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Beans.

My partner and I have a running joke with a friend. Every time he goes on holiday we increase the quantity of beans in his flat.

The first time we bought ~30 cans of kidney beans and hid them around the house like some Easter egg hunt thing but with beans.

The Second time we bought ~6kg dried white beans and hid those in various places. Nearly every receptacle that could safely hold beans became the home of beans. My personal favourite was emptying an oat milk carton, very carefully washing and drying it, filling it with beans and then just putting it back among several other cartons.

He went on holiday again a couple of weeks ago. Obviously there is an expectation of bean-based shenanigans. And obviously we have to beat our previous efforts.

Our friend has (had) a mosaic on his wall of the famous Marilyn Monroe Pop-Art by Andy Warhol. He made the mosaic himself. Over the last couple of weeks we have spent hours and hours assembling a frame, drawing up a pattern and gridding out a 70 x 70 frame and gluing an untold amount of beans to it. I have spent over 21 hours gluing beans to a frames.

For the last couple of days I ended up going to bed at 5:00 am because I lost track of time whilst experimenting with which types of glue works best with different beans (I now have *opinions* on this, y’all). The day of our friend’s return we spent the morning and afternoon grouting the piece and wiping it down and wiping it down again and wiping it down again because grout is just like that. In the evening we went to install the mosaic, just a few hours before his return. Here’s a comparison between the original and our clearly superior replication, and the new piece installed in its rightful place.

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Sometimes fiction doesn’t have a moral to the story. Sometimes fiction points at something and goes “Ever thought about THAT???” And you look at what it’s pointing at for a bit.

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2 genres of fanfiction:

1) put that guy into situations

2) take that guy OUT of situations for the love of GOD let them REST 

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I read an AITA post a few weeks back about a woman who liked having snacks in the bath when she's had a long day (a result of residual trauma iirc - the bath was her safe space). Her brand new husband of three weeks, a man twice her age who had no job, made her pay all of his bills and do all housework, and spent all day every day gaming because he wanted to make it as a Twitch streamer, had always been fine with this; but, on the day in question, had whisked her bath snacks out of her hands as she was on her way to the bathroom and tried to bin them, telling her it was time to 'break her of that filthy habit in his home'. She told him if he ever actually paid anything towards the house she owns outright he might get a say, took her snacks back, and had her lovely bath. He was since giving her the silent treatment.

(Obviously the judgement was an avalanche of 'NTA and also he's abusing you', which she agreed with, and decided to kick him out, so happy ending.)

Anyway I told my husband about this and he was outraged. "I would never do that!" he told me, furious. "I would find it adorable if you had bath snacks!"

Since then, every time I try to have a bath (which I only do as a rare treat) after about ten minutes there has been an anxious scrabbling at the bathroom door.

"Elanor!" he says. "Do you have bath snacks? Do you need anything?"

My answer is irrelevant. He brings me wine and poptarts. Now I have bath snacks. I'm a bath snacks person. Last time he was literally sleeping on the sofa when I went for the bath. Somehow this still happened. I now have an eager bathroom butler. How did this happen. I have never been so decadent yet bewildered.

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An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.

Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.

(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)

John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.

It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.

Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.

His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.

His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.

He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.

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going on a pilgrimage (walking downstairs) to find a more fertile patch of land (the pantry) so I can find food (granola bar) to provide for my starving family (me)

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on toxic siblings

surface pressure, encanto / unknown / last ditch effort at making peace, Amanda Fagan / Arthur Miller / icarus, the crane wives / unknown / Fiona Apple / am I supposed to apologize, maria mena / a brother named gethsemane, Natalie Diaz / unknown / motion sickness, Phoebe Bridgers / tumblr post by @/crowsbabies / unknown / unknown

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my dealer: got some straight gas. this strain is called “daylight savings time” youll be zonked out of your gourd

Me: yeah whatever. i dont feel shit.

1 hour and 5 minutes later: dude I swear it’s only been 5 minutes

my friend the oven, pacing: the smart devices are lying to us

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@boycritter

it has come to my attention that not everyone has seen this iconic video so i'm gonna post it here and pin this post 🫡

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Yeah I was embarrassing when I was 15 who isn’t. Was also Embarrassing at 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. Last week. Yesterday

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sources? a little birdie, et al (2024)

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and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

no tumblr this doesnt need tags im releasing it into the wild as god intended

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it's simple really: october is for horror movies with highly stylized villains and iconic monsters because they make for good costumes. early november is for gothic horror because of the fog and decay etc. late november is for zombies (commentary on consumerist culture). december is for psychological horror and stuff where they're trapped in a room because that's when you have to go to holiday parties with your family.

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commitment to the bit to lovers

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