[Azerothian Mox Diamond]

Commissions

Words to replace said, except this actually helps

There is an extremely important distinction to make about this. But Lindsay Ellis said it best, in my opinion, so I’ll just let her do it:

Reblogging because this is actually a really fantastic video and it’s got some good points about how to actually write satire. 

Cats with expressive little faces… reblog if you agree….

i think you forgot one

I am such a fool.

But let’s not forget. (I’m low key scared…)

Ok but how could you forget

Can I add?

:D

controversial addition

its been a while since i’ve made a Sad Post ™ and that makes me happy and is worth celebrating

I BELIEVE IN YOU!

“I’m going to wall you up now, Fortunato.”

Incessantly, I heard a smacking, as of some entitled dipshit whacking, whacking on my chamber door.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a whacking, As of some one incessantly smacking, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some ‘nice guy’,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—            Only this and nothing more.”    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying brain cell wrought its ghost upon the floor.    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow    From my Netflix a surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the idea that I’m a point to score— For I may be a rare and radiant maiden whom the dipshits want more and more—            After rejection, named a whore.    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating    “’Tis some fuckboy entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late fuckboy entreating entrance at my chamber door;—            This it is and nothing more.”    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Hey,” said I, “you dick,’ truly’ your forgiveness I implore;    But the fact is I was napping, and so annoyingly you came rapping,    And so loudly you came smacking, smacking at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure could pretend to not have I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—             Fuckboy there who named me whore.    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams all women dared to dream before;    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Whore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Whore!”—            Merely this and nothing more.    Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—            ’Tis the nice guy and nothing more!”    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Nice Guy of the saintly days of yore;    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;    But, with mien of lord not lady, perched upon my chamber floor— Perched my messy bed just above my chamber floor—            Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this Nice Guy beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Nice Guy wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”            Quoth the Nice Guy “Let me score.”    Much I marvelled this ungainly Nice Guy l to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being    Ever yet was blessed with seeing entitled brat above her chamber floor— Bird or beast upon the messy bed above his chamber floor,            With such game as “Let me score.”    But the Nice Guy, sitting lonely on the placid bed, spoke only That one phrase, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a eyelash then he fluttered—    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other “friends” have flown before— On the morrow you will leave me, as those dopes have flown before.”            Then the Nice guy said “Lemme score.”    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore            Of ‘Let me score’.”    But the Nice Guy still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of him, and bed and door;    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous boy of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous boy of yore            Meant in croaking “Let me score.”    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the foul creature whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,             He shall press, ah, nevermore!    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of opening the door; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this opening of the door!”            Quoth the Nice Guy “Lemme score.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if human or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”            Quoth the Nice Guy “You’re a whore.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named not as a score— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named not as a score.”            Quoth the Nice Guy “You’re a whore.”    “Be that word our sign of parting, beast or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bed above my floor! Take thy hands from out my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!”            Quoth the Nice Guy “You’re a whore.”    And the Nice Guys, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On whatever they can get, just outside my chamber door;    And their eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,    And the lamp-light o’er them streaming throws their shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor            Shall be lifted—Cause I’m not a point to score!

Any help would be amazing...

What DMing looks like

How to report an offensive blog

Okay so this might actually sound kind of insane (I couldn’t believe it either) but after about 2 years on HRT, my shoe size actually went down????