DB blathers at length

A Very Serious, In-Depth Look at Pinkie’s Mane/Pinkie’s Cutie Mark Interactions

This is Pinkie Pie, and this is what Pinkie Pie’s mane looks like.

At least, this is what it usually looks like.

This is what Pinkie’s mane looked like from birth to the point she got her cutie mark.

This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like … not after she got her cutie mark, because she still doesn’t have it in this screen shot. But this is immediately before she gets her cutie mark, and it’s not long after Rainbow Dash’s first Sonic Rainboom and its resulting rainbow taught Pinkie how to feel joy.


This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like after she thinks her friends don’t like her anymore and want to kick her out of the friend group. It’s reverted to pre-cutie mark flatness. (Also, her mane and coat color have turned a somewhat darker color.)

This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like after Discord brainwashes her into thinking her friends are all laughing at her and not with her. It still remains poofy, though its color (and the color of her coat) have turned a bit gray.

This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like after Twilight accidentally swaps Pinkie’s cutie mark with Applejack’s. It’s flattened, much as it was pre-cutie mark, but unlike in “Party of One,” it hasn’t changed color.

This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like after Cheese Sandwich “steals” away the planning of Rainbow Dash’s birthday party. Neither its shape nor color has changed.

(Side note: Perhaps Pinkie is so upset about Rainbow’s birthday party at least in part because she wants to repay Rainbow Dash for what Rainbow did for her in “Party of One”? It’s a theory. *cough*RAINBOWPIE5EVA*cough*)

This is what Pinkie’s mane looks like after Starlight Glimmer steals her cutie mark. It’s still poofy but darker in color, much as it was after Discord’s brainwashing.

As can be seen from the above evidence, there is strong likelihood of a correlation between Pinkie’s mane and Pinkie’s cutie mark, but this correlation is clearly not a direct one-to-one causation. More research and analysis are required.

For When I Get Angry and Everything Goes Red

Conversations to have with myself:

  • Why don’t you breathe in while counting to two, then count to two again, then breathe out while counting to two? 
  • Good, good. Now let’s do that all over again, another five to ten times.
  • Hey, how’s your jaw doing? Is it all clenched? Are you grinding your teeth? How about we relax that jaw there?
  • Ditto your hands. Stop making those fists, buddy.
  • All right, now let’s go to your shoulders. Are they up around your ears? Maybe lower ‘em down a bit, okay?
  • Good, good. Bet you’re feeling a bit better now, aren’t you?
  • I thought so.
  • You’re welcome, self friend.

Everyone likes to bag on trans men, especially young trans men, and their trend-following names–hello, Aidens–but this is really, really not a thing exclusive to trans men. Names come into fashion and fall out of fashion, and that’s been true pretty much forever.

Like, as someone who is the child of Boomer parents? People my age? Go to anyone my age and ask, “Do you have an uncle named Jim?” and there is a really strong chance the answer will be yes. And if the answer isn’t yes, ask that person if their dad is named Jim.

A lot of the Greatest Generation decided to name their sons Jim, is what I’m saying.

Okay, so. All of these posts circulating that are like “Obviously you don’t understand feminism if you say you’re not a feminist” or “Feminism is [under fifteen word description].” Here is my thing about these posts. I look at them, and I can’t help hearing something like: “Asia has a really great religion!”

And then I’m like, “Well, which parts of Asia and which religions? Are we talking only about Hinduism, Buddhism, Shinto, and other religions that were founded in Asia? Or are we talking about all the current religions practiced across the continent? And if so, are we distinguishing between, say, Buddhism as practiced in China and Buddhism as practiced in Japan? Etc., etc.”

And in response, everyone else just gives me this condescending look like I’m the stupidest person who ever lived and says, “Uh, we’re talking about Asia here. Don’t you know what Asia is?”

And then I just throw my hands up and walk away.

Seriously. When you say feminism, are we talking about third-wave feminism? If so, are we talking about exclusively Western third-wave feminism? Are we talking about radical feminism and, if so, are we talking about trans-exclusionary variants? Are we talking about second-wave feminism? Are we talking about Womanism? Are we talking about lesbian-separatist feminism? If so, do we include political lesbians and their particular flavors of feminism there? What about the feminists who get labeled “sex-negative” and the feminists who get labeled “sex-positive”? Are we lumping all of them together?

Susan B. Anthony and Gloria Steinem and Janice Raymond and bell hooks and Betty Friedan and Julia Serano and Adrienne Rich and Andrea Dworkin and Mary Daly and Tristan Taormino and Carol Adams are all feminists, and they all believe(d) and advocate(d) really, really different things. Some of these people I agree with almost entirely. Some of these people I agree with almost not at all. Some of these people, through their particular flavors of feminism, advocate(d) positions I consider downright evil.

Maybe it’s just because I was a Women’s Studies major. I dunno. But my brain has a really hard time handling the topic of “feminism” when “Well, which feminisms?” isn’t even recognized as a valid or coherent question.

earthsong9405  asked:

I don't think I've seen the entirety of your character. I'm curious; is he an earth pony? O:

He only exists in full-body in a few places. And he’s not so much a character as “what I looked like back when I first got into MLP, except if I was a pony and also was colored like Donatello the Ninja Turtle.”

But yes, he is an earth pony. :) It seemed like the way to go, since Pinkie Pie is my fave of the Mane Six. Also … I dunno. I just liked the idea of being an earth pony, since they tend not to be that impressive on the outside (no wings, no magic) but have a lot to offer on the inside, etc., etc. *shrug*

I’m still thinking over the new Ninja Turtles movie, what I liked, what I didn’t, what I’d change, what I wouldn’t. Probably I won’t do a full blow by blow analysis, as work’s been tiring me out a lot lately, but the movie made me realize something I probably should’ve realized before.

First, let me start with this–I love Donatello. I really, really love Donatello. I mean, check my fandom name, which I’ve had for well over half a decade now. He’s my favorite Turtle, and he always has been.

But he’s not my favorite TMNT character. All these years I’d thought he was, but he wasn’t. He isn’t.

April O'Neil is.

And it wasn’t ‘til I’d finished watching the new movie that I finally realized that simple, basic truth.

April O'Neil from the original Mirage comics

April O'Neil in the 1980’s cartoon series, voiced by Renae Jacobs

April O'Neil in the first live-action movie, played by Judith Hoag

April O'Neil in the second live-action movie, The Secret of the Ooze, played by Paige Turco

April O'Neil in the 2003 cartoon, voiced by Veronica Taylor

April O'Neil in the 2007 CGI film, voiced by Sarah Michelle Gellar

April O'Neil in the 2012 CGI cartoon series, voiced by Mae Whitman

April O'Neil in the 2014 live-action movie, played by Megan Fox

I Am Shallow, and I Do Not Apologize

Pretty frequently I see posts self-righteously demanding of Tumblr, “Why are you people reblogging [shallow fandom thing here] when [serious "real world” issue] is going on???“

I post pretty much entirely shallow things–although pony shipping, let us not forget, is srs bsns–and I thought I’d answer that question. Even though it’s undoubtedly a rhetorical question that is merely meant to make me feel deeply ashamed of myself.

Over the years, I’ve worked at several non-profits and volunteered with several more on a variety of social justice flavored issues. I do not exaggerate when I say that the last ten years or so of my life have been filled to the point of overflowing with pain and blood and bullying and rape and torture and murder and depression and suicide and screams and tears and death. Hours of every day of my life are filled with pain, endless pain, ever-flowing pain, and I have seen and heard horrors that will haunt me until the end of my days.

I am surrounded–we are all of us surrounded–by an entire ocean of suffering. And the most any of us is ever given is a tiny thimble with which we can reduce that suffering.

And I bail. I bail and I bail and I bail, and it’s never enough, it can never be enough, but I keep bailing even though the ocean never seems to get any smaller. Even though things never seem to get any better.

Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I scream. Sometimes I just shut down for a while and don’t feel much of anything at all. But for every time I’ve set down my thimble, I’ve picked it back up again. I always pick up my thimble again.

But sometimes I do need to set down that thimble. Sometimes I need to turn away from the things that fill my nightmares, and sometimes I need to reach for something that is happy and joyous and light. If only so I don’t forget that there is something in this world besides darkness and pain. So I don’t forget how to feel like a human being–how to be a human being.

So that is my answer. I do not know if it is anyone else’s answer, but it is the one I have to offer. I am shallow, and I am quite deliberately shallow. I will continue to write ridiculous, long screeds about which brightly-colored magic ponies are in love with which other brightly-colored magic ponies, and I will do so because doing so makes me happy.

I have already been denied so much happiness in life–we have all of us been denied so much happiness in life–that I will not surrender what happiness I do possess without very good cause. No one should surrender their happiness without very good cause.

And I am not sorry.

*finds new Twinkie story*

Ooooooh! Let’s see what we’ve got here …

*“It was a bright and sunny day in Ponyville …”*

Oh, dear.

No. No, no, no. Don’t give up too quickly, Donny. After all, you can’t judge a book by its cover. Let’s just keep reading and see–

*Twilight is described as “lavender”*

Come on, story. Please. Please don’t–

*dialogue refuses to use any contractions*

Just gotta grit my teeth and push on ‘til we hit make-outs. You can do it, Donny. Hang in there. HANG IN THERE FOR THE SAKE OF SMOOCHIES.

*Twilight wakes up and randomly thinks to herself, Oh, hey, maybe I am suddenly and inexplicably in love with Pinkie? Yes, I think I am suddenly and inexplicably in love with Pinkie Pie*

Oh, for Chrissake, you’ve gotta be–UGH.

*exits browser*

You're Beautiful

You’re beautiful.

I want you to know that.

You’re probably saying “No, I’m not,” right now, because so many people don’t feel beautiful, but you are. Your eyes, your nose, your ears … your knowledge, your laugh, your sense of humor … and the parts of you that you hate? The parts that make you cringe? Those are beautiful, too.

I know you probably still don’t believe me. That’s okay. I don’t believe it sometimes, either, don’t believe that I’m beautiful. But there needs to be someone who says it, because there are so many voices out there saying that we aren’t beautiful.

Sometimes, the voices saying that loudest of all are the ones inside our own heads.

But you’re beautiful, no matter what all those voices say. You wanna know how I know that? I know that because you’re you.

While I’m not a particularly big Doctor Who buff, there’s one quote from the show that I really, really love:

“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. You know that in nine hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met anybody who wasn’t important before.”

I’ve never met anybody who wasn’t important. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t at least a little beautiful.

Yeah, even if you messed up yesterday. Even if you were petty or mean or selfish or stupid. Even if you did everything wrong that you could possibly have done wrong. Because you know what? I was a bunch of those things yesterday, too. And the day before that. And the day before that. And so were most of the people standing around you.

Welcome to the human condition. We’re a species of screw-ups.

But we’re lovable screw-ups. Most of us, anyway. Most of the time.

So brush yourself off, stand back up, and try again. Not because you owe it to any of us, because you don’t, but because you owe it to yourself. You’re too beautiful–you’re too precious–to hide yourself away because of guilt or embarrassment. Make apologies if you have apologies to make, fix things if there are things you can fix … but most importantly, get back out there.

Your presence, your you-ness, is the most amazing thing you have to give to the world. Not everyone will appreciate it like they should, but that doesn’t mean it’s not amazing. That doesn’t mean it’s not important.

Because you’re beautiful.

Today. Precisely as you are, right here and right now.

Tomorrow. No matter what tomorrow brings.


Because you’re you.

And I think you’re goddamn beautiful.

I did not grow up around cats.

My mother was, and remains, deathly allergic to cats. We had dogs. (And I loved my dog, and I loved my brother’s dog, and I love my mom’s current dogs.) So I never really learned how cats work as a youngster, and I was always very uncomfortable around them because of it.

Back in high school, I was babysitting for one of my mom’s coworkers. Things went really smoothly, an exceedingly rare occurrence during my babysitting adventures, and the kids even went to bed when I told them to. So then it was just me in the living room, quietly watching t.v. and waiting for the parents to return home. The family’s cat jumped up on the couch beside me, and tentatively I started petting him. Everything went fine … for a while. Then, suddenly, he lashed out and caught me across the forearm. I slowly backed away and fled to the bathroom to wash off the blood from my arm, convinced that cats were terrifying demon-beasts.

Of course, the thing was … the cat didn’t swipe at me until I started petting his belly

But I didn’t know that I shouldn’t have done that, and I didn’t learn until years after. There’s a picture of me during my college years–which I happened across while digging up that prom picture I posted the other day–where I’m at a party and sitting cross-legged on the floor. In the photo, the party host’s utterly adorable cat is sprawled across my lap, and I am sitting ramrod straight, with my hands at my sides, caught between my terror of actually touching the cat and my deeply-ingrained need to pet small, fuzzy cute things.

In law school, I did a summer internship in a town not far from where my then-girlfriend had grown up, and I agreed to watch her parents’ cat while they were out of town. I was older now, after all. Wiser. Surely I could survive a cat for one weekend. I happened to be on the phone with my girlfriend when I walked into her parents’ place, and instantly the cat was right there at my feet, rubbing against me and very much not caring about personal space boundaries.

It was about then that I started panicking. “Oh, God,” I babbled at my girlfriend, “oh, God.

“What? What’s wrong?” asked my girlfriend, instantly concerned.

“The cat’s pissed off at me! She’s gonna maul me!" 

"What the heck’s going on over there?”

“The cat is growling at me!”

There was a long pause before finally my girlfriend replied, “Sweetie. That’s called purring. That means she’s happy to see you.”

Now here I am. I have watched every video on Jackson Galaxy’s YouTube channel. I own a “Real Men Love Cats” t-shirt. I have a cat living in my house 24/7, a very irritable and hair-trigger cat, and I wake up to a cat biting me more often than not most days. That exact same cat is lying beside me right now, snoozing away, blissfully unaware that in a few short days, there shall soon be two cats who live in my house 24/7.

And I am so, so happy.

Oh, hey, look it’s Clark Kent. That Clark sure is a nice guy.


(I don’t know why I’m making that face. It seemed like a good idea at the time.)

I got new glasses! It’s been, like, five years since I’ve gotten new glasses, so it was very much time for an update to my prescription. I chose these frames almost exclusively on the basis that they remind me of Christopher Reeves-era Clark Kent.

I’ve discussed a bit about my job search here on Tumblr ever since I was laid off in November, so I thought I ought to mention that I just received and accepted a job offer. Yay! I’m going to be working as a paralegal, and I’m pretty excited to be going back to work.

It’ll mean no more futzing around on Tumblr during the day, alas, but I can finally buy the Nightmare Rarity comics. :D

Today I’ve been thinking about love. What it is, what it means. For all my blathering on this blog about which ponies are in love with which other ponies (answer: ALL OF THEM and ALL OF THEM), I’m not sure I can easily or satisfactorily define love.

There is a line from Cloudy Skies’ story, “Taken for Granite,” which is spoken by Twilight to Applejack: 

“The way you’re saying this, it makes it sound like this is not something you control. Like you have fallen in love against your will. Unless there’s a potion involved, that’s not how it works.”

This line always struck me as … in-character, certainly, but wrong. Love wasn’t a choice. Not a conscious one, anyway. But I am not so sure anymore.

At the risk of provoking laughter or eye rolls, I must confess that I am talking about cats. Today I did a volunteer shift with the local animal shelter, working at an adoption event at one of the big chain pet stores. There were several cats there, and I took a shine to just about all of them. They were all incredibly sweet and engaging, and I marveled at how they’d tolerate extended petting from even very small children in a way that my cat never would. They never once lashed out with claws, and they never once tried to bite, and I was awestruck.

When I came home, I joked both to Dysto and to the Cat directly that I was going to trade in the cat for a better and less bitey model. But that’s all it was–a joke. I didn’t mean it even the tiniest bit. Even though the other cats were less bitey. And more cuddly. And did I mention less bitey? I would not have traded the Cat–my cat–for even the gentlest and sweetest of them.

Because I love her.

I think I have loved her from the moment I picked up the cardboard carrier the shelter staff placed her in, felt the weight in my arms, heavy and real, and I walked so slowly and so carefully across the ice-covered parking lot so that I wouldn’t fall and wouldn’t drop her. It will sound stupid, and perhaps it is stupid, but I think on the day we adopted her, I decided I would love her. I decided that she was mine and I was hers, and there was nothing more to it.

I decided to love her, and I did and I do.

I could (should?) talk about the people in my life, as well–about my parents, my brother, my spouse–but unlike with the Cat, those relationships are not entirely mine to discuss and there are secrets that are not entirely mine to reveal. But it is the same, sometimes, in some ways, I think. There have been times in which we’ve decided to love even when it’s been hard, even when it’s been painful, and it has been a conscious and deliberate thing.

I don’t know. I don’t think I have a nice, neat conclusion. I have been thinking, and I have been wondering. In all the things I’ve believed in, over the years, I have believed in love above all else. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that the nature of love is something I am still discovering and exploring. Perhaps I wouldn’t believe in it nearly so much if it was something simple and easy and pat.

You know, I always figured we played Never Have I Ever so much because we were young and dumb and, y'know, drunk, and it was a good opportunity to engage in a bit of exhibitionism.

But now I’m sitting here and wondering if it wasn’t also, partly, that we were young and dumb and, y'know, drunk, and it was a good opportunity to let down our defenses a bit and try to actually connect with one another.

In Which Donny Is a Terrible and Tardy Correspondent


So. I have not actually logged into Tumblr for the entirety of November, for which I apologize. Mostly this has been due to a combination of settling into my new job (still going well, so far!) and really committing to NaNoWriMo (have written at least something every single day this month, w00t!).

Here’s what else I’ve been up to since last I dropped in on y'all:

  • I’ve discovered ASMR. I randomly got the idea to look up massage videos on Youtube, and I stumbled onto the veritable treasure trove of ASMR videos from there. I’d had no idea that this was a thing, but as soon as I saw a handful of videos, I understood what was going on. “They’re purposefully making the little tingles happen. Huh!”
  • I helped planned a church conference on LGBTQ+ issues within the church, and it rocked. Among other things, I introduced the concept of non-binary gender to a bunch of mostly cis people in their fifties, sixties, seventies, and older, and it went pretty well!
  • I planned out Thanksgiving dinner, which I will be cooking in a hotel room kitchenette because my mom’s too allergic to cats to have dinner at my house. This was a challenge and involved purchasing a toaster oven, but I think I have everything worked out.
  • This afternoon I made one of these for all the outdoor-only and mostly-outdoor cats in my neighborhood, ‘cause it’s getting colder.

ANYWAY, ENOUGH ABOUT ME. I wanna hear about all of you! How’ve you been, what’ve you been up to, who are you shipping, etc., etc.?

Donny Updates
  • I have a new job again! Which I start tomorrow!
  • Whereas the other non-temp jobs this past year have mostly filled me with dread upon starting them—because I knew they were not gonna be good jobs, but I was feeling desperate—for this job I feel excited and a tiny bit nervous. But it is a good nervous, wanting to perform well because this seems like a really great job with really great people, and not the bad nervous where I wonder precisely how much screaming I can take without suffering a full nervous break-down.
  • NaNoWriMo is just around the bend, and I’m gonna try to knock out another chunk of my murder mystery romcom. I’ve been watching and reading a lot of Poirot lately, so I am feeling PUMPED.
  • TL;DR: I will probably be AWOL for most of November. Sorry.
  • Carry on, wayward shippers.

parius  asked:

Is a late TMITuesday question ok? Can you tell us all please how you and Dys met and got together? Was it filled with Awwww's, or awwwwwkwardness?

We met at a planning meeting for a proposed local LGBT community center. I thought Dysto was way cute right off the bat, so after the meeting I went over and introduced myself. We ended up going out with a group of other meeting attendees for coffee, and we talked a bunch over coffee and exchanged contact info. (I actually still have the sheet of paper with Dysto’s phone number, AIM name, etc. I keep it in my wallet.)

Not too long after that, Dysto asked if I wanted to go sing karaoke with hir. Before heading out, I tried on a bunch of different outfits and made my long-suffering apartmentmate give her opinions, because I am exactly that huge of a dork. We sang some karaoke at this dive gay bar and played some pool and drank some beers, then afterwards hung out at Dysto’s place for a bit and talked until way too late.

We hung out a few times after that, including star-gazing at a local beach, but there was never any touching. No hugs, no holding hands, no kisses, nada. I’d thought these were all dates—I mean, c’mon, star-gazing on the beach, that is cliche romance!—but by the third or fourth time of hanging out in the most platonic of ways, I wondered if maybe I’d misunderstood the situation. Which, y’know, not the worst thing, making friends with someone cool, right? C’est la vie.

I’d pretty much shrugged off the idea of something romantic when we were watching a movie at Dysto’s place, and while we were watching, Dysto kinda leaned up against me. I leaned back, and our shoulders didn’t stop touching for the whole rest of the movie. (For the life of me, I cannot remember what we were watching. Maybe Star Wars or Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Ugh, I am worst husband.)

Cuddling and kissing followed shortly thereafter, then dating, etc. :)