Mary or Juy: New Yorker by way of Long Island. Sagittarius. I'm into pretty boys and pretty girls and pretty bad puns. Sexuality: equal opportunity homewrecker.
in World War 1 around 8 million horses died but in World War 2 it was under a million which can only mean horses started to evolve bullet resistance
im sorry i couldnt just let these slide
[ Begin ID: A screenshot of tags that read “#or MAYBE it could mean that horses were less likely to try and fight in the war #do you think their patriotism would stay strong even after war killed so many of them? #read a fucking book” / End ID ]
Reading a book about slavery in the middle-ages, and as the author sorts through different source materials from different eras, I am starting to understand why so many completely fantastical accounts of “faraway lands” went without as much as a shrug. The world is such a weird place that you can either refuse to believe any of it or just go “yeah that might as well happen” and carry on with your day.
There was this 10th century arab traveller who wrote into an account that the fine trade furs come from a land where the night only lasts one hour in the summer and the sun doesn’t rise at all in the winter, people use dogs to travel, and where children have white hair. I don’t think I’d believe something like that either if I didn’t live here.
I mean honestly everything that Arab traveler said lines up with the Arctic areas, except the white hair part, I don’t know where that originates from, or if it’s accurate
If I had to guess, maybe they had albinism? Or maybe it’s one of those cases where kids sometimes start out with one hair color and develop a different one when they get older. This is all conjecture, but something to consider.
Still really cool tho
guys, the traveler just wasnt used to blondes
Also, languages develop words for colors over time so they get grouped with the closest one. That’s why people with orange hair are called redheads. The word for red is generally the third color that gets a name. There wasn’t always a word for the color orange, but there have almost always been people with orange hair.
And the Romans in Rome were fascinated by the Celtic slaves brought back from the British Isles because of their fair hair and skin.
For the sake of “I would not believe it either if I didn’t live here” kind of context, this is a perfectly normal hair colour for children where I’m from. It darkens to a dark ash blond/sand brown when they grow up.
So what I learned from this is even in modern times, people don’t know or believe that Scandinavians are just that pale and blond without jumping to “albino” first
You wouldn’t have believed the 10th century Arab guy either.
when I was like 14 I used to reblog these posts on here that were like “YOUR 20S ARE NOT AN IMAGINARY RACE YOURE DOING JUST FINE!!” just to be positive towards my older mutuals even though i didn’t really get what they were about and I’d be in the tags like “#so true!! #everyone does things at their own pace!!” and now im 24 I’m thinking back to it and it’s like Oh of course the imaginary race. Which im losing
*scrolling tumblr* hmmm. i agree with the sentiment of this post, but the phrasing feels off to me. it doesn’t really have that Reblog factor, you know? *scrolls* oh good, a post that just says “i jerk off till my penis scrweam” . i better reblog this
Remember in 2010 when Taio Cruz said “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes”? I appreciated his restraint. You can’t just throw your hands up in the air whenever. There’s a time and a place, and that time was 2010, and the place was the club.
my senior english teacher told me that any scene with a woman in a cornfield in every piece of literature ever is about her journey to womanhood/pleasuring herself in the field and i just…. believed her
I can clearly remember the moment I first realised my mother and I were living on completely different planes of existence. I was 7 years old and I came home from my school’s first track and field day having placed second or third in every event. the teachers had been making jokes all afternoon about how many times they had to call my name. my friends thought I was cool as shit. my enemies thought I was cool as shit too, come to think of it. I was proud as hell. so I get home with the entire front of my shirt covered in ribbons like I was a military dictator who’d awarded himself every medal, I walk into the kitchen and tell my mum all about my day, and she goes “oh, that must be disappointing not getting any firsts.” and I’m like no?? first of all the first place ribbons are red and I don’t like red. second of all look at me. there’s literally nowhere left on my body for accolades. I am fucking Jacked of All Trades. how could this possibly be a disappointment.
