no one really reads these

anonymous asked:

Fuck you you faguette

Oh sorry, Hawkmoth is that you? Because I read it as “baguette” and i think you attempted a terrible pun as I’m french. But I couldn’t let this pun unheared!

On a side note I’ll take it as a compliment because I love baguettes! * ^*b

i was having one of those miserable days today, i’ve caught a cold and had to miss final exam :// so i was going through some old stuff to somehow distract myself and i found the letter my first Chinese teacher gave me 4 years ago before going back to China! we were like best friends, she helped me through a lot 💕 i didn’t remember this letter well so i reread it and it made me tear up! Her words made me so happy!

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                                                   LEARN YOUR HISTORY.

I wanted to create a short, simple guide to the history & origins of the pride flags and get people to learn more about the symbols of our community. I know this isn’t the complete list, but I wanted to start this off with these 7. Hopefully, in the future I will update and add some more. This has been a long research & creation process. I’m open to suggestions.

DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT DELETE THE CAPTION.
And please don’t leave hateful comments. 

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.

ibtimes.co.uk
John Carpenter loves Sonic the Hedgehog: 'I even like the one where he turns into a werewolf'
This is not a story I ever expected to write.

John Carpenter is /ourguy/

Throwback to the 2nd ever MM fanart I did with this…because I find it highly relevant right now.

The theory of projection was first coined by Sigmund Freud.  Rian Johnson has repeatedly stated there’s a lot of Freudian cues in TLJ.  If Ren were projecting his own feelings of abandonment onto Rey this is what he would actually be saying.

Friendly reminder that Ren is an abuse victim.  Friendly reminder that abuse victims are often constantly emotionally denigrated to make them feel worthless and powerless.  Friendly reminder that we saw Snoke do this exact thing to Ren.

If you want to talk about abusive relationships that’s fine but I think you ~might have missed one~

i have a few food aversions. when i tell people this, at first they’re horrified. ice cream? you can’t eat ice cream? oh i had a terrible stomach bug, once, and it was involved. oh, you poor thing. 

first time i tried tequlia i thought it was like vodka and did nine shots in an hour and ended up in the hospital. five years later i can finally drink it again but i no longer can do shots in any situation. same, buddy, happens to the best of us.

can’t eat nutella. i thought you liked it? used to love it before i was allergic and now it gives me itches. sorry about that, i feel for you.

milk? always. what about milk and cookies, i’ve seen you eat that. sometimes, if i’m careful, and other things are in my stomach, my allergy to lactose is okay. sometimes i can have quite a lot in one day. sometimes none at all. makes sense, okay.

i can’t look at bare razors. specifically, x-acto blades. if they’re in a holder they’re okay. but if they’re out and by themselves my brain starts to shout things. when people tell me to lose weight, sirens start sounding. 

but you can’t tell people that. “triggered” is a joke now. what, are you triggered by a dropped plate?

i don’t like to eat meat if i don’t know where it came from. oh, that’s fine, then. i don’t like to listen to certain songs because they remind me of when bad things were happening. i don’t get it, though. it’s over and done with.

I never lived the Jonas Brothers era on tumblr. So possibly getting a taste of what it must have been to be on tumblr while the JB years has me reeling in excitement.
2

Keith and Shiro decide to go to the beach. During the day, Keith gets a spider-man popsicle (because is nerd af) with temporary tattoos in it. Shiro suggests to use them, he loves his boyfriend so much.

i’m sorry for all the blood i left on your lips / for loving you into ruin.
—  WHISPERS IN THE WIND | a.e.m. 
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Luffy & Labrador

Robin & Whippet

(From @blenheims ’s lovely dog headcanons)

Writer friends, mutuals and followers: you are all treasures.

As are the stories you weave, both original and inspired by other works. And It goes unsaid far too often. For every scene that extends my favourite worlds that much further, for every character you breathe life into, for every piece of yourself you have shared: thank you.

As an outsider, I can see that there is a huge lack of feedback when it comes to writers and their work. I have read the most stunning stories on here, most of which received little attention. I promise you that it is not down to the quality of your work, and that you should never doubt yourself over it. 

People like content that is quick to consume. Stories are not. They take time to craft and patience to read, but have a lasting effect that can’t be matched. The afterglow of lingering words and haunting plots, of lines that never leave you… It’s magic. It’s awesome. It’s something to be cherished. 

Please remember that, please take pride in it and please keep writing.