#this is so true it hurts

[acervomariposa]

You are too invested in how you are perceived

That you cannot fully enjoy living!

[ro-bee]

lamb's family and life timeline i guess idk

[rameiixo]

he gives me butterflies.. ( the most beautiful butterflies imaginable )

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[ask-the-pioneer]

Out of curiosity why do you bow before eating?

"It's a sign of respect."

"When I kill to eat, I know I am taking a life. I do it out of necessity. The creature's life moves to me so that I can survive and prosper. With this gesture, I pay tribute to its sacrifice."

"The bow is also to acknowledge the work of a person who brought the food, to feed me and the others. You're not pressured to do that, but even if the meal isn't to your liking, you would still recognize the effort. Our colony was small, with Hunter as the only adult, so any food brought back was celebrated."

"In my later cycles, the ability to craft explosive spears became incredibly useful for hunting and self-defense. I had a natural advantage, but it was to be exercised with caution."

"Truth is, I can do a lot of damage with my «powers». It's a big, alienating responsibility. And it was an issue in my younger cycles when I couldn't control it well - sometimes people around me would get hurt, but despite that, I was shown kindness and given guidance by my mentor. My adoptive family did not treat me like a freak, and it mattered a lot to me. It still does."

"I feel no need for bloodlust. I am content with my life… for the most part. Whatever grievances I may have, I know it's bad to take it out on others. For the temporary relief it gives, you realize it really is not worth it. To kill for sport, it makes my stomach turn - a sad waste of life. Just because I can, doesn't mean I should. Cruel thoughts are the domain of a scared animal. I don't want to live in suffering because of such fear, and most of all I don't want my family to think less of me. Does that make sense? I wouldn’t want to disappoint them, or lose their trust…"

"When I hunt for food, I often think of what my mentor would say. Those thoughts guide my spears, the memories remind me to be kind in the face of the vast, indifferent world. Most of the creatures out there have it considerably worse than me, trying to survive nature day by day. I've been blessed with a mark, I know things that a typical slugcat would never need in their life. I don't think I can ever go back - knowledge, like my «powers», are both a blessing and a curse. And, dare I say, I think it is better that I have those powers… for I know, at the very least, that I trust myself to use them wisely."

"The bow is a sign of respect, and a gentle reminder of the things that I stand for."

[op-dumpstertruck]

Sanji tells only child appropriate stories, which sound a lot like Captain Usopps adventures. He does not like bringing up other memories, I think those... just hurt.

[demigods-posts]

okay but you can see the moment percy's heart shatters into pieces once he learns that grover was also annabeth's protector. because this child grew up watching as his peers chose schoolyard taunts over compassion. watching as his dad chose freedom over fatherhood. watching as his mother chose to protect his life by sacrificing her own. but when his mom dies, he holds onto the notion that at least he's not alone. at least he has grover. but that worldveiw wastes away when he learns that he is, first and foremost, grover's assignment. that he was no one's first choice at all.

[housecow]

Obese woman with a large septum piercing. Many such cases

it’s not large!!! ppl don’t even notice it!!!

but anyways yeah my family were like “nooo don’t get it you’d look like a cow” so i took that as a challenge n went and gained 85lbs

[heph]

It's so interesting how submissive House is to Wilson. In basically every scene where Wilson gives his 2 cents about a case, House without fail (for the most part) follows his opinion. Wilson gives him unsolicited advice and half the time he listens without saying anything, and the other half he argues but ends up listening to him anyway. House starts psychoanalysing Wilson and Wilson does it right back to him and House shuts the fuck up or gives a one line quip back at him (to have the last line) but knows deep down Wilson is right.

For a man of House's stature and how he interacts with Literally Everyone Else, the writers really hammer it into your soul that House only really listens to Wilson and no one else

[beastwhimsy]

I think if he's an immortal cosmic deity he should get cool as flarp powers. to be honest.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[heybiji]

"Do me a favor and put your arms around me."

[frownyalfred]

say what you will about Ben Affleck’s Bruce Wayne, he had that swagger. Literally. the man he walks into rooms and he looks like a rich, handsome asshole who knows he’s all of the above and doesn’t give a shit.

[arthursfuckinghat]

I know we all give Arthur some grace when it comes to the missions with Mary, but I don't think I can ever get over how knowingly or unknowingly harsh Arthur was when he met her right off the bat.

"Happened a while ago.. pneumonia."

"Bad business."

"Sure."

"So.. you've been.. you've been made a widow and you come here looking for me, is that it?"

She just explained how her husband died, of pneumonia of all things, and while it's understandable where Arthur's coming from, you cannot deny how it was so utterly cruel to frame her like that when she hadn't had the chance to explain herself yet. Arthur was hurt by the idea of Mary running back to him as her second choice, but even just insinuating that hurt Mary even more. They had so much to talk about, they deserved more time.

[wingedog]

You know that feeling you get when you want to escape into a piece of media so bad its an ache in your chest?

[lunarharp]

What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)