#mel pigeon

[mel-loly]

-As my loved ones ( @yago-undertale, @nysnextd00r, @manpleblog, @gojicorps, @foggymayuri ) answered my question, I wanted to do some arts of what Mel would be like in:

Also, thank you guys very much again, know that your answers made me very happy(because it's very difficult for someone to answer me when I ask something), so.. Seriously, thank you very much! And well.. I hope you guys like the arts ^^💛

[the-east-art]

This is a story about Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves

[3-genetic-bugs-in-a-trenchcoat]

Honourable mention to Mel Stone and Pigeon Pit. There's soo many good artists out there!

100 trans/genderqueer musicians

Bands

Against Me! (rock, folk punk) (x)

The Oozes (punk) (x)

The Hirs Collective (metal, grindcore) (x)

GEL (hardcore punk) (x)

Urn (hardcore punk) (x)

The Black Dresses (noise pop, hardcore hyperpop) (x)

Party Ghost (rock) (x)

Lagrimas (hardcore punk, scream punk) (x)

Doll Skin (rock) (x)

Dazey and the Scouts (rock, indie) (x)

G.L.O.S.S. (hardcore punk) (x)

Dog Park Dissidents (punk rock) (x)

She/Her/hers (rock) (x)

Deli Girls (hardcore electronic) (x)

Dream Nails (punk rock) (x)

Sarah and the Safe Word (rock, dark cabaret) (x)

Pinkie Promise (punk rock) (x)

B. Fraser (emo) (x)

Newgrounds Death Rugby (emo) (x)

Scowl (hardcore punk) (x)

Feminazgul (black metal) (x)

Sports Bra (dream pop, light rock) (x)

Club Sofa (indie pop) (x)

The Cost ov Living (grindcore, harsh noise) (x)

Kuromy (punk) (x)

The Sonder Bombs (indie, pop) (x)

Lidocaine (rock) (x)

I'm letting unseen forces take the wheel (cybergrind) (x)

Gum Disease (punk) (x)

Cam Girl (rock, trash rock) (x)

Gully Boys (grunge pop) (x)

Arcadia Grey (sparkle punk) (x)

Schmekel (folk punk) (x)

Destructo Disk (punk rock) (x)

User Unauthorized (hardcore punk) (x)

The Spook School (indie pop) (x)

Pinkshift (emo) (x)

Glass Beach (emo) (x)

Butch Baby (light rock) (x)

VIAL (indie punk) (x)

Sister Wife Sex Strike (folk punk) (x)

homewrecker. (metal, hardcore punk) (x)

Mega Mango (indie rock) (x)

Keep For Cheap (prarie rock) (x)

Steam Powered Giraffe (cabaret, steampunk) (x)

Thotcrime (grindcore, cybergrind) (x)

Whirlybird (indie pop) (x)

Kampsport (hardcore punk) (x)

Um Jennifer? (alt-rock, punk) (x)

Scarlet Demore (alt-rock) (x)

HappyHappy (folk, folk-punk) (x)

Queen Zee (punk) (x)

Grumpy Plum (slop pop) (x)

Cheap Perfume (punk) (x)

Pollyanna (power-pop, rock) (x)

Ballista (metalcore) (x)

Faetooth (fairy doom, metal) (x)

Lacerated (death metal) (x)

Fortuna Malvada (hardcore punk) (x)

Peach Rings (bedroom power-pop) (x)

Solo Artists

Laura Jane Grace (rock, folk punk) (x)

Left at London (pop) (x)

ZAND (pop, ugly pop) (x)

Ada Rook (hardcore electronic) (x)

Ms. White (pop) (x)

Rett Madison (indie, folk) (x)

Murder Person for Hire (folk) (x)

Backxwash (rap, industrial hip hop) (x)

LustSickPuppy (electronic, rap) (x)

Babylungs (electronic, rap) (x)

Human Kitten (folk punk) (x)

Harley Poe (folk punk) (x)

Ewy (emo, folk punk) (x)

Averstaskta (instrumental) (x)

Andie Schoen (indie) (x)

Elliot Lee (dark pop, electronic rock) (x)

Urias (hip hop, ballroom) (x)

Twink Obliterator* (cybergrind) (x)

Rio Romeo (cabaret punk, indie) (x)

Knife Girl (art pop, indie) (x)

Alexander James Adams (folk) (x)

Starmaxx (pop) (x)

Sofya Wang (pop, alt-R&B) (x)

Boy Jr (indie/alt pop) (x)

Medusa (revenge pop, hip-hop) (x)

Mal Blum (singer-songwriter, folk) (x)

Gina Young (riot grrrl) (x)

Petra Fiyd (indie pop) (x)

awfultune (bedroom pop) (x)

Quinn Hills (alternative pop) (x)

Femtanyl (electronic) (x)

Vivivivivi (electronic, glitchcore) (x)

Lilac Boy (glitchcore) (x)

Rosie Tucker (indie rock) (x)

Ryan Cassata (singer-songwriter) (x)

Pain Chain (noise, synth) (x)

In Love With A Ghost (electronic, lo-fi) (x)

Alice Longyu Gao (hyperpop) (x)

Prophetic Nightmares (ambient synthwave) (x)

Saint Wellesley (indie folk) (x)

[meliohy]

My parents came to watch our play last week. I have various small roles, one of them being a huge asshole. Very fun to act. When I asked my mom what she thought of the play she said "I didn't like to see you play that character. I disn't like to see you angry and mean like that"

Mom 😭😂💕

I guess that means I acted it well?

[toptenknowledge]

Top 10 Places To Eat in Pigeon Forge

Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, is a popular vacation destination for families, couples, and groups of friends. Located in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, this small town offers plenty of attractions, including amusement parks, shopping centres, and outdoor activities. But when it comes to food, Pigeon Forge is also a great place to indulge in delicious dishes from Southern cuisine to…

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 17

The Valeyard told the Sixth Doctor that his Seventh incarnation was full of schemes in order to play a game that was never his to win and that his Eighth would never shake the shadow of death.

When separated from the TARDIS, the Doctor's memory usually begins to fail him.

Agatha Christie was a companion of the Eighth Doctor.

Tania Bell was placed in 107 Baker Street by Torchwood, her employer, to keep an eye out for the Doctor.

Rose was once turned into a vampire. She attacked the Ninth Doctor.

When the Eighth Doctor lies to his friends, it's obvious he's doing so because he gets a "terrified and guilty" expression on his face.

Handrel once said a single incarnation of a Time Lord can live for 10,000 years.

The Eighth Doctor once appeared on and won a television show called You Either Know It or You Don't.

The Curator likes pigeons.

The Seventh Doctor is sometimes terrified of the Third Doctor, particularly by the realization that the Leader of the British Republic in the Inferno universe is his counterpart.

In the Seventh Doctor’s mind, the First Doctor plays the role of the librarian and the keeper of the gardens. The Fourth Doctor is the ferryman. The Fifth Doctor represents the Doctor's conscience, but he is enchained in a pit in their mind. Ace eventually frees him though. He thoroughly locked the Sixth Doctor away due to Valeyard-related drama.

The Seventh Doctor manipulated Mel into leaving. This would allow him to go on as Time's Champion without her morality interfering.

Before Logopolis, the Fourth Doctor passed through a period of dense time, causing him to age rapidly. Even after restored, he remained greatly weakened and was unsure of if he would be able to regenerate. Because of this, Milady put in a request to the Department of Watchers to help him prepare for that regeneration. This weakness could potentially also explain why the Fourth Doctor regenerated after falling a shorter distance than the Tenth Doctor did when he jumped out of a spaceship.

The Fifth Doctor could "swim" through the time vortex.

K9 Mark I could not climb stairs, but K9 Mark II could.

The First Doctor helped design the Privy Gardens.

The Doctor speaks fluent dolphin.

The Master has been recorded to have 470 known incarnations in total.

The Master's personality has always been influenced by the Assemblage, an organic computer made by all those incarnations.

The First Doctor likely made Susan's wedding ring, having planned to get gold for it from Aristea.

The Fifth Doctor eventually realized he had mistreated Adric because the boy reminded him of his own self as a child, but this realization came after Adric was already gone.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[wisteria-lodge]

Assorted historical notes for the last chapter of my Jedtavius fic (happy pride everyone)

~ It’s funny that Romans get associated with this super stoic, real-men-don’t-cry thing, because Roman men had a really interesting relationship with crying. It was linked more to power and class than to gender - it was expected that a general or a statesman would cry during a speech, a surrender, or after a battle. You’ll get someone like Quintus Sertorius who was apparently really good manipulative fake-crying, but this was a risky strategy. Romans were absolutely happy to accuse you of laying it on too thick to be sincere (especially if you were lower-class or a woman.) But the thought was that if you didn’t cry at all, it was because you didn’t care that much, which in itself was suspicious.

~ In general, things DO seem to turn out better for Apollo when he’s with guys. His male love interests end up as gods, or are given impressive gifts (mostly prophecy, without the caveat “... but no one will ever believe you,” as was the case with poor Cassandra.) Iapyx actually got a choice between healing and prophecy, and went with healing, which is a solid choice. And unlike Daphne, Cyparissus apparently really wanted to become a tree.

~ I love Latin terms of endearment, and Octavius was only able to use a few of them (in translation of course.) But here’s a list of my favorites:

- Carissime (dearest) - Care (dear, beloved) - Dulcissime (sweetest) - Bene merens (worth it, of value) - Anime (breath, life) - Cor (heart) - Anticula (duckling) - Dēliciae (enticing one) - Lepor (delight) - Suāvium (kiss) - Mel (honey) - Melculum/mellilla/mellītula (little honey) - Palumbulus (little dove/little pigeon)

~ It didn’t end up being relevant, but I did work out a run-down of the specific legion Octavius commands:

Legion I Musea: - 1 Praefectus castrorum (Gaius Octavius) - 5 cohortes (infantry + artillery units) - each 80 men, lead by a centurion) - 1 sagittariorum (archer unit) - 80 men, lead by a centurion) - 1 Medices (medical unit) - 10 men - 1 Quartermaster - 1 Weapons instructor - 1 Camp records-keeper - 1 Standard Bearer

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Decisions

Chapter Six of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: You're starting to really hate being back in Pigeon Creek. You'd know it wouldn't be easy to get Jake to give you what you so desperately want. But you're not expecting a night filled with alcohol and old friends. Nor are you expecting Jake to be as frustrating as he is at this moment. There's a reason why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions after all. Your intentions are good. But your decisions aren't.

Themes: angst, love, smut, attraction

Warnings: This is where my warning of cheating from way back when comes true.

Word Count: 3381

A/N: This is officially the chapter where this Sweet Home Alabama AU diverges from the canon events of Sweet Home Alabama. Anyone who remembers the movie will remember that Mel outs Bobby Ray during the scene in the bar. I hate that scene so I rewrote it to be something more like what Linley and Jake would fight over. Because it's not Bob.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

You don’t even get the chance to order the drink you so desperately want before you’re folded into a tight embrace. You stiffen automatically before the scent of lilacs and hoppy beer fills your nose. It’s a scent you’d know anywhere and you relax into the only motherly embrace you’ve ever known. When you finally pull away, you’re smiling from ear to ear as you see Penny Benjamin before you.

“Batten down the hatches, boys! Trouble just walked straight back into my life disguised as my favorite daughter-in-law!” You have to laugh at her words, even as you hug her again.

“Hi, Penny. I’m not going to be your daughter-in-law for long, actually.” You waggle your left hand at her, smiling as she grabs your hand and whistles approvingly.

“Who’s the lucky guy, sugar?”  You can’t read the sudden serious turn on her face with how fast it morphs back into Penny’s normally smiling countenance.

“His name’s Bradley. He’s in politics and I love him so much.”

“It’s good to see you, sugar, and not just cause you’re here for Jake.” She cups your face in her hands, dragging you in and kissing your forehead, before proclaiming to the bartender, “You give her whatever she wants, it’s all on me”, before turning back to you with beers in her hands and disappearing through the crowd.

You walk up to the bar, absently noting the girl with her head buried in a textbook next to you, and order a Grey Goose Martini. If your drinks are on Penny, then they’re damn well going to be good ones. It's as you're looking for Jake that you feel a hand on your bare arm. You turn in that direction, surprised to see that it’s the teenager who has her hand on you. Something about her is familiar. Her green eyes and upturned nose are just like someone else you know. You stare at her in shock, your brain working overtime because you should know who she is. It’s not until you’ve gotten your martini that you remember the sweetheart who this teenager used to be.

"Amelia? Amelia Benjamin is that you? You've grown up, kid!" You can barely recognize the lanky girl sitting on the stool in front of you. "And you're in a bar?!"

"Yeah, Linley. It's been seven years since you saw me. I'm not the same four-year-old who was the flower girl at your wedding." The anger in her voice is something you definitely weren’t expecting. Amelia used to look at you like you were one of her favorite people. There isn’t even a hint of affection in her gaze now.

"And, of course, I'm in the bar. Mom owns it. Or did you forget that the same way you forgot all of us? Dad's driving an eighteen-wheeler somewhere in Kansas, Mom's got the closing shift here, Jake's on a date, and Mom hasn't let me spend time with Mav since you ran out on Pigeon Creek. So where else am I supposed to get my homework done?"

You really don't have an answer to that. Her entire family is really on the premises.

"Anyways," God, you can hear every bit of sass in her tone. "You look great. Are you here to finally divorce my brother and run off into the sunset with your new boyfriend? Brady or Brandon or whoever, right?"

"It's Bradley, actually." You sip on your martini to hide your discomfort. You're getting called out on your decisions and life by an eleven-year-old!

"Huh, whatever. Mom tells me you're designing clothes now?" At your nod, she continues. "Did you design that top? I hope not, 'cause it looks like something you could buy at K-Mart."

You have actually designed and sewn the top you're wearing, and that comment cuts deep. You down the rest of the martini in one swig and ask for another, tuning out how Amelia seems intent on getting on your last nerve.

"Anyways, if you're looking for my brother, he and his date are over by the pool tables." You turn to go but are stopped by one more insistent tug on your arm. "If you do this, that's it. You will never be welcome in our family again. My brother's the best man in the world, and if you can't see that, it's your loss."

You know she's right that you're closing a door for the last time, but there's another one open for you. Bradley's waiting for you. You haven’t wanted another thing like Bradley since you were a new bride with a new life growing to the beat of your heart and Jake at the tips of your fingers. Those feelings don't stick around very long once you see the perky blonde hanging on Jake's every word. Instead, you're filled with something cloying that sticks jagged spikes in your chest, a bitter taste lying on your tongue that all the swigs of your martini can't wash away.

You can't help cataloging all of the ways this girl, because she is a girl, is different from you. She's young and giggly; the shirt she's wearing is tied under her breasts, paired with low-rise jeans and cowboy boots. The idiots you've known all of your life are drooling over her, but Jake, Jake just looks bored. Meanwhile, you know you couldn’t ever hope to be that naive, that innocent, not anymore. You plaster an easy smile on your face and make a beeline for the pool tables. The guys you’ve known your whole life are whispering the minute they see you, but you’re a woman on a mission. It’s high time Jake remembers what you can be like when you’re going after what you want. You let Bob wrap an arm around your shoulders and kiss your temple in hello before you stalk towards Jake, martini held limply in your hand. 

“Hey, y’all! Mind if I join you?” You’re exuding Southern charm yet again. Jake ignores you, as expected, but the blonde, his sweet, innocent blonde date, just dimples at you. 

“Hiya!” Even her voice is too sweet for words. “I’m Leigh-Anne! I don’t think I’ve seen you around the Hard Deck before.” 

“C’mon darling,” Jake drapes himself over her before you can say a single word. “You don’t need to introduce yourself to her. She’s not anybody important.”

Looking at the smirk on his face, you decide tonight will be fun, no matter how much he thinks he will win.

“Naw, he’s right. I’m not anybody important.” It gives you a vindictive sense of joy to see how taken aback Jake looks. “Leigh-Anne, was it?” You stir your martini primly with the skewered olives and take a sip. “I’m his wife. He calls me a snotty, Yankee bitch, but he refuses to give me a divorce even though I’m engaged to be married to another man!”

Leigh-Anne, bless her heart, is immediately fawning over your left hand, and the glower on Jake’s face makes having her cloying perfume in your space worth it.

“Honey,” He’s got an insincere smile on his face as he tows Leigh-Anne close. “D’you want to go refresh our drinks?”

“Sure!” Bless her because she chirpily asks you what you want instead of realizing that Jake meant her drink and his own! You hide your snicker as she walks past you, but you can’t resist laughing in Jake’s face.

“Where the hell did you get her from, Jake?” He looks uncomfortable at your frank question. “What, have you blown through every other girl in Pigeon Creek, and she’s all that’s left?”

Before you can let loose at him, Bob’s tugging you under his arm and handing you a pool cue. 

“Calm down, Lin. I know you want answers from him, but don’t go about getting ‘em like how Old Man Fowler’s bulldog used to go for his favorite bones.” You grumble under your breath but accept his words as he says, “You’re with me, New York. Let’s see if you still remember how to hustle.”

“That’s not something I’m likely to forget.” It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you and Natasha have hustled drinks out of guys in bars in New York. 

But just like you haven’t forgotten how to play, neither has Jake. If anything, he’s even better than he was when you left. He looks so calm and collected, despite the crowd around the table. There’s just enough of a perimeter around the table for you and Jake to move about as you play. The alcohol’s been flowing all night, and if you don’t focus on the table, you can see two of everything floating in front of your eyes. You’re not sure where Leigh-Anne went, but you frankly don’t care. Good riddance. Maybe she can find another country hick to sink her claws into. But Jake’s yours, at least as long as it takes to get the divorce you’re so desperate for.

“Jake, c’mon! One more shot and you can win it! It’s just like our last football game in high school! One touch down, and we’re undefeated for the season!” It’s one of the guys from the football team, somebody who, as drunk as you are, you can’t remember the name of. “Hey Linley! Do you remember that game? It was a great one, wasn’t it?”

"Of course, I remember that game. Why, that was the night that your old buddy Jake, here, got me pregnant." Your tone must be far louder than you think because it goes silent around the pool table.

"What, you trying to go public with all this shit?" You remember a time, probably on or around the night, when your whole life changed when you would never have wanted to make Jake angry. Or hurt him. Or make him sad. But that was when you didn’t care about how you felt and hid everything to make Jake happy - because he was yours, and you were his. But you’re not that Linley anymore. She died when her baby did.

"It's not like everyone here doesn't know anyway." You shrug sloppily, having to catch yourself on your pool cue before you fall. 

"And," Your voice is cruel as you spit the words out, "it's not like you weren't fucking every woman in sight even afterward, right? I mean, it figures that nobody in this town can keep secrets because you remember Missy? She worked reception at the Doctor’s office when I went in to see Dr. Grace about the baby. She let it all spill.” 

You’ve been waiting seven years to tell Jake exactly how little an impact he’s had on your life. You knock back one of the shots of whiskey Bob carries by, blowing him a kiss.

“About how you used to go to the old barn up past the Peterson Farm and roll around in the hay.” You can see his face flush, red rising up his neck as your words hit the target, exactly how your dad told you he used to hit the enemy with the jets he flew when he was with the Navy. You turn, leaning towards one of Jake’s old teammates, someone who looks way too interested in what you’re saying. “Say Jake, did any of those other girls cotton on to how if you get really, really excited …” 

But you don’t get to finish blurting the words out since there’s a hand covering your mouth. It takes you far too long to fight your way out of the grip holding you close, and you’re seeing red when you whirl around.

“Shut up.” It’s Jake, because of course it is, and he looks angry, sad, and lonely all at once.

“Why the hell should I, Seresin?” You pretend not to notice the pain in his eyes when you spit his last name out like you can’t stand to have it in your mouth. 

“Because what happened is between you and me, not anybody else.” His eyes flash dangerously, and you want nothing more than to see him snap. But instead, he raises his voice and, oh so loudly, condescendingly says, “Now, now, darlin’, let the nice folks at the bar here have a good time. Ain’t nobody wants to hear your squeaky little voice when you’re having a snit.”

Now you know you must’ve entered an alternate universe. Jake was the only person who you’d told when a bunch of the girls at school used to pick on you about everything about you, from your hand-me-down cast-offs, things your dad got from Mrs. Floyd from Bob’s sisters while working as a mechanic for the family, to your unruly pigtail hair and the way your voice always got high pitched when Jake was around. Of course, you’d never told him why your voice sometimes got a little squeaky. You’ve never known what happened because you walked into school one day and those girls ignored you. And that was just fine by you. So the fact that Jake resorts to childish insults and taunts has you seeing red. 

He is the only person who knows that those girls had told everyone how poor your family was when you were in school. Jake is the only person who knows how much it hurt when the guidance counselor dragged you out of class to find out if you were getting enough food to eat. That same guidance counselor had the gall to accuse your dad of being unable to take care of you. Which was false for anybody who knew Pete Mitchell to assume. He’d rather go hungry than see you go without something you needed.

You’re still seeing red when he walks away. You just know he’s got a smirk on his face and that there’s a toothpick in his mouth. As you list on your feet, you're not sure what possesses you, but you grab one of the pool balls and launch it at his head. It doesn't hit its mark because, well, your aim isn't all that great, to begin with, forget when mostly drunk, but it does thwack solidly into the back of his shoulder, the sound ringing in your ears.

When he turns around, you’re not surprised at all to see the rage on his face as he tugs a splintered toothpick out of his mouth. 

“Now, now, darlin’. Watch what you do.” He’s got this superior look on his face like he knows exactly how and when to shut you up. And maybe he used to. But not anymore.

“Or what?” You don’t know why you’re taunting him, but there is something unspeakable bursting in your veins that you haven’t felt in years. Even Bob’s harsh whisper of, “Don’t do something you’ll regret in the morning, doll.” goes unheeded.

“Or, everyone will know exactly what you sounded like the night of that big football game you were so eager to lambast me over. Do you really want all of Pigeon Creek to know just how bad you were in bed?” Instead of deigning him with a response, you pluck Bob’s half-empty pint out of his hand, step forward, and launch the liquid right into Jake’s smug, smiling face. To add insult to injury, you hand him the empty pint glass before you flounce away.

Standing back up near the bar, you order shot after shot, intent on ignoring the whispering your rage-fueled retreat from the pool tables have sent up throughout the bar. The stinging burn of the liquor dripping down your throat is echoed by the stinging pain in your heart. How could Jake do that to you? Say those things to you? When you thought he knew you better than anyone else. 

As you walk back towards the pool tables, everything swims in front of your eyes. Jake’s not wearing that sage green plaid shirt anymore. It’s hanging off of his belt loops, drying out from the beer bath you’d given it, and Leigh-Anne is hanging off of him again. It’s not a conscious decision that has you walking up to her and socking her right in her pretty little face. She goes down hard, and when she stands back up again, unsteadily, there are tears dripping from her pretty blue eyes and a bruise coming up around her eye. 

You lunge at her again but meet solid skin. It’s Jake because, of course, it is, and seeing him defend Leigh-Anne makes the flames of your anger burn even hotter. You start screeching and yelling and clawing in earnest because you’re damned if you let someone else have him. Jake’s right in your face, yelling right back. But you’re crying yourself and babbling about how he never loved you, and honestly, it feels like all the thoughts are too much.

That’s when everything flips upside down. Your mind is spinning, your stomach roiling when you’re finally set back on your feet. Your eyes can barely comprehend what you’re seeing. But your heart has known what you’re seeing far longer than it has known what love is.

“Jake.” Your hands are alcohol dazed as they clutch at his arms as you regain your balance. 

He’s livid, looming over you, with his hands grasping at air by his side.

“You know, sweetheart, I can forgive a lot of things. But the one thing I could never forgive is that you didn’t realize how much I loved you. How much I’ve always loved you. I never once strayed with another woman, not once I had you.” There’s something that looks a lot like pain in his green eyes.

“Bullshit.” You have to fight the bile crawling up your esophagus as you heave the word out. 

“Missy was lying. She wanted to break us up.” His voice is so quiet that if it weren’t for how close he is to you, you’re sure you wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“We didn’t need Missy at all, Jake. All we needed was my stupid fucking body. And my stupid fucking smart mouth. That was enough. My world fell apart, and the one person who was supposed to be there suddenly couldn’t stand to see me around anymore. What was I supposed to think?”

“So you left.” You’ve never been able to read this particular emotion on his face.

“So I left.” Your voice is a soft whisper in the humid night air. 

Your head is swimming, captivated by the fading scents of Jake’s cologne in the air, as well as the alcohol in your system. 

“What would you have said if I told you back then how much what happened gutted me, too?” Why’s he dredging up all of this now? When you’re finally happy? When you’ve finally put aside the pain in your past? When you have finally fallen in love again? Why?

“It doesn’t matter, Seresin.” You push past him, trying to wrestle your bag from the secure grasp he’s got on it. “I’m going home.” 

But you might as well be a kitten fighting against a tiger. Your weak tugs don’t budge the bag, no matter what you do.

"No. You are not driving when you're this drunk and killing yourself." Jake sounds fondly patient, like a parent with their toddler, and you kind of hate it. Even if, in your drunken state, you know it’s a bad idea, you give up on pulling on your bag and get right into his space.

Jake’s eyes glow in the low light like lamps. His lips are chapped yet glistening in the low light. All you can smell is Jake’s cologne and the scent of the laundry detergent he still uses, even after all these years. At one glance, everything around you seems to go silent. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world. You feel like that young girl again, the one who was in love, the one so sure she had the love that was supposed to conquer all. Your fingers are gentle as you trail the pads across his cheek.

Jake’s mouth parts like he’s going to say something, but before he does, you curl your hand around the back of his neck and smash your mouth to his. If Bradley’s kisses feel good, Jake’s kisses feel like getting struck by lightning.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[peakyblindas]

Summer Haze (Tommy Shelby x OFC)

Tommy visits Berkley House one summers afternoon, looking for Fawn and reflects on the woman he once called his.

Tagging: @evita-shelby @zablife

Tommy Shelby always felt unwelcome at Barkley House, He felt as if he’d jumped the fence and snuck into someone else's land and that at any moment he would be shot for trespassing.

“Fi here?” 

He asked, glancing around at the foyer of the house, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of him, Matthew Dormer tried his best to be nice to Tommy, but in his eyes, Tommy could see the hatred, he respected him for at least pretending, he supposed.

“Out in the grounds, shooting I think.”

How a girl like Fawn O’Hart ended up married to a man like Dormer, Tommy would never understand, he was all bright eyed and golden haired, he was raised with all the privileges Fawn and he never had, he was from a completely other world and at one time, Fawn would have spat on his marbled floors and threatened to burn this house down.

Dormer gestured with a paint stained hand, his fingertips were purple, stained, Did he know how stained his wife's hands were with blood? 

“If you go to the stables, Mel can help you saddle up one of the horses..It's far quicker and less muddy than walking.”

Tommy repressed a eye roll, Dormer was such a saint, taking on Fawn’s daughter, Melody, the girls Father was a American, died in a fire before she was even born, but Saint Matthew had officially adopted her when he and Fawn married, he didn’t even care she was half black, it was amazing he didn’t have a halo on his head.

“Aight..” Tommy cleared his throat “Thanks.”

Melody was a good girl, got her Mother’s good nature and wit, she was smart and loved horses, was a natural with them too.

“Uncle Tommy?” She asked as they trotted out of the stables 

“Yes, love?”

“Do you think I can train racehorses one day?”

“Of course, you’re a natural with ‘em, horses are good to folk who are good to them.”

“Mummy says you know a trainer, a Ms. Carleton.” 

“Yes I know Ms. Carleton, she trained one of my horses for me.”

“Would you introduce me to her?”

Tommy laughed, eleven years old and already making connections for future employment, she was Fawn’s daughter all right.

“Of course.”  

They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Melody stopped and Tommy copied

“Mum’s over there, I’m gonna take Galahad to the orchid.” She patted the horse's black mane “It was nice seeing you, Uncle.”

“You too, take care of yourself, alright?”

She nodded and smiled, it was Fawn’s smile, Dottie had inherited it too, As Melody rode away, Tommy found himself hoping that all Dottie had inherited from him was his eyes, God knows he had nothing else to offer her.

Fawn was behind a hill facing a lake, wearing a long black dress that fluttered in the midday breeze, Tommy watched as she raised a rifle and followed a flock of birds, before shooting, one of the birds fell to the floor, dead as a stone.

The wind caught in her hair, long and jet black, she walked through the grass, he remembered when they used to hunt pigeons.

God he loved her, more than anyone else he’d ever claimed to love, she was perfect in every way, she understood him more than anyone, she’d touched his soul with her bare hands and he’d stupidly pushed her away.

She picked up the dead bird and held it by its neck, she rested the rifle on her shoulder and turned, she saw him, and waved the bird, beaming from cheek to cheek, it hurt him to know he wasn’t the real cause of that smile, not really.

“Thomas!” She greeted “Fancy staying for dinner?”

“Of course.” He replied “No place I’d rather be.”

[nekrophoria]

the local pigeons have elected Mel as their leader.

[ask-melody-hayes]

Hi Mel! any silly interactions with Trevor recently??

- a curious pigeon

Trevor almost found my ass, I had to hide in Slimer’s snack pile.. gross. Ectoplasm is sticky.

[resident-paranormal-researcher]

Mel is bullying us and calling us names, you have been promoted to favorite loser lesbian.

- 🐦✉️ @melodyys-messengerpigeons

Thanks, Pigeons. I'll take that as a compliment?

[the-east-art]

Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves Part 1

Mel sat and stared out the window. The car at pump 6 left. That left two cars at pumps. Three cars parked in the lot. One was Mel’s. The other two would indicate that he should have at minimum two customers in the store, but the gas station remained empty. Mel cast a quick glance, just to double check. From here he should be able to see any adults in the building - their heads usually peak out over the shelves. Designed that way, Mel was sure. Just short enough for him to clock how many people there are. Kids could hide in the aisles though. Usually did - some middle schoolers that drove out with their learner permits and reveled in the fact that they had money they could spend on things like sour gummy worms and large sized slushies. 

He didn’t hear any giggling, so no kids. Mel’s eyes flicked back to the lot. 

A red car slid into pump 7 - the favorite pump. Not on the end, but not in the middle. One of the silver cars - pump 3’s - left. He should probably learn cars types. He wasn’t really interested in them, but some part of him felt a kind of obligation. The same way a child is obligated to eat their vegetable or memorize scriptures. 

The person of red car of pump 7 waited for their tank to fill. They twirled back and forth absently, skirt flaring around their knees. The silver car at pump 1 left. 

Mel felt the end grow closer. 

oOo

Mel was short for Melchior. He knows it sounds like a girl name, but he can’t really bring himself to care too much. Mel is what his brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles all called him. And it wasn’t as stuffy as Melchior. Melchior was a name only called out if he was in trouble, if they caught him staring out the window too long, if his sister Auriel needed something. He couldn’t see the name Mel as a concept separate from his own personhood, so Mel didn’t. He was luckier than Astrophel, whose name was only ever shortened to ‘ass’.

Red blue black. Red blue black. Mel patterened the cheap lighters methodically. Two extra blues. Mel frowned. He wondered if it was worth it to toss them - someone would probably notice though, and he’d get in trouble. He adjusted the pattern, made if so that the two extra were each on one end. Went back to the window. 

A little past midday, and no cars were at the pumps. The only car was his, black and dull in it’s usual spot - tucked off to the side to invite guests into the gas station. Or maybe just so that it had a good vintage point to look out over the lot. The passenger side still had a dent in it from the time he tried to peel out of his spot and had instead very slowly hit the back bumper of a truck. 

Seven pigeons roamed the lot in place of the lack of cars. Their heads bobbed forward and back and forward and back. Alone in the station Mel tried it too. Pigeons communicate through their head bobbing. He had seen, once, a rescued show pigeon. It had been abandoned by its’ owner, and bred in such a way that it’s head was permanently back and chest stuck out. The pigeon had been manufactured in such a way that, when the rescuer had put it with the rest of their flock, the other pigeons didn’t know what to do with it. They steered clear of this strange creature that looked like themselves through a funhouse mirror, that could not bob its’ head. 

The roof over the pumps was covered in sharp points that prevented birds from roosting there. Not for the first time, Mel imagined himself finding a tall ladder. He inserted it there, and saw himself climbing up its’ many rungs. When he reached the top - it would have to be a really tall ladder to get that high, and Mel would probably be scared at that height - he would take off or file down the spikes. Invite the birds to stay. 

Mel absently bobbed his head back and forth until someone came in gave him a funny look. 

oOo

The art of projection was one of Mel’s chief skills. Distinctly different than a simple child ‘imagination’. Or at least, Mel thought so. He knew the things he projected into the world weren’t really there, it was like a child who believed their imaginary friends was really there. It was more of a thought exercise. 

He could be sitting at a register, or a bench, or a pew, and look out a window to somewhere else and simple, project that he was there. A simple mind trick, really. Overlapping what he saw with his eyes with a layer of something he could only see in his head. The idea of seeing a picture without your eyes was strange, but it was there all the same. Mel wondered if he took a cleaver down his skull, cracked open his frontal lobe, if he’d see a little threatre in there was a projector. 

Some people, Mel had read, can’t do that. Raguel couldn’t, when he asked. Didn’t think in pictures, didn’t imagine the scenes in books in his head. Mel didn’t understand that. Wouldn’t that leave the letters on the word flat? The stories muttered over bedtime or against the stained glass window like water slidings down your face when you emerge from the lake? 

In another life, sitting in a pew, making sure to absently nod his head to fake that he was listening, Mel stared out a window. The nodding thing was new - he was hoping he could integrate it in well enough. His knuckles still stung and his knees hurt. 

At the gas station, Mel doesn’t need to do the nodding part. He can just look out the window and project. He takes his sock and shoes off, and he climbs the tree. It doesn’t matter that he probably doesn’t have the upper body strength for it, his projection does it with ease, and Mel can imagine the texture of the bark under his hands and feet. Zeph was good at climbing trees, and used to cajole Mel into trying it with their limited free time. The bite of the trunk had hurt his hands. 

Mel sits ontop of the gas pump roof, and his feet dangle off the side. In his mind, he edits out the anti-bird spikes, and his projection is instead surrounded by feathery friends. They bob their heads at him, and inside the station Mel reflexively bobs his own. 

The door chimes, and Mel pulls himself back to his body. 

He’s lost track of the cars. Casts a quick glance back out - two at the pumps, two parked. The man who walks in is alone, and detours immediately to the bathroom. Mel assumes that will be it - statistically if someone comes in and uses the restroom, that’s all they’re here for - especially if they’re alone. The owner of the place keeps telling him to try and get their attention and start friendly conversation, and then push some product ANY product onto them. Mel thinks he’d rather cut his tongue out. 

The man surprises him by emerging from the bathroom and strolling the shelves. Mel watches carefully. Astrophel said that look was offputting, and he should stop, but Mel doesn’t really know how or care enough to curtail it. And at a gas station far enough from town to be separate from it, there are seldom enough repeat customers for him to worry about making a bad impression. Low stakes. And he likes looking. 

People are more complicated that pigeons. There’s a lot more that goes into it than head bobbing. Body language and tone and gestures and winks. All kinds of things. Mel likes watching families and lovers and strangers come in. Watches their interractions. It’s even more interesting to watch someone alone. What a person does with their body when no one is looking. 

The man adjusts the bill of his ballcap. Snorts - the arid desert air probably getting to him. Or maybe he’s sick. Aunt Apollonia used to snort and cough and blow her nose in a way that seemed like she was commanding attention. It would ring out and drag the attention of strangers on the street, when they went out in public. At home it had become background noise to everyone. Mel had hated it, it made his skin crawl. But no one else commented on it, so Mel had kept his mouth shut. 

Eventually the man gets a lemonade, a soda, and a bag of chips. At the counter he adds a black lighter. Mel is going to need to choose a new pattern now. The back of his mind gets to work on that. The stranger doesn’t smell of cigarette smoke, but sometimes if it isn’t enough of a habit it doesn’t stick to a person quite as much, or maybe it’s for someone he knows. Some people get lighters just for the novelty of having fire at their fingertips - usually the aforementioned teens. If Mel turns his head to the side, he thinks he could see this man being some kind of a pyro. 

“If you get two of these, they’re buy one get one.” Mel gestures to the bag of chips. The man before him starts. He knows this part is hard - suddenly having to talk and act like a human being when you aren’t prepared for it. But if the mans’ getting the one anyway, he might as well snag a second. It doesn’t make sense to Mel - wouldn’t that be a profit loss for the chip company? 

“Oh yeah? I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back then.” The man leaves his collection of items at the register and retreats back to the chip aisle. Mel thinks about business strategies of chip companies. 

The loud sound of a bag of doritos breaks his thinking, and Mel rings it up. The man has brown eyes. 

“Weathers’ nice today.” The man says. Mels’ heart sinks a little - by helping the man gain chips, he has broken the spell of the gas station. He doesn’t mind talking to customers, but he knows they don’t really want to talk to him. Mel knows his body is too stiff and made wrong, and his head angled too far up. He’s used to looking out windows and staring at stained glass. He isn’t used to looking someone in their eyes, or at least at their face. He feels guilt that he has shackled this man to trying to converse with him through the act of goodwill. 

“It is.” Mel replies, because that’s what you do when someone says the weather is nice. There is an awkward pause. The man is waiting for something. Mel does not know what the man is waiting for. He moves his body, and his facial muscles. “That’s going to be $9.47.” That’s not what the space in the air was for, but Mel doesn’t know what else to put there. 

The man pulls out a wallet and several bills. Paying in cash. It’s a surprise. Mel’s face heats up. 

“Oh, sorry, one second.” He has to crane over the counter to get to the card reader, and presses the red button. Nobody really pays with cash these days. The instinct to push the purchase to the reader had been automatic. 

“I can pay with card if you want.” The man offers. 

“Don’t.” Mel winces at his own voice. That came out wrong - too sharp. He used the wrong font - the one he said that with had too many points. He tries again. “I already canceled it. Cash is easier now.” Tone tone tone. Don’t forget the tone. Mel attempts to do something with his facial muscles, he’s not sure what. The man nods a few times and hands over the cash. 

“I like the register here.” The man says as Mel punches in the the information and the drawer pops out. He counts and recounts the change. Tilts his head to the side. 

“You like… the register?” Mel says slowly. One of the mans’ hands is already outstretched, waiting for the money. Mel places the bills first, and then the coins, letting them fall together in a short lived windchime. 

“When you put the order in, it makes the Sonic the Hedgehog sound.” He elaborates. Mel feels lost in the conversation. “Ba-ling! Ba-ling!” Mel usually tunes out the register, but he knows what sound the man is imitating. “When you pick up rings.” The man is waiting for recognition to light up in Mels’ gaze. Mel should fake it, to save face.

“Is it a good show?” He says instead. The man’s eyebrows raise, then he smiles and shakes his head. 

“It’s not a show - well, it had a show at one point - but it’s a video game. A classic.” Mel nods in understanding. Another bit of pop culture that Mel had failed to catch up on. He knows the contents of leatherbound journals, ancient scrolls, writing etched only on walls and forbidden from being transcribed onto paper. He did not know much else.

“I’m sorry,” And Mel really was. “...I’ve never heard of it.” The man moves his body, and his facial muscles, and Mel compares it to his internal reference guide. This means ‘no big deal’ or something to that affect. 

 “Eh, it’s kind of overrated to be honest. Just makes me think of me and my sister plahying it as kids. Nostalgic, ya feel?” The man nods to himself.”I know not everyone grew up in a Sega household.” He’s starting to gather his things up in his arms, and slice of embarrassment runs through Mels’ spine as he realizes he never bagged the items. In a flurry of hands he fluffs a plastic bad and starts shoving the items that hasn’t gathered up into it. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot-” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He’s good natured, and places the other items back down for Mel to grab. “I didn’t mind carrying this stuff. It’s not that far to my car anyways.” Mel nods but finished the task anyways. Make’s sure everything is int he back just right, that once it’s picked up the drinks won’t crush the chips. When he’s satisfied, he pushes the bag towards the customer. 

“Thanks for your help…” The man’s eyes rove around Mel until they finall land on the nametag. “Mel-shy-wah?” He doesn’t stutter the word, but his voice increases in pitch at the end. An open question without words. 

“Mel-key-oar.” The correction is automatic. He’s standing too stiffly, he should do something with himself. His face, or his body maybe. Mel goes for a shrug, raising his shoulders up and down. Tries to copy the movement the man did earlier, when they were talking about the hedgehog. “It’s my job.” 

“Sorry that’s weird - I hate it when customers know my name without me giving it to them.” The man is apologetic again. Mel doesn’t get it - that’s why he wears a nametag afterall. The customer seems to think he has fallen into some kind of fauxpas. The hand not holding the bag sticks out. “I’m Wren.” He says. “There, now we’re on equal footing.” The man’s lips tily up, and even Mel can tell that’s pleased with himself, that Wren feels like he had managed to save the situation, despite the fact that the situation was not in any danger to being with. 

“Wren.” Mel repeats, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and shakes the proffered hand. The grip is calloused and firm, Mel knows his is too limp by contrast but doesn’t really know how to remedy it. The handshake lasts the wrong amount of time, but Mel has a hard time determining if that is too long or too short. Their hands break apart. “Have a good day.” 

The man gives one last grin, big and easy, and leaves. The bell above the door chimes at the exit. Wrens’ green car leaves, and there is now one car parked, and one car at a pump.

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

This is the complete list of characters I would have cameo at a Universal Animation assemblage similar to Once Upon a Studio.

Felix the Cat: Felix the Cat

Woody Woodpecker: Woody Woodpecker, Winnie Woodpecker

An American Tail: Fievel Mousekewitz, Tanya Mousekewitz, Papa Mousekewitz, Mama Mousekewitz, Yasha Mousekewitz, Tiger, Henri le pigeon, female pigeons, Tony Toponi, Bridget, Honest John, Gussie Mausheimer, Warren T. Cat, Digit, Maus Street Maulers, Cat R. Waul, TR Chula, the Cactus Cat Gang, Miss Kitty, Wylie Burp

Land Before Time: Littlefoot, Cera, Petrie, Ducky, Spike, Littlefoot's grandparents, Chomper

Opus 'n Bill: Opus, Bill the Cat, the ducks

We're Back!: A Dinosaur's Story: Rex, Elsa, Woog, Dweeb, Louie, Cecilia, Vorb, Stubbs, Captain Neweyes, Dr. Bleeb

Casper: Casper the Friendly Ghost, Stretch, Fatso, Stinky

Babe: Babe, Fly, Rex, Ferdinand, the mice

Balto: Balto, Jenna, Boris, Steele, Muk, Luk, Nikki, Kaltag, Star, Dixie, Sylvie, Rosy

Rocky & Bullwinkle: Rocket J. Squirrel, Bullwinkle J. Moose (in their 2D/CG 2000 looks), Fearless Leader, Boris Badenov, Natasha Femme-Fatale (in their 2D 2000 looks)

Curious George: Curious George, Ted the Man in the Yellow Hat, Maggie Dunlop

The Tale of Desperaux: Desperaux, his parents, Chiaroscuro "Roscuro", Chef Andre, Boldo

Despicable Me: Felonious Gru, Lucy Wilde, the Minions, Dr. Nefario, Margo, Agnes, Edith, Kyle, Vector, Mr. Perkins, Silas Ramsbottom, Eduardo Perez/El Macho, Antonio Perez, Scarlett Overkill, Herb Overkill, the Nelsons, Balthazar Bratt, Dru Gru, Marlena Gru, Fritz, Clive the Robot, the Vicious Six, Master Chow, Wild Knuckles' henchmen

Hop: EB, Easter Bunny, the Pink Berets, Carlos, Phil, bunnies, chicks

The Lorax: the Lorax, the Once-ler, Ted, Audrey, Mrs. Wiggins, Granny Norma, Aloysius O'Hare, O'Hare's bodyguards, Sy the Delivery Guy, the Hummingfish, the Swommee-Swans, the Barbaloots

The Secret Life of Pets: Max, Katie, Duke, Gidget, Snowball, Mel, Buddy, Pops, Tiberius, Rooster, Chuck, Liam, Daisy, Hu, Sergei, wolves

Sing: Buster Moon, Miss Crawley, Herman, Rosita, Norman, their piglets, Gunther, Johnny, Marcus, Stan, Barry, Ash, Lance, Becky, Eddie Noodleman, Nana Noodleman, Mr. and Mrs. Noodleman, Hobbes, Meena, her mother and grandparents, Mike, Nancy, Suki Lane, Porsha Crystal, Jimmy Crystal, Jerry, Nooshy, Darius, Klaus Kickenklober, Clay Calloway, the Q-Teez

The Grinch: the Grinch, Max, Fred, his mate and calf, Donna Who, Cindy-Lou Who, Bean, Buster, Bricklebaum, Mabel, Groopert, Axl, Izzy, Ozzy

Super Mario Bros.: Mario, Luigi, Princess Peach, Toad, Bowser Koopa, Donkey Kong, Cranky Kong, Kamek, penguins, Giuseppe

Migration: the duck family, Delroy, Pigeon, Erin

Characters I'm unsure would make the assemblage:

The Veggies of VeggieTales

The Jetsons, Mr. Spacely and anyone involved in Jetsons the Movie

And for real-life people:

Steven Spielberg, David Kirschner, George Miller, and Chris Meledandri as themselves.

What do you think?

[meliohy]

Almost had a heart attack when my colleague suggested displaying the dates for my theater play next to the coffee machine

I already regret mentioning it to them because they want to come watch it! I was just making small talk about one of my hobbies!! Leave it alone

[the-mehlwurm]

LAST ONE FOR NOW YAY

LOVE THAT I WROTE "PFLANZE :)" ("PLANT :)") ABOVE ONE PLANT

SKETCHES OF SOME PEOPLE I SAT BEHIND OF. ONE PERAON I DREW TWICE. FEELS KINDA CREEPY TO JUST DRAW SOMONE IDK BUT WAS A GREAT EXERCICE TO DRAW HAIR

"Leonidas :)" (MY CAT) HE IS LITERALLY THE STUPIDEST AND CUTEAT LITTLE GUY AND HE IS VERY UGLY AND HE JUST CAME INTO MY ROOM (AT LEAST I THINK SO BECAUSE THE CAT DOOR OPENED AND NOW I HEAR SOMEONE WALKING IN MY TOOM BUT ITS QUITE DAFK IN HERE)

(UPDATE: HE JUST JUMPED ON MY BED, AND STARYED PURRINGHE SOESNT EVEN KNKW THAT IM TALKING ABOUT HIM)

DREW 2 TRASH CANS FOR WHATEVER REASON

HAPPY PRIDE IG

what.

FUN FACT: IT WAS ACTUALLY THE FIRST DAY OF AUTIMN WHEN I DREW THIS

FUCK YOU BY THEU SED CAME OUT I GUESS

TRIED TO EXPLAUN SOME STARDEW VALLEY LORE TO SOMEONE AND THEY WERE CONFUSED BY MY DESCRIPTION OF KROBUS. SO I DREW THEM THIS. WHY. I REALLY HATE THIS.

HOT MULLIGAN. OF CIURSE.

FIRAT TIME I DREW MYSELF AS A FLOWER (THE ONLY REASON FOR THAT IS BTW MY NICKNAME MEL, WHICH I TURNED INTO MEHL, WHICH MEANS FLOUR, WHICH SONDS LIKE FLOWER. VERY SMART.)

"Ich bin dumm :(" ("I am stupid") I FUCKING HATE MATHS

NO BITCHES?

DYED MY HAIR ORANGE

"Frühling." ("spring") LOL

I CANT READ MY HADNWRIRING ON THE SKETCH OF THE FLY BUT ON THE SECOND ONE IT JUST SAYS "Spinne <3" ("Spider <3")

I WENT TO ENGLAND ON A SCHOOL TRIP, DREW A PIGEON AND PEPPA PIG. ON THE TOP OF THE PAGE IT SAYS "Ich mag England! :D" ("I like england")

THATS IT FOR NOW SO SORRY YOU HAVE TO WITNESS THIS

ALSO MY CAT IS CHEWING ON MY CLOSEG RIGHT NOW. WHY? AND MY NEIGHBOUR'S KID IS CRYING, I HOPE ITS OKAY :(((