You know what normal healthy people do when they are eating a meal and start to feel full up?
They STOP EATING.
Let’s repeat that; when you start to get full, you PUT THE FORK DOWN.
THAT is the only guaranteed way to lose weight, reduce your calorie intake.
Gluttony is not a disability, and as a physically disabled person myself I resent the implication that having a medical issue is an excuse to give up trying to improve yourself. No matter what problems you may have, you can always do something to lose weight. The first and most important step is REDUCE your Calorie intake; you can still eat what you like, just eat less of it. Moderation is the key.
Oh, but that would mean taking responsibility for yourself and making an effort….it’s so much easier to pretend that it is “genetics” or “conditions” that keep you obese, right fat people?
Or that the only reason people are repulsed by you is they are being brainwashed by “the media”, not the fact that a vast majority of the human beings on this planet find wobbly, cellulite-ridden, stretch-marked flesh hanging out for all to see absolutely revolting. (That’s without mentioning what it says about your character and personality too). If you do not have the will-power to stop gorging yourself YOU are the only person to blame when you are viewed in a negative way.
I have no respect for anyone that has no respect for themselves and THAT is why I will continue to fight fat acceptance.
So, hate me, accuse me of “oppressing the obese”, of being a bigot, of being “ableist” whatever, I could not give a flying fuck. I will not stand idly by while impressionable youngsters are manipulated into committing slow suicide via the use of blatant lies and misinformation, all under the pretense of being encouraged to “love themselves”. I am a parent myself and I will not be silenced. If that hurts some people’s feelings, so be it.
Besides, I would love someone to explain to me how if you really, truly love yourself and your body, why on Earth would you push it to beyond its capabilities by making it cope with extra weight that it is not designed to carry? That doesn’t sound like love, it sounds like abuse…
let’s be real cal would be an amazing general shang
Mare’s best friend Kilorn Warren suddenly gets the call to go to war. Knowing he’s unprepared and ill equipped to face a life in the trenches, and hoping to make her family proud- something she felt she was unable to accomplish as a common thief- she takes his place as a soldier.
During training, she meets Cal, a Silver general of her battalion and son of the legendary burner, Tiberius Calore. Having no prior combat training and being small in stature, she doesn’t initially do well in training. However, in an unexpected twist, she discovers she has the ability to produce and manipulate electricity. This power gives her a huge advantage over anyone else in the Red army, but it would surely get her killed if her superiors found out about it, so she keeps her ability hidden.
It’s at this time that tragedy strikes: Cal’s dad, Tiberias Calore, is killed by Maven, a ruthless leader fixed on obtaining Norta’s crown.
A battle in attempt to defeat Maven forces Mare to reveal her power, shocking Cal and everyone in the army. Mare fears she’ll be killed for lying about her powers, but then they discover there are many other people in the Red Army with silver abilities as well. Mare then convinces Cal to help her train them in order to hunt down Maven and avenge his father.
okay but i’m re-watching scenes from old gilmore girls episodes and like people are kidding themselves if they really believe that rory loved her previous boyfriends even a third of the amount that she loved logan. like everyone likes to talk “deep connection and knowing who she is.. “ but none of that substitutes love? and i don’t care how you slice it the boyfriend she was most in love with was logan huntzberger. we saw that in the series and in the revival period.
I don't know. I just want to be with him all the time. I want to hear about his day and tell him about mine. I want to hold his hand and smell his hair. But I don't want to be his stupid boyfriend!
has anyone noticed that the villains or monsters or antagonists of DQ3 are just people? rolf. kirsten. laughing jack. paff. bess. even the people of del under the influence of racist propaganda. there actually aren’t very many monsters in the series at all.
in DQ1, when a guardian is a human, they’re redeemed. when a guardian is a natural beast, it’s left alone. when it is an “evil” monster or product of sorcery, it’s killed/crushed/turned into a tree. in dq3, morality isn’t black and white. the villains are people. and they die - some of them horribly - by dragon, by poison, by venom, by the undead, by suicidal burning.
it shows that good and evil come down to the choices we make as people. these antagonists are people - maybe not entirely human, but people - who have become monsters through their own choices. they chose evil.and that hits a lot closer to home than any creature can.
it parallels the way lief has grown up.
the monsters he fights are no longer monsters that can be defeated with a sword or a cleverly solved riddle. the monsters are in his own head. or they are people just like him. people who chose to side with evil. and they pay the price in the end.
and the prize that lief & co. are questing for? not gemstones to restore hope. not a magic flute that banishes evil. they are hunting hideous blights that must be eradicated to save the hope of a future for deltora. it is a quest of slaughter. it’s not hopeful, like the quest for the gems. it’s desperate.
lief and doom both understand the allure of evil in the sister of the south right before paff kills herself. they know how good it looks, the lovely lies it tells, the false promises of glory. but they both refused that power - doom through his sheer strength of will to carry on and lief through his love for jasmine, and barda, and his people, and everything they have done, and everything they fight for.
On the sixth day of Edmas, Captain Kenway gave to me…
At first, you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. The days were growing shorter as winter fast approached, your duties as an Assassin still outranking all other aspects of your life. You were training when Altaïr greeted you, his lips straight and his hood covering the rest of his face. He claimed he wanted to see your progress. Of course, you were more than ready to show him how much you’d improved. He had, after all, constantly taunted you.
So you’d sparred with him. Blow after blow you parried each other, neither one of you ever able to hit the other. It was tiring work and lasted long into the night. By the time you called a truce, the sun had long since set and the moon was lighting the sky.
“I can walk you home.” Altaïr offered, voice as stoic as ever.
“It’s alright, I think I can handle any trouble on the way.” You chuckled lightly, sheathing your sword.
Shrugging, you nodded. He walked by your side as you made your way through the twists and turns of the village, the natural light of the skies your only guide. Normally, you’d enjoy the walk home, the beauty of the peaceful roads and the smell of flowers in the air. However, today it was a little more unpleasant, the awkwardness between you and Altaïr taking away from the scenery.
Your eyes flicked up to him, his face unreadable beneath the shadows of his hood. You’d never really spoken to him all that much outside of your Assassin duties, besides the occasional mission you’d have to take with him. And never had he spent more time than necessary with you. In fact, you’d gotten the impression that he, like with most people, disliked you. You were, after all, the only woman Assassin.
But this, this was truly an odd scenario. The great Altaïr didn’t go out of his way to walk anyone to their home, let alone you. So why the sudden change?
“If you don’t mind me asking,” you began, the curiosity itching away at you, “Why are you walking me home?”
His muscles seemed to tense at your question, the lips that were barely visible turned down. He looked to be struggling for an answer.
“You are too worn out to be effective against any danger you might encounter.” He finally settled on that answer, not entirely sure with how that’d boat with you.
“I’m quite capable,” you scoffed, glaring at the pebble your foot kicked in annoyance. The distance screech of a crow took your attention, a sigh being released into the air.
“Even after hours of training?”
That annoying sense of self-importance had slipped back into his tone, causing you to grit your teeth.
“Yes, even after that,” you bit out, stopping abruptly. “Why don’t you go bug someone else?”
Honestly, you’d heard enough talk about not being good enough for three lifetimes, you really didn’t want to hear anymore. Altaïr seemed to fumble with his words for a moment, nodding solemnly and turning his back. You could’ve sworn you heard a soft apology tumble from his lips, but then again, it could’ve been the wind. Shrugging to yourself, you shook off the event and continued on. You doubted anything like that would ever happen again anyways.
The second time it happened, you began to think that maybe there was something Altaïr needed to tell you. It’d been two weeks since he offered to walk you home, most of which you’d spent avoiding the git. He had, although indirectly, suggested that you were incapable of watching out for yourself. You’d been just returning from a short three day mission for a little recon. There hadn’t been any trouble but you had found yourself in need of a break. So, naturally, you went to the river.
The water rushed by in a roar, the soft current tickling at your bare feet as you stood in the water. It was much like what you had done as a child, playing within the cool waters. The temperature didn’t bother you so much as the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, a flash of white robes appearing before you.
“Altaïr?” You questioned, watching the Assassin curiously.
His eyes were on you as you stood knee-high in the water, his hands behind his back.
“(Y/N),” he greeted, nodding once and unsheathing his blade.
The silver glint was blocked by a thick coat of scarlet blood, the sure signs of a recent killing. It seems he’s come to clean his blade. You sighed, turning away from him and moving further into the stream. It was soaking your robes, the thick cloth becoming even heavier as it absorbed the water.
Nostalgic thoughts occupied your mind as you leaned down, immersing your head fully into the liquid. It was relaxing for exactly one minute before a hand ripped you out of the water, your gaze meeting two wide, very beautiful, golden eyes. Altaïr had a look of panic, both hands gripping your shoulders.
“What was that?” You asked, breathless from the time under the water and the sudden disruption.
“I-” He froze up, not entirely sure how to answer it.
“You?” You prompted, setting your lips in a thin line and fixing him with a glare.
“You didn’t come up to breathe and so I thought…” He trailed off, realizing that he still had his hands on your shoulder.
Altaïr pulled away with surprising speed, taking a step back from you.
“That I was what? Dead?” You bit your lip to stop your laugh.
Clearly, the man was a little more than flustered. He shook his head, dragging in a deep breath.
“Well, I just assumed th-”
“It’s okay, Altaïr, really.” You assured him, flashing him a brief, albeit meaningful, smile.
He released a breath, nodding to you. The rush of water ran thickly between the two of you, his mouth opening like he wished to speak more, but no words came out. Strange, he was like that when escorting you home. What was it he seemed to have such trouble spitting out?
“I have to go.” He announced, practically fleeing the scene. You stared where he once stood, an amused smile tugging at your lips. Perhaps Altaïr wasn’t as bad as you made him seem.
It was the third time that you truly understood what was happening. Al Mualim had sent you to Jerusalem with Altaïr stating that he needed two people he truly trusted. Naturally, you and Altaïr had been his first choice. For most of the trip there, Altaïr had been silent, only breaking it when he thought it time to set up camp or retrieve supplies. You didn’t have much desire to speak to him, instead trying to read all you could from his expressions.
All you’d managed to gather in your observations was that he couldn’t hold eye contact with you for more than 5 seconds without looking away and he seemed to have the hardest time biting his tongue when it truly mattered. But there was still something that he wasn’t telling you. It was in the way he’d send you these looks when he didn’t think you were paying attention or the way he’d say your name, like it was a treat to be savoured instead of a mere word to call you.
He’d left you at the campsite an hour ago, leaving you to build a fire while he left in search for water. You’d grown worried, not that you’d ever admit it, but your fears were snuffed out when he approached, his feet moving as gracefully as ever. In both hands he held, presumably, filled waterskins, the scent of cardamom and mint wafting over with him.
“There isn’t much wood to keep the fire going,” you admitted, gesturing towards the dimly lit fire that barely stood a foot above the ground.
“It is good enough.” He said, taking a seat beside you.
You raised your brow, surprised that he didn’t have a complaint about how small the fire was or how you couldn’t find any wood to make sure it was adequately supplied. He handed you your waterskin, either ignoring or oblivious to your shock.
“Thanks.” You mumbled, taking a cautious sip.
The water slid down your throat like the finest of wines, the feel intoxicating. You’d gone hours without drinking and you hadn’t even realized how thirsty you truly were.
“You are welcome.” Altaïr replied lowly, the reply nearly causing you to choke on your water.
Altaïr, the self-important, high and mighty asshole, just acknowledged your thanks. He was full of surprises, his hand lightly patting your back as your coughs subsided. You swallowed, looking upon his face after you caught your breath. His hood was down, something you’d only ever seen twice before. The fire was reflecting off his tanned skin, outlining his sharp cheekbones and full lips. His eyes, golden like the sand under the harsh rays of the sun, were shining brightly to you.
His mouth opened, almost as if he wanted to saw something, then snapped shut with an audible click. The crackling of the fire was the only thing keeping the silence at bay, your mind running with a million possibilities of what it was he was wanting to say. It couldn’t be a coincidence, you’d seen him try to say something too often for it to be that. No, he wanted to say something.
“Altaïr,” you started, keeping his gaze with yours. “What do you want to say?”
His lips parted, tongue moving but no words being uttered. He seemed to be stuck, unable to voice whatever was plaguing his thoughts. With a frustrated growl to himself, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, pulling your mouth towards his. He met your lips with a fiery hunger, his movements rough and needy. You gasped, the sound being swallowed by his mouth as he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in.
Your hands, frozen until now, rested on his shoulder blades. Your lips moved against his, matching his ferocity with your own, your tongue sliding along the roof of his mouth. He responded positively, wrapping an arm around your waist so he could properly lay you back, resting himself between your legs.
“Altaïr,” you breathed when he finally released your lips, watching him with wide eyes.
His tongue darted out to swipe along his swollen and wet lips, the gold of his eyes now only a sliver in the darkness of desire.
“I was wrong.” He admitted, his thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek. “You can handle yourself, but I would rather you didn’t.”
You furrowed your brows in question, one of your hands rubbing between his shoulder blades.
“What do you mean?”
“I admire you.” He stated, his normal confidence back. “More than I should, but I can’t do anything to stop that. I would like to keep you safe, even though you don’t need my help doing it.”
You smiled up at him, his own grin mirroring yours. He definitely wasn’t that bad.
I watched Deep Down again today, and something Fred said to Wesley got me really riled up.
Fred: You really don’t care anymore, do you?
Me: Oh no no no no no no. Uh uh. You did not just say that to my boy. Sit down and lemme explain you a thing.
You don’t know the first thing about how much Wesley cares. You have no idea how dedicated he is to all of you. The man gave up everything trying to keep Connor safe, and you all turned your backs on him for it, and he still didn’t stop caring.
Yeesh, I mean look at Angel and Cordelia. They were the ones he’s known the longest and was the closest to, and they seemed to be the ones who hated him the most after what he did. But when they went missing, he spent months relentlessly searching for the both of them.
Look at this. Look at this freaking screencap here and tell me what you see.
You know what that is? That look in Wesley’s eyes? That’s love. That is absolute, unconditional love. Love for a man who hates him. Love for a man who tried to kill him the last time they were in the same room together.
Want more? How about this?
Fire is raining down from the sky. The world is coming to pieces around them. And Wesley is clinging to an injured Gunn, keeping him safe in the middle of all the chaos. Gunn, his former-friend-turned-romantic-rival. Gunn who can’t stand him anymore. Gunn who would be just as happy if Wesley had stayed away from the team for good.
It didn’t matter how much his friends hated him, Wesley never stopped loving them. He never stopped caring.
And another thing. Nobody ever taught Wesley how to love unconditionally. That’s not something he had growing up. It’s something he had to learn on his own. And he still does it better than a majority of the people in either series.
‘I’m not going to sit there and say, “Oh, I wish I hadn’t had corkscrew-curly hair and worn cowboy boots and sundresses to awards shows when I was 17; I wish I hadn’t gone through that fairy-tale phase where I just wanted to wear princess dresses to awards shows every single time.” Because I made those choices. I did that. It was part of me growing up. And so with 1989, I feel like we gave the entire metaphorical house I built a complete renovation and it made me love the house even more—but still keeping the foundation of what I’ve always been.’
Okie so, I know that there is this translated thing floating around the internet where Kubo was giving her commentary for episodes 7-12, and how it was a little contradicting?? And so, I decided to read it, and all I have to say is CALM DOWN everyone!! She’s being ambiguous on purpose! Now it is a little weird that she is dodging the subject of the rings representing more than a platonic relationship, but that’s just one thing out of a myriad of others. Like I said in an earlier post, they don’t need a wedding. Is it desirable? Yes, it is! But even if the rings turn out not to be what we thought they were, that in no way disproves the much obvious love that Yuuri and Victor have for each other! May I have y’all recall that Kubo-Sensei herself said that while she was writing the story, Victor and Yuuri just fell in love by themselves. She didn’t intend for that to happen. It just happened. And she went with it. Like, I dunno how that doesn’t confirm their love any more. So please, to everyone freaking out, I’m not saying that your feelings are invalid, but at the same time, don’t blow it out of proportion! Yes, what she has said recently is a little contradicting, but don’t freak out just yet! I believe everything will be okay. Just stay optimistic, even if it’s hard!
Edit: Well, y’know. I’ve come to realize that there are actually many things wrong with this magazine interview??? Like I’m just hoping it’s a translation error or something. Let’s all just pretend that this interview never happened! Woo! (lowkeyworriedasfuckbutalsotryingtostayedpositivesendhelpplz)