[Transcript: I reject the oft-spouted idea from anti-trans voices that transmasculine bodies are mutilated. I dreamt of this body, and I celebrate it, even if it hasn’t turned out exactly to my specifications. Trans bodies are often portrayed as sites of horror, trauma and dysphoria, or as examples of medical and scientific overreach. I prefer to think of trans bodies as sources of love and desire. We have partners, we date, we are intimate. I still feel gender euphoria when I place my palm flat in the centre of my chest, or when I catch the angle of my jaw in the mirror. There remains a femininity to my physicality that I wouldn’t trade, and I have been called both slinky and sprite-like by other men. This body feels ethereal. I had to pass through another realm to get it.]
When talking about thirteen, River would say "he is my wife" and the Master would say "she is my husband". No I will not elaborate.
they just don't put gargoyles on roofs like they used to. buildings are so swagless these days
I know it’s wrong. That love is not supposed to be jealous. But this is my heart.
This is my heart. Red as it is. “Drink my blood, and no one else’s,” it says. It seethes. It bleeds.
J. K. L
“You have some queer friends, Dorothy,” she said.
“The queerness doesn’t matter, so long as they’re friends,” was the answer.
-L. Frank Baum, The Road to Oz