golden-arch

Once we were on a long trip, we’d been in the car for a long time and we were all getting antsy. Then we saw a McDonald’s in the distance. We saw the golden arches and we got so excited, we started chanting “McDonald’s! McDonald’s! McDonald’s!” So Carli pulled into the drive-thru and we all started cheering. Then she ordered one small black coffee for herself and kept driving.
—  Alex

My hollowed eyeballs
Sink deeper into my bones
Looking inward at my own flesh
I see the little god in me
Budding outward, and I
Breathe out to feed its unformed petals
The stem lengthen and strengthen
Through these black lashes
jutting out in arches

Like golden half-moon structures
Leading to the starry city
A mini divinity sitting on sunflowers.

Breathing in the fumes of my tea
I find my center in the corner of a wall.

—  Jenn Satsune

Okay, a bit more on the violent, semi-pessimistic, more stereotypically Orcish side of things. Possible triggers. Graphic. R-word.

A bit of backstory to this little hypothesis: Humans figured out our differences somehow. Terrorism peaked, religions crumbled, and we had one REEEAAALLY big bad bloody war. Lots of people died. Man’s inhumanity to man. Rape, humiliation, genocide, slaughter of innocents, Armageddon, Ragnarök. That sort of thing. We vowed through accords and treaties, even in the colonization of other worlds and systems (and any conflicts that may result from such) we would seek to end things peacefully, because everyone’s just so tired. They don’t want to spill blood anymore. They vow to protect their societies and their children from such horrors ever again, and never visit such a low point ever again for the sake of humanity. Call it the Blooding Years. Makes the World Wars, Holocaust and the Crusades look tame.

Jump forward a few hundred or good thousand years.

Race really isnt a thing anymore, save for a few varied vestigal traits here and there. People are still spiritual and have faiths and superstitions, and we have made our peace with nature and spirituality, but organized religion itself is something mostly relegated to our bloody past. Although we put the Blooding Years behind us, something so profound is sure to leave some marring and scars on the general psyche of a people, even generations down the line. We are as peaceful as we can be, despite gallows humor and general mental maladjustment taking a spike in recent generations. So, in short, we’re just a bunch of vaguely beige space monkeys with twitchy temperaments trying to be peaceful and stuff.

We have spread to a few systems outside Sol. We’ve contacted a handful of species out in the stars. Xenophobia was a thing, but we’re getting over it. We have a few ‘hybrid’ systems where we coexist, a la [insert sci-fi title here] style. Aliens are learning to like us for our resilency and hard work, but having learned from our history (which was liberally gifted to those among them that would read it), they give us a wide berth, despite keeping steady trade and peaceful relations.

And then, as the old saying goes, shit happens.

A bunch of genocidal xenophobic maniacs come out of nowhere and decide “WE OWN THIS SHIT, AND YOU ARE AN AFFRONT TO GARGASCHMARGAL THE BLOODY! YOU MUST BE [insert evil villain endgame here] !!!” and essentially try to out-Space-Orc the Space Orcs. The Galactic Union, or whatever the assembly of alien races view themselves as (and with which we are allied with but decide not to unify with) launch an offensive! They fight! They clash! In the words of Willem Dafoe, “THERE WAS A FIRE FIGHT!”

Annnnd they lose. Horribly. Entire fleets are laid waste. Worlds fall. Star systems crumble. Trillions die.

And then, after their bloody campaign, having beaten back even the forces bolstered by humans, and after enslaving or euthanizing any other people that stood before them, they arrived at the doorstep to human space, and after a gorefest, essentially Hiroshima a garden world. Eden-in-the-Wind.

-cue the seriousness-

Word got back to Earth, Inner, and Outer Colonies. Eden-in-the-Wind is gone. Dust. Vids came back from the now-dead world. Women and children executed. People being eaten as they are simultaneously being used for sexual pleasure. An infant used as a soccer ball. Skulls with still-bleeding vertebra dangling from belts.

Mayhem bore its crown. The wolf stirred. And Hell reigned.

Those allied aliens that remained and sought refuge on human worlds watched in horror as formal governments dissolved, treaties were burnt, and every human down to the last howled into the winds. We embraced the ways of old. We broke hockey sticks for impromptu spears. We cannibalized vehicles for their precious metal, so that they could have blades to drink blood with. We melted down memorials, so that we could have bullets to slay foes with. We renamed our ships, which served as names of peace and progress and remembrance. They now beared the names of hatred, and death, and destruction; Sathanna, Gehena, Lucifer, Ragnarök, Deluge, Armageddon, Uziel, Uoke, Shiva.

What once was an organized military force was now a hodge-podge fleet of battleships, cargo ships, carriers, dreadnoughts, and even civilian transports. Children carried rifles. Mothers carried swords. Fathers carried axes. Brothers and sisters exchanged spears and pistols. Bitter neighbors mended fences in the name of vengeance. The wheel turned once more, and the wolf within no longer stirred, but ruthlessly hunted, awoken by the stench of blood and gore.

The ships more or less crash, stead of land. We find whatever worlds these bugs have taken, and fall upon it as a horde of foaming teeth.

Allied aliens deemed it appropriate to seek revenge alongside, but were appaled by the horror that humanity was so easy and ready to visit upon these foes. They partook in adrenaline shots and metabolized psilocybin. They drunk of alcohol distilled from the blood of these genocidal demons. They detonated bombs that had still-screaming enemies piled atop them beforehand. They sent crates full of heads back to hostile commanders. They glassed entire worlds from orbit. They beat these foes back to their homeworld, having ruthlessly dogged them to the edge of oblivion.

Eventually, there were no new bodies to crumple. Eventually, there was no fresh blood to spill. Eventually, all that was left of this enemy that had scourged this corner of the galaxy for 75 years was a whimpering, bloodied remnant of their hierarchy, and a dwindling few thousand left to their populace.

Their god-king laid beaten and bloody upon the crumbled remains of his golden throne. He asks to but a girl, no more than 14, that approaches him, sadistically grinning in the dim light of the royal chamber.

“Why? Why have you come here? Is your bloodlust not sated!? We conceded five of your cycles ago! We know what you are capable of! We fear you! Why?! Why do you still come?!”

The girl stops, close enough to smell the copper tang of the alien’s blood on its breath.

“Sic semper tyrannis,” she blurted out, in a dead tongue that the alien did not understand. She drew the knife in her belt and beheaded him, his gurgling screams resounding through the chamber.

She left through the front doors of the palace, the bronze sunset glinted off the golden palace buttresses and arches. She still clutched the god-king’s dripping head by his antennae, her purple-stained hand white-knuckled in victorious fury. A small congregation of aliens bowed and knelt before them, raising claws and feelers in terrified begs and prayers. She tossed the head down the steps, and watched it bump and roll the length down, halting with a wet thump at the base.

And as the congregation shuddered and yelped, completely catatonic at the realization that their god-king is dead, they turned their gaze to the humans, boarding their dropship, ascending into the clouds. They never returned.

Humanity drew back its severely-pruned numbers. They retreated to Earth, to serve a self-imposed penance. The remaining allied aliens, now repopulating their numbers, were gifted the colonies that humanity had once taken. They wondered why humanity was retreating to Earth.

Shexan, a member of the founding race of the Galactic Union, confronted his human friend, Jonathan, though keeping a healthy distance after what he had witnessed.

“Why do your people leave, Smith-Jonathan? You have won, why do your people not rule?” it inquired.

“We did not want to win. Because we knew what we needed to do to win. And we did not want to return to that.”

“To what, Smith-Jonathan?”

“To what we learned not to be.”

“Jonathan?”

“The lessons of the past will be repeated until they are learned.”

Jonathan turned from his new friend, tears streaming down his ragged face, as he departed into the darkness of the transport, its heavy bulkhead doors clunking shut behind him. The transport lifted into the stars. In all the years since that Shexan lived on TRAPPIST-1-b, he did not see a single human return.

The Sol system was, at the behest of humanity itself, marked as an uninhabitable system, and was restricted from entry. And, so has it remained, since.

Submitted by: @bartwelchii 

Wings: Preen

Request: I am absolutely in love with anything having to do with the reader’s ability to see Gabe’s wings (aka soulmate fics!) Would you maybe consider doing a Winchester!reader fic like that?

A/N: I’ve read a lot of these, so I decided to take a different approach. There will be a part two!

Author: Holly

Warnings: Light swearing

Characters: Y/N, Gabriel, Castiel, Sam, Dean

Word Count: 2,371

Y/N = Your Name

Part One: Preen

            Your twin brother Adam grew up with you in Michigan, and you only saw your father once a year – twice, if you were incredibly lucky. As you grew up, you stayed close out of concern for the increasingly-erratic behavior of your mother. You made plans to meet up again and take time off to stay with her.

            You never saw either of them again, because by the time you had returned to your hometown, your mother and brother had both been eaten alive by ghouls. Sam and Dean pulled you out of the infested house in the nick of time, and since then, you traveled with them. Your hunting, however, left some to be desired – you hadn’t had your entire life to practice.

            The desire to keep you alive was what made them relax their anti-archangel rules in a special exception for Gabriel. The archangel would ride with you on long trips in the Impala on occasion, and he would pop in for at least a quick minute once you’d found a hotel. You’d text and he’d send you photographs of the most beautiful places in the world that you wished you had the money and the safety to go see.

Keep reading

The largest faith in your setting worships 8 greater gods:

  • Ronald McDonald: leader of all the other gods and god of the sun.  Protects the innocent, feeds the hungry, and loves everyone even his rivals.  His ever loving kindness and strength inspire many paladins and heroes. Alignment: LG
  • Grimace: god of darkness, gluttony, and death.  Steals food from the hungry in order to satiate their never ending gluttony.  Alignment: CE
  • Hamburglar:  god of trickery, deceit, and thievery.  Steals whatever he can, but is close friends with Ronald despite his never ending greed.  Alignment: CN
  • Birdy the Early Bird:  god of love, nature, and war.  Birdy protects the natural cycle of life and death whether it be in nature or society. Birdie is envious of Ronald’s strength and qualities as a leader, as she cannot protect everyone.   Alignment: CG
  • Mayor McCheese:  god of civilization, craftsmanship, and trade.  McCheese signifies the forces that establish society and civilization.  He emphasizes law but at the same time rewards individuality especially in trade and craftsmanship, however he is nature leaves him prone to doing nothing at all.  Alignment: Neutral
  • Officer Big Mac: god of justice and order.  Vassal to Mayor McCheese, Big Mac enforces the law and punishes those who have broken its rules.  He is prideful and his greatest rival is the Hamburglar. Alignment: LN
  • Captain Crook: god of seas and storms.  Crook is often seen as a friend of the Hamburglar characterizing his favor for piracy.  He inflicts violence on those at random, but Hamburglar is one of the only ones he trusts.  Alignment: CN
  • The Professor: god of knowledge and magic.  The professor is withdrawn, but he is ever lustful for more knowledge or power.  Alignment: LE

The icon of this faith is pair of golden arches on a red background.  Each church sponsors shelters for women and children, food drives for the poor, and sporting events and tests of physical prowess.  Most of the farms and ranches throughout the world are owned by the church, growing their producing their signature ingredients: beef, potatoes, and wheat.

Valentine’s Day Sentence Starters

Mixed Starters :: Cute :: Fluffy :: Valentine’s Day Gone Wrong.

  1. “Who needs a date on valentine’s day when I have you?”
  2. “Our waiter is so hot.”
  3. "No, you have fun with your date. Don’t let my being stood up stop you.”
  4. “Oh, my god… the babysitter just cancelled on us! how are we supposed to go on the date now?”
  5. “Valentine’s day is my favorite holiday! I know it’s lame but I can’t help it. I’m a hopeless romantic. there, I said it.”
  6. “We’re going Dutch, right?”
  7. “Tell me that’s not my ex over there.”
  8. “What do you mean you’re at the restaurant across town?”
  9. “You’re literally the worst when it comes to being romantic.”
  10. “Babe, you know I love you, but… last time you cooked me a meal, I ended up in hospital. can’t we just go out for dinner…?”
  11. “Nobody said anything about this being a cover band!”
  12. “Um… yeah, these are really nice and all, but I’m allergic to roses.”
  13. Tthis is the worst valentine’s surprise ever! were you trying to scare me to death?!”
  14. “Oh my– are you proposing?!”
  15. “Do you think my secret admirer might finally reveal themselves today?”
  16. “Valentine’s day is such a scam of a holiday… it’s so stupid! I hate it.”
  17. “We’re eating out at the Golden Arches!”
  18. “We’re going to do anti-valentine’s day this year. we’re going to go out and do all of the least romantic date ideas ever, just to stick it to the man.”
  19. “I can’t believe I’m actually at a wedding on valentine’s day. what a lame cliché.”
  20. “Does this have caramel in it? I’m allergic to caramel!”
  21. “How was I supposed to know there would be a bee in the bouquet?!”
  22. “This is not a proposal!”
  23. “I shaved my legs for this?”
  24. “My boss told me I have to work late.”
  25. “I didn’t realize these tickets were for the nosebleed section.”
  26. “Um, I tried to buy some sexy underwear, but I think they sent me the wrong size…”
  27. “That movie was awful.”
  28. “You can’t seriously be proposing right now? on valentine’s day? couldn’t you have thought of something a little more original than that?”
  29. “Something has been nibbling on these chocolates.”
  30. “Um, I know this is really cliché and all, but it’s valentine’s day and I just wanted to say… I really like you.”
  31. “I’m going to be stuck at work for a little longer… I’m sorry, I know it’s our date tonight…”
  32. “I forgot to make reservations.”
  33. “I am not going to be your fake-date to this party.”
  34. “I wish I could do more for you today but I’m really broke…”
  35. “I love them and all, but their poetry is so bad! they’ve written seven love poems just for today.”
  36. “So… can I assume you don’t have a date tonight either?”
  37. “Olive Garden is not fine dining!”
  38. “I’m really sorry my dog peed on your good shoes.”
  39. “I didn’t forget that it was valentine’s day! I swear! your present is just… it’s somewhere else.”
  40. “What do you mean these diamonds are fake?”
  41. “We’re out of condoms.”
one black coffee, please

In which Class 1-A takes a roadtrip and Aizawa has had enough.

~500 words, based on this


Aizawa was never quite sure who had started the chant.

All he knew was that, three hours into a class roadtrip, someone had spotted a pair of golden arches over a copse of trees.

And then it all went to shit, really.

That was about…thirty seconds ago. Now, a rhythmic chant of “McDonalds! McDonalds! McDonalds!” echoed through the van, fists pounding on the seats, the windows, hell, even the ceiling, beating a steady tempo.

Aizawa did not need this.

His dry eye had been especially bothersome lately and he was already feeling ill from the motion of the van, not to mention the migraine.

The beat suddenly spiked in volume. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Aizawa saw Jirou’s audio jacks plugged in.

Fantastic.

What a lovely addition to the din.

Iida and Yaoyorozu appeared to be trying to calm everyone down–they really had been good choices for class officers–but it didn’t seem to be having much effect. Midoriya was somehow sleeping through the chaos, head cushioned on Todoroki’s shoulder.

All Might looked up from his book, sitting calmly in the passenger’s seat.

“It can’t hurt to take a quick detour, can it?” he asked.

Aizawa scowled.

If these kids wanted to stop by McDonald’s…

He would stop by McDonald’s.


The screaming had only gotten more frenetic the closer he had gotten to the fast food joint. The second he flicked his turn signal on to exit the highway (because he was a proper driver who did proper things like use his fucking blinker), it had gotten so loud that Midoriya had momentarily woken up.

But that was fine. They were almost there, and once they were there, they would all shut up for a blessed minute.

Aizawa pulled up to the drivethrough, where a tinny voice filled with false cheer asked what his order was.

He gave the kids a second to let the shouted orders die down before making very deliberate eye contact with each and every one of them in the rearview mirror.

Then, he leaned out of the window, and said, in the most polite voice he could manage with a migraine like a herd of elephants pounding through his skull and eyes drier than the Sahara, “One black coffee, please.”

The van went silent, save for Midoriya’s soft snores.

It stayed that way, the kids all shooting each other glances, as if wondering if this was all some prank and at the pickup window they would be showered in cheap burgers and fries anyway.

The window opened, and Aizawa recieved a single small black coffee, and then he thanked the worker very nicely.

No burgers. No fries.

He rolled the window up and drove away, getting back on the highway and up to the speed limit before taking a sip.

Absolutely disgusting. A true cup of McDonald’s coffee.

Peering into the rearview mirror at the suspiciously quiet kids, a small smile spread across Aizawa’s lips at the expresions of pure shock.

And then–the screaming started again.

Oh well.

It had been nice while it lasted, he reflected, pouring the shitty coffee out of the van window.

No pie for your spawn!

This happened several years ago, when I was chaperoning a young man with Autistic Spectrum Disorder (let’s call him S) to and from speech therapy. S was using a PECS book for communication. (For those unfamiliar, PECS stands for Picture Exchange Communication System, and the PECS book is a binder full of pictorial representations of objects, persons, actions, etc., attached by a self-adhesive hook-and-loop fasteners, which are used to build a sentence on a detachable sentence strip. User builds a simple sentence -a request or a statement - and hands it to a communication partner. These day PECS books have been replaced by digital devices - like I mentioned this was a wile back.) It became a custom of ours to stop at the Golden Arches for a meal after the therapy. The place was quite busy, and as we waited in line, we used the time to for S to prepare a sentence strip with his order.

Enter a mother of 5, with her brood in tow. Woman with a “can-I-speak-to-the-manager” haircut begun making loud remarks about how slow the service was (it was not, by the way, there was just a lot of customers in store and a drive-through line was wrapped around the building). Her eldest kid, a girl of about 10-11, whined in turns about the wait, and about wanting an apple pie. When it was our turn to order, S gave his sentence strip to the cashier who read it back and entered it into register. And as all of this was taking place, I heard the “R” word from the whiny girl. Something to the likes of “Ugh! That retarded kid is taking soooooo long to order!”. I saw red. I looked at the mother, and she did nothing, did not say anything to her kid, did not look ashamed in the slightest. Nothing! I kept staring, but she was just avoiding looking at me. I guess in her mind, there’s nothing wrong with her kid calling someone with disability a retard.

So, I did, what any reasonable person would do, I purchased 23 apple pies. Why 23, you ask? Because that’s all they had available. If the spawn of hers wanted an apple pie, she’d have to wait for a fresh batch. S and I got seated in a booth with a good view of the registers, and oh joy, it turned out the restaurant did not have any more apple pies. Mother was fuming, and I felt bad for the staff, but the manager handled it quickly with a coupon offer, and her kids were hungry and whiny, so she gave up the fight, and they all went to seat down. They were shooting me angry looks from across the restaurant, to which I responded with a wide smile, because the faze 2 of my petty revenge had just occurred to me. After our meal, I had S build a sentence on his sentence strip that asked “Do you want apple pie?” (Not the most polite way to ask, but PECS book had its limitations) and we made our way from table to table asking it to diners and handing out pies, as I explained about S’ condition and this being a good exercise in communication and social interactions for him. Everyone was responding kindly, smiling and high-fiving, overall very nice experience for S. When we were down to the last pie, I decided to keep for myself, because there was only our favorite family of 6 left, and heavens know, they were not getting a crumb. As we walked past, the mother went “Excuse me, my daughter would like a pie”. The audacity! So I got the box out the bag, looked the woman square in the eyes and said “I know”. Then I opened it, took a big bite, went “mmmmm”, and we walked out of the place. Very petty, but very, very satisfying.

THAT HEADER?

BOMB. IT IS BOMB. 

It includes Jesus, to the Kardashians, to Trump, to the Ka’bah, to the Golden Arches of McDonalds, to money and tax, to basketball related stuff, to guns, alcohol, to Muslim women praying, to Hookah, Dome of the Rock.

do you see the amount of things it tackles? just in ONE header? the world NEEDS this right now, and it couldn’t be timed better.

2

February 16th 1909: Richard McDonald born

On this day in 1909, the co-founder of the McDonald’s fast food chain was born in Manchester, New Hampshire. Richard and his brother Maurice established the first McDonald’s in 1948 in California, and the restaurant became a franchise in 1953. The iconic Golden Arches were included in the restaurant designs at the suggestion of Richard McDonald. The brothers did not want to expand the chain too much, and only desired a small number of restaurants. Others, however, had bigger dreams for McDonald’s. In 1961, Ray Kroc bought the company from the brothers for $2.7 million and transformed the restaurant chain into a corporation. The business expanded from there, and in 1984 Richard was served the ceremonial 50 billionth McDonald’s hamburger. What began as a humble burger joint in the 1940s is now a corporate behemoth with a presence in 119 countries around the world. With around 68 million customers per day, McDonald’s draws huge profits - in 2012 its annual revenues were $27.5 billion. Maurice McDonald died in 1971 aged 69, and his brother Richard died in 1998 aged 89. The brothers began with a dream of becoming millionaires; they most certainly achieved this.