Wizards have the same trust in magic that software designers have in software, which is to say, almost none at all.
“Are you fucking kidding me I worked in a reagrent shop for a few years I don’t trust any of that stuff. Who the hell knows what other components are in the ashes.”
“Yeah I was in the circle that made Alston’s Divine Circle of Teleportation. There’s some pretty nasty corner cases you can get into but the headmaster published it without us. I just take ships. It’s way safer.”
“I call bullshit on that Necromancer channeling spirits of loved ones. What did he say he was using? ‘Medium Conduit Ruinic Circles’? That’s just a bunch of buzzwords slapped together, and they don’t even interact with each other.”
“I’ve been looking at this scroll all morning and I’m 90% sure that the scribe didn’t even look at the standard for pyromancies.”
“Help Desk, this is Gloriline, what did you fuck up this time?” *indistinct vocals* “Dave, I’ve seen the news, and, frankly, I can see the ash cloud from here. You paid for extended support, not enabling support.”
[Video description. The video shows Brian David Gilbert, a young white man with chin length brown hair. He’s wearing a suit and round glasses. Intense music plays in the background.
Transcription:
[Calmly but intensely] "But it’s okay that I haven’t played a Sonic game because that means I haven’t been tainted. I have never beheld the false Sonic. Only someone blind to the modern blasphemies of the Sonic franchise could see as clearly as I.”
[Building in volume until he’s just full on screaming] “Because if a hedgehog could commune with the dead, be resurrected, run with infinite energy, and have his gospel prophesy the future than either Sonic is a god or could kill god and I do not care if there is a difference!
A dating service where matching is based on people’s search history exists. You’re a serial killer. You go on a date with a writer.
Serial Killer: metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?
Writer: Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.
Serial Killer who is obviously in love already: *sucks in a breath* ok
Writer: how long would it take to die if you were to potentially stab someone in the guts
Serial killer: anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes
Writer, already bringing a ring out: *shaking* thanks
A++ addition
Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene they’re writing* babe, i’m not sure if this would actually work?
Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, you’re doing great
I LOVE THIS
Oh no, murder comedy is my jam
I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? It’d be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it they’re a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so it’s completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.
Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.
So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough he’ll FINALLY have proof.
Plot twist, The serial killer and detective use to go out so it gets sub what personal.
“You need to stop seeing them. I think they are a serial killer.”
Serial killer breaths in. “Look-”
…perfect
I don’t like actual murder mysteries, but this is perfect
Does anyone else have that one friend whose sleep schedule is like an ever-evolving mystery? One day they’ll appear to be asleep for the entire 16 hours that you’re awake, but the next three they won’t appear to actually sleep at all. Sometimes they appear to be on Australian time, other times their schedule has adjusted to somewhere in the middle of the Pacific ocean. (I call this Cthulhu time.) You go a week without seeing them and you have no idea if they’re just really busy, dead, or if their sleep has simply synced up to the exact hours you’re awake and online. The only indication that they’re still in this mortal coil is vague posts about grocery shopping that pop up on their blogs at 4:12AM.
I’m horrified at myself because I randomly decided on 4:12AM for an obscure and horrible hour in the morning, but after I posted I glanced down at the clock and
did i just vaguepost about myself
There are two things I love about this post:
the number of people who are, with apologies, That Friend
the fact it keeps getting splorts of notes every day at 4:12am
I’m screaming why does Mamma Mia fit every fight scene so perfectly ajkaslajjddhhajadkjfh
this video is what dnd feels like
ROLL INTIATIVE
Dear film editors, CONFESS. It’s okay, we won’t judge.
I was going ‘it’s nice how every major beat conforms to an action’ and then legolas jumped on top of the cave troll to ‘mamma mia, here i go again’ with that absolute resigned look and i lost it.