Just had a dream that a novel exists which is written from the POV of an old man dying in the 1920s in the form of diary entries and bit by bit it’s revealed it’s actually a closeted trans woman who was out during her youth and forced to recloset and now I desperately want to read it
The narrator was like, referring to a girl called Sarah in all the writings, and at the start it’s super unclear who Sarah actually is and it’s speculated by the people around that she may be a lover from the narrator’s youth, until it’s noted that Sarah had heterochromia and that’s the defining trait of the narrator
Oh also Sarah did actually have a lover. They were T4T and lived in a little cottage by a lake until he was drowned in it and Sarah couldn’t make ends meet anymore and had to recloset
Okay a bunch of people have told me to write the thing now so I’ve decided if this post gets 30K I’m turning the thing into an epistolary novel.
I think that the Hamilton musical is objectively the funniest thing that could happen to that man’s memory. Imagine dying of a gunshot wound infection in 1804 and learning from the afterlife that tweenage girls in 2017 are drawing thousands upon thousands of images of you making out with your fellow congressmen because someone wrote a 2-hour rap opera about you. I like to imagine that Hamilton found a monkey’s paw and wished to leave a legacy, and this is what it did to him.
you don’t control who lives who dies who tells your story
for any trans girls out there I just wanted to let you know that your boobs will HORT when they’re growing. they will FIGHT BACK. they are INTRODUCING. THEMSELVES.
Being obsessed with your own OCs but literally never creating any art or content for them is such a curse. You’ll be like “this reminds me of blorbo from my head :)”, and everyone else will just be like “? who thef uck”
ALT
