#stoner officer barrel

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rip officer barrel you would have loved all the fics about you being a stoner

[monstermaster13]

Why You Shouldn’t Pester People With Powers.

There once was a nasty group of troll wannabes known as the people of ExplodingRabies, a website that very much was the bottom of the barrel humor-wise, and their jokes were jokes you would have to be stupid or stoned to find funny. Royd Stinkerton was the leader of this group and he was very much a terrible attempt at parodying the Floyd character from Pink Floyd’s The Wall but of course he missed the big reason why the character was how he was, and then there were his minions…SoulBrognumbah32 aka Zachbooger, Ralph the Wretched, and Dumasabrichard Smelismersons. Nathan was pestered by these guys in 2013 with their constant jabs at him supposedly being a ‘welfare leech’ and asking if he had a job, and now Mel had decided it was time to teach them a long deserved lesson.

The group were being pain in the butts on the dead remains of their website and they were lamenting the lack of views when Mel materialized. ‘Do you guys regret building this site yet? Do you guys regret building this site yet?’ She exclaimed, mocking their comments that they said to Nathan. ‘Let me guess, you’re another friend of Nathan’s. Do you have a…’ ‘I know you are going to ask…do you have a job yet over and over, that’s what Nathan told me you do, over and over and really you are all unoriginal and have no charm.’

“How did you know that?”

“I know all.”

Mel looked over at Royd and smirked…’You seem to think that not having a job means the person doesn’t contribute to society, yet you claim you had a job. Let me guess, you decided to try and become your own boss but failed because nobody wants an edgelord for a boss.’ ‘Hey..i’m not an edgelord.’ ‘You think that gay and lame are the same thing and you make jokes that only people who are part of the MSG stoner crowd will find funny. You contribute nothing to the argument. Maybe it’s you that doesn’t contribute at all, maybe you are useless as you are but you will be much better as someone else.’

Royd tried to weasel his way out of it but the koala-girl smirked at him and clicked her fingers, which caused him to convulse as greyish fur slowly covered his body starting with his arms and hands which slenderized, his fingernails lengthened as his chest and torso slimmed, he gained some white fur on his stomach which also slimmed and a pair of what were commonly known as breasts developed on his chest. His hips flared out as his clothing turned into a police officer’s uniform and his privates altered. He looked at himself as his neckline altered and his back arched and his hair grew longer, turning a dark reddish brown color as his ears shifted to become akin to those of a koala. His eyebrows thinned while his shoulders shrank inward, and eyelashes blossomed around his eyes and his nose turned black, he took on an appearance similar to Mel as his voice became higher in pitch and when his transformation finished he saw he had become a koala-girl.

“Alright, now who’s next?”

Mel looked over at Dumasabrichard who was trying to bullshit his way out of this situation…’And you, you tried to demonize Nathan by calling him an it and not by his preferred pronouns, well then how would you like to be demonized?’ He didn’t have time to think about the implications of that as his own transformation had started, his skin slowly turning a dark shade of purplish blue as his hands shrank down in size and his fingernails lengthened.

He examined himself and then watched as his chest and torso slimmed, he gained musculature as his stomach slimmed and a pair of what was commonly known as breasts developed on his chest, he panicked as his hips inflated and his privates retracted as his legs contorted and his feet shrank down in size while his shoulders shrank inward and his back arched, a pair of bat-like wings emerged out of his back while his neckline altered. His hair grew longer and messier as his ears stretched out and became pointed, his eyebrows thinned as his eyes turned a neon green color and two curved horns grew out of the top of his head.

His features feminized as eyelashes blossomed around his eyes and his canines sharpened to become akin to fangs, he gasped as his voice became higher but also took on a sultry tone, he blushed when he saw himself or rather herself…she was a female demon now. Zach tried to attack Mel using some of the guns from his collection, only for the koala-girl to mock him…’Aaaaw how cute, you think you’re so tough with those guns that clearly aren’t yours. Tell me, did you pay for those or did your parents do it for ya? I bet your parents did all the hard work and you just did nothing but make shitty jokey IMDB casts the whole time.’

“These are totally legit weapons though.”

“Your parents bought them for you.”

Of course Zach arrogantly tried to defend what little honor he had but Mel decided to teach him a lesson…he was about to berate Mel when he found himself transforming as his own skin turned from Caucassian to African American and in the process his arms lengthened as his fingernails lengthened and his hands shrank, his ratty t shirt became a lacey tank top as his jeans darkened and a pair of what was commonly known as breasts developed on his chest, he gasped as he saw his stomach shrink in terms of weight as his torso and chest slimmed as well, he had been trying to pose as an African American all his life but everyone knew he was trying too hard, even his parents. His gun collection seemed to disappear, but that was the least of his concerns.

With a slurping sound his privates retracted into his groin as his hips inflated and his legs lengthened while his feet shrank, he squirmed as his shoulders folded inward and his back arched, he gasped as his short messy hair turned jet black, growing longer and curlier as his eyebrows thinned and his neckline lengthened, his eyes widened as eyelashes blossomed around them, his nose shrank and his lips plumped up as his features morphed and reshaped themselves, making him look like an African American woman, not just any woman though…he looked like he was morphing to Janet Jackson. His voice elevated in tone and pitch until it matched his appearance, giving him Janet’s voice, he was still himself though. ‘There we go, and now for Ralph.’

Ralph had been laughing at his own friend's suffering and it was most certain he was getting a kick out of it…’Oh you like people in pain, do you?’ ‘Well yes, I do.’ ‘Well I know what you need, you are going to need…’ Mel smirked as black smoke filled the air, which made Ralph cough, as he did, a dark entity entered his body.

The entity began to alter him, slowly making his skin turn pale as it softened but in addition to this, invisible needles were injected into his arm which caused his body to slim down starting with his arms and his hands while his fingernails lengthened. His chest and torso slimmed in the process as a pair of what was commonly known as breasts, developed on the former…he looked at himself and gasped.

More changes made their way into him as his stomach slimmed and his legs lengthened, his hips flared out and then he yelped as his privates retracted…’nooo, how am I going to jerk off without my privates?’ ‘ You won’t be needing them.’ He gasped some more as his clothing shifted into a gothic punkish outfit and his shoulders folded inward as his back arched, his hair spiked up a little and turned a dark red color as his eyebrows thinned, his eyes remained the same color they normally were i.e brownish but darkened as dark eye makeup was applied around them.

His features feminized and contorted as some piercings popped up in his nose as his nose shrank and his lips plumped up, his voice altered and became more feminine sounding as his transformation completed itself…all of the fake names he had used to troll Nathan on those petitions Nathan made didn’t matter, as he was now a female cenobite. Mel smiled as she knew she had done a good job. ‘You guys won’t be needing this site anymore.’

She clicked his fingers and within a matter of seconds the computer that had all the data for said website coughed up black ooze which represented every bit of data being purged. Soon, there was no more data about said website and the website itself was absorbed and dragged into the cyber graveyard. Where it was laid to rest for all eternity. ‘There we go, but before we go…there is one more thing for me to do.’

Mel used her powers to bring another person over…’So you called Nathan a tool for roleplaying, huh? Well then, maybe you need some of your own.’ She clicked her fingers and she turned the man into a genderbend version of Edward from Edward Scissorhands, after that she smiled as she took off into the night and returned back home to Nile Road where Corey and Oats were waiting for her.

“We’ve been waiting for you, mommy…where were you?”

“I just had to finish something.”

“Well you’re just in time for karaoke, mommy.”

And thus with that Oats handed Mel a microphone and they all had a karaoke party, they sang and had all sorts of fun and Mel told them about what she had done before she came.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 2: Taking Out the Trash

by @dracusfyre

“So who exactly are these cops hassling?” Bucky asked the next day as he met up with a man called Kenton at a bodega on 6th. “The shops? Dealers?”

“The ladies,” Kenton 'call me KT' said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. KT was stocky and short, with an aggressive undercut and stud in his lip, looking more like an emo kid than a mob enforcer. “We don’t have dealers here.”

“Really? None?" When KT nodded, Bucky asked, "How come?”

When KT eyeballed him skeptically, Bucky said, “Look, it’s my first day, alright? I’m not from around here.”

“Everyone knows the boss hates drugs,” KT said, hitting the button for the crosswalk. “Like, hates. A few years ago he tried to run all the dealers out, but they kept coming back like weeds. Too much demand to keep them out for long, you know? So the boss figures, you don’t kill weeds by cutting them down, you kill them at the roots. So he started targeting the users, not the dealers. First, he bought up the local methadone clinic, set up a rehab house nearby, brought in a bunch of fancy docs. Puts the word out that anyone who wants to dry out can stay for free and gets a sweet deal when you get your ninety-day chip.”

Bucky frowned. “I remember that. The mayor cut the ribbon on the facility, right? I thought the city set up that clinic.”

“Ha!” KT said it like that, an actual ha. “The boss let them take credit for it, sure. But it was his idea and his money. Once he got the clinic up and running, he put the word out to all the dealers, making them an offer: sell him all your goods, give him your client list, and you get a new job that pays twice what dealing does.”

“What happens if the dealer doesn’t take the offer?”

“One day they find themselves on a cargo ship to Madagascar,” KT said, matter of fact. “Or Indonesia, or Kamchatka.”  Bucky doubted that but kept it to himself; it was way more likely that the dealers got dumped in the river while Stark’s organization sold the drugs at a markup. But it was a good story. “Stoners can stay if they grow their shit locally,” KT continued, “but the party bros looking for bumps gotta get it somewhere else. But God help them if they make trouble, because the boss sure won’t.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, noncommittal. “So what are we doing today? Waiting for the cops to show their faces again?”

“Pretty much. Gonna talk to the ladies, then we’ll hang around and see if the pigs come back and let them know that their behavior is not appreciated.” A few more blocks down, KT knocked on an unassuming red door and led Bucky into a whole new world. He’d known when KT said ladies that he’d meant prostitutes and had braced himself for the worst: bare mattresses on the ground, barred windows, dull eyes and needle tracks. But what Bucky walked into looked more like the Waldorf than any brothel Bucky’d ever seen during his brief tour on Vice. Bucky tried not to stare as he took in the thick carpet and tasteful furnishings around the room, with women scattered around in groups chatting. Along one side of the room was a classy bar with mahogany wood and brass furnishings that had a few customers already despite the fact it was barely 5:30. KT approached the bartender, a petite but statuesque redhead with pinup curls wearing a corset that had, if Bucky’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, knives where the boning would be.

“Evening, Widow,” KT said, and the bartender gave him a grin as she slid a beer to the man across from her.

“Evening, gents,” she said, voice pure Georgia drawl. “So did the Iron Man himself send someone down to check on his chickadees?”

“Iron Man?” Bucky echoed in confusion. “You mean the Mechanic?”

“You must be new,” she said with amusement, and KT nodded. “He’s got lots of names, honey. He likes getting them and giving them. Bet he gave you a name, didn’t he?” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the bar to give him an appreciative once-over. The pose made her look like she was going to spill out of her corset; didn’t do a thing for Bucky, but behind them the man with the beer walked into the back of a couch. “What does he call you?”

Ridiculously, Bucky felt his ears get hot. “Blue Eyes,” he said. “Probably like Jimmy Blue Eyes, I guess, but I don't know why. My name's not James.”

“It’s cuz of them pretty blue eyes of yours,” Widow said, and she laughed as Bucky felt the flush spread to his neck. “He must have taken a shine to you.”

“We're here about those cops you mentioned,” KT cut in, giving her cleavage a glance of appreciation but staying all business. “Stop teasing the help and give us the rundown.”

Widow gave Bucky another sultry smile and stood up straight. As she picked up a glass and rag and started polishing, the Georgia peach act fell away; her movements going from languorous to brisk. “Like I said to the boss, it was Rumlow and Rollins again,” she said, and Bucky’s eyebrows went up as even the accent disappeared. “They must think they got a pretty strong krishna to keep coming around here. They’ve got some of the new girls rattled. Came in just the other night trying to get a 'law enforcement discount,'" she said with a sneer, "and the only way we got them out of here without violence is Hawkeye got them too drunk to know if they were coming or going.” Widow tilted her head towards a man at the far end of the bar who looked like he was passed out, hat drawn down low over his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked for backup if they weren’t cops, but.” She shrugged, and Bucky understood. Low level patsani, or even higher level enforcers, could disappear, but not a cop. “They also wanted a cut of what we pay to the Boss and wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell them it didn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. "Doesn't work like what?"

Widow and KT shared a look. “He’s new,” he reminded her, and Widow smiled.

“Around here you don’t pay up, you buy in,” she said. “You’ll see.” She stepped away to take an order before Bucky could ask another question, so he turned back to KT.

“What are we going to do about the cops when they show up?” Bucky asked. Most times dirty cops got away with shaking down illegal businesses for money because it’s not like a bunch of criminals were going to rat them out to Internal Affairs. “Ask politely?”

“I have a few ideas,” KT said, sounding unconcerned. Bucky waited for him to say something else, but he apparently didn’t seem like sharing, so Bucky grunted and turned to scan the lounge.

While they’d been talking, a few more men, johns, Bucky assumed, had trickled in and were in conversation with the women, each of which were giving every indication that the man they were sitting next to was the funniest and most interesting man in the world. Guess that was one appeal of this place, Bucky thought; a man would never strike out here, and they probably spent good money to maintain the illusion that they were getting laid on their own merits. “Are all of the Boss's brothels like this?”

KT looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time. “Yeah,” he said, lifting one shoulder carelessly. “Boss invests in his people.”

Bucky supposed that made sense. Better margins in higher end prostitution. Still, it was strange to feel like he was hanging out in a hotel bar, complete with tipsy-looking couples disappearing into elevators to hook up. It was after 9 when the cops showed, still, stupidly enough, in uniform. Bucky suppressed the urge to curl his lip in disgust; these guys represented everything Bucky hated about his job, full of arrogance and spite and a thinly veiled hunger for violence. They were bullies, pure and simple, and Bucky hoped he would have a chance to punch one in the face. He could get away with it, too, if he told his superiors it was necessary to maintain his cover.

KT saw them the same time Bucky did; as they came closer to the bar, he slid off his barstool and put himself in their path.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The lead one sneered, looking down at KT, who was a good six inches shorter than the officer. “Are you supposed to be protecting these whores? You?”  Bucky came up behind him to back him up and read the officer’s badge. Rumlow. He memorized his badge number and that of the second officer, Rollins.

“Welcome back, officers,” KT said with a faint smile. “How can we help you?”

“Last time we asked nicely for our money, and we didn’t get it,” Rumlow said, coming closer so he was looming over KT. “We also asked for some trade, and didn’t get that either. We’re not going to ask nicely again.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” KT said, taking a step backward and gesturing towards the bar. “And let’s have a conversation, yeah?”

“We’re not here for no fucking conversation,” Rumlow spat. “We’re here for our money and a good lay, not necessarily in that order.”

“Fine.” KT’s friendly tone disappeared and his posture changed, going from relaxed and open to a coiled, snakelike tension, ready for violence. Bucky had seen that stance before, in his hand to hand combat training class at the academy. “We’ll cut to the chase.” Widow was watching them intently, a throwing knife already in her hand. Movement out of the corner of his eye proved that the man, Hawkeye, wasn’t as passed out as he appeared to be; Bucky could see light reflecting off the barrel of something, aimed at Rumlow. “For you to be coming in here like this, swinging your dick around, two things gotta be true: you must have protection, some fish big enough that you aren’t afraid of the Mechanic, and that big fish knows you’re here and doesn’t care. If that’s the case, then your boss and my boss are going to have problems. But if either of those things is not true, you are in a world of shit.”

At that, Rollins stole an uneasy glance at Rumlow, who was still trying to stare down KT. It was quick, but it gave the game away – and KT knew it, because suddenly he smiled and relaxed, which made Rumlow scowl harder. “Busted,” he said. “It’s not going to be hard to find out who your protection is, officers. And I don’t think they are going to be happy that you are picking fights with the Mechanic. Am I right?”

“Fuck you,” Rumlow snarled, and swung at KT. But the smaller man was ready, and KT stepped to one side of the swing, then grabbed Rumlow’s wrist and pulled at the same time that he put a hand on the back of his head and shoved, sending the man stumbling. Textbook judo move, to Bucky's eyes. As his partner got his feet under him again, Rollins went for his gun but Bucky already had his hand on it, shoving back down into its holster.

“Let’s keep it a fair fight,” Bucky said in a low voice, and Rollins listened because Bucky’s other hand had a knife slid up under the bottom edge of his bullet proof vest.

“Don’t make this any worse than it already is,” KT was saying, Rumlow’s face bright red with fury. “The Boss will let bygones be bygones if you leave now and don’t come back, but if blood gets shed...” He shook his head.

Rumlow’s face was red and Bucky could tell that he was furious at having been humiliated by someone smaller and lighter than him. Bucky was afraid that he would go for his pistol, but instead he put his hands up like he was in a boxing ring. KT smiled faintly and just made a “come here,” gesture, and that’s when Bucky knew he was trying to piss him off. And it worked; Rumlow lunged, swinging with a tight haymaker that would easily have broken KT’s jaw.

If it had connected, that is. But instead of trying to block, KT dropped to one knee, ducking under the swing, and hit Rumlow in the dick with an elbow as he scooped his leg and stood, throwing Rumlow to the ground where he curled around himself, cursing incoherently with pain.

Bucky whistled long and low, smothering a laugh. KT laid that asshole out in seconds. He released Rollins and said, “You can have your turn now, if you want.”

“That’s assault on an officer,” Rollins snarled, trying to help Rumlow to his feet. “I should haul you down to the station for that.”

“Your buddy clearly started it,” Bucky said. “It’s not like you don’t have witnesses. I’d get out of here before he does anything worse.” Bucky didn’t know if it was the fact that Rumlow still couldn’t stand up straight or the way that everyone was staring at them, but Rollins seemed to know good advice when he heard it, because they did leave, shouting threats the entire way.

“Did you get all that?” KT called out after the door slammed shut behind them, heading back to the bar where the Widow’s knife had disappeared like she’d never drawn it in the first place.

“Every second,” Hawkeye rumbled, sitting up. The barrel that Bucky had seen was a high-end camera lens, not a gun; he’d been videotaping the whole encounter. “Uploading it to YouTube now. That should get them off the streets for a while.”

“That’s how the Boss likes to settle things,” KT said with satisfaction. When he noticed Bucky looking at him with confusion, he said, “Listen here, because this is important: the Boss doesn’t like us to kill people. We don’t do this whole ‘send our guy to the hospital, we send your guy to the morgue’ thing, got it? We send them to the poorhouse. The poor bastard gets so tied up in lawsuits, repossessions, revoked passports, suspended licenses, and investigations that he wishes he were dead. Then the Boss goes after the poor bastard’s boss, and that boss’s boss…mobsters, dons, whatever you want to call them, they don’t mind dying, but they never, ever want to be broke. You start threating their bottom line and they pay attention.”

“Seriously?” Bucky said skeptically. Stark’s file said that he had plenty of blood on his hands.

“Seriously. You might get a pass if you don’t start it, but if it happens again, he cuts you loose, and believe me, it doesn’t take the cops long to track you down. They are hungry for anything they can get on the Boss.”

“You don't say,” Bucky said blandly. "So now what do we do?"

"We're going to stick around until the ladies close up shop, make sure those two don't get any bright ideas to circle back." KT pulled out his phone and started typing in it as he got back on his barstool where the ice in his drink had barely had time to melt. "Hawkeye usually makes sure the clientele behave themselves, so you can have a drink, but don't proposition any of the ladies while you're working."

"Right." What a strange goddamn way to run a criminal enterprise. After a moment, Bucky took a seat beside him and accepted a drink menu from the Widow, whose mouth was curling like she could read Bucky's thoughts. 

"You'll get used to it, Blue Eyes," she said. "I got a good feeling about you."

[pollylynn]

Title:  Maladroit WC: 1000

“You really are a genius, aren’t you?”  — Richard Castle, Last Action Hero (7 x 09)

She doesn’t think of herself as socially awkward. Even having the thought that she’d think she was socially awkward feels alien—and convoluted to the point of inducing a headache, but the point is she doesn’t think of herself as socially awkward, because she’s not. 

She has high school yearbooks absolutely full of evidence that she’s not socially awkward. She has mountains of evidence that she was well-liked and moved fluidly between the jocks and the stoners and the theater nerds, not that she would ever need to be so lame or so desperate as to reach all the way back to those for proof. 

She has ample, up-to-date proof that she is definitely not socially awkward. She has interrogations where she is socially savvy enough to shake people down for information. And if shakedowns count—but how could they not count?—she also talks to family and friends. She breaks awful news gently, and with conviction, she assures them that she won’t rest until they have some kind of justice for the terrible loss they’ve suffered. 

So, there is the evidence, ancient and modern, assembled before the court: Kate Beckett is not now, nor has she ever been, socially awkward. Except she might be socially awkward. Or maybe . . . emotionally dumb? 

That tracks, of course. Her life over the last decade and a half has had some highlights of emotional stupidity, or lowlights, she supposes. Her laser focus on the academy, on making detective, on making it to homicide, all to the exclusion of any meaningful relationships, for example. The half-assed cultivation of meaningless relationships to head off anything meaningful at the pass. The decision, somewhere down the line, to lock her mother’s case away absolutely—no half measures—regardless of any changes in circumstance. The long-held conviction that no breath she drew, no joy or sorrow she ever experienced, could be as meaningful as catching her mother’s killer. 

So, yes, she’ll slap the Hello, My Name is Kate and I Am Emotionally Dumb sticky label on her lapel. She’ll cop to the big stuff, but that’s not what’t nagging at her right now. It’s not what’s activating her defenses or moving her to preemptively declare that she is not socially awkward. She is, right now, being emotionally dumb when it comes to little stuff, and it’s possible that it’s making her socially awkward.  

She’s upset at the eleventh hour revelation that he hates—has always hated—her apartment. She’s upset that her apartment is on the verge of not being her apartment. It’s stupid. She has spent so little time here over the last year-plus that she doubts there’s even trace DNA. But it’s hers. It has been hers, and now it won’t be hers anymore, and isn’t it completely obvious to anyone with even a fragment of a clue that she’d be upset by the prospect of leaving it?

He, apparently, doesn’t have a fragment of a clue, so at least she has some company in her emotional dumbness. 

She invites Lanie to come drink old pink wine out of mismatched mugs because she’s upset and she wants someone to vent to. It feels kind of alien. She thinks she’s not the kind of person who vents, or maybe she just doesn’t vent like this? Maybe this is . . . new venting, and she’s bad at it. 

She complains about him. She’s always complained about what a doofus he is—how smug and vain and nosy and undisciplined and clueless. There has been a lot of wine downed alongside that kind of venting. But when she says it out loud, when she names the feeling, when she says she’s upset, this whole interaction suddenly feels very alien indeed. 

Lanie says her line. She shakes her head in sympathy—Well, tact isn’t exactly the man’s middle name. And in that instant, something rears up in Kate. Just for that instant, she is furious with Lanie. She is fiercely defensive of him and has the urge to jump down her friend’s throat for lending the sympathetic ear she’d asked for in the first damned place. 

It passes. The fury passes.  Lanie spells out what the apartment means to her more clearly than she, in her emotional dumbness, ever could. The two of them clink mismatched mugs and toast to the best apartment ever, and it’s all mission accomplished. 

It should be mission accomplished, because she’s gotten it out of her system. She has vented to Lanie and not made an issue of it with him, and that’s normal, right? That’s what normal, not emotionally dumb people, do—they vent to their BFFs when their SOs are being a little bit clueless. 

It sounds convincing. She is convinced. And yet when she opens the door that night and her fingers ache with the effort of carving her initials into that high-up beam, she catches sight of her ring—her wedding ring—and it hits her that they’re married. It hits her that he is her husband, and being fiercely defensive might just come with the territory. 

She barrels right into him and grabs a fistful of his shirt. “You can be a jerk sometimes,” she tells him, then kisses him hard. “But you’re also sweet.” She lets his shirt go and kicks off her heels. She heads for the office, feeling the gravitational pull of him in her wake. “And Lanie’s right.” She wheels around to face him, one finger raised. The perplexed look on his face is a strange delight. “But she can also shut up.” She drops into one of the oversized chairs and pats the seat next to her in a glad-that’s-settled way. “So, are we going to watch a movie or what?” 

“A movie?’ He stammers. He’s socially awkward and emotionally confused. But he drops into the chair next to her and makes a show of settling in—of letting go whatever is happening with her strange mood. “Definitely a movie.”  

A/N: That terrible apartment is not a thing, nor is this. 

images via homeofthenutty

[alteredphoenix]

First Impressions Chapter 50: The Stables Incident (WIP)(Heroes of the Storm)

A/N: So, some context in a nutshell: First Impressions is an out-of-order anthology series that has Sylvanas as the MC in a more Looney Tunes-style Nexus, a central hub where all universes converge and diverge at a singular point due to the Powers That Be that may or may not have summoned them here for purposes that are unknown to them. Except anyone that is brought to the Nexus is infected with a condition called the transition, aka the in-universe term for Out of Character; even the native-born Nexians are not exempt from this, and those that are pulled from their timeline never age, and if they should die they are very shortly brought back aka respawn.

I haven’t touched First Impressions in a long while, mainly because of work, doing WoW fics, and a lot of family drama IRL from 2018 onwards that nearly made me quit writing altogether. But I have felt the itch to get back at it again, even though Heroes of the Storm got its e-sports sector gutted and is running in a slow, lumbering maintenance mode. I’m not really sure if HotS still maintans some semblance of popularity as it did in the past year; I’ve been out of the loop for a while, although I’m sure the minor leagues and community-driven events are still ongoing.

Regardless, I’m posting this preview for archival purposes. I’m also posting it because this marks the start of the legendary Stables Incident, an event in which Sylvanas is accused of slaughtering innocent farm animals (at a place where people store their mounts for matches) out of nowhere. This chapter, however, shows what really happened (spoiler alert: Sylvanas didn’t do it, it was actually an accident, Hammer pressed the button on her tank by mistake during a squabble and, as a result, caused an intergalactic news circus over it).

I’m also posting this because: I love writing smartass-give-no-fucks!Sylvanas, and there must be more of it in the fandom.

-

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!”

The music kicked up in a roar so loud it threw Sylvanas off the bench onto the ground as though an invisible hand scooped up her from underneath and bowled her over. She awoke with a painful groan, twisting round onto her stomach to sit up on her elbows. Her ears twitched and swiveled, searching for the source of the music.

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!”

They flattened down against the sides of her head, shaking more from the vibrations that were causing the ground to quake, the bench to jump, and the squirrels and birds on their respective tree branches to bounce off in chattering, chirping squeaks and squawks than the force driving a jackhammer into her brain. Sylvanas looked behind her, in the direction of the auto body shop with its garage doors opened all the way.

A large, single-barreled cannon was poking its head out, connected to a red plated chassis on massive treads.

Sylvanas snarled, pushed to her feet, and stormed toward the garage.

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!”

“HAMMER!” Sylvanas yelled, but she could only hear the word in her head; it was like walking into a nightclub on full blast while the mother of all earthquakes, the Even Bigger One (bigger than San Andreas!), was bringing about The End Of The World As They Knew It. The tools on the walls racks and on the benches were rattling. The overhead fluorescent lights and spotlights were flickering and swinging back and forth. Darkness, even the fuel tanks way in the back were shaking in their cages! And Hammer…

Hammer was standing up out of the manhole, swaying and bumping and grinding like a turkey on antihistamines.

“HAMMER!” Sylvanas yelled again, feeling her throat work to outdo the noise. But Hammer still kept on dancing, oblivious to the world. The Banshee Queen glanced around the area. She saw a boombox from the Twenty-First Renaissance Era (which looked like a pyramidal A-track player) on a workbench...but no, nothing was coming out of it. She’d seen and heard it play before; whatever was running at the time would sound like it was being phoned in from a tin can in another municipal district from across an ocean. Then her eyes flicked behind the tank where, some distance away, were the ‘administrative’ offices that were reserved for quiet paperwork, faxing, phone calls, Internet, and maybe a few Jet Briggs’ beer and Easy Green joints were drunk and rolled in private enlightenment (that definition seemed to wax and wane over the years, apparently, but it usually ranged from a blissful stoner’s high to confusion and then to an agoraphobic fear of unseen, probably imaginative eldritch horrors that ranged between pink elephants, hyperrealistic eyes on the walls, and crab people with the heads of famous celebrities dead, alive, and not yet born crawling all over the place). Her eyes went to the ceiling where the speakers were located...but they shook as well, and offered no indication to her addled ears that the music was coming from them.

That left only one other place. “HAMMER, TURN THAT DOWN!”

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!” were the words Sylvanas could read from Hammer’s lips. “WHAT! WHAT! Doo doo-doo doo doo! Nuh-nuh-nuh! Doo doo-doo doo doo, doo-doo-doo--”

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!”

Sylvanas clenched her fists, her body shaking in time with the music. She mimicked taking a breath, reared back, and, calling upon the dark magic inside her, focused the font of power to nestle in her lungs and up her throat. Then she leaned forward and screamed. “HAAAAAMEEEERRRRR! TURN THAT THING OFF!”

The last syllable finally knocked Hammer out of her dance-induced stupor, blowing her back (and, Sylvanas thought morosely, not ass over tea kettle off the tank) from the amplified force. She caught herself, looked around, and saw the Banshee Queen glaring death and mayhem below her. “AW SNAP! SORRY, SORRY! EH, UH, G-GIVE ME ONE SEC! HOLD ON! WHERE’S THAT DAMN...AHA!” She doubled over, rooting around for the stereo, and when she found it turned it off.

Sylvanas had never found complete, total silence to be such an aether-given blessing until today. Like nirvana for mind, body, and soul. The quintessential out-of-body experience where one became attuned to nature and all that is not industrial.

Until I leave and she starts up again, she concluded. “You’re welcome,” Sylvanas drawled sardonically.

“Girl, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even know you were down there!” said Hammer. “Y-You weren’t waitin’ long, were ya?”

“I was waiting for an hour.”

Hammer clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Holy shit! Damn, girl, I’m really sorry--”

“Yeah, you should be. I actually just got here.”

“Eh? What? Really?”

“Yes, really!” Sylvanas said. “I was having a nice, simple rest on the bench outside and your stupid music woke me up! I swear to Darkness, woman, are you trying to move the Anchors out of position? Do you want to get us all killed?”

“N-Nah, girl, not at all! It’s just”--and Hammer flailed--”It’s such a nice day out, ya know? And it’s Sunday, which means all the auto shops are closed. An’ that also means I can work to mah heart’s content! No disruptions! No phone calls! No Kaijo suddenly tearing through the fabric of the space-time continuum! I can actually get stuff on time now, and at my own pace!”

“So I guess if I brought a motorcycle in, I’ll be expecting it by next spring as a belated Winter Veil present.”

“What? No! Girl, I ain’t that slow!”

“A tortoise, a snail, and a sloth could compete against you and they’d still win the race.”

“Hell no they wouldn’t! I have a tank, they don’t. I would just run ‘em over!”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “You are such a humanitarian it makes my heart bleed.”

“Well that’s what they’d get for messin’ with a siege tank!”

“You do realize there’s a noise ordnance of seventy-five feet, right?”

Hammer grinned wolfishly. “Ain’t no such thing as a noise ordnance if there’s no one around to complain about it.”

“Except for me,” said Sylvanas.

“Are ya really gonna tell on me?”

“No, but I’ll have ten reasons to tell you where to go if you do that again.”

“Ten reasons?” Hammer quirked a brow.. “What are they?”

“I punch you in the face with my left fist and then punch you with my right fist. If I add onto that, I’ll have ninety-nine reasons and a headbutt to make you quiet. Let’s also not forget I can just kick when you’re down, and by that point I’ll have lost count.”

“That’s a helluva lot of reasons to have...and money! Lots of money to pay for medical bills!”

“I can think of ways to accrue the cash and avoid jail time. You think this lackadaisical government can stop me?”

“Well,” Hammer said, digging a pinkie finger into her ear, “they are a little slow on the uptake. They ain’t exactly unnatural like we are. They’re more...what’s the word...normal.”

“You’re far from normal,” Sylvanas muttered.

“Eh? What?” Hammer asked.

“I said, what the hell are you working on that’s made you put the music on full blast?” Sylvanas lied smoothly. “What about it is so important you haven’t had the cops called on you yet?”

Hammer laughed uproariously. “This? This! My good friend! Is the latest in Jeetilopolis technological warfare!”

Sylvanas appraised it with a slow, long sweep of her eyes. “A single shot cannon?”

“Not just any single shot cannon! It’s a single shot cannon bought straight from the auction block all the way in Jeetilopolis! I spent just about my entire checking account on getting this thing, and spent almost the entirety of my savings on shipping and handling!”

“You can’t be that stupid.”

“What people think is stupid is actually smart! Besides, how’s a woman gonna get by in life if she can’t dip a little?”

“Hammer, spending every copper, silver, and gold on a cannon that is more than likely going to be faulty is not dipping a little. That’s jumping headfirst out of a plane without a parachute and hoping you time your angle just right so you can land in a lake that’ll be deep enough to sustain your impact and not kill you on the spot.”

“And when I hit rock bottom, will it be filled with gold?”

“Whatever it is, I won’t be joining you to find out.”

Hammer made an annoyed sound by blowing her lips. “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“Maybe for you, but I have no intentions of going into bankruptcy.”

“That ain’t gonna happen! You know why?”

“No,” Sylvanas drawled dryly. “Tell me why.”

“Because there was one other thing I got while I was in Jeetilopolis. One little thing that’ll give this baby here one helluva big wallop that’ll scare the bejeesus out o’ people! You wanna know what that is?”

“Not really.”

“Guess!”

Sylvanas sighed. “Do I have to--”

“Yeah! Come on! Take a guess!”

“Fine. Let me think.” Sylvanas feigned contemplation, making a show of looking away and tapping her chin. Then she snapped her fingers. “I got it. A brain.”

“Nuh-uh! Already have one,” said Hammer, and rapped her fists on her helmet for emphasis.

“Two brains.”

“No!”

“Three.”

“Now what am I supposed ta do with that many brains, eh? Play tsukkome and bokke with one while the other plays the straight man...brain...thing? Actually, on second thought,” Hammer added, thoughtfully, “I could probably palaver with them and get some pretty neat ideas for the tank. Yeah.” She nodded approval. “Yeah, that ain’t such a bad idea! But, uh, that ain’t what’s in this thing! It’s somethin’ better than a brain!”

“And that would be…?”

“Aether,” Hammer breathed. “I got me some gods be damned aether in a bottle for fifteen thousand gold! That’s cheap!”

Sylvanas gave her a blank stare, then nodded complete and total understanding. “Okay. So you get blitzed off the life-energy of the universe. It all makes sense now.”

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“No.” Sylvanas shook her head slowly, and drawled dryly, “No. Why would I ever say that?”

“’Cause this ain’t just the life energy of the universe!” Hammer slapped a hand down hard on the base of the manhole. “This is the answer to all my problems! This baby right here can store so much oomph in here...why, I think I might have just become a god!”

“Aether-based weaponry is banned from the League.”

Hammer grinned wickedly. “Not if they don’t find out! All’s I have to do is get the energy output tuned to its usual optimized settings and those old bats and goats in the Houses will be none the wiser! Ahahahahahaha! I’m a genius, Sylvanas!” she cried, throwing her arms up in the air. “A bonafide, grade-A genius!”

“Joy to the world, God is good,” Sylvanas grumbled, shaking her head.

“Hey, I’m thinkin’ of taking the tank out for a test firin’ out in the Shadowskirts in a bit; don’t want the authorities to catch wind of this! You wanna check ‘er out before I go?” 

Sylvanas shrugged. “Why not. Not like I have anything better to do.”

[syncvewor]

Harold and kumar go to white castle soundtrack

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A Korean-American office worker and his Indian-American stoner friend embark on a. This is a fresh, original, and satisfying comedy, and though it is nothing of a brilliant production or a cinematic masterpiece, there are plenty of the elements here which constitute for a barrel of laughs and a genuinely entertaining experience at the movies. With John Cho, Ethan Embry, Rob Tinkler, Fred Willard. The comic elements are listless: stoner instinct-gone horribly awry, catastrophic error, not-so-pleasant raunchy surprise, near-death escapes in the most unlikeliest of ways, and the eventual finesse of overcoming all obstacles to finally enjoy a binge at a hamburger joint. Yet, as these two stoner friends come to realize, even the seemingly simplest of goals in life can be impossible to achieve, due to such disturbances as irony, circumstance, error, and misfortune, as they are all encountered in this journey. Here is a story of a simple goal by two simple minds: to find a White Castle hamburger joint and fulfill the lasting effects of "the munchies". Aside from chronicling two inane potheads on a quest to satisfy their appetites, "White Castle" offers a great coming-of-age and funny coincidence premise, which reminds us of the heavy, sadistic curveballs life hurls at us, sometimes when we merely desire something simple and cannot attain it.

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What they crave the most after seeing a TV advertisement, is a trip to White Castle.

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Certainly there are plenty of elements which appeal to those dophamine, "good times" movie-goers, yet there are also some classic instances of comedic greatness. Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle torrent downloads 2004 Dubbed Hindi or stream online film vofomovies or direct download in HD quality movie in 1080p and 720p quality ful hdrip dvd and bluray. Harold Lee and Kumar Patel are two stoners who end up getting the munchies. "Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle" is an amusing, hilarious comedy not to be taken too seriously and not to be dismissed as just another silly stoner comedy. Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle is a stoner movie, the duo are a throwback to classic stoner duos like the overt Cheech and Chong or the covert Bill and Ted.

[abedinthemorning]

Baby if you've ever wondered...

I was I dunno maybe 5 or 6, I can't remember really. But I have such early memories of these words drifting from the wooden box (yes, tv's used to be made of wood) and falling nicely into place inside my tiny kid brain. I had no idea that Johnny Fever was a stoner hippie, I had no idea Herb Tarlek was a piece of crap. I thought Andy was cool cause he seemed to be a ladies man and never showed it. All of these strange concepts and characters were normal to me, I guess you could say it was one of my earliest experiences of what a sitcom was.

In this day and age that word is pretty much a joke to everyone. Sitcoms are seen and thought of as the bottom of the barrel when it comes to television. Most people these days go for the clever comedy or the really dark stuff. A whole world of lighthearted silliness and delight has vanished. It was a different time, these were the food that seeped into our eyes every weeknight. You had your favorites but also these were the things you discussed weekday mornings whether it was the playground or office kitchenette. You'd pour over the details on why exactly Loni Anderson had to prtetend she was married to Johnny Fever to avoid her old boyfriend and that it might've worked if this and this would have been that or that. That was the world that's gone now. Now, it's all dude, did you see this new show on Netflix?

It's sad really but alas, that is the evolution of entertainment which is a constantly changing headed beast. One minute it's laughing, then it's smiling, then it's laughing yet again. Why did I ever think to write any of this about a long forgotten 80's sitcom with a drugged out hippie dj named Dr. Johnny Fever? Well because the creator Hugh Wilson also created Police Academy.

I figured it was enough of a discovery to warrant a blog. Good night, I have to get up early tomorrow for something important but I can't sleep now, so I'll return to watching reruns and dreaming of a day when maybe I'll be in one...Oh wait...

[dylangoodacre]

{The} Teenager Chronicles • Part Three •

The “Kids Zone” was a new addition to the fair this year. There were the plastic, white tables and chairs that they had all over the place but now they were in a special robed off area. There were more corn hole games and a dunk tank and even someone selling pop and popcorn just for the kids. It was secluded and probably boring, and you couldn’t really hear the music or look at the area where all the cool high-schoolers were, but it was nice. It was simple and not crowded and it was the place where Dylan sat by herself and ate her second helping of pirogies for the day. She put ketchup on them which the guy who sold them to her said was weird, but that’s how she’d always eaten them so she shook it off. A boy from the middle school was sitting in the dunk tank and he’d talked to her, but other than that, a majority of her age population was by the “25 & Alive” tent, karaoke-ing, talking, and probably getting frisky behind the old fire station. 

“Dunk tank! Four balls for four dollars!” The bug-eyed middle schooler shouted, “Come on, Dylan! You know you want to throw some balls!”  “I really don’t, Quincy!” Dylan said with her mouth full.  “Yeah you do! Rhett showed me the other day! You gotta have some powerful swing in your arm the way you hit Greyson!”  Dylan frowned, shoving her plate from in front of her, “What are you talking about?” “The Fossssters,” Quincy teased, “The whole school saw you crying like a baby! Oh, and punching your brother ‘cause your parents are in jail forever! I mean, they killed two people! They should be in jail forever!”  “Shut up,” Dylan stood up, instantly beginning to cry, “Shut up!”  “Yeah, if I don’t are you going to hit me?” “I’m--I. You--” Without thinking of much of anything, Dylan rushed over to the dunk tank, dunked the boy and yelled, “Screw you!’ before hurrying all the way home. 

For the amount of police officers there were at the fair, none of them really saw anything. They helped traffic and had their own little first aid booth near the bands, but other than that, the cops were clueless. If you walked really far to the right of the fair even past the big slide and the one church, it smelled like weed. There was a picnic pavilion sort of area by a parking lot where young stoners had been getting high since the beginning of time. It was ironic that it was just beyond the churches property, but then again, everything in Brooksville was funny one way or another. Coughing, Isaiah grinned as he passed the final bits of a blunt to his classmate, squirting eye drops in his eyes before making his way to the fair area. He wanted everything that was greasy and gross tasting. He also wanted to make out with someone again, but his salty food craving was surpassing that other desire momentarily. After consuming a full order of fried veggies, an elephant ear and three fried Oreos, Isaiah made his way to the DJ area next to the old fire station. His same stoner classmate bumped knuckles with him, showing him a video of a girl sucking him off in a rusty looking place. It was apparently the new, hidden make-out area on the basement level of the fire station. It was an old jail cell and you could sneak into it and have privacy easily. Isaiah wasn’t a fan of cobwebs or possibly being caught during a hook-up, but he was a couple joints and drinks into the night and felt a little bit like anything was possible. 

“Isaiah, they showed clips of you skinny dipping last episode,” A big-breasted, senior girl, Nina, said, draping her arm around his neck, “They blurred out the good parts though.” “Ha-ha, Neen, very funny.”  “I’m serious!” They were standing in a decent sized group of juniors and seniors, all of which were either high, drunk or both, and had a reputation of being the cool, party kids, “You’re coming over Jessica’s later and we’re going in the hot tub.” Isaiah’s eyes were glazed off but he smirked, “Alright, babe, alright.” Seconds after, Nina’s lips centimeters from Isaiah’s neck, a fight broke out and all Isaiah caught was Brooklyn wailing on a kid with both fists, screaming over and over again about how he loved Noa, and Isaiah felt like he wanted to puke up all his fair food. “Daammnnn,” Nina laughed, “What the hell’s his problem?” Isaiah noticed Noa from across the street, disheveled and alone, but didn’t hesitate too long before taking Nina’s hand and heading for the jail cell, “Who cares?” 

The fun house and the mini dragon roller-coaster had been a part of the fair for as long as it existed. Maybe not really, but for most of the residents that’s what it seemed like. The roller-coaster was small and creaky and went in circles. The fun house was long, a few steps up, but boring. Still, year after year, the new generation of small kids flooded to the two rides, hitting up the cotton candy stand and tiny ferris wheel afterwards. Koby stood awkwardly in the center of it all, watching as two twin boys and their parents braved the fun house. Koby was waiting for some of his other housemates to get there, and in the midst of it all, he’d instinctively ended up where he would’ve taken his siblings - by the kiddie rides. He missed them a lot, and as much as he tried to not talk to Waverly about them, he couldn’t help it. Koby’s life up to that point had been centralized around his younger brothers and sisters. He was used to being the man of the family and taking care of his pride, and now, well, he was just a sixteen year old kid trying to get by. 

“Emilio! Be careful!” A mother scolded, shouting for her curly, black-haired son as he ran full speed towards the fun house, “Emilio!”  Accidentally, the little boy barreled into Koby, and he let out a reflective grunt. “Ay dios mio, Emilio, apologize!” The mom pleaded, standing the little boy back up on his feet and wiping off dirt from his knees. “Oh, no, it’s okay,” Koby smiled, “It happens. I have seven siblings back at home so I’m sadly used to it.” The mother smiled and took a few steps forward toward the fun house before turning back to Koby with worrisome eyebrows, “I don’t think they’ll let me take him in the fun house,” She gestured towards her stomach, “It says no pregnant women.” “Mm, congrats! And don’t worry about.” He gently ruffled the little boy’s hair, “I’ve secretly been dying to go explore it anyways.”  Reaching in her pocket for some cash, the mother beamed, “You are an angel!”  “I’m not at all actually,” Koby admitted, “But thank you, thank you. Keep your cash. Uh, can you just promise me one thing?” “...Okay?” “...Keep being a good mom. There’s lots of kids in the world with really crappy ones.”

Some girls really dressed up for the fair. Others didn’t. Some straightened their hair while others curled theirs. Some wore heels for the nighttime and some were casual in sweatshirts and sweatpants. Avalon was a happy medium. She’d perfectly flat-ironed her hair pin straight and applied lots of makeup that still gave her a natural look. Her lips were glossy and pink and her eyeshadow was light but sparkly and she felt good about herself. This was something like Avalon’s fifth or sixth fair, but the day after the festivities she would be turning sixteen and that was a big step in any teenagers life. Sixteen brought driving, getting a job, new responsibilities, and finally stepping into the senior division at dance. It brought bigger upperclassman parties, and being considered just a little bit cooler than any of the fifteen year olds around. Anxiously, Avalon pulled at her white crop top and sat down next to Birdie and a few of the other girls and guys in her grade. A couple guys were tearing at a funnel cake together and when one of them blew some powdered sugar the girls way, Avalon put some on her hands and rubbed it on the boys cheeks. It was messy, but it was flirty fun, and then the street lights turned on and the sun set at the fair. 

“Avalon Shaffer if you don’t go make out with Dallas right now I am going to punch you so hard in the boob you’re not going to know what hit you!”  “Yeah I will know what hit me! You punching me in the boob,” Avalon smart-talked back to her best friend, Mia, “You just said you were going to hit me.” “Oh...my...God,” Mia was standing in the tiny, girls bathroom in the old theater, reapplying Avalon’s lipstick and mascara and trying to convince her bestie to lock lips, “Just go do it!”  “Dallas is too cool for me!” Avalon shrieked a little too loud. “Dallas liked Kylie before and she’s lame, okay? You’re way cooler and he’s such a good dancer and, I’m crying, your babies are going to be blonde Asians!”  “Mia!” Avalon slapped her on the shoulder, “Shut up!”  “Then go do it!” “Fine!” Avalon shoved her iPhone in her over the shoulder purse and scurried down the steps, out of the theater, and over to the back of the fire station where all the boys and girls were playing their rendition of “Seven Minutes In Heaven,” but in the woods.  “Hey!” Mia yipped, out of breath as she addressed the group, “Where’s Dallas?”  “He already went to hook up with Logan.”  Mia turned to Avalon and mouthed, “What?”  “...Oh,” Avalon crossed her arms over her chest, giving a fake smile to her best friend, “I didn’t...I didn’t want to really anyways. I. I don’t like him that much, so.”