just some sketches from last week

in honour of cunty kim finding harry funny (part 1?) if y'all want more

lighter days

even as a knight you're always drunk and sad

i need to draw medic gigging or i'm going to lose it

YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP

”trans men are the weakest links of the trans community” my trans male friends and I have lived a lifetime of having our bodily autonomy stripped away to the point of sexual harassment. people talk about our bodies like everyone except us owns them because no one can handle the idea of precious female bodies being “mutilated” by gender affirming care. we are treated like traitors by women and as confused, silly girls by men. we have no spaces in which we belong because even the queer community tries to control our bodies. if we pass as men then we get ousted from queer-friendly spaces, and if we don’t pass as men we’re treated like cringe, theyfab trenders. everything we love is considered annoying. we’re called ugly and sad and “what a shame you guys are men haha”. We have to watch as society uses us as an excuse to ban gender affirming care for young people because our bodies belong to the government, because our bodies belong to our mothers, and because our anatomy is the only thing they see us as. And then we have to sit back as the trans community blames us for these bans. “All of these fake transtrenders are the reason they all hate us” when we’re busy having the women in our lives scrutinise our bodies to make sure we’re not being “infected” by the trans contagion. There’s no space we can belong in. No space that tries to make us feel welcome because either they treat us like women or they treat us like dangerous, cis men.

Every trans man I know has been sexually assaulted. Every trans man I know has been brought to suicide attempts, either due to their families or due to people online bullying them to death. Our struggles are constantly diminished and yet behind the scenes we’re fucking exhausted from fighting attacks from every single goddamn side. How fucking dare you call us weak. We’re going through fucking hell like every other goddamn trans person out there and our bodies are being abused and controlled and scrutinised every day of our fucking lives. Have you seen how TERFs talk about our bodies? How they lament us “mutilating” our breasts, our fertility, our anatomy, all in the name of feminism. That’s sexual fucking harassment, and it’s disgusting. But that’s all they fucking see us as. We’re not human, we’re just defected specimens. Cis women give themselves free passes to harass our bodies because they see us as “one of them”. One of them, but wrong. One of them, but need to be fixed. My mother regularly checks my chest to make sure I’m not trying to flatten it, and she can get away with it because “that’s what mothers do to their daughters.” Even when I’m not her daughter. Even when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs wanting to die because my body doesn’t belong to me. My body stopped belonging to me as soon as I came out as trans, because female empowerment doesn’t apply to me anymore. Female empowerment is now about “correcting” me, to restore my body back to its former glory, because only then was I worth something.

We are not weak. We are strong as fuck for dealing with the shit we have to deal with. And the worst part is, so much of the bullying comes from other trans men. We’ve been taught to hate ourselves so much that the only way to get ahead is to put down our own brothers and treat them in the way we’ve been treated.

There is no weak link of the community because we’re all dealing with absolute shit from all sides, but don’t you ever suggest that trans men are somehow the whiny babies who have nothing to complain about when we’re constantly holding back from screaming our guts out because there’s nothing else we can do.

god I just. love ruthlessness as a character trait so much. sexy sexy sexy

this one. absolutely in love with this definition. give me a character who thinks like this and I’ll love them to pieces

if parks and rec was still being made they’d do a bit where ron swanson has to wear a pronouns name tag and it’d just be “???/???” And it’d cut to a talking head of him going

“I’ve been a fool all this time. It’s bad enough the government knows my name, but now they want to know my gender? So I’m not letting them know my preferred pronouns. As far as I’m concerned, no one in this building should refer to me at all.”

Ron walks into the main area of the office like “Everyone, announcement! I notice that you have been referring to me with he/him pronouns for YEARS. As I do not think the government has any business knowing my personal information, this behavior may incline them to make conclusions that they have no business even thinking about. Therefore, I request that you switch it up from now on. Keep em guessing. That is all.”

He tries to turn around and walk back into his office, but Leslie starts crying and saying Supportive Things about how proud she is to see him exploring his gender and immediately switches to they/them; she instructs Ben and Ann to do the same. Donna and Chris go for she/her, for different reasons.

Tom assures Ron that he will use only the slickest, coolest, dopest designer pronouns; he sweeps in the next day and announces that he's put together a powerpoint of the most stylish and fashionable neopronouns to come out of Milan this season. The powerpoint includes the scarf, cologne and sunglasses that pair best with each option. Jerry is the only one to attend this presentation, which leaves him even more Big Confused about the whole thing than he already was. In Jerry's efforts to clumsily be an ally, he keeps accidentally "misgendering" Ron four different times in four different ways in every interaction and apologizing elaborately for every single mistake, thereby inadvertently doing the best job out of any of them at fulfilling the brief.

Andy does not know what a pronoun is, but in the spirit of himbo helpfulness, he's made a list of Words that he knows Ron likes, such as "sandwich", "woodworking", and "bacon". (Ron snatches it, tears it up, throws it in the trash, and sets the trash basket on fire, and firmly instructs Andy to never again mention anything that Ron likes while inside a government building.)

April, of course, keeps using he/him until Ron calls her into his office to re-explain the strategy of Operation: Muddy The Waters, whereupon she blinks owlishly at him and says, "I mean, isn't that just what they'd expect you to do if you were trying to hide something from the government? If you exclude one pronoun, then they know that's the one you care about. You have to double-bluff them." Ron squints at her for a long moment and says flatly, "Hm. Go back to your desk." The camera stays on Ron watching her through his window as his voiceover says, "April is a valuable employee. I look forward to one day when she leaves this hellhole and uses her strategic genius and insider knowledge to tear down the government."

i see it so i See it I see Thart with me EyeBals

when i see it i Look at it Put my eyes on it with My sightballs I look with my look balls and see It so in front of me

”How come you’ve never seen the Amazon rainforest if you’re from Brazil?” big country

Here, this should make it clearer:

Wait, hold on, I can illustrate it in a funnier way

There’s around one and a half Frances between me and the Amazon rainforest.

I had no idea “coach” could also mean “bus” until like, a second ago and I stared at your reply in disbelief for a good minute because I thought you were telling me to do the trip in a horse-drawn carriage. I was like “Coach?! Like Cinderella?! Where would I even get- that HAS to be slower than a car!”

in my Harry Du Bois era

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

don't like these that much but i made these a while ago and figured i might as well post em.

my very unrealistic visions of kim goin to a bar and bringing a sober harry to hang out with and be a designated driver/babysitter ig.

kim is a lightweight and gets extra touchy/clingy when he's drunk btw [[not overly so, just more so than usual]]

Harry just needs the right clothes for the occasion…

off day