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Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition

This is is my "gently caress I have crits to do" post.

gently caress, I have crits to do. Even if the people who could get them might have been eaten by sperm whales.


Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition

so if you put me in Jitzu I'll find a balcony on a high building and push you off it

That being said, wow, I have a fuckton of crits I haven't done. My number is ugly and I wish to unugly it. But they're old and maybe no one gives a gently caress anymore. Well who cares I still give a gently caress. My crit count is here. Pitiful. Look at all that red. Let's fix this poo poo. I want at least 80% of my crits done. A B in Texas is respectable.

Week #122 - Bar-back
Week #130 - Twice Told Tales of Magic and Sparkles
Week #137 - A Picture is Worth rand( ) % 1500 words

Wow these are all over a year passed - yeah, gently caress you they're old I know heaux did I ask for your goddamn opinion on the age of my poo poo

IF YOU STILL WANT A CRIT: Open your drat mouth and say something to let me know. Tell me in chat, babble in thread, or you can even PM me if you're a cool kid and can do that. I'll make cool notes to myself to see who to crit. You have til the close of this week's submissions to let me know if you want my poo poo or not.

IF YOU DON'T WANT A CRIT: Say nothing, like you probably normally do. You may have already faffed the gently caress off the thread anyways, or you think that after a year there's not possibly anything I could say to make you give a gently caress. Fine, don't curr. I'll probably dash off a quick "what sucked what rocked" 3-4 sentences if it'll kick my drat crit count up a piss closer to 80%.

And that's the deal, now go do whatever the poo poo you were doing.

Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition

Welp, time to get my fat black rear end back on the writing horse lest someone think they're better than me


(get back here horse I'm riding you)

Oct 17, 2012

Hullabalooza '96
Easily Depressed
Teenagers Edition


On the third of March, Shona was halfway down the block from Redwood Primary when she heard a noise in the hedges, sounding very much like something crying and hissing simultaneously. She debated for a few moments before fishing out the other half of the tuna sandwich she hadn’t eaten at lunch, squatting down and holding it out as a lure.

A few moments later, a furry muzzle stuck out of the bush followed by the rest of the beast. It was black and furry, the size of a cat with humanesque eyes, folded leathery wings, long erect ears, clawed paws, and a scaly black tail with a snake’s rattle at the end. It sniffed at the sandwich, its blue eyes staring at her green ones.

She slowly held the sandwich out. “Go on. It’s all right. Good boy.”

It sniffed once more before opening its mouth to show three rows of shark-sharp teeth as it took a huge bite. It quickly gobbled the rest in three and a half bites without nipping her, before licking around its mouth with a forked red tongue and tilting its head.

She bit her lip. “I only have that, boy. But I can make another at home. Come home with me?”

The beast cocked its head to the left, one ear wiggling. Then it shuffled close, brushing up against her thigh next to the crop lash under her biking shorts, and wrapped its tail around her wrist as it made a huffing growl. I’ll call him Midnight, Shona thought, as she tucked it under her jacket and took the quicker route past the library.

Shona settled Midnight in her closet with her second-best blanket before she set her review folder on the kitchen table and started her afterschool chores, with just enough time to make him another sandwich before dinner preparation. She didn’t overcook the pasta or undercook the chicken, so Father only had cause to swat her four times with the crop—one for each spelling mistake. He left her to the chores as he went out, and she took her leftovers to Midnight. He ate everything including the chicken bones, and bumped up against her hand as she cried quietly.

During shower time, Shona made sure to avoid the new lashes so they weren’t irritated on their first night, then tucked Midnight into bed in the laundry basket to remind her to start a load before school.


On the ninth it was hot, but Shona wore jeans so the lashes from neglecting dirty plates weren’t visible. While Mrs. Cook went over fractions for sixth grade math reviews, she thought about how Midnight—the size of a retriever after only six days—had seen her bruises and rubbed against them, making a thick growling sound in his throat that had to be hushed when Father sharply reminded her to roll the trash bins to the curb.

She’d only tried to have a pet once before, an orange tabby cat named Eggo. She’d kept him quiet for four days before he’d been found. Father had grabbed him by the scruff improperly, Eggo scratching him on the arm just once before Father snapped his neck cleanly. Once he’d disinfected his scratches, Father had whipped her for an hour with the crop, snapping that cats were filthy animals that shat indoors; only when he was done reprimanding her had he added she had all weekend to clean herself up because if he was questioned by children’s services again, she would be punished.

But Midnight wasn’t a cat. Shona couldn’t get in trouble, maybe, as long as she kept him a secret.

She left her homework folder on the table in the right spot before she took her other sandwich half to the closet. Midnight only took two bites to finish it now, licking her cheek and making a pleased churl-wuffing sound.

“Shh,” she whispered, patting between his wings. His back came up to her waist now. If he got used to making noises too often, Father would surely find him.


The seventeenth was rough. While Shona finished her homework before Father was home, the garlic bread burnt so she got six crop smacks across her hands for ruining half of dinner. Midnight didn’t mind the burnt parts, eating all six pieces before licking at the red lines on her palms. He bumped his head on her shoulder, making a sound halfway between a hiss and a sob, as Shona wiped the crumbs from his fur and cried into it where only he heard.

She didn’t think about the rumbling sounds Midnight was making until she heard hard thumping knocks. “Are you crying, Shona Margaret?” Father’s voice boomed.

Shona’s throat tightened as she pressed Midnight’s muzzle on her chest and her face in his fur to muffle them both. “No sir, Father.”

“Do I need to come in?”

Midnight growled louder against her chest.

“No sir, Father.” She squeezed Midnight tighter. His fur fluffed as his tail curled around her ankle, the tip making a soft rattle as his eyes darted towards the door.

There was a long silence before Father spoke again. “Finish your chores before bed. All of them. Or else.”

“Yes sir, Father.”

Shona waited until Father’s steps let her know he was gone before she let go of Midnight. “You have to be quiet,” she murmured tensely, “or Father will find you.” Midnight growled, as his tongue brushed her cheek.

After chores, she lay in bed with one of Midnight’s paws for a pillow, his fur soft under her cheek, having trouble sleeping.

She’d have to keep her door closed as much as possible. Midnight might be found.


Just before lunch on the thirty-first, Mrs. Cook handed Shona back her math test with a frown. “65/100” was written in bright red ink, with a space for Father to sign his name.

Her stomach twisted. She had tried so hard to get the decimal problems right.

Shona didn’t eat lunch or pay attention for the rest of the day, When she got home, she scrubbed the kitchen counters spotless, cleaned the bathroom toilet, and vacuumed the living and dining room twice before she spent the rest of the evening pacing the living room, Midnight growling from the bedroom. The sound of Father’s car in the driveway made her heart drop to her stomach.

Father looked around the perfectly spotless room as he entered, before he picked up the crop. “Your math test.” It wasn’t a question.

“I can explain—” Shona started, knowing they were the wrong words even as they left her mouth, fighting a sob as he walked to the table with strides longer than hers. Father picked up the paper, looking at it for several heartbeats before his hand holding the crop rose.

“Father, please—the decimals—” was all Shona could squeak out before the crop struck across her cheek sharply. There was a bloody taste in her mouth.

“One for every point down—” she heard, before another strike across her ears that made them ring. The next near the temple struck her to the floor.

It was Friday evening. She’d have all weekend to clean herself up. He would make sure of it.

She flinched her hand up to protect her face; it wasn’t enough. Sharp pain radiated across her fingers, enough she cried out, enough she was struck again for fighting back. She heard a buzzing, hissing sound as she curled into a ball onto the floor, choking back the rest of her cries. She felt Father strike the back of her head. Her back. The bare exposed part of her thighs. Over and over, before the floor shook under her with a thump.

She turned her head just enough to see Midnight, his head brushing the upper door frame, front row of teeth bared.

She’d left her bedroom door open, she thought as Midnight’s snarling roar muted Father’s scream.

Shona curled in on herself, face hidden as Midnight bounded forward. There were the sounds of strikes and blows, kicks and snarls and hits and panic, until Father’s screams tapered into a gurgle. She only lifted her head when she felt Midnight’s forked tongue brush her cheek and his paws gently prodding her. She lifted her head and glimpsed the red pool and smears for just a moment before Midnight pushed her away from it, leaving red paw prints on the carpet. Fresh crop lashes split his black fur at the shoulders and one eye was bruised, but he laid down against Shona, wings spread to block her view, making rumbling purring sounds.

Shona buried her head against Midnight, ignoring the mess, ignoring everything but him. “Good boy,” she murmured against his fur. “Good boy.”

It was Friday. She’d have all weekend to clean up the mess properly.

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