In which Fi flails…

ABOUT

[Updated May 2017]

26. She/her. ISTJ. Self-identified literary scholar. Happily in a relationship, but I don't wish long-distance on anyone.

I post quotations from things I read both for the purposes of keeping a record and because, perhaps more importantly, I hope that something will resonate with someone out there, and s/he will be moved to read that text.

I don't claim ownership for anything unless explicitly stated. (Comments I've made on posts I reblog should be clear.)

If I've reblogged anything of yours that you would like to have removed, please let me know. (Giving me a link to the post in question helps a lot.) Ditto if I haven't properly sourced anything that I've posted. (I try to add a Source? tag on things I reblog if they're not sourced.) Do let me know!

(I also unfollow upon request—just let me know.)

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(I mean, I mostly pledge to read words, period.
I don't mind e-readers. I just have a special fondness for physical books.)

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Fandom Scarf Sources:
• Ravenclaw
• Doctor Who
• Studio Ghibli

Twitter

Recent Tweets @hey_itsFi

arthurpendragonns:

#bless

(via centralperksource)

“My Dear Acquaintance”

anexperimentallife:

hermionegranger:
autisticcole:
debrides:
I worked with toddlers and pre schoolers for three years. Sometimes I accidentally slip and tell a friend to say bye to an inanimate object (“say bye bus!”) & occasionally they unthinkingly just do it.
I’m glad there’s a teacher version of “accidentally called teacher ‘mom’”
when I worked at Medieval Times occasionally I would slip in real life and call people “my lord”
I love the implication that Medieval Times doesn’t exist in real life, and like, all the employees disappear from our reality for the duration of their shifts.

(via teacuprevelry)

reblog
text

(via lvnalovgood)

(via donnattartt)

There are plenty of legends about women turning into trees but are there any about trees turning into women? Is it odd to say that your lover reminds you of a tree? Well she does, it’s the way her hair fills with wind and sweeps out around her head. Very often I expect her to rustle. She doesn’t rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch. Would I had a hedge of such saplings naked and unadorned.

Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body (via theclassicsreader)

Three hundred and fifty more candy canes…

tigerliliesinthebathtub:

me with children

lohver:

do you ever wonder how many strangers hate you because of how someone else described you to them

(via centralperksource)