#throwing a rock at a hornet's nest with this one I think

[knightwithahundredkings]

My apologies to people named Gareth.

[fanonical]

i might be throwing rocks at a hornet's nest with this one, but honestly i think those kind of cookiecutter ship fics where you could change the names of the main two guys out for any m/m ship are just mills and boon for nerds

[such-justice-wow]

free takes if you want to throw a rock at a hornet's nest: people only hate harem anime because they hate the thought a male could be worthy of love from more than one person without hyperperforming to the demands of everyone he's ever met

The harem anime is very much fulfilling the teenage male dream of hey what if I was capable of being loved just as I am

The same can be said for the reverse harem but I don't think the people complaining know they exist

People don't even need it to be harem to complain; all the big ones in recent times people bitch about are about couples. Komi San, that teasing one, the other teasing one, the one with huge bazonkas and meh face, my dress up darling

The idea of men/boys wanting to be loved is openly mocked. Ironically several of those address the idea of building confidence so its not all power fantasy. Unless you count the fantasy of wanting someone who likes you at all or who is just willing to spend time with you.

This was a bad question to ask me xd i just finished a 4500 word script on a manga that deals with teenage romance and I have many thoughts still

Like idk do you not remember being 15 and being the world's most insecure human being? Shit sucks. Let them imagine a world where they can be loved. They likely will be if you don't beat them down for having an age appropriate interest in sex and romance.

Why do people like milfs? If you're with someone experienced you feel safer, there's less anxiety, especially as a guy, to know what you're doing.

Same for sub/dom; let's lay out exactly what we want and be open and communicative. Or in a more fantasy capacity please just know exactly what to do to me so I don't have to think or be good at expressing myself.

Most fetishes come from something, it's not always some psychological perspective but a lot of the time... You can make connections. Although sometimes that connection can be traced back to one singular episode of TV and you just have to live with that. Especially if the show is Supernatural.

Human sexuality is one of the most normal things out there and being unable to respect it in media even if you personally find it distasteful or gross is very much on you not the media.

[queenmuzz]

Contract Accepted

A Prologue to Milo De Riva's journey to track down Solas

Milo sits there, that ever present smile on his face, as if he's not tied to a chair, that there are six dour faced Crows in the next room, that Viago is staring at him with murderous rage. "You were specifically told to monitor the Antaam, not interfere, and most explicitly" Viago bends down so that his face is inches from his own, "to attack them. Do you have any idea what you've done?" Viago asks, restraining the urge to slap him for his actions.

Milo's face doesn't lose any of that aggravating confidence. "I'm going to assume this is one of your 'rhetorical questions' you like to ask before dressing me down, so let's just get it out of your system"

"Your little stunt was the equivalent of poking the Antaam hornet nest, throwing rocks at it, and then jumping up and down on it. All while all Eight Talon Houses were coordinating on how to burn it and eliminate the threat once and for all. Now, I have the entire Crow leadership on me, demanding to know what happened, and how I am to ... rectify..." he paused to put emphasis on that word, "the situation. They want answers, Milo... and they want blood."

The young man's smile lessens just a tiny bit. "They were... transporting 'hostages', Viago. You know what happens to them, once the Antaam locks them up. They use that shit to mess with their minds, make them brainless drooling idiots, only good for manual labour."

"It was a price that we were willing to pay." Viago counters. "THERE WERE CHILDREN IN THE GROUP! IS THAT A PRICE YOU WERE WILLING TO SPEND LIVES FOR?" Ah, Viago thinks, now it makes sense. The boy has always had a soft spot for children, whether they were fledglings, or the street ragamuffins he keeps giving coins to in the market. It was a mistake, in hindsight to put him in surveillance. He should have assigned him somewhere else, although knowing Milo, he'd no doubt have found out and still made himself a nuisance to both the Antaam and the Crows. Still, the damage had been done, and his mind goes back at the whispers that had been going around. A traitor in their ranks, someone who had cooperated with the blasted Ox-men into taking the city so easily... It couldn't possibly be...

"You've made a fine mess for us, Crow." he deliberately refuses to use the name. He needs to mentally distance himself from the prisoner before he does what must be done. "You've destroyed much of what advantage we still had, and now your actions will result in the deaths of more people than you saved. You know that, right? Maybe you even did that on purpose. Kill a few qunari, save a few children, play the hero and bring down the Crow leadership so you could slip right in."

The smile drops completely, and for a breif moment, his hands, still tied behind his back flash with veilfire. His voice comes out in an outraged hiss. "You would DARE accuse me of being a traitor?" The fire goes out, and Viago notices that had Milo wished it, he could have just burnt the ropes, blasted him back with some magic, and made a run for it. But he doesn't. A small part of Viago's heart relaxes. He knew the boy wasn't a traitor. This just confirms it. Milo, whatever his faults, is true hearted to the Crows. Which makes what he must do even more painful.

"I'm not a traitor," Milo repeats, "I fucked up, I know. I got half the Crows ready to stab me for what I've done. But..." his smile returns, aggravating Viago to a nearly boiling rage with how unserious he looks. "I won't apologise for what I've done. I don't have a single regret that those kids live another day free from that slavery shit."

Milo's mouth is quick to talk himself out of dangerous situations, but Viago's knife is quicker. It's an instant later that the Fifth Talon stands up, grabs the boy by the hair, and yanks his head back, exposing his throat. It's another instant, and he has his dagger's naked blade resting at his carotid artery. All it takes is another instant, and price of defiance will be paid out. Milo's reaction is only a fraction of a second behind. There's the hiss of pain from his hair being yanked, the widening of the eyes at the realization of what is about to happen, and then... a soft tender smile. Not what Viago expected. He'd thought there would be a struggle, a flash of magic as Milo instinctively defended himself. But no, he remains still, his good eye never leaving Viago's. He can feel Milo's pulse against the blade, and it thrums at a leisurely pace, as if he's relaxing with a cup of his favourite drink.

"You know... I've imagined how I would die... and who would kill me. Countless times," Milo speaks calmly. There is no begging, no defiant jokes. Just simple acceptance. "And you know what?"

"I'm glad it was you"

Viago has always been a man of action. When he sets out to do a job, he does not swerve until it is completed. Whether its an assassination, a power play within the Crows, acquiring a new dagger for Teia, he always sees it through to the end. He's a De Riva, after all. And yet, the blade trembles, even as it seems so easy to slide it against the supple flesh, and let the blood flow. Because when it comes down to it, Milo isn't just some run of the mill assassin, albeit one skilled in magic. This has been a man who has spent the better part of the last decade diligently serving the Crows, whether it was by working on the most demanding jobs, by helping the fledglings find their tail feathers, and even once saving Viago's life. Killing him is like killing a part of himself...

He disguises that moment of doubt with a snarl, and yanks the blade back, releasing Milo's hair, but giving him a powerful slap in the face. Before Milo can come up with a quip, (or a taunt about his cowardice), he storms out, slamming the door behind him. That's when he notices over a dozen various Crows, staring at him. He is in no mood to deal with any of them. He knows he has only delayed the inevitable. If not him, another Crow sent by one of the houses will come to demand their pound of flesh from the boy.

"Why are you all standing there, you slacked jawed idiots?! We have work to do." They scurry away, none questioning what had just transpired.

He storms down the hallway to get to his office, ignoring the whispers, barely noticing how everyone fled in his presence. He vaguely hears a voice calling his name. "Viago... VIAGO!!!"

He turns on his heel to come face to face with Teia, who by the sound of her heavy breathing sounds like she must have run the entire distance between her casino and the Roost. Her eyes are wide, and only widen further as she sees the blade, naked and still clenched in his hand.

"You didn't...." she whispers in fear, "Please tell me you didn't..."

"He lives..." he lowers his voice so its just heard by her, and he can see her visibly relax. "For now..." He motions her into the relative privacy of his office.

"There must be something we can do, Viago," she pleads. "Milo may be an idiot, but he's OUR idiot. He doesn't do things like that on impulse. Surely the other Talons would listen to reason, especially coming from you." "And risk bringing down the De Riva's?" "You know the Cantoris would support you, many of my people have worked with him, can attest to his loyalty and skill." "We'd bring you down with us" he counters, and she looks down, acquiescing the point, before looking back up at him. "What about sending him away? A year at the most, by that time, tempers would cool. Maybe send him to Orlais, have him learn about 'culture' that you're always complaining he doesn't have." She smiles hopefully, but its a mask, she already knows his response. "You know that it would be a death sentence to him. Milo is a Crow, it's in his blood. He needs a purpose. To be sent out without direction would cause him to do something that would get him killed. And he might even welcome death."

She sighs sadly. She's fond of the boy, always has been since she first met him as a scrawny sixteen year old, trying to do his best to follow Viago everywhere like a loyal mabari hound. She's even tried finding him a nice woman for him to settle down with, (to no avail, Milo seems notoriously bad at romance). "There must be something we can do..."

"Perhaps I can help?"

A voice comes from the doorway, and the two of them whirl around to see a dwarf standing there.

"Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was asking around for a..." he pauses, "Viago De Riva and they acted kinda scared when they directed me here. The name's Varric. Varric Tethras."

Viago frowns. He's heard of the famous author who was recently known to be part of some Chantry offshoot called the Inquisition, doing whatever those weird zealots do in the south.

"I originally wanted to come here to thank you," Varric continues. "Got myself into a pickle when I was rounded up by the Antaam. I think they thought I was one of the kids or something." He grumbles at the insult, before continuing, "Anyways one of your Crows swooped in and killed seven of those guys before anyone noticed, allowing us to make a run for it, so I just wanted to express appreciation...but I get the feeling that this particular Crow has stirred up some shit."

Viago crosses his arms, not sure what to make of this dwarf. He seems genuine in his thanks, but he had picked a poor time to do so. Perhaps it would bring Milo comfort to know of the appreciation in his last moments.

"I propose a deal. You see, I'm on... 'unofficial' business, trying to find a guy that's planning something big and very, very, VERY bad. Something that makes the qunari occupation here seem a kids game of King of the Castle. I need someone with skills, someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty, and someone whose willing to make a big trek for what could possibly be for years. And wouldn't you know it, I may have found my guy. Especially if you want him out of town for the foreseeable future....unless I'm mistaken?"

Viago muses on it. Teia remains silent, but she looks up at him hopefully, her ears trembling ever so slightly when she gets worked up about something. This might be the only shot Milo has for survival. Of course, survival isn't guaranteed, but every Crow knows that for any mission, no matter how easy it seems. And staying in Antiva will guarantee Milo's death. No doubt the boy will be furious with Viago for sending him away, but he'll have no one but himself to blame. He slept with the dogs, now he must deal with the fleas. He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales once before releasing the tension that's been building within him all day. "Contract Accepted"

[fritzwilhelm]

I realize I may be throwing rocks at the hornets nest with this one, but I kinda think the "sex scenes serve no purpose in media, it's just pornography" crowd would do well to remember that pornography is... also media.

Feels like a side effect of the “This particular craft/genre/style/piece does not suit my individual tastes, but I instead of concluding that it is not for me, I have decided that it is no longer art” mentality.

[frick6101719]

TBH, I agree with everything said above, but I think the argument that Prim's reaping was rigged is inconsistent even with the new information introduced in TBoSaS and SotR. Sure, we do see that both D12 reapings in the prequels were rigged in some way, but you know who didn't rig them either time? Coriolanus Snow. And you know who didn't rig it in 74 either? Coriolanus fucking Snow.

Everything we learn about Snow's character in Ballad is inconsistent with a rigged reaping in 74. This is a man who is fundamentally reactive--he is not an instigator, he is not out there kicking hornets' nests, he is not making enemies anywhere where he doesn't have to. All through Ballad he is trying to cultivate good relationships and make allies, even with people he hates, because he knows that benefits him. One exception to this is his making fun of Dean Highbottom, and he learns his lesson here; the dean is Coriolanus's primary enemy in the book, and for a long time CS blames himself for this, because he poked a bear he shouldn't have poked when he started referring to him as "High as a Kite Bottom." All through the book we see Coriolanus swallow insult after insult in the name of keeping the peace and trying to secure for himself an advantageous future.

And speaking of swallowing; it's very telling that his signature move once he's in power is poisoning his enemies with a poison he drinks himself. This man is such a conflict-averse control freak that he will literally poison himself rather than make an overt move against an enemy. He wants to keep the boat from rocking. He wants the advantage of the second move. He wants control.

So no. He would not rig the reaping in 74. Snow may not believe the war is ever over, but he certainly seems to think the battle for D12 is. The utter lack of shits given about D12 that we see in the first book is astounding, especially when you compare it to the situation in D11, or even how much D12 changes after the Peacekeeper crack-down. They haven't had a Victor in 25 years. They're dirt poor, people are dying of starvation, and the Covey are all but gone. He has absolutely no reason to start shit by rigging the reaping. He is not that careless.

And yeah. If it's not Snow it's not anybody. I'd believe it was Effie before I'd believe it's D13, who has so carefully kept their survival a secret and has waited patiently for decades for the right time to make a move. They're not going to throw caution to the wind and roll those fucking dice when there are so many factors outside of their control and no guarantee it would accomplish anything.

I don't mean to shit on anybody who enjoys this theory, because I think there are still all kinds of fun and wacky ways to make it work. Hell, maybe it was rigged by a rival of Snow's who loves chaos and just wanted to see what would happen. It's possible! I just don't think there's much in the text to support it.

And because apparently I can't get out of the essay-writing mood I'm in today: while it might be possible that the reaping was rigged, it's important to the whole story of the books that it isn't. To have Prim's reaping be rigged undermines one of the hugest and most glaringly obvious themes that pervades all five books: war and systemic injustice hurts everyone, right down to the innocent children who never asked for this and have no control over their own circumstances. It's not fair, it doesn't discriminate, and there is always collateral damage.

one of my biggest issues with sotr is how much closer it puts the fandom to the “prim’s reaping was rigged” theory

[crownlessliestheking]

Hi! Your writing is absolutely lovely & I adore your silm fics. For the writing prompt list -- 2. survivor for elwing or 17. aftermath for fingolfin?

Aw, thank you so much, anon!! I did choose Elwing first but I ended up starting something for Fingolfin as well (it was too good to pass up!) but that’ll probs end up being a fic I drop onto AO3. Frankly, this Elwing one is getting expanded too because I am immediately enthralled, but you know how it is! Brilliant choice of prompts, for real.

2. Elwing, survivor.

Eärendil comes to her just as the sun rises, exhaustion lining his face. Elwing is on the shore where she has been told her distant kin were slaughtered by the same ones who massacred her far less distant kin.

There is, she thinks bitterly, something to be said for consistency.

Eärendil is tired. She sees it in how his steps drag, in how his eyes settle first on her, and then on moored Vingilot just to her left. She knows they are thinking of the same thing, the short sailing trips they would take together in his little skiff, pottering around the Havens of Sirion whose waters were then safe and not befouled with blood. This was when they were children and not rulers, when parents and relatives and regents were aplenty, and all had agreed to let them have this.

Let them be children, Idril Celebrindal had said, and Elwing aches with gratitude now for what she had taken as her due then.

Her husband sprawls across the strange, pearlescent sand next to her. She picks up a handful and scatters grains across his stomach, making a little face.

“Even normal sand,” she pronounces, “is not good enough for the Elves of the West. Look at this! It glitters in the sun like ground gemstones. It’s ridiculous.”

“It is ground gemstones,” Eärendil tells her. He rolls away, only serving to dust himself in glitter. “Which is even worse. This is a strange land, my love, and here we’ve gone and thrown a hornet’s nest right into it.” He pauses. “After lighting it on fire and filling it with sulfur and charcoal. And perhaps dousing it in liquor for good measure.”

Said hornet is shining through its pouch in her pocket. Elwing has, by and large, pretended not to notice the people staring at her in the city as she’d walked through it, but it was bad enough that she’d made a hasty retreat to the shore as soon as she was able.

“They want it too,” she murmurs. She does not touch it, this blood-bought rock that hangs about her neck like an albatross. “I’ve half a mind to give it to them, if only to get rid of the damned thing.”

Eärendil looks at her with abominable patience. “No,” he says. “You don’t.”

She throws her hands up in frustration.

“Well, alright! I don’t. Not because I want it, but because – well. What right do they have to it, you know? Less than those fucking monsters who killed everyone to get them, and we didn’t decide to give it up then.” Elwing sneers at the sea. It stares back, placid, but more alive than she’s used to. This entire country is alive, every iota of it breathes and sings, and Elwing feels oddly at peace despite the strangeness. Despite the bizarre, excessive decadence. It should hurt, to think that there are people here, protected and safe, who did nothing to earn it. It should hurt to think that she and hers had to suffer and claw and then die because the Elves who lived here simply could not ever get their shit together.

Following, perhaps, the example of this land’s rulers, though Elwing’s wise enough not to voice that with every tree, stone, and stray breeze listening.

“We’ll need it besides,” she murmurs, out of habit.

Eärendil’s hand on her shoulder is a terrible thing. “Will we? They offered the choice, you know. I think we’re running out of time to decide.”

Elwing scowls bitterly. “Yes, how generous of them to only let us in after we have this rock, never mind how many people apparently died trying to get here and beg for help.” Beg, when they should not have to.

Elwing does not understand the point of gods if they won’t lift a single finger to help, but maybe it’s less about them and more about having something to believe in.

Something good, anyway. Elwing’s believed in many things over the years: Herself, then Eärendil; her parents, then Eärendil’s; the Silmaril and its awful light, clutched close to her chest, this terrible thing that brought ruin on her family but still preserved something good, something that made her feel like she’d never deserve to touch it. Oh, and the Fëanorians, she’d believed in them plenty; there were no monsters under her bed, because she had known that is not how they came. They came with letters, with threats, with sword and flame and blood, and it was a long time before she could open any correspondence without shaking.

Of course, just as she’d managed it, she got the letter she’d been waiting for, all those years. They wouldn’t let it go.

The Valar, as they’re called, are only believable because she’s laid eyes on them.

They’re somewhat useless on all other accounts, once you get past an invisible line in the sea – if you have a Silmaril, that is. Elwing’s experienced that on her own.

“It’s safe here,” Eärendil says delicately, drawing her marginally from her black mood. “That is not something to scoff at.”

“Safe for us, but not those we’ve left behind. Assuming, of course, that there’s any survivors.”

“There is us. There’s you,” he tells her, devastatingly gentle. “Elwing, sea-bird, my love: There is always you.”

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

being apart of/really close with the Corroded Coffin means you're either the mom or another fucked-up dumbass

there is no in between

there is one in between, and i feel like it would be a combination of the two 🫣

the mom friend side of you would be the type of person to always carry anything they would need on hand, bandaids, little snacks, a lighter and other things like that. you’d give them advice on how to talk to girls properly and they always come to you to ask about what would or wouldn’t be considered creepy to someone they like. when they dropped you off at home you’d tell them to let you know when they got home so you know they’re safe. you’d be the one who always organizes everything because if it was left to them hellfire club would be held in the back of Eddie’s cramped van with one bag of chips to hold them over for hours because they put it off for too long. you’d help them with homework and though they hate school and everything that surrounds it they think you know how to make it sound interesting so if they’re ever confused on anything you just dumb it down for them like you’re trying to teach a toddler which colors are which. you always encourage them and tell them you’re proud of their little achievements, even ones that they don’t think matter. like when Grant got a C on a paper he was pretty upset about it but you said he still technically passed and you know he tried his hardest on it and that brought his mood right back up.

HOWEVER, there’s also the side of you that was just one of the guys.

and i don’t mean that in the ‘pick me’ girl type of way, i mean that in the ‘i’ve known these idiots my entire life so it’s like having 4 brothers that just never shut the fuck up’ type of way.

they’d rely on you to be a distraction and act flirty with the cashier at the gas station while they fucked around and ‘borrowed’ some snacks. you’d constantly encourage and feed into them acting like dumb asses simply because it’s funny to watch. yeah no, it’s totally fine to throw rocks at that hornets nest, they can definitely outrun the swarm of them. not to mention all the times they have you fill in when someone doesn’t make it to hellfire and you make it their mission to fuck up their campaign as much as possible because they took away your sweet free time with their nerd game. and just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you’re the exception to their bullshit. you’re also dragged into their arguments of figuring out which is more fuckable: a reverse mermaid or a reverse centaur. not to mention all the times they try to fuck with you or embarrass you when you’re trying to flirt with someone at the mall. and they don’t go easy on you when it comes to dares. you’ll have this game where if someone dares you to do something you HAVE to do it, and since Gareth did your dare of eating the cookie you found under your cafeteria table you now have to do his dare and take a swig of the bong water that hasn’t been changed in almost a week.

those boys would DIE for you, you’re their best friend and they’re your best friends.

they’ll always be the first ones to hear when you have a date or a new crush, and if someone ever stands you up or treats you badly, god help them. they’re your body guards on nights out, scaring off creeps at the hideout after their gigs and keeping a tight grip on your drink and covering the top of it with their hand when you have to go to the bathroom. though they like to roughhouse, and of course they bring you into it and shove you around, they make sure not to touch or grab you in a way that would make you uncomfortable. and at concerts, if you’re not feeling like going into the pit or they can sense that one’s going to start, they’ll keep you off to the side so you don’t get brought into one and there’s always one of them with you so you’re not all alone. and if they need to get into the fake boyfriend role when you shoot them the ‘help me’ eyes at a party they’re second to none. and they know just how to act around your family too. very respectful, always asking your parents if they can help do the dishes after dinner or helping with decorating the house for holidays, being guests at your little siblings tea parties or being part of a group of knights trying to help them slay the dangerous dragon in the backyard (it’s a salamander that they saw on a tree) and they’re always welcome over whenever! your parents trust them with you, no matter how many times you’ve insisted that just because they’re boys and they’re your friends you DO NOT have crushes on any of them. they’re like your brothers and you love them just as much as they love you.

[maglors-anion-gap]

Your response to Nelyo's ask set my thoughts spinning....

Maedhros and Elwing for the duobingo? >:)

[blank template]

(Anyone who wants to send in a duo now is welcome to do so, I promise I'll answer them this time)

ough when you saw that "swinging the bat at the hornet's nest" square you knew exactly which pairing to ask for, didn't you??

first, if you're interested in Thee Moste Messed Up (Complimentary) Maedhros/Elwing fic Ever, check out Look To The Western Sky by @arofili

Okay so second bingo Ever and it's a crack ship with Devastating Mental Health Issues.

I'm going to start out by saying I don't think that you need an apology in order to begin healing, I don't think an apology is even the most meaningful step in healing, I don't think people need to accept your apology for you to begin healing yourself and becoming better, and I don't think people need to forgive or ever want to be around each other again in order to be truly healed. However...

I think that because elves are immortal, and do tend to fetch up in Valinor at some point (by boat or from out of elf-limbo) there are situations that are created by this that would not manifest in a human lifespan that do have to be resolved to some extent. Especially when elvish memory is forever, and when it will always be as clear as the first day.

This is the general appeal to me of any sort of interaction between elwing and maedhros. They are both such large figures in each others' lives that there presence is something the other has to grapple with psychologically. In each other's presence, they could very easily make each other better or make each other far worse.

I think my ideal maedhros/elwing fic is a post-reimbodiment fic that tests the limits of how much people can be healed within that sort of limbo-like death, and how much distance they have left to cover that can only be crossed in person in the presence of real people. Maedhros likely spends a long time dead. Elwing spends a long time alone. In a sense, they've both been dealt a crap hand. To be fair, maedhros makes his own bad choices in spectacular fashion, but that's still a pretty crappy descent. And elwing gets to live in a tower by the sea and the valar say her husband has to sail alone forever in the sky (but he gets conjugal rights, don't worry. ffff). I am very interested in stagnation - healing that gets to a point where you can mostly function and people think you're good to go but there's still black mold under the makeup....

All this to say: maedhros fetches up at her tower to... what? apologize? throw himself off the top of it? get properly killed? he didn't think this through At All. Some screaming and throwing of flower pots -> some very awkward conversations -> he starts coming round for dinner -> literally the most unhealthy enemies-with-benefits hatesex. no one is happy and everyone is scratching an itch. They're all acting selfishly because it feels good, and it takes a long time to separate what feels good from what is actually good for them and others.

Earendil knows/gets involved, firstly because I will take any opportunity to have a convoluted polycule situation, and second because he has his own issues. Bonus points if he's the one who fetches maglor home, less out of some supremely good initial will and more because studying him like a colorful bug makes him feel better about his own extremely messed up psyche and it gives him a hideous sort of satisfaction that maglor will stop eating for days in the presence of the silmaril and sort of waste away looking at it.

I emphasize that this is a very "I hope you die/ I hope we both die" situation for literally everyone here. No one has gotten therapy everyone is wounded and for a while they all take some awful delight in both wallowing in their own issues and hurting each other.

Obviously this can only last for so long before they hit rock bottom and have to climb back up.

Comedic potential: it's a very dark sort of comedy, it's not funny but you laugh.

Fandom made me hate it: this doesn't refer to the pairing, so much as the characters themselves. I started out with a neutral-positive view of pretty much everyone in the silm (not because they're good people but because they contribute tasty things to the narrative). Unfortunately, after spending a while in fandom I got a little burnt out with how people would twist canon about to support their thesis that "elwing is the worst person in the legendarium because x" or "elwing is the best, most long-suffering person in the legendarium because x" -- idk where i'm going with this, i just find some of that fic unpleasant, it's not fiction so much as it is a persuasive paper wearing some tolkien names. And half the time the ethical framework or whatever it rests on is, in my mind, bunk. I'm working towards letting go of interpetations that piss me off and going back to what I can analytically pull out of the text myself...

[tonystarktogo]

Could I pretty pretty please get some more on the time travel crack au? Maybe when it gets out that Steve, Bruce, andThor are technically from the future?

As much as I’d love to jump to that part, I think it’s funnier necessary to cover a few other tidbits first. For example:

Tony misses whatever discussion follows Thor’s -- hah, got it right in one, he hasn’t lost his touch completely yet -- arrival before the god carries his brother off towards a containment cell with the sort of cheer that causes Tony to carefully keep at least two people between himself and Thor, lest the asshole tries to hug him again.

Not that it can be that big a loss considering they all -- sans Loki -- end up back in the command center of the helicarrier, where Fury glares balefully at the most recent invader of his precious aircraft that clearly isn’t meant to stand in the way of gods.

A glare Thor aggressively doesn’t notice. Likely because he’s too busy partaking in the on-going discussion on what to do next.

And by ‘what to do next’ Tony doesn’t mean the expected we-were-invaded-by-a-mindcontrolled-alien-nutbag-and-there’s-probably-more-out-there-seems-like-the-kind-of-oh-shit-situation-we-should-plan-for. No. That would be reasonable and expected and Tony’s spent all of three hours in the company of the esteemed Captain America and already he can tell you that Rogers is none of that.

[Which, not cool, Capsicle. Dazzling and befuddling people with crazily brilliant ideas is his job.]

[continues under the cut]

So far, Tony’s been paying attention for ten minutes. In that time, Rogers and Thor have gotten into an argument over how to handle Loki -- which holy shit, that went from a calm, rational discussion to a battle to the death between two superhumans on a sugar high in zero point four seconds -- that Tony is so not gonna touch. [Nope. Let some other fool [i.e. Rogers] throw himself head-first into norse god family drama, Tony’s own feelings concerning his family are complicated enough.] That conversation devolved into a not-openly-fighting-while-totally-fighting stand-off between Rogers and Banner over a way too bitter comment from the latter [something about ‘you’d know all about choosing one brother over the other, wouldn’t you’ which what?], which in turn gets derailed by Banner needling Thor about the merits of beheading over stabbing.

Romanoff had the good sense to disappear -- probably to interrogate Loki while his apparently protective big brother is distracted, now that Tony thinks about it. 

Unfortunately that still leaves Tony stuck here, having to play the role of the mature adult because no one else fucking will. Tony hates being responsible. It’s like being back in high school and being left to do all the work on your own in group project.

[Tony failed that project. Got a straight up zero on purpose because spite is a wonderful motivator. Which, now that Tony thinks about it, doesn’t say anything promising about the current situation.]

Tony leans even further back in his seat, only balancing on the backlegs of the chair, to give Fury a very sharp, very judgemental look.

These are the people you’re betting Earth’s survival on, that look says.

Fury’s already pissed off expression darkens further, which brightens Tony mood substantially. That one of the suit’s sensors flashes green twice in quick succession less than a minute later really just makes for a delicious cherry on the top. Or more precisely a good excuse to ditch this trainwreck of a match-making attempt.

“Whoops,” Tony says, clearly audible but not too loud to draw real attention from the three [still arguing-while-pretending-not-to] stooges on the other end of the room. “Looks like I gotta take this call.”

He jiggles his fingers at Fury. The guy rolls his eyes -- probably jealous that he doesn’t have an excuse himself, that bitch face doesn’t fool Tony -- but no one tries to stop him.

“Alright, J, what do you have for me?”

*

Tony pretends not to notice the shuffling footsteps. Glances at the disturbingly normal clock on the wall that is so not up-to-date with the rest of the technology in the room, it must be an inside joke. Tony would love to meet the SHIELD agent behind it -- it can’t be easy, being the only person with a sense of humor in an entire agency.

30 minutes.

Well. That’s longer than Tony thought he’d get. JARVIS still hasn’t cracked the last layer on SHIELD’s really fucked up dirt -- and given what he’s already found, that says a lot -- but it’s only a matter of time now. Besides, Tony’s got a job to do.

“To- Stark.”

“Rogers.”

Tony doesn’t turn. Neither does he stop typing.

“What are you doing?”

Tony scoffs. He’s not in the mood to pander to inferior minds -- not when they’re so fucking frustrating, don’t make any sense and worst of all make him do all the work. 

“He’s tracking the Tesseract, using the scepter as a point of reference,” Banner says after taking one look at the screen over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony raises his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. Banner’s credentials clearly don’t do him justice -- and they were pretty damn good to begin with.

“Huh,” says Rogers.

Thanks for playing. Now buckle down and make yourself useful or fuck off, Tony wants to snipe but doesn’t get the chance to because the gods -- this god at least -- just aren’t on his side.

“Even without my brother’s help, a weapon of the tesseract’s might should not be underestimated,” Thor speaks up. “Should we not make haste and collect it?”

"Great idea.” Tony’s voice is dryer than the sand dune he crash-landed in back during his fun little trip to Afghanistan. “If only I’d thought of that instead of inventing fifteen new algorithms to try and get a read on SHIELD’s precious magic eight ball while you were busy defending your brother’s honor. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure Romanoff is a greater danger to his virtue than Captain Shockfreeze over there, so why are you still here?”

Okay, maybe poking the hornet nest that is godly family isn’t his smartest move [didn’t he just say he wasn’t gonna touch that?!] but damn if Tony isn’t curious. And also too annoyed to care about unimportant, subjective things like good manners and tact.

He sort of regrets his cavalier attitute a little when Thor sobers. At least there are no tears in sight. Tony is the last person on Earth who should be left unsupervised around crying people. It just never ends well.

“Ah.” Thor sighs heavily, stems his body against an unfortunate table that creaks dangerously. "I’m afraid I can’t afford to see my brother right now.”

It’s the way he says those words, the weight they carry more than anything that tells Tony he needs to drop this issue right now. Talk about one huge trigger button.

Must be inconvenient to have siblings. Tony totally can’t relate.

“Well, in that case, unless you have a magic trick with which you can pull the Tesseract’s position out of your sleeve, how about you sit as far away from these delicate instruments as possible and don’t touch anything while I work my magic, hm?”

Tony doesn’t let his gaze linger on the crushed edge of the table. Thor hasn’t even seemed to notice. He’s too busy lighting up at Tony’s snappish response. Which is surprising. Tony’s aware he’s a bit of an asshole right now. In his defence, he’s an asshole most of the time.

Rogers leaps across the room -- almost crashing into the previously mentioned delicate sensors as he does so -- to slap his palm over Thor’s mouth.

Tony stares. [How quickly can you develop a new habit again? Because this starts to feel like a new habit.]

“That sounds like a great plan!” Rogers beams at him, so wide and fake it must be physically painful for the epitome of all that is good and holy. At least Tony hopes it is. The supersoldier his father worshipped is still clinging to their resident god of thunder’s face.

It’s.

Tony resolutely turns his back on both of them because their madness doesn’t seem to come with a refund-ticket and if Tony doesn’t finish this program, no one will.

Not even Banner -- whom Tony had been kind of hoping for. Speaking of, the man’s been awfully quiet for a while now.

“You alright there, Brucie-Bear?” Tony turns around -- a little because it’s polite to face people when you talk with them and mostly to have an excuse not to watch the ongoing doomed wrestle-match between Blonde 1 and Blonde 2. His awesome nicknaming skill doesn’t get so much as a twitch.

To be fair, Banner is so busy staring straight ahead with the most epic rendition of the World’s Most Thoughtful Expression™ Tony has seen in a while that it doesn’t seem like the man heard him. At all.

Until he suddenly speaks up.

“I think we’ve forgotten something.” Behind Tony the impromptu wrestling comes to a sudden halt.

Probably something negligible like how to focus on a mission, the sarcastic voice in the back of Tony’s mind drawls. Though it should be noted that Tony’s consciousness only comes in sarcastic or not at all. Sorry, everyone, all the other flavors are out.

Banner’s frown deepens. “Something- Something important.”

Right on cue an explosion rocks the aircraft.

*

There’s a bit more tension in this part than the previous ones. On Tony’s side it’s because he’s smart enough to pick up on Something Is Seriously Wrong, both consciously and subconsciously and also because he feels the pressure what with everyone else apparently not taking this whole thing very seriously.

[Excluding Natasha who, believe me, takes Clint’s fate very serious indeed.]

On our time travellers’ side, they experience the frustration of being unable to talk openly, surrounded by people they don’t trust, trying to play along to the script of a movie they watched like 12 years ago and never revisited. Needless to say they’re failing horrenduously.

[icaruskey]

“What?”

“Let me help,” Finley repeated, and he flashed a smile at Cassian that made the uncomfortable twist in his stomach ease, just a little. “I may not be much for, I dunno, that electricity stuff, but I can at least help remove a hornet’s nest.” 

The way Finley stared at Cassian made him blush and look away, propping his elbow on his knee as he looked over the lake and where it broke off into the river. He hadn’t realized how far they’d come. He couldn’t even see the smoke from the new house. The silence must’ve gone on for too long though because he could hear Finley shifting behind him. 

“Well, just think about it at least. Are your clothes dry enough yet?” He’d stood up to stretch. 

“Uh,” Cassian had to lean forward to check, huffing when his hair fell limply against his face. “No, they’re still soaked through.” 

“Let’s hang them in a tree and let the breeze get to them. I think there’s some blackberry bushes around too, if you want a snack.” Cassian’s input was apparently unnecessary as Finley just picked up his clothes and walked to the nearest low hanging branch. “You have nice hair by the way. Does everyone in the city let it get so long?”

“No.” Cassian stood now, a little wobbly on his feet. Nearly drowning had definitely taken it out of him. “I just like it long. Father says it reminds him of Mother’s hair.” He self-consciously played with the ends of his hair. It wasn’t vaguely reasonably long for a man. He’d been growing it out since he was ten and he’d been given the choice to, so now it swung (albeit right now it didn’t swing so much as limply flopped) just above his hips. 

“I could never let it grow that long,” Finley said with a grin, running a hand through his own hair. “Even when I was little, the moment it started touching my ears, I started to cry. Bushes are this way.” 

“When you’re little?” Cassian followed Finley, watching his feet as they worked around the lack and back into the woods. There was a faint trail Finley followed, too small and rough to be a human’s path, but it helped avoid any sticks or hard rocks. 

“Oh yeah, when it’s too hard to make little kids sit still, you know?” Finley stopped, and Cassian nearly ran into him, barely stopping himself from bashing his nose into Finley’s shoulder. He looked up, spotting a dense bush loaded with fat, black berries. Unexpectedly, his stomach growled, making Finley laugh. “I figured you’d be hungry. All that running around and nearly drowning after living in the city?”

“Oh shut up,” Cassian groused, but Finley only laughed harder, leaving the little path to pluck berries. Cassian popped one carefully into his mouth, eyes widening at the taste. It was nothing like he’d gotten at home. “These are so juicy!” 

“Nothing’s better than berries right off the bush,” Finley agreed. Cassian picked a handful to hoard and eat, closing his eyes with a moan. He flinched when something hit his cheek. Finley as grinning, holding another berry, ready to throw. 

“Hey!” 

“Stop me,” Finley said, and the second berry hit Cassian square in the nose. He huffed, throwing his handful at Finley scattershot, quickly going to gather more ammo.

Their laughter drew the squirrels and birds, eager to scavenge the tossed ammo once they’d settled down and went back to find Cassian’s clothes to walk home. 

Read all of chapter one here

[returnofismasm]

Not to long form Loki meta in 2021 (sorry to my followers, but most of y’all know me personally....) but. Season 2 wishlist!

Season 1 wasn’t perfect, but I generally had a grand time watching it. It felt a lot like RTD-era Doctor Who--has some flaws, but you can tell everyone had a good time making it, and I had a good time watching it, and I’m glad there’s going to be more. 

So some things I’d love to see in season 2:

1. More exploration of Loki’s bisexuality. I’m really glad that Kate Herron made a point to get this confirmed, but more please! Whether that means a boyfriend or just references to past boyfriends is, I think, dependent on how many episodes the season gets. Without throwing a rock into the hornets nest of the selfcest discourse (seriously, don’t bring it here, make your own post) the Loki/Sylvie romance did feel a little rushed, so if they’re going to commit to that, I’d rather they stick with it then messing with a love triangle or something. If the backstabbing at the end of time has killed that dead, then yes. Boyfriend. Either way, have Loki reminisce about past lovers (was the reason Sif and the Warriors Three were all kinda done with Loki outside of him being Thor’s Kid Brother they have to hang out with because he’d dated most of them at one point? Hmm?)

2. On that note, more genderfluidity. They definitely dropped the ball on that. I’m cis so HOW that should be done is not really my lane. I liked the scene in Original Sin where Thor remarks that “These are fair maidens” and Loki responds “So am I, sometimes” so something like that would be good? But again, I do not want to talk over genderfluid folks on this topic. Just you know, do better, MCU. 

3. A follow up on the idea from episode 5 where Loki remarks that “We’re more powerful that we realize” when watching Classic Loki’s massive illusion of Asgard. The idea that magic--or at least, magic as learned on Asgard--is in part confidence could be really interesting. MCU Loki is weaker in magic than Comics Loki, and while the show did do a lot to try to close that gap, they do have to make it work with “Well if he can do this why didn’t he do it during Thor/Avengers/Infinity War/etc.” Loki’s a character with a lot of self-loathing he compensates for with a vastly overinflated opinion of himself, and neither of those things are true confidence. His most impressive magic display (moving the falling building) seemed to happen when he wasn’t really thinking too hard about it, so the seeds of having Loki’s magic get stronger as becomes more grounded are already there. Classic Loki was depressed, but he did also have a lot more actual confidence than any Loki we’d seen up to that point. 

4. Thor and Loki growing up, and also Thor and Loki reunion. Some scenes like in Good Omens, with Crowley and Aziraphale through history. It’s made blatantly clear that Loki misses Thor desperately, so it would be kinda weird if they never saw each other again. I just want them to hug, guys!

5. A longer episode run! Six is, well it’s FINE, but I think eight to ten would be ideal. I know Marvel Studios has a lot of stuff to fund, but it’s not like this show is a risk on the financial side. 

6. More Ravonna Renslayer! COVID apparently really messed with some stuff they wanted to explore with her, but we’ve got another go around on this. More Ravonna!

[jackedspicer]

a bio for my xiaolinsona! she’s a work in progress so i’m bound to come back and change it. trivia and more in depth information is under the readmore :)

continued trivia:

she’d show up somewhere near the start of season 4

she’s used a LOT for slapstick. in fact she’s mostly a comic relief character

she’s guided mainly by emotions, is right brain oriented, and is a hands-on learner

there is a running gag where she frequently has bandaids on her fingers, hands, arms, or anywhere really

she’s a massive funk junkie. LOVES disco. she’s also a great dancer

when she comes up with xiaolin showdowns, sometimes she’ll base it off of fun recreational activities or things that seem harmlessly mundane, like mini golf..... tic tac toe.....dance-off...... rock paper scissors..... the showdowns themselves obviously end up being high-stakes and lethal as they always are, except they’re based off of goofy premises

she’s probably musically accented by grunge that’s slightly funky

when it’s funny, she occasionally will use huge words or make jarringly philosophical statements, eg patrick star’s “the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma” cut to footage of milk spilling

shes a lot like charlie kelly. in general. any charlie moment is just. Her. she’s a wild card and screams every line and huffs glue and tries to get the honey out of a hornets nest outside of jacks house because she thinks hornets make honey and she likes ghouls and she genocides the rats in his basement and sleeps ass to ass with him and is illiterate

she likes to do arts and crafts but they almost always come out as abominations. she’ll occasionally borrow some of jack’s tools to construct her latest atrocity, and she’ll refer to them by a wrong/made up name while she’s at it. “the hacksaw duey”, “the electric hole puncher,” ”the automatic pizza cutter”, etc. yes the projects and the bandaids have a direct cause and effect relationship. please refer to this video (and this channel in general)

imagine her sitting at a table and just doing this in jack’s lair... this video alone can be used to sum up so much of her. the technique. the bandaids. the blatantly wrong information that’s said with such conviction. the dark turn towards the end of the video. “superfluous protrusion.” the way it ends

continued trivia pt. 2, taken from my instagram

(i’ll get into this more further down the post)

fighting style because this is xiaolin showdown:

she has a very nimble, disorienting style of combat. using pokemon stats as an analogy, her highest would be speed by far, followed by attack, with her lowest stats being defense and special attack. this combined with her unrelenting nature makes her an excellent distraction and a general nuisance, but she doesn’t fare well in prolonged head to head battle.

favorite shen gong wu: 

monkey staff, mikado arms, fancy feet, neptune helmet, hoduko mouse, woozy shooter (on herself), tongue of saiping, longi kite, indigo pyramid (on jack (cause it’s funny))

*the shen gong wu she’s most skilled with in battle are ones that trip up her opponents and cause status ailments. kinda like a prankster

backstory/analysis:

at her core, she’s a jolly, optimistic, humorous person, but her unruly, isolating childhood put a blow on her psyche. much like jack spicer, she’s been virtually alone her entire life - she was rejected by peers and adult figures alike since earliest childhood, and her home life was turbulent at best.

to ease the pain, at some point, she took on resenting and judging those around her as a means to cope. she has a holden caulfield-esque defense mechanism in play where if everybody sucks for this reason, or that reason, or those reasons, then she has justification for detaching herself from others, and she can derive her only source of self esteem from being better than them. this hurts far less than the devastating truth that she cannot connect with people on account of feeling so worthless and estranged from other human beings that she could never have the chance to be cared about by anyone. deep down, she’s in desperate, thrashing need of support and genuine human connection, and she has a warped perception of how she can achieve that.

she’s taken up evil as a hobby because it nurtures her desire to be destructive and, again, just like jack spicer, she engages in it as a way to feel seen. all press is good press, and the best way to make the headline is to cause some damage. what sets her apart from him in this regard, though, is that she takes all of her pain out on her enemies (in this case, the xiaolin monks) because she can’t stand how well off they are - instead, on the basis of their acceptance of one another, she sees them as goody two-shoes phonies who ought to be knocked down a peg. while evil to jack is both a means of getting much needed attention and a convoluted way of spending time with friends, to sid it’s a way to vent frustrations and a way to, well... still garner attention, but also spend time with a friend, except the friend is jack.

the other half of the reason she partakes in petty villainy is that it’s just... fun. she only got wrapped up in all this because she’d been restlessly putzing around somewhere remote, found a neat doohicky she planned on keeping, and when one thing led to another she wound up in a xiaolin showdown against jack. experiencing the chaos unfold revealed a golden opportunity she couldn’t pass up, so she asked jack to let her come with, debuting their partnership (i talk about this in further detail at the end of the post). goofing off and doing evil with him is so much fun to her! it makes her feel alive, a sensation and state of mind she never could fully achieve before.

noteworthy relationships:

jack: 

they have a team rocket thing going on. not in terms of their interpersonal dynamic, but rather their role in the story, how much of a threat they pose as, their schemes, and even their overall attitude are reminiscent of the iconic duo; they’re petty, recurring villains with hearts of gold who aren’t above occasionally siding with the good guys.

even though they both are on the same tier of comic relief and general foolishness, the metaphor i like to draw is that jack is the left brain and sid is the right brain.

their personalities have such chemistry and they’re both so goofy that they effortlessly sync up. everyone thinks it’s REALLY annoying

they’re best friends! they actually care very deeply for one another, even if they might have funny ways of showing it. they may be evil, but they’re mutually the only and closest friend the other has ever had, and with that carries a lot of weight. think of it - the first person you meet who hasn’t been nothing but awful to you likes you and wants to be around you. What a concept

while their relationship is platonic, there are several gags implying a romantic element, even though nothing is ever outright stated. kisses on the cheek, bashfulness, other characters making fun of them (“where’s your DUMB little girlfriend?” “..........she’s not DUMB!!!!!”), domestic references (“am i sleeping on the couch”)..... it’s left ambiguous because it’s hetbait plain and simple. somebody asks them what they even are and they say Partners In Crime wym. jack asks sid What Are We and she fist pumps the flat of her own chest twice, throws a peace sign and says We’re Bros

their nicknames for each other include but are not limited to “jackass, jacky-boy, jack-o-lantern, smarty pants, wiggles, spack jicer, spack, mr spack, spackle”, and “shortstack, pipsqueak, sid the kid, champ, funky monkey, foxy (in a funny way, he’ll say it like Whatcha Up To Foxy ? while she’s like making a mess doing an arts & crafts abomination or just vibing bein her weird lil self....  it comes from a place of playful sarcasm and affection) (champ, funky monkey, and foxy are courtesy of @currentlyfallingthroughspace)

to piggyback off of the left brain vs. right brain metaphor, “heart vs. brain is how they think, right brain vs. left brain is how they act, and two halves of a heart represents their natural dispositions” is how my aforementioned friend put it. they both have a lot of heart and are ooey gooey on the inside, but the difference is that sid can grasp the intricacies of emotional/psychological matters while jack can’t (actually knowing how to EXPRESS this is another topic). it’s in the same way that jack can effectively plan ahead, use logical reasoning, and know where to go and how to get there, but sid is shabby in this department. “one is aware but doesn’t address it until it’s too late, and one can’t see it and doesn’t ask until it’s too late.”  

another feature of potential conflict in all incarnations of them is the juxtaposition of sid actually being more down to earth than jack in the grand scheme of things. jack has the potential to go completely overboard, and whether or not he demonstrates the ability to catch himself on the event horizon will ascertain the outcome.

deep down, neither of them are truly evil, and they bring this out in each other as they ultimately contribute to the redemption of one another. how this actually happens is a lot rockier. sid has the intuition and self awareness to become increasingly cognizant of the fact that she engages in schemes as a way to bond with her friend, and, over time, she’s able to recognize that she’s simply been acting out, and she consequently softens up over time - but jack is much denser in this regard. he doesn’t consciously pick up on the same things she does and still believes that she’s drinking the koolaid as much as he is. the crucial dissonance in what matters most that had been incubating under the weight of things left unsaid emerges in a major falling out that challenges the nature of their entire dynamic and respective moral codes. i had a lot of help from the same friend with the following series of events and it’s really something that ought to be gone into detail on its own post, but a whirlwind brief summary is that jack becomes desperate from losing over and over so he comes up with this sinister plan that’s just too far, sid tells him to stop, they get into a nasty fight, sid leaves and makes it clear she’s not coming back, she goes to the xiaolin dragons for help, jack goes on an evil rampage but also loses his grip and has this mental breakdown because he lost the one person who’s ever cared about him (or so he thought), sid has the same brutal separation pangs but it doesn’t change the fact that jack is still doing what he’s doing, sid gets a firsthand view of a fight breaking out between the monks while she’s working with them and has a moment of clarity when she observes how they resolve it in such a healthy way, as they continue to work together and help her through the whole fiasco she realizes they’re not so bad, an entire excruciating series of events that’s genuinely too large to fit on this post unfolds and it ultimately ends with jack actually having to team UP with the good guys to stop what he started, and it ends with them breaking down, apologizing, and beginning their redemption BUT not without the illustration of several lessons that arose out of the complications of the entire thing...... the overarching lesson that’d been entrenched in their entire dynamic from the start, albeit corny, is that caring and being cared for was all they ever needed, and they learn to cultivate that within each other right under their own noses. it would be fun to have them stay as recurring villains forever, but seeing how much good is in their hearts is enough to make you wonder how they were ever evil.

xiaolin monks:

she thinks she hates them, but she doesn’t really. while her opinion of them is marked by resentment and distaste, she also holds them in high regard. a part of her wishes she could be friends with them, but the mental landscape she’s paved for herself doesn’t reveal that as an option. in her mind, she’s already been rejected by them. so why try?

the way she takes her pain out on them - people who had nothing to do with her traumas - can be summed up by the spinel su quote, “why do i want to hurt you so bad? i’m supposed to be a friend. i just want to be a friend.”

she gets chummier with them upon her redemption. out of the group, she gets along best with clay and dojo :) 

bonus origin episode

this would be the imaginary early season 4 episode i mentioned at the beginning of the post. it’s more of a loose string of ideas tied together with reckless abandon but hey. the episode would open with jack feeling lonely and down on his luck to establish the theme that he kinda needs a friend (”wuya’s gone, chase trained his cats to get surly with me if i show up, my evil dream team won’t answer my calls....”). his sulking is interrupted by a shen gong wu alert and he’s like. whatever. i don’t need them. i’m still gonna do this on my own. even if it’s. ˡᵒⁿ���ˡʸ. fastforward to the scene i described where sid is putzing around with her doohicky (which i’m considering might be the neptune helmet) all by her sad miserable lonesome when suddenly some flying bloke in a trenchcoat who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years shows up telling her she’s got something he needs. she of course responds with something along the lines of “you know what? why don’t you try to take it from me since you want it so bad, mr big stuff,” triggering a xiaolin showdown. this is around the time the xiaolin dragons show up too late - but they’re grateful for somebody having been there to fight jack in time, even if they have no idea who they are. she has no clue what’s going on, but whatever it is, she LOVES it. she goes buckwild. she has a time. jack, on the other hand.... well, understanding how badly he needs that wu is certainly throwing a wrench in it, but he can’t help but feel like he’s having a bit of fun too. well, up until he loses. post-showdown, the monks kinda count their chickens before they hatch so to speak and they rush over to this new kid with a shower of praise, thinking they have a friend on their side. instead, she cuts them off, shouts to the guy who’s gathering his bearings (or lack thereof) - “hey! jack was it?” - and playfully tosses her shen gong wu in the air, catching it. “you look like you need this thing way more than i do. tell you what! take me with and i’ll let you borrow it,” is what she follows it up with, implying she wasn’t really that invested and only saw the whole thing as a fun game. jack and the monks are flabbergasted. what’s more bizarre is she did in fact ask to join him, something nobody’s ever done out of their own volition before. she talks about how boooooooooooring it is here and how that was soooooo much fun and to pleeeeeeeease take her with. he’s really iffy about it and doesn’t know if it’s such a good idea. he tries to make himself look cool, telling her “as IF, shortstack..........im afraid The Jack Rides Alone................................................. but-” and ultimately buckling because he can’t deny that it would be nice to have someone around.

[ultraglittercat]

Drabble 148

Hornet's Nest

There was a hornet's nest in the orchard. Some of the bigger boys had tried throwing rocks at it to knock it down, but they were unsuccessful. 9 yr old Varian had drawn up plans for a spray gun to coat the nest in chemicals, but his father wouldn't let him actually build it. Quirin said the nest was best left to the beekeeper Paul to destroy, and talked with the man during the afternoon.  Paul agreed to smoke the nest out at night, when the hornets were least active. Varian was a little disappointed- this meant he couldn't watch- but Quirin was adamant about Varian staying safe. Paul had special clothing like the bee hat he always wore and had worked with stinging insects for years, while Varian was still just a kid and prone to leaping into situations he should avoid.

Varian spent the evening after dinner drawing sketches of the hornets and their nest, wondering when adults would take him seriously. His chemicals could be just as effective at killing insects as the smoke would be! Quirin did let him spray insecticide on the pumpkins when they were growing, so he knew he'd been successful before. But apparently pumpkins were considered far safer than hornet's nests.

Quirin came in to tell Varian to go to bed. “The nest will be gone come morning, and you can go over to Paul's and thank him. You can bring him some of our apples, as a gift.” Quirin told him.

“Okay Dad.” Varian said half-heartedly. He knew he was missing out on something exciting. And Varian knew he could have been helpful- he started fires all the time, sometimes on purpose even! But when Quirin made a decision, he didn't budge. Varian would have to wait til morning.

The morning came soon enough, a bright sunny day. Varian ate breakfast with his father, who was pleased Varian hadn't snuck out last night to watch the beekeeper work. (Varian had considered it.) Quirin smiled and gave him permission to go see Paul, handing Varian a bucket of apples father and son had gathered the day before.

“I won't take long Dad, cause I know we've got work to do in the orchard.” Varian said.

“Good boy. Tell Paul I said hi and ask him about his honey.” Quirin replied.

“Okay Dad.” Varian nodded and went on his way. Paul lived towards the outskirts of Old Corona, past the shepherds. Varian waved as he walked past Katie's house. On another day, he might have stopped by, but today he didn't have the time. Quirin expected him to be very quick with his visit to Paul so he could do his chores afterwards. Varian soon saw Paul out with his hives and smiled.

“Hi Paul! Dad says hi and to give you these apples as a thank you for getting rid of the hornet's nest.” Varian called out.

“Wonderful! Nothing beats your father's apples for quality.” Paul praised. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Maybe you could tell me something about the hives.” Varian pointed.

“Ah. Well the hives I have are different from a hornet's nest. Hornets can kill honeybees for starters. They're aggressive. I got a few stings last night, but I managed to smoke them out and then I was able to destroy their nest. Now for my colonies, I use a hive stand. It elevates the bottom born of the hive and keeps it dry. The bottom board serves as the floor of the colony and is open in the front. It's a landing platform for foraging bees. Next is a series of boxes or hive bodies containing the brood nest and the honey supers where the surplus honey is stored. You wouldn't believe it, but when filled with honey they can weight 60 lbs! You have to be strong to be a beekeeper.” Paul bragged.

“Wow.” Varian was very impressed with the engineering behind beekeeping.

“The suspended beeswax comb is held within a frame. Each frame consists of a top bar, two end bars, and a bottom bar. My top bars and grooved and the bottom bars solid. I nail V-sharped metal frame spacers on ledges for reinforcement. The comb foundation consists of thin sheets of beeswax. Thin surplus foundation is used to produce comb honey, while a thicker foundation is used for the brood chamber. I secure these with metal support pins. A queen excluder confines the queen and brood rearing to the brood nest, while allowing the workers to pass through. The inner cover rests on the top of the uppermost super and beneath the outer cover. It prevents bees from gluing down the outer telescoping cover with wax and also provides insulation. The outer cover protects all the hive parts from weather. It fits over the inner cover and top edge of the uppermost hive body. With the inner cover in place, I can remove the outer cover if needed and disturb few bees. It's rather impressive, don't you think?” Paul couldn't resist showing off, explaining things to the boy. It wasn't often than he had an audience, and he wanted to make the most of it.

“It is really neat.” Varian agreed. “I don't think Dad would let me try beekeeping, though.”

“Probably not. It's a very specialized field and I enjoy it. Would you like some honey to take back home, in exchange for listening to me ramble?” Paul offered.

“Yes, please.” Varian nodded.

Paul went and got a jar. “Here you are! Apples for me, and honey for you. A good deal all around.” Paul held out his hand for Varian to shake. “Call me again if you find another nest where one shouldn't be! I'm happy to help.”

“Thanks, Paul.” Varian said. He might have missed the removal of a nest, but he'd learned something new and he had honey to bring back home. Not a bad start to the day. He smiled as he walked home, eager to share both the honey and the knowledge of how it was stored with his Dad.

The End

Varian is braver than I am. I wouldn't want to investigate a hornet's nest, I'd just want it gone.

[snowbird-down]

Prompt 3: Muster

(Did some experimental, stream-of-consciousness wackiness for this one. Hopefully it’s still readable.)

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The Adder bit the back of her calf.

For a moment the world went on mute as Laelia’s leg gave beneath her; the fire in the sky, the lights in the haze, suspended. Explosions distant, underwater, tears in her eyes. Turn, reach – no, no arrow should be there. Not in her leg. Don’t yank it, they taught her that. Yes, that thought was urgent. She snapped the shaft close to the head, tossed it away…

…The world sped up again. Laelia hefted herself back to her feet, resumed sprinting (damn, that hurt), looked up as conscripts of various sizes crammed into the Delphinus’ cargo bay. She couldn’t fit any more without overloading the craft but they were still rushing her ship in a panic. How could she tell them they had to stay behind?

A spell detonated overhead. Hail. Daggers. Blossoms of red. Laelia ‘saw’ the space around them distort, knew where they would fall.

“Get back! Get back!” she shouted. She’d been shouting all night. Her voice was hoarse. The others, they’d already bailed on another ship. It didn’t matter who flew who. The order was clear: evacuate the Wall. It’s Eorzea’s for now.

Laelia raced to close the hatch, shooing others away. They yelled at her, screamed at her, cursed her. Three-eyed bitch! Who was she to choose who lived and who died!? She wouldn’t have left them if they were Garlean! One came with a knife. She shot him.

The pilot scrambled into her craft, into the cocoon of her cockpit. Flick, flick, click, punch. She knew the flight sequence by sound now. Hurry, hurry. The Delphinus whined, straining beneath the extra weight. It threatened to fishtail out from underneath her, but no, no, she knew it too well for that. She steadied it, drifting wide over Castrum Oriens.

Too much black down below. Too much red. These were no longer Garlean colors. The courtyard was full of raw ground beef. Laelia heaved.

No, focus. Fly. They’re depending on you.

Swerve. Throttle. Burn the ceruleum. Burn it all.

She knew it’d throw them around back there. No time to be gentle. Fly or die.

Fuck Eorzea. Fuck the savages. The XIIth had left them alone. Fuck you, Van Baelsar, for kicking that hornet’s nest. Fuck you. Fuck the Prince for not caring how many of them died. Fuck the Emperor for not being here. Fuck the Resistance in general. Fuck Vicky, and Max, and DeMeer if they’d died on her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Laelia shook her head as she found herself tunnel-visioning. She was stone sober but she was starting to feel drunk. Nerves. Anxiety. Anger. Whatever.

Hells, she couldn’t calm herself. Her heart just beat faster and faster. Her chest was in a vice.

Specula Imperatoris was the evac point. Almost straight east as the snowbird flies. But still far. Still so damn far. At least the…they…those weird-ass westerners…

What was she thinking about again?

A drop of sweat rolled down her forehead. Stung the third eye, blurred the edges of her vision. When did she start sweating? Laelia mopped at her brow. Fuck, it was getting hard to breathe.

And the radio was so damn loud. Everyone shouting and screaming and talking so fast. Yank off the headset. Pitch. There. That’s better.

Breathe, dammit. Breathe.

The chapped landscape began to rock down below. She was sober, dammit! What the h…

Laelia’s eyes widened.

 No…no, she wasn’t. The arrow had been poisoned.

 Her body frosted with the realization. If she didn’t make it in time to Imperatoris, she’d take all those lives in the cargo bay down with her.

Dammit…if I’d paid more attention… I woulda seen it coming…

In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered. Laelia needed to muster up every last onze of will she had.

But fire began to creep through her veins. They strained beneath her skin. The vision in her ‘normal’ eyes blurred now, leaving her flying by shadows instead. Laelia held the yoke in a death grip and grit her teeth, trying to still her body’s shuddering.

Her spine was going to punch through her skull. That was the only thing this pain could mean. Tears flowed freely. She tried to keep her voice down, so as not to worry the others. Bit her tongue until it bled. Focus, dammit. Fly. Focus.

There was no way this shit was legal. That Adder had had a vendetta. Make the three-eyes suffer, he must have thought.

At last, a void in the sky. Neon lights. It all appeared as though behind a rain-drenched window. Imperatoris. Spotlights trained on her. Delphinus – no, her – floundering. Focus on the lights. There’s the lights. Good lights. Follow the lights. No, too far left. Get the right lights. Two rows, there needs to be two rows of lights.

Settle on the lights. Lay…on the lights.

The Delphinus landed hard enough to jostle everything that wasn’t tied down – and some of what was – free. Something crunched beneath her.

Shapes spilled out from the castrum, ran for the ship.

 Laelia laughed right before she collapsed and bloodied her head upon the console.

 She’d made it.

( @high-and-away​ and @endangered-liaison​ for mention! Thank you for not dying. :P )

[stcriestcld]

munday no-no and yes-yes list

@weaponsdonotweep asked: 🐶 ☠️✋  📝 💘 💞

Send  🐶 for a role play related pet peeve.

As always, I don’t really have pet peeves - something either doesn’t really bother me or it infuriates me beyond belief.  I am not a creature of moderation.

I mean, I guess header banners that are gifs are a pet peeve.  I very definitely dislike them - they’re distracting af; how the fuck am I supposed to read when something on the edge of my vision is moving? - but they don’t piss me off on, like, a ‘the rpc’s continued devotion to AesthetiqueTM over accessibility’ level, or a ‘why are all the moodboards and aesthetics made with white people I just want some black wlw for christ’s sake’ level.

Send ☠️ for something that will result in a instant unfollow from you

There’s a list, but honestly I think ‘defending incest between adopted siblings because, quote, “they’re not really related”’ is number one on it.  Like, I have never had a harder time just unfollowing and blocking and not sending hate than when I see that bullshit on my dash.

(This is a deeply personal issue to me and I was going to reply but I just realized I don’t have to fucking justify my hate for that bullshit stance to anyone, because it is inherently vile and that’s all that matters.)

Send ✋ for a prompt/plot/concept/ anything you refuse to role play

Um that is really muse-specific.  I’m probably going to say no to any plot that involves Dylan, Sera, or Chloe facing lesbophobia or the intersection of lesbophobia and misogynoir (or nonbinarynoir?  is that a thing?), mainly because that is not my fucking story to tell and also because why should they have to face that shit?  This is my fucking escapist hobby, I’m surrounded by other people, many of them BIPOC who also want an escape from reality, so why should I put my muses through that?  Why can’t the three of them have wonderful lives where they get to be happy and everyone who sees them holding hands with a girl and dislikes it immediately steps on a rusty nail and gets tetanus and dies alone in horrible agony?  

Send 📝 for a rule you think is important when it comes to role playing

So this may be throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest, but...

There are TWO THINGS and two things only that no one in the rpc owes anyone else: any version of their muse besides the one they want to write, and a chance to write with a specific person or muse.  

Period.  End of story.  If someone wants you to write your muse differently than you see them, communicate with them and express your displeasure.  If they don’t respect that displeasure - if they don’t respect your boundaries - don’t write with them.  Unfollow them.  Block them, even.  They are not owed any version of your muse but the one you want to write, and you are not owed a chance to write with them or their muse, no matter how much you want to.  Obviously, I would hope that there is actual fucking communication going on in this hypothetical situation, but at the end of the day, enforcing boundaries is every mun’s job - even if it means not getting to write with the people they want.

Send 💘 for your policy on shipping with your muse(s)

Chemistry and respect for their romantic/sexual identities.  OOC communication preferred, but honestly, so long as you don’t break my ‘my muses are not here solely for smut’ rule, you could be following me for five minutes before saying “So I sort of ship x with y” and I will give it consideration.  I’ll probably want to throw a few memes at each other or discuss ‘okay how did they meet and get to the point where shipping is a possibility?’ (I like discussing muse dynamics and it’s the best way to plot with me) but, like, essentially it’s chemistry and respecting their romantic/sexual identities.

Send 💞 for your policy on pre-established relationships with your muse(s)

I love pre-established relationships.  Like, there are no words for how horrible I am at first-meeting threads.  They go nowhere.  They die.  I try, I really do, but the best I can hope for with them is getting a few replies out and getting a feel for what dynamic or relationship the muses might have and then jumping to that.  Pre-established ships require OOC communication, obviously, but they’re also preferable because they’re skipping the whole ‘first meeting thread’ and jumping into the ‘okay they’re book club buddies who send each other 17 memes about the evils of late-stage capitalism every day and also they might be in love’ part..  So please.  Never.  EVER.  Be afraid to hit me up with an idea for a pre-established relationship.