How about we just have like... hey trans people, post your pay links or wishlist or whatever you got. No limits, no trans excluded, intersex welcome, any and all genders off the social conventions included. Promote other people's stuff too if it will help. I'll just reblog em a bunch. This is for everyone, anyone, and it should go without saying not to use it to police who is in our community. We are better than that.
I need a reblog to share your info, please use those, not comments or tags. I try to reblog immediately every instance I see between 10am and 10pm, everything else goes into the queue.
Additionally, Reddit has some donation resources, which are outlined and linked in this post. However, there are potential difficulties associated with these resources, with more details in this post.
Potentially useful links as I find them: Guide to Fundraising.
Struggling with rent, I do oracle readings in exchange!
pp/vmo: hbm0925 ca: $purple0925
i'm sam, i have no insurance rn and my mother's suffering from Something and there's just. a lot of debt. i can write? i'll write original fiction if given a prompt? i can transcribe stuff with some constraints? just really desperately looking for a feasible job that won't kill me to do but i'm open to wee writing commissions just because
I can do this too. not that special
They do it by tasting their pee
I can do this too. not that special
I transitioned so big brother couldn't track me with the pee taste no more
SLUG💥💥💥🔥🔥💥🔥💥🔥💥🔥💥🔥🔥🔥💥🔥‼️🔥💥🔥🔥🍣🔥‼️💥‼️🔥
Can only describe it as having a suspecting gaze
🪲ID Guess: Common Assassin Bug 🌿Date: November 2025
Everyone in the Royal Kingdom wants to be a knight, a princess, or a maid, but we can't get anyone to be the evil vizier who has to organize the crippling taxes which fund the lavish lifestyle of the knights, princesses, and maids. No one ever thinks about the poor, overworked evil vizier and all the stress she's under. They don't even consider she might have needs, she might yearn, even...
Oh evil vizier, evil vizier, would you be so kind as to procure polish to make my armor shine like the sun? Oh I am stricken with woe vizier, have my armor painted black, set with spikes. Darling evil vizier, I seem to have run out of kerchiefs to show my favor, please vizier fetch another dozen, we have jousts today, again. Evil vizier, evil vizier, my maid has once again encrusted her undergarments with the seed of her shameful desires, have these washed and see that clean white shifts are ready for the evening ball.
They never ask how their poor vizier is paying half textile weavers in the kingdom to produce kerchiefs, how the besotted vizier has diverted half the kingdom's trade to secure continuous supplies of soiled and cleansed maid garments. We have nearly run the kingdom dry of soot and oils, yet the evil vizier, she persists. She has the armies mustered to conquer the weaker neighbors, every inch of hard won ground paid in blood so her magesty never wants for a kerchief. She is strong, she hardens her heart to the cries of the poor, she... she longs for the day... the day perhaps when she can be. Just. Just the vizier, vizier alone and not the evil vizier. She lays on bed and sobs for the lye shortage she must address on the morrow.
They throw rocks at me in the streets. My evil vizier's robe is tattered and filthy from lack of care. I beg my lords each day to abstain from perhaps a single joust or ball, to no avail.
I mean... I mean her robe. She begs her lords. Her.
I dare not permit my heart its heavy pounding in my breast, or the sound of it may wake the knights and princesses. I am giddy, and terrified, and some other thing. By the fading candlelight in my own bedchambers, whilst I struggled vainly to balance the accounts of another day, my throat unexpectedly stung at the touch of a blade. A gravely voice suggested I beg for my life, in the name of our starving people, and my crimes might be forgiven in the next life. Perhaps. I was distracted by the hot breath on my ear, and how warm the knife at my neck was, as if only moments ago it was pressed against supple skin.
"Take the misery of my life from me," I said. "I cannot bear another day in this service. Only let me look upon your face in thanks." And to my eternal gratitude, I saw her dark beauty, curled black ringlets, cloak of shadows, gleaming dagger prepared to strike, faster than my exhausted muscles could hope to move. She smelled of woodsmoke and oil, and her eyes burned in the dim light, as I fell before her, crying on her breeches and boots. I told her everything and swore my aid and allegiance, promised to share all the secrets hidden away in the moldering soul of this castle - not to spare my life, only to give it meaning before the end.
She promised to return, my heart drops, she did, and left me her calling card. The roughest woven scrap of cloth with a simple embroidered red moon. I may see her once again, I may lift this crushing burden from myself and the kingdom. To me this scrap of cloth is finer and more soft than any of the ladys' kerchiefs. I must quiet my heart, I must calm my demeanor. But I breath in the faint mink oil scent of this gift and touch the fine red line on my throat, and remain restless.
One day that same nervous maid, the one who always gets picked to rouse the frightful and evil vizier, will ever so tentatively knock at the door of her room. Nearly inaudible, she will ask, "Ms Vizier, or Ms Eve Vizier, the maids have run out of clean undergarments this morning, and m'lady's kerchiefs are a scant half dozen remaining. Have you any notion when we might see fresh linens arrive?" But instead of a pained, drawn out moan followed by the vizier's drawn, pale face gazing at her with disdainful eyes, there will be silence. Perhaps an echo should she gather the wits to knock a bit more decisively.
She'll fetch the head maid who will fetch the personal maid of the princess, who will, mumbling from her place 'neath the princess' skirts, inform her ladyship, who will eventually deign to release her maid from her duties so she may also bang on the vizier's door, not shy at all, before her key turns the lock. "Even for a vizier as evil as you, this is intolerable insubordination, you shall be whipped publicly, humiliated for leaving me in such an unsatisfied state, you will bleed until the earth is red," she might rant until her eyes fully take in the cold room. Candles burnt low, bed neatly made if somewhat dusty, dresser door ajar. Her vizier's shelves of accounting records, treaties, logistics maps, troop supply records, payment slips - gone. Nothing but the faintest scent of salty ocean air remains. Not even a one of her thin, graying hair. Although it may now occur, to the princess, if she is clever, that the vizier's hair looked not nearly so thin over the past year.
Right about then, perhaps, a knight in less than gleaming polished armor might come clattering his way up the tower stairs in a state almost like panic and proclaim, "M'lady, m'lady! The joust m'lady! You must see!" Tears in his eyes, escorting her and other princesses to the wide field of honor, curious maids following, to see empty stands, unsaddle horses grazing at the edges of the field. Beyond the castle walls the courtyard is silent. The streets beyond the castle, empty save for scraps of straw or feathers, churned to mud by hooves and carts. The castle kitchens are deserted. The piles of unwashed undergarments and kerchiefs are mountainous and untouched. Torches unlit, fireplaces cold, pantries barren - for the first time they notice a chill wind gusting through the dimly lit stone corridors. There is no shouting or laughter from within the castle or from outside, and the princesses are the first to notice a new sound. Buzzing flies.
Somewhere a vizier cannot stop herself laughing, curled into the corner of a once opulent carriage. Her hands are tangled in her hair and tears stream down her face. Others in the carriage look on in worry. She had been laughing for hours, or crying perhaps. They don't fully understand why the crazed hag was taken from the abandoned castle, or even know who she is. Only their captain, the tall one who led them in every charge, with her deep voice that echoed wherever she was needed, the captain with dark locks and a cloak of night, had left this madwoman to their care only adding that her reward would be freedom, one way or another, and she had not decided if it would be from this earthly world or merely those who had shackled her to it.
These handmade beetle guys will be going up for sale in my shop tomorrow (Friday January 9) at 10 am PST :) 🪲 shop here: hannahcomstock.com
the horse of the utopic project has returned! you’re familiar
Deep-sea dandelion serving up some first-rate floof 🧡👌
The dandelion siphonophore, Dromalia alexandri, is one of several species in the family Rhodaliidae. These siphonophores are typically found just above the seafloor, where the waters are rich with food. They use long, sticky tentacles to anchor themselves in place while other tiny tentacles grab any food drifting in the currents. Along with jellies, siphonophores (pronounced “sigh-fawn-oh-fours”) belong to a larger group called Cnidarians. Unlike their gelatinous relatives, siphonophores are colonial creatures made up of specialized segments that work together as one. They may not be familiar to most, but they’re abundant animals in the ocean. In fact, siphonophores are some of the most important predators in ocean ecosystems.
Fish me once shame on you. Fish me twice. I hate this fucking lake
more like eddie in the lake right
society if tights ripped in like small to medium holes at the thighs or knees or whatever so they looked cool and stylish instead of just tearing right at the middle of the crotch and also big toe every time. and then it's a good society like imagine a good society image.