God, the Derry Girls Bake Off is just so good. The chaos! Literally everything Siobhan does for every round! The fact that the girls are all literally so much like their characters. And I love all of their relationships, but Nicola and Dylan's friendship is beyond adorable
Hey anon!
I'm excited to rewatch it through my newfound obsessive derry girls lens. I have the barest recollection of it I remember either nicola being really good or just thinking she was. Someone brings alcohol and I can't remember who I think it was either Siobhan or Jamie and they just drink it 😂
A mutual put a gifset of Dylan being terrified on the dash so I'm hopeful for the chaos!
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hyperfixations are so scary like yeah this could be a month long thing or i might be thinking of it everyday seven months from now. no way to tell
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obsessed with the way that Lisa Frankenstein answers the question of “how will Lisa overcome her trauma” not with “by putting her morbid tendencies aside and rejoining society as a normal girl” but having her relive it as the perpetrator instead and being rewarded with a messy codependent husband
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the next episode of dungeon meshi (airs next thursday btw) is going to cause a category 5 yurricane. i can already sense it forming. a 9.0 on the dyketer scale too. we aren't ready
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Mosquito on western rainbow boa
Photographed in Ecuador by Matthieu Berroneau
Shared with permission; do not remove credit or re-post!
(Negative comments about mosquitoes will get you blocked.)
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i love eda. my girl took a random demon home as a pet then realised he was sentient and spent 8 years calling him her roommate before she adopted him. and then she found out he was jesus
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please forgive me for whatever i do, when i don't remember you
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I was scared, Darla. I was so scared. I was certain I’d been set up, that they wouldn’t be returning. I turned to leave, hoping I could get back to the TMA feed but then the program began to speak from where it was trapped in the computer.
It was their voices. It was Jon and Martin's voices. I know you won’t believe me but they read the stories and I know it was their voices. I froze in place.
They grew clearer, and as the distortion faded from the recording for a moment I could make out the mechanical tones, the off-putting cadence. They spoke slowly, intoning the incident reports with steady, measured voices. Something was speaking through them, from inside the machine.
I said the only thing I could think: “Jon? Martin? Is that you?”
And those voices I have loved for eight years answered: “Some of them.”
And then they laughed.
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