breathing in fumes

It is not a political belief to say that Donald Trump is sexist, racist, ableist, vengeful and a bully. It is not a political belief to say that he has allowed a homophobic, transphobic misogynist into the White House with him. It is not a political belief to say that he is a liar. Those are not labels anyone chooses for themselves; people qualify for them through their actions. And at every turn, Trump has acted in ways that align with every single one of those words. He has lied so much that his lies no longer have meaning. He’s filled the air with fear and bombast, and it’s no surprise that, breathing in the fumes of a deliberately deceptive campaign, the voters had to resort to feelings over facts. There are only so many times you can hear a man say, “I am your only hope for survival,” before you start to wonder if he’s right.

I am scared for my future in a way I never have been before. I am a young, queer woman of color who works in an industry the president-elect has condemned as corrupt and irredeemable. I am afraid my right to marry will be taken away, which in turn will erode my and my fiancee’s financial stability and our ability to start a family. I am looking back at the privilege I held yesterday, which I was so lucky to gain via Supreme Court ruling just as I reached adulthood, and kicking myself for not taking seriously the idea that I might lose it. Early Wednesday morning, I went to bed terrified that the future I’d only just started to seriously conceive would be taken away unceremoniously.

And at the end of the day, I am not the most exposed or in danger here. I am not a Muslim, or an immigrant, or a young man of color, or even a very visible Latina. The political machine that secured marriage equality (and with it those myriad familial rights that make it important in practical, rather than simply emotional, terms) is mighty, and I have faith that it will protect that right fiercely, and ultimately restore it if it does get put on hold.

So today, I reserve the deepest part of my mourning for those groups whose rights are not defended the way marriage equality is. I’m setting aside whatever energy I can to fight for those who cannot do it alone. If you are lost, scared and uncertain about what you’re going to do, I am here. I can’t offer solutions right now, but I can hug you and feed you and keep you hydrated. I can give you a place to sleep and an endless supply of silly television if you need to just tune the world out for a while. And as soon as you’re ready to fight, I’ll be right there with you.

Because it’s not a political belief to say that people of color, queer people, immigrants, non-Christians and refugees have rights. It’s not a political belief to say that bigotry is wrong, and that our nation is better when we stand together. It is not a political belief to say that the things Donald Trump has promised to do as president are unconstitutional and diametrically opposed to the principles of our nation. And it’s not a political belief to say that if you voted to make this happen, you have deliberately put a very large swath of this nation in acute danger. Those are just the facts.

Kaitlyn Jakola, senior copy editor Mic, What comes next: Facing the facts in the Donald Trump era 

My hollowed eyeballs
Sink deeper into my bones
Looking inward at my own flesh
I see the little god in me
Budding outward, and I
Breathe out to feed its unformed petals
The stem lengthen and strengthen
Through these black lashes
jutting out in arches

Like golden half-moon structures
Leading to the starry city
A mini divinity sitting on sunflowers.

Breathing in the fumes of my tea
I find my center in the corner of a wall.

—  Jenn Satsune

he met her
in a sunlit meadow
flowers seemed to bloom in her wake
trailing her skirts like a wedding train
as she ran
straight into his arms

they wrapped around her reflexively
where his skin touched
the flowers wilted
his chin brushed the stalk
of wheat behind her ear
it crumbled
to dust

his breath hitched
the fumes of the Underworld
caught behind his teeth
she burned against him
—this child of life
with birdsong rosy in her cheeks
wreathed in the perfume of growing things
the sun’s rays curled about her shoulders
like apollo had draped them there himself
he could feel the roots of the dead
twining around his ankles
stretching eager fingers
toward the maiden, and he
ripped away

he presided over the dead
it was not his job to deliver
death to them

her fingers looked like
fragile plant stems
but they dug into his robes
like the strongest roots
when he yanked back
she tore away fistfuls
of black fabric
that pooled over her hands
as souls did

her eyes were
fountains brimming over
they fell to the black carpet
beneath his feet
she reached a hand to him—
and took his, “please, take me away”
(he’d heard thousands begging
thanatos not to take them,
but never someone asking him to)

“why?“ spilled over his lips
but she shook her head,
chestnut ringlets bouncing about her face
“the flowers have eyes,” she said
“take me where none will grow”

hades met persephone
when she was running
from her mother
he saw the fear in her eyes
but not for him this time
she took shelter where
her mother’s creation could not
haunt her
she took up residence
on death row

when zeus condemned her
he offered the pomegranate
he tasted the juice on her lips
when she kissed him
whispering “you saved me”
against his mouth
he could still taste the sweetness
beneath the blood
when he lied to demeter
and she hit him for “tricking” her daughter

eventually she stopped
running from her mother
and started
running toward him


Where do camp songs even come from? They’re almost uniformly terrible, nonsensical, and vaguely disturbing. It’s hard to imagine anyone writing the lyrics intentionally, even a young child. Are they composed organically, or are they received? Is there, like, a camp Pythia - an oracle counselor who sits in a cabin above a fissure and breathes the fumes from a subterranean chaos realm to receive otherworldly messages in the form of weird songs?

drabble 1

“I like the way your hand fits in mine.” with Taehyung.
Word count: 1018

A cold blast of air hit you like a wall as you wandered hesitantly out of the bus, goosebumps running up and down your arms as you cringed into your scarf. The street was dim, the early hours of the morning meaning only the faint pastel light of the rising sun served to illuminate the frosty cars and snow that bunched in corners of the pavement; not yet thinned out by the grit that would be laid later.

“It’s so co-cold.” you stuttered out, a whine biting at your voice as you buried the lower half of your face into the scarf looped around your neck, glaring hotly at the boy who was leaning against the wall, staring at the frozen surroundings with wide amazed eyes. Turning his head towards you, Taehyung chuckled at your sour impression, his breath puffing out it white fumes.

“It’s not that bad,” he started, stifling a chuckle as you sneezed and held up his arms in a surrender at the curdling glower that followed. His own nose was a dusty red, cheeks raw and bitten where the collar of his coat didn’t quite cover. Though, honestly, he was probably better off that you if the numbness that was spreading through you said anything.

Sniffing in return, you wrapped your arms around you, your pockets doing little to shield you from the cold air. “Easy for you to say, you’re like a fucking heater.” you shivered, mourning your bed that you had been snuggled in half an hour before bitterly. Half an hour before Taehyung  had turned up at your house, gesturing wildly and screaming about the orgasmic cakes at the best bakery in the whole world and to ‘get up so we can go and stuff our faces!’ . Needless to you hadn’t been impressed, and it had taken nearly twenty minutes of aegyo and begging from Taehyung until you finally caved into begrudgingly leaving the comfort of your room. To freeze your ass off waiting outside a bakery. At seven in the morning. What the hell were you thinking?

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Taehyung sidled up to you so that your side was pressed into his front, gasping when the cold from your body bled through his layers of clothes.

“Babe,” he exclaimed, pulling you closer as he looped his arms around your waist, effectively squashing the side of your face into his chest. “You’re so cold!”

You melted against him, grumbling out a “Of course I am, it’s goddamn freezing” only for show as Taehyung squeezed you tighter.

Shuffling to get comfortable, Taehyung hummed gently under his breath, resting his chin on top of head, and shifted so that the pair of you were leaning against the wall with you resting between his legs. Grinning devilishly as an evil idea popped into your head, you snaked your arms under his coat to press your hands against the bare skin of Taehyung’s torso. The shriek that followed was loud enough to send a couple of birds flying from the roof of the bakery in alarm. The look of utter betrayal that twisted his features was enough to send you struggling away from him, chortling evilly.  

Catching your flailing hands in his own, Taehyung entwined his fingers with your own, fitting perfectly into yours. “Just for that, I’m not buying you that cake you wanted.” he mumbled, huffing in faux offence.

Your eyes widened in concern, shaking your head and letting out a string of apologies at the  mere thought of not getting any of your favourite treat, the thought even more horrifying because of the time and weather. Taehyung lips twitched slightly out of his tight line at the sight of you fussing, a full grown smile appearing when you even went as far as throwing in a reluctant ‘oppa’ between your pleads. Ruffling your hair, he leaned down to plant a loud kiss on your forehead, pulling you by your hands closer to the bakery as the lights flickered on.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” you asked, peering up at Taehyung and pouting in a way you hoped was cute, not that you were any real good at doing aegyo; that was more Taehyung’s thing.

Snorting, Taehyung nodded, grinning when your cheeks dimpled as a smile rose high in your cheeks. Doing a little jiggle on the balls of your feet to keep warm, you held Taehyung’s hand tighter in thanks watched as a couple of workers trailed around inside the bakery, setting the cakes up and laying the table with cute pink accents. 

A few minutes later a elderly woman appeared at the door, welcoming you into the bakery with a warm smile, cooing about ‘what a cute couple’ you and Taehyung were. Almost as soon as you steeped through the doorway you were flooded with not only heat but the homely smell of baked goods and freshly brewed coffee. 

“Oh my god, look at those cakes!” Taehyung spluttered, dragging you over to the cake display and pointing at each of them. you chuckled, reading out the description to try and decide what you wanted when your arm was jerked up. Glancing over at Taehyung, you saw that he was reaching up to the top of the stand to pick up a couple of boxes, bringing your hand up with him.

“Taehyung,” you started, wiggling your fingers that were still caught in his clasp, “you can let go now.”. Taehyung tuned to you, eyes comically wide with his eyebrows curving up in surprise. 

“Why?” he whined, gripping your hand tighter as you tried to pry his hand off of yours.

Huffing out a laugh, you added “Because we’re not outside anymore, I’m not cold. Taehyung pouted at you, tugging you closer so that he could whisper a quiet “But I like how your hand feels in mine~” laughing when your cheeks burst with colour and you punched his arm weakly in protest. But his hand remained firmly between your own, fitted nicely long after you had paid and left the bakery, because maybe you liked the way his hand felt in yours too.

Originally posted by bwipsul

Scarecrow’s brand of Self-Care

(Inspired by @thepigeonqueen‘s post.)

  • Pamper that lanky scarecrow body with Burlap Bath Bombs
  • Spoil yourself: Spend all of your money on books instead of food and other necessities. At least you’ve got rare a 1st edition copy of Ulysses!
  • Teach yourself how to sew. Bonus points of you only use jute and burlap 
  • Feeling down? Use your army of corvids to wreak havoc upon your enemies, and maybe friends too. No one is safe. 
  • Challenge yourself to create a new Fear Toxin. Breathe in the fumes to feel extra relaxed™.
  • Lie down in the middle of a cornfield and let the hot Georgia sun soak in.
  • Dancing helps to relieve stress, especially when it’s violent dancing.
  • Create the most terrifying costume possible with aforementioned sewing abilities. It’s extra spooky if you actually sew your lips.
  • Attend church to get in touch with the Holy Spirit. Then burn it down. It’s what Great Granny would’ve wanted.
  • Watch a marathon of horror movies and critique them, because you could do it better. You are the Lord of Fear after all.
  • Eat homemade Pumpkin Pie for breakfast because you can.
  • Never sleep, spend all your time researching or spreading fear.

do y'all know how much time I actually spent on that lucoa cosplay bc lemme u tell it was a truly shameful number of hours spent on my living room floor crying and breathing in acrylic sealer fumes

Ok so I’ve been thinking some more about the trolls apocalypse au and talking with @this-is-my-secret-trolls-blog and I was thinking, what if poppy and the snack pack got mutated to look more like their movie counterparts, so like:

•Guy diamond skin tends to flake off in weirdly pretty glitter flakes

•biggie grew in alot in size and mr dinkles his pet chihuahua legs shrunk and become practically useless so biggie has no choice but to carry him everywhere

•smidge was already short but then she began to quickly shrink, the upside to this is that it seems the shorter she gets the stronger she also becomes. Her voice is also incredibly deep and rapsy from accidently breathing in some fumes.

•coopers become alot more gangly and elongated with his teeth almost following a similar route

•DJ suki becomes almost totally deaf but gains synaesthesia

•poppy’s hair becomes bright pink and even her skin gains the hue

•the twins once the chemicals hit were knocked unconcious by them. They had fallen next to each other with their long hair touching and when they awake the ends of their hair had been fused together. They tried cutting it but it was so painful they had to stop and even they it just healed back together but they can stretch it pretty far so they do have some range.

  • every artist ever to exist: i love drawing/painting, it's so soothing and meditative, i can literally feel my cares float away on an internal river of relaxation and the deepest, most profound peace
  • that same artist, five minutes later: i want to go back in time, find the dipshit that decided this project was a good idea (me, i am the dipshit, it was me) and literally shove their head up their ass so they are forced to breathe deep on the fumes of their own shame

 Only as dawn began to glisten upon the bleached forest did a peculiar traveler happen across their dilapidated caravan. Gangling shadows of towering pine stretched far across the frigid land, blanketing all but the narrow clearing shepherding their wayward lead. The fortitude of the aimless transient bore the full weight of their collective burdens, dragging the cart across a wooded plain with the dwindling might of his singular wing. His breath heaved in exhausted gasps, fuming from his curved break in wafting clouds of humid exhale. The battered avian grew tired with each tremendous pull of his wing, having squandered what could have been an evening’s rest to blindly attending a festivity neither him nor his eclectic crew had the knowledge of. Tobias was tired and for as long as the aromatisse willed it so;  there was nothing else for the wearisome traveler to do but fend against the expanding tides of labored fatigue.

 The slogging mule was far too preoccupied to pay the soundless stranger any of his muddled thought, but the aromatisse traipsing along his side swiftly offered the phantom her unbridled attention. A melodious jingle of thin chain swerved with her stubby form, a vile stench germinated from the scented apothecary in an aura of searing mint. However difficult the fuming miasma was to breathe, the incense’s radiance was unmistakable in it’s anomalous scent. Without a doubt it reeked of medicinal properties, to what absurd extent nobody but it’s diligent craftsman would know.

 “We’re just off to wherever our friend tells us to go.” She answered with indignant transparency, eyeing the phantom’s swaying as they effortlessly trailed along the vehicle’s side. “But you’re right, It isn’t often you see two bumbling birds carrying a wagon through a forest - I’ll happily give you that.” The bird seemed to pause after every word, however slightly veering her lavender gaze to the hauling traveler before snapping it back to the phantom in question. She, like anyone within the vicinity of a rasping man, surveyed his impending collapse with the remaining deliberation she could offer. Masked visage finally locked at an awkward angle, the wingless bird kept both within her peripherals as words finally continued in their droning motion.

 “Personally, I wouldn’t have the brutish strength to carry of all of my things with me.” Her puny hand idly gestured to the caravan, with an interior that clinked and clanged to the sounds of a jumbling cargo. “So I met a friend, who later introduced me to another friend, who now drags our useless things around for us. What good would there be in running a trade when there’s nothing on you to sell off but the lavish plume of your hide?”

 “Myself, and my acquaintance are the ones running pitiful show. We’d just rather have someone else cart our priceless burdens than reining some feral lout to do it for us. However, I for one think having another beak to bicker with is worth the bit of extra coin.”

Isn’t that right, Tobias?

 Her jagged words rang like the flailing of a tremendous bell - but there was little anyone could accomplish to wrangle the bird’s attention, yet alone one confounded by weary front of an exhaustive haul. A final, rasping heave escaped from their lungs as the bird’s quivering heels gave way under the squashing weight of his aging hide. But as he withdrew the breaths leading him unto the blackness of unconsciousness did a sudden flicker of strength flare within the bird’s ailing bones. The meager inhale of the incense’s spiraling fumes thwarted what brief respite he would have had. The repugnant veil radiating from the violet alchemist was as unbearable to the slightest waft was it was steeped in medicine, and whether it be for the best or worst that scented beacon dangling from the nurse’s grasp solely kept his talon heels trudging through this abhorrent trek.

 A prolonged sigh expelled from beaten lungs, the bird fumbling over his own legs before his hauling continued into to motion. Without an acknowledging glance nor a pause of gathering thought, the bird uttered words dripping in his growing qualms.

 “Yes Nana, y'all’s a good friend alright.”


>Bios updated.



This used to be my big passion - soapmaking! Not that melt-and-pour garbage you can get a hobby stores, but real soap made with lye and quality oils/butters, that needs to cure for 4-8 weeks because you can use it. Most of these are from 2011/2012, I got pregnant in early 2013 and didn’t want to breathe in the lye fumes. Then, well, babies/toddlers are needy! I’m hoping to get back into it now that I have made fragrances for Fallout 4 and Star Wars.

(Absolutely on my to-do soap list: Fancy Lads Snake Cakes and Abraxo)