brains blown

Things from Dateline yesterday that tripped me out:

• lyle would stare into Alicia’s office constantly; also i found out later she let him in once but he just sat there and said nothing and he never did it again (kitty must’ve told him not to do that in fear he’d tell her something)

• Jose showed a room full of adults a VHS of adults performing sexual acts in front of kids

• lyle said he’d substitute his defense with a 30 second video of him being raped. (Lyle pls)

• Pamela said she kept a photo of kitty with her face disfigured and brains blown out ??? (??!!)

• Pamela also said that Leslie was more evil than Lyle and Erik

• Pamela also said that she’d shoot Leslie 2wice with a gun with 2 bullets while others said they’d kill Lyle and Erik

• Allan (cousin) said he could hear Lyle and Erik being whipped whenever he’d stay over at their house

•Diane (cousin) said that when Jose was with Lyle and Erik in their rooms it wasn’t permitted for anyone, not even kitty, to go down that hall

• also too many fucking commercial breaks

Mind = Blown

Guys I just relized that the main 5 birthday’s match.

Leorio: 3/3
Kurapika: 4/4
Gon 5/5
Hisoka 6/6
Killua 7/7

Make up - Request

Requested by anon:  HI! I was wondering if you could write a smut one shot for Sherlock?😇he & the reader were in a fight (not important one )in 221B and they end up having rough (always with consent) make up sex against the wall or a table? Thank you!

Summary: Everything from above.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 1,357

Warnings: Smut - rough, unprotected, dirty talk (I guess, but not really), hair pulling, dominant!Sherlock

A/N: “Against the wall or a table” why not both? ;) ;) ;)
Also, I love him in that purple shirt so…


Originally posted by imaginesherlock

“You’re always like this!” (Y/N) exclaimed, “You’re a… Psychopath!”

“Sociopath! Sociopath!” Sherlock replied in the same loud tone, “I’ve told you a million times I’m a high-functioning sociopath!”

“I don’t care!” She hissed. Sherlock huffed loudly, and (Y/N) then decided to leave – it was unfair for Mrs. Hudson to hear them fighting – so she grabbed her pursed and tried to walk out but, before she could open the door, Sherlock grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He inquired angrily.

“Out.” She snapped.

“You are supposed to be helping me with this case.” Sherlock spoke. His words were carefully pronounced and his blue eyes shined in rage, causing a both intimidating and tense aura around the couple.

“Maybe I don’t want to help anymore.” She muttered and tried to pull away. But Sherlock was quicker. He pushed her to the table next to him, which had papers and folders with disgusting pictures of the victims, besides his laptop that had now turned off due to the lack of activity.

His hands moved from her arms to the lower part of her back and pulled her against his chest, crashing his lips against hers in a ravishing kiss. (Y/N) tried to push him away, but ended up giving in to him, like she always did.

He nibbled on her lower lip, while his hands got rid of her blazer, throwing it off to the floor. (Y/N)’s fingers found the curly locks on his head and twirled them, pulled them, angrily but at the same time in that way she knew Sherlock adored.

His tongue begged for entrance, which was quickly granted, and he explored every inch of her mouth. Meanwhile, his hands went down to her arse, squeezing it shamelessly. He pulled away slightly to throw the papers at the desk away – in the most dramatic, porn-like motion possible – before carrying her to sit over the wood.

Her legs framed his hips, his hands were cupping her jaw and their lips were against each other, fighting for control. With expert hands she got rid of his coat and unbuttoned half of his purple shirt. Her cold hands wandered over his bare chest, making him shiver.

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About Marco’s death in the next episode

So I’ve gotten quite a few asks concerning this topic and decided to put my thoughts down here.

In short, this looks like Bert reacting to Reiner reacting to Marco reactionception. We see the walls of Trost in the background, even the weather fits, this basically confirms that the rather tragic flashback plays next Saturday.

I have mixed feelings about the decision. On one hand, Marco’s demise serves as a parallel to Bert’s fate a few chapters later, and also helps kickstart his more determined persona we can see during the Shiganshina arc. Since his death, despite its presentation, remains an important even in the story, giving him this flashback to contextualize it all a bit more worked really well in 77. So I am slightly worried about what’ll happen once we get Shiganshina animated…but that’s a question for 2000 years from now.

There are many aspect of this I enjoy a lot though. First of all, it brings Reiner’s mental issues full circle right away. Ch 46 does a great job at introducing his split personality issue to the viewers, so seeing its origin gives the whole thing more weight, and adds to the humanization of “humanities enemy”. Furhtermore, I was personally quote bugged by the reminder of the existence of Reiner’s issues in 77, I felt that there was a possibility they might return in some shape or form, and that Isa reminded us of them on purpose (in retrospective maybe dumb, but Reiner’s brain was literally blown to bits at one point…is it too far fetched to make a connection between those events?). So not having that reminder in Shiganshina works wonders for me.

Another thing is that we actually get to see RBA in action once. Though its implied numerous times at that point in the story, 77 is the only time we actually get to see them acting towards their goal, and not overly professional at that. It’s great because A) all three of them are once more humanized, a major theme of the clash arc anyway, and B) gives more context to Bert’s crush on Annie, which becomes an actual plot point in ch 49. Since we actually see them all doing shit together, it feels more organic in my opinion. 

Additionally, both Annie and Marco have appeared in flashbacks this season—gotta pour in the salt while the wounds are still open. The clash arc already is overflowing with tragedy, lets throw in the horrible demise of the fan fav character in there too. Thanks Attack on Titan.

And for what its worth, this isn’t really a disrespect from the anime team concerning the placement of the scene in ch 77. In fact, the anime team went to Isayama requesting storyboards for Marco’s death, bc they were planning on including it there, yet Isayama hadn’t even though about introducing it to the story yet. Only after creating the scene for the anime team did he decide to introduce it in the manga, and it happened to fit in really well. (x)

 Funny thing I realized earlier: remember the titan that ate Marco’s half? He had an eerie resemblance with series director Tetsurou Araki, didn’t he?

It’s because Araki was the one to ask for the scene. Araki was the one who initiated the creation of the death of Marco. Araki was the one to kill Marco.


Quick fact. Ready?
While we are asleep, our brain goes into a ‘detoxifying’ mode, in which it washes away any debris that may have caught onto it.

If one gets insufficient sleep, some of this plaque may remain on the brain, and one may experience more confusion and difficulty thinking if this chronic sleep deprivation persists.

“It made it worse to be on top of a mountain.  I was literally on top of a mountain when it happened.  And I could sense, I sensed everybody in the world just stopping what they were doing, turning around, saw what I did, and are coming to get me.  And I knew I was paranoid at that moment.  I knew anybody that came up there and gave me a funny look or a fishy eye or quizzical look, I’d’ve blown their brains out thinking they were coming to get me.  And if it had been in a city, I would’ve been a mass murderer at age 15.  I would’ve killed until they’d gunned me down.  I wouldn’t have been able to reason my way out of it.  I was scared to death and I was violent.  I felt my back hit that wall.  I was the rabbit that always ran, always backed away, always burned his bridges, and suddenly there weren’t any more.  And my back hit that wall, and I came out screamin’ and kickin’ and shootin.’”

–Ed Kemper on his mental state when he murdered his grandparents.

I just read something so stunningly, astoundingly, outrageously stupid that it killed me. You’re going to have to give me a minute guys. You’re going to have to. You’re. Oh my god. Oh my. Oh my god.

Demon Politics 101

Last week, I was at the library, and did 5 hours worth of research on Japanese folklore and youkai, because writing. Fast forward to today. First day of class, you’d think I’d be too busy to write fanfiction? Guess what I fucking did. Here’s a snippet of ANOTHER WIP, strike me down.

(Yamato is a Kodama, basically like a dryad. He’s a spirit that inhabits a tree. Sakura is an empath getting a crash course on conflicts. General warning for tree puns and excessive worldbuilding.)

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Jokers Daughter Imagine: Kidnapped

Request: (anonymous) Jokers daughter (who’s like a toddler) gets kidnapped while with the family and Jokers son (who’s older) loses his shit before Joker and barely can and he goes on a solo murder rampage to get her back.

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Zavala’s neck tattoos analysis AKA Bungie, Why So Coy It’s Just a Neck

Round here at Chez Danger we’re a little preoccupied by Zavala’s neck tattoo. What is it? When did he get it? Why can’t we know what it is?

My fangirl brain was blown earlier when @canam77​ pointed out Zavala has a tattoo not only on the left hand side of his neck, BUT ON THE RIGHT AS WELL. In the Vanguard room I always position my OCs on his right so he looks to the right, exposing the left side of his neck:

But here the right-hand side tattoo clearly is on his vendor screen, so colour me FLOORED. How did I miss that??

Surely a careful viewing of his Origins trailer will tell us approximately when he got his tattoos, e.g. was he resurrected with with them or did he get em later? 

Surely. Because his neck can’t be covered all the time. 

Can it?

Immediately post revival:

Outside in his flight suit:

Helping smol refugee boy and breaking all our hearts:

Fighting with his bros:

The tattoos do seem to extend up quite a way, but there are issues of angle and whatnot and his neck is covered ALL THE DAMN TIME so it’s difficult to conclude, unlike with Shaxx’s very visible second horn in Zav’s Origins trailer, whether he’s got the tattoos or not.

Even in the Homecoming trailer it’s hard to tell, and we KNOW he has the tattoos by then:

In conclusion: 

(ノ≧∇≦)ノ ミ ┸━┸

The Crypt Scene: Jon's Brain Edition
  • Littlefinger: *interrupts Jon's last bit of man-time with Uncle Ned*
  • Jon's Brain: wtf
  • Littlefinger: Do give Lord Tyrion my best when you see him.
  • Jon's Brain: Ignore him...
  • Littlefinger: *drones on about his undying love for Cat* ...She wasn't fond of you, was she?
  • Jon's Brain: IGNORE HIM...
  • Littlefinger: *pathetic attempts at flattery*
  • Jon's Brain: ...count to 10...
  • Littlefinger: *more pathetic attempts at flattery*...I wanted to remedy that.
  • Jon's Brain: ...walk away...
  • Littlefinger: Not even "Thank you"?
  • Jon's Brain: ...count to 20...
  • Littlefinger: If it weren't for me, you'd have been slaughtered on that battlefield.
  • Jon's Brain: ...COUNT TO 100...
  • Littlefinger: I love Sansa...
  • Littlefinger: I loved her mother...
  • Jon's Brain: @#$*&@#*(&%(*@#&%*(@&#% *ENTERS FULL-BLOWN GODZILLA MODE*
Description of the library by the son of a Columbine Survivor

“Here’s the skinny. My beloved mother works at Columbine highschool (where I graduated in ‘87). On 20 Apr 99 at approximately 11:15am she went into the library to look for her boss (an un-named computer teaher). Hell broke loose. She hid in a magazine locker adjasent (sp) to the library. Four hours later, the SWAT team led her to safety.

Now click ahead… My beloved mom is going through some serious fucking counseling. Complete with lots of cool drugs (that I steal on a regular basis!) Her trauma counselor thinks that it might be a good idea if someone in the family visits the site where everything happened.

My father declines. It is a little too much for him. My mom asks me. “Sure, I’ll go!” I answer, not knowing what’s in store fore me.

Here we go.

Enter Columbine HS at the north entrance -by the old auto shop building. Sign in -me, my mom and brother, her counselor, three firefighters, six admin officials, and two cops. (we had to sign our names so they knew we
were there).

Walk down the halls. Cop lets us know where everyone met the wrath of Eric and Dylan. There are bullet holes in the hall thresholds. Pretty fuckin cool I think. I touch them. 9mm slugs leave a nice sized hole.

We go into the library. This is really fuckin strange. All the interior windows have black butcher-block paper covering them. Can’t see in or out.. Enter the room. Gotta sign a statement saying we won’t go to the media etc… (This, I thought was pretty cool. Aimee Sporer* would cum in her panties to be in this room. I got to go in simply cuz I was a sprog of a survivor. )*Aimee Sporer is the extremely cute albeit married and motherly newscaster of our local channel four news.

Enter the room. First thing that grabs my attention is the carpet. It looks like its burned in spots. Closer examination realizes that its not burned. Its blood. Nine mm rifles and shotguns do a fucking good job of draining bodies. It was all underneath tables. Most of the kids died as they were hiding under tables. Granted, it had been 6+ weeks since the massacre, the blood was still very visable. (I guess bloood doesn’t evaporate). Here’s the wierd part: The blood was so thick that you could scrape it up with a putty knife. It was like dried up clay on the carpet (Sorry secret santa wishers, I didn’t grab any samples). One kid who died had his *brains* blown onto the carpet. This nearly caused me to lose my lunch. But as a good A.T'er, I held it in. Picture a spot about as large as a frisbee. Turn it greyish-brown. Add cracks due to drying. Fucking brains. But what really had me was the presence of a fucking *turd* on the floor. I pointed it out to the investigator and asked, “what is that???” He replied, “Feces” Apparently, one girl shit on the floor as Eric and Dylan went about their mayhem.

Good ole’ Cassie (she said yes) Bernall was reading the fucking newspaper when she bought it. It was opened up to page 16 and had her blood on it. Actually, there was blood everywhere. It was on the books, floor, periodicles, etc…

Go to the east part of the library. Eric and Dylan wisely decided to end it here. OK, most of the investigators believe Eric shot Dylan. When the report comes out, this claim will likely be substatiated. Now I have shot many high powered rifles in my age. I never knew that ballistics can be so messy. Eric put a gun to his mouth and literally blew his brains all over the ceiling. I mean *all over* there is a spot where him and Dylan died. Above that spot is a streak of blood that coats the white, styrafoam ceiling panels where they died.

Spent an hour and ½ in the library with the cops. Saw shit I never hope to see again. When I went into work later that day, I was in a fuck of a bad mood.

p.s. Collected some broken glass from the library. Put it in jar and took it to the local watering hole. Man, some fuckers have no sense of humor. “

Voodoo Doll [Jason x Soulmate!Reader]

A/N: Inspired by this, I decided to do a soulmate!au where voodoo dolls were given to a child when they were young. Anything done to the voodoo doll would affect their soulmates. 


Y/N = your name

Y/H/C = your hair colour

When you had turned four, a bunch of kids were huddled outside the playground during recess to talk about their “soulmates” and these “voodoo dolls” that one was supposed to receive at one point in their life to signify that they have been “paired up”. Of course, you didn’t believe the kids but the thought of a best friend for life intrigued you so when you went home that night, you asked your parents about it. 

They told you everything from what soulmates were and the process of finding yours. The dolls were almost like putting your fallen baby tooth under your pillow at night and the tooth fairy would visit you while you slept. The story for the dolls went; when you were deemed fit or the timing was almost right, a little fairy will bring you a small doll that resembled a bit of what your soulmate would look when you would meet. Your parents pulled their dolls out from their wedding box and although years had gone by since they first met, you could still see the resemblance. The dolls were small, about the size of a juice box. They were made of yarn but adorned enough details to seem as close of a match to their humans as they could.

So from the night onwards, you would pray to the stars that in the following morning to come, you would wake to find your soulmate’s voodoo doll under your bed. 

Of course, that didn’t work out for you and in the morning, you always woke up with glee and excitement only to be met with an empty spot under your pillow which slightly dampened our day. On the best of days, you would remind yourself that no one is truly alone in the world so your day would come. 

Throughout your years at school, your friends and peers would wake up to find their dolls and gush about it for the rest of the week. It hurt to know everyone around you were a step closer to their happy endings but you still kept your smile on for them. Once in a while, you would ask a random adult about their voodoo doll story. You usually stumbled upon the happy ones. There was one man who found his doll the morning of his big presentation only to meet his significant other at said presentation or grandma who found hers under her pillow in the middle of the afternoon when she was changing her bed sheets. A lady who worked at the library told you she didn’t find her doll until she was twenty-four so that kept you going. Of course, there was also the sad ones like your neighbor across the street whose relationship had ended and she spent most of her angry mornings stabbing at her doll with a pin on her front porch. Your parents told you that whatever you did to the doll, would affect the person so you could only imagine what your neighbor’s ex-fiance could be going through. 

On the morning of your fifteenth birthday, you let out a shrill scream when you had felt a lump under your pillow. By the time your parents had reached your room, you were already covered in tears of happiness, cradling the small doll to your chest. Your parents frantically asked you what’s wrong and instead of even trying to formulate words, you peeled your hands away to show them the doll in your palm. They were ecstatic. They knew how much this meant to you from day one and through the many years of sad mornings, they knew this was the best birthday gift anyone could ever give you. When the three of you had calmed down, you all examined it closely. Your doll was a little bit smaller than the one of your dad. You significant other had a black hair and the doll wore a red hoodie and grey pants.

For the first month, you would purposely go out whenever given the chance to, to see if you would come across your love. You even turned down the chance to go to Gotham to visit your second aunt because you wanted to stay and scour your city to find your soulmate. When you met new people, if the topic of soulmates came up you were quick to talk a little bit about your doll to see if anyone knew of him, yet nothing turned out. You found yourself casually running your finger over the dolls hairs and often wondering what it felt like to your significant other. Was he okay? Where did he live? Would you two meet soon?

Over the course of the next few months, your doll seemed to get lighter in color. You carried the thing everywhere you went as a reminder to stay vigilant for the black hair and red hoodie. You just assumed it was just getting worn from being handled so often. Except, a week or so later you came across another lump under your pillow before you fell asleep. Lifting it up, you were met with another doll. This one was a tad bigger than your first and it had a white streak in his hair. He wore a grey shirt with a red spot on the chest that was too small to make out, under a brown jacket. 

Confused, you went to show your parents and they could only share sad glances between each other before sitting you down and explaining that your first love had probably passed away. No one knew when this happened but they knew this wasn’t the first time in the history of voodoo dolls did something like this happen. You were bawling your eyes out by the time your parents finished telling you. Sure it had only just been a couple months, but you had grown emotionally attached to your stupid doll, your stupid lover. Your mother had tried to reassure you everything would work out and that the angels had blessed you with someone else. 

With a salty taste on your lips, you chuckled darkly, “Yeah, let’s hope this one doesn’t die either.” And with that, you left to go to your room to silently mourn the loss of the stranger you once loved. 

Years had passed and before you knew it, you were moving out to Gotham City to attend Gotham University. Your parents were torn between getting you to stay in the comfort of their home, scared for your safety because it was Gotham after all and supporting you in your decision to move forth in life. You had multiple acceptances from other universities but you chose to leave. The first year after you got your new voodoo doll, you looked at it with resentment. You downright hated that thing. You hated that you now had a replacement for the first love that you never even got to meet. You hated how they both seemed slightly alike in color scheme. You often dragged a needle across the slits between the yarn or squished his head hoping your new lover suffered drastic headaches. You wanted to stab the needle into his heart repeatedly, but you knew that he was probably clueless to the whole ordeal and perhaps giving a heart attack to your new lover wasn’t how you wanted to get another replacement if they even had another one for you… 

Gotham wasn’t great, but it wasn’t as gross as everyone said. You lived in an alright area with working streetlights and friendly-ish neighbors. Most were married couples or seniors living alone. University was what you had expected; heavy course load, mediocre professors and small classes. You heard about Gotham’s “vigilantes” and corrupted… everything, but you still tried to make the most out of the situation you put yourself in. You always had your pepper spray and pocket knife with you wherever you went. Even with everything from unpacking, work and school, you still found yourself wondering about your new lover. The hatred had stopped after a while but you still kept both your dolls hidden in your keepsake box. 

Is he anything like my first love? Would you even know?

Will he be a gentleman? Stop it, if he’s meant for you, he would have to be nice. You didn’t like rude people and it would just be a plain curse if you got an asshole of a man for a lover.

Is he even looking for me? I mean, you’re not. What if he was back in your hometown? You would never see each other. Maybe moving to Gotham was a bad idea…

It was past midnight and you were craving cookies and milk so you had walked down to the small corner shop to pick some up. You had just stepped foot out of the store when you heard a cry for help coming from down the street. You could make out two figures tugging at a woman so you decided to run up. You weren’t even thinking straight. A woman your size in pink kitty pajama pants and a dirty grey sweater you had found lying on top of your dirty laundry pile holding a bag of milk and cookies running up to stop two men from harassing another woman? You just didn’t want to be a bystander so you puffed up your chest and shouted at the men as you neared them, hoping it would scare them off.


The men turned to you with annoyance and a dirty grimace etched on their features. You gave them a once over to provide police with details later when one of them came up to you. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“You’re in my neighborhood, this is my business.” You responded boldly. The woman was in tears and you tried not to let your demeanor down, trying hard to recall some self-defence moves your father had taught you. 

“Four’s a party.” The man holding the woman shrugs and just as the man was about to grab you as well, the sound of a gun cocking froze everyone. The three in front of you had their attentions on someone behind you. You were too afraid to turn around, unsure of who the gun was pointing at, you didn’t want to risk getting your brain blown out. “It’s the Red Hood…” someone muttered quietly.

“I believe five makes it an orgy.” The man’s muffled voice spoke as he walked up beside you. You were still afraid to look but in your peripheral vision, you could tell the masked man wasn’t aiming for you. “Do we have a problem?” He asked as they all took a step back. You recognized the name now. People always talked about a vigilante who took down mobsters and drug dealers named Red Hood except you’ve never seen a picture of him before. Realizing who’s side he was on, you had taken the opportunity of distraction to swing your grocery bag at the man in front of you before grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back while kicking out his knee. Adrenaline coursed through you as you pulled your knife out on the second guy who quickly let go of the girl and backed away even further. 

“If you’re smart, you’d turn yourself into GPD or I’ll give them your description myself.” I threatened and he nodded before running off, leaving his friend to fend for himself. Putting your knife away, you asked the woman if she was alright. She frantically nodded and you advised her to report the incident to the police before she ran away. 

Turning around you stood to face the masked vigilante who was still there at the scene. Your mouth fell agape as you stared at the man before you. 

“That was… really well done.”The compliment seemed hesitant but you were too distracted by what he was wearing. Sure, anyone else in Gotham might be used to it, the red helmet that covered his face, but that wasn’t the thing that had your attention, to begin with. 

His outfit. 

The brown leather jacket. The grey undershirt and the symbol. The symbol of a red bat splayed across his chest. Was this him? Was that the symbol you couldn’t make out on your doll? The doll with the black hair and white streak. 

Your second lover. 

The outfit was for certain but without his hair, you couldn’t confirm your theory. 

You knew this crossed boundaries of privacy but you really had to know. Walking up to him, you could see his body visibly tense, but he was too stunned to shy away. 

Was this him? Did he recognize you?

Reaching up, you located the small hatch for his helmet and you pulled it. A small hissing sound came from the mask as it loosened. Slowly, you pulled the red hood off and you were met with a well-structured face with tousled black hair and surely, the white tuff above his forehead. With the helmet in one hand, your other one came up to pull your hood off your head revealing your (Y/HC) hair tied in a messy bun. 

A gasp escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to peel off his domino mask. 

“You’re…” He mumbled, stopping himself to give you a once over. “You’re her.” You looked down to see he had pulled out a small voodoo doll that resembled your current state of pink pajamas, a grey hoodie and a messy bun. It was small compared to his hand and although it would have been a perfect moment for you to show your doll, it was still stashed somewhere in your studio among the dozen of boxes you moved with. 

Gently picking up the doll, you looked at it. 

“I guess it is.” You smiled as you returned the doll back to him. Blue eyes twinkled as he smiled down at you. “I’m (Y/N).” 

Pocketing the small figure, his hands came out asking for a handshake. “And I’m Jason.”



Tagging: @a-fallen-little-pine-cone @cupoftim