#BARK WAS THE GOAT IN THAT COMIC BY THE WAY

[lunastars21]

Art based on the Amy comic and WE APPRECIATE BARK IN THIS BLOG HELL YEAH

Also I feel like Amy just wants to friend anyone no matter what, SHE'S TAKING YOUR GIRLFAILS EGGMAN FUCK YOU

[jakxdafreak]

Here's a log now! A REAL Log, one of an AU known as MARTYR. It's a oneshot, with only two characters at the moment, but a nice story with a bit of HUB influence. Imma copy paste stuff from Discord as a transfer of notes, so yayyy. TW// S/H MENTION scattered throughout the log (I don't know how to spoiler info in Tumblr kms-)

This is Goat Man. Or MARTYR/M!Azazel. He's from Raph (rthe_artist).

And he's a Oneshot character, which means that he's in a Dimension with not enough developed characters to warrant a fully developed AU.

He's a hemomancer angel, so he uses blood magic and whatnot.

However, Michael chained him to a mountain and tasked him with "purifying the city" with his blood, so he had to harvest his own blood for rituals and whatnot to do around the city below the mountain.

And thus was the Angel's life, tasked with cutting his own flesh to harvest to blood for Michael.

In reality, Michael didn't even need the blood. He just wanted Azazel too weak to go against the City.

And he sorta gave Azazel this scapegoat complex that he HAD to do this because this was his purpose, and without this, he'd be useless.

And due to the chain on his leg and his malformed hoof, he BELIEVES himself unable to escape.

The chain is somewhat true. It's cursed in such a way where Azazel can't break through it. But he's strong enough to resist. he just... doesn't.

And so for many years, maybe even decades, Azazel sat there, at the top of the mountain

No food, no water, no interaction other than Michael berating his every move, cutting his flesh so he can harvest his own blood for rituals he doesn't even know of, or even exist. ____________________________________ Sometime ago, the HUB got access to Raph's Realm. This led to the MAINTAINRs going in to schout the area.

Dio and Gecc (the lil gecko guy handing Azazel the bandage) went into MARTYR for an expansion check because Raph's OCs (Realm) is relatively new, so they have to explore it.

And Dio just decided... In the most "Dio" fashion ever ... To climb the damn mountain and meet Azazel up there.

And just give him a sandwich. And just chat with him.

The only semblance of kindness Azazel has seen in many years.

And Dio sorta... goads Azazel to try and resist Michael for once.

That maybe... there's a life outside this prison here that he should try and strive for.

I tend not to interject with comics, but I just particularly like this portion of it. Cause Azazel's COVERED in wounds, like everywhere in his body there's healing and fresh cuts. He's never had anyone tend to him, he doesn't even tend to himself since he's the one cutting his own flesh to get the blood.

But this random ass dude hands him a sandwich. And chats with him for a bit. And this stupid ass gecko hands him a bandaid that WILL IN NO WAY COVER ANY OF HIS WOUNDS.

They don't know anything about Azazel yet they choose to help. But it's just this... kind gesture. This small thing from these two strangers.

It fills him with something. Hope.

Resistance. __________________________

When Dio talks to Azazel, he mentions how the chain binds him to the mountain, so Dio says that he can find something to break it!

Dio goes down the mountain, and he's gone for quite a while, but Azazel waits patiently still.

He hears the clanking of the ladder, his ears perk up

But it's not Dio.

It's Michael.

He's come to collect the city's sacrificial blood once more.

However, Azazel, wrought with conflict and emboldened by Dio's words before... He decides to fight back, if not a little.

Since he's a Hemomancer, he can use blood to his advantage. He begins controlling the blood from his body and from the surrounding ground into these construct weapons. A However, Michael's words are sharp, and his tongue is laced with silver and venom. He begins barking at the angel, whittling away at his fortitude.

And Dio appears, tired from the climb up the mountain, to meet the both of them in a conflict. Michael begins to bark his dogma at Dio. Telling him how Azazel is this useless, corrupt monster who deserves this fate, who NEEDS this fate. He needs to suffer. It's his purpose, it's his life. How DARE he challenge what he was MADE for. It wears at Azazel's mind, he begins to falter.

And it seems... for a fleeting moment, Dio agrees. And it seems to break Azazel's resolve. The constructs he made of blood fall back onto the earth in great splashes of crimson filth. It seems Michael has won. But Dio's a bit of a jackass. He mocks Michael a bit. Lifts the axe he brought up the mountain over his shoulder...

And breaks the chain holding Azazel in two. Thus breaking the seal keeping him on the mountain. He's free.

Dio goads Azazel to fight back, something the angel had been waiting for years to do. Azazel turns around towards the terrified priest. Without his cunning word, he looks weak, pathetic. The blood on the ground begins to shake and reform, pool into monstrous construct formations once more. And well. We know how this ends.

Azazel and Michael fly off the mountaintop. And Dio needs to rest before getting off the mountain. Because he's a sick boi and exercise is hard.

__________________ Once Dio climbs off the mountain, he sees Azazel sitting near the end of the ladder. Seems he did decide to stay and talk to Dio once last time.

Turns out, he bought himself some time to escape the City grounds by ripping Michael into five pieces and throwing them across the forest, so it'd take him much longer to revive. And once he would be revived, Azazel would be long gone.

It seems he's lost however, because he had never expected himself to be free from the chains of the mountain. Now that he was actually at that point... he had no idea what to do next. Dio, thinking back on the conversations they had on the top, realized something. Azazel had mentioned before that he used to be a farmer before he was captured by Michael. Maybe he could get back to it again? Dio suggests it, and Azazel... seems to take it!

And with that, Dio and Gecc disappear, not even giving Azazel his name. ______________ A week later, during a maintenance check, MN!Airin (an OC from Aron) recorded a report showing Azazel in a much healthier state than before. He had gone very far away from the City and the Mountain and now resides in a large plot of farmland he now tends to. He also seems to have recovered much of his body mass, and his wounds have healed except for around his wrists, which he seems to have roughly bandaged. Seems he's still using hemomancy to create tools that he can use to farm like he used to do back then. Old habits die hard. And now he lives in peace!... for now. Happy ending for the Goat Man. :>c This Oneshot AU was fun, I liked it! Now I can keep it in the logbooks yayyyy.

[popculturebuffet]

Indy Prelude: Carl Barks; The Seven Cities of Cibola! (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy adventuerers!

Since I last covered duck comics. While Disney Ducks built this fine institution the fact is other disney properties, other cartoons and comics in general, and general nonsense have simply take up more of my time. But it's always good to return home and just in time as this is also a prelude to something duck adjacent. a franchise that may not exist without good ole scrooge mcduck.

Yup just in time for Dial of Destiny we're taking a look at the indiana jones film quintology! From one of the most loved films of all time with too many quotable lines to count and more nazi's turned to goo than you can shake a staff of ra at, to it's divsive followup featuring the most iconic heart ripping in human history, a future oscar winner, and the directors wife, to the film almost as iconic as the original with sir sean connery, holy grails and more nazis, and all the way into that fourth film what people don't like to talk about with nuclear explosions, greasers, communists and actual cannibal Shia Lebouf, cumulating in a film I.. don't have a ton of antedotes about because it hasn't come out yet? Indy punches a protester and deals with the horrifying consequences of age and america working with the nazis? I dunno, i'm just excited, kev's excited and hopefully you are.

I'm dead serious about Scrooge being part of the reason Indy exists though. While sadly not coming up in the fablemans, though likely because it might've been a bit too much of a LOOK LOOK SEE THE THING THAT WILL MAKE HIM FAMOUS LATER moment the film honestly avoided so I can respect the decision, Young Stevie was a huge fan of Scrooge McDuck, to the point his future succesful self did a forward for one of the many carl barks collections. It's not the only influence and i'm sure as I research Raiders, i'll no doubt find tons more direct ones, but it is a notable one that gets brought up quite a bit and it's easy to see why: Scrooge too is a globetrotting adventurer who has a successful day job (If a far less modest one), cares deeply about the history of what he finds, is a tad gruff, verbally pars with most love intrests, and takes the quick solution when it makes sense, so it's easy to see the compassions. The two are still different enough: Indy isn't in it for the money, generally adventures because he has to not for the thrill like scrooge, and Scrooge's only child we know of isn't a massive embarrassment, but you can still see how it left a mark and see Barks attention to culture, love of slow adventure, and humor in Indy.

That and one certain scene we'll get into in the comic is the direct inspiration for one of the most iconic scenes in film history.. but we'll get for that. For now we're taking a look at one fo the most legendary stories in the duck canon and seeing how it holds up, this is the Seven Citeis of Cibola!

We begin with what you all came to see

It's a neat enough visual gag and a reminder to me that most scrooge stories.. really didn't open with the big splash pages i'm used to in comics nor an actual story title

Though Barks still makes the best of it with the sight gag of Scrooge lieterally bathing in money. The setup to this one is brilliant too: Scrooge reflects on the fact he's got his feathers in just about every industry imaginable. Cannaries, Fisheries, Newspapers, Horse Races, Bibble Removal, Steam Cleaning, Steamed Hams, baseball, both kinds of football, mega football, calvinball, horeshoes, unicorn shoes, abestos, tabacco, cultural apporiation, robots, Goat Cheese Pizza, getting the cool shoeshine universal solvent, fishmobabywhirlmagigs, Spam, Crackers and Milk, Breaking Cat News, allen wrenches, gerbil feeders, toilet seats, electric heaters, trash compactors, juice extractor, shower rods, water meters, walke-talkies, copper wires, saftey googles, radial tiers, bb pellets, rubber mallets, fans , dehumidifiers, picture hangers, paper cutters, waffle irons, window shutters, paint removers, window louves, masking tape, plastic gutters, kitchen faucets, folding tables, weather stripping, jumper cables, hooks and tackle, grout and spackle, power fogers, spoons and ladles, pesticides for fumigation, high peformance lubircation, metal roofing, water proofing, multi purpose insulation, air compressors, brass connectors, wrecking chisels, smoke detectors, tire gagues, hamster cages, thermostats, bug deflectors, trailer hitch demagntizers, automatic circumciers, tennis rackets, angle brackets, Duracells and energizers, soffit panels, circuit brakers, vacuum cleaners, coffee makers, calculators, generators, maatching salt and pepper shakers, horse dewormer, fighting gold, repulsor technology, pym particles, Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosiiiiiiiissssssss, flying pigs, wild pigs, pigssssss innnnnn spaccceeeeeee, wilkins coffee, islands that walk like men, mood slime, chainsaws, saftey films, toner, donald duck abuse, Yoghurt Platinum, Clubmarine, Saltweens, Disco Dairy, Disco Duck, Lard, Trash Bag Wrestling, Superfast Jellyfish, The Gizmonic Institute, Cloning deboning, dethroning, stupid nintendo games, Rusty Shackleford, Molten Boron, SCTV, Squakabilly Taxi's, An Automatic Man, Wells for Boys, Flight Rings, decoder rings, olvatine, Krakoan Gates, Sealabs, Underwater Motor Scooters, Sex Bombs, Good Guy Dolls, The Last cult, Krustyburger,Chalk Tablet Towers, nerderotica, underwear, money, fat, hank.

The problem is he's got no more worlds to conquer: He's invested in everything, and thus can't make money on a NEW venture. Barks gets some great gags out of this too with Scrooge trying and failing to buy Gyro's newest gadget and a peanut stand, only to find out he OWNS both. It really shows that despite his horrifying wealth and influence.. scrooge can't ENJOY it. To him the fun's in the chase. The having's nice too, but the world just dosen't feel the same if there isn't another rainbow to chase, something I get as a book and film collector. It's great to have, but the looking is just as fun. It's something i'm sure most can relate to especially us nerds.

Thankfully Donald and the Boys just happen to drive by: their hunting arrow heads for 50 cents a piece over in the desert for Crazy Harry's House of Cultural Approritaion. That's Crazy Harry, the man with a snake on his face.

As you can guess this story has some dated bits: while Arrowheads are still treasured, I have one my grandpa gave me, it's not nearly as kosher to sell artifacts of someones' culture for fun and profit. Even as far back as 1980 Indy himself was doing it more for the joy of history and famously said it belongs in a museum.. and evne that's starting to slip as I saw on John Oliver last year. You can find his piece bellow.

And of course they use the i word instead of native americans or indegenous peoples.

Which is annoying , but not suprising.

So our heroes go looking for Arrowheads out in the generic desert. Weirdly for Carl Barks this Desert.. isn't a specific place. There's just suddenly a giant desert outside Duckburg. I didn't notice when reading the story for this review as Barks still packs in nice detail and makes it feel real, with our heroes having to conserve water, brave dust storms and track using realistic methods where tribes may of hunted their game. For the record it was the Pueblo who were linked to this, primarily settling in new mexico. I normally woudln't be this harsh on research, I got that bit from wikipedia after all, but given both how much Barks was lauded for it and how much care he usually puts in, it's weird to see him drop the ball a bit

At any rate our heroes soon find a trail and along it some treasures they take in to town to get examined. The curator there reveals their from The Seven Cities of Cibola, seven cities made of gold and gleaming with treasure, similar to EL Dorado, based on real life rumors about lost cities that turned out to be adobe huts, something Donald brings up. Barks does find a clever way for the myth to still be true, and a shockingly modern one: given the people who found it were conquistadors and heard it through rumors, it makes sense that the people they were conquering and mistreating wouldn't tell them where the city REALLY was. It's not phrased that way, but it's still brilliant.

So our heroes decide, well Scrooge and the Boys decide Donald is just sorta swept along by the tide as usual, to go after the city, figuring the trail leads there. THey stop at a diner for some nondescript hamburgers.. and end up evedroppsed on as nearbye the Beagle Boys are kicked out of an Aid for the Poor Center for welfare fraud and are told hey hey why don't you get a job, which has aged like fine milk on the sidewalk. They naturally follow scrooge smelling money and trail our heroes. I do like the Beagle Boys Inc t-shirts they wear in this shirt, before beagle boys inc was bought by feel good inc in the mid 2000's.

Once our heroes get going Barks DOES make up for his previous non-descriptness as he cites actual locations along the trail such as big bluff and the colorado river. We also get a nice tone: normally the adventure is scrooge dragging our heroes along and being a real dick but here there's a real sense of camradery and excitment ala ducktales 2017. The boys gladly use their guidebook to help while Scrooge uses his experince, the guidebook finding them shade. Eventaully it can only go so far and they end up lost, as do their persuers. They refill the canteens but eventuallyt heir dry. It's a nice showing of the dangers of the desret and the realisim Barks really likes to use in his stories. These may be cartoon ducks but they can die just like anyone else… except of old age but you know

Our heroes fortunes don't get better when the beagles blindsight them.. but plan to just up and leave, having had enough fo the desert and having NOT stocked up on water due to being too busy persuing scrooge, leaving our heroes free to persue the cities unabated.. but near death if they do'nt find water soon. Thankfully they find an old spanish galleon and more importantly

That said I do love Donald's expression here. Barks is a master at those. It does provide our heroes with a way forward, as the logbook details both the ships survivors meeting people clad in gold and a clue about the way the ships pointing at long last our heroes reach the seven cities.. and the sight is truly gorgeous.

And inside are countless treasures, a great sequence as we see pools of coins, ruby arrowheads and most importantly an emerald statue.. set on a trap. Yes this is where the parts Indy homages come in, as it's also on a weight trap, though a far more elaborate one that will destroy the city if activated. IT's clever adn I can see why speilberg and lucas reused it and i'ts diffrent enoguh in the indy version to work as Indy tries to actually take the statue and uses clever manuvering.

At any rate we get to the climax and.. this is where the story falls apart for me: it starts well enough: the beagle boys show up, throw our heroes in a bricked up prison and star tlooting..a nd naturally stupidly trigger the trap leading to the second half of the equation for INdy's iconic opening

But again done diffrently.. with indy we actaully SEE it chase him, so Speilberg got the clear diffrence between inspiration and outright theft. He took the basic idea but made something fresh with it.

The ending… is what really weakens the story for me: everyone gets amnesia, no one remembers and the city remains buried, with scrooge not willing to go back for measly arrowheads. This ending… is all kinds of dumb. For one Scrooge talked to the professor man, he might follow up, and two.. ther'es no real reason for it. I get not wanting a white idiot to loot a fantastic city, that part's fine. Everything about the climax works … except the amnesia part. Yes scrooge could dig, but he could also damage everything or there could be nothing left. The amnesia seems tacked on because Barks coudln't be bothered to come up with an actual reason why Scrooge woudln't go back, when the trail coudl've been lost in a storm or something or the beagle boys destroyed it on the way so while Scrooge gets resuced, he has no way back. There are other ways.

Overall the Seven Cities of Cibola is a decent outing. It has a LOT of good stuff, the slow methodical apporach with little action but a lot of intrigue, the gorgeous city, and the threat not being fantastic traps or anythin gbut simply the heat and environment, and the comedy is on point, with Scrooge going from hunting arrowheads to hunting a lost city all wrapping together. Again it's really the amnesia ending that hurts it: without it this would easily be one of my favirotie scrooge tales, a well done caper that again is shockingly slow paced, but in a delebrate well done way. The ending just drops it a few knotchs in my eyes. It's still worth a look, just temper your expectations>

Next Time: Dun dunnn dunn dunn dunn, dun dunn dunn dun dun dun dun dunnn dunn dunn da da da da, da da da da dun dun dun dun da da da, dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dunnnn!

[thiswasinevitableid]

Local Legend (Indruck)

A reader requested #18. I’m a celebrity who’s home in my small town for the holidays and you recognize me in public - sort of

Note: mentions of pot use

Fucking global warming. Or maybe it’s the polar vortex? Either way, Duck could do without the almost-blizzard currently reducing his trip to a crawl. It’s so bad the radio signal is toast, and he can’t risk taking a hand off the wheel even at this pace, so he’s been stuck with his thoughts for the last forty-five minutes.

They’re not bad thoughts; he’s excited for his nephews to see the presents he got them, to catch up with Jane, to slow down and enjoy all those Christmas light filled moments that are supposed to make life worth living.

He’s also chewing on a conversation from yesterday like a goat gnawing at a weed. He’d gone to a continuing ed course, where the chipper facilitator made them write out the goals they had in their past, how those aligned with their present, and what they wanted for their future. What this had to do with wildlife and forestry management, he has no idea. When it came time for a group discussion where the ice breaker was “your most extraordinary moment” he was starting to feel like “just keep doing what I’m doing, maybe get married, don’t die at age fifty” was not the future the presenter had in mind. 

His extraordinary moment–beating out several other hopefuls for a full-time ranger position in the national forest–looked minuscule next to the world traveling, small business having, kid and grandkid filled lives of the other attendees. 

There is one other moment he could have shared. But no one would have believed him (he wouldn’t either except he’d been there)

He’s eighteen, has snuck off into the forest to smoke with some friends. Friends who have all gone home while he decided to chill a while longer under the starry sky. Trouble is, now he’s a little turned around and the calm fog in his mind is giving way to some serious paranoia. 

After what feels like ten hours of wandering in circles, he slumps down against a tree, resting his head on the trunk. Bark scratches his scalp as he looks up into the branches. 

Something in the branches looks down. Something with glowing red eyes and dark wings. 

“Uh. Hey there, Mr. Mothman. Are you gonna eat me? You’re not gonna eat me, right?”

The creature above him holds perfectly still. 

“Man, I know you’re there. Trees don’t have fuckin eyes. Are you tryin to lay in wait like a, a trapdoor spider but in the trees? A treedoor spider? Oh, oh fuck, if moths can get this big who says spiders can’t? Fuck, I’m gonna be eaten by a man-sized trapdoor spider and my parents are gonna find a husk wearin’ my jeans.”

Silent wingbeats carry the cryptid to the ground. Duck tries to back away, forgetting he’s against a tree, and bangs his head into the wood. 

“Owfuck”

“It is alright.” The mothman holds out two of his four hands, “I am not going to hurt you. And I assure you there are no Spidermen in these woods. My understanding is those only exist in comic books.”

“Fuck yeah, those are so fuckin cool.”

“Please focus. While you are in no immediate danger, it is unwise to be wandering the dark woods in your state and you seem to be a ways from your home.”

Duck groans, “Fuck, I really went the wrong way didn’t I?”

“Indeed. But that is not unfixable, Duck Newton. If you would like, I can escort you back to the edge of town.” He offers two hands and Duck takes them, standing and then faceplanting into a mass of downy chest feathers. 

“Fuuuuuuuck you’re soft. Like a big fluffy cloud.”

A strange little chirr from above him, “You are very kind to say so. Come, your home is this way.”

As they walk, Duck glances up at the cryptid, his already considerable height made taller by his feathery antenna.

“How’d you know my name?”

“I can see the future, and therefore I saw the timeline where you introduced yourself.”

“Damn, so all that stuff about seeing disaster is true.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Wait, does that mean Kepler is in danger?”

“No” The cryptid links their arms together to navigate him over a tangle of roots, “I am on my way to deal with another matter and stopped here for the night.”

“You just…sleep in the woods? In the cold and everything?”

“I cannot exactly walk into a hotel like this. I have a human form but the charm that allows me to use it was damaged on my way here. Thus my night in the trees.”

Duck leans against him, “You wanna crash on my floor? My folks are out for the night and Jane’s at a friends.”

The mothman  stops, looking down at him with surprise, “There was no future where you offered that.”

“Just kinda came to me a second ago.”

“I…thank you, but no, I think it best if I stay out of sight.”

Duck shrugs, idly pets a chitinous arm and talks about things he doesn’t remember the next day until the lights of town peek through the trees. 

“Here you are.”

“Thanks. You sure you don’t wanna sleep somewhere warm? No one’ll see you but me and the dog.” 

The mothman cocks his head, wide smile spreading across his face, “You are a kind-hearted man, Duck. I foresee that serving you well. All the same, I must decline.” A clawed hand reaches out, plucking a stray leaf from Duck’s hair, “Take care, Duck Newton.”

Duck says he will, starts down the hillside into the light radiating from the back of the Kroger. When he turns back to wave, mothman is still there and raises one, spindly arm to awkwardly return the farewell. 

He never told anyone. And he sure as fuck wasn’t about to start with some random group of people at a work training. 

The storm only worsens as he hits Point Pleasant, and he does take his hand off the wheel to tip his hat to the Mothman statue. When he pulls up in front of Jane’s house, only the porchlight is on. Removing his phone from his pocket reveals four missed calls from his little sister. He keeps the car running as he calls her back. 

“Hey, sorry I missed you, I was drivin’. Everythin’ okay?”

“Yes, in that we’re all happy and healthy. No, in that the weather is so bad every flight out of Denver is grounded.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah that about sums it up. I mean, Wade’s folks are happy to have us stay a few more days, but everything say it’ll be at least two before anyone can get out of here. If you wanna go back to Kepler and wait until we know when we’re gonna be back, I totally get it.”

“Nah, I’m happy to stay here and hold down the fort. Y’all take care, okay?”

His sister is cut off by one of his nephews yelling in the background, only having time to give him a quick “bye” before she’s gone. 

He steps out of the car, going straight for the trick rock with the spare key. It’s not there. When he calls Jane to ask if she moved it, she hisses out several curses and says, “we changed the locks and I took it inside to put the new spare in. I must have left it.”

“S’okay, I’ll figure somethin out.”

His “somthing” ends up being driving to several hotels only to find them all booked up. Walking out of hotel number three, he decides to save himself a drive and just start calling them. As the nice young man on the other end explains that they’re all full because of the storm and the holidays, he spots a Holiday Inn across the road and starts for the crosswalk. 

Ice paffs into the back of his head, too hard to be accidental. 

“Fuck! No, sorry, not you, someone just hit me with a snowball.” He turns in search of the culprit and finds a tall man in a thick, black coat and red glasses staring at him. When he notices Duck glaring at him, he holds up one finger, as if telling him to wait. 

Brakes screech behind him and he whirls as a giant pick-up skids through the red light, spinning through the crosswalk he would have been in had he not been stopped.

He hangs up the phone, waving and mouthing a thank you to the stranger. The stranger waves back, smiling as he does. He’s ninety percent sure It’s a wave and smile he’s seen before. He glances back at the Holiday Inn in time to see the “No” appear next to “vacancy.”

When he looks around, he spots the stranger heading away from the center of town and jogs after him, compelled by nothing more than gratitude and the growing certainty he recognizes him. 

“Hey, uh, wait, I just wanted to say-” Duck only means to touch the man's arm, but a hidden patch of ice causes him to slip forward and grab it instead. When the other man spins, surprised, his glasses slip down to reveal red, glowing eyes. 

“Mothman?” Duck whispers.

A slender finger pushes the glasses back into place, “I do not know what you’re talking about. My name is Indrid Cold.”

“So, what, you just randomly guessed that truck was gonna hit me?”

“Maybe. Please let go of my arm.”

“Look, I could be totally wrong and if I am you can ignore me but…did you ever meet a guy named Duck Newton in the woods? When he was eighteen and stoned outta his mind?”

Indrid looks down at where Duck’s hand is still on his arm, “Yes.”

“Then he wants to thank you for saving his ass a second time.”

For a moment, Indrid’s face goes blank, and Duck is wondering if he needs to call an ambulance when the energy returns to it and he says, “And I would like to return the offer of a place to stay.”

“Holy fuck, really?”

“Yes, though we will need to take your car. If, if that is truly alright?”

“Hell yeah.”

Indrid follows him back to his Jeep, gives him detailed instructions as he slowly winds them out of town and into the woods. When the Jeep finally crunches to a stop, he frowns. 

“I don’t wanna be rude, but an abandoned TNT plant don’t seem all that cozy.”

“That all depends on how one approaches it.” Indrid grabs one of his bags while Duck hoists the other, following him to the side of one of the concrete slabs. The taller man sets his fingers on the stone. It glows orange for a moment, and then a door appears. Indrid opens it, gesturing for him to go on in. 

The interior of his house is like a basement rec room met a doomsday bunker and had a very cozy baby. There are massive beanbag chairs and a T.V, stacks of DVDs and books all over, and a shelf of boardgames that doesn’t seem to get quite as much use as the other entertainment options. Indrid snaps and a half-dozen space heaters kick on, the cryptid shedding his coat and heading to a pink beanbag. 

“Holy fuck, Indrid this place is incredible! Oh dang, I’ve got these at home too” He points to a string of chili-pepper lights above a bulletin board full of drawings, “Know they might be tacky but I can’t help it, I like ‘em.”

“I’d say that means you have excellent taste.”

Duck sits down on the beanbag across from him, “Do you really remember me?”

“Yes.” A new shade of pink crosses Indrid’s cheeks, “ah, relatedly, do you mind if I change forms.”

“It’s your house. Plus, now that I know you ain’t gonna eat me, don’t find you all that scary.”

Indrid removes his glasses. For a nanosecond, reality slows and the world warps. Then the mothman is once again sitting across from him, stretching his wings with a contented sigh. 

“Uh….have you always been white?”

“No. My kind change color during winter in order to camouflage in the snow.” Feathery white antenna twitch, “I think it makes me look like an oddly proportioned snowman.”

“Think you look more like first prize at a county fair.”

Indrid cocks his head and blinks. 

“Y’know, those big-ass plush animals that everyone is tryin’ to win?”

“Oh! Oh yes. I actually won one of those, a giant pineapple, in St. Louis. Foresight is very useful when playing games of chance.”

“I bet.” As he stretches out on the beanbag, his stomach gurgles, “damn, shoulda stopped for dinner on the way here.”

“I have ramen, macaroni and cheese, or some canned ravioli. Also lots of cereal, but I assumed you’d like something warm.”

Duck settles his hands on his stomach, “some ravioli would fuckin slap right now.”

Indrid grins and chirps, “I shall return.”

Four minutes and one microwave ding later, the cryptid returns with a bowl for Duck and a mug of eggnog for himself. They debate the finer points of different gas stations until Duck sets down his bowl and wipes his mouth.

“Indrid? Did you really invite me here just because I was nice to you years ago?”

A long tongue licks the last of the nog from the glass, “Yes and no. I do remember you, and it was rare for a human who met me to do anything other than panic, let alone invite me into their home. But I also foresaw that, while you would try your best, you would spend until your sister returned feeling lonely and blue. I knew I would also feel lonely, as I often do when cold weather forces me to stay inside as much. It seemed foolish to not at least offer an alternative where we kept each other company. And I, I thought” he taps the tips of his claws together, “I thought perhaps we could do Christmas things together? In the futures it seemed as if you had been looking forward to them.”

The simplicity of the idea, the fact Indrid, the fucking mothman, remembers their meeting as much as Duck does, and the soft hope in Indrid’s voice renders Duck speechless. 

Indrid’s wings flutter, “Or if you prefer, you can go back into town tomorrow and call a locksmith.”

Duck rolls onto his side, trying for a charming, collected grin, “Stayin with you seems like a lot more fun.”

Indrid grins and purrs, “wonderful.”

—--------------------------------------

“Whoo-boy, think I’m too fuckin old to sleep on beanbags.” Duck stretches out his back before taking the mug of coffee from Indrid. 

“Yes, it seems it would be wide to pick up an air mattress today. In the meantime, here.” Clawtips dig in delicious circles near his shoulder blades, “does that help.”

“Uh huh” Duck tips his head forward, groaning happily, “you oughta open Mothman Massage or somethin’; you’d make a killing and everyone would just think it was a tourist gimmick and not actually you.”

“It’s the noises that often give me away. Humans do not, generally speaking, trill when alarmed or chirp when happy.”

“True, but it just makes it cuter when you do it.”

Indrid’s feathers poof slightly, “That is sweet of you to say. Just let me get changed and then we can venture into the world.”

The storm isn’t any better, so they decide to only stop at Wal-Mart to avoid more chances to put the car into a snowbank. Duck grabs wrapping paper, the air mattress, and some cans of turkey soup with “holiday spices.”

“Anythin you wanna get?”

“Oh, nono, this trip is for you.” 

Duck turns, stepping close enough to Indrid that he can whisper, “this is your winter cheer too, mothman of mine. There ain’t anything you like to do this time of year?”

“I…I enjoy the lights. And cookies. And eggnog, but that was perhaps obvious.”

Thirty minutes later, they leave the superstore with several bags of food, six boxes of lights, and a tiny Christmas tree. When they get back to the TNT plant, Duck unpacks as Indrid finds a CD of Christmas music in one of his stacks. 

Duck takes point on the lights, stringing them across the lonelier corners of the room and running them up and over bookcases. Indrid pulls out a pad of origami paper and begins folding swans and moths and flowers, which he then pierces with a paperclip and hangs on the tree. He also demolishes two dozen cookies all on his own, while Duck contents himself with a box of big, chewing gingersnaps. 

His decorating scheme hits a snag when he can’t quite reach a hook in the corner  by Indrid’s bed to hang the last strand of lights on.

“Little help?”

Indrid removes his glasses, shaking out his wings as he stands. Instead of taking the lights, he lifts Duck like he’s no more than a stuffed animal, holding him up easily as he drapes the wire into place. 

“Thanks for the helpAH hey, watch it with the feathers, fluffball.” Duck cackles as Indrid tickles his neck.

“Who are you calling fluffball, little human?”

“You, fluffball.” Duck turns, begins running his hands through the feathers on Indrid’s chest, “fuck, how are these even softer than I remember? I didn’t think you could get any more stunnin’, but here we are.”

Indrid’s feathers begin poofing again, but he quickly shakes them back down and taps his claws together, “I, I have a confession. I do not remember you solely for your kindness. I was in that tree because I had seen you and thought you handsome, thought that dragging my tongue across your neck and running my fingers over your belly would be wonderful. I wanted to see how you would react to me but you saw me before I was ready. And then it was clear you were under the influence and so I changed my plan. But I never forgot it.”

Duck blushes, scratches the back of his neck, “Guess I was pretty cute back then.”

“You were. But you are just as wonderful to behold now.”

He looks up into red eyes. Then he raises on his tiptoes and plants a kiss on a fuzzy cheek, murmuring, “You’re sweet, sugar.”

Indrid poofs up completely and stays that way, chirping as Duck continues rubbing slow circles through his feathers.

“I’d always kinda hoped I’d see you again. Turns out the universe did me one better. I’m getting you know you, not just see you.” He pauses, “is this okay? You’re kinda vibrating.”

“I, rrrrr, am, rrrrrrrr, purrrrrrrrrrrrring.”

“Awww, my big ol’ feathery sugar. Come on” he tugs so they’re both sitting on Indrid’s bed, “let’s see how else I can make you purr.”

—------------------------------------------------

“Thanks so much again for rollin’ with all this.” Jane flops on the couch as Duck folds a mountain of laundry.

“It’s what big brothers are for, goofus. I was wondering, if it ain’t too much trouble, I got a, uh, friend in town who’s on his own for the holidays. Would it be okay if I invited him to dinner?”

“Long as it ain’t tonight, that’s fine.”

Duck smiles to himself, “Great. I’ll let him know as soon as I’m done.”

[piosplayhouse]

oooooo 15, 22, 30 for the ask game 👁

15. Favorite fanart for SVSSS? Show us the amazing artist~! Feel free to plug~!

Kyle you know it's literally a hate crime for you to ask me this right . Ok so since there's no way I can pick a favorite SV fanart of all time I'm just going to showcase a favorite piece from some of my favorite artists, starting with YOU you little bastard

Kyle's genderbend sqh art fuels me please look at it it's so so so so sos so AGHGHH (cw a bit suggestive ig)

Kaya's in their unhinged era rn everyone just smile and wave (and also look at how adorable their art style is come on like everyone looks so so

BONES!!!! bones art my absolute beloved what can I even say that I havent screamed before in tags about their lineart and how funny they are. God. Cumplane for my soul

I can't pick a Goat art just look at their entire page please it's all incredible . I'll link another cumplane post just to stay on brand though and also because i love it so so SO much

Teazart's shen yuan design hits all the right spots AGH hes such a nerd I'm going to kiss him

every sharpie art instantly becomes a lourve candidate as soon as its posted but I do have to give special attention to this bingy which makes him look (deserved) SO happy and bright and content LOVE HIMM

of course I have to put another cumplane from my beloved Lace who isn't really a mainly svsss fanartist but who I will put in here anyway because I have 1000 fans that can possibly be converted to yuwu

this moose art I think about all the time because it's so incredibly tender and loving adn the colors and the posing and the ghhhhhhh makes me so soft

BERRY'S RAMHE the absolute adorablest sheep . I want to pet him more than anything in the world

festeringrian's bingyuan GRR BARK BARK BARK once again in my favorite category of "shen yuan's cringefail nerd charm has captivated me " AND sexy bingy...

SHATOU'S MOSHANG COMIC GOD shoving this in your face look at this and cry

late night cumplane the first sloane art i ever encountered and which got me HOOKED on this artstyle GODDD absolutely gorgeous art and hilarious ideas

Munchy's art is SO cute in general but I'm shouting out this one in particular because. binghe tits. yeah

Every sel au and art is a national treasure of course but I have to give special attention to this one because demon sqh is critically underrated and also SO cute

this Binghe piece by toffee-arts is simply beautiful, like a perfect renaissance painting its just so ..!! THE SKILL

I own quite literally every piece of sv merch phee sells on their site and I would buy them all over again . So so SO good. Bonus points for Shen Yuan with a body pillow and Bingy puppy eyes in this post though

THIS pxychta piece which I am buying asap when inprnt does free shipping friday again!!!!

Bo's fluffy sqh lives rent free in my head he is my world and he deserves everythign for being the cutest guy ever

If you're a moshang fan and not already following seiraheron then what are you doing !! It's getting harder and harder to choose favorite pieces but if I had to pick the atmosphere in this is so strong and their expressions are so warm I could stare at the details for HOURS

Like every other artist on this list, every tadpole_art piece is INCREDIBLE, but this one holds a special place in my heart with how vibrant and powerful its color story is <3 also it made me cry

C's tetris sqq art is an eternally loved classic but honestly all of their gouache paintings are so magnificent and deliciously textured that I think you should stare at them all for a million hours

It was hard deciding between this and the dnd au but Kelenia's demon squad designs are some of my all-time favorite in the game just AHH.. look at those cheekbones and the outfits and hair and shl's piercings and how they bitch to each other!!!

and SO many more honestly i couldn't even begin to list all my favorite artists on twitter too!! Sv fandom is filled with so many skilled people with amazing art and it's such a wonderful environment of creation I'm so thankful to share this space with everyone !!!

22. Would you or have you cosplayed as any of the characters of SVSSS?

Unfortunately I'm not super into cosplay in general just because I don't like attracting attention HAHA but if I was I would absolutely cosplay Ning Yingying bc I think I could pull it off so well

30. Who's personality do you think more closely represents yours in the SVSSS universe?

deep sigh

[princesweetpea]

I Found | Sweet Pea x Aurora Jones (oc)

All Chapters Here

Chapter: FOURTEEN

Warnings: Language, angst

READ IT ON AO3

A/N: Hi everyone! Taking a quick break from my hiatus to post this. Sorry, it's been so long, life has been... yeah. (Before anyone comes at me, I based Fangs' heritage on Drew's, in case anyone is confused.) I hope you enjoyed this Sweet Pea focused chapter! We got to see a little bit more of Sweet Pea's personal life and the relationships he has. Please let me know what you think! x

          Usually rain this heavy would keep Sweet Pea from going out on his bike, but his mind was everywhere else as his motorcycle sped along the slick, winding road. His mind was racing, filled with fresh memories that also called back to some that weren’t as recent. His friends, his decisions… Aurora Jones. “You know, if you were always so compliant, maybe we could have been… friends, or something.” He snorted at the memory of her remark. “Me and you, friends? That could never happen.” It was true. They could never be friends, though even he wasn’t sure why not. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get her out of his head. He had completely avoided her for the better part of two months since the incident at the diner. He felt a little guilty for leaving her stranded, but maybe not as guilty as he should have felt. Yes, you do. However, he didn’t want to apologize. You should have apologized the night of the cookout. He shook his subconscious out of his head and regained focus on the road, not wanting to remember the belated Fourth of July celebration that the Serpents hosted in Tent City. It was a bittersweet celebration, considering the sudden and unexpected passing of Fred Andrews a week prior. Fred Andrews. The funeral blurred together in his mind. The memories of the caring, helpful man that took the clan in when they had nowhere else to go. The omnipresent, uncomfortable ache of loss that seemed to never go away. He felt sick and stupid for the way he mourned a man that he barely knew, but unprecedented kindness without expecting something in return was scarce in his life. He thought of everyone who knew him better; he thought of Archie, of Jughead, of Betty, and of Rory. The way she cried at the funeral. He shook his head more forcefully, much more so that his bike swerved. “Fuck!” He did his best not to overcorrect and steadied himself once more. After a few more minutes of hyper-focused steering, he reached his destination.

The crunch of boots against damp gravel was the only distinguishable sound in dead air as he shifted from one foot to the other outside of the modest house. No, not house… home. This was home – well, it may as well have been home for Sweet Pea. He had spent a lot of his time here over the years; but now that Fangs was… gone, the time he spent here was brief and as few and far between as he could handle. If a Serpent is killed or imprisoned, their family will be taken care of, he repeated in his head. Or in this case… Missing. He flipped an envelope over in his hand to open it for the seventh time, thumbing through the bills to make sure it was all there. A hand patted him on the shoulder, startling him, and he immediately spun on his heel with his fist raised. Jughead?

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. I thought you saw me pull up.” Jughead raised his hands as he waited for Sweet Pea to release his shirt. Sweet Pea let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he bent down to pick up the envelope. He brushed the dirt from the outside, drops of water streaking across it as it soaked into the paper. He stood up a bit straighter than before and waved Jughead’s apology off.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It’s Thursday.” Jughead stated easily with a shrug. Sweet Pea sighed, poking his tongue into his cheek, and shifted his gaze up into the trees. Despite everything that was going on, the easy sway of the branches lessened the tightness in his chest. Here it was calm, peaceful.

“Keeping tabs on me, Jones?” He grumbled in faux annoyance.

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” Jughead challenged as he folded his arms and leaned back against his bike, sizing up the taller boy. Sweet Pea shrugged, mirroring his movements. He avoided Jughead’s gaze. “I need to talk to you about a couple of things.”

“It couldn’t have waited? You couldn’t have texted me?” Sweet Pea questioned. This was not the time for Serpent business; and since Jughead seemed to already know what he was doing here, he knew that. The teenage Serpent King simply shook his head, earning an eye roll from his right-hand man.

“Where’d you get all of that? Don’t tell me it’s all from working at the comic book shop.” Jughead pressed, nodding toward the bulging envelope in Sweet Pea’s grasp. Sweet Pea hastily tucked it into the pocket inside his jean vest, scoffing at his friend and avoiding his intense stare. He ignored his question as he pushed himself upright from his bike and swaggered toward the front door, knocking twice and waiting a brief moment before letting himself in. Jughead followed suit a few steps behind. Lena Fogarty greeted the pair with a bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready. Jughead was slightly taken aback but obliged, remembering the state of Mrs. Fogarty’s health.

           “So, you decided to come inside this time around to grace us with your presence,” Lena poked, giving Sweet Pea a hardened frown before cracking a grin. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as they embraced. “You must be Jughead. I’m Lena.” She extended her hand. Her handshake was firmer than he expected. Jughead made a barely audible squeak in the back of his throat at the greeting as she tightened her grip. Sweet Pea smirked as he watched on.

           “Good to meet you. I’m sorry I didn’t come in sooner. I hope you guys have been getting the groceries I’ve been dropping off.” Jughead straightened with the release of his hand from her grasp. They engaged in small talk that Sweet Pea quickly tuned out. He left the pair to awkwardly converse as he made his way through the doorway to the small kitchen on the left of the entrance.

           “What are you making?” Sweet Pea’s voice boomed as he leaned against the doorframe. The small, fragile woman jumped, spinning to face him with a hand over her heart. Her startled features relaxed at the sight of him, but this didn’t stop her from whacking him with a wooden spoon. He recoiled slightly, but laughter and joy filled his lungs as she shouted at him.

           “Don’t you know not to sneak up on the ill?” She huffed, smacking him once more on the arm for good measure. He chuckled in response and pulled her into his chest. She squeezed him tight and stepped back. She brought a hand to cup his cheek. “I didn’t think I would lose both of you at once. I’ve missed you, my son.” He softened and leaned into her palm. His chest constricted at the sight of her pained eyes.

“I’m sorry I disappeared, Marie.” He rasped. Her face twisted slightly as she turned back toward the steamer basket. She stayed silent. His thoughts ran a mile a minute as he shifted his weight onto his other leg and rubbed the back of his neck. It was wrong for him to stay away, and it was not fair to her. She practically took on the role of the loving mother in his life.

“You and your friend are staying for dinner,” She finally spoke after what felt like hours of silence. It wasn’t a suggestion. Sweet Pea nodded eagerly in response. “Set the table.”

Dinner started off a bit awkwardly as the Fogarty women practically interrogated Jughead to get to know him better. Jughead was surprisingly holding his own and definitely not as awkward as he used to be. He seemed to finally be stepping into what usually came with leadership: the ability to speak to anyone with confidence. “This is delicious, Mrs. Fogarty. What is it?” He asked with a grin.

“Jamaican curry goat bao. It’s a recipe my husband and I came up with when we got married, like a way of fusing our cultures and lives together.” She smiled wide, then it suddenly began to fade as she lingered on the memory of her deceased husband. Lena shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, focusing her attention on Sweet Pea.

“So, Sweet Pea, still a delinquent?” Lena smirked as she shoveled a forkful of rice into her mouth. She said this specifically to push Sweet Pea’s buttons since her brother was in the same gang as he was; she clearly paid this fact no mind.

“Lena.” Mrs. Fogarty warned, half present in the conversation.

“Hey, Lena, how is that dishonorable discharge treating you?” Sweet Pea grinned, the devil in his eye, as he fired back playfully. Lena’s brows shot up and she raised her glass to him before taking a sip and striking his shin with her foot under the table. Mrs. Fogarty snapped back to reality and her fork clattered as it hit her plate.

“Sweet Pea! Lena!” She barked, followed by something Jughead couldn’t understand, but it was enough to make the pair shrink in their seats. Her attempt to not bring attention to her annoyance by speaking in a different tongue had the opposite effect she had desired. The rest of the meal was consumed with uncomfortable silence.

           After dinner, Sweet Pea and Jughead said their goodbyes. Jughead exited the house while Sweet Pea hung back, pulling Mrs. Fogarty aside. He reached into the inside of his jean vest to retrieve the full envelope and handed it to her. She furrowed her brows as she went to open it. Her eyes widened. “What is this? I cannot keep taking money from you!”

           “Just take it.”

           “Where did you get this?” She questioned frantically, trying to put the envelope back in his palm. He gently took hold of her hands and wrapped them around the envelope, pushing it toward her.

           “Take it,” His voice strained as he pleaded, his eyes soft. She opened her mouth to protest once more, but stopped when he gently squeezed her hands. “Please.” She hesitantly nodded once after a long moment, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

           “Your bed is still here when you want it. Please don’t be a stranger.” She said softly. His mind wandered to the rollaway trundle bed that they would set up in Fangs’ room whenever he would stay over before, which was more often than not. He thought of all the times they’d bullshit together; talking about girls, eventually boys, once Fangs was ready to share that part of himself, and listening to Earth, Wind & Fire vinyls and debating which record of their discography was the best. He wouldn’t be able to go in that room anytime soon, not while Fangs was still… gone. It would hurt too much.

“I’ll come to stay sometime soon.” Sweet Pea forced a smile and nodded, lying through his teeth.

________________________________________________________________

           Jughead fiddled with a toothpick as he leaned against his bike. Sweet Pea walked down the driveway to meet him and they stood together in silence for a few moments before Sweet Pea cleared his throat. “So, are you going to get to the reason you’re here in the first place, or what?”

           Jughead sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Charles and Betty might have a lead on The Farm. They might have a lead on Fangs, specifically.” He stated, carefully eyeing the taller boy for his reaction. Sweet Pea’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He narrowed his eyes and examined Jughead’s face to make sure he wasn’t making some type of sick joke.

           “How?”

           “Kevin.”

“Keller! I fucking knew it,” Sweet Pea pushed off his bike and tugged at his hair, walking a few feet before turning back toward him. “Why aren’t we telling this to his family?” Sweet Pea asked incredulously. He spun on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Jughead dropped his toothpick and quickly lunged to jump in front of Sweet Pea, trying to stop him by pushing his shoulders. Sweet Pea shoved him back and struggled to remove him from his path. “Get the fuck out of my way, Jones!”

“Sweet Pea!” Jughead hissed, pushing him back roughly and shushing him. “Do you really want to break their hearts all over again if this falls through or hits a dead end?” He tried to reason with him. Sweet Pea stopped struggling and turned to walk back toward his bike. He sunk to the ground and slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands.

“But what about me?” Sweet Pea rasped. He normally would have kept a brave face around Jughead, but he was so tired of pretending he was okay. Plus, there was no sense in hiding his feelings from Jughead if he already knew them nonetheless. Jughead sighed and walked over to sit down beside him. He clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Not even Toni knows. I needed you to know at the very least. Charles and Betty might need you if it comes down to it, you know?” Jughead explained. Sweet Pea sniffed and nodded. They sat in comfortable silence as they gazed up at the sky. The clouds had cleared and the stars glimmered brightly against the darkness of the night. Being further away from a big city had its perks, and one of them was the lack of light pollution. After about fifteen minutes, not a word between them the whole time, Jughead spoke again. “One more thing we need to talk about…” Sweet Pea hummed, waiting for him to get on with it.

“I think Rory should join the Serpents.”

“What, why? No.” Sweet Pea scoffed.

“She pretends that she’s alright but I hear her having nightmares when I’m up late writing every night. Even though the Black Hood is dead and gone, I know she doesn’t feel safe. If I end up going to Stonewall Prep, I need her to have some sense of security since I’ll be gone.” Jughead tried to reason with him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jones. She isn’t one of us. She shrugs off the Serpent title every chance she gets. No.” Sweet Pea protested.

“Listen, Sweet Pea, this is going to happen whether you like it or not. It would go a lot smoother if you were on board. I need her to agree to it as well and that won’t happen if she feels like she’s not welcome. Besides, she’s had a rough go of it and doesn’t have many people that she can rely on. Think of how our lives have changed simply from being a part of a family that always wants us.” Jughead suggested firmly. Sweet Pea groaned and tugged at his hair. She was somehow infiltrating every aspect of his life and he was beginning to lose ways of escaping. “Are you disagreeing on behalf of the Serpents or on behalf of yourself?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sweet Pea fired back defensively.

“I know that you kissed her.” Jughead proclaimed. He wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t talking about the kiss during the game, the one in the Serpent HQ all those months ago. How did he know? How did he find out? He knew that Rory would never tell Jughead. Sweet Pea’s stomach dropped and he faltered, but only slightly. Right… kissed. Images of tangled limbs, lips on neck, hands in hair, face between thighs. “That’s all that happened, right?” No, that was not all that happened – not even close.

“Yes,” Sweet Pea lied, maintaining eye contact as unsuspiciously he could muster. He could lie to cops with ease – surely it would be a walk in the park to lie to Jughead Jones. Jughead searched his face for a few lingering seconds before deciding that he was telling the truth. Sweet Pea bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smirking, satisfied by the rush of getting away with a forbidden lie. He regained his composure. “Nothing to worry about, Jones. We were drunk.” He lied again. He was pressing his luck here, he knew it, but that first part wasn’t a lie. There was nothing to worry about. Up until the funeral and cookout a couple of weeks prior, he hadn’t had any contact with her in months. Their days of hate-sex were over, weren’t they?

[thepagansun]

Dear Ducktales Staff,

I watched the new episode with Donald vs. Lunaris and sadly...I wasn't impressed.

Please do Donald's badassery proper justice. In a Carl Barks comic, Donald headbutts a Beagle Boy (which Scrooge, at his current age, couldn't do). But if you need more inspiration for how a badass Donald fights, please refer to this:

or this:

Or this:

or this:

Even in his CARTOONS (before "The Legend of the Three Caballeros"), he had badass moments! Like this:

And even further back in "Sea Scouts" (1939) when he punched out a shark or "Alpine Climbers" (1936) when he headbutted a mountain goat (I couldn't find those pictures)!

Now I understand that slapstick/bad luck is half of his personality (the other half being his angry/badass/protective side), but sadly...they way you guys portray it, he comes across a bit more incompetent than maybe you intended at times. But if you guys upgraded Webby from being a crybaby tagalong to the being able to kick adult super villains like Black Heron and Magica de Spell's butts single-handedly and upgraded Beakley from grandmotherly nanny to secret spy with a bodybuilder's build and showcased Della sucker punching a monster 30× her size; then the least you can do for Donald is to show him actually fight and defeat bigger opponents like a Moon general (who, by the way, is supposed to be weaker than Donald as should all the Moon people since the Earth has stronger gravity than the Moon and so Earthlings are supposed to be physically stronger than Moon people) and give him actual fighting moves, not just zooming on people and pulling their faces which can hardly be called fighting.

I really hope Donald's finest moment is still to come because I don't think "Whatever Happened to Donald Duck?!" was the best he could do.

If as one of the directors suggested, that Donald is supposed to be one of the best fighters (slightly better than Della and on par with Beakley and Gizmoduck), than please SHOW him be that. But zooming on people and pulling their face is not "fighting." So please show the REAL Badass!Donald we all know he is.

Thanks.

[mybukz]

Poetry Review: May All Beings Rock by Lawrence Pettener

Title: May All Beings Rock Author : Lawrence Pettener Publisher : Lulu Genre: Poetry Format: Paperback, 76 pages Price: USD 9.19 Released:November 2017 Reviewer: Leon Wing

“Poetry never has reason to rhyme though not many things are true all the time.”

The poet of this resounding collection of poems is such a tease, with those first lines of “A Couplet or Two on Duality”. As a reader who has grown past reading rhyming poems, I find poetry only has reason to rhyme when it wants to make connections. Which is what that second line is all about.

Yet another tease comes in the way of the poetic lamentation to Ted Hughes, “The Suppression of Poetry”, in which Lawrence howls his sorrow over the death of the man who IS poetry personified.

The despair is such that he writes:

“Poetry is dead – long live poetry! As drama and fiction move in on its territory, poets lay down pens and start barking —far too few poets to pacify me. Poetry is dead – long live poetry!”

But fear not, reader of this review, as far as this reviewer is concerned, poetry is alive and kicking in the form of this exceptional collection of poems.

In “The Heart of Sadness and the Start of Hardness”, even though “we tear up and trample the invitation”, don’t trample Lawrence’s invitation to read this rollicking verse, which repeats lines to create parallelisms of sounds and rhythms, because in each stanza, “each moment a tremendous celebration”.

You might have heard or read about out of body experiences. Lawrence’s take on this is so visually, rhythmically and graphically accessible in “Losing a body”.

“Once, in Katmandu, your mouth flew open and a spirit entered. You woke with a gash above your eye, recalling nothing.”

The narrator only got back into corporeality, when “.. he flattened you with one good punch to give you back your body, and that kind cut.”

Lawrence has not only this knack of placing lines into formations of sounds, he sometimes manipulates the grammar of a line, by eliding an anticipated word, as in “Brightloaded”:

“You walk out alone, listening the park; lines of trees run right through you.”

The omission of the expected preposition after ‘listening’ is justified when you read the next stanza and experience the sensation of trees rushing right at you with the ‘r’ alliteration in three words, and into you, with the near rhymes of the ending two words.

In another instance of skewed grammar, he is not forging a deliberate error. In “So Much for Common Sense”, he overhears a young man on a phone say “There’s so much people.” But he is aware that “that young man on his mobile/had been completely correct”.

In “This Tap Behaviour”, even though the ‘psychotic neighbour’ is always banging at his taps, when that one time he isn’t, it is practically music to Lawrence’s poetic ear:

“…there was no noise coming through, just this plangent song of water, a plumbed release of pressure. A long, pining whine keened high through our shared pipes like sacred music.”

From his travels around the world, Lawrence writes not only about 'pipe’ music, but also exotic Mongolian punk bands, like “Yat Kha”, who covers rock classics using goat-hair violins. And, he hobnobs with some of the best poets, like John Burnside, in “Drinking John Burnside’s Beer”. And, he praises the ubiquitous British fast food, the chips, in “In Praise of Chips”.

I love the joke in “Subterfuge”, where dinner guests thought they’d witnessed evidence of a murder when a knuckle pokes out from a dish Lawrence copied from a TV chef. He writes again about food, in “News from Europe”, about untypical and unusual concoctions of European chocolates. Still more on chocolates in “Seventy Percent”, about “chocolate anthology” from a supermarket that are “bittersweet as good poetry. The taste/for bitterness comes later on in life.”

There are a couple of poems about music. His take on it can be irreverent but funny. In “We All Need Support”, Lawrence sort of pokes fun at the 'gravel drawl’ of a famous singer 'Bob’. Years later after coming out from his concert, he and his friends “.. found a busker sitting on the ground as in a festival field, playing clear, authentic versions of Bob’s songs. Not only that, he knew how to talk. We adored him. He spoiled it for one of my friends though, a lifelong Dylan fan, by looking up and smiling.”

The last lines make me laugh out loud.

In “Classic in Three Movements”, the poem is not so much about the music but about the movements, but not as what a musician would assume. The movements are physical ones seen or spied upon, not heard, at windows. In another piece, he writes about Deep Purple, but not as how a fan would have liked. He also writes about Bjork, in “Bjorkquake”, imagining how the Icelandic musician would have reacted if she “…had found the perfect bass-note, the earth-deep sound that Odin wrote”

Other subjects Lawrence touches on include crafty magpies with their eyes on his bike, meditation and cats, more poems about cats, their squealing love-making, cat flaps, a few poems about cycling, about locking heads with a driver, gate crashing wedding parties, about first love and the first kiss, about a specific part of a woman’s body, sensitive noses, about past loves, and about working in a mental ward,

In poems about his travels he shows us the vista of the world from his poetic point of view: a funny poem about wandering into a club thinking it was a cafe, an interaction in a launderette with a cleaner from Sarajevo; observing the Basilica of St Maria ad Martyres; eating in Rome, where an Italian word he overheard makes him think of Freud; about flamenco; tasting yoghurt at the Damascus Gate; and stomach pains while traveling in India.

His foray into haiku elicits some astounding revelations about how we communicate today, and about reincarnation.

In his pieces about meditation and other related matters, he ponders about “who you weren’t in all your past lives”. In one amusing piece, thieves broke into a Zen centre and got away with nothing. In “Sutra Neti”, he shows us a sort of yoga one would not imagine could be done: “through the closed left nostril,/pushing softly to penetrate/the swollen lip at the nasal root”.

He has a wry sense of humour. In “Wild Life, April, England” he tells a beggar, “Change? Yes please, love,/I’ll change into a butterfly.” Meeting friends in “Hope & Anchor”, he says, “I hate endings,/putting off the moment when one will kill/the others off with glib goodbyes”.

When he gets serious, he writes with a poignancy which makes you gulp at the sensitivity of the lines. Like in “Doing Tai Chi with My Father”: “My father is horizontal, his cheeks/massive and sagging. The coffin lid stands up/against the wall. It is a small jolt/to see my own name, something we shared”. Especially when that first stanza runs on down to the the next, with its line, “on the coffin lid..” In “Kreuzberger”, we see Lawrence and his brother Ged outside a fast food place, looking at a drunken old man. You’d think the pathos is all about people like the drunk. No, it is not; not until you read up to the very last two lines in the poem. The last line has only two words, but the pathos hits you full on as the wide-sounding vowels in the first syllables of the two words thin to shorter 'e’ sounds, and the “f” sound thickens with the 'v’.

His departing poem is the longest piece. In “Nine Cemetery Contemplations”, he mulls over the death of a kitten, the death of birds in the hands, or rather, paws, of a cat, teenage fascination with a French teacher, having an accident, someone dying in the tsunami, more reflections about his brother’s passing, visiting his father for the last time, buying a Buddhist book for his dying father, and finally the last and the ninth piece, which is so worth quoting in full, here:

“When you were birthed you cried, and your whole world was overjoyed. When you die, we mourn while you may find the great liberation – or just be glad to be reborn.”

*

Lawrence Pettener works full-time as copy-editor, proofreader and writer, with recent and forthcoming book reviews and artist interviews in The Star (Malaysia) and Juliet.com. As Kwailo Lumpur, he writes comic material about Malaysian life, food especially. Three original poetry books are due out in 2019.

Link to the book’s website: www.lawrencepettener.com/mayallbeingsrock Link to stores: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/lawrencepettener https://www.booktopia.com.au/search.ep?keywords=may+all+beings+rock&productType=917504

[alienfrommilkyway]

Tv Series Review: The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

So this is my second review on this blog and probably no one cares. But hey, you gotta start somewhere!

Anyways, this new series that follows the teenage witch Sabrina Spellman is an adaptation of a dark comic bookseries that exist in the same universe as Riverdale. It is currently developed by Netflix and is already set towards a second season.

The series follows Sabrina, as she on her 16th birthday has to sign her name in the book of the beast and pledge her life, name and powers towards satan himself. Being a half-witch, and growing up in the mortal community doesn’t make this decision easy. That in itself got me really exsited towards watching it and extreamly hyped up to the launch of it. 

You can tell that as it is the 28th, only two days after the release. I sure powered through the whole thing in two sessions. But I am done with season 1 and will rewatch it until the next season is released or until I get bored of it. 

With everything lining up to be a pretty solid show, here is the great and the gripe of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. 

First off, what I think was great: I love the fact that this show is indeed dark and makes it a fact that these witches doesn’t mess around with their powers and love for satan. The story is also REALLY interesting and without realising it I had already watched all 10 episodes of the season, which made me furious that it only had 10 episodes. Like, come on, 10 episodes for something as amazing as this? A bit odd. But with the recent Riverdale seasons getting mixed feelings and reviews all over I get that they wanted to take a soft approach towards this seemingly darker version of the Archie Comics universe. 

The characters, man those characters. I really liked all of them. Except for one which I will talk about in the gripe section. But part from that, I really feel like we got introduced to the main characters in such a way that you instantly connected with somebody. There was a lot of good representation of PoC and lgbtq people. But it wasn’t their skincolor, gender nor their sexual orientation that defined them, it was their actions, beliefs and standing in the social matters and the drama that occurred during the episodes. Which made them human, not just a character who is the embodiment of the label they are supposed to have duct taped to their forehead nor like something the show needed to shove down our throats to get views. 

My alien 👾 rating is:

.•☆°•. 7 out of 10 •°☆.°•

Warning! Spoilers ahead, if you haven’t watched the show, I highly recommend you do and come back to read the gripe.

Here is the gripe: 

Number 1 - The goat. I get it, the devil is the scary giant goatman. But the statue in the school and that terrible costume whenever he appeared on screen was just so boring to look at and hard to grasp as evil. Wouldn’t it been so much more fun if the devil was actually like Lucifer from the show Lucifer. Sure he doesn’t scream terror (if you don’t count the devil face, which was done so much better than this) but neither does that goatman. For season 2, I just want a handsome man with an accent and a black suit to rule the wicked world. 

Number 2 - I wanted more horror and scary stuff. Evil witches that practises dark magic? Check. Any other sort of scary motif that could make this show more than a teenage romance story? Nah. Some times, the fakeness of the costumes and the bad written lines that were about dark magic just didn’t cut it at all.

Number 3 - I didn’t really like Sabrina. Which didn’t come as a shock to me, but still dissapointed me. She is such a brat. She put herself on such a high pedistal of greatness that she had no regard what so ever over who fell under the buss when she was on her warpath to ‘upperhand the dark lord’ and to get Harvey’s brother back. 

LOL we saw how that went didn’t we. 

It is one thing to not put your name in that book, she chose her mortal life over her magical one and it’s all dandy. But when she then gets everyone screwed over because of her actions is just so messed up. Zelda the badass (and delusional) and Hilda the lovley only wanted what was best for her, and sure everyone in the show had their flaws. But when Sabrina just didn’t give a sh*t about their continued warnings during each episode, I felt just so done with her. I was rolling my eyes every time she opened her mouth. 

The actress that played Sabrina didn’t deliver her lines that well either, and sometimes she just had the same monotone carefree voice during every single scene. Didn’t matter what she was saying, enchanting, screaming at or threatening. She just had no bark or bite behind her words. 

Don’t get me wrong, I really liked the show and can’t wait for next season. But it is not because of her, it is because of all of the other characters that seemed to have a head of their shoulders. Ambrose, Hilda, Susie and Roz are easily my favourites. 

[gaypasta]

do you want fries with that?

Chapter 3/ ? Read on Ao3 Previous Chapter First Chapter

Richie’s house was neater than he expected. He was aware that Richie’s parents weren’t home a lot, so with Richie being the only head of house for the majority of the time, he had expected the place to be a mess. Instead of tripping over piles of shoes and discarded coats at the front entrance, he stepped cautiously onto a clean rug and past a pair of converse neatly lined beside each other.  They were white and black respectively. The carpet was slightly damp in some places and smelt of a sterile hospital softly masked by a mix of citrus fruits and … Stan sniffed again, he had definitely smelt this smell before. He stood there for a moment, wracking his brain before moving off again picturing how strange it would look if Richie had walked in to see him sniffing his hallway. He was carrying a large mixing bowl his arms, the bike ride over had been tedious as the bowl was too big to fit into his backpack alone, nevermind with everything else he had to bring with him. The clinking of the glass tupperware Stan had in his back clinked as Stan walked. The sound must’ve alerted Richie of his presence, as his goggle-eyed head peered through what Stan assumed was the entrance to the kitchen. Stan had knocked, but perhaps knocking by belting his elbow into the door because he couldn’t free a hand while carrying all this stuff was either too quiet for Richie to hear, or was mistaken for the house settling. To be fair, Stan had called Richie to let him know he was on his way and Richie told him to let himself in while Richie took a nap and would wake up to a gorgeous three tiered cake. Stan told him to get fucked.

“Roll up ladies and gentleman, next up into the kitchen is a Mister Stanley Uris!” Richie mock-presented. He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a whisper-shout to imitate a booming crowd. “Standing at five foot ten, weighing a whopping ninety-nine pounds, eyes as steely blue and dreamy as Harrison Ford our hero is up against the one, the only…” Richie paused for suspense. Stan was not suspenseful. “Richie Tozier’s kitchen!”

“Meh, that one needs work. Hold the door open for me so I can set this down. It’s heavier than it looks.” Stan took steps towards the double glass doors, Richie opened the door from inside and held it open, giving an exaggerated bow and curtsy.

“Anything for you, oh master Chef.” His tone then fell back to normal. “Put the bag wherever. I would say sorry about the mess, but I’m not really.”

Stan stepped past Richie, keeping an eye on his hands as he passed through the threshold. The last time Richie held a door open for him he had smacked Stan’s ass. Hard. Stan dropped the mop bucket he was carrying in surprise and he made Richie clean it up. He winced thinking about it, he had eggs in this bag.

Thankfully Richie’s hands didn’t wander any farther than to close the door behind them and Stan was left without sexual assault. For now. For now? Stan was worried what kind of torture Richie would later impose upon him, he was in Richie’s domain after all. Stan was doing him a favour, though. If Richie got too overbearing or he got to eat too much cake batter that it went to his head, Stan could just stop making the cake which he was so gracious enough to bake for Richie. And by that he means help Richie bake. Yes, it will be a joint effort.

Richie’s kitchen was fairly messy. There were cups and plates piled up into the sink - some looked as though they had been sitting there for a while. Is that porridge or mashed potatoes? A few cupboard doors lay open, threatening to clip the side of Stan’s head, he closed them as he walked past them. A few tell-tale jars of Richie’s breakfasts and late night lunches sat beside a chopping board covered in crumbs. Stan noted that  unlike the front entrance, a dirty pair of black slip-ons lay haphazardly beside the table along with a crinkled pair of shorts. Did Richie really just come home and strip while making a sandwich? I guess when you basically live alone there’s no one to witness your indecency. Stan set the large mixing bowl on a clutter-free section of the small kitchen and began unloading the Tupperware filled with preciously measured ingredients from his backpack. He had considered not pre-measuring the ingredient, but figured it would be more straightforward if he did. Imagining Richie with a bag of icing sugar could have gave Stan nightmares, so that may have been a contributing factor.

Richie stalked over and stood, as usual, slightly too close to Stan. Maybe Stan had a bigger area of personal space than what Richie was used to, or maybe Richie did it to annoy him. Either way, Stan shifted slightly to be a more socially acceptable distance from his friend. His nose had caught a quick whiff of that smell from the hallway again. It smelt too strong to be  body-spray, but not as perfumed as cologne.

“So, what are you making my wonderful Mommy for her birthday?” Richie peered into the boxes, as if a tub of flour would be a clue.

“ We are making Victoria sponge cake, since when I rang to ask you what she liked, you didn’t answer.”

“I did answer!”

“Roast beef Sunday dinner isn’t a flavour combination I could work into a cake.”

“That’s quittin’ talk, Uris. Slap some gravy into a muffin and there you have it. Happy Birthday, Maggie!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Here, put this in the freezer, it’s too soft.” Stan handed Richie over a stick of butter, cut into the weight that they would need.

“I can think of better ways to get it up than that, Frosty. But whatever floats your goats I guess.” Richie grabbed the butter and threw it into the freezer, mimicking playing basketball.

“Boats, you mean. Why would goats float?”

“Well, look what happened to the Titanic. Boats aren’t too great either.”

Stan rolled his eyes and pre-heated the oven. He shifted his bag off his shoulders and moved it to Richie’s kitchen table. He began adding ingredients into the bowl, while Richie’s eyes lazily followed his hands. Somehow, Richie already had flour on his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. The sight of the floury patch pressured Stan into get his apron from his bag, Richie’s eyes stalked him, like he was calculating Stan’s every move.

“I’m putting on my apron.” Stan felt the need to justify his actions.

“And where’s mine?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “I know for a fact you have plenty of aprons. I’ve given you three new ones this month alone. I doubt you’ve lost them.”

Richie looked at him as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing. “If I didn’t lose them, how come I can’t find them?”

“Have you cleaned your room at all in the past month?”

“I call it organized chaos. Sorry we can’t all be OCD, Mr.Perfect.”

Stan rolled his eyes as he raised the neck of the apron over his head, using his left hand to keep his yarmulke in place.

“Crack four eggs into an empty bowl and don’t get any shells in.” Stan commanded.

Richie did just that, after searching around in a dusty cupboard for a bowl. “Now what Captain?”

Stan tied the back of his apron in a perfected bow. “Beat the eggs, I doubt you have a whisk, just use a fork.”

“I don’t normally use a fork to beat eggs, if you know what I mean.”

Stan stared blankly.

“You know, like eggs .”

“You’re thinking of the hymen. You need to whisk harder, you’re not getting enough air in.”

Richie looked at him through the side of his glasses, a strange look that made Stan feel slightly intrusive.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve been making this cake since I was nine. The eggs should be a pale yellow and fro-”

“About the hymen. Didn’t take you as a womanizer, Stanny boy. But who can resist those curly locks, am I right ladies?” Richie made a high five motion to the empty space to his right.

“We sit together in Biology. You copied my homework on female anatomy last week because you were too busy cramming for Chem to spend five minutes labelling a diagram.”

Richie stopped staring and stared at the wall opposite in deep thought, hopefully not thinking that deeply about female anatomy. Richie barked a laugh. “Oh yeah. Who can forget the vulva?!”

Stan grimaced. “Please stop talking.”

Stan added the now perfectly beat eggs into the large bowl, instructing Richie to mix it gently until it’s just mixed. Not too much or the cake will go tough because the gluten will have been worked to much. He started to explain to Richie the importance of properly mixing the cake in great detail as he got the now less-melted butter from the freezer.

Richie pretended to listen, nodding his head while watching Stan lean into the freezer. Stan smiled, he was happy that Richie was listening one of his ‘boring science’ speeches. He didn’t think it was very boring, Stan actually thought it was really interesting the difference that simply adding in an ingredient slightly too quick or too warm could make.

As soon as Stan instructed Richie to mix, it became apparent that Richie was overestimating how much force was required, as almost instantly he was greeted with a huge blob of batter on his flowery shirt. He promptly dropped the fork and stepped back, afraid that the bowl might decide to spit at him again.

“Stan… this is my favourite shirt…” Richie frowned, almost comically.

“Is it ruined?”

“Not if i wash it before it dries.” He pulled at the shirt, assessing it for any further damage.

“Damn.”

Richie shot him the finger before swiftly jogging out the door, pulling the shirt off before he even exited the kitchen. Stan’s eyes lingered where Richie’s bare shoulders were. It reminded him of when they used to go swimming in the quarry. He remembers holding those freckled shoulders, water droplets cascading from Richie’s hair into the crevices between Stan’s fingers, while attempting to drown Richie for pulling his underwear down while he was swimming. Richie had soft shoulders.

Stan began cleaning up globs of batter with a roll of kitchen roll which was sitting beside the sink. He wished he could disinfect the area, it involved raw eggs. Not that Richie would really care. He wound up the dirty sheet into a ball and placed it inside the egg carton, which Richie had put the egg shells back into. Stan didn’t want raw egg sitting out for long, too much risk of cross-contamination. He reached under the sink to where he assumed the bin would be, and opened the cupboard door.

The kitchen rang out with the sound of maybe a dozen or two glass bottles clanging against the harsh linoleum floor. Stan initially panicked, thinking that a bottle had smashed, but he mistook the sound of  a bottle breaking into pieces and the shards cascading to the floor with the small landslide of bottles. Stan dropped to his knees to begin picking them up, before stopping as his eyes skimmed the labels. They were mostly beer. All the same brand. Two bottles of what was once whiskey had fell too. Stan lowered himself to peer into the cupboard and sure enough, there sat at least 5 large empty bottles of whiskey, which had been pushed to the back. Underneath several bottles which hadn’t spilled out, Stan could make out some dishcloths and washing up liquid. Stan frowned. Why the hell was there so much alcohol in this cupboard? He picked up a stray whiskey bottle and began to read it. Fifty-five percentage. From what Stan remembers from Bill’s last birthday party (they were all wasted after four beers) that’s hell of a lot. Were these Richie’s? Surely if Richie drank this much, Stan would know by know. Right? He’d have hangovers in school or when they were in work. Besides, Richie could barely hold back a beer, nevermind all this.

“Hey good lookin’ what you got c-” Richie, who had barged through the door, had fell silent for a split second upon his eyes meeting the mess. Stan met his eyes and barely had time to blink before Richie shot over and began stuffing the bottles back in. He looked angry, as he threw the beer bottles back into the cupboard with too much force. Stan thought he heard one break, actually break this time. Stan gently placed the bottle he had been examining back in, before Richie had a chance to grab it from him. Richie glared angrily at the bottle Stan had placed back, as though they had an unwritten term of agreement and the bottle had just broke it. Stan’s heart didn’t know if it should beat too fast, or slow down, so it settled for both and Stan felt like his heart was gonna fall out of his chest.

Richie closed the cupboard and just stared at it for a moment, Stan noticed Richie was sitting barely an inch away from the cracked eggs and batter-covered towel. If Richie chose to sit down from sitting on his knees, he’d surely sit on it. Stan gingerly leaned over, pushing the carton away from Richie’s possible line of movement. This had meant leaning over Richie, and he could feel his messy black hair tickling his neck. He retreated slightly, but not completely, he could feel his own curls fall against Richie’s hair as he moved. His eyes darted to Richie’s as soon as he knew he could’ve seen the boys face. Stan knew what had happened. He wasn’t one to make assumptions, but he read the situation enough to know he shouldn’t ask. As he moved further back, perhaps only a foot away from the other boy’s face he could feel a force make him pause. He wouldn’t have paused of his own accord, he’s too close. This is his personal space and Richie is sitting in it, looking almost frightened in anger. Like when you finally stand up for yourself against your parent, knowing you’ll get in trouble, but you’re too angry to stop yourself. Stan had never seen these emotions painted on his face, he admits, regrettably, that he never really thought of Richie as someone who could feel such a complex tide of emotions. There was an unspoken silence between them for several moments. Neither of them moving, Stan continued to watch Richie like a hawk, looking for any sign that he could move away, or speak.

Richie had made several noises over the course of a minute or two, which sounded like the start of a sentence which he hadn’t thought to finish. Richie rubbed his eyes in frustration, displacing his glasses. Stan moved back, and let out a breath that he had been holding, in fear that even something small like breathing too loudly would interrupt what Richie was trying to say.

“Do I really need to go into it?” Richie asked to the ceiling, he moved to sit against the cupboard that had betrayed him.

Stan looked at the cupboard, then to Richie. “I mean, kinda. A brewery's worth of alcohol just came out from underneath your kitchen sink.”

Richie sighed, to the ceiling again. “Can’t you just put two and two together then we can leave this conversation.”

“If your sink has a drinking problem you should probably address it.”

Richie let out a breath of air, the ghosts of laughter. Stan smirked as Richie shot him a look, followed by a thumbs up. “Good one, Stan the man.”

The kitchen fell back into silence. Stan moved to lean his back against the cupboard beside Richie. Their two postures were so different, they almost looked comical. Stan’s head rested on his knees, his brown loafers pointing straight forward while Richie sagged beside him, his legs apart and dirty socks pointing to the Gods. He looked like a wax figure who’d been left in the sun slightly too long.

“My mom’s not home much.” Stan nodded, he knew this, but he could tell this was the start of a conversation . “Neither is Dad either, not that I give a shit.” Richie seethed his words, Stan didn’t know much about his family life, but he had always read between the lines of Richie avoiding any mention of family that it wasn’t great. “Mom just...drinks a lot. All the time, Stan. She’s not always drunk or anything, well she’s gotten worse lately but… fuck, she always had a drink in her hand, but she could put herself to bed and remember how to lock the doors and she’d be up in time to get me up for school and go to work. It worked, I mean she wasn’t a great mother, when she was far gone she’d …” Richie picked at the skin at the side of his nails, watching his own fingers with intent. “She’d not be great. When I was in second grade I drew our family portrait with her holding a bottle of beer instead of my hand, for fuck’s sake.”

Stan was watching Richie’s face carefully. Taking in this moment as if it would be a moment which would grant him life or death. He stored every word Richie said into his head. Richie started to jiggle his leg, Stan knew he was craving a cigarette. Stan didn’t like it when Richie smoked around him, so Richie usually didn’t.

“I’m sorry, this is stupid. I sound like such a faggot crying about my Mommy issues.” Richie wiped at his eyes again, Stan didn’t notice any wetness, and suspected Richie was trying to wipe away moisture as it came.

“So you wanting to fuck Eddie’s Mom is all just a big roundabout Oedipus complex?” Stan was so used to Richie providing comedic commentary, Richie being down isn’t something he’s ever considered happening. He figured the situation needed lightening up though, before one of them takes the smashed bottle from the cupboards and slits their wrists with it.

Richie let out a shallow but honest laugh. “Probably, but me and your Mom? Pure fiery unhinged passion.”

Stan knocked shoulders with him, and Richie retorted as well. He reached into his jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one into his mouth directly from the packet. He gave Stan a look to ask if it was alright, and Stan nodded. Richie needed this right now. He can figure out how to get the smell of smoke out of his shirt later. Richie hopped up and lit his cigarette on the gas-fired hob.

“I know I don’t need to say it, but this is between us, ok?”

Stan nodded. “You didn’t need to say it, Richie.”

Richie sucked on the cigarette, letting the smoke flow out of his words as he spoke. “It wouldn’t be fair not telling you after telling Bill. I’d feel guilty for feeling like I had to ask Bill not to speak if I didn’t have to ask you.”

Stan blinked, partly because Richie accidentally blew smoke into his eye. “You… you told Bill?” A part of him feels upset that he wasn’t the only one Richie had told, he felt cheated that Richie would disclose such a personal secret to their other friend. Stan felt bad, he shouldn’t feel special, he shouldn’t feel as though he and only he should be privy to Richie’s personal tragic backstory. Yet, he did.

Richie took a long drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs a few moments longer than normal before he blew out, watching the smoke disappear into the air. “Yeah, It’s Big Bill y’know. You feel bad keeping anything for him.” Stan nodded, he understood, Bill had a way about him, that by keeping a secret from him, no matter how little involvement is on Bill’s behalf, you’re still riddled with guilt for not telling him. “I didn’t get much of a choice. In case you couldn’t tell - I don’t exactly boast about this shit. He was staying over for the first time since we were probably…” Richie trailed off and tapped his finger against his thigh. “About nine? Eight or nine. It was two years ago, after your thirteenth birthday party, I told Bill he could stay at mine because I live closer and it was getting dark. And right as we were about to fall asleep, Mom falls into my room, thinking it was hers.” He let out a sad laugh. “Bill was scared shitless because Mom was yelling at us to get out of her room, it took a while, but I got her to bed. It killed me because afterwards Bill would barely look at me. I don’t know if he was embarrassed, or guilty or pitied me or whatever. But it fucking hurt.” Richie tapped off the ash onto the floor. “I liked Bill, a lot, I was head over heels infatuated with him, and the first night we’d have a sleepover in ages without having Georgie creep in at midnight, I had all these moments planned out in my head. We’d kiss, maybe we’d confess our feelings, maybe I’d give him a blowjob. Then turn of a coin, he wouldn't look at me for a week.”

Stan sat in shock at what he was hearing. Richie liked Bill? Stan was replaying every interaction he watched Bill and Richie have over the past few years. He felt like he’d been hit with a concussion. What the hell was going on? Did Bill know? Were they secretly dating? Are they secretly dating?

Richie stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on the floor, leaving a faint black mark. “It’s okay though, he knows. He’s cool with it. It was a while ago.”

Stan shot him a look, Stan had no idea what kind of look it was, but apparently Richie did, he laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry Stanny boy. I like my dick uncut, so you don’t have to worry.”

Stan elbowed him in the stomach, making Richie cough. “Don’t be such a dick.” Richie laughed as he rubbed where Stan’s elbow had been. “Wait, you’re gay? The man who talks about fucking all the chicks and their mothers, is a homosexual?” Stan wasn’t shocked, it was Richie Tozier they were talking about - who knows what curveball that boy is gonna throw next.

“Don’t worry, there’s enough of the Tozier Train to go around. Now stopping at both male and female stations, buy your ticket early though - the waiting list is almost as long as my dick!”

Stan rolled his eyes so hard he felt his optic nerve burn. “I’m not bringing up the urinal again.”

Stan got off the dirty floor and held a hand out to Richie. “Let’s finish this cake before any more secrets get exposed.”

Richie smirked and jumped up, looking brighter in the eyes. “Hold onto your yahtzee, it’s gonna be intense.”

Stan hit Richie with a wooden spoon. “It’s a yarmulke, you dick.”

It took thirty-five more minutes, and by the time they were done curfew had long been in place, but they had finished it. It was a work of art. Perfectly golden and spongy, with silky cream and some of Mike’s mother’s homemade jam she had given out to all of the group. It was sweet, the jam gave it just the right amount of bitter to compliment the sweet. Not that the boys knew, they couldn’t have any. Richie was overjoyed, jumping up and down like a child in victory, “I’m a better cook than Bill!” Stan decided not to point out that it was his recipe and the only thing Richie did was mix the ingredients - and lick the spoon, to Stan’s horror.

Stan placed the cake delicately in a decorative box, so it wouldn’t take in any weird tastes and smells that are more than likely making home in Richie’s fridge. Richie smiled at Stan when all is done, and all is left to do is give it to his Mom when she gets home from work the next day.

Richie wrapped his arm around Stan’s shoulder, and Stan lets him. “We did good. But I am fucking starving.”

“I’m not making you food, Richie.”

Richie threw his hands up in the air. “Then what kind of wife are you?!”

Stan rolled his eyes and began to pack his things into his bag, ready to head home. He had work in the morning and it was already - Stan checked his watch - 21:04.  Fuck. Stan picked up the pace, not even bothering to put the lids on his Tupperware before placing it in his bag. His Mom’s gonna freak if he’s not home soon, he was meant to be home two hours ago. Richie sashayed over to the table, where Stan was having a small freak-out. He rest his head on his hands and bent over.

“Where you goin’ in such a rush, sweet-pea?” Richie drawled in his Southern Belle voice - Richie had began to recognize it as Stan’s favourite, a more accurate wording would probably be least-hated.

“I have to get home, it’s late. My parents are gonna freak.” Stan suddenly smelt the smoke from Richie’s earlier cigarette on his collar. “Richie, I smell like smoke! What gets out smoke?” He began to lift his shirt, smelling it all over.

“You can borrow some of my clothes, it’s no big deal.” Richie was staring absentmindedly at his exposed stomach, zoning out again more than likely. Stan almost died at the vision of him walking around in one of Richie’s ugly Hawaiian shirts. He pulled his longest curl down to his nose and gave it a sniff, he recalls Beverly complaining that smoke sticks to your hair, especially if it’s thick - and she was right. “Fuck - it’s in my hair too.”

Richie shrugged. “Just stay over, we’ve shared a bed before.”

Stan recalled back to one of their many sleepovers. Stan had got the short straw and Richie had got kicked onto the floor not even an hour after lights out. The smell of smoke attacked his senses again. Stan looked over to see Richie lighting another cigarette.

“Dude what the fuck?!”

Richie gave him an almost cheshire cat-like smile. “Well you just have to stay now, no chance of getting smoke out of your hair.” He blew smoke into Stan’s face and Stan swatted the cigarette out of Richie’s hand.

“You’re a premium-level dick, do you know that?”

Richie grinned as he pulled Stan out of the kitchen, cigarette bouncing softly between his lips. “Yeah I know. But a slumber party, Stan!"

And with that, Stan had laughed a genuine laugh. Not that Richie had said anything particularly funny or got seriously injured in anyway. But he was having fun, genuine boyish fun, clambering up the stairs, fighting each other on who gets to shower first and Richie attempting to give Stan the ugliest pajamas he could find. Stan was having so much fun, he forgot to call his Mother until 22:35. He laughed at his own forgetfulness and hung up the phone after calming his mother, going back to trying to wrestle his yarmulke out of Richie’s hands.

Next Chapter

[jonjmurakami]

Hm- I guess I didn’t post this the other week - Here’s a quick Generation Gap comic strip I did for the Hawaii Herald • I think it’s interesting how every culture depicts different sounds their animals make: dogs, cats, roosters, frogs, goats... in a way I feel cartooning is the same way- where different artists spell various sound effects different ways... speaking of which, in addition to drawlloween, INKTOBER, strips of zori and some dailies... I’m gonna also be debuting a new quick series online for the heck of it :) (as if I’m not juggling enough) Have a great day all :) #jonjmurakami #comic #cartoon #generationgap #hawaiiherald #dog #bark #woof #bowwow #wanwan #languages https://www.instagram.com/p/B3IYirgH2Xx/?igshid=1sde705p3w1zw

[phidiaspickle]

For @trulyprincesspenelope

Taurus ARDOR LANGUOR DETERMINA TION PREJUDICE INDUSTRY INTRACTABILITY P A TIENCE GLUTTONY LOGIC COMPLACENCY SENSUALITY JEALOUSY

Dog CONSTANCY UNSOCIABILITY RESPECTABILITY SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS INTELLIGENCE TACTLESSNESS UNEASINESS CRITICISM DUTY CYNICISM HEROISM MORALITY

“I have” Earth, Venus, Fixed

“I worry” Positive Metal, Yin

Here is a dutiful combination gifted for performances of all kinds and cursed by a surfeit of uneasiness, which easily translates into dissatisfaction. Let me explain. Tanreans born in Dog years tend to complain a lot. They find fault with much of what life offers, As for what life doesn’t offer—they feel it should. Taurus/Dogs have an overdeveloped sense of injustice. They cannot understand why it seems as if the cards are always stacked against them. Why are others so lucky? Why do things seem to just fall into their laps? Why don’t wonderful lucky things happen to me? grumbles the dissatisfied Taurus/Dog.

Childlike appeal and apparent innocence of all that is tawdry and crooked make the Taurean Dog a lovable and dear companion. He’s interested in and capable of many different pursuits. He usually has a talent for amusing crowds and is willing and able to take on great responsibilities. Despite his inborn talent for determination and respectability, for industry and even heroism, the Taurus/Dog suffers from a painful lack of self-confidence. He is never, from childhood forward, quite sure of himself. Often, because of this insecurity, the Taurus/Dog settles for remaining in the wings of life for the whole or his childhood and adolescence. Then, by the time he is old enough to answer his cue and leap onto center stage, Taurus/Dog may not feel quite ready yet. He’ll hang back, find excuses for delaying his one-man show and, if he not careful to find the right partner who pushes and prods and loves and cares enough to shove the Taurus/Dog out there, the Taurus/Dog may find himself at retirement age standing hangdog in the same wings of life wondering whatever happened to his cue.

This person is a natural-born worry wart He’s also extremely perfection conscious and wants things to be done right and go well and come out flawless. If they don’t, he will be the first to blame not only himself but also to scold those who surround him. “Why don’t you take things more seriously?” wonders Taurus/Dog to his lighthearted friend or mate or child. “Why can’t you see how important this is?” he may chide.

When the Taurus/Dog does succeed in a big way, he may tend toward smugness. He feels he has worked harder than others to get where he is. He knows that some people might have cheated or tricked to get places in life. But not the Taurean Dog. Never! Taurean Dogs are the first to consider themselves “good” people who always do things “right.” Struggle and huff and puff and bark and growl and sweat. Then, when they do win fame or fortune or the approval of their entourage, Taurus/Dogs are capable of opining, “I deserve this. I work harder than anybody else. It’s about time somebody recognized my enormous talent.” You see, life really is not easy for Taurus/Dogs. Because of their own reticent attitude, they often are left out, overworked, and misunderstood. They are more conscientious than lots of other folks. And they are sensitive in the extreme. Couple this sensitivity with a native tendency to jealousy and possessiveness and you come up with a mighty testy character. You may see the Taurean Dog as inexcusably self-involved. But don’t think for one minute that lie perceives himself as anything less than Albert Schweitzer—caring, loving, giving, warmhearted, kind, indulgent. Taurus/Dogs do take up causes and care a lot about the little guy. They are liberal- hearted and willing to go far to help out the less fortunate. This person can persevere in what seems to be hopeless situations. His loving and caring capacity is very, very strong. Usually, these people are generous and willing literally to give you the shirt off their backs. They are sweet-natured underneath all that ill-tempered blather and dither. Taurus/Dogs are the kinds of dogs who growl a lot when they first meet you and who, before you know it, have jumped into your lap and are licking your face all over. They need encouragement and plenty of applause. 

Love 

The doubting Dog nature coupled with the plodding and stubborn yet possessively ardent Taurus personality provides us with a constant, faithful and sincerely devoted lover. No mountain is too high to climb, no river too wide to wade across for the sake of this person’s love object. In relationships, the Taurus/Dog always feels that he is the one who gives the most. And he likes it that way. What Taurean Dog people sometimes fail to take into consideration is that in order to be able to love them back with the identical fervor they throw into each affair, their partner must be possessed of abnormally superior powers of tickle. To be the full- time lover of a snappy and grave Taurus/Dog, you have to be a stand-up comic, a Saint-Bernard and a clown. The successful mate for Taurus/Dogs is able to find humor in all aspects of things. Otherwise, what with the natural Taurean Dog pessimism turned up full volume for life, the household ambience may amount to something akin to a cemetery’s. Bottom line: if you love a Taurus/Dog, always keep ‘em laughing. 

Compatibilities 

Love will blossom between you and Cancer, Virgo, Capricorn and Pisces/Cats, Horses and Tigers. Blends like the above suit your testy and essentially pessimistic nature. You need to be buoyed, optimized and occasionally booted in the rear end, too. But not by Leo, Scorpio or Aquarius/Tigers, Dragons or Goats. Their motives may not be wholly altruistic. Yours usually are. 

Home and Family 

The Taurus/Dog will not make a great fuss about his surroundings. He usually likes things efficient and warmly colored. But whether or not he has the latest in designer furnishings is of little consequence. Rather than fussing about the latest or the best in modern or antique design, the Taurus/Dog will want things personalized his way. He may move the furniture around in a hotel room or tack up magazine pictures on the walls of a rented vacation flat. He likes things to be quaint and cozy and comfortable. He eschews plastics. The Taurus/Dog’s family, even though it is often a source of immense disappointment to him from the beginning of his life, ranks high on his popularity meter. Where there is a need for devotion and duty and a call for duty and reliability, you can always count on the services of this loyal cohort. Where his children are concerned, he will be both careful and serious. He may be a tiny bit strict with kids, but it’s only because he wants them to be happier than he ever was and the Taurus/Dog firmly believes that self-restraint is one of the secrets of happiness. You watch. If a Taurus/Dog ever dares to indulge himself in any debauchery at all, the guilt and self-recrimination are shattering to witness. He wants to be thought of as above reproach. The Taurus/Dog child will strike you as rather solemn at first. He is not easy to know and requires lots of cheering up and jollying along. This child can he counted on to obey and to try to do things the way parents wish. If you have such a kid, look for his own personal passion very early on and force him to overcome shyness and trepidation, so that later on he will have fewer chances to moan about what he missed. Get him out of the shadows at a young age. 

Profession 

There is little the Taurus/Dog cannot accomplish, He is usually both talented and willing to work. He may prove slower to achieve than others, but the fine results will always be worth the extra time he spends. Dogs born in Taurus will be both reliable and concerned about the impression made on colleagues and clients. As he may be a touch awkward socially, the Taurean Dog must be careful to surround himself with outgoing and gregarious colleagues. Taurus/Dogs are good at detail, and although not exactly influenceable, they are definitely open to new ideas and always ready to try out more modern methods. As an employee, the Taurus/Dog will be loyal and forthright. From time to time he may prove a shade argumentative over niggling little points. But on the whole Taurean Dogs take care to see a job well done. As bosses, Taurus/Dogs enjoy a good reputation among their workers. The Taurean Dog, remember, is a fair person and, even if a tiny bit grouchy sometimes, is overall a kindly sort who doesn’t mind sharing the less pleasant tasks with his colleagues. If cheated or tricked in business deals, the Taurus/Dog may grow bitter. He doesn’t take kindly to con jobs. So, if you were thinking of trying to hoodwink a Taurus/Dog, remember that his bite is almost as harsh as his bark, I can see Taurean Dogs in all sorts of jobs. They might be physicists or city planners or own and operate a newspaper store or bookstore. Show business and politics alike present the Taurus/Dog with opportunities to use his talents well. He’ll be very fulfilled as a teacher or in any rural job requiring attention to ecological concerns. 

Some famous Taurus/Dogs: Lenin, Golda Meir, Shirley MacLaine, Andre Agassi, Arletty, Carl XVI (King of Sweden), Cher, Georges Moustaki, Master P. Michel Poniatowski, Scott Bairstow, Serge Reggiani, Socrates, Uma Thurman, Yannis Xenakis.

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[randallvangundy]

Great Dane

Great Danes are known for their tall stature that screams elegance and nobility. However, even if they do look imposing, they are one of the best-natured dogs you’d find. Even if they are large and intimidating, Great Danes are sweet, loving, and gentle; hence, why they are also called Gentle Giants.

Because of this, it’s no wonder that Great Danes are now one of the most popular dog breeds. They are sociable, love to be petted, and even have some lapdog tendencies. If you appreciate a big baby for a companion, then the Great Dane is undoubtedly that.

Great Dane Statistics

Dog Breed GroupWorking Group Height30-32 inches (male); 28-30 inches (female) Weight140-175 pounds (male); 110-140 pounds (female) Lifespan7-10 years

Great Dane Ratings

Energy level Exercise needs Requires attention Playfulness Trainability Shedding Grooming Friendly with family Friendly with strangers Friendly with other dogs Prey Drive

Great Dane History

Great Danes are one of the pure dog breeds believed to be centuries old as historical evidence suggests. Drawings of dogs resembling the Great Danes are found in Egyptian and Babylonian artifacts way back in the 2000 and 3000 BC.

They were originally called Boar Hounds because hunting boars was their purpose. Because of this, their ears were usually cut to prevent boars from tearing them.

By the 1600s, the Great Danes slowly left the hunting grounds. German breeders gradually refined the breed into a well-balanced, good-natured, and elegant dog.

German nobles adored them and kept them in their homes. They were named Chamber Dogs as they were pampered and even wore collars, living a sweet and elegant lifestyle.

It was only in the 1700s when the name Great Dane rose. This was given by a French Naturalist who traveled to Denmark and saw a version of Boar Hound that was slimmer. He called this dog the Grand Danois, which eventually became the Great Dane (though the breed didn’t develop in Denmark).

In the 1800s, refinement of the German nobles continued refining the breeds. They paid attention to the dog’s temperaments and adjusted it from being ferocious and aggressive, to a more gentle one.

Great Dane Temperament

Great Danes are best described as friendly, gentle, and dependable dog breeds. Even with their tall and noble stature, they are loving dog breeds who crave human companionship.

Great Danes only need minimal exercise. However, due to their size, they do need a lot of space. They won’t do well in small apartments as they would feel cramped up. Also, they hate being left alone and can get lonely.

When it comes to strangers, the Great Dane’s attitude varies. Some are territorial and protective, while most are very friendly and welcoming. However, whichever the two traits, they won’t fail to bark and tell you there’s a visitor at your door.

If you have kids, you also won’t have to worry about having Great Danes. Although large, they make excellent playmates. Added to that, they also know how to move with caution when it comes to small kids as they are highly intelligent.

However, the Great Dane’s gentle temperament doesn’t usually come out naturally. Without proper training, they can be bossy, dominant, and pushy. If you want to raise a disciplined Great Dane, they need training.

It is also essential to remember that Great Danes are sensitive, and training should be fun and cheerful. Being harsh doesn’t help and will only break trust. Besides, these dogs are straightforward to train.

Great Dane Care Requirements

Nutrition: Great Dane is a large dog breed that requires a consistent and well-balanced diet. It doesn’t matter if you’ll feed them dog food or raw dog diet. What’s important is that it should be of high-quality. Protein is an essential part of their meal, but it should also contain fats for proper development. Keep protein levels to up to 24%, and fat levels should be between 12-14% for proper growth. You can also consult your vet for additional guidance regarding caloric intake depending on your Great Danes daily activity as well.

Grooming: Great Dane has a short and smooth coat that sheds seasonally. However, shedding is not too much -weekly brushing will help to decrease the shedding. But if it’s shedding season, then daily brushing would be better. Since they also don’t need a lot of exercise, frequent baths are not necessary unless your Great Dane becomes too messy. Bathing him a few times in a year will do. Check the nails and trim them too, just like any other dog breeds. This will help prevent your Great Dane from the pain.

Exercise: Great Danes are excellent indoor family dogs. However, as they are huge dogs, they need daily exercise to keep their muscles strong and protect their joints too. About 30-60 minutes of exercise will do the job. Usually, this can be in the form of walking or free play. You can also do activities that will mentally stimulate the Great Dane’s mind. Just remember not to over-exercise. This dog breed is not the active type and gets tired quickly after 30 minutes of walking. Other than walking, you can also play games such as fetch, give him toys, or allow him to socialize with other dogs in the house.

Health: Bloating is the number one reason for this. Severe complications of bloating can be prevented by surgery, but if you don’t want that, you can research more regarding the symptoms of the condition and how you can prevent it. Other common health issues Great Dane may suffer from are eye diseases, heart diseases, hypothyroidism, and hip dysplasia. Great Danes sadly have a short life expectancy. That’s why it’s necessary to keep their health optimal so they can avoid any health problems mentioned. It’s also best to take your dog to regular check-ups or take him to some tests to rule out any medical conditions.

Lifespan: The life expectancy of Great Danes is 7-10 years.

Famous Great Danes

Scooby-Doo: The famous dog best friend of Shaggy, a member of the Scooby-Doo Gang is a Great Dane; he also represents similar traits such as being a tremendous eater and a scaredy-cat (though he’s a dog)

Marmaduke: Another fictional Great Dane of the Winslow family from the comic strip Marmaduke

Einstein: The Great Dane from the movie Oliver and Company

Duke and Turk: Family dogs from the movie The Swiss Family Robinson

Zeus: Was named as the tallest dog in the Guinness Book of World Records

Juliana: The Great Dane awarded with two Blue Cross Medals for diffusing a bomb by peeing on it, and alerting authorities about a fire three years later

Just Nuisance: The only dog officially listed in the Navy

Fun Facts About Great Danes

Great Danes were originally bred to hunt boars.

They have been around for centuries; historical evidence suggests that they’ve been around way back 3500 and 5000 BC.

Great Danes have short lifespans.

They are popular cartoon dogs.

They are known as “Gentle Giants.”

It was believed that they could ward off ghosts and evil spirits, which is only right that Scooby-Doo was a Great Dane.

Great Dane is the official state dog of Pennsylvania.

They grow very fast, from one pound to a hundred in just six months.

There was a Great Dane who escaped with a goat in Dallas, 2010.

The post Great Dane appeared first on Furry Friends Gear.

Great Dane published first on https://furryfriendsgear.tumblr.com

[josephkitchen0]

How to Start Keeping Donkeys on the Homestead

By Anita B. Stone – When you think of keeping donkeys, the first thing that comes to mind is big ears, a comical, rusty, door-hinge bray, and a short whiskbroom tail. When the donkey was designed, these adaptations allowed it to succeed and survive in a harsh desert environment. His mighty bray permitted widely spaced donkeys to keep in contact or define their territories. Those big funnel ears could catch distant calls and help dissipate hot desert heat.

“These days donkeys have become pets,” says Mike Luddy of South Hill, Virginia. “They still bray, grunt, and moan and create a ruckus, but they are such affectionate pets, I couldn’t ask for a more loving animal.” Luddy’s hobby farm is situated on six acres of pasture, “an acre for each donkey,” he says. According to Luddy, keeping donkeys requires very little maintenance. “They are durable, affordable and they don’t tend to overeat.”

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Luddy communicates with the donkeys by reading their body language. “If their floppy ears move forward, they are curious about something.” He says. “But if their ears go flat towards the back of their heads, they are angry.”

Many of those who are homesteading today are keeping donkeys, and there are definite objectives to follow when if you’re interesting in keeping donkeys.

Keeping Donkeys: Feeding and Weight

Donkeys will get very heavy if you feed them too much, so you really have to be careful. Due to their historic origin as desert animals, donkeys are accustomed to sparse food supplies and should not be overfed. Donkeys have no hump on their backs, only a lean body mass that is fuel efficient, easily cooled, yet strong. If you spot a roll of fat across the back of the animal, you know he is overeating. It is just as unhealthy for a donkey to be overweight as it is for one to be malnourished. To ensure the proper weight of your donkey, you can purchase a “weigh band” at any grain feed store.

Donkeys eat pasture grass as a primary food all summer. If you’re keeping donkeys, they need to be provided with enough pasture to be able to run and play and get exercise. Pastures should always be inspected for poisonous plants, especially ragwort. And when grass is unavailable, a good quality hay is preferred as it provides the most nutrition. Luddy’s six donkeys can survive on one bale per week in the winter. They also eat grain and sweet feed-one scoop per donkey is considered a treat.

“They love to eat treats of peppermints, biscuits and bread,” Luddy states. “Sometimes we hand-feed them in the middle of winter. They ‘browse’ by eating shrubs which in turn helps maintain the woods. Grazing donkeys are lucky because they never have to watch their salt intake. Their systems require salt and if they don’t get enough, they will eat wood or bark from trees.” Luddy provides a trace mineral for the herd to insure ample salt intake.

An average donkey drinks up to eight gallons of water every day. It’s best to supply running water from a hose or pump or a stream running through the property. Donkeys hate water under their feet and they will always walk around puddles. Their desert coat seems to soak up moisture rather than repel it.

Keeping Donkeys: Socialization

As pets, donkeys offer the best therapy after a day’s hard work because they maintain a calm and patient disposition and are extremely manageable. They have a relaxing way about them, and all donkeys really want in life is love and attention. Although donkeys are the most gentle, loving, and people-friendly equine in existence, they can also be aggressive when necessary.

“Donkeys will stay and protect people, sheep, goats and cows,” Luddy says. “They will move slowly, then turn around and see what is challenging them. Their natural enemies are dogs and wolves. A donkey loves to roll in the dirt like a dog and can dribble a dog like a soccer ball.”

Donkeys are very sociable creatures that need the company of at least one other donkey. They buddy up in pairs, or even in groups of three and will go to the end of the earth to stay with their best friends. They get very upset if separated, so it’s best to keep them with their buddies at all times. A single, lone donkey is a lonely donkey, and should be avoided if at all possible.

Because a donkey’s average life expectancy is 30-40 years, many of those who are keeping donkeys have provided trust funds for their animals so that the pet will be financially sound if an owner dies.

Keeping Donkeys: Types of Donkeys

There are different kinds of donkeys. A “gelding” is a male donkey that has been castrated so that he cannot, will not, and does not want to reproduce. Geldings are easy to handle and make good companions. Two little geldings will give you a lifetime of happiness with their amusing behavior. And jennies (female donkeys) and geldings make excellent companions.

The most common color for a donkey is the mouse gray called gray dun. Other colors include various shades of brown, black, spotted, sorrel and frosted spotted white. Most have white muzzles, eye rings and light bellies. The average height of a mature donkey ranges from 48″ to 54″ high, depending on the type of donkey.

“My first donkey was a ‘standard,'” says Luddy. I purchased him for $500.” Standards grow up to 48″ tall. “The only female on the farm is a mammoth,” says Luddy. “We call her Madison. She is dark brown and 25 years old.” Some mammoths run $800 all the way up to $3,000 for a trained rider, “but a donkey cannot take on a rider until it is four years old and their bones are fully formed as well as their knees.”

Mammoths can get up to 54″ or higher and weigh up to 600 pounds. “But under all the sizes and hair colors is the same gentle, calm, slightly mischievous soul,” Luddy says.

Keeping Donkeys: General Health

Being swift and sure-footed, donkeys can travel as fast as 30 miles per hour, making it necessary to have their hooves trimmed properly. Unlike a horse, a donkey’s hooves have no shoes. If the hooves are allowed to grow without proper attention, their legs will experience extreme pain and may result in deformed and painful joints and tendons. It is a good idea to engage a farrier to trim the hooves on an 8-12 week trimming schedule.

Be prepared for a dust crater somewhere. “Donkeys love to take dust baths and will pick a spot in the pasture to dig out and ‘bathe’ themselves daily. They use dirt like we use daily showers, as a dry shampoo that soaks up hair oils and probably helps suffocate or repel insects and as an overall rolling back scratch and body wash.”

To protect his herd, Luddy administers an oral de-worming medication every two to three months. He also has them inoculated for West Nile virus. “Each one of my pets has blood drawn once a year to make sure every animal is in good health,” says Luddy, “and it will be given a health certificate if everything is in proper order.”

Weanlings are vaccinated yearly with a five-way vaccination and a separate selenium and vitamin E booster to ensure their good health and muscular development.

Donkeys should have their teeth examined by an equine dentist every two years, especially the back teeth which are used to grind food. Without them, the donkey will either starve to death or get colic, which could also lead to death.

Other than infestation of parasites, which can be taken care of every month, flies are a major problem for donkeys and seem to especially like biting them around the legs. The best fly repellent for donkeys is a roll-on equine fly repellent that can be used around this area.

Keeping Donkeys: Providing Safe and Secure Shelter for Donkeys

Shelter is an absolute must for donkeys. A three-sided run-in shed is ideal. Because of their desert beginnings, donkeys don’t handle extreme cold as well as most horses can. Donkeys need to be able to escape from harsh elements-cold as well as hot. They will buddy up and generally allow everyone a chance to get out of the weather.

Donkeys on the Homestead

The worst culprit is wind chill, so it is a good idea to face the shelter away from the prevailing wind, and also make sure the shelter is not in a low spot that would become impassable with mud during certain times of the year.

Wood shavings or a dirt floor is best for the comfort of the donkey and for easy management. Make sure the shavings do not contain toxic substances such as black walnut bark, which could be fatal. Brick or concrete floors are not suitable because they are so hard, and as most donkeys lie down when they are sick, a dirt floor is kinder and more comfortable for them. Urine will soak into a dirt floor without causing an odor and only the donkey’s droppings need to be removed. You can also use prepared stall “sweeteners” on urine spots to control the ammonia smell. Picking up manure means less odor, flies, and parasite contamination.

An average dimension of a shelter for two donkeys is 10′ wide, 10′ long and 10′ high. Donkeys sometimes lay down, but one is always standing up during the night.

Secure fencing is necessary to avoid escape. Either post and rail or pig netting are good forms of fencing with wooden gates. Post and rail fencing should have four bars; with the bottom rail less than 45 centimeters from the ground.

As pets, donkeys are strong, calm, intelligent workers that don’t tend to run away and have a natural inclination to like people. All this adds up to animals that are easy to take care of, easy to work with, very inexpensive and very easy to give your heart to.

Originally published in 2013 and regularly vetted for accuracy

How to Start Keeping Donkeys on the Homestead was originally posted by All About Chickens

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How to Start Keeping Donkeys on the Homestead

By Anita B. Stone – When you think of keeping donkeys, the first thing that comes to mind is big ears, a comical, rusty, door-hinge bray, and a short whiskbroom tail. When the donkey was designed, these adaptations allowed it to succeed and survive in a harsh desert environment. His mighty bray permitted widely spaced donkeys to keep in contact or define their territories. Those big funnel ears could catch distant calls and help dissipate hot desert heat.

“These days donkeys have become pets,” says Mike Luddy of South Hill, Virginia. “They still bray, grunt, and moan and create a ruckus, but they are such affectionate pets, I couldn’t ask for a more loving animal.” Luddy’s hobby farm is situated on six acres of pasture, “an acre for each donkey,” he says. According to Luddy, keeping donkeys requires very little maintenance. “They are durable, affordable and they don’t tend to overeat.”

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Luddy communicates with the donkeys by reading their body language. “If their floppy ears move forward, they are curious about something.” He says. “But if their ears go flat towards the back of their heads, they are angry.”

Many of those who are homesteading today are keeping donkeys, and there are definite objectives to follow when if you’re interesting in keeping donkeys.

Keeping Donkeys: Feeding and Weight

Donkeys will get very heavy if you feed them too much, so you really have to be careful. Due to their historic origin as desert animals, donkeys are accustomed to sparse food supplies and should not be overfed. Donkeys have no hump on their backs, only a lean body mass that is fuel efficient, easily cooled, yet strong. If you spot a roll of fat across the back of the animal, you know he is overeating. It is just as unhealthy for a donkey to be overweight as it is for one to be malnourished. To ensure the proper weight of your donkey, you can purchase a “weigh band” at any grain feed store.

Donkeys eat pasture grass as a primary food all summer. If you’re keeping donkeys, they need to be provided with enough pasture to be able to run and play and get exercise. Pastures should always be inspected for poisonous plants, especially ragwort. And when grass is unavailable, a good quality hay is preferred as it provides the most nutrition. Luddy’s six donkeys can survive on one bale per week in the winter. They also eat grain and sweet feed-one scoop per donkey is considered a treat.

“They love to eat treats of peppermints, biscuits and bread,” Luddy states. “Sometimes we hand-feed them in the middle of winter. They ‘browse’ by eating shrubs which in turn helps maintain the woods. Grazing donkeys are lucky because they never have to watch their salt intake. Their systems require salt and if they don’t get enough, they will eat wood or bark from trees.” Luddy provides a trace mineral for the herd to insure ample salt intake.

An average donkey drinks up to eight gallons of water every day. It’s best to supply running water from a hose or pump or a stream running through the property. Donkeys hate water under their feet and they will always walk around puddles. Their desert coat seems to soak up moisture rather than repel it.

Keeping Donkeys: Socialization

As pets, donkeys offer the best therapy after a day’s hard work because they maintain a calm and patient disposition and are extremely manageable. They have a relaxing way about them, and all donkeys really want in life is love and attention. Although donkeys are the most gentle, loving, and people-friendly equine in existence, they can also be aggressive when necessary.

“Donkeys will stay and protect people, sheep, goats and cows,” Luddy says. “They will move slowly, then turn around and see what is challenging them. Their natural enemies are dogs and wolves. A donkey loves to roll in the dirt like a dog and can dribble a dog like a soccer ball.”

Donkeys are very sociable creatures that need the company of at least one other donkey. They buddy up in pairs, or even in groups of three and will go to the end of the earth to stay with their best friends. They get very upset if separated, so it’s best to keep them with their buddies at all times. A single, lone donkey is a lonely donkey, and should be avoided if at all possible.

Because a donkey’s average life expectancy is 30-40 years, many of those who are keeping donkeys have provided trust funds for their animals so that the pet will be financially sound if an owner dies.

Keeping Donkeys: Types of Donkeys

There are different kinds of donkeys. A “gelding” is a male donkey that has been castrated so that he cannot, will not, and does not want to reproduce. Geldings are easy to handle and make good companions. Two little geldings will give you a lifetime of happiness with their amusing behavior. And jennies (female donkeys) and geldings make excellent companions.

The most common color for a donkey is the mouse gray called gray dun. Other colors include various shades of brown, black, spotted, sorrel and frosted spotted white. Most have white muzzles, eye rings and light bellies. The average height of a mature donkey ranges from 48″ to 54″ high, depending on the type of donkey.

“My first donkey was a ‘standard,'” says Luddy. I purchased him for $500.” Standards grow up to 48″ tall. “The only female on the farm is a mammoth,” says Luddy. “We call her Madison. She is dark brown and 25 years old.” Some mammoths run $800 all the way up to $3,000 for a trained rider, “but a donkey cannot take on a rider until it is four years old and their bones are fully formed as well as their knees.”

Mammoths can get up to 54″ or higher and weigh up to 600 pounds. “But under all the sizes and hair colors is the same gentle, calm, slightly mischievous soul,” Luddy says.

Keeping Donkeys: General Health

Being swift and sure-footed, donkeys can travel as fast as 30 miles per hour, making it necessary to have their hooves trimmed properly. Unlike a horse, a donkey’s hooves have no shoes. If the hooves are allowed to grow without proper attention, their legs will experience extreme pain and may result in deformed and painful joints and tendons. It is a good idea to engage a farrier to trim the hooves on an 8-12 week trimming schedule.

Be prepared for a dust crater somewhere. “Donkeys love to take dust baths and will pick a spot in the pasture to dig out and ‘bathe’ themselves daily. They use dirt like we use daily showers, as a dry shampoo that soaks up hair oils and probably helps suffocate or repel insects and as an overall rolling back scratch and body wash.”

To protect his herd, Luddy administers an oral de-worming medication every two to three months. He also has them inoculated for West Nile virus. “Each one of my pets has blood drawn once a year to make sure every animal is in good health,” says Luddy, “and it will be given a health certificate if everything is in proper order.”

Weanlings are vaccinated yearly with a five-way vaccination and a separate selenium and vitamin E booster to ensure their good health and muscular development.

Donkeys should have their teeth examined by an equine dentist every two years, especially the back teeth which are used to grind food. Without them, the donkey will either starve to death or get colic, which could also lead to death.

Other than infestation of parasites, which can be taken care of every month, flies are a major problem for donkeys and seem to especially like biting them around the legs. The best fly repellent for donkeys is a roll-on equine fly repellent that can be used around this area.

Keeping Donkeys: Providing Safe and Secure Shelter for Donkeys

Shelter is an absolute must for donkeys. A three-sided run-in shed is ideal. Because of their desert beginnings, donkeys don’t handle extreme cold as well as most horses can. Donkeys need to be able to escape from harsh elements-cold as well as hot. They will buddy up and generally allow everyone a chance to get out of the weather.

Donkeys on the Homestead

The worst culprit is wind chill, so it is a good idea to face the shelter away from the prevailing wind, and also make sure the shelter is not in a low spot that would become impassable with mud during certain times of the year.

Wood shavings or a dirt floor is best for the comfort of the donkey and for easy management. Make sure the shavings do not contain toxic substances such as black walnut bark, which could be fatal. Brick or concrete floors are not suitable because they are so hard, and as most donkeys lie down when they are sick, a dirt floor is kinder and more comfortable for them. Urine will soak into a dirt floor without causing an odor and only the donkey’s droppings need to be removed. You can also use prepared stall “sweeteners” on urine spots to control the ammonia smell. Picking up manure means less odor, flies, and parasite contamination.

An average dimension of a shelter for two donkeys is 10′ wide, 10′ long and 10′ high. Donkeys sometimes lay down, but one is always standing up during the night.

Secure fencing is necessary to avoid escape. Either post and rail or pig netting are good forms of fencing with wooden gates. Post and rail fencing should have four bars; with the bottom rail less than 45 centimeters from the ground.

As pets, donkeys are strong, calm, intelligent workers that don’t tend to run away and have a natural inclination to like people. All this adds up to animals that are easy to take care of, easy to work with, very inexpensive and very easy to give your heart to.

Originally published in 2013 and regularly vetted for accuracy

How to Start Keeping Donkeys on the Homestead was originally posted by All About Chickens