Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
The Bowery Presents
Claire Keane
Love Begins
#extradirty
untitled
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
macklin celebrini has autism
h
Not today Justin
gracie abrams
Color Me Curious
The Bright Sessions
KIROKAZE
if i look back, i am lost
One Nice Bug Per Day
seen from Brazil
seen from Türkiye
seen from Iraq
seen from Thailand
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Uruguay
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Ecuador
seen from Indonesia
seen from Australia
@keekal-dreams
A few years ago I had this idea of dnd characters playing a human version of dnd…Finally made a small comic about it lol
okay but is everyone going to skip over how the game is called “debt and despair”
Because that’s solid fucking gold
I'm still processing how fucking funny it was to watch the Crows run around during the events of Shadow and Bone. Like on the one hand they accomplished pretty much NOTHING they set out to accomplish and every single one of their plans went horribly awry, but on the other hand??? They snuck into the little palace? Inej killed TWO Inferni? They carjacked the Darkling? Jesper went up against a heartrender who had on a bullet-proof kefta with a gun and won? The Darkling tried to use the cut on Kaz and he got out of it with what was basically a magic trick? They snuck onto the skiff? Inej STABBED the Darkling? Kaz fought off a fricking Volcra with his CANE? Accomplishing nothing but with STUNNING proficiency. And at the end Alina's just like "gotta appreciate the effort, fam. Have these priceless jewels and go back to being crime lords in Ketterdam, please."
@lyannaforpresident You're right.
KIT YOUNG as JESPER FAHEY
+
SHADOW AND BONE: Season 1
three of crows
Election 2019
I wrote this in the latest newsletter, but thought worth putting here too.
I was out with an activist journalist friend of mine last night. She’s been out canvassing for Labour over the UK. She’s actually optimistic. I’m less so, but that’s me. As Clockwise once put it, It’s not the despair, it’s the hope.
To speak broadly, this is an election with a lot riding on it. I’d say more than has been painfully obvious.
I have spent a lot of the decade thinking about the nature of democracy and the Internet age, and what is possible and what makes things impossible. To speak broadly, there are so many bad actors, concentrated power and concentrated power in bad actors that I’m unsure how it can continue as an exercise as it is. Democracy works on the idea that you can educate a population and provide them with sufficient information to make an educated decision. I think it’s clear this is being undermined.
This is where the cynical truisms will come back to haunt us. Dismissing all politicians as liars means that those who seem actively allergic to truth are free to act freely, viewed as no different to anyone else.
The Tory party has collapsed into an absolute moral black hole, at every level. One of the worst thing about watching old documentaries about the 80s was being struck by how the politicians I despised at least believed in something. The Tory party at the moment doesn’t. I believe the people funding it believe in things (mostly profit) but I don’t believe the politicians do.
I don’t believe Johnson believes in anything other than he should be Prime Minister. I believe the only actions he will take will be to maintain that position. That’s all he’s done.
That he’s a liar seems a small thing, and to list the compounded deceit would turn this small newsletter into a huge one. I cannot believe some of the things which have been just accepted. The Conservative Party are the party of the status quo, and he’s been found in court to have deceived the fucking queen. He does that to the queen, what the fuck do you think he’s going to do with five more years?
I’m unsure he will get Brexit done. He will certainly get you done.
To return to the thesis: the election is important as I’m unsure that any future government will be able to change how democracy works? When all the present conservative tactics are to abuse this system, why would they do any of the necessary work? Johnson will only be in power because of the current system.
There’s other reasons to run away from them and do anything to stop them having another years to erode this country’s existence. If you want, you could question whether 130,000 people dead from austerity if you want, but whatever figure you end up on, it is still a figure. Do not vote for more corpses. Do not vote for tax-paying people who’ve lived here for years being made afraid of treating a country like their home. Do not vote for a country that is visibly more cruel on every street corner.
Of course, purely negative campaigning is not great. I am aware I am likely preaching to the choir. It’s not enough to simply hate the Tories… but it’s not a bad start, right?
What to do: you know my politics. I would vote tactically – especially in Scotland, but look at where you are and make choices in the area. I would look at the Labour Manifesto, and think about how transformative this could be. If you don’t agree, question why you think it’s unrealistic. It’s more realistic that what Johnson has promised, and you can google how each has been costed. Why do you think it’s unrealistic? Because we have been sung this this song so long that we believe it, and think hope is impossible.
That’s the thing. They don’t want to hope. They’re afraid for you to hope. And it’s understandable – we hope, they lose.
I write this in hope and I hope the next time I write to you, it’s in a better country
The flashbacks you see in the game were drawn by Talexi as a tribute to the Italian painter Caravaggio. [x]
kangaroo: (sees creature descend from the sky with a single giant multicoloured wing)
kangaroo: oh i am going to absolutely kick the shit out of that.
i never talk about these things but i can’t remain silent.
i know tumblr doesn’t give a SHIT when things happen in countries outside the “most popular ones” (such as the usa & england). it’s true, don’t lie to me. y’all don’t give A FUCK. not every issue and problem in said countries gets the appropriate exposure but in general shit shows up on the news WORLD FREAKING WIDE. you set up donations, you help out, your spread the word, you say “pray for x”……
southern europe is burning.
my country is burning.
people are dying - at home, on the road, trying to run away, in their cars.
yesterday my country had 300 active fires.
people are losing EVERYTHING they own.
i have a friend that is on a train right now passing through places that have been burnt to the ground and she says the smoke is so intense it’s getting inside the train and she can barely breathe.
and yet, even though several people (myself included) have been trying to bring awareness to what has been happening in southern europe… what we get from most of you, those not part of the countries suffering, is silence. we don’t ask for money, we don’t ask for shit other than a reblog to spread awareness… something you can delete in 24/48hrs if you wish.
i don’t know what to tell you. i’m angry. i’m frustrated. i’m disappointed. i feel like i’m screaming into the void. “a reblog does nothing” - you know that’s a damn lie, you know exposure always helps, you know people start paying attention when posts on social media become popular. my country in particular is a small one, we get ZERO exposure. y’all are only starting to figure out we even fucking exist bc of the shit we’ve been winning lately.
but hell, if the EU doesn’t give a shit, why should some user on tumblr dot com?
again, i don’t know what to tell you so i’ll let the images speak for themselves:
An image captured by a Nasa satellite shows a thick plume of smoke blowing southward from the Greek island of Chios over the island of Crete
Torneros de Jamuz, Spain
Duca, Croatia
A helicopter from Italy’s civil protection service drops water on a fire near the railway between Venice and Trieste
Residents take refuge on the beach as a wildfire burns on the mountain next to the village of Lithi, on the Greek island of Chios
Men gather cattle during a forest fire in Vieira de Leiria, Marinha Grande, Portugal.
Charred trees are seen on the hills above the Cloister of Thivaidas on Mount Athos, a World Heritage Site in Greece
Portugal
This is fucking important. I am glad someone fucking spoke about this and said what they had to say. The damage is terrible, and all the evergreen, stone, even the ground is black. I was fucking terrified when Croatia was burning. The fire was near a village where I like and I thought it will burn down. I thought the church will burn down. I thought the cemetery where my grandpa is buried will burn. I still remember the smell of smoke, and when I went to check how bad is fire, my clothes and hair and skin all stunk of smoke. It didn’t go away for weeks.
This is NASA’s picture of Croatia and Montenegro burning. My fucking country was burning. Fucking reblog this. I don’t care that it isn’t UK or US, or that it doesn’t go with your blog, fucking. Reblog. It.
Not my blog type, I dont care.
God please stay safe everyone, take care
A perfect example what is wrong with the media. I can’t recall hearing about it in the German news.
I had nightmares like this when I was little.
Dear gods this is horrible!
The world is on fire, literally and metaphorically.
Holy shit
Hello please don’t blame individuals for their country’s news outlets refusing to cover things. This is awful and we do care, we just need to be told it’s happening.
This shit is happening and our “news” outlets deign to report on such inconsequential things as the shenanigans of celebrities instead, and it is INFURIATING.
I am from Greece. I am not IN Greece though. Most of my family is in Athens (My grandmother and My father’s side including my dad). I am trying to raise so much awareness for this subject, people are probably getting tired of it. ANYTHING WILL DO.
I feel for the Southern Countries so much.
I’m in Ireland but we have had spats of gorse fires, fields going up in flames simply due to the heat (the field next to my house did that last week).. And this was just because of 29°C. Greece is dealing with up to 40°C from what I’ve heard.
There have been international deaths (tourists) due to the fires in the area, but our news discussed it as an afterthought after talking about Love Island!
I’m sick of hearing about Donald Trump, he is insignificant, I wish our news in the USA told us about things like this so they could get more exposure and more help! But the truth is our country doesn’t give a damn about people unless they are famous or idiots! The US government and most of the country as a whole is inhumane and insensitive to human beings that are outside of their little circle. Get this out there please, and help these people!
Tbh, every country is like that.
I have to listen to the news about an overpaid buffoon on the national tv quitting before I can hear about entire countries currently on fire. It makes me sick.
The best news channel, imo, is NHKWorld because they seem to give news about all the countries in Asia alongside the US news rather than just US and national news like every other damn media company.
Heavy Dirty Soul: Chapter 2
Andrew doesn’t believe Neil when he explains he has a binder full of Kevin’s photos because he’s in love with him. To catch him in his lie, he convinces Kevin to fake interest in Neil to get him to give up the act. Problem is, neither of them know how far Neil is willing to go to ensure his survival.
Rating: T Words: 3744 Chapter: 2/6 [Previous chapter here] Prompt: Kevin/Neil Fake Dating Warnings: Fairly long panic attack/PTSD episode and references to Jean’s abuse.
—–
Kathy Ferdinand’s show should have been a routine TV appearance. Growing up in the spotlight had made Kevin accustomed to being filmed, and exhausted from the previous night’s loss against Breckenridge, he hadn’t really dedicated any time to thinking about the show other than a short catch-up with his PR agent. He would just walk on set, turn on his camera smile, shake a hand and answer a few questions, maybe sign a few autographs on his way out.
His smile became a fraction more forced when Kathy turned her attention on inviting Neil to join the show. Neil looked every part the scared rabbit Andrew was making him out to be, and Kevin couldn’t comprehend why. Kathy was giving Neil what should have been any rookie athlete’s dream on a platter: a chance to develop his brand on national television alongside one of Exy’s biggest household names. Neil’s uncharacteristic shyness was so transparently fake that it infuriated him Neil would even attempt to use it as a reason to turn down such an opportunity, especially after everything he had invested into Neil so far. When Kathy continued to press him and his refusals revealed themselves to be thinly veiled aggressive stupidity, Kevin’s temper overtook and he stepped in.
“He’ll do it,” he said to Kathy, the tension in his body only narrowly disguised by the last remnants of his plastic smile. Kathy was either polite enough not to remark on the change in atmosphere or too excited to make preparations with her producer for the show.
Neil, however, was not so ready to let Kevin make choices on his behalf. He practically spat at him in French as he turned on him, “It’s not your decision. I’m not going on stage with you.”
Kevin glanced to Andrew at that comment. He knew Andrew didn’t understand French, but he was fluent in body language and was observing their interaction with a smug smile on his face. Neil’s reluctance to be associated with Kevin in public made his supposed obsession with him seem even more unlikely. Any other fan, romantically motivated or not, would be jumping at the chance. Neil was tangling himself in a web of lies and loopholes that were becoming increasingly impossible to ever unknot.
Keep reading
Heavy Dirty Soul: Chapter 2
Andrew doesn’t believe Neil when he explains he has a binder full of Kevin’s photos because he’s in love with him. To catch him in his lie, he convinces Kevin to fake interest in Neil to get him to give up the act. Problem is, neither of them know how far Neil is willing to go to ensure his survival.
Rating: T Words: 3744 Chapter: 2/6 [Previous chapter here] Prompt: Kevin/Neil Fake Dating Warnings: Fairly long panic attack/PTSD episode and references to Jean’s abuse.
—–
Kathy Ferdinand’s show should have been a routine TV appearance. Growing up in the spotlight had made Kevin accustomed to being filmed, and exhausted from the previous night’s loss against Breckenridge, he hadn’t really dedicated any time to thinking about the show other than a short catch-up with his PR agent. He would just walk on set, turn on his camera smile, shake a hand and answer a few questions, maybe sign a few autographs on his way out.
His smile became a fraction more forced when Kathy turned her attention on inviting Neil to join the show. Neil looked every part the scared rabbit Andrew was making him out to be, and Kevin couldn’t comprehend why. Kathy was giving Neil what should have been any rookie athlete’s dream on a platter: a chance to develop his brand on national television alongside one of Exy’s biggest household names. Neil’s uncharacteristic shyness was so transparently fake that it infuriated him Neil would even attempt to use it as a reason to turn down such an opportunity, especially after everything he had invested into Neil so far. When Kathy continued to press him and his refusals revealed themselves to be thinly veiled aggressive stupidity, Kevin’s temper overtook and he stepped in.
“He’ll do it,” he said to Kathy, the tension in his body only narrowly disguised by the last remnants of his plastic smile. Kathy was either polite enough not to remark on the change in atmosphere or too excited to make preparations with her producer for the show.
Neil, however, was not so ready to let Kevin make choices on his behalf. He practically spat at him in French as he turned on him, “It’s not your decision. I’m not going on stage with you.”
Kevin glanced to Andrew at that comment. He knew Andrew didn’t understand French, but he was fluent in body language and was observing their interaction with a smug smile on his face. Neil’s reluctance to be associated with Kevin in public made his supposed obsession with him seem even more unlikely. Any other fan, romantically motivated or not, would be jumping at the chance. Neil was tangling himself in a web of lies and loopholes that were becoming increasingly impossible to ever unknot.
Keep reading
I'M DYING THIS IS SO GOOD. 🧡🧡🧡🧡
Irish fans sing lullabies to baby on a train in Bordeaux
chaotic good
“Hey! Hey! Shh. We’ve got a baby.”
This is so pure
‘what’s french for baby’
I love football
im going to have a stroke
Instead try… Person A: You know… the thing Person B: The “thing”? Person A: Yeah, the thing with the little-! *mutters under their breath* Como es que se llama esa mierda… THE FISHING ROD
As someone with multiple bilingual friends where English is not the first language, may I present to you a list of actual incidents I have witnessed:
Forgot a word in Spanish, while speaking Spanish to me, but remembered it in English. Became weirdly quiet as they seemed to lose their entire sense of identity.
Used a literal translation of a Russian idiomatic expression while speaking English. He actually does this quite regularly, because he somehow genuinely forgets which idioms belong to which language. It usually takes a minute of everyone staring at him in confused silence before he says “….Ah….. that must be a Russian one then….”
Had to count backwards for something. Could not count backwards in English. Counted backwards in French under her breath until she got to the number she needed, and then translated it into English.
Meant to inform her (French) parents that bread in America is baked with a lot of preservatives. Her brain was still halfway in English Mode so she used the word “préservatifes.” Ended up shocking her parents with the knowledge that apparently, bread in America is full of condoms.
Defined a slang term for me……. with another slang term. In the same language. Which I do not speak.
Was talking to both me and his mother in English when his mother had to revert to Russian to ask him a question about a word. He said “I don’t know” and turned to me and asked “Is there an English equivalent for Нумизматический?” and it took him a solid minute to realize there was no way I would be able to answer that. Meanwhile his mom quietly chuckled behind his back.
Said an expression in English but with Spanish grammar, which turned “How stressful!” into “What stressing!”
Bilingual characters are great but if you’re going to use a linguistic blunder, you have to really understand what they actually blunder over. And it’s usually 10x funnier than “Ooops it’s hard to switch back.”
tag yourself i’m the condom bread
This good boy is a chimera, which is an animal that is genetically two animals, in this case he’s a yellow and black lab. This means he is twice the good boy. (Not my picture, found on Facebook)
this is by far the least upsetting dog chimera I’ve ever seen
Reblogging for Good Dog Chimera
Reblog for protection from the Bad Dog Chimera™ (you know the one)
i. “Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.” My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying. “Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.” My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning. But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe. On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek. “Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.” ii. Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo. “Tas…?” “Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.” A pause. “Do you go by anything else?” “No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.” “Tazbee. All right. Alex?” She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language. “Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it. iii. I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school. “Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision. “My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone. iv. I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph. I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation. “How do I say your name?” she asks. “Tazbee,” I say. “Can I just call you Tess?” I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me. “No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.” I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year. v. My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard. When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up. vi. My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.” My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden. vii. On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name. viii. At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath. “How do I pronounce your name?” he asks. I say, “Just call me Tess.” “Is that how it’s pronounced?” I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.” “That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?” When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown. ix. “Thank you for my name, mama.” x. When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due
Tasbeeh Herwees, "The Names They Gave Me“ (via cat-phuong)
I am weeping.
(via strangeasanjles)
I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you. And I will not be afraid of your scars. I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.
Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers (via waydowntown)
