Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

glumshoe:

sissyhiyah:

glumshoe:

Unwanted suitors? Not sure if you’re on a date? To nice to turn him down? I can help! With nearly four years of experience sabotaging romantic encounters, I’m the uncomfortable silence you deserve… and now, I’m offering my services professionally. 

Bring me along as a platonic bufferzone on unwanted or ambiguous dates with suitors you’re not interested in but don’t know how to turn down. Guaranteed to kill the mood or your money back!

Basic services include: Terrible puns, poorly-timed jokes, casual physical displays of affection, bringing up unappealing facts about you (to be established or fabricated ahead of time), including myself in attempts at cuddling, domineering the conversation, irritating laughter, talking about I may have finally found an apartment for rent that’s big enough to house all of your cats, subtly making remarks about how nice it is that you’ve made a new friend. 

More advanced services: Creating diversions (available at tiers 1, 2, and 3; examples include pouring water over my head, impromptu hula dancing, and  triggering alarms), intimate displays of physical affection, accidentally spilling drinks on your suitor’s clothing, laughing at everything your suitor says while drinking until I manage to time it so that water comes out of my nose and sprays onto them. 

 Package deals: 

• The Gay Best Friend: What it sounds like. Because this persona runs the risk of stereotype and exploitation, I prefer to keep this subtle. Willing to engage in mild flirtation with your suitor. Please use discretion when requesting this service; the intention is to make him realize that your feelings towards him are platonic. Do not even consider this package if he is aggressively homophobic. 
  
• The Imposing Older Brother: I scowl, smirk, and huff judgmentally. Comes in two flavors: the Violent Ex-Con and the Insufferable Elitist. Can flex my physical or intellectual muscles as needed. 
  
• The Irritating Younger Brother: I bring a gaming device along, snicker rudely and roll my eyes whenever he speaks, complain about the time, chew with my mouth open, shrug indifferently, prop my sneakers on his chair, wipe my nose on my hand, and bluntly interrupt the conversation whenever it strays out of your comfort zone. 
  
• The Priest: Why the heck would you bring your priest on a date?! I don’t know, and neither will your suitor! Obfuscate them into backing off. If that doesn’t work, I will recite dry Biblical passages until they are driven away by crushing boredom or fear of Hell. 
  
• The Son from The Future: Depending on the age difference, I can also pose as your Son from the Current Era. Will dress in conspicuously unusual clothing (ex. holographic baseball cap, life preserver, roller skates, VISOR-like sunglasses), continuously ask for the date and time, and anxiously mutter about how it’s almost time for you to ditch this place and meet my father for the first time.
  
• The Enslaved Zombie Ex-Boyfriend: I don milky, semi-opaque contact lenses and follow you around mindlessly, with jerky, unnatural movements. I am at your beck and call, controlled from beyond the grave by your occult powers - the fate of all the boyfriends who displease you.  
  
• The Demon Prince: I wear a stylish fawn suit, soft kidskin gloves, and silver cuff-links etched with strange symbols. I have a ring or a cane decorated with the head of a ram. I say little, but smile often. Now and then, I pull out a little silver hourglass from a chain around my neck and examine it, tapping my foot, my fingers, or my cane impatiently. I adopt a curious and subtle accent and ask him to appraise his immortal soul. I carry a sleek briefcase rigged to emit a bright light if I crack it open a hair. Optional: I carry a cube of sulfur in my pocket for the smell.
  
• The Mulder: A proven classic. I periodically derail the conversation with crackpot conspiracy theories, the nature of reality, extraterrestrial intelligence, and ESP. May accuse your suitor of being a Reptilian, or demand that they feel the scar where I had an alien implant removed. Insist that we change tables because this one is bugged and we are under surveillance by the secret shadow government.    
  
• The Fiance You Thought Was Lost at Sea: I burst through the door, dripping wet, with barnacle-encrusted clothing and a crab dangling from my ear lobe. I’ll smell of brine and have a haunted look in my eye. This will require some acting skills from you; you’ll need to throw yourself sobbing into my arms and cry, “I thought I’d lost you!” and I’ll hold you and mutter something about Davy Jones getting ahead of himself.  
  
• Other: I am happy to work with you to develop a persona specific to your unique needs and preferences. 
  

Rates: Sliding scale, determined by me on a case-by-case basis. I want to make my services available to all who need them. Factors such as the relative heinousness of suitor is considered; affluent clients can generally expect to pay more as likelihood of physical or spiritual harm increases. For swanky dates in nice locations with minimal levels of danger, I typically ask only that you cover the cost of my meal, entrance fees, transportation, and other expenses.

IMPORTANT:
Although I am prepared to deal with any number of eventualities, I am not a professional: bodyguard, assassin, exorcist, crocodile hunter, or escort. If you expect that any of these services will become necessary, I am happy to put you in touch with a specialist. ADDITIONALLY: If your suitor is non-human, please be upfront with this so that we can plan accordingly. We do not want a repeat of the events of Halloween 2012.

ADDENDUM 2014: I reserve the right to terminate our deal at any time. This is a exclusively a professional relationship, and any physical or romantic affection we may share may be considered performance and unrelated to my personal feelings.
ADDENDUM 2015: If you are trying to orchestrate a set-up because you get off on watching your significant other jealously beat the crap out of perceived rivals, fuck you. Vengeance will be swift.

Forget the fake suitor.

Marry me now.

It is against my policy to enter into legally-binding arrangements with clients, although by popular demand, I will attend weddings and family reunions as a plus-one to discourage nosey relatives.

Closeted lesbian or asexual, but your aunt won’t stop asking when you will get a boyfriend? I can be your mind-numbingly boring new beau for the day to put her off the scent. She’ll be so uninterested in my dull life that she’ll never inquire further.

Mom won’t stop trying to set you up with a nice Jewish or Hindi boy? I’m neither! Let her down gradually with your new white boyfriend before you eventually drop the ‘polyamorous bisexual witch’ bomb.

the-girlwhowasonfire:

cjshark:

prettyflyforaredspy:

ruemex:

disgruntledota:

leetakeuchi:

I can not count the number of times this trick has saved my ass.

And people say Tumblr doesn’t teach you life skills…

this will come in handy one day

ATTENTION GRADUATING CLASS OF 2013: COLLEGE SURVIVAL 101

Reblogging for future reference..

jumpingjacktrash:

the police have recently started using social media to try to find missing persons:

and it’s working!

so don’t panic, there isn’t a predator on a kidnapping spree targeting black kids. rather, the missing person reports that had previously not been treated very seriously are now getting the attention they deserve, and lots of kids are coming home safe because of it.

the DC police aren’t covering anything up. just the opposite. the world’s not quite as terrible as we feared.

https://twitter.com/DCPoliceDept – go ahead and check it for yourself.

periegesisvoid:

lifepro-tips:

My gf of 3 years is the queen of “wherever” and “I don’t care” when it comes to this. This little game fixed our problem immediately. It takes the pressure off of her, but still gives her a choice about where to eat.

(this can also work with kids and indecisive friends)

How to hack executive dysfunction

believeinprongs:

i’m just sitting here dying of laughter thinking about McGonagall looking over Harry in first year like yeah the kid gets into some dangerous shenanigans but it always seems to be for a greater purpose and his heart’s in the right place and he’s so sweet and quiet usually, clearly he takes after his mother Lily thank goodness this is good this boy is good 

and then dead ass one year later kid shows up to school crashing into a tree with his bestie in a flying car instead of just owling the damn school that they’d missed the train and she’s just like DING DONG I WAS WRONG

faithful-grigori:

katy-l-wood:

Okay, but, when we send cremated remains into space do we send an explanation with them? Because I’m just picturing some aliens cracking open a satellite and being really fucking confused.

“Human guide! Our scans indicate that this probe contains a cylinder full of ash and human bone fragments. I assume this deconstruction of form is a way for your species to travel greater distances through the stars due to your limited capacity for large spaceships and distance travel. Quite similar to the Quaxilains from the Centuri district of the galaxy, though I did not know your species had reached such advancements yet. Please instruct us in how to revive your colleague so we may interrogate him as well.”

“No, dude, whoever that was is dead. Probably some astronaut or scientist who paid to have their cremated remains shot into space once they died.”

“You told us that your species buried your dead, why did you lie to us?”

“No, I said that MY family buried our relatives. Never said the whole species did it. Sometimes we burn them, then scatter their ashes in places they loved, plant them with a tree, use them to make diamonds, shoot them into space, whatever. Lotta options.”

“I had no idea your death rituals were so…extensive.”

“Just wait until I tell you about mummification.”

Okay, so this gets me thinking, what if that ends up as humanity’s hat? Like, other races have one, maybe two relatively simple ways to honor their dead in all their cultures, and then humans show up, a race that seems to brim with ways to appease and mourn the fallen. Earth-style funerals become trendy and fashionable before growing into galactic norms. Alien potentates pay big bucks for human architects to design monuments or mausoleums for them or their loved ones or historical figures. Groups of highly skilled “memorialists” spring up back on earth, master morticians trained in every kind of death rites human or alien minds have imagined and willing to work for a small fee. Humans become well-known across the universe as the Death People from the Death World.

urbancatfitters:

having good blogs follow you is a lot of pressure when you’re annoying

mccoymostly:

So, this may not be news to many of you, but humor me. 

This is insulin, administered subcutaneously through a high-pressure jet stream - no needle.

…

…

Guys, this is a goddamn hypospray. 

!!!!

When I saw this, I squeaked in the OR.

Side note that Anna does not normally squeak, as it’s an undignified sound. But it definitely happened, and I definitely got some strange looks. 

But a HYPOSPRAY.

The future has arrived. 

foxnonny:

asspostate:

miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit. im shooting everything. im laying down cover fire. im shooting the walls. im shooting my teammates. im shooting myself. my accuracy is 100% yall just dont know what im aiming at

I didn’t even read the rest because I’m still laughing at “miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit” like I’ve never read a more perfect phrase in my life

littlestartopaz:

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks:

sepulchritude:

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks:

concept: woman makes deal with demon to have it’s child in exchange for eternal life or some shit

woman then makes deal with witch and offers her first born for like, riches or something

woman dumps demon baby on witch, absconds with her winnings and leaves witch and demon fighting for custody

half demon baby grows up learning magic and visiting hell on weekends and every second christmas

does the woman act as a sort of vodka aunt who shows up sometimes to teach the child how to work the system?

“here you go timmy, have a new xbox. this year I’m going to teach you the ins and outs of magical tax evasion”

SHE DOES NOW

@fujoshi-kianna-leigh @words-writ-in-starlight

officialcommanderlexa:

officialcommanderlexa:

i always laugh whenever we have to centrifuge bacteria because imagine you’re just chilling in some broth with your buds and then someone comes along and puts you in a tube and spins you at fucking 14,000 rpm

urbestnightmare4322:

caffeinewitchcraft:

kys-kaleidoscope:

homeworldlapis:

to add to this “humans are weird” thing
did you know that humans are the only species on earth with the ability to throw things with any significant degree of accuracy and force (apes can throw with about the force of a human ten year old, but cant lock their wrists well enough for accuracy)

and we just never really think about it bc its so easy and simple to us that pretty much all of our sports are based around the concept of throwing things accurately

so
what if the concept of projectile weapons takes most species FOREVER to get the hang of, or even come up with in the first place.
a human goes onto a ship and throws some trash into the nearest reclaimer, shouts “kobe!” and all the other aliens on board absolutely LOSE THEIR MINDS

@caffeinewitchcraft I hope you don’t mind me tagging you but I thought of you and your short stories when I read this ^_^

(Funnily enough, @iwouldbemerry tagged me in this too! And you both are so right!)

---

Yesenia blew it. Her one and only chance to serve on a Federation vessel (”A what? No, we’re a flag ship for the Intergalactic–” “It’s a reference, let me have this–”) and she’d blown it. The written portion of the interview had gone well, and the oral, but she’d tripped during the physical. Literally tripped. In front of the Captain and the First Mate and the head of Medical–

She gloomily takes a bite of her protein bar. “Why do science officers need hand to hand anyway? We’re not the ones going planet side!”

G’Rung, one of her friends from training, pats her on the back with one feathery appendage. “Maybe you didn’t do as badly as you think. I mean, I can’t believe they pitted a human against a V’afinog! Surely that’ll count for extra.”

Yesenia perks up. “Yeah?” She thinks back to the fight. She thinks she actually did get a hit in when she fell–it may have been accidental but it was still a hit. “Yeah, you know what? I probably did okay!”

“And you’re the first human to even get to the interview stage,” G’Rung continues encouragingly. Around them, their other interview group mates nod, murmuring agreement.

“And you’re really good at Botany,” Marsul says. He gives her the close-lipped smile that means he’s genuinely happy, careful to cover his sharp teeth. “They’d be dumb not to accept your application.”

Yesenia is touched. Marsul and her had never gotten along after the whole smile misunderstanding. Apparently he’d thought she was threatening him for the longest time. “Thank you!” She balls up her protein bar wrapper and looks for a trash can. She spots one behind her and, not wanting to leave just yet, twists in her seat and tosses it toward the narrow opening. “Kobe!” The wrapper doesn’t even touch the edge of the receptacle, nothing but net, and she crows victoriously. 

When she turns back around, everyone is staring at her.

“That was lucky,” Marsul says finally.

Yesenia glances around the table, not sure what’s wrong. “Luck has nothing to do with it, dude. That’s talent.”

She’s trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.

G’Rung gapes at her. “Are you saying you did that on purpose?”

“Well yeah,” Yesenia says. “The thing’s like ten feet away–”

“Throw this,” Marsul demands, shoving his own wrapper across the table to her. “Throw it.”

“Bossy,” Yesenia mutters. She scoops up the wrapper and throws it. Again, it goes in. And the next one and the one after that and the one that they have her throw from twenty feet away (that one might be luck).

Her group mates go crazy.

“Come on,” G’Rung says, tugging her up urgently, “Come on, come on, come on!”

“What?” Yesenia stumbles out of her seat, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

Marsul is right on their heels as G’Rung drags Yesenia out of the mess hall. “We have to show the Captain! If he sees this he’ll have to let you on the ship!”

“Sees what?” Yesenia asks. “And I thought you said I did great!”

“I lied to make you feel better,” G’Rung says, pressing the button to the lift that’ll take them to the command deck. “You did terribly against the V’afinog, I know that hit was an accident–”

Marsul darts around them to open the door and practically shoves them both through it. “Captain! Sorry to barge in, but you have to see this!” He looks around, eyes fever bright, and then snatches up a data chip. He shoves it into Yesenia’s hands. “Throw it!”

“Captain,” Yesenia says, looking at the Leekylan sitting in the command chair with wide eyes. “I am so sorry for–”

“I don’t have all day,” the Captain says, iris-less eyes blinking slowly. “And, frankly, if this is something that’ll help your case, you want to do it after that physical exam.”

“Told you,” G’Rung hisses in her ear. G’Rung flaps feather hands in her direction. “Do it!”

Yesenia swallows and tosses the data chip back into the drawer it came from. Marsul darts forward, grabs it, and hands it to her. Yesenia does it again.

“And targets–!” G’Rung swoops down and takes off their shoes. “The wall–!”

Yesenia, unable to read the Captain’s face, decides to just go with it. She lobs G’Rung’s shoes at the wall, hitting the same spot each time.

When she’s done, she turns to the Captain, fidgeting nervously. At her sides, Marsul and G’Rung are practically vibrating with nerves and excitement.

The Captain considers her for a beat longer. “Your Science application was denied due to your inability to defend yourself,” he says. And then, before Yesenia’s heart can crash straight through the floor, he adds, “But, in this case, I believe that this skill more than makes up for your failure in sparring. Congratulations and welcome aboard.”

Yesenia gapes at him. “I– thank you, sir! But–”

“No buts!” G’Rung says, grapping her arm again. “Thanks, Captain, we’ll just be going.”

Marsul picks up the rear, closing the door before he can change his mind.

@space-australians

makeoutstation:

makeoutstation:

oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he’d forgotten at home

and i went “holy shit you have a twin?!?” and he was like “yeah! his name is jason!” and i was like “????? i thought YOUR name was jason”

long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i’ve developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time

remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone’s keeping it from me so i’m just calling him not-jason

starburstdragon:

krazykitsune:

just-shower-thoughts:

The first guy who heard a parrot talk was probably not ok for several days.

Actually, weird history fact about that. The island of Bermuda’s first name was Isle of Devils, being thought to be filled with demons and angry spirits when it was actually just filled with some loud ass birds.

@lotsandlotsofbirds

janiemcpants:

antivanruffles:

I wonder if the Inquisition has debriefings? Like, after the entire crew gets back from a mission they have a meeting with the advisors regarding everything that happened. 

Or maybe everyone in the party is required to write a field report? I bet Cullen reads them all, just sifting through endless crap from the Inner Circle:

Sera’s reports consist only of crude drawings and obscenities – he actually finds those entertaining. She’s quite inventive and the point is always rather clear.

Cassandra’s are always perfect and detailed, if not a bit stilted. Not that he minds. 

Dorian’s are always about the lack of amenities or certain comforts. Can’t you order us thicker blankets? I was freezing the entire time and there was a rock under my back. 

Blackwall’s reports are always helpful, he makes notes about soldiers, or various things that need to be done in the area. 

Iron Bull’s are always just an account of the things he killed or fought. Sometimes he’ll share a good joke he heard too.

Vivienne’s are to the point, crisp and tidy, never wanting. She’ll also tack on notes about the Inquisitor, or her companions, bits of pertinent information.

Cole doesn’t write reports, but sometimes he’ll pop into Cullen’s office and tell him a few things of note before disappearing again. 

Solas’ are scholarly, recounting the areas they’d explored and interesting landmarks, usually with a very detailed map attached. 

And then there are Varric’s, written on fine vellum imported from a printer in Kirkwall, the penmanship always neat, and flowing over the pages. And there are many pages as Varric describes, in that detailed way only a writer can, the exact way his boots squelched while in the Fallow Mire; the damp, musty smell that clung to him after spending ten days soaking wet on the Storm Coast, without a chance to dry out; the biting chill that cut through him in the Emprise du Lion, and the way the dark branches of the bare trees struck a bleak contrast against the snow. The fucking endless snow. 

It’s when they return from the Hissing Wastes and Cullen sees that Varric’s report is eighteen pages detailing exactly where he found sand on his person, that Cullen informs him he is exempt from writing any further reports.

Curly–

Thanks for sending us to Emprise du Fucking Cold. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing at this stage of my life.

Everything is frozen. The wind sounds like it’s screaming when it sweeps through the trees, and it bites through fabric and leather and anything else that tries to stand in its way. Bare black branches stretch out their bony fingers and leave stark, torn shadows over the ice. The only color comes from red lyrium, and there’s so much of it, what sun there is shines through it like stained glass. 

The ground crunches. Wolves howl. Ravens caw with doom in their eyes. There’s snow everywhere. I’ve got snow in my boots, snow down my back, snow up my sleeves. Do you know what it’s like being damp for days at a time? It chafes. 

[This goes on for several pages.]

Everybody here looks like they’re awaiting the cold embrace of the grave. ‘Wolves took our last sheep, and Uncle Boris has the ague and will soon breathe his last, and little Peter isn’t long for this world, but ah, well, death awaits us all,’ they seem to say, and go back to their porridge, or whatever the hell it is people eat in this Maker-forsaken place. Of course, if I lived here, I would, too.

This place is the worst. Also, we killed some demons today.

–Varric

(Cullen replies:

Try buttoning your shirt.

–CR)

remux:

remux:

remux:

in this house we do not speak the F word

freud

my people

siderealsandman:

• Dorian’s intro scene is him beating demons to death with a stick. At some point he must have run out of mana and decided to channel his inner Bruce Lee and successfully bludgeon at least two demons to death before the Inquisitor arrived
• Dorian masks honesty and insecurity with layer upon layer of snark, sarcasm, and faux-arrogance. He’s like an everlasting gobstopper of adequacy issues. 
• His fashion sense is leagues different than Orlesian/Ferelden fashions (for god’s sake his casual attire is a brown leather jumpsuit with one shoulder left uncovered. just one)
• Underneath his layers of sarcasm and irony there is a doe-eyed idealist that rivals Cassandra Pentaghast who looks at generations of slavery and death in Tevinter and thinks “Yeah this is worth saving”
• Dorian considers himself to be Andrastian though not in either the Tevinter sense or the Orlesian sense 

prousts:

i will no longer be inviting my enemies to ‘meet me in the pit’ from now on you are all expected to meet me in the hinterlands, a far more terrifying prospect due to the fact you must first FIND me in the hinterlands, which may take years

saltybiowarefantears:

After Dragon Age 2, the entire fandom shouted in one voice -

“GODDAMMIT, ANDERS!”

After Dragon Age Inquisition/Trespasser, the entire fandom shouted in one voice-

“GODDAMMIT, SOLAS!”

Congratulations, Anders. You are no longer the king of “I fucked up”; that crown has been passed onto a much more experienced, much balder head.

pharaoh-doll:

miazaz:

zooophagous:

autobotsaboteur:

tamingtarot:

glumshoe:

therealcaitie:

glumshoe:

You know you grew up on Steve Irwin when you see a photo of a crocodile and think, “Wow. Just beautiful.”

And you see Stingrays as the devil themselves

nah man Steve would have forgiven that stingray and absolved it of its sins

He would have apologized for getting into the stingray’s space and making it afraid. 

He actually did! Some of Steve Irwin’s last words were, “it wasn’t his fault. I startled him.”

He actually did forgive the stingray. He knew that he had scared it, and that it was only acting to protect itself.

If you put your ear up to a seashell you can hear the sound of mY HEART BREAKING INTO A THOUSAND LITTLE PIECES

This is why I get so mad whenever my folks have Animal Planet on lately and it’s all about WHAT ANIMALS ARE GOING TO MURDER YOU IN YOUR FACE?

EXOTIC PETS RIP OWNER TO SHREDS!

SNAKES! WILL THEY EAT YOU? (YES)

Steve Irwin (and at the time at least his contemporary follow-behind Jeff Corwin) ushered in such a pure unbridled LOVE of exotic, ferocious, terrifying animals. He respected the animals so much, he loved them.

Yes, crocs would charge and snakes would lunge, but he would respect when the animal deemed its boundaries well crossed and let it go back on its merry reptilian way.

This was the Tone for my childhood. My education of wild animals was Steve Irwin talking about how beautiful this deadly crocodile was, how majestic and chill and peaceful coexistence could be.

It was Jeff Corwin screaming and yelling at people at the discovery of a snake carcass, killed because of ignorant fear of it. It was harmless, and lost, and scared, and decapitated and he was livid. Why? Why would you do that? It was non-venomous, it didn’t want to be where it was any more than you wanted it to be where it was – why didn’t you call someone to release it?

And now it’s just… “Everything is murderous and animals will eat your face and everything is Ruthless Killing Machines”

and just.

I feel like I’m watching my own father’s work be tainted whenever AP is on. It’s so upsetting.

Because education and understanding don’t sell ad time.

Also why so much of Shark Week has become LET’S PISS THIS THING OFF TILL IT TRIES TO BITE US. “GREAT WHITES ARE MINDLESS KILLING MACHINES AND THEY WANT TO EAT YOU PERSONALLY, SUSAN.” is a lot more ‘exciting’ than “These things are gigantic and they feel with their very sharp mouths but they don’t actually mean anything by it they just don’t know what you are (also you taste nasty to them get over yourself.)”

thatgirlonstage:

inkskinned:

u know what … i changed my mind… all u scientists out there who worked ur butts off just to have your research purposefully ignored by the government… do your science thing and bring back the dinosaurs… catch them ignoring you when a velociraptor is our next president…. like ding dong what’s that? it’s science, it doesn’t care about your silly ignorant opinion… it’s back with a vengeance… and it’s hungry, bitch

I hadn’t considered Jurassic Park as a solution to the Dump Truck presidency but I’ll take it