#cv circus baby

[cvbullshit]

Ask to the Sister Location Animatronics(-Ballora):

What's your opnions on the uhh... "Twisted ones"?

Funtime Foxy: The twisted ones? Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Circus Baby:...

Funtime Freddy:...

Funtime Foxy: Were they the ones that were us but not?

(Yes)

Funtime Foxy: Oh.

...

Funtime Foxy: Copycats.

Circus Baby: Idiots.

Funtime Freddy: Losers. ANYWAY!

Minireenas: We don't know who they are. Aren't we twisted? No we're Funtimes. I wanna be twisted! Twisty and twisted! Yeah! Mhm! Yeah! (All start to agree on being "twisted")

Bidybabs: ... (Stare and slow blink)

Ennard: ... (Tilts head) The Twisted Ones? Hm. .... They are.. Interesting. Unoriginal but... Hm. I don't know. I don't really have an opinion on them. They simply exist. Not here with us though. Is that all? (Yes bbg, thank you for answering!)

[fbfh]

Francis Wilkerson relationship and intimacy hcs

wc: 900

pairing: francis x reader

warnings: obsession, sex, quickies, getting caught (briefly mentioned), phone sex, baby trapping, francis really wants to be a good boyfriend

a/n: camp nano starts in one week and I'm not ready but I am scared :') /hj

@yesv01 @magcon7280

As with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+

With that being said strap yourself in because this is going to be a roller coaster 

Francis….

Oh boy oh my god

He’s a handful to begin with

We know he gets obsessed hard and fast

He has the wilkerson gene that can only be described as borderline yandere

Once Francis sets his sights on you

It’s game over

We’ve established how fast he falls for you

How hard and fast

So he’s basically ready to speed run your relationship right off the bat

Which includes lying awake at night and brainstorming the most perfect romantic first time he can possibly think of

He wants to have sex with you so fucking badly

He wants to feel you and touch you

Wants you to feel him and touch him everywhere

Since the thought first appeared in his head it’s completely consumed him

He’s a romantic

He is a pisces after all

He agonizes over how bad he wants to touch you

And it quickly deteriorates to spending all his time thinking about it

He plans it all out 

He gets everything figured out down to the placement of the last rose petal

But when he actually sees you?????

He loses all restraint

Instead of actually acting on his plans

He just tells you about them

He tells you how much he craves you, how he wants to take you somewhere beautiful and make love to you until sunrise 

How he wants to make you feel more pleasure than you’ve ever known 

Within minutes he has you pinned on the kitchen table

His lips and hands are all over you and he’s about to make good on his promise 

Francis is desperate, okay

You need to hose this boy down

Hal actually has before

It barely did anything

Francis will fuck you any time and any place he thinks you can possibly get away with

You’ve gotten caught more times than you can count

Oh god and once he starts????

Once he gets his hands on you

This boy is feral

And his dirty talk?????

It’s the most dizzyingly romantic shit you’ve ever heard

He tells you how you shine brighter than any star in the sky

How you have the sort of beauty that people write sonnets about

That starts wars

He revels in your beauty like a sailor admiring the sea

Francis is going to boost your self esteem so hard

He gives you so much attention you almost don’t know what to do with it

He just loves to admire you 

And he’s determined to be the best boyfriend ever

Whatever you need, he’ll get it for you

He’ll even make his friends help him 

You mention in passing that you ran out of lip gloss or body lotion or something

And minutes later Francis has Richie and Circus helping his scour CVS for the exact product you’re looking for 

Francis gives it to you with a flourish along with some flowers he stole from the neighbor’s garden

You give him a thank you kiss and he immediately pulse you closer to start making out

Which leads to you being pinned against the nearest wall

His kisses are so addictive you really can’t turn up an opportunity to make out with him 

Literally all he wants is you

He lies awake at night thinking about you

Wishing you were there with him

Wishing you could touch him

That he could touch you

That he could just feel you wrap around him, feel your soft lips on his

When he’s away at school expect a lot of very very long phone calls

And a lot of very steamy letters

And whenever you can’t spend the night together there’s a very good chance he’ll call you in the middle of the night begging you to talk to him while he touches himself 

Phone sex with Francis is really something else

His moans and heavy breathing are next level

And he just begs and begs for you to talk to him 

To just keep talking to him

He absolutely 

Like abso-fucking-lutely

10000% gets off to your voice

You don’t even need to say anything dirty to him

Just you talking

Even just you being on the other line is enough to make him cum so hard he sees stars

Francis is really good at begging

Like really really good at begging

So what you do with that information is up to you

But he does love when you make him beg

He loves worshiping you like the divine creature you are

He doesn’t understand how everyone doesn’t see it 

How amazing you truly are

It just makes him feel even more lucky to get to be around you

Much less get to be this intimate and personal with you like you are

And at this point you know each other really fucking intimately 

Oh my god I almost forgot

At some point there’s a very very good chance he’s going to try to baby trap you

More than once, if it’s not successful the first time

And honestly sex with Francis has never been more intense than him fucking you with the intention of getting you pregnant 

God he’s just a big ball of passion

And deep deep obsession 

And chronic painful skirt chasing horniness

And there’s no one better to project that onto than you

[irlkisukeurahara]

Under the Quincy's Veil - Mayuri mixes the blood of dead Quincy together and makes new beings with their own unique powers. What will these beings do...

Character reveal #1!

Name: Arleigh Gewelle (They/Them)

Biological Parents: Äs Nödt and Giselle Gewelle

Power: The Zealot (The power to influence individuals in a manner resembling mind control. Arleigh can redirect people's passions and alter their life goals, effectively reshaping their perceptions and motivations. This manipulation of their reality serves as a means to repel enemies, while also acting as a method to enlist devoted followers. Although those affected do not become completely submissive, they can manipulate their psychological state to the extent that they willingly forsake their humanity to serve them, transcending the limitations of their physical bodies. In a sense, they can practically restore someone from a state of death, though it would cause the individual to lose their consciousness and ability to think for themselves.)

CV: Heather Masters as Circus Baby

[c3s6]

Beautiful. Amazing. Will be going to a cvs to hear circus music overlaid with baby noises.

[forestlingincorporated]

Did Tim Actually Stalk The Batfam?

I’m not talking internet stalking, he 100% did that, I mean live, in person, running around Gotham at night as a small child stalking. 

Well... it’s not clear. 

Tim HAS stalked Bruce irl with a camera. That much is canon, it’s his introduction. 

And he also brings a camera when he confronts Dick at the circus.

However, they never really say if this is something Tim did regularly, or if it was only on this one school vacation.

It could be argued that Tim only took photos that night to give to Dick as evidence that Batman has gone off the deep end and Dick should return to the Robin mantel. 

What we see of Tim’s scrapbook is mostly newspaper clippings, and the photographs that are identifiable are from the one scene we see of Tim physically taking photos, a photo of Batman from the night of the Grayson’s murders, and a photograph of the Graysons themselves, the second two couldn’t have been taken by Tim. There are other images that COULD be photos taken by Tim not from that one night, but it’s unclear. 

Now that I’ve just cast doubt on one of the biggest aspects of Tim’s history, let me tell you why I still think it’s canon Tim did in fact stalk the batfamily as a little ‘un.

Quite frankly, Tim is too skilled for this to have been his first time doing this. 

He’s entirely too good at getting around long distances without adult supervision or knowledge, let alone his evasion and concealment skills. Maybe you could justify that he was able to hide from Batman because Bruce is off his game, but the confrontation at the circus where Tim runs circles arounds two adult men and has to be taken down by Nightwing tells me otherwise. Tim’s experienced in traveling by himself, hiding, and running away. 

There’s also just very little reason for him to have brought his camera to the circus except that he wanted to take pictures while he was there, as he’d already printed the photos, which suggests habit. (Also, he had to print the photos, which he either risked doing at the local CVS, or he’s dedicated enough to this project that he developed them himself, which suggests long-term commitment.) 

I personally think that’s enough evidence to suggest Tim’s done the baby stalker photography thing before - probably not EVERY night, but likely whenever he’s home from boarding school on break. Tim did go to boarding school, so it’s not like he was totally alone ALL THE TIME, but I can name twice off the top of my head (A Lonely Place of Dying itself, and the above from DCU Holiday Bash 3 [it’s actually very cute, Alfred, Dick, and Babs invite him to a little holiday party of their own, and Tim calls them his other family, very sweet]) that he was home entirely alone on school breaks. A perfect time to develop the occasional bat stalking hobby without it becoming too regular, which would explain why most of his scrapbook is newspaper clippings. 

At least, that’s my take on it. 

[blueveind]

[ID: Image 1: A digital drawing of Cel, Azu, and Skraak from RQG sitting on a couch together and smoking a blunt. Cel is covering their face and slamming their fist, laughing and wheezing, saying the words “what the dog doing” in the middle. Azu is sitting with her legs folded up while eating from a bag of chips. Skraak has their eyes closed, smiling, and holding the blunt in one claw. A TV to the side is playing a tiktok compilation.  Image 2: A digital drawing of Hamid from RQG. He is standing, looking weary, holding a finger up and saying “I smoked a bowl and went to CVS and everyone there was trying to kill me. Thought I was having psychosis bc they were playing circus music overlayed with baby noises.” End ID]

cel is a stoner and you cant change my mind. remember the convo with skraak about the mushroom burgers? remember cel and azu and the mega joos? also rich kid hamid tries but can never get it right lol

[jaskiersvalley]

Your safari au. Please. I need it. Water my crops with tigers and hyenas and witchers. Grabby hands and pleading faces in abundance here.

You are after my heart, Nonnie. And considering I've only talked about the Safari AU on Novigrad, I will happily assume you're lurking on there and I love you for it. Tweaked a little to add in a hyena just for you.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Taking over a park was no easy feat, especially not when it came with a reputation like Nilfgaard had. Eskel scratched his head as he poured over the various financial reports, wondering just how much of it could be trusted. The problem was Nilfgaard had been a shining beacon in the animal conservation world, exceptional facilities, high enrichment for the animals and a successful rehabilitation rate. If there was ever an animal in need of a place, Nilfgaard had been first choice for years. All that came tumbling down in light of the revelation that Nilfgaard had been trading illegally, their animals sold to private owners as exotic pets or, even worse, hunters who wanted a guaranteed, easy kill. The place had been shut down immediately, a skeleton crew kept on to tend to the animals but nothing more. Management was on trial and Kaer Morhen had won the bid to take over. Though small and mostly unknown, nobody else had wanted to touch the remnants of Nilfgaard so they were quite uncontested in their bid. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, an noble because it was in the interest of the animals, now was an absolute headache.

Between the three of them, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert could split most of the urgent work. They had Jaskier working on rebranding, Yennefer managing the board and Vesemir as the head. It left them free to run the day to day of the park, learning the animals as well as the people who they had kept on. But they were going to need more people to actually help the place flourish and regain its standing in the community. Which meant asking the heads of departments for who should be kept on and what roles to recruit for from scratch. The easy ones were things like hospitality, Zoltan had a firm grip on the needs of the park and its visitors, knew all the catering firms and how to run a tight ship. So it was one less headache for them. Eredin had stepped up as Head of Security readily once it was proven he had no knowledge of the animal smuggling. Again, his familiarity with the park was a boon, as were his connections, putting together a security team that could be trusted. Much more messy was the animal welfare section. Fringilla, much like Eredin, had stepped up to become interim Head Zookeeper and was doing her best. While they were understaffed, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert helped out where they could but much of their time was spent getting to know the routine of the park and its many animals.

"We need to know who we can trust," Lambert grumbled, leaning over the table where they had personnel files open. "It's impossible to know who was in on things and who wasn't."

Though, in all likelihood, none of the lower level workers knew that when they helped usher one of their beloved animals into a crate, they weren't sending them off to another facility or a happily ever after. But it was something they just couldn't risk.

"May I?" Fringilla asked, eyes roving over all the files. At Geralt's gesture, she began pulling some of them out. "You'll want Triss, she was a vet here, promote her to senior or chief or whatever you call it. She's solid. And Sabrina, she's great, works well with Triss. Retain Istredd, Mousesack, Calanthe and Eist too. oh, and Letho for the reptile house." As she spoke, she kept looking with a small frown.

"Missing someone?" Eskel asked. Nodding, Fringilla frowned. Without much care for manners, she walked to the cupboards and began pulling out files until she hit the folder of resignations and terminations. From there, she pulled out one last file.

"You'll want him."

The folder was taken from her and the three peered at it with varying levels of frowns.

"You want us to hire someone who was terminated for gross misconduct? Whose notes suggest he abused animals and has blacklisted from working with animals?"

"No. I want you to meet the whistle-blower. Cahir's the one who found out about the trafficking and reported it. Nilfgaard didn't take kindly to it and retaliated."

Not sold on the idea, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest. "His file doesn't look exceptional. Personally, if he applied for a job, I'm not sure he shines enough to even be called in for an interview."

It was a sentiment echoed by the other two and Fringilla had to fight to hold back a sneer. "Invite him in and judge for yourselves. Just because his record doesn't have a quantifiable or gradable measure of commitment doesn't mean he won't be fantastic. If we ever have a new animal in that doesn't need to stay hospitalised, I wouldn't want anyone but Cahir to help settle it in. Especially the younger ones and babies."

Against their better judgement, the three decided to follow Fringilla's advice and e-mailed Cahir an interview offer. The reply was terse but assured them that he would be there at the agreed time.

First impressions were, to put gently, not great. Cahir looked rumpled, bags under his eyes and his attitude was rather sullen. It didn't bode well as they sat in the office, Cahir an odd mix of defiant and subservient. At least Fringilla had the grace to push the interview forward as much as she could until even she sighed and leaned back.

"Why don't we walk through some of the enclosures? Make sure you still remember what's where."

As they walked, Eskel ended up next to Cahir, who seemed content to not talk. That didn't stop Eskel from trying to initiate conversation.

"So, what have you been doing in the three months since you left here?"

"Tried to survive."

The blunt answer had Eskel blinking, there were many things he expected but not that. "Oh?"

For the first time Cahir actually looked at him, sadness bleeding through his half glare. "I used to live on site, worked for Nilfgaard from the age of 15, took a full time post at 18 and moved into the small cottage in the southern corner of the land. They fired me, I lost everything."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Eskel tried to figure out just how much of Cahir's so story was an exaggeration. "Have you been living with friends then?"

"For a few weeks, yeah." Cahir actually scoffed. "I've been trying to get a job and living in a hostel off savings. Turns out, only having in-house qualifications does not bode well for prospects in the world at large."

Fringilla led them into an enclosure where the grass was high. From the looks and smells, Eskel would have guessed it was a tiger's habitat but he wasn't familiar enough with the park yet to know. He would have hesitated going in, especially in a group like they were but Eskel had to trust Fringilla as she came to a stop and they stood in a loose circle.

The house Cahir had mentioned was one Eskel was familiar with. They had often wondered why it was empty yet well kept. It had felt like a life interrupted when they had a look round, nothing personal there yet it didn't have the empty, unlived-in feel of a show home. In a way, Eskel was regretting just how poorly Cahir's interview was going because he could easily see them offering his house back as part of a contract.

"So why are we here?" Lambert's words broke Eskel's reverie. "I thought we wanted to go on a walk."

It was by pure chance that Eskel caught Fringilla's smirk at Cahir and the slightest softening of that stern expression in return. Clicking his tongue, Cahir shot Lambert a look. "Tell me, have you ever been stalked by a tiger before?"

"No."

"You sure about that?" Cahir clicked his tongue twice and the world burst into motion. From the long grass a tiger pounced and Eskel was not ashamed to admit he let out a surprised yell. He wasn't the only one though, Lambert gasping, hand at his mouth and shoulders up as the tiger took Cahir out. They went tumbling and only Geralt looked like he might lurch into action, taking half a step towards the animal and Cahir. It would have been hopeless though, the two were wrestling on the ground until Cahir was on his back, tiger hunched above him.

The first thing Eskel noticed was how Cahir's face was creased into a happy grin. He looked younger, relaxed and happy ever as the tiger licked a large stripe from jaw, up his chin to his hairline. All Cahir did was laugh.

"Yes, yes, I missed you too, Princess," he said. fingers loosened from the fur in the tiger's neck and petted along her nose with the ease of familiarity.

"What the actual fuck?!" Lambert all but screeched. "What the fuckity fucking fuck?"

Eskel had the sense to look to Fringilla for answers, even if he wanted to watch Cahir with the tiger. The change in the man wasn't something he could have predicted. Gone was the sullen, defensive and standoffish air, replaced by an easy smile and a look of serene happiness as Cahir looked at the tiger, checking her over out of habit, muttering about dirty ears and mucky paws as he went.

"That is what you won't ever learn from a CV and qualifications," Fringilla said. She was absolutely looking smug. "Princess came to us at 9 months old, from a circus. Had terrible separation anxiety and a host of other issues too. She wasn't doing well despite our best efforts. At least, not until Cahir took her home and cared for her during the nights rather than leave her in a hospital cage. He introduced her to independence, slept out in the open with her for a few weeks when she was ready to transition to outdoors." Much more quietly, she added, "She's not the only animal he'd done that for. To find out some of his beloved children have been sold hit him hard. I don't think I'd ever seen him cry before then."

Turning back, Eskel watched as Cahir was sat on the ground, tiger with her back to him. The slightly strained "oh no you don't" from Cahir was lost as the tiger pushed up onto her hind legs and flopped backwards. Had she been smaller, Cahir would have probably caught her like a baby. As it was, he grunted as the weight crashed across his legs and he had a happily chuffing tiger's belly to tickle.

"I assume you'd vouch for him?" Geralt asked.

"In a heartbeat." Fringilla grinned at Cahir but it was lost on him, so focused on Princess as he was. The others might as well have stopped existing. That was the moment Eskel knew his heart was in danger. It didn't get easier as time went on. Hiring Cahir was proving to be a good decision. He just got on with the work, never finding anything distasteful or below him to do. If it needed doing, he got it done.

Over time he opened up too, Eskel found himself wandering down to the southern corner of the park to the little house that was now full of life. He got used to Cahir usually having a baby or two in his care. Sometimes he babysat for Letho's hatchlings, content to have baby snakes trying to look around his arms as they learned how to cope with being handled. The friendship between the two was one Eskel couldn't claim to understand but they seemed to make it work.

"Knock knock," he announced himself by the open back door.

"Come on in," Cahir called as he wandered out of the kitchen. "I'm just finishing making dinner, care to join me?"

That was new too, Cahir was inviting Eskel into his life more and more. It made Eskel feel even better about what he was planning to ask at Fringilla's instructions.

"I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. There's a new arrival that we think will need your assistance."

Cahir cocked an eyebrow and held up an empty plate in question again. At Eskel's nod he began loading. "Anything you can tell me about it?"

"Not much. Private collector got raided, had a few animals in his less than tender care."

"So they'll be part socialised, part traumatised. I can work with that."

Somehow, Eskel had no doubts about that. But he was holding back some information because Fringilla had told him to keep it a surprise. The next morning the transport van rolled in, a small group of them ready to handle the newest arrivals. There were a couple of pythons for Letho to bring into his fold, a parrot for Guxart to train into swearing. Last was a large crate. As interesting as it was, Eskel's eyes were on Cahir, the way his nostrils flared as he caught scent of the hyena. The box opened and the animal cautiously peered out.

"Dave!" Cahir exclaimed, all semblance of quiet professionalism gone as he hopped off the top of the crate he'd helped open.

If his reaction had been exuberant, it was nothing compared to the hyena's. They collided next to the box, all over each other.

"I missed you buddy." There were tears running down Cahir's cheeks as Dave alternated between butting into him and running tight, excited circles around him before settling down and trying to bodily press into him. Glancing up, Cahir gave Fringilla a wobbly smile. "How did you find her?"

Her? Last Eskel checked, Dave was a male name. Still, he wasn't going to interrupt the tender reunion with such a dumb question.

"She was part of a collector's hoard. Didn't have the right permits so he was made to give her up to those who could offer her proper care."

A broken "thank you" was whispered in her direction before Cahir buried his face in the hyena's neck. Eskel watched with so many questions. Thankfully Fringilla didn't miss that fact.

"She was born in captivity, originally assumed to be a boy, needed to be hand reared after mum rejected her. She never understood that she wasn't human and as a result has spent most of her life living with Cahir. We've tried so often to introduce her to a pack but she never took to them, content to stay with them for a day, two at a push before she starts pining. When Nilfgaard sold her, that's when Cahir got suspicious, did some digging and realised she hadn't gone to another park. So Dave is a catalyst for this whole fiasco if you will."

Watching them, Eskel nodded. He had a hyena to befriend if he wanted to keep Cahir in his life it would seem.

[chernobyl2]

does anyone have that post that’s a screen recording of a tweet that’s like “i got high and went to cvs and freaked out bc they were playing circus music and baby noises” i literally saw it earlier but i can’t find it now

[dollyprincessollie]

i have the Circus Music With Baby Noises At CVS video stuck in my head i feel very scared

[cvbullshit]

But do remember, CV can be unpredictable

[thatgirlonstage]

Podcast Challenge 7/9/18

Bolded means I listened to an episode today. Strikethrough means I’m all caught up and waiting for the next episode, or the podcast is complete!

The Adventure Zone | Alice Isn’t Dead | The Bright Sessions | Bubble | Can I Pet Your Dog? | Conversations with People Who Hate Me | Critical Role | Ear Hustle | The Flop House | It Makes a Sound | The McElroy Brothers Will Be in Trolls 2 | My Brother, My Brother, and Me | My Dad Wrote a P*rno | The Orbiting Human Circus of the Air | Sawbones | Shmanners | The Thrilling Adventure Hour | Welcome to Night Vale | Within the Wires | Wonderful!

Podcast: The Adventure Zone

Episode: Amnesty - Episode 15

Time: 1hr 6 min, 110% of goal

Commentary:

I’M SO FUCKING READY FOR BEACON FUCKING UP DUCK’S LIFE I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS

Podcast: The Flop House

Episode: #54 - Gamer

Time: 53 min, 88% of goal

Commentary:

So... Ready Player One with Gerard Butler?

Podcast: It Makes a Sound

Episode: S1E5: Press Play

Time: 22 min, 37% of goal

Commentary:

That episode dragged on WAY too long. We knew she wasn’t going to be able to play the tape for God’s sake, the buildup just got annoying eventually

Episode: S1E6: For Whom the Bell Trolls

Time: 29 min, 48% of goal

Commentary:

I feel bad for Rod lmao, he’s just trying to do his job and take care of some old senile lady

Episode: S1E7: An Automatic Spark

Time: 29 min, 48% of goal

Commentary:

I’m slightly concerned about Tricia Elwood’s parenting that she lets Cody hang out with these people and thinks that Deirdre is like. A reliable adult who can be responsible for looking after her child.

Also, okay, so Deirdre DID record the tape. Which I had assumed was the case. But were we actually supposed to know that? Because when the podcast first started she made it sound like it didn’t belong to her.

Episode: S1E8: The Clubhouse

Time: 30 min, 50% of goal

Commentary:

Was... was it the 8th grade graduation, or a birthday party?

Okay, the Ophelia madness parallels to the mother’s dementia become a little heavy handed

Episode: S1E9: rememberwimfaros

Time: 33 min, 55% of goal

Commentary: 

The cop’s voice is the evil lady from Alice Isn’t Dead so THAT was a visceral reaction of “oh my god bad news bad news”. Like I think she’s really just doing her job and she seems like she’s supposed to be a decent person in this show but that is... not the reaction I have to her voice

Passingly interesting story - I’m really not a fan of any of the characters though. In fact I actively dislike most of them when they’re not singing, lol. I’ll probably stick around for season 2 to see where it goes, though

Podcast: My Brother, My Brother, and Me

Episode: 171: The Sweetin Furnace

Time: 46 min, 77% of goal

Commentary:

And I and all of my Belgian friends crack up because America is adorable in its panic over the government shutdown

What is it about Justin that can make sentences like “What are babies’ vulnerabilities?” so fucking hilarious?

Episode: 172: Juggalo Church Camp

Time: 51 min, 85% of goal

Commentary:

I can’t sleep and it’s 3:30AM and this episode is calling me out over it

Podcast: My Dad Wrote a P*rno

Episode: Footnotes: Belinda’s CV

Time: 17 min, 28% of goal

Commentary:

Does Rocky know what typhoid means you can’t type the word typhoid that many times without finding out what it is I’m so distressed why did Belinda work for a company named after a deadly disease

Episode: S3E7 - ‘The Chocolate Fountain’

Time: 41 min, 68% of goal

Commentary:

I really really don’t know how I feel about the fact that we’re in Belgium now. Also, why are we in Belgium now???

Episode: Footnotes: Aphrodisiacs

Time: 15 min, 25% of goal

Commentary:

Does this have something to do with why we all crave chocolate on our periods???

Episode: S3E8 - ‘A F*cking Good Time’

Time: 36 min, 60% of goal

Commentary:

Is it just me or are these books somehow getting progressively more and more disjointed. How did we get here, why did we get here, who is Alfonse and what is happening, has Belinda taken birth control lately

Episode: Footnotes: Sex Parties

Time: 17 min, 28% of goal

Commentary:

This woman just walked straight out of a smutty fanfic, to an unbelievable degree. I... didn’t realize there were legit non-scammy things like this in real life, really

Episode: S3E9 - ‘Yorkshire’

Time: 37 min, 62% of goal

Commentary:

Alice was just coming to pieces this entire episode

The briefcase is the real protagonist of Belinda Blinked

Podcast: The Thrilling Adventure Hour

Episode: #101: Beyond Belief, “Forged in Flame”

Time: 20 min, 33% of goal

Commentary:

I can’t believe WTNV stole its Satan puppy plot from Frank and Sadie’s mistaken assumption in this episode

Episode: #102: Behind the scenes of TAH

Time: 1hr 18 min, 130% of goal

Commentary:

HA! Vindication! Colonel Tick-Tock really is getting gayer every episode, it’s not just me.

Podcast: Welcome to Night Vale

Episode: 17 - Valentine

Time: 25 min, 42% of goal

Commentary:

The first time I listened to this podcast we had the phone call episode and then I saw the next episode was called Valentine and I nearly had a gay heart attack. Should’ve known it wouldn’t be nearly that straightforward (of course it would be straightforward, lmao)

See my full review of the episode here!

Episode: 18 – The Traveler

Time: 25 min, 42% of goal

Commentary:

I’m not going to lie, I have absolutely no memory of this episode whatsoever

See my full review of the episode here!

Total Listening: 11hr 10 min, 1117% of goal

[thewidowstanton]

Chris Barltrop, actor and ringmaster: Audacious Mr Astley

Chris Barltrop describes himself as “semi-nomadic”, but is originally from Walthamstow in London. He has entertained audiences all over Europe as a performer, and also devised, directed and facilitated shows. He has a lengthy theatre CV – including leading roles in Twelfth Night, The Crucible and Pygmalion – and has also appeared on TV programmes as diverse as The Dick Emery Show, The Royal Variety Performance, Casualty and Blue Peter. 

Chris has been a ringmaster for 40 years, including a lengthy run from 1997–2012 for the Grand Cirque de Noël in Toulouse, where he spoke in French. In the UK he has been general manager and MC for the Moscow State Circus, Gerry Cottle's Circus, Jimmy Chipperfield's Circus World and Continental Circus Berlin, among others. He lectures on the history of circus and circus life and is an in-demand after-dinner speaker.

Now Chris makes his Edinburgh Festival Fringe debut – opening on his 70th birthday – with his self-penned one-man play Audacious Mr Astley. The show – which celebrates the equestrian Philip Astley and marks the 250th anniversary since he started the art form in the UK – runs at the Pleasance Courtyard from 1-27 August 2018. Chris chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Were you formally trained as an actor? Chris Barltrop: I went to East 15 Acting School in the late 1960s. No one in my family was in the theatre but my father and my mother had done some amateur acting. My father was a teacher when I was small, but he stopped doing that to be a full-time writer and artist. So I grew up in a house that was arts orientated, full of books, and which was also full of political discussion. My parents used to go to see Joan Littlewood’s productions at Theatre Workshop, Stratford, when they were a young married couple so they saw a lot of actors and were very pleased when I eventually decided to go into it. I never had a plan for life and I haven’t now, really [laughs]. I was good at acting at school and suddenly decided to try it.

Part of my father’s personality was that he was a great raconteur and would tell stories and do the characters and voices. That gave me the idea it was fine to do that. I am, like a lot of performers, very, very shy, but you can hide behind a persona and face the world because it’s not you they’re looking at, it’s the ringmaster or Dogberry, or Malvolio; it’s the character. You’re putting up a front, like the clown with his mask.

What did you do on The Dick Emery Show? It was 1979, when Jimmy Chipperfield was approached by the BBC to do an episode setting all the sketches in the circus. It was wonderful to work with him. Dick was doing a summer show in Great Yarmouth. I went down to see him and he was very nice. I asked him to back my application for Equity membership and he wrote me a charming letter.

And on the Royal Variety Performance? I got in touch with the BBC, whose turn it was that year, and spoke to the producer, Kevin Bishop. He was very keen to include the Moscow State Circus, but he said I’d have to produce our spot. So I planned the spot and we did it as a little showcase; one trick from the Russian bar, 30 seconds of the hat juggling and the clowns and me standing on the side of the stage as ringmaster. [Laughs] The other time was 1989 or ’90, the producers wanted to include ‘The World of the Circus’; Paul Daniels introducing artists from Jolly’s Circus, from Gerry Cottle’s, from John Lawson’s… people brought snakes, Gerry brought a baby elephant, and I came on as the Moscow State Circus’ ringmaster.

How did you get into being a ringmaster? The circus was really an accident. Having finished drama school when it was still the days of the Equity closed shop, I didn’t have an Equity card and you couldn’t get a job without one. It was 18 months after graduating and I was doing fill-in jobs, driving, and so forth. We were living in a little cottage in Saffron Walden and my wife, Barbara, who was a teacher, had had to stop work when we had a baby daughter. So it was up to me to earn a living.

One week in The Stage there was an advert for Hoffman’s Circus: ‘Staff Wanted’. Not performers, but what we in the circus still call ‘billers’, people who put up the bills. They wanted a married couple to run the advance booking office. It said: “Luxury accommodation provided. Best terms in the business.” I said to my wife: ‘What do you think?’. We decided to write and if we got the job, we’d stick with it even if it was absolutely dreadful and awful, because we’d learn something. It was in the entertainment business; it was a new aspect to learn about.

The accommodation was in an artic vehicle that had been built as a mobile hairdressing studio for film location work. It was nicely fitted out and comfortable. We weren’t with the circus but we were on the circus and got to know it. We toured Scotland and enjoyed it very much, and asked if we could go back the following year when they were touring the West Country. One of them said; “You’re hooked.” We said: “No, we just fancy doing a second year,” but actually that was the case.

After that I went to work for Gerry Cottle, still putting posters up, and into the second season with him, he asked about my background. He thought I was better spoken than a lot of people and said would I like to try being ringmaster for one of his Christmas circuses in Cardiff. That was 1976. Then the next season he took me on to the circus as house manager and deputy ringmaster, but as the season went on it became more and more that is was me being the ringmaster all the time. It was very hectic, dealing with the public, doing a show, running back out and trying to do both at once. It was very enjoyable and I learnt a lot.

What qualities does a good ringmaster need? The public see the ringmaster as a sort of compere but in fact the ringmaster is the stage manager. I was very quickly aware that I needed to watch out for people’s wires and everything else and make sure things were safely put up and that the props were in the right place. So there’s an element of safety. I remember once when I was one of two assistant ringmasters to Norman Barrett, a Russian trapeze artist missed his trick and was falling. There was the safety net but it looked as though he was going right to the side of it. He was OK, but my reaction was to run forward and when I looked it was Norman Barrett and me running towards one another to do something about it.

That’s what you need, an awareness and a knowledge of the rigging and of what is happening to the artists. I’ve had swings on trapezes, I’ve climbed up to the high wire just to stand there and see what they’re seeing. It’s important to do that, and over and above that it’s alertness, awareness and a calm character because if something goes wrong you’ve got to deal with it. ‘Right, you pick that up, I’m going to talk to the audience, clear that and tell the clowns to come in… ladies and gentleman…’. You have to be concise and have the skill of thinking what to say next; so often when there’s a bit of action going on I’m editing words in my head. Also you have to be able to present yourself if it’s a TV interview. I do love the variety of it. You can be on national television one minute or knocking stakes in or driving a lorry the next.

Did you have to learn French for Grand Cirque de Noël? I was taught French at school. Our teacher was the headmaster, whose wife was from Brittany. I was the dunce of the class and only scraped through. Sadly, he died but I would have loved to say to him, ‘Guess what I do for a month every winter? I stand in front of 2,500 French people talking French!’. He’d have laughed his head off. He’d have loved it. 

Tell us how Audacious Mr Astley came about? In 1973/74 at the end of that first season there were no Christmas circuses. It wasn’t practical with canvas tents in the winter. I thought I’d like to find out about circus. There were two books in Saffron Walden library: I Love You Honey But the Season’s Over by Connie Clausen and British Circus Life by Eleanor Smith. I read about Philip Astley starting circus in London. As time went on, I think it was 1986, and having an interest in the history of the circus and knowing roughly where it started, I researched and pinpointed the exact spot at Halfpenny Hatch. Astley chose a field where there was a busy footpath. The landowner charged a halfpenny for people to take a shortcut across his land and you paid at a little window in the fence or hatch. So this is the famous spot. It has lovely Georgian cottages on it now that were built in about 1820. 

Has the spot been marked now? I was pleased to identify it for people but there had never been a commemoration on the spot, hence on Easter Monday we unveiled a plaque, which the local residents paid for. They’re so interested in this piece of history related to where they live. I did the premiere of Audacious Mr Astley in Waterloo East Theatre a few yards away; it was smashing.

What form does the show take? With the 250th anniversary getting closer and closer, I thought I’d love to combine my circus knowledge with my acting – directing myself – and my writing skills, which I’ve developed over the years working with the press. A year or so ago, I started to make some notes, in the knowledge that I was not simply giving a lecture or illustrated talk but that I wanted to be Philip Astley and that this would be, not only a unique way to tell the story in the sense that someone will be standing there being him, but also I believe, I hope, with a unique insight.

Astley established various traditions; he wore a red coat, he toured his shows straight away, they went out to Bath and Bristol and he took the circus to Scotland, where I’ll be in a couple of weeks. He introduced it to Ireland and Europe. And he also established a tradition of tough mindedness and independence and overcoming the odds to make sure it happened.

How important has it been for traditional circus in the UK to mark this 250-year anniversary? It’s very important for all circus. It’s a great thing with Circus250 having tremendous individual supporters; Martin Burton of Zippos Circus is one. He’s got the horses and this year he’s reproduced The Courier, which happened in Georgian circuses, where someone stands across two horses with the other horses coming through. Also it’s had the backing of Dea Birkett. She’s the chair of the co-ordinating group and has originated some events of her own.

There is also Andrew Van Buren’s Philip Astley Project in Newcastle-under-Lyme. I love their line: “Philip Astley is Newcastle-under-Lyme’s Shakespeare.” And so he is. Look what he achieved; it’s not literature but he had a cultural impact, which has spread worldwide… . He called it Astley’s Amphitheatre of Equestrian Arts and took it to royal families everywhere. He promoted himself and it was famous throughout the 19th century; Dickens, Jane Austen, Thackeray wrote about it. William Blake lived in one of Astley’s houses and he must have sat there sketching the horses in the amphitheatre. Some people think circus started with contemporary circus 30 years ago, and don’t want animals, but Astley was a rider so horses were involved. He called it a ‘hippodrama’; a play with lots of horses.

Who created your costume? I carefully researched the costume and was very lucky and found a book on eBay The 15th King’s Hussars with uniforms from 1759, which was when his regiment was formed and when he joined. The costume was made by Farthingale Costumes, who make costumes for reenactors, such as The Sealed Knot. It’s the exact material, it’s the exact cut and tailoring; it’s precise.

How do feel about going to Edinburgh for the first time? It’s been a wonderful 12 months in lots and lots of ways. It’s been absolutely fantastic! And to have performed as him on the very spot on Easter Monday, the exact 250th anniversary, was a fabulous thing to be able to do. There’s another anniversary, mine and Mr Astley’s; my 70th birthday on 1 August and I’m presenting him as 70 years old. It’s perfect, absolutely brilliant; it’s such a happy coincidence.

Chris performs Audacious Mr Astley at the Pleasance Courtyard (venue 33) from 1-27 August 2018 during the Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Picture credits: Ashleigh Cadet; Pierre Gautier: David Davis

For Audacious Mr Astley tickets, click here

Chris’ website

Twitter: @Astley250 @circus250 @ThePleasance @edfringe @PhilipAstleypro

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

[matildainmotion]

Mothers Who Make: The Unofficial Job Ad

           Mothers Who Make are recruiting. You may have seen the job ad we put out for a producer. ‘We put out…’ - I always find the use of the 1st person plural uncomfortable in a context like this. It feels like a grand lie, because the truth is that it is just me, sitting here in a café with the baby asleep in her sling, on a Saturday, which is when I do my writing. It was while the baby was asleep that I wrote my proper job ad for MWM– I had never written one before. I had no idea how to do it and so I had to crib from another, roughly equivalent, job advert that Improbable’s Executive Director was kind enough to share with me. Since then, rather to my surprise (what did I think would happen?!) I have begun to receive very properly worded applications. They start with things like, “Dear Sir/ Madam” and end with, “Thank you for your kind consideration of my application.”

           On the one hand I am glad to be going down this official route, glad to be accessing new networks by advertising the post properly, glad to be giving the position status. On the other hand the process runs counter to the very principles that underlie Mothers Who Make. I have written about this before but it strikes me with new force now: as a culture we polarise the personal and the professional, and the personal gets a bad name – it is ‘unprofessional,’ somewhat embarrassing or downright outrageous. Motherhood is hopelessly personal. It is messy and emotional – I was in tears only this morning because I am tired, my son was being difficult and I had run out of patience. I have a literature degree, a circus diploma, two M.A.s, several teaching qualifications but I have no qualifications for the work that is taking up most of my time, of being a mum, because they are my children and I did not have to train to get them. I had to do the far more awkward thing of falling in love, leading to that most intimate and unprofessional of all acts – sex. As I said, motherhood is hopelessly personal.

            However more and more women are handing over their children to ‘professionals’ to do the caring, so that they themselves can maintain their professional identities.  Mothers Who Make aims to challenge this strong cultural trend. We – and I do mean ‘we’ this time, because there are increasing numbers of groups being run across the UK – hold rare spaces to which women are welcomed and are valued as much for their mothering as for their making, as much for the nights they have spent helping a child back to sleep, as for the famous play in which they have performed at The National. I want “5 years spent in the role of full time mum” to be something any woman could be proud to put down on her CV, instead of it appearing like a worrying hole, a time in which she ‘dropped out.’ So I am simultaneously grateful for the applications I am receiving and disturbed by them.

           Today then, to counter the proper job ad, I thought I would write this. This is the unofficial job ad. This is the lonely hearts/ lonely arts ad because it feels like that – I am internet dating. I am looking for a partner to support me with MWM. In fact what I really want to write is not an advert at all – I am not trying to sell myself or MWM. I want to write you a letter.

           When I turned 40 I vowed I would write more letters – I got a proper writing case, not professionally proper, but proper paper, a proper place for a pen, for addresses, stamps. I love letters because as a genre I think they can most wonderfully dismantle the great ‘professional versus personal’ divide of our times. They are by someone, a person – me – for someone, a person – you. They are personal. And yet there is a kind of formality that comes from the process of writing that feels not so much ‘professional’ as in someone wearing a suit, but as in someone with a profession – someone engaged in doing a thing they care about enough to sit down and write about it. Here then is a letter to you, whoever you are, the person I am looking for….

Richmond, London, 3rd Feb ‘18

Dear Ms Right,

           I am calling you ‘Ms’ – I do not know whether you are married, single, in a civil partnership, broken-hearted, in love, gay or straight. I am however right now imagining that you are a woman or someone who identifies herself, more or less, as female. I did not put this on the proper job ad. I have already had some men apply – I applaud and welcome them. But right here and now I am thinking of you as female because MWM involves, in part, holding women-only spaces, for reasons I have written about elsewhere, and I would love for you to be able to come to our meetings. I hope that you are someone who would want to be there anyway.

           The odd part about a proper job ad is that it requires you to tell me about yourself, but I feel it is only fair that you know at least as much about me. Let me start with the basics. I am small. I have short dark hair and brown eyes. I am 43. I have a tattoo of a snake on my left shoulder. I am married. Instead of sending over my CV I will simply give you a list of the main roles or identities I have assumed in my life, not in any strict chronological order. Here they are: daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, student, teacher, collaborator, dancer, aerialist, actor, director, writer, facilitator, lover, wife, and, for the last 6 years, mother.

           I have two children. They are 6 and 1. You will meet them. There is a point in a new romantic relationship when you are taken back to ‘meet the family.’ This usually happens a few weeks in, at least. I need to warn you that with me it will happen right away. When we first meet I am likely to have my daughter with me and I will breastfeed her through our discussion. She will be shy but glad to meet you. I may have my son with me too – he will be loud and rude, which is his way of being shy. He will probably refuse to tell you his real name and may sing, “I am the Walrus” from the Beatles to you too loudly. Or he may have chosen to be with his Granny, my mother, who you will also meet very soon – she is amazing. Mothers Who Make and all the work I have done since becoming a mother is entirely thanks to the support of my mother. So you see why I am passionate about mothers – in part because of my own, and the difference I know committed mothering can make.

           You will also meet my husband, Phelim McDermott, though not for a while because this morning he left for New York for six weeks, to do a show there. He helped me to run the Mothers Who Make crowdfunding campaign before Xmas. He encouraged me to write this blog. He started Devoted and Disgruntled, the revolutionary Open Space events for the performing arts community, without which Mothers Who Make would also never have come into being.

           What I am trying to tell you is that I take my family to work with me. I firmly believe there can be no single solution to the current ‘how-to-do-it-all’ crisis in which many new parents find themselves, but for me the ‘drop the kids off at a crèche/ nursery/ nanny’ model has never worked. They have come with me to meetings, rehearsals, shows, conferences and workshops.  I have felt first hand the shame of it, of being ‘unprofessional’ by bringing them along, as well as the radical pride – because it is possible.

           I was recently asked what my workdays are, and I did not know what to say. It was a perfectly valid question that comes from the ‘normal’ world – the one that labels roles as professional or personal and calls one work and the other not. I do not have any workdays and every day is a workday. I work weekends. I work evenings. I work nights too. All day long, every day I am working on my mothering and my making. This means I am both highly organised and extremely disorganised. The house is a mess. I struggle to get the laundry done, the hoovering, the dishes. I try to do most of my emailing at weekends – it means you may have to wait a week to hear from me but you will hear. I can hold onto the thread of a conversation for a long time and whilst many other things interrupt it. Did I warn you that we will be interrupted? The children will do this but we will still get the work done. I promise you it is possible and if you do not like the sound of this then that is good. I am trying to scare you away. If you are still interested by the end, then this job is for you.

           What else? I should probably explain that I never intended to found a national network. MWM is a response to a need. I started a small local group and it grew. Like any mother I am making it up as I go along. I am growing new skills along the way – that is what mothers do: we do what you can, we do what the next part of the job seems to require, we often feel out of our depth. I feel this right now with MWM, which is why I am seeking your help.

           Let me tell you my strengths and my weaknesses. I am an artist – I like making things up. I like writing things. I like listening to people’s stories and sharing my own. I like asking questions. I care deeply and that makes me reliable: I will respond; I will turn up; I will make stuff happen. I am not however very good at numbers. Budgets scare me. I leave bank statements unopened for weeks. I am not good at sleeping either. I get over tired, overwhelmed. I am not good at spending too much time on a computer  - it exacerbates the insomnia.

|||            So what would I like from you? You do not have to be a mother, but it would make sense if you are. I would like you to be good at some of the things I am not good at – budgets, planning, evaluations, emails, the ‘professional’ stuff. But under it all, at the end of the day, through most the night, it comes down to the personal, it comes down to love, to the old meaning of the word ‘professional’ – what you profess to do, what you care about. I want you to care about the things I care about. I do not however want this work ever to get in the way of your caring work – of whoever is in your care. Please put them first. Then do the rest, and let it be work that you love.

           If you love the sound of all this then please be my Valentine. Send me your application by Feb 16th, or before. You can send me your C.V. but you can also write me a letter. I asked for this in the proper job ad too – a covering letter. Let it cover whatever you want me to know about you. And if by any chance you missed the official job ad, you can find it here: http://www.improbable.co.uk/motherswhomake/

           Thank you for reading my covering letter to you.

Yours sincerely professional, faithfully personal and radically questioning,            Matilda

[nightingveilxo]

Mycroft: Keeping With Tradition, Tea, and 1972

This is part of a series of meta about Mycroft, tradition, and his possibly being a mirror for Mofftiss (until he sees Sherlock and John as a couple, Mofftiss won’t acknowledge it).

The Greek Interpreter

“Is he your junior?”

“Seven years my senior.”

“How comes it that he is ?”

“Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.”

“Where, then?”

“Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example.”

I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.

“The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men. He’s always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight. It’s six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.”

Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent’s Circus.

“You wonder,” said my companion, “why it is that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify his own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury.”

“It is not his profession, then?”

“By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. From year’s end to year’s end he takes no other exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his rooms.”

“I cannot recall the name.”

“Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals.”

Pressure Point in the Diogenes Club - Dare Not Speak (Its Name)

No One To Host? Hi, I’m John, and I need someone to be aware I am here to help. 

(I’m sorry, but this just makes me think of John looking at Sherlock and saying, “Give me some sugar, baby.”)

Tea trolly, and it’s clearly exaggerated about the numbers using the one trolly, but tea is of course important in the series.

1972 - Gay News was a fortnightly newspaper in the United Kingdom founded in June 1972 in a collaboration between former members of the Gay Liberation Front and members of the Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE). At the newspaper's height, circulation was 18,000 to 19,000 copies.

Sex between men had been partially decriminalised for males over the age of 21 in England and Wales with the passage of the Sexual Offences Act 1967. After the Stonewall Riots in New York in 1969, the Gay Liberation Front spread from the United States to London in 1970. Gay News was the response to a nationwide demand by lesbians and gay men for news of the burgeoning liberation movement.

In 1976 Mary Whitehouse brought a private prosecution of blasphemy (Whitehouse v Lemon) against both the newspaper and its editor, Denis Lemon, over the publication of James Kirkup's poem The Love that Dares to Speak its Name in the issue dated 3 June 1976. Lemon was found guilty when the case came to court in July 1977 and sentenced to a suspended nine-month prison sentence and personally fined ₤1,000. When all totalled up, fines and court costs awarded against Lemon and Gay News amounted to nearly ₤10,000.[3] After a campaign and several appeals the suspended prison sentence was dropped, but the conviction remained in force. The case drew enormous media coverage at the time. In 2002 BBC Radio 4 broadcast a play about the trial.

( x )

Insert copious references to The Importance of Being Earnest, and Mycroft as Lady Bracknell, the traditional figure of the play. Also, Richard Brook was supposedly cast as Algy (it’s spelled wrong), according to his CV. [Side note, in the film version, Algy was played by Rupert Everett, who also played Holmes in Case of the Silk Stocking--that entailed twins being the villains. At the end, Watson marries an American psychoanalyst, goes on his honeymoon, and Holmes is left alone.]

Meanwhile, in TAB, Sherlock is messing with tradition. Wilder (TPLoSH director)/let’s get Wilde-r in S4, potato meaning love for another white male, and private clubs were sometimes used in the Victorian era for secret weddings.

Tradition will get you this, instead.

Related Meta...

John Watson’s Patience (x)

A Happy Ending or Mycroft Has Been An Idiot ( x )

Kingsmen: The Secret Service, AGRA, & Sherlock ( x )

Magnussen’s MP is Mycroft’s Home Theatre ( x )

Justifying John Watson/Johnlock as a Player in the Drama ( x )

EMP/Unreliable Narrator/Alibi/Editing All Give Sherlock His Audience ( x ) (Part II of Justifying John Watson)

Pressure Points That Make No Sense ( x )

@mrskolesouniverse @monikakrasnorada @the-7-percent-solution @ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @swimmingfeelsinajohnlockianpool @sherlockians-get-bored @not-a-bit-good @sherlockshadow @loveismyrevolution @sarahthecoat @leaastf @antisocial-otaku @mrskolesouniverse @kateis-cakeis @holmesianscholar @smoljohnlock @intersexmycroft

[adriennefrank]

An Extraordinary Egg

Week 3 homework---The Day That Changed My Life

I made my sister take the picture.  The one of my face next to the children’s book, “An Extraordinary Egg.” It sat on a wooden shelf filled with books that were meant to entertain children while their mothers, and the women desperate to become mothers, waited.  The words stopped me in my tracks.  They were too appropriate: an extraordinary egg.  It was all I was hoping for, to be honest.  One extraordinary egg that might make me a mother one day.

Eighteen months earlier I had suited up for my first battle with oral cancer at age twenty-four.  Most decisions were made for me; I didn’t have the option of where the surgical site would be, the dose of radiation, or even the day that my chemotherapy infusion would take place.  Most of this nightmare felt out of my control.  So when my medical oncologist presented me with a choice, two options, I froze.  Did I even remember how to make decisions anymore?  

There were two chemotherapy drugs I could try.  One was new, with less data behind it. The side effects were manageable, hardly even worth mentioning.  I could deal with the acne and hair thinning.  But would it work?  Would it attack the cancer cells that had were holding my immune system hostage?  The other was industry standard, but the side effects were terrifying. Nerve damage wasn’t ideal, but my heart broke when I heard about the possibility of infertility.  The stakes immediately changed.  

The decision was overwhelming.  I remember pulling my gold Pathfinder into the Walmart parking lot because I could no longer see the road through my tears.  Would I gamble on this new chemotherapy or lose my dream of carrying a child in my womb one day?  Would I ever find a partner that might love a barren woman?  But if the chemotherapy couldn’t keep me alive, I realized there was no point in thinking about feeling tiny flutters in my belly one day.  

As a child, adults would ask me the typical question about what I wanted to do when I grew up.  I always answered with my dream of becoming a mother.  It was all I knew really.  My mother stayed home with her children, just like my grandmother, and great-grandmother.  Mothering was in my blood.  The thought of giving that up devastated me.  I always pictured my future with a husband by my side and children at my feet.  Wasn’t that my purpose as all the women in my line?

So I chose fertility.  And the new, more experimental drug.  I couldn’t bear to give up hope for a new, little life in the future.  I was willing to risk in order to hold onto my dream for as long as possible.

Months of surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation followed.  Sometime that fall my body was scanned for any sign of the disease.  We found none.  I had battled and won.  I felt relief, exhilaration, and a sense of accomplishment.  Surely this was the end of my cancer experience.  Until the cancer cells began growing and multiplying again the following year.  One doctor told me that it was time to “pull out the big guns.” This time I knew what my future would hold, or rather, what it wouldn’t hold.  Not just fatigue, pain, loss of appetite, and other treatment side effects, but the possibility of infertility.

Before I had a chance to truly grieve this enormous loss, my doctor referred me to the reproductive endocrinologist.  There was hope.  Egg-freezing, she informed me.  The only issue is that my insurance was not willing to help out with any expense.  To them, this was unnecessary medical treatment.  Elective, they said. But how could it be elective when I knew since childhood that I was destined to be a mother?  At the same time, where would I find extra thousands of dollars on top of my mounting medical expenses?

It was the first time I made a decision based on which outcome I would regret more.  I weighed the two options in my head.  Would I regret spending thousands of dollars, hours and hours of time, and enough tears to fill bottle upon bottle only to never need the eggs we had harvested?  Or would I regret never being able to have a child, feel a baby grow in my womb, because my eggs were more or less, “fried?” (pun intended). The answer was obvious.

It was the beginning of November when walked into CVS to pick up my first and only packet of birth control pills.  I needed them to right my cycle prior to beginning the harvesting process.  I had headaches and hot flashes and swore I would never take them again.  My dad told me he felt like a junior chemist as he gave me my hormone shots each day.  I couldn’t bear to stick myself, and I couldn’t convince anyone else to do it.  My dad, who passes out while getting blood drawn, stepped up to the plate to help.  Thanksgiving dinner ended with a grand finale when family surrounded me to watch the needle dive into my belly.  I became a side show act.

And the added hormones flowing through my body made me really feel like I was part of the circus.  When the pharmacy gave me incorrect information about a prescription, I went home and sobbed into my pillow for an hour.  I wasn’t sure how to handle these new emotions that threatened to drown me.  I didn’t recognize this new person that had grown from the desire of my heart.  

Blood tests and ultrasounds monitored my progress every few days.  My body was responding.  I wanted my sister to see the process, but her weak stomach had her calling out, “where’s the bathroom?” while running out of the room.  The doctors told me they hadn’t seen anyone respond that way in all their appointments.  I just laughed.  It was all I could do.  Especially when the awkward young medical student had his head between my legs.

It didn’t take long before I got the call: we should be able to harvest your eggs on Wednesday.  December 3rd, 2008.  They were estimating I had about fifteen that could be extracted.  I was thrilled.  Thrilled at my body’s response.  Thrilled that I had made it through these tough weeks.  Thrilled that although some cells in my body wanted to kill me, still others were hell bent on creating new life.  Thrilled that I had hope in the midst of this dark time.

My mother brought me to the hospital that morning.  We walked up to that sterile, concrete building, accented in Carolina blue, and rode the escalator up to the second floor.  I pointed out the children’s book as we passed, and my mother laughed at the title.  

Facebook recorded my announcement that I was partaking in an “egg-citing adventure” and “putting all my eggs in one basket.” Only a select few understood my cryptic messages.  I’m certain the rest probably thought I had lost my marbles…or was adopting some chickens. The importance of modesty had been instilled in me at an early age, and I couldn’t imagine announcing via Facebook that I was going to be freezing my eggs.

The nurse wheeled me into the dimly-lit procedure room where the doctor waited.   The anesthesiologist couldn’t drip the Versed into my anxious body fast enough; I couldn’t wait to fall into that lovely, relaxing haze of amnesia.  Even though I was awake during the whole procedure, the medication allowed me to only remember setting my legs into the stirrups and then pulling them down when it was over.  After asking if I was okay the nurse wheeled me out into the recovery room where my mom was waiting.

I had been previously warned not to make any important decisions or “sign anything” that day, but I felt completely normal and alert.  Excited even.  I anxiously flagged down one of the doctors and asked how many eggs they had retrieved.

“Nineteen,” she said.  "But twelve are viable.“

Twelve eggs.  A perfect dozen.  Of course this is how many my orderly, efficient body would produce.  I shouldn’t have expected anything less than filling each space in an egg carton.  

"Are there any pictures?” I asked elatedly.

“Let me see what I can find,” she responded kindly.  I’m not positive, but I’m guessing I may have been the first person to ask for a picture of my little oocytes.  Do most people care what those tiny, microscopic cells look like?  I would guess not.  But, my sentimental ways won out.

Moments later, she returned with several pictures.  They looked like ultrasound pictures, dark and splotchy, and printed on that flimsy, thin, slippery paper.  I could make out round white shapes in the darkness.  These were my babies.  And this was their first picture.

No matter what the cancer and chemotherapy would take from me, I still had these eggs, frozen in a lab in North Carolina, waiting for me.  I still had the potential to one day become a mother.  To pass on my brown eyes, my skin that tans easily, and my love for words.  To fulfill the dream I had since I was a little girl.  December 3rd changed my life.  I had hope in the midst of those horrific days.  Something I hadn’t felt for a long time.

It was a cold March day, just over a year later, when I found out that those twelve eggs weren’t necessary.  A missed period and a positive pregnancy test and what the hell is happening???  But underneath all the fear and hard decisions, I knew this is what I was made for.  Cancer and chemo and crazy relationships couldn’t affect my calling to become a mother.

I smiled as I checked the book out from the library several years ago.  I think Cedar must have been four.  I explained this this book was very special, that, in a way, it was about him before he was even born.  We climbed into bed and I read the title to the small, sleepy boy, tucked under my arm: “An Extraordinary Egg…”

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3 Skincare Steps You Can Totally Skip (& 4 I Consider Non-Negotiable)

Disclaimer: These are not the opinions of an expert. Skin types vary, and what works best for me may not work best for you. Consult your dermatologist before making drastic changes to your skincare routine.

Does anyone else feel like a real, successful grown-up when they have their skincare routine on point? There’s something luxurious and responsible about rubbing a few creams on your skin on a regular basis. But it can also get kind of exhausting. Like, how many different moisturizing steps does one person really need to take?

Well, as a skincare enthusiast, I’m going to break it down for you and tell you which skincare steps I personally think you can skip, and which I consider non-negotiable.

Skippable skincare steps:

1. Eye Cream

I have a controversial stance on eye cream. Hot take: it’s just more expensive moisturizer. Seriously! The skincare conglomerates have scammed us all into spending $50 on the tiniest bottle of cream they could manufacture. When you could just use your regular moisturizer — get this — under your eyes. I firmly believe no one needs to be spending time, energy, and money on eye creams.

2. Toner

Now here’s where things start getting a little fancier. Have you heard of witch hazel? Other than the coolest combination of two words I’ve ever heard, it’s also a product for skincare. It’s an astringent, lightweight hybrid between cleanser and water that’s meant to gently return your skin to the proper ph-level. This is bullshit. It only takes a matter of minutes for the facial skin to return to its proper PH on its own, no products necessary. I’ve found that toner is another unnecessary step that skincare companies have us thinking that we need, when a cleanser followed up by a moisturizer would be just fine.

3. Face Masks

And finally, we’ve reached the most unnecessary skincare product of them all: the face mask. Did you want to spend $10-$50 on a 15-minute experience? Well, now you can! Did you want the most wasteful possible way to hydrate or treat your skin? That’s a face mask, baby! Face masks are literally just serums or exfoliators on a nice sheet of cloth to hold awkwardly on your face for 15-30 minutes. If you open one up and don’t use every last bit of liquid inside, you’re wasting your money. You can usually get 3-4 uses out of one package if you don’t mind getting your hands a little dirty. But almost always, they’re just diluted serums, and you could get the same results without having to sit perfectly still for half an hour.

Non-negotiable skincare steps:

1. Sunscreen

Come on, what did you expect? Of course, sunscreen is non-negotiable, and the number of people who I see skip it is ridiculous. Unless you’re waiting to get skin cancer before you start wearing it, you absolutely need to start wearing SPF right now. And the tiny bit of SPF in your foundation doesn’t count. Yes, I know you don’t spend enough time outside. Yes, I know you live in a not-so-sunny place. Yes, I know you go straight from your car to work. Yes, I know it sometimes leaves a white cast to your skin. You still have to wear it. Seriously.

2. Moisturizer

Let’s keep it real simple here. You should be moisturizing your skin. And, although this article is mostly based around the face, you should be moisturizing other parts of your body, too. At a minimum, face, lips, neck, and hands should get some sort of cream on them daily. These are the parts of the body that show aging fastest and the parts most exposed to sunlight. So put something moisturizing on your body at least once a day, whether that’s with coconut oil, an expensive cream, or a generic lotion you got from CVS. Whatever works for you and your wallet.

3. Cleanser

Don’t be the 19-year-old frat boy who has exactly one bottle in his shower that acts as a shampoo, body wash, and cleanser. Just don’t. Go out and buy yourself a nice, gentle cleanser to use after you’ve removed your makeup to finish cleaning your skin. You should be doing this right before moisturizer, and I find that once at night is really all you need (though it will depend on your specific skin type). Dermatologists disagree on whether or not a splash of water in the morning is enough if you’re sleeping on clean pillowcases. So please, see what works best for you, and make your own call on that!

4. Exfoliators

So, there are a lot of different types of exfoliation. You’ve got physical exfoliation, which uses microbeads (which are often banned for environmental reasons), shells, salt, or sugar to physically remove any loose or dead skin. You’ve got chemical exfoliation products, which come in AHA, BHA, and a few other forms which, as the name suggests, uses chemicals such as glycolic or lactic acid to promote skin cell turnover and tackle fine lines, wrinkles, and hyperpigmentation. I would recommend exfoliating your face anywhere between once a day and once a week with an exfoliator of your choice (don’t choose St. Ive’s Apricot Scrub, it’s far too aggressive for delicate facial skin) depending on your skin type and personal dermatological recommendations, and exfoliating your body at least once a week to get all the gross dirt and dead skin cells off the surface of your body. [Editor’s note: I use a Baiden mitten every few weeks on my body, and it was honestly life-changing. – Holly]

Somewhere in between

1. Spot Treatments

This is really a use-as-needed type of product. Most spot treatments are highly concentrated versions of chemical exfoliators, meant to turn over the skin cells in one specific spot much faster. That results in acne having a shorter lifespan and your skin clearing up much faster. I would experiment with the two most common spot treatments: Benzoyl Peroxide and Salicylic Acid. It’s likely one of those two will work for you and you don’t have to spend more than drugstore prices for them.

2. Serums

Here’s where things really get buck wild. So, say you’ve followed along with this article and you now have a cleanser, moisturizer, sunscreen, and exfoliator of your choosing. Congratulations! You’ve got a basic skincare routine. From this point on, you’ll be customizing it to your specific needs. That’s what serums are for. Whether you want to remove pigmentation, refresh skin quality, increase elasticity, or deeply moisturizer, there’s a serum for that. I personally recommend The Ordinary, an incredibly budget-friendly, beginner-friendly skincare company that has serums for all kinds of needs.

*****

And there we have it! In summary, in my opinion, you absolutely cannot skip sunscreen, moisturizer, cleanser, and some form of exfoliation. But you don’t necessarily need toners, face masks, spot treatments, or serums. Sure, if you’ve got the extra cash, you’re more than welcome to treat yourself, but don’t let Big Skincare make you think you need to spend hundreds of dollars a month on your face.

Mandy Pura is a 22-year-old who holds two Bachelors in the Arts and has no idea what to do with them. She’s a health-conscious coffee-drinker by day, and a stripper by night. She likes to spend her time doing circus acrobatics, practicing mindfulness, and eating delicious vegan foods.

Image via Unsplash

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