💀 weirdgirl zine 💜

💜⭐️ once upon a time, there was this adorable goth queen. her name was mary. ⭐️💜 her full name was mary wallstonecraft godwin, a fun and fancy-free 18yo bad bitch. she loved to party and had a creative mind. one day she stuck w her extra-ass bf, percy bysshe shelley, whom my friends and i always liked to call percy fishjelly behind his back, cuz he stunted the wizard hat and his ween hygiene game was decidedly not on pernt. but our friend mary for some dumb reason, always saw something more in percy, idk! k so anyway our girl mary’s stepsis, claire claremont, wants to go to visit lord byron at his house so she can extend an invitation to her bone zone (noooo capppp claire legit wanted to fuuuuuck him!!). it was the year without a summer, thanks to some nearby volcano that took a massive, explosive shit. can’t even wear cute shorts - just drip instead w pure depresh and the lingering stench of eggy sulfur. soooooo they roll up to lake geneva because claire wants some lordy b pork swor...

how many times have we seen a match-3 game with a slightly different coat of paint? royal match is somehow the dumbest yet. we’ve got king robert, a flabby basic-bitch white bread slice doused in mayo, stumbling through yeetsome situations like it’s his full-time job - and ig it is? like, who even let this shitty king rule? he’s probably on some regicide most wanted list because, let’s be real, nobody likes this bitch. the assassin babe watching the ad, though… she can snatch the crown and become queen because she’s clearly doing all the work anyway. the cute dog almost convinced me... but nah, i’m not about to get tackled by royal assassins.  crapness rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (for happy horseshit alone)  did i download it? nah, but king robert’s dog is cute af and i was momentarily tempted.

there's a moon tattooed on my left arm – about the size of a roma tomato, maybe. right in the middle of it is mole i used to hate. the dermatologist sad “we can’t remove it you’ll have a scar” but i didn’t care - a scar is preferable to a rabbit turd oh my skin. my mom used to pick at it & wipe it like it was dirt that’d just come off. but the tattoo artist did what i asked. he didn't cover the mole; he incorporated it. made it part of something cute. it's a crescent moon, actually, & the mole is right in the middle of a flower perfectly in the curve almost like it was meant to be there (because it was meant to be there - built the fuck around it.) it's a metaphor, ig. those parts of ourselves we want to hide or hate? they can be transformed. integrated. made art. the mole isn't a flaw anymore – it's part of the design, part of my story. we start with what we start with. we get what we get, but most of us are indeed upset. it’s up to us to this life what...

💾 the dirty qwerty, #006 suit up, slut up, slur up, then shut up. 🩸 “slut” → “suit” “slur” → “suit” “shit” → “suit” 🧠 keyboard logic: • l → u: side-eyeable neighbors • u → u: no notes • t → i → r: we’re getting loose, but we’ve seen worse • h → u: ok but WHY • r → i: this one feels personal • i → i: thx guy • s → s: yasssss look. it’s being auto-puritan. you’re mid-text, dropping a “what a dumb slur,” or “she was slutty and proud,” or just plain old “shit,” and suddenly autocorrect says: “dearie… don’t you mean suit?” and listen: i’m not shaming suits. i own one. but i am shaming the part of the code that keeps hijacking the language of pain, power, and poop… and redressing it in department store politeness. slut-shaming? slur-erasing? shit-washing yeah. it’s all the same glitch. m’phone is trying to censor my mess. but mess is where truth lives. this episode was brought to you by the letter S — for slut, slur, shit, motherfuckin snakes on a motherfucking plane, but not suit today. ...

tarot card: the wheel of fortune -- cycles, change, acceptance. phyl’s “bunniversary” (not “gotcha day,” which i hate) is new year’s eve. i celebrate it because it’s special to us. her mullet haircut from summer has grown back. she’ll need another one soon. we’ve accepted the cycle.  i’ll snip slow and uneven again. she won’t care. punk rock girls don’t give a fuck. she’s got a mullet. she can see. life goes on. spritzing on my high-quality perfumes, especially lush, which gets good reactions. jessica’s anxiety is hitting hard, and i can feel the emotional weight it puts on her. not that i can fix it, buuutttttt i notice. tramp from lush… i miss it. smells like bitter herbs, and a forest floor -- tis a perfect distraction.

 some days i wanna yeet my phone into a volcano!!!!! “y’all, i just wanna thank my trauma for making me hotter 🥰💖✨ would i trade chronic illness for functioning organs? no! i’d be boring and spiritually bankrupt! i choose ✨growth✨ and ✨debilitating pain✨ instead.” meanwhile i’m crying on the floor of the shower like a zombie horse but go off, girlboss. and don’t you just love when someone says “you’re so brave for sharing this” like i climbed mount everest instead of just admitting my nervous system is permanently in clown mode? like okay, thanks, now please venmo me for emotional labor.  {tbh i never get any props for my bravery. gimme.} i am halfway between resenting the types of randos who’d call me “quirky and inspirational” because i made a meme about puking glitter lava out of grief — and wishing i had literally one. i could start charging for the dopamine hits. this weird-ass body is not a mood board for the masses, but it helps. 💜

Thorne stands in stark contrast to Frannie's confident demeanor. He's the lovable but perpetually clumsy vampire, a walking disaster prone to tripping, spilling, and generally causing chaos wherever he goes. His clumsiness is a constant source of amusement and frustration, often resulting in comical mishaps. Despite his lack of coordination, Thorne possesses a genuine heart and a deep loyalty to Frannie and his friends. Thorne is attractive, cited as “the least ugly of all my children” by Frannie, and has a high charisma level. When unattached, he is highly romantic and flirtatious. When in a relationship he is a loyal partner with aspirations toward culturing a soulmate relationship. Thornes early life resulted in a marriage with Nanami, his high school sweetheart, a woman with long dark hair and a red dress. They were deeply in love, and she became a vampiress for him. They had 13 children, quite organically just kept having, as they were both family oriented. Thorne's re...

if ever were i pizza tree i would have more time  but saucy blooms are empty tombs  i wither on the vine; my basil leaf-ed greenery  shall round my dough entwine  but cheesy crust, forbidden lust to dripping rotting vine; but pizza lives as pizza does sweet as age-ed wine  deep repose, i decompose til nothing’s left but vine.

turquoise is all about emotional protection while keeping your intentions clearer! light matrix & natural crackle texture or its just no good — less is more, so no gilding a lily-shaped turd matrix here, homies. pair it with opal & you're enhancing those intuitive abilities while staying protected. at 5-6 mohs, turquoise might be on the soft side, but it's still redolent of protective shield power. mix with peridot & you're creating protection that makes a hazmat suit look like a paper bag! perfect for anyone seeking emotional healing or psychic development. candy elle’s turquoise necklace and earring suite with beads, featuring cute natural matrix patterns. {necklace and earrings: 25-35 tcw}

When life feels blahhhhhh and my blood factory is being a dick, creating something beautiful with my hands centers me like nothing else.    There's something deeply satisfying about transforming raw materials – polishing rough gems, drilling them into beads.    Stringing, restringing. Each piece becomes tangible proof that I'm a hop star 🐇. On my worst days, completing even a simple project feels like a major victory, because it fucking is. This rainbow quartz necklace, for example, is a total blast! I mixed a titanium angel aura quartz point, flanked by Tiffany blue crystals, with Shimmering black seed beads.    The rainbow rays dance within the handcrafted crystal, capturing light and energy… like how I’m feeling when I’m making stuff.    Creative work offers escape when you're a vampiress who can't shred gnarl in the daylight like your homies can. When I create, my focus shifts from the badness of bod and/or mind to the fun things I can make. ...

there are times when the cerebral and divine realms just can’t soothe my soul. when that happens… i need to escape the digital and get my hands filthy as fuck.  i require some dirt to dig in, the cool smoothness of my beads, the tackiness of half-dried paint, the acrid slick of nail polish transforming my fingies into shimmering weapons of mass creation.  i find beauty and hotness and deliciosity in transforming broken toasters into shrines to the ancient baltic gods. physical creation turns me from a mere moral into a fairy godmother into a straight-up god. it’s a tactile form of deep meditation, a communion between my body, spirit, and the raw materials of my art.

between my pillsies and my rockstar black addiction, i've gotta be smart about my spending. I’m always reading reviews on which vapes are worth my hard-earned cash and which ones will give my wallet blueballs. now, the cake tank? holy sh1zz j1zz, talk about value! the price point is thicccc with quality, like that one time when we found Chanel shoes at the thrift store (iykyk). plus it's prettier than a jar of nutella - we love an aesthetic queen that doesn't break the bank! $25 at my dispensary for 1.25g of the good stuff. but omg avoid the curebar like it's covered in corpse wax. $60 a gram? in THIS economy? that's like 420 cans of rockstar black! it's giving "i googled what terpenes are and now i'm gonna lecture everyone at whole foods about it" energy. probz better to save those coins for something that doesn't make your budget say wah-wah-wah. TLDR: stick with bangerz or cake if you're tryna save that cash money. your bank account will...

 don’t even have words except “I have a question” or “Can I ask you something” are the most dreaded stereotypical dating app openers EVER. You know it’s like a door with fire on the other side. Don’t open that shit. Your face will melt. JizzWand: I know this isn't breaking news or anything but you are absolutely gorgeous queen. I have a blunt question if you're curious? me: Hey! What steam games do you play? I play Minecraft, WoW, Stardew Valley, Graveyard Keeper, Don't Starve, and I stream Sims 4. JizzWand: I'm on my ps5 mostly, been bouncing back n forth between MWZ, ronin, fallout 4 and spiderman 2 JizzWand: You completely ignored my first message btw 🤔 me: My question is more important than yours. JizzWand: Yes ma'am. me: Since you don't play any of the games I do, we done. Thanks! JizzWand: I'm sorry. Am I not attractive to you **(my "About me" section):** Autistic girls exist! I'm just looking for someone who wants to play Steam games, o...

some people draw clean, polite lines. others need to slam doors or go fully ghost. mine are more chaotic than that — they change shape depending on what i’ve got left to give. i’ve told people “please don’t do that,” and watched them do it anyway. i’ve laid out clear rules and had them laughed off or ignored. i’ve said “no” in a calm voice and been called selfish or dramatic. sometimes i’ve had to cut someone out for something they thought was small — because they didn’t realize how many other people had crossed that line before them. setting boundaries has cost me relationships. but keeping none would’ve cost me my peace. some days, a boundary looks like a locked door. other times, it’s just silence — not explaining, not defending, just not letting someone help themselves to my space. not everything is theirs to touch. people don’t have to like it. i’m not building a fan base. i’m building something safe. every time i say “that’s not okay with me,” it becomes a small repair to the str...

80% of your thoughts are negative. shocking? sure. fixable? yeah, to some degree. your brain is an absolute motherfucker. it’s built to hyper-focus on everything that sucks. but just because it’s normal doesn’t mean you’re stuck with it. meditation is like summoning your crusty fear piss factory and telling it to relax. you breathe. you focus. you let shitty thoughts roll by like the world’s worst parade - or flush the shitty thoughts and fear piss right on down your mind’s toilet. and slowly, they lose power. will you suddenly become a sunshine-and-rainbows perky bitch? no. but maybe you’ll stop feeling like every thought is a personal attack — and that’s progress.

  It came to me from an image—a woman on tv wearing lace gloves. it hit something in me. i remembered my great-grandmother’s church gloves. the kind of power a babushka carries without saying a word. that stayed with me. so the piece started there, and the rest came intuitively. symbols, color, posture—everything moved around that feeling. the eyes? i kept reworking them. still not right. hands, too—they’re a learning curve. hands are volatile. they shift depending on your own mood, your own clarity. but i let it be. that’s part of this one’s energy—imperfect, mysterious, strong. i use black a lot, layer colors instead of keeping them flat. even if something looks graphic or simple, it’s not. texture, shadow, light—it all builds up in steps. žynė isn’t just about mysticism, it’s about presence. symbols that feel lived-in. quiet power that doesn’t explain itself.

december revisits the principle of interconnectedness. it's a time for reflection, letting go of the past, and preparing for spiritual renewal. i perform a ritual of release, writing down my regrets and anxieties on small pieces of paper, then burning them in a ceremonial fire. the ashes, carried away by the wind, symbolize the release of burdens and the anticipation of a fresh start. the quiet beauty of the snowfall felt like a powerful symbol of hope and the promise of a new beginning. this month's superstition: the first snowfall signifies the purity and renewal of the coming year.

the holidays are is coming, and so is phyllis, you motherfucking nog-sucking heathens. the end of the year, and perhaps reality itself, depends on your incantation, "rabbit rabbit," on the first. this little bunny is about to turn your holiday cheer into holiday fear… and your life into a goddamn nightmare. forget "rabbit rabbit," and prepare for your tree to spontaneously combust, your gifts to turn into cursed shit dildos, and your carolers to be replaced by zombies of your in-laws!