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vampires have been drinking human blood for centuries they don't give a fuck about guys on eight different antidepressants. they were sucking on asbestos factory workers

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Abolish the comic book industrial complex 🙂

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died and came back exactly the same but something was so so so wrong with me before and now I have an excuse to really lean into it

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while you were studying girls i was kissing the blade

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i love mutual pining to lovers because it gives some of the vibes of a love triangle without the needless drama. alternatively it’s like a love triangle except the third person is just mutual stupidity.

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wizard seeing a small crowd of people and their knees immediately buckle in sexual pleasure imagining how much damage a fireball would do

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i have an assignment due in about 15 hours - its supposed to be 1,500 words but i have over 3,000 words just in my note outline, and i have to whittle that shit down in half a day. but yknow what i did for the last 2 hours? lucy/kipperlily sleepover art

💥 kofi link in bio if you’re feeling generous 💥

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Odysseus in No Longer You.

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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!’

Continuar lendo

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ohhh everyone wants to go on and on about supporting women’s wrongs but when i, kipperlilly copperkettle, envy the tragic past of my peers so much that i desecrate my teacher’s grave and drug the student population of aguefort and kill my party’s cleric (twice) in service of reviving a corrupted rage god—

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Yeah, a lot of what bothers me about fantasy settings (especially D&D) is that people try to run wizards like they're academics, but their only exposure to academics is authoritative professors telling them The Truth, so they don't realize that all academics are always 5 seconds away from trying to strangle each other over questions like 'does time really pass or does it just seem to pass'

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AND NOW I KNOW HOW JOAN OF ARC FELT, NOW I KNOW HOW JOAN OF ARC FELT

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“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?”

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"I think Pacific Rim is unrealistic now because instead of everyone banding together to defeat COVID, the governments just gave up and abandoned everybody-"

Are you kidding me? Pacific Rim 100% predicted this kind of thing. That's literally what the Pacific Perimeter Program was about. Once the PPDC decided fighting kaiju was too expensive, they just gave up and chose to ignore the problem by putting it behind a big wall. Pacific Rim is literally about the people who were abandoned by the institutions that were supposed to protect them and kept on trying anyway.