Chemicals and Circumstance. @botanydropout - Tumblr Blog

The other day i bought this yarn cause that’s obviously the trans flag, and I just saw that this colour is called ‘life’! I’m gonna cry

husbanddaughter

they literally deleted all existing reblogs of that post from existence btw<3

m4timel

datadegroove-deactivated2026042

I will NEVER deactivate. and how DARE you

mobjack878

and on the pedestal these words appear: "i am Ozymandias, King of Kings. look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair." nothing beside remains.

man

i like it too :)

appleandsinnamon

ink-the-artist

saintofsilence

Elephant seal flipper

lakevida

can you imagine being dealt this hand

lakevida

fortooate

they can't possibly know if it like has a bag of almonds down in a trench somewhere when theyre not looking

lakevida

digitalmyyth

Hanging out with people will make you remember you're the crazy woke friend for like. not wanting to shop at shien

ode-on-a-grecian-butt

overtherails4u

finalgirldigital

People love natives in such a superficial way. People wanna stand with natives when we’re talking about the trees, and the land. People wanna stand with natives when we talk about philosophies of love and togetherness. But as soon as it’s time to talk about political side of being native. About dismantling a system built on the genocide of our people. About how we need a new system that isn’t built upon capital gain and benefitting white bodies. About putting up a fight. About how the colonial state we reside in is a disgusting imperial plague on this land. Suddenly y’all don’t wanna talk native.

neechees

"They spent hundreds of years trying to assimilate my ancestors, trying to create indians like me, who could blend in, but now they don’t want me either. They can’t make up their minds.

They want buckskin and face paint, drumming, songs in languages they can’t understand recorded for them but with English subtitles, of course. They want educated, well spoken, but not too smart. Christian, well behaved, never question. They want to learn the history of the people, but not the ones that are here now, waving signs in their faces, asking them for clean drinking water, asking them why their women are going missing, asking them why their land is being ruined.

They want fantastical stories of Indians that used to roam this land. They want my culture behind glass in a museum.

But they don’t want me." -Shelby Lisk

were---ralph

tuo sllup dneirfyob flowerew ym nehW

psych-is-the-name

TAHW ruoy

fireflylies

yM

flowereW

dneirfyoB

micajestr

??thgir taht gnidaer I ma ,yrros m'I

canlsterofsoda

YM

official-pinterest

?dehsurc gnitteg nolemretaw eht erongi annog tsuj er'ew oS

nolemretaW

Happy Pride

You were once the demon king. “Defeated” by the hero, you went into hiding to pursue a simpler life. Today the “hero” has appeared, threatening you family to pay tribute, not realizing who you actually are. Today you show them what happens when you have something worth fighting to protect.

caffeinewitchcraft

You are told at seven that you won’t ever do anything good in your life. You grow up knowing that it doesn’t matter that you help your younger sister make her letters properly or that you’re the one who stays up late with mother when too many custom orders come through the tailor shop. It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to hurt anyone or control anyone or anything of the sort. It doesn’t matter that your name means Light in your mother’s native language because as soon as they realize that you’re the Demon King, no one ever calls your name again.

You are chased out of your village the moment your powers bloom at fifteen years old, and the skies turn black with your fear. A rock hits you between your shoulder blades just as you make it to the main road and you stumble, falling to your knees in a mud puddle at the very moment the skies open up.

“She’s cursing us!” the midwife who delivered you screams over the thunder. “She’s damning us with her!”

Your mother is crying, but she doesn’t raise a hand to help you. She did everything she could, keeping your Role a secret all these years. She won’t risk anymore with another little girl to take care of.

No one tells you that you have a choice. No kind stranger drags you out of the rain and into the warmth of their home where a wise sage tells you it is not how we are born, but what choices we make.

Instead, you take the little pack your mother hid for you in the depths of the forest and sling it over your shoulder. There’s money, provisions, and more wraps to cover the evil mark on your left bicep.

“Your destiny will find you,” your mother told you only hours ago. “I forgive you for it.”

She meant the words as a comfort, but you only heard condemnation in it. Without having killed so much as a fly, she is already blessing you with forgiveness.

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