the-real-seebs:

homunculus-argument:

A story within a story where a mother sits her rowdy children down and tells them a story about a the world’s sweetest, kindest mother who never lost her temper, never cursed and never yelled at her children, no matter how rowdy they could get. She would only gently, kindly told them to not do the dangerous things. One day she sweetly, kindly told her children to not go play at the riverbank, because it’s dangerous and they might slip on the rocks, fall into the water, and die. Her children do not listen. They go play at the riverbank, where they slip on the rocks, fall into the water, and die.

And the sweet perfect mother of the story comes to the riverbank, sees that all her children drowned, and starts crying so bitterly that angels overhear her, and the angels say to each other, “she does not deserve this, this woman has never done anything wrong in her life, this should not have happened to her”, and feeling great pity for her, bring her children back to life, and after that they always listened to their mother and lived happily ever after.

And the storyteller’s children, who at this point are familiar with the concept that these stories are supposed to have some sort of a moral or lesson in them, interject to point out that their mother hasn’t always done everything perfectly, she isn’t always sweet, curses a lot, and as a matter of fact loses her shit at her kids all the time. She isn’t like the mother of the story at all.

And their mother agrees: Her children are correct. She is not a perfect mother who has never done anything wrong. Angels will not have pity on her, and they will not bring her little shits back to life if they go to the river and die. So they better fucking not go get themselves killed in the first place.

this was forwarded to me by my kid and i gotta say that adds layers to the interpretation


Tags:

#storytime #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #death tw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

cipheramnesia:

Lakes and graveyards are very similar in that if you detonate a large explosion inside either one a lot of dead bodies come to the surface.

geekandmisandry:

Hi, um. How is being the necromancer’s apprentice going for you OP?

cipheramnesia:

You want I should raise dead, I raise dead, no problem. You want banish dead, no problem, have plenty more nitro. I do this, ten minutes.

dee-the-red-witch:

CHUNKY STEW IS NOT BANISHMENT.

amnesia:

Chunky stew, very bad necromancer. We banish, no problem, no chunks. I give you number of cousin Yvgeny. Will power wash house, very good prices. No other necromancer does this for you.

geekandmisandry:

Is….is…is Yvgeny….alive?

cipheramnesia:

Eh. Is alive enough.

the-real-seebs:

i somehow had heard “no other necromancer does this for you” without picking up the whole context, so i went searching. i am not disappointed.


Tags:

#that one post with the thing #storytime #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #death tw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

foone:

Your throwing knife embeds itself in the wall behind the wizard’s head, and he pulls a gun. Too late to get out of sight, he pulls the trigger, and you pray that it hurts.

You pray there’s blood. That you need healing soon, that you’ll be weak in that arm for months.

Because the alternative is so much worse. The last thing you want to happen when you go up against an artificer is that they shoot you with bullets that don’t hurt. That means they have a gun that shoots something besides pain and death. Something worse.

You collect all the clues you can once the battle is over, the wizard breaking a pendant of escape and warping out of the continent. Various blueprints written in eldrich runes that hurt your mundane eyes to even look at, books that whisper in the night, prototypes labeled ominous things you worry about.

You make it back home, mission partially successful, fearful that the townspeople might attack you on sight. Worried that your loved ones might not remember you. You visit another, friendlier wizard, to have them examine your collected evidence. They pour over the items, getting excited about new branches of science, magic, and magical science. You angrily cut them off, saying you’re not here for their PhD thesis, just tell you what that fucking gun did?

The light goes out of their eyes, but they pull up a final blueprint. Says here it’s the Gun of Cold. Odd, you reply. It didn’t feel cold when they shot you with it. You sneeze.

They offer you a handkerchief. No, not that kind of cold. Simon in the village makes some good chicken soup. You’ll need it, magic can’t cure this you know, but you’ll be better in a week or two.


Tags:

#One Hundred and One Magical Pistols #storytime #guns #illness tw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

jdragsky:

fuck it. wisemind time

990269ec26fceae0058cd540d9880c3cd50764a8
c20e4bc9e83509457565ba0d9df6f7a59cee20d6
33827b35fed8bf5d93f673ab72e2a399d0cdfc01
8dae207e28d33f3cf23b5a7611556bca7ab64e47
ac44848be0c165783cc79420d8ec48a7345bdf1b
e6330e4f5ce8209198998d03e8f6a536b3fd40ec
32e55506fe7303a32920663d634a248c6a9cb382
abe364acc9d3d4d55db2f766b724a81f597b7637
0e0579472256fd23acb25281897ba391ccb3d067
3e2218f25d5759f7ea96dcb5e5dd5b973e4c0c25
d7db5b8fa5e669c2c522b9219237d10971ca53ee
96f8d6cc0ac9b93c9a8753b7cd217005ba975aa5
202a904fa11f9822150f841b66f8bf6afc0832c4
f6d94c7d25e052b55642564bd87fc1af1246e922
16a1948f783b2a488a99ec532780e50818e78a6a

jdragsky:

my vascralite best friend got in an arguemnt with me about wisemind

bfc095267ff48cc50c049ae2da849e79e1eb600d
576643c1ae8011d59c1010411c369f19507e24d0
886f0cf7655a8f73eab98211295954867f47a8e4
28bb6d412e596a38f425a556964f7490c2e04ead
2b87420bde555fd76194b83d591bb31e75cc42b9
34676c618ab8974766f58a046f78ceee37a2c0aa
61c3a29ffe2398976ed22b0b5ed2344a9a2587f9
1087cca0a06140054a29febfa3e404ee54fc890e

jdragsky:

heres some more i found

Keep reading

{{below the cut:}}

b44679e56f521cc804c5276fd0f321ca6fce66a4

6a9d14a00dd46de52ec59ec2f8963efe7e727e7a

5d61438c44a3853ec9c3defdd008c425f1b00602

c32cfe6c08f172c34eb00a9807e568b68dfd3a7b

81d7460ec33bdf939acbb8a1243ac185fe810354

fabf19a38a84544f477953b3d4417fe1a9ff7363

a4c623b8bb38c404aac1ddcd4e6a4a2f6775a96d

a9e5a3bcf9ec995c370afd3d61019acad1b727de

32e1c6c134aa7e3d77688fafe0113251590073cf

b8719b3ac93f358194aef20d5bb7c59fd44595fb

4753cad86a9db5a1db75b7e06dae7b2389cc8366

8841cbdc77cbcf0396eee8e287cf7a0f68ca2f9a

02fc7d73964b500f34c5f32fb2351b5388785104

922d3f99b0e1f18ec68ab9d3f06b4b78289ae8ec


Tags:

#it’s time once again for Stories Told Through Memes #Wisemind #storytime #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

xenosaurus:

I’m working on a concept for angels as a type of undead— human corpses animated by light.

They can’t see, having been blinded by the brightness of their transformation, and the illusion of wings comes from cuts down the length of their spine, allowing light to escape. Much like vampires, they maintain some semblance of their living personality, at least at first, and need to eat something special— in their case, the magic in the flesh of other undead creatures.

The setting I’m making them for sees them as a terrifying necessary evil in places where they’re plentiful, as they hunt worse threats, but they’re often misinterpreted as holy defenders in places where they’re scarce.

xenosaurus:

They definitely are NOT defenders of humanity, especially as they get older and their minds start to wear down. Older angels can rarely tell individual people apart, stop communicating entirely, and are known to kill people who have even been NEAR other undead because they smell like food.

Eventually, if they haven’t been hunted down by humans to make them stop, they start trying to hunt other angels and get killed that way.

xenosaurus:

Vampires in this setting are the whole package— hypnotic mind control, shape shifting, making thralls, superhuman strength, generally incredibly hard to kill. Light weakens but does not kill them, at least when it’s normal sunlight.

Humans struggle hard to deal with even a few of them, but angels pry those suckers from their lairs like shucking oysters and devour them.

xenosaurus:

Angels happen when someone is killed with light without their body being destroyed, which is very very hard to do by accident. The setting has a few powerful entities living outside society who use magic like that, and at one point, angels were people who pissed them off.

Of course, angels are very useful, especially when they’re young. There are some groups that send people out to bother entities of light on purpose, and eventually a ritual for making one without outside “help” was developed.

Human-created angels are usually either volunteers from cults that think of angels as holy creatures, or people nobody would miss being turned into vampire hunters against their will. You can tell the difference by how the cuts on their back are made— the cults use lines of carved runes, while sketchy alchemists make straight cuts on either side of the spine. Angels made by pissed off non-human entities usually claw at their backs until they tear the skin, so their “wings” are jagged.

xenosaurus:

6e1a507021d56137d13e334b2c17abe0dea13db8

[ID: reply from @neojet280 reading “How long does it take for them to lose their mind after the turn into angels? Years? Decades? Centuries?]

Good question! Generally the Brain Weird starts to kick in after a decade or two, and you get to the point where they’re not really themselves anymore by 50 years. By 100 years in, they stop behaving like social creatures, and from there it depends on the individual how quickly they stop being safe to be around.

Mental decline in the undead is universal, but timeframes vary! Vampires remain functional for centuries and lose themselves around 500-600 years, while ghouls rarely maintain any personality by the end of the second year and revenants can only function without being puppeted for a decade or two.

xenosaurus:

The quick and dirty of the four types of undead:

Vampires— robust supernatural powers, keep their minds for centuries, created by other vampires via biting, feed on human blood (animal blood is not sufficient)

Angels— light magic, minds are lost by 150 years, created by killing a person with light, feed on the bodies of other undead

Ghouls— can keep going with huge pieces of their bodies missing, mindless by their second winter, spreads like a bacteria, feeds on any living flesh

Revenant— powers vary, become empty puppets by 15-20 years in, created by human magic to be undead slaves, draw energy from their summoner or can be fed the flesh of magical creatures

xenosaurus:

The plot of this is about a city that suffers a flood and finds itself abruptly overrun with ghouls. This leads to the local alchemist’s guild kidnapping people to make angels, which gets the vampires involved, which attracts the older angels, and so on.

xenosaurus:

I’m thinking about this setting again! Today’s world building bit:

Vampires do have a strong negative association with garlic, but not because of anything to do with the garlic itself. Vampire hunters have a potion they take that makes their blood highly toxic to vampires, and one of the side effects is sweat that reeks of garlic. As this isn’t commonly understood by the common people, rumors spread that vampire hunters were keeping garlic in their clothes to ward them off.

xenosaurus:

I’m working on this again, so I gave it a name— a sunken pyre! monster hunters use funeral pyres to burn the bodies of people killed by ghouls or vampires before they can wake back up as the undead, and a failed job or out of control situation is often euphemistically referred to as a pyre getting rained on or otherwise trying to start a fire using damp wood.

A sunken pyre, being underwater, would be a VERY dire situation. The plot also starts with a literal flood, so, twofold!

xenosaurus:

As I work on the human characters, I’m also developing monster hunting organizations! First off— the ones with the dogs.

The Graveyard Houndsmen are a primarily rural brotherhood, formed to deal with ghoul outbreaks centuries ago. While not a strictly religious order, their work is highly ritualized and most of their traditions are safety rules turned into superstitions.

The Houndsmen adopt and breed dogs that have survived attacks by ghouls near graveyards, unknowingly breeding for resistance to the blight of the undead while believing the animals themselves to be supernatural— church grims. Because these dogs are often strays, the breeding lines vary wildly in traits.

The members of this order take vows of chastity and refuse to see doctors, as they are virtually all infected with the undying plague, the poorly-understood magical phenomenon that turns the dying into ghouls. The curse is in the blood and can be sexually transmitted or passed to a child that is conceived by them. (Some houndsmen exploit a loophole by having non-reproductive sex with each other, though. Don’t be a snitch, the head of the chapter doesn’t need to know.)

Because the order is a lifelong commitment, Houndsmen give up their family names, all using “Grim” as a surname. The majority of them are men, but women are not banned from the order unless they have living children.

xenosaurus:

The Houndsmen are well-loved by the communities they serve, in spite of being a bit odd and intense. Being entrusted with one of their hunting dogs that has been injured or grown too old to work is considered a huge honor, as it is believed that the grim’s spirit will protect the home of those who cared for it after its passing. There’s even a popular fairy tale about a child turning around their family’s fortunes by being kind to a stray dog that turns out to be a Houndsman’s companion!

The Houndsmen are rare in larger cities, where cremation of the dead is mandatory to avoid ghoul outbreaks. Their reputation is damaged somewhat by being seen by city folk as similar to the next monster hunting group I’m going to talk about— the Keepers of the Undying Light, a very ethically ambiguous order of alchemists that deal with vampires. They were the original creators of the ritual to make angels without outside help!

xenosaurus:

The Keepers are a broad and diverse organization, most of which operates in secrecy. The alchemists rarely do much fighting themselves, instead working with angels, revenants, and hired help to accomplish their goals. While their public goals and general mission are positive, they have a corruption problem and tend towards “the end justifies the means” in their plans.

Keeper hunters are basically mercenaries, and the problems with their employers are more likely to fuck them over than anyone else. A LOT of them die on what they didn’t know were suicide missions, end up as revenant puppets, or are mutilated by alchemical experiments done on them under the guise of medical care.

xenosaurus:

The Houndsmen are obviously not a perfect organization, as they’re too broad for true oversight and they live and breathe superstition, but they’re too reliant on the good favor of the common people to get away with large scale abuses. Almost all of them are technically homeless, generally being cared for by communities another Houndsman has protected as they travel around for jobs. They really need their good reputation!

The main Houndsman in the story is Arlo Grim, a man on the edge of middle age who has been to a proper city maybe twice. He isn’t really prepared for the level of political intrigue the Keepers of the Undying Light bring to the table.

xenosaurus:

It’s time for plot, so, first, let’s talk about the Undying Plague.

The Undying Plague is a blood curse, a unique type of magic that functions like a bloodborne pathogen. It is particularly widespread due to its difficulty to detect before a cursed individual dies, as well as a general reluctance to destroy the undead it produces before they get violent.

For most people, the curse does nothing until your death, at which point it raises you as a ghoul. The longer you lived with the curse, the longer the resurrection takes, with ghouls that have more time to “cook” being stronger and more resilient, but with less remaining of their minds. The quickest resurrections are around 20 minutes, and the slowest take a few days.

Because ghouls get violent as their minds decay, which happens very quickly in most situations, it is very dangerous to have them around. However, because ghouls originally maintain their personalities and memories to some extent, once they’re awake their loved ones have a tendency to hide them. To avoid this, cities have strict laws regarding immediate cremation of the dead.

Most people with the Undying Plague don’t know it, and most would-be ghouls are burned before anyone realizes they were cursed. Generally, the only sign of a spreading outbreak (assuming it’s being spread by the living, and not by ghouls biting people) is cases of ‘rotting fever’, a deadly allergic reaction that afflicts people with especially high magical sensitivity when exposed to the curse. As getting the curse itself kills them, their revival is nearly instant, and the new undead decaying and losing their mind is mistaken for a living person with a disease.

xenosaurus:

So, what happens is this: 30 years ago, a pox went through the city of Larkhollow. While the fatality rate was low, the situation overwhelmed the city’s doctors and alchemists, causing over a dozen cases of rotting fever to be missed. The open sores of the pox and the poor sanitation in the poorer areas of the city left more than half of the city unknowingly cursed with the Undying Plague.

However, with a recent contagious disease in everyone’s memories, sanitation picked up, and cremation rules were enforced more strictly. The situation went unnoticed until the city’s dam broke 3 decades later.

The resulting flood killed many people, with a lot of bodies being lost in the water. The deceased had carried the curse for long enough to be nearly mindless as they woke up over the next few days, turning their attention to the survivors still trapped in the city.

Complicating the situation, Larkhollow played host to a collection of vampires whose lairs were no more resistant to the flooding than the above ground buildings. Suddenly exposed, they are in full survival mode, hiding among the human survivors and trying to avoid or sabotage the monster hunters suddenly all over the city.

xenosaurus:

All of this finally brings us around to the primary angel character, who was previously kept hidden by the local Keepers when she wasn’t vampire hunting. Her name is Lior, and she was an unmarried young woman raising her younger sister 30 years ago, when the Keepers used the pox as a cover to kidnap a number of test subjects to make new angels.

At the time of the flood, she is the only surviving angel in Larkhollow, as the older angels had been culled by the Keepers and the others who had been created beside her had either been taken to other cities or died during a conflict between Keeper factions 3 years prior.

Shortly after becoming the main defense for the city, Lior is recognized by her sister, Sadie, who never believed she’d wandered off to die of illness.


Tags:

#storytime #angels #aging cw #illness tw #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

jadagul:

That night he dreamed.

A duel between magicians makes a fascinating tale. Such tales are common—and rarely true. The winner of such a duel is not likely to give up trade secrets. The loser is dead, at the very least.

Novices in sorcery are constantly amazed at how much preparation goes into a duel, and how little action. The duel with the Hill Magician started with a dream, the night after the Warlock’s speech made that duel inevitable. It ended thirty years later.

….

And in his sleep he concentrated, memorizing details. A narrow path curled up the hillside. Facts twisted, dreamlike. There was a companion with him; or there wasn’t. The Warlock lived until he passed through the gate; or he died at the gate, in agony, with great ivory teeth grinding together through his rib cage.

He woke himself up trying to sort it out.

The shadowy companion was necessary, at least as far as the gate. Beyond the enemy’s gate he could see nothing. A Warlock’s Wheel must have been used there, to block his magic so thoroughly.

Poetic justice?

He spent three full days working spells to block the Hill Magician’s prescient sense. During that time his own sleep was dreamless. The other’s magic was as effective as his own.

Larry Niven’s novelette “What Good is a Glass Dagger” isn’t generally super well remembered; to the extent people think of it, it’s in relation to the much more famous sequel, “The Magic Goes Away”, which used magic as a metaphor for the oil and energy crisis.

(It’s also one of the first stories to use the word “mana” to refer to magic power; it’s still exotic enough that Niven italicizes it in the text. It’s not the first ever, but I believe it’s the actual source that RPGs drew on when they used that word.)

But this passage has always stuck with me. Wizard duels aren’t flashy explosions of power. They’re very careful maneuvering, with decades of prescience, and the winner is the one who best manages that careful maneuvering around their opponent’s blind spots while creating blind spots for their opponent.

(There’s a truism in D&D3.x that a level 13 wizard, with time to prepare, can kill anything that isn’t preparing in return. And I feel like this story represents that concept really well, though the details are all different.)


Tags:

#storytime #recs #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

seat-safety-switch:

In Canada, we’re famous for our bilingualism. Sure, there’s other bilingual countries out there. Some might even be tri- or quadrilingual. We don’t know, and our media doesn’t tell us. All we do know is that when you pick up a cereal box from the shelf, you get to learn what the French name of the cereal is. It’s Cheerios. Couldn’t have guessed that.

All this means that, throughout your life in Anglo Canada, you are constantly getting a subliminal reinforcement of French. One day, you discover that you can actually read a reasonable amount of the microwave installation instructions despite having pulled the wrong manual out of the box. Shortly after that, you begin to feel a curiosity for this mysterious other culture. And by that, I mean you want to go buy a French car.

Unfortunately for me and my fellow Canucks, options for French cars are few and far between. The overwhelming hegemony of the Americans mean that the absolute weirdest stuff we get is made in Romania under contract to Germans using Japanese robots. Why do we not have Citroëns? There is no valid reason, other than the fact that they went nearly bankrupt the last time they tried to sell their cars here. That’s not supposed to discourage you, silly, General Motors has gone bankrupt three or four times while I’ve been writing these sentences!

So, if you’re out there, French automakers, please bring your weird cars to my country. We can go get a steamé and a Pepsi, and we can find out if the interior of your car holds up well to poutine gravy stains. It probably doesn’t, but that’s okay, I’ll still take the depreciated Francomobile and enjoy opulent luxury comfort on my way back to my home province, where the only French we use is to incorrectly pronounce the phrase “croissaint-wich” at the airport Burger King.


Tags:

#our home and cherished land #language #storytime #this is exactly what living in Canada is like #the signs at the airport are like ”n’oubliez pas oú est votre voiture!” and you’re like ”okay‚ sure‚ I won’t– wait” #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

phantomrose96:

2a5ffd8f69e35c71247a49d00ec06a0dd4375bbf
7dac45de106abf3de2dbf901114b8e75822c9215

Cant have fucking shit in Detroit

phantomrose96:

344aef805d489396414e0179d5730c8433dbbbd7

phantomrose96:

4bc32edb4774ea8938e2ad1746397039df750cd4

Cant have shit

phantomrose96:

Okay so door saga

  • The only way into my building is through the front door which locks itself when closed. There’s a back entrance but it’s deadbolted from the inside. This means the only people who can get into the building are me, my cat sitter with the spare keys, and the people living in the other two units.
  • The door to MY unit now… has no doorknob. Impossible to get in.
  • There is a shared BACK hallway that leads to the shared basement/back entrance. My back door into this hall is always deadbolted. EXCEPT, fortuitously, right now, since neighbor (Molly) in unit 2 had heard Patches meowing when alone and offered to spend some time with her, so I had the cat sitter unlock the bolt.
  • This, LUCKILY, means there is A Way into my unit. But it requires getting into the building, then going THROUGH my neighbors’ unit into the back hall, then up to my unit.
  • Cat sitter is effectively locked out from Patches, and won’t be able to get in if not fixed by the next day.
  • Text neighbor about predicament. They’re willing to look at my door bUT (it’s Christmas) they’re not home and not getting home until the next day.
  • Next day, text for an update but hear nothing. (Neighbors aren’t attached to their phones much). Communicate with catsitter saying “okay if I don’t hear back from neighbors, maybe you go over and I contact a locksmith who you can let in?” (since cat sitter has the keys to the building)
  • Catsitter is very not keen on the idea
  • Patches is unaware she’s a prisoner.
  • Hear back from neighbors. Say they should be home around 5pm.
  • Okay… Good Enough… (Patches graze-feeds so Luckily she hasn’t missed any meals but we’re going on 24 hours of house arrest Patches).
  • 6pm comes. 7pm comes. 7:40pm I text asking for an update. Nothing.
  • 8:30pm I’m figuring out what friends I can call to break into my own house. Text neighbor again and notice this text doesn’t go through.
  • Text neighbor’s partner being like “hey sorry, can’t seem to reach Molly–”. Get a text back “Sorry this is Molly on David’s phone! My phone died.” Family Christmas plans ran late but they’re on their way back and will be home soon. Thank goodness.
  • 9pm-ish, they get back, give Patches attention and top up her food. I get a text “David fixed your door!” Woo!
  • Friday 5pm I finally get home
  • Lugging my suitcase up three flights of stairs while I hear Patches meowing like a dying Victorian child
  • Shoes off coat off suitcase down fish out keys unlock door grab doorknob
  • …Doorknob falls off
  • Falls off right into my hands
  • Staring at doorknob. Staring at door. Patches meowing. Shove doorknob against door like an idiot and no it does not go back on.
  • Fucking
  • Go down flight of stairs, knock on Molly and David’s door. David is luckily home. “My doorknob fell off again can I go home”
  • David lets me in. I scoot past their dogs and apparently I startled the more nervous one since she apparently tried to nip at me but I didn’t even notice because I’m like my cat.
  • Get in through the back hall.
  • Patches comes bounding over.
  • My cat.
  • Doesn’t even know she was a prisoner.
  • Doesn’t even know what a doorknob is.
  • Later that night receive a text from neighbor apologizing for the dog and I’m like “I Did Not Even Notice.”
  • Any attempt to leave my house now is perilous until I fix the doorknob.
  • Can’t even leave my door cracked open because I know Patches is gonna shove her stupid little face through it and become the opposite of a prisoner.
  • I wanna go buy a reeces peanut butter cup but by god it’s not worth the risk
  • I’m gonna try to fix the doorknob
  • Or… buy? a new doorknob?
  • On Amazon searching “doorknob”.
  • Merry Christmas

phantomrose96:

6ecc6479d6ffc6d122433d83e823083ee9293ce1

You are completely right because I have now investigated the knob and can confirm the screw holding the knob to bar was loose. I have tightened the screw and it SEEMS fixed but I’m very Fool Me Once on this since my neighbor also thought they’d fixed it.

There is a Home Depot trip in my future. Or maybe an online purchase if Patches would get off my laptop

phantomrose96:

f54e91895c1f27e6d8d8b2beed769d6674c14ff1

Merry Christmas I hope I know how to install a doorknob

phantomrose96:

Complication. Doorknob is here and I tried to install it, but because my door is older than God, the latch-majig (technical term) is offset like an inch higher than the knob. Modern doorknob has the latch LEVEL with the knob.

To swap in the new knob I’d need to cut a new knob-hole an inch higher in the door which

  1. With what tools
  2. That would leave an unused gaping doorknob-sized hole in my door which any robber the size of a weasel or smaller will use to rob my home. I don’t need fucking Redwall in my home.
  3. Probably bad for the integrity of the door
  4. I don’t wanna.

I think what I really want is just the knob like above tags said. Like the knob and the rectangular bar, which I can substitute in for my stripped-bare knob and rectangle bar. I WOULD do this with the new knob, but it’s got two welded-on spokes poking out from the knob.

I can maybe drill two holes for the spokes in my door…?

(Squinting at shitty amazon listings trying to see if any knobs don’t have the two spokes)

(I think the two spokes might be standard.)

Developing new respect for Jesus (carpenter).

In the meantime, because I’d already unscrewed a lot of things I DID take the genius action of flipping my current doorknob around.

This way the side that causes problems is on the INSIDE.

Doorknob fall of while INSIDE house significantly better than doorknob fall off while OUTSIDE.

I’m retightening all the screws.

Patches has offered no solutions.

phantomrose96:

9f5166216487b3cefcf3956324206d07ae5b3f8a

So it does!

237617ba86c441d433211041ac7c5b3b99910a0a

Never heard the term “spindle doorknob” before so I never would have found this on my own.

They’re also all labeled “vintage” which extra feels right since my door predates the Cambrian Explosion.

Crowdsourcing my door fix on Tumblr dot com! Doorknob 2.0 is ordered.

phantomrose96:

17ad8ba81303c330e245016cd6f178290e432189

At least 4,000 but we still got time


Tags:

#storytime #domesticity #the more you know #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #embarrassment squick? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

writing-prompt-s:

There is a forbidden type of magic out there. It isn’t forbidden because it’s inherently evil, or forces you to lose your humanity, or requires human sacrifices – it’s just forbidden because it’s annoying as heck to fight against.

hestia-and-the-court:

“Ma’am, I really must insist that you pay for the room and board I’ve been giving you! It’s been a week!”“Fine, fine,” I grumble. “I have a few options for payment: I could give you paper money, cheap gaudy jewelry, chocolate coins, spiders, some pretty seashells-”

“Spiders????” he repeats, baffled.

“Spiders it is, then,” I agree equitably, and with a wave of my hand the bed I’ve been sleeping in for the last week turns into a writhing mass of various spiders.

Worth it.

“Stop right there! You’re under arrest for fraud, destruction of property, and-!”

I yawn. “Didn’t ask, don’t care.” A few gestures, and the guards’ swords are all transmuted into spiders, and then they’re too busy to worry about little ol’ me.

“You have insulted my honor and humiliated me in front of my children! I demand satisfaction! I demand a wizard’s duel!”

Shrugging, I say, “Sure, okay, whatever. Right here and now okay?”

The pompous wizard-noble blinks. “I- you don’t want to prepare? Get your wizard’s staff or anything?”

“Nah, I’m pretty good with somatic gestures.”

“Well, if you’re sure… here and now then! Have at you!” He slams his staff down on the ground dramatically, a small shockwave of fire radiating out from the impact.

So of course, I turn his staff into spiders.

“AHHHH WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK”

“So if you’re too busy screaming to cast spells, does that mean I win?”

“AUGH ONE OF THEM BIT ME”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

After that, they start coming at me in waves, with cheap wands and staves and swords and bows bought in bulk, hoping to exhaust my magical reserves so they can get close enough to put a magic inhibitor on me.

They did not expect my reserves to be as vast as they were, not did they expect me to be able to transmute the inhibitors themselves into spiders.

“Didn’t you take Magic Basics in wizard college?” I yell at the panicking mages. “Inhibitors aren’t immune to magic until the moment they activate! Serious weak point in the design, tell your magitechnicians to fix that!”

So of course they try assassins next.

Poison fails, because I transmute any food and drink I get into spiders and then transmute them back. Pretty easy way to get rid of poison.

So then they try knives in dark alleys. The knives bruise through my full-body spider-silk outfit, but do not penetrate, and they only get one shot before they have bigger problems.

Next is killing me in my sleep. None live to report back that the human-shaped lump under the blankets is actually a mass of highly venomous spiders.

The kingdom throws everything it has at me, and I continue to walk away, heralded by the chittering of spiders and the screams of everyone else.

Finally, I stand before the king himself in his overly opulent throne room, and by now he is a broken shell of a man in the face of my unorthodox tactics.

Good.

“What do you want?” he practically sobs. “You’ve singlehandedly redirected the entire crown’s budget for the next three years into replacing every weapon you’ve turned into spiders. Much more and we’ll be invaded by our neighbors! We wouldn’t be able to resist being annexed! So what can I give you to make you stop doing this?!”

I pause and pretend to consider, tapping a finger against my chin thoughtfully. “You know, you sent my brother off to war a few years back. That conflict with the Yughs up north, I believe. He didn’t want to go, so your guards forced him at spearpoint. I haven’t seen him since.”

He seizes on that, as I expected. “Yes, yes, I’ll have him returned right away! Tell me his name and I’ll honorably release him from duty and have him escorted safely home!”

“Oh?” I raise one sardonic eyebrow. “Are you able to bring back the dead now, oh wise and glorious king?”

He pales, and it’s the most satisfying thing I’ve seen in years.

“You have nothing I want,” I growl, letting the anger slip through for the first time in years. “You cannot bring him back, you cannot make up for my loss with all the riches in your kingdom. The only thing I want is to take everything from you, the way you did to me. Your kingdom will bleed out of resources, one of the neighboring countries you’ve been trying to conquer for decades now will take advantage and annex this place, and you will either be executed or forced to work for a living for the first time in your life.”

I glare at him, and he refuses to meet my eyes. “You will lose everything you ever cared about in your life. One spider at a time.”

I transmute his throne and crown into spiders (non-deadly; he doesn’t get to escape my wrath that easily), then turn and walk away, ignoring his screams and sobs.

And that’s why, when the Yughs finally annexed the kingdom I grew up in, they preemptively made Transarachnomancy a forbidden magical art. Not sure how they intend to enforce that, mind, but I’m not looking to challenge that. I’ve gotten what I wanted; if some other aspiring mage wants to try and follow in my footsteps, that’s not my problem.

Besides, in terms of magical skill, I’ve always been an outlier anyway. Most mages would be lucky to turn just one knife into a spider at a time; I can turn ten thousand with a few gestures. I doubt anyone will outdo my legacy.

But hey, if you want to try and surpass Georgia of the Spiders? Feel free. I’ll welcome the competition.

werechicken:

IM

sniperct:

bb7018fb4bcd9002aa0dde5c6aaa2b4473c699c9

anagramofbrat:

Amazing A+ no notes


Tags:

#that moment of dawning comprehension at ”I’ve always been an outlier anyway” #storytime #spiders #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #Spiders Georg #murder cw? #death tw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once