#lesbian resilience

[celebrate-lesbianism]

Bad news: Some people do not believe that lesbianism is real. There are people (maybe even ones you really love and care about) who will probably never take your sexuality seriously. 

Good news: You're still a lesbian regardless of what anyone has to say about it. The romantic relationships you have with women will be serious and they will matter. 

[thefriendoforatioisdead]

Pin being afraid to enter the Pine Palace as if it's not the home Anin designed for the two of them before they even got together...

The pain....The agony...The pain....

[tea-cryptid]

"Unlike petititions for civil rights, queer revels constitute a kind of activism that attacks the dominant notion of the natural. The queer is the taboo-breaker, the monstrous, the uncanny. Like the Phantom of the Opera, the queer dwells underground, below the operatic overtones of the dominant; frightening to look at, desiring, as it plays its own organ, producing its own music."

Sue-Ellen Case (1991) Tracking the Vampire

[marble-running]

Had some fun with the makeup testers at Superdrug

[aquamanandfriends]

Comfort Food

| muse: Natalia Peters | open to: anyone | made with beta | sexuality: homosexual | suggested connections: girlfriend, close friend, ex-girlfriend, maybe they are on a video chat, just playing games or watching movies

“I got like, jalapeno Cheetos,” Natalia nodded slowly as she looked over to them, “But I haven’t opened them yet. They are just near, they comfort me with their presence.” She might have been drunk and a little high but they didn’t need to know that.

[jawad111]

Help my family and get us out to safety 🙏🙏

Hello, I am Jawad, I am 60 years old, and I live in Gaza with my family consisting of 7 members, Moamen, 24 years old, Karam, 22 years old, Reham, 25 years old, and Shahad, 18 years old. She should have finished high school and be in university this year, but the war has come.

It destroyed her future. Shahad is a girl who is talented in drawing and has many drawings. We live in harsh conditions in the middle of a fierce war that completely destroyed our lives. We were bombed more than once and miraculously escaped death. I suffer from chronic heart disease, diabetes, and high blood pressure, but I have always been the sole breadwinner for my family. I need constant catheterizations to maintain my health. Our situation got worse with the arrival of winter. We now live in a torn tent that does not protect against the cold, and we do not have any means to protect against the harsh winter.

We have to make fire to cook food, and there is no privacy or comfort where we live. The conditions are unbearable, and we have nothing to help us survive in these harsh conditions. In addition, our 7-storey house was bombed and completely destroyed, leaving us homeless and unsafe. Despite my critical health condition, I still have to bear the responsibility of supporting my family and meeting their needs. I need your help. Any donation, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our lives, whether in securing the medical treatment I urgently need, providing shelter for my family, or helping us get to mainland Germany and evacuate us from Gaza. We depend on your generosity in these difficult times. Your support will restore hope and help us with resilience. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and compassion. Share and donate via the campaign link

@halalchampagnesocialist @spooksier@jonahmagnus @artemis-pendragon @lesbian-hannibal

@turtletoria @bulkhummus @smOkebreaks @doubleca5t @wuntrum

@mysharona1987 @fairycosmos @watermotif @vague-humanoid @mavigator

@legallybrunettedotcom@brucespringsteendotcom

@pjharvey @doublism@cigaretteuncle

@odinsblog@chainmail-butch @bestlesbiancave @t4tails @electricpurrs

@mordhiobhail @bOnkcreat @lemon-wedges @holedyke @jerseyclown

@butchfeygela @danijaci @pinayelf @dogesterone @professorllayton

@bakwaas @eastgaysian @tf2yuri@bongjoonheaux

@romanceyourdemons

@valtsv@cryptotheism @coughloop

@cottoncandylesbo @jame7t

@amygdalae @pointnclick @psygull @wolvierinez

@0047 silver

[celebrate-lesbianism]

I remember seeing kd Lang on TV for the first time and thinking she was so cool. And then I remember everyone else in the room laughing. About her clothes, her dykey haircut. Why would a woman want to look like that? God.

There are decades of shame that live inside of me, and piece by piece, I am carving it the fuck out.

[makingqueerhistory]

Selected Works from Nasta Rojc

Nasta Rojc was born in Croatia in 1891 and left an enduring legacy as both a pioneer in the arts and a courageous figure in the Croatian resistance movement during World War II. Her life story is marked by resilience, creativity, and a commitment to women in the arts.

As a lesbian who lived in a time when LGBTQ+ rights were virtually nonexistent, she entered into a lavender marriage with fellow artist Branko Šenoa, which allowed her to attend art school and maintain her safety. As an artist, Rojc broke barriers by becoming the first female solo exhibitionist at the prestigious Salon Ullrich. Her art, characterized by bold colors and depictions of traditional Croatian folk wear, captivated audiences and earned her recognition within the Croatian art world. It is possibly because of her talent and uplifting of Croatian culture that she is remembered.

After Croatian independence, there has been a resurgence of interest in Rojc's works, with exhibitions and retrospectives celebrating her contributions to Croatian art and history. Her paintings serve as a testament to her talent and vision, while her legacy as a pioneer in both the arts and activism continues to inspire future generations. Nasta Rojc's life is a reminder of the power of art to transcend boundaries and its use as a tool to discuss and fight oppression.

You can find these works and more in our gallery!

[ellstronaut]

Going back to this debate

I know Ellle is a multifaceted individual that much is obvious she’s not one dimensional she has many elements to her personality. Additionally, it’s important to remember that even on the spectrum of masculine and feminine, Ellie isn’t completely one or the other. She exists in some sort of grey area between them, embodying both masculine and feminine traits. She’s not defined by one end of the spectrum, but rather by the interplay of these two extremes.

Yet at times the characterisation of Ellie is laced with internalised misogyny. And highlights the way “masc presenting” lesbians are treated in real life tied down to the “man” in the relationship why is Ellie mostly written as the dominant one especially when coupled with fem reader why do we head canon her as a top when it’s literally canon that she’s a switch? Why is there an infinite amount of “ellie taking care of the reader on her period” scenarios outnumber “Reader taking care of Ellie on her period” Ellie written as tall towering over fem reader and not like she’s literally 5’5

The fact is that there’s a heteronormative slant to the way people write her. Like I said almost never written as a switch, but a top. To some extent been portrayed as tall and dominating, never small or vulnerable. And Santa Barbara Ellie is often sexualized even though she is deeply traumatized and emotionally tormented. The problem is that people are viewing her through male-centric lenses, reducing her to an object of desire rather than a fully fleshed out woman with a complex, nuanced personality which includes many dimensions, some of which may be considered feminine.

There is no specific way to be a “masc lesbian” a woman nor feminine and express your femininity. Nor should that separate her from her womanhood/femininity. in a way it’s her way of showing how feminine she is. maybe not stereotypically through outward appearances, but her general identity. she’s a woman who experiences the same struggles that women do, Obviously she doesn’t waver just on the lines of black and white, she’s all rounded. In between. Grey area. The point I’m trying to make is that she’s all and above, you can be both masc and fem. I would add that Ellie's femininity is often overlooked or even belittled by people who only focus on traits that appeal to them. Not her emotional intelligence, her caring nature, her resilience, her dedication to her loved ones. Fuck she’s also a soft heart and a tender soul. These aspects of her are just as important to her character, she is a whole person ffs, exceptionally fleshed out

So fuck

“the hot wife and her hot boyfriend”

Why not

“The hot wife and her hot wife”

“She’s so boyfriend

Uh

“She’s so girlfriend”

Santa Barbara/Seattle is literally at her most vulnerable, disheveled state that girl is literally plagued with trauma, stuck in a limbo of “do I seek vengeance in the name of losing my family and absolutely everything or stay and suffer in silence (at who’s expense?? Hers) Yet we sexualise tf out of her, the most vulnerable pinnacle of existence—glorified and romanticised bc it’s “hot”

this is not a dig at anyone you’re free to write whatever tf you want bro it’s your platform but pls let’s not bs and pretend as of this doesn’t occur

[ripleylarue]

Pink evening primrose fairies!

I’ve been working on a series of Texas wildflower fairies inspired by Cicely Mary Barker’s illustrations. I wanted to highlight the biodiversity and beauty of my home :). I don’t think I’ve posted about it on here at all but one of the core motifs of my work is queer southern /southwestern imagery (specifically exploring intersections of lesbianism and transness). Conservative governments DO NOT represent the majority. Queer Texans will always be here! We are as natural and resilient as the flowers that bloom on the roadsides every spring. Anyways enjoy the fairies lol there are more where that came from

[3bdulra7manosama]

I literally urgent. Just read and judge accordingly.

$1300 is needed by 30 Nov. Only 17 days left!!!!🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨⏳️⏳️⏳️.

Hello everyone, I'm Abdulrahman, a medical student from Gaza. I evacuated alone to Egypt without my family to complete my education after losing everything in the war. My family is still suffering in Gaza, and they could die any time.

The war not only destroyed our homes and universities, but it also divided us and ended our educational directorate.

However, these things did not destroy me, but rather, they made me more committed to my goals and more resilient.

In the meantime, I really need urgent help to raise the second installment for the first semester, which is $1000, and the deadline for this is 30 Nov (17 days only!💔⏳️🚨) . Also, I need immediate support for living expenses and rent.

Donate>>

https://gofund.me/e2de4bd0

Remember, your support will help a lot. especially cause I'm alone without a breadwinner. Every $10 could help, I should raise the second installment necessary and urgently by 30 Nov.

✅️ Vetted by @gaza-evacuation-funds #4 in the list here

And by association in many posts on Tumbler.

Reblog please:

@dlxxv-vetted-donations @officialspec @ot3 @o-lanterns @paper-mario-wiki @pcktknife @postanagramgenerator @2spirit-0spoons @27moremoons @kinderes @katsunaksu @virovac @variantsofblue @imlizy @butchfeygela @buttercuparry @courtjester69420 @neonflashincamphalfblood @commissions4aid-international @redbuddi @reginaofdoctorwho @reinermariarilke @wellwaterhysteria @wizardarchetypes @annabelle--cane @appsa @a-shade-of-blue @straycatj @sayruq @skunkes @thenameisgul @understands @fleshdyk3 @finalgirlabigailhobbs @dreamfluxx @dinosaurjam @palipunk @gothhabiba @punkitt-is-here @stil-lindigo @halalchampagnesocialist @spooksier @jonahmagnus @lesbian-hannibal @imjustheretotrytohelp @imlizy @heydreamchild @heliopixels @virovac @variantsofblue @kinderes @khanger @phaon1 @akajustmerry @comrademango @lesbianmaxevans @heritageposts @mobiused

[magicfootballstuff]

Dirty Little Secret - part 5 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 5/?

Read other parts here.

———

You’ve hardly spoken to Leila since the news broke that she’ll be playing for Manchester City next season, and not at all since the tournament began. You’re completely focused on your goal of winning the Euros, as Leila probably is too, and you immerse yourself in the bubble of the Lionesses camp while trying to block out outside noise. That includes talking to Leila. 

You watch her games though. In between your own matches and the intense training schedule, there’s plenty of downtime and you manage to catch quite a few of the other games on the large screen in the Lionesses’ television room, including the Spanish team’s group games. You act like you’re watching them out of professional curiosity, knowing the likelihood of having to face Spain in the knockout rounds, but you’re as focused on Leila as an individual as you are on the Spanish team as a whole.

Sure enough, after a successful unbeaten group stage, England have to play against Spain in their quarter final match and it might be the hardest game you’ve ever played so far in your career.

It’s not just the physical aspect - one hundred and twenty minutes on a muggy summer evening against a team that has the majority of the possession - but also the mental side. When Spain go ahead, it’s the first goal that England have conceded all tournament, the first time you’ve found yourselves in a losing position, and it takes resilience like you’ve never seen before to pull yourself back not just level, but into the lead.

You almost forget that you’re playing against Leila’s team. She’s on the bench, which you feel conflicted about, having been looking forward to facing her on the pitch again, but at least it removes that possible distraction.

The final whistle blows and thanks to Georgia’s extra time worldie, England are through to the semi-finals.

You walk around the pitch, grinning and hugging your own teammates in celebration, while shaking the hands of the heartbroken Spanish players. Some of them, you know from the Copa de la Reina afterparty, where you were Leila’s guest, and it’s hard to look them in the eye knowing that you’ve just crushed their dreams of progressing further in this tournament.

You walk past Ona Batlle, who you’ve played against many times in the league, and who is being comforted by Rachel. Then Mapi Leon, who you know is one of Leila’s closest friends, lets you pull her in for a brief one-armed hug, but all the time you’re looking for one person.

You spot Leila from across the pitch, still wearing her purple substitute bib, and she must see you too because you end up slowly meandering towards each other as you do the rounds on the pitch.

Leila isn’t quite crying, not like some of her teammates who left everything out on the pitch in one hundred and twenty minutes of gruelling football, but the look in her eyes is one of heartbreak.

You don’t know what to say.

In the end, words aren’t needed. You’re not sure who initiates it, but you end up in each other’s arms. Leila is slightly taller than you and her arms wrap around your shoulders, one hand cradling the back of your head as you lean into her and wrap your own arms around her back. The warmth of her body against yours is comforting and you almost drown out the sound of the jubilant crowd singing Sweet Caroline because suddenly the only thing that matters is Leila.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into Leila’s shoulder.

“Don’t say sorry,” Leila replies. “You’ll make me cry.”

You want to apologise for that too, but you obey Leila and stay quiet instead, still full of adrenaline from the game and knowing that seeing Leila cry will probably set you off too.

You wish you could freeze this moment, to exist just the two of you in each other’s arms, as you did for those short days in Barcelona a few weeks ago. Leila’s body fits against your own in a way that you’ve never fully appreciated before, but you feel like this is where you belong. She’s just a little bit taller than you, her hand cradling the back of your head, and though it should probably be you comforting her now that you’ve knocked her team out of the tournament, the embrace is as much of a comfort to you.

Though you’d like to remain in Leila’s arms forever, you eventually break apart, but with promises that you’ll talk properly as soon as all the formalities are done and you can get a moment of privacy.

You have to wait until after the huddles, when some of the girls are still doing media duties and you’re back in your tracksuit after a shower, but you get a message from Leila on your phone.

Leila Can I see you? Is there somewhere we can go?

Knowing that your time is limited before both teams have to leave the stadium, you reply straight away.

You Meet me outside the changing rooms?

You pull a hoodie over your head and slip your socked feet into your sliders, then leave the England changing room. Leila emerges from the Spanish dressing room within seconds, and you silently lead her in the opposite direction from the media zone, until you find a deserted hallway deep within the underbelly of the stadium. There, you end up on the floor, side by side with your backs against the wall, thighs pressed together and your fingers intertwined with Leila’s in her lap.

You’re reminded of the only other time you and Leila snuck away after a game - after the second Champions League game at the Emirates. Back then, your actions were fuelled by lust and secrecy. Today, you just want Leila’s company for as long as you’re allowed to have it, and you don’t care about getting caught.

“Are you mad?” you ask Leila, as you trace your thumb over the small tattoo on the back of her hand. “That we knocked you out?”

“Some of the girls are angry,” Leila says with a shrug. “Like Aitana - I think her head might explode. But I’m not mad. Just sad. We wanted to win. We really wanted to win for Alexia.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, leaning into Leila’s side and letting your head fall against Leila’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you, her fingers still absently toying with yours.

“It kind of is,” you point out.

“No,” Leila insists, shaking her head firmly. “We have such good players but you need something extra to win a tournament. It feels like there’s always something missing with us. I can’t describe what it is, but I know your team has it.”

You think you know what Leila means. You’ve played in many different teams over the years - youth teams, professional clubs, national sides - and with that you’ve experienced the full range of success levels. The teams you’ve been a part of that have won titles have all had that special something that Leila refers to, a connection between teammates, the two-way trust between the coach and the players, the special spark that allows you all to push through, even when it’s tough. 

You think that the Lionesses have probably demonstrated that tonight. You’ve played in so many teams that would have crumbled as soon as they went one goal down against one of the best sides in Europe, yet you came from behind to earn your place in the semi final. That’s the mark of a team that has something special.

Spain, for whatever reason, doesn’t have that, despite the obvious talent in their squad. You wonder if Leila is more mad at that than she is at you for knocking them out of the tournament.

“You’re gonna win this whole competition, you know that, right?” Leila tells you.

If there’s one thing that Sarina has brought to this England team it’s belief, but while you know this team is more than capable of winning the Euros, you’re still not sure whether it will actually happen.

“You think so?” you ask Leila.

She nods and says, “I hate it. My heart says anybody but England. But I also want it for you. You deserve it.”

“I know it’s the whole point of sport, that only one team can win, and don’t get me wrong, I love winning. But sometimes I hate it when my dreams have to come at the expense of my friends’ dreams.”

“Is that what we are?” Leila asks, and when you lift your head from her shoulder to look at her, she’s smirking back at you. “Friends?”

She gives your hand a performative squeeze, as if to emphasise the beyond-friendliness of your relationship.

You open your mouth to say something witty in response, then close it again. Because the thing is, you and Leila haven’t actually defined what you are. Football rivals with benefits is probably the most appropriate term, because to be honest, you’re not entirely sure if you know Leila well enough to call yourselves friends yet. 

But with Leila looking at you with curiosity in her eyes, eyebrows half raised as if she’s expecting you to confirm the exact nature of your relationship, you don’t know what to say. You could joke, but that would just be deflecting. You could be honest, and tell her that you don’t know what you want but that you like the way that things have been going. Or you could field the adrenaline still coursing through your body from the match into telling Leila that you’d like to maybe explore making things a little more serious when she moves to England soon.

What if she doesn’t want things to be more serious? What if she’s more than happy with just an occasional hookup? More to the point, are you sure that you want anything more than what’s currently going on between you?

The door at the end of the hallway crashes open before you can even begin to vocalise any of the confusion in your mind, and your head jerks up to see that it’s Mapi who is interrupting you, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you sitting together on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

“Shit, my bad,” Mapi says in English, before she switches to Spanish and addresses Leila.

You let your fingers slip out from between Leila’s as they converse and use your hand to play with your hair instead, running your fingertips through the damp strands, until eventually Leila turns back to you and says, “Sorry, I have to go. We’re leaving soon.”

Leila pushes herself to her feet, then offers out a hand to help you to yours. You keep your hand in hers as you follow Mapi down the hallway, only letting it drop when you pass into a more public area where there might be some media. The last thing you need is for pictures of the two of you holding hands to appear on social media before you even get the chance to figure out how to label what Leila is to you.

There are a few more people around, and one of those is your captain Leah, whose frowning face relaxes when she sees you.

“Oh, there you are,” Leah says to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Nobody knew where you were. The bus is leaving soon.”

Leah’s eyes flick curiously between you and the two Spanish players, but if she suspects anything, she doesn’t comment on it.

Mapi leaves you, entering the Spanish dressing room, but Leila stays and you know it’s time to say goodbye. At least this time, with Leila’s move to Manchester imminent, you hope there will be chances to see her again sooner than usual once your own tournament is over.

You migrate towards each other and wrap your arms around Leila as she pulls you against her chest, burying your face against her shoulder. She smells divine, and you try to commit it to memory as you inhale.

“Good luck,” Leila murmurs into your hair, her voice soft enough that only you can hear her. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“For me or for England?” you can’t help but tease her.

“You,” Leila says, speaking at a normal level again as she pulls out of the embrace. “Fuck England.”

There’s an amused glint in her eyes as she says this, but it quickly vanishes when she realises she’s still standing within earshot of the England captain, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning as Leila raises an apologetic hand in Leah’s direction.

“Sorry,” she says. 

“No need to apologise,” Leah replies diplomatically. “In your position, I’d probably feel that way about us too.”

You think about going in for a goodbye kiss with Leila, but Leah’s presence causes you to hesitate, and before you can make a decision Leila has already said her final goodbye and followed Mapi into the Spanish changing room.

“You alright?” Leah asks, now that it’s just the two of you.

You and Leah know each other incredibly well, playing alongside each other for over a decade, first in the same England youth age groups, then at club level with Arsenal. And while you can tell Leah is curious about the interaction she saw between you and Leila, and that her question isn’t so much asking about your well-being as it is inviting you to open up to her, you also know that she’s not going to push you to tell her anything that you’re not ready to share.

“All good,” you respond.

Leah drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side as you re-enter the now almost empty England changing room.

“You bossed it tonight,” she tells you. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You too, captain.”

She smiles at you - the whole England captain thing still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, for either of you, and while you can’t quite believe that the skinny girl with the white blonde hair and the gangly legs who you first met over ten years ago is now leading her country to a European Championship semi final, you know that this is something Leah has always been destined for.

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself but you’re still on such a high from the game that you dare to wonder if Leah is the person who will finally lead England to a major trophy.

“Two games left,” Leah tells you, and you know that she’s reminding herself as much as you. “Two games left to change our lives.”

———

“You’ve got a new girlfriend, I see,” Georgia grins at you as you sit down for breakfast the morning after the Spain game.

“What?” you ask, nearly choking on your granola.

“That’s what Twitter thinks, anyway.”

“Show me.”

Georgia flips her phone around and shows you a tweet that reads “new woso couple alert?” accompanied by a couple of pictures of you and Leila embracing on the pitch after the game. You can feel your cheeks start to heat up and you hope they don’t visibly redden, especially as you feel Leah’s eyes on you, the only person around the table who might be able to guess how close to the truth this fan ‘rumour’ actually is.

“Oh, because I consoled a player after a game now I’m dating her?”

You scroll through some of the comments. There’s nothing too outrageous there - some about the length of the hug, some speculating how or even if you and Leila actually know each other, mixed in with a couple of theories that it’s purely professional and that Manchester City will soon be announcing your return to the club where you spent your formative years thanks to “agent Leila”. It’s not new either. You’re no stranger to being shipped with other footballers, it sort of comes with the territory of being semi-famous in a fanbase of mostly queer women, but never has a rumour about your dating life been so close to the truth.

Suddenly, you’re wondering if you were wrong to hug Leila in public after the game. At the time you followed your instinct, wanting to comfort somebody who means a lot to you. But if you’d waited until you were alone to do that, you wouldn’t have strangers on the internet speculating about the nature of a relationship that you can’t even define yourself yet. Leila was hurting, but was being there for her in that moment really worth potentially outing this to everybody before it even has a label?

Stewing over a decision that you made in the heat of the moment and didn’t think twice about, you return Georgia’s phone.

“It’s just the fans though,” Georgia says with a shrug. “They come up with all sorts of crazy theories sometimes.”

“Yeah, there’s some fans that think I’m dating Ella,” Alessia interjects with a laugh.

“Wait, are you not?” Leah asks, managing to keep her expression deadpan for a few seconds, before it cracks open into a grin.

“Alessia wishes she was dating me,” Ella says.

“I do actually,” Alessia replies, reaching out for one of Ella’s hands as she adds, “El, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you how I really feel…”

“Shut up!” Ella snatches her hand away and rolls her eyes as the rest of the group descends into a fit of laughter.

With the group’s attention now elsewhere, any opportunity you might have had to finally admit to your friends what’s going on between you and Leila has passed.

There’ll be other times. When the tournament is over, maybe then you’ll tell them. But with a semi final coming up and the possibility of a final too, you can’t deal with any distractions, whether those come from outside opinions on social media or your friends teasing you about the developments in your personal life.

You feel Leah’s eyes on you and you suspect she knows the truth, but you’re grateful for her silence.

———

England makes it past Sweden with relative ease and you can hardly believe that you’ve made it this far. The final at Wembley is all that stands between you and your wildest dream, but it also means you have to face up to the dilemma that’s been on your mind since you knocked Spain out in the quarter finals.

Should you invite Leila to watch the final as your guest?

You haven’t actually talked to Leila since the quarter final. You know that she’s probably been busy getting ready to move to England, meanwhile you’ve been caught in the bubble of the Lionesses camp.

But once the excitement of winning the semi final has passed and you’re back to focusing on training for the final, you realise that you want Leila there to support you. Just as you went to see her play in the Champions League and Copa de la Reina finals, you want her in the crowd as you compete for the European Championship trophy.

But you don’t know if she wants to come, especially after it was your team who knocked hers out of the same competition.

Plus, though Twitter moved on from the hypothetical of you and Leila after a matter of hours when something else became more interesting, you’re sure that a sighting of Leila in the crowd at Wembley, in the England friends and family section no less, will be sure to bring those rumours right back to the attention of the fans.

After a day of deliberating, you eventually decide that it’s a risk you’re happy to take, if it means Leila might be in the crowd to watch you play the most important game of your entire career.

You text her on your way to lunch after a conditioning session in the gym two days before the big final.

You Do you want to come to the final? I can get you a ticket…

And then, you add a second message as an afterthought.

You Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear an England shirt 😉

Leila doesn’t reply immediately

Leila Sorry I move to Manchester this week 😔 but good luck!

You’re disappointed, but you knew this was a likely outcome. Besides, it’s probably for the best. If Leila had accepted the offer, not only would you have had to explain everything to your teammates, but you’d probably have ended up introducing Leila to your entire family too, which sounds like way too much for somebody who isn’t even officially your girlfriend.

You No problem! Good luck with the move!

———

Leila was right - this England team does have something special.

It hits you, strangely enough, not when the final whistle blows nor when Leah lifts the trophy and a shower of confetti rains down over you, but when you crash Sarina’s post-final press conference with the rest of the team. It’s so ridiculous, your socked feet slipping against the floor, Mary shimmying her hips as she dances on the tables, two dozen journalists watching on in amused disbelief, but there’s no group of people you’d rather have done the last month and a half with. And the medal around your neck, hanging heavy with the sheer importance of what you’ve just achieved, is a permanent reminder of the best summer of your life.

You return to the dressing room, where an England-branded bucket hat somehow finds its way onto your head, and sit down in your cubby to check your phone. Messages have been flying in since full time - friends, family, even distant acquaintances you haven’t seen in over a decade, all wanting to congratulate you on the win. But there’s only one person you’ve been waiting to hear from, and you feel giddy when you see her name in the list of notifications.

Leila Congrats campeonaaaa! I told you that you were gonna win 😋

She’s accompanied the message with a picture, a selfie in which she’s wearing the England shirt emblazoned with your number that you traded for hers during the Arnold Clark Cup. 

You take a selfie to send back, keeping the ridiculous hat on your head and lifting up your medal to catch it between your teeth. You grin as you snap the photo and send it to Leila.

Almost as soon as you send it, your phone starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime. You’ve ignored a few calls since you won, overwhelmed by the number of people trying to congratulate you already, but when you see Leila’s name, you accept immediately.

“Hey,” you say, when Leila’s face appears on the screen of your phone.

“Nice hat,” she greets you, stifling a laugh.

You raise your eyebrows, then say, “Sexy, huh?”

Leila gives you an incredulous look, before she says, “Show me your medal then.”

The dressing room is already noisy, but somebody turns the speaker up and it’s almost impossible to hear Leila, so you make your way out of the central changing area and towards the showers, where it’s slightly quieter, before lifting the medal so that it’s in the frame of your front-facing camera.

“Does it suit me?” you ask, shooting her a teasing smile.

“I like it,” Leila tells you. “Winning is very sexy.”

You open your mouth to flirt back, but you’re interrupted by a shout from a few metres away. When you glance up, Leah has emerged from round the corner, a half empty bottle of champagne clutched in one of her hands.

“Oi!” she cries out. “Come and dance with us.”

“Two minutes,” you say to Leah.

Leah’s eyes flit between your face and the phone in your hand, and realisation washes over her face, perhaps remembering the interactions she saw between you and Leila after you played against each other last week.

“Oh!” she says, eyes wide. “Take your time!”

“I’ll be there in a second,” you promise Leah, before turning back to your phone.

“Go and celebrate,” Leila urges you. 

“I wish I was celebrating with you,” you admit.

“Sorry,” Leila says with a grimace.

“No!” you interject. “I’m not blaming you for not being here! How did the move go?”

“It was good,” Leila shrugs. “The apartment is nice but I need to go to IKEA to get some furniture.”

“Maybe I can come and visit when you’ve settled in?” you suggest optimistically.

“Okay, but you lose the hat,” Leila tells you, and it’s more of an order than a suggestion.

A thought pops into your brain, probably fuelled the bottle of beer you just downed on top of a shit ton of adrenaline from the match, and you cheekily ask, “What if I’m wearing just the hat?”

“No,” Leila warns you firmly, though she rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Go,” Leila tells you. “I don’t want to stop you celebrating.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to draw out the goodbye as long as you can. “But I’ll see you soon, right?”

“See you soon, champion.”

[nvirskies]

valeria thoughts at this wonderful time of 10:18 pm on a friday night before i have a swim meet.

no major warnings? scar appreciation, softer val, i have so many thoughts, descriptions of non-sexual partial nudity, lesbian valeria and i will die on this hill, descriptions of injuries

men, nsfw, non-sapphics, terfs, 16-/21+ dni

normally she'd be a pretty closed-off person, always preferring to have her hands on you instead of your hands on her. it was just a thing of your security and peace of mind mixed with possessiveness.

some part of her was always touching you, whether it be a hand on your shoulder, an arm wrapped around your waist, her arm interlaced with yours as she escorted you to wherever it was you had to go, a feather-light touch of her fingers tracing idle circles on your thigh during meetings or in the car, and so forth. all small gestures signifying and cementing her presence in your life.

the entire cartel knew that you were hers, it's painstakingly obvious. even the men her sicarios have gone after knew not to utter a word against you unless they wanted to be apprehended by el sin nombre herself. it was essentially signing and mailing their death wish if anyone was stupid enough to try it and walk out alive.

the first time she'd let you touch the scars on her back would probably be right as the two of you are drifting off to sleep. the rare occasion that she'd be the little spoon, facing away from you.

no shirt on her torso to obscure your view of the expanse of the bronzed, mexican sun-kissed skin of her back now visible to you. the only tattoo visible is the one she had done in commemoration of your relationship, a small pair of intricately detailed revolvers with intertwined vines holding them together, resting just at the base of her neck.

the thin, pale lines of healed-over scar tissue that littered her back were always a bit of a sore spot for her. remnants of the slashes that once ran along the length of her spine, jagged patches of toughened skin from burns past, and countless seemingly unconnected, smaller cut lines.

to her, they all represented the times her trust had been broken, that she'd been backstabbed in both literal and metaphorical contexts. they represented her hurt. they symbolized her mistakes in trusting and confiding in the wrong people, and the very real possibilities that everything she'd worked for in building the cartel from the ground up from its stint as la araña, now pitiful in comparison to the currently internationally infamous cartel of las almas, would all come crashing down as a result of her mistake in trusting the wrong people.

but to you, they represented her resilience. her strength in continually getting back up no matter what happened and working to preserve what she had poured so much time, energy, money, and effort into maintaining. her unwavering commitment to it all. and of course, the trust she held in you to even sleep so exposed in the first place, leaving it all for your eyes to drink in til your heart's content. or until she turned in her sleep, whichever came first.

[stereotypicalsanriofemme]

Being a housewife is fun, sure, but I think there’s so much more to be said about breaking a resilient woman into a subslut 💕

I mean, imagine it. You probably met her at some advanced intellectual event— a debate, or perhaps a lecture. She always asked questions, curious and hungry for any ounce of knowledge she could pry from an expert’s lips. It entranced you— someone so small and cute yet powerful, able to critically analyze materials and refusing to follow the paradigm of “sit down and be quiet.”

You just knew you had to break her.

It started with a group project, and with your luck you got partnered with her. She was cuter even closer— little puppy eyes and pouty lips, tender breasts that were easy to grope and a perky ass that her mini skirts couldn’t hide the shape of. Her cute low-cut blouse once flashed the curve of her breasts to you and you just had to hold yourself back from bending her over the table at that moment and making her yours.

You got your way in the end— little princess thought it was a good idea to bend over the counter to get something for you and you just snapped 💕 She whimpered feeling you hard packing beneath those jeans as you pressed your bulge against her ass. She lets out a nervous question— “what are you doing…?” clearly aroused. You simply flip up her little mini skirt in response.

“If you want to stop, you run right now and I’ll never talk to you again. If you want me to keep going, you call me Daddy and listen to every command I give you. Understand?”

Her legs tremble, eyes blown wide as she looks up at you.

“…yes, Daddy,” she whispers shyly, and you grin, feeling like a predator who finally caught its prey.

The night was long after that. You spread her out on your thick cock, watching her whimper and drool as it bottomed out over and over again as you whisper take it, take it, fucking take it, watching her get dumber with every thrust.

Halfway through the night you taught her how to service your cock properly, fucking her mouth and watching her gag and drool in confusion yet moaning when it finally popped into the back of her throat, making her deepthroat you fully. Watching her cough as you pulled out of her mouth only made you want to go for another round. You couldn’t hold yourself back, not anymore; you needed her to be yours. You needed her to submit to you and you alone.

She was corrupted after that. She kept coming back, gentle at first, asking “could we do that again?” which evolved into desperately grabbing your packer and begging for you to fuck her. You never saw her smile wider like when she was fucked stupid on your cock, whining, “so good, daddy, so goood~”

She can be little miss perfect by day, a smart, independent girl, but she knows as well as you do that she belongs on her knees below you.

THIS POST IS ABOUT LESBIAN SEX!!

[p-paradoxa]

i’m still early into Dungeon Meshi but I enjoy how much it concerns itself with ecology. no part of the dungeon exists in a vacuum. adventurers are not just an outside force that loots and kills, although adventuring does in some way end up sustaining cycles of oppression (read: orcs). rather, adventuring itself is integrated into the ecosystem—each kill they deal, every death a party incurs, any waste they leave behind is taken into account as being something a component of the environment is adapted to, from the individual to population level.

we even see adaptations that have evolved over short periods of time, as with senshi’s golems adapting to the nutrients used to farm on them

another detail I enjoyed from off the top of my head was when senshi warned marcille not to use a spell that would damage a wide area of the lake, because the fish would die and the merfolk, krakens etc. would suffer in turn, despite a general interest in keeping the monsters at bay. this is narratively smart because it leads to more creative solutions, and also communicates a value of animal life without reverting to “isn’t it just fucked up to hunt things.” the focus of cooking and eating in the manga feels very intentional as a way for the characters to interact with this premise. unlike accumulating treasure, trying to earn fame and fortune, or hunting specific monsters (besides the one that swallowed a party member), eating is a necessity to life, which life itself factors in as part of its cycle. the party members became a part of the ecosystem the very first time they entered the dungeon, but by choosing to sustain themselves from it, come to a better understanding of it—this isn’t a value judgment or an appeal to nature, at least to me, it’s just an observation about how these systems work that the series is making, and something the author wants people to be mindful of

a last point that really hammered it in is an explicit visual representation of the dungeon as an ecosystem—the flashback to the sprite project (analogous to real life insect cultures). the sprites thrive when the cultures mimic dungeon conditions. because that’s all a dungeon is: a self-sustaining ecosystem (as long as it has the resource of magic, as well as other life-giving resources), which is resilient and yet sensitive to change

so far I think it does subvert most of the sensibilities of the dungeon fantasy subgenre in a meaningful way, which is to say it draws the emphasis somewhat away from battling and racking up kills in favor of environmentally conscious problem-solving and acknowledging the lives therein as being in interaction with each other

this is all surface-level praise as I’m only on like chapter 20 but I’m saying. I think you should read it. don’t just take my word for it though. check this out:

oops that’s just a picture of marcille being a big big lesbian whoooops post cancwlled

[celebrate-lesbianism]

In a world set on tearing you down, you have to build yourself up. You have to take care of yourself, advocate for yourself, and go after what YOU want. Resilience is resistance.