Blue: So how did you finally win Adam Parrish’s heart?
Ronan: Well, Sargent, it went something like this: - *counts on fingers* - first, I dragged him behind my car, then I insulted his girlfriend (that was you - sorry, bro), then I beat up his dad, then I paid his rent without telling him, then I slept on his floor and THEN I showed up at his work with a ten-foot monster bird and asked him to help me blackmail our latin teacher-
Blue: That went well, I take it?
Ronan: Well no, he kicked me out, so I broke into his car and left him some hand lotion and a mix tape with only the Murder Squash Song on it.
Blue: I have a vague memory of that tape.
Ronan: It worked! So I took him to see some cows, then we went shopping and I crashed a grocery cart with him in it-
Blue: Gansey never did that to me.
Ronan: See, you need to know how to pick’em. Anyway, there was a slight snafu in a church
involving some bodyparts in an envelope and my own bloody corpse, but we got through it, it’s all good. I went on to produce a hooved supernatural child who eats everything in sight -(he adores her, it’s really sweet), acted as his personal chauffeur during an evening hunt for the Devil, then took him to do a little frolicking in a magical woods where I gave him a nervous breakdown by revealing that said magical woods came from inside my head-
Ronan: - *glares* - He got over it, alright?! Anyway: finally, on my 18th birthday party, after accidentally calling him a shithead, I sent him upstairs to my bedroom for some aluminum foil and there, I kissed him on the mouth after playing a little too long with a toy car and presto! One Parrish-Lynch coalition in the bag!
And when I say this I’m thinking along the lines of how we sometimes do things for no reason.
Let’s face it, we do things and when someone asks why the answer is always “I dunno… I wanted to?”
For instance: my friends and I would yell, like someone would randomly start ‘aaaaahhh’-ing and it would progress to the point of screaming, just cause.
Another one is the whole 'MINE!’ thing from finding nemo. Any human hearing this will start chanting 'mine’ over and over again to the point of annoying, not only themselves, but everyone else as well.
Just imagine aliens seeing this. What would the aliens think of these 'fearsome’ Terrans chanting or screaming for no reason. Is it a ritual??? A human thing??? Do we do this too??? We just don’t know??? Like??? Why, human??? Why???
The Four Chemistry Classes You Might Take in College
Because apparently my descriptions of chemistry are apparently amusing to @papalogia
Gen Chem: A mix of “hey I learned this in high school, this ain’t so bad”, “they lied about this in high school but it makes a bit more sense now”, and “I have never seen this before, but let’s roll with it.”
Organic Chem: You hate carbon. You hate bonds. You hate stereochemistry. You may or may not hate reactions, depending on if that makes sense to you. If you can’t imagine molecules, you hate your life.
Inorganic Chem: This isn’t organic! It makes sense! And then you get to Molecular Orbital diagrams and you cry a bit. Or a lot, depending on if you get them right away. Or at all.
Physical Chemistry: The bastard hell child of physics and chemistry. It has no soul, and you will come out of it hating every sentence that contains the words “particle” and “box” together. If your calculus skills aren’t up there, you will cry in frustration. If your calculus skills are up there, you will cry, but it will be out of joy. You may not know what’s going on, but you just solved an equation, so that’s something.
so like, i wrote a thing so i could cry myself to sleep like any good fiction writer. you can read it and cry, too. (please read it)
Nico wakes up to a hand on his cheek, pulling him out of the slumber to Will’s face staring down. Will’s eyes are blue and bright, too awake for the little hours of the morning, too beautiful to the world they call their home.
“Get up”, Will says, and Nico turns his face to the pillow.
“I’m sleeping”, Nico says, and Will pushes his hair behind his ear.
“Pretty please”, Will says, and Nico is so, so weak.
It’s raining when they step out the door. Will is saying something, but Nico can’t hear him over the sound of water hitting asphalt, rooftops, windows. Whatever it is that Will says, it seems like the rain itself is the reason they’re out of bed before four in the morning. Be it anyone else, Nico would be downright murderous.
But it’s Will; beautiful and precious and so full of feelings, doing all kinds of dumb stuff like dragging his boyfriend out in the middle of the night to dance in the rain.
This is it, Nico knows. This is how he will remember Will, when they’re old and wrinkly and their knees hurt on every step.
If Nico could, he would remember everything. The bags under Will’s eyes at the end of finals week. The snort that leaves his mouth in a fit of laughter, uncontrolled and untamed. The words that hurt unintentionally, meant only to fill the silence, healed with love and patience. The way Will holds him early in the morning, a little too tight, not enough.
But a human mind is imperfect, and Nico can’t hope to remember everything. But this he knows he will; the smell of rain and the curve of Will’s smile, soft and tender as the caress left on Nico’s cheek; a small twirl, one and a half rotations counter-clockwise, sending droplets from Will’s hair to a dance through the air; and the eyes, sparkling in the streetlights and calling Nico to step closer, catch me if you can.
When Nico sometimes, too often, thinks about death, he hopes that Will goes first. It’s a cruel way of thought, but Nico knows how much it hurts to lose the ones you love most. He’s not sure Will’s kind heart could handle it.
Nico wants to be selfish. He wants to think about his own poor heart, it has suffered so much already, how could it possibly bear any more? But he’s a little tougher than Will in that respect, he’s had the practice, and he thinks he’ll be fine after a while. He knows where they’re going, knows exactly where to find Will when his own time comes. It’ll be better like that.
Will is here now, though, his arm extended to an invitation and his heart still beating strong and loud. Nico can’t hear it over the rain, but he’s spent enough hours listening to it that he knows the rhythm like his own.
Nico takes a step, then another. His socked feet are cold and he has a feeling he’ll regret not putting on his shoes when he falls ill, but right now he doesn’t care. Right now he doesn’t think about death, or getting sick, or anything that isn’t related to Will and dancing and feeling too many things all at once.
Only the CS fandom could bicker like siblings who hate each other for 4 months straight and then the second a spoiler pic of Killian touching Emma’s stomach drops, be arm in arm dancing down the street and singing about love, friendship, and happiness.
This is a story that believes in heroes in the same way it believes in forest fires, or apples dropping to earth, or stairs in a mountainside.
Heroes are destructive.
They are inevitable, inexorable, and drawn to fall.
They are built.
The Academy believed in heroes in the same way it believed in uniforms and old family names. Heroism was tangible and came with a badge attached.
Jack Farris believed in heroes in the same way the town built up along the banks of the river believed in flotsam.
Beanstalk, by E. Jade Lomax
Ok, so I’m starting to reread the Leagues and Legends books in my downtime (which today means at almost 1 am after trying to write this on mobile and having it stop working and delete all of it) so you all get some rambles.
First off, this opening is stellar. Right off the bat it tells us that this story falls in the legacy of heroes and fairy tales. Beyond that, in the first five words, we know that this is a meta story, aware of its standing and ready to wink. By the end of the first section, Lomax has hinted at tragic flaws and the hero’s journey, the traumas and dramas (sadly lacking in llamas) that drive heroes forward and forge them into adventurers/rescuers/annihilators.
And then immediately subverts it with an image of heroics as regulated and taught, with an air of pretension. The traditional heroic molds are the prince and the peasant; this two-sentence introduction to the Academy is steeped in classism. Heroism can be born into, it can be bought, and it is bound by appearance.
And then, just for fun, subverts the whole concept of heroics in this world anyway, with the declaration that our leading trickster views them as so much trash and nuisance built up and in the way.
And they’re all true. In her introduction, Lomax maps out the forces shaping the book. At the topmost level, it’s the concept of story itself. Literary traditions and narrative tropes shape storytelling and our understanding of it. They’re important and heavy. On the second level, we see the internal power structures of the world. Forces like the Academy and government agencies, the traditions and culture that have brought the world of the book where they are. And then the bottom level, the individual characters themselves, where Lomax smirks at the top two levels and declares that they might as well be thrown out because these characters will have NONE OF THAT. And we see small rebellions twisting the status quo the whole way through, the power of individuals to cause change, and not just the “oh we saved the world we’re heroes” way.
And this is such a great bit of meta fun, because of course this is a hero story, and of course Jack Farris is a hero, but that gives him even better perspective for how he views them, tbh. And for that matter, while it’s a hero story, it’s probably even more of a healing story, but that’s getting quite ahead of myself and it is now 1:30 in the morning.