notmushu
dragon child
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womp-womp-chomp-chomp
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gaymershigh
✨𝓔𝓹𝓮𝓵 𝓑𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓻𝓸𝓽✨
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HEARTBREAKING: Poor girl has to get out of the soft warm bed even though she is so so so so comfy
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i love when poetry does that (makes every moment of my life stack on top of one another and sit on my heart until i am sure every cell in my body remembers it is alive again)
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not me
MUSHU in Mulan (1998)
— dir. Tony Bancroft, Barry Cook
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marrying a woman means losing what little family i want to keep, being physically hurt by random people on the street, never feeling safe in my own body, remembering that i am always a little broken. i don’t think there’ll be a woman who will really love me and not leave, anyway. i have a sneaking suspicion i’m going to be very lonely.
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Somehow I cannot hide
who I am
though I’ve tried.
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like cynthia erivo strutting down center stage in those yellow pants is everything
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i used to want to be the woman who spread light and love everywhere she went. i wanted to bring joy to as many people as possible. i tried doing that and i ended up lonely and exhausted. i think the answer is to be extremely loving and nurturing of yourself, so that whenever someone interacts with you, they get the best version of you, and then they are happier. i think instead of spreading light everywhere i go, i’ll build a bigger flame inside me and the warmth will shine through.
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“You would have imagined her at one moment a maniac, at another a queen.”
— Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame (via kvngslayer)
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this scene broke my heart, i know how he feels
— Something happened at the North Pole and I couldn’t protect someone. I don’t want anything like that to ever happen again.
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good morning today i am thinking about protective sokka
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sometimes i think about gay people who lived centuries ago who thought they were all alone who imagined a world where they could live openly as themselves who met in secret spoke in code defied everything and everyone just to exist and i’m like..i gotta sit down. whew i gotta sit down
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With strokes so soft that makes even the lily pads shy away in shame, one could mistake the silk birds as curious visitors. Nestling gently in the Crimson Quarter and eager to graze their floral counterparts, the artist captures the essence of fragile watercolour perfectly, skillfully spinning heavy silk into gentle hues.
artist: 南栀子-
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