I had a dream last night where I was hanging out with some friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time, as well as some new friends. At one point we passed through a house belonging to a friend of a friend.

Later on we were in a park and my friends were like, “you keep getting into trouble. You should probably stop doing risky things.” So as a joke I kept pointing to spooky entrances into the surrounding woods and being like, “so you’re saying I should go there by myself.” That’s when I saw a man walk out of some tall grass by the trees.

He was a large portly man with a round face and curly orange hair with a full beard. He was dressed like the ghost of Christmas present. He seemed very concerned about something. I went and talked to him and he said he was in trouble, that something bad was happening. I told him I would be happy to help. He thanked me and ran back into the tall grass. I followed. It hurt.

When we finally stopped, we were inside of the house from earlier in the dream. He explained that he was a witch, that his house was magic, and that a witch made a deal with the faerie Queen and now all witches were in danger. Two of my friends arrived.

We walked through the house. It kept changing. Rooms repeated themselves with minor differences. I set my phone down and never saw it again. We made it to a large room with other people, some of whom were children. The children were apprentices to the witches.

And then the children and I were trying to run away. The fae had come. It felt like a blink. We all ended up back in the same room but in more ragged clothes. Some of the kids had wrists and ankles wrapped in bandages. I had on a pair of fingerless gloves.

The witches had been captured and the Fae were trying to round us all up with a tarp. Everyone seemed so defeated. I stood up, took off a glove, and threw it on the ground.

“In accordance to faerie law, on behalf of these people I challenge the Faerie Queen to a duel of honor. If I win, then all of those captured here shall be let free!” I said.

One of the younger children, a little black girl, tugged on my shirt and asked if she could have my other glove. I handed it to her and she repeated my words. One by one the kids took off hand coverings or made gloves or started throwing other articles of clothing to the floor and repeating the line. Among​st the items were a few socks and a pair of cartoon space underwear. (Honestly, the little boy who threw them down ground them into the floor with his foot. He was like 7 and no one understood how he did it without taking off his pants.)

Unfortunately, after locking eyes with the guard in a way that said, “go and fetch your wretched Queen” my alarm went off.

I hope those kids are okay.

It’s remarkably telling that I have a lot of personal opinions that I’m afraid to share because of how I perceive other people will react.

Not even just people who are against my opinions, but people who would claim to be on my side.

And I guess that’s my beef? Is that there are sides and junk to begin with?

Like…

I want to share my experiences and express my frustrations about things without having to be afraid that people are going to attack me for it. My thoughts and feelings aren’t outwardly hurtful, I don’t want to be a jerk to anyone, but not everyone will agree with me.

And this website is so ridiculously toxic. Everyone feels like they need to have an opinion on everyone else’s experience and opinion.

And like…cool. You’re entitled to that. But like? Make your own post?

And if you do make your own post? Don’t call out a person you don’t even know over an opinion you might not really understand or an experience you might not have the full concept of???

I’m just….

I want the validation of: “I understand and I get this and you’re not the only one” without all of the “you’re wrong and I’m offended and even though I know nothing about you I hate you.”

At work I have basically been made the Unity program lead (our last lead is, for lack of a better term, grounded). I get to spend all day making sure the Unity piece of our Simulator puzzle works okay.

Today, after a long day of this, I came home and started butting my nose into my Wife’s business, as she has been working in the software independently.

Long story short: when posed with a Unity Problem, even one I don’t have to solve, my first response is to open Unity and start playing around with it.

$20usd and under Commissions

delayedtrauma:

I really need to deal with bank n paypal balances, So i’m offering some quick commission types. 

Chibi doodles(waist up) and Chibi refs are $8 USD each 

Busts are $13 USD

Waist up is $20 USD 

Also i’m offering lineless painted headshots for $30 for those who want something more

Feel free to ask for references over ask or im. Some references below the cut 

Keep reading

sepulchritude:

imagine a rosario vampire kind of setting, where a human winds up at a monster school. except the monsters all know they’re a human. maybe they’re part of a new “monster/human friendly relations” project. everyone is pretty cautious about causing an incident, so they’re treading lightly around the human. but the human doesn’t even bat an eye at the strange stuff that goes on, so the monster kids gradually become more relaxed around them.

here’s the thing. the human doesn’t actually realize they’re at a monster school. they’re basically the living embodiment of “staying in their lane”. they see strange monster things happening and they’re like “huh. well that’s none of my business” and just go about their day

so the monsters think the human knows what’s up and doesn’t care. the human thinks they’re at a weird but ultimately normal human school. then the human sees something so explicit that they can’t help but connect the dots, like a werewolf transforming right in front of them. the human screams, the werewolf yelps, everyone else starts screaming too. there’s lots of confusion all around. 

eventually they all figure out what happened. then the human’s friends start quizzing them on how the hell they never noticed.

“the werewolves literally walk around with their ears and tails out.” “I thought they were just furries okay?!”

“but the vampires drink blood at lunch! only blood! they don’t eat!” “listen, even goths can be insecure about their weight. it’s not my business if they want to go on a weird tomato juice diet.” “I guess that explains why you hugged Travis and told him he was beautiful the way he is that one time.”

“there are fairies in our math class. they have wings.” “*shrug* theater kids are weird.”

“Ynolk’ku is the offspring of an eldritch abomination. the whispers of the dead follow xem wherever xe go. are you saying you never heard that?” “I figured it was just really loud creepy music playing from xer headphones.”

“centaurs. harpies. nagas.” “okay I know I already said furries, but really committed furries.”

“Cindy is a sasquatch and she’s covered in fur.” “who am I to tell a girl to shave?”

“the dryads wear clothes made out of living plants.” “aesthetic or death.”

You need to tell that story immediately.

sidereanuncia:

The Colin Mochrie story? Gladly. This is a good story.

So I go to this college, and it can best be described as a little weird. It desperately wants to be Cambridge, but it’s not Cambridge, so it takes out its frustration with not being Cambridge on weird collective mockeries of Cambridge stuff. So far so good.

One of these weird mockeries is the debate club.

It’s hard to even properly call the Literary Institute a debate club – it is a club, and it does debates, but the debates are 100% stand-up comedy in a parliamentary format and the other half is bullshit pantomiming. For instance, every year at matriculation, the club drunkenly rushes the stage, interrupts the ceremony, and calls everyone in the audience a horse’s ass (occasionally while quoting Dune). It also puts on a yearly event called ‘Tuck-Ins’, in which people in the dorms can sign up (or sign their friends up) to have the entire LIT burst into their room, give them bedtime snacks, give them bedtime beer, sing some bedtime songs, and tell them a bedtime story. Except, the LIT never does anything seriously, so the bedtime song was always Barrett’s Privateers and the bedtime story was almost always something we called ‘The Rat Story’. Let me tell you about the Rat Story.

The Rat Story was a piece of… literature… that a LIT member dragged out of the dregs of the internet many years ago. Nobody knows where it came from, and my efforts to find it again were unsuccessful, but good lord, it was bad. It was a page-and-a-half-long Hermione/Wormtail (rat form) smut fic and it was awful. So awful. I’m cringing just thinking about it. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever read, and at this point I basically know it by heart. We read it aloud, from the poorly worded introduction to its horrible closing line (AND HE SCAMPERED AWAY WET! STUNNED! AND THRILLED!) dozens of times in a single night to unsuspecting students. It was an experience.

Now you might be wondering how Colin Mochrie fits into this.

So, one of the other things my college does powerfully and often is pretension. We are the most pretentious college you will ever see, and our college clubs are proof positive of this. Every year, various college clubs send out dozens of official-sounding letters inviting our various favourite well-known-people to attend our meagre college events (I, as president of the James Bond Society, personally invited Barack Obama, Sean Connery, and the Queen to our AGM). However, this year the Comedy Club was riding particularly high, and it sent out quasi-sincere invitations to speak to a variety of Canadian comedians.

And Colin Mochrie showed up, one fateful Tuck-Ins night.

He gave a talk, which was very good, but noticed as the talk finished that many students were rushing away to something in an awful hurry. We explained that it was the night of Tuck Ins, an important and sacred college tradition and that

We would be delighted if he would join us.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I found myself crammed in a dorm room with 20 other people, listening to Colin Mochrie describe Peter Pettigrew’s rat boner to a couple of second years who had no idea what they were getting into.