#this is why queer pride is important

[captain-crackship]

Scotland Rail, everybody

[iwanthermidnightz]

As usual, I’m gonna share the parts of this article that resonate with me (pretty much all of it). Several points were made. And the unapologetic queer visibility makes me so proud. Please give it a read 🥲

LD: I also do want to say, even though there is a bunch of awesome overlap with the trans community and the drag community, transness and drag are separate things — but that's the reason why we did it [in Tennessee], is because those things are being conflated here.

It's crazy that we were on tour for all of Pride Month and being pretty f*cking gay, and talking about gay rights on stage. You’d think that the circles that we run in would be like, yeah, cool, but I feel like there is still… Prejudice towards gay people comes from all sides, including gay people.

I have, you know, rolled my eyes at certain aspects of Pride, just the corporate aspect of things. We were hanging out with a friend who was like, yeah, the gas station has a pride flag, but I'm still getting looked at funny in the streets; what is Pride actually doing?

JB: Shell Oil Company is like, happy pride! Like, okay.

LD: It's weird, the more comfortable I am, the more opposition I feel from other people who are discontent with how I qualify as a gay person. I'm like, Do you need a sex tape?

PB: As someone who doesn't qualify as gay, I can't participate in this conversation. I haven't sent in enough chips to corporate. [laughs]

I speak for all of us [when I say] I feel like our communities are so supportive, like f*cking rainbows and buttercups all the time. We're really good at making friends and we have so much support around each of us, and so much privilege, and each live in an accepting place and choose accepting people to be around. But when I or Lucy get hate for not turning in our like, gay paperwork, all I'm thinking is about the way that I would have felt at f*cking age 11 being like, Oh, I'm not allowed to do that. This famous person is being humiliated for expressing themselves, and so I should not, I especially should not express myself.

JB: I don't get as much hate because people are like, there goes a lesbian. You know what I mean? [All laugh.]

LD: It’s really binary.

JB: I've spent a lot of my life being a masc dressing queer person, or just not engaging with gender play at all. It’s like, queer people saying that you have to acquiesce to one of three queer archetypes, or one of a handful of queer archetypes in order to be represented.

LD: That's why our shows are so special to me is that they are very gay. People are throwing flags at us, young people are making out in front of us, it is a space that is precious to me and would have changed my life if I could have been a part of it when I was younger. I'm extremely proud, and I just implicitly love everybody at our shows at a base level. I think we all do. The reason we're doing it is because we care abstractly about all these strangers and want for them what we could have had. Also we're coming from a position where we're talking to a bunch of young people, we do get to put messages worth hearing out there, I think that's not lost on us.

PB: I am mostly proud of the way that I watch the discourse [play out], and I'm proud of the conclusions that these children are coming to. Everybody is sticking up for us and each other and there's just a couple weirdos that are very loud. I think our community is being protected by the people in it. And it is such a safe space show, and I'm so fucking proud. Even the amount of femme people in the audience, screaming at the top of their lungs and having to take up a high octave... It’s a different rock show than I've ever experienced. It’s amazing to me.

JB: The microphone I have with y'all, the reach is wider, it just factually is, and I think a lot about responsibility to hear [others’ opinions…] To be the subject of discourse at all is to live a question into the world, so I will allow myself to do that. I will allow a little bit of my identity — which as a queer person, I've been at once defensive of and fiercely protective of and encouraged to erase completely — I'm like, okay, so I have to exist with this identity subsumed into the culture, into the topic of someone's conjecture. Because it's going to be one case study. That's the whole idea of visibility, visibility doesn't have to be perfect representation.

I was thinking about this too, something that bugged me was that meme that was the talent and popularity graph and it was popularity way above talent, and they were like, “This is boygenius.” You're missing the damn point. [If only the most talented people got to speak,] Steve Vai would be speaking for all f*cking musicians because he's best at guitar. That's not what I want.

PB: But again, that is just Twitter. I think we are as beloved as is possible for any public, femme presenting, or queer, in public. I think we just get an amount of hate because we're stepping on guitar guys. It is fucking dumb, and it is just what is happening. Every time I look at a Pitchfork post of us, it's the most incel f*cking shit ever in the comments section.

JB: I was telling Lucy, I feel like if someone made that meme about me, Julien Baker, on a solo headlining tour, I would be up at four in the morning in the back lounge of the bus running scales. With y'all, I'm like, You're missing the point you dumbass. It's like Kathleen Hanna being like, the Sex Pistols are bad at their instruments. Why can I not just have a band that's fun and cool and angry?

LD: I wanna say, we're a little fed up, obviously, with some things, but I agree with you, Phoebe, the biggest sentence I have to say is we're having so much fun. That is the message that I think people are mostly getting, and the one that I want them to get, is that we are happy and having fun, and that is not frivolous at all. Fun is essential.

PB: Everybody knows every word to the entire set. We sell thousands of tickets. It is going as good as humanly possible. It is insane.

LD: And it's because we feel safe and supportive that we can mostly safely and supportively do drag in Tennessee. It's because we have such a solid foundation of joy we can be in defense of other people's joy, in ways that feel really valuable to me personally, and I hope valuable to other people.

JB: The whole reason why I feel comfortable engaging with this at all and it's not an existential crisis for me is because, what you're saying, Lucy: I have a foundation of joy that makes me convicted that this is important, not frivolous, highly worthy, highly valuable. So when I see us as the subject of discourse I'm interacting with it in a different way that I don't think I'd be able to [alone]. I wonder if kids watching that in third person happen will also be resilient to the same kind of things.

PB: You’re allowed to be bad at guitar, anybody reading this.

LD: I’m bad at guitar.

PB: Other shit, you do have to work so hard. And you have to love it. If you love playing guitar and you're bad at guitar, that rocks.

TV: What other moments would you highlight? I feel like there’s been a lot of good ones, like the t-shirt selling out.

PB: Love, love to just have the power to snap my fingers and mobilize people to give their money away to a cause. That is the best part of my job.

JB: It’s participation. It’s visibility. It's you, outward signaling something you believe in as a principle. It's also literally redistributing funds to us to organizers, nonprofits and legislators that are trying to make the world a better place. And we get to be in charge of that, and also give somebody a gift that's like, you're a country queer! We see you.

TV: Did you expect the fans to be so young this tour? I’ve been really impressed!

LD: It's interesting, I think Julien was saying this, being something through which some kids are learning some stuff. I usually am really upset when I'm misunderstood, but I think that part of that happening now is people on their way to understanding something that I think is important and outside of me, that we are just a case study for, and that is just a really sweet and special position to be in.

JB: This really gets to me, I'll see a group of friends all hugging during our set, a collection of songs about grieving and leaning on your friends. I'll be like, What did y'all go through? Something f*cking horrible.

I think about this with the credibility or the legitimacy of music, like with the whole Pitchfork incel guy, it goes back to that. I'm like, dude, I love that a bunch of kids are at our show. I've said it once, I'll say it again: I took a class in young adult literature. And I was like, wow, this is maybe the most important kind of literature. Paradise Lost is for people who think that their brain is big, young adult literature is for f*cking people who don't know what literature is yet — they need a window, they need a door. They need a pass. Phoebe you were saying, like, music that not-adult cis white guys like.

LD: Those guys are showing up too, and good for them. And if they're the ones that are mad about this, maybe they're on their path of understanding something better, too.

JB: I cry at all the kids, man.

PB: Me too.

JB: My mom texted me and was like, I would have died if there was something like y'all when I was a kid — and I don't even think she gets some stuff we're saying.

PB: It's funny to [realize] I would have bleached my hair and wanted to be me.

JB: Dude, it's so f*cking sick. I think about me at 16 — I was trying to be a hardcore guy, I wanted to get tattoos, I wanted to play guitar in a band. And then I just turned out… me. I used to try to make my hair look like k.d. Lang; I wonder if we're a thing people realize they can look like.

LD: Also, I think being affectionate on stage has been really fun and sweet, and it exhibits behavior that I think is healthy and good. That's another element of it that I think is good to show kids, the way that I think drag is actively good for kids to interact with, because it's this fun way to interact with gender and to explain things like that early to children is really awesome. Just being able to gaily and affectionately kiss your bros, that's a principle that I value, that I wish was more valued for kids. Not saying like, kids gotta go all make out!

I'm proud of the space we're taking up. I think we're using it in ways I'll be able to stand behind when I get older.

PB: There's also such a deep, both fetishizing and desexualizing of lesbians, in a way that I think is ridiculous. Obviously MUNA is standing staunchly against that as well, by being a f*cking boyband. It's just fun to be like, it's not that serious — and it also is deeply meaningful.

[little-witchys-garden]

Here in screenshots we have a transphobic woman hating cissy boy who is ↦christeeny ↤ getting mad that women and others that can have babies cry or scream during birth..... Even though like birth is one of the most painful things ever.....

Many Cis Men really don't understand how babies or really anyone works I've noticed...

My comment

Their only rebuttal is to attack me for my pronouns lol

Block and report on insta ↓↓↓

[allbeendonebefore]

not sure what’s funnier, hets crying a business is losing a customer for “the pride shit” or all the people in the comments rallying to inform them “you know this whole time you’ve been buying ice cream from a company owned by two women who are married to each other right”

[rinielelrandir]

Love when the queer employee resource group I'm in at work puts forth the effort to run an awareness & education event during Pride month, schedules it to be part of an already occurring employee appreciation event do everyone has ample opportunity to participate easily even though it means we're doing more education than we are enjoying the event, and then when the head of our site sends out his "thank you" email for the event he takes the time to thank the folks who ran the primary employee appreciation event and instead of specifically recognizing the queer ERG he's like "thanks to all the ERGs and their members for being active & creating awareness! I support all of them!" Oh yeah, real supportive there, bud. Not highlighting the group who ran the actual queer education event DURING PRIDE MONTH.

[coyoxxtl]

i get differentiating “online discourse” to like, actual discourse discussed irl but honestly they shouldn’t be separated that much, theyre both conversations done within the community they both matter and have importance, tbh any discussion that may influence how others feel should be considered important

[dylawa]

*Steps up to my soapbox*

I had this whole spiel about “these are the reasons I block people and these are the kinds of people I block” to open this post initially, but instead I’m just gonna skip to the main story and make a plea. No “read more” because this is important.

Over the past week, I’ve had the misfortune of being exposed to a certain group of users without critical thinking skills and reading comprehension, that caused my blocklist number to go up astronomically. It’s no one’s fault but mine, and Tumblr’s recommendations; the users whose posts I came across want as little to do with people like me as I do with people like them and I’m not here to be a mentor or babysitter. So while it’s unfortunate we crossed paths (even though they have no idea I was “there,” because I know how to not interact with shit that pisses me off now), at least I could do us both a favor and block them, as well as anyone in their notes sharing their sentiments.

That number went up due to a combination of things, starting with my “For You” page recommending those blogs it especially shouldn’t have, and then the content in those posts (and me using the notes as a blocklist) lead to me searching for a specific term to add more accounts to my list myself. The latter action, I could have gone on doing for days, probably, since it was a search on my own terms and not a post where I could just stop when the notes ended. And the number of users I blocked could have been bigger, but for the sake and worth of my own time-- and sanity-- I had to stop at some point. As much as I would love to block everyone I may ever need to block in one sitting, that’s not possible by any metric.

But it’s that latter action that’s why I’m making this post.

I am not going to go into details about what my search was after the initial post inspired me, neither the exact word, nor what I found in those prior posts that inspired me to do this. None of it is against TOS, for the record, I just don’t want to be bothered explaining that whole story on top of this one, and/or having the exact kinds of people I’m talking about easily find this post and, again, display a lack of critical thinking and reading comprehension. All you need to know is a (non recent) message about a terrible situation was spread without irrefutable proof, and there were too many people who were told this false information in a single anon sentence. Some of these messages had a link, but not many, and the link was to an extremely questionable source, if not downright malicious.

And without any additional research, or asking for proof aside from this single sentence statement, many people decided to believe it.

Some people did the right thing and actually looked into the details, including the very few times there were links to “proof,” then additionally did more and sufficient research outside of that link. They then told those spreading or believing that false message to piss off, but the number of users who put in the extra work definitely was not high enough.

We joke about the “reading comprehension” on this site, but I know that the users making those jokes are, in reality, just as peeved and, frankly, scared, as I am, about how this lack of crucial logical and reasoning skills are on the rise. But the thing is, the term I searched for that grew my block list, is about an event from years ago. So while this is not a new phenomenon, it is most certainly on the rise.

*Side glances at the Twitter refugees*

And I bet I can guess why.

I know at the time of writing this I am not even the last person on these kinds of people’s minds, and even in the future that may remain true. But I do not, and will not, have the time or patience for people who never learned how to research for facts, not be reactionary, and use those skills to pause for a moment and form their own conclusions. I know the urge to placate, trust, and appear as the “good guy” to avoid conflict is a strong urge (dare I say survival instinct in some cases) in many of us-- we’re users on the mentally ill website, after all (said affectionately)-- but it should not be at the cost of our common sense and ability to reasonably see most, if not all, sides of the circumstances presented to us.

There is a reason critical thought and reading comprehension is taught in school (at least, it was in mine). There’s a reason they make logic workbooks for kids, and have us participate in science fairs and learn the scientific method, and write book reports and study history and where we went wrong, even if using or talking about those specific topics are things some of us will never do again outside of academia. The skills transfer-- it feels so obvious to say it, but for some of that stuff, it isn’t about the details of the specific applications of things like sine, cosine, and tangents, for example. The specific applications of those formulas and calculations will only matter to some. The knowledge of a thing is about the long term applications of just knowing they exist and what they can do, even if only vaguely. It’s about knowing there’s more to life and thought than our own personal focuses and morals.

And there is a reason there are people in positions of power-- government or otherwise-- who want to take these crucial thinking skills away from us-- and, apparently, are succeeding.

This is my plea to you: if you’re told something that has some kind of significant or personal impact as succinctly as possible by anyone-- a stranger, an anonymous tip, an authority figure, an online personality, a parent, a friend, your closest friend, a goddamn doctor or scientist (they get slightly more credibility, but they’re absolutely not infallible)-- look into it yourself. Find as many reputable resources discussing the matter as you can. Do this especially if the person who imparts this statement of fact-- true or otherwise-- on you provides none of those resources themselves, but also do it no matter what. Do it even if they provided many reputable sources-- if you find all of the same things on your own, great! You can be more sure that you know the details of the situation. But if it’s important, if it shifts perspective on an individual or matter at large, take nothing at face value from someone else before doing your own due diligence. Even the people who have your best interests in mind can leave out information, either unintentionally, or even for their own gain-- beneficial or nefarious.

When they say “Knowledge is power,” they’re not just talking about the immediate applications of academia or politics-- it’s the broader picture of the combination of everything you know, and everything you don’t. Power is control. When people control knowledge, they control power-- and knowledge isn’t always just knowing dates of historical events and the textbook definition of “propaganda.”

Oh, and also, feel free to block anyone and everyone that makes you even slightly annoyed if you want to, without guilt. You owe no one debate if that’s not what you’re here for. But be smart for yourself, no matter what you do.

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

[aptericia]

Not proud to be here.

--

Ok, here goes draft like 5 of this fucking post. I spent 4 hours tossing and turning in bed last night thinking about this, and then this morning I found a tumblr post that really helped me understand what I was trying to say.

The post talks about how aromantic "advocates" claim that "aros don't take up resources, so there's no reason not to include them!" And if that's actually what people believe, I think I can finally articulate why it is that I feel so alienated in queer spaces.

It's because aspecs in general aren't "welcomed" by much of the queer community. We're tolerated. We perhaps get the luxury of not being contradicted on our own identities, or not being specifically kicked out of LGBTQ-only spaces, but that's the whole point: what we get out of the queer "community" is people NOT doing things, not actually doing things FOR us. And that, frankly, is not enough. We deserve conversations about us. We deserve to have others consider our feelings, even when making lighthearted jokes. We deserve varied, respectful representation in media. We deserve the active deconstruction of amatonormativity in society. We deserve to have space made for us, rather than at most being told we should "go take up more space!" ourselves.

Of course, the reality is that my being aspec is a personal matter that does not inherently affect anyone else. But the same can be said for literally any queer identity. Your being gay doesn't say anything about me, so of course I shouldn't hurt you for it, but why should I help you either? Because your happiness and comfort are important. The same goes for aspecs.

And most of the time, I don't even need anyone to make space for or expend resources on me; I can live fine in everyday, non-queer-specific places without mentioning my identity at all. But it's the queer community that claims it will make that space for me, doesn't, and then acts defensive and morally pure if I call out the hypocrisy because "we're queer too, you can't erase our identities to advocate for yours!!!!"

Again, this post isn't about specifics. I have queer friends who are incredibly thoughtful and supportive about my identity, just as I have non-queer friends who are. I find more solidarity in aspec-only communities, as well as trans/genderqueer ones, although there are still many exceptions. This post is also not about amatonormative ideology, which is extremely common from queer and non-queer people alike. This post is about the reason I've felt so betrayed by the queer community.

--

On a personal note, I remember being so excited when I started identifying as aromantic (and later asexual). Fitting myself into labels has been a lifelong struggle for me; to this day I still can't confidently say if I'm White or PoC, neurotypical or neurodivergent, abled or disabled, cisgender or not cisgender. I continue to struggle making friends because I don't fall into social cliques. To discover that I officially, certainly, was LGBTQ+ lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. And now I'm just so sad to find that despite that, I'm still stuck in the middle. I didn't get rewarded with a community. I still feel alienated from both queer and non-queer people. I know it was silly to get my hopes up when there's such vast diversity in both groups, but it really was a disappointment. Going to my first Pride parade last year was really the moment where I realized this.

[bonewreath]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth. 

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before. 

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?” 

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her. 

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her. 

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own. 

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can. 

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response. 

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass. 

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying. 

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead. 

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with. 

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement. 

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving. 

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind. 

Ellie’s in awe of you. 

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you. 

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve. 

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra. 

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing. 

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her. 

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.” 

“You sure?” 

Ellie nods. 

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry. 

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip. 

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

 “God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms. 

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal. 

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words. 

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching. 

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead. 

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile. 

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body. 

“Need something?” 

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.” 

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing. 

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs. 

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans. 

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further. 

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly. 

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy. 

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion. 

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.” 

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again. 

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.” 

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after. 

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it. 

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess. 

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

[beggars-opera]

Ok, so I live in one of the more liberal areas of the country. Our governor is a lesbian and I literally did not even know until after she got elected, because it was that much of a nonissue.

Lately, I'm seeing more and more local institutions doing things for Pride. Institutions that don't necessarily have to, or do so awkwardly, but they're trying to be good allies. And, even here, I see people foaming at the mouth. This thing is ruined. Unprofessional. Political. Sexual. Boycotting, disgusted, bye.

And a part of me is like, "Why would a random store, a museum, a restaurant, do this?" Part of my mind has been so corrupted by the idea of rainbow capitalism that the thought of someone just...trying to be an imperfect ally is a cash grab.

It's not. Every bit counts, and especially as we see pushback, and see some of those corporations beginning to rethink their rainbow capitalism, the places that continue to speak up are so, so important.

I'm reminded of a rant by Illustrious Old White Man Historian Gordon Wood a few years back where he lamented how fragmented modern history is. Why do we need ANOTHER book about women, about enslaved people, about the poor? Why are we focusing on these people instead of George Mount Rushmore Washington?

And it was an interesting framing, because he insinuated that these micro histories were bad not because they existed, but because they didn't give the whole story, which in Gordon's mind was a story in which they were the side characters instead of the mains. To that end a biography of G Wash that features the bare shadow of Billy Lee in the far distance is a complete history, all that needs to be said, because one of those figures is a God Amongst Men and the other does not deserve to be fully fleshed out as a full, autonomous human being with a family and a profession and a beating heart. And a biography of William Lee, war aid, professional valet, and person closest to the first president of the United States, with the shadow of George in the background, would consequently be Bad History, because no one is saying that this man didn't exist, but his story isn't the whole story. It's backwards; he should be a footnote, and if he's not, that's bias.

But for me, as a historian, I know that the reason these microhistories exist, and are so important, is that they didn't exist before. Before someone can be truly, purposefully, tactfully inserted into the historical narrative, you need to know who they are. Not just as a name, not just as an archetype. You have to get to the point where there are so many books flooding the market about women and children and immigrants that it's no longer controversial to be talking about them, where learning about them instead of someone else is normal.

THEN you can feel good about rewriting the more general narrative. THEN you can actually have the information you need in order to put things into their proper context, to rethink the most important figure in each story, to assess what the full milieu of the time is.

And that's where we're at with Pride. We are still very much living in a time where queer people are shadow characters in the background. They are people that many will admit exist, but for god's sake, don't make them important, don't make them real, don't make them normal. And until we can shove rainbows down everyone's throats to the point where being queer is no longer seen as a thing that is Other, until we convince people that we're not going away, we will never be able to fully assimilate queerness into society.

We can't just be normal about Pride, because normal isn't loud enough to not get drowned out.

[fandomsandfeminism]

Just a reminder that we aren't gatekeeping Pride.

I know it's only April, but I just saw such a rancid take on Tiktok (and the person blocked me, woo!) That I need to vent somewhere.

The argument went "bi/pan/queer people with cishet partners shouldn't bring those partners into queer spaces/Pride because it makes those spaces unsafe for lgbt folks."

Which is a frankly awful take for many reasons.

First of all "makes a space unsafe" is not an identity. It is a behavior. And ANYONE who is making those spaces unsafe, regardless of their identity, *shouldn't be there.* Whether they are a cishet man or a lesbian, if you are making people unsafe, you shouldn't be there.

Secondly, it's blatantly unenforceable. You can't clock someone's identity at the door. You don't know if they are bi or trans or nonbinary. And no one should have to out themselves to a bouncer.

As a caveat to this, you also don't ever know *why* someone might bring their cishet partner to pride. Whether that's because this is an important part of their life they want to share with their partner, or they are disabled and need help managing their meds or mobility aides, or the partner is a designated driver. You just don't know. So even if you did know they were cishet, maybe they have a "good reason" for being there.

So between it not solving an actual problem to not being enforceable, all this discourse does is create an EXTREMELY hostile environment for, well, bi/pan/queer folks especially. Always. We always get targeted for this kind of stuff.

But also anyone who might worry that *they* aren't queer enough or not look queer enough. Trans folks who haven't socially transitioned, non-binary folks who aren't androgynous enough, ace and aro folks, people who are newly out- they see this rhetoric and think "Oh no. What is someone sees me and thinks I'm cishet? What if someone tells me I can't be there? What if I don't really belong?"

So we aren't doing it. It's shitty snd hostile and biphobic and exclusionary.

Everyone can come to pride.

Except cops.

Fuck cops.

[fairfowl]

Happy almost-pride to everyone, just a reminder that the rainbow flag is for all people under the queer umbrella. Individual labels are important but pride is a political movement of solidarity between queer people, and we all fall under the same flag

So like fuck exclusionists, fuck terfs, and remember why we're here

[spacelazarwolf]

something that pisses me the fuck off abt that post and ppl trying to excuse banning the star of david on pride flags bc “it might trigger people who were hurt by israel” is like. even if some is genuinely triggered by a star of david, why is their trigger more important and more worthy of respect than our existence and our identity? gentiles show us time and time again that they will never prioritize jews and this shit is no different. we aren’t allowed to be in your community (bc it’s not ours, we don’t belong anywhere!) unless we assimilate. we aren’t allowed to celebrate our jewishness unless you can tokenize it for your own political gain. until you create a queer space where jews do not have to water ourselves down at best or leave our identity at the door at worst, you have not created a safe space for all queer people.

[talisidekick]

This blog is not participating in the Tumblr "Blackout"

Why? It's the start of Disability Pride month. Much of the systems in society are deliberately hostile to disabled folk, even the ones that are supposed to "help" them. Pride last month around the world held events that weren't accessible for disabled queers. These people are routinely cut out from society, assaulted, harrassed, and treated less than second class. People will physically move people in wheelchairs out of their way, cut them off, and stand in front of them as they try to move. They're shamed, insulted, laughed at, and mocked.

I know many are upset about Tumblrs recent changes, but if you truly want to help increase the accessibility of this site, especially for the sight or hearing impared or those who need to use third party applications to help them navigate the site, then a blackout isn't the way to do it. What you can do is add disability tags to your liked tags, or search up disability tags and see what disabled folk are saying they need from the site and either pay to blaze or come together as a community to amplify their voices and drown out ableists that constantly put them down. Disabled people face unique bigotry and deserve to have their needs blasted to the crowd and actions taken by abled folk to help them in the way they ask to be helped. One of the biggest issues I commonly see is abled folk assuming they know whats best for someone with a disability. If you're not disabled in the way someone else is, never assume you know what their needs are; always ask and listen closely.

This is a link to the proposed blackout and further reasons at the bottom why you shouldn't join this attempt, largely because Tumblr is set up in such a way that a blackout would do nothing but silence disabled voices:

Do not join the blackout. Go support disabled folk instead. Sit down and listen to them. They've a lot to be angry about, and it's damn time people listened.

[jemwolf]

Just a little thing, but I recently got a bracelet (and ring) of the ace flag and I wear it pretty much all the time and it makes me very happy. I also wear it to church/around people from church.

A very sweet thing that has happened because of that is now I've had a handful of people from church come up to me, point out my bracelet and then very shyly say, "Hey, me too."

Just. This is why I wear pride things. People see me wearing my ace bracelet and realize that they aren't alone and there's someone they can safely talk to about it, because in our religion culture getting married is like,,,,,, really important to people, so being asexual can be,,, a little weird. Idk. It just makes me feel nice that I can help other people feel more confident about it.

I just keep adopting all the queer folks in my ward, I guess lol