#she contains multitudes!

[lavender-gayz]

I know Dulcie’s having a terrible time throughout, but episode 6 of Deadloch might be my favourite

“Well, I would say to them, Jeremy, that the killer is only targeting cis-het white men, and our market research shows that that's a far cry from our Feastival patron demographic. In fact, given that the victim demographic is usually responsible for the perpetration of violence, Deadloch may well be the safest place to be right now for many members of our Feastival community.”

“Imagine if you'd arrested Skye! I'd have divorced you on the spot.” (Promise?)

“And I know this because my wife told me because I am blended into this situation like an onion in a soup.”

“Who is taking notes? This is just numbers!”

“Ma'ams, sorry I'm late. I got poisoned.”

“It [the voice-to-text software] doesn't understand our accents.”

“Killer dyke! Not you; your mum!”

“Why does Margaret Carruthers get to decide who deserves what?” :(

“Ever since Trent got murdered, you and your mum have been creeping around like you're the fucking Hamburglar twins.”

“I’m pregnant and I can't be committed to this relationship if you're a serial killer.”

That shot of Margaret Carruthers in front of the antlers doubling as devil horns. That's the stuff, baby!!!

THE FIGHT

Cath blithely missing that Dulcie had been miserable for five years :(

“Maybe you'd have remembered the date better, Dulcie, if you were at home babysitting Tom with me that weekend instead of FUCKING SOME OTHER WOMAN IN A WORK SHOWER.”

“Right now, my job's more important than us, Cath. It's more important than you.” OOH.

Bobbing bodies at the Cinema Aquatica, or Floating Flicks. They’re both good names!

[searchingforserendipity25]

survivor + character of your choice

Thank you @nablah, this ask came just when needed! <3

Silence, Thicker Than Frost

It snowed, upon the thatched roofs of Edoras; the doors of Dwarrowdelf cast cold shadows upon a cold landscape, and even in the borders of the Golden Wood cold winds blew, bringing flecks of damp and a close, stifling smell of rot. 

Outside the bounds of her Girdle, it was the death of autumn, the start of what ould be a long, crop-killing winter, enough rain to flood the hills and wreck old trees from the ground. Most storms carried something of the Enemy’s will in them, these days; and the Enemy was an inventive creature, a craftsman of the sort Galadriel had known, once.

 No snow, in Lothlórien. No plant-killing ice; never, not ever a cold so terrible as to steal the breath from the body, and the spirit from the flesh. 

Even in summer, the clouds above Lothlórien were dark as iron, grumbling thunder, an did not dare unleash scatterings of lightning; her own will pressed against the vast force of it, pressing the ozone out, away, far from the shelter of her people. 

How Celebrían had loved the storms! Had loved them enough to beg her mother to allow some summertime drizzles to fall upon Lothlórien, the violent, wind-sweeping storms that made robes and hair and feet dance.

For love to her daughter and the humming of the yearning treees, Galadriel had allowed something of summer’s tempers to fall upon the land; but never anything of winter’s shadow had come upon Lothlórien. 

For Galadriel was the last one to have known Winter Itself, and she did not intend to ever invite it near, not even in memories. 

No one that lived on this side of the sea remembered the crossing of the Ice, and even those in the West have not felt in on their new skin: Galadriel was the last to carry the memories and marks, the last survivor of the Ice. 

-

It had been summer, an easy blooming season even outside the Golden Woods, when her daughter was caught; and summer again, when she went from her husband’s Homely House to the ship that would bear her across the wide sea, to Galadriel’s own childhood realm. A false spring, turned to blizzards; a summer of drough, an autumn of pests, a winter of sickness.

 Galadriel had been ambushed, beleaguered, engrossed. All of her power turned to upholding the safety of her people, Nenya’s power pulsing along with her heart’s beating. She had not dared search her out herself, or take her to Imladris; or say farewell in the shores of Mithlond, when the time came. 

The winter Celebrían had spent in captivity had sapped her of such strength. She had lost toes to it, and swathes of skin; so much of her valour. Her good night’s sleep, and her certainty of safety. Galadriel had felt her, at times, far in her perception beyond the Wood, captured in the dark caves of the mountain passes, places so damp and lightless they held no shadow.

 She had felt her, and felt the Enemy’s power encroaching, and she had only been able to turn her great power to one of her duties. 

She had been glad, then, for what she had suffered in the ancient days of the Grinding Ice; had returned to her memories of the starless black fields and the treacherous bergs and floes with a vengeance, as if she might by the sharpness of recall do good to her daughter and wound the Enemy, and not merely herself.

In her selfish wrath Galadriel had thought, I understand this at least, my daughter, and I know you will survive this brief blight upon the business of your life. Had written many letters, and never received a reply; for Celebrían then had not been of a will to raise a hand to grasp her quill or uplift her voice to dictate any response.  

Celebrían had trembled all the way through the meager rainfall on the way from Imladris to the Havens, Galadriel had heard - gleaned, from her granddaughter’s memories. But Galadriel had not been there, either, to bless her crossing and kiss her thinned hands, to chafe them between her own and will all the warmth of her endless summers into her. 

-

Winter’s worst harshness never came to Lothlórien. No chill bit at its mellyrn to chew them from the outside, its golden and silver leaves never fell - no frost covered the living wood of the talans where its people dwelt. 

The ring Nenya allowed the Lady to do much that had once not been thought possible, even among the wisest of her people; such a preserving of beauty and plenty thar had had no equal in Ost-in-Edhil, nor Mithlond, nor anywhere but long-sacked and long-sunken Doriath.

There had been more of light and warmth and growth, to the Woods, before her daughter was harmed; now autumn was ever-chasing the boundaries of her power, a sly fox sniffing its way into the coop. She grew no stronger. And always weaker, very slowly and very perceptibly.

 To herself, at least. To her husband, certainly. It took a great deal out of Galadriel, this long defeat. A timeless time marked only by intervals of loss or the expectation of loss. 

“My lady,” Celeborn said. “May I?” 

“My lord,” said Galadriel, not moving. Her face was tilted upwards for the rain, but her mind was in the forest, among the deep roots, in the dark mulch, rooting with the beetles, prowling the high boughs with her guardsmen. 

He brought her a cape, finely woven by her own hand, and kept her company in her sleepless vigils. Clasped her hand, lent her his power; rooted her, Celeborn of Doriath, Celeborn of Lothlórien, her lord who was strong and steady as an unshakable tree. 

It was not that Galadriel was cold. 

It was only that hers was a false summer, her Wood’s and her body’s. She, who remembered the Ice, and the darkness, ached in the tender marrow of her bones. It was not a pain she had ever, ever tolerated the possibility of her daughter knowing. 

Far, far away, in a land of no winter, where Darkness was mended and all illness made whole, Celebrían had survived her time of darkness; Celebrían might be, even now, perhaps, dancing with the storm.

If the Enemy came, Galadriel would die for her people, and their land, and never join her with her own cold-harmed body, never give her what might there could be in a mother’s perfect, bitter understanding. 

One day, perhaps, they might dance together across the sea, as when Celebrían was a child leaping with her face turned to the rain. Galadriel foresaw much, but so much in her own defeat could only be given to hope without certainty. 

[motherfucker-unlimited]

The Teehee Tactician has pulled off another gay little gambit.

[absolutechaosss]

Went into dungeon meshi expecting Marcille to be peak fail girl and she IS but I feel like it's extremely important context that she is mainly that within her party. Outside of that she is a highly dangerous mage with a massive repository of knowledge who routinely survives threats that insta kill other people. Inside her party she yells too loud about dinner plans and almost drowns to death in slime tho

[televised-eyes]

crowley s1: murdering via holy water, driving the bentley through hellfire and running into burning buildings, turning paintball guns into real guns, screaming at house plants, openly cursing out god, facing down satan with nothing but a car part, being damned by god for the second time wearing his soulmate’s face in order to save him

crowley s2: tidying up the bookshop, following aziraphale around, babysitting jimbriel, causing stormy weather so two people fall in love, talking in a baby voice to the bentley, politely escorting humans to safety, breaking into heaven to read a file, confessing his undying love to aziraphale and kissing the daylights out of him, driving slowly away

[batboopp]

one of my favorite things about selina is the fact that she’s one of the most successful ‘criminals’ in gotham for one very, very important reason-when she commits a crime, she does not leave little bullshit clues or threatens kids or whatever other thing gotham criminals usually do. she gets in there, does what she needs, kicks ass very efficiently if she has too, and she gets the fuck out of there. I think most importantly to mention though is that when she steals, she goes out of her way to donate to charities-predominantly charities helping poc women or just women in general. it makes me think that most DC writers refer to her as a thief rather than a criminal or villain; to be a true gotham criminal, you need to not care about people outside of your mission at all. selina, even though she is far from perfect, loves and cares for others. a tiny part of herself hates her for that. but an even bigger part of her loves how she’ll claw the face off of some asshole that threatened a little girl on one of her crime sprees.

[holyyground]

sometimes I wish I could explain to people that I’m a Taylor swift fan like 💅🏻🪶🌳🌈🍵💿📺🎞️📖🤍🤎 and not like 💖🏈🍺🧁💐👑👫🏼

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

One of the things I love about Steph is how her high moods, her bursts of extreme anger or passion are matched by moments of equally extreme softness. She can be loud, but for every joke or ramble or screaming match there is a moment of sincere and quiet contemplation. There is a moment of soft and total tenderness towards someone she loves. Idk. She’s got a big heart.

[bluestation]

i found you in the future

[nerdpiggy]

Non-spoiler ISAT memes for the whole squad to enjoy :)

[aethersea]

I saw a post proposing that the reason the Doctor always ends up on Gallifrey at a time after he last left it but before the next time he'll visit, and other Time Lords similarly are all showing up on Gallifrey in a chronological manner, is that the TARDIS just handles it. and that is great! but I would like to propose that, as well as and alongside this, Time Lords have a biological like-calls-to-like thing going on that means they're extremely unlikely to encounter each other out of order. it's like how birds can sense north. Time Lords can sense each other, and are repelled (like magnets) by other Time Lords who are at a mismatched point in their chronology.

the TARDIS is handling it, but she's doing that partly by avoiding any time & place where the Doctor's spidey sense starts tingling. (the Doctor is not aware of this.) that's why the Doctor and the Master don't run into past/future incarnations of each other: any time one of them aims for a planet the other is already on, if they'd be running into each other out of order, they get the heebie jeebies and turn around.

[cryptidotter]

Thinking about how when Harrow can't remember Gideon, she claims to love the Body exclusively

But then when she meets Alecto with her memories of Gideon, she leaves out the exclusive part

Between this and the Body reappearing in her hallucinations with golden eyes in HtN...I just have Thoughts!!!

[bisupergirl]

superman: secret files 2009 || action comics #1032

kara being able to fix kelex after he breaks because she used to tinker with the robot her family had back on krypton when she wanted to sneak out with thara <3 i love women in stem <3

[thelongestwalk]

'the prisoner' from @blacktabbygames Slay The Princess. if you're into horror and you haven't played this game yet, what are you waiting for?

[novelconcepts]

Anyway the most valid response to that episode is anyone repeating “AGATHA IS JOLENE???? …of course Agatha is Jolene.”

[isdalinarhot]

actually kind of losing my mind that we have like. multiple passages that point to navani being homophobic now. what with her trying to work on internalized biases in rhythm of war when sigzil uses big words or whatever and now in the preview chapters with renarin not being worried about coming out to dalinar, but extremely worried about coming out to navani. which makes navani's disgust at dalinar "rolling around half naked with sweaty men" in oathbringer that much more funny.