Role Reversal - Blog Posts

Tyzula week is finally here!!

Dec 17 role reversal/pet names @tyzula-week

Bonus circus fire breather azula under cut

Tyzula week is finally here!!

Dec 17 role reversal/pet names @tyzula-week

Bonus circus fire breather azula under cut

"So, wait," said the thief, topping off the detective's wine glass. "You're saying that your stressful case is catching that hot shot cat burglar that everyone's talking about?"

The detective grimaced, but didn't change the subject. "Yep," they muttered into their Pinot and took a swig. "The celebrity criminal."

This was a triumph. This was their third date and the thief had spent the prior two carefully laying the emotional groundwork leading up to this moment. The detective, as a social partner, was affable and considerate - surprisingly funny even, in a dry, deadpan way - but rigidly guarded about their line of work. The thief had asked the normal questions about jobs and had been expertly deflected with self-deprecating jokes about spreadsheets and paperwork. The thief had been content to wait. The detective was a fundamentally honest person, and the thief trusted the truth would work its way to the surface soon enough.

"But that sounds exciting!" the thief prompted brightly. "I mean, daring heists executed by moonlight! It must be such a nice change from your run-of-the-mill crimes."

"Mostly it's just exhausting," sighed the detective, rubbing their temples. "This perp is such an asshole."

The thief blinked. "Excuse me?"

The detective shook their head, tried to force a smile. "I'm sorry. I've had too much wine. You were saying about your invitation to audition for the Bolshoi -?"

"Oh, forget about me," the thief said quickly. "Please, go on. You're clearly stressed about -"

"Do you know," the detective went on as if they'd never stopped, "the morning guy on Channel Seven had the nerve to call this a victimless crime?"

"Well, the insurance will pay for it," the thief started.

The detective slapped the table. The thief jumped. "What about the people?" the detective exclaimed. A few nearby heads turned in their direction. "Are people supposed to walk into museums and look at what, framed checks on the wall from Lloyds? And meanwhile, these masterworks disappear into the vaults of gangsters and petty criminals, never to be seen again. Because you can be sure," they added, jabbing a finger at the thief, "crooks that steal art have no love for it. They'll destroy it, every lick of paint, if there's the slightest risk to their own skins."

The detective took another deep swallow of red wine. They looked close to tears. The thief awkwardly patted their hand across the table. This was not at all what they'd expected on this little reconnaissance side mission. The detective caught their hand and squeezed it with a grateful look that wrenched something in the thief's upper chest area.

"Now those guys," the detective said thoughtfully. "The criminals with the vaults. Now that seems like a worthy target."

"I... huh?" The thief stared across the table. The detective looked back with those guileless, honest eyes. 

"I'm just saying," they said, with the slightest drunken slur on their words. "Walking the art out of some budget-strapped public facility is one thing. But emptying out of one of those vaults, liberating all those works of art and returning them to their rightful place before the public..." The detective sighed dreamily. "Now that actually sounds like a daring, hot shot kind of heist."

There was a moment where neither moved, gazing at each other like the lovers they were pretending to be. Then the detective tugged their hand free, stood up with an apologetic smile. "But I'm definitely tipsy," they said. "Let me go splash some water on my face."

When the detective returned from the restroom, the thief was still at the table, watching the waiter clear the plates. By unspoken agreement, they didn't speak until she was well clear.

"So, hypothetically speaking," the thief said finally, running a finger theough a puddle on the tabletop. "How would one go about this vault heist of yours?"

The detective smiled again, nothing drunk or vague about it at all.

Kate Bishop does not want a protege. Maybe in a decade or so, when her joints start to stiffen. But at twenty-seven, she doesn’t think she’s quite adult enough to adult someone else.

Much less this someone else.

Best pegging ever. 😍

i know pegging doggy style is all the trend these days. but pegging missionary?? just has some really hot vibe to it. Like the boy wrapping his legs around his domme, being able to kiss, and the boy either scratching down her back or holding onto anything for dear life. its really personal and intimate and i dig it

Rollentausch im Knast / role reversal in jail

Ich habe einmal vor langer Zeit eine lesbisch-erotische Geschichte geschrieben, über einen Rollentausch zwischen einer Gefängnisbeamtin und einer Gefangenen ... . Das erste Kapitel findet ihr unten. Ich weiß aber nicht, ob hier überhaupt Interesse daran besteht, daß ich die restlichen Kapitel auch veröffentliche ... ? Wenn Interesse besteht, freue ich mich über entsprechende Nachrichten. Vielleicht möchte auch jemand selbst Ideen einbringen, wie die Geschichte weitergeht ... ?

Rollentausch im Knast

Kapitel 1

„Was zum Teufel … ?“ Michelle fluchte lauf auf, als sie die Standtafel im Abteilungsbüro des Zugangsflügels des Frauengefängnisses mit einem schnellen Blick überflog und die Standzahlen mit dem Standbuch verglich. Sie hatte vor wenigen Minuten ihren Nachtdienst angetreten und war jetzt die ganze Nacht alleine für die etwa 25 weiblichen Gefangenen des Zugangsflügels verantwortlich.

Da Sie erst vor wenige Tagen von einem anderen Gefängnis hierher versetzt worden war, hatte sie ihre hiesigen Kollegen noch nicht wirklich kennengelernt und auch ihre Kollegen kannten nur ihren Namen auf dem Dienstplan, wußten aber nicht, wie  sie aussah. Deshalb mußte sie sich auch beim Betreten und Verlassen des Gefängnisses an der Torwache zur Zeit noch mit ihrem Dienstausweis ausweisen. Bei der Torwache befanden sich auch die Schließfächer mit den Gefängnisschlüsseln.

Als sie heute das Gefängnis betreten hatte und sich bei einem ihr unbekannten Kollegen ausgewiesen hatte, war ihr aufgefallen, daß das Passbild in ihrem Dienstausweis nicht nur schon relativ alt war, sondern auch kurz davor war, von ihrem Ausweis abzufallen. Der Klebstoff, mit dem es angeklebt war, war eben schon alt und klebte nicht mehr richtig. „Wenn ich nächste Woche Tagdienst habe, muß ich dringend einen neuen Dienstausweis ausstellen lassen“ hatte sie sich in dem Moment fest vorgenommen.

Sie verglich noch einmal die Angaben im Standbuch mit den Zahlen an der Standtafel und stellte, jetzt doch leicht ärgerlich, fest, daß die Zahlen tatsächlich nicht übereinstimmten. Laut der Standtafel war eine Gefangene mehr auf der Abteilung als laut dem Standbuch. „Wie kann das sein …?“ fragte sie sich verärgert und durchwühlte die übrigen Papiere, die sich auf dem Schreibtisch stapleten.

Sie war jetzt kurz davor, nach dem Telefon zu greifen und einen Alarm auszulösen, als ihr „Einlieferungspapiere“, die in einer Ecke des Schreibtisches gelegen hatten, auffielen. Nach Prüfung dieser Einlieferungsunterlagen war ihr klar, was passiert war. Kurz vor Schichtwechsel war eine von der Polizei bei einer Razzia festgenommene Prostituierte in das Gefängnis eingeliefert und in den Zugangsflügel auf eine Gemeinschaftszelle verlegt worden.

Aus irgendeinem Grund waren die Aufnahmeformalitäten, also Gefangenenfotos, Fingerabdrücke, Abnahme von DNA-Material für die Registratur als Prostituierte bei der zuständigen städtischen Gesundheitsbehörde, Aufnahme in das Standbuch und Erstellung der Gefangenenpersonalakte im PC, nicht durchgeführt worden. Natürlich konnte sie die Papiere bis zum nächsten Tag liegen lassen und sich über Nacht mit einem „Schmierzettel“ behelfen. Aber sie war Perfektionistin und wollte sich ja auch bei ihren neuen Chefs für eine Beförderung empfehlen. Also beschloss sie, die Gefangene aus der Gemeinschaftszelle ins Aufnahmebüro zu holen und diese Formalitäten schnell selbst zu erledigen.

Fortsetzung folgt ... ? Das kommt auf euch an, soll ich die Fortsetzungen posten ?

A long time ago, I wrote a lesbian-erotic story about a role reversal between a female prison officer and a female prison inmate. You can find the first chapter below. However, I don't know if there's any interest in me publishing the remaining chapters here. If there's interest, I'd be happy to hear from you. Perhaps someone would like to contribute their own ideas about how the story could continues.

Role Reversal in Prison

Chapter 1

"What the hell...?" Michelle cursed loudly as she quickly scanned the board in the department office of the access wing of the women's prison and compared the numbers with the register. She had started her night shift a few minutes ago and was now solely responsible for the approximately 25 female prisoners in the access wing for the entire night.

Since she had only been transferred here from another prison a few days ago, she hadn't really gotten to know her colleagues here, and even her colleagues only knew her name on the duty roster, but did not know what she looked like. Therefore, she still had to show her Police ID card at the gate when entering and leaving the prison. The gate also housed the lockers with the prison keys. When she entered the prison today and identified herself to a colleague she didn't know, she noticed that the passport photo on her Police ID card was not only quite old, but also about to fall off. The adhesive holding it in place was already old and no longer adhered properly. "When I'm on day duty next week, I urgently need to get a new Police ID card," she had decided at that moment.

She compared the information in the status book with the numbers on the status board and, now slightly annoyed, realized that the numbers did indeed not match. According to the status board, there was one more prisoner in the department than according to the status book. "How can that be...?" she asked herself angrily, rummaging through the remaining papers piled up on the desk.

She was about to reach for the phone and raise the alarm when she noticed "admission papers" lying in a corner of the desk. After examining these admission papers, it became clear to her what had happened. Shortly before shift change, a prostitute arrested by the police during a raid had been admitted to the prison and transferred to a shared cell in the access wing. For some reason, the admission formalities—involving prisoner photos, fingerprinting, DNA sampling for registration as a prostitute with the relevant municipal health authority, entry in the prison register, and creation of the prisoner's personal file on the computer—had not been completed. Of course, she could leave the papers until the next day and make do with a "scrap sheet" overnight. But she was a perfectionist and wanted to recommend herself to her new bosses for a promotion. So she decided to bring the prisoner from the shared cell to the admissions office and quickly complete these formalities herself.

To be continued? What do you think???

Giant anglerfish woman and her tiny anglerfish husband because anglerfish gender dynamics are cool and weird!

I often find that fantasy creature designs don't draw on real-life gender dynamics in animals. Instead, most creature designs draw on more rigid societal gender norms. This is infuriating because it ignores a big opportunity for really creative and unique designs. So I decided to fix that! :3

Game idea: You play as a humble peasant who must fight off waves of adventurers who feel entitled to just waltz into your house and loot whatever they please.

Pet

Mr. Paper had been running out of money for a few weeks. He tried to get more money, and he tried to stretch what he had, but now all the money was gone. The first morning Mr. Paper had no food for his pet cat, Marvin, he felt so badly about it he tried to share the toast and coffee that was his own breakfast. Cats don’t care for toast though, and they don’t drink coffee. That night Marvin ran away. Mr. Paper was sad about it—he liked having Marvin around—but he was also glad for the cat. He imagined Marvin being taken in by a kind, rich old lady that would love him and spoil him and feed him gizzards and fish heads.

Mr. Paper could get bread from the bread line, and he could swipe a bag of coffee from the grocery store every so often, and between the two he could get through the day, but he couldn’t pay rent like that. He came home from a long day looking for money and found his apartment key wouldn’t open the door. His landlord had kicked him out and sold all his things to cover a little of the rent Mr. Paper owed him. Mr. Paper could still get bread from the bread line, but without a pot he couldn’t make coffee, and now when he was stuck out in the cold and could use it most.

One night, the smell of bacon wafted into Mr. Paper’s dreams as he slept uncomfortably on a park bench, and the smell stimulated in him visions of Christmas mornings like when he was a little boy. A sharp sound startled him awake, and the dreams fled, leaving behind them no memories. Mr. Paper shot up, expecting to find a cop or someone trying to rob him. Instead there was a cat, a couple yards away, sitting under a streetlamp. The cat sat placidly for a few beats as Mr. Paper met his gaze. Then the cat meowed, an urgent meow, and Mr. Paper recognized the voice— it was Marvin! He got up and approached the cat excitedly. They met in the middle and exchanged affections, Mr. Paper stroking Marvin and Marvin snaking around his feet, but then Marvin suddenly broke off and trotted back to his spot under the streetlamp. Mr. Paper followed.

He found a dinner plate sitting under the streetlamp holding two slices of toast, one buttered and one with raspberry jam; two fried eggs; and five pieces of pepper bacon, thickly sliced. Next to the plate was a mug of hot coffee with sugar and cream, steam billowing from it into the cold night air in great curls. He pounced on the food— more food than he’d seen at one time in weeks. He offered the bacon fat to Marvin, but Marvin wasn’t interested.

Once the plate had been cleaned, and the mug had been emptied, Mr. Paper sat cross-legged under the streetlamp a while, with Marvin curled up in his lap, purring happily. But again, after a while of that, Marvin darted off, trotting a few feet away and looking back at Mr. Paper, beckoning him. Again, Mr. Paper followed. They walked a long time. Eventually Marvin led him to a nice looking apartment building in a nice looking part of town. The doorman let Marvin in— Mr. Paper blew in with the wind. They took the elevator to the eleventh floor, and Marvin let Mr. Paper into a nice looking two bedroom apartment, with central heating and air, and HBO, and good internet service— Mr. Paper’s new home.

From then on Mr. Paper had it easy. He’d wake up Marvin in the morning when he was ready for breakfast. Marvin would feed him before going to work. Mr. Paper would hang out at the apartment during the day, napping and watching TV and internetting. Then, in the evening, Marvin would get home from work and make him dinner and chill on the couch, curled up in Mr. Paper’s lap and purring happily until finally turning in for the night. Then Mr. Paper would sneak out of the house to roam the streets, fool around with women, get into fights with men… but he’d always come back in the morning, hungry for his breakfast.

I've run into a bit of an issue when it comes to reading stuff here. I suddenly remembered some scenarios, I think, I read a while ago.

It was a One Piece role reversal: the guys were the ones irl and the reader was the one in an anime and was their favorite character.

I can't remember who wrote it or if it's even on here anymore so if anyone remembers or happens to find it, please let me know. I'd appreciate it.🥲

Listen I don’t believe for a second that Padme died from heartbreak.

I do however believe that if roles were reversed and Padme turned and Anakin was left behind.

That man would 100% die from heartbreak, no debate.