#friendly neighborhood ferrets

[marinerainbow]

Hey, I have an OC question! ^^ What are your OC's (Or at least- Poppy, Shiny, Terry, Henry, Ben and Moony's) favourite animals?

Oh I like this question! I'm gonna go ahead and do all of my OC's for this one ^^ starting with the WFRR OC's since there are so many of them XD

Poppy: Well, we know she's fond of insects, though I don't think they are recognized as animals? So I'd say she also likes ducks. Especially the ducklings (I blame that one convo we had. You know which one XD). When she goes to the park, she always brings a bag of duck friendly food for the birds- and she almost always gets a flock surrounding her 😂

Shiny Weasel: Hm... I'm gonna say it's a cross between ferrets and cats. She doesn't own any pets, but she thinks some of the strays in her neighborhood have adopted her for free food, and Shiny has grown a soft spot for them XD she'd love to get a ferret someday ^^

Terry Ratt T: Snakes. Not really an explanation, he just thinks they're cute, funky guys, "They don't have arms and legs. They do everythin' with their body. Move, eat... They're pretty funny like that."

Henry Foxworth: Hm... I'm gonna say he likes chickens. Not even because it's a fox thing, he genuinely likes them. I think he might have wanted to start a farm at some point in his life before he took scamming as a career path.

Moony Wolf: Ok hear me out... It's bunnies. Even before he started dating Poppy, he's liked rabbits. At first, it was just a part of his predator mindset. Rabbits = food = happy. And when he started working on himself, he felt guilt and felt like he had to make it up to the little critters somehow (Poppy specifically, but A. He didn't know where she was at the time, and B. He figured non-sentient rabbits could be like a practice run, or stepping stones toward the right direction). So he tried to volunteer at animal shelters around Toontown, and ironically got along best with the rabbits (and the dogs course). One adoption and a relationship with his former co-star later, and it's cemented in Moony's mind that rabbits are the best animal (he named his pet Bunny Cake btw)

Ben Cottontail: Hm... Hard to say in all honesty... I think he might like fish? Like maybe as a kid, Ben had a pet goldfish or something, so he's more familiar with fish.

Ok, onto my other OC's XD

Betty Locera: Dogs. And canines in general. Betty would be the best dog mom. She's already a more outdoorsy gal anyway! (*cough* @marshmallow-biscuit-blog Betty would fricken love Boyyo. Joe can dump the dog on her if he needs a dog sitter. Or just a break)

Detective Sketch: Pigeons. Pigeons have been a constant presence in Sketch's life. Watching them land on their windowsill in the orphanage. Seeing them flying around the city. Pigeons kind of bring a sense of childhood nostalgia to Sketch ^^

Prism: She can't pick just one. There are so many amazing animals in the night dimension, and even more that she's read about in the waking world. How can she choose!? Though I do imagine she has made friends with an eatier, a nightopian creature I invented, named Mercedes (I should post about Eatiers now that I think about it 🤔)

Well, I think that about covers it. Thank you so much for sending this in! I loved it ^^

#asks #my own OC's #Poppy #Shiny Weasel #Terry Ratt T. #Henry Foxworth #Moony Wolf #Ben Cottontail #wfrr #who framed roger rabbit #disney #Betty Locer #Detective Sketch #TCS #Ci: DDwtD #The Cuphead Show #Cuphead in: Don't Deal with the Devil #Prism #NiD #JoD #NiGHTS into Dreams #NiGHTS Journey of Dreams #fantopian #OC tid-bits

[teecupangel]

In a cozy neighborhood nestled between rolling hills and lush meadows, there lived a friendly, golden retriever. He had a heart full of love and an insatiable desire to connect with the world. His wagging tail and bright eyes spoke volumes, but there was one thing he yearned for – the ability to send letters to his canine friends in far-off places.

One sunny afternoon, the dog gazed longingly at the mailman delivering letters to his human family. The idea struck him like a lightning bolt: he wanted to send letters too! However, his lack of opposable thumbs made this dream seemingly impossible.

Undeterred, his determination caught the attention of a clever ferret who lived nearby. The ferret was known for his knack for solving problems, and he couldn't resist the opportunity to help his canine friend.

Approaching the dog with a twinkle in his eye, the ferret proposed a solution. "Dog," he said, "what if I became your paw-sistant? I can help you write letters and even deliver them to your friends!"

The dog's tail wagged furiously with excitement. And so, the dynamic duo embarked on their letter-sending adventure. The dog would dictate his heartfelt messages to the ferret, who translated them into beautifully written letters. Together, they crafted tales of squirrel chases, park adventures, and the joy of belly rubs.

The ferret, being nimble and quick, scurried through the neighborhood, delivering the dog's letters to the mailboxes of his furry friends. The recipients, surprised and delighted, responded in kind, creating a heartwarming exchange of stories and friendship.

One day, the dog decided to send a letter to a faraway place but the ferret could not travel that long so they had the mail courier deliver it for them so the courier went, into a journey that we will witness... in another story.

Inside his bag, where the letter is neatly tucked with other mails, the letter says: "Team Fortress x Assassin's Creed Au? I think it would be pretty funny considering what TF2 is like and please don't rush anything, prioritize yourself first than us."

The courier of this quaint little town had a simple job.

Make sure every delivery was on time.

Their little town didn’t really get a lot of parcels before so he could just laze around after he was done until…

The alchemist took residence on top of the hill and started completing requests from people that sent letters addressed to the little house on the top of the hill.

The alchemist had been busy for weeks now and each time he would visit to deliver the daily mail, there would be enough items and concoctions to fill his cart.

And today was no different.

His eyes stayed on the flower bed with red flowers almost in bloom.

“That’s for tomorrow.” The alchemist said as they handed him the latest of batch of deliveries, including a…

“Uuuhh… I’m not sure if they’ll deliver weapons?” The courier said awkwardly.

The alchemist turned to stare at him as they say, “It’s a toy.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“It’s a toy.” The alchemist repeated in the same even tone they usually have.

The courier sighed and rubbed the top of his head as he said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll take note that it’s a toy.”

He eyed the alchemist as he added, “I’m sure it’s quite a fragile toy that shouldn’t be rattled a lot, right?”

“It is of grave importance that it does not jostle at all.”

The courier sighed once more.

He’d wrap it in bubble wrap and lots of heavy blanket before sending it then.

===================================

Funny thing, Desmond’s voice actor, Nolan North, voiced Soldier and Engineer in ‘Expiration Date’ so now I’m just thinking Desmond would get a class that’s focused on building things to aid his team but he has a rocket launcher that has low damage capabilities as it’s mainly used to create things (hitting them with his rocket launcher also heals them). So he’s like… a long ranged version of Engineer which needs more time/shots to build stuff to combat his ability to build from afar.

But first let’s talk about how this crossover would be like.

The easiest way would be that they all get kicked into TF2 world (although it would be super funny if it was the other way around and it’s the TF2 guys wrecking havoc in the AC world)

The main characters of the main games would find themselves in the TF2 world and have to adapt because their skills and abilities have been changed to be more in line with how the TF2 world operates.

What does that mean?

Well…

The TF2 world sorta maybe no seriously absolutely…

… just got a lot of people with the ability of the spy.

Like, just imagine an elite group of spies, with the ability to be completely invisible by just pulling on their hood, eyes that can see everything around them (even other invisible people) and has a weapon that can kill instant death.

Pyro would have a hard time with them because they have the habit of freerunning on higher grounds, even scaffolding!

And they have this habit of killing people who abuse their power and even go as far as commit atrocities for the sake of their greed or desires.

In other words…

TF Industries is fucked and the Mann brothers can’t do anything but wait for the inevitable.

(This also places them in direct oppositions with the mercenaries)

PS: The life extending machine might react to Desmond like a POE and that’s a whole other mystery XD

#the alchemist is back XD #ngl as much as i like giving op powers #my brain is like “game mechanics must be balanced!” in a very familiar professor’s voice from my college days #assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

[rayshippouuchiha]

Ray, light of my days, I probably write into this cursed little ask-machine to you too much, but gods above I had such a fucking bonkers dream I woke up in indignation and started to lecture the radiator at the corner of my room while half asleep.

So like we've got a new kinda pass, a castlecounty pass, and it costs less than a normal bus pass while being usable on other places too, like a fucking train finally, so ofc I have one.

And I've dreamt that we finally managed to graduate and decided to celebrate with karaoke up in Budapest.

(I have a horrible voice and I'm shy about it, so I absolutely despise karaoke. As a side note.)

And then we got a bitch ass inspector who I had to give my castlecounty pass and my still usable student ID saying that it was still valid until October by the laws of this land.(should've realized that moment this is a dream lol) BUT. Despite definitely having my student ID with me, it was in my hand and all, I couldn't find it. So this bitch took my credit card and wrote the information down and said "Don't worry, it's settled now!😃"

And for a second I was living in a kinder, better world, so obviously I had to call FUCKING DOBBY, who ACTUALLY SHOWED UP, and ask him if he nested with my ID. And after his whole "oh the great Harry Potter" thing died down (I was still myself btw) he said "Harry Potter sir don't be needing it anymore, but it has Harry Potter sirs picture so Dobby hanged it up on his nest wall". Which was also weird bc noone noticed him there, and bc he was speaking English instead of my native tongue. And then he just fucking disapparated.

So I called him back and instead of telling him to give my ID back I asked him to very speedily steal money from "them ferret faced bleached fuckers" and exchange it to muggle currency at Gringotts because I'm getting fined for not having the ID.

So now I have there with me some cold hard cash stolen from the Malfoys by your friendly neighborhood spiteful house elf. And then I made my way to the definitely longer than usual bus-that-evolved-inti-a-train, and the inspector was still there with some bitchy conductor and I was like is this enough? And she told me not to worry about it, also my account is in the minus btw, I shouldn't have given her access, she went online shopping with my money🙄

And then I woke up but didn't process it and now my brother thinks I'm fucking stupid because he found me lecturing my radiator from my bed, the covers to my chin while sitting up like some victorian little lady.

whatever you ate before you went to sleep really said we're about to go on such an adventure

#RayRambles

[the-everqueen]

sneak peak of LA guard dog pt. 2 because i find it amusing that Coco reliably hits on milfs:

“Sure thing.” The Corinthian hands her the car keys while she jams her feet into sneakers. “Don’t worry, Rosebud, we can hold down the fort.” She laughs, bounces on her toes to kiss his cheek. Then she’s gone, and the house is quiet. Well, except for the dog. It scratches at the front door and looks up at him hopefully. Corinthian curls his lip at it, but the dog is too far removed from its more capable ancestors to read that as a threat, and it waggles its hips in response. Play? Out? It gives a thready whine. Need. He snags the leash from its hook by the door. The dog pisses as soon as its paws touch the scrubby front lawn, so Rose’s intuition was correct on that front. The Corinthian is tempted to just take the animal back inside, except then it darts after a crow with a surprisingly loud bark and, well, those are the kinds of instincts that should be encouraged. Of course, the crow takes flight, but the dog isn’t discouraged, just turns its nose to the ground and starts sniffing for new prey. The Corinthian follows behind at a leisurely pace. “Billie,” as Rose keeps reminding him, “she has a name,” except it doesn’t have legs, not really—Billie trots with single-minded focus. Its long sausage body is good for poking into gopher holes and under bushes. It’d be useful for ferreting out rats or foxes, if either of those were a problem here. As is, it manages to snag a half-empty package of fries and hork down a couple before the Corinthian can wrestle the bag away. “Puppies keep you on your toes,” says a raspy voice. The Corinthian turns. Gives a little wave. “Hey, Mrs. Moreno. You do something new with your hair? It’s looking good.” “Psh. Flatterer.” But the older woman pats at her curls, framed with a colorful headband. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Jackie?” She did, when he first encountered her during his initial scope of the neighborhood. He hasn’t taken her up on it, mostly because her greenish eyes sparkle whenever he drawls her surname or calls her “ma’am.” Jacqueline has the voice of someone who started smoking as a teenager and hasn’t stopped despite her doctor’s best efforts. She sits on her porch at odd hours but always spares a friendly word for Rose. If the Corinthian were hunting her, he’d take her out to Employees Only for drinks and K-town for karaoke. He imagines those honey-flecked irises taste like an appletini. His smile widens. “Now where would a Southern gentleman be without his manners?” Jacqueline’s gaze travels slow and deliberate over his body. “Mm, I’m sure you’d get by.” “Yeah?” She waves a hand at him. “I’m not gonna stroke your vanity unless you stroke something of mine—and I know you belong to that sweet Walker girl. Is that her dog? Doesn’t seem your type.” “What’s my type?” Her grin is all teeth. “Some kinda hound.” She clucks at the dog and it, idiot creature, runs straight for her, tail wagging. “What’s her name?” “Billie.” “Lady Day. I’m more of a Vaughn girl, don’t tell your friend. Though I’ve got some records if she ever wants to listen.” “I’ll let her know.” The Corinthian watches as the dog wriggles with joy at her attention. Jacqueline laughs at its antics, flops its velvet ears between her fingers. The lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Her mom was a big Holiday fan, apparently.” He’s not sure what makes him offer this tidbit. Maybe the hope that a human will know what it means, clue him in to its significance. But Jacqueline just hums, moves her hand to rub the dog’s belly as it rolls onto its back. Her acrylic nails scritch gentle, gentle on that exposed flesh in a way that makes the Corinthian’s eye teeth ache.

#la guard dog #my fic #i'm imagining Jacqueline as like. Rosie Perez or Cecia Cruz. #lil old lady perm with insane highlights. nails to strip the skin off god. #a secret stash of edibles and cuban cigars #sandman #sandman fic

[voyage-inferno]

[perch on the Big Rock TM holding Bennett like a ferret]

No pressure but I'm chucking it out here- situations with your friendly neighborhood adventurer! (Comment or askbox! For more intense stuff I'll ask your comfort levels)

For something fluffy: 💛

For something romantically inclined: ♥️

For something angsty: 💜

For a gift: 💝

For a first meeting: ❣️

For a fight: ❤️‍🔥

(Feel free to send multiple together to combine the concepts, or propose your own!)

#[messages from outside] #[special delivery! (ask meme)] #kinda? #[gathering fuel (starter call)] #That's what this is called right- #ooc post

[crawlingspiders]

On a boat at some kind of camp with a connected lake system. At the first small lake, we park the boat the swim and hike. There's a long prehistoric fish with lobed fins and a vertical arrow shaped head. Its brown and silver and blue. There's another deep sea looking fish. We hike to the next lake. We don't spend much time here. The third lake, we see some strange lumps. We bump them, accidentally. A family of hippos! We run for our lives, as they snap to action. Scampering out of the water, Running along the shore to the boat, I drop a tool on the way back. . We decide to climb up the retaining wall best we can. They catch up to us. They're friendly. The mom wonders why we ran away. We explain it's not great to stick around to see the aggression of a hippo even if our judgement wasn't accurate and she understands. After they leave, I go back to pick up the tool. I dropped it near the shore of the second lake. Going to pick it up, someone begs for help. They're being attacked by an orca. He's dangling by his hand being swung and he tells me," it grabbed my ferret's ankle," and the orca sucks in his arm as he screams. I don't know what to do. "Get me a water, please," he's screaming and the orca crushes him and eats him. I see another one angling to hop onshore to attack me and another eating someone in the distance. I hop the fence. It's a little paved neighborhood. I book it and see the camp counsellor. I tell her what happened and ask for a ride back. We get back together and she starts telling my story, but wildly exaggeratedly, so no one believes me. I get very frustrated.

[friendlyneighborhoodferrets]

New Video: ELARA HAD A BLOCKAGE (ON NEW YEARS DAY)

In today's video, I go over what happened on New Years Day when Elara (my 3 year old ferret) had a blockage. 

DISCLAIMER: This video is a retelling of how I handled an emergency situation with one of my ferrets. I know there will be people who watch this video and disagree with how I handled the situation. That's fine. We all handle situations differently depending on dozens of factors. HAVING SAID THAT, this video is NOT meant as a fail safe guide for every ferret owner to use in an emergency situation or as a substitute for veterinary care. Though I share information, this video is not intended to be a guide. The intentions of this video is to educate people on the reality of emergency situations while opening discussions that help to destigmatize them. You ARE NOT a bad ferret owner if you end up in an emergency situation. Emergency situations are a GUARANTEE for any ferret owner, and if you're planning to or do own ferrets, there will come a time that you are put into one. Please do your research and be prepared.

#ferret #ferrets #petblr #ferretblr #pettube #friendly neighborhood ferrets

[hpdabbles]

What’s in a Name?

For @ironicallypresant​ who request “some kind of fae au for the wizarding world I’ve read a few things where lily is fae but never James.”  I hope you like it!

Harry Potter settled down in the Hogwarts Express with a sigh and throwing a quick thank you to the two redheads that help him onboard. He couldn’t tell which one was Forge or Gred (what odd names), but they offer him a smile and a happy little wave. “Anything for a being of mischief!”

Harry didn’t know what that meant, but assuming it was just a wizard thing, he left it well alone. He still couldn’t quite believe he was a wizard, after all this time, all these strange unexplainable phenomenons, the sense of being misplaced in the perfectly normal family and normal neighborhood. 

It was because he is magic. Because his parents had been magic. 

Even if a month had gone by, Harry still had moments where he expected to wake up back in the cupboard and learn this had all been a cruel dream. 

“Excuse me? Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” 

Startled out of his thoughts Harry swings his eyes to the door where a redhead boy peaks at him expectantly. Harry never has anyone want to sit with him before, and he finds he doesn’t know how to say the words so he settles for nodding his head and waving a hand to the opposite side of him.

“Thanks,” The boy says dragging in a trunk behind him. Harry can’t help but notice how old and run down it is....maybe the boy would like to trade something to get a better trunk....Harry could offer a deal to-

Don’t try to drag people into your hustles boy! Uncle Vernon's voice sneers in his mind, making the dark hair boy jump. Ashamed he turns his gaze away from the trunk feeling his inside turn painfully for a few seconds. He clenches his fists in his lap trying to breathe through the ache in his chest until the sharpness fades away.

All of this happens in seconds and by the time the red hair child is settled in sit the Harry doesn’t show any sign of discomfort. For as long as Harry been able to remember those random pains come and go, never lasting for longer than five seconds but consist enough for teachers to point it out to his guardians. They took him to a doctor who couldn’t find anything wrong with Harry and it quickly became another “lie” Harry was famous for telling. 

It’s gotten to the point he no longer saw reason to tell people about them, after all, no one would listen anyway. He took his hand off his chest, settling it in his lap happy the pain had turned to soreness instead. 

He doesn’t think the stranger would have appreciated Harry pointing out the terrible state of his trunk. Heavens knows the shame that overcomes him whenever someone sneered at his clothes, always too big and dirty, compared to his properly dressed family members.

 He offers the boy a shy smile, trying to find something to say. “What’s your name?”

The redhead boy raises a brow, dragging his gaze pointedly to Harry’s hair before shrugging  “Whatever you like to call me.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. “What?”

“Whatever you want to call me. I’ll answer to it” The boy says casually, then seems to rethink that as he hasty adds on “As long as it’s not mocking. I get that too much from Fre- ugh my twin brothers.”

“a nickname?” Harry asks feeling both off footed and a bit ecstatic. No one ever asked Harry to give them a nickname before it was almost like the boy wanted to be close to him like real friends were. 

“Nick sounds fine,” The newly dub Nick says shrugging his small shoulders. “ I appreciate the last name even if it’s just the word Name.”

Harry blinks bewildered green eyes at him, pulling at his long sleeves over his hands. A nervous habit he developed over the years. “You want me to call you Nick Name?”

“Sure mate.”

“Why?” Was he mocking Harry? 

The boy snorts,  “Mate, your hair gave you away. No offense but my Mum didn’t raise a fool. I’m not about to give away my name so easily.”

“My...hair?” Reaching up to try and smooth his wild hair Harry wonders if it fell to the side to reveal his scar. Was this about him being famous? 

“Yeah” Nick nods as if that means anything, like they somehow got on the same page now, giving Harry a smile that seems too friendly for someone making fun of him. “Not that I mind, it’s in your nature after all, but you should wait till your older to make Deals. Bit funnier that way yeah?”

The way he says that, where he can hear the capital D, makes something in Harry ding, as if though he rung a bell in his head. Harry doesn't know why but it makes him smile. 

Nick returns the grin. “Your hair is standing up.”

“What!?” Harry reaches up to slap the locks down that is for some reason, risen in the air. Not like a cowlick but closer to when he is underwater, floating about gently. He blushes, ashamed of his freak curls, and hoping Nick wouldn’t be disgusted by him. 

“It’s wicked that it does that,” Nick says, his blue eyes flickering upwards to his straight red hair. “Mine just flops uselessly like a dead mop on my head. I wish I was as cute as you.”

Harry has never been as red as he was at that moment.  “C-cute?”

No one ever thought Harry was cute before. Heck, no one thought he was anything other than a smear on society. 

“Oh!” The boy slaps his forehead as if he caught himself saying something foolish. Sheepishly he offers Harry a shrug. “I tend to put my foot in my mouth. I know I shouldn’t call your kind cute. I didn’t mean to stereotype you mate, sorry about that. Say what should I call you? Mate just sounds weird to say over and over again.”

Harry feels like the communication between them was failing. Nick was obviously speaking English but somehow it was an entirely different language. “I’m Har-”

The door opens again, this time to show a blond boy in elegant robes around their age. He gave the room a quick once over, passing Nick without a second glance. The moment his eyes land on Harry however, he does a double-take, staring at his hair with a fierce intensity. 

Then he smiles pearl white teeth. “I heard the Boy-Who-Lived was in this compartment. Is that you?”

“Oh him, I mean yeah that's me. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.” Harry answers awkwardly still not used to his famous title. Across from him Nick looks startled. 

“Are you really?” 

Harry reaches up to lift his bangs flashing the strange scar he had for as long as he could remember. Nick's eyes widen before he breaths “That’s wicked.”

“Thanks?” He doesn't know how he should respond to the obvious awe in Nick’s face now. The blond boy clears his throat stepping forward with a hand raised.

“It’s nice to meet you.”  

Harry blinks then shakes it as well. Two people that want to talk to him. Harry is on a roll today! As he shook the hand he can’t help but notice the way the blond boy’s eyes seem to be fixed on his lips, and he wonders if he wanted a kiss. Maybe Harry could trade him something for a quick peck-

No. Harry tells himself  No hustles. No freakiness. Stop it.  Besides how weird would it be to trade something for a kiss? He wants to makes friends not scare everyone away. 

A sharp pain wrecks havoc across his torso, making him wince slightly. He fights the urge to press his palm against the pain.  

“It’s nice to meet you too-ugh sorry I didn’t get your name?” Harry says feeling nervous, his voice wavering towards the end. Had the other said it and he missed it due to the stinging ache?

The blond looks unimpressed for a moment then he snorts.  “Nice try. You can call me whatever you please”

“How about Ferret?” Nice offers with a grin obviously trying for good humor teasing. “You got the features.”

“Think that’s funny do you?” The blond snaps face clouded with displeasure. Obviously, the other took it as an insult instead.  “I don’t need to focus on your features. Just point out the red hair, hand me downs and-

Harry quickly intervenes not wanting his new possible friends to fight. Besides this is the second nickname of his life, it was special, Harry had only been on the train for a short while and already he was connecting better to the people here then all of the eleven years combine back in Privet Drive.

“How about Pearl?” He offers which brings the blond up short. He hastes to explain his reasoning feeling foolish for over-explain but unable to stop.  “Since you look really....fancy...and you have.. near oval white hair?”

He winces at the expression of consideration that overcomes the blond’s face feeling like he just messed this all up. Until the blond smiles, satisfied. “Pearl is a good name. I shall call you Emerald. You have lovely green eyes, it seems fitting”

Harry bit his lip, ducking his head to hide the sudden overwhelming happiness he got from that comment. He’s always been rather weak to them, despite how rarely he’s ever received them. 

Nick chuckles “Emerald, your hair is floating again. Must be because your feeling light after that compliment. Heh heh heh, get it?”

Harry would die for him. He doesn’t know why but that usage of puns makes him want to die for him. If anyone ever threatens him, Harry would tear them apart before they could finish their sentence. In fact, Harry was taking him home, Nick was his now, of course only if Nick wanted to come with him but his house was his now and-

“You Fae are so easy,” Pearl says rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t even a clever pun.”

Harry stops the sudden possessive thoughts to stare at him confusingly. “I’m sorry?”

“I know you like flattery-”

“You think I’m a fairy?” Harry interrupts utterly bewildered. “Why?”

For some reason, Pearl looks alarmed. “No! No! I meant no offense. I would never compare you to a fairy. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. Please,  accept my humble and honest apologies.” 

“But you just said I was a fairy.”

“No, he said Fae.” Nick hastily adds. “I swear he did.”

“...What’s a Fae?”

The two stare at him, then Nick forces a laugh. “Good one Emblard. Real funny.”

A fuzzy buzz sound goes off somewhere behind Harry’s eyes. He’s lying, but he can’t bring himself to point it out. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia don’t like it when Harry points out lies. It’s weird but he’ always been able to tell when someone lies to him. 

 “Thanks.” He says instead. Both boys relax. “Do either of you know anything about Hogwarts?” 

The rest of the ride was spent getting Harry up to speed on all these Hogwarts until a girl arrived looking for a toad. Before anyone can open their mouths she moves right on to introductions ignoring the fact they couldn’t respond to her inquiry of the lost toad.  “I’m Hermione Granger and this is Nevi-”

“Don’t tell him my name!” The chubby boy yelps  “Are you mad?”

Harry stares at the girl, her name wrapping around him the same way all names do. 

“Nice to meet you, Hermione” Her name rolls off his tongue like caramel. He likes the taste of it, but he fights the mad smirk that always surfaces his face when meeting new people. His aunt Petunia hates it, and usually it earns him a wack of a pan to the head. 

Sadly, like now, he can’t fight it completely and it breaks across his face slowly, sharply, and overly eager.  The three other males wince. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The girl goes white. “You’re a Fae.”

“I’m....I’m sorry I’m a what?” Harry asks smirk falling right off his face.  

“A F-Fae. I read about you...in the books” Hermione gulps looking close to shaking. “I didn’t know...I know it said the hair was a sign but I just thought you don’t use a comb or-”

“Granger stop while your ahead!” Nick shouts alarm. “Don’t insult him!”

“Wait wait,” Harry says raising his hands as the girl looks about close to bursting into tears and the other two- Pearl and Chubby boy- seem about to make a run for the door. “What on earth you all going on about?”

“You...didn't know?” Hermonie sounds shocked. Then her eyes widen “Is this a trick? Surely you are aware that you’re a Fae Harry.”

“I’m a what?”

“A Fae. Like all Potters before you.”

“My Dad was a Fae?” Harry leans closer to her hungry for anything of his parents. 

Suddenly Hermonie sat up straight,  “I’ll trade you everything I know about the Potter family that I read exchange for my real name. We can change it to a nickname....If...if you want?”

Harry is extremely embarrassed by the purr like noise that started somewhere in his throat. He just knows his hair is floating again, and he can feel his cheeks gaining a healthy flush. “Oh! Yes please, I’ll give you the best nickname ever promise!”

Hermonie mouth drops, her own face turning bright red. For a moment she seems to have stop functioning, unable to look away from Harry who is still making that odd purring noise. The other members are as equally flustered.

 “Is this the Veela Allure I read about?” Hermonie whimpers after a moment.

“No, this is a Fae Deal.” Chubby boy stutters out, hiding his eyes behind his hands. Though he is taking small peaks at Harry form between his fingers only to close them. A few seconds later he spreads his fingers again. “It’s one of the reasons they get so many Deals. People like...um...looking.”

“Hermonie! Hermonie! Hermione!” Harry calls leaning towards the girl, his voice having an odd little ring to it now “Please tell me! I’ll give you a nickname if you want but please, what is this about the Potters?”

“Give me my nickname first,” The girl says after swallowing twice. 

Harry tilts his head thinking quickly “How about Bella? It means beauty in French.”

“Bella is fine” The poor girl squeaks sounding like she is close to choking. “Bella is nice. Thank you.”

Harry's lips pull into that mad smirk once more, unknown to him making his face turn a bit....foreboding  “You owe me my information.”

She goes pale once more. “Y-yes of course.” 

It’s a very educational conversation. 

#hpdabbles #Prompt night #Harry potter #ironicallypresant #Fae Potter Family #Harry wasn't aware he was a Fae #Au What's in a name #Hermonie really went and gave her name to a fae #Potter Hair is famous for a different reason #Draco is Pearl #Ron is Nick #Neville may or may not get a nickname too #Everyone is thirsty for Harry #Unknown flirting #(Sorry it just went into that direction)

[hirvitank]

congrats on the ferret!! u should get another one since ferrets r social creatures and get depression when not around pthers of their kind! i would recommend watching friendly neighborhood ferrets for more info!

Hi, thank you! I’m fostering this ferret because he’s an abandoned senior, which means I’ll remain in close contact with the shelter and their vet to continuously monitor his health. He has been specifically separated because he’s too aggressive and doesn’t go well with others, this is what I’ve been explicitly told after several attempts of matching him with other ferrets have failed. I trust these people and their years of experience, which is why he’ll remain a solitary ferret. I absolutely agree that ferrets should be kept together, not alone, but that doesn’t always apply to all ferrets—just like some cats are better off alone. Don’t worry, he gets plenty of attention and I make sure to play with him for many hours every single day, which is easy since I work from home 4 out of 5 days.

#ferret #anon #ask

[quixotic-writer]

The Impractical Gattosby: Chapter 1

~Oh???? My god???? This was fucking INCREDIBLE!!!! Thank you for this spectacular submission! I’m truly blown away! Please please PLEASE post this on AO3 or Wattpad because I want you properly credited with this work and I want so many others to read this!

In Murr’s younger and more vulnerable years his father gave him some advice that he’s been turning over in his mind ever since.

“James, whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told him, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

He didn’t say any more but they’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and he understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence he is inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to Murr and also made him the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that at college, Murr was unjustly accused of being a ferret, because he was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently he has feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when Murr realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. He is still a little afraid of missing something if he forgot that, as his father snobbishly suggested, and Murr would snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of his tolerance, Murr came to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point he didn’t care what it’s founded on. When he came back from Staten Island last autumn he felt that he wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; he wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gattosby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from Murr’s reaction—Joe Gattosby who represented everything for which Murr has an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “comedic genius"—it was an extraordinary gift for confidence, a type of shamelessness such as Murr has never found in any other person and which it is not likely he should ever find again. No—Gattosby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gattosby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out his interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

Murr’s family were prominent, well-to-do people in the northeast for three generations. The Murrays are something of a clan and they have a tradition that they’ve descended from Italian and Irish nobility, but the actual founder of his line was his grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale business that Murr’s father carries on today.

He never saw this great-uncle but he’s supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office, sporting a shiny bald head. Murr graduated from Georgetown University in 1915, and after he decided to go to New York and learn the motion picture industry. Everybody he knew was in the motion picture industry so he supposed it could support one more single man. All his aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for him and finally said, “Why—ye-es” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance him for a year, using the funds that would have otherwise gone towards purchasing for him an automobile, and after various delays he went to New York, permanently, he thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and he had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that they take an apartment together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the place, a weather beaten cardboard apartment at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Los Angeles and he went out to the country alone. Murr had a dog, Penny, at least he had her for a few days until she ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made his bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than Murr, stopped him on the road.

“How do you get to Staten Island?” he asked helplessly.

Murr told him. And as he walked on he was lonely no longer. Murr was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on him the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—he had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. Murr bought a dozen volumes on motion pictures and cameras and they stood on his shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton and Rudolph Valentino knew. And he had the high intention of reading many other books besides. He was rather literary in college—not only was he an English major, but one year Murr wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the “Georgetown News"—and now he was going to bring back all such things into his life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man.” This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that he rented an apartment in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous boroughs, identical in contour and separated only by water, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Upper New York Bay.

Murr lived at Staten Island, the—well, the less fashionable of the two boroughs, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. His apartment was at the very tip of the island, only fifty yards from the Bay, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on his right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gattosby’s mansion. Or rather, as he didn’t know Mr. Joe Gattosby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. His own apartment was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so he had a view of the water, a partial view of his neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable Brooklyn glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening he took the Staten Island Ferry there to have dinner with the  Vulcano-Quinns. Sal Vulcano was his former brother-in-law from when Murr had married Sal’s sister for three days, and he’d known Brian “Q” Quinn in his Monsignor Farrell High School days.

Sal’s husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever worked for the Fire Department of New York—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family was enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d come to Brooklyn in a fashion that rather took one’s breath away: for instance he’d bought three cats named Benjamin, Brooklyn, and Chessie. It was hard to realize that a man in Murr’s own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came to New York, Murr doesn’t know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Sal over the telephone, but Murr didn’t believe it—he had no sight into Sal’s heart but he felt that Q would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable fire to fight.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening he rode the Staten Island Ferry over to Brooklyn to see two old friends whom he scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than Murr had expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Brian Quinn was at the front porch.

He had changed since his Monsignor Farrell High years. Now he was a sturdy, dark-haired man of thirty with a rather magnificent beard and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant hazel eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his newsboy cap and silk American-flag print scarf could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were guys at high school who had hated his guts.

“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” They were in the same Improv Club, and while they were never intimate Murr always had the impression that Q approved of him and wanted him to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

They talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

“It belonged to Mrs. Calabash, my neighbor.” He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.”

They walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two men were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their clothes were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. Murr must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Q shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two men ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. He was extended full length at his end of the divan, completely motionless and with his chin raised a little as if he were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If he saw me out of the corner of his eyes he gave no hint of it—indeed, Murr was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed him by coming in.

The other man, Sal, made an attempt to rise—he leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then he laughed, a loud boisterous laugh that soon had him falling to the floor, and he laughed too and came forward into the room.

“Oh my gawd, I’m p-paralyzed with happiness.”

He got up to  only laugh and almost fell to the floor once again, as if he said something very witty, and held his hand for a moment, looking up into Murr’s face, promising that there was no one in the world he so much wanted to see. That was a way he had. Sal hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing man was Jost. (Murr has heard it said that Sal’s murmur was only to make people lean toward him; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Casey Jost’s lips fluttered, he nodded at Murr almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped his head back again—the object he was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given him something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to Murr’s lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from him.

Murr looked back at his former brother-in-law who began to ask him questions in his low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. His face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright green eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in his voice that men who had cared for him found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that he had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

#submission #suki speaks #and also the submission name was F. Thot Fitzgerald which SENT ME INTO ORBIT I LOVED EVERY BIT OF THIS #anon

[elvenferretots]

Your (hopefully) friendly neighborhood ferret guy of 15+ years here to break down the practical side of Marshall ferret health: 

  Ferrets should live at least 8-10 years when properly cared for. Responsible breeders I follow on Facebook are having ferrets live at least to that, if not up to 13. Marshall Ferrets gives us a lifespan estimate of 5-8, and that is pretty darn accurate for them. Why?

Three main reasons that I am aware of: poor breeding, diet, and early neuter.

Breeding - These ferrets are bred exclusively for sales factors, namely a sanguine temperament and pretty colors. This means that health is not a longterm consideration, and even the ferrets they produce that come with a “health guarantee” were traditionally only refunded if the ferret was kept on Marshall’s diet and returned to the company to euthanize and autopsy (I have not bought a ferret from them in 16 years, though, so I am unsure if this is still policy. It was for several decades at least). This is not an effective model. By the time an owner knows there is a problem with their ferret, they’ve switched to a healthier food. They are attached and don’t want it killed. They want to give it vet care and a high quality of life. It was common in the 90′s and 00′s for ferret people to pick up the deaf or sick kits and ones with bad temperaments from the pet store to save them from getting sent back and euthanized. This also meant that Marshall kept carelessly producing very pretty, very deaf blaze-pattered ferrets (similar to the merle gene in dogs). They sold like hot cakes! As they get older, it seems like Marshall ferrets are also prone to an extraordinary amount of arthritis as well as lumps and bumps and particularly lymphoma, even compared to regular old cancer-prone ferrets. Juvenile cancer, tumors, and growths are explicitly not included in their guarantee.

Diet - Marshall’s ferret diet and treats are notoriously high in carbs and sugars (although this has also gotten better in recent years; molasses used to be reasonably high on the ingredient list). Because their ferrets are weaned way too young, they are on this diet from the time they should be just on milk to when they should be starting meat or high protein kibble to when they come home with you. Basically, even if you switch them over to something healthy immediately, your ferret has likely started off their life on very much the wrong nutritional foot from 3-4 weeks old, a key time in development. This ferrets should be weaned at 8 weeks, and with their mom until then or 10-12 weeks. I’ve seen babies that could not have been older than 5 weeks old at Petco eating watered down Marshall’s kibble. Ferrets are prone to insulinoma if they consume too much sugar, so most Marshall ferrets will get it sooner or later. There is no known cure, only treatment and then palliative care.

Early Neuter - We have lots and lots of studies on the detrimental effects of early neuter on animals, especially dogs. These ferrets are no exception, and they are neutered far younger than puppies ever are (I cannot find my source that said 4 weeks, but we know at least under 6-7 weeks, since they are fully healed when they ship). Early neutering severely stunts their growth, can cause incontinence if there was a mistake in the procedure due to the animal being so very small (especially common in females when the tiny muscles that control urinary control accidentally get nicked), and is directly related to Adrenal Disease, cancer of one or both adrenal glands. This is another one that nearly every Marshall ferret seems to get eventually if the insulinoma or lymphoma don’t strike first. The most effective treatment we currently know is deslorin implants which will stop the symptoms (heat/rut symptoms, enlarged prostate, incontinence, hair loss, weight loss, etc.) and slow the growth, but there is no known cure, only slowing the disease.

My first ferret was a Marshall from a little local exotic pet shop. He was my best friend. He got juvenile adrenal cancer at barely three years old, and passed on just short of his sixth birthday after extensive vet care including surgery and implants to extend and increase his quality of life.

Nearly everyone in North America gets a Marshall ferret from a pet store as their first. Nearly everyone else here gets Marshall ferrets as rescues. It’s not commonly known that good breeders are an option, and there are so many ferrets sold as the small-cute-new-best-friend at the pet store rather than puppies that they land on Craigslist and in rescue at a tremendous rate. If you know the risks when you get a ferret with the two little blue ear tattoos, you’ll be better able to be preemptive in watching for health issues and having a vet fund squirreled away. You’ll need it.

#ferret #ferrets #ferretblr #marshall farms

[angryhausfrau-writes]

You Can‘t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 20

“Boy, there's enough red, white, and blue around here to make even old Ferret Face happy.” Trapper's looking around the park with an expression somewhere between awe and contempt. “Don't remember it being quite so...” He gestures vaguely at the flag bunting and the kids waving sparklers and tiny flags.

“What, it wasn't like this last Fourth of July?” Hawkeye finds it hard to believe that America would have been less patriotic during the death throws of the Korean war.

“I didn't go anywhere near any of this shit last year – got stuck with a twenty-four hour shift in the ER.” Trapper sighs. “Between the noise from the fireworks and all the kids coming in with powder burns, I coulda been back at the front.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The clinic has seen its fair share of kids with burnt fingers – though fortunately nothing worse. And Hawkeye hasn't had the most restful week of his life, either. The constant barrage of fireworks brings back memories of artillery shells and he keeps dreaming about Korea. Just hazy impressions of blood and khaki, but unsettling enough to make him toss and turn half the night.

Trapper nudges Hawkeye out of those thoughts with a brief press of his shoulder. “Course, you were actually over there last year, so I tried not to wallow in self pity too much. I'm sure the coffee you were drinking was way worse than the shit in the ER staff room.”

Hawkeye laughs despite himself. Feels himself relax, despite the crowds, despite the dozens of screaming children – shrieks of laughter so, so close to shrieks of terror and agony. Despite what day it is.

He isn't in Korea. No one is going to die today.

Trapper knocks gently into Hawkeye's shoulder again, clearly reading his change in mood. “It gets to be too much and you wanna go home, just lemme know. Ok?”

Hawkeye smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Trapper. But I'm ok, really. And Cathy would never let me live it down if I missed her softball game – I'd lose my standing as favorite uncle.”

“That's true enough, Cathy's absolutely ruthless when crossed.” Trapper grins. “She pretty much single handedly whupped St. John's Episcopal in the interfaith league cuz they wouldn't let a girl play softball.”

“She an adorable little terror. You must be so proud.” And now Hawkeye's grinning too.

By this point, they've managed to fight their way through the crowd to the metal bleachers of the baseball diamond. It's crowded here too – apparently the Fourth of July little league games are a longstanding tradition – but it's a more orderly chaos. The hordes of children are being at least somewhat corralled by their impatient parents.

Except for Becky - who comes barreling out of the ballpark and right into Trapper, managing to knock him backwards a few steps with the force of her momentum. While Trapper's still getting his wind back, she flings herself at Hawkeye in an exuberant hug. He hugs her back, a little bemused – she's not normally so affectionate.

“Thank Christ you're here!” she exclaims when she finally lets go of Hawkeye.

“Don't cuss, Becky,” Trapper admonishes her. Though he's pulled her into another, less violent hug – and it's not like he has much room to complain about bad language.

“Sorry, dad,” Becky says, not looking very sorry. “But we've been here for hours! And all mom and Rob want to do is gossip about boring stuff like who's having babies or what some lady wore to church. At least you two talk about interesting things.”

“Speaking of your ma, she know you're running around loose?”

Becky looks guiltily at the ground and Trapper sighs.

“You better lead us to 'em before Louise sends out a search party. Don't want her to think you've run off to join the circus – though your human cannon ball act is pretty good, just about bowled me over.”

“Sorry dad, Uncle Hawkeye.” This time Becky does look contrite. But she brightens up when Hawkeye and Trapper each hold out a hand for her to take. And then she's tearing off towards wherever Louise and Robert are sitting – the two of them trailing in her wake.

They come up on Louise and Robert a little ways away – though the crowds are thick enough, it takes longer than it should to reach them. Leaving plenty of time for Trapper to watch them as he approaches.

It's still kinda strange for Trapper to see Louise out on the town – especially with a guy who ain't him. But they're friendly enough with one another, if mostly focused on the girls whenever they talk. And Robert ain't a bad guy, even if Trapper finds him unbearably boring. He cares about the girls a whole hell of a lot, and that's worth sitting through him talking about bird watching or the stock market or whatever the hell it is he's talking about now. Proper barbecue technique, by the sound of it.

No wonder Becky ran off.

Even Louise looks glad to see them, her smile a little fixed as she goes to kiss first his cheek and then Hawkeye's. And she's very quick to pull Hawkeye into a conversation about her latest knitting project – apparently Cathy's interest had sparked her own and they all trade knitting patterns now. Trapper smiles as he listens to Becky describe the plot of her latest Nancy Drew novel.

It's funny that it took divorcing his wife for them to find some kinda equilibrium with each other.

And Trapper ain't glad it happened, by any means. Mostly cuz Louise deserved better from him than being a distant shadow of the man she married – and a cheater who'd bedded anyone who'd have him over in Korea. A man in love with his best friend, even if it took him a while to realize.

But he don't mourn the man he used to be. Or see much point in regretting his mistakes. What's done is done – all that matters is the here and now. And this here and this now – a clear summer day, his one daughter sitting next to him and the other waving frantically from the dugout, Hawkeye happy and laughing and here with him – is pretty damn good.

--

Cathy wins her softball game and they all go out for ice cream after. They still woulda gone if she hadn't'a won, of course, but there's a special air of celebration about it on account of the victory.

After they all mob the ice cream cart – along with about a hundred other families - they cram onto a couple of park benches. The girls are talking all in and around and over each other in their excitement. And Louise is attempting to get them to take turns talking – a lost cause in Trapper's opinion. Even Robert is smiling and cracking some pretty terrible jokes. They're loud enough, some of the people walking past are giving them the evil eye.

But Hawkeye is just sitting there. Silent. With ice cream dripping down his arm.

Covered by the loud chatter of the rest of the family, Trapper leans in and says quietly, “You ok, Hawkeye? You wanna cut this short and head home?”

“Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking.” And then Hawkeye laughs quietly. “You know something funny, Trapper? That first week back home I went out and bought knitting supplies and a gossip magazine and an ice cream cone – strawberry, like I'm eating now.”

Hawkeye pauses to lick ice cream off his wrist and Trapper has to look away.

“It felt like – like this forbidden thing, you know? To go out and buy ice cream. Ice cream! It's not like I was breaking the law or anything – I wasn't even buying booze or a nudie mag or anything questionable – but it felt like I was going to get arrested by the cops for being out without a pass, you know? For daring to buy an ice cream cone without orders.”

Trapper nods.

For all that the army was s'posed to bring freedom to Korea, it was pretty damn thin on the ground – for soldiers and civilians. It had taken him a while to get used to the lack of military restrictions when he got back home, too. A while to get used to feeling like a real person again, able to make decisions for himself, able to set his own schedule.

“I had to remind myself that I was a grown adult,” Hawkeye continues, “capable of running errands on my own – going where I wanted when I wanted, without written permission or a curfew.”

Trapper nods again. “It's funny what a guy can get used to, I guess. What starts to feel normal.” He grins wryly. “Not that you've ever given two shits about being normal.”

Hawkeye laughs. “True enough.” And then he bites into his ice cream cone.

--

They get invited over to Louise and Robert's house in the suburbs for a Fourth of July barbecue. And the girls are so excited to show their dad and Uncle Hawkeye their rooms and toys and neighborhood haunts that they can't really refuse. So Hawkeye finds himself standing on Robert's meticulously manicured lawn, chatting with a slew of pastel-clad, pearl-wearing housewives while their husbands congregate around the grill to talk about cars and vacations to the Grand Canyon and other boring things. Trapper, meanwhile, has practically disappeared in a pile of roughhousing kids – occasionally breaking free, only to be pulled back under by the teaming mass. And Louise flutters at the edge of Hawkeye's little entourage – pouring drinks and setting out side dishes.

Hawkeye had offered to help – he and Trapper both had – but she'd said they were guests and ought to take it easy. Hawkeye doesn't know that he feels easy, exactly, in this world of matching bungalows and matching skirt sets but he does his best to relax.

It had helped when the women had gathered around him and started gossiping. All he'd had to do was listen and ask leading questions and he could be almost totally silent without looking bored or inattentive – a trick he'd learned on the boat home, back when he didn't really talk all that much. Back when he felt like he didn't have anything to say that was really him talking.

He doesn't feel that way anymore, but it's still a relief when they all sit down to eat and he can rejoin Trapper. Talk about something other than church functions, PTA meetings, and children's play dates. Even if they're sitting at the kiddie table and his time is mostly spent trying to keep the kids from putting potato salad in each others' hair.

It helps settle something in him to be able to see the kids alive and happy and alive. Helps drive home that he isn't in Korea and today isn't going to end like it did last year. And it helps that Trapper is sitting next to him, pressed against him, real and solid and here.

Trapper presses closer to Hawkeye under the pretense of the table being crowded. And there are a whole lotta kids crammed onto one picnic bench. But more than that, Trapper needs the comfort and familiarity of Hawkeye next to him.

Cuz it's strange, being here at Louise's house. Seeing her and the kids having a life here. Seeing them have a life here with Robert and without him.

Don't get him wrong, it's not any kinda life Trapper'd want to live. He ain't jealous or nothing. But it's strange, being here with the people he used to be so close to - but as an outsider to their lives.

At least Louise seems happy here - with her nice big house and her nice boring husband and her nice gossipy neighbors. Trapper's glad Louise is living the kinda life she wants – the kinda life she'd grown up with, grown up wanting. Glad she can have the kinda life he hadn't been able to have with her.

But he's really fucking glad when the night is over and he can go back home to his own life with Hawkeye.

#mash #piercintyre #fanfic archive #you can't cross the same river twice #chapter 20

[blackjack-15]

Whale Be Clamming for Clues — Thoughts on: Danger on Deception Island (DDI)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: DDI.

The Intro:

First off, let me apologize for the title of this meta. Much like Bess, I couldn’t resist the pun.

Second off, let me just say that DDI is a game that deserves its status as an Iconic Nancy Drew game. If you don’t have access to MHM, TRT, or SSH, DDI is probably the next best place to start the series (while CAR is a great game and should definitely be played, it’s less good as an introduction to the series).

DDI’s got Bess and George, the Hardy Boys, quirky phone characters, incredible atmosphere, fun puzzles, a few suspects, and herrings (red or otherwise) galore. DDI looked at every Nancy Drew game at that point and decided to play the formula straight while doing it nigh-perfectly, and it’s a joy to play.

Its soundtrack should also be of special note; it’s immediately identifiable as being from the Pacific Northwest (the land where HER hails from) and it helps build the incredible atmosphere while still feeling a bit friendly and welcoming as only sea shanty-inspired music can. Special props should go to the music that plays when Nancy encounters Hilda for being particularly touching.

The only real place that DDI falls off a bit is with a couple of its characters — most specifically Katie and Andy. Sure, those are the two you’re supposed to suspect the most, and so they’re a little less fleshed out so HER didn’t give anything away, but there’s not really much to like about either one of them. Holt and Jenna are less divisive and can be a breath of fresh air when the player has dealt too long with the Twin Whale Watching Terrors, but there’s not too much to like there either other than being better than the other two.

It’s one thing to have a cast that is made up of suspicious or even brusque suspects, but it’s quite another to have a cast made up of mostly unpleasant people who hate the others. Normally there’s at least one character that Nancy can touch base with, but outside of her phone contacts, there’s no safe haven in Snake Horse Harbor.

There is one person who does make the game friendly, mysterious, and a little bit wistful, but we’ll talk about her more in the Suspect section.

Ultimately, Danger on Deception Island is really a game to more be experienced than it is to be spoken about (Hilda notwithstanding, who is excellent to talk about) as its simplicity and logic is undermined by the lack of need to explain it. For a game with superlative atmosphere, beautiful music, appropriate and good puzzles, and possibly the best one-off phone contact of all time, DDI is an appropriate, if not flawless, ninth entry into the Nancy Drew games series and a game that demands to be played on those misty, foggy, slightly mysterious days.

The Title:

Let’s be real here, “Danger on Deception Island” is a fantastic title. It’s moody, sounds exciting, definitely establishes a sense of mystery, gives us our location, and is vague enough to be enticing to the imagination while not so vague as to frustrate the player.

It’s also pretty literal; there is danger, and the island is called Deception Island (though, knowing that’s a bit of a hokey name, they do refer to Nancy’s location mostly as “Snake Horse Harbor”, after the Nessie knock-off that’s said to haunt the waters near the harbor). It’s kind of a classic pulp-type title for a mystery, and it fits the sense of heavy atmosphere and nasty suspects that DDI features.

           It’s effective enough that there’s not much more to say here, so let’s move on to the reason behind the Danger on Deception island.

The Mystery:

           While Nancy’s called out to go on a whale watching tour with Katie, a friend of George’s (though how she and George are friends, we have no idea), she encounters a case of sabotage almost immediately, and gets to work ferreting out justice — though she does get a tour with Andy, Katie’s rival.

           Nancy is then set to explore Snake Horse Harbor on bike (helmet on, please, as they somehow magically deter crashes) and meet the locals, dig for clams, discover the difference between male and female crabs (the difference being about 150$ and a jail sentence), explore an old lighthouse, talk with a librarian about hard wood, and enjoy a great soundtrack perfectly encapsulating the Pacific Northwest.

The Suspects:

Katie Firestone is George’s friend and the first person Nancy meets upon her arrival to Deception Island. She’s also the victim of some sabotage and threatening notes, as Nancy discovers when she arrives, per her unpopular stance to take the orphaned orca and bring it to an aquarium where it can be cured of the illness that Katie theorizes that it has and can be studied further.

Per her job as a marine biologist, Katie is the only one with a permit that allows her to get up close and personal with the orphaned orca for whale watching tours, which makes her (very understandably) unpopular among the residents of Snake Horse Harbor. She’s also not the friendliest of people, which leads her to be even more unpopular.

As a suspect, Katie is sort of a mixed bag. The game plays her up just enough to keep her a suspect without playing her up so much that it’s obvious that she’s not. She never acts as Nancy’s “detective buddy”, but isn’t opposed to helping her – or keeping her busy. All in all, Katie has both the makings of the obvious victim and possibly as a clever suspect using their unpopularity to throw people off the scent.

DDI also throws in the fun little twist of pretending to reveal Katie as the villain before Nancy spins the chair around to reveal that she’s been tied up and duct taped by the real villain. It’s a pretty good “gotcha” moment and definitely fooled me the first time I played it (though I was quite young at the time, it should be noted).

Jenna Deblin is the owner of the Hot Kettle Café where economics don’t matter and Nancy can eat as many bowls of clam chowder as she wants for free. Friendly, chatty, and a bit of a gossip, Jenna fills Nancy in on the happenings in town — and on how much she dislikes Katie. A staunch conservationist, Jenna believes that the orca should be returned to its pod as soon as possible, and heavily disagrees with Katie’s aquarium plan.

She’s the kindest out of all of Nancy’s suspects and is cleared the earliest when her Café gets robbed and she and Nancy discover the tunnels under the Café used for shanghaiing sailors in the past. Jenna also would bring Hilda groceries when everyone else avoided or distrusted her, putting her firmly in the “good” category of suspects.

As a suspect, Jenna’s made to be the one that Nancy (and the player) can feel the most on the level with. Even with the underground tunnels, there’s really nothing frightening about either Jenna or the Hot Kettle Café, and the puzzles and information that they supply are fun and a little whimsical. The only thing suspicious about Jenna at all is her hatred of Katie, but having dealt with Katie for a good portion of the game, the player really shouldn’t consider that unusual or grounds for sabotage.

As a side note, Jenna is the first Native American character in the HER interactive series, a fact not hidden in the game, but also outright confirmed by HER themselves. While she’ll be joined in this later by SHA’s Mary and TOT’s Debbie, it’s a good thing to, in a setting so defined by its Native population, include a character of Native origin.

Holt Scotto is the rough ‘n’ gruff mayoral candidate for the next election in Snake Horse Harbor and owner of a pointlessly suspicious bag. As a veteran fisherman, he hates that the orca is disrupting the economy (as fishing is ubiquitously the number one vocation on islands like Deception Island) and making it more difficult for fishers to work.

While he seems to be friendly with Jenna (and at least on good terms with Hilda), Holt doesn’t much care for tourists like Nancy and makes her work for each and every bit of information that he has. Holt is the second most friendly person on the island (once again, discounting phone characters) in that he really doesn’t care what Nancy does so long as she doesn’t disturb Deception Island’s ecosystem and fills out the little survey he gives her.

Holt is a caricature in nearly every way that HER could make a caricature, but he’s still enjoyable and gives a few fun puzzles. He’s mostly there to round out the cast, but his voice acting is decent and his visual character design is absolutely spot on.

Andy Jason (whose voice is none other than now-regular HER voice actor and my personal hero Jonah Von Spreecken) is the friendly neighborhood rival whale-watching guide, but without Katie’s cozy little permit that lets her exploit the whale for money under the guise of Academia. While kind of friendly, he’s pretty ruthless in his business dealings, and owns the world’s worst plaid shirt.

As DDI’s resident villain, Andy makes the best suspect. He fails at being friendly or charming, but is barely a blip on Nancy’s radar through the first half of the game…apart from one horrible misstep on the part of HER, where his business card is found on Katie’s boat.

Because he and Katie are rivals (and because Katie’s generally hated), there’s no reason for his card to be on his boat, and it’s obvious that he’s the one who sabotaged Katie’s boat. Since Nancy Drew generally doesn’t have two main villains, the person who sabotaged her boat must be the villain, and thus Andy must be the villain.

There’s a nice little moment where Nancy sees Katie sitting in a chair, her back to Nancy, down in the Big Bad’s lair, that implies that Katie’s the one behind it. Of course, when the chair spins around, Katie’s duct taped and captive in the chair. That moment of doubt is effective, but it’s a good thing that HER resolves it within seconds, because it wouldn’t hold up any longer than that.

Andy is a little bit threatening in his last attempt to prevent Nancy from exposing him to the world — though the way Nancy takes him down is hilariously roundabout; one would think an air tank to the head via Nancy would be more effective than an air tank to the head via orca would be — but as a slightly weak character, his ending is a bit more of the same.

Hilda Swenson, like Miles in CAR, isn’t really a suspect, but does have to be included here for her sheer impact on (and subsequent elevation of) the game. An ex-movie director turned ex-mayor, Hilda’s a bit of an eccentric who lost her husband a few years ago and moved off the island, but still influences both the island and the events of the game.

Deciding that things are Not Going Well and that suspicious Things Are Happening, Hilda sets up a seek-and-find for someone smart, resourceful, tenacious, and curious — aka, Nancy — to find and contact her so that they can save the island together.

Hilda is definitely a little odd (though not really by Nancy Drew character standards), but what makes her really magical is that she really doesn’t care what others think of her and lives the way she thinks is best, cackling along as she sprinkles her good deeds along the shore.

She’s an oddity among Nancy Drew characters in that her presence is so strong without ever seeing any bit of her. She’s not out for or against Nancy, she’s just out to make sure her Harbor is saved, and her world goes on before and after Nancy. She really makes Snake Horse Harbor feel like it’s not just there for Nancy to solve a mystery in it, and that feeling is part of what makes DDI remarkable.

The Favorite:

Even with the Hardy Boys present and attentive, the best character of this game is Hilda, no contest. I’ve said all I can about her, so we’ll move on…mostly.

Embarrassingly after that paragraph, my favorite moment of the game is a Hilda moment — or rather, a moment right after a Hilda moment. Hilda sends Nancy out on a kayak for her clues, speaking to her for the last time. She hangs up after wishing Nancy good luck, and for just a few beats, the moment hangs in the air. It’s misty out in the ocean and Nancy’s alone, holding the weight of saving the harbor and exposing wrongs and ensuring the right thing happens for the orphaned orca

My favorite puzzle is prolly collecting all of the things Hilda left behind and assembling them. It’s a fun little series of fetch quests, culminating in a great moment out on the water, and they’re just really enjoyable as they help build the world.

The Un-Favorite:

I’ve discussed Katie and Andy earlier, but they definitely deserve a place in this section, as their presence does drag down the game just a bit from where it could have been.

My least favorite moment in the game is probably the part where Holt catches Nancy outside the lighthouse, purely because it makes me jump every time. DDI really doesn’t have any sour note moments, so this qualifies because I give a little shrill scream whenever it happens.

My least favorite puzzle is definitely the male vs female crab dilemma. These metas have talked before about my visual processing not being the greatest, so that’s probably the reason, but even when I have a picture of both of them side-by-side, I always end up guessing wrong and getting Thrown in the Brig. It is a mark of how well-integrated the puzzles are that none of them feel really clunky or like a pain.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Danger on Deception Island?

I’d really only do it by refurbing Katie and Andy a bit so that they’re not so……well, blatantly horrible and flat people. There’s always room in detective stories for nasty characters, but not ones so flat as those two. Give them relationships with everyone in Snake Horse Harbor — Andy especially, since he’s been there longer than Katie — and you’d be well on your way towards fixing the problem.

Maybe Holt knew Andy’s dad, who was an old friend of his who disagreed on everything with him but they were drinking buddies, so he watches out for Andy. Meanwhile, Jenna doesn’t much care for Andy, but they both hate Katie, so they band together out of pure spite and teeth-clenched teamwork. But, in a twist, Andy does have a bit of sympathy for Katie as a newcomer because years ago his dad had an apprentice of sorts who came to the island but was bullied into leaving.

Maybe Katie, meanwhile, disagrees heavily with Jenna but is so addicted to her chowder that she goes when Jenna has someone else (her Aunt Iris, perhaps?) covering the shop, only to develop a crush on the temp, so she subtly sabotages Jenna so that she has to leave the Café more and more often, which makes Jenna angrier. Let’s say Holt doesn’t mind Katie being a newcomer, but hates the temp Jenna gets to cover the Café, and knows Katie’s behind it but can’t prove it. Maybe even make it so Katie does feel guilty about using her permit to make money off the orca…but not guilty enough to stop doing it.

Just those simple tweaks going on in the background, referenced a few times, give the characters even more of a sense of existing out of just the game and helps balance them out against characters like Hilda who are more developed with severely less screen time.

Relationships are the quickest way to build characters, and while DDI has an incredible amount of atmosphere, fleshing out its two most suspicious characters would go a long way to perfecting this already awesome game.

#nancy drew #clue crew #nancy drew games #danger on deception island #nancy drew meta #DDI #video games #my meta

[helenarlett-rex]

Hello Googlesaurus Rex. What is the Redwall series about?

It is a series of books about medieval conflict set in a world where all the characters are animals that would commonly be found in the English countryside. With things like mice, hares, otters, badgers, hedgehogs, and voles serving as the good guys, and rats, foxes, weasels, and ferrets as the bad guys. The series spans over several generations of conflict fought in and around the same general location, most of it taking place around Redwall Abbey, which is where the series gets its name from. The series is very well known for creating large casts of very lovable, cute animal characters, and then killing most of them in horribly brutal battle.

It was actually written as a children’s book series, despite how emotionally scaring they were for most of the kids who read them, and it even had a 3 season animated series that aired on PBS of all places. (I know you aren’t from America, so if you aren’t familiar with PBS it stands Public Broadcasting Service. This is the station where they play all the family friendly, educational programing. So somehow we wound up with medieval feudal mice killing each other running alongside things like Sesame Street and Mister Rogers Neighborhood.)

[rough-and-whump]

OC Facts: Kevin Aquino Edition

So, one of my fave followers posted in Kevin's OC Intro that they were interested in learning more about Kevin, the cinnamon roll.

On a walk this morning, I started thinking about examples of how Kevin is a Cinnamon Roll. This might have other OC facts about him, too.

He carries tiny, 1/4g handrolled pinners with him all the time. When he meets someone having a bad day - maybe a regular client who confides some sad news, maybe a homeless dude he shares a sandwich with, maybe a stressed out office worker who looks like she needs to relax - he offers them some handrolled relaxation and a light.

He really truly believes in the good in people. He's been in several hold up scenarios where his genuine compassion and drive to understand the criminal has led to their surrender.

Someone in need of a hug can always go to Kevin. He's an expert at hugs. He's the dude who pulls you into a bro hug after a handshake. Many of his clients find him too friendly, but some really like how welcome he makes them feel.

Kevin is nice, compassionate, optimistic, and very stubborn. He isn't an idiot. He knows he deals drugs, he knows he walks in dangerous circles. But he loves what he does, he isn't hurting anyone, and he chooses to have faith in what he believes.

He would rather die than knowingly cause harm. He is practically phobic of hurting someone physically. Very honestly? More likely to hurt himself than someone else.

Kevin wears his heart on his sleeve and pledges loyalty entirely too quickly. He knows he probably shouldn't, but he can't help himself and he doesn't want to change.

Kevin is the kind of person to notice a couple arguing at a restaurant, and, when one goes to the bathroom, lean over and ask the other if everything is alright. He's asked the question a dozen times, and only been right a small number. But as he tells folks, "you really only need to be right once for the question to be worth it."

While he's moderately strong, and has a sort of natural physicality to him, Kevin uses them only to help. Him trying to fight is basically him running/dodging awkwardly/cowering but in ways that help him dodge lethal force. Combined with luck, general boredom of his whumpers, and him being "too nice to pose a threat", he's managed to survive far longer than expected.

Yes, he adores cute animals. He plots his delivery routes around all the dogs he knows in each neighborhood, he will climb trees to retrieve cats. Sneks, ferrets, birbs - any animal fuzzy and cute is immediately gonna draw Kevin's attention.

Kev supports a handful of sick and elderly clients who use drugs to help treat various ailments. He often throws in extra goods, and will make them his last (or only) delivery of the day so he can keep them company (they're mostly homebound).

Kev also loves being around when one of his clients has a first time with a drug he sells. He's an expert trip sitter and great at helping people get the best out of their experiences.

So, there we go! Some Kevin Aquino facts.

Are there any other OCs you guys wanna know about?

#Whump OC #oc facts #Kevin Aquino #Kev

[veridium]

A Little Life Update: WOO, Plot Twists.

Hello, everyone. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood femme gremlin. I know I have been here with my wild self this whole time but I feel it only fair that I give a little update on life and why I am the way that I am at the moment. 

As a lot of you know, a week ago my ferret passed away (somewhat) unexpectedly. It was very upsetting to me and rocked everything off-kilter. That same day, as if that wasn’t enough, I was told that I had my first grad school acceptance to University of Chicago for a Masters program. Days prior to that my brother also underwent back surgery which had my entire family on edge for 24 hours. I was overwhelmed, scattered, and pretty emotionally exhausted. 

I spent this past week (spring break) finally allowing myself to take time off of work and re-center. I took time off of major responsibilities and instead let myself kind of meander and do what felt good to do. Admittedly, that involved a lot of reclusive behavior, depression napping, and lack of communication. I had a lot of people checking on me and asking things of me and it was easily overwhelming to pay attention to, so I do as I tend to when I am grieving/stressed out, and I become reticent. 

I have had a lot of decisions to make with regards to my future and the next year or so of my life. I finally had what I thought I always wanted: a chance to go to grad school, to move away to someplace new and exciting, and chase my long-held dreams. Sure, it would come with a $60,000+ price tag, put me in more debt, and come with a degree I hadn’t originally envisioned for myself, but hey! Life is like that, right?

Despite the downs and low points I have had time to contemplate my next steps with more clarity than I would have surrounded by voices and in the pit of work, school, etc. which I am thankful for. I got to breathe and ask myself what really felt right inside my heart, and what I need from this year in order to heal, improve, and be a better version of myself.

So, it is with a mindful and conscientious heart and mind, that I have decided I will remain here for another year to work, save money, and re-apply to graduate programs in the winter for 2020. I will be taking a higher-paying, full-time position on campus in the summer after my current position’s contract runs out in May -- one which will enable me to properly save, prepare, and choose my future rather than going with what I can conjure up as a lifeline. Indeed, living here is not my most fantastical option; Maker knows I have dreamed and dreamed of finally leaving this one-horse town behind. But, I have so much to be thankful for here in the stability I have cultivated: I have a roof over my head, bills paid, my animals are housed and fed, and I have a space of my own in this world where I belong. It’s not my happy ending place, but it’s a place, and that means a lot to me as someone who grew up experiencing housing, food, and familial insecurity.

In the fall, I will be applying to majority Masters programs (something I didn’t do this first round because I was feeling ambitious and ready to be a full-time scholar). At this moment, I am seriously contemplating getting my Masters in writing/editing/publishing, and seeing where my career prospects go from there. I have even thought about testing the waters of eventually becoming a writer for television, games, etc. but that is a far away (though happy) ambition. For now, my focus will be working my ass off, finding programs that will fit me, and getting my life together in a concise and healthy fashion. I’m tired of reeling/surviving, I’m ready to take back control and thrive for once. No more flying by the seat of my pants, or depending on people, romantic partners, etc. to be my safe harbors so that I don’t have to take on challenges head-on. I’m ready to take this bittersweet plot twist and turn it into radical change and growth.

Thank you to everyone who has hung on with me throughout this rollercoaster ride of a year. I know I’ve been quite open and vocal about my journey, but, it’s a whole different thing to be vocal and have vocal support in return. I am incredibly grateful for having such a widespread and feisty community here to share with me in these misadventures called adulthood. I will admit: I am scared, worried, intimidated, and anxious. But I am also relieved to know I can call my shots and make the tough decisions that must be made. It is an ironic empowerment to look your dreams you thought you needed dead in the eye, say no, actually, I know what is best for me right now and it’s not you, and forge a different path. But I’m doing it. So, love and light to all. Let’s do this thing. 

Also, thank you to all my commission clients for being patient this week with me. I have been working on my projects a little, but have been trying to take as much time for myself as possible. I will be returning to my works full-steam ahead next week, and hopefully finishing most if not all of them by the end of it/beginning of the following week. Much love! 

#personal #long post #life update #blog psa #adulting #grad school #work #not DA