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#[ I hope this makes sense... ]
stil-lindigo · 5 months
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frankly, the people whose kneejerk reaction to bisan asking for a global strike form the 21st-28th is to say that it takes years to organize a general strike are really unhelpful! no one is saying otherwise, but palestine will be a smoking crater if we all wait for years to do anything - bisan is asking us to do something now. Like are we only supposed to do something if we can do it perfectly??? At some point it’s a valid critique about the work that goes into social movement, and at another point I feel like some people are just trying to absolve themselves from not putting any effort into observing a week of economic inaction.
like idk! I get it, okay! People have bills to pay that don’t magically go away for a strike, we don’t have nearly enough social infrastructure in place to support people to fully stop going to work for a week. But fuck, dude! Stop immediately responding in such a defeatist way! Cut out unnecessary purchases! Try to shop local! Put more effort into promoting Palestinian voices online! Attend a protest, call a local rep, do something!
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spibder · 5 months
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made some lil sticker designs of fnaf movie human/animatronic duos :3c they r on my redbubble if u wanna stick em anywhere lols
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its-tortle · 4 months
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— taylor swift albums as months of the year —
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neon-ghost04 · 3 months
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“Husk didn’t fall for Angel Dust he fell for Anthony”
NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HUSK FELL FOR ANGEL DUST AND ANTHONY; THE PORNSTAR, THE CRACKHEAD, THE GUY STAYING AT A HOTEL FOR REDEMPTION, THE GUY WHO LOVES HIS PET PIG, THE GUY WHOS GOOD WITH A GUN, THE LOSER, THE GUY WHO CARES ABOUT HIS FRIENDS, THE GUY WHO LET HIS WALLS DOWN
He fell for all that Angel Dust is, and he fucking fell hard
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verflares · 9 days
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(draconifies your zelink) oh whoops lol
+ an extra pic of em hanging out together :]
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Something I really love about tumblr is that when I say in real life that "yeah I'm writing" or "actually, I wanted to write tonight" or "- in the thing I'm writing, I---", this is somehow a wild piece of information about me as a human being. Which, not to diss on people for showing genuine human interest but I keep forgetting that not everyone has a project. People irl will be like "Oh you are writing? Wow what are you writing about! What are you planning to do with it! Can I read it?"
Now, here on tumblr, it feels like everyone has a "writing" or at least it is normalised enough not to warrant a question. Yes, your writing, I get it. The "wip". The elusive "project" you are working on. Of course you're writing. That's just behaviour. We all do our daily little writing if we are not procrastinating our daily little writing and complain about our procrastinating, Doesn't require elaboration. You can easily never bring up your writing again after first mentioning that you are "writing" because no one is dumb-founded by learning this fact about you - or you can skip the basic "yes, I'm writing, no it's for fun, yes it is a story, yes fiction, yes I enjoy writing' - and delve head-first into the entire psychological depth and tell me all about your symbolism etc.
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skyberia · 1 year
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on the agency of puppets
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ekko-idk · 1 month
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Laios: people are hard to understand... There's way too many social rules to follow, popular conversation topics, eye contact, etc. They also rarely say what they mean and often they say the opposite, so much so that misunderstandings happen regularly.. Monsters are predictable animals with a set of rules and precautions you can follow to either tame or defeat them. if you know what to do, they're very easy to deal with!
Kabru: monsters are wild creatures with jerky unpredictable movements.. Their attitude can change in a second and if you don't have an insane amount of knowledge about them they can be, and often are, very dangerous. Human cultures often have strict and easy to follow rules that depend on certain communication strategies that are somewhat agreed upon universally. People no matter of background also react the same to many things (smiling, frowning, pupil dilation, etc.). if you know what to do, they're very easy to deal with!
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teddylou · 2 months
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so. roommate’s cat likes being on top of the fridge. and usually he goes floor>counter>fridge, but sometimes he will attempt the floor>fridge shortcut. but he misses and this happens
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there’s a cork board that somehow supports his weight until one of us scoops him (or he falls)
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somnimagus · 7 months
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My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.
[id in alt text]
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"The Remnant Collector"
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"the remnant what"
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"the"
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poopystain · 1 month
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uhhhhmm
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inkskinned · 1 year
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for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.
i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.
in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.
the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.
i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.
i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.
i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.
the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.
when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.
we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.
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idontwikeit · 6 months
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Ask a historian, “What was mankind’s greatest invention?” Fire? The wheel? The sword? I would argue it’s history itself. History isn’t fact. It’s narrative, one carefully curated and shaped. Under the pen strokes of the right scribe, a villain becomes a hero, a lie becomes the truth.
-Gaal Dornick, Foundation
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pucksandpower · 2 months
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Waking up to see Damon Hill criticizing Charles Leclerc for being too “emotional” and “depressed” because his teammate beat him in Suzuka of all places really just rubs me the wrong way.
This is the same driver who went out and won the F2 feature race in Baku barely four days after his father died.
This is the same driver who went out and won his first F1 race in Spa barely a day after his close friend was killed.
How dare anyone question his mental health, especially so callously.
Charles’ grief is not a tool for pundits to exploit. Charles’ performance in free practice and qualifying has nothing to do with his emotions and everything to do with motricity issues with the car as well as track evolution.
I will try to give Hill the benefit of the doubt about not realizing the implications of his words but the way he has repeatedly and hypocritically held Charles to ridiculous double standards needs to stop.
We were told that Charles needs to “assert himself more” but when he did so over the radio towards the end of FP3, he is “emotional,” “agitated,” and he “vents.”
What do you want from him then?
Sky Sports F1 is a huge media platform and words have far-reaching consequences.
Commentators are literally paid to think before they speak … let’s see that in action for once.
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zephyrchama · 26 days
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(obey me!) moments where they fall in love with you all over again
---01
It’s dinner, and you’re talking about mundane things that happened during your day. You saw a cool bird, got some gum stuck on your shoe, and bought a new flavor of toothpaste to try. Everyone is listening intently. If only they would pay this much attention in class.
Lucifer knows the way his brothers look at you all too well. It’s a look full of respect, admiration, and fondness. It’s a look that’s often reflected on his own face when in your presence. At first he never really understood why you put up with his siblings, as the option to ignore them and be on your way was always there. Yet you continue to make time for them anyway. How unusual.
Moments like these where everyone is together and you don’t treat them as the Seven Rulers of Hell, you just treat them as your dear friends and family. That’s what makes Lucifer soft. He tries to imagine a long future of things staying just like this.
---02
Mammon’s hesitant to lend anybody money, even you. It takes a few minutes to butter him up and fluff his ego before he relents. At last, he hands you the crispest bill in his wallet. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he kids, knowing full well he’d do just that if he was in your shoes.
He’s curious what you plan to buy. It never dawns on him that you have no intention of spending the cash. Half an hour later, he finds it on his desk. The exact same bill, now creased and folded neatly into an origami bird.
He picks it up to wiggle the little paper wings, entranced, then looks around frantically and catches your eye. A playful smile graces your face and tugs at his heartstrings.
---03
Leviathan is not typically one to make mistakes when it comes to anime. But even he’s not perfect.
He had it set in his mind that the new show premiered at 6:00pm, which left plenty of time to prepare the ultimate solo viewing party after school. He was humming quietly to himself when you walked over. “Isn’t your show starting soon?”
You specifically took an interest in his hobbies. You remembered that it started at 16:00 (four o’clock), not 6:00. Leviathan wondered, how could he make such a egregious mistake? You were the one who dashed back to the House of Lamentation at full speed by his side. When your human stamina started failing, he unconsciously picked you up so you’d both make it in time. You made it with two minutes to spare.
Sweaty and out of breath, still in uniform, you were able to watch the premiere together. It wasn’t until after credits rolled, you went elsewhere, and the live reactions on social media started calming down that Levi realized what a big deal this was to him. What a big deal you were to him.
---04
Satan wasn’t expecting you to be spacing out in his favorite armchair. He had plans to read in it that evening, and considered asking you politely to move. But the way the lamp light shines on your skin, the thoughtful expression on your face while pondering ideas unknown. The way your lips part ever so slightly and your eyes gaze off into nothing. It captivates him. You look like a painting. His breath gets caught in his throat, and in clearing it he manages to break your trance.
“Oh, hey. Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were there.”
You go to get out of the chair, but Satan insists you stay. It doesn’t look right without you anymore. He doesn’t feel right without you anymore.
---05
Asmodeus does not have wardrobe malfunctions often. His outfits are of the highest quality and a lot of care goes into putting them on. Still, things happen.
When his fans rush forward out of nowhere, sometimes they are successful in tearing his clothes. A fistful of shirt here, a mouthful of pants-leg there. Being in the center of a lust-fueled stampede can make even the most collected people lose their minds, but you are steadfast. You shout at the rabid demons, shaming them for their disrespect. You believe you can chase them off all on your own, not knowing that the Avatar of Lust behind you is exuding a killer aura and warning his fans to back off with a powerful glare.
As you sloppily stitch up what remains of his shirt so he can walk home without the incident repeating, Asmodeus is smiling from ear to ear. You’re so focused on genuinely helping that you don’t even notice the bedroom eyes he’s flashing. The scene of you waving your arms and trying to chase off a pack of demons as if they were stray pigeons is permanently ingrained in his memory. Just as your existence is ingrained in his soul.
---06
Beelzebub knows what he likes. He knows what will catch his interest and is pleasantly surprised when a new one crops up.
One thing he likes is you. Another is food. Both are in the cafeteria. He piles a tray high with carbs and goes looking for you at lunch time, finding you seated in the middle of a long table at the edge of the room. He calls your name.
It’s unexpected, the way you quickly swing your head up mid-bite. Your cheeks are full and noodles dangle from your mouth, sauce dripping back onto your plate. Your eyes light up as you look at him from below. It makes him stop in his tracks, causing several shorter demons to walk into him. Such a simple action, yet so profound. You hurriedly chew and offer him a seat while Beelzebub powers through his emotions. He takes a seat across from you to offer a napkin, wondering when he’ll see that face again.
---07
It’s late, far past everyone’s bedtime. Yet Belphegor forgot to tell you something during the day and decided now would be a great time. When you don’t respond to the quiet knocks at your door, he lets himself inside. Your sleeping figure looks too comforting to resist and he gets the brilliant idea to crawl into bed with you to whisper in your ear.
The problem is, as soon as he lifts the covers, you fart. It’s loud. You don’t move an inch, remaining fast asleep and ignorant of what just happened.
Belphegor freezes in his tracks to process it, but is soon doubled over on the futon laughing. The vibrations wake you. You sleepily open your eyes to see who is in hysterics and ask the obvious: “what?”
Belphegor is laughing too hard to tell you. He doesn’t want to tell you. It’s too priceless. You groggily smack him with a spare pillow and it makes him laugh harder. While he loves to look at you, that week it becomes difficult for him to meet your eyes without erupting into a fit of giggles.
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