i hope the beloved mutuals don’t think me unintellectual for this but i love romantic subplots i gobble them up delightedly with very few exceptions. ‘oh fuck yes a little bowl of seeds for me’ etc
“how are they finding time to fall in love when the worlds ending” and what are we all doing right now 🤨
Communicating with my cat is so crazy, it’s like, you watch my back for predators when I sleep. You meow only because you know that I vocalize often, but the words I use are nothing to you unless they’re associated with things relevant to your little baby life (food, for example). You slow blink at me because you feel safe with me. You point your ass at my face, indicating that you trust me to watch your back for predators, because you feel safe with me. You sit in my lap and sleep pressed against my side because you need to warm yourself up, and you trust me to warm you. I know this because I have access to information. If I didn’t, these things would be weird to me. I call you Lulu, but you don’t need a name for me; you have your senses to identify me. You smell me to identify me. You nuzzle me with your head to mark me as family with your scent. We ARE family. You are both the baby I feed and the elderly little lady who watches over me. It’s a very special and pure interspecies bond. I have a concept of “love” that is metaphysical, conceptual; you have an instinctual bond to those that you “trust” to help you survive (and that you, in turn, help to survive). You DO aid my survival on an emotional level that you can’t possibly understand, because you try to aid me on the physical level that comes naturally to you. Who said survival of the fittest has no room for love? We share the pure love of deep friendship because you and I must survive. My creature, Lulu, my best friend. My stinky.
The comments and tags on this post have been very sweet, I really love hearing about everyone’s cats. Feeling a little self-conscious because this drunken emotional outburst (seriously, I had a few drinks, looked at Lulu, and started crying and writing this) has been tagged as poetry a few times. Now I wish I could go back in time and edit it for flow and word choice, but it’s too late now…
They have a gas-based firefighting system instead of sprinklers for obvious reasons. It does lower the percentage of oxygen in the building, but not enough to kill anyone.
I found this by googling “Yale library fire oxygen.” It was literally the first result.
Fact-checking is your friend.
It’s true. It’s not the fire suppression system that kills you. The Librarians come and personally murder you for starting a fire in a library. But you didn’t start a fire you say? No matter. You are collateral damage. Everybody gets killed to show that arsonists have no chance of escaping justice
an orangutan traveling at non-euclidean speeds erupts from the aether to clothesline you into another dimension
god im trying so hard to decipher that last addition and im coming up empty
Big fan of characters realizing they don’t get to die. They have to live. And grow. And be a person. And deal with shit they thought they’d never have to. And be fucked up about it. I would like more of this. Enough dying for honor or as redemption. It ain’t. You’re just a corpse. There is no moral value in dirt time.
