Guide To Figuring Out The Age Of An Undated World Map.

if i was a doctor who companion the first thing i’d do is go back to the 19th century and introduce them to hozier

Kaz shrugged. “Kill us, and you’ll never find Kuwei.” Van Eck appeared to consider this. Then he stepped back. “Guards to me!” he shouted. “Kill everyone but Brekker!” Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake. They’d all known it might come to this. He should have trusted his crew. His eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. Instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej. And Van Eck saw it. He blew on his whistle. “Leave the others! Get the money and the girl.”

— SIX OF CROWS, Chapter 45

they really got "the ballad of me and my brain" and "inside your mind".....cant recover....

just had the shocking revelation that people splicing together screenshots of various real movies that clearly do not go together to produce goncharov gifsets is going back to 2012 tumblr at its peak. this is superwholock edits. this is rise of the brave tangled dragons. and most accurately and importantly this is frankenstein’s monster-ing gifs of karen gillan and ben barnes and whoever else it was to create a meandering epic of a visual format fanfiction for the marauders off harry potter

edit of all time

You think math should relate to the real world? What are you, some kind of physicist? Get the fuck out of here

I was so good at being a kid, and so terrible at being whatever I was now

John Green Turtles All the Way Down // Taylor Swift “this is me trying” // Fredrik Backman Anxious People // Noah Baumbach Frances Ha // IT commentary // Lynne Rae Perkins Criss Cross // @romantics-and-eternity // Britney Spears “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” // Imgur user @manjurtutul // Emily Brontë Wuthering Heights

How do you protect yourself from being stalked online by your parents?

I often get messages from teens living with their abusive parents telling me about how terrifying it is for them to even look at my blog in case their parent finds out. I was a teenager before social networking on the internet. Honestly, when I was a teenager there was barely an internet yet. So, I don’t know how people protect themselves but I feel like probably there are ways. If you know please do share! A lot of people would find it helpful.

The girl from across the river waved, and I think she waved at me, so I waved back at her. She was surprised by the gesture, but she grinned. We started meeting every day after that, divided by the river and a national border.

There was no one my age in my village, and I came to suspect that it was true for the other girl as well. I named her what I wanted to name my younger sister, if I ever had one. She was Mira to me.

Our voices would not reach the other side of the river distinctly, so we gestured at each other. Our language was born out of the gestures all humans are familiar with. Pointing, waving, pantomiming, and then we started making then they became more complex.

Between us the river flowed uncaring, not content to divide us, not desirous of watching our silly games, always busy and always on the move. The river is an adult.

-

“What does Mira mean?” I asked my father once, while my mother was out of the house.

He adjusted his glasses to look at me better. “It means ‘sight’,” he said. “It means 'looking’.”

-

We read by the banks. She had a blue book, hardcover, and I had a small white paperback. We sat down and we read, and once in a while, we looked at each other. After a point, you don’t need to smile at the people you’re close to.

We also ate by the banks. I had a carrot, and a glass of orange juice, and chicken leg. I showed her what I could, but the rest was inside containers and bowls. She showed me things, too. A fried steak of some fish, an apple, a vegetable I did not recognise.

-

When the men in uniforms passed through the village, I thought it was a routine staffing of the military camp nearby. It was an odd month of the year for it, but it was none of my business.

Mira stopped visiting the bank, but I went there nonetheless. The way to the bank now had a military checkpoint. They asked me what book I was carrying, and they flipped through its pages to make sure I wasn’t smuggling a gun or anything through it. At one point, the officer scolded me for what I had been reading.

Later, the checkpoint stopped people from visiting the riverbank altogether. The announcements on the radio became more dire. More and more uniformed men streamed through the village. Sirens would sometimes blare in the middle of the night, and you’d often see the passing light of a jeep making its patrol rounds.

One night, I got out and avoided the patrols, and I took a route through the forest that bypassed the checkpoint, and I made it to the river. It was dark, and the sounds of the water was tranquil and threatening at once. The bridge between the two countries had spotlights on it now, and both sides were fortified and on alert.

Walking along the bank, I spotted a small wooden crate. My first instinct was to get away from it, but the way it was gently nestled along a washed-up branch, I decided to take a chance on it.

Inside, I found a blue hardcover book, and a small painting of a girl standing along a riverbank, wearing the same kind of clothes I own. There was a note, written in a language I couldn’t read.

It ended with the shape of a heart, though, and that I understood.

Zombies shouldn't growl or snarl, they should babble a mixture of incomplete word sounds and whole words or sentence fragments. Every zombie should sound almost but not quite like it's trying to tell you something.