#Dr. Tea (Scissors)

[bandanad33]

☆Toyhouse icons pt. 2 !! ☆

(Origami King)

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter three

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: a terrifyingly familiar presence breaches your last safe space, and now a simple and heartfelt gesture becomes a violation. in the aftermath, fear finally makes you reach out for help.

⤿ warning(s): stalking, panic attacks & unhealthy coping mechanisms.

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 2.7k

The day begins the same way the last three have: 05:30, kettle on, one level tablespoon of Assam spooned into the infuser. While the water climbs toward a boil you unlock your phone, already braced for what waits. A fresh number—there is always a fresh number—has delivered its dawn bulletin:

Left at 05:01 yesterday.

Early bird. Porch light flickered twice—loose bulb?

Navy coat looks sharp against the fog, pretty girl. 

They never mention the hospital, never a word about ORs or co-worker names. The watcher keeps to the edges of your private life, and somehow that makes the trespass worse. You capture a screenshot, block the number, and delete the thread. The image joins dozens of others in the hidden laptop folder named Archive—date‑stamped, time‑stamped, waiting for the moment you finally believe the police will do more than shrug.

Four‑minutes steep exactly. Mug warmed. First swallow. Routine: a ladder you climb every morning. Eggs scrambled ninety seconds, plate rinsed, shower seven minutes. Before dressing, you check the tiny motion‑sensor camera you mounted inside the apartment entryway two nights ago; its LED blinks a steady red reassurance. The matching camera on the fire‑escape window does the same. No motion alerts overnight. Still, you test the deadbolt twice and angle the hall chair beneath the knob until you return.

The drive is identical to yesterday’s and the day before—same streets, same mirror checks at every light. No car follows twice, but you look anyway. At 06:50 you badge through the employee entrance. Stepping into hospital feels like sliding into armor: fluorescent lights, antiseptic bite, the hum of vents. The messages have never followed you here.

You adjust your usual gray scrubs and square your clipboard. Pre‑op checklist in your left hand, suture cart in your right, you call out “sponge count zero” with the same crisp authority as always. But small hesitations creep in: rereading the cefazolin vial, tapping the clock twice to verify time‑outs. 

Margot’s eyes track each pause. She eventually corners you by the blanket warmer.

“Nightmares?” she asks, voice low.

“Just the usual insomnia,” you answer, pinching your lower lip. A nervous habit. Your smile feels brittle, but it holds.

Fin notices too; his jokes grow louder, as though volume can fill the quiet shadow clinging to you. Jules slips extra Hershey Kisses into your scrub pocket. Even Dr. Garcia joins in by firing off sarcasm like covering fire whenever an intern looks as if they might ask why your phone stays face‑down on the desk, silent yet weighty.

Slowly but surely, the afternoon bleeds into evening. 

You finish vitals, sign the narcotics log, and at 19:04 bypass the stairwell that leads to the roof—no silhouettes against twilight tonight. Instead you head straight for the lot, head down, keys ready.

The cameras in your apartment greet you with their steady red eyes when you arrive. Door locked, sweep performed—closet, shower, under bed—all clear. Only then do you change into a soft purple T‑shirt and loose pants. You have long since stopped parading around in your underwear. 

The phone buzzes the moment the fabric falls over your head. New number:

Purple again. My favorite.

You freeze. Curtains closed, lights low—and still they see. Screenshot. Block. Delete. You drag the dining chair beneath the doorknob and place the kitchen scissors back on the nightstand, steel glinting like a talisman. Then, a mug of valerian tea, strong enough to taste like soil, goes down in three determined gulps.

Lying in bed, you count the protections: two cameras, one chair brace, scissors within reach, every screenshot archived. Routine is armor. Repetition is a prayer. You breathe in for four, out for eight, the same cadence you teach anxious PACU patients, and tell yourself that as long as the messages stay outside the hospital walls, the armor will hold.

Sleep comes in splinters, broken by phantom creaks and imagined footsteps. At 02:47 you wake up, heart sprinting, and check the camera feed: empty hallway, silent fire escape. Dawn is only a few hours away. Soon the kettle will hiss, the tea will steep for exactly four minutes, and another text will arrive—about a porch light or the time you start your car—but never about scalpels, never about sponge counts.

Despite the hour, you’re halfway through wiping down the already‑clean kitchen counter—busywork to quiet the apartment’s hush—when your phone vibrates. For once the screen doesn’t show an unknown number.

It’s Jack.

Haven’t seen you on the roof in a bit. Everything okay?

The text lands like a gentle hand on your chest. You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat, thumb hovering. Finally you type back:

I’m alright—just busy. See you tomorrow?

Three dots pulse, then: Works for me. Sunrise tea?

He doesn’t mention anything about the hour or how you should be asleep and not messaging back. You’re grateful. 

Sunrise tea, you confirm, and set the phone facedown.

Pacing the kitchen, you notice how full the fridge is: a dozen nearly‑dated eggs, chicken thighs you’d planned to roast, wilting cilantro, limes, onions, and two unopened cans of black beans. You haven’t cooked a proper meal since the messages started; take‑out cartons and tea have been enough to survive. Now the sight of real food sparks something steadier than dread—a need to do, to give.

An apology, you decide, should be edible.

You wash your hands, set the chicken on the board, and fall into the rhythm your muscles remember: trim fat, score skin, rub with salt, cumin, smoked paprika. Onions sizzle in the cast‑iron, releasing a sweetness that chases the apartment’s stale anxiety. Beans simmer with serrano and garlic; rice toasts before absorbing broth. Cilantro stems thunk under the knife; lime zest perfumes the steam fogging the window. 

When everything’s done you portion a generous serving into a sturdy glass container, your favourite one: rice pilaf on one side, glossy black beans on the other, two pieces of golden‑skinned chicken nestled on top. Into a tiny jar goes some honey‑lime dressing. You label the lid in block letters—Jack—and slide the meal into one of your spare tote bags. 

The apartment smells of cumin and toasted garlic, of normal life. The cameras still blink red, the chair still braces the door, the scissors still gleam, but cooking has threaded warmth through every corner. You finish the last dish, the one’s that’s for you, dry your hands, and stand for a moment in the quiet kitchen, breathing in the proof that you can still create comfort instead of just barricades.

Tomorrow at dawn you’ll climb to the roof, hand Jack the container, and share five minutes of sky. Routine will tighten around you again, one careful knot at a time—but tonight you fall back asleep with the scent of lime and cilantro on your pillow, and relief, thin but real, settles in your chest like steam escaping a cooling pot.

. . .

You arrive at the hospital just past sunrise, thermos in one hand, tote slung over your shoulder, and—for once—a real, living sense of calm beneath your ribs. Not the fragile kind you usually glue together with caffeine and a tight jaw, but something gentler, something earned. You even caught a pocket of golden morning light in the parking lot, the kind that made the hospital look almost soft at the edges. 

Dr. Miller catches sight of you just as you pass the nurse’s station. He’s leaning against the counter, coffee in one hand, chatting with a pair of interns, but pauses when he sees you. His eyebrows lift, and he gives a slow, amused smile. “Well, you look dangerously close to content. Should I be worried?”

You huff a laugh, smoothing your coat as you badge in. “Don’t start rumors, Dr. Miller.”

He points at the canvas tote on your shoulder. “Big plans?”

You nod once. “End of shift.”

He doesn’t ask more, just grins, and you take that grin with you like a good omen. The rest of the day moves at a steady clip: vitals to log, meds to verify, a code yellow that resolves without anyone crying. You let yourself coast on the rhythm of it, not in that desperate, overcompensating way you usually do, but in a way that feels like a return to something—like an exhale. 

You slip into the lounge at 18:45, already imagining the click of the container’s lid, the familiar smell of the garlic and cumin, the soft weight of it in your hands as you climb the stairwell to the roof. You open as the lights inside flickers to life, cold and blue, attention on the glass container exactly where you left it, lid on, untouched. 

Except—no. Something’s wrong.

The lid is snapped shut, perfectly aligned. The container looks full. But it isn’t. You can feel it before you even lift it—something in the tilt, the balance. Your stomach lurches as you peel the lid off  and confirm what you already know. The food is gone. Not spilled. Not disturbed. Not even a forkful left to scrape from the edges. Just... empty. Clean. Wiped down.

A rare mix of anger, rare but hot, pulses against your ribcage, but before you can storm out and demand answers, you feel the paper crumpled under the container. Your breath stops. It’s your note—the one you’d carefully taped to the top that morning: NOT FOR GENERAL CONSUMPTION. HANDS OFF GREMLINS, it reads in your blocky caps. But now that line has been crossed out in thick, decisive strokes. And underneath it, slanted and dark and horrifyingly familiar: 

That was great, thanks pretty girl.

The world tilts. Your lungs forget how to work. You’ve seen that name before—only in texts, never spoken, never written. Anonymous. Cryptic. Repetitive. A whisper against your spine on nights when the lights were off and your phone lit up with unknown numbers. But this—this isn’t a text. This is here. This is your space, your name, your cooking, your boundary, and someone has walked right through it with ink-stained hands and a stomach full of what you made with care.

A hot flush crawls up your neck, floods your ears. You stagger back a step and catch yourself on the counter. The container slips from your hand and hits the lounge table with a muted thud. The silence in the room turns sharp. 

Then, you shove the fridge shut. The door clangs and rattles in its frame. The room feels like it’s shrinking, like the air has gone sour, too full of other people’s breath. You snatch the note and crush it in your hand. Your teeth clench so hard your jaw pops. You don’t remember turning, but you’re already out the door, slamming into the corridor.

Fin is halfway down the hall with a tablet in hand. He startles and drops it when you barrel past. “Boss? Are you okay—?”

You don’t hear him. You don’t answer. The world has narrowed to one screaming thought: Find Gloria. Now. You need the Chief Medical Officer, need her badge, her keys, her authority. She can pull the security feeds. She can call the police. She can make this stop.

You’re moving before you think to move, feet pounding the tile, vision blurring at the edges. You don’t realize you’re shaking until your elbow clips the corner of the nurse’s station and jolts you. Jules tries to intercept you, her mouth forming your name in alarm, but you dodge past. Margot reaches out, grabs your arm, and for a second your momentum dies.

“What happened?” she demands, voice low, sharp, anchoring.

You look at her. You try to speak. Nothing. Just breathless silence. Then, rasping through a throat too tight to breathe, you say, “Need Gloria.”

She gets it instantly. Her eyes go cold. She lets you go. Already calling instructions behind you as you sprint toward the elevators.

Your fingers hurt. You look down and realize the note is still balled in your fist, crushed so tightly your nails have dug half-moons into your skin. The static in your head has turned into a roar. You feel cracked open, like your worst fear has been confirmed and now all your secrets are leaking out of you for the world to see. All this time, you thought if you could just hold on—just stay composed, stay ahead, stay vigilant—you could keep this from touching the parts of your life that mattered. But now it has. Now it’s here. The hospital was supposed to be your safe place, your fortress. But someone breached it.

The elevator doors open. Thankfully, nothing but an empty gurney is inside. You step in without hesitation, eyes fixed forward, spine locked. You don't even blink when the doors slide shut.

You get out the seconds the doors open and round the corner toward Administration so fast the world blurs, shoulders locked, chest heaving, pulse hammering in your ears so loud it drowns out thought. You barely register the sound of a door opening until a figure steps out from the consult room ahead—short but solid, dreadlocks brushing her shoulders, clipboard hugged tight to her chest.

You collide before either of you can brake.

Papers scatter like startled birds. A pen skitters across the tile and bounces under the nearest corner.

“Whoa—hey!” Kiara grabs you, steady hands catching your elbows before you fall. 

“Slow down, honey,” she says, trying for lightness. “What—”

Then she sees your face.

Whatever was holding you together unravels in a blink. Your eyes fill, your mouth opens, but nothing coherent makes it past your lips. The crushed note slips from your hand, landing between you. The marker-scrawled name glares up from the paper like a fresh wound.

Kiara’s clipboard hits the floor beside it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes.

Her arms come around you before you can bolt or speak or even breathe. And the second she does, the sob rips out of you—gut-deep, involuntary, raw. You bury your face against her soft sweater and shake, fists twisted in the soft cotton, the fabric quickly going damp with tears. Your legs threaten to give. Kiara cradles the back of your head like she would a grief-stricken mother in a quiet room, voice low and steady in your ear.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Breathe with me. In, two, three…that’s it. Out, two, three.”

You try. You try to follow her rhythm even as your chest jerks, lungs refusing to cooperate, every breath full of glass. The hallway seems to narrow around you, fluorescent lights too sharp, voices too distant, the floor too unsteady beneath your feet. 

You gasp, trying to speak—Gloria, fridge, note—but your tongue won’t work. The words hit the back of your throat and collapse.

Kiara doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask. Not yet. 

She bends, scoops the note up from the floor, her arm never leaving your shoulders. Her eyes flick over the overwritten scrawl. Her expression goes from gentle to granite.

“Okay,” she says, voice gone iron. “We’re taking this to Gloria. Right now.”

It’s almost scary how easily she connects the dots without a single ounce of context. For now, you can only nod, your body still trembling, your mind clawing for control that just isn’t there anymore. But you’re not alone. Kiara keeps an arm firmly around you as she pulls her phone from her pocket, dials with one hand, presses it to her ear.

“Gloria? Yes, it’s Kiara. I have an urgent security issue. Clear your office.”

A pause. Then a quiet “Thanks.” She ends the call, squeezes your arm, and begins steering you gently toward the elevators.

“She’s waiting. Margot’s on her way too,” Kiara tells you as she guides you through the hallway. 

You nod again, unable to speak, but this time it’s not empty. The words aren’t caught in panic—they’re being held for you, steadied. And for the first time since the messages started, since the stalking began, since the fear turned chronic and tight and unseen—something inside you loosens.

Not gone. But held.

Held by hands stronger than your own.

divider credit

[astrogre]

Astro observations 4

Lilith in Leo and Aries can have unconventional, rebellious hairstyles that stand out and perhaps aren’t considered what most say is beautiful but they do it for themselves e.g. a buzz cut, dying hair eccentric colours, having a flamboyant big hairstyle that others consider inappropriate to society

If you’re interested in being an actor, or ever wanted to know the roles you’d play best: look at the planets in your second house. They describe the kind of character you’d play well because 2H shows the skills and traits needed for us to make money. So if you were acting you’d get paid for showing the skills of the planets in your 2H in the role you’d get cast for. I’ve noticed actors who play roles that match their 2nd house planet become known, or most successful for it.

E.g Uranus 2H: Benedict Cumberbatch- Played as Sherlock holmes (role required themes of intellect, eccentricity, thinking outside of the box to be Sherlock) same with Dr Strange (very ironic because Uranus literally represents things that are weird).

Pluto 2H: playing as villains, morally questionable characters, surgeons, morticians, taxidermy artist, piercing artist, gang member, scaring people. Johnny depp has this placement and his most profitable roles were as Jack sparrow, Edward scissor hands, sweeny Todd, all to do with slicing using a sword scissors or a knife and immoral characters

I’ve noticed the fama asteroid doesn’t really depict the ‘good’ kind of fame, if you look into famous people’s charts, Fama tends aspect or to be in the house where they were in a scandal or something shameful.

E.g Kamala Harris has Pluto and Venus conjunct fama, she’s infamously accused of sleeping her way to power because her affair was made public

Ben Shapiro has his mercury conjunction fama, and I’m sure you know his views are not taken with the most respect. He gets harassed quite often for it.

Elon Musk has fama conjunct Uranus in 3rd house while he posts 4chan content and always is being called out for saying some ‘degenerate’ or ‘erratic’ opinion on Twitter.

Justin Bieber has Jupiter at 14 degrees conjunct the Fama asteroid in his 12th house—the house of hidden meanings and secrets. The degree, 14, aligns roughly with the age when he reportedly spent 48 hours with Diddy and was generously gifted a sportscar. He also got signed by Usher at 14 (Usher was Diddys mentee). Notably, this placement is in Scorpio, the sign associated with joint resources, power dynamics, and sex organs. Even now this remains a subject of gossip and speculation, with some suggesting that the generosity and “mentorship” (themes linked to Jupiter’s higher learning and expansion) from Diddy played a pivotal role in jumpstarting Bieber’s career, particularly in relation to the music industry’s power structures. Another thing to note is that he flew abroad from Canada to USA for this to happen to him which lead to him getting famous. (Jupiter represents foreign relations)

Fama is more of a humiliating but entertaining ‘tea’ placement. And not everyone wants to become a controversial kind of famous, some people may want to become famous for their talents and their contributions to the industry they work in. People who are famous and don’t have strong fama placements can actually have a good reputation with their fame. People won’t try to make fun of you or a spectacle of your life to mock you. This is why we can see very famous adored people like princess Diana have no fama aspects yet was in the limelight of it all. Whereas Camilla has Fama conjunct ascendant. Fama is more gossipy, the kind of stuff you don’t really want to be known for. Rumours that defame your character and make you look like a bad person.

If you want to see what nasty things people say about you behind your back, and what they gossip about, look at your fama asteroid.

I have noticed that Venus in the 8th house can result in them thinking someone is interested in them when they’re not. I’ve also seen that these natives really get hurt in love like there’s some unreciprocated dynamic in their relationships if they experience pain from them. It can be people trying to use them, like becoming friends with them so they can have access to a guy the native knows, you can have your partner “stolen” from you by others

Virgo Mars love to make their partners stressed or see them stressing out/ how they handle stressful situations. They will respect you a lot if you can take stress and high expectations, multi task them like it’s nothing, or taking in the toll but managing it with order and planning

Scorpio Mars/Mars in 10th/Mars ruled MC house have the scary smile. Your smile can be seen as rather menacing, uncanny. People like this that have this placement are Joseph Stalin, Joaquin Phoenix, Khloe Kardashian, Bruce Lee, Mark Zuckerberg, Usher, Charlie Sheen. I can’t describe it but it’s a smile that’s like “ILL KILL YOU 😁”, the eyes look haywire yet locked on target, the smile is exaggerated and almost too joyful, face distorted in excitement like it’s dying to start something, it makes sense since 10H can show bone structure and mars being here can add an edge to it.

Oh and don’t forget that Mark Zuckerberg smile meme (he also has Scorpio Mars), a lot of these natives are known for their menacing smile and presence. Also you guys are villainised yet kind of respected for it. I’ve seen it prevalent in the men. E.g Joaquin Phoenix’s joker smile, Charlie Sheen + Bruce Lee + Khloe Kardashian showing anti social behaviour and becoming respected for it. If you commit crimes people might like you more 💀

This made me think of the British musician Aphex twin, who has the creepiest smile. I looked at his chart and guess what? He has a Aries MC, midheaven ruled by Mars and look at that smile:

Mars in Cancer specifically in 1st house can hold a lot of resentment towards their mother, get into nasty arguments with her, name calling or blame their mother for how they look and find their appearance annoying. On a more positive note these natives can do everything in their power for their mothers. At best natives with this placement can be feminists, in support of women in power. At worst they can despise ‘pathetic’ women and end up treating their wives with the same level of hatred too. Or just degrade women because of their own insecurities

e.g. Lord Byron, a British poet who blamed his mother for his foot deformity and would often call her names and unleash his rage on his wife, cheating on her egregiously

Sun conjunct Uranus makes someone very good with innovation, numerical values, science and maths. Your big highlight in this life may be that you invent something not thought of before. E.g people with this placement: Ada Lovelace- the creator of the first algorithm, John Von Neumann- A scientific genius who pioneered the modern computer, game theory, nuclear deterrence. He was described as so smart he made his teacher cry from doing complex calculus in his head at the age of 6 💀.

Since 1H can show how you present yourself, it can tell you the clothing you wear in your daily outfits, which made me think of how each planet in the first house may dress.

Neptune 1H can wear fantasy clothing, cosplay, fancy dress, masquerade masks, covid masks, any mask, magical accessories like iridescent tights, tiaras

Saturn 1H can incorporate historical tradition clothing like a timeless TAILORED clothing, think top hats, timeless coats, Victorian style dresses, also can have corsets as Saturn shows restrictions. It reminds me of that 1800s kind of look

Moon 1H can wear soft comforting clothes like vintage slips, nightgowns, pyjamas and loungewear, babydoll dresses, chunky knit fleece/coat

Mercury 1H can wear smart uniforms, plaid skirts, blazers, graphic t-shirts with slogans or logos, suspenders, ties, glasses, just very witty and youthful

Pluto 1H can wear intimidating darker clothes like chokers, gothic clothes, long trench coats, hoodies, all black, latex, bodycon, face coverings

Jupiter 1H can wear cultural clothing like kimonos, sarees/lenghas, bohemian styles, togas/roman inspired clothing, or like embroidered tunics

Mars 1H can wear combat military clothing, like camouflage, leather, fingerless gloves, ski masks, harnesses, military jacket, those belts or garters that can hold weapons like knives and guns

Sun 1H can wear statement clothing, designer logo branded pieces, fluffy clothes like furr , jewellery, this one’s more varied because Sun is the expression of self so they can actually wear stuff based more on the sign

Venus 1H can wear standard beauty centered clothing like corsets, brooches, lace, satin, heels, off the shoulder tops, pointed loafers and ascots for men, impractical fabrics, they’re more likely to wear things that aren’t necessarily comfortable but they come at the price of beauty.

Uranus 1H can incorporate unique futuristic, punk, techwear, platform shoes , noticed men can look disheveled almost, unique pvc reflective metallic fabrics, can have tech in their clothes, asymmetrical clothing, shoes that don’t match, they can be known for their unique choices in clothing too. The kind that makes people stop and think “what am I looking at rn”

Planets conjunct your ascendant are basically the main contributor to the method you approach your life with. For an example an Aries ascendant conjunct 12H Mercury can have a “I CAN DO IT ALL” mindset to everything in their life while actually using their mind to whip up and improvise a plan quickly out of nowhere, whereas if mercury wasn’t conjunct - they may not be as quick witted for the situations that occur in their life or be as tactical, they’d be like action with little plan, a river with no path but trusting on its flow.

Neptune in 11H might make you difficult to find online, your stalkers are seething. Maybe you don’t post, can have hidden private accounts or your page can look really magical like a Pinterest board but it’s hard to get a lot out of you solely based on your digital footprint

Also another thing, Neptune is NOT your friend lol, Neptune is a deceiver. I find it so interesting because people see Neptune as pure but it distorts reality and blurs the lines but makes it really pretty. Reminds me of Glinda from Wicked or hextech from arcane. It can be difficult for even the native because they may not realise they can deceive others as much as they do it to themselves. Wherever Neptune is in your chart can show who you deceive. Or how you’re deceived 3H siblings, 4H lying to family or about where you come from etc. You can also be lied to about missing family members or the roots of where you came from. 7H could be your clients and romantic partners can lie to you about what they want, 12H people could lie about you behind your back but you can struggle to trace where it comes from, you can also be completely oblivious to your subconscious thoughts. 10h can easily make you the scapegoat at work.

Venus 6H and their consistency in their beauty routines e.g skincare is what many aspire to. They are constantly glowing up since 6H shows our daily routines and self improvement so having Venus here can make you look prettier day by day. It’s like that “oh you keep getting prettier than the last time I saw you..”

Uranus 6H can overcome an illness that nobody would have thought they would. This is because wherever Uranus is in the chart can show where you rebel and bounce back in a way that nobody expected. With it being in 6H which also rules your health, you can surprise others by your illnesses, if you are ill you can have a rare condition or you’re the kind of person who gets sick like all the time but recovers the next day

Virgo moons feel sooo much fulfilment in being the cause of someone else’s satisfaction, it made me think of the UK onlyfans model Lily Philips, she slept with 100 random men in 24 hours in a documentary, afterwards she cried and felt horrible and used and said that she was most upset about the fact that she couldn’t make them all finish. A very sad documentary. But it really highlighted the nature of Virgo moons NEEDing to serve, to please. They say Libra are the people pleasers but honestly I’d give that one to Virgo, except usually virgos pickier with who they decide to please.

Lily Philips also has Fama conjunct Neptune, she’s famous for the sexual fantasy she portrays and the false image she shows to others, she’s so different from how she acts when making her OF content. This also proves my earlier said point about fama being scandalous as well because Lily has SOOOO much hate and gossip due to her “deceiving” image that’s the influence of Neptune for you. Might analyse her chart later.

Having both Pluto and moon in the 1H can create a silent brooding type of attractive. Adrien Brody has this placement and really embodies an edgy but comforting gaze. He is tall, has emotional melancholic eyes from moons effect yet has high contrast, intense dark features. I think it’s a really interesting mix of traits to have in the first house

Chiron in Libra can make someone be rather insecure of their appearance, usually body and face or femininity. They feel like they’re not beautiful enough. Anya Taylor joy , Maisie Williams, Kylie Jenner, Dolly Parton, Freddie Mercury, have this placement and all have publicly known insecurities based on their appearance despite them being inspirational to others for getting the limelight and praise without looking like everyone else. They pick at themselves quite a lot.

I always raise my eyebrow when I see a Pluto conjunct Lilith/Uranus in a chart. That person can be very dark, they can bring about a side of humanity that most people don’t want to discuss yet are fascinated with. They are capable of some really…. scary things. Especially if all 3 asteroids and planets are conjunct to each other. Pluto is intense it’s dark, it’s controlling but when it’s conjunct Uranus it now has chaos, rebellion, Lilith also rebels but it’s unapologetic, it may make people scared and trigger primal fears because of how messy the person is, these people can be really explosive. They’re also really intimidating, i could imagine the group anonymous that leaked classified government documents having this kind of placement. They literally go into the guttural trenches of inhumanity and bring out its findings then present it to the naive public like a cat dragging a rodents scathed body to the owner expecting a reward. It can be impressive sometimes, you often think “how did you even come up with the idea to do this?”

[ficsforgaza]

Here is the official calendar and masterlist for our Kinktober event! We were able to raise a total of $403 USD for Gaza through this initiative, so thank you to everyone who has donated their time and money to make this all come to life! Below you will find our schedule for the month and all the wonderful fics we have lined up. ❤️ the Mods

Links below the cut!

@nanamis-bigtie: Privilege (Satoru Gojo, Free Use)

@arvandus: The Suffocation of Fear (Atsuya Kusakabe, Choking)

@hor3nee: Hucow (Leon Kennedy, Hucow)

@prettyboykatsuki: Untitled (Isagi Yoichi, Voyeurism)

@euthymiya: Rumors (Kamisato Ayato, Creampie)

@stunie: Untitled (Suo Hayato, Cuckolding)

@threadbaresweater: Primal (Togame Jo, Deepthroating)

@hwaithie: Brutal Pleasures (Blade, CNC)

@minnaci: At Your Service (Sampo Koski, Cross-Dressing)

@cruel-hiraeth: As You Wish (Diluc Ragnvindr, Bondage)

@madaqueue: Like We Were Made To (Satoru Gojo, Omegaverse)

@hauntedhokage: Untitled (Kento Nanami, Sex Toys)

@goxjo: Favor or Fervor (Childe, Dubcon)

@mangostarjam: Home Cooking (Haruka Sakura, Scent Kink)

@strawberrystepmom: Untitled (Rengoku Kyojuro, Praise)

@dreamerdeity: Slow Down Babe (Dottore, Somnophilia)

@auraxins: Untitled (Fu Xuan, Body Worship)

@/hauntedhokage: Untitled (Boothill, Roleplay)

@aelilith: Bound by Lust (Suo Hayato, Shibari)

@fyodior: Untitled (Nobara Kugisaki, Scissoring)

@lovemikage: Bed Chem (Bachira Meguru, Humiliation)

@persicipen: Untitled (Argenti, Weapons)

@soft-zawa-png: Babygirl (Takami Keigo, Spanking)

@faededaway: Untitled (Ochako, Pillow Humping)

@/threadbaresweater: Just This Once (Suguru Geto, Breeding)

@dilucs-princess: Untitled (Nagi Seishiro, Face Sitting)

@blueparadis: Hottest Summer on Record (Higuruma Hiromi, Nanami Kento, Double Penetration)

@spikesbunny: Sweet Tea (Ruan Mei, Aphrodisiacs)

@nagumoan: Bite Your Tongue (Jiaoqiu, Exhibitionism)

@attractedtopeoples: Sweetheart (Roronoa Zoro, Subspace)

@tacticalhimbo: Untitled (Leon Kennedy, Pegging)

@vennilavee: Diet Pepsi (Nagi Seishiro, Squirting)

@yuutito: Untitled (Yuuta Okkotsu Yuuta, Femdom)

@head-shoulders-knees-pain: Untitled (Aventurine, Glove Kink)

@hanmaitani: A Siren’s Call (Bachira Meguru, Monsterfucking)

@mintmatcha: Untitled (Tasuku Tsubakino, Lingerie)

@/prettyboykatsuki: untitled (Sakura Hakura, Cam Sex)

@/head-shoulders-knees-pain: Untitled (Angel Devil, Phone Sex)

@/euthymiya: Lumidouse Season (Wriothesley, Sex Pollen)

@boundinparchment / Secret Euphoria (Childe, Belly Bulge)

@kentophilia: Untitled (Suguru Geto, Gloryhole)

@yandereshingeki: The Antithesis of Decay (Shigaraki Tomura, Stuckage)

@cottoncalicoes: Used to Have a Sweet Tooth but You Rotted Me (Endo Yamato, Masturbation)

@tetzoro: Peeping Tendou (Satori Tendou, Noncon)

@/yuutito: Untitled (Hirofumi Yoshida, Tentacles)

@/minnaci: Egg Me On (Ushijima Wakatoshi, Oviposition)

@/nagumoan: Not Too Late for Firsts (Welt Yang, virginity loss)

@/goxjo: What’s Mine Is Mine (Sukuna, Hate Sex)

@pinkkittysaw: Caged In (Leon Kennedy, Chastity)

@leychin: Be Sure to Leave a Review! (Kamisato Ayato, Orgasm Denial)

@/cruel-hiraeth: Flesh of My Flesh; Blood of My Blood (Kamo Choso, Incest)

@another-lost-mc: The House Always Wins (Mammon and Lucifer, Cucking)

@fandomfloozy: A Lesson in Patience (Kiyoomi Sakusa, Cockwarming)

@screamingcrows: It Looks Easy Enough on the Picture (Xiao, Overstimulation)

@yinyuedijun: Corruptive (Aventurine and Dr. Ratio, double penetration)

@/fyodior: untitled (Rin Itoshi, thigh riding)

@aurorasgate: Made for Me (Nanami Kento, Anal)

@/cruel-hiraeth: Duty-Bound (Akagami no Shanks, Period Sex)

@froggibus: Scenting (Beelzebub, scent kink)

@kechiwrites:

@seaspringangel: The Taste of You (Kamo Choso, Lactation)

@a-ikuoliver: Thou Shalt Not Covet (Maki Zenin, stepcest)

[pompadourpink]

Games

Arm wrestling - le bras de fer

Battleship - la Bataille navale

Blanket fort - une cabane

Blindman's bluff - Colin-Maillard

Board game - un jeu de plateau/société

Brain teaser - casse-tête (m)

Cards - les cartes (f)

Checkers - les dames (f)

Chess - les échecs (m)

Chinese jump rope - jouer à l'élastique

Clue - Cluedo

Coconut shy - chamboule-tout (m)

Connect 4 - Puissance 4

Crocodile dentist - Croc' Dentist

Crosswords - les mots fléchés (m)

Dodgeball - la balle au prisonnier

Don't wake dad - Réveille pas papa

Game of life - Destin, le jeu de la vie

Guess who? - Qui est-ce ?

Hangman - le Pendu

He loves me, he loves me not - Je t'aime, un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie, pas du tout

Hide and seek - Cache-cache

Hopscotch - la marelle

Hungry hippos - Hippos gloutons

I've got your nose - J'ai volé ton nez

Jumping rope - une corde à sauter

Leapfrog - saute-mouton

Make believe - Faire semblant

Marbles - jouer aux billes (f)

Minesweeper - Démineur

Monopoly - le Monopoly

Musical chairs - les chaises musicales (f)

Off-ground tag - chat perché (m)

Operation - Docteur Maboul (: Dr. Crazy)

Pattycake - Trois petits chats

Pay day - la Bonne paye

Peekaboo - Coucou (beuh)

Pillow fight - une bataille d'oreillers

Pop up Pirate - Pic Pirate

Puzzle - un puzzle

Quiet game - le Roi du silence

Risk - la Conquête du monde

Rock paper scissor - Pierre feuille ciseaux

Scrabble - le Scrabble - with the accent

Simon says - Jacques a dit

Slide - le toboggan

Snowball fight - Bataille de boules de neige

Statues - Un, deux, trois, soleil

Swing - la balançoire

Table football - Babyfoot (m)

Tag - jouer à chat/au loup/au gendarme et au voleur

Tamagochi - un Tamagochi

Tea party - la dinette

The floor is lava - le sol est en lave

Thumb war - la bataille de pouces, le bras de fer chinois

Trivial Pursuit - le Trivial Pursuit - with the accent

Truth or dare - Action ou vérité

Videogame - un jeu vidéo

Water fight - une bataille d'eau

Word search - les mots mêlés (m)

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 1126

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashing, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding, panic attacks, bondage, forced mating, dated derogatory terms, medical treatment

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnabobingo Slutty Omega

A/N I: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

**Apologies for taking so long getting this part out-had an accident at work and will have limited used of right hand for a bit.

Series Masterlist

Part XI

Dr. Stevenson slid surgical scissors under the ties, quickly sniping, explaining the original posture collars were redesigned for auto-erotic asphyxiation. It fades out as Dean feels like he's having needles pulling out from under the skin of his neck when she drops. "I was expecting that. Let's get the O back on the table."

The doctor continues talking as they slowly remove it, "And this is why they're outlawed," stepping back allows Dean to see the deep purple bruises with black depressions stripping the unconscious O's neck.

****

The doctor gently scrubbed her neck with a fine-pore sponge and commented, "You felt it, didn't you? " The question took Dean off guard and touched his neck, "How'd you?"

"I noticed the claim mark while I was removing the collar. Finding an O you're biologically compatible with isn't easy these days, and even more so for the owner to claim them if they are." Dean doesn't respond. "'Course, it's none of my business. I'm seeing a lot of soft tissue abrasion but no skin necropsy. That's good. Bruise cream will speed up healing." The doctor shined a light into her mouth. "Has she attempted to speak?" Dean admitted he had not heard anything outside coughing.

"I am concerned about this inflammation in her throat." They pick up a swab. "I'm going to have some labs run. Make sure it isn't from an STI since O clinics are only obligated to run standard STD testing for appearances." Slipping the swap into a sterile tube notices the Alpha's confusion.

"Several years into Hibbing, there was unrest brewing about selling people, so the government mandated all O's must have their hymens intact before the first purchase and made propaganda reels still shown in schools to program the populous in believing they're not mistreated." The doctor moves to a cupboard, pulling out a sterile pack.

"Truth is, these O's are versed in various sexual acts by the time they're teens. Going by the physical, I'd say she's been repeatedly throat fucked with that collar on; undoubtedly, it's also done some damage to her vocal cords. But if you're willing, you can do things to help." They gauge Dean before continuing.

"Give her nothing too hot or cold, only room temperature. Tea with honey, soft foods only need to swallow, nothing chewy, and protein supplement specifically for O's. If lucky, she'll recover enough to be understandable but be prepared for the worst, that she'll never speak again." They began preparing a site near the original implant. "I'd normally like to wait on the suppressant; it'll slow down healing. But with her current physical condition, going into heat would be detrimental."

They continued talking, oblivious Dean's vibrating with anger in muscle memory: unable to stop the strangers hovering over his Omega because being tased several times had temporarily left his legs unusable; furiousgrowls bounced around the room when he smelled her blood. Needing a distraction before his instincts swallow him, Dean turns his attention elsewhere and eyes the collar.

Running his fingers over it, he feels the visual bumps and discovers slim, horizontal boning embedded in the leather and hears the doctor comment, "They're constriction rings, function similar to cock rings without the pleasurable effects."

Dean's habitual guilty-as-hell caught in his throat. He failed again to see what was right before him. He shouldn't have kept blindly believing his dad's continued quoting of that damn pamphlet, that him treating it like any other person confused its lower intelligence.

Sam's snide comment that only dick Alphas believed in that antiquated bullshit led to the latest round of Dean physically getting between them before punches got thrown. His wonders what level of dick his brother now considers him is interrupted by the phone's ringtone.

"Hey Bobby, no, still at the clinic. What? Sam's registering shouldn't be an issue; his paperwork is all there." Dean listened to the Betas ranting. "Alright, I'll head over there and deal with it." Then came a list of errands the Beta needed him to run made Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Just what he needed; more things slapped on his overflowing plate when he felt the O coming around, ending the call to focus on her. "Hi, sweetheart. Have a good nap?"

She turned towards his voice, spotting the IV pole, and glanced down at the tubing protruding from her wrist. She peered at him and blinked three times, the signal for question. "You have something going on in your throat and need some antibiotics and fluids. Listen, I gotta run out for a while and deal with something at Sam's school. Will you be okay?"

That's when it smacked Dean; something had shifted between them. If he allows himself to be honest with himself, it scares him. Refocusing on the O, he's unnerved by her concerned expression, too similar to Sam's, and feels relief when she blinks once for yes since he's unsure how to react to her becoming more in tune with his internal feelings.

Grabbing the three-quarter-drank bottle of rotgut, Bobby doesn't bother with the glass; he feels it burn his throat as he polishes it off. Banging the bottle down, he stares at the wording on the paperwork and understands why John was so cagey about his questioning about Frank. The sonuvabitch knowingly mated his children; that practice hasn't been done since before the Omega plague. And knowing the temperament of the man, it wasn't to get Dean out of dire straits because he is John’s son, but for the older Alphas' continued vendetta.

The Beta's mind whirled with questions, but one kept popping to the forefront- who or what made her appear out of nowhere, and why now?

The longer he broods, the more he's convinced it has links to Mary Winchester. Picking up the cordless phone, he dials a familiar number. "Hey Bobby," a female voice warmly says. "Guess you're not calling to find out who to bet on in Sunday's playoffs."

"We both know the Vikings are going to the Superbowl," there's an amused laugh on the line, "Keep telling yourself that. So what can I help you with?"

"I'm not sure where to start with this one," Bobby admits and hears cards shuffling through the receiver. "It'd be best to go back to the beginning. And keep the drinks down to a minimum." He glances at the new bottle he had sat on the desk just before calling, "How'd you...?"

"I'm the best damn psychic in the state," Pamela reminds him, "So start talking, or I will reverse the charges for this call." Bobby makes a vexed noise at his fellow Betas' cheekiness.

"In 1986, I met a man with two small boys looking for answers."

Part XII

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70 @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67 @elmolovesw33d

[the-universal-sun]

Is it okay if we got something about Dr Mittens needing a fix? I'm sure Dr Lee could help!

I hope head canons are okay for this!

Thank you so much for your ask, and I’m so sorry it took so long to get to it! I hope you’re still here! I had a lot of fun writing these headcanons out, I loved your idea, anon! I hope you’re staying safe and warm this winter! Drink some hot tea or hot cocoa! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, I’m open to helpful comments and critiques

Sending all of you all the love in the world!

XX

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

-The incident that injured Dr Mittens was probably during one of Little Ford’s safe for kids experiments, maybe some safety scissors hot handled wrong or the plush got drenched in some “lava” from a baking soda volcano. Either way, Ford’s immediately wailing and calling for Stanley

-He’s inconsolable and feeling incredibly guilty, Dr Mittens, his precious Lab Partner, is injured and he feels like it’s his fault, he won’t accept otherwise. He should have been more careful about his friend, ensured proper lab safety! (He’s not thinking about the incident with Stan at all) He’s weepy and hiccuping, cradling Dr Mittens in his arms as he explains the state of the injury to Stanley through his blubbering

-Stan knows that a small tear or some baking soda lava isn’t enough for permanently ruin or mess up the toy, but Ford’s feeling some really Big Emotions right now, and it’s his job as Ford’s Caregiver and Buddy to help him through it. So he’ll have both himself and Ford suit up in gloves and masks before he attends to Dr Mittens with Ford as his Co-Doctor

-Stan wanted to cal him “Sous-Doctor” at first but Ford insisted that wasn’t right, but neither could think of the term to describe Ford’s position in this operation, so Co-Doctor it was

-If the cat plush is stained from baking soda Lava, Stan will gently wipe him off and take off the lab coat and sweater to be machine washed and will gently clean the toy with fabric soap and a wet washcloth, being careful, at Ford’s urging not to submerge the toy in water

-Ford towel dries him off will his special cat hoodie towel, whispering teary apologies and promises never to hurt him again all the while. Soft kisses are peppered on the cats face, too

-If it’s a small tear of some sort, Stan let’s Ford hold Dr Mittens’ hand as be gently stuff and stuffing that fell out, after some general “anesthesia” first, just a mask over the plush cats face, and tries his best to steadily sew the tear back up

-The thread isn’t the color of Dr Mittens’ fur, which upsets Ford but Stan just insists it’s his scar, and every cool cat has one. Ford warms up to the idea because both him and his Buddy have scars, and they’re both super cool cats. Dr Mittens is just matchy matchy with them

-The “incision” gets thoroughly wrapped, Stan lets Ford do that while he holds him, and several kisses before Stan deems Dr Mittens’ surgery to be over and the plush to be on a steady road to recovery. He gives Ford instructions of how to care for Dr Mittens (no bathes or sharp objects around the toy for the foreseeable future) and orders Ford to give his friend 10 kisses a day to help the recovery

-His payment is a week of cuddles and no arguing during nap time. It’s a steep price, but this was a major operation here and Stan’s not running a charity

-Ford begrudgingly agrees, grateful for his Buddy’s help with fixing Dr Mittens, he only groans and whines a little when it comes to nap time for the next week. But no promises afterwards

-Ford does get lectured about lab safety from Stan, ironically, about how he should make sure both him and Dr Mittens are far enough away from any explosions that may happen, no matter if the chemicals aren’t deadly, and no more use of sharp objects with Stan’s supervision

-Ford wants to argue about that last one, but seeing the bandage around his Lab Partner’s arm or the still drying fur makes him agree, not wanting a repeat incident

-Stan knows Ford needs some comfort after this, so he burritos him in his weighted blanket and sits him in his lap, in Ford’s napping tent, rocking him and humming a scratchy tune to calm his Little Buddy’s anxieties about this. It works somewhat, Ford’s breathing and heart slowing down. He’ll still be upset for the rest of the day, but Stan’s glad he’s not crying

-During this, Ford will whisper “Thank you, Buddy” to Stan every 10 minutes or so, just so he knows how grateful he is. Stan whispers back “Of course, Bud” every time, not once getting annoyed from the repetition, he knows repeating stuff helps Ford calm down

-Ford doesn’t go anywhere without Dr Mittens in his grasp for the next week, when he’s feeling Big, too, to keep an eye on his Lab Partner and make sure he doesn’t get hurt again. Nobody says anything about it, they know he needs this

-Every experiment from now on has Dr Mittens observing notes at least 20 feet away and sometimes from another room, Ford isn’t going to have another incident on his hands. No siree

[sovksluv]

about me !

𖤐 . back to navigation .

me:

𖤐 . rue | 21 | white | est | female | she / her | unlabeled queer !

𖤐 . sagittarius ☀︎︎ | pisces ⟰ | aries ☽

𖤐 . slytherin | cabin 13 | estj | chaotic neutral

𖤐 . ❦ - sammy my bsf <3 | greek mythology | the moon | poems | theodore nott | persephone and hades | tv girl | hanahaki disease | blood red | scissors | mango | the maze runner | crystal reed | rock/emo music | cats | pomegranates | helena and gerard | horror | night time | orchids | vinyls | drawing | luke castellan | guitars | smoking | black nails | sleeping | volleyball | hgtv | hello kitty | fire | ethel cain | demolition lovers | cherry blossoms | dr pepper | ludovica storti | musicals | amy lee | pierce the veil | lesbians | tea |

[forest-hashira]

GUYS. GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS. @dr-runs-with-scissors (cal) DREW KENJI AND HE IS SO SO SO BEAUTIFUL!!!

btw cal also writes fics as well as being an awesome artist so go check them out!!!

tagging the noble blood taglist here lol i need to make sure y'all see this:

@ghost-1-y @kentohours @whatthefucksatan @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes 

@peachdues @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors

also note this is what kenji looks like fully grown, he doesn't quite look like this in the fic yet!

[creepypastasomethingsomething]

CreepyPasta Incorrect Quotes Pt. 8

Zalgo: I made tea

The Slender Man: I don't want tea

Zalgo: I did not make the tea for you, idiot. This is my tea

The Slender Man: Then why are you telling me?

Zalgo: It's a conversation starter

The Slender Man: That's a lousy conversation starter

Zalgo: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

---

(Y/N): How petty can you get?

BEN: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about

---

Jason the Toymaker: Have you seen a person named 'Kagekao' around here?

Liu: Ugh, yes. He made a horrible mess of the blood fountain.

Bloody Painter: It looks fine to me?

Liu: IT USED TO BE WATER!!??

---

(Y/N), in the house Sally haunts: I'm going to lock myself in here with the ghosts

---

Jeff: Lui, what if there are monsters?

Lui: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain.

[Later]

Jeff, lying awake at night: I am the monster

---

Masky: ...I'm pretty sure that place is fire-proof, or something.

Toby, grenade in hand: Alright, but is it explosion-proof?

---

Lui: You kidnapped (Y/N)? That's illegal!

Clockwork: But Lui, what's more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing (Y/N) or destroying our dreams?

Lui: Kidnapping (Y/N), Natalie!!!

Kate: Lui, listen, whatever I may think of you right now- these guys are counting on you to inspire them!

Lui: What, to kidnap people?!

Clockwork: To work together!

Lui: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!?!

Jane: Lui, we all agreed a celebrity is a not a people.

---

Hobo Heart: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Jason the toymaker: Hey, spaghetti, we're having Helen for dinner.

Bloody Painter: What is wrong with you people?

Kagekao: Shut up, chocolate.

---

Nurse Ann, to the squad: And remember, if I get harsh with you it is only because you're doing it all wrong.

---

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one*

(Y/N): I will not let you down.

Jame: Sounds fun.

Hobo Heart: K.

E.J: No, I'm fucking not.

Dr. Smiley: Do I have to be?

Lui: Please god, I am so tired.

---

The Puppetteer: Hey, did you know as a kid I accidentally ate paper?

Bloody Panter: I feel like we've all done that at least once

Judge Angels: I ate it too-

Bloody Panter: See?

Judge Angels: -On purpose

The Puppetteer & Bloody Panter: ...What?

---

BEN: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird. But emotionally? Imagine the toll.

---

Toby: People are always asking me if I'm a morning person or a night person

Toby: And I'm just like, 'Buddy! I'm barely even a PERSON!'

---

Lui: Would you like something to drink? *opens fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Jeff: Spiders?

Lui: Spiders it is then.

Zalgo: No, that wasn't-

*Lui then pours Jeff a brimming glass of spiders*

---

Hairdresser: How would you like your hair cut?

(Y/N): Preferably with scissors, but a sword could be badass.

[theserenebean]

2003 Donny enters

He saunters up with an easy smile, double-checking a list as he does. When he reaches the counter, his smile falls immediately. His eyes narrow, and he offers an icy greeting.

"Chaplin."

Chaplin's eyes likewise narrow, though there's an undercurrent of confusion. "Turtle Guy."

April looks scandalized. "Why, Dr. Chaplin, don't you even know their names?"

"No, yeah, of course I do. That was just a power move to assert my dominance. Leonardo."

Donny gives him a flat look.

"... Splinter?"

"Yikes," Casey says smugly.

"Well when Karai talks about them it's always Leonardo! Shredder and Stockman don't call them by name."

"They don't call you by name, either, Chaplin," Donny's voice is dripping poison.

"Ouch," Casey's sympathy is completely overridden by his big dopey grin.

"Hi April," Donny greets warmly, talking past Chaplin and Casey. "I like your outfit!"

"Thanks! The long mask tails suit you, though I don't think they'd work for my Donatello. Do you have any questions about the menu?"

"No, I just have," he holds up the list apologetically, "Kind of a long order."

"Ah, so you're on coffee run duty today?"

"I lost rock paper scissors."

"Mikey!" Chaplin blurted. "The silly one, right?"

Donny takes a half second to give him a disdainful look, then goes back to smiling at April. "Is it possible to add strawberry to Armed and Dangerous?"

"Sure," April writes it down, "What else can we get for you?"

"I need the Upper Hand--"

"That should've been first," Casey interjects.

"Try Again--"

"What I said was, the Upper Hand should've been first.

"Nightly Vigil, Trap Door, He Who Smelt it, and can I get the Spinning Kick double strength?"

Casey whistled. "It's a good thing you got the Upper Hand before the Spinning Kick."

"Seven drinks total?" April ignores Casey's antics.

"Yep!"

Chaplin grabs the paper eagerly. "I'll make the Nightly Vigil!"

April snatches it back. "You don't get dibs when you get a customer's name wrong."

His shoulders sank. "I'll get the teas."

The three of them split up to make the drinks. Donny takes a moment to take in his surroundings, enjoying the feeling of being out in the open like this in a shop full of customers.

Well, mostly enjoying. It still makes his stomach flutter uncomfortably as he had to fight the instinct to disappear. He's probably visibly shaking, as exciting and scary and just plain disorienting as this all is.

He's trying hard not to stare at the only other mutant turtle, a huge, spiky figure quietly sipping his coffee at a corner table. He looks broody and troubled, and Donny's trying not to think about which one of them he might be.

"Got all seven," Casey announces as he places the last drink on the counter. "You want a drink carrier?"

April puts her hands on her hips. "Does he want a drink carrier?"

"Nah," Donny grins crookedly, "Watch."

He uses one arm to hold four drinks against his plastron, clutching a fifth in his hand. One drink is in his other hand, and the last in the crook of his elbow. He turns smoothly and with confidence, seeming to have the situation under control. He makes it past the customers behind him who are looking up at the menu and then--

"Excuse--"

"Oh!"

The first drink drops, lid popping partially off and spilling at Slash's feet. He had been headed for the exit as well, and backtracked a bit to see if he could talk to another mutant turtle. It had helped a lot yesterday.

Now he bit his tongue, trying to hold in his irritation.

"I'm so sorry," Donny bent awkwardly, "Here, let me--"

In his thoughtless haste to clean up his mess, he opens his arms and drops five more drinks.

Slash closes his eyes.

"Oops."

He clenches his fists. "It's fine."

"Sorry, Leo."

He opens his eyes. "What?"

"Hey, that guy was already pretty mad at Donatellos," Casey calls out. "You should run while you still got the Upper Hand."

Donny glances at the one drink he's still holding. "Do I still have the Upper Hand?"

"Donatello!" Chaplin snaps his fingers triumphantly. "Purple one is science guy!"

"Come on, you only knew because I said it."

Slash grips Donny's shoulder, making him yelp.

"Why did you call me Leo?"

He chuckles awkwardly. "Sorry Raph."

April arrives with a mop. "Donatello, why am I always cleaning up your messes?"

He rubs his neck sheepishly. "Because sound science involves trying and failing and you're a classy lady?"

"You should run."

"I'll pay you back later."

He slips out of Slash's grip, and the door is closing behind him before the bigger turtle can react. He feels the familiar fury clouding his mind, making it difficult to focus.

April is casually mopping up around him. "Well, Mr. Slash, that's the second time in a short period you've been slighted by a Donatello. What are you going to do next?"

Slash starts to scowl, but the question grounds him.

"I don't know."

That other turtle had called him Leo. Slash doesn't know much about anything yet, but if there's one thing he understands about Leonardo, it's this:

"But I'm going to need a team."

[rainbowxocs]

Name: James DuPont.

Alt Names: C.A.T, Pluto, Charon, Jane Doe.

Special Titles: Dr. James DuPont, Grandmaster, God Killer, Cat Burglar, EOD, Lieutenant Colonel, Sharpshooter, False God, The Star, Narrator.

Old Titles: Knight, God of Duality, God of Judgement, God of Eternity, God of Chaos, Servant, Empiric.

Username: @kitty9lives

Nicknames: Bad Omen, Kit Cat, Cat Boy, My Rose, My Star, Stray, Blue Bird, Kitty, Chaton, Bunny, Phoenix, Holmes, My Beloathed, Final Girl, The Prophet, Schrodingers Cat.

Chronological Age: 4.5 Billion.

Vessel Age: 605.

Age: 45.

Pronouns: Switches between He, She, and They. Depending on what gender he is that day. (Switches between il or elle in French)

Sexuality: Gay.

Gender: Genderfluid, Catgender.

Base Species: Starling.

Current Species: “Human” (Pure Hybrid)

Hybrid Info: (Sphinx, Litch, Witch.)

Disorders: CPTSD, Autism, Insomnia, Selective Mutism, Night Terrors, BPD, Anorexia.

Physical Disabilities: Blind, Deaf (Has a Cochlear Implant), Ambulatory Wheelchair User (Occasionally uses crutches or a cane as well), Has two arm prosthetics and two leg prosthetics, Chronic Pain.

Recovering Addictions: Alcohol, Weed, Nicotine (Cigarettes), LSD, Self Harm.

Religion: Pagan.

Job: Professional Villain, Chemist.

Degree: M.D, Chemistry, Robotics, Computer Science.

Lives in: NYC, New York, 2307.

Languages: French, English, Hindi, ASL, LSF, Spanish, Italian, German, Danish, Dutch.

Height: 5’7”.

Ethnicity: French, Portuguese.

Accent: Brooklyn Accent with a hint of French.

Other Form: Purple Goop.

Animal Form: Giant Purple Isopod.

Spirit Form: Headless, Covered in Roses.

Spirit Level: Acceptance.

Powers: Reanimating, Creation Magic, Death Magic, Prophetic Visions, Judgement, Potions, Alchemy, Shapeshifting, Strings, Pandora’s Box, Lightning Magic, Technology Manipulation, Lie Detection, Time Magic, Forbidden Fruit.

Tech: Holograms, Robotic Minions, Smoke Bombs, Paint Bombs, Teleporters, Lock Picks, Lazers.

Weapons: Sword, Pistols, Sniper Rifle, Bombs, Rocks, Scissors, Various Witchcraft Supplies such as salt, wards, etc, Scissors.

Also Can Use: Muskets, Rifled Muskets, Rifles,

Wand: Uses his hands.

Alignment: Chaotic Good.

Text Color: Purple, Sometimes Black.

Main Animal: Cat.

Main Hobbies: Reading, Video Games, Sculpting, Yugioh, Violin, Otamatone, Puzzles, Robotics, Scientific Experimentation, Coding, Chess, Letter Making, Tambourine, Photography, Flute.

Favorite Drinks: Peppermint Tea, Coffee, Classic Boba.

Favorite Snacks: Queso, Saltines, Apples.

Favorite Meals: Garlic Bread, Dino Nuggets and Fries, Mushroom and Olives Pizza, Pancakes, Veal Stew, Pigs in a Blanket, Hot Dogs, Tuna, Chicken Wings, Mac and Cheese, Ham Sandwiches, Maki Rolls, Sashimi, Bagels.

Favorite Candy: Pez, Oreos.

Favorite Dessert: Gingerbread Cookies, Frosted Sugar Cookies, Birthday Icecream.

Favorite Flower: Roses, Purple Forget Me Not.

Scent: Roses.

Handedness: Left Handed.

Blood Color: Bronze, Sometimes Red.

Awareness: Very Aware. (Effect: Negative.)

Birthday: December 1st 1701. (Sagittarius.)

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: He is always wearing cat patterns and tends to have toe beans on his shoes and gloves.

Special Interests: Technology, Robotics, Chemistry, The Sims, The Path, Sailor Moon, Disney Fairies, The Owl House, Steven Universe, FNAF, Kitty Love: Way to Look for Love.

Stims: Tangles, Cat Noises, Lazer Pointer, Yarn, Pressure Stims.

Stimboard: COMING SOON.

Moodboard: COMING SOON.

Fashion Board: COMING SOON.

Comfort Objects: Wedding Ring with Gold Band and Amethyst, Journal, Furby, Freddy Plush, Old Cat Plush, Gloomy Bear, Fuggler.

Family: Unknown Birth Parents.

Friends: Joan (Henchman.), Kriston.

Romance: Jonah Francois, Aditya Ravi. (Spouses.)

Enemies: Jonah Francois (Mortal Enemy), Michael Ansley.

Patrons: Bastet, Santa Muerte, Hecate.

Pets: Eyeball (Robot), Chain Chomp (Roomba), Mr Terminator (Black and White Cat),

Reincarnations: 𒆠𒋫 (Kita), חַוָּה (Eve), Πανδώρα (Pandora), दिया (Diya), Juliet, Pied Piper, Other Unknown Reincarnations.

Brief Personality: James is a bit of an enigma. He doesn’t get close to many people, often his ramblings about taking over the world push people away. However if you are persistent, he will warm up to you like a stray. He is incredibly intelligent, and also very very VERY stubborn. But he is incredibly loyal to the people he loves. If you are able to gain his trust he would let the world burn for you, without any hesitation.

Brief Backstory: [COMING SOON]

[nagirambles]

Hi welcome back ! Hope your doing ok 🥰 would it be alright if I request what if hcs for healer Happy please 🙏 ( he has so much potential and I wish we saw him do more things , maybe him even getting his own arc where he’s a healer and how he feels that Wendy is also a healer to , could be happy to have another pair of hands to help heal the team or angst that the team might not need him anymore👀)

Ohhhh healer happy. I remember mentioning it all the way in Phantom or TOH on this blog, okay, here I go,

Healer Happy would, to preface, separate himself from Wendy in the sense that he's a resourceful healer, while Wendy is a magic healer. This means he's the one to run to when you need bandages, medicine, herbs, heat packs, needles, etc. Wendy doesn't need those items because she can heal any of those (including sores, motion sickness, so she doesn't need any tools or home remedies) but since troia works less the more you stack, Happy continues to come through with warm ginger teas and massages. Or a wrench, or a hammer, or a fish! Or frozen peas. He also has scissors and hair clips and staples and anything you can think of that fits inside a very well-furnished first aid kit. He throws them at enemies when he's fighting, they all come out of his bag.

Whether his bag is an endless doraemon sack, or if he uses requip to seem like he's pulling ridiculous things out of his bag-- up to you. I think it's funny to see him pull a huge bag of ice out of his tiny bag and flip them over someone's head, goodbye

This gives me a fun idea, honestly-- he'd definitely hang around Porlyusica's place a lot. She hates humans, and I think that canonically extends to cats as well, but let's say it doesn't. (thinking about the jade dragon from GMG graveyard and maybe all dragons are silly tolerant with cats. Maybe that can be a trend. She is an Edo version of a dragon after all--) but anyways! Maybe he's her pseudo-apprentice of sorts, since she does the classic witchy potionmaking. ('Apprentice' as in he stares at her while she works, from some corner of the building or thorugh the window. And she gave up trying to chase him out.)

I'd imagine a sort of Dr Kureha and Chopper type dynamic. Maybe she's where Happy gets the knowledge from (Happy-sensei exposition duty,) she doesn't directly teach him anything, but he does learn a lot just from hanging around her house.

Which would mean the two people Happy are closest with both have pink hair hahaaa I kinda wanna see Meredy and Sherry learning this, thinking it's adorable, and trying to get into the club. I would think he loves sakura season because of the pink. There is... so much chopper similarity what the hell. Even Dr Kureha's catchphrase is 'ya happy?' and I'm obsessed with that actually. Reincarnation fic I need

I would imagine just like in battle, Wendy has less actual field knowledge. Which means we could have situations like setting bones properly before healing them (because healing them right away would fuse wrong and cause permanent damage). Or situations where Wendy can heal a contagious epidemic, but they have no idea where it comes from-- Happy would be able to realize it's a magic problem, or a virus, or a curse, and where it'd come from (animals, trees, sewage, etc.) We could also have Happy the therapy cat, where people go to him to talk feelings. We could address the PTSD or depression that's displayed in some characters. Maybe he's already helping them through some of it! Maybe he displays some of this when Edolas happens and it's the breakthrough that pulls Carla out of her darkness? And so on, and so forth.

I can imagine FT would take a more genuine direction with their injuries if there was a healer happy. The anime erases most of them, but I'd like to see Happy actually scolding people who are too reckless when injured (most of our boys,) needlessly causing injuries around in barfights (splinters are hard to get out! Hey!) or even refusing medical advice to go be stupid. (I'd like to see a situation where someone's stubborn for a mild injury, it gets worse, and becomes permanent damage. Eg Thunder Legion not bothering with persistent eye discomfort, only to figure out too late there's an infection and end up with blind/astig/photokeratitis/migraines. It could serve as a lesson for the rest and a character building moment for happy. Maybe something like that could even be in the BoFT, where Happy points this out to Lucy and that helps them win the fight.) I'd like to think we could include Loke in this group of people that Happy mother-hens the hell out of, because something's always been weird about him, Happy just doesn't know what.

All that doesn't stop him from maybe feeling a little obsolete or distressed about his role in the team once Wendy arrives, though. I feel he'll overlap with Wendy a lot, and if there was an arc about him, I'd expand on this. How-- well, by having Wendy and Natsu switch cats for a mission! (It'd be set right after Wendy joins.) It seems like Carla and Natsu are both headstrong, straightforward types, while in this AU Wendy and Happy are a little more humble, behind-the-scenes, and resourceful healers. This duality will make a fun shenanigans arc where they work together to find their flaws and differences and learn to appreciate both their original partners and their new addition to the guild. Wendy is still learning the ropes, so Happy gets to be 1. a big brother for once (he's usually baby of the family always) and 2. learn about finding individuality, confidence, and strength at your own pace. (Something Wendy is also working her way through, but from a different perspective from Happy.)

That's all for now. Thanks for the ask! <3

[sunfollows]

— in which coming into yourself doesn't always come at the most opportune moment. or the one where harper has an identity crisis in the middle of the night when he's fifteen.

some people may say that fifteen is too young to know yourself. at that age, you’re still young enough that your growth will be exponential; who you are at fifteen isn’t who you’ll be at nineteen or twenty-five, so how can you know who you are when you’re barely at the beginning of your life?

harper can’t say that he knows why he knows himself and can clearly see the trajectory of his life, but there’s a deep feeling settling in his gut that tells him where he’s at now is wrong. something is amiss on an almost cosmic level, warping the very fabric of his own destiny and begging to be changed before it’s too late.

that’s what he thinks, anyway. harper is, after all, fifteen. even though his parents and teachers slyly comment that he’s wise beyond his years, he’s not immune to the world-ending catastrophe that is teenage hormones. 

still, there’s a persistent feeling crawling under his skin that keeps him awake, shifting uncomfortably in bed and staring at the ceiling. i have class tomorrow, he thinks, as if that will suddenly make him fall asleep. he’s restless in a way that says he’ll be dozing off during first period if he doesn’t sneak a few sips of coffee before his mom notices, and he can’t pinpoint why. all he knows is something is…wrong.

eventually, he sighs, sitting up and pressing his palms against his eyes. the feeling isn’t anxiety; he knows what that feels like, and dr. hampton has him on some medication he can’t pronounce that has lessened the effect almost tenfold. no, this isn’t the bubbling up of unease that leads to him feeling hysterical and like nothing will ever be okay again. it’s just wrong. like if someone said the sky is green and hedgehogs are purple. it’s verifiably, certainly untrue.

harper feels like that. he’s being made into a purple hedgehog and he’s not sure why, but he has a math test in the morning so now really isn’t the time for him to be stuck awake. it’s with another heavy sigh that he gets out of bed, quietly slipping out of his room and into the bathroom that sits between his and his parent’s room. he doesn’t have to pee, so he’s not sure what he’s in here for, but maybe moving around will help.

he doesn’t turn on the light, knowing if he does, he’ll be faced with his own reflection, and something about that has been bothering him lately. teenage angst, his dad says, and harper accepts it easily enough, even if it does make him feel a little small. it’s bigger than that, but he doesn’t know how to say that, or if anyone would understand him in the first place.

purple hedgehogs, he thinks, shifting his weight onto his left foot as he rummages through the drawers by the sink. it’s cheating, but maybe he can find some kind of allergy medicine to lull himself to sleep. mom doesn’t like when he does that, tries her best to push him to drink the sleepy time tea she brews every night, but it makes his mouth dry and doesn’t work as quickly as benadryl does. it’s not like it’s hurting him. 

he squints in the dark at various bottles, finding tablets for headaches and sore throats and about five different bottles of immune support vitamins, but his quest for allergy medicine or even nighttime cold medicine is proving to be for naught. they must be out. his fingers touch something metal in the drawer, and he knows without seeing that it’s a pair of scissors.

for some reason, he feels compelled to grab them. 

snipping the air a couple of times, harper gazes at them contemplatively, not sure what to do with them. fundamentally, he understands the concept of scissors, but there’s something indescribable about the weight of them in his hand, an unspoken prompt ringing in the two a.m. quiet. this won’t help him sleep. obviously. he should put them down and go make a snack, or crawl back into bed with the fan on and hope for the best (because while fresh air would probably help, his mom doesn’t want him sleeping with the window open). 

but in bed, he’s a restless purple hedgehog, feeling incredibly out of place and as if there’s some ever-present incorrectness looming over him. using the scissors won’t change that…will it?

harper decides to not think too much about it, finally turning his attention to the version of himself in the mirror. that harper looks more tired than he feels, and he understands what his parents mean about him being too skinny. suddenly all he can see is the way his collarbone juts out under the shirt he’s wearing, how narrow and thin his shoulders are. the harper in the mirror, even in the dark, looks dull and incomplete somehow, stringy hair hanging around his face despite the fact that he did shower and brush it before bed.

brown locks fall to his shoulders, the shortest he’s ever had it. without the lights on, it almost looks black. 

he’s never been one to succumb to his impulses, always thinking things out carefully even as a small child, too worried about the outcome to ever just do anything for the sake of doing it. harper is careful, almost meticulous at times, his anxiety keeping him in check enough that he’s never done anything too wild even if he’s wanted to.

but he doesn’t stop himself when he reaches up and cuts a small chunk of hair closest to his cheek, snipping it just below his ear. his stomach feels almost shaky when he realizes what he’s done, watching it fall in the mirror. 

i’ll look stupid tomorrow, he tells himself, letting out a soft breath. mom’s gonna yell at me. then again, he looks stupid every day.

still, he cuts again, flipping the light on so he can see what he’s doing — not that it helps much. it’s harder in the back where he can’t see, and he feels around clumsily, hacking away in awkward uneven clumps that would make a hairdresser cry until he’s surrounded by his hair, covered in little bits that will itch even if he changes.

he looks like a mess, he decides when he finally puts the scissors down. it looks like a toddler held him down and cut indiscriminately, and his mother is sure to lose her mind when she next sees him. someone in class is likely to tease him, and he can already picture the way ezra will tuck his face into his palm to hide his laugh.

despite knowing this, he looks at his exposed neck, then down to the pile of hair at his feet, and starts to feel a little less purple and more like himself, whoever that is.

harper was raised right, even if his parents have only been his parents for a few years, and he diligently cleans everything up before he crawls back into bed, running his fingers through his messily cropped hair with something akin to wonder. 

whatever’s wrong isn’t fixed, but he’s able to sleep until his alarm goes off.

(his mom drops her coffee cup when he comes out of his room for breakfast, and his dad chokes just a moment later.)

harper doesn’t go to school. instead, his mom takes him to her hairdresser because this is an emergency of epic proportions, apparently, and he gets his hair trimmed into something more reasonable, and he’s asked question after question about his mental state and if everything is okay.

he only shrugs and says his hair was bothering him — he’s still a purple hedgehog, after all. the color is just fading a little.

[evilpopcornkaylen]

I missed something important, and now I’m wondering if you may have missed it too. If you did not— then I salute you in your knowingness of all that is fabulous.

Kiki: noun, etymology French

“A kiki is a party for calming all your nerves

We’re spilling tea and dishing just desserts one may deserve”

Let me first explain why this feels appropriate in n my heart at this moment in time; I have moved recently into

Chez K

>>here’s looking at you, Melissa 🩷

I am on this magical endeavor to live alone in a beautifully renovated 1990 Prowler camper anchored as a tiny house on the property of my new found landlords. Does this include tripping over all of my shit almost all of the time and thinking to myself at least ten times per day I really ought to “pare down?” Yes. Does this mean I have abruptly learned what the fuck a composting toilet is and I have discussed human potty waste in far greater detail than I can recall in my life to date? Yes. Does this mean I am a fiercely strong and independent creature? Hell to the yes. My guest list to date is minimal, but here’s the thing— my environment, my oasis, my chez.. MY safe space, is something I will gladly extend to worthy humans looking to share space. I’m good at that. I have a deep longing to connect with people, and I have an innate skill to hold space for others. In my life experience this has frequently brought individuals to me that are less than worthy humans— it’s a long and complicated set of stories. But, no matter, because this drive will not be conquered, and I dub Chez K, here and now, drinking a glass of bubbly 🥂 the quintessential kiki spot. Dare you to take me up on that.

Let’s Have a Kiki was released on September 11, 2012 in the US. The track was written by Jason Sellards, Scott Hoffman, and Ana Lynch, and it was produced and performed by Scissor Sisters under the Polydor label. The spectacular instructional music video was released July 27, 2012; directed by Vern Moen and choreographed by Brad Landers.

It is true that Billboard included the music video in the Top 100 Greatest Music Videos of the 2010s, it came in at number 79. This is nowhere near sufficient when I put on my Queen of the world hat for a moment, and I won’t tell you my purpose here is to tell you that you all are doing the internet wrong, but…

Present day— September 2024:

Scissor Sisters have an estimated 3.3million monthly listeners on Spotify. Let’s Have a Kiki is not a track listed in the “Popular” five listed tracks. And, the YouTube video is 12 years old, and has accrued 20 million views.

Paltry. What are you all doing?

A brief Google survey says you all are doing Baby Shark Dance with 13 billion views.

Ridiculous.

My girl, Ana, hails from Portland 🌲 so I’m here for an assist, if I may. Watch this:

https://youtu.be/eGCD4xb-Tr8?si=iZakJDYS_b-bZUbL

—I defy you to not find excellence everywhere.

She said, “so then I get to the club looking like a drowned, harassed rat,” and so now I need to give a shout out to one of my very favorite profs who has said a multitude of things that have stuck with me, but here I am thinking of a film course where she shared a fervent irritation with women in shower scenes.

The problem is this— when we take a shower IRL, long hair is not glamorous and voluminous and miraculously UNfrizzy— no, we look like drowned rats, and that is the absolute truth and whole truth so help me baby Jesus. I suspect that it is a common occurrence to sense a palpable disappointment from a new partner the first time y’all shower together. Prof said it and I’m like 🤯 omg, right? And I felt so f🦆ing seen and worthy— isn’t that wild? So shout out to a one, Dr. Carol Siegel who is one of the coolest people I can think of always, and gave me what I needed to finally see Shakespeare (story for another time)

And now behold some of the 🔥 YouTube comments:

Re: Will&Grace— you best believe. The universe in which that does happen is bittersweet tho because while Grace and Jack are adaptable as BFFs, Will and Karen can’t even.

Re: where she messes up choreo— I did not see this on my own, and I doubt I would have without this comment so please accept my sincerest thanks for posting that because to me, this is a magic moment. There are a couple reasons I say this—

1) I don’t know how well you know this complete fact of life, but choreography is F🦆ING HARD. I don’t care who you are and I don’t care if you’re brilliant at choreography, it is always an extraordinarily difficult feat that some humans are blessed with the capacity to make it look like it was as easy as whatever is the easiest thing you can think of rn. These dancers are nothing short of hecking talented, okay? They are quite obviously performing their hearts out, every one of them here, and they are skilled at the craft. I, for one, am comforted by the fact that occasionally Ana shows up as a human being alongside showing up as a multitalented goddess queen, and that she can in fact err. It brings my soul peace to know that even she can do a misstep, and then to know that a huge percentage of folks may never even know or realize she ever did despite video evidence. I won’t let my inner critic rip myself a new one as hard (hopefully) when I feel stupid because I can’t get choreography or make my body move the way I so clearly can envision it to.

2) Here is an important message and life lesson to take from her cute little damnit flicker of a mistake— KEEP GOING. One mistake, hell, one hundred mistakes, is not viably enough to “make you” quit, don’t you let it. Mistakes are required and a lot of important information.

*footnote 1

3) I’m overjoyed to report that the drummer in solidarity, made a mistake too. Just kidding, it was not, to my knowledge in solidarity, but that made me laugh so I wrote it anyway.

He had one job!

So, if you’re still reading, tell someone you love today, “let’s have a kiki,” and mean it. Then, tell ten people you happen to come into direct contact with that there exists a song far catchier, far more fire than Baby Shark, goddamnit, and if you haven’t heard it and seen it, then you’re wrong.

🎤🎙️drop

kthanxbye 💕

****

You looked for the footnote 🧐

*Part of the reason I write is to convince my own self. Do not mistake the conviction in my written words for true enlightenment— as in, I have accomplished all and see all, know all with my third eye AND I’m better than you, or complete self-confidence— as in, I’m right, you’re wrong, I have everything completely figured out and you should just be reasonable and do it my way.

…..

Be gentle with tortured artist souls (as mine) instead of being a poop, how about?

[thingsscenes]

Dr. Brenner gets ready for work

401: 00:00-02:00

September 8, 1979 – Morning – Dr. Brenner's Neighborhood and House

Dr. Brenner solves a crossword puzzle in The Hawkins Post and gets dressed to go to work.