a real challenge!

Sometimes I will meet a real life child who challenges my view that all children are terrible. Today I had my rabbit out in the dog run at my apartment complex, and these three kids were like “IS THAT A DOG” and I was like no and then they spent twenty minutes wanting to hold and pet her and asking me all kinds of questions about what she ate, if you could play with her, etc. I introduced myself to their dad, and then when they left they were like “THANK YOU MISS WANDA.”

The kids are all right, man. Sometimes.

Super belated since I am the slowest artist, but I wanted to join the hype train truck and make a ClusterTruck themed drawing celebrating @therealjacksepticeye reaching 13 million subs on Youtube. Congrats from a newish subscriber! Keep doing you, dude. :)

I’m imagining the community partying in all of the trucks, interacting with each other on the inside or just watching and cheering on the smol Irishman running on truck tops. :D

It’s easy to say you’re over someone if you aren’t seeing them. The real challenge is looking them in the eye to see their smile and hear their voice and still being able to say, “This is not what I want anymore.

My tribute for @arcanebarrage. No words can explain the way I love this fic. Thank you so much for all those feelings.

Y’all click here and read it! You won’t regret!


I see you. I see you when you shake your head and roll your eyes. I hear when you mutter “permissive parent” as you pass. I hear your children when they ask why the girl with the colored hair has a “bald face”. We don’t mind the curiosity. If you can use a peaceful voice & give us some room in our bubble we don’t mind explaining. But we do mind when you act disgusted, use hurtful words, or just generally look on disapprovingly. The pretty girl with the colored hair is almost 5. She didn’t have an easy start to life. Some of what she experienced she remembers. Some of it she doesn’t. She also spent years screaming in pain at strange moments until a doctor visit taught us that she has a condition where certain sounds in the every day cause her extreme pain. Then earlier this year her face began to change. One by one her eyelashes began to disappear. We discovered that this tiny person has Trichotillomania, a condition where a person under extreme stress and anxiety compulsively pulls their hair out. After her eye lashes disappeared her eyebrows slowly began to go as well. I was afraid the hair on her head would go next. So when she asked for pink hair, I jumped on board. Multi colored hair too? Absolutely. We can’t always control the sounds in her world. But I can give her control over her own body and her hair. So far with her pride in her colored hair she has yet to pull it out. So, polite questions are welcome in public. But rude gestures and and statements are not. They generally lead to her pulling more hair out. Dont judge this beautiful little girl by her beautiful cover. I see you. And more importantly, she sees you.

The Killian Jones List

25 Days Christmas Romance Challenge || Day 5

Character A and Character B are co-workers, but they barely know each other. But they both have to work through the holidays.
My favourite thing I’ve written in a good while. :))

The Killian Jones List; ~ 5, 200 words; FF.NET || AO3

6 days till Christmas

Now, something important to know – Emma Swan is no Grinch. No, she has not been listening to Christmas playlists on Spotify for the last three weeks. And, no, she does not own a single Christmas sweater. And, aside from the fact that the broccoli in her fridge has probably been there long enough to grow into a tree by now, she has not put up any decorations in her apartment.

And, yes, she absolutely refuses to switch her trusty hot chocolate with cinnamon for any kind of ‘tis the season monstrosity.

But, be that as it may, she is no Grinch. She doesn’t scowl at people with Santa hats in the street and she hasn’t torn down the decorations that have exploded all over her apartment building, and she doesn’t even groan when All I Want For Christmas starts playing for the 37th freaking time that day while she’s waiting for her bear claw.

She doesn’t hate Christmas. She simply doesn’t get Christmas. It was always this shiny (too shiny), cheery (too cheery), candy cane-red and, frankly, kinda fake secret that everyone else seemed to have been let in on except for her. And she wanted to be in on it. Oh, how she wanted that.

For the first six years of her life, Christmas was right up there with a mom and a dad and a bed that no one else had ever slept in and clothes that actually fit and breakfast every morning without fail. Right up there on her list of things she’d give anything to have. But after six years of failed wishing on stars and snowflakes and basically anything that looked down at her from the sky, she started to accept that Christmas was at best a day when someone decided to give her a doll and a pair of socks to make themselves feel merry and good rather than her.

After twenty six years of life on earth, almost twenty of which spent with the full knowledge that stars were a lot of things but concerned with your stupid wishes was definitely not one of them, she nothing more or less than resigned to the fact that Christmas would come every year and she would feel like a stranger who ended up at someone’s party by mistake and doesn’t have a clue what to do with themselves.

So when everyone starts asking for days off and arguing schedules and freaking out about unexpected visits from great aunts and uncles, she simply stays behind her desk, knowing that she’ll be stuck working the week before and after Christmas and being perfectly okay with it.

The one thing she allowed herself to silently wish for every year was a tolerable second martyr who she’ll have to share the office with.

So when the elevator pings on the Monday before Christmas and Killian Jones comes out, she cringes.

And she feels bad about it almost immediately because here is what she knows about Killian Jones:

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