☁️🖥️☁️ Art Tag | Websites

reblog this to pet me

or pull me into a side room and fuck my brains out idk :P

oopsie~ o///o

Emeryne's crow friend, blueberry, flies to see her in the middle of winter. Thank goodness she's okay, it's so cold these days and- oops.

(also it's hard to tell but darcy/blueberry is carrying an acorn in her mouth that's stem is connected to another acorn, as a sweet gift of love)

Have fun in the war dumbass I’ll be at home fucking military wives

Do we like headpats here?

If you have been victimized by the cowboy hat head boy in the Tubi ad then you may be entitled to financial compensation

reblog to slap prevs thick juicy ass in public

because, honey. if i don't hurt you you'll crave it and you'll go get it from someone who doesn't have your best interests at heart like mommy does. this is for your own good. look mommy in the eyes. i said look your fucking mother in the eyes. good girl. now. repeat after me. "i consent."

I don’t know how anyone expects me to be “normal” again. after transitioning.

like I could ever go back to that numb, half-version of myself now that I’ve finally started to feel.

There’s a whole new language living in me. Thoughts that weren’t there before. Feelings that crept in slow and now won’t leave—soft, girlish things that’ve carved themselves into my vocabulary. A blush when a girl holds my gaze too long. The way I catch myself swaying to music that feels like home in my hips. The aching desire to just be held without needing to explain why.

And then there’s my autism—sweet, difficult, intimate autism. The way I stall right before doing something, because my brain wants a blueprint first. I don’t need a push, I need a hand. Someone to whisper, “Here’s how it's done.” and maybe smile as they guide me through it.

But most people? They get uncomfortable with those kinds of requests. They don’t like slowing down, or making space, or walking me through the step by step. They get impatient.

Except trans girls.

Trans girls get it. We’ve all stumbled through these messy, glowing awakenings together. We’ve all had to relearn how to live in our own skin. And so when I hesitate—when I stammer or freeze or overthink—another transfem will often just… know. She’ll soften her voice, offer a reassuring look, maybe graze her fingers against mine like she’s saying, “I’ve got you. Let's try this again.”

It’s tender. It’s playful, too—how we flirt with our fear, tease the tension away. How a “let me help you” can turn into “let me hold you,” and suddenly, you're melting into her arms wondering how you ever existed without this.

And if I happen to fall in love with every girl who walks me through it?

Well… I think that’s just part of the magic.