i know we're all sick of self-care being a marketing tactic now, but i don't think a lot of us have any other concept of self-care beyond what companies have tried to sell us, so i thought i'd share my favorite self-care hand out
brought to you by how mad i just got at a Target ad
OP this is EXCELLENT
Anonymous asked:
what am I supposed to do in a club. I go in them often but never know what to do, it ends up being extremely confusing. What do people do in them??
powerburial answered:
you may not have the clubber’s temperament. perhaps your place is on the battlefield
People tend to forget that we are also animals. We are not separate from nature, we are just as much a part of it as the birds that nest outside our windows.
Take some time today to focus on your place in the natural ecosystem around you. Give an offering to the local nature spirits if you can
I’m 33 and American. This myth is so widespread here I didn’t know the truth until I was TWENTY-NINE. I was literally taught something similar IN COLLEGE—that the Puritans were so reactionary in America as a result of what happened to them in England. And this was in a class about the history of witchcraft accusations and the Salem witch trials. Like, we were taught that they were horrible HERE, but the narrative was still that they faced injustice in England.
This wasn’t a stupid teacher, either. She had her first doctorate and was pursuing a second. Basically everything else I learned in that class checks out. The myth just runs THAT DEEP.
Yep. :/
This thread got me watching this BBC documentary on Oliver Cromwell and I highly recommend it anyone else who also had no idea.
i wanna feel at home again with myself
Oh to buy a beautiful, abandoned, stone church and renovate it into a quaint cottage to live in, turning the church yard into a small garden of vegetables and herbs and knowing that when the undead rise in the cold months (as they are prone to do) you will be nice and cozy in your abode of +10 necrotic resistance, laughing joyously as you enemies are smote without you needing to lift a finger from your tea.
When you look into a patch of trees on the side of the road and are seized with the overwhelming urge to lose yourself in the forest
Having a squire is like here’s a preteen who’s gonna be following you around for the next few years and it’s your job to hold them back by the scruff of their neck when they wanna pick a fight with a wizard
Anonymous asked:
wait how did YOU learn how to walk in heels??
hellenhighwater answered:
Step one: go to a thrift store and buy a battered pair of knee-high boots in your size. They have a blocky heel, tapered to a perfect one-inch square of stomping force. They have seen better days; they are about to see better nights.
Step two: you are thirteen years old and you have just moved to a house in the woods, built on a lot of untouched forest that slopes steeply to a quiet dark river. There are trails cut, tentatively, into the otherwise dense trees, and you have never moved before. You have never lived in a place that you do not know like you know your own hands, like you know your own stride.
Step three: it is two in the morning on a fall night with a full moon, and there is no screen in your window. It’s easy to open, easy to step out, and with the heels of your boots you don’t even have to stretch for the ground under your feet. It’s soft dirt, turned up by the foundation of the house, and the square blocky boot sinks in deeply as you slide out into the night. Your cat, two bright eyes in the dark and white, flashing teeth, leaps out after you, darker than shadow.
Step four: The trails are bright under the moon, bare dirt where the rest of the land is years of accumulated mast. As you start down the hill from the house the momentum carries you and you lean back into your heels like climber’s spikes, stablizing you on the slick clay slope where the river used to run. By the bottom of the hill you are running too, on your toes, because you’re moving too fast to stop. You can either run or fall, and this is how you learn to never, ever, fall.
Step five: At the riverbank the trail turns into shadow under the trees and there’s nothing–you follow the darker-place-in-darkness of a black cat running ahead of you, trusting her night vision when your own fails you. She leads you through the places where the bushes are so close they whip your face, back up the hill until you pass, breathless, where the dark mirror of your brothers’ bedroom windows are shining with reflected moonlight, and you keep going, leaning into the twists and flinging your legs uphill, your heels never touching dirt at all.
Step six: in front of the house the trails are a maze of flat land, weaving over each other to the road. Your cat picks the junctions, switching back and forth in the longest route between you and asphalt. You’re out of breath but your balance is steadying, your stride shifting, and now you run heel-toe, heel-toe, your weight flying on the balls of your feet. Everything is silver and black, you and the cat and the trees, and you know this place now.
Step seven: When you climb back through the window after your cat, there are mosquitoes everywhere. You take off your boots and climb on the furniture to smash them where they’ve gathered in the highest parts of your bedroom.
You realize the next morning that there are perfect one-inch-square spots of mud on your ceiling.
These pictures of the Terror just popped up and I was thinking about her again.
