Monday, March 27


Ok, so Elroy had a science paper on genetic heredity 
and for the project had to 'breed' Sesame Street Muppets and 
use Punnet squares to predict what traits the offspring would inherit. 
He decided that this felt like forced breeding and so the only ethical solution was for him to send in a team to rescue said muppets from their captivity. His science teacher was quite impressed by his backstory, and he was able to expand his story into a creative writing assignment as well. 
I told him that if he continued the original story, I would post it on my blog 
(as well as the fan site Archive of Our Own, or AO3).
So, here it is (after I did some editing for him). 

*Trigger Warning for implied non-con/ forced breeding, 
non-graphic violence, and major character death*  


In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a government ‘dark-ops’ facility stood hidden from the public eye. The facility was built for the sole purpose of capturing, containing, and investigating possible threats. This included two Muppets from Sesame Street who had recently quit due to the outrageously low pay and were waiting to be released back into society. The successful mission captured Zoe and Grover in order to discover why the Muppets became sentient.

One year later

The Sesame Street Squad, or SSS for short, is comprised of former Sesame Street Muppets. Cookie Monster, Abby Cadabby, Aloysius Snuffleupagus (CODENAME: Snuffy), and Count von Count (CODENAME: The Count) made up this elite team. While on the run from the agency that had taken Grover and Zoe, these fugitives had spent the last few years looking for their friends. It had taken them an entire year of undercover recon, but they finally found the facility. After being dropped from 3000 feet above the facility, they parachuted onto the helicopter pad.

The team cautiously entered the stark white building only to be met with bodies wearing guard uniforms on the floor and blood on the walls.

“Cookie you are on lookout; Snuffy and Count find some intel on what happened here” Abby ordered.
“Yes boss” the team responded simultaneously.
“Boss! Abby, we found something . . .’ the Count and Snuffy exclaimed. 
Their ominous tone and fearful expressions drew Abby and Cookie over to see what that they had found. Snuffy and the Count were in a surveillance room with a row of screens to one side.
With a yellow folder in hand, the Count said, “I found six files. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six! Ha ha ha!” He opened them up and let the team read them silently.

CASE FILES: Sesame Breeding Facility

Experiment (CODENAME: DEVIATION) involves Subject 4H8B2 (aka: GROVER) and Subject 4H8B1 (aka: ZOE).

Subject ZOE expresses phenotype traits: exo (bulging) eyes, pink nose, red lips, orange furred body, and excessive mane-like hair growth on head.
Subject GROVER expresses phenotype traits: endo (flush) eyes, pink nose, red lips, blue furred body, and only short body hair.

Subjects have been confined for breeding.

Breeding has successfully created  Subject 4H8B3 (ABIGAIL) and Subject 4H8B4 (ZIBO). Unlike the parents, both Subjects have magenta body color.
Subject ZIBO expresses phenotype traits: exo (flush) eyes, magenta furred body, pink nose, magenta lips, and excessive mane-like hair growth on head. Subject Zibo most closely resembles Subject ZOE’s body type.
Subject ABIGAIL expresses phenotype traits: endo (bulging) eyes, magenta furred body, pink nose, purple lips, and only short body hair. Subject ABIGAIL most closely resembles Subject GROVER’s body type.

Researchers were unfamiliar with many things that were discovered. A more advanced knowledge of Subjects GROVER and ZOE was gained, however further study of all Subjects is required. Additionally, some researchers found the collection and experimentation on Subjects GROVER and ZOE to be emotionally challenging. Those researchers have since been replaced.

Subjects 4H8B1(ZOE) and 4H8B2(GROVER)  are to be removed to yield more conclusive results from Subject 4H8B3( ABIGAIL) and Subject 4H8B4 (ZIBO).

Removal to be implemented at 21:35 by security staff.

“Abby . . .” Snuffy drawls and gestures to the row of screens with his trunk. 
The rest of the team crowds in.

On the first screen, Grover and Zoe are huddled together in a stark white room when the door opens and a guard in dark military fatigues points his gun at the pair. Grover slowly stands, revealing two magenta muppets. A small scared boy who looks like Zoe and a smaller, angry girl who looks like Grover are hiding in Zoe’s embrace. The guard points impatiently. Zoe, with a horrified look from the kids to Grover, shakes her head “no” and pushes the children behind her.

A second guard grabs Zoe, pulling her away. Grover shouts while reaching out, only to convulse and fall to the floor, grabbing at the shock collar around his neck. The girl stands and shouts as the first guard hits Zoe on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and she falls to the floor, unnatutally still.

Snuffy stops the feed, gesturing to another screen.
The team moves in time to watch a guard fly and impact the wall at high speed. On the next screen, a guard drops to the ground from the ceiling. It seems like every screen is a terrifying repetition of the same violent events.
Until, on the final screen, the two magenta figures Zoe had fallen defending looked directly at the camera.

Snuffy stopped the feed.

Suddenly, the team hears giggling outside the door followed by a loud “thump”. The door opens to show two small furry figures, giggling with glee, while Cookie Monster lays un-moving in the background.
Abby draws a horrified breath, whispering “they’re supers like him.” When her vision goes black, all she can hear are the cries of her team and the same soulless giggling, this time coming from within the surveillance room.

None of the SSS team is ever seen again.

Wednesday, November 9

I needed this today . . .

Yesterday, this whole election really, was brutal.

My candidate did not win.

The winners have made walking back protections on families like mine
part of their campaign promises,
and given the VP Elect's record in Indiana I have to believe that
they will work to accomplish those promises.

So today, I needed a reminder that those communities
(Women, LGBT+, People of Color, Muslims,
Latinos, the Disabled, the Media, etc.)
that the President Elect has spent the last 18 months
ridiculing and denigrating have pulled together before.

And we will do it again.

The movement is hurting and tired,
but our momentum to make the world kinder, more inclusive
and less fearful has not been lost.

My daughters were watching this today,
and I realized just how much I needed to see a diverse group
(even one as nonsensical as multi color anthro ponies)
support one another, lift each other up and rally together to make things better.

We are stronger together.

We will make it through this.

We will protect each other.

We will not let our momentum falter.

And until then . . .

We have singing anthro ponies.

Friday, September 23

Arguing with Myself: Won’t Someone Think of the Children?

I saw something today that made the little voice in my head
(the one that doesn’t stop until I’ve written down what it has to say)
start gnashing its teeth.

As I left the parking lot where I was waiting for my wife to text me back, a pick-up truck with a confederate flag license plate pulled in.

Now, let’s be clear . . . I’m white.

Not quite blind you with reflected sunlight,
but my heritage just doesn’t get called into question.

My parents were staunch Republicans
(my dad is now an Independent and my mom is a Libertarian, *headdesk*).

In fact one of my dad’s favorite denigrating phrases, for years, was to call anyone who was at all socially progressive a
“Jane Fonda Pinko Commy Faggot.”
It was his favorite insult up until about a decade and a half ago.

My mom (who now denies this conversation ever took place) told me point blank that gay couples shouldn’t be able to get married because the law to legalize same sex marriage (this was probably around 2000, not sure which specific bill) included wording allowing same sex parents to touch the genitals of their children (for things like diaper changes, and medical need) and she didn’t agree with letting pedophiles have that kind of legal loophole.

They are both lifetime members of the NRA,
and vocal Blue Lives/ All Lives Matter proponents.

Now don’t get me wrong, my parents are loving, caring people who have evolved on their views on a number of civil issues
(same sex marriage, interracial marriage,
religious discrimination, and some women’s issues).
And I don’t want to paint them as bigoted or hateful or less than the loving parents and decent human beings they are.

But this is where I came from.

And where I am desperately trying to keep from going back to.

The reason that flag got to me this morning
has to do with the world my kids are growing up in.

on video, with his hands in the air on Friday.

My sister and her husband just had a beautiful little boy, and
I don’t want him growing up in a world where he needs to be afraid of the police
because his skin has more melanin than my kids’.

I don’t want Alani’s beautiful children portrayed as thugs, criminals or sluts
because of the color of their skin.

I don’t want my cousin’s children
demonized for the religion they were raised with, that their mother chose.
For their brown complexions and dark hair and manner of dress.

All of those children deserve to be as unafraid of the police
as my white children are.

Full stop.

My children should not have to worry that their parents’ marriage
is not seen as valid, that someone’s political agenda could see our
legal marriage unmade and
Hunny forced back into a role that would have killed her.

That there are people who would use their lack of understanding, lack of compassion to destroy our family because they aren’t ok with rainbow flags.  

Our children are watching. What message are we teaching them?
What kind of a world are we leaving them? 

#I don't really do hashtags #but this is important #bigotry kills #our kids deserve better

Friday, April 22

“No More”

Since its the 10th anniversary of the beginning of my favorite Doctor’s tenure (David Tennant as the tenth), I finally decided to write the mini-sode that I wished Moffat had given us as an epilogue to the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary special. I mean, seriously . . . how hard would it have been? David Tennant and Billie Piper were both there; it wouldn’t have taken very long to shoot. Really Moffat? 

Anyway . . . Here's my post 50th mini-sode, "No More".

The peace of the darkened bedroom was broken by vague mutterings. 
The dark, sleep tousled head of the Doctor lifted from the pillow as the the small, distressed noises continued on the other side of the bed. His brown eyes widened and single heart raced as he glimpsed the troubled face of his wife,
 still trapped within her nightmare. The movement of his outstretched hand, poised to comfort or wake his beloved, arrested as her eyes snapped open.
“Rose . . .” he began, only to have the words snatched away by 
the flash of gold that obscured the whiskey brown of her eyes. 
He felt his heart hitch in its frantic rhythm as she proclaimed “No more.”

Wednesday, December 10



A while back I found this on Pinterest . . .

I was almost in tears by the end (The 10th Doctor and Rose are my favorites). On a whim, I recently began reading some of the fan fiction out there featuring the pair and this story demanded to be written.

(Warning, spoilers for events in Doomsday and Journeys End)

Inspired by the idea that it was Rose, not Jackie who was pregnant and that Ten was the father. This features Rose and Meta-Crisis Ten,
set after the events of Journeys End.

So, here it is. My first piece of fan fiction.


It only took one look at the dark haired toddler and he knew. She had lied to him, let him believe the child was her mother’s. How her heart must have broken with each false word. Stranded on that beach where his other self couldn’t reach her, when the sun burned out too soon for him to tell her how both of his hearts beat only for her. The betrayal in her eyes when his other self had refused to tell her those words when they returned to that beach. He had done it for her, and to give this self, created with only one beating heart, the chance to heal. To be redeemed.
She looked up at him, nervously brushing her short, blonde hair behind her ear. Watching the face of this new version of the man she had crossed dimensions for. Understanding dawned in his eyes and she dropped her gaze; she was afraid of the anger she felt sure his eyes would hold.
A soft hand caressed her cheek, startling a gasp from between her full lips.
“Oh, Rose. I am so sorry . . . I should have been with you.” That broken whisper in her ear, forced her to meet his sad brown eyes. “Can you forgive me for not seeing the truth sooner?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Don’t you see why I couldn’t tell you? You would have ripped the universe apart. I couldn’t bear being the cause of that.” Her soft voice trembled as tears filled her dark eyes, her broken heart still aching. There was no point in denying things now. “I waited so long, hoping that somehow My Doctor would come back for me. That we could be a real family . . . When you didn’t come for me,” she paused, visibly pulling herself together. “There was nothing for it. I had to find you. Torchwood was my best bet. I needed you. Our son does too.”
Her hope-filled eyes begged him to understand, to forgive her deception as she had forgiven his other self for leaving her behind. His arms crushed her against him before she was aware that he had moved. Being held in those familiar arms undid her, and the tears she thought had been banished quickly dampened his dark blue jacket. His breath caught as he buried his face in her hair, tightening his embrace and murmuring the soft, loving words that his other self had held back.
She slowly regained her composure, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Feeling her chin move, he shifted to meet her lips with his own. Long moments of frenzied kisses and whispered reassurances passed before either one stopped for breath.
Still holding Rose against his chest, his glance returned to the child sleeping peacefully on Jackie’s lap.
“So. This is Tony . . .”

Hope you enjoyed it - Vixi


Thursday, November 27

I just want to say . . .

Thank you.
To those who have stuck with me back when life was challenging in more usual ways;
To those who found my story compelling enough to stay;
To those who have been challenged to think about things in new ways;
To those who are really only here for the sparkly bits;
To everyone who has found something in my words that speaks to them . . . 

Thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving to all.
 May you share time with those you love and support you, 
Have food to share.
And peace, in mind, body and heart.

Sunday, October 12


The woman I love is sleeping. I should be, too.

But this post has been rattling around inside my head 
for such a long time. I have to let it out.

It has been two and a half years since Hunny came out to me and we started on the journey of her transition. It has been beautiful, isolating, freeing, difficult, transformative, terrifying, joyful, bleak, nerve wracking.

And it has been so very worth it.

Some friends have been left behind, not because we didn’t want or need them, but because the changes were too dramatic for their comfort. We have made new friends within the community, helping us to rebuild what others had ripped away. Hunny has found a new community, others who have gone through what she has; those who have shared her struggle.

I have not found the same welcome. 
And I do not ask or presume membership, 
the dues are far too costly and the jacket wouldn’t fit anyway.

I understand many of the reasons why I am held at a distance.
 I am, at once, a representation of the spouse who stayed, and a reminder of the ones who didn’t. By staying with Hunny, by supporting and encouraging her transition, by loving her through everything . . .

I am salt poured into the wounds of those whose 
partners didn’t, or couldn’t.

Conversely, I have had members of the community look at me with such heartbreakingly forlorn hope in their eyes. Eyes that want the kind of love, the kind of life that Hunny and I have together but have already given up hope of ever finding it for themselves.

Eyes that have become resigned to loss and loneliness as the exchange they must make to live authentic lives.

At those times I often feel like an exotic animal on display, 
to be admired from a safe distance. 

To be seen and appreciated but too dangerous to get close to.

The world is often unkind to those who break the mold, and I don’t blame those who have been hurt, who have had to give up everything, for the sadness and anger that they feel when I am around.

Like I said, I do understand.

I still stand with you.

I promise not to bite any fingers that reach into the enclosure.