John took him to the gardens at sunrise. They bundled up in quilts and drank coffee and sat on the stone walls, and John said, “Next week, eight years ago, you save my life at the National Opera House in Ukraine.”
“June 14. Our anniversary.” Neil said it with reverence.
“Yes. It’s why I pushed so hard for the date.”
Neil leaned his head on John’s shoulder. “How romantic,” he mused. “Although, how do you know it was me?”
“It’s always you,” John answered. He put his arms around Neil. “I don’t want to ask you to go back for me. I.” He cleared his throat and blinked slowly at the horizon. “I wish I hadn’t told you.”
I love you grandmother who helped me pin a trans flag to my battle vest, I love you leather daddies checking on us, I love you trans dykes driving the forklift loaded with water and ice, I love you queer kids in your renfair outfits, I love you faggot punks sizing up the cops, I love you drag queens laughing in the dressing room, I love you i love you I love you I love y
not to be a hater but if you’re gonna tag my post with this you might as well not reblog it at all
btw. your search for the most morally upright and ethical piece of media that has the most correct “representation” will destroy your ability to find the most profound and beautiful and human of stories. and may even destroy the stories themselves before they are created. if you even care.
See that man in the dog mask? He’s playing a game of make believe with his friends to have fun, just like we do! See how his tail is wagging?
See that man with a gun? He’s part of a violent institution that serves the ruling elite and upholds white supremacy. Fifty years ago he would have been raiding all these bars and arresting us all. He could shoot you in the face right now and probably not even lose his job. If he tries to talk to you, remember to say, “I won’t speak with you unless I have an attorney present.”
