#and all my books are in the same place

[remedy7411]

I went to cancel my audible bc I didn’t feel like I was getting the value that I wanted for the service… now I have it for another three months for half price and after the three months are over I can decide whether to keep it or not again…

[mugwot]

funnyjokespunperson

[twslug]

et tu, brute?

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Re: Your post on your post medieval lesbians

If anyone is interested in learning more about medieval (queer) sex, I highly recommend the episode “What Was Sex Like in Medieval Times?” from Betwixt the Sheets!

Ohhh thank you!! I'll take a listen when I get the chance :D

[tapakah0]

[ganondoodle]

kind of expected that the ability breakdown wouldnt get that much traction (especially on twitter bc if it doesnt do well in the first few hours it might as well be dead) but what i didnt need to wake up to was looking at my twitter notifications and thinking there was a long comment on it at first but then i read it and it turned out to be some guy having dug up one of my old totk tweets where i talked about how zelda was treated-

and if a quote retweet with a thread attached already starts with "this entitled brat didnt understand that zelda was being a history nerd by being in the past and getting to experience it herself" with two screenshots attached of the end of totk with zelda staring at the cam all uwu (which has ??? to do with their point??) i dont even want to know what else was in that thread

if thats how the majority of the fandom is then im even less surprised that nintendy doesnt even have to try to write anything good :I

ah yes, i am a game nerd, and by putting me in a game where i stand around doing puppy dog eyes while being shoved around by NPCs is me being a game nerd OBVIOSULY

[myokk]

Sebastian had a few days leave from duty so he visited Eloise😇😇

[rxttenfish]

this is perhaps unexpected from someone who notoriously LOVES and is fascinated by the deep sea and constantly wants to write and talk and learn about it

but i fucking HATE how so often people refuse to treat deep sea organisms as actual organisms, and always insist on them being uniquely scary or dangerous or hyper-evolved into some awesomebro predator. and you see this all the time in basically all acts of creature design when its for a deep-sea animal, where its used as a shorthand for "monster" and is able to abruptly kick everything elses collective asses because its So Cool And Awesome And Dangerous And Ultra Predator.

like, these people just categorically refuse to view the deep sea as just another habitat, the animals that live there being just another way for animals to live. it has to be Hell, or the Place Where Nightmares Are Born, and it cant just be an ecosystem that deserves consideration and conservation as much as any other.

even moreso i feel like it doesnt let people actually engage with marine biology focused around the deep sea, because then people are either too scared to or they think the real thing is "less cool" compared to the fantasy theyve created in their heads, which is even worse when, yeah, deep sea ecosystems ARE under threat. its like another version of the shark thing, where people react with hatred towards a bunch of animals who categorically do not pose a threat to human life, and dont care or do anything to protect those animals when they are by far more threatened by human activity.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

the x files au where everything is exactly the same except mulder takes home the child neanderthal from the jersey devil episode and raises them as his own

[brattylikestoeat]

You are in his WILL???

Yes. We’ve been together 8 years.

I was really struggling to finish college not because I was dumb but because I had a lot going on in my family at the time. My grandfather died and my family was literally crumbling before my eyes. All the lies, manipulation, gaslighting had finally caught up to my mom and grandma. Going to Ohio and coming back really broke me.

Donald pushed me to finish and I literally mean pushed. I called him one day after meeting with my advisor and told him I was done. I wasn’t doing college anymore.

He drove across town meet with my advisor with me, got that settled, paid my tuition on the spot. Education is very important to him which is why he pushing me to get my Masters.

Two weeks later we sat down and told me when I finished he could promise two things, he’ll pay my rent and money.

I’m always money motivated. So I finished. Took two more years but I did.

He always paid my rent. And he gave me 10k the week I graduated. He also put me in his will. If and when he pass I get a percentage of his liquid cash.

Has he kept his word? Idk I only saw the paperwork after it was done and his lawyer and a notary had signed it. It could have been changed for all I know. But for the most part I trust him and his word. He has never lied or try to play with me.

And I also think it’s important to know it’s liquid cash. That doesn’t count investments, home, cars, ect. Whatever money is currently sitting in accounts I get a part of that. If his kids choose to sell his houses I don’t get a part of that. I don’t get a part of his military pension either.

So me being the business minded woman I am, put the 10k up. I never touched it. half went into a high yield savings account and the other went into a CD account.

I can touch the savings if I want to. The CD can’t be touched without penalty. But I don’t have a need to touch either. Donald pays rent and gives me money all the time. Ted pays “rent” he doesn’t but he think he does but I use that for utilities and groceries.

I also have a very good job on my own. 75% of my paycheck doesn’t touch my account it goes straight to my retirement which is matched by my company.

[13eyond13]

Please tell me about art and media you know of that accurately captures the weirdness of dream logic and atmosphere and emotions... books and movies and video games and art and comics and YouTube stuff, whatever you want... you know, where it only makes sense on an intuitive level and falls apart when you try to explain it...

[jacksprostate]

f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

[bongosinferno]

Interesting thing with the Bethesda fallouts (I've been playing a bit of Fallout 4 recently) is that they, at least in my opinion, misunderstand the fun parts of the first 2 games. I don't think think the setting is a very important part in those games, it's a part of it but it's just set-dressing for the gameplay and fun quest stories and how the players interact with them. I think there's some potential in say Fallout 4 for interesting quests or stories (I've done a couple of quests but a lot of my knowledge is from the Joseph Andersson video), but the solutions to any story just leads back into the shooting gameplay loop. This is, I think, antithetical to the format of the originals, which were based a lot more in having the format of a TTRPG. If your TTRPG sessions all boiled down to shooting people with basically no alternative solutions to quests I think your players would get bored. Since it's got shooter mechanics this kind of salvages it, it becomes it's very different own thing. But the wonderful gameplay loop of those first two games is lost, and I kind of miss it. Man, I need to replay Fallout 2.

[coquelicoq]

on the spectrum of bi ace special little guys, moon of indigo cloud is over on one end having sex constantly with multiple partners and kim dokja is on the other end doing his best to pretend sex is not even a thing that can be had. love both of them so much. they're each fulfilling a vital role in the ecosystem.

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Things that I know about A Stitch In Time prior to listening to it:

Garak goes to spy school, which is for spies (for some reason the idea of this is amusing to me. like I get it duh of course the Order must have some sort of training system but also. fanfic ass trope. Spy School! For Spies! it's even a boarding school and everything. DARKEST ACADEMIA)

Garak performs a classic bisexual rite of passage by falling in love with both members of an older(?) married couple (or well textually probably only the wife. I feel like I'd have heard about it if he were Betacanonically Queer (TM) in this book. but here's hoping I'll be astonished while listening!)

I can't remember if I read anything specific about it or not but just based on vibes alone I do not have high hopes for this couple's like. life expectancy.

Based on vibes alone I do not have high hopes for ANY character's life expectancy in this book tbh. If it involves Cardassians in general and Garak in specific I usually just assume everyone involved is doomed. This is going to be a FUN 12 hours and 28 minutes!

There was a post somewhere that mentioned that some supernatural magical stuff happens in this book and I'm SO FUCKING STOKED. HERE'S HOW GARAK ORB EXPERIENCE CAN STILL WIN!!!!

The entire concept of this book is so funny to me. Garak goes 7 years being ohhh so mysterious to Julian about himself or his past and then just spills his whole life story to him in a letter as soon as they're separated. Babygirl is going through Bashir Withdrawal Syndrome.

Most importantly KELAS MY BEST FRIEND KELAS FROM ONE (1) LINE OF CANON!!!!! I have no actual evidence that he ever shows up in this book but like he has to right. right. he's absolutely everywhere on ao3 y'all had to have gotten him from somewhere. I assume.