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[thegeniuscatlady]

I’m crying

This a Moonmelon, scientifically knows as asidus. This fruit grows in some parts of Japan, and is known for its vibrant blue color. What you probably don’t know about this fruit is that it can switch flavors after you eat it. Everything sour will taste sweet, everything salty will taste bitter, and it gives water a strong orange-like taste. It’s also very expensive…costing about ￥16000 JPY (which is about 200 dollars).

[thegeniuscatlady]

Reblog if you care about me and if you truly do please help me I’m not in anyway feeling good I want you guys to help me

[thegeniuscatlady]

it was time for some guilty pleasure art

speedpaint here!!

[thegeniuscatlady]

hívja fel elhunyt szeretteit!

 Mondja el nekik, amit már nem tudott elmondani! - olvastam a temetkezési iroda falán a reklámplakáton lévő szöveget. Anyám apró nyughelyének bérletét mentem meghosszabbítani, ami rögtön a katonai temetővel szemben lévő, első parcella soron volt. A 60 körüli ügyintézőnő, aki pillantásomat követve hátrafordult, majd a fiókból letisztult grafikás névjegyet, és egy szórólapot vett elő. Mosolyogva elém csúsztatta mindkettőt. “Einhorn Zsuzsa - kegyeleti senior manager” - állt az arany betűs kártyán, a brosúra elején pedig a plakát kicsínyített mása. Beharaptam a számat, és lehajtottam fejem. Bár névvel nem illik viccelődni, pláne ILYEN HELYEN nem, az jutott eszembe: vajon az Ace Ventura óta mennyien sütötték már el szegénynek a “Több vért az agyba! Finkle és Einhorn… Finkle és Einhorn… Einhorn és Finkle…” -féle, olcsó poénkodást? Félreérthette a kibuggyanó nevetést elfojtani igyekvő reakciómat, mert készségesen papírzsebkendőt nyújtott felém. Megköszöntem, majd kifújtam orromat.

- Ez a legújabb szolgáltatásunk, ami sírhelyenként egy élő… egy aktív vonalat biztosít ügyfeleinknek. - mondta megnyugtató, kellemes hangján.

- Értem. És ki… Ki veszi fel? - buggyant ki belőlem bután.

- Nos. A telefonszám hívása után 5 kicsengést követően a kapcsolás létrejön. Ön pedig elmondhatja, amit el szeretne, amit korábban már nem volt módja.

- Ó. És honnan tudjam, hogy ezt ő… hogy hallja… hogy eljut hozzá az üzenetem?

A mosoly nem tűnt el arcáról, megértően bólintott.

- Ebben teljesen biztos lehet. Ameddig emlékezünk rájuk, addig élnek. És tudják, ha keressük őket.

*****

 Ültem az ágyon és már legalább fél órája gyűrögettem kezemben a telefonszámot. Mi van, ha mégis beleszól VALAKI? Mi van, ha mégsem veszi fel senki? Melyik esetben kapok infarktust? Ha VALAKI hangját meghallom, vagy ha 50 kicsengés után foglaltat jelez? Esetleg idegesítő géphang eldarálja az “ezen a számon előfizető nem található” tájékoztatást? Hogy lehetek ekkora balfasz, de tényleg?  - agyaltam egyre emelkedő vérnyomással. - “Ne legyél beszari, te idióta! Edd meg szépen, amit főztél!” - korholtam magam dühösen, aztán beírtam a számot és megérintettem a zöld kagylót. 1,2,3 csengés… Szívem vadul kezdett el kalapálni, szemeim előtt karikák táncoltak. Azt hittem, menten elájulok. 4,5… és valóban FELVETTÉK. De nem szólt bele senki. 

- Öö… Szia, anyu!.. Ne haragudj, hogy ilyen későn zavarlak, én csak… Én csak azt szerettem volna megkérdezni, hogy tudtál engem annyit bántani, mikor nem is én tehettem róla, hogy apu elhagyott minket? Még csak 7 éves voltam, és nem is voltam rossz gyerek! Anyu, hogy tudtál annyiszor megütni, és annyiszor egyedül hagyni, hogy nem gyötört a lelkiismeret furdalás, miért kellett magadat szó szerint halálra inni? - kiabáltam már sírva, aztán gyorsan bontottam a vonalat. Még jó 20 percig néztem remegve a készüléket, mintha attól tartanék: VALAKI vissza fog hívni. Az alapcsomag mindössze 5 alkalmas hívást tartalmazott, de én soha többé nem tárcsáztam azt a számot. Még a híváslistáról is eltávolítottam.

 Orsi szerint innen már csak 2 lépcső van lejjebb: a tartásjavító, mágneses gerinctámasz rendelése a teleshopból, és a nagyobb összeg elutalása egy facebookon megismert, amerikai katonának, aki Kabulban teljesít szolgálatot.

[thegeniuscatlady]

Day and Night

Okay I got this prompt and as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to write. I’m a huge Tim Drake fan. Its how I got into reading Batfamily fanfiction. I love Marinette. So I thought I’d give it a shot.

           The café was small, empty, in a little nowhere town that had the unfortunate luck of being built in the middle of nowhere; somewhere in a part of England most people never heard of. The café, and the town, wasn’t the type of place you went searching for. Anyone who ended up there, that didn’t already live there, always happened upon it be accident. Usually because they were lost.

           The two sole customers in café were most definitely lost. A boy and a girl.

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[thegeniuscatlady]

For my little sister to get a new service dog that can actually accommodate her needs, it's going to cost $10,500.

American "Healthcare" is a fucking crime against humanity.

[thegeniuscatlady]

Trope: Age Regression

The first Tony said to him when the smoke cleared was:

“My father won’t pay the ransom.”

His voice was about three octaves too high and his head a foot and a half too low.

Peter’s heart was so loud in his ears he could barely hear.

“What?” he rasped.

Tony’s dark eyes darted around the room, his chest visibly rising and falling with each frantic breath. When he spoke, his voice trembled, but he straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin like he wasn’t afraid at all.

“My father won’t pay you to get me back. He told me.”

Suddenly Peter’s heart was pounding for a whole different reason.

“He told you?” Peter hissed. Tony flinched and Peter took a step back, taking a deep breath.

He looked around him, at the time travel device he and Tony had been working on. Peter wasn’t sure how it had gone so abysmally wrong. But the evidence was standing in front of him, fidgeting and trying not to cry.

“I didn’t kidnap you,” he said after a long moment.

Tony looked dubious at best.

“I swear I didn’t,” Peter insisted. “I was doing an experiment and it went… wrong.”

Despite himself, Tony glanced back at the device, looking curious. He hesitated, glancing back at Peter, then asked, “What kind of experiment?”

“A complicated one,” Peter hedged, crossing the room to examine the device. Half of it was still smoking slightly, the complicated wiring burned and shriveled. Peter sighed.

“Well, clearly you screwed it up,” little Tony said, crossing his arms over his thin chest with a huff. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Clearly,” he said, unimpressed. Tony’s eyes darted away again, nervous color on his cheeks. When Peter shifted, Tony automatically flinched away, his eyes flashing to the door like he was considering running.

Peter looked at Tony a little closer. He looked exactly like he did in the pictures Peter had seen, him with his circuit board, his computer, the things he’d built at such impressively young ages. But even without those pictures, Peter would have known instantly who was standing in front of him: His eyes were exactly the same—dark, intelligent, sizing everyone and everything up within seconds.

“How old are you?” Peter asked.

Tony hesitated. “Eight,” he finally said.

Peter took a deep breath, letting his cheeks puff up as he blew it out.

“Um, FRIDAY, let Pepper know. And Bruce.”

“Of course, Peter,” FRIDAY answered, and Tony jumped, looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

“That’s FRIDAY,” Peter said, then bit his lip. Could he tell eight-year-old Tony about the AI he would create in thirty-five years, or would that affect the timeline of Tony’s life? Was the Tony standing in front of him a fifty-three year old turned eight? Or had Peter pulled the eight-year-old Tony out of his time and sent the adult Tony back to 1978?

He changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

Tony shook his head, looking wary, but then his stomach audibly growled. Peter snorted.

“Come on. I make some mean grilled cheese.”

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[thegeniuscatlady]

My life has the tendency to just... get weird sometimes. For a few weeks or months, things are just abnormal enough to be unsettling. My dreams come alive, my movements have a kind of accuracy and fluidity that doesn't feel like my doing, there are many freaky coincidences... then it stops and I can feel the "aftershocks" for months, sometimes years. It's hard to explain because most of these are very small and many small moments add up to something that's really weird.

Do you know BBC's Sherlock? The last part of the last season (the one with Eurus)? Well, I dreamt that months before it came out. Except in the scene where Mycroft says something along the lines of "She predicted the exact time and place of the last three terror attacks in Britain after spending an hour on Twitter", in my dream, instead of "last three terror attacks" he said "the third world-war". It was so fucking creepy...

This happens to me all the time. I read a lot, and I watch a ton of series. Sometimes I dream in languages I barely know, and not in a "heard-somewhere-and-my-subconscious-remembered-it" way. More like in an "I-barely-recognize-this-language" way. I take the role of characters, sometimes I even look like them. I experience everything on high alert, my emotions are raging and I know things I never should've known.

I was around ten when in my dreams, I've climbed into a bloody bed with my parents, and jumped into a river. I read the Throne of Glass series more than three years later. I'm not even sure the book existed at that point. I've played chess with my dead brother. I didn't even realize he was dead until he told me that if I won, I didn't have to see him die anymore. Then I remembered. Fast forward a few years, I borrowed Say Goodbye from my best friend, which had the exact same scene as in my dream.

I will read about a topic and the next day, my classmate mentions it, my father is talking about it with my brother, they are discussing it on the radio and a stranger on the street is speaking about it on their phone. It wasn't on a news site, it isn't a new article. It's a ten years old pin on Pinterest which I found by accident. The next day, it's another topic. This goes on for weeks on end and sometimes I just stop using my phone altogether to avoid it.

My recurring nightmares are the most random things. Stuff that shouldn't be scary at all. People saying the same word over and over again, getting louder every time, until I wake up. It's as if an old disk was glitching. I wake up knowing that I should've died. Sometimes it's me saying it, and I've had it for as long as I can remember.

It might be not as weird as the previous ones but believe me, it can be straight out terrifying sometimes.

i just had the weirdest moment, i was feeling my front teeth with my tongue because they’re the tiniest bit crooked, and then i had the thought “i’ll check if they’re also crooked in my other mouth” and then i realized to my shock and confusion that i have only one mouth, leading me to believe that in a past life i was a terrible monster with two mouths

[thegeniuscatlady]

Part 2 of my trashy love ballad

[thegeniuscatlady]

What if, when Sherlock deduces John's plan to propose, it makes him so heartbroken that he simply breaks quietly down? And a staff member asks if Sir is all right, and another trots over to ask if Sir needs help, but Sherlock just slides slowly down the wall.

And now there's blood staining the creamy wallpaper, because his stagger and slump tore at his stitches, and the staff are fluttering in a mild panic.

"Is there a doctor in the house?!"

John looks up.

[thegeniuscatlady]

journaling day

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[thegeniuscatlady]

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I’M!!! FINALLY DONE!!! Been working off and on this sculpture since June last year and OH BOY you bet it’s been a real test of patience….

(Dimensions: approx. 8”L x 7”W x 26”H. Weight: ~5 lbs)

[thegeniuscatlady]

messy redraw ‘cause I’m on a Tangled high ♡

[thegeniuscatlady]

Please stop and read this.

I’m doing a project on gay rights in today’s society.

So if you believe that same sex couples should be allowed to get married, please reblog this.

This would be a lot of help, thank you.

[thegeniuscatlady]

Title: The Jason Project

Summary: Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn’t given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

AN: Because I stayed up until 2am and then had to spend the entire day writing the best Jason & Bruce angst I’ll write this year. Yes, I wrote nearly 5.000 words in one day. Warnings for Bruce’s suicidal tendencies after Jason’s death.

The anger was still burning in Jason’s stomach when he was already halfway across the city, far away from the manor and Bruce’s self-righteous, arrogant, condescending fuck-all damning attitude. Green had taken over his vision, and Jason had only started to get back some resemblance of conscious control when Crime Alley had greeted him. He wasn’t clear on what exactly he had said to Bruce once the screaming had started, but Jason also didn’t care. None of his so-called-siblings ever stood up to Bruce’s authority, but Jason wasn’t like them. He didn’t just back down and roll over like a good little soldier when Daddy said ‘no.’

Fuck them.

And fuck Bruce in particular.

Jason had been playing by the rules for months now. He hadn’t killed, hadn’t used excessive force – he hadn’t even antagonized the other kids. And for what? Only to be denied over and over again.

No, Jason, you’re not taking that patrol route. No, you can’t work on that case. No, don’t take your guns. No, you can’t look at the files I collected of your death.

No, I don’t fucking trust you with anything, no matter how hard you try.

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[thegeniuscatlady]

You could make a new, secret Google account and write in Google docs. Just remember to alwas sign out, delete it from the accounts Google automatically remembers and from your search history. You could also make a Grammarly account for free (it can be a little annoying, so it might not work out for you, but it's definitely worth a try), that way you don't even have to sign out and stuff if your family doesn't use it. Again, remember to delete it from search history.

If you use Google incognito, it shouldn't even show up in your search results (I think?).

Oh, and you can't use Grammarly on phone! (You can download the app, which is a keyboard, but there is no way to access your documents.)

You could also use a different search engine than you and people around you usually do, so they don't think of checking it. You can put it in a folder somewhere deep in your computer, so they don't even know it's there.

I live with people who refuse to respect my privacy. Fellow writers who are like me and enjoy writing on paper more than typing on a computer, how do you keep all your notes and notebooks private? Any ideas?

*hugs* I’m sorry that you need this kind of advice, anon. That’s a terrible situation to be in. 

My first thought is to buy a hardcover journal and get the same size hardcover book at a thrift shop. Redonate the book but keep the book jacket and put it over the journal. Then it will blend in with the other books on your shelf - as long as you don’t use bookmarks/stickers etc. or paste in photos or other items. That would make it obvious that it isn’t just another book. It would also help if the paper in the journal was cream coloured rather than white. 

Anyone else have ideas?

[thegeniuscatlady]

Of heroes and villains

I spend almost the entire holidays working on this comic, but now it’s finally finished. The downside: it’s 22 pics long and I can only fit 10 in one post, so I gotta put the rest in the reblogs.