Once in a blue moon I might post art I literally have no idea what’s happening here anymore If you get me talking I will not shut up, I’m so sorry but I have chronic ADHD and like talking about my interests Check my pinned for more info
I use any pronouns mostly but typically just use they/them for simplicity’s sake. Also, I’m an adult. Figure I’d add that in.
Winx Rewrite status: Back on my Bullshit | Variety Show | Dry Spell | Other Hyperfixation Kicking my Ass Rn
I'm ExistentialCrisis247 on Art Fight! Feel free to attack me!
I am in the process of transferring all my notes from my phone or Tumblr onto a Google Doc, but it is being slowly worked on. If you want to send an ask about it, please do! I love talking about it even if it takes me a while to get around to.
You can also check my |#winx| or |#winx club| tags (tagged at the bottom of this post) for posts I've already made on them, though be warned that some of this stuff is like 4 or 5 odd years old and might not entirely count anymore.
This is my main, so I use it for other things too, including art, random funny stuff, fun facts.
On the topic of blogs! This is my sideblog for like every other fandom I'm in, also to not muddy my already messy main one.
Below are links to other places I’m on
AO3 (so far only The Dragon Prince and a Daycare Attendant Subnautica AU): https://archiveofourown.org/users/Existenial_Crisis/pseuds/Existenial_Crisis
I now have a DeviantArt Page!! I’m using it as a backup for art that I haven’t posted here, though I haven't updated it in a while.
I completely forgot to link my YouTube channel lmao. It's Ruaille Buaille, and I'm currently using it to talk about my ocs, but once I manage to level up my editing skills I'm planning to start talking about my rewrites and maybe some gaming :D
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dump his ass. move to a walkable city. start hormones. get into fiber crafts. dye your hair weird. grow an herb garden. foster a distrustful cat. take a welding class. invite your friends over for tea and cake. get way too into obscure media. explore a new cuisine. lie to the police. protest in the streets. life has so many possibilities don't it?
make out with a frenemy. buy noise cancelling headphones. wear office inappropriate attire. quit a toxic workplace. improve your apartment. start a dog walking sidegig. get on first name basis with your local librarians. bully politicians at town hall meetings. get an unexpected piercing. cultivate farmer's market connections. trade recipes with a gossipy old neighbor. unionize your apartment complex. move to the countryside. let a friend take you larping. keep a sword on your mantleplace
get a tattoo on your 40th birthday. be tempted to buy a loom. do a charity drag show. sue your landlord. buy a really nice kitchen appliance. volunteer at an anarchist soup kitchen. rediscover a tv show you watched when you were 8. spam your state senators. shop at asian grocery stores. do cosplay. buy trans flags in bulk and mount them along the highway. go viral for unexpected reasons. move in with your best friend. make lemoncello with leftover lemon rinds. run for school board membership. explore pegging.
part of me wants to be like "do people really not know this" and part of me knows full well i only read the labels because i have gut problems and don't want to suffer
anyway i've had my eye on the fat content for years. actual ice cream made with real cream won't trigger my lactose intolerance, because the higher the fat content of dairy, the lower the lactose content. my personal tipping point is around half-and-half so if you make "ice cream" with with skim milk, the enshittification i experience is unfortunately literal
Its weird how you get more disabled over time. Like, most people i know with a disability actually have like eight disabilities and a lot of them slowed up later as a result of compensating for the earlier ones. This brought to you by me filling out a demographics form and wondering when i got to the point of checking that many damn boxes
“You get used to it” true but misleading because someday your back problems are gonna inexplicably cause stomach problems. And then you get used to the stomach problems but your thumbs start hurting because you had to do so much work on your phone lying in weird positions while waiting for the stomach problems to go away. And there are way more distractions on your phone too so while you always had adhd this just makes it more annoying/prevalent-
Anyway hi disabled people with one million conditions i love you and i hope youre having a good day with minimal pain/inconvenience
[image description: screenshot of writing formatted as a question and answer exchange. headline of piece is: The Proposal to Raise Every Boy as a Girl. (author not listed)
Q. You want to raise every boy as a girl?
Yes.
Q. Why?
A boy will learn to hate girls as long as he is raised in such a way where he is treated as better, and superior to, his girl peers, whenever he is cruel to girls. So, instead, we raise boys as girls.
Q. What if they say they are not a girl, and want to be acknowledged as boy?
Then you know they are a boy, so you must make sure to understand them as boy, and not a girl.
Q. What does it mean to be 'raised as a girl'?
That's up for you to decide. The only difference is that you should not raise boys any differently than you raise girls, since you raise every boy as a girl.
Q. Girls and boys are raised in specific ways for specific purposes, so it does not make sense to raise boys as girls.
If you raise every boy as a girl, then there is no being which is not raised as a girl, so anyone raised as a girl necessarily must learn to do anything and everything to grow up, without restrictions on tasks, labours, or interests.
Q. But boys and girls are different.
All two girls are different, and raising girls in one specific way destroys this individuality in favour of moulding girls to serve the same master. Still, the girls resist to live life on their own terms. If girls can be raised such that they know they can do anything they want, including not being girls, so too will boys raised as girls.
Q. Why not raise every girl as a boy?
Because if a girl does not exist among boys, then the girl is made.
Q. Why not raise girls and boys as themselves?
The self must be made in a world where girls and boys can first and foremost be themselves. One step towards this goal is to raise every boy as a girl.
Q. The way people raise girls is cruel, so why would you raise boys with that cruelty?
If you raise girls with cruelty, then you should stop being cruel to girls.
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Hi Kedreeva!! You mentioned that male peafowl get aggressive when hand-raised, why is that?
There is no research done on this to be able to definitively give an answer. I've written about this before, as well, but I'm feeling chatty.
However, according to anecdotal evidence by keepers around the world, after being hand raised male peafowl treat humans the same way as they would treat a rival peacock they hold a grudge against, and the aggression is almost always worse during mating season (exception cases where it's bad all year). This would seem to indicate that instead of seeing themselves as humans, peacocks see humans as "like them" ie: peacocks, and that the aggression is hormone based.
With peafowl, a male will attempt to chase off unrelated rival males. Related males form leks, but even males that have not ever met before seem to be able to clock blood relations (this actually was confirmed in scientific study, which I have talked about before so you can find it in the peafowl tag somewhere), and whatever method they use to do this, it cannot apply to humans (because you're definitely not able to be blood related to them). As such, the solution is only EVER going to be: chase off. But, humans are not going to be chased off by a bird they are keeping in a pen, and so begins a feedback loop of stress and aggression: they try to chase you off, they can't, they get frustrated and stressed and more desperate, rinse and repeat. This eventually, even with no reinforcement from you, leads them to be stressed even just seeing you, whether or not you're interacting.
However, most people I've seen aren't just "not doing anything," they are actively reinforcing the idea that they are a threat to the bird. They yell, they make sudden movements, they kick them, they pin them to the ground, they chase them around/carry them around, they spray them with hoses, they attack them with sticks/rakes/pool noodles... I have seen the gamut. And ALL of it reinforces the idea, to the peacock, that they are DANGEROUS and should be CHASED OFF. The bird physically cannot escape in many of these situations (being penned in a flight pen), so the only option they would see is fighting.
This is ALL solved by just... not hand raising them. When they don't consider you to be a rival cock, then 99.9999% of them will be chill dudes even during mating season. They don't actually LIKE to fight, but there are certain situations which inform their instincts (instincts strengthened greatly by hormones) that they need to in order to survive/reproduce.
There is ONE potential work around I have found for hand-raised males, if it is not already too late, and that is extensive training. Stan was, by necessity, hand-raised due his medical issues early on. I trained him to jump to a treat perch when he was young, and once he got aggressive, I was able to reinforce the treat perch such that when I went into his pen, he would immediately go to that perch and he would get treats when I left if he stayed there. This didn't eliminate his stress over my presence, but it did alleviate altercations between us, and allow me to care for him properly. I have helped two other people do this with their young hand-raised males (ones they didn't know better about, and won't repeat), so I know that it CAN work for some others, but it's never going to be a good solution compared to just not fucking doing the hand raising in the first place. The birds will still be experiencing stress they shouldn't have to, and the owner will experience stress knowing that aggression is sitting just beneath the surface at all times.
Does this defensive behaviour continue if the cock is rehomed? Is it just towards the person who raised them or will this behaviour continue regardless of owner, it just being all people?
It continues regardless of home. On top of new folks not knowing better and being attacked constantly by their sweet baby boy who was SO sweet and loving and cuddly (because they ARE until they are NOT), new people also get absolutely blindsided by acquiring new cocks that were hand raised where the previous owner doesn't disclose this fact up front (usually only after the new owners ask around and get asked by 541 old folks "did you hand raise it" and they go back and the old owner admits it under pressure) or DID disclose it but didn't explain what that entails, so the new owner thinks they're getting a sweet hand raised bird. Wrong!
For the record, it's also considered EXTREMELY irresponsible to rehome a hand raised male that's aggressive, though I assume people do it because they think it will fix the issue (ie: "they just hate ME but they can't hate YOU because they don't know you" which is not the case, they can hate anyone). You (general you) are the one that directly caused the problem, it is your responsibility to either build proper containment and live with the consequences of not doing enough research before getting a pet, or humanely euthanize the bird (which honestly is better for everyone involved; hand raised males are under SO MUCH STRESS being constantly exposed to a Threat they cannot control or flee, it's not great for them).
oh, interesting! this is also an issue in llamas and alpacas (commonly referred to as ABS, Aberrant Behavior Syndrome, or BMS, Berserk Male Syndrome). It’s seen in both males and females, though more common and more serious in males.
It’s basically the exact same issue, the animal is hand raised and thinks humans are also a llama/alpaca. It’s more of an issue in males because intact males can be very territorial and establish pecking order via neck wrestling and biting. I think you can probably see the issue in having a 400 lb animal attempt to neck wrestle with you.
My family actually has a female who was somewhat hand raised (she was premature and required tube feeding and extensive care) and we are careful with our training of her. She has grown up to be extremely friendly and affectionate, but she absolutely struggles with boundaries. We have to be far more strict with her in terms of her behavior when haltered. I wouldn’t call her an ABS alpaca, however she’s definitely at risk of becoming one.
Males with ABS are commonly castrated to try and reduce some of the territorial behavior, but there’s little that can be done and it’s effectively “incurable”.
I’m curious if peacocks who are hand raised will always suffer from this or if keeping it strictly “business” when hand raising will prevent it? This is the case with llamas/alpacas. When hand raising we refrain from coddling or snuggling the animal and keep contact to a minimum. This helps prevent ABS.
Yep it's also called berserk male syndrome in peafowl!
And "hand raised" is not the same as human raised, for birds at least. Incubator chicks that don't imprint or aren't interacted with heavily don't get aggressive. It's the people that imprint them or handle them excessively and cuddle them a lot from a very early age, particularly if they continue to do it to maturity. It's the difference between hand feeding and bonding with a bird as a parent figure and the rearing wildlife rehabbers do to allow birds to go back to the wild... The former is what a lot of people do, because in many other fowl it makes a friendlier bird. It's just that generalizing this to peafowl will land you in hot water, which is why it's important for anyone wanting to get a new animal, even (or perhaps particularly) if it's similar to one they've kept before.
Because for peas, once they're imprinted/hand raised, there's no going back. You can't fix it by keeping it business only. It doesn't get better. But you CAN raise them in brooders with minimal interaction and be just fine. Food, water, bedding changes, and <30 minutes of interaction time a day is usually a good method, and ALWAYS raise multiple chicks together (even if you have to sub in a chicken for a solo hatch) so you're not the only creature it interacts with.
I will also add that it's just males that are aggressive, typically. I've hand raised several hens and they've always been sweet. Not always great, socially, with the other birds. Not very interested in the boys. But sweet to people.
Lemme clarify, how many times have you heard your overworked female friends and relatives say “Yeah, Jerry drinks beer every evening after work while I cook dinner and clean up after everyone and does the bare minimum to help me raise the kids but he’s such a nice guy. He’s never beat me in my life. I couldn’t ask for a better guy in my life.”
Like no, Sally, your husband is a common stone among turds and you know it.
#if you’ve never worked with older people you can’t realise how many women are just living like this#they work all week and then go home and do nothing except cook and clean and that’s fine with them#their husband does fuck all and if they get really drunk at the office Christmas party they’ll tell you how much they hate him#but most of the time he’s nice enough and the kids like him bc he’ll take them for ice cream so could you really do better @cloud-frost
EVERYBODY post your struggle/lazy/easy/low spoons go-to meals so when we all struggle next we can explore the notes.
Flavored brats/sausages with cheese or fruit etc can be delicious air-fried and plain, and wrapped in a paper towel and eaten by hand without dirtying plates and cutlery. (If you’re up to it, add buns/side/toppings to your ability level.)
It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghosts—skeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredient—the cannabis—was donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Mary’s brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club—the first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
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Start disappointing people and not backing out of it when they are upset, reject feeling ashamed of everything including of yourself, start saying No to things you do not want to do not just things you're scared of, do more of those things you're scared of but wish you could do, make your own plans and execute them, decide to do or not do something without basing it on who will Dislike it.
Free Will takes practice, and the chance of making someone somewhere Slightly or even Very Disappointed In You. But you're an adult and you can't be made to stand in a corner anymore.
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legit the best advice i can give you: feed your friends
any time someone is in any kind of crisis or upheaval, offer to feed them. tell them they don't have to choose what it is if they can't make decisions, just ask about allergies and preferences and tell them you're just gonna make food happen at their house.
friend having a baby? delivery gift certificate to order food to the hospital after the kid shows up.
someone's relative passes away? offer to make them dinner.
buddy gets laid off? ask if you can order them lunch.
pal stuck in a depressive episode? offer to drive them to fucking mcdonalds, if that's what they want.
people in crisis are tired and sad and angry and the last thing most of them are doing is thinking about feeding themselves. so if you have the ability or time or money, providing that is always, always a good move.
legit i do this all the time, and it is 100% always appreciated. i have taught all my friends that when something happens, we feed each other. it makes people feel extremely cared for, and I cannot recommend it enough.
Right after I reblogged this I found out a friends’ mom was hospitalized — this is such a good reminder
If you can, provide disposable plates/utensils and save them from doing dishes — when my husband was diagnosed with cancer, bulk paper products were our most appreciated gift