#And they bend the laws of canon into any which way .

[dballzposting]

What if Gotenks lived with his dad Vegito but on weekends he lived with his other dad Gogeta but this is sort of a recent thing becasue Gogeta didnt secure split custody until recently so Gotenks doesnt really Know Gogeta that well and he goes to his modest and hearthlike apartment and feels disquieted becasue it is VERY DIFFERENT from the sensory-overload distraction-chamber that is Vegito's lavish house. And Gogeta doesnt narcissistically abuse Gotenks so Gotenks doesnt relaly understand him at all and he really doesnt get how an adult could be so calm and not get angry and yell at him over little things and so he thinks that Gogeta is actually just really furious but hiding it and so it takes a long time for Gotenks to trust him and trust that he genuinely isnt mad at him. But at the same time it doesnt take long at all for Gotenks to respond to his genuine calmness by feeling the most secure & safe that hes ever felt but he doesnt really understand that or why that is and he doesnt understand why he feels so yucky when he has to go back to his other home on Monday morning and so he just ignores it and plays iPad and skateboards. And every Friday night he gets so nervous he gets nauseous and Vegito always uses this to say "You dont have to go over there sweetie :) Do you want to? You Do Not Have To Want To" and then he yells at Gogeta over the phone about it. But without fail every time he gets to Gogeta's apartment and adjusts Gotenks does feel better and sometimes just falls asleep on the couch. And Gogeta makes tea every evening and it's sooooo yucky to Gotenks but he still drinks it every time becasue Gogeta made it and he deosnt have the maturity & wherewithal to understand that it's becasue it makes him feel included and cared for.

This isn't dragon ball any more not even close like not even a little bit

[keen-eye]

https://www.tumblr.com/keen-eye/776397967346237440/idk-how-i-feel-about-hcsfics-where-sams-feelings

PREACH.

lol yeah, and since we’re (sort of) talking about pining!sam i’m gonna say it here that i don’t really care about it at all until s5 and only when it’s faithful to canon ⬇️

s5 is when dean as the keeper of the key to sam’s self-worth is solidified, and from then on through the rest of the series (the level varies by season) sam pines for dean’s approval, forgiveness, trust, and respect. dean’s authority is law and sam doubts his own ability to make the right choices for himself and others. and many of the steps that led sam to this state of dependency were curated by dean and his framing of the events in their lives (especially things that dean was to blame for)

that’s not to say i can’t appreciate a thoughtful discussion or well written fic about other versions of pining!sam. but i don’t personally find sam at any age having a crush on dean, “he’s so sexy”, compelling. what i do find compelling is sam’s hero worship of dean mixed with his resentment of his infantilization, in its canon non-sexual but very charged way

also, hot take and i know i’m very much in the minority here, but in any version of wincest i still don’t think sam or dean would ever be physically attracted to each other, in the traditional sense. to me the rules don’t apply to their universe bending relationship, and their passion for each other reaching an extreme where they become physically intimate doesn’t require them to find each other hot. because it’s never been about that. and it makes it even weirder which is very fitting for them. i’m imagining dean being like “ew no i don’t think sam is hot, he’s my brother” while he’s literally inside sam lol. it’s dean getting a boner when something affirms his status as sam’s brotherdad. it’s all of dean’s emotions as outward expressions and sam using sex to connect with him

[being-of-rain]

I'm not a massive fan of franchises pulling twists that retcon decades of history without a meaningful reason to do it and a good story to back it up. So Empire of Death saying that Sutekh has been a stowaway on the TARDIS for something like thirteen of the Doctor's lifetimes didn't really do it for me. And if that's the case it does feel like something of a cosmic coincidence (which I know RTD can be fond of in his arcs) that all the signs of the occupation start showing around the exact same time. (Namely: the Susan Twists appearing for the first time to the audience at least; a mystery that intrigues Sutekh enough to bend reality, because I guess no other Dr Who story arcs have been juicy enough; the TARDIS making a weird sound, which was such a strange arc element to put in The Broken Time Ship Makes Strange Sounds show; and other gods infringing on the universe and speaking ominously about him.)

So I do like the idea that it was in fact the thin, lightly salted laws at the edge of the universe that allowed Sutekh to properly climb back into reality and into the TARDIS, and that any retroactive observing of the Doctor or seeding of the universe with Susans he did was through the TARDIS' complicated relationship with spacetime, or any godlihood that the time vortex gave him or whatever. Honestly Sutekh's explanation about how he got to where he is today is vague enough that I don't really feel bad about interpreting it how I want to.

I know I already sound like an awful old fandom grouch, which I'm sure I am, but I also didn't get the Doctor 'bringing death to death' at the end of the episode. Even on a conceptual or symbolic level, to me that feels like adding a negative to a negative. Not to mention the Doctor doing it by dragging Sutekh through the vortex and then seemingly dumping him in it to kill him, despite that purportedly being what he's been doing for the last few thousand years and it turned him into a god. But after rotating it in my mind a bit, it did sort of make sense to me as the Doctor reversing Sutekh down his own timeline, unwriting him (and at least his most recent, largest effects on spacetime) so that his existence unravels. The canon-welder in me can't help but wonder if the Doctor was using his Time Lord knack for dematerialising as seen in The War Games, perhaps even the powerful influence on the universe that the Time Lords have in Death Comes To Time; something he never wants to use as a weapon on principle, and is deeply ashamed to be put in a position where all of the universe can be saved if he just utterly destroys one life.

Or if you think this is all silly, that's okay. This is just how I have fun 😊 I hope everyone else enjoys TV shows in their own way.

Now I just need to do some canon-welding to explain why there's a whistle-activated laser cannon in the TARDIS console.

[lunarw0rks]

Through The Ashes | Chapter Five

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): my attempt at slow-burn, canon-typical violence, mild language, mentions of violence, injuries, blood, hurt/comfort kinda??

A/N: I've been using dialogue from the campaign for these chapters, so hopefully it translates well enough. Thank you for all the support :) | Word Count: 3.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

Kiss Of Judas

Valeria remained completely silent during the entire helicopter ride, refusing to look anyone around her in the eyes. She never expected to be caught, at least not by foreign forces. She was a complicated woman in your eyes, always nearly impossible to read.

You still felt jumpy and wired from the whole operation as the adrenaline began to dwindle, which was not helping your impatience. Valeria was the reason for your condition, but also the reason you didn’t get the life squeezed out of you. And yet, here she was, not giving your Task Force any reach on where to find the missiles.

You opened the door with your keycard and stepped inside, seeing her sitting in the middle of the room—surrounded by your team and the allies.

Her eyes flicked up at you when she heard the motion, mirroring the look she had in her eyes when you were the one in the interrogation chair. You ran your tongue over the cut on your lip, keeping a blank expression.

“Las Almas needs me,” she purrs, giving Alejandro and you a glance. She was searching for any sign of emotion in your eyes as if testing you. You weren’t going to give it to her, or anyone else in this room who tried the same.

Alejandro bends down closer to her, hovering his face in front of hers. “Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios… And you,” he begins, looking back at you before he speaks, as if referencing what she let happen to you. “You disgrace the Army, Valeria.”

She wasn’t like Hassan.

He was too emotional when backed into a corner—he was cruel. She always kept a cool attitude about her, always steps ahead of her enemies. And she harbored one skill you hadn’t mastered yet—keeping your enemies close.

Ghost remains posed against the wall, only keeping his eyes trained on the target. “You’re a narco harboring a terrorist.”

Valeria maintains a grimace, carelessly leaning against the back of her chair. “Terrorism is good for business, it’s insurance.”

“Innocent civilians turned to ash, all to protect your drug game?” You finally spoke up, crossing your arms to your chest. When law enforcement is more focused on maimed civilians, they turn a blind eye to the war on drugs.

She ignores what you’re implying, too intelligent to admit that out loud. “To find your terrorist and your missiles, you need me.” Valeria tilts her head, observing the tightness you were carrying in your posture.

Graves approaches her from behind, gripping one of her shoulders with a gloved hand. “I want the missiles, I want the targets, and I want Hassan. You’ve got ten seconds or I’m gonna show you the difference between the military and me.” For once, his combativeness might get you the answers you needed.

To get to Valeria, you needed to mirror her. Ladylike interrogation was not the way she did things, so the opposite was all she knew.

“I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I’ll tell you where Hassan is.” She never meets Graves’ eyes. “In exchange, you will let me go. And get the fuck out of Las Almas.”

“Deal.” Graves loosens his grip and nods his head to the rest of you.

Making a deal with her was not in the team’s best interest, not in the slightest.

Graves only saw the big picture ahead of him, and he didn’t pay any mind to the people he would trample to get to that goal.

—

The intel Valeria grave led your team to an oil rig miles out on the Gulf Of Mexico. Considering how horribly wrong your last mission involving water went, you were hesitant to see the team going along with it, even if it did lead to the missiles.

How could you be sure Valeria was being honest? She had no reason to. She had the entirety of your unit wrapped around her fingers, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

Perhaps you were lucky you nearly died the previous night because you were going to sit the mission out.

You’re sat on your bunk, cleaning your pistol with a rag, being the only person left in the quarters. Your eyes flick up toward Ghost as he approaches. Usually you would ignore him, or have some snarky remark, but there were bigger problems everyone was facing.

“Do you think the missiles will be where she said they would?” You questioned, setting the rag on the mattress beside you.

“She knows if she gives us this, we’ll have no choice but to set her free.” He keeps his eyes on the ground, still refusing to look you in the eyes. “We’ve been through situations like this before. Terrorists are all the same—only out for themselves.”

You nodded and dropped down from the top bunk to face him. He turned around hesitantly, his face contorting in confusion.

You looked around the room, making sure it was clear before you spoke. “What about Graves? Is he only out for himself?” You muttered, leaning close to him.

“He’s an ally of ours, until we know otherwise, you need to act like it, Sergeant.” He grumbled while reaching for his pack. The truth was, Ghost didn’t trust any of them either. The way Graves forced you into the operation yesterday made him seethe.

Ghost blinked away the emotions that filled him. The flashbacks he had, hearing you struggle for yourself in his ear, the gunshot that followed with silence—all while all he could do was stay put on the hillside.

He grabbed his bag and looped it around his shoulder. “Just say put here, and don’t make any more enemies while you’re at it. Think you can handle that?” He added, looking down at you as if you were dirt on his shoes.

You knew you were right. The most spiteful people have their weaknesses, and Graves had one for sure. Even if no one believed you now, they would soon. You just hoped no one had to die for it to become clear.

—

You’re awoken by what sounds like a disturbance outside, and the voices are familiar. The team must be back from disarming the missiles. You look at the clock, seeing it’s early in the morning.

You sit up straight and gather your composure, curious about what’s going on. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all.

“This is my base.” You press your ear to the wall, hearing Alejandro’s voice first.

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility, and I admire it.” Graves speaks next. “So, I’m taking it.”

You feel like your jaw dropped to the floor. You were right all along, and things were about to go very bad very fast. You climb off your bunk and put on your backpack, grabbing all of your gear. 

“Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost asks. You can practically feel the tension building, even if all you’re hearing is bits and pieces.

You peer out the window, seeing them standing at the gate. Alejandro is inches from Graves’ face; Soap is in the middle of it; and Ghost preemptively has a hand on his knife, searching for any excuse to use it.

Where are the rest of Los Vaqueros? The realization came that you hadn’t seen any of them since the team left.

A burst of gunfire filled your ears, making you jump. You didn’t have time to sit around and watch, and you weren’t going to be the next person sent home in a box. You grab your pistol and make sure it’s loaded and ready.

The compound will be swarmed with Shadows any minute now—and there was no time to regroup with your team.

You hear Graves’ voice again, but this time through a nearby radio, followed by the stomping of boots. “2-0, cordon the compound. If you find Ghost and Soap, keep them contained. Find the other one, she won't get far.”

You kneel behind the large structural pillar, watching as one of the Shadows patrols the sleeping quarters. He turns his back to respond, “Sleeping quarters are clear, Sir. No sign of her.” You crept behind him, jamming your knife into his jugular.

He goes down quietly, only suffering for a matter of seconds. The Shadow didn’t deserve your brutality. He couldn’t have known what hand Graves was going to play up until now. Still, it was better for them to be dead than you. And there was no time for a moral dilemma.

You jog to the armory, finding it cleared out. Graves was thinking way ahead of just taking the building, he was taking the inventory too, leaving your team with nothing. “Goddammit,” you muttered to yourself, before dashing back to the Shadow’s body. You winced as you ripped the rifle from the corpse’s stiff fingers.

You need to keep moving.

You advance to the upper level, wagering that it would be less noticeable to take one of the side exits up top. You do just that, finding a window in one of the offices to squeeze yourself through. Your feet prowl down the metal steps, keeping your eyes peeled for any hostiles. Lucky for you, the backend of the base isn’t well protected.

Your boots crunch the gravel below you, even when acting at your stealthiest. You reach one of the tall chainlinks bordering the perimeter, and loop one foot through it, taking each ascendant one foot at a time.

You reach the top, using the fabric of your shirt to protect your hands from the barbed wire. You carefully swing your leg over, and follow with the other, now descending down the other side. You drop down once the distance is close enough, taking only a second to catch your breath.

The easy part's over—now you needed to find an area that wasn’t crawling with Shadows on the lookout for your face.

The previous night's injuries didn’t make the ordeal any easier. You found yourself having to rest quicker than usual, almost letting out pained grunts when you extended your limbs. You needed to push through it, just like you did when you survived the tunnels.

You removed one of the backpack straps off your shoulders, leaving it to rest on one side, while the weapon rested on the other. You need to get out of here before another Shadow patrol rotates your way again.

The only sound in the distance was chirping insects, and faint traffic pollution from the city and the base behind you. Things were too quiet.

“Commander, possible sighting by the North Tower, engaging now.” You heard faintly, making your eyes bulge. Your feet carried you before your mind could decide to, making some distance between yourself and the noise.

You felt the rush of the bullets whizzing around you as you bolted until eventually you were knocked down by a lucky one. Your body tumbled down, rolling into one of the ditches. You felt a fiery sting on the fatty part of your hip, flinching as you pulled down the part of your waistband atop the wound. It was a deep slice, bloody and jagged torn skin.

Mercifully, the backpack slowed down the force of the bullet when it zipped through. It grazed your skin instead of being buried inside it.

“Approaching to confirm the hit, Sir.” The voice from before carries, as it echoes through the vastness of the humid air.

“Don’t confirm it—Finish it.” Graves chirps through, sending a rush through your veins. Once the Shadow finds you, it wouldn’t be a graze. If there was any chance of making it out of here, you needed to either choose fight or flight.

You muffled the sounds of agony escaping through your lips, biting into them instead. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for your pistol.

The soldier’s radio static grew louder as he examined the ditch, expecting you to still be laying there. In reality, you were behind one of the concrete dividers lining the path. Before he noticed you, you fired off one shot, dropping the Shadow. You followed the lights of the city in the distance, getting yourself as far away from where you fired as possible.

When you made it several yards away from the compound, finding yourself on a sidestreet, you finally utilized the radio clipped to your collar.

You turned the knob, finding the correct channel so it would go straight to anyone in 141 and not the Shadows. “This is 7-1, how copy? Anyone?” You grew frustrated at the lack of answer. “I repeat, this is 7-1. Anyone copy?”

The voice glitched at first, before it finally came through. He says your name, his tone filled with defeat and worry.

“How copy, Sergeant? You injured?” The reception finally cleared, allowing you to hear it clearly.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “I’m hit, but solid. I got a dozen Shadows chasing my tail. What the hell happened?”

Ghost doesn’t answer your question, but deflects. You sense it has to do with what he spat your way before they left. He knew you were right about Graves, and he wasn’t, and he couldn’t handle admitting that right now.

“There’s a church near the plaza. I’m heading there now. Any sign of Johnny?”

“No. You’re the first I’ve come in contact with. Was he hit? I heard shots before I got out of there.” You continue down the backroad, approaching the main district of Las Almas.

“Affirmative. Keep your eyes peeled for him. And watch your back, Sergeant.” The line cuts after he finishes his sentence, leaving you to stay alive on your own. Soap must be somewhere in the shops in the same prickly situation you are.

There was no time to search for Soap, especially if he’s left a trail of Shadow bodies through the city. You’re of no use out here when you’re bleeding all over yourself.

You needed to find Ghost.

—

Each time a gun fired in the distance, you had to double check you weren’t hit again, even though it felt foolish.

You finally reached the outskirts of the plaza, where the Church was sitting on the top of a hill. It looked almost ancient, tilting to one side. You hovered your finger over the pistol trigger as you crept to the door. You pushed it open, hearing it creak loudly as you did so. There was no light inside, except for where the night sky peaked through the holes in the walls, and one large gap in the roof.

Finally, you spotted his figure near the altar, knelt beside it. You limped up to it, meeting his eyes, which were all you could see given the dark clothing he was wearing.

You slowly dropped to your knees next to him, placing your pistol in the holster. “No sign of Soap while I was out there. Goddamn city is infested with Shadows.”

He nodded at your update, grabbing one of the stray candles off the altar. He fishes out his lighter and puts it to the wick, illuminating your battered appearance, while allowing you to view him.

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, studying him as he takes the backpack off your shoulders, and begins to dig through it.

“I didn’t have time to pack supplies. There’s nothing whole in there.” You comment, watching as his brow tightens in concentration.

He still hasn’t uttered a word this entire time, simply returning deep glances through the warm candle fire. You flinch when he reaches toward you, but his hands are gentle and slow. He pulls up the fabric of your shirt only slightly, and pulls down the side of your waistband now turned a deep maroon.

You keep still as he examines the graze. He grips the sleeve of his jacket, and rips off a square of fabric with ease, beginning to pack the wound. You snuff out your struggles when he touches the tender parts, clenching your jaw instead.

For the first time, it wasn’t him saving you because he had to; he was because wanted to. He was showing an inkling of the tenderness buried deep within him.

He finished packing the wound with the tear of fabric, before carefully covering your bare hip with your waistband again.

You rise to your feet again, making sure not to put pressure on that side of you. You’re expecting hours of silence between you and him—hours of agonizing silence.

He finally speaks once his back is turned to you, as if he can’t look you in the eye. “You were right about Graves.” He sounded apologetic, like if he had just believed you before, none of this would’ve happened to you.

You tilted your head delicately, stepping closer to him. “Ghost… This isn’t on you. You couldn’t have known Graves would flip.”

He was looking down at the wood floor below him in disappointment, looking as if he wanted to curse himself. You reached out your hand, placing your fingertips on his forearm.

“Ghost,” you whispered. He shook his head and gathered himself before facing you, flinching away from your hand. His eyes had gone glossy, filled with angst.

“If this is about what I said, Ghost—It’s not a concern of mine anymore… We clearly have bigger problems.” You finished your sentence with a light smile, trying your best to lighten the mood. Your attempt to add comedy did nothing to ease him tearing himself apart inside.

“Did you hear me, Simon?” The first time you’ve said his name. He casted a look you’d never seen before. Not hardness, not anger, just torment.

“People like me don’t belong with people like you, Sergeant.” His exterior ran cold again, and he straightened his posture. “Everything that we did, everything you went through because of it, that was all me. Got it?”

You were stunned, completely stunned. You spent so long being angry at him, that you were blind to the truth of it. It wasn’t arrogance he used as a shield, it was his scars.

“Simon-” You repeat, feeling like you have been sucker-punched in the gut.

“Don’t say my name like it means something to you. None of it meant anything to me.” He snaps, stepping closer to you, using his frame to tower over you. The vulnerability he showed only last seconds before it quickly became a thorn in your side.

He lowered his voice to give his last blow. “I break everything I touch… I’ll break your heart, Love.”

You felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes. You tried to be stronger than this, but paired with everything you’d been through to get you to this spot, it was too much.

You quickly wiped them away and ripped your backpack from his grasp, slinging it back on your shoulder. You hurried toward the church doors, painting your face void of the emotions you were feeling.

Once you were outside, you radioed the frequency again. “Soap, how copy?”

He replied almost instantly. “Copy. I’m by the shopping district.”

Instead of following behind Ghost like usual, you led him. You ducked through alleyways, avoiding the Shadows rather than taking them out. There were still too many left to count. When you reached the shopping district, you and Ghost split off to take out each hostile one by one. With each kill, you followed the bloody trail that would lead you to Soap.

When you laid eyes on him, you let out a breath of relief. He was only hit on his arm, and it went through.

“Forgive me, Lass.” He was slumped against a brick wall, holding his injury. “But you look horrible.” At least you knew there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with him now. Focusing on him made you forget about your troubles with Ghost, even for just a minute.

“Well, it’s clear there’s no brain damage.” You said backhandedly, reaching out your hand to him.

You helped him to his feet and found an empty vehicle that was left behind, allowing him to climb inside. Ghost took the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes trained on the passing views as Ghost sped out of the city, showing no signs of slowing down for anything.

Las Almas was soon to be a distant memory—a memory that lingered within you nonetheless.

—

You craned your neck up at the aquamarine sky, your attention locked to it. You had to find the beauty of this place somewhere, even if the experience was only filled with violence and heartache.

The rest of your team was finishing up business with Valeria. You decided to sit it out. The closer you stood to the plane, the faster you would be climbing inside of it when they finished their business here.

Price and the rest of the Task Force approached the cargo plane you were standing by, making you break your gaze with the sky.

“Good work here, Private.” He patted your back and then returned his hands to the collar of his tactical vest.

“It’s not over yet. Valeria was privy to a third missile, somewhere in Chicago. Might be another long flight.” You acknowledged the update, following him onto the plane. It never truly ends, does it?

There are only moves and countermoves until there’s no one left standing to shoot at or bomb.

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck

[wherestoriescomefrom]

one of my students got me thinking about this i guess - but i think the relationship "translation" as a category has with originals is very similar to the relationship fanfiction has with canon in the current publishing world. we were discussing good vs bad translation, and i told her point blank that i find the debates and discussions in translation theory very meaningless when they reach a specific point - there's just so much intellectual labour being spent on arguing about whether translation manages to capture the essence of the source language, and whether true meaning can ever be conveyed through the target language. and then there's brain dead idiots at every translation and literature conference (please don't ask about these) who will say something so absurdly stupid about the nature of communication and phrase it in the dumbest way possible like "is writing an act of translation in itself?" like please be serious.

and i'm not even saying that some of this work isn't useful - it's interesting to figure out the quirks and idiosyncrasies of a language, to see how its rhetorical and poetic modes might get exposed through the act of translation. and even better is to do some form of demographic analysis of translation with relation to more material relations of power - for instance, huge numbers of south asian languages get translated to english as opposed to hindi texts being translated to, say, telugu. there's a power relation there that's interesting to explore! but i could genuinely care less about whether the true meaning of the text is being conveyed through translation and about what is being lost or gained. in part because even if you spoke to hundred practitioners of the same language spread geographically wide enough, the meaning of any word is going to be debatable and might acquire new kinds of associations. but this discourse about "loss" and "transcreation" is so irritatingly pervasive in any kind of analytical work on translation, you'd think translators are the last bastion that represent lost meaning.

and one of the main reasons why i think this line of thinking is useless is because translation as it is currently defined and discoursed over exists in relation to IP law, just in the same way as fanfiction only exists because IP law exists. when there is a text that has "true meaning" which belongs to the author in the sense that the intellectual class can own a true version of the text - and translation is just needlessly justifying it's existence with relation to this IP law all the time - enveloping itself in mystique around loss of meaning and how much translation is also a creative process. as a counter example, the act of translating something to another language has been a mainstay of trade and storytelling circulation from time immemorial - and i sincerely doubt that all those people were constantly worrying over whether they were correctly translating the "true meaning" of cinderella at any point.

i don't think these are new thoughts for me that much, but sometimes u just gotta. articulate it for yourself, you know? because that comparison between fanfiction and translation really cemented it for me, neither of these things exist outside of the kind of protections that IP law gives the owners of any intellectual property. it's just so much more useful to study Zohar's polysystem theory even if it seems to have a linear bend to it which is not always useful, and even if it might seem dated at times. like that's a GOOD analytical tool - translation as circulation as opposed to whatever the fuck "is writing an act of translation✨✨" is,,,

[princess-of-the-corner]

Love the idea that Bruce tries and utterly fails to intimidate Tom and is also stuck being smaller and less broad than him XD

Though as an aside, I've never really gotten the whole "How dare the JLA leave the Miraculous Heroes to fight Hawk Moth alone!" moral outrage.

I mean off the cuff Bruce is a member, he doesn't have an excuse not to know, especially given his penchant for stalking and stealing intel.

But also like, the canonical reason they'd have not interfered is because they didn't exist in universe and the author not being willing to consider what their presence in the story from the start might mean. It wasn't negligence, they didn't exist and then authors/fandom are putting the blame on them after putting them there.

Does that make sense?

Though as a greater aside, given the way the Miraculous Magic works, and the fact teen super hero teams are a thing. I also tend to find the "How dare" aspect come off as a little tonally dissonant. Its entirely reasonable to assume the Justice League assumed the heroes were adults because of the magic. Or that teen hero teams and teen heroes (OF which there are tons) are so normalized that this didn't strike them as odd.

Which like, yeah one can bring the latter up as a problem, but then they'd need to reach out tot he Titans, Young Justice, dozens of Indi teen heroes. Many of whom tend to not want random other heroes crow-barring their way into their business anyway in order for the narrative to not feel inconsistent.

I dunno, it just kind of gets to me I guess?

Its like those fics that introduce stuff like certain laws of war or cultural customs so they can say "X villain is actually super noble and heroic for Y action. The heroes are the real war criminals!"

Not the same obviously, but its introducing a new element to the world, but then refusing to let key characters respond to those changed elements and then blaming them for not responding when they didn't have any agency in this scenario, ya know?

Oh yeah absolutely like.

It's definitely a Doyalist explanation in that yeah this is a Crossover. Batman and ML don't /actually/ share a Universe.

But then I do agree on the Watsonian thing of just. There's so many Hero Teams and some of them are made up of kids. I think at /worst/ there'd be outrage in the idea of 1.) purposefully recruiting children (a lot of the other teen Heroes kinda fell into this life, they weren't pulled into it for no reason than 'let's make child heroes'), and 2.) they're yeeted into this with no training whatsoever. (The former of those points swings back to Doyalist 'we can't have a story of these kids being Heroes without bending this a bit')

So yeah I think in a world of other Heroes, the rest go 'well that ain't my jurisdiction. I'll help if asked but they can do their own thing."

[thedeviljudges]

HI <3

I am curious to know if u have any unpopular or not so popular opinions regarding The devil judge canon or fanon? if u are interested of course! i hope u have a nice day <3

i have two that i can explain below, but it's not the end of the world to me (well no. one bothers me but also w/e). ultimately i split the way i view tdj in the sense of like, there's au stuff that is more canon-compliant and then there's alt-uni stuff that's canon-compliant, but also au stuff that i love but feel it's a bit ooo but they're my little playthings so idc, lmao.

but here are two. the first one is a hill i'm willing to die on. the second is me just like, pleaseeeeee can we consider but not a big deal, lmao.

gaon never had any intention of marrying soohyun, dating her or believed he would actually end up with her. he did not romantically love her in any sense of the word. i see this written in fic quite often, and i've explained this is previous meta posts - but the reason gaon ran back to soohyun and kissed her wasn't because he woke up and realized his feelings. he went back to what he knew; he went to her because she was comfortable, because it's all he's ever known, and the thought of parting from that was terrifying. let's even take gahan out of this - yohan challenged gaon in a way he'd never experienced. yohan let gaon exist and make mistakes and be himself for what's arguably the first time in his life. soohyun didn't like that, and gaon was given an ultimatum by her because she didn't like his choices. she whipped him back into her 'perfect boy' box she's held the key to for years, and he did it because he couldn't lose her. not because he was in love with her but because when you've known someone since you were 16 years old and they were there for you through one of the darkest times of your life and that's one of the only friends you have? yeah, what choice are you going to be making between that or an extremely agenda-driven, sometimes violent older man willing to bend the law and that you've only known for just a few months? if that also meant giving into soohyun's advances and dating/marrying her and being unhappy for the rest of his life, gaon was willing to do it. gaon's growth in the tdj is recognizing that being in that box with the professor and soohyun kept him from the reality of the world, but going about finding justice yohan's way only puts more people in danger. gaon's a hidden little gem ready to become the third option and answer for a country that desperately needed change.

ik we all think yohan is a sex pot ,and he weaponizes his beauty to get what he wants, which i think is trueeeee. but when it comes to actual sex, not just the flirting side, i have two ideas i think can coexist: yohan has slept with others vs. yohan has never been with anyone at all, and i wish the latter was explore more because it makes a whole lot of sense to me that yohan is touch-averse because of the physical abuse; he was never liked as a child/teen, and he's always had other priorities and chose to focus on schooling over dating. his self-loathing and believing he was truly a monster also factors into this.

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader, eventually Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 2601 Contents: Wakanda! A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 27

... Reader’s PoV ...

Wakanda wasn’t really the top priority in geography, and you have had to google it to find out what to pack. Situated in Africa (I knew that), just at the border of Kenya (which I didn’t know) where the rain forest is clinging on to the mountains for dear life. In other words: warm and humid most of the time, but as a former scout, it’s a bit of everything that is rolled tightly, placed in a little ocean-coloured trolley, and before you know it someone is pushing the doorbell.

Down on the street is a big, black, heavy-looking car with tinted windows. It looks more like a piece of concrete on wheels with it’s perfect sense of anything but aerodynamics. A man, very much similar in build, takes the little trolley and holds the door open, allowing you to climb up onto the back seat. Moments later you’re driving off and not a word has been said to answer your greetings or questions.

…

Having left New York in favour of New Jersey, the driver brings you all the way on to the tarmac of Teterboro Airport. Every single plane you see out of the passenger window looks like private jets of various sizes. Some of them have cars or limousines standing close by ensuring their owners easy and comfortable travelling without the bother of other mundane people. You’re all for luxury…but in the right way: private jets are way over the top.

The driver stops the car with a slight jerk in the middle of nowhere (until you look out the other side and see the landing gear and a staircase leading out of sight). As you step out, a fairly big, black and silver jet is revealed, on it’s tail is the Wakandan flag. As opposed to the car, this machine is sleek, obeying the laws of physics with the pointy nose, and the tips of the wings bending upwards it looks fast and futuristic.

”Ma’am, follow me.” It’s the first words the driver has uttered and his light voice startles you.

Trailing after him, you reach the cabin which is tastefully furnished with big, dark leather seats and something that looks like mahogany tables and windowsills. The carpet on the floor is lush and black with tiny silvery patterns. Placing the luggage in a small cabinet near the back of the jet, your travel companion explains the usual safety precautions as well as where to find the loo and blankets. He will be in the cockpit, unless you need him or when he serves the meals or drinks. As he disappears up front again, you choose a seat that you almost sink completely into, but only after having found your laptop and a book.

...

Under normal circumstances, the seat has to be upright during take off and landing, even so you’re awakened by the touch down while still lying down, snuggled up under a blanket. Looking out, all you can see beyond the tarmac are trees, tall and lush with vines hanging down and impossible shrubs and flowers taking up every inch of space in between. Far above are the pale colours of the morning sky.

Gathering your belongings is easily done, and when you follow your guide out of the jet, you’re met by a bald woman standing next to yet another black and bulky looking car.

“Get in. Please.” It seems more like protocol than actual politeness. “I am to take you the rest of the way.”

Once more, you find yourself on an awkwardly silent ride, but this time the scenery is full of life and able to distract, as the car follows a winding road up towards the mountains to the west of where you’ve landed.

Eventually, you get close to a city on the shores of a big river. In the far distance, there is a plummeting waterfall which feeds the currents and brings life to the surrounding areas. This must be the capital? There are small buildings and bigger ones. New and fancy looking, made of modern materials, but also smaller houses of stone, clay or wood. It seems to still be early, but as your clock is still set for New York, it’s hard to be sure…at least it can’t be ten in the evening. Regardless, some of the inhabitants are awake and each and every single one of them stop and stare after the vehicle as it passes.

This happens until you have left the town behind and head on towards the waterfall that has disappeared behind jutting mountainsides. The car passes a sharp corner allowing the Wakandan version of Mount Rushmore to come into view. It’s not faces hewn out of rock, but an enormous onyx panther, it’s face frozen in an intimidating snarl, what is visible of the body is body poised to protect or attack from its position on the precipice. Above it is a building, almost like a spire, of bright beams crisscrossing. Driving right underneath it is intimidating even if it’s only made of rock.

The road ends where the waterfall tumbles into the lake, frothing and thundering the power of nature makes it impossible to hear anything, but the hand gestures of T’Challa’s assistant are clear. Grabbing your stuff, you follow the woman down a path towards the base of the cliffs. Through the mist, you see Ayo reach and push the wet surface causing a low rumble to begin before, somehow, the curtain of water moves outwards, revealing a passage behind it.

Taking care of the slippery ground, you both make your way in to a sort of ante chamber lit with thin tubes of fluorescent material and leading you towards a door at the back of the room. That looks like an elevator.

After yet another button has been pushed, the steel barring the passage slides open, allowing you to step into the most common looking elevator, you’ve seen in a long time. Faded steel panels and a worn linoleum floor. The few buttons have been used for so long that it’s hard to read the numbers on them. The added weight to your feet and knees signals that it’s moving upwards and soon a delicate pling announces the arrival as the doors part once more to grant exit into a hallway that stretches on in a soft curve to both sides.

Ayo has already started walking to the left, and you hurry to follow her on the banana-shaped path. On the way, you sense people in many of the rooms and the levels below, some are Inhuman, a few are mutant, but most are normal human beings. To your great frustration, you can’t sense Bucky anywhere.

“You wait here.”

The Wakandan is the type of woman that you’d take orders from so you meekly oblige as Ayo indicates towards a chair next to a set of double doors. On the other side of them is T’Challa, busy with a meeting with a handful of other people, all young and strong like himself and the woman who has brought you here. A bit away from them, though, is one old woman. You can’t figure out what her role is, as she doesn’t seem to be participating in the talk. She does react to the sharp knock that announces the presence of Ayo before she walks in, just like anyone else.

…

As the time passes, you become grateful for the chair. Jet-lag is a bitch and, frankly, it’s boring to just sit and wait as it’s only partially possible to figure out the layout of place through peoples’ movements. The entire building must be behind the waterfall and underneath the river that feeds the endless masses that are plummeting over the edge. This idea is fortified by the structure of the floor. It seems to be one continuous piece of stone that varies subtly in it’s crystalline structure and colour, ranging from black through brownish towards the reds. A geologist would probably be able to tell what era it’s from, but all you can do is sit and admire the colours while you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Eventually the doors open, letting the Wakandans out after they each have crossed and uncrossed their arms before their chests as a salute to the king. They don’t say a word, but look at you with curiosity as they pass, the last one closing the door behind her, allowing a shorter and more intimate meeting with just T’Challa, Ayo and the old woman to take place without any disturbances before Ayo comes to fetch you.

Something must have been said, because you’re met with a giggly smile that makes the eyes of the old woman contradict her apparent age, whereas Ayo looks, if possibly, even more pissed off than usual.

The king is kind and courteous, though, standing up to greet with an outstretched hand and a smile fit for a tooth paste commercial. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

He indicates towards a swivel chair by the oval wooden table and again you oblige, placing you with the back to the old woman and a big panoramic window to the left. What at first appears to be curtains turn out to be the waters plummeting down in an eternity.

“I trust you had a good journey? Still, I apologize for the short warning.”

If you’d had any complaints they would now have melted away because of the sincerity in his voice. “I do wonder how I’ve come to earn this visit.”

Behind you, a big smile indicates some sort of approval that you have yet to understand. She’s just a normal human being, not Inhuman or something crazy.

“King, it’s not too late to send her away.” It’s only a matter of milliseconds before you realize what Ayo just said.

“Okoye should have instructed you? She is one of them now and as such she’s an ally.” The patience in his voice is almost tangible as he quells any further discussion. Turning back to you, he smiles apologetically before explaining. “It was admittedly not my first choice to call upon you but Captain Rogers is indisposed and he said that you are qualified to lend any assistance he might have offered.”

“An appraisal I’m happy to hear but still doesn’t fully explain what it is you expect.”

A soft giggling from the old woman announces that not everyone finds the answer insolent.

“No.” A mild smile curves his mouth. “The standing agreement is for the Captain to be present when it’s time to wake up his friend Barnes. He believed that you could fill this role, but obviously, I am somewhat concerned as to why there is this change. Captain Rogers would not explain this, but promised that you would answer any questions. So tell me…what is going on?”

The happy butterflies that were set lose with the first sentence are calmed once more by the time he finishes talking.

“Oh…where to start? It is my understanding that you have met all of the Avengers except Thor and Doctor Banner?”

“Correct, we have tried to keep an eye on the doctor though. His last visit to this continent was not without consequences.”

A mild scoff from Ayo signals just how much T’Challa has downplayed the severity of Banner hulking out in Johannesburg a couple of years ago.

“Then you’d also know that Banner has disappeared again.” You try to gauge their reactions but their faces are guarded and don’t betray what they might think of it. “This time it may be involuntary though...we’ve been trying to find out how it happened, who are behind it and to prepare for the worst.”

Silence can be loud and deafening, but this one is like a vacuum that tries to combat time itself as the words settle in the facial expressions of the three Wakandans in the room.

“A force that stands against the people of this world.” The king’s voice is barely more than a deep growl.

“We do not know who is behind it. There is much we don’t know about other worlds and…realms. The Chitauri that invaded New York together with Loki were the first lesson on these matters and though we have gotten to understand more about the Kree, the people that created us Inhumans, and the Asgardians…we are still like babies discovering the world for the first time,” you sigh, rubbing the forehead to ease off the tension building there, “our worry is that it may be a being called Thanos, but frankly we don’t know. It could be anyone or anything.”

Sitting down heavily on chair next to her, T’Challa supports his head on a hand, brows furrowed. “It seems I have more questions now than when you walked into this room.”

It takes a while, explaining the many things that have let up to this moment. Some of it are yesterday’s news to him, but not all. Filling the holes is not straight forward and some things have to be repeated or rephrased before T’Challa is satisfied that you have left nothing out.

With a sigh, he thanks you and promises to call on you soon. In the meantime, you have to follow Ayo and she’ll make sure you are taken care of for the rest of the day.

Does she have the same understanding of that phrase?

Still there is nothing left for you to do but follow the somewhat reluctant guide once more.

A few floors down, she opens a door to a rather lovely room, fit for more fancy hotels with plushy dark carpet to shield from the cold of the stone floor. A big, neat bed and a view out through the mist of the right side of the waterfall. Far below is the lake looked over by the seemingly vigilant stone panther.

“Even though his majesty sees you as a guest, it is my duty to ask you not to wander around. Food will be brought to you.”

Ayo has shut the door behind her by the time you tear the eyes from the scenery outside the window but even though the Wakandan leaves, she doesn’t trust the foreigner. Soon a young man, judging by his build and stance he must be a trained soldier, has taken up a spot outside the door.

Settling into a hotel would entail unpacking, finding the breakfast room and such things. Here it’s only a matter of getting out the toiletries and getting a shower after the flight. It’s a good thing you brought a book, because there is no TV and you know better than to test the man outside. You’re rereading “1984”, so you’re able to keep the mind off any futile attempts at finding Bucky on the radar.

…

The only interruption is from a quiet young woman, much meeker than Ayo, that arrives at dinner time with an impressively laden tray. You recognize some of it as couscous and flatbread and some sort of beef in a stew. The fragrances of cardamom, cumin and pepper fills the room making the mouth water.

As soon as you have eaten, the jet-lag finally hits with full force. Opening the door, and making the guard look alarmed, you tiptoe out to place the tray on the little cart that was used to bring the meal down here originally. On the way in, you smile and nod to him. His not much more than 20 years old and he seems relieved with the lack of trouble the guest causes after all.

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

Ok, kids (e.g. miserable and traumatized adults) I’m going to level with you real quick. “Suffering for Christ is fun!” And “the heart is deceitful above all things” are fucking dogwhistles and the absolute basis of fundie brainwashing. Right, ok, watch this:

A list of Bible verses intended to encourage folks under violent persecution under Nero are cherry picked to make you feel guilty for whatever way religious control isn’t fun for you. Christ can handle Roman torture so you can surely handle _______.

Now you feel bad about, say, your massively gay longings, because repressing them can’t possibly be as awful as Jesus’s death.

Which by the way was your fault.

If that sounds wrong, it’s because your judgement can’t be trusted.

In fact, it’s a privilege to be unhappy because Jesus was unhappy, and we wanna be like Jesus.

Also you killed god sooooo 👉👈

DO YOU SEE THE PIPELINE? Do you fucking see it?? Read it again if you’re not sure.

Ok, guess what else:

Jesus wasn’t unhappy. They called him a drunk and a glutton because he was so lit at his friends’ weddings.

Canonically, jesus had a lot of sex worker friends and you don’t hear him giving them shit. All his dialogue is in red btw, it’s pretty easy to find.

Jesus spent a lot of time with groups excluded by previous dogma and repeatedly let his disciples blow off textual rules when it better served those around them in their present context.

He’s really pretty emphatic about food security and healthcare. As in bending the laws of physics to get lunch for strangers and cure them of weird diseases. It’s pretty neat.

I don’t know or care who Jesus Christ is to you, but I’m just gonna set the record straight that he was killed in a rough way after hoofing it around the Middle East with his twelve weird friends and some hoes. Do and think what you want but for the love of God, don’t let a mofo in front of a praise band use my guy to guilt trip you out of basic happiness and humanity.

Anyway, I am a Christian adult. This is what I and plenty of other Christian adults believe. I have 0 desire to control you or your relationships, I do not believe in hell, much less that you, precious beloved child, are going there. I am shouting at you hopefully over anyone who tells you that you are not enough and you deserve the pain you are in.

I love you so much. I wish you joy and nonviolence and authenticity. I wish you healthy food and cool tattoos. I wish you someone to love and loyal friends and an acceptance and a dope fucking jacket. I love you so much. Please be free, glorious, beautiful creature. It’s ok to be happy.

I might not be your mom but I am a mom. For what it’s worth, you deserve the world exactly as you are. If someone else disagrees, fuck that guy. Literally fuck that guy.

Palestine is being bombed the shit out of and the Orange One is running again. These are bad times. My blog is a safe space for you.

If it would feel nice to have someone pray for you, you can always reach out because I will 100% not condemn or pressure you to be any kind of way you’re not. You’re ok, dude.

[yikes-kachowski]

"Not to mention, I don't think the equalist movement is completely without merit. I actually have a lot of thoughts on equalists and nonbenders in general in meta and in universe."

I 100% agree, would you mind elaborating on this?

I swear had my thoughts on this written down some where but it looks like I do not. So @shalheretical is usually the one who handles these types of questions for me, but I'm doing this one. Sorry if it's not as good as it could be.

I want to start with the meta because I like to use the meta to inform the way nonbenders are seen in their society. In the meta, nonbenders have three ways they can be: evil, useless, or good at everything warriors. All nonbenders who are good and useful have to be smart and perfect at fighting and usually can't fight benders alone. Other nonbenders in any position of power are either evil and conniving or stupid and naive.

Nonbenders are also less spiritual than benders. They don't consider the environment. That's constant. In the show, in the comics, a nonbender looking for ways to become equal to benders or provide for their community is usually careless toward the spirits. They are almost insulting nature by thinking they can have power.

Bumi's plotline of being disconnected from his cultures because he can't bend was "solved" by him getting bending. After he gets his bending he tells Tenzin, "I never felt like an air nomad." Tenzin tells him, "Well you are now." Why only now? Why not you've been a part of your culture all along? Why couldn't the writers find a different way aside from giving him bending?

In TLOK they show nonbenders literally havinng to watch what they say around benders because it's so easy for them to be bullied into silence. The bender that harmed them for speaking their mind being Korra, by the way. Not to mention later when we hear them pleading "youre our avatar too."

Fanon has this issue too. The issue i lovingly call "the bumi problem." When trying to solve the way aang and katara made bumi feel excluded they say "he trained with sokka and suki, and became a great warrior." That's not the issue though. He doesn't need to be sent off to other people, he needs quality time with his own parents in his own culture. His siblings get a sacred practice that they spend hours paracticing with their parents each week. Obviously, bumi wants that too. But no one says "he learns how to cook air nomad food with aang" because that makes his skills less important. It's not about the fighting ability, it's about the culture and love.

Now, in universe stuff.

Bending is tied with power, inherently. The avatar, most powerful person, can bend four elements. That's how they show they are favored by the spirits and they are in charge. The fire nation sought to wipe out everyone who wasn't a firebender. They used their own nonbenders as canon fodder. (This colonial fire bending supremacy could have taken some hold in the places they harmed)

The racketeering from the triads also unfairly targets nonbenders as does all violence in the atla universe. They are the most helpless in any given situation. Hiroshi Sato brought his daughter up training in self-defense. That shouldn't be a requirement for nonbenders to feel safe.

The police in their universe, have a specialized team of metal benders to violently restrain people with whips.

In their universe, it just takes one bad night from a bender for your whole home and livelihood to be destroyed. This goes back to the racketeering, but also just one drunk earthbender getting angry. And the law does not seem to protect them.

Beyond that, imagine being raised your WHOLE LIFE knowing that the spirits didn't bless you, but they did bless the fire nation soldiers that murdered your grandparents. And they did bless the triad member who steals half your paycheck.

The nonbenders also seem to be shoved into on neighborhood according to TLOK season one which is just uncomfortable. Is there nonbender red-lining? Are they all so low income they can only afford to live there?

Lastly, in TLOK, after the equalist movement is brought down (firstly, i find it sort of disappointing in a meta way that nonbenders could only be granted power from a bender) no one even entertains the idea of looking at ways to make things more equal. No one even considers it.

Anyway, those are just some thoughts. This isn't 100% solid, but it's angles to consider. I find it interesting anyway. If you have a different perspective feel free to share :)

[flame-of-tar-valon]

musings on ffxiv politics in my very not-canon fanfic world:

so. firstly. I'm not precisely making any of these changes in the pursuit of 'realism'. I don't care how fantastical they are, really. any added complexity I introduce is purely in the interest of making them more interesting to write, for me.

now, a bit of context: I am a fan of Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time. in this series there is a focus on (fantasy) political maneuvering known as Daes Dae'mar, or the Game of Houses. this is essentially the process by which members of an aristocratic monarchy compete against one another for social position and political power, up to and including claims for thrones. Daes Dae'mar was very influential on my developing adolescent brain, to the point that two of my earliest tumblr urls were direct references to it.

so, naturally, I am motivated to flesh out the systems of governance for all of the relevant city-states. a lot of these are fleshed out in lore books or supplemental materials, but I am not referencing them while writing this post. I will reference them when writing my fic, though, so please bear with me if anything seems off. now, onto the meat of this post.

Part 1: Ul'dah

Ul'dah is the easiest, because it is the city-state with the most political intrigue of all of them. conflicts between the Sultana and the Syndicate erupt constantly, most notably in the 2.x MSQ. what I dislike about this is the way the game bends over backwards to keep the status quo. nanamo is a naive, powerless figurehead who wants to abdicate, but is poisoned before she can by a challenger. but yet ANOTHER opponent of hers swapped out the poison for a nonlethal one and orchestrated the former's execution at the hands of the sultana's fiercest defender! adeledji is an antagonist who wants to disrupt the status quo and has to be stopped; lolorito, on the other hand, profits from stability, so he saves the sultana's life, orchestrates adeleji's downfall, and covers up the entire thing to keep the peace — with strings attached.

how am I planning to change Ul'dah politics? first, by expanding the arena of potential future Syndicate members. the Syndicate is comprised of the six individuals who have provided the most wealth to the city, allegedly. how, then, is this wealth determined? is this a table where anyone rich enough can outbid someone for a seat? in my opinion, there needs to be competition for stations, influence, and financial power. maybe some of the seats are permanent: even just the head of the nation's military and church, respectively, leaving the other four seats up for grabs. THEN actually show the group of people vying for those last seats, show what happens when power changes hands — in canon, I'm not sure if the seats vacated by adeledji and raubahn were ever filled (unless pipin inherited his father's seat).

speaking of showing change: I don't want Nanamo to stay on the throne. she should dissolve the monarchy the way she originally planned to. yes it was naive, but the message of "oops ok I'll stay on the throne but learn to be more like lolorito but it's a good thing because I still have my pure heart <3" isn't something I'm interested in writing. have her abdicate. let it be messy. let her live a new life at the Silver Bazaar under a fake name.

Part 2: Limsa Lominsa

so Limsa Lominsa is in a really weird place as the most politically compelling to me and also the most disappointing execution to me. you have a bunch of major pirate* powers — in order to be a contender, all you need is a ship and a crew — and every seven years they have a contest and whoever wins is the dictator for the next seven years. that person's crew becomes the national military, but every other pirate crew is still out there, so the dictator needs to keep all her opposition happy. the dictator controls basically everything that is national — military, trade, land, treaties, law, whatnot.

to boil that down to "yeah the current ruler paused elections under martial law, outlawed piracy, and all three major opposition crews are fine with all that" is a bit of a letdown. sicard's duel was so cool! and hyllfyr's intervention was also badass! but I want things to be more complicated.

merlwyb's martial law has to end at some point. when it does, who will win rulership next, and what will her successor do with her ban on piracy and all her peace treaties? other crews won't always be content with not getting a seat at the planning table. but aside from the dictatorial crisis, consider: how is it decided which crews are politically significant enough to be worth mentioning? aside from merlwyb's League of Lost Bastards, there's rhoswen and carvallain who... have their thing going on, and hyllfyr who seems to just endorse merlwyb.

I want to explore how ambitious pirates with no fondness for taking orders scheme to rise to the top of the food chain, whether by taking the helm of the current powers or by steering their own crews into places of significance. I want to wade into the issue of how a curious libertarian autocracy accustomed to changing hands every seven years will need to change its inner workings to weather the tides of a changing political landscape as a post-piracy paradise.

also I love sicard. he will be a top player of Daes Dae'mar in my fic (and already is! if you haven't read How to Go Home Again, he's in [newly revised] chapter 2. gotta show up early to the msq these days. )

Part 3: Gridania

ok before I get started let me just say: I recently read that E-Sumi-Yan used to be the elder seedseer back at the start of 1.0. I'm bringing that back. nothing against Kan-E, it's just that for a position with 'Elder' in the title, a guy 200 years older than you probably deserves it more.

ok anyways. from what I read, Gridania is governed by a Seedseer Council who deliberate and discuss every issue of import before coming to a consensus. but on the brink of calamity, this slow deliberation was counterproductive, so they switched to just one person making decisions: Kan-E-Senna. I think they should switch back.

politics in Gridania seem to be much less linked to access to station and power, and much more linked to vested authority to carry out one's whims. those who are able and trained to interpret the elementals' will are given a lot of leeway in how they enforce their interpretation. they are not free from bias (looking at you, Hearer Marmaduke).

as it is presented ingame, there is not much room for the same internal politics in Gridania as in Ul'dah or Limsa Lominsa. I, however, think this is to Gridania's detriment, as internal political intrigue is one of the best ways to provide depth and investment into a setting.

in my fic, Gridania gets a couple shakeups, notably a mini-Greenwrath which calls the region's relationship to the Elementals into question. in the wake of this, there's groups of people who lose faith in entrusting the entire functioning of the city-state to the religious elite, and struggles for power take on a very "I know how to fix things better than they do" stance. I'm not fully sure what this will look like — Ul'dah has the Syndicate, and Limsa has the great pirate powers, but Gridania lacks a significant rulership opposition group. but I really WANT there to be one. Gridania needs it the most.

I think in order for that to happen, though, three region needs to stop being the Elementals' playpen. and I think the only way to stop painting it as such is to show how the Elementals in other parts of the world live. you cannot tell me that between Raincatcher Gully and Rootslake, only one of them has enough nature spirits to be significant to the running of that nation's government. (it probably has something to do with Amdapor, but I need to refresh my memory of the lore before I plan anything).

anyways. I'm struggling with planning the intrigue in the gridania chapters of my fic right now. that's why I decided to type this long-ass post.

[mushyposts]

New ocs 👀

Or is just pov and I am confused 🤔

Either way I am so excited to see!!!!!

I also am kinda wondering what are you fire Nation laws?(Everyone has different ones)

not a new OC! Som very special people are getting POV's in the next chapter hehehe... Im not too sure what you mean by laws, so im gonna take it as a general "What are the major laws thatll effect the fic" kind of thing! The Fire Nation has legal banishment for everyone, which I mentioned offhandedly in the fic. You can send a document to the Fire Lord, but usually its seen by his representatives for that area, to get someone you are legally in charge of (your children, adopted or not, anyone ur the legal guardian of, OR if they've committed treason under the military branch ur in control of! although that can sometimes open u up to speculation, why are so many in ur command questioning our great nation??? What are you teaching them?) banished, this can be conditional (like Zuko's was) or it can be permanent. Sexuality isnt spoken about, theres technically no laws around homosexuality as it isnt even given as an OPTION, the only law that mentions it is that any relationship not mentioned by Agni's words, is not permitted and is seen as a crime against Agni, and is punishable by conditional banishment or even death in some spaces. Since Sozin removed any mention of homosexuality, polyamory, or honestly any relationship/gender outside the cishet binary, this means that without even MENTIONING the idea of homosexuality, as they did not want to even give a name to it as name is power, they've made it functionally illegal. Agni Kai MUST be fought between the parties who initiated it. The one who asks, the one who accepts, unless the Fire Lord says otherwise. This includes him taking the place of, or even permitting (read: Forcing) others to take place for either party. This is meant to be used to protect members who may be unable to properly fight, but still need to have their honour protected. It is. NOT used in that way, usually used as a way for two people engaged in an Agni Kai to try get as better fighter as they can OR Ozai may swap strong benders for weaker one where he wishes another party to win. There arent many laws around women or men's roles. Its more so centric around bender or non-bender. If you can bend, you're expected to do military service on the battle grounds. If you cant, then youre expected to do compulsory military service as a desk worker or something of the sorts. very low ranking, but still something. Very rare for non-benders to climb up the ranks, this got more prevalent during Ozai's rule. I think for the most part the Fire Nation would rule through the unsaid, the inexplicit. Propaganda, subtle laws, technicalities. Keeping their nation as in the dark as they can, lack of proper education/severely distorted education (This is displayed in canon too when Aang goes to the fire nation school.) and it was done slowly, subtly over the years of the war, through twisted narratives. I do believe in explicit laws being present, of course, but I also think sometimes the most dangerous of things said, is what is left unsaid. Lack of explicit, direct legislation, also would give Ozai the opportunity to use loopholes, or consistently falling on Agni's word seeing as he is Agni's will on earth, he can do whatever TF he wants. Less explicit, the better for him in the long run. UH! Thats all I can think of at this point hehe. Also to be clear I havent actually watched LOK, nor have I read all the comics, so this is all based on my own world building after years of obsession w ATLA and atp im too attached to it to let the other stuff change my mind i am SORRY... I also just dont have time ot read all the comics and watch LOK.

[twilightichor]

If by any chance you like the characters I write (this goes for both Jinhsi and Dain in this context) and the way I have to approach things IC (I'd assume as much if we're mutuals, to be honest dfjhgj), I highly encourage you peeps to build our own thing. It doesn't matter if they're muses from different fandoms or the same. Do you want to write an idea but it's hard to make it happen for reasons? Let's talk it out and we'll find a way to make it work, it doesn't matter if we have to bend the laws of the canon in which our muses move.

[gendervapor14]

Hi there! Thank you so much for all your wonderful fics. Im slowly making my way through reading all of them and they are all. So. Good. I look forward to my nightly routine of pulling up one of your fics to read before bed : ). Anyways Saw u reblogged that post about undercover corazon meeting marine bellemere. How do you personally think thatd go? Im interested to hear your take!

FBAGBBGEANGSJJSJDG ?? ! ??

thank you so much oh my GOD i'm so touched??? every time i reread this ask a little part of me goes to heaven this is so nice this is curing every illness in my body it's healing my soul it's watering my crops

THANK YOU ♥♥♥ i'm so fucking happy you like my stories... i swear some of the stuff that comes out of my hands is just absurd so i'm unbelievably comforted by this

as for undercover marine corazon meeting bell-mere: this has been plaguing me for as long as i started shipping these two. which was as soon as i joined the fandom lmao. recently i've tried to plan a solid story structure for a potential wip but i'm still drawing blanks:

the issue is on me. for some reason, sometimes i have a difficult time bending canon around, and in order for these two to meet, canon would have to get a little twisted. even if we don't put ages into account, he was in the north blue as a donquixote pirate, and she was in the east blue as a marine, so she wasn't really moving around much, and neither was he? and it's awfully difficult to get from the east to the north. if we're playing strictly canon, she deserted the navy when she was about 20, so rosinante was 19, not even undercover yet.

right now, i think my current plan for them meeting is probably going to be when he's 25/26, so she'd be 27-ish. he'd be on the run with law. maybe he hears about this wonderful hospital in the east blue. they sneak onto some sort of government ship that needs to cross from north to east so they can make that jump. (his devil fruit makes being a stowaway pretty simple) they make it to the east blue. make it to the hospital. unsurprisingly, it's a bust. they hardly have any supplies left, any food. he goes to the nearest archipelago for a meal and some temporary shelter. lands on cocoyashi. and that's probably where they'd run into each other. i think it'd be fun if they had some history, too. maybe i could do this as a follow-up from let me kill your demons. if i decided to give that fic a happy ending XD

otherwise, i'm still trying to concoct another AU where they DO meet while she's a marine. i could just say "fuck it" and ignore the timeline for the sake of a quick, humorous little oneshot. i feel like she'd embody the kombucha girl meme looking at his corazon disguise.

anyway god sorry this is a lot of words THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of this ♥♥♥ sending you my best wishes

[necrocoleum]

Do you have any hcs about the gz

That it has a type of spectral radiation in it. When ghosts first die they still tend to look as they did when they were still alive, but upon spending enough time in the ghost zone the spectral radiation and bent laws of space* (physical mental and emotional), time, and reality tend to warp their original forms into something less human. Danny and most halfas look human much longer since they stay out of the ghost zone to live human lives but eventually Danny will have to deal with the inevitable degradation of his human form. Vlad had to.

However the effect of spectral radiation on the living can make humans fairly sick if exposed to it for too long, which is why research on the ghost zone can be treacherous for researchers. Sam Tucker and Danny were all given serious warnings to not mess with the ghost zone even before they portal opened because of this radiation. So Sam and Tucker are wary to put on protections before chasing Danny through the ghost zone.

Once Jack and Maddy realized spectral radiation was bleeding into their lab from the portal, they moved down the street and turned their old house into a full on research lab with hired employees as to combat the growing ghost problem.

* the reason ghosts have all these incredible abilities is because of the nature of the bent laws of reality of the ghost zone. Possession comes from their ability to bend mental space laws, where they can push their mind into the space another mind occupies. Emotional space is referring to the phenomenon where when a ghost is feeling strong emotions, people nearby can feel them as well even if they haven’t detected the ghost yet. The physical space they take up can be hazy, which is why Danny’s ghost sense triggers. That or the bent temporal laws. Skulker in his first appearance predicted the fate of Dash’s adult life, so temporal laws can be bent. Obviously we know this exists because of clockwork but other evidence of ghost’s warped sense of time exists in canon. Danny potentially could develop some precognitive abilities if you wanna write him that way. But in my mind his ghost sense is either developed from bent spacial law or bent temporal law.

[thelordofgifs]

This is perhaps a stupid question but. Is the fairest stars still a tragedy 😭 is there any chance at all of a happy ending for maedhros, maglor, and fingon? It doesn't seem like the sons of feanor will be getting everlasting darkness but uh. Yeah. Love the fic but am somehow more wrecked by it than canon, which wrecked me quite thoroughly 😭

This is a tricky question, anon (and not remotely a stupid one), both because I don’t entirely know the answer and because I don’t want to spoil what I DO know. When I started writing this AU I did not expect things to turn out worse than canon, but in many ways they have.

On the other hand, the initial point of divergence from canon – “the knife was a bit stronger” – was not an active choice by any characters, so a part of me feels convinced that since nobody made either better or worse decisions than they did in canon at that stage, the rules of moral narrative dictate that the eventual story should not end up either happier or sadder than canon. But I’m also not sure that’s really how it works.

One thing I will point out is that the Nirnaeth Arnoediad was THE tragic turning point for the Noldor in Beleriand, the moment at which their Doom proved inescapable. It was also the point at which they lost their hero and figurehead and narrative symbol of hope: I am talking, of course, about Fingon. He is so important! No Silmarillion AU can be called a fix-it if he dies! And, please note, he is very much alive in tfs. And while the narrative embodiment of hope is still kicking, I don’t think the story is necessarily destined to be a tragedy.

But, of course, they’re Doomed. Which was a sticking point for me when I started writing: if I do want to save them, how can I possibly get around the huge inescapable gravity of them being literally doomed by the gods to failure and tragedy? The solution to that actually appeared to me fairly early on: there is a character who defies all the laws of fate and doom and sheer common sense, because of love. Lúthien! And, you might notice, she has been taking an active interest in the Oath of Fëanor, the Doom of the Noldor (which she unsuccessfully asked Mandos to dissolve back in part 9) and other such knotty problems.

So there is hope, anon. Things are very bad right now, and I don’t know if the factors I’ve listed here are enough to bend the narrative arc of the Silmarillion away from tragedy, or how exactly all these problems might get solved: but there is hope, I promise!