#am i proud? just a little

[noxonoxious]

“I am dramatic”

I am dramatic. I stare wistfully at the setting sun and gaze upon the twilight sky. Pretending to be a character from an old book whose name I can’t quite remember the name of. I listen to the wind rustling the leaves in a peaceful evening and think I like this life, maybe I like being alive. 

I am dramatic. I get sad for no reason and make it obvious so that when people ask me what’s wrong, I can smile sadly and say “I don’t know”.  I schedule my time to cry to a random evening to watch the day shift to night from the comfort of my bed. I get addicted to my spiralling staircase of descending thoughts because they offer respite from my normal and comfortable life that I’m lucky to live, with my parents that I’m lucky to have. Wallowing in self-pity has always felt so damning and free. 

I am dramatic. I call myself a paradox because I have always been there for me through thick and thin and protected me all the same. Yet no one has ever inflicted the amount of violence on me as I have. I confess, one of me once mutilated myself in my dreams, made my exposed vocal cords into a violin (I can’t even play) and made my corpse into a garden with dainty white flowers that smelled divine. Picture perfect and artistic like a kill from NBC’s Hannibal. Of course this was when the weight scale said I weighed too much to be pretty but not enough to be truly depressed about. But how dare someone else raise their voice at me and someone else says that I’m not enough. 

I am dramatic. I say I have better things to think about than what I would wear at the altar and whom I would tie my life together with. I don’t need a man (nor a woman nor anyone), they are like accessories on an outfit—makes it better but they aren’t necessary. In the same breath, I sometimes let out that I want love, very quietly because I don’t want anyone to hear. In the silence of the night, I yearn for someone to hold me like I’m something precious and make love to me like I’m something fierce. My partners have always been faceless figures or people who I barely know or put on a distant pedestal. Sometimes they have only ever existed behind a screen or in ink and paper. 

I am dramatic. I like love but I don’t want to love love or even like like-like feelings. I hate how it's accompanied by constant anxiety about the way l look, talk or behave, and the general uncomfortableness I feel, being in my own skin. Though I have to laugh, I’ve often been uncomfortable in my own skin so I guess this just makes me more uncomfortable? I don’t like love, yet I dedicate a second verse to it in this brain vomit poem. I have the capacity for romance, I know I do, my best friend says I do too. Things have happened that make me think I do. But I’m terrified of yearning for a person like that. Of them knowing me. So I push opportunities away and act like casual fun is better for me (not situationships though, I do have enough self-respect to avoid those). Yet I fantasise and daydream about a person loving me the way I would love them. Enough for their world to stop for a minute at my smile, for their breath to seize in their chest when I look at them. Enough for them to write poems or love letters or at the very least, try to create something out of their love for me. I have never yet fallen in love but I wish somebody I would like, would fall in love with me.  I wish that when it happens, I wouldn’t think that the universe or the person is playing some sort of cruel joke.  

I am dramatic. I pour my heart and soul into words and pictures. Every piece I create is embedded with a piece of myself. I get peace and tranquillity from turning myself into something tangible. Yet, if a person were to find them, they would think that those pieces are cringe. For I, sometimes also think they are cringe. My unsaid emotions and deepest vulnerabilities as something imperfectly visible and physical? How every cringe indeed. I’m scared of anyone ever gazing upon my work, but I envision they would line up to meet me, its creator because something resonated with them. There is always someone better at it than me, a better writer, a better artist. But I’m also better than someone at it. A better writer, a better artist. A better person. I honestly believe that I’m a better person than some, but I’m also a worse person because my ego sometimes enlarges my head. I ruminate about all the things I may have done wrong and verbalise them to my best friend so she can say that “a bad person wouldn’t feel bad for doing bad things”. But do I truly feel bad, or do I just want the dopamine from hearing that I’m good? I create worlds upon worlds to slip into during my daydreams. Worlds with a perfect me, one for every potential I could be. One where I would be loved and admired unconditionally and one where I would be scorned and feared relentlessly. One where I have reasons to act out and rage and scream, and one where I have the confidence for my presence to take up the whole room and for my elegance to have everyone hanging on to my words. One where everyone I ever admired felt comfortable in my presence—so much so that they fell in love with me. Maybe little by little. There goes my ego again. 

“I am dramatic,” I say, to the vast void of millions of people. To anyone who would listen. I love contradictions, juxtapositions, and contrast. Anything that isn’t what it seems to appear. I love the theatrics in its most quiet form. And monologues. God, I love monologues. Do my previous verses have a purpose? Or were they just to be loud and flaunt and jest? 

Regardless I take my dramatic bow. For I, am dramatic.

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 61-64)

* I-I don't think we were talking about the same thing...

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[sodawithmoss]

♔♛

due to the fact that in the second series we were confirmed that the participants of the show still have some kind of sleep and dreams - my theory that Kinger suffers from insomnia was confirmed. and this means that these small "hangups" of the Kinger may actually be a banal attempt to sleep at least with his eyes open. or he is just autistic.

[persona-brainrot-real]

Sae Niijima is such a good character it drives me insane a little. She's not a mother nor a maternal or doting older sister but instead a twenty four year old who was thrown into a position of responsibility that she never asked for. She loves Makoto just as much as she resents her and its so apparent every time they talk up until November. "Are you studying?" (I want you to do well) (I need you to get a job and stop making my life harder) "I'll use any method necessary to get this promotion" (Life will be easier for us) (So stop distracting me with your problems) "Focus on your future" (I know that you're capable) (I can't afford to waste my time on you, so stop wasting time on others)

Makoto is not only the sole reason she pushes as hard as she does for a promotion, for success, and the reason that she loses herself in her animosity over her fathers death, but also someone she can't stand for so long. Makoto was 14-15 when their father died. Sae was 21. As soon as she got the career she wanted and things started to look up, her stability was robbed from her and she was disillusioned with the system that her father had taught her to rely on and completely adhere to. How do you manage, the daughter of a cop, following his footsteps towards law enforcement, when you're suddenly reminded of how unfair it is? You can't quit, your little sister relies on you and she's so young and struggling just as badly with this grief. So you pick yourself up and you get moving again. You push harder, press further. You abandon your morals and your ethics because punishing criminals (guilty or not) is almost like punishing the man who killed your father.

And the whole time she's fighting for promotions, going for drinks with the SIU Director to make herself more favourable for promotions, trying to navigate being a woman in a competitive, suffocating, male-dominated field, falling behind despite doing so much where others are promoted for doing so little - all the while your little sister comes back from school and her biggest issues are so small compared to yours.

Persona 5 revolves so heavily around grief and loss and change and Sae embodies all of that so well, all of the sharp and unpleasant and jagged parts of grief.

[keeps-ache]

overgrowth and languor

[recommended you click and zoom] (alt versions below)

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Sorry, I've got "he knew him as Uncle Michael before he saw and understood his place in F1 history, and now he just broke his Uncle Michael's record of most consecutive days leading the F1 championship" in my eye -

[tomatoart]

I GOTTA FEELING .

[codecicle]

I made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgement, and I don’t expect to be forgiven. I’m simply here to apologize

Inspiration

[gooseco]

[moongothic]

Madoka is the promise you won't turn from a child, full of hopes and dreams and the wish to save the world, into a bitter adult who just wants to hurt others and ruin people's lives

Madoka promised to be there for you to remind you of the person you wanted to be and to stop you from becoming what you sought to destroy

Madoka made that promise and became the very embodiment of it

[hballegro]

"It's more than something. It's everything."

s8e11 "Life Time"

painted screenshot. cannot give a time estimate, i lost track long ago. still gouache brush, my beloved, with blur tools to fade edges and so on

i have to go to the zoo now and will be making the version with the clock later [i cannot express how long ive been battling with hawkeye's face, gamers]. background went very fast like i said it would lol

version 2 [as in, w/ clock] will probably be done later today, and i will edit this and add it when that happens [and prolly make a separate post too, for celebration purposes, and will link them]. i will also compile progress pics for that post. they are terrifying early on lmao

"A lot of very touching songs came outta that war" previous painting

"It was pink, and perfect, and I tossed it in the scrap bucket" previous painting

everyone say thank you to bj to being a perfect painting subject today he was very polite and he looks about how i wanted unlike SOME PEOPLE

that was me to my sibling last night, and i stayed up til 1:10ish and still didnt finish the final pass over hawkeye's eye. everything else took like 5ish minutes

also everyone say thank you to margaret and nurse kellye for also being perfect and lovely and pleasant to work with

photo used blatantly stolen from this post thank you again @remyfire i owe you my life

update edit;

clock back

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #151

There is a LOT of Iron Man merch out there. One day, Stark Industries comes out with a line of Iron Man themed night lights that look like arc reactors. The marketing? "For kids who are scared of the dark: Iron Man will protect you."

In completely unrelated news, a whole bunch of child abusers across the country have recently been arrested as a result of  anonymous tips to local authorities.

Bonus:

It's an open secret at some point. Teens who are being abused start buying the night lights. Hell, adults start buying them. Charities pop up to cover the cost for anyone who needs it. Kids who are newly safe often send their night lights on to others ("I'm not scared of the dark anymore," they say).

Even with all of this, nobody snitches to the media or government. They all know grown-ups tend to complicate and ruin precious things.

It helps that the night lights clearly can distinguish between different types of situations. Kids whose parents need mental health or addiction support suddenly find they're being contacted by free services that actually help. If ICE is a concern, the people knocking on the door are not cops but immigrant rights activists. Kids who are hungry get food. Families who need housing support coincidentally find it.

"Iron Man will protect you," indeed.

This fic idea was inspired by this post from @fotibrit!!

[s0ull3ss-p3rs0n]

Guys I don't even know how to draw water how did this happen

(Tumblr probably fucks up the quality so click for quality)

[musicalmoritz]

I do not understand why HanaKou, Aoinene, and Terukane shippers always act like their ships are so unpopular when they’re some of the most popular in the fandom😭 This isn’t a callout to any single person btw bcuz I’ve seen like half the fandom do it atp, it happens every day. I know it’s harmless but like c’mon guys. Ya’ll would not survive being a Terunene or MeiAoi shipper

I’m not even joking to me it sounds exactly like if someone called SatoSugu a rarepair

[bookinit02]

sweet dream (beautiful nightmare)

Above him, Eddie makes a sleepy sound, tightening his arms around Buck’s chest. “Buck?” he mumbles. “You up?” Buck lets out a long breath, settling gratefully into Eddie’s hold. “Yeah,” he says quietly. There must be something in his voice, because Eddie frowns down at him, lifting a hand to stroke over his cheekbone. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Buck says, and actually means it. He presses his face to Eddie’s sternum, feels his pulse against his skin, and breathes. “Nothing. I just—I had a dream that you were mad at me.”

buck and eddie are finally together, and everything is perfect. except, well—buck’s been having dreams.

[bluuscreen]

would you believe that this does actually have context. anyways here’s the master in teletubby land