♥ liked by @tentacleTheconsensualist
( ७Ꮚ⇀ꈊ↼Ꮚ) < Hrrrrm... ᴗദ്ദ🌹(ᴗᏊᄒꈊᄒᏊ)ᴗ< What'dyall reckon is the MOST attractive Spell t'know in passing?
@tentacleTheconsensualist i wwill report back wwith my findins post haste an maybe afterwwards wwe can grab some nutrition slop my felloww fact ferret for science
ivve done it ivve created the perfect damp an squishy cloth replica of a lusus i modeled it after someones wwaspmom (because its uncontested that wwasps are the sexiest shape a beast can be) i pumped full a gaseous noble crystals wwhen i wwas six an noww im about to pump her full a somethin evven better an far richer than your feeble lowwly pans can fathom
The Seer guides the Knight up a fucking wall.
not enough seers guiding bllades anymore. that's how you know the good times are behind us
THANK YOU, ROSE. YOU ARE WELCOME OCTOBER 31ST, OR SOONER. MY DOOR IS ALWAYS OPEN.
I HOPE TO SEE YOU ALL OUT TRICK-OR-TREATING THIS YEAR. I WILL HAVE PLENTY OF STORE-BOUGHT CONFECTIONARY ON HAND, ALONG WITH A FEW HOME MADE SWEETS. ARE 'REESE'S CUPS' STILL THE REIGNING FAVORITE? 21605 FIR DR, MAPLE VALLEY, WASHINGTON.
(◕દ◕^=)< problematic altself knowledge gap #selfgrooming
Hm.
Green.
A welcome presence, how fortuitous.
I had a very strange interaction with another living Rose in the dreambubbles once. She claimed to have achieved her Ultimate Self which obviously I was dubious of to begin with. But she mentioned one thing in particular that I found odd: She called herself a Lesbian. Talked about her universal experiences as a Lesbian. Which, no, I'm sorry, but she can't be. The whole premise of the Ultimate Self, if you believe in that sort of thing, is that you are a cohesive amalgamation of every individual instance of yourself, across all timelines. That you ARE simultaneously all of them. But if she were conclusively a lesbian, then she conclusively could not be me, a proud bisexual. And if she's not me, she cannot be the Ultimate Rose, according to her definition. I tried to point this out to her but alas, she was too busy pontificating on "universal Rose experiences" and some other nonsense.
Parry HER blade~. #Feminism #MaleFeminist
I Am More Comfortable Than Your Feeble Minds Could Possibly Comprehend. If I Were A Bug, I Would Be Snug As If I Were Nestled Beneath A Rug. I Am " Cozymaxing ", As They Say.
Oh, no. Please, do not divert your attention just for my sake. I am finding just as much investment in your literary 8reakdowns as I am in your descriptions of your classpect. I will 8e sure to follow your on going series in excitement, consider me a su8scri8er.
Your description of your classpect is so eloquently put and 8eautifully descri8ed. I found myself hanging off your every word. I do hope you have more discussions of a similar matter planned to 8e released from the investing chasm of your mind.
It's fascinating to see my own prose spat back out at me. Truth be told, I'm out of practice writing like that. Most of my recent endeavors have been propaganda, meant to be understood and acted upon by the masses, unwashed or otherwise. Sharing my Light with the world, I suppose. Note my relatively frequent paragraph breaks, my comparatively plain and direct word choice. Although, in confidence, I wonder if it's just easier to focus on shorter paragraphs after my second or third glass. It's also refreshing to learn that the true Seer of Light, fully realized, has many of the same ideas about our abilities as I do. I cultivate the appearance of a fortune teller - of one who "Sees the future." And it's true that, on rare occasion, I am afforded a "vision." But never* are they any more than glimpses. A still frame, a word. Stage directions orphaned from their scripts. The real trick, the thing that toes the line between parlor trick and genuine magic, is my ability to consolidate these bits of information together. To pull from every source I have, cross-reference, and infer. To make leaps of logic that would seem reckless to those with less intuition about the inner workings of our world. Those who can't see the ninjas. And thus, I appear all-knowing. As for the connection to "fortune," I think my explanation already makes that clear, though perhaps only because I'm talking to another who can read between the lines. "Luck" is, in the ways that really matter, the same as "Probability." "Probability" is calculated based on available information. If more information is available, then probability can be collapsed nearer to a binary truth value, and further broken down into discrete causes and effects. Phil Connors must have seemed very lucky indeed on his hundredth day in Punxsutawney. Good post, Rose. *There are exactly two subjects of which I've been able to see prolonged visions. I will trust that the Light helps you extrapolate who they are.
I. This takes me back, actually? Outer GODS, this takes me back. I am curious how many other, if any, Roses remember this doll. It is a vivid flashbulb memory that deprioritizes all preceding counterparts. I remember owning a Little Miss Nobody Doll. In a fit of self-induced hypnosis...I think I can even recall what transpired. I am staring at a parcel wrapped in faded, slightly yellowed newsprint under the tree. It was not labeled with my name. It was not labeled with any name. It was made out to nobody in particular. Inside is a miniature porcelain doll with hair the texture of chaffed dry grass and eyes painted with a dull, matte glaze that seems to actively deflect light no matter the angle poised overhead, or trajectory with which it is held and flung in horror. When I asked my mother about it, she took a slow sip of her martini, blinked with exaggerated innocence, and asked what I was talking about. She claims she never purchased it. She claims it was simply there the morning of, and she presumed I had gotten it for myself. As recollection serves, the packaging was sitting directly on top of the unpleasantly textured machine-knit improperly gauged swatch cashmere sweater she did buy me. I remember the doll seeming almost. Smug. Looking at me right now from across the room with that vacant, needlepoint-focused smile, pretending she doesn't see the tiny ceramic hands resting on the edge of the rug like a pair of discarded teeth. I was thoroughly profoundly creeped the fuck out. I conducted an inventory of the attic crawlspace the morning after. No boxes matched the newsprint. No receipt existed on the kitchen island, stashed in the middle console of the car, beneath the bronze inlaid vacuum cleaner, hell even the trashcans upturned turned up nothing. My mother doubled down with the discipline of a seasoned federal agent, casually gaslighting, suggesting that I may have "manifested" the object in a fit of holiday-induced somnambulism, and encouraging me to check my credit score. As if I subconsciously yearn for a mass-produced artifact of Victorian despair with a slightly cracked chin. As if I wanted this. It was then that I decided we were both victims of my mother's perpetual neglect and inability to see eye to eye. So. The doll and I did instead. The shellacked, shell-shocked, massive eyes, droopy lips, and unkempt hair became...well. Nightmarish. But life outside of dreams proved no different. And the familiarity became a cold, but no less welcome, comfort. What about you?
Women
I see she's going to get you too.
I have made out with my reflection before. Steamy, panting, drooling makeouts. I highly recommend it! #suggestive
No I just think you're endearing. You think I'm putting myself above you? Really? I'm literally a plushie and also a silly kitty cat. I'm as psychologically diminutive as a grown woman can get without literal age regression. I admit I do find endearment in our contrast though so you're not completely off mark!
Oh Rose I've had plenty of time for my identity to diverge from my constituent parts. Thus the name! That said all three sources you posit *are* present, it's just that I've also grown to be able to view you from an outsider's purrspective. No longer are my feelings about you defined by things that came before me! I have memories and experiences and past interactions to draw upon and make my own conclusion that, yes, you're absolutely adorable when you satirically overanalyze a Dr. Seuss book.
God I'm in love with you.
okay!!! people hear "i grew up alone on an island" and assume i was completely cut off from culture, which is not really true i had computers, books, movies, music, the internet, and WAY too much free time to fall into whatever rabbit hole caught my attention. so yes!!! i knew a bit about filipino culture growing up, even if it was in a very scattered sort of way. obviously that is very different from actually growing up immersed in it, but i still picked up bits of language, food, folklore, history, music, and festivals. i picked up even more post-mortem! this is in spite of being filipina! AND MASSKARA STARTS OCTOBER FIRST!!!! the masks! the dancing! the COLORS!!! then lanzones festival is later in october, which is basically everyone collectively agreeing that a fruit deserves an entire celebration and i support that completely. and then higantes in november has GIANT PAPIER-MÂCHÉ PEOPLE! :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
...hmmm. im getting less comfortable with you saying this dog is me!
huh. i guess thats a fun conclusion to draw? my fursona isnt quite that uncanny but its closer than it could be. are we going to talk about how the pup has a collar in the first two illustrations but not the last one?