it’s an unwritten rule of creating fan content that there will always be someone who comes up with some ridiculously goofy fanon, and at least one other person who directly contradicts this with the most soul-crushing angsty headcanons and in response
please consider balance and graduation are the same universe for a sec and just, okay
angus meets fitzroy and only calls him by his full title of sir fitzroy maplecourt because he is a polite boy and fitzroy is just like “finally a human with a little respect around here”
but then angus also calls everyone he meets sir bc he just do and fitzroy gets into a tizzy like
angus, to argo: hello sir!
fitzroy, in a tizzy: hes not, a knight, i dont think. he really hasnt earned the title thats not- sir is reserved for those who have been knighted and i appear to be the only one around here with that has earned the title so maybe- not everyone you meet is a sir,,
angus:… anyways.. *turns to [???]* its nice to meet you too sir
[???]: yes.. i can be ‘sir’
fitzroy, tizzy intensifying: you cant- sir cant be, your name. why would- that doesnt- we cant call you sir-
This reminds me of this guy who used to live on my dad’s street.
Every time it snowed, the snow plow would take out his mailbox - and only his mail box. And just to be clear - it was done intentionally. No one knows why, but the driver of the snow plow would target his box and mow it down. He’d call the DOT to complain, and would get an earful of excuses that amounted to “not our fault you have a wimpy mailbox.”
Fast forward to the next winter. First decent snow starts falling, and every kid is hoping for a snow day. It was right around 4:30 am that the whole neighborhood was woken up to this loud CLANG and the screech of tearing metal. My dad made it to the window first and started laughing his ass off.
Sitting out side was one very totaled, and almost ripped in half, snow plow. And these weren’t little pick-up trucks with a blade on the front, we have these up in NY:
Well, turns out over the summer, my dad’s neighbor got himself a backhoe and sank a steel I beam into the ground in his front yard. Then he covered it with a decorative wood sleeve and topped it with a brand new mailbox. When the snowplow driver tried to mow it down it was a bad case of immovable object meets unstoppable force - and the mailbox won. With the plow firmly impaled on the I beam, it was very clear that the driver had gone out of his way to hit it.
Naturally, the DOT wasn’t happy, and the neighbor’s reply was simple: “Not my faulty you have a wimpy snowplow.” They did try to sue him for the damages, but as he had gone to the town, gotten approval for the post and its installation, and made sure everything was up to code, it was thrown out pretty quick.
And for anyone wondering about the driver… He was fine. His job and tighty-whiteys … not so much.
That is a very satisfying read.
ultimate power move
This reminds me of an incident with my dad back when I was in middle school. I grew up on a small ranch in rural Nevada, and it was a little over a mile on a dirt road from our house to the main road, which was where our mailbox was. One of my daily tasks was to grab the mail on my way home from the bus stop. Towards the end of my 8th grade year, I was unable to complete this task as the mailbox had been smashed to bits sometime during the previous night (as had our neighbors). Chalking it up to an accident, my dad only grumbled a little while grabbing some scrap lumber we had and headed up to fix both mailboxes. A few days later, when I got to the top of the road to meet the bus in the morning, both mailboxes had been smashed again. I reported this to Dad when I got home that afternoon. A bit more irritated this time, he went about fixing the boxes again.
This happened three more times in as many weeks. Two of those times there were very distinct tire tracks left in the dirt at the crime scene. It became obvious that someone was intentionally swerving off the road to hit the mailboxes.
“Probably some dumbass kid in an old beater truck with a brush guard on the front,” Dad and the neighbors concluded. Unfortunately, this description matched roughly half the male population in the area.
After the fourth offense, Dad, who is generally a pretty mellow guy with a lot of patience, snapped. It didn’t help that we needed more lumber, and every time we lost a mailbox we had to go into town to get the mail at the post office, (which was a 20 minute drive each way). He ranted for a bit, then walked out to the barn to cool off and see what materials we still had on hand. After returning, he was quiet for the rest of the evening. Contemplative.
Early the next morning (coincidentally the first day of my summer vacation), he woke me up and led me out to the equipment shed. On arrival I saw that the auger attachment had been put on the tractor. Generally when this happened, it meant new fencing needed to be put up as the auger (basically a really big drill bit) was used to drill holes for the railroad-ties we used as keyposts. Building a new fence was not what I wanted to do on day one of my summer vacation, but complaining would mean digging postholes by hand, so I kept my mouth shut. Following orders, I grabbed a bag of quick setting concrete mix, a shovel, and the chainsaw (which was not a standard fence building tool), and tossed the items into the bed of the truck where two railroad ties had already been loaded. Dad started up the tractor and off we went.
I finally picked up on the plan when we got to the top of the road. With a grin, Dad just said, “Let’s get digging.”
So, to give some scale to this project: the average railroad tie is a square 7x9 inch pole that’s 8 feet long and weighs around 200 pounds. In other words, a Solid Hefty Bastard.
A few hours later, the posts had been sunk roughly four feet into the ground, set in concrete, and the portion above ground had been cut down to an acceptable mailbox height. The actual mailboxes were attached to the top of the posts with six inch bolts. These things weren’t going anywhere. We then painted both mailboxes black.
As we were finishing up, our neighbor came by and unloaded another mailbox (this one a shiny silver with chickens painted on one side) and a flimsy wooden post. Confused as we had just spent three hours putting up two new mailboxes, I looked at our sweet elderly neighbor who just smiled and said, “Decoy mailbox.”
We set this thing up next to the sturdier boxes so that it was the first box that came into view as you approached from the south (the direction from which the vandal had been attacking) and made it nice and visible, complete with reflectors. Please note, no effort was made to make the new boxes visible, so on a dark rural road at night, there is no way you were going to see these things.
Fast forward two days, and Dad and I are heading into town for breakfast and errands, when we stop to inspect the mailboxes. Sure enough, the decoy box had been hit and was destroyed, but along with that there was a fair amount of broken plastic and glass from a busted headlight around the base of the railroad tie post. There was also a lot of dirt and mud kicked up from where the assailant had gotten stuck in the mud puddle that had formed near the mailboxes due to the previous night’s rainstorm. All in all, it appears the vandal had a rough night. Our new fortified mailboxes didn’t have a mark on them.
Dad laughed all the way to town, and then laughed even harder later that day when my older brother complained that one of his friends had been grounded for “smashing up the front of his truck and getting stuck like a dumbass.”
FYI, it’s been 23 years and those mailboxes have been run into three more times and still haven’t budged.
im watching this aggressive new jersey guy do a tour of the trees he’s planted illegally in his city and the park/bed he sort of politely seized control of to rehabilitate the soil and keep them from spraying pesticides all over the damn place and anyway That’s Crowley
(via @ilarual) i see and respect all the meta about how war and death are the products of aziraphale and crowley’s actions in eden (tho death is the shadow of creation) and their rivals of a sort but the real fact is that crowley’s Enemy is pollution and he is constantly at war with them. pollution hates going to london because crowley will be There and he will be dogging their every step, in his fuckin shit up jacket and one of those litter grabbers
listen Pestilence was Crowley’s personal Enemy #1 for centuries; now that that fucker’s taken a breather Crowley’s sure as shit not going to let his basic replacement get more of a foothold than they already have. he’s using every tool in his arsenal to get them to go the hell away, with varying degrees of success
he tried Proper Demonic Tactics (i.e. tempting a prominent politician to cheat on his wife with an environmentalist) but the actual influence on public policy ended up being pretty minimal so he’s resorted to direct fucking action babey and it’s much more personally satisfying.
somehow all I got from reading these very cool headcanons was a mental image of crowley beating up pollution with a tree branch or throwing some of his less worthy flowers at them
Forget the Myers-Briggs fucking personality assessment. I am dead tired of hearing if someone is an INFP or an ESLQ or whatever. I want to know if someone is melancholic or choleric. Bring back the four humors. I wanna see “Kaley, 16, phlegmatic” when I go to someone’s blog. Who is with me. Lets make this happen
here’s a test i found. go wild, y'all. (im choleric.)
“Authors can’t use it in fantasy fiction, eh? We’ll see about that…”
–Terry Pratchett, probably
Try to implement anything but a conservative’s sixth grade education level of medieval or Victorian times and you will butt into this. all. the. time.
There was a literaly fad in the 1890′s for nipple rings for all genders(and NO, it was NOT under the mistaken belief that it would help breastfeeding–there’s LOTS of doctors’ writing at the time telling people to STOP and that they thought it would ruin the breast’s ability to breastfeed well, etc). It was straight up because the Victorians were freaks, okay Imagine trying to make a Victorian character with nipple rings. IMAGINE THE ACCUSATIONS OF GROSS HISTORICAL INACCURACY
people just really, REALLY have entrenched ideas of what people in the past were like
tell them the vikings were clean, had a complex democratic legal system, respected women, had freeform rap battles, and had child support payments? theyd call you a liar
tell them that chopsticks became popular in china during the bronze age because street food vendors were all the rage and they wanted to have disposable eating utensils? theyll say youre making that up
tell them native americans had a trade network stretching from canada to peru and built sacred mounds bigger then the pyramids of giza? you are some SJW twisting facts
ancient egypt had circular saws, debt cards, and eye surgery? are you high?
our misconception of medieval peasants being illiterate and living in poverty in one room mud huts being their own creation as part of a century long tax aversion scam? you stole that from the game of thrones reject bin
iron age india had stone telescopes, air conditioning, and the number 0 along with all ‘arabic’ numbers including algebra and calculus? i understand some of those words.
romans had accurate maps detailing vacation travel times along with a star rating for hotels along the way, fast food restaurants, swiss army knives, black soldiers in brittany, traded with china, and that soldiers wrote thank-you notes when their parents sent them underwear in the mail? but they thought the earth was flat!
ancient bronze age mesopotamia had pedantic complaints sent to merchants about crappy goods, comedic performances, and transgender/nobinary representation? what are you smoking?
me? letting an entire fic play out in my head from beginning to end and not writing a single thing down, thus forever sealing it in my brain as a self-indulgent relic that will never see the light of day??
Wait…wait a minute, wait a minute, I just realized something!!!
What if she did know?
Think about it, Helen goes in to talk to Edna but Edna has already prepared a series of supersuits that are perfectly designed for every situation she and the kids are going to be in. And for some reason, we’ve all just accepted that, yeah, she’s Edna Mode, she would know these things, she’s just like that.
But what if we’ve all been missing something right in front of us?
We know Edna has affiliations with the government agency and has obviously been making suits for decades. Do you think the government is just going to get a random fashion designer to make these suits? Absolutely not.
They’re going to get a Super.
What if Edna is a Super with the power of future-vision?
That’s how she knows exactly what suit to make, that’s how she knows that the kids are going to be in danger, that’s how she’s so aware of everything going on around her and catches everyone off guard.
She never looks back; she looks forward.
(Sorry for hijacking your post, OP.)
which is why the whole cape thing hit so hard. she didnt see it coming
I love the idea of a Super whose power is to amazingly see into the future and she just uses it for fashion design.
Not every super fights crime on the front line, and Edna Mode is fully content with being support and looking fabulous while doing so.
i love that travis asks the players what they ate for meals because my favorite part of fantasy novels is when the author stops the narrative entirely to describe food in excrutiating detail. problem is all these characters eat is fucking LIMES