rororobin

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Reblog to open a rail line from your blog to the person you reblogged this from

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[rororobin]

I trulylove appreciate that someone took the time and effort to give this blog (which is really an obscure BoJack Horseman reference) some content.

Samantha Goes to Gracias Mariposa

The fried plantains were “delightful,” a word I put in quotation marks because I mean quite the opposite: they were wildly offensive to my palate. My margarita was somewhat lovely, but one of the grains of salt on the rim sliced open my lip. While I did not actually see any of my precious blood gushing from the wound, the anxiety of waiting for it caused me substantial stress and displeasure. 

But perhaps most horribly, the color of their cactus enchilada reminded me of a rocking chair accident that I was in as a child, an incident I had successfully repressed after 6 years of intense psychotherapy. I look forward to sending the owners of this establishment my bills for all future treatment. 

One bright spot in the meal: the ice water was sufficiently cold. 

STAR RATING: 11,047 stars out of 1,000,000,000.

[rororobin]

Samantha Goes to Elefante

My late grandmother was a big fan of dinner theater. In fact, she died during the third act of a production of Madame Butterfly at a Japanese restaurant in the Valley. I, on the other hand, am not a fan of dramatics with my dining, which is why I am giving my lowest rating EVER to Elefante, the restaurant owned by mildly successful 90s sitcom actor BoJack Horseman. 

The food was…well, somewhat fantastic, but at one point during the experience I witnessed Mr. Horseman himself fighting loudly with a pink cat who I believe was his agent (or maybe his ex-agent after that little spat?). I also witnessed a member of the kitchen staff racing through the dining room WHILE IN FLAMES. Might I add that I also waited over 2 hours for my food? It was most frustrating.

One bright spot in the meal: The air freshener in the bathroom was cloying and reminded me my grandmother, the one who died at that Japanese restaurant in the Valley.  

STAR RATING: 412 out of 1,000,000,000

[rororobin]

as a d&d entusiast and sex pervert I felt obligated to rb

real, rb if you're a d&d enthusiast or sex pervert (or both like a True Linux User)

[rororobin]

Hey be sure to go to your blog settings, head down to visibility and turn on this little button that prevents Tumblr from stealing your posts and using it to train AI learning models. Good job, fuckheads, great update.

[rororobin]

attack rolls against The Snake have disadvantage

[rororobin]

ok... I'm going to try the notes thing

Let's try:

If this gets 2k notes, I'll start annotating my books

If this gets 5k notes, I'll push more at school for people to use my correct pronouns

If this gets 7k notes, I'll work on my handwriting

This is all by Feb 25th!!!!!

[rororobin]

if this gets 1000 notes by March I'll uh. get a therapist. and y'all aren't allowed to reblog more than three times, I know what my friends would do

edit: to 1000 because my friends will try to get to 100 in the comments

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ASEXUALS ARE ALSO THE GAY™. THEY BELONG WITH US

I'M DOING AN EXPERIMENT

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

LIKE IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS DON’T BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

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Seriously, this is so much better. Learning to do this is difficult but it's so worth it.

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felt it was fitting to reblog this

Is it just me or are the new tumblr users convinced there's a penalty of some kind for using this site like it's meant to be used?

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[rororobin]

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

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