to summarize (sorry for repetition from other post but i wanted everything in one post):
1. everyone keeps pointing out how similar archie and jason looked and were. they had more in common than sports; they were both tutored by ms grundy (pause for vom), they were both at the river. they both had red hair. archie was the intended target, and the killer is grundy’s husband.
why? like i’ve said, i hated that plot to high hell but grundy did seem to be really genuinely afraid of him (assuming that was the truth), afraid that he’d do something terrible to her. if it was the truth and that’s why she changed her identity, then ostensibly he’s real dangerous.
2. edit: it would be a huge realization for archie that he was a victim. he really assumed he was safe with grundy. that was actually something he reiterated many times—he knew what he was doing, he was safe, it was all his choice. but it wasn’t, right? he was manipulated by her, and completely preyed upon.
i think it would help archie realize that he was a victim and come to terms with the way she abused him emotionally as well as physically.
the original point didn’t come off right, so i edited it here to clarify.
it also makes sense because the only other people with motives to torture a kid for a week seemed to acquit themselves in the recent episode
polly has an alibi, the coopers genuinely seem like they didn’t do it (plus it’d be way too obvious), and the blossoms wouldn’t torture jason
3. we’re halfway through the season; if we haven’t met the killer yet i’d be surprised. if i’ve learned anything by doing meta and theories is how to structure pacing. the killer has to strike again, and it has to be someone we’ve seen; someone who’s a recurring character. all of the main characters seem innocent.
so back to my first point, who’s the only lone character with those connections to grundy and archie, re: music?
professor oscar castillo.
4. remember in 1x05 where he stiffened at the name “grundy” ? he said “the music teacher who left?” remember when he turned away and said something weird about the connection she clearly had with archie? how he clearly hated archie on sight? he’s grundy’s husband.
the actor has been booked for a recurring role [x], and i’ll bet he was at the river that day, he thought jason was archie, but after he’d realized it wasn’t archie he couldn’t let jason leave. so he tortured him for information on grundy and archie and eventually shot jason, but now has to wait for the right time to strike again.
okay i know Hardeen was a Terrible arc for everyone involved, but what if Obi Wan had told Anakin about faking his death? Anakin’s like no worries dude I Got This, except he really. does not,,
the only reason his “acting” is remotely believable is because almost no one has seen him like this before, so it must be due to all the grief and loss and heartbreak and anger and whatnot
he starts by sobbing over Obi Wan’s supposedly dead body for a solid two hours when Obi gets shot down. “LOOK at him, so cold and Lifeless. D: HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE WARM AND FULL OF LIFE, SNIPS. I know last week I checked his pulse because he was meditating so calmly I thought he passed away in his sleep, BUT HE’S USUALLY SO WARM AND FULL OF LIFE.”
It goes on until Anakin has finished everything on his painstakingly written Outline from last night. At least half of Coruscant hears part of this speech. Mace sends Obi the security footage later, at a time he knows Anakin will be there to sit through it with Obi, because if we had to suffer then you do too, Obi Wan.
then at the funeral, Anakin pulls out a twenty foot scroll of real actual paper, because he would appreciate this, I think, and clears his throat loudly and messily before telling the council that he has prepared a few words for the greatest jedi this order, nay, this GALAXY has ever seen, and will ever see, no matter how long any of us live—
five hours later,, he’s still going strong. half the eulogy is Terrible and V Cringeworthy, but the other half is actually v heartfelt and moving. even Mace and Yoda have to blink away some tears.
it becomes easier after Anakin starts going into Unnecessary Details about obi wan’s life, like how he’ll miss holding onto those heavy 327 thread count woolen robes when he’s saving obi’s ass (curvature 48.5 degrees) for the 23094th time, and how he’ll never see a more sincere expression of Compassion than he saw when reading line 83 of Obi Wan’s eighth letter to Duchess Satine last month, quoted now as follows—
Ahsoka enlists Plo Koon’s help and they finally shuffle him over to the side, promising him they can finish his fake eulogy at the council dinner tonight. Obi Wan’s death may be fake, but MY WORDS ARE REAL, SNIPS, HOW DARE YOU. says Anakin, before he (a little gleefully) starts destroying the walls to show how Emotionally Compromised he is over this 100% real death.
he takes the 212th drinking, after having told all of them, too. so now there are 293637 men crying about Obi Wan (relatable af, y/y), all of which have the acting talent of a wilted blade of grass. there are 283747 toasts, and every single person there cries for each and every one of them, despite everyone knowing obi is still alive
When they get back to the bunker, Dean is surprised to see Mom head toward the room they’d assigned to her all those months ago. He assumed she’d leave as soon as they were safely back underground. He’s still staring down the hallway after her when he hears Cas sigh.
He turns to find him slumped in a kitchen chair, his hands in his lap and his coat closed enough to cover the blood and black…goo on his shirt. He’s staring down at the table with a crease between his brow.
“You OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he takes a tentative seat perpendicular to him.
Dean balks at the honesty but doesn’t say anything. He leans forward and folds his hands on top of the table. Somewhere in the direction of Sam’s room, a door opens and closes.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” Cas continues, still staring at the table. “I would’ve never…”
Suddenly Cas’ eyes pop up and past Dean as Sam enters the kitchen.
None of them say anything as Sam grabs a cold cup of coffee. Dean and Cas look at each other. When Sam leaves, Cas’ eyes find the table again.
“I wouldn’t’ve…said what I said,” Cas continues, hesitance clear in his tone, “If I had known…”
A couple of seconds pass before it clicks for Dean. “That you weren’t actually gonna die?”
Cas nods minutely.
Dean leans back, runs a hand up through his hair and then drops it to his knee. “Look, man, you know I ain’t good at this. But you are family, so…what you said…it’s not–it doesn’t–you’re not trying to take it back, are you?” What the fuck–that’s not what he meant to say at all.
“No, of course not.” For some reason, Cas sounds angry. “It’s just that I–nothing.” He quickly turns his head to the side, the way he used to do when Dean had hurt his feelings.
“Cas,” Dean says softly. He waits until Cas looks at him. “I was scared to death when I saw that…what that spear did to you. I can’t lose you, man. So, uh, tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, spit it out.” It’s too harsh, too casual, but anything else wouldn’t be Dean.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Cas squints at him. “It was a declaration made because I thought it was the last chance I would get to tell you. I couldn’t die without telling you that I…that.”
Dean leans forward again and wipes his hand over his mouth. “You, uh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You know I’m not–I’m not very good at the whole, uh, love thing, but I know it’s there. I know we’re–you know, we’re good.”
Cas squints harder and leans forward so they’re only inches apart. “You knew I was in love with you?”
“That’s not–you didn’t–that’s not what you said, man. You didn’t say that.”
That’s his “quit being a dense idiot, Dean” voice.
Dean huffs a nervous laugh and stares at the table. “Yeah, uh, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you had died.”
Now Cas is laughing, too. “We are terrible at this.”
Dean lifts his eyes shyly. Cas is studying him.
“Do you remember…” Dean stops and sucks in a breath. He shouldn’t be talking about this. “That day in the cemetery, when we all thought I was gonna die.”
Cas nods once but doesn’t say anything.
“I wanted to, uh, say something.” Dean smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to–to kiss you.” He winces in embarrassment.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Dean looks sharply over at him.
“If you waited until you were on the brink of death to kiss me, I would’ve killed you myself.”
“You waited until your deathbed to tell me you lo–”
Cas cuts Dean’s argument off with a kiss. It’s just a tentative press of lips, but Dean still lets out a needy, embarrassing whimper as it happens. When Cas pulls away, Dean mumbles, “Nuh-uh,” and grabs him by the cheek to pull him back in. His hip is digging into the edge of the table, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
It’s sloppy and too fast and Cas is breathing heavy and whispering, “I love you,” over and over right against Dean’s mouth and it’s all too much and not nearly enough.
Later, in the pitch black of his room, lying breathless next to an angel, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.
I was innocently scrolling through amazon, looking for Sidney Crosby related wares as you do, when I stumbled upon this action figure
Pretty cool! Totally normal for a pro athlete, but then I accidentally zoomed in and–
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU. WHO HURT YOU. WHAT IS IT BOY? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US?
And right then, as I contemplated how they managed to create a Sidney Crosby face mold that sucks the soul right out of your eyeball sockets, I realized that multi-millionaire, face of the NHL, Sidney Crosby must have many many toys on the market that boast his face. This can’t be the only one. I furthered my research. I was not disappointed.
Zutarians act like Katara's romance with Aang is to the detriment of her character but somehow one with Zuko wouldn't just put her in nurturing position for an older man. I am not for Kataang but I don't think any of the show's characters would NOT put Katara in the position of a nurturer and giver. She gives too much as it is. Except perhaps Toph but Toph is twelve, confused and has parental issues. What I'm trying to ask is what does Katara gain from Zutara except acceptance.
Katara would gain a partner who would help her with household duties without being asked:
Rather than someone who leaves the chores to her while he shows off for his fangirls.
Katara: Watching you show off for a bunch of girls does not sound like fun.
Aαng: Well, neither does carrying your basket.
She would gain a partner who shares parental responsibilities …
Aαng, don’t walk away from this.
Zuko: Let him go. He needs time to sort it out by himself.
And acts like a father:
Zuko: Keep in mind, these are dual swords. Two halves of a single weapon. Don’t think of them as separate, because they’re not. They’re just two different parts of the same whole.
Rather than someone who IS a parental responsibility …
And acts like her son.
Katara: What do you think,
Aαng? Do I act like a mom?
Aαng: Well, I… Katara: Stop rubbing your eye and speak clearly when you talk!
Katara: My goodness! That doesn’t sound like our Kuzon.
Katara: I’ve been training Aαng for a while now. He really responds well to a positive teaching experience. Lots of encouragement and praise. Kind words. If he’s doing something wrong, maybe a gentle nudge in the right direction.
She would gain a partner who respects her personal boundaries:
Katara: What are you doing?! Zuko: Keeping rocks from crushing you. Katara: Okay, I’m not crushed. You can get off me now.
Zuko [retracts his arm so Katara can move away from him]: I’ll take that as a thank you.
Rather than someone who transgresses them.
Katara: Aαng, I’m sorry but right now, I’m just a little confused.
Katara: I just said that I was confused!
Someone who sees her as an ally:
Zuko: I can handle Azula. Iroh: Not alone. You’ll need help. Zuko: You’re right. Katara, how would you like to help me put Azula in her place?
And not a possession.
Actor Zuko: Wait. I thought you were the Avatar’s girl.
Someone who waits for the right time to talk:
Katara: You look terrible. Zuko: I waited out here all night.
Rather than pushing her:
Katara: Because we’re in the middle of a war and we have other things to worry about. This isn’t the right time. Aαng: Well, when IS the right time?
Someone who understands how much she needs her family to be there …
Katara: Dad. Hakoda: Hi, Katara. Katara: How are you here? What is going on?
And puts their needs over his:
Sokka: No, I’m staying. You guys go. You’ve been here long enough. Suki: I’m not leaving without you, Sokka. Zuko: I’m staying too.
Rather than someone who disappears when she depends on him …
Katara: He left. Hakoda: What? Katara: Aαng. He just took his glider and disappeared. He has this ridiculous notion that he has to save the world alone. That it’s all his responsibility. Hakoda: Maybe that’s his way of being brave. Katara: It’s not brave. It’s selfish and stupid. We could be helping him. And I know the world needs him, but doesn’t he know how much that we need him too? How could he just leave us behind?
And puts his needs over theirs.
Sokka: This is the map to our father! You had it the whole time!? How could you?
She would not only gain a partner who, unlike her canon love interest, sympathizes with the loss of her mother:
Katara: Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They killed my mother and they could have done the same to your people. Aαng: Just because no one has seen an airbender doesn’t mean the Fire Nation killed them all. They probably escaped. Katara: I know it’s hard to accept. Aαng: You don’t understand, Katara. The only way to get to an airbender temple is on a flying bison, and I doubt the Fire Nation has any flying bison. Right, Appa?
Katara: I don’t?! How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me personally. The Fire Nation took my mother away from me.
Zuko: I’m sorry. That’s something we have in common.
Katara: But, we were too late. When we got there, the man was gone. And so was she. Zuko: Your Mother was a brave woman.
Katara: I know.
But who trusts her to deal with anger and pain in HER way …
Rather than pestering her to do things HIS way.
Aαng: Katara, you sound like Jet.
Aαng: Katara, you do have a choice. Forgiveness.
Aαng: It’s okay, because I forgive you. That give you any ideas?
Let your anger out and then let it go. Forgive him.
Aαng: You did the right thing. Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing.
Ironically, a partner who understands that some things are more important than romance!
Aαng: Katara is in danger! I have to go.
Guru Pathik: No, Aαng! By choosing attachment, you have locked the chakra! If you leave now you won’t be able to go into the Avatar State at all!
Zuko: Stop! This isn’t about you. This is about the Fire Nation.
But who would still die for her in a heartbeat …
Rather than risk her life (and everyone’s) to retain his moral purity.
Most of all, she would gain someone who sees her for who she is:
first off, i want to say that i legitimately love every single one of your supercorp fics and have read them perhaps way too many times. in particular, i've read fall A TON. so you're great and i hope writer's block enjoys the ass kicking you're gonna give it. second, if you've got the upper hand on writer's block and want to, i've got a prompt: supercorp and doing charity work? or legit anything you come up with. i will take anything.
was funny how utterly inconspicuous a hairnet could make one look. All the make
up and hoodies and caps pulled down low in the world have not been able to do
what an apron, a pair of latex gloves, and a simple hairnet have been able to
again, perhaps it wasn’t about being inconspicuous but just the plain absurdity
of finding Lena Luthor—heir to LuthorCorp and sister to the notorious Lex
Luthor—volunteering in a soup kitchen. Who would believe her even if she
admitted it to their face? Just the other day she’d been caught on camera
wearing a dress that cost more than most people made in a year—someone who
could waste money like that could surely hire
someone to volunteer at the soup kitchen, or at least donate lavishly (as the
Luthors were wont to do) and dispel the desire to freely offer services
yet, for whatever reason—the hairnet, the inability to suspend disbelief, pure
and unbridled luck—she was at one of the many soup kitchens scattered across
National City, doling out mashed potatoes and gravy while listening to the
woman in charge bark orders at the grocers and cooks who were working in the
back, and not a single person batted an eye at her.
they are two red-haired women, one pureblood and one muggleborn, but neither of them care because blood does not matter
(except that it does. except that this whole stupid war is about blood)
they are two red-haired women with the future of the wizarding world growing in their bellies
and this is how it goes
gideon and fabian prewett go into the ground that day
molly, the last remaining prewett, feels like she’s drowning
(and although she is now a weasley, she will always be a prewett)
arthur’s hand in hers reminds her that she is not alone (far from it, in fact), but it does not ease the pain, the grief of losing all that was left of her family in one fell swoop
there is a stream of endless platitudes and consolations, so repetitive and meaningless that they blend into one another
(and she feels awful for the ones she has offered in the past)
(sometimes words mean so little)
she tries to tune it all out. sometimes she mutters, ‘thank you,’ towards her feet, but mostly she is silent
‘when are you due?’
it is the only question that cuts through because it is so thoroughly unexpected, especially at a funeral
looking up, she meets a pair of brilliant green eyes, softened with sympathy in this moment
(but she knows just by looking at her that this woman can be hard, so hard and strong when she wants to be)
(and behind the woman stands a tall, bespectacled man with black hair, wilder and messier than hair really has a right to be, and she knows immediately that they are lily and james potter, who gideon and fabian talked about because of how bright and brave and in love they are)
when she does not answer, lily tries again, ‘you are pregnant, right? this isn’t some awful, social faux pas where i’ve asked a woman if she’s pregnant when she’s not, right?’
james sniggers and lily elbows him in the stomach
(and she wonders about these two, clearly so young, too young, for war and for a baby and for merlin knows what else might be coming)
(but she sees the way he holds her hand reverently, and the way she looks up at him reproachfully, her eyes betraying her amusement and embarrassment, and how he smiles and she smiles back and molly may as well not be there because they are so in love and damn the war)
‘march,’ she eventually answers and the anxiety in lily’s face melts away
then molly casts her eyes downwards and smiles
‘august,’ she answers, glowing like only a woman who is creating life can
lily’s hand skims across her stomach, the instinctual action of a woman whose belly is full of baby
(and molly would know, she has patted her own belly too many times to count)
‘well, i guess our children will be going to hogwarts together, then,’ molly muses aloud
‘maybe they’ll be best friends,’ lily smirks
and, for a moment, molly feels lighter because it is so reassuring to talk about the future in this way, to think about her children growing up in a world where they’re safe and happy and blood doesn’t matter and they can be whatever they choose to be
‘potter and weasley,’ james is staring dreamily at the sky before dropping his gaze back down and grinning widely
‘hogwarts won’t know what hit it.’
she never sees them again
her hands shake when she reads about them in the daily prophet
and she cries when she thinks about how they were bright and brave and so young
(too young and so in love)
(and now gone too soon)
she never forgets, but the memory does fade, the memory of meeting a vivacious couple on one of the worst days of her life and how they gave her hope for a future when the word future felt like taboo
and it doesn’t happen the way any of them had predicted, but it happens
because ron writes home in september 1991, talking about how he made friends with harry potter and how he stuffed himself silly on the hogwarts express because harry was generous and cool and being friends with him was easy and natural
so she thinks of lily and how she rubbed her belly, green eyes alight with hope
and she thinks of james and his cheeky grin and what he said that day
‘potter and weasley. hogwarts won’t know what hit it.’
This takes place in a parallel world where humans may or may not exist, but all humanoid mythological creatures we can think of do. Every species lives in their own discrete territories, and aside from trade or war, interaction between all the species is at a minimum.
So that’s Solace, the mermaid king of the pacific ocean. Sol’s personality fluctuates between that of a child and a very old, powerful deity. Sol has always been very lonely because of his status and his power, which his fellow merpeople shun, fear, and yet also hold the utmost respect for. But all he really wishes for is a friend - he’s never really had one. As it is with all merpeople, he loves pretty things, and he’s ridiculously vain and meticulous with his appearance, but he isn’t remotely anything proud or arrogant. He’s a very passionate soul, and can be both extremely gentle and so extremely temperamental that he has caused devastating earthquakes and tsunamis. But mostly he’s gentle.
Rafferty is a knight of the sky, sort of a low-ranking angel. Angels are sort of a militaristic species, so Raffie is very reserved, shy, and can seem emotionally distant to those who don’t know him. Generally, Raffie is very, very gentle. His power is sensing life force and manipulating it to a certain degree; he can heal wounds, speed or slow down the growth of living things, but nothing too extreme. He loves impressing Sol with growing flowers from seemingly out of nowhere. He has rage, too, but it doesn’t manifest as anything as dramatically physical as Sol’s fits - instead, it’s an eternal ember that kills you excruciatingly slowly and painfully if you happen to be the target of his rage.
He would never say exactly how it came to be, but Raffie keeps his eyelids closed all the time, so Raffie is effectively blind. Nobody really knows whether he has damaged eyes, or that he is just no longer allowed to use his otherwise functional eyes, but we know for sure that his sightlessness was the work of a superior angel who was furious with him for falling in love with a mermaid. Blinding was chosen to make sure Sol was punished too.
I’m gonna be drawing my OCs every once a while, depending on my mood, and I hope you’ll come to like these precious beans. :)
I’m not Resistance. I’m not a hero. I’m a stormtrooper. Like all of them, I was taken from a family I’ll never know. And raised to do one thing. But my first battle, I made a choice. I wasn’t gonna kill for them. So I ran. Right into you. And you looked at me like no one ever had. I was ashamed of what I was. But I’m done with the First Order. I’m never going back.
description: Engraved in your skin, the time and date that you will meet the person that fate believes is perfect for you. Seven years since the marks rose from the depths of your souls, the two of you have been waiting and now the moment is finally here. But the date of your meeting just also happens to be on Christmas and unfortunately Jungkook has absolutely no idea what to get for someone who somehow already means so much to him, yet he still knows so little about.
Jungkook’s dreams are filled with starry skies. The black
expanse painted with twinkling lights and a crescent moon finish. Lying on his
back, the blades of grass falling between the spaces of his fingers. Everything
feels so calm, a light breeze mixing with the coldness of the air around him. This is perfect, he thinks to himself.
But then suddenly the gentle graze of something settles its way onto the palm
of his hand and he thinks to himself — no, this
The grip of his hand tightens around the soft and delicate
skin of your wrist. He runs his thumb along the top of your knuckles as he
tries to memorize the ridges of his self-conjured image of your being. It
induces goosebumps along his entire body. Just from your touch alone, and in a
dream no less, he is still so affected. A deep inhale enters his lungs before
he turns to look at you lying next to him in the grassy meadow of his dreams.
The edges of his vision are blurry and he can’t make out your face, but it
doesn’t matter to him because this is
perfect — you are perfect.
He wants to move closer. He wants to hold you in his arms,
and he is so close to making this a reality, even if it is in his dreams, but
Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee
Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only
unfaithful to her husband once.
She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all
pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so
and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin
and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily
commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises
from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her
throat tastes like victory.
She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.
They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways,
Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they
plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean
to conquer?” she asks.
He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy
sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you –
you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”
Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will
only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall
over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”
“There are more important things than power,” he says
uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.
“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”
Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not
constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.
She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers
against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is
empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family
without one of her own?
Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of
obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is
angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath
and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the
mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she
pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate
to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.
No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together,
Hera does not get with child.
She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her
stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”
Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She
is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”
“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor
with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man,
and you will have your child.”
So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the
mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown
that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and
patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be
unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is
agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she
leaves as soon as she can.
It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than
she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even
becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and
he spends less time away from Olympus.
The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.
The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s
hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries,
struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I
He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the
other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage
and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”
He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing
herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around
the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning
bolt after the baby.
The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.
“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to
escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering
her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.
He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb,
adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My
child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”
He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over
the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t
find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain
to retrieve her baby’s corpse.
“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her
onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the
older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands
hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t
think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”
Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her
sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into
hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping
silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she
whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”
Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her
in the eye. “This is not your fault.”
Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries
to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she
did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it
Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes,
and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories
come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop
herself from crying out.
“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover
for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her
head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended
you, do not worry. All is well.”
All is not well.
That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to
dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other,
there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have
something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the
crook of his elbow.
Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it.
Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is
gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child
Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises
to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little
thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.
Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got
great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s
alive,” she says numbly.
“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches
over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.
Her son has no legs below his knees.
“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return
what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do
something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I
The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after
her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about
her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him,
and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child
that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t
“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can
you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”
She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.
“You’re going back
to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have
to! Don’t go back to him!”
“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out
with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is
She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He
would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she
asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera
of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess
of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her
son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to
her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will
return to Mount Olympus.”
“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.
Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had
anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about
The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”
Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”
“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe
in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong
enough to protect himself.”
“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss
the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from
Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror.
“Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from
Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me,
but could not.”
“Why?” Hecate asks.
Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless
sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus
will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be
unable to hurt him without explaining
he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of
her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame
me, and he will be safe.”
Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her
shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”
Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a
giggle gurgling in his throat.
“His name is Hephaestus.”
When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s
mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing
any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially
vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.
She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the
corner of her lips.
Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke
is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams
his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the
force of it.
“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is
your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”
Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces
nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his
most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes
her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry
glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”
He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her
legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses,
mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her
because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.
She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear
and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”
When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.
They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be
Friendly reminder that Dean does NOT even have to be bisexual to date Cas, because:
Castiel literally isn’t male. It is canon that the angels in general are agender/nonbinary. I mean, obviously he’s not female either, but:
Dean is perfectly aware of the fact that angels are actually genderless/sexless celestial beings (“You have been with a woman before? Or an angel, at least?”) and yet he’s slept with the angel Anna (note: the angel that was supposed to replace Cas).
Even if Dean’s straight… and even if we take into consideration that Castiel’s vessel is male (which doesn’t really matter) or that he may actually identify as a male at this point or whatever: you do NOT have to be bisexual to fall in love with a person of the same gender. You can be a straight guy and still fall in love with another guy (or anyone that’s not a woman), because:
Love. Isn’t. About. Fucking. Yes, Castiel’s vessel is male, but it’s not like we fall in love with other people’s genitals, right? I’m terribly sorry to break it to some of you, but not everything is about dick, so like… How about we stop making everything about sex (in every sense of the word)? I’ve seen people accusing Destiel shippers of sexualizing their relationship (yes, it’s true that there are people who just desperately want them to fuck while completely ignoring the emotional aspects of their relationship, but what can we do about it), but really – if saying “Destiel would never work because Dean is straight” (meaning: “because Dean wouldn’t want to have sex with Cas”) isn’t sexualization, than I don’t know what it is. They don’t have to bang, since their relationship is about so much more than sexual tension. You don’t have to have sex for your relationship to be valid, so seriously, this is such an ignorant thing to say, guys. It’s the fact that these two support, protect, need, love and care about each other unconditionally that makes their relationship so beautiful. The fact that they would never give up on each other. That they can communicate without saying a single word. That Cas makes Dean a better person and vice versa. That they would literally die for each other. That they care and are unable to kill one another even when they’re brainwashed or corrupted. That they would shake up Heaven and Hell for each other (and Earth, and Purgatory, and all those alternative universes, too). The way they gaze at each other. Their chemistry, loyalty, tenderness, trust, the slow burn and this damn “profound bond” – so unique, I’ve honestly never seen any canon couple share this kind of connection before. I could go on for centuries, but you get the point.
What I’m trying to say is that their relationship doesn’t have to be sexual. It’s romantic - and that’s what is special about it. It isn’t about two dudes looking hot while making out - which is actually what a lot of other show and movie makers think a queer romance mainly is, no shade. That’s why Destiel going canon would be an amazing revolution in terms of the portrayal of LBGTQA+ relationships. And I honestly don’t understand what’s so wrong with it or why anyone would be against it.
I’m sorry, that’s just the way I see it, please don’t start drama. The “Destiel can’t happen because Dean is straight” argument is just so invalid to me.
Hi so I absolutely adore the fics you've posted so far for bmc. It really brings to light the emotions of the characters and it's so well done. If it grabs your fancy, would you consider writing one where Jeremy becomes so delirious (from getting sick or a headache from the squip or something) that he spills all the self-deprecating things the squip told him to say to Michael? It would make my world if that existed, especially in your style of writing. <3
“Is Jeremy here today?”
“Jeremy’s always Heere.” Michael says automatically without looking up from his phone. Where he is currently texting Jeremy. He’s almost forgotten that there are people actually around him when someone hits him across the back of his head. “Ow what the hell, Rich!”
“Don’t even try, you brought that on yourself,” Rich says and the lisp does nothing to diminish the glare he’s got fixed on Michael.
“If anything you brought that pun on yourself!” When Rich looks like he’s going to hit Michael again, or possibly punch him in the throat for better reach, Michael decides the safest thing is probably to just tell him what’s up. “Alright, yeah no, Jeremy stayed home today. I texted him this morning and apparently he’s sick. I’m gonna go see if he needs anything after school so if there’s anything you wanna tell him I can pass the message along.”
“Nah, I was just wondering since I hadn’t seen him even though I’d seen you.” When Michael only looks confused Rich continues, “Dude. You’re pretty much attached at the hip as much as two people who aren’t actually attached at the hip can be.”
“You’re over exaggerating.”
“Oh yeah? Is that right?”
“Yeah that’s right,” Michael says, looking down at his phone again.
“Just out of curiosity,” Rich says with a suspicious air of innocence, “who’s that you’ve been texting?”
“This entire time since I came up to you-”
“I don’t appreciate-”
“and probably the entire day since you found out he won’t be he- at school?”
“Well I can’t just ignore him when he’s sick and miserable now can I?”
Rich’s responding smirk tells him he definitely just rose to a very obvious bait and probably should have just kept his mouth shut.
The thing is, Jeremy doesn’t do well when he’s sick. To start it off, he has no self-awareness or any clue at what warrants a sick day at home so it’s a miracle he actually didn’t come to school only to have Michael drag his sniffling and swaying ass home. Michael just assumes that Mr. Heere most likely was awake and forced Jeremy back to bed before taking off to his brand new job.
Michael doesn’t bother with ringing the doorbell when he gets to Jeremy’s house. He knows the key is under the doormat out front, despite how many times he’s told Jeremy it’s the dumbest place in the world to put the house key (”Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you literally get murdered”, “Michael nobody even gets robbed this part of town!”, “Well there’s a first for everything!”). He unlocks the door, grumbling about safety and mostly lack thereof the entire time before he makes his way up the stairs to Jeremy’s bedroom.
He hear the coughing before he’s even half-way up. He knocks on the door and shouts a quick “Don’t be naked,” purely out of curtesy, before barging in.
“Hey Mich-” Jeremy’s raspy voice is cut-off by wet sounding coughs that tear through his body and forces him to turn over on his side so that he won’t choke.
“Holy shit dude,” Michael says eloquently as he sits down on the bed next to Jeremy’s form. “I got you some cough drops,” he pauses as Jeremy’s cough takes over the conversation yet again, “but I honestly don’t think any cough drops in the world is gonna do shit for you right now.”
“Ugh…” Jeremy looks up at Michael with wet eyes, “dad got me somethin’” he says and makes a gesture in the general direction of his bedside table where a bottle of something Michael presumes is medicine is residing. “It’s meant to like,” he makes a questionable gesture with his hand, “loosen up the crap in my throat, so that it doesn’t get stuck. Which is great and all but in turn means tha I’m coughing up slime every minute.”
“Tell me about it.” Jeremy says with a sigh and rolls onto his back again. Michael reaches out and puts his hand on Jeremy’s sweaty forehead, just to check. He nearly snatches his hand back after half a second and the only thing that stops him is that Jeremy had closed his eyes the second Michael touched him and is now letting out a sigh as if he’s actually remembering to relax for the first time today.
“Dude, you’re burning up.” He feel slightly concerned now. Jeremy had told him he was sick but this is… a lot more than he had let on while texting.
“Mm-hm…” Jeremy says, his eyes are still closed and there’s no actual indication that he’s heard Michael at all. Michael strokes his hand across Jeremy’s forehead and ignores the disgusting feeling of sweat clinging to it. It must feel nice to get something cool touching his hot skin.
“Hey Jeremy,” he says as he strokes his thumb up the bridge of Jeremy’s nose, “I’m gonna go get some damp towels so you can cool down a bit, yeah?” and so he can get rid of some of that gross-ass sweat currently covering Jeremy’s body as far as he can see. Jeremy seems to have tossed his blanket practically across the bedroom at some point to alleviate some of the heat but even in nothing but a tank-top and boxers he looks like he’s going to boil from the inside-out. When he comes back with four smaller towels and a bowl of cold water Jeremy hasn’t opened his eyes and Michael thinks he might’ve fallen asleep. He arranges one of the towels over Jeremy’s eyes and the latter lets out a sigh of immense relief. “Does your head hurt, Jer?”
“Why’re you being so nice…” Jeremy’s voice is weak and it sounds like it hurts to talk. Michael frowns at the words.
“When am I ever mean to you?” He asks with a scoff.
“You’re just always nice even after what I did.” Michael has to swallow down an automatic feeling of dread. Any reminder of the Squip usually has that affect.
“We’re past that, Jeremy.” He keeps his voice quiet so he still sounds calm and not at all like his heart is beating out of his chest.
“I still hear him sometimes.” The words are so simple, and said so softly but it still seems like Jeremy is screeching, as though he’s calling out for help.
“What do you mean?” He desperately tries to keep his voice calm as he sits down next to Jeremy, he wishes he hadn’t put a towel over half of Jeremy’s face now, wishes he could see what’s going on with Jeremy’s facial expression.
“I keep trying to-” Jeremy has to pause for a second as his voice breaks, “I just want to be better than what he said I was.”
“Jeremy whatever he said it-” Michael’s words are interrupted by Jeremy who seemingly isn’t done.
“He would always tell me how terrible I was, how I was gross and how everyone else thought so too…” Michael grabs Jeremy’s hand and squeezes it, unsure what else to do. “Fuck he was right. He was always right.”
“That’s not true…” Michael whispers shifting so that he’s sitting closer to Jeremy, still squeezing his hand tight.
“I still hear him, and- and sometimes I forget I don’t have to listen anymore!” Jeremy’s voice is shaky and Michael knows he’s crying, “I keep forgetting I don’t have to say it too.”
“What do you mean?” Michael doesn’t want to know, but if Jeremy needs to talk he’ll listen, he’ll always listen.
“He’d make me say things-things about myself…” comes the delayed response and this time Michael listens to the urge that’s telling him to remove the towel from Jeremy’s eyes, his headache be damned. He won’t let Jeremy get so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t remember he isn’t alone. Jeremy blinks his eyes open, and Michael notices right away that he was right. Jeremy’s eyes are red and the second the towel is off his eyes start to water and he looks so frightened and so small that Michael wants nothing more than to take all of the bad, horrible things the Squip told him and make them disappear. He knows he can’t though, the best he can do is just sit there, and hold Jeremy’s hand.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly and brings Jeremy’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the sweaty palm, “but I’m here, okay? I’m right here, and I’m listening.” Michael can’t be sure if his words do any good as Jeremy only seems to cry harder, but Jeremy needs to know he’s not alone. It takes a few minutes but after a while Jeremy seems to calm down enough to continue.
“Everything about me makes me wanna die.” Jeremy sniffs and fresh tears spring to his eyes and all Michael can do is gather Jeremy up in his arms and hold him close. “He’d make me repeat that…” Jeremy continues, “and I didn’t- I felt it. He just took things I already thought and felt and made me- I want him gone!” Michael’s heart breaks as Jeremy’s ramble ends in a wail, “I want him gone I want him- he’s still- Michael!” Jeremy sobs and grabs at the front of Michael’s shirt.
“I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. He can’t do shit anymore. He-it’s just a voice and it’s awful and I hate it but that’s all it is. it can’t do shit to you anymore.” Even as he says it he isn’t sure if it’s true. With Jeremy still sobbing in his arms, he feels powerless and wonders silently if the Squip isn’t already doing shit, or if he’s just done enough damage to last Jeremy a lifetime.
He pushes the thought away and squeezes Jeremy tighter.
I love the HP fandom, but I just hate how in this fandom Snape gets more love than he deserves, meanwhile James Potter gets more hate than he will ever deserve. I can’t believe that it’s 2017 and people still believe Snape was a hero and James was a terrible person.
James Potter was a jerk when he was a teen and yes, he bullied Snape. But he was 15, and “a lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen”. Tell me that you weren’t an idiot sometimes at that age, I dare you.
If he was such a bad person, then why was he totally okay with Remus being a werewolf? He loved his friends like nobody else, and it’s canon. He became an unregistered animagi so that his werewolf friend wouldn’t have to suffer through the full moon alone.
Do you realize that when James Potter used Levicorpus on Snape, he had already been planning on becoming a death eater and had been trying to out Remus as a Werewolf? This is actual canon from DH.
You have to remember that even if James was an idiot, Snape was no saint either. Remus even said that Snape “never lost an opportunity to curse James”. In fact, it’s mentioned by anyone who talks about the marauders and Snape that the animosity and hexing between them was mutual, so don’t tell me that only James hexed Snape. We don’t actually know how one-sided Snape’s bullying was. But if what Remus said it’s true, then it was mutual. Even if Snape’s worst memory is true as told, this happened after he was openly associating with pureblood supremacists, dismissing the use of dark magic as ‘a joke’.
You need to remember that James despised Dark Magic, and he couldn’t even just say the word “mudblood”. He was the complete opposite to a pureblood supremacist.
He grew up and became Head Boy. He matured, and did it enough for Lily to fall in love with him.
After school (possibly even in his final year), James grew up, and became part of the Order of the Phoenix
as soon as he left Hogwarts. He realized what a douche he was to people and changed for the better. He joined the Order because there were innocent people dying for no reason, and he knew he could fight and help. He joined because he loved Lily and he wanted to make sure there was a future for them, a future where they could live happily ever after.
And then he died trying to protect his family. He faced Lord Volvemort wandless, unarmed, so his wife and their baby could escape. James Potter was many things but he was not an idiot. He knew that facing Voldemort at that point would be the last thing he did, but did it anyway. He decided that Lily’s life, and Harry’s, was more important than his own.
You have to rememeber that literally everybody from Hagrid to Lord Voldemort thought James Potter was a good and brave man.
On the other hand, Snape called the girl he was ”in love with” a mudblood infront of the entire school. He directly verbally abused her with a racial slur and became involved in a movement that wanted to kill her and eradicate her kind. He chose to shatter their friendship because his ego was hurt that a girl was helping him, even though she probably was the only person who was nice to him.
His treatment of Petunia was terrible. He’s been bullying people since before he even went to Hogwarts. Since he was little, he thought muggle-borns and muggles were inferior.
He created a spell that could kill his enemies when he was at Hogwarts. And after that, he finally joined a terrorist organization that wanted to kill people like the woman he was supposed to be in love with. He probably killed and tortured people.
He was a loyal Death Eater for multiple years.
Snape may have loved Lily, but his love for her was selfish, seen in the fact that he was willing to let her husband and her infant child die. Actually, I don’t think he loved her. He was obsessed with her. Or at least, he loved the idea of her that was on his mind, not the real Lily Evans.
If he had really loved her, he would have tried to save her family, knowing that she would suffer if they died. But he was willing to let a baby and an innocent man die if it meant he could save Lily. If it meant he could have her.
And when Lily died to protect her child, he realized that he made the wrong decision and “changed”. He became a spy, and I know it was hard. I understand that. I acknowledge Snape’s efforts as a spy and his contributions to the war. In the end, he turned out to be a brave man who tried to rectify his mistakes. But that doesn’t really change how a terrible person he was.
He abused his students, he bullied them. He targeted Neville, knowing he already had self-esteem issues, knowing what happened to his parents.
He threatened to poison his pet. He consciously targeted someone he perceived as weak, to the point where he became Neville’s worst fear at age 13. A fucking teacher was his biggest fear, not the people that tortured his parents into madness. Don’t you see how fucked up is that?!
Snape body shamed and insulted Hermione, who was an intelligent and hardworking student (just like Lily). He made her cry.
Yes, he tried to protect Harry, and saved his life more than once. But he also verbally abused him, a neglected, abused, orphan who had done nothing wrong but look like his dead father. A father that he didn’t even know, by the way. Snape mocked and insulted him at every turn. Snape did everything that he could to make Harry’s life miserable because it was his way to have his revenge against James. This is not a 15 years old boy bullying another, it’s a fucking 30 years old man abusing a kid because he couldn’t let it go his hate about a dead person.
He tried to have an innocent man killed because of what happened when they were 16. Yes, Sirius was an idiot for that, I’m not denying it, but he didn’t
coerce Snape into doing anything. He just gave him information. It means that Snape, on his own, decided it would be a great idea to sneak into the Shrieking Shack just to prove that Remus was a werewolf.
He caused Remus to lose his job after spending years suffering in poverty. He deliberately made Remus’ students to write an essay on how to spot and kill a werewolf, to emotionally attack and possibly out him as a werewolf. He later did out him to the entire wizarding world, just because he was angry because Sirius didn’t die.
After seeing the abuse Dursley’s inflicted on Harry, he thought it was funny and felt no sympathy. Harry was fifteen. The same age that Snape was when he was (supposedly) “bullied”. He didn’t care about the abuse, he didn’t see himself in Harry. He
it was funny. Fucking funny.
Usually, people at 15 are jerks and bully each other. But teachers aren’t supossed to abuse kids.
James Potter was a jackass, but he didn’t join the equivalent of a magical nazi organization when he left Hogwarts. He didn’t experiment with dark magic and he died protecting his family. He grew out of it. He was a good person in the end.
Snape only betrayed Voldemort because he was chasing after Lily.
He only left the death eaters because he wanted to protect Lily, if Neville was the chosen one, he would remain in his position as a Death Eater.
So sorry if I prefer James over Snape all the way.
not combat rations, thats for sure. ive had enough of those for a lifetime.
but my latest food hit has been pretzel bites. pretzels are an awesome food but rarely available fresh when i want to eat them, which is usually when i’ve woken up in the middle of the night. they’re relatively labor-intensive to make, which is good once the insomnia sets in. keeps me busy. plus, pretzels are sweet on the inside, salty on the outside, just like me. except im also salty on the inside. dont listen to steve.
when i make pretzels, it’s by the metric ton, so the recipe i have makes approximately a million of them.probably you will not want this many, because you don’t have thor or steve to help you eat them. or clint. probably you could just shove some into a vaccum cleaner instead, thatd be about the same. so divide the recipe in half or quarters for normal human consumption. take 11 cups of flour, 1 cup of brown sugar, ½ cup of oil and mix. 4 cups of warm water gets 11 teaspoons of yeast and sits for a bit, then goes in the flour mix. then mix it and let it rise for about an hour. the dough should be sticky to the touch and absolutely awful to get out of your metal fingers. while you wait, wander your living area for some poor sucker to rope into helping you, because stage 2 is easier with help. or you can sit down and wonder why you talk yourself into doing things like this. consider your choices. it’s already too late to go back to sleep; youve got dough rising.
get a deep fry pan or sauce pan and fill with about two inches of water. bring it to a rolling boil on the stove and add in three or so tablespoons of baking soda. you really can’t do too much of that, as long as the water’s not getting super cloudy. preheat the oven to 400 degrees. wake steve up and tell him he has to help.
get a couple egg yolks in a bowl with a basting brush, and find some kosher salt or sea salt. grease up a few pans.
flour a surface and roll the dough out until it’s between ½ and ¼ in thick. get your poor unsuspecting minion to cut out bite sized bits. i use an inch and a half circle cookie cutter, but you can use whatever you want, really. tony used a laser cutter last time i let him help, which was…not ideal.
drop the cut outs into the boiling soda water, and let them sit for a few seconds, then fish them out. you can use your robot hand for that, but again, you’ll be getting dough out of it for days. i let them drip dry on a cookie drying sheet, but you could also drop them on a clean dishtowel i guess. you just dont want them to be wet when you put them on the cookie sheet.
they’re not gonna expand a ton, so just stuff em up close to each other on the sheet. paint the tops with egg yolks and sprinkle with salt. pop em in the oven for 10-15 min or until golden brown.
repeat the boiling-and-baking until you want to die, then keep going until you run out of dough. while the last batch is baking, take a half a stick of butter, a quarter cup of flour and make a roux in a saucepan. add two cups of milk and two cups of cheddar cheese, some salt and pepper to taste, and a quarter cup of mustard, give or take. im showing you how much to use with my hands but you cant see it. sorry, i dont really measure stuff most of the time. heat and stir till it’s melty and amazing, and dip pretzels on in there.
by the time you have completed this process and eaten as many pretzel bites as you want–and there will be enough. it’s a dang big recipe–you will want to enter a food coma and sleep forever. or for 70 years or so.
Alright, Witches, Wizards, Muggles, and magical creatures big and small, hold onto your broomsticks because I’m about to tell you why I do not like Harry Potter and the Cursed Child nor accept it as canon.
Spoilers ahead. Obviously. but c’mon who hasn’t read it or been spoiled by nowAlso, it got super long.
Let’s start off by saying: it’s been months since I read it. If I get some things off a little, go ahead and tell me; I’ll edit the rant and correct it. If you just don’t agree with me… that’s great for you. Okay? We good? That’s all the disclaimer you’re getting. Moving on!
Where do I begin? Um… Let’s recap shall we?
It starts with Albus Severus Potter (who’s name I still cannot get over) meeting and becoming friends with Scorpius Malfoy.
Okay. Great. We’ve all wanted that for years. No problem.
We’ve also played with the idea of Albus in Slytherin for years. I have no problem with that either.
What I do have problems with is the way Albus is treated after he is put in Slytherin. He’s the outcast of his family. He’s the “disappointing son”. After Harry’s canon “the bravest man I knew was Slytherin” speech (don’t get me started on Snape), I expected a bit better treatment of Slytherins. But Albus is Slytherin and looked at sideways by the entire cast, except Scorpius. This could easily become a rant about Slytherin’s and stereotypes and treatment, but I give enough of those already.
My issues are mostly with Albus’ personality. Now, I didn’t write the character. He’s not mine. I don’t have the authority to tell anyone how he should be. All I can do is have headcanons. But “canon” Albus doesn’t exactly display a lot of Slytherin traits. Sure he sneaks around, but so does Harry, Ron, and Hermione and they’re all Gryffindor. If my memory serves me correctly, Albus goes to Slytherin because he basically thinks, “Well, the Gryffindors I know suck, let’s try Slytherin.”it’s been a while since I read it okay
Albus is jaded by the time the plot picks up. He doesn’t like flying, isn’t that good at it or Quidditch (which honestly feels like they’re just trying to make him as unlike Harry as possible which I could handle if it wasn’t so badly written), and is basically convinced his life is horrible. (I’ll get into why a little later.) This kid shows no Slytherin traits that I remember. He hardly shows any traits really. I think it was the play format, but Albus becomes a stereotypical teenager who has daddy issues and doesn’t like his life.
Scorpius I don’t really have a big problem with, besides it going against my personal headcanons. He at least shows a bit more Slytherin traits than jaded Albus. I feel like they were trying to break Slytherin stereotypes with him- which is great and all, but it almost makes me feel like that’s all Scorpius’ personality was. As if he was made to simply disrupt our preconceived ideas of what Slytherin is. I don’t like it. Stereotypes are something I can’t stand, but come on, people, don’t strip my house of what we actually are.
Okay, moving on from Slytherin.
Let’s take a step back from the new characters and visit the one’s we already know, we already love. Oh wait, they’ve been ripped to shreds.