The Trophy Cleaner

A blog for my fandoms and anything I find funny or important

[memeuplift]

[thetrophycleaner]

.

[criticalrolo]

losing my mind at this amazing story from r/dndmemes some people’s dnd adventures are just. So Fucking Cool

here’s the link and the story, it’s Amazing

[rongzhi]

English added by me :)

[komatsunana]

I don't know about you Devi but my OTP is Nana x Hachi, I totally agree what you wrote in your posts, there is clearly something going on and you have to be blind not to notice. Sure, they have problems and need to work on them but no matter the situation, their constants are each other and I can't even imagine how Nana would react if something happened to Hachi...

Same tho. 

It’s not even that you have to be blind or anything to not notice, you kind of have to be willfully ignoring the entire story. This is their story, from the beginning. I know a lot of the surprise in the manga in the first reading is how it really doesn’t follow usual patterns of shoujo with Hachi and Shouji breaking up early on and both of them moving on. It follows more like a josei manga……. except it isn’t. It’s shoujo, printed in a shoujo magazine. It’s just that from the beginning, it’s been Nana and Hachi, two girls. It’s always been Nana and Hachi, with a fateful meet-cute, them monologuing to themselves in the future about how much they miss each other, want to be by each other’s side, how sorry they are, they just hope the other is happy even if they can’t be with her.

This is their love story, even if it ends up as gals being pals, as platonic soulmates. It’s their love story with each other and has always been and that is no small thing.

Like, they’ve definitely got a lot of problems like you said but then I think you can count on one hand the number of major relationships in NANA that don’t have problems. But this has always been their story about them, together or them separated but still thinking of each other. All of the boys have always just been supporting characters and have never been the heroes of the story, or of the girls.

But yes. Nana/Hachi is my OTP too. :)

[pacey-grey]

I made a baby blanket for a pregnant woman at work and I went back and forth about it like “is this weird? To like hand make something for someone when we’re like friendly acquaintances not like bffs. God why are you so fucking awkward.” Anyway I gave it to her and she said she loved it and in the back of my head I’m like yea she’s nice and probably just humoring the weirdo. Well she texted me a picture this weekend of a scrunchy faced newborn at the hospital wrapped in the blanket I made her. And I’m like. Wow. She loved it so much she took it with her! To the hospital! To give birth! She wrapped her newborn it! I am just so filled with love and joy right now.

People will love the things you make them. Because you thought of them and you cared.

[tundrakatiebean]

I made a quilt for one of my college professors once. He and his wife had some trouble with the pregnancy and she was on bed rest for a while. He’d mentioned it to us because he might have to leave in the middle of class if something drastic happened. Nothing did happen in the end, but I knew this was a big deal for them so I made a quilt. The first real one I’d ever made.

It was an bilingual alphabet quilt. Both the dad and mom spoke Japanese and that was a big part of their lives so I made a quilt with the English alphabet and a hand embroidered picture of something that matched the letter with both the English and Japanese word for it. I appliquéd the letters and designed all the embroideries myself. It was a lot of work but when I found my professor to give it to him he almost cried when I showed him. They sent me a picture of the baby on the quilt that I still have even though the baby is I think 12 now. For a while they had it hung on the kid’s bedroom wall and they said he would bow to it in the morning to show his gratitude and respect for the work put into it.

If you think someone is worth making something for you should do it! It’s an act of love and care in a world that is so often bereft of it.

[deerinspotlight]

I feel like the reason certain dog-lovers insist cats are evil is because they read their body language as if they were dogs. So here’s a very basic guide to common “mean” things cats do that actually aren’t mean at all if you know what they’re thinking.

Rolling and exposing belly- attacks you when touched Does not mean: Give belly rubs! - haha I tricked you!  Actually means: I’m playful! If you reach for my belly I’ll grab your arm and bite it because I think we’re playfighting! 

Lazily exposing belly - still attacks when touched Does not mean: tricked you again! Actually means: I’m showing you my belly because I trust you. Please don’t break that trust by invading my personal space. I might accept a belly rub if I’m not ticklish and I know you well. Snapping at you while being pet Does not mean: I suddenly decided I dislike you! Actually means: You’re petting me in a way that gives me too much restless energy. Please focus on petting my head and shoulders instead of stroking the full length of my back next time.

Is in the same room but makes no attempt to interact Does not mean:  I’m ignoring you Actually means: We’re hanging out! I’m being respectful by giving you space while still enjoying your company. Slapping/scratching your hand when you try to pet them Does not mean: I hate you! Actually means: You’ve failed to establish that we’re not playing, or the way you’re approaching me scares me. Be calmer, speak more gently, make eye-contact and blink slowly at me before you try again.

[squeakykins]

I love this post omg, thank you so much. As a lifelong cat person, dogs perplex me because they’re so completely different behaviourally.

[blome3kissesbitch]

I love dogs too but, I’ve been trying to tell people, you canNOT treat cats like you treat dogs. They arent the same animals and have very different personalities

[blome3kissesbitch]

P.s.: people often pet cats way too hard. Dogs like a firm pet or a pat on the belly, cats dont have the same bone structure and are more flexible than dogs so what you’re doing probably hurts them

[naamahdarling]

Sitting and staring Does not mean: I am challenging you/plotting your demise/just generally evil and creepy. Actually means: I am a desert-adapted species, so my natural tears are very thick and keep my eyes moist for a nice long time. I do find people interesting and enjoy watching them.  I just don’t need to blink very often!

Staring and blinking slowly Does not mean: I’m smug and think I am smarter than you. Actually means: I like you! But I don’t need to get up in your face to show it.  I can just sit over here and blow kisses at you to show you I am glad you are around!

It’s very frustrating for me when people expect cats to act like dogs, or act like they’re deceitful.  They aren’t!  They just AREN’T DOGS.

[radfemblack]

Pour les chats 🐈💞

[meii-deactivated20220422]

Get ready for “more reasons why I fucking love cats”

Yes, the legends are true. Cats headbutt you to show their trust and affection. They also do it to show “hey look I see you as family.” Lions do it with members of their pride to say the same. It’s not just because they want food.

Cats nibbling is indeed literally cats grooming you. It’s what mom cats do to their kittens. If a cat is gently biting and/or licking you, they’re now your mom.

Meowing can simply be for the mere fact they want to say hello, want to play or be pet. Again, not just for food.

They barely meow at other cats (except for kittens, they meow at mom cat), mostly just humans. There are exceptions but overall, meowing is almost always for us.

Cats squinting/slow blinking is indeed basically the equivalent of us smiling and/or kissing.

Cats, like humans, prefer to get things without having to work for it- which isn’t very common within other animals.

Cat massages or making biscuits is because they happy! Kneading is another way of saying “hey I like this moment here I enjoy you and my life.”

Cats recognize us by smell, sound, taste, and touch. They recognize us after years as their long term memory is extremely good. This is why abused or neglected cats are so easily scared or hard to connect with. If your scent changes over the years or just in the day, your voice will them it’s really you. Also, they will only remember you if you had impact on their life. If you just existed in the same house, they obviously won’t care.

And yes, they know our patterns in the day. You notice it when it’s beneficial to them (feeding time!). They will often wait for you to come home as well.

To remember: cats think we are interesting as hell. They watch us do everything because we’re fascinating!!!

They also want you to be around when eating because they feel vulnerable. They focus on eating so they hope you protect them. They do the same for you, all the time.

[sapphire-rosa]

CATS 😍😍😍😍

[jumpingjacktrash]

when a cat turns their back on you, they’re not snubbing you. they’re trusting you to watch their back.

notice how when you’re unfamiliar but nonthreatening, they might loaf facing you and sorta halfway watch you. you’re not fully trusted, but you’re ok by them.

when you’re familiar and liked, they’ll often sit near you facing the same way. imitation of poses is a weird little way cats show solidarity. they do it to each other too. check out these bff’s:

they are doing this on purpose. it’s a buddy thing. so if you’re watching tv and a cat sits next to you and pretends to watch tv too, they are basically calling you bro and declaring friendship.

and if they really love and trust you, they’ll turn their back on you and go to sleep. they’ll sleep facing a wall in your presence, or lounge where they can’t see the room. this isn’t a snub, folks, this is true kitty love. they’re saying, “i feel safe when you’re around. i know nothing’s going to sneak up on me, because you’re here. i feel so safe i can stick my head under a pillow and snore with my butt pointed at you.”

farts aren’t an expression of love, though, as far as i know. they’re just farts.

[fullofowls]

Not mentioned but still relevant: Wagging tail–does not mean happy, means lots of restless energy/agitated

[time-travel-toke-up]

Fun fact: because I treat ALL animals like tiny intelligent toddlers with logic and *A* common sense that just doesn’t glock yours because SPECIES barrier and a distinct lack of thumbs…

I consider any pets in a house just as much a resident to be respected as the humans because I am the guest and bitch THEY LIVE THERE.

So, because I taught pre k. And consider most pet animals to just be Adult Human Logic Impaired Thumbless Toddler Equivalents… I TALK to them like my students…

*MEOW* yes? What is it? *MEEEEEEOOOOOOOW* I don’t understand that tone can you show me?

And i follow them.

And I know a lot of “cat people” who DON’T speak cat, but they appreciate their animal. So I just give them the fun fact of what something means when they comment on a behavior they think is cute or weird they encourage simply because it is cute and they were told it was not harmful.

And my FAVORITE is when big quiet men who spoil their cats learn that their fluffy baby walking in to sit next to them playing a game, and keeping eyes on the door their human is not paying attention to is their cat’s way of saying “I got eyes on the door bro. You good to keep playing.”

There is nothing better than hearing “OH you watching the door for me, buddy? Hell yeah, thanks. After this round, we breaking out the nip!” And a responding meow after watching a man cry real tears at some point cuz I informed him that sleeping in the corner meant his cat was deeply trusted him and waking up to the cat sitting in his pillow watching the door was the guard duty while he slept. The cutest shit is telling cat people “yes, they love you JUST as much as you think they do… and maybe a lil more than you could ever imagine.”

[bisexualbaker]

[Image: A calico and a medium-hair brown tabby are curled up on a blanket next to each other; their poses are practically identical.]

[catchymemes]

[kemokemono]

アローラロコンとヒスイゾロア

[wellwaterhysteria]

a very quick poem i just wrote, made from excerpts of texts my mum has sent me this year.

[wellwaterhysteria]

HELLO???

[libraford]

Every year, when planning my cookie-a-thon, I ask a coworker what their favorite cookie is to see if I can add it to the repertoire. And I'm always expecting something new and trendy that might be a little overcomplicated to look good on pinterest or something.

It's always snickerdoodles. It's always molasses cookies. Chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, gingersnaps.

I think there's something very human about the nostalgia of a classic cookie recipe.

Last year, my cookie victim did have a recipe I'd never done before, but I knew the process of it. It was date-nut pinwheels. So I made them for the office holiday party.

She takes a few off the platter and starts crying. She tells me that date-nut pinwheels were her dad's favorite. She lost both her parents this past year to various illnesses and this brought them back for a few minutes.

Great. Now I'm crying.

A lot of you know that I lost my grandma this year. I'm never going to be as good at chocolate chip cookies as she was, but damn if I wont try.

[inkskinned]

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.

[magnetothemagnificent]

Why I don’t say “dead name.”

I was born premature, and my parents’ first child. I was a “surprise” as they say, but they still very much were happy to have me, as they were planning on starting a family, just not so soon.

They put a lot of thought into my name, or rather, my names.

I am named after my great-great-grandmother, whose name began with “E” in English and “א” in Hebrew.

I am named after my great-grandfather, whose initials were “E M” in English and “א מ” in Hebrew.

A few days after I was born, I lost consciousness, and was in the NICU for days. My father, in my naming ceremony in the hospital’s chapel, breathlessly added a third name, the Hebrew word for “is alive”, which begins with “C” in English and “ח” in Hebrew.

The English translation of my given name is roughly “Hidden Living Rebellion”, which I embodied well.

My name now is Eitan Meshullam Chai. I kept the initials, both in Hebrew and in English. Its English translation is “Strong, Complete, Alive.” I embody that meaning well today. I am strong, I am complete, and I am alive.

My given name is not bad, I have no reason to kill it. Is “Yaakov” dead to “Yisrael” just because he was renamed? Is “Sarai” dead to “Sarah” just because she was renamed? No. “Yaakov” and “Sarai” were different people that changed when they became “Yisrael” and “Sarah”, but “Yaakov” and “Sarai” were never dead. Just transformed.

I accomplished many things under my former names. I was a creative, intelligent little girl, and yes, I was a girl, though I grew into a man. I wasn’t a little boy, I was never treated as such and didn’t embody the role of a boy. I was a girl, and now I am a man. But the little girl isn’t dead. She lives within me, as all my past selves do.

My given names were gifts. It’s said that parents are given a hint of prophecy when they name their child. My parents named we well. I was hidden, I did rebell, and I’m still alive. I wouldn’t kill a prophecy they made.

Is a seed dead just because it grew into a flower? Is an egg dead just because it hatched?

My past names are not my “dead names”. They are my given names, and now, I have my new names, my chosen names, chosen with the same gift of prophecy as my parents’ had.

My past self is not dead. It is merely transformed, transitioned, you may say.

[webscene-remade]

My mom still has a dozen roses that my dad gave her over 20 years ago. She keeps the wilted, brittle petals in a glass jar. They look like they would crunch like dead leaves under a shoe. But I guess they are just dead leaves.

The divorce was nearly a decade ago. In a few years she will have had the roses for an equal amount of time while together and while separated. She says she doesn’t know why she can’t get rid of the roses. She asks me if she should. I shrug, then say no, but I don’t know why.

These days I find myself being more earnest and uselessly sincere than I have ever been. And still I lie when asked how I am doing. This – for once – is not an issue of vulnerability, but rather one of politeness, and convenience. Sympathies take time. And I do not find myself interested in them anyway.

I was left about two years ago now. I’ve filled my time – but I still feel the phantom weight of stagnation. Maybe because I haven’t felt distinct since then. In the time before I remember that it was cool in the early morning. I remember that the boundary of my body felt discrete from the boundary of the world. I remember that I felt less like an open wound.

There’s a town in Alaska that sticks out into the water on a spit. It’s a tourist trap in the summer, but the winter leaves no more than a handful of people. Seals and bald eagles fill up empty space. I’d throw half-frozen chunks of fish into the air and watch as the birds swooped down and snapped their beaks closed.

There are a lot of things that I should’ve done differently. I used to fantasize about starting my life over knowing everything I know now. It was an engaging and unique way to experience regret.

My mouth tastes wrong. My dog is barking in her sleep. She does it with her mouth closed, and they come out like little yelps. Sometimes she startles herself awake with her own closed-mouth barks.

My hair is soft when I run my hand through it – I linger at the nape of my own neck, where the hair is thin and the skin is also. My neck cracks when I turn my head a fraction of a degree. I do not see anything when I close my eyes other than crisscrossing strips of light.

It’s cold – I know that much. My fingers feel it, my nose feels it. Despite the cold, I feel myself beginning to sweat.

I feel spring-loaded, like my insides have been twisted into a coil. I want someone’s fingers at the point where the hair and the skin is thin. And more than most things, I miss feeling solid.

Back then I wanted everyone to know, for some reason, that I had a right to be hurting as much as I was hurting. Like, look at what she did! She did things that would reasonably hurt someone! So it’s okay that I am so upset by this. It wasn’t enough for me to feel the hurt; I had to be justified in feeling it, too.

And then last night my mom caught me in the middle of tears. She didn’t scold me. She rubbed my back and ran her fingers through my hair and tried to convince me that I have the capacity to make a difference in my line of work, however obscure the difference may be. And that’s the word she used: obscure.

Too much time. My hands are sticky with it, and all my words do is meander. I have nothing to say, have never had anything to say, and for that there is nothing to notice. Not even the sound of car tires as they coast over wet pavement; not even the humming of the heating system. A dying plant. A loose wire hanging from the ceiling. I can’t even look out a window unless I crane my neck – and even then, all I see is a sliver of dark, leafless trees against a gray sky.  In two days it will be a new year, and I have very little to say for it.

That sinking feeling that I hate so much. The one that comes when you make a mistake. The anxiety, the shame. But have I made a mistake? Is there something that I’m meant to regret about all this? The only answer I can find is the notion of wasted time.

Too much time, but I need more of it. Time for myself. Time to get over the shame.

My mom tells me in idle conversation that she doesn’t hate my father. I think of the roses.

[writing-prompt-s]

When you learned your mother was a goddess, things finally seemed to fall into place. The other demigods laughed at you, the only child born to the goddess of the hearth, Hestia. But your power was so much more than they could dream of.

[mommasunshines]

Being born to a goddess was something I never imagined to have happened to me, and really, least of all to a goddess of virginity, so really, Hestia as a mother? I didn’t believe that.

But dad told me he had been at the oven with papa and they had stoked the fire, they poured wine and sacrifices bread and oil and meats to the flame, and begged the goddess to let them have family together to gather in this home, a family to gather around a hearth and to love.

And listen to their prayers she did, sculpting me from embers and ash and blowing life into me with a spark from her flames, kissing my forehead once before she left, leaving me forever with her mark on my face.

That’s what dad told me, and now it all makes much more sense.

I never ran out of s'more stuff, ya know? Even if I had definitely just used up my last chocolate for a cake, there’d be a new perfectly preserved package of it in my cupboard. Marshmallows empty cause of my hot chocolate? No silly, there is still some left in the box somehow.

I also play the guitar, at the campfires I always played and lead the chorus, but never do my fingers turn to blisters, and I never need to rest my voice.

It also explains why I have always been at home anywhere and with anyone, I could sit down, and I was home where I was and the people with me would be my family.

Other demigods mocked me, I am the child of the goddess of the home, of the hearth, a cooking deity they’d call her.

It was…rude, but it was fine, I could deal with it. I didn’t have a cabin full of siblings, but whoever stopped by was family, right?

And it was totally fine to leave me behind when they went into battle, I am no good with weaponry, but I could still follow them, grab some food for them, they’d be hungry after all the fighting.

And they seemed almost concerned when I ran onto the battlefield barefooted and in my hoodie and sweatpants and apron, rushing towards a dragon and a son of Thanatos.

Their screams were scared when the useless child of a goddess ran onto the battlefield, and this boy actually tried to hold me back, even if his arms were shattered and his skin was scorched.

They were shocked when the battle ended with me.

They would’ve known I can’t get burned from all the times I’d stumbled into the campfire or spilled tea.

They should’ve known I can make anyone and anything calm down quickly enough.

They should’ve known I can protect anyone behind me by raising my hand.

A hearth does not burn, it warms and nutures. A family calms and cares, not aggravates. A home does not abandon, it protects.

I am the son of Hestia, and my mother gave me the ability to be a hearth anywhere I went. It is safe with me, for anyone.

I ended wars before, this one was no different.

[captainkirkk]

I want to see characters being taken care of in an explicit and worshipful way. Home-cooked meals. Hair brushed and braided by gentle hands. Little gifts just because.

I want to read about characters who are not used to kindness being bombarded by acts of service. This trope works romantically and platonically. Give me found family and acts of service - all the ways a character is wrapped up in wordless, explicit care after years of cruelty and having no idea how to handle. I need it.

[volach-deactivated20230326]

“When the handle has snapped off the basket that held all your eggs…” gone girl tier monologue