mango-llama:

I don’t think anything pisses me off more in fic than people giving Q a name beginning with Q, like Quentin or Quinton I’ve seen

The Q is for Quartermaster, is a job title not a name. Please stop cheapening your story, it’s really cringey. 

Dame Judy Dench’s M had a name beginning with M on coincidence which they made a joke about, but everyone else has a different name, like the new M, because THEY ARE JOB TITLES NOT THE FIRST LETTER OF THEIR ACTUAL NAME.

Just stop, pleaseeee

We’re talking about the series with a character named Pussy Galore! I hardly think Q’s name being Quin would cheapen the story.

argumate:

Me: *buying myself a bitchin’ scooter*

Helpful Shop Assistant: Let me adjust it for you! Now, how tall is your child?

Me: uh, about- about my height

(via nathanielbuildsatesseract)

It was a dark and stormy night, and the good little chat boys and girls huddled close in their office, telling spooky stories.

“There once was an office much like this, full of good chatters. But not everyone in the office was a good chatter; There was a boy who could not chat. Everyday he sat there listening, shooting dirty looks at the chatters, who never noticed. Word by word the hatred grew in his heart.

If he couldn’t be good at chatting, why should anyone be allowed to chat? Do they even know how ableist they are being? The boy thought of going up to the chatters and asking them to speak more quietly, but the thought of having to talk with girls so much better at chatting than him filled him with dread.

“I know,” thought the boy, “I’ll just snitch on them.” And so he told the chatter’s boss that they were distracting him. The boy spent the rest of the day sitting smugly in the silence, while the noisiest chatgirl mashed angrily on her mechanical keyboard.

The boy went home feeling better than he had in a long time. Finally he wouldn’t be distracted at work by constant reminders of his own inadequacy.

He laid in bed, but could not sleep. His mind raced.

Even silenced, the good chatters still have more friends than me, are still thinking funnier things that me…  they are probably out there right now, chatting away!

The boy began to feel strange, but thought nothing of it. It certainly wasn’t the first time such thoughts had made him sick to his stomach. He glanced at his cellphone, seeing the clock strike midnight. The boy began to feel sharp pains all over his body. He rose from bed and gripped the wall for support, stumbling towards the bathroom.

He flicked the light and saw himself in the mirror, his skin shifting in a way he didn’t even know was possible. Another stab of pain and his vision went white.

Where there was once a boy, now stood a chat witch.

The noisiest chatgirl was home in her bed, scrolling through tumblr on her ipad. Her music thumped through her earbuds, and she laughed loudly at something on her screen.

She felt a weight shift on her legs, and she saw her cat dart from her bed to under the couch. She felt something pierce the skin of her neck, and fell asleep.

Light pierced the room through the chatgirls open window. She came to groggily, not remembering having gone to sleep in the first place. She tried to yawn, but couldn’t. The girl raised her hand to her mouth, and lept to her feet, rushing to her mirror.

She would have screamed, if she could. The chat girls lips had been sewn shut.

They say he is still out there today, roaming San Francisco by day looking for good little chatters to silence for good during the witching hour.”

An uneasy quiet filled the chat huddle, then an explosion of noise.

“I’m not scared.”

“No one could silence me-”

A knock on the door interrupted them, several of the chatters jumping in surprise. The door creaked open, the face of their boss appearing in the doorway. “No more talking in here. I’ve received a complaint you are being very distracting.”