#poser trunk

[damnwhattaman]

Vascular

[hejira33312]

[justmuscle4u]

Mido Elgold - أنا إلغولد 🇪🇬

[rickoio]

[bigwishes]

I’m sick and tired of the asian stereotypes. Others keep saying that we’re small, short, weak, polite, smart, sexually repressive, submissive and so many more. Can you make me a complete opposite of what people expect from an Asian man as a hypersexualised, hyper grown and hyper masculine piece of bull meat?

I definitely think I can help with that. It sucks when people press assumptions on you, especially if you don't like the assumptions they make so I think its time we shake up your life to make sure the worlds sees you for how you want to be seen.

First lets start with your first wish, to be hypersexualised. I'm sure you already have an obsession for mega muscled beef cakes with little to no brains but lets turn that obsession up to eleven. You find that whenever you see a buff meat head you are instantly hard, and everyone else will notice it too with a new 15 inch dick, but lets not stop there. Once you get hard your body will almost instantly go on auto pilot as you cant help yourself but rub your dick through your pants, adjusting it, sometimes even straight up soft core jerking off in the middle of the gym. An alpha sex and masturbation addict. You just can't help yourself no matter what you try once you get hard you are forced to cum. Trying to ignore it just makes it worse as you'll get so hard and pent up it will almost be painful and your dick will be forced to leak pre until you give it the attention it demands, and you'll need to take care of it at least twelve times a day or else risk immediately cumming in your pants as soon as you get even slightly turned on.

Second, the hyper grown part of your wish. One of my favourites, there is no such thing as too big and you've got no other choice to agree. There is no going back now. We could just go and make you have to wear 4XL shirts and and baggy work out shorts but honestly dudes like that art still too small for my taste.

You find every inch of yourself growing, You slowly get taller and taller until you stand at a freakishly tall 8ft, your already muscled arms swell with extreme size as you feel your biceps and triceps start to compete for space with your over grown chest and lats. The sound of tearing fabric fills the room as you thighs inflate into thick muscled tree trunks. You watch as your feet burst out of your sneakers. Your underwear feels strange and rubbery as it begins to stretch, and you feel your ass get bigger by the second and the fabric of your new rubbery underwear ride up giving you a uncomfortable roid wedgie.

The thing about wanting to be Hyper-Grown means you dwarf even the biggest bodybuilders but a body like that has its limits. 8ft tall and over 500 pounds of muscle the only thing you can wear is uncomfortably tight stage posers.

and leggings so tight it feels like its crushing your dick.

If you want to get naked it'll take a good fifteen to twenty minutes of struggling and wrestling with the skin tight fabric and your extreme size just to get it off yourself.

and now for the final stage of your transformation Hyper masculinity. Say goodbye to clear communication dude as a majority of your vocabulary has been replaced with grunts, groans and moans. You spend more time grunting than speaking some people might mistake you for a cave man. Your blood also boils at the drop of a hat, any guy who even makes a joke about your freakish size you take as a personal challenge, stumping up to him and pressing him against the wall and your roided out body.

Your body starts to sweat, and a raw masculine stench fills the air around you. Even if you cared about washing the sweat off your body it wouldn't work anymore. You love how bad you reek, you love how your stench and sweat communicates to weaker men that you are a fucking beast. You don't clean any machine at the gym after using it, you leave a disgusting sweat puddle over everything like marking your territory.

Your mind starts to feel empty, like you have forgotten how to think, the only things that you seem to remember is you love muscle, getting bigger, flexing, your own sweat and jerking off. Even when dominating a guy smaller than you, you can't help but check yourself out in the mirror and love how big you are and how much bigger you're gonna force yourself to become.

Your head being so empty now means your personality has devolved into nothing more but the word bro, grunting and giggling like a typical gym bro.

But that hyper masculinity you wished for keeps that happy go lucky attitude in check as the slightly thing can set you off and make you go on a roided out rampage.

There we go, all your wishes granted, nobody will ever look at you and think of the typical Asian stereotypes ever again.

Unfortunately I can't stop people from assuming you are nothing more than a stupid sweaty roid bull, but honestly how far away from the truth is that.

[damnwhattaman]

How’s this for a view?!

[angelsanarchy]

Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 1

Tagging: @ophelialaufey @madamemaximoff06 @forever-not-gonna-sink

Euronymous saw her everywhere. She worked for the local grocery delivery service during the day and his favorite food place in town. He wishes he could say that it was his favorite only because of the falafal but he enjoyed the banter that they had with one another. He was too focused on Mayhem getting a new singer and getting some shows under their belts to even remotely consider the idea of courting anyone but if he had, Y/n would be the first person he would look up.

"Oystein! Make sure you take that dead plant to the garbage before you leave!" He grabbed the now brown plant and shoved it under his arm as he walked down the front steps. He noticed the grocery bike parked across the street but no sign of Y/n. He tossed the plant just as she came through the gate of the neighbors house and smiled when she saw him.

"Hi there! Heading off to make the devils music?" Y/n knew he was in a band and that metal was his favorite genre. He never understood why she wasn't afraid of him like most normal people he ran across but he wasn't going to question it.

"Of course. Just doing my part to crumble the edification of society." Euronymous said confidently with a smirk.

"Sounds like a busy day. I'd hate to interrupt." She threw her leg over the bike.

"You want a ride? You can put your bike in the back-" He gestured to the empty trunk and she shook her head.

"I'm done with my deliveries for today so I'm heading home, thanks." She appreciated the offer but she knew that wherever he was heading wasn't anywhere close to her house.

"Ah so you don't want me to know where you live? I thought we were kindred souls." Euronymous teased.

"Atheist is not the same as Satanist, Oystein. Not exactly kindred but I'd hate for you to be caught with a poser like me riding shotgun." He had never mentioned he was a Satanist but the band also frequented the Falafal joint and he's sure she's heard them discussing the direction he wanted to take Mayhem in.

And still, that didn't scare her off.

"Euronymous. My name is Euronymous." He corrected firmly. She smiled, scrunching her nose at the name like she always had.

"I'm sorry but I won't ever call you Euronymous. I just don't see it." He paused at the statement.

"See what?" He inquired.

"I know the origin of the name. You just don't give off flesh eating spirit dwelling in the underworld. Your eyes are too pretty for that one." She complimented making him cough into his hand to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

"You don't know me very well. Maybe you should come to one of my shows and you'll change your mind." He tried to sound menacing but Y/n knew just as much about Oystein as he did her.

She knew he was a good son and brother. She knew he used to get pretty decent grades when he was in school and that he's been playing his guitar since he was 10 years old. She could never see him as some cannibalistic nightmare of a person. He might think highly of himself but she had seen such a softer side of him when delivering groceries for his family.

"Maybe." She shrugged. She had often responded to his show invites with a maybe and he was always disappointed when she never showed but he understood how busy she was. She worked two jobs to take care of herself and her family.

"I'll see you around, Y/N" He held his hand up and she mockingly gave him the devil horns she had seen his sister do so often when they were listening to the loud metal music blasting from the upstairs bedroom window. He chuckled and returned the gesture.

"See you around Oystein." She watched him pull down the street and didn't even notice he was already looking at her in the rear view mirror. He would never understand how two people who were so insanely different could have such a good rapport.

[growinglou]

Have you given up wearing underwear and only wear posing trunks now as the only thing that can fit?

Haha it would be fun todo that and now and then I have worn Posers out and about

But they can be more uncomfortable as my huge glutes eat them as I walk and ride up

[rickoio]

[bigfan1811]

Honestly, the original Z Broly devalued Super Saiyan WAAYYYY more than Goten, Trunks and the universe 6 Saiyans. The whole Namek arc was centered around Goku fulfilling the prophecy of the Super Saiyan, and it was really well built up (there’s a good video out there talking about the good writing of the super saiyan prophecy).

But then Z Broly goes “actually the prophecy was about me, Goku’s just a lame stupid poser”. IMO that’s way more egregious than Goten and Trunks learning Super Saiyan at a young age.

[bigwishes]

(congrats on 5k!!) WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!

BONUS ROUND!!! (felt generous and what better way to celebrate 5k than to write 5 stories!!)

As soon as you pressed send you felt a small zap from your phone onto your finger. You watched as you fingertip started to swell, then you hand began to swell, getting meatier and more muscled, it followed up your arm beefing you up and making you look ridiculous with one giant arm, soon it travelled into your pecs and began to spread out from there, you other arm swelled with size, you abs hardened, you waist shrunk in as your shoulders widened. You ass filled with muscle turning into a sculpted muscle but and your thighs became huge tree trunks.

You watches as all your stretched out clothing began to move like goo, melting downwards to your waist forming a shiny black poser, it fit perfectly, at least for the first few seconds. It started to feel tighter and tighter each second until a mildly uncomfortable wedgie formed. You tried to pick it out but your muscles were too big to let you reach around to the string inbetween your ass cheeks. Suddenly mild discomfort became extreme as the poser shrank once more and began to crush your man hood.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!!" you moaned out feeling the tight poser crush your waist and dick. You tried to get your fingers under the waist band and pull them off but it was held on you tighter than your skin. There was no taking it off.

Enjoying being extremely huge in an extremely painfully tight poser big guy....

[velvetvexations]

(seems like the ask i sent last time about this didnt go through but apologies if it did) kink confession. i finally found a fetish i am into that is embarrassing to admit for non-"problematic" reasons and its fucking. wedgies. whyyyyy. in hindsight i should have seen this coming because i have vague memories of making shitty wedgie art as a kid because of that signature funny feeling about it but apparently i fully locked away those memories lol. its even funnier because i usually get squicked out by regular degradation/humiliation/pain stuff but i guess this specifically is fine for some reason? its also one of those ones where i prefer it completely removed from any fantasy where i am actually involved so maybe thats why (ace and not particularly interested in actual sex. you might remember me from one or more of the forcemasc anons a while back lol)

I've gotten a few wedgie anons before so you're definitely not alone. It's one of my earliest kinks tbh even though it's not something I think about much now. But like, when I was a kid, and I watched the episode of The Amanda Show where the lady doctor gets a wedgie? That had an impact on me.

Checking in on someone who used to draw a lot of forcefem and seeing a brand new "Pronouns: She/Her" on her page made me unexpectedly happy. Not because becoming a woman is necessarily an improvement, but finding out a part of yourself through artistic expression is always wonderful. Happy for her :) (idk why I wanted to share with you specifically but I think you're super cool so it was probably that)

Yeah, that's awesome!

Cleaning dream anon here: what’s your fee for a cleaner? By which I obviously mean how much do I need to pay you to be allowed to scrub your floors with my tits shaking and lick your toilet clean and only be allowed a break when you have gas or need a punching bag?

As much as you can pay, obviously.

Im the non sexual doscomfort anon and i need you to know that you calling me ‘the mark’ made me loterally whimper, out loud, very pathetixally. And then let my sinner go cold before eating it because it seemes like you would apprectaite that.

lmao sometimes "the sub" just doesn't sound right you know

i "discovered" a new kink of mine thanks to some anons a while back: forcefamily. being lured into a couples car because they asked you to help load their groceries but, oh no, looks like they left their keys up front and the only way in is through the trunk. so you crawl in and... click! welcome to the family, kiddo!

that sounds like it'd be a horror movie from the past ten years that I hate but everyone else calls groundbreaking

to the anon who sent a message about not being into bimbofication but into being a creepy loser girl: I hope you know that bimbo x loser as you described is gonna be my warm up project for when I buckle down to write soon

content!

Forcefem was very unpopular and considered transmisogynistic just years ago by popular tumblr. It's even considered that way now if it's called 'sissy' or 'sissification' kink. That it's now being considered woke is very silly to me, but at least people aren't getting into fights over it anymore (<- irony)

If I were a pretentious fuckwit like some of the forcefem girlies on this site I'd say sissification is the good kind and everyone else is into some real poser ass lame bullshit but since I'm Cool and Nice I'm just like yeah everyone can enjoy what they like.

Whenever life gets hard I remind myself that I have beatable udders and no self esteem and therefore Velvet would find a use for me

I sure would anon.

every now and then (though, admittedly, it happens rarely), i see transmasc transformation comics/sequences being reposted with the posters jumbling up the pictures in reverse order or just claiming it's read from right to left so it's a male to female TF comic instead and also denying that it's female to male and i'm like ??? there's twenty male to female TF comics for every female to male TF, like, you (in general, not you as a person) don't have to do that, there's so much content for you :/ it also happens with a bunch of kinks that have a bit more of a female character focus, but i just noticed it here again

that reminds me when my favorite kink artist (Octoboy) was objecting to having art he made edited to be about girls since he made content specifically intending to fill niches for people who liked boys

Octoboy's art is actually responsible for about 80% of me liking boys lmao I was so so lucky to get a commission from him a decade or more ago when he was still fairly cheap because he deservedly charges way more now

[theangelwithawand]

Good Omens Incorrect Quotes Part 3:

Once again, I did not come up with these, I just have quote generator access…

Crowley : I'm having problems with a guy...

Anathema : Like his dead body won't fit into your trunk kind of problems, or you like him kind of problems?

*

Crowley : Who the fuck-

Aziraphale : Language!

Crowley : Whom the fuck-

Aziraphale : No.

*

Aziraphale and Crowley : I believe in you, Adam!

Adam, to themself: God, I must suck. The nicest thing they can think to say to me is that they don’t doubt my existence.

*

Aziraphale : There are some things beyond our understanding. We must accept them and learn from them. Because these moments of crisis are also potential moments of faith. A time, when we either come together or fall apart. Nature always has a way of balancing itself. The only question is, what part will we play?

Crowley : Did you just make that up?

Aziraphale : No. I read it in a fortune cookie once.

Crowley :

Aziraphale : A really long fortune cookie.

*

Crowley: Could you maybe just like… stab me… right in the gut. Just REALLY twist it in there. ‘Cause that honestly seems less painful than this conversation.

*

Aziraphale, texting Crowley: Text me when you’re home safely.

Crowley: I’m home dangerously.

Aziraphale: Stop it.

Crowley: I’m home lethally.

*

Gabriel : Pardon the intrusion, but-

Aziraphale or Crowley: On this moment or just my life in general?

*

Aziraphale: Why shouldn't you put a toaster in a bathtub full of water?

Crowley: Because your toast would get soggy!

*

Aziraphale: When I said bring me something back from the beach I meant like a conch shell!

Crowley: *Struggling to hold a seagull* Fucking say that next time!

*

Crowley, at Nina’s: Can I get a venti vanilla latte with um, seven espresso shots.

Mrs. Sandwich, in line behind them: Jesus Christ, just do cocaine.

*

Crowley, making coffee: This is going to fix everything.

*

Aziraphale: I have very high standards, you know.

Crowley: I can make spaghetti...

Aziraphale: Oh no! You're meeting all my standards!

*

Crowley: You can do it Adam!

Crowley: But if you can't, at least your death will be quick, painless, and really cool to watch.

*

Crowley: *standing on a balcony and sneezes*

Aziraphale: *standing on the roof* Bless you.

Crowley: God?!

*

Crowley: I'm sorry. Please talk to me.

Aziraphale:

Crowley: Hello? World's most amazing person?? Sweet pea? Precious cinnamon roll that's too good for this world, too pure?

Aziraphale: 'Sorry' doesn't bring back my fucking M&M’s.

*

Aziraphale: Is five a lot of followers?

Crowley: Depends on the context.

Crowley: On Instagram? No, not a lot of followers.

Crowley: In a dark alley? Yes, a lot of followers.

*

Crowley : You know what’s funny about Aziraphale ? They’re my best friend, and anyone who’d hurt them is someone I’d murder, probably.

*

Crowley : Are you busy?

Aziraphale : Yes.

Crowley : Cool, listen to this...

*

Aziraphale or Nina: How would you like your coffee?

Crowley: As dark as my soul.

Aziraphale or Nina: Got it, one cup of milk coming right up!

*

Crowley : I can’t believe all these people are wearing black. black is supposed to be my thing, they’re all just posers.

Aziraphale: Crowley, for the last time, we’re at a funeral.

*

Aziraphale: No more making fun of me when I misuse dated cultural references, alright? Are we cowabunga on this?

Crowley, sighing: Fine. We're cowabunga.

*

Crowley : *trying to get five seconds of sleep*

Aziraphale, poking Crowley ’s arm: Crowley Crowley . Crowley . Crowley .

Crowley : WHAT?

Aziraphale : …We’re out of Capri Suns—

*

Crowley : Valentines Day? I'm ready. *Sprays an entire can of AXE body spray on themselves*

*

Crowley : *makes Aziraphale a cup of tea but puts salt in it*

Aziraphale : *sips tea*

Crowley :

Aziraphale : *finishes tea*

Crowley : Didn't it taste bad?

Aziraphale : Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.

Crowley, tearing up: Oh, okay.

*

Aziraphale : How petty can you get?

Crowley : I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

*

Aziraphale : Crowley, I beg of you. Please, PLEASE go to the doctor.

Crowley : Hey, I'm sorry. Is this OUR stab wound?

*

Crowley, to The Squad: You should change your passwords to “incorrect”. Then, every time you forget it, the system will remind you, “your password is incorrect”.

*

Aziraphale : Not to brag, but I can go into the Spirit Halloween without crying.

*

Crowley : I wanna sleep for 40 hours.

Aziraphale : You know that's called a coma, right?

Crowley :

Crowley : That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.

*

Aziraphale : Ugh, crushes are so dumb.

Crowley : I know. Whenever I’m near the person I like I just start acting stupid.

Aziraphale : But you’re always acting stupid?

Crowley : ...

Crowley : Yeah, don’t think about that too hard.

*

Muriel : Hey, aren’t you Aziraphale ?

Aziraphale : You a cop?

Muriel : No.

Aziraphale : Then yes, I am.

*

Aziraphale : Crowley ! Have you no dignity?

Crowley : Of course not! How long have we known each other?

*

Aziraphale : What are you drinking?

Crowley : Vodka.

Aziraphale : Straight?

Crowley : No, gay. Why?

*

Aziraphale : So you like cats?

Crowley : Yeah.

Aziraphale : *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

*

Cop: You ran a red light.

Crowley : So did you, hypocrite.

Cop: I was following you.

Crowley : That was dumb, I'm a terrible driver.

Cop: Get out.

*

Aziraphale : What is the one thing I told you not to do?

Crowley : Burn the house down.

Aziraphale : And what did you do?

Crowley : I made dinner.

Aziraphale :

Crowley :

Aziraphale :

Crowley : And burnt the house down.

*

Aziraphale : Do you need help getting up?

Crowley : Nah, I'm cool down here on the floor.

*

Crowley : Dracula had it right, sleep all day, live alone in a castle, and explode into bats to get out of all social situations.

*

Anathema: At first I thought you were foolish and incompetent.

Crowley : My apologies for whatever misstep I may have taken to dispel that impression. It was an honest mistake, I swear.

*

Aziraphale to Crowley : Turn that frown upside-down!

*a little while later*

Aziraphale : What are you doing?

Crowley , trying to do a handstand: You told me to “turn that frown upside-down” but it’s not working .

*

Gabriel: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?

Crowley: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

[perpetuallylate1890]

A short Bill fic!

Just a Little Arson

As far as pawns went, Stanford was as good as it got. After some buttering up, good ol’ Fordsy had played right into Bill’s hands, abandoning all other projects to work on the portal. The sucker had even handed Bill free rein of his mind and body.

Stanford Filbrick Pines was the perfect man for the job, but not all was well in paradise. Yesterday, one of the gnomes had let slip about their little library, tucked away in the enchanted woods and watched over by the Shmebulocks. 

Ford, massive nerd that he was, wanted to investigate. It would’ve been cute if it weren’t for the contents of the library: Bill knew it contained numerous unfavorable, though not undeserved, descriptions of himself. The last thing he needed was his puppet growing wise, so as Sixer dropped off into sleep, Bill resolved to do something about it.

The possession was easy. Bill settled into Ford’s body, wiggling his fingers and toes. He blinked his eyes one at a time. Blah, the two eyes were still disorientating. Even worse was the weight of gravity, dragging him down. When he took control, he was chucking that first.

Grasping a chair for balance, he staggered to his feet. Walking took some getting used to, as did his inability to pass through walls. And breathing was just hilarious. Apparently, you had to keep breathing to keep your meatsack conscious. Only made that mistake once!

He staggered towards the elevator like a drunken ragdoll. Of course, he managed to get Ford’s long coat trapped in the elevator doors. Bill was always telling Sixer to ditch the jacket, but did he listen? Noooo. After extricating himself, Bill retrieved the car keys and stepped into the warm summer evening. He’d never driven before, but how hard could it possibly be?

After two minor crashes and a close call with a tree, Bill started to get the hang of things. The big pedal was the brake, or was it the small one? Man, he could barely see out of these stupid human eyes. Something darted into the road, and the tired thudded as they passed over it. Whoops.

In the dark, he nearly missed the turn. Cursing in R’lyehian, he plowed the car through the underbrush. Metal shrieked as boulders scraped the undercarriage. Sixer was not gonna be happy about this. 

The dirt road extended into the blackness ahead. Bill followed it for a spell, then dumped the car by a ditch. He clambered out of the driver’s seat, cracking his knuckles, and popped the trunk. Inside lay a gascan and a matchbook. He seized both and headed off into the woods.

The enchanted part of the forest was a short walk away. He passed by the unicorn grove–eugh, now those guys were real posers–and entered the gnome’s territory. Warm light spilled from homes carved into tree trunks. Deer grazed in the sidelines, ears pricked. Snores rolled from the dimly-lit tavern. 

Bill remained out of sight, in the shadows away from windows. The few gnomes he saw were utterly wasted. Finally, he reached a towering red cedar in the center of the town. It dwarfed the surrounding trees, swaying in the nighttime breeze. This tree was centuries old, and had served as the Shmebulocks’ library for generations. 

He snatched the key from a fake rock (seriously, those things were completely useless) and let himself in, lighting a match. The inside of the cedar was a vast, hollowed-out space, every surface lined with bookshelves. They stretched into the shadows above, accessible by ladders on wheels. A spiralling staircase followed the walls to the ground some thirty feet below. 

Bill paused to scoff at the bookcases. Centuries of knowledge, but they couldn’t hold a candle to his eons of existence. Really, it was pathetic they even tried. Stanford was just like the Shmebulocks, reaching for the stars, striving for the unknowable. Sooner or later he was gonna get burned. 

Bill sloshed gasoline onto all of the bookcases, breathing in that wonderful smell. He tipped the can over his head to get the last few drops. Nothing like a good chemical burn to the delicate tissues!

Cackling, he tossed the empty gascan behind him. Time for his favorite part. He retrieved a match, struck it, and tossed it with a flourish into the waiting shadows. It caught instantly. Flames licked up the bookshelves, filling the library with delicious heat. Bill laughed, palms outstretched to catch the sparks.

Book covers peeled into thin strips. Paper curled and charred. Smoke filled the space with a thick, cloying fog.

Meanwhile, the fire loomed dangerously close, reaching for Bill with greedy fingers. He stuck in a hand and laughed at the pain. Come to think of it, his body hurt all over. Blistered skin, streaming eyes, struggling lungs… wait, humans couldn’t survive being burnt to a crisp? Since when was that a thing? 

Bill hustled up the stairs, wheezing, as the fire roared beneath him. His puny lungs were closing up. He tripped once, twice, before spilling out the door to suck in clean oxygen. 

Cool night air washed over his body. His ankles, however, were abnormally warm. He glanced down to see the coat going up in flames. Curse Stanford and his fashion choices! Bill swatted unsuccessfully at the fire, gave up, and chucked the coat down the stairs. As he caught his breath, he heard sirens and frightened chatter. Right, time to scram.

Bill bolted off into the woods. Before he could get far, he took a branch to the stomach and went sprawling. He sputtered for air, head spinning. Distantly, he registered flashing blue and red lights, painfully bright and growing closer. Crap.

“Hey, you!” called a voice. “Hands where I can see ’em!” A gnome scurried towards him, accompanied by a siren-bedecked deer. Okay, he was alone. Bill could work with this.

He affected a casual posture, patting down his smoking clothes. “Hiya, officer! What seems to be the problem?”

“A fire broke out in the library.” The gnome adjusted his belt. “Nothing wrong with the occasional book-burning, but the law’s the law.” He glared at Bill. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, wouldja?”

Bill grinned toothily. “No, officer. I have literally no idea how that fire started.”

“Is that so.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “But your superiors won’t see it that way! They’re just not the understanding type!” He loomed over the gnome, lips peeled in a smile. “Howzabout we keep this between us? They don’t need to know about me, and they definitely don’t need to know about your little butterfly habit.”

The gnome’s eyes widened in terror. Oh yeah, Bill had him now. “That sound like a deal, buddy?”

Silently, the gnome nodded. 

“Good. Nice chatting with ya!” He tipped a nonexistent hat and left the officer staring into nothing. 

The trek back to the car was uneventful. Bill skirted past gnomes, unnoticed, until the noise faded behind him. Exhaustion weighed his meatsack down. (Already? He’d just committed a little arson!) Stumbling over roots, he made his way to the road, only to discover the car had taken a nosedive into the ditch. 

Bill groaned. Of course he’d forgotten the parking brake. Looks like he was walking back. 

Stanford woke to a litany of pain. His throat ached. His palms throbbed. His legs were sore, as if he’d run a marathon in his sleep. Knowing Bill, it was entirely possible.

He fumbled for his glasses, which were smudged with soot. He inhaled deeply. Why did his clothes smell of smoke and gasoline? And where had his coat gone? He rolled out of bed, dreading what he might find downstairs.

The kitchen was in shambles. Shattered windows, charred cabinets, crisped curtains. At the epicenter of the destruction stood the toaster, which Ford had once accused of inefficient heating. It now appeared to be equipped with weapons-grade flamethrowers. A sloppy handwritten note was tacked to the side: “FIXED IT.”

Ford rubbed his hands over his eyes. So this explained the burns, the bruises, and the sore throat–but what had caused the sore legs? And why had Bill deemed it appropriate to “fix” a toaster with weapons of war? Ford sighed. Sometimes, Bill’s lack of insight was profusely irritating. This required coffee.

He went to make a cup, just to realize the coffee maker had been blown to smithereens. A trip to the local diner, then. This, too, was thwarted when a glance out the window showed an empty driveway.

Ford sighed again. He would have to find a way to explain this to Fiddleford. As soon as he figured out where his car had gone.

[originemesis]

@kugel-bitch from xxx

"Wh—" A flurry of golden feathers casts a veil over her vision, a bleary meteor shower lashing across the glass display of her visor, the force of which sends her stumbling backwards until the heel of a boot meets with the footrest of a vacant barstool and she nearly topples ass over halo onto the floor. Reflexively, her own illustrious appendages burst out from beneath the shroud of her cloak, flapping in disjointed Succession until she manages to stabilize herself against the edge of the countertop. Stunned. Not only into silence, but perfect, unwavering stillness as well. Save for the frenzied rise and fall of her fluttering chest, that is to say. It's like looking through a rift in the spatial fabric of the universe, into a different time, a different place entirely. Those wings...or...that wing, rather...and the way that he carries himself, the scarcely checked derision in the gruff inflection of his voice voice, his shape, his stance, his attitude...even his choice in nutritionally bereft late night snack...it's all so...so...Adam. But how could that possibly be? She watched him die—looked him square in the eye as the light flickered and faded from his marigold hues—the light that had kept her world incandescent with passion and purpose for centuries. "Wh...what is...I don't...no, no, no...you're not--" There was nothing before Adam. There was nothing after Adam. So what is this? The only reasonable conclusion she can come to is that she has officially, irrevocably lost her goddamn mind. How can some two-bit poser mimic his mannerisms that flawlessly? Not even she, who has been stapled to his ass for longer than most of these infernal shit stains have been alive, could put on such a stellar performance. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. It does. Not. Make. Sense! "Take...take it...off...take it off--" She has to see it. Under the mask—she has to see it for herself. Grasping the age worn, wooden hilt of the knife, she lurches forward, hiking a leg up onto the closest barstool, which she then uses as a springboard to launch herself at the trunk of his body, one hand making a grab for a curved horn, the other swinging the business end of the blade for the shell of the headgear, intent on cleaving it open like an obsidian coconut. "TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF, I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, TAKE IT OOOOOOOFFFFFF!!!!!!"

It's only after he takes stock of just who had tried to get the jump on him that he noticed the wings. There weren't many of those down here, save an overlord or two that honestly weren't very bird-like in their own right and just seemed like they simply popped on a pair to resemble their fallen hell lord himself. Posers, in other words.

But those?

His crossed arms slackened and fell- lightly swinging slack at his side as he took note of the familiar shades of monochrome. He'd preened too many of those feathers in his immortal life to not recognize the wings of an exorcist. "You-...uh. You lost or something, girlypop?" He wondered almost to himself, not entirely sure of why one of his girls would be head-low in some seedy hell bar...and rolling up on him like he was a target acquired in some unannounced extermination. Was that what this was? Maybe an Intel probe? The gears in his commander's brain hadn't cranked in a while, but they struggled against the rust the longer he stared those wings down. Two of em...he tucked his in nearer to his flank once more as if suddenly aware of the state of his feathers.

Something wasn't quite right here, and he couldn't put his talon on it- but the exorcist before him was...well, he knew one of his girls by their stance and the slight pixelated differences in their facial displays. He'd named them all after such impossible to pick out discrepancies and all, but when he squinted over at this one, the glass visor that peered out at him from beneath the hood's edge was nothing he recognized- a blank surface reflecting the red light of the bar. Unnerving in the slightest sense that caused his unkempt feathers to ruffle. "I mean, you're a long way from home, arentcha?" A shake of his head prompted the fist he'd made to rest in the crook of his hip as he swung into it with a hapless shifting of weight from one foot onto the other, tongue clicking as he sized up the strange hellgoer.

If he was expecting an answer and not a crackled, distorted demand from the exorcist opposite of him, then he didn't show it apart from an agitated twitch that shifted the stunned expression displayed across his visor to one of confusion- then just as quickly, startled as she headed straight for the throat. He jerked, taken aback at her rounding so suddenly on him from a quiet state to a snapped frenzy.

"Hey-whoa! Th'fuck you mean?!" Take it off? Man, his fans really were deranged, but that sort of request from an exorcist? The hell would he do a thing like that? For what purpose even? He didn't have much time to spend with his whirlwind thoughts on the matter, because when she launched herself at him, he hit a blockade in the form of the bar's edge he'd backed into and bumped his lower back on- oh. Shit. His wing barely had time to even twitch in preparation to deploy, so he flung an arm up instead. It caught the crazy bitch across the gut in a last ditch effort to keep her at an arm's length away, but did little to deter the stranger's grip around his horn and the steak knife's handle. Whiplashed by the yank, he had little time to issue a firm jerk and a smack with the curved appendages when a capable crunch momentarily stilled him.

Images of data and various sound files flashed across his screen, his facial display flickering violently as various, mutilated sounds escaped the helmet. The gig space in the thing was filled with music, chords composed or simply recorded and spliced over and over again until it had fully distorted the original sound from which it was derived. And although he did keep an astonishing record number of voicemails from the office and the like just to hear something familiar now and then, he and his own noises had been irreparably altered from the first breath he'd drawn so long ago. His favorite of said voicemails was one where Lute was-...well, she just was.

Krrrzzzt-tch-krzzzzzzz...hey s̷̨̨̝̼̜͖͔̟̘̥̮͈̰͔͔̹̔̎̂ō̴͕̪̗̳͈͗̎̃͌̉̕͠-zzzzzztttttthey're out of friesssssstzzh...you want sssschhhhhhomething else?? Cawwwwzzzwl me back? A̵̛̫̘͇̳̬̘͐̎̀͌́̈̓̎̒̅̊̀̆͠͠ͅͅḑ̷͓͓͇̩̙̘͎̲̰̯̗̻̝̱̞͔́̀̈́̏͊̊̇͂̈́̀̊̈́ą̷̺̜̝̘̗̞̘͚͇̙̺̦͉̪̔̆̓̈́́ͅͅm̸̨͙̗͎̻͉͍̭̝̯̣̄̋̚̕͜͜͝-

The sound escaped amidst the sound bytes escaping his helmet like exorcised demons fleeing a host- all through the cracks around the serrated edge sunk into the glass of his face directly between the eyes. It's only after he feels half the display of his face return and the other remain blank and dead screened does he pitch a vicious throw of his horns against their hold. With a forceful fling, he slammed the weight of them backwards with enough fury to try flipping her onto the bar top behind him.

"Get OFFA me, you psycho B̶̙͎̓̌̈́Ị̷̕ͅT̵̟͙͕͌͂̉̓C̸̰͒̇̊̚H̷̟̗͆!!" His voice was trapped in a swirling spiral of frothing static. He didn't need two or even one wing to beat this assailant into the bar with the size and strength he employed behind those helmet horns. They would do the job just as well if she kept beneath the cruelty of their curve. After all-he had a fairly thick skull and that just meant he was free to smash it into whatever surface he saw fit. Head-banging was just a warm up exercise compared to this.

"RRRrrraAUUgghh-!̶̲̹͔̀͐̋͌̿̎̅̑͛̀̾͂͝!!"