Blood On My Typewriter Keys

dirtyavengerssecrets:

SUBMISSION

“For some reason I thought the scene with Loki threatening Black Widow with a brainwashed Hawkeye was kind of hot.”

KIND OF HOT

KIND OF HOT?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

THAT WAS THE MOST AROUSING PIECE OF CINEMA I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED.

madmenworld:

You work with people for months, and then one day the director says, “Take your pants off.” —Vincent Kartheiser, from Inside the Actors Studio.

apiphile:

bloodonmytypewriterkeys:

nothingbutthedreams:

whatbritainloves:

Britain Loves to HelpSaying thanks to the bus driver

“Cheers, mate”, “Thanks, driver”, “Thank you”, “Nice one, pal”. It’s what you’ll hear on buses throughout Britain as, one-by-one, we shuffle out onto the street. Thanking the bus driver is a beautiful quirk of us Brits; a mundane politeness which makes the world a little nicer. 

What makes thanking bus drivers so great is that there’s really no need for it. It’s not like you’re touching down after a long-haul flight where your life has been in the hands of an expert pilot. It’s a bus (as pictured above by David Henderson); you’ve only been driven 10 minutes down the road.

And it’s not like we ever run to the front of a train, bang on the driver’s window and start giving them a big thumbs-up. No, this is something unique to the world of bus travel.

That’s the beauty of this particular ritual. It’s a totally mindless and senseless form of niceness. We don’t even expect anything in return. We realise the bus driver has to cope with hundreds and hundreds of us mumbling thanks to them every day.

Just about the only thing the bus driver can do to stop us from thanking them is braking too hard, nobody likes that, or being aggressively rude. A little bit of rudeness is perfectly acceptable.

It’s a tradition that has developed its own regional quirks. The Bristolians, in particular, have made it their own with their distinctive use of the phrase “Cheers, drive”. Dropping the ‘r’ from driver has become a major source of local pride for them with museum exhibitions named after the phrase and t-shirts emblazoned with it.

One of the few places in Britain where the bus driver thanking tradition has fallen out of common usage is London. They try to make excuses for this; they say it’s the design of London buses with the exit in the middle so you don’t pass the driver on the way out. Yes, it could be that. It’s possible. Or it could just be that they’re misery guts.

By Tom Law

Bolding my own. I suddenly miss home and Bristolian weirdness.

At uni the electricians who’ve been around have really strong Hampshire accents, it almost makes me feel like I’m at home.

Okay so I live in Australia and we do this. As for the Londoners’ excuse of the middle exit: when we get off at a major stop and everyone’s pouring out the middle exit, you just hear this chorus of “Cheers! Thanks! Thanks mate! Cheers! Thanks! Thank you!” And anyone who doesn’t feel like calling out waves their hand in the air to say thanks. Silly Londoners.

Cool story bro but in London “polite” is “not talking to other people” because this is a pretty fucking crowded city and we need to maintain the illusion of privacy/personal space. I thank when I get off at the front and can do so without shouting. Noisy fucking Antipodeans! TCCH., GET BACK BEHIND THE BAR.

Is it just me or is the phrase “cool story bro” really hurtful? I just… it upsets me, okay?

Anyhoo, we are not English, we Australian, and we YELL ALL THE TIME FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON WHICH IS WHY WE’RE ONE OF THE FRIENDLIEST DEVELOPED NATIONS BECAUSE WE YELL EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME. And as I said, if you don’t want to make noise, the little thankyou-wave is pretty darn common, too. I do the wave, mostly.

(Source: oorasht)

aeromachia:

mirouge:

sheepandlamb:

AHHH!  They’re so cute!!!  :D

(They’re Valais Blacknose Sheep from Switzerland.)

I love everything about the Valais Blacknose. The twirly horns and the fact that they look like THEY HAVE NO FACE.

aaah this is like 50% adorable 50% existential horror <3 <3

Last comment. Oh god. So much so.

susanandherbooks:

I remember learning this at guides :)

Yeah it did take me a moment.

(Source: wicked-sensations)

Two Reichenbach ficlets. Sort of slashy. Spoilers. Angst.

1.

John had seen death before. He had taken breaths knowing with absolute certainty that they would be his last. He had seen men, his friends and comrades, die horrible screaming deaths that he could do nothing to prevent, even though that was his job. It didn’t get easier. It only meant that when as he wandered through the rooms of 221B Baker Street, there were a thousand more memories with which to torture himself. The worst part about leaving was coming back. Each time he opened a door, the smell of Sherlock would crash over him like a wave. It was the last real thing he knew as he went to sleep in Sherlock’s bed, to dream about the screams of thousand dying men and silent fall of one.

2.

Sherlock sat on the rooftop, smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes. London was stretched out before him: London, this pit full of ordinary people doing ordinary things, full of petty hates and loves and losses, full of normal people suffering in normal ways. In that moment, he hated them all. Eight million people and in all of them, only one he could ever trust. Only one perfectly ordinary man who had made him want to be good. One perfectly ordinary man to whom he had brought nothing but pain. It was almost as bad as killing him; it was infinitely worse than killing himself. As he sat and thought about it, thinking about one ordinary man in 

Just me, clearing out some more of that writing stuff.

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• Australians: damn australia you cold
• Australians: damn australia you hot
• Australians: damn australia you flooding
• Australians: damn australia you bushfires
• Everywhere else in the world: lets move to australia but im worried about the snakes/spiders/sharks/dropbears
• Australians: lol