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these fawns laying amongst a million pillows is how i want to live my life every day

(credit to fuzzyfawnwildlife on instagram. she is a fawn rehabilitator and they’re all alive and well, just being transported)

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Seems like you left some moldy food in your fridge…

I guess it’s their fridge now

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.·⊹♡ shall we dance? ♡⊹·.

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someone who’s definitely monogamous voice: yeah and we should be able to tell our friends we love them and kiss them on the lips and ask them to stay over and then cuddle and fall asleep together in a big bed :)

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who will win? smart, charismatic woman with a good support system vs. transmisogyny

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found the most cursed autism mom coffee table on marketplace. the amount of effort that must have been put into this blows my mind.

nightmare scenario: your friends come over after school to play yugioh but you have to play in a common space in case your mom decides that your friends are bullying you and you need rescuing.

the only surface available to play on is the autism table.

you try to suggest playing on the floor, but floor time has been banned because your mom thinks that engaging in any behavior that can be seen as autistic means you'll never be able to socialize properly and you'll be a pariah, forever.

so you and your friends sit around the autism table, and they're being so nice. they laugh that "wow this is uncomfortable" laugh and make a whispered comment about how your mom is really something, to put you at ease.

before you can even play a single game, your mom goes into a tirade about how autistic people are people too, even if they're weird and uncomfortable, or they can't do what us normal people can do, and how it's not nice to whisper because autistic people have auditory processing issues so they can't understand you unless you speak slower and at a slighter louder volume than normal!

your mother doesn't realize the power hidden inside of the cards. your friends look from side to side exchanging questioning glances, before they all look at you for approval. you let out a sigh and give them a short nod of the head, and it is done. your mother has been sent to the shadow realm and the autism table has been given up to dark forces as payment.

then you lose every game because it turns out you're a different kind of autistic and you're horrible at deck builders. your friends laugh at how bad you are, but it's good-natured, and one of them offers to take you under her wing and show you the ropes. you spend long nights playing yugioh on the floor with her. your father doesn't ever notice that your mother, or the table, is missing.

life goes on.

over time the two of you—through a shared interest in the magic of the cards—fall in love. you're older now, and you've both become infamous in the underground yugioh scene. the kind of people you hang out with now are always pointing out how autistic you are, but in that sweet affectionate way that makes your heart sing.

and you meet others like you. they're quiet, or brash, or they can't stop talking, or they're sweet, or annoying, or they can't stop moving, or singing, or tapping. you don't get along with all of them, but they all see you for you, and you for them. and through them, you learn darker, more esoteric secrets from the cards.

until it all goes wrong.

you still don't know how it happened. but one minute your mentor turned lover turned sister was sitting around the cards, hand in yours, and the next…gone. you can smell the shadow realm in the air; it smells of fermentation and ozone and wilted gardenias.

and that's all you can smell as you start awake, to find yourself in a bed you don't recognize. minute by minute your life—your old life?—is becoming foggier, like someone is smearing grease over the window of your cognition.

was none of it real? was it all just a dream?

the table. the fucking autism table. it glows ominously from the corner of your room, and with a sickening feeling, you notice there's a new puzzle piece embedded in the resin. you walk over to the table—mother doesn't let you crawl any more—and the blood drains from your face as you see your sister's haunting visage rendered on the puzzle piece. she stares with a wordless scream, her hands outstretched. there's a single card on the table, and a knife from the kitchen: [[Exchange]]

you know exactly what has to be done. you steel yourself, grasp the knife in your shaking hand, and walk off towards the chiding voice of your mother wondering why you aren't out of bed yet. your mother apparently never learned the lesson…sisters always know best.

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rotten meat

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...ew

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: )

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statements like "It's wrong to masturbate about a person without their consent" and "It's wrong to do something that quietly arouses you while you are in public even if no one can see it" show that a person's understanding of morality basically involves magical thinking. like I wrote this post on the toilet. That's not the same thing as me literally shitting on you

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[“We, as a society, consistently tell people with mental illnesses that they are not eligible for love.

In our culture, we believe many things about the mentally ill: they are out of control, they need care, they don’t have sex, and they are dangerous, but one of the most pervasive and dangerous beliefs is that they are incompetent. Additionally, people struggling with mental illness receive constant reminders that they do not deserve love/acceptance/sexual attention as they are, that they are less than, too much trouble, emotional time bombs who are too broken to give back what they take. As such, they need to try their hardest to act like they are “well” for everyone else’s benefit, be damn grateful to be loved despite their brokenness, and not press their luck by needing too much. Working from these beliefs, we end up with situations like I’ve described above: people who happen to have a mental illness feeling sentenced to loneliness because they have a brain that doesn’t let them love themselves first, “broken and lucky” mentally ill people who feel damaged and so lucky that anyone would be with them that they dare not question it, or the buzzkill mentally ill people who might “ruin people’s fun” with their needs and thus feel it necessary to hide them. In all of these scenarios we see one common theme: the partner dealing with mental illness is set up to accept a lot of crap they wouldn’t be expected to otherwise. All of these situations can lead that partner to surrender their right to true, enthusiastic, genuine, fully embodied consent.

Many people don’t love themselves. They can’t. They won’t ever. Simply telling them they have to do that before they can have the love of anyone else not only is cruel, but can backfire dramatically. Knowing that self-love is the “golden ticket” to the world of love, sex, acceptance, and everything else we’re told comes with it can lead to the sort of over-the-top, “I LOVE myself!” play acting that makes one extremely malleable and susceptible to the demands of others dressed up as sex and body positivity. Because after all, why wouldn’t they want to do ALL the things if they LOVE themselves, LOVE their body? Right?! Acting out self-love doesn’t leave much room for weighing real wants and needs, only for doing what looks like what the character that’s been created—the one who LOVES themself so much!—would do.

The “broken and lucky” dynamic, which can be common in relationships where one partner does a lot of caretaking of the other, consistently sends the message that the mentally ill partner is “broken,” that they are damaged goods, that they are “less than,” and, as such, extremely “lucky” to have a partner at all. Once it’s been established that the mere presence of the partner is a gift, every act of caretaking gets added to the relationship balance sheet, and the mentally ill partner is so far in the hole they could never get out. The balance of power in the relationship is completely out of whack, and here is where consent becomes problematic. This dynamic leaves no room for equitable negotiation; it’s not a relationship of equals. One partner has all the power and the other—the mentally ill partner—is relying on them, is convinced they need them, and often feels they “owe” their partner so much that they have lost their right to differing opinions, desires, and needs.”]

joellen notte, from sex and love when you hate yourself and don’t have your shit together, from ask: building consent culture, edited by kitty stryker, 2017

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(same anon from previous message) it feels like the feelings of disappointment (from myself and from others) are particularly difficult to move through, even with time and resolution to the situation, and this feels connected to the “grieving the lost world where i made the right choices” problem. is there any way out but to accept that i’ll continue to feel this way for a long time?

the thing about those big moments that feel unresolved and packed full of shame and disappointment and incomprehensible meaning is they they’re spirals. the forces at work within them will appear over and over and over again, the same lessons will show up over and over again, the needs and fears that drove your decisions will show up again. a miracle would have had to happen to reach you before you made those particular choices, but that miracle shows up again and again just like everything else. Sometimes if you’re careful and lucky and observant you can spot it and shift the spiral onto a different loop. Maybe you encounter someone who reminds you of back then and you get to graciously intercede in the exact way that was needed before, or maybe all you get to do is watch with horror and compassion and try to learn something from it. Either way it’s always going to come back around again.

It sounds unbearably woo, but it’s true— the times in your life when you betray your values and bitterly disappoint yourself are guardians. They mark the boundaries of what you stand for. If you’re willing to dive into the meat of what happened and why, they’ll give you information that can help connect you to others and help you collectively deal with the circumstances that create choices like these. Odin had to hang himself on a tree and give up an eye for that kind of knowledge, Prometheus and his liver have to hang out with an eagle for eternity. You’re in good company, so have fun.

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it is fun to be a little bratty sometimes, but i just love being obedient. nothing is better than the feeling of looking up at her and seeing just how proud she is of me for doing exactly what she wanted me to, exactly what i was told. when she tells me to get on my knees and open my pretty mouth and it doesn't take another second for me to obey, to be ready for her. when she tells me to behave and don't move, and smiles when she sees how hard it is for me, but even though my body is trembling with every touch, i stay still and let her do whatever she pleases. when i am dying to taste her sweet juices and feel her come undone on my tongue, but she hasn't given me permission yet, so i just look at her with tears in my eyes and whimper softly so maybe she'll take pity on me, because she knows i just need her in my mouth so badly it's hurting me physically. but then she looks at me and says in her sweetest voice:

"you're so well trained, aren't you, puppy? such a good girl for me. you make me so proud to own you."

and it's all worth it.