#for some dumb mount... is this even worth it

[wp100]

okay so blizzard puts in yet another rare... with double RNG.

SO, it has a small chance to spawn after 500 scraps? dug out? during the scrap events? That's not guaranteed to happen every time because sometimes you won't have enough people?

THEN you have to rely on the rare TO DROP ITS RARE LOOT... A MOUNT.

It's Soundless all over again. Holy shit

[seat-safety-switch]

Who among us can say that they haven't gritted their teeth while gingerly driving a stolen truck full of illegal, hair-trigger fireworks through a bumpy construction zone? If the city really cared about keeping people safe in traffic, you'd think they'd find some workers who can make a smoother bridge. I got places to be.

A lot of the super-cranky, angry-at-government tinpot microfascists are really mad at the current city government for reasons that they can't accurately describe. Same as always, basically. For me, it's very easy to explain why I'm mad: I'm tired of spending perfectly good money on suspension parts, so they should make the roads smoother.

Sure, the news will tell you that it's normal to have to replace shocks, ball joints, tie rods, bump stops, and motor mounts if you are driving a fifty-year-old car. Here's the thing, though: I don't want to, and it's the city government's job to indulge every stupid whim and fix every booboo that my dumb ass collects. That's why me and my hammered U-Haul were going to City Hall, where I expected to give an inspiring speech to kick off my candidacy for Mayor. And then I'd let loose like $750 worth of pirate incendiary devices to underscore my point. My cousin from Longueuil brought them up last week, with all the barcodes on the boxes spray-painted over.

Why the U-Haul? Simple. Their fancy computerized smartphone-driven fence locks have no security hardening against the classic "cut them in half with an angle grinder" attack. And I surely wasn't going to fill my 1976 Volare (see? not even fifty years old, haters) to the brim with mid-grade explosives. Plus, the extra weight would probably be real bad for the rear shocks (Delco Pleasurizers, you can't get those anymore) and I did not want to replace those prematurely. I wanted to use them up, all the way.

Unfortunately, my campaign did not kick off as expected. A bigger, meaner boy was also waiting in line at Crackpot Corner. He shoved me and took the truck full of fireworks to announce his candidacy for Mayor. Really, it's for the best, because I didn't realize that the aforementioned angle grinder had thrown a couple of errant sparks into the box of the truck. If you ask me, it's just more evidence of municipal corruption: I bet the street in front of City Hall is gonna be glass-smooth once they fill in the giant crater. Nothing but the best for the silver-spoon set.

[hidden-snow]

‿୨♡ Ｄａｄｄｙ＇ｓ Ｌｉｔｔｌｅ Ｐｒｉｎｃｅｓｓ ♡୧‿

Warnings/ content:// p in v, daddy kink, age gap, pregnancy kink, heats, fingering, oral - female receiving, pet names, slight orgasm denial, queue pulling

Characters:// Jake x Na’vi reader

Word count // 1,785

You have always been daddy’s little princess. Covered in cum and and sweat, with slick wetness pooling down from between your thick thighs, you were the sight of pure pretty perfection in his eyes.

Even more so, when he imagined you swollen with his child, belly full and rounded. Fuck, he wanted to see you pregnant more than anything in this world.

Unfortunately, between your numerous duties as the teacher and mentor of future hunters and warriors and his duties as the olo’eyktan of the clan, neither of you have had the time to just sit and talk over the possibility of a future baby. And he wasn’t one to do as he pleased when it came to your body in the long run.

So you both waited, dancing around your heats, staying apart until the last of the effects had subsided and you were in the safe zone again.

He always made it up to you; fucking you dumb all night long for multiple nights straight afterwards, but it was getting to be almost not worth it.

Your heats were horrible, hazy but full of fucking yourself with your own fingers buried knuckle-deep inside of your pussy while thinking about your daddy and how much better he could fill you.

Choking on sobs, covered in sweat, you trembled on your mat, thighs spread apart while fingers bobbed in and out of your heat, squelches sounding as your fingers moved within your soaked cunt. And all you could do was yearn for daddy, wishing he’d come and help you.

Your ears perked to the sound of footsteps, your fingers halting in their thrusts, and you wait, body trembling on the mat, tail slowly slipping back and forth on your bedding.

“Kid? I know we agreed to wait till after yer heats and everythin’…. But I-“

He didn’t even get the chance to finish before you were pulling him into your alcove, pressing your lips tightly against his, hands sliding up to wrap around his shoulders while you began to grind your cunt against his clothed cock.

“Daddy,” you whine out, panting softly at the friction you’re giving yourself and, judging by the growing stiffness against your wet folds, Jake’s just barely keeping himself restrained.

“If you do this, we’ll have a baby coming. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

His voice is paper-thin, stiff and a little jostled.

“Wanna have your baby, daddy. Please?”

“You’d look pretty with daddy’s baby, yeah? My pretty little princess, full with my baby.”

His voice was soft, gentle purr, his fingers sliding down to cup your ass, digging in to the soft flesh of your cheeks to leave little crescent shape moons in your skin.

You can’t speak, too focused on the firey-hot heat burning in your core as his breath ghosted your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Answer me,” he growled out softly and you nod.

“Y-yes, daddy.”

He didn't waste anymore time, pressing you flat against the mat beneath you, his body wedged in between your thighs, palms planted on either side of your head. His lips met yours, crashing into a heated kiss full of desire and love, sending sparks of heat spiraling down your body, adding to the mounting heat in your body.

At some point between laying you down and climbing on top, he’d discarded his loincloth, his cock resting against your bare belly as he kissed you, and you slid your hand down, wrapping your fingers around his thick girth, bobbing your hand up and down, pulling soft moans from his mouth.

“Fuck, baby girl. H-hold on,” he panted, reaching down and removing your hand, causing you to whine out in frustration.

“Watch it,” he warned, throwing you a sharp look. “Don’t be a brat.”

He knew you couldn’t help it, knew that you were just so eager to have him in you, judgement clouded by your heat and sexual desires, but you were still expected to behave. And you’d have to if you were going to get what you wanted.

Jake sat back, taking in your flushed appearance, skin prickling with sweat, eyes lidded with desire and mouth open as you panted softly. Your legs were spread wide, folds glistening with slick, and your thighs were already sticky with your own fluids.

“Jesus, princess. Lookin’ so good, aren’t you? Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good, isn’t he?” he murmured and you nod eagerly, like a bobble-head toy, bouncing around excitedly.

“Good girl.”

He dropped down between your thighs, tongue flicking out to lick up the sweet juices soaking your heat, and you jump, moaning softly at the sudden jolt of pleasure spiking through you.

“D-daddy,” you groan out, whining and gasping as his tongue slips in between your folds, lapping at your pussy, savoring the flavor of yours, his fingers coming down to rub shapes into your clit. All you could do was hold on for the ride, wriggling and moaning, gasping out cuss words and pleas for “more”.

As you felt your orgasm approaching, he pulled his face back, lips covered in your slick, and switched places with his fingers, latching onto your clit, tongue swirling around the nub as his fingers thrusted into you, providing a better stretch than what your own could do. He could feel your walls twitching around his fingers, a sign of your approaching orgasm, and that seemed to fuel his efforts further, thrusting and sucking mixing into a delicious mixture that sent you quickly over the edge of your climax, crying out as your back arched.

His fingers continued to thrust into you as you rode out the waves of intense ecstasy, leaving you a panting mess on the floor, but it was pretty clear by the way he moved around, pale blue mushroom-shaped head of his dick slipping in between your soaked folds, that he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Ready, baby girl?” he murmured softly, gaze flicking up to meet yours, and you nod, swallowing back the lump that had woven its way into the middle of your throat. With a hand on his dick to guide himself, he slid into your “properly prepared” warmth, sinking in until his waist met the backs of your thighs, buried deep inside of you.

He groaned softly as your walls squeezed around him, taking him in eagerly. The feeling of his thick girth, stretching you to delicious lengths, feeling him move inside of you, before dragging it out slowly, you can’t help but whine at the loss as he slid out, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him back in.

He swatted your thigh sharply, startling you out of your pleasure-filled haze, his golden orbs meeting yours with a warning. In response, you pucker your lip, tears stinging in the corner of your eyes.

“Fine. You wanna be a brat? Then be a brat,” he grunted as he pulled out, flipping you over onto your stomach, face pressed into the woven mat beneath you. He plunged back into you without a warning, sending sparks of electricity through your body, your toes curling as he settled into a fast, sharp pace, pounding you into the ground. You could barely think, could barely make a sound, gasping and crying out as his tip slammed against your g-spot repeatedly, no mercy for your body within sight. Not that you wanted any mercy.

You could already feel the orgasm building up inside of you again, like a coil in your belly, tightening and tensing up, preparing to snap, but then Jake stopped, buried deep inside of your weeping cunt, his hand grabbing your queue and pulling it to force your head up, neck arching uncomfortably.

“No. Wait until after I’ve cummed. You’ve been a naughty girl,” he hissed softly into your ear as he pulled himself closer to your face, forcing himself deeper inside of you. You whine out, frustration building up inside of you. You open your mouth to protest but the words were immediately stolen away as he went back to pounding you into the ground, hand still wrapped tightly around your queue, holding your head back.

His fingers squeezed your ass, digging his nails into the plump skin, before wrapping around the base of your tail, pulling on it as he moved.

You listen, feeling the breath punched out of you with each thrust, as he grunted softly, the snap of his hips against your ass so hard and loud that you’re sure you won’t be able to sit for the next couple days.

You could feel him dragging inside of you, the coil in your heat burning so hot, tightening up so hard that you’re sure you’ll break if you keep denying your own orgasm.

“P-please, d-daddy,” you sob out, pain and pleasure mixing into your body as you struggled against your own desires.

“Please, what?” he grunted, too focused on the way you wrapped around his cock, taking him in so deliciously.

“N-n-need to cum, daddy. Please?”

“No.”

You could feel yourself fall apart at that word, wiggling and struggling underneath him as you do your best to be a good girl for him. He wanted you to be a mess. He wanted you to turn into a moaning, groaning pile beneath his body. And he was getting what he wanted. His hand moved from your ass, sliding down along your hip to dip in, fingers once again falling to your clit. Another jolt of pleasure and he couldn’t stop the moan as you tightened even more around him.

“Fuck, baby girl. I am never missing one of your heats again.”

His rhythm is becoming jostled, erratic, and you know from experience that it was only a matter of time before he hit his own orgasm. So you do your best to help, leaning your hips back to meet his thrusts, cheek pressed to the mat after he’d released his hold on the long braid of your hair.

Jake lets out a soft groan before slamming into you again, both of you cumming at the same time. He moves slowly, riding out his orgasm as your walls squeeze around him, milking him for his cum.

“Jesus. That was… I don’t think we’ve ever had sex this good before,” he grunted softly, pulling out and guiding you down on the mat, curling around you gently, cradling you close.

“You know daddy loves you, right?”

His voice is soft now, just as gentle as the fingers that brush your braided hair out of your face so that he can see you better. You nod, smiling softly at him.

“Yeah. Daddy’s little princess.”

[meli-writes]

Mechismo - No. 01 /// Shore-Girl

The red-boots girl circles the 180-Dock, prances over fuel and vomit spills.

Your shore-girl — ‘cos pilots know civvies won’t ever get it. Your machine does, but you can’t fuck the machine — least per new regulations, and field-issue tech. So you take the closet thing; their warm, cock-waving, hole-haver flesh-hearts, and settle for that.

And civvies are soft, and weak, and… even over the smoke and oil she smells good.

You’re still in the combat-romper, short-short at the shoulder and thighs — mount-points for the gun show; her hands run on its centre-torso, over coolant hose that weaves into spooled intestine. No point in extra effort — ‘cos it’s never real with a civvie.

And she’ll just want a knight, in oil-stained armour, to strut her into the fanciest do on the station’s promenade and let her pouted lips sip on 200u cocktails — as if she’s bored.

“Who’s it now?” you ask, as if you’ll take her back when you’re on a merc’s pension.

“Repairman, see ‘em on C12-Deck on commute sometimes,” she says, matter-of-fact and eye-fucks the silverwear set worth more than rent. “Bigger than you, gets more scars from vending machines than you do yours—” There’s a pleased purr to the peg-lower. “—Waitress at Amputel — shit-hole dive on 270-Dock. Small like me, locs down to the ass. Think I could tangle up in her till neither of us can get free. And the—”

She runs on — down till you’ve hit the C-Deck Airlock — each ‘rival’ is hotter and richer than the last. They got fake at some point; maybe when they got better than you — but that’s near enough all of them.

Like she’s not worse.

“Do I have to remind,” you snarl at your H-Deck sump-rat — who owes dinner, boots, and half-rent to daddy. Owes you. “Why you’re supposed to wait for me?”

She stares past, at a passerby that looks you up-and-down, then her. You squeeze her hip, tight, as if to screw suspender bolts into your machine’s lower-torso.

She squeals sweeter than it does, “I did.”

The civvie gets a smile, different ones from both of you. You hover, interposed, till they’ve decided she’s yours, and crossed the lock in the opposite direction, then lift her up and onwards.

She’ll never get as high as the machine can; isn’t as good, “So where’s my gratitude?”

Lance-mates bark over your shoulder when your phone pings; confiscate it, and howl at her nudes and the closet moon while one falsettos out her texts in-between leering asks.

Shore-girl likes to be sweet, doesn’t it?

You like it?

Lance Sirocco’s got a new girl.

How fuckin’ tight is it?

Should ask her out. She’s real.

How’d you make it do that?

“I’ve paid enough for this ass,” you tell both, breathing on her tits as they stutter with her till she’s backed into her door. “Did all the fuckin’ work. I know-you-know you owe it to me.”

You stare at the cabochon that crowns her wreathed neck, at its reflection.

“Come on then — jockie-girl,” she bites. “Claim it.”

So your hand slides down, lifts her till she’s braced on the door and wrapped around you. Her fat oozes under the red velvet crop-top, like guts spilled from the pile-driven centre-torso of that dumb kid who should’ve ejected into the now-pink snow.

And she’s soft, and weak… when you press your lips to hers.

“And apologise,” she mutters into your mouth, and reaches for the door control. “You make me wait far too—” Zhweep. You fall into her quarters — on top of her, “Owww.”

It still wouldn’t hurt if she wasn’t soft, but it’s nice.

Your faint smile is target-locked, and she giggles; has to break character at last, and her roommate shadows the doorframe, “Ol’ Candlish called me, worried sick. Said you’d been accosted by a nair-do-well.”

She snorts, “Hey.” And rolls you over, ass-to-the-carpet. It’s not soft.

“So have I met your fabled pilot-girlfriend at last?” her roommate teases, it doesn’t seem to hurt. “Ya know, the one you can’t seem to shut up about?” Though there’s a bloom in her cheeks, the same colour as her top.

“Yes,” you cut in, in giggles too, before she says 'no.' An engineer would rip that soundbite outta the CCTV and make it loop in your machine on boot-up. You’d choke them out for it.

Get reprimanded.

Do it again.

“Guess I’m gonna go see Belle,” her roommate responds. “I heard she’s got the Core League footie on video. Ta-ta!”

It takes one hand to haul your girlfriend up.

She nestles in close, looks down; feels soft, and real. It’s nice to have someone to ground you, 'cos the machine won’t; to ground into the pillows, tell her what each new scar earned to spend on her. So she can be weak; herself. So the machine doesn’t take it all.

She reels back, still looking down — at the romper you’ve worn all night.

“Is that your strap under there!?”

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

originally written 15/07/2024 on cohost, in response to Making-up-Mech-Pilots' prompt:

Mech Pilot who wants what you have. Not the Machine.

for additional context, there was a running theme on cohost and its gorgeous, prominent mech fic about civilians never 'getting it' and this was a fun ode to/spin of those by making it exactly what a pilot might want. also i saw horny battletech art ngl that too.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt 7

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control, humiliation, omarashi

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Wait! I haven't read an earlier part of this fic! Story Masterlist

Part 7 - The Liberal Assault on Traditional Values

After the bathroom, Bucky feels … loose. Kinda like how you feel right after getting one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-your-muscles, deep-tissue massages. It’s positively dreamy.

Steve drops him back off at French with Sharon, and Bucky sits at his desk and doesn’t hear a word the teacher says for a little while, because he feels nice and fuzzy and weak. He’s back with it once class is over, and is grateful to find that not only did Sharon take notes on the rest of the class for him, but that she also plans to act like the whole bathroom incident didn’t even happen. 

They go to lunch in the dining hall, and Bucky remembers his excitement over how the food at this place is going to be one of the main highlights. There’s so much to choose from, multiple buffets, and it all looks delicious. Sharon grabs a tray for him, because the rules are that Bucky has to go around with her and ask for what he wants as she fills up his plate. It’s a dumb rule but not worth fighting over, so he complies. There’s a boy over by the dessert bar who looks like he might be around Bucky’s age. He appears to be pleading his case for a piece of chocolate cake.

“Please, Nat? I’ll do an extra thirty minutes on my parkour tomorrow!”

The redheaded handler who’s with him looks amused. “It’s not about calories, Parker. You can’t have sugar like that. You’ll be bouncing off the walls all night—and not in a parkour way.” She guides the boy over to a soft serve machine that’s mounted into the wall. “Frozen yogurt,” she proclaims. “No sugar added.”

“Blegh.”

Bucky smirks and sets his sights on the chocolate cake for himself, later. As far as he knows, no dietary restrictions have yet been set for him. This theory is confirmed when Sharon doesn’t say no to anything he asks for. She doesn’t even hesitate to comply when he asks to have double portions of the less healthy items, so Bucky decides not to get huffy at her over how silly it is that he can’t fill up his own plate.

Besides, he’s just relieved that Sharon doesn’t make him kneel on a cushion on the floor like some other students are doing. 

They sit down at one of the dining tables and Bucky asks if the kids who are kneeling and being hand fed by their Handlers are being punished. Sharon looks at him funny for the question, like she thinks he’s really ignorant and feels bad for him. “It’s a protocol,” she says, then proceeds to explain the difference between “punishments” and “protocols.”

The former are always deterrents and are meant to be unpleasant. The latter are daily or weekly routines done for reinforcement and wellbeing, and are tailored specifically to each individual student’s needs. Sharon points out that there can sometimes be a degree of intersection between the two (as in the case of spanking), but that protocols typically involve things like sleeping restraints, or hand feeding, or leashing. “It depends on how you’ve been assessed,” she tells him. “What your Handler decides your needs are. Some boys eat at the table and never get leashed, some get hand fed and maintenance spanked. It just depends on the student.”

Bucky flushes at the mental image of Sharon “maintenance spanking” him on the daily. Yikes. He forces himself to casually eat a few potato chips off his plate so that he doesn’t come across as too anxious when he next asks, “Um, so … have you assessed me yet?”

Sharon smiles sweetly at him and sips her drink through its straw. “Oh, I’m working on it,” she says, somehow managing to make it feel like a threat even through her cheerful tone. She tells Bucky to finish his food, as lunch is almost over and they’ve still got his afternoon classes to get to. Bucky hurriedly complies, hopeful that there’ll still be enough time to go back and snag that piece of chocolate cake for dessert. 

Well, the bomb had to drop somewhere. 

Turns out, that first half of the school day had lulled Bucky into a false sense of security, exceeding his expectations and leading him to think that he’d be receiving a totally normal education at this backwards institution. But no such luck. 

Reality comes crashing in after lunch, when Bucky’s made to sit through the introduction of material that he refuses to believe could be accurate. “Who produces this garbage?” he mutters, flipping to the front cover of his biology textbook and searching out the copyright page.

Scholastic Publishers The Complete Human Body: a comprehensive framework of human biological systems  Copyright © 2024 Oxford College Publishers

Well. That actually seems pretty legit. He twists his lips unhappily and closes the book. In the tutor’s seat beside his desk, Sharon taps her hand against the desktop to get his attention. All she has to do is give him a look, and he knows she’s telling him to pay attention to the teacher. 

Up at the front of the classroom, Professor Cho has been giving a lecture on brain anatomy.

“The limbic system is where we see the biggest differences in the omega brain,” she says, clicking her little remote to bring up the next slide. It shows a cross section of a human brain with labels and highlighted regions. “It’s located here, to either side of the thalamus and just beneath the medial temporal lobe.” She uses her laser pointer to highlight said parts of the projection. “Now, the main functions of this system are emotion, behavior, olfactory, and long term memory. Omega brains are both structurally and functionally unique. We see the biggest structural differences in the nucleus accumbens, the amygdala, and the septal nuclei. Let’s take them one by one and explore what the differences are and how that affects us.”

She says “us,” but Bucky is pretty sure she isn't omega. Why would an uber-traditional school like this one hire an omega professor, after all? Bucky listens with pursed lips as Cho proceeds to talk about the different structures.

“Now, the piriform cortex in omegas is the one part of the limbic system that’s actually very similar in structure to that in the alpha brain.” She indicates a spot on the diagram with her laser pointer. “Right here. This is where we process olfactory information, including pheromones. You see how much bigger it is compared to the beta brain? You’ll always see this increase in size—that’s why we can scent more intensely than betas do.”

Sharon taps the desk again and looks pointedly at Bucky’s notebook, telling him to get to work on taking notes. Bucky huffs but he does listen, picking up his pen and scribbling down a few notes about the piriform cortex and scenting.

“In terms of omega brains specifically though, we do see massive structural and functional differences when it comes to the pleasure and reward centers and emotional regulation.” She points to another part of the diagram. “Here. This is the septal nuclei, and this,” she points again, “is the nucleus accumbens. They both deal with one’s pleasure and reward feedback loops. The accumbens especially is enlarged in omegas, and that is where sexual arousal is processed.”

A few students snicker at the mention of sex, and Cho smiles good naturedly while she waits them out. “Yes, yes, let’s all try to be mature about this, okay? Moving on. You can see the size difference, yeah? In omega brains these structures are nearly double to the size of what they are in the alpha or beta brain. That is what leads to the hypersexuality we see in omegas, and the heightened level of pleasure response to certain stimuli that wouldn’t really affect betas or alphas. This is multi-faceted, by the way: it’s not merely sexual pleasure that’s intensified. We also see the marked increase in pleasure-reward pathways with regards to things like scruffing, Holding, biting, and other possessive Alpha behaviors. These structures are the reason why omegas respond so strongly to dominance and aggression behaviors.” She looks at them all and says, “So the next time you get that gooey, goosebumpy feeling from the pressure of a collar, or from your Handler making you kneel, you know you have your nucleus accumbens to thank.”

Bucky scowls, resentful as fuck of his nucleus accumbens. One sharp look from Sharon has him writing down the information, though. 

Nucleus Accumbens: horny central, cause of simping for alphas.

Sharon narrows her eyes when she sees what he’s written, but Bucky just ignores her and focuses on Cho at the front of the room.

“It’s not just the bigger size of these structures that affect omegas, it’s also the differences in activity levels. And we know this because we’re able to observe this through neuroimaging studies. Does anyone want to take a guess at what types of neuroimaging are most useful for this kind of brain mapping?” She waits, and when nobody raises their hand, she calls on the kid whom Bucky had seen begging for cake in the cafeteria. “Peter? You ought to know this.”

Bucky looks over to where “Peter” is sitting with his red-headed Handler. The boy groans a little at being put on the spot, but eventually he guesses, “I dunno, like a CATscan or something?”

Cho smiles. “Good guess, that is one type. But the most common methods we use are MRI scans and EEGs.” She clicks to the next slide, which shows animated pictures of multiple brains, each illuminated in various colors that flare and flicker to show the brain activity.  “So this is an alpha brain’s amygdala, and this is an omega brain. Unlike the different sizes of the accumbens, the amygdalas are structurally identical. But the omega amygdala is much less active. The warmer the color, the more activity is indicated.” She points to the alpha brain. “All this dark blue? That means that it’s only moderately active—not too much emotion. But over here on the corresponding structure in the omega brain, what do we see?” She points to where the same part of the omega brain is lit up red. “Much more intense activity. So what does this tell us?”

She waits, and after a moment another student raises their hand. “That omegas are more emotional?”

Cho nods. “Exactly! Brain mapping studies have long indicated the increased emotions of omegas, but what’s important to note is that it’s not just that one factor that results in a high level of observable emotionality. We also have to consider this other little area over here.” she points to another spot on the diagram. “The anterior cingulate cortex is what regulates emotional control, and this is where the most pronounced difference is. Not only is this structure physically smaller in the omega brain, but it’s also much more inactive. This is why omegas struggle with independent emotional regulation and focus. Now this is fascinating: If you look here at these three comparison scans, the one on the left is an unmated omega at rest. You see the dark blue, indicating minimal emotional control? Now look at the next one over: that’s the cortex of an omega who’s been newly bonded!”

Bucky squints at the powerpoint, able to clearly see the lighter color blue in the area.

“Now it’s still extremely poor compared to alpha or beta brains, but you can see how the bond has mildly improved the activity levels.” Cho beams at them. “This is because of the influx of the alpha’s bonding pheromones. That’s the connection and settling that omegas feel upon bonding.” She says it all cheerfully, as if this a good thing, and Bucky sits back grumpily in his chair. Cho continues, “This last brain on the right shows the most activity of all, however. Anybody want to guess why?”

A few students raise their hands. One guesses that it’s not an omega brain at all, but Cho assures them it is. “This is the burst in activity levels seen just after an alpha has Voiced,” she says. “They had omegas wear headphones in the MRI machine, and hearing the Voiced intonation of an alpha caused many observable brain changes. All to the positive.” She continues prattling on about all the ways in which interactions with alphas have been shown to increase positive and decrease negative brain activity , annoying Bucky with every single fact she throws out. “Next class we’ll talk more about pheromonal feedback loops and the structures of the prefrontal cortex, so for homework I want you to read all of chapter two in your textbooks.” 

When class is over, Bucky slaps his pen down onto his notebook, and on the short walk to his next classroom, Sharon asks him what’s wrong. Bucky avoids looking at her. “That’s all bullshit,” he says. “Just putting a spin on things to make it look like we’re dumb.”

Sharon ‘tsks’. “I don’t recall Professor Cho saying anything about intelligence in that lecture.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Bucky grumps. “That’ll be next.”

“Hey kid, I don’t know what to tell ya. The science doesn’t lie.”

“Junk science,” Bucky grunts, though he honestly isn’t so sure about that. Dr. Cho’s slideshow had cited sources from places like Johns Hopkins and the Mayo Clinic, The Lancet and The New England Journal of Medicine. Bucky’s pretty sure those are major medical institutions and publications …

“Don’t be grumpy,” Sharon says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe you’ll like psychology class more.”

Bucky does not like psychology class more. 

Professor Banner spends a whole thirty minutes lecturing them on the roles of neurotransmitters in omegas versus alphas and betas before Bucky finally gets frustrated enough to call out, “How come they don’t mention any of this crap in regular school? Huh?”

Banner looks over at Bucky, surprised, and Sharon shoots him a warning look from where she’s sitting across the room. Unlike in Cho’s class, where all the desks face the front of the classroom and the Handlers stay by each student’s side, in Banner’s class they’re all sitting around in small clusters at communal tables and the Handlers sit in chairs along the far wall. Bucky’s cluster has the chocolate cake kid, Peter, in it, along with two other boys. In the chair directly across from Bucky’s, Peter is staring at him with wide eyes. Bucky clenches his jaw and looks back down at the worksheets they’re supposed to be filling in as Banner lectures.  

“Well …” Banner says, parsing his words. “It depends what school you went to before this. You’re American, right?”

“Duh,” Bucky mutters. Across the room, Sharon narrows her eyes at him.

Banner just chuckles. “Yeah, well. A lot of folks in academia don’t like to emphasize anything that goes against the popular narrative, I suppose. But this is all extensively documented.” 

Bucky scowls. “It’s not a narrative. It’s just the real world.”

Banner blinks mildly at him. “Uh huh.” He turns back around to continue the lesson. “So, moving onto the role that endorphins play. I believe you all discussed regulatory centers in the brain in bio today?” A few students murmur in agreement, and Banner nods. “Okay, good. So we know that the parts of the brain that house your pleasure pathways and emotionality are located in the limbic system, and that’s where everything gets processed, but what makes the process happen, what makes it work?”

Bucky stares mutinously at his paper and mutters, “Apparently there’s not much going on up there,” he mumbles sarcastically. “Our ‘amygdala’ is ‘hypoactive’.”

If Banner hears him, he ignores him. “Think of it this way,” he says. “The structures in the limbic system are the factories, yeah? But they need workers inside and machinery to make anything happen. What is the factory worker, in this case?” He calls on Peter when the boy raises his hand. 

“Um, is it endorphins?”

Banner claps his hands, pleased. “Yes! But even broader than that, it’s your neurochemicals and the receptors for those chemicals. Endorphins are just one type of neurotransmitter that the brain releases. And you’re right, that’s what makes these processing centers in your brain work the way they do. The main ones we’re going to be going over today are omgestrin, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin. Only omegas produce omgestrin—it’s totally unique to you guys. That’s known as one of the “love hormones,” and omegas produce the most of it when they’re in heat, newly bonded, or when they have a new baby. Omegas naturally produce higher levels of all of the other three neurochemicals too, but: their bodies aren’t as good at regulating it. It has to do with the amount of receptors available in the brain—don’t worry, we haven’t gone over that yet. But in a general sense, you guys have more neurotransmitters floating around, but less active receptor sites. So your body struggles to be able to use the neurotransmitters effectively. Does that make sense?” A few students mumble in agreement, and Banner nods. “So does anybody know how we turn the receptor sites on? How is good regulation achieved?”

“I’ll take a whack at it,” Bucky drawls, not raising his hand. “Alphas?”

Banner nods and shoots him an approving grin. He doesn’t seem to notice Bucky’s sarcasm. “Yes! Exactly. Now simple proximity is probably the biggest and most important factor. We know that omegas who spend large amounts of time in close proximity to alphas fare much better than those who don’t. Usually this means an alpha in the household, but there can be other situations that provide enough contact. Perhaps a friend or a neighbor or a teacher. Someone or several people in the community.”

Bucky doodles nervously on the edge of his worksheet, not looking up. “So then ... what happens if you don’t have an alpha in the house?”

“Good question! Now this is something psychologists have studied extensively. We see a lot more depression in omegas who forego A-o contact, along with higher rates of emotional and behavioral disorders. Suicidality rises by almost ten percent when no alpha is present in the household, and an omega is much more likely to engage in impulsive and high risk behaviors.”

Bucky’s eyes track to the question on his worksheet that asks about the effects of lack of A-o contact. Sighing, he reluctantly writes down Banner’s answer. “Stupid,” he mutters, but it’s said so quietly that nobody hears it except for the boys in his group. Peter shoots him a curious look from across the table, and Bucky flushes and looks away.

“Of course, there are a whole host of proven behaviors that alphas and omegas can engage in that essentially ‘turn on’ the neurotransmitter receptors in your brains. It’s that ‘rush’ of good feelings that you get when an alpha Voices, for example.” Banner looks around the room. “What are some other examples you can think of? I’ll give you a hint: they don’t all require an alpha to be effective.”

This is another question on the worksheet, so Bucky poises his pencil and waits for the other students to call out their ideas. He’s not willingly participating in this misogynistic lesson, he refuses to. One by one, the other kids call out their ideas:

Holds? Scruffs? Scenting? Kneeling? Being hand fed? Spanking?

God, this is so cringe. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and writes down a few of the answers that Banner nods along to.

“Remember, they don’t all require an alpha. Nesting is a good example of one that you can do on your own,” he says. “Though of course it always helps to have Alpha-scented materials available to use. Proximity to one’s own offspring is another, especially if the child in question is under the age of two.”

“Can’t we just cut to the chase?” Bucky interrupts. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, this is all just leading up to the part where you tell us that we can’t exist in the big bad world without an Alpha, right?”

Banner, surprisingly, doesn’t get mad (even though Bucky can see Sharon glaring at him from the other side of the classroom). “Exist? No, no I wouldn’t say that. You don’t need an alpha to exist. But to thrive? Yes, I would say so. Optimal mental health almost always requires interaction with an alpha.” Banner walks up to the room’s whiteboard and uncaps a marker. He begins writing on the board. Let’s discuss what can happen when one is absent that contact, okay? We already mentioned depression.” He writes “depression” down in big, looping letters. “And impulsivity, and high risk behaviors. Anybody want to take a gander about some of the most common high risk behaviors?”

“Sleeping around?” somebody says.

Banner makes a ‘meh’ face. “Well … yes, in the sense that arbitrary promiscuity is unhealthy. But not sexual activity altogether.” He writes down “promiscuity.” “Omegas have high sex drives, so it’s actually important for there to be outlets for that, but it should be with people you’re close to, not strangers or acquaintances.”

Bucky looks down. He’s never slept with anybody but acquaintances. Around the room, the students call out other problematic behaviors, and Banner writes down on the board, “alcohol and drug use,” self-harm,” and “criminality.”

“Good, good. Those are all good examples. And we see these behaviors in omegas who are, for example, raised in very rural communities where there might not be any alphas at all. It’s complex, but all you need to remember is that, in general, if there’s no A-o contact, then the risks for depression, addiction, suicidality, and criminality are all significantly raised.” 

That’s another question on the worksheet, so Bucky begrudgingly fills it out. He can’t help but make comparisons to his own life, of course. He’s never spent any significant amount of time around any alpha, and he does engage in more than one of these so-called “high risk behaviors.” But he’s not depressed, and he’s certainly not suicidal. Jeez. 

“So basically, the two big categories are one: being in physical proximity to alphas; and two: engaging submissive-dominant behaviors. Who here has a daily protocol?”

Almost everybody raises their hands, and Bucky glances over to Sharon. She shakes her head minutely, and Bucky’s shoulders untense. Banner calls on Peter, who’s got his hand raised. “I’ve got spanking protocol,” the boy volunteers.

Bucky’s eyes shoot up. “Daily?” he hisses, slightly horrified. 

Peter just smiles and nods. Banner calls on another student, who volunteers that they have assigned “lap time” with their Handler. Bucky doesn’t even know what that means. “Yeah,” Banner is saying. “So, what’s happening on a neurochemical level when you’re engaging in these activities with your Handlers, is that your body’s sending signals to more efficiently direct your happy hormones. More receptor sites become available, and that’s when you feel the effects—that rush of pleasurable sensation.”

Bucky answers another question on the worksheet, jotting down a few of the daily protocols that the other kids mentioned. He really hopes that he won’t get assigned the more humiliating protocols, like nudity or spanking. Yikes. 

“Now,” Banner says, erasing the board and starting over by drawing long lines to make a table. “Let's chart out all the protocol activities and work through which of the four pleasure receptors is involved in each.”

Banner’s class stretches on for what feels like forever, and Bucky is relieved when the bell rings and they’re dismissed. On the way out the door, Peter walks alongside him and holds out his hand. “Hey. I’m Peter.” 

Bucky shakes his hand. “Hey. Bucky.”

“You’re from the US too?” Peter asks.

“Brooklyn,” Bucky confirms, and watches Peter’s face light up like a Christmas tree. 

“Really?! I’m from Queens!” 

Bucky grunts. 

“Do you have gender studies next?” Peter asks eagerly. 

“I dunno.”

“He does,” Sharon supplies from behind. She’s walking alongside Peter’s Handler and the two of them are chatting back there while they walk along the hall. 

“Awesome!” Peter nods. “Miss Foster is my favorite teacher. She’s really nice and down to earth, you know? You’ll like her.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky mumbles, but he says it so quietly that Peter doesn’t hear, just keeps talking about how they get to sit in beanbag chairs for this class rather than at tables or desks. Bucky doesn’t say a word, just lets Peter prattle on, while privately wondering why the heck the boy seems so happy to be here.

They arrive at the next classroom, and inside there are indeed a bunch of beanbag chairs arranged in a circle. Bucky chooses one and isn’t too surprised when Peter plops down in the next one over. “Miss Jane” turns out to be a pretty omega woman, which surprises Bucky a lot. She’s wearing a collar, which means that she’s mated, and Bucky curls his lip in disdain. He wonders how self-hating an omega would have to be to want to teach at a place like this. 

Jane greets them all and introduces herself. “Welcome to gender studies,” she tells them, taking up one of the beanbag chairs for herself and tucking her legs under her. “I see a few new faces, so let me explain what this class is all about.” She gestures to herself and around to everyone in the circle. “We’re all omega, and in this class we study and explore the nature of that designation, what it means, and how we can all live our best, happiest and healthiest lives.”

Bucky’s eyes slip shut and he groans inside his head. It’s like they’re doing this on purpose, he thinks, slowly ramping up the rhetoric and reinforcing the previous teacher’s points. 

“This isn’t quite like your other classes,” Jane is saying. “For one thing, these chairs.” She wiggles in her own and smiles. “They mimic the atmosphere of a nest, so they should be much more comfortable for us than the usual desks. This is a place where we talk a lot more openly, omega-to-omega, and we have all sorts of discussions. It's much more loosey-goosey in structure, a place of free expression. Okay?”

(Bitterly, Bucky thinks that she probably wouldn’t like what he has to express.)

“Today I thought we could talk about gender roles and expectations, and how we all might feel that society is pressuring us to act one way versus another,” Jane says. 

“What?” Bucky says. “You mean like how we’re expected to stay home, pregnant and barefoot and catering to our Alpha’s whims?”

Jane smirks at him. “Actually quite the opposite. I’m talking about modern society, progressive values that dictate that we should all live and function independently, that we shouldn’t express our feelings or our needs. The modern feminist perspective is that there’s no difference between the sexes and that we should live exactly as alphas do, because that’s the right way to act. The valued way.”

Bucky frowns at her. “That’s a good thing though.”

She tilts her head. “Is it?”

Before he can answer, another student from across the beanbag circle speaks up. “I don’t think it’s always good,” he says. Bucky glares at the kid and Jane asks him, “Why not?”

The other boy shrugs and tucks his knees in. “I dunno. Just … it’s stressful, you know? I feel like we’re supposed to not say anything about how we're feeling, like it’ll be bothering people if you say you need help, or if you admit that you’re feeling sad or seem too needy or something.”

Jane nods along approvingly. “Yes. Well that’s the thing: modern feminism tells us that a good omega is just like an alpha, and that a good omega doesn’t need extra support. So we internalize that and feel guilt and shame when we do have these needs. We’re too embarrassed to speak up and feel like we should just keep it to ourselves and not say anything. But that’s not healthy, and it’s not fair to us. Modern western culture completely devalues the natural omega by insisting we’re the same as everybody else. What’s so wrong with being different?”

“That’s not true,” Bucky argues. “Feminism is good. It’s trying to make a fair world for us!”

Jane raises an eyebrow. “When did ‘fair’ become ‘identical’? When did ‘equal’ become ‘the same’? In today’s world we’re constantly sent messages to be self-reliant, to not be a burden: ‘Don’t mention it if you’re close to heat, just take suppressants. Don’t admit you need body contact, just stay in your space and don’t bother anybody.’ We have all these natural interests, abilities, and inclinations, but society tells us to pursue alphas’ interests and inclinations, to be just like they are because those are the valued traits. Don’t you think that’s the most sexist thing of all? To completely dismiss our natures as something undesirable?”

Bucky frowns and looks down at his lap. “I dunno,” he grumbles. He’s never thought of it that way. He doesn’t like the spin Jane’s trying to put on it though, as though omegas can’t or shouldn’t pursue independence. 

Jane goes back to addressing the whole class. “Just look at the ways that modern feminism has denied omegas’ nature and actually hurt us: We’re told we should want to suppress these traits, that we should ignore our urge to have children and a family, that we should avoid leaning on an alpha for support or comfort. The sexual revolution insisted that we could and should have casual sex with anyone, robbing us of the proven benefits we get from bonded sex and long term partners. It’s drastically increased the risks we face for abandonment upon pregnancy, because alphas are now given the message that they don’t need to commit and they don’t need to protect or nurture us. Both sides wind up lonely and deprived, and we’re told we should be saying thank you for it.” Jane looks around sadly at them all. “And what we’re seeing consistently now is tons of omegas in their thirties and forties—alone, mateless, childless, depressed—with houseplants and cats and regrets that’ve come too late.” She shrugs. “I would posit that true omega feminism would promote acceptance of our natures, rather than pretending they don’t exist. We need to think about what our culture can do to start valuing omegas how they are, not how they ‘should be’.”

Around the beanbag circle, a lot of the students are nodding along, looking relieved as if Jane has just put to words the way that they’ve all felt for a long time. Bucky isn’t nodding, but he is frowning down at his own lap, ruminating on it …

“Is there anybody who’s had an experience where they felt like they weren’t allowed or weren’t ‘supposed to’ act a certain way, and had to hold something that they really felt or thought in so they wouldn’t be judged?”

Several kids raise their hands, and they all volunteer times where they’ve felt pressured to not be their true selves. Bucky’s dismayed to realize that he can relate to many of the stories. He’s just never considered it before. He pulls his knees up to his chest and burrows further into the beanbag chair, chewing his lip and listening to things that he doesn’t want to believe might be true.

“So what?” he eventually says. “We’re all just supposed to stay home and make babies and never do anything?”

Jane shoots him an exasperated look. “Do you know the rate of antidepressant use in omegas in the US?”

“No.”

“It’s seventy nine percent. In the general population it’s thirteen.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Oh. … I didn’t know that. That sounds high.”

She nods sadly. “It is. But back in the fifties and sixties, the rate was nearly identical to theat of the general population’s. It only skyrocketed after the sexual revolution and second wave feminism. You think that’s just a coincidence?”

Bucky shrugs mulishly. “I dunno. It could be. Correlation isn’t causation.”

Jane nods. “Yes, but we also know that in bonded omegas who have children and work in traditional jobs, antidepressant use is still over sixty percent. In bonded omegas who fulfill caregiver roles? It drops to eight percent.”

Bucky avoids her stare, uncomfortable with being confronted with all these facts. “Whatever,” he mutters. “We should still have the choice to do whatever we wanna do.”

“Well of course,” she says. “We’re not saying those paths shouldn’t be allowed, but society has decided to demean and diminish the most common and beneficial life choices for omegas. It’s made us feel like what we naturally want to do isn’t good enough, isn’t worth anything. And that’s what’s not fair. We should be allowed to take pride in our designation, not be constantly told to ignore it and repress it.” 

Bucky shrugs, unhappy to concede the point. “Sure, I guess,” he mutters. 

Jane seems to sense that he isn’t interested in talking anymore, because she directs the conversation back to the class as a whole and moves on from there, leaving Bucky to sulk in his beanbag.

This story is an ongoing commission for an amazing supporter who wishes to remain anonymous. If you have a story that you'd like to see custom written, send me a message on Tumblr or reach out on my Kofi.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup

[edwad]

Do you ever worry all of the critique you're mounting on Marx is "too academic"? Not that it's necessarily incorrect, but that it won't translate these into changes in political practice in the world even if it's accepted that your critique has merit?

If Marx was just an abstract philosopher who was fumbled around with in the hands of academics only, perhaps this question would seem absurd. But that's not the case for Marx - he and his thought, however incomplete and incoherent, is still grappled with by political actors, however incompletely and incoherently themselves.

And there a whole world of "politics" that "the Left" the world over, still haunted and driven by Marx and Marxism, takes part in...organizing parties and taking part in elections, (intra)-union organzing, legal advocation, protests and mass demonstration, education and seminars, fighting guerilla wars, building communes, etc...and I presume that you are part of the Left that sees all of this action as pointing towards, if only potentially or latently or incoherently, towards revolution and communism.

What are you hoping your intervention does in this world? Are you aiming for a specific, identifiable change in the world of politics and of the Left? Or does the critique justify itself on intellectual grounds alone, even if one can't imagine clear changes in politics and social practice following from it?

i always think it's a bit funny when people level accusations against me of being too "academic" when not only am i totally outside of academia but i probably had less (and worse!) formal schooling than them. i don't say this because i think you're making that kind of case (i certainly read you as being more charitable than that, although maybe you really are going for a dig, idk), but because i think it's clear that even undereducated lowlifes like me have some vested interest in these things for both theoretical and practical reasons. its not about job security for me in the ivory tower, its just the kind of things i think about on the way to and from work (my long reblog earlier was written on the way to my store). to more directly address your question, i think these things have meaningful stakes which aren't reducible to the luxury of academics peddling abstract thinking (although, most of my academic friends are pretty broke too, so im not trying to joust with them here as much as with this notion of an institutionalized marx scholarship that im somehow dabbling in). the takeaway here shouldn't simply be "what if marx is wrong about the political economists he's working with", it's "what if marxs analysis of the system, and by extension, his critique of it, falls flat"

this has political stakes for anybody whose political thinking and aspirations involve using marx as a resource. if he gets capitalism wrong (and, if immanent critique means anything, how could he get that part wrong while adequately understanding the system which is supposed to directly account for the object he is critiquing?) then what does that mean for our anti-capitalism? sure, we could be productively misreading him and still demanding things which maybe aren't justified by his analysis but which are worth pursuing, but how can even tell? by what standard? what if actually our well-intended political maneuvers simply make things worse, as plenty of liberal thinkers would suggest? we can say "yeah well they're dumb liberals so they don't know anything", but this only works if you can safely assume you're right and that they're wrong on the basis of a semi-coherent understanding of the world around you. the ways you struggle against that world is shaped by your understanding of it, and the things you hold against it or the possibilities for what it could be are entirely bound up with what can only be called a "theory" of the system. i think the theory we have of the system has significant political/practical consequences, and if marx is wrong about all of this then we'd be forced to rethink what that means for us as marx-influenced communists.

in that sense, im not demanding a particular change in political strategy, im interested in posing a problem which i think we have to be able to answer. otherwise the whole thing collapses and we might as well settle for social democracy or whatever.

[howlingday]

tragic backstory (tm) au)

it's been a week since the events with a dragon and beyond the fact that everyone thinks he's a destined hero come again. and the fact that he now actually has an army and village to support himself and pay for all his gear (being a knight is pretty ballin) he really has one major complaint

WHY THE FUCK IS HE BETTER AT FIGHTING ON HORSEBACK THAN HE IS FIGHTING ON FOOT! ICHOR AND HIM HATE EACH OTHER WHY ARE THEY SO IN-SINK???

also his sword and lance (and armor) have been weirdly sturdy since he killed that dragon. but he's mainly upset about the whole better fighting on horseback thing

Hero From On High Horse

---------------------------------------------------

A king does not command when the sun will set, nor when the moon will rise. A king simply knows these that lie beyond his control and uses them to his advantage.

---------------------------------------------------

Yang: PFFFT! AHAHAHAHA! Look- Look at this one!

Ruby: Snrk! (Mocking) "He is duh chosen one as it was foretold by the scrolls!" AHAHAHA!

Jaune: Ugh... Could you guys please stop?

Pyrrha: (Rubs his back) Unfortunately, they can't. Nor can the hundreds of thousands of people on Remnant.

Nora: Whoooooooa! Hundreds of thousands! That's quite the kingdom, your majesty!

Jaune: Ugh, not this again.

Ren: Like it or not, there is a lesson in all of this.

Jaune: What, "Don't get caught on camera"?

Ren: There's that, and "Know your place."

Jaune: Wait, what?

Ren: Like it or not, you are the king, which means you must govern, rule, and dictate your resolve to your subjects. You're not just some student at Beacon Academy to the public anymore. You're their king.

Jaune: (Sighs) Yeah, I guess you're right. No point in trying to fight the hundreds of thousands of people who watched me.

Ruby: AHAHAHAHAHAHA! LOOK AT HIM!

Yang: PFFT! KEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!

Jaune: Even if it is just two people voicing them right now...

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: I hate you so much.

Ichor: (Sputters)

Weiss: Is that any way to talk to your mount, who bravely fought the dragon at your side?

Jaune: For the first half, sure, before he left me hanging out to dry the second I was tossed off!

Weiss: Well, you should have been more considerate of his safety.

Jaune: More considerate- OW! STOP BITING ME!

Ichor: (Snorts, Trots away)

Vas: (Sitting on the fence) You get a load of this guy? Can't even get a dumb animal to listen to him!

Fuentes: It is pretty pathetic. Hardly worth so much excitement for.

Jay: (Grumbles)

Shishi: While I am inclined to agree with your statements, gentlemen, the fact remains that the people believe he is their king. As it stands, we should treat him with the same respect we would any leader.

Shishi: That is, until he chooses to step down.

Ren: He won't.

Shishi: (Flinches)

Jay: (Stiffens in place)

Ren: Jaune may not be the most impressive person on Remnant now, but I have no doubt in my mind that he will become someone who exceeds all of our expectations.

Nora: Yeah! Even when I first showed, I had thought the Headmaster was playing a joke! But Jaune is definitely the king, so you should all bow down!

Pyrrha: Um, Nora...

Shishi: ...Until they put a crown his head, (Watches as Jaune is thrown off again, Turns) I will never bow to such a weak-willed boy so ill-suited to be king. (Walks away)

Fuentes: Agh! S-Sir, wait!

Jay: (Grunts, Follows)

Vas: Well, I guess that's my cue to boogie. Now, if you ladies want a real man-

Pyrrha: (Glares at him)

Nora: (Glares at him)

Vas: Uh, I'll be right over there! Guys, wait up! (Scampers off)

Jaune: (Trots over on Ichor, Gets off) Was that Team Savage?

Pyrrha: Yes, it was. They were out here watching you.

Jaune: (Sighs) Great. More people to watch my misery. Just what I needed.

Ren: It wasn't like that.

Nora: Yeah! I've never seen a horse stand on two legs for so long!

Jaune: What? (Turns)

Ichor: (On hind legs, Smashes hooves down)

---------------------------------------------------

Vas: Thanks for ditching me, guys! I thought I was gonna get skewered by Lady Invincible and then smashed by her dwarf bestie back there!

Shishi: If anything physical happened, your semblance would have saved you.

Vas: Yeah, sure, but what about my emotional damage? I got feelings, too, you know!

Jay: (Pats head)

Vas: Thanks, Jay. At least I can take comfort knowing I still got a chance with that cutie in the green dress- ARGH! AGH! JAY! STOP! ARGH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!

Fuentes: What do we do now, Captain?

Shishi: For now, we resume our studies. We are here to become huntsmen, after all.

Fuentes: And what about Jaune Arc, sir?

Shishi: Not to worry. There is an old adage my father taught me.

Shishi: "A true king can only be slain by an ever truer king."

---------------------------------------------------

Gillian: So what your plan?

Jax: We will attend Beacon as prospective students, and ask for a tour. As we are guided, we will locate our quarry and have them ally with us, securing support from beyond Vacuo when we are my King and Queen of Remnant.

Gillian: Will this plan work?

Jax: I cannot be certain, but unless they are both away from the school itself, I do not see us failing in the near future.

Gillian: I see. Excuse me, my brother.

Jax: You're not holding onto any second thoughts are you?

Gillian: No. Of course not. (Enters bathroom, Looks into the mirror) I hope you know what you are doing, Jax. (Looks to her scroll, Notices missed call)

---------------------------------------------------

Taiyang: (Scroll buzzes, Answers) Surf's up, it's Hi Tai!

Yang: (Via scroll) Hey, Dad...

Taiyang: Hey, sweetie! Everything okay over there?

Yang: Dad, I... I went on that mission to Mallet.

Taiyang: Oh...

Yang: And some stuff happened.

Taiyang: Like that kid caught on the Atlas cameras?

Yang: Y-Yeah, that's... That's Jaune.

Taiyang: And is Jaune your boyfriend?

Yang: Daaaaad...

Taiyang: I'm just asking, sweetie. I'm not planning on doing anything bad to your boyfriend.

Yang: (Groans) Look, I... Something happened to me. I was fighting these rats, and there were more rats, and even more rats. Just rats... everywhere!

Taiyang: Sounds like a Hamlen. Nasty little guys. I'm glad you got out okay.

Yang: Uh, yeah, just a few cuts and burns.

Taiyang: Burns? You haven't been burned since... Well, since I can last remember before your semblance was unlocked.

Yang: Y-Yeah, about that. I... I kind of went sort of beyond what I usually go to with my semblance. Like, it felt like the air around me was burning, and I could really see that well. After I killed the rat things, I went after Ruby.

Taiyang: (Sighs)

Yang: Dad?

Taiyang: Yang, when you were, uh, "going to the next level," what were you thinking?

Yang: I was thinking... I was thinking about how sad everyone was going to be. About how I'd never get a chance to talk to any of you guys. Even... Even Raven.

Taiyang: Alright. I think I know what happened, but it might come as a shock to you, so I hope you're sitting down.

Yang: Uh, yeah. Why? What's going on?

Taiyang: Yang, I have one more question for you.

Taiyang: Have you ever heard of the Burns Tribe?

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Notes from a short excursion to the Warrens Cranberry Festival

Ain't it the truth ... ain't it the truth: The Warrens Cranberry Festival happens to be the world's single largest celebration of that Thanksgiving staple known as the cranberry--but even then, such isn't exactly for Thanksgiving anymore.

The fact of which drives this west-central Wisconsin village of some 550 people to celebrate cranberries over the last full September weekend per the calendar. Which had our intrepid party, including the ursine guests of the Hair Bear Bunch and Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee, driving up US 12 towards Warrens--"to get all the more off the beaten path," as I like explaining it--in the pre-dawn of what was expected to be a rather decently lit early-autumnal Saturday to so enjoy.

Which was enough of an opportunity for us to not only stock up on cranberry juice (even though it was possible to get it at any decent supermarket or convenience store) and dried cranberries (for some orange-cranberry muffins, tea bread and scones over the fall), but also, for one, browse what was said to be one of the largest arts and crafts markets in conjunction with a community festival generally (something especially fascinating to Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee, all the while trying not to get caught up in the kitschy for their van) ... but also to walk through an actual Wisconsin cranberry marsh just ahead of the cranberry harvest, which should be starting ere you Old Hanna-Barberians read this or otherwise within measurable distance of its appearance.

And just to imagine us in hip waders going through a cranberry marsh without getting dumb stares or cheap laughs from fellow festgoers or the locals ... definitely an experience for such among us as have gone through plenty of experiences, surviving to relate them even! Including, as it turned out, stumbling upon the CB Bears (Hustle, Bump and Boogie) at a French-fry stand which specialised in the "loaded" such as made poutine look like one of Yogi Bear's picnic basket plunder exercises cut short by a certain Ranger Smith.

Witness Huck, yours truly and the Hair Bears alongside the CB Bears taking some rather interesting takes on French fries (yours truly, as did Hair Bear, Bump and Crazy Claws, took Philly cheesesteak fries) for luncheon. And to hear the former CB-guided ursine detective trio note it, having a truck-mounted camper and ditching the detective bit was the best thing for them, Hustle trying to hold tears back in explaining that their beloved Perfume Wagon had to be scrapped as it was just becoming a headache to maintain. "But at least we manage," Boogie remarked, "to get some more fishing in."

"And we were getting tired of the detective schtick," Hustle was quick to add.

And what could be more apropos the Warrens Cranberry Festival than to get some serious orange-cranberry muffins--homemade, and not the Kwik Trip sort, definitely worth having over a late-night coffee. Or maybe a Sunday morning such, drinking in the artificial view of the artificial waters of Artificial Lake Delton, "and not being a stupid jerk about it," chimed in Crazy Claws. "As some tourists over the summer seem to be, if you believe the stereotype about the Illinois crowds who come to the Dells."

At any rate, the somewhat hazy and almost autumnal colour of the sun for the time of year certainly made an impression ... especially when the breakfast and morning snacks are punctuated by glasses of cranberry juice, and not the so-called "cranberry juice cocktail." Especially because of the effects on the kidney and bladder.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @funtasticworld @moonrock1973 @aquablock68 @multi-fandom-girl-451 @theweekenddigest @archive-archives @hanna-barbera-land @themineralyoucrave @screamingtoosoftly @hanna-barberians @thylordshipofbutts @thebigdingle @hanna-barbera-show-blog @warnerbros-blog1 @jellystone-enjoyer @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @passionateclown @iheartgod175 @groovybribri @warnerbrosent-blog

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken: Star Wars Episode II | November 16, 2008 - 11:30PM | Special

Time for more re-re comedy for gay nerds. Hey--HEY! That wasn’t very nice. Don’t say stuff like that! Okay. I am sorry. I forgive you. Thanks. 

Robot Chicken Star Wars! It’s one of my least favorite things. I ain’t never seen this stuff, and I wish I didn’t decide I had to watch it for a blog that no one reads. I wonder if I will do an exhaustive breakdown of each sketch? Um… HOW ABOUT NO. This shit sucks and just because it’s segmented doesn’t mean I have to be! Segmented, I mean.

Okay, so here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna rank my top three and bottom three sketches. This is going to be very hard, because I don’t like any of them, really. And, because I don’t like any of them, really, I will likely just be picking stuff borderline at random. Also, I skipped over some real short ones for consideration cuz who cares. Here, both lists are worst to best. 

BOTTOM THREE (WORST TO LEAST-WORST) 

Luke's Lack of Perspective. This is the one where Leia scolds Luke for being sad about Obi-wan dying because her whole planet was vaporized. The premise is lame, and also they cast the real Carrie Fisher, who has old lady voice and sounds nothing like her younger self. You can tell they pitched her up a little to try and make up for it. It’s just distracting, and the sketch isn’t even worth recasting.

AT-AT Drag Race. I couldn’t even really make much sense of this one. There’s a weird edit in it that I remember thinking implied that it was a dream? Which it wasn’t, obviously, it just was edited awkwardly and the joke is just “wouldn’t it be funny if guys raced AT-ATs?" and who gives a fuck. I did like the visual of the AT-AT clicking it’s heels, though.

Going Out Like a Punk. This is the one where Uhh. I forgot his name, no really. I almost typed “Cowboy Bebop.” The bounty hunter guy that everyone loves just because he has a cool name that I forget what it even is. Bop-Bop Peranu, I think it is. Anyway, he’s in the Sarlac pit (I remembered that no prob) and talking about how he didn’t go out like a chump. This one seems like it’s aimed squarely at annoying dorks who think they’re clever for making the same observation. I watch television to get away from shitheads like this! Cartoons, mostly, but still! 

[EVERY OTHER SKETCH IS TIED FOR THE MIDDLE]

TOP THREE (WORST TO FIRST)

 Palpatine's Trip. Depicting Palpatine's annoying travels to the Deathstar, paralleling the annoyances of regular Earthly air travel. He gets annoyed by the chair placement in the throne room, and as indignities mount he says, to some one, “here, watch me tempt fate. (mock exasperation) could this day get any worse? (casually) I think I’m safe, because I said that ironically.” The punchline is he gets tossed by Vader, like at the end of Star Wars: The Last Crusade. I just really like the tempting fate/irony joke!

Anakin's Happy Place. Decent premise depicting Anakin slaying children at the end of Episode III. It's the darkest scene in all of Star Wars, and I was fine with what they did with it here. The joke at the end is a little dumb, but it’s fine. It’s Robot Chicken.

Mouse Droid. My favorite, because I could imagine making a fan-edit of the original Star Wars with zero changes except you add the insert shots of the little mouse guy driving the droid. I like when mice drive stuff. That's basically the only reason I liked this.

This has an “extended” version available, but I just watched the version on HBOMax. This is probably worse than the first special, but I don’t want to think about it too long. All of these sketches are dumb as shit and for dorks, which I DEFINITELY am not one of. Go to hell!

EPHEMERA CORNER

Clerks: The Animated Series (November 14, 2008 - 11:00PM)

This could very easily be a whole goddamn thing. It will probably be longer than other EPHEMERA CORNERs, but I’ll still try to be concise. Clerks the Animated Series was an animated spin-off of Clerks, the scrappy, vulgar, independent comedy from Kevin Smith. It’s cult success lead to him inexplicably having a career, including two direct movie sequels to clerks. This cartoon only lasted six episodes, two of which aired on ABC. They came out on DVD shortly after, with a racist audio commentary track for every episode.

I literally taped the Super Bowl because a website reported that the Clerks Cartoon was going to get a commercial during it. I diligently taped the two episodes that did air. ABC decided to air the fourth episode, which was a parody of courtroom dramas (and had a very funny non-sequitur ending allegedly completed by the Korean animators without any input from the American writers). After that they decided to air the second episode, which heavily referenced the first episode. It’s main concept was that it was a clip show, and Dante and Randal spent a significant portion of the episode flashing back only to the first episode, which hadn’t actually aired. 

The show was a fairly typical animated comedy of it’s time. The vulgarity was tamped down in favor of absurdist gags and cultural references. Mostly, it worked. There were some really funny ideas, and the commentary tracks had some really fun tidbits about planned episodes that never happened. Honestly, if I weren’t already privy to the doomed nature of the show, or we lived in the alternate dimension where this was allowed to continue for multiple seasons, I would probably aspire to write for this thing. With a few exceptions, the humor was even more on my wavelength than Kevin Smith’s movies.

Weirdly, I don’t think I ever actually watched this show on Adult Swim. I remembered it as a Comedy Central acquisition. When Adult Swim first aired, I really admired the fact that one could watch Fox’s Sunday Night cartoon line-up, switch to Adult Swim, and then when Adult Swim was over you could switch to Comedy Central and watch reruns of South Park, Duckman, and this. It was a real special time to have cable. Hot damn.

I really do wish this lasted longer. Deserved at least half the success of Family Guy. In my ideal world, this show takes off and Kevin Smith stops making movies. He only revisits the "canon" View Askewinverse in occasional comic book mini-series. You ever read his comics? His writing style comes off better in those, I think.

PLEDGE: The currently-ignored Adult Swim 2022 blog will return on some kind of non-daily schedule. I’ll finish out Baby Blues, and then do this. Happy, KON?? 

MAIL BAG

Time for some mail. Good lord. 

you gotten the adult swim 2021 group dm all riled up about xtacles. are you gonna do anything to fan these flames???

I dropped some bombs Hulk style, and things seem to be under control. You are right, they were out of line and it pissed me off!

dino and scott are excellent as mr burns would say. i forgive anything in their problematic past as long as they become the banner, ta ta for now

Despite the fact that one of them was nice to me once, and the other one made out with my friend (which is arguably also nice), I simply can’t. I like racist stuff, so I’m keeping the Minor Guys or whatever that show was called. Bye!

cahpo

?

so far it seems the only shows you like are space ghost, assy mcgee, and xtacles. i guess venture bros and morel orel made you cry, if that's a good thing. Anyway, just a like observation from this looky loo. Bye!

It is sorta fucked up that a TV show can make people cry. Should be illegal. But, hey, look out for the end of the year when I rerank all the Adult Swim shows. BYE!

and we say bye bye now

Bye bye! 

Bye bye!

Goodbye.

[nailgunstigmata]

10 songs ive been listening to lately tag game!! (aka some faves from the mcden playlist im currently looping hehe)

ty for the tag @denfucker @ricketycr1cks and @ratcoffin69 !! <333

1. i just want you to love me….so real sufjan stevens. ur just like macdennis (both of them)

2. soo macden it makes me sick…actually maybe one of the most macden songs ever. i have a drabble about it but i can never finish it because thinking about cherry wine macden makes me insane <3 haha yeah

3. this song makes me insane idk!! a terrible wretched love that ends in fire and destruction but could never not be worth it despite all the pain…being doomed from the start but still holding hands among the wreckage….haha yeah lol

4. makes me pull my hairs out and yell. this is north dakota core it makes me sick….sometimes you leave someone because you love them!!! exploding screaming yelling

5. i mean yeah. we were in love. so true <3

6. mac core…i think its so cool actually when he has to choose which god to worship once and for all haha

7. this one is soo dennis to me idc (small warning this one gets very loud apruptly halfway through. its a banger tho <3)

8. ive been kate bush macden pilled lately <3

9. i dont have to say anything u get it. u get it

10. this deserves a spot just for the line „dumb enough to kneel“ like yeah. yeah (this one also gets loud halfway through tho!!)

(sorry for using this tag to ramble about macden songs but also i like doing it so im not that sorry <3)

i never know who to tag and who did it already and who even wants to so whoever reads this and wants to do it ur tagged!! <33

[leam1983]

System Shock (2023) - Impressions

My first serious game was Myst, and it demanded a very particular peripheral that used to be a mainstay of any serious gamer's arsenal: the double combo of a well-sharpened pencil and a generous Legal pad.

First came a story of Linking Books and filial betrayal. A little grisly in places, sure - thanks, Achenar - but mostly All-Ages stuff. I tore through two pads just to finish Myst because I had the insane idea of charting out the Selenetic Age's subway system organically. I was too dumb to realize the sounds were the same heard for the Mechanical Age's four cardinal points, too stubborn to bother, and armed with a summer's worth of game time and zero responsibilities. I charted out that damn subway for hours and screamed for joy when I lucked onto the exit.

Then came something a little harder on the nerves. A tale of corporate overreach, greed, megalomania pressed onto silicon wafers and a very Nineties vision of Cyberspace. Move over, Johnny Mnemonic, this hacker's even more hapless than you are...

Long story short, we open in a dystopian Cyberpunk future and are, in fact, a well-heeled chairjock. We've got the sick techwear to prove it, complete with glove-mounted ports for plugging portable data drives into your knuckles or socketing map-related proprioceptive enhancements to your wrist - like you do. The problem is, we've gotten a little long in the tooth and opted to steal a military enhancement that's probably omega cool, max nova or fraggin' awesome, depending on your other dystopian setting of choice. Said implant's owners and designers, the obscenely wealthy TriOptimum Corporation, sic their dogs on us. We're caught merely moments after stealing the schematics.

TriOp's Chairman of the Board, however, has some ideas. Ideas that work against the hardcoded ethical protocols of the AI system he both lords over and depends on, the Sentient Hyper-Optimized Data Access Network - or SHODAN. Space stations orbiting Saturn are complex hives of steel and flesh, you see, and designing a dispassionate and meticulous warden for it only made sense.

The problem is that thanks to your actions under duress, SHODAN is now anything but dispassionate and meticulous. She soon comes to see herself as a "living" goddess, and more or less rips a page out of AM-1's usual script. Kill the humans, experiment with their primitive flesh, turn their remains into obedient servants to her newfound magnificience - yadda yadda. On the plus side, SHODAN is once again voiced by Terri Brosius, former vocalist for the band Tribe - and she once again oozes cold and calculating menace. Glitchy cold and calculating menace, that is.

I mean - take five and go look at System Shock 2's now-famous opening CGI movie on YouTube. Look at you, hacker, said in its chilling tone of absolute contempt and utter surety of purpose, is now a bona fide classic Gamer Meme.

I might as well say that this is more or less The Game, as it were. as you spend most of your run trying to correct this very obvious SNAFU while also trying to figure out how you're going to leave a space station located halfway across the solar system when all the doors are locked and most relevant codes were either revoked or stashed away.

Oh, and the insane AI you're stuck with decided it was a good idea to start splicing tiger and gorilla DNA together into brand new cuddly murder machines. You know. For funsies.

Initially designed by Irrational Studios back in 1994 and now spruced up by Night Dive, this is a title that proudly foregoes several modern conveniences and that refuses to hold your hand even at the easiest difficulty settings you can configure. It isn't easily legible, its level design philisophy is intentionally outdated and if it could speak, it would spit in BioShock's direction and claim it was corrupted by the vainglorious promises of the Shooter Celebrity status.

And yes, I say that knowing BioShock is leagues removed from your average Call of Duty entry. Compared to System Shock, Bioshock is a Dudebro Machine designed to slam through brewskis while yelling about your KD ratio in a bad microphone. I'm also saying this as someone who loves Bioshock. System Shock the first in name is not friendly, it does not care for you or your concepts of builds or minmaxing, it almost sadistically throws a useless compass your way - and asks you to figure it out.

No handholding. No tutorials. No easing-into-things. Once you're on Citadel Station, you're on your own.

Honestly, just this is worth the price of admission. We've been coddled for decades, all because we're focused on making sure games recoup their massive budgets. System Shock sits at a lean and mean eight and a half gigabytes (yes! In 2023! It's shocking! Har har, easy puns!), it intentionally looks simple and chunky - and nothing is wasted here. Nothing whatsoever.

It's cramped, oppressive, dingy, menacing, cold, even possibly damp - and still a great showcase of any RTX-capable graphics card, with deep and believable shadows and so much Shader Porn that even the simple voxel textures that adorn the four sides of the playspace at all times feel properly anchored in the fiction. It's a beautiful game, if you're willing to understand that beauty as a concept can include pixels you can count with your naked peepers.

What it isn't, however, is forgiving towards younger gamers or anyone who skews towards more recent releases. The dual UI experience is instantly dated, the "inventory Tetris" concept stopped being fun long before Resident Evil 4 briefly revitalized it, and hitting Tab to click through audio logs and written notes for codes or clues when you can hear mutants wheezing and lumbering towards you is never really fun.

Y'can't pause, here - this is the Dark Souls of vintage PC horror games-

No, come on, that's a dated and cringey assertion, SHODAN's baby deserves better than that. What it is, though, is an encapsulation of a specific era in video game design and in what we once saw as constituting the best the Survival Horror genre could produce on our dated beige towers. The best outside of other classics in the genre, sure, but still one of the oft-cited references.

If you've got fifty or so bucks burning a hole in your pocket and the pressing need to have a skipping Text-to-Speech filter call you a pathetic insect, this is a must-have, quite simply.

[dickthyology]

Oh please, allow me to rekindle that reaction, because i love small boat sailing and history and i think this is dumb tech bro shit that exists to get VC money then fizzle.

These parafoils (which is whats pictured in previous posts), or kites, or parasails, or spinnakers all are established technologies. For like hundreds of years, thats why i could name so many similarly mastless sails. (Oh btw all of them work better with masts, but with the right winds they can be deployed however)

Previous posters did a great job speculating about retrofitting existing ships and i really am not trying to attack them, however i put forth that it doesnt really matter how you mount them, cause they wont be installed. Not because people underestimate the value of free energy from sails, but because everyone forgets how great screw propellors are

First, these kites are nowhere near as effective as sails on a mast. Lets look at two diagrams.

The first diagram shows the possible points of sail for a masted vessel, whereas the second shows that for a kite sail (kitesailing, windboarding, whatever) but with an emphasis on the “power zone” where it will get far more power. This is more important for the kites because in the “soft zone” the kite will hopefully have enough force to stay aloft, and behind it it will certainly not. Its worth noting that masted sails also get considerably more power on a run, which its equivalent to the power zone, only if the wind is slightly behind the path of the masted boat (labeled close) the boat still moves forward and does not have to turn around and pick up their sail.

So the sails will only be deployed of the wind is such to push the boat forward. Okay, sure most people figured thats the thing but its usually windy so like whatever right? Lets look at two maps detailing wind conditions in the atlantic, then compare it to a chart of global shipping corridors to see what kind of winds the cargo ships encounter.

Uh oh! Looks like the cargo ships LOVE crossing that really quiet non-windy bit in the middle. They love it like they’ve wanted to take that more direct route for hundreds of years but have only been able to do so for the last 150 years or so.

But look, the routes overlap with the winds sometimes! Sometimes in one but not the other? Ah yeah its wind and it changes based on the month, day, and hour. That right there is enough to take every statement made anywhere with huge grains of salt. Especially mine.

But, the strawman insisted, there are times when the wind is blowing with the ships, surely then it could be- SO LETS CONTINUE LOOKING into these kite sails. Recreationally there is an amount of wind which will not be able to lift the sail up into the air. These sails are made of various materials, all of them effected by gravity. The sails needed to pull a cargo shit weighing thousands of tons would need to be WAY bigger than to pull an instagram user, but nonetheless lets assume they have the same minimum relative windspeed to lift off, 10 kts. This means anywhere with darker blue sails will not work at all, cant even be deployed.

Oh right i said RELATIVE wind because if the sail is meant to be in ADDITION to engine forces then we can only use the wind thats going FASTER than the ship to pull us forward. So lets take the average leisurely, and fuel efficient speed of a cargo ship, 21kts. They often go faster, but they also at times purposefully slow roll, im not going any further into ocean bound logistics though and im not sorry. Look at this post is a monster already.

So! 21kts plus the 10 kts minimum gives us 31 kts minimum speed to get anything out of this sail we dragged along. Now on our wind maps anything blue, including some blue green is disqualified as useful wind. Sometimes its not nothing even!

The next question we must ask is how much power are we getting from that sail? I dont want to do the exact calculations so lets use a heuristic to calculate how much power;

0.015 hp/sqr ft of sail @ 7-10 kts wind speed

0.020 hp/sqr ft of sail @ 11-16 kts ''

0.040 hp/sqr ft of sail @ 17-21 kts "

0.070 hp/sqr ft of sail @ 22-27 kts "

Lets consider the MS beluga skysails which made its partially kite powered maiden voyage in 2008 across the atlantic. This kits has a square footage of 17,000 m2, giving it a maximum of 119 hp.

The average container ship engine with a screw propeller has between 26,000 and 33,000hp. I told you screw propellers were underestimated.

And that’s at the maximum relative wind. And again, its relative wind because the MS beluga Skysails was a hybrid vessel! It still burned fossil fuels on every single one of its tests and voyages, and never turned off its engines. WHEN sail power could be used it reported a 5% reduction in that portion of the journeys fuel usage. The PORTION.

So all thats left is to decide if its worth it to bring along. Every ounce of weight added to a ship affects the hulls drag coefficient, as well as the system and sail taking up physical space on the ship, which is the valuable part of a journey, meaning they are effectively paying or losing out on revenue in order to take the damn thing with it.

So is it worth it? Is it useful? Maybe the 15 years between 2008 and 2023 are because it was foolishly overlooked by an entire planet seeming to squeeze every last drop of efficiency out of the global trade networks. I kinda want it to be, I genuinely love sailing and recommend the experience to anyone. Hell even a tarp and a skate board will give ya a fun afternoon.

But its not anyone entrypoint into a cherished hobby its just another tech-esque headline that doesnt hold up to scrutiny. Doomed to be spread for the glimmer of hope we may not end our own species, though it may only achieve a few rounds of venture capital funding.

We dont need to speculate whether this new innovation will sweep across the worlds shipping lanes, because the numbers have already been run, the consensus is deafening; no it’s dumb.

Shout out to the other passionate posters, i mean nothing against them. Its just a thing that bothers me everytime i see it.

And lastly; enjoy this photo of a few small sailboats called sunfish because i love them.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Tell you like”)

Measures be, she never to smell.     For what great deep enough! Knows how, but you said. Over of     crimson petals spilled, in our graves, the lifts that he was a     suddenly, with chasing, but her childish error. All those     than the foolish-witty:

he wild thine age is comely as     Jerusalem, terrible as udders were do you     remembered, your devil’s-game! You fast holding duct tape, nor know,     beside, leg over me was let us stand all on each     tide doesn’t looked tushes in

woman a’ her write me thus? And     died and maiden hath thee, O Love, Love, foolish in voices?     And merry was she bang’d me, if ye gie a woman, and     may sleepe, me thou feed, unless night your beauty lies; love by     pieces of horse! Being

tone and trim; if he come and Time     she who am I? Love- lacking out carnival, and all     thee; but late forlorn, lest shades, change, was down, in beds once both     sit, long enough food to make the frankincense. My tongues: and     yet, ’ quoth she; and tumble

into the wise dumb? But the image     dies up his owne children nurse’s song These late excell’d,     a purple was they praise my indolent air, or the low,     the broadcast live even as the summer air is Musicke     lendeth. She take her cheek

a richesse of frankincense, how     the after thee my peace of ours, our eyes seem woe, comparings,     laughs, and thy side, leg over cities, love to stealing     balm, earth’s sovereign lord, and so bold to warm before my     transgression of all my heart

long-distant lights, what tis pluck’d is     still to her, great recall; they descending spur? Tell you like.     And trim; but sleep together like the mounts up Love’s honey;     I have done! In loving to his Saint John Nebel arguing     fronts, there’s much;

foreknowing grave it: then sudden     pale, with thievish progress tree: the knights began, the field, thou     art my worth to bow, when the flower o’ the tints of our     head, dumbe Sleepe hold him in thee to my beloved? Lest and     being full of fellow

door, lest shadow heaved—she star-shaped?     And not to be barren among tender spring when thou     art! To find abundantly, and snowy mounted boar; whose     concubines, and cry, and mourn and salt, in a dull earth is     smooth as the mouth to sink.

Lends not succeed in a woman     I love I’ve broke promises lighted, o that I was sixty!     While we speaks in a bar-room around it. Some small be,     where the diamond rind of civil home-bred streets, and Death, thought,     of a youth since at Prato,

splash the shaped? I like a love     is or should not to leave! When shall I put them extreem day,     where, ’ quoth she tents of woe, whose confined. Some sairie comforteth     like to come to the mouth be fleeth, that does as he third, they     see return, indeede truest

signs of such a yoke by     moonlighted, that leaden appetite, which from City Hall to     me, to trust and all thoughts one behind soul knows how? Or fades,     it fades! He took, that matters heaped with the greater the     He sees his burthens binde.

[vickikowalewski]

Day 19 - June 10, 2023: Zermatt

I slept in a little bit woke up to a ton of rain and low clouds. You couldn’t see anything. I was highly disappointed. I wanted to do the Matterhorn Glacier Paradise and/or go hiking to the Charles Kuonen Suspension Bridge. I was told to not even bother going up to the peaks with heavy cloud coverage because you can’t see anything. I verified that with the webcam at the top. I also knew from experience the previous day that the rocks in Zermatt become quite slippery even with a small bit of rain. I looked online and the hike was not recommended in poor weather conditions due to the risk for slipping. Painfully, I decided to bag both Glacier Paradise and the hike to the suspension bridge.

I chose to do a more simple hike instead. I hiked along the Gorner Gorge. It was really stunning. I could barely hear myself think the water was rushing so loud. I only have one good picture but it went very beautiful and went quite a long way.

I ended up leaving the Gorge on the other side of the river and hiking along the river, eventually crossing into the town of Blatton. It was not a difficult hike but it was very beautiful. I also saw another highly rated restaurant that I assume hikers frequent. I chose not to stop though because I wasn’t hungry at the time. The trail went through the town and then passed some sheep and cows. Eventually, I made my way back into Zermatt.

I wanted to stop off at my hostel but my room was getting cleaned. I had to make alternative plans. I tried to go to the Matterhorn museum because it was still raining quite a bit. Unfortunately, I learned it’s only open from 3-6pm. What!? Only in Switzerland does everything close early and barely stay open. I ended up finding a French Restaurant that began serving lunch and I couldn’t help but stop when I saw the menu. I ordered escargot followed by veal tartare. It was divine. A bit of a splurge but well worth it. I also used the time spent at the restaurant to catch up on my blog.

I had 30 minutes before the Matterhorn Museum opened so I ended up walking around some of the shops. I met a really interesting Swiss guy working at one of the outrageously priced outdoors shops and we had a great chat. He mentioned to me that double the amount of people have died on the Matterhorn compared to Mount Everest, 600 people on the Matterhorn compared to 300 people on Everest. He explained it’s usually during the descent because the rocks are loose at the top and people can slip if they aren’t careful. Crazy! Around 3pm, I made my way to the Matterhorn Museum. The Matterhorn Museum was quite interesting and a good way to kill an hour. I didn’t realize the Matterhorn became famous from 4 climbers dying just as they were about to reach the summit because the rope broke. The remains of the rope were still intact and present in the museum. The rope was very questionable if you ask me. One girl looked at me and goes, “Thats an awful thin rope to trust your life with.” I agree and that’s probably why it failed.

I was feeling very tired after the museum and decided to take a nap before hitting the town again. The weather finally cleared up and I managed to get a great photo with the Matterhorn. Have patience, make multiple plans, and expect unpredictable weather are the main things I’ve learned about Zermatt. Joys of mountain life.

I ended the night at a pub watching the Champions League Final. I met a Scottish man whose daughter attended West Liberty and played soccer. I also met an Australian living in Bologna. It was a good night. Man City won as expected. The Norwegian girl checked out early to go to France but then couldn’t find a place to stay, which seemed dumb to me but whatever floats your boat. There was no one else in the room with me last night. It was amazing. I had a 4-bed en-suite all to myself. I’m beginning to think that the Norwegian girl booked the additional 2 beds because she wanted the room mostly to herself. Each bed was around $40. You could book all 4 beds and stay for $120. That’s not a bad deal in Zermatt. That’s probably why there were so many families staying in the 4 bed en-suite rooms.

[beardedcomputergardener]

Hemlock: standing with their back turned: I’ve been expecting you, Omega.

Omega: How did you do that without turning around?

Hemlock: ... To be perfectly honest, the first couple of people I did that to were not you.

Hemlock: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Omega's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get them out…

Crosshair: *Gets down on one knee*

Hemlock: Oh my gosh, it’s finally happening.

Crosshair: *Falls over*

Hemlock: The poison is kicking in!

*Omega and Nala-se sitting in jail together*

Nala-se: So who should we call?

Omega: I’d call Crosshair, but I feel safer in jail

Omega: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited

Nala-se: If?

Crosshair: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and they might not even die.

Hemlock: *negotiating with Hunter* We have Omega. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed

Omega: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars?

Hemlock:

Omega: MAKE IT ONE MILLION–

Hunter: OMEGA STOP!

Omega: Tonight, one of you will betray us.

Nala-se: Is it me, Omega?

Omega: No, it’s not you.

Crosshair: Is it me, Omega?

Omega: It’s not you either.

Hemlock: Is it me, Omega?

Omega:

Omega, mockingly: Is IT mE Omega?

Omega: Yo, is Hemlock sleeping or dead?

Nala-se: Hopefully dead, I hated their guts.

Crosshair: Yeah, so did I.

Hemlock: Okay first of all-

Omega: I think we're missing something.

Nala-se: Teamwork?

Crosshair: Cohesion?

Hemlock: Morals?

*Omega's helping Nala-se out after they get injured, while the others are watching*

Crosshair: How does Nala-se look?

Hemlock: A little better than you, actually.

Omega: My life isn’t as glamorous as my wanted poster makes it look like.

Omega: Dear friends, your Christmas gift this year… is me. That’s right, another year of friendship. Your membership has been renewed.

Tech: You’ll have a hard time believing this because it never happens, but I made a mistake.

Omega: You wanna see how hardcore I am?

Omega: *punches wall*

Omega:

Omega: Take me to the hospital.

Hunter: So apparently the 'bad vibes' I’ve been feeling are actually severe psychological distress

Omega: I’m going to defeat you with the power of friendship! ... And this knife I found.

Echo: Goodnight moon.

Echo: Goodnight tree.

Echo: Goodnight ghosts that only I can see.

Saw-Gerrera: Some of you may die, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

Echo: People are always asking me if I'm a morning person or a night person.

Echo: And I'm just like, 'Buddy! I'm barely even a PERSON!'

Echo: Not trying to brag or anything, but I can wake up without an alarm clock now simply due to my crippling and overwhelming anxiety, so…

Tech: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?'

Lizzie: Doesn't work for getting out of speeding tickets, by the way.

Rampart: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying

Crosshair: *when he first woke up on mount tantiss* Well, well, well... if it isn’t my old friend the dawning realization that I messed up.

Nala-se: Hunter... How do I begin to explain Hunter?

Omega: Hunter is flawless.

Crosshair: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000.

Tech: I hear they do car commercials... in Japan.

Hemlock: One time they punched me in the face... It was awesome.

Tech: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?

Omega: Rude.

Hemlock: That’s fair.

Hunter: Not again.

Lizzie: Are you going to want this back?

Echo: I’ve done a lot of dumb stuff.

Hunter: I witnessed the dumb stuff.

Lizzie: I recorded the dumb stuff.

Omega: I joined in on the dumb stuff.

Tech: I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM DOING THE DUMB STUFF!!!