You Filled My Field With Flowers,

So there's a really specific type of fic I LOVE but struggle to find, as I don't know the tag (or if one even exists).

Has anyone found fanfics that involve someone with super hearing/access to a person's heart monitor readout being able to tell that someone is in distress and helping them? Bonus if there is panic/tears involved

Please Tumblr I beg of thee

Brother Ignatz trying to get out of dish duty by pretending to be a stand of reeds. again.

Hey students, here’s a pro tip: do not write an email to your prof while you’re seriously sick.

Signed, a person who somehow came up with “dear hello, I am sick and not sure if I’ll be alive to come tomorrow and I’m sorry, best slutantions, [name]”.

Playing Pretend. 2023.

I just wanted to do a piece to break the burnout, so have a smol baby clone running in the rain.

TARDIS dragons

The world moves around my body, sensations ghosts on my empty form. I hear the sound of life, of people, anchored in the here and now. Their world in colour, vibrant touch, souls as light as feathers. Webs of feeling stretch between, emotion, taste, (felt, not unseen).

My world I see in black and white, my anchor cut, all light unfelt. Inside my mind a world of dreams, of light and colour, (touch, all seen). My comfort, it bleeds thin. Too many layers, broken webs, foggy eyes with my too-full head. This world it feels too much for me, heavy soul, all in 2D. Inside my mind I find recluse, running free in vibrant stories. I watch it all as I move through, webs twist around, trap me apart. This life it is not meant for me. People ground. And I cut free.

HOLD UP HOW WAS I NOT AWARE OF THIS

I Am Not Her

I am not Her. Her with Her hips and Her chest and Her hair, with Her voice and Her face and all that's "down there". Comfortable, happy, with all who She is, who is proud to buy bras, with pads as She grows, Not checking Her calendar like She's on death row, Not watching the waiter, will they call Her "Sir"? Will Her friends use His name or insist He is Her? No, I am not Her, happy and free, I am trapped, I am scared, why can't I break free? Peel off my skin and expose what's inside, the flatness, the chest hair, a bulge in my jeans. But I CAN'T, so I hide in this ill fitting suit, that tightens and squeezes as the waiter says "Miss". I am Him with His shoulders, His chest and His hair, with His voice and His face and all that's "down there". So I hope and I hide in this ill fitting suit, Him who is trapped, pulled down by twin weights, Him with His boxers and a shaver with time, Counting the minutes 'till I can say He, I am Him, I am Them, happy and free. But still my suit blocks the light to my skin underneath, hiding from sight the Boy who is me. I am Him, I am Them.

And I.

Am.

Not.

Her.

Just a small poem about my experience with gender dysphoria I wrote in like 20 mins. I am boyfluidflux, and use he/they/it and most other neopronouns. Feel free to leave constructive criticism, and to those who feel this, I'm sorry society has trapped you like it traps me. Have a good day, peeps, take care!!! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈