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life is too short and love is too long

@stoppablethetramstory / stoppablethetramstory.tumblr.com

vibing ✈️
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it is 6:25pm. i got to work at 9:30 expecting to leave somewhere between 5:30 and 6. i am Hungry. there are people in the fucking refuge and i cannot leave until they do. my house is like an hour away. >:(

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Hey can we queers please remember that the rural queer experience has unique challenges thanks

Coming out is different when you know if you come out to one person you risk the whole town knowing. Coming out is different when religion is entwined in your entire community. Being queer is different when you can't trust that your doctor or therapist will stay confidential. Being queer is different when conversion therapy is subtle and normalized. Transitioning is different when there aren't gender clinics or gender therapists for 50 miles. School is different when other kids are put at risk by being seen with you. Can we stop acting like there aren't queer people living in rural areas and start supporting them

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It's been said before but I'll say it again — ever be so deeply, permanently emotionally destroyed by killing your best friend in the name of the newfound necromancer/cavalier relationship that you build a house that treats cavaliers as innately disposable, breeds them for a single purpose, genetically matches them to babies before they are born, names them for sacrificial animals, specifically so none of the necromancers who follow behind you will experience the heartbreak of losing the person they love most in the world, so horribly that they can't stand to hear their name spoken aloud for the next ten thousand years, only for the scion of that house, ten thousand years later, to be so revolted by the concept of killing his cavalier for Lyctorhood, so disgusted by your crime, that he claims G-d's directly expressed will is heretical and fundamentally morally opposed to the principles of the religion you helped to found?

And then, when that person does do what you explicitly built his house to be able to do and uses his cavalier as a tool rather than a person — even if he does it because he believes his cavalier capable of surviving anything, the polar opposite of what you tried to teach his house to believe — he experiences his cavalier's death as such an abrupt and horrifying loss that after he himself is killed he wanders the afterlife in grief, impotently taking revenge on a woman who should have been burned up for Lyctorhood by the person who loved and needed her most, but was spared, saying may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered? The suffering you tried so incredibly hard to insulate him from? He of the church you built to bury the memory of a nun?

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picture the scene: me and a friend chatting about my brothers' new matching tattoos

for reasons that made sense contextually but that require too much backstory for this tumblr post, this leads to me trying to explain the complex layers of unhinged nonsense that is, blessedly, none of my business, and which i only know about second or thirdhand due to my verity richardson disorder

as this is going on, i open my phone to show my friend a relevant picture. prior to finding the picture, i receive a text from my mother in which she, without so much as a hello, informs me that my cousin just overdosed and is in intensive care

like, ,, is there . not a better way of imparting this information. have you ever considered starting with a greeting. hello ??????

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toddler: 1 free estrogen please. i’m not even trans i just like free stuff

doctor: [sighs] because of socialism i must comply

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