bbygirl-aemond:

i feel like there are lots of parallels between rhaenicent’s outfits, almost like they’re trying to emulate each other at times. like here rhaenyra wears a dress with a squared neckline like alicent’s:

and then alicent wears a dress with points at the shoulders like rhaenyra’s (pic is tiny ik but click to enlarge):

and there are two instances where alicent wears dresses with similar sleeves or shoulder pieces to ones rhaenyra’s worn:

something something two girls reaching out to each other the only way they feel they can, without words, but it’s never enough. alicent is trapped in her memories of her girlhood with rhaenyra but she can never go back. i just love and miss them okay.

fatphobiabusters:

urlocalllama:

hst3000:

urlocalllama:

urlocalllama:

Diabetes isnt the ‘ate too many sweets disease’. It just fucking is not. It’s your body slowly losing an integral function needed to nuture and energize it. Its your pancreas shutting down, its your blood cells rejecting your attempts to feed itself, its not enough insulin to go around. Its you slowly getting colder and weaker, gorging yourself with healthy food and getting next to no benefit, its being so exhausted you cant sleep. Diabetes used to kill, straight-up KILL. So no, I don’t think I will be laughing at your diabetes joke.

Do you know why diabetics eat so many sweets? Because we need sugar, and we need sugar FAST. Everyones’ bodies rely on sugars for nutrients and energy, and in a non-diabetic body sugars get absorbed at a normal rate using your normal amount of insulin into your normal red blood cells. This happens to healthy carbs, superfood vegetables, and some proteins!

Diabetics dont have that luxury! Without medication, our body is in a constant crisis where we need more sugar and the sugars that break down the fastest are sweets! But then they dont all get absorbed, then the unabsorbed sugar hangs out in our bloodstream then gets flushed out, and then we still need more. All those healthy things break down too slowly for when we’re in a crisis, and then we STILL dont absorb all of it! And I’m only talking about type 2, type 1 cant absorb anything at all because they dont have any insulin!

You cannot healthy eat or diet your way out of diabetes. You cannot lose weight out of diabetes. Once you get diabetes, even if you manage your symptoms perfectly you HAVE diabetes. You have a chronic illness. And that means its time to see doctors, get on medications, and practice self care.

And sometimes self care means you eat dessert first while dinner is cooking so you have the energy to finish cooking. Sometimes that means eating many small meals to match your body’s absorption rate. Sometimes that means eating at midnight so you have the blood sugar to sleep.

Im just tired of diabetes being seen as a joke or only something you get if you’re 'bad’. And diabetics? I love you, talk to a nutritionist about diabetic eating, and don’t forget your meds.

That… that’s just not true. You absolutely can lose weight out of type 2 diabetes. It’s classified as 'going into remission’ because aforementioned chronic disease, but that’s 100% something you can do.

You literally counteracted yourself in your comment. Remission doesnt mean you fully stop being diabetic, it means youve managed your symptoms perfectly. And weight loss does not equal remission, sometimes weight loss is a giant red flag for diabetics! Please dont put these things on my post before reading the notes, where I already talked about this in detail. Sincerely, an actual diabetic.

This is not meant to talk over, this is to make the fatphobic ableists hopefully shut up.

An example of weight loss being a bad sign for diabetics: My cousin’s husband lost 50 pounds rapidly without trying to lose weight. It was because he didn’t know he was diabetic, and so that weight loss was a serious sign. If that sign had been ignored and treated as a good thing like this fatphobic society always does with weight loss, he would have died.

Weight is not an accurate sign of health. You can’t look at a fat person’s clothed body and calculate their blood pressure or cholesterol levels. You have no clue why the fat person is even fat. Their fat body is not a grocery store receipt. It’s not a scrapbook of every time the person has eaten pizza. It’s a body with an entire medical and life history that you as a stranger know fuck all about.

We treat medical information as a sacred secret that is worthy of privacy in this society unless it’s about a random fat person on the sidewalk. For some reason, that fat person is not viewed as entitled to privacy about their health simply because they exist in the body they were given. If you wouldn’t give unsolicited health advice to a thin stranger you know nothing about, then why does that change when it’s a fat person you know nothing about?

Fat people deserve respect and to be treated with humanity because we’re human beings too. And that means that if you can’t be bothered to unlearn your bigotry and the fatphobic health myths that have been ingrained in you to support corporations that make hundreds of billions of dollars off of fat people’s oppression, then the fucking least you can do is keep your mouth shut.

-Mod Worthy

inkskinned:

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he’d hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP “ironically.” the internet liked the kind of crass, “anti-mainstream” vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be “hard to love” and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it’s wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a “loophole.” characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say “beats me!!” or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like “are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?” because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here’s the thing: i wasn’t wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i’ve made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i’ve made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i’ve made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it’s more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it’s that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don’t think that’s true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we’ve got. i can’t enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn’t exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn’t recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn’t human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

funnytwittertweets:

(via saintflint)

vikingfunerals:

the commodification of friendship is the most annoying thing to come out of the internet in ages. like actually i love to break this to you but you’re supposed to help your friends move even if it’s hard work. or stay up with them when they’re sad even if you’re gonna lose sleep. you’re supposed to listen to their fears and sorrows even if it means your own mind takes on a little bit of that weight. that’s how you know that you care. they will drive you to the airport and then you will make them soup when they’re sick. you’re supposed to make small sacrifices for them and they are supposed to do that for you. and there’s actually gonna be rough patches for both of you where the balance will be uneven and you will still be friends and it will not be unhealthy and they will not be abusive. life is not meant to be an endless prioritization of our own comfort if it was we would literally never get anywhere ever. jesus.

(via theliloleme)

royaltyfreebirdsongs:

ripempezardexerox:

(via themintyqueer)

ampersandworm:

scifigrl47:

dragonflea:

teaboot:

spacelazarwolf:

spacelazarwolf:

i think it’s appropriate, funny even, to trauma dump on ppl who are intentionally being an asshole to u.

“lmao u just don’t wanna be bald bc then u’ll look like ur dad”

“i mean yeah honestly it’s kinda traumatic bc i have a rough relationship with my dad. it was rough to go from ‘daddy’s little girl’ to ‘gross gender freak’ after i came out, i’m used to him being my biggest cheerleader even when we didn’t see eye to eye, so to lose his support overnight has been really traumatizing and i’m really sad about it. and like how do i find positive male role models if my own dad doesn’t want to be one for me? who’s supposed to teach me to shave or take me to my first suit fitting or teach me how to be a good man when he doesn’t even believe i am one? what happens when i actually do start to look like him and he still rejects me? it’s just been really stressful to deal with all the—”

BINGO

One time someone asked if my parents didn’t give me enough attention as a kid, and I kind of just paused for a sec, then said “well mom slept at the office and dad didn’t want me so probably not, actually?” And it turns out they just thought I talked a lot

I’ve inadvertently done this because I’m autistic and have been through enough trauma therapy that I can just talk about that stuff without getting upset now, so sometimes people say something jokingly and I give a perfectly honest answer. And I only notice when they go silent and stare at me like I’ve grown a second head, but even funnier is when they start apologizing. Because then you know they were making a joke at your expense. And they won’t be doing it again.

There was a salesman/account rep that everyone in my mom’s building disliked. He was apparently somewhere between “asshole frat boy” and “scummy used car salesman,” but he knew just where the line was and apparently enjoyed putting his toes on it, but never over.

They were stuck with him, basically.

One day, mom was sitting in the samples room, looking through some data with a couple of other people working at nearby stations, and this guy comes in, sees my mom, and decides he’s going to have some fun.

“Hey, nice hat!” he says. “Having a bad hair day? Dye job go bad?”

My mother sets down her work, and reaches up, taking off her hat. “No. Chemotherapy. ”

Now confronted with her bald head, he freezes, his life flashing before his eyes.

“For stage 4 breast cancer,” my mother says, never changing expression.

He is now actively praying for death, as every other person in the room has stopped their work, and are staring at him.

“The prognosis is six to eight months,” mom says. She doesn’t say ‘until I die,’ but it hangs there. She picks up her work. “So I really should get back to this.”

Apparently he was mass reported to his employer before he got out of the building by multiple lab heads. They never saw him again.

Return Awkwardness To Sender continues to be a valid stratagem

(via theliloleme)

inkskinned:

in hindsight, the american public school idea of gym class was both absolutely buckwild and also incredibly ableist. i have a degree in education, and the more time i spend away from being a student, the less the concepts espoused there make any sense to me.

i was dancing ballet somewhere between 3-5 days a week, but i have never been a good runner. i have asthma and, at the time, i had horrible shin splints. yet running was seen as the only indicator of my health. my teacher fucking hated me for my lack of sprinter’s interest here, like i was doing it to spite him. he thought that asthma was something “only for kids”, like i was faking a wracking cough just so i could be “lazy” and “get away with it”.

we weren’t trained how to run safely. we often ran with bad form in sneakers that didn’t quite fit. we were required to be able to ace this test once a year, immediately, with no follow-up or practicing. the rest of the year, gym class was a waste of time and energy. even kids who liked gym liked it because it was useless in entirety.

maybe he hated me because i was one of those students who shouldn’t have struggled. i was pretty fit. during the sit-up test, i outpaced the other kids. corework is incredibly important to dancers, so i found the sit-up test easy. my teacher didn’t take down my first result. he said, i’ve seen how you run, no way your number is that high. i explained i dance, he snorted and said you hardly have the body of an athlete and made me do the test again to be sure i wasn’t “cheating”. when i still passed, he said so you don’t bother running just because you’re a little rebel, huh? i bet you just like making men angry.

we had these sweat-covered wooden boxes to test our hamstring flexibility. you’d sit down, put your feet against a board, and push a slider away from your body. we had 3 turns to pass the test. on the first turn, my teacher watched as i gently pushed the slider to the end of the row instead of shoving myself forcefully over my toes. he said don’t be rude, take the test seriously. i said - “okay, but i clearly can pass the test, i don’t want to force my muscles. sudden movements aren’t good form.” he said i was going to get a detention at this rate. that he knew it was going to be a fight with you, it always is. you like the attention because you don’t get it at home, huh?

i was 14, and i was annoyed and embarrassed, and i didn’t handle it well. so i did as requested. i made my hands into a little diamond and shoved, just the way he wanted. the slider snapped off due to the amount of sudden force. i hit the end of the row so hard the test just fucking broke. i was sitting there, shocked by what was a legitimate accident: and this dude goes white and then red in the face. this is one of the only times in my life i got sent to the principal. he said she is vindictive and broke school property. malicious. noncompliant. for gym that year, i skirted by with an ugly “barely passing” D+.

and i was lucky. for once in my life, my parents were extremely chill about the whole thing. they saw the grade and just laughed about it. they were paying for me to go to dance class 4 hours a day, they knew exactly how fit i was. the principal tried to explain it to them, annoyed with their dismissal: i clearly wasn’t healthy. he made sure they knew i wasn’t an athlete, because dance is not a sport. i had to run the mile three times that year, to “make up” for my lack of effort. i walked it slow on purpose.

and i just… don’t get it. in no other class would the lack of accommodations or training be appropriate. yes, you should know certain things leaving a class, but nobody expects you to be able to recite the whole biology textbook by the third month. nobody particularly expects you to pass a test if the teacher has literally never taught it. imagine if in english, you had a random test on vocabulary, and when you said these are just random words you never taught us. it isn’t a good indicator of my reading level, writing, or of my reading comprehension - you were told: well it’s most of your grade, but it’s not that fucking hard, is it?

it is not a class about how to cook or how to help yourself balance your diet or how to run or how to get good at stretching or how to stay agile or how to do cool gymnastics or how to listen to your body or how to watch for injury or how to treat chronic pain or how to safely use weights. it was an hour of my life where i would be bullied with the teacher’s permission. i look back at this thing and i just… i don’t get it. while art teachers and english teachers are struggling for any funding - gym is just. protected under the idea it is somehow helping america… stay “fit”. they make us run a mile and then say “great, we’ve measured your health” … and then that’s just… it.

as i was teaching the other day, i mentioned the fitnessgram pacer test to my kids. they’re 19, are in college. many of them haven’t been in gym class for a few years. i wish you could have been there to see their reaction. it was like i reminded them of their worst nightmare. we had to derail the conversation just so each person could go around the room and say their horror story about it. and each person had a horror story.

these days, i’m doing well. i love how strong i am, when i can be strong and my heart don’t act up. i still dance at least 3 times a week. i have a performance on saturday, actually. but before you ask - no, i never learned to run. i don’t really want to either, because it’s just not good for my particular body.

so i guess, according to them - that makes me unhealthy.

prismatic-bell:

ptah-ikemi-ka:

the-haiku-bot:

windvexer:

baruch-barnes:

tikkunolamorgtfo:

tikkunolamorgtfo:

I just saw this and I’m cackling:

Evangelical Atheists, playing checkers: I don’t believe in God!

Rabbi Sherwin Wine, barely looking up from his 3D Chess: That statement is meaningless because “God” is a trivial term that lacks any coherent definition.

Aldjdhal @tikkunolamorgtfo

you cannot believe or disbelieve in god in a way that matters

you cannot believe

or disbelieve in god in

a way that matters

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

this is so Real. You cannot believe or disbelieve in god in a way that matters.

I had no idea this was an actual term, but I feel like my belief on what G-d is fits very neatly into it.

(via themintyqueer)

teaboot:

I’ve been told before you shouldn’t talk about politics or religion on a date because it might make things awkward, so I try to touch on both, partly because those are genuinely interesting subjects and partly because “bad first date” seems a thousand times better than “finding out six months later that you’ve fucked a staunchly conservative fundamentalist”.

Like yeah disagreements are uncomfortable but you know what’s worse? Waking up next to a dipshit

(via theliloleme)

asingularcanadian:

xadnem:

asingularcanadian:

xadnem:

animentality:

no but that’s a different way of reaching blue than the normal way. rather than being pigmented, the physical material structure of the feathers is made up of effectively a keratin sponge full of small air pockets, and when white light strikes those pockets, most wavelengths of visual light cancel each other out, while blue is able to reflect and escape the structure.

so if you really fucked up a Bluejays feather what colour would it be

The natural pigmentation of blue jay feathers is brown, though I suppose it depends on how you fucked it up. I suspect that, being made of keratin, it would be an off-white if you were to grind it into a fine enough powder (speculation because I don’t want to do research it’s like midnight).

cool as hell! The link there is to the Yosemite park page on this.

(via themintyqueer)

i-am-a-fish:

god damn, I really hope whoever reads this has a good day

like

I don’t know you

but I can tell you really do deserve a good day

whatever it takes to make today a good day, if possible, please do it

(via zouisvibez)

penguinseathearts:

(via fyeahjohnmurphy)

mostly-funnytwittertweets:

(via his-name-is-ed)

queenoftheimps:

“But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or monster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He—It!—dare not touch; and then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain.

I am growing weaker, and the night is coming on.”

Sequel to this drawing of the captain from the start of his voyage