witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

Does anybody else get legitimately worried when a fanfic author who was updating regularly just suddenly disappears with no warning? Like, is it a serious case of writers block or are they in a coma? Did they just up and quit? Was it me? Were my reviews not good enough?! Did they die 😳?! Were they kidnapped? Do I need to file a missing persons report? Excuse me officer, there’s been 13 weekly updates and now nothing for months! Find them! What’s their name?! Name!? I don’t know their name but they write 3k+ chapters and I need them safe and back in my life!

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

Triumph Of The Will: The Challenge (Detail) - James Tissot

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[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

my friend met a cecropia moth this morning!!! isn’t he lovely??

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

An unexpected tenant—after at least three years, a cocoon resting on my mother’s cabinet eclosed this evening to reveal a handsome male Cecropia moth:

He flapped around my kitchen for a while before I managed to get him outside. Talk about a late bloomer!

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

I was blessed once to have seen one of these

I was recently extremely blessed in being able to finally see one of my “bucket list bugs” as I’ve started calling them. (Not a real list, as I’m never one to be organized…)

But a friend alerted me to the presence of this big beauty and J gave me a leg up to take a closer photo with my measly phone camera and subpar photography skills. I found some eggs she had laid on the wall and I scooped them up in hopes I can look after them. She hung around with her admirers for a good half hour before deciding she’d lingered long enough and flew off into the literal sunset.

Cecropia moth, Hyalophora cecropia, largest moth species in North America. Bug haters, don’t interact!

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

Oh, one more thing...we heard you all would like a wallpaper.

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

The most bitter realization comes when I start thinking how many young lives were, are and will be ruined by this war. Of course, each and every life is valuable, no matter the age but when it comes to the fates of young Ukrainians defending our country, I feel like bursting into tears.

It's not an understament that the salt of the earth is currently dying for Ukraine. There were so many ambitious, sincere people who truly loved this country, wanted to change it for the better. But they won't be able to do it anymore, unfortunately. Activists, athletes, musicians, artists, journalists, writers, entrepreneurs, Ukrainians who simply know what they want to do with their lives - every day there's news about the death of someone like this. I can't get over the feeling of utter devastation when I imagine how many families are ruined or won't be created at all, how many children won't be born because of those deaths.

There are so many people who sacrifice their health, both physical and mental, for our sovereignty and freedom. It pains me to see them in wheelchairs or with prosthetic limbs. Their resiliance makes me proud but if only they didn't have to demonstrate it like that. It's not that I pity them, I just wish they could feel healthy again. No fanthom pains, no problems with mobility, no surgeries.

It's extremely heartbreaking to watch those young optimistic people change, lose the spark in their eyes, become fatigued and indifferent. So many of them won't be able to find themselves in life after the war. A lot of them will never come from the war mentally.

Of course, I believe in our victory. Nothing else is left to do. I just wish all of us could live a better life, with loved ones, plans for the future and trivial problems.

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

fuck you pat robertson

Pat Robertson walks past thousands of souls, smugly and full of pride, and cuts to the front of the line at the velvet rope in outside the entrance to his version of Heaven.

The bouncer looks up from their clipboard, observing Robertson with thousands of eyes in a swirling cascade of light.

“Pat Robertson,” they say. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Pat Robertson silently congratulates himself. He swells with joy. All those people who died from AIDS, natural disasters, even 9/11 … they all deserved it. They were sinners!

The bouncer speaks into their headset. “He’s here.” They listen. “Yep. At the front of the line.”

The bouncer turns most of its gaze back to Pat Robertson. “Just wait here for one moment, please.”

Pat Robertson steps to one side and waits.

After one thousand years, he begins to wonder if there was a miscommunication.

“Excuse me,” he says to the bouncer, “I am Pat –”

“Robertson. Yes. We know. We’re just getting everything in order for you. It will just be one more moment.”

Tens of thousands of victims of gun violence walk past him and enter Heaven. The population of an entire village, lost in a typhoon that was intensified by climate change, is welcomed. And still he waits.

They file past him, all the people he looked down on. All the people he hurt, directly and indirectly, don’t even notice him as they pass. It’s like he isn’t even there.

Another thousand years pass. Pat Robertson realizes he hasn’t had a thing to eat since he died and he is so very hungry.

“Hey!” He shouts at the bouncer. “What’s the problem? Don’t you know who I am?”

The bouncer rolls half a million eyes at once. “We know exactly who you are.”

“Well, alright, then!” Pat Robertson spits out, exasperated, “if you aren’t going to help me, get someone here who will!”

The bouncer speaks into its headset again. “We’re ready.”

A gibbering mass of what is mostly human flesh – or was, once – slithers / rolls / flops into Pat Robertson’s view. It is covered with mouths that bleed and weep and click their teeth together. Enormous open sores swirl and burst and close and reopen and drip pus and viscera across blistering skin. The faint memory of a smell surrounds it, something like very old cigar smoke and very expensive liquor.

Pat Robertson tries to scream. Arm-like stalks extend from the quivering shape. One resembles a hand at the end of an arm, dripping viscera.

In a flash, it grabs Pat Robertson’s hand and shakes it. Something hot and acidic splashes up on his arm, blinds him in one eye. He feels weak. Afraid. Alone. Confused.

Hundreds of mouths try to speak. Dozens of them vomit acrid bile that splashes across his chest. Dozens more silently spit out the lies they��ve been cursed to repeat for eternity to an audience who will never hear them again.

One mouth speaks clearly. So clearly, it’s inside Pat Robertson’s head and everywhere else all at once. “I’m Rush Limbaugh,” it says. “I’m your new roommate. Come with me.”

And that’s when Pat Robertson knows. That’s when it all hits him, all at once. He’s getting everything he deserves.

The line to get into Heaven does not see or hear or notice him, or the Limbeast. They can’t hurt anyone, anymore.

The cancerous mass of hate wraps its arm around his shoulder and just like that Pat Robertson finds himself in a vast parody of a cathedral. It’s built of bones and flesh and lies. The walls writhe, and he sees that they are not bricks and lathe but bodies wrapped in confederate flags and wearing red hats.

The pews are filled to capacity with the souls of people who followed him in life, hated who he told them to hate. Only their hate is now focused on him, hot and unforgiving. Relentless.

Pat Robertson looks for his companion, but it has vanished. It has left him alone to suffer.

A sermon rises in his chest and pushes against his throat. Pat Robertson is compelled to speak, and as he does each word tears through him like broken glass. He spews his hate and his lies, just as he did in life. Only in this place, he doesn’t feel the glee and the satisfaction he always did. No, he feels the pain and the suffering and the agony of every human being who he deliberately hurt. He. Feels. All. Of. It. He tries to stop speaking. Of course, he can not. He can not ever stop.

And Pat Robertson’s eternity begins.

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

Precious man (not in black!) sighted ❤ (x,x)

Neil Gaiman: Hi, I'm Neil Gaiman. I'm wearing the first red T-shirt I've worn since 1987. Because I'm a member of the WGA. I'm on strike. I care so much for the things that I've written but I'm out here right now not working and here until we get a good contract because I care about the future of the WGA, the future of young writers. I want a world in which no AI writes scripts or attempts to. I want a world in which young writers get to learn how to make television. And I want a world in which we are fairly compensated for the things that we put up on streaming.

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I can see why someone would worship a tree. Not every tree but some of them tempt me to idolatry. Like... Anyone else get this

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Whimsigoth on runway

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“if you take medication for that, you’ll be taking medication all your life!!” yeah, and?? bud, i already put on my glasses every morning. it’s like. a condition of mine, not a side hobby i’m pursuing irresponsibly. 

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

I know some people in the disabled community think such statements are trite and I respect that opinion, but I really do feel the need to state frequently and emphatically that anyone can become disabled at any time, no matter how healthy and perfect you think you are.

You could get hit by a drunk or just plain careless driver and be rendered paralyzed for life. You could have been born perfectly healthy but then come down with an autoimmune disease at age four (👋). You could go your entire life eating "right" and exercising, and still come down with a neurological condition that will render you blind. At. Any. Time.

I remember when Obamacare was instated and they had a hard time getting young ablebodied people to sign up because they thought they were invincible. One notable case had someone rail against the notion they needed affordable insurance because they were young and healthy... And then they ended up disabled in a car crash and had to raise money for the hospital bills because they didn't sign up for insurance.

Disabilty isn't a punishment for bad or lazy people, it's purely random. And the older you get the more likely you'll end up like us, and be treated exactly like us.

[witchcraftloverpsycho-pomp]

“the best gift you can ever receive is someone showing you their true colors, having their intentions unmasked, finally seeing the truth behind their facade. never try to paint the image that god is revealing to you differently, this is the clarity you have been asking for.”

— iambrillyant