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I have a deep fear of being known BUT I have a slightly larger fear of being forgotten. the best solution I can come up with is making art every once in a while

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Reading fanfic like I'm tasting wine: mm yes, I love the trauma response in this one

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Welcome to Build-a-Frog!

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to all the internet friends I used to be connected with in the past, I hope you're doing well wherever you are and whatever you're doing. I miss you and I love you.

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hey you. you have a very beautiful mind. please make some art

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stop renaming my characters challenge: impossible

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*me, drunkenly pressing my face against my 17 year old cats face*: I love you. Do you know that? I hope that somewhere in your brain you can understand that I love you. You have been with me for so long. We have grown up together. I was only eight years old when you came into my life as a kitten. We were both babies. Please understand that I love you more than I can ever say. You are my companion through everything. When you die I will sob and scream and beg for you back, even for a moment. When you rest your paw against my hands there's a connection that passes through time. Humans and animals, bonded since before history began. I love you.

No, you cannot eat my sandwich.

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Is your foot asleep? Boy, have I got the perfect solution for you!

Stub your toe :)

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I will never forget the day I found a spider on my bacon. While it was still in the skillet. Cooking.

Every opinion you see about spiders is either love them or hate them because those of us who generally don’t think about spiders aren’t thinking about spiders

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instead of saying "so true, bestie" I now say "so doo, Scooby"

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bro, I'm autistic with sensory processing disorder (and mild orthorexia/OCD). The prospect of eating food has sent me down a depressive spiral more times than I can count. Not being able to eat "normally" is alienating at best and life threatening at worst. I cannot and will not judge someone for their eating habits. I would go so far as to say it is cruel (intentionally or not) to do so.

Sometimes chicken strips are the only thing on the menu that feels safe to eat. I want to be a person that others feel safe to be around.

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as a disabled queer person there is really not enough “body horror as personal transformation” media; yes, fiction can be used as a tool to vent and confront our more morbid fears and impulses, but it can also be a tool for healing and social commentary and philosophy, and in a genre increasingly influenced by trans and disabled voices it’s discouraging to me that even in fiction, to be found unacceptable and rejected from mainstream society is still always a tragedy, the loss of humanity or self always a defeat and never the precursor to its replacement with something better and more meaningful

why do shapeshifters always need to burn? why can the flesh never reform itself into something new? why can Gregor Samsa never wake up to a universe where there are other giant cockroaches who understand him more than his family and are eager to teach him the secrets of dark rotten places far from the sunlight of the anthropocene empire where massive rumbling tanks of chitin communicate through pheromones?

or is it simply too frightening to imagine the possibility that your current existence could one day become so alien and unpleasant that you choose a life presently so disgusting to you as to be unthinkable?

[this is honestly more like an emotive prose poem than a post to be taken at face value]

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oh my god, I've found my people

i love when people are like “Oh my god, I couldn’t possibly imagine being asexual, how sad, you’re missing so much…” Bitch!!! You know what’s sad? Being gluten intolerant. If you placed two pills in front of me right now, one which would turn me allosexual and one which would enable me to tear into a freshly-baked oven-warm olive-and-rosemary ciabatta without utterly destroying my body, it would not even be a choice. “hyuhhh-duhhhh aren’t you worried you’ll die alone” aren’t you worried i’ll just launch myself over the bakery counter in our local grocery store one day and stuff croissants in my mouth like a starving racoon til i die and the whole place has to be closed down as a health risk while they peel my bloated body off the linoleum floor? You should be