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my reblog of this has apparently gotten enough notes now that we're correcting murderbots pronouns in my asks. tysm every IT'S so precious i love it and i also love how deeply invested everyone on this website is abt a fictional robot. as u should be. its excellent

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DO IT u have free will and not even god can judge you when its an urge he himself indulged

I am 21 years of age but the urge to buy myself a dollhouse kit is still very present especially now that I have adult money

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yall listening to my writing playlist whilst doing chores counts as writing again right

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today’s an amazing day to discover we were not all thinking the same thing what do you MEAN?!!!

fuh-REE . ITS FUH-REE like ur thinking FOR REAL but the ACRONYM SHORTENED VERSION

Okay you guys.

IF YOU PRIMARILY DO NOT SPEAK ENGLISH reply with what you mentally call it, if you have a nickname for it or something

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If you like the word “queer” reblog.

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listen i heard abt this show literally this morning when i saw it doing the rounds on tumblr i am now 4 eps in and obsessed and boy oh boy never before have i understood so perfectly well why a show is taking tumblr by storm. murderbot my love they could never make me hate you

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tangled gave us so much, but mostly it gave us the beautiful and intense love of a horse and the man he is chasing in order to imprison

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it's really such an experience to go from "oh this is really cool wow" to "aw man i like this so much i need to eat glass about it" i cant even pinpoint when it happened

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max that is just living the life we all wished we could

How did your elementary school teachers describe you?

(Ask game)

i "lacked organizational skills" and "talked about cats too much"

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Every single fic update there is an author trying frantically to find the right balance between a nonchalant aside of "leave a comment if you enjoyed =)" and clinging desperately to the coat tails of a random stranger, dragging along behind them on the street wailing "Please, please! I have to know what you thought! I'm desperate to talk to people about this! Ask me about the alliterative repetition! Ask me about the symbolism!"

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i could get so much done in a day if i didnt decide my day was over at 4 pm. too bad theres no solution oh well

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my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of… sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

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this is beautiful and should be shared and also in now i want to tell my favourite customer service story of all time

was waiting for a father and his kids to come to the counter, listening to him make a joke abt not needing ID for his beer bc he was born in the 1500s and immediately, i Know. this man loves medieval british history he just emanates that Vibe.

i ring them up, making idle conversation, listening to this middle aged guy tell bad monty python worthy jokes to a very unimpressed ten year olds, when i see my Opportunity. he mentions 1066. i know it is Time

i mutter smth under my breath: ‘battle of hastings’. he makes eye contact. he didn’t hear me.

“bet you don’t know what happened in 1066” he says cheerfully, but he is Wrong. i grew up in england i have seen the bayeux tapestry with my own eyes. i Smile

“battle of hastings!” i reply, audibly this time, and his eyes LIGHT UP

‘invasion from?’

this is now a history quiz and i love getting good grades

‘william the conqueror, from normandy’

emotionally i know he is giving me a gold star. we are now Kindred Spirits. his kids look on, bored, but i feel elation like nothing i have ever known

‘what was the kings name? the one with the arrow through the eye’

oh No. i Panic. my brain Freezes. the stakes are too high and it has been too long

i hesitate, and his eyes gleam with victory. he has won.

‘one of the henrys i can only assume’ i try to sound casual, and fail. i know it begins with an H. i know im losing his respect

he sighs, turns to leave, ushers his children out of the shop. i am red with shame and begin to ring up the next customer who has been there This Whole Time

he pauses in the doorway and it Hits Me

“HAROLD!!!!” i yell WAY TOO LOUDLY

And this man smiles and waves goodbye, nodding as he goes, and i never see him again

oh yh and his kid came in the day prior loudly chatting to his friend abt how he was gonna teach his best friend latin. i hope that kid knows the whole time i was so excited for him i LOVE LATIN. he was so nerdy he will go so far

I'm one of the few people that genuinely LOVES working customer service (hotel receptionist here), like yes the occasional person is rude and entitled. But most of the time? People are kind, and funny, and will jump at the chance to share a bit of their lives with someone else.

The businessman that comes in every week who seemed grouchy at first now smiles and waves when I remember his name, and explains he's just finished a long drive, and he doesn't MEAN to come off as rude, he's just tired.

The mother and daughter who visit the hotel each summer and tell me they've been coming here for years, and each time they visit they go to the pier and save up their tickets for the big ticket items. One day they come through the doors with the biggest grins, the older lady in the wheelchair proudly waving a huge stuffed toy tiger she's "had her eye on for years".

The young man with his girlfriend who looks nervous as he approaches reception, and stumbles over his words, his hands shaking as he signs the paperwork to check in. I've spent the last two weeks on the phone with him organising this; we've set up the bedroom with balloons and petals and decorations, and he's going to propose as soon as they get to the room.

The woman who I've not seen before who asks if I'm local, and tells me she grew up here, and had recently found herself drawn back. We talk about the sounds of seagulls, and the metal clanging of masts down at the harbour, and how the sounds that fade into the background are the ones you miss most when you leave. She's writing a book and promises to send me a copy when she's done.

The regular who goes out of her way to buy us all the strangest biscuits she can find at the tourist shops. We try them together, pulling faces at the ones that just don't work.

The thirty something woman who immediately sees a kinship in me and whispers to me that she has been here before, but under a name she no longer uses, and we celebrate the freedom she feels.

The support group that comes in for coffee each week and sit together filling the foyer with laughter.

Every single person living their own wonderful complicated rich lives, and I get to be a part of that. How is that not beautiful?

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wdym what else is there

the oc is not ocing (half of the pins on her board are just of dark haired girls staring sadly out to sea)

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I’m sorry milord, but the peasants are nailing erotic artwork of you and your court jester to the church doors again

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Spoke to a gen z person the other night and apparently the young folks don't know about the very legal sites from which you can access public domain media (including Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and other Victorian gothic horror stories)?

Like this young person didn't even know about goddamn Gutenberg which is a SHAME. I linked to it and they went "aw yiss time to do a theft" and I was like "I mean yo ho ho and all that, sure, but. you know gutenberg is entirely legal, right?"

Anyway I'm gonna put this in a few Choice Tags (sorry dracula fans I DID mention it though so it's fair game) and then put some Cool Links in a reblog so this post will still show UP in said tags lmao.