Avatar

Bake Til Good

@nonbinary-octopus / nonbinary-octopus.tumblr.com

Writing sideblog: @nb-octopus-writes. AO3: PaigePenn. My Redbubble: FireLemur. If you follow me from an empty blog, I'm gonna assume you're a bot and block you.

really into the idea of Captain Marvel being one of the most powerful heroes in the DCU but almost no-one notices bcos 1) he’s super nice and sweet and 2) he’s 100% happy being a small town superhero

like the Justice League are in a Class 5 apocalypse ‘all hands on deck’ situation so they call in all their reserves and Cap Marvel shows up, flattens some alien death gods or whatever and then is like ‘well it was real nice to see you guys but I promised I’d go to a little league game so I’ll catch you later!!’ and then they just don’t hear from him for like 8 months.

ppl assume Captain Marvel ain’t shit bcos Fawcett is so tame & pleasant compared to other cities, get hit by the unsettling realisation that Fawcett is like that bcos Cap Does His Damn Job.

Marvel: Have you ever heard of… Chain Lightning?

Green Lantern: No.

Marvel: That’s because I do my freaking job.

Peer reviewed tags from @inamindfarfaraway

US Elevation.

man the Appalachian mountains really aren’t shit huh

The Rockies are new, young and virile and fresh from the Laramide orogeny, tall and lanky teenagers on the geological scale. the Appalachian mountains are old, formed hundreds of millions of years ago before dinosaurs walked the Earth. They are ancients, elders, witnesses to half a billion years of life coming and going. To be tall is not a virtue. To be small is not a sin. The Appalachians are eroding under the weight of time, slowly shrinking and returning to the Earth from which they sprang. Appreciate them while they are still here.

I do want to say real quick again about the age of the Appalachians…

They said “before dinosaurs,” but we have a cave here that began forming between 450 million to 550 million years ago.

There are no bones in that cave. No fossils. No nothing.

That’s because this cave began forming before bones existed on land, and had only just started to exist in the ocean. Shellfish hadn’t evolved yet. Limestone, which forms many caves, was just starting to become a more prevalent rock.

The mountains aren’t older than dinosaurs. They are older than bones.

see that little lump up at the top of minnesota? the sawtooth mountains? so small most places would just call them hills?

those are over a billion years old.

that’s why they’re so small. they’re the last ancient remnants of a lava flow 5 miles thick. the lava didn’t kill any dinosaurs. or any fish. or any animals at all. because there were no animals. you know what there was?

algae.

those mountains were 5 miles tall when the most advanced life on earth was algae.

so i’m just gonna go ahead and keep calling them mountains, even though all you need to climb them is hiking shoes and a nice afternoon. because a place where you can crouch down and touch basalt that was lava before leaves were invented deserves some respect.

Avatar
queer-google-searches

The earth is unfathomably ancient, and you garner no love from her when you insult her eldest children.

Avatar

not only that, the Appalachians predate the Atlantic Ocean and were fragmented. they stretch across three continents, as Atlas in Africa and Caledonians in Europe as you can see here:

the Appalachians are way way old. the fossils that ARE found in these ranges are ancient marine beings, whose fossil remains predate the anatomical structures of beings migrating to land for the first time. THAT’S how old the Appalachians are.

show the elders some respect, they have witnessed eons and are returning to the land from which they grew, it’s the kind of the passage of time on a scale that our human lives could not even begin to comprehend.

So I know the meme is that gothamites don't care for superman, but what if news broke that supes was dating their resident cryptid? Would they reluctantly allow him in as an honorary gothamite or would they double down? Like "You can't have him, he's our hero!"

Avatar

I am fully convinced there’d be gothamites randomly showing up in metropolis, hissing at the sun, and proceeding to give Supes the shovel talk. A couple of the rogues too. But also just a bunch of random citizens.

Avatar

HISSING AT THE SUN 🤬🌞

Yours tags @river9noble haha I love it

I just imagined the gothamites creating a black market for kryptonite kidnapping accessories... the rouges will kidnap superman weekly to use him as bait.... Lex luthor finds something more difficult to find than kryptonite, because it is being used in Gotham city... in the end he ends up becoming a VIP client of Gotham's black market...

Bruce starts leaving easily steal-able Kryptonite in a Gotham City Wayne Enterprises warehouse bc everyone's getting their hands on it ANYWAY and at least this way they're not paying Lex for it.

Batman voice: "If you want to get Kryptonite to threaten my boyfriend, you have to do it the way God intended. By stealing from billionaires. Preferably Luthor but I'm not picky."

Nightwing shows up to the dating show to take care of the rouges but once he finds out what is going on he just grabs a chair and sits down next to the hosts

After that there's a new bat every week

At the final of the dating show, they “kidnap” Superman and bring him in the studio, so that Batman will be forced to show up and save his boo. He can also choose one of the finalists and get a already paid for date!

(Supes is a good sport about it and doesn’t put up a fight. B, on the other hand is not enjoying the experience. He tried to get someone, ANYONE, from the batfamily to go there instead of him, but they are all busy, aka they have first row tickets for the show).

@swugflower OMG is the date TO batburger!!!!??? 👀👀👀👀😮😮😮😮😮🤣🤣🤣

Lex crashes the finale because obviously with a date to BatBurger, Batman has no motivation to choose an alternative to Supes.

He offers a weeklong trip to Paris if Bats picks anyone, ANYONE else.

Batman scoffs, as if he’ll leave his city unprotected in such an obvious manner (he glares right at all his kids in the front row) so Lex starts upping the ante. All the finest wining and dining in Gotham instead, and he’ll PAY THE ROGUES to lay off for the week so Bats can enjoy his date.

The rogues in the audience (and on stage) actually TAKE THE DAMN OFFER (get out of our town, Superman!) Batman hesitates. “You’d have to eliminate crime for much longer than a week to get me to dump Superman.”

the Audience goes WILD. Lex’s eyes gleam. That wasn’t a no. superman LOSES HIS SHIT. “So you’d DUMP ME to lower the crime rate?????”

Batman: …. maybe

Batman: but not for only a week without crime, Lex, honestly. I’m dating Superman not Booster Gold

Lex: two months

Batman:

Lex: six

Batman:

Lex: nine

Batman: getting warmer

Superman: *hurt enraged scream*

Game Show Host: *lassos him with black market obtained kryptonite lasso*

Two Face: A year *Lex nods* AND you and me get back together.

Superman: 🤢🤢🤢

Batman: You’d stop committing crimes?

Two Face: … for a year.

Lex: Why not two years? *raucous applause from the rogues*

Batman agrees (as punishment for his kids and Superman for having fun with this shit) and takes two face out on the promised date.

The batfam has to pleasure of being put in charge of the heartbroken Superman (all the gothamites hand them illegally acquired K weapons, “if he should make trouble”)

After the date, Batman vanishes for a couple weeks, nowhere to be seen and found. The family is worried, Supes is sad and back in Metropolis but hey! Gotham is peaceful as fuck.

And on a random, totally NOT related note, Bruce Wayne started dating a Metropolis reporter :)

Gothamites fully expect them to break up in the first few weeks but months pass and they’re still dating???

They realise its a serious relationship and their prince is dating a Metropolitian (ew). They finally got Batman to dump Superman and now this?

They do what they did to Supes. But tamer. Coz human reporter and all. But still.

Then they realize a problem: none of the rouges are committing crimes atm (or really anyone. Ever since the forced break up with Supes, Batman seems in a really bad mood. You think he was aggressive before? You ain’t seen nothing yet). So who can kidnap the reporter?

And why would Bruce come to save Clark, when the city has multiple vigilantes. AND would could your offer BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE. He is a literal billionaire.

You can’t just leave that in the tags oh my word

Avatar

More favourite mad science tropes:

  1. Flashy explosions as a result of errors in procedures that have no conceivable reason to involve any explosive substance  
  2. Lab coats in non-laboratory settings  
  3. All mad scientists being versed in mad psychology regardless of their ostensible mad field of study  
  4. “It comes to life and starts eating people” being a potential failure mode of literally every experiment  
  5. WIldly unethical ways of accomplishing goal that could have been achieved more easily without the crimes against humanity  
  6. [noun] reaction/inversion/overload, where [noun] is something that one would not customarily regard as being capable of reacting/inverting/overloading  
  7. The way that you can pinpoint the popular anxieties of the era of the story’s publication by looking at the form factor of the thing that turns people into face-eating monsters (e.g., weird potion versus nuclear radiation versus psychiatric brainfuckery, etc.)  
  8. QuAnTum  
  9. World-ending superweapons that are also people even though being a person has no bearing on the world-ending part  
  10. “What in God’s name?” “God had nothing to do with it!”

Okay, so, I'd love to read a little something by you set in a world where Lavender made it out of the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe not okay, but alive?

Avatar

Once upon a time, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her. She had been the kind of kid who put on dramatic plays for her stuffed animals, for any visitors to the house, and for any neighbor or passersby she could snag from the front yard.

Dating Ron in sixth year had been fun, most of all because everyone had kept sneaking glances at her. She had heard her name in curious whispers and she had grinned and giggled into Parvati’s shoulder.

Everyone was looking now, or pretending not to. She heard the whispers– oh it’s that poor Brown girl. Can you imagine, if it was your daughter, if it was you? Oh and she was so pretty before, too–what a pity–almost makes it worse, doesn’t it?

“You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out. “I was there, once, when Lupin turned without the potion. I was so scared. I thought we were going to die.”

“Afraid I’ll sniff you out on a dark night?” Lavender said, face twisting as she sank back into her wicker chair.

“No, I–” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and all the hesitation was making Lavender more and more uncomfortable. Even at eleven, Hermione had bulldozed through things. She didn’t waver. “I was so scared, but I think it was even worse for him. It hurt, but he looked so scared, too, I–”

“I know how it feels,” said Lavender, very quietly, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Lavender took a big sip from her tea. It was still steaming– it had not taken long to exhaust small talk, between the two of them.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to– make things better. Do you want this?”

Lavender put her mug back down, shaking out scalded fingers, and said, “Yes.” Then, because her mother had raised her right, she said, “Thank you.”

“That sounds like a weird conversation,” said Parvati, whose door Lavender went and knocked on after she and Hermione had split the bill with the precise-to-the-Knut math of the vaguely acquainted and recently employed.

Lavender kicked through the fall of autumn leaves that had collected in front of the porch swing. “She was trying to be nice, I think.”

“She’s not very good at it,” said Parvati.

-

Her father wept. He tried not to but he was a crier, always had been.

“You were so brave,” said Lavender’s mother, cupping her cheeks in her warm hands and not even flinching at the scar tissue under her palms. “We are so proud.”

Lavender’s mother was a Muggleborn, daughter of a math teacher and a door-to-door salesman (“now there is a profession that requires some magic,” her grandfather used to tell her).

Her father was a wizard and he was trying hard not to cry, bending down to pet the dogs weaving between all their ankles. Lavender bent down, too, scratching behind Fiddlestick’s floppy ears while Mopsy cleaned her cheek forcefully. “Hey,” she said, and her father looked up, trying to firm his wobbly chin.

“You know I’m proud of you, too,” he said, trying not to tremble on it. “I just…” He reached out to squeeze her knee gently. “You did everything right. You did everything good. I’m so proud of you, chickadee.”

“I know,” she said, and she did. He was a Gryffindor, too.

-

It took Hermione more than a month to figure out the potion sufficiently well enough that she’d let Lavender try it. She was founding a non-profit for nonhuman rights, too, after all, as well as doing a fair few local speaking gigs, petitioning the Wizenagamot on a half dozen issues, getting an advanced degree, and supposedly, at some point, sleeping.

It took more than a month, so Lavender spent another night locked in her parents’ newly fortified cellar. She didn’t remember much, but she woke up with her throat sore and her nails ragged. The door was gouged from the inside. She wondered if she had been screaming. She wondered if that’s what the howls were. She felt like screaming, maybe, a little.

The door cracked open the moment the moon had dropped down below the horizon, outside. Her mother came in with a tray of her favorite breakfast foods– danishes and boiled eggs, steaming hot cocoa with the barest splash of bitter coffee in it.

Parvati came stomping down the stairs after her. “Graceful,” said Lavender. She winced at the roughness of her voice.

“Look who’s talking,” said Parvati. “Up, c'mon, eat your breakfast. We’re doing midnight manicures. Your dad says he’ll let us doll up his nails, too.”

The next full moon night, Lavender locked herself in the cellar again. “It should be safe,” Hermione had said. “It should. I mean, I’ve done all the tests. I followed all the instructions. It should work.”

Lavender didn’t remember, because she never remembered– she didn’t recall the cellar door unlocking and opening after ten minutes of post-moonrise silence. She didn’t recall Parvati Wingardium Leviosa-ing a comfy chair down the stairs, or her sitting down and pulling out a stack of Witch Weeklys, nor did she remember curling up on Parvati’s fuzzy button slippers and going to sleep.

But she did remember waking up in the morning, her cheek pressed into a soft pillow. She was tattered under a thick blanket, but she was human and looking upward at Parvati’s slack, sleeping face. Her dark plaits tumbled, curling, over the soft pink polka dots of her pajamas.

Lavender pulled herself up to sitting, stole the open Witch Weekly, and waited for Parvati to wake up.

-

“You’re going to be alright,” Professor Trelawney said and she wasn’t even looking at Lavender’s palm, just holding her hand tight in her cold fingers. “You’re going to be happy. You’re going to be fine. People are going to love you and stand by you and we will be there.”

The tower room was just the same as Lavender remembered it, down to the spicy-sweet tea and Trelawney’s big blinking eyes. Lavender squeezed her hands back. “I love you, too, professor.”

“You know, I think you can call me Sybil. It seems the time for it.”

Dean and Seamas’s housewarming for their ugly little first flat was a crowded mess, but the afterparty wasn’t. Lavender and Parvati came by with paint swatches, opinions, and hangover remedies. They ate greasy Chinese food on the floor, because it was about as comfortable as the couch.

They came back the next week, and the next. Parvati conjured a crackling fire in a big fruit bowl Dean’s mother had given him and they all sat around it like they were back at Gryffindor Tower’s hearths, procrastinating on homework.

On nights like that they sometimes talked about Hogwarts, but most of the time they didn’t. Dean had started drawing again and he walked them through his notebooks– his sisters, caricatures of the customers he dealt with in Ollivander’s wand shop, the snarky little comics he’d always scrawled in the edges of his notes. Parvati told them about the Auror trainees’ antics, going ut on their first field missions with their mentors. “All bravado and caffeine,” she said. “Bunch of show-offs.”

“So you fit in well, then?” Dean said.

“Nah, that’s Lav,” Parvati said. Dean and Seamas glanced warily at Lavender, but she just giggled and reached for another potsticker.

Seamas was considering going back to school. “Hermione’s been badgering me about it,” he said. “Says I have a talent for pyrotechnics, and there’s a whole major for fire magics at Brinxley.”

“What about you, Lav?” said Dean. “You still thinking about vet school?”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, that’s the Muggle word. Veterinarian– a medimagizoologist?”

“The schools aren’t too interested in a werewolf as a student,” Lavender said, shrugging.

“Not that that stops Hermione from showing up on the doorstep with half-penned anti-discrimination lawsuits she wants Lav to star in,” Parvati said.

“When does she sleep?” said Dean.

Little children asked about it in the street sometimes. “Mum, why’s her face like that?” “How come she’s walking all funny?”

Sometimes their parents turned to Lavender with eager bright eyes in the grocery store line, expecting her to answer. (“I got hurt, but I’m okay now.”) Sometimes they shushed their kids and gave her little apologetic half-smiles, glancing away from the raised lines of scar tissue. Sometimes they pulled their children closer to them and crossed to the other side of the street.

Harry Potter had a godson. Teddy Lupin was four the first time Lavender met him, just outside Gringotts. Teddy clung to Harry’s pants leg, peeking past his godfather’s hanging robe. “Why’d her face do that?” he said and Harry dropped a hand down into Teddy’s hair, which was bright green.

“She’s just like your dad,” said Harry.

“Puppy,” Teddy whispered, eyes wide with joy, and his skin shifted until scars stood out stark on his smiling chubby cheeks.

Lavender bit her lip and sank down to her knees in the street, holding out a hand. “Why aren’t you handsome, chickadee. What’s your name?”

Once, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her.

She hated stories that told you to be careful what you wished for. Were you not supposed to want things? Was that the answer? She was nearly twenty two and she could make things fly with a few whispered words. She had lived through her seventh year at Hogwarts, had stepped out into that battle with her wand out and her eyes open. She had woken up–hurting, wounds tended, poison in her veins–to Parvati sleeping on Sybil’s shoulder at her bedside.

She had cried when they told her about the lycanthropy. She had cried over her bunny because a fox had gotten to it. Both times it had been with her face buried in Parvati’s shoulder and Parvati’s hands stroking her hair. She wished and she wanted– animals that never left you, bodies that never betrayed you.

Once, Lavender had wished that everyone would look at her, and now they were. Everyone was looking– so Lavender held Parvati’s hand in the grocery store at midnight, because they had both been craving green apples. Everyone was looking– so Lavender curled her hair and pinned it up, wore tank tops and little skirts on any day hot enough that she could get away with it, laughed aloud in public spaces. Everyone was looking– so Lavender knocked on Hermione Granger’s door one evening and asked, “What would it take to get me into magical vet school?”

Hermione had her bushy hair all tied back and a quill behind each ear. “A lot. There’s some statutes we’ve got to fight, and even if we can handle that you’ll still be under intense scrutiny for years.”

“I can work with that,” said Lavender, and Hermione grinned.

When Teddy marched down the aisle with the rings, his hair was a shimmering swirl of pink and purple to match the flowers woven into Parvati’s braids and Lavender’s curls.

The honeymoon would be short–a week in magical Paris in the townhouse of a Beauxbaton girl they’d befriended fourth year. Lavender had more medical textbooks packed into her luggage than anything else. Parvati’s bags were lined with half-finished reports that she’d owl to Auror headquarters from a rumpled Parisian morning, getting croissant crumbs in the bedsheets.

But for now the hall was filled with pink and purple blooms, white candles, familiar faces. Hermione stood in a violet bridesmaid’s dress, and Dean and Seamus in matching ties at Parvati and Lavender’s respective backs. Padma was luminescent with joy over Parvati’s shoulder. She had taken Lavender aside that morning for a short quiet walk in the mist and told her, “I know tonight’s what makes it official, but I’ve thought of you as my sister for years.”

When Lavender leaned forward and kissed her wife, her father burst into proud tears in the front row. He was a crier, always had been. Lavender buried her face in Parvati’s shoulder, smiling so hard she thought she might come apart. Her scars creased and puckered in her dimples, and she was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Avatar

I wanna be the Rodney Dangerfield of trans woman dick jokes, I wanna stand up on stage and be like "I just get dicks respected."

Wearing the same bad suit and tugging my necktie down like "ah, my wife left me, y'know. Well they didn't leave me, they left their gender, we're still married I just don't got no wife anymore! I can't blame them though, can't blame em, after all, I'm not the man they married."

I think Rodney would appreciate transgender jokes.

"This gig, this gig such disrespect they pay peanuts they said they pay in exposure, I said that's indecent! All kinds a disrespect, I said fine I'll get paid in exposure and got a job as an adult dancer. Fired my first night, turns out they meant dance around the pole on stage not swing around the pole in my thong. I can't get any respect I tell ya."

Thinking about how Clark cuts his own hair by laser-eyes-ing himself via mirror and like. How in the hell did he figure that out?? Was Martha one day when he was like, six, go “okay son I know your new powers are scary but that hair is scarier, we gotta figure something out.” Or, he develops his powers later in life right? College aged Clark has been teased One Too Many Times for his hair and he looks in the mirror and goes that’s enough im cutting this shit off no matter what it takes. How did he figure out mirrors can bounce the lasers off? What was going through his head the first time he stared into a mirror knowing he was about to shoot lasers at his face? And hopefully only his hair would be cut? How bad was that first haircut? I have so many questions.

I NEED SOMEONE TO DRAW A YOUNG CLARK WITH A HORRIBLE HAIRCUT, COMING OUT OF THE BATHROOM AND CONSIDERING HOW HE'S GOING TO TELL MARTHA WHAT HE JUST DID.

"The good news is that I already discovered how to cut my hair, the bad news is that I am a bad hairdresser"

Freddy & Billy have an unsolved mysteries/paranormal podcast & common themes are

1) Freddy getting increasingly frustrated when Billy's being sceptical about something Weird bcos he can't use his usual retort of 'Billy a WIZARD gave you LIGHTNING MAGIC but you won't believe in spontaneous human combustion??'

2) Freddy becoming Incandescent Withith Rage when Billy pretends to be sceptical about something they both know for a fact is real

Billy told Freddy the moon landing was fake a week after flying there and stealing the flag

Avatar

STAR WARS APPRECIATION WEEK Day 5: favourite main character

If you spent as much time practicing your saber techniques as your wit, you would rival Master Yoda as a swordsman. ― Obi-Wan Kenobi

No I'm not frum anymore but I will NEVER shut up about the complete lack of orthodox representation in media. THERE. IS. NONE.

I've never seen an orthodox character in a movie, or book, or tv show, outside of the very niche genre produced BY us, FOR us.

"But what about Unorthodox--" No. That's about someone who used to be frum. That's a completely separate thing.

Do you have any idea how much that would have meant to as me a kid? To see or read about even ONE character in mainstream media who was like me? To know that someone even knew people like me existed?? And accepted it??? It would have meant the world.

And so, to the authors and screenwriters and character designers and podcasters and animators and EVERYONE working in the entertainment industry, I say:

Give me Chaya's and Perel's and Basya's and Devorah's. Baruch's and Chaim's and Avi's and Tzvi's.

Give me girls wearing long-sleeved shirts and skirts that go past the knees.

Give me boys with yarmulkes and tzitzit.

Give me characters saying "Do you wanna come over for shabbos/yuntif?"

Or, "hang on, I need to go daven shachris."

Or, "Is it Kosher?"

Give me bubbes and shuls and cholent and tehillim.

Give me explicitly orthodox representation.

And if you won't do it for me, then do it for all the others who feel invisible.

We're in the theaters and the bookstores and spread across all the internet, and we see you.

Why can't you see us, too?

When I wrote stories as a kid, if they were set in the real world and not in some fantasy setting, the characters always, always had English names.

I grew up Orthodox. I went to private religious schools. The people I knew personally almost all had Hebrew names, including me and both of my siblings.

But the characters I wrote didn't, because nobody did in any of the books I read or the TV shows I watched or the movies I saw, and little me wanted to write like a real writer. And that meant English names.

Coming to understand this as an adult was painful. It still is. I don't know if I'll ever be over it.

(I am still grateful to @seananmcguire for naming a character after me in one of her horror novels, and making that character cover her hair. It matters, and she understands why it matters.)