We all spend so much time talking about what a rip-roaring asshole that Donald Trump is, that we often overlook this simple fact. Even if Trump was a
nice guy, he’s not qualified to be president. Let’s imagine for a moment
that Trump was not a racist-sexist-foul-mouthed bigot. Even if you took
away all the putrid aspects of his personality and replaced them with
human qualities, he’d still be UNqualified to be President.
This is the horrifying image of French woman Blanche Monnier, after she had been held hostage and locked in a room for 25 years.
Blanche was kept in her mother’s attic after she had fallen in love with a lawyer in the 1800s. Her cruel mother was immediately arrested and died in prison two weeks later. A witness describes the moment police discovered Blanche: “The unfortunate woman was lying completely naked on a rotten straw mattress. All around her was formed a sort of crust made from excrement, fragments of meat, vegetables, fish, and rotten bread.”
How exactly was Blanche discovered? Well, On 23 May 1901, the office of the attorney general of Paris received a mysterious letter from an anonymous sender. The unsigned missive read: ‘Monsieur Attorney General: I have the honor to inform you of an exceptionally serious occurrence. I speak of a spinster who is locked up in Madame Monnier’s house, half starved, and living on a putrid litter for the past twenty-five years – in a word, in her own filth.’ Shocked by the letter, police decided to investigate the estate despite Monnier’s family sterling reputation. A group of officers broke into the house, searched the premises and upstairs noticed a padlocked door. When they removed the lock, a horrifying smell filled their noses. To their surprise, an extremely malnourished woman cowering on the bed, covered in food and feces, was squinting through the light she had not seen in 25 years. Blanche Monnier, now weighing just 55 pounds had been kept prisoner for a quarter of a century. She had not seen the light or another human being during that time.
There’s no arguing anymore. America hates women. America was willing to vote for that putrid, rotting pumpkin who has molested women, made fun of the fucking disabled, and acted like a petulant child during his campaign over an actual politician because she was a woman. And don’t you emails this and lying that, because then you’re saying “I think a politician lying is worse than a man who doesn’t respect women”.
Just some of the putrid, horrific replies Briana is getting for sharing that Freddie took his first steps today. Including one that says they wished Tammi had died instead of Jay. And that they hope Freddie will die.
An 11 month old. They wish an 11 month old would die because they believe that two men are in love and can’t come out. They wish death on a child because of a fantasy.
I can’t even be mad. I’m just full of pity for that person’s life.
For everyone who knows how to actually show respect to a content creator, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s absolutely unfortunate how everything went down and I know people love Flowerfell. I know I do. Flowerfell was my world for nearly a year and I’m very close to the situation at hand. Sanei is my best friend. Hell anything Sanei creates is so beautiful and inspiring to me I would do anything for them. Sanei is an adorable dipshit memer and I can’t imagine life without them.
To those who took down their blogs, stopped roleplaying, took down their stories and changed their cosplay plans out of pure respect. Thank you, you are absolutely golden people. The outpouring of love from the good people is so beautiful and light and warms my weary SOUL. I am sorry it came to this and your work was probably great, this is a very classic case of a few putrid, rotten apples spoiling the bunch. Blame the rotten apples not the tree. I know I read some pretty neat things from fans for babyhell especially and I cherish that. Shit I was always impressed by the cosplayers. It sucks what happened and I can only hope one day you guys get the story that you want to see.
To the fan artists: Keep on keeping on. I will always reblog you and show you love.
There is a thing that often happens with popular things and it’s called ‘Fan Entitlement’. It’s disgusting. A content creator does not owe you a single fucking thing. You are not owed the ending to a story you do not deserve the ending to a story in exchange for your support. It. Is. Not. Yours. People who feel entitled have stripped all the joy out of a human being, a once vibrant creator, for a time, turned a dull grey. This person means the world to me and to watch this happen broke my heart to pieces. I had to watch someone I loved grow distrust for their fanbase and near hatred for something they bore and once loved so dearly.
So I took to the offensive. Asking for people to take things down nearly every day, often acting on my own while still following Sanei’s wishes. I became cruel and awful because I was met with resistance that I will never understand, a complete reluctance to do the right thing. It never occurs to me to not respect the wishes of someone who creates stuff for people for free on their own time. Sanei wasn’t getting paid for this, Levi didn’t get paid to write Overgrowth and I sure as fuck didn’t get paid to write Unexpected or any of the NSFW and SFW stuff I wrote for Flowerfell. This was all because we believed in the stories we were telling and wanted to share it with the world.
I realize now that some people are purely and irredeemably stupid.
To the blogs, the kin, the art and writing theives, the twitter accounts and the (always awful) writers who decided to continue what they are doing out of pure hate and spite and rubbing it in the face of the person who created what you are so greedily clinging to. Your entitlement and sick and twisted ideas that these characters are your personality is what fucking ruined this.
I will never wish death on another person, I am better than that. However, I hope you feel a hurt and misfortune that will echo throughout your life until you rest miserably on your deathbed, alone. You are scum and I will never respect you as a human being because you refuse to act like one. I will continue to do all in my power to make your life miserable because I hate you. It is well known that I have an endless capacity for love, but I can hate too. I hate how stupid and petty and childish you are. While yes, there is no legal action that can be done, those who point that out are a special breed of stupid because duh. We’re appealing to the humanity in you to take it down. We’re not trolls, you are, ugly and disgusting beasts with no sense of good. With the petty shit I’ve been seeing in the tag, lord I could vomit.
As someone who knows how it begins and how it ends. You fucked up on seeing a beautiful story unfold. Reevaluate yourselves and maybe you will get it in the future.
On the topic of “talking animal” verses, the closest thing I’ve gotten to one that wasn’t just cartoon talking animals was this idea I had where the K-PT extinction didn’t happen and several species evolved human-like intelligence. Including:
-A species of Dromaeosaurids that are highly neotic, as well as mostly featherless with grasping hands. Looked far more like a fat plucked chicken then a JP raptor. Only 4 feet tall but considers themselves the “dominant species”.
- Oviraptids that through convergent evolution also evolved to look like plucked poultry with hands. Their society is highly patriarchical, and there is a strong degree of sexual dimorphism, males covered in waddles and warts with colourful faces, as well as being a foot taller. ALSO consister themselves the “dominant species”
- A race of scavenging vulture-like Dromaeosaurids (maybe) that might be related to the first species. Strict carnivores with a taste for putrid meat, considered repulsive by other species, often ending up with shitty jobs and living on the outskirts of multi species settlements.
- A species that is 100% an actual bird. Resemble corvids, but with more dexterous feet. Nearly no sexual dimorphism, sex is so taboo in their current culture that they don’t even use gender in their language, even mentioning your physical sex is considered highly inappropriate, something you would only share with your doctor or partner.
- There are a few other dinosaur species, but there is one single race of sapient mammals. Vaguely looking like a possum, considered alien and strange by other species who have a hard time understanding their body language and behaviour. Like mammals in general they are considered “primitive”
By the time Jeffrey Dahmer was 27 years old, his father began to become suspicious of his activities. Dahmer’s grandmother Catherine often complained about the putrid smells coming from the basement, but the killer would alleviate any of her suspicions by making up excuses, claiming that it was the smell of spoiled food or a litter box. Catherine soon grew wary of these excuses which caused Dahmer’s father to take initiative and check the basement himself. He was met with the nauseating smell of decay and soon noticed a thick, dark, and sticky liquid covering the basement floor. Its stench resembled a combination of organic materials and chemicals. When faced by his father, Dahmer yet again brushed it off, claiming that he was merely carrying out similar experiments to the ones he had done on dead animals as a child (which involved dissolving their flesh and muscle to the bone), and that the liquid on the floor was residue left behind from them. Lionel accepted this, but still had a slight suspicion that his son was up to no good.
(When you can’t sleep, you write caryl season finale drabbles)
He began to wonder if she was just a dream. Some fever-fuelled wish fulfilment. Maybe he was still in that putrid cell. Maybe he’d never left, never found her again and all of this was a hallucination. Maybe Negan had brought Lucille down so hard on his head he’d died instantly and this was his heaven - Carol riding to his rescue, looking like some Greek warrior goddess.
But no, they’d touched. It was fleeting and awkward with her body armour in the way, but once the Saviors had fled she’d rushed to him and pulled him into a quick hug. It only lasted a second before she was gone again, running after Rick to check on Michonne. He’d been pulled in the opposite direction by a Savior who had turned and grabbed at Scott’s leg as they rounded up the bodies.
Now the smoke had settled, and he and Aaron had just dragged the last body onto the pile for burning. He’d walked away as Gabriel lit the pyre and the all too familiar smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The smoke followed him as he walked towards the house. Rick’s house. Their house. Her house. He didn’t know anymore, he just knew it felt like home to him. Though less so without her.
When he’d walked into that house where she’d hidden away, the word home had wafted up his nostrils with the smell of her cooking, and wrapped around his heart with the sight of her book on the table. But he’d left it because she wasn’t ready for it to be “home” for him. She’d let him in, but her eye had always been on her watch and her hand on the door.
He bumped into Carl who was rushing to pick up some supplies for the infirmary. He updated Daryl on Michonne’s status before vanishing again into the distance.
The smoke from the pyre was caught up in a wind that whirled round him and blinded his view for a moment. When it cleared he saw her, sitting on the steps slowly peeling the armour from her arms.
She looked up and greeted him with a small smile that shot through him. She was real.
“Carl says Michonne is doing good. It’s mostly swelling, no lasting damage,” he said as he sat down next to her, his hip pressing against hers, giving a solidity to her existence.
“That’s good, I’m glad,” Carol nodded, continuing to focus on the fastenings on her armour.
“Where’s Ezekiel?” He tried to sound casual. It didn’t matter to him, he was just asking, nothing in it.
Carol looked up the sidewalk into the distance as if she could see him. “Looking for someplace that’ll be fit for a King and tiger to spend the night, I think.”
There was a humour in her voice he’d missed. He guessed he had done that for her. The jealousy ran cold water through his veins but he fought it like he’d fought so much else recently.
Yet, he couldn’t help asking.
“You’ll be heading back with him in the morning?”
“I dunno…” The humour was gone in her answer.
Suddenly he hated himself for asking. Don’t ask the question if you can’t stand to hear the answer, idiot.
The silence between them grew, as she looked down at her hands then began to peel off the fingerless gloves that were covered in Savior blood. They hadn’t lost anyone this time, it had been a miracle. She was a miracle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She broke the silence, and balled her gloves together, turning them over and over in her hands.
“Couldn’t.” He knew this would come up, knew she’d find out eventually, he’d just wanted to hold it off as long as possible. “When I saw how you was… how you didn’t want to kill no more. I knew what you’d do… knew you’d do this… And i didn’t want you to. Not until you was ready. Not unless it didn’t hurt you more.
"It didn’t,” she said quietly, and ripped at the velcro holding her breast plate secure at her side.
“No?… no…” He knew why, had thought that back at that house. It was just a matter of time, he could tell the way Ezekiel spoke about her - the same way he wanted to speak about her but his stupid brain wouldn’t let him. “Guess Ezekiel helped you.”
“He did… some… a pomegranate helped too.” There was the humour again, she was smiling - he could hear it. He wanted to look at her but knowing it was someone else making her smile like that just hurt too much.
It sounded like a private joke, something only she and he shared. He thought of “Nine lives” and “Gotta be”, and yearned to hear her say “pookie”. But it was too late. He’d been a fool too long. Too little too late. Always his problem.
“Oh, looks like Ezekiel may have found a candidate for his queen!” Carol said.
Daryl looked up and saw she was looking off into the distance, where Ezekiel had emerged from one of the houses, with Shiva and Carrie by his side. The red-head tossed her hair, looking for all the world like a tiger on the prowl. She placed a hand on Ezekiel’s arm, but pulled it back quickly when Shiva turned her head to her. Still, she kept pace with the King and his pet as he gesticulated at the world around him, pontificating about something or other as they vanished round the corner.
Carol was still watching the spot where they had been, as Daryl wrestled with the whirling thoughts in his mind.
“Queen, so… that’s not you then?”
Her head whipped round as his question and she broke into a bemused grin.
“Queen? Me? You mean Ezekiel’s queen? Haha no, I don’t think the throne is a good fit.” She chuckled as she spoke, looking Daryl up and down in a way he found utterly confusing, but which made the colour in his cheeks rise.
He felt foolish for assuming, but there was something else too that was pushing its way to the surface.
“I thought… he helped you… you and him… the house…” Words fell out of his mouth before he could string a coherent thought together.
She shook her head no and continued to smile at him for a moment before turning her head away again.
Daryl looked at the asphalt below his feet and wished it would open up and swallow him.
He felt her move beside him and realised she’d ducked to pull the breast plate over her head, and she let it clatter to the ground. She sat up straight and took a deep breath as though the armour had been a corset, preventing her flling her lungs as she’d like.
“Glenn and Maggie,” she said out of nowhere. “You know, they never let any of this change them. They never let it touch what they had together. It didn’t matter to them at all that they could be ripped apart any minute. It didn’t stop them being who they were, being together. Their love for each other made it all worth it. It was what they were fighting for… The good makes the bad worth it, if you let it.”
“That what he taught you? Or was that the pomegranate?” he asked, trying to keep the tone light.
She gave a small laugh again.
“That was the pomegranate, mostly.”
The silence fell on them again. Daryl tried to take stock of the conversation so far, but his brain faltered and all he could focus on was her smile when she shook her head no. She wasn’t Ezekiel’s queen…
“But you will be going back to that house? To the Kingdom?” he broached the topic again, prepared this time to deal with whatever answer came. If she left, he wanted to know where to find her. And he would find her.
“That depends…” she paused and rubbed her fingers between the armour plate on her knee and her jeans. “On you.”
He could feel she was looking at him, but suddenly he was terrified to lift his head. He kept his eyes glued to the spot her fingers had been, staring intently at the worn denim, the splash of blood and the black kevlar. They all seemed to lose context and became three colours dancing in front of his eyes.
Before he knew it the colours were replaced with blue as he looked up and met her eyes.
So many questions formed in his mind but fell to the ground before they reached his lips.
She got there first.
Closing the distance, her look softening as she neared before her eyes slid closed and she pressed her lips to his. Softly. Gently. For a moment. Maybe two. Three. And then they were gone as she pulled back and looked at him, a teasing smile playing on her reddened lips. She looked like Becky Reilly had done that day in 3th grade when she’d stolen a kiss from him and given him her chocolate kiss in exchange.
Only then was he aware of her hand on his cheek, as it slowly slid down. Instantly he missed it’s warmth and wanted it back.
Her smile turned serious. “I’m sorry for sending you away, for leaving, for not letting you in. I’m sorry for not telling you it’s you. You’re what I’m fighting for.”
She looked bashful again, embarrassed by her own words. Words that were the most beautiful Daryl had ever heard. Words that he wanted to match but didn’t know how. The touch of her lips had stolen them all. There was only one way to get them back.
He leaned forward quicker then he intended and crushed his lips against hers, holding onto her arms for support. In a moment she parted her lips and brought them together again against his, and his body turned to water. His grip loosened, his body sagged and it was all he could do to keep breathing.
He didn’t know how long that kiss lasted. It could have been a few seconds or a few decades.
When he pulled back her cheeks were flushed and she reached up to brush the hair from his face before cupping his cheek.
“You. It’s always been you,” he finally returned, before she kissed him again and stole all his words.