#Ah well... what can ya do

[gentlebliss]

Figured I would post this song poetry I wrote earlier this year; my ex boyfriend had received bad news and was very depressed following it, so when he went to bed that night, I stayed up until ~8am writing this for him

[ruthytwoshakes]

happy pride everybody, hope you had a good one! And I hope everybody's excited for disability pride month this July :)

We can't forget our friends and family in Palestine during the celebrations. There is no Pride in Occupation. And happy pride to our family in Palestine, we won't forget about you. Stay strong and fight like hell. I love you.

donate to the fundraiser below and join your local Palestine solidarity group. Hani Al-Sharif, his wife, and five children need to evacuate. They are very far from their goal. Any amount helps.

[stargazerlillian]

Two nervous imps with some bad news to tell their boss. I sense third degree burns in their very near future.😬

(Don't tag as ship)

[boghermit]

It was nice outside today

[xmaveria]

Cacthoughts and a redrew for the bird band

[isat-script-project]

ok im not sure where it is but do we have the "I ran away from home once!" dialogue

YEP!! Check rooms/floor3/secret_room

for you <3 it's under the Letter/Special Interaction

I just noticed that letter is in lowercase in the index noooo

[liskobot]

aaand also a very swiftly made collage of everyone together

[kowaindar0u]

//

[giantkillerjack]

Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.

And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.

I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.

But do you know what I found?

I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,

I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.

Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:

I was worth talking to when I was quiet.

I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.

So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.

You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.

(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)

[indecisive-dizzy]

why brain whyyyy

i just want to read a book why must it make me paranoid?? I want to Sleep 😭

[allofuswantgwinam]

my mom literally wants to be clueless and im so sick of hearing her say that

[monomori3]

oh thats so sweet!

SHOVES YOU IN THE PAPER SHREDDER

WAH-- naoooooo

[agayconcept]

.

[piplupod]

head in my hands. i promise i am not a scary unhinged person fdsgjkl, and none of my silly happy posting is fake, i am just very good at repressing and partitioning things. i can be having the worst day of my life and still enjoy jokes and be genuinely having a good time with my silly little characters and stories i come up with. this brain LOVES to section off shit that is genuinely unbearable (because how else do you live with that? if not putting it in a place where you cannot feel it?) so that i can cope and find joy in life still fsdjkl i simply love having a good time too much to ever make it up

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[flowerflamestars]

Migration Patterns snippet

Amsterdam was Talia’s now, and he’d started there.   It was a quick, easy shot that brought him to Bruges, warm seventeenth century stone worn beloved by the rotted out heart of a retired master weapons maker.   They bought their guns. Armed themselves all the way across the world. But the daggers- the mark of belonging, of rank, came only from within.   He was the best- had been the best to live that long, before Jason put two bullets in his skull.   The girl had been dead for a longer.   She looked, like any second, if Jason could ignore division and missing pieces, like she could take a breath. He could track the way light would move across the room from the marks of faded color on her clothes, slow decaying of fabric. Dressed not just for another decade, but another era entirely.   The fucker had kept it all.   Hairpins. Her hat. A little valise, cracked open to reveal outdated currency and letters yellowed beyond repair. A person, a life, trophies- he hadn’t known where the magic ended, and it was the worst goddam thing Jason had even seen.   A still witch- outside time, outside nature.   If she’d died in this very room seventy, eighty years ago, there was no evidence left to tell of it. No blood, no rot, nothing-   The death of a witch, to kill other witches.   She didn’t look like Elle. Magic didn’t seem to work like that, for all Jason knew, it just was- but in the light, her hair was nearly the same color. His eyes kept catching on it, deep, rich brown remaining intact on one side.   There was a horrible delicacy to it- used and divided so slow, a fucking prize-  Dick answered his phone on the third ring, out of breath from a laugh. “Jason”-  Jason closed his eyes. Turned his back on the worktable, the desk, that snow white coffin’s half a remaining face, and felt more than saw the warm out of season sun slip back behind dense clouds. “Are you with Llewellyn?”   “Yes,” Dick said, and the laugh was gone, “Did something- is Elle okay?”   Blind, Jason pressed his head into the window frame hard enough to hurt. Considered banging his skull against it a few times.   “I need you to give the phone to Llewellyn.”   He didn’t say he’d explain later, and Dick didn’t ask. He would have, three, five years ago. Instead, there was a pause, weight soft, just the sound of his brother breathing before, brisk and accented in his ear, “Todd?”   “You’re a magic doctor,” Jason swallowed, “What do you do with the bodies?”