nonbinary-cherry - Tumblr blog

[nonbinary-cherry]

opens box that reads "i wanna draw again". inside lies a note. the note says, "mental illness and difficult circumstances have taken years of interest, accessibility, and skill away from me. i want to forgive myself for that. i want to heal my relationship to my hobbies. i want to feel connected to something that once made me feel good, but the cyclic discouragement is difficult to overcome." i turn over the note. on the back it reads "wannta drawe sexy bodies awooga"

[nonbinary-cherry]

[nonbinary-cherry]

more lesbian fairytale illustrations I did for my personal project <3

[nonbinary-cherry]

despite it all im glad i get to live in a world with weird faggots. at least we have each other.

[nonbinary-cherry]

tbh daycare

[nonbinary-cherry]

The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:

the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”

That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”

oh, that hurt

I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots

the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life

on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious

I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was

The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”

God.

for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again

it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”

[nonbinary-cherry]

reblog if you know what it did

[nonbinary-cherry]

you’re just some twerp little faggot pretending to know things abt the real world

i’m obsessed with the way this is worded, reblog if you’re just a twerp little faggot

[nonbinary-cherry]

This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but it’s also kind of an amazing two-line poem? “His Wife has filled his house with chintz” is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and “chintz” is a perfect word choice here—sonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then “to keep it real I fuck him on the floor” collapses that whole mood with short percussive sounds—but it’s still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8

[nonbinary-cherry]

The more I get back into liking, loving and lusting on people, the more I'm reminded what a sanitized, segregated lie queers have been built into.

I've met the sweetest, prettiest queens who tell me "Well, I'm a transsexual. Sometimes I call myself a transman because both my trans self and my manhood are me."

New friends tell me about the sexcapades their closed polycule gets up to that they just watch because they're a kinky ace.

There's staunch lesbians who helped the love of their life transition as a transmasc, gay men begging to be topped by trans men with the fattest tits.

Older queers don't hesitate to shout "oh, like Prince!" when I tell them I'm androgyne. Vanilla questioning men will text me day after day before shyly confessing I'm their dream guy. Closeted trans women ask to kiss me because I'm their dream girl. Doms and subs who melt when they realize I'm both and neither, and they didn't know somebody like me existed.

There's vanilla lesbians on Grindr and acearos who have shown me love deeper than I thought possible and guydykes kissing girlfags and MtFtMtX elders and throuples that have so much affection that they just collectively parent babygays who got disowned.

Everybody is so beautiful! There is so much love! It is no wonder a cruel world has a vested interest in suppressing queerness when humanity is so expansive to us.

[nonbinary-cherry]

I need a cpap machine but theyre so expensive…. Idk what to do anymore

[nonbinary-cherry]

How To Be A Bug Zine // Rachel Bard on Etsy

[nonbinary-cherry]

yeah im still thinking about the minotaur sorry but just . imagine youre born wrong. imagine your entire existence is a punishment from the gods. for something you had no control over. imagine your mother holds nothing but contempt for you. she wont even look at you, not really, & she keeps crying & you keep crying & reaching towards her with your little arms & someone drags you away from her. & they keep you hidden & alone & a stranger comes & builds an impenetrable prison around you so youre doomed to forever haunt these endless corridors & youve never known kindness or companionship or love. & when they call you a monster. well. you believe them

[nonbinary-cherry]

One of the occupational hazards of being so preoccupied with game design as a discipline is that sometimes I'll have dreams that are just some unknown force explaining an idea for a game to me, and last night I dreamed what is possibly the most obnoxious mechanical premise for a game I've ever come up with.

In brief, it was a traditional JRPG-style game with an atypical levelling-up scheme. Rather than gaining XP or levelling up at milestones, party members would grow in power by finding and absorbing or ingesting these little extradimensional parasites, represented in the dream as small grub- or fetus-like creatures with smiling humanoid faces. These parasites would be found as treasure and enemy drops, and could freely be given to any party member, except for the player character; the player character alone was unable to use them for Plot Reasons, and was entirely reliant on equipment to grow in power instead.

Absorbing a parasite both granted permanent stat boosts and unlocked weird psychic powers. However, they'd also cause progressive personality changes in the party members to which they were assigned, reflected by changes in dialogue and interactions, and eventually in granting or denying access to particular side quests. This function of the parasites was undocumented, and would likely go unnoticed by the player on their initial playthrough, as they'd level up as they went and would never see the unmodified dialogues.

A further wrinkle is that this effect was mediated by the game's expected progression. Farming parasites and "over-levelling" beyond where the game expected you to be would accelerate the personality changes, while going deliberately under-levelled would slow them (i.e., by giving your party members more time to acclimate to having bugs in their brains); like the personality changes themselves, the existence of these hidden modifiers would not be hinted at to the player.

If you spent a long enough stretch of the game sufficiently over-levelled, you'd eventually receive a non-standard game over where your party would betray, kill, and eat the player character. Furthermore, this non-standard ending had a deliberate "eclipse phase" whereby it would wait for a while after you hit the required threshold before pulling the trigger, in particular making sure that you've saved at least once, leaving your save file irrevocably fucked.

As a final twist, the non-standard game over would only trigger after resting; though the game's mechanics would heavily incentivise resting on a regular basis, it would theoretically be possible to massively over-level your party on purpose and avoid the bad ending simply by never resting again, potentially as a speedrun strat. However, doing so would alter the game's ending to replace the usual final boss with a hopeless solo boss fight against your own massively over-levelled party.

[nonbinary-cherry]

The two tracks werent synced right and it sounds like everything’s gone to shit at MTT Resort

[nonbinary-cherry]

@mishi_embroidery

[nonbinary-cherry]

The dude who built my childhood home died there in the 90s and then his widow let my parents buy it cheap because she liked my mom and also wanted to get the hell out of there. She left most of her husband’s stuff in the house when she left and that was, I shit you not, roughly 200 hand carved decoy ducks, all of his decoy duck carving materials in his shop, several dozen books on antique duck decoys and around 50 high quality full color books on American made muskets and rifles of the 19th century. His son is apparently a renowned Star Wars prequel trilogy memorabilia collector. Really glad he’s carrying on his dad’s legacy of obsessively perusing his hobbies to the detriment of his marriage.