we dig

thelittleshitthatcould  asked:

You guys should do pens/writing utensils! That would be really cool. Also really excited to get evil mugs and tshirts!

Pens/pencils are among the trickiest unless you specifically specialize in them. The variables on what makes “the correct” pen or pencil is HUGE.

I personally like (right now) things by Paper Mate but sometimes I HATE THEM. Other times I want to write in pink and I don’t give a damn who makes it as long as it is THE RIGHT PINK.

Etc.

Pencil and pen fandoms are A THING and they GET ROUGH.

It isn’t a realm we’re likely to dig into because it requires a whole, custom, company, type, thing.

We might get into “we’re a business so we can get a great deal and offer stock items” but that’s late on the plan.

The garden is a delightful place in spring. The breeze mingles the scent of roses and orange blossom. Flowers are blooming and everything is growing so quickly. The longer, warmer days are rich with possibility. This cat keeps us company as we dig and sow. The once-feral, now garden-cat - who gets many loving pets and scratches - drinks water from vintage porcelain, and sleeps amongst the nasturtiums and beebalm.

We are desperate to be loved. Our fingers shake and touch our lips to the taste of affection. We force our selves to smile, sit still and pretty, bat our eyes, and pout. We want to be noticed and wanted. Everyone wants to be desired and lusted after. Goals in life revolve around being with someone you truly love. The search for passion and warmth is frantic and chaotic. We’re raking our hands through turmoil, crying for care. Our knees are week and deep into the chase. We will keep digging until some of us drown, absorbed in the absence of vehemence. Some will have their arms stained red to their elbows, coming up with a glimmer of what they’ve always wanted. Those are the lucky ones.

We substitute the want for love with drugs, sex, and facades. It’s unbelievable the tight hold the thought of love has on us. It makes us do unmentionable things just to feel worth, as if our lives do not have purpose without it. And maybe it doesn’t. We suffocate at the thought of not being able to hold the person we want. We are so desperate that we pray to even have a dream about someone just to finally know how it would feel to touch them.

Some people feel numb all their life until someone changes that. The power of love and affection are unimaginable. We cannot comprehend life without it. That’s why we infuse the gooey and heart longing feeling into everything. Music, movies, shows, books, and pictures are drenched in the want for love!

We’re all kind of pathetic aren’t we?

Five years ago a young man went down into the haunted mines, promising to clear it of evil. Today he emerged, covered in ancient armour stained with the blood of unimaginable horrors, glowing of magic. He demands we dig deeper.

We just outgrow some people. Sometimes a good relationship will end and we don’t ever really have a good explanation. But when that happens, accept the shift and change - and understand that sometimes we must dig up our roots, and allow ourselves to be replanted in new soil.
—  Unknown
okay bitches, there’s something you need to know about maple syrup

Since none of y’all in the Check Please fandom know how it’s made, and I’ve read some pretty traumatising things in fics, I took these pictures especially for you today. And some are taken from the internet.

We dig holes on our maple trees so come Spring, they leak through metal peens.

In Québec, maples wear buckets. It’s FASHIONABLE.

Now, these are the quaint little érablières (maple tree places?), but others don’t mess around.

Then, what comes out can’t be eaten directly (except by squirrels), it needs to be boiled into one of these motherfuckers here

Now there are different ways of cooking maple, so you can have syrup, butter, and other goodies. What interests us right now is what we call “tire” (pronounce teer)

Below are pictures I took today at the Sugar Shack fair in my town. There are barrels of already boiled tire, and you need to boil it again to serve it. 

Then you pour it on the snow, in neat little lines. I should have taken that one, it was bigger than the one I actually got. 

Now you take a popsicle stick, start at one end and roll it up. You need to wait until it’s cold enough to stick together, and then you have to make sure it’s not lopsided or anything otherwise it gets all over your fingers and that shit’s sticky as hell.

Here you have the result (it’s pretty small, should be bigger). It’s so sweet, the best part is the cold snow that melts in your mouth at the same time. 

And THAT’s how you eat tire sur la neige. Yum yum. (say hi to my friend photobombing me). I don’t want to read false maple representation on future fics from now on, or the angry French Canadian fairy will come and set you right!

For real though Sam needs to be dating this guy (12x11)

great news about the world

It could conceivably get a whole lot worse! we can dig ourselves deeper holes! you can always drop another rung on the ladder. it never ends.

This is what happened, right?
  • Kaiba: He's hiding!
  • Yuugi: He's not hiding! He's passed on! The Pharaoh is no more! He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't dug up his grave, he'd be pushing up the daisies! He's run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! *Brandishes Puzzle* THIS IS AN EX-PHARAOH!

(Context: Our DM gave all our characters flaws that would make the gameplay more interesting. In this instance, our Dwarf Barbarian must dig a hole a number of metres deep whenever he hears his trigger word, which only the DM knew. Certain Dwarf Barbarian had just stolen a chest of money from a Halfling Rogue whist she was fighting with the Half-Orc Fighter.)

Halfling Rogue: (rolls crit intimidation) Storgid, I am going to steal all your money, make you plead for your life, make you beg for death, violate your body with a two-handed crossbow and carve out your eyeballs with spoons. 

DM: Start digging.

(So then whenever we wanted to get rid of the dwarf for a few turns/ needed a hole digging, we would repeat the above phrase because none of us could be bothered to work out the trigger word.)

safe haven

thought i’d try out posting my writings on tumblr (yay). we’ll see how that goes. nothing triggering i should think, some mental health musings only.


It’s cold (tiny shards of ice against his skin) when he sits (almost down, down, down) on the edge of the rooftop. The wind blows like it could topple him to the ground, but it doesn’t, and instead Alec merely sways like an unruly sea, back and forth and back and forth. His fingers are gripping the ledge and he uncurls them, lets them flex long and then curl back against the concrete. It’s like breathing, except he can’t breathe, hasn’t been able to in a long time. Not breathing in a way that he should. 

The balcony doors open behind him and Alec drags himself closer to the sound, because he’s not ready for the disapproval (it’s always wrong, he’s always wrong, never right). But the words don’t come. Soon, there are warm fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Silence. Alec doesn’t look up from the street; his lids feel heavy, like his entire body was sculpted out of lead.

“Alexander,” Magnus finally breathes out, soft and like a whisper, but strong still. 

“Magnus,” Alec says. The name feels good on his tongue, it rolls like perfection, and Alec finds himself repeating it. “Magnus.”

Keep reading

Sex is often the least intimate thing we do with someone we’re digging into.
Intimacy is sharing
Sheets,
Secrets,
Skin,
Scent of the night.
Intimacy is soft.
Takes time.
Letting someone devour you too soon will leave you
Empty,
Reaching.
Mistaking their instincts for intimacy.

I’m genuinely surprised by the amount of people telling us not to write meta on Series 4 because “your ship didn’t become canon, so get a grip”. Has anyone read the majority of meta that’s been produced since The Final Problem? Most of it doesn’t have to do with Johnlock. We’ve been focused on drawing parallels from other episodes in order to read this last one correctly. We dig up the Doyle references to better understand the story. We’ve researched William Goldman, Derren Brown, Oscar Wilde, Goethe, Chekov, Freud, Queen, and Greek Mythology. We put in a shit-ton of work to read series 4 the way other episodes are meant to be read, all the while keeping the passion going in spite of many voices in our own community demanding we stop. Johnlock isn’t the focus of our metas anymore – we’ve got bigger fish to fry, if you haven’t noticed. Tbh, Johnlock hasn’t been the focus of the majority of our metas since before The Six Thatchers.

For anyone to say meta writers are delusional about their ship is insulting to both the writers and to those people making the accusation themselves, because it implies the writers are one-dimensional, while it also implies those accusers cannot read.

  • Pidge: Okay, look, I think I have a plan here. Using mainly spoons, we dig a tunnel under the city and release it into the wild.
  • Lance: Spoons?
  • Pidge: That’s it, I’m out of ideas! We’re closed. Hot air balloon? Too expensive. Giant slingshot? Too conspicuous. Enormous wooden horse? Too Greek!