#I actually ended up never dating many women at all because of weird lesbian mixed signals and things

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[softtrobed]

hm would you write a fic about annie coming out to jeff? i love their friendship and brother/sister relationship :)

thank you so much for this request! i honestly got a bit emotional writing this. annie coming out to jeff is something that can honestly be so personal...

there's some focus on annie coming out to other members of the study group, but it does mainly focus on her and jeff. i hope that's okay :)

Annie had decided to come out to her friends in the same way she tended to do most things: efficiently and beginning by making a list.

Well, she supposed the most efficient way would be to come out to all of them at the same time, but this way would be more effective in the long run. She knew they’d all have very different reactions, different questions to ask, different levels of surprise, so if they all found out at once, most likely no one’s questions would get answered (not just the ones she would politely ignore), the group would start talking over each other, someone would yell at Pierce and it would almost be forgotten what the point of the conversation even was. This way, although it would take longer, everyone would hopefully be satisfied.

She told Troy and Abed first. That was the easiest, as because the two were a couple, she had no doubt they’d be accepting. Additionally, in the time they’d lived together, she had a feeling they’d already picked up on some of her not-so-straight behaviours: the girl-crushes she formed on the pretty women in the movies they watched together and her disinterest or non-romantic affection towards the men she knew she was ‘supposed’ to swoon over; the way she giggled and twirled her hair while on the phone with a certain girl from Greendale she’d recently reconnected with; the one time she didn’t delete her search history from the apartment computer and Abed may or may not have seen her recent searches, which included among others, ‘am I gay test,’ ‘comphet meaning’ and ‘can you be straight but think girls are really pretty and rarely have long lasting feelings for men?’

She’d come out to them over breakfast one day, and they basically had the best response she could have wished for. They were totally cool with it, but didn’t make it a big deal. They joked about how she was no longer the token straight roommate, she hugged both of them, and the day went on as normal.

Annie had crossed their names off her list with a big smile on her face.

Next had been Britta. Annie had also guessed that she’d be accepting, as what had happened with Paige last year had been a bit misguided but well-intentioned. At least Annie didn’t have to worry about Britta only wanting to be her friend because she was a lesbian, because they were already friends, and Annie suspected Britta had learned her lesson.

As expected, Britta reacted well. Perhaps too well, loudly proclaiming her supporting for the LGBTQ community before asking a string of questions about what it was like dating girls and if kissing them was different if you were sobre and/or not doing it to prove you weren’t homophobic. Annie explained she didn’t know - she actually hadn’t kissed a girl yet - but did wonder if Britta’s questions weren’t just due to her being an ally. She could be wrong, but she had read something about queer people having a way of spotting each other. Still, it wasn’t her place to assume anything, and she put the thought out of her mind as she crossed off Britta’s name.

Next was Jeff. This was a bit trickier. Once again, she didn’t think Jeff would be at all homophobic (unless he turned out to be one of those men who only viewed relationships between women as hot, but she’d cross that bridge if she came to it), but coming out to him made her nervous for another reason. Ever since they’d kissed at the Transfer Dance, his feelings for her had seemed unclear. At first, he’d seemed determined to forget it ever happened - which she’d found unfair at the time, but now appreciated - but lately, it was possible he had actually become interested in her. It felt… really weird, when she thought about it for too long. Not only was she definitely not interested in him, but, partially due to their age gap, their relationship felt too close to a father-daughter or older brother-younger sister relationship to be romantic. Sometimes she wondered why she’d ever liked him like that at all.

Although, since she’d extensively researched what comphet was and realised that was undoubtedly what she’d been experiencing, she could understand a bit better she’d never really liked him to begin with, she’d just latched onto a seemingly unattainable man to convince herself she could be attracted to guys, yet again.

As everyone packed up their stuff to leave the study room, Annie remained seated. “Um, Jeff,” she said. “We’ve both got a free period now, right?”

“Right,” Jeff replied, not looking up from his phone.

“Would you mind if I talked to you about something?”

He looked at her curiously. “Yeah, sure.”

Troy, Abed and Britta had clearly all realised what was going on. Abed gave her a small, supportive smile, Troy gave a quick thumbs up, and Britta winked in a way Annie guessed was meant to be subtle, but no doubt everyone in the room saw.

“Come on, guys,” she said, ushering the others out of the room. “This sounds important, and private, and we’ve all got classes to get to.”

Shirley stopped, muttering that she’d forgotten a textbook, but Britta practically pushed her out of the door as Abed said in a deep voice, seeming to have taken the opportunity to act like a security guard, “Keep it moving.”

Annie smiled as she watched them leave, her friends dramatics a pleasant distraction from what she was about to do. She turned back to Jeff to see he’d put his phone down. Clearly, he knew this was serious. “So,” he said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Annie opened her mouth, let out a squeak, then closed it. This was going to be difficult. Maybe she should have just come out to everyone at the same time, the consequences be damned. That way, she would have got it all over with at once.

“Annie, is everything okay?” Jeff sounded so genuine in his concern, a relatively rare sight. “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she assured him, finding her voice, but he didn’t look convinced. She took a deep breath. “I was thinking recently about that time we kissed.” He looked confused for a second. Didn’t he remember that night? Not that she cared, of course. “You know? During the dance at the end of our first year? I had just decided not to move to Delaware with Vaughn-”

“Right, right,” he cut her off. “I remember. Sorry, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly. “So, I’ve been thinking about our kiss, and-”

Once more, he interrupted her. This was just getting annoying. “Annie, look, I know I’ve been giving… pretty mixed signals about my feelings for you, or if I even have any, but lately I’ve taken a good look at myself, and realised that it would never really feel right to be with you. For many reasons, none of which are your fault. It’s just that you’re much younger than me, and you often feel like a little sister to me - as well as a friend, of course - so I’m sorry, but-”

“Jeff.” Her firm tone silenced him.

There, she thought. How does it feel to be interrupted?

“I don’t want to be with you either!”

“Really?” he checked. “Because it wouldn’t be your fault if you did, I’m the one who needs to keep whatever feelings I have for you in check. Plus, I mean, I wouldn’t blame you…”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile began creeping onto her face. “I swear. I was going to say that I’ve been thinking about that kiss because of how, back then, I thought I really liked you. In a romantic way, I mean. But recently, I’ve realised that I just made myself think I liked you, even loved you. I wanted to convince myself I could be attracted to men, so just like with Troy in high school, I picked an unattainable - or so I thought - man. In his case: someone cool and popular who I thought would never notice ‘little Annie Aderal.’ With you, a cool, older guy who just saw me as a child.”

“Annie.” Jeff’s tone was serious but not annoyed. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

She nodded, her lips a thin line. “I’m a lesbian, Jeff. I really hope this doesn’t change things between us, although, honestly, knowing you don’t want to be with me is a big relief, because I was worried I’d break your heart or make things weird, but…” She paused. She was getting ahead of herself. “Well, have I made things weird?”

“Of course you haven’t! Thank you for telling me, that was really brave, especially if you thought I was still interested in you.”

“Thanks,” she said. She quickly added, “It’s not that I thought you’d react really badly. I don’t see you as someone who thinks he’s somehow entitled to any women he has feelings for, but still… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He stood up, walking around to her side of the table, presumably to remove the physical and metaphorical distance between them, and gesturing for her to stand up as well, which she did. “You haven’t hurt me at all, Annie, I promise. I care about you, so much, even - no, especially - as a friend, and I just want you to be happy. Even if I was madly in love with you - which, thankfully, I’m not - I could never be upset at you, or anyone, for this.”

Annie could feel tears forming in her eyes. “Aww, Jeff!” She practically threw herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug which he happily returned, laughing.

“Okay, we don’t have to make this all dramatic,” he said, but Annie was sure he sounded a bit choked up.

They came apart, smiling at each other for a few seconds before Jeff hesitantly reached out and gave her a pat on the head. “For old time’s sake,” he explained.

Annie had never felt happier while being given a head pat, which didn’t say much, she knew, but it was accurate, as she’d probably felt happier in general at some point in her life. Still, this was definitely in her top ten.

That night, she crossed off Jeff’s name, remembering the days she would doodle hearts as she wrote down his name, or paired her first and his last. This time, she instead drew a little smiley face. That was far more accurate, she thought. The thought of Jeff no longer made her heart flutter in her chest, but he made her smile, and she was more than happy with that.

[ms-hells-bells]

What do you think about straight women who refuse to date and marry men adopting kids or getting pregnant with IVF and raising kids on their own?

adopting kids ethically? fine. i think you mean sperm donation? i have some ethical issues around it because of philosophy and what kids born via sperm donation have said. the one that stuck out to me the most was someone saying “it’s selling babies using the build a bear method to avoid it being trafficking”. it’s certainly not as bad as surrogacy, but there are still some qualms of morality. this may sound like a weird comparison, but i think it’s kind of like the adopting pets vs buying pure breeds argument. these kids can’t consent to being born in their particular circumstances and as long as money is involved, there is ethics and corruption issues. the same also applies to adoption, but these kids are already born, they need someone to take care of them, so as long as the number one priority is keeping them with their parents or relatives of the parents if they can help it, then this is the most ethical method.

it’s a complicated discussion because having children isn’t a right, if your relationship status or style of living can’t naturally bear kids, then that’s an unavoidable biological difference that leads to unique circumstances that need analysis. is it ethical to bring children into the world via methods that obscure important medical and genetic history, remove children from their biological parent/s, hold risks of exploitation (too many people have discovered that their “sperm donor” child was actually from the sperm of the doctor), etc? there have been studies, i believe, that show that children of sperm and/or egg donation have mental/attachment issues despite never having met their biological parent/s. it still has a psychological impact. and ignoring all the other things i mentioned, i think this single fact alone is enough to go against unnecessarily going out of your way and spending a large amount of money to have a child. there is no accident involved in this, it’s a long process, and if it causes any sort of harm to the resulting child, then maybe it’s not a good thing. maybe some of us just shouldn’t have children if we’re not naturally able to. we can’t always get what we want. it sounds harm, but i do think about these sorts of philosophical questions a lot. 

oh, and not to mention the fact that it reinforces systems of prejudice because of the build a bear quality, where you literally choose what genes and features you want your baby to have. white sperm is more expensive than black sperm, weight, eye colour, and even OCCUPATION, are looked at and chosen, and there have been multiple cases of parents suing practices for their baby not ending up looking like the donor or accidentally mixing up sperm donors. these kids are now unloved purely because they don’t look like the perfect doll these people were trying to create. 

julie bindel wrote an article on sperm donation several years ago. it features a lesbian couple that sued their practice because they accidentally gave them black sperm. and you can’t just return the baby or give it up for adoption when you go through this process, so this child is stuck with parents they know wanted a white baby, sued over their birth, and didn’t want them. i think if sperm donation becomes more common, like in single straight women as you propose, these things will happen more and more and that’s not a good thing, it’s more unwanted children being born. it smacks of upper class elitism and eugenics. i say eugenics because imagine if this became the norm, where people chose the sperm or egg with the looks and genes they wanted whenever they wanted ot have kids....we already can guess how that’d go because this is why in several countries, knowing the sex of your embryo/fetus is illegal, because of the massive extent of female abortions (of course, female abortions shouldn’t be banned, women shouldn’t be punished, but it’s the attitudes and beliefs i’m talking about). and i say elitism, because the majority of donors of eggs and sperm do so for the money, they’re broke. so, it’s poor people selling their sex cells to wealthy people in the hopes that their “good genes” will get picked. it’s....sperm and egg donation may be better than surrogacy, but they’re still a gross mix of capitalism, class disparities, and the commodification of human beings.

woah sorry, i wrote a lot! i was just writing as i was thinking and i thought of more and more stuff lol. this might be an unpopular opinion, but yeah. i am a bit unique in that i think having kids in general is kind of philosophically immoral since no one can consent to being born and there’s a guarantee of at least some suffering in life, often a lot, as well as a death that’s unlikely to be quick and painless....yeah, my brain is tiresome. this is what i stay up at night thinking about lol. the morality of life and birth and death.

[okay-victoria]

Love of My Second Life: Tanya & Romance

This is both my take on why, despite seeming like the easiest and healthiest relationship to write, TanyaxVisha is up there with TanyaxMary in difficulty level for pulling off successfully, what I’ve seen go wrong in fanfic so far, and what needs to make it/any romance go right.

Where to start, where to start...um, a warning, for obvious reasons I’m going to have to talk about sex.

The Age Difference

This has the joy of being a bit creepy on both ends of the spectrum! Yay.

Visha Being Creepy

Visha is probably 5 - 6 years older than Tanya. While as more mature adults that age difference is relatively negligible, Tanya being 17/18 and Visha being in her early 20s doesn’t make it suddenly a non-issue. If you and a coworker, both in your first job out of college, went to happy hour and you met his/her significant other and they were a senior in high school, would you feel good about that?

The age-of-consent laws in bygone eras may help your case for why in-story characters give a pass to such things, but it doesn’t really help explain it to your readers. Unless I’m missing something, no one is reading this story from 1920s/30s Germany, and so it needs to have the relationship explained in a way that tries to work for modern standards. Additionally, I think people tend to mix up age-of-consent with “people found this generally appropriate”. A 19 year old dating a 59 year old violates no laws in the United States, but that doesn’t mean that most people are going to consider it a loving and healthy relationship without any proof. Even your in-story characters are probably going to have some thoughts.

The final issue, from Visha’s end of the spectrum, is that even when Tanya is aged up to 18+ and has gained some secondary sexual characteristics, she is sometimes still presented as being an “eternal loli” who can be easily be mistaken for someone around 14/15, an age at which girls normally have some secondary sex characteristics, but distinctly immature ones. I imagine this problem stems from two places:

1) Scenes when Tanya’s lolidom is brought up are not the same scenes as the romantic ones, so the problem is not as obvious to the author and

2) Author forgets that “short+small boobs+doesn’t have wrinkles yet” does not actually result in people looking like they are mid-puberty. Without being really creepy, as women age, their breast tissue drops down and to the side, waist/hip/leg ratios change, and the face loses its baby fat, among other things. Writing that references Tanya as looking like a teen comes along with the unfortunate implication that she actually looks like she is still mid-puberty, and Visha...is into that, instead of being someone who is attracted to petite POST pubescent women.

These are all extremely fixable problems. Really, all an author has to do is make Visha acknowledge that it’s weird, and probably try to talk to Tanya about her reservations before she starts trying to seduce her. It’s the handwave that is the issue. For the last/puberty problem, unless there is some reason I probably don’t want to know about that the author only wants to write the relationship if Tanya looks 14, simply describe her as a petite but adult woman, and if you need to use her looking young as a plot point, have her make an effort to adapt her adult characteristics to suit or hope that nobody looks hard enough to tell the difference.

Tanya Being Creepy

While Tanya is physically the junior member of the relationship, mentally, she is the senior, and by a lot. Tanya knows this. While I don’t necessarily think Salaryman is the Earth’s most morally-pure man, I have a high enough opinion of him to think that he was not pursuing college girls when he was like 35. Tanya should also have a moment of thought over this, or the relationship needs to wait until Visha is closer to her late 20s, when she is approaching a similar level of life maturity that Salaryman would have felt was close to his own.

Even if you think that Salaryman’s logical side would have been eroded by his “but I’m a guy, I can’t help it, college girls are hot” side [I’m side-eyeing you], I think it’s very unlikely that living as Tanya, and being on the receiving end of that kind of stuff, wouldn’t make her reconsider her stance on it, at least a little.

I know, I know, Visha’s been to war! She’s not the same as some random college girl in 2020! While this is allowable as a partial justification, because it is true, it ignores a whole lot.

First off, maturity is not a straightforward drive. All parts of you do not mentally mature at the same time. If you want to write early 20s Visha as a mature-enough partner for Tanya, a bit of time needs to be spent on what Visha loses because of it - she never has, and never will, get to be that happy-go-lucky girl. While making fun of young women for being dramatic gossips, obsessing about non-serious things, etc remains a popular sport, thinking that you are doing Visha a favor by taking that time of her life away from her says pretty terrible things about how society values women’s relationships with each other. If you don’t mean for your fanfic to accidentally imply that, it’s something that needs some love & care.

Alternatively, you could write a story in which Visha, while being a competent adult, still gets space to explore her “girly” side. If doing so, you are going to have to make a really strong case for why Tanya is willing to put up with this, as Salaryman does not come off as someone who would judge it a good use of time & effort to be constantly letting his girlfriend rattle off about things he thinks are silly and immature - there’s a lot of other fish in the sea, why not find one that is a competent adult *and* isn’t often talking about things you don’t care about.

The Canonical Setup of Visha & Tanya’s relationship

Opposite Goals

In a nutshell, Tanya is presented as a person that wants to live a safe, boring, and non-notable life, is doing her best to get there, and is constantly failing and being stressed about it because she needs to figure out a new plan. Visha is presented as someone who has major qualms about Tanya as a human being, but has a nigh-worshipful respect for her heroic officer side.

This is a massive, and I mean MASSIVE problem. You absolutely cannot ignore that what makes the characters happy is diametrically opposed to each other. Can you overcome it? Yes, by slowly developing the characters towards a compromise, but you can’t just not acknowledge it and expect me to think this relationship has any hope of leaving both partners happy. Either Tanya never escapes her never-ending stress cycle, or she does, and the entire basis of Visha’s attachment to Tanya disappears.

This can be fixed by: 1) Tanya coming to terms with a new side of herself, one that wants to be that hero. This cannot just be a one-paragraph epiphany. Tanya is shown to hate when she thinks her internal self is being changed by her new experiences and she needs a lot of work to get to a point where she is willing to acknowledge this in herself.

2) Visha has to go through a rocky part where she second-guesses herself - she thought she wanted Tanya, but turns out, Tanya isn’t the person she thought she is? How and why does she decide that she likes the person Tanya has become? This is probably the easier route, but I think runs the risk of having an author have Visha *say* Tanya does all these other good things for her, but never really show it happening.

3) The happiest medium is probably one where Visha *mostly* adapts towards Tanya, so Tanya gets to live a quiet but not too quiet life, and Visha learns to love another side. As Visha is compromising more in this sense, a healthy relationship is going to include Tanya realizing what is happening and deciding to make an effort to appeal to Visha and not just be like “Take me as I am. Or don’t.” and Visha unilaterally decides to accept that.

Why Does Tanya want to be in a relationship with Visha?

Tanya betrays no actual emotional attachment to Visha in the light novels. While you can read in rationalization to the reasons Tanya gives to her actions, she herself does not believe that it is because of an emotional connection.

Canonically, Tanya is portrayed as liking Visha because of how well Visha passes the “usefulness” test. This brings up another MASSIVE problem - does Tanya, in any way, shape, or form, actually like Visha as an individual, or just  her ability to conform to the role Tanya wants her to play?

Look, I don’t need Tanya to be in LOVE with Visha in the way we usually talk about people being in love to believe that Tanya can be in a relationship successfully. I’m fully on board with a portrayal in which Tanya can’t quite summon that level of emotion. However, she needs to like and respect Visha as an individual person, and summon a level of emotion beyond friend with benefits.

IMO, it is really hard to do that without showing Tanya and Visha disagreeing on a major piece of Tanya’s philosophy and Tanya actually listening and responding positively to it, not simply agreeing to disagree because it isn’t worth upsetting her useful sidekick, or whatever. There needs to be character development of both characters - Visha finding it in herself to be comfortable rocking the boat, and Tanya having a compelling enough reason to change something that she has clung to for two lives.

Everyone wants to be a lesbian

While I get it, the Empire is not the exact same as Germany, and yes, I know that Weimar Germany was relatively sexually progressive, it’s really not something that a well-written romance should handwave.

“Weimar Culture” in many ways developed as a result of how WW1 went for Germany. If you have a story where WW1 doesn’t go that way for Germany, gay culture is unlikely to flourish to the same degree.

All that aside, Tanya isn’t someone that is going to easily shrug her shoulders and say “you know, sometimes you need to jeopardize your career for the sake of hot sex/love”. She’s pretty clear on which she prioritizes. A lesbian relationship is not going to help her here, and she’s going to be aware of it. She needs to struggle with that choice.

Visha not struggling to accept herself as a lesbian is also somewhat of an oversight. It’s pretty unlikely that a woman born in her time period would come to terms with that easily. Visha is also never shown being attracted to other women besides Tanya, which carries a weird “I’m only a lesbian for you” vibe that is like a gross parallel of a straight guy wanting a lesbian to be so attracted to him she can’t help it, she wants the D.

And now, we enter the realm of Tanya’s relationship with her identity and sexuality.

Tanya is shown to have mental qualms both about entering a straight or lesbian relationship in her new life. The reasons behind those qualms are not explored at all in the LN, but they should be in a story in which Tanya goes into a relationship.

No matter which path puberty takes her down, there is the issue of Tanya being comfortable having sex as a woman. Even if it is with another woman, it is not going to be particular similar to the way she had sex with women as a man. That type of thing is pretty tied up with our identity. Tanya hates having her internal, I haven’t changed identity threatened, and not being able to give sexual pleasure/needing to receive it differently is the type of thing that is probably going to come along with some emotional reservations on her part.

Again, sexual identity being a part of our overall identity, while Tanya may remain attracted to women, that means her identity is now as a gay person, not a straight person. Given her biases from both growing up in Japan and the state of gay rights in her new life, it would seem atypical that she would consider this a non-issue and it wouldn’t make her question her priorities or the type of person she thought she was.

But...The Sex?

Look, I get it, sometimes you wanna see certain characters bang. We’ve all been there.

While yes, I recognize that many humans make terrible decisions solely in pursuit of sex, and so it’s perfectly realistic to have Tanya and Visha do the same and say that’s why you’re handwaving everything else, it is an extremely lazy storytelling technique, especially since neither character seems likely to go to extremes for it.

Because people focus so much on sex appeal, unfortunately, they use it as a substitute for making a good case for the relationship. Visha/Tanya is so attracted to Tanya/Visha, that now they are willing to undergo character development, because the pulsing loins urge them to. Really?

Do at least some of it first, lay the groundwork for romantic attraction before you slam them with physical attraction. While it often works the opposite direction in real life, that undercuts the romantic side in fictional story-telling.

I also think that because of the focus on their attraction to each other, what ends up missing in all TanyaxVisha fanfics I’ve seen so far is the tension. That makes it boring, I don’t care about it, and the entire reason I don’t care about it is because the choice to handwave the inconvenient facts means there is nothing in the way besides Tanya being a dumbass, which you can only do for so long without it becoming boring.

They are both attracted to each other, and admit it to themselves. Neither sees any real problem with the relationship other than not knowing if the other person likes them, but they aren’t even hung up on it and mostly work on straightforwardly winning the other person.

When in doubt, blame it on The Patriarchy

As far as we know, Tanya isn’t pining for relationship, and never thinks about a romantic relationship from her old life. Combined with other things Tanya says, it is hard to imagine Salaryman ever had a “considering marriage” relationship - more like, he may have felt partnership had some desirable aspects, but probably never was able to compromise on his kind of extreme worldview enough to try to make it work with someone, just figuring he’d find “the one” one day that wasn’t going to make him compromise.

While of course, you should not need to change everything about who you are for a romantic partner to like you, saying “you should like me for me” and then putting in exactly zero effort to do things because you know they are important to your partner, even if they aren’t for you, is not one of the keys to a successful relationship.

While it is not a problem inherent to Tanya & Visha’s relationship like the above sections, it is a problem in all forms of how I’ve seen the relationship written. It fails to answer a fundamental question: WHAT CHANGED?

Why did Tanya want love/a relationship/a wife in this life, and not in her last? If she did want it in her last life, why did she successfully find love/a relationship/a wife in this life, and not in her last?

Unfortunately, skipping the answer to this question implies that nothing changed. The success is then entirely reliant and Visha, and that brings along with it a really ugly answer.

Visha’s professional I’ll-do-anything-for-you is equated to a personal I’ll-do-anything-for-you, and she very much accepts Tanya for who she is, through all the flaws that are definitely there and that presumably no woman in Salaryman’s life was willing to put up with. Tanya doesn’t have to undergo any character development to be capable of making the relationship work.

This has some really, really unfortunate undertones. It is the very reason why even legal-but-large age difference relationships often aren’t healthy, because the older partner, instead of trying to be someone capable of contributing to the life of someone their own age, decides it’s easier to find someone younger who doesn’t know better and is more willing to put up with their bullshit. That, then, turns into a creepy grooming undertone - you make the less experienced partner think this is normal.

It really isn’t normal or good that Visha should have to put up with a relationship in which she never discovers who she wants to be because she’s so caught up Tanya’s idea of how to live your life. That is borderline emotional abuse, I am sure no one intends it to be there, but without giving some serious treatment to character development, unfortunately, it is.

To me, this has some of the worst overtones of the worst types of male fantasy - My Manic Pixie Dream Girl is completely devoted to me, and instead of emotionally adding to her life and/or our relationship, she is completely fine with me substituting being a Strong Heroic Man who occasionally buys her Nice Things. She demands I change nothing of myself and completely agrees with my Logical Man worldview, no matter what she needs to change about herself to get there. She’s hot, and I get to simultaneously be a straight man and have hot lesbian sex. Even better, because she’s a “strong” woman who is capable in her own right, not only am I physically satisfied, but I get the ego boost of “earning” the submission and subordination of a woman who is better than most people, because she knows I’m better than her.

Honestly, the more I think about it, the grosser it gets, so as far as fanfic goes I just try to ignore it and understand that the authors intention wasn’t to bring along all this baggage. However, to truly write a good Tanya x Visha story that gets away from all these unfortunate implications is a big undertaking, and it’s really impossible for it to make for a compelling side-plot that doesn’t get much screentime.

I’m generally fine with handwaving issues for sideplots, but if Tanya is making decisions because of her relationship with Visha that are now affecting the main plot, it really isn’t something that *should* be handwaved.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[dreamonminecraft]

oh yes, tell me more about this beautiful lesbian slowburn. I’m a sucker for a good love story

Okay so to start off, My sexuality fluctuates greatly throughout this story, but as of now I identify as a Bisexual lithsexual lesbian, which means that I am attracted to lots of people but lose attraction when the feelings are reciprocated, and I'll only date girls.

The story starts off August of 2018. I was starting 6th grade (middle school) and didn't really have any friends aside from a few people that I had last talked to in 3rd grade.

It's important to know that I'm a GT kid and so I almost always have the same group of about 20 kids. This started when I changed to an all GT class for 4th grade.

While it's nice to have a comfortable learning environment, it also means that there's no escape from any drama, and you get to pick friends from the very small pool of kids that you'll spend the rest of your education with.

This is a pretty long story as well and I'm not sure I'll be able to accurately retell many of the things because dates get mixed up and stuff. Anyway, I'm gonna try my best to explain but these are really only the things from my point of view and I don't remember a lot of the things. (This is also gonna be written like a fanfic because that's all I know how to write, I apologise)

So start of sixth grade, I don't really have any friends, I'm kind of this awkward nerd, there's 2 people in my class (we switch classes like normal middle school, but I'm with the GT kids for most of the day so that's what I'll refer to them as) that I've known for years, a few I've met before, but mostly new people.

I sit by some old friends from volleyball at lunch for the first few days but begin to feel unwelcome. One day I decide to sit by these two people that I know are in GT but haven't talked to before. I don't say anything, but I sit and they don't mind.

The next day we get new seats in English. I'm behind a boy named Owen, Inara, who is one of the girls I sat with at lunch, is to my right, and in front of her is a girl named Emilyse.

Inara and I hit it off immediately.

It's kind of crazy because we're both crazy anxious introverts, but we gel nicely. I'm a boyband-obsessed 11 year old and she's a mature and mysterious 11 year old.

She's a lefty. I'm a righty. The way we've been placed makes us bump arms everytime we try to write anything.

We have every class together. Somehow, we sit next to each other in every class as well, even in the ones where we didn't pick our seating chart.

It's September. I cry over boybands. She watches curiously.

For the next couple of months we casually talk. She spends every lunch period in the library. We text occasionally.

I have another friend who takes priority. His name is Logan. We got introduced by his friend Lennox when she asked for my phone number to give to him.

Lennox and I don't talk. Logan and I text nonstop for months. We discuss possibly dating in the future. I identify as bisexual and biromantic at this point.

I've been in this position before. Having mainly guy friends growing up puts me in a lot of awkward friendship/relationship situations. They always end the same.

I have an issue with dating in middle school. You're not dating if you don't go on dates, hold hands, kiss, or cuddle. But you can feel like you are.

In December Logan starts being mean. We start a game where we step on each other's shoes at lunch or in the hallway. It's fun.

Eventually, he recruits his friends to do it to me, too. It's a joke a first, but eventually there are 10 middle school boys chasing me and trying to hurt me.

I get kicked in the hallway and fall. Someone steps on my arm and people laugh. Logan watches. I tell Inara and she steps on his shoe for me.

Logan and I stop talking. Inara and I hang out more. By early January, Inara has stopped going to the library at lunch. We hang out with Emilyse in the field instead.

I text Logan one day in mid January and ask why we fell out. He says that I told someone that I was going to punch him in the face.

The person he said I told, only talked to me at the bus stop, and he didn't ride my bus. I had never said it in the first place, but his logic made it even more frustrating.

I tell him I got scared because I had a crush on him and didn't want to make things weird. It was a lie.

In February I came out to someone for the first time. They asked if I was bi and I said yes.

By March I had accepted that coming out didn't really make a difference. Inara and I hung out at school but not really anywhere else.

My birthday's in April. I invite her, Emilyse, and Rebekah. We paint rocks and draw on a table cloth. Emilyse feels distant.

Emilyse is homophobic. We find out in English one day. I don't remember how. Inara and I look at each other. We know we're both queer but haven't come out to each other.

I ask Emilyse if she would hate someone in GT for coming out. She says yes. Inara and I stop talking to her.

By May I've become obsessed with Marvel. Inara's interested in it and I decide to be, too. We talk about the movies. It gets awkward. She's not as interested when I get in on it.

By June we're best friends. We hang out fairly regularly, have all our classes together, and text all the time. Logan is forgotten.

School lets out at the start of June. We keep texting regularly. We make plans to see the new spiderman movie in early July with one of our other friends.

I have a complicated relationship with said friend. They're non-binary, although I didn't know it yet, and I've known them since Kindergarten. Inara met them in an advisory this year. I get jealous easily.

The day of the movie I shop at Kohl's. I buy the two of us matching shirts. We meet at the movie theater and it's awkward. I pay for popcorn and sneak in snacks that we share. Our friend's dad is there, but Inara and I don't have parents present.

We sit next to each other during the movie. At a certain scene, I start to get anxious. My stomach hurts and I can't breathe, I start to get sweaty.

I get up and rush out of the theater. I get to the women's bathroom and sit down on the floor of the very last stall. I'm panicing, dry heaving into the toilet, and trying not to cry. I try to text my mom that I'm having a panic attack but don't have reception.

I go back into the theater room after a few minutes. I'm still anxious, but better. Our friend is highly concerned, Inara just glances at me worriedly.

It's my first panic attack, and it sucked.

We leave awkwardly after it ends, trying to avoid the obvious elephant in the room. My mom is concerned when she picks me up. We don't talk about it. My dad and brother are watching it illegally when I get home.

We don't see each other until August of 2019, but continue to text through the rest of the summer.

When 7th grade starts, I'm still into Marvel. I've seen all the movies at this point, but there haven't been any new ones (even now) since FFH. Inara's interested, but not fully.

In late August/Early September we take BuzzFeed quizzes for fun and text each other the results. I take one about soulmates. I get her initials. I send her the link. She gets mine.

We take more and they all point to us being soulmates. We propose by sending pictures of rings over text. The wedding date is set for September 28th, 2019.

The time comes. It's Saturday and my brother has a double football game. We've planned to pick her up and take her there. It's a Christian league, so the games are at a church.

We go to the garden. There's a small white bench in some rocks, surrounded by flowers. We joke that we've had our ceremony. We wander around for a while longer.

My dad suggests that we go to the taco bell across the parking lot. We do. When we're done, we walk back to my house. Its not far, but we're alone. I carry her halfway back.

When we get to my house we pick things from my garden. We're barefoot and I'm wearing overalls. I joke that we're gonna get a farm one day when we're older.

She picks things while I stand back and watch. The sun hits her dyed-red hair just right. I vividly remember smiling at thinking "holy fuck she's pretty" you would think I'd put together my crush by then.

October rolls around and she cancels plans to go trick-or-treating with me. I'm upset but understand.

We "work" on a school project at her house. We don't actually get anything done before cuddling up on her bed and falling asleep to black panther.

In November, it's Emilyse's birthday party. We've gotten distant but still talk occasionally. Inara and I both go to the party.

We're watching Spiderman Far From Home because that's what Emilyse wanted. I've seen in twice, Ianra has too.

We're given candy and popcorn and then curl up on the couch. Inara and I sit next to each other.

(I forgot to mention this but at some point she stayed the night at my house. She slept on the floor in her swimming suit even though I asked if she wanted to sleep on the bed. Swimming was fun though. We also go to an arcade. We mini-golf and play laser tag. We also danced in the rain together at some point that day.)

Once we're no more than 15 minutes into the movie, I'm cuddled into her chest. It's important to mention that at this point I'm 5'6 and she's no more than 5'0.

We cuddle the entire movie. We share candy and pretend no one else is there. It feels great.

We don't talk about that night for months. Nobody brings it up. I come out to Rebekah around this time, saying no more than that I like girls. I still haven't told Inara.

By December, I've brought her to church a few times. I don't enjoy going to church, but my parents always encouraged it.

(I'd like to say at this point as well that I have been raised Christian and identify with the faith despite the fact that I despise Church and disagree with many of the common teachings. If I ever had to choose for some reason, my sexuality matters more to me than my religion. Regardless, I respect your beliefs if they differ from mine :) )

Inara's birthday is in mid December. Her party consists of us making gay jokes with our enby friend despite not being technically out to each other.

My church youth group plans ice skating. I invite her and she accepts. I'm worried about it. It's essentially a date. Neither of our parents will be there.

We carpool with the youth leaders, who are actually pretty cute for a hetero couple. Inara and I share awkward glances the whole time.

When we get there I learn that Inara took ice skating lessons as a child. She's much more confident than I am, but pretends she doesn't know what she's doing. I skate about once or twice a season, but also rollerblade.

There's a wet, sloped, melty part of the rink. I get nervous and grab her hand. She holds it until we're out of the melted ice.

Every lap around I grab her hand at that point. Eventually, we just keep holding hands for an entire lap.

By the end of the night, we've both fallen a few times but held hands the whole time. We drop her off and I say goodnight.

That night, I rant about the adventure to one of my (ex)friends, who excitedly listens to my talk about holding hands with a girl.

There's a GT Christmas party at Hannah's. Inara and I carpool there. It's an all together boring party with the exception of a few interesting truth-or-dare questions.

(side note, remember Owen? Well he's one of Inara and I's best friends and we were actually close enough that the three of us were basically cuddling on the couch during part of the party. Also the whole class knows about Inara and I's wedding and calls us wives.)

Paislie asks me if I wanted to "marry" Inara before we got "married". I mumble an answer that nobody hears. I don't repeat it. When it's time to leave, Inara and I have our legs intertwined on the couch. We don't mention that, either. We drop her off and I say goodnight.

January is good. There's a night, the 4th I believe, that we really connect. We officially come out to each other for the first time on that night, and it gets really real, really fast.

She says she's pan, I say I'm bi but confused.

In mid January she texts me that she's crying because one of her favorite YouTubers finally hit a million. She cries for hours but never tells me who. I pay it no mind.

A few days later, she mentions a YouTube channel called Unus Annus and tells me that it's super interesting. I text back but don't look it up.

A few more days pass and I'm randomly on the trending page for YouTube, which I never do. I see a video trending called "Mark and Ethan go casket shopping". The thumbnail is interesting enough that I check what the channel is. I notice it's the one Inara told me about.

I watch the video and subscribe within 5 minutes. I text Inara quotes from that video, Ethan Finally Becomes a Man, and the Lie Detector test videos, until she responds and is surprised that I found the channel.

I obsess quickly and depend on her to know the new video at 1pm everyday. She gets annoyed and we drift apart slowly.

In February things get rocky. We fight often. If I win a small argument she doesn't talk to me for hours. She gets pissed at refuses to tell me what the Unus Annus video is called if I ask too many times.

At some point I get fed up and confront her. I don't remember what about, but we stop talking all together.

Friends pick sides. I'm left alone. We don't talk for a month. She tells me that she pushed me away because she thought I'd react badly to her telling me she loves me.

I confess my crush. She tells me she feels the same.

We finally make up at about 8:30 on a Sunday night in March. It's not fixed but we plan to talk. And 9:00, the school district announces that it's shutting down until least after spring break.

We stopped trying to communicate, but eventually, slowly we started talking again. We text a few times a day now, mostly about UA and anxiety, the best combo.

We haven't seen each other since. We're probably going back to school in person in about a month, but I'm not sure. Nobody is.

I've called her my girlfriend on here before, simply because I don't know what we are. I joked the other day about how the youth leaders would react if I said I was texting my girlfriend.

Here's how that went:

So we're just jokingly married for now! It's a confusing pile of garbage but we both came out as lesbians the other day so that's a new development.

I don't know if any of that makes sense but I'll answer any questions anybody has :)

[szopenhauer]

where were you 2 hours ago? in the local store do you kiss a lot of people? I kissed only one person in my entire life

are you wearing socks right now? ... no

have you bought any clothing items in the last week? yes

one thing you hate about yourself? my chronic illnesses mostly

what do you know about the future? we will all die, sooner or later

do you have a tan? slightly, on my arms

what day is tomorrow? Sunday 

are you dating someone? yes

why? because of many reasons

using your current first initial choose a different name for yourself. Zefiryna  or Zyta if polish what piece of furniture have you replaced the most? hmm... dunno, I’m not rich enough to replace my furniture

what do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? candies are overrated in general what is broken that you have, that you wish was fixed? my body  line from the last thing you wrote to someone? jak uważasz

Have you ever wondered what you look like when you’re sleeping? yeah ^^” Do you put your friends or family first? my parents and my S.O. Do you have bad allergies? ugh... Are your parents proud of you? there’s nothing to be proud of Would you ever be your school’s mascot who wears that costume? I could Is/was your school full of fakes? obvi What age did you start staying home alone? I’m not sure tbh but late

Would you rather see the Great Wall of China or Big Ben? Big Ben because I’d prefer to visit England and not China Ice Ice Baby or U Can’t Touch This? both XD

Can you do a handstand? used to Do you own any shirts that are yellow? several What’s a brand of shoe you like, but wouldn’t buy a pair? creepers for example Would you like to live in a cottage home? yup but I won’t

Are you comfortable with your height? wish I was a bit taller Last text received?

Are you afraid of heights? not really

Were you happy when you woke up today? I was glad I could sleep almost 10 hours Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? few times hahaha Do you curse in front of your parents? oh well ^^” Are you slowly drifting away from someone close? ... What are you listening to right now? iamamiwhoami  How is the weather right now? warm Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing? I don’t recall Do you use chapstick? ewww, gross How long do you think you will live? not much longer How’s your life going lately? no comment Have you ever had to get your blood drawn? countless times What is the most important thing to you? health that I don’t have Who was the last person you high fived? someone close to me Who hugged you last? parent Why do you feel the way you feel? where should I start... When was the last time you went shopping? this day as I already mentioned Are you liking how you look today? it’s ok Do you hate when they give a lot of tv commercials? especially when they repeat  Are you a very stressed out person? that I am 

Do you hate when people stare at you for no reason? awkward Which color is better? Red, Blue, Green, Black, or Yellow? definitely not red and blue *said a person who is wearing this today:

*I also hate pink, you will never understand me  Are you good at hiding your feelings? can be but what for Is anyone annoying you right now? not rn Did you cry today? not so far When was the last time you had a sleepover? years ago Do you like taking pictures? kinda Don’t you hate that when it’s freezing cold outside your eyes get teary? that’s awful

Have you ever trespassed? it wasn’t a big deal Do you tell your parents where you are going? basics at least Can you give a good back massage? been told 

Did you ever mix up the words “message” & “massage”? possibly Are there any other words you get mixed up? there are  Do you think women should hold open doors for men, too? why not, it’s nice to be helpful Do you raise your hand or participate in class? umm... I had my moments Would you ever spend the night in a treehouse? doubt it? What do you think of people who own wild animals? hard to tell If a book was written about your life, what would be in the summary? no idea  Are you good at explaining things, in general? I try my best to be straightforward and turn out being misunderstood If your friend had a drug-problem would you abandon them? I might, sorry Has a friendship ever ended over similar reasons? I wasn’t in a situation like this before Do you like window shopping?  fun Do you mind lending money to your friends? I’m poor What, to you, is the best part of traveling? souvenirs Do you like to try new things? very rarely Does it bother you if someone talks bad about you? gossips/lies bother me

What time of day feels the most magical to you? sunrise and evening/night? Does your head hurt right now? bardziej mi się kręci w głowie po prostu Is your hair wet right now? dry Have you ever dreamt of being a famous athlete? I had a night dream about being an athlete ore than once but I dislike sports  Do you have a rich friend that you’re jealous of? whoops you got me Are you interested in a girl who has a girlfriend? that girlfriend is me muahahaha Do most of the guys who like you annoy you? omg truth (I’m a lesbian though) but majority of society annoys me (especially men) so... What musical do you think you could play the lead in? Cats if I had talent What medical conditions do you have? what medical condition I don’t have... Do you wear leggings often? everyday Are you responsible in general? I avoid responsibilities  Would you consider yourself mature? not enough, I’m childish  Can you reach your ceiling? me?... Do you have a reading nook? I’m a librocubicularist Who is the cutest baby you know? babies ain’t cute  *weird fact - I think those with Down syndrome are prettier - is that offensive?

What makes you nauseous? I constantly feel nauseous

Someone walks into your room, what do they notice first the amount of plushies

When you have sex, do you keep your eyes closed or open when finishing I tried to keep them closed, I’m embarassed If I stepped into your shower, what is the first item I would notice who knows

How many times a day do you think you sneeze it’s not a daily thing to me Your phone rings but you don’t know the number, would you answer it if I wait for a call like from hospital etc. How many cars have you actually owned 0 Do you always take a shower after you have sex no When you wash your hair in the shower to you face the faucet or away:. face Would you let the girl pay on the first date if she really wanted to split or else I just feel ashamed Have you ever had a friend who preferred the same sex I’m that friend ha! What was the name of the last alcohol you consumed that got you trashed not applicable Do you let your girlfriend drive, or do you prefer to we don’t drive The last time you had sex was it in the morning, afternoon or night afternoon

Are you afraid of stink bugs? they’re harmless :o Do you have a printer? but we don’t use it What is the closest thing to you that’s yellow? pencil  Does anyone own any embarrassing pictures of you? I’m ugly on all photos... Do you care what others say about you? who and what? Are you into anime? blergh Name one movie that has made you cry more than once. ex. Five feet apart When is your father’s birthday? Mother’s? next year *my father is a Pisces and my mother is an Aquarius like me  no more info for ya! Are you a sarcastic person? very Do you overthink things? 24/7, every single detail, even from ages ago Are you naturally paranoid? would say so

What was the last song you listened to? Lola Marsch - Echoes

Which is more important in your life, TV or Internet? internet, I don’t watch TV and I’d even choose net over movies if I had to Do you overuse smileys? gifs :P When was the last time you ate something? an hour ago *but I fill out this survey for couple of hours  Have you seen all of the Jaws movies? I haven’t seen any of ‘em Do you know what Entomophobia is? had to google it When was the last time you played cards? (not on the computer) months ago Ever owned a pair of the original Nikes? (white, with only a single swoosh) not my type of shoes Ever worn leg warmers? yes, I still have several pairs  When was the last time you read a book over 700 pages long? never, I only written over 700 pages Have you ever had a black eye? nope, just bags under my eyes

How do you mark through your word search puzzles? I cross them with my pen Do you hate people who ask a lot of questions? I enjoy questions but... Have you ever seen a roll of bluish-green toilet paper? yep Can you name five ‘z’ words off the top of your head? besides my name? in english or polish? If a rooster laid an egg on the peak of a roof which side would it roll to? roosters don’t lay eggs

[gotatext]

claws my way out of the dirt like the goblin i am ..... hello thots, its nora, once again bringing you a revamped version of a muse i played yonks ago n some of u may have even written against... here is her pinterest.....

this is margaret greta, she’s a whole can of trauma spaghetti plastered over with a toothy grin and a lot of dad jokes. the only reason she’s in gifford really is bcos shes been put there as part of a witness protection program cos lots of police r monitoring livingstone so its deemed relatively safe.... haha... anyway she changes major all the time. she started off doing fine art but since then she’s done modules in architecture, film, bio-chemistry and is now dabbling in medicine. 

CIS-FEMALE — ever hear people say GRETA O’DRISCOLL looks a lot like DIANA SILVERS? I think SHE is about 21, so it doesn’t really work. The MEDICINE major is a SOPHOMORE that is from DEADWOOD, SOUTH DAKOTA. They can be +CHARMING, but they can also be -EVASIVE. I think GEE might be SHEEP. They are living in YATES. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her )

this bitch is the most restless creature u ever seen. before she came to livingstone, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. 

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

goes through phases of being intensely feminist and tweeting “men are trash i don’t need them” before flipping into being lonely and needy n wanting male attention again. tends to gravitate towards men who are just pieces of shit tbh like her friends are always like hun.... pick a nice boy..... but no.... she’ll go for the boxer with several arrest records for gbh or the small-town drug dealer just trying to hook her onto pills for a little extra cash, or the reformed sinner who thinks he’s being protective by reading all her texts and always knowing where she is..... n she always finds a way to spin it so that they Just Care About Her and aren’t a p.o.s 

left school at 18 n didn’t go to uni, moved in w her boyfriend of the time instead, but soon got bored, n then went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was playing bass for a country n blues band. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time. 

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate. 

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea... pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming..... also this happened in 2017, he was mixed race and greta is white so naturally the police totally took her side. she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

 massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch

pretty easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be enthralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her

is That Girl who always knows where the parties are, and is always there, on the sofa, talking about institutionalised racism and trying to coerce you into a game of beer pong that she’ll definitely win. doesn’t really have one solid group of friends, just kind of on good terms with everyone and social butterflies about

has changed her major so many times. decision? who is she. currently studying medicine, but doesn’t rlly enjoy it. she’s very unmotivated and lazy and probably wouldn’t ahve bothered going to uni if she hadn’t been placed in one by a witness protection program. will probably change on to history or gender studies soon n just make up the extra credits by volunteering

 massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her

plays bass guitar, has a teal green fender and it is her BABY. it’s covered in stickers about saving the planet and ending fracking and going vegan. she’s in an all-female punk band w agnes (n mayb jade i think) n they play gigs every now n then in grotty club basements full of druggy sweaty college kids

PERSONALITY: easy-going, sociable, observant, blunt, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent, unmotivated, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring. ESTP and a leo

LIKES: art, music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy,  cowboy chic culture, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, karaoke, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, zip-lining, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, boiler house DJ sets, magnolias, decorative lamps, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

DISLIKES: bananas, coffee, Woody Allen, mental mathematics, children, Trump, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, Wes Anderson films, spoken word poetry, the general mentality of cheerleading squads (despite being on one)

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes. 

wanted plots: since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships, and girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight, and I want like, fellow medicine students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. ppl she did a few modules with before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with, like she did a few art modules, a bit of film, n some architecture before switching to medicine, though she’ll probs switch course again soon. ppl who she runs track with. someone she’s trying to make a zine with. here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[passionandpurposeblog-blog]

Sexuality: No More to say and so over it

A few months after my long term girlfriend and I split up, I ended up in bed with Phillip, A nice guy that I’d known for some time. During the post-sex talk, he turns and asks “So does that mean you’re straight now?” 

“LMFAO” 

‘You’ve got a nice cock and I had a great orgasm, …..but you haven’t awoken anything in me that wasn’t already there. You cannot ‘make’ me straight and no one forced me to fuck you’ 

Infact, No one else would sexually awaken anything in me. Not the next guy after Phil, or the guy after that guy, or the girl after the guy after Phil. The list goes on and the list started waaaay back into my early teens. I've always been open, I was experimenting with drugs and people at a young age, I had a threesome with a guy and a girl when I was just 18. When I look back, I must admit that was very young for such an experience, but I just went with the flow. I don’t regret it, but I wish I had done it at a later age to really make the most of it and have the emotional maturity that you need to go with it. 

I’ve been listening to an interview with Kate Pierson (B52’s) and she has recently married her long term partner, a woman that she has dated for 15 years. She said that she had always dated men, and was even married before and that this lady came along and bang she was in love, just like that. Kate Pierson is now 71, So this is her 55-year-old self experiencing a major transition and shift in her life. Whilst trawling through the B52s back catalog online I read so many comments from random fans. ‘She's a lesbian’ ‘I never knew’ ‘But she was married to so and so’ and this is exactly the snooze fest that I am writing about today. Yawn...... If she spent 40 years with different men and now met a woman, perhaps shes just er just bisexual? And more importantly, shouldn’t we be interested in the music and her voice? As much as I love her, when all is said and done I don’t really want to think about the bedroom antics of a 71-year-old yknow.  

What is it with the labels?  

It’s like no one is comfortable until they know exactly which box you belong in, and if you stray from that box then their tiny minds scramble and system overload occurs. ‘ANNOUNCE YOURSELF AT ONCE’ ‘What are you?’ and ‘Don’t you dare have options or change, it doesn’t fit with the label I’ve prescribed you’.  

Before we label Kate a lesbian, how about we mention that she’s a brilliant talented vocalist with over 40 years in the band? Or is that how we are defining her now ‘The lesbian’?. *Insert laughing emoji here* 

“Bisexuals always get dumped on,” says Cynthia Nixon from Sex in the City...The Media has too labeled her a lesbian when much like Kate Pierson, she was in fact with men and entered into this new world later on in her life. It’s like now we must erase her whole previous life and deny that any man has ever come close to her! How dare she now turnaround and say she's’ attracted to men! How fucking dare she, she’s lesbian property now and she has no voice! She never said she was anything, You did!   

I thought, ‘I get it! I get You, I just get it’. She’s attracted to people, they may be male or they may be female yet shes being kettled to a place she never asked to be. It really is that simple. Should her current relationship end, nothing stops her going back to men, dating another woman or even staying single. Your past partners do not mean that your future self is set in stone. It’s not difficult to understand really is it?  

But! And there is a But!  

Say Cinthia and her gf/wife did break up and she dated a man. She won’t find it that easy, because of what I call, the whole ‘lesbian fragility’ - Gay women who pride themselves on being with women and only women and god fucking forbid should you show any interest in a guy. Well, You are now damaged goods my girl. A sell-out, banished!....exiled from the pride....like the Lioness in last weeks BBC Planet Earth. How can you and the gay community ever really watch the L Word again together or listen to Ani Difranco in the same way? ‘It’s just not the same’ they’ll whine.  

I’m being serious. There is a reverse discrimination within the gay community! I’ve seen it first hand. I’ve seen a few women in same sex relationships end, then go for a guy and their ‘friends’ no longer feel the same way about them, there’s no time to hang out anymore and she is “too busy with her straight friends”.  

Awwwww did someone emasculate you? 

I’ve never really enjoyed the company of gay women if I'm honest. I always found their friendships forged on sharing of sexual preference rather than common interest, views or hobbies. I usually think their haircuts are shit and they present me with this feeling where they are unsure if they want to fuck me or fight me. Very awkward, not to mention its a very childish and incestuous scene.  

I have seen this so many times with women, either in a same sex or opposite and then switch later on down the line which is what I mean about experience and just understanding those around you. I think a lot of women are on the bi spectrum. Not all, no, but a lot are, and sexuality is fluid.  About three months ago my cock hungry straight friend told me she’d met some woman online and is now having the best sex of her life! Great, wonderful, Whoppie.  So how do I label her? …....‘Err Mary’......... I label her Mary. I can’t really call her cock hungry right now, so I’ll just label her ‘Hungry Mary’. 

One of my oldest friends is gay – full blown lesbian, never been with a guy but totally cool with every bi girl that has. She and I sit on a different part of the spectrum, but she gets it and like myself she gives those around her that mutual respect and safe space to be who they are. If she turned around tomorrow and said she’s dating a guy, I wouldn’t be shocked, not because she has ever indicated that she likes guys, but simply because people change.  

I know three guys that have also experimented with other guys, would identify as straight and two of the three have long term girlfriends and kids. I just think at the time they took the ‘any holes a goal’ attitude and like my younger self, just went with the flow. 

As we age and grow the fuck up, this should be more accepted and we should just allow people to do who and what they want without the questions, especially the silly questions. It’s really mind numbingly boring, not to mention so nosey!? Jeez, get your own life in order. Despite my ramblings, I'm actually a pretty private person.  I just don’t discuss my private life or anyone I’m dating, I have so many transient non-committal interactions with people that I just don’t feel I need to. 

 I’ve been chatting to some people for ages, and I still wouldn’t discuss parts of my life with them. I keep my circle so small, and If we don’t click like that, we don’t click like that. It’s cool, because there is far more to me and far more to you than who we have in our beds right? I cant imagine meeting someone and asking them, “so what are ya?” CRINGE. I’d die. I’ve got some friends that I’ve spoken to for years, we’ve had really great conversations and it’s never occurred to me to stop and ask ‘do you have a partner? Are you gay?’  

The small circle of friends that I have know me, they get me and that’s my safe space.  

I do find some of the questions and statements really annoying, and if I’m honest just plain weird. I have an irritating male friend in that likes to continually remind me that I’m attracted to women, and of course, there is no way that I can be attracted to men, because I’m not attracted to him..... *eye roll* Dick! It’s like me saying to someone, ‘but you said you like mixed raced girls, so why don’t you like me’ it’s really really weird and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Its uncomfortable because he cannot address or acknowledge his own fascination with bisexuality and cannot stop mentioning it every time he sees me? He makes out he is cool and open-minded, yet I seem to be the topic of convo or butt of his jokes. Address your homophobia or your weird unrequited sexualisation of me whatever the issue is. Seek help mate, Your issue not mine. 

I cannot recall being asked what two women do in bed, but I have heard of it being asked to other people. It’s hilarious. I honestly believe that if you are over 25 and cannot work that out then you have a really dull imagination and I’d bet you are not very experienced. Not necessarily in bedding two women at once, but just in experiencing people; hearing their stories, watching porn, understanding their anatomy and physiology. OR You are being a menace and condescending..... I’ve never seen two men at it live, but I’m pretty sure I know how it goes down ;-)  

Sometime ago I spent a fair amount of time at a bdsm sex dungeon helping out an old friend. Id mostly film her sessions, and now and then Id help out by giving some guys the odd little kick in the nuts etc. Boy, I could write a whole new blog on that experience LOL! I saw some things!  

Meeting all the different types of people that came in the dungeon really opened my eyes to the world of sex and sexuality and just what turns people on. You really cannot judge what people are into, and you’d never know. It’s funny, the ‘geezers’ that make the gay jokes about bumming are often the same ones that ask the women to wear strap ons ;-). People have their quirks and their kinks, they just hide it well BELIEVE me. 

I’ve seen a lot and I’m very open and not much phases me, but because I’m not phased, or excited by the gossip or the fascination of it all I'm over it. …....over the labels, the questions, the presumptions, opinions and the basic inability to let people do what they want in peace. So because of this I decided a long time ago that I’m actually over my sexuality and stopped speaking about it  back in my twenties. 

Yawn.  

No one owns me and no one dictates.

I’m not anything, I’m just me in that particular point of time. No path is set and I answer to no one except who’s in my bed. 

Keep your own truth

[ezeelife-blog1]

Kissing Boys, Dreaming Girls

Me.

Since the age of 5 I knew I was different.

I mean, I was the same as other kids when it came to toys, cartoons, films and music…but when it came to who I wanted to play with, and get a cuddle from…it was always about girls.

But this was weird! Every romantic scene on TV would involve a boy and a girl – never a girl and another girl. So what was wrong with me? Surely I needed to stop these feelings, and try and be ‘normal’.

This is my earliest memory how I would suppress my true self. And I became really good at it. So much so, I forced myself to find guys attractive. And it worked. I had crushes on boy bands, actors, even the odd friend at school.

Year 8, and I had my first boyfriend. Michael was a cool guy, one of the coolest in my year. We broke up after a week – actually after our first kiss (which was awful!!). I remember thinking how much I wished it was nicer, because then I could stop thinking about girls. But I didn’t. I knew kissing a girl would have been nicer, softer, and way more exciting than what I had just experienced.

And so I carried on through my school and university years this way. Dating boys, but dreaming girls.

Not once did I ever cross paths with another lesbian…not once!

My mum.

Me and my mother shared a wonderful relationship (I realise I used the past tense in that sentence). Really wonderful. Home was cosy because of her. Our house was full of laughter. Dad was at work most of the time, and so me, mum and my sister would just have fun every day.

Growing up in a Mauritian household was very different to anything my friends would tell me about. We were unique. Different language, mindsets…we dipped in and out of our Muslim religion. I grew up knowing I was Muslim, and yet knowing it was ok to drink (my Dad loved his Guinness), it was ok to dance, and it was ok to have fun. BUT, some things were not ok. Like it wasn’t ok to go out clubbing, it wasn’t ok to embarrass your parents, and it definitelywas not ok to be gay.

Mum was always proud of my sister and me. On the phone she would always take pride in saying to her mates ‘Yes, well as least my girls are sensible…No, they would never embarrass us like that…’

Once my mum even asked me why I didn’t have a boyfriend. I was at uni at the time, and flippantly replied ‘because I don’t like boys’. Her face was an absolute picture of horror. She looked at me and asked ‘Oh my god, you’re not a lesbian are you???’. That was my chance. But no, her face frightened me. I couldn’t tell her, and make her face stay like that forever! So I simply replied: ‘No, I mean I don’t like the boys I have met.’

The marriage.

Fast forward a few years, and the inevitable happened…I got married. To be fair I did fall in love with a man. And did agree to marry him (for the sake of this story I will call him Nestor). By then I had accepted that this was the life I had to lead. So, I did it. I let the normal life I was conditioned to lead. I can’t complain. I was very lucky, I had a lovely life. The best thing from this life was the birth of my daughter. It was the most wonderful moment, and the best thing that had ever happened to me at that point of my life. I fell into the role of being a mother easily. Of course, the beginning was tough, but once I had settled into motherhood – it was wonderful. I returned to work part-time after a year at home. I struggled with the idea, do I become a full-time stay at home mum, or do I return to work and try the ‘working-mum’ thing? I chose the latter – and this is the decision that would change my life forever.

Work.

I worked in a courthouse, part-time to begin with. When my daughter turned 3 I started full-time. I loved my job. Loved the people, loved the work, and loved being a working mum. I would finish work at a reasonable time, collect my daughter from the grandparents and rush home to play. When her father would arrive home, it would be bedtime for her, dinner time for us, then a relaxing evening of chillaxing. I lived a fantasy in my mind though. In my mind, at night, I was gay. My life was as it was, but I was with a woman. She was a faceless woman (I am aware this sounds scary), I simply couldn’t picture what she looked like. I can’t explain why it was that I chose to live this way in my mind. I wasn’t unhappy in my real life, but there was something cosy about living a fantasy life at night. It genuinely made me contently fall asleep, just thinking of being in a woman’s arms.

This was how life went on, and while it did something strange started to happen. Me and my husband (sounds weird using that term now!) started to do our own thing. I enjoyed hobbies such as fitness and gardening, whilst he enjoyed studying and playing videogames. It didn’t bother us that we enjoyed our own company, because that was us. We enjoyed hanging out with one another, but did our own thing. It didn’t matter if he was out on a Friday night, because I LOVED my own company. BUT, this led to a new hobby…

Books.

I have always loved to read. But my Kindle offered me something new. The ability to search and buy a new book at any time of the day (or night). One evening I stumbled upon a new book of my favourite genre: murder-mystery. However, this one was different. The main character was a lesbian. I couldn’t believe it. A lesbian, an actual lesbian. Until now, these women had only existed in my mind – and maybe in the odd movie. But to read about her in a book, left nothing to the imagination (especially the naughty bits). I had unlocked a gate. I started reading one after the other. Every night, after all the chores of the evening were done, out came the books. And to be honest, I did love the murder/mystery elements, but it was the romance between the characters of every book that would capture me each time.

My fantasies started to grow. All of a sudden I wasn’t dreaming about women at night to help me sleep, but I was day-dreaming about women. Where it had previously been ok to live a life with my husband where it was cool to do our own thing in the evenings. I found myself looking forward to those moments, yet feeling sad that I was missing out on something that I wanted with someone else. No one in particular mind, just another being…a female being.

Erin.

It sounds cliché. But not once did I go searching for her, she just appeared one day – at work. For years I worked there and not once did my eyes ever stray onto anyone. Sure, you might check the crowd for a hot woman, but not oncewas there ever a hot woman where I worked. Until one morning, driving into work, I was stopped by an officer of the court directing a van into the building. She was beautiful. Literally took my breath way (again, I am aware everything I am saying is cliché – but it is all true!). just as quickly as she appeared, she quickly disappeared into the building. And I never saw her again for months. Again, I was a married woman, so I was never going to seek her out, nor was I ever going to ask around about the hot newbie woman. It just wasn’t something I would ever do to my husband. I respected him and my daughter too much.

But…my fantasy woman finally had a face! I don’t know what it was about her. But her face soon became implanted in my mind. I would think about her a lot. I’d wonder what she was like as a person, was she funny, what her voice sounded like. It was a proper crush. My first realcrush because let’s face it, my Angelina Jolie crush clearly didn’t count.

Busy months went by, birthdays, engagements, work, typical life stuffs. One day during a long court case, I was ploughing away through paperwork, when I looked up and saw her! She was there at the back of the room. Where she came from, and when she walked in I did not know, yet there she was. She was truly beautiful. We locked eyes for a split second. So quick, till this day I still don’t know whether it happened or not. All those books I had read suddenly made sense. Reading them you would think that a lot of it is made up, and so cheesy. But god, it was all true. True beauty can literally stop you in your tracks. Make your heart thump. And make you forget yourself. But of course, I was married, so in my head and heart although I had never felt this way about a woman before, I was able to draw a line and just appreciate her for who she was – but more importantly, the wonderful feeling she had given me. She truly helped me unlock a gate I never thought could be unlocked. And that’s all I needed.

By the end of the day I had learned her name. Of course, me being the friendly person I am, I had to introduce myself to her, the way I’d do to all the new people I’d meet. Her first words to me weren’t great – she thought I was another woman who worked with me! I corrected her with my name, saw she was a little embarrassed and made a little joke to let her know it was ok.

That was it. For the rest of the day I felt like I was on cloud nine. At home I was able to carry on as normal, putting my daughter to bed, cooking dinner and doing all the usual things. But in the evening, I fell asleep smiling. The stories I read were true. Beautiful women do exist, and I was clearly gay.

Coming out to myself.

I have struggled to sit and write this chapter, for many reasons. Having spent years pushing down my true feelings, it was overwhelming for them to resurface in such a powerful and real way. I experienced a mixture of emotions. Happiness. Light-bulb moment that I was gay and couldn’t hide it anymore. Guilt. Sadness. All mixed into one. It sucked. In life, I thought I was happy, my daughter made me happy, and my husband provided a life for us. Nestor was my best friend, and we made a wonderful home based on that. We had fun. But on my part, my daughter was the glue to all that. My yearning for being with a woman had somehow shot out of my mind and morphed into the real world. But I wasn’t the type of person who would ever act on that. I believed in the notion of marriage. I frowned upon people who would flirt, or took it further with others, when they were married. For me when you were committed to someone, then that was that. Plus, I wasn’t suffering in my marriage, I just felt there was no connection there anymore.

Erin…again.

All of a sudden she was everywhere. After almost a year of working together, we kept on bumping into each other. She would end up being in my courtroom just by chance. We would spend every available minute chatting away. She was funny. And had a wonderful outlook on life. She found me fascinating. She had never met a Muslim woman, so found it fascinating that I was nothing like she had read in news. I didn’t wear a hijab, yet I was fasting for Ramadan. I didn’t wear a hijab, yet I spoke and acted like a normal human being. Nothing like the media portrayed Muslim women. We would spend hours talking about her life, my life, and just life in general. She was wonderful.

My religion.

Backtracking a little I know. But religion has always been something at the forefront of my life – and yet it never felt like I was religious as my friends at school. Firstly, no one in my immediate family wore hijabs (the headscarf), or had a beard. My dad enjoyed the occasional Guinness during the weekends, and my mum loved to party and entertain guests. Behaviour that you would not expect from a Muslim family. However, during Ramadan my mum, my sister and me would always keep our fasts. We would pray, listen to holy music, not watch tv, and do all the things that a typical Muslim family would do. But then after Eid, things would go back as they were.

My family, however, were very traditional. Where they lacked in following their faith, they made up by following their culture. Mauritius is a tiny island, and with it comes my parents’ generation where the majority would have a very particular mindset.

1.    Ideally marry another Mauritian, if not then marry a Muslim, if not then they must convert to Islam.

2.    Never embarrass your parents.

3.    Don’t give ‘people’ a chance to talk about us because you went against #2.

4.    Parents are always right – obey their rules and all will be ok.

5.    Gays do not exist.

Now I can’t speak for all Mauritians out there – and there may be some who read this who get really offended. But this was the culture that I grew up in, and it was the image that was portrayed to me. I was conditioned to do all of the above. And although I was truly blessed by having wonderful parents who took care of us, paid for our education so we didn’t have to take any loans, fed us and taught us to be kind and forgiving – they cut my wings. And I guess it was inevitable that it took 30 years for them to grow…and for me to do what I eventually did.

Coming out to a friend.

I had no idea how Erin felt for me. I would see it in her eyes that she cared for me a lot – and at times I would think I saw more. But never did I ask, and never did she say. What I did know is how I felt for her. I loved her. I don’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but she was in my heart. I couldn’t do anything without thinking of her. My weekends would be spent wondering what she was doing. She was with someone else, so I wouldn’t text her in case I said something silly and got her into trouble. Not that I would have done anyways…I had my own issue to deal with – how do I tell my Nestor that I’m in love with a woman?

But tell him I did… and being the friend he was – he understood. I was honest. Told him I had feelings for Erin. In some ways I felt he already knew. We had grown so distant – but our friendship was there. He listened to me explain what I was feeling. Explain that I didn’t know what to do because I had a life with him. We had a daughter. But my head and my heart was somewhere else. I needed help. And help he did…he told me I should follow my heart. He didn’t want to live a life where he/I/we were not happy. Whatever it took , we would make this work. I was lucky. And make it work we did – but I will get into that later.

Back to Erin.

I did everything mentioned above without speaking to Erin. But I couldn’t carry on lying to myself, or my him. He deserved to be in relationship with someone that was on the same page as him. I respected him too much to carry on living such a lie. So, I told him – but didn’t tell her. I clearly enjoy making things difficult for myself right?? Erin was with someone else. They had plans for a life together, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin that for her. So that night I planned to simply keep quiet about what I had just done. Maybe one day, there would be a chance for her and I – but for now I will just take her friendship.

The next morning, I went to work. Everything seemed surreal at home. Nestor and I still had tea, still said our goodbyes, and made plans for what we were going to have for dinner. It seemed we had just fallen into the role of friends (even it was the calm before the storm that was perfectly fine – it was how we needed to manage it). At some point during the day, I met Erin. I tried my absolute best to be normal, but she knew something was up. So I simply told her that I had ended my marriage, and left it at that. This was when she told me that she too had ended her relationship that very night. How, and why we did this at the same time without conferring with one another is one of life’s greatest unknowns. But what we did know was we are free now to declare to one another what we were too afraid to say before. We had fallen in love. At some point during our hours of conversations, and laughter, we fell in love. And it felt wonderful, and so right. Alarm bells were sounding in my head, but in my heart, I knew I had done the right thing.

Building a foundation.

Our first few months together as a couple were like no other. We didn’t do the usual things that new couples got to do…dates every night, short weekend getaways, spending the night together – no, none of those wonderful things! We had bigger fish to fry. First thing on the agenda, Erin had to meet my daughter. Second thing on the agenda, we had to phase out our family unit so that the transition to her new life would seem normal. Finally, Erin would have to meet my good friend Nestor. I wanted an unconventional family. And all three of us agreed that it was something that we would willingly do in order to build a unit for our daughter. It was not going to be easy, but we had a goal and a plan, and we stuck to it.

Honesty. This was key here. When me and Erin got together I lay all my cards on the table. If she wanted me she would have to accept my baggage. That baggage included a daughter, and for the sake of that daughter, she would have to accept her father. Those same terms were agreed by Nestor because above all he agreed that he did not want our daughter to suffer. So if that meant swallowing his pride to meet and try and get on with Erin – then so be it. Operation ‘phasing-out’ entailed him and I continuing to live together (separate bedrooms). My evening would remain the same in that I would still cook and tuck her to bed. But once she was asleep, and he got back in from work, I would spend the evening with Erin, then return home later. I would be home in case she woke up during the night, and I would to be there for her breakfast. Her life did not change, but ours did.

A few months went this way, until one day he and Erin met for the first time. Tea. Tea is one of life’s most wonderful glue. We sat, drank tea, and made small talk. Erin and Nestor got on really well. Got to talking, and before they knew it they were making little jokes here and there, and the ice was slowly starting to melt. My daughter was loving life, because all of a sudden everyone was together and it all felt cosy. She would sit and play her dolls, whilst we just learned how to be with one another.

Another week went by, and then there was dinner. The next week we went to a restaurant. And a few months, and dinners, after that – we went on holiday. We became this unit, an unconventional unit that somehow made sense.

Nestor and I lived with each this way for a year. During that year I was able to find and purchase a home exactly five minutes away from Nestor. We did this so that our daughter would be able to walk back and forth between her two homes, as if they were one. We were able to amicably finalise our divorce. But most importantly, we were able to learn how to be with one another. Accept the situation, and build a new relationship based on it. Only when we were completely comfortable with everything, did we feel ready to tell the parents. This did not go down well.

Losing my mum.

Nestor and I did this together. We asked for our parents to join us for tea. And told them. They were distraught. Completely and utterly distraught. This was probably the worst moment of this entire story. Our parents were happy, they got on with one another, they adored their granddaughter, and were just coasting through life. This brought them back down to reality, brought them back to square one. After the initial shock Nestor’s parents were the first to calm down. They asked me about my plans, asked if I needed help, and were genuinely concerned. I mean they were clearly angry, but they respected our decision and kept their reservations to themselves. Till this day we have kept in close contact with them. Nestor’s mother adores our son, and thinks Erin is wonderful. Time seemed to help them heal.

My parents on the other hand were not as helpful. They withdrew. Completely went into their own minds and hid there. Four years later they are still hiding, sadly.

There were no longer dinner parties, music, or laughter. Just sadness and loneliness. They didn’t want to face the ‘whispers’ that ‘people’ would talk. Ask them what ‘people’ and they would never give you an answer. They just had (have) it in their heads that everyone were talking about them. They were embarrassed and ashamed. I had done the one thing they had always asked me not to do.

For four years we did keep in contact – via my daughter. They would still offer to collect her from school, just so they could get a chance to see her. Which was nice because I would never deprive them of that. However, they would not talk to me. Not even when I would go and collect my daughter, my parents would not talk to me. I have since stopped trying (mostly because I no longer know what to say to them). I know they are there. They are ok, and healthy. That is all that matters to me.

Wait…what? I thought this was meant to be a happy story.

This IS a happy story.

My daughter is happy, she has two wonderful homes with parents (and guardians) who love her very much. She’s a cool kid. So proud that I am gay, and so proud that I chose Erin. They have grown a wonderful maternal bond over the years – it has been beautiful to see it grow.

My ex is happy, having travelled the world and met an amazing partner during that time…AND lost loads of weight – he is happy.

Me and Erin are happy, we have a wonderful home, a son – another story for another time! He is a beautiful little boy. Watching him explore the world is a pleasure. And knowing that he is lucky to be growing up part of a beautiful family makes our hearts smile. He is adorned by us all. Oh, and we have a cat.

For the best part of four years, every Sunday both households take it in turns to cook a family dinner. ‘Family Sunday’ has since welcomed his partner, who is French born so has a wonderful love for cheese – so we do enjoy her food! The evenings either involve playing board games, or just talking around the table. We are unconventional, but we work.

Yes, I miss my parents tremendously, but I know they are ok. They get on with life, and in a way are happy with the way things are. I am not in the family anymore, so I can’t embarrass them. They see my sister often, and she visits me often, so that just works.

I guess I wanted to write this all down to help others out there. Other people who are stuck in a life where they are not free to be themselves. Yes, I was very lucky to have people in my life to support me. But, a lot of this happened because of honesty. Be honest with yourself, and with others – and something, or someone, out there will just help make it all work. Somehow.

[lesbian-ed]

is it weird that i don't feel any connection to the lgbt community? and i particularly dislike being around bi women. no hard feelings and i know that they face their own struggles, but i dislike how 'wlw solidarity' is pushed onto lesbians when the majority of bi women end up in straight relationships and loooove to talk about d*cks in front of us. like how are our experiences similar when that's the reality?? i just feel no connection to them or bi/gay men and especially not trans ppl... (1/2)

i know that the community is historically and still presently important and i support it, but i don’t feel like i belong in there. i am a lesbian first and part of the lesbian community. and i don’t relate to other “queer” people and i hate the posts pushing that solidarity onto me… idk i just have very mixed feelings about all this… and maybe i’m just speaking from experience because all the bi women i met acted–straight. i hope i didn’t offend the bi followers of this blog tho :( love u!

yeah I agree with anon, in LGBT groups everyone else to relate to wanting to get “dicked down” and they have fun making jokes about needing a man and even sometimes straight allies come and connect with the gay and bisexual men more and as a lesbian I try to keep up but it exhaust me in the same it exhaust me when I hang out with straight people for too long. There are barely any lesbians in gay clubs or LGBT functions and it sucks, I love my lesbian sisters and I want to see them round more

I’m putting all these together since they deal with the same topic. They’re a follow up to this ask that Mod C brilliantly answered.

I agree with what all of you are saying. All groups of the LGBT community treat us badly in one way or another, I’ve seen constant lesbophobia from all of them. Hell, not even all lesbians have each others badk, I’ve been harassed by others lesbians for daring to say “sorry I don’t like dick, nope that doesn’t mean I think people who have them are less human” so believe me I completely understand the alienation from the rest of the community. I feel it too.

There’s this narrative pushed that says that the LG have it better than anyone else but that’s really only true for the G to be honest, maybe lesbians have more “visibility” in the sense that maybe more people know what lesbians are (although their concept of lesbianism it’s usually homophobic af lmao). They only think that because they push all “the gays” together and think our lives and struggles are the exact same when that hasn’t ever been the same, even at the very beginning of the LGBT rights movement there were separate groups for gay and lesbian activists, we have things in common but lesbians have always done our own thing because gay male activism didn’t fully represent our interests. In recent years the B and the T have made so many gains within the community and in the mainstream by pushing that narrative that lumps gay men and lesbians together, it betrays how little they know about actual LGBT history (not just the one that’s passed down online lmao, no, Stonewall was an important date for the movement but things didn’t start there, and yes Marsha P. Johnson participated in the riots but so did lesbian Storme Delarveria and gay latino man Raymond Castro, one single person didn’t “create” the movement, or sparked the Stonewall riots that’s dumb. MANY PEOPLE PARTICIPATED from different letters of the LGBT)

While they posit us as privileged and make gains off our backs, lesbians are still collecting the scraps, and then all our spaces are suddenly for “all queer women” and wanting a lesbian-only space is “exclusionary” and talking about our sexuality is “fetishistic” so yeah believe me, it’s just normal to feel alienated from the community. Also so many of them are very male-centric as you said, so it’s normal for us not to be able to relate to that. I sympathize with the struggles of gay men, bi people, and trans and/or dysphoric people, I do, I recognize what we share in common in some aspects, but I shouldn’t have to exhaust my energy on them if they don’t respect me or my sexuality. I’d rather be focused on other lesbians, you want my sisterhood? Cool, do you part of it. Help me and I help you, but don’t expect me to burn myself to keep you warm.

If we want to create a cohesive community that has to start with them actually caring about us and revising their lesbophobia, and listening to us when we point out that something they say/do is lesbophobic. If they don’t do that, well, more and more lesbians are going to start being disillusioned with the community, perhaps then we can create more of our own lesbian-only spaces, that’d be really nice.

If you want to be more around your lesbian sisters I recommend, if you don’t know any in real life, to follow lesbians on tumblr (I have a huge list of lesbians blogs I adore I could recommend some to you!), try to talk to some of them, you’ll make friends or perhaps more. Perhaps you’ll end up meeting them in real life. Hell, I met all of the others mods on tumblr. I’m also in several FB groups for lesbians that are honestly so amazing and healing to be in, a rad-leaning lesbians group and one for artsy lesbians. I never knew how much I needed that until I had it, it’s honestly so great and so different from wlw queer spaces (which I think have their place, but as of right now many are very male-focused and dominated by bi women, and I’ve seen a lot of lesbophobia from them too, so that needs to change before lesbians can feel safe in queer wlw spaces)

Mod M :D

[sometimesrosy]

Sorry for the heavy question, but how do you feel comfortable with your bisexuality? I try to get away from the biphobia, and I don't get hate anons from CLs anymore, but every so often I see one of the ppl I follow get a biphobic anon (they seem especially prevalent today) and I'm right back down to where I was. I just suck at hearing stuff like this, I always take comments about bisexuality so personally. Idk if I'll ever be fully comfortable, since I can't ever come out as bi back home.

I never felt I ‘counted’ as bisexual, although I’ve known I was attracted to women for 26 years. I’m mostly attracted to men, so it felt like to identify that way would be cheating. But I recognize that bisexuality is a spectrum, and that includes those who are closer to the heterosexual end of the spectrum. So that includes me. So that means I count. I’m still learning what that means for me, and I’m perfectly fine with the discovery. I don’t need to pin it down. 

To be honest, I might also be slightly agender too, but I haven’t explored that yet. Or maybe I did, I spent a few years “allowing” myself to be feminine, without realizing what that meant about my identity. It was a kind of important thing for me in the 90s, making peace with my very feminine appearance while not feeling that way inside, but at this point, not so much anymore. Despite the REALLY weird experience of being pregnant and what that means about being a woman. Again. Done with that, so no longer have to bother. 

I accept LGBT people of any type. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans, asexual, agender or anything on the spectrum or anything I don’t know about yet or haven’t learned about yet… which is lots because human sexuality and identity is SO much more complicated than the basic binary. And that means I accept myself. 

I might have an easier time accepting people outside of the basic binary because I am mixed race, and I have accepted and understood that I am not (and people are not) simply one thing OR the other, but very often a combination or spectrum of identities. I simply don’t think that way. 

I’m also not particularly out irl, where I am in my life right now. I don’t need to talk about my sexuality with my mom or my kids, and I’m not being real social right now, so it’s not an issue. And as a demi ace, I really don’t care?  IDK. It also might be something about being only slightly bi, and demi ace, and just a little bit agender. Even being a light skinned POC. Like people always think I’m the dominant type. They just assume I’m “normal.” But I’m not and never have been. I don’t fit. I never have. I’m not trying to pass, but unless I bring it up, people assume. At some point, you make peace with that, with not being like other people. So when you find out you’re even more not like other people you’re like, “eh. what else is new?”

I don’t really have answers about my personal sexuality and how I move through the world, because I hadn’t really identified it aside from not really feeling straight my whole life. I’m okay with it. And because I’m not taking action on dating, and no one is pressuring me to because, hello, traumatized single mom here, I’d rather just ignore it. I’ll get to it eventually. It’s a kick. I kind of like being demiace. It takes so much pressure off me. Just being me. And that’s the thing. Finding out your identity is about YOU. Not them. Not the community. I’ve seen so many people who were so anxious and unhappy before they understood or came to grips with who they were. But once they do, it’s like they stop pretending and get to be THEMSELVES. This is a WONDERFUL thing. And it often takes some time because we live in a homophobic society. THAT’S why we need a LGBT community, to combat the homophobia, lesbophobia, biphobia, transphobia and acephobia. Sadly, something has gone wrong with that.

As for the internet hyenas? I am HORRIFIED by the tumblr lgbt community. HORRIFIED. How they focus on gatekeeping and making LGBT people feel wrong and stigmatized and invalidating them? This is the OPPOSITE of what the LGBT community is supposed to be. But, I guess, the gatekeepers feel enough power from their position as dominant identity in the community, that they enjoy diminishing other LGBT people. This is not right. 

They are wrong. They are silencing people, and making them afraid to join communities or enter into the conversation. Making them feel ashamed and alone. I barely talk about myself because of this. (But apparently if you ask a question, I will, because it’s about you.) I am confident in my identity, as late as I found it, because I was welcomed into the LGBT community in the 90s and 00s. Thank you to all my gay and lesbian friends and family. OMG, I had my stonewall era gay roommate trying to figure out how I was gay back in 1992. He couldn’t figure it out. But he knew it was something. Lol. It only took me 25 years. 

I’ve been harassed really badly on this site for being a “lesbophobe” because I was sharing my abuse experience and relating to CL, and treating that relationship like an actual relationship rather than a fantasy. And I also got accused of biphobia, called a ‘fake bisexual’ and was slutshamed for a fic I wrote. How did I deal with it? 

Honestly nonny, I know know who I am, and anonymous bullies on the internet can’t tell me I’m wrong. It’s LAUGHABLE that they keep trying. It’s taken me 47 years to figure out who I am, and some nasty comment doesn’t get to change it. 

I see them for the weak, insecure bullies they are. And I simply don’t give a shit about their opinions. 

How do you do it? Figure out who you are. Find your community– and it may not be the community you expect it to be. If they treat you badly because you are bisexual, tell them to go to hell.  Find a different community who does accept you. Grow into yourself. It’s a process. No one gets to tell you how it works. 

[the-revisionist]

a good fixed star

LTiH, Caroline/Gillian. 

Prompts: “things you said under the stars and in the grass” and “things you said while we were driving.”

Notes: Chapter title quotes are from letters of Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, except for the last chapter, which is from Vita to Virginia. And the longer italicized quotes in text are from Virginia’s letters to Vita. Apologies for any errors of transcription or misattribution; a scholar I am not.

For my dear @farminglesbian, who suggested the prompts.

i. “The whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.” 

Gillian first saw Clash of the Titans with a group of friends at a movie theater in Manchester during the summer of 1981. She was 16 and stoned and—to the delight of her parents—finally growing out the purple streaks in her hair. The previous year—not to the delight of her parents—she’d had an abortion. She was, she thought, done with boys. For a while, anyway. So in spite of the heat she wore a motorcycle leather jacket over her Gang of Four t-shirt and hoped her profuse sweating would repel the idiot sitting next to her, a friend of a friend named Derek who wore a pink Lacoste shirt and whom she barely knew, and who kept trying to convince her to give him a hand job. While she did not appreciate this constant distraction from the smoldering beauty of Harry Hamlin and the troubling voluptuousness of Ursula Andress, eventually she gave in toward the end of the film because he was everyone’s ride home, including hers, and she knew otherwise there was no way she’d get back otherwise. At least he bought her fish and chips afterwards. 

Since then she’s seen this guilty pleasure of a movie so many times that it’s become a family joke; this morning Raff had texted Clash of T on telly 2day but u probs already know. So some 35 years later here she is, watching the same bloody film, ignoring that unsettling summery feeling somewhere between restlessness and lassitude, and thinking that her life is on repeat with only the most pathetic of variations—this time she’s alone, divorced, sprawled on the couch with her head hanging off the cushion so that she’s watching Lawrence Olivier upside down, and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear because it’s hot as hell outside and she hasn’t the faintest intention of really working today. The sheep are fed, watered, and sheltered; that’s all she cares about. A bottle of lager sweats on the table in front of her and creates a puddle that dams against the mobile, which rings at the crucial moment when Olivier famously intones, “Release the kraken.” 

Cursing and flailing, she reaches for the mobile and falls off the couch in the process. Eyes on the kraken, she swipes the damp edge of the phone against her t-shirt and answers with a grunted “Yeah,” assuming it’s Raff and he needs a babysitter because no one else really calls her unless some sort of favor is required. 

This is true even of Caroline, who messages her regularly and usually about Flora or work or some random bad date she’s had—I loathe women a recurring motif as of late and leave it to Caroline to casually drop the word loathe in a text—so Gillian bobbles the mobile when she actually hears Caroline purring, “Make yourself pretty for me.”

She laughs. In addition to the texting they actually see each other more now than in the past couple years and if Gillian actually trusted anyone other than Caroline for confession, she would swear that to her complete and utter consternation, the woman in question actually flirts with her now. She has a hundred reasons why this cannot be true, but two primary counterarguments suffice: (1) it’s delusional wishful thinking on her part and (2) Caroline doesn’t really mean it and is simply practicing flirting techniques on her—and not doing such a grand job if all her dates are shit, apparently. The situation, such as it is, percolates within her, giving rise to a fluttery feeling at best and, with cheap lager in the mix, outright nauseous terror at worst. Men are easy, women are complicated; this is normally her blanket excuse for why she had never seriously attempted a romantic relationship with a woman. In Gillian’s mind there is a Venn diagram comprised of two circles: one labeled flirting and the other women, and the convex sliver where they deliriously conjoin is marked oh fuck and this maddeningly curvy demimonde is where one Caroline McKenzie Hyphen Fucking Dawson currently resides in her jumbled brain.  

Gillian watches the kraken thrash around onscreen while Lawrence Olivier quietly contemplates a professional nadir. “What’re you on about? Don’t you have a thing today? Work conference?”

“Canceled!”  

“Oh. Why?”

“Outbreak of food poisoning!” Caroline says with unabashed glee. 

“Hurrah for salmonella.” 

“Actually it was staphylococcus. Had dinner with them all last night and everyone put mayonnaise on their chips, I noticed, except for me.”

“You’re like the Sherlock Holmes of bacteria.”  

“So I’m a free woman this afternoon. Let’s do something.”

“Do what? Too bloody hot to do anything.” 

“Which means you’re just sitting around in your underwear drinking beer and watching some shit movie.” 

“Do you have a spycam in my house?” Gillian takes a moment to glare suspiciously at her mobile. “Or are we Skyping by accident?”

  “I cannot tell you how impressed I am that you know what Skype is.”

“Twat.”  

“Come on. We’ll go for a drive somewhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to that weird bookstore—the one in the old church?” 

“Caz, that’s like on the other side of Leeds. One of those little villages where they’ve probably filmed a hundred episodes of Miss Marple.”

“So? We’ll make a day of it. Put on pants, I’m five minutes away.” She rings off. 

Gillian stares at the phone. Indeed, the kraken has been released. “Oh fuck.”

She runs upstairs. Her jeans are all in various stages of smelly, filthy, and unwearable, so she throws on a dress—subtly flowered and linen, the only dress she owns that has earned some kind of positive response from Caroline. Distinctly she remembers the time she wore it last summer: family dinner al fresco at the farm, Caroline’s smiling appraisal with head tilt and cool murmur of approval—you look nice—and the resultant blush fire blazing across her face. She could not remember the last time anyone made her cheeks burn like that. She pulls on battered Chuck Taylors, looks in the bedroom mirror and sees all these overlapping iterations of identity, an entire life visible in one weary reflection: punk wannabe, mother and grandmother, survivor, slag, widowed farmer, and, currently, middle-aged idiot smitten with her stepsister.  She groans “oh fuck” one more time and goes downstairs, finds a cooler and dumps some ice in it along with the only bottle of white in the fridge, and then strides outside just as the Jeep Cherokee pulls up to the house.  

Caroline rolls down the window. She wears aviator sunglasses that bring Mad Men’s Don Draper to Gillian’s mind and, no surprise, carries them off just as well as he did. While she may not be as successful with women as Don Draper, she is certainly garnering a lot of attention from the scant lesbian population in the area because lately she’s going out on dates with seemingly random and vaguely energetic young females every other week or so. Gillian knows this because she is always the one assisting with the dismal postmortem every time, nodding sympathetically as Caroline ticked off romantic defects:  She thinks “The Archers” are a boy band. She used the wrong fork for the entrée. She asked if I was interested in rock-climbing. She admitted she drinks wine out of cans. She said I reminded her of her aunt. 

To Gillian’s unbridled delight she once again gets the head tilt and the compliment: “You look nice,” Caroline says. She nods at the cooler. “What have we got here?”

“We’re having a fucking picnic,” Gillian says. She puts the cooler in the back seat and climbs into the Jeep.

“Fantastic. What did you pack?”

“Pinot grigio.” 

“And?”

“Ice.”

Caroline puts the Jeep into drive. “Hell of a picnic.” 

Before they even turn around, however, an argument ensues about the air conditioning: Caroline wants it on, Gillian wants it off. 

“What’s the point of having a summer drive if the windows aren’t open, if we aren’t feeling the breeze?” Gillian says. 

  Caroline looks at her uncomprehendingly. “My hair will get messed up.” 

“Oh, the vanity.”

“I’m not vain, I just don’t want to look like an escapee from the mental ward.” 

“No one’s going to see you, just me, and maybe a bunch of nerds at a bookstore. And you always look b-b—um, really good anyway.” Gillian folds her arms and glares straight ahead. “And it’s f-freezing in here,” she adds, even as another blush rampages across her face. “It’s not healthy, we’ll get summer colds and I can’t afford to get a cold because—”

“—you’re a farmer and you can’t afford to take off a single day because you’re hard-working salt-of-the-earth-blah-blah-blah—yes, I know, you’ve run that line on me before and yet here you are, abandoning your precious farm on the hottest day of the year.” 

Gillian pouts. 

“It’s the hottest day of the year,” Caroline repeats in the vain hope that reality will weigh in favor of reason and air conditioning.  

Gillian ratchets up the pout into a sulk. 

Caroline sighs and relents: The air conditioning is turned off, all windows glide down. “Right then. We’ll be smelling sheep shit until we hit the M62.”

ii. “But I do adore you—every part of you from heel to head.” 

Women belong to summer. Or so Caroline thinks. In this season of bounty her heightened senses take note of women to delirious distraction: curling hands and lips, swirling dresses around bare legs, swaying hips, swelling cleavage, all of it—sweat and fading perfume commingle sweet as honeysuckle, throaty laughs, rich, wine-soaked voices. She has always attributed her frustratingly inexplicable attraction to Gillian to this summer madness—especially in that fucking dress, oh God—but the fact remains that she has desired this sullen, stubborn sheep farmer clad in any variation of plaid shirts, torn jeans, grotty jumpers, mechanic overalls, and even Elmer Fudd-esque winter caps, all of which render her desperate self-diagnosis null and void. 

On the motorway they’ve gathered speed, creating a roaring hot-air wind tunnel within the Jeep’s interior. When Caroline looks in the rear-view mirror all she sees is the Medusan rage of her hair and barely restrains herself from melodramatic groaning. 

Gillian leans out the window, almost dangerously so—half-perched off the seat, gripping the doorframe, and screaming woo-hoo into the void of the surprisingly sparse M62 traffic. Even as she takes quiet joy at the sight of Gillian—hair wild, squinting into the sun, wind plastering the summer dress against her strong thighs—this hanging out the window like a demented Labrador makes her nervous and she shouts,  “For Christ’s sake, sit down.”

To her surprise Gillian plops into the seat with uncharacteristic obedience, even putting on the seat belt. She looks at Caroline, hair streaked across her tanned face, laughing, and Caroline thinks I will remember you like this always. 

“Sorry,” Gillian hollers into the din. 

“I just don’t want to scrape you off the road.” 

“It’d put a damper on everything, wouldn’t it?”  Still smiling, Gillian leans back and closes her eyes for a moment while pushing hair out of her face. A tendril remains curled along her cheek and across her lips, a bit of ornamentation run amok outside its prescribed patterns. Caroline notices her stereotypical farmer’s tan—bronzed arms, face, and neck in contrast to bare white legs, upper bicep delineating the pale and the tan courtesy of dozens of t-shirts. The edge of her dress flutters tantalizingly around her thighs and Caroline forces herself to look at the road. Her relationship with Gillian has always possessed an inevitability about it—a fantastic, fatalistic entanglement courtesy of their star-crossed parents—but she has never loved anyone or anything so wildly unpredictable as this woman who now sits next to her in so deceivingly still and innocuous a manner that Caroline’s naturally suspicious mind expects that her next move will be to climb onto the roof of the Jeep and start singing “Sempre libera” from La Traviata in homage to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Except that she knows Gillian loves the movie, but hates opera. Nonetheless Caroline’s feelings remain a source of trouble, so much so that not only has she mindlessly thrown herself into dating and then ridiculously rejecting out of hand any woman who shows the least bit of interest in her, but also that at the present moment she misses the correct turnoff from the M62 and they end up meandering around the outskirts of Leeds in search of the tiny Miss Marple-ish village for a good half hour despite the continual hectoring of both the GPS and Gillian. 

“How could you miss the bloody turnoff?” Gillian grumbles again as they pass a sign that says WARNING: OWL SANCTUARY, LOW-FLYING OWLS for the third time. 

Wisely—just like an owl, yep, that’s me, Caroline thinks, who are you kidding, you pathetic numpty?—Caroline declines the option of admitting the truth, which is that she was so distracted by the continuous sensual writhe of the dress around Gillian’s thighs that she would drive around for hours just to witness the play of shadow, sun, and linen upon her skin and imagine how satisfying it would be to remove that dress and— 

“Maybe we should visit the owl sanctuary,” Caroline manages to suggest after loudly clearing her throat. 

Slouching and petulant, Gillian folds her arms. “If they give me sanctuary from your fucking driving, I’m all for it.”

iii. “I try to invent you for myself”

Finally they discover the bookstore—in its former incarnation known as St. Botolph’s, a modest, squat, moss-covered stone church—in a village with a blink-and-you-miss-it name: Marston Something, Offnor, Colward, Fuckward, who knows. So Gillian takes it upon herself to dub the unknown hamlet Owlshitshire: “Say it fast three times,” she dares Caroline. While Caroline parks across the road from bookstore-church and fusses with her hair, Gillian stares at the building with newfound apprehension. “You think we’ll spontaneously combust, entering a church together? The lesbian and the slapper?” 

Caroline adjusts—but does not remove—her sunglasses. “As if the joint force of our sins will merit our ruin? It’s deconsecrated, isn’t it?” 

“Reckon so. I’m just worried this will end up like The Omen.” 

Caroline sighs. “Everything is a bloody movie with you.” 

“Thought that was one of the things you—liked about me.” “There are,” Caroline replies slowly, “many things I—like about you.” With the Jeep at a sweltering standstill, sweat sprouts upon Gillian’s upper lip and falls in a tingling wave along the edge of her scalp. The white noise of her heart becomes clearer as Caroline leans in toward her—one more hundredth of a millimeter, one more sliver of a hairsbreadth and I swear to Christ or whatever pagan deity hanging about that I will kiss you, sweaty lips and all— Inscrutable as an Italian film star from behind those bloody sunglasses, Caroline grins as she hits the button releasing the seat belt, which slithers off her body in perhaps the dorkiest strip tease known to humankind but that, unsurprisingly, still leaves Gillian breathlessly and idiotically aroused. “Alas, my dear, that is not one of them.” The bookstore is second-hand—damp and disorganized, marinating in the sweet reek of old paper, wood polish, and pastoral, Anglican ideals long past. As she happily waltzes through the chaos, Gillian’s eager fingers tap random piles of books as if she is a pianist lazily running through scales and contemplating a piece for performance. Then her hand hovers above a heart-stopping find: The Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf.  Before picking it up, however, she glances around with a stiff furtiveness that would be screamingly obvious to anyone witnessing her blatant, nervous interest in the love letters between two women. But there is no one in the store except an elderly couple and the proprietor behind the cash register, who is chatting up Caroline. Apparently he has discovered that she is a headteacher and is going on at length about the ruin of the education system thanks to political correctness and multiculturalism. Briefly Gillian considers swooping in for a rescue, but she knows damn well that Caroline can decimate this type of bloviate without working up a sweat; indeed, she leans in and murmurs something to him that shuts him up right quick. So Gillian turns her attention to Virginia and Vita, her thumb ruffling musty tea-colored pages while fearful of the dive into words that she suspects will only grant more clarity and substance to the inchoate feelings within her.   I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about—with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near. Excuse the bad writing and excuse the emotional overflow. What I mean to say, perhaps, is that, in a way, I am never empty of you; not for a moment, an instant, a single second. It’s like standing in church when the bell tower rings and the vibrato rattles your bones and stiffens your spine with a clarifying chill. And I’m in church right now, Gillian thinks, kind of appropriate, I reckon—then Caroline is beside her, so close that her breast brushes against Gillian’s upper arm. Her pale skin is flush with warmth, her fancy sunglasses glint on her head like a hipster crown and she smells good, like sun and sweat and grass and Gillian doesn’t know how she does that, she hasn’t been anywhere near grass unless she rolled around in a field before showing up at the farm, and Gillian’s senses riot and the beautiful words she just read tumble out of her head, the glue of their cohesion melts away. “What’re you looking at?” Caroline asks casually.    “Oh—um.” She tilts her head to look at the cover and Gillian stares at the shade of her jawline, the golden down along her cheek, and the strong lines of her throat because it seems the safer to look at these things rather than the freckled pointillism on her chest leading one astray into cleavage—though I walk through the valley of cleavage, I shall fear no evil, for the thought of wine in the cooler comforts me—or even the bracing blue of her eyes, those dangerous lodestones that, for some unfathomable reason, have always drawn out the deepest measure of truth from Gillian. 

“Interesting.” Caroline nods at the cover. “Do you like her writing? Woolf, I mean?” “What I’ve read, yeah. I mean, I’ve not read much. Just a couple novels,” Gillian mumbles. “They kind of made me aware—” Now Caroline touches her elbow and she devolves further into a stammering, sweating mess. “—of, um, the interior life? Interior lives? How they could, er, work. How the mind kind of works some-sometimes.” She looks around frantically—why is it so bloody hot in here? “Sound like an idiot.”  

“Not at all. Have to admit I haven’t read much of her writing. You can blame John for that. Every time he wanted to prove he was a feminist he would quote from A Room of One’s Own.”    Gillian laughs, and looks down at her ragged old Chuck Taylors. “That would do it. I—I’m sorry he ruined her for you.” “Should probably give her another go, what do you think?” “Yeah.” Gillian gnaws at her lip. On one hand, she wants to sit around and talk about Virginia Woolf and books and everything under the stars and sun with Caroline but on the other hand, she wants to be alone with the book and let it continue speaking to her like an eloquent oracle sans riddles. The latter might be best because right now words for her are scarcer than crow’s teeth. Usually she can turn on the tap and let language run rampant, not give a toss what she was saying to anyone about anything. More often than not, this got her in a fair amount of trouble; this time, she wants to find the right words that will lead into the right kind of trouble. Caroline’s fingers tap playfully against her forearm and Gillian glances at this invisible tattoo, patiently waiting for some intricate design inked in a riotous rainbow to blossom on her skin. “Tell you what—I’m going to dash out and find us proper sustenance for a picnic.” Gillian busts out a nervous, relieved smile. “You bored already?” “Not in the least.” When Caroline replies to her stroppiness with a certain kind of lovely seriousness it always prompts in her innate, immediate trust. Then, predictably, Caroline goes off and sounds the schoolteacher and mum that she is: “But it’s probably not wise for us to consume nothing but a bottle of cheap white wine on a day like this.” Why not? Gillian wants to say, but no—this is not a time when she wants wine rendering her into sloppy foolishness. “Right.” “Be back before you know it.” As she walks away, Gillian experiences such a ridiculous tightening in her throat, her chest, a physical manifestation of an irrational sense of abandonment—even though she knows Caroline is not some stupid toff boy with a fancy car who would leave her stranded in a big city or even, like here, the middle of nowhere—that she cannot prevent herself from blurting out Caroline’s name, even though she stops herself from bleating pathetically, you’re coming back, right?   Caroline stops and turns around expectantly. The precise spin of her heels, the way she pitches forward as if she’s a dandyesque soldier determined to enter a fray she’s entirely unprepared for—the cumulative effect of her movement assuages Gillian, is more than a guarantee of her return. Relieved, Gillian smiles. “I may be cheap,” she says, “but the wine’s not.” Caroline laughs at the easy joke and Gillian then permits herself the lusty luxury of watching her walk away. Alone, she tucks herself into a dusty corner of the bookstore on a faded burgundy settee with the Virginia and Vita book in her greedy hands; when she looks up again the sun slants suspiciously low through a high stain-glass window and casts jeweled baubles on the wall near an aged reproduction of a George Lambert landscape. The bookstore is empty, silent. Cursing herself for entering some kind of literary fugue state, she drops the book on the settee and commences working her way to the front of the church-store, dipping and swaying around so many claustrophobia-inducing shelves and tables and piles of books with such careful, sweaty precision she feels as if she’s performing an elaborate renaissance court dance. At the front of the store sits the bookstore proprietor in all his balding, cranky glory. He squints at her and ruffles the pages of his newspaper, perhaps hoping its scant breeze will somehow propel her away on a powder-puff of air. She stares at the old, heavy doors barring her way and is strangely bereft.    I suppose it is good for the soul to be hurt and perplexed perpetually. I know at least that I miss you damnably: that is a good fixed star. Amused, the owner watches her frowning at the door and then drawls sarcastically, “Oh, don’t worry, love. I’m sure your wife will come back for you.” Gillian laughs. Of course, Caroline must’ve told this tosser they were married when he was bothering her earlier. After the divorce from Robbie came through earlier this year, she firmly declaimed to no one but herself that she was done with marriage; being Caroline’s imaginary wife for a day is, however, a union more satisfactory than reality has ever granted her. “Yeah. Damn right she will,” she says. “Know why?” He shakes his head. She leans heavily against the cash register. “ ’Cause I’ve got the only keys to the sex dungeon in our flat.”

iv. “It seems to me that I only begin to live after the sun has gone down and the stars have come out.”

The rush of sunset brings cooler air through the Jeep, which runs parallel to some tributary of the River Aire. Venus glints in a layer of darkening sky above a thinning band of vermillion while Gillian sits with an open bag of brandy snaps in her lap. She’s already eaten half the bag despite Caroline’s admonishments not to spoil her appetite. The weakening sun jabs through the green interlace of tree branches and in those brief outbursts fills her eyes with light. Somewhere along the river they find the right spot, kick off their shoes, and sit on an old blanket retrieved from the boot of the Jeep. They drink cool wine from a bottle blistered with damp and eat bread, cheese, and berries, and Gillian’s tongue loosens enough so that she talks haltingly about To the Lighthouse and of time passing, then she stops abruptly when the wind flutters the hair along Caroline’s serious brow—she listens so intently, Gillian notices, and it’s unnerving—and Caroline’s eyes resonate as a cynosure in the deep blue evening. In that moment everything stirs wild within her and she cannot keep still because she fears what she’ll say next. Barefoot, she walks through the grass to the river, the alternate swish and crunch of grass wet and stiff underneath her gait give way slowly to soft dirt and pebbles that press into the pads and arches of her feet as if pearls desperate to remain embedded in soft sanctuary. All while Caroline yells at her about the dangers of ticks and other hazards such as snails, broken glass, and used condoms. At the edge, she stops. In darker times now past, she thought of drowning herself. Like Virginia Woolf, except without the eloquent note or a death notice in the papers. She doubted anyone would really miss her. Even Raff. Still, she could not, would not, do that to him. Bad enough the millstone of his father’s death hung around his neck; to have both parents labeled as suicides—regardless of the truth—would be too much to bear. She likes to imagine that if she had drowned herself back then, her body would have found its way to the freedom of a sea—silly, she thinks, but largely due to a proverb that always stuck in her mind: The sea refuses no river. She always liked that one. Many of the proverbs and verses she heard in church as a child seemed focused on judgment, control, condemnation, behaving in a certain way. But in the embrace of the land and the water, well, you belong to it—and not the other way around. Its silence carries no censure. Dusk drizzles over thickening clouds and she tastes the heavy humid air. A smattering of stars now attend Venus. The river has led her to this moment—not to drown, but to declare herself. She turns around and glances quickly at Caroline, who is on the old blanket in an elegant sprawl, legs crossed at the ankles, calm demeanor belied by the continual flexing of her calves. “It’s beautiful here,” she says. “You’re beautiful,” Caroline replies. Uneasy, Gillian laughs. She’s been called a lot of things over the years, but beautiful has never been one of them and she’s old enough now that she mistrusts any easy compliment—even from the likes of the unimpeachably honest, unrelentingly forthright Caroline—and she is not to be won over that easily. Or so she thinks.   “Well now. Your game’s gotten strong—all those girls you’ve gone out with lately, eh?” “I’m not interested in games. Or those girls, really.” Caroline sits, draws up her knees, and adds softly: “You must know that.” “Do I? All I know is, here we are, picnic on the river, you saying nice things—” “How dare you,” Caroline says with mock indignation, “I’ve said only one nice thing to you thus far.” “—a woman could get the wrong idea.” “Or the right one, as the case may be.” Gillian frowns, bites her lip. Even in the face of blatant confirmation, her nerve falters spectacularly. Because nothing and no one has mattered so much to her in such a long time, she cannot remember. “Gillian.” “W-what?” “Tell me all the things you have in your head, that won’t ‘stir by day, only by dark on the river.’” The words ring clear and true. She sees them in her mind once again, feels the soft, foxed page at her fingertips. 

Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads—They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come. Caroline pulls the book out of her purse. Of course, she bought it. When earlier she had triumphantly returned from her shopping excursion to the bookstore, she thrust a bag of brandy snaps at Gillian, ordered her to wait outside by the Jeep, and demanded use of the WC from the bookstore owner, who stammered consent in the face of this wild, dungeon-owning lesbian deviant schoolteacher. And here Gillian thought it had taken her so long inside the store because she was doing number two. The grass murmurs protest under Gillian’s feet and she winces when something sharps bites into the ball of her right foot, so as she stands there in front of Caroline she may be bleeding, her foot may become infected and she’ll get gangrene and end up spending the rest of her days gimping around as Yorkshire’s One and Only Peg-Legged Sheep Farmer, but none of that matters now because she can hardly get past stating the obvious. “You bought the book,” she says to Caroline. “Yep.” “You know that—that quote.” “Yep.” As words continue to fail her in a way they never quite did for Virginia Woolf, she kneels upon the blanket, cradles Caroline’s face in her hands, and lays on the kissing equivalent of a Woolf sentence: long, glitteringly complex, sustained and full and magnificent and, in its aftermath, leaving one breathless and lingering sweetly over every fine detail, every bright facet. Everything rushes by in splendid sensate tandem: the light that fades and glows all the same, the whishing of the river, the wine limning her mouth, the corner of the book digging into her knee, her thumb caressing Caroline’s cheek, the star of Venus blessing the entire enterprise.

“God.” Caroline finally manages speaking. “If I’d known you’re going to kiss me like that over one old book, I would have bought out the entire bloody store.” It is nearly dark, it will rain very soon, and Gillian is quite certain that her bare, dirty foot is bleeding. “Don’t need a book for that. In fact, you should know—I’ll kiss you like that anywhere, any time you want, for as long as you want, every day for the rest of your life.” “Go on then,” Caroline says.

[biofunmy]

The Nightlife Outlaws of East Los Angeles

The Look

Club Scum, a monthly party that embraces punk and drag, is a distillation of the fringe-friendly gay underground on the Eastside.

Photographs by Daniel Jack Lyons

Text by Daniel Hernandez

Produced by Eve Lyons

Let’s get one thing straight, so to speak.

There’s mainstream gay club culture — homogeneous house music, international circuit parties, rainbow flags everywhere, which is fine! — and there is underground gay club culture, which is more like a spider web of alternative scenes. The underground reflects themes and identities, as well as literal geographies, that are usually marginalized, or are, in a word, “queer.”

In Los Angeles in early 2016, two queer club denizens put a party together at a strip-mall gay bar in deeply Latino eastern Los Angeles and called it Club Scum. Far from the posher dance floors of the gay enclave of West Hollywood, the goal of the organizers was to mix scenes that hadn’t often met, even on the widest of webs: drag and punk. They were nervous.

“The first Scum, yeah, some people were leaving, and the manager was worried,” said one of the co-founders, Rudy “Rudy Bleu” Garcia, referring to their venue, Club Chico in Montebello, Calif.

“But at the same time, those punks who took the bus were rolling in late,” added Ray “Hex-Ray” Sanchez, the other co-founder. The pair shared a laugh as they recalled the hint of what was to come. The punks mixed in with goth drag queens and the club’s masc, down-low regular clientele. Something clicked. “By the end of the night,” Mr. Garcia continued, the bar owners said: “‘Wow, this was great, the energy was great, the performers were great.’ And the regulars” — pause — “have the rest of the month.”

More than three years later, this monthly party featuring art and drag performances, D.J.s, go-go dancers and sometimes live punk bands, has become a staple of underground East L.A. night life. The mixture has worked, its founders said, because Scum spoke to a cultural current that was hiding right before them.

“For us, it’s just fun to play X Ray Specs and then Banda Machos, or like, Gloria Trevi to the Germs,” said Mr. Garcia, 41, referring to the sounds of Scum playlists, but also to the musical styles that might echo against one another across city streets in East L.A.

Dress is central to Scum’s subculture. The club’s adherents show up reflecting all kinds of alternative styles, often with a gender-bending or drag bent. Body positivity is functionally boundless. Extravagant face makeup is a norm. Prosthetics are encouraged.

On a recent night in September, the latest Scum night at Chico was going strong. The music and vibe veered — seamlessly — from New Wave, to techno, to traditional Mexican ranchera to hard-core punk. A few people approached me and said they’d never seen me there before, just as a regular said might happen. Inclusivity reigns at Club Scum. I smiled and embraced strangers, informing them that, yes, I was a party virgin.

“Scum is that place where you can be your true authentic weird self,” said Mr. Sanchez, 30, and I knew exactly what he meant. In a way, I’d been to this party, in some form, many times before.

I had a pretty great time living in Los Angeles in my 20s in the mid-2000s.

It was in its last few years in the ranks of megacities that were considered underrated, and, for its sheer vastness, Los Angeles felt like a place where wonderlands for any fancy beckoned from behind discreetly marked doors. There was always something going on, always another room to peek into, always another entrance. In that decade, L.A. was the city of secrets.

I was convinced that in order to really understand the place, I had to get to know as many distinct night life scenes as possible. After dark, I got in my car and went out. I plunged into the neighborhoods that radiate from downtown, hurtling into backyard ska-punk shows in El Sereno, experimental art happenings in Chinatown, and smoky trip-hop after-hours in warehouses in South-Central. Most of all, I was at the underground gay club nights.

In L.A.’s central neighborhoods and its Eastside, denizens followed the underground gay calendar from club to club, week to week, where we made bands of friends and notched strings of enthusiastic bed mates. There wasn’t a lot of overthinking going on; labels weren’t in style. Maybe this was because the period came right after the vibrating trauma of Sept. 11, but also well before dating apps, necessitating analog contact with strangers in order to have a life in a driving-heavy metropolis.

The corresponding flow was fluid and bent slightly toward the nihilistic in everything from music to sexual practices to street fashion. As a result, it’s taken me some years to realize that there were actually two alternative gay underground cultures in Los Angeles at the time, and that many of us had firm footholds in both.

There were the more mainstream-adjacent scenes that centered in East Hollywood and Silver Lake: leather, bears, rockers, “creative” types, the people who congregated at places like Akbar, MJ’s, the Eagle, Cuffs and Faultline. Then there was the immigrant-led underground, dominated by working class gays and lesbians, Latin drag queens, trans people. These venues included the old Le Bar on Glendale Boulevard (now the hipster haunt Cha Cha Lounge), the now-defunct Circus Disco in Hollywood, the divey New Jalisco on Main Street, and Tempo on Santa Monica Boulevard, a veritable club of worship to gay vaqueros and queens.

Farther east, there was the little known lesbian bar Reds in Boyle Heights, and Club Chico, a “cholo bar,” as we called it back then, that catered mostly to Mexican or Mexican-American guys who shunned the traditional L.G.B.T. identifiers but could definitely be described as “men who have sex with men.”

Being a gay underground clubgoer in L.A. at the time meant almost by default being some shade of brown. Nearly half of the county’s population was already Latino, but it was a time, almost two decades before Latinx entered the dictionary, when the city was weirdly un-self-aware about it. Everyone was just mixed in.

The deeper I got into downtown and the Eastside, the weirder and freer things would get. Which is why, when I first entered a Club Scum night in Los Angeles in 2019, I knew, in club-going terms, that I had effectively returned home.

Scum sits at the intersection of queer culture, punk culture and drag culture. It is for women, men, and literally every gender expression in between. Mr. Garcia is a veteran underground night life maven, part of a generation who created intense community at the L.A. queer party nights of the late 2000s, like Mustache Mondays (whose co-founder and beloved impresario Nacho Nava died in January) and Wildness in MacArthur Park.

The community at Scum, like that of similar parties that exist in its orbit, touches on the propensity among alternative-leaning, young Eastsiders to be drawn to anything goth, gore, electro or hard core. For drag personalities in particular, Scum is seen as a community home-base; several drag houses have organically formed around the party.

Scum also serves as a beacon to the essential identity of the Eastside of Los Angeles County. Montebello, where Chico has kept a low-key presence since 1999, is a couple blocks away from the boundary of unincorporated East L.A., which, remember, is a distinct entity; its natives — including Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez — don’t ever let a newcomer forget it. The location keeps the club rooted in the various cultural pillars of the region. East Los Angeles proper is more than 95 percent Latino, according to the U.S. census, and largely some form of Mexican.

From here, Scum also becomes the party that arguably fits best for those who feel like they’re the strangest in their neighborhoods, anywhere. Maybe they love the Misfits, but also know their Juan Gabriel. Or they skate, but also do some drag. To some adherents, it’s all “queerdo,” a construction of “weirdo” and “queer” — apt, though of uncertain provenance.

“It just feels safe,” said Amanda Estrada, 31, a regular clubgoer and musician, who once had a band with Mr. Sanchez. She attends regularly with her partner Rocío Flores, who also D.J.s at the club. They were there together on the very first night. “At Scum, you know you’re among your people, your community, and I know that sounds cheesy, but that really is the vibe when you walk in,” Ms. Estrada said.

Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez came into the scene through their bands, and by promoting clubs and making zines. These activities will sound familiar to elder Eastsiders, as they have flourished in the gay underground of the Eastside since at least the 1970s, said C. Ondine Chavoya, a professor at Williams College, and co-curator of “Axis Mundo,” a 2017 museum survey exhibit that charts queer visual arts and cultural production on L.A.’s Eastside. “It was about being the punk kids at the gay disco, or being the Latino queers at the bar in the West Hollywood, which didn’t always work out,” Mr. Chavoya said.

For the misfits, the outcasts, the night crawlers, it works. “Scum provides a space for people to be themselves, and take risks, and try new things with the way they dress, perform, communicate,” Mr. Garcia said. “And to meet other people who are like you, and are not just trying to fetishize you for being brown or for being punk.”

Mr. Sanchez added: “It’s been nice to bring people to our gay bar, in the hood, where we grew up.”

Daniel Jack Lyons is a photographer who divides his time between New York and Los Angeles. Daniel Hernandez is a Styles West reporter and the author of “Down and Delirious in Mexico City,” a nonfiction exploration of youth subcultures in Mexico.

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[leeahhtee]

The Game Changer.

I never really got into explaining why I’ve created this Tumblr page. Never jumped into any specifics on who I am or what I’m even doing on this damn social media anyways. I’m pretty sure not everyone comes on here to speak personal details, but me? I’d like to call this a diary or even a “relations page.” Silly, I know, you’re probably wondering “What the heck is this bitch talking about?” But It’s a page where you can read and relate or even see the measures of my oh so exciting life. That was sarcasm guys.

Anyways, enough with the jibber-jabber, I’m going to hop right into how this sexy wonderful relationship came to happen with my amazing girlfriend Mulioaiga and I. Let’s just say it was a clash of mixed feelings, confusion and downright wrong situations. In other words a “series of uneventful events.”

Iga and I knew of each other around the year 2013 or maybe a little after, but never got to speak to one another or anything like that. She was friends with some of my friends and I was friends with some of hers. Time passes by and we finally decide to become friends on social media, with that being Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat. We slowly start to hit one another up, not knowing that we’re intentionally flirting with one another, but never being straight forward about it. Now that we’re dating we always find ourselves asking one another why we never took that leap of faith. My excuse always being that I didn’t want to ruin a great friendship that was blossoming and that I always pushed aside the fact that I might actually really like a GIRL. Her excuse was that she didn’t know if I was just being friendly in a “friend” way.

Time still continues to pass and my niece’s 1st birthday party comes up. Long story short my aunt Egi used to date a guy named Fale who ends up becoming like my older brother, who is also considered an older brother to Iga coming to find out they knew each other longer, but I was closest to Fale’s sister Ruby. Anyways back to the story, Iga’s family all came through and at the time I wasn’t dating anyone but I yearned for love. I guess you can say I was a Romantic or what some would like to call a “Hopeless Romantic.” Always hated that title, made me feel as if I was weak.

The funny thing about that party was that the whole time Iga was trying to get at my youngest sister, I was being cheeky to her older brother that was always trying to game me up. After that night I find out Iga and my sister are talking. It was kinda weird for me because deep down I think I was kind of jealous, I don’t know why the heck I was feeling that way but I always pushed the feelings to the side. I let it be while on the other hand, I was messing around with her brother who I grew so much liking to at the moment just to get treated like nothing in the end, but that’s a whole different segment to talk about.

Things were falling apart for Iga and Rachael later on down the road, so what do I do? I step in and try to play mediator. Always siding with Iga and turning her against Rachaelynn, because Rachael was confused and kept breaking up with Iga just to call her again when she needs someone to fill that empty feeling she needed which was the attention all of us women crave for. One week Rachael left for a college visitation trip at all the big universities in Washington, that’s when I dove straight in and came up with a plan that would mess with Ruby. My dumb ass ended up telling Ruby the plan Iga and I had set up to mess with her head saying that this whole time we’ve been together. I told her because I thought Iga wasn’t going to pull through and show up, but I was so wrong. Iga didn’t know that Ruby knew the whole plan, but Ruby still went with it. We acted like a fresh new couple, but there came a point where Ruby and I couldn’t tell if Iga was taking the role to the extreme and actually acting as if we were together.

She had gotten upset that I mentioned I was going to Homecoming with Maiah as her plus one. She stayed upset from when Ruby went in to make the food and shower baby. I didn’t know she was serious either, then all of a sudden she blew up on me asking me why I was going and what not. I was shocked, so I went with and replied with “I mean I don’t have to if you don’t want me to?” I laugh about it because I was seriously taken back by it. That night went on, we started off on opposites sides of the car making our way closer and closer to one another. I was really waiting for Iga to kiss me, but sadly it never happened that night. We just hugged for a long amount of time, hoping and wishing that I could hold her forever. Well, at least that’s what I was thinking.

Days went by and we took matters into our own hands. I often thought to myself if what I was doing was wrong? Dating my sister’s ex-girlfriend. Hmm... I was so happy and starting to fall in love that nothing else mattered to me. My happiness was key to how we were to become. Rachael was still away at her College visitation thing, but while she was away Iga and I spent almost every night together. Not literally sleeping together, but every chance she would get before going to work she would stop by either at my house or at the Open Gym Night hosted by People's Community Center. Ig was still in the closet to almost all her family, but my thing was that it was so obvious to see that Iga was indeed a “tomboy.” But to be honest it’s hard to accept the fact that your own child might be leaning towards liking the same sex. I started spending less time with friend’s and family and spent more time with Iga. I enjoyed every minute with her.

I’ll never forget our first kiss, it was at the gym by the emergency exit doors. She came with her friends and had to drop them off at home real quick but before she left she wasn’t even trying to give me a kiss goodbye. I roll my eyes at the thought, but what did I do? I took that plunge of action and asked her. Her lips were actually very soft, I wanted more, but she had to go. But best believe I knew I was going to get more one way or another. There would be night’s before work where we would sit in the car, parked in front of our house and listen to music or even try to make out. I thought Iga didn’t know how to make out until one night where she surprised me.

Maiah knew about Iga and me, but I told her not to tell Rachael because I wanted to be the one to tell her. I’d rather it come from her sister than from anyone else. I gave Maiah my phone to take with her when she goes to pick Rachaelynn up, but this bitch told Rachaelynn herself. I should’ve known because Maiah is the type to create drama. She liked getting herself into the melodramatic bullshit, but I was so caught up in spending time with Iga that I didn’t think things through. I came to the car and Rachaelynn was crying. For some odd reason I didn’t feel bad, not one bit. I was happy as hell and wasn’t going to let anyone rob me from that.

Words were exchanged between the both of us, but long story short, she got over it. She knew they weren’t going to last, so she didn’t know why she was crying. Iga and I became official on October 10th, 2014. Everyone in my family calls that month the devil’s month and says that’s my month because I am evil as hell. I mean yeah I can be a bitch, but it’s never intentionally. Again, that’s sarcasm.

My family grew to love Iga so much, I loved that. My siblings grew to love her especially my brother, my mom is very open and out of the box, she cared about my happiness, my dad, on the other hand, was somewhat of a struggle to get through to, but at the end of the day, he cared about my happiness too. For Iga it was hard, she was the baby girl of the family, so for her to come out to her parents was big. They didn’t allow it. We cried so many nights when we weren’t able to see one another because her parents kept her from seeing me. It was hard because her family was very religious, but for her father to make a huge deal out of it was shocking because his very own sister is gay. We spent nights crying on her back up phone together, thinking we’d never get to see one another again.

It’s hard to be accepted in the Samoan community because you can have the parents who are very open and don’t live by the fa’a Samoa way, then you have the ones who do. Nothing wrong with that, but in America, your kids grow up seeing different things around them. Everyone expresses themselves differently. It’s the home of the brave and land of the free, yet you can be bound to expectations of how your family wants you to live. It sometimes blocks you from being who you truly are. There came a time where Iga and I took that leap of faith and decided to be one another officially.

She ran away from home, she came to be with me. That right there was the day I knew what it was like to have someone who would break all the boundaries for you. I saw love whenever I looked into Iga’s eyes. I felt comfort within her arms and knew what it meant to be loved for you, to be loved unconditionally and that Iga would never leave me. It was too quick of a judgment, but I trusted that judgment. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and no one else.

The running away process was simple, but we didn’t think about the outcome of what would happen if her family came searching. We had threats from her sister, but we still didn’t let anything phase us. Months passed us by and finally, her family came around. At first, it was an uncomfortable situation meeting the parents, but at the end of the day, I grew to love them. I will tell you now that yes they do accept of us, but I think only because they think this is just like very other Lesbian Samoan couple, but it’s not. I know it’ll be another trial trying to bring our families together to tell them we’re getting married but that’s something that we’ll just have to wait and see when Iga really pops the question.

Iga and I have been living together ever since May 2015 and yes the journey has been rough. I mean what couple doesn’t have their crazy arguments? We argued like crazy and said things we never meant, but we love each other so much that we can’t live without one another. We have seen our most beautiful to the ugliest moments together. I love spending every second with her, I’m so attached to her that I don’t ever want to let her go.

She became my game changer, the one to change my life around in all the good ways. I look for her when I need a shoulder to cry on, when I need someone to vent to and when I need someone to talk shit with. I learned to braid her so that she would never have to search for another girl to braid her up. I feel butterflies inside when she gives me this certain look, the “I’m so in love” look. She became my knight in shining armor that I always searched for. I searched for someone to love me when come to find out she was always here, SHE was the one. The one who would sweep my off my feet, the one who would see my ugly cry, the one who would be there for EVERY family event and the one to be here to forever hold me down. I plan on marrying her legally, changing my last name to hers and maybe a year from whenever it happens to have children, whether it be adoption or spending money on getting me inseminated and finding a sperm donor. I want my happy ever after with her. Like I said before Iga is my game changer and she’s a blessing to my life. I love her endlessly and can’t wait to spend forever with her. This piece is for you baby.

I love you Mulioaiga S Filimaua.