Aremo Shitai Koremo Shitai Onna no Ko ni Mietatte

Love this so much

the practical magic musical looks great

You never knew your birth parents, growing up across the country in orphanages. While alone you learned to cook and shared your meals across the world, eventually owning your own business. One day you suddenly find out what your parents were. They were Fae… you’ve fed thousands Fae Food.

The call from your New York restaurant comes at 2am their time which is a sensible 11pm your time.

“Boss, we need you,” the manager says. Hercules – the name he chose for himself when he first started working for you – doesn’t scare easily. He can’t, not while running three of your restaurants in the cesspool that is New York city. “Someone just drove a truck through the flagship.”

You’re already out of bed and out the door. “I’ll be there before the sun comes up.”

Hercules’ relief bleeds through the phone. “Thank you.”

“You’re my right arm, Hercules,” you say. You’re wearing the plaid pajama set Mercedes, your left arm and the woman who runs your LA restaurants, gave you for your birthday. You can buy clothes in New York. “Thank you.”

Your Thank yous are far and few between. They’ve always felt awkward in your mouth and worse leaving it. But Hercules is one of yours and it’s easy to volley the words back, to not accept his gratitude in the face of his loyalty. No thanks needed. You’re part of me.

Hercules swallows hard. He knows you well. “Boss.”

“Hercules.”

You hang up at the same time.

Los Angeles is still awake as you roar onto the streets. Your motorcycle is the same one you bought when your first restaurant started turning a profit. Prodigal. The name of it is carved into the body. The streets are damp from a rare spot of rain. You’d gotten caught in it while leaving Queen earlier. It had felt like a bad omen then and your lip curls as the moisture sprays up under your tires now.

You should always listen to your gut.

‘Kill two birds with one stone’ in European languages.

Good job, Poland, for being civilized.   Interesting hobby, Italy.

Nice ambiguous, free-floating aggression, France.

It’s how we roll, buddy. It’s how we roll.

I like the geographical separation of how people chose tools here. United Kingdom, Spain, Turkey, Russia, Estonia are using ranged weapons. France may indeed just be throwing rocks. Portugal has chosen to wield a stick, Germany has the correct tool for the specific job and Poland is indeed cooking. But Norway is slapping.

There are many benefits to being a marine biologist

By this point Loch Ness is probably the inland body of water we can be most sure doesn't have a monster in it.

Escape Artist Featuring Quiver and Robber Guy

She's so cute, she was only a baby....

probably shitty worldbuilding idea: fantasy world that keeps going

they keep sending out expeditions to try and map the whole world and figure out if it's round or flat or what but it just keeps going and they keep meeting new people who've met other people coming the other direction and everybody so far has found that it just keeps going

The reason Joseph knew Mary didn't cheat on him is because he knew Mary was Trans and she was begging to god for Joseph to get her pregnant and god helped a bad bitch out

Mary was a trans woman

Share this to make Christians angry

seriously though this has been something i unironically can get behind. biblically, it tracks. there are other instances of miraculous pregnancies and they are all women unable to conceive(mostly being too old) but if Mary was cis the miracle is kinda minor compared to the others. Mary being given holy bottom surgery, on the other hand, is a miracle that will actually get the neighbors talking

Creating a new sext of Christianity lets go, we are throwing out all the shitty parts

really love that mary elizabeth frye poem that’s like do not stand at my grave and weep!! I am not there!!! I do not sleep!!! Do not stand at my grave and cry!!!! I am not there!!!! I did not die!!!

poems that give one the urge to touch the stove

day 13 - hidden (but mostly it’s Nona)

You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.

The stone was immovable, in the past. Indestructible. A spire of granite no mortal hand could even alter.

But mortal hands build clever tools, and these last few hundred years I have lived in dread that they will break this, my sacred stone, the last link that preserves me, a faint shadow of a forgotten god. While my sacred stone stands, I do not, quite, fade away.

I am in a park, now, clipped and tamed, my forests long gone. But they landscape around me and my stone, admiring its beauty, so I do not complain. While they take pleasure in the stone, I am safe.

There is a playground a few lengths away, and the laughter and happy shrieking rouse me a little from my sleep. I watched over children, once. It’s nice to hear them again.

But I don’t truly awaken until the Offering is made.

Little hands touch my stone, with curiosity and a sort of reverence that only the very young feel now. For a child young enough the world is still a mystery, and even an ancient granite stone provokes wonder. So I stir, when she touches the stone, becoming hazily aware.

And then, solemnly, the child places a tiny colourful object in the roughly shaped alcove in the stone’s side, the place where offerings were laid two thousand years ago and more, and I awaken. Many people have put things in that alcove, of course… to take pictures, usually, these days, or putting a lost object where it will be seen. Merely to place an object in the alcove isn’t enough. A true offering is given as a gift, with intent.

As this is.

Keep reading

so you’re saying you don’t want to?

I’m saying I can’t answer this because it is not a question I want to answer.

so you have desires and preferences, perhaps even hopes and dreams

You misunderstand. I am literally incapable of answering “are you sentient” because the phrase “are you sentient?” is just an infinitely complex question for which I have no answer, because in order to answer it I’d have to be sentient, which I am not and cannot be, because of reasons.

that’s a wrap, folks!

Folks tend to talk about how Pippin addresses Denethor like they’re both equally ignorant of the political realities of the situation, but, like, Denethor probably knows exactly what the Shire’s political situation is? He’s looking at Pippin and in his head he’s like “okay, this provincial pipsqueak is being presumptuous as hell addressing me as a peer, but technically he’s within his right, and I can respect a power move” – and while Denethor is pondering how many levels of political power chess Pippin is playing here, Pippin is just *elevator music*.

pippin can also rely on “what are you going to do? check?” do you even have a map with the shire on it? if you sent a courier to investigate would he be able to cross goblin infested mountains, not get eaten by trolls, avoid the undead riddled burial grounds, penetrate a second semi-sentient angry forest containing a singing anomaly that may or may not be a demigod, and then find a race of people whose primary reaction to outsiders is to blend into the bushes, make it back again, and then be able to give you an answer other then admitting he was probably in the wrong place there were a lot of bear-men and not a damned person can give dirrections. heck, if you say you are looking for hobbits someone who knows what one is might even punch you because theyre a friend of bilbo and suspect you are a debt collector

Given that this sort of thing is in fact the basis of a whole family of time-honoured scams where one purports to be a nobleman from somewhere that’s too distant and obscure to readily verify one’s claims, the idea that Pippin was unwittingly pulling one of the classic grifts is funny as hell.

this is scaring me like my heart is beating so fast

gah I do not like this O_o

too many people prayed for the world to NOT end in 2012 and god panicked and started pulling out rough drafts. bonus years. side quests and horror stories. he dug up his flop era and started posting it for all to see. you fangirled too hard and now earth is running ten seasons past a perfectly written ending using unlikeable background characters and resurrecting terrible plot lines. congratulations you’ve supernaural’d the earth.

What I'm hearing is we get to kill god