Ayra2452008

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

I hate cooking. It uses up ten million spoons and stresses me out so much. So naturally I decided on this, the first day of my period after a week of exhaustion, to surprise my beloved wife with goat curry tonight.

Oh and also I’ll be using our new instant pot as a pressure cooker for the first time. What could go wrong?

I can’t remember a time in my life where the summers weren’t full of berries to eat. Every trail has at least a few bushes offering their wares to people walking by.

Many of them aren’t monetized, they don’t keep well, not appealing enough for the bother of cultivating them. Salmon berries, huckleberries, thimble berries. We have black and blue berries, too. But you don’t see most of our local berries in the grocery store.

One of my most precious memories with my beloved was our earliest hike together. They didn’t grow up native to the area and exclaimed in alarm when they saw me reach casually toward a bush to pick a berry as we walked by.

“You can’t just eat berries! What if it’s poisonous?!”

“It’s not,” I said, puzzled. “I guess there’s some poisonous berries around here but I don’t eat those ones, it’s really easy to tell.”

“Those are safe to eat?”

I laughed and popped it into my mouth only to immediately realize it was horribly unripe. Salmon berries come in two colors you see, orange and red.

I’d mistaken an unripe red berry for a ripe orange one. It had felt soft enough to be ripe but it was so bitter it hurt. So an instant after asserting it was safe to eat I opened my mouth with a “bleh” to let it fall back out.

“They- they’re not poisonous it just wasn’t ripe,” I insisted.

My beloved looked skeptical but scanned the bush and plucked another berry to me. “Try this one.”

The sun shone beautifully through the dappled tree canopy, illuminating the gleaming berry in their hand, a perfect snapshot of a romantic summer moment. I took the berry, my fingers brushing their palm to bring the little fruit up to my lips while looking into their smiling eyes.

I had to spit it out.

It was as overwhelmingly bitter as the last one, but I didn’t mind the way my beloved laughed at me.

Delighted by my morning errand! My nana has… some hoarding issues. A year or so ago my mom and I tried to go in and help her clear stuff out. I was listing piles of stuff for sale for her, she made a ton of cash off it.

But my mom was so rude and judgemental during the process that my nana called it off and told us to stop coming. Most of the stuff we excavated from her garage is still sitting out in her carport.

One of the pieces that didn’t sell was this absolutely stunning old Singer sewing machine. It came in its own table and was in absolutely pristine condition. The machine itself is black with gold accents, really sleek and beautiful.

I mentioned it offhandedly during a one shot to a friend and he asked if I had pictures. I did, and when I showed him he asked what I listed it for.

I shrugged, “I asked 200 for it. It’s in great condition and besides being an antique those things never break. All the same machines on eBay were going for $400-500. But it was too pricey I guess.”

There was a little break in conversation and I saw the wheels turning in his head. “Do you want it?”

“200?”

“My nana will be thrilled, let me set up a pickup.”

So today we met there and he looked it over. It’s just as pretty as I remembered and when we plugged it in it hummed happily along. He was glowing with delight and my nana was thrilled to be making some cash.

I hope he adores it, but I’m mostly just happy it’s going on to be used rather than sitting unloved in her mountains of tchotchkes.

Before my beloved and I moved in together they were living with roommates in a place that didn't have a bathtub. Now, a reasonable person might conclude from this that baths would be out of the equation in a home with only one standing shower and no tub.

But these people weren't quitters. Naturopathic doctors and acupuncturists they were dedicated to treating their bodies well and one of the ways they liked to do that was hydrotherapy. Most people are familiar with this through things like polar bear plunges. You sit in a hot tub then jump in freezing water.

It's supposedly good for you and they were way into it. But again, no tub. They'd do hydro showers but it just wasn't the same. These people were not quitters, though. (One of them is the boob soap person, so it really isn't a surprise that she goes hard on everything). So they got what looked like two big metal old timey tubs but which were actually animal food troughs and set them up in the garage. They set up a water heater and god knows how they emptied the tub after, I think there was hoses involved? A pump maybe? I honestly can't remember. Anyway! Voila, hydrotherapy on demand.

I was not aware of this. So when I came over after a long day and my beloved said we should take a bath I was extremely puzzled. I only knew about the one shower. They showed me the garage tubs. I did want a bath and I wasn't really sure about the setup, but honestly I'll try anything once if only for the story, so I agreed.

Fun fact about me though. I haaaate being cold. I've been 0% body fat most of my life with skin barely keeping my bones enclosed. I'm always cold. My favorite activity at the time was sitting directly in front of space heaters. My shower temperatures turn me lobster red and make my beloved cringe. Willingly dunking myself into cold water is the antipathy of my entire deal.

On the night in question I happily submerged into the warm tank, pleasantly surprised by the big silly improvised tub. Which again was meant for livestock. My knees bumped companionably against my beloved as we soaked in the hot water. After a while they rose to go into the cold water. "You don't have to," they told me.

But I was haunted. I wouldn't be doing hydro if I just stayed in the warm tub. Maybe hydro was amazing. It has all these health benefits. I desperately didn't want to but I stood up with them. We were having this nice intimate evening in the garage, just us, I felt safe. I was gonna do it.

They stepped easily into the cold tub, dunking matter of factly into the frigid water. I went to step. I did. I really really tried. My foot went in and I started shrieking, my progress arrested by the total state of shock I entered when my warm toasty foot hit that smug arctic water tension. My beloved started laughing as my pitch ascended the deeper my foot went into the cold water.

I started loudly narrating my discomfort as my foot touched the bottom and I willed my other foot up to join it. "THIS IS VERY COLD," I yelled, "IT'S SO COLD I THINK I MIGHT DIE HOW ARE YOU JUST CASUALLY SITTING IN THIS FREEZING COLD WATER?! I'M DYING- I THINK I'M DYING! I'M DYING BUT WE'RE HERE, TOGETHER! I CAN DO THIS! I CAN DO THESE EVEN THOUGH IT'S SO COLD ALL MY MOLECULES HAVE COMPRESSED INTO A SOLID STATE!"

I ended up with both feet planted in the cold tub, water up to my shins, bellowing and panting while my beloved laughed so hard they couldn't breathe. I hunkered over the cold water, squatting like a frozen gargoyle.

My beloved was trying to psyche me up while I willed my body to obey me. In a sudden jerky drop like a puppet whose strings have been cut I plummeted my body into the cold and let out a shriek that I’m sure could have shattered glass and then leapt up out of the water at a speed relative to a rocket achieving space flight. I didn’t like it.

When we got back inside my beloved's roommates were collapsed on the ground with tears in the their eyes from how hard they'd been laughing. They and probably every neighbor down the block had heard my pterodactyl screeching and narration because the garage was not remotely soundproof.

GAZA NEEDS YOU. DON'T LOOK AWAY. YOU CAN SAVE LIVES. Below are some VETTED campaigns to support the people who have been experiencing an active genocide for almost a full year. DONATE DONATE DONATE. If you cannot, share widely.

(June 1)

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FIND MORE CAMPAIGNS HERE

إذا انت من غزة و بدك إضافتك إلى القائمة التالية - اضغط هنا

Ao3 is actually massively culturally important and very very good at being what it is. I’m so serious when I say that ao3 needs to be protected as the anti censorship, by fans for fans, nonprofit, volunteer run, expertly designed archival site that it is. You don’t have to read or like fanfiction to understand that on principle, ao3 is a site that should be defended.

Oh I’m an asshole.

So today pulling into Stop and Shop, this lady cut me off and nearly drove into me, and then, when I tried to pass her, she swung to the right and nearly hit me again, and then flipped me off.

So somebody is having a bad day and taking it out on me. That’s fine. It’s harmless, and I don’t know what’s going on in this woman’s life. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt she’s not just a piece of shit and is just having a bad day.

But then I park and she follows me, and gets out of the car and starts swearing at me and getting in my face.

Now I go from “indifferent” to “I’m gonna fuck with this woman’s head.” Now I would say I’m a gentleman of size, and in all black and bemohawked I probably look spookier than I actually am, so props to this lady for getting in my face. Now of course I’m not going to hit her, or even threaten violence. That’s shitty. Nobody should get threatened with violence.

Instead, I take a step back, narrowing my eyes like I’m studying her face really closely, and then I touch one of the several piece of “occulty” jewelry I’m wearing (none of which, by the way, are magicked in any way at all). Then I mumble some nonsense under my breath, and then make the fig gesture and the horns at her.

She stops, wide-eyed.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO TO ME?”

I chuckled, and shake my head. “Nothing at all.” I say in a not-terrible convincing voice. “But every time something bad happens to you today, you’re gonna be thinking of me.”

Then I winked at her, and walked away.

I think the hot new trends for this summer should be reading comprehension and critical thinking skills

when you walk in and they have this on their wall

you know the panties hit the floor

Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.

Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.

RIP decency indeed.

i just want to one day be loved like elle woods’ sorority sisters loved her

they all simply do not understand why elle wants to go to harvard so bad... yet they help her study, grade her tests, motivate her and all around fully support her from the moment she decides to go and never stop believing in elle not for a single second... like wow name me one sweeter moment in all of cinema, i’ll wait

sorry to be legally blonde blogging on main once again but i just wanted to talk about how easy it would’ve been to screw that movie up. the entire premise is based around a girl doing the most to get a guy, the main conflict of the film is the one between elle and viv, elle and her friends are stereotypical girly girls, etc - all that is just a perfect setup for a kind of passive aggressive lowkey misogynistic film that aims at actual feminist themes but falls short at #girlboss. but it doesn’t! while vivian is certainly catty to elle at first the insults aren’t sexist, vivian is just threatened but the confrontation is surprisingly and refreshingly... levelheaded? is the best way i can describe it. there is none of that one scene that a lot of 90’s movies seem to have where the two female protags have a fight where they insult each other’s appearance and then latch onto each other’s hair and yell bloody murder. ya know the one. there is none of that, none of the throwing around lowkey insults to women left and right, and in the end it works out quite beautifully because the only character we meet who is actually outright sexist is warner, which sets him up to be a gigantic asshole without having to have him like kill a kitten or something. it’s clever writing! and for a movie that came out in 2001 to toe that line between empowerment and sexism so well and come out the other side an enjoyable story with realistic women that does not fall under sexist tropes and stands the test of time is very admirable imo

anyway,

"someone who allows you to rest" is the relationship dynamic of all time

A parent that welcomes you back home after things have fallen apart. A best friend whose voice alone who can make you relax. A spouse who convinces you to stay in bed an extra hour and leave the dishes for later. A stranger who sees you tired and gives up their seat on the train. Augh. The humanity of it

Most parents I think worry or wonder when their kid might finally start repeating swear words they hear. The tale of my initiation into the world of cursing was the subject of family lore however.

First, to set the scene, my nana spent a lot of time with me when I was young. She lived with us briefly and I firmly cemented my place as number one favorite grandchild by climbing up into her attic room to cuddle on the regular.

She’d take me on errands and watch me when my parents were at work. She even once lured me away when she ran into my dad watching me as a store. She didn’t think he was keeping a close enough eye and called me over to her a few aisles away.

I happily complied since I loved and recognized her then we watched my dad for several minutes before he finally looked down, saw me missing, and panicked. “That’ll teach you to keep a better eye on her!” My nana scolded him, convinced that every babynapper was slavering for her precious redheaded grandbaby.

So one day my mom had me in the car. We were driving along and from my back seat I chirped, “Can we play pretend?”

My mom smiled, imagining I’d start narrating some silly adventure or something. “Sure.”

“Shit shit SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

My mom sat stunned in the front seat, baffled momentarily by the stream of cursing.

After careful questioning it was pretty obvious what had happened. My nana had sworn up a storm in front of me but didn’t want to come clean about it to my parents when I started repeating it. She’d instead invented a fun game and the rules were that I could only curse when we were playing a special game.

My mom was furious, and my nana got a sound dressing down both for the cursing but more importantly for the lying.

My favorite time telling this story though was to a girl in high school. She listened with wide eyes then asked, “Did your mom fire her?”

“What?”

“Your nana? Did she get fired?”

“My…. Grandmother? Did my mom fire my grandmother??”

“Ohhhhh. Not the nanny then.”

I FOUND IT HERE!!

headcannon that aventurine loves to kiss your pulse spots.

whether it be on your wrist or on your neck he’ll press chaste kisses to them, if it’s to ground himself or to check your heartbeat it depends on how he feels, too.

after you get too upset or if your stress is up he checks it by scooping you up in his arms and pressing his lips to your neck softly to see how fast it’s beating. he then tries in his awkwardness of “comforting” to help you calm down.

he also does it when your sleep. if you’re spooning him, aventurine will sneakily slide up or turn around to bury his head in your neck; desperately trying to feel your heartbeat against his lips in the wake of it.

in fact, you could say he does it everytime your back is to him. when you cook, when you sleep, when you get ready and he groggily tries to navigate to the spot.

aventurine does it so he knows you’re still here. not someplace else that’s out of his reach. not on another planet where his only solace is your voice saved on his phone. not away somewhere he can’t reach. here with him.