Bruh

“Are you disappointed that it’s me?”

“No.”

- Love, Simon.

Generation Z

Generation Z was born with the tragedy of 9/11 shadowing our birth certificates. A warning signal of what’s to come in the rest of our lives.

Because we grew up going to class with four— yes, four— of our classmates raising their hands and having scars on their arms being exposed. No one says anything because it’s too common for the guidance counselor to deal with, so everyone adverts their eyes instead.

We have, time and time again, gone to class only to hide under our desks for four hours not being sure whether the alarm blaring in or ears is a drill or not. Texting your parents worried because nobody knows what’s going on, and all you can do is hope that this is one of the dozens of drills you have each month and not one of the hundreds of school shootings every year.

We’re afraid to go to concerts and movie theaters and malls, and the general fucking outside world with our friends or family because of the terrorism displayed on the news. We’re scared of ending up dead every time we leave our house because the chances of it happening are more likely than it not.

We grew up in a mental health crisis and a new age of terrorism and violence. We don’t have memories of being happy, because as soon as we became self aware we knew what was going on around us.

And every time we say something to make things better for the next generation after us; every time we cry or slit our wrists just like we know to do oh so well; every time we try to do anything in the our lives we’re told that we’re too young to understand. That we have nothing to fear.

And when we’re dead, what do we have to fear then?

When we’re dead, will we finally be heard?

If homosexuality is a sin, then why is my Spotify wrapped full of fucking bangers???

fall aesthetic: unruly curls. deeply flushed cheeks. subtle smoked eyes. bitten nose hidden behind a novel. spectacles tuck into a knitted cardigan. dried flowers resting behind an ear. cocoa with your dearest fur baby. scribbling random thoughts in a journal. dark boots and dainty ballets. loud giggles and cherished moments.

concept: we go on a road trip in my car and we find a park and decide to sleep there because it’s getting late. we wake up and the windows are opened with harsh warm light and cold morning air coming through. i’m awake because the sun woke me but you’re still cuddled into your pillow with the light hitting your face. i wish that my brain could know this moment like a camera knows a photograph but you wake up and mock me for staring. that’s okay though because i love you.

the word preperations did make me think of wedding preperations... but then again, him preparing his project™ would be great too. it's a win either way. :)

listen. who says preparations when not referring to a wedding AND precedes it by mentioning homosexuality. I'm clowning like an idiot but LISTEN-

I fucking LOVE Edgar allen poe like howly fowk

Gush and go, more commonly known as

suck down and run, clown

sometimes i just think of dan and phil living their shitty late teens/early 20s years where they didn’t have any money and they kind of had the worst parts of being prominent online (no privacy, invasive fans, judgement, homophobic slurs thrown at them constantly) but didn’t yet have the money that would later come from it and how many nights they must have spent in that first manchester apartment with the bed pushed into the corner of the room and barely any furniture and how us-against-the-world they must have felt then, in a different way than they do now, and how it’s reality for a lot of people that those growing pains years just kinda suck but dan and phil got to do through the sucky broke struggling what is the future even gonna be scary years together and idk man just fuck i love them