some of y’all have never gone to make a happy birthday card, and thought “i don’t need to trace it. i know how big letters should be,” and begun with a big-ass H, followed by a big-ass A and… oh, no! oh, god! ok, all right. real skinny P with a high hump, and then we’ll put the second P below the hump of that first P, sort of like a motorcycle sidecar situation. and now you have no room for the Y, so you do a kind of curled-up noodle Y. block letters and cursive look good together. and then you go to write “Birthday” and you totally forget the lesson you just learned with “Happy.” you’re like, “yeah, but the past is the past. big-ass B. surely more letters will fit in the same space,” and it really shows.
*thinks abt characters having a domestic life* oh god. Oh fuck. *trascends into the next astral plane*
My theory is just that us lgbt folk are so used to being scared of being ourselves since society shuns us into being afraid of what we are publicily that using fictional characters as an escapade to project our aspirations of a healthy, domestic life lets us have that piece of happiness of what we can’t do yet, in this essay i will,
