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beeblelady · 1 month

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Catrina Alice Covey (Kayson's Listener)

Full Name: Catrina Alice Covey

Nickname(s): Allie, Caty, Trina, Covey, Prefect, Babe (By Kayson)

Birthday: November 12 / Scorpio

Age: 20

Birthplace: Conifer, Colorado

Parents Names: Howard and Rita Covey

Parents Occupation: Howard (Photographer), Rita (Accountant)

Former Residence(s): Aurora, Colorado (13 years)

Current Residence: London, England.

Living With: Kayson

Right or Left-Handed?: Left-Handed

Words/Phrases: "Very Fantabulous.", "Oh my goodness."

Habits: Organizing her room and Going to the library frequently

Appearance

Height: 5'0

Weight: Secret

Skin Tone: Fair

Body Shape: Hourglass

Hair: Dark Brown (Straight or Wavy)

Eyes: Blue

Face Shape: Round

Everyday Dress Styles: 80s Outfits, Bomber Jackets, Peter Pan dresses, Floral Dresses, Wears Chuck Taylor and Pumps. Some of her outfits are from Anthropologie, Aritzia, Zara, Forever 21, American Eagle and definitely JCPenney. Cardigans, Striped Sweaters, Overalls, Jumpers, Spotted Headbands, Fluffy coat, Pink Duffle Coat (in case if she's cold).

Formal Dress Style: Tulle Dresses, Hair ribbons, Heels.

Any Jewellery: Heart Necklace Given by Kayson, Heart Earrings, Ribbon Bow Earrings.

Facts About Catrina

Catrina is passionate about everything from the 80s, but she makes sure those things would still be acceptable today.

Her favorite hobbies is to make some playlists via cassette tapes when she's not studying.

Catrina's parents met in a mall called Villa Italia Mall in Lakewood, Colorado when they're both in college.

Catrina has a few friends but she was bullied and being called a freak by her peers in the states. When she moved in London she earned new friends (incl. Spencer/Luca's Listener)

Her part time job is baking at a nearby bakery and bakes too especially in a relationship she is always up for new pastries.

Her dream college before was CU Boulder where her parents studied but her family wanted to move to England.

She doesn't usually use digital materials on researching. Instead, she uses the card catalogue for her references.

Her Favorite Flowers are Forget-Me-Nots.

She loves listening to The Cure, Wham!, Queen and Bananarama.

When she was single what Catrina wants in a relationship is someone putting their hand in her back pocket. Just like in Sixteen Candles. Writes her notes everyday.

Catrina does not like driving in a bad weather (Especially Snowing)

She's pretty close with her family.

Kayson is her first. 😊

Her favorite film genres are chick flicks, horror and sometimes romantic comedies.

She joins a few clubs in uni.

Catrina has a sticker book which is her collection of stickers.

Ever since she was a little girl, she has a Lisa Frank collection (Stickers, Coloring Books, Notebooks and Sticker Books)

At the arcade she is very skilled in playing Pac-Man and Dragon's Lair.

Her favorite Care Bear is Cheer Bear.

She loves experiencing renting movies at a video rental store.

Catrina has a collection of Seventeen magazines.

She likes watching music videos on MTV (which her mother recorded, since they do not do it anymore).

Catrina is not a smoker.

She also listens on vinyl.

During her 13th Birthday in London, Catrina got a Walkman from her family.

She sometimes get gifts such as Sandylion stickers for her collection.

Catrina loves collecting Calico Critters (Sylvanian Families).

#zsakuva #sakuverse #kayson #catrina alice covey #zsakuva kayson #kayson zsakuva #Kayson X Catrina #oc #Listener #Kayson X Listener #80s #80s aesthetic #collage

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bestgameostcrownduel · 6 months

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Polls for Round 1, Side A:

Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth (2009) vs Professor Layton and the Curious Village (2007) [winner]

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (2001) vs Pokémon B&W (2010) [winner]

The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (2021) [winner] vs Cuphead: The Delicious Last Course (2022)

Animal Crossing: New Horizons (2020) vs Stardew Valley (2016) [winner]

Animal Crossing: New Leaf (2012) vs Night in the Woods (2017) [winner]

Super Mario 64 (1996) [winner] vs Tetris (1985)

Super Mario: Odyssey (2017) vs Portal 2 (2011) [winner]

Final Fantasy IX (2000) [winner] vs Dragon Age: Inquisition (2014)

Cuphead (2017) [winner] vs Epic Mickey (2010)

Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers (2019) [winner] vs Kingdom Hearts 3 (2019)

Deltarune (2018) [winner] vs Kingdom Hearts (2002)

Minecraft: Story Mode (2015) vs Pokémon Masters (EX) (2019) [winner]

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess (2006) [winner] vs Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (2015)

Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker (2003) [winner] vs Scott Pilgrim vs the World: The Game (2010)

Splatoon 3 (2022) [winner] vs Rain World (2017)

Guild Wars 2 (2012) [winner] vs Witcher 3: Wild Hunt – Hearts of Stone (2015)

Guilty Gear Strive (2021) vs Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance (2013)

Sally Face (2016) vs Return of the Obra Dinn (2018)

Toree 2 (2021) vs Pac Man World 2 (2003)

Calico (2020) vs Ooblets (2022)

Cassette Beasts (2023) vs My Singing Monsters (2012)

Paradise Killer (2020) vs World Ends With You (2007)

Chicory: A Colorful Tale (2021) vs Bravely Default: Flying Fairy (2012)

Risk of Rain (2016) vs Pyre (2017)

Shogun 2: Total War (2011) vs Shovel Knight: Treasure Trove (2014)

Sexy Brutale (2017) vs Outer Wilds (2019)

Mabinogi (2004) vs Spelunky HD (2012)

The Jackbox Party Pack 9 (2022) vs Insaniquarium Deluxe (2004)

Fez (2012) vs Cry of Fear (2012)

Superbrothers: Sword & Sworcery EP (2011) vs Enderal - Bard Songs (2016)

Hotline Miami (2012) vs Steamworld Heist (2015)

Fear and Hunger: Termina (2022) vs House in Fata Morgana (2012)

#round 1 #side a #not polls #txt #best game ost crown duel

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n3rdb0x · 10 months

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@acoldsovereign 🌸 If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog. 🌸 {{GIVE US INFORMATION ABOUT YOU GREGGY BOI

(( Ooo 3 random facts huh? ok ok ok i think i can come up wtih some lmao

FACT ONE:

the Alien universe is honestly one of my favorites and like Alien vs Predator 2 (the game) is one of my favorite horror games, up there with like FEAR and Amnesia and all those. Alien Isolation is also top tier for being so god damn scary and getting the atmosphere and aesthetic down. Like I know back then it was considered futuristic but I just love sci-fi like that where it's very angular? Like most sci-fis go for a very curvy aesthetic while Alien is very boxy and clunky looking. Love it love it love it. Cassette Futurism is the name I found out about it? It's honestly such a good series that it definitely heavily influences my stuff in general lmao. But yeah Alien vs Predator 2 is one of those games I played multiple times over, that campaign is amazing. Better than the newest AvP or Aliens: Colonial Marines. Alien Isolation is honestly the only thing that surpassed it, and so far Aliens: Dark Descent has been really fucking good.

FACT TWO

I've been rping for a long fucking time. I don't know the exact length but I started out in like Warcraft 3 rp maps and even did some very basic shit in Gamespy Arcade chatrooms lol. Warcraft 3 is where I did a LOT though for the longest time until I got into rping on Gmod of all places which was a fun time and I was on a Starship Troopers RP server for a good while and am still friends with some folk from there. I then rped on league of legends forums and some other forum for a little bit and that's where I learned to write longer stuff. Then I learned about Tumblr and was apart of the LoL rp stuff there for a bit until uh... Mass Effect, Fallout and finally Gohan on DBZ. FACT THREE

I have two cats!!! One is my parents and the other is mine. I named her Videl and she's a super sweet and cute calico. This is not a very long fact but basically she's just a big baby who meows at me a lot and sleeps on me many times. Very sweet and cute love her.

#ooc #(( thanks i had fun doing this lol #i could gush about aliens all fucking day my fav #so glad they still do games for it

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chilewithcarnage · 2 years

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*me to the 1 inch tall homunculus with no skin* hey bud, no- hey, hey we've been over this already you can't keep pulling the film outta my vhs tapes and sleeping in the cassettes. I just bought you a brand new calico critters bed from macys, use that. not gonna tell you again.

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lovelyheart502 · 2 months

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In 1988, Tara Calico mysteriously vanished while biking along a New Mexico road.

Her mother, Patty Doel, who previously accompanied her but stopped due to a sense of being followed by a motorist, was alarmed when Tara didn't return by noon.

Search efforts yielded only Tara's Walkman and a cassette tape; Tara and her bike were never found. Witnesses reported a 1953 Ford with a camper shell trailing Tara.

The case took a disturbing turn in 1989 when a photograph was discovered in a Florida parking lot. It depicted a bound woman and boy, both with taped mouths.

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ashleighebe26 · 1 year

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Over the weekend I ended up creating another design. For this design I thought that I could actually try and combined part of the jersey style design with what I had done previously.

So, for this design my idea is for the skirt, keeping in the idea of someone actually wearing it, I could have two layers to it. The first layer would have a graffiti design and then on top would a mesh that is used to make things like basketball jerseys which would be black. The top would be a cut into strips and then for the shoulders they would be pleats. For some of the detailing I still want to include the waves as well as having the cassette tape detail on the top by the pleats.

As I was quite confident that this was my final design and Natalie also felt like I’m ready to start making, I started to work on the templates with Paula.

During the interim both Natalie and Louise were pointing out things that I already knew that I needed to do, like I needed to do some designer research as well as the actual process of the whole thing and what actually went well and what hadn’t, which I had missed out but overall, they liked my work so far. I spent the rest of the day printing out more images and then later we had an induction on the industrial sewing machines which took me a while to get the hang of.

The next day I spent the day pattern cutting. By the end of the day, using calico, Paula got me to try out one way I could have the panels of the top.

I couldn’t really visualise what she wanted me to do so I just went along with it anyway, but I was happy with the way it turned out. What I did was sew the two panels only a couple of centimetres in on each side and then using the iron, fold over around 1/2cm to 1cm of the fabric and iron it down to create a slight opening.

Over the weekend I decided to cut out the images that I had printed out previously and laid them out in my sketchbook as well as the sample I just done.

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our-flag-means-death-ao3feed · 2 years

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Life in Pink

by nosleepbabey

Stede Bonett, finally free from his previous life, moves into a new apartment and discovers a cassette player and a box of tapes. Through these tapes, he follows the story of the previous owner, Edward Teach. Edward's enchanting voice keeps Stede coming back for more, and Stede finds himself falling for the man behind the recordings.

Words: 2224, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, "Calico" Jack Rackham, Israel Hands, Mary Allamby Bonnet, Alma Bonnet, Louis Bonnet

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/"Calico" Jack Rackham, Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard | Edward Teach & Israel Hands

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casettes, Unrequited Love, Professor Stede Bonnet, Motorcycles, Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/39564399

#Our flag means death #ofmd

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conradscrime · 3 years

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The Disappearance of Tara Calico

November 21, 2021

Tara Leigh Calico was born on February 28, 1969, in Belen, New Mexico. At the time of her disappearance she was a sophomore at the University of New Mexico.

On September 20, 1988, 20 year old Tara left her home around 9:30 am to go on a bike ride along New Mexico State Road 47. This was not unusual for Tara, as she went on a bike ride everyday, even going with her mother. She also took the same route on her bike ride.

Patty Doel, Tara’s mother had actually stopped going on these bike rides with Tara after she suspected that she had been stalked by a motorist. Patty, being concerned about Tara riding alone, brought up the idea that Tara should carry mace with her, but Tara refused.

On the day Tara went missing, she had told Patty to come and get her if she was not home by noon, as she had plans to play tennis with her boyfriend at 12:30. When Tara did not return home, Patty went out to look for her and found nothing, so she decided to call the police.

Pieces of Tara’s Walkman and a cassette tape were later found on the road. Patty herself believed that her daughter had dropped these as perhaps clues, maybe to be able to mark her trail. Several witnesses claimed to have seen Tara riding her bike that morning, though her bike has never been found. Witnesses also claim that they saw a light-coloured pickup truck (possibly a 1953 Ford) with a camper shell following close behind Tara. No one saw an abduction take place.

Tara’s case went cold until June 15, 1989, when a Polaroid photo of an unidentified woman and boy, who were both gagged with black duct tape and bound, was discovered in a parking lot of a convenience store in Port St. Joe, Florida. The woman who had found this Polaroid claimed she found it in parking space where a white windowless Toyota cargo van had been parked when she had gotten to the store. She said the van was driven by a man who had a moustache and looked like he was in his 30′s.

Police set up roadblocks to try to find this cargo van, but this man has never been identified. Polaroid officials claim the photo had to be taken after May 1989 because of the certain type of film used in the photograph, which had not been available until this point.

The photo was broadcast on A Current Affair in July 1989, and Patty was contacted by her friends who had seen the show and thought that the woman in the Polaroid looked like Tara. The boy in the photo, some believe, is Michael Henley, also from New Mexico, who had been missing since April 1988.

Patty and Michael Henley’s parents both met with investigators to look at the Polaroid and Patty truly believed that was Tara in the photo. Patty also said the woman had a scar on her leg that was identical to one Tara had gotten in a car accident. In the photo, there is a copy of the book, My Sweet Audrina, by V. C. Andrews, which was known to be one of Tara’s favourite books lying next to the woman.

Scotland Yard looked at the Polaroid and believed the woman was Tara Calico, but the Los Alamos National Laboratory did not agree. The FBI also analyzed the photo and their results came back inconclusive.

Michael Henley’s mother said she was almost certain that the boy in the photo was her son. However, many believe that this is highly unlikely because his remains were later found in June 1990 in the Zuni Mountains, about 7 miles from his family’s campsite where he had disappeared, and 75 miles away from where Tara disappeared. Police believe that Michael wandered off and died of exposure.

In 2009, pictures of a boy were sent to the Port St. Joe police chief, David Barnes. Barnes also received two letters, postmarked June 10 and August 10, 2009 from Albuquerque, New Mexico. One of the letters had a photo, printed on a paper of a young boy with sandy brown hair. Someone had drawn a black band in ink on the photo, over the boy’s mouth, similar to how the tape looked on the woman and boy’s faces from the 1989 Polaroid.

The second letter had an original photo of the boy. On August 12, The Star newspaper in Port St. Joe had gotten a third letter, postmarked from August 10, also from Albuquerque. The letter had the same image of a boy, with black marker drawn over his mouth. The boy had not been confirmed to be the same one in the other photo.

None of these letters had a return address or indicated the child’s identity, and police thought it had something to do with Tara’s disappearance. The letters were sent around the same time a psychic had called about Tara, saying she had met a runaway in California with whom she worked at a strip club, and this girl was eventually murdered. This psychic said she had dreams believing the runaway may have been Tara and she may be buried in California. No searches lead to anything. These photos were given to the FBI in hopes that they’d be able to get fingerprints or some DNA from them to try to determine who sent them.

Two other Polaroid photos have come to light over the years. The first was found near a construction site in Montecito, California. The photo is of a girl’s face with tape covering her mouth and light blue striped fabric behind her, looking similar to the pillow in the Toyota van photo. This photo is blurry and was not taken until June 1989, determined by the film it was taken with.

The second photo shows a woman who is loosely bound in gauze, with her eyes covered with gauze and large black framed glasses. There is a male passenger beside her on an Amtrak train. This film was not available until February 1990. Patty thought the first photo found could be Tara, but that the second one probably was a gag.

In 2008, the sheriff of Valencia County, Rene Rivera, had gotten information that two teenagers had accidentally hit Tara Calico with a truck, panicked and then killed her. Rivera said the boys knew Tara, and had driven up behind her in a truck before hitting her. Rivera knew the names of the two boys, but without a body he could not do much with the information. Rivera also never released the evidence that made him believe this was a possibility.

Tara’s stepfather, John Doel, said that Rivera should never have made these claims if he was not willing to arrest anyone and that strong circumstantial evidence should be enough for a conviction.

In October 2013, a 6 person task force was developed to look into Tara’s disappearance again. As of 2017, no arrests have been made and the case is still open.

On October 1, 2019, the FBI announced a reward of up to $20,000 for precise details leading to the identification or location of Tara and information leading to the arrest and conviction of anyone who might be responsible for her disappearance.

In September 2021, the Valencia County Sheriff’s Office and the New Mexico Sate Police issued a statement that there is a new lead in Tara’s case, and that the focus of a sealed warrant for an unknown residence within Valencia County has been issued. There are no further details.

#UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #unsolved #Crime #true crime #murder #disappearance #missing person #mystery

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humilityindebauchery-blog · 4 years

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The Price

by Neil Gaiman

Tramps and vagabonds have marks they make on gateposts and trees and doors, letting others of their kind know a little about the people who live at the houses and farms they pass on their travels. I think cats must leave similar signs; how else to explain the cats who turn up at our door through the year, hungry and flea-ridden and abandoned?

We take them in. We get rid of the fleas and the ticks, feed them and take them to the vet. We pay for them to get their shots, and, indignity upon indignity, we have them neutered or spayed.

And they stay with us, for a few months, or for a year, or for ever.

Most of them arrive in summer. We live in the country, just the right distance out of town for the city-dwellers to abandon their cats near us.

We never seem to have more than eight cats, rarely have less than three. The cat population of my house is currently as follows: Hermione and Pod, tabby and black respectively, the mad sisters who live in my attic office, and do not mingle; Princess, the blue-eyed long-haired white cat, who lived wild in the woods for years before she gave up her wild ways for soft sofas and beds; and, last but largest, Furball, Princess's cushion-like calico long-haired daughter, orange and black and white, whom I discovered as a tiny kitten in our garage one day, strangled and almost dead, her head poked through an old badminton net, and who surprised us all by not dying but instead growing up to be the best-natured cat I have ever encountered.

And then there is the black cat. Who has no other name than the Black Cat, and who turned up almost a month ago. We did not realise he was going to be living here at first: he looked too well-fed to be a stray, too old and jaunty to have been abandoned. He looked like a small panther, and he moved like a patch of night.

One day, in the summer, he was lurking about our ramshackle porch: eight or nine years old, at a guess, male, greenish-yellow of eye, very friendly, quite unperturbable. I assumed he belonged to a neighbouring farmer or household.

I went away for a few weeks, to finish writing a book, and when I came home he was still on our porch, living in an old cat- bed one of the children had found for him. He was, however, almost unrecognisable. Patches of fur had gone, and there were deep scratches on his grey skin. The tip of one ear was chewed away. There was a gash beneath one eye, a slice gone from one lip. He looked tired and thin.

We took the Black Cat to the vet, where we got him some antibiotics, which we fed him each night, along with soft cat food.

We wondered who he was fighting. Princess, our white, beautiful, near-feral queen? Raccoons? A rat-tailed, fanged possum?

Each night the scratches would be worse -- one night his side would be chewed-up; the next, it would be his underbelly, raked with claw marks and bloody to the touch.

When it got to that point, I took him down to the basement to recover, beside the furnace and the piles of boxes. He was surprisingly heavy, the Black Cat, and I picked him up and carried him down there, with a cat-basket, and a litter bin, and some food and water. I closed the door behind me. I had to wash the blood from my hands, when I left the basement.

He stayed down there for four days. At first he seemed too weak to feed himself: a cut beneath one eye had rendered him almost one-eyed, and he limped and lolled weakly, thick yellow pus oozing from the cut in his lip.

I went down there every morning and every night, and I fed him, and gave him antibiotics, which I mixed with his canned food, and I dabbed at the worst of the cuts, and spoke to him. He had diarrhoea, and, although I changed his litter daily, the basement stank evilly.

The four days that the Black Cat lived in the basement were a bad four days in my house: the baby slipped in the bath, and banged her head, and might have drowned; I learned that a project I had set my heart on -- adapting Hope Mirrlees' novel Lud in the Mist for the BBC -- was no longer going to happen, and I realised that I did not have the energy to begin again from scratch, pitching it to other networks, or to other media; my daughter left for Summer Camp, and immediately began to send home a plethora of heart-tearing letters and cards, five or six each day, imploring us to take her away; my son had some kind of fight with his best friend, to the point that they were no longer on speaking terms; and returning home one night, my wife hit a deer, who ran out in front of the car. The deer was killed, the car was left undriveable, and my wife sustained a small cut over one eye.

By the fourth day, the cat was prowling the basement, walking haltingly but impatiently between the stacks of books and comics, the boxes of mail and cassettes, of pictures and of gifts and of stuff. He mewed at me to let him out and, reluctantly, I did so.

He went back onto the porch, and slept there for the rest of the day.

The next morning there were deep, new gashes in his flanks, and clumps of black cat-hair -- his -- covered the wooden boards of the porch.

Letters arrived that day from my daughter, telling us that Camp was going better, and she thought she could survive a few days; my son and his friend sorted out their problem, although what the argument was about -- trading cards, computer games, Star Wars or A Girl -- I would never learn. The BBC Executive who had vetoed Lud in the Mist was discovered to have been taking bribes (well, 'questionable loans') from an independent production company, and was sent home on permanent leave: his successor, I was delighted to learn, when she faxed me, was the woman who had initially proposed the project to me before leaving the BBC.

I thought about returning the Black Cat to the basement, but decided against it. Instead, I resolved to try and discover what kind of animal was coming to our house each night, and from there to formulate a plan of action -- to trap it, perhaps.

For birthdays and at Christmas my family gives me gadgets and gizmos, pricy toys which excite my fancy but, ultimately, rarely leave their boxes. There is a food dehydrator and an electric carving knife, a bread-making machine, and, last year's present, a pair of see-in-the-dark binoculars. On Christmas Day I had put the batteries into the binoculars, and had walked about the basement in the dark, too impatient even to wait until nightfall, stalking a flock of imaginary Starlings. (You were warned not to turn it on in the light: that would have damaged the binoculars, and quite possibly your eyes as well.) Afterwards I had put the device back into its box, and it sat there still, in my office, beside the box of computer cables and forgotten bits and pieces.

Perhaps, I thought, if the creature, dog or cat or raccoon or what-have-you, were to see me sitting on the porch, it would not come, so I took a chair into the box-and-coat-room, little larger than a closet, which overlooks the porch, and, when everyone in the house was asleep, I went out onto the porch, and bade the Black Cat goodnight.

That cat, my wife had said, when he first arrived, is a person. And there was something very person-like in his huge, leonine face: his broad black nose, his greenish-yellow eyes, his fanged but amiable mouth (still leaking amber pus from the right lower lip).

I stroked his head, and scratched him beneath the chin, and wished him well. Then I went inside, and turned off the light on the porch.

I sat on my chair, in the darkness inside the house, with the see-in-the-dark binoculars on my lap. I had switched the binoculars on, and a trickle of greenish light came from the eyepieces.

Time passed, in the darkness.

I experimented with looking at the darkness with the binoculars, learning to focus, to see the world in shades of green. I found myself horrified by the number of swarming insects I could see in the night air: it was as if the night world were some kind of nightmarish soup, swimming with life. Then I lowered the binoculars from my eyes, and stared out at the rich blacks and blues of the night, empty and peaceful and calm.

Time passed. I struggled to keep awake, found myself profoundly missing cigarettes and coffee, my two lost addictions. Either of them would have kept my eyes open. But before I had tumbled too far into the world of sleep and dreams a yowl from the garden jerked me fully awake. I fumbled the binoculars to my eyes, and was disappointed to see that it was merely Princess, the white cat, streaking across the front garden like a patch of greenish-white light. She vanished into the woodland to the left of the house, and was gone.

I was about to settle myself back down, when it occurred to me to wonder what exactly had startled Princess so, and I began scanning the middle distance with the binoculars, looking for a huge raccoon, a dog, or a vicious possum. And there was indeed something coming down the driveway, towards the house. I could see it through the binoculars, clear as day.

It was the Devil.

I had never seen the Devil before, and, although I had written about him in the past, if pressed would have confessed that I had no belief in him, other than as an imaginary figure, tragic and Miltonion. The figure coming up the driveway was not Milton's Lucifer. It was the Devil.

My heart began to pound in my chest, to pound so hard that it hurt. I hoped it could not see me, that, in a dark house, behind window-glass, I was hidden.

The figure flickered and changed as it walked up the drive. One moment it was dark, bull-like, minotaurish, the next it was slim and female, and the next it was a cat itself, a scarred, huge grey-green wildcat, its face contorted with hate.

There are steps that lead up to my porch, four white wooden steps in need of a coat of paint (I knew they were white, although they were, like everything else, green through my binoculars). At the bottom of the steps, the Devil stopped, and called out something that I could not understand, three, perhaps four words in a whining, howling language that must have been old and forgotten when Babylon was young; and, although I did not understand the words, I felt the hairs raise on the back of my head as it called.

And then I heard, muffled through the glass, but still audible, a low growl, a challenge, and, slowly, unsteadily, a black figure walked down the steps of the house, away from me, toward the Devil. These days the Black Cat no longer moved like a panther, instead he stumbled and rocked, like a sailor only recently returned to land.

The Devil was a woman, now. She said something soothing and gentle to the cat, in a tongue that sounded like French, and reached out a hand to him. He sank his teeth into her arm, and her lip curled, and she spat at him.

The woman glanced up at me, then, and if I had doubted that she was the Devil before, I was certain of it now: the woman's eyes flashed red fire at me; but you can see no red through the night-vision binoculars, only shades of a green. And the Devil saw me, through the window. It saw me. I am in no doubt about that at all.

The Devil twisted and writhed, and now it was some kind of jackal, a flat-faced, huge-headed, bull-necked creature, halfway between a hyena and a dingo. There were maggots squirming in its mangy fur, and it began to walk up the steps.

The Black Cat leapt upon it, and in seconds they became a rolling, writhing thing, moving faster than my eyes could follow.

All this in silence.

And then a low roar -- down the country road at the bottom of our drive, in the distance, lumbered a late-night truck, its blazing headlights burning bright as green suns through the binoculars. I lowered them from my eyes, and saw only darkness, and the gentle yellow of headlights, and then the red of rear lights as it vanished off again into the nowhere at all.

When I raised the binoculars once more there was nothing to be seen. Only the Black Cat, on the steps, staring up into the air. I trained the binoculars up, and saw something flying away - - a vulture, perhaps, or an eagle -- and then it flew beyond the trees and was gone.

I went out onto the porch, and picked up the Black Cat, and stroked him, and said kind, soothing things to him. He mewled piteously when I first approached him, but, after a while, he went to sleep on my lap, and I put him into his basket, and went upstairs to my bed, to sleep myself. There was dried blood on my tee shirt and jeans, the following morning.

That was a week ago.

The thing that comes to my house does not come every night. But it comes most nights: we know it by the wounds on the cat, and the pain I can see in those leonine eyes. He has lost the use of his front left paw, and his right eye has closed for good.

I wonder what we did to deserve the Black Cat. I wonder who sent him. And, selfish and scared, I wonder how much more he has to give.

=ENDS=

2400 words

Neil Gaiman

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tarotbudista · 3 years

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Tara Calico desapareció un día que salió en bicicleta y nunca más apareció. Hubieron muchas teorías sobre su desaparición y la policía parecía estar implicada.

La Misteriosa Desaparición de Tara Calico

La tenebrosa desaparición de Tara Calico

El 20 de septiembre del año 1988, en la ciudad de Nuevo México, Tara salió de su casa en bicicleta con la intención de dar un paseo por la misma ruta de siempre, cerca de su casa. Era una joven de 19 años a la cual le gustaba hacer deporte y disfrutar del aire libre.

Debía volver antes de las 12:30 ya que había quedado con su novio en jugar tenis a esa hora. La hora pactada llegó, y al no ver a Tara aparecer en la casa, su mamá, Patty Doel, decidió ir a buscarla, sin suerte alguna. La desesperación invadió a su madre, por lo que decidió buscar ayuda con La policía.

Varios vecinos declararon que efectivamente la habían visto pasear con su bicicleta en su ruta acostumbrada, lo cual, no aportó ningún indicio de secuestro o algo que le pudiera ocurrir, solo se sabía que había estado montando bicicleta por la estatal 47.

Sin embargo, las sospechas fueron creciendo conforme se interrogaban a más personas, ya que muchas versiones de los testigos coincidían en que habían visto dos vehículos: una camioneta de principios de los años 50 de color azul y otra furgoneta marca Toyota, persiguiendo a Tara mientras montaba bicicleta.

Otro dato que confirmaría la versión del secuestro, es que varios testigos afirmaron ver a los conductores con walkie talkies, esto les llevó a concluir que se estaban comunicando entre ellos. Por lo que las autoridades decidieron comenzar una investigación como secuestro.

Hallazgo revelador

Entre los voluntarios que salieron en la búsqueda, estaba Patty Doel, la madre de Tara. Cuando se encontraba en la estatal 47 encontró un cassette y parte del walkman de su hija, lo cual reconoció rápidamente. Ambos objetos los encontró a unos 19 kilómetros de la casa, una distancia muy larga que no habría hecho su hija, por lo que intuyó que era un rastro que ella podía haber dejado. No obstante, la policía desestimó la evidencia creyendo que no era un indicio claro, pues podría pertenecer a cualquiera.

Unos meses después, el 20 de junio de 1989, aparece una fotografía en el estacionamiento de un centro comercial de Port St. Joe (Florida). Aquel hallazgo sería revelador e inquietante al mismo tiempo para los investigadores.

En la fotografía se podía apreciar a una joven y un niño de unos 10 años, maniatados y amordazados con cinta para que no puidieran moverse. En un principio se dudó de la veracidad de la foto, sin embargo, Patty Doel al verla logró identificar inmediatamente a la joven como su hija.

Pero para la policía no fueron prueba definitivas de que la joven sea la misma Tara.

Lo que no les importó a la familia, ya que estaban convencidos de que si era ella. Tenían afirmaciones más allá del parecido facial, ya que habían observado elementos en la foto que corroboraba su creencia, como una cicatriz en la pierna, y también se observó un libro que aparece junto a la joven, la novela de terror gótica “Mi dulce Audrina”, la cual era el libro favorito de Tara.

Además, también se observaron unos números en la fotografía original, los que no se pueden ver en las imágenes que circulan por Internet por la baja calidad de las mismas. Esos números podrían significar dos cosas, o bien un número de teléfono o bien unas coordenadas.

Sin embargo, lo que sí pudieron notar es la fecha en la que se tomó la foto, que fue después del mes de mayo de 1989, eso se logró gracias a que sabían la cámara con la que había sido tomada. Gracias a eso podían deducir que era muy posible que Tara siguiera con vida, aunque aún no sabían quién era el otro niño que aparecía en la foto.

Hipótesis de la desaparición de Tara Calico

https://contactoparanormal.net/la-misteriosa-desaparicion-de-tara-calico/

#tara calico

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aprillikesthings · 6 years

Text

In retrospect, I feel bad for my poor ballet teacher when I was a kid.

The only reason I got to take ballet at all was because we were living on the American military base in Keflavik, Iceland (which closed in 2006). We moved there in 1989, the summer before I started 5th grade, and left in December of 1991, partway through 7th grade.

The base had a youth center with a dance studio--a term I use loosely at best. There was a hardwood floor and a barre on two walls, but the “mirrors” were some kind of plastic foil over styrofoam.

And I had the luck of living on the base at the same time as a military wife who in her younger years had been in the corps de ballet of the company in St. Louis, and wanted to make some income. And so she taught ballet, jazz, and adult ballroom; all for very cheap. I remember my mom looking at a hand-written and mimeographed fee sheet and asking if I wanted to take ballet and, as a very girly nine-year-old, I said HECK, YES! And so I started weekly classes.

I can remember my teacher, the first time I showed up, manipulating my feet and ankles and noting that I had a tendency towards sickled foot and mildly bowed legs.

And in retrospect, I feel genuine sympathy for that teacher: I had undiagnosed ADHD, and unbeknownst to anyone, was about to fall into my first episode of major depression. (Yes, ten year olds can have major depression. No, I was never officially diagnosed or treated. But trust me on this.)

She was frustrated by my inconsistent attention span, and my inability to ever be still, and my tendency to be a class clown. But that was the first time I learned that certain kinds of physical activity could bring a sharp clarity to my mind that I’d never experienced, and a specific flavor of joy that nothing else could replicate. My ballet classes (which eventually were bumped up to twice a week) were the one bright spot in my life, a haven where effort brought reward, and where I could, sometimes, sink entirely into my body instead of my mind. There were times that it was the only thing I enjoyed.

Also I could sometimes make my classmates giggle by putting one leg up on the barre, collapsing my torso onto it with my arms dangling, and pretending to snore. (The very idea of being that flexible now--I was mad that I couldn’t do the splits!)

If I close my eyes I can still hear the opening notes of the cassette tape the teacher played every single glass for the start of barre work. Plié and tendu and rond de jambe and frappé, which we always called “popcorn” due to the sound of a dozen-and-change girls rhythmically striking their feet against that hardwood floor.

Our teacher managed to put together performances of The Nutcracker three years in a row. Never mind that there were less than thirty school-aged kids (all girls) taking ballet at any given time, or that our Christmas tree (the only backdrop, and hung in front of the screen of the theater where they showed movies) was cut out of green felt with decorations of painted and foil-wrapped cardboard, or that our music was from a cassette tape. It seemed like half the community was involved--the cabaret belly dancer (another military wife) who did floorwork for the Arabian scene, the adult ballroom students in the opening party scene, the newscaster who was Mother Ginger. Half the costumes were ordered months ahead of time from a catalog because it took so long to ship to an FPO address, and the rest were made by dance moms, like the felt mice costumes, or the peasant tops and calico skirts for the Russian scene. The whole production was held together with prayer, hope, and a lot of moms.

That first year, with only a few months of classes under my belt, all I did was waltz of the flowers. My costume was a knee-length tutu of hard tulle and a satin leotard--which I had grown out of by the time it arrived, so my mom sewed an extra gusset in the crotch where no one would see. It was all in a shade of lavender.

The second year, I did either six or eight parts--with moms backstage to hurriedly get us from one costume to the next if we were in back-to-back scenes.

The third year I danced in another half-dozen scenes--which included a solo as the snow queen.

It’s been twenty-six years, and I can still remember nearly every step, even when I can’t remember their names. My first entrance as snow queen: sweep my leg up to the side as I went up on half-point, bring it down, do a little side-step and turn, and repeat. Second entrance was arabesque and hop, arabesque and hop with the other leg, a jump turn that ended with another arabesque, hold it for a second, repeat. I can still remember the odd kicky little foot pattern we used to come onstage for the Russian scene, and that I was the first one to nail it--and how, at the end of that scene, after several fast turns, we’d end by drop onto one knee with the opposite arm up, and I fell over every single rehearsal, but never did once on stage, panting from exertion and smiling with victory. I can remember the scuffling and scurrying of the mouse scene. I was a girl in the party scene my second year and a boy my third year. I remember that by my third year I refused to be in the waltz of the flowers again because it went on forever and I didn’t even like the music! (It’s still my least favorite piece from The Nutcracker.) Both my second and third years I was in the grand finale--as a flower my second year, and reprising my role as snow queen my third year.

I can remember that my teacher realized that the best way to keep me out of trouble while rehearsing other people’s parts was to just let me dance behind them if I wanted--I can still do the candy canes’ entire choreography, even though I was never in that scene. It had a lot of hopping. I always did like jumps the best.

Each year we had three performances. My parents always attended one, and my dad videotaped it the second and third years--those tapes are still somewhere at my parents’ house.

I walked home from my last performance my third (and last) year, only to have my mom shout at me--we were scheduled to move back stateside in less than a week, and she’d been cleaning the house for inspection and discovered the spot on my bedroom wall where I’d been marking my increasing height in graphite pencil.

After we moved, my parents informed me that there was just no possibility of my continuing to take ballet. The nearest lessons were too long of a drive and many times more expensive. I still don’t know if my parents realize how much I mourned the loss at the time, especially since 7th grade was a particularly hard year for me and I could have used the respite. But even then, I knew I wasn’t as good as other girls my age who’d started younger and with more serious studios, because a classmate of mine in gym class was taking classes at the same studio my parents couldn’t afford, and like me, was prone to start dancing at any moment, and she was far better than I ever was. Going from being one of the bigger fish in a truly tiny pond to something so much more intensely competitive might have killed my spirit worse than being forced to quit. But that’s easy for me to say now.

For the next decade and change, every time I found myself on an empty stretch of hardwood floor, I would pull off my shoes to do the snow queen’s second entrance. If I was standing around in the kitchen I would catch myself doing barre work. Smelling floor rosin made me long for the music on that worn-out cassette tape at the start of every class.

I never did get pointe shoes--my teacher wanted me to be more disciplined first.

#I was a kid at the time and this was over two decades ago so my memory isn't perfect #my life #ballet #dance #yeah when my work goes back to swing I'm gonna look up adult beginner classes

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track-stars-kuci · 3 years

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03.12.21

Yves Tumor- Noid- Safe In The Hands of Love

Broadcast- The Book Lovers- Work And Non Work

Siouxsie and the Banshees- Monitor- Juju

The Breeders- Safari- Safari

Enon- Sarcastic- Hocus Pocus

Yeah Yeah Yeahs- Y Control- Fever To Tell

Metric- Combat Baby- Old World Underground, Where Are You Now?

Jack Off Jill- Love Song- Clear Hearts Grey Flowers

Pabst- Kiss Me- Kiss Me ***

Chokecherry- PONY- Chokecherry ***

Starcrawler- Hollywood Ending- Devour You

Sorry- Starstruck- Starstruck

Pretty Sick- Superstar- Deep Divine

PJ Harvey- Good Fortune (Demo) Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea ***

The Drums- When I Come Home- MOMMY DON’T SPANK ME ***

Julien Baker- Favor- Little Oblivions ***

Lush- For Love- Spooky

Psychedelic Porn Crumpets- Mr.Prism- SHYGA! The Sunlight Mound ***

Psychedelic Porn Crumpets- Glitter Bug- SHYGA! The Sunlight Mound ***

Fever the Ghost- Calico- Crab in Honey

Lunachicks- Missed It- Pretty Ugly

Slant 6- What Kind of Monster Are You?- Soda Pop Rip Off

Red Aunts- Kung Fu Kitten- Drag

The Clientele- We Could Walk Together- Suburban Light

Deerhunter- Circulation- Rainwater Cassette Exchange

No Age- Agitating Moss- No Age

Brian Jonestown Massacre- It Girl- Thank God For Mental Illness

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edgar-allan-foe · 7 years

Text

[nameless short story]

Word Count: almost 2k with a crap ton of talking/fluff

A/N: I haven’t been writing in a long time since college kind of sucked the life out of me for five years; however, I’ve been having a lot of personal issues arise lately and I find this as a coping mechanism (especially with my job/boss). ps - im sick D:

Shout-out to @tinny-tin, @lloyd-g, and @stiles-derpinski for being awesome and wanting to see my work.

All I see is red and blue. Everywhere. This kid is going to end up giving me a heart attack. It’s a Wednesday night and usually Peter is coming home from band practice, but in the last six months I’ve seen nothing from this boy – no instruments, no science projects gone wrong, just nothing. I feel like I’m losing him all over again since Ben. That boy was Ben’s entire world let me tell you. The way he boasted about winning the regional science fair two years in a row to how Peter was selected for Midtown’s academic bowl, his eyes glistened with tears of joy. It was as if Peter was his son this entire time.

Tonight, I lie awake worrying about this boy like I usually do. It was taco night since yesterday I saw no trace of him until he got up today to get to school. But like Ben, Peter would never voice what was rattling in his head…what kept him out all night. I always tell myself that I hope he’s talking to Ben somehow through all of this, for us. As I start to drift away from following the news as background noise and beginning a new knitting project, I hear the back window crack just slightly. At this point, the creaks and leaks throughout this apartment don’t phase me, they just give the place character.

“Crap!”

“Who’s out there!?” I screamed. I am not the type to fight, but I was boiling over with the constant absences of Peter these past couple days. It’s like this kid doesn’t have a home. I grab my extra knitting needle and tuck it underneath my skirt. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone use one of these for self-defense in any crime show, but it’s worth a shot on being creative and terrified all at once. I hear the window squeak once more as I inch closer to my nephew’s room. One could easily shrug this off as the wind or an alley cat, but with all the horrible things happening in the neighborhood recently, I am not in any position to risk it. I place my hand by my hip, ready to grab the needle, and swing the door right open to a –

“AUNT MAY! Jesus! Put that thing down!”

“Peter! PETER!? Where the hell have you been?” I shouted. I hated yelling at my boy like this, but there was no other way to let it all out. “Y’know…I’ve made dinner, did your laundry, even ironed your decathlon jacket, and not once have I even heard you say ‘thank you’. I’m getting so tired…so frustrated. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.” I sit on the edge of the bed ready to start crying. These tears have been busting to come out for the past two weeks and it was time to let out Niagara Falls.

“May…please…stop. Don’t cry.” Peter was the sweetest kid you could ever imagine. Have you ever seen those 60s commercials for baby food where the perfect child with the biggest eyes and soft, angelic curls just makes a mess with mashed peaches and greens? That was Peter. Most definitely my boy, but fast-forwarded 15 years. When he was born, I use to call him ‘PB’ for short – Peter Benjamin Parker. His newborn locks would just sit on the sides of his face, tempting you to push them behind those ears and make room for all that gushing. He was a good kid. A lovely little thing. I slowly drop the knitting needle to the floor and embrace Peter for a long-deserved hug.

“Aunt May, I can explain. I know I haven’t been home a lot and I swear, I’ll –”

“Peter, I know you’re lying.”

“May, I love you and I am so sorry. It’s just this internship means everything to me. I know I haven’t been open with everything that has been happening, but it’s some seriously awesome stuff you wouldn’t believe it! Like today at school, I found out that I can use the gravity formula from Mr. Watson’s physics homework to detect the angle in which the Iron-Man suit needs to be elevated to reach maximum speeds for flight! Like it was the coolest thing ever to even think of stuff like that. Oh, and –”

“Okay, okay. Enough Peter. I get it, you love what you do. But promise me something,” I took a deep breath before I can finish my sentence. “Just come home, please. We – erh, I mean ‘I’ – I miss you, honey.” It’s so hard to not include Ben in every little bit of Peter’s life. They were always together and I know in my heart he would be so proud. After calming down a bit, I noticed on the edge of Peter’s eyebrow some small bruising. It was fresh, at least within the last couple hours. I’ve gotten so use to this child getting beat up, I almost expect it. Last time he came home with a black eye, he mentioned a kid named Steve from Brooklyn. Not entirely sure what Peter would be doing over there so late at night…it took at least 30 minutes without traffic to even make it to the outskirts Prospect Park – Peter’s favorite place since he was a little one. Also, doesn’t Ned live 2 blocks from us? I cannot even begin to describe how many times I’ve seen Ned in the past week looking for Peter. It’s as if he’s forgotten about his best friend too.

“I swear…every time I feel like I’m on to something and report back to Happy…I end up not being so happy…with myself”, I whispered. I shrug off my blue sweater throw my backpack in the corner. I think that was a first for me to even remember where I place my backpack nowadays. I didn’t do too much in the suit today; in fact, I didn’t even do anything at all. I swung around and helped an elderly man get his cat from inside a dumpster. Quite large. Very fluffy. Calico? I took a few photos of some pigeons. Oh, and escaped a near arrest yet again! I should try to be more careful when interacting with cops, but hey, it happens. A lot of what I’ve been doing since school’s been out hasn’t been all too much. I wouldn’t even try calling it “crime fighting”. I finally perfected my training wheels protocol for shooting web grenades down by Coney though! That was amazing on how precise my vision has become with the new suit…or Karen. Should I even call her Karen? Where did I even come up with the name for Karen? Anywho, from now on I’ll have to respect both suit and her.

My reports have gotten a lot less action-ey if you could call it that. With all the focus on just utilizing the suit without Mr. Stark replacing the tracking system, I feel a bit lost honestly. Not much is happening now in the concrete jungle. Summer is practically gone. I can smell the new textbooks in my locker already and the musk of Midtown’s hallways by the main office. It’s as if the world knows who I really am now, especially now with Mr. Toomes in jail. I slip back on my mask and make sure the bedroom door is locked. May hates it when I lock the door, so I’ve developed a new habit of playing some of my cassettes when I’m home. She seems to be liking my taste recently. I made a recent shift to listening to classic rock when building Lego empires with Ned or doing homework. It replaces the need for me to talk everyone to death, including myself.

“Hello, Peter. Lovely evening, isn’t it? What’s with the music?” Karen is quite charming when activated I must say.

“Nothing, I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Well…you got me. Would you like me to initiate night mode for you?” It’s gotten quite dark since I came back. My eyes usually dim to the size of a rice grain since the bite. It’s been harder to really keep focus too when I’m reading. “Sure! Thanks Karen! I don’t thank you enough really”, I replied. “So…Karen…what can you tell me about…emotions?” I had no idea where to start. Quite frankly, I am known for terrible first impressions. Most say I’m a world record holder in that.

“Okay. According Webster’s dictionary, emotions are defined as an intuitive or instinctive mental state based on reason, recent events, or your surroundings.” She does this a lot, so I let her talk.

“Alriiiiight. What can you tell me about falling in love?”

“Is this about Liz? Go tell her, she would love to hear what you really feel about her.”

“I –I can’t. You know I am the reason she’s moving to Oregon.” My eyes are beginning to water so much, it’s hard to really keep it from destroying the mask. Karen is known to start the vacuum inside to keep it dry. She’s like May 2.0 really. “I’m sorry Karen, I feel like I’m pushing everyone away with being Spider-Man. I know what I am and who I am, but I don’t know what I want. I know I want something outside of this Stark-universe. I want to be a normal teenager again.”

“But you are, Peter.” She deactivated the vacuum so her AI voice resonates a bit clearer. “You’re showing your emotions right now and that is what makes you normal. It’s part of growing up.” My sobbing has mellowed out to that of a puppy huffing in it’s sleep.

“You’re right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Goodnight Karen.” I peeled off the mask before I could even hear a response.

“Goodnight Peter.”

#spiderman: hoco #It's Spiderman related #spiderman homecoming #peter parker #aunt may #spiderman: homecoming #fanfic #mcu #i dont know how to input a gif #sorry my writing sucks #personal #writer #tom holland

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hyaenagallery · 5 years

Photo

Tara Leigh Calico (1969 - ?) is an American woman who disappeared near her home in Belen, New Mexico. She is widely believed to have been kidnapped. On Tuesday, September 20, 1988, Calico left her home at about 9:30 am to go on her daily bike ride along New Mexico State Road 47. She rode that route almost every morning and was sometimes accompanied by her mother, Patty Doel. However, Doel stopped riding with Calico after she felt that she had been stalked by a motorist. She advised Tara to think about carrying mace, but Tara rejected the idea. On the morning of Calico's disappearance, she had told Doel to come and get her if she was not home by noon, as she had plans to play tennis with her boyfriend at 12:30. When her daughter did not return, Doel went searching for her along Tara's usual bike route but could not find her; she then contacted the police. Several people saw Calico riding her bicycle, which has never been found. Pieces of Calico's Sony Walkman and a cassette tape were later discovered along the road. Doel believed that she might have dropped them in an attempt to mark her trail. No one witnessed her presumed abduction, although several witnesses observed a light-colored pickup truck (possibly a 1953 Ford) with a camper shell following closely behind her. On June 15, 1989, a Polaroid photo of an unidentified young woman and a boy, both gagged with black duct tape and seemingly bound, was discovered in the parking lot of a convenience store in Port St. Joe, Florida. The woman who found the photo said that it was in a parking space where a white windowless Toyota cargo van had been parked when she arrived at the store. She said that the van was being driven by a man with a mustache believed to be in his 30s. Police set up roadblocks to intercept the vehicle, but the man has never been identified. According to Polaroid officials, the picture had to have been taken after May 1989 because the particular film used in the photograph was not available until then. The photo was broadcast on A Current Affair in July, and Doel was contacted by friends who had seen the show and thought the woman resembled Calico. #destroytheday https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt6L83aBdjz/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=mlfgjcycjeo5

#destroytheday

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littleohanaolivia · 7 years

Text

Tape It Up

And so, I found this game in Google Play. It’s awesome and adorable. There are “characters” for you to choose from and unlock and there’s description for each of them too, I haven’t unlock everything but here’s what I can get so far (Whether or not I unlocked them already or not):

Red: Works at the post office

Duct Tape: As icky as it is sticky.

Purple: A friend of red’s.

Mighty Duct: We are Ducts, and Ducts tape together!

Kitty Cat: Here kitty, kitty.

Roller: They see it rollin, they hatin.

Paint Brush: AKA #FFFFFF

Tabby Cat: Must... Stay... Awake...

Cassette: Dude, how old are you?

Stapler: Can never find one when you need it.

Russian Cat: Those eyes though...

Toilet Paper: Life is too short to use one-ply toilet paper.

Lucky Meal Fries: So Belgian, yet much French!

Lucky Meal Burger: Not to be confused with that cheerful meal.

Lucky Meal Cola: Diet please.

Milk: Got cookies?

Bacon: Because bacon.

Frog: Don’t kiss it, but don’t throw it at the wall, either.

Film: Worlds Finest Grain!

Toothpaste: Three times a day, keeps the dentist away!

Yellow Cartridge: Doesn’t work? Blow in it.

Sad Rabbit: Don’t cry bunny rabbit.

Butter: I can’t believe it’s not...Oh, it is.

Gamekid: 90s kid will remember.

Hamster: Hamuchan! Ka...Kawaii!!!

Coffee: Our developer’s favorite drink.

Red Cartridge: Is that an Italian plumber I see?

Cloud: Uploading...

Doggy: Let’s play catch!

3.5 Floppy: Warning: Not a save button!

Octopus: How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?

Happy Rabbit: There, there bunny rabbit.

Employee #427: Relishes nothing more than following orders.

Taco: It’s Taco Tuesday!

Mini Old One: I! I! Mini fhtagn!

Instagrab: Let’s take a selfie.

Head of the Dead: Dude, where my body?

Dynamite: Destroys obstacles at given intervals. (Tee-hee)

Mummy: Are you my mummy?

T-I-U Arcade: Hey kid, got a quarter?

Yellow Roller: The color of stars.

Green: A friend of purple’s.

Calico Cat: Loves taking naps inside the boxes.

Green Cartridge: It’s dangerous to go alone! Take...huh?

Lv.99 Boss: Think you can defeat it?

Blue Roller: As blue as the ocean.

Thundercloud: Always in a bad mood.

Ketchup: A close friend of Fries.

Mephone 7: Waterproof!

Double Trouble: Better together.

Police Tape: Don’t cross this line.

Nebula S: This phone will “blow” your mind.

Red Dragon: Enjoys celebrating with fireworks.

Panda: No, this one doesn’t know Kung Fu.

Ninja Scroll: As swift as the wind.

Dino Costume: Well, this one can’t make bubbles!

Subway Line #2: The busiest line.

Mayonnaise: When egg yolk meets vinegar.

Videotape: Where can I rent one?

Sandwich: Perfect for picnics.

Watermelon: Don’t spit out the seeds, they’re nutritional!

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