icelandsgirl

[icelandsgirl]

before you ship something stop and ask yourself... Is this otp material? Make sure your characters are:

Obstinate and inflexible in their actions

Terrible for each other in most circumstances

Poor communicators

[icelandsgirl]

Art trade with @herteitr-runar !!

[icelandsgirl]

Denmark-norway

#EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #I LOVE ITTTTTTTTT

[icelandsgirl]

Doodle

[icelandsgirl]

What's the punishment for breaking the laws of physics?

10-15 years in prism.

[icelandsgirl]

in guarani there's a standard greeting that literally translates to "are you happy" (ndevy'apa) and the natural reply is "i'm happy" (avy'a) and as americans learning the language we were so distressed like "but what if we're not happy....." and our teachers were like "that's so not the fucking point"

we kept trying to think of any other way to reply but our teachers kept trying to get it into our brains that it's an idiomatic greeting, it literally is not the time or place to traumadump, and as usamerican english speakers we are not some special exception for saying "what's up" with the reply being "not much" instead of "the ceiling"

but anyway while i was working in paraguay -- the country with the largest population of guarani speakers -- i got sent an article by some friends back home like "look! they're saying that paraguay is the happiest country in the world!"

and the methodology was "we went around and asked paraguayans if they're happy and recorded their responses" and i was like. oh. of course you did. and of course you got a 100% positive response rate.

[icelandsgirl]

More stories from hell (retail) today I was ringing up this lady and she goes oh I want to do part of this on a gift card and the rest on normal card and I go ok and then she hands me a folded piece of paper. I think oh OK it must be folded around the gift card, right? Wrong. It is a folded sheet of 8×11 printer paper with "$40" written on the inside in ballpoint pen. I go what is this. She says a gift card. I say this is not a gift card. She says yes it is. I say this is a piece of paper with "$40" written on it. She says "well it's a gift card." I say it absolutely is not. I am grinding my teeth. She says well I want to use it. I say you physically cannot do that bc it is a piece of paper. I cannot scan or swipe it. I apologize, as if this is my fault, and not because she is completely insane. I hate it here

[icelandsgirl]

[icelandsgirl]

girl we fw you so bad

loud incorrect buzzer

[icelandsgirl]

[icelandsgirl]

I cant believe this tweet is how I find out

[icelandsgirl]

[icelandsgirl]

USA and Australia fit together almost perfectly.

[icelandsgirl]

i hate when i send someone a meme in another language and they're like "uhm... translate? 😒" fucker i sent you a meme where 90% of the words have an english cognate and/or you don't need to know what they're saying to find it funny. can you at least TRY

[icelandsgirl]

the funniest dynamc between my boyfriend and i is the chef/baker divide runs so deep. experimentally my boyfriend is a genius with figuring out what flavor profiles will not just taste good together but also will be enjoyed by the specific audience he is cooking for. a recipe is not a guidebook so much as a suggestion and he will frankenstein ideas together to get exactly what he wants to happen. he also didnt know that sugar will not work properly if you dont mix it with the wet ingredients in banana bread and when i asked 'why didnt you do it in the order of the recipe' he said 'i didnt really think it mattered'. autistically i exploded his head in my mind

[icelandsgirl]

so obs it's ww2 and i really wanted to make it sound chaotic but idk if it sounds ok or not

OK SO

I'm writing a story/book thing idk guys. I finished the first chapter and I wanted to have someone read it over and help me make it better if that's okay??? like specifically looking for criticism please and thank you

Monday, June 15, 1942

It was not supposed to be like this. We were supposed to have eternity together. Tato said we would have forever. That they would never find us. Tato promised me. Tato lied to me.

And I watched in horror as my wonderful father, my Tato, was shot three times in the chest. Three bullets. That is three too many. The soldier grabs my Matka's beautiful hair and pulls her to her knees on the hard pavement. A crowd has gathered to watch. They think we're animals. They find it entertaining. Funny, even. Matka screams and cries, but no one cares. The soldier raises his gun to her temple and fires. Just like that, so easily. In a split second, less than the time it would have taken me to blink, I'm an orphan.

Janek looks over at me. He is not crying. I am not going to cry in front of all these people. I will not cry in front of this Nazi. I will not cry. I will not cry.

I can't breathe. Everything is spinning around me. I can't breathe. Something is lodged in my chest. This time it is not the cold, callous metal of a bullet. It's a burning heat so intense that it blisters my lungs and I can't breathe. It's Zosia. My best friend. I see her in the crowd. Her cold blue eyes stare back at me. She is not crying. I will not cry. She looks away. I refuse. I stare at her until she's forced to look back. And it's evident in her eyes. I know what she's done. She's betrayed me. She's left me to die for what? A salute? A 'prize' of maybe 50 groszy, a reichsmark? A "congratulations, you rattted out the only Jewish family left in Różanka"? I feel as though it's been hours since Matka's limp body hit the ground, spilling her blood onto the sidewalks. Onto the hands of everyone staring, doing nothing.

The soldier grabs my shoulder, jerking me around to face him. I look into his eyes, and behind them, I don't see a human. I see a monster, staring back at me. I puff my chest out and spit at his feet. The crowd hollers and jeers. The soldier is not as amused. He yanks my wrist forward, and I cry out at the pain traveling up my arm, across my shoulder. I stumble towards his pristine military vehicle, not yet caked with the dirt and grime and blood of fallen soldiers like the ones that rolled past my window long ago. I feel like it's been long ago. Two summers. Almost three years. That seems like centuries. I've been stuck in the attic, jammed in between the walls. The walls in the Kaczmarek's house have empty spaces in them, like someone was meant to hide there. So we did. Tato, Matka, Janek, me, Katia. We hid in the walls because we couldn't go back to our house. Everyone knows we used to live there. Everyone knows we're Jewish. Everyone knows we live at the Kaczmarek's, in the walls, so quietly that guests could never tell which wall we were in. No one told on us when the Nazis came round, going door to door and asking people if there were Jews in the area. „Nie.” they'd say. „Nein. Everyone knows there are no Jews in Różanka.”

But there were. They were Jews in Różanka. The Rosenbergs were rich. Pan Rosenberg could afford cyanide. They lived peacefully and they died peacefully. The Shulmans were not so lucky. Pan Chlebek hated Pan Shulman because he was having an affair with Pani Chlebek. He was petty and jealous and he hated the Shulmans. He did a terrible thing that night. He didn't think about it. He didn't sleep on it. He went down to the Gestapo and told them where the Shulmans lived. I will never see the Shulmans again. No one will ever see the Shulmans again. Pan Chlebek killed himself a week later. Matka said that guilt does that to people. It lives in your vein, and every time your heart beats, you feel it flowing through your body. It kills you slowly. Maybe she's right. Or maybe Pan Czajkowski is just a fucking coward. I don't know. I never know.

The solider shoves me into the back of the truck and I hit the floor underneath, my hand breaking my fall. Katia falls in after me, whimpering and crying, snot running down her little face. I bring myself closer to her, dragging myself across the cold metal and wrapping my arms around her. She is too young to know this much suffering and pain. I stroke her hair and hum quietly. Her chest heaves with sobs as she howls in pain. Janek drops to his knees in front of us. He reaches out an unsteady hand and I take it. I see the door slam shut, hear the engine start up, feel us begin to move. And I realise that it is just us. Just us in the back of this truck. Just us all alone in this world. The three Czajka siblings, all alone again. Janek. Anastazja. Katia. The truck rattles down the barely paved road. I almost let myself wonder where we'll go. If the Shulmans will be there. I almost let myself fall into that black abyss of wondering and never knowing. I hold onto Katia's small frame and Janek's gentle hand and let everything else melt away. The soldier screams something in German, but I don't speak German, and it fades into the background, like a bird chirping. A robin, maybe. Or a bluejay. No, no. A lapwing. A beautiful lapwing, looking down at me from the top of the apple tree on the hill. It takes me a moment to notice we've stopped moving. There's a loud slam, and the peaceful bubble I'd put myself in popped, bringing me back into the harsh light of the cruelties of this life. The door to the truck has been opened, the soldier standing behind it.

There are people moving all around. Jews with yellow stars pinned to their shirts. A baby cries, and a little boy thrashes around in the dirt, and a woman stands still in the throng, screaming up to G-d. An officer tells her to 'shut the fuck up' in heavily accented Polish. She turns around and screams the prayer into his face. I remain frozen in my seat as I watch him grab her by her jaw and pull it downwards. She screeches in pain as her jaw disconnects from the rest of her face. I cover Katia's deep green eyes with my hand as the soldier grabs Janek by the collar of his shirt and pulls him out of the vehicle. He motions for us to climb out, so I gently pick Katia up and climb out gingerly, swaying on my feet. I look up to the sky and see a giant sign hanging above us. There is only one word written on it, and though I have never heard it before, I shiver and clutch Katia for dear life. Janek grabs my hand and squeezes. „Sobibór”.

[icelandsgirl]

Hetalia Girls in a dance class

OPENING: So I dance (ballet, contemporary, ballet technique, and pointe) and I have collected a few of the going-ons at my awesome studio. Here goes (Hungary is the teacher, btw)

Hungary: That's not the move we're working on but that was lovely.

Belarus: Yeah, I know.

Taiwan: Oh my God, back up, I need more space. I'm feeling... passionate today. *flails around like a maniac*

Czechia: *instead of warming up* So my dad called me, and he says "Czechia, we need to talk." I was like, uh oh, but he was like, "I know this is going to upset you but me and my girlfriend who is not your mother have broken up," and so I muted my end of the call and was all like, "Yes, let's go!" And then I chilled and was like "Oh, I'm so sorry." And he's like "I know you must be so sad" as I'm happy dancing on the other end of the line.

Ukraine: Okay guys, I'm gonna show you how NOT to do this move. Do NOT get funky with the sways.

Liechtenstein: Actually, this is my bar.

Belarus: Actually, no.

Seychelles: Oh oh oh, it's just like on Dance Moms! Abby Lee! Queen!

Belgium: Can we listen to Taylor Swift please?

Vietnam: I hate Taylor Swift, can we listen to Cannibal Corpse?

Wy: Guys, I'm making a TiKTok.

Seychelles: This move is from Dance Moms!

Belgium: You're turning the other way! Such a silly goo bear!

Taiwan: Okay, I'm the protagonist.

Hungary: Swish your skirts!

Vietnam: *swishes skirt aggresively*

Liechtenstein: Who wants to see my feet?

Seychelles: I hurt my butt.

Wy: Get your honky-donk outta my face!

Ukraine: Don't be a honky-donk!

Hungary: Ladies, we need to work on the dance!

Liechtenstein: What dance?

#Forgotten Posts #I seriously forgot about this one lol #What is this???