#yes yes hurt me

[mysillycomics]

[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.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Laios's three Boy Best Friends. And yes, they hate him.

[sentient-forest]

#cecilsweep and Welcome to Night Vale trending #1 in 2023

[windwenn]

The transgenderification beam is back baby

[wasyago]

so, would you?

nothing important under the cut, you don't need to look haha

[sandushengshou]

to defeat monsters: become the greater monster | m.a.w

(requested by @highwarlockkareena for my 1 follower celebration)

[ratcandy]

had a conversation with my mom and now i'm curious

If unsure, go grab yourself a pencil and compare to these examples:

"Correct" ways to hold a pencil:

(if you didn't know there were names for these, yea I had no idea either until I started looking stuff up lmao)

"Wrong" ways to hold a pencil:

I'm mostly curious as someone who has always held her pencil wrong. No matter what teachers/my mom ever did to try and teach me (pencil grips, elastic bands, etc) it just never worked. I wanna know how universal this experience is hdKJH

(rb for sample size, etc etc, the usual)

[demigods-posts]

whatever you do. don't think about how percy and annabeth held the sky. and both of them earned grey streaks. that likely lasted for a couple of years. so during the year before the prophecy. when percy and annabeth weren't on speaking terms. one look in the mirror was enough to remind them what could be if they had time.

[sisterdragonwithfeathers]

Deeply concerned by the number of people (especially women) who genuinely believe that women and men have the same capacity for physical strength

and who think you’re being sexist if you point out that they don’t

ma’am the only one equating physical strength with innate value here is you

it’s concerning that you think strength has anything to do with value

and if the men in your life ever stop being decent you are setting yourself up to be in so much more danger

[inkskinned]

they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?

they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.

you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.

you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.

mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.

you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.

[surreal-duck]

I'll make myself look even cuter, so come find me, okay?

[denkies]

Me: i ❤ doomed relationship

The doomed relationship: *fulfills the "doomed" title*

Me:

[myosotisa]

Eddie walks in on you crying and he is immediately dropping to his knees.

Maybe you'd try to hide it. You don't like to show intense emotion like that, especially not in front of other people. Maybe it's been building for a long time and you just break without warning.

You're sitting at your desk with your face tucked into your shirt, tears streaming, hiccuping gasps, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Willing it to stop, to get back in control, for the sorrow to remove it's claws from your chest and let you breathe again.

Eddie edges the door open with his foot, about to bust in and shower you with affection, but the moment he sees you, hears your small cries, everything stops. He's across the room and to your side in 3 long-legged steps, dropping to his knees with his hands hovering, torn between wanting to grab you and tuck you into him and wanting to respect any space you need.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His concern just makes you cry harder, hiding further into the neck of your shirt, back bending as you try to curl in on yourself. Eddie's heart breaks, his hands curling into tight fists as he battles his own indecision on what to do. "Baby, please talk to me. Can I hold you? Please."

Despite everything in your brain just wanting to be alone, to suffer in silence, to not show this side of yourself -- your heart wins out. You drop the curtain of cotton hiding your ruddy and wet face from him and reach out like a child. It makes you feel like one. But Eddie doesn't hesitate. He drags you out of your chair and onto the floor with him, tucking as much of yourself into him as he can. Arms wrapped around, thighs under yours, shaggy hair making a new curtain to protect your vulnerability from anyone other than him.

He covers you with warmth and care like a fiberglass blanket over a fracturing fire and it breaks you to pieces. Sorrow for yourself, for how you're feeling, for how hard it is to accept this comfort, for how much it means to you to finally have it now. For how willingly and readily Eddie was prepared to give it.

He holds you as you cry, whispering sweet things into your hairline like, "It's gonna be okay, baby, I've got you. I'm here." Rubs your back in little circles, presses his fingertips tighter when you cry out louder as the waves crash over you. He keeps holding you as your crying starts to die down into little sniffles, as your breathing evens out. He doesn't let go until you start to pull away, and even then it's with reluctance.

The moment he can see your face again he's cupping it in his big palms, eyes searching yours to see if he can find what is hurting you, slay the dragon that made you feel this way. When you just shakily smile, sniffling again, he presses a kiss to each cheek, to each eyelid, to the tip of your runny nose, to the center of your forehead. And then he drags you into his arms again.

[qtboni]

╰﹒ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 !

PAIRING: Ooc!Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: He lashes out on you + very dismissive over your efforts for him :((

C/W: Angst, no comfort (see p2 for comfort!), mentions of toxic behavior (bcz words), offensive languages, depictions of mental health struggles (anxiety, but js tiny amount). [ fanart credits : ave661 on tumblr ]

W/C: 1.1k bubs

Simon had been going through a lot lately, and you could tell it was taking a toll on him. He had been working overtime at work, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes every time he came home.

You want to do something special for him, something to lift his spirits up.

The air was charged with anticipation as Simon stepped through the door, making you want to burst out of happiness.

You had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, eager to show him what you'd been working on all day. You had been so excited to do something special for him, and you had gone the extra mile to make this night perfect!

The air, still thick with tension, Simon walked through the hallway. He'd had a long, hard day at work, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with anything else.

Price had been nagging him more than usual on the mission. Simon was tired and just wanted to rest, but Price's constant barrage of questions and commands was starting to get on his nerves.

He tried his best to keep his cool, but he couldn't help feeling a little bit frustrated. Despite his best efforts, he managed to keep his emotions in check and focus on the task at hand.

After the mission was over, Simon was relieved to finally have a moment to himself. He just wanted to rest and have a good night, but there you were, being a nuisance to him.

You could see the weariness in his eyes, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shrugged off your attempts to engage him, not wanting to deal with the small talk.

As Simon dropped his collection of his military wears in the near cabinet, you approached him, your heart still pounding with excitement.

"Simon," you said, your voice trembling and a cheeky smile forming on your lips. "I've been working on a special surprise for you all day. I made your favorite snacks, decorated the living room, and even picked out a movie I know you'll love! I just wanted to make tonight special."

Simon looked up at you, his expression unreadable. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp and exhaustion palpable in his voice.

Despite his attitude, you pushed forward, eager to show him the cozy living room setup you'd created.

"Ta da!" you exclaimed, gesturing to the cozy space. "I wanted to make our movie night extra special tonight, so I went all out."

You'd decorated it with fairy lights, set out the popcorn and drinks, and made sure the couch was nice and toasty with a mountain of blankets.

"I just wanted to do something special for you," you added, your voice light and upbeat.

Simon's expression fell. He looked at the setup as if it were an annoyance, and you felt your feelings going down the drain.

You tried to hide your disappointment though and put on a cheerful smile, but it was hard to hide the hurt in your eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked hesitantly.

Simon shook his head, and for the first time, you saw the signs of his stress and turmoil. His lips were thin, his brow furrowed, and you could tell that he was struggling just to keep it all together.

"I can't take on one more thing right now," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm exhausted. I can't deal with this right now."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you realized the full extent of your mistake.

"I..."

Your heart sank.

You couldn't believe you hadn't realized how tired he looked, how haggard and stressed. You had been so caught up in your excitement that you had missed the signs, the signals that he couldn't take on any more.

You had been so eager to do something nice for him, and in doing so, you had only added to his burden.

A tense silence fell over the room, and you could feel the tension rising between you. You wanted to comfort him, to make things right, but you didn't know how.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

As you stood there in silence, your heart racing and tears swimming in your eyes, he finally spoke.

"Well, don't," he snapped, his irritation evident in his tone. "I can take care of myself. And I didn't ask for any of these."

You watch as he points to the decorated living room. Your efforts. Your hopes of having a good night of movies with him.

You felt the tears spill over and course down your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to make things worse for you," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to do something nice for you, to lift your spirits. I didn't realize..."

Simon sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I appreciate the effort, really I do. It's just..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "Can you just stop being a bother? I can't take on anything else right now. I'm already stretched so thin, and I can't..."

You felt your chest tighten at his words.

You had always known that Simon was a hard worker, but you had never truly appreciated the toll it took on him. You had always been there to support him, to lift him up when he was feeling low, and you had always assumed that he would do the same for you.

At that moment, you realized that you had been asking too much of him. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your voice barely above a whisper, you managed to say, "I... I understand. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

You could feel the hurt in your chest, like a physical pain that made it hard to breathe.

“Stop being a bother.”

The tears were already falling down your face, and your heart ached with the weight of your mistakes. It was just a reminder of how much you loved him and how desperately you wanted to be with him.

Simon didn't utter another word, just nodded his head, but his silence spoke volumes. An oppressive and heavy sense of unease permeated the air, leaving no doubt that there was nothing else to be said.

You stood there, feeling numb and defeated as you watched him leave to the bedroom.

You had learned a difficult lesson that night, and one that you would never forget. The road to happiness was not always smooth, and sometimes, even the people we love the most can hurt us without meaning to.

Tears filled your eyes over and over again as you realized how much your effort was taken for granted.

In that moment, you didn't understand why he was being so cruel to you, especially when you had put so much thought into making him happy.

All you wanted was to see Simon smile.

A/N: okay.. well.. he was an ass.. HELP simon pookie why would u do this to us? :(( we even made you popcorns and and even bought you your favorite drinks :(( we had to even ask ur best bud soap what kind of movies you like :(( we did so much for you :(( but it's okay ig. . . as long as you can have your rest. . . and well. . . goodnight :((

lmk if you guys need a part 2 cuz i be crying in my sleep

EDIT! part 2 is posted !!

[yashley]

"Yeah, but we talked about it and I didn’t want it." "Why not?" "Because it scared me."