tap water made me gay

“It's taboo to admit that you're lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven't left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you're not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are. A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn't transition well to adult life, that you'd fall right through the cracks. And look at you now, it's happening.”

Being overstimulated is such a weird thing to explain to people. Like "hey sorry, I'm not mad at you and this is nobody's fault and I'm not blaming anyone for it happening, I am aware this is a part of regular everyday life but I am mentally crumbling because There Have Been Things Happening nonstop for 5 hours straight back to back with no breaks, and I really need to sit down in complete silence for like 15-25 minutes, after which I will be completely fine and can proceed as normal. But if I'm not allowed to have that, I will resort to violence."

you people cant be crying about blonde blue eyed men.

Naruto means everything to us

ok sorry carry on

being queer and seeing historical queer love is like a punch to the gut in a good way every time

sometimes all it takes is one cool breeze and i'm like. wow.. i'm going to live the fullest life everything is so great and i am so grateful and alive

Imagine you’re alone in a public bathroom, peeing in a urinal, and some guy walks in, walks over to you, pushes you out of the way, and begins peeing in the urinal you were using.

moth girl giggling and blushing kicking her feet in the air writing in a pretty pink journal with a cute glittery pen and when you look at the page its just a bunch of drawings of streetlamps

you learn the words to say like they were part of your mother tongue all along. you call me handsome, strong, warm, yours. at night, you breathe a new name, without hesitation. you dance your fingers across my skin, and miraculously, not one touch hurts. you know the sore spots, the places i’ve wished away in the past but am learning to accept now, and your touch is nothing but soothing. there is a language to loving butches, one that we ourselves might not even know at first, but you never stutter.