andro-ice9-lover

[andro-ice9-lover]

[andro-ice9-lover]

for $1 name your favourite fictional lesbian. and no "straight female character popularly fanonized as a lesbian" or "this male character is a lesbian to me" allowed

[andro-ice9-lover]

Hello taxidermy community <3 I've been interested in learning more, but am uncertain where to find information and if this is even something I should be getting into (from a personal mental health perspective)

So heres the situation: I have two cats of my own and one cat, that sadly had to stay with my family. Death isn't imminent for any of them (though the one at my familys is getting older) , but I've been getting worried about what I'll do when it comes to it.

I have a very strong connection to my cats, they're my family and often were the only thing keeping me alive through abuse and dealing with my disabilities. When my childhood cat died we buried her in our garden, but its been disheartening to only have memories of her and not something more physical, and I wasn't even as close to her (got her at a young age) like I am with the others.

A part of me would like to keep a piece of them, that can stay with me when they're gone. Especially now that I don't have a permanent place of residence where I could put them to rest and visit their graves.

I've always been very intrigued by bones and skulls, they look rly cool in my opinion, so I've thought about going through the process of cleaning them off once the dreaded thing happens. But a part of me worries that I wouldn't be able and bring myself to do it. I know of course they wouldn't feel anything, but the idea of "hurting" their bodies still makes me wanna cry. But leaving them behind does too! And I don't think letting them be cremated and keeping their ashes would do me much good.

I looked into options in my location (germany), but they all seem very focused on prepping hunted animals and also are more about stuffing them out and not the preservation of the skeleton. So I think I would have to handle it on my own?

And then again there is the whole mental health angle. I've read, that psychologists caution against stuffing out pets, because it can be bad for the grieving process. Of course everyone should absolutely be allowed to grief in their own ways, but for myself I worry what it could do to my psyche to see them like that and to actively having to take part in it. I just don't wanna loose them like I did my first cat. It was heartbreaking to let her go after she died in my arms.

So my question for you guys would be both if I even should pursue this and if so, then in what way and how. I'd be very happy for any resources you could send my way. Also thank you if you read through all of my little ramblings and have a good day.

[andro-ice9-lover]

"Can I have a cigarette ?"

YOU MOTHERFUCKER I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE!!!!

[andro-ice9-lover]

Critical Role is turning 10 years old next year and they have a bunch of exciting stuff and live shows coming up.

Also: Laudna is so far the only Character of Bells Hells to have appeared in the Vox Machina animated series :)

I'm not feeling peachy for whatever reason so let's do something wholesome. Share an interesting fact from your special interest and/or current hyperfixation.

[andro-ice9-lover]

If you don't judge people for saying "sorry adhd brain" in public, then don't judge people for saying "sorry schizophrenia brain" in public

If you correct people when they misuse the term "ocd" then you need to correct people when they misuse the terms "psychotic", "delusional", "hallucinating" and "schizophrenic"

If you don't stare, laugh at or fear a stranger in public flapping their hands, then you need to do the same for a stranger in public talking to someone who isn't actually there.

If you give a trigger warning to sensitive topics then you need to give a trigger warning to unreality and false information as a prank.

If you want to normalize medication like antidepressants you also need to normalize medications like antipsychotics.

If you don't like people without your disorder joking about it online and report it as harassment, then you need to do the same for the tons of nonschizophrenics making "schizoposting" memes to make fun of us.

Just please include schizo-spec and psychotic acceptance into your mental illness/neurodiversity acceptance. We are part of your community whether you like it or not. We are constantly stigmatized, misrepresented and made fun of. We do what we can to help you, please return the favor.

Mental illness/neurodiversity acceptance is an ongoing action. We will get nowhere in the long run if we split the community into the "in" group and the "out" group. We could all accomplish so much if we worked together. But you need to include the "weird" people that don't fit into your aesthetic and don't fit the social norms.

Us psychotics and schizo-specs have been struggling for years and have been the only people fighting for ourselves while the people we plead to barely see us as human. If you are nonpsychotic and nonschizo-spec, you can help us more than you realize. Please include us and stick up for us the same way we have been including and sticking up for you.

[andro-ice9-lover]

Endless Bells Hells

[andro-ice9-lover]

i will never be against piracy ever but i also need physical media to remain

[andro-ice9-lover]

Who is Kamala Harris?

These are all from her Wikipedia page. I have picked the top 5 for each of these sections. Maybe you think other things are more important, these are just the things that stood out to me:

Highlights as District Attorney of San Francisco:

was tough on gun crime: created a gun crime unit, set 90-day minimum sentences, raised bail for gun-related crimes, and prosecuted all assault weapon possession cases as felonies.

created a hate crimes unit specifically focused on LGBTQ hate crimes against children and teens in school.

was (and is) against the death penalty; during her time as DA did not cave to pressure in several cases to seek the death penalty.

helped create the San Francisco Reentry Division, aimed at helping prisoners reintegrate after their sentences are through; the program became a national model.

refused to enforce prop 8, which was at the time California's ban on gay marriage.

Highlights as Attorney General of California

introduced the Homeowner Bill of Rights and fought against banks, mortgage companies, and credit card companies.

fought for financial reimbursement for public employee and teacher pensions.

fought for environmental protections and secured settlements and indictments against several oil companies for oil spills.

conducted a review of implicit bias in policing and the use of deadly force and introduced implicit bias training.

declared a law that California law enforcement had to collect and report police violence.

Highlights as a California Senator:

condemned Trump's Muslim ban.

opposed Trump's appointments of Betsy DeVos and Jeff Sessions, his nomination of Neil Gorsuch, and voted against confirming Kavanaugh.

tried to make lynching a federal hate crime.

urged the Trump administration to investigate the persecution of Uyghur Muslims in China.

voted to convict Trump on charges of abuse of power and obstruction of Congress.

Highlights as Vice president:

as President of the Senate, cast the tie-breaking vote in the Senate that ensured the passing of the American Rescue Act.

has cast more tie-breaking votes than any other Vice president in US history - she is responsible for many of the achievements of the Biden administration actually passing the Senate.

created task forces on corruption and human trafficking.

created a women's empowerment program.

has criticized Israel's actions during the current conflict in Gaza and called for an immediate ceasefire.

[andro-ice9-lover]

an erotic poem:

leg so hot

hot hot leg

leg so hot u fry an eg

[andro-ice9-lover]

Yeah I think you’re in the right place, Al.

[andro-ice9-lover]

Good news everyone I have accidentally discovered the stupidest fucking conceivable way to make myself to do chores

It goes like this…..

-

My car: *low gas light on*

Me: I mean, I COULD stop at the gas station on the way home… OR! I could just NOT do that and deal with it tomorrow

Me: but what if I get stuck in a time loop starting tomorrow and every day I wake up and my car is on empty that would be so annoying

Me: uggghhh FINE I will stop at the gas station.

****LATER THIS EVENING:****

My sink: *has all my bowls and tea mugs in it*

Me: okay I don't actually care about this problem for tonight I am not planning on eating soup or tea

Me: …yeah but if i do end up being stuck in a time loop starting tomorrow it is going to SUCK to have only dirty tea cups in the morning forever

Me: uuuuughhhh okay clean sink it is

-

I hate this. My brain must have an extremely low opinion of me to even try it, and it worked.

But hey, I don't have to try to remember to leave 5 min early tomorrow for a gas run?

[andro-ice9-lover]

[andro-ice9-lover]

actually fuck it i'll just keep laudnaposting. modern au laudna offers you a ride and she rolls up in this absolutely horrible clunker of a toyota and she says you can come in but don't sit on the bones and you open the passenger side door and there's bones on the seat. and also trash. and yarn. and bolts of fabric. and ancient tomes. and takeout containers. and you're like "where can i put my stuff" and laudna's like "oh i'll pop the trunk" and she pops the trunk and there's roadkill in the trunk that she's going to take home and clean and craft with? probably? and also imogen's go bag is in the trunk and if you touch it laudna will run over your foot with her car. anyways you eventually move enough stuff out of the passenger seat to get in and laudna starts the car and the worst playlist you've ever heard starts blaring at top volume (pop + showtunes + sad acoustic girlie music + screamo) and she peels away and almost gets you killed like nineteen times in the first two minutes. she drives soooo fast and keeps skipping songs around instead of paying attention to the road and also she's trying to tell you an anecdote that requires a lot of hand-talking and also every time she sees a cool piece of trash she swerves off the side of the road to pick it up and throw it in the backseat. and if she sees someone throwing trash away she starts riding their asshole while blasting the horn and shouting obscenities at them and then you realize that what you thought was a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from her rearview mirror was actually a couple of dead squirrels that she's posed so that one of them is pegging the other one, with a lovingly hand-stitched miniature leather harness and a tiny strap and everything. and every time she hits a bump in the road it looks like...well...i shan't speak

anyways later you run into imogen and she's like "ooooh laudna gave you a ride? you're so lucky 🥺🥺🥺 she's the best driver ever" and you remember that imogen is fucking insane. but then after that you see laudna giving imogen a ride and it is the slowest, safest, most sedate drive you have ever seen. this bitch is going 2 miles an hour. but she still screams at the top of her lungs any time anyone on the road does something she doesn't like. and imogen just turns up the screamo a little bit louder and smiles

[andro-ice9-lover]

Music Box, Chapter 2 | A Critical Role fic

Previously on... | Also on AO3!

[fic-wide warnings for abuse, gaslighting, attempted nonpersoning, body horror]

The doll stays awake all night. Every now and then, she looks towards the kitchen window; if she chooses just the right angle, she can see a slice of light through the curtain. She watches the sky turn pink by slow degrees. She doesn’t think about anything.

The Lord and The Lady are asleep, quiet – all the alive things in the house are quiet. There is only the doll, the creaking of wood, the settling of—

—did the back door just open?

No, it couldn’t have.

The Lord and Lady are the only ones with keys, so they are the only ones who can open the doors. There are no guests, it can’t be guests – the doll would know – The Lady would have locked the doll in the cabinet, or told her in advance to make pastries. Burglars? Who would be stupid enough to burgle The Lady?

Like this, the doll nearly talks herself out of it – she is very good at talking herself out of things – but then she hears a soft footstep on the hall carpet. A second, a third.

Someone is in the house.

The doll’s body shudders; her jaw neatly unhinges, her arms tick quietly to themselves as they stretch out like taffy. She drops her broom. Her claws and teeth unsheathe from their slots on her fingertips, on the roof of her mouth. She needs she needs. She needs she needs she needs. In her mind, The Lady’s warm hands are cradling her neck; The Lady’s mouth is against her ear, whispering: You won’t let them hurt me, will you?

No, she won’t, she won’t. She wouldn’t ever. Not ever oh not ever. She crawls through the kitchen, the dining room, the hallway; when she sees a body stuttering through the quiet dark, she leaps.

“Fuck,” hisses the body, when she lands on it. She goes for the eyes, for the throat – “what the hell, what in the goddamn, fuckfuckfuck—” – and then she is repelled bodily by some magic, some prickling static force. She hits the wall, she crumples to the floor. No matter, she can leap again. That isn’t the problem. The problem is that she knows that voice. From where? Is this one of The Lady’s guests? If it’s a guest, she can’t touch them; she shouldn’t even let them see her, they aren’t supposed to see her. In case it’s a guest, she skitters up the wall; she perches on the ceiling, she tries to remember. She flips impatiently through the pages of her mind. Where, where, where!

The hallway bursts into blinding purple light. The body standing in the hallway is not a guest – The Lady would never let a girl like that into the house. Travel-worn and buffeted by dust. Eyes wide. Hair wild. Purple lightning glows on her hands; the beginnings of magic spark there, like teeth that drool for flesh. Unfortunately, there is no flesh here; there is only the doll.

And she remembers.

“You’re charity,” she says, and the girl startles-stumbles. She looks up; her eyes go wide with horror. (They’re purple.) (Just like—)

“What,” says the girl, “what are you?”

Oh, right. The doll reaches up, pushes her jaw back into place; she lets the rows of teeth slide back into their canny sockets. She rolls her jaw to make sure it’s all snapped back into place; she clears her throat, she says, “I’m a doll. You aren’t supposed to be here, I don’t think. Lady Briarwood closed the door on you. Every time you came. You aren’t a guest.”

The girl splays her palms wide (they’re trembling, minutely) (her hands) (which is unfortunate, the doll did put her teeth away) (so what is she scared of?). “I’m not here to take anything,” she murmurs. “Or, or hurt Lady Briarwood. I’m just looking for a book.”

“You can’t steal my lady’s books.”

“Not to keep! I just…” The girl licks her lips. “She’s the only person who can help me. I’ve been askin’ her for weeks to help me, to teach me magic, but she’s real busy, so I…I’m just gonna read one of her books, and teach myself. We don’t need to bother her with that, right? It’s just a book.”

The doll does not know what to do with this. She climbs back down the wall, slowly; she rearranges herself until she is standing, so she can look the girl in the face. She is optimistic that this will help her understand what the girl said, and what she meant, and what exactly the doll is supposed to do about all of it – but it does not. Instead she is just close enough to see freckles all over the girl’s face. Freckles. The doll didn’t know that she knew about freckles. The Lord and The Lady don’t have freckles. She likes them. The freckles. They’re sweet.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the girl whispers, urgently. (Her eyes are very alive.) “I’m not gonna hurt anyone, okay? I’m just gonna do some readin’, and then I’ll go.”

“Lady Briarwood’s books are in her workroom. You aren’t allowed in her workroom. There could be a spill, or a stain on the carpet. And she would be upset with you.”

She really does have beautiful eyes. The girl. She has a nice face. If the doll touched her, she would be warm. Which, of course, has nothing to do with anything; while the doll is thinking about this (stupidly), she can feel the girl watching her right back. Measuring her. Like The Lady, just like The Lady – reclined in bed, looking to see which pieces of the doll need to be taken apart.

After a moment, the girl says, “She didn't say I couldn’t go into the workroom.”

The doll considers this. “She doesn’t like it when people go in her workroom. It’s off-limits.”

“Not to me. She didn’t say, right?”

This is technically true. The hallway is full of a clicking sound, and the doll realizes that she is tapping her fingers together. Out of nerves.

“You aren’t a guest,” she says.

“I could be your guest.”

This is so alien and impossible a concept that the doll’s shoulders jerk up to her ears; she makes urgently for the nearest wall and presses her forehead against it. Thus soothed, she says, “I’ve never had a guest. I don’t think I can have guests.”

“Sure you can. You live here, right?”

“I don’t live. I’m a doll.”

“You’re talking,” says the girl. “You can think, and, and move, and you know you’re – you said I’m, so you know, like, yourself. You know you’re real. So you’re alive.”

“I’m a doll.”

“You don’t have a name?”

The doll imagines, longingly, ripping open the wall and climbing inside and living amidst the beams and dust forever and ever and ever.

“Okay,” says the girl, “got it, you don’t have a name. Well why don’t you think of one? And I can call you that, okay?”

She could clean all the supports in the wall. She could – well, there wouldn’t be anywhere to put the dust. She could eat the dust. She doesn’t think she has a stomach, so she doesn’t know where it would go—

“I’m Imogen,” says the girl. “Did I…break you? I’m real sorry. I didn’t mean to – I mean, I kind of meant to. So. Sorry.”

The doll lifts her head up from the wall, peeks through her strings of black hair to Imogen (Imogen!). “If I show you the magic books,” she says, “will you leave? Will you go away? You’re very confusing.”

“Yes,” says Imogen immediately. “Yes. I’ll go away.”

“Alright,” says the doll. “I’ll show you my lady’s workroom. But you mustn’t touch anything that I don’t say you can touch. Many things in the workroom will kill you, and then I’d have to dispose of your corpse.”

“Would hate for you to have to do that.”

The doll doesn’t know what to do with that either, so she doesn’t respond. When she doesn’t know what to do, being silent and obedient always works for her! So she leads Imogen (quietly!) down the hallway (avoiding the floorboards that creak!), to the door of The Lady’s workroom. She lets Imogen into the workroom. It’s actually good, to do this, because the doll isn’t allowed in the workroom alone — and with Imogen here, she isn’t alone. And The Lady didn’t say Imogen couldn’t come into the workroom. She just said she wasn’t taking apprentices. And this isn’t anything to do with apprentices. It’s just reading. Like Imogen said.

And now Imogen is here. In the room. Looking around. The arcane lights followed her; they bob around her shoulders, like shy little animals. (It’s endearing.) Imogen is gnawing on her lower lip. “Okay,” she says weakly. “Is there, like…Magic for Beginners or somethin’?”

“No.”

“Well, hell.”

“You were doing transmutation, earlier,” the doll says helpfully. “And evocation. Most of Lady Briarwood’s texts are quite specialized, and she doesn’t really deal very much with either of the schools you used. You might want to try the Compendium.”

Imogen turns to stare at the doll; her eyes are very wide. “Oh,” she says. “You’re…I’m so sorry. You kept saying I'm a doll, I’m just a doll, I…well, I thought you were just a doll, I guess. But you’re smart, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not smart.”

“You just said – okay. Okay. Sure. I’m gonna…” Imogen gestures weakly to the bookshelf, begins to go through it – looking, presumably, for Iggwilv’s Compendium. None of the texts on The Lady’s shelf will curse Imogen just from her looking at them, so the doll feels it’s alright not to intervene. She moves to her usual spot; she stands and supervises.

Imogen finds the book. Imogen sits on the floor (good, the doll would have to clean The Lady’s chair if she sat in it). Imogen starts reading the book. The doll realizes that she has no idea what to do now – she can wait for The Lady’s instructions for hours and hours and hours, but she doesn’t – The Lady never leaves her alone with a guest. The doll has never supervised before. Why did she think she could supervise? What gave her that impression? She’s a doll!

She blurts, “Have you learned it all yet?”

Imogen jumps, looks up at her with an expression of wounded bafflement. “…I’ve read half the table of contents.”

“Was it good? Are you done?”

“No?”

Oh, this is terrible. The doll goes to stand in a corner, to soothe herself; then she realizes she can’t see Imogen if she does that, so she turns around, but then she stops feeling soothed, so she turns back again. And then she’s just sort of spinning around in circles, which is fun but doesn’t help anything. Wallpaper, Imogen, wallpaper, Imogen, wallpaper, Imogen, wallpaper—

Imogen!

Is touching her!

Imogen is touching the doll!

Imogen’s hands are touching the arms of the doll!

Imogen is here! Standing in front of the doll! With her hands holding the arms of the doll in place! So the doll can’t spin!

“Are you okay?” Imogen says!

No one has ever asked the doll if she is okay before! She has no way of knowing whether or not she’s okay!

“I don’t know!” says the doll! “You’re touching me!”

“Oh!” Imogen says, “Sorry!” and she takes her hands away.

“You don’t have to apologize,” the doll blurts. “I liked it. I like your skin. I don’t have skin. I like other people’s skin. When it’s on them. I don’t want to collect it or anything, it wouldn’t stay warm. And I don't need it, I’m a doll. Have you finished with the book?”

“No,” Imogen says, voice strained with something warm, “I haven’t finished the book yet. Sorry. I got distracted by how you were freaking out over here in the corner.”

“I distracted you.” The doll could climb up a chimney. She could stay in there. She could eat all the smoke.

“You’re distracting,” Imogen says, and then: “It’s not your fault. I didn’t…I didn’t know you were here, and you seem real sweet, so I am sorry that me being here is so upsetting.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” says the doll. “I’m a—”

IMOGEN’S HAND IS PRESSED TO THE MOUTH OF THE DOLL! COVERING THE MOUTH OF THE DOLL!

Then she takes her hand away. “Don’t start,” she says. “Here. Come with me.” She grabs the doll by the wrist (SHE GRABS THE DOLL BY THE WRIST!) and brings her back to the carpet; when she sits down, she tugs at the doll so that the doll is sitting with her. She opens the book again. “Help me,” she says. “I don’t know where to start. You know this book, right?”

“I’ve never read it.”

“Isn’t what I asked.”

“I don’t know,” the doll says. “Sometimes I know things without knowing them. My lady puts things in my head and takes them away again. I don’t remember.”

“That’s—” Imogen says, and then, “Right. Okay. The, the transmutation, the evocation, are there parts of the book that talk about that? What I was doing?”

“Yes,” says the doll. “Chapters twe—”

“Show me.”

Incredible, blissful to get orders — easily-comprehensible orders — the doll turns to Chapter 12 of the book, and she flips through the pages until she can touch her bone-white finger to the section on telekinesis. “Here,” she says.

“Thank you,” says Imogen, which makes the doll want to go stand in the corner again; Imogen can tell, somehow, because she grabs the doll’s wrist. She says: “Read it to me.”

The doll reads the book to her. And when Imogen asks what it means, the doll attempts to tell her; when Imogen asks about components, the doll gives her all the pieces of knowledge that she’s been carrying carefully in her hollow skull. Imogen doesn’t let go of the doll’s wrist. It is the happiest the doll has ever been; if she thinks about this, The Lady’s face floats up from the depths of her brain and her gaze is so sharp, so disappointed, so furious, that the doll feels incapable of doing anything but lying face-down on the floor and being a carpet. So she just doesn’t think about it. She puts it away. A part of her mind does a tally mark for every one of Imogen’s heartbeats – one, two, three – and at the end of the night she has a number in her brain, but she doesn’t let herself remember what the number means. She just holds the number in the hands of her brain. Somehow, impossibly, it feels warm.

[andro-ice9-lover]

rb to relieve the back pain of the person u reblogged this from

[andro-ice9-lover]

FUNYARINPA IN NEWEST JAIDEN ANIMATIONS VIDEO