sunflowersolace
autistic ramblings
name is will | he | bi | 19 | disabled
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Do you ever see a post by another trans guy and realize you live a very different life than other trans guys.
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all your issues with modern anime are this cunt's fault btw
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it’s actually so fucked up that i was born with a brain specifically designed to make me as miserable as possible and the only way to ever feel normal is to be in routine therapy for years and years and even then i’ll still be miserable. every day someone is like “well by the time you’re 30 you’ll be happy-“ I DONT WANT TO WAIT UNTIL THEN I WANT TO BE HAPPY NOW. i don’t want to go through torture forever! because being mentally ill is literally torture!
i was born with a brain designed to make me suffer. why do i deserve it? what did i do wrong? i was born, so i deserve to be tortured until i give up and off myself? this is how i know that the christian god isn’t real. because what the fuck.
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i really hate how online queer discourse has become “which flavor of trans person is most acceptable to treat like absolute shit”
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I’m far less interested in fiction where it’s like “This power/ability/prophecy is gender specific but trans inclusive” and for more interested in fiction that just… doesn’t do that
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“When someone asks you to read abt an oppressed group and then they link you a bunch of tumblr posts”
It may surprise you but the people making those posts are real people.
Is a trans women writing about transmisogyny immediately wrong because she posted her writing to tumblr?
Is a disabled person writing about ableism immediately wrong because they posted their writing to tumblr?
Historically oppressed groups have been denied the ability to publish their experiences so they turned to alternative ways to get people to listen. And right now that alternative way is social media.
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The way twitter and tiktok talk about dopamine responses you would think everyone was posting from a convent
You can make anything you hate in a "pathology" by writing about how it triggers a dopamine response: food, sex, social media, pop music, whatever.
And because you use big words, people will take it seriously when you speak, even if what you are saying is "doing something enjoyable is bad because it weakens your moral fiber." Because you didn't say those words, you said "this behavior rewirses your brain by triggering a dopamine response."
When quite literally any form of pleasure triggers a dopamine response! When I beat someone online at chess, it makes me happy. Does that mean chess is "the same as any addictive drug."
I joke, but the funny thing is, people did used to say this about pleasures we now see as enriching or classy. Reading novels was supposed to rot your brain, and Beethoven was too stimulating and could ruin your morals.
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when i tell you i'm not ready for the next two weeks
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hold on. Was suck him good and hard through his jorts supposed to conjour the image of someone who has an unzipped fly because this entire time I've been imagining someone slurping on wet denim
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trust me when you imply that all people who have struggles with going outside and interacting with society are 4chan incels you’re swinging and not hitting a single one of them. you’re just kicking the shit out of your disabled friends and followers
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ppl irl know me as a weird fag but they dont even know how weird and faggy i can get
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I’m gonna be honest I do not care if a trans boy teen is annoying and has horrible taste in music y’all are just mean.
I’d rather hang around with Karkat who listens to Cavetown than someone who is mean.
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prev
———
She brushes another kiss to his hidden face and settles against the car door, holding him. She thinks for a moment and decides on something old, a tune she heard on the radio once upon a time and never heard again; she’s warped it, now, no doubt about it, humming it from memory so long it’s changed to whatever she has made it. But Will recognises it from years of lullabies, picking up on the swooping baritones and mumbling the words into her shoulder.
“You know, that Han Solo shrine up in your room makes a lot more sense, now that I think about it.”
The melody dies in his throat.
“Mama.”
“I’m just saying.” She bites back a smirk, swatting away his smacking hands. “There was a point in time I thought it was admiration, you know, but you have a lot of posters of that open vest —”
“Mama!”
She acquiesces, this time, never having seen his poor face so scarlet, trying and failing to keep her laughter to herself. The tear tracks have long since dried and his breathing is steady, now, gangly limbs tucked into her ribs and hanging off the bend of her thigh. Flopped all over her like he used to to when he was young and she was still touring, when the world was too loud and too bright and too mean and she hid him from the sun. Her hands in his hair are to touch instead of soothe.
“Who’s the boy?”
“No.”
“C’mon, babydoll.” She pokes at his ribs, grinning widely when he rolls his eyes to hide his smile. “Tell me.”
“It’s nobody, Ma, gods.”
“Yeah, right. Not like you were comparing having a crush to killing someone in cold blood twenty minutes ago. Clearly it’s somebody.”
He, very pointedly, doesn’t answer.
Unfortunately, he forgets that he gets his stubborn from her.
“Hm. Can’t be anyone I haven’t heard of in a few weeks, or else it wouldn’t be bothering you. What names have you mentioned?”
He looks at her in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
Absolutely, she would. Her smile widens.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it ain’t Chiron, ‘cause then I’d have questions —”
“Oh my gods! Stop!”
“— an’ I doubt it’s that security fellow, with the eyes, although if it is no judgement —”
“I’m throwing myself out of this car! Right now! I’m gonna lay on the road ‘til someone hits me!”
“— Lord, you don’t mention many names. You’re a recluse, baby. You gotta make more than two friends.”
She stills. Will, perhaps guessing where she is going, makes a noise of deep, personal agony.
“Oh my stars, is it Cecil?”
“Ew, Ma!”
He strains against her hold but she tightens, hooking her elbow around his shoulders and flexing her other hand, pretending to examine her nails.
“It is, isn’t it? I mean, he is a very handsome young man. And he has a good heart, too, despite the — how to put it — distaste for the law —”
“I just threw up in my mouth! Right now! Stop it!”
“I should probably stop letting him stay in your room when he stays over, huh, that one’s on me —”
He wrenches himself away from her, finally, clambering over the seats and gagging like the mere idea makes him nauseous.
“Ew! Ew! I do not have a thing for Cecil, oh my gods, I might as well marry my cousin! Augh! I’m gonna throw up for real! Why would you even say that, oh my —”
“Alright, alright!” she laughs, kicking his rapidly repeating shoulder. “Holy Jesus, you are dramatic. I should call up camp and tell him you’re out here retchin’ at the mere thought.”
“Good,” Will says darkly, voice muffled from how deeply his head is buried in his hands, “make sure to also tell him he is a weasel.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that I am going to deface his vintage Hot Wheels collection.”
“Y’all have a strange friendship.”
“He’s not my friend, I am stuck with him via circumstance and because he refuses to leave me alone.”
She holds up her hands in surrender, refraining from pointing out the friendship bracelet he is currently wearing with a CM on it and that has not left his wrist in four years.
“Alright, alright. Not Cecil.”
He scoffs in agreement, ignoring her rolled eyes.
She wracks her brain for other boys he’s brought up in their phone calls, aside from people in passing. Mostly he mentions patients, really, answering her endless inquiries — it will never stop astounding her that he baby can practically sew heads back on bodies; she tells people he’s in med school and preens at their wide, impressed eyes — but there are other people he mentions, in between that and the pranks he’s frequently pulling with his friends.
“There was that boy you were so excited to keep around. Nick?”
“His name is Nico,” he corrects, and then immediately goes scarlet. “I — I mean, I have a friend, named Nico, not that —”
Her grin gets sharp as nails.
“He is — unwell! He’s travelled a lot, he needs monitoring so I am — monitoring him, you know, out of concern for his safety —”
“Nico and Wi-ill, sitting in a tree —”
“Oh my gods are you five —”
“You are steaming! I can actually feel the heat pouring off of you right now! You love him, you want to kiss him, you —”
“I am never telling you anything again in my entire life!” he hollers. “Never! Next time I think I should tell you something I’m just gonna — swallow glass”
She snickers. “Drama queen.”
He sticks out his tongue as she situates herself back in her own seat, turning the keys in the engine. His puts his dirty converse on the dash despite her grouching, reaching over to fight her for control of the radio, flapping his hand excitedly when she lets him win and something bright and overdone starts playing. His bandage stays where it is, tied loosely around his wrist.
“I’m glad you told me, you know.”
He smiles, small and genuine, leaning into the palm she cups around his cheek. The dimple in the centre of his right cheek is back, the scrunch of his freckled nose. She presses a lingering kiss smack dab in the centre of his forehead and he leans into it, trusting.
“I know.”
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