#<- source of letter

[batbaffle]

obsessed with this letter

DO NOT--by any means--kill him.

[botanyshitposts]

Sign i saw recently had a bunch of paint worn away with lichen in its place, however i unfortunately did not have my phone on me 😔😔

in an alternate universe where science funding is stable and abundant regardless of monetary gain we have already gotten to the complex root of which lichens enjoy signs but only the letters or only the sign and what about the letters or sign they prefer and this haunts me

[hazelnutcoffeeshop]

𝓞𝓻𝓹𝓱𝓲𝓬

[hater-era]

happy OFPD day!!

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love mine, all mine, all mine

something something about enjolras being grantaire's source of light all this time but at the moment of enjolras' death grantaire reignited that hope/light in enjolras (it's subtle but their hands are glowing!!)

[royalcore-fantasy]

“It’s summer and time for wandering…”

- Kellie Elmore

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Source: Pinterest

[cogmented]

for it all.

[curtis-brothers-hug]

Soda (reading aloud): “‘Dear Paul Newman, my name is Ponyboy Curtis. I feel like you and me are so much alike. I would love to meet you someday. I love your hair. You’re a real good actor. Do you have any big brothers? Me too! These are all things we can talk about and more. I know you have not been getting my letters because I know you would write back if you did. I hope you write back this time and we get to be good friends.”

Ponyboy: “……….strike that from the record, please?”

Soda: “no, leave that on the record!”

Darry: “that one stays on the record.”

Judge: “can we get back to your hearing?”

[daemon-is-perfectly-unhinged]

Daemon: Viserys, you want me to be happy, don’t you?

Viserys: Not if it affects me negatively in any way.

[cockroachesunite]

Meanwhile, Fairholme in a letter to his father:

previously: (x) (x) (x)

[arylleth]

" the hand hs twenty—seven bonese. each of mine missess each of yours "

in that stark declaration, i find the quiet agony of separation—a reminder that even as we reach out, the structure of our flesh, the very architecture of our bones, delineates us into islands of solitary experience. i think of marcel proust’s meditation on time and memory, where every tick of the clock reminds us of irrevocable distance between moments, and in this case, between our very selves.

consider the hand: a marvel of evolutionary geometry, a structure wrought with precision and mystery. twenty-seven bones, each a silent testament to the journey of life, each one a cryptic syllable in the language of our corporeal existence. yet, as the phrase suggests, there is a cruel irony in the fact that despite their shared form and function, no bone in my hand finds its perfect counterpart in yours. It is as though the human condition itself is inscribed in our anatomy—a relentless dance of symmetry and divergence.

i recall the words of shakespeare in hamlet: "there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." so too, do we find that the structure of our being belies a hidden complexity. our bones—each slender, each curved—are not mere relics of physical form, but living symbols of our individual narratives. they whisper of our unique journeys, of the paths we have taken and those left unexplored. In their very absence of overlap, there lies a testimony to our social, philosophical, and even anthropological divide.

in the grand tapestry of humanity, our disjointed skeletal melodies speak to the core of what it means to be human. we are, like the fragmented metaphors of t.s. eliot’s modern verse, a collage of broken pieces yearning for connection. our bones, disparate yet intricately intertwined in the dance of evolution, remind us that our differences are not failures of unity but the very pulse of existence—a singular beauty in disunion. each individual, with its unique assembly of twenty-seven bones, carries the legacy of ancestral stories, of struggles and triumphs woven into the fabric of our species.

yet, this very divergence calls us to an introspective inquiry: can the recognition of our profound physical distinctions foster a deeper empathy, a more intricate understanding of the human condition? the sociologist zygmunt bauman might argue that our modern society, in its ceaseless quest for sameness and unity, often forgets that our differences—much like the unmatching bones in our hands—are what truly bind us in the human narrative. they are the silent muses of our cultural and existential dialogues, urging us to celebrate not the mimicry of the identical, but the unique cadence of each individual life.

thus, in this reflective solitude, i am drawn to the inescapable truth: that in our distinct, unaligned structures, there is a sublime call for a communion of souls—a gathering of fractured elements to form a mosaic that is richer and more resonant for its very imperfections. the bones in our hands, forever unpaired, stand as a metaphor for the inherent beauty of our separation and the hopeful promise that, despite the gaps, our lives can converge in a symphony of shared meaning. just hold my hand, and i 'll hold yours.

[vivelareine]

In her book Marie Antoinette: The Journey, Antonia Fraser claims that Joseph Weber told Marie Antoinette that her grief for Sophie could not have been very great, due to her age and not yet being weaned.

From Fraser's Marie Antoinette: The Journey:

"The Queen's foster-brother Joseph Weber tried to cheer her by saying that the baby had not even been weaned when she died, implying that the grief for one so young could not have been very great. But he struck the wrong note. 'Don't forget that she would have been my friend,' replied the Queen, a reference to her daughters, who were "mine," unlike their brothers, who belonged to France, that sentiment first expressed at the birth of Marie-Therese. Her tears continued to fall.

But... in what appears to be typical Antonia Fraser fashion, this is not actually what Joseph Weber's memoir* says.

What Joseph Weber wrote, in context of discussing the queen's grief at the death of Louis Joseph, was:

Marie Antoinette's heart had already been put to a similar test two years earlier, when she lost her daughter, only eleven months old. In vain did those who were admitted to her intimate circle present the princess's tender age as a reason to alleviate the bitterness of her regrets; she replied to them: "Do you forget that she would have been a friend?" and her tears continued to flow in the name of daughter and friend.

He did not say that he said this and that Marie Antoinette told him this in reply to him 'striking the wrong note,' yet Fraser puts the words in his mouth specifically, along with bringing up not being weaned, which Weber did not mention.

Was Weber among those in her "intimate circle" who said this? Maybe... he was in France, and if we believe the memoir, she was touched by his considerations for her when she had a miscarriage and it's not impossible he might have been one of those who tried to console her. But Fraser mischaracterized what was written by putting it specifically in his mouth.

*We also know that these memoirs were at least partially written (if not primarily written) by Trophime-Gérard, Marquis de Lally-Tollendal, not Weber himself.

As always... check the sources of your sources!

[crushedsweets]

The fact that this fandom exists in the first place and continues to exist in 2024 is absurd and beautiful

[mamawasatesttube]

YOU

[fuckyeahworldoftaika]

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[the-black-bulls]

Liebe: You know what’s a stupid letter?

Luck: Q?

Liebe: Yeah... why do I hate Q so much?

Luck: 'Cause it’s so obviously just an O trying to be all fancy with it’s pointless little tail.

Liebe: Q’s pathetic.