#stop setting a precedent and reflect on your views on others you piece of shit

[fuka-petals]

not the proshipper in the fukase tag pulling out the fucking ableist pronoun ideas 💀

(no offense to ppl who use monster/monsterself pronouns!! it's just pretty ableist in the context of being based off of Fukase :( also just to make sure its clear this post isnt anti-xenopronouns! also small rant in tags + please dont go harass the og poster of the ideas, harassment is not okay no matter what!)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

my heart is hitting the ground (Chapter One)

An urban fantasy/college Widomauk AU! Many many many thanks to the wonderful @minky-for-short for getting me into this podcast in the first place and workshopping this fic with me. Also enormous thanks to the amazingly talented @rabdoidal whose fantastic art this fic is based on but I could honestly write a multi-chapter fic on every bit of fan art he’s ever done, it’s all that great. 

Please consider reblogging and leaving me some feedback!

Ao3 | Ko-fi

Caleb Widoghast isn't the kind of guy who blows off studying and goes out a lot. He isn't the kind of guy to get too drunk at the gig for some college band he's never heard of. He isn't the kind of guy to fall hopelessly in love with the tiefling singer of said band and flirt with him after way too much whiskey.

Caleb Widoghast wakes up to find that, last night, he did exactly that. And now he has to deal with the fallout.

The night before came back to Caleb in pieces, each one worse than the last.

The dry mouth. The pounding headache. The fact that he was still wearing jeans under the covers but no shirt at all. The ringing ears.

He moaned and pushed the hair back from his forehead, wrinkling his nose at the almost immediate reek of whiskey. Why the hell was he drinking whiskey, he never…

And then the last piece fell into place. And Caleb seriously considered diving back down underneath his blankets and never emerging again.

“Good morning!”

Of course, no knock preceded his bedroom door flinging open with a bang that made his eardrums throb, the only person it could be was Nott and courtesy wasn’t her strong suit. They’d known each other too long for that.

“I am…struggling to see what’s good about it,” Caleb groaned, pulling a face as the sound that came out of him sounded more like the last gasps of a dying squeaky toy.

Nott smirked at him from the cavernous hood of her sweatshirt, “M’kay, before you ask, let’s just do this all in one. Yes, you did get horrendously drunk. Yes, it was bad. And yes, Beau has video.”

Caleb slumped back into the tangled mess of his bedding, whimpering pathetically, “That’s it. I’m done with civilisation. I’m going to live in the woods and be a hermit and never speak to another person ever again. They will tell tales of me…”

Nott snorted, scrambling up on the end of his bed, “Aw, don’t be so dramatic. Beau had a few herself, it’s all shaky, you can barely see anything,” she took a sip of her tea, “Jester’s the one that got the really good shot…”

Caleb moaned again, louder as if making a point, dragging one of the pillows over his head.

His roommate couldn’t contain her giggles, though she tried to discreetly direct it into her mug, “The night wasn’t a total waste. You really seemed like you were having fun after about the third whiskey and coke. And you were really digging the band…”

Caleb threw his arm from his protective nest of blankets, accusatorily, “No! No, we are not talking about that!”

Nott held up her hands, “Hey, we all thought it was adorable! The way you kept ordering drinks so you could stand closer to the stage, I don’t think you ever heard a word anyone said…we knew you liked that kinda grungy, indie shit but we didn’t know you liked it that much!”

“Nott, I swear, I will kick you off this bed,” Caleb tried to snarl but it came out as more of a whimper, “Can you please take pity on me and make me some coffee?”

“Wish I could, big guy, but we’re all out,” the young goblin shrugged regretfully, “I think you used the last of it to get you through your last deadline.”

Caleb gave another miserable, frustrated groan, now at the world at large rather than Nott. That was just typical.

“Fine…fine, I’ll go get some,” he mumbled, trying to make his head stop throbbing long enough for him to tell up from down and roll out of bed, “Fresh air. it’ll be good for me. I think.”  

“There ya go, positive attitude,” Nott grinned her ear to ear smile, hopping lightly back to the floor, somehow not spilling a single drop of tea to the carpet or, at least, what of it was visible beneath the piles of clothes and notebooks.

Her large ears pricked up as Caleb’s phone gave an annoyingly bright chirp, her smile turning playful and crooked, “If you need a refresher on what happened that night, I bet that’s it.”

Caleb frowned, pawing on his dresser until he found his phone, squinting blearily at it. Sure enough, there was a flurry of messages from his friends, a few pictures that seemed to show nothing but blurs and vague shapes that maybe could be him twirling around lampposts and trying to climb up onto a table. And a video. A few videos actually.

He felt his heart twist with that familiar and unpleasant acid of embarrassment as he studied the thumbnail of the first one. The purple tiefling, the singer, in all his colourful and coiffed glory, somehow still looking as drop dead gorgeous as he had the night before, even when recreated in blocky pixels. He was leaning against a large stacked speaker, an unmistakeably bemused expression on his face while some bedraggled, stooped hobo looking guy clung to a table for balance beside him. Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the phone over his shoulder (though he was tempted to aim for the window) as it sunk in that it was him.

He hadn’t meant to go over and actually talk to the guy. He’d been perfectly content staying squeezed in between Fjord and Beau, subtly drooling and moony eyed over the front man who alternated between yelling his expletive filled song titles over the clamour of the close, smoky darkness of the bar and singing in a rough, low growl that had done things to Caleb that he really wasn’t ready to admit to. That would have been a perfect plan, maybe he’d daydream about him for a few weeks and months after before accepting that the tiefling was so far out of his league that it wasn’t even funny and sinking back into school work and vague loneliness.

But Caleb had found himself drifting back to the bar, where the view of the singer (Mollymauk, that was his name, Caleb wasn’t likely to forget it any time soon) with the spotlight hitting his exquisitely tattooed chest just right, looked like something from a goddamn renaissance painting. Instead of his usual half pints of what his friends insisted were pretentious hipster beers, Caleb had found himself ordering jack and cokes, eventually graduating to straight whiskeys after a while, hoping that the singer might notice and think him some cool cowboy type rather than the nervous exchange student in rumpled flannel that he was, who could launch into a full-on lecture about the benefits of different brewing techniques if given the slightest nudge.

Caleb blamed the whiskeys and the urging of his friends for the incredibly bad decision that followed the end of the set. He didn’t remember his words exactly, he just remembered a powerful need to go and tell this Mollymauk of the beautiful voice and extravagant dress sense just how much he’d loved his music. And he really had. He’d loved the rawness of it, the clever twists in the lyrics that sent the song suddenly careening in a direction no one would have guessed. He loved its simplicity, just that voice echoing through the underground bar and a simple guitar accompaniment from a very tall woman who’d had Beau staring in a very similar way to Caleb (he wondered why she wasn’t getting any shit for that…and then quickly realised it was probably because she hadn’t made a colossal ass of herself afterwards and because Beau getting heart eyes over a woman she’d only just met was nothing new). Caleb had never, ever found any music that had spoken to him like this stuff did; it make him feel less alone, less broken, less of an outsider. It had been a stronger magic to him than anything he read about in his schoolbooks and he’d fallen for it, hard and devastatingly.

All that would have been a great thing to tell Mollymauk, when Caleb had come staggering over from his table to where the tiefling was packing away his microphone. Unfortunately, what had come tumbling out of his mouth, as far as he could remember, was something about his music being so good that it had ‘given him a boner in his heart’.

Caleb thanked every god he’d ever heard of that he didn’t remember Mollymauk’s reaction, feeling a sickness in his stomach that had nothing to do with his hangover.

“Did you get the one of you doing Singing in the Rain in German?” Nott chirped happily, still in the doorway, swaying in her sweatshirt so long it brushed her knees, the one she always wore, “I never knew you had such a good voice.”

Caleb grumbled at her, glaring with bleary eyes, waving his hand dismissively, “Go. I need to shower…why do I need to shower so bad?”

“Oh,” Nott shrugged, “Probably because you climbed into the dumpster thinking it was the cab.”

Caleb dragged his hand through his long hair, which had taken on the consistency of a reddish brown, greasy birds nest, “Do us all a favour, Nott, and just leave me in the gutter next time. This was an absolute disaster.”

His roommate gave him a look he didn’t understand before disappearing around the corner, “Are you sure?” she called behind her.

That look and those words continued to confuse Caleb until he was in the bathroom, wondering if he should just burn his clothes and have done with it, when he caught sight of his own reflection above the sink. Not a pretty sight on any day and even less now in Caleb’s opinion, but his aching eyes were distracted. By the series of numbers written on his forehead in a flourishing hand, in thick black Sharpie.

Ah. Now Caleb remembered pressing the pen into Mollymauk’s hand, asking him to write his number on his head so he wouldn’t forget it. The wizard slumped, letting his head knock against the cold porcelain of the sink.

Being a forest hermit was sounding more and more tempting every second.

[samingtonwilson]

Return - Part 6 - Jim Kirk

 Part 5

Summary: series following the events of loot– takes place during events of star trek beyond. in this chapter, you realize popularity isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

Warnings: language, some self-loathing, violence (but it’s canon)

A/N: shit is continuing to go down. i need to rework the last couple of parts i wrote-- it’s getting kinda frustrating.

Your heart had stopped more times than you could count over the course of the preceding few hours— when the first housefly-like ship collided with the Enterprise, when the leader of the invading party held you against a wall with his hand clutching your throat and recognition clouding his features, when Jim declared he would go into the bowel of the ship and separate the saucer. Each occurrence was another blow to your chest.

By the time three invading crew members blasted the bridge door down and shot two officers to their demise, you thought the beating in your chest had given out completely.

One crossed the bridge to stand before you with a large gun pointed at your chest, his shiny black eyes narrowed with the intensity of his smile. The dark lips curled over sharp beige teeth, the reflective pale blue skin with peaks and valleys astounding enough to force your gaze away— it normally would have been enough to rouse the beating in your chest.

But you stood before him and accepted it. You thought it might be your penance for causing so much trouble, for being the reason so many members of the Enterprise crew were now hurt or dead.

“Thief,” he quipped in a voice that was wet, so caked in whatever lined his throat.

You stared the creature straight in the eye, seeing Sulu rise from the captain’s chair in your peripheral vision. You wanted to tell Sulu to find a pod and leave— there was nothing he could do, there wasn’t anything he should do. The creature was right.

Before the creature could pull the trigger, three loud blasts sounded and all three invaders hit the ground. Your gaze followed the one lying at your feet, your hands beginning to shake at your sides as you stared at him.

“Captain!”

You tore your focus from the invader’s lifeless body and met Jim’s worried gaze with wide eyes. You nodded at him once.

He took quick steps towards you, pausing as he took in the unscathed, pearlescent skinned Kalara behind you— the reason you were sent to the Enterprise, a woman you believed assisted in orchestrating this whole fiasco. He then nodded back at you.

He moved to Sulu’s side. “How many of the crew are still aboard the saucer?”

“None,” Sulu replied, his eyes on the screen before him. “But, if I’m reading this correctly, the intruders are taking them,” his voice was grim and it resonated in the pit of your stomach.

It seemed Chekov was next in line to deliver bad news. “Captain, we are caught in the planet’s gravity. We cannot pull away.”

The three men, two in command gold and one in his black undershirt, stared at the view screen with slumped shoulders and exhausted spines. You focused on Jim’s back, intermittently looking down at the command gold wrapped around your broken, aching wrist.

“Get to your Kelvin pods,” he said, his volume low but still loud enough to be heard over the ship’s rumbling.

Sulu and Chekov voiced their compliance and stepped away. They clamoured about the bridge, helping the remaining bridge crew members into their respective pods before strapping themselves into their own.

Chekov nodded at you as he led the woman beside you to a pod. “You should get to your pod as well.”

You hummed, still staring at Jim. “I will.”

When Chekov’s pod was pushed out of the ship, you took calculated steps towards an empty one. “Jim, we need to go.”

He spun around. “Why are you still here? Get into a pod.”

“You need to get in one, too.”

“I will, just— You need to go,” he said, his hand finding the small of your back and ushering you into a pod. “See you down there?”

You smiled at him— it was difficult, but you knew he needed it. “Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t.”

Your eyes were shut throughout the launching of the pod, the ascending of the pod, and the descending of the pod. There was something about watching the Enterprise burn and shatter into thousands of pieces that seemed too painful, too emotionally taxing.

Your landing was in no way smooth. Your wrist connected with the pod’s walls on more than one occasion and you let yourself scream. You screamed at the pain running up your arm, down your spine, and you screamed at the pain resonating in your chest.

The part of you that blamed yourself, the part of you that couldn’t stand the idea of you finding a moment of peace, kept that pain in your chest no matter how many times you punched the glass door of the pod with your uninjured hand, no matter how many times your voice broke in the middle of a scream.

Pulling out the navy blue jacket of the survival suit stored in one of the pod’s many pockets, you slipped your arms through the sleeves and zipped it up as far as it would go, hooking a phaser to the belt of your uniform dress so it was hidden.

You caught yourself about to ruffle your hair to salvage some volume and snorted, shaking your head as you exited the pod.

It took you a few tentative steps before you could walk at a normal pace, the crunch of leaves, rocks, and dirt under your boots strangely comforting.

An arm found your waist and you would have screamed had the voice beside you not been so reassuring and accented in that unique way that always made you smile. “All okay?”

You nodded and set your arm over Chekov’s shoulders, walking side by side to where you saw Jim all dressed in the complete survival suit. “All okay, Pash. You?”

“Been better.”

You would have laughed had you not heard Jim’s voice shake the leaves on the tree behind him. He approached Kalara. “You knew,” he accused. “You knew we’d be attacked.”

Eyes wide, she replied, “You don’t understand.”

Jim held his phaser out, pointed at her as the whirring signaled its coming to life.

“Captain!” Chekov called once you were only a few steps away. You both took your arms from the other. “Captain Kirk!”

The woman shrunk a bit, cowering back. “Yes, I lied.”

You scoffed quietly to yourself.

“Our ship was attacked.”

Jim, still staring at her with his phaser cocked, said, “Chekov, check the comms for survivors.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Who is he?” Jim asked her, his jaw clenching.

“His name is Krall. He took my crew, like he took yours,” she replied, her eyes shifting from you to Jim.

“How did he know so much about the Enterprise?”

She frowned. Her features looked almost desperate. “All I know is that if I did this,” she visibly swallowed, “he would set them free.”

“Chekov, are you picking anything up on those scanners?” his eyes were still on her, his phaser still held up.

“Nothing, sir,” was Chekov’s grim reply. “What if they—”

“No,” you said. “He was taking them— for some purpose, for some reason we don’t know yet.”

“We have to find that saucer,” Jim stated. “Even minimal scanning systems will have more range than a tricorder.”

Chekov nodded. “Aye, Captain. It’s possible.”

“Captain,” she began again. “I was just protecting my crew.”

From the bits of her voice you’d heard throughout the day, you could tell it was higher pitched now— it even shook a little. Of course, you didn’t want to believe that definitively as the universal translator didn’t allow for clear enough sound of what was underneath.

Jim lowered his phaser and you almost raised yours, letting your uninjured hand form a fist by your side instead.

You remained silent throughout your trek to the remains of the Enterprise, keeping your steps in sync with Chekov’s rather than with Jim’s. Something about walking beside him, talking to him when you felt so vulnerable, bothered you— you needed to keep your distance.

The only time you spoke was to tell Chekov you were certain she would try something, perhaps contacting someone— you told him he should try to trace it when she did.

Jim, however, spoke throughout the walk. He told the woman the artifact was safe, that he thought Krall’s crew attacked for it— he told her anything and everything he could think of to fill the silence, even if it was the most obvious thing that had already been established.

By the time you reached the burnt saucer, your legs ached and your throat burned— the sky was even several shades darker.

You swallowed over the soreness in your throat and continued to climb onto the ship.

As you walked through the mangled corridors, several feet behind Jim, you tried not to focus on the state of the ship.

“Captain,” the computerized voice said, “the artifact was on the ship the whole time?”  

Jim crouched down and fussed with some of the deck plating. He caught your eye as he did so and gave you the shortest, most pointed nod you almost totally missed.

Immediately, you slipped your hand under your jacket and toyed with the edges of your phaser.

“I couldn’t afford to get caught with it,” he told her, his voice almost overshadowed by the clanging of the fallen, broken plates. “So I hid it in here.”

In a split second, her knee lifted and forcefully hit Jim’s nose so he tumbled off to the side, his loud grunt ringing in your ears as you removed your phaser and held it up.

Jim caught your eye again and shook his head slightly when she picked up his strewn phaser and held it at him. You stood your ground silently, making sure your presence was unknown.

“Tell Krall I have the Abronath.” She knelt, shifting on her knees as she looked at Jim and fiddled with the same deck plating he was. “Do you believe every sad story you hear?”

Jim’s eyes met yours then and there was a hint of amusement in his irises. “Usually only when it concerns that artifact.”

She pulled a compartment open, looking up at Jim when a whirring sounded in front of her and behind her.

You nodded at Chekov, silently letting him take this one.

“Put the phaser down,” he commanded in a slow voice. You liked watching your little Pavel stand in an assertive position. “Please.”

You shrugged to yourself with a frown of consideration— the assertiveness still counted for something, no matter how momentary.

“You get it, Pash?” you asked, placing your phaser back.

He nodded. “Aye. I’ve traced the location of her call.”

He motioned for you to approach his side and hid his smile miserably when you passed the woman, smiling at her sweetly. “Told you the artifact’s a fucking pain— completely not worth it.”

When you stood beside Jim and Chekov, Jim narrowed his eyes at Krall’s ally. “What does Krall want with this thing?”

“To save you,” she answered, a gross smile pulling at her lips, “from yourselves.”

You snorted. “Fuck if that’s not the corniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You spotted some movement behind her and nudged Chekov. You both lifted your phasers immediately and shot at the member of Krall’s crew that emerged.

Jim took your unbroken hand in his and pulled you alongside him as he ran, ducking and using his phaser to shoot green bolts at the lot of them. When the pair of you slipped and continued down the hall due to the steepness of the angle, he groaned. “Thought you were the security officer.”

You smiled as you slid along the floor through an archway. “I would need my healthy hand back in order to do anything.”

He laughed lowly, shaking his head as you both jumped to your feet and ran down the connecting hall with Chekov’s audible breathing serving as confirmation of his presence.

The three of you struggled as you slipped and slid all over the ship, your combined grunts and sighs were the only sounds you could hear as you ran.

Jim led you through a small archway and helped you onto the platform upon which he stood, then assisting Chekov. “You both alright?”

You gave a half-hearted “eh” at the same time Chekov chirped an “aye, Captain.”

When Chekov pointed out that the three of you were trapped, Jim crossed the small room and leant against the agape doorway. As he peered over his shoulder, a large green glow zipped towards him and illuminated his features as he breathed heavily. “Can you get this thing started?”

You tilted your head and Chekov asked, outraged, “Are you intimating that we should engage the thrusters?”

“Have you lost your mind, Ji— Captain?”

He looked between the two of you, then back through the doorway. “I am open to other suggestions.”

You pulled Jim back so he stood far from the door and clicked your tongue as you removed your phaser. “Like you said, I’m the security officer. I’ll handle the shooting, you do the sciency shit with the wizkid.”

Before you could see the smile that pulled at his lips, you stood where he was previously situated and glanced over your shoulder. When you noticed one of the crew members checking his gun, you shot twice— each shot had an impact and you held back a shout of victory.

You only heard the end of the conversation Jim and Chekov were engaged in, catching Chekov’s still-outraged voice say, “If you miss the combustion compressor, —”

“I’m not gonna miss, come on!” Jim protested.

“Do you even now what the combustion compressor looks like?”

“Yeah, it’s a square, right?”

“No, sir, it’s round!”

“That’s what I said!”

You turned to see Jim holding a phaser over the railing. “If you miss, can we share the blame for this whole thing? Like, in the history books since we’ll both be dead? Split the shame?”

Jim snorted. “Who’s gonna tell the book authors?”

You twisted to face the crew members still struggling to find refuge from your shots. “Hey! Do you think you could tell Krall to contact Starfleet and say that Captain Kirk and I are both at fault for all of this? You know, in the event of our untimely deaths?”

When Kalara fired a shot in your direction, you spun around to face Jim and Chekov. “I’m taking that as a no.”

Jim finally took the shot, seemingly nailing it perfectly as white-hot fire bursted out and jolted the ship. He wanted to appreciate his achievement, but as flames rose to lick the railing he stood against, Jim grabbed your hand once more and shouted, “Run!”

As the three of you raced down the corridors, you arrived at a dead-end and yelled for Jim and Chekov to jump over the gap. “I’ll handle her, you guys go ahead.”

As she entered the hallway, you smiled. “Sweetheart, I really don’t like you.”

She scowled and took a shot, narrowly missing you as you took steps backwards. “Thief.”

“The one planet I’m popular on,” you shook your head. “And I have a name, you know, and other, more redeeming qualities.”

She tried to shoot again but no beams left the gun, a sigh of discontent leaving her lips as she looked down at it.

“You know, Starfleet’s gonna want the translator back. They’re not cheap,” you continued, gasping when your right foot stepped back into nothing. You caught yourself on the wall beside you. “You wanna give it to me now? It’ll be easier.”

When she began marching toward you, you spun around to face the gap and backed up to give yourself space. With a soft sigh, you got a running start and jumped over, once again barely missing the beam she shot your way. “You can just say you want to keep it.”

As the ship roared to life and began to lift off the ground, you sped up in your sprint to the bridge. You could hear her grunt as she jumped over the gap and sighed to yourself as you entered your target room.

“What took you so long?” Jim asked, glancing over his shoulder when you placed one of your hands on your knees as you struggled to catch your breath.

You swallowed and stood up straight. “She wouldn’t give me the translator. Commodore Paris won’t be pleased.”

Jim nodded, smiling to himself as he looked around. When he glanced at the phaser in his hand and the glass view screen before him, he shrugged and shot at it. “Can your wrist handle a little sliding?”

Chekov caught on and dove through the glass side-first, sliding down the saucer.

“You want me to ask it?” you yelled incredulously, staring at the gaping hole in fear.

Jim took the three steps towards you and led you to the glass. “When I say jump, you jump out, okay? It’ll hurt like a bitch, but you need to do this. Focus on me, okay?”

Slowly, you nodded, proceeding by following his instructions with urgency as you heard the shots from Krall’s henchwoman ring through the bridge.

A radiating pain ran up your arm, but you focused on Jim and on the wind brushing your hair out of your eyes. When he offered you the smallest, most reassuring smile you’d ever seen, you smiled back.

You turned onto your side for a second, letting go of Jim and sliding onto your stomach as you retrieved your phaser. As he looked at you confusedly, you raised an eyebrow. “I’m the security officer.”

You shot out several times, trying not to focus on the excruciating pain that rendered your injured arm useless. You turned back around in time to jump from the saucer, holding your arm in the air as you landed against a patch of bark that knocked the wind out of you.

“Move!” Jim shouted and the three of you rose to your feet, racing out of the saucer’s vicinity.

As you had landed farther and were therefore given a head-start, you had to turn around to make sure the two men were still behind you after you heard and felt the warmth of a large explosion. When you spotted them lying on the ground, you smiled. “D’you think you two could hold off on sleeping until we find somewhere more suitable?”

Jim groaned as he pushed himself into a seated position, smiling at Chekov as he did the same. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Chekov finished, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery.

“You two are ridiculous. That was—” you shook your head, clicking your tongue. “That was probably the worst thing I’ve experienced in the last five years and I was in prison for two of them.”

Jim was the first to chuckle, shaking silently at first but loudly laughing the moment you joined him. Chekov jumped in as well, rolling his eyes when you had to wrap your arm over your aching abdomen.

PART 7

tagged (lemme know if you want to be added or removed):  @outside-the-government @daughterofthebrowncoats @multifandom-slytherin @buckyy3s @cinema212 @caaptain @dani-fae  @wonders-of-the-enterprise @imaginesofdreams @the-witching-hours12-3 @kaitymccoy123 @anyakinamidala @vevsee@afluffykiwi @curiositywillbethedeathofme @arielsimaginess @captain-what-is-going-on@micheladakenzo @avengers-earths-mightiest-heroes @eufeme @buriedinfandomsandfeels@ididntmeantobutiaccidentally @avoidthoseeyes @emmkolenn @heartofdixie14 @thnk-you-fr-th-venom @captainveromendes 

[swrx-rant]

User eXperience - Windows Explorer

Microsoft, does it feel like I'm picking on you? Get the fuck over it, its nothing you don't deserve a hundred million times over. (once for each user you have pissed off with your shitty interface)

DRAG & DROP - onDragEnter over an EXE file... TURN THIS FUCKING SHIT OFF. DON'T DO A FUCKING THING UNLESS I FUCKING DROP IT THERE!!! DO NOT FREEZE OR LAG MY COMPUTER OR FORCE THE MOUSE TO STICK OVER THE FUCKING EXE INCREASING THE CHANCE OF AN ACCIDENTAL FUCKING DROP DUE TO SIGNAL LOSS/LOW BATTERY/A CHEAP-ASS WIRELESS MOUSE THAT RANDOMLY RELEASES AND RECLICKS MISFIRING EVENTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TOOLTIPS - 99% of the FUCKING TIME WE DO NOT WANT THESE FUCKING THINGS POPPED IN OUR FACE. THEY TEND TO COVER IMPORTANT INFORMATION LIKE FUCKING THE FILENAMES BELOW THE CURRENT ITEM TO PROVIDE US WITH REDUNDANT SHIT ALREADY VISIBLE ON THE SCREEN. They are useful 1% of the time and the UI should reflect that by USING A MODIFIER KEY TO SUMMON THEM!!! In other words, DON'T SHOW ME FUCKING TOOLTIPS UNLESS I'M HOLDING DOWN THE MOTHERFUCKING ALT KEY, ASSHOLES!!!!!!!!! That goes for Blizzard UI/WoW too. :/

STUPIDFETCH/PREFETCH - this is when your dog brings you the stick before you throw it. While you're driving. On the freeway. In the snow and ice. At night. With one headlight out. And no sleep for 36 hours. And your heater doesn't work. And the passenger window is broken.... I DON'T FUCKING WANT THE STICK RIGHT NOW, I WANT TRACTION ON THE FUCKING ROAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What DIPSHIT at Microsoft (sounds like they need those little blue pills) thought it was a good idea to WASTE ALL OF THE RAM ALL OF THE TIME? Seriously, some dumbass came up with a whitepaper that said unused resources were wasted. No, unused resources are RESERVED/PROTECTED/THERE-WHEN-NEEDED. OVERUSED RESOURCES ARE WASTED! AND SO WAS THE FUCKWAD THAT WROTE THE PAPER! Why should I slow my system, put unnecessary wear, and generally fuck up my user experience by having the computer load shit I am not currently using??? It doesn't fucking matter what I did last Tuesday, I expect 90% of system resources to be available TO THE ACTUAL PROGRAM/PROJECT I AM RUNNING!!! And the remaining 10% to keep the fucking system stable/responding.

How hard is it to just do what the fuck you are told and not try (badly) to guess what I might want next??? Saving 0.3 seconds on application load isn't worth taking 2-3x LONGER to fucking render!!! ALLOCATE MEMORY TO MY ACTUAL TASK, FUCK WHAT YOU THINK! Why doesn't the system give the RAM to Photoshop/GIMP/DAZ/Poser/Blender/Z-Brush/Maya/LightWave/3D Max/Carrara/Vue/Cinema4D/Bryce/or-whatever-the-fuck-high-system-requirement-program-I-am-USING!!!?? Hasn't anyone else noticed this? RAM says 0% free, 70% Available, 70% cached... and the program you are USING is CHOKING while it waits for the system to give it the fucking RAM it Requested/COMMITTED???? I'm watching the PAGE-FAULTS pile up while the system reports, "EVERYTHING'S FINE, NOT TO WORRY... WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY SOLITAIRE NOW¿ I'M GONNA LOAD THAT FOR YOU..." Is it illegal to fucking shoot a computer? Give it time, it will be.

I have watched this fucktarded process try to stuff 40GB of WoW data into 4GB of RAM. Windows, you have no fucking clue what bits the game needs, why don’t you WAIT FOR IT TO DECIDE/REQUEST!

SEARCH - HOW FUCKING HARD IS IT TO WRITE A USEFUL GODDAMNED SEARCH? (Don't ask Google, they sure as fuck don't know, no wonder I want to *bing* you jackasses upside the head) When I search for "desktop.ini" (to delete the useless fuckers), I do not want "desktop-utilities.ini", "desktop-widgets, incororated magical wanker with bluetooth file-syncing.ini", or anything the fuck else besides D E S K T O P . I N I -- why the fuck do I have to tell you "name:=" just to get expected behavior??? I didn't search for "desktop*.ini"! Users are smart enough to know how a fucking wildcard character works, too bad the OS isn't smart enough to know how a STRING LITERAL does! If you want to support more flexible searches, then why don't you limpdicks implement REGULAR EXPRESSION support on searches???????????? Then, if I wanted to search for "desktop.*\.ini" I would fucking tell you, otherwise assume I mean "desktop\.ini". The search worked better in Windows98 than it has in any version since... and it wasn't great back then either, it just hadn't become a total fuckup yet... that was before it started using crack. Can we just get the fucking thing to stop guessing and start fucking looking??

NETWORKING - on the subject of JUST FUCKING LOOK, perhaps we could get the network TO ACTUALLY FUCKING TRY TO CONNECT BEFORE IT SAYS IT COULDN'T??? Do you like being called limpdicks? You must, you did call yourselves "micro-soft". Do you think we're too stupid to notice the difference between the system trying to connect to a shared computer/network folder and it INSTANTLY bitching it can't? The only Denial of Service happening here is from you not letting me connect to my fucking internal network, you douchebags.

DEFRAG - what the fuck were you losers thinking??? First you replace the visual feedback of moving cluster blocks and replace it with a shitty progress bar (dropping from a 2D visual matrix to a single dimension), then you remove the feedback ENTIRELY... not even a generic progress bar or percentage or estimated completion time. Instead you fucktards just give us a message that says "please wait" with no indication that you are doing a fucking thing (even taskmanager can't see it half the fucking time). Then you take a goddamned nap for the next 36 hours, making no discernible progress. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT AND WHY THE FUCK IS IT EVEN TURNED ON? What shitbag thought the answer was "always running defrag in the background"??? That isn't a solution, its a fucking problem, a goddamned big one you numbshits! This had to come from the same dumbass that believes unused RAM is wasted, now we get the idea that if your HDD is GRINDING ALL THE TIME, it too is somehow wasted. FUCK. THAT. GUY. (please, somebody just shoot him between the eyes with a military grade paintball gun... and if you miss the *between* part, well, that's okay too) [yeah, yeah, "violence is never called for"... clearly you didn't read the script, cause the dramatic tension in this scene needs to break... its right there below line 7, it clearly says "and violence ensues"]

TILES - yes, let's make an interface that takes up extra space and doesn't provide anything useful... oh, and let's make it the FUCKING DEFAULT. And no matter how many times the user tells us they don't want this piece of shit view, we'll keep reverting to it, especially when they open a network folder or external device.

Seriously dipfucks, this could have been a useful, CUSTOMIZABLE view where the USER could decide what details they wanted to see, and HOW BIG THE TUMBNAIL/PREVIEW is, and what META-INFORMATION such as URLs could be attached and how they would be shown.

But instead they made a shitty, small preview/thumbnail, and piled on useless details that cannot be configured, leaving out USEFUL information wherever possible. THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A CUSTOM FUCKING WIDGET, LET THE DAMNED USER DECIDE WHAT THEY WANT, DON'T FORCE IT ON THEM. NO MEANS NO.

SETTINGS/CONTROL PANEL - WHY?! WHY DO YOU FUCKERS HAVE TO RENAME AND MOVE SETTINGS WITH EVERY FUCKING VERSION OF THE OS????? It was painful enough to find how to customize this shitty operating system the first time, now, like fucking walmart, I have to learn an entirely new store layout every fucking time I visit instead of finding the product/service/setting I'm looking for. KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF! AND QUIT FUCKING HIDING SETTINGS TOO... things that could be configured in older versions of windows are now FUCKING HARDCODED LIKE THE FUCKTARDS AT APPLE DO! I don't wan't a single-button mouse or interface, morons, I WANT FULL FUCKING CONTROL OF EVERY SINGLE (reasonably distinct) ASPECT, THAT CAN BE *SAFELY* CONFIGURED. I don't like fucktarded "basic" settings that have only 1 or 2 options, I DEMAND FULL CONTROL OF THE FUCKING COMPUTER AND OPERATING SYSTEM I PAID FOR! If I don't like a how shitty UI/UX feature is implemented, I ought to be able to change it! I'm not asking to modify core stability and security, just the ability to use your product without wanting to kill myself. (or you... mostly you)

JUMP LISTS: PINNED ITEMS - why can't you fucking remember what was PINNED!? Especially for web-browsers! When I pin 10 websites, I EXPECT THEM TO BE THERE A WEEK FROM NOW, A MONTH FROM NOW, A DECADE FROM NOW!!! Instead, they disappear after just a couple of days because you keep OVERWRITING PINNED ITEMS with "new" items. TREAT THE FUCKING PINNED AS READ ONLY, WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT OTHER VISITED SITES, WHY SHOULD THEY TAKE PRECEDENCE!? Only the USER should be allowed to REMOVE PINS!!!!!!!! Its time you "microsoft dogs" learn what *STAY* means! But enough talk, HAVE AT YOU!