really love imagining a bunch a kids and teens on their pokemon journeys staying the night on the couches and floors in the lobbies of pokemon centers, having long talks about their experiences and feelings sharing funny and scary stories and myths about legendaries and trading items and sharing TMs along with sugary snacks and pokedex chargers all while their pokemon are out of their pokeballs and all bundled up in blankets sleeping soundly next to their trainers while they stare up at the stars shining through the glass ceiling over their heads
She’s got plenty of kids. Why would she want to get a husband for more? She has the whole Haven community, and Tobe, and Irnai, and whoever else wanders in. Besides, she really likes her alone time, and she doesn’t have so much of it that she’d give any of it away.
I’m working under the assumption that Gil-Galad is a descendant of Finwe, and that he was born at some point after the Dagor Bragollach, possibly even after the Nirnaeth Anoediad. I’m also assuming the Noldor don’t believe in ruling queens, which is all but stated in the text.
I don’t know whose kid he is, but I know why he went down in history as Fingon’s. Let’s look at potential parents (all living members of the house of Finwe). [under a cut for length]
Write a story that starts with emptying the wastebasket in the bathroom.
There’s a quest scroll in the bottom of the trashcan, under the bag, and I pause putting in a new bag as I stare at it. Since it’s being observed, the scroll changes and begins to glow with golden light.
“Congratulations,” a genderless, lightly accented voice says. It doesn’t make sense, but it sounds like it’s coming through the light, echoing and warm. “You’ve been chosen to embark on a magnificent–”
I lunge before it can finish, heart thundering against my ribs, and wrap it in the black trash bag. It’s warm to the touch, even through the plastic, but once I get it properly bundled, I can’t hear or see it which means I’ve managed to contain it.
For now.
I abandon my cleaning cart, shouldering the bathroom door open too quickly. It nearly takes out a high schooler lurking behind it.
“Watch it,” the girl snarls, shaking out the hand that had caught the door before it connected with her face.
“Be grateful,” I tell her, shoving the garbage bag bundle under my shirt. “I’m, like, basically saving your life right now.”
She scrunches her nose. “What?”
I don’t answer, instead hurrying towards the principal’s office. Sometimes the sorcerer or witch or whoever sticks around after planting them and I definitely do not want to run into them.
“Principal Flag!” I skid past the receptionist and kick the door open, arms wrapped around the quest scroll under my shirt. “We’ve got a problem!”
Principal Flag nearly throws her brush across the room at my sudden entrance, a blush rising furiously along her cheekbones. “I told you to knock!” Her horse hindquarters stamp in irritation and she hastily smooths her long, centaur skirt back over them.
“Sorry,” I pant, coming to a stop in front of her desk. “But this can’t wait, we’ve got a problem. I found a–a quest in the girls’ bathroom.”
“It’s actually a gender-neutral bathroom now,” Principal Flag corrects, seemingly on reflex. “The students voted and I think it’s quite wonderfu– did you say you found a quest?” She pales. “Was it–was it activated?”
“No,” I say. I carefully pull the bundle from out under my shirt, dropping it onto her desk. “I’m the first to come in contact. It tried to give me the Chosen One speech.”
Principal Flag’s hands hover over the black plastic. “God, it talked? Did you feel a compulsion? Depending on the strength, we could be facing quite the adversary here.”
“I don’t know.” I pull up the visitor’s chair, legs still shaking. “I’ve already been a Chosen one, you know that, a compulsion wouldn’t work on me.” I shake my head. “We can’t let whoever did this try again. A quest scroll ruined my life, our lives, I don’t want that to happen to a kid.”
“I remember,” Principal Flag says grimly. “I’ll be damned if I let some thousand-year-old warlock make off with one of my students. Not. In. My. School.” She trots around her desk to the cabinet. From there, she removes a black, metal box. “First, we’ll destroy it. It’s times like these that I’m thankful we have so many helicopter parents on the PTA. They practically give us the money for these.”
I watch as she opens the box. Dark, rolling steam pours from it and across the desk. When it touches the trash bag, the air begins to smell of burning plastic. Principal Flag picks it up, wincing as the heating plastic burns her fingers and drops it into the box.
“A CURSE,” the scroll shrieks from inside the box. “YOU HAVE DEFIED THE ANCIENT–”
Principal Flag slams the lid back on, locking the thing down. The thing is still shrieking, but the words are muffle and neither Flag or I are susceptible to half curses. Not since our childhoods.
“It had to be an inside job,” I say after the screams begin to die out. “You’ve got the school locked down and I would have noticed anyone sneaking in.”
“I agree,” Principal Flag says. She’s still glaring at the box, mouth a thin line. She looks back at me, grey eyes sharp. “Whoever planted it is a monster. There’s no way they didn’t mean for a kid to find out.”
“Giving quest scrolls to minors is against the law,” I say. “We could call the police?”
Both Flag and I stare at each other for a long moment. Then we burst into laughter.
“A Successful?” Flag howls. “Oh my god, can you imagine what a Successful would say?”
I wipe tears out of my eyes. Successfuls were people who completed quests, generally the light and fun ones that made good day time drama. “Oh,’” I say in a falsetto, “’I’d have killed to have a scroll as a kid. It’s such an honor. They’re starting off right!”
We laugh more, the sound verging on hysteria. Neither of us had the good fortune to be quested with a return the stone to the mountain scroll. We’d gotten something much, much worse.
“Oh, that’s good,” Flag says, dotting under her eyes with a tissue. She sobers slowly, chuckles dying out. “No, we won’t go to the police. I think that us two Unsuccessfuls will do the job nicely.” She grins and there’s something dark in it, darker than one might expect from a highschool principal.
I know that darkness is reflected right back in my smile. “I’ll get on it.”
There are Successfuls, heroes and martyrs who come back stronger and better after getting a quest scroll.
Then there are Unsuccessfuls like us who, if they come back, come back much, much worse.
If Venom is so much of a loser back home, how did they end up on this highly important mission? What possible purpose would they serve? Riot is the leader, of course, and I’m assuming Carrion (yellow) and Blight (blue) would probably be like combat and study, so why is this dumb gay there?
And then it hit me.
The only constructs Venom ever produced during fights were defensive. When the Foundation goons bust up Eddie’s apartment, they make a shield to protect the people whose window they just crashed through from getting shot. The fight with Riot, they produce a big one to keep him from tearing their face off. After the rocket, they created a parachute so Eddie didn’t get hurt—at what could easily have been the cost of their own life. They told Anne not to get involved because it would be dangerous.
Venom was just a tank. The only reason they were there was to take damage and keep the others safe.
Fuck, man.
…and of COURSE the team protector would be the one to look at this planets sweaty inferior meatbags and go ‘but consider: what if I protect THIS, actually’
Gosh sorry for this late reply. I had an idea and unfortunately I’m horrible with putting these ideas to words and I tried to draw something which turned out to be an equally horrible idea because
Artolomé, Our Lady Of Valour. It is in her nature to be just, to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and to be the blazing light of truth, who holds the sun in her palms. She was, it is said, once a mortal, and attended in the court of the previous god of Law and Good after her first death, before ascending upon the abdication of her predecessor.
There are many gods of my Pathfinder setting, and here is the first to be fully illustrated. This is Artolomé, the LG goddess of truth, justice and so forth. She’s pretty nice, if a bit overly-pedantic.
genres are OUTDATED. i sort my music by thottiness, jammability, rebelliousness, theatricality, and depression.
the emo trinity’s average song stats
mcr
fob
patd
as you can see, no one really touches patd for thottiness, but mcr is the only viable choice for an apocalypse anthem. fob is the most well-rounded of the three, but given that they have neither depression, thottiness, nor rebelliousness above an 8 they can occasionally fall shallow philosophically speaking.
‘but where is gayness on this chart?’ you ask, like a moron. rebellion, theatre, thothood, jamming, and depression are the five component parts of every gay worth their salt. next question.
just moving along like everyone else 