#no tags to protect the guilty

[fromtheseventhhell]

Remember George's outline notes that had "joy of giving" and "mercy at the gate" for Arya? Mercy is crossed out and we obviously have that as her sample chapter, so what if Arya's next alias is "Joy"? Over-thinking the significance of that phrase and how it could apply to the rest of her Braavos arc🤔

[martyrbat]

perpetual mourning – batman black and white (1996) #1

[ID: a black and white panel sequence of Bruce Wayne as Batman investigating a murder. He performed an examination of the victim's body and found DNA evidence to convict her killer and then performed an autopsy to examine her stomach contents — which led him to a little 24/7 diner. He walks in, disrupting the cozy scene with his presence.

Bruce internally reflects, ‘People think i'm a knight. A savior. But in truth, I'm only a vessel to hold the memories of those who've passed on. Those who've no shell left to store them. They must think I revel in my victories. It must seem like I never lose a fight. I lose plenty. The ones I couldn't get to. The ones I couldn't save in time. Those are the ones I carry around inside of me. Those are the ones I'll mourn forever.’

He shows the only waitress a photo of the victim's face and asks, “Excuse me. Do any of you know this woman?” The waitress gasps and holds her hand to her head in shocked distress. She stammers, “That's Chelsea, she comes in here all the time. Sits in the same booth, the same time, reads the same book... um, what was the title...? She, uh, left here only a couple of... Why do you... Oh, god. No. Dear girl...”

Back at the morgue, Bruce solemnly gazes down at the woman as she lays in an unzipped body bag. He thinks, ‘Luckily, you hadn't digested your last meal, Chelsea. There're only a few places in the neighborhood where you were found that serve blueberry pie at this hour of the morning.’ He carefully zips the body bag entirely. The identification label states she was a thirty year old caucasian female. The name ‘Jane Doe’ has been scribbled out to now be replaced with ‘Chelsea Rain’. Bruce continues to ruminate, ‘You only have your thoughts and dreams ahead of you. You're someone. You mean something. I'll remember. You're within me now. Forever.’ END ID]

[i3utterflyeffect]

user!Alan about to attack Chosen, untitled-3 comes to their defense and bursts into flames, and promptly freaks the fuck out because he didn't know he could do that and hasn't realized it's not hurting him yet

GOD YEAH. ALAN'S PROBABLY FREAKING OUT TOO TBH BECAUSE SINCE WHEN COULD UNTITLED DO THAT. THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT.

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[sansastarq]

I guess I am crazy and also on crack because I think that we should think critically about characters that kill and burn people alive despite their young age. and it would be weird to equate the severity of those actions with the misguided but non violent mistakes of someone else. but maybe that’s just me

[ashlynniis-bracketeers]

A Totally Normal Murphy {LoP/GG}

Happy Halloween! 8D Been playing a lot of Lies of P lately. Good game, though it kicks my Sekiro-playing ass lmao.

Have a Totally Normal Scrapped Watchman 8}. Don't mind the colors or the missing right hand and eye, he's completely normal, no need to worry.

I hope you like it!

[pink-link-lemonade]

• • •

[iris-drawing-stuff]

Ok ok ok. It seems like I really like making polls asking for people's thoughts on things, so here's another.

[storm-of-feathers]

i was like 5 hours away from finishing the beverly hillbillies video and now its gone forever ;-;

[nanabanonana]

mom: remember [redacted] Family?

me: no

mom: bob and billy and sally? those were the kids

me: oh, yeah, vaguely. we went to their house like twice.

mom: yeah. once to drop off gifts your dad sent us by mistake. like that blue bike you guys were so excited about and i told you it wasn't ours.

me: yeah i remember. why?

mom: that was your dad's other family. i can talk about it now because i'm over it.

me who just found out my dad had a fourth family: oh … cool. glad you're over it.

[acourtofquestions]

She had not trusted this world, this dream.

The companions who had walked with her, led her here.

The warrior-prince with pine-green eyes and who smelled of Terrasen.

Him, she had not dared to believe at all. Not the words he spoke, but the mere fact that he was there. She did not trust that he'd removed the mask, the irons. They had vanished in other dreams, too—dreams that had proved false.

But the Little Folk had told her it was true. All of this. They had said it was safe, and she was to rest, and they would look after her.

And that terrible, relentless pressure writhing in her veins—it had eased. Just enough to think, to breathe and act beyond pure instinct. She'd siphoned off as much as she dared, but not all. Certainly not all.

So she had slept. She'd done that, too, in those other dreams. Had lived through days and weeks of stories that then washed away like footprints in the sand.

Yet when she opened her eyes, the cave remained, dimmer now. The thrumming power had nestled deeper, slumbering. The ache in her ribs had faded, the slice down her forearm had healed—but the scab remained.

The only mark on her.

Aelin prodded it with a finger. Dull pain echoed in response. Smooth—not the scab, but her finger. Smooth like glass as she rubbed the pads of her thumb and forefinger together. No calluses. Not on her fingers, on her palms. Utterly blank, wiped of the imprint from the years of training, or the year in Endovier. But this new scab, this faint throbbing beneath it—that remained, at least.

Curled on the rock floor, she took in the cave. The white wolf lay at her back, snoring softly. Their sphere of transparent flame still burned around them, easing the strain ember by ember. But not wholly.

Aelin swallowed, tasting ash. Her magic opened an eye in response. Aelin sucked in a breath. Not here not yet. She whispered it to the flame. Not yet.

But the flame around her and the wolf flared and thickened, blotting out the cave. She clenched her jaw.

Not yet, she promised it. Not until it could be done safely. Away from them.

Her magic pushed against her bones, but she ignored it. Leashed it. The bubble of flame shrunk, protesting, and grew transparent once more. Through it she could make out a water-carved basin, the slumbering forms of her other companions.

The warrior-prince slept only a few feet from the edge of her fire, tucked into an alcove in the cave wall. Exhaustion lay heavy upon him, though he had not disarmed himself.

A sword hung from his belt, its ruby smoldering in the light of her fire.

She knew that sword. An ancient sword, forged in these lands for a deadly war. It had been her sword, too. Those erased calluses had fit its hilt so perfectly. And the warrior-prince now bearing it had found the sword for her. In a cave like this one, full of the relics of heroes long since sent to the Afterworld.

She studied the tattoo snaking down the side of his face and neck, vanishing into his dark clothes.

I am your mate.

She had wanted to believe him, but this dream, this illusion she'd been spun ... Not an illusion.

He had come for her.

Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn.

Now Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, her husband and king-consort. Her mate.

She mouthed his name.

He had come for her.

Rowan.

Silently, so smoothly that not even the white wolf awoke, she sat up, a hand clutching the cloak that smelled of pine and snow. His cloak, his scent woven through the fibers. She rose to her feet, legs sturdier than they'd been. A thought had the bubble of flame expanding as she crossed the few feet toward the sleeping prince.

She peered down at his face, handsome and yet unyielding.

His eyes opened, meeting hers as if he'd known where to find her even in sleep.

An unspoken question arose in those green eyes. Aelin?

She ignored the silent inquiry, unable bear opening that silent channel between them again, and surveyed the powerful lines of his body, the sheer size of him. A gentle wind kissed with ice and lightning brushed against her wall of flame, an echo of his silent inquiry.

Her magic flared in answer, a ripple of power dancing through her.

As if it had found a mirror of itself in the world, as if it had found the countermelody to its own song.

Not once in those illusions or dreams had it done that. Had her own flame leaped in joy at his nearness, his power.

He was here. It was him, and he'd come for her.

The flame melted into nothing but cool cave air. Not melted, but rather sucked inside herself, coiling, a great beast straining at the leash.

Rowan. Prince Rowan.

He sat up slowly, a stillness settling over him.

He knew. He'd said it to her earlier, before she'd let oblivion claim her. I am your mate.

They must have told him, then. Their companions. Elide and Lorcan and Gavriel.

They'd all been on that beach where everything had gone to hell.

Her magic surged, and she rolled her shoulders, willing it to sleep, to wait-just a while longer.

She was here. They were both here.

What could she ever say to him, to explain it, to make it right? That he'd been used so foully, had suffered so greatly, because of her?

There was blood on him. So much blood, soaking into his dark clothes. From the smears on his neck, the arcs under his fingernails, it seemed he'd tried to wash some off. But the scent remained.

She knew that smell—who it belonged to.

Her spine tightened, her limbs tensing. Working past her clenched jaw, she inhaled sharply. Forced a long breath out through her teeth. Forced herself to work past the scent of Cairn's blood. What it did to her. Her magic thrashed, howling.

And she made herself say to him, to her prince who smelled of home, "Is he alive?"

Cold rage flickered across Rowan's eyes.

"No."

Dead. Cairn was dead. The tautness in her body eased-just slightly. Her flame, too, banked. "How?"

No remorse dimmed his face. "You once told me at Mistward that if I ever took a whip to you, then you'd skin me alive." His eyes didn't stray from hers as he said with lethal quiet, "I took it upon myself to bestow that fate on Cairn on your behalf. And when I was done, I took the liberty of removing his head from his body, then burning what remained." A pause, a ripple of doubt. "I'm sorry I didn't give you the chance to do it yourself."

She didn't have it in her to feel a spark of surprise, to marvel at the brutality of the vengeance he'd exacted. Not as the words sank in. Not as her lungs opened up once again.

"I couldn't risk bringing him here for you to kill," Rowan went on, scanning her face. "Or risk leaving him alive, either."

She lifted her palms, studying the unmarked, empty skin.

Cairn had done that.

Had shredded her apart so badly they needed to put her back together again. Had wiped away all traces of who and what she'd been, what she'd seen and endured.

She lowered her hands to her sides. "I'm glad," she said, and the words were true.

A shudder went through Rowan, and his head dipped slightly. "Are you..." He seemed to grapple with the right word. "Can I hold you?"

The stark need in his voice ripped at her, but she stepped back. "I ..." She scanned the cave, blocking out the way his eyes guttered at her retreat. Across the chamber, the great lake flowed, smooth and flat as a black mirror. "I need to bathe," she said, her voice low and raw. Even if there wasn't a mark on her beyond dirty feet. "I need to wash it away," she tried again.

Understanding softened his eyes. He pointed with a tattooed hand to the trough nearby. "There are a few extra cloths for you to wash with." Dragging a hand through his silver hair, longer than she'd last seen it—in this world, this truth, at least—he added, "I don't know how, but they also found some of your old clothes from Mistward and brought them here." But words were becoming distant again, dissolving on her tongue.

Her magic rumbled, pressing against her blood, I, squeezing her bones. Out, it howled. Out.

Soon, she promised.

Now. It thrashed. Her hands trembled, curling, as if she could keep it in.

So she turned away, aiming not toward the trough but the lake beyond.

The air stirred behind her, and she felt him following. When Rowan gleaned where she intended to bathe, he warned, "That water is barely above freezing, Aelin."

She just dropped the cloak onto the black stones and stepped into the water.

Steam hissed, wafting around her in billowing clouds. She kept going, embracing the water's bite with each step, even if it failed to pierce the heat of her.

The water was clear, though the gloom veiled the bottom that sloped away as she dove under the frigid surface.

The water was silent. Cool, and welcome, and calm.

So Aelin loosened the leash—only a fraction. Flame leapt out, devoured by the frigid water. Consumed by it. It pulled away that pressure, that endless fog of heat. Soothed and chilled until thoughts took form. With each stroke beneath the surface, out into the darkness, she could feel it again. Herself. Or whatever was left of it.

Aelin. She was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, and she was Queen of Terrasen.

More magic rippled out, but she held her grip. Not all-not yet.

She had been captured by Maeve, tortured by her. Tortured by Cairn, her sentinel. But she had escaped, and her mate had come for her. Had found her, just as they had found each other despite centuries of bloodshed and loss and war.

Aelin. She was Aelin, and this was not some illusion, but the real world.

Aelin.

She swam out into the lake, and Rowan followed the jutting lip of stone along the shore's edge. She dropped beneath the surface, letting herself sink and sink and sink, toes grasping only open, cool water, straining for a bottom that did not arrive.

Down into the dark, the cold.

The ancient, icy water pulled away the flame and heat and strain. Pulled and sucked and waved it off.

Cooled that burning core of her until she took form, a blade red-hot from the fire plunged into water.

Aelin. That's who she was.

[dandyshucks]

part of the reason (a big part. maybe the whole reason tbh idk LOL) why i think a lot about Gu.zma standing up for me and that sort of thing is bc it seems like in my real life (online and physical world) every time someone is cruel to me in a group setting, noooobody does anything. or if somebody says smth bad about ppl like me (whether that be irt queerness, indigeneity, neurodivergence, or smth as simple as personality traits) then everyone in the group just... seems to think its my responsibility to say smth. i feel like it always falls onto my shoulders for some reason to stand up for myself and/or ppl who are like me. and its so tiring and isolating 😭 (i think i have just had Really bad luck when it comes to ppl in my life sdfjkl my family is. obviously not good. and then friends have been few and far between, and the friends i have had have often not been very good)

so to have someone who would actually take on the responsibility to say something and have the difficult conversation w whoever is saying the unkind thing so that i can just... be safe and not have to struggle through that myself. is something that is very meaningful to me lol. it feels kind of unreal to think that anyone would do that for me, so i try to think abt Guz doing that for me to like,,, work thru any shame of Wanting that to happen in real life. bc if anyone does that irl, i want to be able to let them do it instead of (what i may very well do out of instinct) jumping in to tell them they dont have to do that for me bc "actually its okay, im fine and it isn't that big of a deal, it didnt rly bother me ahaha ^^;; you really dont have to do that for me, its probably best to just leave it alone bc i dont want any trouble, i dont want you getting into anything bc of me hahaha ^^;;;;"

[moldsporr]

Will never forgive the milgram fandom for how they treat Kazui tbh

[i3utterflyeffect]

Accidentally becoming the family pet of another, happier version of themself has got to be so surreal for Dark. Everyone is living together, noogai is acting like a younger sibling, and they are just so confused.

i figure dark (or yellow) would EVENTUALLY have to repair vira!dark though. that's going to make for an interesting moment, especially if they see the mission code....

[absolutebl]

Hi! I see there’s going to be a Chinese made version of Addicted called Stay with Me starting on Gaga on July 7th…. Given that it’s filmed in Taiwan and only being released outside China, how censored do you think it will be? MDL tagged it Bromance but the Gaga blurb says Gay Romance and ‘From being at each other’s throats to getting in each other’s pants’!

I think it will be a bromance, and if not. Sad. See last year's In Your Heart. Or don't 'cause... sad.

[arctic-hands]

It is absolutely infuriating that the list of priests found to be guilty of sexually abusing kids for the last eighty years in the Baltimore Archdiocese has some of the names redacted to protect the identities of the priests. If literally anyone else is guilty of CSA they get put on a publicly viewable sex offender registry, why should clergy be exempt from that?