Reblogs all the way down

Since 2017, I have only done stuff that I thought was interesting or useful regardless of whether it pays, because we have more than enough money, and despite what billionaires might tell you, there is literally no difference between "more than enough" and "much more than enough."

So I no longer work for money. But in retirement one must keep busy, which is why I have taken on an unpaid gig as the social media intern for a coffee and tea business that donates 100% of its profit to charity.

Remember when Lil Nas X beautifully explored his sexuality, seduced and killed the devil to the banger of all time, and instead of cheering on this openly gay and proud Black artist for his artistry and fighting back against respectability politics, suddenly said respectability politics was all the Queerest Place on the Internet cared about? Hm. Wonder what happened there.

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated for the last time! Read it here for as low as $2/month on my Patreon or here for free on ao3! Here is a guide to get you started, the summaries of each part of the story thus far, the complete collected text, and FAQ, all in one place. There is also a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

✨Read the update on my patreon or ao3

✨ Excerpt below the cut.

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated for the last time! Read it here for as low as $2/month on my Patreon or here for free on ao3! Here is a guide to get you started, the summaries of each part of the story thus far, the complete collected text, and FAQ, all in one place. There is also a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

✨Read the update on my patreon or ao3

✨ Excerpt below the cut.

Harpies who can't write or type or open most containers with their wings. Werewolves who worry about hurting someone if they get overstimulated at the wrong time. Minotaurs with digestive systems and metabolisms which require grazing throughout the day, not the three big meals humans are used to.

Lamias who have to stay home in the evenings and during cold months to stay warm, otherwise their muscles stop working right and they get stranded. And they're sick of their human friends suggesting they get some kind of tail sweater. It wouldn't help, the problem is that their body doesn't produce enough heat to begin with, and anyways a tail garment would get in the way of their rectilinear locomotion, and there's no way a sweater would survive being walked on in the first place. It feels like they don't actually care about you being stuck at home whenever they go out, they just want to feel like it's not their fault they never see you.

there's a lot of grievance i have over monster girl design philosophy/exploration and this is one of them. i feel like another grievance i have toward monster girl designs is that the human dimorphism far outweighs + undermines monster girl part. the monster part is an afterthought (girl with dog ears and tail AT BEST).

harpies can be explored greatly based on whatever bird they're designed off of. lammergier girls who break jars in their talons by dropping them from great height since they don't possess thumbs. werewolf girlies who are debilitated by the sound of the vacuum cleaner. or monster girls who can 'recognize' their partners and peers by smell, but not faces.

He returns one night to his humble apartment, which is known to have vermin, and comes across a rat, which he could easily kill or set loose on the street.

But the rat- it is special. It seems to speak to him. Promises him every little thing he desires- talent, fame, and fortune. Recognition and esteem like he has only ever seen from afar; fine company like the wealthy men and women whose scraps he picks at over the sink.

Put me on your head, the rat says. Put me on your head and think of nothing.

It is strange at first, yes. Strange to feel another take control of his life and live it better than he ever could. To see miraculous things created with his own two hands, to feel his feet move in graceful and fantastic ways with a confidence he has never had.

But the rat delivers as he had promised: he receives promotions, notoriety, admiration. He is noticed. Envied. Every day is a waking dream, rubbing elbows with beautiful women and handsome men and influential personalities who lavish him with praise. It is addictive, this lifestyle- never mind that he is only ever truly conscious of it as a passenger of in own brain.

It is when he has reached heights few can ever conceive, with all that the rat had ever promised- a beautiful wife in a beautiful house with all the world in his palm, in possession of all the wealth and success a man could ever want, that the rat says that it is leaving.

Leaving? The rat cannot leave. Everything he is, the rat has provided.

"I have delivered on our bargain", the rat says. "I have brought to you all that you have ever dreamed. What more could you desire? I must live my own life, now."

The man is furious. He is terrified. He destroys the rat, in all of the ways that a rat can be destroyed, until nothing is left of it but a fine smear of marinara sauce.

He returns to the restaurant the next day moving like the shell of something hollowed-out and brittle. He cooks well- his fingers remember the movements, his eyes recognize the patterns, his mouth knows without his asking what orders to speak and what platitudes make patrons smile pleasantly with their straight white teeth.

He retains the talents of the rat. The charm of the rat. All the worldly pleasures the rat had provided him.

Still, it seems, he is little more than a vessel for the talents of the rat.

But the rat is gone.

How to spring-load your bow!