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Everyone Go Read The Murderbot Diaries Right Now

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Ok, I realised the punchline around the time the Black Gate was mentioned, but the delivery and editing to the theme is perfection.

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@notyouramelie

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[In response to your post #61507222844] So I know that this was more than a year ago, but I'm pretty sure she deflected *two* laser beams with *one* kick, and I'm not sure which is more awesome.

(With reference to this post here.)

more than a year ago

Technically you are correct.

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the issue with using mating bonds so the dragon and the human trust each other is that a human and a dragon are very much not built to fuck

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I’ve started playing dnd again and the campaign I’m in has the pitch that we all must be characters from written works. The plot is we got thrown out of our own stories and must find our way back.

I am Hamlet, a warlock who made a pact with his Dad’s ghost (it’s absolutely his Dad’s ghost, he wasn’t tricked at all, ignore the fiend patron type) to get revenge on his Uncle. But this post isn’t about him.

Because our cleric, the one entrusted with keeping the party full of heals, the only person with healing magic, is House MD.

“Wait Iz!” You cry. “House MD is a television show, not written fiction.” You’d be correct. Which is why our cleric House is not from the television show.

He’s from a fan fiction.

It’s as funny as it sounds.

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Those people who constantly reblog your stuff but you never really talk:

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The passage of time can be such a let down.

An aeon ago, I had spent weeks planning my return: refining the pithy put downs I would unleash as my newly reanimated minions mowed their way through the human chaff, designing the ultimate in Evil Couture to shock and awe the scions of the so-called "Hero", mixing magics in hitherto unimaginable directions to create ever more outlandish and reprehensible effects.

None of which prepared me for the vista that awaited me when I awoke. The tangled forests that had swept out to the horizon were gone, replaced by row after row of sordid little stone houses. Here and there, a larger building squatted among its lesser brethren, like a misshapen toad among swarming beetles. The sheer number of people implied by all these dwellings was staggering.

My revenge may be more complex to undertake than I thought, I mused. I should cast a veil about myself and investigate, find out what happened to the hero and his descendants.

Walking the grimy streets, fending off the litter that tried to wrap itself around my shins as the bitter wind tossed it hither and yon, I spied a sign that read... Well, the language had clearly drifted somewhat down the centuries, but I thought I recognised the word 'library'.

Inside was warm, almost stuffy, and I could hear the rustle of knowledge as it fought to be free of the pages that trapped it. A muttered incantation made my eyes swim for a moment, but when they cleared, the words on the spines of the nearest books made much more sense. Stalking along the shelves I located the history section and began my search.

It took three more visits to the library, and the assistance of a young woman named Joan to find what I needed. Surprisingly, I didn't render Joan down into a patch of smoking fat when she asked what I was looking for. Low profile and all that, no point in tipping the scions off that the Dread Lord was back. Even more surprising was the divination magic available to even the basest of peasants: for a few metal tokens, anyone could supplicate at one of the row of altars to the god of knowledge, whose name was Gogol, that rested upon tables at the back of the library.

Finally, I found his trace. The Scion was a tradesman, fallen far from the warrior ways of his forebears. I made obeisance to Gogol and requested the scion's place of trade. Armed with this knowledge, I double checked my veil and strode forth, all the old threats and put downs springing unbidden to my lips as I went. All the vitriol and choler of ten centuries rose within me as I went.

I strode boldly across the grounds of the scion's workplace, my gaze withering any cart driver who dared to get in my way. The doors themselves folded out of my way before my dark presence.

There he stood. A stooped, thin young man who winced as eldritch voices made announcements out of the air. I studied him for a few seconds as he examined a customer's items and passed them down a metal tray. He did not have the aspect of a hero, nor even a hero-in-training. He was pale, gangling, with a weak chin and dull eyes. What had done this to him? How could this be of the line that had thwarted me all those decades ago?

Our eyes met. I expected a shock of recognition, some kind of acknowledgement of the link between us, but he just dully slid his gaze back down to the metal tray before him and spoke in a monotone. "Welcome to Aldi, how many I help you?"

The villain swore that they would return in 1000 years to take revenge on the hero's descendants. When they wake up, however, they see another villain has already won, and the hero's descendants desperately need help.

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@notyouramelie Mother, I crave violence.

This is what an evil boop looks like.

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My cartoon gets posted every year about this time. May as well post it myself.

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this is currently a hot topic at my work so

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saw someone say that they block "ageless blogs" and for a moment i imagined, like, cthulhu having a tumblr

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It may be worth noting that the next line is Willow saying "I'm gonna barf".

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fear Itself | 4.04

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You live in a house decorated according to your url. What does it look like

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aight fuckers I’m doing it I’m spending a full $4 to watch the first lotr movie, for the first time