fanfic

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

ariaste:

thebibliosphere:

Do you ever think about Aziraphale going out of his way to learn internet lingo just to make Crowley cringe in his own skin? Cause I do. (I’m still not entirely unconvinced that wasn’t why he learned to do sleight of hand magic. “You’r an angel, Angel! You can just summon the right card!” “But wouldn’t that rather be like cheating!” “IT’S HUMAN MAGIC, IT’S ALL CHEATING”)

Like the first time he says “LOL” out loud. “Ell-oh-ell, as the kids say” he says cheerfully and Crowley nearly slams the Bentley into a duck pond cause his brain just tried to escape what his ears just heard and subsequently goes off on a ten minute rant about how no one says it out loud, you’re not supposed to say it out loud, Angel. All the while Aziraphale is feigning politely confused ignorance, and thoroughly enjoying the tangent Crowley has now sneeringly diverted onto, snipping and snarling his way through his syllables, eventually admitting that while he claimed responsibility for the addition of YouTube comments on videos, that was just another thing humans came up with all on their own.

“Fascinating,” is all the angel has to say for himself, and the incident is quite forgotten until he does it again, this time responding to something Crowley says simply with “meirl” and for a split second Crowley thinks it’s some sort of German word he’s actually forgot exists until he realizes Aziraphale just said “me in real life” and whatever last few dregs of his soul that exist shrivel and die.

And it just keeps happening until one day Crowley catches the flutter of amusement behind Aziraphale’s benign and guileless expression and realizes the smug git has been trolling him this whole time, and he’s simultaneously torn between being hopping mad about it (because that’s his job dammit) but also weirdly proud.

“You bastard,” he says, unable to keep the serpentine smile from spreading over his face, “how long were you going to keep that up?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear,” the angel replies placidly, taking a sip from his teacup and pulling a face, “this tea however is absolutely scorching. I do hope I don’t spill any. That would be quite the mood.”

SCREAMING

Tags:

#Good Omens #language #fanfic #embarrassment squick #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I have not seen the show‚ and have not read the book in a long time) #(but some of the stuff coming out of the fandom right now is hilarious even at my current level of context) #(so you will be seeing some Good Omens reblogs)

allamaraine asked: Kira + art

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

{{previous post in sequence}}

little-brisk:

brin-bellway:

little-brisk:

The first two things that come to mind:

  • a flock of flightless birds
  • once i wrote a story in which kira shoots a fresco

So we are more or less doomed, here. I haven’t thought about this much before, but here are my impressions at a first attempt.

Art for Kira is, first, about ruin. About damage, and loss. That is what violent occupations do to art. This is her first concept of art: stolen paintings and sculptures, damaged buildings, a campaign of disinformation about Bajoran achievements in the arts.

Then art must be, later, about recovery, about salvage. What can be restored, recovered, unburied.

Kira doesn’t have much in the way of an aesthetic sensibility, or at least that’s what she would claim. She forms strong attachments to art objects, and articulating why, or what it is about the object’s aesthetic features that draws her to it, is less interesting to her than the fact of the object and the fact of her attachment.

Perhaps she begins with a disdain for ‘pure decoration,’ prizing only art that has a use: prayer mandalas, for example. But perhaps with time she starts to see that the useful/decorative binary doesn’t hold up. What if something is useful because of the feeling it provokes? What if, like her prayer mandala, a useful object is also decorative? These simple questions occur to her relatively late in life, and the result is that she develops a reverence for the very fact of objects that provoke them.

She will never be a collector, but she will learn that to stand before a beautiful thing in contemplation of it is a worthwhile act – and it is an act that demands that the work of art be referred to itself, and not to any gesture of possession or mastery. She will for this reason prefer museums to private possessions, and temples to museums.

That act of contemplation is itself an act of recovery, of restoration and unburial. And for this reason, she will work hard to see that Bajor’s art finds public homes, that art objects are returned to the places that first housed them, and that any space – a temple, a museum, a library archive – devoted to art objects will be freely accessible to anyone, so that those recuperative acts of contemplation belong to anyone, to everyone.

This is a good post, I like this post, the fic you actually linked is new to me and looks interesting, but I would also like to know what fic you intended to link. It doesn’t look to be this one, what with the “Oparu” in the author’s-name section.

Damn! Thanks for pointing that out, Brin. This is the story I meant.

Athough obviously you should all also read Opal’s TNG/VOY mirrorverse story, ’Shards and Fairytales,’ which was in my copypaste because I was reccing it to someone!

Tags:

#(January 2014) #I forgot to tag my response with ”reply via reblog” #so I didn’t catch this when looking through that tag for threads to aglet #but I’m formatting this post on my WordPress mirror right now and realised what was missing #conversational aglets #Star Trek #DS9 #recs

the chilliad: hour five

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

{{Title link: https://www.ofgeography.com/post/the-chilliad-hour-five }}

ofgeography:

both Ray Ban and Donut Mouth are quiet for a long moment. homer takes the opportunity to stretch a little, and to feel the hands on his watch. he wonders what is happening to the rest of them—he knows he wasn’t the only one who got booked.

the stupid part of all this is that homer really hadn’t done anything wrong. he hadn’t even shown up until after the fire, because calliope was teaching him guitar. they were going to start a band. homer was going to write the lyrics and she was going to sing them. thalia and cleo even said they’d join. homer and the muses. it was going to be dope.

“i am just struggling to understand why we never got reports of public disturbance,” Ray Ban mutters. “they fucked that whole café, man.”

homer shrugs. “delphi’s no snitch,” he says. “anyway, she and saph and manny cleaned it up.”

“manny helped?”

“of course manny helped. he made the mess, didn’t he?”

“well, so did paris, and he didn’t help.”

“yeah, so like, you kind of see why everybody wants to beat him up all the time.”

Donut Mouth gives a long sigh. “all right,” he says. “so—what happened after they fought at the oracle?”

“well, word kind of spread to the administration about the whole thing, and they got called in for a disciplinary hearing. i don’t know if they were really in danger of getting kicked out or not but that’s definitely what they told manny, so he was pretty freaked out. i kind of thought he had nothing to worry about, because the head of the disciplinary committee was an alpha sig when he was in undergrad, but—”

“hold up, hold up,” Ray Ban interrupts. “if nobody snitched, how did the disciplinary committee find out?”

homer rolls his eyes. “haven’t you ever heard of twitter?”

—

folks, pals, and readers alike:

many updates this week because, to quote kanye, my life is dope and i do dope shit. i know everyone is always like, “SENIORS RULE” but tbh i was kind of like, w/e about being a senior bc seniority means next year i have to uhhhhh get a job, and wtf kind of job is a disaster like me gonna get? two days ago i tried to make fresh orange juice and i somehow managed to break the burner on the house stove. i didn’t even — you don’t even need the oven to make orange juice?

(don’t worry, i live with athena metis, the goddess of being the best at everything, and she fixed it. i don’t want to embarrass her bc she’s extremely modest (lol) but it was vERY sexy, plaid shirt all rolled up to her elbows. it’s extremely lucky that she hasn’t settled down with a nice boo bc when she does there will be no one to fix my stove. :( i’m going to finally have to learn how to live competently as an adult, which: no thank you!!!!!! what’s that, chief? a hard pass??? a hard pass.)

a n y w a y, did y’all hear that paris got his ass HANDED TO HIM by manny atreus this week? i was there, it is true what they’re saying. please see below a brief collection of the most iconic dunks.

also, if you haven’t seen, whoever runs @ParisTheCoward is like, a deeply mean person but also VERY funny. sorry, paris, but to be fair you did throw like 6 mugs at manny’s head and then my beautiful moonlight girlf-in-the-making had to sweep up all the glass, so. kinda brought it on urself, buddy.

obvi i love the true light of my life, helen spartowski, & value her opinions, but even i gotta admit it was embarrassing behavior, on paris’s part. at least manford stuck around to clean up.

he’s actually like, really sensitive?

ok, that’s all the news. also i wrote this:

31

god must be real and she must love us,
to have given us you. across the counter,
learning forward with a smile to ask what kind of milk we want
with a voice so sweet i forget to ask for sugar.   

the way you laugh, it’s
my whole heart lighting up. i think you can hear it beating.
i take one look at your face and i’m
helpless to say anything. i can’t even breathe.

my tongue is heavy in my mouth, silent.
my skin is on fire, buzzing, everywhere you look.
i can’t see straight. i can’t see at all.
there’s a drumming in my ears; my own stupid heart.   

you ask again what i want and i
can only stand there, trembling.
i feel brand-new, and clumsy. i say:
“sugar.” i say, “please, give me something sweet.”

ugh, right??? love is unbearable.

TO CONCLUDE:

  1. am i Team Manny Atreus actually???
  2. it’s called “31” bc that’s literally the number of drafts i went through about this GLINT OF STARSHINE but none of them were able to capture the fact that the only explanation for her existence is that there’s at least 1 god and she loves me.
  3. anyway not to BRAG but YA GIRL GOT KISSED BYE

xoxoxoxo

saff

–

“full offense, saff, but what the fuck?” helen asked as soon as sappho picked up the phone. she kicked her feet up onto darius’s lap; he rolled his eyes, but engaged the lock on his wheelchair so that he’d be a stable footrest for her, which was why darius was the best. they were supposed to be actually working on the campaign today, but as per usual they’d all been distracted immediately and hadn’t even begun yet.

not for nothing but sappho was pretty sure they would never manage to leave the village they’d started in, which was a shame because her character would kick ass in battle, nun or no.

“what the fuck what?” sappho returned cheerfully. “are you jealous i finally got delphi to kiss me? because you had your chance. it’s too late now.”

“you’re TEAM MANNY ATREUS?” helen cried, not taking the bait, which indicated she really was upset. there were few things that helen loved talking about more than how much most people loved and adored her, sappho especially. “i can’t believe you put a link to the Coward twitter in a fucking NEWSLETTER.”

“it’s funny, melon.”

“it’s not funny! who runs it?”

“you think if i knew who ran it i wouldn’t have also put that in the newsletter, just for the drama?”

“saffohhhhhhh.”

it was hard to be the most beautiful person in any room. sappho knew this, because she had watched helen stand in line at the DMV and turn down dates from five different people, with steadily decreasing patience. but it meant that she was constantly needing reassurance that sappho did actually love her, helen, as a person, which was fine because sappho loved nothing more than to express her feelings at a very high volume.

still: “babe, you know that i am, in fact, team helen melon. i don’t care if both paris and manny drive off a cliff, i’m just saying that if i had to choose between the two of them, i dunno, i’m feeling kind of swayed by manny’s tears.”

helen was quiet for a second, then said, “he really cried?”

“oh my god, like a fountain,” sappho laughed. “i had to kick him out of the café because he was ruining the vibe i was trying to lay down with delphi.”

“clearly he didn’t ruin it,” helen said slyly, a grin in her voice. “bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

sappho grinned. the rest of the group began to trickle in from the kitchen, hands full of snacks and beer. AC and PK had come with bree, trailing along kind of awkwardly behind her; it was cute. AC was wearing a muscle tee that said BRO DO U EVEN LIFT? with a picture of disney’s mulan carrying buckets of water in her shoulders. sappho had always had kind of a low-grade crush on PK, the kind that meant nothing and was just a pleasant way to daydream during the only class they’d ever shared together, which was in underwater basket-weaving, for an art credit. “don’t be mad,” she cajoled helen. “team melonhead, ride or die.”

“don’t call me melonhead,” scolded helen, but the annoyance in her voice was obviously put on, and sappho had been forgiven. “and leave my love life out of your newsletters.”

“i will not, your love life is the most interesting thing happening on this campus,” sappho laughed. “but i will keep Paris the Coward to retweets only.”

“you’re a fucking menace,” helen sighed, then made a kissy sound and hung up.

emi kicked sappho’s feet off darius’s lap and replaced them with her own. “was that Heavyweight Champion Helen Spartowski?” she asked, a little meanly. “i heard she threw down with manny after paris ran away.”

sappho rolled her eyes. “yeah, she did,” she lied. “one-punch KO. you should have seen it. it would have had you shaking in your timberlands.”

she had never quite been able to get at what was at the heart of emi’s irritation with not just greek life but helen in particular — she thought maybe it had something to do with the increasingly impenetrable relationship between emi and olly, who had come to school attached at the hip and now only saw each other at parties and, presumably, at home. but chrys was kind of dating olly hunter and emi didn’t seem to have a problem with her, so who knew. emi was a mystery.

“she should come to dukes up, then,” emi grinned. “show off a little.”

“i am not allowing helen to join athena’s fucking fight club,” sappho laughed. “fuck off.”

“now that would be a fight worth watching,” heff mused, shouldering his way passed AC with a kind of friendly bullying. “i think you’d be surprised. helen is absolutely the type to fight dirty.”

“there’s no such thing as a clean fight,” emi answered, grinning kind of gleefully.

“anyway at dukes’ the only rule is—”

“don’t call the cops,” everyone chimed in at once.

read more

Tags:

#Iliad #fanfic #oh look an update #long post #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

lullabyknell:

lullabyknell:

People keep leaving “Isn’t Bill’s first name Bilius?” comments on one of my HP posts and the answer is no. I checked before I posted. Bill Weasley’s first name is actually William. 

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle….?” 

– Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 8. The Wedding

People are getting the name Bilius from a Weasley uncle, the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later. Ron’s middle name is also Bilius. Ron presumably was named for this uncle. 

“Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, re-emerging from the marquee with Fred. “Yeah, she’s just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.” 

– Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 8. The Wedding

It’s kind of funny to imagine, though, that Bill could have grown up thinking that his name was Bilius. Kids often don’t know the “correct” names for things because the adults in their life refer to these things incorrectly as an in-joke or by nicknames. If everyone called him Bill and Bill grew up knowing his Uncle Bilius, then he could have very plausibly been under the impression for many years that his name was also Bilius. 

Until, of course, September of 1982 rolls around. 

Professor Minerva McGonagall opens a scroll and begins reading off the names of the first-years who are to be Sorted. She gets to the very last name on the list (entirely possible with a W name) and calls out: “WEASLEY, WILLIAM!” 

11-year-old “Bill” Weasley, who has just this second found out that his first name is actually William: “…Who?!” 

You can probably bet that Bill’s siblings sometimes called him Bilius as a joke too. Like, “BILIUS ARTHUR WEASLEY, HOW DARE YOU!” 

Bill, unperturbed: “Yes, how dare I, Bilius Weasley, do this.” 

Or maybe: 

Charlie, speaking for all the Weasley siblings at the wedding: “YOUR NAME IS WILLIAM? SINCE WHEN???” 

Bill: “Since always, apparently.” 

Molly & Arthur: “What did you think his name was?” 

Charlie: “I THOUGHT IT WAS BILIUS. LIKE UNCLE BILIUS.” 

Arthur: “…No.” 

Molly: “Why would you think that?” 

Charlie: “WE’VE ONLY EVER CALLED HIM BILL?!?” 

Charlie: “OH SHIT, WHAT’S MY NAME? DO I HAVE A SECRET NAME TOO?!” 

Molly: “…You don’t… you don’t have secret names.” 

Ron: “I want a better secret name than Ronald.” 

Fred: “DIBS ON MANFREDO.” 

Ginny: “I will now only answer to Ginwumpkinwinsalot.” 

Tags:

#Harry Potter #fanfic #headcanons #embarrassment squick #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #names

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

thoodleoo:

modern greek mythology stories i am tired of seeing: gritty, “the gods are dying because we don’t believe in them” stories where the greek gods mingle sadly with mortals and lament their lost power

modern greek mythology stories i would like to see: cerberus manages to escape from the underworld and hades has to find him before he can unleash his rage upon the mortal realm, only to find out that cerberus was found by a child who tamed him by sharing her after-school snack with him and giving him pets, and he now has to figure out a way to sneak into the suburbs and avoid getting the cops called on him while he steals his three-headed hell-hound back from a five year old girl

 

islandsurfer13:

He was a big dog, but not crazy big. And he was so soft! Her hand sunk into his fur like it was a fuzzy pillow when she went to pet him.

The fact that he had three heads and three sets of sharp teeth didn’t bother her. It was silly. One head licked her face while the others nosed at her pockets for treats.

He was way better than the neighbor’s dog. That one was annoying and small and liked to bite little girls who lost their ball. No, this dog was perfect. This dog was hers.

“Come on, it’s time to go home,” she said. “You can sleep in my bed. But Mommy sneezes around dogs, so we’ll have to be careful.”

The dog yipped excitedly, bounding ahead of her. She noticed a splotch of lighter grey near his butt before he turned around to face her again.

“Spot! That’s a good doggy name. You’ll be my Spot.”

And so she took him home. She pushed him into the backyard so she could go say hi to her mommy like she did every day. The bus stop was at the end of the street, so her mommy said as long as she was really careful she could walk home with the boy next door. She was really, really careful. She was in kindergarten. She was a big kid now.

Spot was digging at the edge of the garden when she went back outside.

“No, Spot! Mommy’s flowers will break!” She hurried after him, ready to play with her new best friend.

—

There. At the edge of town, tucked in a nondescript neighborhood.

What was he doing there? Waiting, no doubt. He had to admit, it was a good location to begin his rampage. Women, children, families – he could create a lot of damage.

He should have been paying more attention. His duties to Olympus took up too much time lately. Persephone did what she could, but it wasn’t always enough. She wasn’t there the whole year, so the poor boy got lonely.

Hades was lord of the underworld; he should have sensed that something was amiss. But no.

No, now he was lurking in the mortal realm, trying to corral a three-headed hellhound and keep him from unleashing his excess energy by destroying a fifty-mile radius.

He blamed Zeus. He just liked to listen to himself speak, the old windbag.

So, he needed to figure out a way to get Cerberus back without alerting anyone. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

—

Why did this shit always seem to happen at the end of a double shift? She just wanted to go home and sleep, but they had one last call to respond to.

A neighbor called in that some asshole was trying to steal a dog. Who even did something like that?

So, Officer Marquez geared up, ready to take out her frustration on this douche (seriously, you don’t steal pets – that should get you thrown in the lowest circle of hell) only to find the weirdest thing she’d ever seen.

“What the fuck?” her partner muttered as they got out of the squad car.

A man stood near the road looking very uncomfortable now that they’d garnered an audience. He was tall, pale, and kind of gangly, but he didn’t look like a wackjob. In fact, he looked like a businessman – freshly pressed suit and everything. Just went to show you couldn’t judge a book by its cover.

An adult woman stood in the middle of the yard, clearly not sure what to do.

Then, there was the little girl who had her arms wrapped around a dog. She was about five, but she had the grip of a sumo wrestler on the poor dog. It was about the size of a Great Dane, maybe a little bigger, a deep charcoal grey, almost black.

But it had three heads. And rows upon rows of teeth. And three lolling tongues that occasionally licked the girl’s face.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Marquez murmured to her partner as they approached.

“Scooby Doo with three heads? Oh yeah.”

“Good. I was starting to wonder if they laced the coffee or something at the station.” She took a breath before approaching the man while her partner sidled up to the woman to calm her down. “Sir, may I ask what you’re doing here? From all accounts, this is not your residence.”

The man sighed, his shoulders sagging. He seemed kind of harmless, but she wasn’t about to let him off easy. She waited him out. “No, officer, you’re correct. I am only here for the day, but my dog escaped. I am simply trying to retrieve him.”

“No!” the girl yelled. “You can’t take him! I found him! He’s mine!”

Marquez tried to take a quick survey of the situation. The dog seemed perfectly content with the girl, but he kept his gaze trained on the guy. The girl was almost in tears, but, really, she’s five. That could be about anything.

The mother was the wild card.

“Sir, can I just have you wait here for one moment?”

“Of course.”

And he did actually stay there while she walked towards the mother. Amazing.

Her partner excused herself from talking to the mother. “She’s in the dark. She’s never seen the guy or the dog.”

Marquez rolled her eyes. “Got it. Kid finds dog, kid claims dog.” She raised her voice slightly as she turned back to the guy. “Sir, will he come if you call him?”

The man nodded. “Κέρβερος, άγέ.”

Suddenly, the dog was across the yard sitting in front of the man, tail wagging and three tongues lolling. Marquez would have sworn – only under oath and only if asked directly – the Great Dane sized dog was now the size of the house with glowing red eyes and smoke billowing around him. The girl broke out in piercing sobs breaking her concentration. She couldn’t be sure anyone else saw.

“Please don’t take my Spot!”

The guy paused in checking over the dog and looked at the girl. He smiled sweetly at her. His whole demeanor changed, he looked lighter, more sure of himself, and kind of… glowy.

“You named him Spot?”

She sniffled, “It’s a good puppy name. And he’s got the spot on his butt.”

“You are absolutely right,” he chuckled. “I named him Spot too. It’s just in a different language.”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. But she’d stopped crying.

“Really. Listen, would you maybe like it if he came to visit sometimes? I work a lot, as does my wife, so sometimes he gets really lonely.”

“Please! Mommy, can he visit? Please, please, please!!”

The poor woman just nodded, but it was clear she had no idea how to process what was going on.

The man smiled. “Perfect. He’ll be thrilled to have a new friend.”

Marquez left with her head spinning. Her and her partner sat in the squad car silently for a minute before driving back to the station.

“Let’s just skip the paperwork on this one.”

–

“And that is why we now have a wall covered in drawings of Cerberus from a five year old,” Hades explained to Persephone.

 

animarune:

@shanastoryteller

 

alkonoststorm:

@cyggiestardust

@casandraelf

@kintatsujo

@baratheas

@gwen-skyes

@kohakuhime

@steinbecks

@wizqevelynart

YOU’RE ALL COMING DOWN WITH ME

Tags:

#fanfic #adorable #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #mythology #dog

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

professorsparklepants:

Won’t someone think of the children

Emma: Okay so like. The most fridge horror thing about the triwizard tournament is that they’re like “we added an age restriction!”

Emma: Not “we raised it!” Just “we added one!”

Emma: Which implies that previously, 11 YEAR OLDS COULD ENTER

Emma: Like I doubt they were ever chosen bc someone whose magical repotoir consists solely of “swish and flick” is not the best candidate for their school but what the FUCK

Meghan: AU where the Tournament happens 1st year, the other Champions are the same (17) and throw the whole competition making sure Harry doesn’t fucking die. They even let him take the Cup bc he’s so tiny and adorably earnest…

Meghan: Obviously that backfires, but Cedric isn’t dead at least.

Emma: THANKS I HATE IT

 

lullabyknell:

Oh, no, TINY HARRY in the Triwizard Tournament. That’s AWFUL. 

I love it. 

AU where the Tournament happens in 1st year? I suppose Quirrell is still the DADA prof, but you could actually have him as the Muggle Studies professor still if you wanted Fake!Moody as the DADA prof. I think Scabbers ran away before Percy could give him to Ron as a pet, if you wanted to have Peter also helping Voldemort. (Oh, man, this is a nightmare. It’s great.) 

You could only make this work in fanfiction, but I would LOVE to try and combine books 1, 3, and 4. (I don’t think Lucius would have thrown the Diary into the mix of this, so we thankfully don’t have a basilisk slithering around too, and I don’t think Dumbledore would bring the Philosopher’s Stone into this. Although you could add those for the ULTIMATE nightmare scenario.) 

I’m thinking like, “Harry, you’re going to wizard school! And you’ve been tossed into a death game where all your competition is 17! And since your photo was in the paper, your mass-murderer godfather escaped prison! And now the dementors have been stationed around the school to keep this Tournament from going even more horribly, horribly wrong!” 

I’d love to combine this with the Veela!Viktor & Werewolf!Fleur AU (obvs if Viktor takes Hermione to the Yule Ball, it’s purely so Harry can have friends there). Throw Remus Lupin into the mix as another DADA prof? With Fake!Moody? If you wanted to pull a “give Hogwarts more staff” AU just to add to the chaos, so you can have both (evil!)Quirrell and Burbage as Muggle Studies professors. 

Oh man, your readers would be screaming at you the entire time, because tiny Harry would be surrounded by so many danger elements and they would have no idea how everything combined would unfold. Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur would probably be mild audience!inserts for this fic, doing everything they can to keep the littlest Champion safe (because clearly this is a plot to kill the BWL) even though he’s insisting that he can do this himself and doesn’t need help. 

“GET THE BABY BOY OUT OF THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO NOW, PLEASE,” says the audience. “Lol, no,” says the author. 

 

professorsparklepants:

Knell you have an evil, evil mind, and I’m dying. (I am laughing over the idea of Victor Krum, international Quidditch star with magical love powers, taking an eleven year old girl who doesn’t care about sports as his date to the Yule ball, as a favor to the tiny eleven year old champion who does care about quidditch. Ron called first dibs as Harry’s date and regrets it.)

Throwing in Sirius is such a terrible awful move. Everyone is talking about the mass murderer who broke out of jail and the sinister omen of death spotted during all the tasks and tongues are waggling like crazy.

 

lullabyknell:

Prof, that is absolutely the picture I am going for here. Viktor Krum is the ultimate gentleman to his date (a twelve-year-old girl who has no idea who he is) and is having a great time listening to her chatter about her first-year classes. Veela!Viktor and little!Hermione dancing together is melting my heart. 

#HP tag #fic ideas #I love this#I also want to know how the HECK do we get Harry out of the graveyard alive?#does it involve Sirius? I think it involves Sirius#I can see his efforts to protect Harry landing him there too#smash up Voldie’s return with the Truth Of Who Betrayed The Potters#but this time it’s told gloatingly#Voldie doesn’t kill Sirius asap because ‘aw Bella would have more fun’#‘don’t you agree Wormtail?’ #yeesh I gave myself the creeps (tags via @mzminola)

Min, I love you. 

Can you imagine, Cedric and tiny Harry in front of the Triwizard Cup in the center of the maze, and Sirius Black shows up? (After people have been gossiping like mad, egged on by Skeeter, over the terrible death omens looming over the Boy-Who-Lived.) Let’s say that the Cup was always intended to be a Portkey back to the beginning of the maze, so Sirius overhears this piece of information and realizes that the Cup is the perfect opportunity for something to go terribly wrong. But Harry is obviously not going to listen to “Mass-Murderer Sirius Black” desperately telling him not to take the Cup. 

Sirius tries to tackle Harry, but they both end up in the graveyard. (Cedric is panicking back in the maze.) Peter and Sirius recognize each other immediately. Harry has no idea what’s going on. 

Then you have to choose how you want the rest of this AU to go. (Voldemort obviously gets to give the Classic HP Final Confrontation Explanation of what’s been going down behind-the-scenes all year.) Does Voldemort get resurrected in Harry’s first year? Or is Voldemort’s resurrection foiled by Harry and Sirius somehow and put off for some future plot? 

Either way, I think it’s highly necessary that Sirius punches someone in the face. If Voldemort is resurrected, then it’s definitely Voldemort. If Voldemort isn’t resurrected, then it’s probably Peter. These fists were made for punching and that’s just what they’ll do. “STAY AWAY FROM MY GODSON.” *CRACK*

If Voldemort is resurrected, then Sirius probably gets to witness Harry’s Priori Incantatum with Voldemort! (Would a Priori Incantatum work with Peter if Harry doesn’t get to duel Voldemort? Since Peter used Voldemort’s wand to kill Cedric?) OH MAN, THE DELICIOUS, DELICIOUS PAIN OF SIRIUS BLACK GETTING TO SEE A REMNANT OF JAMES AND LILY POTTER. I WOULD DIE. I would be FACE-DOWN on the FLOOR. People would be poking me like, “LK, are you okay?” And I’d be like, “Absolutely not.” 

In either scenario, I think everyone escapes. Peter and Voldemort escape. Sirius picks up Harry and just books it. (Maybe Sirius has Harry’s Firebolt for some reason? Would Sirius still send Harry the Firebolt? I know the Firebolt didn’t come out until 1994, but the idea of an 11-year-old getting a Firebolt is so funny. Hermione has no idea why everyone at the Yule Ball is freaking out over Harry’s new broomstick; it can’t be that good, surely.) 

Harry ends up stranded out in the countryside with the godfather who never actually betrayed his parents, getting to know Sirius, and is probably actually really relieved to have an adult handling the situation (Sirius is… not the best adult, but Harry is eleven here) and to get some family. Voldemort might be back and that’s awful, but Harry’s actually kind of having an alright time? He’s away from all the stress of Hogwarts and the Tournament for once. 

Meanwhile, Cedric Diggory has alerted everyone back at Hogwarts that Sirius Black has kidnapped Harry Potter and they are LOSING THEIR MINDS. 

 

phi-of-two:

I love this concept, and I wonder what an equally speedrunny sequel would look like. Books 2 and 5 seem like they’d mash up pretty well? 

Harry comes back in September, and no one believes his story about what happened at the end of the last task, because it’s frankly pretty unbelievable. Also he’s apparently a serial killer apologist now? Dumbledore’s backing his story, yeah, but the Prophet’s been saying for months that Dumbledore’s a liar.

And that’s before the petrifications start to happen and it comes out that Harry’s a parselmouth.

The kids close to Harry’s age mostly shun him as evil, but also concerned older Hufflepuffs start to approach him, saying that they don’t know exactly what happened over the summer but Sirius Black is not a person to look up to, and they know Harry’s just a kid but petrifying people to impress your serial killer idol is not okay actually. 

On top of all that, Umbridge is the DADA teacher, and she’s a lot more intimidating to a twelve-year-old.

(something DA-like could still happen. Being twelve, Harry’s too young to be teaching it himself, even if people were willing to be taught by the probable Heir of Slytherin. But he talks about Umbridge to Sirius and Sirius talks to Lupin and Lupin knows the castle, he can sneak in if he needs to help these kids that he got attached to last year. And yes, sneaking is required, because Umbridge does not want filthy halfbreeds in her castle.)

Tags:

#story ideas I will never write #fanfic #Harry Potter #long post #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what

the chilliad: hour four

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

{{Title link: https://www.ofgeography.com/post/the-chilliad-hour-four }}

ofgeography:

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homer yawns, stretching his arms out and cracking the joints in his neck. he definitely has dry mouth, despite the fact that he’s been gulping down every glass of water that Ray Ban and Donut Mouth have brought him, and brushing his fingers against his watch indicates that it’s only been three hours. three.

jesus christ, he’s going to die in here.

he doesn’t know where anybody else is. the last thing he remembers from the party is calliope brushing her fingertips along his knuckles and saying your poems are really good. you should do a reading.

calliope muse thought that he, homer, should do a reading. of his poetry. that he wrote.

“maybe she wants to date you,” muses Donut Mouth. “that’s literally the only reason anyone would ever encourage anybody to do a poetry reading.”

“that or she was trying to get him to leave her alone, since there is literally nothing less sexy than a nineteen-year-old poet with the beginnings of a mullet,” Ray Ban says.

“please be kind to me,” says homer. “i’m trying to tell you a story.”

read more

Tags:

#oh look an update #Iliad #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

actualmermaid:

actualmermaid:

[wakes up in a cold sweat] but what were the rations like during the Wars of the Jewels

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“Hello friends, it’s Braddoc Meryhill back again with something TRULY INCREDIBLE that my wife’s second-cousin’s neighbor (the one with the gorgeous tomatoes) brought back from the post-house in Bree. I’ve been writing letters and digging through mathom-houses and making the acquaintances of many strange folk for many years, hoping to find someone who could get one of these for me, and I’d begun to lose hope that any still existed! But look! All my work has finally been rewarded!

What I have here is a genuine elvish ration from the First Age, still in its original wrapping and therefore still (theoretically) fit to eat. Now, they say that elves have a way of wrapping food in leaves that makes the contents last indefinitely, but six thousand years is a long time even for them! This might be the closest we’ll ever get to testing that theory, since “forever” isn’t quite measurable, but six thousand years… whoo boy! I still can’t quite believe I’m about to open, and then hopefully taste, a piece of ancient history! My hands are shaking.

I’ll guess that this was probably a Sindarin ration, since it’s wrapped in leaves and the Noldor usually used woven cloth for theirs, but later in that Age the Noldor picked up the leaf technique, so we won’t know for sure until we see what’s inside. I’ll just carefully tug at the little tab in this corner, and… oh! It just unfolds! How clever! To think that I’m the first person to do that since it was first packed! Incredible!

All right, let’s see what we have here:

There are two wafers of a sort of waybread, about eight inches square, and the leaves are wrapped around them so that the bread forms a sort of frame on either side for the other items. A ration sandwich, if you will. I imagine this was to make them easier to stack. It’s been knocked around a bit, so all the corners are crumbling off, but it smells all right to me.

Inside the bread we have four more little square leaf-packets. This first one has… oh, it opens into a little cup-shape, that’s delightful. Why, these look like… they’re grubs! Roasted and salted grubs, I think. Heavens, elves will eat just about anything! I happen to know, through my uncle’s neighbor whose grandmother once met some wood-elves, that little creepy-crawlers like this are still considered a very attractive and nutritious snack. The things I do for history’s sake, my friends.

In the second packet, we have what appears to be… raisins? I can’t tell, but if they are raisins, that would probably make this a Noldorin ration, since at this time the Sindar usually made wine out of honey and forest fruit instead of grapes. They’re still plump, and they smell just fine. The whole thing is just in beautiful condition.

This next packet just has a little powder in it? Let me smell. Oof, that’s strong. It smells very herbal, almost spicy. This must be a refreshing beverage, perhaps some sort of tea. You’ll remember when I opened that ration from the Last Alliance and found a small vial of miruvor? I wonder if the elves of the First Age had such rations as well. This particular ration does not. A pity, but I’m curious about this anyway. I’ll add a little water to it now.

Our last packet is—oh, it unfolds into a little bowl! I’ll never get bored of this ingenuity. There’s a little dried cake inside, and it crumbles between my fingers when I pinch it. It has a savory smell. I remember reading that the elves would carry soups and porridges in this form, so I’ll add a little water to it and see what happens.

That might take a minute to reconstitute, so in the meantime, a little context for those of you unfamiliar with elvish rations. This doesn’t look like much food—hardly even a quick second breakfast—but elves need very little compared to either hobbits or big folk. This ration could have lasted several days in lean times, but ideally an elf-warrior would consume a full ration every day they were on the march. In camp, they would communally prepare and eat fresh meals. Each warrior had a personal meal-kit with a little plate and utensils that folded up like a compact mirror—you can see mine in the case behind me. It’s very precious, so I don’t use it.

Oh, I just noticed that there’s steam coming from the beverage and the soup! That’s remarkable! They’ve formulated it so that it heats up when you add water to it! Wow! I’ve never seen anything like that before. I imagine it would be a great morale-booster in the field. Well, that must mean it’s ready, so let’s dig in. I’ll start with the drink.

Hmm. It is very strong indeed. I’m getting a hint of exotic spices and an earthy, roasty flavor… it must be coffee! It was said to be extremely beloved by the Noldor, and they traded for it through their ill-fated alliance with the Easterlings—incredible, just incredible, I’m holding not only a cup of history, but a cup of inter-kindred politics as well! That also gives us a better hint as to when this ration was made. It was likely made in preparation for what became known as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the “Battle of Unnumbered Tears” in our tongue, to be carried by a member of the Union of Maedhros. If that is the case, it’s even more amazing that this ration survived at all. I could study nothing but its history for the rest of my life and still not know how it came out of Beleriand and into my hands.

This waybread seems like it would go well with the coffee. Ah, it does seem to be a little stale, but no worse than a loaf of ordinary bread exposed to the air for a day or so. Hmm. Very crunchy. Almost biscuit-like. Not much flavor, but it is packed with nuts and seeds. Definitely nutritious, if not very exciting. Ooh. It is much better when dipped in the coffee.

Moving along to the soup, since it seems to be fully moistened. And piping hot, I’ll never be over that. It doesn’t smell rancid, thankfully. Just like a thick, chickeny, vegetable-y stock, with some bits floating in it. It seems they threw a bit of everything into a pot, cooked the devil out of it, spread it out to dry, and then pressed it into cakes. It’s quite salty, but inoffensive. It doesn’t seem like much, but again, I’d imagine that a warrior on a winter campaign would welcome anything hot.

The raisins are definitely raisins, I’m sure. Wouldn’t be out of place in a scone at my tea table. Not much else to say about them, except that I’m astonished that they’re so fresh, just like the rest.

Well, my friends, I’ll admit that I’ve been dreading the grubs, but I won’t put it off any longer. It isn’t the way we do things, but surely the elves know what they’re about!

Oh dear. I can see their little legs. The things I do, friends. The things I do.

Euuurgh. It’s crunchy. I am picturing nothing but feelers and eyeballs.

Hm. Swallowing it took an extra try, but the whole experience was not as bad as I was anticipating. A bit like a salted pumpkin seed, with a little bit of a… hm… a buggy flavor is the only word for it. I’d better try another one to see if I can get a better perspective on it.

Hmm. They’re rather addictive. I’m still a bit repulsed, but I can’t stop eating them. I’d love to chat with an elf about this—for instance, I’d love to know how they got the idea in the first place. I know I wouldn’t just pick a bug off the ground and decide to eat it, but perhaps that’s just my hobbitish sensibilities speaking.

Well, we’ve come to the end of this ration, and I feel that I’ve closed a chapter of my own life. This is perhaps the oldest thing ever eaten by a mortal, and perhaps even by anyone! I can now say that I’ve put the claim of imperishable elvish food-storage techniques to the test, and I’d have to say that the rumors and tales are, if not proven, at least plausible. Yes! The elves really do wrap their rations in such a way that they keep fresh “forever”! That is unless I’ve been sold a counterfeit, in which case I shall take my golf-club and find the person responsible.

Thank you for all your kind and curious responses up to now! I’m not sure I’ll be able to surpass this First Age, Noldorin, Union of Maedhros army ration in the future, but I hope you will stick around to find out! As always, I remain your intrepid friend Braddoc Meryhill, unless this ration turns on me sometime in the night!”

Tags:

#Lord of the Rings #fanfic #food #and mostly as a warning tag: #in which Brin has a food poisoning phobia

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

prince-atom:

spockvarietyhour:

This might as well be a Brooklyn 99 cold open

“How did your meeting with the Commander go?”

“It was acceptable.  I understand he was irritated by my precise recitation of the length of time since we had seen each other, during the small talk phase.”

“Hmm.  You might try being less precise?  Or suggest some uncertainty in your estimation?  Like, ‘Five years, more or less,’ that sort of thing?”

“I have attempted such artifice in the past, yes, with Captain Jackson of the USS Ranger.”

“Was that any good?”

“It took me three days to convince them that I was not an impostor and that I should be released from the brig.”

Tags:

#Star Trek #DS9 #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog

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