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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.

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A mushroom-covered dog statue

By r/LacedBerry on Reddit

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New take on an old fave. I'd love to feel what she's feeling...

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very funny to me that the constant whiny "bi lesbians are invalid because lesbianism ALWAYS excludes men and male attraction" school claims to be progressive despite insisting that you as a woman/lesbian must still define your sexuality fundamentally by its proximity to men. personally i just don't think about them at all because i am too busy putting my fingers in girls. get well soon though

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being specifically dick-sucking horny is like inhabiting the fucking visage of tantalus genuinely no palliative jerk-off option available. i keep absent-mindedly thinking about the way a girl's hips will jerk and shudder in your hands when you pulse your tongue against the underside of her tip or the stupid breathy empty-headed "god oh my god oh my god" you get from her when you take her in your throat and swallow around her and tongue at her balls and then i'm suddenly back to reality and whatever i was holding is pulverized in my hand

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im butch and also a trans man and also gay and also lesbian. i fuck butches and gay men who consider themselves lesbians and gay no matter what gender they think i am. what the hell do i even call this?

you call it fucking awesome hell yes brother get your dick wet. you are a worm blessed to live in an infinite orchard

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A “Choose Your Own Adventure” resus story. Highly recommended.

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ICONS ONLY

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updated ref sheet for mawss! this was long overdue

old ref sheet from 2 years ago for comparison

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Random little asthma/wildfire story. CW: asthma attack, fire season, mouth to mouth

I've had asthma for so long now, I barely have to think about bringing my inhalers wherever I go and taking my meds daily. Of course, sometimes I even screw that up. If I've been drinking, I'm usually hooped. And that's how I got into this bloody situation. 

I'm on vacation, my friend and I crashed at her parents boat house. Of course we've spent the weekend completely hammered, and of course, despite the fact I dutifully brought my medication, I've forgotten to take it for three days. You're not supposed to stop cold turkey with those kinds of long-term meds. When I do, I notice things like arrhythmias. Rapid heart beat. Tachycardic racing, especially with effort. Problem is, I kinda dig the light-headedness and the feeling of my heart going a mile a minute. So maybe I've let the meds slide on purpose...

It's the middle of the night, the house still pitched in darkness, when my friend shakes me awake roughly. 

"We have to leave," she says urgently. "They've just told us to evacuate."

I'm light headed as I get to my feet, swaying, feeling that familiar gallop in my chest just from the change in elevation. "Does it...does it smell like --" the rest of my question is lost in coughing and my friend nods.

"The fire is just across the lake." 

It's been dogging us all weekend, the stupid fire. But the news was sure it would change directions...

I move to the patio doors, squinting into the darkness in the direction of the river and sure enough, over the hill and the roofs of other houses I see a glowing orange light diffused across the opposite side of the water.

"Holy-" I start, but that too is lost in coughing. 

"Come'on," my friend tugs on my arm. "We have to go."

We grab what we can from the house and climb into my friend's old beater of a car. The roads are dense with other people leaving their vacation lots, and our progress is slow. The smoke grows heavier with each passing minute. The car is an old one and the roll up windows don't want to stay sealed. Curls of putrid air the colour of fog make their way through the cracks. I keep it together for a while. Covering my face with part of my shirt. But soon the coughing starts to bleed into itself and I'm no longer sure where one attack starts and another ends. 

"You okay?" My friend asks, but I'm not able to answer. 

"Okay, I'm....I'm gonna divert us toward the hospital," she decides, cranking the steering wheel to the side and leaving the column of slow moving traffic out of town. 

I'd question her plan, but I can't reply. My lungs are struggling vainly, no amount of air I get seems to be enough. I can feel numbness and tingling in my extremities, and, when I clutch my knees, I notice my fingernails turned white under my skin. My rescue inhaler is in my purse and I grope for it blindly, finally feeling the narrow plastic column in my palm. I take six quick rescue breaths, and feel a little better after that, sucking in oxygen greedily-- but when I unfurl my hand over my chest I can feel my heart going crazy fast. Dizziness washes over me as the thudding does something odd -- beat......be-beat...beat, beat, beat. The skip is so hard it hurts and I gasp. My friend's eyes dart in my direction. 

"What's happening, are you okay?"

"My-- my heart," I gasp. "It did something strange."

Another skip -- beat, beat, beat...... be-be-beat.... be-beat...beat, beat.

I lean my head back against the headrest and try to breathe through it. Things get black and hazy while I struggle, and the next thing I know there's fire hitting the front of the car with a BANG.

My friend screams, she tries to back us away from the falling debris. Out the windshield I can see fire crackling in the darkness in the trees above. The car makes a jerking motion backward, debris sliding off the hood. She turns in her seat and starts to back us out of danger, then accelerates forward, swerving around the blockage in the road. There's not quite enough room and the road is rough with fallen logs, the wheels must turn against a downed tree, and the next thing I know there's a thud -- and the airbag explodes in my face. 

My skin feels hot. I'm sweating profusely. I can't seem to see straight and my chest is heaving, but I'm barely getting any air. The corners of my vision are dark and blurry, my heart feels like it's racing directly against my sternum, skipping painfully every few seconds. The car door is wrenched open, someone manages to get my seatbelt undone. My friend is pulling me from the car. 

"Come'on!" She shouts, but I'm practically limp as she slips her arms under me and heaves me up. She's coughing now too, and if I could speak I would tell her to leave me. Sparks of orange light are dancing all around us and the sound of the fire is overwhelming.

My friend manages to drag me, stumbling down the road. We're both coughing violently, but between my coughs there's no relief, no air at all. I can feel my heart start to stumble, going faster than I've ever felt before. We manage to escape the worst of the flames, the heat abating enough that I can feel the cold air of night on my skin when I collapse. 

"No, no, no," my friend cries, kneeling over me, her eyes darting up at the fire we've only just escaped. "You gotta breathe, come'on, breathe!"

My body hitches, spasms, I don't have the strength to cough anymore. My lips are blue in the firelight, my skin pale under a haze of ash.

"Please," my friend cries. She tips back my head and pinches my nose, covering my mouth with hers. A deep breath blows hot into my mouth and my chest rises slightly. "Please!" She says again, and again leans down to breathe for me. 

It works a little, I blink back at her, my breathing a low rattle. She gets up, then disappears and I don't know where she's gone. 

I'm alone.

My heart skips again, pain lancing through me as it becomes desperate in its gallop, struggling to move the pathetic amount of available oxygen to my brain and organs. I blink through black, and when I open my eyes, my friend has returned, pressing hard plastic to my mouth. She squeezes my rescue inhaler, but I'm not breathing, so there is no relief. She curses, squeezing my nose shut with one hand and forcing my lips closed around the plastic mouthpiece. She squeezes it a few times fast and hard and I taste iron on my tongue. I grunt, gasp, grunt.

"Come'on!" She cries, moving her hand to rub between my breasts. "Breathe, dammit!"

I make no sound and she tries again, squeezing six quick puffs into her own mouth, then covering mine and pinching my nose, exhaling her recycled breath and some of my medication hard past the thick inflammation of my throat and into my lungs.

Be-beat..... beat. Beat. Beat. Be-beat......... be-be-be-beat.......

I gasp raggedly, a harsh grunting sound more like a snore, my arms contracting toward my chest. My throat is so swollen, there's no way enough of the medication can make its way down to the inflamed tissue inside my lungs. 

"Over here!" Someone shouts in the distance, and my friend straightens up, waving her arms desperately over her head. 

"Over here! Help us!" 

And then my heart skips... fibrillates... I grunt...

And lie still.

That's when you arrive.

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idk man you've just gotta stop lashing out at other queer people on the basis that their personal identity is something that they want to unilaterally impose onto everyone else they share a label with. it's not! you are the one trying to do that! nothing i say about myself or my butchness has any implications beyond the scope of 1. myself and 2. my butchness. if me posting about bottoming, playing with my identity and presentation, etc. is so incompatible with your identity that it makes you angry then block me and filter my posts. only one of us is trying to enforce grand sweeping statements about what certain queer identities are or aren't allowed to do with an implicit threat of violence, and it's not me lmao

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If Taylor Swift used her power for good she would be such a great stochastic terrorist. She would post on Instagram "Hey guys, Tay here. Just wanted to say that whoever delivers me the head of Ron DeSantis on a platter will get free Eras Tour tickets. #ShadeNeverMadeAnybodyLessGay." It would be at her doorstep in two hours.

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cruel and twisted

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autistic anger issues are So Much. i have my temper more under control now in that i rly dont yell/lash out anymore but i do regularly boil inside with incandescent uncontainable rage over something inconsequential and then it evaporates in the span of ten minutes. incomparable