i'm just gonna keep posting until it becomes impossible but i really cannot stress enough - please don't stop telling people about my works and the works of other transgressive creators. no joke, we NEED people who are willing to say "i read this fucked up book you should read it too"
What a joy it will be to have to treat every new work like a ticking time bomb until proven otherwise because mastercard wants to make sure fags dont get paid
You don't hate payment processors enough. You don't hate them enough
But my favorite pictures from Venice is not cats but this combination that I think of as “missed connections.”
An illustration sheet showing a humanoid, feminine-bodied kaiju with the shapes of handles and fingers all across its body. In the center is the smaller feminine figure with similar features to the kaiju, connected to the main body by a series of tendrils that make its hair
Kaiju who is also a mech and a girl and also the girl inside the mech
Hatsune Miku android
Something light and frilly for you all today, Jean Dulac’s 1956 illustrations for a romp through the history of women’s underwear in the previous half century. See Les Dessous du Demi-siècle now at https://www.honesterotica.com/portfolios/5689 and enjoy those fantasies!
Something light and frilly for you all today, Jean Dulac’s 1956 illustrations for a romp through the history of women’s underwear in the previous half century. See Les Dessous du Demi-siècle now at https://www.honesterotica.com/portfolios/5689 and enjoy those fantasies!
Something light and frilly for you all today, Jean Dulac’s 1956 illustrations for a romp through the history of women’s underwear in the previous half century. See Les Dessous du Demi-siècle now at https://www.honesterotica.com/portfolios/5689 and enjoy those fantasies!
Something light and frilly for you all today, Jean Dulac’s 1956 illustrations for a romp through the history of women’s underwear in the previous half century. See Les Dessous du Demi-siècle now at https://www.honesterotica.com/portfolios/5689 and enjoy those fantasies!
Something light and frilly for you all today, Jean Dulac’s 1956 illustrations for a romp through the history of women’s underwear in the previous half century. See Les Dessous du Demi-siècle now at www.honesterotica.com/portfolios/5... and enjoy those fantasies!
@terminalentrophy.bsky.social's OC Meyer as a bunny
Valerie from The Lingering World as DR House
ATTENTION BSKY FEED
i wanna draw silleys when I finish uni in several hours. Please let me know which mechsplo characters you'd want redrawn over memes, or scenarios you'd like to see said mechsplo characters in that would be amusing!
Working class mechsplo. Got an idea spinning in my head. Got more work shit to bitch about.
maid mimic // 10
"transgender ideology" doesn't turn kids transgender. The unicorn in human form crying out "I can feel this body dying all around me!" in the Rankin-Bass animated adaptation of THE LAST UNICORN turns kids transgender. know the difference.
I am begging you. Please learn about stress/discomfort tolerance. Practice raising it. You need this to survive. If someone online can ruin your day with a throwaway comment, you desperately need to understand discomfort tolerance and consciously, systematically build that shit. Also! Stress tolerance is such an important skill that having a learning disability in that area is a major symptom of a whole lot of other disabilities/mental illnesses! Struggling with it is a huge part of life! It sucks! Am I saying everyone with misophonia needs to listen to chewing noises all day? No. But you need to find ways to tolerate it enough that you don't treat others like shit if they make a mouth noise near you. No, you don't have to read the fic with your trigger tags. But you do need to be able to handle scrolling past the tags without being upset. It is hard! But not having it also makes you so so so easy to manipulate. That grandma is racist AF because her mom raised her to be uncomfortable around black people and she never fought that discomfort. Trans people make so many cis people uncomfortable and that discomfort turns into bigotry real fast. Letting your discomfort dictate your actions and beliefs about things is a great way to become a terrible person. Learn. Discomfort. Tolerance.
Important shit that I’m still trying to learn.
Oh yeah with the live action s2 coming soon it means I can pull back up this Nami/Vivi Commission
A cover of WARHOUND, overlaid with "WARHOUND RESTORED" in Dark Souls font.
Everybody thinks 'https:// stands for 'hypertext transfer protocol secure' but it actually stands for 'head to this place, sucka' followed by a colon and two laser sounds
biz_dave banned from the Rapture for calling it uppies
we need to make gay nuns. we need to make gay nuns now. gay nun convent.
also here's the first full page of my minicomic in NOCTURNALIS 😇✨
download for free on the Friction Press site or on itchio, links below 👇👇👇
enjoy!!
also (oh no I'm angy) I have a real problem with using "porn-brained" as a criticism of a book with sexy things in it
I've been known to write some bluntly horny jokes into my books here & there. Because sometimes two queer women say such things to each other when they have a relationship.
while I'm at it, doubly unnecessary to me to do this in the context of a book you didn't like winning a popular vote award that you yourself set up.
That's how it's gonna go sometimes. You could jury & control it yourself, otherwise...yeah. Enough people *did* like that book to make that outcome.
idk I'd never enjoy seeing my books used to put down another indie trans author's work. I bet a lot of my peers would feel the same way.
there's a lot of books out there I don't get along with, and plenty of folks who don't get along with mine. no desire to pit 'em against each other though.
And yeah, hoo boy, "porn-brained" is one hell of a grenade to be tossing around in transfem circles, as if the ways in which we engage with our sexuality weren't policed or shamed enough already.
Took another look at this erotic vampire short I keep telling myself I'll release for Valentines... it's good, actually. Not finished, but it's good.
Now if only I could finish and release it lmfao
Wishlist and buy my game it has SEX there's sex in it you can look at SEX.
Wooper plushie wearing a Cold War East German officer's cap
I put a hat on my wooper plush and now he is commissar woopichev please salute
Legion Candidate, Chapter 1 now publicly available
Six years ago, the Necromancer General declared war on the Domon Empire. Tilt is the best pilot this awful empire has ever produced, and today the endless tide of reanimated steel landed on her doorstep.
Ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/772718...
shout out to trans women
I cannot stop thinking about it
At the passage’s mouth, Brea pauses to peer out and assess the scene. I can see frail trees beyond her. This must be the other shore of the lake. She only takes a moment before jerking her head back in. “At least a dozen right on us,” she whispers. “All thralls so far.” “I’ll support from the air.” Vaschael nods towards the mouth of the passage. “Cover my ascent.” “Get the inquisitors first,” Brea offers. “You’ll know them when you see them.” “I never like this.” Sholanan hangs back by the seraph as Brea and I move ahead to take position against both walls of the exit. “I hope it’s over quickly.” Thirty thralls was a few moment’s work for us, when our choir was whole. It’s only the inquisitors which give me pause. Bracing my rifle against my shoulder, I peek out into the forest. A handful of desiccated shapes lurch between the trees, the closest near enough for me to see the brown-toothed grin amidst a dried mask of gore that used to be its face. A rush of wind surges over me as Vaschael erupts from the passage into the sky. The thralls turn to us, and Brea and I fire. That rotten grin bursts into bone and putrid meat as my first shot takes the thrall’s head. I’m able to take another through the throat, sending its head toppling to the snow before the others fire and force me into cover. Brea’s SMG crackles in short stabbing bursts. She’ll be able to clear her side faster. Until I’m out cover, at least. Cold clumps of dirt rain over me as the Host fire. Sholanan takes her place behind me- she still remembers. Once the return fire lulls we pop out together and cut down two more, sending the others shambling for what scant cover the trees can provide. An opening. I leap out and charge them. One tries to keep its rifle-arm on me but it’s too stiff, I dart around the barrel and throw my fist into the side of its head. Its skull cracks apart like overripe fruit as it crumples. The cold gore-sludge flecking my nose and cheek is the sweetest kiss I’ve felt in days. …
The barking of a heavy machine gun fractures the cold air. I duck behind the trunk of a wider tree, trying to pick out where it’s shooting from. My question is answered when the snow beside my cover leaps up into a line of tall sharp banners as bullets scream into it, moving past me. Moving towards Sholanan, occupied dashing a thrall’s head against another trunk. I scream to her, “Move!” Without looking she throws herself around the trunk for cover. A senseless manoeuvre, but it gets her out of the way, the gunfire only shredding the fallen thralls. Surging with rage, I pop out around the other edge of my trunk and return fire. Not far away, a tall gangly shape pauses as the bullet clamors off its rusted armor. The inquisitor is a hunched clump of a body atop too-long bird-like legs, a man’s corpse stretched out to almost nine feet tall on a rack of mismatched steel armor. Its head, half-hidden under a metal hood, turns to me, the machine gun a ghoulish proboscis emerging from its mouth. Muzzle flash lights its features as it opens fire and I hunker back into safety. Meagre safety it is, however, wood splintering and cracking around me. Then, salvation- a sudden crash of thunder above, and an impact like a small artillery shell. The machine gun is silenced for the rustle of massive wings overhead. Vaschael’s shadow passes over me, a heartbeat of comforting dark. Big Sister keeps me safe. I peer out and find nothing but the rent heap of the inquisitor’s corpse in a cluster of small pock-like craters. A pair of spent shotgun shells glint amidst the carnage. “Lakera.” Sholanan, crying out. I look to her and find her, lovely curls dripping with the enemy’s inky blood, rushing past me to Brea’s side of the field. Another inquisitor is there, the machine gun torn from its jaws to leave a wet dark void in its face. This hardly matters. Tendrils of barbed wire rattle and sing as they snake down from its back, entangling Brea’s struggling body in the snow.
ch 13 snippet upon ye
