#Jerry Sucks [Rules Read]

[washedupfae]

WeirdCore Au List

This will be updated as I continue to work on the AU.

Character Concept Posts:

From the Parlor Posts, a little glimpse into WC and just a hint of how it came to be.

A small snippet of information on him and the rest of the WeirdCoreTale crew.

There is still a great deal of missing information, what event set everything in motion, but we do know that WCTale ended after far too many runs, on the Surface. However, something changed in the original code, and the monsters there, were brought back to the Great War.

Unable to fathom the idea of not only all of his friends dying yet again, but this time, the last remaining chance for monster kind, Sans joined up alongside the royal guard and other like-minded monsters, and joined the ancient monsters lost to the annuals of history, in the fight.

He has fought a mage before, after all, wasn't Frisk one? Ruling their domain over time itself? Though, Frisk was a child, an untrained child.

The battle was gruesome, and as he fought, he witnessed so many fall, dusting, an event marked in time, unchanging it seemed, they would be forced Underground again.

And.. He couldn't. He could not see his brother's HoPe dashed, his friends' dying cries, the pain of magic searing his bones.

He snapped.

The mage he faced, a purple soul, vile beast of a human, and they called his kind monsters. Monsters had never sought out to destroy an entire species, but humans would, humans had, were these descendants of these very monsters, fighting for their lives, their freedom, not the only race of monsters to have faced humans? Where were the fae? The elven, the banshee, those beasts that took human form then turned with rise of the moon? Where went the bloodthirsty beasts of horror?

In hiding, perhaps. Or victims of a ruthless genocide. By any matter, humans had been the cause of so much suffering. It was here, now, so many years brought back before his Judge's eye, that he determined and weighed the soul of this mage.. and devoured her soul.

Bitter, ash in his mouth, copper on his tongue, and magic that should not mix with his own. The first eye opened.

Disoriented, he was nearly taken off his feet as his brother defended him, construct in hand, shouting jeers at the opponent and unfortunately, glancing back to check on the horrific scene of his own dear brother, Sans.

You could say, Papyrus lost his head.

Rage, and persistence burned within his tainted soul, his next foe, a Determination mage, soon followed his fellow to the earth. Acting without thought, Sans cast back a curtain of time, but he didn't know how to wield the magic, it was unnatural, warped, disgusting in how it oozed in against his own soul's true nature.

The second eye opened.

Time, he turned back time, again and again. Watching his brother fall to another mage, watching Toriel be torn apart, Undyne crushed beneath a horde of human Soldiers. This was not a fight they could win. This was never a fight they were supposed to win.

This. Was a massacre.

Pushed back. Underground, sealed away, the magic, however, was weaker now. Two mages short, but the code was written, and so it must be followed.

Monsters would be forced beneath ground, but now, there was a .. hiccup.. a glitch perhaps? A little bug in the code.

There was Sans, or how shall we call him now? Cryptic seemed good.. Ostracized by those around him, his family, his friends fallen to the hands of humans yet once more. He was the beast in the depths of the mountain, but this time, they would not await human souls to fall into their hands.

But we can talk about that story, at another time. You need only know this. They all returned to their proper place in time, but the Code remembered. And the Code, began to fail.

[rabidwerewolfie]

Holding All The Cards

Ok, so...

Anyone that's known me for more than 30 seconds knows I like playing with tarot cards. I've been doing it since I was.... I don't even remember how old I was but let's say 20. That's close enough. I know I was barely over 18 but I WAS over.

I'm not the best reader out there, and compared to some of the pros, I really suck. But I enjoy doing it anyway and usually do it for free. But what I DON'T do is (intentionally) cold read. It probably happens by accident but I actively try not to do it.

And I'm about to piss off a LOT of other readers with what I'm about to say but... there's no actual magic involved in tarot reading. You don't have to have psychic mind powers (although it would probably help) and the only thing all the rules and rituals are good for is to get you into a good mindspace TO read.

I often talk about how my decks "talk" to me and each one has it's own personality, and that makes me sound crazier than I (admit) that I really am. The REAL process is a bit more mundane, and a tarot reading is a cooperation between the reader and the sitter.

Let's say I agree to do a reading for you. I have never met you, never talked to you before, I don't even know your name. I personally like to have A name to focus on because it helps my mental process, but it's not vitally important.

Either you or I shuffle the cards and then I lay them out. (I personally don't do the Choose A Card method, some people do) If I'm doing a spread, each placement has a meaning. It could be a simple Past Present Future or it could ask something more specific Forces Working For/Against Me etc. Each card has a name and pictures on it. The pictures are symbolic and the name has keywords attached to it.

So for this example, let's say that I'm only pulling one card. "Why can't I find a boyfriend." 3 of swords.

The key words for the Three of Swords are things like Heartbreak, Love Triangle, Heartburn, yadda yadda. So when I look at all of these things connected, images and emotions form in my head. It's pure imagination.

Why can't you find a boyfriend? You're picking the wrong type of guy. You're still hurting for a past boyfriend who did some dirty dealings and you haven't completely gotten over him yet. You're also not being open with yourself or potential partners. Your emotions are muted or locked away. You need to work on yourself before you can attract a quality guy.

Does this mean I know about your ex Travis who slept with your sister? Not at all. Not even an inkling. Do I know that you've dated a string of cheating losers since then or that your last ex wanted an open relationship? Never crossed my mind. But YOU do. So you have to take what *I* just said and apply it to yourself.

Wow, you HAVE been chasing a bunch of "bad boys" because they reminded you of Travis. You HAVE been holding back because you're afraid of being hurt again. You HAVE been spending too much time crying into your Ben & Jerry's. Maybe you should look into therapy or do some other form of self improvement.

But because of the way the human mind works, you now start thinking "Oh wow! That was SO relevant to me and specifically me! This person must have some sort of special ability! They don't even know what I look like, how would they know that was the EXACT answer I needed?"

Cold readers are even worse. You can google what that is if you don't know.

I don't have any special abilities no one else has. I'm just really good at weaving a narrative from the clues I'm given. You fill in the gaps. It's honestly that simple and any honest reader who doesn't huff their own incense will tell you the same thing.

But this is basically a magician explaining the slight of hand behind the trick, so this is not a popular explanation. "Well just because YOU don't have a genuine gift doesn't mean NO ONE does!!"

Sure, I'll give you that. I'm just open minded enough to say that it is COMPLETELY POSSIBLE that there really is someone out there who has a genuine psychic ability. But no one ever claimed Randi's million dollars so the vast majority (if not all) of these people who say there's all these rules and rituals and supernatural components are hyped up on their own self importance, WAY too superstitious, or straight up lying to you.

[tallmantall]

James Donaldson on Mental Health - When Should You Get Your Kid a Phone?

It's not just a question of the right age Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Writer: Caroline Miller Clinical Experts: Jerry Bubrick, PhD , Dave Anderson, PhD , Max Stossel EN ESPAÑOL What You'll Learn - How do I know if my child is ready for a phone? - How can I use parental controls to keep my child safe? - What kind of rules should go along with getting a phone? - Quick Read - Full Article - Pressure on parents - Parental controls - It’s not just about age - Cell phones and ADHD - If you're ready to take the plunge Back to Top Quick Read By the time they’re in middle school, kids are often begging their parents for a phone. But how do you know when your child is ready to handle the responsibility? And what is safe for them to be able to do on that phone? You may want your fourth grader to have a phone to be in touch with you and their friends, but most parents don’t want their late elementary or early middle school kids diving into the internet and social media apps. Whether your child is ready for a phone depends not just on their age but how mature they are. Do they lose things often? Are they likely to say or do things they will regret? How sensitive to criticism are they? Do they respond well to limits on screen time? Kids with ADHD are especially vulnerable to getting sucked into things that are constantly stimulating, like social media and games. And they’re more likely to be impulsive and post things they shouldn’t. Parents may want to wait longer, or consider their options when giving a phone to their child with ADHD. Fortunately smartphones now offer parental controls that enable you to set limits on screen time, as well as the apps, TV shows and movies, and internet sites your kids are allowed to access. There are also tools like Bark and Screen Time that allow you to monitor and limit screen time on your kid’s phone. If you think your kid is ready to handle a smartphone, it’s important that they understand you are still in charge. Parents need to know their kid’s password, establish clear rules, and explain what will happen if those rules aren’t followed. Having everyone on the same page will make giving your child a phone much easier. By the time they’re toddlers, most children are excited about phones. They know how to play games, watch videos, take pictures, and Facetime their grandparents. In idle moments they beg for — or grab for — mom or dad’s phone. But when are kids old enough – and responsible enough – to have their own phone? And what should they be able to do with it? “The question has flipped from when to get your kid a phone, to how do you make it so the introduction of the phone is in line with their developmental stage?” explains Dave Anderson, PhD, a clinical psychologist at the Child Mind Institute. “It may be helpful for a fourth grader to have a phone to be in touch with you when they need to be picked up or are on a sleepover, but most parents don’t want their late elementary or early middle school kids diving into the internet and social media apps.” Pressure on parents By the time kids are in middle school, the pressure from kids can be intense, and parents worry that their child will feel isolated if other kids have phones and they don’t. According to Common Sense Media, 42 percent of kids have a phone by age 10. By age 12, it’s 71 percent. By 14, it’s 91 percent. Max Stossel, the founder and CEO of Social Awakening, a group that promotes healthy use of technology and social media, recommends that parents hold the line on giving kids smartphones until at least eighth grade. A parent group called Wait Until 8th  aims to help parents in a school community band together by taking a pledge that they won’t give their kids smartphones until they’re reached eighth grade. The parents who sign this pledge are put in touch with one another for support.   One strategy to avoid the risky and addictive features of smart phones, Stossel notes, is to start kids off on a phone that can’t be used for social media, gaming, or surfing the web. A Gabb Phone, for instance, can be used for calling and texting. It also has a camera, calendar, FM radio, and GPS, so it enables you to monitor where your child is. But there is no app store, picture messages or group texts. Parental controls Smartphones themselves also offer parents the ability to use the phone’s controls to set limits. “This is where cell phone companies have matured in the past couple years,” notes Dr. Anderson. “Parents can set safeguards on what apps can be downloaded onto the phone.” Smartphones allow you to limit not only apps kids have access to, but the types of movies and TV shows they can watch. And you can set time limits on things like gaming, entertainment, and social media, and keep tabs on what they’re doing during screen time. (For details on how to set limits on smart phones, check out this piece in Consumer Reports.) The most potentially dangerous elements of this are social media and the unfiltered internet. Stossel recalls a colleague who when speaking to groups of students, would ask for a volunteer to come up and show the class how to get around a school’s firewall. Each time a student would do so easily, explaining which apps to use to reach blocked websites. “So the kids are always going to be a step ahead of their parents,” Stossel adds. “And trying to monitor everything they have access to can be a full-time job.” He recommends the parental control tool Bark, which monitors a child’s activity on social networks, YouTube, email and text messages. It filters for signs of harmful content, including sexual material, threats of violence, depression, suicidal ideation, and bullying. Parents get email and text alerts if there is something concerning in the child’s online activity. It can also be used to limit screen time and to block individual websites. Screen Time is another tool that allows you to set time limits on daily screen time, block out periods when screens are not to be used, and includes categories of sites and individual URLS. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com It’s not just about age Jerry Bubrick, PhD, a clinical psychologist at the Child Mind Institute, says he is often asked what’s the right age to give a kid a phone. “I tell parents that it’s not so much about a particular age as it is about a kid’s social awareness and understanding of what the technology means,” Dr. Bubrick explains. When you’re considering whether to get a phone, and how much kids should be allowed to do on it, he recommends considering these issues: - How often does your child lose things, especially expensive things? If you tell them something is extra important, do they take special care of it, or leave it on the bus after a few days? - How well does your child handle money? Will they be in the middle of a game and impulsively buy more lives without considering their cost? - Consider how easily your kid picks up on social cues. If they are slow to catch on, this deficit could be aggravated in texting and posting on social media. - How savvy is your child about technology? Do they truly understand that future college admissions staff, employers, and colleagues could conceivably see anything they post now? - How well does your child do with limits to screen time? If they are constantly glued to the computer or game console, they will probably have difficulty putting down the phone as well. Cell phones and ADHD The constant stimulation cell phones can provide can be especially distracting for kids with ADHD. “Phones are made to be as reinforcing as possible,” explains Dr. Anderson. “If you’re not getting an email, you’re getting a social media update, or you’re checking a news feed, or you’re checking a sports score.” Children with ADHD find it more difficult to resist all that stimulation, and to stay tuned in to activities that are less reinforcing but more important, like homework or dinner table conversation. Their impulsivity could also make them more likely to post or send something they may regret later on. In a world where everything you create is recorded in cyberspace, they are at risk for making long-lasting mistakes. If you’re ready to take the plunge If you’re getting your child a phone, experts recommend setting clear guidelines in a conversation before they receive the device. Here are some sample rules that parents can apply to their kids’ cell phone use: - Establish that you are to know the password to the child’s phone, and that you have the right to take it away if you don’t think they’re using it wisely. - Set limits on both general screen time and phone time. Dr. Bubrick urges this rule especially strongly for kids who already have difficulty breaking away from a screen. - Agree on limits to how much money is available to cover the data plan and any game or app expenses. - Get them a good case, and determine what the consequences will be if the phone is lost or broken. Will it be replaced? And, if so, who will pay for it? - Specify times of the day when using the phone is not allowed, such as late at night or during family activities. - When your kids start using social media sites, monitor them and make them aware that you are doing so. While you may choose to enforce different rules, make sure they are clear from the very beginning, the experts say, and establish consequences if these guidelines are not followed. “You’re training your kids to make good decisions over time,” explains Dr. Bubrick, “so that eventually, when they leave you, you can trust that they will make those good decisions on their own.” Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com Read the full article

[smtstry]

SKIN club pt. 1

Nathalie-

When she saw the businessman walking in, she had hoped to get him, as a client. He looked nice, kind and she found him pretty attractive. It was his first time here, but she had a feeling that he didn’t know what kind of cafe he stepped into. So she lead him back to nice and comfortable spot at the back, she tried to explain but she kept it criptic. Her kimono fell slightly open when she handed him the notebook. “Shall I get you some water?” She asked. Didnt’t answer but looked directly into her kimono. When she walked away, she felt him stare. She decided to get him some tap water, on the house. Jerry, her male colleague at the bar asked her about him, standard inventarisation. To see if there where any red flags already. But no, she told him that is was probably his first time in and that he didn’t know what to expect. So tapwater on the house. Jerry added some ice to his water. A pretty lady walked in, the Wednesday regular, she started at the bar, and she made a reservation with Jerry. She sat at the bar and Jerry walked up to her to greet her. Nathalie peeked through the greenery to look if she was able to see her customer. She could not see. So she grabbed a tablet and the water and walked up to her customer. He had put the notepad on the table. She placed the water in front of him next to the tablet. She grabbed the notebook and saw that gehad read the rules and signed it with a signature. She deposited the note with the signature in the notes bin at the bar, Jerry had been replaced by Lavender, she was a great bartender, and a nice colleague. Het smart watch beeped “Table 3 has picked you, accept?” She accepted and walked back to the table. “Thank you for picking me, sir” he smirked at her. “So..? How.. how does this work?” He asked. She took a seat opposite of him. She explained that he could order from the menu, if he wanted a massage, with or without happy ending, some drink to accompany with it, or if he wanted her to give him a blowjob, or order a toy to play. She reached over to a small bin on the table and took out a condom. “Required” she explained. He gulped down half a glass of water. “So.. i can order everything and everyone… from this tablet?” She nodded, “Yes sir, if you want..” she way he looked at her changed. “I read that your specialty is giving a blowjob?” She nodded. “Yes sir, that’s what I have heard, regulars really like mine..” her silk kimono started to naturally loosen from walking and moving. Her lingerie set was more and more revealed. Behind the greenery, Jerry and his regular lady where going to a private room. She heard the lady giggle and say that she had looked forward all week to this moment. “Well, i would like to order that..” as he pressed the “short blowjob” button on the tabled and placed the order. Instantly her watch let her know what was ordered. And the timer popped up. She only needed to press start. She walked up to him andknelt inbegrepen his legs. She placed her knees on the cold concrete floor. But he stopped her. “Take a pillow for your knees”he suggested. He started to unzip his pants and opened up his belt. She wetted het lips and pressed start. She started to massage his length, to make sure that he was stiff enough to pleasure him. She licked him and noticed that he had shaved himself, that day or the day before, he smelled clean and not like he had been all morning in the office. She loved giving blowjobs. The feeling of a dick in her mouth felt like a second nature. The softness and the way she swirled her toungue around the tip was really nice. She enjoyed it, she tasted his precum on her tongue and sucked him a little harder. He moaned for the first time. The timer on her watch went off, three minutes had passed. When she stood up she tidied herself quickly and asked it he had liked it. He nodded. “Ehm.. i think i will pay you now?” He suggested. She was shook, most of the time, he wanted to book more time with her, another blowjob or a room or something. “Nathalie, I have to get back to work, but i will come back. My boss would kill me if i am not bac

[seven-virtues-plusmore]

‘Everybody hates Jerry. EVERYBODY.’ (universalundernet)

“Uhg *yeah* nobody likes that guy!” Fitz nods in agreement.

//Thanks for reading the rules!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

:0 teacher and another teacher who teach wildly different things and taakitz pretty please??

26. teacher and another teacher who teach wildly different things

((trope with a twist prompts here - please send some in !!))

--

Kravitz could have been a conductor for the Neverwinter Orchestra. He could have conducted in a concert hall filled to the brim with avid lovers of music and fans of fine craftsmanship. He could have wowed thousands, millions, of people with his talent, and the talent of the orchestra he always dreamed of leading.

Instead, he's holding a broken clarinet and walking towards the gym of Rockport Junior High: Rockport's only, and worse, middle school.

It's maybe once in a blue moon that he gets a student who cares about music the way he does. Most of them at least treated their instrument with respect, but there were a fair few kids who disregarded the rules entirely. Every "don't do that" was a challenge. And among these students were two boys in his third period who hated the fuck out of clarinets.

Jerry B. and Jerre L. were two halves of a whole horrible student. Too stupid to do things on their own, but when paired together- which Kravitz tried to avoid, god, did he try- they were smart enough to make several stupider decisions. Last night's decision had, apparently, been to break into the music room and trash the clarinets.

Noooo, Mr. Queen, we can't just call them up to the office, our announcement system is broken. I guess you'll have to get them yourselves.

Kravitz hadn't even opened the gym doors before the scent of sweat had hit the air. He wrinkled his nose, taking a deep breath before opening the door, but the scent was too overpowering and he lost the breath at once. The door shut with a thunk behind him. Kravitz leaned against the wall, trying not to start dry heaving. He hated the gym. The orchestra hall was on the other side of the building for a good reason.

"You just gonna stand there or what?" said a voice and Kravitz's eyes snapped open- he hadn't even realized he had closed them. Closer to the actual gym stood a man whom Kravitz could only assume to be the gym teacher. He had his hair up in a bun and was wearing honest-to-god leg warmers. His badge read Taako Taaco. There was a sticker of a cat next to his name.

"Sorry," Kravitz said, pushing himself off the wall. "Sorry, uhm- it's nice to meet you, I'm Kravitz, the, the uhm orchestra teacher."

"I didn't know we had an orchestra," Taako said, raising his eyebrows.

"It's... new," Kravitz said, not bothering to explain that his orchestra hall was just two classrooms with the wall between them torn down. "Very new. Uhm, I was wondering if I could borrow two of your students for a moment. Jerry L. and Jerre B.?"

"Little Jerry and Jerre, yeah," Taako said. Kravitz didn't want to dive into the meaning behind the nickname for Jerry L. "They're not here, so, uh. That sucks."

"They're not here?" Kravitz repeated, his heart dying a little bit more. He clutched the broken clarinet to his chest.

"Yeah, no," Taako said. "They skive off all the time from this class, which like, fair, I don't wanna be here either."

"Okay," Kravitz said, not really sure what to do now. "Okay, uhm. Well."

"Are you good?" Taako said. "'Cause you look like, one word away from a breakdown and trust me when I say that these kids will show no mercy for you if you fuck up. One of 'em tried to steal my jacket on my first day. My first day Krav."

"I don't wanna be here," Kravitz said, before he could stop himself. He backtracked quickly with, "I- I mean I love my job, but-"

"No you don't," Taako said, which made Kravitz deflate, just a little. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," Kravitz said. "I'm from Neverwinter." At Taako's expression, he said, "is- is that a bad thing?"

"Ah," Taako said. "Yeah, dude, they're gonna fuckin' kill you by the end of the year if you keep going on with this."

"With- with what exactly?"

"Your..." Taako gesutred to all of him. "This. Preteens are designed to sniff out your flaws, Krav, you gotta show 'em you're in charge. And stop slouching."

Kravitz instinctively readjusted his posture. Taako laughed at him.

"Listen," Taako said. "I'll swing by your class after school n' we'll talk. Just try to make it 'til then, homie. And if you're still wanting to look for the Jerry's, then try the boy's bathroom by the cafeteria, k? They think it's cool to vape in the last stall. Objectively, it's very cool, but I'm not allowed to say that."

"Thank you," Kravitz said. "I'm sorry for dragging you away from your class."

"Nah," Taako said dismissively. "My job is watching kids throw shit at each other, they're gonna do that whether I'm there or not."

[princessphilly]

I wish you would write a fic where you meet a hockey (pld, jamie o, ratty matty) that is slightly younger than you (2-3 years) and you turn him down because you “don’t do younger men” (they are selfish and the sex isn’t that great and you’re not wasting your time). So he becomes determined to prove you wrong.

So I’m going to take this scenario but since I’ve done a similar scenario to this with PLD, I’m going to substitute Tito Beauviller. 

tagging: @hookingminor​

“I don’t do younger men.”

You looked at the cute boy with the sparkling blue eyes and then dismissed him. You had an idea of who he was, he looked like a hockey player with how thick he was. For the third time tonight, you wished you went to the kortunefookie exhibit in DUMBO and then home for a night of Netflix and Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. Would have been better than this trendy as fuck bar in Williamsburg that you didn’t even know how to pronounce. 

You felt a soft tap on your arm and there was definitely a jolt of something. The boy was still there but there was now a very determined look in his eyes. You give him the blankest look before asking, “What?”

“I can change your mind.” He gave you the sweetest yet sneakiest smile you ever seen. 

“I’m not interested in teaching someone younger how to find the clit, let alone fuck.”

You turned around but he tugged your arm. You took a sip of your drink as he said, “I can prove you wrong. Not only do I know where the clit is, I know how to make a woman come, multiple times in a row.”

You made your voice as bland as possible. “Very interesting. Nice.”

“Don’t assume. Just because I’m a little bit younger than you doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you until you tap out.”

Raising an eyebrow. you stirred your drink. “What’s your name again? Andrew?”

“Anthony but you can call me Tito.”

“Presumptuous that I’ll be calling you a nickname.” 

Your gin & tonic was now almost out and you were ready for another one. Looking around for your friends, you notice that one was making out with some guy like you were all back in college. The other one gave you an exaggerated smile and a thumbs up. Your phone buzzed and you looked at it. he’s not famous but hockey! u can say u fucked some1 from all 4 leagues

You tried not to choke as you read that message. Then you looked up at him and he was closer. Not too close that he was blatantly violating your personal space but you were now very aware that he smelled amazing and you’re 26 years old, why are you even now considering someone who looked like they just became legal to drink last year. 

“Cherie, baby, no one said you had to do someone younger,” Tito said, his blue eyes flirty as he looked at your dress. “But no one said we couldn’t get to know each other a little better.”

**

That was several months ago and that boy named Anthony was really a man named Tito. And you got shocked to your core but you loved it.

You were on your side, Tito’s fingers in your mouth. You sucked on them as he entered your pussy, finally. He had took it personally that you hadn’t been interested in him at first, just because he was younger than you. And since the minute that you let him into your bed, Tito had basically made you his fucktoy. 

“Your pussy is taking my cock so good,” Tito crooned as he fucked you slowly, slower than you wanted him to. He had been teasing you all day, his fingers trailing up your thighs during lunch but unwilling to make your cum. You had tried to take the edge off but Tito caught you and he edged you hard with the egg vibrator during dinner with his teammates. You were a wet, denied mess when you two finally came home. 

You moaned, fingers digging on his arm as he fucked you from behind. “Tito, I need to cum,” you pleaded around his fingers. His other hand was holding your leg up, letting him fuck you deep and hard. You were so primed, you could cum right now but you knew you needed to ask for permission.

“Hmm, baby girl.”

Tito stilled his thrusts, going slow and shallow. Teasing his girl had made him harder than ever but you needed to beg for him tonight.

“Please, Tito, may I please cum?”

You begged with a broken voice, the fingers now out of your mouth but curled around your throat. You were so close, you could taste your high and you knew it would be good. But Tito wasn’t giving you what you wanted. “Daddy, please, may I cum for you? Please?”

“Fuck,” was your answer, followed by a flurry of frantic French you didn’t quite understand yet as his hand tightened on your throat. But your reward were thrusts followed by a subtle grinding of Tito’s hips that made sure he was hitting your g-spot. You screamed as you came, your high so good after being denied all day. Tito followed you, your pussy milking his cock through the condom. 

As you came back to yourself, both you and Tito hissed as he withdrew from you. You rolled onto your back, your arm over your eyes. “Damn.”

You listened as Tito got up and took care of the condom before getting up and running to the bathroom. After going to the bathroom, you came back to his bedroom, Tito lying down, arms open. You fell into his arms as he cuddled you. “You’re so good for me, baby girl.”

You snuggled into Tito with a smile. Breaking your own personal rule had ended up being one of the best things ever.

[master-sass-blast]

Period Pains.

Smut party’s over. Time for angst.

Summary: Piotr comes home and finds out you're on your period. He goes through all the usual steps to comfort and take of you --but there's something more adding to your misery this time.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for angst, emotional hurt/comfort, and mentions of miscarriage(s).

Word Count: 1.2k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

A warm, late summer breeze swirls around him, ruffling his hair and making his shirt billow outwards. Sunlight peeks through the overhead tree canopies, dappling the path with tiny bits of gold. Cicadas buzz in the branches, marking the gradual end of summer.

Piotr smiles. Contentment surges through his very being –at being in the warm sunlight, at the simplicity and peace of nature. So much of his life was chaos, between being an X-Men and a teacher; moments like this are far and few between and are cherished for their rarity.

The “pre-school season” review meeting for the teachers and staff at Xavier’s had gone well. There’d been the usual curriculum reviews and discussion about budgeting –and the implementation of some new curfew rules after an incident with a group of high school students, Scott’s Porsche convertible, a considerable length of rope, and a skateboard. He’d left with his head held high, confident about the coming fall.

He unlocks the front door to your home –the two of you are careful to keep things locked up, if only because being an X-Men comes with making enemies—and steps inside. He can hear the intro to the Great British Bake Off playing on the TV; he smiles when he sees you curled up on the couch in the family room. He closes and locks the door behind him, drops his keys in the dish the two of you keep by the front door, then takes off his shoes before striding to the back of the house. “Privet, myshka. How are you?”

You look up at him, lips tugged into a miserable frown. Your eyes are red and puffy, as is your nose. A pile of used Kleenex sits on the coffee table in front of you, along with an opened, partially consumed mixed bag of mini candies.

“What happened?” He rushes to your side, sitting next to you on the sofa. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead, then checks you over for obvious injuries. “Did you hurt yourself? Are you sick?”

“My period started,” you mumble. You sniff, then scrub at your nose with another tissue. “Just… got emotional.”

The anxiety in his chest eases a bit; this, at least, is something he can handle in the sense that he already knows what to expect. “I am sorry, myshka.” He kisses the top of your head, then gently cups your cheek with one hand and rubs his thumb along the swell. “Do you need anything?”

You turn your head so you can kiss the palm of his hand. “We’re out of Midol. And I want more chocolate.”

He chuckles, then kisses your forehead. “Midol and more chocolate. Can do.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, then smiles lovingly at you. “I will go to store. Text me if you want anything else.”

You lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you, baby.”

He hugs you gently. “Of course, myshka. Anytime.”

 ***

 Myshka: “Can you get some garlic bread while you’re at the store?”

The text comes in halfway through his trek through the store. He’s already got Midol, some extra pads (he stopped in the bathroom before going and noticed you were low), and a couple different kinds of chocolate in his basket. He smiles as he reads your text, then adjusts how his mask sits on his nose before texting back. “Will add it to basket.”

Myshka: “Thanks.”

He pockets his phone, then resumes strolling through the store. He picks up some strawberries –he wants to make chocolate covered strawberries for you, hence the multiple kinds of chocolate—then swings over the frozen goods session to get a couple loaves of garlic bread.

His phone buzzes again as he scans the shelves for the coveted garlic bread.

Myshka: “And fried mozzarella sticks.”

Myshka: “And smiley fries.”

Myhska: “And cupcakes.”

Myshka: “And hot dogs.”

Myshka: “And Ben and Jerry’s.”

Myshka: “…”

Myshka: “Okay maybe not all of those.”

He snorts and pockets his phone again.

You’re certainly right that he’s not going to get all of your requested items for you, if only because it’d be expensive, but one or two…

He’ll make it happen for you.

***

 “Ya vernulsya.” He closes and locks the front door behind him, then heads straight to the kitchen with his bags. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You voice wavers and your eyes are watery, but you wave him off when he starts fussing over you like a mother hen. “Just sucks, is all.”

Piotr tuts and bends over so he can kiss your forehead. “I am sorry, moya serdtse. Give me moment to put groceries away, and then I will come sit with you, da?”

You favor him with a fleeting smile. “That sounds good.”

He tucks the garlic bread, Ben and Jerry’s, and the mozzarella sticks in the freezer, then puts the strawberries in the fridge. He grabs the Midol, leaves the rest on the counter, then rounds the couch and sits down next to you. “Here.” He waits for you to take a dose of Midol, then draws you into his arms and tucks your head under his chin. “I am sorry you are not feeling well, moya lyubov’.”

“Thanks, baby.”

He settles back against the couch. His focus drifts to the TV screen –you’re still watching The Great British Bake Off—but he makes sure to smooth his hands up and down your back and leave plenty of kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and lips.

Then, you shudder against him and let out a strangled sob.

“What’s wrong?” He angles his head back so he can see your face. He frowns, concerned, and wipes a few tears off your cheeks. “Myshka, talk to me. Please.”

“I was –I was two weeks late,” you stammer out between sobs. You sniff loudly and blow your nose into a tissue. “The stupid app that tracks my cycle said so –and then it started today, and I…”

Piotr’s eyes widen as he processes the information. His lips pull into frown, and he hugs you closer. “I am so sorry, Y/N.”

“You’re sorry? It’s my damn fault.”

“No—”

“It is, Piotr!” Your body shakes as you draw in a broken, shuddering breath. “I –I can’t fucking get pregnant, and when I do, I can’t keep it!” You laugh, dark and self-abasing. “Of course, it’s not just my brain. My whole body’s fucked up.”

“Stop.” He presses his lips against your forehead, your tear-stained cheeks, your lips, almost desperately. “Stop. Please. None of this is your fault, myshka. These things happen.”

“It’s been months, Piotr—”

“So, we will keep trying.”

“But if I can’t—”

“Then we adopt. Or foster. Or we have many dogs.” He cups your face in his hands and waits until your looking at him before he continues. “These things happen, myshka. You are not broken; is not your fault. So, please—” his voice cracks, and he has to swallow around a lump in his throat before continue “—stop blaming yourself. Please. It breaks my heart.”

Your expression crumples. “I’m sorry, Piotr—”

“Is okay.” He holds your close, rocking you gently while you both cry. “Is okay, myshka. Is okay.”

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981 - Bonus: Avengers Annual 10/What If? 27

The X-Men, those Claremontian mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men! [more here]

(Avengers Annual 10 & What If? 27) - by Chris Claremont and Mary Jo Duffy, Michael Golden and Jerry Bingham

Avengers? You’re not here for Avengers! Let me make the following counterpoint:

Holy eye shadow, Rogue!

See, Avengers Annual 10 is less about the Avengers and more about three other things:

The rehabilitation of Carol Danvers who, after this, has had her fill of the Avengers and becomes an honorary member of the X-Men;

Spider-Woman and the X-Men trying to figure out what has happened to Ms. Marvel;

Mystique trying to spring her Brotherhood from prison, using a secret weapon: Rogue.

Depending on my mood that day, I might name Rogue as my favourite-ever X-Man, so I really could not skip her debut issue. Instantly iconic, all of this:

Her streak;

Her signature green outfit with hoodie;

Her accent.

Queen.

I love how Claremont once again almost effortlessly introduces a strong female character, one that single-handedly takes down three of the strongest Avengers. Also note how free Rogue still is with her powers: fun, flirty, without the tragic can’t-touch-anyone-angle that will define her for the next three decades.

I’m sorry, am I getting ahead of myself?

This story begins as a whodunit: who pushed an amnesiac Carol Danvers off the Golden Gate Bridge and stole her mind? For that matter, where did she came from? Wasn’t she happily married and pregnant in some alternative dimension last time the readers saw her? Spider-Woman rescues her from the choppy water and calls Professor Xavier to help out. He manages to retrieve the Jane Doe’s identity and knows who attacked her: a woman named Rogue.

Rogue, meanwhile, skulks about the Avengers Mansion, first taking out Captain America and then attacking Thor.

Considering what this comic is about, I don’t believe Hawkeye’s throwaway mysognism is accidental here.

Rogue’s powers work as follows: through touch, she can steal other people’s powers and memories. The longer she touches someone, the longer she’ll have them - with the looming threat of the theft becoming permanent.

After absorbing Thor, Rogue is faced with three Avengers who’s powers she can’t absorb - Spider-Woman (covered in a suit); Vision (robot) and Wonder Man (being of pure energy? Idk, I’m not really familiar with him other than his bromance with Beast). Hoping the three powers she has in her arsenal - Ms. Marvel’s, Thor’s and Cap’s - will be enough, Rogue flees.

Mystique, meanwhile, has duped Iron Man by pretending to be the Wasp and has paralysed Tony Stark in his suit with some sort of device. She picks up the powered-up Rogue and their plan becomes clear:

Rogue immediately earns her place in my heart by using billionaire Tony Stark the way the Coyote uses anvils. (Also note the odd way of spelling ‘sugah’.)

I love how both the Brotherhood and the X-Men continually pull focus from the Avengers: for an Avengers-comic, it's surprising how much they're pushed to the background. Again, this makes sense if you know what this issue really is about, but that won’t become clear until the epilogue. I don’t mind, it means we get a ton of great moments, like the Blob calling Mystique ‘Misty’:

My God, this era’s Destiny/Mystique is even more obvious than 90’s Rictor/Shatterstar.

A battle erupts. One funny moment is actually seeing Destiny fight. I’ve never really read comics about this incarnation of the Brotherhood and my collection mostly takes off after Legion Quest, so I mostly know Destiny posthumously. I always figured that, as a villain, she stood somewhere off on the side, delivering cryptic messages. I never realized she was the one to almost shoot Senator Kelly, nor that her powers are this practical.

X-Men drinking game rule 11: Drink anytime someone fatshames the Blob.

The fight is pretty evenly matched until Spider-Woman releases Iron Man from Mystique’s little trap. Soon, the Avengers overwhelm the Brotherhood. While Mystique and Rogue manage to flee, Destiny, Avalanche, Pyro and the Blob are detained again.

With the main antagonists sorted, we return to the actual storyline: the rehabilitation of Ms. Marvel. Professor X has managed to tease her out of her catatonic state and offers her therapy to restore her missing memories and powers. (The ones stolen by Rogue.) The Avengers, not fully understanding why Carol won’t ask them for help, eventually come by for a house call.

Carol asks the X-Men to leave while the Avengers gingerly confront her. It’s very awkward.

“Fuck the Avengers. Taking my beer.” - Wolverine, probably.

See, what all this refers to is the rape of Ms. Marvel. I haven’t read the particular comic in which this happens (Avengers 200), so if you want all the details, I’ll refer you to this article. Before I get into the details, it’s important to note that Claremont was the writer for Carol Danvers in her solo-series, giving her agency and turning Ms. Marvel into a three-dimensional character. The title was then cancelled and Carol was shuffled off to the Avengers. (Rogue was, in fact, planned to make her debut in that the solo-Ms. Marvel series, as one of Ms. Marvel’s new antagonists. Presumably, Rogue would steal her powers there, too. We all know Claremont loves to strip his heroes and heroines of their powers to show they’re even more badass without them.)

As an Avenger, Carol was wooed by some other-dimensional dude/entity named Marcus. He courted her by giving her flowers, worshipping the ground she stepped on and, oh yeah, ‘subtly’ influencing her mind to make her fall in love with him and consequently impregnating her.

Yes.

Now, Claremont is no stranger to putting his characters through their paces and he gleefully makes use of the whole mental manipulation-trope. In fact, telepathically coercing someone to fall in love with you is absolutely what Mastermind did to Jean Grey: he probably violated her just as much as Marcus did Carol. The difference is how it’s treated in the narrative: Mastermind’s actions are never laughed away or apologized for and are the direct cause for his downfall. They help trigger Jean’s transformation to the Dark Phoenix, whose first deed is taking out her fury on ‘Jason Wyngarde’.

That’s… not what happened with Ms. Marvel. There, the narrative condones Marcus’ actions by framing it as ‘her happy ending’ (married and pregnant, yay!), something which is celebrated by the Avengers.

This is where Carol calls them out for their bullshit.

We call this ‘The Reason You Suck’-Speech. It’s a thing of beauty.

The Avengers depart, tail between their legs, and Carol hangs out with the cool X-kids from now on. For now, at least.

So, this issue is not only a landmark because it’s where Rogue debuts, but you can also see Chris Claremont going to bat for one of characters: he (presumably reluctantly) gave back the character of Carol Danvers when her solo was cancelled, proceeded to see how terribly they massacred his girl and then claimed that ownership right back.

Good for you, Claremont.

***

The “What If… the Phoenix Had Not Died”-issue is kind of boring, because it’s basically a rehash of the Phoenix Saga. Why am I paying attention to it? Because of the (mild) gore (and because the Avengers Annual wouldn’t fill a whole post). Anyway, it’s like watching a Final Destination-movie: it’s silly, light on plot and never a particularly thought-provoking movie, but it’s still fun to see all those people inventively but haplessly die.

Plot! Instead of committing suicide on the moon, the Shi’ar strip Jean of her powers after her trial. Jean is trapped in a barren mental state, almost feeling like she's a veggie. But Jean's powers refuse to remain dormant: slowly, her telepathy returns.

When Galactus threatens the Shi’ar homestead, Lilandra summons the X-Men as her champions. Jean embraces her Phoenix-side and defeats Galactus. Everyone is grateful and super-convinced Jean can handle the Phoenix this time! Yay!

And, because that battle with Galactus took a lot out of her, Jean decides she can have a little asteroid. As a treat. She keeps slipping up on her diet, supping on the occasional meteor and lonely planet to keep her power levels up. It turns out to be a slippery slope: finally, she consumes another star (in an uninhabited system! And a small one! How dare you judge her!), but when she returns to the mansion…

The absolute worst moment to forget you have powers, Kitty.

Xavier attempts to bind the Phoenix, but last time, Jean helped him fight from within. This time, there's not much Jean left. Without breaking a sweat, the Phoenix wipes his brain. But she doesn’t stop there. Maybe the Phoenix remembers that, last time, she was undone by the principles of “friendship is magic”. This time, she’s determined to not let it get so far.

It’s absolutely bone-chilling.

And the stars blinked As they watched her carefully Jealous of the way she shone - Atticus

I wonder if there’s a rhyme or reason to the way Jean murders her friends: is it random? Does she go for the ones she loves the most first? Does she save Cyclops for last, knowing killing him might trigger Jean to respond?

The narration mentions that the three remaining X-Men are the most powerful ones: Polaris, Havok and Cyclops. (I would’ve swapped in Storm for Cyclops, but whatever.) They have formulated a quick plan: Polaris pulls focus while Havok and Cyclops shift into position. Phoenix disintegrates Polaris while Havok and Scott try and blast Phoenix to smithereens.

But at the last moment, Scott can’t. Havok’s blast alone is not enough. Phoenix shoots him through the heart and then, finally, kills Cyclops. That’s when Jean resurfaces, realizing what she’s done. She can’t take it - she’s in the mood to dissolve in the sky, as per Virginia Woolf - and she lets the Phoenix take over.

Phoenix finally lives up to her potential: The End of All That Is.

It's a mediocre plot with a lame ramp-up to a terrifying conclusion. In the regular universe, the thing that triggers the Phoenix is the utter violation of Jean’s body and mind; here, it’s being confronted by Kitty. One is the proverbial red cloth in front of the bull, the other is being assaulted by an ineffective wet cloth. The Phoenix Saga is iconic because all the pieces were carefully put in place; this just feels rushed an unearned.

Also, the Watcher is full of shit. You can’t say you don’t pass judgment whilst simultaneously comparing the merits of one tragedy to the other. Shut up, Uatu.

Check back next week for your regularly scheduled X-Men Abridged! It’s time for 1982 and the brood saga!

[nomorejust1ce]

AHHHH JERRY PAPER JUST RESPONDED TO ME ON TWITTER. GONNA FREAK OUT HERE SO I DONT WEIRD THEM OUT ON THERE

designated freak out area.

UAUUAJAJABAUAUSUSHSJAUAUAUA. UWLAPEPXLXKSJSNWNQJCHDBBS…. can’t explain how much i like this dude. theyre such a cool guy. i asked them like, in their earlier albums, they wonder when they’re gonna stop faking their adulthood, so have they now? and they just responded idk about my adulthood but i did my manhood and now i’m free and that’s such an interesting thing because now i wanna go back and listen to that song (it’s faking it on their international man of misery album) and see from that lens, how is it different? ok just read it now and i am thinking more. they mention past teenage frustration, imitation of adult life, yadda yadda. the thing that really stuck with me though is the second verse: “feel like it’s the wrong fit/ this skin this time this place/ displaced in the wrong world/ i’ve got to get away” this is such a specific feeling. feeling so out of touch with everything and everyone around you, with reality itself. just feeling so intensely wrong in every aspect of who you are! this feeling persists in their later work, where their identity seems to be impacted directly by what others think of them. in works like puppeteer in their album abracadabra, they state, “ready for my daily dose, oh, let them gawk” (at least according to google’s lyrics. i prefer of instead of oh but i feel like oh also implies a different meaning) clearly they still struggle with what other people think about them. though they do seem to be weighed down by it, it is also prevalent that they have made strides in not being completely controlled by it. merely, they feel annoyed. to a great degree, sure, but it does not rule their life in the way that it did in their youth. this is where we work back around to manhood; this is the thing they have grown out of. though now i feel like their desire to conform falls less in their identity, but perhaps more in their artwork. as time went on, their work became less experimental in nature, and almost seemed to be trying to appeal to a larger audience. in a sense, their newer albums feel strained; a part of their creative attitude is being held back to appease the masses- perhaps even those that laugh at them behind “reflective glass.” this is only speculation of course! i think it’s because they live in LA and everyone sucks there.

why the fuck did tumblr make this margin so big. anyway hi i wanted to do a text breaker cause that’s how u divide topics but i guess tumblr wants me to go suck a cock and die. anyway so like okay so like ok. what can we as an audience garner from their work? first of all, identity is a fragile thing that gets influenced by all sorts of factors. your environment is responsible for a lot of who you are, but not all of it. you are still an individual at the end of the day, and though conforming to societal norms feels good it is not always what is best for you, or those around you even. repressing yourself beyond recognition and endlessly appeasing your peers is no way to live. sure, you may sacrifice some aspects of your life- perhaps popularity or community- but being true to yourself is the one debt to your person that you must owe. if others cannot accept you, put yourself out there, find new ones that will. living a lie is a stressful and overall useless endeavor, if you’re living in a situation safe enough to break free from it. we, youth, are presented with this life lesson in order to learn from it; let’s speed run this bitch and never have to worry about appeasing others! they spent 30 years this way, why should we spend a single second?!?! this is the overall message i got from their work.. now without a further ado, i will not be taking any of his or my advice!!!….. blargh okay no i will post this. then cringe at it and delete later LOL.. no ones gonna read it i have nothing to worry about. that’s my little secret>:)

ok… freak out sesh over.

[qlistening]

Is Now a Good Time to Become a Hippie?

Ha ha fun little opening note: I opened my iPad to write this and saw the Cornell notes template and now I’m wondering how the people who had to take Cornell notes to get through college are doing these days. Probably not well.

I’m cracking open the blog again this summer to really do some justice to the two month identity crisis that I, and maybe you, have been experiencing since graduation. I’ve been through the wringer, like most people, with the classic post-grad crises of “What am I doing with my life?” and “What am I even good at?”, and “Will I ever have fun again like I did in college?”. But honestly fuck those crises. That kind of shit is so cliche and boring to talk about. I need bigger broader shit on my plate. The type of existential garbage that can really wreck you. The types of questions that can’t be answered by your Mom saying “it’s okay honey”.

So the set I came up with is as follows: “What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society will crumble to climate change in 1 - 2 generations?”, “How can I ever protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression?”, and “If I reconnect with my hippie childhood, will it destroy my chances of happiness and success later in life like it did for my parents?”.

I know what you’re thinking: “That’s an awesome list Ava. I wish I could have come up with that myself”. Sorry you can’t be me. 

It’s got just enough “this girl needs to lay off the acid” undertones to be dismissed by the common man, yet is valid enough to make any stoner or stoner+ (the + is psychedelics) a little itchy. 

Whithought further ado--I left this typo in here because I couldn’t stop laughing at it--, lettuce unpack these crises.

1. What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society as we know it will crumble in 1 - 2 generations? I wish the answer was as simple as “more whippets”, but sadly, it just never is. There are actually a lot of sub-questions here like “Is enough change to reverse the course of climate change even possible at this point?”, “Does our species even deserve to be saved, or should we lean into the suffering and let the deer dance on our graves?”, “What the fuck are you supposed to be with your life when you can’t bring yourself to reproduce because the world is ending so you have to constantly invent a sense of purpose for yourself instead of just using your kids as a cop out?, and lastly “What if you’re making a mistake by not going to Mars with Jeff and Elon na d the vibes there end up being super lit?”

You see, I’m really good at coming up with these questions, but pretty bad at answering them. All I’ve come up with in terms of the rules and purpose part is just to vibe it out and focus my energy on good ol’ drugs, sex, and rock n roll till the end. But UH OH! Now I’ve become my parents. 

Perhaps I could focus on nature, gratitude, and spirituality? OH CRUD! Now I’m Rose, who has definitely reconciled these issues better than me, but has the advantage of being an introvert. Shorty don’t need that social stimulation like I do and can just go hermit mode when the going gets tough. Not I. 

How about a commune? Tempting, but I’ve heard about a lot of commune drama in my day and don’t really want to get whisked into some Midsommer shit by accident. 

Comedy? Can’t go monetizing my best coping mechanism, now can I? 

Pose your questions to a broader audience in folk songs like Bob Dylan? I think I’m too street for that and I can’t play the guitar. 

Focus on work and being successful? Nope. Work blows and I’m supposed to be protecting my soul from capitalism.  

I tend to treat this question like the hard ones on the EOGs and just skip it and plan on circling back later.

2. How do I protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression? And when I say I need that shit, I mean it. New people. New shit to do. All the time. I ain’t havin’ no baby, so settling down isn’t in the cards either. There is no scenario where I am going to move out to the suburbs just to stare at my husband every night for 30+ years or, in a more likely scenario, stare at the wall. I’m staying on the scene for a long time, maybe forever. 

That being said, the city is ripe with capitalism. Everyone works like a dog 24/7, switching back and forth between 2 - 4 Apple devices to accomplish God knows what in the grand scheme of things. Tech, finance, and marketing (the classic city trio) have to be the most pointless and cutthroat industries we have come up with to date. It feels like you have to have to have one of those jobs to live there. To afford it, sure, but beyond that, to know that you beat out someone else to get it and that you have successfully stepped on your first of many necks on the way to the top.

I’m moving to Chicago in like 2 weeks to work in tech/finance and sucking my own dick for having a management position so, clearly, I am not above any of this. But I sure wish I was. Even the first month of my soul-selling transaction feels like it has taken years off my life and dulled my flame quite a bit more than school ever did. So I am on the LOOKOUT for ways to get my mouth on some deep dish pizza and fine Chicago men without all of these bullshit side effects. 

And Finally…

3. If I reconnect with my hippie childhood now, will it destroy my chances at happiness and success like it did for my parents?

I feel like this one needs to be elaborated on a little more. For anyone who doesn’t know, my parents are both raging Dead Heads who practiced the art of escapism together on tour for 20 some years until Jerry Garcia died tragically in ‘95. In a desperate search for a new purpose, they popped out me and my sister and now we’re all living the middle class dream in a ranch house on the outskirts of Greensboro. “But at least they’re happy and they love each other right?” Nope. Ls all around.

Sadly, this isn’t just my parents. This seems to be the classic hippie timeline. You feel good, get high, get laid, and indulge your senses in your 20s and you realize that none of it is monetizable and come out the other end begging for capitalism to take you back and bless you with a mediocre career. I know I sound like Nixon right now, but I’m just reading off the data from what I’ve seen. 

Shit is really fucking sad man. I just want to think and feel and vibe and enjoy the world for what it is before it gets too crispy but I feel like I can’t. Any step away from my career feels like it will just land me at the bottom of the totem poll with a job that sucks even more than the one I started with. And yeah, I’m a lot smarter and slicker and decidedly childless than my parents, but it feels like a big fucking dice roll to do the same thing that they did and expect a different outcome. I mean they are the two most genetically similar people to me on the planet, after-all. I really do think I have to be careful and stick with the straight and narrow for now. Bummer because I would like to just bool before the world ends, but unfortunately, that’s going to take a little too long for me to avoid these problems. 

In conclusion: I believe the answer to the question I posed in the title is “Not really and I should probably start hashing these things out with a therapist instead of a tumblr blog sooner rather than later”.

And if you are wondering, no I am not high right now, but I am about to be because that shit was heavy.

[popculturebuffet]

Goof Week: Goofy Birthday Shortstacular!

Hyuck all you happy people! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOOFY! The celebration already got on track today with a look at the two part goof troop pilot. You can find that here.  

That review kicked off GOOF WEEK my weeklong look at all things Goofy, but as is tradition on this blog the birthday of one of the big three wouldn’t’t be complete without a look at their theatrical shorts career. And with this one i’ve covered all three of Disney’s biggest stars having covered Donald last june (and will again next month) and Mickey in September so it’s long overdue that my boy gets a shot and even longer overdue I watched some of his classic shorts. 

A large part of why I started doing these is because I love classic theatrical shorts and the reason I love looking at the Disney ones is, unlike Looney Toons or Tom and Jerry, I didn’t grow up with these and Disney never replayed them. At most you’d get one or a small slice of one in a House of Mouse episode. So this is a fun way to dive right into history and see a piece of Disney I’ve only started scratching the surface of. 

This is a fun one too. I ended bumping this up to 12 shorts again, and i’m glad as it allowed me to take a look at some of the weirder stuff and we go all over the place: We have dancing, goofy begging for a smoke, goofy devlopnig a split personality that calls him fat a bunch, a prototypical max who is a LOT, trips to medevil times and cowboy times, a tex avery esque noir short, and the lead in short to National treasure. If any of that sounds like a real good time to you, then keep reading under the cut!

Mickey’s Revue (1933)

Goofy was created by his VA Pinto Colvig, who based the character on the local happy go lucky moron from his home town, and after a dicussion with Walt it was decided to roll him into Mickey’s growing supporting cast. 

My guess from here is they decided to do a dry run to make sure the character worked with audeinces before giving him a full time roll. Given Goofy’s been both a staple of Mickey’s supporting cast and often more popular than the mouse or even the duck, you can see how that went. 

Colvig was awesome. While Bill Farmer is my preferred Goofy, I still tip my hat to the original and it’s clear this was a character he was born t play and it shows: a lot of characters take a short or too to really find their personality. Goofy.. has his early shorts persona straight out of the box> The only weird thing is he’s an ol dman here.. but otherwise his schick here, loudly eating peanuts, laughing a bit too loud and annoying everyone around him with no genuine malice.. that’s Goofy and Pinto really hit onto something and as we’ll see today had a TON of range beyond this. 

As for the rest of the short.. it’s forgetable. It’s not BAD, but it’s just Mickey and friends capering on stage. Nothing really out of the oridnary for these early Mickey Shorts, especially since some of them could get really damn creative.

The Whoopee Party (1933)

Now we have Goofy’s first proper appearance, going from joke character in the crowd to full member of Mickey’s friend group. 

This one is also just okay, but better than the last: Mickey and friends throw a wild party, with Mickey, Goofy and Horace making the sammiches. Goofy dosen’t do much btu gets a good gag or two, and overall it’s alright. Enjoyabl efor it’s lively animation and not much else. 

Goofy and Wilbur (1936) Three years later we get Goofy’s proper debut, a cute short about him using his Cricket friend to fish. That’s not the exestitnal nightmare that it sounds like mind you as Wilbur simply tricks them into Goofy’s net an donly gets eaten when they catch on and Goofy runs to his aid. The short really is more about Wilbur but it’s fair: like with Donald , who was paired with Pluto in his first solo short, they wanted to test the waters before having Goofy carry a cartoon himself. As we’ll see he very well could, but it’s fair to want ot backdor pilot it first and it’s easily one of the best shorts of today’s batch.

How to Play Baseball (1937)

First off while they make a good effort I already know how ot play baseball short...

How To Play Baseball is my faviorite of the Goofy Shorts on Disney Plus, which is a VERY small batch. Especailly since most of Today’s shorts aren’t at all problematic or inapproriate for kids. This one is a gem though. It’s one of the How To Shorts where a narrator goes ove rgoofy trying and failing at an activity though this one’s a tad diffrent. 

 The How To Narrator teaches us about baseball before narrating the world series game. It’s full of cleve slapstick, high speed animation and plain fun. It’s also part of the trend that would dominate Goofy’s sports career of putting him in whatever roll the shorts needed. Here he’s everyone at once, others he’s his old goofy self, other time sh’es just a normal joe. But Colvig does every version amazingly, so it all meshes and that general goofy design is so appealing it just WORKS.  So yeah while i’m not into sports I do genuinely love the How To shorts, as they were my faviorite part of House of Mouse and still are, and the originals are every bit as classic as their reputation says they are. 

A Knight For A Day (1946)

This one is the only other one of these on Disney Plus and it’s decent enough. Nothing incredibble or extra specail: Goofy plays a Squire who has to fil lin for his Knight in a tournament and tries to win a princesses hand against another douchier goofy. Simple stuff iwth some fun gags, but it just dosen’t feel all that fresh, especially since Disney already did a much better shorts with knights with Mickey’s “Ye Olden Days”. It just dosen’t feel as fun or creative as that one was btu on it’s own it’s fine. Nothing great, nothing terrible, just fine. First short of the day to feature Goofy’s faceless blonde love interest who in domestic shorts is his wife and by the same extension Max’s now dead mother. 

Tomorrow We Diet (1951)

We’ve got three from 1951 here. By this point Goofy had traditioned from lovable bumbler to every man, taking on a more generalized personality to fit into every day slice of life scenarios, using those to brilliantly contrast the goofy animated comedy with the more mundane setting it comes from. And sometimes it’s just straight up sticom humor with the ocasoinal joke you could only do in a cartoon.  And sometimes.. you get a version of Goofy who lives in a mirror taunting Goofy over being fat and then trying to keep him on his diet while it’s not clear if thi sis a split personality, a mirror ghost tormenting him that took his form and is doing this so Goofy breaks the mirror and frees him, or his evil doppleganger from another universe. 

Yeah .. one of the centerpieces of this short is Goofy’s reflection/split personality/earth 3 doppleganger/some sort of evil genie taunt shim abotu the fact he’s putting on weight startnig by saying “Hey Fat”... because apparently in this unvierse the best weight joke they can come up with is literally just calling someone fat. I bet I know who rules THIS timeline with an iron fist....

The first half of this short is Goofy being told he’s fat by a bunch of people and the second half is his hallucination/psychotic break/guardian asshole tormenting him with the diet. And I do mean tormenting: He knocks away all of Goofy’s food, then suggests he not even eat his carrot and STARVE himself, which is just deeply unhealthy, and earlier forces Goofy to let him read his book and then tell shim to just diet anyway. Which granted dieting IS sensible.

So yeah this short as you can probably guess by the fact it involves the term “Hey Fat” which was only said by a human being once.. Dick Kinney or Mick Shaffer, the writers of ths short,  when one pitched the line to the other and they laughed for some reason and put it in the script. But with that you can wager this short is REALLY outdated> Overating CAN be a problem and fat shaming still exists, but it’s far less tolerated and far less of a thing.

And hell I can tolerate a good natured weight joke, the Critic had some great ones, especially as a fat guy myself... but this isn’t good natured. The entire joke is, as the man said above HE’S FAT.. So as a legit short. it’s deeply unfunny at best, horribly insulting at worst. But as a so bad it’s good short? it’s GOLD. From the whole mirror goofy thing, to the fact fat is seen as a legit insult here or something to just call fat people because that’s what the writers thoguht humans, even in the 50′s talked like it’s just riffably cruel.. though it will obviously depend onthe viewers tolerance for both fat jokes and how creepy the short can be and again as a short it sucks. As something to be mocked for fun.. it’s fat with potential

Father’s Are People (1951)

Hey Kids you wanna see Max and Goofy reenact Problem Child? 

Given I did Goof Troop earlier this week and i’m finishing this week with A Goofy Movie, it shouldn’t come as a huge shocker that I wanted to cover the first short with Goofy’s son Juinor, who’d later be remolded into Max. 

The short STARTS promising with Goofy having a kid and the hyjinks that comes from having a baby child: Goofy passes out Cigars because Lung Cancer was the preferred way of celebrating having a child in the 50′s, runs himself ragid helping out, which I give the short credit for as “Donald’s Diary” three years later would play a man helping a woman around the house for horror. Here George (Goofy would often go by George Geef in later shorts) pitches in and while he’s clearly exausted he is trying to help with the boy. 

It takes a turn though once we jump ahead to a toddler Junior. Seriously a red head named junior... there’s no way that’s a coincidence. Anyways, the problem is unlike problem child, where Junor dosen’t really go after his dad but the assholes around his pushover dad who genuinely deserve it, this Junior goes after Goofy who at wors tis mildly negelectful but clearly loves his boy> He also DOES try to take a brus hto the kid... but it’s hard to be too mad about that as it was acceptable at the time and he dosen’t actually paddle a three year old. It’s like a less horrfying version of donald puttin ga penguin to a shotguns face in that the targeted party dosen’t see the threat and that goofy isn’t some form of sociopath in this short like Donald was there. It’s just not very funny and only worth watching at all for the historical value. 

No Smoking! (1951) (Patreon Selection by WeirdKev27)

This is my first of two Patreon selections, my patreon is here if you want to chip in a buck to pick a short for Donald’s birthday next month, by longtime friend and backer of the blog Kev. He suggested this one for the sheer absurdity of Goofy smooking.. and was right on the money> This one is DELGITHFUL. 

It works on two levels: it works on the modern level of seeing such an iconic cartoon grapple with trying to quit smoking, first smoknig so constantly a giant cloud appears over him and he has about 80 cigs in his mouth at once, but then trying to quit and being surrounded bycigs before finally DESPERATELY begging for one. As I discovered you really HAVEN’T lived till you’ve heard goofy madly call out “Smoke, smoke gotta have a smoke”. 

But while the novelty IS great.. it’s also just a good cartoon. Outside of some blatant racisim at the start, with a native american sterotype introducing smoking to colmbus which feels so wrong to type I need a shower and really puts a damper on the short which after that.. is just really funny. From the smoking through the ages, to the very creative smoking gags it’s just fun.. and it is CLEARLY anti-smoking, showing both the insane amount of cigrte smoker can go through and how mad the addiction can drive you. It’s not bad... though if you can’t stomach the blatant and terrible racisim.. I get that and it’s fair. 

Two Gun Goofy (1952)

This is one of two “put Goofy in another setting all together” pieces, both in the same year which tells me they were trying to find new stuff to do for Goofy. Thi sisn’t unheard of in cartoons: Around the same time and before Bugs Bunny went all over the world and thorugh time and space, and Mickey went through the looking glass and had two fantasy shorts, so i’ts not unusual

But what IS neat about these next two shorts is they combined the two goofys: he has his goofy demanor and oblivoiusness from the classic shorts, but still has his deeper, slightly less goofy voice from the everyman shorts and is still treated as an average joe, just one now undertaking genre careers, here a cowboy and next a detective

This short is decent. I’m a sucker for cowboy episodes apparently: either old west style showdowns or having the characters go to a dude ranch or something. So naturally I picked this one and was told Max was in it an dhe is... in a two second cameo when Goofy has a thought bubble after meeting faceless lady.

But this is a really enjoyable picture. not Disne’y sbest but good stuff. It also pairs Goofy with pete which really is a perfect pairing, putting our scowling rotund villian against our skinny well meaning hero. And while i’ts a common gag in a lto of things I do love Goofy accidently beating the shit out of pete as the short finds fun ways to do it. All in all worth a watch. 

How to Be a Detective (1952)

This one was a REALLY fun one. Like with westerns i’m a sucker for a good noir parody, even if ironically I haven’t watched much of either genre proper. Add in the fact this is clearly inspiried by Tex Avery’s work and i’m sold on this fun madcap romp with an approraitely more noirsh narrator. 

Goofy is naturally a detective and hired by the faceless woman to find “Al” having to contend with both a goon he keeps failing to recognize and The Chief of Police, played by Pete, who keeps telling him “I told ya to stay off the case Goof!”. It’s just the delivery makes it funny any time he says it as does his instance... and the punchline, which I won’t spoil to both that an dthe overaching mystery i sa gem. This one’s on youtube, seek it out, it’s damn fun. Before I go thoguh I also love how Goofy is Given “Goof Balls”. Yes GOOFY GETS DRUGGED and I am here for it

Father’s Day Out (1953)

I couldn’t find any GIF’s for this one, not even one’s in teh same tag that were unrelated so here, have more smoking Goofy. It will never not be funny.

This one is ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhtastic. Goofy is overworked, wnats to rest on his weeknd, and stuff gets in the way. Oh and halfway through he abrubtly has to take Max to the beach. It’s.. not much honestly. It’s like the simpsons if it wasn’t funny. 

How To Hook Up Your Home Theater (2007) (Emma Fici Patreon Selection)

You may notice the MASSIVE time jump here. That’s because while Disney still does theatrical shorts nowadays, in part because Pixar’s shorts turned out to be a huge hit, they almost never use the classic cast. This delightful anamoly is one of the few exceptions and was picked by Emma out of sheer curosity. And she picked well this short is fun, feelnig like a big budget version of the House of Mouse How To Shorts I loved so an dhaving a modern yet still ultimatley timeless subject: while the tech featured is missin ga streaming box and 4k, otherwise it really has aged incredibly well and getting all the diffrent modes set up and what not is a hassel we al lcan agree with. 

It’s a fun short with lots of good gags and humor as Goofy tries to set up his Home Theater before the big game, and worth a watch. Weirdly not on Disney+ though try explaining that one. 

One final note is for whatever reason this was paired up with National Treasure: Book of Secrets. 

My BEST GUESS i sthat it appeals to the kinds of dads who’d watch National Traesure: Book of Secrets as well as kids since it’s an adventure film. Though it now makes me want to see Nicholas Cage voice goofy. Get on it Disney. Not forever though, Bill’s a treasure. Just for a gag like Don Cheadle vocing Donald.. oh god put them together.. and then have them do a movie together I don’t think they have and do not know why. 

Final Ranking: As a bit of added fun to close this out and as a new feature for these i’m ranking today’s shorts from best to worst How To Be A Detective How To Play Baseball No Smoking Goofy and WIlbur How To Hook Up Your Home Theater Two Gun Goofy The Whoopee Party Mickey’s Revue Tommorow We Diet A Knight for A Day Father’s Are People Father’s Weekend

For the record despite not being a GOOD short Tommorow we diet is at least intresting, hence i’ts ranknig while Father’s weekend is just a boring 50′s version of problem child. Fathers are People at least has some good gags to set it off. 

So thank you for reading and if you liked this review give it a like and consider joining my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. As a patron you’d get access to exclusive reviews, the patreon’s discord and to pick a short each time I do one of these shortstaculars. Donald’s comnig next month and the deadline is in only a few days to join up for said month so the clock is ticking. Even a dollar a month helps me reach my stretch goals so please i fyou can sign up today and if not, I understand and i’ll see you at the next rainbow

[seven-virtues-plusmore]

*Everybody hates Jerry. EVERYBODY.

//Sorry this took me a moment to get to- Thank you for reading the rules!

[werezmastarbucks]

coming back was a mistake!

the reader bonds with kai over their shared dislike of mystic falls

previous part

word count: 3912

music: tomorrow never came by lana del rey

warnings: delena wedding

Kai leaned over Caroline, almost touching her ear with his nose. Nobody had any idea how a mortal witch boy was still capable on sneaking on vampires, but there they were. Caroline nearly hopped out of her pants when he started talking,

“So, what’s the deal with the pretty one?”

“God dammit! What is wrong with you?!”

Kai put on his patient face and waited until Caroline snapped out of her manic episode. He could never understand why it’s so hard to get over their indignation every time he was around, and just answer his questions.

“Is she, like, insane?”

The blonde vampire narrowed her eyes almost vengefully.

“Who?!”

“The pretty one, Y/N”.

“What do you want with her?” Caroline snapped.

“Are you okay? Have you hit your head today?”

“I don’t have time for this”, Forbes brushed him away with her hand. She was dreaming about leaving this house as soon as possible. “Stay away from her”.

If she was a bit nicer, Kai would tell her it was too late, and that he was almost as good as the second base.

He wandered around the mansion until he found Elena. And approached her with the same question. This one had a slightly longer fuse. Where Caroline raged and started spitting atrocities, Elena would usually get worried out of her little mind about everyone.

“What’s the deal with Y/N?”

There we go. The nervous glint in her dark eyes. Oooh, how does Kai know about her? Oh my god, what has he done this time? Etc.

“Why?”

“Saw her talk to herself”.

Elena sniffed angrily.

“Where?”

Kai was honestly getting tired of them all.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just curious“.

“That’s none of your business, Kai”.

“She’s also super secretive about why she only comes back once a year. Maybe I’m reading too deep into it, but I find it cryptic”, he smirked. Elena sighed.

“You just sound like you’re very bored. Find another source of entertainment”.

“I don’t want to. I like this one”.

Elena looked carefully at the witch. She already knew that look, although it hasn’t been too long for her studying Malachai. But this look said everything. He made his mind up. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Leave her alone. Please?”

Kai looked down on the brunette, frowning with a grin.

“I’m not gonna hurt her. You think I’m some kind of creep?”

He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Elena rolled her eyes.

Damon entered the living room.

“You ready, Bastinda?” he asked, looking extremely bored. Kai nodded, playing along as if he was even mildly entertained by his neverending nickname spitting fountain or irony. Everybody had to pretend they find Damon witty, otherwise he’d get upset. That was one of the things that apalled Kai the most, why everyone was so worried about the fragile nature of this big idiot boy.

Just before they started the spell, he sensed his sister, as Damon’s head snapped towards the door. The vampire ears detected her angry footsteps, too. Too bad the vampires underestimate the famous Parker rage.

You only realized your phone was left at the Grill when the morning came.

Cursing, worried and hungover, you drove there, a bit blinded by the sunlight. August did not have mercy on anyone.

It was bad enough your head was spinning. While Jerry the bartender who was still alive went to the DJ booth to ask around about your loss, you sat at the counter, sucking on water with lemon, and looked around. Everything appeared completely normal. You wondered if people remembered what had happened to them last night. Whether anybody got hurt. You were so dizzy on the new weird feeling of closeness, you were borderline indifferent. You even asked yourself if Kai the witch boy did something to you to knock you a little but out. Being here, you can expect anything.

The kissing part was good though, and overall, he was good. It felt good.

Jerry returned, shrugging.

“He says some guy came and picked it up this morning”.

“Crap”, you groaned. “Which guy? Tall and dark?”

Jerry smirked like an asshole.

“Everybody here is tall and dark, but yeah”.

You couldn’t have come up with a better description of this wretched place.

Where to look for him now? The Salvatores seem to know him. Can as well begin from there. You lowered your head (carefully) and put it on the wheel. Not again. All the roads in Mystic Falls lead to the Salvatore boarding house, don’t they. You can’t go one year without any adventures. Every August, you say to yourself you’d be extra careful, not talk to anyone, not engage in anything, just sit at your house, and maybe you’ll be spared. It never works. Last year there was this werewolf invasion. The year before that, an insane witch coven that was in the middle of waging vampire genocide when you arrived. The year before that, someone slit the last Miss Mystic Falls’ throat in the park right in the middle of a juggler’s performance at the fair. This shit, every year. This town is cursed, there was no doubt about it. Now, you break your own rule, and go on a date with this witch guy, and he’s a fucking awesome storyteller, and witty as hell, and you feel something except regret and exhaustion for the first time in years, something like excitement. Like you’re waking up. And now you’re hungover, and he has your phone, and you have no idea where he is.

You started the engine and drove slowly, without a hurry, thinking, if I run out of gas before I get there, I might as well not reach them at all.

The front lawn of Damon and Stefan’s house was as green as ever, the sun blasting its deadly rays down on one slender crabtree standing aside like a shy teenager at the high school party. The big dark windows even looked friendly in the light of the day.

Leaving the car, you observed the house. It never changed throughout the years. The sound of closing the car door hurt you a little bit, but you already left your sunglasses inside.

Then you saw Elena in the window on the second floor.

She did not behave like usual. She was a vampire, and vampires don’t get scared anymore. Elena was banging her fists on the window like she was unable to break it, and yelling something you couldn’t hear. Suddenly, a loud thump came from the inside of the house, as if an elephant bumped into a wall at full speed.

The only reason Elena would be beating on the window like that was if she was locked in with magic.

Frowning, you kinda realized Kai must be inside. What has he done this time? You caught yourself thinking about him as if you’ve known him for years now. The little shittery in his eyes said it all pretty well.

Honestly, you just needed your phone.

You entered the house, pushing the unlocked door, and stood in the hallway to listen. You could now hear Elena screaming on the second floor. She was trapped like a cat in a cabinet, and rushing from wall to wall trying to get out.

Someone else was apparently throwing furniture at the walls in silent fury. That must be one of the Salvatores.

You stepped on carefully, and tried to get into the living room, when there was stumbling, and, like in an 80s slasher, Kai Parker limped out into the corridor, holding his side. His white shirt was stained with blood dripping through his fingers. The wound was very deep because the blood wouldn’t stop. However, his face had a completely normal lively color, which confused the hell out of you.

“Hey!” he called, with effort. He even waved at you with his bloodied palm.

“How are you after last night?”

You stepped to him, putting your hands on the wound, and he let go of it, placing his arms onto your shoulders. Your knees caved in a little under his weight.

“What the hell happened? Have you attacked them?”

“Me?” Kai exclaimed, “no, that’s my sister. She came, locked the vampires up there, and stabbed me, and then escaped like the little coward she is. Olivia, that is, not Joe”.

“I thought you only had one sister left”.

“Nah, I hadn’t told you the whole story”.

You both looked inside the living room where the things were just... they were just misplaced chaotically like, as the siblings fought, they were throwing armchairs around. You led Kai towards a couch and sat him there, pressing his hands into the stab wound, and stepped away towards the kitchen to look for something.

“You can heal yourself, right? You have magic now?”

“I can’t heal myself, I can only siphon life force out of someone to cater the cut. If you’re willing to sacrifice your life, I’m all down for it...” he mumbled. Walking around the turned up coffee table, you stopped, and sighed, as the old, old feeling filled you up yet again. Exhaustion, yes, that was it, the eternal Tired of doing the same thing again and again, going through this unnatural circle.

“Hey, I’m bleeding out here, babe, you wanna... uh...” Kai looked down at his wound, curious, because he, too, knew now something’s wrong. It looked like it didn’t hurt him anymore.

While you were standing over his body, laid on the floor, like a bird. His childlike lean, smooth face dead calm with his eyes open, white shirt all soaked in his bright red blood. Migraine was drilling into your temples with force. You looked back at him sitting on the couch.

“Shit”.

Kai looked back at you. He was a clever boy. Way quicker than the rest of them here. They were all wide eyes and miriads of extra questions, pacing around the room when trapped into the corner. Parker seemingly understood everything right away.

“I’m already dead, aren’t I?” he asked.

You remembered what he said last night. And it actually made your heart shrink a tiny bit.

Your hands were now clean, the ghostly blood having vanished, as all life left him. Now he was clean, too, no holes in his shirt, and he sat up straight. You knew he was slowly losing feeling in his hands and skin, too, and you hurried back to touch him before he completely forgets.

You fell down next to him heavily and took his arm, and he looked at his own fingers interlocked with yours.

“I’m dead again?” he repeated, with a little bit more irritation.

“Yeah”.

“And how do you see me? Does everyone in this town has a thing?”

You shrugged.

“I see dead people. It’s in the water, I guess. You know how they tell to never drink from creeks and stuff...”

Kai looked a little flustered. He would probably take it much worse if he was alone now.

“So, you were talking to ghosts last night?”

You pulled on his hand.

“You were stalking me?”

“Yeah, I was. I thought you were a mental patient”.

Kai threw his head back and looked in the tall window. His dark eyes turned grey as the light touched them. He looked beautiful when he was that calm.

“Damn it. What now? I have never died permanently before”.

You said,

“I don’t know. If I don’t let go of you, you will stay here forever”.

He eyed you, pondering.

“Who lives in your house?”

“My dad and grandmother”.

“And who’s on the football field?”

You shuddered on the inside. You wanted to smack him on the nose, but knew better than to assault people who have just passed and were fragile already.

“Kai, why were you even there? Were you, like...”

“It was my field. I came there every evening to watch the huskie...”

“Her name is Mist”.

“Edgy. Okay. I was coming there every evening to watch Mist, and then you just showed up and started running. Not my fault”.

“But I didn’t see you”.

“You’re averting again. Come on, Y/N”, he shook your hand lightly and squeezed it. He wasn’t noticing it, but his fingers were losing sensitivity and he kept squeezing your hand to feel the warmth. Soon, everything would go hard and cold to him. Even the sunlight.

“I’m dead. Tell me. My last wish”.

It was hard like swallowing rocks. Your own mind was so good at avoiding this that you came up with thousands of questions instantly. You wanted to ask why his sister killed him. Why she didn’t touch the vampires. How did she even outpowered him. Kai was drilling you with his grey crystal glance, and you finally managed to look him in the eye.

Out of all people, you were sorry he was the one to die. He didn’t seem like a very good fella, but it’s not always goodness that you like in people. He seemed bigger than Mystic Falls, greater than the local drama. This town wasn’t supposed to devour him like that. You didn’t know what his death meant to their odds at getting Bonnie back. What if he was the only one who could reach her?

“When I was fifteen, Damon’s ex came into town and started waging chaos”.

“I’m not surprised”.

“Uh-huh. She was going around, turning people, and manipulating them and generally just turning our lives into hell”.

“Oh, she sounds fun. Was her name Katherine Pierce by any chance?”

“If you know her, I’m going to send you to hell right now”.

Kai’s brows went up.

“You can do that?”

“I mean, when I let a ghost go, they go wherever they’re supposed to. You’re definitely going to hell”, you shrugged.

“Oh, yeah. Okay”.

Kai looked like he was a little bit hurt.

“She used compulsion on me, just to entertain herself, and during a PE lesson I stabbed a girl I went to school with. On the second lap, as we ran the mile. I got pissed at running, I hated it. I was so tired all the time, and she told me to act out when I get irritated at school. The worst thing, to this day, I don’t know if the stabbing was a part of her compulsion, or mine”.

You thought about her, standing there at this very moment, on the same spot where you left her every year.

Day and night, in her yellow tank top and sports bra, cycling black shorts and uncool old Nike trainers, her long brown hair in a messy ponytail, and one earring in her right ear. You knew every part of her face because she stared at you all the time.

Kai was quiet for some time, as if trying to read into you.

“That’s it?” he said suddenly. You were taken aback.

“You stabbed a chick because a vampire compelled you, and now you return every year and cry there? What are you punishing yourself for?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

“Look...”

“Why don’t you just send her the hell off? You can do it, right? What are you bitching about?”

“Hey!”

You let go of his hand, and he stared at it, looking a bit lost, like all the people who died. Despite of his shattering insensitivity, he still made you feel for him. People were all the same when they died. They all looked like children who are just figuring out they were lost at a huge foreign train station.

“Look, all I’m saying...” he was still looking at his own hand, “don’t stress about what you don’t have to stress about”.

“I killed her, Kai”.

“Yeah, and today my own sister killed me”, he reasoned. He looked so seriously betrayed as if he was not aware of the irony. “People die. Sometimes they die horribly, in their bloom, you know, when they’re about to do something great”.

He crossed his arms on his chest with a grudge.

“I thought you had some kind of tragedy there, or at least were insane”.

“I get why Damon dislikes you”, you muttered. Kai puffed.

“You’re very hard to love”.

“Yeah, I’ve been told”.

You looked at each other. Fresh day somehow brought memories of last night, and you thought about it simultaneously.

“But you liked our date though, right?”

You nodded.

“I would even go on a second one if you... stayed alive”.

“Let me go down there, and I’ll think of something. Or you can join me”, he eyed you up and down, “I hear it’s pretty hot in here”.

You could see he nearly gave you a wink. Even if you kissed him now, he wouldn’t feel it on his face. God dammit.

“You want advice?”

“No”.

“Go away and never come back here”.

You were holding on a thin thread supported by the connection. You were sorry to see him go as you let him slide away. As you opened your eyes, he was gone from the couch, and from the room, and there was only his body left.

The spell wore out eventually, and Elena, together with Damon, ran downstairs, already aware of what happened. They must have heard you talk to the invisible spirit.

“Awesome”, Damon snarled through his teeth, kicking Parker’s body, “amazing. Little shit”.

He was puffing, walking around the room, nearly banging on the walls. Elena was standing in the middle of the room, devastated.

Everybody was hurt in a certain way by the death of the guy hated here the most. Turned out, everyone needed him after all. Whether to get Bonnie out, or to finally merge, or just to know him a little better. Deaths were pointless, you knew that better than all.

You went to the football field, in the afternoon for the first time, to see her.

She was cemented there just like you wanted her, mortified she’d follow you around. Kai was sharp and rude, but on point. You were punishing yourself. It’s not like Maddie made you drive through the country every year just to see her.

She was waiting for you, looking with glass eyes like she was for the last seven years.

The sun was still high up, almost no shadows on the spacious court.

It was like it all made zero sense now. You didn’t know what made Kai Parker the chief advisor on your mental stability, but suddenly you saw everything completely clear. Maybe it was hangover. You had no need to keep all the ghosts around you. You were in charge of them, not the other way around. You bumped into them, you could tell them to go, or just leave them there if you didn’t care. Many years away almost made you think you didn’t care.

“Go”, you said to Maddie. And she was gone. No more laps around the field.

You went home and said the same to your father and your granny. And just like that, the house was empty again.

“I know you decided not to ever come back again”, she chanted, “but... I mean... I will understand if you refuse to come, but everybody would love to see you, and it will definitely mean a lot”.

Unfortunately for your morale, you were already standing over a sports bag.

You sighed into the phone.

“Okay, I’m gonna say it once, because I love you, and will never say it again...”

Elena held her breath.

“I don’t think... I don’t think Mystic Falls is the worst place on Earth...”

“Wow”, Elena hammered, “hold on, can I put you on the speaker? They gotta hear this”.

“No”.

“So, you will come?”

“Only because it’s your wedding. And only for the wedding. Then I’m going back”.

“You’ve heard the town has sold the house, right? You’ll have to stay with us. Y/N, it’s going to be awesome. We’ll have girls’ nights... oh my god, Caroline will tell you everything about...”

You rolled your eyes so deep you took a peep at your own brain. There was nothing in there. Absolutely nothing, apparently.

...here we go, the freaking sign, the Livingstones house, the bridge... all the same. It’s like a cursed room where the winds are on the loop. With its own aesthetic, of course. The blood-red clock tower produces long, hollow sound as its hands move. People going batshit crazy here. Everything is one long deja vu. The only thing that stood out was somebody missing. Somebody who was admittedly too cool for this place, and was scarily good at slow dancing. Somebody who would never be fit to help, and who still did. That person.

Elena and Damon’s wedding was everything one could imagine. Flower arch, check. Bridesmaids matching cream dresses, check. Soft elevator music, check. Caroline hair being out of this world, check. Damon smiling like one million dollars, check. Stefan suffering quietly in the corner, check. Jeremy getting drunk and knocking over a table, check. Dancing to the same ten indie songs, check. Bonnie was back, which was good. They did find a way after all.

You were comfortably unimpressed, because it was home. It was entertaining enough. Catching up, listening to all the crazy shit that happened during these two years you were absent.

Apparently, Klaus has been harassing Caroline with his undying love, and she wasn’t having it, although it was clearly a perfect vampire scenario. Some demonic weird crap brushed over the city when Damon was brifely involved with gathering souls for hell. Could’ve been a job for you, he winked at you like the rascal he was. You should’ve seen the whole madhouse unraveling when we opened the gates, and all these sinners started rushing out in all directions, he complained. It took him weeks to get them all back, and he still wasn’t sure he caught everybody. It’s not like they did a head count, right?

You stopped drinking.

“You mean the souls escaped from hell?” you asked, surprised that they weren’t more concerned about it. And also, what a generic topic to discuss at his wedding. Charming.

“No, the people. Physical entities. They kinda just... pfft. Hopped out. Those who were, you know, quicker”.

The burning question made it hard to swallow champagne. How did they not mention the obvious?

“And... who did you shove back?”

“Hm, just a bunch of losers. I mean, they’re people, or creatures, for that matter. Not all of them are human. I’m sure some weirdos are still out there.. So you be careful. Elena said you wouldn’t stay long, huh? How about the Harvest Festival though?”

“I don’t know. Harvest Festival is lame, Damon”.

“Yeah, it is”, Damon agreed, searching for his beautiful wife with his eyes. One second ago she was somewhere among the people, and now she was gone. “But the after party...”

“Ah, that. Sure”.

“Nobody’s bothering you anymore, are they? You can stay for a little while”.

You swayed your head without expression.

“Where the hell is she?”

Music changed, and nobody really noticed, except for you. You don’t notice if you don’t listen. You never got your old phone back, by the way. You had no idea where the dead boy put it, and whether it was him at all who took it from the Grill.

But now Lana was on speakers, and you suddenly remembered.

“You better go look for her, Damon”, you warned him, looking around.

The vampire felt the change in your mood.

“What is it?”

You gulped down your glass of champagne and smiled wide, for real.

“Second date”.