thisismyrgatroyd

[thisismyrgatroyd]

I hate being the poet but never the muse

[thisismyrgatroyd]

yeh yeh i love you too

My autistic ass tryna get my best friend into Redacted Audio/ASMR:

(image from @screamingchinchilla ty for blessing me with this glory i love it)

My best friend puts up with so much Redacted bullshit from me coz i dont talk about it to anyone else coz i have Fear

@thisismyrgatroyd i had to tag you bro ik you don’t use tumblr like AT ALL

[thisismyrgatroyd]

positive press? for tumblr???? my gd.......

[thisismyrgatroyd]

Inspired by @leg-stealing-bee

If this post gets 100,000 notes by 2027

I’ll get this tattoo

[thisismyrgatroyd]

Panacea Creation and Typhomancy

Click on it twice. These are your two super powers.

#reblog #we love to see it #mine are pretty swag

[thisismyrgatroyd]

Caramelldansen turns 20 this year and frankly I am not prepared for that.

[thisismyrgatroyd]

I love this so much, I’m gonna start saying “nuts” we need to bring it back

[thisismyrgatroyd]

my beloathed. my insignificant other. my worstie. my stupid rabbit. my fucked up abhorrent little meow meow

[thisismyrgatroyd]

Whoops I dropped my monster condom for my monster boyfriend

[thisismyrgatroyd]

Catacombs of New York

Post Apocalypse. Exact circumstances don’t really matter, but there needs to be A) some form of warning (doesn’t need to be much, however) B) Can’t be a *no humans left* scenario, some survivors needed for good writing.

New York, London, Madrid, wherever there’s a subway system. They are going to be the best bunkers/shelters/defensible places, right? So, likely, people flock to these places. However, if it collapses/people starve/carbon monoxide leak/etc, there are going to be thousands and thousands of bodies, just in this one space. Nothing in view but bones, for potentially hundreds of metres. There could be practically an entire city’s population just in one place, and nothing but bones remaining.

Anyway, main point, this is designed for the tumblr mechanism to judge this idea and decide whether or not I should write it.

#post apocalyptic #post apocalypse #story idea #writing idea #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #in an alternate universe #you should absolutely write this #pop off #king shit #seriously go for it

[thisismyrgatroyd]

date a forest god whose glowing presence always calms you down

[thisismyrgatroyd]

everyone shut the fuck up about literally anything else because today is a national holiday

[thisismyrgatroyd]

i read this to the tune of 'Welcome to the Internet'

Bo Burnham has broken me as a person

Hello! I was wondering if you could give us the recipe of that hot drink from the steward period? I want to make it but I don't know how much of everything to put in. Thanks!

You means Stuart?

We had many. To which do you refer?

We had coffee, tea, hot cocoa, possets , nogs, and so on.

I’d encourage you to look at my website, wherein I have a comprehensive historical set of recipes that track the history of “nog”. Type that into the search engine and you may find what you’re looking for perhaps. I also have my hot toddy recipe there.

#but as a skin sack i'm completely fine #welcome to the internet #bo burhnam #reblog

[thisismyrgatroyd]

i should be allowed powers because i am special boy

[thisismyrgatroyd]

[thisismyrgatroyd]

...5'5"

I'm fucking livid.

Funky concept - your height reversed is how tall you’d be as a cryptid/fantasy creature   ✌️

#this is why we can't have nice things #fucking 5'5"? #really? #livid #reblog #tw swearing

[thisismyrgatroyd]

HOLY FUCK DUDE WTF THIS IS SO GOOD I'M IN LOVE YOU'RE LIKE ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS I KNOW?????? CONTENT???? FOR LIL OL MEEE???? LSDFKJGKB

having the rather breathtaking image of orpheus sitting in a tree, singing his song until apples grow and one drops down- and eurydice, directly underneath, smiles and catches it

oh oh shit oh my god

let me write this ill be back

-

It's cold until he sings. Mist rises from the fields, ghostly silver upon the cold cold air. Cold air which always chills her through her coat through her skin to her heart, frostbite stretching beyond her fingers until it reaches organs themselves. She sits under her tree and watches the ghostly silver mist, presses her frostbitten hands against the ground, so hard that it scratches growling mouths into her palms. Palms that are so soft because if she cares about nothing at all, there's a kind of love there for her hands which she inherited from her mother like some kind of prized jewel.

The mist keeps rising steadily as he sings, a lark in a tree, perched high enough above her head with a high enough voice that it could be the calls of the angels which some call birds. She picks her mother's soft hands from the unforgiving ground, pressing them backwards at the wrong angle for her poor shoulders until they brush against the moss of the lark's own tree.

She thinks distantly that the moss should be frozen like her heart and yet... and yet it's soft under the growling mouths of her fingers and suddenly the lark reaches a crescendo and the mist warps softly into a harvest haze of pollen. The cold recedes from her frostbitten fingers, seeps out through the sleeves of her coat as she steams steadily into summer air.

The lark above sings still, the only constant in her changing life, so she hums along with him, hearing the smile in both of their voices. A rustle from the newborn leaves, a hand so warm, so warm because he holds the sun in his mother's palm. Her mother's palm isn't cold now, but however hard she tries, the centre crease is still lined with frosted mist.

She coughs. He sings.

Another rustle and she thinks the lark is falling towards her, but no, it's only an apple, blushed red like his cheeks and dewey with mist from her heart.

She catches it in her mother's palm like it was crafted just for her, and wonders delightfully if maybe it was. The apple crunches with her bite, cold in her hand, and finally her frostbitten heart cracks and the steam drifts from her a little stronger and she thinks that she might know what warm feels like.

And finally, finally, Eurydice can hear the love that lingers in Orpheus's - her lark's - song.

#fish this is so good #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #reblog #this is so beautiful #fish i love this and you #wow #just wow #hadestown #eurydice #orphydice #orpheus #tw caps #tw swearing