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Master of the mimics

@themightywookie

A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one

Nobody in your small coastal village has ever seen the Godmark that you were born with. It’s a dark russet sequence of criss-crossing lines, with a vertical arrowhead on the left and a circle on the right, just over where your brow meets your temple. Some of the traders who come down from the mountain say it looks like one of the scripts used in the hinterlands, but not a language that any of them recognize.

“If she’s got the temperament for it, she should try her luck inland,” they advise. “No point her starting a temple here if she’d find her people elsewhere, with a little searching.”

At first, your parents are reluctant to send you away. Though you’re well-behaved and diligent in your chores, you’re a sickly child with no God to worship. And besides, you’ve always been the dreamy type–inclined to lose track of time watching the path of rain droplets chasing down the window, or the fronds of an anemone as it sways in a rock pool.

Instead, they send you to the temple of the Storm to learn all you’ll need for your own God. You are happy there, for a time: making up beds and serving food to the castaways who pass through, keeping vigil at the lighthouse, burning incense and praying with the loyal widows and orphans of the drowned.

One such widow, an old, old lady, touches the mark on your forehead. “I recognise those letters. We wrote this way in the town where I grew up, way off past the mountains.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “What does it say!?”

She squints, eyes engulfed by wrinkles and hidden behind smudged glass. “A… Ar… Oh, I can’t remember how to speak it. I left before I learnt my letters properly. There was a war, you know. But I remember,” she says, mistily, “the most beautiful pink and white flowers used to grow, on the borders of the wheat fields…”

You try to ask more questions, but remembering the war distresses her, and so you speak of other things. When she’s drifted off to sleep, you get to your feet, go home and tell your parents: you are leaving in search of your God.

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you dont have to be a parent to understand the horror of walking into a room to discover that the baby crawled out of his crib and onto that pottery wheel you forgot to turn off, and while the baby is spinning around and around, the dog is sitting there all calm, like a person, gently using his paws to fashion the babys soft cartilage head into something a little more modern.  it might be the classic tale of bad parenting, but lets see where the dog is going with this

The Miys, Ch. 1

This is something I originally posted in response to a writing prompt. I have since written a continuance, just to test the waters on whether I should flesh it out or not.

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I crept quietly through the the overgrown bushes and weeds,  careful not to get too close to the rotting structure in their midst.  It looked like it used to be a house, and that meant someone may have claimed it in the After.  Probably someone dangerous, since shelter like that had to be defended.

Better safe than sorry.

Besides, I didn’t want the house. For one person on her own, moving around was safer. Stay in one place too long, and you inevitably catch someone’s attention. No, I wanted that big, fat snake sunning himself on what used to be a driveway.

Loading a stone in my improvised sling, I kept back far enough not to disturb my future dinner/shoes. Here’s the windup… I think to myself as I whir the stone over my head. I let loose, watching my projectile crush the head of the snake. And the pitch! The crowd goes wild!

As quickly as I can, I dash to secure my prize. Unfortunately, the real world had different ideas. Two-thirds of the way there, my foot catches on something and I go down. Whatever I kicked goes rolling,  and hits the cement in front of me with an echoing clatter.

Shit. And things were going so well….

I barely string the thought together before two men stalk out of the house carrying spiked clubs bigger than my thigh, not even pausing as they approach me. I try to get up, start to run, when something heavy embeds itself in my back, knocking me to the ground and driving my breath away. It feels like one of those wicked clubs, because there is a stabbing, searing pain that goes with it.

I start to taste blood in my mouth as a kick rolls me over. One of these filthy asshole is standing over me, grinning.

“Didn’t even bruise the meat this time, brother!”

“Just kill it already. Adrenaline makes them taste bitter,” the other replies in a bored tone. That’s when I realize how far over from bad to worse I’ve gone.

They are going to fucking EAT me.

I’d heard that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. As the monster standing over me pulled out a knife to slit my throat, I had one last thought before I blacked out: they certainly got the “flash” part right.

************************************

A bright light blinds me even before my eyes open. Apparently I sleep-walked all the way to the end of the tunnel, and this is the light. It’s so bright it hurts…

Wait. Hurts? I’m dead… should I still be feeling pain?

Just my luck. I can’t even die properly.

“AIE YJU MIG WUYW UMSYMXUJ”

“The fuck?” I croak. “Angels don’t speak English?”

“DU YJU MIG YMTUPH UMSYMXUJ”

Please stop screaming I beg to myself with a groan. “Fuck. Angels speaking gibberish. Great” I mutter aloud.

“Hijja. Hgorr mig ymtuph gsiets.”

“At least it’s quieter gibberish,” I sigh. The bright lights are bad enough, I think to myself.

Huh. They dimmed. Awesome.

I open my eyes and sit up.  Being dead looks a lot like a weird hospital room. And it smells funny. I smell funny. I take a sniff of myself.

Correction, I don’t smell at all. At least the dirt from a decade living in the After didn’t follow me here. Cool. At least something went right when I died.

“AIE YJU MIG - is vij vexq hyqu. SIMON! TUG GI JIIN GDI ONNUWOYGUPA!”

“Again with the screaming gibberish,” I moan. “I can’t understand you! Stop it!”

A door at the end of the room vanishes and the most boring looking angel I’ve ever seen walks in. He opens his mouth to talk, but before he can say anything, I hold up my hand and shake my head.

“Save your breath…ish thing, whatever you have instead of breath. I don’t speak gibberish, or angel language, or whatever so I won’t understand you.”

The disembodied voice starts shrieking at this point “DU YRU MIG-!”

The angel in front of me interrupts the voice “It’s okay, guys, I got it.”

“Holy shit, you speak English!” I blurt out. “Sorry.” Suddenly I realize I just swore at an angel.

I really cannot die properly, apparently.

He laughs at me, making me blush even more. “I’m not an angel, I’m Simon. And you aren’t dead. I’m human, by the way.”

“So they’re angels?” I ask, point up vaguely.

“No,” he chuckles. “They’re…. hmm…”

“Miys,“ the disembodied voice supplies.

“Right,” he coughs. “Miys. Aliens, to be general, Miys to be specific. Not angels.”

“So….this isn’t heaven?”

“Nope,” he replies with a grin, popping the ‘p’.  “It’s a ship. Her name is The Ark.”

“Suj nywu oh Yjq.” The Miys butt in.

Simon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Which no human is physiologically capable of saying. Given it’s purpose, the Ark works for humans, guys. We’ve been over this.”

“Vomu.” The Miys reply. If they were human, I would say they were….

“Are they *sulking*?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Simon says. “Even with a translator, humans are just physically incapable of speaking their language, and they tend to pout about it. Anyway-”

“You said ‘Given it’s purpose’,” I cut him off. “What purpose.”

It’s Simon’s turn to blush. “Oh yeah…. that… you see… well…. It’s an Ark, right?”

“Like Noah’s Ark?”

“Miys”, they butt in again.

Huh?I ask myself, confused.

Simon rolls his eyes and coughs. “Thanks, assholes.” He mutters. “ ‘Noah’ and ‘Miys’ are the same word…”

“WHAT!?” I squawk as it starts clicking what he is saying. “You mean. No. Nuh uh. Nope.”

“Yep,” Simon sighs again. “They’re Noah, this is the Ark.”

Masterlist  Next >>

A family has been trying and failing to kill you, an immortal, for many generations. In fact, it’s been going on for so long you forgot why they started hunting you in the first place.

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It was like clockwork. Every time they came from you, then went and looted your home, beat up your house staff, and came to your living room to interrupt what you were doing. You’d fight with them. Sometimes, they’d overpower you and banish you for a little while - a couple of weeks at best. Give ‘em enough time to believe you were defeated and give you time to get everything back in order before the next assault came. Sometimes, you’d win. The mantle would pass on to the next person in line and you…made yourself scarce. The younger usually came after you next, and you didn’t want to end someone so young and inexperienced like that.

Today was that day. Your living room door was kicked in once more, and someone in a fancy outfit wielding an ancestral crossbow came bursting in, ready to do battle, and fulfill his destiny.

He was not expecting tea and biscuits, nor was he expecting a second seat to be set up. You looked at him warmly and offered a polite wave. “Hello,” you greeted him. “Come in, sit down. Stay a while.”

He lowered his crossbow. “…this…is not what I was told to expect,” he mumbled. “Is this a trick?”

“Your family has been pestering me for centuries,” you explained. “Every time one of you come, there’s a flair for the dramatic, we banter, and then we fight.” A yawn escaped you. “Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m trying something different.” You motioned to the seat you had set up for him. “Neutral ground. Please, sit.”

He slowly raised his crossbow again. “How do I know this is not a trick?”

“You don’t. For all you know, you’re going to sit down and a multitude of bad things will happen to you. You’ll have to rely on trusting me.” Again, you motioned. He hesitated, before approaching you and sitting down. His crossbow never lowered. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He looked at the tray of biscuits before him, as well as the brightly colored tea pot. “This wasn’t mentioned either.”

“No, I don’t think it would be. You are the first, after all.” You slid him a tea cup. “Help yourself. Try the chocolate chip ones.” You let him pour his own tea, which seemed to make things easier on him. “So, how much damage did you cause?”

The words stopped him in his tracks. “I…didn’t have to do a whole lot. Your minions were quite polite and guided me in the right way.” He picked up the cup, gave it a sniff, and took a sip. “I was expecting more of a workout.”

“Like I said, trying new things. I expect they were as confused with my instructions as you were of your trip here.” You picked up an almond biscuit and took a bite. “Cook’s been busy as well. Never is. Your family never travels through the kitchen.”

“You don’t say.” He took another sip. “You’re being a good host, so I’ll bite. What’s your angle?”

“Again, I didn’t sleep well. Your family usually expects a workout. Figured I’d give you a break this time.” You finished your snack off and leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees. “There is another reason, though.”

“Knew it.” He set his cup down. “Okay, let me hear it so we can get this done.”

“Well, it’s just some information I’m curious about.” You poured yourself a cup. “Which number are you?”

“Come again?”

“Which one of your lineage are you? How many people have held that crossbow with the intent to use it against me?”

He paused for a moment as he went over his teachings. “…uh…I think I’m the 27th. We’ve been at this for 800 years.”

“841, to be precise.” You took a sip and let the warmth flow over you. “841 years of having to prepare for a fight every couple of decades. Your family loses, or I lose…the cycle continues on. You’re lucky, because you only have to remember what you need to. You die, and the responsibility gets passed on, right?” He nodded, knowing what you were talking about. “But me? I’m immortal. I have to deal with each and every incident. It wears me down a little. Not physically, mind you, but I can’t remember some of your kinsmen, even though we fought.”

He seemed to be taken aback at your admission. “I mean, some weren’t entirely exciting, I know, but-”

“Having someone wreck your summer home and try to kill you is something that makes you remember them. It’s a traumatic experience.” You drained your cup. “Yet…I can’t remember some of the people who assaulted me. More importantly, I can no longer remember why.” You set your cup down and enjoyed the moment of awkward silence. It was a bit of a stunner for him, and he was not shy about showing it. “You okay?”

“You are an abomination because of your immortality, and my family has been fighting you for centuries. You go against the natural order, because you keep coming back. We’re trying to stop that.” He raised his crossbow again. “And what do you mean this is your summer home?!”

“I mean this is where I come when I’m on vacation.” You started pouring another cup. “I do have a job, you know.” You heard a meow as a cat hopped onto your lap and curled up. You gave him a soft pet, causing him to purr.

He lowered his crossbow again, his eyes locked on the cat. “And…what is that?”

“This? Oh, this is my cat. Just as immortal as I am.” You scratched behind the wee thing’s ears. “Picked me, as a matter of fact.”

“No…I mean…” He fumbled with his words. “Your cat is adorable, but I meant 'what is your job?’. What do you do that gives you a chance to take time off?”

“Oh, that’s simple.” You waved your hand in a circle, and a scroll appeared before him. He knew enough to pick it up and give it a read. “I work with the Celestial Bureaucracy. That’s a copy of my license. I’m in charge of reincarnations for souls that have not had a chance to live up to their potential.” Your cat stretched and meowed, as if to agree with your statement. “It’s part of the reason why your family is entwined with me.”

“Entwined?”

“There’s about five souls that cycle. If someone is destined to fight, and they do not complete their task, they will eventually show up at my desk to be reborn. Sometimes, there will be multiples that go back. Sometimes, only one. These souls tend to take turns.” You sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t get as much work as some of the others do. I don’t judge. I only find a place for you to go and try again.”

“Fascinating. So…who are we supposed to be fighting, then?”

“That’s an answer I don’t have.” Your cat rolled onto its back, exposing its belly to you. You rubbed his ears, not falling for that trap right now. “I ask, but I get told it’s not me.”

“How am I supposed to believe you? How do I know you’re not trying to avoid a fight and keep me from my duty?”

“Because I AM trying to avoid a fight. 841 years, remember?” He paused as he took in your words. “On top of my other responsibilities, it’s tiring.”

“…so what are you proposing?”

“Breaking the cycle. Specifically, I want to help you find what you’re supposed to be vanquishing and why.”

He rolled up the scroll. “My family has been at this for eight centuries. Likely, my kids will be the ninth. Are…are you saying that…?”

“I’m saying that, if we figure out what you’re supposed to be doing, we can give those kids a happy, peaceful life. If you’ll allow me to help.”

He pondered this quietly, before nodding. He seemed up for it. “I have a question before we begin, though.” You nodded, allowing him his question. He immediately pointed at your cat.

“Is he friendly?”

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mamacastiel

why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain

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no one tell him

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greeedybastard

Scheduling this to post on March 15 because it needs to happen.

March 15 again and here we go…

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rin-is-cursed

march fifteenth

Anonymous asked:

What does the arab in your carrd mean? Is it like afab and amab?

.. i’m palestinian

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same energy

there’s more

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SIGH

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here’s another one

IT GETS WORSE WITH EVERY ADDITION

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how does this get even worse

I think about once in a while…

We have another one…

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This is the internet now tho 😭💀

Omg so many additions since I last saw this post! 😂😂😂

It’s funny but incredibly telling how entitled/ignorant/insensitive some of these people are… idk if it’s an education gap or purposeful ignorance.

The really bewildering thing to me is that I remember when you needed to get up and pull a dictionary off the shelf, or visit a library to look up the facts you needed. Now people have all kinds of information literally at their fingertips and they can’t be bothered to use it.

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malicemanaged

Oh dear gods, it’s gotten worse

When you know politics but no facts

don’t take people too seriously on the internet

This hits different when combined with that “Americans don’t learn other countries exist till they’re in 5th Grade” post from the other day.

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Demily recently got another one lads

Also, I love that, in the sign language one, it seems like the last image might’ve been a gif of “fuck you,” screenshot at the perfect time to let you know they were about to sign “fuck you”

As a romanian person I gotta add this one too

This is my favourite post on this website

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cyan-opinions

I have literally had people tell me that I’m a gross appropriator for learning sign language while not deaf.

I sometimes cannot speak, but leaving that aside, what the FUCK lol

I still remember the guy who got mad at me because I spoke about the cultural role of the Norse gods in my life and my culture and insisted that I should be “proud of my Christian heritage instead” and quite simply would not believe me when I told him I was from Scandinavia because “that doesn’t exist anymore.”

someone please edit that map of europe with the spain void to also have a void for the whole of scandinavia

Anonymous asked:

...what is the "sex is just rock climbing" category

It was kind of a joke between me and a friend ("you wouldn't judge someone for having gone rock climbing with a bunch of different people") but honestly the more I thought about it the more I bought into it unironically because:

  • It is a physical activity done with one or more partners
  • You should only go rock climbing with people you trust to not let you fall
  • You should not go rock climbing with someone who is drunk or currently incapable of rational decision-making
  • Some people get super super super into rock climbing and do not shut up about all the places they have climbed and how many are left on their bucket list and these people are usually men between the ages of 20 and 35 and like it's fine dude I'm glad you're happy but I don't know what most of those mountains even are
  • While many consider it a fun activity, pressuring someone into climbing when they don't want to (or ignoring their feelings and just dangling them off a cliff,) could cause both psychological and physical trauma
  • There is no moral value to it whatsoever. Who you have gone rock climbing with (or whether you have rock climbed at all) has no bearing on who you are as a person. Imagine telling someone "it's not that heights make you nauseous, it's just that you haven't found the right person to belay you!" or "you need to save your first time rock climbing for someone special." That would be absurd.
  • historically I have not asked myself "will this aggravate my hip flexer injury" before participating when perhaps I should have 😔
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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.

we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."

at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.

the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.

the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.

what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.

here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.

Thats it folks. We can all go home. We have the peak humans are weird space orcs story.

Uh, Galactic Central? This is Zorblax 863-G. The Humans WANTED to mate with us, what do we do?

Did you mention the pain caused by mating?

Yes, 50,000 of the original volunteers withdrew, but 30,000 new ones stepped forward.

Those are some freaky lifeforms

“We… We showed them examples of our genitals. Scans show that 57% of the volunteers developed increased heart rate and elevated body temperature while a further 16% began to make noises. And. Well. One individual presented us with a device that they had custom designed a year before our arrival and I swear it is an exact replica of the High Council Leader’s penetration organ.” “What, you mean with the-” “Yes, with the suckers and everything. They said they are working their way up to the Jumbo version. I was too frightened to ask what that meant.”

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Why is the high council leader’s penetration organ a commonly seen thing? Does the council just meet in full nude? Is the leader the only one?

Clothing may not necessarily be a universal invention.

TiL (click to go to the thread, which probably has more interesting tidbits I missed).

Bonus:

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These are my people.

Betting I’ve reblogged this before. Betting I’ll reblog it when it turns up again.

In addition to the print terminology stuff: the visual shorthand icons and ad graphics for something about writing are still often pen-nibs, fountain pens and typewriters…

…while graphics of a monitor, keyboard and mouse remain visual shorthand for computing

…even though most writers now use monitor /  keyboard / mouse or even laptop / touchpad.

In addition, headers for “this blog / website is about writing” are often in one of the many imitation typewriter fonts complete with smudges, or just Courier.

The start and end call icons on most / all smartphones is still the handset of a classic desk telephone, and sometimes the open-app icon is a complete phone.

The term “hang up” for “end the call” refers to something even older - one of these…

And of course the Save icon is indeed a 3½ inch floppy disc.

Why it wasn’t a 5¼ floppy is a mystery. The icon version is just as distinctive.

Also, why various OP updates never changed “Save” to the graphic of a CD / DVD or flash drive is another mystery, and nowadays a Save icon should probably be a cartoon cloud.

Graphics and terminology are funny things.

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reblogging this again for EVEN MORE information.

I’m mostly entertained by the guy who thinks you need to know that “case” means “box” in French as though that’s not what it means in English.

skeumorphism my beloved

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It’s fascinating. This post alternately made me feel old and taught me something. Tumblr is amazing.

Humans and Gardening

It’s summer, so for me, that means garden and yard work. I’ve got scratches all up my arms because of raspberry bushes, and I stepped on (and then pulled out) several thistle plants while picking cucumbers.

 Earth may seem like a death planet to some aliens, and they’d be right. Even the plants are out to get you!

Nipti was the only living soul for depfeebs, and that was the way he liked it. No annoying neighbors, no having to socialize with other garbons, just himself, his modest house, and his gardens as far as the eye could see in any direction.

He was quite fond of his gardens. They made up the largest collection of plants and fungi from across the galaxy. Taking care of them was no small task, plants from different planets required different nutrients, amounts of water or sunshine, soil composition, pruning, some were soft to the touch, others required extensive protective gear just to be near, etc. However, Nipti enjoyed the work. Not only did it keep him (very) busy, but also had a tendency to offer no small entertainment.

News spread of the amazing diversity of plant-life to be seen in the gardens, and they often attracted curious site-seers or the likes. At first, Nipti didn’t mind, but after a while, they became more and more annoying, oftentimes downright insufferable as they would pester him with questions, try to pick and take things that didn’t belong to them, or walk off stone paths and through his precious daykee bushes!

He’d had enough! After a while, when people would show up (uninvited and unannounced) to view his gardens, Nipti would begin recommending that visitors start with the garden farthest to the east of his property. Many called it “The Green Garden.” Most of the plants in this particular garden were covered in a variety of lush, beautiful green leafs. Visitors would thank Nipti and hurry on over to the Green Garden, often stepping on Mardarian purple lichen on their way.

“Watch your ste- oh! Watch it!” Nipti would yell. No matter. They’d be gone soon anyway. Running and screaming.

The Green Garden was made up entirely of plants from the well-known death planet, Earth.

More to come on this?

Yes more to come on this. Here:

It was time. Nipti wasn’t overly excited about it, but if he put off his chores any longer, the plants in the Green Garden would suffer for it. The resident plants of the garden were hardy and with the way he had set up the garden years ago, the section was one of the most low-maintenance sections of his beautiful sprawling gardens of flora and fungi from across the galaxy.

His gardens had of late become something of a small tourist attraction. He’d been hard at work making sure visitors were provided with safe paths to follow. It was another matter to get people to stay on those paths. In fact, making sure visitors didn’t overly bother the specimens in his gardens or damage them took almost as much time as caring for the plants themselves did. It was becoming too much as of late. He was even considering hiring on help, but as of yet, he hadn’t. For a multitude of reasons. One being that the hiring process seemed so time-consuming and exhausting a task that he just kept putting it off. Two, there were dangerous specimens in several areas of the gardens, the Green Garden, the Fyritik Conservatory, the Beken Garden, and several individual plants sprinkled throughout various beds, nurseries, and plots. Finding someone able to care for such dangerous plants as he had seemed unlikely. Even less so when that someone would have to be someone willing to do so, or someone Nipti felt he could get along with. There was, after all, a reason he preferred to care for his plants and specimens in isolation.

Still, Nipti thought as he donned his protective gear, it would be nice to have help. He tightened the elastics of his thick safety gloves. He blinked his tired eyes slowly a few times before taking a deep breath and stood to get on his waiting hoverbike. He double-checked his toolbox strapped behind him. There was a lot of excessive growth and he had to make sure he had the right trimming tools. With a pause, he thought to add a shovel as well as the small trowel that was already inside. He knew there were a few specimens that were ready to be transplanted, and the larger shovel might be helpful. Finally satisfied that he had what he’d need, he set off toward the Green Garden.

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newvagabond

Omfg.

OH MY GOD

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Well, that was unexpected.

whAT EVEN IS GOING ON>??

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soullesshusk

ok I’ve seen this like 8 times on my dash and ignored it but now I finally watched it because I was like “okay this has to be SOMETHING good because everyone I fucking follow is reblogging it” I was not fucking let down at all.

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Oh. My. Christ.

Welp. Didn’t see THAT coming.

Ignore the thumbnail, just watch it

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dracofidus

OH MY FUCKING GOD

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i-am-the-broken-bride

Holy shit I forgot about britanick, these guys were funny as hell back in the early days of YouTube, I’d recommend checking them out

Guys, we've talked about this.

You need to give your domesticated wading ghosts larger death pools. I understand if you can't find a real Well, but you need an enclosure at least 5 times the size of the spirit itself.

Thank you for the PSA, and it’s certainly good advice! I am happy to report that in this particular photoset we’re looking at a temporary holding tank, possibly being used to keep a lab employee safe during a routine water test. There is a strict no-shared-space policy for outside contractors at reputable spirit preserves, both to keep the ghost from becoming frustrated at its inability to approach what it perceives as prey, and to ensure the safety of outside parties. Training sessions focusing heavily on positive reinforcement are used to get the ghost accustomed to the holding tank as well as short trips between the pond and an appropriate secured location. Many health checks and enrichment activities can be conducted directly at the water source, but sometimes a more controlled environment is required. Please be assured that the ghost in the photographs is doing ‘well’. ☆⌒( ^ ▽ ゜)

A small PSA to all those new to dealing with the porn bots that Tumblr now has a fresh wave of – I understand that when you go to report them, you want to report them as "[containing] sexually explicit material", but don't do that. Report them as spam instead.

These are spam bots flooding tags and the website in general with spam links. They often do not have anything sexually explicit on their blog (although they often have implicit material). Plus, these two reports get very different results. Reporting explicit material gets the bot slapped behind an 18+ wall, so minors can't check if they're a bot or not. Reporting spam gets the bot taken down.

Remember, folks: when dealing with a bot, report spam, not smut!

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Even if they have 0 posts, the unwanted follows are still considered spam!

Fairy: Hey I didn’t get your name.
Me: Yeah that was on purpose.
Fairy: Oh my god stealing people’s names has been categorized as a war crime for like a hundred years. Do I seem like the kind of fairy that would do war crimes?
Me: Well yes, but that’s just my impression of you personally. Not fairies in general.
Fairy: You’re smarter than I thought.
Me: So is the fairy monarch democratically elected?
Fairy: I think the one from a small corner of Alabama might be but for the most part, no. It’s still decided by a contest between the three oldest children.
Me: What kind of competition?
Fairy: Well it used to be to the death but that was too violent so these days each kingdom comes up with their own. In mine I think they play marbles but I’ve never seen one.
Me: Okay so why shouldn’t I say thank you or give gifts in return for favors?
Fairy: That’s mostly a regional thing but where I’m from it’s insulting to the wealth of the person giving you stuff. Like you really only thank people when what they did was like a huge burden so if you thank someone for giving you something that’s like calling them poor.
Me: Fairies have wealth inequality?
Fairy: I mean we technically still live under a feudal system if I’m being honest but with modern technology and ethics nobody notices.
Me: Do you have Internet down there?
Fairy: Only dial-up. That’s why I come to your house.
Fairy: So you’re telling me that human men don’t think that frog eyes are sexy?
Me: Well not most of them to my knowledge.
Fairy: So I bought these contacts for nothing.
Me: Hey man you don’t have to be a frog spirit to lure men into your clutches. Plenty of dudes are into cat eyes and ghoulish moaning.
Fairy: You really think so?
Me: I know so! Stop doubting yourself so much. You can definitely find some mortal men to lure into the timeless void for several centuries and adopt a demon cat with you.
Fairy: Thanks, man. That means a lot.
Fairy: So humans... don’t eat glass?
Me: No? It’ll cut up our insides and kill us.
Fairy: Ooohhhh. Oh no.
Me: What did you do now?
Fairy: More like... what I’ve done over the past three centuries since I moved out of my mom’s house.
Me: Did the coughing up of blood not cue you into anything?!?!!
Fairy: I thought that humans just spontaneously die sometimes!
Me: No we don’t! There’s physical reasons for these things!
Fairy: So... no more bringing nightshade and glass entrees to the potluck?
Me: No!
Me: So why mushrooms as portals?
Fairies: Look man, even we don’t mess with mushrooms alright? Sometimes they open up a portal to the human world and it’s just best to not question it.
Me: So wait. You don’t make the fairy circles?
Fairy: No. Mushrooms decide.