and use it for the rest of my life

anonymous asked:

A whole season later, still stuck on the fact that the "pining for someone follow your heart line" was said to Dean and Amara used Cas' heart to locate Dean. Sigh...

I KNOW. FOLLOW YOUR HEART. 

Mildred: You wanna know the secret to living a long and happy life?
Dean: Actually, I do.
Mildred: Follow your heart. You do that, all the rest just figures itself out. I did that, I followed my heart. Traveled the world, made people smile, forget about their problems for a while. And then my heart said, ‘well, you’re done.’ I had my fill and retired and I love it.

he’s pining for someone else

And then in 11.21

She knocks Lucifer unconscious and makes a stunning realization that she hadn’t understood previously:

Touching Cas’s heart (because Lucifer’s been forced to “sleep” so it’s CAS she’s connecting with here) delivers her directly to Dean:

She followed Cas’s heart to Dean.

And then in 11.22 she practically has to force Dean to even look at her

But he tells her she’s wrong about his feelings, and confronting her like this somehow mysteriously frees Lucifer (and by Lucifer I mean Cas) from his bonds:

Amara reaches for Dean again, but he slowly backs away:

She never gets to touch his heart, as it were…

There are no drunk people in ditches
But the still say the future is not like the past

I download memories to the chip
Deleting half of them each morning

I have saved only 5% of my life
The rest a minutiae of things best forgotten

Everyone is a stranger to me
But somehow it makes things better

They say history is a lie we can’t escape
But I have fled so far from everything that used to be

There are drugs to keep you happy
But I don’t need any of them at all now

chilovita  asked:

Hey Guys, wanna ask you something sooo important, maybe just for me tho. 😅 Any other extras for Life, Senjou no Bokura? I really.. really.. really.. really.. really.. really love them (sing it like Carly Rae Jepsen). Oh wow, I'm sorry for being ridiculous. I'm so happy you gave us the extra. Thank you so so much. Lubh U 😚😚

Yes! As mentioned in the extra chapter post, there are still 3 tokuten papers I will be working on. (animate booklet, comicomi bonus paper and the general bonus paper) I got the animate booklet in advance so that will come out soon while the rest, I’ll have to wait til they get shipped to my place (might take a while).

Spoilers below

Keep reading

Ann: “Huh? That’s not it. I think revenge is better served if I make him repent. Realizing what he’s done, he’ll grovel for forgiveness the rest of his life, you know? I just believe there are fates worse than death.”

Ryuji: “Holy shit….”

Filed under: things Akechi wanted to do to Shido, but wasn’t allowed to because of an incomplete understanding of Shadows/how else to use his powers.

And he thought he could and wanted to do this naturally to Shido, by getting in good with him and proving his worth, and then slipping a dagger under his ear (figuratively) at the crucial moment. But Akechi was never even on a path that had this as an option: the PT did only because of Mona.

It was so easy for Akechi to have the potential to make all the same decisions and have the same outcome as the PT, if not for Mona’s delay in escaping Momentos. And that’s not Mona’s fault, it’s just a cruel twist of fate that was rigged against him from the onset.

soundcloud.com
I Was A Nightling
I Was A Nightling by Jimmythe Peach I was a nightling. Oh, the glories of being an addict in my alley off the Boulevard of Music, a Punk, Rockabilly, Reggae Cowboy, until daylight gave me the tr

I Was A Nightling by Jimmythe Peach

I was a nightling.
Oh, the glories of being an addict in my alley
off the Boulevard of Music,  
a Punk, Rockabilly, Reggae Cowboy,

until daylight gave me the trembles
and the novelty wore off.

My lifestyle whittled away all that was social.
Conversations disappeared, leaving lyrics
and unfinished stories, each day my longest ever on earth.
Songs got shorter,
and shorter, and
shorter…

The lathe of my lousy life shaved even the words away,
and my axe and my amp and the rest of the gear,
the magic boxes of reverb alchemy, solid-state flangers,
phasers, a Cry Baby, and the chorus I borrowed from
I don’t remember who… the last to go, the Rat distortion box.

Gone, everything gone.

Then Red gave me his guitar,
an old Fender Mustang.
He’d drive us around to little clubs
and on Sunday afternoons we’d jam
jazzy at Gilardi’s, the old place
on the slow bank of the Petaluma River.

My memory of those days is dim,
but I must have been doing something right,
because the waitress would bring me
bottles ofJamaican Red Stripe beer
and she’d cook me dinners I couldn’t eat
and make the other customers wait for their drinks.

Crashing at Reds, one Sunday
he couldn’t wake me up.
I must have passed away.
That’s what I figure.
That’s what happens
if you ride the train
past the end of the line.

It’s been years since I died… those days dim.

Jimmy
December 4, 2016 - JUNE 25, 2017
NewMain, Virginia

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Good evening, Papaholics!

Tsuki: Come in, have a seat! Refreshments are by the door. How was everyone’s day? I hope they went well. Tonight’s topic of discussion is: when did you all first realize that you were Papaholics? When did the thirst really set in, and you knew you were firmly wedged into the Papa trash heap with the rest of us? For example, I’m relatively new to being a Papaholic, having just discovered them in early march, and I knew that Papa had taken over my life when I first heard one of his Monstrance Clock speeches. *heavy sigh* It was all downhill from there…

Ghulette: An excellent topic, Tsuki. I always say Square Hammer grabbed my attention. Meliora made me fall in love. The video of the 2016 Hellfest performance – specifically his scream and his smooth little move during the instrumental break in Absolution – began the obsession. But the true thirst started the first time I saw him get on his knees and sing Cirice into some lucky girl’s eyes. I’ve been very VERY thirsty on a regular basis ever since.

Tsuki: *nods* A poignant moment indeed. So, how about you all? Who wants to share with the group?

doddle-phan  asked:

1. you're really pretty wow 2. i'm glad your first pride went well!! 3. you and your blog are great 4. have a good rest of your night (day? whichever)

1. you’re the sweetest ty!!  
2. ah yes, the ppl behind us at the parade that we befriended had been going to the parade for 25 years and honestly?? goals  
3. me and the three years of my life that i’ve spent on this blog appreciate it :’)  
4. i’m just about to go to bed and i hope you have a good rest of your day as well!!

I just found a back stitch alphabet where tiny cats in various poses make up the letters and I don’t think I’m ever going to use another font for the rest of my life.

9

When you look into the audience at my shows, you see a beautiful, diverse, pure, happy crowd. Thousands of people, incredibly different, all there for the same reason, music. Music is something that everyone on Earth can share. Music is meant to heal us, to bring us together, to make us happy. So that is what it will continue to do for us. We will continue in honor of the ones we lost, their loved ones, my fans and all affected by this tragedy. They will be on my mind and in my heart everyday and I will think of them with everything I do for the rest of my life.

Someone I used to love
Once told me,
‘Let’s try this.

It’s either Now or Never.’

I wanted to choose Now.
I wanted to wrap
My arms around them
And kiss them.
I wanted to know
How it felt to have
Their lips pressed
Against mine.

But I chose Never.

Because I’d rather

Never know what

I’ve been missing,

Than wish for more

For the rest of my life.
I’ll always choose Never…

There isn’t

A greater torture

Than trying something

For the first time,

And craving it

For the rest of your life.

—  The Unknowing
Unexpected Victory

For some context, in the Campaign I’m DMing we’ve been stuck in a maze of caves in search of a missing child, the party comes across two skeleton Minotaurs which I planned to be mini bosses. The party are very underprepared for the fight.

Bard(ooc): “uh- can I insult the Minotaur?”

Me: “sure, though I’m not sure it’ll do much”

*Bard uses vicious mockery, rolls a Nat 1*

Bard(ooc): “Shit, that’s not good.”

Me: “well, before your impending doom, what did you say to the skeleton?”

Bard: “uh- you have a very… nice… Skeletal structure.”

Me: “… Did you just flirt with the Minotaur?”

Bard(ooc): “I want it so that I failed so hard I accidentally flirted with the skeleton”

Warlock(ooc): “How’d you managed that?”

Bard(ooc): “I am capable of nonsense”

*I roll for wisdom and didn’t beat the mark by a huge gap*

Me: “Well, the Minotaur doesn’t quite understand what you said, but it was flattered anyway. Congrats you just seduced a pile of bones”

Bard(ooc): “Oh shit, well um… Do I have a charisma bonus on her now?”

Me(ooc): “I guess so. Also the other Minotaur was her husband, he is now jealous and wants to kill you, plus he has a strength bonus on you.”

Bard: “Aw shit. Uh- I’m running behind this rock, I’m not moving and no one can tell me otherwise”

Knight: “Help us you coward!”

Bard: “you probably got this!”

*a round passes and it is the Bard’s turn again, the rest of the party are almost dead*

Barbarian: “so our fate rests with the bard?”

Warlock: “Our journey is over.”

Bard: “I convince the skeleton to kill her husband, and then herself”

Me(ooc): “wait what?”

Bard: “you heard me! Don’t question it sky narrator!”

*she rolls 18 persuasion. I roll a 5 wisdom and sigh in defeat*

Me: “She proceeds to decapitate the other skeleton, and then herself. The two collapse in a heap of bones. You’ve won.”

Barbarian(ooc): “you can’t be serious”

Warlock(ooc): “Never thought I’d see the day that ‘Bard’ actually helps us in a fight.”

Knight(ooc): “We won by telling it to go kill itself.”

Bard: “I play my victory song on my sacbutt(trombone)”

*my friend proceeds to pull out her actual trombone and play Final Countdown as me and the rest of the party contemplate life*

It would have been so super easy for Horikoshi to write All Might as a typical, jaded, cynical hero who actually hates what he does and just wants to dump OFA off onto someone else so he can retire and be grumpy for the rest of his life, but instead he blessed us and made him as human as possible- someone who struggles with very real fears and doubts in himself, but also loves helping people, and he loves Izuku and his students, and is never hesitant to encourage them and offer them praise to help them become the best that they can possibly be and never belittles them.  He’s just such a positive force as a character and I am so so thankful like  

Shortly after the overdose, Bob decided to tell Jack the story of why he really got put in the Stanley Cup as a baby.  It was Bob’s way of thanking the cup.

“After I won my first cup,” he told Jack, “I realized I’d achieved my dream, and I had married this amazing woman, but something still felt like it was missing.  I wanted to be a father.”  He told Jack how he and Alicia had tried to have a baby, but it just wasn’t happening.  As the months dragged on with more of the same, they started to get worried.  

“And even when you were worrying you’d never truly be happy you managed to win the cup again, yeah?  That’s the moral of the story?” Jack snapped.  Bob shook his head, reached out to run a hand over Jack’s back, like he could smooth down his son’s frayed nerves.  

“Non, non, non, that would be a terrible moral.  Actually my stats were worse that year than when I was a rookie.  But my team was incredible, and we made it to the cup again.  And here’s where the story gets good, you see, because I’d heard all kinds of wild legends through the league about ‘cup magic’ and how sometimes it would grant wishes”

“Or turn you into a fucking penguin,” Jack scoffed.

“Well I was playing for the Canadiens at the time, so I suppose there wasn’t much risk involved, but there was a whole lot of desperate hope.So on my cup day, after everyone else left, I sat down and had a chat with it,” he gestures to the table they’re sitting at.  “Right at this kitchen table.”

“Please tell me that’s the only part of this story that happened at this table,” Jack groaned.  Bob laughed.

This story, yes.”

“Papaaaa,”  Jack picked up his bowl of cereal and pointedly continued eating without letting his food touch the table.

“Oh for God’s sake, Jack, this table has been cleaned many times since, put your food down for a bit, I’m trying to have a moment with you here.”

“Alright, alright, fine.”  Jack obediently set the bowl aside and faced his father.

“As I was saying…” Bob cleared his throat.  “I talked to the cup.  I told it I didn’t care if I ever won it again.  All I wanted was a son.  If it would give me that, I promised, I wouldn’t ask to win so much as a faceoff for the rest of my life.  And I promised that I would love my son - that I would love you - unconditionally, more than anything in the world.”

“And you won a fuckton more awards anyway.”

“But,” Bob countered, “I didn’t win the cup again until after you were born when I was with the Pens.  And so when your mother brought you onto the ice to see me, I wanted us to put you in the cup, but it wasn’t supposed to pass along some kind of hockey magic and ensure the Zimmermann dynasty or whatever the fuck ESPN likes to say, alright?  We did it as a thank you.  We wanted the cup to see what a beautiful baby we had, and to feel how incredibly loved you were.”  Bob ran a hand over Jack’s newly-cropped hair, feeling the strands against his palm, almost as soft as when he used to sit next to Bob in his high chair smashing banana all over the tray.  “I kept my promise too,”  Bob said.  “I love you.  Unconditionally.  More than anything in the world.  And your mother and I just want to help you be happy, whatever that looks like.”  He smiled warmly at his son, letting all the pride he usually kept a lid on to keep from embarrassing Jack bubble up to the surface.  Jack looked down at his hands.

“How can you not be disappointed?  Look at me.”  Jack’s shoulders hunched in, shrinking him down, and Bob pressed his hand between Jack’s shoulder blades, rubbing circles in the way that always used to put him right to sleep as a child.

“I will always be proud of you, hockey or no.  Because you know what?”  Jack chanced a glance up at his father’s face and was held by his earnest expression.  “Winning the Stanley Cup isn’t even in my top hundred favorite memories anymore.  All of my best memories are with you and your mother.”  Jack didn’t say anything in response, and Bob was learning when to give him space to process, so he stood up, bending back down to kiss his son’s forehead as he snagged the now-soggy bowl of raisin bran from in front of him.

It took a few days for Bob to get a real response from Jack, and in the meantime he just left everything to percolate.  And then one night, Bob just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  His knee wasn’t quite hurting, but it was on that edge where it just didn’t feel settled, and Alicia had been snoring, and at the back of his head he could feel some kind of humming, like he could feel the tense air in Jack’s room.  He’d gotten himself all worked up mulling that last one over until he had to get out of bed.  He stood in front of Jack’s bedroom door, looking at the light peeking out from below the doorjamb for minutes, listening to the sounds of floorboards creaking occasionally, pages rustling, a keyboard clacking.  After he’d gotten enough of the sounds of Jack just existing on the other side of the door to calm his racing heart, he went to the living room.  

He settled into the couch with a box of crackers and a nature documentary when he heard footsteps creaking on the stairs.  At first, he was expecting Alicia coming to call him back to bed, but the footfalls were too loud for her.  Bob tried not to look surprised when Jack rounded the corner, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Animal Planet.  He held up the crackers in greeting.

“Joining your old man for a midnight snack, eh?”

“Oh.  Um, sure.”  Jack padded over to the couch and made himself comfortable next to Bob, pulling down the afghan from the back of the sofa.  They stare at the TV in silence for a long while before Jack speaks up again, quietly.  “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“So…what exactly was better than winning the cup?”

SKAMS04E08 Clip 1 - Miss you

[SANA: Hi. There’s something I have to tell you.

Hi. What are you doing today? Can we meet up?

CHRIS: I’m hungover af

VILDE: Magnus and I are talking.

NOORA: How are you doing Vilde?

VILDE: He thinks I’ve cheated on him with Elias.

EVA: We’re gonna kill those who made the hate account. Sana: I’m also hungover af and dad is visiting from Bergen to celebrate my 18th birthday. Yippee!

No Yippee.

Plus fml.

CHRIS: Eva!! Mom said it’s okay for us to celebrate your 18th birthday at my place on Friday!!

EVA: SHE DID?? Fucking hell!!

CHRIS: She asked why you couldn’t have it at your place, and I was like… ehhh.. they’re renovating. After the last party.

EVA: Hahahaha!! Awesome!! Who are we going to invite??

[Elias watching Youtube video of the boys]

SANA: Hi.

ELIAS: Talking to me?

SANA: Sorry for being mad.

ELIAS: So you’re not mad anymore? That’s good. I thought you were going to be mad for the rest of your life.

[YOUSEF: Okay, are you ready?]

SANA: Why aren’t you friends with Even anymore?

ELIAS: No, the guy doesn’t want to be with us anymore, so we can’t make him.

SANA: So it’s not because he.. tried to kiss Mikael? Because I heard Mikael freaked out.

ELIAS: That’s not why. It’s.. A lot happened. The guy just started doing a lot of random stuff. Then he tried kissing Mikael, among other things. And we tried to get him to chill, but it didn’t work. Then he dropped out of school and I talked to Sonja and she told me he was depressed. And when she told us we tried to call him and text him a lot, but.. So it’s his deal if he doesn’t wanna hang out with us.

SANA: You know he’s dating Isak? I think he misses you.. Because he asked about you the other day.

ELIAS: He did? Tell him hi, then. Hey. You know Yousef?

SANA: Just forget about it. I’m over him.

4

I never came to the beach or stood by the ocean
I never sat by the shore under the sun with my feet in the sand
But you brought me here and I’m happy that you did
‘Cause now I’m as free as birds catching the wind

I always thought I would sink, so I never swam
I never went boatin’, don’t get how they are floatin’
And sometimes I get so scared
Of what I can’t understand

But here I am
Next to you
The sky’s more blue
In Malibu
Next to you
In Malibu
Next to you, baby

We watched the sun go down as we were walking
I’d spend the rest of my life just standing here talking
You would explain the current as I just smile
Hoping that you’ll stay the same and nothing will change
And it’ll be us just for a while
Do they even exist?
That’s when I make the wish
To swim away with the fish

Is it supposed to be this hot all summer long?
I never would’ve believed you
If three years ago you told me
I’d be here writing this song

But here I am
Next to you
The sky’s so blue
In Malibu
Next to you
In Malibu
Next to you, baby

Next to you
The sky’s so blue
In Malibu, baby
Next to you

We are just like the waves that flow back and forth
Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning and you’re there to save me
And I wanna thank you with all of my heart

It’s a brand new start
A dream come true
In Malibu

a concept: i live in a cottage within the forest, the trees are the tallest thing you’ve ever seen. ranging from pine to maple with branches stretching towards the sky. inside the cottage is cool and dry, the sound of the raindrops gently hitting the roof and windows. outside the earth is alive, leaves blowing in the breeze and so very green. you hold my hand, rubbing your thumb over mine, leading me through the backdoor to our yard. from there we venture fourth to the garden. the air smells so fresh, pure. the blueberry bushes are full of berries, we pick them together and laugh when the trees above us sprinkle water on our heads. we’re at peace in our home, where it’s just us and nature. we spend the rest of the evening on the deck in each others company, a blanket around us both.

A few years ago, I started doing this thing where I take care of myself from a third-person perspective. It started when I got diagnosed with my neurological condition, as a way to remember and embrace that I had a handicap, and that my life would improve if I observed proper care of it. For example, when I started to get overloaded I taught myself to step outside of the situation and say, “Self, hey, I think we need to get out of here. Remember that you’re sick, and it’s okay that you’re sick. I know you’re still working, and I’m sorry, but it’s time to take us home.” A big step in my life happened when, on one of those days where just nothing worked at all, I just put myself to bed with a book and glass of milk at 4:00 in the afternoon, saying, “We did our best, but I think we need to shut this day down. This is your job right now; I need you to get a lot of rest, because there’s a lot to do tomorrow.” Everything feels so much better when someone understands and accepts what’s up with you, even if it IS you. Even the tough-love aspect through the worst of times that says, “I know this is breaking you down into little pieces, and I’m so, so sorry to do this, but I need you to keep going. I’m going to get us out of this, but in order to that I need you to keep going” makes everything so much easier. 

It’s turned into this major thing in my life. I can already state that this is the most important thing for success in grad school. When you can look at yourself objectively and feel a need to care for that good, hardworking little human as best you can, it makes it easy to put your health and safety first. It’s second nature to celebrate even the smallest victories of that person, because you work so hard to take care of them, and you see that hard work paying off in countless ways. Standing up for yourself if easy when that voice in your head rears up at once, unable to just sit by and let your person get kicked around. It’s hard for me to think, ‘Hey, please don’t say those mean things to me,’ but when I look at the situation from the outside I immediately start going, ‘Woah, buckarooni, you think I am gonna just sit here, let you talk at my human that way? Bouta get my foot in your face is what’s bouta happen, friend.’

This practice has made me more compassionate, more patient, and less tolerant of mistreatment of those around me in any form. The saying, ‘treat others as you treat yourself’ goes a long way when you treat yourself really, really well. I strongly recommend this practice to you student types. Be your own mom/big brother or sister. Or date yourself, be a healthy relationship. Put your own name on the list of people in your support system. 

anonymous asked:

prompt: andreil + emergency room visit

(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)

The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.

It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.

He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already. 

It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.

He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.

He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.

The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.

“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”

“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”

He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.

It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like. 

He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”

“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.

He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.

The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.

“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”

“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.

“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”

She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.

“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.

“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.

“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.

“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.

“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”

“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”

Keep reading

And we all talked about the plausibility of assumed misogyny and general inequality in a world without Christianity and 'Original Sin' i.e. Fuck that noise; your home village burned to the ground and every other person you meet wants to kill you, but at least you don't have to deal with that bull shit.

The gnome bard and half-orc warlock (for context they are played by siblings who enjoy trolling the rest of the party on the regular) are the only players still conscious in the dungeon we’ve been trapped in FOR WEEKS  and even short rests always end in tears

Bard: Sooo, we leave them to die?

Warlock: You’re chaotic GOOD

Bard: … GDI

Warlock: Hey, how ‘bout that random magic archway we found that leads to nothing but a storage closet.

This portal turned our knowledge cleric from a male to female, but had no harmful effects.  She reported it was FASCINATING.  The human barbarian immediately began finding excuses to fondle her new assets.

Barbarian’s player: Wait, WHAT?!?!

Bard and Warlock grin wickedly to each other as they drag the barbarian, cleric, and ranger back to the portal.

- Upon waking -

Bard now female:  Sweet, whole new identity.  I can go back and rob all those towns I’m wanted in.

Ranger now female:  I’m an elf, I’ve lived for 300 years as a dude.  I’m ready to mix it up.

Cleric already transformed: FASCINATING, the apparatus seems to provide only a single use to one creature.

Warlock now male: I’m a half-orc in full plate armor, nobody saw me as a woman before anyway.  So this doesn’t really change my identity.

Barbarian now female to the DM: How do I look?

DM: Your life of battle and hard labor is still apparent, your body is heavily muscled and scarred.  You tower over the rest of the party as before. Your armor fits differently, but you judge it is still fit for combat.

Barbarian: But what about my boobs, how are they???

DM: … Uneven.  The left one is bigger than the right.