mhevet:

mhevet:

mhevet:

small-chekov:

if ur hands are cold it’s just ur ghost boyfriend holding ur hand

my f

my feet are cold

shadybitchcraft:

heir-to-the-diamond-throne:

heir-to-the-diamond-throne:

heir-to-the-diamond-throne:

Me: *falling asleep to an audiobook on the science of the gut*

Book: saliva is actually filtered blood!

Me: ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

Me: ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

Book: saliva also contains a painkiller that is stronger than morphine, but we don’t produce a lot of it otherwise we’d be constantly high

Me: ʕʘ Д ʘʔ

Opiorphin is 6x stronger than morphine and actually contains an anti-depressant compound which is why some doctors believe it’s linked to comfort eating

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/m/pubmed/20610867/

Everyone spit on me so I won’t be depressed

moxperidot:

aftertheend-gamedev:

moxperidot:

player: what if (exact prediction of gm’s plan)

gm: 

Let me tell you a tale…

Once upon a time, I was running a DnD game for some friends. The player characters were checking out reports that a local town had been having trouble with monsters. They’re informed that it was true, a few years ago, but a copper dragon set up a lair in the mountains and chased all the awful creatures out. A dragon slayer showed up shortly thereafter and neither dragon nor slayer were heard from again. Players are disappointed at first, but then quickly perk up when some other plot threads become apparent.

A few sessions later, the place they were staying burned down (their fault), forcing them to check out the more expensive tavern in town. There, they meet Allie Cohol, a half-elf woman with red hair that owned and ran the tavern. She was cheerfully greedy, but still helpful and always ready with a cheesey joke… And after only the third joke, one of the players, Bill, froze and locked eyes with me. “You fucker. She’s the copper dragon,” Bill says.

That reveal was supposed to be a big thing later, so I’m kinda on the spot. Fortunately, another player, Fran, pipes up and says, “nah, that’s stupid. The dragon in the mountain is a red herring. We’re here for the cultists.” The cultists were in the sewer and the PCs were actually working for the cleric Big Bad without them knowing.

“No, listen,” Bill continued. “Red hair. Greedy. Bad jokes… Her name is Allie Cohol.”

Everyone around the table gives him a fairly blank look, but I’m sweating bullets. Threads that I had spun oh so carefully were half a heartbeat away from unraveling. Bill is getting this real wild look in his eyes and pounds a fist against the table. “Allie Cohol. HER NAME IS ALCOHOL.”

Fran then slowly pans over and looks me dead in the eyes. “The deadly joke ability. She’s a goddamn dragon.”

this is beautiful

sheepscourse:

@zoologicallyobsessed this is all I can think about while watching/participating in these stupid arguments about outdoor cats