Aremo Shitai Koremo Shitai Onna no Ko ni Mietatte

<3 THIS IS THE SINGLE MOST WHOLESOME THING I HAVE EVER SEEN <3

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who would win in a fight: an army of lush employees vs an army of bath and body works employees??? discuss

lush employees, who are more adept at guerrilla warfare and fabian tactics. bath and body works employees rely too much on pitched battle and are not equipped well enough for prolonged conflict

I disagree with some of that, I feel as though the Bath and Body Works employees are pretty well trained in the art of handling an all out attack. Their defenses are high and well coordinated. Remember, they deal with white moms on the daily, whereas I feel that Lush employees are more used to dealing with a younger generation of customers.I feel as though they’d be equally matched but in the end I feel with the advancement in technology that Lush possesses over Bath and Body Works in terms of sheer amount that they sell, ultimately Lush wins, but not without heavy casualties.

All true, but everyone is forgetting Bath and Body Works employees have extreme training dealing with the hell on Earth that is Semi Annual Sale. Have you ever seen someone come between a white woman in her 40s and Vanilla Bean Noel at 75% off? Bath and Body Works employees have and still live to tell their stories

I think terrain is an important consideration? Lush employees are better at straight melee since they’re used to fighting in close quarters, whereas B&BW employees have more experience in moving through wider terrain and using ranged attacks.

this is the kind of discourse I want on my dash

My wife: “All the B&BW folks would have to do is throw a few water balloons into a Lush store and it would be all over.”

my best OC is Brad Wayne, Bruce’s illegitimate biological child via a totally normal woman he had a fling with when he was younger and didn’t stay in touch with

Brad grew up a totally normal kid, went to college, joined a frat, and decided to get in touch with Bruce, who now has an awkward situation on his hands

now the other Batkids have to deal with fucking Brad Wayne, whose normalacy is absolutely insufferable... he tells Dick to try yoga and suggests that Tim will sleep better if he gets more exercise... Bruce goes out of town and Brad decides it’s time to throw a house party with his frat friends

he’s so good

All of Brad’s Bat-siblings are absolutely unprepared to deal with him. They can’t handle it. They can’t even hate him properly, even Damien, because he’s just... he’s not even... he’s just Some Guy™️!

They’re all braced for the inevitable reveal that he’s a villain, an imposter, or an interloper there to usurp the Wayne fortune or spy on Batman. They have all sorts of plans to foil his schemes and the only thing they’re not able to prepare for is the fact that he’s just. Brad. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not a saint, either—his problems are just so mundane, so ordinary.

They TRY to understand what his life is like, but how are they supposed to relate to someone who doesn’t text back because he’s hungover or his phone died, not because he’s tied up in a death trap somewhere being menaced by someone in a Halloween costume?

No one’s ever tried to ritually sacrifice him before and it shows.

Does he know they are the batfam? Or does he just think it is so cool that his dad has adopted all these kids that needed a home?

Oh he has no idea. Brad didn’t grow up in Gotham and isn’t really familiar with its culture, so he thinks it’s an ordinary city with ordinary problems (presumably there’s still a concept of ‘ordinary’ in the DCU).

When someone tries to tell him he laughs it off. Maybe one of his friends asks him about the popular rumor that Bruce Wayne is Batman, but he’s never even contemplated the possibility. Later he’s trying to coax Dick into playing beer pong and loudly tells the story to party guests as a funny anecdote. He thinks the whole concept of Batman is hilarious. Maybe he makes up stories about seeing Batman to impress his family and make himself sound cool.

Eventually though some bad guy who wants a huge ransom is going to kidnap Brad. What happens then? Does Batman call in a favor to one of the other members of the Justice League or does Damien go out and rescue his brother and tell him he’s the most useless of all his brothers because he’s so ordinary? Because you know if anyone is going to blab it’s going to be Damien.

Brad gets kidnapped and Steph and/or Cass rescue him in costume.

Later, in Wayne Manor, he tells his family all about how the Batgirls were totally flirting with him and how he managed to take out a few of the bad guys all by himself.

Brad Wayne: “Hey, do you guys think Batman fucks? Like, you think he has ever gotten laid?”

Dick, stiffly: “Um. Yes. I think so.”

Brad: “Really? Guy sounds like a turbo-virgin to me. I mean, he fights crime in a fursuit! Come on!”

Tim: “I have it on reasonable authority that Batman fucks. Unfortunately.”

Steph: “Hey, Damian. Penny for your thoughts?”

Frat Kid Brad Wayne

Brad: “Bro do you remember what Robin used to wear, back when we were kids? With like, those little feathery booty shorts?”

Dick: “Scaled. Not feathery. He wore an armored leotard.”

Brad: “Nah, man, they were totally feathery! ‘Cause robins have feathers. I never really understood that—why would Batman’s sidekick be themed after a songbird? Robins aren’t scary. They don’t fight crime, and they don’t come out at night. Why not ‘Batboy’ or ‘Owlkid’ or something?”

Dick: “I’m pretty sure Robin’s schtick was based off Robin Hood the outlaw, not the bird. That’s why he wore green, and had a uniform cleverly blending medieval costumery with, uh, acrobatic attire.”

Brad: “Whatever. I’m just saying, it was weird.”

Dick: “Not really? Look up classic strongman costumes and historical illustrations of Robin Hood. Or Google Jules Leotard.”

Brad: “But the bare legs! The pixie boots! Why would Batman let him wear that? It’s creepy.”

Dick: “It wasn’t! Look. It was a different time. In context, that costume was obviously heroic. Besides, he was a little kid. I’m sure he’d wear something different now.”

Jason: “Yeah, but didn’t he keep wearing the short pants until he was old enough to vote? I’m pretty sure I remember that Robin wearing the pixie boots through college... he must have spent a fortune getting his legs waxed. I think I’d die before I’d do that.”

Dick: “This is Gotham. People do weirder things all the time.”

Brad: “Haven’t there been a lot of Robins? What happens to them? Do they die and Batman just hopes no one will notice when they’re replaced?”

Dick: “I—”

Jason: “I think that’s exactly what happens. He’s probably got a whole cellar full of dead Robins.”

What do you think would happen when he saw Jason's gun collection? Cause Brad would at some point want to see where his adult siblings live and Jason probably just leaves his guns on whatever surface is clean. I wouldn't be surprised if there's one in the fridge from when he went to get a beer last night. And Brad already suspicious just opens up the fridge and there's a loaded gun and maybe a granade just staring at him when he goes to grab Jason a beer.

Honestly? I doubt he’d think much of it. He’d probably assume Jason was some kind of stockpiler with an extreme paranoid political bent, which are all too common, and suggest that he get a gun locker or twenty for safety—imagine if Damian were to come over, and there were unsecured guns, just think! You hear sad stories about little kids finding guns and playing with them all the time.

"Look, bro, I'm all for your second amendment rights. My LB in TKE wound up leading the campus conservative club, and we still hang. But, like, I worry about Damien and Tim, y'know? Shit happens when kids clown around."

Brad is my new favorite batkid everyone else can leave.

Brad, wandering out of the shower: “Wassup, T-man? You lose a fight to poison ivy or something?”

Tim, frozen in surprise: “H-how did... how did you know?”

Brad: “I’d know those blisters anywhere! My roommate freshman year had to go on steroids, he got it so bad. All over his ass. Almost got him kicked off the team ‘cause no one believed him until he dropped trou right on the field. Ever tried Tecnu Gel?”

But does the Tecnu Gel help tim? Does brad have seemingly random health items in his medicine chest bc "you never know what might happen to you?" have his frat bros gotten hurt doing stupid things and did those events lead brad to be like "I got a splint and some Advil in my car hang tight!" @glumshoe

I want to say yes just because the idea of Tecnu being useful against supervillains is very funny to me.

I imagine Brad is very familiar with sports injuries and alcohol poisoning, in ways that actually prove helpful to the Bat clan with surprising regularity. Maybe one of the guys gets the shit beaten out of him and tries to hide it, but Brad notices how stiff he is and is like, “I got you bro! Sit down, I’ll rub your back. No homo. I mean, unless you’re gay, that’s cool too, I mean hell, I’ve fooled around a bit with the team and I think I might be bi, but you’re still my bro even if you’re adopted, so nah. Haha damn dude, your shoulders are gnarly. You gotta stretch that shit!”

Also I just like the idea of him referring to The Joker as “Pennywise” by mistake.

These circles are stationary

if you squint a lot until you can’t see the arrows, you can see this is correct. i have the benefit of having poor eyesight, so i just took off my glasses

“average person defrauds 3 customers a year” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person defrauds 0 customers per year. Ea-Nasir, who lives in a house with all of his complaint tablets & defrauds over 10,000 copper buyers each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

Utena + Dumbing of Age book titles

this is the content i signed up for

“A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.”

(Source)

“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON.  I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.”

“NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO?  PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?”

“PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON.  WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.”

“LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON.  ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES?  THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE.  YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“

I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia.

One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless.

For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura.

When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch.

I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats.

What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.)

The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words.

The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel.

Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music.

Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.)

After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss.

“……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.”

“No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!”

“WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.”

“What the hell does that mean?!!”

“DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.”

“……..”

“THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.”

Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this….

Since you asked nicely ^_^

Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job.

After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.)

Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it.

Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.)

He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound.

“You….you alright there buddy?”

“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Uh, yeah, I guess not. Did you, uh, know you’re kinda fuzzing at the edges, there?”

“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Right. Um. Well.”

Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form.

When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window.

Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges.

“Nice night for it, huh?”

“…..Y̮̮͍͔͇͙͙̟̐͌͛̓̏͞͡Eͩͭͮ̓̍ͯ̀ͧ͏̵̴̛̺̠̱͕̕ͅS͈̹̮̟̳̪̩̘͍̤̲̻͈̱̳̽̋́ͩ̃͋̎ͩ̈͆̀͘͢͢͟ͅ.̧̢͈̭̝̥̦͚͍̇ͫ̃̓͆̿̇ͪ͊ͧ̃͛͌͜͢ “

“Guy won’t scare anymore litttle girls, will he?”

“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.”

“ I̴̛̟̭͉̮̜̩̬̮̣̘̰͚̩͙̟̳͔̜̙͑̂̆̆͗͒̀ ͖̖̰͉̥͖͔̙̤̺͍̳͈̹͙̣̞̇̇ͤ͒̅̈́͆̽ͧ́̚̚̕͘W̶̶̱͈̞͖̼̟̣̮̌͂͒̈́͑͌͒͋̍ͮ͗̈ͣ̓ͤ͘͟I̴̶̞̥̩͇̔ͩͦ̇̉̾ͣͬ̀̀̒͒ͧ͛͌͛͆̚͘͢ͅͅL̠̟͕̠̟̪̰̻ͯ͂͊ͥ̍̏͋̐ͬ̉̆̈̀͠L̸̞̭͔̮ͦ͑̉ͮͩ́ͬͨͣ͘͜.̴͈͎̮͇͓͖̱̻̣͊͊ͤͩ͊̑͗͞ ̸̡̩̖̞̩̻̩̪̭͙̳͚͇̟̺͖̑͊ͫ̀͆ͨ̉̔̓̂̓̋T̷̷̟͉̟̻̻̪̞̰̯̻͈̣̰̬̻̾͐́ͭ̓̅́͡H͇̬̪̩̬̝̣͍͈͇ͯ͛̏͌ͮͧͭͦ͟͜A̴̴̤͕͈̤̮̞̱̯͔͕̙͔͖̰̬̰͈̠ͥ̏ͥ̍̽ͧ̀͝N͗̓͋̃̈̑̀̅ͣ̽̒̂̄ͯͩͤ͏̢͢͏͈̯͎̪͇̟̠͔̯͓͓̰̠̱̠̳͕̳͝K̢̓ͧ͛͛ͣ̄̓̓ͯ̍̈̈́̌͂̔͟҉̛̘̥̖̤̦̻̳͙͟ ̢̢̻̥̹̣̞͉̘͇͚͍̖̯̘͚͔̗̩͓͐ͮ͂͂̀̚͘͠Y̜̞͇̳̗̬͎̰̙̜̩̪͎̞̙̠̔͂̌̃́̀O͇̺̲͙͍̬̳̘͈̱̜̝͔̖̊ͥ̿ͫͤͫͫͩ͋̓̃ͦ̈̄͢͟Ū̢͖̲̦̠̤͎̙͉̦͖̖͓͍̺̺ͪͯ͐͆͆ͭͯ͗ͦ̄̅̌̈̃̾ͭ̋ͧ͢͢͠͡.̶̸̞͓̞̹̗̻̣͈͕̠̬̦ͫ̆ͤͬͨͦ͒͂ͨ̿ͩͪ͘͞.ͧ͛̒̂̂͗ͨ̌͆ͥͭ͒̉͘͜͏̙͖̰̝̙̲͓̙͕͍̥̳̩́͠.̶̷̮͎̱̼̬͖̰͎͚͙̥̓͋͋ͦ̓̓ͯ͆͛̏ͫ̅ͯ.̨̧̙̤̳̮̺̙͖̞͔̗͎͍̑̆ͮ͐ͩͦ̌̽̾̏͘͠.̹̖͕̮͕̞̰͍͚͖̌ͪ̃̐̐̌̌̅̉͑ͧͪͪͬ̓͐́͛̿͘͞ ….NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“Anytime.”

There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son.

When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included).

IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!!

Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally.

Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.)

While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.)

So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy.

When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open.

A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps.

“GACK!”

“NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”

“GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!”

“I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?”

“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?”

“Is he supposed to be…..skinless?”

“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.”

“…….laPDOG?!”

“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.”

“……”

“THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.”

A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces.

“NEIGHBOR STEVE?”

“Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?”

“I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.”

Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten.

Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”)

This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash

OMIGOSH I’m in love.

I LOVE EVERY BIT OF THIS

This is like the stoplight post. It is Tumblr legend, and I feel I must reblog it for those fortunate few who get to experience it for the first time.

We need more of Antler Guy and Neighbour Steve

So one day Son comes home from school and goes straight to his room without speaking. Hell Wife and Sharon confer over tea and scones, and it’s revealed that Timmy is also shut away in his room.

Neither mother can get a word out of the boys, and after a quick word with Steve (who is busy trying to train Clifford to stop slobbering on his shoes), the mothers go to Antler Guy for advise, since he has a good relationship with both boys.

Antler Guy listens attentively to the women. “I WILL TAKE CARE OF THIS. THE TWO OF YOU SHOULD ATTEND YOUR BOOK CLUB.”

Sharon is dubious, but Hell Wife assures her that Antler will fix things.

When the women are gone, Antler Guy waves his long, spindly fingers, and the two boys appear before him. Both look sullen and teary eyed. Antler Guy observes them silently. “They pushed Timmy,” Son explains in a small voice. “I told them to leave him alone but… They called me…” Antler waits silently. “Freak,” Timmy supplies in a whisper. Antler Guy looks between the two boys, then lifts one in each vine-writhed arm.

He takes the two boys to the ether, showing them various hellish sights including a homunculous type creature that has a cold and sprays acid every time it sneezes, a cat that’s twice the height of Antler and picks Timmy up by the neck like a kitten.

Both boys have a great time and return home in high spirits. Steve goes out into the garden to find out what happened. (He’s been defeated by Clifford and decides he’ll just get new shows and hide them).

“I MUST LEAVE FOR AN HOUR OR TWO,” Antler Guy tell Steve after a brief explanation.

Steve looks puzzled. “It’s getting pretty late, Guy,” he points out.

Antler Guy merely inclines his head and stalks into the night in long, surprisingly graceful strides.

The next day, Steve listens to Timmy babbling about how the boys who had been mean to him and Son the previous day had left them alone. Timmy stops and looks baffled. “Actually, any time we looked at them they ran away.”

Steve has suspicions of where Antler Guy had gone on his late night stroll.

(Ohmigosh, someone added, I’m so excited! :D)

Time passes, as time does (which for Earth is generally somewhat faster than The Dimension That Smells Of Shrimp, and slower That One Wibbley Place With Murderous Flying Potato Crisps- Timmy was allowed to select human-dialect names, and Antler Guy refuses to change them. He says they are far more pleasant than the terms he used to use.)

Fluffy remains on the small side. This in no way impedes her rule of the neighborhood. In order of preference, her resting places include the top of Antler Guy’s head, Hellwife’s ample lap, and wherever else she damn well pleases. (The deathshade vines have a healthy respect for her, all of Clifford’s six-foot-plus frame is terrified of her, and she actively conspires with Aubergine. The prior pets of Steve and Sharon, Mr. Paws- a mild mannered netutered tom of advanced years- and Puggles- his nearly as elderly pug cohort- are ignored with royal disdain. Which suits them fine, they’d much rather be made much of by Aubergine, and relax in the gentle, soothing warmth of Clifford’s flames.)

Within short order, her routine is established. The neighborhood, and neighbors, know better than to mess with the White Puffball of Doom (one of Timmy’s better efforts) on her daily patrols. In return, her rule is moderately benevolent.

So when she goes missing, literally no one has any idea where she has gone.

It starts with Antler Guy striding through the neighborhood, making a peculiar call somewhat akin to a humpback whale with a headcold. When that produces no results, he starts asking. Very earnestly. Very. Earnestly. He even folds himself up enough to take tea with Mrs. Giotto, the resident cat lady. He emerges with a delightful recipe for snickerdoodles, but no information.

Steve knows something is wrong when he starts getting texts at work. By the end of shift, he’s inundated with calls, texts, voicemails, and a singing telegram sent by one particularly frazzled neighbor, whose message was only “HELP.” His boss is not pleased.

He almost expects it when Antler Guy materializes as soon as he shuts his car door. He still almost craps himself.

“Hi Guy, what’s up-”

“FLUFFY. FLUFFY IS MISSING.”

“Really? Have you tried looking in Mr. Manz-”

“YES. TWICE.”

“Oh, ok, well, let’s try-”

“NeIGhbor SteVE!”

“Hellwife?”

“FLuffY Is MissINg!”

“Well yes, Guy just told me-”

“STEVE!”

“Sharon?!”

They decide to move the confabulation into Sharon’s kitchen. (A quick phone call to Beatrice assures that a) the sleepover of the Triad is going smoothly, b) the news of Fluffy’s disappearance hasn’t made it there yet, and c) it won’t until further news is secured.) Sharon has called on her information network to no avail, Hellwife has questioned every plant in a five block radius, and Antler Guy is distraught. Apparently he cannot feel Fluffy, which means she is either dead or out of his range. (”AND SHE WOULD NOT BE SO UNCARING AS TO NOT RETURN HOME IF DEAD, SHE IS A VERY LOVING MAMMAL.”)

Steve is quiet. Steve is thinking. Steve….has an idea.

“Guy?”

“YES?”

“Exactly what constitutes your range?”

“ALL OF THE ENVIRONS OF HELL, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“So……when we run out of flamingos, right?”

Clifford is supplied with a squeaky sorta-looks-like-a-mouse-don’t-ask-so-many-questions toy belonging to Fluffy. The direction he doesn’t want to go is the way they head. They decide that cramming Antler Guy into Steve’s Prius would be unhelpful, sunroof or not, so up on Antler Guy’s shoulders Steve goes. (Steve has always wanted to try it, in his heart of hearts. Its everything Timmy described and more.)

They set out, following the cringing hellhound. Even cringing and following the scent of the Feared Fluffy Thing, Clifford has some speed. (It helps that both Steve and Sharon explained the situation, via Aubergine.) In the space of perhaps an hour and a half, they hit the end of Antler Guy’s range.

Literally. If Steve hadn’t had a deathgrip on Antler Guy’s horn’s he’d have gone flying.

“NEIGHBOR STEVE, I CAN GO NO FARTHER.”

“Ugh, kinda got that Guy….”

Steve slithers off and looks at Antler Guy. He’s pushing at the air like there’s a forcefield. (There isn’t. Steve checks, just to be safe.) So, after a short conversation with Clifford, Antler Guy waits next to the last flamingo as Steve rides his big, red, skinless flaming dog onwards. (Steve had wanted to try this since he first read the Clifford books.) (Well, something close to it anyway.)

It is a measure of the surrealness of his day to day life that he isn’t surprised by the gate guarded by gun-toting gentlemen. Nor by the flurry of activity he and his dog raise by jumping it. A short, balding fellow in a Very Important Labcoat comes out of the concrete building and gives shrill orders to “apprehend that vile extra-planar sympathizer and his hideous creature”. As Clifford starts drooling green flames as he snarls, no one seems particularly interested in following his orders.

Luckily, a man riding a walking nightmare and then a hellhound garners attention. Specifically, a shitton to social media attention (and no few memes). And the government, unsurprisingly, monitors the areas inhabited by its extra-planar citizens very closely. So before the standoff gets beyond the tense stage and into the itchy trigger finger stage, a swarm of black SUV’s hit the scene.

Steve sits serene upon his noble steed as the wave of black suits descend. In record time the labcoat is escorted away, the guards are pacified, and an ominously growling cat carrier is presented to Steve. Clifford lets out a tremulous “BOOF?”, to which the carrier “Mrowls?”. Steve opens the carrier (the guards, as one, flinch- some of their compatriots are still in medical from trying to get the damn thing IN the carrier), and Fluffy walks out, dignified as the queen she is. She kneads Clifford’s head (without claws, for once), and settles in.

They make a strange parade returning, the dog and the biggest, shiniest, and most ominous of the SUV’s. (Strangely, all pictures taken of the cavalcade go mysteriously missing.) Antler Guy doesn’t care- as soon as he’s in range, Fluffy jumps to his head and purrs ferociously.

When the suits try to talk to him, he brushes them off, preferring to murmur in hair-raising tongues to his cat, who is still purring fit to split and is trying to groom his antlers. Steve sighs.

“What do you guys need? They’ll be busy for a while.”

“Well Mr. Anderson, we would like to offer our condolences at this unfortunate occurrence, and tender our assurances that it will never happen again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We would also like to ascertain Mr……?”

“Antler Guy Abomination.”

“……Beg pardon?”

“Antler Guy Abomination. That’s what my son named him.”

“……”

“Technically he named him Antler Guy when he first saw him.”

“…………..”

“Abomination came later, when Son needed a name for that standardized testing stuff.”

“…..your son attends school with his offspring?”

“Yep. They’re at a sleepover right now. Sharon’s probably baking brownies with Hellwife. They’re both stress bakers.”

The suits have a whispered conference. Two short phone calls later, the suit with the shiniest pair of sunglasses has an offer for Steve.

Steve’s official title is Extra-Planar Liaison. Sharon calls it Neighbor Herding. Steve doesn’t care about the title. He gets twice his previous salary plus full benefits to ensure the smoothness of Antler Guy’s “integration in the fabric of human society”, which means all the things he was doing, plus field trips into other planes of reality. (Fluffy is fond of the gigantic mother cat; Clifford tries to eat the homunculi’s acid snot and regrets it immediately).

Level of spite: C. S. Lewis putting a lamp post in Narnia (and making it a minor plot point in at least two of his books) just because Tolkien insisted no true fantasy series would have a lamp in it.

If your salt levels haven’t reached CS Lewis, you’re not doing it right.

This scene has fascinated me ever since I was a kid. I mean, if you think about it, Meowth didn’t really learn “Humanspeak,” at least not the way we normally think about learning a language. He was already perfectly capable of understanding it (even if there were a couple words here and there he wasn’t familiar with, like “seashell” or “rocket”). And that seems to be a common thing across all Pokemon–just look at how baby Pokemon can start taking orders from their trainers from the moment they hatch.

So his problem wasn’t learning what the human words meant. It was learning how to pronounce them. And judging by the seasons changing outside the window during his learning-to-talk montage, it took him at least a year to say his first words. But once he does–once he makes it through that tongue twister for the first time–it’s like a switch is flipped and he instantly becomes fluent. In those last couple gifs you can already see him casually throwing around “huh” and “hey,” and by the next scene he’s stringing together sentences.

What does all this mean? Is pronunciation the only barrier keeping Pokemon from talking? Could any Pokemon do what Meowth did as long as they were as ridiculously stubborn hardworking as he was? Or are most Pokemon physically incapable of saying anything but their names? If so, what makes Meowth unique?

…We’ll probably never know, but it’s fun to think about.

@scientificpokedex, ya got anything on this??

I sure do!

As you can imagine, ability to mimic human speech is really made up of two parts: physically being capable of making sounds, and mentally being able to both produce and interpret language. 

For the first part, the physical aspect of speech, you need to understand that the human species spent a very long time evolving and developing parts that make communication easier. We have long throats, small mouths, deeper voice boxes, strong and rounded tongues, extremely good control of our breaths. All of these affect what sounds an animal can make: and our vocal systems are extremely complex compared to most of the animal kingdom.

Therefore, to be able to make sounds similar to human speech, an animal needs to have the right parts. Parrots, for example, are famously good at copying human speech, mostly because they too have strong, flexible, and rounded tongues like humans: meaning they can produce a lot of the same sounds.

Still, even looking at our closest relatives (apes), we can see why a lot of animals can’t imitate human speech. Many animals have a horizontal snout, whereas humans are set up very vertically. Even this severely limits an animal’s potential for mimicking human speech. So it’s very interesting, perhaps, that Meowth doesn’t seem to have much of a snout and is also bipedal, so it likely has a vertical setup as well: this is probably a big factor in why it can speak so fluently.

On that note, check out this video of an orangutan attempting human speech:

Since speech is controlled by breath, too, an animal’s lungs capabilities also limits how well it can imitate speech. Most creatures don’t have as much control over their breaths as humans. For example, a human could take a long breath immediately followed by a short breath to form a sentence with different syllables. Other animals simply don’t have that kind of lung control for variability. 

Still, it should be noted that some animals are clever enough to get around the physical barriers. One elephant, for example, was shown to mimic human speech (Korean) by putting its trunk inside its mouth, and using its trunk as a makeshift tongue to make the noises. So even if an animal doesn’t have all the right parts, they might be clever enough to get around.

Still, simply the physical aspect proves that not all pokémon are capable of human speech. You can imagine Beautifly, an insect with no lips or vocal chords or even a jaw, just a proboscis instead of a tongue. Beautifly would have no hope of ever imitating human speech, because it just isn’t capable of making the right sounds. (How it says its own name is probably more of a whistle? If I had to guess).

Okay, now for the mental aspect: The part of the brain that interprets speech is different from the part of the brain that produces speech. This diagram is for a human, but many studies have shown similar setups in other animals. For example, dogs which understand commands like “sit” or “stay” have strong speech interpretation areas in their brains. Most pokémon, too, seem to share this strength: like mentioned above, Meowth seemed capable of understanding human speech all along, but not able to mimic it yet.

If an animal simply wants to be able to mimic human speech, it really only needs the “speech production” part of the brain (Broca’s area) – not even the interpretation (Wernicke’s area). However if it wants to be able to effectively communicate, especially like Meowth, it needs very strong in both.

So the fact that Meowth is able to both understand and produce language means both parts of its brain are very strong. And that isn’t true for all animals in our world, either. Cows, for example, don’t have the right pathways in their brain to be able to learn how to make any sound other than “moo”. Zebra finches, on the other hand, only learn how to make sounds when they are young: Once they grow older, they are literally incapable of learning any new sounds and are stuck with the same bird calls for the rest of their lives.

So again, this would be a reason for not all pokémon can learn human speech. Their brains just haven’t evolved for that. Miltank may just be out of luck.

Bringing this all together…

For a pokémon to be able to mimic human speech, it needs to have a vocal system capable of making the same sounds as a human, and it needs to have a strong Brocca’s area of the brain for producing speech. Language interpretation is a different part of the brain than language production: just because a pokémon can understand human language exceptionally well does not mean it would be able to mimic it.

So, no, pronunciation is not the only barrier keeping pokémon from talking. I’m sure that there are other species out there besides Meowth that could do it, but hopefully now you have a better idea of why Meowth is so special! Physically, it must be different from cats in our world and have a flexible tongue, a vertically-oriented vocal system, deeper vocal chords, good control over it’s breath. More importantly, perhaps, a large part of Meowth’s brain is devoted to both interpreting, learning, and producing speech. 

So…why is only Team Rocket’s Meowth capable of speech, and not all Meowths we see? I’d chalk that up to necessity. An animal in the wild who has never heard or seen a human obviously has no need to imitate human speech. Not all orangutans or elephants in zoos attempt to mimic humans either: the few examples I mentioned are all very unique instances. It seems that only the creatures most social with humans, and encounter them the most, are the ones who try to speak. 

So our Meowth? He just spent so much time around humans – and so little time around other pokémon – that picking up human speech seemed a necessity. Like the elephant in the video, he wanted to bond with humans so he taught himself how to speak. 

Meowth, that’s right!

ah yes two of the topics dearest to my heart - language and pokémon

@lovinglaura789 @bulbasaur05 sup Pokenerds look at this nerd stuff

i have further investigated drawn animation and concluded that i enjoy it an awful lot

did i ever tell you guys the story of how my best friend accidentally ruined an entire pathfinder campaign 

BUCKLE UP FRIENDS, THIS IS GONNA BA LONG AND WILD RIDE

okay so, for background, this was a heavily homebrewed campaign in an original setting. it was hugely epic, and our dm considered it a crowning achievement of his. it was planned to go on for 40 total levels. it had four acts. the gods themselves were involved. we were reincarnations of the greatest heros of time. that kinda epic.

THE PLOT: we, a group of adventurers, met as children in an abandoned village. we figured out why, survived a horror movie basically, and then a mysterious figure (later revealed to be a god) aged up to maturity and threw us into the future. we became involved with Prince Eric of our home kingdom (the name of which I think was WhiteSomething) after we saved his fiance, Prince Adam of SomethingRose. they were to be married and join their kingdoms to become the new nation of WhiteRose! But everything changed when the Northern Empire Attacked. (actual quote.) Damion, High Douchelord, was trying to take over everything, and actually had taken over WhiteRose. our party was leading the rebellion’s army, and trying to put our friends, the Disney Princes, back on the throne.

so, on this particular night, our level 12 party was far away from our usual base of operations in the capitol, and was trying to get some more troops for our army. the elven king, Bubba (campaign canon, he also had a southern accent) had agreed to send us some troops, but we needed the support of the dwarves as well. our palladin was pretty well hinted to be the reincarnation of not-Durin so we confidant we could do it, but first we had to get to the mountain across some desert. we ran into a squad of the empire’s army, going to do the same thing, so we took them out and started questioning our prisoners, who said that Damian was going to install a fake Prince Eric on the throne.

we liked Eric, he was our fave NPC along with Adam, and so letting Damian steal Eric’s birthright was just Not On. the capitol was a two-week march away, but because of some actual bullshit from our four mages, we made it in just under 24 hours. exactly on the day the pretender was gonna take the throne. there was like a festival going on, and my best friend (who, for the sake of this story will be their character Asra) decided it would be funny to literally rain on Damain’s parade. As a summoner, she had a spell that let her do that, so she did the thing. and promptly got targeted by the magic-sensing guards, who started chasing us. we did the worst thing, and split the party. Asra, because she was specifically targeted, had to roll to see if she would be found and who would find her if she did, and then a luck roll to see what situation she would be in (according to our house rules).

nat 1, nat 1. she literally bumped into the level 43 boss of bosses, High Douchelord Damian.  at level 12. she’s like “OKAY FUCK. IMMA TELEPORT TO ANOTHER PLANE.” she picks a peaceful one where there is no violence. the dm rolls reflex. “damain grabbed you. still wanna go there?” “FUCK NO. will you let me roll to change it?” dm says she can roll randomly on a table to see what plane she ends up in. rolls- the plane of Cthulhu. it should be kept in mind we placed by sanity rules, and that plane did d100′s worth of damage to your sanity. she took too much damage, went insane, and died.

“okay,” says the dm. “now i’m gonna roll for damian. he has a perfect 100 sanity so it probably won’t do anything, though.” he rolls.

it’s a perfect 100.

the entire room was silent. “i guess i should roll… for damage?”

another. perfect. 100.

nobody even breathed for a minute. “that was the boss. without him, his army falls apart- you guys win. i can’t even. i cannot even think of a better ending than that. you win.”

and that was how Asha accidentally beat a campaign by herself.the best part?

this was the SECOND campaign she’d ended that way.

It was almost impossible to find Bruce Wayne amidst the flock of models that had descended upon him. Pictures would soon be all over various social networks as guests pretended to take selfies, though it was unlikely Mr. Wayne would have stopped anyone from taking photos outright. At least one of those photos was going to end up a meme sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t hard to see why. The man himself, dressed in an impeccable suit, had taken a seat to give himself a break from mingling. A very large fellow with an earpiece kept the area under his poolside awning free of those his boss didn’t care to speak to. All around him the party continued, with more than one person leaping fully-clothed into the pool. And slowly, like moths to a flame, slender women with fashion shoot faces had gathered around Wayne. No one stopped them. A few had enough decorum to sit in adjacent chairs. Some sat on the couch beside him, one with her legs draped sideways over his lap; some stood behind the couch and bent half over it to talk to him, doing dangerous things to their necklines. A few, shameless, sat on the tile of the patio near his feet.

Not that any of this was particularly unusual. It was difficult to find a picture of Gotham’s favorite son at a public event without a throng of women. The fact that he had never been known to date anyone seriously did not dissuade them.

“I don’t know why I even come to these things when he just hogs all the hot chicks,” one guest complained. Someone – he did not see who – pushed him into the pool, and gave him something better to complain about.

“Bruuuce,” Cindi said, looking up from where she sat on the ground. “Seriously, you should come.”

“What would I even do?” Bruce asked, as Laura took his glass to steal some of his champagne. She was standing behind the couch, and wasn’t actually old enough to drink.

“Play with us, obviously,” said Adia, legs draped over him for no apparent reason whatsoever. Bruce took his glass back from Laura before she could take a second sip, and she pouted. He frowned as he wiped lipstick off the rim.

“I don’t even know how to play Street Fighter,” he said.

“Who doesn’t know how to play Street Fighter?” Cindi demanded, scandalized. “Didn’t you go to college?”

“Is that what I was supposed to be doing?” Bruce asked. “In that case, I made things much more difficult than they needed to be.”

Keep reading

I gotta have some of that.

Psst in other words Thor thinks that Steve isn’t mortal.

okay but can we talk about this for a sec? like looking at the serum, and what it does. it keeps steve’s cells in peak condition, and you know what happens when cells age? their function declines, they stop working as they should. so the serum would see that as a problem, and fix it.

so, theoretically, the serum stops steve’s cells from ageing. potentially stopping their replication completely unless it was needed to heal him (if the cells aren’t dying naturally, there’s no reason for them to replicate)

so wouldn’t that mean, therefore, that steve himself doesn’t physically age? his cells don’t decline, he doesn’t decline (in addition to the convo about whether or not steve’s hair grows, for a similar reason) 

and then, take thor. thor the god, who knows so much that he doesn’t tell anyone. if anyone knew about this, thor would.

and the way he says it so offhandedly, he assumes steve knows it. but the way steve looks at him, either steve doesn’t know (or hasn’t realised) or does know and doesn’t want to be reminded about it

because an immortal surrounding themselves with mortals isn’t really a good idea if you want to keep yourself sane

Steve’s comments about being a science experiment and whether they really are all monsters take on a lot of meaning if you think he knows this about himself (and maybe about Bucky, too, if that applies to him as well). 

me and a friend were just discussing if j k rowling is the author behind my immortal and I can’t stop laughing at the idea of a tipsy j k rowling finishing her second glass of wine and cracking her knuckles and beginning to type ““WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!” It was ………. Dumbledore!” while giggling to herself