darling ducks

Listen my little chicks, my ducks, my darlings: Tumblr mom is fine. This is my life and I am used to it. Admitedly still going through the seven stages of grief over donuts, but that’s to be expected.

The reason I have been talking about this so much and so openly is not because things are worse, but because I have been told by several (hundred) people that it has helped them not only realize the nameless thing they have been suffering with their whole life and just thought was normal for them was actually an allergy, but also from other people with long term illnesses who didn’t realize the corelation between their chronic illness and food intolerances/issues–and neither did their doctors.

I’ve had people telling me that they recognized their own symptoms in the things I talk about, take themselves off to an allergist and find out, oh hey, I’m actually allergic to XYZ and it’s impacting my health I should stop doing that. I’ve had people thanking me cause they didn’t realize the synthetic scent in their gods damned fabric softener was triggering an allergy which manifested in anxiety attacks. I’ve had people tell me they didn’t realize the chemical dye/bleach in their menstrual products were actually the cause of excess discomfort at their time of the month and since switching to the brands I recommend, have had not only less skin irritations, but less infections like thrush and bv. I had someone tell me they figured out their kid wasn’t allergic to their dog but the egg used in the dog’s food brand, so everytime the kid got licked they’d break out in hives. They got to keep their dog, just swapped out the food brand.

I get people telling me on a consistent near daily basis, that me just talking about all this shit, has helped them feel less isolated, less alone with their problems which no one else seems to inderstand. Not even doctors. And I get that, because up until very recently, I also felt the same way. Sometimes I still do.

So if me bitching and griping about being allergic to things like potassium sorbate and trying to explain over and over that yes it is possible to have a rice intolerance, helps people?–I’m gonna keep talking about it.

This has been my life for a while now. Admitedly the last six weeks was awful because I caught that super virus bullshit that wrecked my system. But this? All this food stuff? Has been going on for years . I’m just finally getting a confirmed diagnosis from medical professionals because my symptoms got too bad to ignore.

Now, that said, there will be some people who don’t want to see all this. I get it, shits depressing yo, and you just clicked here for the vampire nipples. In that case I have a tag which I have been using for the last two years which is #chronic health tag. Blacklist it, you won’t see anymore of my posts about health. Everyone’s happy.

And I do mean happy, because as much as all this sucks I’ve got new answers to fit into the puzzle pieces of my health, and there’s a chance that one of these days I might just get to see the whole picture instead of just the corner pieces. And that’s good enough incentive for me to keep going.

So please, don’t worry about me. I’m gonna be fine. One of these days, it’s all gonna be fine.

2

Ashton Rashid.

I get that the official art has a fuzzy canon/noncanon status for the Penumbra Podcast, so everything here is to be taken with a grain of salt. But we do know that Mikaela B knows more about what’s gonna happen then we do, and some of that’s inevitably going to sneak into her art.   

So let’s take apart the similarities here, shall we?

  • Similar forehead (O’Flaherty’s hairline is higher, which is typically a consequence of aging), large-ish, and protruding slightly over the eyes. Kind of a heavy brow
  • Similar shape of eyebrow (more slender in O’Flaherty’s case, but that’s either genetics or judicious shaping for the sake of aesthetic)
  • Same shape of nose 
  • Same pattern of facial hair (more carefully groomed in O’Flaherty’s case, more scruffy in Juno’s)
  • Same shape of chin/jawline (though Juno in general has a longer face)
  • Same shape of lips
  • Same basic body type– short, lean, and somewhat broad-shouldered

It’s not something I would necessarily be able to tell if they were actual people, but the similarity is striking, especially considering @disasterscenario‘s art style. This is not one of those “everybody has the same face but with different hair and eyes” thing that you get with some artists. To compare, here are some other dudes in the same series:

Just from the points that I mentioned before– build, nose, jaw, lips, eyebrows, forehead, facial hair– there’s a really marked diversity. For all my trouble with faces, I have no problem telling any of these people apart, or recognizing that they’re probably not related (Kanagawas notwithstanding). 

It’s that diversity that makes Juno and O’Flaherty’s similarity stand out so much.

Oh, and you know the only thing that keeps me from wondering if O’Flaherty is straight-up just aged-up Juno gone back in time for nefarious purposes? The fact that we’ve already been shown what old Juno will look like (and he’s surly and scruffy as always, my darling duck). 

Like I said before, this isn’t 100% conclusive that Juno and O’Flaherty are related– but it does seem to indicate that Mikaela feels they are, and that’s more than enough for me.

anonymous asked:

For the writing thing can you do Plumette and Mrs. Potts?

The next morning, Plumette slips down the stairs. Someone left her clean, nice clothes on the back of the wooden chair by her bed. And the sun through the windows was so sweet, after Paris, where the sun only made clear the dust against the windowpanes, and made hideously clear every scar on her mother’s face.

In Paris, there is plague. But here in Villeneuve, there is only little Plumette. Eleven, with smarting feet, but a little grace still there as she makes her way through her new home in this new palace.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” It is Beatrice Potts, the kind lady from the day before. She bustles around the kitchen beside a short, wide man who wears a chef’s hat. He helps Plumette to a chair, and gives her hot coffee and hot pastries and bread with thick, melting cheese.

Plumette nods and eats, and Mrs. Potts pours herself a cup of tea and sits beside her. She talks gently, and lets Plumette eat her fill and say nothing in return.

“..the Prince’s father, now, you’ll want to avoid him for a bit, at least until you’re comfortable—but the mother, she’s a good lady, you’ll like her. D’you know anything of dusting? Don’t worry your head if you don’t, dear, we’ll teach you—you just rest now, eat up, though these French breakfasts are never filling enough if you ask me; a good plate of eggs-and-bakey, with fried tomatoes, now that’s what I call a meal. D’you know, you’re just the age of Madame Chapeau’s girls—Claudette, Paulette, I don’t remember the names, but they are fine girls, or at least their mother is a fine woman. And we might be hiring the boy, so perhaps you’ll like him too. We’ll take you down to the village, if you like, and—oh! Dear!”

Plumette is crying, a little.

“Oh, darling—ducks—don’t cry, now, there’s a girl—oh, it was my talk of dusting, wasn’t it? Such a fool—such a journey, you’ve been on, and here am I talking about new work for your poor tired little self—come on, now, it will be all right—”

She pulls Plumette to her side, and the girl cries afresh, breathing in the scent of clean washing and grey tea in Mrs. Potts’ kerchief. The warm, steady hands against her back are such a shock: and Plumette cries, and cries, and the tears course down her face.

“It is not the dusting,” she says, when her throat catches up to her tears. She gulps and hiccups, and Mrs. Potts holds her tighter. A warm hug, unlike any Plumette has had in so many months: they were afraid of being touched, in Paris, and the horn-beaked doctors warned against it.

“It is not the dusting,” Plumette says again. “It is….I have not been home for such a long time.”

“Dear! You just came.”

Home,” says Plumette, and her hand takes in Cuisinier’s warm presence at the stove, and the hands that hold her close, and the tender questions, and the assumption that Plumette belongs here. That an abandoned child can be taken in, and fed, and loved within a day. That the sunny palace—one out of a fairytale, really, as it sits here in her heart—can say to Plumette: stay.

“Let me work here,” begs the child. “I need so much more than dusting—let me wash, or scrub, and set to rights the lady’s things. Please, madam.”

Mrs. Potts hugs her close. “You do more than work here, ducks. You live here, now. Now have a pastry—oh, for lord’s sake, get us some fried tomatoes, Cuisiner, the state of breakfasts in this country is a shame—and we’ll set you to rights. Plumette, it is, yes? Yes. There’s a dear.”

And Mrs. Potts strokes her hair, and Plumette finds herself at home.

2

Gif is mine

Imagine Dr Bashir has a crush on you and keeps calling you pet names while you try to work 

Requested by Anon~


A person came up beside you and starting tapping things on the console. And you didn’t give much thought to who it was until they spoke up, and you recognized the voice with a smile. “How’s your day going, darling?”

Your head ducked when Julian looked over, and you can see a smile of his own in the corner of your eye. “It’s going fine, doctor.” You answered. “And yourself?”

“I can’t complain.” Julian went back to whatever he was working on, and there was silence for a few moments until he looked back up. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the patient file for Lieutenant Hansen is, would you?”

You leaned in to look at Julian’s console, and stayed there for a little longer than necessary. “Subsection B.” You said, pointing it out for him.

Julian nodded his head gratefully. “Thank you, dove.” He smiled softly before turning and padding off, leaving you blushing for a lot longer than you would have liked.

Once upon a Christmas Time!

Trying to release the duck! My sister asked the humane society what to do with it after raising it from an egg and they told her to just release it

She didn’t want to leave though, and she doesn’t know how to fly because my sister has kept her for too long (my mom was throwing corn into the water to try and encourage the duck to learn how to forage, idk)

She’s still sitting in the shallow water right now, waiting for my sister to come back I guess. We’ve got our eyes on her but it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere anytime soon

Meet the Baron

“What’re we going to do with this case? I mean, a sentient bird? It’s unheard of!” Judy exclaimed, smoothing her ears out of her face and leaning back on her office chair.

Nick, who was standing by her cubicle wall, glanced down at her thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s not that unheard of.”

The bunny lifted her head. “What?” “I might know someone… Come on, Carrots, let’s go.”

“Where are we, Nick?”

He spared his partner a glance before turning another corner into a small alley. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, darling.” Ducking to avoid an open window, he continued, “Besides, don’t you trust me?”

“I have my moments of doubt.”

“You wound me with your words, Carrots.” Nick smirked playfully, taking pleasure in the smile the bunny gives him in response. They reached a cobblestone path and followed it to an open centre square with a tall bird statue in the middle. Judy took note of the various designs of the houses around the plaza, all having some sort of European influence. She wordlessly followed her partner to a cream colored house and waited while he knocked.

“Hey Baron! Open up!”

Lights from the inside flickered on and the door opened to reveal an immaculately dressed orange tabby cat with eyes as green as— as Nick’s, Judy thought, a bit surprised but shook her head to clear her thoughts as Nick spoke up, addressing the dapper cat. “Baron, nice to see you again. How’ve you been, my friend?”

The cat spared a quick glance at Nick’s uniform and smiled, “I’ve been well, thank you, Mr. Wilde. It’s nice to see you too. What brings you here with…?” His emerald gaze fell on the silent bunny and once again, Judy was shocked at the brightness of his eyes. She blinked and stepped forward, tapping her badge out of habit, “Officer Judy Hopps, pleasure to meet you, sir.” The cat’s smile widened as he took off his top hat and bowed in front of her, taking her paw and kissing it. “Good evening, Miss Hopps,” he said with a slight accent, taking note of the how the fox rolled his eyes from behind the bunny cop. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”


That’s it. Sorry guys but I’m just an occasional writer. I did this because I couldn’t get it out of my head all day. Anyway, to whoever is watching Zootopia tomorrow, have fun! Check out my Instagram @ charlenesketch for more fanart and other stuff 🤗