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Your church-going, God-worshipping sister adopted a small child and you’re excited to see them. But when you do, the child is a menace. They’re throwing things everywhere, setting furniture on fire with seemingly nothing, chanting in Latin to summon demons, but the weirdest thing is that your sister doesn’t seem to mind.

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...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.

For some people it is a deep and moving personal experience.

historically I have not asked myself "will this aggravate my hip flexor injury" before participating when perhaps I should have 😔

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met a woman today whose original real actual given-at-birth first name is "Vendetta." ma'am are you aware you are a videogame protagonist and/or a character in a skullduggery pleasant novel. real quick sorry to bother you miss but who exactly were your parents expecting you to avenge in their name

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There’s a serial killer in your town. Unfortunately for them you are a necromancer and you have fun driving that maniac insane.

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average internet friend group

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i love the mental image of the nova au btw. necromancer gideon getting into an argument with you and doing her boisterous annoying shit talking about how she could explode your spine out of your back with a snap of her fingers (doubtful), and you're just about to call her bluff when you notice that her little yappy dog of a cavalier is standing just behind her giving you the most intimidating look you have ever seen in your life. this five-foot-nothing coil of lean muscle with a sword is looking at you like she's trained her entire life to kill you specifically. she is looking at you like she's wondering what your jugular tastes like. she is looking at you like she's already bested the devil in single combat so just imagine how completely unconcerned she is about her ability to put so many new holes in you your soul is going to sink to the bottom of the river in minutes. her necromancer appears completely unaware that she's even in the room.

you politely end the conversation.

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The problem with having a child with an attorney that has spoken to the child like an adult since birth is that she's 4 years old and she's negotiating the order in which we're going to complete tasks as a family to best suit her idea of an ideal day.

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We go forward.

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Does anyone have any NON-traumatizing fiction podcast recommendations? Are we sure they exist? Bc so far i have yet to find any

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I made these.

I-I made them for y-you Tumblr.

ACCEPT MY LOVE.

Happy V Day.

Edit: Fixed some corrections, also you can download the printable set at my Patreon!

-M

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I'm convinced mama dragons carry their babies around in their mouth for protection, like how crocodiles do...

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i will start sitting in a clearing holding a small stone and rubbing it with my hand for 10000 years to learn how to empathize with the river bed

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god actually baited us into creating the tower of babel so that He could create His most beloved children: autistic linguistics enthusiasts

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renamon caked up in some sort of down town metropolitan area for this card art

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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.

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being doomed by the narrative is cool and all but i like when a character is doomed just by being a fucking idiot. sorry that happened to you but it is entirely your own fault and you could have just chosen to not do all that

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Hamster Escapes the Most Dangerous Prison Maze 🐹