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official daine visual archive
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
RMH
@theartofmadeline
JVL
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
YOU ARE THE REASON
#extradirty
𓃗
art blog(derogatory)
Keni
No title available
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies
roma★
cherry valley forever
$LAYYYTER
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Belgium
seen from Malaysia
seen from Mexico
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
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@violentlyoptimistic
i thought this was a hospital drama why does he have a shotgun?!??!?
It's a really, really good hospital drama
I'm so glad I turned on the Audio bc it turns out this is set to Boney M's Rasputin and is basically perfectly synced
From Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish
i hope this is alright for me to add, but this poem references a line from one of hitler's speeches ordering the genocide of polish jews. at the end of the speech, he justified the genocide by saying "who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the armenians?" in a very literal way, genocides are interconnected and used to justify one another. after all, the holocaust was partially modeled after the united states' genocide of indigenous people. this is why it is so important to remember the victims of all genocides across history, and why it is so important for oppressed peoples to stand together in solidarity.
[ID: a photo of what seems to be a page from a book of poems. the pictured poem is titled "Who Remembers the Armenians?". poem text reads as follows:
I remember them and I ride the nightmare bus with them each night and my coffee, this morning I'm drinking it with them You, murderer— Who remembers you?
/end ID.]
You turn on the radio one morning to find another one of those Rap songs where every 4th word is a swear. Naturally the Radio bleeps it out, but you realize that it sounds familiar. You realize that the rappers are speaking in Morse code.
Your eyes widen as you swerve over onto the shoulder of the expressway, nearly hitting a Jeep Cherokee in the process. It didn’t matter to you. Frantically searching the glove compartment, the backseat, and your purse, you finally find a small notepad and a pen with a low ink cartridge. You listen closely to the radio, and begin to scribble down as much as you can. You realize it was merely a pattern.
— -. . / - .– — / - .– — / ..-. .. ..-. - -.–
Unfortunately for you, you aren’t very well versed in translating Morse code, merely recognizing it. You reach into your purse to grab your phone, but after a moment of searching, you realize you had left it at home before you left for work. “God damnit,” you mutter. You’re more than halfway to your office, and you’re already running late due to the fact that that you decided to follow some whim and jot down some cryptic message from a provocative rapper. Concluding that it would probably be best for you to mosey to work, you pull back onto the expressway and try to make it to work on time.
Upon arriving at work, you ask any coworker in sight if they know Morse code. Nobody seems to, and some don’t even know what Morse code is. You slump your shoulders in disappointment and head over to your desk, when suddenly, the quiet, mouse-like secretary clears her throat and says, “Excuse me, I know Morse code!”
You turn around with the same wide eyes as before. “You do!?” you ask vigorous excitement, which seems to startle the young woman.
“Yes,” she says, “when I was younger, I planned on joining the navy, so I taught it to myself.” You feel a bit sorry for her, that she wound up as a mere secretary instead of a naval officer, but that feeling of pity didn’t stop you from being grateful for the lucky coincidence of her knowing Morse code. You show her the pattern.
— -. . / - .– — / - .– — / ..-. .. ..-. - -.–
“That’s all there is?” she asks, furrowing her brow.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “it just kept repeating that over and over again. What does it say?”
“One, two, two, fifty.”
Your heart sinks a little. “What is that? What does that mean, is it like a phone number or house address or something?”
The secretary shrugs. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know. It’s too short to be a phone number, but beyond deciphering it, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
You nod slowly, and though you understand, you are still not at all satisfied. You go to sit at your desk. 1 2 2 50. The sequence plays over and over in your head all day, and needless to say, your curiosity an wonderment got the best of you. It was not a very productive work day.
You head home, and the same damned song plays on the radio. You shake your head as if that would make the song stop, then decide to plug 12250 into your GPS to see if there are any autofill results. None. You become increasingly frustrated.
When you get home, your daughter is sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework. She runs up to you and gives you a big hug, and asks about your day at work. You put on a fake smile and sigh. “Interesting,” you say— no doubt sugarcoating the intense excitement, disappointment, and confusion.
“Will you help me with my homework? I have to memorize something for my history class tomorrow.”
“Of course, doll! What are you memorizing?”
She hands you a laminated sheet of paper. “Roman numerals!”
You glance over the page, your eyes quickly darting from one, to two, to fifty.
It dawns on you. You’d recognize this pattern anywhere.
I II II L
ughh please do this
Seriously what could happen would be a catastrophe for American Rail and can destroy all the work that has been happening recently to improve amtrak
An ace friend of mine has been questioning if they're aro for a bit, and they recently sent me this:
I think I’m aro. But not because I’ve stared at myself and decided that that’s a perfect label that fits and describes me. I think I’m aro because even if I haven’t learned anything about myself, I’m slowly starting to realize that the label can mean a lot of things in a lot of ways, and it’s less a matter of fitting under an umbrella than it is enjoying the lack of rain. And I think I like using the term aromantic to describe myself. So, that’s it. I am aroace. Because I want to be. Not because I understand myself—because that’s an infinity away—but because whatever mess I am, it’s a mess that’s a little bit better with the term applied.
sometimes in knitting you just have to go 'nobody but me will notice this mistake' and keep going
I highly recommend doing the same thing in life.
Tiny round rain frog wakes up, yawns, rubs his eyes, then squeezes himself into his tiny hole
(Source)
fucking amazing content
“the most animal” is like a nonsense meme phrase but this is really the most animal. It’s a round spot in the world with the face and legs a baby could draw. If you couldn’t remember what an animal was your brain would conjure this vision as the blurry recollection.
PUT PALESTINE BACK ON THE MAP
the virgin loss.jpg versus the chad xkcd Seven Years
Don’t forget the latest version, Ten Years
Look we have records of Medieval Knights crying out in their sleep, having emotional outbursts or flinching at the sound of clashing metal. We have records of people all through history who were treated badly by people who should have loved them, and having problems knowing who to trust. We have years worth of artists putting their human pain at broken hearts and broken promises into music that makes us cry.
Yes people have been traumatized by awful things for all of history and just like them You didn’t deserve to be hurt either.
“suffering doesn’t make you better, it just makes you suffer” - maus
OK WAIT SO IF POC GET STRICTER SENTENCES IN COURT… AND IF WOC ARE MORE AT RISK OF MISCARRIAGE AND GENERAL MALPRACTICE… AND IF SEX EDUCATION IS WORSE IN INNER CITY PUBLIC SCHOOLS… AND IF RACIAL HOUSING DISCRIMINATION IS PRACTICED BY 85% OF REAL ESTATE AGENTS… AND IF SCHOOL DISTRICTS ARE FUNDED VIA PROPERTY TAXES WITHIN EACH DISTRICT… HOLD ON………. WAIT A MINUTE
This is what we mean by systemic racism
Original thread
Sourced report
I think Self Shippers need to kick it up a notch and have Fictional Enemies, make a self insert whose life goal is to beat the shit out of a canon character
This is the the funniest fucking tag I’ve seen on this post yet
In my defence, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.
katara season 3 episode 16: the southern raiders
I was checking out at Walmart, and as I was reaching for my bags I said, “Happy Holidays!” And the cashier leaned in like she was sharing a secret and said “Merry Christmas.” So I smiled politely and said, “Blessed Yule!” And the look that spread across her face, you would have thought I’d literally stolen Christmas from her. If you’re going to make a point of wishing me a happy whatever-you-celebrate, I’m going to make a point of wishing you a happy whatever-I-celebrate, and if you think that’s wrong you should consider getting “hypocrite” tattooed across your forehead.
It’s that time of year again
A post I made has officially become an “it’s that time of year again” post and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t honored
New writing rule: Checkov’s friend
If you introduce a named character with a relationship to a protagonist, their character arc must be resolved in a way that feels reasonable and satisfying
Which is to say: they can’t just dissappear when they’re no longer a convenient plot device
Thor’s Mum rule – If you’re going to kill a character who’s carried any part of the plot, take a bit to reimagine the plot as if she were the main character, and the story ends when she dies. If it’s unsatisfying, rewrite either her plot points, or her death, to make both more meaningful.
Which is to say – don’t treat side characters as ammo with which to hurt your main guy. ESPECIALLY if they’re women.
I’m reblogging because this second part is the best explanation of how I distinguish between fridged characters and other characters who just die.
And yes, it is intrinsically a bit subjective and that’s okay.
