#and queer joy and acceptance

[allyricas]

Moving On pt. 2

part one

3,180k words

The day of the trip to Indy finally arrives and the weather does not reflect the excitement Steve feels as he loads his last bag into the trunk of his car. He knows he overpacked but wants to be ready for anything. He also has a cooler full of drinks and sandwiches along with enough junk food to make anyone sick.

He and Robin had decided to make sure they had plenty of food so they could settle in to their hotel and chill the first night. Robin had an early campus tour and Steve had a meeting with an advisor at the community college he’d be taking his cosmetology courses. They had a packed schedule considering they needed to find an apartment and jobs (together if possible) and the urge to scope out the gay scene. Or find it, at the very least.  

Steve pulled into Robin’s driveway and saw that she’d also slightly overpacked. Two halves of the same soul, the two of them. He got out and helped her load up her bags. She was holding a thermos of something and wearing a pair of Steve’s sweatpants. That’s where those went. He’d been looking for them for a week. Robin had a tendency to steal his clothes which mostly just made Steve feel all loved and shit, so he only complained for appearance’s sake.  

“Rob, my fucking sweatpants. Come on, I’ve been looking for them.” He whined. He truly didn’t mean it all.  

“Shut up, they are my pants now. They look hotter on me.” She laughed, doing a pathetic little shimmy. She was not a morning person. The messy bed head and the large amount of coffee she was inhaling made this apparent. “I am so tired, but really fucking excited. I brought the music. You are banned for the entire drive up and back. I will fucking jump out of this car if you play any sad, pining music. This is fun time not sad boy time.”   

“That tape has Whitney and George Michael on it. It’s not a total sad fest.”  

“Liar. You cry the most whenever careless whisper comes on.” Robin replied viciously.  

“Let’s uh, not talk about that please.” Steve knew he was still whining a bit, but Robbie was mean in the morning.  

The drive up went smoothly despite the terrible weather. Fifteen minutes into the drive, it started to torrentially rain. Thunder shook the car and lightning lit up the sky. Robin did in fact have all upbeat music and refused to let Steve play anything remotely sad. This was good as he was feeling rather happy in the moment. At one point it rained so hard, Steve had to pull over and wait for it to slow down as Robin started hyperventilating. What should have been an hour and fifteen-minute drive took three hours, but time spent with his best friend was always good.  

Navigating the city was invigorating (for Steve) and anxiety inducing (for Robin), but they both could barely contain their excitement when they finally pulled up to the motel they're staying at. It’s a little mom and pop place that Joyce and Hop had recommended. Why those two have a favorite motel in the city, Steve doesn't want to think to much about.

It’s a cute place, white shutters and soft yellow paint with a rustic looking sign that says The Mosey Inn. The rooms were entered from the outside, with parking all around the place. There were plants everywhere and everything had a well-loved appeal. It’s a rather nice little place. He goes in to check them in and there is an older woman at the desk. She's one of those people who radiates kindness and Steve likes her right away.  

“Hello there, dear. Welcome to the Mosey Inn. I’m one-half of Mosey, but you can call me Elise.” She’s smiling softly at him as he walks up to the desk. 

“Hi, I have a reservation for Harrington. For a suite with two queens.” He finds he’s nervous which feels silly. He grew up checking into hotels and dealing with reservations. Usually, it was at swanky hotels that his parents would leave him in before he was old enough to be all alone at home.  

“Of course, sweetie. Joyce and that sweet Jimmy told me all about you the last time they visited for the weekend. I just adore them. Jimmy did some handy work for me and the missus last time they were here. We’re getting up there in age and my Maggie cannot be climbing ladders anymore. I always give them a discount and I like the look of you, dear. I’ll give you one too.”

She’s beaming at Steve like she is thrilled to meet him which is not something he’s exactly used to. He’s thinking over what she said. The missus, her Maggie. He looks around the room and spots a tiny pink triangle on a bookshelf. Oh. This was a safe place. He owed Hop and Joyce dinner because this was the nicest surprise he’d gotten in a long time. He'd definitely be calling Hopper by the nickname Jimmy though.

“Thank you so much, ma’am. I know my friend Robin and I are going to enjoy this trip even more now knowing this is a safe place for people like us.” That felt as close to telling a stranger he was gay he could manage, but it felt huge to say it. It meant something to find this little piece of community with two women who were old enough to be his grandmothers. He felt like he might cry and for once, there were happy tears brimming in his eyes.  

“Please, call me Elise. There’s no ma’am, none of that uppity nonsense. This place is for friends, you understand.” She told him in a voice so genuine that Steve choked back a sob. He handed over his credit card and she handed him two room keys. “We offer breakfast and lunch, usually buffet style unless we say otherwise. There’s a coffee station around the corner and there’s always some sort of snacks next to it. If you need anything just give us a ring. Feel free to come chat anytime. Enjoy your stay.” 

“I think I will, Elise. I’ll bring Robin around to meet you once we’re settled, probably for breakfast tomorrow!” 

_________________________________________

As soon as Steve got back into the car, he excitedly told Robin all about Elise and her partner and how the Inn was a safe place for them. The fact that Joyce and Hopper stayed here whenever they wanted a night or two away from the chaos of their little blended family filled Steve with joy. He knew that they weren’t hateful people, but this was outright acceptance by the adults he respected most in his life. Robin was rambling on about the décor of the inn as he lugged their many suitcases into their room. She just smiled at him as he struggled.

It was cozy with two queen beds and a little kitchenette and a sitting area off to the side. There was a good size bathroom and closet. It was decorated in soft hues of yellow and green with floral bedding. It was lovely and Steve felt immensely at home in this place.  

“This place is so cute!” Steve exclaimed happily, finally collapsing onto his bed. It was comfortable too. “Damn, this is going to be a nice trip. Elise said they offer 2 meals, that there’s a coffee station with snacks and this bed is fucking soft as hell.” 

“So basically, we can save a ton of money and try to eat here most of the time is what I'm hearing you say Steven?” This seemed to genuinely thrill Robin.  

“Absolutely, we can go visit with them tomorrow during breakfast. It’s from 6:30 to 8:30.” Steve knew this was going to cause some mild stress for Robin. This delighted him. 

“Ugh, ugh. For free breakfast and fellow lesbians, I will get up. You might have to drag me though.” 

Steve laughed, delighted at the prospect of waking Robin up in the morning. It was early evening, but they decided to munch on the leftover food from the drive in and relax. There was a small tv, so they found something to put on and got comfortable. The day so far had been nearly free of sad thoughts over Eddie, but it seemed inevitable that Steve would start to think about him. For one thing, Eddie would look ridiculous in the Mosey Inn, although he would thoroughly appreciate the pun. Yet, there was a part of Steve wishing that Eddie was a part of all of this.

Before he’d ruined everything, Eddie would have been invited on this trip without a second thought. If only he could go back and not fall in love with stupid Eddie Munson. Steve worries that falling for him would have been inevitable though. Everything about him made Steve crazy.

The moment he knew he was monumentally fucked was a few months after everything with Vecna went down. Eddie had still been in the hospital, thankfully cleared off all charges with Hopper back in charge. He’d been high off his ass on morphine and smiling at Steve. Eddie had looked at Steve and said, “Stevie, sweetheart—you beautiful man. How come you’re always sitting around here taking care of me huh?” and Steve had known several things.  

He wanted Eddie to smile at him like that for the rest of his life. He really enjoyed being called sweetheart. And the reason he was always hanging around was because he wanted to be with Eddie. Eddie who always lit up with joy when he saw Steve sitting by his hospital bed. All the time they spent walking that line between friends and more, or at least that’s what Steve thought.

He swore there was so much flirting back and forth. Like the time Steve snuck in cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes from the one diner left open in town and Eddie had told Steve, “All this for little old me?” while literally twirling his hair like a schoolgirl. Or when Steve brought in books for him and Eddie had just clasped Steve’s hand tight and said nothing, just staring intently at him like Steve really meant something to him.  

All misread apparently. It wasn’t flirting at all, just Eddie being Eddie. And Steve had ruined it. He tried not to spiral into his bad thoughts too much but he felt like he always ruined everything. Robin might be his best friend, his platonic soulmate and other half, but it’d been so nice to have a close guy friend.

Eddie had barely been out of the hospital when Steve had driven him up to Indy to replace some of his things lost to the earthquakes. There were better record stores and better thrift stores, and Eddie had very little left to his name. The trailer was gone. He’d even lost his beloved guitar. Steve had never planned on telling Eddie how he felt during that trip, but Eddie has a way of needling things out of people. Something Steve usually finds quite adorable, but not so much when it’s his own unrequited feelings.  

Sighing to himself, Steve sits down by the phone to call Dustin and tell him they made it to the city safely. This means actually calling Mike’s house since the boys are having their weekly nerd fest. The whole group of them are all a little codependent, but after everything they’ve been through it seems reasonable. Unfortunately, Mike nor Nancy answers the phone. It’s Karen Wheeler and she lets Steve know that the boys are all over at Eddie’s apartment playing their little game. That’s exactly what she calls it which does make him chuckle.

He dreads calling Eddie’s place, but he did promise Dustin he’d call. Dustin is already asking questions about him and Eddie. If he’s weird on the phone it will only fan the flames of Dustin’s incessant need to meddle. He dials the number and tries to psyche himself up for the interaction. Maybe one of the kids will answer.  

“Munson Residence, Eddie the Banished speaking?” Eddie’s voice fills Steve’s ear. It’s like a punch to the gut, but Steve takes a deep breath.  

“Is that how you really answer the phone all time or am I just lucky?” Steve asks lightly. Do not make this weird. Be cool. “Or is it just because you’re playing dungeons and whatever?”  

“Ha, Ha. I knew it was you telepathically, so I of course had to answer the phone accordingly. My liege, what can I do for you on this fine summer evening?” 

“You’re lucky it’s cute to be such a fucking nerd.” Shit, shit, shit. Abort flirting. “Kidding, kidding. I called to see if Dustin is still there. I told him I’d call when we got settled.” 

“Rude, I am absolutely the cutest nerd. I’d dare say, adorable even. The fairest in the land, perhaps.” Eddie’s voice had gone low and Steve would bet a hundred bucks he was twirling his hair. What the fuck? “You know, you obviously like nerdy shit considering you-” 

“Hey stop flirting with Steve and let me talk to him, I've been waiting to hear from him all day. We’re in the middle of a campaign Steve. We need our DM not whatever the fuck he was just doing.” Dustin says this all like he knows for a fact that everything he says is true. It’s not.

“Tone, dusty bun. I’m not gay and I wasn’t flirting with Harrington, just messing with him. He’s just so easy to tease. We’re just buddies like that, right man?” Eddie replied, his voice no longer soft, low and sweet. In fact, Eddie sounded hostile. Steve felt his stomach turn. He couldn't even reply.  

“Nothing wrong with being gay, you moron.” Dustin replied firmly. This made Steve smile considering Dustin didn’t even know about Steve yet. He was definitely his favorite kid. Dustin continued on “I mean, we’ve fought literal monsters. Of all things to get worked up over, being gay is not even on the damn list!”   

“I didn’t mean it in a rude way, just saying we were not flirting.” 

“Whatever you say Eddie.” 

“Um, hello guys I am still on the phone.” Steve yelled as the two of them continued to bicker. “I have to go, but I’ll call in a few days Dustin. Bye Eddie.” Steve replied, trying his best not to cry. 

“Wait-Harrington. Steve, I didn’t mean anything by that okay.” 

“Yeah of course, no worries, man. Talk to you later.” Steve knew his voice was emotionless.  

_______________________________

He had to get over Eddie. This confusing back and forth was so painful. Steve didn’t consider himself the brightest, but that felt like flirting. What straight guy calls himself the fairest of the land or adorable to another man? Eddie’s tone of voice was the exact same tone Steve had used so many times to flirt with girls. He knew what flirting looked like. He shouldn’t have started it with the cute comment, but Eddie had most certainly flirted back. He looked over at Robin who was sitting up and waiting patiently for Steve to hang up the phone.  

She looked worried. If his face was at all reflecting how he felt right now, he understood why. The way Eddie has sounded when he said he wasn’t flirting. He told Robin the entire conversation verbatim and he watched her face go through a myriad of emotions. Despite the fact that Robin wasn’t the most tactile person, she threw her arms around him and let him cry all over her t-shirt.  

“Well, I could just kill him. I swear to fucking God. If he’s not gay, fine. But why flirt back?” 

“Maybe he really isn’t flirting. He said he was just messing with me. Maybe we’ve been reading it wrong this whole time!” Steve cried.  

“Fuck that, even Dustin called him on it. He flirts with you all the time. If he’s just messing with you at this point, it’s cruel. Especially now that he knows you’re gay and have feelings for him. I won’t be friends with a bigot.” 

“No, Robbie. I don’t think he’s a bigot. He’s just trying to deal with all this. It’s not his fault I had to go and fall for him. I always fall for the first person who shows me any attention. I ruined this. He’s just...I think he’s a flirty person and I’m just the idiot who thought it meant something.” 

“Shut your whore mouth Steven Elizabeth. That’s absolute nonsense. Eddie is a socially awkward, metalhead D&D playing virgin. You and I both know it. I’ve never seen him so much as look at a girl in a romantic way. He barely talks to anyone he doesn’t know unless it’s to cause a scene. That boy is not a natural flirty person. He flirts with you. He’s either an idiot, a repressed idiot or an asshole. Pick one.” 

“He’s not a virgin, no way. Look at him. Some people go for the whole alternative thing. He’s in a band for fuck’s sake. I bet he’s fucked lots of girls. I mean, he is objectively hot.” Steve argued.  

“Steve!! You always defend him like some sort of rabid groupie, but if that man has so much as seen a real-life titty, I will eat my shoe. He isn’t ugly, I will grant you that one. But please, Eddie Munson is not banging hot chicks on the regular.” 

“I pick that he’s an idiot. I do not think Eddie would purposefully hurt me by flirting just to be all ‘ha-ha, gay boy you fell for it’ when he didn’t even know I was gay until I told him how I felt. I think he just likes to tease me, like he said and he doesn’t know how flirty it comes off maybe?” 

“Dingus. You are in love with him. You are no objective source on the situation.” 

“Can we just... pretend Eddie Munson doesn’t exist for a few days. I won’t play my mixtape. I will try not to mope... let’s just find an apartment and visit your campus and apply for jobs everywhere we can find. It hurts too much to talk about right now.” 

Steve knows he’s lying to Robin. It’s impossible for him to pretend Eddie doesn’t exist. It’d be nice to try though. Instead of trying, he wonders what Eddie’s thinking about back in Hawkins. Is he feeling bad for how he spoke to Steve tonight? Is he also worrying over every little thing he said? Does Eddie even care that what he said felt like a slap to the face? The way he’d said Harrington, instead of Steve. The disgust in his voice when he’d said he wasn’t flirting. At least it was crystal clear that Eddie would never reciprocate his feelings. It feels nearly impossible, but Steve knows he has to let go of Eddie and move on. Two weeks in Indy with Robin should be the perfect way to start trying.   

@koyislosinghismind

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring

@dilutedpondwater

@r0binscript

@wheatnoodle

@randomnessbecausewhynot

[p4nishers]

can we talk about how much queer and trans joy was this season? maggie and nina. they/them muriel, saraquel, beelzebub, even GOD. "you're a good lad" "im not actually, either". that one shopkeeper and his non binary spouse, played by a non binary actor. beelzebub and gabriel. shax, nina and maggie all thinking azi and crowley were together. also yes i'm gonna mention: crowley and aziraphale's kiss. it's just, i get that everyone's hurt and so am i but can we please focus on how beautiful this season was to us? we got so much and i'm so happy, despite the ending.

[traaansfem]

Shoutout to my trans friendly but extremely autistic grandmother who refuses to use They/Them pronouns unless someone is plural because she's dead set against "they's" as a possessive term and "they was" as a past tense indicator of an action because it reminds her of the accent of a long dead and deeply beloathed coworker who picked up most of his accent from pittsburg. Notably she's fine with They/Them as long as someone is plural, and is entirely willing to refer to someone by name or with another term- IE "that person/creature/girlthing/nonbinary gremlin" upon request.

She's something else. Wrote out a check to my new name for my last birthday because "I don't know your clothing preferences or sizes, and if someone bought me an ill fitting blouse that I loved the look of, or a perfectly fit blouse I despise, I'd be quite put out, and you're set on everything else I know you like."

Notably she wrote it out to my new name, and even months later, I haven't even updated my name with the bank yet, as the speed of bureaucracy is abysmal, so I can't even cash it.

Love you grandma! :3

[transmonstera]

be careful with digging yourself deeper and deeper into a hole of misery and self hatred because even when you stop digging you will still be in a hole. learn to climb any way you can. do not let them bury you.

[IMAGE ID: "transness is not quantified by how much you hate yourself but by how much you could love yourself" in white wavy text with a pink border. the background is light pink and decorated with hearts and stars of varying sizes in white and dark pink. END]

[mintjeru]

companionship and understanding happy pride from my beloveds!!

open for better quality | no reposts

[thundergrace]

I guess this isn't surprising....

And I guess neither is this...

[clowningcrows]

it’s so cool how since coming out and accepting my transmasc identity i’m actually excited to wake up in the morning for the first time in… maybe ever. i’m excited get up and get breakfast and take care of my body. to take my meds that are shockingly kind of working. to look through my clothes and piece together something to wear that truly feels comfortable and validating and euphoric as a boy. to spend my day as myself and doing things that make me happy. doing things that further my future. it’s so refreshing. i think i’m learning to love life again.

[clowndensation]

louis, lestat, and their single bed as a motif louis puts into his own story, but refuses to explore, is literally one of the sexiest parts of the show. it speaks volumes about a level of fulfillment and freedom that louis feels by being with lestat that he rarely explicitly comments on when he's relaying his story to daniel, which feels extremely relevant to his overall reluctance to examine the parts of his relationship with lestat that he really enjoyed.

because louis is a character who's hyper aware of how he presents himself. he's lived his entire life projecting a certain masculine, heteronormative image, and he's aware of how deviating from that presentation has implications that impact how people view him - from enjoying the opera, to the presentation of his nails. the fact that he moves in with lestat and neither of them ever put a second bed into any room in the house as a level of plausible deniability is so huge and oversight by so cautious a character, it can only be read as deliberate - especially when the conspicuous lack of a second bed is pointed out to them by both antoinette and a literal police officer. in an existence where you don't sleep in a bed, the bed becomes a symbolic object more so than a practical one. it's louis choosing to deliberately transgress against the societal expectations he lives out when he leaves his house, a bit of presentation that actually amplifies his truth as a gay man living with his partner, rather than masking or hiding himself, like he does for the outside world.

[mueritos]

started a new job recently as a research assistant for a gay Latinx professor in my grad program, and while I definitely don't have the time to be doing my own research, working with this professor on his book projects has been so affirming and healing. i'm working on a book he hopes to publish soon that is full of interviews of gay and trans Latine men...and it is so fucking awesome. I feel so seen by the words I am reading, and I feel tears spring to my eyes looking at the photographs of these men. They look like family members, distant cousins, and family friends. They look so happy and full of confidence. I see myself in their eyes, recognizing the "fish" shape in our eyes that is so distinctly tied to Latines. One of the men in the book is a pup! And it is so beautiful seeing his smile as he holds his pup mask.

I have met very few queer latines. I don't know what it's like to have the tio or tia that has some secret aura to them, that "no se habla" vibes where everyone knows they're queer but just won't acknowledge it. Hell, this professor I'm working with is the first gay Latine man I've ever spoken to. I wish I had a community of gay Latines. I hope I am able to access that one day :)

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[adulthoodisokay]

my boyfriend took me to see Hadestown for Ani DiFranco’s opening weekend as Persephone and when I told my therapist about this she did a double take and was like “wait..he’s a cis straight dude right? nice.”

[angel---eater]

i truly have no tolerance for this fandom shittin on random fans personal trans headcanons. someone saw themselves and their experience in this character, isnt that beautiful? why dont you mind your business and focus on your own fan stuff? wouldnt that make you happier? someones headcanon doesnt negate yours. what the fuck is wrong with yall. its playing make believe x2. its just a headcanon. real life trans folks are in active danger right now and some of yall are wasting all your energy abusing others over which pronoun set figments of someone elses imagination 'should' be using

[alidravana]

I'm really getting that vibe from some people in the 911 fandom where they only like queer characters when 'they are queer in the ways that they deem queer people to be acceptable' and in this scenario, that's when characters are gay only for each other.

Let Buck discover who he is without the need to force him into a relationship with Eddie - aka not everything needs to be buddie endgame. If this somehow ruins Buck or the show for you, well then, that's something you might want to reflect on a bit more. (And this goes for Eddie too)!

[spicebutchmansion]

picking apart the comphet and cishetnormativity you've been taught is fucking HARD. plus it's frustrating thinking about how non of us asked to be born into instant ingraining of misogynist bullshit. but deeply rewarding as you become more actualized in yourself and your sexuality/sexual self. reading the lesbian masterdoc was a turning point in realizing I don't want to have sex or romance with men (or anyone subscribing to similar ideals).

I don't identify as a lesbian partly because I'm trans and agender, and partly just because "queer" feels much better as a label. but a lot of the masterdoc was still helpful and applicable to me. I can recognize that I want to prioritize sexual, romantic and every type of relationship with women, now. feels like a huge tension in me is slowly releasing.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

HEY WHO WANTS AN UPDATE ON MY VACATION THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR? Lmao well sucks for you this is a monarchy and I am Prince and you're getting it anyway:

1. My friends and I went down to eat breakfast. The waiter asked them what language their native tongue is, Kannada or Tulu or anything else, and before they could answer he pointed at me and said (in Kannada), "I knew this one speaks English as soon as I looked at them. With people like this I just go full butler and restrict myself to yes or no."

2. Yes I fucking got called out as a whitewashed piece of shit by a random waiter who took one look at me. The worst part is he's right. English is my first language.

3. I saw a lot of human kidneys and they were THE CUTEST THINGS EVER THERE WERE SO MANY I WAS SO HAPPY UNFORTUNATELY I COULDN'T HOLD ANY BUT AT LEAST I GOT TO LOOK AT THE CUTIES.

4. I made a lot of intense eye contact with dead babies to evade the Birds. To be fair, most of the babies had, um, closed eyes. Or no eyes. I promise I wouldn't have been making that much eye contact without the Birds. I'd have been looking at the kidneys instead. No i will not be elaborating for fear of freaking people out.

5. It was legal btw. Aside from the photo my friend took of me making the two fingered salute (like the dude smiling next to the grave meme) next to a foetus that was at least slightly demonic in origin.

6. Anyway so then I spoke to my other friend and told her how I felt (about being afraid that they didn't see me as a guy because they've known me since I was 11) and she said it wasn't that, she was just getting used to the new name and pronouns and that was all (since I only came out to her two days ago). And I hugged her.

7. My friends have all been using Asmi for me and correcting themselves with their pronouns. I love them and I want to cry.

8. I saw two men holding hands in front of me at the mall. A very careful holding of hands, delicately. But I think they saw me glance at them, because when they got on the escalator in front of me, they untangled their hands and when one reached for the other's hand again, he pulled it away, and they both carefully stayed on their phones. I don't know. Just something I'm thinking about.

9. Maybe I should take off the progress pride pin from my denim jacket and just wear it everywhere I go. Fuck blending in with the cishets I want the queers to know I exist and they're not alone.

And those were the highlights of my day <3 A totally normal vacation for real.

Have the loveliest of days my maggots I'll be back home in two days and then I'll have all my attention to annoy you with, my loves. And a social battery, which currently is dead by night because of irl interactions.

I'll sleep now. The Horrors will be occupied with me, I hope they leave you alone.

I love you 💕