#but now they both look like doo doo farts

[sherbetlemonss]

The chair!! Give him the chair!! /ref

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #ducktales art #ducktales fanart #ducktales beakley #mrs beakley #mrs. beakley #bentina beakley #the rumble for ragnarok #Disney #art #my art #um so ya idk what to say I just wanted to draw pookie in her ragnarok shield maiden fit 💥💥💥 #I drew this in the red lighting first #but then I was like wowza I did Not mean for it to be this sinister #so then I de saturated it and made it look w normal lighting #but now they both look like doo doo farts #it’s ok tho bc um.. #WIFE🤯🤯

[foreverandalwaysyours]

"האחד"

I hope you find the one by total, complete accident.

Not on a bus to drama school, making flirty side eyes at. Not at a Halloween party, her dressed as Mabel and you Elivs.

The one who truly believed that love stories aren't real life- that its for movies. Fanfics. Not real...just pure imagination.

I hope you find the one who you bond over a mutual interest. Becoming instant pals over night, fighting annoying trolls and getting closer with each reply and like.

Becoming Best Fandom Friends quickly. Too quickly, even, for it to stay just a friendship for long.

I hope you find the one you like the attention and praise from- and the one who loves to give it.

Loses sleep or meals just to give to you. Just to be with you. Just to see your messages pop up and making her grin, her heart swell the way it never has with anyone else- and never will.

I hope you find the one it clicks after a while: that you love her- and crazier yet, you're in love with...

The one who felt both those ways almost instantly after the first few likes and replies.

But the one who thinks she's crazy. Denies it. Hides it for so long- afraid of the feelings starting to burn inside...burn inside like embers. She tries to extinguish them with watery wades but can't. She's in too deep. Too far gone to back up now...

Especially since she's the one who makes you laugh- who you make laugh. The one who everyone stares at like she's crazy when she reads a crossover fic you made that NEEDED to be made. The one who's been asked "who are you messaging? Who's making you grin like that?" and she knows then. She's in deep for someone special.

Far too special, she knows, for someone far too average like her.

I hope you find the one who quickly build inside jokes with you over the most random, stupid of things.

Veggie tales. MILFs. Amazing scripts. Custody battles of fandom children. Scooby-Doo (fuck you Velma). Wrestling. Batman. Willy needed to Wonka- on a toilet or at the store. Arthur. Gina. Daphne. Nate. Spider Man Dee Dee. Rain. Glasses. Sailboats. Chores. Brownies. Princess of the fucking Bride. Music.

Hebrew. Especially speaking it.

Farts. Especially disgusting ones.

Things that are so dumbass to everyone else.

Things that aren't so dumbass to you or her.

Things that are so ridiculously unridiculous, so imperfectly perfect. Topics that make you both fall a fit of giggles and futher into a love that no one else will ever understand or come close to.

Things that make futher her realize by some amazement she found the one- and that she's the one for you.

I hope you find the one who steals you hat. Hits you with a pretend umbrella as it pours for her and you. Her needing to be quiet but can't.

The one who flirts poorly with fart jokes and bee movie memes until you both collapse.

The one who would give you her virginity to in a skipped, pounding heartbeat if only she could.

I hope you find the one who you can hold hands with while strolling in stores, looking at groceries and glass art with.

While walking the dog. While sitting on the couch, taking turns in picking films on movie date nights each and every week. Hell, every day if possible.

I hope you find the one you're excited to show off to your family. The one your siblings congratulate you on being with. The one your mother is happy to have as a daughter in law, your siblings sister in law- even before the wedding.

I hope you find the one who utterly hates to cook- until she cooks with you, making it her new favorite thing.

The one you make sandwiches for when she's sad or sick and who will return in deed for you, along with pat pats.

I hope you find the one you'll find any excuse to be close to at the beginning, middle, and end of your day.

The one who pulls you back in when you try to go do dishes, chores- begging you to stay just a little while longer. Scared you'll leave her forever like everyone else in her life has.

The one desperately looking for any excuse to be close to you at the beginning, middle, and ending of her day. Her week.

Her months, her years.

Her lifetime.

I hope you find the one who makes you sing and dance at just the mention of. The one who you write songs for, each one being her new favorites.

Lyrics she wants all over her body. Permanently in ink- just to show off she's yours. Proud to have a man who is so incredibly soft and sensitive.

I hope you find the one you sit outside with, cuddled close together. The one you lay next to every day. The one who you can breathe with, relax with. Just be with.

Nothing fancy, nothing dramatic. Just existing with is paradise for you both.

I hope you find the one you listen to the rain with as it fall, happliy allowing it to drown you both forever. The one who will pull you into a sailboat- and, after "chaperoning" two horny desserts, sail away into the sunset with.

I hope you find the one who leans her shoulder for you to cry on, her heart to listen with, and her body to comfort you the second you call. The one who will completely cut off her shoulder, her heart, her body just to give to you whenever you need it- knowing you'll never abuse it.

I hope you find the one who you create a playlist for, full of your and her favorite love songs. Your ultimate playlist you've honored in naming after her.

Every song she hears and treasures- and wants to cry at thinking about. When listening to. That gets her through the bad days when she feels most alone.

Especially, especially Mirrorball.

I hope you find the one who you can spam, sending countless pictures and messages that make her blush, smile, and grin like no one is watching. Hell, even if they are, she doesn't care.

I hope you find the one who lives for the sound of your voice- though only hearing it once.

Lives for the warmth she can feel through your messages. Lives to the light in your eyes and wondering how the fuck she scored someone so fucking cute, sexy, and hot all rolled into one.

Lives to be yours.

I hope you find the one who would happily tattoo "Fruitcake" on her arms for you in a heartbeat. Ink "Toot Sweet" across her chest.

Make "<#" as her fucking Cutie Mark.

Leaving the entire world questioning and confused- but leaving her entire world smitten and deeply in love.

I hope you find the one who can give you all she is- and not just her broken pieces she's collected since her birth. Not the chipped away mask she knows she sits and cries behind, cracking futher and further each day as she drifts deeper into insanity.

The one who isn't lying. Doesn't lie. To you, to everyone- but especially to the face in the mirror.

The one who is free, not trapped behind her fears- real or imagined. Trapped behind who she knows she should be- but can't now because of you. Doesn't want to be because of you.

Not the one trapped even more now than she ever thought possible.

The one who isn't a toxic liar. The one not broken beyond all repair. The one not so unstable and about to fall. The one who doesn't ends up hurting everyone along the way, especially herself and the ones she loves most- which now horrifically includes you, someone she never meant to hurt. The one not stuck with no way out.

The one who isn't ugly and stupid and worthless...

The one who actually truly deserves to be the one for you in the first place. Who doesn't fool herself into think she stable, good enough to be is the one for you- she just is.

I hope you find the one you don't have to ask not to contact you because she broke you heart- and she shattered her own in the process. The one who craves you, who needs you like a fucking drug, going through worst withdrawns she can explain.

The one who has enough sense to realize what she has while she has it...and doesn't go fucking up and losing it forever.

I hope you find the one who makes you want to love again. Who you made want to love. Makes you trust and believe in something again. Who you made trust and believe again. Makes you believe love isn't the stuff of movies or fanfics....and makes her believe it isn't, either.

The one who makes you believe in love in all it's facets.

Especially being in love.

The one who believes you're straight out of her not-so-pure imagination.

I hope you find the one who you plant a kiss that wouldn't wake a baby on. The one who's same face that won't let you sleep. The one who makes the streets dance with your feet and the dawn that makes your shadow a bit taller.

I hope you find the one who changes everything, the one who completes you. Makes the streets an empty stage and a city's sirens violins.

The one not oceans and miles apart.

The one beautiful, kind, amazing enough to be with someone as incredible as you.

I hope you find the one who's forever indebted to a stupid little comic strip because it brought the one for her...

But mostly, I just hope you find the who makes the world your mirrorball.

</#

#big nate #שלך לתמיד

[afr0-thunder]

[Mind Pt. 3]

*Renaming Daydreams > Mind*

If you were a white man and you found out your woman (also white), had an enormous attraction to black men, would you leave her or stay because you know you could not do better. For reference: They are always very attractive.

I’m having problems figuring out how I’ll draw up the blueprints for my future home. The design and all of it’s unique components make it hard for me to solidify the idea and make it concrete. There are always edits. I “stress” about structure because I want everything to be 100% the safest option. No unexpected collapsing or any dangerous structures for children or even adults, but lots of fun. Also, what will this type of structure be labeled as, as it does not fit most of the traditional ideas existing today?

I wonder where I’ll put my OTHER ideas that I will not mention until I can find out how I can execute them. I look every day and continue to wonder how I will do that based on what I see.

I want to elaborate on the centered, top floor 4-story room idea. Do I need more stories? Or more space? Does centering it make sense for the space needed. Will I need more space for fucking? I can’t have all of my baby mommas fucking in the same bed? Maybe I’ll make one a theater with a hall of beds, for that reason. Or if there will become enough normality in the situation for us all to sleep there? One big bed instead or an entirely separate idea as well (meaning both)?

I wonder which of them will like TV shows versus Movies. Will there be anyone who likes the same shows or movies? I want to know which one will I watch Scooby Doo with? Saved By The Bell (which I’ve watched a million times already)? Static Shock (Edit: Lilo & Stitch actually; Brain fart)?Most people forget that “Children’s” shows were written by adults and contain better plots and life lessons than “adult” shows, it is just overlooked due to it not contain sexual content other than sexual innuendos or strong language. There are more shows I want to see, I just let them slip my mind.

There’s this regular we have at work. She’s very tall with an extremely pretty smile. She is one of my favorites. I just know she’s a freak. There’s also this asian girl with a really pretty face and smile…and the doctor (or at least she works at a hospital) with big titties and a pretty smile. I thought she had a boyfriend, turns out it’s her coworker.

Do you ever think fucking is one of the best hobbies? I have other favorites, but I’m not sure how I’ll divi up them all to make time for it. I shall see. There are times where I don’t want to stop doing any of them, but fucking is just indescribable and unpredictable. As they all are, but like you get me?

Lastly, I think my new celebrity “crushes” are:

Elizabeth Stanton, she’s a sexy redhead on the CW. She hosts this home videos show about dogs

The blonde from 2 Broke Girls, also stars in “The Neighborhood” on the CW. Can’t remember her name right now, but she’s a really sexy tall girl. Love the way she talks.

And Margot Robbie, from “Focus”, “The Wolf of Wall Street”, “Suicide Squad” and the latest “Barbie” movie… I love her accent as well. It’s almost innocently sexy, which comes as a surprise. Some of the most perfect white women. I consider them “Elite White Women”. Margot is one of my favorite actresses, along with Amanda Bynes, Miranda Cosgrove and Victoria Justice. There are many others, but those are some of my top favorites.

- MH (2023)

[09/21/2023 - 12:48PM] - Drafted

[09/24/2023] - Posted

#personal #mind #chicago #2023 #LilMark #PUNKAssMark #afr0-thunder

[the-firebird69]

So the car in line in Burger King at Burger King and I can hear these noises coming from Leroy eagles give me a diet Coke and it's like now you want this to says he was choking he gets his free and there are a ton of people watching but I didn't hear this he said that right there is a holocaust house I'm looking around smelling it looking at the layout and I'm looking at it going good God get us out of this f****** place and this city wants to be there and what it means is they're going to pull out the people all the time and he sort of and they're going to try and get people that are in it and it sort of doesn't get it and he heard the clones don't like it so he started wondering what the hell it was and it started to get it and he's in it and we saw him come outside at Burger King and it's swearing and yelling getting in his truck and getting into his truck and he heard is that Brian cuz BJ does that often he's going no I'll get the f*** out of here and I mean it what I need is money you know what that is and they both said laughing it's a question they said of course we know money is we can't get you any and my son-in-law says I can't get it either I'm looking at myself going I'm pitiful I can't get any money and Leroy is saying I can't get any money and this guy's going we should sell t-shirts and I started thinking how is going how can we do that and I have he has like ideas which is good but his initial reaction was very bad at everybody saw the money and stopped and then said okay it's free and he said that's free too I said I don't understand we're screwed we're going to the screwed building maybe that's what they're saying we now see it and I think we're helping and I can't go there and he doesn't want me to go there and I get that so he told Bill you can't go there and he said why it looks like is it all based on looks they looked at and said okay what is it and they said you suck you know if you take it's a core sample of the wood it's like 40% s*** so I didn't laugh cuz it runs down in the runs and it was gross cuz it was dripped through the ceiling and we heard about it you know I wasn't there in that building and I didn't get put in there but a lot of people talked about it and said it's quite awful and they made it through a live somehow they don't want to go back there and some people were in it no almost everyone in it was in it then and it's by Max and it's straight up trouble and purpose it's going to get nightmarish here and we are not for doing that to people and we don't want to go there and garyh got in there and thought it was great. And he says he's not being arrogant and he wants to know what it was this is something about the place our friend said so he told him you know s*** that's what it is and he started getting mad a few minutes ago he's turned on the radio saying s*** that sucks I just moved there and it sucks he's saying that's the wrong damn neighborhood and we do understand it's terrible and a horrible nightmare and he says the apartment he's in is not the greatest and these guys were not in this apartment and they heard about that and said we weren't and then they said they were so we're going to try and find out

Ken

It's a special apartment and it was in the Holocaust I spilled very stradily and it's using special wood like the other buildings but it's not one that housed prisoners it's one that housed some kernels and they were Mac kernels and one of them was killed in battle and he was not in the middle and he's in John rebelords and he was killed and he exploded the other was killed in combat and was in an inferno that's the true story the one in the middle is still around and it's Bob Marsh and he had the idea no it's because of the marsh and where Bob was forced to live now these people are right and he laughs like Scooby-Doo cuz they were doing it all the time and I know it really is but he thought it was funny cuz he copied it and they'd start farting and he says in French in space what do they expect us to start fighting after my mouth no I'll find out our ass so he thought it was really fun they said chastising him it's time to go away and it's still funny but he made it through barely and these guys would escape and point out who it was and it was Tommy F who's making it happen

Thor Freya

This is from memory it's very exciting people finally got to it

You find what they're saying to be atrocious he's Max can't tell that we're not special they see our son inventing things thinking about this and think of some kind of juice or something when they know it's not so they're tampering with us all the time they don't understand what we're doing and what we can do it's good and it's bad what our son says and daughter says it's good if they know you can do and they find out what it is like Billy z they will start to try and acclimate and counter with effective systems and we do understand that he's doing the job by being humble by being in that building would be too much and Mac Daddy's contemplated it and doesn't really think it's good some other Max thought it was but no but we can't trust them and they're evil and want to use as a threat the place stinks and the vocs are very high and it's going to make people sick

Olympus

[goldenraeofsun]

PO Box 8921

“What is that?” Dean demands as Sam dumps a duffel bag full of mail out on the war table.

Cas looks up from his tome on Babylonian chaos magic or Shang dynasty dragon taming or whatever he’s moved onto now. All Dean knows is that the book smells like rotting flowers and mouse shit, so he banished Cas to the other end of the war table.

“Fan mail,” Sam says.

Cas sets down his book and walks closer.

Dean throws Sam a baffled look. “Why the hell are we getting fan mail?”

“It’s more like we’re getting Chuck’s fan mail,” Sam says sheepishly.

“Explain. Now.”

Cas picks up a letter curiously.

Sam sighs. “The last time Charlie was here, we hacked Flying Wiccan Press - Chuck’s old publisher - and we redirected his mail and royalty checks to a local PO box. I figured if anyone deserves money off those books, it’s us.”

“I thought his books tanked,” Dean says flatly.

Sam scowls. “It had a resurgence after the angels came into the picture,” he says with a sidelong look at Cas, who’s apparently absorbed in reading a note from Vancouver, British Columbia.

“Seriously?”

Sam shrugs. “They’re very compelling, apparently. I’ve been checking it every very few months, but two days ago I got a call saying they were running out of space.”

“Why?” Dean picks up a large flat envelope and rips it open. “What the…?” he murmurs. He slides out a matte illustration of the Impala driving down a nameless highway, golden swaying wheat fields bracketing both sides of the road, a fading sunset illuminating the horizon. His mouth falls open.

Sam takes a seat and pulls Dean’s laptop towards him.

“I was doing research,” Dean says quickly as Sam flips it open.

Sam takes one look at the screen, grimacing, before he clicks the mouse forcefully. “Really, Dean?” he gripes. “Cas was right there.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Exactly. I needed to know if he thought-”

“No,” Sam says, horrified. “I do not want to know.”

“You asked about the research.”

Sam’s does a full-body recoil. “That was not what I meant and you know it.”

Dean chuckles. He sets aside the beautiful painting of his baby (that one’s going in the Dean Cave for sure) and picks up the next package of similar size and weight. He eagerly tears off the top and pulls out the contents. It takes him a second, but the trenchcoat slipping off the figure’s shoulders is a dead giveaway.

“Hey!” Dean says, spinning it around to show to Cas. “I think it’s supposed to be you.”

Cas looks up from another letter - this one from Wellington, OH - and tilts his head. “My wings aren’t rainbow colored. They’re actually a color not perceptible by human eyes - maybe by some genetically mutant shrimp -”

Dean laughs. “You don’t have an eight pack either. It’s all artistic license, baby.”

“Aha!” Sam says, spinning the computer around, the porn tabs banished to the void of Dean’s browser history. “The fans reached a milestone last week.”

“What mile-” Dean cuts himself off as another illustration slips out behind the one of Cas. It flutters to the table.

“Is that of us?” Cas asks curiously, reaching for it. He holds it up.

“No way,” Dean says vehemently as he shuffles around to stare at it over Cas’s shoulder.

“Probably,” Sam pipes up.

Dean glares over at him. “How do you know that, Samantha?”

“That milestone?” Sam says, his face an odd mix of smug and constipated. “There are a hundred thousand fan fiction stories, as of last Monday.”

Dean blinks. “Fan fiction?”

“Yeah, a lot of it.” Sam sets aside the laptop and reaches for a nearby letter in a robin’s egg blue envelope.

Dean takes a large step away from the pile of half-opened mail like it just started emitting Sam’s toxic post-Chipotle farts.

“Are we - are they - is it more Sam slash Dean?” Dean asks in a faint voice.

Sam smirks. “Not this time. Like I said,” he says as he scans his letter, “the readers really liked the angels.”

Dean makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. Do all these letters wax poetic about Cas? That’s a lot of people that have thought about his angel naked. And that doesn’t sit right with Dean. “Why?” he demands.

Sam throws him a sharp look. “Why not? Cas is our best friend. He’s a good dude.”

Dean glances to Cas for reassurance, who shrugs as if to say he doesn’t understand it any more than he does.

“So they, like, have a thing for angels?” Dean asks haltingly. “An angel kink?”

Cas scowls.

“Not all angels, just Cas,” Sam confirms. “Plus love interest.”

Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Right… you and Cas?” Dean ventures as Cas sighs loudly next to him.

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes a letter towards Dean. “No, not me and Cas, jerk.”

Dean picks it up tentatively. He really can’t handle reading about a fictional version of himself banging Cas, but before he can flip the letter open, Cas nudges him with his elbow. “Sam’s right. This one is obviously of us,” he says, tilting the drawing so Dean can get a full view.

It takes a moment for Dean to get what he’s seeing. Everyone in the illustration is fully clothed, first of all. It shows a darkened, windowless room. An outsized television illuminates the three figures watching an episode of Scooby Doo. One of the men is sprawled out on a recliner, Sam’s long, hippie hair a dead giveaway. Another man is asleep in the second recliner, covered in a draped trenchcoat - Cas? No, there's a third guy standing above the second, his elbows braced on the back of the recliner, his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair as Dean sleeps on.

“This is very sweet,” Cas rumbles.

Dean picks up the letter Sam handed him, his face flaming. “Unrealistic,” he grunts.

“Really,” Sam says flatly as he reaches for the illustration. He whistles as he takes it in. “Nice light composition. And what are you talking about? We watched Scooby Doo like three days ago in the Dean Cave.”

“I’d never fall asleep in front of the TV,” Dean says scornfully. “That’s a disgrace to Scoob.”

Cas makes a noise that Dean hopes is a cough, but judging by Sam’s smirk was probably more of a snort.

Dean flips open the letter, and, to his surprise, it doesn’t start with contrived porn dialogue.

Dear Mr. Edlund,

I’ve been a follower of your work for many years, and I have admired and rooted for Team Free Will, especially for Dean and Castiel’s relationship. Despite all the pain, despite destiny itself working against them, they found each other and created something that resonated with thousands of people. They truly have a profound bond that transcends every barrier imaginable, and it gives me hope.

Dumbfounded, Dean reads on, shutting out Sam and Cas completely.

He swallows thickly as he sets the letter down.

“Dean?” Cas asks, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Sam drops his joking expression. “You good?”

Dean nods.

“No matter how your story started out,” Sam says slowly, “you won. And it seems like you did a lot of good along the way.” He gestures to the pile. “More than just saving people from monsters.”

Cas lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. “Apparently I am a gay icon now,” he says, his face completely serious.

Dean cracks up. Wiping at his eyes, he grabs another letter at random. “We’d better get going on the rest of these. The faster we read ’em, the faster Sam can reply.”

Sam’s face falls. “Wait, no-”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #fanfic #rae writes fic #post series #established relationship #deancas100k #profoundnet #canon divergence

[7r0773r]

Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh." 

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them. 

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

#Kiese Laymon #book quotes

[timeagainreviews]

My Series 10 Rewatch: Knock Knock

Hello, my fantastic friends! I am sorry I have been so quiet. I got coronavirus in February and it really wiped out my energy. I am finally starting to bounce back and feel like leaving the house once more. This beautiful Scottish spring we’re having has definitely helped. I also lost my grandpa this week, so I've been all over the place, emotionally. Obviously, such a big pause in the middle of a series 10 rewatch is disruptive, so I would rather just dive back in if it's all the same. When last we were gathered, I was talking about "Thin Ice." Since then, the ice has thawed and I am now up to series 10 episode four- "Knock Knock," by one-time Doctor Who writer Mike Bartlett.

An aspect of Doctor Who which I love about Steven Moffat’s era is that the Doctor and his companions didn’t spend every waking moment of their lives together. Unlike companions of the past, who basically left behind their family lives to galavant across time and space, the companions of the Moffat era had home lives. Not only did this make for some humorous moments, such as the Doctor landing his TARDIS in Clara’s bedroom on date night, it also set up the characters for something of an actual life. "Knock Knock," uses this separation of worlds to establish one of its central themes- can you have a normal life with the Doctor? 

Being a poor student in London, Bill is forced to look for a flat with a group of people she only sort of knows. This is your typical group of students, eclectic and young. The biggest commonality they have is they can’t afford a place on their own. One of the ways in which this makes the episode suffer is that none of them has much chemistry together. However, it does enable Bartlett to explore deeper concepts, such as the fear of meeting new people. Our characters are forced to deal with a deadly situation with people who are basically strangers. 

The other commonality they have is Bill’s mate, Shireen. I got momentarily excited the first time I heard her name, but only because I thought it was going to be Rose’s best mate Shareen. Also, it would mean that Rose and Shareen had like a 10 year age difference, which would be weird. Shireen is a bubbly sort that seems gung-ho about everyone getting on. This doesn’t stop 90% of their interactions from being a total cringefest. Not one of these characters is particularly likeable. Pavel, the musician of the group, and the one character with maybe a bit of culture becomes a wall pretty early on, so it’s a bland time from there on out. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves. 

After a montage of disappointing flats ("Oh my god, the toilet is is what room?") the gang stands defeated. But like a beacon of light, comes a glimmer of hope in the form of John, a man who clearly prowls the streets for groups of youths. The gang is willing to overlook the obvious stranger danger about John because he has something they need- a giant house at a reasonable price. It’s another one of those deeper concepts being explored here that I think Doctor Who does so well. The show operates well when it preys upon basic fears. In this case, it’s the fear of the creepy landlord. The fear that your home life may be dictated by a creepy man who carries a tuning fork and forbids you to enter certain parts of the house like it’s Beauty and the Beast. 

 Arriving as if to say "No, Bill, you can’t have a normal life," is the Doctor. After using his TARDIS to move her belongings, Bill is quick to send him off. She even foregoes the traditional six-pack of beer and pizza, the universal payment for friends helping one move house. Of course, the moment the Doctor enters the derelict abode, his Time Lord senses are pinging. The Doctor isn't just an embarrassing "grandfather," type, but also a threat to any semblance of a normal life Bill can hope to have. As I said, this is familiar territory in the Moffat era. A funny side effect of the Doctor's attempts at allowing his companions to live normal lives is it only adds to the sharp contrast between both existences. Perhaps this is immersion therapy on the Doctor's behalf. Letting his friend remember what the world is actually like so as to not disassociate her from her own time and place. Or perhaps it is the Doctor softening the blow of eventually losing his friend.

The Doctor leaves long enough for two things to happen. Firstly, Pavel is listening to some music and suddenly is eaten by the house. Nobody seems to notice. Secondly, the new housemates have a bit of a games night for their first night at 11 Cardinal Road. There's no cellphone reception and the house is nowhere near up to code. I applaud them for trying to build up these characters, but it never really gels. Their merriment is cut short after hearing a noise in the kitchen. Scooby-Doo style, Bill leads them to the pantry where she finds the Doctor never actually left. They decide to head to bed, but the Doctor decides he's going to stay up with Felicity and Harry and listen to music. He also reminds Bill to maybe check on Pavel who has not been seen all day.

Now back in the sitting room, the gang is surprised to find John present. He addresses their problems with the amenities and waxes strange about having a daughter to look after. The Doctor asks John who the Prime Minister is, but he is unable to answer. Before they can ask more questions, John disappears down the hallway, but not before sounding his tuning fork against the wood. On her way to bed, Bill has the most cringe conversation with her new housemate, Paul. Paul fancies Bill. Bill fancies girls. I get that they may have wanted a scene where Bill flat out says to the audience that she's gay, but Paul comes off as super creepy. I wouldn't have an issue with this, but I feel like we're meant to find Paul endearing. It's hard for me to place what exactly they were going for in this scene. Paul, mate, you just met her. You just moved in together. Maybe let the paint dry first.

Luckily, like a shot from the dark, the plot saves us from having to stand in the hallway of awkwardness. Paul, having gone to his room, screams. Thinking he's having a laugh, Bill and Shireen go knocking on his door, only to find the return knock sounding across the hallway wall. The house begins to creak and shudder while doors slam shut. It's like something from a haunted house movie. In many ways, it follows a familiar trope from Doctor Who. The house haunted by aliens. We've seen it in "Ghost Light," "Hide," or even Edward Grove from "The Chimes of Midnight." Though I would argue that here, there is less grist for the mill. "Knock Knock," is a more stripped back, simple story. And in that way, I find it begins to lose me as the mystery unravels. 

As the housemates run through the house, trying to escape whatever is happening, they find Pavel in a state of flux. Something about the music on his record player skipping has kept him from being completely absorbed by the house. I will say, this is a great bit of body horror on the makeup department's behalf. Everything about Pavel looks like a guy getting eaten by a wall. As it turns out, the tuning fork and the music have more to do with what's going on as the Doctor discovers the house infested with alien lice known as "Dryads." Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor is momentarily able to draw the bugs out from the grain of the wood. The Dryad is not your common woodlouse, as it appears to move through wood like water. Even in my second viewing, I found myself wondering if this is kind of cool or kind of dumb. I vacillate between the two. 

In many ways, this is both Doctor Who's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. The surreal nature of a time-travelling police box affords us things like sentient planets, talking chair frogs, and killer mannequins. On the other hand, it gives us farting aliens, gamma radiation in the form of lightning, and the Doctor screaming until a window smashes. I remember reading an Eighth Doctor book where horse people read books on their planet by licking them and tasting the story. Sometimes, Doctor Who is bloody brilliant, and other times, it's bloody embarrassing. But that's partly why I love it. This kind of freedom gives it freshness. One week we get a priest buzzing like a wasp as he talks, the next we get River Song and the Vashta Nerada.

Now, I'm not saying "Knock Knock," is bad, but it is a little dumb. I've already complained about the dopey kids nobody cares about, and the silly aliens that aren't that scary, but the end of this episode is where it really kind of evens itself out. As I said, I vacillate between this being a good and a bad story. We learn that the reason John doesn't want anyone up inside the tower of the house has nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with a dark secret. After discovering the unclaimed belongings of previous occupants over the span of decades, the housemates learn that they are just the latest in a long line of people being fed to the house.

I found the motivation of the Dryads a little hard to understand. It seems weird to me that a woodlouse would want to eat people, but here we are. As it turns out, John has found a way to keep his "daughter," Eliza, alive using the Dryads. After noticing they respond to sonic vibrations, John has been using the tuning fork the make them do his bidding. It's a simple arrangement- he feeds students to the Dryads, the Dryads keep Eliza alive as a wooden woman, hidden away in the tower like some forgotten ghost. Once again, the makeup department has done its job. You genuinely believe Eliza is a woman made from wood. I especially like how they used papery twine for her hair.

They do a good job giving reasons why the housemates can't call for help. No wifi, no reception. But it is hard to imagine that over the course of decades, nobody came looking at this giant house for clues of their missing loved ones. Maybe they did and the house ate them as well. All I know is that it's mighty convenient that not one prospective tenant said to their mum or dad "Hey, I'm moving into a giant house at 11 Cardinal Road." Hell, even the Doctor helped move Bill in. What was John's big plan for when the Doctor came around looking for his "granddaughter?"

By this point, several of the housemates have been eaten by the house. Honestly, I could care less about which ones. I think Paul got his, and of course poor wooden Pavel. Or would that be wooden panel? I can't stress how little I care about these characters. Am I cold? I don't think so. We never see them on the show again. They don't matter in the slightest. With the Dryads closing in, the Doctor and Bill have to think quick. Which is when they realise that the timelines don't match up. If John were Eliza's actual father, he would be long dead. Seeing as he is not also made of wood, they deduce that he is in fact not Eliza's father, but her son. Unable to say goodbye to his ailing mother, John has been preserving her. Eliza has been through so much trauma that she has completely forgotten this fact. It's all rather depressing if I'm honest.

Depressing is okay though. What's Doctor Who without the occasion trudge through misery? Of course, it's not all doom and gloom, as Eliza restores all of the young people, once again leaving me to question why they were eaten in the first place. Were they transmuted into energy and simply recombined? It's the best explanation we're going to get, which is fine. David Suchet gives a powerful performance as he begs his mother not to end their lives. His performance is, by far, one of the strongest elements of this episode. Eliza and John are both overtaken by the Dryads, who are off presumably forever. I suppose the threat of Dryads is no longer looming now that their puppet master is no longer pulling their strings.

All in all, I find myself without much to say about this episode. It's not bad, but it's not a banger either. Even writing this review has been a bit of a slog. I find myself hard-pressed to really have any strong feelings one way or the other, and sometimes, that's just how it is. I will say it is the brownest episode of Doctor Who I’ve seen since the ‘70s. The BBC really knew how to dull down colour back then. Sigh... The best I can say about "Knock Knock," is that it's fine, really. There's nothing really wrong with it other than being kind of dull. I think if they'd have tried harder to make the characters more relatable it could have helped. Not every villain needs to be the new Daleks or Weeping Angels. Unlike some of the other episodes in my series ten rewatch, my opinion on this episode has changed very little. I would be as equally surprised to hear someone say this episode was terrible as I would be to hear it's their favourite. This is the kind of Doctor Who you can have on in the background. 

Much like we followed the lacklustre "The Unicorn and the Wasp," with the transcendent "Silence in the Library," I am very excited for the next episode in my rewatch- "Oxygen." Another anti-capitalist romp in the vein of "Smile," is just what I need right now. Now that I am back and feeling up to writing again, you should expect to see a bit more output. I wanted to cover the BBC's Youtube Dalek series, of which I have not watched a single frame. I've been putting it off because I wanted to talk about it on here. I have a few non-review articles in mind, but I don't like to promise too much. What I am saying is that you can expect more, soon! Take care!

#doctor who #series 10 #knock knock #David Suchet #bill potts #Pearl Mackie #Twelfth Doctor #Peter Capaldi #dryads #wood #bbc #tardis #rewatch #Time and Time Again

[blindprof]

It’s Complicated

When people first hear me say that I am blind or severely visually impaired (B/VI), the most common reaction is surprise…followed by sympathy…followed most often by awkward silence. This is totally understandable. Unless you are regularly interacting with differently abled people, disabilities are uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable and awkward around people who live with other forms of disability.

Heck, I’m still awkward around other people who are B/VI. And even this is understandable. Because each person is unique. Each manifestation of visual impairment is unique. Each path to and with B/VI is unique. Each person has unique life experiences, coping mechanisms, support networks, etc. We are all strangers in a strange land. I’ll have other posts dedicated to the whack-a-doo personal and social psychology of B/VI. For now, the focus remains on the physical, or rather the perceptual.

The second reaction is usually a question: “How bad is it” or “What do you see?” And my answer is “It’s complicated.”

In my first post, I laid out some more technical details: I have a visual field that is less that 10 degrees, night blindness, color blindness, uncorrectable myopia, light sensitivity, etc. But it’s not apparent how these details really affect what I see and how that impacts what I can do. This post will go into greater detail into what and how I see. Later posts will focus on how I (try to, with varying levels of success, stupidity, and hilarity) cope with these limitations.

It probably makes sense to start with my visual field, as this is the aspect of my vision that “qualifies” me as legally blind. However, before getting to that, we really need a basic understanding of how humans see. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and simple.

It may be easiest to compare the eye to a modern digital camera. A camera lens gathers and focuses light; it also constrains the amount of light passing through by altering the size of a mechanical aperture. In the human eye, these functions are performed by the lens and the pupil, respectively. In a digital camera, the lens focus light onto a CCD or CMOS sensor, which is a dense grid of light sensitive “pixels,” each generating a small electrical charge proportional to how much light (within a certain wavelength) is hitting it. The human retina is the biological, electrochemical equivalent. Finally, a digital camera has wires that transport these electrical signals to a computer, which then interprets the signals to create a digital image. Here, the human analogues are the optic nerve and the visual cortex within the brain.

As I noted in my first post, I have Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which primarily impacts my retina. Due to the wonders of genetics and epigenetics, other parts are impacted. But for now, I’ll focus on the retina. Characteristically, people with RP find that their retinal “pixels”—millions of light-sensitive “rod” and “cone” structures, as well as protective retinal pigment epithelial (RPE) cells from which the disease gets its name—stop functioning from the outside in. We don’t know the exact cause, nor is there yet any proven way to slow, much less reverse the process.

Of course, this is a biological process that is unique to each individual. For me, it has progressed relatively slowly from childhood. I can recall early symptoms as far back as age 6. I’ll have a separate post at some point talking about progression. But it is notable the process is neither steady nor predictable. I’ll have periods of relative stability followed by periods of perceptible loss. It’s rarely like a light switch, but rather more like a dimmer. Each area of loss will appear darker with less usable information until it is just “clicked off” by the brain, presumably redirecting its limited processing resources to doing something other than trying to interpret shotty data from dying cells. For me, the progression has also been very spotty—for example, I retained some usable vision in the extremes of my left-right periphery until just a couple years ago, despite progressively losing most of my peripheral vision between there and my center.

The result today is that I have very little of my retina remaining that pretends to function “normally.” I can detect very high contrast light vs. dark in some of my periphery, but nothing there that you would qualify as usable sight. My central vision is still somewhat functional, but has been fading rapidly of late. As I said, it’s spotty, but on average in good light I have maybe 10-15 degrees total horizontal vision and less than 10 vertical. And much of that is probably equivalent to what most would consider to be peripheral vision. To help better “feel” what this means, here are a few examples of how this manifests itself in my day-to-day life.

When I’m sitting across a table from you, I can see your face but not your hands. If I’m not socially distant, I might be able to see your eyes or your mouth, but not both at the same time. I often creep people out during a conversation because I’m constantly losing eye contact and moving my eyes to different parts of their body. I promise, I’m not “undressing you with my eyes”—people talk with their entire bodies, and I’m simply trying to catch as many visual cues as possible.

When watching TV from 10 feet away, I can “see” my entire 55-inch screen. But less than a quarter of that is in my central vision. I have to move my eyes to see detail or read signs or captions. Sports and fast action scenes are difficult to catch. A fast action, dark scene with subtitles…oy…the Battle of Winterfell may as well have been a BBC Radio broadcast.

I can read, though usually only slowly and for short periods, especially if it is paper and ink. I see only a few words at a time, so my eyes have to constantly move. This causes a lot of eye strain, and I have trouble keeping both eyes properly oriented and occasionally have periods where one eye twitches uncontrollably—obviously I’m channeling my inner Mad-Eye Moody.

And of course, navigating unfamiliar or unpredictable environments is very difficult. I navigate by moving from waypoint to waypoint, and if I don’t know the waypoints or if things jump in my way, well, bad things happen. Or maybe funny things.

More on all of these and their many repercussions in future posts.

People ask, “What do you ‘see’ in the places where you have no vision? Is it blackness? Emptiness? Blurry?” Again, it’s complicated, but for the most part, my brain has just removed those areas from its visual processing “algorithm.” So, I see the same thing that you see when something is beyond your peripheral vision…just nothing. There are long periods of adjustment as I lose sight—kind of like losing a limb and still expecting it to be there. But eventually it’s just not a part of the picture that my brain paints of the world around me.

Unfortunately, that’s not all. Night blindness is often the first detected symptom for folks with RP. What is left of my retina doesn’t detect light well, so I need much more of it. The result is that I’m totally blind in low-light situations. I need direct light to see any kind of detail. I carry a flashlight everywhere I go and use it regularly day and night.

So, I need bright light. But it is also my nemesis. My eyes compensate like one would with a digital camera…by cranking open the aperture (pupil) and turning up the gain on the sensor. This does allow me to function semi-normally in certain situations. But it also results in severe light sensitivity. As with a camera, the wider pupil also results in loss of detail, and bright light can almost entirely wash any other visual information. To make matters even worse, although my pupils do function, they are VERY slow to adjust.

The results of all of that are varied. I’ll post more details in the future. But for example, I am no longer able to read a computer screen for any length of time without inverted colors. It’s like trying to read while staring at headlights. I truly need dark mode on all of my devices. Also, changing lighting conditions are challenging, especially when they are extreme. When I come in from outside, my eyes can take many minutes to adjust. And bright light sources like sunny windows in otherwise moderately lit environments can really cause havoc.

Finally, a common comorbidity with RP are cataracts, which cause hardening and blurring of the lens. Of course, this one hit me, as well. A number of years ago, I had cataract surgery. It was great. I was the youngest patient in the surgery center by like 30 years. The process involves using a magic wand to dissolve your natural lens and replacing it with a plastic one. This gets rid of the blurring, but entirely removes the ability to focus. As a bonus, I did go from needing coke bottle glasses to just needing a couple of diopters of correction. But this further complicates reading, and means I’m constantly donning and doffing my specs or having to look below them to read. Minor in the big scheme of things, but it does make me look and feel like a damn old fart.

Okay, if you made it this far, you deserve to be let off the hook for now. There’s more like the fact that my corneas—the eyes’ (usually) clear “lens caps”—now seem to cause my sight to remain blurry for the first couple of hours of each day. Or that the eye strain can sometimes get so physically painful that I have to close my eyes for long periods during the day. But this is a mostly complete and accurate snapshot of what I’m currently living with physically.

I guess I didn’t present too many funny or uplifting or forward-looking things in here. Truth is, you kind of have to muddle along with me through these sewers to eventually find the humor and hope in all of this. Because it’s complicated. But I’ll get there if you’re patient.

[yamithediaperdork]

Forgotten stories/tweak old story: Do you believe in Magic? (Malcore)

Do you believe in magic?

Once upon a time, well, maybe not that long ago there was a brother and a sister, named Malcore and Des. Malcore was a growing boy, 14 years of age while Des was 6, though growing up ever so fast. Malcore was a kind, loving big brother who would of done anything for his little sister, until one fateful day when while playing with her outside, a group of his friends had seen him pretending to be a baby (they had been playing house) and he’d endured weeks of teasing. After that, Malcore stopped playing with Des who didn’t understand why her wonderful big brother was such a big doo doo head all of a sudden. Upset, Des asked to go out to their aunts while Malcore stayed home to explain things out to their father, then to Mom when she got back. Both of them had understood what Malcore was trying to say, and were willing to have a talk with Des before her bedtime.

Meanwhile at auntie Karen’s, Des told their aunt what a awful big brother Malcore was, and might of lied a little, making him sound like a little monster. Aunt Karen who (maybe) sort of favored Des more then Malcore was a little bit miffed by what she heard, and wished that Malcore had come out too now..Since she would of put the boy in his place. However, She had anther way of doing so... You See, one of the reasons why Aunt Karen dotted on Des to the degree that she did, was that Des was like her auntie..a witch. Oh, it would take awhile for her to master her powers, but the girl had the potential. Malcore on the other hand, was very much like his father, and devoid of any magic. even her sister while unable to cast spells was ungiue in being immune to magic. Sending Des off to watch some tv, and enjoy a snack of cookies and milk..Aunt Karen started to weave together a doll that would look like her nephew..and made sure to use some of his hair that she had (And they had called her creepy!) to bind the doll to him. If Des was powerful as Karen thought..then in Des’s hands Malcore was going to have quite a interesting afternoon..or longer depending on how long it took her sister to figure out what was going on.

While Des was over at Aunt Karen’s, Malcore had gone over to his friends house to play some video games. He endured a few taunts about them asking if he needed a diaper changed when he had farted, which had led to some rough housing and Malcore being asked to head home by his friends parents. He didn’t know what was in store for him as he took a little detour, he wasn’t expected home till supper time so he went though a little bit of woods nearby..staying on a trail mostly used by joggers on a lazy Sunday afternoon like today. it took longer to get home but the woods opened up right by his back yard, so if you had the time it beat walking on the sidewalk..and ironically, he’d have no idea how lucky he was he decided to take this route, or that he had been kicked out when he was.

“Auntie Karen gave me a new dollie!” Des said super excited in the back seat of the car, almost bouncing as mom drove them home. “That’s nice of her. did she get Malcore something?” Megan asked, knowing her sisters slightly biased attuide towards her kids. “She said if Malcore was gonna be a doo doo head he wouldn’t get a present.” Des huffed. Megan sighed..knowing it would be pointless to try and talk to Des till the little girl calmed down some more. “Well Malcore’s at his friends house anyways..” “Course he is..well i’ma gonna play with my dolly in my room.” Des said, as the car pulled into the driveway. Parking and letting Des out of the back seat, Megan ruffled her hair. “Ok kiddo, have fun.” She said and watched Des run off, with a my little voodoo doll toy..

Des hadn’t yet opened the white box, but as she did she found a small dolly that...looked just like her big brother and gasped in surprise. he was wearing exactly what Malcore was wearing at the moment! She also found a letter from Aunt Karen in the box, and while it took a bit of effort, she managed to get the basic meaning of it. More or less Aunt Karen told her to take out her frustrating on her big brother with the dolly, and feel better. She warned her not to be too rough with the dolly, and treat it like it was a living person, as the magic..whatever that meant, would be lost if the doll was killed.. Des didn’t understand how a doll could be killed but put the letter instead and looked in the box, expecting to find more boy clothes and stuff, and maybe a Des dollie. While there wasn’t a Des dolly, there was lots and lots of girls clothes, just the right size for the Malcore doll, and...diapers and other baby things! Des Giggled like a mad woman and got ready to play with her new toy, tugging down it’s pants and noting how it was wearing balloon print undies, just like Malcore still did.

Malcore was on the path, relaxing and enjoying the sights around him when suddenly he felt a yanking..and his jeans were around his ankles! the teen’s face flushed red and he moved to pull the pants back up but found himself..hovering in the air as they were tugged off his ankles! “W-What the feck!?” Malcore yelped, and then watched in dismay as his jean soared off over the trees..to go knows where, leaving him on the trail..in his shirt and undies. He was set back down on his feet, and feeling bewildered..till he heard a giggle behind him. Whirling around, there was a older lady, 18-20, in shorts and top, a jogger most likely, looking at the red faced boy. “You know, This really isn’t the place to flash off your undies little boy.” She teased. “I-I..”Malcore stammered, and then he tried to cover himself. “Whatever. just go and get your pants back on..the next person might not be so forgiving.” the woman laughed and then started to jog again, leaving Malcore behind... Like he wanted to flash off his undies!!

Having set the dolls jeans to the side, and behind careful to fold them (Des was a Lil bit of a neat freak) she moved onto getting the socks and shirt off of her Malcore doll next, having already selected a pretty blue dress for her brother..a bit of a evil grin on her face. She had no idea that thanks to her magic potential, everything she was doing to the doll was happening to him, and likely, with the mind set she was in, wouldn’t of cared.

Malcore was running off the path, being careful not to cut his legs on the branch's when he felt himself being lifted up again and groaned in despair. “Pleassse let this just be a dream!” He squeaked and then his socks and socks came off..and his shirt as well..and they flew though the trees as he was set down again..left in the middle of the woods in just his underwear..scared and confused.

“Let’s see,what sorta socks should I use for my big brother..” Des giggled, then grinned as she found some frilly knee highs..and then a pair of black Mary Jane’s. they would SO go along with the pretty blue dress she had picked.. Feeling a Lil evil, she pretend that Malcore was pleading with her as she got ready to dress him. “No Des, i’m sorry i was such a stinky doo doo boy! please don’t make me into a pretty girl!” She said in a deep version of her voice. “Sorry Malcore, it’s for your own good, now be a good girl or else I’ll have to spank you!”

Slowed down by the lack of shoes, Malcore was almost to the tree line when he felt himself lifting up again..and he grabbed at his underwear with both hands, assuming that that was next. Instead clothes can flying from nowhere at him, and as he looked, he realized what KIND of clothes they were and whimpered. “Oh god, PLEASE let this be a bad dream!” he cried out, as the white socks worked they’re way up his legs..then the Mary Jane's buckled themselves to his feet. “this isn’t real...this isn’t real..” he chanted to himself..eyes clothes..then felt his arms tugged up..and looked at the pretty blue dress. “Oh god please don’t let this be real...”

With the dress on ’Malcore’ Des set the dolly down and smiled..the sight of her big brother dressed like this was going to keep her smiling for quite some time. she hmmed and ha’ed about putting him in one of the pairs of panties in the box, but then decided the diapers would be cuter. but first... “Oh gawd, Please Des, I’m Sooo sorry!” She said in her Malcore voice, and made the dolly get on its knees like it was begging for forgiveness.

Malcore whimpered as he was set back on his feet..then yelped as he went onto his knees, the branch's on the ground poking him. “the fuck is going on!?” He demanded out loud.

“I dunno Malcore, you’ve been such a jerk and-” “Change me back right now or I’m gonna kick your butt!” She said in her Malcore voice, and then Des sighed. “you brought this on yourself big brother.” she scold and picked up the dolly, swatting it’s butt.

Malcore shut his eyes, scared of what was next as he was lifted up into the air..then his dress...ugh...HIS dress...was tugged up in the back...and Malcore suddenly had a badddd feeling...

his suspicions were confirmed a moment later when he felt the slaps on his butt, and despite himself, he was bawling like a baby by the third swat, tears rolling down his cheeks and covering his mouth trying not to attract anyone with the noise he was making.

Des took a little bit of water from her..and trickle it down the dolly undies..making sure to keep the dolls dress out of the way and then scolded. “Malcore! did you wet yourself!?”

the spanking stopped but that wasn’t the worse part..as without warning Malcore’s bladder gave way and with the dress tugged out of the way he soaked his undies! he felt anther swat on his bottom, then the offending undies were tugged off of him (though somehow not getting his shoes or socks wet...) and then Malcore was on his feet, the dress pinned up and his privates on display. But this was the break he needed...not sure what was going on, he took off running for the house, and just hoped no one would see him. the fates were nice (in this regard at least) and Malcore made it to the back porch, panting and looking around outside..making sure no one had seen him. he didn’t see the diaper creeping up behind him as he looked out the window..till once again he was in the air.

“Really Malcore, I thought you were a big kid. well, whatever. I understand if your just my little baby sister.” Des giggled and then taped one of the poofy diapers on the Malcore dolly, then put a bow in his hair. Setting the dolly down, she loved how the diapers peeked out from the dress. She stopped, as she heard a sob (Des’s room was over the back porch) that sounded a lot like Malcore, and carried the dolly with her she went downstairs to see what was the matter.

Malcore was mortified...here he was, a young man...and he was dressed like a over sized one year old. he couldn’t spit out the pacifier in his mouth no matter how hard he tried, and resigned himself to it as he started to cry again..and slowly opened the door, having no idea how he was going to explain this to mom and dad. (who, were in the basement den where the TV was set up watching the game) Malcore was bright red as he saw Des of all people..the person he had told he wasn’t a baby doll..come up and go slack jaw staring at him...till he noticed the doll in her hand. "...OU!” He cried out, albeit muffled due to the pacifier, pointing at the dolly. Des looked down..then at him..then at the dolly..and grinned. “Oh my gosh..Aunt Karen really does give the best gifts!” Des giggled, then yelped as Malcore lunged at her. he got his hands on the dolly, for the briefest of moments..then had to let go of it, as he hunched over and held his belly..he had almost voided himself! the feeling was gone the second the dolly was let go of..and Malcore looked at Des who was not amused at all. “I’m gonna let that one go, cuz I bet you’ve had a rough day.” She said with a smirk. “But I think you understand that from now on, things are gonna be a little different around the house..unless you wanna go to school like this.” Des said, her sweet voice dripping with venom. Malcore whimpered..and started to cry again..and Des, being the good big sister she was, had him stand up and turn around so she could pat the back of his diaper to see why the big baby was crying..

[fabledfurbies]

My Furby Family (so far . . . )

Hello! I'm fabledfurbies, and this is my Furby blog! I plan on posting pictures and blurbs about my Furbies. As of posting this, I have 7 Furbies in my little Furby family! Without further ado, here they are!

Name: Norman

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 1999 (Baby)

Color(s): mint green + white

Eyes: green

Story: The one who started my collection! This is Norman, who I received from my boyfriend. Norman had been sitting in a garage for who knows how long. When I first put batteries in him and hit the reset button, nothing happened. So I put him on my desk thinking I would mess with him later. Well, about 24 hours went by and this little guy decided to suddenly wake up! He scared me and startled my boyfriend. Thus, I named him after Norman Bates from the horror movie, Psycho!

Clean Up / Customization: I attempted to mess with a motor through his beak but accidentally snapped it out of place. I got it to snap back in, though! Ever since, Norman’s mouth has been stuck open. Oops! I am planning on skinning him at some point to wash him (he is SO dirty) and play with his motors. He also has a bit of battery corrosion I’m going to try and take care of.

Name: Pip

Furbish Name: Day-doo (means Rainbow Maker)

Model: Boom (Triangles)

Color(s): blue, pink, black triangle pattern + orange beak

Eyes: n/a (digital)

Story: Pip was the second Furby I got. She was my first (and so far only) thrift store find! I had a really rude customer at work one day who nearly sent me into a panic attack. I ended up crying in the break room because he frazzled me so much. After I got off, I asked my boyfriend to take me to my favorite thrift store just to see if they maybe had a Furby. And they DID! I got the app to work long enough to give her a Furbish name, but then it stopped working.

Clean Up / Customization: No work is needed on Pip - she works really well! Maybe a little too well, actually. She’s LOUD and PROUD! She’s been on the hyper personality since I got her. My boyfriend wants me to try to switch her personality, but I honestly love her just the way she is and don’t really want to change her!

Name: Cosmo

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 1998 (Elephant)

Color(s): blue + white + pink

Eyes: brown

Story: Cosmo is an Elephant from the 3rd generation of the original 1998 Furbies! I fell in love with the look of this model as soon as I saw one and knew I had to add one to my collection. I looked around for a bit but decided on Cosmo because I liked his listing photos.

Clean Up / Customization: Unfortunately, Cosmo might have MSA. The first time I put in batteries, he turned on fine. The only problem was that his sensors didn’t react to touch. He did react to loud sounds and vibrations, though. The second time I put batteries in him, he would only say “me sleep again” over and over. I am planning on skinning him and washing him, so when I do I will mess with him a bit and see if I can’t get him to function properly! I’m also thinking of giving him custom eye chips.

Name: Luna

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 2005 (Emoto-Tronic)

Color(s): tan + pink

Eyes: light blue

Story: Shhh, don’t tell the others - Luna is my favorite! She came to me from Canada and was relatively well priced, especially for being in such a good working condition! She reacts to commands and to her sensors being touched, plus her expressions are amazing. Just look at that smile in her photo! I love her to bits! I might need more 2005s now . . .

Clean Up / Customization: Not much is going to be done to Luna. I am planning on giving her a bath with a damp rag and brushing her the best I can in hopes that she won’t look quite so scruffy. I am also hoping to create a bunch of accessories for her, like the pearl necklace she’s wearing in her photo. I may also paint her toenails at some point, as the paint is chipping off a few of them. Other than that, she’s perfect!

Name: Dare

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 2016 (Connect)

Color(s): blue

Eyes: blue (digital)

Story: Dare came to me from Las Vegas along with Joy. I call them the twins, and they were named after my grandparents, who lived in Las Vegas when they were alive. Dare and Joy must have been played with together because they seemed to recognize each other when I set them up. Both of them are fart machines and make fart noises a lot. Dare has a bad habit of falling over a lot, but I feel like that adds to his character!

Clean Up / Customization: Dare just needs to be brushed, and he’ll be good to go! I’m also planning on downloading the app at some point to figure out his and Joy’s Furbish names!

Name: Joy

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 2016 (Connect)

Color(s): purple

Eyes: blue (digital)

Story: Joy came to me from Las Vegas along with Dare. I call them the twins, and they were named after my grandparents, who lived in Las Vegas when they were alive. Joy and Dare must have been played with together because they seemed to recognize each other when I set them up. Both of them are fart machines and make fart noises a lot. Unlike Dare, Joy so far hasn’t had a problem with staying upright.

Clean Up / Customization: Joy just needs to be brushed, and she’ll be good to go! I’m also planning on downloading the app at some point to figure out her and Dare’s Furbish names!

Name: n/a

Furbish Name: unknown

Model: 1999 (Baby)

Color(s): white + pink

Eyes: blue

Story: Since finding out that you can customize Furbies, I have wanted to try going all out on customizing one myself. I immediately got an idea when I saw a 1999 white Baby, and after weeks of looking I finally snagged this kid. He was SO pudgy and cute in his listing photos, he just had to be mine!

Clean Up / Customization: I want to attempt to make this baby a bit more colorful. I’m going to get yarn in each color of the rainbow and brush it out to make it look like “fur” again. Then I’m going to skin the baby and thread the pieces of “fur” through the skin so that there’s bits of rainbow yarn down the mane. I’m also going to swap the eye chips out for something more colorful. I may end up doing more to him later, but we shall see!

#furby #safe furby #furblr #furbies #furby family #my furbies

[tempestaurora]

WHUMPVEMBER #29: CAREGIVER

fluffy nonsense for the second-to-last-whumpvember-fic AO3

“I agree,” Peter said, nodding at Morgan, who was busy sucking her thumb and staring wide-eyed up at him. “Cosmological perturbations grow according to the Mészáros Effect until the onset of nonlinearity.” Morgan, not one-year-old, blinked and Peter laughed. “Now if only that made sense in English.”

He poked her lightly in the belly, watching her giggle; eyes a bright, lively brown and hair curly and pale. She was laid back on the sofa at Peter and May’s apartment, her toys and supplies strewn across the floor and coffee table as the baby TV channel played in the background; bright colours and large letters appearing on screen with overly friendly hosts.

Peter babysat Morgan pretty often by this point. He was Tony and Pepper’s go-to, partially because they trusted him and partially because he loved babysitting the girl his little sister. Usually, he’d babysit at the tower or compound, depending on where Tony was living that week, but for once she’d been dropped off in Queens; a last-minute gig when Morgan’s parents were called suddenly to an all-day emergency meeting upon one of their (now former) employees going a little Mad Scientist and trying to blow up the Empire State Building.

(“Hey, Pete?

“Yeah, Tony?”

“How busy are you today?”

“Uh, not very? I mean, I was planning on doing some assignment work, but-”

“That’s great, that’s great. Would you mind looking after Morgan? We can drop her off, but we’ve both been called in-”

“Of course I can! What time do you need me?”

“Uh, in about five seconds- yeah, yeah, we’re outside right now. Hear that horn? That’s us. Please come get the child. She didn’t like the horn and now she’s crying.”)

So, Peter was babysitting, which was great, but also a little bit of a fork in the works of his plan. Originally, he was going to write his assignments for class and then Spiderman around the city for a while. Now – well, he could do the assignment work, mostly, but Spiderman would have to wait until tomorrow.

Morgan giggled and pulled her thumb from her mouth, pushing herself up to grab Peter’s hand with her soggy one. Peter pulled a face that made her laugh, then made a few garbled sounds that made no sense to him.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said anyway. “We do get seasons because the Earth is tilted 23.4 degrees on its axis – that’s a very astute observation.”

Morgan farted, laughed, then farted again.

“Alright, alright,” he said, picking her up and holding her to his chest as he wandered around the room. Morgan settled her cheek on his shoulder, pushing her thumb back in her mouth, the TV singing a song about shapes or numbers or colours.

Peter liked these kind of days a lot.

He had the apartment to himself and just a little girl with incredibly basic needs to attend to. Morgan Margaret Stark, who pooped, ate, and pooped again. Occasionally, she’d take a nap, but otherwise she liked attention and funny faces, and Peter could say anything he was thinking out loud, because she wouldn’t tell anyone what he said. And he could spend the day trying to get her to say his name as her first word while lost in his own thoughts.

It was during this moment of quiet, Morgan in his arms, sunlight warming the kitchen floor, that Peter heard the scream.

His spine straightened suddenly, eyes darting to the window and ears picking up on the yelp that was cut short.

“Crap,” he muttered, then glanced at Morgan as if she’d immediately repeat the word back. “I can’t- Morgan- I mean-”

There was the sound of a struggle, his enhanced ears picking up on the grunts of exertion and whimpers of fear. Peter heard a please and he knew he had to do something.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, rushing to his room. He settled Morgan on his bed before yanking off his t-shirt and searching for his suit. “What Tony doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He won’t find out about this, Pepper won’t know – no one will know.”

Peter hit the spider emblem and the suit shrunk to size. He steadied a look at Morgan.

“And you’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

She looked at him and giggled.

“Right,” he whispered, pulling on the mask.

Before he had much of a chance to think about it, Peter picked up Morgan and darted back into the living room, before searching one-handed through all her supplies and finding the baby carrier a moment later.

Peter enjoyed the baby carrier, because it meant he could hold Morgan without actually holding her, which made a lot of things easier. Like being Spiderman, apparently.

He strapped her into the carrier on his back, checking on her briefly before leaving the apartment via the closest window.

Peter had already figured out that he could hear the yelp so easily because it was coming from the alley next to his building, so it wasn’t difficult to climb out the window and shoot a web that would let him swing around to the scene.

Morgan didn’t seem to mind the height; she just stayed quiet and watched as the ground swung up to meet them and Peter landed carefully, so as not to hurt her.

“Hey!” he called when he reached the alley.

Ahead of him was a man in a dark jacket, a knife outstretched, and a short woman with trembling hands, her handbag being yanked into the mugger’s grasp.

“There are young, impressionable minds present,” Peter said. “Please set a good example for them.”

The mugger blinked at him. “What the hell? Is that a baby?”

Peter shrugged, Morgan babbled in his ear. “It’s bring your sister to work day, what can I say? Now, knife down, handbag back to the nice lady, or my little sister’s gonna have to see me kick your butt.”

The mugger snorted, shoved the bag back at the lady and turned on Peter, brandishing the knife. “Get ready for an ass-kicking, Spiderboy.”

Peter sighed. “Young, impressionable minds present,” he muttered, before swooping into action.

The knife was easy to disarm, considering the mugger moved his weapon into just the right position for Peter to safely knock it away with a well-timed kick. He webbed it to the ground where it landed to take it out of play.

After that, it was just him and the mugger as the lady ran further down the alley, to where the chain-link fence kept her blocked in.

The mugger missed all his hits bar one – Peter took one knock to the stomach when he was focusing more on if Morgan was okay on his back than the mugger’s next move. Peter got him back quickly with a right hook and as the guy leaned forward with a groan, Peter headbutted him in the nose, making Morgan laugh.

She was only laughing for a second though, because a fight’s a rough ride to be an unwilling participant to, and soon the movement was making her whine.

“It’s okay,” Peter promised, shooting a web at the guy’s foot, locking him in place. Still Morgan’s whining got higher and higher in pitch until it sounded like she was about to sob. “Karen,” Peter announced, “play Baby Shark through the suit’s speakers.”

“Yes, Peter, though I have to remind you that you’ve referred to this song as what Hell sounds like on more than one occasion.”

Peter took a deep breath, looking briefly into the middle distance. “I’m a hero, Karen. Heroes do what they must.”

“Understood.”

The Baby Shark song started playing, much to everyone in the alley’s annoyance, bar Morgan, who upon hearing the first doo doo doo doo doo doo, abruptly stopped complaining and quietened.

The mugger, leaning to pull at the webbing on his shoes, received another web to his hands, locking them in place. He growled when he found he was stuck.

“Get me out of this!”

“No can do,” Peter replied, over Mommy Shark doo doo doo doo doo doo.

The mugger shook his head, before spitting, “What the fuck is that song? Turn it off.”

“Hey,” Peter said, going for loud and authoritative, which was a difficult mark to hit with a baby on his back and Baby Shark playing out of his suit’s speakers. “Don’t fucking swear around her, she’s a baby you asshat.”

The mugger blinked before Peter looked to the woman, approaching slowly from the other end of the alley.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” Peter asked, and upon her confirmation, he asked Karen to phone the police and alert them to the mugger, before moving to the closest wall.

“Nice to meet you,” he said to the woman, and to the man, “Learn not to swear around fucking babies, dude.”

Peter made his exit and crawled up the wall, making it to the roof of his building and electing to hang out up there with Morgan for a few minutes, to keep up appearances, before abseiling back down to climb through a window back into his apartment.

When he was back, he pulled Morgan off his back, as she garbled something in time to the Baby Shark song that deserved its own circle of Hell.

“Sure, sweetie,” he said, “A lightning bolt is five times hotter than the surface of the sun. You’re right about that.”

Peter settled back into the sofa, checking her over for marks, just in case.

“You’re not going to tell your Mommy or Daddy about our little adventure today, right?”

Morgan hiccupped, said three words that weren’t really words and Peter smiled, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“Good, we’ll keep it a secret. The Parker-Stark Secret Keeping Society officially has its first secret.”

(The Parker-Stark Secret Keeping Society’s first secret was found out less than twenty-four hours later when the official police report of the mugging somehow got back to Tony Stark, who then took it upon himself to watch the Baby Monitor footage from Peter’s suit. The woman described Spiderman with a baby on his back, and there was only one baby that could possibly be.

“You took Morgan out with you when you were Spiderman?” Tony asked the second Peter’s apartment door closed.

“It was an emergency-”

“An emergency.”

“I had a thing-”

“A thing.”

“I didn’t have time to drop her off with anyone! And it was right outside my building – but don’t worry, it went fine, she was on my back the whole time. She saw nothing, Tony, I promise – I think she even giggled when I headbutted that mugger-”

“When you what-”

“Nothing, Tony. When I did nothing at all.”

“Right, when you did nothing at all. Because if you did something, that fact would make its way back to Pepper.” Peter gulped. “And then so would the fact that you swore around the baby.”

Peter opened his mouth and shut it again. He swallowed. “Good thing I did nothing at all.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Nothing at all.”

The Parker-Stark Secret Keeping Society had its second official secret.)

#irondad spiderson #peter parker #morgan stark #tony stark #mcu #bethany talks #whumpvember

[cassiopeiassky]

The Potato of Mass Destruction

Hello, everyone!  Here is a little something to make up for all the angst I’ve been writing lately.  This is my submission for @ruckystarnes Rae’s Summer of Satire Challenge, the prompt is  “If I’m dying, let me eat cake.”/“You’re not dying.”/“Let me eat cake anyway.”  The prompt is in bold.

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2745

Summary: It’s your kids’ birthday party today, and everything is going well until some of your family arrives with an early birthday present for the boys.  Chaos ensues.  It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt; Bucky, to be exact, when he is the victim of an extraordinarily random freak accident.

Warnings:  There’s not much here, kids.  Some mild profanity (but seriously, you should expect that from me by now), mentions of guns, Bucky gets hurt.

Also - I used some characters from one of my other fics (WEMtbB), so this story *could* be viewed as kind of a spoiler, however it can also be read as a complete story by itself.  I hope you all enjoy it!

Oh!  And the pic at the bottom - yes, I did that.  I am that extra.

The clock reads shortly after eleven in the morning as you hum along with the radio.  Despite the fact that you’re currently operating under a time crunch, you’re in your happy place.  Zen mode.  Relaxed and at ease in creative bliss.  As the smell of vanilla wafts through the kitchen, you painstakingly create a one eyed minion on top of a cupcake.

Your twin boys are turning eight next week, and you had suggested a private birthday party for their friends.  The boys had no problems with their friends coming to the family party, but you did.  Your extended family happens to include Captain America and Iron Man, among others, and their dad is the infamous Winter Soldier. Your boys’ friends know this and are perfectly capable of acting like decent human beings when surrounded by people who save the world as their full-time job, but their parents tend to get a little…intense…especially two of the single moms and one of the single dads.

To get around the inevitable secondhand embarrassment – and to keep the attention on the kids, where it’s supposed to be – you’d proposed two separate parties on consecutive weekends. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it to make sure they get the birthday they deserve.

The goggles on the current minion finally meet your standards, so you carefully place it on the platter with the completed cupcakes and…wait…weren’t you finished with 11 cupcakes?  Instinct has you whirling around, fears immediately confirmed.

“Bucky, no!  You can’t eat that!”  You snatch it back, inspecting it for any smudges in the icing.

Your husband stares at you, eyebrows drawn together, empty hand still held up to his wide-open mouth.  “I can’t have even one?  You always let me taste test.”

“No, Love, I’m sorry. These are for the boys’ ‘friends only’ birthday party this afternoon.  The first batch failed miserably – it’s a new recipe and I had to play with the temp and timing – so now I have exactly the number of cupcakes needed for the number of guests.  It’s a good thing I decided to make the boys a small layer cake to blow out their candles or I’d have to uninvite two kids.”

“So…just make more?” he suggests hopefully.  “I like cupcakes.”

You pick up another cupcake and begin to decorate it.  “Buck, I promise you can have all the cake you want next weekend when we have the family party.  And honestly, next week’s cake will be better cake.”

“But it smells so good, Doll, please?  You love baking,” he steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, “and I love when you bake.  See?  Win – win.”

You snicker at his antics as you lean into his embrace.   “I would if I could, Buck, but I can’t.  The party is in less than two hours. Besides, I’m out of rice flour and can’t use regular flour until after the party because I can’t risk any cross contamination in the kitchen.  So many of the kids have allergies that I had to make these gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free.”  

“Gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free – what the hell is holding these things together?”  

“Xanthan gum and flax seed.” You shake your head as you laugh, “One of the little girls that’s coming is allergic to all of those, plus citrus.  I was so surprised when her mom told me that, I asked if her daughter survived on rainbows and unicorn farts.  I mean, what else can she eat?”

Bucky chuckles as he stealthily reaches for the bowl of icing, but you catch him in your peripheral and bring a wooden spoon down on his knuckles.

Every now and then you manage to impress yourself with your reflexes.

“Ow!”

“Bucky!  I took me six tries to get decent tasting dairy free icing and I don’t have any to spare, so if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, get out of my kitchen!”

“I just wanted some cake,” he grumbles as he pouts.

You turn to him and take his face gently in your hands.  “Bucky, my love, I know and I’m sorry.  I promise you’ll have all the cake you want next weekend.  I’ll even make some with extra frosting – I’ll pile on the old lady flowers so it’s an inch and a half thick, just like you like.  I just don’t have any to spare right now.”

“But next weekend is so far away,” he whines.

Your fingers slide back and tangle in his hair, and you press your lips to his before whispering, “I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?”

He pretends to think about it for a few seconds.  “Deal,” he smirks before pulling you close and kissing you deeply.

Who knows how long you were wrapped in each other’s embrace before you hear the door open and close – could be thirty seconds, could be ten minutes – you can never tell when you’re like this with Bucky because time stands still.

“Aw man, they’re at it again.”  Jimmy tries to sound disgusted, but you happen to know that he secretly loves that his mom and dad are affectionate.  It makes him feel secure.

You giggle at your son’s observation, but Bucky doesn’t break form.  He takes kissing his wife very seriously.

“Do you really have to do that here?  We have people coming over.”  Artie does a better job at sounding irritated, but when Bucky finally breaks the kiss and you turn to him, you can see the small smile on your son’s lips.

“Yes, I do,” Bucky replies before you can shoo them away.  “I will have you know that, as your father, it is my solemn duty to show you how a man should treat his partner.”  Bucky’s hands rise to cradle your face as he speaks, “If you don’t see me treat your mom with love,” he pauses to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “adoration,” another tender kiss to your forehead, “and respect,” a gentle thumb glides over your cheek as he kisses the other, “then how are you supposed to know how to treat the person you love?  You can think it’s gross, but I’m doing my best to raise my boys to be loving, respectful men.”  He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “Besides, your mom’s hot.”

“Oh, gross,” Artie makes gagging noises while Jimmy rolls his eyes.

The conversation is interrupted by a brief knock on the front door.  “Hello!  Everyone decent?”

“Grandpa!! Uncle Eddie!!” The boys run to the door and into the arms of the two men standing there. Technically it’s your grandpa and uncle, but Great Grandpa and Great Uncle Eddie is just too much.

“Hey boys, guess what?”

Your uncle has an impish glint in his eye…you know this look.  You don’t know what he’s holding behind his back, but whatever it is isn’t good. “Uncle Eddie, no.”

“Uncle Eddie, yes,” he declares, presenting what he was holding behind him.  “Happy birthday kiddos!”

“What the hell is that?”

You speak at the same time Bucky does, but louder.  “No! You are absolutely NOT giving my seven year olds a potato gun!”

“We’re practically eight, Mom!”

“Wait, it’s a what?”  Bucky looks both confused and delighted.

Your uncle smirks at the chaos he’s sown.  “It’s fun!”

“It’s a weapon of mass destruction!” you shoot back.

Uncle Eddie shoots you an unimpressed look.  “You’re being a little dramatic here.”

You march over to your uncle and lift the white plastic barrel of the gun.  It still has its old Scooby Doo sticker on the side of it – the one you’d put there as a little girl. “It’s your old gun??  The one you souped up to make it even more powerful?!   No.  NO.  And I’m not being dramatic – it’s works by combustion and the barrel is wider than two inches – it is classified as a weapon of mass destruction.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky interjects, sounding slightly impressed that you knew that.

“Aw, come on, peanut, you know we’re safe!  You let Bucky teach them gun safety and you’ve let us take them deer hunting for the past two years.  You trust us, you already know they’re in good hands!”

“Okay, first of all, the reason Bucky taught them gun safety is because there are guns in the house.  They’re inaccessible to the kids, but he did it as a precautionary measure.  Second, I am a grown ass woman.  I officially outgrew the nickname peanut years ago.  Finally –“

“No,” your grandpa interrupts gently, “You were my first grandbaby.  You’ll always be my peanut.”

“I – okay, fine.  But finally, your gun safety isn’t in question, the potato gun is.  It doesn’t even have a safety!”

Uncle Eddie grins as he pulls the can of Aqua Net out of its chamber.  “There, satisfied?”

You fold your arms and glare at your uncle.  

“Please, Mom? Pleeeeeeeease?”  Twin sets of beseeching eyes turn your way.  “Just until the party?”

You can feel Bucky’s stare boring into the side of your head.  He’d never contradict you in front of the boys – the two of you always back each other’s plays, and if ever there’s an issue it’s discussed later – but you can practically hear his curiosity begging for permission.  

It’s pretty clear you’re outnumbered.  And, truth be told, it’s practically a right of passage in your family.   There was a time when it was you and your uncle begging your mom…

“Fine,” you relent, “but it needs to disappear before any of the kids get here for the party.”

Five beaming smiles are your reward as your boys, grandpa, and uncle race to the back door to get to the back yard.

“You know they’re gonna be fine, right?”  Bucky holds in his excitement to pull you into a reassuring embrace; even now, your well-being is his priority.  “Your family is really good about firearm safety, even by my standards.”

“You do realize that I just agreed to let my uncle – who drove through town last Saturday night with his bare ass smushed against the back window of his car while my aunt drove – take our boys out back to fire a homemade device that has enough power to shoot a potato over 200 yards?”

Bucky grasps you by the shoulders as he pulls back, eyes wide.  “When you put it that way…”

All you can do is nod when you see his curiosity overtaken by common sense.

“I’m gonna go…supervise…” He doesn’t even have the sentence fully out before he’s speeding toward the door.

“They’re gonna be fine.   It’s fine.  Everything is fine,” you mutter to yourself as you return to the cupcakes.

* * *

It’s about a quarter past one, and the cupcakes are finally done.  The boys’ friends will probably start arriving within the next 40 minutes or so, so you take the platter of cupcakes and the boys’ small cake for the candles and head out to the back yard to set up the cake table.

When you step into the afternoon sunlight, the sounds of giggles and shrieks meet your ears.  They’ve been busy – all of the folding tables that had been placed are now decorated for the party.  The potato gun is sitting on top of one of the tables, abandoned for a game of chicken.  Jimmy is on Uncle Eddie’s shoulders, and Artie is on Bucky’s as they race around the yard.

As you lay out the cakes, everyone comes over to see what you’ve done, including the squirrel that lives in the tree providing the shade.

“Mom, those are so cool!” Jimmy’s practically jumping up and down.

Artie wraps his arms around your waist, “You’re the best momma ever,” he whispers, and your heart promptly melts.  

Unbeknownst to any of you, the squirrel had shifted to get a better look at the brightly colored confections, not catching anyone’s attention until it let out a loud squeak as it fell out of the tree.  This wouldn’t have been exactly catastrophic except that it landed just right on the potato gun, somehow managing to fire a potato straight into Bucky’s crotch from 20 feet away.

The former assassin drops to the ground like a sack of apples.  His mouth opens in a silent scream as the blood drains from his face and he curls into the fetal position.

“Bucky, are you okay? Bucky?”  You rush to kneel next to him, trying to offer whatever comfort you can. You’re reasonably sure that this can’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

“Oh my God, I think this is the end of the line for me,” he groans, trying unsuccessfully to roll to his knees.  “I can see flashing lights.”  He gives up his efforts to move and curls into a ball in the grass.  “This isn’t how I thought I would go.”

“Buck, you’re going to be okay.”  Recognizing by his tone and actions that he isn’t in any actual danger, you have to swallow back the laughter that’s suddenly threatening to bubble out of you.

“No, I’m not.  I really think I’m dying, and if I’m dying, let me eat cake.”

Yep, he’s fine.  In pain, but fine.  “You’re not dying.”

“Let me eat cake anyway.”  He grins up at you with watery eyes.

You sit back on your heels, unable to fully hide your relief as you mutter, “You’re a shameless little shit.”

The boys approach slowly. “Dad?”  There’s a hint of fear in their voices, and this is enough for Bucky to pull himself together.

“I’m okay,” he whimpers as you help him sit up.  “I’m okay.”

They both kneel in front of him.  “Are you sure?” Jimmy whispers.

Bucky nods while grimacing. “It’s just your standard potato to the balls, not much worse than Auntie Nat’s cheap shot in a fight.  I’ll be fine, just gotta walk it off.  Now help me up.”

As the boys help their dad, your eyes turn to your uncle, who is trying unsuccessfully to hide behind your grandpa.  “Seriously? You forgot to pull out the hairspray and the potato?”

Uncle Eddie stares at you in mild terror.  “I’m, uh, I should probably take that thing and leave because you have guests coming soon. See you next weekend, guys!”  You’ve never seen your uncle walk so fast in your entire life.

You turn to your grandpa, and he starts chuckling.  The laugh you’d managed to hold back earlier comes out in a snort, and the boys, understanding now exactly what happened, begin giggling uncontrollably.

“I can’t believe I still don’t get cake.”  The disappointment in his hoarse voice is crystal clear.  Shaking your head and completely unsuccessful at stopping your laughter, you pull his arm over your shoulders and help him limp back to the house.  When you pass the fridge, you pause to grab a bag of frozen peas for him to ice his tender junk.

* * *

Later that night, after the party is done and the boys are all tucked in, you do what you can to make up for Bucky’s ordeal.  He’ll be fully healed by tomorrow – the bruises are already beginning to fade – but you still feel bad for him.  

Giggling to yourself as you put on the final touches, you listen carefully for any sign of your husband. Not that it really matters – if he doesn’t want to be heard, he’s as silent as night.  Satisfied that he’s still upstairs in your bedroom either reading or writing in his journal, you snap the lid onto the dish, grab a fork, and make your way to him.

When you enter your bedroom, you realize why you were able to get away with preparing your little surprise.  He’s outside on the balcony with the doors closed.

Bucky turns his blue eyes your way when you join him, smiling softly as he reaches for you before noticing the thing in your hand.  Immediately recognizing the cake carrier, his eyes grow wide with delight.  “Is that for me?”

You smile as you gently place the dish in his lap.  “Mmm hmm.”

He removes the cover and bursts out laughing at what he finds.

A chocolate cake, decorated with an abundance of flowers and frosting at least an inch thick all the way around, with a message that leaves no room for misunderstanding as to whom this cake is for.

“Here’s your damn cake, you little shit.”

Tags:  @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult  @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest  @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire​  @learisa​ @widowvinter​  @kaaatniss ​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​ @denialanderror  @k-nighttt​ @givemethatgold​ @manders2487 ​ @afangirlrambles​ ​ ​ @polkadottedpillowcase​ @msshadowboxer​ @bluebrrn @saysay125​  @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky  @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508  @scarlettsoldier  @natalie-nightcourt  @im-beautifully-sewn  @lovemarvelousfics  @feistytravel  @tbetz0341  @nearly-whitches  @jamie-leah  @shliic  @dessinemoiunehistoire  @lucywinchester2000  @solarbarnes  @a-proper-chicken  @movingonto-betterthings

#SummerofSatire2018 #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #my work #the potato of mass destruction

[the-firebird69]

So I'm talking to my husband it says just before that but right now he says I don't think I smell like poop I think I'm secretly farting or forgetting it and you are so people are saying too

Have something to see you cookie it's me Jen Merrick Akerley and we dropped America as a last name I did actually says any help me do it that's what I meant and he did he says I know I said it. He doesn't have to say cork

You should be doing this action but now you can with this new candy bar that has been made.

So that night when you told him I had to come up with some more he went up there and you weren't there now you came up and he's saying this stuff and all sudden I said a few times like three different ones to go slow down and one at a time and I didn't tell him this one but all sudden he said I want that one I said you can't have it so I told him something close so you started going nuts with it he's coming back around it's going to start blurting it out

I know what it is I know what it is it's doo doo the candy bar and we need it and it says it's somewhere in Africa and might be in Los Angeles so you have to ask Garth I guess cuz he goes to both places. He had them on the line earlier and garyh couldn't find it but God's been looking around and says he knows someone who knows where it is. And he knows the name of the company and where to find it cuz he got a rapper LOL that's right a real rapper from Africa but it's from the candy bar named doodoo so this is kind of stupid but I think we're saying someone else's code even though they may not have planned it and he says yeah that's their code and only this dummy would fall for it it says I might have fallen for an on purpose cuz they're treating me like doodoo...

"speaking of which" Clark says, "I think I found it and it means this if I eat this candy bar that he designed I'm eating his s*** and we need to eat that s*** because we haven't eaten any of it we need to eat a lot of it". So he goes on to say more and he's saying this "we suck we suck we suck"any means you can't find it or get it fast enough or at all really and right now he's saying "I found it it's not at Walmart and you have to be a distributor not a retailer of candy so I have to find one of those" and my husband says this one in California it's real big that might have it but I'm not sure if that was real or not and he's saying back "I checked that and nothing they almost hung up on me and I said it's got a real weird name again I said we haven't heard that real weird name and don't call back here about that stupid s*** so I so I started laughing" he says. Don't give me angry was just smoking it seems to pocket there and stay there and he's still looking for it so I'm going to ask someone to do it but no it says if it's in Africa these guys have people in it out there of their own don't they and they're looking around I'm trying to find someone have him send you a picture of the rapper... I already did that but you couldn't get anything from the rapper this is the name of the company and I can't find the company. He's trying to look right now and is it done a ton of it out there in Africa people eating it up we love it... And I guess go oh yeah we'll make a product and I'll be pretzel Joe it's a soft pretzel comes in a wrapper and just heat it and eat it. And if you don't have the rhyme you can't do the time Gu Oya say

Hera

Zues

[the-desolated-quill]

Luther 5x01 - Luther blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Can you remember the last time I’ve written about this show? 24th December 2015. Feeling old yet? Back then I was lucky if my reviews got two notes. Now I can get as many as thirty. Goodness me, I’ve gone up in the world XD

If you would like to read my reviews of the previous episodes... well... I’d rather you didn’t if I’m honest because they’re not very good. I was still finding my feet as an amateur critic/blogger/moaning old fart at the time and only had a vague idea of what I was talking about. I can give you a quick summary of my views on the show. I love it for the most part. In recent years it’s become almost trendy to take the piss out of it due to its over the top villains and gratuitous violence, but that’s always been part of its charm for me. But above all, what puts Luther head and shoulders above most other crime shows for me is the title character. Writer Neil Cross has created one of the most compelling and morally complex characters I’ve ever seen and Idris Elba brings him to life expertly. As horrific and ludicrous as the crimes and plots usually are, it’s DCI John Luther that keeps me coming back for more.

Luther has always been more of a horror show than a crime drama and the first episode of Series 5 is no different. A masked killer with LED lights on his hood to confuse CCTV cameras, (which makes him look a lot like that ghost astronaut from Scooby Doo), is roaming around London, sneaking up on unsuspecting strangers and hammering nails into their bodies because that’s the only way he can achieve an orgasm. Oh yeah, and he also has a jar of eyeballs in his sex dungeon because of course he does. The villains in this show can be many things, but subtle isn’t usually one of them. At one point newcomer DS Haliday asks Luther if this kind of depravity is normal for him, which made me laugh. Any Luther fan could tell you that this is just an average Tuesday for him.

No other show can get away with this kind of grotesqueness, but in Luther it just works. It revels in how insane and weird it is. It’s not a question of whether or not it’s believable (because let’s face it, it bloody isn’t). It’s a question of whether or not it’s scary and it absolutely is. Jamie Payne’s direction really helps to up the creep factor and the concept itself is just inherently icky. By far the most terrifying scene was the killer creeping up on that woman on the top deck of the the night bus, almost panther-like. What made it scarier for me is that the scene was actually filmed near the Olympic Park in Stratford, which is close to where I live. Seeing a psycho wandering around areas you’re familiar with is disconcerting to say the least.

The episode also does a good job of piquing the audience’s interest and building intrigue. Hermione Norris is captivating to watch in her role as Dr. Vivien Lake, who claims to know who the killer is, but there’s clearly more to her than we think. Luther notices straight away this isn’t a normal patient/doctor relationship and we the viewer know from the outset there’s something not quite right about her. It goes beyond her empathising with the killer. She seems to have a degree of control over him, which makes you question whether she is playing a part in these murders, perhaps for her own sexual gratification. Even the reveal at the end that the patient was just a patsy and that her husband is the real killer doesn’t give away everything. I feel there’s a lot more to unpack here with this relationship and this character, and I can’t wait to see how it unfolds in the next three episodes.

The main cast are pretty good. Idris Elba is predictably brilliant, stepping back into the tweed coat and red tie with little effort. Dermot Crowley and Michael Smiley return as DSU Martin Schenk and Benny respectively and both are great fun to watch. Benny in particular plays a more active role this time, no longer being just the stereotypical computer guy and instead taking part in the action, helping Luther to remove a bomb collar from a hostage, which was cool. The weak link is probably DS Catherine Haliday, played by Wunmi Mosaku. She’s set up as the newcomer, being fast tracked to the Serious and Serial Crimes Unit from the public sector, but she doesn’t really have that much of a part to play. Luther barely even acknowledges her existence most of the time. There’s none of the Batman and Robin-esque camaraderie that Luther and Justin Ripley had in the first three series and she’s not as interesting as Emma Lane was in the previous series. She just... exists. Hopefully she’ll get more to do as the series go on.

Another actor who’s wasted in this episode is Patrick Malahide, returning from Series 4 as ‘old school’ gangster George Cornelius. Actually this is something of a recurring problem for Luther. The first series I remember fondly because Neil Cross kept everything simple for the most part. Each episode was about a different serial killer and how Luther was going to catch him. But from Series 2 onward, everything started to get needlessly complicated with B plots and C plots and side stories and so on. I can understand why they’re doing this. Idris Elba and Neil Cross aren’t as readily available as they used to be so when they do find the time to make more Luther episodes, they want to cram in as much material as they can to make up for the long wait by fans. I get it completely, but it comes at the cost of the narrative as a whole. Vivien and her sexually deranged husband is an interesting plot in and of itself, but we keep getting yanked away from it in order to deal with an entirely separate plot about George trying to find his kidnapped son. George isn’t a bad character, don’t get me wrong. Malahide does a great job in the role, but you can’t help but feel all of this is a bit pointless. Why should I care about this guy? He’s a cockney arsehole who tried to assassinate Alice Morgan (the most popular character in the show) for a bunch of diamonds last series. Fuck him. At least now that Alice is back, we can hopefully see her exact her revenge on him.

On the whole, a solid start to the new series with a lot of potential going forward.

#luther 5x01 #luther #idris elba #neil cross #bbc #review #spoilers

[savvyjabby-blog]

Tagged by @arca-na-na-na (thank you you don't know how much it means ahhh)

One fond memory your muse has of family and/or a close friend.

- Friend, Vicky ( @gdrawsthings ) : Whenever she first managed to get Vicky drunk. Oh god was that a good night. Originally Vicky was just kinda there to make sure Indigo didn't get into too much trouble, but being the prankster Indi is, she kinda switched around Vicky's drinks every now and then, and she's so funny whenever she's drunk. It's not like the whole giggly fit sorta thing, but being able to see Vicky just spew off random facts about the human anatomy while swaying with her steps? Oh, Indigo would kill to see that one again.

- Family, Herc: It was when they were both still relatively young, and Indigo was being scolded by the old creakily man who she stole a "couple" of things from. He started calling over a guard to apprehend her, but then she saw her brother wander off into a cart full of food, and start being hauled away. She began to sprint after him, and the guards began to chase her. It was a whole Scooby Doo chase scene in the city. When she finally managed to catch up to her little brother, she hopped in the cart and hid among the fruits as well, managing to lose the the guards. She turned to scold Herc herself, but she couldn't help but smile at the sight of him holding s bunch of oranges in his arms, smiling and giggling like a little kid.

One fond memory that your muse has of their romantic partner or other close companion.

- Julian: It was one of the night's where Julian wouldn't leave his desk. Vicky had to get Indigo to take him back home for the night bc she wasn't about to do it. When Indigo got there, she smiled st the sight of the doctor mumbling gibberish to himself, trying to keep awake. She transformed into a shadow and slid into his room, snaking around his body silently. She made little shadowy blobs dance around his paper to catch his attention before morphing back into herself, her arms wrapped around his neck from behind. The genuine smile and Sleepy happiness that was on his face the moment he saw her was all she ever needed from him.

One painful memory of theirs.

- Watching her own brother drowned without using her magic to save him. Sure she had sworn off using magic, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and she panicked. She panicked, and that's ultimately what cause the guilt to bleed from her like an ugly flower.

If they have a pet (or familiar) how did they meet? Or if they don’t, how did they meet a close friend?

- Yeah uh, Hades is a lil' bitch. When Indigo had first sprinted about the new city her childhood happened in, she got a little lost, to say the least. When she finally rounded the corner only to find another alleyway, she slumped over and sighed, pulling out whatever she had managed to pick off of some carts in the marketplace as she ran by. And then, out of nowhere, literally no where, this big ass black cat shows up and starts meowing at her, basically begging. She was intrigued, so she fed him, and watched him...well, melt away into the wall. She didn't think anything of it until she returned to her shop later that day to see a black ocelot emerge from the wall, meowing at her. He never really left her alone after that. Don't feed strays.

What is one hobby (or something like it) they started when they were a kid?

- Indigo really picked up pranks as a kid thanks to her father. It started off as just stupid little things like fart jokes or whatnot, but over time her sense of humor has developed to messing with anyone she can.

What was their favorite place to hang out in their past?

- When her mother was still around, Indigo and Hercules would like to sneak off to the small docks just past their home. A lot of times it would be a clear night, so Hercules would ask Indigo about the stars they could see, and she's try her best to remember constellations, but usually she just made some up, like the Bullfrog of the West, or Jilly, the widowed black jeckart crow. And every now and then, they'd manage to see a little white haired boy flash by the dock, his eyes a brilliant pink-purple color.

What is a telling sign they are angry?

- Her magic. Indigo, because she was never truly taught how to keep her magic under control, often has a problem with her magic being controlled by her emotions. Whenever she starts to get upset, her fingers will start twitching, and her only black magic begins to swirl around them. The more upset she gets, shadows will being to scatter about the room, growing along the walls to tower behind her, make her appear more menacing. (I kinda wanna compare it to Dr. Facilier from the Princess and the Frog with just black and purple, less colors, if that makes sense. That's kinda how her magic is.)

How do they deal with an inevitable event they’re not looking forward to?

- Picks at her lips to distract herself. God she has managed to tear open her bottom lip once so badly that she had to put stitches in it. She still picks at it bc nerves are a bitch but ya know, it's satisfying to peel off skin from her lips.

Do they still have a childhood memento? Like a blanket, stuffed animal, or toy?

- Indigo has the coat of course, that her mother gave to her, which her father gave to her mother, but otherwise she hasn't had anything like that since her mother died. Sometimes, when she's feeling lonely or nostalgic, she'll conjure up a raggedy old quilt from the old house that she would keep with her a lot. It brings back memories from before everything began to spiral downhill.

Now tag at least five people if you’d like.

(I love yalls blogs and if you've already done this then just ignore me lol) (also I know v little people on her I'm sorryyyyyy)

@gdrawsthings

@thetootster

@arcanedrabbles

@sweaty-vampire

@radical-snails

#thank you for the tag it actually means a heck of a lot to me #the arcana #julian devorak #indigo x julian #indigo Dearil #the arcana game #the arcana oc

[blackbatpurplecat]

My Thoughts on Batman #50

Originally, I had not planned on writing a review on the latest Batman disaster, eh I of course mean issue. Many people have already said many things about it so it’s impossible for me to say anything new. But a few lovely kittybats have asked me for my opinion so here we are.

So what’s the shameless clickbait’s story: I have no idea how much time has passed since the rushed proposal and now but while beating up Kite Man, Batman and Catwoman spontaneously set up a rushed wedding for the same night. Quelle surprise. They don’t want to invite any of their loved ones except for one witness each and a drunk as fuck judge. You know, everyone’s dream wedding. This is like drunk Las Vegas levels of romantic.

Batman goes to a bar to get a drunk judge. Not even very subtly but for everyone to see because he’s “the master of disguise.” And Catwoman gets Holly out of Arkham. Because for whATEVER THE FUCK REASON, Selina is STILL friends with the mass murdering psychopath who doesn’t give a fuck about Selina, was okay with Selina dying for her and also tried to kill the man Selina allegedly loves.

Bruce comes home to prepare with Alfred. Selina brings her deranged mass murderer to Wayne Manor to help her put on her cat funeral dress. The toxic fumes from the sewers Selina had dragged the dress through have apparently finally kicked in because it’s not black/white anymore but black/lilac.

Both pairs leave their walk-in closets at the same time, see each other, Bruce and Selina kiss, and then each pair goes to another room to have a last moment of whatever. I mean they’re ready, they could just leave then and there! Grab the limo and go, what’s so hard about that?!

In the most touching moment of the issue, Bruce asks Alfred to be his witness. Then father and son hug. They don’t even use that many words, it’s just a simple understanding of mutual love. It’s beautiful. Though while I smiled at those panels, I wish a moment between the groom and the groom’s father was not the loveliest display of affection in a fucking WEDDING issue but who cares.

Meanwhile, Selina and Holly talk. Holly says that she’s never seen Batman so happy and that she’s always thought Batman can’t be happy to be who he is. On the way to the rooftop they want to get married on (because that’s ALL there is to those two characters. fuck you, King), Selina seems concerned. She’s written a letter to Bruce to express her feelings for him but hasn’t finished it yet. Then she asks Holly if she thinks that Catwoman’s a hero. Holly says “yeah sure” while looking absolutely sincere and caring and NOT suspicious AT ALL.

Seriously WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! Why not write I AM EVIL on her forehead as if we wouldn’t already know how fucked up Holly is. After EVERYTHING, why are we supposed to think that Holly is Selina’s friend?! Why does Selina still think she’s her friend?!

But I digress.

So while Selina is apparently wondering if she’s worthy of the BIG HERO BATMAN, Bruce asks Alfred if he can be happy. Alfred answers “yeah sure.” I mean it’s not as if Bruce has ever been happy before, right? He only has a loving father, a big family, good friends and colleagues. No one of them makes him feel any happiness ever.

We cut back to Selina who’s crying on a different rooftop. She’s finished her letter to Bruce in which she explains why she can’t marry him, and put it in the Batcave for him to read later. Later as in after she’s torn out his heart. She throws away her ridiculous cat ears veil and jumps off. Then we cut back to the “wedding.” Bruce, Alfred, and the drunk judge have been waiting for a long while. By the way, I have NO idea where Bruce had stored the judge while he was getting ready! Was he in the Batmobile’s trunk? Chained to the rooftop? We’ll never know.

Alfred tries to explain away Selina being late but Bruce knows she won’t come. He throws away his tie and jumps off, leaving Alfred yet again to deal with everything. But this time, it’s understandable. That man, who doesn’t trust easily, has just been stood up at the altar by the woman he loves.

I know they’ll probably reconcile eventually in the distant future because COMICS but in reality, that relationship would be fucked beyond repair. You leave me at the altar without a word? You are fucking dead to me and I don’t EVER want to see or hear from you again.

We then see Holly at Arkham Asylum. Selina had apparently locked her back up, that’s why Holly is walking around now (WTF?!). Holly enters a cell or the basement or whatever that place is and kneels before Bane and his homies, consisting of Riddler, Joker, Hugo Strange, Scarface (and the Hand up his ass), Flashpoint Batman a.k.a. Thomas Wayne and characters I don’t care to look up.

It’s revealed that everything has been Bane’s plan! I’m not 100% sure how far back this revelation goes but I’m guessing to the beginning. Bane had recruited Batman’s enemies and allies(?) to carry out an impossible to foresee chain of events that would result in Batman being emotionally broken. Everything was set up so Batman would get Selina out of Arkham to fight Bane and from there, Bane had hoped things would unfold just the way he wanted...? What is this, the DCEU?

So Thomas Wayne talked Bruce into the rushed proposal - what if Bruce had not fallen for it? Joker told Selina to break up with Batman - she seemed more than sure of herself and why should she care what JOKER says?! Holly told Selina she makes Bruce happy - and THAT made Selina question everything?!

It’s dumb. As always.

What I haven’t really mentioned so far are the letters Bruce and Selina had written to each other for after the wedding. I thought that’s what vows are for but what do I know. King once again refers to apparently the only issues he’s ever read about Batman and Catwoman and shows us ONCE AGAIN his poor writing skills:

So Bruce remembers how they met in Batman #1 (1940). How The Cat was just another criminal until he saw her eyes. He saw that her green eyes were actually blue and orange and red and purple and yellow and I have absolutely no idea what drugs Bruce was on that day. And because Selina’s green eyes were blue, he knew she was different, a mystery to be solved. But she’s not a mystery to be solved. And because she’s not a mystery to be solved, he realized HE can’t be solved, can be more than the boy who lost his parents, can be the man who loves her. Alright. Cool essay on eyes, Bruce. Your color theory was a bit off but you proved you’ve heard of it. Now you wanna tell her what you love about Selina’s character? Or why you love her? No? Okay.

Selina remembers how they met in Batman: Year One #1 (1987). How an undercover Bruce tried to save Holly and how Selina beat him up for it. (I still don’t know how Selina knows that was him) She thought he was just another asshole (for saving your asshole friend... Selina, I believe you are the asshole here) until she saw his eyes. She saw that his blue eyes were actually white and yellow and green. What the fuck?! Had Scarecrow farted that day and the fumes were all over Gotham?! Are they all high all the time?! And because his blue eyes weren’t really blue, she knew he was different, a perfect hero without flaws. But he’s not a perfect hero without flaws, he’s still the boy in pain who despite the pain, goes out to save everyone. He’s still a child and that makes him a hero and Selina realized if she married that heroic child, Bruce would be happy and stop trying to save the weak and innocent. She can’t do that to Gotham. So as a heroic sacrifice, she’ll break his heart and not show up to the wedding so he can be super fucking miserable to be in better shape to save people. Selina, even I wouldn’t want to marry you after you pulled this dumb shit.

Yes, we’re back to that old and fucking idiotic idea that Batman can never be happy; that Batman has to be a miserable, depressed, sad fuck to be Batman. Whoop dee doo. That certainly has NEVER been brought up in the comics. Let’s ignore that Batman goes out to save people DESPITE being depressed, not BECAUSE. That he’s turned sadness into something good. And that being married to the love of his life does not magically cure depression. That being happy is just another motivator to go out and save people. Yup, let’s ignore logic altogether.

So without considering everything behind the scenes, it’s an okay issue. It’s nothing special, it’s not outstandingly written but rather hacky (because it’s King). It has pretty art (because it’s Jones) and it’s basically an art gallery. We get many absolutely gorgeous pieces, MUCH better than most variant covers, of Batman and Catwoman. Some are original, some reference old stories. I was very happy to see some purple Catwoman art there!

All in all, Batman #50 was dull.

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Now on to the clusterfuck behind the scenes:

You all already know that I’ve never liked Tom King’s writing. He has nice ideas but his execution is utterly awful. He doesn’t understand the characters he’s writing, he doesn’t get their motivations, he’s turned Selina into a stupid Mary Sue, he has no consistent time line etc etc. There’s a lot wrong with King’s run but BatCat fans were so starved for more BatCat that they were willing to overlook the dumbness and just enjoy the BatCat interaction. Even though Bruce and Selina very rarely interacted or even shared panels in that 50 issues run.

Ironically, I want to use King’s words here to describe him and his style:

He thinks he knows something deep. Profound. But he doesn’t know a damn thing.

Then DC and King proudly announced that #50 would be the big WEDDING ISSUE, the thing everyone’s waited for. I was suspicious. But NO WE MEAN IT YOU ARE INVITED TO THE WEDDING HERE YOU HAVE A WEDDING ALBUM AND HERE IS THE DRESS AND THE BACHELORETTE PARTY AND WE SEND TOM KING TO TALK ABOUT BATCAT’S LOVE ON TV AND THE ISSUE WILL HAVE 5000 VARIANT COVERS MARK THE DATE JULY 4TH THE WEDDING WEDDING WEDDING NOT A TRICK THIS TIME

The closer the date came, the more I was willing to think “hm maybe they’ll actually do it, they even gave Catwoman her solo run back, I’m sure Selina being married to Bruce will give Jones many ideas to write about, we’ll get a married woman in her own solo title and a married Batman, and why would they get so many artists to draw variant covers if it’s not happening, it would be SUCH a HUGE dick move if they canceled it at the last second”

But then DC did what they do best - disappoint. They themselves spoiled the ending a few days before the issue came out. While artists were still showing off their wedding pieces, while comic book stores were preparing events with decoration and cake and costumes, while people were putting #50 on their pre-order list, DC pulled the rug out from under EVERYONE’s feet.

It was ALL a big setup. A marketing stunt to boost sales. And unfortunately, it was successful. Doesn’t matter how many fans were disappointed and hurt, how many fans canceled their pre-orders - the numbers were big and black and that was what mattered.

After the big spoiler, King headed to Twitter, trying to do some damage control. I AM SO ANGRY PLEASE DON’T BE DISAPPOINTED THERE ARE STILL 50 MORE ISSUES TO COME PLEASE BUY MORE OF MY COMICS I PROMISE MY STORY ARC IS TOTALLY CELEBRATING BATCAT’S LOVE JUST STAY AND BUY MY COMICS

You ever heard of the story The Boy Who Cried Wolf? King, DC, you blew it. You blew it BIG time! I even dare to say you’ve never blown it like this before! Sure, you’ve disappointed and treated us like shit before but this time, people actually believed you. New readers who had not been burned by you trusted you and old readers desperately wanted to trust you because we all love that iconic couple.

What makes this entire affair worse than everything else is the huge buildup. You assured us #50 would be the game changer, you put so much effort into fooling us, so much money to set up a ploy. Fans are deeply disappointed because they had thought this was FINALLY the real deal after all those years. I mean BatCat have been married before. Many times. But it was always either AU stories or you rebooted it. And it had never been hyped up like this before.

Personally, I’m tired of being right. I’m tired of the same old spiel over and over. I wanted it to be real for everyone who got excited over it but what I had feared would happen happened. I’m kinda glad I never got into King’s run because that meant I wasn’t that badly hurt. But I saw the reactions of other fans and my heart goes out to all of them.

DC and King could have simply published a comic with a huge FUCK YOU splash page as centerfold. And the worst part is THAT WAS IT! The hype is dead, hope and trust are gone. Even IF Bruce and Selina eventually get married in #100, the pure happiness and excitement will never come back. It’ll be tainted, we will all be wary, no one will dare to get their hopes up again. Now everyone feels like I felt after the proposal issue; it was the big first time and it was bad. The first time can never be recreated and that wedding craze can never be recreated either.

And we don’t have any reason to feel safe. Again, even IF the wedding happens in the last issue (and I’m sure it would be the last issue as the BIG FINALE because no one wants to write or read about badass characters being married, marriage is boring after all), DC will eventually get another writer. Who tells me the next writer won’t break them up again? Who tells me King will actually let them get married in the first place? He’s lied to us before, why still have faith in him?

So after #50, we’ll get more issues of a depressed Batman who will hunt down Bane and make up with Selina (even though I doubt she deserves it). Maybe we’ll see the Batfamily’s reaction to the fucked up wedding (judging by King’s tropes, it’ll happen over burgers), each member’s relationship with Selina will be strained, maybe Holly gets her ass kicked, I don’t know.

And frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want to read the same bullshit I’ve been reading for years just written more poorly (because it’s King). I wanted to see Bruce and Selina together. I didn’t get it so who gives a fuck anymore.

I’m only excited for the TRUE Bruce x Selina wedding that’s coming up in Chris Dee’s Cat-Tales fanfic. I know she won’t disappoint her readers.

#review #batcat