not to harp on this point but the care with which a girl you’ve known for maybe three weeks will ask you “what’s wrong?” if you look even mildly distressed is more emotional labor than you’d receive from any man over the course of six lunar cycles
if my dad sees me crying, he pretends he’s getting a call so that we don’t have to have an awkward conversation, but a drunk girl who stumbled across me in a public bathroom would literally become my emotional triage nurse
a concept: i have finished my wip. there are no spelling, usage, or grammatical errors. all open conflicts have been seamlessly resolved. my otp has engaged in emotionally validating and sexually satisfying fornication. i hit refresh on ao3 to find a 20% kudos to hits ratio. a dozen 200-word analytical comments wait in my inbox, praising me on my literary conviction and clever use of canon in my fresh perspective au world. my readers recommend it to other readers. it becomes fandom famous, known by the acronym of its title which has a flourishing tumblr tag. this is the apex; i have arrived.
punkpixel 