An autistic goof that occasionally posts art ♡ Wolfie 31 She/Her
258 posts
Latest Posts by wolfie-queen-bri - Page 8
Bonus: 🐢 & 🏳️🌈
Me!!
Found a fun lil picrew!
I tend to have a tired/disinterested resting expression unfortunately.
Tagging a few friends but it’s open to anyone that would like to do it!
@kweenkatsuki-fics @g-gyuutaros @strawberrystepmom @kaeyaphile @bad-as-the-boys @pastelle-rabbit @margumis
Hey everyone! I’m featured in this @washingtonpost.com story!! For FRAMED WOMEN and #autism #disabilityrepresentation
Quoting me in the article;
“Women, even at a very early age, are taught to subjugate their needs in favor of others. They are taught to ‘behave’ and to take up less space, to not be a burden but to help support others — the men and boys or other children in their lives,” Schillace said in an interview. “What this means for autistic girls is that they learn to mask early, to hide their true natures and to ‘not be a problem.’”
In creating Jo, Schillace said she aimed to create a protagonist who “isn’t treated like a savant, and her autism — though present — does not become the most interesting thing about her. … Jo isn’t the mystery; she helps to solve one. Likewise, I (and other autistic women) are not enigmas. We are people, fellow human beings, with intrinsic value.”
https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2024/04/01/autistic-women-mystery-fiction/
@darkficsyouneveraskedfor
My original as was gonna be "Cramps can suck a dick and get fucked", but I wanted the cramps to suffer.
Cramps can suck a lemon and die.
So could I at this point
you, reading this. you're a creature now. reblog to creature your followers
I died from plague
alright babes, uquiz time.
find out who you would be in fantasy society. i’m reblogging with a link so tumblr doesn’t hide this.
Sucks that "sleeping together" refers to sex. Sometimes a fella just wants to snooze with a pal.
Hello Charles!
🦔
This is Charles. He wants to go on a journey around tumblr. could you show him around?
You are not dumb. I could have used more words. Basically, a rabble would be me talking about an idea I have or a short blurb of a story in my head. You know, just kinda talking it out.
I like to write. However, my issue is getting stuck on unimportant details. I have parts of a Sukuna fic in my head and in my phone notes, but getting from start to where I inevitably want to be is an issue.
Do you like rabbles?
I'm sorry I'm dumb but what is a rabble 🧍🏽♀️
'you still listen to music from 10 years ago 🤨?' bitch if prehistoric humans had audio recording technology id be sat up here listening to grog and unga bunga's greatest hits don't play with me
Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.
If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals
cw ✩ ˖ ݁ . domestic abuse (reader is married). zombie apocalypse au. mentions of blood + bruises. violence. death
you and sukuna ryomen had spoken twice before all hell broke loose.
the first time was in front of the elevators — you held an ice pack to your bruised eye, gentle smile on your face despite your predicament as you softly waved at his kid brother, who smiled wide at you, one of his front teeth missing.
“what happened to your face, miss?”
he had smacked him ever so lightly on the back of his head, caused him to yelp out an ouchie, ‘kuna!
“you don’t ask ladies that, brat.”
but your smile had grown, happy to have a conversation. “it’s okay,” you had told them, looking from the tall stranger then to his child. “i’m just really clumsy. i ran into a door.”
the elevator dinged and sukuna ryomen had a feeling you were lying.
the second time was on the roof of the apartment building, late into the night, no adorable toothless kid in sight. your lip was busted that time around.
he was on his second cigarette when you popped up.
“want one?” he inhaled, savored the smoke, exhaled.
“no, thank you. my husband isn’t a fan of the smell — so i should probably leave.” you had laughed, every bit melancholic and unsure.
he figured out the reason of your bruised eye and bloody lip that night.
without hesitation, he dropped the remaining half of his cigarette and stepped on it with his boot.
you were a little dazed, stuck in place.
to have a stranger do something kind for you.
“is,” you cleared your throat almost awkwardly, “is your son already asleep?”
“he’s my brother,” he had shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, let out a puff of winter air. “his name’s yuuji. i’m sukuna. we live in 104.”
you had told him your name. apartment 107. the fact you only —
“don’t take care of that kid. what’s he to you?”
your husband sits across from you a few feet away, elbows resting on his knees, bottle of beer in hand.
you sit next to a sleeping yuuji, hand brushing his pink hair away from his face — you had made sure to clean all the grime from his chubby cheeks with a baby wipe. had fed him a portion of your food. had put him to sleep as his older brother looked for supplies on the upper floors.
“he doesn’t have to be anything of me. he’s a child that needs to be taken care of.”
your husband tsks and stands, throws his beer bottle to the side, makes you wince.
“don’t,” he grabs your forearm roughly, makes you stand up. “take care of the fuckin’ kid.”
you grit your teeth. “don’t touch me.”
your husband laughs before sukuna ryomen appears — grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him away from the room on the first floor you started occupying after the infection spread.
he throws your husband on the ground rather roughly, straddles him and throws a nasty punch to the side of his face — another to his nose, mouth, the other side of his head. then, he looses coordination and punches aimlessly — until your husband’s face is disfigured and gushing blood.
“didn’t you fucking hear her, scum?”
you stare with your mouth agape, tears brimming your eyes as you watch sukuna’s grey shirt get stained red.
when he’s done, he turns to you.
you can’t help but to see him as a knight. a savior.
“thank you,” you throw yourself into his arms, sob uncontrollably into his chest. wrap your arms around his body tightly. “thank you, sukuna.”
his hesitancy is palpable, until he slowly wraps his arms around you. mouth dry, knuckles busted and aching as his adrenaline subsides. as he’s wrapped in a blanket of comfort. softness. the faint smell of you.
he swallows and the truth hits his stomach — he’s willing to do anything for you.
What to do if You Don’t Like an Author’s Fanfic or Take on a Trope:
Stop reading.
Find another fanfic that is more suitable to your tastes.
Read that one instead.
Bonus tip If you’re considering sending the author unsolicited messages about how much you disliked their fic, consider one of the following options instead:
Don’t.
Get a life.
Does the face need to be an actual face or can I wear a noh mask?
Blunt enough to say he wants to bend me over the railing and fuck me on the viewing platform of the replica Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino/Hotel while watching the The Bellagio Fountain's water show.
How blunt do ya want All In Bucky bc... he gonna be pretty straightforward
The best part about Tumblr is that you can say nonsensical stuff like 'My cat identifies as a bologna sandwich' and nearly everyone who sees it will just agree or comment what their pet identifies as.
Really, it is wild here; and I was here when anime based rp blogs were EVERYWHERE.
"When you want to take their books away, they're children. When you want them to work, they're adults."
"When you want to take their books away, they're children. When you want them to work, they're adults." -/u/xFurorCelticax/ on /r/LateStageCapitalismhttps://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/194g10g/when_you_want_to_take_their_books_away_theyre/
Sometimes, I feel very neglected.
By me, my parents, my boyfriend...just kinda ignored and unwanted.
I feel like I shouldn't exist.
It's different than being suicidal...it's more like the dissatisfaction of my life consumes me and I just don't want to exist.
I try to be happy, I try VERY hard.
I try and I try; also, if that isn't enough, I try even more. However, I always end up back at dissatisfaction.
I am blessed, I am thankful and grateful for my blessings. I feel horrible about my dissatisfaction because I am so blessed that I shouldn't even be dissatisfied.
I just want to know, does anyone else feel this way?
Hello new followers, be ye real or fake, it matters not. I am often absent and have no real posting schedule, but I will do my best to post good stuff!
I feel so stressed and worn out. By the time I'm ready to do the things I love, I'm too exhausted.
I just want one day where I don't have to cater to another. In a way, I occasionally feel like a less abused Cinderella.
I just need more time for me.
I hope no one minds me venting every now and then. This is the only platform my parents don't follow, and I just need a safe place to share how I feel every so often.