the problem when reading a discworld book is you have literally no idea whether the deep, existential passage you are reading is leading up to something profound or to a pun
The “problem”
The gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that’s where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won’t do if they don’t know about it. This explains why it is so important to shoot missionaries on sight.
Aries: Swimming pools, cold drinks in the summer. Hazy orange-yellow sunsets, passionate kisses. Hair touching, long car rides with friends, watching the sunrise. Long naps, yelling along to music.
Taurus: Secluded forests, slight breezes that sway tall grass. Long, meaningful text messages, chipped nail polish, the smell of the ocean. Having the music at full volume and drowning out the rest of the world.
Gemini: Long car rides alone, windows down, loud music. Poetry, typewriter clicks. Laughing so hard your stomach hurts. The color black and navy blue, the smell after the rain. Existentialism, looking at stars.
Cancer: Long, warm hugs. Hand holding, kept secrets and light-hearted jokes. The color blue, dogs, wild flowers that grow in your backyard. The smell of new books, and the sound of an old piano.
Leo: Clean sheets, sleeping in late. Sunlight pouring into your room. Stretching, the smell of chocolate chip pancakes. CD’s and clothes everywhere, intimacy. Bonfires, exotic beaches, and slightly out-of-tune guitars.
Virgo: Freckles, musical theatre, live performances. Harmonic singing, late night phone calls. Raspy morning voices, vanilla, and running until you’re out of breath. Art museums, dancing, dark circles under your eyes. Foreign countries and languages, dogs.
Libra: Smiling between kisses, art galleries, paint-stained clothing. The sound of the harp. Graphite, the smell of coffee. Kept promises, swimming, and colliding hugs. Intertwined fingers, cats, crying, and the smell of burning wood in the wintertime.
Scorpio: Comfortable silence, nature, relaxation, being home. Thinking, being with family, the color green. Intelligence, old books, and the calming hum of a car engine. Camping, imperturbability.
Sagittarius: Colorful hair, falling snow. Hidden rivers, small towns. Art stores, book shops, the smell of baked cookies. Long, meaningful hugs, hand-written letters. The calm before a storm, candids, canoeing. Friendship, drives at dusk.
Capricorn: The piano, antique shops. The smell of freshly baked bread. Herbal tea, late night sketches, seeing someone you love for the first time. Knowledge, the color purple, wit, slow songs, and sarcasm. Long, hot showers, the sound of the rain.
Aquarius: Travelling, foreign food. The gentle breeze of a fan in the summer, the smell of watermelon. Peaches, musicals, vinyl’s, black and white movies. Sleeping until noon, iced coffee, tanning. Perfume, the taste of champagne, blogging.
Pisces: Hanging plants, baby blue eyes. Trying to suppress laughter at 4 am with your best friend, horror movies, conspiracies. The smell of popcorn, swift kisses, constant eye contact. The Beatles, strawberries, and the color yellow.
I went to the farmer’s market yesterday and at the honey guy’s booth and there were all these bees just hangin out. Checking out the beeswax tabs, floating around the honey jars, not being aggressive, just really gentle and investigating or something
and as he was giving me a sample of the wildflower honey one of them landed on his hand and he just took a drop from the jar and dabbed it on his hand for the bee, and when I asked if they were his bees he said “No, but they show up every time I come out, I think they just know my truck” and this guy is well-known among the local bees and lets them sit on his hand and eat his honey and I just really like the bee guy
white dude in this horror movie : *translates old arabic text* *somehow it rhymes perfectly in english*
Now I really wanna see a horrible faltering translation from one of these movies, like “Whomsoever enters this room, they shall… well, this word is like… literally it means ‘unbecome,’ but it was used as a euphemism for death, pooping, and—wait, when was this carved? was it 15th century? Cuz it was a euphemism for sex too in the 15th century. This is either a cursed crypt, a bathroom, or a royal bedroom. Who wants to roll the dice?”
“You guys, I’ve gotta be honest, okay? This thing’s written in some kind of weird localized dialect, and I’ve only ever studied the standard form of the language. I mean, this part right here…I can’t even tell if it’s some kind of error, or an obscure slang phrase…whatever it is, I have no idea what the fuck it means.”
‘this is written in ancient sumerian. it’s about… uh… well that word is… uh. okay this is either a poem about farming, or straight-up a nasty sex guide. it might be both. i want a shower.’
“okay see the thing is in one dialect this word is the name of a terrifying Demon but in a completely different language from the same area that has the same writing system and gave a lot of loan words to the first, it means ‘horse’ – and the context is really not helping”
“You know what? This thing is bound in human skin and the walls are bleeding let’s just leave.”
bare minimum? i thought you meant bear minimum. as in the smallest amount of bears possible. which is why i brought one bear. there’s one bear. aka. the smallest amount of bears possible. i mean this is a problem but at least it’s not like. bear maximum
i love how bucky is like “i know two things about you: ur mom existed and ur shoes were always garbage” and that’s it, that’s all it takes, steve is ready to fistfight the fucking moon
Dean appreciates being rescued, really, he does, he’s not at all trying to look the gift fishperson in the mouth here, but could the man have stashed him someplace with something more than sand and frigging coconuts? It gets cold in the middle of the ocean at night, go figure, and he’s starting to have near-sexual daydreams about the ship’s tiny kitchen. Raw fish is fucking disgusting.
The human keeps making unhappy mouth sounds and flailing his arms whenever he sees him, but really, what else could he possibly want? Castiel brings him fish, which he hardly eats, and handfuls of the shiny rocks that fill the wrecks below. Nothing seems to satisfy. The rocks at least make his eyes go huge and stop his incessant throat noises for a few moments, but only a few.
Fucking rubies the size of his fucking eyes. What the fuck is he supposed to do with these?
The soft metals don’t seem to satisfy, either, nor does the sharkmeat, the squid, or the precious pearlbearing oysters. No, he isn’t courting anyone, Hannah, and no he does not want advice. Go back to your own brood and stay there. Stop laughing. It isn’t funny.
Somehow, the fishperson finds him a single intact granola bar; it’s not even expired. Dean tries to stress through pantomime that wherever he got it, he needs to go back and get more. When the guy solemnly passes him an unopened bottle of Jack one day, Dean says, “Oh god, I could fucking kiss you,” and how is it that this is the phrase that makes it through the language barrier? Maybe he was going to kiss him anyway. Wait a fucking second, is that what the rubies were for?
kototyph 