being in south carolina and having trouble finding community was hard and my gf and i have considered moving bc of it. but recently we decided that we were going to try to help build the community we yearned for rather than search for it.

and so we did! we started a local meetup group and found many other trans people searching for the same. and through that we found other already existing community and helped our local community connect and grow. i’m building my home and i’m so proud of it 💜

(posted with permission of everyone in the photo 🙂)

For You, When the Wolves Come Out

Let this be an offering of softness, a steady hand, a gentle promise without expectation, the way dawn unravels her gold light at an easy pace, a reminder that the light always comes back, that wolves are hungry for their own silence, that you are not wind but chime— your heart all music, all marvel, beautiful even at a distance.

Let this be an offering of strength, a song of new stars, a constellation of shared secrets, unhurried in their trading, a reminder that to be seen is to be loved, just look up— darling, remember the moon.

brb, having FEELINGS

+ bonus

“Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…….and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this:  Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe.  I will keep it safe.” Andrea Gibson

This.

In need of help

Well, friends, I done goofed, and I am extremely broke. As in, $40 in the red until next Friday, the 21st, with all my credit cards maxed out. I will definitely need food and bus fares, maybe some meds before next payday.

If you can help, paypal.me/MToddWeb, signal boosting helps too. Thanks folks.

This is the face he makes when I take the linens away to wash them.

Jail for mother.

Co-fucking-sign.

Hello Mnr. Neilman

When can someone call themselves a writer?

I had this conversation with a friend a while ago and he believes you can only call yourself a writer if you've published multiple books, are famous/known for writing and have won an award. I have no published works, but define myself as a writer. So what makes someone a writer? Do they have to write something everyday, have written and/or published a book? Received a "bestseller" sticker?

When did you start calling yourself a writer? Sorry for all the questions, I am typing this in a state of fearful respect.

I started calling myself a writer the day I woke up and decided that, yes, I was a writer. I was 22.

I am obligated to add this:

reasons to love harrison ford

reasons to love harrison ford

1. hates donald trump 2. got his ear pierced at claires because why not 3. legit asks people to beat him up in action scenes EVEN NOW AS AN OLD MAN 4. is arguably one of the most iconic star wars characters yet couldnt give less of a crap abt star wars 5. the universe tried to kill him (or at least permanently incapacitate him) twice in 2015 and it only mildly inconvenienced him 6. flies helicopters in search and rescue missions 7. was in his 40s for the majority of the indiana jones series which is insane when you think about all the stunts involved 8. quote “the director yells cut and harrison cracks open a beer and then builds a fucking shed” 9. arguably sexy 10. points angrily and its super effective

In 1970, my mother's family adopted an intellectually disabled man named Horace. Horace was 56, and had been in an institution since 1921.

My uncle, who was 19, was working as an orderly at the institution where Horace lived. He only stayed a few months as the abuse he witnessed was too much for him. He had become friends with Horace and told him "I'll come back for you."

Horace replied "They all say that."

By that Christmas, Horace lived with my uncle and his family. My grandparents did the official adoption. Horace had never seen a Christmas tree, and that was his first real Christmas.

Horace died in 2010, at the age of 96. He laid down for a nap and just slipped away.

At least two generations of children grew up with him. He felt immortal to us. He loved Hot Wheels, pizza, cartoons and to talk to the portrait of my grandparents as he sat in his rocking chair.

He knew everyone's birthday. He loved unconditionally.

He had scars on his back from the institutions. If you asked him about that place, his face would screw up and he'd say "oh, it was a bad place. Bad place."

And for 40 years, he was safe, loved, and happy. He loved us in return.

No point to sharing this. But I still miss his laugh as he held a conversation with a portrait, whispering about his day to the people who had helped rescue him.

I am absolutely a romantic, and this story is wonderful. New to me, too!

To anyone who believes fairy tale romances never happen in real life, may I remind you that JRR and Edith Tolkien met and experienced a forbidden love in their youth, and then were separated for five whole years because of his guardian’s rules that he could not date till he was 21, and she got engaged to someone else only because she assumed he’d forgotten her and lost hope that she could ever be with him, but then on his 21st birthday, he wrote her a letter saying he still loved her and wanted to marry her, she responded basically saying ‘if I’d known you hadn’t left me on the shelf, I would never have said yes to anyone else,’ then a week later she greeted him at the train station and then immediately dumped her fiancé, and they got married and she converted to his religion and danced for him in a flowering field far away from the trenches into which he was drafted, which left such an impression that he crafted an entire story about the most beautiful maiden in the world who danced in the woods and made enormous sacrifices to be with the man she loved, and they had four kids and remained faithful to each other and blissfully grew old together and their gravestones are now marked with the names of that same fictional couple that he created, who broke every rule and overcame every possible obstacle to be together and get a happy ending, who only did all that because he based it all on their own real love story.

1922 Robe du Soir by Poiret, illustration by Marty.

The Truth, But Slant

What if what if what if— here, the shadows have come out, the ghosts of lesser monsters, but monsters nonetheless—

but one by one, I put them back into the darkness, one by one, I sing them lullabies until they sleep, one by one, I say their names until they stop howling.

I know how to do this, how to soothe, how to bind, how to stay still and let the terrors rush by, until they become something else, something smaller, more easily managed.

Here is a secret, just one: my hands can untangle the dark, softly, with a gentleness borne from old nightmares, tamed ghosts, my hands—like the rest of me— are stronger than they look, and I am reaching for you, that’s the damned truth— what if what if what if.

dig

gotta find the joy. gotta dig through the dirt and find it because thats all there is. those little moments are what we get to share together, just a blink in and out of this timeline. and somehow, INCREDIBLY, those little moments are worth it

💜

literally just burst into tears bc i was standing outside and there were fireflies glittering in every direction i looked and i remembered how beautiful the world can be….

Darlings, some of you have asked if I mean you, and if I'm sure.

Yes, I mean you. Yes, I am sure.

We all have heartbreak and setbacks and difficult bits. We have wobbly moments and sadness. But they're just moments, and the bad things pass. (I promise. They do. Every time.) None of us are perfect, and guess what? The point of life and love isn't too be perfect. It's to be imperfect together.

You are not hard to love. Not even a little bit. Whoever or whatever made you feel that way doesn't belong in your life or your heart. Set it down. It's not your burden.

Once, someone who meant very much to me told me that I cared too much. That stuck under my skin for a very long time. It made me feel awful. I felt very much fundamentally wrong, because of it. Did I let that change me? No. Does it occasionally make me feel unsteady? Yes.

Why am I telling you this? So that you understand that you are not the problem when someone cannot value you. And to remind you that you deserve better.

In case you need to hear it today...

Earlier today on Bluesky, I wrote about how—and I firmly believe this—no one is hard to love. That, if someone makes you feel that way, it’s entirely on them. And that love—in its myriad forms—never judges us by the small quirks and details of our less polished selves.

This is 100% the hill I will die on.

The thing is, I’ve often been told I am too much. I have too many feelings. (Like, you can just…remove some of them?) This used to bother me, until I realized that was someone else’s hangup. The reality is I have a very big heart and I am not shy about letting someone I know I care about them.

Why? Several reasons. One is that I am always true to myself, and I don’t believe in playing it cool. Another is that the world is a harsh mess, quite literally often on fire. It’s the warmth and love and the connection that help us through. And if a kind, honest word or gesture might matter to someone, I’m gonna do it. No hesitation.

I have also been the person who didn’t know how someone else felt, and that didn’t feel great. (Understatement.) And I never, ever want anyone else to feel that kind of awful confusion. Because by the time I did find out, it almost broke me. (Almost! I’m very stubborn.) So, if it’s within my power, no one else is gonna go through that.

Back to the beginning: no one is hard to love. Are we mutuals? Do we chat? I can rattle off at least three things I love about you, if asked. Hell, even if you don’t ask, I might randomly tell you anyway. Because ninja compliments make everyone smile!

I am always deeply happy when I get to show my affection for someone. It makes my heart happy. And the reverse is true, too: I am deeply happy to be cared about. It’s affirming. And yes, it also quiets the voices in my head that pop up, from time to time.

You are, right now, more loved than you probably know. So, consider this a reminder, from a weird little witch woman shouting on the internet.