Remember Calming Cat? Remember When Tumblr Was This Color? If You Don’t That’s Fine. I Just Feel

jesus in my living room

Western lesbian representation is so bad. It’s either the series gets cancelled, a character dies, they don’t get screentime, or the storyline only focuses on the homophobia they face.

Meanwhile in Thai GL, there have been over 30 series announced for 2025 alone. And let me tell you, there’s something for everybody. Space lesbians, childhood best friends to lovers, period drama lesbians, boss x employee trope, multiple couples and love triangles, mafia action lesbians, idol x bodyguard trope, lesbian with powers to control time, prisoner lesbians, black cat x golden retriever trope, crime-solving lesbians, messy sapphic friend groups who are all in love with each other, high-school sweetheart fluff, weddings, happy endings and so much more. And this is just the beginning. There will be many more great series to come in the future.

The only thing that’s stopping more western people from watching is because of subtitles. Which is such a pity because these people say “there’s no good lesbian representation”, but there is. You just have to be better at looking for it. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment anymore, don’t watch something for the bare minimum representation.

As Bong Joon Ho once said:

So I made a Hozier reading list...

This is what I have so far.

For some books I'm still missing sources, and I know it's not complete or ✨️Aesthetic✨️. But if there is anything that you think should be on there, let me know.

why is andrew always in the dirt buddy it’s ok you can stand up

i love a good magic-related fever. Maybe it's a curse, maybe it's overuse of powers, but no matter what, it's not responding to the things a normal fever would. Medicine, rest, cold baths. Nothing works and they just have to live with it until either it passes or they break the curse. :)

Stealing glances!

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

To quote my mother, who grew up under a dictator:

"Dictatorships are born in whispers."

Pay attention to every bill or executive order. Don't ask how it'll benefit the country. Ask how it'll benefit the one trying to get it passed. You'll start noticing the whispers.

To those who say, "Stop reading between the lines." No. Always read between the lines. Never take a politician at face value. This goes for all politicians regardless of party.

Look at their history, listen to their words, and ask yourself, "How is this benefiting them?"

Love of…by Hozier. An unreleased gem that’s on repeat today.

🎥Deborah Bennet: YT