Latest Posts by the-whimsical-wizard - Page 3
God I love how Donna and Ten at the start of Unicorn and the Wasp are like “1920′s party! HELL YEAH” and then they spend 99% of the time just gossiping with each other instead of, like, interacting
the real reason howl kept his castle moving was tax evasion
there's a tortoise at work and he's 30 years old and I love that he's 30 years old because I can look at this animal that is 3 years older than me and go "does the man want his appy slices??" and he hustles over cause the man do want his appy slices
How often have I sat in the dim glow of evening and thought, Why must it be this way?
Why must a man suffer simply for being alive? Why must the heart, once open, be beaten down until it is afraid to feel at all?
I have no answers.
No one does.
Still, I wake. Still, I breathe.
Because despite everything, the heart insists on beating, even when the soul has long since grown tired.
name 2 foods with the same ingredients that otherwise bear no similarities whatsoever?
The biggest misconception in public schools is that literary analysis is about proving you can be right or wrong about a book you read
Literary analysis isn’t about the book
It’s not even about being right
It’s about performing an investigation and presenting your case to the jury
It doesn’t matter if your defendant killed that guy or not. If you can convince the jury he didn’t, you’ve won
And the incredible life skill of spinning bulletproof bullshit out your ass with a handful of facts and a prayer is soooooooo much more valuable than anyone’s ever gonna tell you
your man doesn’t have the mental strength to caramelize onions
What's the trope name for when someone finds out they're the Chosen One(tm) and is like "No, thank you" and goes and does something else
Oh it would truly destroy Lauren if Kieran is the one Neyra says is dead (in the cave). If it is Kieran, it would obviously be a faked-death scenario, but that’s just as bad for Lauren—the last ten years of her life she’s been obsessing over the death of her best friend and trying to figure out what happened, knowing in her gut something was off and that he may have lived, but not being able to prove it and unbelieved by all. For that to repeat itself would wreck her—I think I’d lose my mind if I were her
My heart aches a little every time I see someone grieving a person who's still alive. Someone’s staring too long at a contact they’ll never text again. Someone’s walking a familiar route slower than usual, as if the past might catch up and hold their hand. Someone’s deleting pictures, only to check the trash folder ten minutes later.
Healing is cruel, isn’t it? It asks you to carry silence like it’s a gift. It asks you to remember without falling apart. It asks you to be okay with never getting an apology.
But mourn. mourn fully, if that’s what you need. Cry on the bathroom floor. whisper their name in the dark if it helps. just promise me you’ll learn the shape of your own hands again.
And next time, hold your own heart a little gentler.
How long does someone have to be dead before it’s considered archeology instead of grave robbing?
They say love is salvation.
I disagree.
Love is judgment.
It sees into the corners of your soul you thought were safely hidden.
It forces you to confront not only who you are, but who you could have been.
And in that confrontation, something breaks and something is born.
Sometimes I worry that I feel things too deeply, like maybe I am too soft for this world, too easily moved by the way someone says my name gently or remembers my favorite song. I get attached to moments, like the way sunlight hit my wall that one afternoon or the sound of someone’s laugh when they’re not holding anything back. I notice these small, quiet things and they stay with me. I carry them like little treasures in my pockets.
I think I just…want to be someone who means something good, not in a big, dramatic way, just…in the way someone might think of me and feel warm, like, “oh. she made me feel safe.” or “they understood me when i didn’t even know how to explain.” I don’t always get it right. I stumble over my words. I overthink. I get overwhelmed and quiet but my heart is always in it, even when I don’t know how to show it properly.
I'm not perfect. I cry at silly things. I get shy when I care too much. but I promise,
If I love you, I love you with everything that is both broken and too heavy to carry, an affection that feels like a burden I cannot set down, yet can never bear to lose.
Realizing that your childhood wasn’t gentle, wasn’t safe, wasn’t what it should have been is not just painful, it’s disorienting. You grow up and suddenly the things that felt normal start to rot in your memory. The silence at dinner. The sharpness in your mother’s voice. The way your father existed more like a shadow than a person, and now you’re old enough to understand it. The generational ache. The damage passed down like a family recipe, spoon-fed until it tasted like home.
But where does that leave you?
Because now you’re the one with shaking hands and soft words, trying not to be bitter, trying to be kind to people who never learned how to be kind to you,trying to heal while still making excuses for the people who cracked you open and maybe they didn’t mean to hurt you, maybe they were hurt too. But it still hurts.
And no one warns you about the guilt. How you’ll feel selfish for wanting to be angry, how you’ll sit with your grief like it’s something you stole, how you’ll wonder if you’re allowed to say “that wasn’t fair” without sounding ungrateful for the love they tried to give.
I'm tired of being the bigger person, tired of swallowing the screams just because they loved me in their own way.
Because sometimes love, if it’s careless, can still leave bruises. and I’m still tracing mine like a map, trying to find my way out of this mess they never cleaned up.
Sometimes I think I left a part of me in an old cereal box, the one with cartoons on the front and puzzles on the back, half solved in crayon, soft and smudged. Sometimes I remember sitting on the kitchen floor, feet cold against tile, watching dust dance in a shaft of morning light like it had secrets to tell if you watched long enough. There was a radio playing some song I didn’t know the name of but sang anyway. My mum’s humming from another room,the scent of toast, burnt a little, but home. I think I'd give everything to go back just once.
Not to stay.
Just to sit for a moment, legs crossed,sun on my knees, and not know yet what heartbreak was.
They always say, Memento mori , remember you will die (as if we ever forget)
Death is loud, death shows up uninvited, sits at the table and pours you your tea.
But no one taught us how to live, how to hold hands like lifelines, how to kiss like there’s a clock ticking, how to laugh without guilt when the world’s still burning so I write this for you
Memento vivere.
Remember to live.
Touch your friends' faces like art, cry in the supermarket if you need to, take pictures of the sky, text first, say “I miss you” even if your voice shakes. The end is coming, sure...but that’s not the point. The point is you’re here. You woke up again. Your lungs worked. Your heart didn’t forget how to sing.
Memento vivere.
Carve it somewhere soft, say it like a spell, say it until it sticks.
It is simply not fulfilling to enjoy media in the height of its popularity. You need to show up so late to the party that everybody else is gone and the hosts are asleep so you can rummage through their trash for chip dip and stale hors d’oeurves to eat alone in the dark like a dirty little raccoon secret
yeah libraries are cool but have you ever found a library with a secret doorway disguised as a bookshelf that leads to a smaller, hidden library filled with ancient books full of mysteries and forgotten knowledge? me neither and i'm sad about it
one of the greatest tragedies in life is that you will always be loved more than you will ever know. someone in class finds your presence inviting and warm, even if you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with them—maybe none at all. someone on the street loves your smile and it gets them down the next few streets. someone you used to be friends with still wishes to fondly call your name. someone you used to be friends with five years ago would give anything to be in the same room as you today. someone who regularly comes into work is disappointed when you aren’t there to brighten their day. someone missed you today. someone noticed you were gone. someone loves you when you’re there; someone loves you when you’re nowhere to be found at all. you think you have always disappeared when you’re no longer in the picture, but you’ve never left the frame.
obsessed with characters being saved against their will. being knocked unconscious and carried away from a danger they won't stop trying to fight. being shoved through a portal somewhere far away and safe right before it closes. trying to self-sacrifice only to have the exact person they're trying to save swap their places at the last second. getting the only cure to the disease or curse bc the person administering it loves them too much to give it to anyone else, including themselves. being thrown to safety right as they had accepted dying. someone else they thought had gotten to safety running back to drag them out of danger. it's so fucking tasty
its true that crying wont solve things but we dont cry to solve. we cry to release
Mama I don't want kids, I say. For the hundredth time. Mother has this look on her face, it sits still- something between disappointment and bewilderment. But who will take care of you, she says, when you're older? And that is a rotten feeling. To believe that a child is only as good as what it does for its parents. To believe you are only as good as you give. To believe you owe someone, only to feel love. Who deserves this? Who deserves this wretched snarling beast sitting in my chest, whispering, shrieking- give, give, give.
-Ritika Jyala, The Beast that makes me Give
FOUND family??? you think i just found them like this??? babes this is FORGED family. Me & the bros were scrap metal in a junkyard (very valuable, very sharp, very dangerous, uncared for) and we GOT IN THE FUCKING FIRE TOGETHER. WE did this. we said I AM NOT LEAVING YOU and melted into each other for better or for worse (it’s for better) and we are A FUNCTIONAL UNIT now. DO NOT SEPARATE. BATTERIES FUCKING INCLUDED. FOUND family my ass, we built this non-nuclear family unit from the ground up, don’t devalue this!!! it was is and will be a labour of love!!!
Someday I will have my own place. My world won’t be confined to my room. I will stumble sleepily through the house in the morning, opening the blinds. I will sit out in the backyard and look at the stars. I will go out whenever I want to. I will survive long enough to have that.
idgaf if my parents are disappointed in me I'm not impressed by them either
A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life. Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.
How did people describe the taste of cilantro before modern soap was invented? Or did the cilantro-tastes-like-soap gene not exist then? (Writing a Socrates x Plato fluff fic)
im sorry youre writing what now
some people think i learned braille for Cool Points but i actually learned it bc my medicine holder has the days printed in braille and i forget to take my medication a lot. i didnt feel like turning on a light one night just to see my medication so i learned braille out of spite. now everytime i go anywhere i have to read the braille signs and i have seen “woman” misspelled as “noman” SEVERAL times.
all timelines or whatever