So I, like any cool neurodivergent person, have an insane amount of fandoms up in my cool lil jello ball of a brain. I have created this blog in order to have a place to put all my silly thoughts!!! (I have many silly thoughts)
Some cool things to know about me!
I play 6 instruments!
I'm fluent in English, my French is pretty okay, and I'm attempting to learn Russian (I might post in French every once in a while)
I use they/them pronouns!!
I have AuDHD (Autism + ADHD)
I practice shifting!
I constantly create ideas for fanfics but never actually write them...
I can crochet!
Some fandoms I'm in!
Ace Attorney
The Adventures of Tintin
Pokemon (specifically XY, SM, and ScarVio)
Fire Emblem 3 Houses
Miraculous Ladybug
TAZ Balance, Amnesty, and Ethersea
Howl's Moving Castle
Steven Universe
Moomin
Scott Pilgrim
Lupin the Third
I swear there's probably more fandoms I just have a crap memory.....
My only requests is that if you want to say something you send an ask (labeled inbox) instead of messaging me
Honestly I wanna get into fursuit making for commissions. I enjoy sewing and sculpture, so I think I’d enjoy the craft overall, but I don’t want to start making them if there’s no one interested, Y’know? Would anyone on here be interested in a fursuit head made by a complete amateur?
he's forty years old. he's babygirl. he's unhinged. he's creating problems for himself and everyone else. he's god's favorite punching bag. he's a whore. he's pathetic. he's my poor little meow meow
So…college apps are killing me…and as a result I have not updated my fic nearly as much as I have wanted to (aka not at all)
So take this out of context suggestive scene as conpensation
All of sudden, Parker is acutely aware of the distance between him and George. Or, more precisely, the lack of distance. Maybe he’s too drunk to care, maybe he wouldn’t care sober either, but just inches away from George’s face Parker can notice every sharp edge to the man. The way the light catches on George’s cheek bones make him look like he was carved from marble, and his canine teeth stick out slightly like fangs. Both men are lost for words, breaths intermingling in the small gap between them. George can smell the whiskey on Parker’s breath, and Parker the smoke on George’s, but even deeper than just the smell of his breath Parker notices George’s cologne, slightly woody and a slight spice to it.
“You know you smell nice?” Parker whispers, watching George’s eyes as they trail down to the bassist’s lips. “Like the fall, it’s cozy.”
“Thank you.” It’s all George can think to say.
“I bet Pattie likes it. Probably reminds her of the fall too.” Parker doesn’t know why he’s still whispering…or why he brought up Pattie.
“Probably.”
Parker brings his hand up to George’s face before he realizes what he’s doing. His palm comes up to cup George’s jaw, and his thumb sneaks its way between George’s half-parted lips. The guitarist’s eyes flicker up to meet his for a moment before looking away abashedly. He makes no attempt to remove Parker’s hand.
“And what nice fangs you’ve got…like a vampire almost.” His thumb rubs along George’s canines.
George lets out a soft snort of laughter at that.
“They must be good for…nice for leaving marks.”
“What?” George’s voice comes out muffled around Parker’s thumb, his eyes meet Parker’s in confusion.
“Y’know, nipping at her neck when you’re going at it. Letting others know she’s yours.”
“Who even does that?”
This time Parker looks away first, feeling the blush rise as he remembers all the bite marks John left along his shoulders the night before he left.
“Some people like it.” He didn’t know why he was defending it … or why his thumb was still in George’s mouth. It lingered on his canine for a moment more before Parker removed it, spit trailed between them for a moment before the thin rope snapped.
“Do…” George seemed like he couldn’t tell what to say. “Do you like that?”
The two men’s gazes were intense between each other, though the calm of alcohol and weed swirled within them.
“…yes.”
Through the silence there seemed to be an unspoken understanding of what would happen next. Parker tilted his head to the side, showing more neck. George’s tongue flicked out for a second as he surveyed the skin before him. His eyes caught on a fading bruise that landed where shoulder and neck met.
“And who gave ye that?”
John. It was the last mark John left that night, biting down like an animal during his release, kissing it better after Parker yelped out in surprise.
“‘M sorry songbird. I just can’t control myself around you.”
Parker settled on an answer: “No one of importance.” And it was true. John held no importance to him now that Parker’s left to become his own man. As soon as that last bruise faded he would have no romantic link to John anymore.
“Must be pretty important if you let them maim such a pretty canvas.” George was much closer to Parker’s neck now, his hot breath making the smaller man shiver slightly.
“He isn’t important right now.”
George stared at the mark for a moment longer, seemingly contemplating who the mystery lover could’ve been. Slowly, he brought his teeth to gently drag against Parker’s neck, before pausing over the bruise. A shiver ran through the smaller man’s spine, and George watched it through lidded eyes, calculating his next choice. It felt like an eternity, to Parker at least. An eternity of George’s hot breath hitting his back. An eternity of George’s teeth resting softly on his neck. An eternity of waiting for George to make his decision. All of that eternity building up, until the filthiest whimper slipped through his lips when George bit down. The guitarist shifted closer to him, his mouth still on Parker’s neck, until Parker could feel a pressure against his thigh. His eyes flew open when he realized what was happening. George was hard. And all it took was a single whimper out of him.
When George let go, there was a new ring of red around the formerly healing bruise. He backed away slowly, admiring his work as he did so, until he finally returned his gaze to Parker’s face.
“John’s got no more claim on you now.”
Parker couldn’t tell what was making his heart beat more when George began to lower him onto his back while they kissed; the feeling of George’s hands on the fly of his pants, or the fact that George had basically just reclaimed him from John.
This is something that I did not truly realize and accept until recently.
Hello, you can call me M, my pronouns are they/he.
I was an eccentric child growing up, in my earliest years I played with the boys and their trucks, enjoyed superheros and comic books, and stomped in the mud. I can remember two separate occasions where I asked my mom “are you sure I was born to be a girl? I feel like I’m probably a guy”, and both occasions she told me she knew I was a girl, even if I liked things that traditionally boys did.
I moved during elementary school. Suddenly there were only two boys in my class, and nine other girls besides me. It was a Catholic private school and there were uniforms. The girls wore skirts and blouses or blouses and slacks, but my mom preferred the way the skirt looked on me so I didn’t get much of a choice. My hair was a cute bob that just barely didn’t touch my shoulders, and I always wore a flowery headband. I didn’t play with the boys because they didn’t like including girls in their tag games since girls ran slower. Besides, if I ran around too much my tights would start to run.
I started middle school in that same private school, except now the girls wore polos with a sweater or sweater vest and the option between a kilt or slacks. We were forced to wear our kilts on the days we went to church in order to look presentable for the lord. My hair was long and wavy, but I always tied it into an ugly low pony because I didn’t have much time in the morning. There was only one guy in our class this year, him and I were friends.
I ended middle school in a different school entirely. I wasn’t used to the freedom in clothing choice that public school brought. I would try to wear whatever looked “cool”, over-feminizing myself in order to seem like a normal girl. My hair was still long and still up. I stayed friends with a single kid from private school, even though we were in separate schools now. I had exactly two close guy friends when I ended middle school.
Freshman year, and I’m still struggling to grasp basic fashion, though sometimes I managed to put together a cohesive outfit. No matter the outfit’s success, however, it always felt like it wasn’t made for my body. My hair, once halfway down my back, was once again chopped to a cute bob. I tried eyeliner for the first time. I started to realize that I might not completely be a girl, but the title ‘Demigirl’ feels right.
It’s only in sophomore year that I allow myself to consider the possibility that I’m not truly a girl in any sense. I only have one guy friend now, but I don’t know if they count since we’re dating and they’re starting to question their gender. My outfits started to finally look and feel good. I allow my masculinity to flow freely through the clothes I wear, though still wearing eyeliner in order to keep myself pretty. I chop my hair the shortest it’s ever been. I am nonbinary.
Junior year brings quite a few changes in only a few months. I meet a senior who I befriend, and him and I are scarily similar. He tells me about his journey with gender and guides me through my feelings about mine. My outfits are very rarely feminine anymore, and I only wear eyeliner on fancy occasions. I feel gender dysphoria for the first time. I feel gender euphoria for the first time. My hair is still short as I grow it out from a crappy mullet I had gotten the summer prior. I am out to all my teachers. Am I a trans man, or simply a masc-leaning enby? November 2024 comes to a close and I am only three months into my junior year, and I cannot wait to watch my gender evolve and grow. Getting ready in the bathroom each morning I think back to preschool me asking my mom if I should have been made a boy. Man my hindsight is 20/20.
Oh my god. I used to work at a day camp/summer camp for years during the summers and then at the facilities after-school program during the school year. No one knows how draining it really is!!
-anon 🙏
someone who understands!! People take childcare workers for granted, whether they be teachers, camp counselors, nannies, or babysitters, were told we have the “fun job” or the “easy job” because we work with kids! It ticks me off that I’m supposed to sit there and deal with it when the higher ups act like crap because it’s not a “real job” and therefore it doesn’t matter.
