jinkies!

so many amazing words in the english language. you have clandestine and precarious and serendipity and iconoclast and then you also have staunch and sludge and slurp and smudge

astonishing how good it can feel to get some chores done sometimes. you’ll be sitting there like damn i am some type of horrid little smeagol like creature who should be crushed to death. but then you do some laundry and you’re like wrow. im actually gods most fuckable soldier.

i worry we are losing touch with the True Meaning Of Halloween (avoiding the fairies)

sometimes u are rly rly rly sad and then u dance in ur underwear to a song u used to love when you were fourteen and like. ok yeah hope will find me again. and u too

it's always "immortals always lose the ones they love!" and never "this family has had this incredible, powerful, loving figure present through generations of their lineage, all because they are descended from someone the immortal loved long ago" and i think that's a shame!!

“i used to live there” is such a sad phrase. seeing places u used to live in is an odd thing. It’s like ‘i know where the best hiding place is in there. my bedroom was the one directly to the left as you walk in. i took my first steps on that flooring. i used to play in that yard with my grandma. she died two years ago. that was the only place i ever knew. those walls contain all of my childhood memories. i can no longer go there, but i know every corner like the back of my hand.’

I love you samosas. I love you empanadas. I love you pasties. I love you dumplings. I love you pirozhkis. I love you savory food in a convenient little carb purse.

when god closes a door you reach your little paws under it and go mrrwwaaaooow mmreeaaow

I am looking neither respectfully nor disrespectfully. I gaze without recognition of your form, and without understanding.

Me without my glasses

currently obsessed with british murder mystery tv shows where all the murders happen in the same town in every episode and everyone's just like oh yep there goes another one, just another day in shirefordtonstead

This is where the people who colonized Cabot Cove came from.

The absolutely essential aspect of these stories is complete, unbroken, total genre-blindness of all characters. If they, even momentarily, realize that their small town actually has a shockingly high murder rate, the effect is ruined. In an urban crime show like Law&Order or whatever, the cops can go to anybody on the street and say "We're investigating the murder of Jackknife Bob" and the witness is just like, "He got whacked? Oh well, I didn't do it." But in a Small Town Murder, it is absolutely imperative that everyone the detectives talked to is shocked that such a thing could happen! "Dear me, a murder? Right here in Shirefordtonstead? Good heavens!" Ma'am, it is season seven. You are the fifth proprietress of this quaint antique shop. The first three were murdered, and the fourth was the killer. In the normal, rational world, living among this high a murder rate would have a profound, dare I say traumatizing, effect on your worldview and your perception of your own safety. But you are not of the normal, rational world. Your unshakable and clearly counterfactual belief in the safety and stability in your surroundings is built into your character. And for this I love you. Never, ever change, Tiny Quaint Friendly Villages Full of Constant Murder.

"Kamala Harris raised 50+ million dollars after Biden dropped out!" you fools.... that's the money she got from selling Biden to One Direction :(

happy pride month to chad and ryan, the lil gay cowboy and roman in the night at the museum trilogy, and every man who played volleyball in top gun (1986).