Guy freezes his hair and it stands tall.

Guy freezes his hair and it stands tall.

"The prophecy was unambiguous and immutable."

"I know."

"No weapon forged on Earth could defeat the Lord Baarthus"

"I know."

"And yet here we are, you telling me, Lord Baarthus was struck down by the Peasant King. Wielding... just a regular sword. Forged on Earth."

"I know what I saw, okay! The Peasant King walked up to him, shoved the sword in his neck, and then just kept going. It was nasty!"

"Okay, okay, fine. Clearly what's happened here is there's some kind of loophole in the prophecy that enabled this. Happens all the time. No weapon forged on Earth... How sure are you that sword is of this world?"

"What do you take me for? I've done my research. Even tracked down, interviewed the original blacksmith."

"There must be something. Prophecies can't be wrong!"

"I mean... I didn't take stock of her inventory. If it was one of those meteorite swords..."

"No, no. The prophecy didn't say 'No weapon with parts sourced on Earth'. It was pretty specific about the Forging."

"I don't hear anything better coming from you!"

"How about this. What if it wasn't a weapon? The Peasant King... it'd only be fitting for him to slay the Dark Lord with a blade meant for peasantry! Not a weapon, but a farming tool, like a scythe, or a really long trowel--!"

"A long trowel?? It looked like a damn sword!"

"That doesn't mean anything! A ritzy, college-educated diviner like you, you wouldn't know a trowel from a ploughshare!"

"It had a hilt, and a pommel, and it went in a scabbard-- come on! Even if it was some kind of-- newfangled grass cutter I've never heard of, it was used as a weapon, and it was forged to be a weapon! I've seen the ledgers!"

"Clearly you screwed something up, madam, because the Lord Baarthus just got sliced up like an old dairy cow and the prophecy very clearly specifies the only instrument that could bring his end is--!! Oh. Ohhh. Oh, gods damn it."

"What?"

"Fucking... 'forged on earth'."

"Yes, and?"

"It wasn't forged on earth. It was forged on a fucking anvil."

"What? No, you're-- you're joking. That wouldn't-- that couldn't-- what weapon would be forged on earth, by that definition!!?"

"I hate prophecies so much..."

i mean, it could have been forged on a boat on water, its not longer "On earth" its "on the ocean". hell it coulf have been forged on a fliying device and thus "on air"

"She is a village blacksmith! 3 day's travel from any kind of coast! You mean to tell me she lugged her anvil all that way--!"

"She's not married to the thing, Klara, if the boat already had had an anvil on it--"

"And a working forge!? A working forge on a wooden boat!? And she decides, well, as long as I'm on this three month journey to the southern kingdom, I may as well get some blacksmithing done to pass the time!?"

"Well, it's certainly more plausible than your theory that she made it on some kind of miraculous flying device!!"

"You-- you don't know! Blacksmiths, they're crafty, you know, they-- they know the fell secrets of engineering! Who knows what she's invented!!!"

btw “actual feminism” is trans inclusive and op of this tweet agrees :)

becoming the oppressor is not liberation!!!!!

And it's sickening because so much of the development of HIV medicine has been publicly funded. We fucking paid for this research dozens of times over; without that public funding there would be almost nothing new for pharmaceutical companies to ransom I mean sell in the first place.

"FREE LUIGI

Deny Defend Depose

EAT THE CEOs"

Sticker spotted in Portland, Oregon

The #AllLivesMatter degenerates love the two-tier style of justice and complete disregard for children.

Dropping this over here just because

The fact that you can’t raise taxes on billionaires even slightly without them pouring money into fascist political movements is, of itself, evidence that billionaires as a class shouldn’t be allowed to exist in the first place.

I’d just like to point out that every single thing that has happened in the 6 years since I created this post has only reinscribed its absolute moral correctness in my mind.

My tattoo artist told me his teenage son came out to him as trans by giving him a bunch of blue cupcakes and a greeting card that said "it's a boy!"

"That's cute," I said.

"It was NOT cute!" he snapped. "I thought he was pregnant."

How to show emotions

Part VI

How to show insecurity

How to show being offended

How to show compassion

How to show being pleased

Part I + Part II + Part III + Part IV + Part V

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

When you turn 18, you go to the Chapel to summon a Familiar, then your future is decided based on its shape. All you can do is name the creature and then the summoning does the rest. After you name it, the priestesses all stare at you with horror in their eyes, then scream when it appears.

"Who."

"Your familiar, what will you name it?"

"Who."

"Your familiar."

"Yes, that."

"You'll name your familiar That?"

"No, That's my mother."

"Your familiar is your mother?"

"No, my familiar is Who."

The priestess pinch the bridge of her nose, her patience clearly wearing thin. Her next words were spoken through gritted teeth. "What will you name your familiar?"

"Who." You can hardly keep the grin off your face.

Finally at the end of her patience, the priestess uttered an oath and looked down at the scroll in her hands to make sure she had the right apostle and not simply someone who'd wandered in to cause trouble. The priestess paled upon seeing the name. Unfortunately, you are the right apostle and you are definitely there to cause trouble.

Her eyes flick up behind you.

The heads of more priestesses shoot up, eyes growing wide. Some screamed. Some fell to their knees. Others fainted, and it would be days before they came to their senses again.

You look back to find chaos incarnate, an impossible being who was too large for the room, too real for reality, and too many things all at once. It was twisting and unformed, smiling and snarling and laughing and screaming with too many mouths; countless eyes gazed from too many places, seeing too many things beyond mortal comprehension.

It looks down upon you.

You smile up at it. "Who?"

It smiled. And Frowned. And snarled. "What?"

"Exactly."

It nods, and you see the glimmer of understanding in its fathomless eyes. There is a spark of humour there, too, or whatever passes for humour in a chaos incarnate eldritch beast. It folds itself down, down, down into a portable form - a feathered body that didn't look like feathers if you looked at it from the corner of your eye; a flattened face with, perhaps, too many eyes if you looked at it too quickly. Maybe it has too many talons. Too many legs. Too many wings. It sort of looked like an owl, but only if you'd never seen an owl before. It lands gently on your shoulder and weighs absolutely nothing.

"Who," it introduces itself, confirming its agreement to the name.

"What," you reply to complete the bond. You come from a long line of mischief, from your mother That to your grandmother How and her mother before that named When. 'What' was a particularly inspired choice of name. Your bloodline exists to remind people that magic, like life, is not meant to be taken overly seriously. It's chaotic, and sometimes it's even fun. You can tell your familiar understands the assignment already.

Who laughs.

You grin.

"We will accomplish many things together," Who says. "None of it will be useful, but all of it will be entertaining."

Your face hurts from how hard you are smiling. "Entertainment is its own purpose."

"Indeed."

"Would you like to go home now?"

"I would like that, yes."

You and Who leave the Great Hall just as the Grand Master Priest walks in and sees the room in utter disarray. You hear him demand, "What happened here?!"

You feel especially accomplished when you hear the head priestess sigh, "Exactly."