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Tiesin! Niissä menee tavuraja eri kohdassa ha-uil-la ja hau-il-la.

Ootteko koskaan huomannu että "Jonne" (nimi) ja "jonne" (adverbi) lausutaan eri tavalla?

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Lord of the flies but it´s alpha male vloggers on an island (and a bunch of cottagecore lesbians on another)

I think that there are a lot of cushy, middle-manager type men who honestly believe that they would be some kind of powerful barbarian warlord if it wasn't for all of these pesky constraints of civilization.

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#esteemed colleagues of f.d.c. willard

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Whatever gets people in the door i guess

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genuinely one of the saddest parts of this new era of the internet is how hard it is to rick roll someone now. with people's attention spans shortening so much, they wouldn't even get through the first few bait seconds before clicking off the video. like i saw a comment that ended with "btw i made all of this up" and the replies kept treating it so seriously because none of them finished the entire 4 sentence comment. and We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I (do I) A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you

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Anna Karenina & Alexei Vronsky in Anna Karenina. Vronsky story (tv mini-series, Russia, 2017)

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One thing that helps me calm down about intra-left-wing sniping and the reality that the big center-left coalition inevitably includes a lot of ridiculous nonsense, is to remember how ubiquitous seances were to progressive politics in the 19th century.  Like, e.g., Frederick Douglas had to go to so many seances. Many, many political strategy sessions around the country had to include feedback from the ghost of Moses who spoke to us via morse code.  

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#kitty stimming #kisset

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Silly boys watching Fight club.

Homer: I chose to focus on Achilles dragging Hector behind his chariot in my composition of the Siege of Troy as a meditation on the horrors men commit when consumed by grief and rage.

Alexander: At long last I have re-enacted the war crime of my hero Achilles from the poem That Time Achilles Did Some Really Fucked Up Things and Learned Better.

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Mä kattoisin ainakin 4 tuotantokautta tätä.

The production value here is off the charts but this is also literally just what it feels like to play Uno.

legendaryjay_ on TikTok

#sports anime

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#haluun tän mun seinälle #miau

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I thought I was participating but turns out I had just forgotten to get my t shot

shout out to everyone who participated in the january-february mass depressive episode

#stupid and trans

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Ian Bertolucci - Candies in Blue, 2024

#ei oo ees kallis

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so many ppl on tiktok will be like ‘look at my epic style glow up omg my style used to be so cringe’ and it just shows them wearing clothes that were in fashion in 2015 and then clothes that are in fashion now like baby that’s what happens when u don’t have ur own sense of style

#et - enemmän tarinoita

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Thoughts on Odile of Swan Lake?

Sometimes, you come home for an extended Christmas vacation—thank god for two vacation days a month—and your father has turned a bunch of the local community college girls into swans. That’s just how life is. You try to be understanding, really; it’s not like you don’t have a couple shitty dates tucked away in your back garden. (They make an unholy noise whenever the wind is high, but they also eat the spider mites, so.)

During the day, you feed the swans-who-are-technically-girls whole wheat bread, because that’s what the internet told you was best for swans. (Cultivated grains, right?) At night, you lend them your high school sweatshirts and old pajama pants, and blow up every air mattress you can beg or borrow from friends. Your father glares at them whenever they try to sit on the sofa, snarling to be quiet during Late Night. One of them, the slender brunette, cries silently.

Afterwards, the girls whisper to one another, and your father retreats to the back patio to smoke a cigar. After the first night—after Odette, who goes by Etta, clutches your sleeve and whispers, can you get us out of here?—you go out to join him.

“What exactly was your plan here, dad?” you ask, and Rothbart, the poster child for single-father assholery, grunts and goes on smoking.

You get up at four the next morning, in order to make the swans a human breakfast while they’ll still appreciate it. “Thank you,” Etta says when you hand her a plate of runny eggs, almost-burnt toast. She’s pretty, in a small-town coed sort of way. In the hazy, artificial light of the kitchen, her eyelashes are fine and pale against her cheeks, and it makes you think of something grown in the dark, a flower that will never bloom.

“Yeah, well,” you say, giving Etta an extra slice of bacon. “Merry Christmas.”

.

You call your boss the twenty-sixth, and tell him that your father’s had some health issues, you’re going to need FMLA. He tells you not to worry about it, just make sure to let HR know.

Outside the window, the swans are huddled together on the half-frozen pond in your backyard, their heads bent together like lovers. You can’t help admiring the elegant curve of those long, white necks, how lovely they are, set against the grey slate of the sky and the shadows of the skeletal trees. They’re trembling—you didn’t even know swans could get cold.

You tell your boss you’ll keep him updated.

.

The missing posters are all over town, once you know to look. Pretty, white—Rothbart’s gotten stupid and started breaking his own rules—Midwestern girls. Cornsilk hair, braces-trained smiles. Some of their photographs show them in cheerleader outfits, band uniforms. Another stupid, sloppy detail.

“Isn’t it sad?” Mary Anne, who was your friend and hated you in the same breath, simpers. “All those girls, just up and vanished.”

“Sad,” you echo. “Do the police have any leads?”

They don’t, you know. No one has leads on girls that turn into swans, any more than they have leads on men who turn into toads, or wolves, or birds, or frogs, or ravens. It’s the only reason your family has lasted as long as it has—being careful, always careful, and making sure that when a curse stuck, it stuck. Every morning since you came home, you’ve found Kelly Loshanko standing in your front yard, her nostrils flaring; she’s starting to show her age, and you’re still surprised she’s managed to last this many deer hunting seasons. You’ve heard rumors there are still families in Grand Rapids suffering from the curse your great-grandmother laid down on their bloodline, because they offended her. Or because she wanted to, or simply because she could—your great-grandmother was never one for explaining herself.

(You sometimes think about having that much power, all the things you could use it for. It would be a new world.)

Mary Anne is talking about her husband, who’s been spending “too much time on the internet.” You make sympathetic noises, and think about how unlikely it is that Etta ever finds a man to love her who has never loved before. 

Keep reading

#swan lake