#things I can't say

[only0neof]

[Teaser] OnlyOneOf ‘Things I Can't Say LOve’

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[supposedlyahuman]

tw: Examples of reblog bait/people trying to guilt others into reblogging stuff. I am not actually saying the things below, they're just examples that I have seen.

I fucking hate when people say stuff like this. Especially when it's on a generally good post with valuable information. On the one hand I want to share that information because it could genuinely help someone; on the other, I don't want to spread this type of guilt-tripping and shaming and potentially trigger someone else like me. It's a lose-lose situation. No matter what I do, I am going to feel guilty. No matter what I do, I will feel like a terrible person. It sucks and I just wish people would stop doing this. I know it's shocking, but it is actually possible to make an important and useful post without guilting everyone that sees it into sharing.

[teleportzz]

"bluntly honest" autism but in the sense that i absolutely cannot refrain from complimenting strangers if i like their earrings or their shirt or i think they have a friendly-sounding laugh or i think their art is beautiful or i think the fic they wrote portrays the characters so well. "bluntly honest" doesn't have to mean "mean". i love to tell people things that are kind and also true.

[nayrusl0vee]

I think I'm beginning to accept the fact that you'll always choose someone else over me... it makes me feel like I'm not important enough to even be considered. Maybe there's more to it. Idk.

Sometimes, I feel like you just toss me to the side, and you constantly take me for granted

I don't know what hurts more

How do you go from saying I was worth it, and I still am... to not wanting to even try?

We will never know unless we try

Why can't we talk about the real issue instead of going around in a circle telling half truths?

What are you so afraid of?

If you're afraid of losing me, don't be.

My feelings aren't just... feelings. I honestly truly love you, and I accept you as you are. You mean more to me than you'll ever truly know.

You say your decision is set in stone... what a familiar line. Nothing is set in stone. We both know that. The heart wavers, and your mind knows the truth, and so does your heart. How long will you deny it? How long will you run away from it?

God has the final say.

[11am21degrees]

My favourite song used to be golden hour, but then it became about you, and then you left. Nothing but blue texts in your wake. The song haunted me, reminded me, of how you used to look at me, how we used to bicker, how we used to be.

Did you know it's almost been a year now? I love golden hour again. I walked past someone who smelt of your cologne yesterday though. You and my memories of you are finally starting to fade, and despite the fact that the smell of your cologne makes my head turn, I can't remember how you used to look at me or the sound of your laughter.

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

I love how on Tumblr, "media literacy" has become "Um, just because someone writes about this doesn't mean they're endorsing this. I hate all these media puritans ruining everything."

I'm sad to inform you that knowing when and whether an author is endorsing something, implying something, saying something, is also part of media literacy. Knowing when they are doing this and when they're not is part of media literacy. Assuming that no author has ever endorsed a bad thing is how you fall for proper gander. It's not media literacy to always assume that nobody ever has agreed with the morally reprehensible ideas in their work.

Sometimes, authors are endorsing something, and you need to be aware when that happens, and you also need to be aware when you're doing it as an author. All media isn't horny dubcon fanfic where you and the author know it's problematic IRL but you get off to it in the privacy of your brain. Sometimes very smart people can convince you of something that'll hurt others in the real world. Sometimes very dumb people will romanticize something without realizing they're doing it and you'll be caught up in it without realizing that you are.

Being aware of this is also media literacy. Being aware of the narrative tools used to affect your thinking is media literacy. Deciding on your own whether you agree with an author or not is media literacy. Enjoying characters doing bad things and allowing authors to create flawed or cruel characters for the sake of a story is perfectly fine, but it is not the same as being media literate. Being smug about how you never think an author has bad intentions tells me you're edgy, not that you're media literate. You can't use one rule to apply to all media. That's not how media literacy works. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Aheem heem. Anyway.

[calware]

[notbecauseofvictories]

I don't know how strictly accurate this is, but one of the things I find shocking about watching historical dramas is how many people there are around all the time---according to Madame de... (1953) a well-off French household in the Belle Epoque maintains a workforce of at least 3, and the glittering opera has staff just to open doors. According to Shogun (2024) you can expect a deep bench just to mind your household, and again, people who exist to open doors.

Could people....not open doors in the past? Were doors tricky, before the standardization of hinges? Because otherwise, the wealthy used to pay a whole bunch of people to do it for them in multiple contexts, and I find myself baffled.

[bright-thehawksflight]

You know at first I didn't believe it when fiber artists on tumblr would tell me to be wary of the fiber art slippery slope. And yet. I hear the siren call of the spindle. Fellow crafters help me resist. Tie me to the fucking mast. Please.

[ofswordsandpens]

its funny because Percy has been spiraling ever since pjo and whenever he has a particularly bad episode you have other characters actively worried about it and you think to yourself surely they're going to intervene, surely someone is going to talk to him about it, and then like no one ever does lol

[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

[lazylittledragon]

Hello I love your bg3 content and your Dorian is so lovely! Can we get like an alternative reality with Dorian and Ascended Astarion? What would your headcannon be for them? 🙇

something like this, probably

[yubriamakesart]

I love them both and wish I had a fraction of their self-confidence.

[bookshelfdreams]

yk when you see someone share a finished handmade item that they clearly spent a lot of time and money on and it's just. The absolute tackiest thing you have seen in your life. And then you ask yourself why someone would waste all those resources on such an eyesore.

(no, of course you can't relate to that because you're a much nicer person than me)

In any case.

BEHOLD!

A wool coat!

The top fabric is handwoven and handspun, the whole thing is sewn by hand, too.

Leftovers. Barely anything, all things considered, which is very satisfying.

This thing took me well over 3 years to make, on and off. And now I'm done.

Thank you for your attention.

[monomorphilogical]

The list

Good lord, how I am unable to admit some things to myself.

This morning, it was merely I, who stared into the bathroom mirror; no soul around but my own haggard one. The mirror, partially fogged, did not even show the fullness of me, and yet, yet I could not make myself say the words to my own reflection.

Lord, I was barely able to think them clearly; only a mere concept floating around my head with a notion of truth, not whole and not untrue. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, and I clamped my teeth together hard enough to ache even now, deep into the afternoon.

So hereby; the list of everything I cannot say, but I will force myself to do so anyhow. For the sake of honesty, bravery and spite.

I have been staring at this empty list for twenty-five minutes, hand covering my mouth, astonished, that I cannot even write down the truths on paper. This is because I am terrified of admitting that which makes me vulnerable.

Vulnerability makes me believe I am one of the weak, not because I am better than those vulnerable, but because it opens up the possibility of getting harmed, ridiculed, ignored.

I often get the urge to bury a knife in the middle of my thigh, as a protest, perhaps as a distraction, or punishment.

A gentle touch wakes up a starving animal within me; and it screams to be beaten into a pulp until it cannot growl any longer.

I do not know what love-making truly is, I have never experienced it, and a sick part of me would rather be beaten and gutted than find out.

I understand pain, I do not understand those who do not.

I am writing down these truths first to avoid the ones I am struggling to admit.

I am more comfortable talking about the act of abuse than about the yearning of care.

Sex makes me want to scream out for them to 'tear me apart' because I cannot handle a hand laid upon my skin any longer. No matter the heavy-handedness, nor gentleness (which may be worse).

I think I am very sensitive.

I experience thought, emotion, and art quite deeply; it is like a wound that cannot close.

I feel like a small girl still, and it is bothersome to look into the mirror and see someone so very grown up.

I dislike my mother, and her tendency to manipulate my convictions and emotions, it took me far too long to understand what were her opinions and what were my own.

I wish I had a father who cared for me, and I wish he was one to keep me safe; instead of the source of danger.

I was just a little girl, and I needed my father to hold me, and I needed my mother to listen to me.

I still need my father to hold me, and my mother to be kind to me. (though I will never have this, for this is not something they can ever offer me; nor can I ever accept any form of care from them)

I am fairly certain that I do not know what love is, precisely.

I do not know how to possibly love, but also I do not know how to hate.

I am terrified of being less than someone deserves; or being bothersome.

I am also fairly certain I will make many mistakes in any relationship, and though I will try my hardest; it is up to them to decide if I am worth it. That terrifies me.

I do not believe I am worth it.

I do not believe I am worth anything to anyone but myself.

Intimacy, in any form, is my greatest enemy, and I fear I will fight it until my knuckles crack and bleed.

I am vulnerable.

I want to be cared for.

I am tired of being responsible of care, I want someone to take it off my hands every once in a while.

I crave to be held.

I crave someone to tell me it is all well. No matter the truth in it.

I wish I had someone to look out for me.

I spend all my pastime in my own head; reading books, listing to music, imagining some other version of my life, anything to escape the crushing weight that are my horrid memories.

I am afraid I will not be able to escape in this way were I to be in a relationship.

I am afraid that will make life dull, since all that lives in my head is the horror and grotesque and dramatics, and I have gotten very much used to the intensity of it all.

Almost none of my scars are because of accidents, clumsiness or the cat. I am good at making them look like they are.

I tell people all of them are from my teenage years. It’s only a half-truth.

Were I not afraid of its consequences, I would slash open the entirety of my body.

I often get the inexplicable urge to sink my teeth into my own skin. I do not know why. It makes my teeth ache with want. I suspect it is a form of self destruction.

I am afraid that when I cry to be torn apart, I am really crying to be held gently. I suspect you have to restrain me first, for I will try to kick and scream as you do so.

I want someone to be strong enough to restrain me until I can be held with gentle hands.

I do not know how to ask for anything.