#this is weird and unrelatable

[val-the-flatworm]

I'm too deep in the sauce

random internet person: "i know we've never talked but let's be friends."

me: "oh my god, yes, and we can talk about stratic catalids of mitoprotonades."

me: "where are you going? would you rather discuss nucleatides of selenia?"

the guy from before: "i'm gonna hang with my friends now. don't follow me."

[yfelz]

I did my testosterone injection, and it's my 23rd week doing HRT.

It's crazy how deep my voice has gotten??? And all this body hair. Muscle growth and whatnot.

I'm so pissed that my body didn't get the memo to do all of this naturally. Sucks to suck, I guess? Screw being born different?

The fact that I'm so behind regarding puberty is... kinda embarrassing....

No wonder I'm only 5'3, my growth was prematurely stunted because puberty just didn't happen on its own.

Also, just wanted to say that I'm really glad I went down the whole "boy" route. I guess I could've decided to go on Estrogen? Not sure I'd enjoy being a girl though. (misogyny and all that) (also being raised as a girl throughout most of my early childhood sucked ASS...)

[anyataylorjoys]

people will lie for attention online which may have started out as a troll until they build friendships based on those lies and then claim they were "roleplaying" as a way to absolve themselves from the fact that they fed people bullshit possibly for years without remorse.

[jaded-of-mara]

star wars: andor | volga german wedding traditions | ahsgr | beer barrel polka | margaritaville | chimney rock | my ántonia

[megkuna]

where's that post about how USamericans talk about gifted kid programs like it was a supersoldier program. it makes me laugh so hard

[br1ghtestlight]

there's nothing wrong with love simon and similar movies/tv but its just so painfully unrelatable to me as it focuses so much on the experience of neurotypical cis white middle class americans & their queerness with happy normal families which is just SO FAR. from my own experience. it doesn't do anything for me

i dont think there's anything wrong with it and im happy some people enjoyed it or found themselves but for me it's painfully boring and sometimes feels isolating & lonely. i dont expect anyone else to have the same experiences ive had in life and i dont expect to ever feel "represented" in any media anymore. but im allowed to feel that its kinda boring and basic for my own experiences anyway

[autumnoakes]

the way i tell if something is a special interest vs. hyperfixation is if i dream about it. i'm not even kidding, if it happens to become a part of my dreams, it's a special interest. but if not, it's a hyperfixation

[yakulmybestfriend]

just finished invincible season 1. hmm. top ten shows to watch when you've recently discovered something about your dad that completely changed everything and you didn't quite believe it at first but now that's just kinda There

[smilesession]

not normie enough to fit in but not fringe enough to lean into being a freak, worst of both worlds, pure liminality, just the weird coworker, and unrelatable classmate. and your mutual

[cloudbattrolls]

on one hand the world deserves more good yuri rep. on the other hand I love writing terrible yuri rep forever.

[the-nova-council]

I used to think alters in order to 'count' had to have complete memory barriers and different surnames and somehow totally different lives and I didn't understand how anyone could not know they had DID. And the other versions of me that live in my head and sometimes control my body agreed with me.

[wewontbesleeping]

found out i'm apparently neurotypical today lol

[prokopetz]

One of the benefits of broadening one's horizons beyond the half-a-dozen tabletop RPGs the "play a second game" crowd predictably trots out every time the topic of alternatives to Dungeons & Dragons comes up is that no matter how weird and isolating and unrelatable you think your deal is, eventually you will bump into a game written by and for someone who has exactly the same thing wrong with them that you do.

[aroaceenjolras]

alloromantic people are so fucking weird about devoted nonromance in fiction. "I want it to blur the lines between platonic and romantic" good for you. I don't. I want there to be no doubt that the devoted nonromantic relationships I enjoy reading and writing about are nonromantic. I want them to be completely unrelatable to alloromantic people. I want them to be so absolutely and selflessly loving that no one could possibly think there's romance involved

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, interrupting himself mid-live streaming because Steve got home from work: Hey, baby. My PR manager called me today and said that you’re making me look “unrelatable” with your “big spending purchases”

Steve: Eddie, you’re the only guy I know who has been accused of murder, incited a mob, got ate by bats, and helped a band of plucky nerds save the world.

Steve: People like you because you’re weird. Not because you’re relatable. You have never been relatable

Steve:

Steve: Freak

Eddie, to the camera: That’s mean girl talk for ‘I love you.’

[aayakashii]

"Go inside. Immediately." Romeo lightly pushed you inside his obscenely wide bathroom and pointed at the tall wooden stool propped in front of his bathroom counter.

"You really don't have to do this..." you dragged your feet slowly and stood awkwardly beside the seating, staring at yourself in the mirror.

You had a full face of makeup, carefully and masterfully applied by Romeo himself after he required your presence in Sinostra for a special night. Some rich student decided to celebrate their birthday at the casino, and Romeo would be damned not to take that chance to drain their pockets for all they were worth.

What was your role in it? Romeo wasn't really sure. But he did make sure, however, that you were there and impeccably attired.

And he did a great job, if he must say so himself. Especially with your eyes. They looked striking and sharp, and he watched all night, with smugness and a bit of a weird discomfort he couldn't quite understand, how so many students seemed to willingly trap themselves inside your gaze. If Romeo could have gotten a nickel for every student who complimented your eyes, he was pretty sure he could have made some solid cash.

Alas, he didn't, so he could only listen as stupid boy after stupid girl after stupid boy after stupid girl came and went, complimenting his very own work of art. The makeup. Obviously. Makeup is artistry, after all. You just happened to be a convenient, compliant canvas (that he kept close to himself all night).

Or so he kept saying to himself.

"Quiet." He hissed, closing the door to the bathroom and making his way towards you and his counter. He unceremoniously grabbed your shoulders and turned you around, with your back now facing the mirror.

"If I don't do this, you'll definitely do a terrible job removing your makeup, then you'll get acne because of those clogged pores, and THEN you'll be even more of an eyesore for me. In the end, I'm doing this for MY sake. Sit down and shut up." He rambled on, satisfied enough with his excuse, as he thoroughly washed his hands.

"Sure..." you said, rolling your eyes, disbelief making itself clear on your voice as you sat on the wooden stoll.

"Do you have any allergies?" He rummaged through the drawers of his counter, carefully selecting a whole collection of products and placing them right next to you. Romeo flipped his hair as he admired himself in the mirror for a second.

"No, siree." You answered, feet dangling as you read the flashy labels of the products.

"Good." He huffed. "Lean back on the counter and close your eyes. Don't open them, otherwise you're gonna get itchy eyes and I don't wanna hear you whine."

"Ooookay." You muttered and leaned back, doing as he said. You knew there wasn't much reason for you to discuss with him when he had his mind set on doing something his way, so you just chose to accept your fate.

Romeo opened a bottle of ridiculously expensive micellar water and poured it on a makeup wipe, shuffling closer to you as he leaned down to apply it on your face.

As much as he tried not to focus on your face as he slowly dragged the cotton pad on your skin, Romeo couldn't help but observe all of your minute details.

He couldn't help but notice how your pores were a bit bigger on your cheeks and how you had the thinnest, almost imperceptible, crease lines between your eyebrows. Probably from furrowing them on the daily, and knew he probably contributed to the etching of those lines on you. He thought of maybe getting you your own jade roller but dismissed the idea with a shake of his head – why would he willingly spend his own money on someone else? That would never be his brand.

He noticed the acne scars on your cheeks and your forehead and scowled. Not at the markings per se, but at how his mind immediately raced to imagine how you looked during your teenage years. You were probably a mess, even more unkempt and disastrous than you were as an adult – a pitiful ugly duckling; something completely unrelatable to Romeo, who had perfect porcelain skin his whole life (a courtesy of being born with a golden spoon in his hands).

And yet, it still frustrated him how he would never be privy to the life you had before meeting him. He would never see you grow into yourself, like a baby deer with shaking legs finally learning how to trot a little less clumsily. Romeo would never be part of a whole chunk of your past, and deep inside, it upset him.

And the fact that he was upset made him scowl ever harder. His fingers unconsciously pressed down on your skin more forcefully, and you winced.

"Hey, don't use so much strenght." You murmured, holding his wrist with one hand. Romeo clicked his tongue, shaking you off.

He grabbed another cotton pad and applied a dab of moisturizer, resuming his ministrations with less intensity.

And with them, his eyes focused on you again: on the dark circles under your eyes and your darker eyelids. On the fine smile lines on the sides of your lips and the bunny lines on the bridge of your nose. He analyzed every patch of discoloration and hyperpygmentation on your face with some sort of secret reverence that he wished eluded him, but didn't.

After all, you lived through joy, sorrow, anger, and despair, and your skin told your story to those who could see it up close. You were an open book for him, someone who could read the words carved in every little detail of your face. He could almost claim he knew you best just from that. What he didn't know, however, was if you were brave or just plain stupid.

Romeo knew his flawless appearance wasn't exactly the blueprint for courage. He donned a mask of perfection in order to stay in control: to control how others saw him and to control how he saw himself. The more poreless and uniform his skin was, the more things could stay the same, with money in his pockets and people under his command.

And so, he hid his traumas under retinol serum and rosehip oil and infrared lights. Fake it till you make it, or so his mother would say after it all came crashing down.

Romeo knew better than anyone else that he couldn't be as vulnerable as you. Vulnerability would mean assuming his losses and bequeathing the only power he had.

So if that meant you were just a bit stronger than he was, just a bit more courageous than he was, then maybe – maybe – he could quietly admit to himself that he admired you.

He would never ever say that to your face, though. Fuck no. That would never be his brand.