A-Random-Nothing

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
confirmance
arahir

god my neighbor just called me and she’s like… is this your chicken in our driveway… like who else has a chicken in this neighborhood yes it’s my chicken… so i get over there and kylo hen is chilling in their driveway eating some specs and stuff and there’s this actual crowd of people around her and i’m like… hi sorry mb let me get her… and oh my god… they’re like do you need us to call someone?? should we get help?? how should we do this?? do you need a net? like bitch it’s a chicken not a fucking komodo dragon. so i just… i was kind of joking around so i crouched down and patted my thighs and all the chickens are trained to come to me on sight because me = food… so i got down there and went “here girl!! come here!!” and the chicken comes running over and this group of actual adult ass individuals were staring at me like i was the fucking pied piper… and i didn’t know what to say…. so i just kind of walked back to my yard with the chicken following me and none of them moved or said a damn word and i think i literally just convinced them this chicken is trained like a dog…

syrup-bender

your chicken’s name is kylo hen

psych-facts
psychology-studyofthesoul-blog:
“ jennsstampofapproval:
“ ayuliyana:
“ Just like in the game of chess.
”
in the psychological sense, this is very, very true.
single men tend to be lonelier than everyone else in the world because they don’t have...
ayuliyana

Just like in the game of chess.

jennsstampofapproval

in the psychological sense, this is very, very true.
single men tend to be lonelier than everyone else in the world because they don’t have someone intimate to talk to. not “intimate” like “oh let’s get frisky,” but in the emotional sense. when a boy has a girl, if the relationship actually means something and if he lets his guard down and trusts the girl, he will talk to his girl about his problems, thoughts, dreams, etc. normally, guys tend to not have someone to talk to about such things, while girls do. girls talk to other girls and they get emotional support from each other. guys tend to not talk to their guy friends about such deep things in fear that they’d look like a wuss or something. and thus, which is why they happen to be lonelier than anyone else in the world.

also, when compared, a lonely boy will be judged more harshly than a lonely girl. when the scenarios are given: “Jane just moved to college and hasn’t formed any friends yet. She feels lonely. Sometimes, she even cries at night;” and “John just moved to college and hasn’t formed any friends yet. He feels lonely. Sometimes, he even cries at night,” everyone will usually sympathize more with Jane than with John. John will be told to “suck it up” and move on with his life.

thank you, Interpersonal Psychology.

psychology-studyofthesoul-blog

true.

Source: ayuliyana
honestlymyextonightcausehehadnoonebutmetalktoo
the-uncalm-nipples
taylor-tut

y’all know that john mulaney quote “the things crazy people say mean nothing to them but everything to me?”

every time i hear that quote, i think about how i got this light-up pen

image
taylor-tut

i got this pen four years ago when i was working as a barista at starbucks. I was on the registers and taking the order of this woman, who ordered a nonfat latte, because she was “watching her weight”

so this guy behind her, whom no one was talking to, for some fucking reason says “wathing your weight? but what about the wait for your watch?“ (which is a completely unhinged response. like just complete Mad Hatter nonsense)

anyway this lady gets really uncomfortable and of the five people (me, him, her, the other checker, and the customer at the other register) who were now sucked into the uncomfortable silence, i decided that i should alleviate the tension by saying “you can’t wait for a watch; you don’t have the time”

and then he said “oh, quick girl!”, gave me that pen, got out of line, and left without ordering anything 

patron-saint-of-smart-asses

You pleased a mad fae trickster

terezi
wrathofthegiraffe

In the vast world of comics, I wonder if there have been heroes with a “Groundhog Day,” type power. By that I specifically mean a hero who, if they die, immediately finds themselves waking up at the beginning of that day again. If they don’t die, they just continue forward through time.

I’m just thinking of how crazy it would be to have that hero on your super hero team. Like, you go to headquarters in the morning, and it seems like everything’s normal. But then you go to fire off a one liner, and they say it at the same time as you. And suddenly you know. Something went wrong.

And then one day you come in, and your heart drops as you see that their every move looks rehearsed. They answer questions before asked. They are totally aware of everything that’s about to happen. Imagine how scary that would be, realizing you’re starting a day that you’re team mate has failed to survive maybe dozens of times.

whoperlokian-bendingismagic

For me, it was a usual day. Of course, that’s how it always starts for me. Wake up early, roll out of my bed, provided to me by the government. It’s not a bad bed, either. Taxpayers wouldn’t be happy if they found out how nice my digs were, even knowing what I’ve done to save the country. Even more so if they know exactly what I’ve done to save the country. That being said, being a part of the secret and elite Division S of the Counterterrorism Strike Force had some great perks, like the housing.

Taxpayers know who I am, to an extent. They know the glitzy side of the story, the carefully crafted and painstakingly maintained public face of Heatwave and the carefully crafted and painstakingly maintained public story of her achievements. For every one of those public achievements where everybody feels good about having somebody like me swoop in seemingly out of nowhere and save the day, there are reams and reams of paper heavily redacted upon any Freedom of Information request. For example, there is no Division S of the Counterterrorism Strike Force.

My classy living situation is a perk, and a compromise. I live on what my coworker Carl calls “The Subtle Compound”. It isn’t just me, either. Carl lives there, along with everybody else in Division S. Satellite photos won’t show a compound out in the desert. You won’t even know you stumbled on a high-security compound for a secret division of a shadowy government organization that secretly backs the country’s superheroes. It looks like a back-alley piece of property in the warehouse district out by the piers. Instead of a warehouse, though, it has suites the envy of the five-star hotels and penthouses located just two miles away in the upper downtown. It has much sturdier walls, and any approach is carefully designed to discourage snooping before any prying eyes would see their first roll of razor-wire fence or security checkpoints.

I start off every day as a normal day. Roll out of bed, turn off the alarm, work out, get dressed. Make coffee my way. I can boil water with my bare hands faster than any kitchen appliance on the market. It’s a mental exercise more than anything. Sheila, better known as Fury, got me started on it. It’s easy for me to explode the kettle by heating the water so fast the steam can’t escape. It’s difficult to do small things with my power, like boil a kettle full of water. The first few days I was working on coffee, Sheila made Carl stand in my arms, between the kettle in my outstretched hands and me. It was sick, and Sheila acknowledges that. It was also insurance. Carl can take the hit better than anybody else in Division S.

Well, that’s not right. Carl can’t take the hit. If the kettle exploded, he would die with a chest full of cookware shrapnel. But then he would wake up back in time, and restart the day. I wouldn’t remember any day where I failed to control my power and ended up exploding the kettle, but Carl would. I end up living the day where Carl made it through alive. Every time. I wake up every day as just a usual day. Carl wakes up more days than the rest of us combined, and by his estimate, less than a tenth of them are usual days. His superhero name is Looper and almost nobody knows he exists.

Sometimes you know he’s died this day before. During a raid on some base of outpost, he’ll say or do something and then five seconds later it becomes clear he was reacting to a future event. Other times, it’s a usual day, not even with a raid, but then he’ll say somebody’s joke at the exact same time. Same inflections, same body language, for just a second he’ll be the perfect mirror of whoever said the joke, and the whole room goes absolutely silent. It’s creepy.

He never says “You’re welcome”. Copying somebody is his way of letting us all know that he’s managed to save our lives without the rest of us having to fight at all. He won’t tell us if we ask, so we’ve learned not to.

My usual morning, after successfully boiling the water, is to brew the coffee and make a breakfast burrito. Nothing pairs with coffee as well as eggs, beans, and salsa. I take my shower, get dressed, and I’m ready to report to the office upstairs at the crack of five o’clock in the morning.

I opened the door to the office to find Carl walking down the open expanse of floor away from me. He couldn’t see me, I’m not even sure he heard the door open.

“Karen, stay right there for me, please,” Carl said.

Shit. My stomach went cold. Carl was counting his steps, turning back on himself and stopping on some combination of starts, stops, and turns that only made sense to him. Eventually, he got back to the door, and me. He dropped into a crouch, and I did too. He pointed to the band of windows along the far wall. I could see the city starting to catch the summer’s earliest rays of light from behind us.

“Sniper” he murmured. “Don’t ask me where he is, or how he knows where we are, but at least he doesn’t have the door covered.”

“Yes, he’s got a big enough bullet to go through that glass. He’s good, too, can double-tap at this range, which is crazy to think about,” Carl continued.

“But the glass-” I start to say before cutting short. “Carl, how many days?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. “Come with me in five seconds yeah?”

Before I could do anything, he was counting down. At “one” he grabbed my hand and pulled me, running double across the office. A supply truck was rolling along with us, down the street outside. We got to a chalk circle drawn on the floor that said “Heatwave” on it. My frozen stomach dropped. He was Marking. That’s what Brock called it. When things have gone badly, that’s when Carl breaks out the sidewalk chalk and starts drawing circles.

“Stay there,” Carl ordered, his voice wavering with intensity. “Do not leave this circle until I tell you. That’s not going to be easy, but I need you to stay. In. The. Circle. Got that?” He looked me dead in the eyes.

“I understand,” I told him.

“Just a moment,” he murmured. “Sheila, don’t move a step further!” he shouted. He turned to me again. “Stay standing exactly as you are. Don’t sit, don’t crouch, just stay standing exactly there.”

Then he counted to seven underneath his breath and took off back across the office floor. As he had a muffled conversation with Sheila, I saw more chalk marks across the floor. There were seven I could see from where I was in mine.

Moments later, he brought Sheila to a circle about halfway from the door to me, adjusted her stance, which, while she was rolling her eyes at me over Carl’s head as he crouched to tweak where her foot went, she allowed to happen. Nobody touches Sheila without permission.

Then, the twins came in. Carl moved them, one at a time to opposite ends. He had them crouched in their circles, staring towards the window. Their eyes were focused in their typical creepy way. I could never stand it when the twins were looking at me. They made a great recon team but they gave me the heebie jeebies almost as much as a bad day from Carl.

“Leopard, don’t move!” Carl shouted soon after the twins were positioned. Leopard stood silent and impassive by the door.

“Yeah, yeah, you never make a noise, I never hear you,” Carl added.

“You can’t hear me-” leopard began saying then stopped.

“‘Oh no’ is right, Leopard,” Carl said before Leopard could react. “Now follow me!”

Carl guided Leopard to his mark on the floor before turning his attention to something else that hadn’t happened het, but would.

“He’s marking,” leopard pointed out. I nodded.

“And I think I’ve got it right this time,” Carl shouted. “We’ll find out though, I guess.”

“When?” Asked Sheila, standing awkwardly in her chalk circle. She shifted her stance a little as she asked.

“Fury’s getting scared?” Carl asked in a mocking tone. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out soon.” Carl held his hand up to his ear. We fell silent. I could hear a faint whooshing noise.

“No,” I breathed.

“Yup,” said Carl just a beat too soon. “Rocket inbound.”

The world exploded into light and noise. Rubble and shattered reinforced glass exploded into the room. I was lucky, set far back from the explosion. Everybody else was much closer to the blast. I had to check on them, to see if they-

“Not one step, Karen!” Carl shouted. “You stay right there!”

I stopped myself, heart pounding in my ears. Carl was glaring at me from his cover. Then, he rummaged around a little and pulled out an assault rifle and shouldered it, looking it into the chaos beyond the explosion.

The rest of the Division of counter-terrorism was in shambles, soldiers scrambling to gain position and identify threats. A group of them came walking brought the wreckage and were heading for us. I was proud of them, rallying so quickly from the shock of the explosion.

Then Carl shot the one in front. Clean, right through the left eye.

The rest of the men scattered, pulling off their guns and scurrying for cover. They didn’t stand a chance.

Carl doesn’t aim a gun. I’ve been around soldiers and in battlefields for a long time. I’ve seen a lot of people aim guns. There’s the pointing, the siting, the exhale, and the squeeze of the trigger, and then the knowledge of whether the aiming was done right or wrong.

Carl doesn’t aim the gun. He points it in a direction and shoots one bullet. Then he’s pointing the gun in another direction and letting off another bullet. In any situation where he’s holding a gun and using it, he’s died at least ten times only counting from when he got far enough to need the gun. Oftentimes more.

The soldiers in our division’s uniforms never got off a single shot. Half were dead before they got to cover. The other half were taken down methodically as they took the time to aim their gun.

“Twins, we’ve got a sniper on us,” Carl said loudly. “ I’m going to bait him into taking a shot. Keep an eye out. Leopard, as soon as the sniper takes the shot, you need to go sweep the compound. Karen, you’ll stay put still. Everybody understand?”

We gave our assent.

“Good. Here we go!” Carl shouted as he stood up, stock still with the gun for just too long before moving. The wall behind him exploded in a shower of dust and concrete chips. Carl ducked down, breathing hard and fast, he was shaking.

“Sniper’s in the Quantech Tower, fiftieth floor. Thirteenth window from the left,” the twins announced in unison as Leopard sprinted out of the devastated wall and melted into the disarray beyond.

“Fury, you’re up! Bring back the weapon!” Carl shouted. Sheila nodded and crouched. Then, glowing wings manifested themselves in flame and she blasted up into the sky.

Carl looked at me for the first time since Sheila showed up at the door. “Now I think we can move,” Carl said as I could see a fiery explosion blossom out of the Quantech Building.

“You think?” I asked.

whoperlokian-bendingismagic

Carl gave a goofy grin and held up his shaking hands for me to see. “I haven’t made it this far, yet! Let’s go!”

I nodded, and we took off. I could hear more gunshots behind us, no doubt Leopard removing more trespassers from the compound. We pushed through the back door to face a far more organized squadron of soldiers pointing their guns at us from behind arrayed boxes, barricades, and barrels. Anything that could take a bullet. Behind the soldiers, standing back from the line but out in the open, was General Haddad.

“Hold!” He shouted. “It’s Heatwave and Looper! Let them through!”

We passed through the defenses and ran to the bunkers we called home. Through blast doors, down stairs, then through more blast doors, and then into my suite. Carl closed the door behind us and locked it with everything it had.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re on lockdown,” Carl replied. “So I’m locking us down. Don’t think I’m leaving this room for the rest of the day. It’s taken me way too many tries to get through this one.”

“Well, what about the Twins? Leopard? Fury?” I asked. “Come to think of it? What about everybody else here? What are you doing to protect them?”

“They can handle themselves. Surely you know I’m not responsible for absolutely every life in the Strike Force, right?” Carl asked me.

I stared at him. “So what? You’re just leaving everybody else out there to fend for themselves in this?” I took a step back.

Carl looked at me dead in the eyes. “You’re the target today. Nobody else. With Fury taking care of the sniper and Leopard and Haddad dealing with any other infiltrators, what matters is you not being there to get killed.”

“I’m the target?” I asked. Stupid question, I know, but I needed to hear it again.

“Yes. I’ll explain more later, but I can’t leave you until the day is done, and I don’t have all the evidence to give you the explanation you deserve yet. So we’re waiting.”

It was still morning. I had left my suite not more than twenty minutes prior, and Carl was already eager to spend the rest of the day in a bunker under more locks and keys and blast doors than I thought warranted a sniper and an invasion of the compound. I wanted to help, to get back out there, but at the same time. Carl knew everything about those twenty minutes except the exact location of the sniper. He hadn’t let me engage the invaders after the rocket strike. I had little choice but to believe him.

It’s hard being on lockdown when your friends are out fighting for you and you can’t help. It’s hard being on lockdown in a luxurious but windowless room with nowhere you can go for your own safety. I tried reading, I tried exercising, I tried sleeping. Carl was pacing the room. Seeing him anxious was gratifying, but the pacing was getting on my nerves.

The tension was shattered by a knock at the door. Both of us froze, staring at the heavy steel door. It was locked four times, mostly from the inside. There was another knock.

“Bedroom. Now,” Carl ordered quietly. I went back to the bedroom as Carl stole up to the doorway. I heard Carl undoing the locks. The door creaked open for a moment. There was a murmured conversation, and the door shut again, and Carl was locking us back up.

“Karen, you can come out,” Carl said. “I owe you an explanation.”

I came back out into the living space. Carl was sitting at my dining table. There was a massive gun lying on it. Long and sleek, like a .50 caliber sniper rifle had been raised on steroids and went to the gym every day.

“Fury came by,” Carl explained. “Do you want a drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” I reminded him.

“We aren’t going anywhere. You might want one.”

I sat down across from him at the table and stared at him.

“Okay, but feel free to stop me at any point in this conversation to get one.”

“Just start explaining.”

“Right,” Carl said before closing his eyes for a second. When his eyes opened again, he looked different, even though nothing had changed.

“Karen, do you know how many times you’ve killed me?” He asked.

My breath caught. My pulse spiked and it took me a moment to compose myself. “Today?” I asked, “or…”

“Total,” Carl clarified. “Total times you’ve killed me. I’ve lost count, but it’s more than two thousand times.” He paused to look me over.

I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t be able to believe it. I can never remember the days Carl doesn’t survive because, as he put it, they’ve been redone, and everybody has to live with the consequences of the day he survives, not every day he starts, but still. Over two thousand times?

“And that’s just directly. As a direct result of your actions, I and others were killed by your powers. Indirectly, you’ve killed me even more. Today alone, you’ve directly killed me eighty five times, and indirectly another fifteen, and this is how,” Carl unchambered the bullet in the massive sniper rifle. It wasn’t a usual bullet. At least, it didn’t look usual. I’ve seen tons of bullets before, and none of them are jacketed in circuit boarding and appear to be filled with fluid.

“It only takes thirty pounds per square inch of pressure to force fluids through human skin,” Carl said, seemingly out of nowhere. “This is a supersonic smart bullet that makes use of that fact. The bullet self-destructs just before reaching the target, leaving a high-velocity vaporwave to hit the target at very high pressure. Bleeding edge technology inside and out.” He pushed the bullet across the table to me.

“The fluid inside this bullet is a serum designed to amplify powers. The amount in this bullet would effectively cause an OD, leading to excessive, uncontrolled use of powers.”

I picked up the bullet. It was heavy. There was a small bubble inside the serum chamber of the bullet. I tilted it back and forth, watching the bubble wander back and forth.

“The one area you need to improve on with your powers is the fine control. I’ve seen you melt a tank without breaking a sweat. This bullet amps you up, strings you out, and turns you into a massive thermonuclear bomb.”

I set the bullet down and pushed it away from me.

“You destroyed the entire city ninety times today in a cataclysmic explosion that would have been traced back to you. It probably would have ultimately exposed and discredited the counterterrorism strike force in one fell swoop.”

“How many days did you die today?” I asked, looking for a change of subject. Even if I hadn’t lived to see all of our work in the shadows being brought into the harsh light of public scrutiny in these cancelled futures, I could think of what would have happened to my friends and family.

“More than ninety.” Carl answered. He was always reliable when it came to that question. “Sniper took me out a handful of times, the rocket got me fifteen times, the ground troops that invaded got me another few dozen, a couple times you got killed before you could go nuclear—“

“Woah what?” I asked, interrupting him. “I died and you survived, and you started the day over?”

“Yup,” Carl said.

“But… but I DIED!” I said. “I’m the target, and if their operation was a failure, then that should have been a success!”

Carl laughed. It wasn’t mirthful. It wasn’t pretty or fun. His eyes were dark as he laughed. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

When his laughter died away, he leaned forward. “Look at this,” he said, and pulled his cheek back, exposing his teeth. One of the teeth was black.

“It’s not rotten,” he told me. “It’s artificial.” Then he fussed with the collar on his shirt for a moment. “Feel my neck,” he said. I ran my hands down his vertebrae. At the base of his skull was a lump that didn’t feel like bone.

“That’s a bomb,” Carl told me. “The tooth is a remote-activated poison capsule. I also always have a gun on my person.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Do-overs,” Carl answered. “If anything goes not according to plan, or if certain assets are… eliminated prematurely, then there are five people monitoring us in separate locations that can order me to kill myself, and if I don’t comply, then they can kill me from a desk.”

“What?” was all I could say.

“I told you before that you directly killed me over two thousand times. You’ve indirectly killed me over five thousand times. You get taken out by a surprise super in an operation? I die. If you don’t show up and we find you dead with cookware shrapnel in your chest from your morning coffee routine? I die. A witness to our clandestine activities gets away? I die. Then whatever curveball I died over gets folded into the intel so everybody is ready. I’m the last line of defense for this task force.

“So don’t make me promise to leave you behind, because that isn’t my promise to make and it’s not a promise I can keep.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?” I asked.

Carl smiled a sad smile. “I knew the truth would hurt you,” he shrugged. “You’d want to fix it despite all the advantages. Sheila knows, and she and I agreed that would probably be a a bad idea to tell you.”

“Why would it be a bad idea?”

“You’re already thinking about ways to free me of the tooth capsule and the bomb.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A true and correct statement.

“One last question, and then I’ll need a drink.”

Carl raised his eyebrows at me.

“Do you resent it?” I asked.

Carl smiled. “For any one of you? Not one bit.”



I did did this in mobile and it was being dumb about text blocks so you get it in two parts

sparrow-va
fizzityuck

we’re all getting “older” but age is a relative thing. i’ve licked things that are 250 million years old. you’re not that old and you’re not worth licking. 

random-cluster-missile

Clare this is by far the most terrifying post you have ever made

iraesid

Is this person an archaeologist and referring to the “lick test” for fossils or does she go down on the old gods…?

fizzityuck

image
joshpeck
m--ood

Magical encounter while free falling.

baconmancr

Can you imagine being that bird? You see a big falling dot off in the distance, so you go to investigate. And it’s a human. Just, like, hanging out, in the middle of the sky. Plumbing toward earth at terminal velocity.

“Huh, that’s weird” you think to yourself.

You land on them. They seem nonplussed by their predicament.

But you’re a busy bird, you’ve got places to be. So you just fly off. Good luck, crazy human. Hope you make it.

joshpeck
memeufacturing

a person from 150 years ago would be terrified by modern stuff . however , a duck from 150 years ago would just be all like ,still got lakes? yes ? okay cool

elodieunderglass

“How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks.”

― Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night (1935)

chatdomestique

Reblogging again because I thought they changed the quote so I decided to look up the actual quote and it’s not fake that is very much the actual quote