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hermankopusortizorsumshite · 3 years

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Big, Ugly SOB

Warning: typical Walking Dead themes, smut, probably other stuff, be advised.

SHANE BABIES! THIS ONE”S FOR YOU! Slow burn, angsty, love, smut, it’s all here gals! Please like, reblog, and comment! I’d love to hear from all of you!

Part One!

She grabs her pistol and heads out the door of the small shed and does a perimeter sweep before shutting the door. With a deep breath, she starts towards the high ridge. Heaving a sigh, she turns around and writes a note for anyone who may find her.

‘Headed to the ridge. Higher vantage point. Curious about Atlanta but not sure I’ll go.

If you need supplies there’s a day’s worth of jerky and some supplies in here.

Best of Luck’

She truly hoped that she’d find someone she knew. As a patrol officer of King County, she hadn’t run into a single other officer that she knew. Though, she didn’t take the main roads, as she knew the cost.

Hiking up the ridge through the woods, she hears soft talking and the voice strikes her deep in her soul. She knows that voice. The deep southern voice talking low just out of eyesight.

“Excuse me? I don’t mean to alarm you but I’m just looking to join a group--You are one big, ugly, dumb son-of-a-bitch.” There was the owner of the voice. Snorting, she quickly covers her mouth as she sinks to the ground cackling under her hands. Shane’s eyes glance to the old man next to him and back to her as she sits on the ground staring at him with a look of wonder as tears roll down her face.

“Officer Duke?” He hushes as a grin sweeps across his face. Pushing passed the old man, he grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet.

“It’s Lottie. C’mon Walsh.” She chuckles, reaching out and pulling him into a warm embrace.

“It’s Shane, silly gal. I can’t believe it. Look at you. Ugly and big, yes baby girl that’s me.” He croons, holding her arms out wide to look her over. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he turns to the old man and waves him over. “This is Lottie. She was one of the Sheriff’s Deputies like me. Lottie, this is Dale. Dale, Charlotte. C’mon Duke, this way.” He crows, hooking arms with her and dragging her along. As they break into a small clearing, she finds aa small group of people, including Lori and Carl.

“Hey, where’s Rick?” She asks, looking to Shane. His face sombers and he waves her to him.

“He’s gone.” He whispers, looking at Lori with a longing she could only describe as a silent plea of a lover. With a single blink the look is vanished from his face and he pats Lottie on the head. “Come say hi.”

“Lori, Carl, you two look so tired.” She coos as Lori’s face lights up. A blonde across the way eyes her with a disapproving look, but a younger blonde bounds up to Lottie with a grin and a hand shoved out to greet her.

“Hi, I’m Amy. The crabby one is my sister Andrea. That’s Carol and Sophia, Ed’s away in the tent. He’s not much fun. That one is Daryl, he’s a loner. And that’s T-Dog.” In order, Lottie’s eyes meet every face she’s introduced to, and most stick out a hand. Except for the crossbow weilding man, Daryl, she nods confidently to herself.

“I’m Lottie.” She waves, ducking over to Shane and hides behind him.

“Darlin’ I’m gonna head over here and get some water. Find yerself somethin’ to eat and get comfy. You can share my tent. Go get situated. Lori’ll get you acquainted around.” He waves Lori over and Lottie watches the exchange with wide eyes as Shane’s drink in Rick’s wife.

“Thanks Walsh.” She smiles awkwardly before disappearing into Shane’s tent. Spending her first day in the tent with Walsh, she puts her bags in the corner and rolls out her makeshift blanket, made of a couple sweatshirts and tee shirts she had found. Shane steps into the tent and sees her sitting in the corner and his eyes drift to the less than adequate bedding and he frowns.

“Hey, tell you what. I’ll take first shift on watch tonight and you can sleep in my sleeping bag, on the foam pad. It’s better than the rocky ground, Duke.” He holds up a hand to silence her and she feels her face heat up.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t do that--”

“I wasn’t asking. I’m telling you. I’m on watch first tonight, so you have to keep my sleeping bag warm. If not, I’ll--”

“Have Lori do it?” She whispers, and sees it strike a nerve on Shane’s face.

“You shut your mouth about that. Okay? Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.” He barks, jamming a sturdy finger into her chest plate.

“Sure. I’d be that mad if there was nothing going on too. Rick’s dead, Walsh. Ain’t no shame in keepin’ his wife and son safe. You done good so far.” She assures, laying on her blanket and curling up against her bag.

“Hey baby girl. I said-” he leans down and hoists her up, putting her on his sleeping bag. “-to use this damn thing.” He croons, giving her head a soft pat before taking his gun and stepping out of the tent.

Morning comes and she slips from Shane’s tent and out into the daylight. For only a second, it almost felt like the summer you went camping with the boys on the lake three years ago. Carl was too little so Lori had stayed home and it had just been Lottie, Rick, Shane, and Leon Basset, another man she hadn’t seen since the world ended.

“Mornin’ babygirl.” He croons, patting her shoulder as she walks up to the group of people sitting in chairs in a circle, finding a seat next to her and Lori.

“Mornin’ ugly.” She groans, pushing his hand up her shoulder to her neck where the kink is. Softly, he rubs the knot from her neck without a word.

“Darlin’ get you somethin’ to eat. Lori, can you grab her a plate?” He croons, patting Lori’s knee. She gives Lottie a half-assed mad look before rising and grabbing a plate with eggs and toast. Placing it into Lottie’s lap, cshe huffs under her breath, mumbling something.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lottie asks, looking at Lori.

“Not a damn thing.” She barks, giving Shane a dark look before heading into her own tent a little ways away.

“Yo, Duke. Over here. You take watch up top, I’ll be out and about. You see walkers, more than two, you give me or Daryl a heads up. Okay? And if you see more than that, give us more than a heads up. Okay?” He briefs her like they’re back on the force before leading her up to the look out atop the RV.

“Okay, I’ll holler if I see a bunch. Is someone supposed to take over for me later?” She asks as Shane hands over the binoculars.

“Yeah, couple hours Daryl will be up. Glenn and a few others went on a raid this morning, so when they get back they’ll do a round of watch. When your watch is over come find me.” He disappears down the ladder and she watches through Shane’s binoculars as Shane himself and Lori slip away into the woods out of the line of sight.

Once they reappear, Lori’s clothes are disheveled and Shane’s licking his lips with a prideful smirk on his full lips. Sucking in a breath, Lottie watches a moment longer as Shane takes a moment to tuck his shirt back in and lick his lips once more. Reaching up, his fingers sift through his jet black, fluffy curls and gives Lori--what he thought was-- a sneaky wink. Lottie watches the horizon and sees a white refrigerator truck barreling towards their camp and a red Charger wailing through the quarry, echoing off the walls. First the car comes to a stop and Shane charges them, yanking the relay out that belongs to the horn. Glenn steps out, jittery with excitement.

“You guys, this new guy absolutely saved our asses.”

“Glenn this group is big enough. Quit taking in strays.” Shane hushes.

“But your girlfriend isn’t one? Sorry, listen man. This guy was awesome, some kind of police uniform, not sure. One second,” the small Asian man sprints to the truck and when the binoculars land on the driver, she nearly falls off the RV.

“Holy shit.” She whispers, losing her footing a second time and tumbling over the edge. As she lands on the ground next to Dale, Shane’s eyes drop to her and he lands in the dirt next to her.

“Damn darlin’. New guy that hot?” He chuckles, helping her to her feet and dusting her off. With a quick once over, he finds nothing broken or busted, so he proceeds out to greet the new guy but stops dead in his tracks. Rick. Holy shit.

“Lori? Carl!” He shouts, falling to his knees as he hugs his family. Her eyes land on Shane in utter shock and he just releases the breath he’d been holding. “Duke. Shane.” He drags the two officers into a warm hug and she and Shane reciprocate.

As night falls, she steps into the tent with Shane’s sleeping form and carefully steps over him. Laying down on her blanket, she hears some rustling around behind them, but she goes to sleep. Rolling over, she finds an empty space where Shane was. More rustling. A groan. In her groggy sleep, she ignores the sounds outside and grabs Shane’s pillow.

“Shane?” She asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Standing and stepping out the tent, she stretches backwards and is grabbed from behind. “Walsh, knock it off-oh shit.” She gives a whine and tries to run away. The walker tries to bite at her ankles, grabbing her pant legs. “Shane! Shane!” She screams , grabbing for anything on the ground to stab the ugly monster, but she grabs for the only thing near her. A stick. Kicking with her foot and knocking the diseased thing off her, she stabs a stick through his leg. Skittering to her feet she backs into something behind her. Another walker grabs her and she shrieks, this time Shane twists around and fires a rifle into her shoulder, killing the walker. He grabs her up and hoists her over a shoulder.

“Did it bite you? Baby girl?” His shouts become foggy and distant as she floats into unconsciousness. “No! C’mon darlin’. Rick! Rick come over here! Someone please!” His desperate cries echo through the camp as Carol grabs Lottie and carries her to the RV.

“Check for bites first.” Dale barks, jabbing at Lottie with the barrel of his gun.

Early morning rises and she whispers to Shane, who’s sitting next to her, his hand on her arm and head on his arms.

“Shane, Walsh.” He jerks awake and stands erect.

“Mornin’.” He whispers, starting for the door.

“Where you going?” She asks, giving him a soft smile.

“I was just checking on you. I gotta tell the others you’re awake.” He gruffs, heading back to the door.

“Shane.” He stops again, searching her face for something. He walks back to her and leans down, taking her hand into his. “I saw you sleeping.” She whispers, gripping his hand.

“Ya, so I fell asleep there. What of it?” He barks, shifting from foot to foot.

“You were worried, weren’t you?” She coos, smirking at him.

“No. I knew you’d be fine.” He assures, patting her hand.

“Really? That doesn’t really seem accurate, Walsh.”

“Leave it alone.” He grumbles, thumping lightly down the stairs and out the door.

A few hours later, she hears a couple soft female voices talking about her. “…..she’s just lucky Shane’s got a raging hard on for her…”

“.….she hasn’t lifted a finger here yet…”

“.…got attacked and Walsh left the group to save her. Such bullshit…”

“Amy probably wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for that girl..-”

She steps out of the RV, groaning in pain with every step. Shane rushes her, reaching out to take her elbow, only to be shoved away weakly.

“Babygirl--”

“No Walsh. No more. I can’t deal with this. These bitches over here, whom I can hear claerly in there by the way! Won’t quit bitching about what I haven’t done. So I’ll just be over here.” She barks, pushing Shane away again. He huffs, watching from afar as she staggers over to the bench and grabs the legs of a walker. Grunting, tears running down her face, she sees Glenn grab the shoulders, but when his eyes meet hers he drops it immediately.

“Hey, maybe you should just sit down--”

“No. I’m gonna help. Grab the other goddamn end and lift. With your knees. Jesus christ.” She hoists the body up and carries it across the field. As they sit the body on the ground, her arms quaking, she drops the feet and crumbles to the dirt beneath her.

“Goddamn it.” Shane skids to her side, dust clouding around them as his hands grab her arms. “I just want you to relax. C’mon babygirl. Let me help you--”

“Get away! I can do it on my own!” She screams, shoving him away. “Just please, leave me here, Shane.” She shoves him once more and rises to his feet, heading over to Carol, Andrea, and the hispanic woman.

“You guys better keep your traps shut. She was shot and she was injured, and here you are, not doin’ a goddamn thing, bitchin’ about an injured officer who can’t lift anything. Kettle callin’ the pot black shit now, isn’t it? Leave her out of this shit.”

The next morning the group gets up and ready to leave, Shane leading her to his Jeep.

“Darlin’ get in.” He buckles her seat belt without a second thought.

“Quit treating me like your girlfriend, Walsh.” She mutters, pushing on his shoulder.

“I’m not.” He nips, grabbing her arm and throwing it away from him.

“Oh really? Were you gonna go around and buckle in every woman out there?” She barks back, raising a brow at him.

“Well no--I’m just--”

“You just suddenlt have this urge to keep me safe from harm? Like my goddamn boyfriend? You’re not Walsh, okay? So just quit. I can do for myself.” She drives, letting him head out behind everyone else.

“Okay, babygirl. I’m sorry. It’s just--when I thought Rick was dead, it hurt. Right? A-a-a-and when I saw you come through that brush like an angel, I just-hell, you almost had my ugly ass crying. I was just happy to see you.” He makes conversation while he’s driving. They get to the highway and slow to a crawl. The motorhome stops up ahead and all the others in the group get out to inspect.

As they ravage the hundreds of cars, like time stopped, they find lots of useful things.

“Bet ya’ll ain’t never wanted water so bad.” Shane chuckles, popping the cap on a waterjug and soaking himself. She watches on, laughing to herself as Shane bathes in it. His eyes land on her, grabbing her arms and pulling her to the truck, popping another cap and gently pulling the rag she’d tied up her hair with and shook her curls under the water. “Ooh! Babygirl, you look so good with those wet curly locks!” He cheers, giving her a sopping wet hug.

“Walkers!” The screech is enough to freeze her in her tracks.

“Everybody under the cars.” Rick’s gentle voice carries and Shane grabs her hand, pulling her under a box truck.

“Walsh, look. I can lead them away--”

“Ssh. Shut up. Do you remember that shoot out with me, Rick, and you? And you said that we wouldn’t make it out, and what did ol’ Shane do?” He asks, patting her arm. They lay on the hot concrete under a box truck, the various sharp stones digging into her knees and arm.

“You got us out.”

“And you didn’t think I could did ya? But I did, babygirl. So trust me again. C’mon, darlin’. You just roll your front against my back as tight as you can, okay? We’ll make it again. Trust me. Now ssh. I see a bunch a’ feet movin’. Don’t make a goddamn sound, babygirl.” He whispers, breathing out as he feels her huddle as tight as she can against his back. “I got ya baby. I got ya.” He coos almost as a breath, trying to be silent. “Lemme have your hand.” He whispers, her hand snaking over his ribs and grabs his open hand, squeezing. “Take a deep breath, let it out slow. Show time.” Her mouth bites into his shoulder, he shivers and squeezes her hand tighter. One of her legs slips over his and she’s almost melded into him as one person.

When the horde finally works through, Shane looks over his shoulder to find her asleep against him. Gently shaking her, as she awakes, and looks confused. For a moment, she looks like a glorious sunny day sitting by the lake under a shade tree after a long nap under the summer sun.

“You look like you had a good nap.” He chuckles, rolling to face her, still on the ground and their noses almost touch. “Wow, last time we were this close you remember what we were doing?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, pushing awkwardly at his shoulders. “I think it was some stupid party and we were playing seven minutes in heaven.”

“Yeah, and I got to second base with Haley Duvall that day. You were a prude though. You shut down so fast, even when I tried to score.” He chuckles, leaning dangerously close to press his dry lips gently to her cheek.

“I did, Walsh. Then we went from cops to surviving this ugly ass world now.” She crows, hearing a blood curdling scream. It draws them both from this happy cocoon they were in, and she scrambles from under the truck.

“Hey, also?” He leans so close his voice is but a whisper of hot air over her neck. “Don’t ever bite my shoulder like that again unless you plan to finish what you start.”

“Shane I--” He gives her a dark smirk and a wink, making her body tingle.

“What was that?” He asks as he gaits over to the group.

“It was Sophia. She ran off, Shane. Rick went after her.” He grumbles, grabbing Lottie’s hand and heads for the woods.

“We gotta find that kid.” He states as they slip into the woods.

#Shane Walsh #shanewalsh #Shane Walsh x reader #the walking dead #walking dead #jon bernthal #jon bernthal is too goddamn good at acting.#jesus christ shane #shane walsh angst #shane walsh slowburn

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deathduty · 4 years

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Toasted Away || Deirdre, Agatha & Margot

TIMING: late August, in shroomdre’s prime LOCATION: In the forest, somewhere. PARTIES: @deathduty , @detective-keen & @g0t-ri5h SUMMARY: Agatha and Margot confront their toaster thief, bonded by their love of bread. Deirdre dresses like a mime and pretends she’s Kaden.

Finally, it was time. For all her preparation, for all her toaster theft, all of it had been leading up to this moment. Deirdre stood proud in the center of a clearing, dressed in a black catsuit and fitted with a mime mask, a large bag containing the toasters was slung over her shoulder. Strewn across the trees was a simple banner which read, 'accept the mushrooms'. Her mission was simple: trick these disgusting humans to worship the mushrooms, and therefore fall into a ring with her. And then they too, would be pawns in her toaster scheme. She waited for the figures to appear into the clearing she asked them all to meet in, booming her voice across the forest. "Welcome little toaster losers! Welcome to my domain, best not complain, for tasks strewn across the terrain ye must obtain!" She practiced that in the mirror.

Agatha thought that she would regret not dressing professionally, but considering they were meeting in the woods, she had opted for shorts rather than pantsuits this time. She just hoped that this wouldn’t escalate into something bigger. The woman who had taken her toaster seemed like she wasn’t completely in control of her behavior, and Agatha wondered who she would stumble upon. In the distance, she could hear a woman yelling through the trees a bunch of nonsense. “Yup, that’s her,” she told herself, regretting the woman’s loud demeanor. She would not be seeing deers, squirrels and hares today. She did not have to hide her disappointment, and so, she didn’t. Blowing a raspberry, she approached the clearing carefully. She had not brought her gun, but she still could deal with one woman if need be. Her hands on her hips, she looked sideways at the woman. “I don’t know about accepting the mushrooms, but I’d accept your workout routine, damn,” might as well be pleasant, for now.

Margot was as furious as ever. Since arriving in White Crest it had been one ridiculous thing after another. Now somebody had stolen her toaster, the only appliance she’d managed to smuggle past her RA when she moved into her dorm this year. It was one of the only things that still gave her joy and untoasted bread was not cutting it. So Margot had followed the notes and clues which led her to the forest. She didn’t like the outdoors much, but she had ventured here nonetheless, hoping that coming here wasn’t a misguided mistake. From where she had entered, she could hear the ramblings of who she assumed to be the culprit. As Margot moved towards the clearing, she could make out the figure of another person. Had they been a victim of toaster thievery as well? Perhaps they could work together. “Rhymes?” Margot shouted in response to the thief, “I don’t have time for this shit! Give me back my toaster!” She turned to the stranger that had also approached. “You too?”

The hot detective and the one with the shitty toaster had come. Deirdre grinned at them. “Welcome travelers!” She gestured to her clearing, hopping around on her feet. “All ye shall be--wait, you like it?” She stood up a little straighter, beaming at the detective from under her mime mask. “I mean--you know--I work out sometimes. A lot, recently.” She flexed for them. “I was thinking it’s nice to carry my girlfriend around. Obviously it’s great for when I’m stealing toasters out of people’s homes and--Hey! You’re just trying to distract me with compliments!” She angrily plopped her bag down, pointing back and forth between the two of them. “Your toaster is shitty anyway!” She gestured to the young girl. “And you can totally afford a new toaster!” She gestured to the detective. “Why are you two getting so uppity about the toasters anyways? Maybe we can all be friends. Let’s go around and introduce each other and say one fun fact. The detective starts.”

“It’s a shame that you chose to wear that mask,” she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She had already seen her picture, so she really didn’t see the point of wearing that, or anything mime related although, this was another issue. “It really is nice for carrying your girl around, I’m sure she loves it,” it was hard not to keep shaking her head, or to not find that woman charming. Quirkiness, always cute. Still, she had guessed that this was a distraction, and Agatha had to cross her arms at that ; it was good while it lasted, she told herself. Her next comment wasn’t that cute however, and she would have snapped at Deirdre had it not been for what she said next. Oh come on. She HATED this. Introducing herself, with a fun fact, was not fun. “I’m Detective Keen,” she started, looking at the other woman in the clearance as if to say help. “I’m born and raised in White Crest, and a fun fact about me is that I can touch my nose with my foot.” This much was true.

The problem was, Margot couldn’t afford a new toaster right now, her paychecks had been few and far between. In her past life, where money had been no issue, she had a four slice toaster with an adjustable dial. But this was her new life, and her new life was an eleven dollar Walmart toaster. Detective Keen introduced herself, and Margot resisted the urge to reply the way you would at an AA meeting; ‘Hi Detective Keen.” Instead they shared a distressed look. From what Margot could tell, Keen was as confused as she was, but they were playing the same role very differently. Keen seemed to be buttering the thief up while Margot wanted to wear them down. Margot took a deep breath, it seemed it was her turn to introduce herself. “My name is Margot. I moved here a little over a month ago. I like ice-cream and long walks on the beach.” The last part she said in both jest and frustration. She was not going to disclose anything more about herself, not to two complete strangers. “We’ve introduced ourselves, now it's your turn.” Margot was impatient at the best of times, but this was just ridiculous. “Who are you and why are we here, Mime Lady.” Everyone had warned her about the mimes. Was she about to find out why?

Deirdre nodded along to their introductions, a ‘hi, detective Keen’ and ‘hi, Margot’ doled out to each respectively. Then it was her turn and oh gosh, she really had forgotten to plan this one out ahead. The detective had a fun fact about touching her nose with her foot, which Deirdre would ask to see one day. And Margot had her thing about ice cream and beaches. And what would Deirdre say? That she loved mushrooms and death? “Uh...I’m….Kaden.” She snickered, somehow knowing her flimsy attempt to frame the animal control officer was foolish---but hilarious anyway. She glanced at the two of them: a detective and a kid. They weren’t people she normally liked to annoy---police could be a frustration to have her fun with, and she never enjoyed hurting children. Oh well. “And I’m here to…” She stuck her hands into her bag, groping around. “...kill you both!” With a quickness, she flung out a rubber chicken, honking it through the air. Its elastic flesh wobbled around. She packed the wrong things in her bag. “Uh…” She glanced between them, happy then that they couldn’t see the nervousness pool around her face. “I jest!” She threw the rubber chicken, watching it land a pitiful few feet away from her. “Look I have your toasters in this bag here--” She lifted the aforementioned object up “--but first you have to solve my riddles. And the riddle is...catch me if you can, losers!” And then she bottled away, the toasters clanking away in her bag.

“You’re not Kaden, you’re Deirdre,” Agatha said with the heaviest sigh, her shoulders dropped, and she tilted her head, looking at the thieving woman with anger and annoyance in her eyes. Obviously, she had never had much patience for liars. It was probably for the best that she had not brought her gun, because that kind of stunt would have meant one thing : she would have drawn it out and things would have escalated really fast. The rubber chicken squeaked pathetically as it hit the ground. There was a good chance that this woman would not do too well, running around carrying toasters, and Agatha was hoping that it wouldn’t take too long. She really liked that toaster. It was a gift from her mother, and she wanted it back. And so she ran, sprinting across the forest, and hoping that she wouldn’t get outran. She might have been used to running in the forest, she usually ran on dirt paths, and not through fallen leaves and branches. The forest was not so thick, but bushes were going to be an issue. She already had scratches on her forearms from running past those.

Margot flinched at the emergence of the rubber chicken, thinking it may have been some kind of weapon. She cursed herself for being so gullible. This was all some big joke to the thief, and Margot wished she hadn’t fallen for the prank so easily. And, now Kaden, or Deirdre as Detective Keen had stated, was sprinting away with her most valued appliance. The cheap hardware would surely break with all of this agitation, so when Keen joined the chase, so did Margot. Margot was not the most agile, despite her thin frame. Years of sitting behind desks eating hot Cheetos had rightfully taken its toll on her stamina and physique. She tired quickly, panting as Detective Keen and the toaster thief bounded ahead of her. Like always, she would have to use her mind to figure a way out of this situation. She squirted through the trees and branches, watching them run round and round in circles. It seemed the two of them were doubling back to where Margot had tapped out moments ago. She had an idea. Margot crouched behind a tall shrub and tucked in her limbs as tight as she could in an attempt to not be seen. As Kaden/Deirdre came closer, she stuck her right leg out into the path.

"My name is still Kaden!" Deirdre had taken to laughing as much as she could as she ran. She knew these forests almost as well as she knew the mushrooms, mostly because it was impossible not to know a place when you spent enough time dancing around naked in it. She giggled, she jumped over stray twigs and weaved around shrubs with ease. Her stamina was, practically, and once those pesky humans had tired themselves out chasing after her she'd—"Ooh, a leg!" A pristine, fair, human leg. Most legs she came across were half-eaten, or already far started on their way to decomposition. But this leg was whole, almost like it was a real, living leg, rather than a severed one. She reached for it as she ran, intending to pick it up and slap the detective with it, but as she gripped the ankle, she found it was still attached to a loving human, and tripped by way of misplaced force. She tumbled forward, mudding her mime costume. By shock, by betrayal and by her newly sprained ankle, she stayed on the floor. She just barely scrambled to hug her toaster bag to her chest. "L-look I can explain! I was just getting toasters to sacrifice for the mushrooms! That's not illegal is it?" But her mime mask left no place for her to shine her pleading eyes at the detective.

Agatha who did not have any patience for this kind of nonsense, strode over toward Margot and Deirdre, and standing over the strange woman, reached out to get the toaster bag from her prying hands. “You better give me this thing before this escalates into something you will not like,” she warned. She had a belt, she could easily turn that into handcuffs and arrest that woman’s sorry ass if she wanted. A hand on her hip, she was still catching her breath as she stood over her, her other hand gripping the toaster bag. “You better hope you did not break those when you fell down,” glancing over at Margot, she pursed her lips. “You did quite a nice job here,” she paused, “tell me, what do you think we should do about this?” Agatha was obviously one for solving things in a logical, and legal way, but she felt like perhaps, a lesson was needed to be taught here.

The mime-thief’s words were that of a deranged, perhaps even sedated, lunatic. “Sacrifice for the mushrooms?” Margot repeated back, as if it would make more sense. Keen had taken the toaster bag and Margot was hopeful that her appliance would be returned unharmed. “I don't have your stamina. I had to think of something.” Margot replied to the compliment. Her ankle was rather rather sore from where it had been grabbed, but nothing a little ice wouldn’t fix. “The punishment has to fit the crime. I’ll leave that up to you, Detective.” Margot rationalised, “May I?” She reached for the bag in Keen’s hand. She took, not patient enough to wait for a response. Upon inspection Margot could see four of five toasters in this bag. Only one seemed entirely destroyed. It just so happened to be her own. “You bitch.” She breathed out with a huff. Margot dropped the bag and lunged at the thief.

Deirdre should have just killed them, she knew that. One scream and the two of them would be burs of flesh against the forest floor. She should….but senseless murder was bad. Well, it was good but it was bad because Morgan didn't like it usually. And Deirdre gulped, watching Agatha with unease. She couldn't go to jail! There were no mushrooms in jail. She sighed, and handed the bag over. Then the kid lunged at her and she toppled over. "Ack, I'm sorry!" She choked, her mask tumbling off her face. She looked up at the two of them, blinking. Well, not her plan was ruined. Now they knew what she looked like! "And I would have got away with it too if it weren't for you meddling humans!" She shook a fist in the air. "I buy you a new toaster, you jerk!" She shoved the younger human off and stood up, dusting away dirt. "One that isn't shitty, even. See? I'm generous! I'm good!" She seemed at the detective. "Don't arrest me, please? No arresting?" She pleaded, blinking rapidly. Then she thought she'd try another angle, and so she wept loudly. "It's just that—I'm so lonely! I have no friends! I thought if I made you take your toasters back, you'd all be my friends!" Bleh, as if she'd want human buddies. "L-look, can we all forget that this ever happened?"

Agatha couldn’t stop Margot before she lunged herself at Deirdre. Heh, she was not going to stop her, unless it was going to get bad. Still, Agatha’s brows raised as the mask fell off Deirdre’s face. “Dude, you sent me a picture of you the other day,” any other time and she would have been amused by the Scooby Doo reference - God, she used to adore that show - but right now, she did not feel like laughing. Who did she think she was, wasting their time like that? And stealing from people. “You will buy her a new toaster, and you will return all the toasters you stole, today.” Agatha was willing to follow that woman all across town to make sure she would do just that. “You won’t get arrested if you do as I say,” it would be like doing community service, without the paperwork, or the judge. The tears didn’t throw her off, although it did make her take a step away from the woman, her nose scrunching up in disgust. Pathetic, she thought to herself. “If you’re going to lie to our faces, I might reconsider the jail option,” she mused.

Tossed to the side by the imposter, Margot blew away the hair that lay dishevelled in front of her vision. She was disappointed that she hadn’t managed to injure the mime, but was relieved to see that it had caused them to unmask themselves. Margot didn’t recognise her, but she imagined this wouldn’t be the last time they would cross paths. “I want one that can toast four slices at once. Got it?” She would be satisfied by that and there would be no need for the arrest. Keen was quite the hardass, Margot was a little unnerved by her threats even though they weren’t directed at her. “You think we’d want to be friends with you after this?” Margot shouted as she stood back up on her two feet, “You’re a nutcase! And a thief! Who the hell are you?” Margot interrogated before she turned to the detective. “I’m glad you were here. I have a feeling stealing wasn’t the only crime she had planned today.” Margot could see no other reason as to why the thief would lure them out to the woods. She surely had something unsavoury planned.

“Aw, mushrooms, you’re right. I did send you a picture of my hot body and face.” Deirdre pouted, surely when she was unshroomed she would look back on this with embarrassment, for now she only whimpered in her defeat. “Okay…” she agreed to the detective's demands, knowing there was little option for her outside of just killing the both of them. “F-four slices at once!?” She snapped her gaze to the girl, “that’s so much toast! What are you going to do with that much toast?” But she grumbled and noted it in her head. The look of disgust on the human’s face made her flush with shame, and Deirdre dropped her gaze. They were only human, and so their opinions didn’t really matter, but they could give such terribly scathing looks. After a moment, she looked up at the top of them earnestly. “C-can we go for breakfast now?” She asked quietly , “I’ll pay. All this talk of toasters just made me want some breakfast foods.” But more than that, she kind of missed the experience of going to a diner. Morgan didn’t eat anymore, and so food establishments lost most of their purpose to her. But on mushrooms, she missed them and their weirdly sticky tables. “I’ll do everything that you said, returning the toasters and buying Margot a new one! As long as you don’t arrest me, I’ll do it! But maybe we can—“ she gulped, “just have some pancakes first? As an apology?” Her stomach grumbled; it was less an apology and more like a way for her to eat. “I wasn’t going to do anything bad to you guys!” She lied, “I’m just high right now! That’s what everyone says. I made a deal with the mushrooms. But I’m not bad! I’m not bad.” She frowned, “please?” It wasn’t much, but she just couldn’t stand the looks these humans were giving her. If she couldn’t leave them with a better expression, it would surely haunt her.

Mushrooms ? Her face remained blank, but inside, she was frowning and being ever so confused about what this woman was saying, and what she would say next. Agatha however had no doubt about what Deirdre said next. “That’s baloney. Four pieces of toast is nothing. I have at least four pieces every morning,” she huffed in disdain. What kind of self respecting stomach couldn’t handle 4 slices of toast? And why did she steal toasters if she didn’t even like toast as much as Agatha and Margot did? However, the idea of getting free breakfast sounded truly appealing. This could not possibly count as a bribe, could it? If she and Margot did not press charges, then there was nothing to be bought over with. The detective glanced at the other woman, as if to suggest that she was, personally, up for breakfast right now. After all, she had been awake for a little while already, and this food talk had managed to make her stomach growl. “I highly doubt that you had innocent thoughts, dragging us here, in the middle of nowhere, dressed like a …. Mime,” why someone would inflict this to themselves, and the sight to others, was above her, but it was not that surprising coming from that woman here. Agatha might have barely known her, but there was something quite predictable here. “You are high on mushrooms?” Well that was illegal, Agatha thought. It might not make one a bad person, but clearly it did not do any good to that woman. Maybe she had misjudged her. Perhaps, after breakfast, the detective would drive Deirdre to the hospital, rather than on a tour of houses where toasters were stolen.

“Toast is an important part of the food pyramid. Four slices is a well rounded meal.” Margot added to Keen’s argument. It was nice to meet someone that held the same passion for toasted bread as she did. Despite Deirdre’s intoxicated ramblings, Margot was all too excited by the prospect of a free breakfast, especially now that her toaster had been destroyed. It helped that Keen seemed excited by the idea, it would make Margot feel much safer. “I’ll come. Provided that you’re paying.” Margot was shamelessly cheap and saw no reason to hide it. She had moved from taking money from her parents all her life to taking money from strangers. “You are coming aren’t you?” She double checked with the Detective, scared to be left alone with Deirdre.

“Why do I feel like I’m surrounded by strange, toast-loving fiends?” Deirdre frowned. Or was she the weird one for not liking toast that much? “It’s just bread.” No, they were the weird ones. But she was at their mercy, especially the dammed Detective. She brushed off her mime costume and beamed at them. Food seemed to be the keys to their hearts and she could work with that. Enough pancakes, and maybe they’d forget that she stole their toasters and said she planned on killing them. “Mimes only have innocent thoughts,” she explained. “And yes! High on mushrooms, in a way.” She shifted her weight, bouncing in place. “I’ll pay for anything you want to eat! Come on now, you silly humans! And you too, detective!” She hopped on, gesturing for them to follow. Obviously, one of the other two would have to drive them to breakfast, but she didn’t worry about that now. Her only goal was getting them going, and getting into their good graces. Eventually, maybe, she’d revisit the idea of murdering them.

#wickedswriting #toasted away #like spirited away but.....not #chatzy #c: agatha #c: margot #this was so much fun :')#i love margot and agatha so much

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allforhader · 4 years

Text

Grief Group

Richie Tozier x (M) Reader

Warnings: Langauge

Part 1 | Part 2

“Eddie!—“

“WE CAN STILL SAVE HIM”

“Eddie! Eddie—!”

——-

A year later...

“You should go to this support group. I’ve been a couple times but it’d be a big help Richie”

“Don’t lecture me Bill”

“I wasn’t even lecturing! I’m just telling you. There’s a great support group that I used to attend and I think it would do you some good”

“Okay. Whatever. Send me the details and I’ll go the next one”

“Perfect!” Bill smiles picking up his phone from the table and immediately sent Richie the details as he continued to brood over his food. “Hell you can even meet someone-“

“Okay—In what regard?”

“A friend?” Bill scoffs to Richie’s defensive attitude. “Come on. You’re not replacing him. It’d...just be nice. To relate with someone that isn’t another loser or Patty”

“I guess”

When the time came to go to the grief group, Richie sat in his car for an hour beforehand. He didn’t really want to go. But if he’s being honest, therapy doesn’t help when it’s one on one.

“I hate you Bill” Richie states before finally getting out of his car heading into the building.

The grief group is well, a group grieving over someone they lost, and they sit in a circle like you used to do in kindergarten. Except show n tell is more with real life traumas instead of a stuffed animal from grandma. But everybody engages in conversation before coming together for group.

“New here?” A lovely woman approaches Richie who found himself hugging the wall.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Well, you don’t have to speak for your first time if you’re not comfortable. Just know it’s a safe place to do so” She smiles resting a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder before going to take her seat. “Alright let’s group up!” she says with a smile. Misleading smile.

Richie walks over taking his coat off and resting it on his chair before taking his seat. A few people are around his age, very few elderly, and it’s said seeing a handful of 20 somethings. Could be their parents or a lover. God...a lover. His attention instantly drew toward a man sitting beside him. Petite. Built. Good genetics by still having a full head of hair. He knows Bill can rock a silver touch, but this guy can as well. What the hell is Richie thinking.

“Well shall we get started?” The lady states once everybody was settled. “It’s nice to see new faces, just a reminder we are here to listen and support one another during a difficult time in our lives. My name is Linda and I lost my husband three years ago in a car accident”

“Tsk...three years” The man beside Richie states as everyone looks at him.

“It’s always nice to see you here Y/N”

“Pfft. Likewise” Y/N laughs sitting up in his seat taking his tie off while doing so.

“Would you like to share? How was the funeral?”

“Okay well first off. For the new faces. Hi my name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and I lost my fiancé in a hit n run about four months ago”

Four months...shit. Richie can remember vividly how much it hurt when Eddie died and how fresh the wound was around the first few months. He can only imagine what Y/N must be feeling.

“The funeral was fine. Lovely. For a funeral. His parents and mine wanted me to talk. But I didn’t want to”

“Why?” Richie suddenly asks when he meant to just think it. “Oh sorry I-“

“Nah it’s fine. It’s a valid question. Why wouldn’t I want to talk at my own fiancé’s funeral? Probably because my last words to him were fuck you” Y/N’s honest during these meetings. Like Linda said.

It’s a safe place.

“Well Y/N there are things we regret for saying to our deceased loved ones as our final words to them. But we also regret what we should’ve said instead of what we did” Linda states as a few members of the group agree with her but Y/N wasn’t up for it.

“You said it was a hit and run?” The youngest out of the group that Richie spotted spoke up. “You can get justice for his death Y’know Y/N”

“His parents are doing that shit. I don’t want to be involved.”

“I would” Richie looks at Y/N catching more stern look. “Wouldn’t you want to feel relieved that...you got justice”

“Did you? Mr. Comedian?”

So someone does know who he is. And it’s the one that’s quite the ball buster with an attitude.

“Did you get justice for the lost of your loved one?”

“Sir you don’t have to share if-“

“No no. I’m good” Richie straightens up giving Y/N a look before looking to everyone else. “I’m Richie Tozier, and I lost the love of my life a year ago. He was murdered.”

The gasps coming from a few had a lot of mixed feelings. It’s the famous comedian Richie Tozier. He’s gay? His love was murdered?

Y/N retracts in his seat but relaxes kind of feeling awful for trying to push a button he’d know for a fact, wouldn’t want to be pushed on himself.

“So...justice?” Y/N frowns looking at Richie sharing an exchange.

“Yeah. I got justice. But not how you’re going to get it”

“Let me guess. The asshole died? Before you could lay a hand on him?”

“Something like that” Richie reassures with a half smile before looking down in his lap.

And that was the last of both of them talking. The rest of the group continued with sharing and keeping IN MIND OF OTHER’S FEELINGS. Excuse me.

When the group dispersed, Richie headed out of the building finding Y/N hitting a smoke outside. He walks over beside him giving him a blank stare.

“Want one?”

“If you’re offering”

“Well, you were staring. Assumed more than offer on my own terms” Y/N states reaching for the pack and lighter in his back pocket handing it to Richie. “So, Richie Tozier at a grief group. That’s a sight for the papers”

“How much you want to be there’s going to be a picture of me in that group somewhere around social media?”

“A round of drinks” Y/N laughs taking his phone out as Richie lit his cigarette.

After typing in the comedian’s name in the twitter search bar, and there were a few tweets about it. But no picture. So fans are calling it fake news. Y/N shows Richie while taking back his pack after putting out his cigarette.

“So, who’s paying?”

“I will. I was a dick in group” Y/N smiles putting his phone away.

After a long walk to the nearest bar and stealing the last booth. Y/N set down a scotch for the comedian and a bottle of vodka with two shot classes.

“You drink a whole bottle?”

“I pay for a whole bottle. But for the most part. I can’t handle past three shots” Y/N states popping open the bottle. “You want one?”

“Pour it” Richie states as he takes a sip of his scotch. “So...who forced you to go to grief group?”

“Well, I sat in the waiting room as my fiancé died in an OR. So a nurse did when I got a bag of his belongings”

“Shit I’m sorry”

“Nah. You asked. I’m only going to be honest with you and answer it” Y/N smiles before handing him his shot as he took down his just to pour another one. “Can’t believe people can’t handle vodka.”

Richie coughed after downing his which caught a laugh from Y/N.

“See. Can’t handle”

“I’d like to see you handle tequila”

“Gross. Yeah no. Vodka is my death wish. Ain’t adding tequila to the party” Y/N says as he takes his phone out after getting a number of texts from his parents. “Idiots”

“Who?”

“My parents. They’re worried but yknow. My death wish” Y/N raises his second shot before taking it down.

“At least it’s just two people bugging you. I have four”

“I wouldn’t see it as bugging. It’s annoying but Y’know” Y/N shrugs watching Richie take his bottle to pour him another shot for the both of them.

“They only mean well” Richie states clinging shots with Y/N before regretting it. “Mm—shit dude. I don’t see how you can handle this crap.”

“Mm. Death wish” Y/N shrugs.

“Man. I remember the first few months...my friends wanted to put me in AA because I’d drink until I blacked out. But come on. Not to be rude to my friends who I consider my family, but their lives got better after everything.”

“Leaving you behind to grieve.” Y/N states taking his scotch to get a different taste in his mouth. “Yeah. I’m sorry you went through that. And well still? Or you wouldn’t be in grief group”

“My best friend out of them all suggested it. So I listened. Didn’t want to. Sat in the parking lot for an hour”

“Yeah. Honestly I know I’m not the best influence. But if you need someone who’s willing to relate without the rest of the world moving on?” Y/N held his hand out for Richie’s phone and was handed it to him with no hesitation. “You can text, call, whatever. Just not during the stereotypical work hours during the week”

“What do you do?”

“As much as I wish I had as much free time as you did. I’m a journalist.” Y/N says calmly saving his number in his phone handing it back. “And no. I won’t put this in an article. Even if it would give me brownie points”

“Man. Journalists have a harder time than I do. For the most part and from my knowledge” Richie laughs a bit as Y/N rolls his eyes smiling. “Y’know what. Fuck it. My manager will probably drop me but it won’t be hard to get a new one. You can put out an article that I’m back. I’ll send you stuff to support it cuz fuck it right? You only live once”

“You only live once” Y/N smiles laughing a bit to that. “But as much as it would be fun. To write about a well known comedian? We live in LA and...it’s going to be a bitch finding another to support you.” He got up from the booth grabbing his bottle resting his hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You need someone to care about you other than yourself and well the ones closest to you. I’ve got your back Rich” he says making his leave.

He’s got my back.

#I will obviously probably have a part two #bill hader #bill hader gifs #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #it chapter 2 #bill hader x reader

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harryhealybct-blog · 6 years

Text

Systems Experienced - Punishment Final

Final Fabrication

- Design laser cut into wood.

User Experience Image

Project Title

Punishment is a system of play targeted towards young adults. Players must abstain from using certain words or performing certain actions, or risk an elected punishment.

Reflective Statement

Looking more deeply at Punishment; there were things which worked well, and things which could be improved on.

Our main goal was to disrupt the way people interacted, and to create a loosely prescribed architecture for the facilitation of play within youth groups with common interests. Our focus was on young students who often spend their spare time with groups of friends and sub-regularly indulge in drink of the alcoholic kind.

Considering the demographic we targeted, Punishment succeeded in one specific area - as a supplementary play device. Our most successful playtests were with other students, and while they weren’t exclusively focussed on Punishment. This translates well when used as a drinking game.

Actions or words which are tied intrinsically to behavioural habits such as laughing, or using hand gestures were generally the most effective. This, in combination with the random nature of tossed tokens, a malleable ruleset, and a heavy emphasis on fellowship were the keys to what I thought was successful about Punishment.

During the projects timeline, there were some things which ultimately didn’t work out. The ability to combine two tokens for higher replayability and randomisation fell short in creating interest in observed players. I would attribute this to the unnecessary confusion this element created when the tokens were used.

Certain material iterations were quickly scrubbed, for various reasons. Clay was fragile, pro-cast lacked fidelity, and traditional cards didn’t quite fit our vision.

To improve Punishment, I think we could test within more specific environments, to more thoroughly assess the habits we could embody within our tokens. Furthering the project, specific sets could be developed for these environments. Sets using different materials, with different themes, words, and actions could allow for a wider audience than just the young party-goer.

Tag line

Be the instrument of divine retribution! Punishment is a set of modernised throwable tokens inspired by ancient fortune telling, designed to either complement or disrupt ANY social situation.

Rules

Preparing the game

Gather your party people together, in a group of 4 to 12, and find a open spaced area and sit down in a circular form. Get your drinks ready and open and turn your imagination on for thinking up some creative punishments. Then choose one of your party people (maybe your host) to collect all the cards from the box and get them to prepare everyone to begin.

Game Play

REMEMBER! You CAN’T do or say the word that is written on your card, otherwise- PUNISHMENT!

Whoever you decide was best fitted to throw cards (that won’t injure anyone) throws them into the middle of the circle.

Each of the players have to try race against each other to pick out a card of your preference, or one that you think you can manage to not do.

Once you all have collected a card, the side that is face up is what you have chosen, the the remaining cards are put aside back into the box.

If you get a wild card, the group of people playing decides what you can’t do or say. This could be something specific this particular person does so you could make it quite challenging for them.

Then you all take turns going around the circle saying which card you have chosen and what you can’t say or do, kinda like a alcoholic at an AA meeting.

This is a free round for all of you so you can share what card you have without a punishment.

Once everyone has shared, you all decide together on a universal punishment that you will have to do if someone catches you doing what you can’t do/say.

If you see someone do what they can’t do/say you must shout punishment immediately in order for the person to do the universal punishment otherwise they are able to get away with it.

The game can be played during a social event or party, or even could be played as a during another game, which would make things more interesting.

There is no timeframe for the game, you can choose to finish a game or start fresh whenever they chose, but you all need to be aware of the change.

Playtest Video

https://vimeo.com/283262644

#systemsexperienced #ctec503

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curiousview-blog · 3 years

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You’re not alone

The sixth part of ‘How to stop drinking: A guide for normal people’. A series in which I am sharing my reflections on living, and staying sober, in a fun, honest, down-to-earth way to show that an alcohol-free life is possible. Previous chapters can be found below on www.samwarren.net

My deep breath plunge into the deep end of sobriety, was partly because I’d seen someone leap before me. I’d always considered a close friend of mine to be a heavier drinker than me, and she’d just quit. A therapist she was seeing for chronic anxiety refused to treat her until she got help for her drinking, referring her to Alcoholics Anonymous. Yes, AA. When she’d told me a couple of months before, all I could think was that my funky, cool, intelligent, wonderful, gorgeous friend had been forced to join the glum circle of broken old drunks on uncomfortable chairs in a depressing community centre hall. How awful! But if she could do it, could I?

Image credit: Amita.K.Patel, Pinterest

Of course AA turned out to be nothing like that. She’d spoken to me of how incredible the meetings were, and how much inspiration she was getting from even the ‘broken old drunks’ - and especially them in fact. On that last hungover Monday morning, with fear-soaked fingers and blurred eyes from crying, I texted her. “I can’t do this any more. Tell me about AA” I mean, if she could stop drinking, then surely there was hope for me? She told me to get online, find a meeting happening near me that night and just go. Then call her directly after. “Honestly babe, they’re just like us” was her parting advice. Google ‘AA meetings’ and see what you get. I was stunned. There are gatherings of people who want to quit drinking literally everywhere in the country, every day of the week, and sometimes more than once a day. Rather like rats, you are probably never more than 12 steps away from one.

I will never forget my first AA meeting. I was terrified of going, but the thought I might never drink alcohol again was almost paralysing. How the HELL was that even possible? I’d rather die than live as a boring, dull, shameful sober person. Putting on my coat to leave my flat on that dark rainy night in March felt like walking to my own execution. But I kept on walking because I’d told my friend I would. It wasn’t too far away, and in a familiar area of town, but when I got there, I couldn’t find the place. FFS, I needed this to be easy! The address I had seemed to be for a PUB!? Surely they didn’t hold AA meetings in a room above a pub?

Image credit: Lars Ploughmann, Flickr

This tickled me immensely, and I think it was the amusement of that ludicrous thought that stopped me from turning round and walking very quickly home again (via the off licence). Eventually, in the drizzly gloom, I noticed an alleyway tucked to one side that led to a brightly lit, low brick building in the car park behind the pub. I must have looked lost as a man asked me if I was, “here for the meeting?” and showed me in. I forget his name, but I won’t forget his smile.

Entering that bright bustling room from the dark outside felt like a giant step into sunshine. The windows were steamed up from damp coats and hot coffee. Everyone was milling about chatting and laughing, folks from all walks of life. There were all ages - some much younger than me too, which I didn’t expect. So. Many. People. I didn’t know if this was wonderful (I’m not alone!!) or awful (Jeez, it’s an epidemic!). It’s the smiles and the laughter that I recall most from my time with AA. I didn’t complete the 12 steps, I only stayed 4 months in fact. I could see how attending a meeting every day (or more) could turn into another addiction. I’m absolutely not knocking anyone who has made AA a way of life or who is wonderful enough to volunteer and help run the incredible organization that it is, just that for me, I wanted alcohol out of my life, which included sitting around talking about not drinking as much as the actual drinking part. I might not be drunk, but alcohol would be there with me all the same.

But in those early days and weeks of sobriety, you need to feel part of something bigger, to trust that others’ have your back – even strangers – and that you’ll be caught if you fall. It’s estimated that half a million people in England alone are dependent drinkers, but 82% of those are not in treatment. You are most definitely not alone. You probably didn’t start drinking by yourself, and you don’t have to stop on your own either. You only need to reach out. I’d wholeheartedly recommend you at least start your separation from alcohol with the support of others – whether that’s an organised meeting, an online forum, or just reading these posts.

That room held the strangest gathering of human beings I’d ever encountered. It was wonderfully affirming. People brought together by a desire to get well, regardless of age, colour, race, class. Some were visibly damaged by their addictions, standing beside others you’d never guess were alcoholics in a million years. I was offered a mug of hot coffee from a big silver urn by people just like me – young professional women. My contribution to the kitty was refused on account of it being my first meeting. People welcomed and congratulated me with such genuine warmth. I felt at home, despite obviously looking perplexed at holding a hot mug at 8pm instead of a cool glass. A smart woman in a suit, kicked off her high heels to tug on some trainers. She smiled at me reassuringly. “It’s OK” she said, “we drink a lot of tea here!”

Image credit: Zepbrook refreshments, zepbrook.co.uk

#alcohol #women and alcohol #women's writing #quit drinking #quit alcohol #alcoholism #stop drinking #control alcohol #addiction #alcohol support groups #alcoholics anonymous

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amandabct · 6 years

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August 6 : FINAL BLOG POST - STUDIO

ACADEMIC DESCRIPTION

Cleromancy is a form of sortition and casting, in which an outcome is determined by means that normally would be considered random, but are believed to reveal the future will of God or other supernatural entities. (Douglas, 2017. Page, 02).

PROJECT TITLE

Punishment is our game build off this Cleromancy concept. Punishment is a drinking game targeted at young adults, whereby players are forced to eliminate a word or action from their behavior and if unsuccessful a punishment is assigned.

PLAY AESTHETICS

For our project, we focused on the three play aesthetics - challenge, fellowship, and expression. Challenge was represented in our game by eliminating easy words or actions from one’s ability when one’s card was chosen. Promoting players to use new thought processes and different behavioral patterns. According to (Laudau, 2017), the cerebral cortex shows an increase in “higher thought processes, order motor planning, and cognitive control when introduced to new behaviors or thought environments”, such as eliminating natural words or actions. (p. 16 to 17).

As the game is a multiplayer experience it uses the aesthetic of fellowship. According to Demir and Jaafar (2012), fellowship increases “positive psychological well being which expanse the relationship between social skills, happiness and fair play”, (p. 45).

In our game, only a couple of rules are explicit, leaving the rest of the game to be decided by each other. Implicit rules help groups communicate self-expression, ideas, creativity, though, and diversity. According to Eden and Veksler (2016), “primary motor cortex contributes to the implementation of implicit value-based rules during motor decisions, providing evidence for a functional contribution towards an activity”, (p. 112).

REFLECTIVE STATEMENT

Target Audience

Our game of play is targeted at the audience of teenagers / young adults in a social drinking situation. As students, we too, spend time drinking and socializing so we thought by creating a game that increases the enjoyment of these situations benefits us too. We noticed the target audience, don’t find card games an activity of leisure anymore, so we thought if we focused our cards as complementary to other games or activities, such as drinking it would be effective and played.

What Worked?

Choosing to make tokens/coins rather than a generic set of cards. In the game, once you pick a card you hold onto that card for the duration of the game. When testing we noticed people tended to fiddle with coins more. This reminded people they were playing the game but also successfully followed the usability heuristic of affordance. Affordance, meaning people should understand the coins need to be tossed without reading instructions. We wanted to create a game that people want to play before it’s been played.

The idea of throwing cards, as this added a random effect when they landed. It also added the aspect of fun which is directly correlated with play.

Allowing the group to determine the punishments and value of the wildcards. This added the idea of implicit rules which makes the game more focused on the group playing.

What Didn’t Work?

We always liked the idea of randomization. We had previously decided that the cards would be double sided but could be taken apart and reconnected to others so no one would ever learn the cards. However, when prototyping we noticed that to reconnect would be difficult to create. When playtesting we also noticed people didn’t show interest in reconnecting the cards. Thinking further about it, people might lose the cards too.

Using symbols instead of words, as people especially drunk teenagers won’t remember or be able to interpret the symbols. As the game is simple to play, we thought it was only fitting to have text that was simple and easy to understand (when drunk!)

The Future and Production

As a group, we decided to make the cards out of wood as it was the most durable material, it was tactile and aesthetically pleasing compared with clay and procast plastic. However, to keep with the coin theme, I think it would be interesting to create a set of coins made of metal, this would emphasize the Cleromancy idea. But I also think the usability heuristic of affordance would be maximized as people associate metal coins with money and tossing them.

Also, like the game Cards Against Humanity, we could make expansion packs so cards could be refreshed and new games played. This would add another element of challenge and enjoyment.

REFERENCES

Douglas, H. (2017). Online Etymology Dictionary. The United States of America.

Laudau, A. (2017). The Neuroscience of Improvisation. Melbourne, Australia.

Demir, M., & Jaafar, J. (2012). Social Skills, Friendship, and Happiness: A Cross-Cultural Investigation. Arizona, United State of America.

Eden, J., & Veksler, A. (2016). Relational Maintenance in Digital Age : Implicit Rules and Multiple Modalities. Virginia, United States of America.

PLAY EXPERIENCE DESCRIPTION

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Punishment is a Prophetic Drinking game drawing inspiration from archaic cleromancy and Voodoo Prophecy, designed to complement social gatherings by adding additional layers of complexity to interactions.

RULES OF PLAY

Preparing

Gather your party people together, in a group of 4 to 12, and find an open spaced area and sit down in a circular form. Get your drinks ready and open and turn your imagination on for thinking up some creative punishments. Then choose one of your party people (maybe your host) to collect all the cards from the box and get them to prepare everyone to begin.

Aim

The aim of the game is to not say or do the action that is displayed on a circular card. Whoever does, is punished, which the group of people playing collectively decided on what the punishment will be.

How to Play

REMEMBER! You CAN’T do or say the word that is written on your card, otherwise- PUNISHMENT!

Whoever you decide was best fitted to throw cards (that won’t injure anyone) throws them into the middle of the circle.

Each of you party player have to try race against each other to pick out a card of your preference, or one that you think you can manage to not do. While doing this, try not to stumble or fall on top of each other, that would just get weird...

Once you all have collected a card, the remaining cards are put aside back into the box.

Then you all take turns going around the circle saying which card you have chosen and what you can’t say or do, kinda like an alcoholic at an AA meeting.

This is a free round for all of you so you can share what card you have without a punishment, cause I’m sure you would have already gotten on by forgetting about not being able to do it.

Once everyone has shared, you all decided together on a general punishment that you will have to do if you lose.

The game can be played while continuing on with the social event or drinking, played as a background game.

If you are caught doing and action or saying a word that they can’t, punishment needs to be called immediately otherwise you are able to get away with it.

There is no timeframe for the game, you can choose to finish a game or start fresh whenever they chose, but you all need to be aware of the change.

PLAYTEST VIDEO INCLUDING RULES

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FCe8ANZ1y0

PHOTOS

#systemsexperienced CTEC503

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itsworn · 7 years

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Gassers, Dragsters, Altereds, and More Turn Out for the Awesome 15th Annual Hot Rod Reunion in Bowling Green

The official name is The Holley National Hot Rod Reunion presented by AAA Insurance at Beech Bend Raceway Park, produced by the Wally Parks NHRA Motorsports Museum. OK, that mouthful is the official name, but to real hot rodders everywhere it is simply and reverentially known as “The Hot Rod Reunion.” This vintage drag race/rod run remains at the top of our must-attend list.

The event is all about elapsed time, and that applies to every car and driver in attendance, because time is truly elapsing at an alarming rate of speed. Going to the Hot Rod Reunion is the perfect venue for serious bench racing with friends old and new. Every year, we manage to meet another legend of the sport and share great stories about the golden years of drag racing. While other racetracks incorporate the term park in their name, Beech Bend truly is a park-like setting, with a large campground and amusement park adjoining the dragstrip. Of course, for hot rodders the real source of amusement is a sticky stretch of asphalt running two lanes wide for a quarter of a mile.

The atmosphere is one of pure hot rodding. From the Circle of Legends to the nearly 1,500 show-and-shine cars, it’s the real deal. The racers aren’t here to win a big purse; they’re here for the love of vintage drag racing, and it shows.

But don’t think for one minute this is exhibition racing. The competition is hot and heavy, and the vintage racers are turning times that were unimaginable in the 1960s. For example, the top six Nostalgia Fuel Dragsters were all in the 5-second range, with speeds up to 260 mph. We love the Gassers, Super Stock, and ’09 groups, but the fuel cars (Top Fuel, Funny Car, and Fuel Altered) bring a different dimension to this weekend. Nothing compares to nitro cars, and we can honestly say when the fuel cars run, there isn’t a dry eye in the place. The racing was non-stop with practice and qualifying on Thursday and Friday, followed by eliminations on Saturday.

There is also a vintage swap meet filled with “all the right stuff,” ranging from a roller Funny Car to huffers to Model A bodies. Every year, while mining this area for parts, we seem to unearth large deposits of magnesium.

When the eliminations were complete (go to nhramuseum.org for all race results), it was time for the Cacklefest. If you have never seen a big Cacklefest, you have one more reason to attend the NHRA Museum Hot Rod Reunion. At Bowling Green, half of the cars are rolled into place and fired up with starter motors, while the other half are push-started and arrive rumbling and snorting fire. It is a sight and sound you won’t soon forget.

And then, one by one, the cackle cars shut down. And so, with tears streaming from my eyes, another NHRA Museum Hot Rod Reunion was in the books. We’ll be back again next year for the Sweet Sixteen celebration.

Fuelish Pleasure: Few things compare to a pair of short-wheelbase AA/FA cars making a side-by-side burnout. The Rat Trap is always a fan favorite and consistently runs in the low 6s at over 200 mph. In the far lane the name Havoc seems appropriate.

Murphy’s Law: Jim Murphy and the WWII team lined up against top qualifier James Young in the Young Guns car for the final round. Murphy pulled strong on the top end to go around Young with a 5.713/257.33 mph over the 5.920/253.56 of Young.

Glass Gasser: As always, the Gassers at the Reunion were a huge hit with the fans. Smoky burnouts, big wheelstands, and speed-shifting are all part of driving Dustin Corn’s wild ’57 Corvette gasser. A de-stroked 310-inch small-block and four-speed make this a real gasser.

Things Ida Never Known: East Coast drag racer and hot rod builder extraordinaire Bob Ida was on hand with two of his 1960s drag cars. The Willys originally ran B/GS with a blown 409, and later a blown Hemi. When Bob realized a Willys has about the same drag coefficient as a sheet of plywood, he decided to transplant the Hemi into a low profile ’56 Austin-Healey, allowing him to remain in B/GS with the 331-inch Hemi. After a couple years of devouring the competition, the car was crumpled in a wild wheelstand landing and subsequently scrapped. Miraculously, the car was discovered 40 years later and restored to its former glory by Bob and Rob Ida, complete with the Roto-Faze-huffed Hemi hiding under a hood scoop formed from a sliced and diced wheelbarrow. Tales such as this bring us back to the Hot Rod Reunion year after year.

Earning His Stripes: The long-roof Chevrolets from 1955-1957 became drag race favorites in both Junior Stock and Modified Production classes of the 1960s. While we’re not sure who first striped the roof on these cars, today it is their signature paint scheme. The striped roof on this ’57 wagon with wheels high was a total time warp.

True Blue Custom: Billy Jack and Gayle Ethridge of Meridian, Mississippi, have captured the look of a mid-1950s custom perfectly with this ’39 Mercury. From the Carson top to the one-piece louvered hood and smoothed doors, this car is period perfect. Add a custom grille, white running boards, and a set of ’57 Caddy caps to complete the look.

The Prefect Cabbie: A big part of the fun at the Reunion is discovering obscure cars such as this former drag car dubbed the Tennessee Taxi. Based on an English Ford Prefect, this former race car was powered by a Ford inline-six that placed it in G/G. The offset hood scoop on the fiberglass tilt nose is an inline indicator.

All Wrinkled Up: While big burnouts get the fans fired up, when it comes time to race, the smoke is replaced by wrinkled rear tires, wide open butterflies and front wheels ever-so-slightly airborne. That is exactly how Randy Bradford launches his AA/FA.

Room at the Hilton: Members of the Hilton family were Honorees for 2017. While in recent years a lot of attention has been focused on a string of sinister Model A hot rods built by Hilton Hot Rods, there is also a long heritage of drag racing, including their current nostalgia NTF entry, with Tyler Hilton driving.

Staging for Father’s Day: Ed Beaumont’s Orange Peel is a gennie split-window Corvette with a colorful race history. The straight-axle, blown big-block, and four-speed combination makes for exciting passes. Since the Reunion is held on Father’s Day weekend, it seems fitting to see a younger crew member in the staging lanes.

Hot Rod from Woodstock: Well, OK, not the home of the famed rock festival. Long-time hot rodder Bob Knaack and his Model A coupe hail from Woodstock, Illinois. The dual-quad-fed Hemi is nestled between the Deuce rails, while a hard chop and lots-o-louvers continue the traditional theme.

Daily Supplement: Dave Schultz had his Super Stock Plymouth Savoy, Vitamin C, on hand for the weekend. This is the best way we can think of to take your vitamins, and Mopar lovers know the hot orange paint, dubbed Vitamin C, as one of the High Impact Colors. Hey, it was the 1960s.

Going for the Riddler: Holy Reunion Batman! Yeah, anything goes at the Hot Rod Reunion, including this version of the Batmobile. The details are a bit sketchy, but current owner Steve Anderson told us his car was on display in a casino for a while and went through a couple of owners before he purchased the car for his own Bat Cave. The car rides on a ’98 Corvette chassis with LS power. This makes “going after the Riddler” take on a whole new meaning. Yes, it was street-driven from Indiana.

The British are Coming: And they seem to be in a hurry. Owner/driver Nick Davies raced against the famed Rat Trap during a European tour. After the race, Ron Hope discovered Havoc really didn’t have anyone to race against in England. The natural solution was to bring the car and crew to the U.S. for a 2017 tour and share shop space with the Rat Trap. Running a 6.460 at 223.84 proves they are ready to take on the Yanks.

Trackside Again: The term “barn find” may be wearing thin, but this B/A Fiat qualifies. Originally built in the 1960s by Stan Radauskas, aka Stan Adams, the car sits on a Lakewood chassis. Stan raced it for several years with an injected small-block before selling the car to the Untouchables Car Club in 1969. The club promptly swapped in an injected L88. Stan bought the car back in the 1970s, but never realized his dream of restoring the car. It sat in Stan’s shop for 46 years until Curt Vogt purchased the car. Today the restored car is owned by the Shane Weckerly family. This is the first time the car has been to a dragstrip in 47 years.

Period Paint: Endless line, flake, pearl, freak spots, and lace: Pure 1960s trick paint, and you could find all of those effects on this ’56 Chevy gasser. Redline front tires and a fenderwell filled with white headers complete the appropriate appearance package.

Cackle Cammer: Larry Coleman’s Super Ford is a rare Torino Funny Car. Making the car even more interesting is the SOHC engine and automatic transmission. The car was built in 1968 and was a great addition to the Cacklefest.

Body in White: If you frequented any dragstrip in America in 1962, we guarantee there was a Sport Fury that looked just like this car in the staging lanes. Chances are it had a 413 Max Wedge under the hood, and it may have been street driven to the track.

Blue Oval: We often marvel at how simple it can be to build a really cool hot rod hauler. Shave a little trim, pick a cool color, and find the absolute perfect stance. Finish it all off with a great set of contrasting wheels and the job is done. The only thing missing for this weekend is a big board bolted to the front bumper, as this Blue Oval hauler would make a great push truck.

Channeling the Past: Steve and Anne Gamache motored in from Ray, Michigan, in this deeply channeled ’33 Ford pickup. A dual-quad-fed nailhead Buick provides equal parts good looks and power. The white firewall, interior, and tonneau cover combine with wide whites and steelies to nail the early 1960s look.

Flattie for the Record: In drag racing circles, the diminutive V8/60 was not a common sight. Harold and Jeanne Revis built this F/Dragster in their home garage in Travelers Rest, South Carolina. The rail was raced throughout the Southeast in the early 1960s, setting records at many tracks. The car was raced at the NHRA Nationals as late as 1968.

Da Mob: The show-and-shine side of the grassy fields was filled with street-going gassers. Joey Bridges drove down from Louisville with Sweet Pea, a 1961 Falcon gasser. The metalflake roof is the perfect touch for this nose-high lightweight. Look closely and you will see Joey runs with the Straight Axle Mafia car club, a street and strip club.

Scramblin’ Rambler: Let’s face it, you just don’t see many 1967 Rambler gassers. Michael Rados pilots this S/C-flavored Rambler aptly named American Scrambled in the Nostalgia Gasser ranks. Red, white, and blue paint with old-school velocity stacks complete the visual package.

Innovation: Great race cars are built by innovators. Jim Mize of Harriman, Tennessee, built this 1950 Anglia with a Hilborn-injected Red Ram 260-inch Hemi under the hood. A set of rare D-500 heads was ported and installed. Up front, the stock Anglia wheels are still in use, but out back a set of Olds Toronado wheels bolt to the ’58 Olds rear, providing the negative offset required to put the big slicks partially under the rear fenders. The car was last raced in 1974.

Quick-on-the-Draw: James Young and the Young Guns team began the weekend by capturing the number-one qualifier spot in NTF. But as we know, this is an intensely competitive class; while the team made it all the way to final round, in the end Jim Murphy snuck past them by 0.207 second. However, the Young Guns team effectively served notice, they are a force to be reckoned with.

Fryin’ the Hides: After winning the big March Meet, the High Speed team rolled into Beech Bend with the points lead. When all the smoke cleared, Mendy Fry and the High Speed team had slipped to second place after a close loss in the semi-finals. The 2017 NTF points race is going to be interesting.

International Cackle, Eh: The Alien II was born to cackle. John Chandler is semi-retired from his race car building business in Ontario, Canada. Over the years, John has built more than 30 rear-engine rails. Now that he has a bit more time, he decided to build a period-correct, front-engine T/F cackle car. This car is spot on, period-correct enough to fool most folks. The hot Canadian had the motor tuned and “firing” on all cylinders.

Festival of Fuel: As the sun goes down on Saturday afternoon, the Cacklefest begins. Dozens of nitromethane-gulping race cars line the track and fill the night air with fire, fumes, and noise. It is a fitting close to a fantastic weekend.

All Good Things: Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so it was time to jump in your channeled roadster and aim the old hot rod toward home.

The post Gassers, Dragsters, Altereds, and More Turn Out for the Awesome 15th Annual Hot Rod Reunion in Bowling Green appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/gassers-dragsters-altereds-turn-awesome-15th-annual-hot-rod-reunion-bowling-green/ via IFTTT

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