#only a few hours left until the muppets are on my screen

[sciendere]

What’s This?

Snowdeke fluff, post S7 in my self indulgent headcanon where everyone gets a happy ending and absolutely nothing bad happens to anyone. 

Summary: The holidays can  be stressful, especially when it’s your first Terran Christmas and you’re still learning how to properly people. Deke is trying to help Snowflake navigate the holidays through the help of movies, and she finds herself relating in particular to the misadventures of one Jack Skellington. A series of scenes of Snowflake discovering and trying to understand Yuletide, as set to the lyrics of What’s This? from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Inspired by my Snowflake Christmas headcanon post.  Just tumblr now, this is the first fic I’ve completed in literal years and I’ve lost my AO3 login information because I’ve never really had anything to put there until tonight. Enjoy my odd little story please!

~

Adjusting to new cultures is never an easy thing. At least that’s what Deke kept repeating to himself under his breath as he tried, with his limited modern-day Earth knowledge, to help Snowflake acclimate herself to Terran life. She’d managed a basic grasp of most mundane daily situations- be friendly, be polite, and knives stay in your pocket- but special occasions, holidays in particular, were still a bit foreign to her. Routine was so much easier, especially when for years it was literally the only constant in her life. Something he even understood, so when words failed him, he had a secret weapon- passwords to every streaming service he had. Television and movies were his teacher, and now they were hers. December had come before they knew it, and as she watched the Thanksgiving Day parade, confused and bewildered by the strange-to-her things on display, he realized the time had come to teach her about the winter holidays, Christmas in particular. Christmas meant parties, parties meant company, and company meant the fiancee needed to be on her best and least embarrassing behavior. This was already a bit of a tall order for Snow, and for the most part, Deke let her eccentricities slide as long as there were no injuries or casualties, but he also didn’t want her to feel left out. “So,” he said one day, handing her the remote to the TV like a proud father handing his child the keys to their first car, “Christmas is coming. You need to learn about it.”

“Ooh, is it binge-watching time again?” she asked. Her eyes lit up. “I love binge-watching!”

“It’s binge-watching time,” Deke replied. “Your mission: gather as much intel on the Terran celebration of Christmas as you can. Preferably in the next week or so. Parties start early, yo.” “Mission accepted!” she squealed. She snuggled into the beat up couch in their apartment’s living room, making herself comfortable. “Great, have fun,” he said. “You want me to order pizza or anything?” “You know my regular order.” Deke rolled his eyes. Engaged life had its ups and downs, and one of them was having to recognize your woman, as much as you might have in common with her, will always disagree with you on extremely important topics. He sighed. “Pepperoni, canadian bacon, and pineapple,” he said, disgusted and horrified but still a supportive man to the very end.

“That’s my boy,” she said.

~ A few hours later, stacks of pizza had been devoured by both of them during that evening’s Christmas movie marathon, and Deke had dozed off beside Snow on the couch. They’d worked their way through several of the classics- Elf, Muppet Christmas Carol, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street, and A Christmas Story- and Snow clicked her way lazily through the titles on the screen, looking for one that really caught her eye without Deke’s helpful advice to guide her. She’d come to understand the holiday a bit from them, but it was still so foreign. The movies were good, but she just didn’t grasp entirely the sentiments behind them.  One in particular truly stood out to her, one that from the poster art didn’t even look like much of a Christmas movie at all, but instead, bore a smiling dapper cartoon skeleton man. “The Nightmare Before Christmas?” she read off the screen. It was certainly different from the other titles she’d seen. “Awesome.” She hit play on the menu and watched as the stop-motion puppets filled her screen, already in love with the morbid imagery. Finally, a movie that spoke to her soul. Deke woke up about half way into the movie, to find Snow beside him paying rapt attention to it. “Huh what’s this… oh Nightmare Before Christmas? Always watched it at Halloween myself but I guess it’ll do too.” “This movie is amazing! Jack’s just like me.. He just wants to learn and figure out Christmas and he sang a whole song and he’s just trying to make Christmas for everyone!” Snow pointed to the screen, where Jack was puzzling over the secret to Christmas. “See? That’s me now,” she said. Deke just smiled, happy his woman was happy. Maybe she’d figure out this Christmas thing in time… ~

Nightmare became a favorite for her over the next few days. Though she still puzzled over Christmas, Deke had begun to walk her through the holiday by explaining it to her the best he could, but late at night she’d return to Halloweentown, feeling a little less alone in Jack’s bewilderment at a world he loved but also didn’t totally understand. Of all the songs, “What’s This?” captured her feelings best, she thought, not just about Christmas, but getting used to another world entirely.

~ What's this? What's this?

There's color everywhere

What's this?

There's white things in the air

What's this? “So.. the white ornaments on the trees are-”

Snowflake had never cut Deke off faster, and she was used to him saying several stupid things a day. “I swear to gods, Deke, if you even try to explain the concept of snowflakes and snow to me. Like I don’t know what my own damn name means. It’s the one thing I DO get about the holidays.” She smiled, but it was one of her smiles laced in venom and dried blood on the blade of a dagger, one where you were reminded, and fast, she’d spent years as the galaxy’s deadliest assassin, and she could go back to that life anytime if she really wanted.

He chuckled nervously but knew she meant business, even if she was joking. And God help him if he ever wound up on her bad side. “Yes’m,” he said. 

“False advertising, though, there’s none out here right now even though it’s winter. I feel like it’s just a tease to throw those picturesque landscapes at you when we don’t know what the weather on the 25th will be at all just yet. This is a planet with varying climates, is it not?” “Well, yes…”

“Then why is it being advertised like we’re on a frozen planet?” “Snow, honey, it’s stylistic, just don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink most of it. In fact, thinking? Highly overrated in general.” “First time you’ve made sense all day. You know, though,” she said, “it’s not hard to pretend half the songs on the radio right now are actually about me. Because everyone here just loves me that much.” “You were wanted for murder and larceny in five states before I bribed Daisy into hacking their law enforcement’s networks to clear your name.” And it was expensive as hell too,  he thought to himself. “Let it Snow. Is about me.” “Right, right,” Deke said. “You’re right.”  

~

What's this?

There are people singing songs

What's this?

The streets are lined with

Little creatures laughing

Everybody seems so happy

“So you’re just telling me people go out in big groups and sing in public places, not even for money, and no one really cares? And they’re called… Curlers?” Swing and a miss, Deke thought, but he gave her points for genuinely trying. The two were on a park bench listening to a choir sing in the city park. “Carolers. Curlers play a weird ice sport with brooms and a rock.” “Who’s Carol? What’s she got to do with it? Should I know about her? Is she the lady statue over there?” Snowflake pointed to a nearby church’s Nativity scene and Deke quickly pushed her hand down, praying the awkward stares from passerby stayed at a minimum.

“It’s just another word for song, they just.. They sing. To make people happy, make them remember stuff. It’s fun.” She still struggled at the idea of being a street performer just for the enjoyment of it, not sure why anyone would do anything like that without it getting them money, but it was simultaneously the most adorable thing she’d ever heard. “I’m glad they’re doing it. Their singing is pretty.” ~ Oh, look

What's this?

They're hanging mistletoe, they kiss

Why that looks so unique, inspired

It was the afternoon and Snow couldn’t help but notice the weird little bit of twigs hanging over the doorway of the kitchen. “Deke, there’s plants on the doorframe! What have you been up to this time?” “Decorating?”

She reached for the leaves the best she could with her tiny frame and sniffed up into the air. “Mistletoe,” she said. “We had this on my planet. Leaves and berries are poisonous. Really good for if you want to take someone out without a lot of mess- is this a present? For me? Who do you need-” “Wait wait wait- Snowflake NO, no one is getting poisoned.” 

She frowned. “Waste of good mistletoe if you ask me. What is it for, then?” “So… you hang mistletoe from doorways, and if you and your love walk under it… you kiss.” “We kiss under the poisonous, parasitic bush?” She was confused but intrigued by this strange custom. “Look, it’s tradition, don’t ask questions, I don’t know either.” “And I thought Terrans were soft… that’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. Kiss me under the poison.” “You really don’t need to put it like that-” Deke said, but before he could finish, Snow had pulled him in for a kiss. One he happily returned. He wasn’t about to waste some good mistletoe, after all. ~ They're gathering around to hear a story

Roasting chestnuts on a fire

Snow threw a copy of The Night Before Christmas across the bedroom. “No, I’ve tried to understand so much of this holiday, most of it I’m coming around to, but this? This is where I draw the line.”

“Sweetie, it’s a kid’s book, it’s not that big a deal-” “No, I’m not upset about a book,” she said, “This… this Santa? No sense at all,” she said. “The sleigh is just magic, like any other kid’s story, you really don’t have to try that hard to understand it.” “Oh no,” she replied, “the sleigh makes perfect sense to me. Santa knows what’s up, you put in your coordinates, fiddle with a few things, the ley lines get you to the nearest destination. Easy, basic dimensional travel, even if it might be a bit more efficient if he didn’t insist on using reindeer. Makes all the sense in the world to me, the rest of you all just need to get on our level. But everything else about the big man… No.”

“I’m going to hear about your problems with him whether I want to or not, aren’t I?” Deke asked. “Bingo,” she said. “You people are just okay with a man in a red suit breaking and entering? To leave presents for children? A man in velvet and fur does that, it’s holiday spirit, I do that, and it’s ‘creepy’ and ‘wrong’ and ‘next time, Snowflake, just knock’” “I warned you Nana and Bobo have been Terran all their lives and they were going to take your ‘extreme baby surprise’ a bit differently than you thought they would.” “And I told you it’s good for the little brat, keeps them on their toes and gives them a bit of exciting mystery in life. So I get why the Terran children love this story so much, even if I think it’s a case of double standards. But the man’s clothes are simply not stealthy or tactical. You can’t sneak in red, especially on your mythical white Christmases, you’re going to stick out from a mile away! And don’t get me started on the chimney… what happens if you don’t have one. We don’t have one, would Santa just climb in through the window? Lockpick?”

Deke nodded. She made several points, even if it was a bit much for her to approach Santa through the perspective of her area of expertise. “I got nothing on those last two points.”

“He goes to all that work… for snack food,” Snow said. “At least you lot could tip your home invaders a bit better. I’d expect at least large sums of money, in small unmarked bills, for that kind of performance.” Deke nodded. Milk and cookies really did seem like an unfair trade-off for overnight delivery. “I hear what you’re saying but that’s just the Christmas spirit for you, he’s grateful just for the snacks. He does it to be giving. At least, I think that’s supposed to be the point of it all.” 

His reply took her aback. She would rather lose her right hand than admit Deke was right in this conversation, easily, but at the same time, she could see the little nugget of truth in what he had to say. One that made her stop and think. Snow pulled herself out of bed and walked across the room to pick the book up. “But all that aside, it’s a lovely story,” she said quickly. “Even if nothing about it makes sense.” “You never make sense. Like. In general.” “I know. Get used to it, because we don’t do sense in this household.” “Wouldn’t have you any other way.” ~ What's this?

In here they've got a little tree, how queer

And who would ever think

And why?

They're covering it with tiny little things

They've got electric lights on strings

 “This one,” she said, “this is the perfect ornament for the dead tree.” Snow waved a Christmas ornament in front of Deke’s face in the packed gift shop, a kitten in a gift box holding the banner “Meowy Christmas.”

“For the last time, it’s called a Christmas tree,” Deke said. “Even if it… is… a dead tree. Technically.”

“Well the dead tree needs a festive Flerken on it,” she said, putting the bauble in his shopping basket. “They’re cats here, snowbunny,” Deke whispered, “cats.”

“Cat, Flerken, potayto potahto, isn’t that how it goes? We have to buy these too,” she said, putting a box of round glass ornaments into the basket. Deke looked in and was unsurprised to see glittering snowflakes painted on all of them. 

“These are just regular ball ornaments we have plenty of- oh,” he said. He knew despite her original misgivings about the guarantees of weather, the snowy motifs made her feel a little less alone and out of place, and had been playing along for a while with her insistence they were about her. “Of course we need them.”

“That’s how everyone will know the tree is mine,” she said proudly. 

“We have enough now,” Deke said. “Our tree isn’t that big, and we still have lights and garland for it-” “No,” she insisted, and another boxed ornament was in her hand. “Just one more?” The ornament was a ceramic retro styled semi truck, decked out in Christmas lights and wreaths. Deke looked at it, and spent a second in confusion as to why she’d want such a mundane thing on the tree, until it clicked.  Despite the hard times she’d had in her past, she still had a few fond memories of her adventures with the crew- Jaco in particular- and an occasional homesickness for her intergalactic, interdimensional home for so many years. And for all her confusion, she’d seemed to figure out part of Christmas was celebrating the past. “We.. we never had Christmas… or much of any holidays, really, it happens when you can’t really stay in one place for too long, on there… but it’d be like this, if we had,” she said. “You know.. Just in memory of the family who couldn’t make it.”

Deke nodded. He’d lost his family going back in time too, and understood how Snow felt. The tree was covered in lemons as a sort of nod to his past, and adding snowflakes and trucks to that mix just seemed right. 

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll buy this one more thing.” “One more? Oh no,” she said, and in her hands was a strand of lights with clear snowflakes around the bulbs. “That dead tree isn’t done until you can barely see tree under it.”

Deke smiled. She was starting to get it.

~

The smell of cakes and pies

Are absolutely everywhere

 “What’s your favorite sweet?” Deke asked, out of nowhere at breakfast on a cold December morning, a few days before Christmas. 

“Huh?”

“Nana and Bobo are coming Christmas morning. So we’ll be doing the cooking this year and having our dinner with them. I thought I’d make the actual dinner, you could maybe do the baking and something sweet for dessert? I know you love sweets.” 

Snow thought for a moment, then started listing things, counting them off on her fingers. “Cookies.. Pies.. cakes.. Bread-” She stopped suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?” Deke asked. “I thought you loved all the treats you’ve been trying this month.”

“I do, they’ve all been divine. I just thought of my options for baking and then I thought of how much Jaco would love this time of year… He taught me a few things and I can probably use that knowledge to make just about anything, but it’s just not the same without him there to give me advice.” Her blue eyes grew big with bittersweet memories and Deke could see the sparkle of tears forming in them. Her sad face always destroyed him, knowing all the pain and loss her expression held. Deke grabbed for her hands and held them tightly. 

“We have cookbooks… we can call Nana for advice, she’s a biochemist, baking is just chemistry you eat… we can watch videos if you get stuck. I know it won’t be the same, and I know nothing will ever replace what he meant to you, as a big brother.”

Snow nodded. 

“But he’s also always right there in your heart, no matter what,” Deke said. “Nana taught me that about loss, people never really leave us, as long as we remember them. So bake the most delicious Christmas treats you can, and make him proud. And as long as you do that, as long as you use what you learned from him, Jaco will be with us.” 

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I’ll do the best baking anyone’s ever tried, and it’s all going to be in his memory.” “That’s the spirit. So what are you making, then?” Deke asked her. 

“Everything!”

~

The sights, the sounds

They're everywhere and all around

I've never felt so good before

This empty place inside of me is filling up

I simply cannot get enough

 Navigating last minute shopping downtown was the last thing Deke expected to be a challenge for the two of them, but it had become one. It was a case of Snowflake’s natural, corvid-like attraction to shiny, sparkly objects- and Deke trying to stop her before her natural kleptomaniac impulses could kick in-against her lack of acclimation to so much sparkling, bright, merry surroundings. Spending a  good part of your life in a dimly lit truck was something that stuck with you for a while, and even on the most neon lit planet she’d paid a visit on her journey, nothing could top the spectacle of Earth during the Christmas season. Every surface sparkled and shone with bright lights and glitter and tinsel and foil, every storefront played happy tunes about warm feelings, and the jingle of bells was never too far, as though magic simply floated through the atmosphere at that time of year. 

It was everything Snow ever loved, but it was also so, so much, almost too much for her at times. The sensory overload tired her out and she quietly pulled on Deke’s arm, guiding him to a nearby bench. He understood immediately and followed her to sit down beside her.

“I think I’m finally starting to understand this Christmas,” Snowflake said. “It’s still strange to me in a lot of ways, but whatever, life is boring without a little strangeness, isn’t it?” 

“Guess that means as long as I’ve got you my life will never be boring, then,” Deke replied. Snow playfully punched him in the arm, even though she knew he was right.

“I’ve seen so much in my short life and so many different worlds but this is the first I’ve seen where everyone spends a month just being kind to one another, giving out of the goodness of their hearts, inviting others into their homes to share food and company and good times, just loving each other. Before I came here… we didn’t have a lot. We were poor constantly, we only really had each other, and we ate almost every meal like it was our last because we never knew when our next would be coming. It’s so different going from that… to all this.”

Deke held her tight. “But you know things are different for you now, right? You don’t have to worry anymore, you know that.”

“I do, and that’s why I understand. Because I feel like that’s what all this is about. The winter is dark and cold and long, and sometimes, people don’t have what you do, and we just have each other. So we make everything brighter and warmer and share what we have with people who might not. We remember the people we love who might not be here. And it makes that darkness just a little easier to get through, if we get through it together.”

Deke was at a loss for words. He himself had never considered Christmas that way, but what she had to say was absolutely right. The two were from such different backgrounds, but in the end, they weren’t that different, two people who were thrown from their normal into something totally new. He was proud of her for coming to that conclusion by herself, because deep inside, it sorted things out for him, too. 

“You know, I don’t understand as much as I pretend to sometimes, in fact I understand literally nothing, but I think you’re right.”

“I figured it out with your help. I’m so grateful I have you to help me learn and feel less alone, less weird, less different. You’re better than any present anyone could ever give me.”

“Really? I just do my best…”

“It’s all we really can do, isn’t it?”

~

I want it, oh, I want it

Oh, I want it for my own

I've got to know

I've got to know

What is this place that I have found?

What is this?

Christmas Town, hmm

 It was Christmas morning, and the grandparents were due, and Deke was mildly nervous about how well the future granddaughter in law would go over with them. Although it took a while to get them acclimated to their… eccentric… new family member, Fitz and Jemma, on the whole, were able to move past their initial misgivings and find aspects of her they could both admire and focus on, rather than the fact a woman they met after she tried to murder one of their found family, would soon be married into theirs. “Just… try to not horrify them too much,” he reminded her that morning. “I know in-laws can be difficult, but I think we can manage the best Christmas ever as a family, too.”

“Deke, I’ll be fine,” Snow reassured him. She was dressed for the festive occasion, wearing a knit sweater, covered, of course, in silver foil yarn snowflakes. The words LET IT SNOW filled the front of it. “It’s not like I’ve never met them before.” She reached into the oven and pulled out a tray of gingerbread people to cool. Sitting on the kitchen table was an array of the goodies she’d stayed up all night baking. After all, she needed something to do to pass the time in case Santa paid them a visit, so she could sit down with him and teach him basic stealth principles. Platters of cookies in various shapes and varieties- snickerdoodle stars,  sugar cookie snowflakes, and a small pile of shortbread butterflies- and a big basket of fluffy herbed rolls, a recipe she’d learned years ago from Jaco, covered almost every surface. “What do you think? They’re going to love it.”

Deke smiled. “It’s great but.. Where am I going to put the turkey, or just about anything else?”

“We have a whole living room,” Snow said, and Deke raised a finger and opened his mouth, ready to point out maybe that was a better place for the sweets, but he wasn’t about to be a buzzkill when she was in such an excited mood. 

“Right, right, living room turkey. Classic Christmas tradition. Right.” This was going to be a fun one to explain to Nana and Bobo… who were ringing the doorbell that very minute.

“I’ll get it-” Deke insisted, but Snowflake was already opening the door to welcome the two in. “Merry Christmas!” she squealed, in a cheerful singsong voice. Fitz tried to dodge her embrace by sidestepping her, but her well-trained reflexes were faster, and he found himself in an awkward hug from the tiny woman, sending desperate looks Jemma’s way. His wife gave him a look that said, without any words, oh no, she’s your problem now. “Bobo!”

“Pleasedon’tcallmethat,” Fitz muttered under his breath. Jemma helpfully pulled Snow off him to give her adopted future granddaughter in law a hug, only for Deke to quickly swoop in on his grandpa before he could even enjoy his newfound freedom.  Snow was surprised. She’d always had a harder time getting through to Nana, but maybe it was the holiday spirit bringing them a little closer today. Just a bit more of that magic she’d never totally understand, but that was fine.

“Oh, Snow, how have you been hanging in there?” Jemma asked her. 

“Baking!” Snow said proudly. “So many cookies in the kitchen, and more coming, please eat them so Deke doesn’t have to put the turkey in the living room!” Jemma mouthed something that looked like “what?” to Deke and he replied silently with one of his usual “don’t ask” shrugs. 

“Great, I need coffee. We grabbed the redeye flight and I wasn’t about to pay ten dollars at the airport,” Fitz said. “Bloody crooks.” 

“Also in the kitchen, unless Snow finished it in the ten minutes since I made the pot,” Deke said. He was eager to diffuse some of the awkwardness that was growing in the apartment. A little awkwardness might be part of the holidays, too, but it seemed to run more in this family than others. A little strangeness keeps life from being boring, that’s what Snow said, he reminded himself. But if he could help it, he preferred to not exhaust the entire day’s supply this early in the morning. 

~

After a delicious Christmas dinner -where the turkey, thankfully, remained on the kitchen table- the Fitzsimmons-Shaw-Snowflake family gathered in the living room to enjoy one another’s company by the fireplace. Card games were played, stories were told, and everyone just seemed to come a little closer together.

“Hey Snow,” Deke said, during a bit of a lull, as their feast began catching up to everyone and making them tired, “why don’t you put on a Christmas movie for us?” 

“I’d love to!” she said. “Deke taught me about Christmas watching these, and you know? I really love Earth more now. It’s the only planet that does all this.” She turned the TV on and from the menu, flipped over to the movie that had been making her feel like she  truly belonged over the last few weeks, the one she knew almost by heart. The soundtrack kicked in and a voiceover started. “Now, you’ve probably wondered where holidays come from… if you haven’t, I think it’s time you’ve begun-”

“Snow, are you sure you want to go with this one?” Deke asked, realizing oh god, she’s really going to play Nightmare Before Christmas for Nana and Bobo. Not Elf, not Christmas Vacation, this one. 

“Of course! It taught me so much, the least I can do is share that with your grandparents,” she said. Deke looked desperately at Jemma and Fitz, hoping for at least disapproving or bewildered expressions from them to convince Snow- well, really, him, and he knew this- that this was a bad idea, but to his surprise, they seemed okay with her offbeat choice. 

“That’s so sweet,” Jemma said. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, either.”

Deke shrugged. If the grandparents were happy, so was he. He poured everyone another mug of hot cocoa,  as This Is Halloween started playing in the background, 

Sometimes the best gifts at Christmas didn’t come in packages. Sometimes the best gift was the gift of family, the gift of memories, the gift of time spent with those close, and if this Christmas brought his family, new and old, closer together, then for him, it was truly a Christmas worth celebrating. 

#agents of shield #snowdeke #team earth aos #deke shaw #snowflake #aosfic #christmas fic #fluff fic #christmas #i hope this is good since i've not written in years #but nightmare before christmas meant a lot to me growing up and i feel like for snow it probably has that same effect #of outcasts and weirdos still being able to be good and loved #in a lot of ways the truckers make me feel the same way nightmare did as a teenager so it just feels natural to write this story #anyway enjoy my first fic in like at least three years

[lifeofroos]

1984 Gift Exchange Entry

Alright, I did something for the 1984-event by @th0ughtcriminal.The prompt was… strange to me, I have to say, being ‘1984 but Winston is Kermit the Frog.’ Yet, I tried my best. Also, sorry if there are weird mistakes in the spelling or the grammar or if I got some names wrong, my native language is Dutch and I read the book in Dutch as well. 

While pretending to look at his typewriter, Kermit scanned the other people in his department. He saw a few of his co-workers doing the same. He felt a little stint of fear whenever he and someone else accidently made eye-contact. Did they know something about him? Did the man in the back of the room know his secret? Did mister Nint know? He swiftly looked back at his typewriter with shaking green hands and whited out a part of the document he was working on. 

A few minutes later, he heard the people around him get up . They were whispering to each other. Oh, was it time for the Two Minutes Hate already? Kermit swiftly stood up and walked to the entrance of the room as quickly as his froggy feet allowed. While walking into the room of hate, he caught a glimpse of Her. His blood immediately started to boil in his veins.There was something about… Her. He quickly looked away. Yet, he could feel Her presence in the room, the way you could feel a threat looming around you. 

Goldstein begun speaking on the screen. One person started yelling. Three more joined in. Soon, the whole room was yelling, and Kermit couldn't help but join in as well. The pressure became too much every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stay quiet. He noticed that the woman next to him gave him a weird look. Kermit quieted down a bit under her gaze. He knew other people found his peculiar voice annoying. Of course, he couldn't do anything about it. Only the ministry could, if they decided croaking was against the party. 

He saw Her again when he walked out of the room. This time, She made eye contact with him. Out of panic, Kermit did not move his head away. She gave him a small wink, before walking down the hallway and disappearing out of sight. Kermit turned around on his heels, and ran back to his desk. He felt the blood rush to his head. He did not care that mister Foor gave him a very suspicious look. Mister Foor gave everyone suspicious looks, it probably meant nothing. 

After a long, exhaustion day of work, Kermit retired to his horrible home, if he could even call it that. It was more like a closet that he just happened to have all of his stuff and himself in. Including his most prized possession. Without even pausing to get something to eat (All the good food was gone anyway), he stepped behind his secret sound proof wall, which was just small enough to not be seen by the screen on the wall. There. There it was. His own, sacred banjo. He picked it up and felt a wave of happiness rising up in his chest. He strummed a few notes. He started to feel a stint of peace. He started playing his favourite melody. It was a melody that you could sing two songs on. One was a simple childrens’ tune, the other one was a protest song against the party. Kermit sometimes sang the children's song for his neighbours’ kids, but right now the lyrics of the patriotic song played in his head (he didn’t sing them out loud. Of course he did not sing them out loud). 

After a few minutes, he slowly put the banjo down. The fear became to much - he was never sure if someone could hear him, even though he knew the screen was almost completely soundproof. Slowly, he walked into his kitchen to eat some very depressing food. There was only three day old chicken and bad noodles left, plus some carrots with suspicious spots on them. Ugh. Gross. Kermit wondered if even dogs would like to eat it. Still, he threw it into a crock pot with some water. Better something than nothing, he concluded. 

While he was cooking his depressing stew, he suddenly thought of Her. She had winked at him. He wildly stirred his soup in order to drive the thoughts away. The smell of the dish hit his… nostrils… (He had never known what to call his frog nose, and now that language got poorer and poorer and thinner and thinner, it did not get easier), and the thoughts of Her disappeared out of his mind while he coughed.

When Kermit woke up the next day, he did not feel any better. All he had to look forward to was yet another depressing day of working in the ministry of truth. Wait, no. What was good for the party was supposed to make him happy, he thought, not depressed. He slowly got out of bed. He ate the leftovers of his so-called meal for breakfast and did some morning gymnastics along with the screen, before stepping outside. 

He was surprised. There was nobody in the hallway. Usually, Mister James was there waiting for him. Well, maybe the party had decided that being a blue muppet was illegal now, or he had said something that he really should not have. It was nothing Kermit had to keep thinking about. Slowly, on his own, he walked out of the apartment building. It was a weirdly freeing feeling. He felt like there was nobody looking over his shoulder. Yet, on the other hand, he knew it was just that - a feeling. Of course there was someone looking over his shoulder. There always was.

Yet, he noticed he wandered off. Instead of walking to the ministry of truth, he walked into town, where the regular folks lived. He looked around. The town was quiet so early in the morning. There were only a few women walking around doing some housework - laundry or grocery shopping. 

It might have made him a little overconfident. He was so amazed by the new place, without other people to keep him in line, he simply forgot that he was being watched. He felt something bubbling in his stomach. He felt like strumming on his banjo for hours, until he could capture this feeling with the music. He remembered that there was a word for that once. It started with an I, he remembered that too. But what exactly the word had been was completely lost to history. 

He took a left turn. He passed a few shops, which sold clothes. They were not very nice clothes, but to Kermit, they looked great (And he didn't even wear any clothes, he did not like the feel on his green skin). It felt like the day was getting better and better. 

He took a right turn. The happy feeling disappeared within seconds. He tried to look down. Too late. He had made eye-contact with Her. Kermit felt the blood rushing through his body. He did not know what it was. Was it… shock? Did that word still exist?

He wished he could turn around and act like nothing had happened. But She would give his name to the thought police, and that would be it. Walking away made no difference. He looked up. If this was going to be it, he wanted to look her in the eye. When he did, however, she did something unexpected. She pointed to the house on the corner, then put up three fingers, before scurrying away. 

Her appearance had broken the magic. Kermit was running through the street as fast as his feet could carry him, towards the ministry of truth. He knew there must be at least one person who saw him - but maybe not in the street with Her. Were there cameras there? Could it be that, just this once, nobody would have noticed that something had happened? 

Oh, no, That was too much to hope for. He reached the door of the ministry of truth just in time - man, he never even noticed how much Mister James talked and slowed them down along the way until he did not walk with him anymore. Kermit walked past his colleagues, until he reached his desk. There were a bunch of articles laying on the desk of which he could swear that he went through them just the day before. He sighed deeply. Well, the word Poor should be scrapped from all of them now, according to the note next to the documents. Kermit felt confused while he sat down on his chair. He felt something rise in his chest, and it was something different then what he had felt while walking through the streets. It felt like his body was refusing to write. Like he was… oh, he did not know. The word was scrapped years ago.

It was 2 O'clock and after the two minutes hate when he remembered what She had signed him. Three O´ clock. The house on the corner. Kermit stood up - his job was done for the day. Slowly, he walked out of the building. He acted like he went towards his home, but instead he took a few odd turns, so that he was back in the town. He did not know if there were many cameras around. If there were, he needed to trick them. So, he walked to a clothing store he had seen before. He randomly pulled something out of a rack and bought it, so that it seemed like he had been thinking about buying it the whole day. That was not illegal. He might even be able to spin it into a lie that he wanted to start wearing clothes now. That would not garner to much suspicion, would it? 

While trying to look as normal as he could, he walked to the house She had pointed at. He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. Slowly, the door opened about a centimetre. An older man looked at him. At that moment, Kermit felt like turning around and running for the hills. ´Eh…´

´Are you looking for Miss Piggy?´

´Um, Her, yeah…´

´Go upstairs.´ The man opened the door just wide enough for Kermit's small frog body to slip through. Kermit did not dare to look the man in the eye, but instead immediately scurried upstairs. 

Miss Piggy was standing by the top of the stairs. ´You actually came. You are even early.´

´…Yes, I came.´

´What were you doing in the street earlier this morning?´

Kermit felt panic rising in his body. How did he not see it? Now he was trapped. Did he not see Her standing next to an higher-up before? Oh, now he would be dragged to  the ministry of love…

´I always walk around in this neighbourhood to get a sense of peace. It was freer, is it not? Much better for a star like me, even if it is dirty…´ Miss Piggy mused. She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. Kermit did not know what to answer. Who´s side was She on? 

´I… I felt that too. I felt like making music about it.´ Miss Piggy smiled. 

´That sounds so wonderful.´

Kermit slowly began to feel better the longer he talked to Miss Piggy. It felt like everything he had been thinking about the party was finally confirmed for him. After what felt like hours and hours of talking, he jumped up. ‘We must do something about it!’

Miss Piggy gave him an amused look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We must do something against…’ his words trailed off. He had been hit by a wave of sudden determination, but now he could not say it. Not out loud. Too risky. Yet, miss Piggy understood. 

‘Yes, we need to do something. Yet, what then…’ she leaned a little closer. ‘Say, you were married before, right?’ 

Kermit suddenly felt a little weird. ‘Yes… but she is gone now.’ 

‘Really?’ 

‘Eh, yeah. Yet, the party…’

‘Did you get divorced?’

Kermit fell silent. No, they weren’t divorced, because they could not. He started to feel slightly… uncomfortable. He shrugged.

‘It does not matter.’ He reached for the piece of clothing he had bought. He suddenly saw Miss Piggy’s eyes narrow. ‘You bought a dress?’

For the first time, Kermit looked at the piece of clothing he had bought. Oh. Yes, he had bought a dress. A yellow one with pink flowers. ‘Eh… yeah.’ 

‘So… you are still married, then?’

‘No!’

Her expression changed from happy to thunder within a matter of seconds. ‘Maybe you should leave.’ Kermit picked up his dress. 

‘Yes, erm, maybe I should.’ That did not make Her feel better, he could see it.  She wrapped Her arms in front of Her chest. ‘Alright.’ Kermit quickly ran out of the room, with the dress.

The next day, he saw Her again. For some reason, She winked. Kermit quickly looked back at his typewriter. He felt confused, more than usual, even. He slowly started to dissociate from the situation. Hm… if only he could play something on his banjo now… He should try to capture that amazing feeling he had, the first time he walked through town… Before everything with Her...

#kermit the frog #this was weird #but I made it #writing #writer #1984 #lit #literature #writeblr #1984 secret santa

[norcumii]

Reblogged from the prior tumbl, originally posted 02/04/2016. Question submitted by @makiruz. Slightly reformatted to avoid a readmore cut and whatnot.

In Full of Sith, they always ask new guests how they got into Star Wars. And you know? That's a good question, how did you got into Star Wars?

HEH. Oooh, that’s a bit of a loaded question. So I’ll give you the short answer, which I suspect would fit the thing you mentioned what I haven’t heard of; and then because I’m a wordy bastard what overshares, the long answer which is more accurate and has content warnings for self harm and suicide.

SHORT ANSWER

It was the 80’s. I was young, in single digits, though I couldn’t tell you exactly what age. I was already dealing with an irregular sleep cycle, though all I knew was I had a flashlight, a pile of books near/on my bed, and a thick pound puppies duvet to read under.

I don’t know if I was in my room or on my way to/from the bathroom, but I could hear my parents watching something downstairs. Swooshy noises, a shrill screee, and some thwoom bzzts.

Of course I went downstairs.

I don’t know if it was episode 5 or 6. I’ve a fondness for 6, but carbonite left a HUGE fucking impression on me, and my parents have always approved of muppets, so Yoda.

I knew I loved it. I didn’t have any toys, though I think somewhere there was a print edition of A New Hope running around. I do recall multiple sleepovers at my grandmother’s place – a tiny house on acres and acres of woods – and she’d sometimes pull out Return of the Jedi and we’d watch it together on her tiny TV. Later on I’d be in bed, staring out at woods and trees that I knew, but seemed huge to a little kid, and I’d dream of Ewoks.

RotJ was Gram’s favorite, and for many years mine, too.

I like Ewoks.

VERY LONG ANSWER

TW: mental illness, depression, self harm, suicide, abuse

In late elementary, early middle school, my brother and I were basically reading ANYTHING we could get our hands on. He sometimes dove into books that didn’t interest me, so I’d read the first of something and then be bored and he’d keep going.

Star Wars EU was one of those. It was too grim for me. I think I didn’t run into any of the really good writers. It was all Han and Luke and Leia on the covers, so take that for what you will. There also was no Wookiepeia, so I was depending heavily on the writers’ abilities to convey things to someone very visual, yet pretty impatient with descriptions, so it never took.

I was in high school when The Phantom Menace came out. Mine honorable brother was off at college, so it was with great excitement on my part, and bemused tolerance on my parents’, that they and I went off to the theater.

On the one hand, I was dazzled.

On the other, there was Jar Jar. There was the fact that I hadn’t been impressed with the re-release of the OT – Han shot first. FITE ME. There was the fact that TPM didn’t feel like Star Wars, which was darker and grittier and…simpler to me.

So I wrote it off. Packed Star Wars away as “one of those things” that I’d been into, but felt like I was moving past. I was obsessed with Gargoyles, I was looking at going to college, and I would keep m’damn ewoks without needing to try to extend that vision with gungans.

College sucked. I went in, not sure if I wanted to go into English, for writing, or Psych, because I had always been what I’d now call The Mom Friend. I met a nice guy who tried, but things never really clicked between us, and there was an interesting bit that he was mad about Star Wars and insisted that I read the Rogue Squadron books.

That was a Good Decision. Dating him, not so much.

I had a huge assortment of Life Issues. Got into an abusive relationship that would end up lasting 14 years. Transferred schools. Got the fucking Psych degree, though literally only by the grace of a professor who didn’t want to see the kid not graduate just ‘cause she couldn’t numbers and I did go in and try. Talked to him and still couldn’t with the maths but the effort was there to bump me a few points above failing.

I was burnt out. I was depressed. I tried killing myself a few times – not very good at it, as you can see. Took up self-harm as a coping mechanism. Failed in the still never successful search for a decent therapist in Pittsburgh. Got a job slinging food, because needed some kind of income, and people without pressure was nice. The keeping on a schedule thing failed, leading to an average of 4 hours sleep a night. Losing contact with family and friends because I couldn’t stand the pressure of “how are you?” and “what’s going on in your life?” Clinging to Warcraft because repetitively farming was better than clawing open my back or neck again, and the people there were ok with some rando dropping out of sight on a dime, and only a persistent few had the grace and spirit to make it past some serious defensive issues of mine.

I stopped writing. Stopped caring about Gargoyles, stopped being able to see into that AU I’d made for myself of a crazy clan and the weird human who survived cancer with them.

Stopped going on IM, for the same reasons I stopped talking to people.

I still kept track of some folks via LiveJournal. A handful of the Gargoyles folks who were determined, gods know why and thank you, since I know several are here on the tumbles and I genuinely love you to bits.

I quit my job after five years, because enough was enough between the fact that it had all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship and I was fucking tired of being a manager without any actual authority, and the endless hamster wheel of hiring and people quitting because it was a nice, but highly dysfunctional place.

I missed the customers, though. Several of them are here too, and it’s kinda funny ‘cause I know in at least one case I talked to them about Star Wars. I still hope they’re not too shellshocked that I kinda went down the rabbit hole pretty deep.

Started getting more sleep. Not less anxiety, not less depressed. Tried out a few depression medications, with very mixed results.

Then one day @dogmatix came into the LJ area I still hung out in. Enthusiastically recommending to all and sundry that if there is even a shred of interest in Star Wars, THERE IS THIS THING YOU SHOULD READ.

She drew a Wookiee. That was a character?

I’d always liked Wookiees.

And I needed something to read.

Star Wars was one of those things, from back in the day before things went to shit. Low investment, since if I didn’t like it or didn’t care, then eh. Whatevs.  Dogmatix was one of the Gargs holdouts still in my circle (or whatever it is that I was hovering at the edges of), and in the past I’d liked her recommendations more often than I disliked them.

I’m also endlessly weak to her art.

Wookiee.

So I did that thing. That so many of us here have done. It took me about 2 weeks to get through Re-Entry. It had trouble taking root in the depression, but Obi-Wan going crackers was something I could empathize with and appreciate.

There was the hope that had been missing from the EU novels I’d tried reading back in the day.

There was Wookieepedia, which meant I could stop and see what a Nautolan was. I had tabs open for DAYS so when someone named Adi or Gallia who were apparently the same person? I could see who that was. I got stupidly distressed that Abella didn’t have an entry, until I twigged and checked for a Chitanook, and holy shit I could never tell what character was going to crop up as canon, obscure EU character, or home brewed.

I honestly expected to set it aside, get updates as they happened, and gradually step away because that’s how things were going at the time.

But I still needed something to read, to stave off empty hours when my brain was too full of screaming.

On Ebon Wings. I’d loved The Crow when I’d seen it back in high school, and that story tapped into the powerful visuals and the lovely message I’d adored and in ways I still don’t quite understand it somehow validated that I could be mad and still be ok. Maybe. Maybe not now, but someday.

Maybe.

So I gave in and got a Tumbl. I’d been a stubborn holdout, regularly checking the same half dozen feeds daily because dammit, I don’t wanna go through the trouble and I was close to giving up on LJ and another journaly thing? That was stupid. But I wanted to follow Flamethrower and Dogmatix, and it made it infinitely easier to follow several blogs (and oh GODS one of those is a mutual and holy fuck I swear I screamed the day that happened and it’s still a high to realize).

Dogmatix wrote Möbius and Accidental Timeshare, wherein Venge goes universe hopping. That’s also a weakness of mine.

I’d been kvetching IRL about the treadmill and wanting something to watch, and someone mentioned in Dogmatix’s feed The Clone Wars – which conveniently was on Netflix. So I figured what the hell. I was disinclined to like clones – ‘cause yeesh, they’re the reason the Jedi all died, and yeah, ok, the Order was SERIOUSLY FUCKED UP, but.

I still had never seen Episodes 2 or 3.

I turned on the Clone Wars movie, and within ten minutes I nearly fell off the back of the treadmill due to crying.

THIS was the Star Wars of my youth. THIS was what I remembered. A little grim. Lots of quips.

That sound. Lightsabers igniting. A-wings rumbling overhead. Blasterfire, and that music.

I had to stop and calm down and for the first time in ages WRITE [, because I just had to ramble about how it all hit me in the feels]. I had no idea I’d missed this.

By the end of the movie I’d decided ok, I wanted more. Wasn’t sold on these clone fellas, and damned if I could tell one set of armor from another (this is ALSO due to the treadmill screen being calibrated to be a compromise of a very short person – me – and a very tall person, which means neither person gets a decent view but that’s not what the treadmill tv is for).

I’d been told there was an order to the episodes, but I didn’t care. Continuity is for those who think about the future, and I was still regularly suicidal.

So the first episode I watched was Yoda romping around a planet, playing with droids while three clone troopers tried to babysit his mad little ass.

They had me, all in one episode. I loved these guys. They had individuality, I could tell them apart by the voices (which is sometimes just as important to me as visuals) even if I couldn’t name them, and the personalities –

They were loyal. Their primary concern was old batty Yoda which I had adored as a child because MUPPETS. They were willing to die to keep him safe and there was this lovely reciprocity in taking care of each other and all of them, clones and Jedi alike were doomed to extinction and I don’t think I knew yet HOW the clones were except they weren’t in the OT so there was shit going down.

Tragic figures, loyal found family, incredible voice acting, Batty Old Yoda who OH YEAH FUCKING KICKED SO MUCH ASS I COULD NEVER GET ENOUGH.

I wanted to keep those three clones. I was willing to keep them all.

Final blow, that knocked me into the fandom so hard I’ll be surprised if I ever leave?

THIS.

The origins of Balance. This is the post that started a simple notion, to try to write something when I’d gone….anywhere from 7 to 10 years of not writing A SINGLE. DAMNED. THING of substance – and that was after thinking I might try to get a degree related to it.

Darth Wraith was a tentative idea. I was scared @deadcatwithaflamethrower would be irked I wanted to play in her sandbox (oh my gods I was inserting myself into a conversation with her this amazing person who wrote blindingly well and so damn much and how the FUCK was I daring to speak up about a silly half DREAM I’d had because once again I couldn’t sleep).

Then, because I was trying to break out of the depression, the cycles of mental ill health, and if I was on this tumbls thing, fuck it, I’d try the IM thing again.

I’d been gone long enough that pretty much no one on my contact list was still there. That…was ok. There wasn’t the pressure.

And Dogmatix popped on, asking if I wanted to share details about this Sith Qui-Gon thing.

I had A SCENE. ONE. SCENE. And she was spinning it off into this EPIC, which at first I was gleeful because she had neat ideas and I couldn’t wait to see what she would do with it and then wait, she’s not talking about writing it herself, this is more about something WE could work on.

Thank gods it was IM, because I had a little panic about commitment to a project when I regularly was sure I wasn’t going to see tomorrow and if I didn’t wake up one morning that’d be MORE than ok.

Still. There was that itch. The visuals in my brain. The characters I’d started to like in Flamethrower’s universe, which had formed my mental voices for them.

The only sound in my head for so long was just screaming.

Writing down that scene in Knock On Effect, where Venge meets Wraith – that felt good. It never changed much from the first draft to what was posted. The rest grew, and quickly. It was clear if we were doing this, then there were multiple stories, spanning in universe years.

And then there were spinoffs. Wonderful ideas and plots spiraling away from this one notion, and gods I wanted to write about those glorious clones.

How’d I get into Star Wars?

Chance. One strange little step at a time, and a bunch of miracles and horrors that kept me bleeding but not dying. Damn good fic. The kindness of friends. The generosity of strangers.

The tragedy of a once great order of space monks, and their allies-forced-to-be-betrayers clones.

One little picture, of Qui-Gon Jinn with Sith eyes.

#tumblageddon #reviving from the purge #star wars #tw #self harm #suicide #depression #mental illness #abuse #emotional #Norcumi has Opinions again #deadcatwithaflamethrower #dogmatix #i did not expect to cry when writing this #star wars saved my life #literally

[glennjaminhow]

Winter 1993

“What’re you doing over winter break?” Dennis questions, shouldering his expensive as shit backpack because that’s just how Dennis Reynolds rolls. This bag is awesome; that’s why he makes sure it’s visible at all times. It dangles off a form sculpted to perfection by God himself. He only feels slightly self-conscious as douchebags and whores shove past them both. A massive fucking dick accidentally nudges Dennis’ elbow, and Dennis hisses loudly.

“Watch wear you’re goin’, asshole!” Mac shouts. Ever since Dennis broke his arm in three places last week, Mac’s been even more protective of him than usual. “I dunno,” Mac answers, lighting a blunt for the walk home. He stops, cuffing his hands around it so the fierce winter air doesn’t blow it out. Mac takes a puff, head hanging low and staring at the icy ground below.

Mac’s parents don’t really give a shit about him. Dennis knows this. But he’s bored, and he sure as shit doesn’t want to go home right now. Mom and Dad are both there. They got back from Jamaica super fucking early this morning. It was nice not having them home. It was just him, Dee, and whatever maids worked that day. They don’t even know about Dennis crashing his dad’s car into a tree or Dennis’ ridiculous hospital bill or the blue cast encasing his whole arm from fingers and shoulder; he’ll set off security alarms at airports for the rest of his life.

“Well, what’re you doing right now?”

Mac frowns and bites his lower lip. “Um... nothing?”

“Great,” Dennis says. “I’m coming over.

Mac stops him right there. “Why? We’ve never hung out at my place before.”

Dennis shrugs. Mac’s slicked back hair pokes out from under his black beanie. His leather jacket has a new tear right below his left pocket. “Exactly. We always go to my house. You eat my shit and play my games and drink my beer and sleep in my bed, so now I’m gonna do the same thing to you.”

“Whatever, dude. But don’t complain when you see it. Not everyone’s rich as shit like you.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, but he follows Mac regardless. Mac’s house is further from the school than Dennis’, which always leads to super fucking fun walks in the snow, heat, wind, and rain. Usually, Dennis drives him in his own car (which he’s grounded from) or his dad’s car (which he wrecked). Now that Dennis isn’t supposed to drive, and Dee’s threatening to tell Mom and Dad, they walk everywhere they need to go. It isn’t great. In fact, it’s fucking infuriating. But his secret has to stay a secret. Sure, Mom and Dad’ll see his arm, but they don’t need to know about the panic attack or running of the road into a ditch at 60 miles per hour.

They... just don’t need to know.

Mac shrugs off his leather jacket the moment he unlocks the door, hanging it on a hook and toing out of his snowy boots.

“It smells fucking great in here, Mac,” Dennis says while struggling to remove his coat; Mac does it for him. It smells like cinnamon and cloves and fucking Christmas even though there isn’t a tree or any decorations in sight. Huh. Weird.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mac mumbles. “Take off your shoes, bro.”

“I don’t make you do that at my house.”

Mac shrugs. “Tough shit. My house. My rules.”

Dennis does it eventually. He scowls as he kicks them off, not bothering with untying them because he may’ve sort of hurt his ribs in the accident. There’s bruising around his hips and ribcage. It aches, but not as much as watching Mac flea the car with a bloody nose and two black eyes. Not as much as watching Mac almost break down in tears. Mac never cries.

Okay. Stop. Quit thinking about it.

“Jesus, it’s like spotless in here, dude,” Dennis points out, clearing his throat and roaming around the living room like he owns the place. The TV screen has a slight crack in the upper right corner. The walls are coated with thick, messy layers of paint to combat against peeling. “Your mom must be some sorta neat freak.”

“Nope,” Mac replies simply, plopping down on the sofa. Dennis sits until he’s shoulder to shoulder with him. Dennis scratches his neck; this stupid fucking sling itches and hurts his back, and he’s suddenly feeling the three sleepless nights slamming into him all at once. “Den, stop, man. That’s gotta hurt.” Dennis tugs and grumbles and fusses until Mac coaxes his arm free of the horrible contraption. He places a couch pillow between his arm and his stomach for padding.

He doesn’t tell Mac he can do things on his own because it’s nice having Mac take care of him.

“Your dad?” he asks, even though, Jesus Christ, does he already know the answer to that one.

“Can we not talk about my parents? Let’s just, like, play video games or some shit.”

Dennis ignores him. “How can your couch be this fucking clean?” he asks, almost in disbelief, as if his poor friend Mac doesn’t know how to get off his ass and clean a Goddamn couch.

“I like the house to be clean,” Mac says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“But not everyone has maids, Dennis. Some people do all this themselves.”

“Sure, but parents usually play a part in the whole cleanliness routine. What? Your mom still tells you to brush your teeth every morning and night? Daddy reminds you to wash your balls?”

Mac’s cheeks flame red. Dennis almost bites his bottom lip. He’s egging it on on purpose. He doesn’t know why he’s like this, what possesses him to be such a dick, but he can’t take it back once the words escape his lips.

“Shut the fuck up, Dennis, you rich, punkass, piece of shit. My dad’s in jail, okay? He isn’t around anymore. And my mom? My mom works overnight at a gas station just to keep the fucking electricity on. She doesn’t have time to clean and make sure the house isn’t falling apart.”

“Dude, I –”

Mac gets to his feet. He pops his knuckles. “No. I’m tired of this. What kinda fucking friend are you anyway?”

Dennis holds up his one working hand, signaling for Mac to be quiet. Mac frowns and clams up immediately, and Dennis relishes in the power. “I know your dad’s in jail, dipshit. You only mention it a thousand times a day. I know all about your chain-smoking, alcoholic mother too. I was just busting your balls.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Mac whispers.

Dennis stands up too. “Oh yeah? I don’t know anything about you?”

“You’re always too concerned with yourself.”

“Your full and real name, Mac, is Ronald Herbert McDonald, which, by the way, is still only slightly worse than Mac. Your mom called you Ronnie til you were three; you think that’s when she stopped loving you. You’re allergic to strawberries and swell up like a fucking balloon if you even touch one. You like starfish. You hate The Muppets; they freak you out. Your dad went to jail for the first time when you were five for selling cocaine. You met Charlie in first grade. You met my sister before you met me. You listen to the Red Hot Chili Peppers way too often. You –”

Mac sinks to the clean carpet, resting his back against the couch. Dennis sees the tears swell in his eyes and sees when Mac tries to blink them away.

“I pay attention,” Dennis says. “But I didn’t know you were so... into things being clean. It makes sense, though.”

Mac blinks. “What do you mean?”

Dennis shrugs, settling down on the floor beside Mac. “Your life is shit, dude. You gotta control it somehow. You clean. I smoke. It’s all the same.”

“Can... Can we just not talk about this anymore? You’ve fucked with my head enough for one day?”

Dennis gulps, sucking in a deep breath while nodding. “Sure, dude,” he whispers, and, holy shit, it doesn’t even sound like him. He doesn’t sound like Dennis Reynolds.

“Awesome. Great. Thanks.”

Too far. He went too far. Why does he always have to push buttons like this? It’s fucking revolting. He’s 17, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t like talking about his parents, about his past, about what happened to him, so why would it be any different for Mac?

They spend the rest of the afternoon at Mac’s house in near silence, watching MTV and lighting up joint after joint while guzzling a case of cheap beer. Dennis sprawls out on the couch, lightheaded and sore, while Mac relaxes in his mom’s threadbare recliner. It’s almost peaceful, but Dennis can feel that tension in the air. He keeps his mouth shut.

“I’m gonna go crash, man,” Mac murmurs at 2:30 AM.

Dennis yawns and nods. He makes no effort to move.

“Sooo can you, like, leave?”

Dennis whines. “It’s really dark out, Mac. I’m tired.”

He hears Mac exhale loudly. “Fine. But you can’t sleep out here. Mom’ll be back around seven.”

Mac guides Dennis to his bedroom. It’s small, but he has a full-sized bed, karate posters on the walls, and an extensive CD collection. There’s a couple of crosses on the walls; Dennis rolls his eyes and sinks into the mattress. There aren’t any sheets, just a comforter. His arm is on fucking fire, pain burrowing deep inside the bone. He closes his eyes and breathes through it.

“Sit up for a sec, Den,” he hears.

It falls on deaf ears until Mac flicks his cheek.

Mac helps him put that stupid fucking sling back on, settling a pillow beneath his elbow. It relieves some of the pressure. Dennis’ eyes are quick to fill with tears.

“I’m sorry, Mac,” he whispers. “About earlier. I’m a fucking dick.”

Mac collapses into bed, clicking the lamp off. Dennis can smell the cinnamon on his breath. Can feel Mac’s bare feet on his shins. Can almost taste the blunt he just smoked. “You are a fucking dick, Den. But you’re my dick.”

Dennis chuckles softly. “I bet I’m an 12 out of 10 down there then.”

“Gross. You’re nasty, man.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Dennis rolls over until he’s on his left side, not exactly being careful of his barely mended together arm and not exactly caring either. He scoots until their foreheads touch.

“Is this okay?” Dennis asks, voice punctuating this cold December night.

He’s flush against Mac; Mac nods in the darkness.

Maybe Dennis presses his lips against Mac’s.

Maybe Mac doesn’t pull away.

Maybe, just maybe, they hardcore make out until the sun rises.

There’s a spark of electricity, of pure, raw, unaltered energy that Dennis feels for the first time in his life. Fuck, Mac is a great kisser. Like the dude has some killer moves. Dennis cards his fingers through Mac’s gelled hair. Mac bites Dennis’ bottom lip. He doesn’t... He isn’t... Dennis isn’t sure how this is fucking possible. He’s happy? He thinks. He’s still weird with emotions and can’t really feel them, but he thinks he’s feeling them right now?

Dennis tries not to blush when Mac plants several kisses in his hair.

It’s new. It’s amazing. It’s nearly indescribable.

Mac. It’s Mac.

#macdennis #mac x dennis #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #panic attack mention #car accident mention #iasip #it's always sunny #it's alway sunny in philadelphia #fic #fanfiction #kissing gay boys

[accountingfortaste]

Favorite Films of 2017

by Clay Keller

I’m finding it difficult to write something coherent about Olivier Assayas’ Personal Shopper, partially because the more I watch it, the more I’m convinced that I’m not meant to try; that its power lies in its complete lack of interest in being “coherent.” Just as a life, especially one thrown into grief-stricken chaos, only has the coherence that we arbitrarily apply to it, Personal Shopper is a series of strange and beguiling instances, full of un-explained oddities, horrors, and loose-ends. Instances that capture, better than any movie I’ve seen, that ephemeral feeling of existential entrapment; of being not stuck in place, but captive somehow. It’s a maddening, inexplicable, feeling, and that a film could dramatize it so well is deeply impressive.  

Speaking of captivity, Kristen Stewart delivers a performance in Personal Shopper that is so unvarnished, so unencumbered, that one has a difficult time conceiving that it was delivered at all, and not just simply lived. Each time I revisit this film I find it more difficult to turn away. It’s only a matter of time before Americans accept what the French celebrated a few years back: the fact that Kristen Stewart is fucking terrific. 

Anyway, I don’t know. Maybe everything I wrote above is rambling pablum. A bunch of nonsense my mind concocted by way of trying to intellectualize (or excuse) an instinctual love of a weirdo movie in which Kristen Stewart has a dramatic imessage conversation for twenty minutes and gets attacked by a Victorian ghost, which is just audacious and great. Is Personal Shopper a brilliant work by a genius and his genius muse? Is Personal Shopper bullshit? 

Or is it just me?

HONORABLE MENTION

(In Alphabetical Order)

Baby Driver (Edgar Wright)

The Big Sick (Michael Showalter)

Get Out (Jordan Peele)

A Ghost Story (David Lowery)

Lady Bird (Greta Gerwig)

Lady Macbeth (William Oldroyd)

Molly’s Game (Aaron Sorkin)

Thor: Ragnarok (Taika Waititi)

Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri (Martin McDonagh)

Win It All (Joe Swanberg)

Anticipated 2017 Films Not Yet Seen: The Post (Update: I loved it!), Phantom Thread (Update: Favorite PTA since TWBB), The Florida Project, mother!, Good Time

MOST ANTICIPATED IN 2018

Annihilation (Alex Garland)

- Behind the camera: our premier sci-fi screenwriter. In front of the camera: Portman, Thompson, and Isaac. In the audience: me. 

The Happytime Murders (Brian Henson)

- The director of two of the best Muppet movies making his first feature in 20 years is definitely something to be excited about. 

E-Book (Olivier Assayas)

- Assayas has been so contemplative lately that we’ve forgotten that he’s also a total goddamn genre-mixing weirdo (see: Demonlover, Boarding Gate). Now he’s making a “full-blown comedy” with Juliette Binoche, one of his oldest collaborators, and I am here for it. 

Underwater (William Eubank)

- My favorite subgenre + my favorite Kristen Stewart = a movie I will probably love regardless of objective quality. 

You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsey)

- If this trailer doesn’t ignite all of your senses, you are dead to the magic of cinema: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMqsd7Umxy8

FAVORITE CLASSICS FIRST SEEN IN 2017

How on earth did I not see Do the Right Thing until I was nearly 30? It’s almost unfathomable how colorful, funny, and heartbreaking Spike Lee’s 3rd film is. It has myriad memorable scenes and characters. It creates a sense of place in a way that is almost unparalleled in film history. It’s entertaining as hell. It also has a pulsating heart of essential humanity and righteous anger that vibrates at such an honest frequency as to make you feel literally connected to the screen as the narrative unfolds. Do the Right Thing shook me, and is one of those “as good or better than its out-sized reputation” films, alongside The Godfather and Casablanca. 

FAVORITE TELEVISION

Me, at the beginning of 2017: “I’ve never seen Twin Peaks, mostly because I’m worried I’ll hate it, I’m not really a David Lynch fan.” Me, in August of 2017: “HAVE YOU NOTICED THAT THE ZIG-ZAG FLOORS IN THE BLACK LODGE ARE THE SAME AS THE ZIG-ZAG FLOORS IN THE LOBBY OF ERASERHEAD’S APARTMENT BUILDING?! AND THERE’S A PHOTO OF A MUSHROOM CLOUD ON THE WALL?! IS IT ALL CONNECTED?!” 

If I could retroactively make one of my 2017 resolutions be “do a total 180 on David Lynch and get super into Twin Peaks” then I would have accomplished something in this God-foresaken shit-ass year. I don’t know if it was age, or context, or what, but this year found my eyes suddenly opened to the genius of well-known genius David Lynch. I went from avoiding Twin Peaks for years to devouring and loving both of the original seasons. From “Mulholland Drive is weird and boring” to “Mulholland Drive is weird and a stone-cold modern masterpiece.” My former podcast co-host Darren Franich maintains that one needs to learn how to watch David Lynch, by watching David Lynch, and I couldn’t agree more. Watch just one of the elliptical missives that Lynch has released into our miasma and you will be left befuddled and possibly angry. Watch five and you’ll unlock the mysteries of the universe. 

Hyperbole? Perhaps. Then again, did you see episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return? 

It would have been so easy for Lynch and Frost to thrill Twin Peaks fans with The Return. After all, these are people (myself now included) who get goosebumps every time Kyle MacLachlan is so much as in the same room as a cup of coffee. Put a cherry pie on front of him and they (again, me now included) need to change their shorts. Instead, and, in retrospect, predictably, Lynch and Frost decided to use the eighteen hours Showtime gave them to thrill their audience in a different way: by creating an audio/visual experience the likes none of them had ever seen. Was it frustrating to wait nearly the entire season for our beloved Agent Cooper to return (if he does at all)? Yes. Were there storylines and characters that seemed meandering and pointless? Yes. Who the fuck is Freddie and why does he have a green glove hand? Yes. But none of that matters, because, for an entire summer, I rushed home on Sunday nights, needing to immerse myself in the wild juxtapositions of image and sound and performance that Lynch plucked out of the cosmos and so graciously delivered to us mere mortals, as soon as I possibly could.  

When Cooper finally did come back, well, Lynch nailed that moment too (goosebumps! shorts-changing!), of course, because he’s just as good at giving you what you want as he is at giving you what you need. And nostalgia goosebumps are lovely and all, but it’s a testament to the success of Twin Peaks: The Return that the nostalgia goosebumps are not what I’ll remember. What I’ll remember is when Cooper (?) asks what year it is, Laura Palmer (?) screams, and the lights go out in Twin Peaks (?), and my skin basically tore apart at the seams.  

#best of 2017 #movies #television #personal shopper #kristen stewart #olivier assayas #do the right thing #spike lee #twin peaks #twin peaks the return #david lynch #clay keller #black mirror #glow #marvelous mrs maisel #the leftovers #the shape of water #guillermo del toro #logan #hugh jackman #columbus #dawson city: frozen time #i tonya #the last jedi #blade runner 2049 #call me by your name #professor marston

[kootenaygoon]

So,

I didn’t have to drive anymore. 

With my clammy forehead pressed to the moist glass of my RAV’s passenger window, I felt like a dying star sucking back black energy in preparation for going supernova. As Mika motored along the undulating lakeshore across the Big Orange Bridge, worriedly drumming her elaborately painted nails on the steering wheel, I compiled a mental inventory of everyone I’d alienated, everyone I’d hurt and embarrassed and infuriated, all the names of people who I’d lost because of my berserk antics and toxic personality. 

It wasn’t just the staff of the Star, Ed and Kai and all the rest of them. There was Blayne, and Becca, then Chelsea and now Natalya — plus Snapper and Niles, and a bunch of my co-workers at Tony’s. The list continued. Last of all I thought of Paisley, nearly two years gone now, along with our canine progeny and our dreams of a future together. I’d moved to Nelson with Muppet in my passenger seat four years earlier, and now I was leaving town completely alone.

It was around lunch-time and we were on our way to the Cranbrook Airport, which meant taking a ferry in Balfour. My parents had forwarded some money for gas and an overnight hotel stay for Mika and her two friends, who were chattering in the backseat. I wondered if she’d brought them because she was scared to be alone with me, if they were supposed to act as a social buffer so I didn’t overwhelm her with my manic ramblings. The last few days had been a torrent — I’d lost so many people already, was I going to lose Mika too?

I thought about the final montage of Six Feet Under, with all the different characters experiencing their ultimate fates while Sia sings. I wondered if I fast-forwarded to my death, would it actually be that far away? Would my departure be as incendiary as Ryan Tapp’s, as soul-shredding as Kessa’s, as Shakespearean as Bodie’s? I was 33, like Jesus when he was crucified, so any extra time was gravy. Right? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through Twitter, where opposing factions of the UBC Accountable conversation were flaming each other over new Galloway news. I continued to retweet and comment indiscriminately, relieved to have CanLit drama to think about rather than spectral Kessa and her dancing army of roller-skating women. 

I could hear them singing.

 “Oh-oh, I’m a rebel just for kicks now,” Laela sang in my brainspace, as a dude in white overalls danced through Sofiella Watt’s junkyard out in Blewett. “Let me kick it like it’s 1986, now.”

“Might be over now, but I feel it still,” I whispered under my breath, pulling up the YouTube video on my phone. 

Then there was that scene in Mad Men where Don Draper fires Lane Pryce, who proceeds to commit suicide in his office. This was an experience plenty of other people had gone through, right? Losing your job, social exile. This shit was temporary. My mind was a hellscape at the moment, but that didn’t mean it would be forever. I watched the clouds dance above the surface of Kootenay Lake through the trees, replaying the events of the past few weeks like a newsreel. I thought of Face Tatooo in the rain, about my multiple visits to the hospital, the two police officers who showed up at my door after some of my more alarming social media posts. One of them was mohawked and heavily tattooed, named Armstrong.

“I’m just trying to find the truth,” I told him. “The real truth.”

“There’s not a whole lot of truth in this world,” he said, grim, sitting backwards on a fold-out chair in the middle of my living room. I’d just taken him on a tour around my house to look at all my latest paintings. One of them was for my CrossFit gym, and showed me overwhelmed in glittery rainbow paint drooling down the canvas like blood. I asked him whether we could take a selfie together, just to show everyone I was safe.

“I don’t see why not,” he said. 

With my black toque pulled low over my eyes, I had posed with my arm around Armstrong’s back in solidarity. I could imagine the conversations on the other side of the screen: Why was there a cop in Will’s living room? And what’s all this nonsense about having a list of names, about fighting a kamikaze war against rape culture? I had thoroughly and completely lost track of reality, I understood that and I wasn’t shy about letting people know. But would they reject me now, exile me, ridicule me? Now that I’d been thrown from my journalistic plinth, did I even matter? I was just some dude playing at being a reporter. I could be replaced, forgotten about, made irrelevant. 

“I did that job better than it’s even meant to be done,” I said, more to myself than anything else. “I gave that newspaper my soul.”

Mika nodded. “I think everybody knows that. It was obvious you were so into it. But you gotta think ‘it’s just a job’ too, you know? You’re going to have lots of jobs.”

“How does it make sense that I have to leave town and fucking assholes like Snapper and Cam Carpenter and John fucking Dooley get to just continue on with their lives like nothing happened. I mean, I’m the good guy here. How the fuck does this make any sense? It’s not fair.”

Mika sighed. “It doesn’t need to make sense. You just need to get back to your family and get some sleep. This is all going to get sorted.”

I blinked back some more tears, fiddled with the radio some more, then took careful long inhales through my nose as I starred out at the frosted white tips of looming evergreens. We were almost at the terminal now. This is all a moment, I told myself, and moments end. 

“Hey, what’s with all the police cars?”

*

There was no way to escape the moment. Every thought was uncomfortable, my body clenched and sweaty. Had that just happened, or was I just being dramatic? Had I really considered throwing myself off the back of the ferry? What the fuck was wrong with me?

After we reached the opposite shore, Mika pulled over to share a joint with me at a quiet boat launch alongside the road. We were shivering in the wind off the lake. Everything else seemed drained of colour, but her hair was a bombastic fire engine red. It reminded me of Mharianne’s pink hair, and Sierra’s hair as well. All these signs led back to Me Too, back to UBC Accountable and Steven Galloway and even my pastor Trent. I thought of my time in the subterranean tunnels below Nelson with Gordo, of the crypts waiting there. The whole town was built on a graveyard, the lake full of drowned souls, and ghosts swirled through the alleyways. Looming above it all was Elephant Mountain, rumbling to life like a buried diety returning to the light, throbbing with purple energy and ready for resurrection. His followers danced shoulder-to-shoulder on Baker Street in flamboyant Shambhala outfits, totems held aloft, while zig-zagging lights pulsed in time with their ecstatic ululations. Were they worshipping? Or praying? Or what?

“Can I have a hug?” I asked her.

She hesitated for a moment. Shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

It was a weak hug, without any warmth. I felt pathetic and needy as I sucked back the last few hoots on the joint. I owed this girl a lot, but I couldn’t expect our friendship to survive long past this. She was just my latest casualty.

“I really appreciate you driving me, and everything. You didn’t ask to be a crazy person’s roommate.”

She grimaced, shrugged against the wind. “You’re not crazy. But you should’ve worn a condom, and you shouldn’t have taken those fucking pills while you were at work. I know you’re going through a lot, but these were bad choices. Do you understand that?”

I blinked for a long moment, surprised. It was like being lectured by a younger sibling. “I hate myself every day. I’m doing this whole mental inventory thing and I know I’m an asshole, okay? I really fucked up, I get that.”

She squinted suspiciously. “Do you?”

A while later, as the evening sky turned the colour of milky coffee, we pulled into the airport parking lot. I’d already left my cell phone and computer behind, and just had a simple carry-on. I tightened my tie and checked my reflection in the glass, jutting out my chin dramatically. I’m dressing up for my breakdown. I didn’t know what was going to happen on the other side of this flight, but I was going to face it in bouncer black. I pushed my pink anti-bullying glasses into place, the last piece of my uniform. I thought of that elementary school flash mob, of the pink shirt I’d worn for years. Bully Free Zone. I thought of my Power by You canvas, about doing hand-stand push-ups and burpees until I left a sweat angel on the ground. I was an intelligent, passionate and talented motherfucker and this wasn’t the end of me. No way.

“Your plane’s not for a few hours, are you sure you’ll be okay?” Mika asked, pulling her coat tight against the wind. It was starting to rain a bit. 

“You should go ahead and get checked into your hotel. I’ll get a magazine or something. And I’ll let you know when I get to Vancouver. You don’t have to worry about me, okay? You did what you had to do.”

She bit her lip. “I want you to be okay.”

“I will be.”

This time we didn’t bother with a hug. She climbed back into the driver’s seat and pulled away, illuminating red rain puddles all around the RAV. She was safe now, and so was I. Lugging my bag over one shoulder, I headed to the ticket booth to arrange my way home. The Cranbrook landscape was strangely flat and barren, stretching out on all sides around me. There was a plane taxiing down the runway, its engine roar filling my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut against the rain, which was beginning to spray, and suddenly I was the narrator from Fight Club on the day his condominium was blown up by Tyler Durden. Staring at the smoking wreckage of my refrigerator, sifting through the blackened detritus of my life, his words echoed back to me: It’s only when we lose everything that we’re free to do anything. 

Right during that moment, as I contemplated the fact that Brad Pitt plays both Tyler Durden and Lt. Aldo Raine from Inglourious Basterds, a cherry red convertible pulled up to the curb. Andrew Stevenson was sprawled across the backseat with his shotgun, smoking a cigarette, Ryan Tapp dangled his arm from the passenger side window and Kessa was driving in her bare feet. She had the radio on high, playing Tove Lo.

“Imaginary friend, stay with me to the end now,” she sang, but it was Laela’s voice I heard. “Keeping me dreaming.”

I opened the passenger door for Ryan, and he bounded out of the seat with a theatrical flourish. He threw open his arms crucifixion-style, rolled his head around a few times, then took a long drag from his vape. Andrew passed him his bag, and he hooked it over his arm.

“I’m a rebel just for kicks now. I don’t know if you heard,” I said.

“Man, I’ve been following it all. You’re a fucking legend, man. Fuck that town, right? You went out Cobain-style, with a shotgun, you burned that shit down. You’re a magical soul. You’re a light.”

I blushed. “I didn’t get any of the answers, though.”

He pondered this for a moment, while Andrew climbed into the passenger seat behind him and pulled the door closed. Kessa put on her blinker and began to pull away, leaving me, just like Paisley and Blayne and Chelsea and every other fucking woman in my life. How many divorces did I have to go through? How many times would my heart be broken? I didn’t know how much more pain I could take, all my empathy for strangers.

“Look at you, giving a fuck when it’s not your turn to give a fuck,” Ryan said, doing his best impression of Bunk from The Wire.

I channeled McNulty. “What the fuck did I do?”

If on some level I was aware that I was standing in public, talking to myself, then this other part of me didn’t care anymore. I was like a character from a Denis Johnson short story, like a drug-addled Hunter S. Thompson mixed with Chuck Klosterman, maybe. I was capable of so much. I could make all of these inner minions dance on cue; my life was performance art. Nobody understood me, really, or what I was trying to accomplish. Not Spencer, not my parents, not Brendan or anyone. The only one who understood was Ryan Tapp. His bum-chin wagging joyously, I admired his close-fitting blue suit and his skinny tie. He was dressed like he was attending the opening night of some film festival, like he was ready to hit the red carpet. He took a lengthy, mischievous pull on his vape and smiled seductively.

“Where we headed next, Goon?”

The Kootenay Goon

[moniserrano11]

UTG 3.9" green/red Holosight

Hey everyone, it's me you've guessed right I'm Aerography Focker I customize guns, and here is a superb Scorpion EVO 4 modifiezed with nicest sights and a afoldable stockings it's afoldable what? You're a fraud, your Eotech is mounted backwards Maybe that's because it's not an Eotech you silly Muppet! Hi everyone welcome to the Lair today I'm going to focus on two red dot sights by UTG thanks a lot to Sport Attitude for sending those to me as you'er going to see, they're identical, only the shape of the dot changes MSRP is 159€ if you don't know anything about UTG, it is an American brand if I'm right, the products are designed in Michigan by Leapers Inc.

those are not my first UTG sights I've had a scope and another red dot for years it is sturdy, because it is supposed to be installed on real weapons so it is also perfect for our air soft replicas given the fact that it is somewhat only a bit more expensive than air soft red dots but let's have a look inside the transparent plastic box there's a list of features here these sights are made with hard-anodized aeronautic-grade aluminium it is build around the "true strength" platform it is shockproof, mist-proof and rainproof but it is not waterproof it is compatible with any Pica tinny rail or equivalent this one is the single dot model and this one is the circle dot, similar to what Eotech use and you can set the dot in red or in green, depending on your surroundings accessories lay under another plastic cover there's a small cleaning rag don't eat those an Allen key and two LR754 batteries darn, another type of battery! I've got quite a collection now.

UTG claim that they last hundreds of hours and of course there's a small users' manual it tells you that there's a 4MOA reticle on this red dot there's a 2-year warranty, which is fine well, it vaguely looks like an Eotech except that you must mount it like this at first I didn't know that so I though, "it could look like a Russian PK-120!" but not at all!! I've been screwed! as you can see there's a flat black anodization UTG says that the glass is treated against reflections hi guys ! this is treated guys.

and the first time I used it I was surprised to see my face in it it's not the case on the Eotech but keep in mind that this costs 159€ and this costs 450-550€ in France a small UTG logo and the serial number are engraved here this is the left-right settings and the up-down settings what's nice is that it works well, which is not the case on many air soft red dots and there are clicks to adjust it what they call "true strength platform" is the part surrounding the body if I drop it, or if it rains, the outer platform will take most of it is that shockproof? I'll test it later on but even on expensive red dots it happens that a BB breaks the window and unlike Eotech, the reticle is not enclosed inside the sight the glass will reflect the dot which comes from the rear of the optics these two switches are for green and red dots 8 intensities for each color and this is the battery compartment cap unscrew it and insert the two batteries as you can see it's made in china and this is the attachment here here the green reticle and the red reticle I can't see any ghost effect the reticle is crisp to turn it off, cycle until it does the trick or press the two switches at the same time now with the single dot type the dot seems quite big on the camera but it is not when you look at it you can see it in the background the first time I used this red dot I installed it like this but in fact it goes like that the shape may not please everyone but with GBBRs you never know if optics will withstand the recoil many cheap optics just break after a few rounds and players don't know what to buy to be happy Eotech copies are particularly fragile I've used UTG optics for years and so far so good still, use this kind of protection if you don't want a BB to smash your loved sight this is between 5 and 15€, always better to replace than a 150€ red dot.

most are sold with replacement Plexiglas but I'd like to see if a BB impact can break this UTG red dot I must say that it's a child's dream to perform crash tests on the other hand I'm a bit pissed at shooting a perfectly working and brand new sight so thanks a lot to Sport Attitude for sending two of those and accepting that I did crash tests I'm about 25 meters away, with a 340 FPs gun we'll see if I can hit UTG using UTG ^^ there are light traces but when you rub them they disappear oh shoot, it fell down ! from about 1 meter high (3ft) it's still on I'm so stressed to drop it on this big stone I know that some people are specialized in destruction video they destroy brand new phones, screens, tablets and so on but usually they've got millions of subscribers and rich sponsors I'm not comfortable in destroying things the front plastic part almost went out of the red dot but the dot is still on it's still on I'll drop it one more time on the top, as if it were installed on your gun and it slid from the wall it leaned against there's a mark but the dot is still on many BBs hit the glass but it didn't break there are impacts on the aluminium from the drops for 159€ you should be happy with this UTG red dot it looks sturdy enough to withstand GBBr recoil but as I said before, UTG builds optics for real guns.  

#reddotsight #bestreddotsight #scope #bestscope

[trippinglynet]

Burning Man 1998 | Rebecca Pitt

Dear Reader,

It's late January, 1999, and I'm homesick. I haven't been in Black Rock City for about 6 months, and it will be just as long before I can go back. Right now the city exists only in the collective memories of its citizens, and in the everpresent playa dust that still inhabits our cars. We've successfully settled back into the groove of "normal" life, now that our co-workers are REALLY tired of hearing about "that festival" in carefully censored snippets.

Of course it's more than just a festival. Actually, I consider myself one of the lucky ones for whom the experience of Burning Man is year-round. Not only do I keep in touch with some of my fellow citizens on a daily basis (through a rather extensive network of e-mail and cell phones) but we actually see each other quite often at various events and celebrations in the San Francisco area.

Plans for Black Rock City 1999 are already being formed as the winter rain beats on our windows. Some of us are even thinking of ways to make our creative lifestyle more permanent. I'm excited to find out what this means, because I know these seeds are being sown by so many Burning Man participants all over the world. According to a comic store clerk I talked to last week, "The festival is too large and popular now to be interesting." Maybe true, but then the woman relented that she's never actually attended the festival, and all of her opinions have been formed second-hand.

The following articles are a diary-style account of my experiences at Burning Man 1998. These thoughts are not meant to convince anyone to attend.....in fact, for some of you the reaction might be quite the contrary. You might think the hardest work is packing supplies and building a shade structure, but no one can ever really prepare for such a life-changing experience. People who go for a party only see a fraction of what Black Rock City is all about; people who arrive as tourists will only get some pictures and a heat rash. It's a lesson that seems obvious, but it takes living in the city to make it real. You only get out what you put in....and through Burning Man you may just realize what your capabilities really are.

#1 (August 16, 1998)

The contents of my car distinctly reflect the chaos of my life the last few months. Feather boas, glitter body paint, silver lame' flags, and masks nestle alongside the metal tent stakes, glow-light sticks, a box of 3,000 CD-ROMs, and a roll of Astroturf.

I'm taking time off of my "real" job, modular office cube, morning commute, and suburban lifestyle to spend ten days at the Burning Man festival of 1998. I will be joined by a traveling group of 7, our village of 150, and over 15,000 others. I'm looking forward to experiencing life through my own eyes and fingers, rather than a screen and a keyboard.

It's less than 2 weeks until we leave for the desert, and everyone's stressed. Our Burning Man e-mail list is over 150 posts per day and growing. Then again, it's no small task to plan an entire village over the internet. Our area of camp, called the Blue Light District, will have its own post office, kitchen, radio station, decorated porta-potties (with elevator music), Yacht Club, karaoke bar, and nuclear power station.

The last several weekends have been devoted to village meetings, Burning Man volunteer meetings, construction parties, and shopping sprees at thrift and hardware stores. We're scouring mail order catalogs for the cheapest rates on battery operated Christmas lights, surplus camo netting, and faux gemstone rings. My neighbors are prepared to see strange things being erected in my front yard for the third year in a row.

I bet my laundry and gardening won't get done this weekend, either, because we still have to work on the bus. Last month, four friends and I bought a converted 1962 school bus to get the group and our copious supplies to the festival. It has already been nicknamed the "Hippie breakdown bus" due to its Prankster-esque appearance. I hope we'll be able to bleed the brakes, get new tires, and find someone to insure it this week, because we're cutting it pretty close.

Getting to the festival is only part of the nightmare...I mean, fun. This year I decided to really bite off more than I could chew by building a large art installation. In other words, spend a lot more money and time to build something significantly smaller than originally intended, and burn it anyway.

Actually, I'm just upset because I realized last Tuesday that I am running really low on money, and I'll have to scale down my construction plans yet again. I've already scoured the back lot of my office building for wooden pallets, metal poles, and other "trash" that I can recycle into art. The people in the shipping department think I'm crazy. "You're going to build a Tower in the middle of the desert?" they ask, warily eyeing my conservative suit.

I decide not to elaborate. It's not just any Tower that I'm building, but The Tower of Babel, complete with the Garden of Babylon and the Ark of the Covenant. I've been doing historical research all year, as well as recruiting performers, construction volunteers, and healers from my web site. This Tower is meant to symbolize the gateway to the subconscious mind, where inside are stored the fears and obstacles that we create for ourselves. I hope that when people encounter this sculpture at Burning Man, they will be able to confront their fears and release them. And I can predict when this Tower will fall...on September 6, 1998, the night the Man burns.

#2 (Saturday, August 29 through Tuesday, September 1)

Our journey to Burning Man could be summed up by quote from the Muppet Song "Movin' Right Along". "Getting there is half the fun, come share it with me." I should have known it would take over 12 hours to pack the bus. We were supposed to leave "around noon" on Saturday, August 29th, but we didn't pull out until close to midnight. We miraculously fit everything inside, attached a zebra-striped VW Bug to the trailer hitch, did a good luck ceremony, and then drove a grand total of ten miles before our first breakdown.

I've lost track of how many times the hippy bus broke down on the way to the festival. It dosen't really matter, since once you've left the driveway, you're on playa time. You become a stranger in your own land, wandering towards an unexplainable temporary mecca. Though we relished the sideways looks from other travelers at every gas station, one of the funniest moments occured at a deserted truck stop in the middle of the night. We had quickly pulled over when the fuel hoses gave way, and piled out to assess the damage. Ray, our saintly mechanic/driver, crawled under the bus and inspected its badly corroded underbelly. He announced that he needed some metal strips, so we quickly drained 3 aluminum cans and cut them apart. Don and Ray then "MacGuyvered" them into a temporary patch as the rest of us took pictures. After that episode, we decided that the Elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesh (the remover of obstacles) was the patron diety of the bus. Sixteen hours later, over twice the usual trip time, we pulled onto the playa to the relief of waiting friends.

Monday was spent trying to get acclimated to the intense heat. Setting up the camp took a lot longer than expected, since temperatures were over 110 degrees in the shade. I thought it commendable that we erected 3 tents and actually found the stove amidst the rubble. From bedraggled lounge chairs, we kept an eye on the neighboring city blocks, already reserved for an assortment of e-mail "listizen" friends. Already our village is growing beyond its pre-mapped boundaries. Emulating the original homesteaders of the wild west, we staked our claims with piles of bamboo and little plastic flags.

On Tuesday, my birthday, we commandeered the village "Runaway Choo-Choo" train at dusk and and took a ride around the city. You had to be in your birthday suit to get on the train, which was full in less than 10 minutes. Through her bullhorn, my friend Jen commanded passersby to "give us a cocktail for the birthday girl!" As we rode around the city and all the way out to the man, it was easy to see that distinctive neighborhoods and theme districts are already in place.

The tire tracks from bicycles, art cars, and mobile couches have formed our corner at Atlantic Avenue and North 7th Street. Desert flowers have emerged from the once-barren surface; elaborate contraptions made of pvc pipe, rebar, parachutes, flags, and tarps flutter in the afternoon breeze. We've put up some blue lame' flags on top of the bus; their shimmer helps us find our way home at night. Another afternoon of unrelenting heat and creative painting yields strange slogans on the side of the bus; "Kiss a Republican Today", "Crunchier than Thou", and my personal favorite "We may be filthy, but we're not hippies!"

The heat is also causing tensions in our camp to run high. We are all frustrated because there's so much to see and do, and not enough time or motivation to leave the village for very long. Several times we've barely managed to start up the stove, and strangers have appeared at our impromptu kitchen, demanding free handouts of food. Even though our fresh food supply is low, sharing isn't the problem. It's the attitude of these people that is really surprising....they show up unprepared and then expect that others will do all the work and clean up afterwards. It's definitely a window into the ugly side of human behavior, and an unfortunate result of a quickly growing community.

On the other hand, the process of building my sculpture has been really uplifting. I had asked for volunteers to help me with this project, and people from all over the country contacted me and offered their assistance. It's inspiring to meet people for the first time, who will come out in the afternoon heat to work on a project they know little about. The Tower of Babel, a 12 foot tall wooden structure, now stands on the open playa outside our village gate. Ok, realistically it looks more like a dilapadated "guard shack". But with the addition of a parachute-covered "teepee" behind the Tower, there is a place to rest in the shade. It's also a great place to get a wide-angle perspective of the growing city. I'm too hot and tired to finish decorating today, but from the looks of my neighbors' unfinished sculptures, so is everyone else.

#3 (Wednesday, September 2 through Thursday, September 3)

I relish the caked dirt under my broken, glittery-orange fingernails; the serious magnitude and the complete insanity of the playa have now taken hold. Though I'm having fun, it's still hard to believe that I'm actually here. It's not surreal; it's too real.

Yesterday I met Dave, a student from Virginia who is doing his thesis on Burning Man. As we wandered past the Black Rock University and the discount Soulmate outlet store, we discussed cultural anthropology, tarot cards, the future of the human race, and where to get more suntan lotion. Inspiration seized as we passed a mud puddle, and we covered ourselves from head to toe in the thick greenish paste. On our way back home for a shower, we walked meditatively through a labyrinth scratched into the dirt.

This morning I dined on Green Eggs and Ham, washed down with mimosas, at the Blue Light Village brunch kitchen. There were over 30 people gathered in the shade, reading the daily paper and discussing last night's big event, the Aging Hipsters Cocktail Party. (You were supposed to be over 40 to attend.) Also, it seems that a team from the village to the north, Disturbia, raided us last night with water guns. We began to plot our revenge.

As a quasi-official member of the media, I also made my way to the Media Mecca tent to check in. Everyone is supposed to contribute to the community, and the media are no exception. All media now have the camera turned on them, as their photo is taken in a goofy costume and placed on a wall.

For the past two afternoons, we have been volunteering as "Greeters" at the front gate. Carrying a frilly parasol and city maps, I sashay up to the approaching cars, wearing a blue feather boa and lacy knickers. The greeters answer general questions, direct people to their camps, and through creative interaction, make people relax after the long drive. After we remind everyone to "Leave No Trace" and clean up after themselves, we are handed cold water by strangers who are grateful to be welcomed home to their city.

A public service announcement on the radio for more volunteers yields replacements, and we limp home after the exhausting, but fun, seven hour shift. I now have a full case of "playa throat" brought on by dust and talking all afternoon in the heat. There are lots of people working very hard behind the scenes to ensure that the citizens of Black Rock City enjoy themselves safely. It's not uncommon to see unpaid "staff" members working 12, 13, 20 hour shifts. Many people are also inspired to help out when they realize just how much work it takes to provide basic services under these harsh conditions.

I am a little worried about The Tower of Babel. So much of my free time this year was dedicated to planning for this project, and now that I'm here it dosen't seem like it was enough. There are many large, inspired, and beautiful projects here, it's almost painful to explain to people what this one means to me, because it dosen't look like much. I wonder if I have failed myself or others in seeing this project through, even though I've been busy helping out in other areas. I hope that the healing tent is at least a peaceful spot amidst the chaos of our city. It will be interesting to read the guest book when this is all over.

#4 (Friday, September 4 through Saturday, September 5)

Simple pleasures go a long way out here. Fresh fruit, often shunned for fast food at home, becomes a rare treat in the hot sun. Today Tammy, Jen, and I set up the lounge chairs and washed each other's hair, then put lotion on our dry, cracked, swollen feet. I thank Holly as she brings out the spray bottle and proceeds to mist my face and shoulders for the umpeenth time.

Tired as we are, we never miss a chance for playful interaction. Dressing in cheap Santa suits is a several-year tradition, and last night, over 30 of us met to bring a little Cacophonous Christmas cheer to Black Rock City. We responded to idle threats from the clown camp, and "raided" their circus ring. Red rubber noses were tossed into the air with Santa beards during the playful scuffle. We ended up at a local dive in the "NeighBARhood", laughing with some disgruntled postal workers.

Black Rock city is serious about its entertainment. The drumming and performances begin right after sunset and continue late into the night. This year, there is even a replica of Reno, Nevada, called Draino village. It comes complete with a casino, two stages, a "brothel" staffed by men, and a jail. There are also two ballrooms and an Aikido dojo. Meditation occurs nightly at the Zen altar, and you can do sun salutations every morning in Yoga camp. You can catch a city tour on the mobile bed, bar, or sofa. The radio, newspaper, and bulletin boards announce events all over the city, though the chance for interactivity is never farther away then your front yard.

All this makes me wonder why so many people have complained about the ticket prices this year. At home, the cost of a single concert ticket can set you back over $50.00, and a week's worth of Black Rock City is only slightly more expensive. I don't think there is any price that can be put on the freedom to express yourself 24 hours a day, and be around others who are doing the same. The right to expression is a very American concept, and it's amusing that Burning Man has been pigeonholed as a place for only dropout freaks.

Actually, its the careless, self-absorbed people who cause the biggest drain on city resources and volunteer time. We took care of a lost, hungry cat last night. When the owners showed up to claim their pet, they didn't even seem worried that it could have died in the heat. Other people choose to leave their camp without water and end up in the medical tent suffering from dehydration. The biggest mistake most people make is in not understanding how much effort it takes to survive in these harsh conditions.

The air siren rang through camp this afternoon, heralding an oncoming storm. We all struggled to batten down the hatches, and then I headed out to my sculpture to sit in the tent and weather the high winds. I pulled my painter's mask over my nose and mouth, and breathed a little easier as I walked onto the open playa. The city soon disappeared behind me, masked by the dust of a complete whiteout. As I walked up to the tent, I dispiritedly wondered if anyone else had enjoyed this space, or been affected by my project. Then I noticed that there were two people inside.

The man explained to me that he had been walking by, and thought the tent looked inviting. Inside, he met a friend of mine who does hypnotherapy and massage. She proceeded to work on him, and they told me that they both felt better than they had in months.

Hearing about their positive experiences made me feel a lot better. Burning Man can be incredibly transformational...it has been for me....and I wanted other people to experience this as well. I decided to spend the night in the tent, and later met another interesting couple from England. As we laughed together for hours, strangers turned into friends, and we greeted the sunrise with loud applause.

#5 (Sunday, September 6 through Wednesday, September 9)

Today the city is restless; it's the day of the burn. People were still streaming into the gate late last night, looking for a place to camp. Apparently there are those who still feel that Burning Man is all about burning down a big wooden statue, and so they arrive at the last minute looking for a spectacle. But the real beauty of this city is more subtle. A walk through town will show you more about this community than merely attending the big bonfire on Sunday night.....

For example, this afternoon I heard the familiar tinkling melody of an ice cream truck. People ran toward the truck, waving coupons to be exchanged for the free ice cream sandwiches and rocket pops. I had gotten a coupon earlier today, as thanks for giving directions to some strangers. Not only does the barter system work in Black Rock city, it's inspirational to see people motivated to be generous to others around them...with no immediate incentive.

Coming home, I passed by the "Mafia camp," decorated with laundered Monopoly money, garlands of grapes, and Catholic saint candles. Unfortunately, I was greeted with some tragic news. The Don was shot last night! The radio station reports that the Calzone family are among the prime suspects. My companions and I on our guard as we show up to the "funeral" dressed in black, with lace veils and a bottle of wine for the grieving "family". When the group swells to over 60 people, the Don is placed on a funeral "barge" (a small motorboat on a trailer) and paraded through center camp. The Calzones attack with water guns, and after a much-appreciated soaking, we retreat to our camp to prepare for the evening ahead.

By 8 pm, people are streaming out to the man from all directions of camp. A parade of floats, fire breathing stilt walkers, glowing fairies, and other apparations circles around the man, and then the crowd is pressed back to a safe distance. The burn is spectacular, and I scream and howl until I am hoarse. As the pyrotechnics are lit, the Man is hidden by a brilliant white light; then he appears through the smoke and majestically falls to the ground.

We make our way back to the village, where it's now time to burn our individual offerings. As a community, we helped each other create our projects, and now it's fitting that we are together when they are burned. We circle around the "Jenni Board," dedicated to a friend who died this year, now covered with dedications from other participants. A 15 foot blue mushroom is lit on fire, and then we walk over to my project. The Tower takes several tries to light, but once it is on fire, it burns hot and brightly. I solemnly cast a bracelet that I have worn all year, in remembrance of my commitment to this project, into the flames.

Now that it's over, I breathe a sigh of relief. I realize that it's not about the size or beauty of the sculpture, it's the experiences in creating, sharing, and destroying that leave the biggest impression. The art at Burning Man may not be the most meaningful, or even made by "real" artists; it's made to be seen, touched, encountered. There doesn't always have to be a point or a meaning. It's about challenging your boundaries and not taking anything too seriously.

Unfortunately, the time has come for the hardest jobs: cleaning up and packing the bus. I head out to the site of The Tower to pick up the nails and turn over the scorched earth with a shovel. The city has almost disappeared overnight, and the beautiful empty playa has re-emerged. We are supposed to leave early on Tuesday morning, but bad storms on Monday leave the camp muddy and our gear soaked.

We pull out of camp on Tuesday at 3 PM, and immediately get stuck in the mud at the front gate. After knocking the claylike goo off of the tires, the bus gains some traction and zooms ahead to the highway, leaving 3 of us to catch up. I loved every moment of the slow exodus over the slippery road, as the wind whipped my hair and white robe. We exited under a leaden sky roiling with impetuous clouds.

But the return trip wasn't finished yet. Our alternator gave out in the middle of the night, leaving us stranded in a suburban mall parking lot only 3 hours from home. We spent one more night in the bus, waiting for the auto parts store to open. The local residents didn't know what to make of the light blue behemoth and its dusty inhabitants.....we must have looked like "genuine" road-tripping hippies, even though among us were employees of several well-known computer companies.

I've finally made it home to the civilized comforts of a soft bed and running water. And yet I already miss the playa, with all its hardships and simple joys. So until the city rises again next year, I will return only in dreams.

-- Rebecca Pitt

#1998 Burn #Burning Man 1998 #1998 #Rebecca Pitt

[sluttyshakespeare]

Four Beautiful Details About Player Unknown's Battlegrounds Mobile

PUBG Mobile (as the game is officially understood) is unlike the PC and console versions right off the bat in that it's free which it includes a new method to make cosmetic rewards. You still make BP from playing matches, and you still utilize those points to open randomized loot dog crates, now you also make Vitality and EXP points. Vitality climbs up as you total special day-to-day missions, like playing a particular variety of matches or killing a specific variety of individuals. At various thresholds, you open a free loot cage. EXP is earned the same way, and it opens long-term account features, such as unique avatar icons, and goes toward increasing your account level. PUBG presently lacks any kind of monetization, so you can't buy BP with real money, but this need to alter in the future as the game becomes more extensively readily available around the world. Aside from everyday objectives and events that hand out points, there's likewise a seasonal ranking system, with seven skill tiers and unique cosmetic benefits for making progress before a season is out. Seasons last about 2 months. Customizable controls The touch-screen controls work surprisingly well for a game as complex as PUBG. Using the default configuration, you move with a virtual control stick, utilizing your other thumb on the right half of the screen to manage your goal. You fire, aim down sights, crouch, go prone and access your knapsack with virtual buttons on the best side of the screen. Once you're comfortable with the design, you'll discover you have access to all of the very same actions as on the PC version, consisting of leaning and free-looking.

You can personalize the design of the virtual buttons completely by moving them around and altering their size and openness. You can even save numerous design presets. The default design is extremely user-friendly, so I discovered it didn't need much tweaking. Utilizing auto pickup A really cool concept that Player Unknown's Battlegrounds Corp. ought to think about for every version of the game is the mobile variation's auto-pick-up function, which smartly gathers weapons, ammo, attachments and healing products as you walk over them. It'll pick up ammunition just for guns you're using, and it'll auto-equip attachments. MORE: 100+ Great iOS Games for iPhones and iPads This system even auto-swaps lower-tier body armor, knapsacks and helmets for higher-tier ones that you run near. All of this automation assists minimize how much you need to by hand arrange your stock, and if you do not like this process, you can totally disable it. Visual feedback To make up for the reality that most gamers do not use headsets, PUBG Mobile provides you a lot more visual details that would be conveyed through noise in the PC and console versions. A hit marker on the center of your screen shows the direction you have actually been shot from, something famously excluded from the original variation to force gamers to count on sound queues. The minimap will also show a bullet icon in the basic location of neighboring shooting from other gamers, making it a lot easier to find other gamers. You still require to keep an ear out for footsteps, so you need to utilize a good set of earbuds. You will come across AI bots According to Kotaku and The Brink, PUBG uses bots for brand-new players based upon their EXP level and will start gradually filling out the 100-person match with more actual gamers as you acquire levels. This implies your very first trip is rather likely to be successful. I put 4th with a whopping eight kills in my very first match, and I chalked it up to the video game having plenty of unskilled players. Turns out, it may have been the presence of witless AI bots offering me a self-confidence boost. The specific information of how many bots the game uses isn't clear at present. When you first delve into PUBG mobile you will get to produce your character, it's not the inmost character creation system we have actually ever seen, but the real customisation comes through cosmetic clothing opens even more down the road. So there is no reason to spend too much time on this. After developing a character you will pick your experience level with shooters and battle royale video games. This setting will determine if you play with bots for your first couple of matches, or with real human beings, so select carefully, although a couple of heat up matches with bots is a strong concept for newcomers. To actually delve into your first game you will wish to hit the big "START" button in the leading left of the primary lobby screen. However, by tapping package below that you can select which kind of match you wish to play, squads, duos or solo and first person or 3rd individual. As soon as you have actually hit level 5 you can likewise pick which of the two currently readily available maps, Erangle or Miramar, you want to play, and at level 10 you can select to play in some of the game modes such as War or a Quick Match which is restricted to eight minutes. When you hit start button you'll be thrown into a match and from thereon out its fight royale as you know it. Drop from the airplane, find some loot, kill some fools and remain in the circle till you either satisfy an early end, or go out with a chicken dinner. While Fortnite is the exact same game on mobile as it is on PC and console, the exact same can not be said for PUBG. PUBG Mobile is its own thing, and there is no way to rollover development from the PC and console variations to the mobile version. This is mostly because there is many distinctions between the variations. The most obvious is the vastly different content readily available. Just two of the three maps PC players have are readily available on the mobile variation, with Sanhok no place to be seen as of yet. The same can be stated with a variety of weapons, and there are a couple of extremely small differences on the maps. Then there are the extremely various cosmetics. With PUBG Mobile being complimentary to play their main income source is cosmetic products, so as you might anticipate there's a lot more in the mobile than in the PC and Xbox variations. A few of the mobile only cosmetics are in fact quite cool, and we would love to see them make their way to the other platforms at some time. We already have guides for all three PUBG maps, which are accurately replicated on PUBG mobile. For the a lot of part if you are excellent on PC or console then you ought to have the ability to equate that success into PUBG Mobile, as it's successfully the exact same video game. However, with that being said there are a couple of things you ought to know when playing. On PC and console leaning becomes second nature. Having the ability to stick your go out but keep the rest of your body securely behind cover makes it a lot more difficult to hit you, and is a core mechanic. However on mobile it can be harder to use this technique as you'll have to move your thumbs away from moving and aiming to do so. This does make it a little more difficult to utilize well, but with some practise you can master this and stop putting your whole body at danger. Oh, and make sure the buttons are really activated in the settings menu. Having fun with noise is constantly going to be more suitable, as it will allow you to hear what is going on in your area, however if that isn't possible then there is another way to exercise where those shots are originating from. The direction of any shots in your instructions, or those near you, will be shown on the small map. You can then spin to that position and dump a spray of bullets at whoever thought they had actually captured you off guard. + One of the ways that PUBG Mobile runs smoothly on lower end gadgets is to only render the grass and foliage close to the player, so that implies if you believe you are being a sneaky snake in the lawn, you actually just look like a muppet crawling through a field to anybody with a 4x or better scope. Always adhere to hard cover if possible. Crawling through the turf only actually works in the really late video game circles.

Sure, some individuals might say auto-aim is for noobs, however when it assists this much there truly is no reason to turn it off, unless you wish to go pro. The auto-aim on PUBG Mobile is insane good at times, and you should presume that all your foes will be utilizing it too. Make sure to keep this on, and you will barely ever miss a shot once again. PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds-- or PUBG as it's known by fans-- is finally readily available on mobile. The PC, Xbox One, and now Android and iOS blockbuster may have lost some ground to Impressive Games' Fortnite in the 'terrific battle royale war', but Bluehole's sandbox kill-fest rules supreme on Android sitting on top of the Play Store with over 10 million downloads. For those new to the video game, the very first thing you must understand is that Player Unknown's Battlegrounds Mobile is everything about enduring up until the bitter end in a 100-person free-for-all or as a group by any ways required. Yet whether you're the kind of gamer that likes to grab the very best weapons you can find and go all guns blazing, or you go with a more stealthy technique, there are some gameplay basics that apply to everyone that gets in the battlefield. In this guide, you'll find some important tips and techniques that will put you ahead of the pack in PUBG mobile and assist you bag those sweet, sweet chicken dinners. A game of PUBG can last as long as half an hour or, if things go terribly wrong, it can all be over in a few seconds. One proven method of exiting early is by misjudging your preliminary landing spot. As a general general rule, you wish to aim for the very best loot spots in the video game's Erangel map (the desert map, Miramar, will introduce in a future update) while also avoiding as many other gamers as possible. There are some particular locations that regularly spawn the very best weapons and armor such as the military base, power plant, or the numerous significant towns, however bare in mind that other skilled players will be heading there too. Editor's Choose 15 best Android video games of 2018! As soon as you have actually jumped out of the freight airplane, keep an eye out for swarms of other players heading to a single location and prevent those locations like the pester. Similarly, do not simply aimlessly drift as soon as you're in freefall-- pinpoint a safe adequate area, preferably with structures so you can grab some loot, and push forward to speed your way there. Buildings will show up as white blocks on the small map, so ensure you're heading in the ideal instructions. If you can't see one you can always open your parachute early and coast over to a decent landing zone. Simply know that every second you spend in the sky is a second your opponents will be using to scoop up loot. Let me re-emphasize this one last time-- if you pass away in PUBG Mobile you are dead. In solo play, there are no 2nd chances, and in teams you'll be putting your team's possibilities of success at risk if you keep getting downed early. When you struck the floor, your first top priority is preparing so you do not get clipped in any initial skirmishes. You'll find essential loot scattered around in buildings and supply cage drops. The latter include the most desired weapons like the insanely effective AWM sniper rifle however remember you will not be the only one hoping to get the spoils.

The most essential loot in the early stages is a half-decent weapons, ammo, and some reasonable armor, as well as a knapsack upgrade (as much as level 3) so you have space for better equipment as you start checking out. Any gun is better than your fists or even the legendary PUBG frying pan, so grab any close-by firearms before engaging an opponent. Armor is likewise important so you can take more hits in a firefight. Like the knapsack, head and body armor is graded from level 1 to 3, however level 3 armor is fairly rare. Go for level 2 armor prior to picking a scrap, or level 1 at a bare minimum. Health items are also a priority. First aid kits are more suitable, but plasters, pain relievers, and so on will all help in a pinch. Thrown items like grenades will end up being more important in the future as an offending or distraction tool once the gamer count has actually reduced, but don't be afraid to toss an explosive surprise if you come across an unsuspecting group early on. This is the ultimate rookie error and it'll get you eliminated more than anything else in PUBG Mobile. Deciding when to conceal and when to attack is a difficult balancing act, however you ought to never ever open fire unless you know your weapon has a possibility of striking the target. While understanding when you remain in range will take some practice for complete newcomers, if you have any experience with PvP shooters you'll currently have a reasonable understanding of the essentials. Shotguns (particularly the amazing S12K) and SMGs are useful for up-close burst damage, attack rifles and handguns are good for mid-range fights, and sniper rifles are perfect for long distance pot shots. If you're shooting at a distant opponent with, state, the otherwise fairly strong Tommy Gun, all you're doing is distributing your position which is a fatal error. Attachments can extend the range of some weapons-- assault rifles with scopes can in some cases be better than sniper rifles-- however some weapons are just beneficial in specific circumstances. Shotguns, for example, are a fantastic tool for clearing out a building however are practically ineffective exposed fields. Where possible, try to keep complementary weapons on hand and don't carry 2 weapons that fulfill the very same function. It'll take a fair couple of games to find out the design of particular locations of the PUBG Mobilemap, let alone the entire thing. While you're getting utilized to the landscape, make sure you're taking note of the small map and keeping an eye on the diminishing backyard. In PUBG, the just safe location lies within "The Circle". This circle will begin to shrink at choose times throughout the match and if you find yourself beyond it for too long, you'll ultimately die. The damage you take in this energized blue field will increase as the circle diminishes. Early on you'll be great for a few minutes, while in the very final stage you will not last more than 10 seconds. Each new circle will reveal on your map as a white summary, so if you view your map you'll constantly know where to go next. There's no requirement to rush in the early stages, however towards completion you'll need to get moving to prevent death while also attempting to stay away from other gamers who will be doing the same thing. You ought to constantly be attempting to stay in cover where possible, but if you do require to move, move quickly and with purpose.

The tiny map likewise has one last trick up its sleeve that you absolutely require to watch out for-- a fire sign. If you hear shooting in your vicinity, have a fast glance at the map and it'll show precisely where it's originating from. Required to get somewhere quick? Then you require a vehicle, my friend. Cars are littered all around Erangel however you'll discover them most frequently near the larger cities and on the main roads. Unfortunately, while there are plenty of cars to go around, there's also up to 99 other players potentially aiming to get behind the wheel too, so be sure it's safe prior to approaching. The motorbike and buggy are both excellent for zipping to the next backyard but will leave you relatively exposed. Larger lorries like the jeep will be slower but are terrific for bring around four players with a nice amount of security. PUBG Mobile's touchscreen controls can be a bit fiddly at the very best of times, so you can picture how tough it is to provide a lethal blow to a challenger when they're driving straight at you. The downside, nevertheless, is the amount of attention you'll draw thanks to those loud engines. PUBG video games generally end with a tiny group of fighters lying around on the flooring hoping another person pops their direct initially. That person generally gets domed instantly, by the way, so ensure it isn't you. Going completely prone in PUBG is an important maneuver, a lot so that it has its own dedicated button. It's also a double-edged sword, nevertheless, as while you'll get a good recoil and accuracy increase and normally be a little bit more concealed, mobility is almost non-existent. If someone techniques you from behind while you're on your chest, you're nearly absolutely going to wind up dead-- especially if you're browsing a scope at the same time. Keep an eye on your mini map and the environments before striking the flooring, and don't be afraid to flank your challengers when they're lying down. When out in the open, making the most of rocks and the sides of buildings for cover can be a much more secure alternative. What PUBG doesn't inform you is that you can really peek around the side of cover without exposing your squishy limbs, but to do that you'll have to take a fast journey to the Settings > Standard menu. Merely toggle Peek & Fire to "Enable" and you'll be able to peer around corners. Simply understand that you're far from invulnerable when doing this, as your head will lean with you, however you'll be a much smaller sized target. One last point on controls: remap the buttons if you require to. There are three presets for both general and automobile controls to select from, but if you can fine-tune these even further by hitting the Customize choice. You can move around every single element of the HUD to your preference, boost button sizes, and modify icon transparency, and you can likewise reset everything to default if you ruin. Erangel can be a really lonesome place when you're squatting in a field somewhere all alone, just awaiting a chance to strike. That all modifications in duo or group play where tactical play and consistent communication are crucial to triumph. Practically every aspect of Player Unknown's Battlegrounds Mobile changes in co-op, be it selecting a place to land, deciding who takes what loot, picking a target, and even calling who gets to ride shotgun in a lorry. Attacking in numbers is far safer than splitting up, however equally, you'll require to maintain a little range from your allies from time to time to flank opponents and hold perspective. Fortunately, Player Unknown's Battlegrounds Mobile supports native voice chat utilizing your device's speakers and microphone, although you will have to make it possible for the latter in Settings > Audio. Alternatively, if you have a few buddies, you can constantly use voice and chat apps like Discord.

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