Your Icon Punches You In The Face Do You Survive

your icon punches you in the face do you survive

scribbles and doodles, but they’re all about wings

good morning lads have a griangoyle

from a kingmaker to a god

All rise for the Tumblr national anthem!

Oh this is kind of fucking me up.

Imagine being Camila Noceda. You are given interests that are out of the norm of your peers, your identity and who you are is pushed or scrutinized by the people in your life even if their ways of doing so all feel discreet or obvious. You find a loved one who loves your cosplaying, fandom, and dorkiness. Hell, maybe you fell in love with him because of that fact. You talk to him about theories, fan content, of different zines way before the internet became a thing.

You would stay up all night, knowing full well that you have someone who understands, thinking that your future kid might understand what it means to be loved like this too.

And then your husband grows sick. You move away from family and loved ones just to get to a hospital for treatment. The house becomes smaller. The taste in the food is different. The feelings linger the days after. You’re juggling the judgement of peers, of work, the death of someone who loved you and your daughter so dearly, and everywhere you go you see people seeing your daughter as a failure, an outsider.

She is being bullied. She feels like she can’t live up to who she wants to be. She thinks the same way as you, she feels the feelings you feel; she is her own person, and yet you see every hurt part of yourself within her.

You remember the isolation. The way you pushed all of what you loved away to fit in. The idea of being normal feels better and more safe, and yet, everyday you see your daughter hurt slowly and slowly. You realize too late you’re doing the same thing as the peers before you had done as well.

And when she returns, the house gets bigger.

The three-chaired table becomes seven. The basement is full. The closet holds less dust. Your husband’s cosplay inspires tiny eye scopes and headsets. There are flag stickers on your walls. Queer books on your shelves. Pictures in your wallet. You hear laughter, you hear children laugh and sing and play.

You hear yourself through all the noise. And in the middle, you see your daughter.