Working On (yet Another) ATLA Wip In Which During The Invasion Azula Helps Zuko Escape And Goes With

Do you ever think about how staggeringly in bad taste it is that Gandalf brought a firework that turns into Smaug to Bilbo’s birthday party

Like how were you hoping that would go

I like to imagine that if people from a fantasy world came to our world, they would lose their shit over how TINY our spiders are.

Like. Imagine going to a fantasy world where lions are the size of a bottle cap and occasionally a pride appears on your living room carpet. It would be like that.

They had overnight flower delivery in the 1890s??

Elrond: Why do you look so happy?

Thranduil: Because it's autumn.

Elrond: Yes, and?

Thranduil: Spooktober, Peredhel, Spooktober.

Thranduil: And you know what that means? The wild giant spiders finally have a use! Free decorations!

Thranduil: *shakes Elrond violently*

"So, wait," said the thief, topping off the detective's wine glass. "You're saying that your stressful case is catching that hot shot cat burglar that everyone's talking about?"

The detective grimaced, but didn't change the subject. "Yep," they muttered into their Pinot and took a swig. "The celebrity criminal."

This was a triumph. This was their third date and the thief had spent the prior two carefully laying the emotional groundwork leading up to this moment. The detective, as a social partner, was affable and considerate - surprisingly funny even, in a dry, deadpan way - but rigidly guarded about their line of work. The thief had asked the normal questions about jobs and had been expertly deflected with self-deprecating jokes about spreadsheets and paperwork. The thief had been content to wait. The detective was a fundamentally honest person, and the thief trusted the truth would work its way to the surface soon enough.

"But that sounds exciting!" the thief prompted brightly. "I mean, daring heists executed by moonlight! It must be such a nice change from your run-of-the-mill crimes."

"Mostly it's just exhausting," sighed the detective, rubbing their temples. "This perp is such an asshole."

The thief blinked. "Excuse me?"

The detective shook their head, tried to force a smile. "I'm sorry. I've had too much wine. You were saying about your invitation to audition for the Bolshoi -?"

"Oh, forget about me," the thief said quickly. "Please, go on. You're clearly stressed about -"

"Do you know," the detective went on as if they'd never stopped, "the morning guy on Channel Seven had the nerve to call this a victimless crime?"

"Well, the insurance will pay for it," the thief started.

The detective slapped the table. The thief jumped. "What about the people?" the detective exclaimed. A few nearby heads turned in their direction. "Are people supposed to walk into museums and look at what, framed checks on the wall from Lloyds? And meanwhile, these masterworks disappear into the vaults of gangsters and petty criminals, never to be seen again. Because you can be sure," they added, jabbing a finger at the thief, "crooks that steal art have no love for it. They'll destroy it, every lick of paint, if there's the slightest risk to their own skins."

The detective took another deep swallow of red wine. They looked close to tears. The thief awkwardly patted their hand across the table. This was not at all what they'd expected on this little reconnaissance side mission. The detective caught their hand and squeezed it with a grateful look that wrenched something in the thief's upper chest area.

"Now those guys," the detective said thoughtfully. "The criminals with the vaults. Now that seems like a worthy target."

"I... huh?" The thief stared across the table. The detective looked back with those guileless, honest eyes. 

"I'm just saying," they said, with the slightest drunken slur on their words. "Walking the art out of some budget-strapped public facility is one thing. But emptying out of one of those vaults, liberating all those works of art and returning them to their rightful place before the public..." The detective sighed dreamily. "Now that actually sounds like a daring, hot shot kind of heist."

There was a moment where neither moved, gazing at each other like the lovers they were pretending to be. Then the detective tugged their hand free, stood up with an apologetic smile. "But I'm definitely tipsy," they said. "Let me go splash some water on my face."

When the detective returned from the restroom, the thief was still at the table, watching the waiter clear the plates. By unspoken agreement, they didn't speak until she was well clear.

"So, hypothetically speaking," the thief said finally, running a finger theough a puddle on the tabletop. "How would one go about this vault heist of yours?"

The detective smiled again, nothing drunk or vague about it at all.

Concerning Hobbits (of Color)

Okay it’s been a whole day and I’m still angry about that hobbit casting thing, so let’s lay down some Tolkien canon here.

Fact 1: Per Tolkien, there were originally three races of hobbit. The Stoors were a small group, they were broad and stocky, they grew facial hair, they liked rivers, and their skin color is not specified, so Tolkien probably meant them to be white (but there’s no reason they have to be, since again, not specified). The Fallohides were a tiny group, they were thin, pale and tall, they were bold and good with languages, and they like trees. The Harfoots were the distinct majority, they lived in holes, they had hairy feet, and they were brown. Tolkien is super clear on this. He explicitly calls out Harfoots as having browner skin than other hobbits when describing the races and he uses phrases like “nut-brown skin” and “long brown fingers” when describing specific hobbits to back it up.

Fact 2: Britain planted its ravenous imperial flag firmly in the soil of India three centuries before Tolkien wrote The Hobbit. He knew what a brown person looked like. He would know he was not evoking a slightly darker shade of Caucasian when he said a person had brown skin.

Fact 3: Bilbo, Frodo, and all of their friends are aristocracy. Sam is the only hobbit we ever meet who is an actual laborer. In Tolkien’s time, laborers worked in the sun and middle class and aristocracy stayed inside where there was something resembling temperature control. Apart from Sam and Aragorn, no one in the Fellowship (or Company) ever voluntarily got a sunburn. If Tolkien talks about brown skin he’s talking about brown skin, not a farmer’s tan.

Where does this leave us?

Well, Tolkien says that after colonizing the Shire, the three hobbit races mingled more closely and became one. This leaves us with two options.

Option A: He’s talking about that thing that sci-fi writers sometimes do where “everyone is mixed race.” So all three races would have smeared together into a single uniform color. What color? Mostly Harfoot, aka brown. The “strong strain of Fallohide” in the Tookish and Brandybuck lines means maybe they’re white-passing, but in this scenario all hobbits are brown.

Option B: He’s talking about a more melting-pot scenario where visual racial distinctions still exist but everyone lives side-by-side in a fairly uniform culure. The Tooks/Brandybucks having a “strong strain of Fallohide” means that they are themselves remaining strains of Fallohide, and are straight-up white. Merry, half Took and half Brandybuck, is thus white (possibly part Stoor, given Brandybuck comfort with water); Pippin, half Took and half Banks, is either white or biracial. The Baggins family, sensible owners of the oldest and most venerable hobbit-hole anyone knows of, are blatantly Harfoot, making Bilbo and Frodo (half Took and half Brandybuck respectively) also biracial. Fallohides being exclusively adventurous high-class types, and the Gamgees being staid low-class homebodies with a distrust of moving water, Sam is obviously Harfoot and thus completely brown. (Smeagol, a Stoor, is probably white, but as discussed above, doesn’t have to be.) In this scenario, a minimum of three of five heroic hobbits are various shades of brown, four out of five of them could be, and most background hobbits are brown.

In conclusion, if you think all hobbits are white, you are canonically wrong. If you geek out over Aragorn wearing the Ring of Barahir, rage about Faramir trying to take the Ring, and do not even notice, much less complain, that Sam, Bilbo and Frodo are being erroneously portrayed by white guys, you need to reexamine the focus of your nerdery.

Why are medieval movies always serious war dramas? I just want a medieval rom com. No listen - it could be so good:

The film opens with the wedding - William de something or other is a young nobleman who expected to spend the rest of his life in a monastery illuminating books when his older brother suddenly dies, leaving him with a title and a huge estate to run. He needs a wife and heir to legitimize his claim, and Eleanor is the young daughter of the lord in the neighboring estate. She is eager to get out of her fathers house and become a wife, and the marriage will be a strategic alliance between the two families. Everything is perfect.

However, it instantly becomes clear that the newlyweds can’t stand each other. He thinks she is a shallow teenager, she thinks he’s a pretentious asshole. As soon as they are alone on their wedding night, they make a plan. Instead of consummating their marriage, they will write to the pope with some excuse (that I need to actually research) and request an annulment. The letter will take several months to reach the Vatican and back, and in the mean time they decide to keep it a secret and play the role of a happy couple.

Shenanigans ensue. Running an estate is hard, and both of them are terrible at it. Eleanor starts off on the wrong foot with the seneschal and the servants, the money isn’t adding up, and William has to deal with his serfs coming to him with increasingly hilarious and convoluted complaints. He snores, she hogs the blankets. The members of the household spy and gossip, the animals are underfoot, and someone is always playing the bagpipes at the worst time. The newlyweds bicker and argue and can’t wait for the letter to arrive so they can finally drop the charade and part ways.

After a while though, Eleanor starts getting the hang of being a lady. It turns out she has a brilliant head for math and logistics, and when she figures out that William’s seneschal has been cheating him and fixes the budget to get them through the winter, he starts to trust and rely on her to run the estate. It turns out that William’s abrasivness was hiding a pious and sensitive interior, and once he realised she won’t judge him for it he teaches Eleanor to appreciate art and philosophy (and also how to sword fight because this is my movie and I want a hot fencing lesson scene). Eleanor helps William come to terms with his bisexuality, he learns to respect her struggle as a woman in a patriarchal society (using language that make sense for the period). They realize that unfortunately they also find each other very attractive.

(Someone needs to come up with an actual plot, I’m not good at that.)

The letter from the pope finally arrives granting the annulment, but they take one look at it, toss it in the fire, and go consummate the marriage.

The costumes will all be accurate to the 14th century and thus used to comedic effect whenever possible. The church, the feudal system, and other institutions of Medieval society will be treated as flawed yet nuanced parts of everyday life, people will be reasonably religious for the time period, and there will be lots of dirty jokes (and a hot fencing lesson scene).

Hollywood give me money!!!

Who takes Middle-Earth-born Celebrian under their wing and make her feel at home in Valinor, and why is it Finrod?