UM WE FORGOT THE OTHER TWO

tumblr when a new pathetic man drops

*places an orange just outside a fairy ring to see what comes out* science is more of an art than a science

*the orange grows legs and skitters away*

Fascinating results *places a banana in the same spot*

*clawed hand reaches out of the ether and drags it into the ring, leaving ragged claw marks in the soil as it disappears, back into the ether from whence it came*

“let’s go to the extreme.” *places a pineapple in the same spot*

Real scientists would keep putting an orange in the same spot to make sure the results are consistent before moving on to other fruits or different spots.

The only valid response to this post.

We’re working up the complexity levels of fruit until we feel there is enough evidence to support the judicious placement of a volunteer twink

You sit down, we haven’t seen what’s happened to the pineapple

#this is tumblr we’ve all seen what’s happened to the pineapple

tags via @sylveondreams

Mirrors Do Not Make Promises

The evil-queen-to-be looked into the magic mirror and asked: “Am I beautiful?”

The mirror had not been addressed in many years, hanging like an island in the center of the iron chamber. The curtain was gone though. The room smelled of dust. There was light somewhere, oh lords, there was light.

The mirror, a phantom outline on the surface, peered down. A girl stood, hooked nose, thin lips, dark hair the texture of crow’s feathers, and ruddy skin– both too pale and flushed all at once. Teeth like overlapping piano keys and body gangly as a newborn calf. She wore the finest gown of deep purple, heavy and dragging on the dirty floor.

Her chin wobbled. She had a determined set to her gaze, but her cheeks were tear-stained, and eyes as red as daybreak, at least the types of daybreak the mirror could still remember. The mirror tilted her head.

“Am I beautiful?!” the girl repeated and stomped her foot this time, pinpricks of tears spilling out. There was a purpling welt across her right cheek, a bruise forming with a tinted yellow edge. She must be an island as well.

The mirror closed her eyes. She nodded. “You will be. You have been. You are.”

The girl’s eyes went large as entire skies, at least, the type of skies the mirror could still remember. “Promise?” It was a child’s whisper.

“I do not make promises,” the mirror replied, and the girl huffed.

“Fine.” The curtain returned.

———————-

“Am I beautiful?”

The evil-queen-to-be was taller now, growing into herself. Her hollow cheeks had rounded, and teeth slowly straightened out through small spells and larger ones. The mirror had felt when she found that little black book, a moldy, stained thing, fleshy and dank. The mirror did not always spread her awareness out into the lives of men, but there was no ignoring the tremor through the air that night.

“Did you hear me?” The girl had returned, on the cusp of forgoing shorter hems and growing into the adult ones.

The mirror hummed. “You again. My girl.”

“You again, my mirror.” The girl sneered. She narrowed her eyes. “Do you even have a name?”

“No.” The mirror responded. “Do you?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I suppose you do not hear them yelling it through the hallways, Esme! Esme! Foolish, tricky girl.”

“I do not hear them. No.”

The girl blinked several times. “Oh.”

“Esme.” The mirror tried out the name.

“You may call me Lady Esme.” She sniffed loudly and crossed her arms. “I’m nobility.”

“Of course, my lady.” The mirror inclined her head. “Ask your question then.”

The girl considered her for a long moment. “Am I beautiful?”

“Have you not asked before?”

The girl flushed a deep red and glared at her shoes. “You’re just like everyone else.” She twisted in place to leave.

“Of course,” the mirror murmured. “You are beautiful.”

Esme glanced shyly over her shoulder. “Really? You promise?”

“I do not make promises.”

The door slammed, but the curtain did not return.

——————–

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” the young woman sang and skipped. “Who should I poison at the ball?” She carried a flower and small book tucked away at her side. The mirror had watched her fill the book with cramped tiny handwriting, coded through a complex numerology.

It was filled with the secrets of the tomes she unearthed and more she made herself. “Mirror, mirror on the wall,” she kept singing. “Who should I poison with my comb?”

“You jest.” The mirror spoke slowly. “But if you must poison one, poison the only son of the Duke of Engles. He plans to bed a scullery maid and will not be easily deterred by no.”

The evil-queen-to-be stopped in place and faced the mirror. Her clever face and clever eyes were cold and sharp. She was older now. “Noted,” she said thoughtfully and plucked at the flower in her hand. She lifted her chin up high, “this will be my first showing.”

“I know.” The mirror replied. “You will dance and make merry. Be careful of the wine, my lady.”

“How do you know so much?” Esme squinted and leaned forward. “What exactly do you know?”

“I know everything reflected in the world of men and more.” The mirror said and watched the light fall across the floor. She still wasn’t facing the window, and how her chest ached for it.

“But how?” Esme insisted.

“I am old,” she stated simply.

Esme rolled her eyes. “Well, I could have guessed that.”

“But ageless. Time cannot touch me, nor can I touch it. But I can peer through its many threads into the greater tapestry.”

Esme tilted her head thoughtfully, mind at work. “So,” she said with a cat-like smirk. “I really will be beautiful.”

“You are. You have been. You will be.”

Esme went blank for a moment before turning in place. “I must prepare for my debut on the market.” She sprouted an edged grin and looked over her shoulder. “And who should I marry there, my mirror?”

The mirror did not blink. “The king.”

Esme’s eyes lost their mischief, she frowned, and closed the door softly.

—————

“They’ll burn me, they’ll burn me!” Esme cried and paced back and forth. She was still wearing a luscious green gown with bell-shaped sleeves. It was torn in places, sullied. “Dammit, they know!’

Keep reading

Clark youre such a nerd

There you are, innocently making brownies in North Dakota, and suddenly fucking Superman is politely knocking on your window and complimenting how good your brownies smell and can he have some please?

For context, this was when Superman was high off his gills on a piece of mystical kryptonite which affected him like a combination of weed, mdma & psychedelics

So there you are, innocently making brownies in North Dakota, and suddenly fucking Superman, visibly elevated to high heavens, is politely knocking on your window and complimenting (in slightly slurred speech) how good your brownies smell and can he have some please?

I love how even as high as he evidently is, he’s still very very polite.

if anybody needs to hear it:

Reading comments saying how in Deep Space Nine whenever the crew faces a moral dilemma, they often just turn to Garak, and it made me want to make this

I've been trying not to call people mean names when I get into arguments so now my default when I get a lil frustrated is to say "babe" which as u might understand is not particularly conducive to customer service

Had a guy piss me off so badly yesterday I called him babygirl

For reference im a scrawny 19 year old girl weaing top much eyeliner and he was a 40 year old man in an American flag carhartt jacket. We were both so surprised the disagreement just ended right there

did some math based on adventurer's bible stuff about average sizes of tallmen & half-foots & the canon heights of the characters and. chilchuck is the half-foot equivalent of 6'5

prev tags

reminder that digital libraries aren’t owned, also why pirating digital content is a necessity

shh.

Do not cite the old magic to me. I was there when it was written.

Sometimes I look at the Big Hair People in the comics I wrote back then and have to remind myself that, actually, they were, if anything, understated.

Okay but how did they all get their hair like this? I'd do anything to have this kind of volume.

It's permed, then heavily teased, then sprayed with about half a bottle of Aquanet while you blow dry the hair with your head upside down, then you blow dry the bangs while combing them higher and higher and spraying the other half of the can of Aquanet. You have to add so much hairspray that your hair feels lacquered.

I'm not even sure they make hairspray with that kind of hold anymore?

to get that kind of volume you have to be willing to put a hole in the ozone layer

staying with my father and my teenage brother occasionally has been very enlightening actually i need to think about it positively

hmmm ok. fascinating. okay. amazing. and i have to live like this? okay

Bonus under cut