#I'm going to use this power for evil

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Are you saying I don't have to use google docs to get emojis on my pc now?

The key shortcut of "windows key" and "." held together has changed my life

like

emoji access? supremely powerful 🙂💖

But

Kaomoji ?

The year is 2013 and I am unstoppable ヾ(•ω•`)o o(*￣▽￣*)ブo(*°▽°*)o

[puppyudderly-dreamy]

idk i do like hearing peoples perspectives and arguments about transfeminism, but i believe what i believe about it because the arguments for it are effective and the evidence we have supports their conclusions. yea they also help me conceptualize events in my life through a transfeminist lens but that is what theoretical frameworks are For, they begin with the evidence and describe the experience.

i think semantic arguments and talk of empty unity and dismissing through sexualization are just as much tactics of argumentation and to me they're are highly ineffective in doing anything but making the people using them look good to an uninformed observer. its the reason we say a lot that some people here have a "vibes based politics" because it's clear from their arguments and rhetoric that they think of these arguments as a way to display an image rather than to actually have a discussion.

thats why im pissy and get upset and block people, they're just wasting peoples time for their own egos rather engaging with any of these concepts or acknowledging that what they know might not be totalizing. the desperation to have a perfect unsullied and intelligent image is why posts like mine pointing out a subtle dogwhistle will get backlash that amounts to telling me i'm making it up. i am communicating to them that there is a piece of knowledge that they might not have considered or even known is offensive to them so they reach for reactionary defenses instead of treating the trans woman in front of them like a person

[front-facing-pokemon]

[genericaces]

more rambling about a s5 au: lindsey comes back for a redemption arc to act as legal counsel for angel's team. this ostensibly gives gunn a reason to opt out of the lawyer operation, but he does it anyway because he doesn't trust lindsey not to fuck them over.

lindsey acts as a moral foil to gunn, who comes to believe his necessary contribution to the team (since he's no longer their only lawyer) is being the defender of the group's principles while working at w&h. they frequently butt heads while working on a case, but eventually develop a begrudging respect of each other's respective strengths.

this hostile-to-friendly-rivalry arc is tested when it comes out that w&h was responsible for some demon problem that's been plaguing gunn's home community. gunn has, unbeknownst to himself, been somehow contributing to it while working at w&h; lindsey knowingly contributed to it when he was last working there as a lawyer. lindsey is forced to confront who he was, while gunn is forced to confront who he’s becoming.

since he was involved in the project, lindsey uses his insider knowledge to help come up with a plan to fix the problem. they execute it, something goes wrong, and lindsey risks his life to ensure the plan goes off successfully. he expects congratulations and a pat on the back from gunn, but gunn isn't interested in absolving lindsey's sins (or his own), and their warming relationship freezes over.

at some point, gunn lets himself get taken by the senior partners in an effort to deal with his guilt over various lapses in judgment/perceived moral failures. during their rescue mission to the holding dimension, lindsey stays behind in gunn's place so he can escape, assuring gunn that he's the lawyer the team needs right now. their mutual arcs culminate in lindsey rejecting the idea that redemption is done for recognition, and gunn rejecting the idea that guilt/self-punishment is inherently redemptive.

eventually after being busted out by illyria, lindsey is there to empathize with gunn about losing parts of yourself (body, mind, and/or soul) to w&h, relationships to power when you've grown up without it, and what it means to live with the consequences of your actions. both of them reflect on the nature of redemption/forgiveness/intent as they grapple with how to own up to an appropriate share of the blame.

[fisheito]

EVeryONE STOP SENDIGN ME THE mOoncake YAKUMO IM NOT OK!!!!!!!!+++++++++

[imminent-danger-came]

do you think MK is gonna have a circlet arc?? Going along with your eldritch mk theory jt could parallel his past life being contained and also more parallels to SWK and MK how fun

This ask has haunted my ask box for 3 days. Circlet arc??? CIRCLET ARC???? THAT WOULD BE TERRIBLE AND SO SO SO GOOD.

I have no idea if it would actually happen in show, but I have a feeling MK is at the very least going to have an "anti-circlet" arc. Go with me for a moment:

So, we know MK's bandana parallels Wukong's phoenix feathers in design, right?

MK with the two ends of his bandana and Wukong with the two feathers coming out of his cap.

However, MK's bandana is ALSO a parallel to Wukong's circlet:

And MK was given this bandana by Pigsy (presumably):

This is basically a long winded way to say that MK has already been "crowned", in a sense. Unlike Wukong, MK never needed to be controlled in the same way his mentor did at the beginning of his journey. MK, instead, was given morals and love by our wonderful Dadsy from a young age, which effectively functioned as a "circlet", if that makes sense.

So, the bandana, a symbol of both who he is/was raised to be and the crown, is already his circlet. As MK is now, he doesn't need a circlet to exert control over him because of who he is—a good kid who is trying his best to make the right choices.

But, you know, there was that really scary scene that one time where MK didn't exactly feel like MK and he kind of went off the rails...and...WHAT IS THAT

HIS BANDANA WAS DAMAGED BY HIMSELF IN AN EPISODE TITLED "Rip and Tear" !!?!??!?!?

SO.

Say MK were to rip his own bandana off, symbolically showing his complete decent into his "harbinger of chaos" role...that would mean another crown would have to go on to replace it, right?

Whether MK get's crowned symbolically with another bandana or an ACTUAL circlet remains to be seen, but the potential is definitely there! And I'm normal about it

[steelthroat]

Otp? Ot3????

HA! No! YOU THINK IT'S ENOUGH FOR ME???? WE'RE GOING FOR THE OT5 BABYYYYYY!!

AND THE CHAOS! OH, SWEET, SWEET CHAOS!!!!!

[silvertws]

Look at the boy. Look at him.

I love him (/p) your honor.

The bean. The baby ;-;

Zata when I catch you...

when I catch you...

[johnnyshrine]

★ 018 // “Photo I took the day I finished reading Steel Ball Run”

[queerstudiesnatural]

i think my brain should be studied i'm being fr

[miodiodavinci]

(single loud AA) (the forest goes silent immediately after) (birdsong returns moments later)

[dbphantom]

Hate having adhd went to go work on my fallout modpack, got distracted while going to disable the steam overlay, ended up in the points shop, went to go edit my profile, decided to change my pfp, found a buried folder I forgot existed, found some old Veneer art I forgot existed, spent 45 minutes looking at all the old photos, STILL HAVE NOT TOGGLED ONE SIMPLE OPTION THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN 30 SECONDS AT MOST

[alexjcrowley]

Sooooo one of my mutuls reminded me that I love The Talented Mr. Ripley so much and I am 100% not normal about it and I just to say that the last time I rewatched it (a few months ago) I hadn't watched that movie for a long time and my only thought was "they want you to think Tom Ripley is the dangerous character but it's actually Dickie Greenleaf. Nothing can destroy your life like the nonchalance a charming person picks you up and puts you down with". And I was 100% sure of that. And then I rewatched the movie and I was like "Okay maybe Tom Ripley was the problem" but you need to understand that everytime I watch that movie it fucks with my brain and my past friendships so hard after a while I always find myself thinking "if Dickie just knew how to love Tom in the right way, none of this would have happened. It's Dickie's fault." And it's not! Tom is deeply fucked up for several reasons! But this movie fucks so hard with me pegs my brain gaslights me like an abusive boyfriend that I always end up thinking "Tom did nothing wrong. Tom did nothing wrong, if Dickie just loved him the right way. It's Dickie's fault."

I just think that people like Dickie Greenleaf can make anyone insane. I think I'd rather never knew the joy of bashing in Dickie's attention that living through the desperation of being derived of it.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 20 …

oh my gods chapter 20…

I am dead inside.

And somehow dying more per chapter.

Ow. THE NIGHTMARE DREAM SEQUENCE

"Do you know the story of the queen who walked through worlds?"

Seated on the mossy carpet of an ancient glen, one hand toying with the small white flowers strewn across it, Aelin shook her head.

In the towering oaks that formed a lattice over the clearing, small stars blinked and shimmered, as if they'd been snared by the branches themselves. Beyond them, bathing the forest with light bright enough to see by, a full moon had risen. All around them, faint, lilting singing floated on the warm summer air.

"It is a sad story," her aunt said, one corner of her red-painted mouth curling upward as she leaned back on her seat carved into a granite boulder. Her usual place, while they had these lessons, these long, peaceful chats deep into the balmy summer nights. "And an old one."

Aelin lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't I a little old for faerie stories?" She'd indeed just celebrated her twentieth birthday three days ago, in another clearing not too far from here. Half of Doranelle had come, it had seemed, and yet her mate had found a way to sneak her from the revelry. All the way to a secluded pool in the forest's heart. Her face still warmed to think of that moonlit swim, what Rowan had made her feel, how he'd worshipped her in the sun-warmed water.

Mate. The word was still a surprise. As it had been to arrive here at spring's end and see him beside her aunt's throne and simply know. And in the months since, their courting ... Aelin indeed blushed at the thought of it. What they'd done in that forest pool had been the culmination of those months. And an unleashing. The mating marks on her neck— and on Rowan's-proved it. She would not be returning to Terrasen alone when autumn arrived.

"No one is too old for faerie stories," her aunt said, faint smile growing. "And as you are part faerie yourself, I would think you'd have some interest in them."

Aelin smiled back, bowing her head. "Fair enough, Aunt."

Aunt wasn't entirely accurate, not with generations and millennia separating them, but it was the only thing the queen had suggested Aelin call her.

Maeve settled further into her seat. "Long ago, when the world was new, when there were no human kingdoms, when no wars had marred the earth, a young queen was born."

Aelin folded her legs beneath her, angling her head.

"She did not know she was a queen. Amongst her people, power was not inherited, but simply born. And as she grew, her strength rose with her. She found the land she dwelled in to be too small for that power. Too dark and cold and grim. She had gifts similar to many wielded by her kind, but she had been given more, her power a sharper, more intricate weapon-enough that she was different. Her people saw that power and bowed to it, and she ruled them.

"Word spread of her gifts, and three kings came to seek her hand. To form an alliance between their throne and the one she had built for herself, small as it might have been. For a time, she thought it would be the newness, the challenge that she had always craved. The three kings were brothers, each mighty in his own right, their power vast and terrifying. She picked the eldest among them, not for any particular skill or grace, but for his countless libraries. What she might learn in his lands, what she might do with her power ... It was that knowledge she craved, not the king himself."

A strange story. Aelin's brows rose, but her aunt continued on.

"So they were wed, and she left her small territory to join him in his castle. For a time, she was contented, both by her husband and the knowledge his home offered her. He and his two brothers were conquerors, and spent much of their time away, leashing new lands to their shared throne. She did not mind, not when it gave her freedom to learn as she would. But her husband's libraries contained knowledge even he did not realize was held within. Lore and wisdom from worlds long since turned to dust. She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it. Worlds where the sun was not a watery trickle through the ash-clouds, but a golden stream of warmth. Worlds where green existed. She had never heard of such a color. Green. Nor had she heard of blue-not the shade of sky that was described. She could not so much as picture it."

Aelin frowned. "A pitiful existence."

Maeve nodded grimly. "It was. And the more she read about these other worlds, where long-dead wayfarers had once roamed, the more she wanted to see them. To know the kiss of the sun on her face. To hear the morning songs of sparrows, the crying of gulls over the sea. The sea that, too, was foreign to her. An endless sprawl of water, with its own moods and hidden depths. All they had in her lands were shallow, murky lakes and half-dried streams. So while her husband and his two brothers were off waging yet another war, she began to ponder how she might find a way into one of those worlds. How she might leave."

"Is such a thing even possible?" Something nagged at her, as if it might indeed be true, but perhaps that was one of her own mother's tales, or even Marion's, tugging on her memory.

Maeve nodded. "It was. Using the very language of existence itself, doors might be opened, however briefly, between worlds. It was forbidden, outlawed long before her husband and his brothers were born. Once the last of the ancient wayfarers had died out, the paths between realms were sealed, their methods of world-walking lost with them. Or so all had thought. But deep in her husband's private library, she found the old spells. She began with small experiments. First, she opened a door to the realm of resting, to find one of those wayfarers and ask her how it was properly done." A knowing smile. "The wayfarer refused to tell her. So the queen began to teach herself. Opening and closing doors long since forgotten or sealed. Peering deep into the workings of the cosmos. Her own world became a cage. She grew tired of her husband's warring, his casual cruelty. And when he went away to war once again, the queen gathered her closest handmaidens, opened a door to a new world, and left the one she'd been born into."

"She left?" Aelin blurted. "She she just left her own world? Permanently?"

"It had never been her world, not really. She had been born to rule others."

"Where did she go?"

That smile grew a bit. "To a fair, lovely world. Where there was no war, no darkness. Not like that in which she had been born. She was made a queen there, too. Was able to hide herself within a new body so that none could know what she was beneath, so that even her own husband would not recognize her."

"Did he ever find her again?"

"No, though he looked. Found out all she'd learned, and taught it to himself and his brothers. They tore apart world after world to find her. And when they arrived at the world where she had made her new home, they did not know her. Even as they went to war, she did not reveal herself. She won, and two of the kings, her husband included, were banished back to their own world. The third remained trapped, his power nearly broken. He crawled off into the depths of the earth, and the victorious queen spent her long, long existence preparing for his return, preparing her people for it. For the three kings had gone beyond her methods of world-walking. They had found a way to permanently open a gate between worlds, and had made three keys to do so. To wield those keys was to control all worlds, to have the power of eternity in the palm of your hand. She wished to find them, only so she might possess the strength to banish any enemies, banish her husband's youngest brother back to his realm. To protect her new, lovely world. It was all she ever wanted: to dwell in peace, without the shadow of her past hunting her."

From far away, that ghost of memory pushed. As if she'd forgotten to douse a flame left burning in her room. "And did the queen find the keys?"

Maeve's smile turned sad. "Do you think she did, Aelin?"

Aelin considered. So many of their chats, their lessons in this glen, held deeper puzzles, questions for her to work through, to help her when she one day took her throne, Rowan at her side.

As if she'd summoned him, the pine-and-snow scent of her mate filled the clearing. A rustle of wings, and there he was, perched in hawk form on one of the towering oaks. Her warrior-prince.

She smiled toward him, as she had for weeks now, when he'd come to escort her back to her rooms in the river palace. It was during those walks from forest to mist-shrouded city that she had come to know him, love him. More than she had ever loved anything.

Aelin again faced her aunt. "The queen was clever, and ambitious. I would think she could do anything, even find the keys."

"So you would believe. And yet they eluded her."

"Where did they go?"

Maeve's dark stare unwaveringly held hers.

"Where do you think they went?"

Aelin opened her mouth. "I think —

She blinked. Paused

Maeve's smile returned, soft and kind. As her aunt had been to her from the start. "Where do you think the keys are, Aelin?"

She opened her mouth once more. And again halted.

Like an invisible chain yanked her back. Silenced her.

Chain—a chain. She glanced down at her hands, her wrists. As if expecting them to be there.

She had never felt a shackle's bite in her life. And yet she stared at the empty place on her wrist where she could have sworn there was a scar. Only smooth, sun-kissed skin remained.

"If this world were at risk, if those three terrible kings threatened to destroy it, where would you go to find the keys?" Aelin looked up at her aunt.

Another world. There was another world Like a fragment of a dream, there was another world, and in it, she had a wrist with a scar on it. Had scars all over.

And her mate, perched overhead ... He had a tattoo down his face and neck and arm in that world. A sad story—his tattoo told a sad, awful story. About loss. Loss caused by a dark queen.

"Where are the keys hidden, Aelin?" That placid, loving smile remained on

Maeve's face. And yet ...

And yet.

"No," Aelin breathed

Something slithered in the depths of her aunt's stare. "No what?"

This wasn't her existence, her life. This place, these blissful months learning in Doranelle, finding her mate—Blood and sand and crashing waves.

"No."

Her voice was a thunderclap through the peaceful glen.

Aelin bared her teeth, fingers curling in the moss.

Maeve let out a soft laugh. Rowan flapped from the branches to land on the queen's upraised arm.

He didn't so much as fight it when she wrapped her thin white hands around his neck. And snapped it. Aelin screamed. Screamed, clutching at her chest, at the shredding mating bond—

She screamed again. Screamed at her ruined arm, the unscarred skin, screamed at the lingering echo of the severed mating bond.

"Do you know what pains me most, Aelin?" Maeve's words were soft as a lover's. "It's that you believe I'm the villain in this."

Whenever that had been. If it had even happened at all.

"I have no doubt that your mate or Elena or even Brannon himself filled your head with lies about what I'll do with the keys." Maeve ran a hand over the stone lip of the altar, right through her splattered blood and shards of bone. "I meant what I said. I like this world. I do not wish to destroy it. Only improve it. Imagine a realm where there is no hunger, no pain. Isn't that what you and your cohorts are fighting for? A better world?"

The words were a mockery. A mockery of what she'd promised so many. What she had promised Terrasen, and still owed it.

Aelin tried not to shift against the chains, against her broken arms, against the tight pressure pushing on her skin from the inside. A rising intensity along her bones, in her head. little more, every day.

Maeve heaved a small sigh. "I know what you think of me, Fire-Bringer. What you assume. But there are some truths that cannot be shared. Even for the keys." Yet the growing strain cracking within her, smothering the pain ... perhaps worse. Maeve cupped her cheek over the mask.

"The Queen Who Was Promised. I wish to save you from that sacrifice, offered up by a headstrong girl." A soft laugh. "I'd even let you have Rowan. The two of you here, together. While you and I work to save this world."

The words were lies. She knew it, though she couldn't quite remember where one truth ended and the lie began. If her mate had belonged to another before her. Been given away. Or had that been the nightmare?

Gods, the pressure in her body. Her blood.

You do not yield.

"You can feel it, even now," Maeve went on. "The urge of your body to say yes." Aelin opened her eyes, and confusion must have glittered there, because Maeve smiled. "Do you know what being encased in iron does to a magic-wielder? You wouldn't feel it immediately, but as time goes on ... your magic needs release, Aelin. That pressure is your magic screaming it wants you to come free of these chains and release the strain. Your very blood tells you to heed me."

Truth. Not the submission part, but the deepening pressure she knew would be worse than any pain from burnout. She'd felt it once, when plunging as far into her power as she'd ever gone.

That would be nothing compared to this.

"I am leaving for a few days," Maeve said.

Aelin stilled.

Maeve shook her head in a mockery of disappointment.

Fenrys sat by the wall, concern bright in his eyes as he blinked. Are you all right?

She blinked twice. No.

No, she was not anywhere near to all right.

Maeve had been waiting for this, waiting for this pressure to begin, worse than anything Cairn might do. And with the collar Maeve now went to personally retrieve … She couldn't let herself contemplate it. A more horrific form of slavery, one she might never escape, never be able to fight.

Not a breaking of the Fire-Bringer, but an erasure.

To take all she was, power and knowledge, and rip it from her. To have her trapped inside while she witnessed her own voice yield the location of the Wyrdkeys. Swear the blood oath to Maeve. Wholly submit to her.

Fenrys blinked four times. I am here, I am with you.

She answered in kind. I am here, I am with you.

Her magic surged, seeking a way out, filling the gaps between her breath and bones. She couldn't find room for it, couldn't do anything to soothe it.

You do not yield.

She focused on the words. On her mother's voice. Perhaps the magic would devour her from the inside before Maeve returned.

But she did not know how she'd endure it.

Endure another few days of this, let alone the next hour. To ease the strain, just a fraction ...

She shut down the thoughts that snaked into her mind. Her own or Maeve's, she didn't care.

Fenrys blinked again, the same message over and over. I am here, I am with you.

Aelin closed her eyes, praying for oblivion.

"Get up." A mockery of words she'd once heard.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Dorian Pavus

[the-dragon-hearted]

I do have a very real soft spot for immortal guardians. Whether they're recognized or not.

This old power, this remnant, lingering in the backdrop of generations. How they pass through or keep an eye out. Maybe they teach someone to fish. Maybe they offer a "stranger" a drink. Maybe they sit down next to some young soul on a quiet night and reminisce over the smile that was passed down from a grandmother or a soup recipe lost three generations.

It's the old soul and the new youngsters. The little ones either know the ancient one or they don't. Either way the immortal knows them - sees past fragments whether they're there or not. It's an immortal who gets lost in their own memories, lingering too long at faded memorials or finding joy in the most mundane of things. A species of flower. An old hairpin. A vintage song on the wind.

An immortal who may as well be a ghost, haunting a time they don't belong in, but unable to move on. Clinging to a family name or a line of prodigies or an unassuming apartment. Just clinging to something whose older form meant the world to them.

Immortal guardians who are shadows. Who are protectors. Who are old gods guarding their last believers. Old teachers who've yet to find a student to outlive them. Old friends finding bits and pieces of those they lost over and over and over again.