book abt a twink and a lesbian who are roommates and just went through bad breakups and swear off sex until they realize they’re both incredibly horny so instead of going out to get their hearts broken again they just fuck each other since there’s zero chance of falling in love.
book ends with them both finding good partners and coparenting kids together. no IVF necessary bc that shits expensive.
i just got here but sincerely what is wrong with dorian pavus. he’s a necromancer. he helped invent time travel with his phd supervisor; this is never touched upon again. he comes out to you in front of his homophobic dad by going “sex. with men. ever heard of it”. he’s canonically so good at magic that he can keep up with god in conversation about it. constantly complains about the weather and all while he has one tit out at all times. his backstory is that he’s simultaneously a delinquent and a girlboss. he’s an alcoholic. his facial hair is completely fucking indefensible. h
griffin mcelroy is so funny because youll see clips of him talking and its always either something like "my names sprite pepsi and im abstinence until i DIE" or its something like "that was the last conversation you ever had with your sister. when someone leaves your life those exits are not made equal. some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying, others are abrupt and unfair, but most are just unremarkable." and theres no in between
i work in a call centre and one of the security checks we perform is asking for the account holder's date of birth. most of the time when someone calls in and the account is in their parent's name, they can't give it. so i'm curious now:
for the love of everything don't actually indicate any dates on the post, please value your security
when i was a tiny baby queer (aka a 24-year-old), i went to my first pride festival probably three months after i kicked ex-gay therapy to the curb and came out to my parents. being the people they are, my parents came with me. they weren’t really sure about this whole gay thing, but they loved me and wanted me to be safe and happy and wanted to be involved in what was important to me, so they came along. (i also think my mother still might have thought i might get drugged or murdered or beaten by a protester of which there were plenty.)
anyway i wanted a memento of my first pride, you know, and this one vendor was selling keyrings, and i liked it, so i bought one. do you remember those italian charm bracelets that were all the rage like 10-15 years ago? it was a keychain like that, and it had a rainbow rooster, a rainbow cat, and then just a rainbow, and so I bought it.
i run into my mom a couple of vendors over and she goes oh you bought something? what’d you get? so i showed her, and i was like, “I’m not sure why it’s a rooster and a cat. Seems kind of random. But I liked the rainbows.”
and my mom, who was some form of minister’s wife for most of my childhood and teenagerhood, stares at me like she thinks i’m joking.
“What?” i say.
“…it’s a cock and a pussy, Jules,” she says flatly, and that is the story of how i died at the age of 24 while attending my first pride festival.