#queer feelings

[leashybebes]

He checks in with Eddie after his date. His weird date. His 'actually going really well before a sharp left turn into weird' date.

"Weird how?" Eddie asks.

Buck can hear him moving around, opening and closing doors, telling Chris fifteen minutes til dinner. He misses them both with a sharp ache.

"She was weird about Tommy," he says, sighing.

He can feel the judgment all the way from Texas. "Why were you talking about Tommy on a date?"

"I wasn't! Not really. I just…mentioned him. In a normal way. She was… I think she was weird about like. His existence? As a guy?"

"Oh," Eddie says, like that makes sense. "That sucks, sorry, man."

Buck chews his lip. Are you like, gay? echoes in his head.

"Buck?"

"Yeah. Still here. I just. I don't know. She wanted like. A word?"

Bi, then?

Sure, I guess.

"A - what?"

"A word," he says again. "For, like. What I am?"

For what six months with Tommy means I am.

"Oh…kay. And?"

"I. I don't think I have one."

He really hopes Eddie can't hear the panic rising in his voice.

tbc maybe probably possibly

more here

[sup3rqu33n]

is demisexual considered queer? yeah, i kinda associate with the q because i am queer ish, and questioning? and am not a traditionally straight person. i don’t like questioning because it does seem like a fence sitting thing. it’s a little how people think in terms of bi. yeah i’m pan and demi.

i am fully asexual at times too, like utterly disgusted by sex if it’s not with the right human.

no th i ng else fits . . .

also here’s a zombie and an ender person having forbidden love. ahhh forbidden love. villagers too busy with their own shit to gaf.

[your-catfish-friend]

like real people do (7.04 coda)

Realized I never made a standalone post about this, but here's the coda for 7.04 I wrote in a feverish state of joy and big feelings.

like real people do (1k, T)

The butterflies in Buck’s stomach migrate into his chest as Tommy shuts the door behind himself and, suddenly, his empty apartment feels too small. 

He’s frozen in place, lips still parted and remembering the warm press of Tommy’s mouth, the slight bite of teeth as he tugged Buck’s lower lip between his own gently. Buck brings his hand to his mouth, tracing over his lips with gentle fingertips like he’ll be able to feel an imprint of Tommy there. Buck’s kissed a lot of people, and he’s had some pretty great kisses, but nothing has ever changed him as much as kissing Tommy has. 

Buck feels larger than life and too big for his body, a body that now knows what Tommy Kinard feels like pressed against him. That scene from Titanic, I’m flying, Jack . That’s what this is: euphoria. It’s a balloon in his chest inflating, swelling in his ribcage and threatening to lift him off the ground. 

I kissed Tommy.  

Read the rest on ao3.

[spaceparadize]

Outward Coming In 4/15/25

Timestamp: 4/14/25 5:07

That is correct. The insurance company said that as of 3/19/25 there was a change in the law that allows employers to opt’d in or out of gender related surgeries as an exclusion in benefits. It appears that your insurance has opt’d out and it is not a covered service. 

not covered

a plush blanket wrapped so tightly the air went humid wet tear steamed

turned burnt plastic an already sensitive skin hyper senses set to

spark incinerate

not a first exclusion in memory or want 

this was not covered in the texts 

but I read on raw and bleeding anyway

a doubt with no birds turned skyward

there was a raccoon dead in the road on my way to this work

it’s small rough hands stretched reaching to the sky

as bodies in tons of luxury mined earth met metal and rubber

turned them viscera on street cleaned pavement

i am not the first to go out in the night and stretch my arms to the sky

only to feel what makes me (w)hole ripped from me

a rendering of March 19th and marches pained far reaching 

too much to join my limping form

a ghost abandoned with so much will to change

it seems they have opt’d out of our care

gender the stain on the pavement they can never scrub out

my body will have that same broken bloodied scent as that skyward reaching raccoon

served in service disregarded pieces of life for sensibilities

idea empty safety of those deemed better off alive

i survived climbed from that hole primed for rotting

doubled my time only to find my self correct at first

reap and reach not covered

there is no kind opening of this body

there is no way to beg the pained parts away and not be left flattened on roads

that ate caravans walking ever westward in a circle

they call this bleeding manifest alone law

they call those who do not serve roadkill destiny like so many before us

in spite of profit or benefits they have opt’d out of a world 

called worth it and I am on the pavement bleeding

small rough hands stretched outward rigor mortis

my clear eyes watching a sunrise that will not come for me

survived by the many bodies like mine so many they take

trucks and shovels and incinerate the exclusion zone our bodies

incinerate 

that raccoon had kin and i dream like them

of shifting through the night without impact 

of pressing my weathered fur to another’s to dance

of kissing the scars we chose

and died for

[demoncatdoesart]

I think at the core of my being -like if you really split it open and carve it up- there’s this desire to be part of something and to be proud of it. To feel safe. To know that I can tear into the hearts of those around me and find the same blood as in mine.

It’s so obvious that it’s frustrating. It’s painful knowing logically why I don’t feel like I belong but not being able to explain it to my heart

I need other people to feel like me. I need to eat other people

[stonebutchooze]

There's something that happens when someone's butch — not trying to be butch, undeniably butch, even in long earrings and a dress you can tell they're raring to be in a shirt and slacks, in the corner of the room as opposed to the centre— but also so delicate. You ask them to get something from the top shelf and they fix their eyes on it and rise to the tips of locked toes. Their joints bend just a little too much and they notice when someone stands like a dancer. They talk with their hands and turn up the femininity in their voice a crazy amount at parties because they haven't yet learnt you don't need to talk like that any more, honey. They worry about making people uncomfortable in bathrooms and keep friendly smiles at their fingertips when traversing busy, rainy streets. They hide their chest beneath layers and layers of shirt, sweatshirt, denim jacket covered in patches— but still hunch, trying to accommodate a shame that's always been there, stuck to the skin like industrial glue. They keep silent around their family and scream out the rage later, wondering why can't you see me?

[hippolotamus]

how are y’all forming coherent thoughts today? stringing words together, making synapses fire, experiencing anything other than pure chaotic joy? i wish i could take this feeling in my chest and explain it in words. it’s just too big right now. too big and floaty and all consuming. it’s elation, grief, pride, feeling seen, and knowing some of the closest people to me will never be able to under its importance. not in the same way and maybe not at all.