#From the Inkwell

[iamawrittensentence]

i think a lot about how when you're a child growing up in the kind of church I did, the expectation of performance is inseparable from the act itself. and how when you're supposed to hate yourself in order to be loved. like. the idea is that god hates you(r sin), and that he can't *not* hate like that due to his nature. and that you have to change or fight your nature in order to be in his grace. but the idea is not two-sided. the idea that god should or even *could* change isn't even thought of. you have to enter the headspace of god to be loved by him. so you spend every service waiting for the holy spirit to strike, waiting for it to split you open and lay you bare at the altar. screaming and crying is the sound of god of god loving you. the closest you can be to him is when you're broken, incoherent and writhing. and you learn to chase that feeling. but that's predicated on a feeling of safety, of familiarity, of accountability to the other members of the church.

what do you do when you move at 11? every tie severed at once. your grandmother, who was the model for love in your life, the model for *god,* now 999 miles away. you left your*self* 999 miles away. of course, we try again. this is our chance for a new start! all the opportunities we've regaled you with are now right in front of you. take them! take them! take them! come on- take them! listen, you just have to apply yourself. I *know* you're smarter than this, you just have to put the work in.

what happened to the son I knew? you used to be so sweet. I miss the sweeter version of you. the ways in which you are changing are not acceptable, please try again.

We found a church that we wanna try. I promise it'll be like it used to be, you just have to try. come on- we're trying so hard, why cant you just meet us halfway? there's the son I love, keep the big smile!!

its not the same though. it's been almost a year in the new place and you are alone. there feels like a barrier between y'all -*did you just say y'all?* and the world you've landed in. children run in circles in the youth room, playing games you've never heard of. none of these people feel real to you. everything here is so plastic and structured, and you've never seen a church that looks like a school. never been in a church that required a PA system and jumbo screens to see and hear the preacher. lyrics play onscreen as the band plays top 50 christian hits.

you search for the rock hammer typically provided by these spaces and find yourself tool-less. how can this glorified auditorium hold god? they're trying too hard to find him, you think. it feels like they're trying to bring him into the room, but god rushes up behind you when you're vulnerable and tears you open in front of everyone. a divine experience involves pulsing and bleeding, unable to bear the world through the eyes of god, and a team of people to nurse you back to humanity. there is none of that here.

you feel like a failure. you've felt god before, why can't you now? everyone else can. just try, okay? I *know* you're holier than this. where's the son I used to know? You used to be so pious. that's better, big smiles!

you learn that feeling it isn't as important as *doing* it. no one else around you can tell what's going on in your mind, and god doesn't seem interested in snitching. maybe if you go ahead and cry it'll be easier to do it for real next time. you walk into the sanctuary every day with a mix of anticipation, fear, and guilt.

maybe this time I'll be close enough to feel god. do I need to sing louder? are my arms perpendicular enough to the floor? if I reach higher, will I feel him brush my fingertips? maybe I need to memorize the songs. after all, this is the music good christians listen to. maybe if you learn to love the music, you'll love god better. maybe then he'll answer. after all, you love music, so you must just hate god if these songs aren't doing it for you.

it's been years since you've bled in church naturally. you learn to bring your own rock hammer. to break yourself apart on what little of god you have managed to stash away here. no one can know. god belongs in church, and outsourcing is strictly forbidden. so make sure the wounds match. these people are bloodspatter experts. and if you cant match the wounds, cant copy the spatter, well it's an easy fix, really. pulp yourself and paint the scene so thoroughly the only possible conclusion is that you are wounded, wounded, wounded. if you bleed *enough*, no one will bother checking *how* you're bleeding.

or where.

another 999 miles later and you've learned to take it as a given that you're a fraud. maybe one day you'll really get serious and devote yourself to god, but you haven't, so you cant. you're so scarred you can no longer find easy flesh to pierce. every vulnerable part of you has been repeatedly shredded in order to show god your insides. *see, I'm still human! I still bleed for you!* you find that your skull is now used to his rock hammer. it no longer makes the beautiful spatters that made you feel so close to him. the pain is dull, and the blood flows weakly, so much lost you can no longer even bleed.

another church. you continue to throw yourself against the stones, but it feels even more performative now. every room you found god in is now impossibly far away. there is 17 years of distance between you and the living room. maybe one day you'll get serious and devote yourself to your family. two weeks and 45 minutes at a time stands between you and god. you decided to store him there instead of lugging him back and forth just to sit in your room. you keep buying bibles, hoping one will be able to hold him.

you have no idea how happy it makes me that you're reading your bible. actually, I should look at the churches around here, we could go together!

you stop reading your Bible. that stop asking you about it. you stop singing in church. no one notices. you stop begging god to make you love him. and he does.

what now? you find that god is still there, less demanding but no more yielding. it's your turn to sneak up behind him. split him open and inspect his innards. *see how this part bleeds? it's because you didn't honor Me. see how you don't *stop* bleeding? that's because you love Me. you were made to. I Created you in my image.* if the roles were reversed he would relish in this. but it brings you no joy. you thought it would, thought that being able to inflict yourself upon him would make you feel whole again. but consuming just passes it through you. unfortunately, you have to build yourself. you don't even have an Other to build yourself against.

You learn that reacting will never substantiate you, only preserve. you learn to work towards what you want, not run from what you don't. and you learn to stop bleeding yourself to find what runs you, and instead simply... asking. you are still covered in blood.

[plumelagoon]

My gift for @gingerbreadjonah for the @mcytblrholidayexchange!

This fic FOUGHT ME SO HARD but I'm pretty happy with it, and I hope you like it as much. :D

[gabelew]

a quick sketch of sidon's office and the absolute state of his desk

he's doing taxes but like. from the other end i guess. probably. who can tell, really ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i just know it's something extremely unfun

[ask-cupbros-parents]

Do you still remember them?

♥️♦️♣️♠️

[littleacebee]

There is some podcast conspiracy this week to release as many episodes as possible. Camlann with regular episode and a special, Victoriocity with first two episodes of s3, Hello From The Hallowoods with first episode of s4, The Amelia Project x Midnight Burger crossover, The Magnus Protocol, Mission Rejected, Inexplicables, Welcome To Night Vale, Travelling Light…

I am not complaining but I am drowning in episodes

[brokehorrorfan]

Mondo has released its remaining poster inventory from Monsterpalooza online.

An American Werewolf in London Poster by Jérôme "Trëz" Oudot is a 24x36 screen print, limited to 185, for $80. Creature from the Black Lagoon by Attack Peter is a 14x18 screen print, limited to 165, for $40. M3GAN by Shin-ichi Sakamoto is an 18x24 foil screen print, limited to 215, for $65.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space by Lance Inkwell is a 24x36 screen print, limited to 185, for $80. Army of Darkness by Matt Stikker is a 24x36 screen print, limited to 165, for $80. The Toxic Avenger by James Bousema is a 24x36 screen print, limited to 215, for $80.

[sunny1927]

Art block sketches/doodles

[inkwell-cup-brothers]

Tales from the Past - The Mug Boy

♦️ ♠️

...♣️ The Angel Next ♠️...

*Please do not repost or trace my artwork!

Cupbros Parent's blog|Main blog| Twitter | Patreon

This is just the beginning of The Cup brothers...

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Warnings: allusions to abuse. Not against steve or Eddie but against both of their mothers. Other than that this is sweet i promise. Also just realized it's mothers day so... this is possibly awkward, possibly fitting. Take care my lovelies.

Steve had always loved the rain. Not storms, necessarily. But the rain. The pitter patter of drops on the roof. And the street. And the leaves in the trees. The surface of his pool on unnaturally warm spring day. The way the drops felt cold and tingly on warm skin. Steve loved it all.

Loved sitting with his feet in the pool, dangling over the edge, into the water, as he let the rain soak him through. Let his shirt stick to his skin as rain drops dripped from his hair into his eyes.

His mother had started his love for it. Always jumping in puddles with him on their way to the car in the grocery store parking lot. Both of them laughing as they held hands and ran and jumped, splashing their clothes and soaking their shoes and not caring at all for the mess they were making of themselves.

Steve missed those days. Missed his mother being happy. Her warm smile keeping the chill of the rain away. Steve supposed sitting in the rain, and watching it fall across the top of the water, was his way of bringing those feelings back.

But deep down. He'd always wished for someone to share this with. He'd tried with Nancy. And she was no priss, really she wasn't, obviously. But when he'd asked her to walk in the rain with him once, she'd given him this look. Like she'd thought he was crazy. Or ridiculous. Or just being weird, dumb, Steve.

He hadn't asked again.

But he'd wanted too. So many times. Of so many people. He was sure Robin would love it too. But he hadn't been brave enough to ask yet.

And then there was Eddie. They'd been dancing around something for what was probably close to a year now. There was an ache in Steve's chest everytime it rained. Longing to walk out into the rain, hold his hand out to Eddie, and ask him to take it.

But he was scared. And he was trying to come to terms with that fear. And that ache. When he heard the door open behind him. He heard a few stumbled footsteps and jingling chains, and hung his head a bit, smiling into his lap.

Eddie.

It was movie night. Steve had forgotten, lost in the rain.

He should get up. Go inside. Dry off so they can start whatever movie  Eddie had brought to lecture him on tonight. Steve would roll his eyes, but he loved listening to Eddie talk about things he loved. Loved all the little details he added, fun facts he knew that Steve never would have found out on his own.

He plants his hands to stand just as Eddie plops himself down next to Steve. Shoes removed somewhere behind them, jeans folded up a bit around his shins. Eddie lowers his feet into the water easily, taking care, ridiculously, not to splash, and turns to look at Steve with that fucking smile.

"Great weather right?" He asks, genuine delight dripping from his lips, and shinning in his eyes. Steve feels like he's flying a bit to close to the sun, the way Eddie shines. He just nods, bites his lip and looks into his lap again. Eddie knocks his shoulder into Steve's.

"Why ya sittin in the rain Steve?" He asks, still sounding happy, no judgment, and to Steve's suprise, no worry.

"I just like the rain." He says, easy. No lies. Not with Eddie. He's been making an effort to only tell Eddie the truth... about most things. He feels more than sees Eddie nod beside him.

"Me too. Love it. Nothin quite like sittin in the rain." He says, easy. Bumps into Steve again, he's swaying a bit now, side to side. Gentle as you please. It's a thing he does. Steve finds it hypnotizing in the best way.

"Yeah." Steve says dumbly, internally kicks himself. Eddie huffs a laugh next him as their shoulders collide again.

"Ya know," he leans closer, stops his swaying for a moment. His eyes focused on Steve, bangs dripping water down his face. Steve blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what Eddie is about to say, and not on the jealousy he feels for the raindrops slowly moving over Eddie's skin.

"I used to climb onto the roof of the trailer when it rained. Just lay there. Eyes on the sky." He glanced up, squinting into the rain and then looking back to Steve with a small smile, his 'just for Steve' smile.

"Drove Wayne crazy. He worries." Eddie tilted his head, the 'Bless him.' heavily implied in his tone. Steve snorts.

"I wonder why." He says, voice dry. Eddie's eyes move his face quickly, before he laughs and sways away again.

"That's fair. I did almost get struck by lightning once." Eddie muses, then rounds on Steve suddenly, eyes wide, finger pointing accusingly.

"Don't, tell him that." He's using his serious face, it makes Steve smile.

"I wouldn't dare." He holds his hand over his heart.

"Scouts honor." He says, holding his other hand up. Eddie leans back a bit, looks Steve up and down, wipes water out of his eyes before looking away again.

"You would have been a scout." Eddie shakes his head, rolls his eyes, but he smiling that smile again.

"Four years. Yeah. It wasn't horrible." Steve concedes, shrugging, and he sighs softly at the feeling of his wet shirt tugging on his shoulders.

They're silent for a long moment. Both of them just sitting, watching the rain. Eddie rocking back and forth absent-mindedly next to him now, his feet gently kicking back and forth in the water.

"My mom used to jump in puddles with me. In the store parking lot. And once out there," Steve points out over the pool, into the back yard, Eddie leans closer, his eyes following where Steve's pointing.

"We ended up covered in mud. Both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Dad wasn't home so the mess didn't matter. We were just having fun. I miss her being fun." Steve hadn't meant to say that part, not really. But it had slipped, his cheeks heating a bit. But Eddie didn't even stumble over the confession.

"Why isn't she fun anymore? Cuz'a him?" Eddie asks, like it's easy, this thing Steve hates to talk about, and think about. He swallows, hard, and nods. Sees Eddie nod back, a sad smile on his lips now, until they quirk to the side, his scarred cheek pulling up a bit as he makes his thinking face.

"She could leave him? Take you too." Eddie says, and it's a question. He's prodding, a bit, always curious. Steve takes a deep breathe, straightening his back as he breathes deep.

"Sorry. None of my business." Eddie shakes his head once, his hair so thoroughly soaked now that it barely moves on his shoulders.

"No it's okay. I just," he pauses, takes another deep breath, thinking.

"I think she's stuck. Like... she can't leave." Steve shakes his head too, wipes at his face, moving the water out of his eyes, off his nose where it's tickling.

"Catholic?" Eddie asks, easy. And Steve stares at him.

No one had asked that before. Or mentioned it. People always being nosy and presumptuous, saying if she really cared about herself, or for Steve, that she would just go. But it wasn't that simple. And Steve had never been able to explain it very well.

But Eddie had explained it fine. With one word. A knowing look in his eyes. Steve suddenly remembers all the things he's heard about Eddie's dad, how he's never heard much about his mom, and his stomach sinks, his throat catching on the fire gathering there.

Steve nods. Eddie nods back. Smiles that small smile into his lap again.

"People don't understand some things. Ya know?" Eddie asks, bumping into Steve again. He sways away once more and Steve follows, presses his shoulder to Eddie's firmly. Eddie stills, let's him lean there.

"And ya know what?" He looks at Steve, eyes peeking out under his dripping bangs.

"What?" Steve asks, his palms and fingers itching, wanting to reach out and touch Eddie. To wipe the water from his eyes. To tuck his hair behind his ear. To hold his hand. Maybe kiss him a little.

"It's none of their fucking business. You know your mom. You know what she was like. How she cared for you. You'll always have those memories. Ya know? I mean, if you don't have anything else." He shrugs, leans his weight into Steve's shoulder, comforting. Steve closes his eyes, tries to think of something to say to the gift Eddie's just given him.

Because he's right. She's Steve's mother. She loved him. Always. And whatever else she was, or how she acted, was none of anyone's business. Steve had his mother. His memories of her. Her warm smile, and bubbly laugh. She was his. No matter how his father changed her, or kept her away. She was Steve's. Always Steve's. Maybe only ever his. God knows she wasn't his father's, probably never had been.

He realizes he's been sitting, not saying anything, Eddie still firmly pressed against him. Silent. Letting Steve process, or grieve, or whatever he assumed Steve might doing. He was just letting him do it, and supporting him, in more ways than one.

"Did your mom like the rain?" He asks, finally breaking the silence. And it's the right question. Because it makes Eddie laugh. A good. Genuine. Proper laugh. His head tilted back, face to the sky, basking in the rain falling on them. He sighs, looks back to Steve.

"She fuckin loved the rain. I guess that's were I got it. Wayne use to mutter 'just like your mother' everytime he had to dry me off when I was little and out puddle hopping like a violent frog." He makes a little sound in his throat, sounds exactly like the bullfrogs Steve used to hear at the lake and a laugh bursts out of him. Eddie's answering, crooked smile, is dazzling. Steve longs to reach out and touch those dimples.

"Wanna see what she used to do to me?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet now, he sounds a bit shy, so Steve leans closer, nods, his eyes glued to Eddie's face.

He doesn't have time to wonder if the shyness was real, or a ruse to get him close, but it didn't matter. Because once he was close, a mischievous glint tinted Eddie's eyes and Steve knew he'd made a mistake.

"She did this." He said around a smirk and shook his head violently side to side. His hair throwing water like a shaking dog. A few wet strands smack Steve in the face and he startles back, or tries too. But he forgets they're on the edge of the pool and his hand misses the ledge as he sways back and then promptly falls into the water.

When he surfaces again Eddie is cackling, holding his hands over his stomach as he looks at Steve. His eyes bright. The water is warm, the rain cold on Steve's shoulders as he stands, forces himself to glare at Eddie, even as a smile tugs at his lip. He stalks toward Eddie, slowed by the drag of the water. Eddie smile drops.

"No no no no no! Steven don't you dare!" He shrieks, but Steve notes, he makes no effort to get away, aside from leaning back a little. Steve grabs Eddie's waist swiftly and tosses him into the water.

He comes up sputtering. Hair flat around his head. He looks like a drowned rat. Or one of the fluffy cats that gets wet and looks miseral and skinny and grumpy. Eddie lifts his hands and then drops them again.

"I said no. I did say no, yeah?" He says, then asks, squinting at Steve through the water from the pool and the water from the rain.

"No yeah, you did. I just didn't listen." Steve shrugs, laughs, falls back into the water and then goes under, opens his eyes and looks at Eddie standing there. He watches him wiggle his toes against the bottom of the pool, it makes him look nervous. So Steve swims forward, gets as close as he can to Eddie, until Eddie backs away a bit, and then he resurfaces. Eddie's hands are held up in front of him.

"Don't splash me." He warns, hands lowering into the water.

"I splash back. That's the only warning you get!" He warns, hands flicking water at Steve, who just smiles.

"We're already wet Eds." He rolls his eyes, snorts when Eddie lowers his hands.

"Oh. Right. Duh." Eddie scoffs, mostly at himself. Steve stands, shakes his head the way Eddie had, throwing water into the boys face. When he opens his eyes and Eddie is flinching, sputtering out water dramatically, dragging a hand down his face.

"Very funny. You're a natural." Eddie says, voice dry. He's got that cute grumpy cat look going again and Steve can't help it. Can't stop himself.

He steps forward. Into Eddie's space. And presses his lips gently against Eddie's. He doesn't kiss back. Just makes a small startled noise in his throat. But he doesn't pull away. Steve does. Thinks maybe he read this all wrong. He opens his eyes and sees how red Eddie is, and knows he didn't misread anything.

"You okay?" He breathes.

"Mhm. What-" Eddie's voice breaks, he clears his throat, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"W-what was that for?" He asks, his eyes locked on the water between them. Steve shrugs.

"Because I wanted to. That alright?" Steve asks, ducking his head to try and get Eddie to look at him. Eddie blinks, hard, and brings his eyes up, meeting Steve's. He nods. Doesn't say anything.

Steve moves, wraps his arm around Eddie's waist and pulls him close. Eddie makes a little high pitched noise in his throat when their chests meet and it drives Steve a little wild. But it also makes him realize what's happening. With Eddie. He's never done this.

"I can show you how. We can go slow." Steve breathes between them, his free hand lifting, dragging his fingertips over Eddie's cheek, touching the scar there gently, trying to convey everything he's been feeling for months into the touch.

Eddie whines, leans into the touch, pressing his cheek into Steve's palm. Snuggling closer like the cat he is. Steve smiles, cradles Eddie's face with his hands. Eddie's hands move to his hips, Steve can feel him trembling.

"I've got you." Steve breathes. Eddie nods, his mouth falling open just so before he surges forward and kisses Steve again. Their second kiss. Eddie's second kiss ever. Steve is so sure.

It starts frantic, Eddie's lips crashing against his. But he immediately loses his confidence and just, stands there, lips pressed to Steve's. Steve almost laughs into, but catches himself, doesn't wanna scare Eddie or hurt him, not now that he's just got him.

So Steve breathes through his nose and moves. Moves his hands to Eddie's hips and holds him steady. Moves his lips gently against Eddie's, slowly, until Eddie gets the memo and follows his lead.

It's clumsy, and awkward, and Eddie's palms are hot on Steve's shoulders where he's holding on for dear life. And it's completely and utterly intoxicating. Steve pulls back first, just a bit, to breathe. Eddie sways, his lips chasing Steve's. Steve catches him around the waist, keeps him still. Smiles at him when he blinks heavily, his eyes opening slowly, to look at Steve.

"Did-" he stops, his cheeks going an impossibly deeper shade of red, nearly matching the scar on his cheek. Steve soothes his thumb over said scar. Widens his eyes, letting Eddie know he's listening.

"Did I do that okay?" He asks, his face scrunching up. Steve nods, pulls Eddie's head down a bit, presses a kiss to his forhead.

"You did it perfect." Steve says, nods. Kisses him again. Soft and sweet.

"Movie?" Steve asks, head resting against Eddie's. Eddie nods, his breathing slowing a bit as Steve holds him, his thumb rubbing small circles into Eddie's hip.

"Yes. Yeah. Movie sounds great." Eddie agrees, nodding. Steve smiles, takes Eddie's hand and leads him up the steps out of the pool, their fingers tangled together as the rain poured around them.

Steve gets them dry clothes, and a pile of blankets. And later, when they're tangled together underneath them, legs and hands entwined, Steve's hand in Eddie's still damp hair.

He glances away from the movie, and out the window, smiling as he watches the rain fall, his chest warm with the feeling of finally having someone to love the rain with. He drifts off, the sound of Eddie's deep, sleeping breaths against his chest, lulling him into a peaceful sleep. And he dreams, of raindrops catching in Eddie's lashes as they dance in the rain, spinning through puddles with mud on their feet and warmth in their hearts.

[vriskaserketdaily]

thoughts on tgirl vriska ? she’s real to me but ur like the #1 vriska enjoyer on my dash so I was wondering what u think

im gonna be real after going into the tag every day for the past 3+ years and seeing every possible take and headcanon my bar is so low that i'm just happy we're in agreement that vriska is a girl

tgirl vriska is a well-supported read of her character, but not the only valid one in my opinion. that being said, if you're a hardcore cis vriska truther, you do yourself a great disservice by ignoring her dysphoric characterization---whether you read that as early-transition transfem dysphoria, lesbian butch dysphoria, alternian caste dysphoria, or any combination of the above.

i do not, however, read her dysphoria as transmasculine in nature, and maintain that vriska's gender (girl/woman) is extremely important in understanding her role in the story, her relationships with other characters, and how the concepts of heroism, protagonism, justice, and strength impact her narrative. a transfem reading does not detract from this, nor does it particularly enhance anything to me, someone who already read vriska as a dysphoric lesbian & therefore already accounted for some form of Gender to be going on regardless of the hypothetical birth-assignment situation.

basically, my personal opinion is that her trans status is a nice garnish but irrelevant to what already is a fascinating, compelling, and well-rounded (dare i say, strong) female character. the fact that she's a female character is more important to me than the fact (or headcanon) that she is a trans character, because i regularly see and cope with the most asinine and blatantly incorrect headcanons and takes about her on this earth. you're asking a man dying of thirst whether a gallon of ice water or a gallon of merely cool water is better.

my bar for sexuality headcanons is likewise on the floor. y'all don't have to agree with me on the lesbian reading but as long as we concur that she's wlw then everything is a-okay by me. my final message 2 da world: never go into the tags of your favorite character.

[woosome]

It's been billion years but I'm on a roll with art again...now with all the OC pose-memes circling around~ Am obsessed drawing my DnD tiefling boi Ink in all his stressed glory~

[4ce-of-2pades-inkwell]

Fanart for @inkwellphasmophobia!!!

I got really inspired by the Phasmophibia AU. Specifically, oddly enough, by the whole mental asylum part in particular. It would be Mugs, wouldn't it? (Seems like no matter what AU, the one consistent thing about him is that he's gonna snap eventually in some way.)

So I did a few sketches, which somehow ended up turning into an entire comic. (I am not going to confess how late I stayed awake working on this.) I didn't feel like taking the time to make a polished version, but I wanted to share it nonetheless, so you're going to have to deal with my messy scribbles and placeholder characters. I don't know how much of this will turn out to be canon, but hopefully it's cool and tragic anyway. (...Does this need trigger warnings?)

(The sketches on the right of this first image aren't panels of the comic, by the way, they're separate drawings. You can tell 'cause they're not in boxes.)

And somehow these two get in an argument:

All this fanart and not a single mention of ghosts.

[ask-cupbros-parents]

Tales from the Past P.2 

...♣️Previous Next♥️...

♠️ First ♦️  

*Please do not repost or trace my artwork!

Cupbros blog |Main blog| Twitter | Patreon

Yeah, you can tell I got a lot of things that inspired me to draw this comic.

[cherrywhite]

YAAAAA BIG WIN FOR POLYAMORY, RELIGIOUS TRAUMA, AND FOUND FAMILIES!!!!!

[leluxiboi]

Man I love how in anticipation of Glorious Masquerade, a bunch of Twst fans on here are making masquerade outfits for their respective Yuus/protags/ocs. They fill me with life.

[thsc-confessions]

"We love the varying headcanons and interpretations in this fandom from a fan prospective!! It can cause some hilarious awkwardness from a fictive perspective though, but that's just an extra charm <3" submitted by @the-starry-inkwell