what's up with folk music being full of faggots, does singing about vietnamese war and drugs turn u into dick/clit sucking machine? so fucking tired of harmonica bisexuals rn
this is the best ask ever. music critics in the mid 1960s:
Infighting only helps our oppressors.
Infighting only helps our oppressors.
Infighting only helps our oppressors.
Infighting only helps our oppressors.
Infighting only helps our oppressors.
You don't have to understand someone completely to respect them and fight for their right to exist.
a friend of mine has been saying "de-escalate all conflict that is not with the enemy."
we have real, life-threatening forces to fight back against.
did i even tell you guys how i pretended to know how to play an instrument for three years and only two people ever figured it out.
i don't mean i was like. telling people i could play guitar, i mean i was sitting in band class holding a french horn to my lips and looking at the music and not understanding any of it or knowing how to play a single note. for 3 years.
the two people who knew were my best friend who knew i was too stupid to play such a complicated instrument and the only other hornist in my section who had to desperately cover for me because he knew i had blackmail material on him. i only came clean this year in my senior speech and to this day people still call me mellophony and the no hit wonder.
I know it feels like an understatement but you sometimes make more progress by pointing out that conservatives are fucking rude. going out of your way to call someone the wrong name because you don't like them? rude. childish. this isn't fucking kindergarten, Carl. she said her name is Jennifer. Everybody knows her as Jennifer. You are the one making things confusing. Grow up.
"misgendering is violence": invites discourse over the TraNs DeBatE, puts people on the defensive, opens you up to accusations of liberal snowflakery, comes off as a hypothetical thought exercise
"Who the fuck is Jason? I don't know a Jason. Oh her? You mean Jen? You mean fucking Jen? That's Jen, dipshit." : crystal clear. you're making shit more difficult for everyone because you're a rude manchild.
Once a month, Shannon and Beatrice have a night out. They go see a movie or visit a museum or check out a new restaurant. It’s a very important part of their relationship, their way of ensuring they keep making memories together. Ensuring the other stays a priority in their lives.
Shannon, like she has her entire life, has spent the evening trying to get Beatrice drunk. Beatrice doesn’t drink often, and never in excess. She doesn’t like the way being drunk makes her feel, like her feet are on backwards and her head is submerged under water.
Out of control.
Defenseless.
But Shannon, as she has their entire lives, can convince Beatrice of anything. She could convince Beatrice to give up water in a drought, to buy ice in a snowstorm.
To go one for one with her at the new queer owned bar downtown.
The bartender is kind, his smile is warm and his eyes are soft and he asks Beatrice if she’s okay when Shannon goes to put on their song — she did not select "their song," Shannon chooses a song that Beatrice has never heard in her life. He offers to start substituting her shots with water, but Beatrice is warm and buzzing around the edges and Shannon will keep her safe. Shannon has always kept her safe. So she thanks him but tells him no and leaves him a fifty dollar tip when Shannon drags her onto the dance floor.
The lights swirl and shimmer and the world rocks uneasily, but Shannon’s hand is strong in her own and Shannon’s eyes scan the crowd around them even while she bounces with Beatrice. A guy stumbles and his elbow clips Beatrice and Shannon is pulling her away and shouting at him to be more attentive of his surroundings.
She checks Beatrice over intently. Nothing exists to Shannon in this moment but Beatrice’s possible injury. She spins Beatrice and lifts her limbs and inspects her skin with so much attention Beatrice burns hotter than the liquor on her tongue could explain.
"Are you okay?" Shannon has to shout to be heard over the thumping baseline and the thrumming in Beatrice’s head, she rubs the pad of her thumb over the spot where the man had run into her. Beatrice nods and the crowd melts away when Shannon pulls her into a hug, squeezes her tight and rubs her biceps when she breaks away. "Do you wanna go home?"
Home. Where is that, Beatrice wonders.
When she was a child, she didn’t have a home. She didn’t know what home meant. She thought home was her father’s admonishing her top marks and her mother’s heavy sigh when she’d ask for anything.
Then she lost it all. Her home burnt to the ground and she was trapped in the attic inhaling the smoke until it charred her through.
But she found Shannon in the ashes, face turned to the sky with her eyes closed as the ashes fell around her like confetti. You can convince yourself it’s snow, if you try.
Shannon built Beatrice a house in the desolate wasteland her parents had left her. Shannon taught her what home meant.
Home is snowball fights and arguing over who gets the front seat and sneaking out the side window for a party she doesn’t even want to attend. Home is rock, paper, scissors over the last slice of pizza and stolen shirts and pictures on the mantle. Home is rooftop stargazing and beach front sunrises and missed curfew races.
Shannon is home. Shannon is Beatrice’s home.
But her home is growing now. Home is crayon scribbles on the backs of her essays and stickers in her hair and rewatching the same cartoons. Home is chestnut brown eyes and crooked smiles and soft hands. Home is golden mornings and honeyed whispers and quiet evenings.
Fuck.
The night air makes her shiver, raises goosebumps on her clammy skin. She doesn’t remember if they paid for their drinks. Shannon links their arms and they stagger down the block to Beatrice’s car.
"Shan," Beatrice digs her heels into the sidewalk and yanks them to a stop. She almost topples over from the abrupt change in motion. "I’m not driving."
"No shit, Sherlock. Mary’s right there." Shannon points to the running car parked directly next to Beatrice, Mary waves from where she’s leaned against the side, and Beatrice’s face tingles. "Come on, Bea."
Mary catches Shannon by the waist, steadies her when Beatrice tumbles into her side.
"Jesus Christ. Did you swim in it?" Mary scrunches her nose when Shannon leans to press a kiss against her mouth. She helps them into the backseat, kisses Shannon’s forehead before she closes the door.
The night air feels amazing on Beatrice’s face. Her body is too warm and her stomach is sloshing and Shannon says something that she doesn’t quite understand but she laughs with her anyways. Mary asks a question, Beatrice doesn’t know what it is, but they’re both looking at her for an answer.
The light changes colors and they’re moving again, Mary’s turned back to the street but Shannon’s still waiting for her to answer. Beatrice murmurs something, throws a random slur of sounds together and hopes it makes sense.
"You drank her stupid, Shannon." Mary’s teasing, her laugh cracking and clashing like cymbals. It booms in Beatrice’s chest and tickles the inside of her head. Shannon smacks her shoulder anyways, her glare glimmering and bright.
"Digo… muchas pen… pendejadas." Beatrice’s tongue feels too big for her mouth, her words slurred and twisted and wrong. She drops her forehead onto the space where the window should be.
"I took French, don’t look at me." Shannon gathers the hair sticking to Beatrice’s neck and retwists her bun, her fingers scratching lightly at the base when she’s done. "Are you okay, bumble Bea?"
Beatrice hums. She’s hot and sticky and twisted up inside.
They help her from the backseat, Shannon supporting most of her weight while Beatrice tries not to fall asleep. Mary catches her when she tumbles, barely maneuvers her from hitting her head against the edge of the hall table.
Beatrice could sleep here. Right here, in the middle of the entryway. Or is she in the hallway? She’s in the doorway of the living room.
Maybe.
She blinks and she’s in their guest room. She blinks again and her shoes are gone and she’s tucked under the blanket. She blinks again and Shannon is brushing the hair out of her face and wishing her sweet dreams.
She blinks again and she’s alone in the dark.
Beatrice has never been scared of the dark. Nothing that lurked in the shadows could’ve been worse than what was in her head. The dark was a welcome peace. A warm cloak that wrapped around her and buried her away. Soft and safe and all consuming. Nothing existed in the shadows. Nothing but her heartbeat and her steady breaths.
But tonight, her pickled brain won’t slow down enough for her to enjoy it.
Her mind is racing like a slot car speeding around its track. Only, that makes sense. This? Beatrice only gets muddled fragments of thoughts before they’re gone.
- too good too long -
She needs to find Shannon.
- going to fail -
She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to drown the noise out.
- always worthless -
Her heartbeat is as unsteady as her feet when she tries to stumble to the hallway.
- leave without -
The wall is cold and bumpy beneath her palm, she tries to focus on that. Focus on that instead of the maelstrom swirling the room at the edges. Focus. Focus.
- break her heart -
She thumps into the wall next to Shannon’s door. Her fingers brush the handle before she falls. Crumples. Folds like a house of cards.
- alone dying in -
Mary groans behind the door, a quick shuffle and a murmur before it opens.
"Beatrice?" Shannon’s breath is heavy, ragged like she’s been running. Her cheeks flushed and hair shuffled. Mary straightens her backwards and inside out shirt and says something.
- too much -
She tries to apologize, but the words stick in her throat. Mary’s shirt was on correctly when she picked them up.
- no love can -
"Hey, Bea. Sit up with me, yeah?" Beatrice’s cheek is wet when Shannon brushes her fingers across it, cradling the back of her head while she helps her sit up. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. She rubs her thumb over Beatrice’s knuckles and scratches the back of Beatrice’s head like a cat.
Beatrice flinches away from Jasper’s cold nose when he presses it into the side of her face. Shannon laughs softly and sends Jasper to bed, his paws dragging lazily across the wooden floor.
Scrrrr thump… scrrrr thump… scrrrr thump…
He plops down with a huff, his greying tail thudding against the floorboards when Beatrice turns to him.
"What do you need, Bea?" They’re going to have to talk about it. Beatrice knows it. Hopefully she won’t remember in the morning.
Hopefully neither of them will remember in the morning.
"Where do you want me?" Mary kneels beside Shannon, bumps their shoulders.
Mary will remember in the morning.
Beatrice shakes her head and the world sloshes, her vision swishing and swirling and - she’s going to puke. Mary’s yanked her from the ground before she finishes her thought, practically carries her the three steps to their bathroom before depositing her in front of the toilet.
"Shannon, go." Shannon gags in the doorway but she doesn’t move. "Shannon, I love you and I know you love Beatrice but if you vomit too, I will divorce you. I’ve got her."
The tile floor is cold against her sticky skin, cold and hard and Beatrice wants to sprawl across it until she the fire in her bloodstream burns out. Beatrice’s throat and eyes burn, she wonders if dragons ache like this when their flames lick the back of their throats. Mary pats her back, offers a muttered condolence before leaning against the cabinet behind her. She kicks her feet out and taps Beatrice’s knee with her toes when she rocks them side to side.
She doesn’t help. Doesn’t offer any comfort. She drops her head against the cabinet door and tilts her head to the ceiling, watches the overhead light flicker. Beatrice turns to her and frowns, flicks Mary’s shin.
"What?" Beatrice almost flinches away, shakes her head quickly and turns back to the toilet. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that."
She tucks a loose curl behind Beatrice’s ear and settles her hand on her shoulder, warm and steady and grounding.
"‘m sorry…" Beatrice slurs, closes her eyes to try to still the way the room rocks around her. It ebbs and flows, pushes and pulls her like the ocean waves against the shore.
The taste on her tongue makes her stomach churn. Mary digs through a drawer next to her head, shuffling and sighing before she hands Beatrice a travel container of mouthwash. Beatrice smiles, limp and shaking.
Mary laughs, tousles Beatrice’s hair. "Don’t apologize, kiddo. It’s your sister’s fault for trying to pickle you."
"That… sounds so good right now…"
"Pickles?" Beatrice nods and Mary stands, offers her hand to pull her upright. "I think we have some, let’s go."
Beatrice has her legs about her now, her footing more sure though Mary still holds her steady. At the end of the hall, Shannon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and foot tapping. She smiles when she looks up, cups Beatrice’s face and rubs her thumbs over her cheeks.
"You okay?" Beatrice feels like a buoy adrift at sea, untethered and completely out of control. She hates getting drunk, she doesn’t think she’ll do it ever again.
"We are getting pickles, if you want to join us." Mary motions down the hallway when she says it, laughs when Shannon rolls her eyes.
Beatrice sinks to the floor when they reach the kitchen, presses her back into the cabinets while Mary digs through the fridge. She clings to Shannon’s hand like a child on a busy street intersection.
Shannon doesn’t let go.
Mary offers the pickle jar only for Shannon to push it away.
"Nope, uh-uh, we are not eating on the floor. We’re not sixteen anymore." Shannon tugs on her arm and Beatrice whines. "No ma’am. Come on. Up, up, Speedy."
Beatrice lets herself be pulled from the floor, groans until she’s sagging against the counter. Beatrice tries to push herself onto the countertop with her free hand.
"Here." Shannon helps her up, pats her knee, offers her a pickle and a kiss on the forehead. The light above the sink bathes them in a golden glow, soaks the moment in warm amber. The world is crooked and shimmering and rocking around them, burning bright like a lighthouse in the harbor.
Shannon smiles softly when Beatrice tilts into her, rests her head against her shoulder. Mary whispers something in a language Beatrice is certain doesn’t exist, a random assortment of sounds like Diana babbling to her stuffed monkey. Shannon seems to understand, because she nods and makes an affirming noise in the back of her throat.
Beatrice doesn’t ask.
Mary is gone when Beatrice sits up. Saltwater cheeks and pickled lips and bloodshot eyes. Shannon offers a reassuring half-smile and a comforting squeeze of her fingers.
"What happened?" Beatrice doesn’t have to answer, Shannon would never make her, but she wants to. Because - well because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know why the lights turned off and her mind took off like a racehorse in the Kentucky derby. She doesn’t know, but Shannon will. Shannon knows everything, Beatrice is nearly certain of it. She might’ve failed math three times and she might not understand the difference between an opamp and a capacitor, but she knows these types of things. She knows the insides of Beatrice’s brain. Usually better than Beatrice herself.
"Is it Ava?" Beatrice rolls her eyes and shakes her head, Shannon flicks her forehead. "I think it’s Ava, at least a little bit. Maybe there’s a like huge, massive, writhing mass of issues, but Ava’s definitely in there somewhere."
"Why would you say that?" Beatrice watches silently as Shannon lifts herself onto the counter beside her, knocks their knees together and wraps an arm over Beatrice’s shoulder.
"Because I think - okay actually, you gotta let me finish before you say anything, deal?" Beatrice narrows her eyes but nods regardless. "I think you’re at least a little bit in love with her and I think that scares you. You like to get in your head about stuff, like to twist things until they break then you like to look at the broken pieces and get all like I knew it, I was right, I’m Beatrice and I’m never wrong about anything ever, my middle name is actually Never Wrong in Latin or something. You know what I mean?"
"You think my middle name is Numquam Iniuriam?" Shannon groans and drops her head into the cabinet door behind her, playfully slapping Beatrice’s thigh with a grin.
"Can you focus on literally anything else I said? It gets annoying every time I’m trying to mock you and you still somehow make me feel stupid."
"That wasn’t my inten - "
"Oh my god, are you in love with Ava or no? And don’t lie to me because I already know the answer." Shannon interrupts, eyebrows raising and head tilting.
"I don’t know." Beatrice doesn’t want the pickles anymore, she removes her hand from the jar and replaces the lid.
"You do know. You’re just scared to say it." Shannon stares up at a water stain shaped vaguely like squirrel. "It’s okay to be scared, Bea. It’s not okay to lie to yourself about it though."
"I said it. Last week. I was running late and Diana was having a fit and I just - I said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world."
"Maybe it is." Beatrice sighs and quirks an eyebrow, lips pressed into a thin white line. "Okay fine. Maybe it’s not that simple. But it’s also not as complicated as you’re trying to make it."
"I’m not trying - "
"Yes you are, Bea. I know you." Shannon slides off the counter and steps in front of Beatrice’s, cups her cheeks and levels their eyes. "You’re allowed to love her, bumble Bea. Full stop. You’re allowed to want to love her. You don’t have to play four dimensional chess with God to convince yourself otherwise. Stop twisting yourself up inside about it. It can be simple if you let it."
"What if I hurt her?" Beatrice’s stomach is churning again.
"What if she hurts you? What if the world ends tomorrow? What if the pope is a lizard person? What if, what if, what if. You know how much I hate the what if game."
"Shannon…"
"Okay fine. You wanna play? Let’s go. What if you two get married and have like three million kids and a half dozen dumpster cats and every stray dog you see? What if you tell her how you feel and she says it back? What if she kisses you and she loves you and she’s the last face you see every night and the first you see every morning for the rest of your life? What if it’s simple? What if it’s easy? What if you love her and she loves you back and what if that’s enough? What then, Bea? Will you burn the world down trying to deny it? You see the way she looks at you, don’t you?" Shannon takes a half step back, drops her hands to Beatrice’s shoulders and gives her a gentle shake. Beatrice turns away, stares at the golden kitchen light. "Dude, she looks at you like nothing else exists, Bea. She gets that shiny, glossy look in her eyes where you can just tell the rest of the world just fell away."
Beatrice slides off the counter, cold tiles sending a shock through her bare feet.
"I’m tired."
"Bea - "
"I’ll see you in the morning."
"Beatrice."
"Goodnight, Shannon." Shannon follows her down the hallway, catches the door when Beatrice tries to swing it closed. "Shannon, I just want to sleep."
"Okay. I’m not going to keep you. I just…" Shannon sighs and shakes her head. Beatrice sighs and flips into the bed, curls onto her side with her back to Shannon. "Can I stay? I don’t know where your head is right now and I’d like to be here in case - "
"I’m not ten years old anymore, Shannon. I can sleep on my own."
"I never said you were." Her words are sharp and soft, hard and tender. Beatrice glances at her over her shoulder, finds her jaw clenched and her ears red. "Don’t put words in my mouth just because you’re pissed, Beatrice. You’re not thirteen anymore, either."
"Fine."
"Fine." Shannon mocks indignantly. Beatrice buried her head in her pillow.
"Is everything alright?" The door creaks when Mary pushes it open, her shadow moves across the wall opposite Beatrice.
"We’re fine," Beatrice grumbles and smashes her pillow over her head, muffling their voices. When she pulls the pillow away, she’s alone again and her chest twinges at the realization.
She’s fine, though.
Her mind isn’t racing and her heart isn’t clenching and her chest isn’t tight. She’s fine.
Except -
Except she’s not.
Shannon’s right and Beatrice hates it.
Find more here!
Opposite of "came back wrong" is "stayed exactly the same." Oh you want so badly to pretend that you have changed. You changed your face, you changed your name, you started leaning into a whole new role, but I know you. I know you. I know who you used to be, and I can see that person shining through you still. You can fool the world you can fool your friends you can fool yourself but you will not fool me.
Opposite of "came back wrong" is "stayed exactly the same." Oh you want so badly to pretend that you have changed. You changed your face, you changed your name, you started leaning into a whole new role, but I know you. I know you. I know who you used to be, and I can see that person shining through you still. You can fool the world you can fool your friends you can fool yourself but you will not fool me.
Some time when I was a teen, somewhere a bit before my parents' second divorce, I came to a quiet realization:
Sometimes, when people love each other, they become different people. The togetherness changes them. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes not. And it's not the love that's at fault, or the people, or the change- it's just the nature of things, to become different over time, and if you cling too hard to the image of the thing you love as you first encounter it, you will be blind to the shapes it becomes until one day the new thing tied to your heart is suddenly clear to you, frightening and strange.
I don't know if this was a rational thought, or a true one, but it is the one that I had.
I was seventeen. Close to graduating. And I'd heard enough of people leaving for college, moving away, telling their friends that they would be friends forever, and then becoming strangers instead.
So I went to my friends, so close we were family, and told them, "Whatever happens next, whoever we become, I want you to know that what we are right now is good. Whatever comes next for us, if we grow apart, I want you to remember that now is good. Now is important to me, and I'm glad it's happened. It won't mean less because it's over."
Time has passed since then.
A few, I'm still close to.
Many more have grown apart.
Sometimes I pass the face of a friend on the street, who glances back with the eyes of a stranger.
Their fingers tangled in a stranger's fingers.
Their fingers clasped in a child's fingers.
Their fingers clenched around a broken pipe- dirty fingers.
And we don't talk. Niether of us.
Nerves? Uncertainty? Shame?
I don't know.
We nod. An understanding- an acknowledgement- and the moment passes.
I don't know who I've become to them. I dont know who they are to me.
But I hope they remember.
What we were was important, and it was good, and it doesnt mean less because it's over.
sorry i can't stop thinking about this. it's finally our month honey
This is terrible but today when I was playing volleyball outside with some friends one of their children (18 months) was sort of ambling around on his stumpy little toddler legs and so we were all trying to be careful and like not spike the ball onto the baby but then he wandered over to his father, who picked him up bc dad reflexes, and then the ball got passed over to the dad and he sort of had a no thoughts moment and instinctively used his child to smack the volleyball over to the next person. Like he just swung the kid and used his legs like a baseball bat. I'm never going to forget his face of premature regret mid baby-manuever right when he realized what he was doing AND the instant he realized his wife saw it happen. Anyway the baby was fine he didn't make contact with the ball all that hard and he was just mad his dad wouldn't use him as a club again but I had to sit down because I laughed so hard I cried.
Someone made an engagement map for TERF tweets
Y’all in the notes please be mindful when you say stuff like “it’s time to kill the British.” The people suffering the most from British transphobia are....British trans people.
^^^^^ for serious. British trans folks rarely get to transition at all, and when they don't they're often denied any social transition period. TERFs in the UK aren't here to start laws against people in America, they're trying and succeeding to kill off trans people in the UK. This really isn't the situation to cram on the brits to look and feel better about yourself... the trans body count is tremendous over there. Please have some respect for the people actually effected.
Please do keep this in mind. As much as I find the anti-British memes funny, this is a genuine issue in the UK.
I’m a trans man in the UK, I’ve been on the waiting list to be diagnosed for just over 2 years now, and am expected to wait around another 2 years before I get my first appointment (if the wait time doesn’t increase). I will then wait around 2 more years (at the very least) for my second appointment, and if I’m very lucky and am diagnosed in that appointment (which is not guaranteed in the slightest), I’ll enter another waiting list to access healthcare. The service I’m in is considered around average. There are people waiting 6 years for their first appointment in other services, so I am incredibly lucky with my supportive family (in that I haven’t been kicked out or abused, parents still don’t respect pronouns or name) and I have good friends who respect me, as well as only waiting 4 years for a first appointment.
Maybe you could go private if you had the money, right? Go a similar route to trans people in the US? A diagnosis from a private practice can be rejected by your General Practitioner, and any referral you get for hormones or surgery can be completely dismissed, because you weren’t diagnosed by an NHS practice. You would likely have to go entirely private, which is not possible for thousands of trans people who rely on the NHS. This is an issue within the NHS and a completely lack of funding and training for trans healthcare, resulting in horrifically long wait time and difficult to access help, especially given doctors and surgeons have and are having their practices shut down because they aren’t considered proper by the NHS, despite being one of very very few who commit to this kind of work.
The transphobia in the UK runs far deeper than just tweets, and combining the aggressively transphobic attitude of a large portion of the population with the lack of healthcare due to wait times and difficulties with funding, you set up an incredibly difficult and dangerous position for trans people. Maybe this sounds like a bunch of complaints and nothing to people in the US, but people here are dying as a result of this. Please do keep this in mind when making anti-UK memes surrounding specifically transphobia.
also, our wait times for HRT have gone up to 6 years through the NHS.
There are officially English asylum seekers in places like New Zealand now because other countries have acknowledged that it is genuinely unsafe for trans people to stay in this country.
Also you need to understand that while engagement in Britain is off the charts it is NOT because there are a lot of transphobes - polls show brits are MORE accepting generally in fact. What this is actually showing is the small and completely insane network of online terfs in the UK who dedicate unfathomable amounts of time and energy solely to driving up engagement on transphobic content, the numbers are unbelievable. Britain is not a place full of transphobes, it's a place with very dedicated transphobes who have the backing of the government and a certain outrageously wealthy and bigoted author.
As someone who has organized a gangbang, it is SO HARD to Wrangle People towards the sexy parts and away from the crafted table of snacks which just so happens to be in front of your book shelf and OMG you have THIS gaming System?? That was Kickstarter exclusive! Like, no. Stop. Please return the game book to the shelf and remove your clothes. Please?
well thank god it's not just me
favorite tags from the notes so far:
#throwback to that one time a platonic friend invited me to a swinger club#and his earnest reasoning was#'the buffet there is the best I have ever been to and it's so cheap we need to eat our way through the buffet together'#I didn't go but I have reliable sources that the buffet really is that good (via @notgreengardens)
The best sex party I ever went to nearly stopped because someone taped a sheet to the back of sliding glass windows and were using dry erase markers to make diagrams. A bunch of math and physics PhD’s were helping a chemistry phd with a thorny problem and they cheered when they solved it. A board game night broke out and it was really hard to pry people away from the games, science and snacks for sex so someone put up a pole in the living room and four women started pole dancing while shouting instructions to the scientists and board game nerds.
Epic party, I think I shagged 8 women that night and I won a card game.
I will never get over how weird it feels to have tragic and emotional chapters of your life where you just also still go to work, and the grocery store, and see funny videos online all while feeling such paralyzing fear and heartache
life just goes on no matter what
Gerard P Donelan
I love the notes saying this femme knows exactly what she's doing and it's all part of her flirting technique. You get it.
More of his stuff and about him
My absolute favorite of his work
I’ve gone to the women’s restroom a lot in my life, and not once have I ever seen genitalia besides my own while there. No penis, no vulva, nothing.
I’ve literally seen a bathroom full of baby lizards, one time a whole fucking fish on the floor, and someone come out of the stall with a plate, knife, and fork like they just ate a meal before I’ve seen genitals. Why would I ever be worried about seeing some woman with her cock out
Roses are non-toxic to dogs. Ava learned that today while frantically googling, standing in the middle of a florist shop a few blocks from her and Michael’s apartment. She had no idea it was there. Ava might have signed up for a punch card (buy ten bouquets, and the eleventh is free). It might be a step too far, but Ava was operating on pure adrenaline and wasn’t really thinking. Man, would Camila be proud or what?
How do you process grief?
by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day
prev had extremely beautiful and profound thoughts i had to share
Hey, super sorry for bringing this type of thing to your tumblr but your current living situation (being in Florida and being trans) are reflective of what could potentially happen to me and you're the only person I know of who could possibly help. I'm currently in a long distance relationship with my gf who's in Orlando and we're getting to a point where we were considering moving in together until Florida started all of the bullshit it's currently doing. Her moving from Florida doesn't seem...possible at all if I'm being real while I work remotely and have much more flexibility. I literally haven't even started my transition medically yet but I'm weeks away from starting. Is there any way that I could move to Orlando despite all the bullshit happening and find care there or continue my care? Is it really as lost as it seems for now? I really really love my gf but as a previous Florida resident who swore I'd never touch the state again when I left BEFORE this bs the thought of moving back has me feeling like my only choices while being there would be to be closeted for my own safety. Again, sorry for bringing this topic to you but I'm in a really bad spot right now and don't know what to do...
Absolutely not. Do not come here, if you are trans and you are in Florida, leave. SB 254 was signed into law yesterday with immediate effect. Trans adults throughout the state are already having their HRT prescriptions denied at pharmacies because the prescription was from an NP, which SB 254 newly prohibits for gender-affirming care only, requiring an MD or DO to prescribe. At least 80% of trans people on HRT in Florida get it through an NP and this has been the case for recorded history up until now.
Again, in Florida, today, trans adults on long-term testosterone or estradiol prescriptions are now unable to get those prescriptions refilled and have practically no means now of accessing that medication due to the onerous regulations. This is the state of Florida forcibly detransitioning its residents of all ages. This is not just a trans youth care ban. Any trans person who needs healthcare in Florida is not safe. Do not come here.
Do not come to Florida.
Don't come to Texas either. Our state government is on track to do the exact same thing. If you're trans or GNC in general, stay away from here.
Now that ALL trans people in Florida are being forcibly detransitioned by DeSantis, things have shifted into high gear.
@zinniajones is working on guidance for next steps in policy activism, and people are starting to turn to action. I'll be posting about steps we all can take to help Floridians directly affected by this rotten unthinkable situation, and ways we can assist trans people who are at risk in dangerous jurisdictions and are seeking sanctuary.
Do not visit. do not go to Florida. Using the restroom while trans on any government property (including, importantly, airports and public parks) is now punishable by arrest.
