#door hinge memes

[imjulia-andilikecats]

-10000 Aura Points, If You Ask Me

Image: Froy Gutierrez

[benbamboozled]

Ngl…sometimes I miss how completely unhinged pre-Battle for the Cowl Jason Todd could be.

This is a telegram(???) that Jason sent to Dick after he spent multiple issues of Nightwing running around New York City murdering people dressed in his own(???) Nightwing suit and then turned into a tentacle monster and ate some guys. (Then he barfed the guys up and kept fighting them.)

Absolutely baffling. I love it. It’s art. It doesn’t make any sense in context, either. I miss this energy.

Source is Nightwing #122

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Quick! Info dump about your favorite blorbo!

König headcanons

NSFW content below the cut, 18 + only (These apply to yandere König as well, the toxic stuff is marked with a red flag 🚩)

Does like 50 crunches and 50 pushups first thing in the morning when he wakes up, as he has done since he was a teenager.

Will fix everything from cars to furniture. If the door is creaking he will oil the hinges immediately. Actually, he will treat every single thing in life as a problem... A problem he will fix.

He's great at math and physics and has vast amounts of knowledge about mechanics, thermodynamics, even things like quantum theory and other complex astronomy stuff.

He's completely clueless when it comes to following trends and memes. You have to explain every other tiktok to him. He rarely uses emojis but when he does, it's awkward and slightly intimidating because König doesn't know the hidden meanings behind them. If you send him an eggplant or peach emoji he asks if you need veggies from the store.

Loves your cooking (even if it's just microwaved mac and cheese). If you start to feed this man, you'll never get rid of him.

This is your classic mama’s boy who never had to learn how to cook and then went to the army and got used to the facility taking care of him so… yeah. Doesn't know how to cook but will try to help in any way he can! König is very excited to see you’re making food and wanders into the kitchen like “What are we making today?” You can try and give him a chopping board, an onion and a knife, but this poor man doesn't even peel the onion unless you tell him he has to remove the outer layer first...

Eats like a horse. Is secretly afraid that you run out of food. Goes to the fridge and if it's half full, he will not take the snack he was supposed to have, only comments: "The fridge looks empty." (It's not a passive aggressive statement, he's just worried.)

Also: everytime there's a crisis somewhere – he follows the news neurotically – König starts to prep. There's a month's worth of food stashed in one of the cupboards at all times. He also preps fuel, propane, medicine and the like.

Ruins all the fun when you're playing board games because he fusses about the rules so much. König holds the rulebook in his hand through the whole game and double-checks every single thing.

He's very clumsy, sometimes hits his head on the door frame when he's in a hurry or visiting a new place. He can't stay still either, always shakes his leg when he’s sitting. König needs a lot of exercise when he's not deployed to get all that energy and frustration out.

This has been discussed earlier but yeah, König even drops his mags sometimes in the field because he's too excited. He's a very capable martial artist though. Has done Savate, Escrima and Pekiti-Tirsia Kali and is very agile and precise with the double kali sticks he carries to field sometimes. Suddenly his clumsiness disappears when he has to knife someone, kick someone in the head or beat them to death with those sticks.

This is the reason König fucked up his sniper dreams too: having to control his breath, lie still for long amounts of time, then take aim and shoot a rifle vs. aiming during an adrenaline high, giving a tight spurt or two with his SMG… The latter just comes naturally to him! If you ask him how he managed to take down a human trafficking cell all alone König will say he simply "got carried away."

König goes to the gym a lot. Gets back super pumped and with an urgent need to make love. But not before he's had a cold shower! It's almost like a ritual: he has to torture himself with weights and cold water first before he can have his prize (= access to a woman)

Wakes you up in the middle of the night because he started to worry about petty, stupid things and then got a lil horny. Humps your leg or your back very, very slowly while grunting in your ear: "Hey... Hey. Are you sleeping…?" (Like. Yes, König, I was but I'm not anymore, thanks for asking)

Asks what kind of fantasies you have all of a sudden while you two are cuddling. Asks very detailed questions about them too. If you ask him what kind of fantasies he has in return, König will tense up and then say he doesn't really know, perhaps something like… a blowjob in the forest… And somehow you just know that his real fantasies are so perverse you don't even want to know more about them.

If you "nag" or yell at him, he might get a boner.

If you notice and get offended, ask: "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!' König will freeze and look at you with a bewildered, obsessed stare and go: "Ja..?" while the boner situation in his pants gets visibly worse.

🚩 Would never go to bed before you've settled your argument. The problem is that it's very difficult for König to apologize because he always thinks he's in the right and that you simply need some time to come to that conclusion too. If you give him the silent treatment he will eventually come to you, gets all touchy and asks surprisingly demurely: "Are you still angry with me?"

🚩 The minute you forgive him or decide it was a stupid argument anyways, the demure puppy act disappears. König thinks he won and that it's time for some makeup sex ❤️

Has like the longest cock known to man. He has actual trouble finding comfortable underwear to fit that beast into. It's beautiful but intimidating, uncut, smooth and sleek. Not too thick but certainly not thin either. He likes to keep himself tidy down there too so the lack of hair makes this murder weapon look even bigger.

You two occasionally break furniture while having sex. It's mainly his fault (he gets carried away). He's very upset about it afterwards though, looks at the destruction he caused, muttering "Scheisse…" while rubbing the back of his neck. Then he tries to fix it while you're still there with your legs shaking and in need of aftercare.

If you remind him that he has other duties first, perhaps whimper his name in frustration, König will apologize and carry you to bed. He gives you that precious aftercare with unwavering passion and attention every time you ask for it ❤️ He's just a little clueless sometimes (König is also neuroatypical, either has AD/HD or falls somewhere in the autism spectrum)

🚩 Hates condoms with an intense passion. You're practically forced to take birth control pills or whatever so that he can cum inside you. This man's whining will ultimately gain a level that's absolutely ridiculous if you don't.

The first time you do it without the rubber, he sounds like he's about to cry. He tells you a hundred times how good it feels, and won't pull out until he grows soft and is kind of forced to do so. For a man who's never even heard of a breeding kink, he seems vehement about keeping his load inside you.

🚩Grunts and whispers loving but obsessive things in your ear while making love to you. You're mine, Say it, Promise that you're mine, I don't want to live without you, Why do you feel so good? at first… but as he approaches his peak, König switches to German. You have no clue what he’s saying, but from the way he spits those sentences through gritted teeth you get the feeling that it must be something desperate and that perhaps it's a blessing you don't understand his native tongue...

🚩🚩If you leave your phone on the table he tries to stalk it and check the notifications. He's so jealous it's unreal, if he sees you receive a message from some other guy König will start a circus. He needs to know all about your connection with this man. After that, he wants you to go through your contacts and show him how many guys there are and tell him what your affiliations are with them. If you're on social media König wants to go through your friends/those you follow. You have to give an account who they are and why you follow them.

🚩🚩🚩 You get a feeling he's forming a list of people he has to kill if you don't tell him they're just a cousin or something 💀

[darnell-la]

heyy.. hey, how y’all doing 😭🫶🏽

i absolutely love this blog, you are so talented and the work you put out BOMB !! logan’s personality/dialogue is amazing. i was wondering if you could do a part 2, or maybe a whole new blurb about logan + anal with reader? thank you so much <33

thank you so much for your kind words and support. we’ve been busy with all of these Logan x reader stories, but we’re completely fine with it. We love this man. The character AND the actor.

this is a whole different story from the last but still involves anal with the reader. he’s very mean in here but has a reason to be. I think you guys would like this…

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

Tonight was a fun night. At first, Logan showed her off by dancing with her, filling her drinks and maybe giving her a few pecks here and there. It felt special since this was the first time he’s shown real affection towards her in public.

Everyone kind of had an idea months ago after he yelled at y/n, telling her it was too dangerous to fight without being by his side. Every mission from them, he’s literally glued on her, not letting her out of his sight for even a second.

After a couple of hours, the mutants were drunk and Logan was gone. He’s been gone for only ten minutes, but y/n noticed. She always does.

Y/n got up to talk around and find him, maybe even get another drink while she’s at it.

“So you like them badass now? Uncontrollable and dumb!?” Y/n heard Jean yell in the kitchen. “I’ve never not liked them badass, Jean,” Logan spoke. The jealousy of him talking to Jean about anything flooded her body.

“You didn’t like me when I was badass or uncontrollable. What is it about her that I don’t have, hm? Does she kiss better? Fuck? Suck? Tell me, Logan, because we both know I can do it better,” Y/n wanted to say something, but she wanted to hear what Logan had to say.

The man chuckled, knowing Jean was nowhere near how y/n was. Her personality was better, she treated him better, and she wasn’t scared to show how much she adored him. Jean never showed anything towards him unless they ran into each other in an empty hall or room.

“You wish,” he went to walk away but Jean grabbed his face and pulled him to a rough kiss. Y/n’s eyes widened as her fists balled up, but she stood still. Why? Because Logan didn’t do anything.

Y/n felt her eyes tear up, her breathing get heavy, and her head spin. She couldn’t stay watched. She left right before he finally did something.

The man grew his claws out and raised them to Jean's neck after pushing her away. “You touch me again, and I’ll bring 'em out with my fists on your neck,” Jean was angry but stayed silent. He truly has moved on, or maybe he’s never wanted her like that in the first place.

For the rest of the party, Logan searched for y/n. He walked through the whole mansion after he didn’t find her on the couch she left.

He hated not being around her. It’s not like anything would happen, but he needed her presence.

“Ssh, not too loud,” Logan heard his girl's voice coming from one of the bathrooms. The man sighed in relief, glad he finally found her until he heard a man's voice. That man was Scott.

“Why? No one’s around here, and even if they were, who cares?” The man couldn’t stop kissing all over the girl. She was so sweet and he’d been wanting to get at her before Logan claimed her.

Logan couldn’t believe what he was hearing, so he kept quiet and placed his ear on the door.

“You taste so good — I bet you’re soaked,” the man spoke as his hands traced under her dress. “How about you find out,” she giggled right before his fingers rubbed through her slick.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and that was it. Logan had enough. “The fuck is going on here!?” Logan kicked the door down. Literally. The door had broken off of the hinges, making y/n and Scott jump. His fingers instantly pulled out of her.

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem!?” Scott shouted at the man as he covered y/n up. The girl's right tit was out, her dress was pulled up and her makeup was smudged slightly. How long have they been at this, Logan thought to himself.

Logan couldn’t help but laugh at the two. He could feel his head hurt from the anger running through his body at the sight of Scott of all people, on his girl. His fingers were in his girl.

“Ima give you 5 seconds, Scott, and if you’re not off of my girl and out of my face — I’m gonna slice your ass in half,” Logan threatened and after first, Scott wasn’t scared. He wasn’t going to do shit.

“Look, she told me what you did, so why do you care if I have her now?” Scott spoke. “Five,” Logan said. “Dudes, c’mon,” Scot spoke again. “Four,” Logan said, fists balling and eyes staring through Scott’s soul.

“Logan, get out of here. I’m busy with-“ y/n was cut off after Logan’s claws came out. They seemed longer than ever. “Three,” he spoke. Now Scott was terrified. He was actually going going to do it.

“Come to me later,” Scott said as he fixed his pants and went to walk past Logan. Logan grabbed Scot by the shirt, making the scared me shout in fear, and y/n jump.

“There ain’t no later,” Logan said before throwing Scott off of him. He watched the man speed away and back to the party, ignoring how he could’ve been mauled by Logan.

“L-Logan, you can’t just-“ Logan’s hand was around her neck, cutting her off from whatever dumb shit she wanted to say. “How much did he touch you?” Logan asked. “W-What-“ Logan shook the girl by her neck in anger as he shouted, “How much did he touch you!?”

Y/n didn’t answer. She was shocked at the way he reacted. She wasn’t scared, but she knew he was pissed off. Why when he cheated?

“Answer me!” He demanded as he gripped tight. His right hand still had his claws out, trying to intimidate her, but she knew he could never hurt her, so she decided to have a little fun.

“A lot,” she replied to the man’s question. It seemed like his eyes instantly grew dark. “Did you suck him off, y/n?” He asked, praying to go she wasn’t that stupid.

He still doesn’t know that she thinks he cheated on her. All he’s thinking is that she’s too drunk to fully understand what she’s doing. Even if she did understand, he wasn’t going to let her go. She was his, and she knew that.

“What if I did?” The girl whispered with a grin he hated seeing on her face. She didn’t get the chance to, but she was thinking about it. “Why would you do that, y/n? Why!?” Logan felt his heart shatter.

“Why would you do what you did, huh!? You think this shit only goes one way!?” Y/n choked but managed to get out what she needed. “What are you on about? Y/n, you’re drunk as fuck,” Logan released her neck.

“So what? I rather be drunk and drown on Scott’s lips than spend another second with you and fake love,” y/n spat, eyes instantly tearing up at the view she saw almost an hour ago. She thought the alcohol she’d consumed since then would stop her emotions, but it failed.

“Don’t fuckin’ say that again, and what fake love are you talking about? Y/n, are you even thinkin’ right now? Is your head fucked up or some shit?” Logan tried to understand what had happened since he left her.

“The only thing that’s fucked up is you!” Y/n’s eyes darkened in anger, but they soon faded away. She was sad to unleash any type of power on him. She felt weak and betrayed.

“Baby,” Logan spoke as he stepped towards her and raised his hand to cup her cheek, but she slapped his hand away, eyes barely being able to stay up and looking at him.

“C’mere,” he softly said, finally cupping her cheek with one hand and using the other to rub her thigh. He did anything to calm her down. She’s never lashed out so bad where her powers showed.

“Talk to me, baby. You can’t just stay quiet and expect me to know what I did to upset you,” she spoke low as he rubbed the tears from her cheek. “But you should know — Y-You did it and-“Y/n cut herself off with a choked cry.

“Tell me what I did, bub — I wanna make it up to you,” he said and even though he had no idea what he did and y/n still believed he cheated, she would’ve definitely taken him back. He’s so good at apologizing in different ways.

“She kissed you — A-And you didn’t pull back,” Y/n said as she turned away. “Baby, what?” He asked, already forgetting about what Jean tried to make him do. He would never leave y/n for a woman who can’t make her mind up.

“Jean,” y/n said low, finally holding her cries in. All of a sudden, she felt angry again. “What? Baby — Wait-“ he said, remembering what went down in the kitchen. He could’ve sworn smelt y/n near but he was too busy trying to get through Jean’s head that he’s been done with her.

“Baby, she kissed me then I pushed her off of me,” Logan said. “No, you didn’t!” Y/n yelled at him before pushing his chest hard, causing him to stumble. She was strong. She always has been.

“Y/n, yes I did!” He said, confused about what she saw. Y/n scoffed as she walked out of the bathroom. “Baby- Y/n!” Logan ran after her as she stormed back towards the party.

“Y/n, stop, don’t you fuckin’ go back to him,” Logan growled, knowing that was where she was going. “Fuck off and let me have fun,” Y/n said, making the man’s blood boil.

Before she knew it, y/n was pinned up against the wall, Logan’s hands on her head and pressing her cheek up against the cold wood.

“You think I’m going to let you walk back to him? Just like that!? No — You’re gonna fuckin’ listen to me,” Logan said through his teeth as y/n tried pushing off of the wall, but every time, he slammed her back.

“I didn’t kiss her, okay? If you were there long enough, you would've seen me threatening to claw her, but I fuckin’ bet your emotional ass left before any of that, huh? Huh!?” The man shouted.

“Because you didn’t pull away-“ y/n tried saying but the man pulled her back and then smaller her against the wall again, not really wanting to hear her speak about what she thought she saw.

“I didn’t pull back right away because she got in my mind. I told her to pull back, or I’ll make her. That was it! Ten fucking seconds, and you left in five,” Logan was heated.

“W-Why would I stay and watch my boyfriend kiss his ex?” Y/n genuinely asked as she felt his body crush her. “You didn’t have to, but maybe next time you don’t go sucking Scott’s tongue and not hear me out — And, she’s not my ex!”

It was silent for a while. All you could hear was Logan’s breathing. His deep, dark, animalistic breathing. He’s never been this furious around her before. He wanted to run after Scott and make sure y/n saw nothing in him after he fucked up his face.

“I-I’m sorry,” y/n said, now understanding that Logan didn’t cheat on her. He threatened Jean for y/n, but she was too emotional to confront them or stay any longer to see what he would do.

“Oh, are you now?” Logan asked in her ear before letting out a laugh. “You always are — You’re always yellin’ at me like I’m some bitch,” Logan’s grip on her head and waist tightened.

“You couldn’t even keep your legs closed for an hour after I cheated. You were just gonna slut around, hm? Hm!?” Logan’s hand that was on her waist, loses and travels down her dress until he pulled them up, now rubbing his crotch against her ass.

“I’m sorry,” it came off as a beg for him to forgive her. “Well, sluts get treated like sluts, don’t they?” Logan asked her like she was going to answer. She didn’t know what to do or what to say to calm him down.

It was too late to calm him down. He’d already reached into his jeans and pulled his cock out. She panicked when she remembered they were in the hallway. Anyone could come out.

“No, Logan- Not out here,” she whispered like they weren’t just yelling at each other. “Sluts get treated like sluts,” Logan said after he spat on his cock, rubbing a huge amount on. He needed to make sure he could fit.

“Baby, baby, just please let’s- let’s think about this, okay? Let me apologize,” she begged, trying to move her hips away, but she was going nowhere. He had her pinned down.

“Sluts get treated like sluts,” the man repeated before she felt his tip push at the hole she’s never used before. Before she could scream at the sudden burn, Logan used the hand pushing her face into the wall, to cover her mouth.

Her body was now pressed back against him, allowing her to hear all of his low and deep groans. It hurt him pushing in, but he was going to make it work.

“L-Logan,” y/n cried, her voice still muffled but it’s not like she would’ve been heard anyways. Her heavy breathing won’t let her get a sentence out.

“That’s it,” Logan pushed until he was fully inside of her to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight — Gotta be the most perfect girl there is,” Logan spoke as he moved his hips, thrusting to her girl slowly, allowing his spot to coat his entire cock and her hole.

Y/n cried in pain as her back arched. She was fighting for her life to keep her legs still, but they were shaking too much. He’s already big, and now he’s in her ass with lack of preparation.

“Did he do this?” Logan asked, talking about Scott. “Can he fuck you like this, hm? You think his cocks meant for your hole like I am, y/n?” The paste he was fucking her in, only made it harder for her to speak. He hadn’t even taken his hand away from her mouth.

“Oh, I know, baby — I know I’m the only one that can make you look this stupid,” Logan could see her eyes cross. She swore she was actually losing her mind. “My little dumb baby,”

Logan’s free hand dug into y/n’s waist, forcing her weak body into his thrust. He couldn’t get enough of her begs, her cries, her small moans, and the way she shook on him.

“You think he’ll want you after this? After you can’t speak for yourself?” Logan continued his bullying. “Actually, I bet he would. After his nasty ass fingers got a taste of you,” Logan got angry once he remembered.

“Bet he ran off sniffing and smelling how sweet you are. So fuckin’ sweet, but that’s supposed to be for me. Only me!”

“You fucked that up, bub, and ima make sure you regret it,” Logan pulled y/n off of the wall before throwing her to the ground. Not too hard because he still cared for her, but enough for her to know he was pissed.

“L-Logan, I’m sorry-“ she couldn’t speak before he had her on all fours and slammed right back into her ass. The scream she let out was loud, but the music the party had was louder.

“I pray to god that son of a bitch comes back out here to this view. Who would want you after you slut yourself in the middle of school, huh? Who?” He asked, pulling the girl back by her hair.

“That’s what I thought. I’m the only one that wants a pretty little slut like you,” he said in her ear as his free hand traced to her tits before letting them free.

“I’m the only one that can control you and give you what you want. No one else, do you hear me?” The tone in his voice made y/n know he wanted an answer. “Y-Yes,” she sobbed.

“So fuckin’ drunk — God, y/n,” he chuckled. “Gonna let me have my way with you? Gonna let me keep fuckin’ this ass till you pass out?” He asked as her eyes slowly became heavy. He could see her. He knew she was close.

“Cum for me first, baby doll. Wanna hear that shit all over the floor,” his deep voice seemed needy, but y/n didn’t need him to tell her twice before she let loose just like he told her to.

“That’s it, princess — My dirty little girl cummin’ brain dead,” y/n was confused but too fucked out to fully realize Logan was fucking her in the air. Her knees were on the ground her feet grazed against her floor.

“Gonna cum, baby,” Logan’s arms held her up as her asshole squeezed so hard it hurt, but he dealt with it. Apart of it made him closer.

Before he knew it, he was filling the hallway with his deep groans and the loud sounds of their skin clapping. “F-Fuuuck, baby,” he could hear his spit and cum mix around in her ass.

Logan was out of breath, but his thrust never stopped. They got harder, feeling like hard hand slaps on y/n’s ass cheeks.

“You thought it was over, baby?” Logan laughed deeply as y/n’s eyes slipped away. He knew he punished her well, but he wasn’t going to stop until Scott came back out to her to “come to her later”.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Was I the AH for making a joke no one told me they didn't like?

This happened back when I was 12.

I was pretty... not popular, but friends with a lot of semi-popular figures in a certain fandom. I know you aren't supposed to be on social media until you're 13 and all that, but it was a good while ago [2019ish] and I was a kid who never made friends IRL.

One of my friends [16, I think?] had a delusion [it was a diagnosed disorder they had and told me about, if I remembered I would tell you, MAYBE OSDD but I think it was something else] that they were one of the characters from the show the fandom was about.

I had other friend groups into the same show, and I would often make jokes "pretending" to be one of the characters [usually just posting a memed up version of a screencap and mimicking the speech pattern of the character], which would land well and make them laugh, so I saw no issue using this joke around the friend with delusions [who I'll call Lucas]. I only did it twice.

The first time I didn't notice anything different, but the second time they started treating me like this character [who I later learnt but didn't know at the time Lucas recalled having memories of being in a romantic relationship with]. Lucas was the only person I knew who had these types of delusions, so I didn't know what to do and just went along with it until they, uh... "snapped out of it", I guess?

Soon after, I was added to a group chat with a few other people. All of them were 16, except for who we'll call Dawn, who was 12 or 13, and who was the leader of their whole group. I'll call the other people Rosa [someone who I had gotten in a huge argument with before for a reason I don't remember but I think she started it and I overreacted, if this was about that it'd probably be YTA or ESH, but I apologized and we didn't really talk anymore], and Nate [someone who I hadn't ever talked to outside of a large group setting]. Lucas was also there in this group chat.

They were staging an... intervention? They were basically making me explain my actions and were telling me how I was a horrible person for "tricking Lucas into thinking I was this character". Lucas wasn't very responsive to the situation, and I was pretty sure Dawn was the one who orchestrated the whole thing and roped Lucas into it, maybe as a confidant or something like that. Rosa brought up how awful I was to her before, and how she never forgave me even though I thought she did. Nate also brought up how "aggressive and violent" I was, citing one of the only times I had talked to him [which I thought was just a funny way to greet someone, akin to like "*knocks a door off its hinges and it explodes everywhere, I take several minutes trying to put it back together but it clearly isn't done well* Hi guys"], using a screenshot he had taken MONTHS prior and had been saving for that moment, he told me.

I was supposed to go out shopping, so I couldn't keep on checking my phone without my parents getting suspicious of me. I was also hyperventilating and kept on having to take breaks to make sure I didn't freak out. I kept on trying to reply to things in chronological order, and they were getting more and more progressively upset. I told them the first part about my parents getting suspicious, and one of them even told me that "your parents should know what kind of sick fuck you are, maybe then you'll understand your actions." Eventually, we DID go shopping, and I couldn't reply for several hours.

When I got back, Dawn and Rosa had made several call out posts on their social media each, and I had several DMs from other people about it. I couldn't read the posts, and all I did was deactivate my account. I couldn't post art I had done online until about a year ago, couldn't even think about the show until a few months ago when my friend wanted to try it out, and I still can't go onto that social media platform because it makes me so nervous and I can't breathe, afraid that someone will recognize me even now and "expose me". Lucas wanted to keep in touch, but they were a bit clingy and only came to me when they were having mental breakdowns. I couldn't handle the constant reminders, so I eventually deleted their number.

Note: while I am very safe about my identity online, these people [at least Dawn, since she said how old she was before me and even showed pictures of herself in cosplay online before, she WAS very 12] did know what age I was [I had lied about it before then to other people].

I still feel really bad about this, and I was wondering if I really was being an asshole. Maybe I was just being biased because I was the one being persecuted? I don't know. Maybe I was the AH because I was suffering from the horrible illness sweeping the nation called being 12 years old?

I'm sorry if this is a little silly, but I'm 17 now and this is still a part of my past I'm ashamed of.

Could you tag this post "12 year old confrontation" so I can find it? Thank you. Sorry, again.

What are these acronyms?

[diabolus1exmachina]

Alfa Romeo Carabo 

The Carabo project was a collaborative effort between the Italian manufacturer and the Bertone styling house: a partnership which had previously borne fruits that included the 2000 Sportiva and BAT concept cars of the mid-1950s. The basis of the Carabo was a chassis numbered 75033.109 which was, more specifically, that of a 33 Stradale road car. Despite sharing mechanicals with the Tipo 33 race car and since being recognised as one of the most beautiful cars in history, Alfa had trouble finding owners for the Stradale due to its steep asking price of around $17,000. As a result, five of the Stradale chassis were passed to Italian carrozzerie: two to Pininfarina (used for the 33.2 and Cuneo concepts), one to Italdesign (which became the Iguana concept), and two to Bertone – the other being used as a basis for the 1976 Navajo concept.

The H-shaped tubular chassis supported an all-aluminium 1995cc engine which was designed by Carlo Chiti and, incidentally, was the first Alfa Romeo V8. The fuel-injected, longitudinally mounted motor used chain-driven camshafts and red-lined at 10,000rpm, despite being detuned to 230bhp from the Tipo race car’s 250-270bhp. This granted the Carabo a top speed of 160mph and the ability to dispatch the 0-62mph sprint in 5.5 seconds, with the power being sent to the rear wheels through a six-speed, syncromeshed, transaxle gearbox designed by Valerio Colotti.

Because of its underpinnings, designer Marcelo Gandini had the opportunity to create a car that would revolutionise the automotive industry for many years afterwards. The engine being mounted amidships allowed for a pointed front end, while the ground-hugging poise inherited from the Tipo race car meant the car was under a metre tall at its highest point. Combined with the squared-off rear end, these characteristics inspired countless wedge-shaped designs of the 70s and 80s, and also gave the car its name and colour: Carabo is derived from ‘Carabidae’, a family of ground-beetles with a distinctive green and gold colour.

The principle of the wedge-shaped profile was used to eliminate the high-speed aerodynamic lift troubles of the Lamborghini Miura, which Gandini had penned two years earlier. However, his innovative cerebration didn’t stop there: as well as having headlights hidden beneath active flaps, the Carabo was the first concept car with front-hinged wing doors, later used by Gandini when designing the Lamborghini Countach and since assuming the ‘Lamborghini doors’ meme. As well as inspiring the revolutionary raging bull, the Carabo clearly also lent styling cues to the Lancia Stratos Zero concept car, which in turn inspired the iconic Stratos HF. Unsurprisingly, the Carabo remained a one-off, but its revolutionary styling dramatically steered the automotive design industry onto a radically different path – one which produced some of the landmark cars of the 20th Century. Even those who can’t look favourably on its apparent aversion to curved surfaces should take a second to appreciate its legacy; after all, would an Aventador have quite the same drama without its ‘Carabo doors’?

[ritikajyala]

Can you please write something about moving away for a year and choosing yourself even though you accidentally fel I love with someone before you left. I am faced with this situation right now. I leave in 45 days to go and live on the other side of the world for a year, something I’ve always wanted to do but I’m leaving behind a boy I have fallen head over heels for, who feels the same for me. I’m choosing me, I’m choosing to go and live this experience. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

A letter(email) I'll never send

I always told mom I didn't want to love someone, ever. Because love makes you dizzy and impatient and a little stupid, because it's scary, petrifying even. Mom always said you'll love, despite its pain, despite its unsteadiness, you'll love, despite.

Life went on, with its happy winters and springs of sorrow, seasons and years all lost to time. I grew up. And I was happy because somehow love didn't knock at my door. Until. Until one day it came barging in, breaking the door off its hinges, changing my seasons and feeding me sunlight and rainbows and thunderstorms together. Love didn't ask to come in, Love sat at my dinner table without permission.

Love tasted like mint and sent me memes at 3 a.m. And Love wasn't this giant creature that held my heart somewhere, Love was just a boy. Just a boy holding my hand, just a boy calling my name. And one night he told me he was afraid, afraid of losing me, of never seeing me again. And I thought here it is, here comes the fear. But he just sighed and held me closer. I wanted to tell him I was scared too. I didn't.

I told him I was leaving. He knew. He said I was supposed to, that it was my greatest wish, that he shouldn't hold me back. He said congratulations, he smiled. But then he held me closer than he ever had, breathed in my hair and cried softly. I did too. And the last time I was with him, I told him I loved him, he said "I know" and then he said he loved me too. And I left.

Mom always said I'd fall in love, despite its sorrow, despite its pain. And I did. I loved him, despite. I loved him, because.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

{Also, I am so thankful to you for asking me to write about this. My heart breaks for you but I hope you know that this grief is a part of it, of love. You've experienced something people wish they did, something that transcends lifetimes. I hope you find your way back to your love. I hope you feel all of it. I wish you the best.}

[bite-sized-devil]

hi sweet pea!! For the headcanon meme I’m thinking Asmo? (Yes he’s all I’ve thought about this week I can’t help it anymore 💀)

∇ - old age/aging headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

I hope you enjoy your days off!! 💛

Max my darling, I'm so sorry this took me so long. I have no excuses besides the obvious, I suck! 😭😭 I hope you like it! 🌻🌻

Warning: 18+ content below MDNI. I did try to keep the sex headcanon gender neutral for both Asmo and MC. Also consensual recording obviously. (I heard you the other day random anon with your clit and pussy Asmo so hopefully you can enjoy this too 💕)

Character Headcanons

Asmodeus:

Old age/aging headcanon:

Watching you grow old has been a privilege. He's loved every second of it. You are just as beautiful to him now as the day you met all those years ago.

He loves running his fingers through the streaks of grey in your hair. Kissing the wrinkles around your eyes, proof to him that he's made you laugh and kept you smiling your long life together.

If he could have had you for an eternity he would have, but he wouldn't trade the life he had with you for anything. Your soul will return to his in your next life, of that he is sure. He's been alive for a millenia, he can wait for you again.

Angry/violent headcanon:

"Holy shit, holy SHIT!" Mammon cries as he rushes into your room, slamming and locking the door behind him. "I've never seen him this mad before! MC please, ya gotta hide me!"

Mammon is frantically opening up your cupboard doors and throwing your clothes onto floor. Yes like that's not an obvious enough hiding spot.

"Mams what is-!" you're about to ask him what is going on, trying to pull him back out of the closet when you're cut off by the sound of your bedroom door getting blown off its hinges and smashing to floor.

It's Asmo standing in your doorway, looking deadly in his demon form. Gorgeous as always but the air around him is thick with fury. The look he's giving mammon would kill you out right if he was directing it at you. Speaking of Mammon, he's currently trying to shield himself with your body. Typical.

"MAMMON! THAT WAS LIMITED EDITION YOU IDIOT... Oh hi MC darling, you look absolutely radiant today... DOES YOUR PEA SIZED BRAIN EVEN COMPREHEND THE MEANING OF THOSE WORDS? THERE ARE ONLY THREE IN EXISTENCE!!" He pauses in the middle of his yelling to acknowledgement your presence in the room before continuing his tirade of abuse.

Mammon is quaking behind you, the fact that he isn't trying to speak up for himself, even at the dig at his intelligence, tells you everything you need to know.

"Asmo, STOP!" You command, you hate using your pact on Asmo this way but you have too protect Mammon, and your room!

Sex headcanon:

A delicate hand has a firm hold on your chin making it impossible to look anywhere but forward. The big lens in front of you recording every little squirm and wiggle you make while trapped in your partner's arms.

"Look at the camera baby, don't be scared." Asmo's soft voice caresses the shell of your ear causing a shiver to run up your spine.

"I-I'm not." You stutter in response, a fresh blush blooming on your cheeks. You're not scared, you're just nervous about the camera. It's the first time you've been filmed like this; fully naked while being pleasured by your lover.

You feel the answering chuckle against your shoulder in between kisses so sweet you feel like melting into a puddle.

The hand not gripping your chin has been slipping down your shirtless torso so slow it's like torture. You can't stop a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as asmo's fingers slide down your hip and caress your inner thigh.

"P-pleeease Asmo-aahhhh." Your plea turns to a moan of pleasure. Those pretty, expert fingers have finally made their way to your sex. One of your hands fists those rose gold locks as you try and ground yourself, those soft fingers making you feel like your floating away.

"Be a dear and cum for the camera baby, need to show you how beautiful you look when you come undone under my touch."

Hope you liked reading this as much as I did writing it! I haven't written for Asmo in a while besides script fics so this was nice. I love my pretty baby <3 <3

[roamwithahungryheart]

Celeb Bake-Off is currently airing, and after talking to @rebeccasbiscuits I felt I had to make good on my thoughts and actually write a headcanon for this.

Behold, The Great AFC Richmond Bake-Off.

Ted: Brings boxes of biscuits for everyone on the first day. Bakes peppernut cookies and MoKan pie. First Star Baker of the series.

Rebecca: Reveals she made Nora's most recent birthday cake, recreates it for a showstopper. Uses rose water at least once. Ted & Rebecca check on each other a lot.

Keeley: Puts edible glitter on everything. EVERYTHING. Lots of antics with Noel because he admires the whimsy. Wins Star Baker for a unicorn-themed croquembouche showstopper.

Roy: Almost everything he says is bleeped out. Slams the oven door off its hinges by accident in a moment of frustration. Lots of close-ups of his hands (the Bake-Off camera crew knows what we want). One of his showstoppers is inspired by Phoebe. Roy's Yoga Mums tweet about him obsessively.

Higgins: Technical baker. Talks to the camera a lot. Jazz scats while he waits for the oven to ping.

Isaac: Extremely enthusiastic about everything he bakes. Even when it goes horribly wrong.

Jamie: Absolute disaster but really confident about it. Literally every meme on the Bake-Off Reactions Instagram is about him. Bakes Manchester Tarts for the signature. Every time he's in last place he asks if he's going home, even though it's a charity event with no eliminations.

Beard: The underdog. Secretly brilliant baker. Lots of traditional English bakes. Sends a photo of every bake to Jane. Wins Star Baker twice in a row.

Sam: Incorporates lots of family recipes into his bakes. Taste tests his bakes and does a little dance when he's happy with it. Twitter loves him (naturally).

Jan Maas: Scientific baker. Gets flour everywhere. Surprisingly aggressive kneading. Constantly asking for time calls.

Colin: Extremely Welsh bakes. Dan Beasley-Harling's 'gay bread' has got nothing on Colin's (which is also about Welsh independence).

Dani: Dessert sculpture made from churros entitled 'mucho, mucho joy'. Hype man of the tent. Offers to help carry people's showstoppers.

[artzychic27]

And now a random post that totally doesn’t explain my current feelings by using Marc

Alix: Tell him! Do it!

Nathaniel: I don’t want to! I’m scared!

Ismael: It’s either you, his doting boyfriend he’d never hurt, or us. Just give us the signal and we’ll get him in The Box. Now go! *Pushes Nathaniel into the art classroom and shuts the door*

Nathaniel: … Uh… Rainbow?

Marc: *Looks up from his journal* Oh, hey Nath. What’s up?

Nathaniel: Um… So… AO3 is down.

Marc: Yeah, that sucks. I was right in the middle of this really good fic, but it’ll be back up in an hour or two.

Nathaniel: … Actually, Rainbow… Sweetie pie… Light of my life, my love and reason I get up every morning… There was a… DdoS attack… And… AO3 might be down for… A while…

Marc: *Creepy head tilt* … I do not understand the words you are saying…

Nathaniel: … Well…

*Outside*

Aurore: *Holding a cattle prod* How do you think it’s going?

*Before anyone could answer, a crash is heard*

Alix: GET THE FUCK IN THERE, PEOPLE! MOVE!

Marc: I’LL BURN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE! *Chucks a table out of the window* WHO THE FUCK DO THESE BLOODY CUCKS THINK THEY ARE?! SO MANY OF MY STORIES ARE ON THERE, AND THEY HAVE THE FUCKING GALL TO DO THIS!

*Denise and Ivan tackle Marc to the floor and restrain him*

Nathaniel: They’re just gonna have you rest in The Box for a while, Rainbow. It’ll be okay.

Marc: *Getting dragged away* NOOOOOOO! I’LL BURN THIS FUCKING CITY TO THE GROUND! *Headbutts Ivan, bites Denise’s arm, and escapes while the teachers chase him down* YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!

Adrien: Uh… What’s The Box?

Nino: Oh, just something the school had made when Marc couldn’t access AO3 for… For like a week.

Adrien: How long did he stay in there?

Nino: A week.

Denise: *Bleeding from their arm* It’s pretty brutal.

Adrien: Denise! You’re bleeding!

Denise: Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as last time… I hear colors.

Louis: *Getting choked by Marc* You have the shot! Take the shot!

M. Grotke: *Shooting tranquilizers at Marc* I am taking the shot! He’s resisting! These things are supposed to take out Clydesdales!

*One hour later*

Meme. Mendeleiev: Okay, Nath. You know the drill. Here’s his lunch, and your tranq gun. *Hands Nathaniel a lunch tray and a tranquilizer gun*

Alya: Why does he need a tranq gun?!

Marinette: Did you not see Marc rip a door off of its hinges?

Mme. Mendeleiev: Remember, if you miss, play dead, and he’ll lose interest. Godspeed. *Pushes Nathaniel into the basement and shuts the door*

Nathaniel: Okay, it’s just like last time. Nothing to worry about. *Approaches a glass box in the middle of the room, and standing dead center in it is Marc in a prison jumpsuit*

Marc: Hello, Clarisse.

Nathaniel: Really?

Marc: What? Just trying to lighten the mood. Come onnn! Let me out! I promise, I won’t try to murder anyone this time. Don’t you trust me?

Nathaniel: Marc, of course I trust you. But you just need to calm down until AO3 is back up. For God’s sake, we almost lost Louis.

Marc: … Okay. That’s fine. I get it… Why don’t you be a dear and slide that tray in?

Nathaniel: Sure. *He opens a small glass door and starts sliding the lunch tray through it, only for Marc to grab his wrist* MARC! WHAT THE HELL?!

Marc: LET ME OUT OF HERE! I’LL MAKE OUT WITH YOU UNTIL YOU’RE SICK OF ME!

Nathaniel: *Yanks his arm away* There is a laptop next to you! You can read Wattpad, Fanfiction.Net, or Quotev. Love you, nutcase. *Blows him a kiss and leaves*

Marc: YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO PEOPLE! THERE’S NOTHING ON WATTPAD BUT STORIES WRITTEN BY EMO MIDDLE SCHOOLERS! IT’S ALL BAD!

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Sickfic Prompts - Jaheira/Rasaad - [ 🛒 ] - going out at an absurd hour to grab supplies for them. Set about a month before Rion's birth. c:

-----

"Who in the hells can that be at this hour?" Sleepily, Miriam Hummel treads across the floor of her shop in slippered feet, holding a candle before her to keep from accidentally walking into the shelves of dried meat and produce. She shoots a cautious look at the dagger kept unobtrusively beside the door, then pulls it open to look outside.

The thoroughfare of the Lower City market district is utterly silent, the moon hanging heavy and low between the rooftops. There is, in fact, not a single other soul to be seen besides the old man standing on the doorstep.

She recognizes him, just barely; he's come a handful of times through the shop before. Bashir - the monk, one of the couple who bought Elerrathin's Home a year or so back. He's a bit of a strange one, or so he's always struck her - very quiet, but gentle when he does speak, and remarkably quick on his feet. It's hard to guess his age; by the lines in his face, he is old indeed, but his dark eyes are bright and he has a square, stocky, muscular body that would do credit to a man half his years at least.

"Good evening," he says earnestly, as soon as the door has opened.

"Saer..." Miriam looks the man up and down with a mildly bewildered expression. Then, after a long pause and with heavy irony, she says, "We're closed."

Rasaad winces. "I realize this is not an ideal hour--"

"It's near midnight, Saer Bashir!"

"--but it would be a great kindness to me if you would give me a moment of your time." Rasaad hesitates, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out two heavy platinum coins. "This will cover all I need, thrice over and more. I beg of you, I will be here and gone in no more than a moment."

Miriam's eyebrows shoot up. "Well," she says, coming a little more awake out of pure perplexity. "That's fair generous of you, Saer, but what call you can have for any of my goods that is worth twenty gold pieces at midnight is--"

"Please," he says. "I need pickles."

She blinks slowly at him once. Then twice. "...Pickles?"

"Yes." He nods very seriously. "The largest container you have."

A long, long pause. "Are you having me on, Saer?" she asks suspiciously. "This some sort of joke?"

Now it's his turn to look puzzled. "A joke?"

Either he has the finest deadpan in the Realms or he’s being completely serious, and she’s starting to think it’s the latter. “...If it’s pickles you want for twenty gold, then pickles you shall have,” she says, quirking one eyebrow up. “Though I still can’t fathom the need.”

For the first time, his placid expression shifts, and a hint of something else pokes through the facade - worry, and a sort of pleading strain. His weight fidgets almost imperceptibly, left to right and back again. 

“It is for my wife,” he says quietly. “She is… quite far along. I have told her that she shall lack for nothing, but she asks for little; it is not her way. But tonight, she is…” A pause; he is choosing his words carefully. “Low. It is a low night. And she has a craving, as I am told women in her state often have - for pickles, so pickles she shall have, if it takes me all the night to find them.”

Miriam’s wary scowl softens. “Ah,” she says. “Well. That is a cause I can’t fault, certainly.” Her mouth turns up a little at one corner. “She is a lucky one, your wife, I should think. There are not many as would find their man willing to hunt up such a thing at such an hour.”

He tips his head to the side. “Whyever not?” he asks, sounding legitimately bewildered.

-----

The door of the house creaks open on its hinges. Jaheira turns sharply from where she is standing at the window, and relief surges unrestrained across her face to see Rasaad framed by the moonlight in the doorway.

“You are back,” she says, the words like a sigh, an outrush of held tension. “I began to know my foolishness the moment you left - to see you out at this hour. The streets are not safe…”

“There was no danger,” he says gently. “Though I do believe the shopkeeper was greatly surprised to see me.” With a heave, he lifts the heavy jar in both his hands and sets it with a clunk on the table. 

She stares at it and, to her own astonishment, feels tears fill her eyes. Her emotions have been a maelstrom all day - for weeks, really, but today has been particularly bad. She feels restless and fidgety, crawling around inside her own skin, a prisoner in her body weighed down by the life growing inside it. Earlier, it manifested in anger, a lashing-out argument buffeting against Rasaad’s infuriating calm, which was what sent him out into the darkness in search of a foolish whim.

Now it whiplashes back the other way into a gratitude so intense it is almost painful, interwoven with the pinpricks of pre-emptive grief that are always now in the back of her mind. She should not have sent him out; she feels so acutely aware, as she carries his child, of the finite weeks and months remaining to them, draining inexorably into the past. No minute should be wasted, no second taken for granted.

But she asked him for pickles instead, and he found them for her in the dead of night, and suddenly she wants to sob.

She isn’t sure how much of this shows on her face - but he must understand at least some of it, because he steps forward and gently rests one palm against her cheek, the other against the curve of her belly. “My sun…” he murmurs.

“I am sorry…” she mutters, her voice thick.

“There is no need.” He draws her forward, kisses her.

“I love you.” She whispers it against his mouth, then grunts softly as the child kicks in her womb, as if aware of its father’s nearness.

“And I you.” She feels him smile into the kiss before drawing back. “Now… please, sit. For these were dearly bought and I will not have them go to waste.”

[llondonfog]

Hii it’s me again for the meme fic ask what about a scenario for the potion!au where Lilia learns Silver is missing and is just blasting Crowley’s office door down demanding how this happened

[✐meme] three sentence fic meme

by the time that crowley had been old enough to know anything, the general had already become something of a folklore legend, a lone phantom who had taken his leave into the dark, protective shield of the briar valley forests, never to emerge again. to fae far and wide, it would have been impossible in those days to have graduated through a very lengthy childhood without one time or another pretending to be the nightmare general of briar valley and his stalwart companions, driving back the poison taint that threatened their ancient existence— to imagine what horrendous foes and wicked creatures they had to overcome in their desperate, cursed bid to save the queen.

it is something much more frightening than the stories of the old general that bursts into his office like a vengeful whirlwind, doors cracking in protest against the stone wall as they tremble meekly against their hinges, and his poor desk is seized within the crushing grip of a rigid pair of clawed, white-knuckled hands.

(not the maple top, he mourns, a near tear glinting behind his mask as the glossy wood creaks ominously)

"where is my son," lilia vanrouge snarls at him with all the fury and fear of a panicked father, and crowley quails miserably behind his rapidly splintering desk. "what have you allowed to happen, where is my son?!"

oh, sevens above, how was he to explain this?

[muertemismo]

' ROUGH REVERSE ' [Spooked Gabe in his office one too many times]

ROUGH ask meme.

His office was his own safe haven, to a degree. It was SILENT, comfortable -- he could sit and relax without the constant edge and pressure of people surrounding him at all times of the day. Sometimes, he'd even LOCK the door and pretend he wasn't in there when people tried barging in. If it was important, he had a PHONE for a reason. Late hours of the night were even better; being a night owl himself and hearing the settling of the corridors just beyond his own barrier brought PEACE over him. A reminder of day's end, just to restart the cycle in the coming hours. Though, he'd made it another day. There was no surprise to be found when he'd trailed down to the bathroom, returning to his door that he SWORE he shut before he left. A small CRACK, just barely noticeable to someone who was in and out DAILY -- it made Gabriel stop. Locked in his footing with a narrowed SQUINT in his eyes. Who the fuck was in his office at two in the morning? Ever the master of stealth, the commander TOED as much as his boots allowed in the hallway, subtle quake in his steps as he edge the lining of the wall. There wasn't enough exposure for him to PEEK into the room; it was dim, anyways. He liked low lighting -- set the mood or whatever. What mood? He wasn't sure, but it allowed him to THINK clearly. An inhale. Steady, baited. This wasn't a fucking mission -- no, but he was BOTHERED with the fact that his DOMAIN had been broken into at such an ungodly hour. The scene was as if a predator was gearing to pounce its PREY, and he did just that. The flattened palm of his hand pushed the door, SWINGING it on its hinges as his mind went into the static overdrive of IRRITATION -- the figure in the CHAIR was hidden in the SHADOWS curated by silhouettes of objects, OBSCURED from his line of view as he blindly REACHED for their body. "What the fuck--" Gabriel growled as he planted the SUSPECT to the wall, face of disgust easing into the arch of brows with SURPRISE. "Hinoka? Why do you keep breaking into my office?" His grip didn't loosen, only SLIGHTLY to alleviate her feet on the ground from the prior HANG.

[decimal86]

Ranking The Incident's members from "normal-ish straightman" to "interesting weirdo (affectionate)" based on their personalities. I am sorry if you disagree, but I respect your opinions on this matter.

1. Shrimp. Despite her admittedly off-putting smile, she's also just a very kindhearted young girl with a love for music. Consistently seems to fill the role as a younger sibling for other members to defend. Shrimp just wants to make others happy and seems like a relatively normal shark girl idol.

2. Big Bill. Surprisingly, for a buff, humanoid duck, he actually seems pretty chill. Don't have much to say about him, so he gets this by default.

3. Orion. Probably the closest to the "traditional" heroic archetype, being a strong and devoted family man with plenty of skill as a swordsman. He loves his daughter, plays both classes to the best of his ability, and is probably the voice of reason a lot of the time. The only thing keeping him down a bit is his odd attempts at giving presents and seeing an immortal chef with a thousand-yard stare and massive eyebrows as the best pick for a partner.

4. Erica. In a way, I see her and Orion as two sides of the same coin, being dedicated warriors who changed classes with a strong urge to keep their team safe. However, her Season 2 development led to her throwing much of her caution to the wind, so her temper and violent streak knock her placement down a bit. Still, I definitely could see her being the type to call others on their crap and forcing herself back into the straightwoman role if really needed. Very much a case of "only functional by comparison."

5. Failboat. The man, the myth, the definitely (maybe) not a furry, he's... gone through a lot since the first season. While it's difficult to say where the creator ends and the character's personality begins, I personally see C!Fail as a pretty nice guy, just world-weary and desperate for a break after his experience of the world. (TBF, makes sense given his relationship with Chat). Also, any man who eats spaghetti with cat paws on cannot be labeled as normal.

6. Bo. Certainly not the most unhinged even after her vampire transformation, but her generally seeming on edge a lot of the time makes me feel she deserves this position. Honestly, I'd just say her position fluctuates as much as Failboat's and Erica's.

7. Friend. While we likely can't truly judge a maybe-divine entity with human norms, I do think them being fairly serene and forgiving, yet also casting Righteous Anger with zero hesitancy and a stone cold smile, can speak for itself.

8. Mar. While his stoicism and apathy towards the zany nature of his party do make him appear normal at first, I'd argue it also makes him nearly as unhinged as the two members below him. Except, instead of being the "blast the door off the hinges" unhinged, he's the "saw it down and let it fall over" kind of unhinged. An odd mix of blank mindedness, Italian plumber cosplay, and top-notch leadership. To quote one of the memes @gnomey22 posted, Mar is "queer as in gay, yes, but also queer as in really very peculiar." He sees recklessness but willingly chooses to just watch it happen.

9. Chi. This, THIS is a character that I feel like could actually break everything in her body, survive and get healed, and immediately repeat whatever it is she just did—either for science, her love of fire, or just because it's fun. Sometimes for her friends, yeah, but mostly one of the above things. She sees everything from gender norms and to the laws of chemistry and just goes, "Hmm... nah, not really up for that," and defies them openly and instantaneously. Honestly, though, I vibe with it. Can definitely see why a lot of people like her!

10. Chat. I mean, what did you expect? They're a loose cannon both literally and figuratively. They spread mayonnaise on Failboat's head when he was ill. Proclaimed their friendship with their team before firing them at the enemy. They're a bundle of untamed voices, like a nest of fire ants who lost a pheromone trail.

...Well, that took longer than I thought. Hope anyone who sees this enjoyed it, though!

[ashleybenlove]

“The blacksmith hammer which I took in the carriage from Veresti was useful; though the doors were all open I broke them off the rusty hinges, lest some ill-intent or ill-chance should close them, so that being entered I might not get out.”

Can’t get trapped in the castle if there are no doors. [touching head meme]

[stories-by-an-anxious-ice-dragon]

[Horror] Necromancer - 01

I've noticed a lot of memes saying that necromancy isn't as scary as it seems, and while I sometimes agree, I wished to try my hand at it.

CW: Gore, Bugs, Death

--------------------------

The sound of the footsteps tells you that the floor is wood, though to you, it feels like long-since-dusted stone. Or perhaps, it feels like nothing at all. Perhaps it was the mantle, upon which you’d be judged by… whoever you were meant to face after their death. 

Who… are you? It’s so hard to recall anything. There’s a buzzing noise in your head that reminds you too much of the printing machines you used to work with at Marigold’s shop, and it fills your prefrontal cortex with too much white and gray noise to focus on anything. When you do focus, the only thing that sticks out to you is the cavity in your chest, where you can feel specks of flesh dripping where your ribs should be. When you curl up, and put your head to the cavity, the smell is noxious and makes your eyes water. If you could open your eyes… would you want to know what’s happening down there?

Would you want to see the cockroaches and fat beetles skittering around inside of your stomach?

The footsteps are slow, and methodical. They arrive with the swing of a door whose hinges might not have been oiled in decades… or maybe centuries. The gust of wind causes the bugs to jump. And then the door closes. Something drags beside the footsteps, scratching and sliding over the floorboards, clinking off the nails embedded in them like it was meant to be some kind of demented musical instrument. Tapping closer and closer to the pile of grayed flesh that are your remains.

Whatever it is, it nudges you. The tip of it is glassy, and it chills your spine as it drags down it. Eventually, it forces itself into the fetal curl you’ve found yourself in, and forces you out of it. The rod gets under your chin and pushes it back, until the back of your head hits the skirting of the wall. The skirting’s just as rotted as… your stomach.

Who are you…? What are you doing here?

Wait, no… it starts to come back to you. The last moments that replayed in your mind, over and over like a broken record, before you woke up in this place. You remember the hospital bed, and the white - too white - walls all around you. You remember holding your wife’s hand, how soft and gentle it’d been, kissing her for the last time before the… doctors put you to sleep. You remember telling her that it’d be alright, that you’d always be with her.

Something of the stomach, it had been, right? You remember the pain being numb after a while… though with the way you’re feeling now, you would never guess that. You can barely feel your own heart. You don’t wanna look. You don’t wanna look. Where the hell are you?

The glass rod nudges you again. “Rise,” a voice rings through the small room. And then there’s heat, welling up inside the glass like it’s an electric stove. It seers into the dry flesh along your chin, and you open your mouth to scream, but you can’t even manage that. Just a pathetic squeak.

And then - gods, *how!?* - you sit up. As if an invisible force grabs your hind end, it drags up against the wall, much to the complaint of your insides, which drip even more sagging flesh as you lean upwards. You feel a centipede squirm up between two of your guts. The feeling is even worse when your arms push against the splintery wood, to force you as high as you can go.

Once you’re up, your torso lulls forward across your outstretched legs. Oh, you’re in it now. You can feel your cracked ribs, how a gust of air goes into your chest and whistles out the opposite side. Is it possible to want to wretch when… you aren’t sure if you have a stomach anymore?

“Come on, my thrall. I know that you can sit up better than that.” The rod is pushing at your chin again, and forces it up no matter how much your eyes and cheeks want to melt off your bones. They’re crusted up and dry, conceding to their death.

Eventually, you sit straight up, much to the dismay of your ribs. With your lips nearly stuck together, you find something creeping out of them, sneaking up a tightened throat from distended lungs. “Where… am… I…?”

“There you go. No more time to laze around, my thrall.” That voice… you’ve heard it before. It’s foggy, and snappy, but you remember it being softer than this. You remember hearing it… sometime before you made it to the hospital. “Gaze upon me.”

One of your eyes open, and that’s about all you can manage. You see the brown, dusty swirls of the room around you, and the pricks of the nails poking out of the floorboards. In the midst of it, there’s a bright red, glowing rod of glass that still threatens to seer your chin off. It shines so bright that it almost looks superimposed on top of the rest of the room, which is so dead-looking compared to it. With your pupils low and exhausted, your iris climbs the rim of the rod, up the ancient tree branch that it must have been made of, all the way to the smooth fingers gripping it at the other side.

A *staff*. That’s the word that comes to mind. You remember once reading about wizards and witches who dominated the world before the modern age, but you thought it was all… all… Christ, is any of this real? Does it really matter if any of that insane stuff is rooted in reality when you’re sitting there, feeling your guts *melted*? Feeling ants nibbling at your insides?

“I *said* to gaze upon me, thrall.” The voice snarls, and the staff gets hotter. Either as a tear, or condensation, a drop of water streams out of your crusted eye. You recognize the voice now. Oh god, you recognize it. Out of all the voices in the world to violate your ears when you’re meant to be sound asleep in your coffin, there are few that could be worse.

“Why… why am I…”

You, who must be the “thrall,” gaze upon her, as commanded.

You remember speaking with your wife, a few months before the extended hospital stay interrupted, about how the entire atmosphere around Marigold’s printing press was starting to scare you. It started as something small: Marigold, the royally-dressed woman who ran a printing business, had pushed you when you showed up late, and crossed her arms at you. “I didn’t buy you for $500 a week just for you to steal five minutes of my time,” she had said. You only brushed past her then, apologized, and clocked in, avoiding her fingers.

And then, it was the way that her hands glided down yours while you were working. As if the sound of the clunking printer was an invitation to her. The raw tension in her fingers, the sweat they sent down your spine and the way they made your then-existent stomach turn. She mentioned your wife, and how she must be a lucky woman. A lucky, lucky woman. “Is she fulfilling all your needs?” she asked. “Ever want someone else to suck your soul out?” That soft voice, like the surface of a Marigold flower.

And then, on the hospital bed, where you were writhing and trying to keep your composure in front of your wire, as she ran her fingers through her hair in the way that made you wish to sit up and kiss her, you thought that you saw Marigold again. She’d been outside the window of your room, but it was dark out at the time, and rainy, so you convinced yourself that it was just the flash of a tree branch. Just an ordinary tree branch. Or, when you were feeling superstitious, it was a ghost ready to guide you to the afterlife. You were ready, and quite honestly, of all the things in your life to reminisce on, your job was far down on the list.

You hadn’t thought of Marigold in days. You could’ve gone all of eternity without remembering the name of the boss who once leaned in to kiss you on a Thursday afternoon, leaving the remaining 2 hours of your shift an awkward ordeal for you to shimmy through. You could’ve left her as a footnote of your life. Would you even mention the printing place to the angel tasked with weighing your life?

“In the eye, thrall,” she says now, and you want to vomit. No - why her? Why is she here, when you can’t talk back to her?

“Wh…what… have you done…?”

You look her in the eyes, the shining green eyes that had been a dull blue before. You study her face all the way down to the grin. A few more scars have made the way across her face since you last saw her.

“I was dead,” you continue. “I kissed my wife goodbye and I heard the… the heartbeat monitor stop,” you grit your teeth, though your head still lulls. Out of ink, no more miracles, your free trial of life ended - you were dead, dead, dead!

“Oh, you are dead, my thrall…” she says, leaning close to you. You expect her to stop, but she doesn’t, and soon her chapstick is violating your mouth. She sucks out your rotted breath from your plaque-covered teeth, and you lack the strength to pull away. It’s only once she does, that you once again relish in the permission to breathe, through lungs filled with bugs. “Dead as dead can be… dead, dead, dead…”

“W…was happy… being dead…”

“That’s not your choice to make, my thrall. You’re but a corpse. Do corpses get to make choices about how their owners play with them? No. And you’re a corpse. A dull, smelly corpse for me to animate as I please.”

She puts her stuff into your chest… how big is the hole? How much of you is dripping away?

“Just, a fucking, corpse. And not even one of the more useful ones under my command.”

“...why?”

“You thought that you could skip out on work by taking an unannounced vacation to the afterlife? No, no, no my thrall… think again. I invested too much training time into you to let you go to waste. I expect you to be back to work in minutes, thrall. Rise…”

You feel the joints in your legs start to light up… and you move.

No, no, no, you whisper to yourself. Not like this. You remember joking about how necromancy isn’t as scary as it sounds, how all that talk of disrupting the sanctity of the dead was hogwash. And now the wind through your chest tickles the sides of your exposed organs, teasing them, causing a beetle to flicker its wings against a drooping artery. You think of the trillions of infections creeping their way into your vessel right now.

But you stand, head lulling, eyes sagging. Something flakes off your cheek. Your hair is full of blood and loose flesh. You fail to lift your arms.

“Necromancer…” you mumble under your breath.

“That’s right, my thrall,” she bats her hair, and sticks her staff under your shoulder. “And you’re now my dull, reanimated property. It’ll be a long, long, long time before I let you return to the ground.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]