You know what? I don’t WANT an awkward double date. I don’t WANT buck coming out and people having the ‘I know’ reaction or the ‘is it Eddie’ reaction.
You know what I do want?
I want Buck panicking over what to wear for the date. I want Buck flopping on his bed like very teenager after their first kiss all giggly and happy and touching his lips because he kissed a boy
I want Buck smiling every time he says Tommy’s name because maybe it isn’t forever and maybe he’s not even looking for forever anymore but he’s so happy and he’s so light and being with Tommy feels good
I want Tommy to keep calling him Evan, because before Buck was Buck he was Evan and Evan deserves to be happy to be treated so softly and lovingly and Evan deserves to be free.
I want Buck to be happy. To be happy and free and queer in the way we all deserve.
2K notes
·
View notes
something the women in my family are absolutely flabbergasted by every time it comes up is the fact that i don’t own a scale.
“how do you know how much you weigh??” they cry.
“i don’t.” i simply respond.
“you look thinner, have you lost weight?” they ask at christmas.
“i dunno.” i say as i check on the turkey.
“you look bigger, have you gained weight?” they probe, as if my weight rests on their shoulders.
“i’m not sure, but it’s fine if i have.” i respond with a casualness they cannot comprehend.
“don’t you want to know if you’ve lost or gained?” they inquire over cups of coffee and a plate of untouched cookies.
“i do.” i take a sip. “which is why i don’t need to know.”
“we don’t understand.” they say.
“i’ll drive myself mad if i know. it’s been a question i’ve been looking for the answer to since i was in the seventh grade and my weight was the topic of conversation for the first time; the stretch marks on my calves puberty brought being questioned and condemned. and so i started weighing myself once a day. then twice a day. i gained weight as i grew and was told to stop. i got depressed when i was 16 and the weight i gained was more concerning than the scars on my thighs. the critiques turned to compliments during my first year of college when i’d started skipping meals and my body had to feed itself because i wouldn’t. everyday i stepped on the scale and smiled as i watched that number get smaller and smaller. hunger felt like victory. i started doing drugs that took away my appetite and then my strength. and started feeling guilt when my stomach felt full. and suddenly every time i looked in the mirror i hated what i saw. the more weight i lost, the better i was supposed to feel. each remark on another part of my body lost felt like a slap to the face. i was told i looked good but i knew i wasn’t good enough. and so i tried harder. and then i started to get dizzy when i stood. and i ignored it like i’d learned to ignore my hunger. and then one day at work i dropped like the weight that was never enough after i bending at the waist to grab a milk cap from the floor. and when the darkness faded, i was surrounded by panic as an ambulance was called. and then i was tested and prodded and poked because they thought something was wrong with my heart. and the problem persisted but they never found out why. but i’d known all along. and then i left home and its scale behind. and moved into a new home that was mine. so i bought plates and sheets and art for the walls. but i didn’t buy a scale. then every time i walked down an aisle i’d see the them and pause. and i’d think about the hunger i now kept at bay. and even though i didn’t know how much i weighed, i didn’t notice my body had changed. and i’d think about how i hadn’t been dizzy for months. and how i hadn’t fainted for longer. and then i’d keep on walking. and now most days i like how i look.”
“but don’t you want to be skinny?” comes their quiet response.
“i want to be myself in whatever body i have.”
they stare in disbelief. so i shrug my shoulders, and grab a cookie. and i smile at them as i swallow the first bite.
1K notes
·
View notes
So, with the addition of 중력 to the qsmp, and even more KR ccs to come, I feel like it’s time to say it again; DO NOT LITERALLY TRANSLATE HIS NAME!!!
It’s okay to romanize it as ‘Jungryeok’, but please do not address him as ‘Gravity.’ I know we had this talk with 악어 (Acau) and to not call him crocodile, but I’m already seeing some people complaining about how hard his name is. It’ll take some time to get used to, but please please please call him 중력. If I had to give a guide on how to pronounce it, it would be like ‘jung-nyeok.’ It’s not one for one, but he’ll introduce himself and then you can base your pronunciation off of that.
1K notes
·
View notes
i lov eyour gerry. a and your michael. cccould we see Them please. .. fjjfjfjfjfhshgshdjfj
i like to think this is their early dynamic and it tickles me
919 notes
·
View notes
I feel like the first thing Sokka would do after the war would be to go hunt for his space sword. It landed on land, right? It’s made of space rock and it’s his favorite thing. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d be out there hobbling in that crazy terrain on his busted leg trying to find that thang
2K notes
·
View notes
Sigh. I’m asking about the f*ckable cities
thank you for asking number one fuckable city easily chicago (lake micchy trains bean MUST I say more). number two fuckable city paris BUT she does have herpes and you WILL contract it. number three fuckable city leipzig (not technically fuckable you must make love to her but it will be worth it)
number one UNfuckable city is endless suburban purgatory with ten blocks of what vaguely passes for a real downtown (st. louis). number two unfuckable city is london (obvious)
844 notes
·
View notes
I love slow, deliberate kisses. The kind of kisses where first your nose brushes against hers and then you can feel her breath on your lips and your hand moves up to her cheek and then, only after a few moments of breathing the same air do your lips touch. I want kisses that are long and heavy and syrupy.
1K notes
·
View notes