#The Plaid Pigeon

[allinsideyourhead]

Pigeons plot in secrecy

London, May 1965

[pidgefudge]

14 and 29 for the ask game? :)

14. do you collect anything?

not unless the posters from the shows ive worked on count (however when i have money and purchasing power im gonna buy gdq merch <3 definitely the shirts and maybe the pins or virtual attendee badges...... )

29. what’s the last outfit you wore?

i don't have many Outfits i usually just throw on a tshirt and jeans but i do wear my shadow the hedgehog fit whenever i go out with friends !! it. doesn't actually have anything shadow related. in fact it involves a final fantasy 7 shirt because i don't have a shadow shirt. i mostly just call it the shadow fit bcus it's red and black. also i bring my shadow plush in my bag whenever i go out and i have his lil head peeking out so he can see the world

[of-fear-and-love]

Steve Martin in Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid (1982)

[perksofbeingpoet]

poet's back with some random headcanons! <33

these ones don't really have a theme :)

☆ Knox struggles with tying his school tie, and Cameron sometimes helps him with it - Cam would never admit it but he loves being able to help Knox out, especially because he's quite proud of his skills when it comes to formal wear

☆ Neil and Todd always argue about who's supposed to eat the last bit of candy in a bag when they share - it starts with Neil being all gentleman-like and saying "Go on, you can have it" and Todd insisting that he's full anyway. They argue about this for like five minutes and then they're both like "Okay fine i'll eat it" and suddenly they're trying to snatch the bag away from the other because now they wanna be the one to have the last piece.

They often end up sharing it.

One way or another.

☆ I've mentioned this one before but Pitts and Meeks putting a blanket over each other when they fall asleep over homework/the radio. For some reason, in my headcanon Pittsie has a handmade blanket that his mum gave him against homesickness when he was small, and it's in orange, white and red tones, plaid (which Meeks really likes). It's kinda become both their blanket, having been in their shared room for so long.

☆ Charlie is scared of birds, especially ducks, and Knox LOVES chasing pigeons towards him while Charlie screams and tries to stay cool

☆ Todd has eucalyptus sore throat candy with him wherever he goes, even if he's not ill, he finds the taste and scent soothing.

☆ Knox had a guitar phase, where he'd play cheesy songs at every meeting, and the poets were all kinda annoyed by it because they just wanted to hang out and Knox was like 😀🎸

☆ Charlie's favourite candy flavour is (sour) green apple

♡ thank you guys for all the love you give my silly little headcanons, it makes me so happy! i will definitely be more active again after i've gotten through my finals. ♡

[shroompunk]

i've entered my shitposting era. yall remember scene kids??

i was 100% a scene kid.

ID: Digital illustration of a pigeon man dressed in girly scene kid clothes. He has dark feathers with an iridescent shine in purples and teals, and is wearing neon leggings, a tiered plaid skirt, and a shirt with a ghost on it. He flashes a peace sign with one hand.

[annahxredaxted]

Random Headcannons

•••

sweetheart crochets during road trips cough cough

Angel is a wizz at sewing, and mixes and matches hoodies all the time david secretly loves it

When baabe and sweetheart first hung out via the wolf boys they were surprised bc they were besties in 7th grade

Darlin is damn near fuckin blindddd but they wear contacts bc they think glasses make them look less intimidating but Sam think their cute with them.

Milo once saw a pigeon poop on Asher’s head and said absolutely nothing.

Sam only drinks coffee if it has honey in it.

Vincent Hates coffee tho

David only takes cold showers- unless angels with him then he can bear the heat.

Sweetheart doesn’t have daddy issues- fuck they call their dad every night, it’s their mommy they have issues with.

Aaron likes to pretend he didn’t have a MySpace account.

Smartass can whittle/carve, they made Aaron a mug with a butt on it.

Sweetheart has legitimately Every Nancy drew book

Laskos a slut. (Jk that’s already cannon. )

Gavin’s favorite ice cream is pistachio.

Milo doesn’t know who the majority of A-list artists are, but K-POP artists? He will list them all alphabetically

Baabe dislikes Plaid.

Huxleys favorite cereal is that cookie cereal with the wolf.

Asher says “mommy? Sorry Mommy? Sorry”(gn) when he sees baabe.

Freelancer collects bugs, and keeps them in little glass containers in an extra room- Gavin usually avoids said room.

Speaking of which, Gavin’s an arachnophob.

Baby (Ollie) is constantly quoting vine

Ollie is a floofy boi.

Sweetheart was a Hugeee nerd in MS/HS. I mean band kid, chess captain, class president, DnD the full length

Guy knows every word to JAWNEYs music. He went batshit feral, when It’s never fair always true. Came out

Honey is allergic to honey.

One time in high school some one bet angel they couldn’t memorize the shrek script in a week, guess who came hollering about swamps a week later?

[mochiwrites]

an mmau drabble.

( mentions of unconfirmed character death )

reblogs do more than likes!

Scar sits in a park.

His cane rests against the bench beside him as he leans back into the seat, eyes taking in the scenery around him. He watches the happenings of natural life, seeing families out with their children, couples going for a stroll on the path. A man plays frisbee with his dog, and Scar nearly becomes well acquainted with said frisbee as it nearly smacks his head. He catches it in time, the man running up to him with an apologetic smile as Scar returns it.

The man has sandy blond hair, and for a moment, Scar’s eyes play a little trick on him.

He sees brown instead of green, a red sweater instead of the plaid button up.

Scar feels a bit numb as he passes the frisbee off to the stranger, who runs back to his dog and throws it in the air again. Scar’s eyes follow the movements of the frisbee, watching how it soars through the air.

He entertains a fantasy, just for a little bit. One where he’s watching not a stranger, but someone he knows very well. Someone who is his other half. He entertains a world in which nothing ever happened to them, and Scar never needed a cane on the hard days. He entertains a world in which there is still a plastic ring on his finger, maybe even a real gold one, and he is the happiest man on Earth.

The frisbee is caught midair by the dog, who happily runs back over to its owner, the plastic firmly between its teeth.

It’s been eight months since everything happened. Two months since Scar tried to find Grian with no luck. It’s been two hundred and forty-three days since Scar was left behind, and sixty days since he was forced to face the very possible truth that Grian was dead.

He hasn’t heard anything about the apartment, no sight of Grian anywhere even remotely nearby. There hasn’t been a single trace, not even a small clue. The thread is gone, and Scar might have missed his window of opportunity forever.

Nearby, a group of pigeons land on the ground, picking through some crumbs spilling from bags on the ground. They coo and jerk their heads, and Scar looks over at them. Something tugs at his chest as he sees one of the pigeons lift its wing to poke its beak through the silver-gray feathers.

It feels like grief.

(“What do you say to getting a cat one day?” Scar looked down at the man curling into his arm, a curious expression on his face. “A new home, new pet. A lovely little companion for us!”

Grian snorted as he pulled the blanket up to cover his bare skin from the chilly air. He rested his head on Scar’s arm, looking up at him. “I think you’d spoil that cat absolutely rotten.”

“What?!” Scar made a playfully offended gasp. “I would never do such a thing!”

“You would.” Grian grinned at him. “There’d have to be a limit on treats though. The cat’s health is important.”

“Of course, of course!” Scar nodded along before his face softened. “You’d get a cat with me?” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound so wobbly, but sue him, he was an emotional guy! The idea of getting a cat with his boyfriend made him happy!

Grian looked at him with a look that on the surface screamed annoyed, but Scar knew better. He could see the fondness in those brown eyes, the slight quirk of his lips. “Obviously. Someone’s got to be the responsible Cat Dad.”

“Cat Dad!” Scar couldn’t help but gasp before bursting into tiny giggles. “And hey! I’d be a very responsible Cat Dad!” He playfully squeezed Grian’s side in retaliation. Grian laughed in return, getting comfortable against Scar as he was pulled closer to him. Scar moved to rest his chin on Grian’s hair, pressing a kiss there first. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Mhm. Do you have any animals you’d want to adopt?”

Grian moved his head to rest more comfortably under Scar’s own as he hummed in thought. And then, “A parrot.”

Scar chuckled, “I should’ve seen that one coming.” He was fully aware of Grian’s love for birds, how much they meant to him.

“We’d have to keep Professor Beak away from the cat though,” Grian replied, and Scar couldn’t help his fond little laugh at the bird’s name.

“Professor Beak?” he questioned. “Gosh G, has anyone told you how cute you are? I can feel my little heart just melting!”

“Professor Beak is a perfect name for a bird!” Grian exclaimed defensively, moving to look at him. Scar could see how pink his face was. “It’s sophisticated and elegant.”

Scar only melted into further laughter. Grian grew more embarrassed by the man’s reaction, squawking some kind of defense for himself. Yet all Scar could focus on was how much he loved the man in his arms.

Silencing Grian, he used the arm around him to pull him forward until he could kiss him. It was something sweet, loving, and light. Grian sighed against him, a content noise as Scar held him within his arms.

When they pulled apart, Scar grinned, “A cat and a bird then.”)

They never got the bird. Scar never got Grian, and he probably never will, with the man quite possibly being dead.

It’s not something he’d put past Them.

He watches as one of the pigeons takes flight, seemingly uninterested in the pile of garbage on the ground. Scar follows the bird as it flies, and he can’t help but wonder. If Grian really is dead, perhaps in his next life he’ll be a bird. It’d be a beautiful gift, for the man to finally have the wings he envied so much.

It was something Grian used to talk about a lot, having the ability to just fly anywhere, any time. He was envious of it, of that much Scar was certain. Grian had always seemed so trapped, and not even Scar’s shitty apartment could break him free of his cage. There were nights where Scar often wondered who held the key to Grian’s chains, who kept him grounded and clipped his wings.

Maybe such kindness shouldn’t be offered to the man who left him to die. Who betrayed him. Yet Scar found himself giving it to him anyway. He’d give Grian a lot of things, he thinks. Forgiveness could be one of them, depending on the reason. Besides, Scar is too tired to hate. He’s too tired to be angry and hold contempt. He doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

Besides, he thinks he let it all go the moment he realized Grian could very well be dead. He still held out hope for the man, but two months and… maybe it was time to move on (Scar knows he never will. Not when a piece of him will always belong to Grian. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Scar is a man in love, even now).

He’ll just have to bury his need for answers and live.

As he watches more of the pigeons fly away, he hopes that Grian is among them. He hopes that Grian has his own flock to call his family, and that he is able to soar in the skies like he’s always wanted. Scar hopes that wherever Grian is now, he is happy. He hopes it’s a lot better than where he was.

Scar certainly knows he’s much better than where he was.

And even if it’s not with him, there’s a part of him that hopes Grian can finally fly free.

[batbetbitbotbut]

Hi, hope you're doing well!

I was wondering if you have a specific resource you use for weaving project inspiration? I struggle with finding ideas for projects that aren't another scarf (I have 6 now...) or teatowels. My next project for my 4 shaft loom is going to be a lining for my pinic basket with matching napkins+cutlery roll, but after that I'm out. I would specifically like try overshot sometime soon, but I don't know what yet.

Thank you and have a nice day!

Hello and I hope you're also doing well! A picnic basket set sounds amazing!

I don't have a specific suggestion for you, alas. I've been weaving for less than a year and so far I have always had more ideas than I have time for (they form an orderly queue but usually the newest shiniest idea jumps to the front, how rude). I try to write them down as they come, to hoard against barren patches in the future.

I get ideas in a few places: a lot from my books because I want to try all the different structures I can, #weaving and related tags (shitty as tumblr tag tracking functions are) because I want to join in with the cool things other people make, nature stuff. I make a project and then make something completely different because I want a fresh experience (and different frustrations!) - a few cotton projects and then another wool one, several shuttles then one shuttle then two - but I also return to old projects and weave a new variation to see what happens. I've abruptly reached the age where several of my friends want to have babies, so I'm plotting more wide warps and double-width projects as baby blankets, which have their own restrictions.

But I make more tea towels than anything else because they have infinite give-away potential: even if I have too many towels in my life and I don't want the faff of selling them, someone will always be glad to have them. I can fuck up as much as I want and make them in any design at all and they will be useful, except for, like, lace. Some of my things have a recipient in mind when I make them, but most don't.

I struggle a bit coming up with palettes - it's part of why I'm not very interested in doing plaid - so I often go for pride flag palettes because they make a thing into A Thing (even if the palette isn't, like, relevant to me personally). Might do similar with bird-themed palettes in the future, like I did for the pigeon towels. Or when using wool, I only have cones in a few colours so I just use those.

Whatever you're doing, assuming you aren't using up a one-of-a-kind material in a way you don't want to use it, it's not wasted. If you enjoy the process, not all of it has to be for a result you are interested in, and it will still refine your skills for results you do like in the future. Not everything has to be the pinnacle of inspiration and craft but it may help you towards finding the next thing that really gets you excited - exercising your inspiration muscles whether they want it or not. This is a parable not an experiment that ever happened, and it's only vaguely related here, but this is my favourite retelling of it:

There was an experiment a professor did. I think it was pottery students. He did an experiment of “quality” vs “quantity”. One half of the class he told; you have to make as many pots as possible. Good pots, bad pots, shitty pots, whatever. The more pots you make, the higher your grade. The other half of the class were told, “you can make only one pot”. But that pot had to be perfect. The quality had to be high; the highest quality pot would get the best mark. But when it came to the grading, they noticed something weird. All the best quality pots were in the ‘quantity’ group. The guys who were literally churning out pots, trying to make as many as possible, not concentrating on the quality. But every pot they made, made them better at making pots. By the end of the month (I think it was a month) - they had some pretty awesome pots coming out, because they enjoying finding all the ways and all the things they could do to make all their pots. Where as the ‘quality’ guys had spent their time reading up on pots, and technique, and researching and planning; which was all great but they’d had no further practice at actually making pots. The best way to get really good at something, the only way to be really good at something, is to make lots of shitty attempts at that thing several of which will fail. If all you create are perfect things then you won’t improve, because how can you improve on perfect? tl:dr MAKE YOUR SHITTY POTS.

https://www.tumblr.com/darkandstormyslash/154648694948/fireandlifeincarnate-look-write-as-much

[marielaure]

I had so much fun writing Jesper this second chapter, and Inej gets to wear that S2 hat!

THE LIVES OF SAINTS - ao3 fic

[INSIDE, KAZ’s office, INEJ stands peering down at maps and lists spread out across KAZ’s desk. KAZ sits behind the desk, peering at the papers and slowly spinning his cane. JESPER paces and spins a gun as they talk.]

KAZ: We have our way across the Fold, way in the palace, and way out.

INEJ: And ARKEN?

JESPER: Already on a ship to NOVYI ZEM.

KAZ: All we need is a round trip to RAVKA.

JESPER: Get SPECHT to whip up our passports, easy. Tickets for the Os Kervo passage went down half a kruge!

KAZ: Steam ships check all the luggage.

INEJ: We can’t risk being documented in any way.

JESPER: (tapping the revolvers at his hips): I’ve got it! (he reaches in his shirt jacket for a crumpled list)

JESPER: I’ve been scoping out Fifth Harbor like you said (JESPER nods at KAZ, camera shows KAZ and INEJ look at him) Sturmhond will help us.

INEJ: Who?

JESPER: He’s a very rich pirate—works independently—but the RAVKANS love him.

KAZ: What’s the cost?

KAZ: Someone like him won’t come cheap.

[We see JESPER’s joyful face, he clasps his hands together and starts to walk out the door.]

JESPER: Well, lucky you have me then.

[Scene changes to the trio entering JESPER’s room. It is a bit cluttered with different clothes strewn around, gun parts, Ketterdam tourist knick knacks, top hats, and specific emphasis is given to what look like brand new textbooks.]

JESPER: They’re around here somewhere…(he goes under his bed to search for a mysterious object)

[INEJ picks up a wonky green plaid hat and looks at herself in the mirror while KAZ picks up a textbook. JESPER’s legs stick out from beneath the bed. JESPER pulls a large case from beneath the bed.]

JESPER: Please put everything back, there is a method to the chaos. (looks over at INEJ in the hat) Oh, except you INEJ. That looks so much better on you.

INEJ: (smiles and puts the hat back) Thanks, Jes.

KAZ: (serious) Are those the ZEMENI rifles I told you to take to the safe house?

JESPER: I’ve got a good reason! (KAZ stares at him and JESPER opens the case) What are you always telling me? Make the pigeons come back for more? I had to ensure the smuggler didn’t short us, didn’t I?

KAZ: (gruffly) Did they?

JESPER: (grabs one of the guns) Perfect condition except for one piece, which I have…(he searches around as if he just set the part down)

INEJ: This one? (she holds a circular piece of metal and throws it to JESPER) You left it on KAZ’s desk a few days ago.

(JESPER smiles at her)

KAZ: (staring off into space) Good. JES, you deal with the guns. INEJ—get us a meeting and scope out the ship (she nods). I’ll arrange the club for our absence.

[INEJ pulls up her hood and leaves the room, hat in hand.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[The trio with JESPER in front, KAZ on JESPER’s right, INEJ on his left, walk into a large Captain’s office, TOLYA leads and holds the rifle case, while TAMAR follows the group and blocks the door. Behind a desk, STURMHOND stands in a teal coat.]

STURMHOND: Well, who do we have here? I must say, I had no meetings scheduled for tonight…my crew and I should be out getting drunk right now.

JESPER: (takes the seat in front of the desk as KAZ and INEJ stand and he reaches in his shirt pocket) JESPER FAHEY, gunsmith apprentice to ol’ Ren Botha. (he hands STURMHOND a business card)

STURMHOND: (raised eyebrows) Ha! He taught me everything I know!

JESPER: (nods) Look under the barrels on the port side gunners, that’s all my work.

STURMHOND: (whistles) We made it past Fjerda’s blockade with those cannons, didn’t we Tolya?

TOLYA: Work of beauty. A pleasure to meet you. (JESPER and TOLYA shake hands)

[INEJ and KAZ look at each other]

STURMHOND: So, JESPER FAHEY, what do you need? If you’re looking for work, I hate to disappoint you but our crew is full. No matter how skilled your crew is. (KAZ scowls while INEJ tries to hide a grin)

JESPER: All we seek is passage to and from RAVKA. We’ve already got a job lined up.

STURMHOND: Nothing untoward I hope?

JESPER: No, no. We’ve just had some trouble with customs in the past…what with WEST RAVKA’s tensions right now. (he pushes the case toward STURMHOND) Our payment, more than enough for passage and a bit of silence on our whereabouts.

STURMHOND: (opens the case and smirks) Looks like we’re off to RAVKA. (STURMHOND glances at TOLYA and TAMAR)

[weirdacademia]

Weird Academia [ Aesthetic ]

general blog content warnings: angels/religious imagery, liminal spaces and unreality, eyes/scopophobia

THE OWNER OF THIS BLOG IS A TRANS & MULTIGENDER NEOPRONOUNS USER. TERFS AND EXCLUSIONISTS FUCK OFF.

a blog for my own personal aesthetic, "weird academia." serving as a midpoint between weirdcore, liminalcore, dreamcore, and academia (dark, light, vintage, and chaotic), this aesthetic is meant to capture the sense of strangeness and investigation, religious guilt, and nostalgia for school/academic settings.

key colors:

various shades of brown/beige

cream/off-white

black/grey

dark greens, purples, and yellow

desaturated lavender, red, and blue

key motifs:

stereotypical "scholarly" settings like schools, colleges and universities, libraries, museums, and galleries

churches of all kinds, big or small, typically of christian denominations

angels, ghosts, and spirits

bright lights and dark shadows

vhs tapes, cassettes, crtvs, push-button telephones, and similarly retro technology

journals, notes, and research papers

eyes

dull colored liminal spaces

edutainment media, real or fictional

encryption, code, and puzzles

online investigation, args, and mysterious webseries

distressed/rumpled formalwear and exhausted students

coffee

late nights and early mornings

television static

broken stained glass

animals/creatures:

sheep, rams, lambs

crows and corvids

vultures

doves/pigeons

owls

cats, big and small

foxes

snakes

insects and arachnids

key values:

learning/encouraging curiosity

stimulating deeper thinking

embracing both your positive and negative traits as being truly you

rejection of academia's rigid structure and existing norms

humanism/the divinity and value of human life

respect for the unknown

comfort for those who felt displaced in academia for being neurodivergent

key media:

the magnus archives

house of leaves

gemini home entertainment

ib

angel hare

mystery flesh pit national park

m.c. escher's art

cthulhu mythos

scp foundation

the silt verses

looking up i see only a ceiling

music:

surreal remixes of classical music

fashion:

woolen sweaters and sweater vests

varsity sweater

wrinkled button downs

long coats

plaid, khaki, brown, or dark shorts, pants, and skirts

distressed clothing

chains, piercings, and metal accessories

layered necklaces and chokers

leather bracelets and rings

well-worn converse or boots

leg and arm warmers

pinterest board where i first started collecting/compiling the aesthetic to see if it had a consistent enough look to bother making a blog for, haha

[condorclown]

The wet beast approaches

[Video ID: a pigeon nestling is standing on a white, yellow, and orange plaid towel. The pigeon has pink skin and is covered in thin yellow fluff. It has dark, bulging eyes; an oversized beak; and dark grey feathers starting to grow on its breast and on skinny wings. The pigeon looks around, wobbling where it stands, then approaches the camera with wobbly, uneven steps, until its face is right in the camera, turning blurry from the proximity. End ID]

[edupunkn00b]

Where the Air is Sweet, Chapter 1

Photo by Rachel Martin on Unsplash

Ch. 1 - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Patton and Logan share an apartment in an old brownstone on a quiet street. They each have their quirks (as do their neighbors!) and, on the outside, you'd never expect them to actually get along.

But for all the surface differences, their love shines through.

WC: 727 - Rated: G - CW: none, all fluff (future chapters may have some swearing) -

A brilliant sunset had nearly burned away the last of that morning's rain. Nearly. A few small puddles remained for Patton to 'accidentally' splash on his way home from Mr. D's bodega. Most of the block had opened their windows to let in the warm, fresh air, and the soft sounds of dinner-making and children laughing spilled out from each apartment he passed. Up ahead, Patton was pretty sure he could pick out Roman's humming as he hung his laundry at the end of the block. He was certain he caught a flash of purple plaid on Roman's line, which meant his best friend was visiting. No wonder he was in such a good mood.

Music—well, what their next-door neighbor Remus called music, at least—poured up from his basement apartment window. The volume was low, which meant Logan was home.

When he reached the stoop, Patton skipped down the steps, mesh grocery bags swinging. He crouched in front of the door to read the address label on a package from Lucas' Leatherworks that lay just outside the door. It had Logan's name on it, so he tucked it into the bag of oatmeal and bananas and opened the door. "Oh, Lo!" he called. Logan wasn't in the kitchen, so Patton left the bags on the counter and fished out the box. "Lo, you got a package!"

"Oh, good! I was expecting that—Patton!" he snapped, hurrying to close the front door. "Pat, you left the door open again. And you're tracking in water!"

"Oops," he grinned, toeing off his shoes and setting them in the shoe rack to dry. "Sorry, Lo. I was just so excited! Here…" Patton held out the box as an offering and he danced his shoulders back and forth when the crease in Logan's brow dissolved.

He tugged down his sweater vest, a smile quirking up his lips. "Thank you, Pat," he nodded and took the package. Opening the utility drawer without looking, he reached for a letter opener. With the box set flat on the counter, he scored the tape, then pried open the box by hand.

"You didn't want the box opener?" Patton asked, elbows rested on the counter and leaning over to see.

"It might damage the harness," Logan muttered. He rolled up his sleeves before sifting through the packing peanuts and pulling out a… thing made of leather straps and little buckles.

"Uh, Lo?" Patton stared at the object. Logan had called it a harness, but it was way too small for a horse or a dog. "What are you going to use that for?"

"Oh!" Logan looked up. "Come to the bedroom and I'll show you."

"Okay," Patton grinned and followed him to their shared bedroom.

Once inside, Logan set the harness on his bed and reached underneath, pulling out a shoe box. He handed it to Patton. "Take off the lid, and come over here be ready."

Patton tilted his head, his confusion growing when he lifted the lid and revealed soft fleece lining the inside, a few inches thick. Logan had already moved to the window, so he followed, box at the ready.

Logan opened the window and whistled quietly, then made a little cooing sound at the back of his throat. After a moment, a familiar pigeon poked her head inside. "There you are, Bernice," he murmured, both hands outstretched. She hobbled closer and it was then that Patton noticed the twine and popsicle sticks strapped around her right leg.

Moving slowly and continuing to coo, Logan cradled the bird in his hands and set her gently in the shoe box. "Keep her steady, Pat," he said quietly and Patton stood like a statue, hugging the box—and its precious contents—close to his chest. "You can pat her head, she likes that," Logan added, smiling when he gently pet her.

Snatching up the harness, he addressed Bernice. "I'm going to swap this out for something a little more comfortable, girl, okay?" Cooing quietly, the bird cocked her head. "Mm-hm," he hummed. "This will keep your ankle steady while it heals."

"I think she understands," Patton giggled, watching as Bernice remained still in the box, allowing Logan to remove the old makeshift splint and replacing it with the sleek new leather one.

Nodding as he worked, Logan smiled back. "I think so, too."

[auncerra]

“And Just Like That...” Sexual Iconography Left the Studio

It’s inevitable some sequels will jeopardize the integrity of the original. While the fanfare for a Sex and the City re-installment had some of us naively convinced in Michael Patrick’s capacity for keeping the nostalgic momentum alive, it rather played out like a dismal Judd Apatow commentary on the nearing middle-aged (à la a very tactless, banal, and frankly unnecessarily depressing blow of “This is 40″, in which audiences are left feeling like the concept of aging is the equivalent of a death row inmate’s last pile of reheated mashed potatoes, or in the case of over-acting, emphatic Parker (Season 2) - poached eggs, friends-with-benefits breakfast of one?)).

Season 1 (AJLT) introduced audiences to everything Sex and the City conceptually opposed, the original series almost diametrically opposite to the concepts of female and sexual empowerment, friendship, resilience, and heart-touching, resonant storylines and intimately-crafted, beloved characters viewers came to know and praise semi-religiously. While there are many areas to nitpick, including the dismal costuming, unnecessary, unresolved side-plots, vacant added characters integrated merely for their ‘woke’ box-ticking capacity and not for social value or plausible commentary, what I came to love of Sex and the City had been drowned like a newborn kitten in a self-praising writers’ bleach bath. We lost sex to hearing aids and ice cream toppings, or gained it in unappealing, almost grotesquely invasive showboating - i.e. Miranda’s ‘fingering’ in Carrie’s studio kitchen by the much-loathed, and not ‘somewhat’ polarizing, ‘Che Diaz’. Did we need Carrie bedwetting, a loose stream into an emptied Snapple bottle? Miranda’s conditioned facial reactions alone were enough to transport viewers to desires of chastity, of hillside convents somewhere in Romania where those CW-styled dream montages of the repellent, narcissistic Che can’t virtually survive. Note 2 (of loss) - style. Did we need Carrie’s vainglorious, bizarre hat display as she burbled out her apartment window, did we need rubber gardening gloves for a walking smoke-break? Do we need to be assaulted with plaid and tartan, pigeons for purses (thank you, Jen), Charlotte’s over-billowed poof-sleeves and polka-dotted, infantilizing displays, do we need a silver-haired Cynthia Nixon who reads more Paula Deen than tirelessly chic Miranda Priestly? ‘Gray hair don’t care’, as it were, embracing age, as it were, but should be that a singular note of character development - that the bold, independent, autonomous career-driven Miranda we knew and respected has driven toward total absence of discernment, dry as a withered martini olive for a non-committal new beau with zero attributes of integrity or general likability? And why style her (Miranda) as though she were being embalmed in prints, can ‘older’ women not show skin, have avid sex lives, exude standards beyond accepting consequences of bad backs and Peloton-claimed husbands (realistically, did Carrie’s shock need to last several minutes of screen-time, has she never heard of a heart attack?)...

Lines were crossed with Brady’s sex life and Miranda’s questionably appropriate presence throughout, lines were crossed with Porta Potty tampon insertion challenges, lines were crossed with daytime bathroom blowjobs (has that ever been identifying of the hyper-attentive, traditional Charlotte), lines were crossed with rehashed, overplayed attempts at racial justice and white martyrdom - yes, let’s address the concerns, but maybe not in the context of unfunny comedy and a socially-unhinged spin on Miranda - again, Michael Patrick, do native/residential New Yorkers really not have interactions with POC/the queer and gender-diverse in today’s age? Do we need props of characters for this representation, who are as scripted feeling as the tired attempts at the writing - do we need the original cast to become the most egoistic versions of themselves in decades of television, do we need a money-grabbing “Max” Series that respects less its audience of - generations - and their valid, informed takes on a, frankly, garbage-fire, catastrophic spinoff, do the writers need to make relevant social issues - like racism, like sexism, like transphobia, like gender and sexual expression - feel trite, tired, exasperating, and with the ambiance of capitalistically-targeted Pride ads? Che isn’t funny, isn’t remotely likable, and while perhaps not a reflection of Ramirez’s personal life (despite some apparent synonymous attributes and social media feeds), Che’s being non-binary does not make them suddenly exempt from being situationally-inappropriate, selfish, callous, and just plain ‘ick’. Che makes broader viewers want to curl up into a congealing ball, return to embryonic fluids to avoid their “comedy” shows (if the quantity of who they have fucked, will fuck, want to fuck of their - pause for emphasis - live audience members - is qualifiable as humor at all...). Che is not a queer cosplay of Amy Schumer, there are no human or relatable characteristics that make viewers embrace a character so visibly and audibly shallow, not to mention entirely exploitative (the entire subplot of uprooting Miranda from her city for a Los Angeles move, for example, which, if you have forgotten, Michael/millennial-coded writers, completely betrays the Miranda archetype - so, career, long-invested internship, scrapped, for a romantically-ambivalent, narcissist Diaz?). Did audiences need “Rock”, pacifying elementary rhetoric, did audiences need a bigoted hit on one of the few redeemed, likable original characters, Anthony - i.e. advising Charlotte against utilizing preferred pronouns, making an analogy to a dog?

While this is mostly a blurb, a working draft, a tunnel of quality-abandonment-fueled-apathy, Season 2, so far (from what I’ve discerningly, limitedly glimpsed), took “L.T.W.”’s barber-shop painting ensembles, Carrie’s (again, the most self-involved - in the pejorative - character of the show) “user” attributes and poor-me-sloppy-grieving arc, steadily unlikable roundabout cast of diminishing characters to new, (love-to-hate) lows, without the glimmer of a blip of Cattrall resurgence, the only remarkable term to describe this train-wreck of a ‘reinstatement’ return is abysmal. Frankly, I’d have more intrigue in a Seema-driven plot-line, nil-Carrie-Che-L.T.W.-Dr.-Nya-Wallace-couch-coital-post-separation-Bridgerton-Netflix-dupe-streams, re-introducing a viable Miranda in the acting capacity we’ve seen of Nixon (who is by all measures, extremely talented in alternate roles) - or merely limiting the sheer, inarguable box-ticking strategies to reveal something more human, watchable, intimate, and real, like the SATC that charmed viewers over concurring, mingling generations, that comparatively, was successful with good cause. This is another classic example of the media industry exploiting devoted audiences with nostalgic whims of shows that in reality have been massacred by weak writing, a cacophony of plot, and a favoritism towards the emblematic assholes (excuzes mon francçais) of its series - referring, of course, to the effortlessly problematic Parker (who I, with little hesitation, can see as far more of a modern-exploit Carrie than she’d care to own), of dropping unsubtle breadcrumbs of the beloved, real, irreplaceable Samantha, likely cajoling Cattrall into a payout for her four-minutes of other-cast-members non-interactive virtual series presence as a tactic to attract views, and up subscriptions. Frankly, by Episode 1 of Season 2, by Miranda awkwardly, anti-sexily adorning a full-bodied strap-on harness (in 2023, really?) as though viewers had been thrown into the rank, antiquated sex shop of some National Lampoon-era film, for one unamused, indifferent Che, by Che’s hasty, box-check-positioned assistant complaining over the status of their not wearing a jacket (namely, not a glaring, dated, sequined one) / the shrill “non-binary”-cooing mirror harlequin-dance exchange (bizarre to witness), by Carrie once again insisting all life resolve around her and her everlasting grief plot-point with the painfully, awkwardly-timed, shit-written kitchen egg, Charlotte pop-in entrance scene, I was already exasperated.

And Just Like That is the epitome of the negative denotation of ‘woke’, it plays as turbulently and as polarizing as its core characters, and is a dreary, complacent attempt at modernity, it is the flatulence of yet another capitalistically-motivated acquisition, it is not worth your continued patience that solely a Patricia Field, Cattrall, Chris Noth, zany-glitzy-Manolo-steel-jungle-Cosmos-wonderland epitome of Sex and the City, Sex and the City alone could and will ever seemingly be capable of delivering. And Just Like That...Cattrall’s heart-wrenching cancer performance is traded for Snapple-piss and Los-Angeles-beach-cleanup-chronic-codependency, for narcissistic writers, lead creators, and yes, in some cases, eye-roll-icon, socially-liked actors.

I don’t subscribe to cancel culture, but let’s communally hold this embarrassment of unglamorous television accountable, let’s make a commitment to peer deeper at the integrity of shows that capitalize on the marginalized to produce, in sincerity, sugar-coated bullshit.

[whimsical-harlot]

NYC Fashion Week day 1:

Paired these adorable pigeon socks with my brown doc platform loafers. The height of my vintage plaid Scottish midi skirt shows them off perfectly. I paired it with a brown sweater vest and white button up which is kinda hard too see under my denim jacket. It was sooooo cold today. Also I just had to do pigtails and hairbows, it tied the whole fit together.

[popculturealchemy]

gen 1 alpha feeling trigger by greek I just mean... stage 1 taking back greek I'm using this language in this blog trigger nsfw warning . liberal greek liberalizing greek . this text, just gen 1 something to reflect later . granuals of sand premordial mirror technology how can we even trust that thing what are we even seeing framing our story stealing our charm . unifying sight we're all looking at these things the same . round orbs of complicated light we are waxing and waning orbiting chaos asteroids the game sniped by a ufo I didn't know that thing was watching me totally changing me who I am as a person . . life. shattering. fucking. moments... bad fucking dreams!!!!!!!! . . . . . . shrills echoing off walls out of place autistic rage y'all know what I mean. you're steamrolling me Into a flat fucking penny. . pigeon hole pigeon toe shoe horn abuse you don't see curved toes. shoes too tight little by little adjustment rubing that stone in your pocket for 45 years. my grandpa his rubbing stone. with a groove in it. . 70s grampa getting groovy with his fucking rock. stimming always stimming puritan values secret puritan needs . . sword staying sheathed too often slaying not enough slaying those who want to be slain like the eagle finding the fish the offering I'm not going to make it by myself . fish ecosystems swirling around sharks profiting somehow . . unsettling metaphores relationships of all kinds sex trades beautiful people doing beautiful things being stoned being stoned while stoned praying for them is my primodial response to helping them feeling empathatic in this moment how do I fucking value these people how do I tell their story how do I tell my story wanting to be involved with everyone especially beautiful people . people actualy ACTUALLY like feeling good. like pleasure like.. relaxing. like not.. just talking about it. the weird dichotomy oxymoron black prism relaxation takes work timing takes work adusting my timing takes work . breaking out of habits takes work having ocd takes work Its a weird skill but it takes work . big bough big wood big sail ready to whoosh ready to be corny with someone if that were safe wooshing instead of wishing not going to far. following pleasure our barometer our dial things not making sense in the air. literally at all. . helicopter tailspin kobe bryant in the trees somewhere. probably some weird mafia religious idk bet thing. white out. hollywood letters written in white out white. . the blind spot negative space . Its not white . everything else is . don't really know what that means hoping something would manifest california feeling dramatic acting acting coach acting coach to coach my people people i love coaching me not. not. NOT. not using the word not. but not hounding me. . leave me alone. not sure other commands . need vocublary blalkdfa;dsklf feeling idiotic like tractor farm boy autistic seizure thing strong though I thought. maybe being taken advantage of... not... using that word... not proving that i'm weak maybe. what does being taken advantage of prove? big thought in my head. . just dug up black prism like animal crossing seizure butthole in my brain hiding pain finding that rock to hit with my shovel . {took me way too long to figure that one out} . feeling important to feel important . I was eating mashed potatoes once on the couch at my grandmas house for a "dinner". so. many. "dinners" dinners. 12:00 noon. 3pm 6pm food here people here time. dining . weird time shifts in norway like alaska Inside joke knowledge this is side not for myself later feeling important enough to have a tangent teachers all the time growing up... never.. getting .. to .. the point. eloping... with... students..... private... rundown.. cold.. school. feeling like a k drama nightmare video game horror movie expereinece with more khaki and less plaid because we weren't cool enought we were like 7th heaven knock off homeless kid things weird clothes some kids were wayyyyy too well dressed. strange. specefic clicks . tldr: feeling fine

[star-burrow]

STOP LYN THINKING HE HALLUCINATED HER 😭 my idiot <3

also the iris vs lily thing is rlly cute :]

what do the duck family think abt lizzie ? do they even know she exists ? has she met scrooge ? 👀

n speaking abt family u mentioned in the art post that ahes . one of nine siblings right ? any info on the rest of them ? and / or her parents ?

Muahahahah, if I have info…

Huey, Dewey, Webby and LP do not know about her existence (they are very much on Lyn’s back though because why tf does he suddenly know so much about bugs, ballet and Audrey Hepburn). Donald, Bentina, Scrooge and Gyro know about her family and about her by extension. Scrooge despises the Desjardins as well. Iris does not remember meeting any of those people though. She was, like, one year old when they last saw her.

She’s the middle child of nine! In order:

Gladiolus “Gladys” Vieux Desjardins: 16-18yo. He’s the oldest of the bunch; passionate about cinema, he’d really like to be a director if he had the chance too (which he truly believes he’s not getting), he mostly satisfies himself with helping the Suburbs’ “local theatre”. He likes dogs, sunny days, oranges and Hawaiian shirts.

Lavandula “Lavande/Lavender” Vieux Desjardins: 15-17yo. Main interests in include nursing and self-care (actual self-care, not cult self-care), she helps with their “local clinic” and is really feeling the weight of their situation, although she’s learned to keep her mouth shut, she’s very attached to Gladys. She likes thrillers, sweets (guilty pleasure) and mother-of-pearl buttons.

Anemone “Annie” Vieux Desjardins: 14-16yo. The lonely girl. She enjoys writing poetry and plays the organ at their “local church”, she very much enjoys being anonymous and is very enamoured by this secret admirer she has (the concept that someone can be even more invisible than her). She likes noir films, coffee and rainy days.

Orchidaceae “Archie” Vieux Desjardins: 13-15yo. The historian. Type of guy to unironically go “Oh Lord!” at the most minute inconvenience, he loves studying their grandfather’s old diary since it has a bunch of stuff from Duckburg’s Golden Days, he’s very sentimental and carries a notebook and pen around with him everywhere; people like him as a concept. He likes grandpa clocks, old photography and hearing old people’s stories.

Fleur-de-Lys “Iris/Lizzie” Vieux Desjardins: 12-14yo. The lover. Her main interests are entomology and politics (politics more so because of the condition she lives in and the fact that she was always glued to the radio), but her passion really is ballet; she rides around in her little bike and mostly contributes by organising the routine of both her family and her people. She likes fifties and sixties movies, cutting her own hair and exploring.

Tropaleum “Capucine/Capu” Vieux Desjardins: 10-12yo. Little aspirant to engineer who’s always covered in grease, he mostly takes apart things he finds in his house or in other people’s houses and is surprisingly useful for small fixing ups, he’s very shy at first but when you know him he’s really a little ball of energy. He likes plaid, bears and alone time.

Aster Vieux Desjardins: 9-11yo. The astronomer! He has a fondness towards pigeons and trains them to deliver things just like in the olden times, he always wanted to be an intergalactic messenger but by now he contends on helping the people who deliver mail in the Suburbs and watching the stars from afar. He likes shine-in-the-dark things, conspiracy theories and marshmallows.

Hydrangea “Hortense” Vieux Desjardins: 8-10yo. The most serious girl in town! Always walking around with the same expression, she is The weird little girl, she enjoys linguistics and anagrams and really like being the teacher’s assistant in their “local school”. She likes autumn, word search and big ass books.

Paeonia “Pivone/Penny” Vieux Desjardins: 7-9yo. The fashionista! Learnt how to see all by herself when her doll’s dress got slightly torn and fell in love with the idea that she could sew more than just a little torn shortly after. Wants to leave just as badly as Iris since she feels she can only reach her objectives in the city. She likes buttons, fun sunglasses and comfy bed.

Lastly but not least! The parents:

Saule Williams Desjardins: Son of Antoine Desjardins, the kids’ grandfather. He is very fond of real birds and is quite the bird whisperer! He also very much enjoys trees, his job mostly revolves around helping the people of the Suburbs have food even when their stores (?) don’t have any, he is a very gentle man and deep down is very insecure but he puts up a front for his family. He likes tea, collecting postage stamps and listening to his mom’s old music.

Gaia Vieux Desjardins: Farmer’s daughter, she very much enjoys Greek mythology and used to roller skate a lot in her youth, she was always very opinionated which drove Saule craaaaazy but she has her charm. Nowadays she helps around with the educational area but she wanted to be a historian. She likes the color baby blue, embroidery and the réveillon since she gets to drink champagne.