one of the most infuriating productions of the depp pr machine is people who see themselves as fighting for disbelieved minority groups or something (men who are victims of women) believing the false narrative that heard abused her ex wife hinged on the idea that cops with the right identity politics suddenly are more credible than lesbian and bisexual women they police. this is, mind you based on an arrest that depp’s team vindictively dug up after it had been removed from her record. depp has called van ree a “fucking hovering vulture,”(page 50) called heard as someone with “matronliness as a lesbian camp counsellor”(page 247) - and these are just statements that are undisputed because they’re in writing; depp tried to deny the second one and state that it didn’t matter since he never “uttered” the words out loud.
johnny depp was jealous and possessive of heard around many people, including other women, including specifically her ex-wife. he took the experience of a young amber heard who considered herself married to another woman in a time before gay marriage was legal, took the experience of what it was like to be policed, to feel like you were being targeted by the police for your sexuality, specifically, and twisted it into being somehow a compelling and undisputed case of abuse in the minds of the public. he took her ex who was so close with her it made him pissed off and said her voice didn’t matter and actually she was a victim. because of this fucking ridiculous arrest where all charges were dropped. it’s bewildering that anyone could even dream of holding tasya van ree against heard, whilst still thinking they’re participating in some form of social justice
from the uk judgment:
also again:
the media has focused on depp’s jealousy of musk, franco etc as they are public figures, but the judge at the uk trial specifically found:“The fact that Ms van Ree was a woman who had a relationship with Ms Heard may have excacerbated Mr Depp’s feelings towards her”, and “..the jealousy may have been aggravated rather than diminished because Kelly-Sue was a woman.”
but though the uk trial found that some of the abuse depp inflicted on heard was directly linked to depp’s distrust and hatred of lesbian and bisexual women including heard, depp fans claim to believe that they are standing up for survivors of IPV in same-sex couples by attacking heard in depp’s name.
and as pointed out by op, there is a long history of the police arresting gay people for spurious reasons. this is discussed at length in queer (in)justice: the criminalization of lgbt people in america. van ree specifically stated that she believed the arrest to have been motivated by homophobia. (“I (recall) hints of misogynistic attitudes toward us which later appeared to be homophobic when they found out we were domestic partners and not just ‘friends’” [x]). as to the sexuality of the arresting officer, research has continually shown that police officers have similar biases re: race regardless of background and the same would very likely apply to sexuality as these are systemic issues.
there is no way one can pretend to care about bisexual and lesbian women while lending support to depp, a man who recently defended his lesbophobic texts by stating lesbophobic insults were not a big deal in 2013, and who was found in a court of law to have abused his partner directly because of her same-sex attraction. this is one of the manyextremely disgusting and disturbing reversals happening in the public discourse re: this trial.
“Agree with most of this but would like to point out that a part of the push to make Pride less sexual is to make it a safe space for queer children and to help straights realize being queer isn’t just about fetishes.“
(The person is not tagged because I don’t want to send any hate to them, and the reply isn’t being responded to directly because Tumblr has made that near impossible)
When I came out, my mom told me I couldn’t tell my little sister because it was too sexual.
Later, I moved to the “Big City”, what I hoped to be a haven for queer people. I was with one of the first queer friends my wife and I had made in the city, we had just watched their wrestling debut, and had gone to their apartment afterwards with a group of strangers. Some this group our friend had told us behind the scenes were much more right wing causing our friend to keep parts of their queer identity under wraps.
Our friend suddenly turned to us and began scolding us, telling me and my wife that one of their coworkers at the city Pride Centre had approached them and told them that she had seen me and my wife kiss, and we needed to cut it out with the PDA.
I nodded in front of this group of strangers and when I could no longer hold my tears back I excused myself to the bathroom, cried and waited there until it was no longer obvious I had been crying. We hurried out.
The kiss in question was a goodbye kiss, as my wife went back to campus, and I don’t remember it. I have always been rather shy with PDA and don’t think it could have been much more than a peck. The coworker later told our friend that she was going through a bad breakup and our friend later explained that this was actually the reason for the complaint.
I have never felt safe in queer spaces since. Talking to the same friend later, they asked me and my wife to chaperone the Queer Prom and without thinking I assured them we would make sure not to hold hands or dance while we were there so it would stay “a safe space for children”.
When I was a child, I stumbled into a pride parade and was shocked and upset by the men in gold short shorts. My uncle apologized for letting me see something so sexual and awful.
Every single thing queer people do is “about fetishes” to people who hate queerness. Being less sexual is not going to change that.
I had seen short shorts before. I would see them again, and no one would apologize for that. The thing I was being kept “safe” from was not overly sexual behaviour, and considering there are already laws against indecent exposure, the same is true for children now.
Keeping theoretical children safe has been the justification for the continuing genocide against queer people all around the globe, so this rhetoric is not harmless. It has been used to put queer people in labour campsandslaughter them.
I have nothing to prove to “straights” and I was the “queer child” who was horrified by the pride parades. As an adult, the discomfort I felt at seeing queer people existing happily and authentically in short shorts, is not something I needed to be kept safe from.
This nonsense is nothing more or less than the same moral panic that has killed queer people throughout history.
Chapter Summary: Tommy caught him by the neck, Chuck had no choice in this.
AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, it’s Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If anyone wants it, let me know!
Here’s yet another chapter for this fic, I’m really on a roll today!
Feeling the bully’s hand clamp over the back of his neck, a possessive gesture on his part, made Chuck’s skin crawl right off, and Tommy leaning in had him stiff and uncomfortable. Tommy’s lips met Chuck’s neck, just above his own thumb, and his tongue swiped over the skin. Chuck just about leaped out of his shoes, his eyes slamming shut and hands balling into fists.
“Oh, what’s the matter, Upchuck?” Tommy cooed into his ear, “Gonna do something about it, or are you just going to cry and hug onto Ruth’s skirt?”
“Sh-shut up, Tommy. Get off me.” Pushing at the jock, Chuck almost growled, scooting away as much as he could. However, he didn’t get far with Tommy’s grip on his neck that tightened considerably to keep him from tipping over. The other snarled at him, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him closer.
“Don’t be such a fucking pussy, gaywad.” Tommy told him, voice quiet but firm, a deadly level of venom in his tone. Before Chuck could respond, he was being kissed with bruising force, teeth clacking together. Copper hit his tongue and he didn’t know who it belonged to before Tommy was pulling back and reading his arm for a hit.
Before he knew it, Chuck took a fist to the face, ending up on his ass on the ground. Blood flooded from his nose and upper lip, and he just stared up at Tommy with a frown, hurt and tears in his eyes.
“If you’re going to be with a gay-ass clown, you gotta look the part, don’tcha, fag?” Spitting at Chuck, Tommy turned on his heels, flashing him the bird as he walked away, leaving him to lick his wounds in silence. His quiet sobs were the only music left in the air.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
AN: Welp, these are going to be short vignettes, but I love them nonetheless.
I can say this. We do not know these people. We might think we know these people. But we do not. We cannot say definitively that Jared is homophobic. We cannot say definitely that Misha Collins came out to queer-bait his fans. We cannot definitely say that they ARENT or DIDNT do these things. Because we don’t know them. And that’s okay. But when we start attacking people based on unknown claims, that’s when it becomes a problem. I’m guilty of this. As I said in my post, they’re just people. And the only ones who know who they truly are, are them. And we need to be okay with that, and make our peace, and move on. My statements on why I don’t like Jared Padalecki were wrong. I have no definitive basis. He just rubs me the wrong way. I don’t have to like everyone, and neither does anyone else. If you don’t like Misha Collins, thats okay. If you don’t like Jensen Ackles, that’s okay. But we make mistakes when we attack people over our own personal opinions. That’s all I have to say.
idk about you, but personally, if I hear a man say “I tell my kids I love them, that doesn’t mean I wanna do [sexual] stuff to them,” I interpret that as some powerful ignorance and homophobia. There’s really no other way to interpret such a statement.
I don’t particularly care WHY he said it or what was going through his huge cranium when he was saying it - more specifically, he was openly and publicly trying to invalidate Misha’s position about a scene that Sam and Jerd had no part in - but in his haste to do so, he parroted one of the most insidious lies the alt-right has ever concocted: that gay people are child molesters. Additionally, he’s been trying to court Trumpian conservatives via promotions for his new ICE-positive series W*nker via FOX News and other toxic anti-news ‘networks’.
Having been in this fandom since almost the very beginning, I can definitively say that he said that thing. I saw him say that thing, and so did lots of other folks.
There’s a point where you make enough gay jokes that the people listening have to assume your homophobic. That point is 1 gay joke. I’ve lost count of the number Jared has made.
If he’s not homophobic he’s cosplaying as one super well.
Exactly. And it’s not just the homophobic jokes - it seems like he makes misgendering ‘jokes’ almost every time someone talks to him, about anything (and Misha was usually the target of those 'jokes’).
for context, natalie fisher writes the screener hypable articles and is friends with a lot of the writers. i agree with her completely and i trust her perspective.
Y’all are ready for queerbait ? Let’s go !!!
I said it and I’ll say it again. Destiel was something we created. If they weren’t ready to even show us something honest and brave with the characters, then they should’ve let us have our thing in our corner. Making it canon in the worst possible way just undoes the purpose of a confession. We get everything or we get nothing at all. But a halfway-there type of thing is the best way to ruin the work this community has done. Let us keep our imagination intact but don’t destroy the ship.
I was certain they wouldn’t even try to make destiel canon. But at least I believed that it would be, in our imagination. Now that they started making it canon, anything else than continuing would be denying us the right to even imagine them that way. It would be just as bad as JK Rowling seeing that we ship something and writing another Harry Potter book to make the pairing hate each other, canonically. Do, or don’t. But choose.
The Florida legislature’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill will mean that LGBTQ kids won’t be able to talk about the most important parts of their lives: their families, their parents, their friends, their identity We’re here to fight this harmful bill while supporting LGBTQ young people every step of the way
You can take action with us by pledging to support LGBTQ youth in your community Sign up here p2a.co/qePtDVR ⬅️
Our research scientists partnered with health economists at Cytel to publish a new peer-reviewed study today in JAMA Pediatrics that found the practice of conversion therapy on LGBTQ youth, and its associated harms, cost the United States an estimated $9.23 billion annually ‼️
Conversion therapy refers to a range of dangerous and discredited practices aimed at changing one’s sexual orientation or gender identity.
The study estimates that 508,892 LGBTQ youth in the U.S. were at risk of being subjected to conversion therapy last year
It’s hard to believe one conversation could end a decade of friendship, but it did. Grief, anger, and disbelief have been my close friends these days.
There’s so much I wish I could make you understand—how my “sin” has drawn me closer to God than ever, how my new name reflects who I’ve always been, how everything we grew up believing was built on a fundamental misunderstanding of God and humanity.
But I can’t make you change, just like you can’t make me change.
May we someday come to a place where our fear doesn’t dictate our faith, where our pride doesn’t determine how we treat people, and where our love doesn’t come with limits.
Do yourself a favor: Set boundaries with people who don’t affirm you.
I’m speaking as much to myself as I am to anyone reading this post.
Today I reconnected with a friend from my old (conservative white evangelical) church. A lot has changed since we last saw each other—I changed my name, found terms that describe my experiences, and embraced my queerness.
Considering my friend responded positively when I came out to her over text, I thought we’d be on the same page when it came to LGBTQ inclusion in the church.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
This is the second close friend who has recently rejected me for my queerness. NGL, it sucks; and I find myself wondering, was coming out really worth it?
Keeping loved ones at arm’s length
Queer Theology has countless resources about rejection, but these two have helped me the most:
Reading this, I felt reassured that it’s OK to have mixed feelings. That even if my friend wants to continue hanging out with me, and even though we did have some positive conversations (outside of queer and faith topics), her believing that being LGBTQ is a sin is not loving.
Although this article addresses folks who don’t affirm transgender folks, it offers insight into setting boundaries.
In fact, I have started to…
Quit considering the people who’ve rejected me as my close friends (this has been especially difficult because I’ve known these friends for years)
Unfollow people on social media from my old (conservative white evangelical) communities
Rely more on my affirming friends for emotional support
This post was primarily a reminder for me—that it’s OK (and even self-care!) to set boundaries with people who don’t accept me for who I am. But I hope you get some insight or encouragement, too.
Words: ca. 5,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: no Content: mild drug references, implied homophobia
It was a regular, sunny Thursday morning when the whole debacle started. Nothing out of the ordinary. The train was on time. My blueberry and cream-cheese bagel was fresh and delicious, and I shovelled it down at my desk, clicking away through banal emails about company fun-runs, goodbye-parties for employees I’d never met and rambling updates from the CEO.
I was working out the front with Hans, which was never ideal. Still irritated by his comment last week about women being natural manipulators, I told myself he was just “compassion fatigued”, grit my teeth, and chose to face the day with a positive attitude. That’s all I could do, right?
Hans set his enormous protein shake down on the desk and leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly. “Oh my god, you’ll never guess what happened at the gym this morning.”
I put on my best smile and began to click through random pages on our database, looking at yesterday’s notes, trying to look a bit busy and hoping he would get the hint. Listening to Hans’ gym-bro stories was more tedious than uploading invoices into the finance system.
“So, there I was, just wiping down my bench, and this ridiculously hot chick comes up to me, like, seriously, you would not believe the honka-bazonkas on this bird-”
His story was mercifully cut short by the buzzer signalling to us that someone had entered. We both leaned back to see a girl in the entry-way, looking lost and confused. They all look like that when they’re new, and judging by the school uniform, tear stains on her cheeks, and the way her eyes flickered around in uncertainty, this was most definitely her first rodeo.
“Check out Little Miss Grammar School over there.”
I sighed, disappointed but not surprised that he couldn’t even wait five minutes before judging the poor kid. “She looks pretty upset.”
“Probably because Daddy won’t buy her a new pony.”
I looked over at Hans, irritated with him before it was even nine o-clock. Typical. “Didn’t you go to Trottington Boys College?”
“Yeah, that’s how I know.” He gave me a smirk, and I just wanted to punch his stupid face. “She’ll be back home before lunchtime. Guarantee it.”
I sighed again, not in the mood to bother arguing, and went to greet the girl. Her bright red hair dangled in girlish plaits over her shoulders, and her school-bag was practically bursting at the seams. A planned runaway, perhaps? Or possibly just stuffed full with school stuff. Laptop, textbooks, maybe sports-gear. She looked young, and I prayed she was over eighteen, and it wouldn’t end up being a matter for police and child protection. That’s always such a gruelling process.
“Hey there.” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Hi.” She reminded me of a little baby fox, or a kitten or something criminally innocent with those big, wide eyes. Secretly, I hoped Hans was right, as irritating as it would be. The homelessness system would chew this girl up and spit her right out. “I’m Anna.”
“What brings you in here so bright and early this morning, Anna?”
“My parents kicked me out.” She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Up close, I could see that her fancy uniform was in fact quite dirty. Her skirt was crumpled, like she might have slept in it. There were a few sauce stains on her jumper and she didn’t smell too crash-hot, either. This girl, it seemed, was the real deal. “On Monday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I told her, and I meant it. I always did. It never ceased to baffle me how quick parents could be to cast out their own flesh and blood. My own included. Ten years later, it still stings. “Can you tell me a bit about what’s happened?”
“They told me not to come back, that they couldn’t even look at me. They won’t even let me get my clothes or my charger or anything!” Anna broke down into tears at this point, as they often do. I brought her into one of our small, cosy counselling rooms and sat with her while the tears poured, and my curiosity piqued. What could have caused such a dramatic family breakdown? She seemed like a nice kid. Drugs, perhaps? Pregnancy?
I made her a bowl of Coco Pops, and offered her a coffee but she didn’t drink coffee apparently. Only hot chocolate.
Bless.
After she was fed and watered, and the tears had stopped at least for a moment, I had to get down to business. I sat across from her and took out my notebook, “So my name is Kristoff, and I’ll be doing your assessment today.”
I found out she had just turned eighteen - thank goodness - and had been sleeping in a cheap motel for the last few nights, paid for by her girlfriend’s leftover Christmas money. Immediately, my heart went out. I have a soft spot for the queer kids. I know how hard it can be.
She even showed me the text messages from her parents. Heart breaking, but good to know, should Hans come trying to pick her story apart.
Dad: We don’t know where we went wrong as parents but we cannot have you under our roof, especially with the younger kids around. They don’t need to see that filth.
Where am I supposed to go???
Dad: If you two are so grown up, you can figure it out yourselves.
Are you seriously kicking me out in the street?? Over a KISS??
Dad: Actions have consequences.
Yikes. I couldn’t believe there were people in this day and age who were still so closed-minded. I was determined to help her. To keep both of them safe. “So where’s your girlfriend staying? Does she need emergency accommodation as well?”
“She’s at uni today.”
“Yeah?” Damn, I hoped I hadn’t been too quick to make assumptions. Maybe the reason the parents had reacted so badly was due to age, rather than gender. “How old is she?”
“Twenty.”
Whew.
“She’s studying music down at Southbank. She has class this morning, but she’ll meet me here after. She’s, like, a music prodigy. She studies so hard and composes amazing songs. And she plays about sixteen instruments. She picks them up so easily, it’s like magic.”
Her face lit up when she talked about her girlfriend. Eyes shining like a cartoon character stumbling across a treasure chest. Noticing that the tears were gone, I encouraged her to continue, “How did you guys meet?”
“We met at church, actually.” Anna chuckled to herself, acknowledging the irony. “Our families know each other. I’ve loved her since I can remember.”
=x=
The girlfriend, Elsa, arrived in the afternoon. I recognised her straight away standing from Anna’s waxing poetic descriptions. The long, pale-blonde braid. Eyes “the colour of an ocean storm”. Okay, so the violin case might have also been a clue. Unlike her rambling lover, she gave short, curt answers. Part of my job is to make young people feel safe, to get a general story of their lives, but all I managed to discern was that her parents were religious. Fairly well off - she’d gone to the same private school as Anna. Didn’t seem particularly worldly. No job. Not a lot of friends or much of a support network. Poor thing was obviously anxious. She played with her braid throughout the whole appointment and looked down at her lap, shoulders hunched like they were carrying the weight of the world. She told me she was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder and took medication daily. Pretty normal stuff. We were just about finished when she burst into tears, and told me, “It’s all my fault. I’ve let her down. I’ve let her down. How could I let this happen!”
“It’ll be okay,” I tried to reassure her. “We’ll sort something out. None of this is your fault, Elsa.”
“It is.” She looked at me with pleading eyes. “It is my job to look after her.”
I didn’t bother arguing. Not now. It was first love - it was going to be a little melodramatic.
After Anna had collected some less conspicuous clothes, and the two of them took some food and toiletries for the road, I booked them in one of the less seedy hotels for the night and hoped for the best.
And that’s how it went for the next few weeks as they cycled through the system, like any other kids, slowly crawling their way up the waitlists for youth refuge.
They came in now and then for food, toothpaste, to wash their clothes, and collect their mail. As relaxed as anyone in their situation could be. Well, Anna was. She was a ray of sunshine, once she got over the initial shock, and we all enjoyed chatting to her and hearing about all her escapades. Hopes and dreams. She managed to transition to TAFE rather cheerfully, and was cautiously confident about finishing her high school certificate. Sometimes she even serenaded us with the little old ukulele we keep in reception. I suspected she may have tried marijuana a few times in the alley behind our building with the other kids. I had to gently redirect her, on one of these occasions, from eating Nutella out of the jar. Apart from that there were no incidents.
Anna was freer with her affection. A more expressive person in general, I figured. Elsa was more… businesslike. Tense and serious, a girl of few words. Her back was straight as a board, and she only smiled when she was looking at her girlfriend. She sometimes stiffened, gulped, and looked from side to side as though someone might catch and punish them.
I couldn’t help but wonder just how badly her parents had reacted.
=x=
“There’s something fishy about them.”
Hans was truly getting on my last nerve. He was from a youth justice background, and brought more punitive values with him. Always poking holes in clients’ stories, turning them away because they called up too late, or had a meltdown, or used another service. Or because they had a nice watch or a pair of shoes or a hat, something special to them they hadn’t hocked yet. Heaven forbid they keep one piece of their identity, one nice thing, before being deserving of help.
“What’s fishy about them?” I asked, not particularly engaged.
“Well, they went to the same school, right?”
“Yeah, that’s…” I rolled my eyes, “a pretty common way for kids to meet each other.”
“So, they come from these nice, middle-class families and went to this nice school, but they don’t have a single friend or relative between them who can help them out?”
It took all I had to bite my tongue. I didn’t want to just shout ‘homophobia!’at the drop of a hat, being the only gay dude in the organisation.
But he really seemed to have it in for these poor girls.
“Obviously not,” I said, trying not to clench my jaw, “or they wouldn’t be here. Do you think it’s fun bouncing from one shitty hotel or short-term refuge to another for months on end? Do you think they just do it for kicks?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged and chugged his protein shake.
I came to the conclusion that he was jealous. Poor dude was constantly bulking and curling and getting facial peels or whatever, reading books and watching tutorials about how to pick up women. Swiping Tinder and Bumble and Match every spare minute. To no avail.
And these girls had just found each other without even trying. They were always so affectionate. Not in a gross, horny-teen, eating-each-other’s faces-way. But stolen kisses on cheeks, heads in each other’s laps, stroking each other’s faces and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes kind of way.
It was so cute I almost died.
=x=
Elsa was late to her appointment, which was unlike her. She’d been crying, as well, which very much was like her.
I took her into a counselling room, where she explained she’d had to defer from university. Lost her scholarship, which was supposed to be paid to her in a month - her grades permitting. She’d been planning on using it for a rental deposit. The school had been letting her use hire-instruments to practise but it just wasn’t practical. She couldn’t cart them around. The hotels weren’t safe - a violin she’d been using had been stolen, and now she had a debt.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Elsa.” I felt responsible. It’s the hardest part of this job, the lack of options, the feeling of letting these kids down, constantly. But I swallowed it down and tried to reassure her. “It’ll be okay, though. You’ve got your whole future ahead of you. This isn’t the end.”
“That was our way out!” She was prone to catastrophizing. But in her defence, I guess, she was homeless. “I’ve sent my resume out to a hundred places in the last two weeks and heard nothing! We were counting on this money- I was counting on this money. I’m the worst- I feel like I’m ruining her life.”
I glanced over my shoulder, through the window, to the front space. Anna was smiling, pointing to the TV, chatting away with another client with a hot chocolate in hand. The situation wasn’t ideal, but ruining her life may have been a bit dramatic.
“Anna’s family are the ones to blame for putting her in this situation. They’re the ones who should be looking after her.” I said, with a bubble of irritation swelling in my chest, trying not to project my own feelings from my own life. “It’s not your responsibility. You’re only twenty. You’re doing great, supporting each other.”
“You don’t understand.” She looked down at her lap, tears dripping from her eyes. Nothing unusual. Of course we don’t understand, us silly workers. No one understands. She wiped her eyes, sobbed a little more, and repeated, “you don’t understand.”
I thought I understood. But she was right. I didn’t. Not yet.
=x=
Neither Elsa nor Anna was at the top of the refuge waitlist yet, but when the spots came up - 2x female, low mental health needs, low or no alcohol or drug use - I couldn’t help myself. I sent off two referrals, quickly, without getting the okay from my team or boss.
It was busy as usual. No one would notice. And I’m allowed to have favourites, okay? It’s not like they’re my kids. And how often do we get two spots in the same refuge?
Suzie noticed. She looked over at me, scrolling through the daily referrals and sipping on a mug of tea, and pointed out that we don’t usually house young couples together. It’s policy. Most of them are too unstable, then there’s all the drama if they break up. In general, it’s a recipe for disaster.
“Yeah,” I scratched the back of my head, trying not to look guilty.
But they’re so cute together, I didn’t say.
“But I think it’s probably one of the healthier relationships we’ve seen come through these doors.”
Suzie agreed with a chuckle, and Dave, too, who had been eavesdropping in the next cubicle, apparently. They wouldn’t be cycling through this system, month after month, year after year, with no end in sight. Like so many of our clients. This would just be a blip on the radar. They had bright futures ahead of them.
The only one who didn’t agree was Hans.
=x=
I didn’t hear from them for a couple of months. In my line of work, this is a good thing. I assumed it meant things were going well at the refuge. I didn’t see why they wouldn’t be. Anna was engaged in education. Elsa spending every waking hour looking for work. Neither using hard drugs, which, in this sector, is short of a miracle.
I hadn’t exactly forgotten about them. You don’t just forget about favourites, in this job. You always wonder what happened to them, how they’re doing, and usually you never find out. But let’s say, they weren’t at the forefront of my mind. The only thing was a phone call that Suzie took, I only heard briefly about it. The refuge called, asking for our health team to write a quick script for Elsa. Her refills had run out, or something, and she apparently didn’t know how to contact her psychiatrist. Looking back, I guess, it did seem a bit out of character, given how conscientious she came across. But she’d been through a lot. Psychiatrists take leave, or move to different practices. Her parents might have dealt with all that stuff before. All sorts of reasonable explanations. Suzie was following up, and I put them out of my mind again, hoping they were doing well. No reason to think they weren’t.
=x=
“Sisters.”
Hans stood in front of me, arms crossed, a stupid smirk on his face like the cat who ate the canary. I’d been in the middle of writing a long-ass case note and truthfully, I had no fucking clue what he was talking about. Probably another one of his weird fetishes. A made up gym story. “What do you want, Hans?”
“They’re sisters.” He said again, as though that meant anything, slamming a few sheets of paper onto my desk. “I told you there was something fishy about them. I knew it in my bones. And I thought it was weird that Elsa didn’t know how to contact her own psychiatrist, I mean, we know she’s not stupid.”
“You’re the one who sounds stupid right now. Or- or crazy! I’ve scanned their ID into the system, they have different last names. Anna Aren. Elsa-”
“-So anyway,” he cut me off, “I did some digging. Found a record at Southeast Mental Health services-”
“-Elsa didn’t sign the consent form for us to contact other services-”
“-Elsa Aren. She took her mother’s name, Frost, after the parents divorced. Cheeky little shit only gave us her school ID. It’s still Aren on all her official records. I even called the school, because I thought it had to be a mistake, but apparently it was a whole thing. Everyone knew about it. That’s why they have no friends or anything. I knewsomething didn’t add up.”
My heart sank. My stomach dropped. I didn’t know what to think. I got up, wordlessly, and headed to the kitchen. It was too early for this shit. I needed coffee, and a minute to think.
At first, I felt betrayed, I’ll admit. I know you can’t get too invested in the clients, but it’s a matter of pride in the job. I thought I’d built a connection. I thought they trusted me. I thought I’d made them feel safe. But they’d lied to me for months-
“Yeah, I know! Sisters! Gross, right?” Hans had followed, apparently, and was sharing this new juicy gossip with the whole goddamn office. Suddenly, the omission felt a lot less personal.
“Hans.” I stopped him in the kitchen, blocking the door. “What are you doing? This is confidential information, not one of your stupid gym stories.”
“My gym stories are fucking lit-”
“-I’m serious! Do you think this is funny? That kind of stigma’s no joke. The story spreads around and it could really fuck things up for them.”
“I kinda think it already has, bro. Maybe they should have thought about that before bumping donuts.”
I breathed out angrily through my nose, with any potential replies crashing into each other in my head, still kind of in shock. Still not sure how I felt about the whole thing. A bit grossed out, to be honest, and then a bit shitty with myself because my job is specifically to not judge young people with all sorts of strange and uncomfortable life stories.
“Hans, they’re my clients. Just, promise me you’ll tone it down, okay? Don’t go blabbing all about this. Or I’ll tell the boss you watch porn on the clock.”
“Yeah, alright, whatever.”
I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. That I meant business. He was already on a series of warnings from HR for constantly eating Suzie’s food out of the fridge, and making fun of Dave’s male pattern baldness, and probably a bunch of other stuff I didn’t know about. He couldn’t afford another.
But I still couldn’t shake the unease.
=x=
Unease bubbled into a panic in my throat the next time I saw Anna, in reception, arguing with Hans. Her voice was rising higher and higher with stress, as he stood there with his weight on one hip, that smug look on his stupid face. From what I could gather, he was turning her away.
My heart sank as I took in the details. She’d lost weight. Had dark circles under her eyes. Hair was a bit greasy, shoved into a messy ponytail and her clothes had that worn-for-a-few-days look. “Kristoff!” She budged past him, toward me, with pleading eyes, “I really need a housing appointment. We only need a few nights somewhere, Elsa’s getting paid on Thursday, she’s just started a job in a house factory! I mean, a box-house. A warehouse where they make boxes-”
“-Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” I told her, but she didn’t slow down. She kept rambling on at a million miles an hour, a stress response for her. I reverted to our default question. Bringing it back to basics. The reason we’re here. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“McDonalds.”
I gave Hans a scathing look and took her aside for a quick chat. She told me she and Elsa had been kicked out of the refuge, and claimed she didn’t know why - but in my heart, in my bones, I knew.
And in her eyes, I knew she knew.
Still, it seemed a little harsh to kick them out onto the street. Of course, some kind of therapeutic intervention would be expected, but I know for a fact they’d dealt with much more challenging behavioural problems than sisters dating each other. Both girls had been nothing but polite, friendly and agreeable in my experience. A little heavy on the PDA, sometimes (in hindsight, rather brazen), but they’d sprung apart whenever I’d cleared my throat pointedly at them. So I decided to call the refuge and have a chat. Suss it out. See if they wouldn’t rethink it.
Just as I suspected. They were contacted by “one of our workers,” (no guesses who) who told them about the… the nature of the girls’ relationship. They were concerned, obviously. Referred them both to BrighterWays Family Therapy Centre and created a plan to transition Elsa to an adult refuge, when a spot eventually came up. In the meantime, they’d booked her into Sandy Shore Motel.
Yikes. Colloquially known as “stabby-shore”, it wouldn’t have been my first choice for her. Or for anyone, really. But there are only so many places that take bookings from a homelessness service. Most prefer to avoid the risk.
So Elsa packed her bags contritely, the refuge-worker told me, and Anna stood there in tears, like her sister-lover was going off to war or something. Distraught. Begging them to reconsider. Standing in the rain as Elsa’s bus rolled away. She almost stayed behind. Almost. She lasted two nights after that, then she was gone.
In between one client punching a hole in the wall and another nodding off on smack, I struggled to find the time for her appointment and could see Anna growing more restless. Pacing around and texting furiously. Drinking cheap coffee after cheap coffee in our little paper cups - she drank coffee, now, apparently. “Sorry it’s taken me so long,” I said to her, and I truly was sorry. “Why don’t you head downstairs with some fresh clothes and take a shower. I’ll just finish up this handover with the health team and then we’ll do your appointment, okay?”
“You have showers here?” She was stunned, as though I’d just told her we have dragons here.
“Sure do.” I led her downstairs and opened a cabinet full of soaps, shampoos, body washes, moisturisers and the likes, and she stared like it was a pot of gold. “Take whatever you like.”
After her shower, Anna looked (and smelled) much fresher. But she was still agitated. Picking at her chipped nail polish and shifting in her seat. Eyes darting around the counselling room which suddenly felt very small.
“Anna, you’re still welcome at the refuge.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I just spoke to the worker, they’ll have you back-”
“-No, you don’t understand! I can’t go back there. They… they see me differently, now.”
“Yeah?” Honestly, at this point, I was just curious if she would come out and say it. “Why’s that?”
She was balled up in the chair, looking as small and vulnerable as the day we met. Worse, in fact, because she looked ashamed now. “I think you already know.”
“About you and Elsa?” I said. “Yeah. Look, Anna, I can’t imagine what it’s been like carrying this secret. And after the way it was received back home, I totally get why you’re having some reservations. But the workers aren’t going to judge you-”
“-you say that, but you weren’t there, Kristoff! You didn’t see the way they look at me now, with revulsionanddisgust in their eyes. And how they talk to me, all careful, like I’m some kind of ticking time-bomb.”
I nodded, hoping that wasn’t true. Knowing it probably was.
“Would you be open to looking at other refuges?”
“I can’t leave Elsa there in that shitty place all by herself. It’s scary! And it’s…” Anna sighed. Her jaw tightened. There was none of the previous light in her eyes. None of the cheekiness in her face. “It’s hard for us to be apart.”
I went to argue, having heard this sentiment so many times before from young couples who felt like the world would end if they couldn’t be joined at the hip twenty-four-seven. But something stopped me. The fact that they were sisters, not just girlfriends, is what stopped me. My brain was still imploding, to be fair. Trying to make sense of it.
“We shared a room, back home.” Anna continued. “Not because the house was small. There was a spare room. Two spare rooms, actually. And a sunroom. We just… preferred it that way. I’ve spent all of two nights without her in my whole life and I-” she paused and shook her head, “It was like I couldn’t breathe. And knowing she felt the same, just…”
She trailed off.
“Anna…” I waited for her to meet my eyes, and I could see that any trust left was hanging by a thread. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know.” All traces of teen melodrama now faded away, there was only solemn understanding in her voice. A wisdom beyond her years. “But it’s true love.”
I pursed my lips, listening. It wasn’t that I approved of it exactly. And I didn’t understand, not really. But I could see that there was a devotion there. A willingness to make sacrifices, to give up everything for each other, to take this path less trodden. The path of uncertainty. Of risk. And what can I say? Something about that, well, it moved me.
Unfortunately, I knew my boss would make no concessions for true love. If they kept using the service there would have to be some kind of meeting about it. They would be booked separately, would be expected to engage in some kind of therapy, the likes. I told her this. I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep.
In the end, I booked her for three nights, like she asked, and practically begged her to come in next week, anyway, even if they had a place to stay. For a welfare check. I even promised her a Target voucher. The kids love Target vouchers.
“Yeah, yeah.” She said without looking me in the eye. Checking her phone. “For sure. We’ll keep in touch. Anyway, I’d better go figure out how to find this hotel. Elsa’s finished work. It’s cold. She’s waiting for me.”
Of course she was
I never heard from them again.
Not for lack of trying. I called the other housing services, refuges, everywhere, trying to follow up. I called SouthEast Mental Health. I called the BrighterWays family therapy centre, and all the other family therapy centres, too. I called their phones, of course, but Elsa never picked up and I think Anna changed her number.
I won’t lie, it haunts me a little. Two girls, out there, in the big scary city. One meagre income. No support. Shit all street smarts. The only solace, I guess, is that I know they’ve got each other.
=x=
“Well, Mr Bjorgman, you’re quite the storyteller.” The CEO of CityCare looks down briefly at his bulky, expensive-looking watch, sitting across from me in a small, soundproof room, in his crisp, pressed suit.
“Well, it was quite a story.” I say, wondering if that’s a dig at my truthfulness. Wondering if I’ll be reprimanded for bumping the girls up the waitlist. Suddenly feeling the urge to scrutinise all my decisions. Should I have done more digging? Noticed that something was off? Showed less favouritism? “I still don’t know if they’re, like, still alive? Or…”
“Have there any other breaches in client-confidentiality that you know of?” He ignores my question, as his hard-faced assistant keeps typing on her little laptop.
“No.” I shake my head. “Is there a reason why you’re looking into this, now? Has something happened, have they made a complaint?”
“We can’t reveal anything about the investigation at this point.”
“Right.” My heart thumps. I have a sinking feeling in my gut. I want to ask again, if they’re okay, but I bite my tongue.
“Mr Bjorgman, you mentioned Mr Westergaard accessing pornogrphic material on the job. Can you tell us more about that?”
I take a deep sigh, and a sip of my water. It’s going to be a long afternoon.
FFFFFFF- never mind… I realized it was the International day against homophobia, biphobia and transphobia and thought about finally posting a comic I’ve made about my experiences. But just reading the comic made me kind of upset. (heavy stuff incoming so cw!)
I’ve faced homophobia from people who might get really angry with me if they saw me talking about it-. it’s probably safer not to post about that in detail. There are also other queer people involved and I don’t want to talk on their behalf
When I’ve faced discrimination from people I know it sometimes makes me feel very quilty- Maybe if I had explained myself better or been more understading that person would have been nicer and accepted me.
Logically I know that’s bs. it wasn’t my fault and I shouldn’t waste time thinking about individual shitty people when systematic oppression exists. also I’ve got my own chosen family to take care of.
I really admire LGBTA+ people who talk about their experiences openly! I prefer to talk about those things in my fictional comics. That’s partly for the sake of my own safety and mental health too. Stay strong fellow queer people! please consider donating to The Trevor Project TheTrevorProject.org or to your local Pride event’s fund!
Also it seems that our colors are always associated with villains, why is that?
Because Lavender was initially a lesbian/gay identifying color and all of these villains are actually very clearly gay coded (except Frolo obvs)
I mean seriously. Ursala is LITERALLY based on a drag queen. Stop trying to claim ace oppression using gay characters
Even Frollo has a fair dose of gay coding, in spite of the sexual frustration regarding Esmerelda.
Effeminate mannerisms
Delicate features
Ostensibly celibate cos Church (granted, in the novel, he’s an Archdeacon, and it’s been an open secret for centuries that many LGBT people entered the Church to deny their nature and avoid persecution)
Contrasts with the Manly Man of Phoebus, and to a lesser extent, Quasimodo, the heroes
It’s subtle, especially compared to the rest of the above, and while he’s not listed on TV Tropes’ page for “The Sissy Villain”, he certainly fits MUCH of that description (they even note that this kind of character is actually usually portrayed as “sexually ambiguous,” but sometimes is even written as hetero).
