Wilkommen, bienvenue and welcome to the Baumhaus! Look forward to finding some fun comic, theatrical, d&d, RWBY, One Piece, and posts of adorable animals while you're here. Enjoy your stay!
i was playing scrabble and i had a B, U, R, G, E, and R and i thought “aha burger, one who burgs, but my mom will never accept that as a word” but then i remembered burger is actually a word
one time I played the word “am” and I thought, they can totally let that slide because of AM radio and A.M time.
then i remembered
Scrabble does things to your mind that you can never come back from.
I once was playing and put down ‘cow’ but in my mind I was saying it so it rhymed with ‘crow’ and I told my friend that it might not be a real word but I’m playing it and he can’t stop me and he looked me right in the eye and said it like how ‘cow’ is supposed to be said and I was so mad at myself I nearly flipped the board.
My brother played the word ‘scrabble’ and my mom said, “I actually don’t think that’s a word.” And I said, “yes it is? ‘scrabbled eggs’???”
Listen. I grew up with these dogs. Im a cat person, no shame, but Great Pyrenees are hands down my most trusted domestic animal and are hardcore as fuck.
When I was a kid, between six and fifteen, one of our Pyrenees would escort me, off-leash, between my grandmother’s house and mine. I’d just have to call him, and he’d show up and walk me there, placing himself between me and anything he considered threatening- Cranky farm animals, holes in the ground, bodies of water, etc.
That same dog found a (unfortunately deceased) lamb my grandfather had buried a few hours earlier, dug it up, realized it was cold and not breathing, and carefully carried it to our barn, where he covered it neck-deep in straw and tried to cuddle it warm again to bring it back to life.
One of our older dogs, at about sixteen years old (keep in mind, this breed tends to average out at about 12 years max) had arthritis in his hips, a bad back, and a respiratory issue, was fucking ancient and essentially palliative, but would still go stock-still out of nowhere, let out one subtle “boof”, and then set out at an awkward-yet-speedy bunny-hop sprint at the slightest whiff of a cougar, bear, or wolf. Like, grampa would jump fences. Gentle geriatric giant would kick up to 7k to protect the family, never mind the three other, much younger dogs already on the case.
When I was a baby, like a literal in-diapers infant, he would lay on the ground and let me dress him up as a wizard and crawl all over him with zero complaint.
His nephew was 100lbs and often alarmed visitors who mistook him for a bear, yet never so much as bumped into a person in his life and feared only string and kittens.
a Great Pyrenees is not Balto. A Great Pyrenees is Robert McCall, John Wick, and John McClain wrapped in Marry Poppins and a snuggly Mr. Rogers wool sweater.
They are not only the best dog, but I would argue that they are also the MOST dog.
I will die by this
I have a female 2 ish year old Great Pyr we rescued and the ONLY reason she has not fought the coyotes in the woods to the fucking death is because I don’t let her.
With me she will lay on her back on the couch and plop her giant goofy fluff head in my lap and paw at me with her giant crime paws until I pet her gently, and then she will snuffle happily as I do so. She is very careful with the cats. She likes to nap sprawled on the floor like an inconvenient white shag carpet, preferably right over the air conditioning vent. She won’t bite into an egg I give her unless I break the shell for her first. When I walk her past the neighbor’s cows she has to sit and stare at them and the calves for a bit. When she was a stray she was chased out of several cattle barns because she kept trying to get in to sleep with the cattle and calves. Never tried to hurt one. She will also sit and stare at chickens for hours very happily. Won’t hurt them, will just, you know. Keep an eye on things.
But holy fucking shit if she hears a coyote nearby she is a snarling ball of canine rage in about a tenth of a second and nearly snapped a heavy duty leather leash she was on trying to charge off and commit coyote murder. If someone broke into our house without me telling her it was okay that dog would kill or die no questions asked.
Flock guardians are the BEST. Their prey drive is almost absent, but their desire to Protect is in every hair they shed (all over everything). Herding dogs have to have a job to do, to be kept busy. Guardians, though, are doing their job while they’re draped all over your lap: they’re watching and listening, and storing up love for their charges so they have the courage they need when it’s time to rain Hell on something dangerous.
IN A DISTANT and second-hand set of dimensions, in an astral plane that was never meant to fly, the curling star-mists waver and part …
See …
“GNU Sir Terry Pratchett” - L-Space Wiki / Ursula K. LeGuin / “Terry Pratchett” - Wikipedia / “GNU” - Urban Dictionary / Going Postal by Terry Pratchett / Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett / Brandon Sanderson / Paul Kidby / The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett
In case anyone else gets stuck with this garbage update, here’s how you can turn it off:
In the bottom right corner there is now a section labelled “You”.
Tap the “You” button to open the tab. This should bring up your Discord profile. In the top right corner there should be a little gear button for your Settings.
Tap on this to open the Settings up. You will need to navigate to your “Appearance” settings. Now there are actually two ways to do this now.
As normal you can scroll down to the Appearance section of the Settings:
Or you can utilise one of the actually useful things included in this update: The search bar. Yes, with the new layout you can type in the setting you’re looking for instead of scrolling through them all.
Once you open up your Appearance settings you will need to scroll down until you find the section for the New Layout.
Tap on it to disable it and viola! You should be back to the old (and, in my honest opinion, more usable) layout. After turning it off you will be prompted to leave some feedback regarding your experience with the new layout, do with that what you will.
So I’d like you to meet my partners. This is the broken, this is the beaten, and this is the damned.
Here is the lover, theres the dreamer, and that one there on the right is me.
Just entered a new relationship. There’s Paul, a real estate novelist who never had time for a wife, and Davy, who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life.
Yeah, this is my new boyfriend and girlfriend. Yeah, he was a punk and she did ballet. What more can I say?
Yeah, just got a picture of our polycule back. On the left is the clown, on the right is the joker, and of course, stuck in the middle, there’s you.
my three girlfriends, the soldier who carries a mighty sword, the writer whose weapon is his word, and the king whose brow is big and worn. And yes, they do smoke weed.
To be completely honest, c2e73 is probably my absolute favourite episode of all time just because of the mechanical storytelling. Fjord is powerless. All he has is a whip and a dagger, and he’s proficient in those weapons but he doesn’t have modifiers to make them particularly effective. He’s built to be a hexblade warlock; he’s got max charisma and high constitution, but he doesn’t even get a plus one to his strength or dex.
But a giant fucking worm attacks his friends—snapping Jester up with its jaws, burrowing underground with an unconscious Beau between its teeth, swallowing Caduceus into its searing gullet—and Fjord charges directly at the danger, with nothing but sheer determination and a couple of weapons that he’s only kind of okay at using.
And it fucking works, Fjord deals max damage with the dagger as he flanks the worm to save Jester. Fjord climbs directly into the mouth of a worm to pull Caduceus free and is strong enough to grab hold of him. Fjord succeeds on multiple strength checks to keep the worm from getting away, which is pretty much the only reason that a Beau didn’t die in that battle. Fjord beats a contested strength check—a stat which has no modifiers in, again—against a giant fucking worm with a +7 to strength by rolling a natural fucking 19. It’s the definition of miraculous. It shouldn’t work at all.
But it works. Without magic, without tricks, without gimmicks. Fjord is powerless. He’s just a half-orc with second-hand weapons loaned to him by his friends; with a scar still fresh on his skin from where he plunged his own sword into his chest; with the same ever present fear that he’s useless without his powers, that he’s a liability, that he’s going to drag the party down and doom them all.
And so Fjord does what he’s always done. He digs his heels in, tightens his grip, and makes sure to keep his friends alive.
Wilkommen, bienvenue and welcome to the Baumhaus! Look forward to finding some fun comic, theatrical, d&d, RWBY, One Piece, and posts of adorable animals while you're here. Enjoy your stay!
