#thing in front of a mirror

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are here!!!

[peter-pantomime]

i completely agree that the mash laugh track is egregious in many ways, however i do think the fact that it gets quieter and more sporadic over time, not so much suggesting that the situation is getting less and less funny as much as saying that it never really was that funny but we're losing our ability to ignore that now, mirroring the behavior of a certain central harlequin figure who stops making jokes and gets more and more withdrawn over time is... something.

[strawberryscare]

new fav ship prospect is buddy and fabian. imagine growing up intensely religious and conservative and not only do you end up with rich asshole bisexual disaster boyfriend but he sincerely suggests you meet his godless hellish pirate devil prince father. there’s something very charming in all that.

[femmefruit]

princess pea’s solo museum adventure 🍬

[wildflowerspollinator]

Slower, Lighter, and on repeat. Is that mirror on the wallpaper?

[meelonkurb]

he does wave like the people's princess with his abnormally large hands

[teddybeartoji]

can't talk badly about yourself around sae bc there will be . dire consequences

[mollyolikeme]

No, but do tv show Bridgerton fans understand that there was never an actual mirror scene in the book? Only an implied mirror scene and the fact that we get one has me going legitimately feral.

[memento-morri-writes]

random snippet - birthday duels

aka Terrible Time Tuesday (yes, I posted parts of this yesterday. But the new parts, which is most of it, are fun! I promise!!)

Rook was not having a good time on Sunday, and this was before he died from a plethora of stab wounds. Would you believe me if I said this was one of the "best" times he's dealt with bad feelings? pov: Rook wordcount: 1.1k character(s): Rook (D&D), Tyra (NPC), Aki (Other PC) canon status: canon session rewrite trigger warnings: death mention, grief, guilt, self-hatred, very unhealthy coping mechanisms summary: on the birthday of his recently deceased friend, Rook struggles to deal with his emotions and winds up taking them out on his first mate, Tyra.

As the day wore on, the black cloud of grief that had settled over the ship grew thicker and more oppressive. Rook paced the deck, nearly vibrating with tension. It was almost suffocating, pressing down on him with the weight of a thousand regrets. 

Thoughts clawed at the back of his mind, bringing unwelcome reminders of the part he had played in Warren’s death. If things had gone differently, if he had been a little faster, a little smarter, would his friend still be here?

He shook his head rapidly, trying to shake off the guilt that clung to him with barbed claws. The others didn’t blame him. They’d made that point very clear. And yet, he still couldn’t help but blame himself. 

Wrenching his thoughts away from the dark pit they were circling, he marched up the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. Tyra stood at the helm, talking to Tempest. When she saw Rook, she trailed off. 

She opened her mouth in greeting, but before she could say a word, Rook spoke. “I know you’re more than capable of handling the crew, but how do I know you can hold your own in a fight?”

Tyra’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I can handle myself. I’m best with my pistol,” she tapped the beautifully carved handle emerging from the holster at her hip, “but I’m not too bad with a rapier.”

Rook made a contemplative sound. There was a long pause as he looked her up and down. “Show me.”

Drawing his rapier, he turned on his heel and descended to the deck, stepping onto the cargo hatch. The crew moved out of the way, clearing a space around him. Looking back up at Tyra, he beckoned her with his sword. 

Tyra exchanged an unreadable glance with Tempest, who stepped forwards to take the wheel as she slowly made her way down to the main deck. She positioned herself across from Rook. Hesitantly, she drew her sword, a curved cutlass that was shorter and thicker than his rapier, with a wide, flat blade.

Around them, the crew had started murmuring, hurriedly placing bets. Rook let their voices fade away, trying his best to clear his racing mind. He and Tyra stared at each other, time stretching out between them.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Rook lunged, sending his blade towards Tyra’s chest. She stepped back, parrying his strike with the flat of her blade. She tried to keep the momentum going, but he disengaged, dancing out of her reach. Now it was her turn to bridge the gap, lunging towards him. He knocked her blade aside with ease. 

Their blades clashed again and again as he effortlessly parried her every blow. She redoubled her efforts, deflecting his next strike. Drawing her arm back, she prepared to attack, leaving her torso unguarded. Rook struck. In a flash, he had his blade hovering over her chest. She froze.

In the background the crew exchanged money as the two stood there, gazes locked. Rook stepped back, raising his sword into a ready position. His heart pounded in his ears as he said, “Again.”

Tyra’s eyes widened, but she raised her sword. This time, she struck first, trying to gain the upper hand early. But it wasn’t long before he had her on the defensive, trying her best to hold him back.

She blocked him again, and this time, instead of pulling back for another strike, he stepped forwards, pushing his sword down her blade. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the cutlass from her hand.

She stepped back, breathing heavily. 

Rook crossed to where her sword lay, and with one quick motion from his foot, sent it flying into his hand. He held it out to her, hilt first. Reluctantly, she took it. 

“Again.”

This time, he didn’t even give her a second to gather her bearings before he struck, targeting her with several blows in quick succession. Immediately she fell onto her back foot, desperately trying to match his furious pace.

He kept pushing her back, off of the cargo hatch that had been their arena until her foot caught and she stumbled. He pressed on and she fell, back hitting the wood of the deck with an audible thud as her sword clattered from her hand. Rook stood over her, blade hovering inches above her throat. He stared down at her, heart pounding. 

A gentle tap on his shoulder caused him to whirl around, striking at the source of the gesture. The tip of his blade pierced a translucent blue hand, causing it to dissolve into the air. Behind it, Aki stared at him, eyes wide.

“Rook, stop this.” He frowned. “It isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t care.”

Aki’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t helping you.” When Rook said nothing, he added, “Look at her, she’s exhausted.” He gestured towards Tyra.

Rook turned to look at his first mate, who was slowly getting to her feet. She was disheveled, her clothes rumpled and her locs in disarray. Her chest rose and fell as she panted for breath. Aki was right, she was tired. 

“Let her go,” Aki said gently.

Whatever he had been trying to do by challenging her, it wasn’t working. He was breathing more heavily than normal, but it was more due to the tightness in his chest than a difficult fight. His muscles trembled, not from effort or exhaustion, but from tension.

Rook squared his shoulders. “Fine.” He sheathed his sword and turned away. He could feel the crew’s eyes on him as he headed towards the ratlines leading up to the crow’s nest. Ignoring them, he grabbed the rope and began to climb.

Though it had been years since he’d climbed the rigging, it came back to him easily, his body’s memory of six years of sailing guiding him up to the small basket-like platform near the top of the mast. A member of the crew sat inside. As Rook’s head came into view, she started, eyes wide.

“Get out.”

She nodded and hurriedly clambered over the edge, scurrying down the rigging towards the deck.

Rook sank onto the floor of the crow’s nest, tipping his head back until it touched the low wooden wall surrounding the platform. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, then out, forcing himself to slow down.

He wasn’t sure if it was the gentle rocking of the ship, or the wind on his face, or the sun on his skin, or simply the distance from the deck and all the gloom that hung over it, but slowly the tension faded from his body. 

[pergaminaa]

Modern au

Rhiannon spends a lot of time around her parents and it shows in her speech and mannerism. She is generally quiet and keeps to herself. She also ALWAYS pesters Manon because ‘is this new lipstick? is it for me?’ And she just goes on standing in front of the mirror and applying said lipstick.

She also gets into Manon’s perfumes and LOVES to pick which one to use before going out.

But despite that she is still a small child and certainly has her moments.

One day, she spent a whole morning playing in the swimming pool with Aelin’s kids. When Dorian packed her up later, they called Manon from the car to chat. The first thing the three year old said was: “Mama I look like a boiled lobster!” She just declared because the poor baby is as pale as her mother and the sun is just not kind on them (Manon avoids the sun because she just burns but her daughter is small and they thought she might actually just tan like her dad but nope, she turned into a ‘boiled lobster’ as the toddler so eloquently put it).

[zomboyfren]

I've decided Wilson has leveled up to main f/o status

[born-to-lose]

The feminine urge to do 60s/70s groupie style photoshoots

[fooltofancy]

emotional support fate run abandonment new years

[balkanlila]

the most touching and the most influential aspect of elena's writing is that she takes these people who exist as representatives of the universe, of something intergal to human nature, their lives not in any way original, their destinies shared with thousands and she makes sure, almost instinctively, that we as readers remember them by their specific names. how many people have taken their own life for the same reasons franco mari did? how many people suffered alfonso's faith in exchange for one second of owning their identities? how many girls didn't get to go to school the way lila did? but that doesn't concern elena, does it... those numbers... she thinks of lila and she sees lila and these people who have done nothing but repeat the past exist in this space, exactly as elena remembers them, exist and belong entirely to themselves... these people are gifted originality and importance simply because this woman remembers them... and that means something!!!!!!!!!!

[janederscore]

*voice of the complainer* not to be that bitch but its exceptionally hard not to feel alienated constantly by internet-centric trans culture, in particular bc the loudest voices in the room typically have the easiest access to life-changing medical care. like i dunno its just all pretty bleak and depressing when you're getting close to the two decade mark of being out and only having been able to scrape together hrt for a couple of short periods ever

[heretherebedork]

I love that Askorn is telling the author this novel is real in front of Kyo and thus revealing that he is literally dating a man in an alternate universe who resides in his mirror.