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any movie can be free if you know where to go

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I forgot that writing is very fun and that you're playing pretend. like all this shit and pressure about craftsmanship and art! NO!!!! you are a grown up playing with dolls! it is silly and you should have sooooo much fun pushing their heads together to make them smooch!!! or torturing them, which is what I did to my toys as a child, to the point where my mom thought I was going to grow up evil

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its important to do this every time a museum or school thinks this is a good idea

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OP: "The flickering lights are the call of the other world." (cr: Avid)

Chinese netizen:

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There’s still debate about split attraction on my dash why do you people even care

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youre an olympic level hater. i respect it.

they asked me to represent my country in the sport of hating i said no. i hate my country

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i used to be so good at writing strong, thoroughly-researched, thoroughly-edited essays.

as a kid in hs, my teacher literally came up to me, holding my 40 page essay on the intersection of the European witch hunts and capitalism/exploitation/gender roles (it was supposed to be 7 pages...whoops) and went like "this is literally a master's-degree level thesis. what are you doing?? you could literally use this as your final dissertation in a master's program, what the fuck."

NOW??? NOW?? you'd think I'd be oh so skilled. but alas. i can barely piece together two ideas. adhd skill-regression is so so real. im SOBBING

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chilchuck going "sorry leave me outta this one. i cant fight" but then hitting literally every precise shot with an arrow or projectile he ever made in the story INCLUDING PIERCING A RED DRAGONS EYE BY THROWING A KNIFE WHILE LEAPING AWAY my bro is a rogue with dex 20 and wants no one to know biggest liar in history

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it is once again... binturong appreciation hour

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no i will not make separate blogs for my fandoms, everyone who follows me must experience ALL my insanity

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Embroidered Sneakers // Hoai

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Teeth are bullshit. What do you mean you’re decaying. Get a fucking grip. You’re a bone now act like it. You don’t see my finger bones decaying from jerking it too much now do you

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i think we’re hunting each other for sport. in another universe

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the single best scene that has ever been on television. you cannot change my mind.

for the doodle prompt “if you ever feel like it, could you draw a henren date?” from anon 💞

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For the most part, my approach to prescribing hormones is “sure,” but I will note that the one thing I lean HARD on patients about is smoking. If you’re transgender, and you’re on hormones, the number one thing we want to protect is your cardiovascular health. That’s frankly the number one thing I want to protect in all my patients, but anyone taking exogenous hormones is at higher baseline risk. And the best thing you can do for your heart is DON’T SMOKE. It’s a bitch to quit, and I didn’t even smoke much or long before I quit in my late teens, and I STILL didn’t enjoy quitting and had smoking dreams for years. It’s harder to quit than just about anything else up to and including crack and heroin, and that’s coming from a patient of mine who recently passed in her early 60s who’d done all of those things—for years and years—but eventually was able to quit everything except smoking. And that killed her. She developed severe COPD and eventually called to say her blood oxygen saturation was dipping into the 70s, which is incompatible with life. She was lucid enough to decline medical care, including refusing to call 911 or go to the ER. A week later, after both I and one of our outreach nurses had contacted her to ask her to please go to the ER, I got a notification that she’d been found dead. She had been so frustrated that she wasn’t a candidate for a lung transplant.

One of my oldest trans patients is in her late 50s. She’s had blood clots that went to the lungs. Repeatedly. Smoking raises that risk. Estrogen raises that risk. She’s a veteran with PTSD; of course she smoked.

These aren’t theoretical. These are humans I’ve cared for over years of their lives. I have been rooting for them—my beloved former addict, who spoke without shame about her years of homelessness and drug use in the city; my queer elders, who are slowly trading in their motorcycles for power scooters. I want everyone to live their fullest, best life.

Smoking doesn’t fit into that. Please don’t smoke. I don’t want you to die like that—not now and not later. I want you to have the future that you may not be able to see yet, but exists.

Since I moved home as an out queer, word got out, and there’s a whole apartment complex of lesbians in their 60s to their 80s who come see me—sitting next to their wives in the office, nagging about blood pressure meds, tattling about not having gotten the shingles shot they said they would. To be clear, when I was growing up in town, I knew no lesbians. Not one. I knew one gay kid in my class, which eventually turned into two. We were it. To see these women living decades with their wives and being able to squabble like any couple in my office over who was supposed to bring their home blood pressure cuff in for us to check it… it means the world to me.

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