Blazed through Mercury and Me over the weekend and am having a LOT of feelings about it, but the one image I cannot get out of my head is Jim turning down an offer of coke while afterpartying at Freddie's because he was too absorbed in playing with the cats.
I know narrators are often unreliable, but it's understandable and lovely that Freddie fell for a guy who honestly sounds like six green flags with a mustache.
So this would be a great time for Irish-Americans to be loud as FUCK in their solidarity with other colonized peoples of the world. Ireland was a testing ground for British colonialism, methods used there were later replicated in India and all around the world. And there is no clearer demonstration of white identity being a bullshit construct than the transition of Irish-Americans from targets to perpetrators of discrimination, mostly through politics and law enforcement.
Most won't do it, though. Read Irish on the Inside and find some fuel for the fire.
You’re not supposed to like them but you have to.
These are the two genders.
But also, hear me out, we don't have to live with the worry that our emotional support celebrity will turn out to be a transphobe.
Having a fav celebrity that's dead is not for the weak cause the only thing that keeps me from not going insane is the fact that we both looked at the same moon and sun
I gave my "Keep Yourself Alive" bracelet to a guy in a Freddie Mercury costume at World Pride, and it was a major highlight of my day.
He was marching with a group representing Britain and so were people dressed as the Beatles in full Sergeant Pepper regalia, so happy Pride to all the Beatles shippers, congrats on being canon now.
Common sense needs to prevail and save me from writing a fanfiction that's basically the larp sex mechanic known as ars amandi. Because with how beat up my hands and wrists frequently are from work (especially now with combined tech crunch and con crunch), I am practically fantasizing about a someone finding and working out all the crunchy tension points in my forearm.
I have listened to "Save Me" so many times this week that I'm surprised Spotify hasn't sent me a pop-up that says "You seem to listen to this song a lot, are you ok?"
Some days I can't help but gloat about how many people are pissed off at my sheer existence, and how they can die mad about it. I have never been more powerful.
being trans is epic except for all the shit that is designed to make you want to kill yourself
[gripping the sink] perfectionism does not help me avoid embarrassment or shame. perfectionism is in itself a form of shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame
Arden, they/them, six months younger than The Works. Queen, RPGs, fashion, queer horror, trans shitposts, and one very silly polydactyl kitten.
228 posts