Every Girl Should Make Out With Alternate Timeline Versions Of Themselves

right yes. the dress. that is definitely what i was staring at. your dress. nice ass. i mean! dress! nice tits! dress! fuck!

new dress

not mother artifice being everything i've struggled not to be and felt unloveable for as an autistic person and just casually having a bunch of caring and understanding friends who love him anyway????? as if maybe the things i was taught were inherently wrong with me aren't actually bad so much as socially frowned upon by a neuroableist society??!?!?!?

i feel totally normal about this character =)

gods, i love f1nn5ter. he's such a pretty princess, but also she's such a stinky boy.

so i'll go for days or weeks without touching tumblr and then boom a flurry of 20-something reblogged trans tit pics happen all at once and i think this is just my normal or whatever

for some reason people are following me uh hi i hope you're alright with that

...fuck.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

I can't keep having the same conversations about love languages, mbti, iq, bmi, "brain fully formed at 25" and shit over and over again...

yup.

all good doctor who ships fall under the category of “not platonic, not romantic, not even a secret third thing but an even more secret and fucked up fourth thing”

...consider me intrigued. And curious.

do I go back to my roots and draw river song in such self indulgent ways I get confused messages in my askbox

real.

trans girls are the favourites of the gods.

i’m loving being trans so much lately that i don’t even wish i was born a girl anymore. this is just actually better

there is no soul bolder, freer, or more glorious than the polyamorous tranny slut