#strongly recommend

[thebloggingfox]

I don't think any book series has pissed me off more than the end of the Wereworld book series.

That is far too many loose ends to leave unfinished.

Is my favourite character dead or not.

What the fuck dude.

[optimisticdelusionqueen]

The BBC show Miss Austen loudly demonstrating that perhaps the great love of Jane Austen's life was, in fact, her sister Cassandra really has me in a chokehold

[silverwings-the-silly]

Slowly writing a plot for an OC based on How to Ruin Your Broadway Career, Butcher Vanity and Paparazzi Murder Party. I'll figure it out eventually.

[justapotato89]

I wake up in my bed, cool and clean. My clothes are made of cotton, my body is not achy nor sore. I put my head in my hands.

I walk to the pool in a cap too tight, a suit of polyester: unbreathable. The tiles beneath my feet hiss warmth onto my skin. The shower smells of chlorine, and the water drips sleepily. A piece of almond skin is stuck near my canine, and my throat is too dry to swallow the little bits littering my gums. The pool is warm, and the water too lazy to make any space for me. It is clingy and sluggish, and childish. I part it, and it tries to push the first exhale back inside me. If you're gentle enough with the arms, the fingertips pointed at the catch to call it back firmly instead of whitting it away, it will listen. Begrudgingly, at first, then with anticipation of the next call, pushing you forward with its chlorine-clad self. If you love it enough to take a good look without a half-tilt, half-wish for breath, it'll push you a little above. Let itself take a few eyefuls of you. Like a child it whacks at your face, runs its grubby hands down your nose and mouth, and you may sputter and cough. Just give it a stern stare and call it back for bedtime. Air is just next door, the older kid that just needs a head tilt to check up on it. Touch the floor at the shallow end and store a little bit of life in between the cracks of the tiles.

The air has thwacked against my ribs in a desperate hug and knocked the breath out of me. I'm sore, and the dirt under my feet scrape against the scorching tiles. The water has spat sweet, sickly, feverish chlorine all over my rubbery hair and my fingers have wrinkles and creases, little channels it made to hug me closer. The world is refracting into ridiculous balloons, and tinted in a vintage yellow. Its sound is liminal, absorbent, pulsing in and out as the water drips down into my ear. The cap is warm: a fact, not a feeling because my skins burns hotter, flushed and red. I smell stale, preserved, like I ought to be aged a 100 years, pickled with chlorine and bleach.

I'm young, I'm alive. I'm cleansed, cleaner than I was when clad in cotton.

[climbing-class]

Ordered prints from @meirimerens they are so so lovely, even better in person! There's a fantastic weight and texture to the ink, the prints are so one of a kind.

[draigonboother]

It rained today. Outside the window, the rush of cars and wind and people running across streets yelling, the translucent darkness of the night seeping past the sliver of curtains. During the day, the air cold and crisp and gray: rain-slick pavement, rustling trees with darkened bark, wet leaves half-decomposed, mottled, pressed flat against the concrete. Strikingly beautiful, almost startling so. Has it always been this way, the groups of people laughing, their faces flushed with cold, the blooming flowers, the air fresh and languid and clean. Boots with shiny leather. Cold hands. Shoes soaked, hems damp, numb feet. Has it always been this way — the beauty of it all, of this, of everything. Red lights at dusk. Silvery puddles reflecting iridescent fragments of sky. During the day, the windows clear, misted over with raindrops: the pale light, the washed-out buildings, the dark outline of trees. The white sky, sunless. The glutinous wisps of skinny clouds. The sound of rain against glass. On the streets: girls in short leather skirts, their legs long and delicate and bare. Old women in puffy jackets. Children splashing in puddles. Don’t run, you’ll slip. Then: I told you to be careful! Blades of grass, thin, translucent like jade, bent and speckled with dew. Plastic cups of coffee half-drank, stippled with condensation. Labels completely soaked through, grayish with water, soft, the corners half-peeled and bunched into knots. How have I never noticed this before, the dark leaves like lace doilies, the coarse bark, the birds with glossy round eyes. Fluorescent lighting of the subway. Hard plastic seats. People hunched over their phones, screens smeared with fingerprints, jackets blotched with raindrops. Quick tapping fingers. Faces colorless in the light, pallid, some impassive, some laughing: eyes flickering, cheeks bunched up, teeth yellow and bared. Doors open: rush of wind, fading conversation, clouds of perfume. There’s no way he — I swear! Where do you want to get dinner? There’s a new place that just opened up down the street, I’ve always wanted to try —

Inside, hot water, yellow lights, mirror clouded over with steam. Silky soap swirling down the drain. Soft towel. Skin smooth, hot, dry. Clean clothes. Damp hair on cool sheets. Cold, filtered water dripping down my chin. The broad, almost plastic-looking leaves of my house plant, shiny and dark green. Streetlights outside, slightly blurred, softly shining red, orange, yellow. On my tablet: pictures of forests, knotted trees, sprawling fields of moss, everything bluish-green. Quiet, still. Books with thin, inky fonts, the g’s and d’s written just the way I like. Somehow gratifying everything is, this moment, perfect. Poems: tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother, if the dog were alive he would be drowning, in the spring the rabbits will find it and build their nest inside. The living go on living, and the dead go on living with them. The rain seeps in the cracks, and the trunk falls to the ground, and the moss covers it. Nothing is wasted in nature or in love. Opened windows. Whirring of cars outside. Soon, the lights will be off and blankets will be drawn in and tomorrow will begin. Tomorrow: what it will bring, no one can say for sure. But today was beautiful, it was. It was.

[pointless-achievements]

Is there an achievement for a dogshit sleep schedule?

Evil Achievement Unlocked:

Sleep? Whomst Is She?

Look buddy I've been in the same boat ever since Baldur's Gate 3 came out and lemme tell ya it's not a good idea to skip on sleep.

[socraticcryptid]

if tea is leaf juice then uh

is this anything

[All photos taken from Wikipedia/Wikimedia commons. Image description under the cut.]

Image description begins. Image is a Dungeons and Dragons-style alignment chart meme, where the columns are lawful, neutral, and chaotic respectively, and the rows are good, neutral, and evil respectively. Lawful good has the text “Black tea, oolong, green tea, white tea” and an image of those four types of tea. Neutral good has the text “Rooibos, chamomile, and other herbal teas” and an image of mint tea. Chaotic good has the text “Fruit tisanes” and an image of a fruit and nut tisane, unbrewed. Lawful neutral has the text “Matcha latte” and an image of a matcha latte. True neutral has the text “Spinach smoothie” and an image of a green juice or smoothie. Chaotic neutral has the text “Beer” and an image of beer. Lawful evil has the text “Chewing raw tea leaves” and an image of a hand holding several fresh, undried tea leaves. Neutral evil has the text “Kimchi” and an image of six versions of kimchi. Chaotic evil has the text “Fruit salad” and an image of a fruit salad. End image description.