!!’. Next to them another purple person is explaining the same rectangle to a blank person, who has a purple-filled thought bubble with a white exclamation mark. Underneath the drawing is text surrounded by question marks: ‘Labels help people understand what they are experiencing, and communicate this to others. It’s easier to explain something when it’s already been written down!” The second column has a purple person holding a purple umbrella. They are waving to a purple person in a wheelchair. A purple person is leading another one to the group. Underneath the drawing is text surrounded by connected dots: ‘People can unite under a shared label whether this group is big or small! Whether for practical purposes (like advice) or just for fun, having people like you is nice.

Page 3: ‘And these are just as important as ever! But I’ve noticed what I like to call COINING for the sake of CREATION’. This last phrase is in large, dark and light blue text. Two sun symbols are on either side. Below is the text: ‘Vexillology is very clearly an artform, but label coining has become something more (not to mention that not all new labels have flags!). It’s composed of multiple skills has become more than the sum of its parts. Any art captures an experience, but label coining is much more explicit about it. And not just people’s experience of their identity! Part of the art of label coining is incorporating other concepts too, e.g. Schooldoodlic A gender related to doodling on school work papers and/or your homework. By spirits-gender-coining on Tumblr.’ The text about Schooldoodlic is small and light teal. Next to the text is its flag.

Page 4: ‘Elements of Label Coining’. The text on this page is separated into four green boxes.

‘Naming: Coming up with the actual word can be tricky. Generally, labels with lots of elements get more leeway with length. It’s important to check that a label isn’t already a word as well.’ Next to this text is more rough, dark green text reading ‘Premade suffixes + prefixes help! And latin (for some languages) as it’s possible to intuit meaning!’ Around the text is a few examples: ‘-vesil’ ‘-musica’ ‘an-’ ‘quoi-’

‘Flag making: Also known as vexillology, this is a pretty big deal. It’s also the most fun for me! You develop a really good sense of color from spending so much recoloring the same three stripes.’ Next to the text is 6 versions of the same pride flag, each with slightly different colors, with a 7th final version with a symbol.

‘Symbol making: Most flags don’t have symbols, but they’re good for groups of labels under a certain umbrella, or just if you have a really good idea.’ Next to this is rough, dark green text reading: ‘I drew three semirealistic flowers for a flag and ended up only using one’ with sad face. Under it is a drawing of a daisy, a pink coneflower, and lavender, which is circled.

‘Descriptions/formatting: Explanations can be artistic in their own right, and formatting is fun to mess with: many people have their own style. Make sure it’s accessible: add image IDs and plain text where applicable. There are a lot of good resources online!’ In dark green text is the phrase ‘Accessibility over Aesthetics’ with an image of a key on top and sparkles below.

Underneath the boxes in light green text is ‘Note: in the right context, any of these can be optional!’

Page 5: ‘If it wasn’t clear, I think this is AWESOME’. Awesome is in large text with yellow radiating lines. Underneath is ‘I’m a MOGAI coiner myself (generally) with about 65 coins at time of drawing. Using something I made, I wanted to demonstrate what a label coining might look like!’ Underneath is four versions of the same pride flag as well as a description, with ‘flag!’ ‘stripe meanings (I don’t normally do these)’ ‘symbol’ ‘name’ ‘pre-existing format’ and ‘experience’ labelled. The description reads ‘[Image ID was here] Human non-conforming (HNC). Human non-conforming (HNC, similar to gender non-conforming) is an umbrella label encompassing all identities and subcultures that somehow incorporate nonhuman elements in any way.’

Page 6: ‘The thing I love most about the label coining community is just that- the community! The way coiners and users interact, as well as how coiners can work together, is wonderful. There are 5 large words each with an associated doodle.

‘Requesting’: A figure leaning on forearm crutches has a speech bubble with yellow shapes exploding out of it. Another figure is taking shapes down from the bubble and forming it into a ball.

‘Collecting’: A figure is pulling a yellow cart with a large cloth bag labelled ‘LABELS’. They have stars in their eyes, and are looking at another person who is gesturing to a yellow rectangle.

‘Collaborating’: Two figures, one with orange speech and one with yellow speech and an AAC tablet are discussing, with many shapes and lines intermingling to make a fragmented rectangle.

‘Combining’: A figure in a grey hijab pulls down a lever. They are standing next to a large blender mixing orange and yellow liquids. On either side is bright yellow lightning.

‘Redesiging’: A small star with four radial lines coming out of it becomes more and more complex, indicated by black arrows.

Under the words is the text: ‘I’ve never participated, but there’s this amazing event called: COINFIGHT. Hosted by @ kiruliom on Tumblr. It’s inspired by artfight, and it involves coining labels for other people- but competitive-ish!’ Coinfight is in large, text with a crescent moon with stars at the top right corner, and a star at the bottom left.

Page 7: ‘I don’t think there’s anything like finding a label that finally fits you, or hearing that something you made did that for someone else.’ Under is a figure looking at an orange flower with light lines, then forming elements of the flower into a bubble, then showing an orange rectangle to another figure, with orange tendrils reaching towards them, forming the shape of a heart. Below is the text ‘There are a lot of things like pouring out your heart- or just having fun- while making or collecting label. I coin in the same mind I sketch and color and shade.’ On each side is a pen drawing an orange figure with a red shirt, and a tablet with an orange and red flag. Under this is ‘Label coining is an artform both like and unlike any other, and I’m proud to participate in it. I hope that if you want to, you can join me. And if that’s not your thing- thanks for reading!’ There is a drawing of a figure with dark grey wings holding up two fingers. Next is a ‘<2’ heart and ‘elliot’ as a signature. In smaller text next to these is ‘Thank you to the creators whose work is featured in this zine! Credit on the next page. Remember to keep this wonderful community and artform accessible to all!’

Page 8: ‘Credit’: This section has a pride flag next to each label. ‘Aromantic-spectum, @ theflagarchive on Tumblr. Turian, @ kenochoric on Tumblr. Schooldoodlic, @ spirits-gender-coining on Tumblr. Xenoman, @ ryanyflags on Tumblr. MOGAI symbol, Pride-Flags on DeviantArt. Alterhuman, @ vaestra on Tumblr. (the flag on pg. 4 is Wildflowergender). ‘About making this zine’: ‘I really, really regret handwriting this. Drawing over Helvetica Neue for so long might change my actual handwriting, [more rough:] which looks like this! According to Artstudio Pro, I took 14 hours! I barely planned this before starting, the color wheel theme and the people doodles. /End ID]

[animentality]

Dude I'm so confused

Why are the redditors refugees here-

Whats up with the tag 196

AND WHY IS EVERYONE BEING SO NICE WITH THE TWITTER REFUGEES CAME WE GAVE THEM HELL (almost)

The Reddit refugees are here because several subreddits have gone private in protest of reddit's new policy of charging third party developers for access to its API.

Hence the term reddit blackout.

196 specifically was a very queer friendly subreddit that had one rule: that you post before you leave. 196 is trending because those Redditors have come here and they're basically sharing their memery here instead as they protest reddit's greed.

As for why we're welcoming them when Twitter refugees were seen with a little more irritation, well.

Think of the culture similarities.

Tumblr and reddit have far more in common than Tumblr and Twitter.

Twitter is about clout and manipulating algorithms and discourse in 280 characters or less. It's about bad takes that reach the right people and it forces you to see things you don't want to see and it's crawling with the worst people imaginable and you're forced to see them, all the time. They also brought bad tagging and 2016 Tumblr discourse with them, because Twitter culture really involves starting fights for clout and braindead opinions that no one really wants to come back to Tumblr culture.

There was a time when Tumblr did the same thing, but worse, with more words...but nowadays, it's really calmed down.

The worst people...went to Twitter after the porn ban. Ironically, it made the site less toxic and hostile.

But then they came back.

And it was like...hm. no thanks. Stay back where you came from.

But Tumblr and Reddit have much more in common.

Both have a more streamlined way of customizing your online feed. You can choose what subreddits you see on your home screen, just like Tumblr only shows you the content of your followers, on your dashboard, and in chronological order rather than what's trending. You can join a very specific weird niche group of freaks with a shared obsession, and not care about the rest of the site at all. You also don't have a character limit on either site, which lets you ramble more and share weird detailed stories.

Reddit might have karma, but like Tumblr, the majority of people are lurkers and not posters. It also allows you to downvote bad opinions, and moderators who have to adhere to certain guidelines of behavior, which means a lot of banning disruptive people.

Granted, sometimes their mods are power hungry, but. You know.

It does more to control its users than Tumblr do, and that's a good thing in terms of keeping toxicity and illegal shit off its subs.

Reddit also has a way more leftwing attitude than you would think.

It has a reputation for being full of incels but I honestly think that's outdated.

It's cleaned up its act quite a bit since the old days.

I see way more vile shit from Twitter and TikTok. Like seriously.

Twitter is crawling with conservative bots and propaganda machines and just outright inflammatory lies. TikTok literally has the worst comment sections I've ever seen, like edgy teenagers cracking racist and misogynistic humor and acting like it makes them different and special. Its algorithm also spoon feeds you garbage and is designed to be as addicting as possible.

At least reddit's culture, while chauvinistic and regressive in certain subcultures, is mostly on the tech positive, atheist libertarian side.

It can be a little pretentious and caustic about certain subjects, and a little full of itself. Some reddits are also very male leaning and disregard female concerns in favor of moaning about how men have it worse than anyone else on earth.

But for the most part?

...well.

I welcome them here, because if they left reddit in protest, then we always support protests. But 196 specifically is also a queer subreddit, and we support that even more.

Plus they're funny as fuck.

What's not to like, really?

You should welcome them with open arms too.

[andy-wm]

So...Who then?

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS of WHO:

Jimin is searching for the girl he thinks is out there for him (one who he can give the world and more to). He can't understand why he hasn't found her. Who is his heart waiting for?

Clue: it's the person who literally falls into his path. This is the ONLY person for him - everyone else has walked away.

I have to confess... I didn't hear WHO as more than a generic pop song the first couple of times i listened. I was in my car driving home from work when i first listened, and then bustling around with domestic stuff as i listened a second time.

Its very unusual for me to be so casual and negligent with first listens but my head wasn't in the game. I didn't want to push it.

So I consciously put it aside until i could give it the attention it deserves.

I want to clearly state that if WHO was purely a fun and impersonal pop song i wouldn't be judging the song or Jimin for that. It's got a catchy tune and i enjoyed it, and I'm not expecting everything Jimin creates to speak to me personally.

Some things are just for fun and that's okay.

But I think there more to this song...

As with much of Jimin’s work, what seems simple on the surface is more complex when you dig a little deeper...

I watched the mv with the lyrics onscreen and my impression is forming (It's still basically a first impression though so i probably missed things)

What i notice, reading the lyrics as i listen, is that it's not the love song i first thought it was.

It's not a love song at all.

This song is all about about Jimin

and it's full of questions...

She's always on his mind, this woman he has yet to find. He thinks about her every day.

He's not telling us his standards are too high, or all the girls he likes are unavailable, or he never goes out to meet people.

He's telling us he's been searching but he hasn't even MET her yet.

Hes telling us he doesn't know why he hasn't found her.

((Why the insistence that it has to be a 'her'?

That's easy:

Anyone who was raised in a hereronormative environment is going to go through life thinking they will find love with the opposite sex. It's the default expectation. Everything in society tells us this from advertising, to entertainment, to the government. For a lot of gay or queer people, you expect that to happen. You kiss a lot of girls or boys and you expect to feel that spark (shoutout to the enbys who nobody can see).

And the spark just isnt there, so you keep looking. You search for that one individual who will make you feel the way you're *supposed* to feel.

The lyrics of this song are basically saying exactly this.

If you believe - as i do - that Jimin struggled with his identity and that he didn't recognise his love for JK as ROMANTIC love until JK started returning his affection, then it makes sense that he believed he would (or should) fall in love with a girl.

And look, he dances with ALL the girls. He has a red hot go at this. He really tries, but nothing sticks.))

Now back to the song...

He tells us that he goes out and meets a lot of people:

But he still doesn't know who she might be.

HE'S NEVER MET HER...

"We've never met" he says it twice in succession. So he hasnt even met a girl he thinks COULD be the one?

🤔

Can i take a guess?

MAYBE THERE'S A CLUE HERE:

"Who is my heart waiting for," sings Jimin as a BILLBOARD falls from the sky.

Its "crash landing on you" but figuratively, not literally.

The face on the billboard looks very familiar 🤔

And also...

KEEP GOING>> says the billboard.

When asked in an AMA what he would say to his debut self, Jimin said "You nice. Keep going."

We know how tough things were in the lead up to debut, especially for Jimin. He nearly lost his place in the group several times. And it's no secret that as a group they struggled to be taken seriously by the industry.

But wait... what else does the billboard say?

W H O

Not 'WHO?' but WHO

It's a statement, not a question.

If you're looking for a sign, this is it.

THIS IS LITERALLY A SIGN

Dont forget that this billboard/person crashes into his life - falls directly in his path - when hes alone out there.

There's nobody there but Jimin.

And for Jimin, there is nobody else

🐰🐥

ETA: Here's the next part of my response to 'WHO'. This post looks at the MV Specifically.

[anarcoqueer1994]

Eddie was going to tell them, he promised Steve he would. Its was easy to tell the apocalypse crew, kind of hard to keep things from a group of people you saved the world with. But telling Corroded Coffin about his new boyfriend was different. Not that they would care that he has a boyfriend. They've known he was queer for a while. What he was worried was who he was dating.

They had spent years in high school touting their superiority over the "conformist, arrogant sheep, and their leader King Steve." Except he had been to harsh, he had gotten to know Steve.... love Steve. And he was afraid if he told Corroded Coffin, not only would they rag on him, but they may say something horrible to Steve. But Steve said he didn't care, that he could handle it. He would "kill them with kindness." He just wanted to be open with Eddie with all their friend groups.

So Eddie promised he would tell. There was a little part of him, though, a superficial part of him, that cared a little more about what his friends think than he should. And so, even though he told Steve he would, he has been dragging his feet. Unfortunately, Steve does not know that. Eddie told a little white lie a few weeks ago that he told them, bringing the brightest, prettiest smile to his face. Eddie had planned to tell them soon after.

But he still hasn't, did not realize the mess he was about to make. Tonight they were having Hellfire at the Wheeler house. Dustin, Will, Lucas, Mike, Erica and the rest of Corroded Coffin were there.

Dustin mentions that Steve would be there soon to bring he, Lucas, Erica and Will home. That's when Garreth says "I still don't see why you guys like hanging out with that guy. He always seemed like an asshole to me." Jeff and Caleb nod their heads.

"He kind of is." Mike jokes. "But he's not a bad dude."

"Steve is cool, man." Dustin adds, obvious admiration in his face.

"Yea, Steve has always been really nice to us." Will smiles. "He is like another big brother." The rest of the party, including Erica, nod in agreement.

Erica gets a shit eating grin(not knowing Eddie has not told Corresed Coffin about he and Steve dating) "And he's cute, right Eddie?" The rest of the guys except Lucas and Will groan in response.

Eddie tries to play it off. "Yea, Harrington is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that."

"Well you must think he's extra hot since he's your...' before she can finish Eddie cuts her off. "I think we are at a good place to stop for tonight."

Everyone notices the quick way he cut her off. Everyone looks confused, even if the younger teens are for a different reason. Jeff speaks up. "What's Steve, Eddie?" He pokes.

"Steve is Steve." He shoots back avoiding the question, slight embarrassment creeping to his cheeks. He knows he should say more, tell them about his wonderful, adorable boyfriend. But maybe he ego is too big to admit he fell for the jock.

"What are you talking about?" Dustin speaks up.

"Why are you being weird?" Mike adds.

Suddenly a chorus of voices chime in, all asking questions. "What is Steve?" "Eddie, why are you being like this?" "Is something up with Steve?"

Finally over the loud voices from his old friends and new friends, he defensively says. "Steve is nothing!" His cheeks are red.

Unfortunately, over the chaos, they hadn't heard Steve come down the steps, having heard Eddie's proclamation. He had come a bit early, thinking Correded Coffin knew. He was carrying a plate of cupcakes, wanting to make a good impression during the first time seeing Correded Coffin as Eddie’s boyfriend.

But he was wrong. They didn't know, and Eddie had lied to him. It hurt. It's not like Eddie’s friends are homophobic, so Eddie was...ashamed to be dating him.

"I'm nothing?" Steve's voice causes everyone to look behind them. Steve looks devastated, like Eddie had just took his heart and stomped on it in front of everyone.

"Steve..." Eddie jumps up, trying to will time to rewind, but he can’t. He hadn't meant to say those terrible things.

But Steve is shaking his head, setting the cupcakes down, before bounding back up the steps.

All the "kids" including Mike, practically shoot daggers at Eddie as they leave, following after Steve.

Eddie is left sitting in the basement, with his three confused bandmates, feeling deflated, knowing he just fucked up the best thing in his life.

Part 2? Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list.

Tag list closed, part 2 here :)

[sissa-arrows]

French Israeli piece of shit: Wanna know why the Arabs don’t protest and break and burn shit in Israel like they do in France? First Arab who walks by gets beaten up. Even the nice Arabs. The peaceful ones with nice corner shops. We beat them up, broke everything did a carnage. It’s the only language the Arabs understand, they think that as long as you’re not in the streets to kill them you’re weak and they can do whatever they want. The war, what we’re doing in Gaza hasn’t been done in a long time. What we’re doing in Gaza… you know what we’re doing. Not a single Arab in Israel is moving not even their ear unlike 2021. Not a single burned tire. Nothing because they know that Israelis, including the leftists, if they do anything we will catch them and hang them to a traffic light.

People in the conversation: That’s good!!!

The same piece of shit: I can send you pictures of Arabs taped from head to feet. Their face, their eyes everything.

Mila a piece of shit: I absolutely want to see this.

A third piece of shit: If you want Mika I have really nice ones from the army.

Mila the piece of shit: I want to see it.

The two pieces of shit who have pictures: Sending you the pics in DM.

Mila: *laughing*

Come again and tell us how “Israel” is nice and how the “Israeli Arabs” are not mistreated. The thing is the three people who were talking are easily identifiable. We all know who they are know their names and faces. Mila is even invited on TV regularly to pretend to be a victim. But none of them was arrested. Let’s pretend a group with white supremacists and Muslims who can easily be identified because they are known and use their picture and full name on social media was calling for the murder of Jews? Do you think for one second it wouldn’t be all over the news and the piece of shit would be in police custody already? But hey it’s just anti Arab racism so nothing to see here. They are just celebrating the death of Palestinians. Fuck Zionism. Fuck every single person who stand with “Israel” in any form or shape even the “neutral” ones and both siders. You’re a piece of shit and I have absolutely zero respect for you or even any empathy.

(The two guys in the conversation are Zionist Jews the girl Mila is a white supremacist. A couple years ago when she was 17 and nobody knew her she insulted Muslims during a live video, idiots answered by insulting her cause she is queer. And she became a symbole in France they started using her to show how the Arabs are savages and saying that blasphemy is a right in France. They didn’t listen to us when we were like “Nah she didn’t insult Islam she insulted Muslims that’s not blasphemy that’s racism” and now years later after being told her behavior was perfectly okay multiple times including by politicians and the medias, she is casually calling for the murder or Arabs and asking for pictures of dead Palestinians.)

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home. 

[drdemonprince]

So, I (a trans guy) am kind of coming to terms with the fact that I might be more gay than bisexual after all. Where I live, the queer community is split pretty definitively between the "women, non binary and trans people" (or FLINTA*, if you're familiar with that horrible term) and the gay male community. While I have lots of problems with the former, it is kind of the community I am in, mostly because it has felt safe during my transition. It still feels safe, but not really comfortable. I want to feel like I am part of the gay male community, especially if I mostly want to date queer men in the future.

I am like, so scared of existing in any gay male spaces. When I tried being in them pre T, I felt like an imposter. When I travelled to the US a few years ago, the only place my then partner (also on T) and me were misgendered consistently was in gay bars (in a lot of famous "gay friendly" cities). All of this has left me with a sense of humiliation and not-belonging that gets reactivated every time I even think of stepping into one again, even if I am fairly certain I would not get this reaction now.

How do I get past the shame that is attached to my previous experiences and learn to actually enjoy myself there?

So, I believe that you have the order of operations wrong here. You don't get past shame and then go out to these gay spaces -- you go out to those gay spaces and then overcome (some) of your shame. And that shame may live with you forever in some form. You can still have a worthwhile life with it.

Go to the gay bars. There are many different kinds of them, all with wildly different energies and clientelle, and it is normal and boring and blase for trans guys to be at each and every single one of them.

One way that many newbies unwittingly screw up is by going to the most circuity, dance-y kinds of gay bars that tend to be filled with young, thin, rich, superficial people -- and then they mistake the meanness of that crowd for the meanness of all gays, or interpret the meanness as a sign they are not accepted by "the gay male community."

There is no singular gay male community. There are in fact a wide variety of subcultures with their own beauty standards, stylistic choices, interests, and norms. And there's a lot of cliquishness and mean girl behavior among people who have decided they are high rank in any particular small subculture, don't get me wrong. But you don't have to believe in any of it. They're just coping with their own history of marginalization and rejection by trying to become a new ruling class within their own tiny pond. You can laugh it off as the work of kind of sad, small thinking and just enjoy yourself and talk to people who are not assholes.

So, go to the leather bar. Go to a pup night. Go to an old-timers bar filled with gays over 60 (they will be nice to you and buy you drinks, I promise). Go to a gay bar that's casual and nerdy, with arcade machines and pub trivia. Go to a drag bar on a weekday night and meet some of the newer queens who are still trying to find their chops. And yes, go to the DJ sets and dance clubs all you like, but don't let what a few snatched bitchy 22-year-olds (or insecure former twink 42 year old real estate agents) get you feeling insecure. They're doing that shit because they are insecure.

Bring a friend. Talk to someone who seems nervous and alone on the side of the dance floor, too. Wear an outfit that will get some compliments. Nurse a drink at the bar and trawl grindr to see if anyone seems worth talking to. Join a dungeon or a gay running group. Attend a gay men's support group at your local lgbt center. Meet a ton of people and just get yourself out there, and quickly you will realize that your mind has wildly over dramatized how much you stand out or how much anybody cares.

Fat gays, disabled gays, older gays, Autistic gays, nerdy gays, poor gays, Black and brown gays, immigrant gays, they all feel like they do not belong and are not welcome too. Find them and be kind to them and hold onto them. Notice who is nice and warm with you, but also don't read into it too much if some people are just neutral. Eventually you will figure out what you like doing, which spaces you enjoy inhabiting, and who you want to be there with -- and then you'll have some fun.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being condescending towards an asexual kid in GSA?

🙃🏳️‍🌈 to find later

Long post so buckle up.

I (17, they/it/he) am one of three co-leaders of my school’s GSA, along with R (18, she/her) and N (17, he/him). All three of us are openly bi, and I’m also openly trans and (most importantly) very loudly aromantic. We’re all in 12th grade now but we were leaders last year (in 11th grade) too. The school/GSA is small enough that all four grades (9–12, so around 13–18 years old) are in the same GSA, there’s no separate upper grade and lower grade groups. We also have two advisors, both cis queer teachers; and some younger queer faculty members also join sometimes for formal events. We take turns running events during club time, such as fun crafts or watching music videos. Sometimes we also do educational stuff or documentaries, including having teachers come in to facilitate discussions.

I’ve been planning (since early December) to run a two part series of discussions about asexuality and aromanticism (separate discussions of each). I really just wanted to do one day about aromanticism, but R said that if I did that, people would derail it and just talk about asexuality anyways, which both N and our advisors also agreed made sense. So, it’s two days, and the asexuality one is first so that the aromanticism one can be closer to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week (ASAW).

There’s a girl in GSA, let’s call her A (16, she/her), who’s in 11th grade. She’s very socially awkward and if someone points out that she’s accidentally said something rude or offensive she’ll make a big deal out of not knowing and generally derail the conversation. Also, two years ago A made a ton of “jokes” about me and my little sibling (16MtF) being “secretly dating.” When I asked her (politely at first) to stop, she said she was just joking around, and kept doing it. I asked her again and also asked the theatre teacher and school counselor for help, and eventually she did stop. But A kept following me around and trying to be friends with me, and I was super uncomfortable to the point that I asked the school counselor to facilitate a conversation between A and I so that I could ask her to fucking stop. It somewhat worked. Now she still keeps trying to start conversations with me in the hallways and such, but I just brush her off or ignore her.

The one place I can’t do that is during GSA. Since I’m a leader, I have to be civil to everyone and actually talk to people (R, N, and I set norms at the start of the year during our planning meetings). A is asexual but not aromantic, and today she showed up like 5 minutes into lunch (cafeteria lines are annoying) and loudly asked if she was late. We weren’t doing anything in GSA today, just chilling. At some point during the meeting I announced casually that next week we’d be discussing asexuality, and then the week after that we’d talk about aromanticism, which leads nicely into ASAW during February break. When I said this, A immediately said that she would be extra ace that week [during ASAW]. I was like, “during aromantic spectrum awareness week?!?!” in the same tone of that “during pride month?!?!” meme. She looked like someone had just given her an F on the most important test of the year and said she hadn’t known.

I also made a comment about how there’s way more openly aspec people at our school than at most schools, and N said that maybe the presence of role models is part of that (clear subtext: he was referring to me). I said pretty loudly (more people could hear) that it was kinda funny that I’m the “ace role model” when I’m literally not asexual. A looked super lost and confused at this, and I think she might’ve thought I was ace, even though I’m super open about not being ace, and have told her directly more than once.

Here’s where the potential assholery comes into play. There’s an ad for PrEP that was fairly common on the back covers of theatre playbills in the past year. The ad shows a Black man dressed in ripped leggings with fishnets, shiny knee-length heeled leather boots, and some sort of white leather harness, doing a bridge pose with one leg extended upwards so that the “r” in PrEP is resting on the sole of the boot. The ad has a bright red background and text that says “you cast of PrEP options is changing” along with a small QR code and website link. The pose is somewhat provocative, but not out of place on a playbill for an all-ages show.

During GSA, A was saying that she thought the ad was bad, because of the leather being “fetish gear” and “weird” (basically the same arguments people use to say that gay people shouldn’t be allowed in public). I told A that there’s nothing wrong with someone wearing leather, and she said that “it’s fetish gear and that’s disgusting and degenerate and just bad advertising!”

I explained calmly, like I would to a child (although I probably wouldn’t talk about this topic with a child), that PrEP is a medicine that people take if they anticipate having sex with someone who’s HIV-positive, so it’s okay that the ad is somewhat suggestive. She seemed to accept that, but still said that the leather was weird, and the ad should’ve shown “a diverse group of people getting pills at a pharmacy” instead, because “fetish gear” was too much.

I asked if she thought that all leather clothing was inherently fetishistic, to which A said yes, and then I asked, “do you know that people can’t just choose fetishes?”

She hadn’t known that, but she still said the ad was too sexual. I pointed out that it was a fairly well-targeted advertisement, using theatre references, but maybe A was not part of the target demographic. I also said that sometimes outfits are just hot without there needing to be any fetishes involved, which she didn’t refute, and that even if it was a fetish, that wouldn’t make it inherently “bad” or “degenerate” at all.

A said that she still didn’t like it, and I told her that she was entitled to have whatever feelings she wanted to have, but that doesn’t mean the advertisement itself is a problem.

Another person (17, he/him) called out “[OP], what do you think about kink at pride?” in a sort of nonchalant way, so I walked over while saying “i’m pro–kink at pride.” The conversation eventually moved in other directions, and then club ended and we had to go to our next classes.

TL;DR: given my position of power and responsibility as a GSA leader, AITA for being kinda condescending towards an ace person who’s 2 years younger than me because she was being very sex-negative about an ad for PrEP?

What are these acronyms?

[cringefailvox]

You’re one of the rare people who doesnt want Valentino to die, but actually see the show tackle what redemption means through him

It’s very nice to see you in the tags

At the least, I think there’s a good chance that Hazbin won’t take the easy route with characters like Val and the Vees? Not just that they wont die, they aren’t gonna be written off as lost causes and left to it?

Both Hell and Heaven’s portrayal makes it seem very unlikely to me like that whoever’s judging is meant to have the definitive answer to what makes a person ‘redeemed’ or ‘good’.

If I remember right, when Viv has talked about redemption, her view is that what counts as a redeemable or irredeemable action is very individually determined. I don’t even think her show is gonna present one answer as the correct one at all

Plus, and this could be copium, but the way the Vees have been portrayed in the show, and with how Viv and the crew have talked about them, it seems to me like they are delibaretely supposed to parallel the hotel gang in their ‘redeemable’ qualities. They’re also a chaotic queer friend group who genuinely love eachother. It would feel very obviously wasteful to not have an arc about whether these qualities can redeem them too.

yeah!!! i really hope that hazbin follows through on this nuanced premise, because a lot of it seems like it's going to hinge on breaking down charlie's naive black-and-white idea of how morality works. it would feel like a copout to make the vees totally irredeemable! but yeah i also just like them so much so i'm biased too

[silliest-heartaches]

Ohh my god DRINKKK!! Dude I love them sooo muchhh. I just love imagining them being head over heels for each other yet constantly denying their feelings, because of how they view themselves, yet still finding comfort and solace with each other. They are so. YES. PERFECT. AUGH.

SHARE MORE ABOUT THEM PLEASE!!!

And I love how you use they/them for Ink and she/her for Dream!!

GOD YEAH I LIKE THEM SO INCREDIBLY MUCH... tbh the main reason i started liking them was bc i was thinking abt them and how doomed yuri coded they were and. The worms Wormed in from there,,,,

I actually use he/they and she/they for ink and dream respectively but!!!!!! I love all hcs and interpretations of them for REAL. nonbinary people who are gay as fuck for real,, very inherrently queer ship regardless of how u see either of them i think...heart seeing them as t4t transmasc and transfem forever personally though so thats what i see em as hehe,, also in my head theyre both aroacespec (though the specifc kind varies from au to au though i do consistently see ink as ace and dream as demiaro :>>)

Im not sure how long these will be so...hcs under the cut lol

- okay well while in my mind while error is technically the First Entity ink sees that isnt just a normal entity, dream is like their First. Friend. you know. Like when error first saw him he was screaming and crying for the hills bc it was also his first time seeing another outcode so. that reaction BUT with dream she was more filled with gentle confusion... this is a bit after she unstoned in the apple incident but still was new to au hopping and naive to most danger so they became friends!!! Questionably so.

-to elaborate, when they first meet dream is still stuck on the ideals of toxic positivity and pushing through hardship no matter what... i think this is something they eventually grow out of and dream will eventually learn to see the need for balance eventually but one of their first disputes happens when ink is running low on ink and most of whats left are the Negative Emotions within him alongside the especially strong panic that he usually feels when they get like this... dream would try to comfort him and try to say that itll work out in the end no matter what and that they just need to push through and that itll be okay like normal comforting words because dream is an empath and can sense feelings right,,i feel like its comforting in some cases but when things get Really Bad and especially when the main reserves of feelings that ink has are Negative, they heavily override his normal sense of self and i imagine they get a lot more. Snappy.... theres also the additional hc thingy of ink also really overexaggerating his feelings and overplaying them a lot for the sake of trying to feel more intensely (doesnt work, just drains him faster and will never truly feel natural to him...personally think that ink feels a lot of disconnect from his feelings) which could be considerably offputting to dream (though before adding swap to the group she thought it wass normal because she had only seen the fake pretend nice joy of the village influenced by her aura and not Genuine Feelings)

I think eventually through the years they would learn a lot from eachother...like with ink learning to be more naturally charismatic and dream learning to see past toxic positivity and have his perception on emotions change for the better (ie in learning that having different emotions are okay, so long as there is a balance)

id do alot more hcs but tbh what it boils down to is: toxic codependent yuri. intensely up and down relationship where theres an insane amount of love and attachment but also a lack of self from the both of them because they are only able to see themselves as a Thing to the other. Also exes who turned out to be besties. Thry got together and broke up wayyy before blue (they casually tell him stories about it and for the parts that he does know about he is horrified for.) Oh and they share hobbies and do parallel play alot. dream is more music oriented and can play the cello and flute. ink can play the ukelele but hes more familiar with drawing and painting duh. Also they have a garden. they love growing flowers but their favourites are sunflowers. Also have writing sessions together. Also may/may not also have beautiful princess disorder. (The both of them)

im so sorry this is so incoherrent but erm. yeah im very normal abt them (half of this stuff comes from oc projection the other half is like. Mental illness while in the shower tbh)

[tupperwaretub]

A male reader who's super cautious around people because their queer identity has been an issue in the past, and so Negan being so explicit and flirty all the time just relentlessly getting on their nerves, and Negan just find it's so funny until he starts to realize how genuine the annoyance is, and just being like. Dude why would you EVER care about what other people think when we all know these people are horrible, and they're wrong about EVERYTHING Else, so they're wrong about you. And then they kiss 😈 (is this too cringe am i cringe bro)

(A/n): TYSMMM for the request, this is so cute!! ALSO PLEASE KEEP SENDING REQUESTS ANYONE!! I'll write almost anything as long as it's not noncon or fetish. If you're unsure just look at my character list I'll link a list of what i will + wont write for

(Warnings): snarky Negan being himself, harsh language (it's negan duh)

(Summary): Before Negan arrived it was really easy to hide your sexuality, but when he went snooping and found old photos with your ex boyfriend he obviously couldn't keep his mouth shut but it definitely went better than you can expected.

....

You hid your sexuality even before you got to Alexandria but getting to Alexandria didn't help, the way the older folk looked at Aaron and Eric made you want to curl up and wither away. So you hid yourself, you hid your family pictures, you hid your pictures of friends at pride events and your ex boyfriend in fear of them finding out and shunning you. In your dream world you'd have your family pictures around your house in Alexandria, being able to see the faces of loved ones you'd lost and reminisce on a time before the outbreak but sacrifices have to be made in the new world.

When Negan started showing up you'd only just managed to settle in Alexandria, a lot of those who may of judged you had died and your group from before such as Rick pretty much ran the show around Alexandria now. You weren't at the line up and you hadn't seen Negan kill Abraham or Glenn, you didn't know Abraham well but he seemed nice enough although you never got too close due to an itching bad feeling he was homophobic. Glenn on the other hand you got on with well, being around the same age you both instinctively became close and you'd even considered telling him you were gay but in the end you decided not to, you had known how bad he was at keeping secrets since Hershel's farm when he told Dale about Loris pregnancy and the Hershel families secret zombie collection in the Barn. You feel slightly guilty for not telling him now he's gone though, he would've always had your back.

Less than a week later Negan came banging on the gate, you were counting ammunition and had noticed missing guns but decided it would be best to stay quiet right now. He sends his men to strip peoples houses of mattresses and items he decided he wanted, you're suddenly struck with a horrid feeling of nausea knowing your photos are hidden under your mattress so you run off back to the armory to pretend to check stock.

Around your fourth time checking the stock of guns and ammo Negan bursts in, "Well hey there... Y/n?" You nod. "I believe these are yours sweetheart." He hands you your photos and you swallow hard, you can't tell if you're about to cry or scream. "Don't worry i won't tell a soul, I'm not as bad as prick makes me out to be I wouldn't out someone. Well, assuming you're not out by the way all these photos were hidden under your mattress." You hide the photos in your back pocket and shrug. "I had my men leave your mattress there and maybe we could... You know, in return for my selflessness." He gets close to your face and smirks but backe off when his men enter and you hand them the lists of stock.

The next few time's Negan visits he flirts with you relentlessly, subtle to obvious.

When you saw him walking through the gates this time you sighed knowing it'd just be another day of annoyance, he walks straight up to you and smirks, "hey handsome..." You glare at him.

"Lighten up hon' you don't like a man like me being interested in you?" He laughs to himself and you just look away, almost seething with anger but holding back for Rick's sake. Negan sees your anger and his face shows how hard realisation hit him that you were genuinely annoyed with him and not just playing hard to get.

"Look, you don't have to act all macho to make people think you're not gay. Plus, i don't understand why you're even bothered about people knowing! It's the end of the damn world, laws don't exist anymore if you didn't realise, so if someone makes your life hard over your sexuality do what i do, bash some skulls in." Your eyes soften, while he doesn't exactly have a way with words you do understand his point. "I'm not like you." You respond to him with an ounce of bitterness but he smiles, "no you're not, but you get what I'm gettin' at." His hand brushes yours and you finally look up at him and your eyes lock. "Yeah... Yeah i guess you're right." You mutter and he smiles, his face gets a bit closer to yours. "Loosen up and have a bit of fun doll."

Your lips meet, at first you're unsure and think about pushing him away but his words ring in your head "loosen up and have a little fun" So you pull him closer and the pair of you share a passionate kiss.

Wherever this is going to go, you're sure it'll upset people but you've decided that if you're going to live in a world where you could die any day you'd rather die happy than moping and hiding yourself from others.

..............

(A/n): I hope you liked it! I loved the request, sorry it took so long I've got ridiculous amounts of work to get done so squeezed this in as much as possible!

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i met with a good friend yesterday and it was really nice but something is bothering me and i wish it didnt.

so she has started to call herself a „queer feminist“. she kept talking about „queer“ this and „queer“ that and at some point talked about reading a „queer“ book. thats when i interjected and said what does queer mean? this tells me nothing. is it about a trans male experience, about a lesbian woman, this doesnt mean anything (turned out to be about a bisexual woman which is why she related which she probably wouldnt have if it was about a different type of „queer“ person). so i go on saying thats why i find the term useless. she says she finds it a useful umbrella term and i say umbrella for what? she says „what if for example a woman dates a nonbinary person?“ im like well it depends if the person is male or female since sexuality is still based on sex. what do i as a bisexual woman have in common with a straight man who thinks he‘s a woman? i dont see us as part of the same group. and while she wasnt able to explain the usefulness of the term she said she would keep using it. out of principle i guess.

and it frustrates me because she like many other women is an intelligent and reflected woman whose opinion matters to me but she seems to mindlessly parrot whats popular right now which makes me take her opinion on feminism a lot less serious. how are you a feminist but you think one can identify in and out of womanhood? who are womens rights for then? people who identify as women or people who are women? at the end of the day, if you think women can stop being women under certain conditions, i just dont know how you are helping the liberation of women.

i just cant take people seriously who earnestly use nothing terms like „queer“ and „nonbinary“ and who think me an extremist for not pretending the person we both know is a woman is a „nonbinary person“. it doesnt seem like she has thought about why its predominantly women identifying as nonbinary, and what background these people have (we live in a very liberal city and shes doing her masters in a program and at a university that is breathing queer theory). its like a virus, smart women suddenly regurgitating and internalising all this seemingly without ever considering the implications and consequences. and it creates a distance between women like my friend and i who definitely share a value system but i refuse to pretend and just accept.

she doesnt even know theres many lesbian, gay, bisexual and even trans people who dont consider themselves „queer“. „queer“ is its own community and NOT an umbrella term for same sex attracted or gender dysphoric people (who are already not a coherent group). depending who you ask, asexuals and intersex people are also included. which basically makes „queer“ another term for „different“ (which is its original meaning completely lost here because we are in germany and only use queer in this context).

and since we had debates in the past i already know where it will go when we talk about it. she considers me to be extreme anyways so we will start with her wanting to reject my opinion. it will end with her saying „i cant argue with that (my arguments) but i still disagree“ because its so scary to start questioning all that while youre in these super „queer“ environments.

[matan4il]

Idk if you know who Noah Schnapp is but I feel so sad for him. He seems like a sweet kid and The internet has been sending him death threats and trying to get him fired because he’s pro Israel/anti Hamas. Noah is gay and Jewish the two groups Hamas hates the most of course he’s not gonna support them

Hi Nonnie!

I do know who Noah is. I think he seems like a nice guy, I was really happy for him when he was able to come out as gay, and get such a positive reaction, first from his family, then from the public.

He visited Israel back in July, almost 3 months before Oct 7, and already he was getting attacked simply for that. I think it's SICK in the worst way possible, that Jewish people are getting harassed for even simply visiting their ancestral land, and it's the kind of racism we wouldn't see turned on ANY other marginalized group in the US. Kids of Mexican descent don't get attacked simply for visiting Mexico, African Americans don't get vilified for visting Africa, no matter what people think of these countries. It's anti-Jewish racism to do this to Jews, and it should be loudly called out and condemned. Noah was brave to post about this visit, he was brave to explicitly say he had never felt as alive as he did visiting his ancestral land, and getting to know fellow young Jews here, but he shouldn't have to be.

By now, however, as the attacks on him intensified since Hamas' massacre, and Noah's continued support for Israel, of native Jewish rights in our land, and calling out Hamas for being the vile organization they are (you're right, it is vile to Jews AND to gay people. In fact, it's an organization that should be vile to ANYONE who claims to care about human rights), he's deleted most of his posts from his visit here on his IG, only one remains, and he removed the caption for that one, which is that one that IIRC said he's never felt more alive. Now there's no caption, and it's still apparently taking a lot out of him to simply keep it up on his account.

He did try to backtrack, IDK to what a degree he might have been pressured to. He's certainly not the first Jewish celeb I've seen having to do that, and later admitting they were motivated by fear and harssment. The "kind" anti-Israel crowd is definitely implying Noah is only doing it due to Stranger Things' new season which is about to be released. I'm afraid whatever the reason, he's about to find out that if the antisemites can't tokenize you to use you against other Jews, then you're forever a "bad Jew," and nothing you say will ever change that. On the way, I guess he'll disappoint many Jewish followers, who looked up to him when he was one of the few celebs, even more so one of a handful of young celebs, to stand by Israel. The anti-Israel crowd claims to be persecuted, silenced and bullied, but as far as I can tell, especially with young people like him, they're the ones doing the persecuting, silencing and bullying. I'm really saddened that he felt he had to backtrack his support of Israel, to a great degree because it tells me just how severe the attack and pressure on him must be, and I just don't want any Jew to suffer.

But this actually brings me to another, maybe more important point: just because celebrities have a bigger stage than the rest of us, it doesn't mean they know more about politics than others. If Noah, as a Jew, could safely speak about his experiences as a young Jewish man, I think that would be fantastic, just like I think it's great whenever a queer celeb comes out of their own accord and shares some of their experiences. It's a really sad thing to realize that in 2024, it's safer to talk about being gay, and to speak up for gay rights, than to be Jewish and speak against antisemitism, or about Jewish experiences, or for Jewish rights. But beyond sharing personal experiences, celebrities don't understand a conflict as complex as the Israeli-Arab one, and with as much history as this one has, more than the average Tiktoker. Neither one is an authority, and neither one should be who people go to for their political views. The fact that people look at Tiktokers as any kind of authority, or have expectations from celebs regarding political views and bully them for the "wrong" ones (based on what Tiktokers said) is a part of what has gone horribly wrong with modern society.

The internet was supposed to help us fight misinformation through the availability of facts. Instead, we see repeatedly how what is true falls prey to what is viral.

Sending big hugs, and I hope you're doing good! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[spitblaze]

There's some grass-is-always-greener type shit going on with the intercommunity discourse for sure and I think it's worth analyzing bc I think a lot of friction is coming from the fact that despite our similarities we still have enough differences that approaching things unilaterally doesn't work.

If you’re hypervisible, invisibility can look a lot like privilege. An easier ability to go stealth and not have to worry about constantly staying on your toes to pass, not having your existence scrutinized and weaponized and used as a cudgel to keep your cis siblings in line, not having to deal with compounded issues and large contingents of traumatized cis women who falsely blame you for society's ills. Being able to NOT be the most obviously queer person in the room at any given time would seem like an absolute privilege.

If you’re invisible, visibility can look an awful lot like privilege. A wealth of information on yourself and people like you, a world where even though there's shitheads who hate you there's people who will celebrate you because they know you even exist to begin with, being listened to and being able to have input on subjects, being represented and able to find more people like you, to be able to have a community without having to relegate yourself to 'and I'm here too'. Being able to see yourself in the world and have people raising their voices in support of YOUR community would seem like an absolute privilege.

And like, yknow, obvious disclaimer that everyone's experiences navigating the world as transgender is different, intersectionality comes into play and means that different people have different experiences depending on things even as small as how well you pass, and it’s not like someone who's transfem would never experience any of thr major issues faces by transmascs or vice versa- just that there's a difference in the types of negative experiences we tend to be subjected to, and that looking at what the other person is going through and telling them they have it easy does not foster a sense of community or understanding, it just sounds dismissive of the problems they DO face.

Also like I'm not an expert or a major advocate or anything I'm just someone who is making a post about something I have observed and I cannot speak for groups I don't belong to, please be nice