All humans have magical powers, but no Mana to make use of it
this would make some choice realistic fiction
You should write it.
Anonymous asked: whoOoOo tattOO is this ur first tat???
It is! It’s not big, just a couple lines of text under my collarbone, but the quote means a lot to me and I love it!
We need to show support for them/us.
Never hit reblog so fast.
(Source: janes-gang, via caniplaywithyourorgans)
I can’t do justice to one of the weirdest camp stories I know. My friend tells it so well, and I can offer only a pale shadow of his story.
Last summer, he was working with one of the younger units comprised of ten year old boys. They had spent the night camping on another beach and were just readying themselves to depart. “Make sure you have all your things!” called my friend. “Don’t leave anything behind!”
One small boy came up, dragging a massive tangle of decomposing seaweed behind him. “But… what about me boy?” he asked, lip trembling.
“…what is ‘me boy’?”
The child held up the stinking wad of bull kelp. “This is him. This is Me Boy.”
“Me Boy is not coming back with us,” said his counselor. “You’re going to leave Me Boy behind on the beach where he belongs.”
The campers loudly mourned the loss of Me Boy. They insisted on giving him a Viking burial at sea, which just consisted of pushing him solemnly off the back of the rowboat into the water and watching him drift away in the surf.
That was only the beginning. Me Boy would be back.
The campers, in true camp fashion, possessed some kind of cultic hive-mind and a predisposition for bizarre memes. Me Boy would not be forgotten. They started telling each other stories about Me Boy and how he would one day rise again. There were warring factions with contradicting dogmas about Me Boy. Only when the gardener allowed them to take home a zucchini she had harvested did they find their god, born anew.
Me Boy, The Zucchini That Was A God, became the whole unit’s mascot. The kids would bicker over who got to carry him. They built nests and carriers for Me Boy and brought him to different activities, fiercely defending him from those that would do him harm. One child appointed himself the Voice of Me Boy and would translate the zucchini’s divine wishes into human speech.
It got out of hand. Me Boy had become a distraction, a fixation, a violent controversy. Something had to be done.
My friend, their counselor, took it upon himself to kill Me Boy. The children wailed in despair as he chopped their God into refreshing slices. With this sudden turn of fortune, followers of Me Boy turned to theophagy. “We must eat him to preserve his power!” they cried. Boys who would otherwise never have touched a vegetable ate greedily of this sacrament, eager to let Me Boy live on within them.
For a time, it seemed that peace and order had been restored, and the religion had already faded into its silver age. But only for a time.
In the last few days of camp, the religion of Me Boy splintered into several denominations. Every meal yielded new vegetable matter said to be a reincarnation of Me Boy, only for opposing groups to dismiss these as false prophets. Some believed that Me Boy was gone. Others believed his spirit lived on, intangible, omnipresent. Some believed he had found a new vessel inside a carrot, a pear, a slice of cantaloupe… even inside a child. There was chaos, and strife, and heartbreak without the guidance of Me Boy.
The tags on this post are very polarized. Half of them are “#I’m glad I never went to camp” and “#reasons why I never want kids”, the other half are “#BOY I LOVE CHILDREN CAMP IS SO GOOD AMIRIGHT?”
(via bonehandledknife)
the past 6 months of american politics have been like watergate, the army-mccarthy hearings, and a particularly bad season of house of cards rolled into one, every morning i wake up and check my phone prepared for a nyt news alert that jared kushner killed archduke ferdinand and trump is invading poland
this is the clearest assessment i’ve read so far
(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
Anonymous asked: Dear God. Hamilton and Jefferson in an econ class together with history on Hamilton's side. That is simultaneously the best and worst thing ever. Ham's ego able would cause most of the students to just say fuck it. I love it 🤣
GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT.
Honestly I’ve been planning for the two of them to be stuck in an Econ class together since the get-go. On the one hand, the other students kind of need to know their shit in order to be able to keep up, so the people who stick it out probably Know Economics. On the other hand…oh, God, that poor grad student.
SWEET GIRL, Death sighs, sliding through the motionless candle flames of the cave. The Slayer is weeping into her hands, horrible ripping sounds as she stands with the water of the pool lapping at her feet. She is dressed all in white, and so is Death, and they could be twins. The Slayer is still afraid of Death, this time.
“Please,” the Slayer gasps. “Please, I don’t want to go.”
Death smiles. DO NOT BE AFRAID OF ME, MY DEAR. WE ARE MUCH ALIKE, YOU AND I. AND BESIDES, Death soothes her, IT IS NOT YOUR TIME YET.
“Thank you,” the Slayer sobs, and Death rests a bone-pale hand on her shoulder to press her back into the body in the pool.
***
The next time, it’s been a few years, and the Slayer–the Slayer, Death always thinks of her as such, even though there have been two, one passed through Death’s own hands and the other very close now, since last time–isn’t afraid of Death anymore. They are allies, even friends, well-known and often met in the course of the Slayer’s duties. Almost twins. She’s not dressed in white, she’s dressed in her own blood and vindication and hospital paper, and she’s sitting on the foot of a hospital bed.
DEAREST, Death croons, sitting down next to her and stroking her hair with a hand while she lets her fingers hover just above the hand of the body in the bed. She cannot touch the body, but Death can offer her this little comfort.
“I can’t die,” the Slayer says, looking at the unhealthily white skin of the body in the bed. Even the golden hair looks washed out. “The Ascension is tomorrow and I have to be there. And–and, God, he’ll never forgive himself. It’ll kill him if I die from this.”
I HAVE MET LIAM MORE THAN ONCE, Death says, somewhat disapproving. HE WAS RATHER QUESTIONABLE THAT FIRST TIME.
The Slayer almost smiles, but tears break over her lashes instead. “I’ve heard.”
Death allows, HE HAS IMPROVED TREMENDOUSLY. THE LAST TIME– Death stops, and the Slayer’s shoulders are stiff as stone under the thin paper of the hospital gown. HE IS A GOOD MAN, Death finishes.
“Yeah,” the Slayer sniffs. “Try telling him that.” She raises her head and looks back to Death from the body in the bed. “That’s why I won’t die here,” the Slayer says, iron-clad. “You can’t take me from him. Even if he’s going–even if he’s going to leave me. And the Ascension…you can’t take me. I won’t go.”
Death laughs. ALMOST I BELIEVE YOU COULD STOP ME, DEAR GIRL. BUT DO NOT WORRY. THIS WILL BE NO BATTLE. IT IS NOT YOUR TIME YET. And Death presses her back into the body, and the Slayer clutches gratefully at Death’s wrist before she goes.
***
It is longer, before the next time, and this time the Slayer does not resist, throws herself weeping into Death’s arms and lets herself be held close to the thin body under the white cloth, and buries her tears in Death’s neck.
DEAREST CHILD, Death whispers into her golden hair, YOU HAVE FOUGHT FOR SO LONG. COME WITH ME, AND YOU CAN REST.
***
Death has never considered mutiny before, but seeing the Slayer torn back into life almost brings it to mind.
***
They meet again, and again, for years. It is not frequent, but it is not infrequent either, the Slayer brought close to Death’s hands more than once by her burden. The Slayer doesn’t stare at the body anymore, sits at peace and smiles when she sees Death, and they talk like old friends, like family long parted.
“How is Tara? How is Jenny? Tell me about Cordy, is she doing all right? Did you see my mother, is she okay? How is your work? Is it my time?” The Slayer asks her questions like there’s nothing to fear, and Death tries to keep a mental list, tries to check up on all her loved ones so that the Slayer can be assured of their wellbeing. The Slayer’s list of loved ones is long. Death hates to have to tell her, when the soul of Liam has passed through Death’s hands again, and always makes sure to let her know when it is restored.
LOVE, Death says quietly, every time, at the end of their talk, DO YOU WANT TO REST?
“No rest for the wicked, didn’t you hear?” This is always the only time that the Slayer’s eyes glisten, her lips tremble. “I still have so much to do.”
LET THE OTHERS DO IT, DEARHEART.
“Maybe next time,” the Slayer says, looking away, as ever, to hide the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks. “Maybe next time I’ll rest.”
Death takes her face in bone-pale hands and kisses her forehead, a benediction. They are almost twins. YOU ARE THE BRAVEST OF YOUR KIND, SWEET GIRL. And Death presses the Slayer back into her body
Anonymous asked: Keith (VLD) for the headcanon meme?
For this headcanon meme!
A: what I think realistically
Listen, I see and appreciate the hell out of the general headcanon that Lance has ADHD, but I propose ADHD Keith? Like, hear me out here. Fixated on aliens for his whole life, hyperfocused when he’s flying (pros in battle: very hard to shake him up; cons in battle: he doesn’t always react emotionally when or how he’s supposed to, which can be rough on the others during a merge), prickly around most people but also v e r y attached to His People, and that specific combination of “intense emotions that can burst out at unpredictable times” and “extremely controlled emotions when under pressure” tbh all of it just kind of reads ADHD to me. Possibly because I myself have ADHD and am basically just like this terrible sword boy. Especially the look on his face after he dumps a massive amount of information about his aliens theory at the start of the first episode–it just screams ‘fuck fuck fuck someone please shut me up I can’t stop talking and I can feel you getting annoyed with me’ which, like, same.
Unrelatedly, I feel like Keith knows how to pickpocket people and hotwire most vehicles. He knows how to knife fight and he lives in a shack with no apparent form of income, and he definitely stole that hoverbike in the first episode. He has some Weird Life Skills. At some point I expect this to become pertinent in the show with Keith boosting a spaceship.
B: what I think is fucking hilarious
Keith scores a solid C in Emotions generally, but more specifically he just fucking sucks at noticing when someone’s interested in him. Like, in terms of friendship and romance and/or sex, he just won’t notice. He and Shiro were hanging out on the regular in their big brother/little brother relationship for solidly eight months before Keith looked up from a book and went “Wait, we’re friends” and Shiro was like “…yes?”
This is pertinent because Lance, within Not Too Long, realizes that he’s actually pretty into Keith (he’s horrified, they are rivals, he can’t have a crush on Keith). Once Hunk and Pidge–mostly Hunk, because Lance burst into the kitchen yelling ‘SOS’ and once they got him to explain, Pidge laughed so hard they gave themself a black eye on a table corner–talk Lance down off the ceiling, he spends a while waiting for his feelings to go away and then goes back to hitting on Keith casually at every opportunity, but With Intent this time. Keith, on the other hand, spends months being confused and distressed about the unidentifiable physical sensations that being around Lance causes and that all translates straight into Prickly Mode. Two conversations that happen within days of each other are:
> Lance telling Hunk, entirely depressed, that he just really thinks Keith hates him? Like, clearly he has no shot there. And Hunk is a good friend and they lie on the floor while he listens to Lance go on at length about Keith.
> Shiro sitting Keith down and asking what’s wrong and listening to Keith’s mildly panicky outburst about how he DOES NOT UNDERSTAND what’s going on with him and he feels bad for lashing out at Lance but he can’t??? Stop??? And Shiro is just like “Oh my god Keith you’re into him, you’re fucking into him and people on the other side of the star system know he’s into you, just fucking kiss him and see what happens.”
No one is more confused than Lance when Keith corners him alone and goes “I’m going to try something and if it’s a disaster blame Shiro” and walks up to Lance like he’s a wild animal and just. Fucking plants one on him.
Anyway, thesis statement: Keith is a failure, and Lance is a disaster, and Shiro and Hunk deserve plaques, and Pidge gets nothing because they believe that getting front row seats to this mess is it’s own reward.
C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends
Keith has always wanted answers about the mysteries of the world, but not like this. He has never been so bone-deep sickened as he is when he’s told that he’s not human, he’s Galra, he’s one of the monsters fighting to put the universe under a boot heel. On that shuttle trip back to the Castle, Keith locks himself in the bathroom and sits on the floor until he feels like he can open his mouth without hyperventilating or vomiting or both, and Shiro has to coax him out.
“Come on, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, once he’s gotten Keith to unlock the door. He wraps his flesh and blood arm around Keith’s shoulders as a support, and Keith dimly thinks about how Shiro tries to touch them with the Galra arm as rarely as possible. He gets it, now. “Come on, Keith, let’s go. We should be at the Castle soon, it’ll be okay.”
“No, I–no, I can’t,” Keith says, digging in his heels. Shiro is easily strong enough to move him by force, but he doesn’t, lets Keith press back against the wall again and makes a soothing sound under his breath. “I can’t,” he says again.
“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro says, and his voice is low and soft and calm, soothing even though Keith doesn’t care to be soothed right now. Something clutches hard in Keith’s chest, and he hears a ragged keening sound as if down a long hallway, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s him. “The others will understand.”
“I–they’ll be so angry,” Keith says blankly, clutching weakly at Shiro’s vest. “They’ll be right to be angry.” His stomach lurches and he might throw up if he had anything left. “Allura will never speak to me again.” He can see the look on her face already, the grief and disgust and rage that twist over her face every time they face the Galra, and he can’t see it directed at him, he can’t.
“They won’t be angry. The princess will understand that you didn’t know, and you’re a part of the team.” Shiro gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, everyone understood about me,” he says, clearly trying to be encouraging. “And you’ve met the Blade, they’re good people. Our allies.”
Keith can feel tears burning behind his eyes and clenches his teeth against them.
It takes Shiro another twenty minutes to talk Keith out into the body of the shuttle, and another ten to get him to walk out into the Castle dock.
D: what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway
Keith finds Allura a few hours after his heritage comes to light. She’s standing alone on the bridge, her hands folded behind her at parade rest, and Keith finds her by accident on his quest to find somewhere to stand alone himself.
“Hello, Keith,” she says coolly as he stops dead in the doorway, apparently identifying him without looking away from the starscape.
“Um,” he says, wishing that he could curl up and die instead of having this horribly awkward interaction. It takes a few tires before he can force another sentence through his throat. “I can leave, I’m sorry.”
“The Castle is your home as well,” she says, turning halfway to present her profile. “Do as you like.”
Keith hovers in the doorway, frozen between the impulse to beg her to forgive him–please, please, he’s sorry, he didn’t know–and the impulse to run and never come back. Allura doesn’t say anything, and the silence is tense and uncomfortable and he hates everything about it. He’s kept his gloves on all night, because whenever he looks down he sees himself scratching at his arms like he’s trying to peel his blood vessels out of his body and Shiro had quietly recommended that he keep the gloves on so that he doesn’t hurt himself.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, that–I didn’t know. We don’t have to, um.”
“Discuss it?” Allura turns her back on him again, but this time her shoulders curve as if she wants to curl up on the floor too, maybe. As if she wishes she wasn’t the last of her kind–wiped out by his. God, Keith is a monster. “It is not your fault, Keith,” she says, stiff and clipped, as if she’s trying to convince herself. “And the Red Lion chose you. We are in a brief pause between battles and we do not have time to have elaborate conversations about the finer points of the Galra, so. I trust that you will not turn on us. Everything else can wait.”
“Right,” Keith whispers. The words should be reassuring. He feels more like he’s been stabbed in the gut. “That’s good.”
After Shiro disappears, he finds her on the bridge again, in almost exactly the same place.
“We must get him back,” she says lowly.
“I know,” Keith says. “We will.”
“Keith,” Allura says, and this time when she half-turns to him, she beckons minutely, and he hesitantly steps up beside her. “I’m sorry, for the way I’ve treated you,” she whispers, looking away from him toward the stars. “You did nothing to deserve it.”
“I feel like I did,” Keith mutters.
“You had no hand in what happened to Altea,” she says. “It may take me time to let go of my anger, but.” She sets her shoulders, looking over at him, and offers a tiny smile–the most genuine smile she’s directed at him since they found out. “If you bring Shiro back to us–back to me–that will go far.”
Keith stares for a moment, then allows a tiny smile of his own, and nods.
Type 1: their phone background is of themselves
Type 2: their phone background is of their significant other
Type 3: their phone background is of themselves and their partner; a couple
Type 4: their phone background is of a couple, usually fanart of an otp or a show couple
Type 5: their phone background is of their favourite character
Type 6: their phone background is some really fancy art or quirky/minimalistic kind of thing
Type 7: their phone background is of their pet
Type 8: their phone background is of their family or friends
Type 9: their phone background is one of those stupid shitty backgrounds that are already part of the phone and they never bothered to change it
which type is ‘their phone background is an extreme closeup of a dinosaur skeleton’
@words-writ-in-starlight 6, totally 6
there ya go
Type 1: their phone background is of themselves
Type 2: their phone background is of their significant other
Type 3: their phone background is of themselves and their partner; a couple
Type 4: their phone background is of a couple, usually fanart of an otp or a show couple
Type 5: their phone background is of their favourite character
Type 6: their phone background is some really fancy art or quirky/minimalistic kind of thing
Type 7: their phone background is of their pet
Type 8: their phone background is of their family or friends
Type 9: their phone background is one of those stupid shitty backgrounds that are already part of the phone and they never bothered to change it
which type is ‘their phone background is an extreme closeup of a dinosaur skeleton’
(via unpretty)