there’s a lot of evidence that the iliad and the odyssey were actually composed by a variety of poets through an oral tradition rather than just by one poet, so what if the homeric texts are actually just a very long game of D&D
homer, the dm: okay achilles, agamemnon has just taken away your war prize, what do you want to do achilles’ player: i roll to have a diplomatic conversation with agamemnon achilles’ player: *rolls a 1* homer: you throw the staff of speaking at agamemnon’s face and storm off to sulk with your boyfriend
Homer, the DM: Your beautiful Patroclus is dead. What do you do? Achilles’ player: I fight everyone. Homer, the DM: You can’t fight everyone. How would you even– Achilles’ player: *rolls a 20* I fight everyone. Homer, the DM: *sighs* Fine. You cut a path through the Trojan army, enemy dead strewn in your wake. Achilles’ player: How many? Homer, the DM: …lots. Enough to clog the friggin’ river with bodies. Achilles’ player: I fight the river. Homer, the DM: You. can. not. fight. the. river. Achilles’ player: *reaches for dice*
Homer, the DM: Okay guys, so the war’s over, you had a bunch of losses but you won in the end. Time to go home, let’s roll to see who gets there firs—
Odysseus’s player: I got a critical failure.
Homer, the DM; “Ok seriously guys they’re not going to fall for the giant horse.”
Odysseus’ player; “I just rolled a nat 20 on my deception check.”
I’m still so bitter about how old the marauders looked in the hp movies
Like such a big part of the tragedy of their murders was that they were 21 year old children fighting a war
Lily and James were 21 years old when they sacrificed themselves so their son could live
Sirius Black was 21 when he lost his best friends and was thrown in Azkaban without a trial
Remus Lupin was 21 when he lost everything and was forced into solitude for the next decade
These were not adults in their 30s and 40s who had lived and were trying to settle down while fighting a war on the side
These were teenagers who were fighting for their lives full time and were tragically murdered before any of them could reach 40
everybody always makes the marauders out to be super cool and suave but dude
they had codenames
they named their own friendship group
as far as i can tell only aBSOLUTE DORKLORDS DO THAT
how much do you wanna bet the entirety of hogwarts refused to call them ‘the marauders’ and they got all grumpy abt it
The entire exchange between them all during their 5th year exam also attests to this. 1. He’s sitting in my chair 2. He’s wearing my clothes 3. His names remus Lupin?? That’s not even funny ! but they all laughed. And they’ve known he’s a werewolf for how many years at that point? 3? I can’t get over it lolol it is absolutely dorky.
Sirius and James wore matching Phoenix shirts while riding the motorbike together.
Elvendorks.
In addition (and I will categorically never get over this) sixteen year old James Potter doodling Lily’s initials in a love heart on his DADA OWL exam?
And for god’s sake, they dedicated a significant chunk of their free time to drawing their entire school (and not just any school- Hogwarts, the most convoluted building anywhere ever) and enchanting it to keep track of every single person, not to mention the fucking stairs and the walls that move. This map can see people under the Invisibility Cloak, doesn’t give two shits about Polyjuice Potion.
They were gi-fucking-gantic dorks. You can bet that their dorm room had more advanced textbooks in it than any other in the castle. You can bet that their homework (despite often likely being done a little close to the line) will nine times out of ten be twice as many inches as they were asked for including moving, colour coded diagrams and insanely complex theory on how to improve the effects of said spell or potion, potential applications that literally no-one would have thought of.
Like the very fact that they’re canonically fucking mischief makers of the calibre of Fred and George, the fact that they caused trouble that way is just textbook behaviour for a lot of really really bright kids? They were goddamn geniuses, and they were bloody bored 90% of the time, so they pushed themselves. Acing transfiguration? No problem, let’s become Animagi to help our best mate. Ancient Runes way bellow our skill level? Fine, we’ll use a combination of that, arithmancy and charms to make a map that tracks people all over the castle.
They were absolute nerd kings, and I sodding well love it.
I’ve always felt that a lot of fandom doesn’t fully appreciate the scale of the work they had to do to become Animagi by fifth year.
Like, they supposedly found out about Remus some time during their second year, right? And it’s meant to take years of study to become an Animagus.
But it’s more than just that. Before they could even begin the Animagus part of the process, they had to attain a NEWT-level of understanding of Transfiguration.
They didn’t just do the Animagus stuff, oh no. These little nerdlords steamed through their entire Transfiguration curriculum for the next 6 and a half years of schooling, and then did something that was meant to take ‘years of study’ on top of that.
All in about three and a half years.
Utter genius nerds.
thank you. so so tired of seeing Snape v/s the Marauders posited as nerd v/s jock, and/or Sirius written as not!smart
I know we’re always talking about how Pacific Rim embraces the ridiculousness of the human race because “just build a giant robot to punch them in the face” is probably the most full-on human bullshit response we could have thought of to an invasion of giant aliens, but can we pause and also consider that the aliens are basically doing the same thing
like they wanted to invade us and their first thought about how to do so was “let’s genetically engineer giant fucking monsters that will crawl out of the depths of the ocean and trample cities”
Pacific Rim is just the story of two species that on a scale from 1 to 10 respond to every problem with a 17
Look, guys, you need to know something really important about Batman.
The whole traditional English butler thing? Yeah, “master ____” is a form of address used for children. Alfred has been lowkey calling Bruce a manchild for decades.
i always assumed that when bruce got older, alfred called him ‘mister wayne’ exactly once, because the look on bruce’s face when alfred called him what he’d previously always called thomas wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again
IMPORTANT QUESTION. Vampires aren't suppose to enter a premise without being invited right? What if a hermit vampire was living in his falling apart old castle and some fuck bought it as a "fixer upper", would the vampire just glitch out on to the lawn or would he be okay since he lived there before?
Okay so this would depend on where you are in the world, and whether or not they had squatters rights (can’t be evicted and can apply for legal ownership of place once they have been there for X amount of years) but I mean, the dude owns the place, even if it is a run down mess he was still there first and there’s probably some ancient land ownership law which can’t be overwritten by modern laws (you find all sorts of weird things are still technically legal cause no one bothered to update the books since 1645) so basically whoever just bought this castle to turn it into a modern fixer upper, congrats, you also just bought yourself a vampire and he’s not going anywhere.
(Also now I kind of want to write this where a family buys it to turn it into a hotel/wedding venue and the kids find the vampire in the attic and he ends up being the weird uncle who gets roped into hilarious wedding related shenanigans?? Like
“Okay yes fine, you can host weddings here, but registrar only, no religious ones.” “But Theolodious, why?” “Really Sharon, really, do I have to spell it out for you. Really.”
*
“We really should increase the lighting for photographs, what about skylights?” “No.” “But—” “How about I just set all of you on fire while you’re trying to sleep.”
*
“Please, for the love of god, please don’t let people throw confetti or rice, I’m begging you.”
*
“Okay what’s our final head count for the night?” “107.” “Are you sure?” “Did I fucking stutter Steve?”
*
“Uncle Theo, why does the groom have “help me” on the bottom of his shoes, why is everyone laughing?.” “Because small one, humanity has failed collectively as a species and heteronormativity is a constructed lie designed to oppress over half the population for not conforming to arcane and chauvinistic ideals put in place by dead scholars who have long since turned to dust and have no place influencing modern society.” “…” “Permanence is an illusion.”
*
“Madame, flattering as your offer is for a quickie, you’re not my type.” “What is your type then?” ;) ;) ;) “O negative.”
*
“Whoo, what a day, I could eat a horse.” “Same.” “…” “…well obviously I’m not going to.”
*
“Theo…are you…are you crying?” “Yes.” “You big softie, I never thought someone like you would cry at a wedding.” “…I’ve lived a long life, Sharron. People come and go, the christening you bless will be the funeral you mourn in less than a century. But people keep saying “I love you”, that has to count for something.”
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My thesis is close enough to being done that I’m granting myself some down time to write historical fic, so here is a preview.
“Am I, Micheletto?” he asked distantly.
“Are you what?”
“Am I your lord?” Cesare said, and turned on his heel
until he was studying the line of Micheletto’s profile. “Are you my servant?”
Micheletto tilted his
head to observe Cesare out of the corner of his eye, the unobtrusive regard
that had served him so well. With no
indication of hesitation, he said, “I am your instrument, my lord.”
It’s actually from Cesare’s POV which I somewhat regret because, A, it means that I do not get to deal with how intense Micheletto is about literally everything regarding Cesare and, B, I sadly do not get to talk about how hot Cesare is. Much. But also it had to be from Cesare’s POV because I had to be able to talk about Micheletto’s scars and Claiming and how Micheletto is Cesare’s favored weapon who wears the heraldic sigil of his lord’s house in his lash marks.
I shot a glance at Tobias. In his human morph he could do little. And he’d have to pass through his hawk form before getting to what Marco would call ‘serious firepower.’
But that was okay. This small battle was all mine. I didn’t want any help.
‘You don’t like black people, Mr. Davis?’ I said pleasantly. ‘No problem. I can turn white. Watch me.’
Most of the time I’d probably have let it go. I’d been called names before. I’d run into racism before. Mostly I figured people like that were just sad, weak-minded fools. So most of the time I just avoided people like that.
But I had been in three wars since breakfast. I had seen Jake shot down. I’d just learned that Rachel, my best friend, was gone.
I was sad and ashamed and filled with rage, all at once. So this wasn’t 'most of the time.’
White fur began to grow from my face. Actually, it was clear fun, hollow needles of fur that were designed to keep the polar bear warm. But the fur looked white, taken altogether.
My hands swelled, big as dinner plates. Long, raked claws extended from the fingertips.
I was growing whiter. And bigger. Much, much bigger.
'It’s some kind of voodoo trick!’ Davis wailed.
Tobias was back on his feet, arms crossed over his chest, looking on calmly. 'You two guys may want to step back out of the way because I don’t think Davis here is going to be having a very good day.’
Passing thought, I really love the David trilogy. Like. I could literally talk for hours about how much I love the development of every single character over the course of those three books and about how beautifully they showcase the fact that the Animorphs actually work incredibly well as a team and about how David is a shining example of how the Ellimist really DID stack the deck making sure it was EXACTLY those six people who went to war and about how it’s one of the few times where, purely by contrast, we’re reminded that the Animorphs might be a bunch of teenagers, but they are a stone-cold strike team that’s really stunningly good at their job.
Literally hours.
I could flip open one of those books and point to a random paragraph and talk about how much that particular paragraph is fantastic until I was hoarse, I guarantee it.
i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”
When my sister and I were kids we had this one action figure, who was actually a brutalized batman doll without his cape (the dog chewed half his head, too), who we dubbed ‘Evil Chancellor Traytor’. The idea was that in the fictional society of our toys, ‘chancellor’ just came with the word ‘evil’ in front of it, as a matter of ancient tradition. Like ‘grand’ or ‘high’ or something along those lines.
Anyway, the running gag was that the king (an old Power Rangers knock-off doll) had absolute and unwavering faith in Evil Chancellor Traytor, who basically comported himself like a mix between Grima Wormtongue and Jafar from the Aladdin movies. Everyone was always sure that Evil Chancellor Traytor had something to do with the nefarious scheme of the day. The dude even carried around a poisoned knife called ‘the kingslayer’.
The additional twist on the joke, though, was that he never was behind anything. The king was actually right. Evil Chancellor Traytor was the most devoted civil servant in the entire Action Figure Dystopia. He spent his nights working on writing up new legislature to ensure that broken toys had access to mobility devices, was always on the lookout to acquire new shoeboxes for expanding city infrastructure, and drafted a proposal that once got half the ‘settlement’ in my sister and I’s closet moved to the upper shelf so that vulnerable toys were less likely to be snatched up by the dog.
The knife, as it turned out, was as symbolic as the ‘evil’ in his name. See, Action Figure Dystopia had a long history of corrupted monarchs getting too big for their thrones and exploiting the underclasses. The job of the Evil Chancellor was to always remain vigilant, and loyally serve a good ruler - or, if the regent should became a despot, to slay them on behalf of the people.
But since killing the king would be a terrible crime, the Evil Chancellor had to be the kind of person who would willingly die to spare the people from the plight of a wicked leader; because the murder would be pinned on them, in order to keep the ‘machinery of politics’ working as smoothly as ever.
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor had a diary, in which my sister I would take turns writing out the most over-the-top good shit he’d done behind the scenes. Usually after everyone else had finished talking shit about him. I don’t know why but we got the biggest kick out of being like:
Barbie With the Unfortunate Haircut: Oh that Evil Chancellor Traytor! Why can’t the king see how wicked he is?!
Charmander From the Vending Machine: Char!
Jurassic Park Toy of Jeff Goldblum With Disturbingly Realistic Face: At least if someone puts a knife in the king’s back, we’ll know where to look!
Evil Chancellor Traytor’s Diary: Today I was feeding ducks at the park when I noticed another legless action figure sitting by the benches. I put a hundred dollars into his bag while he wasn’t looking. I really need to increase budgeting to the medical treatment centers. If only we had enough glue, I think we would see far fewer toys trying to get by without limbs… *insert iconic evil laugh*
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor eventually fell victim to one of my mom’s cleaning sprees, and she decided he was too busted up to keep and tossed him out. My littler brother, who tended to follow my sister and I’s games like he was watching a daily soap opera, cried so hard that we had to do a special ‘episode’ where one of the toys found the Evil Chancellor’s diary, and so he got a big huge memorial and the king threw himself into the empty grave and then ordered the toys driving the toy bulldozer to bury him so that ‘Traytor’s grave would have a body’ (this seemed very important for some reason).
And then we had the Quest For a New King. Somehow or another that ended up being a giant rubber snake called ‘Tyrant King Cobra’.
About three things you must be sure before you read this story:
I am a grower, not a show-er. There is nothing terribly remarkable about my non-aroused junk.
I literally don’t care who sees me naked in the locker room. It took me a long time to be comfortable with my body, and I’m not in a locker room to flaunt it. I’m there to undress, shower, and dress.
My mood this morning is best summed up in these two gifs:
*** SO.
I’m in the locker room. I come out of the shower and go to my locker, and there are three guys at their lockers in the same area, all talking to each other. I pay them no mind because I don’t give a shit. I open my locker. I grab my underwear. I drop my towel.
One of the guys thought he was gonna try and be cocky and said, “You fuck chicks with that dick?”
…
My inner monologue at that exact second can best be summed up with this gif:
I turned around, completely naked, my apparently insufficient chick-fucking dick just hanging out for the world to see, looked the dude straight in the eye and said, “No, but I can take a dick like a champ. You tryna fuck?”
I have never seen a person so instantly regret a choice in my entire life. He started sputtering like a bottle of shampoo that was nearly empty and then just gave up and ran off while his friends just howled.
I calmly turned around and went about my life, minding my own goddamn business like a civilized adult.
in the first movie, when leia got rescued, she was expecting some kind of actual military operatives with things like a plan and an exit strategy and a working vehicle. this is why she was so salty about instead being rescued by basically the duke brothers and an angry carpet in a past-warranty space winnebago.
like when the bad guys capture a diplomat you’re supposed to send mission impossible, not cheech & chong
Leia wanted a full D&D party, and what she got was a Rogue with no Bluff, a wizard who left his spell sheet at home, and a barbarian who made charisma his highest score.
just learned that jean-jacques rousseau was so deeply deeply obsessed with being spanked - such a spank maniac if you will, that he used to drop trou and sprint backwards ass first at unsuspecting women on the off chance their first instinct would be to spank his bare ass
i know this because he published it in his biography. he was an extremely influential philosopher and this is his story as he chose to share it
The world is a rich tapestry.
If you’re ever worded about your embarrassing shitposts coming back to haunt you, please remember that this influential philosopher literally told people in his own autobiography about his very shameable kink.
so it’s like the first really hot day of the season today and I was walking down the street to the bus station. I’m wearing a crop top and honestly look fine as ever.
I pass these two guys and they whistle and one made cat noises and one asked “hey missy, where are you going dressed like that?”
and I was trying to walk past but it looked like they were about to follow me so I tried to say “back off” or “go to hell” but I was flustered because I’ve never been catcalled before and I said loudly “BACK TO HELL”
and they were just like “shit alright” and let me be.
I legitimately laughed, out loud, involuntarily. I love this post so much.
i need feminism because when jesus does a magic trick it’s a goddamn miracle but when a woman does a magic trick she gets burned at the stake
fabulous
i mean they did also kill jesus. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill jesus.
I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?
Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious
and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look
and not touch.
The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she
died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a
shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–
And
now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily
walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with
their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry
always had.
She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up
the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over
Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at
his sleeping son.
Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy
on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said.
“How are we going to do this?”
“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you
cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go
ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He
stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and
pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do
next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake
up it’ll be a new day.”
“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”
“So
let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it
doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”
“You promise?”
“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.
–
Dudley
had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily
had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in
Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle
police station to identify the bodies.
The cupboard under the
stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine
Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley
slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded
messages through the wall their rooms shared.
In the backyard,
beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to
fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the
whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for
lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.
When the boys turned
ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s
birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on
Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but
Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased
the Snitch at his back.
Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a
jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had
killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car
seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.
Lily did not
believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child
herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked
about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled
pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for
more.
Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural
to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been
waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their
wedding day, and they waved back every time.
“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”
“And my dad?”
“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”
“I
didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he
worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”
Dudley
brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went
off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the
boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill
Manufacturing Inc.
They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers
and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged
around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding
and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to
each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the
top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator
music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor
buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.
There were boxes and
cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of
numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who
was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can
look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”
“Work is hard work,” said James.
“At least mum gets to curse things.”
“But
my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was
bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he
liked knowing things, too.”
When the boys asked about the scar on
Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how
sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or
with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”
“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.
“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.
“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.
“I’m trying,” said James.
“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.
“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.
“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.
“He
was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,”
said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting
against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you,
Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”
“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.
“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.
“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.
“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.
“We
were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our
friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house.
He. Well. I.”
“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s
knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead.
“You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes
people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar
absently.
–
Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister,
the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and
buried James’s brother.
Sirius had been burned off the Black
family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin
Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter
family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath,
shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch
and stayed for a month.
–
It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.
“He’s a Muggle.”
“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”
She
had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take
the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that
would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on
him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling
supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and
dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.
The
windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the
maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations
and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous
weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the
small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the
atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back
out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird
wishes to make on them.
Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son–
she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to
her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just
words.
Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney
had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had
hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily
got everything. And now Lily had her son.
Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!
“You
left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You
left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode
off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the
Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over
the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both
grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.
I went to McDonalds at work for lunch today, and just for shits, I ordered a happy meal with “extra happy”. The guy at the register was maybe 22, and he leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’m sorry, Visser 5, but this entrance is not yet active.” I growled and said “Fools! I want it prepared within a week!” We both laughed our assess off, then I ordered my real meal and left.
oh man good luck with the tv series it's so agonizing and I spent the whole first season wishing for a better animated version before giving up
HHHHHHHH that is pretty much how I feel about it right now!!!! I’ve been watching while I work on sewing a thing so I can LOOK AWAY during the cringeworthy parts but it. I just.
ALLOW ME TO SPEND THE NEXT PORTION OF THIS POST DESCRIBING EXACTLY HOW A NEW ANIMORPHS SHOW SHOULD BE CREATED AND WHY NOW IS THE PERFECT TIME TO LAUNCH IT.
for starters: I 100% agree that animated is the way to go. You can have the characters portrayed as their actual ages (children), no worries about the actors aging during fimling, you don’t have to blow your entire budget on cgi morphing effects, no need to hire TRAINED LIONS to jump around a set–it just makes more sense. You’re not limited to sets, you can animate anywhere in the world–in the universe!
And do you know who I think would be perfect to take this on????
DC.
Now–If you’ve never watched any of their animated shows, dear reader, you might be confused! I’m not talking about DC comics live action films, where they’re pumping out gritty emo batman movies and taking the most optimistic heroes like superman and trying to make them ‘dark’ and angsty.
I’m talking about the crews who did Teen Titans!!! Young Justice!!!!!!! The animated Green Lanturn series!!!!!!!!!! if you’ve never seen these PLEASE please do yourself a favor and watch them (I highly recommend Young Justice) because they do what the live actions failed: they show the real, dark sides of the characters and their struggles as well as the optimism and hope they keep despite it. They’re shows that are being produced for young viewers but are still gripping and entertaining for adults, and they OFTEN feature children or young adults as the main cast. They don’t shy away from showing violence, like other companies, because they’ve been doing it for so long. As well as a precedent for complex female characters, pov switching from episode to episode, and character growth for everyone!!
like as much as the broadcasting studios and the organization can suck the scripts and voice actors put so much heart into these things and just. gosh. they’re gems. I think if anyone was gonna be able to pull it off, it’d be DC at this point.
Child superheroes is BASICALLY THEIR THEME AND MARKET ALREADY!!!! They have the time slots, the advertising–it’s all already figured out!!! the fanbase is there. the fanbase is WAITING. it would be a hit.
There’s an excellent post by @perianfrost about this too here, about how each book would condense nicely into a 23 minute episode. Throw in an associated 90 minute movie each season for megamorphs, hork bajir/andalite chronicles–an excellent idea. DC already often do animated movies, sometimes associated with shows/sometimes not, their run of batman movies are AMAZING and reflect batman SO MUCH BETTER as a character than the live actions did. Hell, they’re better than the actual comics half the time.
I think each season could be around 20 episodes instead of 10, which would give you 2-3 seasons depending on how many filler books you cut out of the lineup (a lot of the ghostwritten ones aren’t super necessary to overall plot, so you could either condense the series or stretch it a bit). Having a relatively small number of seasons I think would increase chances for funding, and would make it less likely to be cancelled only halfway through (can you tell I’m bitter about Young Justice???? yeah).
Here’s examples of the art style I would like to see it as:
Not TOO cartoony, with realistically proportioned figures, with a simple yet dynamic style. Every now and then with beautiful shots of different landscapes or scenery.
And honestly?? This is the time for a reboot. Animated shows are a HIT right now. Gravity Falls, Stephen Universe, Adventure Time–it’s all been SUPER popular. You’re also hitting the current young crowd as well as the 20-year-olds who grew up with them, probably the second biggest demographic for kids shows.
It’s just. It’d be perfect. I want it so bad. Someone pay me to write all the scripts for them and I’ll drop everything else it just has so much potential.
Heey!! ✨ Do you have any headcanons for Bahorel, Grantaire and Joly friendship?
Whenever I think about the three of them, I think about that scene in the brick in which Joly and Bahorel talk about Musichetta and Bahorel is all like: “If you want to seduce her real good, you’ll need new pants” and Grantaire barges in like “HOW MUCH????”
So I give you: Makeover Bahorel.
To be fair, Joly’s style really suits him. He’s all printed shirts and suspenders that don’t actually suspend anything, cool glasses, always some cat prints for some reason, probably to make up for the fact that he’s allergic
Grantaire on the other hand…
He’s in dire need of shirts that don’t have holes in them and don’t carry the pungent smell of paint. He also needs socks. BADLY. Bahorel hopes he can find clothes that will compliment those biceps of his, because dang boy, you should offer free tickets to the gun show more often
Joly is quickly sorted out. Bahorel finds him some skinny jeans that will, apparently, “compliment his lil butt”.
Grantaire is more complicated. He’s all self-deprecating comments and doesn’t think anything looks good on him. That’s not his colour. Neither is this one. Nor this one
In the end, Baz gets him to buy several flannel shirts, a couple of skinny jeans, undershirts and the like
Joly gets complimented all over during the next ABC meeting and twirls happily to show his new acquisitions off
Grantaire arrived with rolled up sleeves and skinny jeans and Enjolras unconsciously snaps a pen into two.
our ability to belt out one entire three to five minute long song if we’re familiar with it like. suvi starts singing “hallelujah” to fill the quiet and is answered by liam all across the room in a p decent harmony. cora walks past and starts humming it enthusiastically even tho she can’t stay very long. gil joins in for the third refrain. ryder finishes it off with a passionate solo.
when they look around every alien is staring at them. vetra blinks and knocks her hands together. “that’s what you’re supposed to do when humans make those sounds right?” she asks kallo beside her, who mirrors her. everyone is a little stunned at the coordination and emotion in the performance and they all look equally moved. jaal might be crying. none of them know what a ‘hallelujah’ is, but they feel like they’ve come to understand it through this melody
they’re all extremely confused when all of the humans still continue on on their tasks without pause
edit; other songs include but are not limited to: bohemian rhapsody, mr. brightside, single ladies, no scrubs, and i will always love you
a good predictor of whether a species will end up being compatible with humans on long journeys is whether they are capable of understanding that ‘singing along’ is optional and humans do it because it’s fun. species that insist on assigning some biological or ceremonial importance to it will inevitably clash with their human crews sooner or later.
whereas species like the mertrans, who have their own infectious expressive behaviors, can integrate with humans indefinitely. on long-haul ships, a sort of hybrid culture evolves, where mertrans will thrum their throat sacs to provide percussion for human singalongs, and humans develop dance steps for mertran scratch/thumping episodes.
smart pirates avoid attacking ships where this has happened. despite being clownish, these species are also some of the most warlike, and offering violence to a closeknit mertran/human group provokes a reaction that is not only well-coordinated and heroic but prone to very bloody pranks.
there still are parts of the outer reaches where a mertran hand-signing “yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker” can clear a bar in seconds.
We’re all calling him chaotic good but…Isn’t it lawful good what they’re doing? I mean, it’s messed up that this is reality, but they ARE following the rules to a T.
2017, when cards against humanity is lawful good but the president is chaotic evil
Humans are the only intelligent species in the universe to have evolved from predators. Every other sentient species has evolved from a prey species… and so they are terrified of us. Now it’s up to you to persuade the Galactic Council that we won’t hunt them down and eat them all.
“We won’t eat you,” I shrugged. “Most of us would find the idea of eating a sapient being repulsive - it would be like eating another human.”
The gathering murmured. The herbivores were big, to be honest. A lot of them were easily elephant-sized, with a few even bigger. It had been jarring, at first, being one of the smallest known species. I guess we’d always expected ‘little green men’, small aliens with big eyes, looking a lot like us.
But no, they were big. Intimidatingly so. And we’d just told them not to be afraid of us. I looked over to some of my team, a few of whom wore expressions like they’d just realised it. Some of the aliens, too, were giving us a fresh appraisal. Instead of wide and fearful eyes, they were now narrowed in thought.
One of them leant against the wall, arms crossed. There was something buffalo-like about him, with a set of horns curving out of his head, and a rather bovine nose. A little like a minotaur, really. The Tellors had a problem with water shortages, we’d heard. Another, someone reptilian with nictating membranes and a nervous, flicking tongue whispered to her cohorts, her eyes darting between us all. The Fiarans were apparently running out of arable land.
I let my mouth pull up at the corners.
Now, there’s a funny thing about most beings, sapient or otherwise. Showing off your teeth is a general sign for ‘look what I have and might very well use’. Humans have always been weird about that, so it’s been normally something all of us in the diplomatic sector have to worry about when smiling.
Normally.
I cleared my throat, and the Council turned back to me.
“We want to be friends, really,” and the tone of my voice caused my team to spin around and stare at me. “And we have high hopes for what we could achieve together in an alliance.”
I paused, making eye contact with the Tellor and Fiaran especially.
“We won’t eat you,” I said. “But we didn’t eat our predators, either.”
The crowd began to mutter again. The Tellor snorted, making his way to the front.
“I have studied humans - you are the apex predators of your planet. Please explain.”
I looked up at him. “Oh yes, we are now.”
He tilted his head, and then took a step back as the meaning hit him. Or at least the meaning I meant to give - I wasn’t exactly about to spew lion attack statistics or explain the concept of zoos to him.
fun fact about the next avengers film being filmed in edinburgh: they’ve blocked off certain areas which is disrupting one specific postal van’s delivery route which is in turn leading to an awkward stand-off at the police station because Marvel Studios might be a billion dollar company but this man really wants to do his job and apparently interfering with the course of the Royal Mail technically counts as treason so they’re at a stalemate
