#i took their middle names from their singing vas :D

[sonic-rider-art]

I re-RE designed Sonia and Manic!!

(I think im finally happy with them this time :3)

[Commissions Open!]

[Do Not Repost My Art]

[twinkboimler]

Alphabet Meme

I was tagged by @ludi-ling!

A- Age? 19

B- Birthplace? Richmond, VA

C- Current time? 5:23 pm

D- Drink I last had? Ice water

E- Easiest person to talk to? Honestly, this one is probably tied with @taintedlovesoftcell and @sharptoothlavaman.  I love them both dearly, and I find that I can talk to them about practically anything.  

F- Favorite song? Jesus, this was probably the hardest question for me.  My favorite song is constantly changing, so really who knows with this one.  I’ve been listening to Postmodern Jukebox’s cover of Creep a LOT recently, so probably that.  

G- Grossest memory? Ugh, okay, this is also one of the grossest things I’ve done: I have a memory from when I was four or five, and it’s me picking up gum off the sidewalk and chewing it, because I guess my parents refused to buy some for me?  Yeah, I should have known better.  

H- Horror yes or horror no? It took me a while to get into it, but I’m a horror fan.  I HATE torture porn films though, and sadly a lot of horror movies involve a lot of torture and gore.  Can’t handle that.  I really enjoyed A Quiet Place and the new It movie.  

I- In love? Yeah, I seriously adore my boyfriend of ten months, Trevor.  He’s just a fantastic guy, and I’m really bad at keeping myself from bringing him up constantly.  

J- Jealous of people? I mean, maybe sometimes.  I think people are just naturally jealous now and then.  Nothing specific though.  

K- Knife preference? I have an old pocket knife that I’m a fan of.  My favorite knife of all time though?  Watch the sequel to the 1970s’ The Three Musketeers, there’s this super cheesy poison dagger that gets used, and I seriously love it. 

L- Love at first site? Hmm.  I’m gonna say I believe in infatuation at first site, but not love.  Love comes a bit later.  

M- Middle name? Kathleen

N- Number of siblings? Just one, a younger brother.

O- One wish? It would be fantastic if I could manage to write a screenplay someday that got turned into a movie.  Of course, that involves actually writing one first.  

P- Person I last called? My dad

Q- Questions I’m always asked? “How’s college” or some other iteration.

R- Reason to smile? I’m seeing Panic! at the Disco in August with my two best friends, so that’s got me excited.

S- Song I last sang? Thank You for the Music from Mamma Mia.  It’s just a really sweet song, and I enjoy singing it.  

T- Time I woke up? Noon, maybe 12:30.  I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen again tomorrow, lol 

U- Underwear color? Pink and gray stripes

V- Vacation destination? I’d love to go somewhere where it snows. Most of the time, my vacation destination is Disney World, because I’m in state and we know a few people who live around the park, so no hotel fees.  

W- Worst habit? Procrastination, I think? 

X- X-Ray? A few months back, I was having a weird chest pain, and had one down at a walk-in clinic.  

Z- Zodiac? Aries

No idea why there wasn’t a Y.  

Tagging @thegreatestegg, @sharptoothlavaman, @taintedlovesoftcell, and @antspaul.  You don’t have to do it if you’re not interested, but it was fun to complete!  Anyone else is free to do this and say that I tagged them! 

[lucids]

11 Years Old Naomi Wadler Says 'Remember the Black Female Victims of Gun Violence'.

[Hundreds of Black Females have been killed by gun violence and few recognize their deaths.]

The story behind 11-year-old Naomi Wadler and her March for Our Lives speech.

The youngest speaker at the March for Our Lives rally Saturday made one of the biggest splashes with an eloquent speech urging the nation not to forget black women, who are disproportionately represented among the victims of gun violence.

Naomi Wadler, an Alexandria fifth-grader, became a hashtag, a meme shared around the world, praised by celebrities who included actress Lupita Nyong’o and comedian Eddie Griffin. The 11-year-old was heralded as future presidential material.

But Wadler hasn’t seen any of that: She’s not on social media.

“I have been accustomed to not Google myself, so I haven’t seen everything,” Wadler said Sunday in a phone interview during her spring break beach trip. “My speech might not have caused a giant impact on society, but I do hope all the black girls and women realize there’s a growing value for them.”

That was the focus of her 3-minute, 30-second speech, which was repeatedly interrupted by roars of applause.

‘Never again!’ Students demand action on guns in nation’s capital.

“I am here to acknowledge and represent the African American girls whose stories don’t make the front page of every national newspaper, whose stories don’t lead on the evening news,” Wadler said. “I represent the African American women who are victims of gun violence, who are simply statistics instead of vibrant, beautiful girls full of potential.”

“For far too long, these names, these black girls and women, have been just numbers,” Wadler later said. “I’m here to say ‘Never again’ for those girls, too.”

Many of the young people who spoke Saturday had personal experiences surviving shootings or losing loved ones to gun violence.

The path that took Wadler, who likes to sing, run and play tennis, to a worldwide stage started when the mass shooting at a high school in Parkland, Fla., inspired her to activism.

Her mother, Julie Wadler, sat her down to talk about the shooting and shared a personal connection: A friend from high school, Fred Guttenberg, lost his daughter Jaime in the Parkland shooting.

Naomi Wadler was thinking about what she could do when she saw reports of high school and middle school students planning walkouts on the one-month anniversary of the Feb. 14 shooting. She and classmate Carter Anderson, a friend since kindergarten thought: Why not elementary school students, too?

So, they organized a walkout at Alexandria’s George Mason Elementary School.

Like thousands of other students who helped organize walkouts, they wanted the disruption to last 17 minutes in honor of the 17 Parkland victims. But they decided to add an extra minute in memory of Courtlin Arrington, a 17-year old black girl who was shot to death at her Alabama high school March 7. That shooting, three weeks after Parkland, received far less national media attention.

Arrington, a high school senior, had been accepted to college and planned to become a nurse.

A study published by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention last summer found that black women were more than twice as likely to be killed, and the most likely of any racial group to be shot to death.

“It’s subconsciously embedded into peoples’ minds that somebody with a darker complexion is worth less and their life isn’t as valuable as a white girl or man’s,” Wadler said.

Wadler also spoke at a gun violence forum hosted by her congressman, Rep. Don Beyer (D-Va.).

Her walkout garnered some media attention that made the rounds on social media. March for Our Lives organizers also noticed.

While Wadler wanted to attend the D.C. march, her family suggested they go to a sister march instead so that they could proceed with their spring break vacation as planned.

Those plans changed Thursday when a march organizer called Julie Wadler and asked if her daughter would speak. Naomi agreed without hesi­ta­tion.

George Clooney, one of the celebrities who bankrolled the march, called Thursday, too, and mentioned he watched her interview with NowThis.

“He said he loved how I spoke so eloquently and the message I was trying to get across, and I was kind of like, ‘Yes. Yes. Okay. Yes. Okay,” said Wadler, who hasn’t seen any of Clooney’s movies but has watched him give interviews.

At first, she worried that talking about black women would be off topic. But then she found out other students from all over would speak from their experiences, and she felt comfortable telling her story as a black girl disappointed by how stories about gun violence involving people who look like her don’t incite the same outrage and sympathy. Or garner the same media attention.

Wadler was born in Ethi­o­pia and attends a school where nearly six in 10 students are white, a third are Hispanic and 6 percent are black. Her mom is white, and her dad, a recreational hunter, is black.

“We are a family that watches the news. She wants to know why on the news they identify black people as black, and not white people as white,” Julie Wadler said. “She wants to know why Trayvon Martin was shot. She wants to know why Philando Castile was shot. Her father is black, and she wants to know, does she have to worry about him being stopped and killed?

“She’s an aware kid,” she said. “To listen to the past two years of our world and inside the Beltway, conversations about race are dinner table conversation for us.”

On Saturday, a driver picked up Wadler and her mother to take them to the rally, and she sang “Rise Up,” by Andra Day, during the ride.

Backstage, she met Clooney, as well as director Steven Spielberg and rapper/activist Common. She was more excited to meet the Parkland student activists whom she admired, including Emma González and Jaclyn Corin, who now have her email.

Wadler also bonded with Yolanda Renee King, Martin Luther King’s 9-year-old grand-daughter who took the stage to pump the crowd up. When it was Wadler’s time to speak, nerves were setting in.

“I tend to be a pretty catastrophic thinker when it comes to these things,” Wadler said. “I think, ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die, am I going to die?’ I need lifesaving serum.”

She needn’t have worried.

Her presentation went smoothly and drew widespread praise for directly tackling how race plays into society’s reactions to gun violence.

Beyond the substance of Wadler’s remarks, many were impressed by the eloquence and poise of an elementary school student speaking on the national stage.

“Wow wow Naomi Wadler. She is ELEVEN YEARS OLD. And smarter than us all,” tweeted Guardian columnist Jessica Valenti.

After the speech, Wadler gave her mother a big hug and joined her friends Carter, Matt and Lily to watch the rally from the audience. When she got home, she found a note left on the door by a friend telling her she’d done a great job. Teachers emailed her mother with praise.

On Sunday, her mother casually mentioned on the drive to the beach that “Black Panther” star and Oscar winner Nyong’o had given her a shout-out on Instagram. “She screamed so loud that I thought I lost my hearing for a month,” Julie Wadler said.

-

Source:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/education/the-story-behind-11-year-old-naomi-wadler-and-her-march-for-our-lives-speech/2018/03/25/3a6dccdc-3058-11e8-8abc-22a366b72f2d_story.html?utm_term=.38225b6a5b99

[lil-trtl-drumr]

Alphabet tag!

I was tagged by @letsfclef

I was tagged by @kazoomajor, thank you!

a- Age: I’m a 50 year old in the body of a 21 year old

b- birthplace: In ye olde dominion

c- current time: 10:05 (its in the AM I use a 24 hour clock so that perpetually means am to me)

d- drink you last had: A nice glass of reality.. jk it was something carbonated so probs coke but who knows

e- easiest person people to talk to: myself and my dear friend that’s featured in my snap chronicle Bæwatch

f- favourite song: uhh it changes but currently it’s a tie between the pina colada song and come a little bit closer

g- grossest memory: so when I was younger (idk probs a teenager who knows time isn’t real) I but into a totally ripenfeeling grape tomato. IT WAS MOLD IN A TOMATO SKIN. Like you bite into this bad boy and your mouth is instantly filled with the dry powdery sensation of a little mold bomb going off inside your mouth. I’m successfully eating tomatoes again but I honestly am rather weary of fresh tomatoes that aren’t cut up.

h- horror yes or horror no: situational because my momma ain’t raise no bitch, except I kinda am

i- in love?: with percussion 😉

j- jealous of people?: jealousy is for the weak!

(there is no K) WAT.. K - Katsuko (is me)

l- love at first sight or should I walk by again: Definitely possible but I was probs too busy pretending to be occupied with my phone to actually notice you

m- middle name: IT STARTS WITH A Y SO GOOD LUCK GUESSING

n- number of siblings: Zero, I am the star of this solo act

o- one wish: That I wouldn’t be insecure

p- person you called last: myself because I’m a scattered, non-functioning adult that couldn’t find their phone

q- question you are always asked: “how is the government to blame for that”

r- reason to smile: somebody probably sent me a dank meme.. or I’m laughing at a joke I came up with

s- song you sang last: KWEEN OF THE KNACHT ARIA. Lmao I can’t sing worth a damn, I actually was last singing Hooked on a Feeling. Probs because I’m high on believing but I don’t question my desires to sing the song in my heart

t- time you woke up: no clue. It was before 9 I know that much

u- underwear colour: I honestly don’t know but I’m not checking for y’all

v- vacation destination: The world. I’m taking my camera and going. #stereotypical person raised in va

w- worst habit: some of my OCD tendencies and literally all of the physical things I do when my anxiety is bad

x- rays: I once slammed my finger in a door and that got x rayed but that’s about it I believe... I might have one from when they took my tonsils but idk and I was too young to know if it was an x ray or a scan or what

y- your favourite food: I thoroughly enjoy pizza and pancakes but clearly not at the same time

z- zodiac sign: I’m a super Virgo. Idk my roommate read my birth charts and almost everything was in Virgo except like my moon is in Leo or something feisty which is why I’m generally Virgo af but also savage when provoked

Idk who to tag because I honestly didn’t think I’d make it this far

So I’m just going to tag @jenjifr and @yo-jokerzwild and I encourage all of my few readers to take this on if you want to!!

[wolfgangamaderik]

Au clair de la Lune

   Geneviéve was walking up and down in the salon, nervously cracking her fingers. She sent worried glances towards the window, trying to notice the Doctor before he reached the terrace. Will he arrive there ever? Why won’t he come? Maybe he won’t want to come here and examine the thing? That poor thing, that… God’s creature.

The boy was ill. Very ill.

She hated him usually, but couldn’t bear to see him in that condition. At first, she thought she will be able to cure him, by putting wet cloth on his forehead and ordering him to stay in bed. But nothing helped. His condition got worse and worse. His fever didn’t break, he coughed, his eyes were turning red instead of yellow and some kind of rash appeared all over his body. No, it wasn’t smallpox. He got that last year. This damned kid is always sick. He was nearly 5 years old and every damned month of the winter and fall he got some kind of infection. Either he has some nasal infection… God he doesn’t even have a nose! Or the worst part is when he catches some kind of children’s disease. How does he catch them at all, he doesn’t go play with others? How could he? What a normal child would WANT to play with the thing? They would most certainly run away from him screaming for help, just as every normal person would. She would do it as well if some feeling she can’t name wouldn’t keep her here, chained to this little corpse forever.

-          Mo… Mother! – That indescribably angelic child voice urgently called to her.

He was nearly 4 years old when she finally heard a sentence full of sense from him, and only then she could hear what a sweet voice he had. She never thought such an ugly thing could have such a nice sounding voice.

With a deep sigh she hurried back to the bedroom where she left the small monster. He was laying in the large double bed of his parents, so he looked even smaller thinner and more helpless compared to his surroundings.

-          What is it now? – She peeked in.

-          I am not feeling well. – He whined softly, reaching out for her.

-          I know. – She nodded. – You have some kind of illness. I called the Doctor for you.

-          What is a Doctor? – He lifted his head up faintly, with a sudden interest.

-          A person who cures illnesses. He will make you feel better.

-          Will some other person… come to the house? – The boy seemed to be rather surprised upon hearing the news.

-          Yes.

-          And I have to go to the cellar? – His voice sounded sad and worn out at the same time.

-          No, boy, he comes to see you!

-          But you said… No one wanted to see me and no one should.

-          You ask too many questions. Didn’t you say you were sick?

-          I am.  I am very sick, mother. – He nodded and closed his eyes.

-          Sleep then. – She ordered, but a bit of kinder, she added. – That helps.

-          Mother… won’t you please… hold my hand? Please.

-          We have to make sure you are not contagious. – Geneviéve stated. – Then I… might.

-          Mother…

-          I have to feed the animals. – Geneviéve left the room as fast as she could, not looking back at the direction of her praying son.

  He does this thing again. He prays for her touch. Oh but if only he wasn’t so unbearably ugly and cold most of the time… then she would touch him. She would pick him up and cradle him in her arms if he was a child. But this… this… pitiful excuse of a human being… was just too ugly to be held and caressed.

She could hear some nasty coughs and some painful sobs, then a cry for help.

 She did not want to turn around. She took a few steps hurriedly towards the stairs to run downstairs, but the boy cried out again. Was he so sick? God, will he maybe die? Not now, please not now… the doctor didn’t even arrive yet. You can’t die… Last night he nearly died. He started choking in the middle of the night, which is the main reason she picked him up from his own bed and hurried to the master bedroom and lay him in the double bed there to be able to check on his breathing later as the seizure finally stopped. She slept on the couch in the corner for the rest of the night, however there was enough room for her as well, but she did not want to accidentally touch the boy while sleeping. He was thankfully too sick and too much worn out to use the situation and climb out of bed and pester her during the night.

She hurried back to the room where she found the boy choking again.

-          God… breathe… try to breathe, boy!

-          Mother… - He wheezed. – Please…

-          What is that? What do you need?

-          The… mask… please… remove…

Please remove the mask.

The words echoed in her ears for some seconds, and she was staring at the wheezing little thing, struggling for breath, trying his best to stay alive. She knew the mask most certainly made it harder for him to breathe as it covered both his horrible mouth and the lack of his nose. He would make some occasional wheezing from time to time with the mask on, even if he was healthy. But exposing his horrible skull face, especially in such a well – lit room… at broad daylight! As he is ill, his face must be pale and he sure looks even more horrifying than at any other time. But… this is a five year- old seriously ill child, who maybe was at his last gasp… she should make his suffering more bearable. She is his mother, despite everything. At least she could show some compassion and sympathy right at that time.

With trembling hands, she reached out for the small head, and hesitantly put her palm under his neck to lift his head from the pillows a bit. He wasn’t cold. He was hot. With her other hand she slowly slipped the white cloth from the child’s face who took a few deeper breaths as the fabric wasn’t already covering his mouth. She tried to look away as the boy’s face was shown to her, but for some reason, she couldn’t turn her face away from him. Not now.

-          Is it better like this? – She asked softly, after some minutes, when the child was breathing more evenly.

-          Yes… thank you Mother… I knew… you will help me.

-          Oh… I had to.

-          You always help. – He looked at her with such an adoration in his bloodshot yellow eyes that she couldn’t help but smile at him, even if he wasn’t wearing the mask. He did look ugly for sure. But it seemed to matter less.

-          Do you want me to sing a song for you so you will be able to sleep? – Geneviéve asked comfortingly. She knew her son loved music, he was already extremely talented at playing the piano.

-          You… never sang… before… Mother. Can you sing? – He looked up with eagerness and he smiled with those malformed lips of his.

-          I am not a trained singer. – She admitted. – But I liked to sing… before…

-          Before what? – He asked curiously.

Before you were born. She thought to herself, but did not say any other word. She sat down at the edge of the bed, placed her hand on the boy’s burning up forehead to check on his temperature, but after to her biggest surprise she held the boy’s bony skeletal hand. He sighed contently and closed his eyes. The woman started singing an old French children’s song to the boy for the first time in his life. Her nice sounding soprano voice filled up the room as the simple song soothingly lulled the ill boy to sleep.

     Au clair de la lune

   Mon ami Pierrot

   Prête-moi ta plume

   Pour écrire un mot

   Ma chandelle est morte

   Je n'ai plus de feu

   Ouvre-moi ta porte

   Pour l'amour de Dieu

     Au clair de la lune

   Pierrot répondit:

   Je n'ai pas de plume

   Je suis dans mon lit

   Va chez la voisine

   Je crois qu'elle y est

   Car dans sa cuisine

   On bat le briquet

     Au clair de la lune

   L'aimable Lubin

   Frappe chez la brune

   Qui répond soudain

   Qui frapp' de la sorte

   Il dit à son tour

   Ouvrez votre porte

   Au dieu de l'amour

     Au clair de la lune

   On n'y voit qu'un peu

   On chercha la plume

   On chercha du feu

   En cherchant d' la sorte

   Je n' sais c' qu'on trouva

   Mais je sais qu' la porte

   Sur eux se ferma.

  When the boy finally fell asleep, she heard some loud knocks on the front door which, of course, woke the boy up instantly. He startled up and sat up straight in horror, looking at Geneviéve with a confused expression.

-          Now will you take me to the cellar? – He asked. – I can’t get up… I am sleepy…

-          No. Just lay back down. Be quiet and don’t be afraid. It must be the Doctor. I will be right back.

Geneviéve hurried downstairs to answer the door. She heard another loud bangs when she opened it, and saw the village Doctor standing on the doorway.

-          Good afternoon, Doctor… - She started stutteringly. – My son is very ill, and…

-          Is that the monster? – The doctor asked, without even saying “Bonjour”.

-          It is my son. – She repeated drily.

Surprisingly she called the boy a monster most of the time, but it hurt her feelings when the doctor used the exact same word to describe him.

-          What is his problem? – He asked with a hint of disgust in his voice.

-          Follow me and see it for yourself. – She moaned, leading the doctor to the bedroom.

The man did not want to approach the bed within a five feet radius when he saw that monstrous face. It was just a sick child and he was afraid of him like if he was a demon. When he noticed the removed mask on the nightstand, he pointed at it and asked:

-          Is that for… it?

-          Yes, it is. – Geneviéve admitted softly.

-          Maybe if you cover its face it will be easier for me to examine what the problem might be.

-          He started choking when I put it on him the last time… couldn’t you just…

-          It will survive. – The doctor shook his face, indicating he won’t touch the thing without the mask on.

Geneviéve couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t stomach to look at the boy either, how did she expect it from a stranger then? She stepped next to the bed and put the mask back on the nearly unconscious boy’s face, but for the very first time, she was crying and whispered “I am sorry” to him.

The doctor finally walked closer and examined the boy with the least touching possible, then only stated:

-          It’s rubeola. – Then he walked away from the bed, sending a disgusted glance back at the boy.

He briefly told the mother what to do and how to cure the son all by herself. He did not promise he would ever return to check on him, then he left.

Geneviéve sat back on the bedside, and removed the mask away from her son’s face and whispered.

-          I am sorry.

-          You… always… help… - The boy gave a faint smile then softly hummed the melody he heard from his mother for the first time in his life.

As Geneviéve realized what her son was trying to sing, she started silently crying before she rose up from the bed to leave and bring some cool water to finally break the boy’s fever.