buggered

There are a few things I love about this page is that:
1. Braxiatel is an obsessive Collector/hoarder (not that we already knew ;) )

2. Braxiatel and Miles Richardson are certainly the same person

3. EMPIRE OF GLASS REFERENCE. (And by helped’ Brax completely buggered up the Armageddon Convention from the start 😂

Braxiatel is and will always be my favourite character in Who.

anonymous asked:

For the video game prompt, Recettear.

“BLASTED FAERIES! No, no, you get back here ya tricksy bugger, you NEED to buy this wooden chest PUT THAT BREASTPLATE ON BEFORE YOU GO OUT PLAYING IN THE FIELD YOUNG MAN THAT IS ICE HARDENED STEEL why yes, please do buy these, uh, luscious apples, they’re very full of nutrition and vitamins and other good stuff. Seriously.”

How I turned pro with Tarot Readings (but I still have a lot to learn!) 👌

Divination is a complex art, even though sometimes it doesn’t look like it. As you all know, I do tarot readings and I noticed how this particular method of clairvoyance gets the same reaction as a piece of contemporary art: people look at me and say I could have done it myself, or something along the lines, to which it’s hard not to reply with a Fuck off, why don’t you do it then?

I must admit that when I first got into tarot reading, doubting my abilities was somehow legit, since I kept using just a single tarot spread to answer whatever question I got and the answers didn’t always stick to what I needed to know. Luckily, in the last few years I’ve improved my technique. But how did I reach my level of expertise? 

I changed my perspective on tarots. This was really the first step. At the beginning of my practice the idea I had on tarot reading was completely different. The questions I usually asked all regarded my future, so I made readings whenever I had no idea about how things would turn. Don’t get me wrong, that is still divination, there is nothing wrong in it. But at the point tarot readings to me were just a game I’d like to play when I was bored and all alone or during sleepovers with my friends. Let’s see if he is gonna kiss me this weekend, and I was all ready to throw a tarot spread. It took a lot of years to understand that in tarots there is more than that. When you ask something to tarot cards what you are actually doing is asking for a consult, as if you were in a therapist’s office or talking with a helpline. Tarots gives advice. Which means you have to talk to them heart-to-heart and listen to their words accordingly.

I made tarot readings personal. Whenever a friend asked me for a consult, I wanted to give them the most accurate response there could possibly be. And in order to do that, I couldn’t just use that one and only tarot spread I knew, but I had to choose a spread that was specific to the case. So I decided it was time to start creating them all by myself and it turned out it wasn’t as hard as it seemed to be as long as you keep in mind these simple rules:

🔮 You need to understand where the Consultant mentally is, what they are facing in that moment, where does the question actually come from. Even when people say they just want to investigate their future, their desire probably comes out of something that buggers them.
🔮 You have to turn the Consultant’s request into a series of simple questions, that can help you get the hang of the situation. If the Consultant can’t find a job, I don’t ask the tarots the when’s and the if’s. Instead, I ask why they are blocked in the situation and what they can do to overcome the problem.
🔮 You should choose a layout that helps you get into the right mindset. Avoiding banalities (a heart-shaped layout for a spread about love can be a little too cliche), you can choose a shape that reminds you of the things you are inquiring on, like a Cupid’s bow if you’re asking about new love interests.

I turned off my rationality. As I said before divination really is an art form and, as most of the art forms, it’s easier to understand it if you don’t look at it through the eye of intellect. It might seems illogical, but that is the best way to let the meaning of the cards gets to you. No prejudice, no preconceptions. Sometimes the response could be hard to accept and that’s why I avoid to do readings about controversial or sensible matters. 

Did I really become a pro in tarot readings? There aren’t any tips or tricks to be brilliant at it. It takes time and exercise, and even after decades of practice you’ll find you still have a lot to learn. Some people have a natural inclination, other requires more effort instead. But if you’re receptive enough, tarots will disclose their secrets to you without a hitch.

The Ballad of Steve the Barbarian

We had a new player once. He decided “Hey cool, barbarians sound awesome. I want to be a barbarian trapper. I shall regale you with his antics :

1. Upon entering a dense forest in search of some Kobolds who were preparing to attack a nearby town, Steve rolls perception and spies a deer. He’s bringing up the rear and veers away from the party. We find him later, playing checkers with a band of Pixies in a clearing. Apparently he had rolled a Nat 20 for animal handling and the deer led him here. The deer is nearby just watching. Everyone in the circle turns to look at the party.

Steve : Oh hey guys. These are my friends.

The rest of the party : *Bewildered stare*

Steve : We can’t really talk to each other. But I’ve named them. This little guy is Peter. That one is Vicky. And that little bugger over there is Steve Jr. I’ve always wanted a Steve Jr.

Tiefling rogue : Uh… Steve… We have a mission.

Steve : Oh! Right! *looks at the pixies* Bye guys! We’ll catch up later.

Dwarf Cleric : You sure you’re not a druid?

2. Steve was with the party in a goblin cave. He’s a bit ahead scouting as a meatshield/warning bell. After a few moments we no longer hear him moving ahead of us. We stop, the rogue stealths ahead to find Steve in a side store room sitting at a table with a few goblins. They’re playing some form of poker on a rickety table of explosive powder. Steve is smoking a pipe we’ve never seen before. The rogue brings the party up.

Steve : (in goblin) Oh don’t mind them. Those are my friends. (To the party) Hey guys! Check it out. These dudes are super cool!

The goblins smile and wave.

Tiefling Rogue : Steve… We need to have a chat.

Steve : Sure. What’s up?

Tiefling Rogue : Okay first of all, We think you have a wandering problem. And a gaming problem. Where the hell did you get that pipe? And you -DO- realize we’ve been paid to kill these goblins right?

Steve : Aww… But these dudes are super cool! See? We’re playing poker.

Rogue : Steve. We have to kill them.

Steve : Shame… *turns to the goblins while unlimbering his great axe, aptly named The Axe of Steve* Look fellas. I’m really sorry about this.

3. After arriving at a local farming community and meeting some locals, Steve wanders off to set some traps to check in the morning. The farmers have agreed to purchase anything he catches. It’s been a rough harvest season. The next morning he goes to check the traps. Alone. And finds an owl bear.

Steve : Oh man. Check you out! What a magnificent beautiful bastard you are! (ooc) I’d like to roll animal handling to see if we can be friends. *rolls a Nat 1*

There is a cairn stone in the clearing where we found him with the Pixies. Steve died that day. The owl bear proved to be too much for his gentle nature.

Braids

Originally posted by ohbabyyeah

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! It’s the longest I’ve written on this blog and I’d really appreciate the feedback here  – I’m most likely doing a Part 2 depending on how you all like it. Enjoy :)

Harry loved family reunions.

Amongst the bickering cousins and lurid pitter-patter of children, he often found himself feeling at peace as his folks filled him in on all the stories he’s missed out on. He’d laugh about his jittery uncle who nearly burnt his eyebrows off from an old barbecue, nodding approvingly as his aunt gushes about her eight year old who’s just won the flashy new title of spelling bee champion. He likes the way they treat him too. With adoration in their eyes, resurrecting from the years they’ve watched him as a young boy (instead of the usual gaze of stardom he’s used to). He almost, if not, especially enjoys the way they admire his success, not as an ego-booster, but as a way of praising Anne for his upbringing, despite the major gossip that briefly tainted his mother’s name around her first divorce.

But even in a house packed with his most favourite people, he would always feel relatively exhausted from the length of the reunion, a full four days he’d reckoned. It was unfair really, he loved his crazy family, but he always felt like he had to put on his best face, never getting his usual dose of solitude to rejuvenate.

So when Harry first invited you to join him, he hadn’t quite expected you to be so patient with his family.

“Yes, he is very handsome,” you’d chuckle, “but we’re only friends.”

“You’re sweet, love, but I think this little girl wins the beauty contest, hmm?”

“Right, he is very good with kids.”

“M’only in uni, ma’am, so I’ve got a few good years before settling down.”

Keep reading

You are, you are, all the wonder in the world

Request: College klance where Keith is like bullied or something in some way gets incredibly hurt and acts like nothing is wrong but it keeps getting worse and worse and Well my boy lance is super worried

Summary: Keith keeps getting hurt. And every time he does he insists the same thing: ‘I’m fine.’ ‘It’s nothing I swear, Lance.’ ‘I can handle this myself.’ But how many times is Lance supposed to accept the lie? Brush off his worries and patch up Keith’s wounds? How many times does he have left before Keith gets so hurt he can never stand back up again?

P.S. I finally discovered how to make words italic after two goddamn years on this website.


The first time, Lance let it drop. Chose to believe Keith’s words and bury his worry, whittle away the time until Keith was willing to talk. He wasn’t badly injured. Lance was safe to wait a while.


‘Hey, Keith? That you, babe? I thought you were gonna be back an hour..-‘ Lance paused, head hanging around the doorframe, eyes popped and mouth drawn wide. ‘-…ago..’

Keith was limping. One foot steady, the other hobbled, he inched his way through the door with a face like thunder and a greeting to match.

‘Don’t ask, not talking,’

‘..Okay,’ Lance sung, spinning his heels to follow Keith’s figure as it passed towards the bathroom. Lance’s eyebrows raised in question as he noticed the backpack usually slung haphazard across Keith’s back, now clutched tight to his chest, protected. ‘Well.. when you get done with whatever emo shit you’re doing in there, I’m ordering pizza,’

Keith’s voice clamoured around the clang of the door in the frame. ‘Not hungry - order without me,’

‘What?! Keith - you’ve been looking forwards to pizza night all week!’

‘Have not.. Still not talking, Lance,’

‘You said - and I quote - ‘I would die before I miss pizza night, these midterms are kicking my ass, and I need the cheesy sustenance to live’,’

A grinding crash echoed from the closed bathroom door, eliciting a yelp from Lance’s lips. Twisting the knob, he pushed into the room, eyes scanning the entrance in search of the source, and found to his horror, Keith splayed out on the floor in a pile of books, muddied beyond all saving or repair.

Keep reading

Ten things that happen when you clap your hands

1. A fairy gets its wings.

2. A request is put out to the suppliers of the wing factory to produce an additional unit of wing materials to help replenish stock levels.

3. Entirely incidentally, a passing bee misinterprets the clapping noise as the sound of a wasp farting. It sniggers. Have you ever heard a bee snigger? Clap and listen carefully. This is all the more remarkable because bees normally have a very mature sense of humour.

4. The gnomish feather shop sends the hob-and-lanthorn out on the moors again to pluck feathers from unsuspecting seabirds. They bill the wing factory for the cost of five hob-hours and a large plucker.

5. An advert is put out for a tendon-stringer second class to act as maternity cover for the wing assembly line, which has become rather stretched with this latest request.

6. You are invoiced for the cost of the wings via the unseelie post. You do not read your unseelie post. The bill goes unpaid.

7. A minor administrator at the wing factory is tasked with investigating the unpaid bill. The administrator realises that two quotes have become stuck together with syrup in the order queue, causing an error. The first quote is about clapping your hands to show that you believe in fairies. The second quote is about angels getting their wings whenever a bell rings. As a result, a number of spurious deliveries have been made to fairies, and a number of bell-related requests have gone unanswered.

8. There is a queue of angry angels at the factory door. They do not have wings. They do have burning swords. Now would be a good time to make a shedload more wings. However, the factory is having major cashflow problems because nobody has been paying their bills.

9. The fairy has buggered off with the original wings and is nowhere to be found.

10. Basically what I am saying is never clap. You may end up being the cause of a major supernatural incident. Just show your appreciation by grinning or something.

Humans are weird

Ok, getting on the humans are weird bandwagon….

It surprises me that we haven’t talked about the most obvious thing: humans imagine things. Humans outright make shit up. (Like these posts?) Human stories often aren’t retellings of things that actually happened. Art often isn’t a depiction of true events. Humans - for want of a better word - humans sublimate. They transform their experiences into outlandish non-reality for each others’ amusement.

It takes forever for first contact to start because the aliens planning it keep getting confused by first radio, then television. Some of these depictions can’t be possible - but which ones? The first time War of the Worlds reaches the Kuiper belt, someone panics and has to double check that a more aggressive group hasn’t actually invaded.

After humans are finally integrated into galactic culture, some issues crop up.

“Did you clean the waste facility?” the Janitorial Supervisor asks.

“Well, I would have,” the human starts, then proceeds to tell an outrageous story about a cleaning bot with a knife strapped to its back which has the entire crew searching the ship for hours. The entire crew except for the humans.

The Captain finds the humans “searching” the self-poisoning cabinet in one of the crew quarters.

“Oh my god,” the First Officer says, on seeing the Captain’s dust-speckled upper ears. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you really fell for that. Stabby is a cryptid, Harold!”

The Captain’s name is not Harold, but that is another, even longer story.

The Captain exhales. “What is a cryptid?”

The assistant medical officer sits up straighter, his drink sloshing dangerously. The Captain has learned what “a gleam in his eye” means and how to detect it. They sit, resigned. There’s no escaping now.

An hour later, the Captain explains the concept of cryptids in considerably less detail to the embarrassed and confused Supervisor. Along with the concept of lying.

“But how do you know the difference?” the Supervisor asks, wringing their tentacles in mixed embarrassment and worry.

“Find another human,” the Captain advises. “Check for signs of mirth.”

This turns out to be prescient, because on their next planetary stop, two of the human field officers come running back into the base camp, out of breath and without the rest of their scouting team.

“Nasty buggers with teeth!” one gasps. Though the other officers appear skeptical, the Captain glances at the First Officer, who is already setting down her meal and grabbing her favorite flamethrower. The assistant medical officer yanks his kit straps over his shoulders, face grim.

“Arm yourselves,” the Captain tells the rest.

It takes about four hours, but they get everyone back more or less intact. The humans change the sign in the rec room on the ship to read: “Us: 6, Them: 0″. There is a ritual raising of liquor-filled glasses, even by the injured who are forbidden self-poisoning. The Captain begins temporary hibernation very relieved that humans are so willing to count other species as “us”.

When they ask the First Officer about it two cycles later, the First Officer looks confused, then knowing.

“My great grandmother remembers when you first showed up. They picked your people for first contact for a reason, didn’t they?”

“We look the most like you.”

“Yeah, well, that was a bad call. Gran says humans debated for months whether or not you were just other humans with good prosthetic makeup.”

The Captain blinks at this. “Most peoples are shocked and upset to learn the rest of the sentient universe does not share their appearance. Wait.” They pause. “Is that why we had so many applicants for the Janitorial position?”

The First Officer ignores that, as she usually does when the Captain doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“Do you know why cryptids exist? Why horror and violence and monsters exist in our stories?” she asks instead.

The Captain twitches both sets of ears ‘no’. “It seems unnecessary to frighten yourselves over things that don’t exist.”

“But nasty buggers with teeth do exist, even if we haven’t met them yet,” she says grimly. “And we were ready, weren’t we?”

It’s true. The humans on board have been terrifyingly adaptable, even in their violence.

The Captain feels their way carefully. “You think about things that don’t exist… sometimes even things that distress and terrify you… so that you can be ready when you face real things that distress and terrify you?”

“See, this is why you’re the Captain, Harold.” The First Officer slaps their shoulder hump cheerfully, careful to avoid the spines. “And better yet, we share the things we imagine with each other. It’s like a mental vaccine.”

“And it works?”

“Eh, sometimes. It’s not perfect. Sometimes we don’t mark our vaccines properly, or don’t realize we’re adding things we didn’t mean to. Some of them have a bad effect on some people, for various reasons. But we joined the galactic community in less than a generation. Has any other species ever done that?”

“You imagined us before you met us.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Hellooooo

I need more people to follow so if you post the following:
-Harry Potter
-FBAWTFT
-Hamilton
-Heathers
-Dear Evan Hanson
-Spring Awakening
-Musicals in general
-Over the Garden Wall
-SVTFOE
-Adventure Time
-Writing
-Art
-Steven Universe
-Books/reading
-Doctor Who
-Sherlock
-Jessica Jones
-Dirk Gentlys Holistic Detective Agency
-ASOUE (Netflix of books)
-Stranger Things
-Cartoons
-Comics
-anime -Pixar
-Disney
OR
-is a Slytherin
Reblog/like this so I can check you out
Thank you and bugger off

Sure is great when people start sending you emails about how you’d be a happier, healthier person if you forgave the abusive people in your life and learned to “move on”, like wow, how to be a manipulative bugger 101—because that’s not the same thing my emotionally abusive parents said over and over and over to try and excuse their behavior when I became rightfully upset.

Forgiveness in this context, a lot of the time? Is used as another means of control. It’s how people guilt you into enabling their behavior by implying that if you somehow don’t come to terms with the things people have done to you and forgive them for it, you are as bad as the abuser and are responsible for perpetuating the cycle of shit. So please, be aware of that when you start telling other people that the one true way to heal thyself is to forgive people.

Like I get it, for you, forgiveness is part of letting go and moving on. That doesn’t mean we all do. Some of us are quite happy to salt the earth and never look back, and frankly that’s more healthy for me than ever, ever trying to interact with those people in my life ever again.

So please, when a fellow victim is telling you they are not comfortable with the pressure to forgive their abusers to whom they owe nothing, a little respect and consideration would be nice.

9

TF2 Gun Mettle Merc pics with the paperclip removed, for the people who wanted it gone as much as I did.  

Feel free to use or edit however you want.

His philosophy was a mixture of three famous schools – the Cynics, the Stoics and the Epicureans – and summed up all three of them in his famous phrase, ‘You can’t trust any bugger further than you can throw him, and there’s nothing you can do about it, so let’s have a drink.
—  Terry Pratchett - Small Gods