These Two Cuties 🥹

if you had to choose one pokemon to be your absolute favorite out of every pokemon which one would you choose. its okay to choose a "basic" one

Rosewood Chronicles Characters Coping Mechanisms

Lottie: painting, musical theatre, Taylor Swift music and interviews, Studio Ghibli films, cheesy films from the 80′s/90′s, early Disney channel shows and movies, queer romance books (specifically either with a queer couple or a queer main character- she also gets very upset when her OTP doesn’t get together), funny baby complications on youtube, Claude Monet art, mood boards

Ellie: rock/metal music, Ricky Montgomery music, sci-fi films (Back to the Future, E.T, ghostbusters), ranting on Tumblr about her parents, writing music, boxing, vine complications, that one comedian I can never remember the name of, karate, dying her hair

Binah: cinnamon, her parents cooking, reading classics under a thick quilt, science videos, ted ed videos, 

Jamie: high fantasy books (he lives by Brandon Sanderson), running, ju jit zu 

Anastacia: painting her nails bright colours, adding things into her online shopping cart (she calls it ~therapy~), cuddling with Saskia, plaiting her hair,  

Saskia: knitting, cuddling with Anastacia, gymnastics

This is so funny i never get tired

"Girlfriends? 🤔" "No no no, not girlfriends 😒"

"boyfriends! 😌" "NO no not boyfriends either 😨"

Gif:@tvstrangerthings

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home.

The streets no longer know them. They do not seem to fit in their own bodies as they stroll the cobbles, Lucy’s hand tucked carefully into Peter’s, Edmund trailing watchfully behind Susan like a shadow. Their eyes are sharp, their smiles crooked, and those who see them cross to the opposite side of the road, afraid of the ancient gleam they see reflected back at them that does not belong in the eyes of a child.

Water murmurs to Lucy when she flits past, and lamplight follows her wherever she goes, even in broad daylight when the lamps are unlit. Their flames sputter into existence when she walks by, flickering at her in a way that seems to whisper I know you. Lucy looks at them with feral teeth and smiles, and vines twist from the cobbles at her feet. She laughs like a wild thing, eyes glowing, but a moment later she blinks and it is gone. Her feet hardly seem to touch the ground at all as she darts through the alleys.

The sky is clearer when Peter walks the streets, clouds vanishing like they were never there at all. His eyes are too much like a lion’s, struck through with gold and filled with a brooding fierceness, yet he laughs as he twirls Lucy around, and claps Edmund on the back as they share a stupid joke, and smiles with Susan when she tells him of the bow she plans to carve. He is all warmth and friendliness, but there is something about his eyes. There is something about all of their eyes.

The sun caresses Susan as she moves about, and she is graceful, too graceful, her hair seeming to be alive of its own accord as she steps lightly along the streets. Her skin is pale like ice, and sometimes her gaze appears almost silver as she stands by the river, gazing into its depths with a distant, siren-cold smile. She is gentle, but her fingers look a little too long sometimes. Her laugh is a little too unsettling.

Trees lean towards Edmund when he walks past, branches scraping his clothing, leaves showering around him. Books and journals and pages covered in notes perpetually fill his arms, spilling from his grasp but never quite falling. His voice is even-keeled, quiet, but there is something wild about it, something unhinged. He speaks of things none have ever heard before, dark hair falling into his eyes, mouth unsmiling and hands perfectly still, and for a moment he seems to be someone else, fangs beneath his lips, dirt on his tongue. He tilts his head just a little too far, sometimes.

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home. They do not fit their bodies. They do not fit the streets. People who encounter them cross to the other side of the road to avoid them, terrified of the oldness they see in the children’s faces. Such depth does not belong in the gaze of a child.

And yet four sets of eyes, ancient and deep and flickering like candlelight, stare out from the children’s faces, and their smiles are sharp, too sharp. Their laughter is a little too wild as they walk, the oldest and youngest hand-in-hand, the middle children trailing each other like shadows.

There is something about those children’s eyes.

There is something about those children.

gonna buy this god-forsaken web site and charge all y'all $8 a month to edit reblogs.

tag yourself, trope edition

One thing I truly love about Mabel is that she is completely genuine and sincere weird little girl representation. She has a morbid sense of humour. She grew up with a horrifying plush bear called Bear-O and literally everybody hated him. Her prized possession is a pig whom she won at a carnival, claiming to be a witch while doing so. Her initial design for a wax figure was a fairy princess horse fairy princess. She punched a unicorn. She draws portraits of her friends on cats and sells them for a profit. Her dream boyfriend is a Bill and Ted clone who has a masters in law. She's scared of stop motion. Her uncle didn't like colours so she hatched a plan with her friends to blind him. When her uncle offered her a free gift from his shop, she took a grappling hook without even considering any other option. One time she said the sentence "it's covered in my blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids." No one is doing it like her

How Jane Seymour would tell you she loves you:

Hovering at the door- She asks you how your day was and if you want a snack before dinner. She doesn’t want to intrude on you so she waits to be invited in.

Baking- she learns all your favourite recipes, and even adjusts other ones to fit your taste. ultimate mum/grandma friend. 

Stroking your hair- whenever, where ever. she does this without realizing, and it’s a habit she can’t break, and honestly, no one wants her to break it.

“my love”- people who say this are the best people in the world, and I love them. she slips this into a lot of her sentences, and it always makes people feel comforted.

In this moment, I am humanity, I write. The last of my kind. 

Of course, this isn’t true, but the one thing the invasion hasn’t sucked out of me is my dramatics.

Before the aliens came I was Samantha, an average girl who was averagely good at everything. Now I'm a prodigy of gunmanship. A side effect of using a Remington 700 for the past few months. Remy is my pride and joy, my last true companion, the only thing left I can trust. I trust her with my life, which is a good thing seeing as it’s the last thing I have left to defend myself with.

Now I don’t know who I am. The invasion has taken everything from me. 

Every day I run, I find shelter, I write in this stupid journal hoping that something good will happen. But it never works. Of course it never works. The aliens don’t care, why would they? 

I sit up. The woods are silent, not uncommon considering I haven’t seen another human for weeks. But even now, they are silent- no birds chirping, no trees laughing, no breeze whispering. But a strange electric current hangs in the air, humming gently and tickling the backs of my ears and neck. 

I am not alone.

the potters