#queersurvival

A lavender marriage refers to a type of marriage that was historically arranged between two individuals of the opposite sex, but where one or both partners were actually queer (gay, lesbian, or bisexual). The term "lavender" is used to evoke the idea of queerness, as lavender has long been associated with LGBTQ+ culture and symbolism, though the term itself was coined in the early-to-mid 20th century. And Agatha is cannon sapphic, and Ralph existence in Westview erases suspicion, just like real lavender marriages did.

She texted me:

“If you’re free, call me.”

So I did.

I told her I was queer.

I told her my name is Maddie.

I told her I don’t like being called [insert deadname].

She screamed.

She said I was delusional.

She asked who brainwashed me.

She demanded to know who I lived with.

She said, “You were always a manly man. You can’t be gay. I’m your mother.”

I told her I’ve loved boys, girls, and nonbinary people.

That there’s nothing wrong with me.

That this is who I’ve always been.

She told me to take off my earring.

Told me to go back to being “normal.”

She said, “Hopefully, God willing, this will go away.”

I said: “No.”

She asked: “What do you want from us now?”

I told her:

“Nothing. Accept me, or don’t talk to me at all.”

She paused.

Clutched her imaginary pearls.

And then she said, as spitefully as she could manage:

“Goodbye, [insert deadname].”

And I said:

“Yeah yeah. Whatever. Goodbye.”

—

That was April 1st, 2025.

The day the curtain dropped.

The day I stopped letting legacy speak louder than truth.

I didn’t beg.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t break.

This wasn’t closure.

It was an execution.

They don’t get to name me.

They don’t get to silence me.

They don’t get to pretend I’m theirs anymore.

I spoke. I burned. I lived.