He's a used car salesman. He has a heart of gold. He can't parallel park. He has two gay witch italian dads. He chops the wood. He has a magical talking cat mom. He's an assassin. He isn't an assassin. He's actually the cat from earlier. He's trans (female cat to male human). He's been shot through the heart. He was in Dewar. He was not in the war. He was in Dewar. He's on his last of nine lives. He just had a marble shoved down his throat. He's even bisexual. I didn't say his name, but he popped into your head, didn't he?
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happy wednesday pissf****ts
thank you to @sameen-shawv for finding the original artists, apologies for not including them
1. @krippe90
2. @maxkennedy24
3. @/EyebrowScar on reddit
4. @/Adorno_a_window on reddit
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Asmo's wake-up call
You sensed that were you were not alone and gradually stirred from your sleep. Upon turning over and opening your eyes, an ethereal sight greeted you.
Asmodeus. Head resting on his arms, he leaned against the side of your bed like a fairy tale royal. His skin looked smooth and glistening. His eyes were as clear as an untouched tropical sea. Not a single hair was out of place. Artists would go to battle to acquire a muse even half as wonderful.
Your eyes felt crusty. Even half-closed, the light (or maybe just Asmodeus) was too bright and forced you to squint. Your limbs were inelegantly splayed out across the bed, with a sheet corner tangled around your ankle. There was a spot of dried drool at the corner of your mouth.
"What." That was all you could muster to say. What time was it? What was he doing there? What was going on? It was the prelude to many questions on your mind.
"Oh, you're awake? Good morning, sleepy head!" Asmodeus beamed at you, showing off flawlessly white teeth. Every tooth was perfect. You stared while waiting for your brain to turn on.
"I wanted us to hang out today," he continued, "so I came to see what you were doing. Sleeping in! It was sooo cute. Even now, look at you!"
You felt like a rotten moss-covered log in the forest out back. Asmodeus raised his D.D.D. and started snapping away, preserving the moment for eternity in images. That was a more alarming wake-up call.
Your brain urged its cells to move faster with a spike of adrenaline. Your hand lunged at Asmodeus' arm, grabbing his wrist, trying to sit your body upright. It was always so startling how soft his skin felt. Today's fragrance was something fruity. "What are you doing...?" you managed to say.
Asmodeus grabbed your hand back with delight. "So affectionate in the morning! I love it. I want to make sure I capture all of these adorable moments." You heard more shutter sounds, a whole burst of them.
Nope. Not while you looked like a spoiled potato in bed. This meant war.
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On the idea of Theseus's Ship: in the end, it's still his, isn't it?
It was known as Theseus's, and it will continue to be known as Theseus's.
Even after he has returned to the ground which grew the wood of the hammer used to nail the ship's frame,
Even after generations of new wood have rotted and the sails are rags clinging to threads,
Even after millennia,
it will still be Theseus's Ship.
Thank you for bringing us home.
Goodnight, Phosphophyllite.
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