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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years

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Trigger Warnings

Recently on my Facebook page someone took me to task who was triggered by a political cartoon I shared.

The cartoon showed the symbol of Justice being held down and muffled by the arms of a male figure.

Before we go further, let me state there is no judgment to be passed on the person who was triggered.

They have a personal history that explains why the image would trigger them. Their reaction is not to be evaluated: It happened, and it needs to be acknowledged.

And while I don’t think the image crossed the line and serves a greater good as a warning against an onrushing authoritarian mindset (elsewise I wouldn’t have shared it), to the person in question my motives and rationales don’t matter.

They saw something that reminded them of trauma in their past and it hurt them.

To have caused that hurt, even unintentionally, is something I regret and apologize for.

. . .

I belong to a writers’ group that meets once a week at a local bookstore.

It’s a good group, although last year it was an even better group.

I’ll explain.

While no one is compelled to participate, those who bring something to share with the group typically read it aloud at the table.

Mind you, we’re literally in the middle of the bookstore as we do this. They’re open for business and customers of all ages are coming and going until the store closes and the writers’ group ends at 8pm.

While the group’s membership has always been elastic, with new members joining and old ones leaving for whatever reason, our core group numbered around ten, divided roughly evenly among those who identified as female, those who identified as male, and those who identified as non-binary.

[SIDEBAR: At this point I have lost those who read the first block above and decided I was an unrepentant sexist because I didn’t retract what I posted even though I expressed regret for causing hurt, and now those who assumed I was going to stand up to what they consider “political correctness”.

So be it.

I am a writer, and a writer faces two primary charges: Know thyself and To thine own self be true.

To know one’s self means to constantly be questioning and re-examining one’s presumptions, weighing them against new knowledge and experience.

To be true to one’s self means not to compromise that self-knowledge in a desire to please others.

I write for an audience of one, and if I am not satisfied with what I write, of what value is your opinion?

You may very well challenge what I write after the fact and you may indeed convince me to change my mind -- it has happened -- but unless I believe in the veracity of what I write when I write it, it’s all bullshit.]

The group was very diverse in opinion / style / skill / politics.

We tacitly agreed that politics in any work read aloud would not be commented on.

We would assess the style and technique, but never challenge a writer’s personal beliefs directly. (See above “to thine own self be true”)

We carefully and respectfully critique style and technique. No one ever says “Your story is stupid” though they might say “It was hard to follow the characters’ motivations”.

We support other writer’s efforts even when not in our wheelhouse, and seat writers who specialize in sci-fi of a libertarian bent, old school horror, gender-bender romances, and my own off the wall material.

(The other writers are unfailingly polite and never once say, “What the hell were you thinking, Buzz?”)

And we respect of the fact not all of us write at the same skill level or the same stage of our careers; no matter, if you’re there to hone and improve your craft, we’re there to help.

But while we set no preconditions on what can / can not be read at the table, we realize a few practical real world concerns need to be addressed.

First, as mentioned we meet in a working bookstore during business hours. Everybody from elderly retirees to grade schoolers could come in at any hour. Being aware of our venue, if one’s material might be considered edgy, we wait until the store seems less crowded to read it or skip over the more adult / violent / gruesome parts.

(Here’s where style and technique come into play. A traditional monster story can get away with fantasy carnage that would redline a contemporary crime story. A non-binary romance written by someone from that background is more palatable than a similar tale written by a heterosexual for titillation. A skillful writer can describe something in a manner that creates a vivid impression in their audience without using any explicit language.)

Second, among the table itself sit those not comfortable with certain types of stories or scenes. We consider it good manners to offer a heads up before reading a story -- “This one is a little risqué” or “This is a crime story with some gruesome details” -- so that those who might be triggered by such material can either prepare themselves for it or, if they know they would respond poorly, leave the table while it’s read.

(Acceptable table etiquette states if one feels triggered by a story one may leave the table until it’s finished. We view this not as a reflection on the story or writer but simply an acknowledgment of the effect of the story on the one who heard it.)

As I said, as good as the group is now, a year ago it was even better.

But then the Turdmonger showed up.

. . .

I’m going to refrain from describing the Turdmonger. I will limit my comments on their writing to this saying it was a contemporary crime thriller.

No, I’m lying, I’ll comment further: While there certainly are real life parallels to the story being read, I personally found the style and technique laughable, sounding much more like something a 12 year old boy would write than a person my age or older.

And by this I don’t mean that the sentence structure and story flow felt awkward (though that argument certainly could be made) but that the crimes were described at a 12 year old’s level of sophistication and titillation, not the way a mature adult would be expected to approach the material.

Soon-ok watches murder mysteries and crime documentaries and shows like Forensic Files all the time and I know there are myriad means of conveying brutal / explicit information without raising a typical audience’s “ick!’ factor, much less actually triggering someone susceptible.

The Turdmonger triggered quite a few people their first time reading at the table, but despite being upset those writers felt willing to count it as simply the Turdmonger’s ignorance of the table guidelines.

We clued the Turdmonger in and asked for warnings in the future; the Turdmonger agreed to do so.

Next time the Turdmonger read, same problem. No warning, then =boom!= -- really rough stuff.

People looked visibly distressed when the Turdmonger did this. Again, we requested the Turdmonger give a warning or better yet, bring copies for those of us willing to read their work and provide feedback. (IIRC, mostly the male readers volunteered to expose ourselves to this, though one or two female or non-binary writers may have done so as well.)

So, problem solved, yes?

No.

The next time the Turdmonger appeared, back to their old tricks. Now people looked more than a little upset.

They saw this not as a simple mistake, but a deliberate pattern.

The Turdmonger got cautioned yet again on appropriate for table read etiquette.

Despite that, the Turdmonger seemed unable to grasp female and non-binary writers writing about their own traumatic experiences could do so with far greater authority than the Turdmonger.

First off, they always prefaced their reading with a trigger warning, and they always kept an eye on the venue, careful not to continue reading when children or people who might be offended came within earshot.

Second, they wrote from the point of view of someone who actually suffered significant trauma in their past, and wrote not so much to titillate or entertain as to exorcise demons of their own.

Because of my personal schedule, I’m frequently the first person to bolt out of the bookstore when the table ends at 8pm.

As a result I wasn’t privy to discussions some table members had after the store closed.

While I knew the Turdmonger’s readings upset many of them, I wasn’t aware how deep and how painful their trauma went.

Events conspired against me and I missed a couple of meetings. When I returned, the table felt on edge.

The Turdmonger returned the previous week and read a new story, one that by all accounts sounded deliberately crafted to spit in the face of those who asked for trigger warnings.

The Turdmonger appears to have gotten their jollies out of tormenting those who felt triggered.

That’s why the Turdmonger never brought more copies for volunteers to read; by and large we were somewhat older, somewhat more seasoned, certainly less likely to be triggered by their clumsy attempts at provocation.

(I mean, geeze, I was an editor at Penthouse Comix and wrote for The Little Clowns Of Happy Town; there are no horrors left to make me blanch.)

I’ll spare the he / she / they said of that meeting, mostly because it would not be fair for me to try to summarize the various divergent opinions, but also because it serves no purpose in this narrative.

The Turdmonger achieved their desired result. The writers’ group split up, with roughly a third staying with the original group, and the bulk of the rest -- mostly female and non-binary writers -- forming a new group.

Which is a pity, because several of them were among the best and most insightful writers in the group.

. . .

The bookstore writers’ group still meets, and we’re slowing rebuilding our ranks.

We lost many of our best members, and I’m saddened by that: They truly contributed great insights to the table.

The Turdmonger, achievement unlocked, never came back.

I would love to have the Turdmonger return…just once.

At the table and at other venues such as conventions, etc., I am very judicious in my feedback.

Not everybody operates at the same level, and while I might point out areas where a writer or artist can work to improve their craft, I will never be cruel or dismissive.

But if I am being paid as an editor and you are being paid as a writer and you turn in a sub-par piece of crap, I will rip out your heart and shit in the hole.

Promise.

That’s what you get for disrespecting my craft.

And oh, dear Turdmonger, how I hope you come back just one time.

One time is all that I will need.

. . .

Last week a writer who is a mom came to our table for the first time with her 14 year old daughter in tow (I’m guessing 14; definitely under 16).

The story I planned to read that night featured a 14 year old schoolgirl getting comeuppance on an obnoxious boy her age.

Some might call it risqué’ but I carefully avoided anything explicit and kept the style and tone down to a PG-13 level.

But still…the daughter’s first visit to the table, and she’s subjected to a story she might find (a) embarrassing if not (b) creepy?

So I said I would shelve the story until a later time.

Fortunately, that later time turned out to be just two hours when mom and daughter needed to leave early.

Once they left I read the story to the rest of the group.

They laughed. They found it entertaining. They agreed I didn’t cross any lines.

But they also thought I made a damn good choice in not reading it in front of the girl and her mom.

Now it’s not impossible that after I sell the story and it’s published, the girl may find it and read it herself, and in the privacy of that read (as opposed to being trapped at a table with a bunch of adults) find it cute and funny and get a kick out of it.

Or she might ask, “What the hell were you thinking?”

To which I would say: “Child, get in line…”

. . .

So back to my Facebook post, the one that unfortunately triggered a person through no fault of their own.

A few days ago I posted on colonialism, and how it affected our storytelling over the last five centuries.

I approached the topic from the angle of old pulp magazines, citing with deliberate vagueness how they frequently featured damsels in distress and / or the evil “Other” on their covers.

When I wanted to find art to highlight the post, I realized I couldn’t use any actual pulp covers.

Doing so would undermine the very argument I was making.

Instead I posted a Carl Barks’ Scrooge McDuck painting that spoofed the old style pulp covers.

It’s anthropomorphic ducks and pigs parodying the tropes of old adventure pulps.

You can’t successfully argue that it carries the same meaning as the original pulp covers because it displays those tropes and ridicules the reasons for them.

I mean, how seriously can you take a dance hall dame when she’s a DUCK?

(From my tenure at Penthouse, I know some people out there most certainly do get off on anthropomorphic ducks; nonetheless, they remain outliers, not the standard.)

The point of art in whatever form is to get the audience to look at something afresh, to see connections and meanings previously hidden.

I can’t fault and certainly would never blame the persons who felt triggered by the image I shared for what they felt.

That’s a wholly legitimate reaction.

It’s unlikely I’ll post something that might produce this particular trigger in the future; it’s just too specific to the political comment in question.

If I do think an image might trigger this person, I’ll make an effort to see that it doesn’t pop up on their Facebook feed.

As a writer, I keep a lot of references handy.

I’ve got a large number of medical photos that would upset a great many people.

Those will never be shared with the public at large.

I’ve got a few crime and war photos I will never share.

But you will see some old comic book and pulp covers I use for fictoids (i.e., add captions and dialog to), as well as old time magazine ads and illustrations from less enlightened eras.

You’ll also see almost everything I post along those lines either deconstructs or ironically comments on the image depicted.

I never present it as is.

So while I will take care in the future, I make no promise never to post or say things that may trigger people without warning.

What I find acceptable and appropriate clearly is not what everybody finds acceptable and appropriate.

I will promise to listen to responses, and try to learn from them.

That’s the only way I can be true to myself.

#writing #how this writer's mind works #trigger warning

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

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This is still ‘soon’…

… Right?

So! Let’s look at subbed Ryusoulger nigh immediately after raw Ryusoulger.

… Huh. I’m not sure about that sentence.

So, I got into one of my theory rambles at the end of this. In case anyone wants to just skip to the end and avoid the nonsensical bullet points. XD

In no order:

I love the angsty edgy bros w/ my whole heart and no one can stop me.

Touwa definitely sounds a little… I dunno, wistful? I really think he is lonely, and too read too much between the lines, this sort of seems to me like he may not know about the betrayal thing. I guess it just kind of seemed like there was an edge of questioning about it? Like he’s bringing up the topic of ‘friends’ in an effort to probe his brother’s reasons for being so against it? … Probably overthinking it.

Kou inconveniently makes a noise before I can learn anything about Banba’s opinion on the word ‘friends.’ Damnit, Kou. If you weren’t so cute…

He’s so happy, gods love him. Banba just stares incredulously at him, but Touwa rolls his eyes. Definitely the more expressive of the two. ^^

Banba does let Kou back up quite promptly, though. He may not trust people or want to work w/ them, but he’s not outright hostile, at least.

Important facts: Melto now gets to eat a banana w/out having to worry about being incriminated.

Kou just takes things, does he. XD There’s his mischievous side. ^^ Though I guess he did have a reason, and it was a clever tactic to get the other two’s attention.

Banba is somewhere offscreen like ‘damnit, Touwa, don’t make promises I don’t want to keep!’

Kou’s awkward ‘wait, this isn’t mine…’ moment when Touwa says he’d have to give them the map. XD

Okay. I love all these kids, and they’re all doing great. But what gets me in the opening shot of all of them screaming is that Tatsuya, Ichika, and Tsuna are all just going for it w/ the tragic drama, while Yuito and Hayate… Maybe it’s bc there’s no other context but they both kinda look like they’re almost smiling to me? Weird, I know. And probably just me.

And the problem children are officially at it. XD Drama babies.

I still don’t understand why the hell Touwa knows about that. Have you been hanging out w/ business men? Does Kou even know, for that matter?

I love Kou being super impressed until Touwa claims he won. It’s so adorable. ‘Wow, you’re actually really good––no, wait!’

Ah, Touwa acts all indifferent, but I think he’s definitely enjoying this. Kinda seemed like he suddenly realised he was having fun and immediately tried to backtrack. Like, really, when was the last time he got to behave like a kid? Like, we know Banba loves him, and I’m sure they played as children, but it’s a little different––probably esp after Banba started shutting himself off, depending on when that happened. Gah. It’s hard to explain. Like, why there’s the whole thing about how it’s good for children to play w/ kids their own age, and stuff like that.

They both keep doing the same thing. XD You boys are so similar. ^^ … Banba is going to kill you both.

The little green dancing knights and the little black dancing knights overlapped and it’s CUTE.

I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE FULL TEAM ROLLCALL I WILL CRY.

Poor Kou get’s interrupted on his announcement speech.

No, Kreuon, they don’t.

These two are gonna find ways to turn everything into competitions, aren’t they.

DORKS.

Aw, don’t worry, Touwa. He meant both of you.

Still a cool reveal shot. Also, damn, Banba got there fast. Does he have a ‘someone just pushed my brother in a fountain’ radar or something?

Actually, he probably does have a ‘brother in trouble’ radar.

Banba officially becomes the second person to actually formally trade blows w/ Tankjoh. And the last time, when Kou did it, he was riding adrenaline and rage from Master Red’s death. This is really cool.

Like, he was able to activate KataSoul in perfect timing to not get untransformed by the purple glowy slash. And it didn’t even really knock him back––he does a bloody flip and leaps clear. And while he’s a bit out of breath from it, he doesn’t seem that worse for wear. That was impressive! Even Tankjoh was kind of impressed!

XD These two dorks. Definitely already got the bickering down. ^^

‘Oops. Nii-san’s pissed.’ I love how even Kou is awkwardly looking down. XD

I love how it looks like this woman just carefully placed her purse down before falling unconscious.

Ah, yes. The universal Toku Hospital. Pretty sure this is where Geiz and Tsukuyomi took Sougo during the Ghost arc.

How… How would you tell if that was the Minusaur host. Like. Is it it just based on the toy gun? I’m beginning to wonder if Banba was just staring at Kou when he asked about killing the kid bc he could believe Kou was dumb enough to think he’d do that before being sure.

Or just for thinking that he’d do that already. It’s not like they want to kill people, they just think they’d have to.

Like, they’ve––well, definitely Banba, I think Touwa might have some left––lost all optimism. I don’t think Banba believes in the ‘power of hope and determination’ at this point. Boy needs to relearn his Sentai tropes. ^^ I mean, he’s definitely shut off most of his empathy. Like I know I’ve said before, and I’m so annoying I’ll say it again, I think he had the opposite reaction to trauma that the trio did. They choose to find hope and carry on in the memory of their Masters, and try to find happiness to help counteract the sorrow––whereas Banba seems to have reacted by deciding he’ll stop the pain by just feeling and connecting as little as possible. If that made any sense.

Banba says nothing, and he’s really stoic, but I think he’s also uncomfortable w/ that concept. Esp since it still seems like he raised his brother, I highly doubt he could actually harm a child w/out thinking of Touwa.

When did Kou stuff that down his shirt? And how did it stay there?

I love how Melto immediately chastises Kou for taking things. XD Definitely the mom friend.

Kou just looks confused.

Maybe I’m totally overreading Banba’s reaction to Melto suggesting they split up? But it’s the sort of thing that could very well be related to a betrayal, no? I dunno. Maybe he really was just looking for an opportunity to make someone else deal w/ Kou and Touwa’s competition.

Apparently, Asuna can’t read a map.

Oh, and don’t worry about him, dear. He’s just like that. I promise you, he’ll open up eventually.

Love how he’s very purposefully walking a certain amount of feet away from her.

Okay, but the fact that TigerLance and MirNeedle really are stuck in their temple means so much to me. I can’t believe my goofy, über-tired joke theory came true.

I love how we’re all including each other in calls now. Like, before Asuna just called Kou. But apparently we all, I dunno, exchanged numbers? Is it possible to only call one person, or are they now just stuck on conference for life?

Banba will hate that if it’s true.

Touwa is vaguely concerned, aw. I really think he’s been a little lonely, what w/ Banba just having lost all faith in the rest of the world, so to speak, while he didn’t have the same experience; so the trio are growing on him faster, and he’s a little more open to the chance of connecting w/ others.

Also, the fact that Banba was the one to associate the Minusaur’s behaviour w/ an adult playing w/ a child. He seems like the last person that would be able to make that connection, but he’s also the one that we can confirm to actually have potentially interacted w/ a child in that way.

But even if I’m wondering if I’m overthinking Banba’s reaction to the splitting up suggestion, I really don’t think I’m overthinking Touwa’s reaction to the reveal about what created the Minusaur. It seems to have hit a nerve, and I think we can now be pretty certain that the boys have (presumably, though I guess it could have been their mother) dad issues of some kind. But… Well, I’ll get more into those ideas a little further down. See, there was this idea I had… I’ll get to it at the end.

I don’t think it’s that strange for Touwa to intercede. He has an idea to beat the Minusaur w/out killing anyone. The brothers don’t actually want to kill anyone. They just thought they’d have to if they couldn’t stop the monster in time.

Though I do definitely think there’s also something personal going on.

Cuties.

Banba’s comment, not only sets up his motivations for next episode, and make sit double clear how much Touwa means to him, but also reenforces my suspicion that the brothers have dad issues.

I love MirNeedle and his weird steamboat sound.

Also Banba almost smiling and kind of teasing his brother. ^^ Even more cuteness.

I love how the touching moment where Touwa admits that he’s kind of gotten fond of these fools is promptly followed by evidence of their utter incompetence and goofy melodrama. XD

Really excited for next week. XD I mean, it was already highly likely that they way they’d get Banba to start at least working w/ the team would be through Touwa, since Touwa is the only person he’s able to trust right now, but I’m excited for how they’re doing it. Usually stoic big siblings being distressed and frantic over injured little siblings is one of my jams. ^^

Seems like Tanjkoh is deliberately goading Kou, and it turns out to be a setup of some kind. Touwa ends up getting bitten by the Cerberus-based Minusaur, which seems to be some sort of rabid dog/werewolf type thing where the bite does something. And, naturally, Banba freaks out. Presumably after they get him calmed down enough to actually go after the Minusaur rather than just stabbing the nice animal lady (emotional Banba is not gonna be rational Banba), he eventually agrees to work w/ them in order to save his brother.

According to the website, his relationship w/ Kou also changes? So we’re starting the adoption process, I think. XD

Aaaah. While I do love the little Kishiryu running about on the book, I also would’ve loved if they’d done like LuPat where the preview kinda continued under the sponsor stuff, so we got to see a little more of the next ep. Mainly bc I am a big impatient baby. XD

That’s all folks! White chocolate rubber duck for anyone who read all that (go on, eat all of it, I dare you).

Anyway, onto that theory I promised to get to. So, when things were first getting revealed, and it turned out that Green and Black were brothers and we learned about Gaisorg/Gaisoulg, and how those three would be appearing in Strongest Battle, I had a thought that maybe Gaisorg was their father, who was either getting controlled by the Druidon (like Wolzard) or had gone evil for power, or something (like Ikkou and Isshu’s father). When it turned out that it was the armour, and esp when the brothers didn’t seem to recognise it, I pretty much ditched the idea. However. There have been developments. Someone picked up and took Gaisorg’s helmet away at the end of Strongets Battle. They’ve stated that Banba was betrayed in the past. This most recent ep indicated that Banba and Touwa have some kind of father issues––namely, that their father was likely rarely around, esp for Touwa. Banba’s line to the father about how there’s nothing more precious in the world than family. So now I’m wondering. Was their father the one who betrayed him/them? Maybe he wasn’t around bc he got obsessed w/ being stronger? Or maybe he betrayed them early, and Banba made the call to get away from him? Banba coming out of his usual stoicism to inform someone of the importance of family could just indicate he’s dealt w/ someone who failed in that regard, possibly in almost exactly the same way. A father who put duty (or maybe just plain power) before his children. Could also explain Banba’s desire to prove his own strength, prove he’s better than their father. And while he’s obsessively devoted to the mission (possibly after seeing his father lose sight of it?), it’s certain he would never put it above Touwa. His arc could partially be not just learning how to trust again and finding friends/a new family, but also getting away from their father in his own way.

Alternatively, I’m riding the high of the fact that my goofy ‘what if TigerLance and MirNeedle are trapped’ theory, and I’m running my mouth. But it does smack of a rather stock Sentai/Toku style, though in those the fathers usually turn out to be under the control of the bad guys, or it’s some sort of secret plan. But maybe we are pulling a KR here, and dad’s just plain a dickwad. Might be interesting.

#Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger #Ryusoulger Spoilers #my precious Dino Children #long post #maybe I should make a separate post about this theory #so people don't have to look at all this nonsense #maybe not atm though #XD #no not automated teller machine!#Birthday Sentai #Dino Dragon Knights And Their Cat

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reggyjester · 6 years

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Suffering is not supposed to be the norm

This might sound edgy or dramatic, but bear with me, this is some really personal stuff I am trying to put into words.

I don't know if it's an autism thing or a me thing, but I noticed that for a big part of my life, I had trouble recognizing when something was bad, when I was feeling bad or when something was bad for me. Unless I was in really strong pain or discomfort, I always thought that everything was a-okay - and let me tell you, that's a really harmful attitude for your health, both physical and mental.

For years, my default mood was low-key (or even not so low-key, but I was so used to it I didn't question it) suffering. I was anxious and depressed and thought nothing of it because this was my normal. I was living in a bubble of cynical invincibility.

From a very young age on, I had realized that I was somehow different, that the world wasn't built with people like me in mind. I kinda accepted it and thought that navigating life with a constant low-key pain was normal for "people like me". That self-hatred was the default.

I have heard so much motivational stuff about self-care and positivity, but I was kinda studying it from afar, without ever applying it to myself. As if my inner monologue was "these nice things aren't for you."

I have been self-destructive for a very long time - smoking too much, drinking too much, working too much, you name it - because it never occurred to me that there might be another mode beside self destruction. I always thought, healing was for other people, not for me.

I didn't know what changed, maybe it was my self-diagnosis with autism that gave me back some confidence in myself. But recently I realized that no, suffering shouldn't be the default and that self-destruction is not the normal mode of existing. That I, too, deserve self-care.

I quit smoking. I am seeing doctors in order to find out how much damage years of self-neglect have done to my body. I found new hobbies. I am practicing saying no to people. I try to be more aware of what I am feeling - which is extremely hard since I am so used to repressing my emotions.

I don't know if this rant may be motivational for anyone. If anyone has read so far, let me tell you: suffering is not normal. You shouldn't spend your day to day life in agony. Sounds obvious? Well it wasn't for me.

#Autism #Actuallyautistic #Actually autistic #Personal #Rant #BPD #Borderline #Self care #borderline things #Mental health #Mental illness #Self destruction

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animentality · 6 years

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As someone who is about to start studying International Relations and a language: What caused you to switch to Anthropology?

I was formally in Global Affairs, because I wanted to be a CIA agent.

I took Russian and was going to study Russian politics and history in order to be a Russian political and cultural analyst.

But then my mind snapped and I realized I could never be the person I wanted to be, mentally sound, motivated.

I realized halfway through my first year of college that I didn’t have what it took to compete.

I wasn’t ambitious enough to stand out and be picked for a government position.

I had dreams, but I didn’t know enough, didn’t have a good enough memory, wasn’t smart enough to be one of the hopeful potentials.

All of my friends wanted to be something wonderful, psychologists, physicians, defense contractors.

I’m from the Northeast.

There’s this culture here, where you can’t just “settle” on being a teacher or a plumber or a car mechanic.

You have to go to Cornell or Harvard, and if you don’t, then you have to be the best of your class, be a highly accredited psychologist, a plastic surgeon, a geologist, a cancer doctor.

If you’re anything less, they talk about you at their PTA meetings and whisper about how you were so brilliant but never applied yourself.

Competitive, competitive, competitive.

Everyone knows what college you applied for, if you got in, and what you chose.

People were disappointed in the college I chose to go to.

They thought I could do better and they were smugly satisfied at the same time too, because they always thought their own kids were much smarter than me.

And it was confirmed, since their kids went to UVA.

Or William and Mary.

Or MIT.

Anyway, I thought I had to be like all of them, get that government job.

But then I realized I couldn’t.

I said my mind snapped, and I wasn’t joking.

Nothing’s felt right since then. I’ve always had a bit of a drifting mind, but freshman year, it straight up flew away and I’ve never recovered the ambition I once had.

Anyway.

I took an anthropology course because while I was going through the database, looking for another major, it caught my eye as a social science LESS painful than Sociology, with all of its statistics.

So I took one course, really loved it.

As much as I could love anything, anyway. No edginess, I mean it, I don’t legitimately care for most of the things I’m doing with my life.

Anyway.

I’m in anthropology because of out all of the discplines, it’s the one that most speaks to me and my wayward mind. I’m interested in studying people, culture, and our relationships with one another and the environment.

My Master’s thesis is going to be about the global economy’s relationship to the rise of white supremacist movements.

I like the topic, and usually I like my major, but I’m also a very tired man.

And with all of the nonsense going on in the world....

well.

good luck studying international studies.

may you never lose motivation the way i did.

18 notes · View notes

unreone · 4 years

Text

Aren't You Glad to Have a Boyfriend Like Me?

PROMPT: SERIAL KILLER

Time Taken: 42 hrs 14 min (on/off)

Program Used: IBis Paint

Word Count: 4133

♥~♥~♥~♥~♥

She beamed as I present to her my gift. An expensive perfume that she saw on a shop five days ago. She is squealing in delight at the second she recognize it.

"Oh my gosh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I can't believe that you manage to buy it~

How could I even return the favor?"

I laugh at how cute she is being right now. Little did she know, I did not even spend a single cent to get it. Wait...no I actually have. Just not mine.

"Don't worry, Giggles. To see your smile is enough for me to say it's worth it."

Nice, that's a smooth one Cuddles. My remark brought a blush on her angelic face. She then pulls me into a hug, something that I expected to get but could still appreciate.

"Aww, this is why I love you my fluffybuns. I'm so glad to have a boyfriend like you!"

I smile as I pat her head. Her wonderful scent wafts in the air as I caress her soft, pink fur. Oh how much I wanted to stay like this forever. However, a ring destroys the moment.

Both of us stop and look at each other. Withdrawing, she apologize and picks up her phone from her shoulder bag. I watch her expression change from bright to neutral and then grim.

"I know I understand...I will be there as soon as I can."

She ended the call.

"Something's wrong?"

She looks at me with guilt in her eyes. I could tell that she wanted to stay a little bit longer but the call has given her a reason not to.

"I am so sorry Cuddles but I have to go. The nurses who are suppose to work right now got into an accident and Lumpy couldn't handle it all by himself at the hospital. I guess I need to start my shift early."

What a bummer. Her shift is supposed to begin five hours from now. Despite feeling unpleasant, I manage to keep my cool.

"Ah don't worry my love. I understand. Just call me when you need a backup."

"Oh Cuddles. The world will be a better place if critters are as understanding as you. See ya later then. I love you!"

She pecks me in my cheek and runs toward the location of a bus stop. I truly adore her. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout out my response.

"I love you more!"

She turns around and copies my volume.

"I love you more than anything!"

Oh Giggles, my love for you is so much that I'm willing to do anything for you...

I wave my hand at her as she runs away. I did not stop until she is out of my sight. I sighed and walks away. I guess I have to continue my mission early too.

Pushing the boulder away from a certain spot, I stoop to pull the hidden latch, opening the entry to a bunker.

Jumping down, I swiftly takes my bag full of supplies and a vacuum cleaner. I also wear the "job outfit" that I borrow from a certain friend that must not be named.

After climbing up the ladder carrying my props, I close the hatch and push the boulder back to its original place.

As I stroll towards the house of my next target, I found myself recounting the moments I accomplished my first goal. It was...exhilarating. The adrenaline I got is much more than the one I have while skydiving.

True, I felt remorse and a tiny bit of guilt after doing it but I'd be lying if I say I regret everything. In the end, watching how that pedobear mofo suffers from my own paws is satisfying, and that's all that matters.

Critters tends to underestimate me since I'm just a kid in their eyes. Yeah I admit that I'm immature most of the times, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing serious stuff. I watch enough movies and documentaries to say I know a thing or two with slaying rivals creatively.

It all starts with swaying the prey. Luring him is unsurprisingly not that hard. I just have to send him pictures and epic one liners on his inbox at that stupid dating app and boom! Charmed. He's willing to meet me at a specific, secluded place only me and him know. Never suspecting anything for a bit. He's like a really dumb fish who suddenly bites the bait despite a hook sticking through it!

As the fool arrived at my rented apartment room, he did not see the lover of the girl he always flirts with. Instead, he sees a purple female bunny wearing a cute outfit named Toodles who is infatuated with him. I let him in and offer snacks and tea, which he blindly accepts. As he eat, we talks just as the way we do in our chat.

I remember how he makes that disgusting face at me that he dubbed as his "fierce and flirty look" from time to time.

I am keeping myself from puking at the moment as he leans forward with that breath, asking me for a dance.

Despite feeling unpleasant, I manage to keep my cool. I did not become the best actor in drama club for nothing. I have to convince him that my character is so into him. So I did what I have to do in my script.

I pull him even closer, catching him off guard and making the pathetic asshole blush. This malicious pervert flipping blush! I can't even express my repulsion against this filthy degenerate.

"Maybe I would if you finish your tea~" I muttered in perfect, feminine tone.

Oh I just really smile as I saw that he finally ingested the damn fluid into his system. He, however, thinks it's because I fell in love with him. He drinks the whole cup in one go!

He was extending his hand out to me, about to say something, but found himself unable to do so. Or do anything else at all. His hand trembles before he collapses to the floor. I giggled as he flops like a fish. His mouth is gaping as he try so hard to breathe. He looks up at me with utter confusion in his eyes. Can't talk dirty now that you're paralyzed huh sicko?

"Nothing personal Disco. It's just that I heard that you're really messing around this town. You're pretty famous for being a headache for everyone. Now, let me tell you something. This is for harassing and killing every girl you encountered ~"

I grab the kettle and pour its boiling hot contents on his chest. Oh how euphoric it was to see him writhes in pain. The scent of his burnt flesh fills the room. I was grinning ear to ear as I watch in fascination how the tea spreads all over his fur.

"And this is for assaulting my brother's girlfriend, Giggles~"

I suddenly smashed the kettle on his crotch. He would be wailing in pain at the time if his throat isn't numb. All that came out in his mouth is pitiful gurgles as he pees on the floor. I move and stand besides his ugly face. My entire body is quivering in excitement and rage as I clutch on the shattered kettle tightly.

"And this is for killing her with a fucking kettle you ignorant pimp~"

And with that, I found myself bludgeoning the shittyhead over and over again with a kettle until he resembles a squashed tomato. I keep bashing on his shattered skull even after he stopped twitching. Finally, I stepped on his heart with my heels to satisfy my ears with that squelching flesh. Then, I went to the bathroom to shower the dye away. It takes me four hours to remove the fake color entirely off my fur. Of course, I did not leave without taking his wallet.

It's been three days since the incident and I haven't seen him around, which is a good sign. What I've done is super effective. I think after all that, he wouldn't bother Giggles anymore. Heck, I am confident enough to say that he wouldn't even dare to look at any girl ... hehehe ... look. Something that my next victim couldn't do. That makes everything easier.

I found myself on front of the house I seek. I casually walk towards the doorstep and press the doorbell.

Now I would have skip Mole over since the idiot mistaken Lumpy as Giggles on their blind date. That means, my motivation of killing him is not jealousy if that's what you're thinking. No. It's something deeper than that.

His obliviousness and idiocy is what ticks me off. He killed my precious girl by literally stealing her heart with a freaking stick. Then he just throws it in a filthy thrash bag like it was nothing. Oh how much I wanted to punch him square in the face when I see him pries the door open. But I didn't.

Sounding lanky and awkward, I announced my assumed identity.

"Randell of Happy Tree Cleaners, leaving your homes squeaky clean. Our company is very sorry since we couldn't send Petunia today. However, I am here to take her place. I hope you wouldn't mind, sir."

"Oh. Of course I wouldn't mind at all lad but I think you came pretty early."

Feigning confusion, I responded to him in a shameful tone (which I applaud myself for such a convincing performance).

"Oh I truly am sorry sir. I'm still new to the job and kinda not listening to my superior when she's passing the information over the phone..."

"Ah a newbie. No, don't worry at all. I actually admire you! Working so hard, always ready to face the task at hand as immediately as possible. You're also modest. You remind me of myself back in my younger days..."

Then a long time was wasted for his flashback that I could not see. I really hate delays but I'm not rushing so I let him do his thing.

"Oh silly me. What am I thinking letting you stand outside for so long! Come, enter my humble abode young one."

I thanked him as I went inside. The contents of my shoulder bag clatters against each other for every move I make.

As he leads me to the room he thought I'd bother to clean, I am appreciating the edginess of the vacuum's flexible hose that I'm holding. I am very proud to say I assembled it myself. I have tried it on cows and boy the precision of the cut was just fascinating. I left a clean hole through the chest of the dumb animal.

My eyes are locked on his back as he talks about taking pictures of a case that an evil mouse wanted or something like that. His keys are jiggling as he unlocked the door to his kitchen. He turns around to face me.

"-anyways, here we are in the kitchen, Early Randell. You may begin your "germ extermination," as Petunia put it."

"Oh, only she could do that sir. I have a different method and it's called "trash assassination."

"Really? Sorry to break it to you son, but I believe there's no such thing that's present in this room. There is just dust and dirty dishes."

"Excuse my language sir, but I could see one standing out in the middle of the room."

"Oh my, that must be the apple that I lost a while ago. Could you please take it out?"

"It's my pleasure to do so. After all..."

In a second, I thrusts the vacuum hose on his chest. It delights me how its end easily punctures through his clothes then his flesh. The idiot didn't react at first and only notice what I'm doing when I successfully take his heart out.

"The only thrash I see in this room is you. P.S. I know what you've done to Giggles. I'll come back if you repeat it again..."

He actually tries to escape but oh its just too late.

Resistance is futile after all, no matter how much you struggle old guy.

A few seconds pass before his body finally went limp. I smile as I let go of the vacuum hose.

Whistling the theme song of this town, I grab his filthy organ off of my vacuum. I take a moment to observe how it weakly pulses on my grasp. I find it fascinating that this thing is still beating despite its raptured state.

Then I pick the note I left from and continued whistling. I dump his heart into the thrash bag filled with decomposing materials and feces. If you're wondering where the heck it came from, its hidden inside the vacuum.

Of course I didn't want his heart to rot alone so I let his body join in. It's hilarious that his body would regenerate in there. Imagine respawning covered with shit.

I take out something out of my shoulder bag. Opening his fridge, I start lacing his food with cyanide. The medicines in his cupboard also get the same treatment. A sprinkle for this, a bunch on that and I'm done.

An hour was spent of taking care of the evidence. Cleaning is boring and tiresome but I have to do it. After disassembling the vacuum, disposing my outfit, sanitizing the floor and taking a bath, I went out of the house. I casually dump the garbages in the bin and then I take my leave. Two down, few more to go.

Up next is Flippy. He may seem to be an invincible rival but everyone have Achilles's heel – and I'm about to strike it. Wait, I'm not literally saying my target is the tendon at the back of his foot. The point is I know his weakness and its pathetic.

Currently, I am on my way to the psycho's location. My ears are flattened on the side of my head because of the hood of the black robe I'm wearing. My smiling skull mask is partially obscuring my sight. I am holding a blowgun disguised as a trumpet.

Anyway, for those who don't know what the flipping pants a blowgun is, it's a long narrow tube that shoots out an arrow or dart when someone breathes into it quickly and forcefully. Its content is not a dart though. It's peanuts.

Leaping few minutes forward, I am waiting at the entrance of an alleyway. My clothing blends well in the darkness. Flippy is visiting his psychotherapist and any minute now, he would leave the building and take the path in front of me.

Flippy... he is once my bro. He used to be the man I looked up on since he is serving the military from the age of 15. I thought he was cool but what he have done states he is far from that. We accepted him in our town and boy do I cursed the day that we did.

Turns out he gains an alter ego from the war who is a sadistic, bloodthirsty demon. Giggles and I have suffered hell from his paws. Now, it's payback time.

My thoughts were silenced by a voice whose source I'm too familiar with. As he walks into the desired spot, I blow the trumpet the hardest I possibly could. He screams, obviously surprised. Wasting no time, I push a certain button which allows air to pass through the blowgun. I watch a couple of peanuts shoots straight into his throat at bullet speed. All of this happened in just two seconds.

It seems that he didn't notice what just enter his mouth since he is busy catching up his breath. He looks stupid with his pupils dilated in fear. I toss the trumpet on the ground and run into the alleyway. He follows me, trying to match my speed. Amusingly, his body did not react instantly as I expected. Maybe it's because the number is fewer than the ones he ingested at the party.

"Darn it kid, why did you-"

It's not too long before he falls because of the tripwire I set up earlier. As I hear a dull thud, I turned around and smile.

He is groaning as his lips inflate. Multiple zits appeared on his face. His allergy reaction has rendered him immobile. I take out a knife from my shoulder bag, making sure he didn't see it.

His paws are trembling as he tried to stand. I am towering besides him when his limbs puffs up like a balloon.

"Something's wrong?"

Listening to his whimpers, I could tell how much he is suffering as his body painfully swells. I smirk as I kicked his ass hard, making him squeak in pain.

"You know you deserve it, Flip. If you can't handle the consequences, then you shouldn't have done these..."

As I said that last word, I throw photographs down for him to see. He knows he's to blame for all the mangled corpses in it. In the middle of it all is Giggles with a rose puncturing through her head.

I am overjoyed when I hear him cry. Oh the taste of victory is truly sweet. As time passes, he looks like a balloon animal more than anything. His arms give up since it couldn't support his weight anymore.

He mumbles something that resembles to an apology, which is empty since I've heard him say it countless times.

"You could only pay for your sins with death."

Desperate to live, he tries to drag himself forward, hoping he could move away from me. It's amusing that such an indestructible beast lives inside this wimp. We both know that those stubby fingers never help him in this situation in any way. It only makes him more pathetic.

I then dug my dull knife into his back and watch as his skin bursts. His body contorted as unimaginable pain washed over his body.

"What? You say you want more?"

I poked his shoulder with the tip of my blade and it explodes. The walls are painted by its disgusting contents. It's like I'm playing with a living bubble wrap.

"You like pain right? Don't you enjoy this? Huh? Huh!?"

I found myself caught in a frenzied mood of hacking and slashing. His body is constantly receiving new, multiple wounds. His ugly face is squeezed against the asphalt road. His head is twitching every time I plunge my weapon into his body.

For the final act, I hit the top of his head and zip his skull open, splitting his brain apart.

Panting heavily, I laugh. I've done it! I've defeated the unstoppable force. I stand to observe my work.

I turned around and meet the eyes of a preschooler dropping his lollipop. I could tell that he was about to take my trumpet when he saw something in the darkness moves. I guess my robe is really black. Imagine a floating skull smiling down at you.

He backs away as he saw the blood dripping from my gloves. I wave hi to him and he runs away. Yep, I just scarred a child's life forever. I have a pretty good feeling that he's gonna have nightmares about a skeleton and a trumpet tonight.

Welp, time to dispose this body. Good thing there's an incinerator conveniently placed at the end of this passage.

Dragging Flippy by his foot, I hum the coffin meme tune to myself. He's not that heavy anymore since chunks of his flesh pops like a bubble earlier. Scrapes form on his skin as I pull him.

With a heave and a ho, to the furnace he go. Don't forget the knife and the costume~

I just finished disposing my stuffs when my phone plays that special ringtone. Picking it up from the shoulder bag, I greet my precious Red Ribbon.

"Heya Giggles~ How are you?"

My expression shifts from bright to grim when I hear her weakly whispers that one word.

"Help…"

This was followed by a thunderous crash and a white noise. My heart sank deep into my guts. Running out, I only have one thing in mind – save her before it's too late.

I'm not really paying attention so I collided with someone riding a bike. As my butt hits the ground, I groan.

"Gah! What are you thinking running into me like that- Cuddles?"

Looking up, it's my best friend, Toothy. As he help me stand up, I quickly steal his ride.

"What in the-"

"Sorry Toots! Emergency, I'll return it later."

Huffing and puffing, I pedal like my life depends on it. Cars are beeping as I zoom by them. I've taken sharp turns and gave heart attacks to crossing pedestrians. I didn't even bother to stop when the traffic light is red. The only thing I care about right now is to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

Smoke is rising from the horizon. It didn't take long before the building came into my view. My heart skips a beat as I see its remnants. My blood runs cold as a thought of her crushed body appears in my head.

I am preventing the tears that is burning my eyes to fall. I hop off the bicycle and run closer. I keep telling myself that I'm not yet late.

Broken glasses are scattered around. Shattered walls are laying against each other. I found an opening and force myself to fit through it. As I successfully did, I start searching for any sign of her.

I am frantically shaking the doorknobs when I heard her voice screaming for help. It sounds faint, which means she's far from were I'm at, but at least I know her direction.

I crawl under a fallen pillar then run to a door I haven't check. As I press my head against it, I hear her whimpering. I started to charge myself against it, my new attempts stronger than the last one.

Hang in there, Giggles...

Out of nowhere, something crash which makes the earth trembles. I press my ears against the door again. She's not making any sound anymore.

This prompts me to try harder. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I imagined the worst possible scenario. The door slammed open with the force I've applied. I can't help but stumble forward a little bit after that. There she was, six feet from where I am. I could not believe my eyes for what I'm currently seeing.

The Golden Idol is laying on the floor, crushed into dust. The crying face of my love is kissing the guy I assume is responsible for the damage of the cursed figure. A sun ray, originating from a huge hole at the ceiling, illuminates the spot where the two are standing. Her hands are around his shoulder. Giggles withdraw and mouthed the words "Thank You" to Splendid.

My whole body is trembling in rage. When did we kissed like that? Oh right! When we're fucking dead. I clutch something from my shoulder bag. I coughed loudly, announcing my presence.

The two turn to my direction. She gasp. She's saying words but I could not understand them. A plain smile is painted on my face as I quickly walks towards them. I brush pass the girl who turns me crazy in love.

Splendid chuckles and spreads his arms, expecting a hug. That's exactly what I give him...with an extra stab on his chest with my kryptonut dagger.

He's lucky because I'm not gonna do what I have in mind for him. He kneels and screams as his body quickly degrades. I snap to Giggles with a huge smile on my face...

The grasses sway with the wind. The view of the sunset in this spot is truly romantic. I sigh as I look into her eyes.

"I'm so glad that you could understand me, Giggles. I've only done all of that because of you. Now, nobody would ever bother you and we can stay like this forever~"

I smile as I pat her head. Her wonderful scent wafts in the air as I caress her soft, pink fur. Oh how much I adore her cute face.

"I know you didn't expect me to forgive you after what you've done. That's just how much I love you. I will do anything and everything just to make you smile."

I touch the spot at the end of her lips and help her to smile. After all, she couldn't done that all by herself in this state. I smiled as I remember what she said to me this morning.

"Aren't you glad to have a boyfriend like me?"

♥~♥~♥~♥~♥

Since I turned Cuddles into a killer, does this story counts as a creepypasta?

Writing this is a doozy so I hope you like it the same way that I make it. Write your thoughts down the comments!

0 notes

sequoiann · 7 years

Text

❧ j.ww | saturation

pairing; seventeen wonwoo x reader

genre; fluff, soulmate!wonwoo

synopsis; in which one won’t be able to see color until s/he meets his/her soulmate

word count; 3.1k

notes; finally got to this request !! i’ve been meaning to write it since forever but i never got inspiration for it ahaa but it’s f ina lly done :DD

You stood in front of the vending machine, your fingertips lightly grazing past the glass surface which displayed the different drinks available.

“Hey, which do you want?” you asked your friend, Sura, who was on the phone. When she didn’t reply and continued chattering away to whoever is on the other side of the line --- presumably her boyfriend, you nudged her.

“Quick, we gotta get to class soon,” you told her. You managed to catch her attention, and she brings her phone away from her ear for a moment.

“Sorry! The green one, please!” she said, before putting the phone back to her ear.

“Hey, I’m hanging up, I’ll talk to you later,” she mutters into the phone before ending the call.

She looks to you, who had your arms crossed around your chest, your feet lightly tapping on the ground in mock annoyance.

“Green?” you asked her incredulously. “Might as well tell me the shade of grey that I see.”

Sura widens her eyes slightly, biting in her lips. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I forgot!”

You laugh, breaking the tension. “It’s alright.”

Sura quickly puts in her own coins into the machine and presses on the apparently green-canned drink.

You lived in a world of complete black and white --- and so did everyone else, until they meet their significant other; their soulmate. Sura, of course, had found hers. Her soulmate was from a different school, though, so they only met on weekends --- but their bond was unbreakable. Most of the kids your age could already see color, but you weren’t a part of that group. It wasn’t pleasant. Everything felt monotonously dull, and you just couldn’t feel or see the life in anything. It was almost as if everything was dead.

But you’ve grown up with this for the past 19 years, so it wasn’t like you were not used to it. You just felt unsettled whenever you saw someone gasp upon receiving a bouquet of roses, exclaiming things like “it’s so pretty!”. To you, you just questioned it. What is pretty? It’s just a dark, grey mob.

Even people simply speaking about colors, you couldn’t help but feel left out from the community. But you never mentioned that. You knew that it was inevitable to talk about colors the moment you could see them.

But no matter how edgy you felt whenever you heard about it, you clung onto your friends’ descriptions about colors for dear life. The way they described how yellow was like the bright sun; how it was pretty much the brightest color, and how red was just warm and fiery. The crippling realization that you may never meet your soulmate and may never be in the world of colors had you thinking a lot.

“Y/N! Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Sura spoke, elbowing your side as you two walked down the hall. You snapped out of your thoughts, shaking your head.

“Huh? What?” you asked. Sura raises an eyebrow and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. I must’ve zoned out.”

“I was asking if you wanna go to the party after finals,” Sura repeated herself.

“The tradition’s still going, huh?” you smiled, and Sura grins, playfully, hitting you with her shoulder.

“Of course! It’ll never die. It’s the only thing that motivates us to get through the year, isn’t it?” she says, wiggling her eyebrows, resulting in you lightly slapping her across her cheek, laughing at her comical face.

“Stop doing that,” you laughed.

Sura quickly regains her composure. “Okay, so you up for it, right?”

You furrowed your eyebrows together falsely, stroking your chin with your thumb and index finger. “I don’t know, am I?”

Sura widens her eyes and shoves you, making you bump into a random student, the both of you stumbling.

“Watch where you’re going!” the student scolds, and you immediately apologize. Sura just snickers in the background.

“Look what you did!” you said in a hushed voice after you passed the student, and Sura just shrugs innocently.

“You’re going. I have no one else to go with,” Sura said, practically forcing you on the matter. “Please?”

“Fine,” you relented. “It’s not like I’ll let you go have fun all by yourself anyway.”

Sura lets out an excited squeal, making you smile like a mother would at her child. “Yes!”

“But we’ve gotta study for finals first! It’s next week, and it’s Friday already,” you reminded her.

“Yes mom,” Sura says in a dull voice, taking a 360-degree change, and you chuckled.

Just at that moment, the bell rings for the start of the next class.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, and both you and Sura made a sprint to the lecture hall.

The weeks of finals went by pretty slowly for you. It was a long and mentally-strenuous process of every student having to sit on the plastic chair while their brain fights the urge to walk --- no, run the hell --- out of the door. But no one does, of course; no one can. We all just sit and write the test, but when your mind was on full freak-out mode it’s hard to remember the little details of what you have been studying overnight for.

You constantly flexed your numbing hand from writing pages after pages of essay scripts, feeling the pain of your nails digging into the skin of your clammy palms. You didn’t know if it was you, but whenever it was the examination period, the examination halls’ and/or classrooms’ air were stale, sometimes tinctured with bleach. Was it bleach? You weren’t sure.

But whatever it is, the 2 weeks passed. The school air cleared undoubtedly, for you at least, and your body easily started unwinding --- the tension that was in you dissolving like dust.

“FINALLY!” someone shouted from across the classroom after the last paper ended, making everyone smile, some laughing. “LET’S ALL PARTY TONIGHT!”

Choruses of hyped-up ‘yeah’s were heard.

“Whose house is it this time?” Sura asks to no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear.

“Mingyu’s!” someone replies, and louder cheers erupted.

You smiled. The finals after-party was held at Mingyu’s place two years back, and it was the best yet. His house was big, but not too big that you’d get lost, but big. Really. Bigger than your average household, of course. Mingyu is dubbed as the ‘rich kid’ of the cohort, but he’s nice and friendly, not much like typical rich kids.

“Don’t mess it up too much!” Mingyu calls out jokingly from his seat, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. You scoffed lightheartedly. What kind of party wouldn’t be messy?

“We definitely will!” Soonyoung, the class joker, replies, resulting in Mingyu sticking his tongue out at him before leaving the classroom. It made you chuckle.

“Hey, let’s go over to my dorm room. I’ve got clothes for you for tonight,” Sura said, her books piling up in her arms. “Needa’ visit the locker to dump these first, though.”

“Sure.” You laughed, slinging your dull, green backpack over your shoulder before taking half the stack of books from Sura, grunting a little at the weight. “Why’d you bring so many books today? It’s the last day.”

Sura sighs, the two of you walking to the locker hall. “I had to do some last-minute revision. I left out an entire chapter. But luckily only one question on it was tested.” She smirks, seemingly quite proud.

You scrunched up your nose in disgust. “Ugh. Not fair.”

Sura shakes her shoulders mockingly, and you laugh. She’s such a child.

You two arrived at her locker, and she opens it, dumping all her books inside --- literally.

“You’re just gonna throw them in there?” you asked, widening your eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t need them anymore,” Sura said decidedly, eyeing her pile of books in your hands, and nodding towards the dump in her locker. You chuckled and threw the pile in there, too. Sura quickly shuts the metallic locker door, locking it, and the two of you made your way over to Sura’s dorm.

Sura had her dorm all to herself, since her roommate had migrated a while back. Lucky her. The dorm was decently big, and being the only one living in it was a luxury.

Sura plonks down on her own bed, and you did so on the other empty, unoccupied bed. You sometimes sneaked in after roll-call to bunk with Sura, so this room was pretty much like your own. Your own roommate never told on you.

“What’s the dress code for tonight?” you asked. Each year was different; to spice it up a bit and make it more significant. There was one year where they jokingly made the dress code to be ball attires, and it was horrendous. The ladies came wearing huge, puffy ball gowns, and there was barely any space to walk. Everyone kept complaining about their dress being stepped on, too. The entire party got cancelled in the end, you heard. You and Sura didn’t go that year, purely because the idea of wearing gowns in this modern era sounded ridiculous to you two. The both of you weren’t the type to use these kind of chances to flaunt. Apparently, no one else in the school had the same mindset at the two of you. It was funny hearing stories about it, actually.

“Casual,” Sura said, grinning. You pursed your lips in a self-satisfied smile, too.

“I’m calling on dibs on your hoodie,” you said quickly, running to Sura’s closet.

“Which?” she asked.

“I don’t know, the really comfy one?” you said, pushing aside her hanged clothes. You finally spotted the hoodie you were looking for, and pulled it out.

“This one!” you said, waving it in the air. Sura was about to argue for it, but stopped herself.

“Fine, you take that one, I’ll take the other... um, army green one...” she trailed off, hopping off her bed and walking over to you. She rummages through her closet, before pulling out a hoodie which was simply of a dark grey shade to your eyes. You couldn’t help but run your hands across the fabric.

“Army green,” you said, letting the words roll of your tongue. “Must be pretty dark.”

Sura smiles. “It is,” she confirms. “Pair it with jeans?”

You nod. “Casual and cute.”

The both of you laugh. Hoodies paired with skinny jeans were your most commonly worn set of clothes. Sura and you were pretty much the same height and size, so clothes were exchanged all the time. She pulls out a pair of ripped light-colored jeans --- you didn’t even know the color of denim --- and you just pull it on, together with the hoodie you had taken out.

Yes, you were that close with Sura that you two would even change in front of each other.

“Time check!” you called, fixing your hood.

“We’ve got... 1 more hour till the party starts,” Sura said.

You pulled a face. “That’s long.”

“Not if we make a trip to Starbucks outside campus,” Sura said, grinning. You returned the grin and the both of you dashed out. Your campus oddly didn’t have a coffee store, unlike most of others, but the other facilities easily made up for it.

You still needed your daily dose of caffeine, though. The both of you made a super quick trip to Starbucks, before heading for the party.

You and Sura arrived at Mingyu’s house 15 minutes past the starting time, aka 7:15 pm. It was already packed, as you expected, and would fill up more over the next half an hour of so. It’s like that every year.

Sura spots her boyfriend in the middle of the sea of humans, and nudges you excitedly. You smiled and let her go over. Her boyfriend was one of the ‘special’ recognized guests allowed into the annual parties.

You squeeze through the dark crowd, trying not to trip over feet or knock over anyone’s party cups. Spotting Mingyu at a corner, you waved to him.

“Hey, Mingyu!” you called out. Mingyu turns his attention away from his group of friends to you.

“You’re here!” he walks over, handing you his cup of drink --- which you gladly take. You and Mingyu were pretty close; you two always studied together for upcoming tests.

You hummed as you downed the unknown liquid hungrily. You hissed a little as the bitter substance burned your throat slightly.

“Vodka?” you questioned.

Mingyu shrugs. “There’s punch in the back, if you want.”

You laughed, hitting him lightly. “No thanks.”

“By the way,” Mingyu said, slightly cautious of his words.

“Yeah?”

“...Still black and white, right?” he asks, and you nod, emotionless.

“Someone transferred to our school, and he’s starting next week,” Mingyu told you. “He skipped the finals. And he’s coming today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Mingyu pursed his lips together. “I mean, I talked to him beforehand. He’s really nice. And you could be lucky this time.”

You huffed. “I can only wish.”

You grabbed another cup of vodka from the counter top, sipping on it. You didn’t want to get tipsy too quickly.

Mingyu’s phone rings in his pocket, and you were surprised that you could actually hear it above the loud music that was being blasted over huge speakers.

Mingyu checks his cell, and smiles. “He’s here.”

“Go ahead,” you said, and Mingyu stands up from leaning on the wall.

“Be right back.”

You started to wander around the place, with only your half-full cup in hand. It wasn’t easy to get around, of course, with everyone everywhere, but once you managed to escape the crowd, the back of the house was pretty empty. Except for a few people who were just all over the opposite sex. You escaped that too, of course. You didn’t need to see where they were gonna take it to.

You realized that there were random groups of cups of vodka on almost every table you passed, and you took that to your advantage, grabbing a cup whenever you finished yours. You knew you could hold your liquor pretty well, so you didn’t think much about it.

“Y/N! Wonwoo’s here,” you heard someone call from behind. You turned around, and something just suddenly seemed to blind you.

The man named Wonwoo, who standing beside Mingyu, was practically glowing. He wasn’t in black and white --- the only shades you have been seeing since forever. It was as if the saturation meter got turned up to its highest setting. His hair was of a certain dark shade, closely resembling the shade of the bark of oak trees, his sweater of a hue that was warm but vivid and vibrant, his jeans in the pigmentation of denim. He was in color.

When your eyes met, the colors didn’t spread calmly like you had expected all along. Everything around you seemed to slow down as the colors burst from him, swirling like oils and dyeing every other bit of whatever was in your field of vision.

There was a moment where both of your faces were simply washed blank with confusion, like your brain cogs could not turn fast enough to take in the sight before your very eyes. Every muscle in your body froze, and you could only hear and feel the hard palpitation of your heart against your chest.

Your other half obviously recovered from the stupefaction faster than you did. A wide grin spread across Wonwoo’s face as he took 2 large strides towards you. He wrapped you in a warm swaddle of his arms and his chest, and pulled you close. Despite the temporary heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

“I--- You--- That’s---” you stuttered, making Wonwoo chuckle as he hugged you just a little tighter. He didn’t want to let you go.

“Yes, that’s color,” he said, his voice low and comforting to your ears. “I see it.”

Your eyes couldn’t help but dart around the room, observing every single thing. So this was what they called pretty. It was, indeed.

You pulled away from Wonwoo, and you unconsciously held onto his arms as you looked up at him, into his eyes.

“Your eyes,” you said softly. It was sparkling. It wasn’t the usual dull, soulless eyes that you’ve been looking into, in others, for the past nineteen years.

“Brown,” Wonwoo said, smiling gently. “My friends told me it’s brown.”

You broke out in a wider smile, your hand caressing his cheek lightly. You were amazed, really. But more than that, you felt a odd feeling in you. Something that seemed to knot in your stomach, but made you feel light.

“I told you!” Mingyu exclaimed from the background, breaking the atmosphere. You look over to him, who seemed more excited than yourself, laughing.

“Get lost!” you said, and Mingyu holds both hands up in defense.

“I will, to let you two have your own catch-up time,” Mingyu said, winking before walking away.

You didn’t know that Wonwoo hadn’t gotten his eyes off you yet. When you turned back to him, he abruptly closed the distance between the two of you, pressing his soft lips onto yours. You were taken aback for a moment, but Wonwoo’s arm on your lower back gently pulled you closer, and you let yourself melt into the kiss.

You never felt more fulfilled in your life.

“Hey, I’ve got to go find Wonwoo. That ass said he’ll teach me Math today,” you said. You two said your goodbyes on the phone and hung up.

“What did you call me?”

You whipped your head around, surprised to see the mentioned person behind you.

“Oh, hi Wonwoo!” you quickly said, smiling sweetly. Wonwoo mimics your smile exaggeratedly, then returns to his expressionless face.

“I asked, what did you call me?” he repeats lowly, making you want to burst out laughing.

“An ass!” you sputter, before running down the hallway in a giggly mess. Wonwoo laughs and runs after you, easily catching up and wrapping his arms around your waist from the back.

“More like the love of your life,” he teases.

“Wonwoo, we’re in the middle of the hallway!” you laugh, trying to wiggle out of his grasp.

“So?” he said, chuckling. His embrace loosens and you turn around to face him, and he plants a light peck on your nose. You scrunched up your features cutely, making Wonwoo chuckle.

“Cuddle night?” he asks, and you excitedly nod.

“I’m up for that anytime.”

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 63

*incoherent noises and babbling as I slowly die* <3

Flinching from the digits goading his backside, Blackout recoiled and leaned forward with a monstrous and threatening snarl.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt so much if you just sat still.”

“I only move when you goad your digits into my frame,” Blackout countered with annoyance. “Therefore, I’m not the problem here.”

“Are you suggesting I’m the problem?” the medic inquired in a tone so frigid with malice it could probably freeze a mech on the spot.

Tick the femme off who had tools near his spinal strut and risk being impaled or paralyzed, or be honest and tell her she was a barbaric twisted manic like just about every other medic he’d ever met. Decisions, decisions...

Lucky for him, she decided not to prob him further for his answer. On the down side, she decided to make sure he knew who was boss by probing him inside his frame.

Blackout narrowed his optics slightly at the flare up of pain; the light within them going almost black as his mood turned more sour. He’d been pent up for days since Novastrike’s departure in that slagging room with other mechs and femmes. No outlet, no work, no job or motion just told to sit and to heal.

Sitting was not his purpose in life. He was a mech of motion; action spoke louder than words. Energy coursed his veins. Becoming a stationary decoration was not who he was, it was against his very being. If you stopped moving, you simply ceased existence.

Something cool pressed into the exposed protoform of his back and allowed himself to relax slightly. Whatever it was, it was a lot better than the pestering sharp utensils and digits.

“You’re coming along nicely,” the medic informed him with a calmer voice. “Considering your backside was an enormous shrapnel mess and the super-heated burns on your shoulder and burns grazing your chassis and well- everything else considered.”

“Thanks, doc,” the obsidian mech quipped in short reply.

The femme gave a testy ‘tut tut’ as she went on, “Well I can’t help it if you threw yourself at just about every bot we encountered. You can’t blame me for how battered you were. Your protoform’s going to have some obvious bruising and soreness for a while. I expect you’re going to have some lovely new scarring from that encounter you had with a thermo blade.”

Blackout grunted in response. “I’ve been shoved into furnaces by previous masters,” he blatantly informed her. “I know what heat is capable of.”

“Yet you were going to allow it to sever your arm?”

“I was careful.”

The medic snorted with disbelief though said nothing more on the matter.

Scanning his optics around the room from his vantage point, Blackout spoke up in a slightly more anxious tone: “Where’s Scorponok?”

“Recharging in a different room. I’m guessing you didn’t feel him nearby?”

The obsidian mech shifted uncomfortably, both from whatever the femme was plucking at on his backside and the edgy feeling he got at the femme mentioning how he couldn’t feel his partner. Bonds were a private matter. He didn’t much care for others making suggestions on his, true or not.

“Don’t worry, he’s coming along nicely. I’ve still got some replacement’s to put into his drill. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to re manufacture sections of armor for an appendage on a minicon. Especially a minicon with such a complex system.”

“He’s not that complex,” Blackout defended.

“Maybe not a mech whose taken care of him for eons,” the femme agreed. “But his formatting is pretty unique compared to other patients I’ve taken care of. That’s part of the reason it’s taking so long to repair.”

Giving a short vent, the hulking ebony figure turned his helm slightly away as the femme moved to inspect his side. He followed the placement of her servos on him to determine where she wanted him to move his arm as she looked over the seams of his armor. With a click, she began removing plating to look over the burns and damage beneath the smooth surface of his buffed plates.

With a gentle mental nudge, he poked Scorponok through the bond to see if the scorpion was awake or not. There was no direct response, but there was a haze clouding his thoughts. Recharging indeed; his defenses were down, the barrier between them gone as the bug rested.

At least judging by this, he was comfortable and resting peacefully. Not in any sort of pain. He gently closed the imaginary door between them so that his own thoughts wouldn’t bleed into the small mech’s and wake him up.

As the femme walked in front of him and started peering at his chassis armor and examining his faceplate and helm, Blackout offlined his optics. The light blinked out with a wink of light and shuttered closed as he played a game of tolerance. His thoughts drifted with boredom. Thinking of the benign femme he cared so deeply and fondly for.

The way Novastrike’s optics burned with a gleaming light, the shape of her smile when, the sound of her bubbly laughter. His spark trembled with longing. She visited when she could but the tiny femme was busy with her acting position as commander. Slag he missed her, he missed being useful. He missed holding her in the wee jours of darkness and listening to the sound of her quiet breathing and the peaceful look on her face when she was recharging, or the light brush of her servos against him as though he was the fragile one of the two of them. Such care and beauty and-

A few accidental octaves of refracted musical notes, deep and opaque as his armor filled the air. Blackout’s optics flashed with light as they opened with humiliation. The blinding hues of crimson locking on to the medic’s as she glanced up to his face with some surprise.

His expression instantly grew cross as the femme offered a shrewd little smile.

“Something on your processor, big and scary?”

“That’s none of your business or concern.”

“Well that’s not the tone you should be using towards a medical official,” the femme announced with disapproval. “I should see about popping you open just to make sure that that wasn’t the sound of a damaged spark...”

“Try it, and I promise you a very unpleasant response,” Blackout rumbled threateningly.

“Always so touchy,” the femme muttered, shaking her helm as she turned her gaze back to her work. “You know I did spend time learning the basis of personality disorders, behaviorism, psychology-”

“Great, so you’re constantly deducing our motives and actions. Fascinating.”

“What I was going to say,” the medic seethed, “is that I know a thing or two about the reactions and reasons behind the actions of our thoughts and our bodies. Mind you I’m not the most experienced, but I don’t exactly hear someone’s spark singing every day...”

Blackout turned his optics nervously to the side. To deny it would give the femme reasonable cause to pop his chassis open like a can. To admit that that was indeed as she suspected was simply unacceptable. It was his spark, his reaction, and it had nothing to do with the harassing femme in front of him.

“You going to tell me what’s it all about or do I get to guess?” the medic teased as she worked.

Ah, to Pit with it. Folks suspected it anyway.

“Just thinking about Novastrike,” he confessed softly.

“As I suspected.”

Blackout swallowed at the tightening feeling in his throat. He surprised even himself as he whispered out the next words, his voice wavering and dripping with emotion as he faintly mumbled, “I... Do you have some manual, or advice, as to how a bot... goes about confessing feelings to another?”

The medic brought her helm up with a snap so fast, Blackout winced at the idea of the whiplash that may have caused in her neck cables.

“Pardon?” she asked, her optics a bit wider now.

“I... nevermind,” he muttered, flustered and frustrated.

With her optics softened, the femme leaned back a bit. “I’m afraid programs exist as far as I know on how to properly express one’s emotions. Which one are you trying to explicitly voice?”

“Nothing,” Blackout growled, growing vexed now.

“Maybe a femme or a medic’s standpoint would help you. What is it you’re having problems with?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I’m your medic, my job is to help.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Well I’m not,” the medic remarked. “So tell me, or try talking me through this thing you’re having trouble with, and with who-”

“By the Well of Allspark,” Blackout snarled as he turned to look the femme in the optics. “Love, okay? Are you happy now? I don’t know how to tell Novastrike that I love her.”

The anger instantly vanished from his faceplate with one of dismay.

“Oh, dear,” the medic laughed softly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” snapped the giant mech.

Still laughing, the femme shook her helm as she babbled, “Oh no no no no, I’m sorry- I don’t mean to laugh,” she snickered, “Dear, I’m only laughing because this is nothing new to me.”

Puzzled, Blackout drew his optic ridges together.

“Guard and I have known you loved her for some time,” the femme cackled. “It was obvious. The way you looked at her, the fact you stuck around for so long, how you came to her defense at the flick of a switch-”

“You could cease laughing about it,” he simmered furiously. “It’s not very humorous.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s not,” she agreed as her giggles faded out.

Raising an optic ridge, the mech gave a thoughtful rumble in his chassis as he spoke faintly, “Guard knows?”

“Brought it up to me, actually,” the femme stated.

Primus, everyone knew before him? Figures when he couldn’t determine what his own feelings were in the first place.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she went on, continuing her scans once more as she spoke, “you were pretty obvious. As if the great and powerful Blackout, king of darkness, ruler of the Pits of Kaon, terrifying ender of worlds simply stuck around because he wanted to take some down time.”

Ignoring her playful jabs, Blackout decided to take a stab in the dark. “You didn’t exactly offer your professional opinion on my question.”

There was a slight pause in the medic’s examination once more, and then she stated in the calmest most breezy of voices, “I don’t think any bot is capable of telling you how to move forward from here. I will give you one solid piece of advise, though. Don’t wait forever. Don’t put it off. Frankly, mech up and speak your mind, because if you hold back what your spark wants, if you try waiting for that perfect moment, you’ll never find it. There will always be something holding you back.”

She was right.

Blackout hated to admit it, but she was. If he continued to bite his glossia, doubting and second-guessing, he’d never know the truth of how she felt and he’d never be able to open up about his own. And he could hardly stand the torture of a world where one day she may slip through his digits because he couldn’t utter a few words and take a chance.

His life was full of chances. What was one more?

But at the risk of losing her... the way her optics lit up, the sway of her hips, the slight of servo just to touch her. He remembered how her breath caught in her throat at the barest of contact and how he could swear he felt the pounding of her spark just beneath armor. Humming, singing, beating with anticipation. Actions and reactions from the touch of a devil who knew little shame and couldn’t resist himself.

She burned a fueling fire in his empty shell of a body he called home all his life that he didn’t even know was possible. Novastrike opened a world up to him he didn’t know existed; multiple universes of possibilities, chances, places, feelings. It brought life to darkness, awakened deadened parts and sections of the core of his being that never had a chance to grow and learn and prosper under a gentle touch and warm smile. He learned a whole new way of life, entirely different and unbearably enjoyable.

He gave up being a Decepticon for her. Gave up his career, his pride, his ego; he dropped it all to follow a new path he felt drawn to. And in that new path he was better. Whole. And he couldn’t find a single reason to regret giving any of it up. What did any of that matter? It didn’t make him happy. It only gave him a sense of purpose he craved so desperately all his life.

The problem still stirred within him though. He was a mech of facts and rational. And for what reason would he chance throwing out his feelings and risk losing the best relationship he’d ever had besides Scorponok? The closest friend he had, a trustworthy comrade, a friendly and delightful presence that warmed his life?

The medic had one thing true. If he allowed his fear to guide him away from something truly special, he would never know what could lie in wait for him.

He couldn’t say how long his thoughts had drifted, but the medic stood up straight and stretched upward to the ceiling. The sound of her grunt brought him back from his own thoughts and he stared at her steadily.

“You’re still not 100%, but you’re definitely stable and I’d say, free to go back to your quarters, so long as you check in for checkups,” the femme remarked. “I’ll have Scorponok moved back in here after the rest of my appointments of course and will keep you updated on his condition.”

She looked Blackout in the face then, and took a step back quickly.

“Primes, mech, are you feeling alright?”

Blackout frowned a touch. “Yes. Why?”

“Your optics just look- nevermind,” she muttered, shaking her helm. She raised her servo and waved it to the door. “You’re free to go.”

Frowning a little deeper, Blackout stood up from the flat slab of metal and headed for the door. With a glance over his shoulder he watched the femme walk over to another patient in the room. He paused by a set of her tools, glancing curiously at the reflective surface.

The scarlet of his optics was burning so brightly it almost had a tangible glow around them.

Embarrassed, he set a dimmer on his optics and lowered his helm as he walked out of the room, nearly running into the bot walking by.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“My apologies-” Blackout stated immediately, and then met the optics of the mech he walked into.

Neutroboost sneered at him with that stupid look on his faceplate.

Deadpanning at the mech, Blackout’s expression went from apologetic to serious in less than a nanoklik. “I take it back,” he growled, “I’m not sorry.”

“You should be you giant dolt! I’m not your teeny femme after all, you can actually see me.”

A dangerous rumbled pressurized through Blackout’s armor. It caused his frame and the nearby metal to vibrate from the low tones it struck.

“Hard to apologize to an arrogant, vain, pompous mech who was missing the entire fight against the Revenge II,” Blackout scolded.

“I had other priorities.”

“I bet your aft did, you low-life cowardly scum.”

Neutroboost went to stand a bit taller on the tips of his pedes as his optics went wide. “You take that back you- you imbecile!”

“Or what?” Blackout challenged, allowing a sinister grin to grow on his faceplate.

The smaller mech’s optics blazed with fury as he raised his arms, throwing them up in the air wildly. “You’ll see, you good-for-nothing moron! Stomping around carelessly, running into bots-”

“At least I didn’t hide in my room during the fighting and let everyone save my aft. Some commander you are Neutroboost, bravo, we should give you a medal.”

Lowering his arms, the smaller mech released an angry huff.

Satisfied, Blackout turned, purposefully whacking his side against the mech’s as he went to walk by.

Neutroboost stumbled into the wall. He whispered loudly as Blackout passed, just enough to make sure he was heard, “Buffoon's almost as dense as that femme.”

Before the mech could react, Blackout pivoted hard on his pede and swung around to nail a fist into Neutroboost’s side. The satisfying crunch of his armor as he punched him was quite the rewarding musical.

Hitting the floor hard, Blackout raised a pede and pressed it against the mech’s neck. Neutroboost sputtered and hissed, gagging as he reached up to claw at Blackout’s pede with his flimsy little digits.

“What did you just call my femme?” Blackout barely whispered, dangerously pressing his pede further into the mech’s throat.

“Get off me-” Neutroboost wheezed.

“You so much as breath a word of insult to her, about her, or around her and I’ll crush your helm into scrap, you got that?”

“Off-” Neutro raspily gasped.

“Are we clear?” Blackout practically roared, raising his voice now as he pressed his weight further into the mech. “If you touch her, hurt her, upset her so help me I will tear you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of you, you sniveling gutless bastard.”

Huffing and puffing desperately and with fear, Neutroboost tried in vain to tear at Blackout’s leg armor. He barely managed to scuff at the paint.

Leaning down, Blackout rumbled in the depths of his chassis. “You’re a disappointment to every bot on this ship,” he growled. “Everyone here tolerates you on behalf of Guard. You should be grateful he keeps you on the ship, let alone as a commander. You spit your foul venom and you threaten and bark orders that you won’t even take. You’re nothing but a spineless weakling. I’m through with playing nice with you. I’ll tear out your beating spark and squash it between my digits if I must. I’ve done it before, and I’ll done it again.”

“You better watch what you say and what you do,” he continued. “Because I can deal with the consequences of my actions if I have to remove you permanently from this ship, one way or another. You, on the other servo, won’t get the chance. Spit and fume all you want, but your attitude helps no bot on this vessel. And so help me, Novastrike deserves better than to work beside your cowardly, blubbering, patronizing aft. You offend her in the slightest, I’ll break your neck. Are we clear?”

Neutroboost turned a panicked, if not furious optics up to him. The light flickered and flashed in irregular intervals as he tried to nod his helm.

Lifting his pede, Blackout slowly placed it on the floor once more beside Neutroboost.

The older commander snorted and snuffled. Placing a servo to the floor he raised himself up slightly as he retched and purged up strings of energon from his mouth and upon the floor.

“Blackout?”

Raising his helm, Blackout glanced down the hall to see a concerned Guard hobbling swiftly in their direction. His faceplate showed extreme levels of alarm as he teetered over.

“Is everything okay?” the old mech huffed, looking down at Neutroboost as he shivered and whined.

“Everything’s fine,” Blackout stated absently, offering a warm smile towards the elder mech. “He just slipped.”

Guard didn’t look entirely convinced as he met Blackout’s optics, but didn’t counteract or ask for verification on the matter.

Nodding respectfully to the old bot, Blackout turned back to head down the hallway. He could hear Guard trying to question Neutro as he rasply informed the elder mech to ‘sod off’ and ‘leave him alone’.

Poor, sad, pathetic little mech. He wasn’t taking Blackout’s warning very seriously. Maybe he’d have to offer him another example later, but at the moment, he had somewhere he had to be.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP

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kassassq · 4 years

Text

Is Your Food Making You Sick?

Twenty-multi year New Jersey teacher, Jennifer Vigne, battled with what she called an "uncooperative stomach related framework" since she was a kid. Throughout the years, her primary care physicians requested numerous tests and performed exploratory medical procedures searching for the reason for her manifestations yet nothing turned up. At long last, around 10 years prior she was determined to have a condition her gastroenterologist called crabby entrail disorder (IBS). It got so serious during the most recent four years that she quit going out with companions dreading her side effects would come on without notice when she wasn't approaching a bathroom. She was recommended a wide range of meds however they just gave brief alleviation, never a fix. Her side effects simply continued deteriorating. "The dread of having a stomach assault highly involved with educating, driving, or climbing left me constrained with activities and frequently feeling discouraged and edgy", said Vigne. Notably, she was experiencing nourishment sensitivities from the start and didn't have any acquaintance with it. She was eating nourishments consistently that was making her invulnerable framework respond and trigger her interminable gut side effects. After being assessed for nourishment sensitivities utilizing a blood test called MRT (Mediator Release Test), she began the LEAP ImmunoCalm Diet. In only 10 days her side effects started to die down and after one year she remains for all intents and purposes indication free. Nourishment Allergy versus Food Sensitivity: what's the distinction? The principle contrasts between nourishment hypersensitivities and nourishment sensitivities are the sorts of responses that ordinarily happen, the time allotment where they happen, the measure of nourishment expected to trigger a response, and the kinds of nourishments that are commonly associated with responses. Maybe the most popular side effect of nourishment sensitivity is likewise its least normal and generally hazardous - hypersensitivity. At the point when this occurs, the aviation route fixes, the throat swells, circulatory strain seriously drops, and unsteadiness, dazedness, and blacking out can happen. Individuals with hypersensitivity can bite the dust close to ingesting only a scrap of an unfavorably susceptible nourishment. Luckily, manifestations of nourishment sensitivities are not normally this serious. The vast majority with nourishment sensitivities for the most part experience far less hazardous, but vexatious, side effects including hives, tingling, expanding, wheezing, stomach torment, sickness, retching, looseness of the bowels, and wooziness. Despite the seriousness of the response, hypersensitive nourishments are not regularly hard to recognize because of the brief timeframe outline in which manifestations create and because most by far of cases are ascribed to at least one of the accompanying eight nourishments: peanuts, tree nuts, fish, shellfish, eggs, bovine's milk, wheat, and soy. In contrast to the prompt response of a hypersensitivity, nourishment affectability side effects can take as long as a few days to surface. To additionally confuse the image, nourishment sensitivities are portion needy, implying that a limited quantity of culpable nourishment may not be sufficient to cause side effects without fail. Add to this the mind-boggling insusceptible components engaged with nourishment sensitivities, and you have a particularly troublesome riddle to understand. Therefore, nourishment sensitivities frequently go undiscovered or misdiagnosed for quite a long time just like the case with Jennifer Vigne. Another significant contrast among hypersensitivities and sensitivities is the rate of event. Nourishment hypersensitivities happen in around 2 % of the American populace. Nourishment sensitivities, then again, are unquestionably increasingly normal - a huge number of individuals have nourishment sensitivities and many don't have any acquaintance with it. Nourishment sensitivities influence an expected 20-30% of the American populace! They are related to an unprecedented exhibit of medical issues and can cause or intensify incessant irritation anyplace in the body, even the skin. This was the situation with multi-year old Robert Switzer, an understudy at St. Joe's High School in Metuchen, NJ. He languished with incessant skin inflammation over the years. His eyes were constantly red and swollen and his skin tingled such a lot of that he was unable to stay asleep from sundown to sunset without scratching until he drained. It even hurt to scrub down. He needed to stop the swimming club and quit playing ice hockey because the chlorinated pool water and his very own perspiration bothered his open injuries compounding the agony. "I was extremely incredulous about going to see another authority. I didn't figure nourishment could be causing my serious skin inflammation. Yet, the LEAP Diet gave me practically quick help. I attempted such a significant number of various medications previously yet nothing verged on functioning just as this has," said Switzer. Other than IBS and skin inflammation, numerous other incessant incendiary conditions are related to nourishment sensitivities including Migraines, Fibromyalgia, Crohn's Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD), Arthritis, Dermatitis, Psoriasis, and Metabolic Syndrome. A portion of the side effects experienced by individuals with nourishment sensitivities incorporate • Diarrhea, Abdominal Pain, Bloating, Gas • Muscle Aches and Stiffness, Joint Pain • Fatigue, Forgetfulness, Irritability, Insomnia, Depression, Anxiety • Sinus Pain, Excess Mucous, Sore Throat • Itchy Skin, Rashes, Redness Nourishment sensitivities can be brought about by any nourishment - even apparently sound nourishments. What's more, it's not simply nourishment that can make the insusceptible framework respond; nourishment synthetic compounds can do likewise. Both normally happening synthetic concoctions (like solanine in potatoes) and included synthetic concoctions like those in handled nourishments can cause sensitivities. This ended up being valid for multi-year-old Judi Ginsky of Monroe, NJ. She was tried and found to have seven unique synthetic compounds sensitivities notwithstanding her 29 nourishment sensitivities! "As the years passed by, I was getting and feeling more broken down. I was 'wakeful' yet scarcely working. I was unable to keep my eyes open," announced Galinsky. She caught wind of the LEAP-MRT Program from her primary care physician and chose to get tried. She was stunned to discover that huge numbers of the sound nourishments she was eating were not really solid for her. Only 11 weeks on the Leap ImmunoCalm Diet, she shed 28 pounds and her primary care physician took her off every single professionally prescribed medicine for hypertension, diabetes, raised cholesterol and reflux since she didn't require them any longer. Recuperating Yourself from Food Sensitivities On the off chance that you presume you are encountering nourishment sensitivities before you do whatever else, meet with your PCP to preclude an increasingly significant issue. At that point, on the off chance that you need to attempt a DIY approach, start by keeping an exceptionally itemized nourishment journal for half a month and take out every one of the nourishments you think are causing side effects. Each, in turn, re-bring them over into your eating regimen to check whether you can pinpoint the nourishment that is giving you melancholy. Lamentably, this can resemble searching for a needle in a pile. A superior alternative is to get tried for nourishment sensitivities. On the off chance that you choose to do this, make certain to utilize a legitimate test like the Mediator Release Test (MRT) by Oxford Biomedical Technologies. This protected blood test is right now the most exact test accessible available. Lorraine Matthews-Antosiewicz, MS RD, is a nourishment and sustenance master who spends significant time in weight the executives and stomach related wellbeing. She is focused on engaging individuals through instruction, backing, and motivation to roll out genuine improvements that lead to ideal wellbeing. If you will be you are experiencing difficult stomach-related side effects, get the "Manual for Digestive Wellness: 10 sound gut tips and procedures"

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anastasiavitsky · 6 years

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Wow.

It’s like the children’s poem about wanting a horseshoe nail and losing a kingdom, only in reverse.

We got a canny collar, which helped with reactivity. We worked on her reactivity, which helped with letting her off the lead (for tiny periods.) We let her off the lead one moment at a time, which helped with her focus and calmness, plus trusting me. We worked on her focus, calmness, and trusting me, which helped pass her bronze exam. We passed her bronze exam, which helped with confidence. We both felt more confident, which helped with everyday challenges (walking on a crowded pavement, not freaking out when strangers approach, not lunging after cars/bikes/joggers). We were better able to navigate everyday challenges, so we got to try an agility class. We got to try agility, which made us excited at finally learning grown-up things! We got to learn even more exciting grown-up things at our silver obedience class, and she did so well that she’s tentatively booked for her silver exam at the end of May. Getting booked in for her silver exam has been a huge motivational boost for training of all kinds. And…now she’s tried scentwork!

Okay, my version isn’t as catchy as the children’s one, but the gist is the same. One tiny thing affected another, which affected another, which affected bigger and bigger things. Only in our case, it was a snowball of positive events. To the point that I’m now seriously wondering if we’ve finally, finally broken the back of her teenage bratty stage (for now!). Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled she still has spunk after everything she’s been through, and I would never want her to be cowed or timid. However, it’s lovely to see her growing up and maturing. (Just watch. Tomorrow I’ll moan at how everything’s gone to pot and she’s bratty again. 😛 )

One of the biggest challenges in our new home has been exercise. We live in a small apartment (flat to my British readers) with a paved backyard (I’d say garden for British readers, but it really is a paved yard). It’s lovely to have our own space free from fear and worries, but it’s not safe for running around. Ladybug was just getting reliable off lead in the park (and able to run around with other dogs) when we were attacked, not just once but twice.

What happens when you have a young, intelligent, and task-oriented border collie puppy in a small space?

Plus a puppy who has to be careful about overexertion?

That’s right, folks. You’ve got Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for…Puppy! 😀

So, one of the options I discovered was scentwork. No jumping, no running around, and it can be done in a small space. I found a workshop and signed up. I was a bit nervous as it’s a three-hour block of time, and even our one-hour obedience classes can get too long. I was sure there would be breaks and so on, but I didn’t know if Ladybug could focus for such a long period.

Also, because we’ve had such negative experiences with previous (obedience) classes, I worried about her interactions with the teacher. Ladybug is not a perfectly behaved dog, and sometimes she freaks out at people approaching her. Dog-loving instructors *usually* are okay, but not always. And, since she hadn’t been off-leash and able to run around with other dogs, I worried that she’d be skittish, edgy, barky, and (honestly) a pain for the class.

If she didn’t like scentwork, I didn’t mind. I won’t make her do something fun unless she wants to, but I didn’t want her to misbehave in class and trigger a negative reaction from other students/dogs and the teacher. Plus, to be frank, I didn’t want to hear negative comments. She’s still a young puppy, she’s been through more in her short lifetime than most people in their entire lives, and I’m sick and tired of the criticism.

Constructive feedback how I can train her better? Absolutely!

Destructive comments, like saying she’s aggressive and needs to be put down (because people violate her space, don’t respect her requests to back off, won’t let her escape, and she barks at them)? I don’t need that, and neither does she. I’ve been told by various people for most of her life that I don’t know what I’m doing and that I’m doing everything wrong, and it’s seriously hurt my relationship with her. I’m a first-time puppy mama, she’s almost died, and I’m scared of letting her down.

So, walking into the scentwork workshop was a wonderful surprise.

I’d filled out a pre-workshop questionnaire detailing her personality, history, training, and issues. Ellen was lovely and accommodating. We were given first choice of where to work (I asked to be near a door so Ladybug and I could slip out when she needed space), and we were given one-quarter of the barn for ourselves. (This came in handy when she needed a quick chase around our area to let off some steam, and it provided a buffer zone when a nearby anxious/reactive dog and she got into a tiff.)

Before the class, I’d done some baby scentwork exercises I’d seen on youtube. I held out a scent pot (really, a plastic Easter egg with two small holes :P) filled with whole cloves, and I rewarded her for sniffing it. I tucked bits of steamed chicken into Easter eggs and hid them all over, and she learned to find them. A treat went under large plastic drinking cups, and I swapped them around so she could find the treat. We worked up to eight cups with three treats to find, and she loved it. Oh, and she’s been having a great time with her buster mat (although that’s not necessarily only by scent).

To my surprise, in comparison with what we’d done at home, the work in the class was very easy. In fact, at a few points Ladybug said, “Nope, I’m done!” because she’d gotten things right several times in a row. But I loved the set up when we had our one-on-one sessions with Ellen. We went into a semi-enclosed area, and each lessons of short session was a clearly defined, intuitive, and easy to learn. Then we were sent away for a good long break while Ellen worked with the other four dogs.

In between the mini lessons, we had an exercise to practice on our own.

(Photos, clockwise from top left: Ladybug bored after mastering an exercise, watching a horse on one of our little walks, relaxing at home after a long day, curled up while waiting for her next session, and the various bags of treats I’d prepared to keep her motivated.)

As you can see from the photo, Ladybug was quick to tell me when she’d had enough. 😀 While she probably could have used tasks that were a bit harder, it was eye-opening to see just how quickly and confidently she responded when everything was fail-proof.

Our first task?

Play with a scented sock.

OMG. Ladybug thought she’d died and gone to puppy heaven. She’s never allowed to play with any clothes at home (for obvious reasons), and she couldn’t believe her luck. We played fetch, catch, tug, hide-and-seek, and good old fashioned shake-the-prey for ages. In fact, we didn’t even need treats for almost the first hour because she thought the sock was her reward.

Plus, with plenty of space around us, I could let her have a bit of a run (on the leash, as there was one other dog who was anxious and reacted badly to her). We even practiced some heelwork using the sock as the lure. 😀

First task? Smashing success.

Second task was to nudge the sock with her nose.

Sounds super easy, but at first she was confused by the lack of instructions. Ellen put the sock on top of a box. We waited, and Ladybug looked confused. (She was also distracted by having a good sniff around the working area.) Then we put a small treat (diced steamed potato) on top of the sock. Sniff, click, and treat. Yay! Then without the treat. Again, without any instructions. Ladybug figured it out for herself. (This was a huge revelation for me, and it’s changed how I approach her training at home.) We did it a few more times (adding one or two more sockless boxes as decoys), and by the end Ladybug was quite pleased with herself. She pranced back to our side of the barn, we did some practice on our own, and we had another walk around the farm.

Newsflash: My little scaredy-cat puppy ably defends me from attackers in the park, but she’s (apparently) terrified of horses. I was glad for her canny collar, as it took quite a bit of persuading to calm her down. (Note to self: need to help Ladybug get over her fear of horses, as two of our classes are held on farms with horses.) It served as a great distraction practice for heelwork, though. We also practiced her circles and other agility basics in between our individual sessions, so it was quite a productive session. 😀

The workshop continued with slightly more challenging exercises each time, and the next to last one was a car search. (Or, rather, an introduction for later car search training.) What did our fearless puppy have to do?

Walk around the car, find the bits of chicken lunch meat stuck onto the car, and eat them.

Seriously! 😀 😀 😀

First she got to play with a sock, and then she got to eat chicken from a car!

I goofed up my job, though, as I led her the wrong way the second time around. (Oops!) I was too excited at watching her have fun. I mean, how can you fail when it’s finding chicken slapped onto a car? I can’t wait to find a quiet parking lot so we can do this together. 😀 She looked at me with a little disbelief at first (Wait, you’re LETTING me lick the car? When you always tell me not to lick things that might be dirty?), but she had a grand time afterward.

Another nice bit happened right before her car search practice. It had been two hours of nonstop interaction (not because the workshop required it, but because Ladybug needed the interaction to stay focused and calm). When the other students and dogs went outside to practice, Ellen suggested that we wait inside so Ladybug wouldn’t get anxious being in such close proximity with the other dogs. Ladybug might have been just fine outside, but it was lovely to be offered the option. As it turns out, having a bit of quiet time was just what she needed. For the first time that morning, she settled down and cuddled next to me. (We were supposed to bring a blanket for our dogs to lie on, but she preferred the soft, fluffy stuff on the barn floor.) We had a lovely, relaxing, and sweet cuddle.

I’ve never seen her that relaxed the first time in a new environment, and it did my heart good. Ellen came back in, and we had a brief chat. I thanked her for being so accommodating. “It breaks my heart when people aren’t,” she said, “because dogs need so much more than we give them.” She was so respectful, asking for permission instead of approaching Ladybug directly. I didn’t get any lectures about coddling my dog, feeding into her anxiety, or transmitting my issues onto her. The result? A happy, excited, and eager dog.

After all, of course I want Ladybug to be confident and able to handle new situations without special accommodations. I want her to conquer her fears and learn that she can handle the nasty people and dogs she’ll face, and I love that she (usually) sticks up for herself. It’s just going to take her a while to mature and learn how to do this appropriately. It was such a pleasure to bring her to someone who understood this, and–most of all–respected that I as Ladybug’s mum was best able to read her. She needed that bit of down time. Five or ten minutes, and then she bounced to her feet and was eager to engage again, but she needed it. Otherwise, she could have been overexcited and overstimulated enough to engage in problematic behaviors. Just like kids at Christmas often have meltdowns because they need a bit of time and space to decompress, Ladybug needed the bit of quiet so she could re-engage.

My only disappointment with the class was that we didn’t have time to learn a passive indication (like how to freeze when she finds a scent). I would have liked to learn how to teach that to Ladybug, as the workshops are once a month and that’s a good amount of time we could be practicing on our own.

Surprisingly, though, the take-home lessons have been less about scentwork and more about training in general. It’s something that’s been reinforced by our agility trainer, too.

I need to supplement lure training with other kinds of training, like free shaping. And training that relies on Ladybug’s initiative (letting her explore/do what she wants, and clicking/rewarding as soon as she does anything even close to what I want) rather than it all being directed by me.

The lure training has its place, and it’s been super effective for obedience training. After all, that’s gotten us from unruly puppy failing at heelwork to silver award candidate in three short weeks. But for scentwork, agility, and a lot of life in general, I don’t want obedience. I want a dog who can think for herself and make good choices.

Repetition of a lesson I keep having to learn: Stop expecting too much at once! It was eye-opening to see how teeny-tiny the steps were at the workshop. I mean, what Ladybug was expected to do by the end of the three hours was pretty close to what I might have done in a first training session on our own. Way too fast, Ana! Yes, Ladybug is super smart and super motivated, but I have to start smaller if I want her to figure things out on her own. I need to create more failproof training situations for her. But how? That’s going to be something to ponder for quite a while.

On the flip side, it is okay if she “fails.” A conversation with our agility trainer helped me realize I’ve been misreading Ladybug’s signals when I’ve tried free shaping in the past. When she whines and cries, or even lies down and refuses to engage, I’ve panicked and thought I’ve caused her distress. I’ve been trying to make my instructions as clear as possible so she can get it right on the first try (and not fail), but that’s still kept the training centered on my direction.

I used a slightly similar approach with something I’ve wanted Ladybug to learn for a while, holding a wooden spoon in her mouth. I’ve tried trainer-directed methods (at someone’s suggestion), like holding the spoon in her mouth and clicking for just a tiny second of work. She doesn’t like it, though, and it didn’t help.

Instead, I set the wooden spoon on the floor, took out a treat, and waited with my clicker. She grew puzzled, so I nudged the spoon closer to her. She immediately lay down and covered the spoon with her paw. 😀 I clicked and rewarded whenever she got near the spoon, and gradually I got pickier in my asking. By the end of the session, I was only clicking and rewarding if she touched/licked/pawed at the place where the bowl meets the handle of the spoon. (I think I’ll need to wrap tape or something around that spot, so it’s easier for her to tell that’s what I want.)

She did get frustrated, she did whine, and she tried half a dozen other trained behaviors in an effort to figure out what I wanted (sitting, lying down, giving me her paw, etc.) But I both allowed her to “fail” (not rushing in to immediately show her what I wanted) and ensured her success (by rewarding her for the teeniest little thing, even though it wasn’t anything like the eventual desired outcome–holding the spoon in her mouth).

After all, isn’t that something I find frustrating for myself? When I’m trying to learn something new and struggling with how to overcome a problem, I hate it when someone rushes in and solves it for me. When I went overseas for the first time and tried to use the ticket-taking machine at the subway entrance, I couldn’t get it to work. My well-meaning friend took it from me and did it correctly, but I was left feeling frustrated and irritated, not appreciative. I needed to know how to do it for the future, not just that one time. I also wanted to feel accomplished and competent and figuring it out for myself. If that’s true for me, why wouldn’t it be true for my dog? That leads me to my last take-home lesson.

Ladybug has been desperately sick, and she has been through untold trauma. But as much as I need to (and have) validated this, accepted this, accommodated this, and been patient in protecting her from the big bad world (that, frankly, has been downright terrible to her), she’s stronger than I think. I mean, what she went through would have killed most dogs. That she’s even alive is a miracle.

No one can say that she’s out of the woods, her kidneys won’t suddenly degrade, or the treatment’s she’s had will stop working. She still could become worse at any moment, and she still could die. (Wait for the lesson; it’s coming.)

BUT…she’s here. She’s alive. She’s well enough to start baby training in scentwork and agility. She’s accomplished her bronze obedience award and is nearly ready to accomplish the silver.

She did really well in a three-hour scentwork workshop, and she loved it.

She’s doing okay.

She’s going to be okay.

And so will I.

After all, that’s what I want most of all. I don’t care if she wins competitions or medals or goes to Crufts someday. I just want a dog who enjoys her life and is a pleasure to have. I want her to slowly conquer fears, channel energy and anxiety in constructive ways (I keep saying that lesson fees are cheaper than vet bills), become more independent, and feel confident. I want her to be the big dog in the park who gives an amused, indifferent sniff when a dog comes rushing toward us. I don’t want her to be the little dog who jumps, bark, and reacts in terror.

Ladybug’s going to be okay.

And she’s going to love finding chicken on the car and chasing scented socks. 😀

Our very first scentwork class! Wow. It's like the children's poem about wanting a horseshoe nail and losing a kingdom, only in reverse.

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professionalpracticetendai-blog · 7 years

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business terminology

Aims and Objectives of a Business (GCSE)

Levels: GCSE

Exam boards: AQA, Edexcel, OCR, IB

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When someone first sets up in business, he/she may have some unstated aims or objectives - for example to survive for the first year. Other businesses may wish to state exactly what they are aiming to do, such as Amazon, the Internet CD and bookseller, who wants to "make history and have fun".

An aim is where the business wants to go in the future, its goals. It is a statement of purpose, e.g. we want to grow the business into Europe.

Business objectives are the stated, measurable targets of how to achieve business aims. For instance, we want to achieve sales of €10 million in European markets in 2004.

A mission statement sets out the business vision and values that enables employees, managers, customers and even suppliers to understand the underlying basis for the actions of the business.

Business Objectives

Objectives give the business a clearly defined target. Plans can then be made to achieve these targets. This can motivate the employees. It also enables the business to measure the progress towards to its stated aims.

The most effective business objectives meet the following criteria:

S – Specific – objectives are aimed at what the business does, e.g. a hotel might have an objective of filling 60% of its beds a night during October, an objective specific to that business.

M - Measurable – the business can put a value to the objective, e.g. €10,000 in sales in the next half year of trading.

A - Agreed by all those concerned in trying to achieve the objective.

R - Realistic – the objective should be challenging, but it should also be able to be achieved by the resources available.

T- Time specific – they have a time limit of when the objective should be achieved, e.g. by the end of the year.

The main objectives that a business might have are:

Survival – a short term objective, probably for small business just starting out, or when a new firm enters the market or at a time of crisis.

Profit maximisation – try to make the most profit possible – most like to be the aim of the owners and shareholders.

Profit satisficing – try to make enough profit to keep the owners comfortable – probably the aim of smaller businesses whose owners do not want to work longer hours.

Sales growth – where the business tries to make as many sales as possible. This may be because the managers believe that the survival of the business depends on being large. Large businesses can also benefit from economies of scale.

A business may find that some of their objectives conflict with one and other:

Growth versus profit: for example, achieving higher sales in the short term (e.g. by cutting prices) will reduce short-term profit.

Short-term versus long-term: for example, a business may decide to accept lower cash flows in the short-term whilst it invests heavily in new products or plant and equipment.

Large investors in the Stock Exchange are often accused of looking too much at short-term objectives and company performance rather than investing in a business for the long-term.

Alternative Aims and Objectives

Not all businesses seek profit or growth. Some organisations have alternative objectives.

Examples of other objectives:

Ethical and socially responsible objectives – organisations like the Co-op or the Body Shop have objectives which are based on their beliefs on how one should treat the environment and people who are less fortunate.

Public sector corporations are run to not only generate a profit but provide a service to the public. This service will need to meet the needs of the less well off in society or help improve the ability of the economy to function: e.g. cheap and accessible transport service.

Public sector organisations that monitor or control private sector activities have objectives that are to ensure that the business they are monitoring comply with the laws laid down.

Health care and education establishments – their objectives are to provide a service – most private schools for instance have charitable status. Their aim is the enhancement of their pupils through education.

Charities and voluntary organisations – their aims and objectives are led by the beliefs they stand for.

Changing Objectives

A business may change its objectives over time due to the following reasons:

A business may achieve an objective and will need to move onto another one (e.g. survival in the first year may lead to an objective of increasing profit in the second year).

The competitive environment might change, with the launch of new products from competitors.

Technology might change product designs, so sales and production targets might need to change.

https://www.tutor2u.net/business/reference/aims-and-objectives-of-a-business

financial statement Summary report that shows how a firm has used the funds entrusted to it by its stockholders (shareholders) and lenders, and what is its current financial position. The three basic financial statements are the (1) balance sheet, which shows firm's assets, liabilities, and net worth on a stated date; (2) income statement (also called profit & loss account), which shows how the net income of the firm is arrived at over a stated period, and (3) cash flow statement, which shows the inflows and outflows of cash caused by the firm's activities during a stated period. Also called business financials. Read more: http://www.businessdictionary.com/definition/financial-statement.html Read more: http://www.businessdictionary.com/definition/financial-statement.html

Writing a marketing strap line that means something

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Matthew Telfer

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A great marketing strap line should summarise what your brand stands for in just a few words.

It doesn’t have to be descriptive (although some are, like eBay’s “The world’s online market place”), but it should support your brand positioning and communicate what you are about.

The benefits of developing and using your own brand strapline include:

Instant brand positioning in just a few words

Memory hook for potential customers

Helps to develop affinity with your brand

Differentiate yourself from your competitors

A great customer marketing framing tool

This all sounds very simple, but trust me it isn’t.

In this post I will show you how to create en effective strap line that has meaning and purpose.

A strap line must be done well, or not at all

I can remember the drawn out and painful affair that was my first attempt to implement a strap line at a company I worked for.

The mistakes I made were:

Allowing too many people to have a say

Losing focus on the point of having one

Allowing the final version to be wholly uninspired and almost meaningless

Brands will literally spend hundreds of thousands of pounds on agencies to develop their marketing strap lines, with varying degrees of success.

One of the strap lines that grinds on me the most is Burger King’s “Have it your way”.

The introduction of this to their marketing was a total knee jerk reaction to the increasing popularity of Subway and it has absolutely no substance.

Who honestly goes in to BK and customises their burger? You have it how it is given, therefore I’m not having it my way at all.

On the flip side, McDonald’s “I’m lovin’ it” helps to support their strategy of tying the brand to positive emotional connections.

Coke do the same thing with their “Always Coca-Cola” with the double whammy of implying any moment is the right moment for a Coke, not just the summer.

Examples of great strap lines

Before we get to my tips on how to write a great marketing strapline, here are some examples of what I think are the best straplines in the business. These are all winning straplines that stand the test of time.

They are short, punchy, “on brand” and have meaning!

Just do it – Nike

Impossible is nothing – Adidas

I’m lovin it – McDonalds

Reassuringly expensive – Stella Artois

Because your worth it – L’Oreal

The best a man can get – Gillette

Every little helps – Tesco

Never knowingly undersold – John Lewis

The world’s local bank – HSBC

Always Coca-Cola – Coca-Cola

A diamond is forever – De Beers

Does exactly what is says on the tin – Ronseal

Intel inside – Intel

Think different – Apple

Becuase not every web host is created equal – ReviewHosting

Beanz meanz Heinz – Heinz

Don’t just book it. Thomas Cook it. – Thomas Cook

Connecting people – Nokia

Liquid Engineering – Castrol GTX

Its good to talk – BT

The ultimate driving machine – BMW

Ah, Bisto! – Bisto

Here are my tips on how to go about creating a killer marketing strap line that has substance and benefits your marketing:

Tip one: Make sure it has substance

A strap line is not just a fancy marketing exercise to fill some office time and tick a box, it has to mean something and be grounded in reality or you shouldn’t have one at all.

For example, if you want to focus on customer support, is that a genuine strength of yours?

Just saying it won’t make it true, and the disconnect between the promise and reality will create problems with your customers.

I think that is what irritates me about Burger King’s, it just doesn’t mean anything.

Tip two: Keep the number of people working on it to a minimum

The larger the team, the more voices there are that want to be heard and the harder it is to come to a final decision.

I have personally learnt this the hard way.

Create an internal working team that has the authority to work up the strapline with out any external pressures.

Tip three: Stay on brand

Your strap line has to fit in with existing branding and make sense to your customers.

For example, if your customers are what we’d describe as ‘silver surfers’ (pensioners), don’t do a riff on a recent popular cultural reference or run with an aggressive tone.

Nike’s “Just do it” fits in perfectly with their slightly edgy branding and no-nonsense approach.

It also doesn’t limit their product range in any way, as it doesn’t make any references to a sport or even clothing.

Tip four: Be creative

Apple’s “Think different” is a great example of being creative.

It is aspirational, it positions the businesses internal culture, it is exciting and it is timeless.

It is also applicable to everything they do, not just one particular product or piece of technology.

http://www.marketingnerd.co.uk/how-to/writing-a-marketing-strap-line-that-means-something/

What is a Business Strapline?

This article applies to SiteFusion packages.

A Business Strapline is a way you can represent your business in a short sentence that will help persuade your customers to choose you. This can also put across what your business website is about or the services that you may offer.

https://www.123-reg.co.uk/support/answers/what-is-a-business-strapline-1573/

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heydudenicepod · 7 years

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hey dude, it’s review time! a new winter

you can listen to a new winter on itunes or on soundcloud. they also have a twitter but be warned: their header image, while not bloody and mostly covered, is of an actual dead body. i’ll elaborate on that momentarily. this has since been changed to a promotion for the new season of the show.

i started writing this review a few months ago, at which time I believe the series had only finished its second season. i hadn’t fully caught up to it when i had to leave off listening to this podcast, but in seeing it mentioned again i feel it’s pertinent to post what i do have reviewed.

this may be a long, ranty review. feel free to stop reading after the third paragraph inside.

a new winter is one man’s personal account of “a series of murders and disappearances” that took place in his small english hometown back in the year 2000. our narrator, who i believe remains unnamed, was 17 years old at the time and took the investigation into his own hands.

*** content warnings for this review include sexual assault/rape, and pedophilia ***

the initial murders are of the narrator’s friend kate and her family, all murdered in their barn. i recognized this story as being inspired by the real-life hinterkaifeck murders, the unsolved murders of an entire family on a remote farm in germany in 1922. the photo on the twitter account is one of the actual bodies from this crime. i can only speculate as to why the creator of a new winter felt this was an appropriate twitter banner.

i don’t know if “mockumentary” is the right term, but this podcast is fiction presented as fact. as far as i can tell, it’s entirely a one-man show, written, produced, and narrated by the same person. it’s an ambitious undertaking for a single person, and for that i give him credit.

i will take this time to remind you that i am one person, one dude, if you will, and my feelings on any matter are not absolute. that said, i have not enjoyed my time listening to a new winter.

from the first couple of episodes something that struck me was the fact that the narrator had to tell us about all the sex he’d been having at the time, when it was only marginally relevant to the plot. without an actual reason for this information, it just sounds like bragging. bragging about your sex life, fictional or otherwise, is almost always wholly unnecessary. it becomes more pronounced from there in that, while first referring to kate, the dead girl, as “A good friend”, he then lets us know that they’d had sex a few times. by the second episode, we find out that (surprise) kate had been secretly in love with him. he expresses surprise at this, but never once shows any kind of regret or any indication that he’s sad he missed out on the opportunity for a romantic relationship with kate. it’s a tidbit that can’t even become a storyline, it serves no purpose but to inflate the ego? projected desirability? sexual prowess? of our narrator. it doesn’t add any flavor to the story, at least, not a flavor i find palatable.

to his credit, he does continue being angry that his friend-he-had-sex-with was brutally murdered. still within the second episode, he meets a friend of his and kate’s, jackie (who, wow, he’s also had sex with. that was a totally necessary fact). jackie tells him in detail about how, some time before her death, on a trip to berlin, she witnessed kate being raped.

i don’t feel that rape is a subject it should be totally taboo to write about, however i do feel strongly that it’s something to be written about by those who have the nuance and empathy to understand that a character who has been raped is more than an object for furthering the story or adding fuel to another character’s pain or motivation. that is clearly not the scenario here. this story just continues to use sex and sexual violence for shock value.

jackie tells the narrator that she’s seen kate’s rapist in town and suspects him of having committed the murders. soon after a run-in with “the german”, jackie disappears.

to skip ahead a bit, the narrator encounters a creepy priest, father reynolds, who lives next to a church in which our narrator believes he’ll find jackie. the narrator says something about “not being religious nor pretending to be” and that much is realistic, with ignorance bordering on disdain he treats the church with. i would have hoped that someone who chose to write about a church would have at least researched proper or more appropriate names for things, because sometimes “realistic” isn’t better writing. it just seems as though the storyteller doesn’t care.

from there he gets locked in the church, which is set on fire. because a burning church isn’t heavy-handed symbolism at all. he breaks out through a stained glass window and remarks on the smoke, saying that it’s “billowing up to the heavens as if to tell god about the hell that was now in this town”, which i feel is quite a metaphor for someone who “doesn’t pretend to be religious”.

this segment had been a slight relief to me, because at least he had stopped making things about sex for a while. but after the authorities arrive, they find an abandoned sex dungeon below the church, complete with a tunnel to the priest’s home. i hate using this word, i feel like it can’t be taken seriously in any context, but a priest accused/guilty of sex crimes just screams “edgy” to me.

from there, his search for the german rapist (”henry”) leads him to where he believes perverts would congregate: a local strip club called “the lime club”. in a feat of skill, our narrator manages to be patronizing of the girls working in the club while at the same time ogling them, with the same tired old “how could a nice girl like this work in a place like that? what sad life drove her to it??”

the girl he talks to, nicola, mistakes his request for privacy to question her as a request for full-service sex work and takes him upstairs to a brothel-type area of the building. he continues to simultaneously patronize and objectify the madam working there, but soon with all his questioning he is mistaken for a cop and thrown out of the establishment.

nicola follows him out and tells him of an establishment that caters to darker appetites, the only place that would still serve the german. she gets him a gun and sends him into this place.

there he happens upon a scene that i understand is supposed to be surreal and confusing, but it reminds me of something like american horror story. it’s all shock value, and says a lot about what the writer considers to be debauched or depraved.

the group in this room is headed up by a crossdressing man who goes by mr. tooley, clearly the leader. there is also a woman entirely covered in a latex bodysuit, a large black man masturbating, and a little girl who reminds the narrator of alice in wonderland. tooley tells the narrator off for staring at the girl (in shock, that she’s in such a place), and it’s implied that tooley would not have allowed the narrator to touch her. but let me be clear: having a child in a room with a man openly masturbating is still in no uncertain terms sexual abuse, even if no one directly touches her.

i found the whole scene distasteful, the adult occupants of that room could have had a strange but consensual time, but the writer had to drive home a point: this place is evil. and what is more depraved and evil than pedophilia? to me this is just another example of ill-thought-out shock value.

the “black beast of a man” then knocked out the narrator because tooley had expressed an interest in raping him. yep, more rape. backtracking a second, this scene was the first in which anyone’s race/skin color had ever been specified. the narrator did specify other white people in the scene, but it started with that exact description quoted above. we see what you’re doing, and you need to stop it.

our narrator comes to, naked, blindfolded, and gagged. the description of it very much reminded me of that one scene in pulp fiction. an ally ends up freeing him before any harm is done, but while he waits, he anticipates “a fate worse than death”. that’s right, according to him, being raped is “worse than death”. where was that feeling when he heard about kate’s rape, i wonder? where was his empathy? i wasn’t seeing it anywhere.

in short, this is a show that uses sexual violence as shock value, and edgy imagery to drive home the point that Terrible Immoral Things are happening here. it could have had an interesting premise, if not for the writer’s inclination toward these heavy-handed examples meant to express terror, tragedy, and depravity. i can’t recommend a new winter to anyone.

if there’s a podcast you’d like to see me review, feel free to drop me an ask. take care, everyone!

#a new winter #podcast review #podcast reviews #horror podcasts #review time

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thewatertowernews · 7 years

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pumpin’ and gumpin’: the liam creaser workout plan

by liamcreaser

I usually don’t do New Year’s Resolutions, which is why I didn’t start mine until the third or fourth week of January. Naturally, it ended up somewhere completely different than I expected. I wanted to use my time in the morning before class for doing something productive like going to the gym instead of sleeping in, but of course, there was a caveat. I quickly discovered that the only way I could have an efficient and effective workout was by putting in my headphones and cranking up the most brutal, mosh-worthy, head-banging 80’s heavy metal music. I then took up a challenge to listen to a classic metal record each time I worked out, and then evaluate my performance based on what I heard. Before that week I was mostly unfamiliar with the shreddage and riffage I would experience at the Patrick Gymnasium Campus Recreation Center. I had known some of the more contemporary metal, and I was a huge fan of punk from where many hardcore bands drew influence, but there was something deep inside me yearning to thrash my short-haired head around in the most extreme ways and launch myself into a world of pain, sweat, and lactic acid. I needed epic breakdowns, pounding riffs, and blistering solos with enough street cred to knock a grown man out, yet enough technical ability to strike awe in the most prestigious classical virtuosos. Like any proud member of what I like to call the Guitar Hero III generation, I was familiar with the music of Slayer and Metallica, so my journey began there. Since I had already heard Slayer’s most famous album, the 1986 Rick Rubin produced Reign in Blood, I decided to start with their debut, 1983’s Show No Mercy. Slayer plays thrash metal, meaning their metal combines the speed and kick of punk with the riffs and technique of classic metal acts to produce a sound ultimately designed to soundtrack a mosh pit. Their first album features a lower quality production value than their later albums, but is still just as kickass. The recording was apparently completely self-funded by the band, with some members even borrowing from their parents. Here we can observe the punk influence with the pure speed of the drums and bass, and a solo section worthy of melting faces to this day. The Satanic imagery seems corny and dated, but the lo-fi production gives the album its classic feel. It is a must listen for anyone trying to get into thrash or speed metal. And who could forget Tom Araya’s timeless, high pitched scream? From my experience, only the first three or four Slayer albums are worth the listen, but each of them are sure to make you run faster and lift more weights. Metallica’s Kill Em All from 1982, also a debut album from a thrash metal band, was my next listen. This record established the band as a contemporary to the scene of fast, pounding mosh pit music like Slayer, and eventually propelled the band to become the most famous heavy metal band in the world. The technique and musicality is just as prominent here as on Show No Mercy, but the lyrics and production value establish it as a distinct listen for any metal fan. The main difference is that this album ignores the edgy Satanic themes and instead opts for lyrics just as violent but with a more confrontational demeanor, setting up Metallica to be metal tough guys instead of some angry nerds. The guitars and vocals have a more stadium friendly feel, and Lars Ulrich’s double kick becomes instantly recognizable as the speed pushes you to do that extra set of curls you thought you weren’t ready for. If you were questioning the toughness credibility of the guys who performed with Lady Gaga recently, look no further than this album. The third album marked a slight departure from the thrash metal genre and ventured into what is known as grindcore. Grindcore metal is essentially thrash but more brutal, fast and discombobulated; all aspects of technique and musical talent are substituted for raw, violent spouts of anger, the songs are usually less than two minutes long, and the vocals are low grunts and shouts. The most essential grindcore record is easily Napalm Death’s Scum (1987) which is also often credited as being the genesis of the genre. The album (and band) is best known for their song “You Suffer”, credited in the Guinness Book of World Records as the shortest song ever recorded at 1.3 seconds long, a lone grunt acting as a break in between a symphony of grunts from the album’s 33 minutes. For exercise, the album works well in terms of pure aggression, but the lack of any form of melody whatsoever hinders the motivation to push forward throughout the dullness of the morning. The last album I reviewed was perhaps the end all be all of workout metal albums. Often considered the first true death metal album, Scream Bloody Gore by Death has its roots in the thrash of Slayer and Metallica, but takes the entire world of American metal in a much more extreme turn. As the name suggests, the album’s lyrical content contains brutal depictions of gore and violence with song names like “Regurgitated Guts”, which may be conflictual with your workout routine if you compare the pain of your workout to the violence in the lyrics. But the instrumentals bring another level to the table; the guitar solos are beyond the comprehension of any mortal being and the palm muted riffs will have your gains shooting through the roof. This album is not for beginners, however as my first death metal album, it wasn’t too bad. This journey has only proved that if you’re out there giving it your all in the weight room, any type of music can be fun

#liam creaser #sounds #issue9

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