small summer self-care tips from one mentally ill person to another, based on ur hogwarts house
more books if you can, video games that are happy if you can’t.
find one project you love and chase it doggedly, even if it’s fanfiction. ideally, work on this project w/other friends that are working on projects, so u have accountability and community.
set small goals and crush them, even if they’re managing to get rid of the Depression Water that’s been sitting on the side of your bed for three weeks with a dead moth in it
whenever you hear yourself call yourself bad names, whisper “shut up, salasar,” and fix it. call yourself the most ridiculously pretentious and complementary titles you can think of
every time ur brain tries to kill you, tell it you will succeed out of spite
acrylic nails, regardless of your gender. sometimes they are 50 cents at the drug store. click click click
don’t get caught up in the wildness of summer, try to take a few steps back from friends when stuff starts getting dangerous. write down “we are about to do X” and decide if it’s something your mom would be okay with.
blanket cape + make urself a paper crown
for every liquor drink please drink 1 glass water. friendship hydration challenges are also a lot of fun, but as a warning, i will win them
roller coasters will make u feel awake for a bit and that’s fun but friendships shouldn’t make u feel like you’re trapped on one
courage is your crest. remind yourself of that when ur facing your demons. also, dye your hair a fun color.
you’re not too much for someone to handle just because you’re energetic or whatever. this summer relish in not toning it down. take your meds with water and bite anyone who makes fun of you for them.
give urself time to recharge. know your limits. sometimes courage is also saying “no thanks”
the sun isn’t out all the time. you don’t have to always be the cheery one. if you fall, your friends will catch you. keep yourself around your loved ones. they’ll forgive you, even if you’ve been gone.
cooking and baking for other people is actually so much fun, try and eat a little while you get it done
watch children’s movies and shows. it’s okay. take a little while and let yourself feel like you’re seven and the world isn’t as loud as it is.
dark scary makeup and instagram photos
be patient with yourself. okay you’re not getting better right now but that’s okay. the slope is very slippery. it’s a long climb to the top, but you got badger claws. start with washing your hair. you’ll get there.
when they are only hurting you, they do not deserve your loyalty. it hurts to say goodbye, but it will be better when they leave.
hard work does include dragging yourself into the shower after six days without it, good job, you
find something to be curious in every day, keep that mind working. it helps to slowly teach yourself something, even the anatomy of a bird wing.
you aren’t bad if you can’t focus. neither can i and i’ve been a ravenclaw all my life.
it isn’t about being “smart” and you don’t need to fit some neurotypical version of that to be clever; wit comes in all forms and if you chase something unconventional at least you’re chasing something
tuna and rice is a good meal with a low price and v low production abilities. turn on TedED while it’s cooking and zone out to something vaguely educational. at least you’re learning?
you aren’t and you’ll never be only good at things because of your disease. if someone says you paint beautifully because you’re sad, paint them eating their words. also, peaceful coloring.
bird mouth from pringles chips. caw caw
go outside. catch breeze, draw leaves, eat fruit, discover small happy.
Don’t get discouraged if sometimes the ideas in your mind don’t come out the way you want them to. You’re doing great, bud, and it’s pretty fabulous how you paint pictures with your words, even if your mountains look a little more like hills! Keep on going, you’re doing great my dude.
In which I get a wife in my first session of a campaign
Context: So I made a new character for this campaign, and she is a very punchy fighter by the name of Mae Gjallarfjall. And her trouble is “Punch first, ask questions later.” I joined one or two sessions late, so I have no context for this campaign other than “Magitech is a thing that exists and can do things.” I am a crewhand on a ship traveling across the sea.
DM: All of you hear the crashing of wood as a cannonball tears through a bit of your ship’s hull. You then hear the captain yell “PIRATES OFF THE PORT BOW!” What do you do?
Me (OOC): I run over to the captain and tell him to get me in punching distance.
DM (as captain): Wait what?
Me: Get. Me. In. Punching. Distance!
Wizard: *grabs me by the shoulder* Hold on. *rolls Magic to teleport*
DM to me and Wizard: You two end up on top of the pirate ship’s mast, a good sixty feet above the deck. The ship is also flying above the water. Below you see six pirates that do not seem to know you are here. What do?
Me (OOC): Well, my trouble is “Punch first, ask questions later,” so I’m going to roll Fitness to sprint down the mast and activate Fist of Havoc.
DM: Alright, roll.
Me: *rolls +2 on Fitness and 18 damage on Fist of Havoc*
DM: You kill two of the pirates instantly and send the other four back a ways staring at you in shock and fear.
Me (OOC): I want to roll Persuasion to convince them that fighting me is a terrible idea.
DM: Um… okay, roll for it.
Me: *rolls +2 on Persuasion*
DM: You succeed on two of the pirates. Pirates 1 and 2 sheathe their weapons and take a step back. Pirates 3 and 4 are not convinced.
Everyone else takes their turns.
DM to me: Alright, so Pirate 3 has been smacked by [Paladin], and Pirate 4 tried to attack but accidentally lost grip on his sword and is floundering to pick it up. The pirate captain has come up from her quarters and yells “What the hell is going on on my ship‽”
Me (OOC): I run over to her and punch her right in the face. *rolls +3 to hit and another +3 for damage*
DM: Wow. So you run over and deck her right in the schnoz and she staggers back a bit. In retaliation, she shoots you. *rolls +2 and deals 3 points of damage after armor*
Engineer: *busts out from under the ship and yells* “ABANDON SHIP OR BURN IN HELL!”
Me (OOC): *rolls neutral on Fitness and jumps overboard, rolls again for Hero Landing™ and gets +2* Wait, where’s pirate captain lady?
DM: That’s a good question. *rolls dice* She says goodbye to her crew and ship and jumps overboard.
Me (OOC): I roll Initiative to see where she’ll land, and Fitness to catch her.
DM: Go for it?
Me: *rolls +1 Initiative and crit Fitness*
DM: Holy shit, give yourself a fate chip and let me paint you this word picture. [Engineer] sprints out from the engine room and yells to get off. Both of you dive off and land on your ship. [Paladin] jumps off and lands on his horse, and then Pirate Lady jumps off after you guys. You look up and hold out your arms and catch her bridal style so comfortably that she swoons and blushes profusely at you.
Me: I apologize if your fall from heaven hurt. *rolls persuasion and gets +3*
DM: She is so overcome by her emotions that she is now profusely in love with you and wants to marry you.
Me (OOC): I say yes and marry my new pirate bride.
Harry read the article again. He didn’t know why he put himself
through it. Rita Skeeter’s outlandish claims never failed to make him angry.
And he’d already forced The Daily Prophet to run a redaction days ago.
No, he did know, actually. It was the accompanying image. The
one with Draco Malfoy staring right into the camera, unblinking, a challenge in
his eyes. It was familiar but at the same time nothing Harry had ever seen
before (except during his many rereads of this particular paper). Malfoy had
aged. Matured obviously since he was now a Ministry official. There was just
something about his face. The same but different. Harry was drawn to it.
Harry looked up to find that same face at his doorway, focusing a
steely gaze on Harry. He was so shocked he forgot he was holding a cup of tea.
It dropped to his desk with an embarrassing clatter, spilling its contents, all
over Malfoy’s inked face.
The Malfoy at Harry’s office door – the real one – didn’t move.
His eyes flickered down to Harry’s desk, watching the spill unfold passively.
Harry jumped to his feet and quickly bundled up the wet paper,
throwing it face down into a waste basket at his feet. He wasn’t sure if he’d
been fast enough.
He looked back up to Malfoy, searching for any sign he might
have seen. Nothing. But that hardly meant much. Harry suspected Malfoy’s
emotions didn’t play so obviously on his face anymore. He nodded in what he
hoped was a professional courteous manner. "Dralfoy.”
Harry froze, the awful blunder hitting his ears just as it came
out of his mouth. He could feel himself blushing, his palms getting clammy, his
knees weak. Was simply Malfoy’s presence enough to make him come undone these
And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Harry, not
quite sure how much longer he’d be able to stand for, slumped back into his seat -
or at least attempted to – but misjudged the position and ended up plummeting
to the floor instead.
The only saving grace – if there was any positive to the
situation at all – was that at least on the floor, behind his desk, he was
hidden from sight. He wondered if he crawled under his desk and stayed there,
if Malfoy would get the idea and leave. Harry was seriously considering the option
when Malfoy came into view again, stepping around the desk to loom over Harry.
He offered a hand. Harry gladly took it, forgetting for a moment
the current predicament of said hands. And sure enough, after Malfoy helped
Harry to his feet, he quickly let go and wiped his hand on his trousers.
Harry wanted to close his eyes and crawl up into a ball in the
corner of the room. He never wanted to look Malfoy in the eye again. In less
than a minute, he had made himself look like a complete fool. And all it took
was for Malfoy to walk in the bloody room.
Malfoy cleared his throat. “I just came by to say hello. I
thought it was polite given we work in the same building now. Which, of course,
you already know.” His eyes darted to the waste basket. Shit.
“I had The Daily Prophet write a redaction,” Harry blurted out, as if
that would help. Although at least he managed to get the words right this time.
“That was you? I should have guessed. You never miss an
opportunity to save my skin.” Malfoy’s lips quirked upward for the smallest
moment before his composure returned. “Well, it was nice seeing how the other
side lives. I suppose I must get back to it.”
“Right,” Harry managed to nod. “I’ll get the door for you.”
They both stared at the open door.
Having already committed to the pointless task, Harry hurried
forward and tripped over his own feet, falling right into Malfoy’s waiting –
his reflexes were still as fast as they were in Quidditch – arms. Could Harry be more embarrassing?
Malfoy righted Harry but kept a firm grip on him – perhaps he
thought Harry might slump to the floor otherwise, which was probably an
accurate assumption at this stage.
There was amusement in
Malfoy’s face now, a lightness in his eyes. “Are you always this clumsy,
Potter, or am I special?”
“You’re special,” Harry answered quickly as he didn’t want
Malfoy to think this was how all his mornings went. Although, after he realised
what he’d said, he quickly tried to take it back: “No, I mean, wait, I mean,
that’s not what I -“
Malfoy took a step back, dropping his arms. “No need to be so
flustered, Potter,” he interrupted. “I keep all the newspapers with your face
on them too.”
Harry’s brain short-circuited. He must have stood there blinking
at Malfoy for a solid five seconds before he was able to ask: “All of them?”
“Thirty-four and counting.” Malfoy winked. “You know, Potter, if
you were to take me out to dinner, I’m sure the outing might be scandalous
enough to make the front page. We could add to both our collections.”
“If I – you – dinner?” Harry repeated, a little discombobulated.
“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, a cheeky smile appearing on his
face, “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love to.”
Harry blinked – it was the only action he was capable of.
Malfoy laughed lightly when Harry didn’t reply. He made to exit,
but paused briefly to call out over his shoulder: “I finish at six.”
Only when Malfoy was out of view did Harry let his knees give in.
I want to write about you– the man who makes my heart skip effortlessly. I want to let you know that writing this is not easy because writing means telling everything and telling everything means I will be transparent to you; you will able to see my soul through the words I’m about to utter.
I will write this because you deserve to be painted through words– I will let the world know how wonderful you are in my eyes and I will make you wonderful in their eyes. You thought you are not enough and you thought no one appreciates you, but for me, you are enough. You are more than enough. From the way you talk, the way you make me laugh, through the way you put a mini heart attack whenever you summon my name. Out of billions of people in the world and hundreds of people I know, you’re one of the few people who really cared about me and I thank you for that. You told me once that I deserve to be loved and to be happy, maybe I really do, because the way you told me that my mess is beautiful, I thought about that maybe, just maybe there’s always beauty in every particular things in the world including my mess. It was hard to see myself that way but whenever I think of the words you said, I feel like I need to believe you. And I will always be thankful that I’ve met you– and if ever one day you will leave me, the memory of you will be one of the best things that happened in my life.
Context: So I started a new campaign with some friends, and one of the players made a character named Scruffy, who’s literally just a janitor, with Talent sets for stealth, using his mop as a weapon, and sassing opponents. The party gets sent to an allied country to help take care of a Hive threat, and during their free time before heading out, they find an arena called the Prison of Elders. Scruffy decides to enter, and faces off against a career gladiator.
Scruffy (OOC): Alright, I’m going to spend a Fate Chip and activate MM-HMM at the Ultimate level. I call four. *rolls 1d6 and gets a 4* He takes -2 to all stats he has points in.
Me (GM): *exasperated sigh* alright, you successfully MM-HMM him. This twelve-foot Eliksni beast seems to shrink by half a foot. What else are you doing?
Scruffy (OOC): I’m charging at him, and rolling Fitness to get as close as possible.
Me: You make it about 50 feet, and that’s your turn. The gladiator also charges forwards and is now right in front of you. He’s trying to shove his shotgun in your belly. Roll Initiative.
Scruffy (OOC): I notice… I got a crit to dodge.
Me: Not only do you successfully dodge, you plant your mop in the metal floor and pole-dance to avoid the shotgun blast. He is very confused. Your turn.
Scruffy (OOC): I’m smacking him with my mop. *rolls* HOLY SHIT THAT’S A TRUE CRIT!
He then shows me his dice, he indeed gets a true crit.
Me: Fucking okay, let me paint this word picture in everyone’s heads. These two come out on either side of the arena. They bow, and then Scruffy MM-HMMs at his opponent and charges forward. The gladiator also charges forward and tries to shove his shotgun in Scruffy’s belly, but Scruffy plops down his mop in the metal floor and pole-dances on it, making the shotgun blast miss. Scruffy then gets off his mop, brings it around in a hammer-swing and smacks this poor gladiator upside the head so hard that his helmet shatters and he hits the ground dead. This gladiator had a 5 armor and 35 HP, and you literally did exactly enough damage to one-tap him in less than 10 seconds. I need to fucking retire I’m so done right now.
Scruffy: I know better than to bring a knife to a gunfight. That’s why I bring my mop.
I’m tired of being sad and having no clue as to why I am this way, so I’ll write about the happy bits of me and why I smile. I dance when I’m alone, when the music gets just right and I’m sure that no one is watching, it’s okay to feel lonely, I used to not like the idea of it, but once you’re comfortable in your own skin even depression starts to feel like a breeze. I’m reading a book that says we are the beliefs and thoughts that we think and believe in. So if I say that I’m happy a thousand times, one of those will come back as true. So if I say I’ll find the love of my life some day, some day she’ll appear in front of me while I’m writing another poem. It’s good to have goals, the only goal I’ve ever had up until recently was to keep myself happy with someone else, that’s not a goal, but an illusion. You can’t live your life for someone else, it’s called your life for a reason. Happiness must happen when I say so, so I’m saying so. We bring into this world the kind of kindness that we’ve been dealt, so when I fake a smile, my mother is omnipresent. Although it’s not real, fake it until you make it, right? The book also says, spend more time doing things that make you lose track of time, so I decided to write again and more often than not, to not compare myself to others because once you start doing that, there’s no going back. I don’t write like someone else, I write like myself. I don’t think like anyone that I know, there’s just you and the beautifully twisted world, we’re all trying to find redemption inside of coral skies and trustworthy friends. I would break my own hand to contain my anger, it is contained. Happiness is what we make it, so if I say that it exists, then it will be so. Listening to your guidance, that makes me happy. You know who you are. Breathless to the words, you paint the sunrise with your pinky and promise that as long as I’m here today, tomorrow will not be filled with sorrow. I keep writing letters to the future person that I will be, I wonder if I’ll change. I probably will, we all do in one way or another. I’m the kind of person that snaps a picture of the sky while I’m driving, I’m reckless, but we’re still alive. Life’s too short and I need to be more careful, I’m certain that death has given up a few passes for me. Do you ever feel like you’re running out of time? Like there’s something trying to make a statement, a lost word that even google couldn’t even get its hands on. Do you ever feel like no one’s really listening? We’re all selfish in the end, but the ones that truly listen– they are the ones that I live for. I maintain online friendships better than I do with my siblings, I guess our thinking is just on different frequencies. On the topic of frequencies– the you that you would like to be is out there, you just need to listen. Hear the right words said by the right person and you’ll be in the right spot to be the you that you’d want to be in this life. Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough? Remember that thing I said about thoughts? Sometimes we just need to let go a little bit, embrace the art of it. To be left to the wind, the unknown will bring us to more adventures and you may not be loved by many, but there’s a chance that you will be– why not take it? I would like to break out of this, I want to smile more and to laugh a little louder, I just want to make myself proud of who I will be versus who I used to be. And you can’t turn back the hands of time, you cannot change your mistakes– they are permanent, but you are not. There is a fire inside of your chest and if you keep suffocating yourself with an indescribable pain then you’ll only suffer in a incomprehensible way. I just want to fill this world with more love and less pain, I see a butterfly and I’m easily distracted– how beauty will fly past you if you’re not even paying attention because you’re so damn sad all of the time. So I drop all signs of negativity and lean towards the positive, I am the only vibe that’ll alter my moods, so I must feel more wealthy than a million silver spoons even if I don’t have any, so I must create the art that likes to spill from my fingertips, we live such short lives– why not be the best version of yourself? Who will you be if tomorrow was your last day on this planet? Will you cry because it’s over? Or will you search the ends of the earth until you’ve found the fountain of youth? I’ve got a secret to share with you. You can be a 100 years old and still have the sweetest smile, you can be in your 20s and have a soul heavy enough to sink the titanic, life is strange, life is strange. We live our youth to buy pretty things, but live our oak days trying to make up more time– it waits for no one, the wrong turn will break you, a simple kiss will turn your thoughts into poetry and a life of self-hate is a road that needs constant validation– why not be your own way out? Be your own lover, be your own brand of music, be your own kind of poem, be your own story of kindness, and if you’re not perfect just look around– nobody is. I’m tired of dreaming, I want to build it instead. You can’t be who you want to be if you’re still having the same thoughts from last year– you can’t change or heal in the right way if you’re not willing to break a few pieces of your heart because the clutter inside of our minds often match the attitude that we give off. So like a quote, so like a poem, so like a bedtime story. If I repeat it enough times, I’ll be happy. I just want to be happy. I just want to let go of the bad feelings. I just want to love myself enough to see a brighter day. You can’t change the world if you can’t even change yourself, right? If I repeat it enough times, then it must be real. I will be happy. Sadness is a crucial emotion because without it, being delighted and euphoric wouldn’t be so dense, but that’s the beauty of the intensity to which we should love ourselves. I want to be so fucking glad to wake up today that it’ll just drown my depression into the white noise. I want to glow in the dark and live like the jellyfishes, give my poetry the immortality to always bring a smile onto the faces of those that love who I am even if I’m a bit flawed because at the end of the day– you’re the only one sleeping on your bed, you’re the only one who’s going to determine if you’ve got enough room to breathe, you’re the only one to have the last say if you’re art or not.
I wanted to write something happy for you–
yes, you. The person that’s reading this.
Me? A sucker for the wedding trope. Hope you guys like this one though <3
Title: Anything For You Pairing: Peter Parker x reader Summary: Peter is your date to a wedding and all your relatives love him. Just one issue: you’re not actually dating. Word Count: 1,640 Warnings: None Tagged:@tmrhollandkay@kindnesswins@melconnor2007@mcheung0314
I don’t have the right words for anyone who needs comfort right now, I’m in need of it too due to a situation at home with my family, and the fear of things transpiring that harm my loved ones and fellow peoples abroad.
But here are some stories that I’ve written that could maybe help you, either distract you or possibly make you feel some love in your heart. It’s not a lot, it’s not good, it’s not enough, but it’s all I have to give anyone. So here are some stories to hopefully make you feel better or loving or loved.