#... because she is not actually real. UNLESS?!

[themadwomen]

The other day we were given a Chick-fil-A gift card.

We're homeless, have been for over two years. We recently ran out of our normal way to get food, and have to wait a month to renew it.

The other day, without prompting or asking, a lady must have seen us around our local library for some days because she gave us a gift card, about $10 worth give or take depending on the conversion rate, for Chick-fil-A. Now, we don't need to tell Tumblr why we would have a problem with Chick-fil-A, but at the same time the food had already been paid for and we're homeless and struggling, so we just had to accept it. We immediately went out to find a Chick-fil-A, which resulted in a long trek in the heat. It was only after we sat down to wait for our food that we realized something.

The person who gave us the gift card thought less of us.

They likely felt the moral duty to give a clearly homeless system food, but due to the stigma described above, they didn't actually want us to have a significant degree of control over what we got. So, instead of giving us cash outright, they gave us a gift card. That way, they could control not just what we spent our money on, but where. If that weren't the case, they would have given us the money straight up instead of going through the effort to give us a gift card.

Even if we did spend money on drugs, that would be our choice. Our decision. It's not one we would make, and it would be a bad decision, but it would be our choice nonetheless.

Unless, of course, it were a gift card.

All of a sudden the next hour of our life was out of our control. We were forced to go by the beat of the drum of the person who gave us the gift card, and it was a boring, repetitive rhythm to march to.

So there we sat, sitting in a restaurant we would never go to by our own decision, eating food designed by people who funded non-profits dedicated to wiping people like us out of existence, almost literally. It was a testament to our lack of choice in the matter, the only real decisions to be made being what item we got on the menu and when we would go or leave. In that act of charity, all our agency was removed, and it proved that that person had no real sense of respect for us as a fellow sapient being, and that they thought we would immediately use the ~$10 worth of money on something they wouldn't approve of, most likely being drugs. In practical terms, it did help by giving us a full meal, but on some level we still feel insulted by the gesture.

... The food was good, at least.

"oh homeless people are just gonna use your money to buy drugs" and? and?? the government uses my tax money to buy bombs and cops, you think I care if someone in a shitty situation uses money I gave them to feel marginally less shitty? fuck off!

[dragoneyelashart]

silk + steel ★⋆˙

au: bodyguard! billie, princess! sabrina, and princess! reader

★ synopsis: what happens when sabrina, the wife your family has arranged for you to marry finds out that you have been sleeping with your bodyguard...

warnings: daddy kink, cumming strap, oral (sabrina recieving), fingering, spit kink, p in v

you're standing in the far alcove of the ballroom just past the veil of velvet curtains, half-shadowed by candlelight and stone columns. no one’s watching, or if they are, they’re too polite to look directly at a scandal waiting to unfold.

sabrina moves first.

she’s smooth, practiced, every motion dipped in elegance. her fingers brush your wrist, just barely, and you feel the burn of it all the way up your spine.

“you ran from me last week,” she murmurs, voice like warm wine. “we were talking about our future, and suddenly you vanished.”

you swallow.

“you were talking,” you say, careful. “i was… listening.”

sabrina’s lips twitch. “you weren’t listening. you were staring at someone else across the courtyard. someone in uniform.”

billie steps forward now, all leather and shadow, the gold insignia of your royal guard catching in the low light.

her gaze drops to your throat, then lower.

“you looked real pretty that night,” billie says, casually sinful. “tight little bodice. lips all flushed.”

you flinch and sabrina sees it. her eyes flick between the two of you, and suddenly the whole world narrows to this moment.

“so it’s true,” she says softly. “you’ve been fucking your bodyguard.”

billie tilts her head. “not just fucking, princess,” she says to sabrina.

your breath hitches. heat licks its way down your stomach. sabrina goes still, but her eyes darken, not with rage, but something far more dangerous.

desire.

you can see the gears turning behind her mask. sabrina doesn’t lose.

“is that right?” she asks, turning to you now, her voice velvety. “you want someone who follows orders? someone who guards the door while you sleep, unless, of course, she’s sneaking into your bed? what would your boss say about this, eilish.”

your heart is hammering now, caught between them like a guilty flame.

you don’t answer.

you can’t.

but your silence screams.

billie leans in close behind you, breath warm against your ear. “tell her how you beg,” she murmurs. “tell her how you whimper when my fingers—”

“enough,” sabrina snaps, voice tight. not angry. jealous.

she steps into your space fully now, one hand cupping your jaw, tilting your chin up. “you know i could give you everything,” she whispers. “a kingdom. a crown. silk sheets and a thousand nights of worship.”

your knees nearly buckle.

but billie’s hand lands on your waist, possessive, grounding. “and i give you everything you actually want,” she growls. “don’t i?”

you close your eyes. they’re both so close. sabrina’s perfume, soft vanilla. billie’s breath, warm and sinful.

and you’re caught in between.

a princess and a protector.

silk and steel.

“you don’t get to keep her just because of a contract,” billie tells sabrina, eyes locked. “she’s not some prize you win in a deal.”

sabrina raises a brow. “you’re right,” she says. “she’s not a prize.”

then, quietly: “but she is mine”

your breath stutters.

they’re both staring at you now, fire and fury wrapped in lust. the air around you crackles.

sabrina’s fingers are still under your chin, delicate but firm, her grip the kind of soft control that makes your stomach twist. behind you, billie’s hand drifts lower, slow and deliberate, until it rests at the curve of your hip, possessive. protective. claiming.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

your breath is shallow, your pulse is loud. two very different kinds of power caging you in, sabrina’s elegance like a blade wrapped in lace, billie’s heat a slow burn under skin.

“we should stop,” you whisper. you mean it. but your thighs are pressed together, and no part of you pulls away.

sabrina leans in. her lips hover just over yours, close enough for your breath to hitch at the contact you don’t get.

“then stop us,” she says, low and daring.

you don’t.

and that’s all they need.

billie’s hand slides down, slipping under the hem of your royal gown, her touch dragging up your thigh, calloused fingers hot against your skin. sabrina watches you shudder, her eyes tracking every twitch of your mouth, every breath you try to catch.

then sabrina kisses you.

it’s not gentle.

her mouth is all velvet heat and pent-up frustration, kissing like she needs to own you. her hand grips the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough that she can deepen it. tongue sliding against yours, lips plush and demanding.

you whine, and that’s when billie growls behind you.

her hand grips your waist, yanking you back into her chest, her mouth at your neck. 

you’re trembling now, from their touch, from their voices, from the realization that neither of them plans on backing down.

billie slips her hand higher, under lace and silk, her fingers stroking just shy of where you want them. “tell her how wet you are,” she whispers in your ear. “tell her how i haven’t even touched you and you’re already dripping.”

sabrina bites her lip at that, eyes dark with hunger.

and you don’t say a word.

you just whimper.

you don’t remember how you got here. maybe they pulled you,  maybe you followed. your body’s still buzzing from the moment in the corridor, lips swollen from sabrina’s kiss, your thighs aching from the way billie had you shaking with just her voice. now you’re back in your chamber. high stone walls. heavy velvet curtains. a bed too regal for what’s about to happen. sabrina locks the door behind her with a click. she’s already shrugging off the embroidered cloak draped over her shoulders, revealing a corseted bodice laced so tight it looks like sin. “take the dress off,” she says, her voice cool. commanding. her eyes flick down to where your gown hangs from your shoulders. “now.” you hesitate, not out of fear, but because billie’s behind you again, her hand already gripping the fabric at your lower back. she makes the decision for you. her fingers yank at the laces, rough and practiced, and she peels it off you like she’s done this before, a thousand times. “come on baby,” billie mutters, mouth close to your ear. “don’t make us punish you now.” you gasp as the gown drops to the floor. sabrina steps forward. her fingers trace the strap of your underdress, then snap it off your shoulder. “there is no us,” she murmurs under her breath to billie. “look how perfect she is like this. desperate.” “desperate?” billie growls. “we haven’t even touched her yet.” and then she does. billie’s hand slides between your legs, rough fingers cupping you through lace. the sound you make is humiliating, a broken gasp that punches from your chest, because you’re already soaked. you find yourself grinding against billie’s palm in desperation, the friction from the lace giving you more pleasure. “fuck,” billie mutters. “you’re dripping. you wanted this, didn’t you? you like being treated like a slut.” sabrina’s lips are at your throat now, kissing, nipping. “so needy that you like being passed around like a whore,” she whispers. “what would your father say huh? you’re fucking around with the palace’s royal guard when you’re supposed to be marrying me, supposed to be mine.” you don’t know who moved first, just the sudden, jarring press of the mattress beneath you. sabrina is on you in a flash, straddling your chest with a bold, fluid motion. her breath is shallow, eyes locked on yours, fierce with intent. without hesitation, she hikes her skirt up over her hips, the fabric bunching around her waist, her movements unapologetically swift. her thighs are soft, her eyes wicked. “open your mouth,” she says, moving her thumb between your lips. your suck on her thumb briefly, sabrina humming in approval. she lowers head towards yours spitting on your tongue, pushing it further down your throat with her fingers, just wanting to hear you gag for her. billie’s already between your legs, and without warning, billie’s fingers drive into you, fast, deep, unrelenting. the sudden shock of it rips a cry from your throat, raw and breathless. sabrina doesn’t flinch, lips curved in a knowing smirk, calm in the chaos of your unraveling, as your moans fill the space between them.

“gosh you’re so tight baby,” billie mutters, voice rough as her fingers thrust harder, curling just right “but don’t worry princess, gonna have you making a mess on my cock by the end of the night” your hips buck. sabrina slides forward, pressing her heat against your mouth. “don’t be rude baby,” she breathes, looking down at you with flushed cheeks. “put your mouth to use for once, billie's spoiled you too much hasn't she,” “oh please, you’re talking like you aren’t spoiled too” billie spits out at sabrina, you’re about to try and speak up but sabrina is quick to cut you off, sitting her pussy on your tongue. your tongue moves on instinct, licking, sucking, moaning into her pussy, while billie’s fingers drive into you. sabrina’s scent is heavy in the air, warm and heady as she moves above you. below, billie fills you completely, each thrust deep and steady, her thumb working your clit with practiced rhythm. you’re caught between them, every nerve lit up, breath coming in short pulls, your body answering theirs without hesitation. nothing else exists but the weight of them, the way they touch you, take you, want you. sabrina’s fingers twist into your hair, firm and unyielding, holding you right where she wants you. her voice drops low, breath hitching as she exhales, “don’t you dare stop.” there’s no hesitation in her grip, her control threading through every syllable. billie growls. “can feel how close you are mama.” your body shakes, teetering on the edge. sabrina grinds harder on your face. billie’s fingers thrust deeper. you’re unraveling at both ends, pleasure sparking through your core like a live wire. it builds fast, sharp, impossible to hold.

you come hard, crying out into sabrina’s heat, thighs trembling around billie’s hand, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. they don’t stop, whimpers fly out of your mouth

the chamber is hot now, not from the fire crackling in the hearth, but from you. from them. your body’s still twitching, hypersensitive, your breath ragged as you lie sprawled across silk sheets. sabrina's thighs slowly lift from your face, her cheeks flushed, golden hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. she looks down at you like a queen surveying something she owns. and beside you, billie hasn't moved. her hand rests possessively over your hip, her chest rising and falling with shallow, controlled breaths, but her jaw is clenched. her eyes are dark, and locked on sabrina. the tension isn’t just lust now. it’s something more dangerous. jealousy. pride. you try to sit up, but billie’s hand presses you down, her fingers splayed flat against your tummy. “didn’t say you could move,” she murmurs. you shiver. sabrina’s lips twitch into a smirk, but she doesn’t look at you, she looks at billie. “she listens to me just fine.” “because you had your turn first,” billie snaps, sharp and immediate. sabrina hums, slow and unbothered, a faux pout forming on her lips. “oh? poor thing. are you feeling territorial?”

you can feel it building, not just the heat between you and them, but the static crackle of something sharper, more dangerous. the friction isn’t only in their hands on your skin, it’s in the way they watch each other, speak around you, like you’re the prize in a game neither is willing to lose.

but you already know who’s won.

and that’s when sabrina leans in, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up to hers. she looks at you like you’re hers already, like you’ve always been.

“yeah you wanna act like a pathetic whore?,” she murmurs, soft but cutting. “go on then show me how your little bodyguard fucks you, and i’ll show you who’s better”

your heart stumbles.

“after all,” she adds, voice honey-sweet and merciless, “you and i are gonna be wives tomorrow.”

billie turns her head slowly to look at you. her voice is low. rough. “well, princess?” your mouth is dry. your body is buzzing. “go on i’m gonna watch” sabrina says, voice like silk over steel. “i want to see what’s so good it’s got you chasing her like a whore.”

the room contracts around you, thick with tension. sabrina’s eyes glint with dangerous amusement, but billie’s gaze, dark and unyielding, cuts sharper, daring you to answer. your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding against ribs that feel too tight, too fragile to hold it in. neither of them blink. neither breaks the stare. it’s a silent battle waged with smoldering glances and the curl of lips, not a word wasted. you try to find your voice, but it’s lodged somewhere between fear, desire, and the overwhelming pull of needing them both. “i—” your voice falters. you’re drowning in want, in the ache of not being able to choose, not wanting to choose. your fingers twitch beneath their watchful eyes, like a desperate plea that they understand without words. billie’s hand tightens on your hip. “come on let’s give your fiancée a little show, mama” she whispers in your ear voice low, rough with possession.

sabrina leans back against the splayed out mess of pillows on the bed, her arms crossed over each other. your gaze flicks between them, and suddenly the control shatters. the ache to be theirs, completely and utterly, floods through you like wildfire. before you can speak, billie’s lips are on yours, urgent, demanding, her hands sliding down your sides, fingers digging into your hips like she’s staking a claim. one hand slips lower, tracing a slow, scorching line up your thigh, making your skin ripple with shivers.

her mouth trails down your neck, all teeth, biting just hard enough to leave you gasping. the world starts to blur, narrowed down to the weight of her, the sound of her breath, the way she moves against you like she already knows how you’ll fall apart.

she presses close, her body solid at your side, breath brushing your ear. “you and i know this pussy was made for my cock” she murmurs, voice rough, almost possessive.

you hear the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet snap of something being adjusted, then the unmistakable press of her cock against your thigh. she flips you around, so you’re facing sabrina but your pussy up in the air for her to fuck. one hand is splayed against your back and the other gripping your waist, and when she finally pushes in, you feel everything, every inch, every stretch, like your body’s being rewritten around her, to fit her.

your breath catches, hips instinctively rolling back into her as she buries herself deeper, grounding you in place with a grip that won’t let go.

“yeah,” she breathes, low and reverent. “just like that.”

billie doesn’t bother setting a rhythm she fucks you fast. her hand splays across your lower back, holding you steady as her hips roll into yours, the strap hitting deep, perfectly. the friction, the stretch, the sound of her breath catching just behind you, it’s all too much and not enough.

you moan, sharp and needy, staring at sabrina with glossy eyes. sabrina hums from where she’s still watching, legs crossed, chin resting lazily in her hand. 

“yeah that’s better” billie says, voice syrup-sweet with just a touch of smugness. “so pretty when you finally shut the fuck up”

billie growls low under her breath, snapping her hips harder, and the cry that rips from your throat earns a slow, brief smile from sabrina, which was quickly replaced by a hint of jealousy.

she adjusts her angle, hitting that spot that makes your legs tremble, your fingers dig into the sheets. the sound you make isn’t even a word, just a desperate, broken noise, and sabrina shifts closer, hand curling in your hair again, tilting your head back to look at her.

“yeah that feels good baby?” she purrs, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “better than me?”

you’re caught between them, billie’s relentless rhythm driving you closer to the edge, sabrina’s voice wrapping around you like velvet. it’s overwhelming, consuming. and you don’t want it to stop.

you’re barely holding on. billie’s pace is punishing, precise, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. her body is heat against yours, her breath harsh in your ear, her hand gripping your waist like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. sabrina watches with that unreadable expression, something between amusement and ownership, as your body starts to tremble under billie’s touch.

then her voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding.

“that’s enough of that, eilish”

billie doesn’t stop.

in fact, she slams into you harder, her grip tightening as she leans in just a little more. her voice is low, nearly a growl, right at your neck.

“just because i don’t have royal blood doesn’t mean i can’t cum inside your princess so deep she’ll be a fucking mama,” your eyes flick to sabrina, her smirk has flattened, replaced by something sharper, colder. she uncrosses her legs slowly, rising from the bed in one smooth, deliberate motion.

“i said—”

but she doesn’t finish, because that’s when billie drives in deep and stays there, burying herself to the hilt with a groan that sounds almost like defiance.

you cry out, the sound raw and involuntary as your body clenches around her. billie is quick to release the cum from her strap the release painting your walls white, overwhelming you with pleasure.

sabrina stops at the edge of the bed, watching. something in her jaw tics.

billie slowly pulls out, her hands still heavy on your hips, and kisses the back of your shoulder, soft, possessive. her voice is quiet but clear.

“she’s not yours yet.”

sabrina arches a brow, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“no,” she murmurs, stepping closer, “she’ll always be mine”

her eyes never leave yours as she steps in, calm but charged. one hand reaches out, brushing against your jaw, then tipping your chin up. her touch is soft, but her grip is unyielding.

“on your back, sweetheart.” a command, not a request.

you hesitate for half a second, heart pounding, legs weak, body still buzzing from billie, and sabrina’s smile returns, slow and knowing. she waits, not because she doubts you’ll obey, but because she enjoys watching you try to remember how to move under the weight of her gaze.

you shift, limbs trembling, and sabrina helps you the rest of the way with a gentleness that almost feels cruel. she lays you out, hands firm, arranging you how she wants, how she needs.

“look at you,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers down your chest, your stomach, stopping just short of where you’re aching. “my messy wife”

behind her, billie watches, jaw clenched, but she doesn’t speak. doesn’t move. sabrina glances back over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth curving upward again.

“watch eilish, this how i’m gonna be fucking my pretty pussy from now on” her hands slide along your thighs again, spreading you open with quiet command. you are pliant now, breathless, trembling, every nerve already frayed. and sabrina hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

“you ready for me now?” she murmurs, thumb brushing along your inner thigh. her eyes never leave yours. “or do i need to wait until you forget every other name but mine?”

you swallow hard, words caught in your throat.

she leans in, close enough for her breath to graze your skin. “say it.”

you don’t mean to. not really. it just slips out, soft and wrecked:

“yes, daddy.”

a pause.

then sabrina’s smirk returns, slow, wicked, satisfied.

“that’s more like it.”

behind her, billie exhales sharply. but sabrina doesn’t turn. she’s steadies herself with your thighs, bottoming out into your pussy. she’s quick to set a pace, fucking you fast and harsh. sabrina doesn’t look away from you.

not when your back arches. not when your breath stutters. not when the sound you make cuts the silence like a confession. her grip on your thighs is iron, grounding, claiming, and the pace she sets is merciless, not because she’s careless, but because she knows exactly what you can take.

“yeah that’s my good girl,” she murmurs, voice like dark velvet, each word a pulse against your skin. “taking my dick so good aren’t you baby? just a whore for cock isn’t that right”

your fingers curl into the sheets, useless against the way she moves you. you can feel yourself coming undone quicker, pulled open by the weight of her control, the heat of her eyes, the sharp edge of her voice.

behind her, billie hasn’t moved.

she’s still watching, jaw tense, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone. but her eyes, they’re anything but cold. she’s staring right at you, tracking every sound you make. you can feel her restraint like a second pressure in the room, heavy and coiled. 

sabrina leans in slightly, her hands sliding up your ribs, your waist, pinning you down with her full attention. her lips trace over the marks billie left, placing new ones on top.

“that’s it my love,” she says, breath brushing your lips, “let her watch. let her see you come for me”

your mouth opens, but there are no words left, just the ragged edge of need. just sounds of desperation spilling from your lips.

sabrina smiles again, slow and certain. "go ahead, look at her all you want. you're still mine tomorrow, and forever, i’ll make sure of it.”

the way she says it isn’t bitter or jealous. it’s a fact. unshakable. a vow spoken like it’s already carved into stone.

you look at billie. her jaw clenches when your eyes meet. her chest rising too fast, her hands fists at her sides. she hasn’t moved, not a step closer, not a step away. it’s like she’s suspended between two instincts: to fight, or to yield.

but sabrina keeps moving.

she doesn’t rush. every motion is measured, practiced,  like she knows exactly how you respond, how to read your body like a language only she’s fluent in. you’re already unraveling again under her hands, your thoughts scattering like ash.

"you feel that?" she says softly, dragging her nails along your waist. "that’s the difference, baby. she wants to take you. i already have."

you let out a noise, and sabrina drinks it in with a slow smile, one that’s more intimate than smug now. a promise. sabrina turns to look at billie, not faltering her pace at all “she’s gonna be mine forever. my wife, my girl, my fucking whore” she spits out “and tomorrow," she adds, pressing a kiss just behind your ear, "you’re going to say yes with this body still marked by me."

taglist: @lilnini777 @amara-eilish @bilswifee @chrissv4mp @vijaxx @cantlandonmyfeet @emi-inspace @karaeilish @too-sapphic-to-function @thebluediner @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @thinkshespretty @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @aka-persephone | link to be added to my taglist

[always-a-joyful-note]

People are wondering how Jinu found the other members of the Saja Boys, and I'm here wondering how Celine found Zoey and Mira. And even after she found them, how did she look at this Korean third culture kid in America with anxiety and undiagnosed ADHD and this chaebol child rebel and go, "Ah, yes. They are just what the half-demon child I'm raising out of guilt and duty needs. They'll make incredible demon hunters who are also international popstars."

And she was actually right.

[ananiel]

A very birthday special lies of p fic, for my dear 18 year old cat Rosey! She's the mother of my other crancky boy, lucky! Please enjoy this story, and i am still waiting on a bit of feedback for the Romeo story!

Also this story is based on a real life event!

--------------------------------------------------------------

The new apartment smelled like dust and freshly painted walls. Carlo dropped his bag with a dull thud against the corner of the living room and straightened like a soldier finishing parade rest.

You stood across from him, one brow arched.

“Rules,” he said curtly, already ticking things off on his fingers.

“Separate bedrooms. Don’t touch my files. Don’t move my things. Don’t talk to me unless necessary.”

You opened your mouth.

“And don’t get comfortable. This is just temporary.”

He turned toward the hallway, the sound of his boots dragging into silence — just as a weak, ancient meow echoed from the open front door.

He paused. You turned around, calm, unfazed, and stepped back into the hallway with a small, warm hum under your breath.

When you reappeared, you were carrying a box.

And in it — or more accurately, enthroned inside a nest of crumpled blankets — sat what Carlo could only describe as a creature in slow-motion decay.

A black and orange cat, mostly fur, bones, and tired spirit, blinked sluggishly in your arms. Her head wobbled faintly when she looked around — not with alarm, but with the lazy confusion of someone who hadn’t processed a new location in over a decade.

One milky eye. A permanently downturned mouth. Ears folded slightly like a forgotten dumpling. And her tail? A limp, fluffy noodle curled over your wrist like it was unsure whether it still had muscles.

Carlo stared.

“...What is that?”

You looked down fondly. The cat let out another croaky mrrp, barely audible. You adjusted the blanket around her like she was made of glass and shamefully expensive silk.

“Her name is Rosey.”

“Rosey looks like she’s made of taxidermy and arthritis.”

“She’s eighteen. Be respectful.”

“I’ve seen corpses move more fluidly.”

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“She’s my baby.”

Rosey blinked again. Her head did that faint waver as her eyes adjusted, then landed directly — unshakably — on Carlo.

And she stared.

Not menacingly. Not magically. Just… slowly. With the gaze of a retired librarian judging your choice in font sizes. It lasted for five solid seconds. Unblinking. A judgemental ooze of ancient cat consciousness.

Then she made a small snort through her nose and closed both eyes.

Carlo actually shifted on his feet.

“She— Did she just fall asleep mid-glare?”

“She’s delicate.”

“She’s haunting.”

“She’s perfect.”

That night, he heard you through the too-thin apartment walls.

You weren’t loud, but your voice came gentle and mumbled in a rhythm meant only for the half-alive creature curled in your arms. You were humming. Talking about windows and sunbeams and tuna water. How you’d set up her bed near yours. How you’d found her old crinkle mouse.

He stared at the ceiling.

Later, when he passed your doorway, he caught a glimpse: you tucked under a light blanket, one arm crooked protectively over Rosey, who was curled into your side like a plush half-deflated pumpkin, legs out, one ear twitching.

He didn’t believe in soft things. Or comfort. Or warmth.

But he didn’t sleep well that night.

Not because of you.

But because part of him kept wondering how a half-dust cat managed to claim an entire queen-size bed like a kingdom.

Next morning, he poured coffee and turned around to see Rosey — wobbling slightly — sitting beside her food bowl.

He stared at her.

She stared back.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

She sneezed once, coughed like she was swearing, and flopped back onto the rug like she’d completed a triathlon. Her tail slapped the floor exactly once.

“You’re... horrifying.”

She blinked.

You appeared moments later, robe half-tied, bedhead glorious, whispering something only Rosey could hear as you scooped her up like a newborn.

Carlo hated that she purred like a broken fan motor the second she was in your arms.

.

.

.

Carlo woke to silence — the kind that doesn’t feel peaceful, but suspicious. He blinked up at the ceiling, rolled out of bed, stretched once, and walked into the kitchen.

A note sat on the counter, written in your elegant script:

“Gone to the farmer’s market. Don’t wait for me. Might be gone a while.

Love, Your wife”

He scoffed, crumpled the note, and tossed it into the bin.

“Not like I was gonna wait.”

He made coffee. Ate toast. Enjoyed the rare stillness of the apartment.

Until he turned and saw her.

Rosey.

She was halfway out of the hallway, having clearly made the difficult pilgrimage from your room to the living room. Her body leaned forward like an old accordion, hips slow to follow. Her left ear twitched. Her right eye stayed shut.

And she was staring directly at him.

Carlo blinked.

“No.”

Rosey wobbled forward, step by determined step. Like a war general crossing a minefield.

“Don’t come over here. I don’t— I’m not your person.”

She walked past her own food bowl. Ignored her cushioned cat bed.

She had one destination. Him.

The blanket on the armchair next to the sofa was where she aimed. It took her four tries to hook her front claws on the fabric.

Carlo groaned.

“Fine.”

He crossed the room, muttering the whole time, and gently — so carefully — picked up what felt like a warm, vibrating bag of bones and air. Rosey went limp in his arms, like you’d flicked her power switch off.

He placed her on the blanket.

She nestled down instantly. One eye opened. Looked at him.

Judgmental. Grateful. Ancient.

He sat back on the couch and, for the next hour, tried to pretend her presence meant nothing.

Until she didn’t move.

Not for water.

Not for food.

Not even to reposition herself.

She was... still.

Too still.

“Hey.” He leaned over the armchair. “Hey.”

No response. Not even a twitch.

"That cat really sleeps good huh?" He told himself not really caring

Yeah, that's probably IT.

.

.

.

Carlo approached cautiously, like the floor might explode. He crouched beside the chair. Rosey’s face sagged into the blanket like someone had put a sock full of potatoes in a bonnet.

He snapped his fingers by her ear.

Nothing.

He clapped.

Still nothing.

He whispered: “Rosey?”

Still.

He did not know what pure fear was until that exact moment.

That was when the door swung open and Romeo’s voice rang out, bright and chipper:

“Carlo! How’s married lif—what is that.”

Carlo spun. Wild-eyed. Sweating.

“I think I killed the cat.”

Romeo stopped halfway into the room. His eyes locked onto the creature in the chair.

“That’s a cat?”

“That was a cat, Romeo. She’s not breathing.”

Romeo took one step closer and made a noise like he’d swallowed a bug.

“She looks like she was born in a fire and got burned by time.”

“I KNOW! But she was alive earlier!”

Romeo leaned in, squinting.

Rosey didn’t move.

Not an ear flick. Not a sigh. Nothing.

Romeo took one step back.

Then another.

Then whispered:

“She’s going to haunt us.”

“She’s not dead yet!”

“You said She was and If not She’s dead inside, Carlo. Look at her. That’s the face of something that’s seen the invention of the wheel and gave up on humanity right there.”

“I PICKED HER UP FOR THREE SECONDS.”

“Well clearly you broke her.”

“She was trying to climb the couch! She looked like she was collapsing like a flan in a cupboard! I just helped!”

Romeo walked in a circle, hyperventilating.

“She’s like a black and orange purgatory rat. Oh my god, oh my god.”

Carlo ran a hand through his hair.

“I can’t tell if she’s just sleeping... or if rigor mortis hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Romeo tried snapping. Then clapping. Then whistling.

Nothing.

They both leaned closer.

She did not twitch.

Romeo slowly whisperd “Should we poke her?”

“You poke her.”

“She’s YOUR wife’s demon plush.”

Carlo rubbed his temples.

“Okay. Okay. We don’t panic. Maybe she’s... in a deep nap.”

“She’s in a coma, Carlo.”

“Cats take deep naps.”

“Cats don’t take death simulations.”

They both crouched in front of her.

Rosey remained perfectly still. A squashed ancient loaf of fuzz and shadow. Her fur glinted like old ink, her limbs arranged delicately like she died reciting poetry.

Carlo groaned. "She’s going to think I hated her.”

Romeo blinked at him.

“You did hate her.”

“Yes, but not in the murderous way! In the ‘please don’t hiss at me from the bookshelf’ kind of way!”

Romeo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She’s going to think you stressed her out so badly she passed.”

Carlo stared at the floor.

“...i didn't close the Windows. Maybe she was cold and I didn’t fix it.”

“YOU FROZE HER TO DEATH?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

They both looked at her again.

Rosey’s head hung at a slight angle, giving the impression she was judging them even in death.

Romeo slowly backed up until his spine hit the door.

“She’s going to come home, see her like this, and then turn us both into toads.”

“I didn’t DO anything, Romeo!”

“You picked her up!”

“SO SHE COULD BE COMFY!”

“Maybe she wasn’t meant to be comfy, Carlo! She was built to suffer! To glare and hiss and waddle and survive on vinegar!”

Carlo dropped to the floor, head in hands.

“I’m going to jail. I killed her childhood companion.”

“She’s going to say you have no soul.”

“Maybe she’s right!”

“She’ll cry. That’ll be worse than being hexed.”

“Maybe I fake a robbery.”

“You think someone broke in, stole nothing, and just smothered the cat?!”

“IT’S MORE BELIEVABLE THAN A CUDDLE KILLING HER.”

They were mid-hysterics when they heard the key turn in the lock.

Both men froze.

Romeo whispered: “We’re dead.”

Carlo whispered back: “Act normal.”

Romeo blinked. “Define normal.”

“NOT STANDING NEXT TO THE CORPSE.”

They scattered like rats.

Rosey didn’t move.

The door creaked open, letting in warm afternoon light and the scent of fresh herbs, tomatoes, and the rain you’d walked through to get to the market.

“I’m back,” you called, kicking the door closed with your heel, arms full of bags.

There was a pause.

Too long of a pause.

Then a chorus of—

“Hello!”

“Welcome back!”

“You look amazing!”

“Did you get… uh… vegetables?”

Romeo's voice, and then Carlo’s—way too smooth. Like two bad actors in a school play. Both of them sat stiffly on the couch, suspiciously close to each other. Carlo stood quickly, rushing to take the bags from you.

“Let me—yeah, you’ve carried enough,” he said, smiling too much. Way too much.

He even kissed your cheek.

You blinked. “That’s… new.”

“You deserve affection,” he said. “You’re beautiful. Smart. Talented. Merciful. Generous. Not likely to overreact.”

You paused mid-step. “Are you okay?”

Romeo jumped in from the couch:

“He’s been wonderful. All day! Reflective. Empathetic. Definitely not a cat murderer.”

“ROMEO.”

You stopped cold. Eyes narrowing.

Your arms crossed slowly, and your eyes tracked them both as they practically boxed you out from the living room like a team of panicking thieves.

“Where’s Rosey?” you asked calmly.

They both flinched.

Romeo coughed.

“She’s… resting.”

“Resting?”

Carlo was already pushing you toward the kitchen. “Let me make you tea! You’ve been on your feet—don’t you want to rest? Not everyone should be upright all the time. Some beings deserve to lie down. Very still. Quietly.”

You stopped dead.

You squinted over Carlo’s shoulder.

There, in her armchair, swaddled in a throw blanket you hadn’t left her in, was your scrunchy, orange-and-black old lady. Still as a statue. No rise or fall of breath. No blink. Not even a flick of a tired tail.

You turned back to them slowly.

“How long has she been like that?”

“...A few hours.” Carlo murmured

“Tops. Like—one. Hour. Maybe." Romeo added

“We fed her.”

“I warmed the food.”

“He said ‘m’lady’ when he gave it to her. I was there, i swear”

Carlo, turned to Romeo eyes wide

“Why are you sabotaging me?!”

“Because I’ve seen how you cry, and I don’t want to be alone when it happens!”

You walked past them.

You leaned over Rosey, brushed your fingers across her spine.

She didn’t stir.

Carlo audibly gulped behind you.

“You didn’t sit on her, did you?”

“NO?! I placed her down gently!”

Romeo added, whispering: “It was more like lowering a relic onto velvet.”

You turned to them slowly.

“Did you try to wake her?”

“We... clapped. A lot.”

“I think she flinched once. Or maybe her bones shifted.”

Carlo took a step forward.

“Look, I genuinely didn’t mean to—she looked tired, I thought she’d be more comfortable in the chair, and now she’s just—like this! And I like her! I mean—not in a I-want-her-to-live-on-forever way—”

“He tried CPR.”

“I DID NOT.”

You exhaled, dropped to one knee beside her, and very gently placed your hand on her back.

Silence.

More silence.

Then… the faintest squeaky wheeze escaped her nose.

Carlo dropped onto the sofa like a man who’d seen death.

Romeo fell to his knees.

“She’s ALIVE.”

You stood, turned slowly, and said:

“...You two tried to cover up Rosey’s nap with a full psychological operation.”

“We panicked.”

“You should’ve seen her, she looked like a painting of an obituary.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And how long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Carlo hesitated.

Then he stepped forward and kissed you again. A long one.

You pulled back, staring at him.

He blinked innocently. “It’s called a distraction.”

Romeo collapsed dramatically onto the couch. “This cat is going to be the death of all of us.”

From the chair, Rosey let out another small wheeze-sigh, repositioned by approximately 3 millimeters, and returned to her thousand-year-old coma with the serenity of an immortal being.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Based on a real event, this is my Rosey and She did in fact freak many people with her naps!

[zacolyn]

Okay, so I just wanna speak up on my own opinion of Harry Potter.

I was 13 when the first book came out, and I was already a voracious reader beforehand, which might have helped with my opinion. I did buy and read the first book (despite my father's half-hearted protest about the magic element, he was at least smart enough to realize that his daughter would Find A Way if he actually banned the book from her grubby hands), and....I didn't hate it.

Rowling actually had in me a fan up to the Goblet of Fire, at which point she had apparently decided she didn't need to try so hard and her real viewpoints started to leak through. Her protagonist became an absolute git and I began to despise Harry Potter as much as his actual enemies in the books did, though it seemed no one despised him more than the trollop writing him.

Still, though I got tired of certain elements rather quickly (Gryffindor being obviously favored over the other Houses, for example), I have read all the books, all but the last one in softcover and I can tell you honestly that from the Goblet of Fire on I was reading just to finish the story and keep up with friends who were also reading the books, because by then I had largely stopped caring.

Harry's pain became my pleasure unless Umbridge was the cause. I proudly declared myself a Slytherin because Gryffindor was a stained House full of pompous jackdaws like the Potters, and while I hardly thought Snape would have been the better choice, I firmly believed Lily was an idiot for thinking James was worth a blink.

Of course, this was all by design. Rowling made the Slytherins interesting because their views aligned with her own. They were written with far more depth and love because they were her truth. It's certainly been no hardship for me to walk away from all things Potter knowing that. It was part of my childhood, it certainly did leave an impression and her books will doubtless outlive her as have the literary works of other bigots. I can even understand the pain of giving up something you've developed your personality around, but people who love Harry Potter have a choice to make.

They can either denounce it utterly and totally, or they can continue as they're doing and be labeled an ally of a prominent TERF and antisemite. There is no middle ground to be had here. She certainly doesn't see a separation between her works and her. If you enjoy her work, you are supporting her, either directly through giving her money, or indirectly simply by supporting something you know is bigoted and even racist right through the core of it.

There is no toeing the line. There is no saying you are a Slytherin while denouncing the rest. This is black or white. She will not let you sit in the gray. You are either wholly against or wholly for. I'm sorry. Go read Magnus Chase or something instead. Any number of other magical school books. Make your own even like I'm trying to do. You don't need Harry Potter. You can do better than that.

I'm sorry, I don't believe that anyone who has read regularly since childhood would still count Harry Potter as the best book they've ever read.

[gladsforthelads]

Your mcs are soooooooo cute!!!

What do you think they're first date was like with their love interest?

Aww thanks!!!

I think my girls are cute too. ^_^

Hmmm.... As in terms of their first dates? I think it'd be a little hard between work, missions, and trying to coordinate days off. But I'll give it a go~

XAVIER & SELENE

Let's face it, these two work together more than anything, and while they're partners, they don't always have the same days off. Even when they do have the same days off, Xavier is unintentionally sleeping those 12-13 hours to physically recharge himself. Selene would text him, asking him if he was available, and her texts would go unread and she'd receive apology texts at like 2am.

So how does Xavier remedy this?

They have a really really tough mission, they're both exhausted, and on their way back to their apartments, he very casually sets up a reservation at the really nice hotpot spot downtown Linkon. While he is a lean, mean, meat eating machine, he knows that Selene is more of a vegetarian by comparison. She actually enjoys salads and greens, and he makes sure the hotpot spot they go to has the perfect balance of meats to greens.

He honestly doesn't know if she actually enjoyed it or was so starved after their mission she just consumed everything she saw, but she's asked if they could go again sometime, so that gives him some sort of hope he did right.

2. ZAYNE & LYLA

With Zayne being both a doctor and a workaholic and Lyla also being a workaholic, their schedules rarely match up unless Nero forces Lyla to take time off work. She's getting better about it because she's trying to open her schedule up more to match Zayne's availability, but with how new she still is at the Hunter's Association, she's still got a long way to go (at least in her head).

So, how does Zayne attempt a first date?

It was one of those usual checkup times where she waited around for Zayne after work and Zayne surprised her by stopping in a coffee shop on the way home. He got the second sweetest thing on the menu while she got the sweetest and they split a cheese croissant (though they really should have gotten two). It was as simple as that, but it set things in motion where Zayne started carving more time out of his busy schedule for her, and it's been that way ever since.

3. RAFAYEL & CORDELIA

Whenever Cordelia isn't actually bodyguarding him for one of his exhibitions or a special event, she is actually working as a Special Task Hunter and doing her job. Between Rafayel and her real job, she has very little off time, and when she is she's trying to catch up on sleep as much as possible. If she's not in bed, she's typically off running an errand with Rafayel or for Thomas and has on more than one occasion fallen asleep on the couch in Rafayel's studio. It's really draining her with how little free time she has and is desperate for a good R&R.

So, how does Rafayel rectify summoning her for the most mundane things?

Does exactly that because he knows she won't refuse her unless she suddenly gets called into work and sets up a quiet little picnic right on the beach, timing it just at twilight. She is, of course, agitated at first, but when she sees what he's actually cooked up, she easily forgives him and does take a little nap on his lap as they watch the sun go down.

4. SYLUS & ELARA

*Canonically, I count the Magnum Opus card as the official first date, so this is sort of a tag along to it. Yes, this is the one with the mannequins.

They both have entirely polar opposite schedules, night and day differences, only Elara has less free time and flexibility in her schedule compared to Sylus. While she's investigating other special cases, she's also trying to find Tobias, and other tedious missions that are back-to-back and apparently things only she can do. She texts Sylus when she can, sends messages with Mephisto when she can't and tries to sleep in as much as posssible.

So, how does the big bad boss of Onyichinus do?

Makes ridiculous demands for her to meet at the mall and try to act like a normal couple. She's entirely thrown by this, thinking this is some sort of coverup for what he's really after but as the day progresses, she realizes that it is simply that, a normal date. It's so normal that she doesn't know what to do, until he starts trying to buy every article of clothing, shoes, and jewelry he can find just for her. There's no way much of that will fit into her closet, which he knows, and that most of it will have to be stored at one of his bases, which he also knows, but her favorite thing about the date was getting ice cream on their way out the mall. She got a triple chocolate fudge cone, and he surprised her by getting a matcha dipped chocolate cone.

It was the closest she felt to anyone, and she secretly looks forward to more outings with him.

5. CALEB & MELORA

Caleb is of course the new colonel up in Skyhaven and Melora is busy training, fighting Wanderers, and writing up reports about her mission, so the time they get to actually spend with each other has to be planned months in advance and plenty of prayers to Astra that there won't be any outside interferences.

So, what does Melora do for one of their planned visits?

She scopes out the local fair happening in Linkon! They had all sorts of festivals that they went to as children, but since they've become the adulty adults they are, they haven't had much time for much else. With how busy Caleb's job keeps him, Melora really wanted to plan an event where they could relax, cut loose, and act just like they did as kids again.

Caleb is pleasantly surprised by the planned event and is so excited he can't help but feel like he's back in their childhood, especially when she gets them both red candied apples.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I hope you enjoyed this~

Please feel free to drop me another ask!

[swissprimerib]

Here's a little theory I've been cooking up in the old brain hole... I call it

PILES OF DECEMBER'S DUST: BIG SHOT KNIGHT THEORY

(that's a working title)

The Knight is not a normal lightner, that much is obvious. It can turn into a baseball, it can fly, it has way too many swords. Maybe it's a darkner of December's funeral object, her dust scattered over something, but that wouldn't make sense, because only lightners have the Determination to open fountains.

Unless... the DT came from an outside source. Spamton believes that if he can acquire Kris' soul (us), he can become "real". A "Big shot". Maybe even real enough to manifest in the light world and tug Undyne through town.

But where could this darkner of Dess get a human soul from? It's not like there are many humans in town, besides... One. One who is close with the Holidays and Dess. One who is, as of the present day, still missing a soul.

I don't want to go too deep into speculation, so I'm not going to try and think of a specific explanation for how it happened, but... Let's go over that one more time.

Issue: The Knight does not match the known characteristics of a lightner. Explanation: The Knight is a darkner.

Issue: Darkners don't have Determination, and can't go into the light world. Explanation: According to Spamton, a darkner with a human soul can do both. (AND it would be yet another parallel to Asriel, being similar to Flowey)

Issue: Where would the soul come from? Explanation: Kris is missing a soul, and where it went was already a question, so this is an answer for that too. And the line "You were used up" in the sword route definitely means something here.

Oh, and some bonus stuff:

"Humans don't have more Determination than monsters in Deltarune!" Wrong. Only human souls can seal fountains, which would logically be a feat of Determination, AND Kris is confirmed to be able to save and load, as they already have a save file upon entering the dark world for the first time (which I suspect could actually be The Knight's save file under Kris' name, because it would have to have been made with their original soul)

"If Dess died, wouldn't her funeral object be the guitar?" Yeah probably. I actually don't have a great answer to this. Maybe she got scattered over something random like in the "piles of Asriel's dust" theory, or maybe she's just a wifflebat instead.

Also, how does Kris open a dark fountain without a soul? How does that work. Isn't that where the DT is stored? Like maybe they do have a soul after all, but like, where the heck is it? I don't count this as counter evidence, because Kris not having a soul besides us is pretty accepted I think. If my theory is wrong because of this it's not my fault

[beatlblog]

#this is true#although i think davy would wear one most of the time (via keenbugg)

#real and truly#garfunkel would Not (via petoskeystones)

#does bob dylan wear a bra? thread locked after 1000 comments (via barstoolblues)

#prev (via tweeterwilbury)

^^^#I feel like maybe Paul would've worn bras still. not always but she's more inclined to than the other 3 Beatles sadly. this too is cause for#the breakup (via beat-blogging)

#my insight. mick: no bra OR femme fatale lingerie. keith: no bra or his girlfriend's bra. brian: also anita's bra. ronnie: no bra#charlie: bra ofc. undecided on mick t but probably bra#mick jagger would wear bras but he would love a nip slip. get it (via gimmeshelter)

^^^^#prev bob dylan wears a binder (via cohendyke)

#mick would wear a push-up bra to make his itty bitty titties look bigger#Charlie would wear a Proper Bra because he is a Proper gentlemen#ronnie would wear a lacy bralette or a gaudy sparkly bra because he can pull them off#Keith? the boy that hates wearing shoes and underwear? he would be braless and not giving a fuck (via fleetwoodmess)

^^^^^ ^^#mike (nesmith) woukdve worn bras i think but yeah real (via muirneach)

#mike would have wearn a bra i think#but otherwise yea (via fox-on-the-run)

^^^^^ ^^^#would the kinks wear bras (via roentgen)

#crosby was the bustiest out of them all but he would never waver from his free the nipple stance (via bebeocho)

#thinking further on this one. i do believe that actually michael wouldve worn a bra in the 60s#although i think she would ditch it after leaving the monkees. FNB michael is braless for sure (via theprison1974)

#the thing with csny is that Nash and Young don’t need them and Stills and Crosby wouldn’t#crosby would die before going braless. actually stills i could almost see wearing one to be honest. (via somewhereundertherainbow1973)

#mostly agree except keith moon is Not wearing a bra. unless it's funny (via wumbo-calling)

#zeppelin bra wearing would be divided i think (via lifesrichpageants)

the monkees wouldn’t have worn bras. davy maybe sometimes. csny is another braless band. the who across the board would’ve worn bras. the Beatles would’ve started in bras but lost them by 67. the rolling stones… depends but are inclined towards bras

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

if this series doesn’t end with us getting a riorgail wedding where they get to marry each other for real i will simply become one with the abyss

THEYRE MARRIED BUT AT WHAT COST😭

ABSOLUTELY. I'm still upset. I've said this repeatedly, but I keep remembering she doesn't REMEMBER HER WEDDING and wanting to cry. It definitely seems like getting married for romantic reasons was super important to Xaden, specifically, and so I absolutely think they'll get a real wedding. My take currently is also that via her dream walking, she'll/we'll get to see their first wedding and that twelve hours time skip. It's an interesting way to play into her scribe half of her mind, because she'll be taking in everyone else's accounts while having no account of her own. We also have those lovely signet-less first years. Maybe one of them is a memory transfer-er?? A girl can dream.

[soy-bean-factory]

had some thoughts about certain characters having halos with specific looks to them, so i drew it.

//explanation(?) in the tags if your curious vv

[puppygirlsnout]

1. Trans women are hurt by this too??? The article you listed literally talks about how this bill targets trans women in the first couple paragraphs. Iswtg yall don't read your own sources on here

2. Nobody is against transmasc specific language. There are objections to the term "transandrophobia" because it's a very obvious "but what meeeeee. What about men" response to transmisogyny. Also the idea of "androphobia" or hatred of masculine traits on a structural level is very antifemininst at its core. It's obvious of you think about it for five or so seconds.

3. A large portion of hate transfems receive comes as a source of their "rejection of masculinity" they are viewed as a stain on the male oppressor class by staining themselves with femininity. At the same time, we are also viewed as invaders of women's spaces, putting "the real wombyn" in danger by our "male presence" this is part of the "third, worse thing" that transfems are treated as, a very foundational part of transmisogny. I also can't tell you how showing it is that you state that this treatment is unique to transmascs while claiming to vy for "listening to others experiences." it's showing how despite the fact you claim to be open minded to others, while yelling right over transfems with no consideration for our experiences. It begs the question, are you telling us to listen, or are you telling a bunch of "whiny bitches" to sit down and shut up when the men are talking.

4. The dehumanizing I've seen towards transmascs comes from expression of feminene traits, not masculinity, or not matching to the identity they claim. This is, misogyny and transphobia intersected of course, but a transfem could just as easily suffer this. Tran women are often harassed for this too, often facing claims of being a "fake woman" whereas transmasculine people will be clocked as "actually a woman." You can see that, while transmascs are reduced to their assigned gender at birth, as is common with trans people, trans women are seen as this worse, third thing. In this way, transfems get the worst of both worlds, and a third of their own as well, making this dehumanizing and sexualization you claim to be transmasc unique, not so transmasc-exclusive after all.

I dont want to minimize your personal experiences, and I don't want to speak over you, so I'll keep this brief. but I would ask you to consider what your mother would have done if it was a "son" wearing a dress. Think about what your mother would've done if it was a "son" trying to be feminine. Because I don't think she would welcome that with open arms.

If you want to say transphobia on a stage is exclusive to transmascs, you are so out of touch that it's incredibly concerning. Do you know how often people like Matt rife of Dave chappele will just get up on stage and shit on transfems? Do you want to talk about how people will spew lies about us being crazed rapists who want to get into women's spaces for sexual assault? This point is perhaps the most telling of them all. This shows that you 1. Did not take transfems into account at any point writing this 2. Do not even listen to transfem experiences, while telling people to listen to yours. Can you make your misogyny any clearer?

Your claim that transmascs have been erased more than anyone else is just ridiculous. Once again you are blatantly ignoring transfem experiences. You have to consider, there is more then one kind of erasure. When someone who was a "crossdresser" (feminine) is shown in history, that is more often then not all they are. Unless if they are shown unfavorably, then, they are every awful thing you can think of, because they were a sick crossdressing mental case. When someone is overshadowed by this one aspect of their life, this one major thing, it is also erasure. Erasure of trans women as people. Erasure of trans women as anything more then some boogeyman, outside of man or woman, some third, monstrous thing. And transfem erasure is more than that. Most people have never heard of Compton cafeteria riot, the things that gave rise to it, or any other structure of transfeminine identity outside of the role of "weird and exotic sex object", and most don't even know that. So no, erasure is not some "transmasc-only" form of oppression. And claiming that it is is fucking disgusting, as with everything else you've said.

The idea that that transmascs are the only trans people who get sent to asylums, jails, etc. Is absolutely insane. This was done to "feminine men" too. They were lobotomized, raped, and abused, and when you say that transmascs are the main class that has been sent to mental institutions and prisons to fie, you spit on the Graves of countless numbers of my dead sisters. This is genuinely one of the most evil fucking takes ever. You were whining about erasure in the paragraph just before, but you've done nothing but yell over transfem voices in your entire response. This genuinely sickens me to my core. I don't even have words for how awful this is.

And for my tags, I'm sorry if I offended your sensibilities, but you've confirmed the exact thing I was trying to say. You're just telling transfems to shut up and listen to the men who know better. I genuinely hope you come around from your violent transmisogyny, but you will be blocked because of your horrid opinions and beliefs.

without fail, every single time, men just seem to forget that there are women experiencing all the same stuff they do with added misogyny. "well what if i don't pass as a man? i'm treated like an ugly woman!" what do you think happens to trans women who don't pass. real quick. hey what's that transandrophobia thing doing in your bio

[accirax]

last night i had a dream that it was Friday, and i was watching Chapter 2 Episode 15. it was nearing the end of the episode, and Teruko had accused Ace in the Closing Argument. however, Ace was nonstop arguing with MonoTV that he didn't do it and that everyone had it all wrong. MonoTV laughed cryptically, and the episode ended on the cliffhanger...

...that MonoTV was about to introduce Ada Tobisa, Eden's secret twin sister, as the seventeenth student in the killing game.

no, i don't know what role Ada would have had in the murder.

earlier in the dream episode, we had seen the left photo as its own CG, and were led to believe that it was a photo of Eden as a baby (i have no idea how this came up in the Trial). however, the end stinger was showing the CG with the two of them, and that the left picture was actually Ada all along.

anyways, call me the Ultimate Fortune Teller, because i'm pretty sure i've foreseen exactly what's going to happen in Friday's episode drop 😎

[moldy-flowers]

I'M WORKING ON IT DONT RUSH ME

[parasite-core]

Ok this could be very interesting. I have too many OCs to think of every combination, so I’ll just go with what I think would make the most interesting changes.

Roland and Mau: Both ended up in an orphanage at a young age, but Roland was in Westcrown in infernal Cheliax, while Mau was in Riddleport. Riddleport still isn’t a nice place, but it is SIGNIFICANTLY better than Westcrown. Roland probably wouldn’t have been adopted by Mau’s mothers, because they specifically took in children with disabilities that made them unlikely to be adopted otherwise. He might have been adopted by the people who adopted Mau’s brother though, which I’ve always imagined would turn out to be pirates or thieves picking up suggestible new recruits. Mau on the other hand would not have the means to run away from the Westcrown orphanage and successfully survive on the streets due to his bad leg. So unfortunately there’s a high likelihood he would either age out of the system and fall through the cracks, or more likely be adopted by a diabolist needing a sacrifice.

Calio and Ileark: Ok this one’s going to be long. So assuming they have the same biological parents and just got switched somehow, this one would be unusual. Because Ileark’s birth mother is the goddess of nightmares, so even if he was switched with Calio she’d still have no problem doing exactly the same thing to Ileark she did in his canonical past. So the only real difference for Ileark would be that he was raised in Irrisen with regular innkeeper parents until Alazhra started shadowing him. He wouldn’t have the knowledge of Desnan teachings to draw him towards travel, and knowing Calio’s parents they would try to take him away to somewhere else in the hopes of keeping him safe, which obviously would fail. I suspect eventually without running to protect people, there would start being actual deaths associated with Alazhra’s continued presence. Without Desna’s teachings to hold onto to remain strong and to not pile blame on himself, I think he’d feel more monstrous about being a changeling, even though Calio’s parents would be just as accepting and loving as Ileark’s canon family. But being raised by generally good people with sound morals, I think there’s still a chance Ileark would deny Alazhra’s path for him, although he’d probably have to think about it a lot more, and depending on circumstances there’s definitely a higher chance he *might* agree to become the new Alazhra. On the other hand, Calio would be raised by Desnans in a sleepy little town, and never went through the ritual done to him by some of Elvanna’s agents. He’d still have been born with the darkness in Irrisen inside him, and he would probably still be a difficult child, but he would have a lot less of a path forward towards perceived greatness. I think he’d still feel drawn somewhere by his ties to Irrisen, but without knowing he was from there I don’t think he’d ever figure out where he felt he wanted to go. He might actually go on a Desnan pilgrimage as an excuse to travel and try to find what’s calling him, but even if he were to make it to Irrisen, he’d be there at a different place and time, so chances are he’d never die, get raised, become the Grimm Rider, die again, get amnesia, and help save the world. At most he might have ended up dead, but without Keisuke he’d stay that way.

The other option is if their birth parents were switched as well. In that case, Ileark would grow up in Irrisen. Unless he also was born with the darkness in him, there would be no reason for the Winter Witches to target him, and so his family wouldn’t move to Ustalav to escape. Ileark would have an extremely normal life and probably take over the family business as an innkeeper. Calio, though. He is not the sort to run. He would probably try to confront Alazhra, even as a teen. I’m not sure how that would go. But ultimately if he were eventually given the chance to become the new Alazhra like Ileark, he would jump at the chance for power. He would revel in being god of nightmares and night hags.

Umbrolus and Draven: One of these two got the short end of the stick in this swap and it isn’t Draven. Technically speaking if they were swapped at birth, Draven would have been raised by Umbrolus’ birth parents who abandoned him as a baby, since Draven isn’t a tiefling so they wouldn’t have abandoned her. But that’s no fun, so I’m switching them when Umbrolus was found abandoned by Aethervox. If Draven were raised by Aethervox, she wouldn’t have grown up thinking she was a dragon, unlike Umber, because she is very obviously not a dragon. She would have had her gender revelation at a much younger age growing up with a non-binary dragon parent. She also probably wouldn’t have become particularly religious, definitely not a fervent follower of Iomedae. She’d probably have left home younger than Umbrolus, and would have travelled around Cheliax. Honestly I’m not 100% sure she wouldn’t have become an Asmodeus worshipper while traveling, I could see this version of Draven finding a certain appeal to his stringently lawful doctrine.

On the other hand…poor Umbrolus. Assuming Draven’s family was still tortured and killed by Jerribeth despite Umber not having Draven’s cursed luck, then Umbrolus would end up severely changed from the big puppy he normally is. He’d be raised in the local temple of Iomedae like Draven was, but instead of aiming to become a warpriest and try to protect others from having their lives torn apart by demons, Umbrolus would become an avenging knight. He would be solely focused on killing as many demons as possible until he dies himself. You know I based part of Draven’s backstory on Berserk, but if Umbrolus were in her place he’d be WAY more like Guts than Draven ever was.

if two of your ocs ended up being switched at birth, how different would they be?

[rmbunnie]

Another little inconsequential red hood thing and I'll admit that I'm decently biased but it irks me to see the whole "Jason can't shut up about his death/he makes his death everyone else's problem" take really frequently because he simply does not do that enough for it to be a thing in like any actual Red Hood story.

It's a thing you see sometimes in modern annuals/comics with large casts, particularly if a writer doesn't seem super confident with writing all of the characters that they're working with or if he's just a background character in this one, because with comics it's quicker to reduce a character to recognizable landmarks than to try and work out a whole new complex voice if you don't really need to, so it's tire iron, Jane Austen, Joker, and death, and it's all written out in dialogue because every character in a group event can't have their own internal monologue, but like. That's pretty much it. UTRH is the establishing event for Jason Todd post death so of course a lot of it is about his death, although it's arguably about the lack of response to his death more than his death itself, and he certainly makes it Bruce's issue but one beef doesn't make a trend. Plus if his death is anyone's issue beyond his own Bruce and Joker are like the number one guys whose issue it is. He THINKS about his death a ton in Lost Days, but it doesn't really reflect externally on any of his interactions besides with Joker, which again, that's justified and relevant beef. Teen Titans 29 is more about his place in the hero community/feeling like he was an outsider even before the bomb/Tim being the new robin than about his death, and side note, that being counted as an attempt on Tim's life also bugs me. He beat him up and then left of his own volition. That's not an assassination attempt its called a fight, albeit a sneaky and unfair one. But anyways. I can't speak on Battle for the Cowl because i haven't read it, both that and Batman and Robin 2009 don't really compel me, but it's entirely possible that's an outlier to my point seeing as I kinda sorta haven't read it and don't care to lmao. Even New 52 (although HIGHLY unpopular) and Rebirth/Dawn of DC/Whatever we're doing now Red Hood content don't really have him talking to people about it besides the occasional little quips. He might make stances that were developed because of his death other people's problem, like in the Mia Dearden Green Arrow situation with the "getting involved in other people's business" issue, but acting like he makes specifically his death everyone else's problem is ignoring all of the perfectly valid actually canon things he makes other people's problem. Most of the unpleasant traits he brings to the table are a result of his death and the sense of abandonment and betrayal that came with it, but that doesn't mean he's bringing his death into it when he acts unpleasantly any more than he's bringing his birth into it when he shows up in the first place. The consequences do not equal the event. All this to say it's irritating when people say the character is grating because he doesn't stop whining about his death when that kinda just indicates to me that they're working off fanon based on fanon based on kinda mid batman annual.

[candycryptids]

Glamtober Day 5 - TANK Full Glamtober Prompt List [Here]

"3-2-1 we’re going! TRY TO KEEP UP!"

Gemmini craves blood and violence and slaughter… Running a dungeon with her is pure cardio. Because she RUNS. And if the healer can’t keep her health up, then she’ll keep it up on her own with potions, adrenaline, and bloodlust. …. She is intimately familiar with the healer lasso.

Gemmini is wearing- Neo-Ishgardian Top of Fending - Colibri Pink No.2 Tybe B Gloves- Metallic Gold Makai Manhandler's Quartertights Crystarium Greaves- Cherry Pink