Art by esuthio
I do so love that he does not spill a single drop.
I didn't know predstrogen or her blog but that doesn't matter to me and it shouldn't matter to you. if they came for her they will come for you. if you're not trans they will come for you when they're done with them.
hate doesn't start and end with one target, it morphs and amalgamates until no one is safe, and it lashes out a lot.
Also worth noting it had started with black bloggers alongside transgender bloggers. And even Palestinian bloggers in the face of the current genocide.
The real number of people who've been scorched Earth I can't even begin to comprehend as we usually only hear about it when its popular bloggers like Trans Mom or Predstrogen. The fact that even they were treated with such absolute cruelty means there had to have been so many more that went without any public outcry or knowing.
HI IM JAMMERJENNY THE BLOG ABOVE AND YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT TUMBLR STAFF JUST DID TO ME
//VRChat Avatar Flash Sale//
Get lucky this valentine's with $7.69 off on The Vixine Cat customizable base! that's it, that's the joke.
Visit hecka.space/vixinetine to visit the gumroad page with the coupon ready to go! For more technical info, visit hecka.space/vix, or browse through my ramblings on twitter. Whatever works!
fluffy cat nurse Jabz!! she can cast healing magic with her syringe, but also just being in contact with her has healing effects. she's ditzy and silly
The author has indicated this post may contain content that may not be suitable for all audiences.
care for some tea? (for @ko-core-o)
more big chimera sketches
An excerpt from a comic I made a couple years ago about fishing in video games. Full comic is on my ko-fi for free (or a couple bucks if you’d like). Happy fishing!
saw this amazing post but rbs got turned off so. get funged idiot
how do you feel about leech as a slime?
have a sleech
It's Elephants Foot Friday!!!!
RB to instantly receive 8000 roentgens of radiation
i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.
i wrote this 7 years ago, somehow. every day someone else finds it and whispers to me - oh, i understand this. something always turns in the wash of my stomach: i am so, so glad you feel seen. i wish you had no idea what this post was about.
i wrote this while working in a program for new writers. on wednesdays, two of the teachers would be contractually obligated to read our writing aloud to the group of 300+ teens. i had never read my work in public before. i had something like 6k poems and was panicking about it. none of them are good enough. sometimes the train is howling. it is hard, actually, sometimes, even as an adult.
and then i thought - what is one thing i wish i could tell all of them. each of these 300 kids. what did i need to hear, at 16?
i wanted to tell them about the day you wake up, and the sun feels warm finally. i wanted to tell them about carving a life out of soapstone, your hands turning bloody. i wanted to tell them that sometimes yes - it actually does feel easy. i wanted to tell them about weddings and cookie dough and long road trips. about albums of new music and old friends laughing and the sound of snow falling.
you will learn the pattern of the train. you will learn to close your eyes when you hear the engine rumbling. you will learn to let yourself have the grey days in their lily-soft numbness. sometimes it will feel like life is wet paint, and god has smeared your canvas across a sewer grate. sometimes it will be so boring it isn’t even pronounceable - the tenacious, soundless blankness. survival isn’t just ugly nights and wild mornings. it is also the steady, unimportant moments. it is just driving with your seatbelt on. it is calling a friend on the way home. it is burying your face into the fur of your dog.
when i had finished reading this poem aloud, the auditorium was silent for a solid minute. someone stood up to take a picture of where it had been projected onto a screen, and then three more people followed the action, and then - like a bad internet story, people remembered they were supposed to be clapping. kids came up to me after it - thank you for writing that. i think i hear a train coming.
i would write this differently now, i think, but it has been 7 years. i still live by the tracks. i also haven’t picked up a blade in over 10 years. the scars are still there, but these days i only pick up scissors to cut my hair. i know why you can’t tell your mom about it. i know how the numbness slips over everything, a restless horrible cotton. i know how when you dropped the dish, you weren’t crying about the broken glass. i know about feeling like all the roads have closed their exits, that you aren’t supposed to still-be-here - and yet.
i am still here, and still yours, and i haven’t forgotten. what i’m saying is if any hope is calling to you - i know it’s hard, but you have to listen. i’m saying keep driving, but slow down the car. sit down in the shower, i’m not judging you. we can stay in the dark with the good hot water and do nothing but stare. notice the stab wound. make it through another tuesday.
i know what it is like to miss yourself. do what you need to. come home to me. i am writing to you, my past self, from the future. i’ll be waiting for you.
and when the train is coming - please move.
pixel art holy fuck
my half of an art trade with @mirakurutaimu !!!! it's syrup!!!!!!