Tonight, his head aches. He is cold, covered in sweat and gulping air that somehow does not reach into him, and he does not want to move, does not want to wake Daniel, he had been so tired, he just wants him to be okay, he loves him so much, but he is terrified.
Truly and utterly.
His hands tingle, are numb and cold, heavy, he can barely move his fingers that feel too thick and stuck, stuck in a position, but in the end, his feeble attempt at grasping for Daniel is not what wakes him.
Itâs the coughing.
@badthingshappenbingo
He dreams of drowning again. Of a void filling his lungs, of them burning, his throat closed but open. Nothing had filled them, but this nothing had been a thing - like water. Ironic, really, given that it happened in space. He heard it - of malfunctioning spacesuits, or broken pipes, a million ways to drown in space, and yet when he did, there had not been water.
Just also no air.
Thatâs how he died, back then. On the station. Drowned and frozen, and somehow too stubborn to actually, truly die, maybe unable to, maybe the universe scoffed and turned him away at the gates of hell and heaven and the in-between, deciding instead to torture him just a little bit longer. He died, but he didnât. There is a metaphor in there somewhere - a metaphor about becoming someone new, about changing all you are, but thatâs not what happened. Everything changed. Everything stayed the same. Both is too true.
And despite of it, despite the change and the same, the life on earth and Daniel Jacobi next to him each night, he still dreams of drowning. He still dreams of his coffin with a view, of drowning in the nothingness, a moment in time stretched into eternity.
Itâs not each night. Each night would be a mercy, a way to get used to it, to explain it, but no. Instead, sometimes, he does not dream of it for weeks, months even, and when he has almost forgotten it, calls it an overreaction, when he thinks he finally dealt with it, it comes again.
Daniel says that there is no dealing with it. You can work through it, but the trauma happened. It canât just be undone. And Warren nods and tries to focus on his voice when the panic squeezes his chest, when the fear fills his lungs like the absence of air did. And he takes his sleep medication for a week after, to sleep, to not lie awake in fear of sleeping, to not enter the insomnia cycle again, the one that he fell into before, too afraid to sleep and too exhausted to keep awake, every night, until the fear became what he feared most.
Daniel has a lot to say about that too.
None of his words, no matter how well meant, no matter the love he feels and the love and trust Warren has for him, change the fact that he dreams of drowning tonight. Love canât save him, because it already did, he tells himself that when he wakes gasping, trying to lie still, flat on his back with terror in his chest. Daniel already saved him. He already got him out of the station. Itâs already over, has been for years, but why, why does he still dream of drowning?
Tonight, his head aches. He is cold, covered in sweat and gulping air that somehow does not reach into him, and he does not want to move, does not want to wake Daniel, he had been so tired, he just wants him to be okay, he loves him so much, but he is terrified.
Truly and utterly.
His hands tingle, are numb and cold, heavy, he can barely move his fingers that feel too thick and stuck, stuck in a position, but in the end, his feeble attempt at grasping for Daniel is not what wakes him.
Itâs the coughing.
He has to come down with something, that would explain the ferocity of the dream, of the sensation, just like back then, the way this dream is more vivid than the others, and he turns to his side with more effort than he thinks he can do, to cough. There is a trashcan on the side of the bed, a wise idea, and something dislodges in his throat, something stuck there, and a warm hand settles on his back.
âWarren?â A distinct part of his brain registers that Daniel sounds too awake, too alert, and still gentle, but that is only because he listens to Danielâs voice, trained himself to listen extra careful when he panics, and now, it is all he can focus on. Not his breathing, not the cold on his body, the shaking of his limbs, not the heaving and coughing.
A light goes on, warm yellow light, and his head hurts, hurts even more with the light, make it stop but also not, because Daniel is talking. It reflects off the red he coughed into the trashcan. He is so tired. Danielâs hand is warm when he grabs his, eyes wide, voice hurried, fast, too fast for Warren to make out the words.
His cheek stings, and he blinks again, the world sharpened to crisp edges and washed out colors, and Daniel Jacobi, on the phone.
âStay with me, okay? Stay awake for me!â He tries, but the burning in his throat is back, a pressure deep in his esophagus, and he is too exhausted to cough now. He would do anything for Daniel, anything that is in the realm of possible, but his eyes are closing and he doesnât know if he can open them again. There is not enough air getting through. His throat is a straw pressed shut, and he is beyond the point of panic. Beyond fear. His chest constricts, warm blood coats his chin and cheek and ear and despite being on his side again, it keeps happening. His body is not his own anymore, it is a vessel to blood and spasms to get it out, it is a puppet on strings that someone or something else pulls, always the same, always the same. His hands still tingle, and his face now does too, and Daniel is talking and holding his head up. Is he still asking him to stay awake? He hopes he does not, he doesnât want to disappoint, but his body is not his own and he canât control that he falls away.
He dreams of drowning again.
This time, the nothingness in his lungs is replaced, a rough sensation, shoved down his throat, and he still drowns. The world is red when he looks at it, and the shapes moving through it lose all sense. Someone holds his hand as light pierces into his brain, and someone keeps holding his hand when pain erupts somewhere where air should be and none is. Someone is holding his hand through shouting and yelling and calling, and the shapes come back without focus, someone is definitely talking to him, but he canât make out the words, nor keep his eyes open, the voices louder and more hurried, he is now drowning in them, with no energy to fight his way back. The hand holding his is his anchor in a sea of confusion, holding him in the world, and he tries to hold on, tries to hold tight, but then the world tints a darker shade of red, and the hand is gone.
In a different life, he is sitting in the living room. The neighborâs children, Jacob and Jonathan, run out the room to greet their mother, and he closes the book with a smile. Daniel says something to Linda, their neighbor, the boysâ mother, and closes the door behind himself.
âSince when do you have glasses?â he chuckles and puts the groceries down, and Warren uses the moment of quiet to lean back into the sofa, barely suppressing a wince of pain. He wants to say he is just getting old, but years and years of physically challenging missions, one of them in space, nearly dying several times and getting blown up often enough that he should really get into a bonus rewards system. Heâd already have several stamps on the loyalty card.
âToday. They only just arrivedâ He folds them gently, âThe optician recommended I think about using some. She thinks itâs either from being a teacher or a driver of some sort. I did not want to tell her that years of shooting bullets at people far away probably messed with my perception a little more, but she was close enoughâ
âAnd the kids? I thought youâd stay in bed today?â he puts a box of tissues on the table, and presses a kiss to his head in passing, âNormally your pain doesnât get that much better, so did you take a bunch of painkillers or is it a miracle?â
âNeitherâ he sighs and leans back into the cushions of the sofa, âI only⊠Well. Lindaâs oldest daughter broke her leg. She needed to pick her up from training, get to the hospital, all of thatâ Daniel frowns,
âOne of these days I will absolutely hit Mark over the head. Linda deserves betterâ
âI agree, which is why I offered to look after the boys when she got the call. She had just been here with the box, so it was just fair. Is she back?â Daniel nods,
âJust to get the boys settled and get some clothes, her mother also just came and sheâll look after themâ
âFortunate. I would have offered them to stay there for the night butâŠâ
âNot the best night to stay in a foreign bed?â he chuckles. âSo⊠Let me get this straight. You didnât even go to work today because of your pain, something I usually have to bully you into, but you still put on your hand and left the bed to read to the neighbors children?â he pauses, âYou absolute softieâ He just chuckles again.
âLinda is a good person. She deserves better than Mark, and the boys are actually quite amusingâ he pauses and smiles, âAnd she brought us food when you were in the hospital last year. We should return the favor, now that her daughter is there, actuallyâ he hisses when Daniel pulls the clasps of his hand loose. The skin under his robotic hand is red and chafed, and the cool air is a relief. Still, he didnât even feel the pressure until it was gone.
âWarren, the only food you can make is so fancy sheâll be unable to do more than take photos for Instagram. Sheâs a teenager, and Linda will feel terribly insecureâ He smiles in response. âMay I?â he nods and closes his eyes again, when Daniel squeezes pain cream on the stump. âI donât need to tell you you should not have done that. But I do ⊠admit there would be a certain irony if I did, given I always put in my hearing aids no matter whatâ
âI even used my cane to walk here. Jacob loved it. Jonathan played with Maxie while I read. She didnât want to let me get upâ
âThatâs because she is a very smart cat. Smarter than youâ He is too tired to put any effort into actually throwing the pillow he grabs. âStop, or Iâll carry you to the tubâ And itâs an empty threat, because Warren is too tired and in too much pain to move, and Daniel needs to be able to do something on days like this and all is well.
In another world, he is standing in an airlock. The door is shut, his tongue does not taste of whiskey but of blood. There is a joke there somewhere too. Itâs quiet. The station, creaking and breathing itself, never is, but either he lost his hearing or the silence is too thick for him to hear through. Maybe he is under water.
He nearly drowned, once. Falling into freezing cold water with bound hands and a broken leg was not the best call of action, but still better than the hailstorm of bullets transforming the house into swiss cheese.
Cheese.
There is something about cheese he forgot, but itâs an odd topic, isnât it?
He woke up on the concrete floor, drenched, cold, coughing up seawater, tasting algae for the rest of the week. But he lived. He had been saved back then.
Looking out at Wolf 359, there is no saving. But it doesnât really matter, because this already happened, didnât it? He already died here, remembers it in a way youâd remember a vivid dream. Maybe this is his personal purgatory, his eternal waiting room before Danteâs Inferno. Who will be his guide to the deepest chambers? Or will he stay here, like Virgil, forever waiting in the in-between.
He always thought this part of the story sucked. At least in the rings of heaven and hell you had something to do, belonged somewhere, but it struck him like sitting in a hospitalâs waiting room forever, waiting for nothing and nobody in particular, just always being there. Like part of the furniture.
Not the way he wanted to spend the afterlife, but he has to admit it would be somewhat fitting as a punishment.
He sits down on the floor, still staring into capital-s-Space. What would he do with an eternity? Count the stars?
It makes sense he is bothered to be here, but there is something else.
He canât put his finger on what it is, this thing that bothers him, this thing that annoys him so deeply. Itâs just out of reach, maddeningly so.
He lost his mind once. More or less.
A poison, neurotoxin, and he went rampant, seeing things that were not there, confusing people, even attacking a doctor later in the medical bay.
He didnât die then. Didnât drown. Nasty Concussion.
âYou know, I sometimes wish I hit you just a little harder back then. Just because⊠you know?â
âIs that why you never apologized?â
âOh, that and⊠Well. I was told it wasnât necessaryâ She sits down next to him, wearing the same overall she wore when they were in actual space. They sit in silence for a while.
âAre you real?â He finally thinks to ask, thinking of Virgil and Dante and old mistakes when he asks.
âAre you? Is anything?â She counters without missing a beat. âYou know that Daniel is losing his mind right now, right? You really have to get your shit together, Sirâ
âDanielâŠâ And itâs important, that thing out of reach now brushing his fingertips.
âOh come on. Taller than you? Scars in his face? Glasses? Really really hates ducks and knows more about cheese than any sane person should?â She scoffs, âCome on. Youâre not that fucked upâ he pulls the memory close, and has to smile. He didnât forget, but remembering is like a sunrise after the longest night.
âDragged me out of the water once when I nearly drownedâ He shot him once. Daniel used to be the only one knowing why he avoided painkillers.
âThatâs not the only time he dragged youâ Itâs his turn to scoff, but he canât help but smile nevertheless.
âAre you here to ⊠properly guide me into Purgatory?â
âNoâ she laughs, throwing her head back as she does, âI just came to tell you that I love the fact you named your cat after meâ She pauses, nudging his shoulder, âI know you donât need or want me to forgive you for getting me killed. But I know it would drive you absolutely mad if I did, and there are no consequences to my actions. So consider yourself forgiven - because you made it up. With the cat, mainlyâ
âYou are not realâ
âNeither are you, so duhâ She shrugs, âI am not the one who fell down the stairs because he was too in love with Daniel Jacobi to wake him for a glass of waterâ
Perhaps it is because he is tired, hurting, or maybe it is the universeâs way of giving him a middle finger. All he knows is that one moment, he is standing on top of the stairs, and the next he is on the bottom of them. Rationally he knows he fell, but it happened so fast that the knowledge comes before the pain registers. He is half sitting, half laying on the bottom rug, one leg between the bars of the railing, the other on the step itself as if he just slipped. Well, he did, didnât he?
âWarren? Oh my god-â And then Daniel is there, squeezing his leg to see if itâs broken, checking his head for blood, and it takes him a whole moment to catch his hand and squeeze it.
âIâm⊠Alrightâ he says quietly, âI think I fell?â
âYou stay right here, Iâm getting the carâ
âDanielâ he holds him in place, âIâm fineâ he pauses, âI thinkâ
âYou didnât react when I talked to you, you could have a concussion! You⊠Do you even remember falling? Did you hit your head?â Warren considers this for a moment - he moves his hands and arms and neck, but apart from soreness, there is not more than before. An ugly bruise on his side, but no broken ribs.
âIâm fine. I was just⊠shockedâ
âName? Year?â
âWarren Kepler. Do I have to say the year? Before I crashed, I was upstairs, getting up to get some water. I saw Maxie on the way. I had a bad pain day today and read to the neighbors kids, and you were upset because you wanted me to stay in bedâ Daniel nods, taking a deep breath and then shaking his head,
âThis means I will let you walk to the car, instead of carrying youâ
âDaniel-â
âShut up, donât move until I am backâ He looks at him go, and asks himself if that is what life is - caring and concern and the need to do something.
âHmmmâŠâ Hilbert looks over a stack of papers with numbers that make no sense, even if they werenât changing as he looks at them, âEmergency Room said you were fine?â
âThey did. Not that it is any of your businessâ
âShould have checked for old wounds. Old scars, pain-toleranceâ Maxwell is gone, and he would like her here more than Hilbert. âI am not poetâ
âOh, I know. You never even appreciated my storiesâ
âOld shrapnelâ Hilbert concludes and puts the papers down. The whole room is filled with them, but the star is not obscured despite it. âYour medical records. Quite a lotâ
âI did what it takesâ
âBetter still do that. Not dead yet. Donât want to see you again so soonâ he grumbles and gets up. The door does not open when he walks through it and disappears, but the paper fades with him.
He is not Dante, Maxwell and Hilbert arenât Virgil and Daniel is not Beatrice. He thinks about moving - leaving the room, but he doesnât need another lecture. Doesnât need to meet Cutter or Pryce, or⊠Maybe Eiffel is here, but he can talk to him on the phone. This is no romantic near-death-experience. He doesnât need a reason to live, a decision to make, if he did, maybe heâd leave the chamber.
Even if he canât wake up on his own, Daniel will find him. Itâll be easier if he just stays put. He probably already is worried out of his mind.
Warren closes his eyes, still seeing the star even then. He got here early. Now there is enough time to run some errands before he has his appointment with the afterlife.
He knows the sound of a heart monitor by now. The rhythmic and steady beat is somewhat reassuring, and sound is always the first sensation that comes back to him. Then is touch, the cool air on his arms, the faint sting of an IV, cold feet. The room smells of nothing, but he no longer tastes blood on his tongue. Itâs just dry now.
It takes him a moment to remember where his hand is, an even longer moment to be able to move it, and only then he really feels the touch of skin on his.
âHiâ he whispers, but even that is hoarse. Daniel looks up, relief in his features, but no surprise. Maybe he woke up before. Maybe he just doesnât remember.
âHeyâ He squeezes his hand, âYouâre just out of surgery. Get some more rest, okay?â Itâs like magic words, and he closes his eyes again to their sound.
In another world, he sits on top of the space station, hand in hand with Daniel. The star changes colors, turns into a supernova so bright it should burn their eyes out, but it doesnât. Daniel leans his head on his shoulder.
They stay there until the universe ends in the same bang it started with.
The beeping is more prominent when he wakes again, less muffled by painkillers and confusion. When he pries his eyes open, Daniel is still sitting there, reading. He watches him for a long moment, almost falling back asleep just with the calm it radiates.
âYou know, some might say watching someone is creepy, Warrenâ He hums in response.
âWhat âre you âeading?â
âThe Wizard of Oz. The Russian version - The Wizard of Emerald City. Took it from your nightstand. They made me go home in between, so I took itâ He closes it gently and sets it aside, maneuvering a straw over to help him sip some water. It makes it remarkably easier to speak. âThere was also Danteâs Divine Comedy but that felt just wrongâ He wants to tell him heâd be Beatrice, but there are more pressing questions.
âWhat happened?â Daniel sighs and pulls a little glass jar from the nightstand.
âYou remember that mission in⊠Dallas, I think? The thing that blew up and almost took you with it?â He sighs and rubs his head, âMy own bomb going off way too early for some reason? Because I donât think you do remember that, you kind of canât - Maxwell and I dragged you out of it and you were in surgery for hours. They left some of the shrapnel inside of you to be taken out at a later date - because you were ⊠You coded on the tableâ he shakes the jar, âDallas came back to haunt us. Because of course Goddard didnât take it out. It was ⊠They said it was fine, and I forgot about it and I donât even know if you knew about it. But the thing is, when you fell down the stairs, it dislodged. And⊠And that was the point in the doctorâs explanation where I⊠Where I panicked so hard I missed a whole chunkâ Kepler reaches out, despite his shaking hands, he manages to grab the jar. âYes, the fucker even still has the goddamn fucking Goddard Logo on itâ He sighs and rubs his face, âInner bleeding. Thatâs why you nearly choked. Nearly died on me. Again. Again, Warrenâ
âItâs not your faultâ
âHow canât it be? My bomb. I should at least know when a piece of it ends up inside my- Fucking hell, Warren, this almost killed you before and now it almost did so again-â
âYou are rightâ he raises his eyebrows, âAlmost killed by the same bomb twice. Either you or I need to up the game hereâ
âThis is- This is not funny, Warren!â
âYou are right, itâs notâ He sighs dramatically and tries not to wince, âItâs actually quite painful. Would you just finish the job? I mean, the shrapnel is still there, actuallyâ
âWhat-â he looks up, then checks the IV bag pumping whatnot into Warren, âThey still have you on the good stuff, I shouldnât-â Anger cuts through the remaining fog, and he gives his best attempt at a glare he can manage with a bandaged chest and and oxygen under his nose.
âDaniel, will it somehow get into your thick head that itâs not your fault?â He actually groans at the end of that, âIf you want to blame yourself for every little thing, then how should I react whenever you have a nightmare of Pryce? Of Alana?â Either itâs the wrongest thing to say or the right one, and the fire in his words dies down as quickly as it came. Daniel puts his head in his hands and hides his face, but his shoulders donât shake, even though he trembles. He wants to pull him close, but he is still too sluggish to even reach out and take his hand back. âShe likes that we named the cat after herâ he says after a pause, to break this strange and heavy silence. The sound Daniel makes is heavy and choked, as if he doesnât know if he wants to laugh or cry, and yes, Warren thinks that is very fitting.
âWe didnât, it was already her name when Mr. Peters from upstairs diedâ Daniel mumbles through his hands and finally looks up. âDid you have some⊠Dream?â He closes his eyes again and smiles. âSeeing the light, deciding if you want to live⊠Stuff?â
âI think I was just early for an appointment. No need to dwell on that before itâs timeâ Daniel takes his hand again. âNo need for decisionsâ
âI should have known something was wrong when you agreed to get checked out. It was all too⊠easyâ he squeezes back and just looks at him. The worry lines are easing up a little, and his voice sounds more like him. Less pitched, a little lighter, just a note.
âI knew youâd find meâ bubbles out before he fully realizes it, but he is so tired and this space when nothing feels real is the best to explain, even if he canât describe the reasons. âIf I was to die, youâd be there. Always are. Drowning, poisoned, Beatrice and Virgil and Danteâ His eyes fall shut, but Daniel doesnât ask him to open them again, does not beg him to stay with him. He just squeezes his hand, and the monitor beeps.
âI⊠Warren, what?â
âDante didnât die. He got lost in the woods. Iâm sorry I scared you, but I didnât leave the airlock. In case you were searchingâ The soft sensation of a blanket caresses his arms, and itâs familiar, the duvet from home he thinks, and has to smile. âTrying to make it easierâŠâ
âItâs alright. You did it - youâll be just fine now. No more uh⊠Getting lostâ
âItâs a long walk. Down and up. All the circles of hell. Didnât go there, no need to talk to Cutter. Already met Hilbert⊠No need for moreâ Daniel snorts as if that is incredibly funny.
âYeah, better notâ he pats his arm, âHow about you get some more rest? I had to tell Linda all about this on the phone. Her daughter is in this very same hospital, and she came by while you were in surgery. Stayed in the waiting room while I got ⊠stuffâ He kisses his forehead, and itâs nice. He could sleep like this, almost. Foolish Daniel Jacobi, he wants to say, Warren canât sleep when he is talking. Itâs impossible. He has to listen. âThe boys will feed Maxie for a few days. They always wanted a cat so thisâll be training, she said. Hey, maybe that means we can bully Mark out? Jacob really wants to return the favor with the reading - third grade stories? So be warned. Oh, and by the wayâŠ
In another world, a space station floats through nothingness. Ghosts wander its halls, scoffing about appointments taken too early and tea gone cold and the two people on top of the station, watching the star, who are nothing more than an echo that died with Marcus Cutter, while the real ones made it out. Most of them, at least.
But in this world, Warren Kepler falls asleep far quicker than he notices.
The best ship dynamic is actually just. "I love you and it terrifies me. I'm terrified how much I need you and how much I want you to need me. I'm terrified I'm no good for you and I'm going to hurt you and ruin you and I'm terrified of how I feel when you're around me but I can't bear to push you away completely because I'm terrified to be without you so now we're stuck in limbo and that's terrifying too. I'm terrified that if I lost you now it'd destroy me and I'm terrified that it's too late to do anything about it. I love you. And it's terrifying."
fished through my tumblr over dinner tonight to find this post bc i quote it all the time and i wanted to show my pal whoâs a twin. his face fell. âthatâs usâ
his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth agape. i think heâs just in awe at how funny it is and i go âlol whoâs sniff and whoâs whimperâ and he goes. âno. THATâS US.â
called his brother to get here asap with the hard drives of the day they were born, spent the next hour doing a deep dive to find the source of this image and analyzing the video. the only differences are the sheet and crib theyâre in but we think they may have been moved to a secondary location between the video and this image because their features are identical and the hats are the EXACT same down to how theyâre resting on their heads, and they were not provided by the hospital.
i quote sniff and whimper every day. i show everybody i know this gif i think it is that funny. my friend and i were laying on the ground like two hours before dinner going âiâm sniff..â âiâm whimper!â in little voices.
i fucking know sniff and whimper. iâve known sniff and whimper all along.
literally who CARES if straight cis men are wearing skirts for âcloutâ!!! I want to live in a world where being gnc is desirable to them rather than one where they make bigoted jokes about it. itâs GOOD that people with the privilege to do so are normalising gender non conformity and i dont give a shit if they have deliberate political intentions or if theyâre just having fun you guys are all so annoying
we could be using the tiktok boys to kickstart a movement around men wearing skirts that would benefit gnc and trans people but you guys want ideological purity before u want results
When I was in middle school, way back in 1994, we had An Incident. A few popular boys dared each other to wear skirts to school on Monday. To, in their own words, âSee what it was like to wear skirts, lol. Why shouldnât we?â. It wasnât anything fancy, they just pulled some long hippie skirts over their jeans in the bathroom and giggled their way to class.
I want to go back a bit here. It was 1994. There were no out gay people anywhere near our school. Certainly no trans people. A few celebrities on TV, sure, but mostly in jokes. And not everyone had access to MTV or cable. The internet didnât exist for us. Only a few kids had ever even heard of Rocky Horror Picture Show, which would be my first brush with gender fuckery that came close to positive rep in the media. Our city and state had a measure on the ballot almost every year since the mid eighties attempting to criminalize even mentioning the word gay. AIDs was still a looming specter over everything. It was dangerous to be seen as gay or gender nonconforming.
So these boys. They werenât trying to make a statement. They werenât even making a gay joke. They just thought it wold be silly to wear skirts. They wanted to see what it felt like. They were experimenting. The teachers flipped out. The boys wear marched into the principleâs office, their parents called, they were sent home for the day, a school announcement was made about inappropriate clothing and being lewd in school. Again, long loose skirts over pants. âSkirts arenât for you. Itâs wrong for boys to wear skirts. Stay in your straight boy boxâ. In response we, the students, responded with âFuck the police!â.
2 Days later about 2/3 of boys showed up in skirts, jewelry, and makeup. No girls wore skirts, makeup, or jewelry. Some girls drew mustaches and wore suits. It began as just a anti-authoritarian response to what we saw as a ridiculous over reaction to boys in skirts, but the more we thought about it the more upset we got. Why couldnât they wear skirts any time they wanted??? Why shouldnât they paint their nails??? What if they did it all the time??? Yeah maybe some of them did like other boys, so what??? Maybe some of the girls in school never wanted to wear skirts or makeup, didnât like their boobs, and/or didnât like boys??? MAYBE IT WAS ALL BULLSHIT
In about a week a large number of us had become queer advocates without even knowing what that was. And in the face of that many kids, the school didnât know what to do. Send us all home? We had several days of no free periods allowed, no recess time, lunch was for eating and quiet contemplation. Parents were called and warnings mailed that school dress codes were being updated. Unfortunately for school policy enough parents also thought that enforcing the gender binary was ridiculous that meetings had to be held. And some of the wealthier parents rolled up with lawyers ready to argue that Timmy had every right to wear a long skirt, and you couldnât suspend Alice because sheâd buzzed her hair on Thursday and started wearing mens suit pants and jackets. So it was dropped mostly. Skirts couldnât be above the knee, no spaghetti straps, no drawing on your face - regardless of gender. But the air had changed.
Most kids went back to wearing whatever they had before. But, several boys continued painting their nails, grew out their hair, and occasionally wore skirts. Several girls chopped their hair off and wore âboysâ clothing. One person, and this was literally unheard of, asked their friends to stop calling them Bridgett and call them Brandon. And they did. I lost track of most of the students, this town isnât that small, but I know some of them came out as queer later in life. I canât say that incident was a turning point for them, but it was for me.
It started as boys being silly. But at least 2 of those initial boys ended up wearing skirts and makeup regularly after that well into high school, and not as a joke. If theyâd been shouted down? If other kids hadnât said, âYou know what? Good for you!â I hope they still would have been able to come out, but it probably wouldnât have been as easy.
And yes, it did start as a joke. But the response is what matters here. It wasnât treated as a joke. It was met with anger. Then acceptance. And it made a positive difference.
So, I see people upset that âstraight cisâ people arenât wearing clothes correctly and⊠Y'all. I just see another instance of some kids playing with ideas and experimenting, pushing the boundaries. And being met with anger. And told to get back in their gender appropriate box.
âWell well well what if they mean it as a joke???â Tell them they look good and should wear skirts more often, if they want to. Tell them that yellow isnât their color, but theyâd look great in green. Tell them that if they get thigh chaffing to try bike shorts underneath. If you canât handle that, donât say anything. Block them and move on. If theyâre assholes, block them and move on. But donât tell them they canât wear clothing because they havenât labeled themselves correctly.
You canât say you support queer rights and gender nonconformity and then get pissy when people donât wear pants/skirts in narrow ways you like.
Stop trying to validate yourself by pushing down other people.
(Iâm using pronouns for people that were used when I last knew them, since I have no way of knowing if theyâve changed)
EDIT: I do know this situation is specific. It wouldnât have happened the same at some of the other schools in town. Families trended more liberal, and the popular kids were mostly wealthier. So, we all had adults saying, âgays arenât evil but also not encouraged, but you canât say you donât encourage themâ. The parental support was mostly of a âdonât tell my kid what to doâ liberal posturing. Very few of the parents actually supported their kid being queer at the time. Brandon changing their name was a secret. We, the students radicalized ourselves on accident, but no one actually came out until years later. Our supporting each other to wear whatever we wanted, joke or not, was influential in coming out though. (my parents basically asked if I wanted to buy a suit to wear to school, also did I want to form a picket line. I did not, but appreciated the idea. Mom told one of the boys he looked very pretty when he wore a dress to graduation. Which was another Incident, and also very funny because they couldnât punish him at all by then)
My favorite feeling is when itâs winter and you wake up in the middle of the night and you look out the window and thereâs snow on the ground and the sky is kind of light colored and it looks misplaced and kind of eerie but also comforting i love it the mostÂ
This post made me finally look up whether Australian crested pigeons are also doves, and I didnât quite understand the wiki page but I think the answer is âyesâ.
