I Did NOT Steal A Bar Of Soap From Safeway Because I Absolutely Do NOT Believe That Chain Grocery Stores

I did NOT steal a bar of soap from Safeway because I absolutely do NOT believe that chain grocery stores are a plague. I absolutely DID pay seven fucking dollars for a bar of soap and did NOT just grab it with the razors and scan only the razors before putting them in my backpack. I am NOT poor in the slightest and I DO own a car. People who steal from mega corporations ARE criminals. Money DID pay for soap and it did NOT buy nectarines and apples instead.

Why they gotta make my boy Nero join V?

Based on a mini-convo me and @graphic-mistake had on Discord

Yessir (bisexual cis man)

Reblog if you're LGBTQIA+ (Yes Trans people and people on the ace/aro spectrum are also valid, shut up)

Queek works for my favorite chaos god: KHORNE

{Drabble} A Headtaker’s Bloody Fate

Queek had laid upon the field of battle with Skarbrand for a long while. His clanrats and even Stormvermin had long since ran off, claimed by Skarbrand’s Bloodletters, or burned alive within their own warrens. The field was soaked with blood, dusted with ash and bone-splinters, and stank of death itself. And yet Queek laid as the sole survivor of this massacre.

Why? Did Skarbrand have some sort of ulterior motif for him? Was it for the mere sake of humiliation? Or was it simply just because he could? No one could tell the Bloodthirster’s reasoning, maybe not even he himself. But for now, Queek laid there, soaked in blood and with a still burning Skull Mark upon his torso, which still smoldered with idle embers upon the tufts of fur around the scarred areas. Slowly, but surely, he began to mentally stir… but, he did not feel like himself.

“H-Hhrrffhhhrh… w-where… where is Queek?” he grumbles as he’d groggily stand up, his head feeling light and airy as he’d grab his helmet-covered skull, wobbling to and fro. “Queek… Queek not feel-feel right… feel… tired.” he’d shake his head as much as he could, but no avail. He was still light-headed. He’d snarl in frustration, stomping on the ground for a while, before he’d notice the mark on his chest, his chestplate having fallen off in the same outline as the mark upon his now bare body. “W-What is–”

 “Hrm. Peculiar…” a voice came from seemingly nowhere. “To think that that exiled fool would bother himself with placing a mark upon such a meager life… feh. No matter. Skarbrand does not see what I can see… and I see a lot within you, little ratling.”

“W-Who goes-goes there!? Speak-squeak, and show yourself!!” Queek hisses out, gnawing and thrashing his jaws at thin air as he barks out his words, fumbling for his maul as he raises it up.

 “SILENCE, VERMIN! You do not know whom you dare so boldly speak up to! I am death, bloodshed, carnage, and slaughter incarnate. The Greatest of the Ruinous Powers. The Lord of Rage, Blood, Murder and Skulls. I. Am. Khorne. And I see a lot of potential within you, Skaven.” as the voice spoke up, it surprisingly hushed Queek to a mere muttering growl, but he remained quiet for the voice to speak. “Good. Even a vermin such as you knows when to listen. You bear the mark of the Ruinous Powers. The Mark of Skulls. My mark. I have little doubt that Skarbrand meant it as nothing but a mark of shame upon your being… but I can bring out its true potential. All I ask in return… is a simple thing. A thing so simple even you cannot reject it.”

“Thing? What thing-thing?!” Queek speaks up finally, snarling a bit in frustration. “Speak-squeak clear words, unseen-thing! Queek has no time for nasty in-the-shadows deals!”

 “Hmf. Impatient and crass. You remind me so much of Skarbrand. Very well. All I ask… is of you to become a weapon. A weapon so fierce, that even the otherworldly entities of this world TREMBLE at your mere name! To let the name of Headtaker ring in the skulls of your eternal enemies down the EONS! To spill flesh and guts in my name wherever you go, and leave NO survivors, and take NO prisoners! THAT, is all I ask! What say you!?”

Queek remained silent for the longest while in his life. What was he to say to such a deal? He had never been too much for believing in gods or deities, not even in the Great Horned Rat himself. So why start now? But then again… he had never said no to causing carnage and bloodshed, so why stop that now? Finally, he’d just stare into the empty skies above, as if Khorne was somehow there, and-

“Hhrrhhh, yes, fine-fine! Queek accepts! Queek will keep kill-killing and claim skulls for his trophy-rack! For Queek… and for Khorne!”

 “Then let it be so.”

Keep reading

It's gonna be such a funny mess when Donald Trump dies of a stroke on April 1st, 2024.

Naturally everybody will think it's fake because of the date only to lose their minds (both positively and negatively based on their opinion of trump) when realizing it's real

There will be massive celebrations in the streets and on social media and lots of predictable "don't speak ill of the dead" discourse about those celebrations

Weird evangelicals will pull some weird number trick talking about how Jesus was conceived on April 1st and that makes Trump a sort of messiah and people will make fun of that

The Republicans (after they're done with the faux-sadness and faux-outrage) will stomp over each other to be his successor but none of them will succeed. They'll tear each other apart and have no single nominee for the November elections.

There will be discourse about if Biden and the living former presidents should go to his funeral (they won't, he was a traitor insurrectionist)

The Ukraine-Russia War immediately goes in favor of Ukraine as morale in the Kremlin is reduced. China similarly backs off from its threats on Taiwan.

Ten thousand new memes are made, some sticking around for years to come.

Not a month later a bunch of unofficial biographies of Trump hit the bookshelves, many with new details about just how awful he was.

Janitors do more than CEOs by a long shot

Not Karl..