Me Waking Up In The Morning: Mm Bed Soft And Comfy

Some people are given wings.

Others are born with weights tied to their ankles. And still, they are told to fly.

What's the trope name for when someone finds out they're the Chosen One(tm) and is like "No, thank you" and goes and does something else

• an asexual hero who people cannot avoid even if they go out of their way to try, once the hero has picked them; veey useful in catching supervillains

lgbt rep on television, otherwise known as:

the dead lesbian

the token gay

the suffering bisexual

the non-existent trans person

the meaning of life is….dipping carbs into liquids ….bread into soup…biscuits into tea…that’s it

My fatal flaw? I can't name genres of music.

How can people hear a bunch of funky tunes and think "Ah yes, this is Indie Folk Rock with Punk influences" like what???

Just a silly lighthearted page for today :>

My heart aches a little every time I see someone grieving a person who's still alive. Someone’s staring too long at a contact they’ll never text again. Someone’s walking a familiar route slower than usual, as if the past might catch up and hold their hand. Someone’s deleting pictures, only to check the trash folder ten minutes later.

Healing is cruel, isn’t it? It asks you to carry silence like it’s a gift. It asks you to remember without falling apart. It asks you to be okay with never getting an apology.

But mourn. mourn fully, if that’s what you need. Cry on the bathroom floor. whisper their name in the dark if it helps. just promise me you’ll learn the shape of your own hands again.

And next time, hold your own heart a little gentler.

Realizing that your childhood wasn’t gentle, wasn’t safe, wasn’t what it should have been is not just painful, it’s disorienting. You grow up and suddenly the things that felt normal start to rot in your memory. The silence at dinner. The sharpness in your mother’s voice. The way your father existed more like a shadow than a person, and now you’re old enough to understand it. The generational ache. The damage passed down like a family recipe, spoon-fed until it tasted like home.

But where does that leave you?

Because now you’re the one with shaking hands and soft words, trying not to be bitter, trying to be kind to people who never learned how to be kind to you,trying to heal while still making excuses for the people who cracked you open and maybe they didn’t mean to hurt you, maybe they were hurt too. But it still hurts.

And no one warns you about the guilt. How you’ll feel selfish for wanting to be angry, how you’ll sit with your grief like it’s something you stole, how you’ll wonder if you’re allowed to say “that wasn’t fair” without sounding ungrateful for the love they tried to give.

I'm tired of being the bigger person, tired of swallowing the screams just because they loved me in their own way.

Because sometimes love, if it’s careless, can still leave bruises. and I’m still tracing mine like a map, trying to find my way out of this mess they never cleaned up.

Childhood friends au

I just really like the idea of kid Jayce being shorter than kid Viktor

lgbt rep on television, otherwise known as:

the dead lesbian

the token gay

the suffering bisexual

the non-existent trans person