salahmah:

Chefchaouen, a small town in northern Morocco, has a rich history, beautiful natural surroundings and wonderful architecture, but what it’s most famous for are the striking and vivid blue walls of many of the buildings in its “old town” sector, or medina.

The maze-like medina sector, like those of most of the other towns in the area, features white-washed buildings with a fusion of Spanish and Moorish architecture. The brilliantly blue walls, however, seem to be unique to Chefchaouen. They are said to have been introduced to the town by Jewish refugees in 1930, who considered blue to symbolize the sky and heaven. The color caught on, and now many also believe that the blue walls serve to repel mosquitoes as well (mosquitoes dislike clear and moving water).

Whatever the reason, the town’s blue walls attract visitors who love to wander the town’s narrow streets and snap some beautiful photos. 

Reblogged from mrsexhimself

jetn:

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*prepares party popper*


*nervously shakes the party popper*


*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*


*has a wonderful night with the party popper*


*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.
Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.
"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*

*nervously shakes the party popper*

*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*

*has a wonderful night with the party popper*

*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.

Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.

"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

Reblogged from dammitcumberbatch