whoever decided to give this man long hair has my eternal gratitude
Struggling to remember the name of the show, and what my brain comes up with is....
What We Do On The Seas

roma★
wallacepolsom
Stranger Things

blake kathryn
Not today Justin

izzy's playlists!

titsay
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Product Placement
styofa doing anything

PR's Tumblrdome
trying on a metaphor

@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)
Mike Driver

tannertan36
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
AnasAbdin

Andulka

ellievsbear
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Finland
seen from Israel
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
seen from China

seen from United States

seen from Chile
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from Japan
seen from United States

seen from Uruguay

seen from United States
@tvatemybrain
whoever decided to give this man long hair has my eternal gratitude
Struggling to remember the name of the show, and what my brain comes up with is....
What We Do On The Seas
the kissy kissy <3
www.sarahcosico.bigcartel.com
[ID/ Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss" reimagined with Miss Piggy and Kermit /end ID]
what they dont tell you about strategy based games is that its hard if you’re stupid
For everyone who ‘used to love reading’ but now hasn’t finished a book in years, you CAN get it back. Genuinely start bringing a book (preferably short and either fiction or a non fiction topic you already really enjoy) everywhere you go and when you have 5-20 mins waiting for the bus or at the doctors office or mechanic or whatever, get out your book and read it! You don’t have to finish it quickly or even read it often but it is so good for your brain and fun to get into the habit of reading more (and replacing being on your phone for those moments). Source: I read 0 books in 2023 and I’ve read 12 in the first 4 months of 2026
extremely funny to me that Kermit the Frog is the only main overlap character between Sesame Street and The Muppets. imagine your day job is hanging out in a community of lovely people that genuinely just want to help kids learn and care about everyone so so much and then your night job is the reason that you have to stay up to date on your rabies AND tetanus vaccine
at noon the giant you're hanging out with is Big Bird! a wonderful fellow who likes reading stories and singing and telling fun facts! at midnight there's a giant named Sweetums who makes you feel like you're being hunted for sport
Ernie, trying to maybe come out to Kermit: well you know Kermit, me and Bert-
Bert: Bert and I
Ernie: Bert and I, we've been best friends forever, but we're also something else too!
Kermit, who every goddamn night has to tell Beaker and Bunsen to keep it professional, deal with Statler and Waldorf's bullshit, AND update his organizational chart on Dr. Teeth and the Electric Polycule: that's really great to hear fellas, happy for you two! :)
Grover, alarmed at having spilled some finger paint on Kermit's flipper: I am so sorry, Kermit. Please forgive me.
Kermit, who deals with a multitude of bodily fluids on his person and all over the theatre every evening, who is unintentionally trampled by large monsters as they exit the stage, and quite intentionally has his little froggy bones launched into a wall most nights by Miss Piggy: It's ok, Grover. I'm a frog. I love baths.
On Sesame Street: Oh, no, Telly is watching too much television!
The Muppet Show Theater, that night: Gonzo attempts to explain his latest fetish at length.
M’lord be it gay if I doth touch lance tips with Ser Gawain?
had to be there i guess
I told y'all it was a pun
A very long thread on it: https://twitter.com/lmrwanda/status/1505646738627088389?t=06aHTTZkf1ZaJyCDhWUzTg&s=19
And the punchline, if anyone wants to jump there directly: https://twitter.com/lmrwanda/status/1505648702119202823?t=IHkQWeElTa0T63o3lbr12Q&s=19
that’s excellent
cracking open a cold one with the sumerian dog
I'm fascinated by how the formatting of different social media sites affect how text is read.
For instance, a line break on Tumblr indicates a new idea.
But a reblog break indicates that time has passed.
You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.
The pepper grinder is small and copper with a brass knob at the top that allows you to hand-turn the grinder. You’re never sure where you picked it up – it’s not a gift or a purchase, otherwise you’d have the saltshaker to match – but it feels right sitting next to your fruit bowl. Logically, it should go by your stove where the rest of your spices have congregated in a misshapen mob, getting stained by Bolognese and fry oil. However, your fruit bowl is a stoneware behemoth you found in the crawlspace under the house, and the shine of the copper next to the earthen tone reminds you of spending long hours excavating in the Italian countryside as an archeology sophomore in college (about two years before you became an English major), so it stays.
Then, of course, you’re too busy to eat fruit before it rots and the bowl sits empty- barring a lemon or lime here or there- and that’s no good either because it takes up over half of the counter to the right of your sink and backs up against the blank wall at the end of your galley kitchen where you can’t hang anything because both the fridge door and the pantry door swing into it.
So when your mother gives you another worry stone for your birthday – rose quartz this time, which means she thinks if you’re not worried about being single in your 30s, you should be – you hold it while staring out the kitchen window, drinking coffee over the sink, and when you finish the last sip full of grounds you toss the mug in the sink and the rose quartz in the bowl. It clinks loudly and then settles between those two lemons that you need to find a use for before the weekend, lest they go hard and unusable except for cleaning your sink.
After that, belated birthday wishes show up in the mail, and you can’t bring yourself to throw them out. Your Aunt Sylvia sends a postcard from Peru that she’s been holding onto for “a special occasion” for the last five years and, -aren’t you lucky?- you’re the special winner of a National Geographic photo of Machu Picchu. And you’re not a monster. The card may not hold the same significance to you as it did to her, but the thought does and so tucked between the bowl and the wall it goes where the very tippy top of the ruins rise over the brown rim, as if from the depths of a valley.
Then your college roommate (the archaeology one who made you want to do the study abroad program in the first place), Audra, sends you a shard of Roman pottery and a note in Latin that you can’t read but understand perfectly by the coffee stains littering the edge of it. The sight of the coffee stains warms your heart more than the pottery shard, so both go in the bowl where you can occasionally glance at them as you drink your own coffee over the sink and reminisce over study dates and the few regular dates you shared before her passion stole her abroad.
(And if the clay and the rose quartz lie next to each other and you suddenly think of marriage and nostalgia and her stoneware eyes that led you to save the same-colored fruit bowl from the depths of your house in the first place, it’s a natural series of associations and doesn’t prove your mother right at all.)
The driftwood isn’t from anyone. Your agent calls to tell you that you won an award for one of your books. The driftwood is in your hand, scavenged along the Potomac from amidst the pebbles deposited by the last storm, and it’s suddenly your only tether to reality as she explains what this means. It means reviews and author readings and an interview - of you! – and a guaranteed sequel. The stick is smooth under your fingertips and you wave it in the air is if it’s a wand in an attempt to burst your bubble.
Only you’re home the next moment and you’ve still got the driftwood in your hand and your bubble is unburst. It feels significant that you brought it back with you so you put it across the top of your fruit bowl as if it’s the award itself. You have a decaf coffee to celebrate that evening and see that stick guarding your rose quartz and your pepper grinder and your pottery shard and you think, I’m doing okay. And the joy you feel from that is so powerful that your next thought is, I’m happy.
Which is, of course, when the power goes out.
Outages happen all the time in a block as old as yours. Before, you’d see it as free time and go lay down in bed and wait for the world to relight or for morning to come. But you don’t have time now. Your agent is planning to call you soon. You are an award-winning author and you have things to do before your 42% battery runs out.
You make your kitchen your base and set the six pillar candles on your counter, lighting them one by one. They’re the rainbow ones from last June your mother bought you in a sweet yet confusing show of support and you’ve never found a special enough occasion to burn them. You smile at Machu Picchu peaking over your fruit bowl. Your aunt is the one who taught you about special things.
Then your agent calls and, while you’re hammering out the details, you see that the candles are about to drip colored wax onto your white, plastic countertops and even though you really want to replace them, you can’t afford to (at least until you sign a contract). You snatch up your driftwood and use it to scoop the wax from the sides until a kaleidoscope of color is collected and you have to keep spinning it to keep it from dripping.
You blow on the hot wax, thinking of Audra and your family and the future your agent is painting for you until it cools. Then you place the driftwood over the bowl where it belongs.
It’s just a bowl. Of course, it’s just a bowl. It does a good job of taking up a huge amount of your counter and of holding onto things you’d forget in a junk drawer. It looks good in the candlelight, warm and earthy and welcoming with the three bright lemons scattering amongst your treasures. It’s nice to see reminders of your loved ones every morning from the summit of Machu Picchu to your worry stone to that shard of pottery, but it’s not anything more.
At least it’s not until you put your driftwood, wax-covered wand back and think, I wish I could see her.
The flames of the candles sputter and turn gold, radiating a pure and steady light that could never come from a mundane fire. Your agent stops herself midsentence, apologizes, promises to call you back when she has a better connection, and hangs up. The bowl rattles and shivers and you take a step back as your copper pepper grinder tips over. You must not have put it together correctly because it spills when it does, little peppercorns that roll across your counter towards the edge.
You expect to hear the dried pepper hit the ground, but it doesn’t. Each peppercorn stops unnaturally.
G…
R…
A…
N…
T…
E…
D…
What?
The candles splutter and return to normal flame. Your bowl is still. The lemons seem less appetizing than they had a moment ago, but your treasures are still there and lovely.
You pick up your Roman shard.
Your phone rings. Audra. Although you can’t imagine talking to anyone after what you’ve just witness, your body isn’t on the same page. Muscle memory and association has you answering before the second ring.
“Mal, I got the job!”
“…The job?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. Not because I was hiding it! But nobody ever gets it and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up and then my hopes up—”
Her rapid-fire word is grounding. You laugh. “Because my hopes are your hopes.”
“Obviously,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “I got the Smithsonian. The curator role. The job.”
She’s coming home. The realization hits like electricity, raising all the hair on your arms and almost making you drop the shard. You blink quickly to stop the automatic tears.
“Mal?”
“I’m here,” you say. You go to put the pottery shard back with more care than you ever have, as if it’s Audra herself. She can probably hear the way your voice trembles, but you can’t compose yourself. “Oh, I’m so happy. When?”
“In a month. I have to hand over some current projects, which should only take a week, but finding someone to take over my classes might take a little longer, but not too long! I promise. After that it’s packing—”
You put the pottery shard back in the bowl as gently as you ever have. Audra’s voice is the sweetest music as she says goodbye, in a hurry to start packing. You hear that music long after she hangs up. Your knees are weak. She’s coming home. She’s coming home. Thank whatever god, she’s coming home—
Your fingers touch something coarse and feather-light. Your brow furrows as you pull a scrap of ancient paper from the fruit bowl.
You’re welcome.
“Oh,” you breathe.
The lights flare as the power returns.
---
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to support what I do and/or would like to see new work from me, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)!
Thanks for all the support! Excited for another year on this blog. I'll probably make a mushy post about it at some point, but...EIGHT years! And counting! What an amazing time this has been :D
This story was based off my actual fruit bowl
"And you in your pride thought you could produce the Kwisatz Hockeypuck!"
Yuna lifted her chin. "I sensed the possibility."
"You thought only of David’s desire for a son," Jackie le Fay snapped. "And his desires don't figure in this. A Hollander daughter could've been wed to a Rozanov heir and sealed the breach. You've hopelessly complicated matters. We may lose both bloodlines now.”
heated rivalry is amazing because it has all the appeal of something that’s good AND all the appeal of something that sucks. i didn’t think “good adaptation of maddeningly bad source material” was a thing that could exist but here we are.
I do not agree the books are maddeningly bad.
I do agree that the show made them better.
I would agree that at least one particular audio book was maddeningly bad though.
Disclaimer: I am still about 300th in the library queue to read the sacred texts though.
IF I HAD A NICKEL
there isn't enough love for this ship tbh
Murderbot + text posts [126/∞]
The saddest thing about getting old is not being able to read the x text posts.
Things I have done since AO3 has been down:
Mowed lawn, done dishes, finished the Hollanov Groundhog day fic that was already open on my phone (A++), watch ALL of season 2 of Patience (6 hrs?), did a bit of weeding, cooked scrambled eggs on toast with avocado.
Now contemplating doing the dreaded vacuuming. Ugh.
Knives! Get your Knives here for no particular reason!
🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪
Get em while they're cold, get em while they're sharp!
Special discount if your name is Brutus for no reason in particular!
Grabbing one early this year so I’m prepared.
So, was anyone going to tell me that Francois Arnaud played Manfred Bernado in Charlaine Harris's Midnight Texas TV series, and is thus part of the True Blood universe, or ... ?