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March 22 2018

March 18 2018

probablybadrpgideas:

Do the “One guard always tell the truth, one always lies” puzzle but add

- the guard who tries to lie but messes up and says the truth anyway.
- the guard who tells the truth but in such a smug and condescending way you kind of wanna disbelieve them out of spite
- the guard who only says things that are metaphorically true but literally false
- the guard who only says things that are literally true but metaphorically false
- the guard who lies but while making air quotes with their fingers.
and
-the standard guard who just needed the money and is getting increasingly concerned about their coworkers.

probablybadrpgideas:

Do the “One guard always tell the truth, one always lies” puzzle but add

- the guard who tries to lie but messes up and says the truth anyway.
- the guard who tells the truth but in such a smug and condescending way you kind of wanna disbelieve them out of spite
- the guard who only says things that are metaphorically true but literally false
- the guard who only says things that are literally true but metaphorically false
- the guard who lies but while making air quotes with their fingers.
and
-the standard guard who just needed the money and is getting increasingly concerned about their coworkers.

March 10 2018

nickireadstfc:

YO FOLKS. do you read m/m fanfic? do you fancy women, nonbinary folk, no folk at all - basically anything that isn’t (exclusively) men?

then come take my survey for my term paper!

this only takes 2-3 minutes and will 100% save my grade so help a gal out:

https://ww3.unipark.de/uc/mmfanfiction

(reblogs appreciated!!)

nickireadstfc:

YO FOLKS. do you read m/m fanfic? do you fancy women, nonbinary folk, no folk at all - basically anything that isn’t (exclusively) men?

then come take my survey for my term paper!

this only takes 2-3 minutes and will 100% save my grade so help a gal out:

https://ww3.unipark.de/uc/mmfanfiction

(reblogs appreciated!!)

February 17 2018

luminatress:

The Signs and Their Ingredients

Aries: flames directly from hell, shards of diamonds, the energy of a toddler, and a gallon of caffeine

Taurus: clusters of emerald gemstones, the scent of old books, warm chocolate chip cookies, and silk pajamas

Gemini: wind from a tornado, a pinch of salt, a child’s laughter, and a cup of glitter

Cancer: shimmering tears, the moon’s light, the scent of fresh lavender, and water from an ocean storm

Leo: a Hollywood actresses’ tears, the pride of a lion, the morning sun’s rays, and beaming highlighters

Virgo: freshly roasted coffee, the scent of new books, a bouquet of daisies, and the breeze of a fall afternoon

Libra: a cup of rose petals, a bottle of fruity perfume, creamy frosting, and the voice of Marilyn Monroe

Scorpio: deep rooted secrets, the eyes of a psychic, passion *added for flavor*, and a midnight conversation

Sagittarius: a child’s optimism, a folk song riff, a language not yet known, and the wisdom of a philosopher

Capricorn: the bones of a warrior, a gallon of pessimism, a leader’s authority, and Saturn’s tough, layered rings

Aquarius: an alien’s brain, a tablespoon of star dust, holographic beams, and one mystery flavored airhead

Pisces: melatonin, a cup of cotton candy, the heart of a goddess, and the tears of a siren

luminatress:

The Signs and Their Ingredients

Aries: flames directly from hell, shards of diamonds, the energy of a toddler, and a gallon of caffeine

Taurus: clusters of emerald gemstones, the scent of old books, warm chocolate chip cookies, and silk pajamas

Gemini: wind from a tornado, a pinch of salt, a child’s laughter, and a cup of glitter

Cancer: shimmering tears, the moon’s light, the scent of fresh lavender, and water from an ocean storm

Leo: a Hollywood actresses’ tears, the pride of a lion, the morning sun’s rays, and beaming highlighters

Virgo: freshly roasted coffee, the scent of new books, a bouquet of daisies, and the breeze of a fall afternoon

Libra: a cup of rose petals, a bottle of fruity perfume, creamy frosting, and the voice of Marilyn Monroe

Scorpio: deep rooted secrets, the eyes of a psychic, passion *added for flavor*, and a midnight conversation

Sagittarius: a child’s optimism, a folk song riff, a language not yet known, and the wisdom of a philosopher

Capricorn: the bones of a warrior, a gallon of pessimism, a leader’s authority, and Saturn’s tough, layered rings

Aquarius: an alien’s brain, a tablespoon of star dust, holographic beams, and one mystery flavored airhead

Pisces: melatonin, a cup of cotton candy, the heart of a goddess, and the tears of a siren

January 07 2018

monsieurenjlolras:

13chancess:

push yourself to get up before the rest of the world - start with 7am, then 6am, then 5:30am. go to the nearest hill with a big coat and a scarf and watch the sun rise.

push yourself to fall asleep earlier - start with 11pm, then 10pm, then 9pm. wake up in the morning feeling re-energized and comfortable.

get into the habit of cooking yourself a beautiful breakfast. fry tomatoes and mushrooms in real butter and garlic, fry an egg, slice up a fresh avocado and squirt way too much lemon on it. sit and eat it and do nothing else.

stretch. start by reaching for the sky as hard as you can, then trying to touch your toes. roll your head. stretch your fingers. stretch everything.

buy a 1L water bottle. start with pushing yourself to drink the whole thing in a day, then try drinking it twice.

buy a beautiful diary and a beautiful black pen. write down everything you do, including dinner dates, appointments, assignments, coffees, what you need to do that day. no detail is too small.

strip your bed of your sheets and empty your underwear draw into the washing machine. put a massive scoop of scented fabric softener in there and wash. make your bed in full.

organise your room. fold all your clothes (and bag what you don’t want), clean your mirror, your laptop, vacuum the floor. light a beautiful candle.

have a luxurious shower with your favourite music playing. wash your hair, scrub your body, brush your teeth. lather your whole body in moisturiser, get familiar with the part between your toes, your inner thighs, the back of your neck.

push yourself to go for a walk. take your headphones, go to the beach and walk. smile at strangers walking the other way and be surprised how many smile back. bring your dog and observe the dog’s behaviour. realise you can learn from your dog.

message old friends with personal jokes. reminisce. suggest a catch up soon, even if you don’t follow through. push yourself to follow through.

think long and hard about what interests you. crime? sex? boarding school? long-forgotten romance etiquette? find a book about it and read it. there is a book about literally everything.

become the person you would ideally fall in love with. let cars merge into your lane when driving. pay double for parking tickets and leave a second one in the machine. stick your tongue out at babies. compliment people on their cute clothes. challenge yourself to not ridicule anyone for a whole day. then two. then a week. walk with a straight posture. look people in the eye. ask people about their story. talk to acquaintances so they become friends.

lie in the sunshine. daydream about the life you would lead if failure wasn’t a thing. open your eyes. take small steps to make it happen for you.

This is all really good advice for dealing with long term depression and anxiety. It’s not gonna magically cure you, but I’ve pushed myself to incorporate a few of these things into my day to day routine and it helps

This stuff sounds like it would make everything happier and more relaxed. Gotta try some of it.

monsieurenjlolras:

13chancess:

push yourself to get up before the rest of the world - start with 7am, then 6am, then 5:30am. go to the nearest hill with a big coat and a scarf and watch the sun rise.

push yourself to fall asleep earlier - start with 11pm, then 10pm, then 9pm. wake up in the morning feeling re-energized and comfortable.

get into the habit of cooking yourself a beautiful breakfast. fry tomatoes and mushrooms in real butter and garlic, fry an egg, slice up a fresh avocado and squirt way too much lemon on it. sit and eat it and do nothing else.

stretch. start by reaching for the sky as hard as you can, then trying to touch your toes. roll your head. stretch your fingers. stretch everything.

buy a 1L water bottle. start with pushing yourself to drink the whole thing in a day, then try drinking it twice.

buy a beautiful diary and a beautiful black pen. write down everything you do, including dinner dates, appointments, assignments, coffees, what you need to do that day. no detail is too small.

strip your bed of your sheets and empty your underwear draw into the washing machine. put a massive scoop of scented fabric softener in there and wash. make your bed in full.

organise your room. fold all your clothes (and bag what you don’t want), clean your mirror, your laptop, vacuum the floor. light a beautiful candle.

have a luxurious shower with your favourite music playing. wash your hair, scrub your body, brush your teeth. lather your whole body in moisturiser, get familiar with the part between your toes, your inner thighs, the back of your neck.

push yourself to go for a walk. take your headphones, go to the beach and walk. smile at strangers walking the other way and be surprised how many smile back. bring your dog and observe the dog’s behaviour. realise you can learn from your dog.

message old friends with personal jokes. reminisce. suggest a catch up soon, even if you don’t follow through. push yourself to follow through.

think long and hard about what interests you. crime? sex? boarding school? long-forgotten romance etiquette? find a book about it and read it. there is a book about literally everything.

become the person you would ideally fall in love with. let cars merge into your lane when driving. pay double for parking tickets and leave a second one in the machine. stick your tongue out at babies. compliment people on their cute clothes. challenge yourself to not ridicule anyone for a whole day. then two. then a week. walk with a straight posture. look people in the eye. ask people about their story. talk to acquaintances so they become friends.

lie in the sunshine. daydream about the life you would lead if failure wasn’t a thing. open your eyes. take small steps to make it happen for you.

This is all really good advice for dealing with long term depression and anxiety. It’s not gonna magically cure you, but I’ve pushed myself to incorporate a few of these things into my day to day routine and it helps

This stuff sounds like it would make everything happier and more relaxed. Gotta try some of it.

January 06 2018

Apartment hacks masterpost

bonduelle:

Kitchen

Cleaning

Looking for a flat/moving

Organisation, storage

Decluttering

Decorating

Season-specific tips

Green thumb 101

Living alone / Sharing a flat

And also how to turn a house into a home

Apartment hacks masterpost

bonduelle:

Kitchen

Cleaning

Looking for a flat/moving

Organisation, storage

Decluttering

Decorating

Season-specific tips

Green thumb 101

Living alone / Sharing a flat

And also how to turn a house into a home

thetiredpianist:

farrentalon:

young-il-long-kiyoshi:

cryoverkiltmilk:

squeeful:

ineptshieldmaid:

marzipanandminutiae:

feels-for-the-fictional:

satanpositive:

Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

I have been waiting for this post all my life.

They are indeed purple,
But one thing you’ve missed:
The concept of “purple”
Didn’t always exist.

Some cultures lack names
For a color, you see.
Hence good old Homer
And his “wine-dark sea.”

A usage so quaint,
A phrasing so old,
For verses of romance
Is sheer fucking gold.

So roses are red.
Violets once were called blue.
I’m hugely pedantic
But what else is new?

My friend you’re not wrong
About Homer’s wine-ey sea!
Colours are a matter
Of cultural contingency;

Words are in flux
And meanings they drift
But the word purple
You’ve given short shrift.

The concept of purple,
My friends, is old
And refers to a pigment
once precious as gold.

By crushing up molluscs
From the wine-dark sea
You make a dye:
Imperial decree

Meant that in Rome,
to wear purpura
was a privilege reserved

For only the emperor!

The word ‘purple’,
for clothes so fancy,
Entered English
By the ninth century

.

Why then are voilets
Not purple in song?
The dye from this mollusc,
known for so long

Is almost magenta;
More red than blue.
The concept of purple
is old, and yet new.

The dye is red,
So this might be true:
Roses are purple
And violets are blue

.

While this song makes me merry,
Tyrian purple dyes many a hue
From magenta to berry
And a true purple too.


But fun as it is to watch this poetic race
The answer is staring you right in the face:
Roses are red and violets are blue
Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.

IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER.

My reaction, only with coffee.

Hang on, need to send this to my literature prof

thetiredpianist:

farrentalon:

young-il-long-kiyoshi:

cryoverkiltmilk:

squeeful:

ineptshieldmaid:

marzipanandminutiae:

feels-for-the-fictional:

satanpositive:

Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

I have been waiting for this post all my life.

They are indeed purple,
But one thing you’ve missed:
The concept of “purple”
Didn’t always exist.

Some cultures lack names
For a color, you see.
Hence good old Homer
And his “wine-dark sea.”

A usage so quaint,
A phrasing so old,
For verses of romance
Is sheer fucking gold.

So roses are red.
Violets once were called blue.
I’m hugely pedantic
But what else is new?

My friend you’re not wrong
About Homer’s wine-ey sea!
Colours are a matter
Of cultural contingency;

Words are in flux
And meanings they drift
But the word purple
You’ve given short shrift.

The concept of purple,
My friends, is old
And refers to a pigment
once precious as gold.

By crushing up molluscs
From the wine-dark sea
You make a dye:
Imperial decree

Meant that in Rome,
to wear purpura
was a privilege reserved

For only the emperor!

The word ‘purple’,
for clothes so fancy,
Entered English
By the ninth century

.

Why then are voilets
Not purple in song?
The dye from this mollusc,
known for so long

Is almost magenta;
More red than blue.
The concept of purple
is old, and yet new.

The dye is red,
So this might be true:
Roses are purple
And violets are blue

.

While this song makes me merry,
Tyrian purple dyes many a hue
From magenta to berry
And a true purple too.


But fun as it is to watch this poetic race
The answer is staring you right in the face:
Roses are red and violets are blue
Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.

IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER.

My reaction, only with coffee.

Hang on, need to send this to my literature prof

January 05 2018

chickpeabb:

toianna-is-a-bell:

icecream-eaterrr:

moncherrie:

moncherrie:

i wasn’t expecting the dance, this is so cute!!

the song is jay park - all i wanna do

What in the hell

WHAT

Aw

chickpeabb:

toianna-is-a-bell:

icecream-eaterrr:

moncherrie:

moncherrie:

i wasn’t expecting the dance, this is so cute!!

the song is jay park - all i wanna do

What in the hell

WHAT

Aw

December 29 2017

alloverthegaf:

even-and-auds:

alloverthegaf:

Seduce me with hilariously awkward stories from your life

Oh have I got one for you.

So, I grew up in a financially strapped household with lots of kids. So we were always buying in bulk. Cheap bulk. It lead to us getting things like this, a 6 lb can of cheap peanut butter:

image

Now, we’d always had this in the house since a main staple was PB toast, PB sandwich (no J sometimes cause we didn’t have it) and just spoonfuls of PB to help with acid reflux, sore throats, quick snack or just a way to keep 4 hyperactive kids quiet for a few minutes in the same manner of watching a dog lick the roof of it’s mouth for a while after giving it a glob of the PB.

Ever since I was about 6 or 8, I’ve always had a certain urge every time I saw a brand new can of this opened (Which was roughly once every two months) and that was to just shove my whole arm into the can. At that age, it would have easily gone up to my elbow. I don’t know why I felt this urge, but I did. Luckily, I suppressed it….Until I was 14.

I’m 14, home alone after school and making some PB toast for a snack when lo and behold…I get to peel open a brand spanking new can and mar up that perfectly smooth surface. This was a rare occurrence and I wanted to savor it. What would I write in it with the knife for the next person to find? Do I try to carve something into it? Then I remembered my childhood urge of wanting to just shove my arm into it.

I do it. I don’t point my fingers to make it easy, no, it’s open palm hand print with fingers splayed as I shove my hand into a cardboard can full of 6 lbs of PB and it is glorious. I didn’t care that physics dictates that stuff and mass means that PB was being pushed up and out. It was fairly viscous and stuck mostly to my exposed arm. I got almost all of my forearm in this and wiggled my fingers. I pulled my arm out and looked at the massive blob of PB and giggled thinking of the old classic movie “The Blob”. I didn’t use a knife and just rubbed the toast on my PB gauntlet and that’s when I heard it…

A key unlocking the front door.

OH SHIT. I was scrambling to get my hand back in the can to scrape off the mass of peanut butter and clean up this mess. I don’t register the multiple voices until I hear my mom call my name and I look up. She was standing there with her friends that she had invited over looking at her eldest and first born, 14 year old, 3.5 GPA rocking daughter trying to scrape 6 lbs of PB off her arm and into a can. 

There was no talking my way out of this or explaining any of it. We stared at each other for what must have been a solid minute before she just guided her friends out of the kitchen and left me to finish cleaning up my mess.

We stopped buying the 6lb cans of peanut butter after that.

WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS ONE EARLIER

alloverthegaf:

even-and-auds:

alloverthegaf:

Seduce me with hilariously awkward stories from your life

Oh have I got one for you.

So, I grew up in a financially strapped household with lots of kids. So we were always buying in bulk. Cheap bulk. It lead to us getting things like this, a 6 lb can of cheap peanut butter:

image

Now, we’d always had this in the house since a main staple was PB toast, PB sandwich (no J sometimes cause we didn’t have it) and just spoonfuls of PB to help with acid reflux, sore throats, quick snack or just a way to keep 4 hyperactive kids quiet for a few minutes in the same manner of watching a dog lick the roof of it’s mouth for a while after giving it a glob of the PB.

Ever since I was about 6 or 8, I’ve always had a certain urge every time I saw a brand new can of this opened (Which was roughly once every two months) and that was to just shove my whole arm into the can. At that age, it would have easily gone up to my elbow. I don’t know why I felt this urge, but I did. Luckily, I suppressed it….Until I was 14.

I’m 14, home alone after school and making some PB toast for a snack when lo and behold…I get to peel open a brand spanking new can and mar up that perfectly smooth surface. This was a rare occurrence and I wanted to savor it. What would I write in it with the knife for the next person to find? Do I try to carve something into it? Then I remembered my childhood urge of wanting to just shove my arm into it.

I do it. I don’t point my fingers to make it easy, no, it’s open palm hand print with fingers splayed as I shove my hand into a cardboard can full of 6 lbs of PB and it is glorious. I didn’t care that physics dictates that stuff and mass means that PB was being pushed up and out. It was fairly viscous and stuck mostly to my exposed arm. I got almost all of my forearm in this and wiggled my fingers. I pulled my arm out and looked at the massive blob of PB and giggled thinking of the old classic movie “The Blob”. I didn’t use a knife and just rubbed the toast on my PB gauntlet and that’s when I heard it…

A key unlocking the front door.

OH SHIT. I was scrambling to get my hand back in the can to scrape off the mass of peanut butter and clean up this mess. I don’t register the multiple voices until I hear my mom call my name and I look up. She was standing there with her friends that she had invited over looking at her eldest and first born, 14 year old, 3.5 GPA rocking daughter trying to scrape 6 lbs of PB off her arm and into a can. 

There was no talking my way out of this or explaining any of it. We stared at each other for what must have been a solid minute before she just guided her friends out of the kitchen and left me to finish cleaning up my mess.

We stopped buying the 6lb cans of peanut butter after that.

WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS ONE EARLIER

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