boys of tommen may be one of the best book series i’ve ever read and i’m genuinely not okay about it?? like i finished the last book and immediately felt that weird hollow ache in my chest like someone ripped my fictional lifeline out of me.
i love every single one of them. every. single. one. like okay my found family.
the feral attachment i’ve developed??? embarrassing. the fact that they’re not real??? criminal. the way i would sell my soul to be part of their little gang??? pathetic.
i’m literally walking around like a ghost because i miss them so much. can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t function. society does NOT understand my struggles.
and the worst part???
i have absolutely no one to talk about it with.
not a single friend who’s read it. not one soul to scream to about the feral loyalty and the trauma and the chaos and the softness and the way they make my neurons light up like it’s a rave in my brain.
at this point i’m genuinely considering starting a freaking diary just to cope. like some 1800s heartbroken maiden writing dear diary, today i missed fictional irish boys so much i almost perished.
i need new books asap before i start leaving cryptic notes in chalk on the sidewalk about how much i miss fictional people. until then i’ll be here, dramatically clutching my chest and whispering why aren’t you real into the void like an unhinged victorian ghost.
all my babies please come back to me
romaincrisis
origamiaround
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
areudirty
titsay
