was it all about the power

So Merlin fandom. It’s me again. I’ve been thinking there should be a subgenre of canon-divergent fic where Arthur is crowned King and repeals the ban on magic without finding out about Merlin

and the remaining sorcerers and sorceresses all vie for favour from the king, while being very vocal about how they know they’ll never compete with Emrys. 

And Arthur (privately) is like Emrys? and starts trying to search him out.

At the same time, Merlin starts sending Arthur tokens as Emrys, probably hoping that if Emrys is playing the game, Arthur won’t single him out

but,

the gifts are really tokens of affection.  All other people with magic are giving these dramatic flair that show off their power, and Emrys gives Arthur things Arthur wants or needs or are personal.

And so Arthur now thinks Emrys is omniscient and also maybe courting him

What if the SU critters finally get what they want...

Imagine that SU actually delivers one truly unsympathetic antagonist, a villain completely devoid of any positive quality that not even Steven can show mercy to her, an irredeemable monster that can only be dealt with by using lethal violence…

…and she’s a Crystal Gem.

A duplicitous opportunist who betrayed her Diamond and joined the rebellion for no other reason than personal gain, because if she chirped the Crystal Gem rethoric then once the war was won she could then backstab her way to power and rule as the new gem matriarch.

And she is the one who actually killed Pink Diamond, putting the blame on Rose because Rose and PD were about to negotiate the end of the hostilities, and so she could lead the Homeworld vengeance and continue the war, because she wanted all Diamonds dead…so she could replace them.

And then, she backstabs Steven too, forcing him to compromise his morals and kill her because she won’t take his hand even with her plans failed.

There, here’s your irredeemable villain!

2

What Happens During An Execution?

Since 1977, death by lethal injection has replaced electrocution and hanging as the most common method of execution in America. Though methods and drugs may vary, the overall procedure remains very simple and straightforward.

1. After having their last meal and last rites performed, the inmate is led to an enclosed ‘death chamber’ where all Death Row executions are performed. This often happens at night, well away from the sight of other inmates. The condemned is strapped onto a gurney while a member of the execution team sets up heart monitors.

2. Two needles connected to plastic tubes are inserted into the veins of the inmate, usually via their arms. One needle is a backup. The tubes lead to intravenous drips concealed in the chamber walls.

First, a saline solution is injected into the bloodstream alongside a powerful anaesthetic. It usually takes about seven minutes to start working; after this point, the inmate can feel little to no pain.

3. After the anaesthetic is injected the inmate is presented before a window so witnesses can observe the execution. The inmate may be permitted to say a few last words before the anaesthetic renders them unconscious.

After falling asleep the order is given to inject the inmate with pavulon or pancuronium bromide, a type of muscle relaxant. These drugs work to paralyse the muscles of the chest so the inmate can no longer breath unassisted. Sometimes the inmate will also be injected with potassium chloride to stop the heart, but often a doctor declares them dead before that.

An interesting legal issue around execution is the fact a doctor cannot legally participate in killing an inmate; medical ethics mean that the job of injecting criminals falls to inexperienced orderlies and nurses. Most botched executions are caused by a failure to correctly administer the drugs.

anonymous asked:

I'm sad and in pain, can I have some Parker Luck™ hcs?

everytime peter wears a white shirt he inevitably spills coffee or tomato sauce on it. every. time.

oh, peter parker is carrying groceries home from the store?? the grocery bag breaks and so does his soul.

he’s always the one to find a hair in his food.

he has amazing spider powers but still somehow manages to trip on nothing and bust his ass in front of everyone at school, this happens all the fucking time.

did you hear about how peter fell asleep in math class and had a wet dream?? he was making sex noises and everything, what a freak.

he accidentally called tony is his mom. not his dad. his mom. he did this in front of the avengers.

likewise one time he accidentally called aunt may “dad” in front of a date, like what the fuck pete.

one time he began choking on food during lunch but he didn’t wanna make a scene so he quietly walked to the school nurse and only then began behave like he was choking.

  • Oscar: So, Ozpin considers you "the chosen one" because of your powers? What's that like?
  • Ruby: Well, imagine you're swimming across a lake. And when you're halfway across that lake, someone hands you an anchor.
  • Ruby: And while you're trying to stay afloat, someone runs over your head with their boat.
  • Ruby: And as this is happening, you can see all your friends dying on the shore across from you.
  • Oscar: Oh.
  • Ruby: Also, the lake that you're drowning in is made from your tears.
  • Oscar: Geez... That's kind of brutal.
  • Ruby: *takes a swig from her glass of milk* Tell me about it- I'm not even that good of a swimmer as is.

People seem less willing to give black people the benefit of the doubt when we make mistakes or disagree. I think its because they think black people are activists by default. They really think we are in social justice mode 24/7. They don’t realize that we were forced to be because the alternative meant either our enslavement or our eradication. We aren’t instant experts and we dont spend day and night researching social justice concepts, and we arent all knowing. We only have limited power and aren’t allies fighting the good fight so that others dont have to. We just wanted to exist as human beings, without being under attack, and other people wouldnt let us. Thats it. We are just very resilient and had to deliberately fight at great personal cost to get where we are. So we get confused when people constantly talk about us like we have all of these resources and support that they dont. We get very perplexed when people talk about us like every mistake is a slight done on purpose because they really think we are too “involved” to have not known better. Its like if we mess something up than we must be out to get someone. I really think that if people were required to take a course on Black history they would be interested to find out how diverse, flawed and human we really are. They would also know just how many millions of black people died and getting attention isnt the same as getting justice

Powerless

And by that I mean I have no power. There was an explosion and fire at the power substation about 6 blocks from me and poof. No power.

Ugh.

How long until we get it back, do y'all think? Are we talking hours or days?

JULY 30, 2015 1:59PM
I’m getting your bad days and the days you feel like giving up. I’m getting the days you feel awful about yourself and you just want to do something to forget everything. I’m getting your dark side. I’m getting the days you just want to be alone and not talk or sleep with me. I’m getting the days we will fight for stupid reasons. I know all of that. I’m also getting your kind and good heart, your amazing sense of humor, your power of making me smile, your passion about art and things that make your heart beat faster. I’m getting the days you win and we will celebrate with your favorite drink, the days you lose and I’ll be waiting you home with Clueless on TV to try to make you feel a little better. I’m getting your good days, your good side, your good love. I don’t want half of you, I’m here for everything, good and bad. I’m here for you in every way you can think.
—  G.P. // excerpt from the notes I wrote you before you left.

What kind of writing is this? Jon Snow would NEVER turn his back on his family, his house, or his people. By giving Dany the North, he is dishonoring Robb’s death, as well as dishonoring House Mormont and the wildlings that helped him reclaim Winterfell. And above all…he is breaking his promises to Sansa, who has done everything in her power to hold the north, keep everyone well fed, warm, and content while he’s off staring longingly at Daenerys. They will all turn on Jon and NEVER respect him again if word reaches them that Jon has surrendered the North. Sansa, along with Arya and Bran, will probably never forgive him. 

I don’t understand why it’s so important for Dany to have the north. The north would do just fine independently, she wouldn’t have to worry about war or enemy attacks because she seems to trust Jon and his judgement now. Why can’t she just entrust the north to a man she finds honorable?? She will never be able to control the north or gain the amount of respect from northerners that the Stark family has.

What are your aspirations? What do you want to achieve in life? If you say a nice car, a good job, a big house and a rich investment portfolio that’s okay. Those things go to our security and personal security is one of the primary instincts of all animals.

So, by all means, let us work and improve our material lives. However, for some, this will not be enough. History is replete with examples of people with great wealth and power who lived in fear every moment of their lives.

How many people have lived their lives and as they saw the end coming asked: “is this all there is”? Do you think a dying man thinks about his bank account?  No, he thinks about how his life could have been better. Where could he have been kinder, more generous and more compassionate.

Like the saying goes: “It doesn’t cost anything to be a nice person”.

Cᴏɢɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏ. — A Hᴏsᴛ Sᴏʟᴏ.

Cogitatio.

Cogitatio, Reflection, is natural for most everyone. At some point in time, all would spare a few moments of time to cogitate upon the past. Learning from one’s past is essential in order to progress into the future. In an ideal world, humans operated like such: machines that can adapt based upon past experiences. Humans are not machines. Humans are stubborn and emotional, blind to both past and present. The very nature that allows them success brings about their very downfall. Recalcitrance ceases all progression as humans ignore the lessons learned. Those blessed with power scorn those above them, and spurn those below them, loosening the weak ground that holds them afloat in this sea of madness known as reality. Strings become tangled as webs of deceit and lies soon become the very noose that terminates the life’s work of one. Rumination becomes the only hope of clearing the path of any obstacles set about by our own twisted nature. Reflection is vital, and yet, reflection bears the threat of mental domination. Dwelling within the past chokes out any chance for thriving in the present, restraining one from ever truly living. Whether a blessing or a curse, Reflection is an action that must be taken to further the narrative of life.

Winds of change blew throughout the study in which the Host occupied. Never did the narrator of reality expect himself to be drawn into the ever-growing Chaos that near all his companions brewed of their own accord. As his position commanded, his sole role within the universe was to maintain the upkeep of Balance. The chaotic energy spewed by the many darker entities now taken form must be countered with the abundance of Order emanating from the blindfolded storyteller. Gentle scents of candle smoke and literature of old drifted throughout the air, providing the comforting lull the narrator aimed to retain within his study. Tender shadows swayed throughout the library as candlelight flickered from above. Within the study, all was well. Balance was forever upheld, and peace could be achieved within the confines of the alcove. As the setting remained a tranquil constant for the narrator, thoughts of many nature swirled about the Host’s mind similar to that of a raging storm. Worries plagued his heart, and fear clawed at his mind. Was all truly well? Or was such simply a repetitive lie spun only to provide minimal comfort to the storyteller?

The study served as a sanctuary of reprieve, designed to isolate the Host from the constant action of reality. While comfort was its primary aura, the Library had begun to felt constricting. It was perfect…too perfect. A migraine settled over the narrator, misconstruing his thought from their normal rationale. Mirroring the nature of his thoughts, the winds of change blew rapidly around the narrator, yet disturbing none of the peace of the library. Not a page upon the desk of the narrator was disturbed as a force far beyond the Host willed this uprising of manipulation over reality. Consumed by the pain in his head, the storyteller focused not upon the surrounding winds of Chaos that swirled about him. It was within a mere second, the narrator had vanished from the library, lifted, not by his own accord, to a place in which true Cogitatio could be achieved.

“Snapping from his state of dissociation, senses were attuned to survey his surroundings. Shock filtered out all other emotions as the Host noted he was now in a place differing from his study. Questions sprung about within his mind. He knew not how he had been transported from his own sanctuary of reality nor was he knowledgeable of his current location. The aura of the place was of dual fashions: both familiar and hostile. An air of reminiscence hung high above his whereabouts. Surprise was forced from though, replaced by a curiosity to delve further into the setting in which he currently occupied. A deep breath was drawn as the Host’s mind eye was opened to obtain a better sense of the landscape now inhabited. As the narrator’s blind gaze peered across his surroundings, a realization was made. No. No. How was he /here/? Who, or even What, could have delivered him to these hallowed grounds? Fear pumped through his veins like blood, freezing up all movement spare the hushed narrations that passed his lips. Before him, a structure ever so sacrosanct in a twisted manner withstood the test of time. It was the shed. It was /his/ shed from days long past.

Coercing his muscles to comply with his thoughts, careful steps were taken towards the shed. Each stride was unsure of itself, soaked with doubt and perturbation. Twigs and leaves cracked underneath his footsteps, echoing around the lonesome forest. The evergreen trees that towered above the Host ushered forth a sense of confinement. He was alone, trapped with his own thoughts. There were none to fall back upon if  the situation at hand was to go awry. A shaking hand was lifted to settle upon the splintering wood of the shed, gentle pushing against the dissevered door to reveal the room inside. Floorboards creaked beneath his footsteps as the narrator ventured into the shed. Once fully within the shed, a gust of frigid wind blew the wooden door shut, prompting the Host to spin around rapidly. Something was wrong. Reality, for the first time in many long years, worked against the narrator to seal him away in the sole location prone to provoke great anxiety. A trembling hand was raised to run over bicolored gel hair as shallow breaths were taken. Moments passed, and the paralyzing terror that overcame his body was propelled from his aura. All was well. The storyteller would repeat the phrase verbally to himself as a strengthened sense of control was gained over his situations. The Shed held no power over the Host. The chains of the past had long since been shattered, fragmented by the aura of the narrator as it fully developed into the entity now known as the Host. The shed was but a physical reminder of the life once lived. This place was merely a realm of Cogitatio - Reflection.

The floor once more grated under his weight as he trekked further into the shelf, calloused fingers grazing over the items once so familiar to the narrative entity. Traces of his desk and the screens that provided the static necessary to drown out all other distractions awoke memories of old within the narrator. Indeed, it was within this shed that hid scrapped literature, stashed away and crumpled as no the eyes of no one might be able to find them. Vanity had plagued his mind like a virus those many years ago, engendering a drive to only produce the best writing humanly possible. The crowning of each novel of his as a “Best Seller” only extrapolated the pride, rather arrogance, of the Author. Never would be he satisfied with his work. Any work less than perfection was to be scrapped, never to be read again. He was the universe’s scion: a chosen successor to manipulate reality at his whim through his writings. Daniel was the perfect subject. Every action and inaction of his brought ushered in vigor into his stories. Each story devised was a great success until Daniel was forcibly seized to be held in a mental institute. The effects of being the Author’s prized central character had warped the other’s mind beyond repair, leaving the writer to scramble for a meager replacement at best: Ryan. Unlike Daniel, cooperation was not a strong suit of Ryan’s. Anger flared within the narrator as he watched his precious writing crumble before his very eyes. Action must be taken to counter the destruction mannerisms of Ryan - his story must be salvaged. Nothing could be imperfect. With the aid of blunt force trauma, the Author had sealed Ryan away in this very shed, threatening his eternal imprisoning if cooperation was not reached soon. All was to be well. Everything was beginning to align perfectly until…until the shot that would forever alter the course of time for the Author. Nothing would ever be the same after that moment.

Staggering forth, the Host gripped the desk beside him. The large scar that spanned a majority of his back burned upon reflecting over the memory of being shot. Spikes of pain shot forth through his nerves. It was almost as if the injury had been sustained yet again, despite the fact none inhabited the shed alongside him at this time. The scent of copper permeated through the air, dominating the aroma of wood. Ichor freely trickled down the cheeks of the narrator as the events of the past increased speed. Flashes of pain, fear, and desperation erupted within the narrator’s mind. The Host’s knuckled began to turn white as his grip upon the ledge of the table grew impossibly tight. The deafening ringing of a certain being drowned out all sound. Panic froze all rationale, sealing the Host in a realm of his own trauma. The shed exerted the aura of death. Hastily gasping for air, the storyteller was met with another gust of frigid wind. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t dying. This was but only cogitatio. Biting his lip, the Host aimed to clear his senses with a jolt of true pain, not that of his imagination. The freezing temperature of the shed provoked a moment of clarity for the narrative entity, aiding in his return to reality. The Host was fine. He was not dying. All was well.

Slowly relinquishing his tight grasp upon the ledge of the desk, the Host straightened himself to his full height, quivering hands smoothing out the folds in the tawny fabric of his trench coat. As stressed senses balanced themselves out once more, the sensation of frozen temperatures lingered. A chill ran down the spine of the Host as a presence unknown brushed past the narrator, traversing across the shed to the opposite corner of the room: a shadow. Caution settled over the Host as he cautiously searched the aura of the latter being. The colors of energy surrounding this entity near matched the storyteller’s, only differing in the core. Before another step could be taken to approach the shadow, the being began to speak in a tone colder and crueler than the Host’s.

‘Yᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs sᴇᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀs ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ, ᴛʜɪs ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴡᴀs ʙᴏʀɴ. Uɴɢʀᴀᴛᴇғᴜʟ ғᴇᴀʀ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ. Iɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢʀᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ғᴀʀ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.’

Shock struck the Host abruptly as the words of the other pierced the thoughts of his. This being spoke as if he was the narrator as well. The anger that coated his words provoked a defensive nature from the Host. Ungrateful fear. Never did the Host imagine himself as ungrateful for his strengthened manipulation over reality. This entity spoke of his former self as being weak, irrelevant to the present. While the Host was aware his younger self did not possess his level of abilities, he had come to accept the Author as a part of him, vital to the growth the Host made as he become his own entity.

‘While this is a room of life, the death of another must be revered as it was my own many years ago. The future is not possible without the past. Everyone must learn from their experiences to better themselves in the future. Even beings beyond humanity, like ourselves, must recognize that we are only an accumulation of our past choices.’

The shadow drifted towards the Host, guiding the frigid wind closer to the narrator. The energies of each respective being collided with one another, clashing in silent tension as the two being faced opposite of each other. Masked anger began to crack through the shadow’s calm exterior. A snarl escaped the being’s throat as once more his sharp voice rang out through the isolated shed.

‘Hᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ɪs ᴡᴇᴀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ. Dᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴀᴛ sᴜᴄᴄᴇss,  ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ɪs ᴛᴏ ғᴀɪʟ. Tʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴄʟᴜᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴏᴜʀs ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ. Tʜᴇʏ ᴘʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇ ɴᴏ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴡᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ. Iᴛ ɪs ᴏᴜʀ ʀᴏʟᴇ ᴀs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴜs ᴏғ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ. Oɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴsᴛʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ /ᴏᴜʀ/ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.’

The shadow hissed its words at the Host, aiming to coerce the narrator into siding with his twisted views of the world. The storyteller found himself growing ever fearful of the shadow existing before him. The hatred and power that radiated off the creature was enough to harm reality in an increasingly serious manner. Forcing his fear to remain hidden under a mask of neutrality, the Host began to counter the shadow verbally,

‘Each person, human or other, has its own story to tell, its own life to live. Robbing entire populations of their ability to exist is cruel and torturous. Everyone deserves a chance at the life they are given. It is the role of narrator of reality to uphold the balance to allow these creatures to thrive in this world. Your views are twisted, my friend, and shall never come to fruition under my watch. I hope with passing time you shall learn that each being possesses worth within the narrative of reality.’ “

Upon hearing the words of the narrator, the Creator merely uttered a chuckle a pity. The shadow would laugh at the naivety of the Host. The storyteller had grown soft due to his prolonged interactions with those unworthy of their attention. Blinded by his care for those not of their power or skill, the Host would willingly allow those unfit to survive to poison the reality they strove to uphold. It was indeed pathetic to watch the Host scramble for logical reasoning to defend his points. Amusement flourished within the Creator as the Host spoke of ceasing the shadow’s action if the situation arose to such. What a pitiful child, believing the two were separate entities rather than one in the same.

“With a twirl of his wrist, the spirit mused in a mocking tone,

‘Iғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴇɴ I sʜᴀʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏ. Wᴇ sʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ϙᴜɪᴛᴇ sᴏᴏɴ, ᴅᴇᴀʀ Hᴏsᴛ. Eɴᴊᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴛᴜᴅʏ; ɪᴛ·s ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ sʜᴀʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴀsᴛ.’

As the final words of the shadow seared the air surrounding the two, the being’s form dissipated from sight. Upon the dispersing of the shadow, frigid winds would rise up, swirling around the Host madly as all other senses were suffocated by the howling gusts of air. The Host’s grip upon reality was slipping through his hands, leaving the narrator truly blind without connection to reality. Shouts of desperation escaped the narrator’s throat, yet nothing could be heard but the roaring storm encircling him. It had all become too much for the Host, forcing the storyteller to slip beneath the waves of consciousness.”

Once the Host lost his grip upon reality and delve into unconsciousness, the frozen winds of Creator’s essence once more transported the Host throughout reality. Setting the motionless narrator within the chair of his study, the winds of change soon dissolved. Creator’s work had been carried out as planned as the memories of the encounter between the two were robbed, sealed away for the Creator to use as he pleased. Indeed, a moment of reflection had passed. This act can be characterized as both a blessing or a curse: a curse that can usher forth an era of death and destruction for both the self and the world surrounding it.

Make no mistake: the act of reflection is no friend of any, existing only to remind many of wounds left untreated.

Reflection of this nature only has one true name:

Cogitatio.

anonymous asked:

I know I probably seem really dumb but I haven't read the books and I wanted to know if Magnus was actually the prince of hell and if so how does Alec find out?

technically that’s just a term i came up with in reference to magnus LMAO i originally used it as a tag because i wanted a way to tag all the magnus content related to his power/demon heritage. when someone asked me why i kept tagging things as that, i talked about it and the term kind of spread around.

but yes, you can consider that magnus is, in a way, heir to edom because of his father being one of the princes. alec finds out in book 6 when sebastian kidnaps magnus (and raphael and luke) to Edom, which is ruled by magnus’ father, asmodeus.

i mean in my mind magnus will always be royalty no matter what, but i feel like i should clarify bc some ppl do take this as sincere canon but it’s not. it’s extrapolation based on his lineage as we know it in the books.

“Y/N, you poor poor thing. You have no idea of the plans and spoils I have concocted for you. I have thought long and hard about the many ways I want to claim you. Make you feel and know my power. When I am through with you, my love, no one will ever doubt me or my virility again. They will all know my strength when all of Kattegat hears your screaming, begging and pleading. You will be overcome with pleasure and everyone will know who I am.”
@synnersaint @inthenameofodin

Story concept: Awful underfunded magic school

A magical high school for ‘gifted’ children to learn to hone their skills to battle the forces of evil that are always a little too dangerous for kids to fight but the teachers seem totally fine letting these tween fights.

But…

There is only like a dozen of these special people in the world, so their classes are super empty because all the kids are in different grades, the school itself has no funding and the teachers are unmotivated, the government doesn’t give a crap about regulating the kids, the world is totally indifferent to these ‘gifted’ people since they are so few in number. The major evil villains get taken out by police or military forces and all the training of the heroes feels like wasted time. Once they graduate the heroes feel like they never got a proper education and now have no marketable skills.

There is no big climax, their super powers don’t help them in any real way once they are adults and the school is not some magical fantasy experience, and they all just depressingly go their separate ways.

The school system fails gifted people and doesn’t prepare them for real life and the media lied to them about their high school experience.

the-memoirs-of-a  asked:

My dearest lost, I've been racking my brains on how this will end. I hope Levi faces Zeke, not Colt, and they actually get to talk. Maybe watching a sunrise on a cliff talking about both being on borrowed time before the final "let's do this". I wonder if seeing the next generation, Colt, would have any impact on Levi's action even if a slight hesitation. As for Armin, I think his plot armor is figuring out the way to break the shifter cycle. Does this mean one person with all nine powers? Ugh.

Hey hun, I like your thinking.  I’d be happy if things played out like this.  If Levi does get to fight the Beast Titan I really don’t think it will be a straightforward fight, things are too loaded on both sides now.  If he does fight the Beast Titan, like you, I hope it will be Zeke not Colt.  It would seem almost meaningless for Levi to fight Colt when it was Zeke who killed Erwin.  But if Zeke dies before Levi can fulfil his promise, what then? Given SnK’s theme of unfulfilled dreams I wonder if Levi will get to fulfil his promise at all.  That would be too cruel. 

HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK! How do you inherit powers of something your parent wore on a finger?! How does….oh wait, Alan Scott’s kids had powers as well, there is a precedence. Okay, carry on.

Justice League #27 introducing:

Nora, Jenny and Jason Allen, children of Flash and Green Lantern Jessica Cruz

George Marvin Stone a.k.a. Cube, son of Cyborg

Eldoris Curry a.k.a. Serenity, daughter of Mera and Aquaman

Hunter Kent, son of Wonder Woman but adopted and raised by Superman because Diana abandoned him. You read that right. My opinion about this reveal?

I know, alternate futures and all but idea of Diana abandoning her child is so out of character it hurts. Then there is the fact that 4chan is now guessing who is the father and every guess so far is Batman.

Batman meanwhile is getting his ass kicked by evil future Aquaman, he really needs to install a better door in the Batcave. And Simon is weirded out he is apparently going to lead Sinestro Corps.

This issue is…strange. A lot of bizarre decisions made while creating this plot it almost shouldn’t work but….so far it’s at worst harmless, weird visitors from a bad future story. I guess until someone starts implanting other people’s faces onto their own chest I won’t mind.

Dale realizes he doesn’t like Trump anymore and starts complaining about the Russian spies who hacked the election to get him into power- unbeknownst to the rest of the group Dale knows this to be true because he helped the spies. Bill is still waiting for Jeb Bush to win so that he may try some of Jeb’s famous guacamole.

anonymous asked:

you're the purist person in the gintama fandom. all you've ever cared about is making people smile and that's so rare to find. stay you. and thanks for the fics they're incomparable.

AAAAAAAAND HERE COMES THOSE REAL TEARS I’D BEEN TALKING ABOUT. HERE THEY ARE. STREAMING DOWN MY FACE. 

Because let me just tell you something: Being able to get people to laugh and give them a reason to smile is the best thing ever. It’s such a powerful thing and if there’s ever anything I want to truly be good at, it’s this. 

So, thank you! I’m so happy you feel this way! This is so, so, so nice and thoughtful! Thank you for telling me!! 

anonymous asked:

You're missing the point. How a movement came about, or how it gained power, is often irrelevant to how to get rid of it, hence the Mafia analogy. Removing the thing that empowered them didn't remove them - only superior firepower did that. And I think that at this point, the Alt-Right is past the point of "we're doing this to piss off the PC police". I think most of them see white supremacism as a pleasure in and of itself.

You’re not going to be able to ‘remove’ them.  There will always be a small faction of them, no matter what you do.

All you’re doing is allowing them to grow bolder, more self victimized and attract more people.  You’re well on your fucking way to making them swell, just like the mafia did.

You’re looking at the fucking mafia right now and going “Y’know what?  Lets do prohibition, so we’ll make them harder to dig out later”.  That’s what you’re doing now.

You’re making the problem worse by feeding into it.  Wanna example?  What were the White Nationalists there for?  To protest a statue being removed because it won’t be the only one.  The response now?  More statues being removed.

Congratz, you just fucking proved their point.  Now they can point to all these statues being removed, illegally or not, and say “We told you so”.  And NOW you’re going to have more people joining them because they don’t want more statues torn down.  Or they fear that it won’t stop at statues.

If they do something illegal, arrest them.  If not, let them hold their stupid rallies and be mocked for it.  If you inflict violence on them, all you’re going to do is make them MORE convinced of their fucking opinion and you’re going to make yourselves look like thugs, making more people sympathize with them.

You.  Are.  Not.  Helping.

HTGAWM Boss on S4: Annalise Has to Get Her Fight Back

Annalise can be such a formidable force, but we have also seen such vulnerability from her. Where will the fourth season premiere find her?

She’s definitely been beaten down, and we’re going to watch her rise from the ashes, literally, of last season. What’s exciting about the arc, and in watching Viola Davis act it, is there’s going to be more vulnerability in digging into what she really wants for her life. But at the same time, her public-facing persona has to be bad a–. She still has to kick a– in the courtroom. She still has to be “take no prisoners.” It’s so fun to write because it’s all of these things at the same time. And it will be exhausting for Annalise because her whole life, she worked so hard to rise to this powerful position, and it’s all been gone. And if I were her, I would just phone it in and become a barista, but she has fight left in her, and it will be really fun to watch her get that fight back in the first episode.

Where does the renewed fight come from? Is she able to lean on anyone at this point?

Her mother is always this core emotional support system for her, and we’re going to see Cicely [Tyson] again. She’ll have a really big influence on Annalise moving on and putting that fight back in her. And I think that’s who Annalise is and why I love her: She’s not going to be a barista! She fought really hard, and she’s going to get back up again.

Where does Viola’s husband, Julius Tennon, fit in? Is he someone new she can lean on, or is he more of a foe to Annalise?

Julius is amazing, and he is in our premiere. He is on her side. It’s a really fun dynamic that they play, and it is surprising. You know, I’d seen him in “Lila & Eve,” and I’d spent a lot of time with him, and when we were writing the premiere, I came up with this character and told Viola if he was open to it, that’s who I’m writing. There’s a lot of his voice in this character. Sometimes when you meet people in real life, their voice just gets in your head, and it sticks.

Do you have plans to keep him around for more than just the premiere?

You never know. It’s definitely possible. It’s left in a way that’s a little open-ended.

Even people who die on “How to Get Away With Murder” still end up on the show in flashbacks and things like that. So to that end, how much will Alfred still be a part of the show this season?

We’ve only written the first four episodes, and he’s working abroad on another show, so right now we don’t have specific plans to bring him back, but I’m really hoping it happens.

In saying that the premiere picks up a bit in the future, is that an opportunity to show characters in new or unexpected places?

Some people will be in a surprising place, but some people will just be enjoying the quiet, and we’re going to see some major changes for them over the first half of the season. But Laurel is one who a lot has changed for, and we’ll see that from the very start of the show. [It’s] a month or so later, she’ll have to come to a decision about whether she wants to have the baby or not, so we’ll answer that, too.

The audience knows Laurel’s father [Esai Morales] and family friend Dominic [Nick Gonzalez] was behind Wes’ murder, but she doesn’t. How soon will she catch on?

We never want the audience to be too ahead of the characters. In fact, I sort of love it when the characters are ahead of us. We’re doing another flash forward, of course, and that’s how we’ll be finding out a lot more about why her dad would be involved in Wes’ murder. Whether Laurel finds out about her father having killed Wes, what she’s going to do about that, that plays a big deal into our flash forward. But our question this year — the “Who killed Sam?” “Who’s under the sheet?” — is a “where?” And it’s a really big where! I can’t say anything more than that, but what I like about it is it feels different from all of the other seasons because it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a who-killed-who mystery. And all of the characters are going to be involved and active in the flash forward mystery. It’s a “where” that everyone wants the answer to.