FA+
Shop
[Author Notes] Black Out Coffee Date
General | Posted 12 years ago***
In writing a mock erotica at work today (it was a slow day), I wrote out the following line while my co-workers giggled on behind me, “He went in, and then he went out, he went in, and then he went out...” The more I typed this out however, the more it seemed that my own joke was starting to escape me. I, with the original intention of humour, could not help but look at my own joke and see a terrible, less funny joke in its place. In this sense, sex seemed ultimately indecisive. To me, it became as though sex was the result of a choice between if one should want in or out. My supervisor then came by later on and I had to close my document before I got caught.
As I continued to work however, I could not get this idea that my generation, amongst all of its other misguided stereotypes, comes to also be defined by indecisiveness. I played with this idea more, and this story sort of came from there.
Obviously this is a more experimental/stylized approach to telling a story, something with a raw emotion that also reacts to the world as I see it now. If I had to label that emotion, I would call it fear, a fear of coming to know fear. Which is to say, I’m terrified of the day when the “safety blanket” that our generation was supposedly raised on comes to lift itself away and we see the ugly head of the reality that we are living in today.
I’ve become more obsessed with ideas concerning the supposedly, “Lost Generation,” and how it was written about during its period. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald, to provide the best examples, seemed to see a world around them rich on splendor, yet so indifferent to the world around them. If today proves anything it’s that history is repeating itself.
I’ve never known poverty. In this world, I could have anything if I really wanted it. Anything except for love, which in being material, while not being material at all, eludes even my grasp. I’m not sure this is entirely my fault, and yet probably it is. I’m part of this generation, this generation that makes love so hard, so material, makes it into wasted splendor. Sometimes I feel like love isn’t really romantic anymore, not special at all, but rather wasted in the dollars we can barely earn.
I did however just go through a break-up, so maybe I’m just pessimistic. But do all relationships end with a total and agreed indifference towards the other person? In the end it was as though the passion we had was only ever an illusion, only ever a mirage to bring us towards the sex which we both only ever really wanted. Once all was said and done, there was nothing there. No matter how hard we tried to push ourselves together, there was nothing there. I wanted to try, and we did try, but like bread, it grew stale after a couple of days.
...Sorry. I don’t mean to become just another furry drama-bombing y’all. :3
In writing a mock erotica at work today (it was a slow day), I wrote out the following line while my co-workers giggled on behind me, “He went in, and then he went out, he went in, and then he went out...” The more I typed this out however, the more it seemed that my own joke was starting to escape me. I, with the original intention of humour, could not help but look at my own joke and see a terrible, less funny joke in its place. In this sense, sex seemed ultimately indecisive. To me, it became as though sex was the result of a choice between if one should want in or out. My supervisor then came by later on and I had to close my document before I got caught.
As I continued to work however, I could not get this idea that my generation, amongst all of its other misguided stereotypes, comes to also be defined by indecisiveness. I played with this idea more, and this story sort of came from there.
Obviously this is a more experimental/stylized approach to telling a story, something with a raw emotion that also reacts to the world as I see it now. If I had to label that emotion, I would call it fear, a fear of coming to know fear. Which is to say, I’m terrified of the day when the “safety blanket” that our generation was supposedly raised on comes to lift itself away and we see the ugly head of the reality that we are living in today.
I’ve become more obsessed with ideas concerning the supposedly, “Lost Generation,” and how it was written about during its period. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald, to provide the best examples, seemed to see a world around them rich on splendor, yet so indifferent to the world around them. If today proves anything it’s that history is repeating itself.
I’ve never known poverty. In this world, I could have anything if I really wanted it. Anything except for love, which in being material, while not being material at all, eludes even my grasp. I’m not sure this is entirely my fault, and yet probably it is. I’m part of this generation, this generation that makes love so hard, so material, makes it into wasted splendor. Sometimes I feel like love isn’t really romantic anymore, not special at all, but rather wasted in the dollars we can barely earn.
I did however just go through a break-up, so maybe I’m just pessimistic. But do all relationships end with a total and agreed indifference towards the other person? In the end it was as though the passion we had was only ever an illusion, only ever a mirage to bring us towards the sex which we both only ever really wanted. Once all was said and done, there was nothing there. No matter how hard we tried to push ourselves together, there was nothing there. I wanted to try, and we did try, but like bread, it grew stale after a couple of days.
...Sorry. I don’t mean to become just another furry drama-bombing y’all. :3
[Author Notes] Apple Wine in Autumn
General | Posted 12 years agoI haven’t been able to write much for the community as of late and this is for good reason. I’ve been busy with other projects as well as doing some work for some local friends of mine. I won’t get too much into it as I’m not one to share anything overtly personal with the furry community but I will say this, I’m starting to feel more like a true to word, budding, writer than ever before. It’s all starting to become quite exciting for me. I’ve got to be careful though. I might lose my head!
I’ve started a few stories before but never got around to finishing them as new, other, more pressing projects get sent my way. I don’t like not finishing stories because I feel like the main difference between a writer and someone pretending to be a writer is writers finish their works. Still, between getting paid and getting only validation, I feel like I know what I should be working on.
That’s not to say I only write on here for validation. I think it’s important to me that I only justify my involvement within this fandom as a creative space for myself, a place where I can create and experiment as I see fit. Often this experimentation is in creating often surrealist narratives, but in other cases sometimes I just want to explore a genre, or a specific style. That later of course relating to this piece featured. Before you accuse me of purple or rose prose, or being an overly, flowery romanticist (ugh, did he really do a pretentious Keats reference?), know that there is much intention created in anything I write. As a writer, I better myself by making sure I am conscious of my decisions and knowing when to cut that which needs to be cut. That being said I am my own worst editor as well (especially now with less time to edit). So take from that what you will. Haha!
Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this piece. I’m sorry there aren’t gratuitous amounts of sex but this piece was supposed to be more narrative/style based then my last piece which was joyfully smutty.
I’m going to go watch American Horror Story. PEACE!
-BeaverReturn
Popquiz: Can anyone guess why my name is BeaverReturn?
I’ve started a few stories before but never got around to finishing them as new, other, more pressing projects get sent my way. I don’t like not finishing stories because I feel like the main difference between a writer and someone pretending to be a writer is writers finish their works. Still, between getting paid and getting only validation, I feel like I know what I should be working on.
That’s not to say I only write on here for validation. I think it’s important to me that I only justify my involvement within this fandom as a creative space for myself, a place where I can create and experiment as I see fit. Often this experimentation is in creating often surrealist narratives, but in other cases sometimes I just want to explore a genre, or a specific style. That later of course relating to this piece featured. Before you accuse me of purple or rose prose, or being an overly, flowery romanticist (ugh, did he really do a pretentious Keats reference?), know that there is much intention created in anything I write. As a writer, I better myself by making sure I am conscious of my decisions and knowing when to cut that which needs to be cut. That being said I am my own worst editor as well (especially now with less time to edit). So take from that what you will. Haha!
Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this piece. I’m sorry there aren’t gratuitous amounts of sex but this piece was supposed to be more narrative/style based then my last piece which was joyfully smutty.
I’m going to go watch American Horror Story. PEACE!
-BeaverReturn
Popquiz: Can anyone guess why my name is BeaverReturn?
[Author Notes]: Christmas Eve on Monday
General | Posted 13 years ago***
Thank you for reading my THIRD and final Christmas-y/seasonal/winter story!
If you find that my stories keep getting shorter and shorter, it’s because lately I’ve been having this urge to explore more and more with flash-fiction. I want to know how short I can make my stories while still being able to call it a story.
Originally I could of had this story at 500 words, however what came out of it was just a sex story with very little context. It defiantly killed the story for me, making it into pure smut, which can be good for a quick wank but doesn’t exactly classify as something submitable for me. I think I’ll try again to write a furry-erotica in 500 words less. The trick is to be disjointed without losing continuity and flow, while at the same time picking the appropriate scope to write from. As for this story, I had an idea I wanted to present and it just could not be captured in 500 words or less without losing its purpose as a story.
Anyways, the theme of this story becomes a bit soapboxy so hold tight...
I came up with this story as I was listening to, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” (obviously) that was sung by a boys’ choir on the radio. Listening to the song made me realize how easily we forget, or rather how easily we evolve the context of holiday songs away from their original intent. It’s quite easy for us to commodify these songs into holiday classics, while at the same time seemingly censoring their original meaning within the collective thought of the public. It was when I listened to this song by the boys’ choir, and then when I listened to it again sung by Bing Cosby, that I realized the meaning to, “If only in my dreams” is truly lost. If you don’t know what meaning I’m talking about. Consider the song was released in 1943.
Another good example is, “Have Yourself a Merry little Christmas.” The history of the song is quite depressing as it is another wartime song that is used later to discuss escape from an “abusive” domestic sphere when Judy Garland sings it, “Meet Me In St. Louis.” Although to understand the “abusive” part in the song may take some interpretation, I believe there’s enough evidence within the image of the scene itself that speaks beyond what Hollywood was able to say during its years of censorship. Watch the scene on YouTube or watch the whole film (if you like musicals). The theme of “escape” (from what exactly?) is a pretty big motive all through-out the film. I don’t know, I always like looking at the darker side of Hollywood Musicals, how in more cases then not, there is usually a hint of macabre under all the Busby Berkley smiling faces.
Now, I don’t mean to bring everyone down over the holiday seasons, or make it seem like I am completely cynical this holiday season (bah-humbug!), for really I plan to consider this more of an example of how language and meaning can evolve. Pessimistically, we can see this as a damnation of memory, where we choose to become ignorant to the past, or optimistically, we can see this as a restoration into something new, as in taking the past and reinventing it more positively.
I guess my perspective is, is that honestly a boys’ choir singing “I’ll be Home For Christmas” is annoying, next time I listen to, “I’ll be Home for Christmas” (by Bing Cosby) I’ll contemplate both its new and old meaning, and realize the true permeability of all information, for better or worse.
Wow, that was a bit academic, I’m sorry. Guess finals are starting to affect me more then I realize.
ANYWAYS, Rate, Favourite, Watch, and give me all your delicious comments! I’m using them to build a spaceship. (No not really you gullible fool!) HAPPY (End of) FINALS, and SEASONS GREETINGS!
P.S. Did you know Lady Gaga has a Christmas Carol? I think it’s about the hypocrisy of the privatization of pharmaceuticals within countries that supposedly have Medi-care but I’m not sure. Let me know what you think?
Thank you for reading my THIRD and final Christmas-y/seasonal/winter story!
If you find that my stories keep getting shorter and shorter, it’s because lately I’ve been having this urge to explore more and more with flash-fiction. I want to know how short I can make my stories while still being able to call it a story.
Originally I could of had this story at 500 words, however what came out of it was just a sex story with very little context. It defiantly killed the story for me, making it into pure smut, which can be good for a quick wank but doesn’t exactly classify as something submitable for me. I think I’ll try again to write a furry-erotica in 500 words less. The trick is to be disjointed without losing continuity and flow, while at the same time picking the appropriate scope to write from. As for this story, I had an idea I wanted to present and it just could not be captured in 500 words or less without losing its purpose as a story.
Anyways, the theme of this story becomes a bit soapboxy so hold tight...
I came up with this story as I was listening to, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” (obviously) that was sung by a boys’ choir on the radio. Listening to the song made me realize how easily we forget, or rather how easily we evolve the context of holiday songs away from their original intent. It’s quite easy for us to commodify these songs into holiday classics, while at the same time seemingly censoring their original meaning within the collective thought of the public. It was when I listened to this song by the boys’ choir, and then when I listened to it again sung by Bing Cosby, that I realized the meaning to, “If only in my dreams” is truly lost. If you don’t know what meaning I’m talking about. Consider the song was released in 1943.
Another good example is, “Have Yourself a Merry little Christmas.” The history of the song is quite depressing as it is another wartime song that is used later to discuss escape from an “abusive” domestic sphere when Judy Garland sings it, “Meet Me In St. Louis.” Although to understand the “abusive” part in the song may take some interpretation, I believe there’s enough evidence within the image of the scene itself that speaks beyond what Hollywood was able to say during its years of censorship. Watch the scene on YouTube or watch the whole film (if you like musicals). The theme of “escape” (from what exactly?) is a pretty big motive all through-out the film. I don’t know, I always like looking at the darker side of Hollywood Musicals, how in more cases then not, there is usually a hint of macabre under all the Busby Berkley smiling faces.
Now, I don’t mean to bring everyone down over the holiday seasons, or make it seem like I am completely cynical this holiday season (bah-humbug!), for really I plan to consider this more of an example of how language and meaning can evolve. Pessimistically, we can see this as a damnation of memory, where we choose to become ignorant to the past, or optimistically, we can see this as a restoration into something new, as in taking the past and reinventing it more positively.
I guess my perspective is, is that honestly a boys’ choir singing “I’ll be Home For Christmas” is annoying, next time I listen to, “I’ll be Home for Christmas” (by Bing Cosby) I’ll contemplate both its new and old meaning, and realize the true permeability of all information, for better or worse.
Wow, that was a bit academic, I’m sorry. Guess finals are starting to affect me more then I realize.
ANYWAYS, Rate, Favourite, Watch, and give me all your delicious comments! I’m using them to build a spaceship. (No not really you gullible fool!) HAPPY (End of) FINALS, and SEASONS GREETINGS!
P.S. Did you know Lady Gaga has a Christmas Carol? I think it’s about the hypocrisy of the privatization of pharmaceuticals within countries that supposedly have Medi-care but I’m not sure. Let me know what you think?
[Author Notres]: Snow Break
General | Posted 13 years agoOne night I found myself wondering what people thought my writing said about me. I started to wonder what people assumed I was like after reading my writing. If I could be psychic for a day, then I would use my psychic powers to go into each of my reader’s brain and see the kind of pictures of myself that exist within. Then I would probably cry because I’m sure you all assume the worst for me.
Of course, relate this thought to my furry fiction, and I start to wonder how I present myself sexually. I started to ask if it was possible to guess a person’s positional preference based on their writing. A.k.a does a bottom write differently then a top? Then a versatile?
Evidently this piece was made to experiment once again with themes of changing perspectives. Where more often I’ve been tempted to travel between mental-scape and real-scape, this time I wanted to look more at varying perspectives within individuals as well.
In this story, I think reflectively my most important part was trying to find the perfect time to switch perspective. I think I chose it well, but really it’s not up to me to decide how successful my experiments are. Either it’s up to you, or later me who goes back over these experiments sometime in the future and says, “what the hell is this crap past BeaverReturn?” Which will be good because being able to hate my past writing in my mind is an example of progress.
Procrastination is also an important message in this story, can you guess why?
Anyways, rate, comment, favourite, watch, send cookies, love your mother (platonically preferably), and clean your room! Just do whatever you can to show me some love, you know it puts a smile on my face.
[Author Notes]: Farewell to Farrell
General | Posted 13 years agoAuthors Notes:
First and foremost a shout-out for the lovely Lana Del Rey who really helped inspire this piece. You can go ahead and blame the song and video for “Ride” that was so incredibly beautiful to me that I couldn’t help but subtly reference it in my story. On a rainy day as today, I was happy I got to listen to it for the first time because it was the perfect fit to how I’ve been feeling lately.
Recently I’ve been kind of making it as a writer. As you read this, this work is actually the work of a published writer! Woo, go me! Only now with some of my work suddenly becoming published do I see the curtain start to fall off the dreams I’ve made for myself.
I’m a lover of all things art, and I have dreams that one day I’ll be an artist more then I’ll be a writer. But it’s hard to write things as art, because art in virtue should be challenging, and because it seems more and more that this generation itself enjoys less and less to be challenged when we read. Even I suffer from this predicament. I’ll bitch about the terribleness of most of the best sellers lately but when trying to honestly tackle some more “art” works in literature I’ll find myself struggling. If you prescribed to any modern theories, then you’ll likely say that this problem arises from our brains becoming rewired for purposes beyond contemplative reading. I don’t know if I believe it, or if I just don’t want to believe it, but it’s challenging when your ambitions becomes first handed suffered by editor’s who seemingly only want cookie cutter works.
In trying to figure this all out, I’ve devised that there is two kinds of writing: writing for the self and writing for an audience. When writing for the self you are writing works that you create to challenge yourself and to explore the extent of your abilities. When writing for an audience, you are fulfilling a demand and vision the common market desires from you. You get this all the time in other art as well. I know it’s cliché to say, “I’ve done this mostly for myself,” but it becomes something you understand once you realize the division between the two reasons for writing.
So why not write the stuff that pays your bills AND write the stuff that’s going to contact the sole few whose brain that are still wired to think?
Because there are further depths to consider. You have to be able to write for yourself AND write for your audience because you don’t want to be another sell-out writer. With one of my stories I thought I could say, “aw fuck it—it’s another accolade on the resume,” but seeing that piece now I feel like, much to my dismay that the piece which now represents me as a writer no longer feels like one of my works after it went through the editing process (A Simpsons episode staring literacy heartthrob Neil Gaimen talks a little bit about this effect). An editor can tell me, “I want to support you as a writer,” and yet I’m tempted to say, “Are you really?” when my work gets re-modified into some kind of abomination.
Maybe I should just get a pseudonym?
I’m trying my best to be realistic here—Our world is not a world of heart, and I’m not going to be able to sustain myself with idealism and dreams. It’s like what my mother says, “At the end of the day it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you can get your meat and potatoes.”
But I’m just not the kind of guy who can turn out junk for pay. I get bored if the work feels too simple and easy. This is both a blessing and a curse I suppose. Maybe one day I’ll see it as the difference between being a bottom feeder and actually feeling like somehow history might remember me.
I know I can walk the path of the artist, and I know what that path looks like. All I need is a driving force to carry me down it and right now that driving force is a love to write. But I’m worried about how far that love can take me. One second being published is the greatest event of my life, and another time it becomes a desperate realization.
Maybe I’m just panhandling for inspiration/advice right now. Maybe I’m just venting because I want to believe that I can be an optimist and a realist—even if realism often has me feeling so pessimistic. Maybe, I’m trying to prove to myself that deep down inside I’m scared as all hell to the starving failure I might become. Maybe, I’m seeing the gap between now and the “other side”-- but really...nothing gained if nothing ventured. I suppose if I were die a fool blinded then at least I’d have proven myself as something.
I know in my heart that I can be a writer (NOTE: NOT A PROOFREADER--lol)—I just don’t know if the rest of the world believes it yet.
[Author Notes]: Brown Coffee
General | Posted 13 years agoI decided that with each submission I'm going to be giving my author's notes on the story. Sofurry gets them, why can't you?
<3
---
It was a rainy day today and I really felt like I was in a recessive kind of mood all day. I tried to get stuff done but I just couldn’t escape my head. It seemed my body was completely complacent in just lying down, listening to the rain, and getting lost in meditative thoughts. An off day for sure. I guess everyone can have one every once and a while, I just always hate feeling like I’m being lazy.
To counteract this feeling of slothness, I felt like I had to encourage myself to write, just to do something, just to make sure that I did accomplish SOMETHING today. I’m actually happy I did this because after an extended bout of lying on my bed and thinking to the sound of the rain I was really given the chance to pull out something deep from within the boundaries of my mind. I had always felt challenged in writing something thematically concerned with ambiguous fleeting memory, and I think when I laid down, forced my mind away from everything else, that I was finally able to commit to the constructing this story from within the mentality of my own sheer void.
It was a good exercise for me. Often when I don’t write for the furry fandom I feel a stronger need to monitor my accessibility. What I mean, the more I write away from the fandom, the less experimentally inclined I feel. I think every artist has their sanctuary, and I’m starting to realize that furry is most certainly mine. It’s that age old expression of having a venue where you can truly be yourself. I mean I already have the surrealist edge of hybrid-human-animal sex, why not go with that avenue? It just scares me, the stigma behind our fandom would have a lot of people coughing “bullshit” on my attachment to the fandom in favour of the much more controversial story associated with the stigma of our fandom. But then again, it’s not like I’m overly exposed around here anyways! Haha.
Giving references out, the lyrics I used are pulled from Dinah Washington’s “What a Difference a Day Makes.” which helped me really get out of a snit on how I was going to start this piece (hence why I felt inclined to include her song). For images concerned with the story I used Nancy Standlee’s “Good Coffee” (2012), which is strange because I try to avoid using current artwork when I *ahem* steal images, but 1) I could not find the original 1900’s painting of coffee I had in mind and 2) when I saw the collage I thought it so wonderfully fit my story that the two become outstandingly complimentary. I mean cosmopolitan coffee shop and memory scraps....seems like what I just wrote now doesn’t it? Either way, I encourage you to check out the full piece because it is ABSOULETELY wonderful.
That’s all I have to say for now! Thanks for reading my written-in-a-day short. Please drop me a comment and show the love. If not, rate, stars, favourites, watches...donations? Any kind of love makes me a happy beaver! I’m going to lie in my bed and listen to...Erik Satie (I guess)...until I feel it appropriate enough for me to fall asleep.
Also if you want more...I’ve got other stories to you know!
<3
---
It was a rainy day today and I really felt like I was in a recessive kind of mood all day. I tried to get stuff done but I just couldn’t escape my head. It seemed my body was completely complacent in just lying down, listening to the rain, and getting lost in meditative thoughts. An off day for sure. I guess everyone can have one every once and a while, I just always hate feeling like I’m being lazy.
To counteract this feeling of slothness, I felt like I had to encourage myself to write, just to do something, just to make sure that I did accomplish SOMETHING today. I’m actually happy I did this because after an extended bout of lying on my bed and thinking to the sound of the rain I was really given the chance to pull out something deep from within the boundaries of my mind. I had always felt challenged in writing something thematically concerned with ambiguous fleeting memory, and I think when I laid down, forced my mind away from everything else, that I was finally able to commit to the constructing this story from within the mentality of my own sheer void.
It was a good exercise for me. Often when I don’t write for the furry fandom I feel a stronger need to monitor my accessibility. What I mean, the more I write away from the fandom, the less experimentally inclined I feel. I think every artist has their sanctuary, and I’m starting to realize that furry is most certainly mine. It’s that age old expression of having a venue where you can truly be yourself. I mean I already have the surrealist edge of hybrid-human-animal sex, why not go with that avenue? It just scares me, the stigma behind our fandom would have a lot of people coughing “bullshit” on my attachment to the fandom in favour of the much more controversial story associated with the stigma of our fandom. But then again, it’s not like I’m overly exposed around here anyways! Haha.
Giving references out, the lyrics I used are pulled from Dinah Washington’s “What a Difference a Day Makes.” which helped me really get out of a snit on how I was going to start this piece (hence why I felt inclined to include her song). For images concerned with the story I used Nancy Standlee’s “Good Coffee” (2012), which is strange because I try to avoid using current artwork when I *ahem* steal images, but 1) I could not find the original 1900’s painting of coffee I had in mind and 2) when I saw the collage I thought it so wonderfully fit my story that the two become outstandingly complimentary. I mean cosmopolitan coffee shop and memory scraps....seems like what I just wrote now doesn’t it? Either way, I encourage you to check out the full piece because it is ABSOULETELY wonderful.
That’s all I have to say for now! Thanks for reading my written-in-a-day short. Please drop me a comment and show the love. If not, rate, stars, favourites, watches...donations? Any kind of love makes me a happy beaver! I’m going to lie in my bed and listen to...Erik Satie (I guess)...until I feel it appropriate enough for me to fall asleep.
Also if you want more...I’ve got other stories to you know!
[The Nuzleock Challenge] The Beaver Plays Pokemon #3
General | Posted 13 years agoRef: http://www.nuzlocke.com/challenge.php
---
In the tides of war the most unnatural bonds seem to be formed.
I begun SquishFace on a rigorous training exercise to prepare him for May. Shadowing him was Electric6, and in this relationship Squishface almost seemed to look up to Electric6 as a mentor, and then later as a friend. It was hard for Squishface to deal damage in the begining, his poison sting barely able to even scratch most pokemon. But Electric6 believed in him, and whenever things got to rough for Squishface, Electric6 always had it's back.
"Don't worry Squishface, I can take it from here. You'll get the next one okay?"
The relationship was beneficial for Electric6 as well, who before had a hardtime finding his spark. Perhaps all he need in the end was a little motivation, a purpose in life. It was through their bond that both pokemon reached level 20 together, Squishface getting his first hard hitting power, "Toxic" (I was hoping for bubblebeam but w/e) and Electric6 got his first special move "Spark."
By the end of Squishface's training, the pokemon in the tall grass had started calling him, "The Blue Plague" or the storm of poison he had infilcted on those who opposed him. I was quite proud.
A few more level ups later and we were ready to challenge May. Electric6 was ready for this battle. His spark super effective against wingull and the bird fell easy enough. Next up was May's Lombre, not a problem for Phallus's Gust attack. It was all going well.
But then came Combuskin, the demon born in fiery inferno.
"Okay team, this is what we practised for."
I could not describe the amoung pride I had seen in Electric6's eyes when Squishface was sent onto the battlefield. This was it, this was what he was trained to do, and I could proudly say, he passed his challenge. The creme of the creme however was when a Peck attack almost completely devestated Squishface, bringing him into the "red". He did not want to return, he wanted to prove himself, but he was too hurt, I told he had done better then I expected...and then for good measure I sent out Electric6 to finish him off.
"Don't worry Squishface, I can take it from here." He said with a wrly grin and a flash of pride shimmering from his bright eyes,"You did great kid."
One spark attack later and Combusken fell like the greatest of titans. It was a glorious victory. But it seems with my team, each win is matched with a loss.
It was not until later that Electric6 would fall. It appears all the paralysis, poisons and sleeps he had taken for Squishface during his training would get to him eventually. The trainer battle should have been an easy victory but I got over zealous and Foe's Meditite got a lucky hit on Electric6, and he fell from a critical low kick. I'm sorry Squishface, I am so sorry.
I don't expect Squishface to forgive me anytime soon. I still can't look him in the eye.
Now I'm down a lightning type, in desperate need for a rock type, and my latest catch was a useless illumise named MissyEliot.
Currently SuziSushi is in Daycare and Hotdog is her chaparone.
Current Line Up
Ontario Fur: Lvl 22 Grovyle
Sandman: Level 18 Vigoroth
Phallus: Level 22 Dustox
SquishFace: Level 21 Tentacool
MissyEliot: Level 14 Illumise (Useless...)
In Storage:
Box 1:
Edward: Level 11 Zubat
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
Electric6: Lvl 23 Electrike: Masterball: Foe: Meditite, Cause of Death, Beaten to Death,
"Beaten by a cheap trick. You had just found your spark, proved yourself a capable master to those who looked up to you, and then it was all taken away from you. Mentor and friend to Squishface, may he one day make you proud yet again."
---
In the tides of war the most unnatural bonds seem to be formed.
I begun SquishFace on a rigorous training exercise to prepare him for May. Shadowing him was Electric6, and in this relationship Squishface almost seemed to look up to Electric6 as a mentor, and then later as a friend. It was hard for Squishface to deal damage in the begining, his poison sting barely able to even scratch most pokemon. But Electric6 believed in him, and whenever things got to rough for Squishface, Electric6 always had it's back.
"Don't worry Squishface, I can take it from here. You'll get the next one okay?"
The relationship was beneficial for Electric6 as well, who before had a hardtime finding his spark. Perhaps all he need in the end was a little motivation, a purpose in life. It was through their bond that both pokemon reached level 20 together, Squishface getting his first hard hitting power, "Toxic" (I was hoping for bubblebeam but w/e) and Electric6 got his first special move "Spark."
By the end of Squishface's training, the pokemon in the tall grass had started calling him, "The Blue Plague" or the storm of poison he had infilcted on those who opposed him. I was quite proud.
A few more level ups later and we were ready to challenge May. Electric6 was ready for this battle. His spark super effective against wingull and the bird fell easy enough. Next up was May's Lombre, not a problem for Phallus's Gust attack. It was all going well.
But then came Combuskin, the demon born in fiery inferno.
"Okay team, this is what we practised for."
I could not describe the amoung pride I had seen in Electric6's eyes when Squishface was sent onto the battlefield. This was it, this was what he was trained to do, and I could proudly say, he passed his challenge. The creme of the creme however was when a Peck attack almost completely devestated Squishface, bringing him into the "red". He did not want to return, he wanted to prove himself, but he was too hurt, I told he had done better then I expected...and then for good measure I sent out Electric6 to finish him off.
"Don't worry Squishface, I can take it from here." He said with a wrly grin and a flash of pride shimmering from his bright eyes,"You did great kid."
One spark attack later and Combusken fell like the greatest of titans. It was a glorious victory. But it seems with my team, each win is matched with a loss.
It was not until later that Electric6 would fall. It appears all the paralysis, poisons and sleeps he had taken for Squishface during his training would get to him eventually. The trainer battle should have been an easy victory but I got over zealous and Foe's Meditite got a lucky hit on Electric6, and he fell from a critical low kick. I'm sorry Squishface, I am so sorry.
I don't expect Squishface to forgive me anytime soon. I still can't look him in the eye.
Now I'm down a lightning type, in desperate need for a rock type, and my latest catch was a useless illumise named MissyEliot.
Currently SuziSushi is in Daycare and Hotdog is her chaparone.
Current Line Up
Ontario Fur: Lvl 22 Grovyle
Sandman: Level 18 Vigoroth
Phallus: Level 22 Dustox
SquishFace: Level 21 Tentacool
MissyEliot: Level 14 Illumise (Useless...)
In Storage:
Box 1:
Edward: Level 11 Zubat
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
Electric6: Lvl 23 Electrike: Masterball: Foe: Meditite, Cause of Death, Beaten to Death,
"Beaten by a cheap trick. You had just found your spark, proved yourself a capable master to those who looked up to you, and then it was all taken away from you. Mentor and friend to Squishface, may he one day make you proud yet again."
[The Nuzlocke Challenge] The Beaver Plays Pokemone #2
General | Posted 13 years agoRef: http://www.nuzlocke.com/challenge.php
---
Things aren't going well for me and my team. We are vunerable from so many angles, and thus our team has grown weak. Phallus has been pulling most of the weight and I am quite proud of him. Gust and confusion have been our saving grace in the toughest of times. Electric6, one of our newest editions,is making life hard for me as he refuses to learn any electric moves even at his high level. Sandman has been making things difficult for me as well, his loafing around is getting dangerous and I've almost lost him now on multiple occasions. I've considered storing him, but really...Who else do I have to choose from? Pfft...Freaking Normal types.
We're currently stranded in Slateport city, with May awaiting us just around the corner. How do I know this? Well lets say I faced her in a dream. Yes, that was it, and I found myself heavily outmatched. No electric type for her wingull? I had to try my luck with Phallus, somehow he pulled through. But then her Combusken, from the devil's fires themselves emerged out from its pokeball. The demon was terrifying, I had no pokemon that could stand against it...and in my dream (yess that's it), every last one of my comrades had fallen. I am in desperate need of a water type.
Currently in my roster I have two new editions, SuzieSushi my level 10 Magikarp and Squishface my level 6 Tentacool. I know the potential that lies within SuzieSushi but I just can't risk her on the battlefield. I am thus left with only one choice, to power train Squishface to level 20.
If Squishface can vanquish the fires of that damned Combusken, then it will be claimed a hero in my books. Perhaps a brave enough warrior to stand with Phallace. For there is little pokemon in my roster who can. Even my starter, FUCKING grass types.
Squishface, I beg you to help me avenge Hitchcock and Dubstep. It's up to you know my little squishy friend <3!
Current Line Up:
Ontario Fur: Lvl 20 Grovyle
Sandman: Level 16 Slakoth
Phallus: Level 19 Dustox
Electric6: Level 18 Electrike
SuzieSushi: Lv 10 Magikarp
SquishFace: Level 6 Tentacool
In Storage:
Box 1:
Hotdog: Level 11 Poochyena
Edward: Level 11 Zubat
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur For: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
---
Things aren't going well for me and my team. We are vunerable from so many angles, and thus our team has grown weak. Phallus has been pulling most of the weight and I am quite proud of him. Gust and confusion have been our saving grace in the toughest of times. Electric6, one of our newest editions,is making life hard for me as he refuses to learn any electric moves even at his high level. Sandman has been making things difficult for me as well, his loafing around is getting dangerous and I've almost lost him now on multiple occasions. I've considered storing him, but really...Who else do I have to choose from? Pfft...Freaking Normal types.
We're currently stranded in Slateport city, with May awaiting us just around the corner. How do I know this? Well lets say I faced her in a dream. Yes, that was it, and I found myself heavily outmatched. No electric type for her wingull? I had to try my luck with Phallus, somehow he pulled through. But then her Combusken, from the devil's fires themselves emerged out from its pokeball. The demon was terrifying, I had no pokemon that could stand against it...and in my dream (yess that's it), every last one of my comrades had fallen. I am in desperate need of a water type.
Currently in my roster I have two new editions, SuzieSushi my level 10 Magikarp and Squishface my level 6 Tentacool. I know the potential that lies within SuzieSushi but I just can't risk her on the battlefield. I am thus left with only one choice, to power train Squishface to level 20.
If Squishface can vanquish the fires of that damned Combusken, then it will be claimed a hero in my books. Perhaps a brave enough warrior to stand with Phallace. For there is little pokemon in my roster who can. Even my starter, FUCKING grass types.
Squishface, I beg you to help me avenge Hitchcock and Dubstep. It's up to you know my little squishy friend <3!
Current Line Up:
Ontario Fur: Lvl 20 Grovyle
Sandman: Level 16 Slakoth
Phallus: Level 19 Dustox
Electric6: Level 18 Electrike
SuzieSushi: Lv 10 Magikarp
SquishFace: Level 6 Tentacool
In Storage:
Box 1:
Hotdog: Level 11 Poochyena
Edward: Level 11 Zubat
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur For: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
[The NuzLocke Challenge] The Beaver Plays Pokemon #1
General | Posted 13 years agoRef: http://www.nuzlocke.com/challenge.php
---
I decided to start playing pokemon because it's tradition around finals/exam time for me. Only this time I decided I was going to retry the Nuzlocke challenge, a quest I had undergone precious to my current game only to have my starter die some time closer to the end and had to stop due to total devestation.
BUT I'M BACK. And this time I'm playing Leaf Green.
So far things had been going pretty well. As luck would have it I had a pretty strong team of 6 pokemon early in the game and had quite easily beat the first gym leader Roxanne with my grass-type starter (Grovyle/Ontariofur). I was mighty high on my hubris, I had not seen a single casualty until I ran into may on my way out of Rustboro City. Her first pokemon...Easy, no problem, give me a real challenge--and then game Torchic. I had yet caught a type that would be able to face a level 15 fire type and thus was resorted to playing some tricky strategies.
First there was Hitchock, my level 12 Taillow, named Hitchcock... all I needed from him was to beat Torchic up until I could get it hurt enough to bring in OntarioFur. He didn't survive his first ember strike. I'm sorry Hitchock, you were too weak, I should have known.
And then there was Dubstep, my level 11 Whismur. I took a chance by having you use Uproar. But you just couldn't calm down before I could switch you out. You were overzealous in your abilities my little pink friend, I admire your bravery, your loyatly to the team, but your charred corpse makes my heart heavy.
In the end OntarioFur finished off Torchic with a quickattack. EXP a plenty for my starter, but at what cost?
Current Line Up:
Ontario Fur: Lvl 17 Grovyle
Hotdog: Level 10 Poochyena
Sandman: Level 10 Slakoth
Phallus: Level 9 cascoon
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur For: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
---
I decided to start playing pokemon because it's tradition around finals/exam time for me. Only this time I decided I was going to retry the Nuzlocke challenge, a quest I had undergone precious to my current game only to have my starter die some time closer to the end and had to stop due to total devestation.
BUT I'M BACK. And this time I'm playing Leaf Green.
So far things had been going pretty well. As luck would have it I had a pretty strong team of 6 pokemon early in the game and had quite easily beat the first gym leader Roxanne with my grass-type starter (Grovyle/Ontariofur). I was mighty high on my hubris, I had not seen a single casualty until I ran into may on my way out of Rustboro City. Her first pokemon...Easy, no problem, give me a real challenge--and then game Torchic. I had yet caught a type that would be able to face a level 15 fire type and thus was resorted to playing some tricky strategies.
First there was Hitchock, my level 12 Taillow, named Hitchcock... all I needed from him was to beat Torchic up until I could get it hurt enough to bring in OntarioFur. He didn't survive his first ember strike. I'm sorry Hitchock, you were too weak, I should have known.
And then there was Dubstep, my level 11 Whismur. I took a chance by having you use Uproar. But you just couldn't calm down before I could switch you out. You were overzealous in your abilities my little pink friend, I admire your bravery, your loyatly to the team, but your charred corpse makes my heart heavy.
In the end OntarioFur finished off Torchic with a quickattack. EXP a plenty for my starter, but at what cost?
Current Line Up:
Ontario Fur: Lvl 17 Grovyle
Hotdog: Level 10 Poochyena
Sandman: Level 10 Slakoth
Phallus: Level 9 cascoon
Casuality List:
Hitchcock, Premier Ball, Level 12 Taillow Foe: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp
"May you spread your ebony wings against the white clouds of heaven."
Dubstep, Great Ball, Level 11 Whismur For: May's Torchic, cause of death, Burned to a crisp.
"WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP WOOP WOOP WOOP"
