naqaashi

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Cositos     -     http://vechta.deviantart.com

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These mugs and more will be available in my etsy shop WEDNESDAY FEB 18TH @ 12PM PST www.etsy.com/shop/silverliningceramics

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kylo ren: *does something*

anakin:

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Or we could all take a shortcut and just watch Hannibal. >.> sorrynotsorry

♔ IKOLWRITES MAKES A GUIDE: HOW TO PLAY A PSYCHIATRIST  

During my time in the RP community I've seen a lot of asylum/hospital based RPGs. Most of them, occupy psychiatrists, therapists, etc. but, I've always seen them portrayed incorrectly. I've decided to write up a helpful guide to assist those in need.

Read More

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So E L James Started a Twitter Riot

It’s a Twitter riot - and they even laid out the red carpet for all the screaming mobs! 

JOIN IT, JOIN IT, DO! 

Or Christian Grey shall come for you!

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The Very First Religion

So I got tagged into an argument about religion happening on Facebook earlier today. It was the ol’ which-one-was-the-very-first-religion between Judaism and Hinduism. And it started from a discussion about marriage. Yeah, the whole thing’s a bit convoluted.

Putting that aside, in my head, at least, the whole godly circus started like this: 

EEK ACK FLOOK WHAT IS THAT THING IN THE SKY LET US KOWTOW TO IT AND HUDDLE DEEPER IN CAVE!

Which event was probably followed shortly by:

OH YAY THAT THING IN THE SKY DID NOT BLOOF US FROM EXISTENCE NOW WE ONLY HAVE TWENTY THOUSAND OTHER MURDEROUS THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT LET US DANCE TO THAT THING IN THE SKY WHATEVER-IT-IS! 

And thus began the world’s very first religion. 

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Nice things

Six months of everything. And now, no more cuddles and no more pettings and no more sex and no more kisses that start slow and then go deep and cling and no more being wrapped up safe and no more late night talks and no more feeling nice and pretty and okay in general with things to look forward to. 

I dont want to give them up. Why do you ask?

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The Last Tree in the World

I was looking through my files and found this really old story lying around. I don’t remember exactly why I wrote this, I think it had something to do with reading too much Anne. >.> And then this happens. Not Anne-y at all, nope.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn had come and gone, but Elena did not notice. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she bit on it to steady herself psychologically. Carefully, calculating inside her head, she adjusted the angle of the scissors. The blades moved closer to their target, taking tender-yet-crisp flesh between their edges. For a moment, the world slid sideways, teetering at the edge of a precipice.

She set her mouth. If it looked odd on an undergrown child of eight, there was no around to comment except grandpa, who tended to sleep late into the mornings.

The blades met, in a soft sibilant whisper. Elena always thought of them as lovers; all the fated lovers in all the histories of the world as they had been narrated to her by grandpa. They met, parted, met again – two halves of a whole – and when they met, their world threatened to collapse.

Somehow, grandpa’s stories were always the same. Elena didn’t mind, except at moments like these, when his voice loomed closer, gruff and drawling, like a cloud that was making up its mind as to thunder or the gentle grizzled rain that stung her eyelids and fingertips when she leaned out of the window and into it.

The scissors had fallen from her hand to the floor. She didn’t bother about them – someone would pick them up, eventually. Perhaps she would, or perhaps grandpa. It didn’t matter. The whole of her being was focused on the little tree that stood on the table, its arms twisted around each other, stretching in strange directions. So intent was she that she forgot to pick the limb she had snipped off from the table and throw it into the bin. Grandpa would scold her later for it, but she had greater worries on her mind right now. She stared at the tree, eager and forceful, as though it would infuse it with life – and luck – and she prayed she hadn’t cut off anything that was too important for its health.

If she had – but she dared not think of what grandpa would say or how he would look. Somewhere in the back of her mind Elena realised that the old man loved that tree. It was his treasure, the only thing of any importance in the world to him. Elena did not understand why it was so important, only that it was something unique and mystical in its existence, a living piece of history from the science book inside her desk at school. He loved it even more than he loved her. This did not bother her much, as it had always been a part of her world; even at school the teacher seemed half in awe of her, because of her grandpa’s tree. Elena only knew that she had been raised to treat the tree as close to a deity as one could get in her world, where gods were only a strange and petty kind of magic that permeated the stories her grandpa loved most.

It occurred to her that in either event, she would find out tomorrow. There were voices outside. She peeked out of the kitchen window into the red, smoky beyond, looking for and finding the outlines of energetic little bodies, much like her own. They were the neighbour’s children coming out into the street to walk their puppy, a ritual exercise they performed everyday despite the soot clogging the air and the bleak, hard-caked dust of the earth that jarred against the soles of her feet, as though threatening to punish her simply for daring to walk on it, for being so contrarily, stubbornly alive. She yelled out a greeting to the children and received one in turn, their thin voices piercing the dimness effortlessly. Soon they would be tumbling around the place, shouting with glee. She knew this from experience – they always shouted to her to join them, but Elena liked to just watch. Watching, she felt, meant remembering.

Still she stood there out of a sense of duty, fidgeting and wiggling as she eked out the necessary half hour before the tree must receive its daily quota of a small cup of water. The water was more than important – it was a routine in their little house that was as natural and necessary as breathing and eating. Elena had never understood why – but this was yet another thing that she had been raised to, so she did not notice it outside of acknowledging her acceptance.

As she waited she talked to it in her best imitation of grandpa’s soothing tone. She even managed to hum a few disjointed parts of the song he usually sang to it. Music was good for growth, he always told her when she giggled at him. Elena didn’t really believe that; if it was she should have been a giantess or an ogre, instead of short and scrawny and all angles and elbows.

The voices grew louder, more excited. She twitched with impatience and cast a dubious look at the roots of the miniature tree. They seemed settled firmly enough, nothing was wilting or drooping. She filled a small china cup with water from the tap, deciding that tomorrow would tell and there was no use worrying about it now. In the meantime, there was a morning to be enjoyed. She raced to the door, slipping out into the world with a quiet whoop to the welcoming cries of the others, as she took her place at the side, a good spot for simply looking. There was nothing for dinner today, she would not come back till late.

The cup stood where she had left it near the pot. It brimmed over, forgotten.

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You die.

You must die. You die, now. Die. Your blood must paint the floor. Carpet. Red. Liquid. Carpet. My feet will bathe in it, the poor tired tings and they will be happy and rested for it. Needles in your ears and in your eyes. Needles in your softest flesh, your warmest little corners. The ones you want to hide from me. You’re afraid I’ll find them. I found them. I’ll kill you. I’ll violate them, and I’ll kill you. I’ll use them. You’ll scream. You have to scream first, or there’s no point. You have to ask, why I’m doing this to you. You have to know why ‘m doing this to you. I won’t let you die till you know. What’s the point, otherwise? You’ll be stripped skin by inch of skin and your eyes and your ears and your tongue and your tongue will taste yourself so warm so red so soft so soft and where’s the pain, now? Where is it? Tell me, tell me and I’ll stop. Thank you. No, I won’t stop. Did I tell you? You must die. It’s the only way. Die. Die. Die. Your death. You die. Cut you and beat you and pain all the pain. Scream. Cry. Blood. Hurt. Die. I’m going to humiliate you. You beg on both knees and mouth wide open you want to scream but you can’t, you won’t because you have to beg first, you’re going to beg first because if you don’t, oh yes, if you don’t.

Bitch.

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GO PEGGY GO!

The seven tests that Agent Carter passed in two hours, and the three it thankfully failed. (Spoilers)

1. Passes the Mako Mori Test:

The Test: “The show has a) at least one female character, b) who gets her own narrative, c) that is not about supporting a man’s...

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I've never had a star of my own to hold. 

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Just...be quiet for a minute - a full sixty seconds - and watch it sleep, okay?

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I hope his speech will act as the catalyst for an entire people to accept their mistakes and work towards swift, sane change, but I hardly dare to hope.  As my school house motto went, Mr. Prime Minister - deeds, not words. 

He called on parents to take responsibility for their sons’ actions, saying parents must teach their sons the difference between right and wrong.

"When we hear about these rapes our heads hang in shame," Mr Modi said.

"Young girls are always asked so many questions by their parents, like ‘where are you going?’. But do parents dare to ask their sons where they are going?" he asked.

“Those who commit rape are also someone’s sons. It’s the responsibility of the parents to stop them before they take the wrong path,” he added.

___

Okay, say what you want about him, but this is a big deal. This is Prime Minister Modi’s first Independence Day address since being elected. And instead of using this time to talk about Pakistan, like every other Independence Day speech in the past, he stood up there and talked about INDIA’s need for improvement. And amongst his topics, he talked about rape.

And he didn’t describe it as “accidental” or “boys making mistakes”, and he didn’t state that women need to “dress more dignified”, all of which have been said by other Indian politicians. For once, we’re hearing someone put the blame on the rapist, and actually calling out parents to raise their sons properly. Like everyone else, I’m still hoping Modi isn’t another PM who is all talk.

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I want to read whatever came after this. It must have been glorious.

Anon hate from the late 1800’s.

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I wanted to double check that “The Cherry on Top” was a short novel or novella and I found this on uphillwriting.org. I think it’s very informative and hopefully you guys will find it useful!

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This thing that just happened. 

WHY. FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. THE. LORD. 

I hate plagiarists and art sneaks. If anyone out there knows how we can put a stop to the woman who's stolen my friend's art and is selling it as her own, please, let me know. 

Oh, and let's reblog this a lot so hopefully the damn woman will find out her antics are public property now. 

Found my artwork in a couple of places where it shouldn’t be, primarily because it didn’t have my permission to be there. Also was mortified to find it possibly being up for sale.

theonewiththefoxhat, as always, is being amazing through this, and has posted the artwork concerned on...

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That'd be a really weird story now.

writing tip #824:

killing characters off, while entertaining and perfect for emotionally devastating your readers, has become somewhat of a cliché. be more original without losing any of the heartbreak by having your characters all dead at the beginning, and one by one coming back to life as the story progresses, to their empty homes, broken families and meaningless existences