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i spilled pasta in my backpack and got so mad that i made a traumacore edit about it

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Pedro Pascal posts in support of the trans community:

“I can’t think of anything more vile and small and pathetic than terrorizing the smallest, most vulnerable community of people who want nothing from you, except the right to exist.”

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"Stop saying 15 year olds with weird interests are cringe, they're 15" this is true however you should also stop saying adults with weird interests are cringe because who gives a shit

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The cruelty of racist white men.

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The National Parks Service have purged trans people from the website on the Stonewall National Monument

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I accidentally the whole fanfic

In the past 3 days, I've written over 20k of nothing but Silco/OC fanfic. Yesterday I was away from my computer, but the shipping gods took physical control of my body and I ended up writing 10,380 words BY HAND this terrible man will be the death of me

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People with shit eyesight whenever they're around other people with shit eyesight start passing around their glasses like it's a blunt rotation just to see how blind everyone else is.

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Easter morning on the Isle of Islay, Scotland (via)

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NaNo 2022 day two

Words today: 1898, total so far: 6021

Moar body horror! My favorite, apparently.

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Even my tongue was bound against speaking out. The anger seethed within me, and the intent for stillness I could feel laid into the warp and weave of his cloak became nothing more than a suggestion I ignored. I rose tall and bowed, the bones of my arched spine growing long and sharp through the skin, spilling blood like dark ink down my back.

Long hanging arms, bones coming through my fingertips like claws my prior form had denied, I towered above him, and the cloak itself became part of me, wild and tattered in a compulsion of wind my rage summoned. My eyes slipped fully to black, fully wide, and the corners of my mouth peeled back past my teeth, all the way to the sides of my jaw.

“How dare you,” I growled, a strangled sound he would have to draw the intent of through tone, for the throat I had formed in my rage was not one made for speaking politely.

And he smiled. Smiled.

I felt suddenly very foolish. It had been a trap, and I’d fallen into it. I had shown him that I wasn’t a meek little thing he could so easily control, but that was exactly what he had wanted. No longer did I struggle to change my form: it slipped like water now, falling back down into a small inky thing that could be concealed by that cloak, which I now clung to.

“Bastard,” I spat.

“Aren’t we all?” he asked, calm, collected, unshaken by the darkness left in the air from my tortured form.

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NaNo 2022 day one

4124 total for the day

Snippet from today's writing, CW body horror

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Seeing his fine clothes reminded me that I could cover my form. I stepped back somewhat into the shroud of the unlit room, then wrenched some semblance of fabric over my body, though to the touch it would still be skin, something like the bird-scales I couldn’t seem to remove from my dragging left leg. My bones creaked, joints popped and shuddered, as I tried to pull my form slightly closer to human.

The dark not-fabric was at least enough to cover the ragged feathers that crawled down my spine and across my collarbones, though only as if a skin-tight garment pressed against them, leaving lumps and hollow spaces that sketched my deficiencies like thick charcoal. The burns along my limbs and cheeks showed still, though more embossed and shadowed. Despite growing limbs with ease earlier, I couldn’t manage anything coming away from me, like a more concealing cape or hat. My hair was matted and gnarled with twigs and hollow bones.

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Bonus snippet:

I could influence nature, cause fungi to burst up along the rotting trunks of trees to form me a path, but the strongest ones were those that had happened naturally. And even those had varying levels of permanence. Some allowed only one passage. Some, like my own original stone door, the hole in the stone I’d birthed from, couldn’t be broken even by the shaking of the earth. The permanence was about the only soothing thing in my life right. Everything else left, sloughed off, rotted away, given time.

Time I refused to give. There was no time here. Curses and crossed carved into skin, feathers imbedded from a failed transformation a century ago: I knew I could slip them off like a snake shedding its skin, but I clutched them about me, a cloak of protection, and lay in the dark, and watched my ghosts shuffle about, stirring the dust.

There was a knock at the door.

Impossible.

There was no door.

I blinked heavily, forcing my eyes open farther than they had been for years. Cobwebs and dried salt fell away as the lids shuddered. Dust spun in the air from the slight movement.

I twitched, curled, cast off what must have been decades of settled dust and cobwebs. Spiders that had built homes in the awkward shapes of my limbs fled across the sheets. I hadn’t yet decided if I would rise to the knocking of a door incongruous in my retreat of fallen stone. But the sound, the suddenness, had shattered my dusty dreams, and I existed again. The air stirred as the ghosts avoided it.

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out of boredom i decided to scan a stuffed shark. here are the results.

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A mother and baby potoroo spotted at South Australia’s Cleland Wildlife Park enjoying a little snack in the sunshine.

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HEY

look at her

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Considering the caliber of poetry I've seen on their tumblr in the past, I'd definitely recommend doing yourself a favor and checking this out! (that link goes to American Amazon for all us Yanks)

I have been writing a lot in the past few years. I have word documents and notebooks filled with verses, and some of them are better than others, but few have been created with the passion, research and determination that went into this project. "Songs of Wicked Women" is a collection of poetic monologues through which four women traditionally branded as "evil" are offered the power to tell their own stories. They are Eve, Medea, Salome and Lady Macbeth. They are terrible in an archaic sense: horrifying and fascinating at the same time, deadly snakes dancing to the rhythm of unseen flutes. We can learn something about human nature, maybe, by putting ourselves in their shoes. If this interests you, you can find the ebook on Amazon. You would also help me greatly by sharing this post, since the whole reason I decided to self-publish is to share the fruit of my dedication with people.

On that note, this book also hits differently because of how many of my friends had a role in the shaping of it, and I met some of them through this website. @snovolovac, @procasdeanating, @mirandasinclairs : thank you for your time, your support and your patience. This book would honestly not be the same without you, and it's dedicated to all of you (I mean it, I wrote it in.💜)

Here's to adventures and new beginnings, and to all the wicked women everywhere.

Enjoy the read!!!

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꧁𝑽𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒕꧂

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

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Chicken Yard Print by TheFarWoods