pixelenchanter

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"God never gives you more than you can handle" is survivorship bias. People who got more than they could handle are dead.

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Fanfic premise proposal: You know those fics where a character dies or something and gets yeeted back in time to the beginning of the plot or something. Do one of those with Anakin Skywalker, right after he dies. And he goes back to the beginning of A New Hope.

I feel like a lot of Peggy Sue fics (or “time-travel-fix-it” fics) miss the mark for me by just letting characters avoid all baggage that makes them and/or their setting interesting.

I think making an Anakin Skywalker go back far enough that he could make meaningful changes, but already be “war-crimes-McGee.” And he’s about to be face to face with his daughter who is about to lie to his face that she’s on a diplomatic mission, shortly before he stands by and watches her home planet get blown up.

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me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

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Many new parents are delighted to discover that if left to their own devices for long enough, their children will just go ahead and raise themselves. Later on, the same parents are shocked and dismayed to find that their children didn't raise themselves to obey and respect their parents.

[pixelenchanter]

octopuses are like. what if we combined a bird and a wet spider and made it smarter than god

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ultimately the truth about frankenstein is that we are all grotesque amalgamations of the best and worst parts of everyone who came before us. and sometimes the people who are supposed to love us because of and in spite of this will not. and we can kill them with hammers for that. and i think that’s beautiful

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"Pride cometh before the fall" well yeah, buddy- that's how seasons work.

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

[pixelenchanter]

Just saw a post asking how tall people are and now I want to make it a poll. Apologies to people in the fringe height categories, you do not get specifics.

I had to consult a chart for this

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grizzled mercenaries are always being like "I'm sick and tired of being a pawn in someone elses game" like their job isn't literally rent-a-pawn

[pixelenchanter]

@inneskeeper this seems relevant to your interests

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! SHE DOIBLES DOWN!

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good news i'm the most fuckable person at this vehicular manslaughter

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everyone needs a creative outlet to stick a creative fork into

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i hate you summer i hate you heat i hate you sweating i hate you burning sun i hate you warm weather i hate you climate change