Me Searching For My Friends: Where The Fuck?

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY~KONTALIA

originally scrapped this but it’s still a little funny, so here. tag yourself im from the arts dep

the cw buried the gays so the gays buried the cw

Death

When Russia mentions death there is an imperceptible flinch in the room. He does it causally. Why wouldn’t he? He has died so many times.

           America’s hand still flutters up, aimlessly, as though to touch an old scar, but there are too many. He is still young, and he moves unconsciously. His is the age of bullets, explosions, and distant violence. He knows well the pain of a gunshot. That doesn’t mean anything anymore. He knows what it is to become nothing at the touch of a button; the feeling of fire before the force of scientific progress strips flesh from bone. You still come back from nothing, when you’re not human. He always came back.

           England knows these things. He knows fire more intimately. After what feels like an eternity it stops hurting. The powerful belief of his people drove him back. You can come back from ash. He never felt like a phoenix.

           France knows defeat when bringing blade against blade. The piercing is symbolic; his heart beating itself to shreds as though he could really die when he never does. He falls to his knees, not animated by blood or a heartbeat. You recover from mortal wounds. He still fights as though he can die because others can.

           Spain, God knows, has drowned more times than he can remember. It burns when the water fills his lungs. Salt water is worse. You can still get back to shore, even if it takes hours. He doesn’t need to breath.

           Germany, Italy, and Japan died in that grand war. They did not make their pact to lose. They could have died and never come back, the stakes they gambled. The stroke of a pen can cease the driving force that brings you back and back and back… They knew death dearly enough to dare to risk their lives.

           China is older than all of them. He knows death in nearly every form. He almost knows rebirth. He could laugh at most of the stories the others tell; that though does not cross his mind. They may all argue but there is one thing they understand.

           Russia has mentioned death. There was an imperceptible flinch in the room. All of them thought of it, briefly, in flashes and moments without words, but none dwell. Why would they? They have all died so many times.  

the thing all sherlock holmes adaptations get wrong is making the guy an irredeemable asshole who treats everyone like shit . not only is it not reflective of the original stories they miss that “nice, smart, well mannered dude who snorts coke when he needs to think” is possibly the funniest character ever devised 

What love is

"Do you remember when you asked me what love was? And I couldn't give you an answer? Well I think that this, right here, is what love is."

"Love is entering into a house on fire just give me a hug?"

"I would go anywhere just to be able to see you"

What the red means

the angel that guards eden / a carrier pigeon

the message they send is the same (but only one knows the way back home)

Starting today, Sherlock Holmes is, in all of his respectful, emotional glory, completely and unquestionably in the public domain, which means… Herlock Sholmes has outlived his place in history.

You’ve done good, my dear detective. Rest now.

someone: sherlock holmes is a machine, haven’t you read the books—

me, opening up my ornate copy of acd’s sherlock holmes, with its tender illustrations, pointing blindly to any line holmes says: he’s a sweet boy