#hairbrained scheme

[builder051]

NaNo 2024 day 8: A hairbrained scheme

Avengers Infinity Saga canon/missing moment

Right before they put the time through the Scott

Humor without plot

————————

Bruce sits behind the control panel in his lab. Scott’s van is backed into place in front of him, and many wires and cords run from its trunk to his computer.

That’s not his focus at the moment, though. A video chat window dominates his screen.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Bruce implores.

“Nope.” Tony replies succinctly. “I already told you. And I haven’t changed my mind.”

“It’s still not too late. We can delay launch until you get here,” Bruce offers. “Come on. The team’s back. We need you to help save the world.”

“I need to be in the backyard,” Tony says. “Got to blaze the fire pit. Morgan already has the tent. We’re camping out tonight. You know, play a little banjo, melt some marshmallows. Way more important than your hairbrained scheme.”

“Can I get your blessing at least? If it works, I’m taking all the credit.” Bruce tries for a light, friendly tone. He doesn’t want to be angry with Tony. He doesn’t want to be angry at all. “If it fails… Well, it was Scott’s idea.”

Both men laugh, but they quickly sober when they make eye contact again. Tony’s hand comes into the camera view, and the feed cuts off.

“Hey!” Scott calls from across the lab. “Why were you laughing at me. This is a great idea.” He gestures at the van. “I’m the only one with an idea.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Bruce says. “It’s just…Tony. He’s spent too much time alone. I think it’s an entrepreneur thing.”

“So he’s really a no go?” Scott asks. “For sure?”

“Yeah,” Bruce sighs. He closes the tab for the video chat and returns his attention to the time machine’s programming. “At this point, he may as well be on another planet.”

“He still covers the insurance, right?” Scott squirms in his vermillion hazmat suit. “If I die on the job, somebody’s got to get the payout to Cassie. I, uh, haven’t been great at that college fund thing. Do a cashier’s check. And delivery receipt.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Bruce reassures. “It worked last time.” He taps a few keys, finishing up the last line of his equation. “You survived the dust after all.”

“Mm.” Scott nods. “Will it be like jet lag, do you think? If I come back all woozy, wave some horseradish under my nose. That’ll kick me out of any kind of time coma.” He takes in Bruce’s blank look. “You have condiments here?” He tilts his head toward the fridge in the back of the lab.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “Natasha does the groceries. I usually eat out.” He hovers his finger over the power switch. “It’ll go fine. You ready?”

“Wait!” Scott stalls. “We should get something tonight. To celebrate, you know? After this thing works? Your treat. You have Doordash?”

“We have to actually do it first.” Bruce flicks the switch. The equipment in the back of the van lights up. “Then tonight we’re eating on Tony’s ticket.” He grins at Scott. “Do you like s’mores?”

[leashybebes]

Idk, maybe it is a little odd but "♟: Patching up a wound", if you want :)

may i offer you a little superhero au in these trying times? don't blame me, blame lou's goddamn superman jawline

"Buck, I'm sending someone to your apartment," Athena says, with no preamble.

"Uh…what? Who?"

"Don't ask questions. He needs stitches."

"He needs stitches? Shouldn't you send him to Hen or Chim or - or a hospital?"

"What did I just say about asking questions? Hen and Chimney aren't options. He should be with you in fifteen minutes. He'll have equipment, but get your first aid kit just in case."

"Wait, Athena - "

"Bye, Buck."

The night is as dark and quiet as it ever gets in downtown LA. Buck paces up and down the loft a couple of times, never straying far from the front door. Which is why he doesn't hear anything to give him any warning before there's a single, loud thump from the balcony, followed by a groan that's audible even through the closed glass.

By the time he gets to the door, a figure is pulling itself to its feet, using Buck's outdoor furniture for help.

What the fuck, Buck thinks, but opens the door anyway.

"Athena send you?" he checks.

"A lot of men fall from the roof onto your balcony?" A deep voice asks, sounding pained. What the hell has Athena gotten him into?

"Fair," Buck says, and hurries to get one shoulder under the guy's arm, hauling him further upright and helping him stagger inside.

In the light of the loft, he can see that the guy has some kind of cowl covering most of his face, just a strong jaw where a bruise is starting to blossom and a cleft chin and a pair of pink lips set into a firm line. The cowl is the same dark blue as the rest of his outfit which is some kind of…jumpsuit maybe, with flashes of silver at the wrists and - hooooooly shit.

"Holy shit," Buck breathes, unable to help himself. "You're The Pilot!"

"No autographs, kid."

"Athena hates you!"

"Sergeant Grant and I have a complicated professional relationship," The Pilot says, while Buck bites back approximately a million questions. "She said you would be able to help."

"I mean - I haven't actually given anyone stitches before," Buck admits. "But I've watched Hen and Chim - I work with them, they're paramedics - I've watched them do it like a hundred times. I don't know why Athena didn't send you to one of them…" he says, fishing a little.

"Long story," The Pilot says, and Buck helps him get seated on one of the kitchen stools. "You were closer."

"Okay," Buck says. "What's the damage?"

"Knife got through a couple of plates in the suit."

"Wait, this thing is armor plated? That's so cool!"

"Glad you approve. Here." The Pilot pulls at a previously invisible join in his suit, revealing a long gash across his ribs. It's bleeding sluggishly, not too deep, but the skin around it is angrily red.

"That might get infected," Buck says, chewing his lip.

"Need you to clean it. Please."

"Okay," Buck says. "Do you want some water?"

"That…would be great, actually."

He drinks from the glass of water Buck hands him while Buck works on cleaning the wound. He tries his best to be gentle but the guy doesn't even flinch. Which, of course he doesn't. He's a literal superhero. There is a literal superhero in Buck's loft and he can't help it anymore.

"I've seen you before," he says. "On scenes. I'm a firefighter."

"I know."

"Athena, right, of course." Buck washes his hands again and gets what he needs from the first aid kit.

"Before we get started, can I ask you a question?"

The Pilot shrugs. "You can ask."

Buck takes a deep breath. "Where do you get your suits? And why do you do this? And can you really fly? And what's your real name?"

Through the gap in the cowl, pretty blue eyes blink at him. "That wasn't a question. I can't tell you where I get the suits or what my real name is. I can fly light aircraft and helicopters but I can't fly fly. And I do this because people need help, and I can help."

"That's so cool. My name's Evan Buckley, by the way."

"Hi, Evan Buckley." The Pilot's lips curve into a smile for the first time. "Great to meet you. Now can you stitch me up before I bleed on your floor?"

[byberbunk2069]

She just found some juicy Arasaka secrets (2076)

[incorrectpizza]

hehehe disney ticket is OFFICIALLY booked and I managed to save twenty-five dollars and sixty-four cents which isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things but hey it IS disney we're talking about so uh yeah calling today a win.

[dildoteamtaskforce]

I've been replaying the Shadowrun trilogy to get rid of the post-Cyberpunk 2077 mood and it's worked fantastically. There are enough similarities to evoke the same feelings, but enough differences to get engrossed in another setting.

I think Misty would make for a lovely elf.

[tenojan-in-tevinter]

In datv I want dialogue options for when people suggest doing something absolutely insane and dangerous that are along the lines of just "yeah ok I'll do that." Especially if the person who suggested it was joking

[bigmanpiwi]

They got no clue where tf they're going

I've been rotating them in my mind like a couple of pebbles in a rock tumbler. I have. So many thoughts about stan and edas relationship specifically.

It's not a typical romantic relationship. I mean, they were only married for 7 hours, so. They're like-minded, kindred spirits... who constantly tried to pull the wool over the others' eyes. Almost every time they have crossed paths (they part ways to lead their own lives and do their own thangs but they always end up stumbling across eachother again through one hairbrained scheme or another) it's like a race to see who could rob the other blind first. And suuuure, maybe they've conned each other a few times, but they never stay mad. They understand the hustle. You can't blame a scorpion for stinging. They're just a couple of wandering nomads who find solace in each other AAAAA IDK WORDS‼️‼️‼️

[sparrows4bats]

Runaway Damian AU

This is from a reply I got yesterday.

I've written before about Damian running away from Bruce, but what if he runs away from Talia?

An eight year old Damian, after the year of blood, looks at a baby Goliath after he had wiped out an entire species and cries.

What he has just done is so antithetical to the virtues his grandfather expuses. The tenants of stewardship that was meant to be the core of the League.

It was a horrible thing, a dishonourable thing he had just done. All on his grandfather's orders.

How could mother and grandfather talk of protecting the world while orchestrating a genocide?

How do they preach of ensuring peace of the world while perpetuating cruelty? Against the innocent, against animals, against him?

There, in that cave, Damian Al Ghul realised that something was deeply wrong with everything he was raised to believe and that maybe being a failure in the eyes of the Al Ghul was correct.

Maybe it was better not to be an Al Ghul at all.

So Damian grabs the last of the Dragon Bats and runs.

He is too much of a coward to confront his mother, never mind his grandfather. If he is lucky, they will assume he has perished.

Mother will greive him, Grandfather will find another heir. If he were braver, better he would return to the League, try to change it as its prince, but Damian is a child that doesn't want to hurt anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore. Two things that are required for the future demon head.

Damian and the newly named Goliath make it to a village after a day of walking.

Damian has very little money, no food, and no plan. His running away was impulsive, but if there is one thing Damian is good at, it's surviving. He works odd jobs, lies to strangers, and begrudgingly accept their kindness.

He dodge those who are a little too kind for fear they try to reunite him with his family. He ignores their worried looks.

He and Goliath move on every few weeks for fear that the League will catch up with them.

The dragon bat grows quickly, guarding his owner.

He learns much in his time wandering and truly starts to understand how wrong his time in the League was. The world deserves to be protected but not in the image of one man.

He travels through forest, mountains, and desserts. It's only after months of wandering that he has a destination in mind.

The little boy manages to smuggle his way onto a boat eventually and stowaway until they reach the US.

The League is always a little more cautious in America due to yo the large number of hereos in the country. It'll provide him more safety.

He settles in Metropolis eventually, the city free from his mother's allies. He makes a new identity, Damian Steele, and raids old League cash reserves for funds.

He finds that not many reputable people are willing to hire him, so Damian puts his mother insistence on a finance education to use and invests what he can once he builds a laptop from savaged parts. Sadly, between feeding himself and Goliath, he doesn't have much left over for housing.

Sleeping on the street is nowhere near the worst thing he has ever done.

He gets by like that for months. Unnoticed but at peace. Goliath and him keep each other safe. Damian finds a home with the Strays of Metropolis. Cats, dogs, even raccoons flocking to him as he offers them food and company.

He even joins free courses online for school, testing out of most of US high-school and onto university.

His stocks rise, and he has enough to buy an empty warehouse under a shell corporation so he and his animal friends have somewhere safe and warm to sleep when the winter comes.

All in all, it's not the life of a prince, but Damian finds he enjoys it. He is about 14 by the time his routine changes.

The problem comes when someone tries to take him hostage in a hairbrained scheme to taunt Superman.

Damian fights back, sword and dagger in hand before the hero even arrives.

A very confused Jon Kent has to wrestle a heavily armed child about his age off of Brainiac. The kid hisses at him as he grabs him by the collar.

He looks at the bleeding villain, who is now unconscious and decides the stranger with the sword takes priority.

"You're safe now! Where are your parents? Is there someone I can call for you?"

The boy glares at him and remains silent. Jon sighs. The boy is not filthy or notably neglected, but Jon can see so many healed injuries with his x ray vision, and the boys hair has grown into his eyes.

Whatever is happening here, Jon doubts it's good. Just as he is about to ask more questions, the boy manages to twist his entire body midair and cut the fabric the super holds him by.

Jon goes to grab him again, but the boy flips over his arms and sprints into the darkness. Jon is about to follow when Brainiac wakes up.

Superboy decides to find the mystery boy with the knives another time.

Damian makes it back to his warehouse and decides to avoid the overly bright hero at all costs. It does not work as Superboy makes it his mission to track him down.

Thus starts a very frustrating game of cat and mouse. Damian abuses his training and access to a dragon bat for quick escapes from the annoying kryptonitian.

Superboy corners him one night on a roof top.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" Damian spits, trapped and tired from the constant game of hide and seek.

"What about yours?"

Damian glares, "You have to have parents for that sort of thing." It comes out sadder than he meant it to.

Jon reels but decides not to press that particular point. He knows a lot of orphans.

"Well, it's nice to actually hear you speak after all that, What do I call you?"

The boy sighs, "Damian."

Jon grins "Okay we're friends now!"

"No we're not."

The boy of steel just laughs.

After that night, Jon finds Damian more often, and slowly, the other boy opens up to him. He meets Goliath and goes to the warehouse that Damian has renovated it into a livable apartment, though it is covered in animals. It quickly becomes Jons favourite place.

His new friend is so kind and smart. And so beautiful with his long hair tied up and pretty green eyes that sometimes Jon can't breathe.

Not that Damian needs to know that.

Jon should probably tell his dad about Damian, but he has been sneaking out to see the other boy for months and doesn't want to be lectured.

He convinces Damian to stop crime with him after he reveals just how skilled he is. He even goes so far as to pick out Damians' hero name, Flamebird.

They do this for about a year before Superman catches on. Jon is honestly surprised it took him this long.

The man of Steel walks in on his son, stopping a bank robbery when he is supposed to be off planet.

"What on earth are you doing?! Your mother is worried!"

The robbers freeze at the elder Supers appearance.

"Dad!"

"Don't Dad me! You have school tomorrow!" He scolds only to stop when he spots another teen with a katanna beside his son, clad in a black supersuit and mask with orange highlights.

"Who is this?"

"Da-"

"Flamebird, pleasure to meet you, Superman." The young man introduces himself politely, hand outstretched.

Clark shakes his hand flabbergasted. He looks over at a blushing Jon. "You gave him a kryptonitian name?"

"He deserves it!" His son pouts.

Clark sighs. "Both of you are going to explain everything right after we sort this out!"

The boys nod uneasily.

They stop the robbery, and Damian takes father and son to the warehouse. The army of pets surround Jon and Damian as soon as they step inside. Damian makes them tea as he tries to explain.

Clark is less than impressed by Jon hiding so much from him and is horrified by Damians' story and living situation. The ex assasain refuses to live on Kent Farm, though.

Clark does accept that there's very little he can do about it now, though. Going by how Jon clings to his friend separating them will be impossible.

He is still grounded for a month.

Flamebird and Goliath become the new members of the Superfamily.

When they are both sixteen, Damian has enough of waiting for the kryptonitian to work up the nerve and asks Jon out instead.

The Super blushes and squeaks out a yes. Damian teases him, but Jon shuts him up with a kiss. One Damian happily returns over and over again.

Clarks pointedly does not ask his son why he wasn't home that night, but he does give both boys The Talk.

Kon falls over with laughter when he hears.

Nightwing finds out about the new hero from Clark and goes to bond with his new name partner. He comes to enjoy the cranky little gremlin and decides to introduce him to Bruce at some point to see if the Bat will resist adopting the teenager.

Damian only warms up to Grayson after he teaches him acrobatic moves and helps him feed his Strays.

It is all going well until Clark is kidnapped. All of the supers, including Lois and Damian, mobilise to beat up Lex Luthor. Only to come face to face with the Justice League.

Everyone ends up at the Watchtower afterwards, where Batman interrogates the strange hero that fights like a League assassin.

Superboy does not like this, and Nightwing backs him up. Flamebird sits with the two men behind him, all three staring down an increasingly annoyed Batman.

Jon scoops his boyfriend onto his lap when he starts talking about the year of blood and his training at the League of Assassin's.

Damian answers what he can, and when he reveals that he is Talias son, Bruce has a sinking feeling.

He runs a DNA test as soon as he can, Dick makes sure to be there when he gets the results.

He laughs at a panicking Bruce. "You won't even have to adopt this one! And he's a hero already! Is vigilantism genetic? Is the adoption addiction? Because the kid has a lot of pets!"

"Shut up."

"You and Clark are going to be in laws!"

"SHUT UP!"

[david-lynch-ate-my-son]

season 3 of animal kingdom is RIPE for a pope cody marriage of convenience storyline.

DCFS placing lena in foster care? smurf angling to adopt lena as a means to control pope because the state will never allow her to go him with his prison record?

well, lucky for pope there's a sweet, pretty, upstanding pillar of society who has lived right next door to lena since before catherine "disappeared."

and boy does she love lena something fierce. after all, she's been babysitting her for years. is the one cathy always called when there was a last minute shift at work and fuck knows where baz is. the one who taught lena to make a macrame friendship bracelet; bought her the dolphin squishmallow she sleeps with every night; dried her tears after cathy left and baz was too busy fucking someone new to be there for his own goddamn daughter.

there's a reason lena calls her tia.

and yeah, maybe pope isn't a perfect guardian, but she's seen how fiercely he loves that kid. how he'd flay himself open for her.

and she did a stint in foster care herself as a kid--it was the worst year of her life. she can't imagine that for lena.

so blame it on the romance books she reads, or the fact that she's had a tiiiiiiny crush on her neighbor's brother since the first time he came around to visit (and she literally ran into him on the sidewalk, sweaty and out of breath from her morning run, and he steadied her with a strong hand on her elbow).

but when she storms into his house the second DCFS pulls away with lena in the back of their car and blurts out, "we should get married," there's not a single moment of regret.

even when pope stares at her hard, gaze as opaque and unreadable as ever. even when he says, "what"--flatly, not as a question, but as a statement of pure disbelief.

she just cuts him off before he can gather his thoughts enough to realize how insane of an idea it is.

"i don't have so much as a parking ticket on my record. my credit score is 850. every library book i've ever checked out since elementary school, i've returned on time. i've never done a drug in my life--not even weed! i got drunk once in college and fell off a trampoline and broke my arm, but there's no way DCFS could hunt that down, right? i mean, they could probably track down gina from my old dorm--she was the one who took me to the hospital--but i'm sure gina wouldn't say anything, right? plus, i'm a high school teacher, so i've already passed all of the state-required background checks for working with children. i've known lena her entire life--i'm perfect! you may have a spotty legal history, but if you're married to me, there's no way DCFS would say no to at least a temporary placement to adopt!"

and maybe pope would have put up more of a fight if she wasn't so goddamn cute, all red-faced and riled up, stomping into his house in her fuzzy ducky slippers and yelling about her hairbrained scheme.

which, when he actually thinks about it...could work...

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[socialistexan]

Sorry, no, we're not doing that. We're not doing the "(((they))) are manipulating us by secretly orchestrating elaborate false flags from the shadows because (((that shifty conniving group))) want to control us" bs.

Particularly when you are spreading blatantly false info, because people were in the house when this happened, they got out because of the Governor's security detail, and there's absolutely no evidence for your claim that alarms and sprinklers did not go off.

Do some of y'all hear yourselves? People like the Trump Admin don't need to pull whatever hairbrained scheme it is you thought of. They're going to do it anyway, as they have been doing for months.

It's so much harder to counter the false claim that "anti-zionism= antisemitism" when some of y'all say things that are straight up out of antisemitic playbooks that are centuries old.

[yourfatherjustinmcelroy]

honestly very pleasantly surprised at how good at ttrpg content ian is- he's interesting and engaging without overstepping or interrupting, he doesn't set up plotlines that don't go anywhere, he opens up the floor for his fellow players to have epic moments while not sacrificing his own characterization nor his own epic moments, isn't concerned with making himself the coolest character in the room, and all of the hairbrained schemes he presents are offered, not commanded. for a guy who (to the best of my knowledge) doesnt play that much ttrpg, much less on camera, he really avoids all of the pitfalls quite gracefully, even some of the more obscure ones, and i found him entertaining, tastefully reserved, narratively enjoyable, and funny as hell

big ups ian hecox

[my-destiny-my-chicken]

I think that Merlin would have been a lot more silly and whimsical if Gaius was 100% on board with whatever hairbrained scheme Merlin was involved in that week. Disguising Arthur as an ordinary guy for a tournament? I’m sure that will be hilarious I’ll be watching in the front row. Trying to make Lancelot a knight? Sure I like that guy let me help you design the coat of arms!

[anewbrainjughead]

got to the zipline fiasco in my rewatch last night and it is funny how many times they confirm in canon that robert and aaron cannot be separated or else robert will use all that energy he's normally exerting to keep aaron happy on devising increasingly hairbrained schemes that inevitably get out of hand bc he has no one to rein him in

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Stargazing-Ishtar X Reader

Happy Halloween!

It was the night of Halloween at The Clocktower. A night of celebration, ill thought out schemes, and the teachers eyeing their bags of candy set aside for when the night came to a close and all those dressed as ghouls and goblins filtered out.

Now, if only you were among those filtering out and about on the closest thing there is to a worldwide holiday in the world of Magi.

Instead, you were standing in one of the auditoriums used to teach the importance of proper alignment, depiction, and drawing of magical circles, having been badgered by your friends and associates into this hairbrained endeavor.

All because they learned you were studying systems of summoning in different magical systems in the European continent.

Yes, the name needed some work, but that could be left until later.

What could not be left until later, was you having to keep whacking your associates over the head any time they tried to touch the tome in your hand.

“C’mon! It can’t be that dangerous!” one of the many onlookers cried.

You ignored them in favor of ensuring that this was not screwed up and you didn’t accidentally summon some form of ultimate evil into the world.

…Again.

That aside, everything was almost ready, all you needed to do now was to add the final line.

The sound of your chalk scratching into the coarse material of the ground that had been infused with countless summoning attempts and experiments echoed in your ears.

With that, the complete symbol of Ishtar was inscribed upon the ground, with a few cautionary measures of course..

Everything was ready, all the precautions had been taken, not a single thing had been unaccounted for in your calculation and preparation.

Nothing was left to be done, save for the incantation.

You walked over towards the head of the room, the page of your tome being turned to the page that held the proper incantation.

A heavy breath left your mouth as you turned around, your circuits beginning to burn and thrum with power under your skin as you raised your hand towards the circle and began to chant.

“Spirit of Venus, Remember!”

The temperature dropped as the words left your mouth and ice began to form over the windows.

“ISHTAR, Mistress of the Gods, Remember!”

The circle began to glow with golden light as your audience started to grow fearful.

You couldn’t blame them, this wasn’t supposed to be what happened.

Had they underestimated the seriousness of all this?

Did you mess up on the sign?

“ISHTAR, Queen of the Land of the Rising of the Sun, Remember!”

The temperature dropped even further as a hole in the world appeared before you and, without warning, a vacuum formed.

You were getting worried now, but you had to keep going unless you wished to run the risk of something truly horrible occuring.

“Lady of Ladies, Goddess of Goddesses, ISHTAR, Queen of all People, Remember!”

The hole grew bigger and the vacuum grew more powerful as fearful screams filled the auditorium.

You felt your body getting pulled towards the hole, splitting your focus between keeping the ritual moving and not being pulled into the void.

“O Bright Rising, Torch of the Heaven and of the Earth, Remember!

O Destroyer of the Hostile Hordes, Remember!

Lioness, Queen of the Battle, Hearken and Remember!”

The hole continued to grow as your audience fled, pushing and trampling over one another to escape.

You wished you could join them.

This was nothing like anything you had tried before.

“From the Gate of the Great God NEBO, I call Thee!”

Pinpricks of light ignited in the void of the hole as the gate began to open.

“By the Name which I was given on the Sphere of NEBO, I call to Thee! Lady, Queen of Harlots and of Soldiers, I call to Thee!”

Light and color exploded within the gate as nebulae formed and a perfect look into the distant cosmos sat before you.

“Lady, Mistress of Battle and of Love, I pray Thee, Remember!

In the Name of the Covenant, sworn between Thee and the Race of Men,

I call to Thee! Hearken and Remember!”

A light began to form directly before the open gate, slowly morphing and attempting to take shape.

“Suppressor of the Mountains!

Supporter of arms!

Deity of Men! Goddess of Women! Where Thou gazest, the Dead live!”

The form began to grow more defined, more real, as the form of a woman made of light reached forwards and towards you, her hand piercing the veil.

“ISHTAR, Queen of Night, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Battle, Open wide Thy Gate!”

Her form slowly came towards you, reaching outwards as it turned from light and into something real.

“ISHTAR, Sword of the People, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Gift of Love, Open wide Thy Gate!

Gate of the Gentle Planet, LIBAT, Open unto me!”

Her hand was barely a step away as she reached towards you, her body becoming flesh and her eyes looking directly into yours.

Your vision was growing dark, you could feel your body grow weak from fighting against the vacuum, but you still had to continue the ritual, no matter how much your body and mind was screaming at you to stop, even when the hardest part was coming up.

Especially because the hardest part was coming up.

“IA GUSHE-YA! IA INANNA! IA ERNINNI-YA!

ASHTA PA MABACHA CHA KUR ENNI-YA!

RABBMI LO-YAK ZI ISHTARI KANPA!

INANNA ZI AMMA KANPA! BI ZAMMA KANPA!

IA IA IA BE-YI RAZULUKI!”

The final word escaped your lips, and the woman was fully formed before you, floating in the air as the hole in the world closed shut.

The woman had eyes like rubies, hair like onyx, and a smile more brilliant than diamonds.

She was beautiful, she would easily fit into any definition of beauty in the world.

Then, as she looked into your eyes, she spoke.

You could barely hear her, the entire world sounding like it was under water.

However, you could still faintly hear her.

“Are You My Master?”

After that, everything went black.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You groaned as you opened your eyes, the harsh light of the infirmary burning your retinas, forcing your eyes closed once more.

Your entire body ached in a way and in places you didn't know could even ache like that.

Not to mention your circuits, which you could tell you had overworked due to the feeling of intense, burning agony under your skin.

“Are you alive?” the voice of Lord El Melioi asked you.

“Not sure… try again later…” you groaned as you turned onto your side, briefly opening your eyes to see the woman from the cosmos, looking quite irate in some second hand clothes kept by the doctors and nurses in the case of an experiment turning… incendiary.

You blinked several times before turning over once more and towards Lord El Melioi who was currently chewing on a piece of gum in place of his cigarette.

“So, all that happened?” you asked.

“Correct.” the man responded with a pathetic attempt to keep his irritated expression in check.

“So… how screwed am I?” you asked.

“Royally, if it wasn’t for some extenuating circumstances.” the man responded.

“Hmm.” was all you said in response.

“So, who’s the lady?” you asked.

“I am RIGHT here!” the woman exclaimed in irritation.

“We do not know, but she claims to be the goddess Ishtar.” the old man answered.

“BECAUSE I AM!!!”

“We lack the evidence to prove her claim.” The Lord El Melioi declared.

“I will vaporize you, mark my words!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar nearly shouted.

“I can see why that would be a bit hard to confirm…” you muttered as you turned onto your back.

“Seeing as if the woman’s claims are true-” the man began before being interrupted.

“THEY ARE!!!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar whined.

“-It would mean that you dug up the bones of a goddess on Halloween night.”

You let out a groan.

“This is going to have massive repercussions, isn’t it?” you asked as you closed your eyes.

“Most definitely.” was all Lord El Melioi said in response.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You stumbled into your room and fell face first onto your bed, the woman who insisted upon being called Ishtar walking right behind you as you did so before making a bee-line to your closet and throwing it open.

“These are all your clothes?” Ishtar asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes.” You groaned into the bed.

“It’s the same outfit four different times!” Ishtar cried, abhorred.

“Exactly.” you said in response.

“This just will not do!” Ishtar exclaimed before walking over to you and peeling you off the bed to grab you by the collar.

“I REFUSE to have my spouse dress like some common cretin!” the woman cried.

“I don’t recall signing any marriage papers.” was all you said in response as your head lolled to the side.

“IT WAS IMPLIED IN THE SUMMONING!!!” Ishtar shouted.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It has been a year since you got a surprise wife on Halloween night.

She was a bossy, bullheaded, prideful, and big headed woman who had an ego the size of a galaxy.

You wouldn’t have her any other way.

Sure, she had a habit of threatening anyone who got too close to you with disintegration, but that is par for the course when in a relationship with a Goddess.

That said, she was still trying to get you to wear more “Appropriate Clothes For Your Station”.

She had continuously failed time and time again.

It was one of the many little games the two of you played.

Much like how Ishtar floated around you and took out whatever “Tax” she wished from any food you purchased.

Or how you, upon finding out she was ticklish, mercilessly attacked her every time she let down her guard.

The two of you were insufferable together, and you were frequently told so.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ishtar might have the looks of a woman people would go to war for, but her personality was absolutely horrible, in a charming and adorable way.

And though you would never tell her for fear of her head getting so big it pops, you wouldn’t have her any other way.

As you continued to muse on Ishtar and the events of the previous year, a finger began to poke you in the side.

You ignored the sensation for a few moments longer, until a petulant whine cut through the silence and you were attacked by the arms of a woman wrapping around you like snakes and her body falling onto yours as you sat in your chair.

“Oh, hello Ishtar.” you muttered as you continued to gaze out at the starry night.

“You know, a girl could get really jealous if someone was looking at something else that wasn’t her.” Ishtar not so subtly hinted at as she tried to gently force you to look at her.

“What do you mean? I am looking at you! After all, these are the same stars as the night we met. Though, I have to admit that I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time.” You retorted with a soft smile on your face as you adjusted yourself and Ishtar to better ensure comfort.

Ishtar let out a laugh as she turned her eyes to look at the stars as well.

“I never took you as the reminiscing type.” the goddess muttered with a smile.

“I never took the Goddess Ishtar to be one to enjoy scooters. It seems we are both full of surprises.” You jabbed at her.

“You’re horrible!” Ishtar bemoaned with crocodile tears in her eyes.

“No worse than you dear, no worse than you.” was all you said in response as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at the stars.

[st-just]

Like if I'm some random mercenary adventurer with delusions of grandeur and too many friends with hairbrained schemes I keep funding (Hawke) then yeah poking my nose into every random bit of interpersonal drama I can find and throwing rocks at every cave that's supposed to have a monster in it just in case money falls out makes total sense. When I'm theoretically a divinely anointed quasi-sovereign ruler with hosts and fortresses wearing my banner and courts enacting justice in my name like - why I am looking for this farmer's lost cattle? Do I not have people for this? And better things to do with my ostensibly valuable time? What sort of inner circle lets the holy symbol literally 100% of their legitimacy rests on risk death by gangrene fighting some random band of deserters looking for a widow's ring?