Oh my god, of course you only read Shonen, you half-baked meathead. How about you stop with the manga and pick up some real literacy? Oh wait, a book doesn't have pictures, so I guess it's out of the question for witless photo lovers like yourselves who have no sense of media literacy.
Oh, honestly, how do people like you do it? Just "read" panels of mindless, repetitive, egregious fighting over and over again. I endear your low attention spans. Truly, I do. It must be magical being impressed by the most simplistic forms of idiocy. You people are no better than slug eyed mouth-watering neanderthals.
If by any chance I've changed your miniscule, insignificant curiosity, why not read some Edgar Allan Poe...actually, how about something on your level. Hmmmm, oh, I know! Dr Seuss.
What
y'all this game is so freaking beautiful
One thing I Hate about subtitles though is when they don’t use the same script as the actors/voice actors. Even if I get the same information it’s hard to follow along when the subtitle are different from the audio
Reasons I like subtitles:
1. I can see how people’s names and the cities and the countries are spelled.
2. I don’t miss any words, so everything they say makes sense.
3. I get to know what background noises and conversations are.
4. The descriptions of the noises people make are freaking awesome. Ex: splutter, grunt, chuckles.
5. I can see who says what.
6. I don’t have to have the volume super loud so I can hear the dialogue, and I don’t blow my eardrums out because the ambient noises and music is SO FREAKING LOUD.
I freaking love subtitles.
If you need a new code for a padlock I suggest starting with a high number so it'll be harder to brute force. If you need to brute force a padlock I suggest starting from a high number.
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
“I can work with that,” said the witch.
Okay fuck it if this post reaches 666k notes by the end of 2023 I'll practise basic self care
Why 666k? Because it's funny and impossible so good fucking luck
If you know anyone who seems really chill to the point of being virtually indestructible, like nothing could ever bother them in any way, could get hit by a train and just shake it off and be totally fine, laughing it off as soon as they've dusted themselves off and stopped bleeding, but who occasionally just randomly falls apart to complete fucking smithereens with seemingly no cause nor warning, only to get back up again a few minutes/hours/days later like "ok yeah I'm fine again that was weird lmao", and you've ever wondered what the fuck is up with that:
They are actually not ok and most likely are not ok at any point. The whole "hardiest person you know who just collapses randomly sometimes" thing isn't a deliberately constructed façade, as a matter of fact it might be something that they actually personally believe themselves to be. But in reality this is somebody who's either unintentionally learned or has been deliberately trained to hide negative emotions and mask symptoms at all costs, as the #1 priority that goes over any other survival needs.
So even though it may look like they go from 1 to 100 completely at random and unpredictably, and then swing right back again to being totally fine, you have no way of knowing how long they've been at 95% before the last line of defense broke down and the system collapsed. And once they flip back up, odds are that they just managed to scrape their shit back together again just enough to get their backup masking systems running. The "check engine" light never turned on because the wire was clipped years ago.
If this is you, this is your callout to seek some sort of help. I'm telling on everyone in this room including myself.
I May Have Forgotten to Turn Off the Oven by Jocelin Carmes
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