Nov 7, 2025
i have a fever and am watching the underground 2012 again oh no.... anyway new WIP (art ref by @cronchy-baguette)
seen from Malaysia
seen from Taiwan
seen from Czechia
seen from Macao SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Taiwan
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Kyrgyzstan
seen from China
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
i have a fever and am watching the underground 2012 again oh no.... anyway new WIP (art ref by @cronchy-baguette)
this is more important to me then you'll ever know
白夜
Prompt: Queer Euphoria (#pw3)
You know the feeling. That bone deep sense of joy in surrounding yourself with something familiar, and being uniquely you.
Prompt: Queer Longing (#pw alt3)
PRIDE PROMPT: Queer Euphoria
“Uhm… abuela?” The elder in question looked up from her book, turning slightly to face her granddaughter. The young child wasn’t looking at her, instead, her gaze was directed to the floor. “Can I, uh, tell you something?”
The old woman tilted her head slightly. “But of course, mi hija. What is on your mind?” She asked, voice gentle as if trying to soothe the anxious child.
And it does, as Amare calmed down. There was still some lingering nervousness in the child, but less so now. What could be plaguing her mind this much? The elder thought to herself, closing the book in her hands and placing it on her lap, giving her nieta her full attention.
Amare didn’t reply immediately, instead, she played with the drawstring of her hoodie. “I was just, well, I was wondering if–that maybe I’m not… well, I don’t feel like a, uhh…” The younger stammered, gesturing her hands wildly in an attempt to make the older understand what she was trying to say. Unfortunately, her abuela isn’t a mindreader.
What the elder is, however, is patient, so she waits for her nieta to find the right words to say. Not telling her to hurry up, or snapping at her for wasting her time. Just letting the child say what she needs to say—even if it was stuttered.
It doesn’t take long till Amare gets her bearings. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and gets the words out: “I don’t–I don’t think I’m a girl.”
The old woman takes a couple of seconds to register what her nieta—well, what her little one said. She guessed that her silence was too long for the child as the little one continued, slightly more panicked. “I mean, I don’t feel like a girl. I know I’m born one, but it–it doesn’t feel right. Like it isn’t, well, me. That probably didn’t make any sense, but–I just, I don’t know. Is there something wrong with me? I probably shouldn’t feel this way, but I do and—”
“Slow down, slow down.” She raised her wrinkled hand to signal the younger to stop. It works, and the rambling stops. Her child still hasn’t looked at her.
Finally grasping the situation, the old woman started slowly: “So, you don’t feel comfortable being referred to as a girl?” The younger nods to that, not daring to say a word or even look at her.
“Would you feel more comfortable if you were referred to as a boy?” The younger pauses for a moment, then shakes their head. Ah, so like Azul.
The older woman smiles softly. “Then, would you like me to refer to you by they-and-them pronouns?” They looked up at her for the first time since the conversation started, their eyes filled with surprise. She can finally see the cogs turning in those bright red eyes of theirs.
Then, something seems to click in their head, because they smile at the question. “Yeah… yeah, that–I’d like that.” They said, airy at first but more sure with the next few words.
“That’s settled then,” she gets up from her chair—with the help of her grandchild, “we can go buy some new clothes for you if you don’t feel that any of the ones you own suit you.”
“Oh! You don’t have to, abuela. I can get by with the ones I have—”
“Nonsense, mi alma. We are buying new ones for you, ones that fit you.” She interrupted. “Besides, we can give away the ones you don’t like.”
They sighed at the old lady’s response, resigning to their fate. Well, it isn’t that bad. I get to have more comfortable clothes at least, they thought.
“Ah, I almost forgot,” she turns to her grandchild, “do you want to go by a different name? One that makes you feel more comfortable.” That was what happened with Azul, so they might want to change their name too.
They take a moment to think about it. “No,” they said, “I like my name. It feels very me.” Amare smiled to their abuela, pure honesty.
The old woman smiled back. “Then let us go, Amare. We have some shopping to do.”
[abuela means grandma; mi hija means my child; nieta means granddaughter; mi alma means my heart or my soul]
A space-themed bisexual moodboard!
Image id under cut.
[Image ID: A bisexual pride flag (pink, a thin stripe of purple, and blue) drawn in bold shades covering the entire piece. The stripes are smudged vertically so that the colors blend into each other. /End ID]
another phone background. (i can’t come up with anything better right now. brain stopped working. i have some poetry ideas for tomorrow’s prompt, so that’ll be fun to get back into.)
i stood in front of my parents and said:
i'm bisexual!
the words sounded different bouncing off the walls
than how i'd said them in my head:
i'm bi. i'm bi. i'm bisexual.
how i'd said them in my head to myself as i questioned:
i'm bi? i'm bi.
how i'd whispered them, ever-so quietly, to myself.
i am bisexual.
but they sound so different bouncing off the walls
than how i'd expected.
//
different,
but right.
i'm bisexual, whether i whisper or shout.
i'm bisexual, and now the walls know.
just as i do, and did, and will.