and girls were so pretty. there was the effortless girls who had the wide eyes, the freckles, the hair pulled back. who didn’t wear makeup and always wore a smile, who knew you needed help before you asked it; the sunshine and picnic girls, who you felt carried spring with them. and the mountaintop girls, strong bodies and fierce in their bones, drinking green tea and teaching you yoga, who watched you and made sure you ate well, who knew what it was to fight for a body that listened. and the soft heather girls who knew nature and spoke gently and would show you how to hear the light hitting a lake, who would listen no matter how long the story was and somehow know what to say. and the girls who were red moons, a dangerous flash of teeth and darkness, an excited wildness that came in black leather and spoke of nights you ache when you remember, who would look at you and pin you to a board for a moment, so that for once you felt important. and the summertime girls, wide smiles and makeup that never smudged, who could make you feel as if you lived inside a photograph, who brought the feeling of the fourth of july to every party, who convinced you to come to the party. and of course the rain girls, who didn’t need an explanation, but simply were, in a way that when you made eye contact with them you knew somehow about sorrow and also about the safety of staying home.
and girls. girls in their sweatpants in the aisle of a supermarket looking lost. girls staring down their teacher, demanding the grade they deserve. girls with their hands on the wheel, with their hands passing lotion to another, with their hands in their hair. girls upside down on the couch and spine straight in business meetings and body curled around a book. girls who were upended libraries, who were railroads, who were a choir’s last note, who were carols, who were snow, who were a racing track, who glowed or who gave warmth or else sewed cold, who bit hard, who laughed loud, who fell asleep on trains, who rode bikes in rain.
Made some new Ace Attorney buttons (& a special heart shaped Miles/Feenie button!) for Anime North 2017! The ones I used to print were from 2014 and suuuper old and I didn’t like having them in circulation, despite how well they sold. so now it’s time for a redraw! I didn’t have enough time so I chose the characters that were the most liked! See y’all at AN *WINKS
one of the reasons people with bpd handle people rejecting them/abandoning them so hard is bc we base our identities around these people we get attached to. how THEY feel about us is who we ARE, in our minds. if they love us, we base our identities around that and believe we are loveable. if they leave us or decide they don’t like us anymore, we believe we are unloveable because we have no concrete sense of who we are, apart from how other people feel about us.
He doesn’t even say “I’m home.” He slips out of his shoes, drops his bag in the hallway - Tooru looks up from the couch at the sound, to find Hajime standing in the doorway. “Iwa-” But then he sees his face, sees the exhaustion, how lost and drained he looks, and he abandons words. He’s crossed the room in three strides, reaching for Hajime’s wrists. He shudders at the contact, and almost immediately there’s tears building in his eyes. Oh, today must have been rough. Tooru closes the distance without hesitation, fitting Hajime against his chest, tucking his head into the crook of his neck so he can breathe in Tooru’s scent. Hajime doesn’t move, for a moment, even as Tooru’s arms come up around him - and then he sags, the rest of his energy draining out as reality seems to settle in. He’s home. He’s made it through another day. Tooru knows that sometimes everything feels too hard - but he also knows how to make it better. The first step - and the one Tooru struggles with most - is letting Hajime cry. There’s something inherantly painful about seeing him fall apart, and even though he knows it’s necessary, that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He wants to shower Hajime in affection, wants to whisper that it’ll be okay, that he’s here, that they’ve got each other - but that’s not what he needs right now. So instead, Tooru just holds on. He guides them back to the couch, letting Hajime curl up in his lap and finally, finally bring his arms up as well, to rest around Tooru’s waist. Tooru leans in and kisses Hajime’s forehead, swallowing all the words he wants to say, saving them for later. Not now. Because the first step to healing is letting him break, letting him get it all out, without pretty words or reassurances. Acknowledge. Accept. Fix. “I love you,” Tooru whispers. It slips out before he can stop it, because the sounds, oh, the sounds Hajime makes when he cries are heartbreaking and he can’t- “T-tooru,” Hajime gasps, breath catching on the word, fingers curling into fists over his soft sweater. And Tooru squeezes back, pressing kisses to Hajime’s hair as he holds on, careful but determined. Because maybe things aren’t okay right now. But they will be.
i was asked to do a tutorial on how i make my icons by anonymous, so here’s my super easy way of doing it. there’s no major editing or backgrounds simply because i’m super lazy and i prefer the look of clean, bright icons. i’ve only ever used this method on cartoons (voltron. i’ve only ever made voltron icons lol), so i can’t say for sure whether this method would work well with real people. just keep that in mind!
for some examples of what you can make, here’s my icons page.
please like/reblog if you try it out, and feel free to ask me any questions.
It was a Sunday night, and Michael and Jeremy were at yet another party.
Jeremy said ‘another’ because it was a week until school was out, and their new friends really liked throwing parties. He hadn’t really minded at first – parties were fun! But it was starting to wear on him. You could only puke your guts out under an alcohol-induced haze so many times, he guessed.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Jeremy and Michael were ambushed by Chloe, already drunk off her ass, and Brooke, hanging off her arm.
“You’re here!” Chloe squealed, giggling drunkenly. Then, she nudged Brooke. “Here, Heere. Get it?”
Brooke smiled lazily and patted Chloe’s bicep. “Yeah. Nice.”
“We’re doing charaoke,” Chloe slurred. “Jeremy, your voice is decent. Come on.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the house, Brooke and Michael following close behind. Soon enough, they were swallowed by flashing lights and the bass line of an old nineties love song, and Jeremy tried not to breathe in the stench of teen body odor and alcohol.
As they neared the end of the den, Chloe muttered something unintelligible and climbed up onto the miniature stage. To Jeremy’s mortification, she grabbed a microphone and said, “My boy Jeremy could be on fucking broadway and we’re gonna give him a shot tonight!” Only her speech was slurred and she drew out her vowels, so it sounded more like “weeeeee’re gonna give him a shoooot toniiiiiight!”
Behind him, Michael whispered, “Good luck!” and shoved him forwards. Jeremy stumbled up onto the stage next to Chloe.
Chloe grabbed his arm again and said, “I’m picking.”
Jeremy groaned as her song selection popped up on the computer screen in front of him. “When I Was Your Man? Bruno Mars? Really, Chloe?”
Chloe leaned towards him, swaying on her feet. “Just fucking sing, Jerry,” she said, and then Jeremy was alone on the stage.
Jeremy glanced over the crowd, spreading his arms helplessly. “I am so, so sorry for what you’re about to experience,” he said. He prayed that nobody could hear the tremor in his voice. “But since I value my life, well…” He breathed a sigh of relief as chuckles spread through the gathering crowd before him. The first notes of the song spilled from Jake’s expensive-looking speakers, and Jeremy began to sway to the gentle piano against his will. The first line of the song appeared on the screen, and Jeremy inhaled. He shut his eyes against the strobe lights and faces below and started to sing. “Same bed, but it feels just a little bit bigger now.”
Somebody in the crowd whooped. He heard Michael mutter, “Holy shit.”
“Our song on the radio, but it don’t sound the same,” he continued, pulling sound from deep in his chest. “When all my friends talk about you, all it does is just tear me down.” Jeremy opened his eyes and looked out over the crowd. “And my heart breaks a little when I hear your name. It all just sounds like –” His gaze fell on Michael, whose mouth was hanging open. “Oooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh.” He sailed through the rest of the song, singing louder and louder, keeping his eyes on Michael. As the music faded out, Jeremy felt better and more alive than he had in ages. He couldn’t keep the dorky grin from spreading over his face.
Suddenly, all that as left was silence. Jeremy let out the rest of his breath. Everything was still for a moment. And then the crowd erupted, and Jeremy was bowing, and Michael was up on stage, hugging him and talking faster than Jeremy had ever heard him.
“Jeremy, Jeremy, Jesus Christ, that was amazing, why don’t you sing more often? Dude, you have to do that more, you could be a professional, wow–”
Jeremy felt himself redden. Then, he had an idea. Maybe it was the natural high, or maybe it was something in the air, but he opened his mouth and said, “We’re going to do the next one together.”
Michael never really enjoyed parties, but he usually tagged along anyways. There needed to be at least one person with a car who wasn’t as high as a kite or drunker than his grandmother on New Year’s Eve. And maybe he had jumped around a little, shouting lyrics to the songs he liked, but he didn’t – couldn’t sing.
He stepped back. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no.”
“I’ve heard you sing before. You’re good,” Jeremy said.
“Have you heard me sing?”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “When you’re high –”
“Okay, okay, point proven,” Michael cut in. “But still, no.”
“Come onnn, Michael.” Jeremy poked him. “I’ll go with you!”
And then the song was starting and it was too late to save himself. Michael read the title on screen. Carry On, by fun.. He kind of knew that one.
Deep breaths, he told himself.
Jeremy started. “Well, I woke to the sound of silence the cars, cutting like knives in fistfights.”
Michael glanced at the crowd and felt his legs tremble.
Jeremy continued. “And I found you with a bottle of wine, your head in the curtains and heart –”
“Like the Fourth of July,” Michael sang. He was sure he was by now visibly shaking, but he told himself to keep going. He adjusted his voice to match Jeremy’s, and kept going, growing more and more confident with every line.
When they reached the first “carry on”, Jeremy grabbed Michael’s hand and held it above his head. Michael felt his face flush, and hoped that everybody still watching would attribute it to his nerves, or maybe alcohol he hadn’t drunk. As the verse ended, Jeremy brought Michael’s hand down, but didn’t let go. Jeremy started swaying to the music, and Michael felt himself follow suit. He kept his fingers wound through Jeremy’s.
The second time they came around to “carry on”, some of the crowd joined in. Michael started to understand people who performed for a living. Part of him felt like he could fly. On a whim, he grabbed one of the microphones from its stand and held it in front of his mouth, bending his knees as he started the “Whoa!”. Michael was singing like he hadn’t known he could sing. He shut his eyes and let his voice go.
The song ended. The crowd turned away, and slowly, the low buzz of mindless conversation returned. Jeremy’s eyes were bright, and Michael couldn’t help but admire how beautiful his eyes were. Jeremy hugged Michael, and pulled back, beaming. He looked Michael directly in the eyes, and Michael couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away. They were breathing hard, and their faces were flushed, and Jeremy’s hair was adorably rumpled, and Michael felt his face redden again –
And then he was kissing Jeremy. No – Jeremy was kissing him. Michael stiffened, wondering for a split second if this was some kind of elaborate joke, before melting into the kiss.
It was far from perfect. Michael’s glasses got in the way, and it wasn’t like either of them were experienced, but when they pulled back, Jeremy’s eyes were shining and Michael was the one beaming.
“I love you so much right now,” Jeremy whispered, and Michael squeezed his hand.
“I love you too, Jer-bear.” he leaned his head against Jeremy’s shoulder. “I love you.”
So I’ve had this blog for just under two months and just hit my first thousand and I’m ??? like thank you so much to everyone who follows me. I love you all. So for 1k I figured I’d do a follow forever to celebrate all the people who’s blogs I love and yeah. I’m sorry I’m shit at thanking people idk how to do this I don’t deserve any of this and everyone who follows me is too kind.
Special thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to talk to me, either in messages or by dropping asks in my inbox. You guys make me smile and I’m so grateful for all the ways I’ve interacted with the various members of this fandom.
Also to all my mutuals who have given me mini freak outs when they followed me because I am not worthy.
(Nobody’s bolded because I love everyone and felt bad.)
“The paint’s supposed to go where?” Keith asked incredulously.
Lance gave an evil grin, tossing the balloon in his hand into the air and catching it smoothly. “On your face, Mullet. And mine. And Hunk’s and Pidge’s and Shiro’s. Now are you done asking questions?”
Keith peered around the barricade he and Lance were hidden behind, looking over to where Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro were clustered together whispering. “I…one more. Why is it just the two of us against the three of them?”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Cause Coran and Allura are lame. But it’s fine; we make a good team together. Now are you ready to kick their collective asses?”
Keith let a smile slide across his face, glancing back at Lance and shaking his head ever so slightly. “Why not?”
“You take charge, I’ll flank?”
“As per the usual.”
They fist bumped, and then Lance whooped loudly and jumped into the air, chucking the blue balloon in his hand with no warning. It splattered across Shiro’s chest and the room went dead silent, everyone staring at the smattering of azure paint.
“Oh it is ON!” Pidge shrieked.
Within seconds, balloons of the Voltron colors were flying back and forth across the room, red mixing with yellow and making orange and blue with red and green with yellow. It was an all out rainbow, and frankly it was glorious, if Lance had anything to say about it.
It all changed, however, when Keith took a direct hit to the face and was flung backwards to the floor. Lance gasped and dropped to his knees next to him, the balloons still flying over his head.
“Keith!” he yelped a little dramatically. “No! How could this happen?”
“You didn’t cover me,” Keith snorted, wiping some of the green paint off his face cause of course Pidge would go for a head shot.
Lance flung a hand over his eyes. “Oh, you’re right! I’m the worst! And now you’re gonna DIE!”
Keith laughed and pushed himself upwards, shaking his head to get some of the excess paint out. “Lance, I’m fine. Now can we shoot back please? I’d like to murder Pidge, if that’s cool with you.”
Lance grinned cheekily and reached behind him, grabbing a red balloon and handing it over. Paint flecked his cheeks and nose and mouth, stretching as he smiled, and Keith took the balloon with a smirk. “She’s gonna eat it,” he declared.