Part of why I’m so defensive of the name Thistle is that I just think it fits him so perfectly and has some really interesting meaning you can assign to it outside of it just being his eye color.
Where I come from, thistles are considered a nuisance species. They have massive taproots that burrow deep underground, so once one pops up in your garden or yard you’re going to have a hell of a time removing it. The scotch thistle, like above, is considered invasive and listed as a noxious weed, and though there are many native thistle species they all tend to get lumped together by the average person.
And yet, thistles are incredibly important to their local ecosystem. They provide food and shelter for many species, especially pollinators, and are hardy survivalists. In some places they’re seen very favorably, such as being the symbol of Scotland. Their prickly nature means that few people are likely to mess with them, which makes them an effective symbol of resilience and protection.
But, despite this, to many they are just weeds. A nuisance, to be tolerated at best and exterminated with little prejudice if the wrong kind is in the wrong place to the point that it draws attention. Despite the fact that ultimately it is us humans who brought them to these new locations. I think there is no malice in simply trying to be alive.
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what do you mean youre technically a detransitioner cause of terf bullshit?
it's a v long story but i detransitioned for a couple of years when i was 16/17, for multiple reasons but mostly because i fell into the blaire white/kalvin garrah chamber of "you have to be This way to be trans otherwise you're not real".
i was already Deeply insecure about myself and my 'passing' and i was led to believe that i couldn't want to wear makeup or skirts, and i couldn't choose not to have bottom surgery, and i couldn't do anything but bind for 12+ hours a day to the point that my ribcage is still misshapen. basically i thought that if i wasn't suffering enough doing 'feminine' things, i couldn't really be trans, so i should just go back to being a girl and suck it up.
the terf bullshit is because i'd seen a lot of terfs/detransitioners talking about the 'dangers' of testosterone and how it would turn me into a horrible ugly evil monster and how there was nothing worse than wanting to be a man. which combined with 'you need to fully medically transition to be valid at all' creates some very dangerous and upsetting feelings to cope with.
it also came from trying really hard to put myself in a little box before i realised that my sexuality/gender are very fluid and it's FINE for me not to have a label and just do whatever i want. when i was 19 or so i went back to using they/them (and eventually he/him) and changed my name again because even though i like doing 'feminine' things, i don't want to be seen as a woman.
tldr: i was conditioned by transphobic/terf rhetorics to think that i was being trans the 'wrong' way so i couldn't be trans at all, so i believed i must actually be a girl if i still wanted to do 'feminine' things. nowadays i am a transmasc who does feminine things because i don't give two shits about what any transmed prick thinks of me anymore.
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"It's just a weekend trip." Steve tries to remind himself as he watches Eddie's van drive away.
Eddie's band got a gig in Indy for two nights and Eddie looked so excited and Steve would've gone too but he had an really shift Sunday morning and after all, "It's just a weekend trip."
Eddie calls of course the moment they get settled at Jeff's cousin's apartment. Steve can hear his smile through the phone and picture it clearly in his mind. He can hear the others teasing Eddie in the background, classic fake kissing sounds from the other boys.
"I'll be home before you know it, sweetheart."
"Yeah, it's just a weekend trip."
Eddie is back in his trailer happy and smiling ready to tell Steve everything that happened by the time he's back from his shift two days later. Just a weekend trip.
Except it wasn't.
"You're going again?"
"Yeah just for the weekend, no biggy."
"Right, just a weekend trip." I was the fourth in six weeks.
Eddie wasn't in Steve's bed by Sunday night and there was a voicemail left on the machine.
"Sorry sweetheart,"
"Sorry Steven,"
"They want us to play a couple more shows this week."
"Your father has a few more meetings to go to."
"This could be really great for the band though!"
"It's going to be great for the business."
"I'll be back soon."
"We'll be back soon."
"Love you!"
"Goodnight Steven."
He's back by Wednesday night. He looks so excited, Steve wants to be too.
"Are you going next weekend?"
"Of course not, that's your birthday baby, can't miss that."
"Course not." See it's fine Eddie isn't them, he's different, he loves Steve.
"I've just gotta go for a meeting in the morning sweetheart I'll be back by the end of your shift you won't even notice, then we'll have cake and I'll make you dinner which will be burnt but burnt with love Stevie!"
It's easy to get swept up in it, to take the kiss on the cheek and the wave goodbye and the promise of later.
There's a leftover slice of cake in the fridge when he gets the call.
"Hey, sweetheart I'm so sorry I missed your birthday, the fucking van carked it a mile outta Indy, I'll be there when you wake up ok? I love you."
"Love you too Eds."
It's easy to accept the excuses because they're easy, the van breaks all the time, Eddie's band is getting more shows, just one more weekend, just one more night.
There's boxes scattered around the trailer.
"Going on a trip?"
"Three months."
The Harringtons last three month trip was four years ago, Steve wonders if they even remember the house phone number.
"It's just three months."
Steve can feel the end is standing in front of him. He wants to freeze this moment, he wants to hug Eddie and he wants to tell him he'll see him Sunday night and he wants to get excited hearing about Jeff tripping in a wire and he wants Eddie to stay and he wants Eddie to go and he wants this moment to just freeze and never end.
He wants his parents to choose to stay in Hawkins and not miss his birthday or graduation or hospital trips and he wants his mom to have kissed his cheek goodbye or his dad to at least wave, he wants one more phone call of we'll be home soon.
"I won't go if you don't want me to and if you want me to go I've gotta have you there, Stevie."
Steve feels his heartbeat stop.
"What?"
"I don't want to miss your birthday ever again, sweetheart, I don't want to come home and you're already asleep, I want you there or me here no more it's just one trip. I don't want to be your parents, Stevie."
Slowly, Steve's heart starts beating again, and the moment doesn't have to end.
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harder than you think
i. When the Narnians stole Edmund away from beneath the Witch's blade, they told him he was safe. This wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.
ii. They brought him to the Stone Table. It was night. Edmund doubted very much that he would find safety there, for he still recoiled at the name of Aslan. He slept fitfully and woke the next morning before the sun was up.
iii. A sliver of gold just beyond the tent flap captured his attention, there in the dark. Unaccountably, Edmund felt the urge to rise and go towards it.
iv. And there was Aslan, who was supposed to be fearsome, supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be powerful, and he was he was he was. Dimly, Edmund felt himself hitting the ground.
v. But then Aslan said, “Come, Son of Adam. Let us walk a while, and reason together.”
vi. And as they walked together, in the cool dewy grass of early morning, the Lion told Edmund everything that he had ever done.
vii. They were standing in front of the Table when the conversation turned. Aslan spoke a riddle of a house blasted into rubble which he would piece back together overnight. He spoke of flesh being pierced, blood being shed, and of rejected stones being used for new foundations. He spoke about water welling up forever, washing you clean of everything you ever did wrong, all the blood that you ever thought of shedding, everything you ever tried to steal, and a river that carries you home when you can't walk anymore and spits you out brand new when it reaches the sea.
viii. Edmund's head swam. Silently, he yearned for the wisdom to understand what he was being told; or, failing that, at least to remember it for as long as it took him to puzzle it out.
ix. And then, the Witch. Then, the battle. The thrones. A year passed, and winter came. In its time, it melted back to glorious spring.
x. “Edmund,” said Lucy one day. “There's something we need to tell you.” She and Susan were cloaked in springtime gossamer, like fairy queens in poems he only half remembered. They sat on the window seat in his study, holding hands white-knuckled: his two beloved sisters.
xi. “It's about Aslan,” Susan said. “And the White Witch, and how he made her renounce her claim on your blood. The night before Beruna, he went back to the Stone Table.”
xii. “He let her kill him,” Lucy cut in. “Instead of you. And then, because he hadn't done anything wrong, the Emperor's Deeper Magic brought him back to life.”
xiii. “We've been arguing all year about how much to tell you,” said Susan wryly. Then, a little gentler, “We don't want to hurt you, but we feel you ought to be told what he did for you.”
xiv. And Edmund, who had never forgotten what Aslan told him on that cool, dewy morning before the sun came up, shut his eyes and whispered, “I know.”
xv. I know, he said. I know that he died. I know that he did it for me. I know he lived again because I saw him the next day, and the next, and the next. I think I know what it means - or at least, I know the shape of it.
xvi. “Oh,” said Lucy. “We should have realized that he would have told you himself.”
xvii. “Yes. But please, tell me the story all the same.”
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