bonkpancake - Tumblr blog

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if i had seen the transition from sepia to color in wizard of oz in 1939 i would have lost my shit i would've started screaming in the theater

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everyones asleep time to post ekuserirei

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fambly time

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

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

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

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

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OK I CLIPPED IT MYSELF

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@chongoblog new fandub was amazing but the fact my fav underrated joke from ‘06 returned blew my fucking MIND

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I for one love the new president of H E double gun

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The fan dub killed me

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Shadow in Sonic Destruction: why would a doctor thrive around death, but be afraid to die?

Shadow in the Shadow the Hedgehog Fandub: I'm going to change it from H E double hockey sticks to H E double gun

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Sonic meets the devil

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scrolling through ao3 tags like a middle aged dad flicking through tv channels

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It’s not creepy at all to be sitting on the end of the mattress, watching Blondie sleep. That’s what Eda is trying to tell herself, at least. The boy is—Hunter. Hunter. He has a name. His name is Hunter. And she better get used to saying it around. To have him around.

To say that Eda knows a thing or two about trauma would be an understatement.

She’s used to seeing all kinds of fucked up. But none of them ever involved a child. None of them ever involved her child. To hear Luz trapped in the fucking Emperor’s mind already has her heart at her throat, and now she’s come back with hollow eyes and a boy refusing to leave her side, hyperventilating every time he opens his eyes.

She had chased him through the woods.

The boy trips over a strayed branch; he’s barely breathing, fingers grasping on his chest as if he was trying to pierce it, rip his beating heart out of his lungs.

“Kid—kid, stop!” she’d yell, and she knows she shouldn’t have because it would damn well scare him even more, but she couldn’t help it. He’s going to hurt himself. And Eda has enough of everything trying to pry her children away from her in one night. “Hunter!”

He’s crawling on his knees now, a torrent of tears dripping down his chin as he chokes and gasps and flails his arms around with little to no coordination as she pins him down, gathers him into her arms and settles his waist on her lap. Just like she had with King, all those years ago, refusing to be bathed or tucked into bed. Just like she had with Luz months ago, the first night she came back from the petrification ceremony, fresh off the trauma she’ll have to carry her whole life.

“Don’t touch me! ” the kid screams, weak arms hitting on her again and again, but Eda has a hold of him. The two drop on the ground, and Eda cradles him like she’d cradle a wounded animal. He might as well be, for all she knows. There’s no telling what it was that they’d seen in that bastard’s mind, but whatever it is…

“It’s okay, kid. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you—you’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Let me GO! ”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” she says firmly, “you have to breathe. Look—look at me, look at me,” she tilts his head gently to look up, crimson eyes dilated to almost pinpricks, “you’ve gotta breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re upset, I know, but you have to breathe.”

He stops flailing, replaced by gasped breaths and choked out sobs as Eda pressed his head against her chest, strings of shushes cascading down her lips. “Easy, easy,” she murmurs, shaking her head, “you’re going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.”

Her bony palm gently wipes away the stream of tears staining his pale face. And when he finally looks up, straight into her eyes—she’s never seen a kid so broken before. She’s never seen a kid so dependent on what she was going to do to him, like a wounded rabbit in the grasp of a hunter.

“Breathe,” is the first thing she says, because the kid is still not breathing right. Every breath he takes is strangled, and she’d pressed her palm flat against his chest to encourage him to breathe right. “In and out,” she tilts his chin up, nodding slowly, “in and out. You’ve got it, thatta boy.”

More tears spill out of his eyes. “He’s—he, he knows, he—”

“Hey, hey,” she shakes her head, “breathe, now. Just breathe. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re going to get you back home—”

“I can’t ,” he wails, “I can’t, I can’t , he knows—”

“ Shhhh , shhhh , I’m not talking about the Emperor, love,” she explains gently. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But I—” his eyes widen, “I don’t, I can’t—I don’t have anything to give you—”

“I don’t need anything from you, Hunter,” Eda tries to ignore the way her heart is ripping to pieces. “Don’t worry about that now, ‘kay? We’re gonna get you back, we’re gonna get you a bath—”

“No, no baths—”

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head gently, “no baths. Just bed. We’re gonna get you some water and then we’ll get you to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t have the strength to do anything else except nod defeatedly.

He had let her carry him back home, bridal-style in his arms, because his legs were too weak when he’d tried to stubbornly stand up and he’d started crying all over again. Luz was still standing on the doorway when they got back, eyes as hollow as before, and she’d locked the door shut behind her. Hooty wordlessly knows to keep their lockdown defenses up until further notice. King had pulled out a dusty mattress all on his own from the attic, lined with fresh sheets by the time Eda had finished running Luz a bath. The boy is still frail, still curled up in a ball on the corner, still trembling.

She’d coaxed him in some tea. Fluffed the pillows, then coaxed him again to bed.

Luz stayed by his side. She did not say a single word.

And now she’s here, between the mattress and the couch in the living room, watching the steady rise and fall of her children’s breaths as the world spins on. Three. She has three now. The realization dawns rather quickly, gently murmuring it’s okay, I’m here and thatta boy ’s while she cradles the boy back to sleep when he’d woken up screaming throughout the night, over and over.

Dear Titan. Three.

Three children to look after. Three children she’d have to protect with her life. Three children feed, tuck to bed, wrap jackets over their cold shoulders when the weather gets colder.

But. Three children to fall in love with. Three children who’d call her Eda with drawled out a’s when they want something. Three children to wrap her arms around and have their heads on her lap and three children to live for and the house will never be quiet ever again.

Eda sighs softly, muffling her breaths with a kiss on top of Luz’s head. In her sleep, the girl squirms and frowns, but her bony hand is laced onto hers, and she eases back to sleep once she feels her presence there with a light squeeze. Her other hand is inches deep in Hunter’s hair—she’d learned a long time ago from King that having a set of fingers gently massaging his fur—now hair—is all the trick she’ll ever need to calm a child.

Three children.

Three children she won’t allow the world to lay a finger on ever again.

But Eda will find a way to manage with that, somehow.

“Mommy’s got you,” she whispers to all three of them between the tick of the clock, the dead silence of the night, and prays to whoever’s out there that she’s not telling them a lie.

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Idc, if someone was making fun of MY wife’s chronic disorder that she is supposedly very sensitive about in front of thousands of people, I’d get on stage and smack the shit out of him too

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The name's Joan. I'm the other employee

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