So I have read Witch Hat Atelier, I have connected way too many dots, and I have concluded that Qifrey is a silver tree who was turned human and experimented upon to allow the Brimhats to perform blood magic. And he is a little freaked out about the whole situation.
Please come dive down that rabbit hole with me (detailed spoilers up to Chapter 40 under the cut):
So you know those mutant strains of radiotrophic fungus they discovered in Chernobyl? The ones that feed on gamma radiation? Those fungi, the radiation-eating fungi? From Chernobyl? They brought some on board the International Space Station and took some measurements. Here is the paper, titled:
Space is full of high-energy radiation, and radiation shielding is a big engineering challenge for Martian habitats and deep-space missions. What they figured out is that an 8-inch thick layer of mutant Chernobyl radiation-eating fungus in the walls of the spacecraft or habitat would serve as a self-replicating, self-sustaining radiation shield for long-haul missions.
This sounds like such a good and normal idea! Let’s do it!
Idk how to say it properly in English so... Le respect est mort
I endorse this, it’s like letterkenny’s hick cousin which is basically just the same as being its cousin
omfg this is hysterical!
I watched 5 seconds and smashed the reblog button. You have no idea how much I jave wanted this.
Oh my lord.
this is the best thing I’ve ever seen.
In case you need the crack version of Hallelujah, this is it.
Crowley accidentally getting into an argument with an astrophysicist, proving all current scientific theories flawed, and providing a brand new theory with solid foundations.
It gets dubbed the devils theory, or in some places, the serpents science.
Carin this is the perfect addition!
Crowley getting invited to give guest lectures at conferences. He figures he’ll be rude and obnoxious, comes in wearing heelies and a crop top that says ‘bottom space bitch’, and the guests loose their fucking minds.
They love him!
I can just imagine Crowley’s reaction to all of this!!! He would be like
“Come on!!! I look horrible and disrespectful!!! Kick me out!!!”
And they’re like “no! You’re exactly what we need! Someone with fresh ideas and uncaring of the stuffy rules academics have in place”
The lecture hall is packed, experts and students alike attending from all over the world. Anyone would feel honored by the attendance, not to mention the buzz the event has been generating for nigh a year. Rumors were flying, whispers about the potential of a Nobel Prize being awarded.
Any normal human would be feeling at least a bit anxious, probably sweating and dropping notecards all over the place in a tizzy of excited nerves.
Good thing Crowley isn’t human, then.
Aziraphale was in the audience, of course. Aziraphale, the angel who never let him live his mistake down, who brandished his book at any and every possible moment like both weapon and shield, only ever silenced if Crowley managed to kiss the thoughts out of that heavenly body.
He’s going to kill him. But it’ll be worth it to get everyone off his back.
It’s time. Throwing open the door to the hall, Crowley announces his entrance by taking the loudest, most obscene slurp ever heard in the history of man from his 7/11 slurpee, burping immediately after. The room goes silent at once, every eye on him as he rolls down the aisle in freshly bought heelies, standing tall to proudly display the hot pink crop top he’s wearing. Obnoxious and curly letters proclaim “Bottom Space Bitch” in loud colors, most definitely an eyesore to any who look at it. Forfeiting his normal skinny jeans, he sports a pair of space-print leggings (styled after Alpha Centurii, of course) that leave nothing to the imagination, every curve of his body on display. On top his head rests a dark green beanie, a silver snake adorning it.
It doesn’t take long for him to find his angel’s horrified face and he tosses him a wink, raising the slurpee cup in greeting. The embarrassment ripe in those eyes causes him to chuckle, taking another noisy drink.
Not a sound beyond his own can be heard in the room as he rolls to the stage, deciding to put a pin in the entire affair by jumping directly up to the raised floor rather than taking the stairs like a civilized being. He’s a demon, after all; manners only matter if they serve his purpose.
I did it, he thinks, turning to gaze upon the stunned audience. I’ve broken their admiration.
He hasn’t felt this proud since designing the M25.
“Hello,” he says, tapping the mic and grinning when feedback echoes throughout the room. “I’m Anthony J. Crowley, and everything you thought you knew is wrong.“
Before he can continue the entire room stands, their boisterous applause causing him to take a step back in surprise. What’s this? Whistles break out of the crowd, and people begin shouting absolutely ridiculous things.
“What a breath of fresh air!”
“Thank you for bringing life into the field again!”
“Your shirt is amazing!”
Mouth open, he pops down his sunglasses, eyes scanning the crowd is disbelief. They... like it? This train wreck of a man he created?
Well, now what is he supposed to do?
His gaze lands on Aziraphale, sitting in third row center, arms folded and laughing the hardest he’s ever seen. Eyes narrowing, he hisses under his breath.
This event just turned from fun prank into boring lecture.
And he’s going to make sure to thank Aziraphale for it later. Properly.
If tartar had a robot body then he’d make himself tall just to look down on everyone and be all condescending about it by bending over or squatting to look at anyone relatively shorter than him
this is my only tartar headcanon; he has no body, just extremely long arms and legs spouting from his phone torso. when he talks to 8 he crouches down and puts his hand on their shoulder like the kermit “ima keep it real with you chief” meme
So essentially
imma keep it real with u chief…. there is no promised land
So it’s 2001, and my family drives from fucking California and like three blizzards to get to Ohio for thanksgiving, becuase my grandparents are moving into a nursing home and it’s their last holiday in that house. So its a bit bittersweet but ultimately a good thing.
Since it’s their last holiday there, the family pulls out all the stops when it comes to dinner, all the Russian desserts come out, as does the Lethal Bacon Mashed Potatoes and the horrible candied yams dish because not all expressions of love are good, even if they are sincere. In the spirit of going all-out, Uncle Bobby smokes a Turkey.
Uncle Bobby started cooking as a boy scout by tossing foil-wrapped potatoes into a campfire and has been addicted since, and now has a hand-made smokehouse in the backyard where he makes various cured meats and other delights. He seasons the turkey in the traditional manner, but he and grandpa have a shared passion for a spaicier mesquite-style bird, so Bobby makes a Cornish Game Hen seasoned that way, for them.
Then Bobby has a Brilliant Idea. He realizes that he can stuff the turkey (once it has been smoked) with regular stuffing, and there is still plenty of room for him to put the game hen inside THAT, and stuff the game hen becuase why not? He confers with Mom, and she explains how to cut open the turkey so there’s dramatic reveal as the stuffing and game hen come out. It’s Genius.
Except, of course, that my Aunt Sue is attending, Uncle Cliff slouching after her.
So the day of the dinner, tensions are running a bit high, between the marathon cooking, the kids all being trapped indoors due to aforementioned blizzards, and Uncle Cliff deciding that the best way to amuse himself is by hiding from the adults in the basement, getting drunk and rambling about how various ethic groups were destroying America. Being that I had close Muslim friends that were leaving the country becuase of 9/11, I was near tears from this nonsense and ready to fight a man roughly five times my size.
Sue, for some reason, keeps coming down and defending him, or telling us we’re rotten children for ‘attacking’ him, becuase she Must Stand By Her Man, even if her man is a hefty bag of feces with an ugly mustache.
My sister eventually bolts upstairs to tattle and my grandfather limps down to the basement and brandishes his Hip-Bone Cane, hands rock-steady in spite of the Parkinson’s slowly taking over him.
“Firstly Cliff, It may not be my roof much longer but while you are under it you will be civil, or I’ll beat your skull in. Also, dinner’s ready, everyone go wash up.”
We go upstairs and sit down, and do the traditional “Name one thing you’re thankful for” as the bread gets passed around the table, and things calm down a bit. Bobby brings out the Turkey and everyone goes OOH becuase it’s really pretty, them Mom carves it open so that the stuffing spills out dramatically along with the game hen and there’s an appreciative gasp all around becuase it looks cool.
Only Sue KEEPS gasping, in utter horror, before getting up and clasping her hands to her face ala Edvard Munch and shrieks-
“OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT!”
We all stare at Sue. We all look back at the fully-dressed-cooked-and-stuffed birds that in no way had any internal organs in them or ever gave live birth. Then we all looked back at Sue, trying to figure out where to begin but since she’d been trying to justify Cliff’s behavior she was pretty much free-associating conspiracies and scandals now, and just kept going.
“IT WAS PREGNANT MY GOD WE’VE COMMITTED AN ABORTION WE’RE ALL GOING TO HELL FOR THIS, I’M SO SORRY JESUS-” She goes into full pearl-clutching gibbering horror at this point and falls back into her chair like it’s a Victorian fainting couch only it’s a shitty chair from the Eisenhower administration so it collapses and she slams into the floor, sobbing and kicking her feet like a toddler.
Everyone watched for a moment before my Mom sighs heavily and starts carving and serving the turkey while my grandmother mouths “she’s not coming back”.
Cliff, reactions delayed by about six beers, finally notices his wife is on the floor and tries to pick her up, falls on his ass himself. They are assisted by Dad, who is saintly patient man and less immune to this jacknapery at that point. I am stuffing dinner rolls into my face to keep from laughing at this grand spectacle and it’s not working.
“I CAN’T EAT IT, I REFUSE TO PARTAKE IN THIS BARBARISM-” Sue begins but Dad puts on his best Kindly Father voice (he went to seminary school long enough to learn that before getting drafted but that’s another story) and assures Sue that she need not eat, or even be in the room if she wants. She nods, placated by being the center of attention again, and Dad goes in for the kill.
“I wouldn’t want you to go hungry. Can I make you some Eggs?”
“That would be lovely.” Said Sue, joke flying over her head like a boeing 747. I recall watching my grandmother nearly choke to death on the green beans over that, and everyone pointedly trying to avoid talking about anything poultry-related while Sue sat there and ate the most ironic scrambled eggs in the history of mankind.
Shortly thereafter, Cliff threw up in the sink and they went home, and the party got underway properly, with Grandpa raising a toast to Mom and Uncle Bobby “For marrying well, for a change” “Pregnant Turkey” has been an Ohioan thanksgiving staple since then. I’ll see if I can hit Uncle Bobby up for instructions but if you decide to make it 1. you HAVE to shriek “OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT” when you carve it open, or it’s not authentic and won’t taste as good 2. Share the pictures with me.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, please enjoy this nonsense!
I JUST SAW THAT PPL CALL KING RHOAM “RHOAM PHOSPHORESCENT ASSHOLE” AND I LOVE IT
Caterpillar of the Saturniidae Moth
im concered about yunobo/sidon because sidon obviously cant visit death mountain, and im not sure gorons can swim? so theyd have to be careful not to get too far or too close to water lmfao. poor boys...
love finds a way
classic link has shorter shorts 👀
The result of a conversation in the OK KO Discord server i’m in. Join here! however, this gif may be better without context.
"Nobody Expects the DJD!"
The DJD is feared throughout the galaxy, but few have ever seen their faces - and fewer still have lived to tell the tale.
And that gives Rodimus an idea.
Word hasn’t spread far yet that the DJD are dead. What if the Rod Squad capitalises on that? After all, they need information - who better to extract it from unsuspecting bots, on all sides, than the galaxy’s most dreaded torture squad? All they need is Drift’s horror stories and a few props…
Meet “Tesarus”, who will shred you with his mighty blades (the ones attached to the ends of his arms, that is). “Helex”, who will melt you alive (provided you stand still long enough for Velocity to activate her portable smelter). “Kaon”, who will run millions of volts through your helpless body (Swerve is being very, very careful with the joy buzzer Brainstorm upgraded for him). “Vos”, the tiny mech who hisses indecipherable things in your nightmares (Lug is quite pleased she gets to roll out her rusty Primal Vernacular again!). And, of course, “Tarn”, the fearsome mech in Decepticon purple, his face hidden behind a mask, who will make your spark throb in your chest purely with the power of his voice.
Cyclonus cannot believe he agreed to this. (And was that a crack about his singing?)
Unfortunately, there’s one group outside the RodPod who do know the DJD are dead… and Deathsaurus and company just intercepted a very odd message from Troja Major.
Surely their old allies couldn’t have survived? Well, there’s only one way to find out…
Link was asleep for 100 years and his hair only grew a quarter inch?
