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a woman is a type of undead creature. women are said to be drawn to graves dug in unconsecrated ground. they may be recognized by their empty stares and the black dirt underneath their fingernails.

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Medical kink but the medicine we're talking about is like, medieval.

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I CAST!

WALL OF SKULL ANGLE!!!

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All the fatphobia and colonization discourse tells me is the universal truth of this game: elf players are fucking obnoxious.

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Is anyone surprised that the people who play the only pretty white race in the Horde don't want to hear about colonialism?

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you see people talk about twink and bear as if they’re the alpha and omega, but really, how many people actually fall into those categories as defined? even if you toss in otters, that’s still tremendously limited. we need a new category: the shambling husk

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A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, “My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?” The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.” The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way. Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery. The monks accept him, feed him, even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier. The next morning, he asks what it is, but the monks reply, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.” The man says, “All right, all right. I’m *dying* to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?” The monks reply, “You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk.” The man sets about his task. Forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, “I have traveled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth.” The monks reply, “Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound.” The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, “The sound is right behind that door.” The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, “Real funny. May I have the key?” The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone. The man demands the key to the stone door. The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. He demands another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire. So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz, and amethyst. Finally, the monks say, “This is the last key to the last door.” The man is relieved to no end. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound. But I can’t tell you what it is because you’re not a monk

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you're not turning your fandom hobby into a job are you? giving yourself deadlines and quotas that you have to meet? focusing on the numbers instead of your enjoyment of the act of creation?

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garrosh would be a bad friend. like he would be a really shit tier bad friend just all around. like youd start to tell him about your feelings and your uncertainty about the future and he would just immediately cut you off and start talking about himself and how he doesnt understand why people peel string cheese when you can just take bites of it, do those people keep peeling the banana after it’s off the same way they eat their string cheese, how come people dont just eat it like a normal thing? and so you clam up and stop talking about whatever sad shit you were tryin to say because obviously he doesnt give a shit and he goes back to playing video games on the couch and yelling at the tv. but then one day youre shit out of luck and it’s like 2am on a tuesday and you know for a fact he’s awake, he answers his phone immediately, he calls you at 2:08AM on a tuesday even though you texted him first, probably so he could hear the sound of his own voice, and he tells you he’s coming over, probably so he has an excuse to drive his huge truck above the speed limit on the empty streets, and when he gets to your place he calls you (again) even though you texted him that it’s late and you can’t talk right now to “come outside” and you have to climb into his big shitty truck close to three in the morning in your pajamas while he eats drive-thru tacos and listens to bad music on his car stereo with the blown out bass crackling. he doesnt even drive around, he just sits there parked with you in the car and talks about how this band, this multi-billion dollar platinum record-selling forty years and counting band, is so underappreciated and people just dont know good music anymore when they hear it. and you sit there eating nasty tacos with him and listening to the full fifty four interminable minutes of master of puppets beneath the sound of him complaining about the way call of duty’s prestige system skews the actual skill level of the players. but then the cd finally makes it to the last track (there’s no aux mini jack in his truck since it was his dad’s old truck but he “fixed it up”) and youre sitting there with grease all over your face as damage inc breaks from the intro and then you start crying uncontrollably while james hetfield screams his fucking brains out and garrosh actually turns it off to tell you to stop it. and then he goes “at least i’m here, aren’t i?” as if it actually makes a fucking difference, like he wants some fuckin credit for doing the absolute bare minimum, but all you do is say “yeah” and wipe your face with a scratchy napkin. “i better get some sleep” you say and he goes “yeah” and you slip out of his jacked-up truck and neither of you say anything else but you can hear the first few strums of battery rattling his windows as he drives away listening to the same fucking cd again. three hours later you jump out of your skin from dead sleep to a snapchat notification. garrosh has sent you a picture of a small 7-11 coffee with nearly a fistful of empty caramel flavor shots discarded beside it. there is no caption

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Jaina didn't go far enough. Look at how many Blood Elves there are. 90% massacred my ass smh

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if she's your girl then how come she's hallucinating my 10,000-y.o. dripping wet corpse

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It's like Dostoevsky said your worst problem is you fucked up

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One iced latte with low-fat #white boy milk, please.

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Medical kink but the medicine we're talking about is like, medieval.

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yall gotta learn the difference between "this character is an asshole" and "this character was supposed to be super cool but the author is an asshole" and "this character is a teenage girl who was mean once"