‘redditors need to know this’, ‘twitterinas need to know that’… no. you need to know one thing and that is that you are not allowed to complain about werewolf fuckers. this is the werewolf fucking website. grow up and go fuck a werewolf.
hey netizens! i’m not sure how many people are aware, but youtube’s been slowly rolling out a new anti-adblock policy that can’t be bypassed with the usual software like uBlock Origin and Pi-Hole out of the gate
BUT, if you’re a uBlock Origin user (or use an adblocker with a similar cosmetics modifier), you can add these commands in the uBlock dashboard (under My Filters) to get rid of it!
It has been some time hasn’t it? Well, I come to you to a small lesson. Today we will be learning about innate magic. You may find that your magic differs from others, even if you are in the same classes and magic group. Well, here could be an explanation as to why…
If you are born…
On a Monday:
Mondays are the tough beginnings. You are born stronger and more resilient than others. You may find that your body is more durable to your magic, and you can recover faster than others from fatigue and can be back in the battle within hours.
On a Tuesday:
Tuesdays are an insightful day to peer into the rest of the week. You are born more perceptive than others. You may find that your mind is naturally perceptive to magic. You can vaguely sense magic types from other users, but it gets a bit confusing with multiple mages in an area.
On a Wednesday:
Wednesdays are the the quietest day of the week. They are in the background and often forgotten. You are born more cloaked than others. You can blend in the background and hide your aura from others naturally. You may find yourself being more observant, seeing things that others may not whilst under the cover of secrecy.
On a Thursday:
Thursdays are the days of promise and hopefulness. They are sanguine and opportunistic. Your magic is a bit more wild than others, but it can lead to promising situations with unexpected power. Your body is more adaptive to controlling your wild magic.
Oh drats, I hit a rune I shouldn’t have. I’m not sure how to undo this. oh boy. Hopefully this doesn’t do something bad…Luckily, they are temporary. I think. Moving on!
Fridays are the days of relief. They feel revitalizing. Your magic is naturally explosive and powerful in short bursts. Your body is more capable of storing up magic energy to release all at once in a powerful blast. It may take time to charge up, but if timed correctly it can be very useful.
On a Saturday:
Saturday are the days of tranquility. Your magic is naturally fluid and talented. You have a better grasp over your magic and can find ease with understanding other magic types. When using a magic item, your magic is more concentrated and skillful than others. You also may find that outside magic is naturally drawn to you like a beacon, good or bad.
On a Sunday:
Sundays are the days of persistence and preparedness. Your magic sometimes has a mind of its own, making it harder for others to surprise you. Your magic may do things subconsciously, doing tasks for you before you think to do them. It is useful, but unpredictable.
Well, this concludes today’s lesson! Good luck students. And um…the magic infirmary is on the second floor if you need it…haha…
when you see your little kitty walking toward you at a leisurely pace and say “hi baby!” bc you’re excited to see her and she starts trotting a little bit faster ‘cause she’s excited to see you too. that’s what life is all about i think
But what about how she says “mrrrow” just as she starts her lil trot?
There was one of those hyperspecific polls that had an option like “your grandfather told you war stories that he never told anyone else” and now I feel like I have to tell the story about how a spider saved my grandpa’s life in WWII and how my family doesn’t kill spiders because we owe our existence to that One Single Spider
So to set the scene, it’s the height of WWII in France and my grandpa—a 6'3" 20 year old upper Michigan farm boy—has been separated from his company after their temporary camp was shelled. My grandpa (who, I have to add, was nicknamed ‘the Suicide Kid’ at this point because he worked in demolitions and bomb interception and kept taking the jobs no one wanted with the expectation that he was never going home anyway) is scared out of his wits, wandering around the French countryside alone. He has to move at night and sleep in barns and sheds during the day to hide from people who most definitely want him dead.
On one of these days, he finds a farmhouse of a very jittery couple who agree to let him sleep in the barn, with the conditions that he sleeps in the barn loft and if he’s found, they disavow all knowledge that he was there. He agrees, because he’s exhausted and will sleep in a hay pile if he has to. My grandpa manages to fit all six foot three inches of himself into a feed trough stored upstairs and tries to get some sleep.
However, right when he’s half-snoozing, he hears motors outside and sure enough, here are some very angry officers of mixed Nazi and Vichy make confronting the couple saying someone up the road spotted an American soldier walking this way. They wouldn’t know anything about that, would they? No, of course not.
All the while, my grandpa—now trying to figure out how to either escape the barn unseen or how to fight off six? seven? eight? people at once—freezes up and waits for the inevitable. While he does, a HUGE spider crawls next to his head and onto the loft railing. For one second, he thinks about swatting it away, but that would risk him being seen and killed.
So, instead, he lays there and waits to either fight to the death or get executed in a feed trough. And while he lays there, the spider starts making a huge web on the railing. My grandpa’s transfixed by this thing. He watches her go around and around, building a solid web before plopping herself off to one side and waiting for breakfast. At the same time, the officers finally go into the barn.
My grandpa can hear them searching around, turning over crates and checking animal pens. Then, he hears one say to check the loft.
And then another say, “Don’t bother. Look at the spiderwebs up there. No one’s been there in a while.”
And they leave.
Because my grandpa didn’t swat the spider away and let her build her web, the officers thought no one was there and left him alone. They drive off and my grandpa immediately thanks the farmer couple and hauls ass out of there as soon as he can.
After this, my grandpa refused to kill any spider, and his kids did the same. Because if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have lived and would never have had kids or grandkids. So we owe her one.
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