i can't remember this one

  • Ravenclaw: Growing up, life was pretty lonely. I always wished for someone.
  • Ravenclaw: And then Sly came along. And it was like someone heard my prayers...
  • Ravenclaw: Heard them all wrong.
  • Ravenclaw: And then they sent me a tiny goblin to steal my snacks and scare me daily.
  • Ravenclaw: *puts an arm around Slytherin* You see this? He hasn't left his room in like, 3 days. Look at this sad goblin.
  • Slytherin: *hisses then cuddles up to Ravenclaw*
  • Ravenclaw: *sighs*
DE Drabbles: Learning Shinigami Sealing Part 1

Kaito paced, feeling like a caged animal. His futon was a tangled mess of blankets and sheets, testament of his inability to actually sleep. He couldn’t even find peace in fighting Shiro; it just riled him up further, pushed sleep even further out of his grasp, no matter how exhausted he became or how long they’d fought.

Finally, with a curse, Kaito pulled a top on and stalked out of his room. The shouten was silent around him, everyone asleep and in their rooms. At peace in a way he couldn’t find himself to be. He slipped through the dark hallway, bare feet silent against the wooden floor, and couldn’t help but wince at how quiet everything was.

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I can’t believe how long it took me to realize that the “nagging wife” sitcom stereotype is literally just “useless husband is incapable of doing his share of the housework despite being repeatedly asked” framed to demonize the woman

slavic languages gothic

You see a sentence written in cyrillic. Some of the letters are familiar. You see the meaning shimmering underneath the surface. You almost grasp it, but it slips away. The letters on the page mock you silently.

You know this Czech word. You’ve already learnt it in Polish. It is not the same word. It is a grave insult. Your slavic friends are shocked and embarassed for you when they hear you speak it.

There is a sentence in Croatian. There is a sentence in Serbian. There is a sentence in Bosnian. They are all the same sentence.

You have to write about your day in Slovak. You spend the night polishing the draft. You fail your assigment. It’s written in Czech. You don’t know Czech.

P is not what it seems. You have to remember that.

The Croatian sentence does not mean what the Bosnian sentence means. They both mean the same in Serbian.

That word has a diminutive. The diminutive has its own diminutive. The diminutive of the diminutive also has a diminutive. Nobody knows what the final diminutive of a word is. Some say the knowledge had been lost in centuries past and matrioshkas are the echo, the tangible warning left for us to remember. No living creature should hold the means of diminishing something into nonexistence.
Others say you may still find some of them in old soviet textbooks, if you dare to look in abandoned schools of Chernobyl.

Someone is speaking to you. Is that a he or a she? You aren’t sure. It’s an abstract concept. Why does it have gender.

You see a word in a dictionary. It has seventeen letters and only one vowel. You close the dictionary very carefully not looking at the phonetic transcription. The shape of it haunts you in your sleep. You wake up face damp with tears, a bitter taste on your tongue. The clock blinks 3:03AM. You do not dare look up that word again.

This word means the same thing in the five slavic languages you’re familiar with. You use it in the sixth one. That word does not exist in this language. It never did. There is now a word-shaped void in the fabric of this language. The natives look at you uneasily. There is a new quality to the silence and your palms start to sweat.

H is not H. H is not H. H is not H. H is not H.

One day you flip through your dictionary. A page is missing. What was the word? You can’t remember. There is pressure building at the back of your head. The clock blinks 3:03AM.

You write my name is in cyrillic. There are shadows dancing on the walls. They grow longer with each letter you write down. It is not cyrillic you’re using. You keep writing my name is. The shadows now bleed from the tip of your pen. It’s irrelevant. You need to remember the right letters.

N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not… If only you could remember the letters. The letters are important. What was it, that wasn’t N?

There are nine different prefixes you can add to a verb to change its meaning. There are fifty three different suffixes you have to add to a verb to make it work. In the end the only thing left of the original is a vague shape of one of its middle consonants. You can feel the anguish radiating from the verb’s mutialted form. A desperate sob escapes through your clenched teeth. You’re so, so sorry, you didn’t meant to. You didn’t. It doesn’t matter.

You now read a text in Russian. You’ve never learnt Russian. Why are you reading that text? The words burn your eyes, the meaning searing your mind.

There’s a shot of vodka in front of you. You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t care. All existence is meaningless, your soul’s in eternal pain. A broken matrioshka lays at your feet. There is no salvation, she says boring into your eyes. You open your mouth to answer, but there is only a burst of harsh rustle. It dies in whispering echoes a moment later. Your glass is empty again.

GUYS

SEASON 3 WAS GREAT AND ALL BUT

CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT THE OLD BLUE PALADIN WAS CANONICALLY GAY/BISEXUAL?

HE’S CLEARLY HITTING ON THIS GUY

AND LOOK

HE’S BLUSHING

AND ZARKON CALLING OUT TO HIM SAYING “YOU CAN’T FRATERNIZE WITH SERVANTS" WITH AN ANNOYED LOOK LIKE IT HAD HAPPENED BEFORE

THAT’S SO ADORABLE

[ After 10 years ]
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b>Friend:</b> So who is your bias in NCT?<p/><b>Me:</b> *pulls out 25 binders, opens powerpoint, portfolio, and biography, adjusts eyeglasses*<p/><b>Me:</b> what unit are we talking about?<p/></p><p/></p><p/></p>
4

so…we are literally not gonna talk about this???

when someone asks you to list your favorite otps

Originally posted by drunkbroadway

20 years in the future
  • My daughter: Mom, I found this show called Voltron Legendary Defender on your Netflix account.
  • Me, in my Red Lion jacket, gently placing my Red Lion mug down on the table: *long, suffering sigh*
  • My daughter: Is everything okay?
  • Me, softly: So it has to be like this, huh...
  • My daughter: Mom? What is it?
  • Me: Katie, please go get your brothers Takashi and Keith and your sister Allura. There's something I have to tell you.
Reblog this if you had to learn cursive writing as a child

If you were ever told or were made to learn cursive writing when you were in grade school.
I wanna see how many of you suffered like I did.