#vegan slogan

[artificialcaretaker]

I feel like my almost instantaneous attachment to Chief is in part due to the hyper specific concept of both being a POC and having an anxiety-based disorder. Cuz like let’s think. Is it REALLY paranoia if you’re personally aware of the fact that both historically and in current time, people just deadass DON’T LIKE YOU?? Is it REALLY overreacting if you realistically can’t fully trust the majority of the people around you?? At what point can I reason with myself that my brain is inherently dysfunctional and is constantly in panic mode and when can I acknowledge that the reason I’m terrified of something or someone because they might ACTUALLY hurt me?? Who am I supposed to trust knowing that the people societally put in place to protect DO NOT want to protect me?? Can I stay inside forever?? Can I lock myself in one place and never leave again?? Wait goddamnit ethic parents don’t play like that I’ve gotta actually have a life.

Maybe his character wasn’t meant to be read in such a way, and regardless it’s not like he’s gonna resonate with me completely cuz like. I’m black. We’re comin from different perspectives here. Idk what I’m sayin man he’s just my guy and I love him and I really need to look for more media with severely anxious individuals who AREN’T being weirdly infantilized or romanticized so that I can salivate over them and murmur “Literally me……literally me……” while violently gripping a pencil to draw them. Lol lmao.

[animalsoutloud]

Behind all of the catchy slogans are the billions of animals who are suffering in the meat and dairy industry.

[avo-kat]

at the end of the day, most people value their pleasure higher than their morals.

which is obviously fine, but its pointless to pretend otherwise.

[ceasarslegion]

Swinging a nailed bat at the world's largest hornets nest by saying that the online queer community desperately needs to internalize "some things are not ABOUT you" and I do mean that at EVERYBODY.

That post about how nasty gay/trans sex is great and fun and should be done more often is not fucking about you if you're somewhere on the sex repulsed and/or ace spectrums and the op is not aphobic or forcing you to get a FWB.

That post about how asexuality is cool and valid and how there should be options for queer spaces that aren't in sexualized atmospheres is not fucking about you if you're not ace and/or like to be in sexually-charged atmospheres and the op is not homophobic or a sex-negative puritan or forcing you to be celibate.

Someone saying "love is love" is not arophobic because that slogan is not about you if you're loveless. Someone posting loveless positivity is not against queer love because that post is not about you if you're alloromantic.

Look, one of my biggest hobbies is cooking and baking. Some of the shit you guys comment on posts that are so clearly not ABOUT you are up there with the shit i see on my baking memes subreddits when folks post screenshots of raw vegans giving a chicken pot pie recipe 1 star because "I substituted everything because every original ingredient is non-vegan or has gluten in it and then didn't bake it because I'm on a raw diet why does it taste bad. Clearly it's the recipe that's shit here, it can't possibly be that some things in the world may not apply to me and I should go looking for a raw vegan version of this instead."

If youre allergic to peanuts maybe that post about how peanuts are good for you is not actually about you and it's fucking weird to accuse the op of saying you deserve to die actually

[fictionkinfessions]

this is cringe af but like i truly do wish it was societally acceptable and mainstream/normal to be kin. like i wish you could include it in demographics about yourself. like hi im jane i use pronouns im vegan i like dating shows and im fictionkin. or hello im bob im christian and im a dragonkin. etc. i wish it could just be another Thing about people that didn’t have to be explained!! like i truly wish for this it’s my dream world. to maybe see a shirt with a funny slogan about it on target. introducing myself in college projects has really got me feeling this way like more than anything i wish i could be like im name i use pronouns my favorite food is sushi and im a kinnie!!!!! i want it to be just a thing like playing video games or being a fanfiction writer. in my dream world two middle aged white women will be able to exchange their kinlists over pinterest next to their casserole recipes

x

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore. 

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees. 

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family. 

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May. 

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet. 

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps. 

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her. 

Athena takes a deep breath. 

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive. 

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway. 

“You want backup?” He offers. 

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone. 

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another. 

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car. 

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up. 

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality. 

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.” 

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says. 

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary. 

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met.  Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe. 

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street. 

“Architect,” Athena explains. 

Well that accounts for that. 

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that. 

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure. 

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code. 

The gate clicks open. 

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her. 

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly. 

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it. 

[no-where-new-hero]

Following the success of @gogandmagog's request for an Emily's "What's in my bag" and @those-things-we-said's suggestion we do a series, I present:

Ilse Burnley: What's in my Bag?

First, the bag. Ilse Burnley the acclaimed woman of the stage would absolutely carry something high end. Maybe not as far as a Birkin, but it would have a Brand that Proclaims Itself. This would have been Teddy's engagement gift instead of a designer dog lol. She would make sure all the paparazzi snap her while she's carrying this. However, Ilse Burnley of Blair Water goes around with a canvas tote, block-printed with "Caterwauling Quadruped" that Emily and Teddy gifted her as a joke, capable of holding everything and the kitchen sink. The outside of the tote bag would be decorated with pronoun pins and other provocative slogans; the fancy Brand Bag would have maybe one charm hanging from the handle.

In both bags, she'd always carry her essentials: phone, wallet, keys, makeup. This is all going in willy-nilly, though; no discrete bags or cases for her, so the wallet will have a smear of eyeliner on it, and the phone screen will be scratched by her keys. Ilse strikes me as an Android girl; she'd be fiercely anti-Apple. Wallet (made of vegan leather) would contain wads of cash, credit cards, and bus passes; a driver's license that she uses only because she gets carded buying alcohol but not because she actually drives (she's a passenger princess and public transport pro); member cards at all the stores because she loves herself a discount; a photograph of Perry with his faced carved out of it (but that's only because she keeps his face in a locket charm bracelet). She also has a recycled Blue-Q coin purse that says "Safe Sex" just to horrify the New Moon aunts (she keeps condoms in it. For herself, mostly, but she has been known to leave one or two in public bathrooms for those in need). Finally, makeup wise: intensely scented roller perfume for her wrists and neck, chapstick (cherry flavored--iykyk), eyeliner and mascara for quick touchups, and a lipstick tube she almost never opens.

In terms of non-personal items, she'd absolutely carry a play script around with her at all times. One will be whatever project she's currently acting in; the others would be Samuel French editions of her devoted idols (Jen Silverman--she staged The Moors during her time at Shrewsbury), her controversial faves (Caryl Churchill--these copies are angrily annotated), and whoever else is up and coming. She'd keep highlighters in two or three colors in her bag for reading and annotating (her color code is erratic and inconsistent) and of course it has no pencil case.

Other ephemera: postcards half-written and addressed to Emily, Teddy, and Perry from wherever she is; leaves or flowers she picked up in parks that remind her of home; jewelry she had gone out of the house wearing and then decided didn't go with her outfit after all.

This was so fun! Ilse has such a modern flair this really worked for her, I thought! Let me know if you want me to do any more! I slightly want to do Evelyn Blake lol

[waywardangel-wilds]

Peeta would actually be the most annoying as class president. He’d be that guy who ran when I was in grade 12 who won based on his psychology knowledge alone (bro pasted pictures of his face everywhere, no slogan, just his face. The ballot had his face beside his name. Won on recognition alone). After the win he’d turn into that kid I saw on the news who started fighting against the staff on legal grounds. Somehow, he’d make prom epic. He’d also stop the school from selling overpriced food for lunch. He’d get the vegan shit to stop dominating the vending machines. There would be equal options for all. He’d also prank the school the best, like that year school closed early and they had to call the fire men good.

[celticcatgirl2]

“Hey! Just got out of Cram school!…what do y’all want from Arby’s….”

“…okay the Roast Turkey and Bacon sandwich and Curly fries for me…I’ll take the Corned Beef Rueben with Crinkle fries for Mako….”

“…hey Rei…what do you want form Arby’s?”

“..do they have any vegan options?”

“…ask if they have any “vegan options”….”

“The slogan is LITERALLY “we have the meats” what the FUCK are you dumb hoes ON about?!??”

[fagsex]

theres the like t shirt slogan 'eat pussy its vegan' which some hate but i think brings up an interesting discussion or whether or not someone is still vegan if they have meat in their mouth but do not swallow it, but then it brings us to the concept of blowjobs where it can be rather far down the point, which then comes back around to at one point is it constituted as eaten, and can it still be as vegan? if it is never disgested, was it not eaten? if a vegan eats a cheeseburger, then throws up, are they still vegan? here we do have the ethics of veganism though, where they may not be constituted as vegan due to intentional eating of animal products. however, the phrase 'eat pussy its vegan' again implies intentional interaction with animal products, the fact that the species is fellow human should not make it different. is it no longer vegan if death occured? as in, the possessor of the pussy or the dick, depending on scenario, is hopefully not dead, so they do not count as being consumed and thus ethically vegan? much to discuss.

[avo-kat]

please think about it.

how can the victims of a genocide say they want to commit genocide themselves when they are calling out for their own liberation?

come on

(also FUCK germany. fuck this stupid fucking fascist country.)

[satashiiwrites]

WIP Whenever

wasn’t tagged, just actually getting some writing done on a Friday evening after a long week.

Tagging with no obligation: @monsterrae1 @outtoshatter @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @tkwritesdumbassassins @quietborderline @westernlarch @kikiroo @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants to play along.

Title: Breaking Up in Furniture Mart

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Buddie endgame. Mentioned canon Buck/Natalia and Eddie/Marisol

Tags/warnings: first draft, Buck’s terrible dating choices, Eddie’s not oblivious just trying to move on, couch theory still wins, set prior to season 7

It started innocently enough. Buck needs a new couch. He has a new girlfriend, and he wants her to like his couch… and possibly spend some time on it with him doing various activities (get your mind out of the gutter—he’s talking movie nights and eating take-out, Edmundo, not sex).

Simple enough, right?

It has been anything but simple to find a couch.

They’re at their fifth furniture store this weekend, and they have yet to agree on anything when it comes to couches. If Buck likes them, then Natalia doesn’t. If Natalia likes it, Buck doesn’t. It seems they have nothing in common when it comes to couches, which is unfortunate.

They can at least agree that they want one that is dark colored and easy to clean (which, after Kameron’s giving birth on his last one, is a concern). Buck doesn’t want any flammable chemicals to have been used on it. Buck is a firefighter. He worries about these things. Natalia is all for the natural fabrics but hates the idea of leather despite Buck being a fan of its durability,

So, at least, they agree on a few things.

“How about this one?” Buck asks her, slumping down onto a gray vegan leather couch long enough for him to sprawl on and deep enough that he doesn’t feel about to tip off it. He notices it is a bit high in the leg rise, which probably means Natalia won’t like it. So far, she’s only liked low-slung couches.

Natalia sits primly. Buck is proved right almost immediately that it’s too tall. Her feet are no longer on the ground, her ballet flats dangling so that they fall off her heels. With a frown, she wiggles and attempts to sit back. The seat is too deep for her to comfortably sit without reaching for a pillow, which she puts behind her, adjusts, and tries again. “It’s not that great. I really like the taupe one at the last store.”

Buck hates the taupe couch she really liked at the last store. That thing was built for people a lot shorter than him (Natalia), and it is twice as expensive as it needs to be. It is a couch that wouldn’t look out of place on an influencer’s Instagram, #thegoodlife, #blessed, or some other terrible trite slogan that gives him hives. The taupe monstrosity is very mid-century modern in the worst way and hadn’t been comfortable—Buck’s legs had hung off the end, and the wooden armrest had dug into his leg weirdly.

He wants something comfortable to lounge on. Is that such a hard ask? He’s had many good naps on Eddie’s couch and wants the same comfort in his own living space.