#Purple Cow Dumpsters

[purple-cow-dumpsters]

Dumpster Rental Blanco TX

When considering using a dumpster rental in Blanco, TX, it's essential to understand the process thoroughly to ensure efficient waste management for your home renovations, garage cleaning, or landscaping projects. Here's a comprehensive guide that delves into the detailed steps of effectively using a dumpster rental to streamline your waste management process.

Before proceeding with renting a dumpster, meticulous project planning is essential. Assess the scope of your project and estimate the amount of waste that will be generated. A well-thought-out plan will help you select the right dumpster size and ensure you are fully prepared for its arrival. Additionally, it's crucial to consider the type of waste you will be disposing of, whether it's household junk, construction debris, or yard waste, as this will impact your approach to using the dumpster effectively.

Strategic selection of the dumpster's location is paramount. Opt for a flat, hard surface like a driveway or a paved area to ensure stability and facilitate easy delivery and pickup. Avoid placing the dumpster on grass or soft soil, as this could lead to sinking or difficulties during transportation. Furthermore, ensure that the area is clear of obstructions, such as vehicles or overhanging branches, to facilitate easy truck access.

A clear understanding of what can and cannot be placed in the dumpster is essential for proper waste disposal. While most dumpsters can handle a variety of materials, including household items, construction debris, and yard waste, there are typically restrictions on hazardous materials such as paints, chemicals, batteries, and tires. Familiarize yourself with these restrictions to avoid potential fines or complications, and contact the rental service for guidance if needed.

The correct loading of the dumpster can significantly impact efficient space utilization. Be mindful of loading more oversized items first, followed by smaller debris. Breaking down large items such as furniture or boxes will help maximize space and ensure proper weight distribution. It's essential to avoid overloading the dumpster, as this could lead to transportation difficulties and additional charges. To prevent potential damage and ensure safe transportation, evenly distribute the weight throughout the dumpster.

Safety should always be a top priority when utilizing a dumpster. To prevent accidents, keep the area around the dumpster clear of debris and potential hazards. In high-traffic locations like a driveway, consider using barriers or signs to alert others to the presence of the dumpster. Exercise caution when handling and loading heavy or sharp items to avoid injuries.

Upon filling the dumpster or completing your project, contact the rental service to schedule a pickup. Ensure that the area around the dumpster is accessible for the pickup truck. Should you require the dumpster for an extended duration or have additional waste, communicate this with the rental service to arrange for an extended rental period or a replacement dumpster.

It's important to note that local regulations in Blanco, TX, may have specific guidelines for dumpster usage and waste disposal. Ensure compliance with these regulations to avoid potential fines or legal issues, including restrictions on the placement of the dumpster or requirements for waste separation.

By following these detailed guidelines, you can effectively use a dumpster rental in Blanco, TX, to simplify your waste management process and ensure the efficiency of your project. This comprehensive approach, encompassing meticulous planning, strategic location selection, thorough understanding of disposal restrictions, efficient dumpster loading, safety measures, scheduling pickups, and compliance with local regulations, will equip you for a successful waste disposal experience, allowing you to keep your project on track.

Featured Business:

Purple Cow Dumpsters is the leading provider of reliable and efficient dumpster rental in Blanco, TX. Our experienced team recognizes the critical need for a dependable waste management solution for various projects, including home renovations, commercial construction, and large-scale cleanups. We are committed to ensuring timely delivery and pickup, allowing you to concentrate on completing your project without disruptions. Our dedication to delivering accurate and flexible rental options with transparent pricing underscores our commitment to meeting your needs.

Contact: Purple Cow Dumpsters 1237 Spitz Kegel View Dr, Canyon Lake, TX 78133, United States VQMR+V6 Canyon Lake, Texas, USA (830)730–3305 https://www.purplecowdumpsters.com/dumpster-rental-blanco-tx/

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[breannasfluff]

Samantha Manson,

My teacher says that we must continue our correspondence. While she will not read our letters, she is trying to stretch the assignment longer. I suspect she is drinking in the evenings to deal with her life choices rather than creating lesson plans. 

People treat me as special because I am special. That’s all there is to it. You are a fool if you don’t embrace the rights life has given you.

Amity Park? That sounds like a backwater in the countryside. What is your exercise, running away from cows? Not that cows are bad creatures, mind you. It’s only that I heard the hillbillies go cow-tipping for recreation. That seems like an activity you could do. 

Painted nails would never ruin my image, only enhance it. 

Ah, name-calling, the most childish insult in the book. Some of us have more experience in nine years than others do in 20. Just look at Gotham’s vigilantes!

Sincerely,

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

~~~

Damian-stick-up-his-rich-butt-Wayne,

If no one is reading these then I don’t have to hold back.

Okay, listen here you brat: teachers are underpaid and have to put up with little monsters like you. No wonder your poor teacher is drinking; I’m not even legal and talking to you makes me want to start. 

Hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but people only pretend to care about you because of your money. You lose that and what’s left? Some snobby little rich boy clinging to his daddy’s coattails because he has no personality outside his money and position. 

You’re so right, Damian! All my life I thought I lived in a fairly normal Midwest town, but you’ve shown me the error of my ways! I’m just a little country gal out here collecting eggs and chewing on wheat. Ugh. You probably poach endangered animals on vacation and wear baby fox pelts when the temperature dips below 60. 

I bet you are too chicken to paint your nails to say ROBIN SUCKS in purple glitter for the next formal event you attend. 

Gotham’s vigilantes? Don’t even get me started on Nightwing! He’s the worst of the group. If you look up “trying too hard” in the dictionary, his photo is there. He doesn’t even take his job seriously! Why else would he move to a different city? Couldn’t compete with Batman and just had to be in the spotlight. It’s like those pop stars that go solo and fall flat on their face. 

Man, how embarrassing. I think I actually feel sorry you have to claim that guy as one of your heroes. He does have a nice ass though, so it’s not a complete dumpster fire.

Also, stop calling me Samantha.

It’s Sam.

Sam

Find the rest here

[purplecowdumpster]

Purple Cow Dumpsters offers reliable, eco-friendly dumpster rentals in Canyon Lake, TX.

Purple Cow Dumpsters provides reliable, eco-friendly dumpster rentals in Canyon Lake, Texas, and surrounding areas. Our range of sizes caters to all projects, from home cleanouts to large constructions. We prioritize transparent pricing with no hidden fees and ensure a smooth rental process. Committed to environmental responsibility, we use eco-friendly disposal practices. Our local expertise guarantees a hassle-free experience tailored to your needs. Choose us for your next project and see the difference.

Name: Purple Cow Dumpsters Address: 1237 Spitz Kegel View Dr, Canyon Lake, TX 78133 Phone: 830-730-3305 Website: https://www.purplecowdumpsters.com

[ghirahims-trophyhusband]

all of the purple questions hehehhehe >:3c

Self Ship Ask Meme: Purple Emoji Edition

Rae why must u make me suffer with so many questions ghdjfgdf

I'll do my beloved catboy I feel like I've been ignoring him /lays out a small pile of catnip to lure him back into my house after losing him in the woods for two days bc he chased after a bird

😈: Do you and your F/O have any inside jokes with each other? - Malachite definitely does what I do and calls Sephiroth a catboy and makes dumb cat jokes around him hjkg. (as for myself only, I also call his original model from the OG FFVII my little lego man :> careful, he bites)

👾: Talk a little about your F/O’s source! What is it about? What do you like about it? - In layman's terms (which you desperately need for this game bc dear god it's so much) FFVII is about a group of people who want to stop Shinra, an evil corporation, from destroying the planet by using up all its finite resources to power their city, weapons, you name it. Then an evil catboy decides to show up after presumably dying years ago and the group makes it their mission to take him down bc he wants to become a god by summoning a meteor to hit the planet (long story but it's a given with this game). Along the way the group fight all kinds of monsters, like robots, behemoths, even bigger robots called WEAPONs, that same giant meteor that threatens to collide with and destroy the planet, and an evil catboy turned angel.

As for what I think about it: FFVII is, in the kindest way possible, a confusing clusterfuck that makes things complex for the sake of being complex, continues to be added onto simply bc it's Squeenix's cash cow and so is the reason I ignore every other piece of media in the FFVII universe, save for the game and remake themselves, as they ruin the pre-established characters of the main cast. I do like it, but I prefer the remake overall as I feel like it does a MUCH better job at just. telling the story of FFVII. The OG game is OK, but its age is VERY obvious and I'm playing it more to experience it for myself than to enjoy this dumpster fire this game has the balls to call gameplay LMAO. I appreciate the ambitious nature of the devs, but sometimes there gets a point where it's TOO ambitious. I've had enough of these 'minigames' that are compulsory to do to continue the plot I want OUT.

🦄: Are there any favorite AUs you have for your self ship? - Naturally, there's the story I've crafted between Sephiroth and Malachite, but I also love the story I have for him, Jura, and Ghirahim bc it's fun and dumb and doesn't tackle any serious subjects like my other stories. It's a nice break from it all :>

☔️: What do the two of you do during rainy days? - If it's a light shower, Malachite will drag Sephiroth along with them to stand outside and enjoy it jdfd (he doesn't object though! he enjoys it when he's with Malachite). As for heavy rain, they both prefer to stay inside and (if Sephiroth hasn't disappeared off to do his own thing yet) Malachite will have him sit with them on the sofa and just enjoy his company/being close to him.

🎆: What’s your ideal date with your F/O? - Sephiroth and Malachite don't really go on dates, but the closest they'd get to one is probably exploring the area Malachite now lives in either on their own or with Malachite's behemoth pack close behind.

🔮: After the end of the canon story, what does the future hold for your F/O and S/I? (If they die in canon assume they didn’t in this question) - Once Sephiroth had apologized to Malachite for being a shit who was being incredibly selfish and damaging the relationship bc of it (but he does save them from being harmed/killed bc he does still love them of course), the two are able to see eye to eye again and choose to stay where Malachite lives, which is in the middle of a valley away from people, which is probably the best option to allow Malachite to 'domesticate' Sephiroth so he won't hurt anyone again and also bc putting him in a public place could just end badly fhskfs.

🧬: Do you have any kids with your F/O? If you do, talk about them! If not, what do you think they’d look/act like? - I have never considered the concept of a fankid with Sephiroth (not even what they'd look like past a joke run in Sims 4), be it with Malachite or Jura, bc he just Does Not have the personality to work with a child/as a father lmao. He's too cold, emotionless, and disconnected from reality/other's emotions for me to confidently give him a child. It feels WAY too out of character for him and would only be something I do as a complete joke (like my aforementioned Sims 4 run), not a serious plot point like I did with Ghirahim's son: Nathaniel, as in the context of my SS fic, Ghirahim develops into a father with a LOT of time, effort, and bc I've written the plot in a particular way to make it work. I don't have that benefit with Sephiroth, and even then I wouldn't utilize it for him to be a dad.

💜: Free pass to gush about whatever you like! - Every time I open up the OG FFVII I keep this meme in the corner of my mind in the hopes I'll see more of my little lego man again <3

Also me waiting for part 2 of the remake which will have nice Sephiroth in a flashback before he became a massive asshole like

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part nine)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7  Part 8

Word count: 10,088

TW: Blood and gore

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

-Alma Mater-

  “We found these in the dumpster behind what’s left of the gym.”

Bessie recoiled so sharply in disgust she nearly fell backwards out of her chair when Mulaney dumped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of her. She looked at the pile as if it were made of actual human hearts, wrinkling up her nose.

  “I can’t believe you touched those!” She exclaimed in an almost humorously repulsed way. “They’re probably swimming with diseases.” 

  “Recognize them?” Mulaney asked, sitting across from her.

  “They’re prom ballots,” Bessie said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m the one who Xeroxed them.”

  “According to these, Ruby and Leila won prom king and queen.”

Bessie blinked at Mulaney in shock, as if he had just told her the secrets of the universe. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on a hook, then she sputtered out, “I-I counted those ballots myself. Principal Holbein checked my work! You can ask him...yourself…” She trailed off with a grimace, hunching her shoulders in and looking away. For a moment, she looked a lot younger, and a lot more shaken than she thought she was.

  “Anna and Joan won fair and square.” She finally spoke up again, although there was a not-so-subtle shakiness to her voice. Madeline gave her a sympathetic look.

  “I’m guessing by a landslide?” Mulaney asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

  “I just thought they were pity votes.” Bessie said, shrugging.

  “They weren’t pity votes, Elizabeth.” Mulaney told her grimly. “Someone switched the ballots.”

------

  “Attention! Attention, everyone!” Bessie called jovially from the stage. The mic she was using gave a few abrupt screeches of feedback, so she tapped it with a manicured finger. In the fairy lights, her dress glistened in shimmering waves of purple and made her look like a walking amethyst. “Can I have your attention, please!”

The DJ cut the music off hastily. Everyone inside the gym quieted down one by one and turned their heads to the stage. Bessie’s hair was blindingly white in the light.

  “Thank you,” She said, then raised her voice excitedly, “We will now be voting for this year’s prom king and queen!”

  “This contest insults women!” Margery Horsman shouted from near the globe tree. There were a few scattered applause and one loud, whooping cheer from a girl who must have been her friend.

  “It insults men, too!” Francis Dereham piped up mockingly. Laughter followed, along with several eye rolls.

  “Take your seats, please!” Bessie went on loudly. “Time to vote!”

Everyone began to swarm back to their respective table as Maggie and two other girls started to pass out prom ballots and small pencils. Anna, Joan, George, and Jane were already sitting, recovering from their intense dance session and playing Spoons with a deck of cards George had brought in (“I still cannot believe you brought cards to prom.” “I never leave home without ‘em! You know that, Anna!”). As far as games being played at a school party went, it definitely wasn’t the lamest option they could have gone with.

  “Aha!” Jane exclaimed, seizing one of the three plastic spoons on the table after she got a match of four aces. George looked up at her lovingly. “I have totally figured out this game! I am the new Spoons champion!”

  “Ow!!” Anna yelped. “You SCRATCHED me!” She had been trying to grab one of the other spoons when Jane’s fingernails raked viciously over her hand. She rubbed the scraped skin tenderly, giving Jane a playful pout.

  “This is a very violent game,” Joan observed. When someone got a match of four cards, they were supposed to grab a spoon as quick as they could, prompting everyone else to do the same, which resulted in some mayhem. Especially because there were four players and only three spoons, so clawing and yanking and merciless tug-of-war would sometimes happen as a result. There was even a moment where they all lurched forward at the same time and bonked their heads together.

  “What can I say?” Jane said with a shrug, flicking her spoon back and forth. “I play to win.”

At that moment, Maggie came around with ballots, setting four papers and four pencils on the table for them. Before she whisked away, she declared a louder-than-necessary, “GOOD LUCK!” into Joan’s ear. Joan rubbed her ear uncomfortably as Anna and Jane both glowered after Maggie, then examined the ballot in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Anna,” She whispered shakily, grabbing onto Anna’s arm tightly. “W-we’re on here!”

  “I saw that,” Anna said.

  “Woah! Congrats!” George beamed.

  “Can we decline?” Joan asked anxiously.

  “Hell no!” Anna said, laughing slightly. “If you win, all you do is sit up there on those thrones for the school song, wave some scepter around, and look like a jackass.” 

  “Oh, and then you get your picture taken for the yearbook so everyone could see that you looked like a jackass.” George added. He, Jane, and Anna laugh lightly. “You also get to lead a dance! So that’s pretty cool.”

  “Well...who do we vote for?” Joan asked Anna. “They’re more your crowd than mine. I don’t really have a crowd.”

  “Ourselves, duh!” Anna said.

  “Isn’t voting for yourself like voting for Ralph Nader?” George asked.

  “Who’s Ralph Nader?”

  “Well, I’m voting for you.” Jane said to Joan. She smiled and checked off Joan and Anna’s names.

  “Thanks,” Joan whispered, ducking her head shyly. She glanced over at the thrones on the stage and couldn’t help but be enamored by them. They were so sparkly and pretty. “They are beautiful…”

  “You’re beautiful.” Anna grinned, taking Joan by surprise. She would never get over the shock of hearing someone say that to her. “To the devil with false modesty.”

Joan smiled. “To the devil,” She said, and checked off her and Anna’s names.

------

  “Look at how she’s smiling. Stupid little cow.”

Cathy peered over the shrouded edge of the catwalk they were hiding on. She could see Joan Seymour, the poor bitch this prank was on, playing cards at one of the tables with Anne’s younger brother, his girlfriend, and Anna von Cleves. Her dress was beautiful, Cathy had to admit, and she looked so happy.

It was such a shame it was all about to be ruined.

The buckets were poised and ready.

  “God, and my stupid brother.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I should have known he would befriend the resident freak.” She shook her head and turned to Cathy, smiling again. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cathy mumbled, feeling ill.

  “Oh, cheer up.” Anne nudged her. “We’re just playing a little joke! Nobody is getting hurt!”

  “Anne, this is--this is sick. Really, really sick.” Cathy said. “If we get caught--”

  “We aren’t going to get caught.” Anne said firmly. “Calm down, will you? It’s not that bad. We’re just gonna give her a little scare, that’s all.”

Cathy shook her head and cast a dark look at the two metal buckets. She could still smell the contents from her spot, the scent of three-day-old pig blood and guts wafting heavily in the air. It was a miracle nobody else on the stage had smelled it yet.

  “Do you really think they’ll vote for them?” She finally spoke up again, glancing at her girlfriend. In the dim light, only half of Anne’s face could be seen, and there was madness reaching out of that amber eye.

  “Of course,” Anne answered her. “I set it up. Nobody else will even be close.” She smiled wickedly. “Do you want to pull the rope?”

------

Katherine was restless. It was starting to worry her sister, she knew. She kept getting up in the middle of the movie they were watching and would pace around the living room like a lion in a circus cage. She couldn’t help it- something felt off.

  “Kit?” Isabel called. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah,” Katherine replied, shaking out her wrists as if they were crawling with caterpillars. “Just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Isabel paused the movie and turned to her completely. “About the prom?” She asked.

  “What else?” Katherine sighed. “I texted Anna and she said everything was going fine, but still… I’m worried about Joan. I hope she’s having a good time.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Isabel said. “You’re letting your Mum Friend status get to you too much.”

Katherine managed to laugh. “Maybe.” 

She took out her phone and checked it for what felt like the tenth time that evening. Just like last time, there were no new messages. Just her reply from Anna after she reacted to the picture that was sent, which was marked as “read.” Anna must have been too busy having a good time to text back, which was good. She was giving Joan her full attention. But what if she wasn’t answering for a different reason…?

  “Ugh--” Katherine collapsed down on the couch next to Isabel, who looked quite amused. “Anxiety SUCKS ASS.”

  “Preach it, sister.” Isabel laughed. She patter her shoulder with a tender smile. “It’s going to be okay, Kat. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But she was wrong.

------

  “You really make all your own clothes?” George was asking with great interest. After Maggie had come around again and picked up the marked prom ballots, the group decided to take a small break from Spoons to let their maimed hands rest and stop burning. Now, they were just chatting idly, talking about random things as they waited for the score to be tallied up.

  “Yeah, most of them,” Joan answered, nodding.

  “That’s so convenient.”

Joan smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry I’m not better at conversations. I don’t have a lot of interesting stories.”

  “No worries!” George said dismissively. “You’re much better company than most of the people here. Some of them don’t know how to keep a secret.” Then, he turned his head and shot an irritated look at a boy in a dark navy blue suit at a navy table. “And SOME OF THEM think very HIGHLY of themselves.”

The boy in navy blue whipped his gaze around and narrowed his eyes at George.

  “I can HEAR you!” He shouted.

  “We all can!” Piped up someone else.

  “I KNOW.” George shouted back. “We’re in a GYM! But I’m having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION, so stick your nose somewhere else!”

  “Then why did you look at me?!” The boy in navy blue cried.

  “Because I was MAKING a POINT to my FRIENDS!” George snapped.

  “You WISH you had friends!”

  “Go suck a LIME!”

  “Now, now,” A teacher chaperone said in a bored voice. “Settle down.”

George turned his head back to the table and smiled. “Anyway,” He said, his voice all sweetness again, “Where were we?”

The other three burst into laughter.

And then, silence was called over the gym. 

  “Attention, everyone!” Bessie said into the mic. “It’s time to announce the elected prom king and queen!”

There was a drumroll as Bessie excitedly pulled out a slip of paper from an envelope. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.

  “ANNA VON CLEVES AND JOAN SEYMOUR!!!”

Anna, who had been mindlessly taking a sip from her cup, not thinking much of the election, spit her drink out in George’s face. Joan froze, her eyes opening wider than possible. All heads turned to her table. Gasps and murmurs whisked through the crowd. The gym went very quiet.

And then, there was a huge, booming, explosive eruption of applause that seemed to shake the walls like thunder. Everyone began to clap and cheer loudly, roaring into one big celebratory mass of noise. One person even yelled, “Yeah, go Anna! Go, Joan!”

Two student body members dressed in (school appropriate) togas, a boy and a girl, walked over to the table, smiling. Anna laughed and stood up with her arms spread in a queenly gesture of sorts, and the crowd went wild, shrieking their support. George, who quickly recovered from being sprayed with mouth soda, was beaming in pride for his friend and Jane looked both a little stunned and absolutely thrilled. Anna nudged Joan’s side and then extended her elbow for them to lock arms, but Joan did not get up. She was far too starstruck to stand at the moment, lost in the whirling of the radiant, overwhelming glee rocketing through her. She had never been clapped for before like this, nor had she ever been so joyful in her entire life.

Prom Queen. Her. Joan Seymour. She was Prom Queen. A queen. Royalty. Important. Her.

It was a dream come true.

Anna gently grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, effectively snapping Joan out of her daze. She still remained breathless and dazzled, however, as the entire prom screeched for her when she finally got to her feet. She nearly fainted from joy right then and there, but managed to cling to her consciousness. She grappled onto Anna’s arm, a smile coming to her lips that she knew would not be leaving for a while.

The two of them, escorted by the toga-clad student body duo, began to stride through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when they passed. The band boomed and swelled into a loud, upbeat melody. The audience continued to applaud and scream and cheer. Any sarcasm was lost to its cacophony; this was honest and deep and genuinely happy for the elected pair. Someone whistled. Someone else patted Joan’s bare shoulder as she passed by. Miss Aragon, at the edge of the trench of students, looked so proud.

Tears were welling up in Joan’s eyes. Her mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Has she ever smiled for this long before? She doesn’t think so. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Anna, she was hanging onto her arm really tightly. Anna didn’t seem to mind, though. The older girl was practically glowing in the fairy lights, like a goddess of sorts.

They reached the short flight of stairs to the stage, where Bessie and Principal Holbein were waiting. The thrones were pushed up to the front arches of the decorative Parthenon, glistening in the spotlights poised on the apron. They were inlaid with gold and fake jewels and were so much more breathtaking up close.

  “Come on up, you guys!” Bessie shouted over all the noise. She beamed at Joan as Anna helped her up the steps, then turned to shake hands with Principal Holbein. “You look so beautiful! Congratulations!”

Joan couldn’t possibly must up a reply with all these endorphins sprinting through her, so she just smiled even wider, if that were even possible at that point.

She and Anna were whisked over to the thrones (but not without Bessie launching herself into Anna and hugging her very tightly). A silver scepter was thrust into Anna’s hands by the boy student body member in the toga, while the girl swept a furry velvet and sunflower yellow cloak with a puffy collar around Joan’s shoulders. They sat in the thrones and another ear-splitting bout of applause broke out.

Joan was glad to be sitting. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt weak. She was dizzy from shock and bliss and excitement.

(look at me Mama look at me)

(i made it)

(i did it)

The crowns were taken out on big wine red pillows. Both were encrusted with surprisingly realistic looking diamonds and glittered like captured rainbows in the light. Joan nearly sobbed when her tiara was set on her head and she reached up to touch it instantly, just to make sure it was there and real. And it was. The jewels were smooth and bumpy beneath her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna grinning at her affectionately.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Bessie said energetically into the mic, “your king and queen on senior prom! Anna von CLEVES and Joan SEYMOUR!”

The audience howled. Anna laughed. She stood up and thrust her scepter into the air.

  “Long live King Anna!!!” Someone yelled.

  “SPEECH!!!” Someone else, George from back at the table, cried out.

Anna grinned brightly in his direction.

The band cracked and rose into a fever pitch as the school song was played. The audience began to sing along to the music, their hundreds of mixing voices spiraling into a cloud of haunting sound. Anna basked in it, her chest puffed out with pride, then turned and gently gathered Joan to her feet so she could bathe in the glory with her. Joan probably would have crumpled right to the floor if Anna hadn't helped her up.

It was such a dizzying feeling, being the center of so much positive attention when it was usually all so negative. All these people were cheering for her, Joan Seymour. And they didn’t look to be doing it mockingly at all. They liked her. They really, really liked her!

(i told you Mama i told you)

  “Long live Queen Joan!!” Shouted the person from before. 

  “Queen Joan!!!” Someone else whooped gleefully.

Joan was shaking all over. She knew everyone could see that she was, but it wasn’t deterring their applause. They just kept clapping and cheering and singing, even as she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

But unbeknownst to her, among the crowd, Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee were smirking rather than smiling. Maggie kept glancing up every few seconds, which caught the attention of Jane, who began to sidle over slowly to see what she was looking at.

Bessie waved her arms and all the noise began to diminish. She turned to Anna and Joan, still grinning her head off.

  “Your Highnesses,” She said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Like that, the cheering started up again.

The toga boy took Anna’s staff from her, but Joan’s cloak was left on. Anna extended a hand and Joan took it as the lights around them faded to soft blue and light purple. They walked slowly down the steps and onto the center of the gym floor, where they pressed against each other and began to dance in long, graceful movements. The band played an airy melody of violins and flutes, which Joan didn’t even realize they had, but she could hardly care. She was too wrapped up in dancing with Anna to care about anything at this point.

Her legs trembled, unsteady, unpracticed, fawn-like. Her head spins and her vision blurs with the opposite of vertigo. Her hands clasp tightly at Anna’s and her shoulder, like the older girl was an island out in a raging black ocean. Moats of silver dust float like moths in the rays of light beaming from the spotlight, and she had never been more awash in radiance. 

Anna’s hand is warm on her waist and she looked up at her, dry lips parting with a slight pop. Anna tilted her head at her and smiled, the corners of her mouth held aloft by the spotlights. Her fingertips trail over Joan’s veins, bluer than hers, rivers snaking beneath her skin and crisscrossing the imperfect planet of her body. 

But Anna doesn’t care.

Each sweeping step they take gave Joan more confidence and made the world come a little more into focus. This was all Joan has ever wanted- being held so gently, being loved despite her flaws, being wanted and needed and swayed like she is. Anna doesn’t care that she’s touching her, Anna doesn’t care about the roughness of her scarred palms, Anna doesn’t care that she wasn’t at prom with her girlfriend.

Anna cared about her and her alone. Nothing else in the entire universe mattered to her. And that was a dream come true.

Anna coaxed her closer in that honeyed voice of hers that makes Joan feel all fluttery inside, whispered that she wanted to show off to all these loons, and Joan does as she's told, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, searching for stable ground as they whisked in loops inside the circle of students crowded around them. 

  “Anna?” Joan whispered.

  “Yeah?” Anna looked down at her, still smiling with so much affection for her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, Joan.”

Joan was still shaky but that’s okay. If she fell, Anna would surely catch her.

There was a blooming warmth on Joan’s hand and she looked at it, and that’s when everything fell to pieces. Shafts of burgeoning gold cut through soft silver and burst outwards, filling the gym in blinding yellow waves. Violin and flutes were replaced with a marching drumbeat. Silence turned to an uproar of cheering and clapping. The dance floor melted away and the stage rose up beneath Joan’s feet. And there was Bessie and the band and the two student body members in togas and Anna, now up there with her again. And there was blood. On her hand.

  “Your Highnesses,” Bessie said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Joan does not hear her. She can’t even move. 

Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

Her blood?

Was it happening again?

Anna looked at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together. 

  “Joan?” She whispered. “Everything okay?”

Joan does not reply.

Like how Anna does not see the blood.

It was the size of a nickel American tourists would sometimes accidentally drop on the streets. Bright red against her pale white skin, like a ruby buried in fresh snow. Completely odorless in such a small quantity.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

Joan looked up shakily and time seemed to slow down so she, and everyone else in the gym, could watch as two buckets full of blood poured out in an unhurried manner to fall, splash, splash, splash, right over Joan’s head.

------

  “Hail, Alma Mater,”

The singing of the crowd mixed with the band and all the cheering was a mess of noise in Anne’s ears. She grit her teeth in rage and glared down at the thrones, where the pig herself, Joan Seymour, was being crowned Prom Queen. With her tiara.

  “Why are they still clapping?” Anne hissed.

  “I don’t know, babe.” Cathy said uselessly. “Don’t ask me.”

Anne growled lowly in her throat and gripped the rope in her hands tightly. The smell of the blood wafting from the buckets was intoxicating.

  “Oh, Mother, we salute you,”

  “Are you going to pull it?” Cathy asked. “They’re there. The song is playing. Get it over with already.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Anne snapped.

  “We proclaim out devotion,”

Anne’s hands were starting to shake. Her chest burned as she held her breath. 

  “I’m not pulling it for you.” Cathy said. “That thing can sit up there ‘till hell freezes over.”

Anne elbowed her hard in the stomach and her girlfriend reeled backwards in pain.

  “As we set our dreams into motion!”

  “Your Highnesses,” Bessie said from below after the school anthem ended, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Anne leaned forward and yanked the cord with both hands.

For a moment, there was slack, making her think Cathy fucked up the set up to get back at her, that the rope was attached to nothing but thin air, that Joan fucking Seymour was actually going to get away clean.

But then, it snagged and jerked away from her grasp, leaving a thin rope burn across her palms. The buckets tipped and glorious red fell free. She peeked over the edge to watch, then turned to Cathy, smirking widely in victory.

In the darkness, Cathy looked horrified.

And in the light of the stage, someone screamed.

------

Two weeks after the Black Prom, Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount, would write this for the detectives,

          “I had been looking at the crowd when the buckets came, but I turned fast enough to see a majority of it. It got EVERYWHERE. Joan got the most of it. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a river of blood. There were barely any spots of pink left on her dress. But us onstage got some of it, too. Anna was wearing a white tux. She got splattered. She looked like she was in a murder scene. I got splattered, too. My dress and my chest and my face. And for a moment, when my mind flashed back to the showers on Friday, I wondered if this was period blood. It was clearly a prank of sorts, so did whoever planned this (which I now know was Anne), get a bunch of girls to squat over some buckets and bleed into them just to dump it out on this one chick?

          But then I realized that it didn’t smell like period blood. 

          I don’t think any of you or anyone else who wasn’t there really understand the smell. It wasn’t just an awful sight--it smelled, too. Like--like...it’s so hard to explain. It smelled like blood, but blood that has been left out in the sun for a week. Like rotten meat. Have you ever smelled rotten meat? It was like that.

          And it also wasn’t just blood. There were organs and pieces of organs, too. I don’t even know what it was, but there was a strip of /something/ on my face. But Joan was covered in guts. Intestines hanging from her shoulders, mushy livers and kidneys caught against her dress, a stomach snagged on her crown. There were even testicles. One missed her, but the other hit her in her head and then bounced off.

          Joan was still for a very long time. She had been looking up, so her face was dripping and her eyes were closed. Then, she opened them and things all went to hell from there.

          I look back on this a lot. I know it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s always so fresh in my mind. I got my period two days ago and I /cried/ when I saw the blood. Because I wonder, if I had been a little bit nicer, would it have never happened? I know that’s wishful thinking, but I still wonder about it all the time. I do that a lot, now. I just think about what happened. And it gets worse each time.

          I wish about a lot, but I never wish to stop the Black Prom. I just wish I had died in there with everyone else. I could kill myself, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know? I was left alive for a reason, I think. It’s a punishment. Unless Joan thought I was innocent enough to let go. But I don’t think so. So now I have to live with what I did and what happened because of it. 

          I would like to see Anna again, though. I wish I got to say goodbye to her.”

------

She was covered in it.

Blood.

Whose blood?

(my blood)

The smell was overwhelming. Like rotten meat left out in the summer heat for several months. The taste was worse. She didn’t want to describe it. This blood did not have the same metallic tang of normal blood. There was something very, very wrong with it.

The blood was thick, half a liquid, half a solid. It was coagulated and clotted, thick chunks caught in her hair and eyelashes and dress. It drooled down her chest, between her breasts, and over the flat expanse of her stomach. 

Everywhere. It was everywhere.

In her ears and her nose and her eyes and her mouth. 

Blood.

Something else splattered down against her, too. It made a loud slapping sound when it hit her head and made her tiara crooked when it snagged on the points. Something long and squishy draped over her shoulder while something else went down the back of her dress and fell out the bottom with a wet /plop/. They all had a very rank, ripe scent.

Joan’s eyes were closed. She had been looking up, so her face was completely drenched. Her dress was ruined, dyed to a deep scarlet instead of a pale flamingo pink. Her hair was soaked and dripping and red, retaining no hints of the original platinum white-blonde. The cloak around her neck looked like a freshly gutted dog, and it fell heavily to the ground at her feet. Rivulets of red ran down her arms, oozing off her fingers and into the crimson lake all around her.

One by one, the clapping stopped, the cheering died off, and the smiles fell until the only sound was the creak of the two ropes the buckets were attached to and the splattering of blood on the floor. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, nobody spoke a word.

And then, Joan’s eyes opened.

Something was glowing behind those twin orbs of grey-blue.

Joan slowly raised her hands and stared at them, watching tiny rivers of blood snake down the palms. Her breathing picked up slowly, faster and faster and faster, until her body was heaving with the weight of her panting. Her eyes darted around- at Anna, spattered in red beside her; at Bessie, wide-eyed and bloody; at George and Jane, horrified; at Miss Aragon, with her mouth hanging open; at Principal Holbein, shocked into stillness; at the audience, silent. She looked down and saw the blood, then the guts.

She was covered in guts.

Intestines hung from her shoulders, several pieces of pruney and wrinkled pink tissue clung to her dress, a stomach was caught on her crown.

Guts.

Someone spilled guts on her.

Blood and guts.

Something itched in Joan’s throat, and when she opened her mouth, a whimper came out.

And then a cry.

And then a scream.

She screamed a horrible, nightmare-haunting scream that reverberated throughout the auditorium and jammed itself into the ears of the audience. It cut off after a moment and she stared at her hands again in horror, hoping they would be clean, but the red still remained. She tried to scrub at her arms, but the blood only smeared and coated her skin even further. She whimpered and keened loudly, scratching and clawing desperately. Someone in the audience snorted.

  “WHAT THE HELL?” Anna roared in fury. She was the first to snap out of the terror-stricken trance, and now all she felt was outrage. “WHO DID THIS?”

No answer. Someone snorted again. A few people murmured. Heads whipped around frantically.

  “WHO DID THIS?!” Anna screeched again. She looked around and spotted something in the wings- Anne and Cathy. She snarled lowly, like a dog about to bite, then took off after them when they fled.

Like that, with Anna’s jarring sprint into motion, the trance that had descended over the gym was broken. People began to exclaim in shock and whisper to one another. A few took out their phones to take pictures. Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee snorted and then burst into howls of laughter.

And people joined in.

They were laughing at her.

(Mama was right)

Joan felt her body start to seize. She went hot and then cold and then hot again until she was freezing. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, racing faster and faster and faster until she thought it would burst apart. 

  “Pig, pig, pig, pig!” Anthony bellowed through bouts of laughter. “Sweet pig, pig, pig!”

(Mama was right they’re laughing)

(they always laugh)

  “Freak! Freak!!” Maggie shrieked in giggles.

Everything was starting to bleed together. A blur of black and silver marched through the crowd below; Jane Parker slapped Anthony hard across the face.

Joan gasped.

Miss Aragon and Principal Holbein rush up to the stage, along with George Boleyn and Jane Parker. The whispers are swelling into a full thunderstorm of murmurs, but she can’t make them out. Her ears were too clogged with blood to really hear.

  “Joan?” Jane called out, and her voice was but a distant echo. “Joan, can you hear me?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Miss Aragon gently touched Joan’s shoulder, brushed away the tangle of intestines caught against it. Her nose was twitching; she could smell the overwhelming stench of the rancid blood and guts, too.

  “Joan? Joan, sweetie, talk to me. It’s Miss Aragon.” The coach said.

But Joan does not awaken from the strange state she’s slipped into.

The adrenaline is making the strain on her body bearable, all the beautiful chemicals coursing through her veins as she flexed her powers.

That, and the anger.

It all made her so angry. Her mother. Her treatment at school. Her life. Who she was.

Fifteen long years of being the good Christian girl. Of turning the other cheek. Of enduring and bearing. Of being patient and understanding and letting things go, always letting things go.

It gets old. So fucking old.

She was tired of it.

The pillars of the Parthenon began to quake. The decorative spires and sculptures on the gym floor soon followed. Joan sent her powers through their mass and ripped them into chunks. The pieces locked together in the air like a growing puzzle until a long body was created. Wings from the ripped mural canvases, a tail of ice and marble, curved claws chipped from stone, sharp spikes torn out of chair legs, and a piece of the fire alarm and DJ booth attached to the back of the throat. 

Everyone stepped away and stared in horror as the dragon thumped to the ground on its back haunches and let out an ear-piercing roar. 

  “Say. Hello.” It spoke in a gargled voice. “Everybody. Say. Hello.”

And then, a pipe from up above was ripped free and sailed straight into Maria de Salinas’s heart.

--

August had thought they had been scared when the buckets dropped, but not even that fear could rival the absolute terror pumping through them as they stared at the bleeding corpse just a few feet away. Several people were starting to run, but they couldn’t move. It wouldn’t matter anyway; all the doors were locked. They could hear students shouting over it in a panic all around them, through the screaming.

They looked up at Joan Seymour’s bloody form and realization dawned on them with a jarring shock.

She’s going to kill us all.

The pipe pulled loose from Maria’s heart with a spurt of blood. Joan peered at it curiously, as if it were a new pet. A moment later, it flew around and jammed itself through the spot that connected the second victim’s jaw to her neck. It went all the way through and left her nearly decapitated, spasming wildly on the ground before death overcame her and she stilled. Then, the pipe spun and sailed straight through a boy’s stomach. 

By this point, full pandemonium had erupted throughout the entire theater. Everyone was running around screaming, panicking, crying. They’re trampling over each other like caged cattle—and they very well may have been, because they were all going to burn like the filthy cows they all were.

This is our punishment, August realized. For bullying her. We did this.

They looked up with tears in their eyes. The head of the conjured dragon turned to them slowly and creaked open its jaw.

  “Repent, repent, repent, repent.” It said, and then smashed its talons over August’s head.

--

Nicola couldn’t even scream when August was crushed right before her eyes. Their body crumpled like a compressed can; she could hear their bones snap and break beneath the heavy weight of the strange monster’s talons. When the claws were raised, there was a huge splattering of blood and mushed organs, which oozed slowly off stone nails in droplets of liquid ruby and rose quartz.

August was dead.

Joan was not done killing yet.

Nicola dove behind an upturned table and tried to steady her ragged breathing. She yelped when someone collapsed down in front of her.

  “Ari!” She cried.

Ari, shell shocked, but uninjured, scrambled beside her, ducking low for cover. Their eyes were wide and mortified.

  “What--what the fuck is going on?” They whispered. Each word sounded like it took great effort to speak through heaving breaths. “What--is--happening?!”

  “I-I don’t know!” Nicola replied.

Near the buffet temples, the flying pipe stabbed through a girl’s neck. Nicola shuddered and hugged her knees.

  “She’s killing us,” She whispered. “She’s killing us all.”

  “Oh god,” Ari muttered in horror. They pressed a hand to their forehead. “You know what, Nicola? I-I don’t want to die!” They laughed shakily, tears brimming in their eyes.

  “Shh. You’re not allowed to die.” Nicola said, and Ari managed a tight smile.

And then, the pipe flew by and put itself directly between Ari’s eyes.

The table tipped backward, along with Ari’s body. The pipe pulled out with a squelch and squirt of blood, leaving a gaping hole all the way through Ari’s head. Nicola vomited, she couldn’t help it.

  “Monster,” She whispered raggedly She glared at the stage through tears. “You’re a monster!” 

Joan twitched, but didn’t look at her. Nicola braced herself and prepared for the pipe to come around and take her life, but it didn’t. It was currently embedded in the stomachs of two students at once. No, instead, her executioner was a snake that rose up from one of the candles.

Nicola’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the flaming serpent coil out from the candle. It was huge, with bright golden eyes and a tongue that spewed embers when it flicked out at her. Then, it opened its wide jaws and came at her faster than lightning.

Pain. Blinding pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

She was on fire.

Her dress exploded into golden plumes almost instantly, with her hair following shortly after. She could feel the fabric of her gown fusing with her flesh as it dripped off her body like wax. She screamed and flailed helplessly, but it did nothing to help her. The serpent consumed her.

--

A thick shoulder smashed Violet into a rigid back. Boots stamped down on one of her feet. She heard a screech of pain that sounded like someone from her Economics class. She caught a glimpse of Principal Holbein trying desperately to calm everyone down. Someone grabbed her forearm, and she turned to see Lara, staring at a raging snake made of fire.

  “Oh god,” She whispered. “What do we do?”

  “I-I don’t know!” Violet said. “We can’t escape. The doors are locked!”

  “There has to be another way!” Lara cried. “D-don’t say that! There has to be!”

Nearby, a kid burst into flames when the snake coiled around him. The dragon jumped into the fray, shaking the entire gym when it leapt to the ground. It lashed its huge tail, connecting with a large panicking group of students and sending them sprawling with an awful symphony of breaking bones and splitting skin. It trampled over kids as it made its way to the tree and climbed to the top.

  “Respect me. Respect me. Respect me.” It said over and over again, flaring out its wings. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, rather just hung open like a snake spraying venom.

Violet and Lara backed away, getting pushed and shoved and nearly separated in the process. They clasped their hands together and watched as fire began to spread through the ripped murals against the wall.

This place was going to burn to the ground.

  “JOAN!!”

The pipe, which had taken lodging in the back of a blonde girl’s skull, flashed through the air and cleaved into its next victim’s stomach, silencing them.

Lara gasped and buried her face in her talons.

  “Oh no,” Violet whispered. “Oh no, no, no…!”

--

Anna coughed and was startled to taste blood. She touched her lips and her fingers came back red. Then, slowly, her hands slid down to her stomach, where an even bigger patch of red was spreading across her tux. 

There was a pipe in her stomach.

Her vision blurred and she collapsed to her side, gargling on her blood.

  “Anna!!”

Joan was there, even bloodier than her, grey-blue eyes wide. Her hands hovered around the pipe, then pulled it out, sending sharp bolts of pain through Anna’s entire being.

  “Anna, Anna, no--” Joan stammered. Tears flooded down her face. “Anna, no--”

  “J-Joan--” Anna coughed. She raised a bloody hand and Joan clasped it in her own. 

  “Anna, I’m so sorry!” Joan said. “I-I didn’t mean to…” She glanced at the gaping red horror in Anna’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I know,” Anna said. “I-I know you...you didn’t…” Everything was starting to blur together.

  “No, Anna, don’t die!” Joan begged. “Don’t die! You can’t die!”

  “Think...think I still have a shot at being a singer?” Anna choked out a laugh that was thick with blood.

Joan sniffled and nodded tearfully. “Y-yeah, of course.” She said. “Y-you’d be the best!”

Anna smiled weakly up at her. Her brain felt very fuzzy all of a sudden. The pain was getting worse.

No. No. She cannot die, not now, not after all she’s done. Surely she won’t—the wound is likely not nearly as terrible as it felt, or this is some nightmare and she’ll wake up any moment, and there will be no more blood and George and Jane and Joan will be teasing her for falling asleep at prom and then they’ll go to the Blazer.

She doesn’t wake up.

And now she can’t breathe--her chest heaved and she gasped and coughed, and suddenly her throat felt very hot and full and it’s terribly uncomfortable. 

She doesn’t want to die. But it hurt too much.

  “Joan--” She rasped. “I-I can’t--”

  “No.” Joan said through gritted teeth. Then, she softly pushed Anna’s head up to look at her. The spotlights glowed around her and made her look like a blood soaked angel. “You‘re not dying today. Not here.” She sniffled. “Not in my arms, Anna.”

Anna frowned and parted her lips, gasping for air so loud Joan’s own air almost got pulled out of her lungs. 

  “Please.” She begged quietly. “You have to--”

The rest of the words didn't come out, but Joan’s face paled and she understood.

  “No, Anna,” She whispered. “No. Not after I--”

  “I-it hurts, Joan.” Anna said. 

  “I-I can fix you!” Joan said, shaking her head. Blood from her hair splatter everywhere. “I-I can sew your wound! I-it’s gonna be okay!”

Anna shook her head sluggishly. “Joan,” She whispered firmly. “You can’t. You know that.” She lifted a quaking hand and wiped away one of Joan’s tears, smearing the blood already on her face. “Don’t--don’t be--sad.” 

  “W-we were supposed to w-watch that movie together,” Joan whimpered. “And have a party. You can’t die, Anna.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna breathed out. Then, quietly, she said, “I love you.”

  “I love you.” Joan said back

Anna’s face lit up, regardless of the pain. “You’re incredible,” She said.

Joan cried harder. 

  “Don’t let--don't let this--w-world tell you--otherwise, mh?” She said. “Don’t let it--it ruin--you.”

  “Anna, please.” Joan sobbed. “Please, please don't go. I-I need you. You--you brought me back to life.”

  “And I’d do that again--and again..and again--”

Anna was delirious. She caressed Joan’s cheeks with her thumbs, and Joan leaned her forehead against hers. Joan let the silence between them fill the void she started feeling inside of her for a few seconds, but her sobs soon came back, filling the stage’s space. All around them in the gym, the panic of students and teacher chaperones was unified into stillness. They were all watching transfixed in shock and despair. 

  “Thank you,” Anna whispered.

  “F-for what?” Joan asked.

Anna smiled. “For giving me the best night of my life.”

Anna’s neck snapped. Joan knew where to send her powers into her spinal cord to make her stop crying. Hurting. 

To make it all stop.

If someone had asked her to do this, she would’ve killed herself. She would kill herself for Anna a thousand times. Over and over. She would let anyone torture her, use her, hurt her, however whenever wherever they would like to. But Anna asking her to end her suffering… She could not bear this. She could not bear her pain...not this one. 

Not like this.  

The one person who ever truly cared about her. The one person who genuinely wanted to be around her… She killed her.

Joan let out a long, keening whimper and began to rock back and forth, cradling Anna’s upper body against her chest. 

If they only could’ve had more time. If they only could’ve had some more time to spend together, some more time to share, some more time to be friends. In such a short period of time, Anna had turned into the big sister she never knew she wanted or ever had. She wanted to be next to Anna forever and always. She wanted to be with her and her friends and even Katherine.

But it didn’t matter now. Anna was dead. And no amount of power was going to bring her back.

Joan cried for several long moments, clutching Anna’s corpse. Fresh blood mingled with the blood coating her entire being. Warmth was slowly draining out of Anna’s body.

And then, something itched in her throat and, holding Anna closer, she tipped her head back.

The thing that overcame the silence was just a noise, one that had been boiling up in Joan’s chest for hours; long before she had gotten blood dumped over her head, or walked into prom, or even got invited to prom at all.

Joan didn’t yell a whole lot, never had. She’d always had the tendency to quietly brood when her temper ran high or her spirits low, something that had helped facilitate her transformation over the years of torment and torture. So in reality, the noise that was escaping her right now was one she’d been holding back for a very long time.

It sounded stupid. But it felt good.

So she kept doing it. Screaming. Over and over again until it just turned into one long roar of agony and fury and anguish.

Intimidating or not, effective or not, when a sound was being uttered over and over by a teenage girl who’s been living the closest thing to Hell that could exist on God’s green earth, a teenage girl covered in blood with wild eyes, a mangy body, and a lifetime worth of pain...

It was a goddamn battle-cry.

Joan gently placed her flower crown on Anna’s chest, situating her limp hands to where they were holding on it, then stood very, very slowly as if she were underwater, or her muscles were buckled into place. Her movements weren’t right- they were too twitchy and abrupt like a robot with rusted limbs. And her eyes—god, her eyes… They were wider than humanly possible.

She stood, dripping with blood, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and stared out at the audience. 

(i’m going to kill you all)

Someone should tell the Devil she was going to room with him because she was about to turn this place into a living Hell.

Grace period ended with the striking of the flaming snake. A poor boy in a dark purple tux burst into flames, and screaming erupted all around him once again. 

  “Oh fuck! Oh god!”

  “We’re all going to die!”

  “Open the door!”

  “Somebody call 999!!”

  “HELP!!!!”

Madness. It was pure madness.

(nobody will EVER laugh at me again)

She imagined storming into the school and screaming her head off at the inconsiderate teachers, the rude students. She’s a smart kid, dammit! She’s been in school as long as everyone else, and she’s very good at it. No more questioning her, no more arguing or trying to make her look foolish, no more bullying. 

And then, it happened. Within the space of the gym, it happened. Absolute mayhem.

She imagined setting fire to the entire school, not caring about how much money it would cost to fix it. Just to hear the crackles of flames, just to watch the people scramble, just to be the chaos instead of the shield against it.

Roaring flames tore along the walls of the gym, thanks to Judgement. Her dragon at the top of the tree helped by fanning the fire with its giant wings, throwing embers all throughout the room. Students squealed when they were burned, music to Joan’s ears. Someone crumpled to the ground, charred as black as night. Someone else with their tux on fire was screaming for help. Several burned corpses lay half in, half out of the firestorm, so melted and disfigured that their gender could barely be made out.

She imagined stalking into her classes, kicking the door open like she would sometimes try to do with the prayer closet. She would watch class jump in surprise and fear, not just staring at her like she’s her mother’s trained puppy. 

Her fingers clenched and someone’s head popped like a balloon, splattering bits of brain and bone all over the faces of the people around them. They all shrieked in horror. Someone else yelled in a higher register, and Joan realized it was some guy coming at her with a knife he must have snuck into the party. She couldn’t touch it, but she could feel her power surging through her fingers and she leaned into it, snatching the knife right out of the boy’s hands and making it cut murderously across his throat like the widest, most bloody smile in the world.

She imagined punching Anne in the face, hearing the crack of her nose. Better than any of the bullshit Christian music her mother makes her listen to.

And then, relishing it, she imagined dunking her into water until she couldn’t breathe, she imagined stealing Bessie’s clothes and leaving her stranded naked in a bathroom stall for hours, she imagined tripping Maria in the hallway and having her break her jaw on the way down, she imagined putting a snake in Maggie’s shoe and watching her howl and foam at the mouth when it pumped her full of venom.

Who’s the boss now? Who’s the tough one, who doesn’t take shit, who doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want, ever?

She imagined growling into all of their ears as she tore into all of them and didn’t care how much of a devil it made her.

How do you like me now?

Being strong, and bold, and standing up, taking what she wants when she wants it, for the first time in her goddamn life. Because, before this, she would have never done any of that stuff she imagines.

She never did that.

She never defended herself or stood up for herself or fought back.

She only endured and endured and endured like a good little girl, like Mama wanted, like how Mama made her.

It's what's best for her. What's best for everyone.

But not anymore.

Never again.

Joan reached out her powers and found Maggie among the panic.

(never again Maggie never again)

(you will never hurt anyone else ever again)

She coiled her powers around Maggie’s shoulders and clenched down. When the grasp was tight enough, she began telekinetically pulling away from Maggie’s body. Instantly, Maggie was alerted that something was very wrong when her arms raised outwards against her will. She fought against Joan’s power, but was much too weak, and began to scream loudly at the strain on her flesh.

  “Maggie!” Anthony yelled in shock. “What’s wr--”

Joan halted his sentence. She didn’t want him speaking anymore. 

She found his organs after a quick moment of searching and vacuumed them upwards. Anthony gagged loudly and clutched at his stomach. His throat bulged like an anaconda was trying to slither out of his body, and then his guts came pouring out of his mouth. 

Everyone shrieked much louder than they were before, or at least those not completely panicking. Anthony’s stomach splattered to the ground first, then his kidneys and liver, large intestines, and then his small intestines, which didn’t make it all the way out and dangled from his mouth like a half eaten snake. He collapsed into the pool of his own insides, empty and very much dead.

  “Anthony!!” Maggie shrieked, tears pouring out of her eyes. A moment later, her arms ripped off of her body and began spewing blood everywhere. Delicate bones poked out like stars on a dark night from the fresh openings against her shoulders. She would bleed to death quickly, and Joan left her to die on the floor, hoping it would be painful.

She looked around, noting how many people were still left alive. She watched Judgement corral three students, one of which fainted from terror. He set them all on fire and then whisked off for new prey. The girl who fainted woke up screaming, but the screams didn’t last very long.

Where was Anne?

(she ran)

(coward coward coward)

She had to go after Anne.

Joan got into the sprinklers overhead and activated them. The spray of water felt amazing over her tingling skin. The blood, mostly dried, began to run in red trails, but she knew it would do little to really clean her the way she wanted it to.

(i’m coming Anne)

But first, she had to finish what she started.

--

Violet took one step too close to the white tree where the watching dragon was perched. Having spotted her, the dragon roared a challenge, extending its wings in a brilliant display of dominance.

The roar it made was earth shattering.

Violet was still recovering from the roar when the dragon jumped down and its spiked forearm slammed into her chest, catapulting her backwards. It went after her, crushing several students into nothing beneath its talons, then pierced her with its tail, leaving her dangling several feet from the ground. Rich, ruby red blood drizzled from the razor sharp point.

She felt faint, the pain radiating through her like a dull ache as the dragon slowly brought her around, its beady white glass eyes fixed on her. She tried to wriggle free, but the sharp edge of the tail tearing into her unresisting flesh caused her to slide further down the blood-streaked appendage. The tail grated through her organs, cutting clean through them. She coughed blood and moaned weakly. Everything was starting to spin.

  “Violet!!” Lara cried from down below.

Violet coughed blood again. The dragon lashed its tail and sent her flying free. She hit the floor roughly, hearing several bones snap, and then went very still. The last thing she ever heard was the sound of Lara’s skeleton being crushed in the jaws of the dragon.

--

Aragon was rarely ever scared, but the mayhem that had erupted throughout the gym nearly had her paralyzed with fear. For a moment, as she watched the destruction break out, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, especially when she saw Anthony Lee spill his guts from his mouth, but when the sprinklers kicked on overhead, she put her head back on her shoulders.

She had to get out.

Amid the chaos, she saw a flash of white and purple- Bessie. She hurried over to the bleach-haired student, who was in the middle of a pretty bad panic attack, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Bessie! Bessie? Bessie, listen to me!” She shook her shoulders. “Come with me, alright?”

Bessie, unable to muster up any comprehensible reply, nodded. Aragon took her hand and began guiding her to a set of side doors that weren’t as blocked off as the rest of the exits. However, they were just as jammed as all the others.

  “Fuck!” Aragon hissed, yanking on the handle.

  “Wh-what do we do, Miss Aragon?!” Bessie whimpered, shivering.

Aragon looked around desperately, then located a vent up near the ceiling nearby.

  “Get a chair!”

Bessie obeyed and grabbed the closest, most stable chair she could find. Aragon stood on it and ripped off the vent cover, then hopped back down. She had to let her kids go first.

  “Go!” She shouted over the pandemonium. “Hurry! Get in!”

Bessie didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels and stood up on the chair, scrambling into the vent as quick as she could. Several other students who were smart enough to come over followed her in. By the time it was her turn to climb in, the sprinklers had cut off and the ground was covered in a layer of water.

Joan stepped off of the stage slowly. With every step she took, the water around her spread away so she would be walking on dry ground. Above her, the electrical equipment holding up the spotlights crackled, and Aragon realized what was about to happen.

  “EVERYBODY, GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!” She screamed.

Aragon leapt up onto the chair and flung her arms inside the vent. As she was pulling herself up, the chair flipped and she was left dangling above the ground. And, at the same time, the electrical equipment exploded into sparks and fell to the floor.

It was horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. She watched her students spasm as they were electrocuted and then drop to the ground like birds with broken wings. Hundreds must have died, and she would soon join them. Any second now, her arms would give out and she’d plummet into the electrically charged water, joining the kids as a corpse inside the gym.

Her life began to flash before her eyes, surely thinking she was about to die. But then, a strange, unseen force began to lift her up and tuck her gently into the vent. When she turned her head, she saw Joan looking at her with shining eyes.

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Share a spoiler for an OC of your choice! :)

OMG IT WORKED.

Ok ok ok

So for Magic and Miracles, Selena gets into a really bad car accident, it's supposed to be the homage to the events in Kingsglaive where Selena dies when Niflehiem attacks where Nyx yells "Selena get down!" @the-immortal-marshal read what I have so far and she's the QUEEN of that angst and she loved it because it is REALLY SUPER ANGSTY. My M and M fans are going to want to hunt me down for sport, it's gonna be great.

For Blood For Gold

Audra's suitor will give her a "gift" that forces her to reveal the truth about her late husband's "mysterious" death that will land her in hot water, with the law, the stables, with Demsey. And then it's a case of what is the truth, what is justice, and will anyone ever get thier justice?

For Jewel of the North

Zara and Noah's first attempt at blending their two families to try to see if they can make it work- goes HORRIBLY WRONG like one of those everything that could go wrong is going wrong and it's worst case scenario all around, like dumpster fire floating down a flood kind of disasters. It's make or break time.

For Heaven and Fire

Brock tries to make a wooing feast for Benyana to try to make up for his time while he was possessed by a demon. Cuteness ensues.

Also there is another one that's been brewing, it's actually the story of the first Audravienne, only its set like 300-400 years BEFORE Blood for Gold and it showcases Audravienne Tumay who is the mother of peacock orcs. An orc breed I've invented that they are peacock royal blue and indigo violet and amethyst purple with purple and teal eyes.

And it's actually set about a year or two before the events of Heaven and Fire and Benyana and all of her other moura "sisters" who married into Brock's clan are the mothers to Aquamarine orcs which are the color of obviously blueish green aquamarine.

And then what you get when you mix Aquamarine orcs with peacock orcs? PARADISE ORCS. orcs who are peacock teal as a base with splashes of royal blue and indigo violet with bright purple eyes, aka Jewel Orcs. Who then, after a few generations get tempted back into the moura stables where they they dominate most of Europa (a continent loosely based on Europe in my imaginary world)

Tada!

See I haven't forgotten or abandoned anything. I'm just having A LOT go down in my personal life right now, like, my maternal grandparents are dying, my parents have already left to take care of them cause my grandparents are in AZ, I'm in OH as were my parents as of April but they left then and have been there ever since and will continue to be there until my grandparents kick the bucket whenever that will be and my sisters are in TN and MI and we got told 'come and say goodbye while they still know who you are' and so qwe are leaving on Wednesday. And it's frustrating when you're helpless because while I am an LMT with a surprising amount of Medical knowledge and know how, I'm not a nurse. I wish I was a nurse so I could help more but I also have my own family to take care of. My husband and my daughter. And I can't drop everything to help. I want to but it's not reasonable or realistic.

But that means I've been taking on my parents dog, Buddy who I love dearly and adore and give him more scritches and kisses than my husband lol. He is an Australian shepherd, border collie, Eskimo mix. Who wants to either herd my cats, hunt down squirrels, rabbits and moles WITH VORACITY, OR CUDDLE. Like he is a 75lb lap dog. Who would LOVE to SLEEP ON YOU. Because the Eskimo in him goes "MUST CUDDLE, MUST KEEP WARM WHEN NOT PULL YOUR SLED" and I'm like 'No, it's 89 degrees with 90% humidity NO. You're adorable and I love you and you are SO SOFT and you look like a cow." Then he goes-" then listen to the song of my people" because again... Eskimo. Which is CLOSE ENOUGH to Huskies. But he LOVES my daughter and will defend her TO THE DEATH.

[aww-writing-no]

Irony:

Surprising nobody that knows them, Clint and Matt meet in a dumpster. 

When Matt finds out Clint is mostly deaf, he sends him a music appreciation CD boxed set. Tony has a lot of things to say about people who still buy CDs, but Clint just sends Matt one of those giant illustrated books of renaissance art. 

It becomes something of a competition after that. Clint gets a meditation soundscape cassette tape that he’s not entirely sure where Matt managed purchase, and Matt gets a paint by numbers kit of a happy looking cow wearing a flower garland. Clint gets a white noise maker, and Matt gets an Avengers novelty night light. Matt doesn’t tell Clint how much Foggy loves the night light, and Clint doesn’t tell Matt how calm Lucky is after he starts using the white noise maker. 

They step it up when Matt buys a pair of tickets to the symphony and drags Clint along. Clint gets a Groupon for paint night, and Matt ends up sticking the paintbrush in his wine glass by accident.

So does Clint. 

Clint takes Matt to the new photography exhibition at MoMA and the two of them get burgers after and laugh hysterically over the reactions of the other patrons when they noticed the blind guy “looking” at the artwork. 

Matt takes Clint to a poetry slam. “I don’t get this,” Clint whispers to Matt halfway through. “Neither do I,” Matt responds. They end up leaving at intermission to get ice cream sandwiches from the food truck on the corner. 

A few months later, a rumor gets out that Hawkeye is dating a blind lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen. Clint frames the article in a garish purple frame and gifts it to Matt. The next time he comes over, it’s mounted on the wall in the living room. It clashes horribly with the rest of the decor. 

The next month Matt sends Clint a podcast about infidelity among the Avengers that includes a bit about Hawkeye cheating on his lawyer boyfriend with the vigilante called Daredevil. Clint saves it to his phone before sending it to Nat. Apparently she’s cheating on Steve with Bruce, Clint, and Bucky. 

The first time Clint tells Matt he loves him, he does it in a “get well” card he picks up after Matt has an altercation with a bunch of street thugs that ends particularly poorly. “You know they make cards in braille,” Matt tells him, running his hands over the flat paper. “Where’s the fun in that?” Clint asks.

The first time Matt tells Clint he loves him, he whispers it in his ear over breakfast before Clint’s put his hearing aids in for the day. “Hand over the coffee,” Clint tells him, reaching a sleepy hand towards the coffee pot. 

They’ve having dinner at their favorite pizza joint when Matt notices a spike in Clint’s heart rate. When Clint kneels on the floor, pulling a small box out of his pocket with sweaty hands, Matt’s does too. 

“Did you lose something?” Matt asks, sliding off his chair to pat the floor under the table. “I don’t see anything.” 

Clint snorts, reaching over to hold Matt’s hand in his. “No, but I think I found something.” He puts the now-open ring box in Matt’s hand and scoots closer. “Will you marry me, Matt Murdock?” 

Matt touches the ring with a shaking finger. “Of course I will, Clint Barton.” 

When Clint slips the ring on his finger, Matt holds his hand up to his face. “It’s beautiful.” 

Clint laughs, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re an idiot, but I love you.” 

[defleurtradingco]

Éclaire de la Lune- Purple

(Previous: Owl, Next: Irony)

“And then now we-” He paused, scowling. “...No, no,” This was the fifth take and he still couldn’t get it right. How the hell was he supposed to post this stupid video on time when everything was going about as well as a dumpster fire??

He stopped off set and away from his camera, right out of his makeshift studio back at the company building.

Everything was irritating. Grating, infuriating, annoying- bad.

Every little thing. And the more people avoided him (they weren’t even subtle about it) the more annoyed he would become.

It was one of those days.

Though, in his defense, it had been ‘one of those days’ for several days now, with no foreseeable end in sight.

Solaina had been coming down the same hallway, barely offering him any form of acknowledgment until they brushed past each other physically, shoulder to shoulder, when there was clearly room to move.

“What t- Grandfather??” “Leave me be right now.” He growled.

Solaina did not, and went after him. “What is wrong?? You aren’t even wearing your glamour today- did it dispel?” She asked. He was crabby but he usually wasn’t THIS crabby.

“I am having a time, this video isn’t coming out how I want it to.” “And that is reason to snarl and glare at everyone that comes down the hallway?? Why aren’t you working at your store?” Fortunato hadn’t been to the bakery in several days, and he had stopped talking about it. He made no attempt to even consider that it was still in existence. He didn’t want to.

It made him angry.

But, more importantly, he couldn’t bear the thought of Ange walking in asking him where he had gone. Not after that.

“Grandfather please tell me what is wrong.” Solaina asked again as she followed him all the way to the cafeteria. “Did something happen?” “No.” He grumbled, going right for the sandwiches.

It was always the sandwiches.

He sat down at a table and started to eat then, just wanting to drown everything out. Solaina included.

She didn’t let up though, and sat next to him, waiting for an answer. “...Is it your guest?” She asked.

He didn’t answer. But, he did reach into his pocket to pull out the owl signet ring, handing it to her then.

Solaina took it, turning it over a few times to examine it. “Where did you get this?” “He dropped it at the bakery. I don’t have a good feeling about it. You keep it.” He said, going right back to his food.

As far as he was concerned? He was done with the man. He didn’t want to see him ever again if he could help it. And if he stayed in the company building, he might have not had to.

“I have never seen anything looking like this before. Maybe Tahrek knows something about it.” “Hmph, that old cow can’t POSSIBLY know about EVERYTHING to ever exist you know.”

Solaina frowned. “He knows of most things. You know this.” She knew that bit of it was Fortunato’s temper talking. “Anyhow… I would suggest taking a walk outside in the gardens, it is quite lovely out today.”

Fortunato kept to himself, refusing to answer.

“Oh, and I purchased more of that purple soda you are so fond of. I left it in your office.” Was her final piece before leaving him be.

The cobra continued to angrily eat his food. No amount of soda was going to make him feel better. Not today anyway.

[girlbookwrm]

Bah! Bah! Bah da-dah. Badabadabadadah bah dah dah! (<-- this is the iron man song)

THE MIGHTY ENDGAME REWATCH CONTINUES: PART THREE

(parts one and two are HERE)

The Gal Pal has joined us, so tonight we are three (@goteamwin is the Roommate and @pegasuschick is the Gal Pal.) This time we ALL pregamed with booze and cookies. 

Further note: It Has Been Years and I Still Miss The Old Marvel Logo

The Gal Pal: For a second I thought this was Lord of the Rings

THIS WAS A GAMBLE. I have to remind myself of this every time I watch this movie because this was a hhUUUUUGE gamble starring a recovering addict and directed by a nobody using technology that had been tested in Transformers, a franchise known for it’s kwality filmmaking (not u bumblebee i’m sure you’re g r e a t)

(the roommate would like it noted that they probably stipulated in RDJ’s contract that he wouldn’t be fully paid until he finished the movie because he’d flaked out on previous filming commitments for. you know. getting arrested and going to jail.)

This is a solid opening. A Super Solid Opening, in fact. Quality flashback. Actually TFA, take note. This is how you do a flashback, TFA

WELL THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

comedy moment with the stark missile here. 

Howard Stark Mark I. (of three. Never forget. that there are three howard starks)

Oh No it’s Wrong Rhodes. Rhong Wrodes? just Wrodes?

Obadiah Stane? Really?? who thought he was a good guy??? although I love how easily he does this “getting on the stand to accept an award for Tony” thing. like he’s done it a thousand times before. because of course he has.

GOD THEY'RE ALL SO YOUNG

no da Vinci his a fair comparison, actually, given that Da Vinci apparently designed loads and loads of Very Deadly Things. 

At this juncture, the Gal Points out:

Not to be super gay here, but I would observe that the later Iron Man movies get hotter lady extras. Just a note.

she is not wrong. 

You're better than this journalist lady.

actually wait is she only sleeping with tony for the purpose of snooping?

SHIT SHE TOTALLY IS.

on the one hand DAMN PEPPER I HOPE CHRISTINE GETS MEDICAL ATTENTION FOR THAT BURN but on the other hand BOO GIRL ON GIRL CRIME.

Tony your music is bad

why isn’t it the iron man song

what band is it that does the iron man song

black sabbath, said the Gal Pal and The Roommate in unison.

tony i thought you weren’t a painter how do you even know who pollack is

The perpetual question with this movie: Was the script That Good or is RDJ Just That Good?

Will We Ever Truly Know

WRONG RHODES HAS A POTATO FACE RIGHT RHODES HAS A GREMLIN FACE. YOU NEED CORRECT GREMLIN POTATO FACE PAIRING.

Things that Date This Movie:

Tony’s suits (the fabric ones)

The phones (ohhhhhhhhhh my god flip phones oh my gooooooooddddd)

the fact that the hero is a new york billionaire with his name on the side of a building and people actually like him

Wait is Obie fucking someone? NO DON'T MAKE ME THINK THAT

I hate this part NOSE NO THANK U. GROSS. GROSS. NO I DON’T LIKE IT. NO. i came here for an ACTION MOVIE not a BODY HORROR MOVIE HELP PLS

Yinsen is v well dressed. like. Yinsen is SO dapper wtf Tony looks like a bum by comparison. And his chemistry with Tony is Un. Paralleled (except by pepper.) He fucking NAILS THIS ROLE. Ho Yinsen, International treasure

sub note YINSEN’S FIRST NAME IS HO. YOU ARE ALL VERY WELCOME.

sub sub note: The Roommate spent like fifteen minutes calling him Jensen. This Seems Racist. She points out that I am being racist for thinking that. She may be right. 

the ten rings IT IS LOTR

“I don't watch Iron Man that often, it's always a surprise when I enjoy it” - The Roommate

I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T A PAINTER TONY. THOSE ARE VERY GOOD DOODLES FOR SOMEONE WITH NO ARTISTIC INCLINATIONS.

I love/hate that it’s like: Oh no this bad guy speaks English NOW WE'RE IN TROUBLE.

THAT. SEEMS. RACIST.

“Yes I would like a delivery date” says the roommate, someone very accustomed to working with clients that do not provide a coherent delivery date/schedule.

every time i see this scene i am reminded of that interview where Cevans is like: tthHHAT’S RDJ?? and then he licks his lips like the thirsty little bitch he may or may not be.

army recruitment - avengers - dick swinging contest - dumpster fire <-- this is literally the note i made for myself, i don’t know exactly how we got onto this particular sidetrack but look here’s the story:

the pentagon subsidized the early marvel movies, but then they stopped. that was a fun fact that I knew

the gal pal looked it up and it is Very Real. She was explaining to us that they STOPPED subsidizing marvel movies after the avengers because SHIELD. ‘Does the army answer to SHIELD or does SHIELD answer to the army?’

Me: SO ARE YOU TELLING ME. THAT THE ARMY. A REAL LIFE ORGANIZATION. STOPPED FUNDING MARVEL MOVIES. BECAUSE THEY GOT INTO A DICK MEASURING CONTEST WITH SHIELD AND MIGHT HAVE LOST????

yes

the answer to that question is yes

the military industrial complex is a dumpster fire.

32 minute mark and Tony has more time with yinsen than anyone else

I cannot believe it took them them THIS LONG TO FIGURE OUT SOMETHING WAS WRONG. No one thought to question that glowing thing in tony’s chest, just like: Nah that seems right. That’s part of the missile building process, right? They're working. this seems fine

It's still a horror movie but now Tony is the monster 

he was always the monster

YINSEN WE HARDLY KNEW YE

Tony Tedward Stark you're literally the only person in the world who didn't know Yinsen’s family was dead. “I’ll see them when I leave here?” THEY’RE DEAD TONY. THEY’VE ALWAYS BEEN DEAD.

also: YINSEN IS AN INTERNATIONAL TREASURE

Tony, at the end of this fight scene, is A) deaf from all the bullets pinging off his suit. B) very badly burned, and C) has broken every bone in his body.

All Jameses in the MCU come with an innate Bullshit Detection Sensor. “Steve’s in trouble” “What’s that explosion? probably Tony.” JAMES POWERS ACTIVATE.

40 minutes in and this is the first time I buy Wrodes as a pal. Maybe

Tony Stark: BRING ME BURGERS. YINSEN TOLD ME NOT TO WASTE MY LIFE

oh hey phil is here!

Tony you have PTSD ---- aaaand you also have a burger stashed in your sling? that’s the best thing. THAT’S THE BEST THING.

UGH GOD OBIE’S ON A SEGWAY GROSSSSS (as if we didn’t already know that he was evil just from his NAME)

The Gal Pal, re Tony vs his PTSD: of course he builds himself a suit of armor. we're lucky he didn't end up in a gimp suit.

me, internally: bold of you to assume he doesn’t.

I refuse to even imagine this movie with Tom Cruise it would be so Wrong. (For those who don’t know, the studio really wanted Tom Cruise  to play Tony, Jon Favreau really went to bat for RDJ against the studio, you know. on account of the whole. addiction getting arrested thing.)

TONY THIS IS A LABORATORY, WE WEAR OUR SHOES AND BUTTON OUR SHIRTS.

Mad money really dates this too. Add that to the list of things that date this.

Tony: Pepper you’ve got small hands, right? get down here.

 Now is the perfect time to remind you all that comics tony has canonically been pegged by Gamora.

You Are Welcome

A) pepper is great. B) Tony is definitely not really going into cardiac arrest. C) I’m remembering that they were my first Marvel OTP and I love them.

Re: Rhodey and the whole “Manned vs unmanned flight” and Tony coming in like “What about just the pilot with no plane” or whatever QUICK QUESTION ASKING FOR A FRIEND WHEN DOES THE FALCON PROGRAM HAPPEN

RDJ and his big sad brown cow eyes. 

The Roommate: I know I wasn’t into it at the time, because I was a youth and he’s like forty and I was like “No, he is Not For Me.”

Me: PAST YOU WAS A MORON.

The Roommate: Yeah i know that NOW.

Tony built his own keyboard that's so extra

Yikes generic ten rings bad guy you should put a bandage on that

ROBOT ABUSE, but also, can we talk about how much I love DUM-E, U, and also this entire sequence?

U is getting real fancy with the camera zooms

At this point we got into a discussion of whether the arc reactor gives Tony powers:

Me: Please. He’s a glorified normie. He’s the Batman of the Marvel Universe.

The Roommate: Yeah! He’s the Batman of marvel with out the...

Me: The what exactly? 

The Roommate: The dead... no his parents are... the car-- no he’s got lots of fancy-- The pearls. He’s the Batman of Marvel without the pearls.

now we have to wait until Civil War to see if Maria Stark is wearing pearls when she dies.

PIZZA. Obie is like the stepdad with that pizza. “I’m taking the pizza back. Nah go on take a slice.” G R O S S

Paul Bettany! You're better as a disembodied voice. 

The Roommate: I do not care for your purple robot form. I know Wanda does but--

Me: Listen. We’ve all made mistakes and bought an unreasonably large purple dildo

The Gal Pal: And we’ve all gotten attached to non-human characters. 

The Roommate: Like the fox from Robin Hood!

The Gal Pal: Exactly. And hey, maybe he just keeps going, you know? like the energizer Bunny.

Me, Upset: NONONONONONONO

The Roommate: now hang on a minute that’s interesting.

Tony, i feel like you didn't think though. But seriously, what is this scene? Why is there a Ferris wheel? Are those the director's kids?

YOU’RE DOING GREAT, DUM-E.

Tony, quick question, did you cut holes in all your tee-shirts? Why? There’s no need for it? It’s Literally? Just for the dramatic effect? Tony?? WHy??? ARe YoU LIke THiS????

they are literally titty windows

these shirts are probably very expensive

sToP

oooo the bad guy (side note, put on a bandaid my guy. get some neosporin or something) has the iron man 1.0 suit and waaaIT A SECOND ARE THERE BULLET HOLES IN THE CROTCH ARMOR??? DID THEY SHOOT TONY IN THE CROTCH?

First of all, Jarvis is a treasure, I’m sad they ever got rid of him, second of all I love that Tony can just show up unannounced at a Very Important Party and no one questions it, third of all:

Poooterrrrrr

Oh hey Phil is here!!

Oh Pep. You are so on top of things, you basically run SI, you know your fear about the deoderant is just paranoia. You applied twice and you have an extra one in your purse and you’re wearing perfume. You smell like roses and victory.

O! T! P!

Christine, why do you have these photos where have you been keeping them why don’t you just pull them up on your phoneOHHHH RIGHT THIS IS THE PAST THERE ARE NO SMART PHONES YET FFGHSSJJSJSDKDKD I FEEL OLD.

Tony is standing on a higher step than Obie for this. The Smolest Avenger.

This is the first full iron Man moment but all I can think is:

Toe socks Tony? really?

~Cool guys don't look at explosions~

SOMEONE REALLY NEEDS TO TELL MARVEL THAT MORE VILLAINS =/= BETTER VILLAINS.

Rhodes sees the boom on the screen and is like but… Tony is here. in the US. I know he's here. I'm 99% sure. 98%. (explosion #2) I’m 95% sure. (by explosion #5) I’m 42% sure that Tony is in the US.

Definitely the worse thing that Pepper saw was him cutting titty windows in his tee shirts

MARVEL! MORE VILLAINS ARE NOT BETTER VILLAINS!!

beeteedubs We All Hate the way Obie says “data” and “manufacturing.” Dah-tuh. Man-uh-fact-ering. U G H.

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND PEPPER I HAVE A NEW JOB NOW AND IT'S SAAAAVING THE PLANET

every movie ever: Is this hacking? Is this how hacking works?

Obie’s frankenstein vein and the way he slllluuuuurrrrps his whiskey. GROSS.

Oh Hey Phil Is Here!!!

What other applications?

WAIT WHAT OTHER APPLICATIONS ARE THERE FOR SHORT TERM PARALYSIS?

NO DON’T TELL ME I DON’T WANT TO KNOW

Hhhhhhow does Obie already have a specially designed arc reactor extractor?

TONY WHY DON’T YOU GET ON THE SCOOTER INSTEAD OF SHOVING IT AWAY? WOULDN’T YOU GO FASTER?

DUM-E IS A TREASURE

Re Pepper:

The Roommate: Pepper’s superpower is calling the right authorities and making sure the right people get arrested.

Me: so what I’m hearing is that Pepper’s superpower is being a responsible adult???

This Seems Accurate.

“Anything else I can do?” says Terrence Howard. “yeah, you can turn into don cheedle” say we all.

Where's the water in this creepy underground lair. Whyyyyyy are there water light effects? WHERE? IS? THE WATER???

OMG look at that cgi wowwwww he’s just coming up through the concrete and it is Definitely CGI.

dear obadiah stane: YOU DO NOT FIRE PEPPER POTS SHE IS ESSENTIAL. IF YOU FIRE PEPPER POTTS YOUR COMPANY COLLAPSES LITERALLY THE NEXT DAY.

Hey Obie. Did you put the Batman voice modulator in yourself orrrr... 

Holy Cow Digital Hand is Very Digital.

HANG ON ISN'T THIS EXACTLY WHAT ANT MAN DOES TO TONY IN CIVIL WAR???

Blow the reactor, he says. JUST DO IT, he says.

The Gal Pal: Shhhh you can hear Howard Stark rolling over in his grave

oh hey Zuul is coming

OH HEY PHIL IS HERE!!!!

The roommate: THAT'S NOT TRUE SMALL AIRCRAFT ARE VERY SAFE

WAIT WAS CAPTAIN MARVEL PHIL’S FIRST RODEO? *need to see Captain Marvel Intensifies*

“Girlfriend who worries about me” Tony says. It's Rhodes. Right? I mean. He already has a girlfriend who worries about him. It’s Colonel Rhodes. 

tony is so bad at lying

which is cute and all but FORREALS do you remember seeing this movie for the first time? whether you like Iron Man or not, whether you like MARVEL or not, this is fucking cinematic history happening here. this is the first franchise of its kind, it opened the door for so many others and it is so weird to remember that.

BAH! BAH! BAH DA-DUH. BADABADABADADAH! BAH DAH DAH!!

we have spent literally the entire movie waiting for this song to play

wow Jarvis u ok

THERE HE IS. Lookit him. with his eyepatch. he’s Seen Things. he’s Done Stuff. him and phil. geeze.

Me: I really wish I had just seen Captain Marvel 

The Gal Pal: I feel like that every morning

i mean i don’t want to harp on this given that we’ve already moved on from the incorrect hulk but WHY WOULD TONY STARK BE RECRUITING ROSS?????

[dragonnan]

Whump Snippets

A selection of whumpy moments from several of my stories with links if you’d like to read more! (warnings will be included)

Psych:

Better Off Decapitated No warnings

“It’s just a headache.”

“Sure Shawn. It could also be Swine flu. I’m taking you to your dad’s. And don’t breathe on me either.”

A challenge was it? Intending to do just that, Shawn turned his head, and abruptly hacked, causing Gus to lurch sideways in a frantic and fruitless attempt to dodge the spray. “Gah! Dude, mouth!” The wild action threw the little car into the next lane, thankfully free of traffic, before Gus managed to wrench it back- proceeding to lock his eyes on the highway while somehow bouncing a glare from the rearview mirror directly into Shawn’s forehead. “You could have killed us you idiot!”

Shawn rolled his eyes while rubbing at the spot where he swore he could feel a small burn mark forming from his friend’s laser sights. That or his headache was merely responding to the heightened levels of bitchy that was clouding the space around him like boiled egg flatulence.

Closing his eyes was better than blinking cow-like at Mr. Faces of Death. “Man this stinks.” he moaned while trying to rest the side of his skull against the passenger window. Several hard raps as the tires found every rut in the road and he was back to cradling his cranium in his cupped hands.

“I better not get sick Shawn. You know I can’t afford to take any more days off this month; Ogletree's been threatening furlough if I don't run my route according to his personal schedule.”

“What, like in between sending Haversham secret messages with his carrier pigeons?” Shawn chuckled but then gasped, immediately clutching his skull. Gus pressed his lips together while glancing at his friend once more.

“It’s just a migraine.” Shawn whined, trying and immediately discarding head massage as a technique for easing pain.

A disbelieving snort with the decibel level of a seven forty-seven drilled through his left cornea and started a minor brain bleed.

“Two minutes ago it was just a headache.”

Choosing to ignore the snidery of the comment, Shawn just folded down towards his lap, his fingers winding around to the back of his head. If he squeezed hard enough he could crack through the thick outer shell and release some of the pressure. Gus might be irritated by blood and brain matter on his dash, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made in the name of friendship.

“You okay?”

Did his vision just go blurry there for a second? That couldn’t be good. Maybe he needed to squeeze harder. “As you confirmed in your booming announcer voice, two minutes ago I told you it was just a headache.”

“And now?”

“Still a headache.”

The avenue of palm trees lining the road made intermittent stripes across the vehicle- brief shadows of fleeting coolness that only increased the drum of heat and light in the spaces between. The blast of air from the vents simply wasn’t enough to comfort his throbbing temples and he was ready for extreme measures involving tire irons and chloroform by the time Gus turned down the last street at the end of the block. Still hadn’t fixed that pothole he noted as the car jounced across the crater at the top of the driveway. Normally something Gus would drive through a lawn to avoid, the Grand Canyon of road hazards could not be bypassed except by vehicles equipped with wings. They both groaned as the Echo clawed back to smoother tar- though his friend’s distress had more to do with insurance premiums than his companion’s agony.

“Looks like your dad is gone…”

“Good, now you have no reason to leave me here. Just take me back to my apartment.”

“You’re the one that was crying about a burst water pipe and contacting FEMA.”

Shawn curled his fingers into the hair on the back of his head and slowly began to pull. “Yeah well… I think my couch… floats…”

Sherlock:

The Tiger and the Shark  Warnings for rape/non-con and violence

“Breathing is good – no sounds of blockage.” John tapped across Sherlock's chest, checked pulse and pupil response. No sign of concussion, either. That, too, was good. He clung to the very, very little that was good about any of this. Palpation of his belly gave no indication of internal bleeding but he'd want a scan, just the same.

Shoulder was a mess – skin dark with bruising and stretched taut over the dislocated joint. While John wanted to ease the associated pain, there was no telling if Sherlock had also sustained a fracture so he felt it best to immobilize as best as he could and move on to more pressing injuries.

The agents Mycroft had employed were useless in medical treatment – no surprise. Singularly focused on Sherlock's rescue, they now sat about the helicopter like so much luggage. Sherlock's reactions had been minimal – a few slow blinks before his pupils had rolled back behind his lids. Once back to a facility with proper equipment, they'd need to test his blood to determine if he'd been given anything. Of course he'd been given something. Probably a lot of something.

The medical kit available to him was well stocked but a surgery bay this wasn't. And by well stocked, John could patch up a bee sting, postpone anaphylactic shock, and stitch a few minor lacerations. Still, he dug free one of the ice packs and gave it a shake – mixing the chemicals that started to freeze the pouch in his hand. Laying a thin cloth over the worst of the bruising on Sherlock's chest, he snapped fingers towards one of the agents propping up the sides of the helicopter. A hesitation, just a moment, before the young man angled across the sloping floor to kneel beside John.

“What's your name?”

“Uh, Dowd. Bastian Dowd.”

“Bastian. Hold this, here.” John grasped the man's hand and pushed it firm against the ice pack – keeping the frozen product against the darkening contusion.

Sherlock's eyes rolled open again – a bit less foggy then before.

“Hey – hey, you with us?” John pressed a folded square of gauze against the deep gash on the right side of Sherlock's abdomen. He noted the five circular bruises, already deep purple, just above Sherlock's hip – knowing there would be a matching set on the other side. His face twisted and he sucked his lips between his teeth – throat gulping as he worked though his reserves of composure until he could prop himself up enough to get through this.

“C...co...”

“You're cold?” John pointed to another agent – not bothering with a name this time. “You, find me a blanket!”

He turned back to Sherlock – whose lips had turned down in what John, could swear, was an aggravated frown.

“Co... coat...”

John blinked. “You... want your coat?” Of all the... He shook his head – accepting the blanket handed to him and draping it over Sherlock's body; forcing Dowd to sit back out of the way. “I didn't see your coat. Sorry, mate, I was a little distracted by my half-dead friend at the time.”

Now it definitely was a frown. “C-cut... it.”

Less attention on the stuttered words, John only nodded as he found a thermometer and pressed it into Sherlock's ear. Not as accurate as the sort taken under the tongue but, then, he'd never had any luck with getting Sherlock to keep one in his mouth long enough for a reading anyhow.

“He... cut it...” Still struggling with speech. John nodded again; removing the device after a soft beep and frowning at the readout. 35c. Not so good. John, without looking, gestured for another blanket. Without a thorough exam he couldn't be certain what had triggered the drop in body temp. The room had been chilly but not freezing and, given the approximate drive time to reach Appledore, Sherlock wouldn't have been there longer than an hour, at most. Shock was the most likely culprit so, until they could reach hospital, the best that could be done would to be to keep Sherlock warm.

A hard wind struck their transportation – rocking the helicopter. Sherlock lashed out a hand – clamping iron fingers around John's sleeve. He didn't make a sound but his breath sucked in rough gasps – eyes flinching tight.

“It's alright – it's alright...” Nothing much left but to monitor until they arrived, John slipped into a stereotype of comfort – trying to shove his thoughts far away from what he'd seen – only to find them snapping back into that room...

Even in this state, however, Sherlock was less than accepting of the pat words that rolled too easily from his lips.

“...sss'not al...right...”

Chastised, John covered Sherlock's fingers with his own – feeling their tremor. “No.” He pushed out a breath filled with all of the things burning in his chest... but had nothing more to add but repetition – as his friend never accepted lies; not even ones meant as comfort. “It's not,” his mind supplying the rest of the words – unspoken, 'but it is what it is...'

MCU:

Not the Hero Type  No warnings

Half his age and twice his height, Stuart Little and Tiny Tim were pawing the trinkets they'd collected from his person after that yellow flag moment minutes ago. They'd gone all out on their little urban Robin Hood cliché too. Their mothers and/or parole officers would be so proud. In addition to the tire iron they'd also managed a suitably dark and litter infested alley. All that was missing were the ra... oh, never-mind. One of the cat sized squeakers was just crawling from the dumpster about six feet downstream.

“Where's the cash?”

Tony lolled his leaking skull left-wise; bringing himself up to speed that one of the fine young gentlemen had wandered back to his side of the alley sometime in the last few... hours? Yeah, that was a concussion.

“That's the-green stuff, right?” Slurring. Kinda took the edge off his response but hopefully the all teeth grin helped it along.

Yup, sure did. Helped it right into a fist planted somewhere to the right of his appendix.

“Umph! Mmm... stellar delivery.” He coughed, noting the flavor of freshly diced liver on his palette. “No, really,” he wheezed, pushing slightly more vertical against his wall. “Watch a lot of Lamont Peterson?” He cocked his head. “Nah, you strike me as more of a Butterbean fan...”

Strike – got it in one as the second wallop emptied lungs and sarcasm but had the satisfaction of a yelp and gouged knuckles as his assailant stumbled backward, staring. Not just a glorified pacemaker and dream chaser, it also slices and dices. Though smoothed and polished for that nonabrasive comfort and style, the casing of his arc reactor was still metal. Very hard and very undentable by human knuckles no matter how large they were. Maybe still lacking in verbal comebacks, Tony still managed a wincing wink through his scrambled gasps.

The other guy stashed the Patek Philippe, no doubt dazzled with the notion of raking in a couple hundred for that bit of wrist gadgetry at the closest pawn shop in spite of the original sticker price. Tony didn't even know the original sticker price. Could care less about the sticker price and would be content with a hunk of plastic dressed up with Mickey Mouse so long as it alluded to the time. It didn't necessarily have to keep the right time either. An approximation... really. At least within a twelve hour window.

“That some kinda vest?” Big bad and angry grappled with complete sentences around the mouthful of scraped flesh. His buddy, still going through their recent windfall, was back to picking through the wallet that had yet to disgorge anything more than plastic.

He watched both young men while evaluating his own limits. Scruffy, oversized clothes in spite of their height. Easy enough to overpower them both. Even with him injured it wouldn't honestly be a fair fight. He'd gotten his breath back, now. Still dizzy and blinking hard but he could work with that. Wouldn't pass up a glass of Scotch. He'd even be happy with a stick of Juicy Fruit.

Or a... rock.

Good enough. His fingers crawled towards the... huh... not rock. Pitted, carbon black, the outer curved edge held a slight sheen. A tooth. Not even a whole tooth – just the sheared off tip from one of those... flying eel... things. The kid currently engaged with his wallet suddenly called for his buddy, giving Tony the chance to tuck the tooth into his palm as Clockwork Orange turned away.

Advantage him in those seconds, both with their backs turned and enough adrenaline to overcome the wobble, he pulled to his feet with barely a scrape of his heels, tooth dropping into his palm. Taking in a single breath to gather himself, he...

Legs. Funny time they chose not to work. Not funny hilarious but more like funny 'Oh Shit!'

“...oh fuck, dude, check out the name on the card! Dude, we just beat up Iro-KEVIN, LOOK OUT!”

Doctor Strange:

The High Cost of Dying No warnings

He felt a ripple travel from shoulders to waist – the cloth encasing his torso constricting – shivering mild panic through his chest and he fought not to tear the not-a-cardigan from his body – god, he couldn't breathe! Trying to push himself up, he trembled at the stiff ache throbbing through his midsection. His brain analyzed the symptoms even as he struggled to understand why... he was going into shock. His arms folded beneath him; dropping him to his side and he felt the first real bloom of heat in his back. He couldn't reach it with his hands but he could feel another sensation – wet – and understood, suddenly, what had happened... just not

“How... h-ho-how... what...?”

A shaking, terrified voice responded. “I'm sorry – God I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn-I didn-I didn't m-mean – please, oh my God, don't die – please don't die – oh my God!”

The clerk – babbling – sneakers squeaking as he, apparently, made several running steps back and forth. And then a sob – a metallic clank as something heavy dropped on the counter.

“Please – you have to come quick! He's bleeding – I think he... he's been shot and I think he's dying!”

Stephen tuned out the 911 call in the background. The kid wasn't wrong. Though he wasn't, yet, feeling the pain that he knew would hit once the adrenaline faded, he knew, roughly, where he'd been shot. Large intestine and possibly the right kidney were compromised – no exit wound so the bullet likely struck bone – angle suggesting slight upward path and... Stephen gasped – tasting blood... probable lung involvement.

Weakness was rapidly stripping away his ability to move – his fingers splayed – shaking. His vision was started to go unfocused – a darkening grey at the edges. Color had already begun to leech from his sight.

Everything stopped in his next breath – grey brightening to silver and everything tunneled to a single pinprick...

He burst free; his body left behind with the shade of his astral form lifting above – evaluating the damage from an outsider's perspective. Literally. Moving closer, he slipped his fingers past the layers of cloth and skin. A warm glow lit the interior – highlighting veins and bone and organs...

A clatter and startled shout reminded him of the clerk – the young man standing just behind him and currently staring at the light show with his jaw slack. In another moment, he swallowed – rubbing his head and muttering.

“Oh my God... that isn't normal...”

Interesting... Terrified but he hadn't run away, yet. Stephen pushed his head and shoulders into the physical world. “It also isn't normal to stand around gaping while a man bleeds out on the floor – no thanks to you.”

“Holy shit! Ohhhh holy shit!!” Backpedaling into an end cap of Hostess snack cakes, the young man pointed a shaking hand at the ghost apparently haunting the cracker aisle.

“Holy shit, you're dead – you're dead – are you dead?? Oh, God, don't kill me!”

“Okay, calm down, I'm not going to kill you... Wayne.”

Wayne wrapped his arms around himself, half bending at the waist – long dreadlocks swinging into his eyes. “How- how- how...?”

Forgoing the cliché of pointing out the prominent name tag, Stephen frowned. “Because I'm a powerful sorcerer and I can read your mind.” At Wayne's already ashy face losing yet more color, Stephen rolled his eyes. “I read your name tag. Now, do you mind?” He gestured to the widening blood pool.

[purple-cow-dumpsters]

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[loubuggins]

Raven’s Revenge, Chapter 3: Run

Author’s Notes: Did y'all think I abandoned this story? Shame on y'all! lol jk I promise this story is not going to be abandoned. I’m just an insanely busy person who has to put work and school first. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and that this was worth the wait! Not much action happening in this chapter, but it will explain some of Raven’s motives, so happy reading! As always, please leave a review so I know you liked what you read!

P.S. My laptop broke so this had to be posted on mobile. Please forgive the inconvenient format.

Disclaimer: Drake Daniels, Landon, and the Dragon Knights are all OC’s created by bearhow, who has graciously allowed me to adopt them. lol

The trip to Steele City was uneventful. Tempers were still high, so each Tyrant kept to themselves as they flew in their specially designed private jet. The plane was made up of smaller compartments, each belonging to an individual Tyrant. Two pods acted as wings, while one pod in the front acted as the head, and one pod in the rear acted as a tail. There was a fifth pod in the center, but that pod was now vacant. Robin sat in the front pod, his scarred face starring out the window with a sense of determination. Far behind him, in the tail-end pod, was his pissed alien girlfriend. The banished princess was facing the opposite side. This was designed so that she could defend them from behind if they found themselves being trailed, but for now, she used it as an excuse to ignore the obsessive man behind her.

She hated what that witch did to her lover. She knew he was once a fearless, merciless criminal. It was that demoness that turned him into this cowardly worm. The alien woman was initially attracted to the martial artist, because of his strength, but as their relationship progressed, she found herself doing something she swore she’d never allow herself to do. She fell in love with him. It was due to this change of heart that Blackfire stayed around. She surprisingly wants her stupid boyfriend to succeed as the leader of their gang, but this new Raven development through any progress that had been made out the window. This was why she was so angry. She was furious with that demon-spawn for once again, taking the Robin she knew and loved away from her.

“Tyrants prepare for landing.” The voice of the man of her thoughts sounded through the staticky speaker. Blackfire openly sighed as she began pressing a few button and dials, doing her part to help with the landing. As their ship lowered onto the landing mat on top of the East Tyrant’s tower, Blackfire came to the decision, that she would allow her love these next few days to gather himself, and when he was ready, she would return to the issue. Raven was coming, and denying that fact would be a fool’s errand.

Robin turned off the ship, and each pod opened, allowing the other Tyrants to step out of their respective pods. Robin used one hand to pull himself up and over his pod, and landed himself firmly on two feet. A few yards away, standing at a safe distance, were the familiar bodies of the resident Tyrants East. They had met this group of Tyrant wannabes a few months back. There had been reports of a team of villains operating in this East-side city under a similar name. Once word caught up to the original Tyrants, they decided to pay these impersonators a visit. Their initial meeting do not do well, ending with both teams exhausted and beaten. After that, it didn’t take long for the opposing teams to join forces and take on some of the more challenging swindles and heists. A friendship had formed out of neutral benefit for each other.

“I have to admit that this improvised visit came off as a surprise to me team and I, Robin.” The commanding sound of a woman’s voice called from the other group as Robin approached them, his own team right on his heels.

“Well we aren’t really known for our politeness.” The boy blunder shot back, joining in on the playful banter.

“That you are not.” The same strong, feminine voice agreed as the owner stepped up to meet him. The two leaders met half way, and stared each other down. Both teams tensed as their leaders took each other in, their eyes never wavering. It was Robin who broke the silence by extending his hand.

“Good to see you, Wasp.”

“Good to see ya too.” Wasp accepted his handshake. She was a tall, African-American woman dressed in a black and yellow stripped suit, and glossy wings fluttered behind her. As an old Brotherhood of Justice member, she held some of the best inside intel on the superhero group, which always came in handy.

“So you gonna tell us why y'all are here?” The strong woman probed as she gestured for the group to follow them down into the tower.

Robin matched her pace as they went up to the stairs that led down into the tower. “Let’s get inside first. You’re going to want to sit down for this one.”

~~~~~~~

“Food!”

A pair of floppy, green ears perked up as the jade-furred dog sniffed the air in a particular direction. The scent musky scent of flesh swamped his senses, making his mouth drool and his tail wag. The green hound took off in the direction of the enticing smell. Dodging cars and city folk wandering down the busy streets of Jump City, the young dog followed the scent up to a building made of metal and glass. The intoxicating aroma of cow meat radiated off this building.

“A steakhouse! Jackpot!”

The canine snuck down the surrounding alleyway, and traced the scent to a large green container behind the building. Once he reached his target, he dog barked in excitement and then his small body transformed into the lean body of a fifteen-year-old boy.

The boy, who’s raggedy old black and purple spandex uniform fell in shreds, took a few clumsy steps toward the dumpster. His claws fingers wrapped themselves over the edge of the bin and with all his strength, he pulled his green body over the edge and fell into the container. His back instantly met the piles of garbage on the inside. Taking a second to catch his breath, the dirty lad began digging through the old food until he found his prize. A partially eaten, medium rare, prime rib. The shapeshifter licked his lips as his stomach growled in hunger. Without wasting another second, he used his calloused hands to pick up the slab of meat and brought it up to his awaiting fangs.

“Garfield!”

The changeling jumped at the sudden sound of his name. His pointed ears stood erect and his emerald eyes frantically searched for the source of the voice.

“Garfield!” The voice shouted again. This time he shifted back to a dog and growled, hackles raised and ready for a fight.

“Foolish mutt! Wake up!”

An older version of the boy flung open his eyes. A sharp pain shot through his rear end which sent him flying in the air with a frightened yelp. He quickly shifted into a house cat and landed on his four feet. His fur stood on end and his tiny frame shook with a mix a fear and annoyance.

A woman dressed in a dark red leotard and matching cloak rolled her amethyst eyes in aggravation.

“Imbecile.” She muttered under her breath as she moved away from startled feline. “It’s time for us to go.” She said in a much more commanding voice as she exited the cave the two had been staying in for the past couple of nights.

The cat transformed back into its human form.

“You really need to work on your wake up calls.” The man complained as he followed her out.

The sorceress snorted at his statement, but chose not to address the subject further. There were more important topics on hand.

“Where we are going will take time to find. I only have an idea of where this dragon kingdom is located. Plus, my magic isn’t strong enough now to teleport us in one go. I predict I can take us as far as Bermuda today. Then tomorrow I will take us to the Alps of Switzerland, where it is believed the hidden Kingdom of Kuarlong lies.”

“A night in Bermuda? Sounds romantic.” The changeling teased as he waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.

“This isn’t a vacation!” Scolded the demoness, her eyes flashing crimson. Garfield flinched away, but her anger spontaneously dissolved and her dangerous glare became a lustful gaze. She ran a sharpened nail down the man’s chiseled face, stopping at his pointed chin. The way she looked at him sent shivers down his spine. “But I’m sure we’ll have some time to waste tonight.” She amended, before the lust in her eyes changed back to determination. Her hand wrapped around his face, squeezing his cheeks. “Let’s go.”

And with those final words the pair disappeared into a black puddle of magic.

~~~~~~~

The Tyrants East Tower was very similar to that of the Tyrants West. The giant T-shaped structure cast an ominous shadow over the nearby city that was at its mercy. With very little Brotherhood of Justice presence, it made their rein over the city a walk in the park. The state-of-the-art equipment that was showcased in their home was proof of their recent success. As the residents of this tower escorted their guests through the halls, some of them walked in stride as they noticed the awestruck faces of Arsenal and Tempest or the jealous scowl of Blackfire. Leading the pack, Red Robin and Wasp engaged in a light conversation, comparing stories of recent crimes and how each leader’s city was faring. Blackfire kept right at their heels, her dark green eyes observing the exchange with a suspicious glare. Considerably behind her were Arsenal and Tempest, being followed closely by the other members of the Tyrants East, Cyborg, Flamebird, and Mas and Minos.

Cyborg was clearly the second in command, his large body complete with prosthetic well….everything. He had one infrared eye that moved about on its own, creeping the hell out of their guests. To his right, a thin and tall blonde woman dressed as a flame walked confidently beside him. She wore a smug look on her face as she kept in step with the half man, half machine. On Cyborg’s other side, the speedster twins, Mas and Menos, had their eyes fixated on the newcomers.

Once they arrived in the common room area, Wasp gestured to the couch. “Make yourselves at home. Robin, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment.”

Robin nodded his head and stepped forward, but was cut off by his fuming alien girlfriend. “I’ll join you, if that’s okay with you, Robin.” She shot him a challenging look, before diverting it to Wasp.

“That won’t be necessary, Blackfire.” Wasp spoke coolly, but had an obvious look of announce.

Blackfire turned her head to Robin, her expression softening somewhat. “Please Love? I insist.”

Robin gave her a spetical look, but decided this would not be the hill he dies on.

“Fine.” He said with a nod of his head. Wasp quietly growled, but stilled turned to lead the pair to her study.

Her study was not far from the common room, and was littered with maps of the city, photos of big name heroes or law enforcement, and models of different insects. She led them to her desk and big brown-leather chair, which she plopped herself in before spinning around to face her guests.

“So, Robin, do you plan on telling me why you are here or are you going to keep me guessing?” She inquired with a smirk as she twisted in her chair.

“Well unfortunately we aren’t here to catch up. Do you remember when you had asked me about are old teammate?” Judging by his sudden serious demeanor, the mutant girl lost her smirk, and sat up in her chair.

“The demoness, yes I remember. You flipped out and told me never to say her name again.”

Robin simply nodded his mostly shaved head. “Right. Well there is a reason for that.”

“You don’t say?” The woman bit back sarcastically.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” The criminal wonder snapped.

“Alright, geez. Continue.”

“A few months before we all met, my team and I were helping her complete a mission. She said it would be are greatest mission yet, if only we did exactly what she said. What we didn’t realize is that we were just her slaves working to our own demise.”

Robin began to feel his heart race again at the painful memories. His throat clenched up and his body began to shake. He stepped away slightly, trying in vain to hide his episode.

“Robin, you okay man?” Wasp wondered with slight concern.

Inpatient and wanting to divert the rival leader’s attention away from her vulnerable boyfriend, Blackfire continued for him.

“She was after power.” She started, earning the other girl’s attention. “The throne of Hell, to be exact. It had been part of her plan all along. First, she agreed to aid the Brotherhood in defeating her father, who was on the throne at the time, then she conspired to force herself on the throne. Like fools, we let her feed us lies. False promises of wealth and power if we helped her succeed. It wasn’t until the last minute when we discovered her true intentions.”

“She was going to enslave us. All of us. Heroes and villains, citizens and criminals, the whole Earth was going to be under her rule. Instead of destroying planets, like her father, she wants to rule over them.” Robin interjected.

Wasp looked at them baffled by their tale. “Well how’d you guys stop her?”

“We didn’t.” Robin answered. “Landon did. We only helped.”

“And that is?”

“An ambitious demon who wanted the throne for himself. He was too cowardly to confront that witch and her Hell-born followers, so he came to us for help. That’s how we found out of her true intentions. With his help, and the help of a few other demons who didn’t want to see the blood of Trigon rule again, the Brotherhood and my team were able to sedate her and her number two. We locked them up at Arkham and threw away the key.”

Robin had finished his explanation, but the proud leader wasn’t satisfied yet. “Well that was interesting story, but it still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

This time, Blackfire answered, with flames in her eyes. “Because she has escaped, along with her pet, and has had a whole year to devise a revenge plan to slaughter us all!”

Wasp looked at her, unfazed. “And you thought leading her here would solve all your problems?”

Robin stepped up. “We just need a place to lay low for a few days while we plan are next move. Our home is compromised, so please, help us out.” He pleaded.

Wasp huffed with irritation, but begrudgingly agreed.

“Fine. Two days. If you haven’t figured it out by then, you and your team are out of here.”

~~~~~~

A puddle of darkness opened up on the beach of Bermuda, the sand and water spraying up in a circular motion. Two figures rose up out of the portal and landed on the sandy shore. The cloaked figure staggered until her knees buckled from under her and she landed on the ground. The other figure ran to her side in an instant.

“Rae, are you okay?” The figure on all fours asked the exhausted woman.

“Yes, I’m fine Garfield. It’s just these cursed limitations to my powers.” She growled as she held her head in her hands in an attempt to soothe her pounding headache. “We must find shelter for tonight. I need to rest before we finish our journey.”

The green man nodded his head in understanding. Shifting his body into a wolf, he ran out into the nearby canopy in search of her demands. While he was gone, Raven looked to the evening sky. The stars danced in the darkness and the moon was full and swollen with light. Her violet eyes shone red with bloodlust as her mind wondered to those who had wronged her. A particular mohawked man coming to mind first.

“I will get my throne back, and when I do, I will not be taking any prisoners. Enjoy these few days, Robin, for they will be your last.”

[element-effect-blog]

50 Everyday Words That Actually Started as Brands and Trademarks

Madonna. Shakespeare. Oprah. Fabio. Bono. Adele. Picasso.

You know you’ve made it when you’re known by just one name or word; when a single spoken breath can trigger everything about you in the minds of the listener and it's practically synonmous with your product.

In many ways, this is the pinnacle of celebrity status and branding success, but when it comes down to business, sometimes it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

The Good & The Bad of Becoming a Word

Anthimeria is the term used to describe the act of using a word in a new grammatical form, most often a noun as a verb (i.e. Xerox being used to mean photocopying something).

On a positive note, this is a sign that your brand or product has been widely accepted by the general public. It means it’s in high-demand, is highly-recognized, and you’re most likely dominating your industry.

On a negative, however, when your brand becomes a commonly used noun or verb, trademark and brand dilution issues ensue, as tech giant, Google, has discovered in recent years.

As Attorney  Google’s prominent brand recognition has put the brand down the path of “...becoming synonymous with search engine services [of all kinds] and towards the genericization of a trademark.”

In fact, when Sweden’s national Language Council tried to add “ungoogleable” to its list of new words to mean “something that can’t be found on the Web using a search engine,” , “asking for changes showing the expression specifically refers to Google searches.”

When a name enters the general language or lexicon of a region like these did, it risks losing all of the established value and recognition that it has built up.

It becomes "genericized," referring to things not directly related to it and eventually diminishing the company's rights (and ability) to profit from it.

50 Everyday Words That Actually Started as Brand Names/Trademarks

Controlling the evolution of language is next to impossible, which is why so many brands have unintentionally found this fate.

That being said, brace yourself. Here are 50 things that started just as brand names and trademarks, but now are a part of our everyday vocabulary.

The list just may make question everything you thought you knew about life.

A trademark still owned and “aggressively enforced” by Gerber Childswear (yes, the same Gerber that makes baby food).  

What can you call it instead?: An infant bodysuit

This trademark has been owned by Zespri since 1997, though as recounted in Seth Godin’s The Purple Cow, the name has been in use since 1962 when New Zealand growers wanted to increase the fruit’s market appeal.

What can you call it instead?: A Chinese Gooseberry

3. Zipper:

Originally created and trademarked by the B.F. Goodrich Company for use in rubber boots.

What can you call it instead?:A clasp locker or zip fastener

4. Windbreaker: 

A trademarked word for light jackets originally owned by the John Rissman company of , recently becoming genericized.

What can you call it instead?: A lightweight jacket

5. Jet Ski:

Despite its common use in the U.S., this brand of "watercraft" is still owned and trademarked by Kawasaki Heavy Industries. 

What can you call it instead?: A personal watercraft

6. Escalator:

This was originally trademarked by Otis in 1900, but it was lost in 1950 when the word joined the public lexicon.

What can you call it instead?: A moving stairway/staircase

7. Tabloid: 

This trademark was originally owned by Burroughs Wellcome & Co as a word for compressed medicine/pills, but in the early 1900s it became a widely accepted term for compressed, short-form journalism.

8. Hula Hoop:

Before it was a hit song by Omi, it was just a simple plastic toy hoop marketed by Wham-O since 1958. The toy company still owns the rights to the name despite them coming into question in 2009.

What can you call it instead? A dancing ring or toy hoop

Introduced in 1971 by the Naxon Utilities Corporation of Chicago, the crock-pot was originally created as a beanery appliance but grew in home popularity as more and more women entered the workforce. Today, the Crock-Pot brand stresses that if it doesn't actually say "Crock-Pot" it's not an original. 

What can you call it instead? A slow cooker.

Probably one of the most widely-known genericized brands, Band-Aid was originally trademarked by Johnson & Johnson in 1920 and still stands today.

What can you call it instead? An adhesive bandage

11. Ping Pong:

Now, this misnomer seriously blew my mind. Believe it or not, Ping Pong is actually the name of a brand of table tennis tables, not the game itself. It was coined from the sound the ball makes when hit and originally trademarked by Jaques & Son back in 1901.

What can you call it instead?Table Tennis

12. Dumpster:

Trademarked by the Dempster Brothers in 1936, this name was a mashup of “Dempster” and “dump.”

What can you call it instead? Mobile Garbage Bin

Invented by George de Mastreal in 1941 during a walk in the woods with his pet dog, Velcro was officially patented in 1958 and has since been a trademark of Velcro Industries B. V.

What can you call it instead? Hook and loop fasteners

This one is owned to this day by 3M Corporation.

What can you call it instead? Clear Adhesive Tape

As the slogan has always stressed, “if it’s not a Duncan, it’s not a yo-yo.” This term was introduced and trademarked by the company in 1929 to refer specifically to its now iconic toy. It was, however, deemed generic in the U.S. in 1965.

What can you call it instead?: A toy on a string

16. Zip Code:

This was originally a registered service mark by the U.S. Postal Service, but has long since expired.

Created in 1997, Auto-Tune is actually the name of a popular audio processor made by Antares Audio Technologies.

What can you call it instead?: Pitch Correction

Popsicles were my favorite summer treat growing up, but it didn’t occur to me until pretty recently that it was specifically the popsicle brand that I preferred.

First trademarked in 1905 by Frank Epperson, the rights are currently owned by Unilever who state overtly in the footer of its website that “POPSICLE®...is NOT a name for just any frozen pop on a stick.”

What can you call it instead?: A frozen ice treat on a stick

Declared a generic term in 1963, this was originally trademarked by Thermos, LLC in 1904.

What can you call it instead?: Vacuum Flask

20. Granola (and Granula):

In 1921, Sanitarium Foods (a company owned by the Seventh-day Adventist Church in Australia) trademarked the word to describe foods made of whole-grain products crumbled and baked to a crisp. The rights were officially lost to genericization in 2012. 

21. Frisbee:

Originally trademarked by Wham-O in 1957, the rights to this one are still going strong. The game and disc draw its origins back to Connecticut colleges where students would toss around pie tins from the Frisbie Pie Company.

What can you call it instead? A flying disc.

First introduced to the public in 1946, Tupperware got its name from its creator, Earl Silas Tupper.

What can you call it instead? Plastic Storage Containers

Originally patented and trademarked in 1971, the BIC Corporation bought the rights to the name in 1992 and owns them to this day.

What can you call it instead?:Correction Fluid

This is a legally recognized trademark of the National Association of Realtors, referring to members of its group, not real estate agents in general. It was created to differentiate members from the general population of real estate agents.

What can you call it instead? A real estate agent

Though most widely known and used for to refer to the pamphlets created and distributed at theater productions, Playbill is a monthly magazine that has been published in the U.S. since 1884.

What can you call it instead? A program

Though a common name for inline skates in the U.S. Canada, Rollerblade is still a trademark owned by Nordica.

What can you call it instead?: Inline skates

27. Super Glue (or Krazy Glue):

Trademarked name of the strong, fast-acting adhesive marketed by the Super Glue Corporation.

What can you call it instead?Cyanoacrylate adhesive

In 1956, the Jacuzzi brothers set out to help ease a relative’s arthritis symptoms with a normal tub equipped with a “hydrotherapy pump.” Since then, the name has become synonymous with the product and a sense of luxury, though the trademark is still active today.

What can you call it instead? A hot tub.

29. Bubble Wrap:

Originally trademarked by the Sealed Air Corporation in 1960

What can you call it instead?:Air bubble packaging

30. Trampoline:

The first modern trampoline was built by George Nissen and Larry Griswold in 1936 and trademarked by the duo in 1942 after the Spanish word "trampolin," meaning diving board.

31. Laundromat:

This one is another one that came as big surprise to me. Laundromat was originally trademarked to refer to the first wall-mounted automatic washing machine by Westinghouse in 1940.

What can you call it instead? Coin Laundry Shop

Brand-Words in Danger of Being “Genericized”

32. Google

Verb meaning to search or inquire about something online; not necessarily using the Google search engine.

Noun referring to a permanent marker.

Noun referring to any cotton, personal care swab on a stick.

A noun referring to any plastic snack bag.

A noun referring to any lip balm or lip moisturizer. 

A noun referring to any facial tissue.

A noun referring to any digital slidedeck presentation. 

A verb meaning to edit or alter an image digitally; to enhance one's appearance digitally. 

A noun referring to any colored, molding clay for children.

A noun referring to any carbonated cola. 

A noun referring to any metholated, vapor rub product.

A noun referring to any petroleum jelly product.

A noun referring to any gelatin dessert/snack. 

A noun referring to any topless, outdoor vehicle.

A noun referring to any small note paper with self-adhesive.

A noun referring to any coiled, children's toy. 

A noun referring to any tight, male swimwear.

A noun referring to any portable device that allows you to listen to music; specifically from the 1980-90s.

A noun referring to any short-sleeved, collared shirt.

This content was originally published here.

[brooklynislandgirl]

mun and muse - 3,4,6,15,20,23,27,29,32,41,58

Embarrassing Questions Ask3. Worst Joke You’ve ever told:Mun: Definitely, Purple Flowers {If you don’t know it, feel free to send an ask}Beth: She doesn’t really tell jokes but either Impatient Cow or Ketchup {feel free to ask}4. Worst Insult You’ve Ever Given:Mun: I don’t remember in detail but it did involve the words; slag, cum dumpster, and filthy excuse for trash. All to the same person.Beth: You’re not exactly a nice person, are you? (although I do think she’s called someone asshole, twice in her life, both times in Hawaiian).

6. How did you find out about sex?Mun: Not anything I’d like to discuss openly.Beth: So when she was 13, Beth came home to what she thought was an empty house. Only to hear sounds coming from her brother’s room that sounded like he was pained or in distress. And she rushed to see if he was okay. He had been perfectly fine until she walked in. And stared. And ruined the mood by asking questions.After getting dress (and breaking up with that girl), Andy sat her down and had ‘the talk’. Beth decided right then and there that it was uncomfortable, awkward, and a little disgusting. Not to mention completely unhygienic.

15. Weirdest, most embarrassing thing you’ve drawn:Mun: I have all the artistic ability of a pygmy banana slug, so…nothing? Or…maybe for our pathfinder game, in which there were very awful paintings dedicated to the god of pain and terror, and the fighter in the group (my character, Alain, who also has no ability) drew a stick figure representation of the most gruesome painting of the lot, so they would have a study reference. It was a pretty awesome stick figure drawing, I’m just saying.Beth: She has three entire sketch books dedicated completely to Zarek’s anatomy. Some done from memory, some done when he was busy doing other things, and a lot of them are completely out of context; pages on the curve of his upper arm, pages of the small of his back in different positions. She’s laboured for hours over every single part of him, down to the varied textures.

There’s something extraordinarily beautiful about him that she can’t actually help herself.Her absolute favourites are the ones of just his eyes, and his face in profile.She says now that she has the time, she’s going to learn how to sculpt.

20. What helps you fall asleep?Mun: British voices, especially at low tones, softly spoken. I swear, I’ve never seen a full episode of Spooks, Bear Grylles, or more recently, Taboo. If none of those are available, I have copies of both Sleepy Hollow (read by Tom Misson) and Shadows over Innsmouth (read by Richard Coyle) and they always do the trick.Beth: The rain. The ocean. Him.

23: Grossest Thing You’ve Eaten?

Mun: My sister made amazing tacos once. I made the mistake of asking her what the meet was. She told me cow tongue. Beth: Hands down, Durian fruit. Or maybe Bulat. Or maybe A-ping (fried tarantulas on a stick).

27. Did you go through any regrettable phases?Mun: Well there was that summer that I spent in a kilt with a sword. In public. Without anyone else doing it with me.Beth: Does my whole life count?

29. Introvert/Extrovert?Mun: I’m slowly becoming more and more introverted as the years go by.Beth: More extroverted than some, but goes through periods of deep introvertedness, where she doesn’t even want to be around herself.

32. Top or Bottom?Mun: Bottom.Beth: I don’t understand the question?

41. Pettiest thing I’ve ever gotten mad over?Mun: I don’t even know. I think…it’s people coming in and wrecking my library on my days off, and teachers who don’t actually supervise their students.Beth: How easily everything I ever wanted falls into my brother’s lap and knowing he doesn’t appreciate it like I would. What he expects as his due, I struggle with. What he ignores, I’d kill for. I know I’m not supposed to covet, but if he weren’t such a jackass sometimes…

58. Favourite hair+eye combination?Mun: I am a sucker for tall, dark and beaky (tall with dark eyes and hair, and very aquiline noses), or tall, dark and blue or green eyed in men, and a sucker for redheads and green or dark eyes in the ladies.Beth: Why would you judge someone based on a set of biological genetics that are beyond the person’s control? I mean beauty is something completely subjective and the definitions of it have changed with the wax and wane of economic commodities and agricultural availability and…

oh.Um.My mun is right. Tall, dark eyes and dark hair. yes.

[cupcakemolotov]

Fae Frying Pan? ty!

I’m still surprised so many people like this one???

1) Klaus sleeps on the couch for six months. Caroline had downsized after the divorce, so it was nearly a foot too short. The first time he pointed that out, she retorted that nothing was stopping him from returning to where he’d come from. Alone.

2) There’s a potted plant that used to have pretty purple flowers that she kept by her front door. Around the time Klaus had determinedly taken over her couch, they’d turned dark red and spit at anyone Klaus didn’t like. She;d tried getting rid of it, and the last time it’d reappeared, it’d grown thorns and crawlers, and twisted along her doorway.

3) The first real piece of hope that Klaus had that his wife might forgive him is when she falls asleep on the couch. He walked in from an argument with his family to see her sprawled across what was clearly marked as his territory, still wearing her work skirt, heels careless tossed on the floor, her nose pressed into the cushions.

4) The first time Caroline meets his family, she accidentally sets Kol on fire. The next day, Rebekah sends her Thank You flowers and Elijah scrawls a pretty apology note. Caroline shoves both into a bag with iron and salt and dumps them outside in the dumpster.

5) When Esther tries to interfere and drags Caroline into fairyland, it takes Klaus three days to find her. When he does, he’s hardly surprised to find his wife cowing the staff at a tiny inn near a poisonous swamp. He is surprised by her greeting, the way her mouth feels against his after years of missing her.

“Alright,” she tells him when she pulls back, eyes wide and warning. “Your family is crazy. Don’t do it again.”

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it

[heatthief]

The Clinic. by victor francis williams.

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut tightly and allowed herself to be guided through the parking lot toward the front doors of the clinic. She had heard the cries of the angry people even before Gregor parked the car. The voices only grew louder as Gregor took her hand and they began the walk. The walk was the hardest part of the whole damn thing. “Heaven don’t got no place for mamas that kill they babies, you godless slut!” “There’s still time to turn back, to repent and beg His forgiveness. It’s not too late!” “You stupid cow! The entire fucking planet is dying, all of the people are dying, and you want to kill an unborn baby?” Vanessa heard Gregor. “You’d better back the fuck off, sir. I won’t hesitate at all-” “To what, shoot me? Ha! Go ahead and do it, pal, you’d be doin me a big favor!” Vanessa felt something cold and wet explode against her skull, drenching her hair, her face, her crinkled eyes. Someone had thrown a full beverage at her head; cola, by the sticky sweetness of what she inhaled through flared nostrils. “Take that, you baby murderer!” She felt Gregor let go of her hand; she heard the scraping struggle of people on pavement. She couldn’t help herself any longer, not with Gregor maybe being hurt. She opened her eyes and saw a dog pile of bodies, all scrambling about on the ground of the parking lot. Someone screamed in pain; someone else screeched in panic. Gregor emerged from the melee, a cut over his left eye, and grabbed Vanessa’s hand once more. “Come on! Let’s get the hell out of here!” They ran the last twenty yards to the building. As they scrambled up the cement stairs, the glass doors swung open. A large man stood in the doorway; he was wearing a black suit and a blood-red tie. “This way folks, hurry up now. Be careful, be careful now.” Once the couple were safely inside, the big man closed the glass doors once more and reached up to grip a large metal handle; he pulled down a mighty steel gate as one would pull down a garage door; it slammed the floor loudly, automatically locking with a satisfying chunk. “Are either of you hurt?” the big man asked as he looked them up and down. “He is, he’s bleeding, there’s a  big cut, oh god there’s so much blooood!” And Vanessa fainted.

“What  are we doin, Steve? Why we in a dumpster? They don‘t put the dead babies in here no more.” ”The hell they don’t! They only want you to think that. These people are fucking savages, through and fucking through, don’t you know?” “Yeah, yeah, I know, man. But if there are dead babies in here, what if they…” “What if they turned, you mean? I doubt it, my friend. I seriously fucking doubt                   it.” “And why’s that. The two men were waist deep in bags marked Hazardous Material/Medical Waste/CAUTION; the gigantic green dumpster sat behind the clinic, and could only be accessed by ladder. The two men had brought their own, a rusty painting ladder from younger days spent chasing dollars, twelve hours a day. “You heard that chemist guy at the meeting last night, didn’t you?” “No, I guess I fell asleep for that part…” “Well, had you listened, you would know that the ones who’ve turned are all young adults or older, not younger. The chemist said that the creatures are full of hormones that, in theory, are only produced once a person begins puberty. I forget what the hormone is called, but. You know, fuck it, we’ll be fine.” As they rummaged through the trash in search of the coveted bio- materials, it began to rain; lightly at first, then a downpour of ice-cold drops. The men groaned in anguish but continued to dig; they did not want to return empty-handed. Finally, pay-dirt was struck. “Here, I got it!” “Where? Show me, show me. Show it to me you fucker!” The angry man looked through the cardboard box and rifled through the stack of papers bound in plastic; then he handed the items back to the idiot man and began to climb out of the dumpster. He was wearing a triumphant expression. Above him, the sky flashed, white and spectacular, and menacing. The angry man straddled the edge of the dumpster, turned back to yell at the idiot. “Alright, dummy, alright! Let’s get the hell out of here. Unless you like crawling around in fucking dead baby goo.” he laughed at this. “Yeah, right. No way, man.I’m coming, I just gotta find my backpack…” “You lost your fucking pack? You fool! Well, shit, man, its probably a goner now. Leave it and come on.” “wait! Here it is,” the fool shouted, reaching into the depths for something to grab hold of. “I can see it, I can…almost…reach it….” Suddenly the idiot began shrieking, ear-splitting howls that were terrifying in their likeness to an animal caught in a hunter’s trap. The angry man wasn’t angry any more; he was  scared. The blood had drained from his face and his eyes were wide as he called the man’s name over and again, while the other man flailed in the dumpster, sending up sprays of blood and cardboard and broken syringes. And there was another noise, just below the rapid screams. It sounded like… The frightened man spun too fast for his own feet, and nearly toppled, but caught himself with the heel of his hand, scraping it against raw pavement, leaving several layers of skin and tissue and thin blood behind. Then he ran, yelling his head off, around the side of the building. He had gone to tell the others. A minute or so passed. The man inside the dumpster died. He twitched once, twice. Then he came back to life. He crawled out of the dumpster, pack slung over one shoulder. When the others came running, they turned the corner to find the undead idiot licking the pavement with a swollen purple tongue, trying to get every last shred of his friend’s skin; he looked up when he sensed the others. He began crawling on hands and knees towards the mob of protesters, some still holding poster board and picket signs. One woman fainted, splitting her face open upon the wet ground. When the creature came within a yard or so from the group, the men and women began to hear the cries. The mothers in the crowd recognized the sounds first, but before they could utter anything intelligible, the things were upon them; dozens and dozens of undead, aborted fetuses, in various stages of growth and decomposition. Several of the creatures fell on them from above, an insane rain of mutilated babies, teeth sharp and minds ravenous for death. The protesters barely stood a chance to begin with, and soon became utterly hopeless; the alley behind the clinic was teeming with the reanimated, the dead, the dying; it was an orgy of screams and moans and horrible gurgling giggles. From a window high above the carnage, Vanessa looked on, hands pressed to the cold glass. Gregor stood behind her, nodding silently to the large man in the suit. A doctor stpped out into the carpeted hallway and looked up from his clipboard. “Are you Vanessa?” “yes, I am.” “Wonderful. Shall we begin?”