So today on discord I got called a prostitute by a 15 year old, how’s everyone elses days going?
Self Care Tips From Tumblr: When you feel like everyone hates you, sleep. When you feel like you hate everyone, eat. When you feel like you hate yourself, shower. Someone out there feels better because you exist.
all these gay girls are like “wow i want a big lady to step on me” but where is the love for short girls stepping on you? short girl intimidating you with her presence and body language alone until you fall over and she steps on you?? short girl taking down a girl who’s much taller than her and making her submit??? where’s the love for my shadow of the colossus bitches???
WHERE’S THE LOVE FOR GIRLS LIKE THIS
This is the best description I’ve heard for this method, I always thought it was bullshit because I never heard a description that actually explained how to do this other than “tap your head 20 times”.
I have anxiety-induced hissing, which sounds/feels different from sound-induced tinnitus (which I have also experience). Sound-based tinnitus actually sounds like you’re “hearing” something in your ears, whilst the hissing I have feels like it’s “inside my head”, if that makes sense. But this technique still helps!!
Here’s a visual I found because I couldn’t understand the instructions well
My ringing just went away for the first time in years. What is this blissful quiet.
wait wait i gotta try this, i don’t think i’ve had Actual Silence since i was like 5
HOW THE FUCK
In a lot of cases, primal eyes are seen as a rare blessing, but I imagine it would be a curse in a lot of ways, too.
Say you’re a shadow primal. Your eyes never stop dripping; the ichor gets everywhere, staining your clothes and making your floors slick. You spend all day cleaning, and it still isn’t enough. You wake up in a puddle of purple sludge every morning–that is, if you ever sleep. Sometimes, the magic makes it hard for you to even shut your eyes.
Say you’re a fire primal. Your eyes burn anything–and anyone–that gets too close to you. You live in a house of the strongest stone, because every piece of wood or paper or cloth you’ve ever tried to own has burnt at some point or another. Char marks trail across the ceiling; the air smells like smoke. Your tears are almost hotter than lava, and they can burn holes in anything–even stone, as you know too well. The floor is littered in pockmarks. You have no comfort.
Say you’re a light primal. You cannot see; how can the sunlight possibly enter your eyes? You cannot enjoy the radiant beauty of your goddess; the only thing you can see are shadows. And how quickly do they disappear when you approach? You hold everything at a distance.
Say you’re a water primal. It didn’t seem so bad at first; it’s only water, after all! But water flows even faster than a shadow primal’s sludge, and can fill a space quite assuredly. You sleep in lakes to avoid flooding your den; you read from stone tablets because any book or scroll you grab is soaked the moment you touch it, the ink bleeding freely. You scream half-seen bits of prophecies whenever you dream, even now. The Tidelord has forgotten everyone, it seems, but somehow, he hasn’t forgotten you. It was his blessing, after all.
Say you’re an arcane primal. The runes on your face were never natural; no part of you really is. They burned themselves into your scales, a unique pattern of pain that never really stops–because you’re exuding magic every moment. All around you, strange things happen. Nonsensical runes line the walls of your cave, glowing ethereally and taunting you with their vagueness. Crystals form where you least expect them; any time you turn around, you can be certain to find a fuzzy swath of them. Items float when you look at them, sometimes. You’ve broken more glassware than you could ever dream of counting.
Say you’re a lightning primal. Your eyes snap and spark, lashing out at the world. Your clan knows well to keep you away from the circuitry; one wrong look could fry a whole grid of lights. You have no control over the bolts that dance around your eyes, and they strike on their own pleasure. And they hurt–not you, but others. It takes a sturdy dragon to keep your company, or a suit of rubber. And you know well just how difficult electrical fires are to quench.
Say you’re a nature primal. Of the batch, you seem quite tame, but to have a living thing embedded in your face is no easy task. It needs water and sun and careful tending; it drinks your blood and tears, and you can feel when it’s failing to thrive. Every fallen petal hurts like a blow to the gut, a little more of your power drifting away out of exhausted negligence. Gladekeeper forbid if you were to ever let it wilt. Roots drift in your veins, and flowers bloom at your every step–sometimes tethering you in place.
Say you’re an earth primal. Your danger doesn’t come from within; rather, from without. Precious gems encircle your eyes; your tears are diamonds and sapphires and other precious stones. You’ve been hurt so many times for nothing but profit; so many friends have ulterior motives. All the Earthshaker ever wanted was to bring his children together, but this was not the way to do it. You have a hard heart and a skeptical eye, now; you cannot trust.
Say you’re an ice primal. The snowflakes around your eyes never really melt; they flutter and fall and freeze holes wherever they like. It takes strong concentration to keep them in place, to keep them from doing harm–either to the world you inhabit or the creatures around you. Often, they dance around your eyes and obscure your vision. Your touch leaves frost, even in the heart of the Ashfall Waste. You are paranoid.
Say you’re a wind primal. The breeze follows you wherever you go; its gusty presence is felt whenever you enter the room. One wrong thought could send a dragon sprawling; a fit of anger could fell a forest. You can feel yourself becoming deaf, the wind’s constant howls wearing slowly at your ears.
Say you’re a plague primal. You cannot blink; your dozen eyes are ever open, the blobby scar tissue on your face refusing to shut over them. Outside the humidity of the Wasteland, they become terribly dry; it hurts to be out in the sun. Disease follows you, striking when you least expect it. You are immune, but your companions are not. Too often, you can do nothing to help.
Just an idea I had. I imagine that magic helps in many cases, but some of these things are quite impractical, no? Feel free to use these as lore prompts if you’d like, or add on to them with your own thoughts. I’d love to see!
Transcript: The dude playing Portal 2 stops in front of a conversion gel pipe and says “Hey, can someone follow real quick? *snrk* Can someone who isn’t following me just follow real quick? You can unfollow right after, I don’t even care.”
Deep voice clip: “COME.”
Dude: *starts laughing* “Thanks-”
Dude: *laughs harder*
DVC: “COME. COME.”
Dude: *laughs even harder* “Only one of you had to do it for it, for it-!”
Dude: *squeak-laughs* “Thanks, ‘preciate it.” *chuckles a bit more*
A soundbyte of Kirby’s victory dance plays in response to the superchat.
Dude: “Hoo, fuck.”
The superchat is read in a feminine text-to-speech voice: “Come.”
Dude: *starts cackling uncontrollably, is cut off by the end of the video*