I Made This Instead Of Doing The Things Ive Been "forgetting" To Do

i like working at plant store. sometimes you ring up someone and there's a slug on their plant and so you're like "Oh haha you've got a friend there let me get that for you" and you put the slug on your hand for safekeeping but then its really busy and you dont have time to take the slug outside before the next customer in line so you just have a slug chilling on your hand for 15 minutes. really makes you feel at peace with nature. also it means sometimes i get to say my favorite line which is "would you like this free slug with your purchase"

YES PLEASE

LIKE TO CHARGE, REBLOG TO CAST

I feel a lot of people have moral systems that are completely detached from centering avoiding real harm to real people and are mostly based on completely arbitrary obsessions with symbolic and abstract "wrongs" and gut feelings, and then they join progressive politics and make an absolute fucking mess out of everything with their weird little moralist obsessions that actually don't help improve anybody's life or serve any purpose besides making a few people feel morally superior. This is why for example anti-kink politics went from having a pretense of being about protecting vulnerable women from abusive men to just being very blatantly "if you have ever done kink at all you're ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew".

i hope fat men who don’t exercise or who exercise very little or who exercise obsessively all have a good day and don’t feel ashamed of themselves and remember that exercise is supposed to be an act of self-care not an effort to reshape your body for other people’s satisfaction and your body needs rest just as much as it needs exercise and even if you know your body needs more exercise than it’s currently getting that is not a fault or a failure and you do not need to feel ashamed or guilty and you deserve a form of exercise that you actually enjoy. you don’t have to punish yourself for existing in your own body or for failing to perform “health” for other people

Okay, okay. As a girl who grew up on the old swashbuckler films. Can I talk about the fucking romance of Nydas Okiro. Betrayed and backstabbed by his crew. Holding his wound. Panting in effort and grief. Telling his traitorous underling that gold means nothing if you do not use it to lift people up. That gold is a resource by which mortaldom climbs. That they are going to save the people of Avalir, and that cause goes above any oath he ever made in a past life.

You can picture so clearly in this moment the kid who joined a pirate crew to climb the skies. The dream he must have had. The dream he shared with Laerryn.

And it’s the end, and he’s betrayed, and he’s standing on what has to be one or two fucking hit points remaining, and he stabs that traitor in the front, and uses every resource he still possesses to get as many people as possible out and to defend them in the process.

And he’s … he’s not only betrayed, he’s rewarded. For the man he’s been. Because Alessander steps up, Alessander thinks to save the sorcerer school, this other piece of Nydas’ dream. When Nydas and his conjured dragon are standing alone and surrounded by devil puppets, the fucking sphinx from earlier, the sphinx from the parade, busts in and rescues him, and has been protecting them the whole time from further tampering of the constructs. Nydas was the first to step up, to try and protect the tree, to try and avert catastrophe, to try and hold the line, and that ripples out. His people stand up around him.

And an entire army of constructs, on Nydas’ word, burst out of the Golden Scythe to defend Avalir as she dies. His ships fly to evacuate her people. The world might be damned, he might be nearly dead, but by Avalir, he and this city will go down fucking swinging, and saving everyone they can.

The romance of this man. I can’t even.

Musings About Being Addicted To Sadness

TW: depression, addiction, suicide

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Addiction runs in my family. Alcohol is the big one but drugs and food are as well. I managed to dodge the alcoholism because I could never get the taste for it. Unfortunately, I find myself addicted to sadness. To misery. I crave it. I intentionally do things to make myself sad or wallow in my feelings when sad things happen. I shop for misery on the internet and I savor it in my mind until I'm nothing but a heap on my bed silently weeping into the night until I just fall asleep.

I feel a relief from sadness akin to the feeling of a painkiller finally kicking in. It's just a wash of peace. I feel at home in it. And that scares me. Part of me is screaming to do something. Dance. Sing. Talk. Run around. Do something -- Anything -- to make it stop so I don't barrel toward something dangerous. But god, I am addicted.

It pulls me in and holds onto me and feels like a warm blanket. The way it blocks me from joy and from life feels like protection. It feels like it's encouraging me to just sleep. Rest. All I ever need is rest. Even if my eyes are tired and dry from crying every few hours. Even if my belly aches from hunger from refusing food. Even if my heart burns from the lack of water. Even if I'm dying. I don't care. Why would I? Dying is the the ultimate form of peace, right? The long silence. The sleep that doesn't end. How could that not be enticing? When you're dead, there's no need for hunger. No need for water. No need for tears. You just rest. You don't have to face yourself or the morbid world ever again. Why wouldn't I want it?

Eventually I always feel better. I look back on the way I wallowed and I feel silly for it. I've felt real, true pain before but I didn't feel it just now so why did it consume me just the same? Then it rears its ugly head again, "You're so stupid for feeling sad over nothing. You have nothing to be sad about and you're throwing a pity party. You're pathetic. The only reason you should feel sad is because you're a whiny insignificant girl who constantly cries wolf on her own brain."

It tries to suck me back in. Usually it succeeds. Sometimes it doesn't. On those good days where it doesn't, I realize it's too late. I've already wasted the day away. I've already cursed myself with a nausea that food can't fix. I've exhausted myself to the point where I'll never sleep that night. I've alienated a loved one who only wanted to help. And all I can do is apologize and hope I haven't finally pushed them to the point of not caring anymore. I can't blame them for not caring. You can only care so much about someone who isn't helping themselves.

I try so hard to improve. I go to the therapist. I take the meds. I read the self help books. I do the worksheets. I meditate or exercise when I have the energy but the progress is so slow that that blanket will slide back over me to tell me to rest. It's too much energy. I'll never get better. And I either have to let it comfort me in its own twisted, life-draining way, or I have to use the last of my energy to shove it off. I wish I could burn the blanket. I wish I could rip it to shreds. I wish I could throw it in the dirt and bury it.

But I can't. I need it.

And I hate it so very much that I do.

Do not under any circumstances, argue with fascists.

You will never win because they do not want to change their minds. All they want is to have an argument- to make their position seem rational and normal

Correct fascist misinformation only when the fascists themselves aren't present or the target of the information. So they won't be automatically platformed for running their mouths in response.

Treating fascist ideas with any sort of dignity normalizes them as a rational opinion that normal people have. These are not normal ideas. Do not treat them as such.

Do not provide fascist arguments with detailed rebuttals with evidence and sources and explanations as to why they are wrong.

Do not let them put you in a position where you have to be the one on defense, rather, just call them what thry are: Nasty annoying douchebags that are being hateful.

Shut down their stupid hateful arguments by calling them fucking stupid and hateful and refusing to give them the time of day.

Let them make a fool of themselves by trying to prove their obviously bigoted bullshit talking points aren't bigoted bullshit.

The proper response to "immigrants are rapist criminals that need to be deported" is not to provide statistics about how productive immigrants are and how few crimes they commit. The proper response is "what the fuck is wrong with you, you racist fucking asshole".

when a catgirl at the beach turns around and puts her balls in your face shes just saying hello!