#(I was demiromantic)

[buddieinmybeddie]

LGBTQ+ folk what was your gender/sexuality pipeline?

[captain-jacks-coat]

I want to go to a gay bar

However I do not want to go to a gay bar because I do not, nor will I ever, drink alcohol. I do not particularly want to be around drunks.

So instead of a gay bar, I propose a Queer Cat Cafe.

Hypoallergenic cats ofc

There's a section of the cafe where the cats can't go if you don't want cats near you. That section is the library.

There are lil pride flags everywhere, even the obscure ones.

They sell pride pins for £1.50ish each at the counter.

There are LED lights.

It's autism friendly, lights can be toned down if needed and everything is neatly spaced out

You can have a sticker to write your pronouns on

Mostly queer artists/songs played

feel free to add on

[metukika]

he was feeling brave

[laurellala-comics]

Fun fact! This was the real tipping point that made Edgeworth run away after AA1, they just couldn't show it on screen because they didn't have the rights to Chappell Roan's music <3

(A spiritual successor to my "Hot to Go" joke from this post. Image description under the cut below)

[Image ID: a four page black and white comic of characters from ace attorney.

The Judge stands solemnly at his podium holding a gavel "Mr. Miles Edgeworth, you are on trial for the murder of blah blah blah..."

A cheerful Maya Fey leans over to Miles Edgeworth, who is staring straight ahead and looking very concerned

Maya: "Psst! Mr. Edgeworth! If you win your trial, can I show you Chappell Roan?

Miles: "What the hell, sure." Internally he thinks "Oh God I am going to jail"

A box saying "later" in the top corner of the next panel marks the passage of time.

The Judge smiles as he says "I declare you... Not Guilty!"

We see a full body shot of Maya dancing excitedly while Miles looks on, emotionless

Maya: YIPPEE omg you're going to LOVE this

Miles internally thinks "oh no, the consequences of my actions.

We see Miles standing in between Phoenix Wright and Maya looking apprehensive. Maya beams in excitement, while Nick puts a reassuring hand on Miles' shoulder

Miles: Alright, so what is this exactly?

Nick: She's a pop musician Maya really likes

Maya: You promised you'd let me show you, and it's legally binding because you said it in a court room!

Miles: That is not how the law works Ms. Fey

Maya: Shh just listen!

We see a panel of Miles' pensive face concentrating as he listens to "Hot to Go". He thinks to himself "hm".

Another panel zoomed in more. His pensive expression has grown more tense/confused as he listens to "Red Wine Supernova". he again thinks to himself "Hm" in a larger thought bubble.

We zoom out again to see Nick, Miles, and Maya standing together again. Miles stares forward blankly, eyebrows raised. Maya excitedly leans in.

Maya: Ok, that's her whole discography. So! What did you think?

Nick looks at him, waiting for his response

We get a panel of Miles, looking bewildered. He starts to speak "I..."

We cut again to see the three of them standing together.

Miles: I... don't think I like women?

Miles looks shocked and confused. Nick is bent over laughing, using a hand on Miles's shoulder to support himself. Maya looks outraged and appalled!

Maya: MR. EDGEWORTH! Just because you don' like her musi it doesn't give you an excuse to be sexist!

We see a panel of Miles looking stressed and confused. He leans his head on one of his hands, which messes up his hair, showing how he isn't his normal put together self.

Miles: I should rephrase that. What I mean is, Ms. Roan is clearly VERY assured in her feelings towards women. I was... unaware that anyone felt that strongly. I thought we all viewed these things with a vague sense of distaste and unease but collectively ignored it. Like how we do with climate change.

We zoom out again to see the three of them. Miles stands in the middle looking deeply uncomfortable and lost in thought, vibrating with unease. Nick and Maya exchange deeply concerned glances across from him.

With lingering unease, Miles begins to walk away.

Miles: Well, I should be going then. Goodnight.

Nick hesitantly raises a finger to point out an inaccuracy in that statement

Nick: It's four in the afternoon-

he gets interrupted by Miles who repeats firmly: I said Goodnight

Nick looks in the direction Miles walked off in.

Nick: ...He'll be ok, right?

Maya reassures him: Of cours Nick! I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

Jump cut to a closeup of Nick's hand holding Miles' letter which reads Miles Edgeworth chooses death in all caps. Then, below in smaller font, it says Also femininomenon was really good, thanks.

We see a panel of Nick glaring wordlessly at Maya as he holds the letter in his hand. Maya leans against the wall and looks away, whistling, trying to look innocent to avoid blame.

As a bonus, we also have a page that takes place a year later. Miles and Nick stand talking. Miles looks calmer now, and Nick smiles encouragingly.

Miles: In my time in Europe, I've been examining myself and my approach to law. Ultimately, the most important focus must be justice. We owe it to ourselves and to the people we serve

Nick: Wow, that's really inspiring Edgeworth. And, uh, hows the... the other thing going?

We get a zoomed in panel of Miles glaring menacingly at a suddenly nervous Nick

Jumping out again, Miles turns his back to Nick as he continues to talk

Miles: So as I was saying, justice is truly so important...

Nick nervously rubs the back of his neck wearing an awkward expression as he sweats nervously. He thinks to himself internally "Ooookay then, clearly still working through some things there"

/.End ID]

[sincerecinnamon]

Someone on reddit described the difference between romantic and platonic love using chemistry terms and the periodic table, and not only do I love the analogy as a science nerd, but it's one of the first times that an explanation on the topic has fully made sense to me, so I figured I would share it with all of you ^^

[chaoticas-hell]

Neil being demi is actually so important I will fight people on this. It fits his character so perfectly and I get upset when people erase his ace-ness just my demi king live his demi life

[linkcharacter]

Oh I have so many thoughts on aroace Curly, I think it brings so much on the table when analyzing the game's story.

Amanormativity ties in with the reoccurring mentions of the nuclear family, from Wrong Organ making 1950s mock advert posters, to Swansea talking about how getting a wife and kids didn't bring him any fulfillment in life.

In the cake cutting nightmare sequence, where Jimmy talks with Dream Curly about the mediocre cake, Dream Curly begins to talk about how sometimes you can only get the subpar stuff in live. Sometimes he'll get promoted, buy a house, fall in love. But other times he'll just have some awful fucking cake with his friend.

I think there is that subtle implication that Jimmy does buy into Amanormativity, with him projecting his beliefs on Dream Curly that a platonic relationship is lesser then a romantic one. But we never see Curly suggesting that he wants such a thing in the pre-crash.

With Jimmy thinking that Curly has everything in life, except for the desire (although I think Jimmy would view it as Curly not having the skills for it) to get a romantic partner, he would heavily lean into getting the one thing that Curly couldn't get in life to one up him.

THATS EXACTLY WHAT IM THINKING!!! AMATONORMATIVITY BE DAMNED!!!!

Looking at Mouthwashing through an aroace lens is interesting

"Jimmy thinking that Curly has everything in life, except for the desire", well said, well said! And references to the nuclear family fit in very cleanly thematically for Mouthwashing.

Jimmy leaning into amatonormativity is a smart observation. Jim internalizes all the social norms and standards on what you have to do to have a normal and desirable life, who sees everything Curly has and what Jimmy wishes he had, and is offended that Curly isn't satisfied, that he has the "audacity" to be unhappy. Curly meanwhile only wishes for his life to be something he doesn't have to run from, because by all means, he has already reached a point where he should feel accomplished, but isn't. Curly doesn't want to be a freighter captain his whole life, he doesn't want to settle with his sustainable position, he just wants to be happy. Like Swansea who has reached the "ideal" outcome of his life, having a wife, kids and a good career, it will never feel as good as embracing all what society deems undesirable yet right for you.

Jimmy does imply to seeing himself as lesser as a friend, "fall in love" being a goal and a "cake with a friend" being something he "has to settle for", it's all in the subtleties with underlying themes of "what you're "supposed to want" by society's expectations" against "what feels right for you". Jimmy is frustrated that Curly is going to "leave the dirt behind him", when in actuality, letting the crew and him go is the last thing Curly wants. Curly wants to be with his friends, he deeply cares about his crew, and about his close friend.

Mouthwashing as a whole reads to me as platonic through and through. Swansea and Daisuke having such a meaningful familial bond, Curly and Anya being sweet, playful and caring without romance, Anya and Daisuke having something of a siblings dynamic are dear to me. Also it's really rare to get to see representations of "toxic friendship" in media. Its always toxic romance this, toxic yaoi that, toxic family there, however in reality, friendships aren't excluded from being as rotten and abusive as the others, yet they're often overlooked. Jim and Curly are especially unique in this way. It's very impressive how they managed to showcase Jimmy's mistreatment of Curly in such a platonic way (at least that how I read it). Jim too, like Curly, in general avoids hints at romance and attraction explicitly related to him during his gameplay, not with Curly, nor with Anya (dear god thanks for that at least). It's all spite, annoyance and parasitizing off of these two. (That man's dry and lowkey hates everyone and everything) No attraction attached, no desires except hoping it hurts.

Curly to me is very much aroace, or at least on the spectrum. Like, the trivia fact that one of Curly's fondest memories is that of his friends putting in effort to make a shitty awful cake, tells us all we need to know on how dear his friends are to him. Platonic relationships mean so much to Curly, even when it's Jimmy fucking Mouthwashing, the worst friend ever imaginable.

[notherpuppet]

Boyfriends AU is still an ace alastor btw 🖤🩶🤍💜

[7amonathursdayinoctober]

Me walking out of the theater after watching Deadpool and Wolverine: That wasn't very aroace lesbian of me

[justdavina]

Adriana Gianella Jya is a Goddess! A Transgender Goddess!

[miitopia-cake]

I wish some aces would stop excluding other aces with complex sexual experiences. like I get why but you have to realize that being ace does not mean they don't enjoy sexual experiences and it's weird when you complain about allo people and boil it down to "people who have sexual experiences" and also shame people for their sex life and kinks as if your own community doesnt INCLUDE those people. because there are other aces out there who still masturbate, who feel sexually attracted to their own body, who barely experiences sexual attraction but still enjoys sex, who like consuming sexual media, who like sfw kink. being ace is so so much more complex than just "disliking sex". and also aromantic exclusionism in the same genre of posts is something i see a lot. especially aro allos. I hate hate hate seeing a community that SHOULD be inclusive boil down sexuality and exclude people.

[demi-romantics]

Truly experiencing the opposite of a gay panic, the aro/ace dread, when I think somebody has a crush on me

[milkteamoon]

The first and only girl Martin goes out with is openly bisexual.

He doesn't know if she counts, if he's being honest — it wasn't a crush, he knows that, and years down the line, when he thinks back to it, he can't remember them ever having a proper conversation about the whole status of their single-night relationship. He knows she had short hair, and sat in front of him in math class, and needed a date to the fall semi-formal so she'd asked if he was busy that weekend, and he'd said no, and then she'd asked if she could borrow a pen, and he'd said yes. He couldn't remember her name if he tried.

He does remember the pink and blue bracelet on her wrist that she'd worn to the event itself, and then to get ice cream after, where he'd sat on the curb of some old parking lot at the edge of town with her and her friends and her friends' boyfriends and her friends' boyfriends' friends, none of which were his friends, because Martin didn't have many of those. Except maybe the girl whose name he couldn't remember. Though he's not sure if maybe-probably-not-girlfriends count as friends too when you're in high school.

"D'you like it?" she'd asked once she'd noticed him staring, holding up her wrist and not seeming to care as ice cream dribbled down her spoon and fingers.

"It's nice," Martin had said, because he's nothing if not honest. "Did you make it?"

She'd nodded. "It's a bi flag," she'd explained. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh," Martin had said.

"You know what that is, right?" she had asked. "Like, when you like boys and girls?"

"I know," Martin had said, even if it had maybe slipped his memory until she'd brought it up. "That's cool."

And then she'd nodded, and ate her ice cream, and Martin had taken her home with as little a fanfare as he had picked her up earlier that evening. And then winter break had rolled around, and she'd been put in another class the following semester, and then life and bills had finally caught up with him and there wouldn't be another semester after that. He'd never seen her again, so he'd never got a chance to ask. Never got a chance to choke down that knot in his throat when he'd left her house that evening, unable to get the words out.

He doesn't remember her name anymore, but he does remember the jealous ache he'd felt at her certainty.

Martin's first boyfriend is definitely gay.

That's how they meet each other, really — in a gay bar, where Martin has met plenty of other men (testing the waters, he's been telling himself; no harm in a little exploration) and gone home with them, except this one asks for his number afterward, and this one calls him back, and this one actually seems to want to go out for drinks the next week, and the week after that, and before Martin knows it he's quite certain that he's dating this man. It's wonderful, whirlwind of an experience. It's exhilarating.

It's bloody terrifying.

And it's not being with a man that sets his anxiety on edge. Martin...Martin likes men. That's definitely a part of his identity that he's been able to sort out, over the years. Martin likes men, and he likes dating men, and he likes having sex with men, and he'd probably even marry a man, if he had the chance, if that's where one of these loose and languid relationships end up.

It's just—

It's just that—

It's just that Martin always seems to be the odd one out in these groups. It's just that when Martin meets up with his boyfriend's friends at the bar, when they're all laughing and sharing jokes and clinking their drinks together in some toast that Martin had missed the dedication to, they all just...get it somehow. They know who they are. They all have some special word for themselves that fits them like a tailored suit: Jacklyn is a butch lesbian, and Lee is trans, and Tom is a bear, and Jordan is gay and genderqueer and Collin is a drag performer and—

He's a few drinks in, to put it lightly, when he leans over to his definitely-boyfriend and asks him how he knew he was gay.

"How did I know?" he echoes, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. "Easy, I liked men." And then he laughs like Martin has just told a funny joke, and maybe he has and doesn't realize it, so he tries to laugh along. Tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

Martin wishes it were that simple. And when the two of them break up, Martin wishes that he ached just as badly over the relationship too.

Tim and Sasha are bi. Well, no, Tim is bi, and Sasha is—

"Pansexual," Sasha says through a mouthful of reheated spaghetti. She holds a finger up as she chews, swallows, and then adds, "Well, I mean. It's like the same genus, I guess."

"Like a leopard and a cheetah," Tim chimes in, leaning over to put an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand against the side of his face to put some space between them, knocking his glasses askew.

"Leopards and cheetahs are different genuses," she tells him. "You're thinking of leopards and jaguars."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nuh uh nuh uh—"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh—"

And it's—

He likes Tim and Sasha. They're easy to exist around. They don't make him feel like he's not welcome at the end of the lunch table, or like he has to be anything more than simply himself in their presence. Call it bonding over the shared trauma of all being trapped down here together. Tim's jokes about Jon never letting them see the sun are starting to feel less like jokes these days, and more like statements of fact.

Then Tim leans over, seating his chin in his knuckles, and says, "So, Martin, you going to pride this year?"

And then all of those nice, floaty feelings suddenly come crashing out of solution and dropping down into the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Tim's smile falls as he backpedals.

"O-or not!" he says, holding his hands up peaceably. "I mean— geez, sorry, I usually think I'm pretty good at noticing these things, but if you're not—"

"What? Oh, no no, you're fine, I'm definitely—" There's something on the tip of Martin's tongue that he can't put a word to, hasn't been able to put a word to for a long time. "...not straight. Er, I— I like...guys, at least...?"

A smile curls across Tim's face — amused, but not cruel. "Hey, that's at least one thing we've got in common," he says and holds up his fist for a bump. The spark of anxiety hasn't quite fizzled away, but it's pushed far enough down that Martin feels he can humor him.

To his equal relief and horror, Jon strolls into the room not a minute later and sticks himself firmly in the crosshairs of Tim's sights.

"Boss-man," he greets.

"Tim," Jon greets back, neutrally. He strolls over to the kitchenette, digging out a tea bag out of the cabinet.

"Are you going to pride this year?"

Martin chokes on his drink.

"No," Jon says, retrieving a tea bag and filling his mug as if Tim had simply asked him about the weather.

"C'mon," Tim purrs. He reaches over and gives Jon a tug by his belt loops. "You're just gonna sit at home all weekend and leave us to have all the fun?"

"I don't particularly find crowds 'fun,'" Jon retorts, batting away his hand. He picks up his mug. "You'll have to suffer without me."

"How will we ever go on," Tim laments.

"You'll manage," Jon says, then promptly retreats to his office.

Martin simply sits there with his mouth hanging open, only daring to speak once he hears the final click of the door pulled shut. "...Jon...?"

Tim looks over to him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"

"Jon."

"Oh." A smirk tugs at the corner of Tim's lips. "You didn't know?"

"Wh— no!" It's not even that Martin has ever really assumed that Jon is straight. It's just that, out of people in the office to be open about their sexualities, there's Tim and Sasha, and then there's Jon. It's just— it's Jon. "Did he tell you that?"

Tim shoots a look to Sasha. "Well, no," he admits, "but you know how it is, you work with someone long enough and you just sort of...get a vibe, yeah?"

Sasha nods at this assessment. "Plus the fact that he did agree to go on a date with David that one time."

"Oh god, haha! I forgot about that."

"He's gay, right?" Sasha says, looking to Tim.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once," Tim notes, poking his fork into his salad. "Bi, maybe...? I'm going to go with bi."

"Could also be pan," Sasha notes.

Tim thinks on this for a moment. "Mm, no, definitely bi I think. My bi-dey senses are tingling. Sorry Sash," he concludes, earning him a light kick to the shin from Sasha at the pun. He shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth before redirecting his attention back to Martin. "So, Martin. Pride, yay or nay?"

"Uh—" Martin blinks, viscerally aware of himself once more. He's not sure how to put I've never really thought about going into so many words that doesn't make him sound incredibly lame or formerly catholic, so in the end he decides on a redirect. He clears his throat. "I'm...not sure? Haven't really decided."

"That's fine," Tim says with a half shrug. "Though we'll be there, so if you do end up going, just text us and we'll meet up, yeah?"

There's a little plant inside Martin, something green and budding, but never able to bloom — always pruned too early, or watered too late, or bitten off by the frost. But some days, he thinks about opening the curtains and letting in the sun. Some days, he thinks about letting it bloom, finally, fully—

"Yeah," Martin says softly, looking up from his open palms. "Yeah, that'd...that'd be good."

And despite himself, he smiles.

Martin is—

Martin is quite certain he has never been sweatier in his life.

It's a wonderful time. It's bright. It's beautiful. He's seen so many colors and grins and glitter on more people than he can count today. People holding hands and people kissing and people dressed in outfits he can't even begin to describe, genders he can't even begin to put names to, flags he can't even begin to guess the meaning of. His heart feels so big in his chest he could die, pushing on the bars of his rib cage with each resounding thu-thump, and it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

(And so very isolating. So very lonely when he feels like he's not meant to be there, like he wasn't invited, like he's invading this space carved out in neat rows of labels that he can't even straddle properly to get in line. He doesn't— he can't—)

Martin finds a moment of shade just as he feels he's teetering on the edge of heat exhaustion. He stumbles under the awning, smearing the sweat and residual glitter out of his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall. Music hums from the street over, voices carry on the warm summer air. He really needs to find something to drink, so he can appreciate it more instead of focusing on the way his shirt clings to his skin. He really should find Tim and Sasha, before they get off into any trouble.

Someone lets out a huff next to him as they lean back against the wall, and Martin peels open an eye to look.

And then both his eyes snap open at once, double taking at the man standing next to him. He doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on fanning himself with some pamplet he'd snagged along the way, but then his gaze shifts sideways, and the pinched expression smooths out into one of blank bewilderment.

Jon blinks, wide eyed. "Martin."

Okay, well that at least solves the issue of whether or not Martin is supposed to be pretending not to know him or not. He clears his throat, trying to smile. "Jon...h-hi."

It's not even the fact that— okay, well, yes, seeing Jon at a queer event is pretty weird, but seeing Jon outside of work, in jeans no less, is certainly not helping the sensation that Martin might very well be hallucinating this interaction. He looks him up to his thick-lensed glasses, down to his plain sneakers that have seen better days, and even pinches himself for good measure. Jon doesn't move. Martin isn't sure that he himself would be able to move either, even if he wanted to.

Then Jon's brow furrows, and he looks around. "Are Tim and Sasha around...?"

"Oh, n-no, they went off," Martin gestures vaguely in the direction he'd last seen them, "somewhere."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Right."

"...What...are you doing here, exactly?" Martin finally asks in some burst of unsourced courage.

Jon's winces, red-handed. Not that Martin would ever say anything to Tim or Sasha about their boss going to pride without them on his own time — it's honestly none of his business — but he also knows that if the two of them suspect something is up, they'll never let either of them live it down.

Jon sighs, shoulders drooping. "I...an old friend, she— she didn't wish to come alone this year, and apparently I'm the only other queer she knows that doesn't enjoy getting plastered off my arse at these types of events, so—" Jon shrugs lightly.

There's something about the way Jon says it, the only other queer, that leaves a funny, prickling sensation in the center of Martin's chest, and it's not just the heat giving him a rash. It's just...it's nice. It's nice the way he says it, all casual like he's just giving Martin another report to follow up.

Jon pushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, giving Martin a sideways glance up and down. He redirects, "You know, I would have thought you'd be more, er..."

"More...?"

"...Well, dressed up, I suppose?" He gestures to Martin's outfit — a pair of khaki shorts with pockets stuffed to the brim in emergency snacks, a green t-shirt with the local football team logo, an old pair of sneakers he really needs to replace — in a vague enough gesture to slip just under the line of insulting, but still enough to make Martin feel horribly seen. Granted, Jon isn't much better in his plain blue polo, but the fact of Jon being in jeans at all is currently eclipsing the fact that he's a tad underdressed for the event.

But—

But it's not that Martin doesn't want to. It's not that Martin doesn't want to be a part of this moment, this moment, this microcosm in the middle of London of so many people like him. It's something he's always wanted. Something he's always dreamed of, something he'd thought about all the way back in his high school bedroom when he'd had all these feelings knotted up in his chest that he couldn't put a word to, still can't put a word to, doesn't know how to put a word to even though it's right there in front of him if he could just stretch out his fingers—

"I thought about it," he admits with a shrug. Tim and Sasha were each dressed in a blinding shower of color and glitter, and he knows they'd never make him feel out of place. "It's just...there's too many—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "There's too many words, I guess?"

Jon pauses his lazy fanning, looking up at him. "Too many words?" he parrots.

Martin wets his lips. "Like— like— like, everyone has a word for themselves, y'know? They have a flag, they have a group, they have— have people that they can relate to, and then you feel like you find something that almost right, but it's not perfect, and you— you—"

And you don't fit in, Martin doesn't say, because the rushing stream of words has suddenly stopped up in his throat, choking him. And you definitely aren't straight, but you aren't queer like everyone else is. You aren't queer in the right way.

Jon looks at him for a considerable moment, and suddenly Martin is all too aware of his body, his bones, his sweat, the itchy prickling of his skin—

Jon sighs as he gives him a half shrug. "So don't be anything."

The music from the street over lulls into a faint hum.

"What?" Martin says.

"So don't be anything," Jon repeats, enunciating as if he thinks that Martin misheard him. He frowns as he chooses his next words. "I'm not...it's...I..."

Martin waits quietly.

"I..." Jon says, "I guess when I was just starting to— to figure things out, I was certain I was gay. And then I went to uni and I had...a multitude of other things to address, and then for a bit I was...straight? I guess? And that was a whole thing, and then I was bi, and— well, I guess I'm technically still bi, but it's not...not exactly correct—" He frowns, looking up at him. "I guess...it just doesn't really matter to me? You don't...have to be anything."

Martin opens his mouth. He closes it. "But—" he says, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, "but—"

But then I have to be me, he doesn't say, even if the words are trying to push out past his teeth. But then the only thing I can be is me.

"...But that's scary," Martin says without meaning to, only hearing the words as they pass through his own lips. His eyes blow wide as he looks down at Jon (at his boss), and knows the simmering heat flushing down to his chest has nothing to do with the weather.

Jon stares at him for a quiet, considerate. And then he turns his head away and lets out a very undignified snort.

Martin feels his world tip onto its side.

It had to be a snort. It can only be a snort, even if Jon doesn't snort because Jon doesn't laugh, and Jon doesn't laugh because Jon doesn't smile, and Jon doesn't smile because Jon is typically too busy snapping at him over some stupid mistake he's made for the umpteenth time—

Jon looks up at him again, and he's downright grinning. Martin is quite certain he needs to be doused over the head with a bucket of ice water, or pinched hard enough to draw blood, or sent off to the hospital to get his head checked out because what the fuck. What the fuck.

"As my grandmother was so fond of reminding me, 'if it weren't scary, everyone would be doing it,'" Jon says finally, peeling off his glasses to wipe the sweat from the lenses onto his shirt. He places them back on his nose, then pushes himself up. "You should find Tim and Sasha," he says. "And I should find Georgie before I get left here. Again."

"Uh," Martin says, still trying to mentally recover from the fact that Jon smiled at him, and now everything feels like its been knocked into an alternate universe slightly to the left. His head feels weird. His chest feels weird. "Right."

"There's a—" Jon points a thumb behind himself, "a place we can cut through, if you want to—"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, lead— lead the way."

It's not perfect, Martin thinks.

It's not perfect, but it's close. It's close when they step out of the alley back onto that crowded street, when the colors all bleed into a mess of a million different rainbows as far as the eye can see. It's close when they both get sprayed with glitter, Jon scowling and swearing as he tries to get it off himself and sending Martin laughing so hard that his sides ache. It's close even with the heat, even with the noise, even with the shouting because there's laughter in between laughter in between laughter again—

"Would you like a button?" a girl with green hair asks as she sits behind a table of every flag Martin has ever seen and then some. He takes a moment to look over each one carefully. Jon wanders up beside him, looks them through, and carefully selects a pink, purple, and blue one, to which he silently deposits in his pocket.

Martin picks up a plain rainbow one, considers it, and then pins it to the left side of his shirt.

It's not perfect, he thinks, but it's close enough.

[theautisticfroglord]

I genuinely hate when people invalidate demiromantic/demisexual/other labels in general by saying somethin like "OMG!!!! why do these labels exist that's how every relationship is!!!!! what has this generation come to?!!?,!?!!"

some people out here are dating someone they just met two days ago. while it literally took me two whole years of getting to know someone before having a crush on them. can y'all please not find excuses to invalidate aspec/arospec people. thanks

[temporaerthaervaerk]

Queerbaiting sucks... but

I find it so affirming as a person who struggles with their romantic orientatation. I just live for that state of not quite friends/not quite lovers.

Like yes, they are partners, yes, they live and die for eachother, yes, every other relationship they have loses all meaning compared to them. But also no, they haven't kissed, and they don't want to kiss, and yet, somehow, every single word, every single glance, every single touch carries so much meaning and conveys so much love because this amount of platonic love is usually unheard of and they don't want the other to misunderstand. And I just- aaah, it gives me so much hope and reminds me that romantic love isn’t the only type of love worth experiencing and showing on screen/paper.

I do wish it was done intentionally and wasn’t just a product of homophobia and capitalism. Like I really, really hate the reason I get this representation. Like, it also leaves a somewhat sour taste in my mouth, because I can see that if the world was more accepting, it would probably be a romantic relationship.

(I sometimes see people calling queercoding queerbaiting, and just to make it clear, that isn't what i'm talking about)

[mothras-in-my-belly]

My sexual, romantic, and gender identities could all be honestly summarised as "absolutely not, but maybe, in this very extremely specific way that barely makes sense to anyone"