ace-of-pussy - Tumblr blog

[ace-of-pussy]

slut

faggin it up on a friday

[ace-of-pussy]

HOW DID YOU MISS HOZIER?? AND CHAPPELL GODDAMN ROAN

Oh you're a queer kid? what's your fav music artist? and don't say...

will wood

will wood and the tapeworms

Tally hall

Miracle musical

mitski

jackstuber

joe hawley

that handsome devil

chonny jash

tom leher

ghost and pals

maretu

6arelyhuman

odetari

penelope scott

rio romeo

cuarteto de nos

riki musso

santiago tavella

laufey

taylor swift

radiohead

marina

weezer

the beatles

tv girl

billie ellish

milk in the microwave

bo burnham

fish in a birdcage

toby fox

lemon demon

sarah and the safe word

asteria

artic monkeys

they might be giants

my chemical romance

green day

gorillaz

ado

melanie martinez

the strokes

evanecense

glass animals

soddiken

the scary jokes

whatever Your favorite martian was smoking

tyler, the creator

the crane wives

the living tombstone

cavetown

mindless self indulgance

the orion experience

hamilton (yeah ik its a musical)

heathers (yeah ik its a musical x2)

ride the cyclone (YEAH IK ITS A MUSICAL x3)

steam powered giraffe

kiuko (i dont remember how its spelled)

21 pilots

Sir Chloe

hazbin hotel soundtrack

paparrapa the rapper soundtrack

sonic soundtrack

or the omori soundtrack

edit: just to make clear that i don't know every queer band on existence

[ace-of-pussy]

I'll do that when you stop making your entire personality about an author who doesn't know you exist. I probably do spend a lot of time online, but mocking children online for their writing, opinions and internet names probably means you do too.

JK Rowling’s funeral will be beautiful.

The cameras, the faceless attendees, the press swarming outside the gates. The touching notes left by her followers, thanking her for building their childhoods. The radfems mourning the loss of their god.

The grey-faced family and friends, escorted out of the gates by countless bodyguards, hounded by journalists and flashing light that illuminates all of the little details in their hand-woven black clothes.

Every stitch, every seam, there on display. Every tear, every bloodshot eye for the world to see.

But then They come. After the last stragglers of the funeral have left, whether it be hours or days, We will arrive.

Black combat boots and worn Converse, crop tops and baggy jumpers, ripped jeans and tartan skirts.

We will find our way in, jumping fences and picking locks, weaving through the neglected stones of others until we reach the corner that she bought for herself.

Her gravestone is inscribed and decorated, at least twice as big as the others in the graveyard.

We read it aloud.

“Mr. and Mrs.Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Thank you Joanne, for making our childhoods.”

We laugh. The angel over the grave, hands clasped in prayer, neck and wings strung with scarves of red, yellow, green, blue seems to smile with us.

We take the books first. Most of them are signed copies. They will make our kindling. The scarves and cloaks are too polyester-stuffed and mass produced for that.

We burn the books, dancing and laughing in the dying light, mocking her denial of the burnings back in the 40s.

The pictures are next. Portraits of her, posing elegantly, smiling gracefully. The kind face that hides bigotry and disgust at fellow human beings.

We burn them. Their ashes fuel our crazed laughter.

We celebrate our childhoods. We celebrate the world, the magical, fantasy world she crafted for us. We do not celebrate her. We celebrate her soon to be deleted Twitter account, after one last mournful post about how incredible she was.

We shall mock it, tomorrow. But tonight we celebrate.

[ace-of-pussy]

@distinctlyrevived literally your poetry

[ace-of-pussy]

I'm 14 and an autistic writer, showing the world my opinions the only way I know how.

JK Rowling’s funeral will be beautiful.

The cameras, the faceless attendees, the press swarming outside the gates. The touching notes left by her followers, thanking her for building their childhoods. The radfems mourning the loss of their god.

The grey-faced family and friends, escorted out of the gates by countless bodyguards, hounded by journalists and flashing light that illuminates all of the little details in their hand-woven black clothes.

Every stitch, every seam, there on display. Every tear, every bloodshot eye for the world to see.

But then They come. After the last stragglers of the funeral have left, whether it be hours or days, We will arrive.

Black combat boots and worn Converse, crop tops and baggy jumpers, ripped jeans and tartan skirts.

We will find our way in, jumping fences and picking locks, weaving through the neglected stones of others until we reach the corner that she bought for herself.

Her gravestone is inscribed and decorated, at least twice as big as the others in the graveyard.

We read it aloud.

“Mr. and Mrs.Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Thank you Joanne, for making our childhoods.”

We laugh. The angel over the grave, hands clasped in prayer, neck and wings strung with scarves of red, yellow, green, blue seems to smile with us.

We take the books first. Most of them are signed copies. They will make our kindling. The scarves and cloaks are too polyester-stuffed and mass produced for that.

We burn the books, dancing and laughing in the dying light, mocking her denial of the burnings back in the 40s.

The pictures are next. Portraits of her, posing elegantly, smiling gracefully. The kind face that hides bigotry and disgust at fellow human beings.

We burn them. Their ashes fuel our crazed laughter.

We celebrate our childhoods. We celebrate the world, the magical, fantasy world she crafted for us. We do not celebrate her. We celebrate her soon to be deleted Twitter account, after one last mournful post about how incredible she was.

We shall mock it, tomorrow. But tonight we celebrate.

[ace-of-pussy]

im autism

dad was gaslight, brother was gatekeep, mum was girlboss

[ace-of-pussy]

fr

IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF YOU (help me)

@smelliewilliams

[ace-of-pussy]

oh uh. scuse me. just a lil snail crossing your dash

[ace-of-pussy]

HAGAHAGHA JUST WALKED UINTO MY MUM AN BROTHER WATCGHING A SCANDAL IN BELGARIA WHY IS THIS SIO FUNY IM LOSING MY SHAIT

[ace-of-pussy]

what odd thing do U collect?

empty pill bottles. All of them are identical. If u don’t collect an odd thing just say something you’d like to collect. :)

[ace-of-pussy]

empty vitamin d pill jars

what odd thing do you collect

The letter g written in different handwriting

How about you?

[ace-of-pussy]

shout out to saffy, my best sky friend since forever 🫶

[ace-of-pussy]

ur gorgeous wth

I tried to do a picrew of me!

[ace-of-pussy]

Y'all are amazing. Reblog to hug the person you’re reblogging from.

[ace-of-pussy]

I don’t think we’re friends yet but if it means anything I’m 14 😔

HELP I'M ACTUALLY CRYING LAUGHING

[ace-of-pussy]

@allum3r I hope we are always friends :)

shout out to saffy, my best sky friend since forever 🫶