CUZ WHEN HE LOVES ME I FEEL LIKE IM FLOATING WHEN HE CALLS ME PRETTY I FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY EVEN-

Love you sm @chrollohearttags @hoesluvshanti and @chosaya

I love yall

My mind is filtering out the lyrics, yet I still feel the sorrow of the song

it's fucked up how much comfort i get from "sex: fluid" and "a bit of both" like fuck marvel and fuck disney to the ends of the earth forever but it makes me feel so so happy. realistically it doesn't count much and is a bit of a cop out if they don't actively represent it on screen (which they won't) but god if it doesn't make me feel good about current media that even the most hateful heinous despicably evil corporation's biggest sub ent company is able to host smth like that on their site

i truly with all my heart wish i was better at being a friend

thinking about nineteen's dad, who's spent 20+ years refusing to believe his daughter is dead, that she has to be out there somewhere if she's not with him, refusing to give up on her and how nineteen remembers him, this fuzzy figure in her mind who used to sing her lullabies and spoke to her moments before she was taken, but he's almost nothing in her memories, but she's everything to him

very Catalan of me to be both mad and proud when someone with a Catalan surname is credited for something

even if they are referred to as "a Spanish person"

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

why are you cutting out during desert song.

maybe it's just my depression, but I think the best part about being sick is having an excuse to be alone. I'm sure this also ties into my trauma and my experience as a queer transmasc person but being alone just feels better- I don't have to sit with people that don't understand me or project their thoughts about being trans and queer on me. it's freeing; when I'm alone, I don't have to put up with deadnaming or misgendering and for that I'm grateful...

but when I spend time with my friends (who are also queer and trans in some way) I feel so seen and understood- and even though a part of me will always crave solitude, I savor each moment with them

yeah yeah opening a fic and "he would not fucking say that" but what about you open the fic and "he would fucking say that". what about that pure feeling of euphoria when it's exactly right the way you like it

brucie wayne is not immune to the sudden urge to hug his son

truly this one's just for me. I can do what I want foreverrr

his ass is NOT listening

sanic ✌ for the au perhaps? idk