#hack hack hack

[thegoodmorningman]

Just like * HACK * HACK HACK * HACK HACK HACK * HACK * HACK HACK * HACK * HACK * against them. Good Morning!!!

[holydayaria]

I know you have some good thoughts in childe

he is a family man!! He loves his family! He loves yours! He wants his own family! Give him a family, he’ll hunt you down until you do!

[fabianprewctt]

WHERE: The living room of Katie Bell’s flat, London. WHEN: 8:15pm, August 13th, 2002. STATUS: closed / @unspeakablecharm​

The storm had been threatening for a while now, brooding darkly in the shellshocked corners of his thoughts after Percy had dropped him back to The Burrow. Fabian had pretended not to notice the hushed conversation held urgently in a corner of the kitchen afterward, much like he’d pretended not to notice the many serious discussions that abruptly ended when he entered rooms lately. Gideon’s ghost was everywhere now that he’d summoned him, refusing to be ignored, and as the night drew on and Molly and Arthur had disappeared into the kitchen to do the dishes (read: gossip quietly) the storm had rolled in.

There was a calculation to the chaos thundering away in his thoughts as he’d slipped away to rummage through the living room, hunting down the floo powder Molly had taken to diligently hiding as if she could prevent any more troubles from finding their way into his life if she was just careful enough. (Handling anything with care had never been Fabian’s strong suit.) When he’d found it, finally, tucked away into their mother’s favourite vase, he’d moved onto the fire, taking an inordinate satisfaction in lighting the match and seeing the kindling go up in flames. 

It should have been simple, then, the drumbeat pounding in his chest propelling him forward, into the fireplace with a flare of green flame and a clear pronouncement of, “Bigsweir Grange.” 

Like most things lately simple was not on the cards. 

It was The Leaky Cauldron, first, spat out onto the shabby carpet with a gust of ash fluttering out around him. With grim determination, he’d turned right back around and tried again, ignoring the murmurs of the patrons left behind him at his furious cursing as the heat of the network sizzling off his shoulders and he was spat vigorously out onto the Ministry’s gleaming floors, then again onto the hearth before the fireplace three spaces down. 

He’d picked himself up off the marble floors, rubbing at the forearm that had broken his fall that time and turned back to the fireplace that had just systematically ejected him with a snarl of, “You’re fucking kidding me.” Fabian was nothing if not stubborn. Seizing a handful of the floo powder from his side he threw it in, took a breath and demanded, “Bigsweir Grange.”

He tumbled forward, through ash and spark and smoke and flame, and was unceremoniously thrown out into the dark, blinking the soot out of his eyelashes as he staggered on the other side and found himself .. decidedly not where he’d asked for. The living room was cozy, private, and nowhere close to his father’s home that he knew of. Instead, there was the distant clinking of dishes from an adjacent room and a murmur of music and his own furious tirade against the world as he turned and, in a fit of temper, kicked at the brickwork.

Cursing furiously as he sank backwards, clutching at his boot and the furious throbbing of his toes, the storm settled in for a downpour overhead and Fabian hardly noticed the sudden arrival of an audience until he caught sight of the wand brandished at him. He hissed, blinking stinging eyes up at her and groaned, “Of course it’s you.”

[worstofchefkoch]

SCHALALALA SCHALALALALALALALALA Habt ihr auch schon so Bock auf die Weltmeisterschaft? Ich auf jeden Fall ohne Ende. Find nur die Gruppenphase immer zu langweilig, deswegen guck ich erst ab dem Achtelfinale. Ist ja kein Problem, wenn man aus einem Land kommt, dass noch nie in der Vorrunde ausgeschieden ist. Die Frage ist halt nur immer: Wie schmeißt man die perfekte Fußballparty? Fußball und Nationalismus sind ja ohnehin schon super geil, klar, aber erst mit den richtigen WM-Endspielpizzasnacks wird eure WM-Achtelfinals-Fußballparty komplett auf geil kalibriert. Das geht so hart nach vorne, man könnte meinen es ist Kimmich bei gegnerischem Ballgewinn. Das wird so langsam verdaut, man könnte meinen es ist das deutsche Mittelfeld. Danach kann es schonmal passieren, dass einem hinten zwei Dinger reinrutschen, in die Hose. Es ist, was sonst, des Deutschen liebste Pizza: Das Hackfleisch. Man macht also ein Blech voller Hackfleisch und ballert ~unsere~ Flagge drauf, und dann schön ab auf die Couch, Bundesjogi spielen. “Wieso bringt er jetzt den und nicht den.” “Ein Tor würde dem Spiel gut tun.” “Das kann er besser.” “Viel zu viel Klein-Klein im Mittelfeld.” Bla. Bla. Bla. Wenn ich’s mir so recht überlege, mag ich die WM gar nicht. Ich hoffe wir scheiden im Achtelfinale aus. Guten Hunger!

[akinikko]

[ Do Not Repost This Work ] Chibi Sombra ☠

[worstofchefkoch]

Hat irgendwer Hackfleisch gesagt? Nein? Niemand? Egal, hier sind 2 Kilogramm von dem roten Gold, zauberhaft garniert. So ein schmackhaftes Gericht würde sicher niemand von der Mettkante stoßen. Wer gerne etwas Fleisch zu seinem Fleisch mag nehme von der linken Seite, wer es etwas fruchtiger, aber nicht minder widerlich, mag, wird auf der rechten Seite fündig. Genießen sie zu dieser Low Carb Pizza Hawaii ein Glas trockenen Fürst von Mett-ernich, Mettaxa oder direkt einen kühlen Hackfleischsmoothie. Die Ananas können Sie bei Bedarf auch durch Hackfleisch oder natürlich durch die Mutter aller Zutaten, der Fleischwurst, ersetzen. Essen Sie das Ganze am besten ganz entspannt auf dem stillen Örtchen, damit das unkontrollierbare Trommelfeuer aus der Hinterkanone gleich dort landet wo es hingehört, wenn es urplötzlich und gnadenlos herniederfährt. Passt übrigens gut zu Hackfleisch. Guten Hunger (Merci Michelle)!

[thisisdefinitelyacreativename]

I just coughed violently