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civilization 5 barbarians: a small rapscallion of a skeleton. his heart is full of malice that his tiny body cannot accomplish, so he settles for smacking your beverages off of the coffee table when you arenât looking. his shenanigans are tiresome
civilization 6 barbarians:
this fucking dude -
he is made of metal. his bones are covered in spikes and when he howls his terrible war howl, the sun goes dark and birds fall from the sky. you watch in terrified awe as he picks up your car and bites it in half. his name is written on his forehead in three-meter-tall flaming letters, and it is FUCKMOUNTAIN DEATHMONSTER. there can be no hope in a universe that contains the fuckmountain
âthe riders have returned from the east,â the messenger shouted as he ran into the throne room. âitâs true, the beast Fuckmountain walks again.â
âthe beast walks,â said Harshsmell the dwarf emperor, stroking his expansive shield-beard.
âand the Fifth Age of this world comes to a bony end,â moaned Bibarel the elf, prancingly.
âthat isnât true,â said a shadow near the wall. a man stepped out of it. four swords glittered on his back, and a hood covered his face.
âwho are you, and how the balls did you get into my throne room?!â shrieked Harshsmell
âI have come to put an end to this giant skeleton bullshitâ
âfool!â shouted Harshsmell beardily. âno mere man can kill Fuckmountain! he pisses fire! his teeth are made of diamonds, and inside his head are thoughts only of malice and fucking shit up. no heart lies in his chest, because heâs a FUCKING SKELETON. heâs literally made of bones, the least-stabbable organ. you canât kill that, dipshitâ
âIâm gonna.â
âhe ate two castles,â Harshsmell continued, moaning. âat the same time. i was there.â
the man stood his ground. Harshsmell glared at him dwarfily. âGUARDS! this man distresses me. take him awayâ
the guards moved forward to seize the intruder, but he stood his ground. though his face was not visible, Bibarel studied him.
âfriend, is that Skullantula the Up-Fucker that you carry?â he asked
âit is,â said the man. he unsheathed one of his swords. it was made of jagged blood, but inscribed on the side with ancient elfin magic was a skull. both of the skullâs eyes were eight-balls.
the guards stopped in their tracks. one of them gave the sword an appraising nod and a thumbs up
âand Stabslicer the Grim,â the man continued, âand the Killblade of the Metalzillas, and the Large Fucking Hellscalpel, the last sword forged by the hands of the fire wizards of Double Lava Mountainâ
âthe fire wizards,â rumbled Harshsmell, âhave been dead for two hundred yearsâ
âand Iâm the one who killed themâ
âholy shit. fuck.â
âyeah, I know, right?â
âwho are you, that could do such great things? no one man should have all that powerâ
âi am no man,â said the intruder, and finally pulled back his hood to reveal his face. he was three wolves. âI am Three-Wolves. I am three wolves.â
â excerpt from The Fight Saga of Three-Wolves Book 3: The Turbo Dragons of Castle Knifedick
âyeah, pretty muchâ Three-Wolves said. âso are we stabbing some skeleton motherfuckers or not?â
Harshsmell fretted at his shield-beard. the long-fossilized remains of ancient side-dishes fell from its depths and shattered on the floor. âfor the past thousand years, no dwarven army has left the depths of our mountain home, The Home Mountain. you will march aloneâ
âbut your dwarfiness,â Bibarel interjected, âperhaps we can still help? we could offer him a mount.â
Three-Wolves stared stoically through one of the throne roomâs many window-axes. âi was just gonna get an Uber or somethingâ
âthis is no mere transportation that we offer you, friend,â preened Bibarel. âit is the lord of the giant war scorpions, Bloodvizier VII, King of the Bugmoorsâ
âhis mighty carapace is stronger than dwarven kill-steel,â Harshsmell boasted. âand his bitey things are like fearsome spears, if the spears were really fucking sharp and full of poison and attached to a scorpionâ
âbears piss themselves at the very mention of his name,â Bibarel said. ânot even little bears. the big onesâ
âhell yea,â said Three-Wolves. âiâll take it. also also the elf, because I need directionsâ
the journey was a long and arduous one, past the lightning spires of Napalm Druid Valley and across the abyssal Killfjord of the Squid Wizard. they knew they were getting close when they saw the giant head of an evil skeleton across the horizon, because that is what they were looking for
Bibarel stared in elfish terror as the beast Fuckmountain Deathmonster swallowed an entire mountain of swords, then ate a handful of catapults for dessert âalready he has slain the hobbit viking warhost from the lawless northern lands of Fuckshire. do you truly think you can stab such a terror?â
âstabbing is for assholes,â Three-Wolves said. âiâm gonna skip straight to killing himâ
Three-Wolves adjusted his vorpal codpiece and unsheathed all of his swords, and his cape billowed dramatically in front of the sun. then he kicked the war scorpion and they took off at a full arachnogallop across the obsidian plains, which were entirely covered in hobbit blood
seeing them approach, Fuckmountain reared back and stuffed a fair maiden into his mouth. her skin was as white as snow, fresh snow and not the shitty old stuff, and her bosom was really big. âplease donât come any closer!â she shrieked âit will eat me if you doâ
but Three-Wolves did not hold any pity or lust in his three separate, discrete wolf hearts, only vengeance. he leapt from Bloodvizier VII and did six backflips before landing on Fuckmountainâs head. Fuckmountain roared, and lava shot from his eyes and melted swords shot from his skeleton dick. while he was roaring, Three-Wolves swung down and hurled the legendary sword Stabslicer the Grim into one of his eye sockets
âfool!â Bibarel moaned, from the middle of a giant puddle of his own fear pee âhe doesnât have eyes for you to stab!â
âi wasnât stabbing shit,â Three-Wolves shouted back âitâs just hard to hold four swords, and i never liked that oneâ
he reached inside of his cloak and pulled out a dagger made out of enchanted hell-uranium, and covered with chainsaw blades. he pushed a button and they all glowed, but they glowed black
âit canât be!â Bibarel gurgled. âthe Laser Edge of the Starlich has been lost for aeonsâ
âlike balls it has!!â Three-Wolves bellowed a mighty war bellow and sliced off Fuckmountainâs head, and stabbed him through the spine, and cut off his skeleton dick. he landed, and all the evil skeleton dust was already blowing away behind him
âfriend, that was truly amazingâ Bibarel gushed. âyou have saved our kingdom!â
âyeah i totally did,â Three-Wolves said, stoically sheathing all of his weapons, and putting the safety cap back onto his vorpal codpiece âbut thereâs an even badder guy out thereâ
âwhat could ever be worse than a giant lava-pissing skeleton?â
âthisâ Three-Wolves said. he held up a stone covered in runes, and decorated with crystals made out of the souls of powerful monster-stabbers âit was in his head or some shitâ
âa Thrall-Stone of Beam'uveeâ Bibarel gasped. âbut the art of making those is lost. thereâs only one people who ever knew how to make themâ
âyeah, i knowâ Three-Wolves said, and glared at the horizon âgoddamn turbo dragonsâ
they rode day and night, plagued by bad omens. there was a blood moon, and also a blood sun. a flock of crows died mid-flight and when they landed on the ground, their corpses spelled out âYOUâRE GONNA FUCKING DIEâ. in the Swampmire Marsh, Bloodvizier VII was struck by the The Great Bugfever, and Three-Wolves honored him with a quick death by twisting his head off
when they arrived in the lands of the turbo-dragons, nothing but misery and woe awaited them. Misery and Woe were the names of the sphinx liches who guarded the front door
"TRAVELERSâ they shrieked, in scary voices of bones and mystery. âBEFORE YE PROCEED YE MUST ANSWER OUR FIVE RIDDLESâ
and then they were dead because Three-Wolves also twisted their heads off. he was thinking about starting a collection, maybe
Bibarel the elf stayed simperingly close as they crossed the land. Castle Knifedick, loomed above them, covered with towers that were shaped like knives and also dicks. war drums echoed from the hillsides, and later, war saxophones. the legendary kill-legions of the turbodragon war host marched down to meet them
âPiss-gargling mortal!!â shouted Skullhate von Hateskull, the Bloodconsul of the Turbodragons. the Bloodconsul was elected by popular referendum every two years, because the turbodragons had a rich tradition of democracy and a robust social safety net âyou should not have come here!!!â
âyeah probablyâ shouted back Three-Wolves, and unsheathed three swords at once âbut i didâ
the turbodragons readied their many arms, halberds made of crystalized shark blood and javelins made of regular shark blood. acid dripped from their stingers and their fangs and just their general anatomy, really. for a moment there was no sound on the battlefield except tense silence, and also screaming, because Three-Wolves had already started murdering them
âFUCK!â shouted the dying turbodragons âARGHâ
Three-Wolves was in his element now, and that was the element of murdering shit. a siege pterodactyl flew past and shot ballista bolts made out of the middle fingers of fossilized frost giants, and he chopped them all in half. he got cornered by a legion of thirty one shrapnel golems and machete elementals, and he bellowed the mighty Warcry of the Berserker Liches, which worked really good because he had three separate mouths for bellowing with. after he killed them all he still had enough killing left over for like thirty turbodragons
âSeize them!â shouted Skullhate von Hateskull âwe shall rip the blood from their bones and feast on their guts!â
and then while his mouth was open, Three-Wolves pulled back his arm. it bulged with thews and stuff, and he threw the Large Fucking Hellscalpel like a javelin. it stabbed out all of Skullhate von Hateskullâs teeth and impaled his head, and then kept flying into space, because Three-Wolves was a really good thrower. but he was not dead yet. Three-Wolves did four backflips and jumped off of a ballista bolt in the middle of the air, then punched through his chest and pulled out all six of his dragon hearts, and took a bite out of one just to show that he wasnât fucking around
the other turbodragons stared at this really hard, and all of them immediately both peed and cried from fear. they ran away, and some of them flew.
âfriend, you did it!â Bibarel squealed elfishly. then he stopped and stared at something on the ground
âwell i mean, yeahâ Three-Wolves said, then noticed that Bibarel was acting stranger than usual, and he was usually pretty strange already âalso what the balls is up with youâ
instead of answering, Bibarel pulled a ring off of Skullhate von Hateskullâs finger. it was made out of fire, and it was inlaid with blood rubies and the teeth of especially evil smurfs, which glowed with wicked necromagics. âit is the Ring of Grimfucler, the thrall-ring of the skull lords, minted in the dark heart of one of the seven secret underground moonsâ
Bibarel was going to say more arcane BS, but then Three-Wolves took the ring from him
âno, friend!â gasped Bibarel âits allure enraptured hella kings in the Before Ages, but you must resist it! all who wear the ring succumb to its dark ways!â
âsounds fakeâ Three-Wolves growled âalso itâs gotta be at least a +2 or something, so blow meâ
Three-Wolves put the ring on and the ghosts of powerful king-wizards and war-sages loomed over him. they wailed with a billion centuries or pain and stretched out bony-ass bone hands at him.
âfuck off ghosts!â Three-Wolves shouted, and chopped them all to death. they crumbled into evil dust and he yawned âso anyway i was thinking like taco bell or something for lunchâ
âi guess that sounds coolâ Bibarel said âiâve got like a coupon for 20% offâ
and they rode off toward the sunset, which was coincidentally in the same direction as Taco Bell. but also meanwhile, in a far off land full of evil and stuff, they were being watched through a scrying pool full of mercury and hero bones, and the dark shape looming over it cackled and said to itself âTHE TIME HAS COME. I WILL KILL THOSE GUYS SO HARDâ
found the artist's name in the notes and went looking because this slaps (it's called A Place Where I'll Dance) and its not even their best song. check this shit out:
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So, Microsoft is terrible. Yes yes, the oldest claim in the world.
But specifically... I just hate how Windows 10 tries to conflate and confuse web searches with things on one's own computer. The start menu should never do anything related to web-searching, especially if it purports to try to give examples of things that are on my hard drive!
This will make old, computer-illiterate people more malware-vulnerable. You have to maintain a strong distinction between "things that are on this computer (and maybe even included in Windows)" (safe, one hopes, or you already got pwned by it, probably), and "things on the web" (scary, dangerous, not to be trusted at all).
Eroding that barrier in the UI is awful. It just FEELS like a violation every time I start typing into the start bar, and it tries to show me ANYTHING web-related. My computer is NOT just an internet-portal! It has tons of stuff on it, and when I'm interacting with the OS, I ONLY want to see things that are already on here!
If I wanted to see something online, I would go to my browser! All the online stuff should be segregated into the browser!
Specific programs can access the internet; that's fine. But my OS's functions and interface should JUST be about the things that are already on my computer.
Literally spent multiple hours lobotomizing my Windows reinstall when I upgraded recently, the amount of awful shit they had in nowadays makes me long for the age of win98, when software was merely bad, rather than actively harmful.
There are 2 programs that will turn Windows 10 from an advertising riddled, bloated mess into a useful tool.
10AppsManager
With one click, this will remove ALL THE BLOATWARE Windows comes with. Seriously, you need NONE OF THESE apps, and if you do, you can just uninstall all the ones you don't need individually.
Winaero Tweaker
This program will give you almost complete control over Windows 10's behavior. Disabling the web search in the start menu, op rightfully complained about, is just one of the many things this thing can do
For example, with a single setting you can turn off any ads from microsoft, system-wide
It is a powerful tool, but it can be a bit overwhelming. Luckily every single setting comes with an explanation about what it actually does, and most settings can be easily reversed.
reblogged in the hope that i'll eventually both remember AND have the executive function (AT THE SAME TIME) to actually sit down and deal with this. win10 really is terrible.
Also, if youâre like me and utterly unable to handle the weird tile-style menu and just want to go back to the days of lists that make sense, check out OpenShell https://github.com/Open-Shell/Open-Shell-Menu
Itâs a very simple program, and it turns the tile menu on win10 into something much more logical like this
Which i will never be able to live without, so it goes on every win10 machine I have to use regularly.
really speaks to how iâve been around the internet, that that wasnât what i was expecting it to be, but it was also really close to what i expected it to be.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.
His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.
"Shit," said the goblin.
"Shit," said the orc.
"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.
"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."
"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.
She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.
"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."
The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.
It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.
She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.
Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...
"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."
The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.
"I mean you're about his height-"
"No."
"It would just be for a-"
"Absolutely not."
"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.
"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."
The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."
"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."
---
It had been a very strange year for the Empire.
Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.
Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.
"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.
The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.
"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."
"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."
Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."
"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"
There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.
The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.
She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.
The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.
The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"
"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."
She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.
"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.
"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.
"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.
"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.
"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."
The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"
"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."
"And why did you accept my counsel?"
The orc blinked. "Sorry?"
"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.
"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"
"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"
"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."
The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.
"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"
"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."
The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.
"Really?" the goblin asked.
"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"
She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.
"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.
Completely ignoring the submitter's own subway twin bias.... I like a funky, big city sounding, upbeat, jazz number. It's fun to do a little dance to that's all ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ.
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Hey if you guys want a thorough video covering Splatoonâs timeline thatâs actually really well researched, references info from the artbooks and JP exclusive materials, and doesnât spread popular misconceptions, I very much recommend giving this a watch.
here's my impression of one of those painfully earnest self-care posts if it was a youtube poop
đď¸ gentlesestion FolF
hey. don't crHey. one million one million one million one millionTea. eat a pEace of fruif. go for a walk. brew some fruit. go some bruit. eat DINNER. take a showerower. showerowerowerowerTake a shit. cry. don't Your stuffed animals. fuffed animals. fuff. gooooooooowooooohhhhooohhooohhhhh. DIE
This is a great take and I would like to adopt âFeelings Yakuzaâ in English actually, I feel like it conveys the whole thing way more obviously than âantiâ (not to mention the muddled meaning of âproshipperâ).
To avoid harassment, EA and SEA artists have started pre-emptively blocking users with "proship DNI" or any variation thereof in their profiles as a result of this article and said feelings yakuza are getting pissed that their DNIs are being hard enforced by the other side. How very dare.
This article at least cleared up one thing for me! I knew proship means âis cool with the idea of shipping charactersâ so I really honestly thought that antis should mean âis against all shipping all the timeâ
Let me tell you I was CONFUSED that the antis kept shipping stuff anyway, but only some stuff. Like, huh???
Oh but THEY think proshipping means shipping âbad stuffâ specifically, not shipping in general. Okay okay
I was there when the "proshipping" term started gaining traction, I was there when the rainbow meat emoji combo was created for the Hannibal fandom. Both of those things mean "ship/read what you want, it's FICTION".
They don't mean "bad stuff". They mean "I may have a visceral squick to what you read, but I'm not going to demand people stop creating that content".
So the term "Feelings Yakuza" is BRILLIANT. I love it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I saw this, scrolled past, and scrolled back up to reblog. Spread the word because I agree on all fronts. Tumblr staff listens when we speak loud enough, so letâs get heard!