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#THOSE EYES CAN KILL FOR SURE

datshitrandom · 7 months

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Darren Criss and Taylor Hanson's instagram live | Grateful for the amazing Darren Criss for being a part of For Women Life Freedom The Voices Project and for sharing this great conversation. Get the song everywhere music is streamed or sold | September 15, 2023 | 🎥

#darren criss #baraye-for women life freedom #the voices project #1 of 16000 voices on this song #pretty eyes #pretty eyelashes #pretty eyebrows #pretty lips #🫠🫠🫠#THOSE EYES CAN KILL FOR SURE #CUZ IM GONE #mancandykings #dailymenedit #malestarsedit #dailymalesource #dailymen #mensource #please do not repost

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bonefall · 5 months

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I can't see how the writers still think Skystar's a good person. Like, twelve year old me liked him and thought he was interesting, but I was like twelve. And even I knew he was an irredeemable asshole after Moth Flight's Vision. If a twelve year old can figure this stuff out I have no idea what these grown ass writers were doing.

DOTC has a thesis, stated in The First Battle, that really explains everything.

"Fear and Greed" is just a fake-deep way to reinvent a Good and Evil dichotomy. Because Clear Sky's abuse comes from a place of fear, it means it's not malicious, unlike a "greedy" cat.

He can be "soothed," ergo, he's a fundamentally good person.

Post-First Battle, the books are focusing constantly on his feelings, how sad it makes him to not be trusted, how happy he is when people are on his side. All while he continues to screech at people who tell him what to do, manipulate and mistreat his son, and even still beats and mauls those who offend him.

But because it's "fear," that doesn't matter. That's a justification, an excuse. The writers don't seem to believe in good and bad actions as much as they do good and bad people. True 'evil' comes from a person who hurts others for the wrong reasons, like 'revenge' or malice.

It's abuse apologia. Plain and simple.

The truth is that abusers don't think of themselves as evil people, and everyone, even you and me, is capable of being toxic or abusive. Talk to those who have been abused and we'll tell you; we often stayed because we "saw the good," or even felt responsible for them. Abuse can be passed down through generations because the kids come to believe the way they were treated was normal and okay.

If you go through life thinking that abuse only comes from evil/greedy people, you won't see it when it happens right in front of you. Fundamental good and evil is childish. Abuse comes from fear all the time.

Abuse is about power and control. Fear of rejection, of losing someone, of pain, those are all very common motivators as the abuser tries to stop them from happening before they even begin. It doesn't MATTER that your abuser is in pain too, you NEVER "deserved" what they did in an attempt to break your legs so you wouldn't run.

But... we can all change. Even the worst of us. It's never too late to stop hurting others, move on to a better life, but some people never will. Skystar loves his power, and he keeps that power no matter how many times he misuses it.

He has no reason to change as long as his cruelty rewards him with status and authority.

But the writers are incapable of recognizing that, because for this entire arc, they were stuck in an absurd view of the world in terms of Fear and Greed. Abuse can be excused if he did it for the "right reason," and that makes him "fundamentally different" from the truly evil villains, Slash and One Eye.

Hopefully, it now makes more sense to you.

#I am completely sincere when I say that I am legitimately concerned for the mental health of these writers sometimes #It's a lot of words to say. Again. That evil is really really simple.#It feels good to get what you want.#Power gets you what you want-- Security. Assurance. Respect.#Everyone wants these things.#It's not about having a twisted and sadistic soul #I'm sure those exist out there. But they're so so rare #And you will get hurt if you need to believe that the only person it's okay to leave or distrust or hate is a literal monster #You can leave anyone who tries to control and hurt you actually!!#Even if they're in emotional pain and insist that they NEED YOU #You didn't deserve it! You never did! It's okay! They didn't need to be a monster. And you're not one for leaving either.#Or resenting them. Or recognizing that they can't be trusted.#Of course... well. Clear Sky DOES act like a monster in this text.#Gouging out people's eyes and slaughtering innocent women #But most of the time irl your abuser didn't like. Kill someone lmao #At some point the metaphor breaks down #BUT!!!#cw abuse #dotc hate #Clear Sky #Skystar #Anyway casting spell of I Love You on every abuse survivor who feels a connection here #bone babble

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ehlnofay · 5 months

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It’s not until she hears Sissel’s knees hit the floor that Efri is jolted back into her body.

She blinks, whipping her head around. Sissel is kneeling, bracing a palm on the ancient stone pavement, at the barrier – no, the barrier’s gone, it’s just Sissel on the floor. She lifts her head and meets Efri’s eyes; her hair is wispy and wild, the little plaits meant to keep it neat come loose and tumbling, her eyes wide. The barrier's gone, but still, her pale face is lit up blue.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t speak loudly, but it echoes in the great stone chamber.

Nine, Efri doesn’t know.

She blinks again, looks down at her hands, clinging to the metal stick so fiercely that her joints ache. (Her own stick, her nice wooden one, is still on the floor somewhere, where it slipped out of her grasp when she hit the wall.) The lumpy heavy end of it, the clobbering end, is still resting on –

Not on. It’s in the thing’s head, fitted neatly in the opening of its dented helmet, the horns spiralling over the floor. There’s a tooth, perfectly preserved, by Efri’s foot.

One by one, she unwraps her gloved fingers from the handle of the metal stick, letting it drop to the floor with a clang so loud it makes her wince. Kazari is nosing at her side. (When did they let go of it? When did they get so close? She must have missed that. She feels out of the loop. Her heart is juddering like fish on a line, battering like some frightened trapped thing at her ribcage, and her breath is coming fast and heavy.) Absentmindedly bringing up a hand to press over her sore shoulder, she says, “’M fine. Not too – barely touched me.”

Kazari turns and spits on the floor. Efri blinks. She does it again, tongue lolling out of her mouth, face very disgruntled – and oh, Efri gets it. She does not glance down at the thing at her feet; she doesn’t need to, she knows what its arm looks like, chewed almost to pieces even through its banded armour. (If she hadn’t been so busy being scared of it, that sight might have made her a bit scared of Kazari. But not now, when they’re trying to hack and spit the taste of dead man arm out of their mouth.)

Efri unclips her canteen from her belt and holds it out. “Here,” she says. Her voice is rough. Her heart is racing too much to let constructing sentences be easy. “Not much, but –”

Kazari stands still while Efri tips half of the remaining water onto her tongue, and then Efri watches her swilling it around in her mouth, trying to bathe all of her teeth in it, before she spits it again on the floor at the dead thing’s feet.

The water is still clear. That’s something, at least; the dead man was too old to still have blood in him. Or maybe he was embalmed, drained of it hundreds of years ago, thousands.

“Are you okay?” Efri asks Kazari when they’re done, because they were the one doing most of the fighting, who was closest. They tip their head, shift their weight – wince when they put weight on one foot. Their lips peel back from their teeth. Their clothes on that side are singed.

Efri points it out. “Your robe,” she says, which makes it sound much fancier than it is. She’s too tired to think of a better word. She rubs a hand over her face, pushing the hair back over her forehead, says, “I’ll reinforce it for you when we get out.”

Kazari noses at Efri’s shoulder – the shredded fabric of her dress, the fraying edges stained with blood. Efri says, “I know. I’ll have to sew that up too.” Over her shoulder, she calls, “Kazari’s leg’s hurt, I think.”

“There’s blood on you,” Sissel replies. She peels her hand off the floor and leans back on her heels.

Efri touches her shoulder again. “’S fine,” she says. “Just a scrape. The blood’s drying already.”

It’s really sore, actually – the flesh abraded and tender, an ache sinking deep into the muscle – but it’s normal sore, the kind of sore you really should be after being thrown into a wall. It doesn’t feel sprained or dislocated or anything like that. Just like it will be bruised a whole rainbow of colours come tomorrow.

Kazari noses at it again. She leans too far forward and falters on her maybe-hurt leg – rights herself, wincing, and rolls her shoulder. It gleams, just for a moment, and she nearly stumbles again. Efri puts out a hand to steady her. (It doesn’t really accomplish anything – Efri’s strong, but she’s not that strong – but it’s the principle of it.) “What was that spell?”

“Pain relief,” Sissel says from behind her. “I think. Doesn’t actually fix anything, but.”

“You’ll be okay ‘til we find someone?” Efri asks, and Kazari nods. She presses a hand against their shoulder and nods back.

They both turn to look at Sissel, then, who’s just kneeling on the floor, sitting on her heels.

“You all right?” Efri asks her.

“All right,” Sissel confirms. She doesn’t look at them. “Didn’t even come near me.”

She’s staring.

Efri crosses the floor to stand with her. (She needs to lean on Kazari – her legs are too wobbly, and she doesn’t want to touch the dead thing’s stick, doesn’t want to look for her own. Kazari limps a little on their sore front leg.) There’s a moment of total, humming silence – all of them still and staring, necks craned back, looking up at the thing.

Whatever it is.

It’s a ball. Big and blue and shimmering, it floats above a wide crystalline dish set into the floor, spinning on an axis. Just spinning and spinning and spinning, endless motion. Its smooth surface is cut through with dark wavering lines, etched with lettering, and it doesn’t quite glow but it doesn’t not glow, either, the light moving across it silkily, like clouds in a blue sky. It looks like something that should be humming – a low pitch in their ears, an eerie shiver dancing over their skin – but it’s silent. Inert, maybe, but for the spinning.

“What is it?” Efri asks. Her voice cracks as she speaks. She looks down at Sissel’s face, staring as though mesmerised, illuminated by the room’s dim lighting – the fires that should not still be burning down here, the luminous not-glow of the ball.

Sissel says, “I don’t know. Something important.”

Hovering above the dish, it spins, and spins, and spins.

“Is it what the ghost was talking about?” Efri asks. She tilts her head and squints at it. It doesn’t – well, it looks strange and unearthly and powerful, but it isn’t doing anything. And it hadn’t been clear what the ghost was talking about, exactly, according to Sissel, just that it was something important – but what else could it be?

Sissel, still watching it, shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think so.”

Efri watches it with her, brushing a bit more hair out of her face. It’s sticking to her sweaty forehead. She feels a drip of not-dry blood running down her arm under her sleeve.

Kazari is staring at it too – just as confounded as the rest of them. Efri sees the light in their irises shifting as the ball spins.

They’re not learning anything from staring, the ball staying strange and mysterious as ever, so Efri raps her knuckles against her sternum to steady her breathing (it’s slowed a bit – not normal, but closer to it) and climbs up onto the stone rimming of the dish. Kazari, behind her, lows in consternation; Sissel catches her breath, a noise like a creaking door. “Careful,” she says.

“Promise,” Efri replies, and places her feet very, very carefully on the glassy blue flooring. Nothing happens. She doesn’t step on the dark curved lines as she treads toward the ball in the centre, slow and wary as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Nothing happens.

She reaches out, and, with just the tips of her fingers, she grazes the ball’s surface.

Nothing happens.

It’s cool to the touch, and smooth, like polished metal or not-frozen ice or delicate glasswork. It continues to spin gently under her fingers, warming her glove with friction, no smudges left on its clouded face.

It really feels like there should at least be a tingle running up her arm, a strange and unfamiliar current, a spark. But it’s just Efri, standing with an arm outstretched, pressing her hand to a ball.

“It’s not doing anything,” she reports, and Sissel clambers up onto the dish with her, fitting her palm to its gently hovering underside. Kazari balks, begins pacing agitatedly. Efri frowns. “Why isn’t it doing anything? Shouldn’t it be doing something?”

“It’s important,” Sissel says definitively. There’s ancient dust on her fingers, but none of it seems to transfer. “It’s something really special, I think.”

Efri shifts restlessly. She shifts her grip and tries to grab onto the dark ridged curves ringing its surface, but they slip easily away from her grasp as though her touch was no barrier at all. “But what does it do?”

Sissel shrugs.

Behind them, Kazari lows.

Efri drops her hand and grabs Sissel’s wrist. “C’mon,” she says, and when Sissel frowns at her, “We’re not going to learn anything about it this way. We have to look for clues!”

Kazari makes a more impatient noise. (Efri thinks she found a clue.)

Sissel gives the ball one last searching look and lets Efri tug her away, off the weird blue dish and down to where Kazari stands on the stone floor, at the head of the table where the dead man sat. Efri sniffs loudly and tries not to think about it too much. The table is smooth polished stone, worn a little away with time; Efri trails a gloved finger over the edge and directs her attention to where Kazari points with their chin.

There’s something carved into the surface, the edges blunted and shapes softened by however many years it must have been since it was put there. Efri squints, trying to make it out. She has to stand right up on her tiptoes to get the right angle to see much of it in full.

“That’s not letters,” she says eventually, frowning. She’s pretty sure she knows her alphabet well enough by now to know that. “Is it magic?”

Sissel shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is. It’s not like magical writing I’ve ever seen.”

Efri looks at Kazari, who also shakes her head. “Maybe it’s a different sort of lettering,” she theorises. It must have been written a long time ago, if it’s from back when the city had people. Onmund’s been reading all about it for ages, and he’s told her a bit – Saarthal was the city of Atmorans, populated by proto-Nordic people. All complicated history stuff. But they weren’t quite the same as Nords today, he said, so it stands to reason they had different writing, too. They’re supposed to be uncovering and cataloguing artifacts (at the thought, Efri glances back at the hovering ball and swallows an inane bubble of laughter) so she suggests, “Maybe you can copy it and we can show it to someone. I’m sure there’ll be someone at the College what knows what it is.”

Sissel, also standing on her toes, nods dutifully. “What will you do?”

The chamber they’re in is cavernous, and about empty but for the ball in the dish, the altar and chair, the body on the ground. “I’ll check him,” she says, and points. “See if he has anything on him that’s special.”

Sissel follows her finger and grimaces.

She digs out her note-paper and her stick of char, and Efri assumes it’s clues time, but when she turns she feels a hand grip her elbow. She looks back over her tattered shoulder at Sissel’s face, her furrowed brow.

“Promise you’re really okay?” she says, voice anxious and solemn.

“Promise,” Efri says, twisting her arm to touch her friend’s hand. Sissel presses her lips together and lets go of her arm.

Kazari trails after Efri to look at the dead man.

First thing is the metal stick. It’s magic someway, Efri knows – he waved it and threw her into a wall, flung spells with it – but she’s not sure how. Doesn’t know enough about enchantments. Didn’t need to, to use it; when Kazari clamped down on his arm she just ripped it from his grasp and –

She doesn’t quite exactly remember, actually, except for the bitter tang of adrenaline in her mouth and nose, the horrible grunting and scuffling sounds, the heft of the stick in her hands. Impact, over and over and over, against something that had a little more give each time.

Efri scrubs a hand over her mouth and grips the handle of the stick. It takes effort to wrest it out of the thing’s face, caught as it is by the edges of the helmet, and when it’s finally yanked free it’s – actually not as bad as she might have expected. There’s no blood, and the corpse was so desiccated it already didn’t even really look like a person anymore, so it registers less as someone with horrible violence done to it and more as a really gross art piece. It’s not nice. She doesn’t like the twisted, gaping mouth, teeth embedded wrong-ways in its tissue and scattered like coins over the floor. And one of the eyes, which had glowed unearthly blue, is now a dull, rotten black, squished like a plum in its socket.

It's worse the more she looks. She sniffs and turns away.

“This is magic, right?” she asks Kazari, testing the weight of it in her hands, the cool surface of the metal, and they nod. “A good artifact?” she adds, and they nod again, emphatically. Efri sets the stick aside and kneels.

It wasn’t wearing any clothes, really – or if it was, they rotted away. She touches the rusted armour gingerly, tries to avoid brushing her gloves against the shrivelled skin at all. Whoever it was had expensive taste, it seems – there’s jewellery in a shockingly well-preserved beard, pendants around the neck, armbands. Efri asks Kazari if each thing is enchanted. No to the armbands, no to the beard-ring, and then, pressed against the wizened chest where the flesh contours to the ribs, she finds some kind of necklace, sharp-edged and thrumming. Kazari nods to that, and, face scrunched up like an old fruit, Efri reaches around the ancient neck to slip it off.

She tucks it into a belt pocket with the tripwire necklace they found at the weird wall.

“Done,” Sissel says. She folds her paper and slips it into her own pouch. Her footfalls on the echo-y stone floor as she approaches the body for the first time are almost silent. “Did you find anything?”

“Necklace,” Efri replies, watching Sissel’s face pinch at the sight of him. “And – stick.” She scoops up the metal stick and holds it out. “He did spells with it.”

Sissel looks at it warily. “Is he a draugr?” she asks, glancing back down at his mashed-up face.

“I mean,” Efri says, “he’s got to be, right?” She’s certainly never seen a draugr before, but what else could it be?

(Calling it a draugr makes her shiver, the set of her shoulders quaking. She’ll stick to dead man.)

Sissel shudders. She reaches out to grip the handle of the stick, and Efri’s not sure if she’s taking it or just trying to keep herself upright. “I can’t believe that happened,” she says. Her voice sounds, suddenly, fragile. “I can’t believe we’re alive.”

“Me neither,” Efri says. She presses the tip of the stick into the ground so Sissel can lean on it, stands a little unsteadily.

Kazari, with a hushed murmur, telegraphs something. Efri recognises the head incline of understanding – she’s familiar with that word, that idea – and, after a moment, the flickering ear of doubt.

“They’ll have to believe us,” she says with conviction, because she means it. “We’ll show them. They’ll see for themselves.”

Kazari presses their nose to her head.

Efri clasps her hands together. “We’ll go tell someone now,” she declares – though it’s easier said than done; they were lost in the ruins ages before they even found the crumbling wall, the halls, this horrible wonderful chamber. But they’ll get un-lost eventually. They’ll get out eventually. Surely. They have practice enough with walking. “But first – help me find my stick.”

#little girl has a kill count now!! more at 11 #for context: I altered stuff leading up to the discovery of the eye #efri and sissel went off to play in the undiscovered halls of this ancient archeological dig site #on the grounds that efri has a great sense of navigation and they'll find their way back to the group no problem.#(efri has a great sense of navigation in the wilderness.)#(introduce her to a series of roads and buildings and she is lost in the sauce.)#their friends split up to look for them after they've been missing from a while (wandering around with great interest and no sense of place #(incredibly lost)#kazari happens upon them right as they've found a necklace at the end of a dead-end passageway that - when dutifully grabbed #for archeological research purposes - ended up triggering the wall to crumble or disappear or otherwise remove itself from the equation #and efri wasn't going to just. LEAVE that opening there.#come ONN kazari that's weird!! we can't just leave it!! what if it closes up and we never ever find it again and there's incredible secrets #that the college never finds! what if we never know what's through there!#we HAVE to know what's through there!#so on they go.#and so ensue the horrors #they pass a lot of dead bodies before the main all but those ones are all immobile #also sissel is the only one to receive the psijic projection warning. which she explains to the others as a ghost telling her secrets #which efri accepts bc this seems like the kind of place that would for sure have ghosts #and kazari goes sure that tracks this place is fucking creepy can we leave now (<- is also curious but HAS to put on a show of reluctance #because clearly no-one else is going to)#(permanent babysitter of kids with the worst self-preservation instincts imaginable)#(she is so strong. living every childcare worker's nightmare)#ANYWAY #:D #normal type stuff #posting because it matches the artwork I'm also posting! look at that thing!!!#fay writes #oc tag #efri

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fancifulflora · 1 year

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in the mood for angst! how would the LIs in atoc react to the crown sacrificing themselves for them (during or after ur choice!) ty! group crying session after this lol

hehehe, I've been writing a lot of fluff lately and semi angst so now it's high time I destroy people a little on the inside

also since its a sunday and i have a lot of extra time to write I'm posting this as a nice bonus on top of the 1 daily post

Azad/Ashti

Perhaps they weren't too unlike their father after all.

Both lead their country to ruin, to chaos, in one way or another.

The only problem was that the Royal Protector didn't lose their mind. Their body wasn't frail. Paranoia had not taken them the way it did their parent.

They were healthy, as healthy as one could be. Still young, strong. Capable and with agency.

Yet they were still alive. A Royal Protector now without their Crown.

A failure.

It still was fresh in their mind, a sharp ache filling up their head whenever they let their mind drift to you. The guilt robbed their lungs of air.

They think of the trust you had given them, they trust the two of you shared.

You knew full well that this was their purpose- their duty to lay their life down for your safety.

So why did you do it? Why go so far for them?

It hurts to not be able to hold you in your final moments, to be able to ask- demand to know why you were so damn selfless. Why you cared for them so. Why your eyes looked so resigned, so at peace the moment you shoved your entire body against theirs- your eyes meeting for the last time.

Your head rolling across the stones ended all hope for answers.

Leaving behind a country in chaos, a failure in desperate need of answers they'll never get.

Dara/Delal

Somehow, despite all odds, despite everything they did in their power to get stronger, to grow- they did it again.

They've killed another Crown.

It had to be a cruel trick played on them by the very Spirits themselves. Had to be. There was no way that they were deserving of such sacrifice.

No way a single, insignificant soldier was worth not one, but two Crowns.

Void take them, there was no way their life could ever be worth yours alone.

Not when they knew you, knew your character, knew your potential.

The armor they wore that day still sits in their office, the golden scales stained with a crimson that they may never wash off.

Their own hands are still stained with blood every time they dare look down at them, stained with your blood- no matter how many times they try to wash it off. Try to put it in the back of their mind.

They can't even stop to think of the consequences this will have on their family, they can barely think as is.

The only thing they can do is harden themselves and let the earth itself swallow their misery, their heart.

And their chances of redemption along with it.

Rozerîn/Rêzan

Not a soul blamed them for the Crown's passing.

A part of the sorcerer wished they would.

It's only right that they do.

Though they knew the blame would come later, when the nights of mourning- crying, ended.

It would come when the sorcerer could eat and drink once more when they could get back to brushing their long hair- leaving the darkness of their chambers.

And for once, they'd welcome it.

They'd happily take the looks from the nobles, the snide- even accusatory comments.

It wasn't like they were incorrect in their sentiment. The sorcerer did turn out to be unfit for their position. Unworthy of the faith placed in them by those around the magus.

They'd deserve no less for failing their mentor, for failing their Crown.

For failing you.

Void take them, they'd deserve more criticism if anything.

All their insecurities were brought to life that day, the same day life left yours. They still remember it now, remember the tears in your eyes as you cupped the side of their face, your weak voice telling them that it wasn't their fault. The way you clutched at their silk dress, your blood pooling on the ground.

No amount of healing magic could have healed the deep stabs you had sustained.

Spirits, to think that in your final moments, you'd be thinking of them. It ate away at the sorcerer's heart.

To think that they'd have no choice but to move on from your death - their task now set to finding the next Crown once more. To see the hard work the two of you put into Arsur washed away by time itself.

It was a weight the sorcerer wasn't sure they were worthy of taking, a burden they doubted- no, knew, they could not carry.

Not after watching their very hope fade from your eyes.

Xelara/Xelef

They had their doubts about you when they first stumbled across the long-lost Crown of Arsur.

Their own past with Crowns was a bloody one- one that had them contemplating whether or not they'd even help you in the first place when they first got a glance at your golden eyes.

They still remember holding you in your final moments, seeing the beautiful shades of the sun fade away.

Taking you with them.

Early on, they'd wonder what they might do- should do, if you turned out like Crown Piruz, whether they'd regret not being the one to run a blade through you- kill you where you stood in that clearing.

They certainly never expected to ever actually do it.

Not like this anyway.

Granted, they didn't actually kill you with their own two hands. In fact, most of the songs and tales being spun around Arsur have been about the affection they held for you.

A love that brought about their end.

All because of an arrow you had stolen from them- taking it through the heart instead of the mercenary.

No. They couldn't lie to themselves, not this time.

They knew better. Anyone would sense would.

It wasn't the arrow that killed you.

It was them.

#A Tale of Crowns #azad/ashti #xelara/xelef #dara/delal #rozerîn/rêzan #Angst #SFW #Headcanons #It's been a long while since i actually tried to go for angst lmao #i learned that the gold leaves the crown's eyes when they died and now ill never be able to not think about it #hopefully this fact will be stuck in your minds too #Also I just love how R and X's flaws are just turned up to 100 with your death- they're all destroyed but I take pride w those 2 #X loves hard and mourns harder #no amount of drinking and sex are gonna be able to distract them this time #there's also no way D can recover from their survivors guilt now lmao #not many might know about how they killed the first crown but they sure are gonna know about how you died #A most def loses their Royal Protector position after this too- so gl on their search #also its fucked that the rest see you get stabbed or take an arrow but A gets to see you get your head chopped off lmao #atoc

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bonebrokebuddy · 2 years

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The Adventures of Superman time stamps for @stealingyourbones for not only fic writers to get inspo & for a place to get prompts but also people please listen to this show its a fascinating piece of history and it’s so damn interesting to listen to.

In EP 205 at 4:44:

Superman calls himself a “nice juicy beefsteak” to taunt timber wolves into biting him.

Ep 205 at 11:38:

Clark doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Ep 206 around 6:00 incorrect explanation of how coal was formed

Believed to be from fallen trees crushed under glaciers during the ice age

Ep 216 at 19:28:

One of the many times Clark implies that his Superman voice is his “natural voice” and his Clark Kent voice is not

Ep 216 at 21:55

This is meant to be a Grizzly Bear.

That is not what a Grizzly Bear sounds like.

Ep 217 at 1:56 (starts at recap narration that directly segways into the bit):

Clark fights a bear.

(Has a use of the “they can’t see me because it’s dark” trope that the show loves to use.)

Ep 303 5:45:

Clark still doesn’t believe in ghosts

Adventures of Superman: ep 619 “tell the truth or we go to the moon”

(Important Note: these time stamps and episode numbers are exclusive to how the host numbered & showed them on his The Old Superman Radio Show podcast where he reuploaded The Adventures Of Superman with commentary & ads before and after each episode. I’m going off of this version because it’s easily accessible but more so because I could also easily link the specific timestamp.)

Ep 207 Clark uses a gun:

This was in my notes but I for the love of god cannot find this occurring. I specifically remember in an episode Clark shooting a gun at a tree near a bad guy as an intimidation tactic. If anyone can help me find where that happened or a moment like it that I misremembered, please let me know.

#Also if anyone starts listening to the show. PLEASE could someone keep count of how many times #1) Jimmy Olsen watches a man die in front of his eyes (my count is 13 but I made the mistake of not recording what episodes it happened in)#(or timestamps so I have no way to make sure that’s accurate)#2) How many times Jimmy Olsen gets kidnapped #3) How many times Jimmy gets held at gunpoint/his life threatened #because I’d love to have those numbers bc if you listen to the show #Jimmy is meant to be 14 #hes violating multiple child labor laws by existing in the same area as a workplace #and Clark acts like a parental figure towards Jimmy and it’s super cute and I wish more people included Jimmy in their Superman fics #Jimmy’s one of Clark’s best friends and I feel like people forget that a lot and just use him as a side character #Clark has a sort of mentor-esque relationship with Jimmy where he helps Jimmy the best he can and makes sure he doesn’t get into trouble #(and vice versa on the trouble portion)#Jimmy is The First of Superman’s friends who knows about Clark’s secret identity #and I wish people acknowledged their bond more #i get the batfam fics but modern version of jimmy is like There’s Also Already A College Kid Clark Has SemiAdopted And Is Good Friends With #Explore That Relationship Please. Or the old version of Jimmy where he’s 14 in a 1940s setting and Clark very much acts like a dad to Jimmy #but also jimmy keeps getting 1) kidnapped 2) threatened at gunpoint/ to be killed 3) has watched many people die in front of him #that are generally from very traumatic wounds too #that kid needs so much therapy #bones speaks #taos #Superman #the adventures of superman

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alternis · 11 months

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the provlem is I think logistically it makes the most sense for third eye tim to rebel and leave Shiva if she'd placed him in a scenario where he had to kill somebody to save his own life and

(because he wasn't trained by batman and had less knowledge of subduing foes safely, and he's used to sparring shiva who can redirect or block lethal attacks, and the guy was genuinely stronger than him and trying to kill him)

he's cocky and overconfident about his skills, assumes he can find a third way out of the situation, but the other guy ended up dead.

7however I do not want to jack cass's exceptional backstory swag nor do I want to undermine Tim's own commitment to nonlethal violence, and desire to help even those who seem irredeemable. much to think about

#like it would just fix a lot of plot issues and set up some nice Thematic Arcs and character exploration #like him becoming Third Eye because he wants to distance himself from actual physical combat not bc he's scared of fighting but #bc he doesn't want to ever be in another scenario where he has to forfeit somebody else's life to save his own #amd you could set up conflict between him and cass with them being somewhat mirrors of each other #due to their relationship with Shiva and their One Defining Kill. but they both reacted to those things very differently #anyway specifically I think the death match would be with a fighter who wanted to take Tim's place as shivas personal student #and Shiva was like sure if you kill my current student you can take his place. my protege could grow stronger by killing you also! very fun #third eye au #oh and for extra Thematic Parallel points he kills the guy by making him stumble backwards and right off the edge of a roof

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patrice-bergerons · 1 year

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LOSING MY MIND at how well James knows Robbie's flat (how comfortable he is in it) and it's only season bloody 2.

they carry on a work conversation when he comes in while Robbie wordlessly gets him a beer from the fridge (Robbie is drinking wine but he knows James would want beer, including what type of beer, and keeps that in his fridge)

then James while still carrying on the same work convo walks past Robbie to open the bottle and finds the bottle opener in the drawer easy as drawing breath because of course this is not the first time he's done this.

Then he whinges about the fact that Robbie is listening to Wagner and he is downright petulant, playful, in the way you are with people you are the most comfortable around, until Robbie gives in and lets him change the music

so he changes it to the boys are back in town

after which they sit on the sofa (no room left for Jesus in between, mind) drinking and bantering, domestic as you please

and the very next thing that comes after this? is life born of fire. kill me now

#itv lewis #music to die for #GOD like OF COURSE #ofc lbof makes sense #when you are so used to being on your own - to the cold - and then suddenly you have this. warmth.#this domesticity that's given to you as long as you know how to accept it and not acknowledge what it is you are doing #wouldn't you lie (and lie) if it meant keeping that version of yourself #the one that can be loved and trusted to share a drink (an evening) with - alive in Robbie’s eye for a bit longer?#and robbie? gosh james is so competent and...he is in robbies *space* for the lack of a better word #like he HAS robbies trust (access to his home- his couch - his heart) when those are not things he gives away easily #so OFC he trusts james #when james should not be trusted #hhhh #*forget the case forget everything else you lied to me TO ME* if you know what i mean #but at the end - when james is so sure robbie would reject him if he knew #and robbie did tell him to go away #and saw him at his absolute lowest #robbie runs into a fire for him #UGH KILL ME NOW

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vagueiish · 4 months

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i think it's kinda funny that my perception of a!astarion jumps between 'the most cartoonish of villains, would steal candy from a baby while cackling maniacally' and 'oh. huh. he almost certainly would make spawn!oli murder his entire home-village as punishment for wanting to go back even just long enough to say goodbye, wouldn't he?' they can definitely coexist, but it's a fun spectrum, lmao

...oh. but. the thing is, it wouldn't just be punishment. there'd be some kind of love (or something resembling it, i suppose) behind the order. because he'd have learned some of oli's history, would know that maybe he wasn't quite treated right. at least by his grandfather. and maybe initially he only intends to have oli cut that tie, quite literally, but ofc he insists on going with and he learns even more of oli's history and abuse he suffered at the hands of his grandad and others and the fact that the village knew of ways he was being abused but turned a blind eye.... well. these people have all had a hand in hurting astarion's most precious treasure. and while he wants to rip out their throats personally for their Crimes, he wouldn't want to deprive oli the chance to punish them all himself. at that point, he considers the opportunity a gift, i think.

and if he ends up having to compel oli to do all of this? he'd consider it less completely removing oli's autonomy and more giving him a little push. oli’s heart may no longer be beating, but it never stopped bleeding, after all, and he's still far too soft to even consider giving his neighbors exactly what they deserve. but they do deserve it. and if astarion needs to get oli out of his own way in this, then so be it. he'll be stronger for it. he’ll thank astarion later, surely

#oh. huh.#he manages to twist the whole exercise from a punishment to a reward. fuck…#at least. yknow. in his own eyes #he'd make him kill the children too #would be fucked about it #some shit like:#'would you truly want to leave a horde of orphans to fend for themselves? i thought you were kinder than that #killing them is the humane thing to do surely'#but lowkey jabbing at him #also at some point dismissing oliver freaking out about murdering his entire village #something about how he helped kill the 7000 spawn and also all the people's he killed on the tadpole journey and for astarion since #a few hundred people is nothing #or. shit. it’s a tiny tiny bumfuck nowhere village. maybe a hundred people???#idk. I still need to iron out those deets of his backstory #i have other ideas i want to jump on for writing first if i can just muster up the...everything to do so #and considering spawn!astarion is oliver's canon i'd rather poke around at those first #also this idea is much too involved lmao. probably would not be a oneshot #but i wanna do something with this #wish i had the skill lmao #oc: could it be this misery will suffice? (oliver)#to the void with love

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