Yuuri and Christophe totally met at one of the banquets and Chris asked Yuuri if he wanted to “get out of here ;)” and of course Yuuri took it literally because he wanted to leave the party so they walked and chatted (and Christophe flirted) all the way to Yuuri’s hotel room together and Yuuri kindly thanked Christophe and shut the door in his face
So modern love is constant communication. your grandma looks at you from over the table where your phone is underneath and says “you’re always texting that boy” and you nod and say yes yes I’m sorry and you put away the phone but when you hear the text tone your heart beats with it. modern love is call me when you get home so I know you’re safe. it’s phone calls stretching hundreds of miles where it’s 2am in one place and 3 pm in the other but maybe it’s like you’re in the same room because his voice in your ear sends butterflies to your stomach and you’re so in this for the long run. modern love is instagram posts with the caption “found my happiness and it’s him” and everyone laughs at the corniness of it all but wishes for love that picture perfect. modern love is a dozen heart emojis and a “good morning beautiful” every day like clockwork. so modern love isn’t like old love. it doesn’t make it not love. it just makes it something new.
I’m sorry because I gave you everything that I have. I’m sorry because I cared about you. I’m sorry because I was always there for you. I’m sorry because you were always my first priority. I’m sorry because I cry over you. I’m sorry because I loved the way you smile. I’m sorry because I fell in love with your eyes. I’m sorry because I made you my everything.
There were two women that lived together in our town, and they were accepted by the community. Mom said, “Well, one of them’s got to be the man.” So I realized as a kid that women did that, but there weren’t any men that I knew of. There were two guys, two miles from us, that lived together for years and died together, but as a kid I just passed that off. When Dad needed help at harvest time he told me to go get them, because they didn’t have a car. Everybody said they were brothers, but they didn’t have the same last name.
I’m reading a book called Farm Boys: Lives of Gay Men from the Rural Midwest, and this man was born in 1937, so the time period he’s talking about re: his childhood is, at most, the mid 1940s - early 50s. I found this paragraph pretty interesting because it shows that for some people, it wasn’t all death and heartbreak and misery. Some gay women and men were able to live peaceful lives until the end of their days with their partners, even back then, even in a supposedly intolerant environment. It wasn’t always Brokeback Mountain.
“You’re completely psycho. You threw water in Ingrid’s face. You’re crazy!” “Do you get acid thrown in your face if you don’t wear the Hijaab?” “She’s psycho! I heard that she put someone in a chokehold when she went to Urra.” “Sana, are you circumcised?” “No wonder she’s psycho.” “She’s supposed to be a good representative for Islam.” “You’re so lucky because you don’t have to think about all of that stuff. Heartbreak and stuff. Maybe I should convert to Islam.” “Hope you get forcibly married … sent to Africa so we won’t have you at Urra.” “Why do you wear that shit on your head? It’s fucking ugly. Want me to pull it off you in the big break?”
Let’s promise each other something: because darling, oh darling. I know you want to press pause on the movie that is your life, because I do, I do. And I know you sometimes get so tired of carrying the weight of the world on those slim shoulders. I know you look into the mirror and see plain features and feel roaring waves of inadequacy, I know, I know.
I know you’ve got a little voice whispering inside of you you’ll never be good enough. I know you try to protect yourself, to shield yourself to not care because you fear the heartbreak that comes with caring to much but doing this makes you put yourself on the sidelines, makes people stop inviting you and I know, God, I know how much this hurts.
So let’s promise each other something: whenever this happens, this little voice trying so hard to protect us and only winding up hurting us: let’s promise each other to cry a little, to cry a lot. To take a shower, to listen to music and really, truly listen, think about nothing else. To write about wanting to give up but to keep on going, to eat something healthy too, even if we eat up a whole pack of potato chips or chocolate cookies, to grant ourselves this small reprieve instead of hating ourselves afterwards for the way we can pinch our belly between skinny fingers.
Listen to me, please, let’s promise each other to take a walk, to walk past a bridge or a body of water, to admire the darkness but remember the coldness and to keep on going. Remember that stranger that smiled, the one that helped you reach a high shelve, that picked up some change and gave it back, to remember the bus driver that waited on that busy intersection to let you get on, to remember all those little kindnesses from strangers you’ll never forget and to remember that we, too, have got so many little kindnesses to give and that there must be a stranger out there somewhere that remembers these plain features, these brown eyes and not so white teeth.
Let’s promise each other, that, please, please, but let’s also promise each other to sometimes let go and cry and to look after ourselves. Let’s remember that being kind and nice and good does not mean letting people walk over ourselves. And let’s define ourselves: if we like to be alone, sometimes, if we like to close the curtains against the world and drown in music and song, why be jealous of that one friend that is always talking to someone if the mere idea of holding more than three conversations is exhausting. If you love that girl everyone else seems to find annoying, hold steady to it, say “I like her and I like you and is there a problem?” because nothing will feel worse, and of this I am so absolutely certain, nothing will feel worse than betraying yourself.
Darling please, let’s promise each other, that on those lowest moments, on those darkest nights, when we feel like no one will love us ever, we’ll think of our achievements, even if they were something that feels so small and insignificant, like eating one cookie less or getting out of bed, if we were proud of them they matter and so do we. So do we.
And let’s promise each other we’ll think of our families, or about the friends we’ve had and that even though it always felt like we were the second choice, we were a choice, so they wanted us in their lives. Let’s think of the stranger we once helped, and think that maybe they remember us. Let’s think of the things that we love, and let’s think about the fact that the CO2 we expel from our lungs feed plants and bacteria and that we matter. That we have done some good in this world and that hopefully we’ll be able to do some more. That everything will be all right someday as long as we keep going.
Darling, let’s promise each other, that though we are strangers that may have never met, I’ll love you and you’ll love me, and we’ll think about each other sometimes, because we understand each other so perfectly, because I know that voice in your head as well as you know the ache in my bones and the tiredness of my eyelids, and we’ll keep on existing and breathing and loving and not giving up no matter how many times our heart breaks because we know they are not alone in breaking and so maybe, just maybe, they will not be alone in healing either because we will have each other to think of, to remember and to smile through the tears together.
Literally just all the sexual things Alexander Hamilton sent to John Laurens
“I love you.”
This one is pretty self explanatory. Men were much more intimate back in the 1700′s, forming bonds that seem very ~gay~ in today’s light. Homosexuality wasn’t a very understood thing back then because rigid moral codes and censured education prevented people from learning more about sexuality.
But Alexander Hamilton knew.
He grew up on an island where ‘Sodomites’ (gay people) were dumped and allowed to mingle with the island population. Alex knew that there was a certain zone of interactions between men that went from being merely friendly to sexual. He clearly steps into the bounds of sexual while fully realizing it.
“In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I [- - - - - -].”
Ahhhhhhhhh my son Alex, could you be more explicit? Alex here is obviously referring to his something else (you know) with the knowledge that John Lauren’s knows the size. This sentence right here is basically just one long ;).
“Your friend” seems to be written teasingly, as if they both know how far from friends they are.
And we can only guess how dirty Alex got in those last six CUT OUT words.
“Dear Boy” [sent by John Laurens]
John laurens calls his wife his ‘dear girl’, and here he calls Alex his ‘dear boy’. Moreover, Laurens did not call any other man he ever wrote to as his ‘dear boy’. Laurens seems to see Alex as on the same level, if not higher, as his own wife.
“Did I mean to show my wit? If I did, I am sure I have missed my aim. Did I only intend to [frisk]? In this I have succeeded, but I have done more. I have gratified my feelings, by lengthening out the only kind of intercourse now in my power with my friend.”
This phrase right here I unfortunately do not see a lot when people talk about Alex and John’s letters. This, to me, is one of the most explicit. “Wit” also mean one’s you know what (here I give a nod to the Ravenclaw moto), so Hamilton’s saying he was pretty much just messing around with John the last letter he sent. This is the only sort of “intercourse” he is able to have with John, as they are both so far apart. He is incapable of ‘sexual’ intercourse because of their distance, so he feels he must, in the 18th century way, sext.
“I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation.”
As you might have already guessed, Alex is inviting John to a threesome on his wedding night. The idea that Alex feels so at ease inviting John to a threesome with his wife suggests they have already had something going for a long time now.
“But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful –”
Here Alex compares himself to John’s lover, and a jealous one at that. John seems to be shying away from Alex’s bawdiness, as if realizing how strange their relationships is in retrospect. Alex is scrambling to hang on to him, even though he knows well what are and what happens to Sodomites. He would do anything for John while knowing the consequences. And John is too afraid to join him.
And who the hell knows what the last word was.
“And believe me, I am lover in earnest,”
*cough cough* looks like John knows exactly what happens when Alex’s feeling frisky.
“She [Eliza] loves you a l'americaine not a la francoise.”
The French were renowned for their relaxed stance on extramarital love affairs, while Americans were more Puritan-minding and thought love affairs only should happen in church-sanctioned marriages. Thus Eliza has an a l’americaine love of John Laurens, rather than an a la francoise.
“You will be pleased to recollect in your negotiations that I have no invincible antipathy to the maidenly beauties & that I am willing to take the trouble of them upon myself.”
*cough* this sentence is a bit confusing, and could be taken a few ways. What I infer from this is that Alexander Hamilton is willing, and John knows this, to assume an air of femininity because he finds no fault with it. It was commonly noted by people who wrote of Hamilton that he was very feminine in comparison with other men of his day. Alex’s femininity seems to please John, the topic even having been discussed between the two in ‘negotiations’.
“My ravings are for your own bosom”
Alex desperately misses Laurens’ intimate contact in a way that, in my opinion, could never be mistaken as simply friendship. Alex literally wants to be held by John. How fucking heartbreaking is that.
“Yrs for ever”
Ok, this one isn’t sexual, but I had to add it because it is so heartbreaking. This was Alex’s last farewell note to John. That is, if he even received it. He died shortly after Alex sent the letter; whether he read the farewell or not is all lost to history. Alex loved John so much, despite the fact that both already had a wife. He would have always loved him, even if they had grown apart…
A juggalo, a deeply uncharismatic sociopath, and Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge-era Gerard Way walk into a bar.
They order drinks. This happens in a montage. The drinks arrive, also in a montage. There is choral chanting.
The sociopath and Gerard Way share the same drink, sipping from different straws. They stare at one another in silence. The juggalo looks on.
A long time passes. It is difficult to say how long. But just as it finally seems as though the sociopath may be about to say something out loud, Gerard Way rises and disappears into the bar bathroom.
He does not return.
Moments later, a twelve year old in a cheap wig and an off-brand Lestat enter. The sociopath and juggalo exchange glances. They did not expect company.
The newcomers’ presence changes the whole vibe. The bar is weird now. How did this middle-schooler get in here? Why are he and not-Lestat fighting? Is anyone expected to care?
The sociopath remembers sharing a definitely non-sexual vodka cranberry with Gerard Way. Simpler times.
The juggalo starts to feel like he’s hanging out with the wrong people.
Not-Lestat, it turns out, can’t hold his liquor, and folds down, head on the bar, in a matter of minutes. You can’t help but wonder why he was invited at all.
Meanwhile, the kid starts flicking pieces of olive off the garnish tray at the sociopath. The sociopath tries to enjoy his lonely vodka cranberry. The kid persists. The sociopath flicks an olive back. The kid gets up from his bar stool, walks across the room, and puts a cocktail umbrella through the sociopath’s eye.
More choral music. Flashbacks to excruciatingly recent events. The kid leaves. The sociopath slides to the floor. Gerard Way still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. The juggalo sees himself out.
The bartender wonders how this fucking trainwreck is so popular.