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fuck-customers · 4 years

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I work at a family owned dog grooming place! And I have the best boss ever. The dogs sure can get sometimes frustrating, but you know what really grinds my gears? Customers.

FUCK CUSTOMERS. FUCK CLIENTS.

Pisses the absolute shit out of me.

I have to try to not let it get to me and just breathe and defend my boss constantly. She cries sometimes Bc she cares too much and clients are ruthless!

How many times do I have to explain to a customer “IM SORRY MA’AM YOUR DOG IS MATTTED. We cannot brush through a MATTED DOG and you can’t have pompoms!” I’m super nice and everything despite mentally wanting to kms “ma’am. Your dog is matted. It has so many knots. De-matting is really painful, and it says here on file, your dog is extremely nervous. We can’t leave him fluffy and have the pompoms we have to shave him.”

Customer: “but can’t you just brush it out?? I don’t want him looking like a rat”

Proceeds to tell customers that we cannot leave him fluffy. *the dogs coat looks like a lamb and the comb won’t eveb pierce through the coat* “ma’am we can’t. Like it’s not that we don’t want to give you a fluffy haircut, we can’t. And it’s painful for the dog”

Cue- clients screaming and saying we abuse their dogs and that we just don’t want to work with their dog.

DEAR FUCKING CLIENTS,

*IF YOUR DOG IS MATTED ITS YOUR FUCKING FAULT FOR NOT BRUSHING HIM AT HOME. OH HE DOESN’T LET YOU? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK HES GONNA LET US* look, I’m not angry at the customers who do *try* to brush their dogs hair and it just so happens to be matted. Us- groomers can tell the difference between a dog who never brushes at home, to areas being matted. Or the top layer brushes but the knots just so happen to be close to the skin.

We will work with you guys. Swear. But clients need to fucking understand that, your dog is an angel at home, and *he is sweet* but your putting your dog in a situation where with a bunch of strangers, cutting and clipping, so many loud noises, so many dogs, *so much touching* that it’s gonna be scary for him. That’s why you have to be fucking patient.

So don’t you dare fucking clients, start telling us to hurry the fuck up, when your dog is fucking terrified. We have to give them breaks!! Let them calm down and give them kisses and tell them it’s okay.

And some dogs just won’t let us at all. Like period. Nothing. And you client, have to fucking understand that. This is the benefit of YOUR FUCKING DOG.

And we are trying to help your fucking dog but then all of you mother fuckers call us animal abusers.

We’re not the one who neglected your fucking dog to MATTS, or have so many fucking fleas that it’s crawling all over their eyeballs, who have severely bad skin issues. I take my sweet ass time, and go out of my way to get rid of all those ducking fleas Bc poor dog. Just poor baby doggy who are pure and innocent all Bc you don’t want to take him to a vet either.

Like I ducking love dogs. And if their stressed in the groom I freaking go help them and stop. Even give them cuddles on the couch and kisses. We take pictures and put costumes and show the clients pictures.

Please stop accusing us of hurting your dog, or giving your dog fleas, or abusing your dog, Bc that is not the case. Some dogs are just more sensitive than others and you just gotta understand that.

Whenever we *do* make a mistake and accidentally cut the dog, or something happens. WE ALWAYS LET YOU KNOW AND EVEN GIVE YOU A DISCOUNT OR FREE HAIRCUT. No charge. Makes me so mad that people accuse of all this shit how we don’t care for dogs.

Fucking check yourself client.

I see so many fucking dogs come in severely neglected.

Too many clients asking for last minute appointments, too many clients showing up HOURS late to their appointment, and saying we’re shit for not taking them in. Too many clients asking and requesting picky ass shit when your dog is difficult to work with. Too many clients saying “we give you business so you owe us” too many clients screaming. Too many clients saying abusive ass shit. Too many clients not wanting to give the rabies shot to their dogs and get angry at us. Too many clients getting angry at us for prices being too expensive, when we always try not to make it expensive. We do little things for not charging you extra for fleas, or de shedding, or nails. Whatever the fuck it is. Too many fucking clients saying they have a little dog and expect puppy price when their dog is fucking over 50 pounds. Too many clients lying.

We’re just tired. We started even collecting the fur and showing to clients and showing the comb and how we can’t comb that matted shit. But still we’re “animal abusers”

I just rather deal with the dog over you. I want to kidnap your dog and give it so many affection and kisses. Trust me, I don’t hate your dogs, I’m just tired of you clients for being shitty.

As an employee who works at a dog grooming shop, it’s not strange to have so many scratch and bite marks across your arms. It’s not strange to have poop on your clothes Bc dogs get scared they express their anal glands all over you. It’s not strange for a dog to pee all over you. It’s not strange to have some kind of injury. You get use to the bites and growls, which is why, you gotta give your fur baby space and time. We work with him, it breaks our heart when he’s crying and screaming. We do this because I fucking love it. I fucking love dogs so much that they fucking piss all over me, bite my arms (that’s why we need fucking rabies) and all kinds of shit.

Do I want them to bite me? Of course not. I try not too lmao. We muzzle them if we need too, but sometimes muzzle them stresses them out even more, so we don’t.

When we ask you to give anxiety treats or relaxer treats, please fucking do it. Your dog is too stresss, don’t fucking fight us.

Too many clients for fighting little ass shit. If your dog takes five hours, then it takes five hours, your dog needs a break too. Fuck imagine your on a table standing for that long. Older dogs, especially!! Since they can get too stress to the point of a heart attack. If it takes longer, it takes longer. There are ways to work around a stress dog, but you fucking client? I can’t say anything to not make you angry.

I can’t say anything to fucking clients without “me having to be fucking wrong” like bitch no. Your dog doesn’t want that, so why are you forcing your dog to have certain grooms when he doesn’t like it?

I had a fucking customer yell at us Bc he wanted his dogs ears standing. But his fucking dog has ears down. Ma’am it’s like your asking me you want to be taller. That’s dog genetics not fucking hair cut groom. Like what the fuck.

#fuck clients #fuck customers #dog grooming #submission

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box-bunny-grey · 4 years

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Who wants to hear a random jackass ramble about Shadowlands and not edit what he wrote? No one? Too bad.

I’ll start this by saying that this is from the perspective of a Mistweaver monk, Necrolord Covenant, who only does content through pugs who cleared Normal Nathria and as of now has never cleared past a seven keystone.

So when I wrote out an outline for this one late night for the hell of it, I was thinking I’d be positive. That I’d say I had problems with the game but the main meat of the game, the group content, was still good.

This opinion has shifted.

So I’m just going to ramble through what I put in my outline and then see if it looks good.

The Good (Sometimes)

So as I said group content feels good… When it’s good.

Mythic 0 was a lot of fun early in expansion because groups were generally patient. Like I’d have a plaguefall group that was just really positive even as we wiped a few times getting a feel for the second boss, and was super receptive to advice. Even with the Sanguine Depths being pretty aggravating at zero plenty of groups were kind, and hell being able to heal tanks through it as they rushed through felt rad. Even played with a friend tanking a few times and it felt awesome to just be around and do well.

Nathria is also great at feeling like a logical progression of things. A lot of raids can feel like there’s a bunch of quarters that just exist, but Nathria did feel like a real siege. Starting off dealing with the first line of defense, dealing with the animal tamers before they could unleash the hounds, dealing with an infestation that could come back to bite you if left alone, culminating in that portion in the defeat of a boss established earlier in the leveling experience and technically dealing with the first major threat: the anima leaking into the maw. From there you deal with an attempted thief in the armory that should not be left to their own devices, keep Kael’thas from becoming a weapon to remove that option from Denathrius, and deal with his most powerful sycophants. I actually really like Sludgefist as an obstacle to the finale bosses and the reuse of Shriekwing’s room: Shriekwing might have bloodied the floor but kept everything intact, Sludgefist if there to say “Denathrius doesn’t care if he has to take down the whole castle, at this point you’re too dangerous.” And the end of the Stone Legion Generals and Denathrius was a nice was to finish up the instance.

Then everything goes not so good.

Mythic+ woes

Mythic+ is fun… When your group is competent. I’m not even talking going full meta here. I’ve had awful DH tanks as well as DH tanks that react amazingly. The bad runs where the DH tries to act like running at the speed of sound far above his ilevel, and the good runs where when I die because there’s so much to keep track of the DH IMMEDIATELY starts gliding back to where I’d spawn to make sure we don’t lose the progress we’ve gotten on the mobs. I’ve had amazing WARRIOR tanks in runs, and that’s a class I’ve been told right now is at the bottom of the meta in so many ways.

But then you have groups that disperse as soon as they see there’s no bloodlust, or call for it repeatedly when no one can (look I pug I have to take what I can get, I’m lucky I don’t get full melee groups honestly). Or more recently a group that could not get past blightbone in Necrotic Wake because someone kept getting eaten by their mob and getting it to explode, causing AOE damage I could not heal through in a Mythic 9 at my gear. Or a group in Plaguefall that, when I died because I had to focus on healing because the tank wasn’t tanking the second boss right and the DH and the tank accuse me of not paying attention when that disease he does because the tank wasn’t doing their job is pretty hard to keep off and would make my life much easier of the tank remembered that but no it was my fault.

I am still mad.

Speaking of Plaguefall, that comes back to my favorite experience of assholes in Mythic+. Had two warlocks in party, so two soulstones for battle rez. I die. No soulstone. Alright, it’s trash, guess I gotta walk back. Do so. Get to boss. Die again, don’t even remember what. No soulstone. Okay, maybe they’re mad because I died to something easy. Someone asks about battle rez. “Sorry it’s on CD think the healer used it.” I say I got no battle rez. They get uppity. Other warlock used their soulstone on themselves. People keep talking about it. Other warlock gets angry because he thinks they’re talking about them. Leaves. We manage to 4 man it.

I was not happy and now I do not like Plaguefall.

Raid time

When I completed my first Castle Nathria is was about 3 AM. It was a pretty painless run, mostly one shots with a couple of hiccups. It started at 9 PM. This was a mostly good run. That’s a good run. Now imagine what happens when you have a bad run. But I figured hey, late night lost on a Saturday is fine, it seems like even pugs with no voice chat can finish raids on normal easy, so pugging, and I got 10/10 so I could always do earlier runs, especially guild runs. Should be fine right?

I’ve learned how many melee do not know what an interrupt is.

I’ve learned how bad some guides are when giving kill orders for heroic over normal.

I’ve learned how easily people can kill a raid not realizing very obvious tactics will leave death pools behind.

I’ve learned Council of Blood is the big obstacle for any pug to find out whether or not you should be here, even more than Sludgefist.

Which brings us to the final point.

Oh Boy! 35 Anima!

Cold to the point of sub-zero take: loot drops in Shadowlands suck. This is coming from someone who got lucky in one of his Castle Nathria full clears and got multiple pieces in a single week. But overall the frustration of groups, Myhic+ or Raid, gets exacerbated when you see that 35 anima drop, and then notice the asshole who kept dying got an upgrade.

Mythic 0 works out well enough, the dungeons are easy enough and with every boss in them dropping something, even with the weekly lockout, feels a lot better than putting your all into a raid only to get nothing. I’d say the deluge of loot from 0 helped keep me going since there was always the chance of something coming from them.

And honestly, the Great Vault doesn’t fix it. I’ve had a week where, out of a full clear Nathria and 2 slots of mythic+, four out of five of my options were rings. And that one was alright because if it didn’t drop a trinket I could have used that. But I’ve had weeks where every possible upgrade was a slot that was already covered, while other slots wound up being stuck. I’d say even the catch-up mechanism of covenant gear doesn’t work due to both the anima cost of upgrading (which is FAR above 35 anima) and the extra put on your repair costs since the gear is worth 250 gold to vendors. Not exactly enticing.

And remember, I said group content was the GOOD part of the expansion.

Solo Content: Boring, Aggravating

It’s all downhill from here.

The New, Painful World Quests

When World Quests were introduced in Legion, they were usually pretty simple. Either quests you did to level, rares that you might have missed, and occasional puzzles from the Kirin Tor. BFA seemed to follow that in general, with the Tortollan replacing the Kirin Tor and occasional more involved battlefront world quests. But these were generally so plentiful that more often than not, if you wanted emissary but didn’t like an activity it was easy enough to find the simple ones.

Shadowlands World Quests attempt to be all the more involved type, and of small enough number that you’re going to hate some of them by the end of it. Some are fun, I will admit. Playing with Draka’s dog, the Maldraxxus running of the olympic torch, Theotar’s parasol, (most of) the tea time ones, and even one where you fly through the air to collect pupas. But then you have others.

And I’d say my biggest headaches have a common covenant: the Kyrian. Poorly programmed flappy bird. Dumb ‘training’ simon says. One that should be simple, just kill mobs… Except you have a stationary zone you have to pull them to and god help you if someone else is killing in the zone, doesn’t notice you, and now you have to wait out the cooldown to drop another one.

The gear rewards suck, the anima amount varies how much it’s worth it, and every other reward straight up aren’t worth it.

Also a lot of treasures are obnoxious. Like I can’t even think of how to elaborate on it it’s just so many are not worth the effort to find out how to open them because so many rewards are, you guessed it! 35 Anima.

Stagnant Sanctums

When I first saw sanctums I thought I’d have the patience to keep a few going. Having leveled 2 alts I can confirm I haven’t had the energy to even attempt to start their anima/soul grind.

First, we have the Mmission board. Because I chose the Necrolords first I didn’t realize just how bad some people’s were. Then I started night fae I soon fond out how blessed I’d been. Maldraxxus’ unit types are frontline and backline splash damage, and your first follower is entire board splash damage. I forgot what the follower for night fae did, but the night fae units are a healer and a dot applying unit.

Guess how man missions are massive amounts of enemies and how many are single objective focuses.

But then we have the anima conductor, and at first I thought it was a neat idea. Get rewards for putting anima back into the Shadowlands, and when I saw the second tier daily quests had a chance to give 500 anima . That seemed amazing and considering some of the quests were obnoxiously long and boring I assumed it was encouragement if you didn’t have the patience for other 35 anima rewards.

Then they hotfixed it the day after I found out it was only Necrolords. Now the quests are just boring and obnoxious world quests with the extra step of picking them up.

So now not only did the anima grind lose something to make it less obnoxious, and the time gating of souls for sanctum features, in addition to a lot of features just being underwhelming. I decided to waste resources on my travel network’s second level for a slow moving necropolis around my zone. There has NEVER been a point where the necropolis was a faster way to get to my destination over just mounting up and running. But hey, at least the shitty necropolis did what it promised and didn’t have people upgrade to find out their transport network didn’t do what it promised.

And hell, I’m liking making abominations, but the fact that so many options to customize them are behind a really obnoxious RNG (no Chordy, it’s not around here) it gets all the more aggravating to have fun with it. And I like stuff like Roseboil asking me if I have a boo-boo and telling me I’m tough.

Though with all these problems I have with anima, I guess at least it not being tied to progression like artifact power and azerite. Yet so many things fun things tied behind it with such slow, time-gated progression is aggravating. So clearly the solution would be infinitely grindable things, right?

Well…

Why are the Avowed a Thing?

I assume the Avowed were originally what the Venthyr had instead of the Ember Court and then realized it was terrible but then left it in to annoy alchemists and Venthyr that want certain tints.

I am no Venthyr. But I am an alchemist.

Least the Shadestones make me plenty of money.

I do not know why this faction still exists other than annoyance, or why they’re infinitely grindable like they are. In the sense that WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG?

Covenant Woes

I do like the Necrolords. Didn’t even choose them because they were (somewhat) meta for MW monk. I did it because I liked the aesthetic and the concept of my covenant ability being just tossing dust at someone is hilarious to me.

But I only like the wings part of my mog. I do not like the look of the leather set on my troll. And every other mog looks like actual armor. I mean I get it: cloth is house of rituals, mail is intended to be house of eyes (since Draka wears it), and plate is house of the chosen. So house of constructs is what is left for leather. I still don’t like it.

And the issue I have with a ‘right covenant’ is that that has changed already for some classes. Remember how I said Necrolord was somewhat meta above? Well that’s because the meta changed, they found out Kyrian is generally best overall. Or people who played warrior, heard their DPS was universally Venthyr, and found out later people did the math and found out that the night fae was best to do Mythic+. Not the worst thing since changing is easy. But I get the feeling more and more frustration is going to come as the expansion goes on.

Speaking of things that will definitely get worse.

The Maw Fucking Sucks

“Well it’s intended to be a hostile land that you want to get in quickly and out of quickly!”

Yeah. Still sucks. Transport options suck. The place tries to act like it’s bigger than it is by removing mounting except for a select few mounts. The dailies do not give enough ve’nari reputation to be worth it, in addition to the fact that, outside of the one use purchases ve’nari’s items are rarely worth it (wow a skeleton key for the incredibly simple puzzle chests that’s single use!). I feel bad for people who can’t do twisting corridors and have to rely on the shadehound hunt to make time in there feel less hellish.

Apparently Worgen can use running wild to circumvent it and you know what? Good for them. I hope that never gets/got patched.

Well Torghast is fun right?

Torghast is Terrible

The entire thing’s a timesink. Not enough fun builds to actually make it feel worth it past what you do to get your legendary. One of the deathroach pets seems to sell for a bit so I guess that’s a positive. It really feels like they did exactly what they did with World Quests: took something other mmos generally use for levelling, in this case the deep dungeon, and assumed people wanted to do it at max level. And I’d say it’s a good way to know they’re out of touch with their playerbase considering they had to nerf the last layers when they went live.

I think I was able to get through Twisting Corridors solely because I was a monk and our anima powers are good, but without a large amount of stamina or the right powers early on it goes to shit quick. But I got my mount so never have to see it again.

Also reminder that when Twisting Corridors went live there were still placeholder powers.

Future Worries

While mostly Torghast related figured I’d make this its own section.

What’s going to happen when new content comes out and legendaries have to be higher ilevel? Will they simply up the soul ash cost or put in another aggravating currency. What about legendary memories? Will more be added or will they have to be upgraded? Will we be wearing multiple? And how will anima be handled as things go on.

Really the big issue I have with all of this is from what I can gather, the mindless grind of wow continues to get more and more aggravating as expansions go on, with rarely a reprieve in sight.

Nitpicks

This is shit even I understand is probably not a big deal or might be personal preference.

LET MY TROLL WEAR SHOES THE VENTHYR MAIL AND NECROLORD PLATE DOES IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I’M PRETTY SURE SOME SHOES AT LEAST HAVE OPTIONS FOR HOOVED CHARACTERS.

Soulbinds vary in importance in covenant stories. Using Necrolord as an example, by the time you start the campaign Marileth is already done with his arc, Heirmir only exists to say they’re the Primus’ apprentice in smithing, and Emeni only shows up if you choose necrolord and is the only one with any prominence in the story. Necrolord is mostly the Azeroth trio each dealing with things, and it does have neat moments (always enjoyed the story of the Ashbringer, and Alexandros going “this is a large locked chest” crushing the lock, and then saying “it is now a large chest” was good) but I’d assume soulbinds would have more to do.

To compare, the Kyrian campaign seems to spend the most time with soulbinds, with Venthyr being second place, and Night Fae I think being a third. Further, odd things like a little under 2/3 of the Necrolord campaign being shared with other covenants, while Night Fae doesn’t interact with any in theirs. This is despite the fact that the Kyrian campaign interacts with all other factions, the Necrolord part being the same for that faction; and the Venthyr campaign interacts with Kyrian and Necrolords, once more the Necrolord version is shared. I guess I’d say I’d prefer they either commit to separate stories or overlapping uinversally, but maybe that’ll come with the next part.

Conclusion

Running out of steam for this random smattering of thoughts so conclusion.

Shadowlands I think is like most expansions. Launch is fun because everything is new, then the grind wears everyone down.

Make more loot drop for more difficulties or fix the great vault.

Really that’s all I got here’s a picture of my monk.

#Box's descent into madness #haven't used that in a while #THIS IS HOW I DECIDE TO USE MY SUNDAY I GUESS

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blackroseraven · 4 years

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I'm relieved, and happy.

The terrible thing is that an election shouldn't make someone "relieved" or "happy." It should be boring, just the gears of democracy grinding forward, a replacement of one figurehead for another. Maybe one that will guide the nation using different methods and ideals, sure, but the agenda should always be the same: the betterment of the nation. There shouldn't be celebrating and dancing in the street, and we shouldn't feel the relief so many of us clearly are. Any more than people should feel a sense of doom or defeat; we should be Americans, together, and democracy should be a monotonous ritual where we can all feel confident that at the end of the day, no matter how much we might disagree with the next person in charge, they're still going to do their best.

Trump wasn't that. Trump played golf and visited his own properties over 500 times. Trump never had a functioning cabinet, any more than he was ever a successful businessman. We know that Trump's taxes are... not good, even if it's hard, actually, to pin down why: tax and tax law are very complex, but the obvious patterning shows a laziness, almost an arrogance that would draw the attention of any accountant.

Trump had a nation put children in cages. I don't care "who built the cages" or "who was behind the original law" or anything like that: I don't care about talk, but about actions, and this is what ICE did. I care that over 500 children cannot be reunited with their parents after being separated from them at the border. Trump created tariffs that hurt America and his behavior has been antithetical to global peace and prosperity.

Was he a racist as well as an incompetant buffoon? Probably. But that doesn't matter: we know for a fact that white nationalist groups supported him, from the KKK to neonazi movements, and that he had his own personal cult, QAnon, even though he was never cunning enough to wield the power of Q himself, always just a figurehead of the conspiracy. What matters to Trump is Trump, and Trump alone: I don't think it matters how racist, how cruel, or how he feels about things. As Mary Trump attests in her book, he is like a toddler: he only cares about things that care about and benefit Trump.

But the worst part was his incompetence. The worst part, and the entire reason he failed as an autocrat: he is a bumbler, who can only gain the help of fellow bumblers, and who is easily manipulated by anyone who makes it into his orbit if they have the necessary selfishness and cunning. Look at Parscale, who is now writing a tell-all book, after having done pathetic little work to help Trump's sinking ship of a campaign.

And yet people will tell you he is Alpha, even though he's a fat man who eats nothing but McDonald's in spite of being in the highest office in the land, and had to pay to have sex with a porn star shortly after the birth of his youngest son. That he's a genius, in spite of the fact he has trouble stringing a coherent sentence together and repeats the same lie over and over again. That he is a Lion, even though he fires by tweet and has his underlings face the world for him, while he runs off to golf or hides like a coward. That he only speaks the Truth, even though no Covid vaccine has materialized despite his promises, we STILL don't have a healthcare plan but at most, vagaries, and of course his blameshifting with regards to the pandemic when he is President and should have been showing, oh, I don't know, leadership?

Could I even maintain my friendship with someone who supported Trump? I don't honestly know. I say that as someone who doesn't like to go to extremes, but Trump impacted me and people like me so much, and so many of his supporters took such joy in it, I would spend a long time musing on it. People go "oh well gosh you can't judge ME by what OTHER PEOPLE did," but these are often the same people who refer to the "liberal elite" as one monolithic structure. Because people love to generalize, but hate being generalized. And how much do you really care about "me" beyond what you perceive of me as, if I have these very real concerns about hardening of rules around immigrants and immigration, about the lawlessness and overzealousness of ICE, about how "my kind" are treated, and the response is always "well, but..." or "I'm sure you're exaggerating."

People have made Trump into this persona that doesn't exist. I'm sorry, but the Emperor is just a fat orange man, addled in all the ways that his sycophants have accused Biden of being... or have you not noticed how often the very people accusing various Trumpian enemies are themselves guilty of the exact crimes they're describing? We aren't in the era of gaslighting: this is the era of projection, where we avoid guilt by blaming other people for our sins.

Take the election, for example, and how PA legislature purposefully delayed ballot counting as part of a known plan, a “campaign strategy” by Trump to undermine the election. And I’m disgusted with the people complaining about “mail-in” ballots being used when Trump himself was doing nothing but discouraging them, essentially handicapping himself. Furthermore, how do you think military people overseas vote? By magic? Or do our soldiers no longer matter when they’re no longer useful to your cause and your ideology?

Don’t answer. We all know the truth. The screaming red hats showed us that, just as they showed us how people want to be ruled over, and the real people living in a bubble aren’t the “liberal coastal elite” but the now-minority that’s desperate to keep itself in power in a country that is trying to adapt, change, and evolve as the world does so.

Biden is far from perfect and not at all my ideal candidate, but at least he’s a decent human being, who stays off twitter. And I look forwards to having rational ideological disagreements rather than living in fear and disgust. I look forwards to being able to speak my mind again, even if it will be a long time before I feel again like I am actually welcome in this country, if I ever was at all; like I’m not an outsider to this nation, and that if many of these vile people had their way, I would be removed, no matter what good I’ve done, or how much of my blood and sweat has been spent working alongside them.

If Trump is your idea of a "strong man," then you need to reflect on where you are in your life, honestly, and how happy you are with it, and how you got there. And I pray you find your answers and your peace. And if this "offends you..." what was that popular MAGA motto?

Ah, yes.

Fuck your feelings, snowflake. Facts don't care about your feelings.

#politics #life #election 2020

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littledraga · 4 years

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Whumptober2020 Crewton Wrongfully accused

It had been a long trek to catch the young rabbit that had been sending out threatening letters, still seemingly at random. But with Lola’s help, they managed.

By the time they had caught him, it was late, so he sent her ahead to go home. She needed sleep more than he did. It hadn’t been a fight.

While turning the rabbit over, Edge suddenly found himself in handcuffs. Confused, he didn’t struggle. Following along, he tried to get one of the men pulling him to look at him. “Do I at least get to know why you’re throwing me in handcuffs?”

“You’re accused of stealing from the first national bank,” one explained as they took him below to a holding cell.

“What?! I’ve never stolen anything in my life! Besides, why would I be waltzing in here if I had done something so horrible?” He tried to reason with them. Nothing. “What proof do you have? You need some kind of evidence before you lock me up!”

“You just sit in this cell and wait.” They all but tossed him in and locked the cell door behind him. “They’ve got enough.”

Turning around Edge grabbed the bars of the cell. “This is ridiculous! You can’t hold me without reason! And I’m permitted a phone call!”

“Not for something like you,” the other sneered and left him alone in the cell.

Edge paced the length of the small cell, trying to understand what was going on. He’d never try to knock over a bank! He hadn’t even heard anything about a bank robbery. This had to be some kind of misunderstanding!

They had to be down at some point, he could talk with them then. This wasn’t right. Not even a phone call!

But night came, and they had shut down the lights. That was concerning no one had come down. They had to feed people in custody. Sure, he didn’t eat, but he would power down without caffeine.

Edge sat on the small cot, wincing when it whined. “Maybe I was just late. Someone will come down in the morning. I can get this figured out.” Laying back on the small bed his feet hung off the edge. These really didn’t have comfort in mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to get a little sleep. If nothing else, to pass the time.

Come morning, nothing. He stayed lying down, trying to conserve energy until well past noon. No one was coming. Edge was starting to fear he would be left here and forgotten. He couldn’t stay powered on for too much longer, the rest of the day, perhaps. He could hear them all upstairs. He wasn’t alone, but he certainly felt that way in the cell.

He wondered if Shale was mad at him. He would be very late by now. Lola had probably called him a layabout three times by now. Edge laughed. She would probably be pouting at her desk that there was no one to bother.

When he could feel himself nearing powering down, Edge started to panic. They really were going to leave him here to turn off. Trying to conserve what little power was left he slipped into stasis. Hopefully, things would be better when he woke up.

Luck wasn’t on his side.

He woke up to being lifted up by a pair of gorillas. Not the most common animal in Crewton, but at least they were strong enough to lift him. He couldn’t even stand on his own anymore.

He had tried to greet them, but they didn’t even grunt. Rude, he thought, but he supposed to them he was a criminal.

Up he went, and they dragged him out of the cell. It must be time for trial, he thought, hopeful that this mess would clear itself soon. And hopefully, someone would be kind enough to give him some coffee.

Only they weren’t going in the direction of the courtrooms when they dragged him down the hall. That was highly concerning. “Guys? Where are you taking me?” He asked, a little nervous to know.

“Your sentence has been passed,” they explained, not bothering to look at him.

“What? But I haven’t even stood trial yet! They couldn’t have passed sentencing yet! You must have me confused with someone else!”

“Don’t need one. You’re just a robot,” said one, a bit of malice in that one’s voice.

Edge seethed at that. That wasn’t right! Robots may not have had all the rights of humans, but he still had rights. He struggled in their grasp, trying to break free. This was ridiculous! He wouldn’t be compliant any longer!

Only he couldn’t get away. It had been too long since he had had coffee. Edge didn’t have the energy to get away from them. Try as he might, they just gripped tighter. Tight enough, it hurt as the metal started to bend.

At the end of the hall, one of them opened a large door. It was a mostly empty room, save the large conveyor belt in the middle that led away. It filled the room with a deafening grinding sound and hummed loudly. There was a machine on the other end. A grinder.

He tried to thrash in their grip. “No! Please, no! I’m innocent! I didn’t rob the bank. Please!” He cried as they threw him on the belt. “This isn’t a fair punishment for robbery!” He tried to get up, but he couldn’t even lift his body, arms weakly sliding in front of him

Still, he tried to get away. He watched as the gears of the machine grew ever closer. Too weak to fight it, he begged for his life. This wasn’t right! Doing this while he was powered on!

His hand was the first part of him to meet the grinding gears. As each piece of metal tore apart, he screamed and cried out in pain. Slowly, the rest of his arm was fed into it. What little he could, he struggled, begging for the pain to stop the more of his arm the machine ate.

Just as his nose nearly touched the moving parts, he closed his eyes tightly. He waited for the pain, but it never came. One second passed, then two. Edge cautiously cracked open an eye to look around. The machine had stopped.

“EDGE!” Lola was screaming his name. Lola was here! She rushed down the side of the belt to him. As soon as she was close enough, she grabbed onto his coat, trying to pull him off. She was talking so fast, Edge couldn’t understand her.

The gorillas came down to help, yanking at him. Trying to get him loose.

It hurt! “Stop! Please, stop!” He cried.

They were ripping his arm off from the weakened metal. Every motion of his arm sent searing pain through him. They had to bring someone down to remove his arm. That at least hurt less. It took far longer than he would have liked, and the pain still throbbed through his shoulder.

Once he was free, he held Lola tightly with the arm he had left and sobbed. He had almost died for a crime he had never done. This wasn’t fair to him. This wasn’t fair to any robot. He had to do something.

#Whumptober2020 #no.17 #wrongfully accused #crewton #fic #tw:body horror

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critical-derolo · 5 years

Text

won't let you go

It's going horribly, just horribly. She reasons that it could be worse - maybe, and that they're all still alive - barely, and that technically they're winning - kinda. Trapping the beast in here with them... it was clever and badass and felt so, so good when she was doing it, but upon further reflection (as she skids around the rocky corner, dodging arcs of lightning) it was maybe too rash of a decision.

Oh, plus those sexy assholes keep stealing her friends.

She watches Fjord's face lose its tension, smoothing out into a blank mask. (so many masks, he has. this is her least favourite.) Void of the compassion she oh so adores from him. His eyes sweep across the room and meet hers, empty and chilling, and she watches him lift his hands. Dark energy crackles between his fingers, eldritch magic pooling in his palms - scary magic, she's never realized how objectively scary Fjord's magic is compared to theirs. He steps through the water he's just used to try and sweep Possessed Caleb off his feet with, towards Jester who's still desperately trying to catch her breath and look around the cavern for help. She's pretty sure she can hear Yasha and Beau battling something on the other side of this massive fucking rock pillar and wishes she'd ran the other way.

But then Fjord's eyes roll back and he collapses to the rocky floor again (what a brave tissue paper man). She knows that when he gets up he'll be himself, and decides the best place for him currently is right there. Hopefully not drowning in the puddle.

What a shitty day. A really, truly shitty day.

"Hey, Be-au..." she breathlessly trails off after the blue blur zips by her and- "Shit!"

The cavern wall behind her rumbles and trembles as the beast chases Beau. Jester's jaw drops open when Yasha follows them both, and she leans as far as she can to try and get a better look at the barbarian's grim face. She sends a sacred flame towards that end of the cavern for good measure, trailing behind as she holds her aching ribs.

Why did they come down this well? Wells suck hardcore ass. Nothing good ever happens in a well.

"Fjord!" Jester cries as he twists behind a gathering of rocks, blocking the lashings of electricity sent his way. At least he's up again.

Caleb grunts and flops back against the ground, unconscious. He's having maybe the worst day and considering he threw a fireball at them, that's saying something.

Another flash of blue catches her eye and Jester looks up to see Beau squaring off against Yasha. Her fists do... almost nothing against their Stone Barbarian but thankfully as strong as Yasha is, Beau is just as hard to hit. Still... Jester worries her bottom lip between her teeth, lifting a hand and gathering her spell. She doesn't want to hurt Yasha, but - she can't let Yasha hurt Beau.

A pale hand catches a brown fist and Jester sucks in a sharp breath. She squints her eyes to see Yasha's lips moving and Beau's shoulders sagging, and let's her spell fizzle out. Things are looking up if Yasha, Caleb, and Fjord are back.

Jester flashes a bright smile at Yasha as they pass each other, the angel digging her blade into the beast's side while Jester goes to check on Beau. She hasn't seen her maybe this whole fight and - where's Caduceus?

"Beau, have you seen-..."

The winged woman laughs, a deep and throaty chuckle that's smooth like velvet and makes Jester shiver. Before Jester can lift her hand, the woman is gone - off around the ceiling of the cavern again. Jester looks back to Beau, watches the tension enter her shoulders. Watches the grip on her bo tighten and the sharp muscle of her arms tense.

Jester swallows and reaches for the back of that blue vest. "Beau, do you feel okay?"

"No."

"Oh." Well that's... that might be normal. "Do you maybe want-"

"How long have you been sending to him?" she asks quietly. Firmly.

Again, Jester shivers. She's seen Beau pissed before - they all have, but Beau's anger is always there. Bright embers ready to explode into flame, loud and passionate.

This is... controlled fury. Not a reaction, not a fleeting emotion of the moment, this is a seed someone has pulled up from the earth.

Jester doesn't like it. "To who? What do you mean?"

"My father," Beau accuses and turns to face her. She expects the snarl, a flash of teeth bared in a scowl so impressive that maybe, maybe Jester practices it herself sometimes. She expects shouting and curses, a Beau Trademark. But only blue fire stares back at her, with a tone sharper than Fjord's blade. "You expect me to believe it was a coincidence you and Fjord found me so soon after leaving the Cobalt Soul. Or that he would so easily give up and just leave me alone?"

"Beau, this isn't you. She's in your head, these thoughts aren't yours!"

The monk tilts her head to the side, cracking her neck and - all the tension is released, her limbs loose and stance more fluid. Jester's seen her spar, seen her fight often enough to know that she isn't backing down. This is her gearing up for an attack. "Yes," she says simply and takes a breath. "They are."

- - -

Jester cradles the back of her head the moment it bounces off the rocky wall. Her blue hands are slick with red blood and she blinks against the stars in her eyes, focuses enough to watch Beau twirl and catch both of Nott's bolts. The goblin shrieks as one is thrown back at her with the same velocity, slicing across her shoulder. "Beau!" Jester shouts with tears in her eyes. "Stop this!"

"I won't go back to them!" Beau declares and - and her bo cuts down through the air and into Jester's side, stealing away her breath. In the same motion, she ducks under Fjord's eldritch blast he manages to get off before the beast gets in his way.

Jester grabs the staff just as Beau yanks it back and finally, finally the monk stumbles. Pulls harder but Jester is strong, she's not fast or flashy or so fucking wiggly like smoke, but she has a grip and she's not letting go. Her frantic purple eyes flick between Beau's, searching for any hint of her friend still in there, fighting against this hold on her. "Beau, please. We're not trying to send you back to him. I would never do that!"

"I won't go back in their box!" she finally snarls and that fury blossoms into something bigger, something hotter. The control slips, Beau's eyes widen and she takes a ragged breath.

Hit them hard enough and they come back.

Is emotional pain the same as physical?

Gritting her teeth, Jester yanks harder on the staff until Beau is stumbling against her. She hooks the bo around Beau's back, clamping her hand down on the other end, and can't tell if she's pinning the monk or if she's not pinned between Beau and the wall. "Then don't, Beau. Don't ever go back in the box, be you! Be angry and happy and loud and brash and kind and generous! Be all of the things that you are!"

"Let me go!" she growls and wriggles against Jester's front, fingers digging into the stone of the wall as the staff refuses to budge. She brings her elbow down on Jester's shoulder, where it connects to her neck, and they almost topple to the ground.

Instead, shards of ice creep up her blue neck, and dig into Beau's ribs from her own - just slightly. "Shit, Beau!" Jester snaps with a frown. "That hurt!"

Beau braces her hands against the wall, ignores the blood slowly beginning to drip from her palms, and grunts as she tries to break free from the hold. "Let go," she grinds out between her clenched teeth. Glares into the brightest, sparkliest amethysts she's ever seen.

Jester's grip tightens and she sucks in a breath, her nose bumping against Beau's. They're... they're actually pretty close, now that she thinks about it. She can see the sweat gathering across Beau's brow, notices the way her dark hair is beginning to curl because of it. A purple circle is beginning to form around Beau's left eye from her tussle with Yasha, and her lip is split enough to make her snarl bloody. Jester can't stop the way her face softens, how her gaze lingers, and smiles when Beau's brows slowly furrow in furious confusion. "Have I ever mentioned that you're really, really pretty?"

Beau's elbows slam against the wall on either side of Jester's head, her fumble costing her... ground, so to speak. "What?!"

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Jester wonders or teases or maybe both. She has an idea but she also can't deny the opportunity that's presented itself. Fate is kinda funny, she supposes.

More of the tightness in Beau's jaw loosens. "You..." she lightly shakes her head and Jester hides her sigh of relief when the resistance against the bo lessens. "Yes?"

"Beau-"

The monk winces, rearing her head back and tilting it towards the winged bitch up in the corner. Beau's eyelashes flutter and she shudders, victim to a siren's call that Jester can't hear. "You... have been watching me for him..." she gasps and blinks, glaring back at Jester.

Fucking cheater.

Jester let's the bo go with one hand to flip off the succubus before cupping Beau's cheek. It's cold and clammy and Beau grimaces but doesn't pull away. "Not for him. Just for me. Just because, Beau. Please don't listen to her, please break her hold. I don't want to hurt you... I can't hurt you."

Blood smears the back of Jester's hand, Beau snapping her grip like a coil around the blue wrist. "But I can hurt you," she warns in a voice too calm, too eerie. Her eyes are hard with edges sharp enough to cut and the hope in Jester's chest cracks like glass. "Jester."

Tears well up in her eyes, Jester sucks in a sharp breath. The ache that shoots up and down her arm immediately drops out to the point of numbness. The only thing she can feel is her pulse where Beau digs her fingers in, and tries to make a fist, do anything with the arm she can't move anymore. "Gods, Beau! This wasn't how it was supposed to go, it's not like my books at all. I'm not spying on you and if I was, I'd be so much better at it. I don't give a shit about your dad, he's a big dick, I would never send you back to him. I just. The only secret I have is." She shakes her head with aggravated frustration. "Damn it, Beau, I want you to admit that you're secretly in love with me because I'm secretly in love with you, but you trying to kill me is super getting in my way!"

Those blues remain colder than the ice that creeps up Jester's spine, ready to be released in another Hellish Rebuke. Her fingertips begin to tingle again but she watches Beau's face, looks for a sign, a flutter, something to tell her what to do.

"You are a really good liar," Beau tells her flatly. Jester's heart falls. "You've been watching me since the Gentleman's bar. I won't let you hurt me again."

"Beau," Jester whines sadly and feels her shoulders droop. "I haven't, I promise."

"You will."

"I won't."

"Jester."

The way Beau says her name, a sharp intake of breath around a wince. A grimace. The glare on her face is fierce but something doesn't click into place, enough that Jester notices, at least. Her head tilts to the side. She waits and watches, Beau is perfectly still and ready to strike like a cobra - something Jester has always admired up until now.

...but her hand around Jester's wrist trembles, very slightly. It isn't until Jester holds her breath that she even feels it. The muscles are too taut, there's... restraint there? Enough that Jester can feel her fingers again, even if her arm is numb enough to be on another plane.

"Oh. Oh!" she gasps again and perks up. "You want me to hurt you! Right? I think so. Oh, Beau, you're still in there!"

"Don't fucking-"

A couple of things happen simultaneously and Jester wonders if maybe Caleb managed to get off a haste spell on her to keep up with it all.

The first is that Jester forces her tingling fingers around the back of Beau's neck to dig them in there, while Beau tangles her own bloody hand in Jester's hair to hold her back. The succubus let's out an ungodly shriek, her eyes ablaze on Beau's back - until Nott's bolt catches her between the ribs. With a grunt, Beau stumbles against Jester's front, dragged down and in towards her lips where necrautic magic pools to the surface.

Beau's lips are chapped but oh so gentle against Jester's own. Maybe it isn't fireworks and passionate declarations of love. Maybe it's black veins spreading from the monk's lips, down her neck as her entire body seizes in a lurch. Maybe it's possession and big bull demons and the taste of blood against Jester's tongue, and maybe everybody almost died or is going to die.

But it's kind of perfect. Not at all like the porno books, not what she thought it's supposed to be, but...

When the hand trying to yank her back by her hair instead cradles the back of her head, when Beau's painful grunt turns into a delighted hum, when Jester can feel her blush melting the ice in her veins... by the Traveller, it's everything she's ever wanted.

"I'm gonna, mmmf- Jessie, I gotta... there's still a bad guy," Beau mumbles against her lips even as she leans into the tiefling. A calloused thumb traces Jester's jaw and she let's Beau go just enough to look into those shiny blue eyes. "I'm gonna rip that cow's heart out."

And damn, if she doesn't just swoon. "Be careful, Beau!" Jester calls after her fondly, her hands clasped beneath her chin. She watches the monk flip over Fjord's shoulder, blocking a hit that would have clocked him in the side of the head, and spins in place. "Oh my Gods, Traveller, did you see that?"

"Jester!" Nott screeches as she fires off another bolt. "We're dying, pay attention."

"Did you see that, Nott?"

"It was lovely, please kill something!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Jester grumbles and searches the ceiling for the dickhole who almost ruined everything tonight.

#beaujester #jestergard #sappheau #critical role #m9 #beauregard #jester

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lloydskywalkers · 5 years

Text

n stands for neutral

So the trend is to just kill everyone with angst today, huh? Huh? It’s not like I need love and happiness in my life anyways-

“I can’t believe this.”

“You really should’ve seen it coming.”

“From everyone else, maybe, but from you? I trusted you, Kai.”

“Lloyd—“

“You were supposed to be my brother!”

(Haha psYCH this isn’t even angst, somebody’s gotta bring balance to the force so here is!! totally self-indulgent bros being idiots, aka Kai tries to teach Lloyd how to drive, as inspired by treasured classic Disney Channel show The Suite Life of Zach and Cody.)

“I can’t believe this.”

“You really should’ve seen it coming.”

“From everyone else, maybe, but from you? I trusted you, Kai.”

“Lloyd—“

“You were supposed to be my brother!”

“For the love of—“ Kai turns around in the driver’s seat, staring at Lloyd where he’s (very much against his will) sitting in the passenger’s seat with his knees pulled up to his chest. “Are you seriously quoting Star Wars at me right now?”

“You tell me, Anakin Mc-Scarface, you traitor.”

Kai rubs a hand across his face, counting to three under his breath. “You are the worst drama queen, you know that, right.”

Lloyd folds his arms across his chest, looking grumpier than the wet cat Kai had rescued from a drainage flood the other day. “Takes one to know one,” Lloyd mutters.

“Look, I’m still serious about picking up that cookie cake, promise,” Kai says, wincing a bit at the reminder that he has, technically, stabbed Lloyd in the back, just a tiny bit. “Driving practice is just a stop on the way.”

Lloyd shoots him one of those I’m-Gonna-Flaunt-My-Overlord-Heritage looks, the one that could strip paint from a wall.

“I don’t need a stupid driver’s license.”

“Yes, you do!” Kai exclaims, throwing his hand up in the air. “What are you gonna do if you need to get somewhere? What are you gonna do if you get pulled over?”

Lloyd’s lip juts out stubbornly. “I’m gonna light the car on fire and fly away on a dregon.”

Kai wonders briefly if this is how Nya feels. “You’re the worst gremlin of a brother I’ve ever had.”

“And you’re a stir-fried ice cream head.”

“I should’ve let you burn in the fire temple,” Kai mutters, as he pulls the car into a mostly-empty parking lot.

“But you didn’t,” Lloyd says, a bit more cheerfully.

“A tragic mistake, really,” Kai sighs.

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, propping his elbows up on the armrest of Kai’s seat and grinning at him. “Just think — then you could’ve been the green ninja right now. Blew your chance.”

“It might not be too late,” Kai says, side-eyeing him. “I could still off you and steal the green gi, you know.”

Lloyd snorts. “Yeah, then you could give the motivational team speeches—“

“You haven’t set a super high bar—“

“—and you get to fend off whatever rabid ex-student of Sensei Wu comes by next week—“

“On second thought—“

“—and you’d get Garmadon for a dad—“

“No I wouldn’t!”

“Well you’d have to see him all the time, at least—“

“Well that’s the nail in the coffin, there.”

Lloyd giggles, falling back in his seat. “As if you could defeat me anyways,” he says, smugly.

“Oh yeah?” Kai says, pulling the car into one of the vacant parking spots (not that it matters, the entire lot is empty save for one car in the corner, but you know, lessons). “How about this: I’ll trade you five cookie cakes for the green gi—“

“Done.”

Kai blinks, his hand pausing on the gear shift as he shifts it into park. “Seriously? That’s it?”

“I’d probably trade it for one,” Lloyd says, messing absently with the string on his hoodie. “Cookies are a way better trade off.”

Kai has words for that, but he desists. The Preeminent was only a few months ago, after all, and not that long ago Lloyd had a greasy emo jerk possess him because he was salty that he wasn’t the chosen one.

Kai suppresses a snort. After meeting the guy, he honestly wonders why anyone was even surprised—

Anyways. Rant aside, Kai is on a mission here, and he’d promised Nya and the guys he’d have Lloyd driving like a pro when he came back. In hindsight, this was probably too big a promise on Kai’s part.

“Do I have to?” Lloyd complains, as Kai unbuckles his seatbelt and gestures for them to switch places. “We drive mechs, Kai, why do I even need to know how to drive a car?”

“Because,” Kai says, insistently. “This is a normal person check box. If you ever want to have a life outside of obsessive ninja training and world-saving, you gotta at least know how to parallel park.”

“You don’t even know how to parallel park,” Lloyd accuses.

Kai bristles. “Just because I hit another car once—“

“Twice.”

“—twice, doesn’t mean I haven’t parallel parked right before!”

“Sure,” Lloyd says, in a voice that sounds way too much like Kai’s own snarky skepticism, oh geez, has he created a monster when he wasn’t looking—

No, Kai decides, calming himself. He’s been nothing but a stellar role model, of course.

“Anyways, it’s an important part of growing up,” Kai says sagely, like the absolutely amazing older brother he is. “You’ve only got a certain number of important life events, and you already steamrolled past becoming a teen. We gotta treasure the rest. Getting your license, being old enough to vote, having alcohol for the first time—“

“Actually, I already had alcohol for the first time,” Lloyd corrects him.

“…what.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, wrinkling his nose. “When Morro possessed me he took this shot or something, it was super gross — wait, Kai, where are you going? Kai, get back in the car!”

“—find a way to the Departed Realm myself, and then I’ll show him where he can stick his shot glass—“

“Kai, please—“

“—shove his ugly emo head in a blender—“

“Kai, people are watching us!”

******

After a good ten minutes of Lloyd coaching Kai through calming exercises, and a bad five minutes of Lloyd dragging Kai by the hair back into the car before he tries his hand at necromancy, Kai finally convinces Lloyd to get into the driver’s seat.

This is, unfortunately, the easy part.

“Okay,” Kai says, pointing to the gear shift. “These here are super important, ‘cause if you put it in the wrong one, you’ll shoot backwards on accident.”

Lloyd snorts. “Speaking from experience?”

Kai shoots him a look. “Just listen, okay?”

Lloyd shrugs, but he doesn’t say anything else. Kai shakes his head. “Anyways, like I was saying — this is an automatic car, so it’s easier than stick shift, but you still gotta pay attention to the gear shift. It’s in park right now, which is the P, see?” Kai taps the transmission. “That means it won’t move, even if you hit the gas. If you want to move, you shift it into drive, which is D, right here. The R is for reverse, which is if you wanna go backwards. N is for neutral, which is pretty pointless I guess. And the L is for low, which means, uh….low,” Kai finishes awkwardly. Huh, maybe Nya should have taken this one…

He shakes that off and directs his attention back to Lloyd. “You got all that?”

Lloyd, who has been tuning him out for the last five minutes in favor of watching the little bee that’s outside their window buzz around the antenna, quickly yanks his attention back to Kai, trying to seem like he’s been listening like a diligent little brother the whole time.

“Yes. Totally got it. The PRDNL. Good to go.”

Kai narrows his eyes at him. “Then what’s the P stand for?”

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “Park, duh.”

“And the N?” Kai says, shrewdly.

“Uh…” Lloyd tries not to sweat. “Never hit…another car?”

Kai thunks his head against the glove compartment. “You’re not even gonna make into the car for the test,” he groans.

“It’s not my fault it’s so boring!” Lloyd defends. “All this stuff about the park and reverse and braking is stupid—“

“Really, the brakes are stupid?”

“You know what I mean!” Lloyd huffs, slouching down in the seat. “I don’t even want to be here.”

“Look,” Kai says, trying his very best not to make a crack about the five year-old that Lloyd is. “If you stop whining about it, I’ll make cookies with you when we get home.”

Lloyd eyes him, looking slightly more receptive. “Chocolate chip?”

“I was actually thinking oatmeal raisin this time, change it up a bit—“

Lloyd gags. “Oatmeal raisin?” he repeats, scandalized. “You’d rather have oatmeal raisin cookies than chocolate chip? Who are you, satan?”

“Yes,” Kai says, flatly. “I’m the devil incarnate.”

“The driving devil—“

“You know what, just go ahead and start driving,” Kai says, grinding his palms in his eyes. “You know which is brakes and which is the gas, right?”

“Obviously,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “Get ready for the ultimate driving master, heh.”

“I can’t believe I helped raise you.”

“Psh, you were lucky to,” Lloyd says. Kai shakes his head, grinning against his better will. Lloyd falls quiet, and Kai watches him expectantly.

Then watches him expectantly for another minute.

“You can drive now.”

“…”

“…Lloyd.”

“…”

“Lloyd, you can drive.”

Lloyd remains frozen at the steering wheel, gripping it hard enough to creak. “Um.”

Kai stares at him. “Lloyd?”

“I’m going,” Lloyd says, tightly. “Just. Gimme a sec.”

Kai blinks, staring at him another minute. Lloyd makes no move, and the car doesn’t either, quietly puttering away in park.

Kai gestures to the gear shift. “Just start with changing the gear—“

“I know,” Lloyd grits out. “Stop putting so much pressure on me.”

“Pressure, I’m not even—“ Kai cuts off, trying not to face-palm. Okay, new tactic. “Just…imagine the road is Morro’s face,” Kai suggests.

Lloyd blinks. “What?”

“Imagine the road is Morro,” Kai repeats. “And you’re, uh, running him over if you drive.”

Lloyd turns this over in his head, the epiphany dawning on his face. “You’re right,” he says, his voice hushed. “If I knew how to drive, I could run him over.”

“Well yeah, I mean, if he wasn’t already dead, and that’s not quite the point I was going for there, but—“

“I changed my mind,” Lloyd says, a look of hellish glee in his eyes. “I like driving.”

Uh-oh.

“Don’t get carried away,” Kai says, sweating. “Here, just take it slow—“

Lloyd throws the car into drive, and— oof, there’s the gas, he was paying attention after all, apparently.

“Okay, that was a little rough, but so far, so — um, Lloyd?” Kai says, weakly. “Lloyd, you might wanna — you might wanna slow down a bit—“

“That would defeat the purpose,” Lloyd says, resolutely turning the steering wheel as they pick up speed.

Kai looks at him in alarm. “The purpose?”

A grin spreads across Lloyd’s face that looks way too much like it belongs on Garmadon’s face. “Of running Morro over.”

“Morro is hypothetical, Lloyd—!”

“I know, but—“ Lloyd pauses, a slight look of panic crossing his face. Kai follows his line of vision, and realizes that they’re now headed in the direction of the lone car in the lot with them.

“Uh, which one was the brakes again?”

Kai stares at him in disbelief. “The left.”

“The left what?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The left what, Kai?!”

“The left pedal, Lloyd, hit it, hit it — no, with your foot, you idiot—“

As it turns out, they’re both idiots, as no one thinks to turn the wheel in time.

******

“Can I say a bad word.”

“No.”

“Rats.”

“I can’t believe this,” Kai moans. “There is literally one. One single car in this parking lot, and you still managed to hit it.”

“I’m going to prison,” Lloyd says sadly, surveying the two wrecked cars, Sensei’s old rented car neatly smashed into the considerably more expensive sports car, crushing the side in.

At least neither of them got hurt, Kai thinks, dully. Property damage was only kept to a few couple thousand dollars this time, that’s…probably a record for him and Lloyd, actually.

It’s still not good, but Kai is nothing if not a loyal brother, and if Lloyd goes down to his own inability to touch a car without wrecking it, he’ll go down with him. But preferably neither of them are going down, Kai likes living life outside prison.

“No, you aren’t,” Kai says, shaking his head and rising in determination. “You’re too young to go to prison.”

“Yeah, I haven’t even voted yet.”

“Cut the sass or I’ll make prison look like a playground next time I’m on training with you,” Kai says, tightly. “Look, we’re just gonna—“

There’s a slam from the door of the building near them, and Kai hears voices sound from around the corner. Lloyd takes a careful step behind him, going pale.

“Ah,” Kai says. “Okay!” he claps his hands together. “Lloyd, this next lesson is called hit and run, which is terrible and bad and you should never do, ever, however—“ Heavy footsteps round the corner. “Desperate times!” Kai yelps, grabbing Lloyd by the arm and hauling them both into a sprint. “Run for it!”

******

“Weren’t Kai and Lloyd supposed to be back by now?”

Nya looks up from her book, meeting Zane’s concerned expression. “They’re probably just taking their time,” she says. “Lloyd didn’t look super enthusiastic about driving.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Zane says, not looking entirely reassured. Nya can’t blame him — they’re trusting their only normal car into the hands of Kai and Lloyd, the odds aren’t exactly great.

Zane shifts, making to stand. “Perhaps I should check on—“

The heavy sound of a dragon landing on the deck echoes from the ceiling, and Nya gives a tiny sigh of relief as twin footsteps echo across the deck, heading down for the cabin. Both her and Zane glance at the door as it swings open — and blink. Kai and Lloyd look fairly cheerful, which probably has something to do with the three large boxes from the Great Ninjago Cookie Factory Lloyd’s balancing in his arms, and the half-eaten slice he’s got stuffed in his mouth.

“How’d driving go?” Nya asks, eyeing the boxes shrewdly. She’s already debating how difficult it’s going to be to wrestle those from Lloyd before he makes himself sick, chances slim to none.

“It went okay,” Kai shrugs, hanging up his jacket. “Lloyd knows the gear shifts now.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, through a mouthful of cookie. “The PRDNL.”

“Oh,” Zane says, staring at them. “That’s good. Did you bring the keys back?”

“Yup,” Kai says, tossing Zane the key ring. Nya relaxes, exchanging relieved glances with Zane. Ah well, she sighs to herself. Its not that she’s unhappy to be wrong about her brothers’ capability, but she’d really thought they might end up—

“By the way, the car’s in downtown Ninjago,” Kai says quickly, placing his hands on Lloyd’s back and shoving. “It mightbealittlewrecked too but we gotta go, training awaits, go Lloyd go—“

Before Nya can blink, Kai’s shoved Lloyd down the hall, the two sprinting away as Lloyd cackles. Zane gives a tiny, quiet sigh of utter despair.

Horrible as she feels, because poor Zane and his dejected expression, he doesn’t deserve this…but Nya can’t help the tiny smile of satisfaction that spreads across her face. Ha. Cole’s losing twenty bucks to her after all.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #dont kill me for the whiplash here i couldnt help it #my fic

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screensirenfic · 5 years

Text

Black Leather - Chapter 15

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

One repeated cuss that had become my mantra for the past five hours.

When I flew into the police station like the devil was on my heels, Flo had assumed the worst; her wrinkled eyes blown wide at the sight of a near frantic Hopper careering towards her.

“Flo, Flo; is my dad here?” I’d near demanded; my messy blonde hair sticking to my forehead in an unsightly mess.

“No, Lola; he’s out on patrol. Can I help you with anything sweetheart; you look worried?” She’d asked with all the softness of the grandmother I’d never had, her hands reaching out to steady me.

“No, no. I just really need to speak to my dad...” I tried to reassure her, but my near panting did little to steady the nerves.

“Well; I can try his radio Lola, but are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” Flo continued to insist, even as she trotted over to the comms desk, her short legs surprisingly nimble at her age.

“No, no. Just; if you could get through to him, that would be great...” I replied, eager to speak to my dad ASAP.

She picked up the radio, first tuning into my dad’s frequency, before speaking into it.

“Chief Hopper; do you come in? This is the station...” Flo called, her voice steady as she waited for a response.

Nothing?

“I have Lola with me Jim; do you come in?” She asked, but still silence.

We both waited on baited breathe as the silence seemed to stretch on eternal.

Flo took her thumb off the button.

“Sweetie; I don’t think he’s gonna answer.” Flo said; her eyes softly sympathetic, but she must’ve seen the wild look in my eye and mistook it for fear.

“But we can try again...” She nodded, pressing her thumb down on the button once more.

————————————————-

I always thought the discovery that a child was missing would be the worst part; that one moment when time seemed to slow to a stop and realisation hit you faster than a freight train, but I was wrong.

It was the waiting that was killer.

Rocking back and forth on the edge of a worn couch, unable to sit comfortably, because goddamnit; she was somewhere out there! Chewing nails down to the beds, the taste of blood on my tongue, because already my mind had jumped to the worst case scenario, and that thought made bile rise up from my stomach.

Dad was no better; pacing up and down like a caged bear, contributing to the steadily growing pile of cigarette butts on the kitchen ashtray.

When he’d pulled up to the police station, his face cycled through the seven stages of grief; all sorts of wild and painful theories on why I’d called him crossing his mind.

I never rang him at work; not even when I fell off my bike and had to get twelve stitches in my left thigh.

There was very little a Hopper couldn’t deal with by themselves; so for me to call in for backup meant that the truly unthinkable had happened.

He’d rushed towards me; an unsettling mix of relief, confusion and concern passing over his face, because yes; I was okay, but I’d still called him, and that meant some serious shit had happened.

“Thank God!” Dad exclaimed, pulling me to his chest in the best attempt of a hug a Hopper could reach for.

“Are you alright Lo? What happened?” He asked as he pulled away, hands still resting on my flushed cheeks.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I insisted; my pulse finally slowing a little now I knew I wouldn’t be alone in this.

“But we need to go home ...” I insisted; my voice firm.

“Now.” I gave him a look, conscious of Flo’s worried form standing mere feet away.

“Of course.” He nodded, already reading between the lines and making his way back to his car; me following close behind.

“Wait Hop; where are you going?” Flo asked, picking up on our sudden exit.

“Family emergency. Got to clock out early.” He gruffly explained already unlocking his car.

I climbed into the passenger seat, knowing I could come back for my bike later, and that I really needed to give dad the lowdown on what to expect when we got home.

“But what do I tell Joyce Byers? She’s been calling all morning...” Flo hounded my dad as he climbed into his truck; our family’s ever illusive nature clearly losing its charm for her.

“Shit. Right...” Dad hissed, pausing to rapidly switch between his dad hat to his Chief hat.

“Tell her I’ll call her from home when I’ve sorted out this mess.” He said, giving Flo a look that let her know he wasn’t just saying it to keep her out of his hair.

“Alright Hop. But you best keep your word.” Flo conceded, before slamming the door shut for him.

Dad turned over the engine, the truck roaring to life, before he quickly spun it around in the parking lot; probably breaking several traffic laws in that manoeuvre alone.

He bombed it out of the parking lot, speeding onto the street as if we were hot in pursuit.

“Tell me what happened.” Dad demanded, all business as he refused to take his eyes off the road for even a minute.

I took a deep breath, before launching into a word for word account on what I’d found when I’d gotten home that afternoon.

——————————————————

Sitting in that cabin felt as close to torture as I was probably gonna get; the oppressive silence near stifling, because dad refused to do anything besides smoke and brood since he’d finished tearing the house apart.

And he wondered where we got it from?!

I’d really expected more finesse from an acting police chief, but apparently searching for clues looked a hell of a lot like having a tantrum, and I got a glimpse at what might’ve happened if I’d ever decided to call his bluff and run away to Steve’s one day.

The whole thing wasn’t pretty, and once dad had resolved that Eleven wasn’t actually hiding beneath any of the furnishings; he’d resorted to the Hopper Family’s most favoured pastime; simmering in absolute broodiness.

I heard footsteps outside; so light it could’ve been a hallucination, if not for the thunderous ones that followed.

The door opened and I looked up; relief flooding my system in a rush of endorphins that left me running over to her, encompassing her in a tight hug.

“Thank God...” I sighed into her hair, unable to stop myself from running my fingers through the curls, because yes; I wasn’t hallucinating and she really was okay.

“I was so damn worried about you.” I said with a pained smile, pulling away to take a good look at her, just in case she was in fact an illusion.

She smiled back at; the familiar warmth removing all doubts from my mind, only to be ripped away with the angry slam of a door.

“Friends don’t lie...” Dad spat; his face the picture of fury as he loomed in the doorway, his gaze nearly burning holes into Eleven’s skin.

“Isn’t that your bullshit saying?”

“Dad; give her a break...” I petitioned from the floor, still kneeling at Eleven’s height.

“After she deliberately disobeyed me?!” Dad asked incredulously; his eyes switching to shoot their venom at me.

“No; that’s not happening.”

Eleven was a smart kid, and pissed off to boot, so she took the first initiative and headed to her room.

“El...” I called after her, following close behind, because as much as I understood her desire to run away from this; I knew dad wasn’t going to make this that easy for her.

“Hey! Don’t you walk away from me...” Dad growled, charging towards us both with adamant ferocity.

El attempted to throw the door shut on him, but he caught it, storming into the room with his accusations blazing.

“Where’d you go on your little field trip; huh?” He interrogated, blocking the door as if she was about to make a break for it any minute.

“Where?!”

“C’mon dad...” I petitioned, stepping between them, because if this came to blows; I really didn’t want to be the one cleaning up.

“No; Lola. I want an explanation.” Dad cut in; his stony face making it clear he would not be argued with on this.

He turned his attention back to Eleven, who was currently stripping out of her coat; her face the silent image of petulance at the humble age of thirteen.

“Did you see Mike?” Dad asked; his tone making it seem more of an accusation than a question.

“He didn’t see me.” Eleven insisted, finally breaking her silence in order to engage him at the most basic of levels.

“Yeah... well; that mother and daughter did...” He retaliated, sweeping further into the room to confront her.

“And they called the cops...”

El didn’t respond; just gave him a look that harboured such bitterness, I doubted even I could match it.

“Now; did anyone else see you? Anyone at all?” He interrogated, getting up in her face as if she was some dirtbag in the cells.

“Dad...” I cautioned; I could see El’s gears were already grinding, but it didn’t matter.

“Come on; I need you to think...” Dad yelled; his face turning red.

“Nobody saw me.” El hissed; her eyes dark with a cold fury, but that didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered to dad.

“You put us in danger...” Dad began to lecture; his anger barely contained beneath accusatory words.

“You put Lola in danger. You understand that right?”

But no; she didn’t understand that. She was a kid; she just wanted to get some air, but I don’t think that mattered to Dad.

“You promised... I go....” Eleven yelled; the words getting caught in her throat as she screamed them at him.

“And I never leave! Nothing ever happens!”

“Nothing ever happens and you stay safe!” Dad roared, meeting her word for word in red faced fury.

He reached up to pinch his nose; the clear sign a headache was coming on and that maybe he should give it a rest.

“Come on Dad...” I soothed gently, reaching out to touch his arm. “That’s enough.”

He didn’t say anything; just sighed and rubbed his eyes in a worn tiredness, drawing attention to the fine lines across his face.

But Eleven wasn’t to be cowed so easily; teenage hormones alongside a general sense of indignation a nasty fuel for the anger within.

“You lie!” She spat; marching over to dad like she could take him on singlehandedly, and knowing her powers, she probably could.

“I don’t lie. I protect and I feed and I teach...” Dad ranted; his blooming headache forgotten in the slight of her insubordination.

“And all I ask of you is that you follow three simple rules! Three rules! And you know what?! You can’t even do that!” He yelled; his face turning from red to purple in the dim cabin light.

“Dad; that’s enough...” I stepped forward; once more taking my place between them because this was getting too heated, too fast.

“You’re grounded!” Dad yelled; ignoring me in favour of sticking an ultimatum on her before storming out of the room; his face that of a man on a warpath.

Eleven swung her foot into the drawers, kicking it with a loud thump that told me it must’ve hurt more than she was letting on.

“You know what that means?” Dad asked; his voice echoing from the other room as I crouched down in an attempt to soothe Eleven, well aware she was a ticking time bomb about to blow.

“That means no Eggos...” Dad ranted, and I could hear the fridge door open and close, then the sound of boxes being tossed into the trash.

“Really dad?” I asked; looking up at him incredulously, because he was really gonna do this like this?

He didn’t take any notice, already half way across the living room and making a beeline for the TV. Eleven spotted him first, striding past me to the doorway to make her stand.

“And no TV for a week.” Dad barked, attempting to lift the set in its entirety, but it wouldn’t budge.

Not when Eleven stood there holding it down with her mind; and what did he really think was gonna happen?!

“Alright; knock it off.” Dad said, straightening up to look her in the eye.

“Let go.”

Eleven shook her head; a thin stream of blood trickling from her nose in the effort, because goddamnit; we were nothing if not stubborn!

Dad tried to pull the TV up again, refusing to budge on her punishment, no matter how much she resisted.

“Okay. Two weeks.” Dad stated, before attempting to rip up the TV from the ground with sheer brute force.

“Dad; this is getting ridiculous...” I reasoned, but it didn’t matter.

Reason and ridicule were nothing when faced with Jim Hopper’s wrath.

“Let go...” Dad growled at Eleven, shooting daggers at her.

She just shook her head again.

“A month!” He announced, but that was finally too much for El.

“No!” She argued back; blood now trickling down across her lips and into her mouth.

“Well; congratulations. You just went from no TV for a month, to no TV at all.” He declared, marching over to the plug socket and wrenching the plug from the wall.

“No!” El screamed despair, rushing over to the TV in attempt to revive what was her sole companion most of the time.

“Eleven; sweetie, it’s okay...” I tried to reassure her as she desperately fiddled with the TV switch, unsuccessfully trying to turn it on.

“Don’t comfort her!” He demanded, shooting me a cutting look that had all my hackles on the rise.

“She’s got to understand that there are consequences to her actions...”

“She’s a child!” I reminded him, because someone here had to remember that.

He opened his mouth to spit something back, when Eleven interrupted.

“You are just like papa.” Eleven spat; tears in her dark eyes, blood trickling down her chin.

“Really? I’m like that psychotic son of a bitch?” Dad muttered, rubbing his brow frustratedly.

“You wanna go back to the lab?” He challenged her; eyes cold and unfeeling.

“Dad; don’t say that...” I warned coldly; already seeing he was leading himself down a path he didn’t want to tread.

“No; if that’s what she wants...” Dad interrupted; his eyes returning to Eleven, staring her down accusingly. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Dad; stop.” I warned; raising my voice, because I’d been here before on different circumstances, and I knew he was going to say something he’d regret.

“I hate you!” Eleven screamed; bitterness heavy in her voice.

“Well I’m not too crazy about you either.” Dad retorted, and I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to stop this; but my god, if I weren’t gonna try.

“Dad; that’s enough...” I cautioned, but he was on a roll where all paths ended at Eleven.

“You wanna know why? You’re a brat!” He snarled, digging the knife in a little deeper with every word.

“You know what that word means? Brat?”

He pulled a dictionary off the bookshelf, flicking through the pages with sardonic dedication.

“Well; that can be your word of the day. Let’s look it up...” He continued, tearing through the pages with vicious efficiency.

“Dad—“ I tried, but he interrupted, holding a hand up for silence.

“B-R-A-T. Brat.” He repeated, tossing the dictionary towards her, but she stopped it midair, allowing it to hover menacingly.

“Eleven; put that down...” I instructed, because I knew that look in her eye, and it didn’t mean anything good.

She tossed it back towards him, narrowly missing his head as it fell to the floor in a loud thump.

“Hey?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” He grilled, striding through the room towards her.

She used her mind to pull the couch forward, striking him hard in the shin.

“Hey?!” Dad exclaimed, but Eleven was already storming off to her room.

“Eleven...” I called after her, but dad had already beaten me to it, following after her at military speed.

“Hey!” He shouted, as a bookcase toppled down onto him, narrowly stopped by his outstretched arm.

“Hey! Hey!” He yelled after her as she slammed her bedroom door, causing the house to shake for the second time that night.

“Dad; stop...” I petitioned, making my way over to him as he attempted to open her door to no avail.

“Open this door!” He yelled, shaking the doorknob vigorously, despite knowing it would do nothing.

“Dad; come on, please...” I asked, finally reaching him and attempting to pry his hand off the doorknob.

He snatched it away angrily, before pounding on the door, yelling repeatedly.

“Open this door! Open this damn door!” He roared, pummeling the wood with his fists, and I swear I could hear sobbing on the other side.

“You wanna go out in the world?! You better grow up!” He spat, and I honestly couldn’t believe I was hearing such spite from my father; a grown man, for Christ’s sake!

“Grow. The. Hell. Up!” He screamed, slamming his fists into the door with every syllable.

“Dad; stop!” I yell; squeezing myself between him and the door, because I was honestly worried he was about to break the thing down.

I stared into his red face; his eyes ablaze with a fury I’d never seen before, and for a split second, I thought he might hit me.

Then Eleven screamed.

An ear piercing shriek that made your ears feel like they’re about to start bleeding. I clamped my hands over my head, trying to stop the sound from splitting my skull in two.

Both dad and I fell to our knees, and I could make out the sound of glass shattering and then beginning to fall down on us.

Dad sheltered me from the most of it; tiny shards spilling onto the floor in a mosaic of crystal.

And just when I thought my brain would burst from the pressure; it stopped, Eleven’s screams dimming into a sob through the wood.

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bellygunnr · 5 years

Text

Plant Identification

A commission for the lovely @eliptly who was amazing to work with.

Sorrel wasn’t busy when he got the knock on his door. He wasn’t busy, no, but he also wasn’t in position to go gallivanting halfway across the desert, for there were sensitive projects at hand that he was overseeing. But he also wasn’t about to say no, either, and had plenty of trustworthy friends in the lab to take over while he was gone. This mission, after all, was directly related to his world dream-- and while others might disagree, Sorrel wasn’t a fool.

“I’ll do it,” Sorrel blurts.

The Guardian-- Harpuia, he thinks-- stares at him in mild shock. “What?”

Then, “oh, you will? Great!”

“When do we start?” Sorrel presses. “I can get ready so fast-- promise. Do you need a vehicle? I have a caravan-- it has all my machines in it. And all my gear. We should probably take it,” he adds pointedly.

Before Harpuia can say anything else, he’s already scrambling to throw on his cloak, fussing with the thick mane that was his hair.

“We uh, can leave now, if you have everything in order,” Harpuia says, still in shock. “We’ll load all your gear into our caravan…”

“Yes! That’d be great!”

The guardians’ caravan was a massive and armoured crawling contraption, resembling more of an animal than a vehicle. All of Sorrel’s gear-- machines, seed vaults, books, and data pads- fit comfortably inside with room to spare. It did not stop Fefnir from hunkering down right beside it, however, which made him nervous. Fefnir was huge! What if he accidentally smashed something?

No. That wouldn’t happen… Fefnir may be big, but he wasn’t careless.

“Sit up front,” Harpuia ordered. “With me.”

“Uh, yes sir,” he stammered.

He climbed in front where the movements of the caravan were most pronounced and nearly rhythmic in its cadence.

“I’m surprised your caravan has no gyroscopic stabilizing,” he said quietly, hands folded in his lap.

The eye roll was in the following silence, Sorrel was sure. He peered out through the tinted windshield at the rolling desert sands. They were heading north-- to Dome No.5, a relatively new structure that was still undergoing terraforming. If they started going east, he mused, it would be Dome No.3 instead. Hm…

Really, the atmosphere inside the caravan was stuffy and difficult to breathe in. Were all Arcadian generals like this? He scowled slightly out at the barren lands, brows furrowing as something interesting began to come into view.

“Oh! It’s a farm!” Sorrel gasped. “A coffee farm? It’s so big. That’s lovely.”

“They are becoming more common, aren’t they? Weren’t you working on a hybrid coffee plant?”

Sorrel paused, trying to think of which project Harpuia was talking about. He had so many that it was easy to lose track…

“I believe so. I was crossing it with a more versatile crop but the results have been… curious, to say the least,” he explained slowly. “One promising specimen has softer pods that open up on their own. They do seem to be edible!”

Harpuia blinked and nodded. “But does it have seeds? Flowers?”

“To have pods, you need flowers,” Sorrel hummed. “Insects pollinate it.”

They had been driving for another hour when something struck the vehicle-- a thunk from behind, followed by several more thunks. Something was on the caravan. Worse, it was scaling it.

“Phantom! Leviathan!” Harpuia called, killing the engine and bringing the big vehicle to a jerking, grinding halt. “Go see what’s going on out there, please?”

Sorrel blinked, eyes widening as he continued to hear the thunks and scrabbling sounds. It sounded like a wild beast was trying to get inside from above! Or a bird.

Or the Resistance.

“Is it an attack?” Sorrel asked, trying to look at Harpuia. A hot breeze came in through the back, dashing the air conditioning’s hard work, his circuits immediately crisping. Shoot, it was hot out!

“No,” Harpuia sighed. “It’s probably… a friend of ours, I’m sure.”

That wasn’t cryptic at all.

Sorrel twisted around to peer outside where Leviathan and Phantom were now perched, crouched in front of a third figure. It was clad in red but not nearly as large as Fefnir (who had fallen asleep, completely oblivious).

“Who… is that?”

Omega recognized these faces. They weren’t always friendly but the few times that they were, he usually got food out of it, and this time there weren’t any weapons… That was enough for him to quickly press himself against Phantom’s legs, snorting with amusement when the lighter Reploid threatened to topple.

It had been on purpose, of course.

“What should we do about the big guy?” Leviathan asked Harpuia.

“Haul him in the back,” Harpuia sighed. “He can run our errands with us.”

The big Reploid purred, not comprehending what was being said, but understanding the gentle slope of the voices all the same. He twisted away from the cluster and hauled himself into the back of the big caravan. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a new Reploid.

“Don’t worry, Omega,” Fefnir said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s just a friend. Yo, Sorrel, come look at this big guy!”

Sorrel’s mouth dropped open. “Did- did you say- Omega?”

“Ah, shoot…” Fefnir had the grace to look mildly guilty. “Yeah. He’s harmless, though. Come back here and give him some lovin’.”

Easier said than done…

In the long run, that was exactly what Sorrel did. The big Reploid-- Omega, Omega Zero himself-- was perfectly content to lay in his lap for the rest of the trip. Sorrel ran his hands through the long, curly mane, sighing with relief when the great big structure of Dome No.3 appeared. It was shielded from the harsh elements of the desert with the only glass panels being atop the dome.

It had been awhile since he had been here.

“We will be collecting samples and sowing new seeds, correct?” Sorrel asked, to make sure.

“That’s right.”

Omega stirred, growling faintly. Sorrel quickly gave him several pats on the head.

The caravan trundled to a halt.

Fefnir and Sorrel were tasked with hauling most of the equipment in, the other three making sure their presence was confirmed. Omega loped inside with no regards to bureaucracy or rules. He happily pushed his way inside the greenhouse-- more of a micro-ecosystem-- and disappeared.

“So, we’re planting new species of trees?” Leviathan asked. “What kind?”

“Dome 3 is a deciduous forest biome, so we are introducing the long-forgotten Ash tree. I have the saplings in some of the containers here. They are very small.”

“I see…” Phantom lifted one of the small sapling containers, peering inside. Its roots were bagged. “They don’t exist anywhere else?”

“Not anymore. My team was very fortunate to recover their genetic data,” Sorrel said with a bright smile. “So let’s take care to plant these with love! Okay?”

They dug out the saplings’ new homes by hand, using little energy tools shaped into trowels and hooks and all sorts of gadgets. Sorrel taught each of them how to safely unbind the tree from its bag. Leviathan turned out to be the best at it.

Harpuia only attracted birds.

Robins and sparrows had come down from their nests to land on the green Guardian, beaks nibbling over the wing-like attachments, feathers puffed and just generally getting in the way. A bright red blush was adorning his face even as he tried to ignore them.

Phantom shook his head. “You’ve been feeding them, haven’t you?”

“N- nonsense! Don’t accuse me of such things!” Harpuia hissed. He stuffed his hands into the dirt.

“Then why are they so friendly? Or maybe you look like a giant bird! You do have wings on your head!” Fefnir said with a smirk. “Harp, you’re just a giant bird…”

“No!!!” Harpuia huffed at him, the birds on his head only warbling in discontent. An increasing amount were gathering atop his back. “Jeez…”

Sorrel couldn’t help but laugh, distracted from his work for the moment. To see all of the Guardians interacting with each other like siblings was a rare treat-- and to see one laid low by numerous birds was just amusing.

“If Harpuia was a bird, he’d be an Eagle!” Sorrel called. “I don’t believe any eagles have been revived yet…”

That was distressing, actually. Robins and such could be flown in from other, more prosperous regions, just as remnants of other creatures could be. But no one could find any hints beyond cultural symbols of the Eagle.

“Eagles?” Phantom echoed. “I saw a drawing of one, once. Very proud looking birds. Is our Harpuia proud?”

“As a peacock,” Leviathan said with a grin.

They moved on, eventually, to look over the Dome’s twelve-mile radius grounds. Human scientists were found encamped in certain areas, committing data and logging the livelihoods of the dome’s specimens. Sorrel chatted with a couple that he recognized from his own team before moving on.

They found Omega again, several hours later.

He was sleeping on the roots of a great big tree-- a Penn Oak, according to Sorrel-- and looked relatively peaceful. Birds were poking and tugging at his hair.

“This is odd to see, you must know,” Sorrel said softly. “He looks peaceful.”

“Yes, he does,” the others agreed.

---

This was a commissioned piece. If you liked it, and perhaps want to see more, I also have a Ko-Fi, Patreon, and open Commission slots that can be found on my page. Thanks!

#mega man #Mega Man Zero #mmz #the guardians #oc #oc: sorrel #commission #omega zero #three laws of robotics

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lacquerware · 6 years

Text

Mega Man should stop presenting its flaws as indispensable features

When I was fifteen, I learned to play the song Malagueña on the piano. It was a laborious project; the culmination of nine years of piano lessons under the tutelage of Mrs. Diane Miller, and the main event for her upcoming student showcase.

This arrangement of the piece was a seven-pager, and somewhere around page four was a problem phrase I kept playing wrong, a rapid two-handed run up the keyboard with tricky fingering. I got to a point where I could play flawlessly up to that phrase, only to flub the phrase every time. Each time I flubbed it, my teacher would stop me and send me back to page 2. “You have to perfect that phrase,” she would say, “so try it again, but first play the preceding two pages, so it’s no longer fresh in your mind by the time you get to it again.” Alas, this would result in more flubs, and after three flubs in a row she would send me back to the beginning of the entire piece. “You’re still not getting it,” she’d say. “So I think we should run through the stuff you’ve already mastered one more time.” I would glance at her, trying to read her intent, and she would stare back at me, bug-eyed and malevolent.

The above story is false,because Mrs. Miller was a kind, intelligent, and non-insane person. Like all people of that description, she understood that you don’t work out a problem area by indiscriminately repeating ALL PRACTICE. When you get one problem wrong on a math quiz, you don’t review the entire textbook. You don’t work on your free throws by drilling layups and then also free throws. You can’t learn to poach an egg by toasting English fucking muffins all day. To suggest otherwise is an act of hostility.

Mega Manhas always carried this hostility. The game dishes out its challenges in neat little screen-sized units, but penalizes your failures with gratuitous setbacks, often requiring you to replay entire stages from the beginning. This makes learning inordinately tedious. You have to retread every yard for every yard gained.

I guess this is a relic of the arcade age, when games were designed with the express intent of punishing players—unless they paid up. Indeed, most of Mega Man’s NES contemporaries inherited this same feature in the form of finite lives and scarce checkpoints, but it never made much sense on home consoles. You could argue that it prolonged the lifespan of each game, but that only held true for the masochists who continued to tolerate this torturous system rather than reallocate all that wasted time to more fruitful pursuits like, I dunno, learning to play piano or poach an egg.

I’ve always liked Mega Man, but it was already starting to feel like a tired concept as early as Mega Man IV. I was about eight years old by then, and starting to catch on that they were running out of boss motifs. Pharaoh Man felt like a red flag.

Mega Man has since proliferated into a multi-faceted franchise spanning more than 120 titles and three decades (and for the record, I’ve played through almost all of them), but it’s never really dispensed with its ancient baggage. Mega Man X brought new visual flare while diversifying the core action; Mega Man Zero imbued the series canon with new consequence and cool factor; Mega Man ZX fused the classic gameplay with the Metroidvania template; but all of these spin-offs continued to punish, punish, punish, to gatekeep their content from the series’ own consumers to no certain end.

When Capcom revealed Mega Man 9, I was momentarily taken with the nostalgia of it, but quickly lost interest when I realized that Capcom had no intent of evolving the series’ concepts, even in basic quality-of-life ways. Lives and weapon energy were still pointlessly commodified, checkpoints sadistically scarce. They’d even removed what few innovations the series had seen to date, such as the slide and the charge shot. Nor did the roster of Robot Masters appear any more inspired than the cast of rejects that had turned me off five installments prior. Capcom had had seventeen years to think about it and all they’d come up with were lame analogs of pastbosses, like Tornado Man and Magma Man. It’s like they thought they hadto retread the same shit beat for beat or people would get confused. Even their ace, Splash Woman, was just another in a long line of water-themed bosses.

Mega Man 10 as a follow-up was downright depressing. Strike Man, Pump Man, and Chill Man are what you get when you realize yesterday was the deadline and all you’ve got is a pen and a cocktail napkin. I can’t fathom that a bunch of game designers sat around brainstorming ideas for Mega Man fucking 10 and someone was like, “Hmm, what about an ice-themed boss.”

Now we have Mega Man 11, the long-awaited, belligerently-demanded revival of the MM franchise after some eight years of dormancy. After playing the demo, I find myself wondering why. Why are we here? Why is Mega Man 11 Capcom’s answer after saying no to Mega Man for eight years? It’s the SAME.

Yes, it looks and sounds nicer and there’re a couple new mechanics—which are themselves comically uninspired takes on the ancient tropes of bullet time* and Devil Trigger—but I’m mystified at how unchanged the formula still is after eight years of seemingly adamant dismissal of the entire franchise, let alone the thirty-one years they could’ve been critically examining it. Do they realize that other developers have been building on this genre since the eighties?

*Weird side note: The tutorial for Mega Man’s new “Speed Gear” ability explains that the gear makes you “move so fast that everything else seems slow,” but in practice Mega Man moves just as slowly as everything else. So it’s not Mega Man who’s moving fast, it’s. . . the player?

Punishment as “Difficulty”

In the Block Man (lol) stage of the demo, there’s a section where you have to jump and slide through elaborate platforms as they scroll toward you, an insta-kill grinding device nipping at your heels all the while. The third platform has very peculiar collision detection, such that your head bonks against the empty space you’re supposed to jump through, seemingly rendering the challenge impossible. This is several screens into the stage but still prior to the first checkpoint (on Normal mode), so every time this platform killed me, I had to start the entire stage over. After about fifteen tries, I discovered that the collision doesn’t trigger if you’re holding left as you make the jump—an illogical thing to do unless you’ve died so many times you’ve run out of other ideas. By the time I cracked this idiosyncrasy, I’d already spent close to an hour replaying the preceding screens over and over for no reason. Why is this still a thing? This is punishment, not difficulty. It contributes to the challenge only in that it makes the experience less fun, “challenging” your resolve to continue playing. Think of all the origami you could be learning. All the old ladies you could be helping cross streets.

The Mega Man games are quite clever in the way they parse out the platforming and shooting in little bite-sized units. Each screen is essentially an action puzzle for you to solve. It would be so logical for each screen break to be a checkpoint, because each screen break isa checkpoint—the start of the next challenge. Games like Super Meat Boy do this, meting (meating?) out their challenges in bite-sized, infinitely repeatable increments. Nobody accuses Super Meat Boy of being too easy because it doesn’t make you repeat the shit you’ve already completed when you fail at the current task. If you wantthat kind of punishment, no one’s stopping you from resetting the game.

Mega Man 11 adds a “Casual” mode which increases the number of checkpoints, but it’s still annoying to me that the more punishing model is treated as the norm while the more logical distribution of checkpoints is treated as a concession. Soulsplayers will tell me to “git gud,” but that’s why I led with the piano analogy. I got damn good at Malagueña, and I still had time left over to do my homework and play video games.

Special Weapons

Using your Special Weapons in Mega Man games is like spending the money you might need to pay rent on stuff you could be getting for free through your well-connected friend Dave. The trial-and-error pairing of the right weapon and the right boss is such an integral part of Mega Man’s progression that any other use of anyspecial weapon becomes a high-risk gamble—unless, of course, you just Google the answers.

I understand the need to impose limits on the more powerful weapons, but games have figured out countless better ways to do this in the thirty-one years since Mega Man 1. Cool-down times. Cool-down meters. Recovery proportional to damage inflicted. Recovery proportional to damage received. Recovery by way of skillful attack, à laMetal Gear Rising. Enemy fire absorption à la Alien Soldier and Radiant Silvergun. Ranger X on the Sega Genesis had solar-powered special weapons; why not steal that idea for this game’s allegedly solar-powered protagonist?

Instead, even in its eleventh installment in two-thousand-goddamn-eighteen, Mega Man still employs an RNG-based item drop system. Replenishing your meter is as simple and menial as finding an enemy spawn point and brainlessly standing and shooting until an enemy happens to drop the energy you need. Don’t forget to cycle over to the gun you want to replenish, or else the battery is wasted, as if Mega Man just eats it by mistake.*

*Later games in the series introduced the Energy Balancer, a purchasable item which automatically refills the weapon that needs refilling even if you don’t have it selected. Why is that a thing you have to buy? Why put a fundamental improvement to the game behind a paywall, virtual or otherwise?

Meanwhile, MM11still employs the same bizarre meter continuity between deaths as past installments. Each death means repeating sections of the stage without reacquiring any previously spent meter, effectively creating a difficulty vortex—the harder this game is, the harder it gets. There was a ruthlessly capitalistic logic to this in the arcade days,but the Mega Man series has never been coin-operated (with a few obscure exceptions). It hasnevermade sense that, often, the best strategy is to voluntarily leap to your death over and over to force a Game Over, just to restart with a full weapon meter as an alternative to the tedium of refilling it manually or facing the boss without it. What is the explanation for this meter continuity in the first place? Are we supposed to think Mega Man is repeatedly exploding and materializing but he can’t materialize a few extra shots from his bubble gun while he’s at it? There’s a multi-faceted idiocy to this whole system.

Rush

Capcom ought to take a long, hard look at Rush, Mega Man’s transforming robot dog companion. It’s hard to believe the same guy who invented a fully autonomous solar-powered robot boy couldn’t design a dog-shaped spring that runs on renewable energy. Special weapons are one thing, but why does Rush have an exhaustible meter? He’s a fucking spring. It makes no sense as a narrative detail nor as an element of game design. What exactly are the designers trying to limit? Your ability to spam high jumps? The logistics of the Rush Coil already do that; you have to set him up like a lawn ornament and he peaces out after a single bound. He’s unspammable, even with a full bar. To begin with, there are rarely that many useful opportunities to use the Rush Coil within a single stage, and energy power-ups are infinite as long as you’re willing to endure the chore of finding them, so it’s not as though the game is challenging you to budget your resources—it’s just discouraging you from searching for those meaningful jump opportunities in the first place. It’s driving you to Google.

Bosses

The Robot Masters have always received special star treatment in the Mega Man games but rarely been very interesting as boss fights. You know the deal: dodge the dizzying hail of projectiles in an empty square room while desperately scrambling to land enough hits with the weakness weapon before you die. Considering all the fanfare these bosses get (mug shot, intro screen, and now reveal trailers), most of them feel kind of interchangeable. Most of them have nearly identical silhouettes and shoot functionally redundant projectiles in superficially different shapes. Every gun is a Lucky Charms marshmallow.

The boss fights actually do seem a little more interesting in Mega Man 11—Block Man in particular stands out with his mid-fight transformation into a hulking colossus. I’d hoped to see more of this in future Mega Mans—fights that evolve and really set each Robot Master apart as a distinct embodiment of its corresponding motif—so maybe they’re onto something this time. Still, it’s a little ridiculous that this game has yet another fire boss, electricity boss, cold boss, and bomb boss. Why are we still here?

Before the mob comes for me, I want to stress that there’s always been lots to love about Mega Man, and I’m glad Capcom is investing in the IP again. I just hope this is the start of a long-term effort to reevaluate and improve the series, not another short-sighted extension of a tired status quo.

#mega man 11 #mm11 #capcom #games #video games #videogames #gaming #reflections #demo #games writing #criticism #rant

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hcte · 6 years

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hello kids you can call me l, 18 y.o, she/her. ( that’s an L not a capital i ) and this is august :D i am literally late to everything and have only half of his stats page up but it’s better than nothing .... more info can be found under the cut and i’ll also list some plots i came up with that i really like !! ( going✈plot page later.. ) like/im me to plot so i don’t embarrass myself please :(

basically he’s his family’s golden boy/pride/joy/future breadwinner/etc etc but it’s all going to shit the deeper he gets into his family’s business ( a law firm his dad co-founded that dabbles in morally ambiguous dealings ) and it REALLY !! hurts bc all his life he worked his ass off with the goal of helping others in mind. fuck rich ppl !!!!

his dad is a self-made lawyer who earns quite a bit as the co-founder of one of the biggest law firms in the area

not a troy bolton story of “dad this is YOUR dream not mine”-- his dad’s been his role model for forever and he’s wanted to work in the field since he was little

recent university graduate, top of his class, etc etc, law school bound.

truly!!! the golden boy!! ambitious, philanthropic, calculating, etc and isn’t afraid to put the hours in to get what he wants

refer to: non-idle rich

despite his hard work he’s been accused of being a product of nepotism SO many times and it really grinds his gears lmao

an idealist/romantic at heart, genuinely thinks he can make the world a better place if he works hard enough

totally being ruined the more he sees the worst of upper class society (namely his dad lmao)

background info: he spent a year interning at his dad’s law firm but the dealings that happened under the table were oftentimes appalling (fraud, sabotage, threats against jurors, etc) and he came out of the experience half-jaded and half-confused-with-his-entire-life

confronted his dad SO many times but all he got usually was “that’s just how it is sometimes”

+ // driven, hard-working, well-meaning. genuinely optimistic in the world and wants to help others with his career. originally wanted to become a public defender (someone who represents people who cannot afford to hire one) but his dad was like Ummm no keep it in the family business buddy

- // self-righteous, perfectionistic, stubborn. has a bad habit of bossing people around; hard to convince him he’s wrong sometimes. HARSHLY perfectionistic and wants to be the best of the best at everything (it’s the virgo moon ladies!!)

umm am i forgetting anything

probably

PLOTS!!!!!!!!!! i came up with these at 5am bored out of my mind but i really!! want them filled so please hmu im not a clown i swear

our parents are cutthroat business rivals but i wanna take you on a date behind their backs

we graduated as co-valedictorians of our class and i’m still salty because it should’ve been just me

another rivals plot (i love rivals plots lol): we were rivals throughout college (should be someone also aspiring to work in law) and i hate your guts (confrontations in the bathroom after heated mock trials, backhanded compliments, having to pretend you get along in front of the heads of the department because you’re the top 2 students)

i know the awful illegal thing(s) you did because i helped with the court case (extension: i know the awful illegal thing(s) you covered up with money because i helped with the court case)

your family keeps trying to set me up with you but you’re in the closet/we don’t like each other like that at all and this is all just super awkward

our families are close but you’re the spitting image of snobby rich kid hedonism and i don’t like you at all

we’ve been best friends since middle school and you keep me grounded (banter, ranting to each other at night, supporting each other’s hopes and dreams???)

we were high school sweethearts but i dumped you for a law career and i haven’t seen you since then (or, you dumped me because it seemed like i was more in love w my career than you)

we hook up occasionally but you’re one of my father’s clients and we need to stop before this gets out of hand

these r just suggestions!!!! feel free to brainstorm w me if they dn’t fit ur muse(s)

#no gif bc i wanted to get this up asap and photoshop said fuck ur intro post #sometimes?it belike that..#scarsdale:intro #ooc #where's my ooc tag

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violetganache42 · 7 years

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My Thoughts on the Logan Paul Controversy

WARNING: The following post contains descriptions of the graphic material that was recorded on Logan’s most recent vlog, which was thankfully taken down. It also consists of opinions on his and Jake’s unforgivable actions prior to this incident, as well as cursing and the possibility of some heated rage, in which I would like to apologize for in advance. If I also come off as rude in some aspects, then I’m sorry for that too. No one ever thought 2018 was going to start off like this and leave them with intense fury over it. I would also like to apologize if the topics of depression, mental illnesses, and suicide upsets or triggers anyone who is reading this. That is not my intention whatsoever. This is my overall opinion on a very controversial issue and I don’t mean to upset or trigger anyone in doing so. With all that said and done, reader discretion is advised.

Okay, I never talk about them, but because of what recently happened, I want to quickly address the elephant in the room: I hate Jake and Logan Paul. Actually, “hate” is not the right word to describe them; how about “loathe?” Maybe “despise?” “Spite?” “Resent?” Whatever the word choice is, the two are both terrible celebrities together and individually for a variety of reasons.

As you already know, both Jake and Logan achieved their fame back in 2013 when Vine was around, achieving 5.3 million and 3.1 million followers respective by the time of its shutdown. When they switched over to YouTube on November and September of 2016 accordingly, it all went downhill from then on. In general, they spew diss tracks at each other, churn out frantic videos in order to gain viewership and consume free online content, and sell merchandise from their clothing lines instead of being TV actors. The only problem is kids between the ages of 8 and 15 aren’t necessarily part of America’s economy, so combining their focus on this specific demographic with their insatiable thirst for fame and greed, it’s basically a lose-lose situation for them. But that’s not all I have to say about them because looking at them individually, they have their own brand of problematic behaviors and content.

In Jake’s case, he endured the most controversy because he’s been exposed as nothing but an annoying douchebag who did the following: made racist remarks on his minor characters in his videos, accused of emotionally abusing and manipulating his ex-girlfriend Alissa Violet, cyberbullied and brought down people online, constantly disrupted his peaceful neighborhood and his neighbors with his stunts and pranks, delivered pop culture phrases in an obnoxious manner during an interview that came off as—how the kids describe stuff nowadays—“cringey.” Not to mention his atrocious music video for his song “It’s Everyday Bro” dealt some serious damage to his career by receiving over 3 million dislikes on YouTube. He even got fired from Disney mid-season of Bizaardvark on July 24 for acting like his fame gives him the freedom for doing whatever the fuck he wants. What grinds my gears about him is he made all these apology videos and keeps claiming that he’s changed and moved on, but there is strong evidence that proves otherwise.

As for Logan, he has managed to escape controversy up until now by having roles on films and TV shows like Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Weird Loners, Airplane Mode, the YouTube Red film The Thinning, and in the upcoming movie Valley Girl, taking part in a partnership with Dwayne Johnson, and opening his own brand called Maverick. Heck, his diss song, “The Fall of Jake Paul,” had managed to gather better reception from his fans, scoring only 173,000 dislikes, which is far less than the 3 million dislikes from “It’s Everyday Bro,” because of the actual effort put into it and the massive controversy Jake currently has. Of course, it still doesn’t change the fact that he is still a horrible person when you consider the info above, and his newest vlog helps showcase it. Without further ado, it’s time for me to stop talking about the past and focus on the present… and boy, do I have a lot to say about this.

For those of you who not aware or are just hearing about this, allow me to explain what exactly happened; however, I am generously giving you the choice to skip this because what I am about to describe may make you feel uncomfortable. For those of you brave enough to read the issue, please keep scrolling.

Earlier this week, on New Year’s Eve, Logan and three of his friends were traveling in Japan when they stumbled upon Aokigahara, which is best known as the country’s “Suicide Forest.” They all ended up going in the forest when they discovered the corpse of a man who hung himself, one of the most common methods suicide victims use to kill themselves in there. One of the friends was feeling uneasy about what they were witnessing, and despite his seriousness, Logan laughed it off and soon referred to it as “a moment in YouTube history,” only for him to get one hell of a reality check. As of now, so many people via YouTube and Twitter have reacted in absolute anger and/or disgust at what he had done and have been calling out on it, including Robyn from Anime America, Joey the Anime Man, Gaijin Goombah, Lost Pause, Game Theory, Breaking Bad’s Aaron Paul, Game of Throne’s Sophie Turner, JackSepticEye, Stefan Karl, and even PewDiePie of all people. The immense amount of backlash had gotten to a point where he deleted the video and posted two apologies, one each on Twitter and YouTube. I will get to those later, but for right now, let me give my input on this.

First off, let’s break down the group’s reaction. Since the video was removed, I was able to find snippets of their dialogue from it thanks to CNN, which can be found here.

Logan: This is a first for me. This literally probably just happened.

Friend: I don’t feel good.

Logan: What, you never stand next to a dead guy?

Friend: No.

Logan: *laughs* It was gonna be a joke. This was all a joke. Why did it become so real?

Friend: Depression and mental illnesses is not a joke. We came here with the intent to focus on the haunted aspect of the forest. This just became very real.

Oh, boy. Where do I even begin with this? Logan, your friend is absolutely right. Depression and mental illnesses are not jokes, let alone FUCKING suicide! This was his first time seeing an actual dead body with his own two eyes and you laughed it off like it was nothing! For all we know, this could’ve been your first time seeing like this too, but why the fuck would you joke around like that if you were originally planning to explore the Suicide Forest’s haunted atmosphere?! It completely depletes the initial intent of your plans for your vlog all because of your “humor” in this! On a side note, whoever his friend is, can we please give him a round of applause for having the knowledge to understand what is and isn’t a joke? Because at least he gets the situation they were in.

And that brings me to another point I want to bring out: why he was joking around with what he saw. After they all ran out of the forest and into the parking lot, Logan said this that really caught my attention:

Logan: “…the smiling and laughing… is not a portrayal of how I feel about the circumstances. Everyone copes with shit differently… I cope with things with humor.”

WHAT?!

I’m sorry, but no! That is utter bullshit! Using humor to cope with something such as fear is fine, but using it to deal with the fact you stumbled across a REAL corpse?! That’s crossing the line! It helps illustrate that what you did was inhumanely wrong, and you know what?! The backlash proves it! When it became known to the public with around 6.5 million views, the viewers were repulsed by what you did! You showed them, from fans and people who don’t like to YouTubers, celebrities, and the media, that you have zero respect for the suicide victims through your insensitivity and voyeurism of this seriously important subject!

Not even your “Viewer Discretion is Advised” banter helped prevent this from happening, which leads me to readdressing your target demographic! For all we know, there could have been little children watching this and they would have either been scared that they saw the same hanging corpse or influenced negatively as shown by this tweet below!

“The other day my 7 year old sister showed me logan pauls video on the dead body and i was disgusted and told her to turn it off.My sister is 7 YEARS OLD and loves and watches logan paul all the time. later we went outside to do painting and she painted a hanging man in a forest” — Aoife Dormer (@aoife_dorma)

If anything, you could have emphasized your warning on how there are graphic material that are not suitable for children/minors, replaced “Advised” with “Recommended,” and made the video 18+ so that they would’ve been unable to watch it! Even so, it still didn’t change the fact it broke one of YouTube’s policy: prohibiting the depiction of violent, gory, or graphic material in a shocking, sensational, or disrespectful manner unless the footage is used for educational or documentary-based purposes. I’m not gonna touch upon how the staff aren’t pressing this forward or why they didn’t react sooner, but I digress. In my opinion, not changing the rating of your vlog—and having it violate a YouTube policy regardless—was part of a completely careless move on your part.

Oh, and this doesn’t end there; this actually leads into my next point: the apologies and the aftermath.

In the midst of the swift outcry of the enraged public, Logan deleted the video and tweeted an apology on New Year’s Day at exactly 10 PM about what he posted, but instead of taming the flame, it made things worse… and I can easily tell why. Much like the last remark, this one contradicts what he says.

“I didn't do it for views. I get views. I did it because I thought I could make a positive ripple on the internet, not cause a monsoon of negativity. I intended to raise awareness for suicide and suicide prevention and while I thought, 'if this video saves just ONE life, it'll be worth it,' I was misguided by shock and awe, as portrayed in the video.”

Dear God, there is a shit ton wrong with this tone-deaf apology it makes me want to scream! What pisses me off the most is his claim and there is strong proof in not only this tweet but also in my thoughts on the vlog that highlights how that is bullshit as well!

You should’ve thought about your actions ahead of time! You were given multiple choices on what to do when you and your friends encountered the hanging dead body in Aokigahara: “Should I keep this vlog?” “How should I feel about or respond to this?” “Should I edit it out or leave it in?” “How will everyone else react?” At the end of the day, you chose the wrong choices and it resulted in heated negative consequences.

You were NOT raising awareness for suicide prevention, which is the main reason why this tweet makes me livid! The vlog proves you laughed at what you saw and cracked jokes about it, despite your friend’s input on this unsettling discovery! A lot of people, even YouTube, agree that the material was shocking for the viewers, you sensationalized at said material, and you were outright disrespectful about it by treating suicide like a fucking joke through your “coping mechanism!”

You were not “misguided;” basically, this third reason ties in with the second one.

Because of this, an insane amount of criticism was unleashed, with Sophie calling Logan “an idiot,” his claim “mocking,” and his apology “self-praising,” Aaron referring to him as “pure trash” who can “go rot in hell,” and surprisingly Rebecca Black stating that how someone with “such power and influence could intensify “an entire family’s grief beyond measure.” And guess what? She is right! One of the people calling out on him was Anna Akana, who and her brother both had to deal with the loss of her sister after she committed suicide! Not only that, but there are also people struggling with depression and have contemplated suicide, especially in Japan, who are infuriated and sickened by what they watched/heard because they knew what he did was an epitome of bad publicity... No, “bad” isn’t the best way to describe this; what they discovered was appalling publicity! It’s even worse when you realize publicity is one of the main contributors to suicide contagion, especially when a young age group is exposed to it! Given Logan’s fanbase mainly consists of children and young teenagers, that vlog was a repulsive influence on them and would most likely worsen suicide contagion despite it being removed from YouTube, which reiterates Aoife’s tweet about her younger sister painting a lynched man! The damage has already been dealt and it pisses me off so much that he would influence minors like that!

And that is just the tip of the iceberg because he posted a longer apology video on YouTube the next night amid the rampaging counteraction. Did it do anything to at least settle this dispute? Let’s find out.

“I've made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment and I don't expect to be forgiven. I'm simply here to apologize. So what we came across that day in the woods was obviously unplanned and the reactions you saw on tape were raw and they were unfiltered. None of us knew how to react or how to feel. I should have never posted the video. I should have put the cameras down, stopped recording what we were going through. There's a lot of things I should have done differently but I didn't and for that from the bottom of my heart I am sorry. I want to apologize to the internet, I want to apologize to anyone who has seen the video, I want to apologize to anyone who has been affected or touched by mental illness or depression or suicide but most importantly I want to apologize to the victim and his family. For my fans who are defending my actions, please don't, they don't deserve to be defended. The goal with my content is always to entertain, to push the boundaries, to be all inclusive. In the world I live in I share most everything I do. The intent is never to be heartless, cruel or malicious. Like I said I made a huge mistake. I don't expect to be forgiven. I'm just here to apologize. I'm ashamed of myself. I'm disappointed in myself. And I promise to be better. I will be better. Thank you.”

*frustrated sigh* Oh, dear Lord. There is a reason why posted the transcript of his apology than share the video itself, which I’ll get to after I give my two cents on this. ...Ever since last night, I had a difficult time trying to find a way to reply to this. I read a couple articles saying the video was emotional and somber because of how he was on the brink of tears and it left me at a point of uncertainty; I kept asking myself if he really does deserve to be forgiven or not, but after seeing other posts and getting an update on his newest video, it snapped me out of my state and told me that forgiving Logan would mean defending him, just like his fans... and there was no way in hell I would succumb to a level as low them supporting him. So with my spark reignited, it’s time for me to break this shit down once again!

Logan, let me start this bit off by saying this: it is far too late for you to apologize. What you did was irredeemable, vulgar, disgraceful, and plain rude of you to not only those suffering from depression, mental illnesses, or suicidal issues, but to the entire country of Japan. During your trip, you behaved immaturely by making a complete racist jackass out of yourself in front of foreign tourists/residents while wearing a kimono and made a complete fool out of Americans and Westerners, but your vlog on New Year’s Eve took it too far! You desecrated a corpse, went through him to see if he had any of his belongings with him, laughed and joked about it, and showed no remorse or empathy about what you and your friends came across! Because of you, Japan is now coated in anger; you made them hesitant on us being part of the 2020 Olympics, Tokyo tweeted at you to get out, and you’re now denounced by the Japanese Suicide Prevention Group all because you ridiculed their strict laws and significant efforts into helping lower suicide rates and gave a giant middle finger to country in general by treating it like it’s a fucking playground! What you did was an act of pity because of the imminent backlash and I will never. Forgive. You.

That’s not all; as it turns out, even though Logan clearly said he doesn’t expect forgiveness, his fanbase—like I’m gonna call them by their referred fandom name—still forgave him because they believe “he didn’t mean it” and even had the audacity to attack a Japanese vlogger named Reina Scully in a racist manner all because she criticized his Suicide Forest vlog. ...Okay, first: WHAT?! Second: THE FUCK?! Like before, I apologize for suddenly snapping, but that’s NOT how you defend someone! You do not make harass the harasser by sending them racist remarks, let alone telling her and the Japanese to kill themselves! That is just sick and inhumane! No wonder people are telling others to stop supporting the Paul brothers; their fans are worse than the commonly known bad fandoms! *sigh* Well, at least it was best of me to not apologize to Logan because there was no way I was going to stoop as low as them. It was also perfect timing on my part because I recently discovered on that his apology video was monetized; in other words, he made thousands of dollars off of it...

Holy fuck! This is all kinds of despicable and messed up! Making between $8.5K and $68.1K off of a simple apology?! Now I am so glad I ultimately kept to my opinions about this sicko instead of accepting him like his other fans because this is one of the many examples of being greedy and money-hungry.

Because of this, people immediately took to Twitter to repeatedly slam him until it was promptly demonetized. Shortly thereafter, conflicts began to surface regarding YouTube; a petition opened up calling for Logan to be banned from the site (which now has over 130K signatures) and many are giving the website and its staff flack for being hypocritical of the way they review the content of videos. To be honest, I don’t blame them. Although I’m glad they commented on the issue, it obviously wasn’t enough. What used to be a site that got its start from cat videos has become its own economy with terrible decisions they’ve made, from the Fair Use dilemma to labeling LGBT+ videos as “mature content.” Seeing how significant the past few days has become, they really need to wake up, get their humungous sticks out of their asses, and actually contribute than just simply stating what rule Logan violated. Regardless, with all of these factors combined into one, it is easily safe to say this second apology was typically a clear bust.

And what does Logan do now that both apologies were shown to be practically useless? He announces his hiatus last night on Twitter, stating he is “taking time to reflect.” Of course, and not surprisingly, there is a long thread which consists of a division between his effortlessly influenced fandom of youngsters and those who despise him for what he has done, both over the years and on New Year’s Eve.

...I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’m not dealing with this shit anymore. Everything about this is wrong and I am certain I am going to get a headache out of this. I don’t care if he is “reflecting;” knowing him, he is still going to be the same idiotic frat “celebrity” that he is, especially when Maverick Apparel came forward today to say they lost $4 million in profit because of him… and Jake dissed in him in one of the most inappropriate ways ever. Ugh!… Can this nightmare end already?! I swear, it keeps finding ways to make me want to continue this rant! Well, guess what? Not. Anymore. I am concluding this right now and I don’t care what will happen to these two sickos in the near future.

*sigh* Well, to wrap things up, Logan is nothing but a stupid, inane, thick-skinned, money-hungry, thoughtless jackass who only cares about getting richer and, much like Jake, using his fame to do whatever the fuck he wants because he believes there is no such thing as “bad publicity…” until now, that is. He may have been able to dodge controversy in the past, but thanks to his obnoxious, immature personality, he has made him a danger to three important fields after his trip to Japan; he has demonstrated how much of an inadequate influence he is to juveniles countless times in the past and has managed to do so once again with his now-deleted vlog, he has made the entire Japanese country hate him for even stepping foot on their cherished land, and he has sparked yet another battle against YouTube’s policies and regulations.

Logan, I’m going to say this once and only once: it is your fault you showed Japan just how disgustingly inhumane you are by not only fucking around with their cherished laws, traditions, culture, history, and landscape. It is your fault for recording the footage of the corpse, laughing and joking about it, and not giving a single shit about suicide, depression, and mental illnesses. It is your fault you unleashed hell on earth that pitted most of the social media users against you. It is your fault for creating your half-hearted apology tweet and your equally monetized apology video that only added fuel to the fire. It is your fault Japan hates you for treating them poorly. It is your fault you’re now facing serious consequences after showing the world what you did in front of that dead man. It is your fault for ending 2017 and starting 2018 on abysmal notes. I hope your multi-millionaire empire crumbles by having the YT staff banning your vlog channel. I hope the actions you—and Jake—have illustrated over the years and the consequences you face will deal more major blows to your precious careers.

To everyone reading this, I want to say I am genuinely sorry that you saw that vlog or heard what has been going on. I am even sorry at myself for subjecting myself to this horror of learning who the Paul brothers are just to get this rant out of the way. They have a horrible sense of humor and none of the stuff they do is funny, let alone how serious suicide is.

Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US, claiming an average of 44,965 American lives every year, and for every 25 attempts that are made, it annually costs the country $51 billion. In Japan, despite now having over 21,000 people claiming their lives every year—with the majority caused by men—and its suicide rate declining, it still remains as one of the highest rates when compared to other countries. The most common place for the Japanese to kill themselves is in Aokigahara, which has received its infamous nickname, “the Suicide Forest.” It earned its name and has become the 2nd most suicidal place on Earth because around 100 Japanese residents travel there to commit suicide because of its thick trees and its seclusion; two of the frequent ways they kill themselves is through drug overdose or by hanging themselves though other methods are not uncommon. Since then, Japanese officials have been putting their best efforts to decrease the suicide rate.

Suicide is an urgent situation, with depression being the #1 cause of it if left untreated, undiagnosed, or ineffectively treated and mental illnesses, disorders, and contributors such as physical ailments, previous suicide attempts, limited access to mental health treatment closely following suit and cannot be left unnoticed. If you or a loved one is experiencing suicidal thoughts or actions or have had a series of suicidal thoughts or actions, it is not too late to seek help. Whether it is in America, Japan, or anywhere else in the world, call the numbers below based on what country you live in:

United Kingdom: 116 123

United States: 1-800-273-8255

Canada: 5147234000

Mexico: 5255102550

Ireland: 116 123

Brazil: 212339191

Argentina: +5402234930430

Spain: 914590080

Portugal: 225 50 60 70

France: 0145394000

Greece: 1018

Germany: 08001810771

Italy: 800860022

Poland: 52770000

Holland: 0900-0113

Denmark: +4570201201

Sweden: 46317112400

Finland: 040-5032199

Norway: +478153300

Belgium: 1813

Austria: 017133374

Switzerland: 143

Egypt: 7621602

South Africa: 0514445691

Israel: 1201

India: 8888817666

Australia: 131 114

New Zealand: 045861048

Singapore: 1800 221 4444

Philippines: 028969191

Russia: 0078202577577

China: 85223820000

South Korea: 112

Japan: +810352869090

You can also donate to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, or any resourceful suicide prevention organizations you know because your gifts will serve them as a reminder that you are contributing to fight against this worldwide epidemic.

Don’t wait. Call now or donate to help save a life.

#my post #rant #logan paul controversy #anti logan paul

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rizlowwritessortof · 8 years

Text

Make You Mine

I’ve kind of had a craving for angry, jealous Dean lately...

Gator @salvachester - this one’s for you <3

You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you're not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you're used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he'd like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean's thunderous frown. He's been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

“Is your superior officer around? Maybe the big boys should talk,” he snaps, and the officer behind the desk stands up, all six feet and at least four inches of him, maybe even a little taller than Sam.

“Listen, Agent Hetfield. We don't take kindly to feds coming in and throwing their weight around. If we can help, fine. But don't go making demands like we owe you. We work for a living around here, too.”

You can almost feel Dean’s chest swelling, his temper ready to blow, and you step forward, one hand on his arm as you push your way in front of him. “Sorry, Officer – Thomas, is it? Please forgive my partner, this case has him a little wired.” You turn to look up at Dean, your lips tight as you speak to him in a pleasant voice, aware that he will hear the anger beneath. “Agent Hetfield, Agent Hammett, why don't you go get that coffee we were talking about? I'll get what we need here and meet you outside.” You narrow your eyes at him, the threat behind them clear.

“Yeah. Why don't we just do that,” he grinds out, giving a curt nod to the officer and turning on his heel to stalk to the door, flinging it open without a pause. Sam smiles politely, then turns to follow him.

“I'm so sorry, Officer Thomas. He really has been under a lot of strain. We've been following leads on this case for some time now, and it does tend to wear you down.”

His eyes soften a little as he nods. “Yeah, understandable. I appreciate your – uh – diplomacy. Sometimes situations like this get a little alpha-male, you know?”

You smile sweetly. “Well, Officer, what I really need is to see the files on the so-called ‘Slasher’ murders. Just to compare notes. You've probably got some of the finer points that we've missed, being local and all.”

“Of course. Follow me, I'll get you set up.”

It's an hour or so later, and you tuck your pen into your folder, closing it on the pages of notes you've scribbled down. Officer Thomas escorts you out, his hand on the small of your back, and you laugh at something he says. He believes he's witty, and you play your part well, making him believe that you think so, too. He shakes your hand, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin, holding on a little too long, but you let it go. Then he asks you out for drinks later, and you smile again, apologizing that you'd love to, but no. Work comes first. When he finally lets you leave, slipping his card into your hand 'just in case,' you thank him, then turn and walk towards the car where Dean waits. His posture is stiff, his hands clenched on the wheel, and you meet his eyes. They are smoldering, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw working. You can almost feel the fury coming off of him in waves, but you refuse to drop your eyes.

“Where's Sam?” you ask as you slip into the front seat, gracefully pulling your legs into the car. He lets his eyes travel from mid-thigh down as you slip out of your heels.

“Library.”

“Good. Now would you like to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I'm fucking fine.”

“Right. You've been glaring at me all morning, and you almost blew it with the locals. Seriously, Dean, what's your problem?”

“I don't have to deal with the 'locals,'” he fires back, “because you just hitch up your skirt a little more and flash some cleavage, and they bend over backwards for you.”

“Excuse me?” You are speechless for a few seconds, your hands clenched so hard your nails are digging into your palms. “Was that some kind of accusation?”

“If the push-up bra fits.” He throws the car in gear and the tires squeal just the tiniest bit as he leaves the curb.

You are so pissed off that you can’t even form a coherent string of swear words. “Excuse me, Agent ‘Yeah, this job is dangerous and lonely and some nights you just want another human being to share your thoughts with.’” You glare at him, laser eyes, and he throws a sneering expression your way.

“God, are you ever gonna let that go? I used that line one time!”

“That we overheard, yeah!”

“At least I don’t go around with my assets hanging out all over the place!”

“Fuck you in your fucking face hole, Dean Winchester!” You can feel your face glowing with heat, and you're so pissed that you sound ridiculous, but you are beyond caring. “Stop the car, I'm getting out.”

“No. You're not.” He speeds up, and you reach for the door handle, but he grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards him. You struggle, trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but his fingers are digging in, unrelenting, and you know there will be bruises in their wake. “Stop fighting me, Y/N.”

“Fine! I'm packing my stuff and I'm outta here!” You sit still, refusing to look at him, your chest heaving and your hands shaking as he whips into the motel parking lot and screeches to a halt in front of your door.

The second his fingers loosen their grip, you pull away and are out the door, barefoot through the gravel, digging in your bag for your room key. You can barely make it work, you're shaking so badly, but you finally manage to yank the door open. You turn to slam it shut, but it shudders as Dean stops it with one hand and shoulders his way in, banging it closed behind him.

“Get the fuck out.” Your teeth are clenched as you speak, and you reach for the door handle to open it again.

“I don't think so,” he growls, and then he slams you against the door, one hard-muscled arm braced across your chest, the other hand buried in your hair as his lips capture yours in an almost brutal kiss.

The air is practically crackling around the two of you, and you're too shocked to even struggle. When he raises his head, both of you panting for air, you stare into his eyes, bewildered and still furious. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I can't do this anymore, Y/N. You're driving me fucking crazy.” He kisses you again, and your brain just blanks, reverting to primal instinct, desire flooding through you like a dam has burst inside. He’s still kissing you when he grabs the neck of your blouse and jerks it open, sending buttons pinging across the floor, and then he looks down at you, his stare dark and dangerous as his eyes take in your lavender bra, the swell of your breasts heaving with your agitated breathing.

“You can’t do what anymore, Dean? What the hell are you...”

“I can’t pretend I’m okay with it when those assholes stand there imagining you naked while you give them a little peek just to get some information. I can’t watch while you hook up with some dickless wonder when we go out for a few drinks. I can’t act like it doesn’t piss me off when some fucking jerk has his hands all over you.”

“Oh, but it’s okay when you’re all Agent Casanova, ‘I just need someone to fuck because I might not live another day!’ And look who’s talking about hooking up at the bar, all the brainless bimbos that are always hanging all over you!” You grab his shirt with both hands and give it a yank, sending his buttons flying and his tie all sideways. “And you ruined my suit!”

He’s breathing hard, his jaw working, his nostrils flaring as he stares back at you. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m just getting started.” He moves fast, whipping his pocket knife out and opening it in one smooth motion, startling a soft curse from you.

“And just exactly what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you demand, trying to sidestep, but he traps you against the door again.

“I’ll show you ruined,” he growls, and then pins you beneath his angry glare, his eyes narrowing a little in warning. “Don’t move.”

He tucks two fingers in the waist of your skirt, tugging it out just a fraction of an inch, then cutting into it carefully with the knife until he has the space to slip the blade, sharp side out, behind the fabric. The metal is cold against your skin, but it isn’t there long. With one flick of his wrist, your skirt splits right down the front, and he drops it at your feet, folding the knife again and stuffing it back into his pocket. You’re left standing there in your lingerie, and his eyes are taking in every inch of you like a man starved. You’re shaking a little now, but damned if you’ll let him know that.

His hand reaches for you, fingers gliding down the side of your neck, pushing what’s left of your blouse off your shoulder, first one side, then the other. The silky fabric falls around your feet, and you raise your chin, defiant. “Feel better now?” you snap, and his smile actually makes you shiver.

“Not yet.” He drags a calloused finger along the strap of your bra, following the lacy edge across the swell of your breasts. “So pretty, I’d hate to ruin this, too...”

“Fuck you, Winchester!” His response to that is to press his body against you, and you breathe in sharply as he grinds his erection against your hip.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he growls, and then his lips are ravenous as they take yours, his hand squeezing your breast, and you both groan.

He has you half crazed, between the arousal and the anger you still feel, and you nip at his lip, hard, making him almost yelp. He draws back, his tongue darting out over the injury, and then he pulls the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping a bit of blood away. “You wanna play rough?”

“Who says I want to play at all?” you fire back, but he laughs harshly.

He shoves a hand between your thighs, rubbing hard against your clit, and you gasp, rearing your head back and banging it on the door. “Who do you think you're foolin', sweetheart?”

“Your ego is unbelievable!” you spit back at him, and a smile curves his lips, sending a chill up your spine.

“Oh, honey, you'll be begging for it before I'm done.”

“In your dreams!”

“Oh, I’ve had this dream.” He bends to kiss you again, then stops short, his lips a breath away. “You bite me again and you'll regret it.” Then he kisses you, really kisses you, his mouth slanted over yours, passionate and hungry, and hurting him is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You're rubbing yourself on the hand he has between your legs, and he's returning the pressure, gentle and steady. Your head is spinning, and you pull away from your kiss, your back and neck arching as you pant, small mewling noises escaping your lips as Dean kisses his way down, sucking a mark into your skin where your neck and shoulder meet.

He takes your hand, stepping back and staring down at you, looking like he'd love to devour you. “Come here,” he almost whispers, leading you to the bed, your legs barely able to function. He sits you down, then quickly strips off his tie, tossing it, and drops his shirt to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of you, slipping his hands up the outside of your thighs and hips until he can get hold of the top edge of your panties. He tugs, gazing into your eyes, and you lift up slightly, letting him pull them down until he lifts each foot and removes them completely, dropping them beside him. “Still think I can't make you beg?” he asks softly, and before you can gather sufficient brain function to think of a comeback, he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, ducks down and swipes his tongue through your wet folds, moaning, sending goosebumps over you in waves.

He lets out a groan that makes you shudder, your fingers clenching into the bedspread as you fight for control. His tongue is leaving trails of fire through your pussy, teasing you, touching every damn place but where you really want him to be. He latches on to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh where it joins your apex, and you whimper as he sucks another mark there.

He looks up at you, his eyes full of dark promise. “You’re shaking, baby. All you have to do is ask.” He puts one huge hand right at the crease of your thigh, his thumb brushing over your mound, and your hips buck up off the bed slightly, rebelling against your feeble attempt to stay still. He pushes against your soft flesh, pulling back gently, exposing your throbbing clit, and you inhale slowly, feeling as if you’ll explode with the tension. He moves, bending closer until his lips are almost touching you, his breath washing hot over your skin. He watches you as his tongue creeps out, the tip barely brushing the oversensitive nub, and you jerk, crying out.

“Please, Dean...” Your voice is so wrecked that you almost don’t recognize it, and a soft smile curves his lips.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Then everything is hot and wet, quivering and quaking, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you as you collapse back onto the bed, clutching wildly at the bedding, at his hair, at nothing and anything you can grab hold of to anchor yourself. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, black spots in your peripheral vision, your entire body going limp as you tremble, whimpering as his tongue and lips gently ease you down.

He looks up at you as your eyes flutter open, your pulse still pounding. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe across his face, then lets his hands drop to his knees, not moving from the floor where he still kneels before you. You see him swallow, his eyes sliding off to the side, his teeth worrying at his lip. You can see it in his face – he’s second-guessing, thinking too much. But you don’t want this to stop.

“Hey, Winchester. Is that all you got?” Your voice is raspy, a little breathless, and his gaze jerks back to meet yours, his eyes narrowing a little. You pull yourself back farther onto the bed, then raise to your knees, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. You toss it over his head, and as it lands behind him, he pounces.

You can’t help the little giggle that escapes as he tumbles you down onto the bed, then kisses you. He’s got you pulled halfway on top of him, and you revel in the feel of his heated skin against yours, your breasts crushed to his chest. He runs his fingers through the curtain of your hair, tilting his head back and looking into your eyes, searching. “You sure?”

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get naked right now, we’re gonna have a problem.” You’re trying to look stern, failing miserably. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, and he takes you by the shoulders, moving you from him to reach for his zipper. You trail your fingertips across the breadth of his chest, then move down, snagging the top of his boxer briefs and tugging them down along with his pants. He springs free, and you pet him softly, making him moan before you finish undressing him.

When you crawl back towards him, you can’t resist taking a taste. His hips thrust up a little as you lick over him, bottom to top, then sweep across the head, groaning as his flavor bursts on your tongue.

You don't get the chance to continue. Dean sits up and grabs you, lifting you to straddle him as he attacks your mouth again, his arms holding you captive. He kisses you breathless, then leans his forehead against yours, panting as he rocks his hips, rubbing his cock against you, sliding through the slick heat between your thighs. “There's plenty of time for that. I need to be inside you right now.”

“Yes,” you whisper, raising up slightly as he lifts his erection, the swollen head catching at your entrance, your foreheads still pressed together and your eyes locked on his as you take him in, inch by magnificent inch. His teeth are clenched, his muscles corded with tension as he waits for you to stop quivering and whimpering softly at the overwhelming intensity of being filled with him.

It's the hush before the storm, tension strung taut between you, your breath mingling, nerves buzzing. When you shift yourself slightly, the silence is shattered, broken gasps and moans filling the room as you rock against and around and into each other. Every thrust of your hips together grinds your aching clit against his pelvis, and you clutch at his shoulders as you come again. He crushes his lips to yours, then moves them to your throat, your neck, your shoulder. “You're so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, “so fucking gorgeous when you come...”

Somehow he manages to move you to your back without pulling out, maybe because you're clinging so tight to him. He puts your head on a pillow, then kisses you senseless as he nestles as close as possible between your thighs, one hand cupping your breast, kneading gently.

“You feel so good, baby. I wanna stay here forever,” he whispers against your lips, and he runs his other hand down your side, caressing the soft skin on his way to your knee. He slips his hand beneath, lifting your leg as he presses even closer, deeper, and you let out a soft whine. He turns his attention to your nipple, barely rocking into you as he sucks and nibbles, moaning against your flesh as you make soft, desperate noises beneath him. When he finally stops, raising his head to look at you, your eyes are glazed, your breath shaky and uneven, and he smiles. “I'm gonna ruin you for those fucking losers out there. They're not good enough for you, anyway.” His smile fades, his eyes glowing with fiery need. “You're gonna be mine, Y/N. All mine.”

And with that said, he pulls back, the friction of his cock moving within you is the nexus of your world. He slides in to the hilt, then back again, pistoning slowly and smoothly. You are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn't pick up the pace, and you buck up to meet him. “Dean, I need you... to fucking... fuck me...” you manage to pant out, and his upper lip twitches slightly before he kisses you, hard.

“Oh, you got it, sweetheart,” he growls, drawing back and then driving into you to the limit as you cry out. His control slips away, the hunger in him taking over, and your bodies collide with each deep stroke, his arms braced on the mattress, his fingers clutched in the bedding. His hips are a blur as he pounds into you, your hands are tearing at the pillow beneath your head, and he lets out a wordless shout. Your name becomes an invocation on his lips as he swells and throbs within you, flooding you, and you come undone again with a hoarse cry of his name.

Time ceases to exist for a while. When you are able to move again, you put your arms around him, your fingers dragging through his short, sweat-damp hair, one hand resting at the nape of his neck. You feel his lips on your neck, and he moves from you with a reluctant groan, the sensation of him slipping out of you making you shudder. “C’mere,” he rasps out, pulling you close. You feel his breath in your hair, his hand moving to take yours where it lies on his chest. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, and you smile.

“Totally. You wrecked my favorite fed suit.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle. “Worth it.” His fingers trail up and down your shoulder as he drops a kiss into your hair. “So… are we okay?”

You pull back a little so you can look into his eyes. “I don’t know, Dean. Are we?” He looks back at you, waiting. “I mean, can I do my job? Are you gonna get pissed off at me every time I have to flirt a little to get information out of someone? Can we even work together?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I know you’re gonna be with me at the end of the day.” He looks away for a moment, then back to you, his soul shining in his green eyes. “If you don’t want that, then… I guess we can’t work together anymore.”

You lean in to kiss him softly. He lets go of your hand and moves to cradle your face as he kisses you back, then moves back a little as he trails his fingers over your skin, brushing across your nipple and lifting the weight of your breast in his hand, and the sensation leaves your voice a little breathless. “You owe me a new suit.”

“Done.” He watches your face as he rubs his palm over your hardening nipple, then gives a gentle squeeze. “So… mine?”

Your eyes close as he brushes over you again, and you nod. “Yours.” You move your hand over his chest, laying it warm over the steady beat of his heart. “Mine?”

He leans in again, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. “All yours.”

@saenalife @salvachester @misswhizzy @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog@geeklibrarian@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @aprofoundbondwithdean @mamapeterson@mrswhozeewhatsis@littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel@darcia22@winchesterprincessbride@jessica-bones-winchester @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess@deangirl96@iamflanneltrash @deanslittleangel2y5 @melanie451 @juliaspnlover @lovin-ackles @spectaculacular-sammy @dyingforlove1992@bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean@avasmommy224 @shadowlightforcast@tonifish @savingapplepie-eatingthings @angelofwinchester17@kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester@ericuhlorain @undecided-garden@ceeceewinchester@typicalweirdbookworm@purplecocopops @feelmyroarrrr@callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie @tanithlowisabamf @ch3353y1 @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @kreweofimp @deansbaekaz2y5 @trippleberrydeanpie @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67 @darkx143@disassociativedogma @ioanashalala@jencharlan @deansthirst @randomvlogstuff @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1 @hamartiamacguffin @winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017

#make you mine #dean fic #angry!dean #jealous!dean #dean x reader #dean smut #mine #this got kinda long

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bloggy-hell · 7 years

Text

We need to talk about 13 Reasons Why.

13 Reasons Why (2017): Receiving a 9.1 on imdb and bucketloads of media attention, this new Netflix release has earned a place on everyone's ‘to-watch list’ as it seems like we all want to know what the big deal is about a show that retraces the steps of a suicidal 17 year old.

Quick, Non Spoliery Synopsis by Yours Truly:

A 17 year old girl; Hannah Baker organises the circulation of 13 self-recorded tapes before slitting her arms and killing herself in her family bathtub. These tapes make their way through 10 of her friends, ex’s and enemies, each identifying the particular person and their wrongdoing in order, before reaching her shy crush Clay’s doorstep. Her rules say that he must listen to all of the tapes detailing why she killed herself and pass them on to the person who follows him. WIth each tape revealing intimate secrets about Hannah and Clay’s classmates, we follow him in his struggle to understand who this girl really was when she was alive, how she was treated by those she trusted and most importantly; why Hannah Baker killed herself.

Having just binged the whole 13 episodes over two disgustingly wet and cold days with my sister, i think I have a pretty good idea about what goes down.

I hope you’re ready because I’m about to tell you what I think of this story as a teenager in this modern world. And since there are 13 sides to every story I want to tell mine.

I want to be honest here and start off by saying in an almost critical way, that there were a lot of things about this show that I didn’t like at all. I’m not saying that I was forced to watch all 13 episodes against my will, I just think that sometimes there are only a few things that TV shows need to keep you coming back.

Unanswered questions are one of those things, so so many questions which I personally need to have answered by a show, before it slowly drives me insane and I have to look up a spoiler synopsis..

But who wants to cheat TV shows when you may as well just watch them? Hell, if i can sit through 7 years of the Pretty Little Liars mystery, then I had faith that I could sit through 13 episodes, and I did. My main questions centred around the tapes, specifically; what on earth did Clay do to make him partly ‘responsible’ for Hannah’s death?

So many things to question and discuss but really where to begin?

Let’s put ‘7 things that really grind my gears’(1 for each of the tapes of course) into a list and see how I go before this become a sad, sad rant.

*Disclaimer* I did actually enjoy the show overall so please keep this in mind with what you see below

1: When Clay begins to irk me, the other characters and the entire human species Portrayed by Dylan Minnette, (who believe it or not, has played a character named Clay before, WTF) Clay Jensen is a socially awkward yet well liked student who can hold a place on the school’s honour board yet cannot hold a conversation with a girl. His cringey yet endearing nature promotes him as a lovable protagonist, an innocent light in the darkness of an extremely tough situation. I found myself quite often taking his side in the show and totally rooting for his character.

Despite this, Clay’s loyalty and love for Hannah often poses as quite irritating and almost unrealistic (even if he was a sensitive guy) considering the way she treats him. Throughout the whole debacle, so many accuse Hannah of being dramatic, selfish and attention seeking. Clay however. seems to believe 95% of the time that she was some perfect being who could do no wrong in the world, that the responsibility for killing herself could not have been her own. Of course I am aware of looking at someone through rose coloured glasses when youre keen on them but, to put it bluntly; you’d think that might change when they die.

2: The fact that Clay has like zero close friends yet everyone seems to like him

Everyone who has ever been to high school knows that you need a solid few close friends to bounce back on, who you can trust. There is often a reason therefore that people don’t have any, usually the fact that nobody likes them. This just causes the whole plot idea to make no sense, because everyone at the school seemed to really like Clay. With the exception of Tony who he rarely sees anyway, Clay never had anyone to hang out with before or after school or even at lunchtime, unless of course it was someone he had a ‘school project’ with.

3: The ‘jock crowd’

So most of the jock crowd, who of course run the school, are in the basketball team and are therefore given a leeway that most students aren’t. It makes complete sense for them to stick together, just as they do in every other US teen drama. Their group dynamic however has a small cult vibe to it that is simply unsettling. These guys do everything together, support each other in fights, follow each other on their dates and supposedly tell each other everything. For some reason this group also includes the dorky class president and resident sadboi with unmatching hair and eyebrows. Now I’m not disputing that this couldnt happen irl because everyone has the right to befriend whoever they want, it just seems to me that these personalities together would clash. We all know they are together at the ‘present time’ because of the tapes, but for previous times, im just not buying it. Perhaps the writers couldn’t be bothered creating separate groups for each of those targeted on the tapes and introducing more characters into the 13 episodes created.

4: Is there no other girls at Liberty High?????

The jock crowd as specified above hold the place as the most sought after students in the High School yet it seems as though the only girls that exist to them are Hannah and Jessica. What happened to the entire cheer squad or the whole student body? Are these 2 new girls so amazing that no other girl could be considered an option? It seems almost like some game of musical chairs, except the chairs are the boys and Jessica and Hannah end up on a different lap every time the music stops.

5: WHo the fuck does Courtney think she is?

If you got through all 13 episodes without dedicating a split second of anger towards Courtney Crimsen then bravo my friend because this character literally drove me up the wall. Props to actress Michele Ang I suppose because this bitch fired me up real bad. Ever heard of the phrase ‘Dead men tell no tales’ well clearly Courtney disagrees, 100% hell bent on convincing everyone that Hannah was lying in the tapes so that she could continue living in denial of her sexual preference. Continually pushing Hannah onto the dirt road to get hit by whatever was coming her way there is zero surprise that she made her way onto the tapes, the selfish bitch that she is. (Speaking of Courtney) Netflix also needs to be a bit more careful about their wardrobe choices in such a recent Riverdale episode and season release of this show perhaps?

6: Zach DID NOTHING WRONG

Poor, sweet Zach. A whole episode and tape side that started with just one heated conversation in the cafeteria- where he juST wanted to go on a date with Hannah??? Of course at this point Hannah was not in a good place, so any small prank becomes a national disaster- but how was he to know before she gave him the letter of explanation. A letter which, considering his home and friend situation, he could not go to anyone for help with, especially if he feared that it would be telling Hannah’s secret. Zach really just reacted how 90% of teenagers would; he froze, he didnt know how to act, so he did nothing.

This is what got me about like half of the characters on the tapes, most of them just acted out of fear and didnt know what else to do, yet Hannah seemed to expect so much more from them. Which brings me to my final bullet point on the list;

7: Hannah fucking Baker

Where do I even start? It’s a really touchy subject to address; her character really annoyed me-I guess she really annoyed herself as well, considering her fate. Hannah at the end of the series is completely lost, she’s got so much on her shoulders and believes that there is no other way to turn. But Hannah at the beginning, I couldnt stand her. She had so much going for her yet she let every single obstacle get her down, none of her friends were good enough, all of the boys offended her, every tiny issue became a national disaster. I can’t help but think that if she hadn’t cared so much perhaps she might have found a way to work through her struggles without turning to the last resort. But i get it, this isnt a show about getting through problems and happy endings, it’s all about worse case scenarios. This is why Hannah does and says what she does, so that the situations can be both relatable and believable- for if Hannah gets torn up about high school rumours, then sexual assault and car accidents would be unbearable without professional help. I understand this now as I look at the plot as a whole, but during, oh hell that girl needed a slap into reality. Just watch it, you’ll understand.

Don’t get me wrong though, there were also a lot of things that I liked about 13 reasons why.

-I loved the cassette tapes; a timeless way of recording and listening to anything, a much appreciated throwback in such a modern show

-I loved Tony who I think we can all agree does not look 17 but I’m not complaining, so sweet and such a good friend/person (and i loved his car of course)

-I loved how sweet and loving Clay was. As an eternally single pringle, my heart leapt for his cute crushing, even if it did become tiring

-I loved the almost vintage feel to the cinematography, the colours and shots almost dulled to the tone

-I loved how the concept of rape was not only addressed, but focused on as well as the idea of consent. Whilst these scenes may have been almost uncomfortable, they were necessary and extremely powerful.

-I loved how the show centered around outsiders, the quiet and socially awkward, the unusual characters and their interaction with the well known highschool stereotypes.

-Most of all, I loved how the show displayed how suicide destroys so many more than the person who died. Friends and family may never recover, forever question what they could have done differently, some also led to further suicides.

It’s a hard topic but I am so glad that it is being talked about, even if there are disagreements because at least it is now out in the open. I personally believe that suicide is an incredibly selfish act which I understand that many people could disagree with. I get it, I’ve never stepped into shoes like that and that’s fine, but i know for sure that if anyone in my life chose to end theirs then it would absolutely destroy me- just as the strongly portrayed characters were torn apart.

Let me know what you think.

#13 reasons why #13rw #thoughts #review #rant #spoilers maybe #suicide #lol #netlfix #hannah baker #clay jensen #rape

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