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#roses meme basement
weirdfishy · 7 months
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fic stats meme
Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.
tagged by @mashumaru !!! thanks lovely for the tag, i haven't had a minute of brain power to write lately, but i love being tagged in these!! (also, all my ao3 stuff is archive locked, so y'all've gotta be signed in to read them)
Most Hits
Unknown Caller ID - Danny Phantom x DC Batfam
Surprisingly, Damian steps in front of him, arms crossed. “Batman, this is my Father. He arrived soon after receiving word of my capture. Please, refrain from arresting him.” Danny reels.
one of the favs (n istg i will make more but like. life.) bc it's crack Treated Seriously n i love this concept that Damian has just gone 'you're now my father' to Danny bc Danny is Worthy Of Dating Bruce
Second Most Kudos
Tim's Drake's introduction to ✨Ghosts✨ - DP x DC Batfam
Tim, currently standing on top of the Batmobile, in distant yet full view of the computer’s camera, shouts, “Not B! How the fuck do you deal with a ghost!??” Tim hops off the car and dashes towards the computer as Constantine just gives a weary sigh, dragging a hand down his face.
lil bit of crack treated seriously, allowing myself to be silly goofy
Third Most Comments
just slip me on, i'll be your blanket - The Sandman, dreamling
It boils Hob’s blood, to see him like this—to not know how long his stranger has been here, in this hell of human greed. But you can be hurt…or captured. He’d heard the stories, the rumors of The Magus and the Devil in his basement. Hob didn’t know about devils, but he did know of those assumed to be yet never were, taking human form. Hob also knew of imprisoning others, and of being imprisoned.
legit one of my favorite prose stuff, even if i lost motivation (& my notes) for fleshing it out
Fourth Most Bookmarks
Discussion in Trust - Boku No Hero Academia
“We know that the second they know they can control you, you’ve lost,”—a pause—“but once you lose, you can learn. And I learned, Sensei, from fucking five, that “quirkless” was a societal loss I’d never stop learning from.”
my contribution to all might bashing, dadzawa, and like? analyst izuku. proud of it still, at the time i adored it but yk, my self standards raised so.
Fifth Most Words
C'est la vie - Criminal Minds, Emily Prentiss/Murder!Reader
Drip,  “Family is not blood.” You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, voice low and slow. sigh “But I would bleed and cry for family found blind- I would turn to & die. I would turn blade & kill.” You lick your lips, catching the edge of the cut, the sting causing you to shiver.  drip, “Apocalypse,” you finish, tilting your head back to face them, squeezing the trigger. die-
oh boy, this one is my second??? fic posted, and i fully intend to rewrite it, but it's been awhile, and it will continue being awhile
Least Words
To See the Sea Last - The Witcher OC
Stilled lungs bloated with a corrosive, burning salt, and yet felt no pain. The water line rose higher. Strands of gray danced in a thin crown as the ocean submerged the body of a man who had chosen to both live and die by the whims of the sea.
a flash fiction fill, it's a lil poetic death scene of one of my OCs, a pirate named Walerian. i actually adore this, even if it goes mostly unseen
~
no pressure tags to: @oliveofvanders @fannafiction @spacedace @shire-bard & ofc anyone who would like to ! <3
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marypsue · 11 months
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30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?
[from this meme]
The most direct example of the influence of dreams on my writing is one that I mentioned in the director's commentary for Reincarnation Blues. These lines:
Stamped into the starry void around them like an artificial horizon was a massive ring, parallel lines glowing red like gashes cut into the dream to reveal an inferno on the other side. And between those lines, all around the horizon, burned familiar symbols.
Were based on a nightmare that I had actually had, that involved Bill Cipher, while I was in the middle of writing RB. It was a deeply weird experience, because that dream was one I had shortly prior to the release of NWHS, and it was extremely meta. I was having a different unrelated nightmare, and then realised I was dreaming and tried to wake myself up. At that point, the whole horizon of the dream lit up with this glowing red circle of arcane symbols which rose up, wrapping around the entire sky like seeing Saturn's rings from a position standing on the planet, and Bill Cipher's awful cackle echoed over the dream the way sounds you can hear in the real world sometimes do while you're asleep, as the whole dream started to disintegrate. And then I woke up, scared half to death...to see the shadow of a four-fingered, noodly black arm splashed across my ceiling, reaching toward me, outlined in blue light.
...it turned out to be the shadow of a tangle of power cords in the light from the power bar they were plugged into. But that is probably the third closest I've ever come in my life to having a very real heart attack.
(Also, when NWHS came out, the ring of symbols around the portal looked extremely familiar for some reason I couldn't place. I don't remember what they actually turned out to be, but they weren't invented for the show, so I'd probably seen them somewhere before NWHS came out and forgotten about it. But I am still at least 75% convinced that I also saw them in that red ring around the horizon of that disintegrating dream.
Brains are weird.)
Oh! And the original idea that sprawled into the road goes ever on was inspired by a snippet of a dream about Shit Going Extremely Wrong in the secret evil Russian mall basement. Be grateful I left out the bit about batwings.
Usually I'm not quite that directly and literally inspired by dreams, though. I'd say the most frequent way dreams influence my writing is when I'm trying to capture a sense of unease or dread or unreality - I often go back to how nightmares feel.
I don't remember ever writing in a dream.
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shivunin · 9 months
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✨ First Lines Meme ✨
Rules:  Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!
Thanks for the tag @greypetrel!
This feels like sorting things to my brain, so I am feeling very !!! about this rn. (Also. I didn't figure out how to change text color on tumblr until literally just now, so that's fun c:)
Zevwen, Cullavellan, Fenhawke
AO3 First Lines:
Byways and Lay-bys (Zevran/Tabris, 1,855 Words):
The fight was quick and brutal.
Palimpsest (Fenris/Hawke, 11,038 Words)
Hate had been scrawled over Fenris’s skin long ago.
As Two Reflected Stars (Fenris/Hawke, 12,436 Words)
“Well, what do you want to do, Fenris?” Hawke asked, crouched beside him with her elbows resting on her knees. 
Katabasis (Cullen/Lavellan, 25,324 Words)
“Dying.”
Sleight of Hand (Fenris/Hawke, 7,470 Words)
In the hours before showtime, Hawke sometimes liked to come to the stage and stand just behind the curtains.
Book of Memories (Cullen/Lavellan, 62,304 Words)
Echo—a basement or dungeon, dim and close and stinking.
Pour Forth (Fenris/Hawke, 3,845 Words)
The first time she said it, Fenris had just taken a crushing blow to his leg on the Wounded Coast.
Breath of Life (Zevran/Tabris, 7,562 Words)
“When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”
Winter's Grasp (Fenris/Hawke, 4,834 Words)
Winter hung heavy over Kirkwall.
Your Fate for Mine (Cullen/Lavellan, bg Fenris/Hawke, 129,681 Words)
How long had they been running through this endless dreamscape of rocks and seas and the endless, roiling green sky?
Cracking up at Katabasis haha. I decided to do a couple of my WIP ones under the cut and I'll stick the analysis there, too, for neatness. But for now:
Tagging @scribbledquillz @heniareth @zenstrike and you!! (I've just realized idk how many of my new mutuals write fic and I don't want to pressure anyone who hasn't posted unfinished stuff yet! please count yourself tagged if you want to do this!)
WIP First Lines:
Aerolite (Fenris/Hawke, 4,214 Words so far)
Hawke was not unobservant.
Stardust in her Hair (Josie/Lavellan, 1,995 Words so far)
Josie had never really been much of a teacher.
When to Walk Away (post-Act 2 Fenris/Hawke, 1694 Words)
Hawke had finished fixing her clothes and hair before she stepped out of the Rose.
These Last Strands (Fenris/Hawke, 2,992 Words)
“Hawke will come for me.”
Signifying Nothing (no pairings/ Hawke & trauma, 3,544 Words)
“What does it say?” Hawke asked.
Contrivances (Zevran/Tabris, 2,252 Words)
Something had been weighing on Arianwen’s mind for hours.
Leave With the Tide (Zevran/Tabris, 698 Words)
Arianwen didn’t understand what Zevran was saying to her at first.
Analysis:
So choosing a very concrete and short sentence to start is definitely intentional. As a reader, I like to have at least one basic detail about what's going on before I dive into a story. If I have to wade through a lot of commas and clauses to figure out what's going on, I tend to check out a little bit.
I also like to state who is the POV character close to the beginning, which is why a lot of them tend to have at least one name in them. I think it takes out some of the confusion jumping into a story (and w/third person, since anyone at all could be talking, including an unseen narrator, I like to anchor the text to one person to start if I'm not describing a big, chaotic scene).
Beyond that, I like to try to reflect the mood and/or tension in the story with the first line.
YFFM's is long and sort of dreamy because I wanted it to mirror Elowen's sense of detachment from what's happening.
The short, hard start for Katabasis is like that because Salshira finding out that she's dying is like this giant, immovable rock dropped into the stream of her life. It's not something she can get around. It's a slap in the face. I wanted to mimic that in the flow of the text.
I also like to establish contradictions and circle back around at the end of a fic, so sometimes (Josie had never really been much of a teacher) the first line is directly contradicted within the next few lines or paragraphs (Josie was…for once, she was glad to have been wrong). Idk, I just like people lying to themselves. I like making it clear to the reader that their self-perception is a lie, an obfuscation, or an act of self-deception. Or---in this case, it's a way to exhibit that anxiety does not always play out the way you feared.
I also went through and looked at the last few fics I posted on tumblr, but I chose not to add those here because most of them were from the micro-fic prompts. Unlike the other things I write, I tend to pack as much information as possible into each sentence of those prompts, so I didn't think they were as indicative of how I write. Since sentences are at a premium, they just don't wind up flowing as well as other things I've written.
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imakemywings · 1 month
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Fandom: The Silmarillion
Relationship: Maglor/Thranduil, Maedhros/Maglor
Summary: All is not as it seems when Thranduil enters the ancestral Feanorian estate, but he fails to fully comprehend the scale and nature of the risk. If he’s very lucky, one day he might even get to leave.
Response to this kink meme prompt.
AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG
Photo credit to Zach Lezniewicz on Unsplash.
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V. Chapter IV
The weight of Maedhros’ poison continued to drag on Thranduil’s health, which took a sharp downward turn. Maglor had caught him napping in the library and there were moments at mealtimes when he seemed not to be present at all. He often slept until after nine or ten in the morning, when he had before been accustomed to rising at six or seven even when there was no work to do. (Sometimes, Maglor would poke his head into the room and sit on the edge of the bed to pet Thranduil’s hair for a few minutes while he slept. It never roused him.)
In the early afternoon not more than a few days after their encounter in Thranduil’s room, Maedhros and Thranduil chanced to return in from the yard at the same time. Hearing their footsteps, Maglor came out of his study to greet them, in time to see Thranduil slip and fall on the stairs. He insisted it was nothing to worry about, but Maglor could see he was unsteady on his feet when he rose. Later, privately, Maedhros told Maglor it was time to get out the wheelchair, and he wasn’t wrong.
            Maglor told Thranduil some passable story about how the old rattan chair was left over from an old injury of Mother’s, but he could see the wariness in Thranduil’s eyes before he consented to sit in it. It might’ve been more believable if Vanimiel hadn’t scratched her fucking initials into the arm. But Thranduil didn’t ask about that. Maglor wasn’t even sure he noticed.
            There was blood in Thranduil’s handkerchiefs these days.
            He spent more and more time indoors, and it seemed to Maglor that he was wilting, like a sunflower in the shade (Maglor did not know much more about plants than this less-than-apt comparison. In truth, Thranduil was more like a plant which preferred shade and had been moved into a dank basement with poor drainage.) The sight of it seemed so dismal to Maglor that he could not bear it, and he offered to push Thranduil outside in the chair. He was almost surprised when Thranduil agreed.
            “When you can start on the garden, you’ll feel better,” Maglor posited as he maneuvered the chair out the back door. It had not been made with wheelchairs in mind (nor had any entrance to the house, unfortunately), so Thranduil had to vacate the chair for it to be moved down onto the ground before he could sit in it again. “The fresh air will be good for you! My aunt used to say that, before we left Tirion.”
            Thranduil sighed and leaned back in the chair.
            “I believe it,” he said. “And I hope very much it proves true. I find myself quite weary of this affair of sickness.” Yet there was an absence of optimism in his voice that Maglor found unsettling.
            He pushed the chair through the scraggly brown grass of the backside of the yard. There wasn’t much to look at, but in healthier days, Thranduil could still spend hours walking around the property.
            “What is it you look at out here?” he asked. “When you go walking?”
            “The sky,” said Thranduil. “The clouds. The birds.”
            “Birds?” Maglor said. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen many birds around here.”
            “I imagine that is because you have not looked, Maglor,” said Thranduil with amusement in his voice. “I have seen many since I came.”
            Maglor smiled, and found he did not mind looking a bit foolish if it might make Thranduil laugh.
            “No, I do believe I’ve never seen a single bird here,” he declared. Thranduil tilted his head back to look at Maglor, and when he saw that Maglor smiled, he returned the look.
            “Your age must warrant spectacles then,” said Thranduil. Maglor sputtered and made a noise of great offense.
            “It was you that wed this old man!” he said.
            “It was,” Thranduil agreed, facing forward again, though one of his hands groped backwards until it found Maglor’s. Maglor gripped his hand and squeezed it, something airy fluttering in his chest. Thranduil’s wedding ring was cool against his skin. So they stayed for a moment, and then Maglor took his hand back to continue pushing the chair.
            “Did you play here, as a child?” Thranduil asked.
            “Oh…no. We were more or less grown when we moved here. Celebrimbor—my nephew—he played here, though.” He had been too young to go to war when they left—but he had aged into it before they came back. Few who knew him were willing to speak of how he had died, so Maglor had never been clear on the details.
            “Maedhros said you had five other brothers,” said Thranduil, and Maglor could hear in his tone he knew he was edging towards something Maglor might not wish to discuss.
            “That’s true. Myself and Maedhros and Celegorm and Caranthir and Curufin—that was Celebrimbor’s father—and Amrod and Amras,” said Maglor, and saying their names felt like shattering some small spell he hadn’t realize had been pulled over the house. He could not remember the last time either he or Maedhros had spoken the names of their brothers. He could not remember the last time he’d thought of them, except in passing, in concept.
            “It must have been a loud house,” Thranduil remarked. “I was an only child.”
            “I cannot imagine that,” Maglor admitted. “I cannot imagine a childhood not elbowing other children out of the way at the dinner table!” He went quiet a moment, lapsing into recollections he hadn’t thought of in years. “It was a loud house, I suppose,” he said softly. “Here, and in Tirion. And I hated it. I would scream at my brothers for making too much noise when I was trying to focus, and I slammed the door in their faces if they tried to speak to me of their problems, and I tried ever so hard to convince Father to pay for me to have someplace of my own.” He swallowed, finding his throat constricting. It had been a house full of life, once—he and Maedhros had never managed to recapture that, had they? “Now I suppose I’m pleased he always refused. I have more memories of this place from when we were all here together.”
            He would not think now of what his brothers might think of him at that point.
            “You should tell me later, when we have tools to plan,” Thranduil suggested, “where you would like to start with fixing the house.”
            “Oh. Yes, of course. If I have a say,” said Maglor with a smile.
            “Of course you do,” said Thranduil. “You know far better than I what it once looked like.”
            “Well, I don’t believe it must be restored to exactly what it was,” Maglor said. “I may allow for some of your creative opinion.” His smile grew.
            “We might go into town to look at supplies,” Thranduil suggested. “It might be well for both of us to get out of the house. We could stay the night.”
            “Oh…I don’t know,” Maglor said haltingly, his expression dropping. “Maedhros gets anxious when I am away too long.”
            “One night is too long?”
            Maglor twisted his hands on the bars of the chair and cast his eye around for something to distract the conversation, but the landscape looked as empty as ever.
            “What types of birds have you seen here?” he asked in what was transparently a desperate bid to change the subject. Thranduil did not respond, until at length he said:
            “Maglor…do you ever act on your own wishes?”
            “I don’t know what you mean by that,” he said, but the snippiness of his tone was undergirded with anxiety. Thranduil grasped the wheels of the chair to bring it to a halt.
            “Only that you seem very keen to appease your brother,” he said. “And I wonder if sometimes it is…not the best choice for you.”
            “My brother and I are a team,” said Maglor. “What’s good for him is good for me.”
            “I…understand. Yet…” He was leading into some other thing that Maglor did not want to hear, so he jumped in front of it, babbling to stop Thranduil from saying anything else.
            “Maedhros has always been…well, he is my protector, you see? He has always been there for me. No one knows him as I do! Even when there were others, it was always I who knew him best!” Something Maglor would have said to Fingon’s face (and probably had, though he didn’t remember it then, and Fingon had probably not been polite enough to keep from rolling his eyes). “Now we are—well, he has no one left but me. He worries a great deal for me, you see? Because he cares. And so he likes to keep me close, where he can see. It worries him when I stray too far. But it is only because he wishes to keep me safe. Maedhros loves me,” he said, which having said it, seemed a rather foolish and obvious thing to say. He gave a jittery kind of laugh, tinged with something more pointed. “It’s just that with fire is the only way my family knows how to love. You haven’t had siblings, so you can’t understand. He may be hard to understand at times, but I don’t mind, because I love him also. We are brothers. Who could understand us as we do each other? I don’t mind doing things his way, if it makes him feel better.”
            Thranduil went silent in the face of this monologue.
            “I see,” was all he said, at last, and Maglor’s anxiety spiraled into the absence of talk.
            “You mustn’t think I never contradict him! It isn’t that way! Only that Maedhros is usually right, and I have no talent for making plans, so it’s for the best he takes care of it. I haven’t the head for it. And he’s much braver than I. Especially after everything he’s been through. I wasn’t able to—I didn’t help him when—and he hardly complains about it, you see. His hand, I mean. And he’s given me so much, you know? But he’s stayed here with me all this time, useless as I am.”
            “Just as you have remained here with him,” Thranduil pointed out.
            “Oh, well I…I’m sure I would have been here regardless.” Thranduil did not respond to this and Maglor fretted, biting his lip, until Thranduil pointed into the distance, to a black spot against the watery sky.
            “Do you see it there?” he asked. “It looks to be an upland buzzard.”
            “Oh! How can you tell?”
            “They are endemic to the region,” said Thranduil. “And if you observe how it moves, and the shape of the tailfeathers…”
            “How do you know this?” Maglor laughed.
            “There is a book on them in your library. Birds of the region.”
            “What do you think it’s doing?” Maglor asked, leaning forward against the back of the chair.  “Looking for food, I imagine.”
            “It may be,” said Thranduil. “Most likely. But perhaps it is simply enjoying a lovely day for flying.”
            “You think so?”
            “Why not?”
            Maglor smiled and watched the bird swoop and wheel through the air. “Why not indeed,” he said. “If I could fly, I would go out just to take the air as well.”
            By the time they came back in, Maglor was shocked to realize nearly three hours had gone by. He had been sure they hadn’t been gone but perhaps forty minutes!
            “This was lovely,” he said, squeezing Thranduil’s shoulder. “We should do it again.” Thranduil said nothing, but beckoned him down, and when Maglor leaned over, Thranduil kissed his cheek warmly, and Maglor blushed.
            “We should,” he agreed.
            “Are you busy?” Maglor blurted out. Thranduil blinked at him.
            “Busy with what?” Maglor’s cheeks darkened.
            “Oh, I thought perhaps, ah, you might come with me to the music room. I could show you what I’ve written this week. I have made some significant changes to one of the arias in the second act of the opera. But of course, only if you haven’t another obligation.”
            The corners of Thranduil’s mouth were twitching and Maglor’s face burned.
            “I have no obligations,” he said.
            “Marvelous!” So they retired to the music room and Thranduil shifted from the chair to the old green divan which had once held Maglor’s guests, where he lounged against the arm, quite contently, it seemed to Maglor, listening.
            After, Maglor tried to take Thranduil out every day, and he began to think Aunt Lalwen had been right about the fresh air.
***
Maglor took the steps two at a time up to the bedroom and made a beeline for the top shelf of his armoire, certain he had stowed the jade elephant there. When he heard the sound of footsteps, his first thought was that Thranduil had followed him.
“Just give me a moment! I’m sure it’s here,” he said from inside the armoire.
“I thought it was Elwing’s cat in here. What are you looking for?” Maedhros asked.
“Oh.” Maglor drew back and peered curiously out. “Do you remember that jade elephant carving Grandfather gave me? I was sure I put it up here.” Maedhros closed the door behind him as he entered and came up next to Maglor to dig through the shelf with him.
“Hm. I don’t see it.”
“No, I’m sure it’s here…I must have just buried it under something…” Maglor started yanking scarves out of a box.
“What do you need it for?” Maedhros asked.
“I wanted to show it to Thranduil!”
When Maglor drew back again and saw Maedhros’ face, the temperature of the room dropped ten degrees.
“Do you mean to impress him with trinkets?” Maedhros scoffed. “You are already wed, Maglor. Your work is finished.” Maedhros’, on the other hand, was still ongoing.
“I…I just feel it must be rather dull for him, being so confined…” Because they were poisoning him. “I thought this might…” Maedhros was looking so derisive that Maglor forgot what had been in his head about it and he stepped uneasily down from the armoire’s lower shelf where he had been standing. “I had just mentioned it, now, so…” Maedhros crossed his arms.
“It feels that you are losing sight of what the goal is here.”
“I’m not!”
“This man is not your friend, Maglor.”
“No, we’re only married,” Maglor could not help but snipe, even though he knew it would only gall Maedhros further.
Maedhros sneered, but there was a flash of real anger in the way his jaw tightened. “Perhaps you’d like him to bury your bodies and pay your bills?”
“They aren’t my—”
“Need I remind you of what this man would think of you if he knew whom you really loved? The true contents of your heart? What you really seek from him?”
            Maglor looked down at the floor.
            “I know how little he would think of me,” he mumbled.
            “Then why do you waste everyone’s time with these stupid games? Would you be keener to hurry things along if I made it a bit harder for you to play house? If I told him of the others? Of how you treated—”
            “Stop it!” Maglor cried, wringing his hands.
“Yet another job you started and couldn’t finish; another mess you left for me to clean up. Do you think you did the kinder thing, leaving her there when you couldn’t manage to end it? Running away, as you always do?”
The scene of that day had grown dimmer and foggier, overlaid with the violent emotions which had never faded. Maglor had thought that after weeks of drinking poison, confined most often to the wheelchair, Elwing would not be difficult to kill; he had not known how hard a body would fight to live. He had also been ignorant of how long it took a person to suffocate.
“She knew the truth,” Maglor wailed. “She was going to tell the press, she said—she was going to tell someone! And she said—she said I was—” Once he had disdainfully observed the coarse personal violence of Celegorm, sneered behind his back—and to his face—along with Caranthir, but he had heard Celegorm’s wild laughter over the scene of Maglor grappling on the parlor floor with Elwing.
“She could barely walk, Maglor. And you so lost your mind the moment she said something you didn’t like that you tried to wring her neck like a Sunday roast. How long until this one says something that upsets you?”
“Stop it, stop it!” Maglor shrieked. His cheeks darkened in anger. “You wanted me to do it! You wanted me to! You told me she would ruin us! And you have been holding it over my head—Stop doing this! You’re hurting me!”
            “I’m not hurting you,” Maedhros snapped, that fey look in his eyes that Maglor so despised. “Do not speak to me of being hurt. I am only making you see the truth which you continually strive to ignore.” He waved his prosthetic at Maglor. “When I was a prisoner of the enemy, that was being hurt. And where were you? Tucked safely away in camp.”
            Maglor’s throat bobbed; he had no words, and Maedhros knew it.
            “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t…of course I’m not…”
            “It’s alright,” said Maedhros after a pause, drawing back to an eminently reasonable, even gentle, tone. “I understand your limits. I am happy to suffer in your stead. But do not speak to me as if your petty grievances are hurts.”
            Maglor just cringed.
            “And remember what our work here is for.”
            “Yes, Maedhros,” Maglor whispered. He left the room without the elephant.
***
            Baths in Formenos were tepid at best, and yet there was something still relaxing about them. Given how tiresome the rest of Thranduil’s life felt of late, he felt justified in taking them as often as he had the energy to do it. He could spent over an hour laying there, occasionally even draining the chilled water to add more warm water to it and draw it out a while longer (He would have rather gone swimming, but there was nowhere nearby that he knew, and in any case he was probably as likely to drown these days). Bargwend often joined him in the bathroom, as the door never seemed to close properly—likely related to the water that often seeped down the bathroom walls from pipes that had probably rusted through—and would sit by the bathtub, or even up on the rim, silently keeping him company.
            They were there when the red ghost returned.
            One moment, Thranduil was lounging in the claw-footed tub, his elbows hooked loosely over the rim, contemplating the play of light through the stained-glass window on the vibrant green of the tile floor; the next it was there.
             He was certain it was the same ghost who had assailed him in the hallway that night he’d gotten up for water. It oozed through the opening in the door, and the water of the bath sloshed as Thranduil flung himself back, heart pounding instantly, wanting to wail that he could not have one moment of peace or one place sacred from these wretched apparitions.
            The ghost advanced, and Thranduil looked frantically about for something to use as a weapon, besides the bar of soap. He had never yet seen that weapons could be effective against ghosts, but if they could touch him, it stood to reason he might be able to touch them, didn’t it?
            But the ghost was stopped on the approach by Bargwend, who leaped out from under the sink, hissing and snarling with sounds Thranduil had never heard a housecat make. Her ears flat against her head, whiskers trembling, she took a step nearer to the ghost hovering in the middle of the bathroom, and then took an ambitious swipe at it.
            “Bargwend!” Thranduil started to rise from the bath, suddenly terrified the ghost might do some harm to the cat. If she were killed, he did not think he could bear it.
            The ghost looked at him standing in the bath, dripping pathetically, and then at the cat, still spitting, and then it plunged through the mirror over the sink and was gone. Thranduil let out a slow exhale, and quickly pulled the plug on the tub and removed himself. He hurried over to the cat, who sprang up with her forepaws on his knee as he crouched down, and rubbed her face against his hand and cheek, as if to verify that he was unharmed. Thranduil murmured various praises and pleasantries to her and kissed the top of her head.
As he grabbed his towel and wrapped it tightly around himself, he noticed the mirror had fogged up again, although the bath had been cold for at least twenty minutes before the ghost’s arrival. There was something else, too: Into the fog on the mirror was scrawled two letters:
            E.D.
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sunset-bridge · 6 months
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on it boss 🫡
1. What is Sergio’s favourite fashion style? (Doesn’t have to be anything specific it can be extremely general like “edgy lol”)
2. What genre of music does Sergio regularly listen to?
3. You let Sergio watch YouTube on your phone for an hour. What is he going to watch?
4. Did he kill the hostages in my basement I can’t find them
5. What is something he can talk about for hours on end with no breaks?
EHEHHE THANKS IKE!!! you are so real
1-UMM see i know nothing about fashion styles but .. well he really likes leather anything!! especially leather pants,, its like his pipe dream to wear leather pants and no shirt one day HDSDJFKJSS. hes a coward though. anyways. he likes anything that looks rockstar-ry.. all black, leather jackets, leather pants , spiky things (like chokers or bracelets) and also , 50's rock style clothes... so i guess a strange mix of punk and rock?? well.
as i said hes a coward though so even tho he wants to dress like a confident rock slightly-homosexual lead singer.. he tends to wear just stupid t-shirts and denim pants as casual wear. he does have some leather jackets though.
2- he likes a bunch of things but. mostly grunge and rock. and also whatever the fuck muse decides to go on each day LOL. hes a museboy sorry yeah.. oh he sometimes listens to electroswing too!!
3- ok so its a 50/50 if hes gonna go on a spiral of stupid meme videos and cute cat compilations, orrr if hes gonna watch like some long ass boring documentary about how to properly grow a sunflower field or hybridize rose colors
4- SHIT! guys its joever. backup plan...
5- plants!!! this guy loves his plants. please ask him about plants in general, or His Plants. He could go on and on. Bonus if you ask him for advice for your own plants.
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barthel · 1 year
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Plowshares for swords
My first direct experience with fandom was on Compuserve's X-Files message boards. Before this, my fandom was mostly solo, or parasocial: I kept up with grunge through MTV and maybe Rolling Stone and browsing stuff at Borders, or reading about britpop in the only import copy of Q I could afford. Mostly the other kids at my school weren't into what I was into, and when they were, it was usually just one other kid—my neighbor Morgan for grunge stuff, my friend Vanessa for indie—or I was the one bringing, say, "Boys for Pele" into the friendship. Nothing even remotely like what's common on the internet now, such as the Guns 'n' Roses fandom described in this great RS article about how early Chinese Democracy sessions got leaked.
But then I got online with a national service and I decided to poke around in some of the message boards for topics I was interested in. I was never the hugest X-Files fan, but I watched it every week and actively kept up with the overarching storylines. I saw that the message board would run a live chat every week immediately after the episode aired on the east coast, and one week I logged on after me and my mom watched the episode to see what people would have to say.
It was electrifying. So many theories! So many ideas about what could be true, what could happen next, what it all meant. People built on and added to others' suggestions, even one I threw in. It felt like we were writing a story ourselves, there, and a story more meaningful to us for our communal role in its creation. And, here and there, a call to arms: didn’t the writers owe us, as loyal viewers? On what scores had they been cheating, or unfair? What had they done in this episode that read as a betryal?
Anyone who was online in the 90's or 00's likely came across a call to arms like this, though the details would depend on the circles you traveled in. It may have been as picayune as demands on the admins for a particular forum you were on, coupled with threats to leave and form your own. Maybe it was your mainstream fandom, where you raged at a network for canceling your favorite show, or interpreted script choices as a direct attack on your loyalties. (I myself spent a few years engaged in small wars on behalf of pop music; though they’ve been dormant for a decade, people still blame it, occasionally, for something they dislike. These things persist.) Or maybe you and your internet friends had come up with a grand unifying theory for what some political party should be doing, and took its refusal to do so as a betrayal. Maybe, in any of these cases, the fandom came up with something concrete to do about it.
But—and this is crucial—nothing ever happened. Not outside of the internet. In fact, the idea of the internet affecting the real world was so ludicrous that it had its own meme when, by some strange chance, it did: "the internet is leaking." This isn't to say fans wouldn't do things themselves. There'd be letter-writing campaigns, e-petitions, maybe a half-hearted protest. Anyone in power would just dismiss it as internet crazies. We get letters like this all the time, they'd say, from random kooks who want something. Just because the kooks have organized on computers in their basements doesn't make their demands suddenly reasonable.
This was, the fans thought, outrageous. Who knew better how to manage these things than their most fervent adherents? So they kept pressing, kept bugging those in power. But this was all done with the basic expectation that, in their wildest dreams, nothing would ever actually happen. The internet would not leak. And this affects what people did, and what they found acceptable. Nobody needed to keep a lid on these things, because they were harmless. And so why not let people go a little over the top? Why not call yourselves an army, why not devise little ops where you were obnoxious to some other corner of the internet? Why not go wild with the theorizing? Why not construct an elaborate, tragic story, one that placed the fans firmly at the center?
But maybe you weren't online in the 90's and 00's, or weren't part of any fandom communities. These calls to action should still sound familiar to you, though, because they're being used for darker aims these days: showing up at a pizza restaurant with a gun, barraging a writer with death threats. Storming the Capitol.
It's inaccurate to blame the internet, or social media, for the various ills of the present day. It is accurate to blame the way people use the internet, however. When people use technology to connect with each other, cultures develop, and then the technology further develops to serve those cultures, to give them mechanisms to do what they want to do, whether that's remix music, film makeup tutorials, or yell directly at journalists they hate. The internet, from the beginning, was a place for nerds, and nerds are fans: Star Trek, anime and manga, Tolkien. And nerds think they are, fundamentally, right. That the world would be better if they, the smart ones, could decide how things worked.
Which: sometimes they're right! As social media drew enough people online for the internet to be regarded as an aspect of the real world, rather than a cordoned-off bog next door to real life, the tools users and designers had developed to make fandom more effective, to build their networks and coordinate action—comment sections, blogrolls and friend lists, reposts of other people's content, direct communication with institutions and their representatives—increasingly had real-world effects, both picayune and significant. When a lot of people said the same thing online, it was now meaningful in and of itself; news stories could be written about it, companies were expected to respond to it. If they didn't, there were lots of people online willing to trumpet that fact and increase the pressure further. Gone were the days of ignored letter-writing campaigns, with fans dismissed as kooks; now there were structures and cultures in place that resulted in fans' expectations having real effects. With the aid of people in power whose interest aligned with the fans', shows got revived, media changed their coverage, public apologies were issued. The mechanisms of fandom had been weaponized for good.
Until, of course, they weren’t. Until G*merg*te, which took video game fandom and turned it into an engine for suffocating harassment, then to a recruitment tool for revivified fascism.
This is not to say the fandom structures are at fault, or that they shouldn’t have been created. They did get created, and here we are; this is the path dependency of online organizing. It starts with fandom. And at the end of the day, the people using these structures for fascism rather than Veronica Mars are the ones we need to stop. But it’s important to understand what we’re working with here. Extremism online doesn’t follow the shape of traditional activism. It follows the shape of fandom, down to the point of never being entirely clear how much you really believe in the thing you’re threatening to kill people over.
In short: we spent 15 years developing fun practices for fan communities to be enjoyably over the top, all with the assumption that it couldn’t have any real-world consequences. And then it did.
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r0b0tb0y · 1 year
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directors cut for 1 rogue street?
fanfic writer director's cut meme
ROGUE STREET MY BELOVED
Here are scattered thoughts and a piece of 2 Scarif Street to see if posting part of the draft revs me into filling out the rest of the sequel:
One thing I've been really happy about is that three headcanons of mine came true in Andor: he lives in a vehicle, has a good relationship with his adoptive mother, and works in engineering.
Interestingly, I hadn't finished House of Leaves when I wrote Rogue Street, so the distorting staircase was a coincidence (but it was kind of clear that was where HoL was going)
Because the Yonder is shaped by human belief, Kay looks like a stereotypical demon because Cassian grew up with Doom and Gwar and D&D. This gets mentioned in 2 Scarif Street because exorcist Din Djarin thinks it's hilarious.
Krennic is Australian and I tried to show it by making him as annoying as possible
The choices of when they go to Tesco and Sainsburys were absolutely intentional and narratively significant
Maple pecan praline latte really is my favourite Starbucks order
The house's Fucked Locus that functions as a cylinder of negative energy from the basement to the top floor is based on a really unlucky spot in the construction site opposite my old apartment where multiple accidents such as fires, collapses, misapplication of concrete, and dropping stuff all happened in a 2m-diameter area on different levels.
Chewie is Han's watcher demon, but he's a dog, since the movie Chewie was based on Lucas' real dog.
Cassian's paramour in That Other Time is fancast in my head as José Maria Yazpik, since he and Luna have worked together lots and have great chemistry.
I once had someone say they wanted more description of the interior design, which I totally concur on but I don't have a huge design vocabulary. I grew up in a hideous Edwardian house (complete with shrieking creatures in the walls and doors that opened by themselves) so Rogue Street has some elements of that, like the crown moulding, ceiling roses, patterned glass, dark wood panels. I think Galen had the living areas painted and carpeted in cool grey Nordic fashion, since that's his palette in Rogue One.
HERE HAVE SOME EXPOSITIONY DIALOGUE SEQUEL DRAFT (also be warned it talks about religious homophobia):
‘You know, I had an exorcism once,’ Cassian said.
Din winced. ‘How’d that go?’
Cassian nodded in Kay’s direction. So, not very effective.
‘Catholics?’ Din asked.
‘Yeah,’ Cassian’s tone was mild.
‘Must have been a long time ago.’
‘You can see that through the beskar?’ Cassian raised an eyebrow.
’No, you’re just…’ Din waved a vague hand. ‘You seem okay. The way you talk about it.’
‘If you thought he’d be scarred by the experience, why did you ask?’ Kay spoke from further ahead.
‘He brought it up,’ Din pointed out.
‘It’s okay,’ Cassian shrugged, despite the skeptical look Kay gave him. ‘I mean, it’s okay now. I was thirteen.’
‘Your family realised you had a demon?’ Din guessed.
‘No, my family thought I had trauma,’ Cassian rolled his eyes.
‘Which you did,’ Kay added.
‘Yeah, but it was my teachers who called the priest.’
‘Which didn’t work,’ Kay said.
‘It worked on the other boy,’ Cassian muttered.
‘He wasn’t possessed,’ Kay said. ‘He was queer, and probably still is.’
There wasn’t room to get a word in between them—not that Din had much to add.
‘Does it ever work?’ Cassian directed this question at Din.
‘Not on queers: we’re immune,’ Din said, and Cassian laughed. Din frowned at himself: what was he trying to prove? Cassian was spoken for, and the Watcher was a dealbreaker. Maybe some way to assure them he wasn’t a total outsider.
‘On demons, it can work,’ Din kept his mouth talking. ‘What did it feel like to you?’
Kay tilted his head. ‘Like people shouting at my charge. The incense tickled.’
Din nodded. 'A lot of it is showmanship and browbeating the victim into compliance, but if there’s a sensitive priest and a real possession, it can work.’
‘So the Catholicism is auxiliary,’ Kay drawled.
Din sighed. ‘It’s a ritual. Religion amplifies the intent, some of the techniques… but a real professional can lorem ipsum their way through an exorcism.’
‘You’re not making a good case for yourself, you know,’ Cassian said.
‘We’ve been going down these stairs for ten minutes,’ Din muttered. ‘You notice how nothing has attacked us?’
Cassian looked at Kay: he did that a lot. There wasn’t an increase in psychic interference when they communicated this way: it seemed to be mundane codependence.
‘Beskar?’ Cassian asked Din.
‘And professionalism,’ Din quipped.
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scribedhorror · 2 years
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@mcsaiccfmuses​ || meme || accepting ❝  can you make everyone else just go away?  i know they mean well but i just want to be alone—  alone with you i mean.  ❞ (From Stan)
When he found the other huddled away from all the others his heart had immediately dropped in his chest. Bill didn’t know what had happened, having been upstairs for the past few  minutes gathering snacks and drinks to bring down to the basement, but he had known something was off when he came back and couldn’t see that familiar mop of curls amongst their friends. 
Stanley wasn’t generally someone that liked to go off alone. 
He crouched down slowly next to the other, hand resting comfortingly between his shoulder blades as he listened. Looking around, he saw that they were looking at the two of them, whispering between themselves. Bill could only assume that they had tried talking to Stan already to no avail. Without a question, the auburn-haired boy rose and spoke in hushed tones to the other Losers, convincing them to head up the stairs and to give them space. 
Once the last of them had disappeared with parting glances back at he and Stan, Bill once again walked over to his side and sat himself down next to him. “There. Just y-you and me,” he assured with a warm smile, his arm securely draped over the taller teen’s shoulders. Hopefully Stanley would tell him what was going on.
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paracsmic · 2 years
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@badcompanys​​​ sent 🤝x 10 to introduce more of my npcs!
npc meme: not accepting!
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reese dunn ( michael goorjian ) - best friend and roommate of corbin bailey. a hopeless romantic with a heart of gold but a mean streak and a quick temper. passionately shares the same punk, anarchist views as corbin. can often be found at rallies and protests, where he’s never afraid to throw the first stone  - or punch - for what he believes in.
zachary ‘zack’ marshall ( landon liboiron ) - an outcast in the town of greymire - which never bodes well. accused of assaulting a rich woman he’d never even seen before, zack was brought into the woods and dropped in front of walker bishop. as he pleaded for his life, walker realized there might be more to the story than seen. also accused of crimes he didn’t commit, walker sympathized and offered to help instead of harm.
mathilda ‘mattie’ reynolds ( lily tomlin ) - the eccentric aunt to mitchell nelson. mattie started the diy craft store scissor me timbers in the late 80′s and operated it for nearly thirty years before deciding to retire to florida with her wife, sylvie reynolds, and pass her beloved store on to her favorite (and only) nephew. she’s an outgoing, bubbly soul still stuck in her hippie days and never planning on growing out of them.
byron ‘ronnie’ parker ( norman reedus ) - single father to gus parker. owns a mechanic shop. has raised gus by himself since he was born after gus’ mom decided she wasn’t ready to have a kid and left. patient and kind but also the strong, silent type - like gus.
renee mckree ( winona ryder ) - biological mother to gus parker and ryder mckree. got pregnant right out of high school. when she told her parents, they threatened to disown her and refused to help her through college. she made the decision to walk away from ronnie and gus, knowing she wasn’t ready to be a mother yet. she kept tabs on the pair of the years and has recently decided that she wants to have a relationship with gus and is adamant about making amends.
mason snyder ( owen teague ) - best friend of ryder mckree. mason and ryder are a classic case of nature vs. nurture. mason grew up in an abusive household and took his anger out on those around him at school. from a young age, he bullied, pushed around and yelled at his peers. it was all he’d ever known. watching mason torment their classmates, ryder knew immediately that he would rather be the bully than the victim to mason’s cruelty. he befriended mason in kindergarten and after seeing firsthand what mason went through at home, ryder and his parents have been like a second family to mason. 
note: putting these last few under a cut for various trigger warnings!
lorenzo benoist ( mads mikkelson ) - best friend and brother in law to charlie harris. at fourteen years old, lorenzo found charlie’s father, henrik, dismembering a body in the harris family basement. instead of being scared and running, curiosity overtook lorenzo and forever warped his fragile mind. in henrik’s eyes, lorenzo was the son he deserved. he had tried everything to mold charlie in his own image but it was lorenzo who had finally seen - and accepted - him for who he was. after henrik’s execution, lorenzo took over his mantle and continued to push charlie to become the killer his dad had always wanted him to be. 
rose ferguson ( sadie sink ) - late sister of sienna ferguson. doomed from birth by bad genetics. she never let on that she was struggling with her mental health, never asked for help. she was loving, compassionate and wanted to be a nurse to help others - a career path that sienna has since started down in honor of her sister. her death is still fresh in the minds of sienna and clancy. 
clancy ferguson ( michael fassbender ) - dad to sienna ferguson. never fully recovered from the death of his wife. to have his youngest daughter leave the world in the same way was devastating to him. contrary to what sienna believes, he does love her - he simply has trouble communicating it and is secretly terrified that she will leave him the same way the others did. she mistakes his withdrawal for detest. 
ruby ferguson ( christina hendrix ) - the late mother of sienna ferguson. after a long battle with bipolar depression, ruby lost the fight when sienna was seven and rose was a newborn. she left behind a husband who never moved on and two daughters who both inherited the same mental fragility. while she was alive, she was creative, artistic and passionate - all traits that sienna has also picked up. 
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rosesloveletters · 2 years
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Rose my beloved, we're online at the same time 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 how are you? Is everything okay? For the question meme you just reblogged, may I please get 13, 19 and 26? One of them I need for specific research reasons and I know you'll know which one👀🥺💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
Erikaaa🥺🥺💖💖💖 I mean no offense to you, but I use that as an indicator that it's time to go to sleep (it was 1:15am when I saw you were online last night.) I'm alright, dear, just tired as always & have some errands to run. How are you? Are you okay? Thank you for asking me some questions, darling🥺🥺 I think I know which one you're most curious about😉
13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?
In short, yes, I think so. I've not had a lot of people play with my hair before, but I don't have a problem with it. If someone's going to play with my hair, I prefer to be asked first because most people who touch my hair have done it without my consent. I also do not like having my hair pushed behind my ears. I don't know why, but I've never liked that.
19. Do you like bubble baths?
I do! Last week I bought some Epsom salts for the bath & just set up in there with the lights off, lit a candle, had some snacks & watched films. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the best experience ever.
26. What do you do when you wake up?
I do pretty much the same thing every morning: wake up, check my phone, fold my blankets/make the bed, open all the window blinds if it's sunny, go down to the basement and clean the litter boxes/give my cats fresh water & more food if they need it, then I come back upstairs & have breakfast & cuddle with one of my cats who joins me on the couch every morning.
questions are from this list.
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muffassa2 · 4 months
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Get Out
Get Out takes all audiences into the world of what it feels like being a person of color in the Western United States. It takes on topics and emotions of racial anxiety combined with scenes of horror, suspense, and even action. Get Out stars Daniel Kaluuya as Chris Washington who goes on a trip with his girlfriend to her parents house a bit out of town. During his trip, the film forces the audience to question the reality of his acceptance or even over-acceptance with the family. As the suspense builds, the climax hits and we find out that the family was behind this sinister, racist plan. 
One of the components of the film is how black Americans are used by the white families to extend their own lives by performing brain transplants. In the film, they need to kidnap and take away the personhood of young black men in order to live. This is indicative of how American culture simultaneously “needs” black Americans and takes advantage of them. The white families that intend to bid on Chris repeatedly objectify him and microaggress him with pointed questions. Dean Armitage repeatedly talks about how he nearly beat Jesse Owens in a race. By the end of the movie, Chris is literally chained by Rose’s family in the basement. This symbolizes how black Americans’ culture and talent is used and appropriated by white Americans to benefit white supremacy. 
The impact of this film on specifically black horror was certainly monumental. Rarely do you see black actors in the main role and in the hero role. Usually African American actors are cast as side characters, comedic relief, or especially in horror films the sacrificial lamb. When discussing black actors in horror films it is definitely a trend to have black actors portray a sacrificial lamb. Media has even gone as far as to make memes that poke fun at these black tropes. This just goes to show that everyone recognizes it as a universal trend amongst horror films. 
I also am a huge fan of the idea of the sunken place. The sunken place is portrayed as a subconscious world in which the main protagonists ultimately get trapped in. It represents the oppression of black people in the real world. This is also represented as how whites control black people and ultimately take them over. This movie is definitely one of the best works that represent modern racism and oppression of black people. 
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mamusiq · 2 years
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The Best Jokes of 2019 By Ian Crouch December 4, 2019 The best joke of the year wasn’t told by a comedian. And it’s only kind of funny. It goes like this: on New Year’s Day, Netflix released “Tidying Up with Marie Kondo,” introducing to the widest audience yet Kondo’s theories about decluttering domestic spaces and retaining only items that “spark joy.” The great junk purge commenced, as people resolved to be better by throwing (or giving) away the things that they didn’t love. Then, in November, came the punch line: having spent the year convincing us to clear our houses of useless consumer goods, Kondo was now, in a new online store, selling potential replacements—“a collection of my favorite things and items that spark joy for me.” Seventy-five bucks would get you a metal tuning fork and a rose-quartz crystal—which can spark joy twice over, once when you buy them and again when you throw them out.
Marie Kondo, Inc., may have got the last laugh of the year, but it wasn’t the only source of humor. Here are some other jokes, gags, sketches, and self-owns that stood out.
The Focus Group on “I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson”
Any list of what was funny in 2019 has to include something from “I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson,” the Netflix sketch show that Robinson co-created with Zach Kanin (who is a cartoonist for The New Yorker). There’s a lot to choose from—like a country song about skeletons that use bones as money—but the most memorable and memed bit was about a focus group for Ford which is hijacked by a demented old man (played with deranged specificity by Ruben Rabasa), who mocks an earnest participant named Paul (“teacher’s pet”) and turns the others against him. The man accuses Paul (played by Kanin) of loving his mother-in-law (“He admit it!”) and, later, after thoroughly rattling him, whispers, pausing between each word, “You have no good car ideas.” The line became shorthand for our many failures this year.
The Shocking Slapstick of “Parasite”
It’s fitting that one of the funniest movies of the year is also a Hitchcockian thriller about the dehumanizing effects of capitalism. In what has become the South Korean director Bong Joon-ho’s highest-grossing film, a struggling family of four, the Kims, who live in a semi-basement apartment in a forgotten warren of Seoul, ingratiate themselves through lies, document forgeries, and beguiling charm into service roles at the pristine home of the rich Park family. Things go operatically wrong, and throughout Bong uses grim slapstick to show how people are driven to mad lengths by money. In an opening scene, the Kims, sitting together on the floor, notice someone fumigating the street outside for insects. The kids run to close the windows, but the father (Kang-ho Song, with a blank affect) stops them. “Leave it—we’ll get free extermination,” he says. The cloud drifts in, leaving the four heaving and choking.
Rudy Giuliani and Chris Cuomo’s Abbott and Costello Routine
There’s nothing quite like a good two-man bit. In September, after the whistle-blower’s report about Donald Trump’s Ukraine call became public, Trump’s personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani, who later in the fall was revealed to be a master butt-dialler, went on Chris Cuomo’s CNN show to defend the President and malign the Biden family. The interview produced numerous comedy gems and culminated in a moment of high-vaudeville patter. “So you did ask Ukraine to look into Joe Biden?” Cuomo asks. “Of course I did!” Guiliani answers. “You just said you didn’t!” Cuomo exclaims, exasperated. The routine has it all, captured in handy split screen—bug-eyed derangement from Giuliani, squinting bafflement from Cuomo, testosterone-fuelled shouting from both. When the Trump era finally burns out, one way or another, these two should hit the road together. Who’s on first? You are, punk!
Jean Smart’s Wisecracks on “Watchmen”
The F.B.I. agent Laurie Blake (Jean Smart) makes her first appearance in HBO’s “Watchmen”—which extends the world created in the pioneering comic book—during the third episode, when she steps inside a phone booth designed to make calls directly to Mars and tells a long joke to her former lover Dr. Manhattan. Blake, who earlier in her life was a masked superhero named Silk Spectre, is the dark show’s funniest character—bitterly ironic, clever, and, having seen it all, unimpressed by each new oddity that she encounters as she travels to Tulsa, where the show is set, to investigate the murder of the city’s police chief. Smart gets many of the show’s best lines, including one after her rookie partner suggests wearing a mask, like the Tulsa police officers do, in order to protect their identities. “When in Rome, right?” he says. “Tulsa’s not Rome,” Smart responds. “And you’re a federal agent, not the Lone fucking Ranger.” Jean Smart, run me over with a car.
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risingroseakira · 3 years
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so i made this during a voice chat with my friends, there was only one cishet in there and i made this meme while we were asking her how straight people work
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kelkat9 · 3 years
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Hello! For the fanfic asks: B, K, S. Have a lovely day! <3
B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?
Okay so I believe in being direct so these answers are meant to be brutally honest and guiding people on some fic so they don't read something that they get mad or triggered by.
The one that was therapy fic that i banged out and posted is something I've had some chastising remarks sent to me on.
I think people don't often understand the wide varying experiences of trauma and grief. They tend to think there personal experience is the default. This is especially true with assault and I think it's really awful when people tell you your experience is invalid.
So that being said, I don't often rec this story because it is very personal and was written after my brother died suddenly and unexpectedly and some of the varying parts of grief I experienced are expressed. Also, people tend to idolize Jackie and I like to treat her as a real person and it irks them that I show her as reacting as a clingy mama bear. Sorry, this got rambly but I like to be straight up on criticism to allow people to navigate around my stuff.
Broken TenII/Rose Explicit/Angst/PTSD Rose
What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?
Again, something not for everyone. Time Lord Victorious rewrite of time/fixit with Doomsday in a somewhat cringey way. Ten is not a saint in this in that he manipulates Rose. Granted, he's half mad and in love with her and realizes how far he's fallen and caused a mess. His solution is very unethical and Rose calls him on it. It's also a sort of Character Death/Sacrifice/reincarnation type thing.
Claiming His Reward Ten/Rose Explicit - she has sex with TLV Ten but doesn't realize it until later and then there are repercussions - just in case that's a trigger for anyone.
Any fandom tropes you can't resist?
Yes, I love fixits be it DD or JE. Ten/Rose fixits as long as it doesn't involving killing TenII. I prefer clever rewrites.
GITF fixits but not bashing Ten for the whole fic as that gets overdone. I prefer fics writing Rose in the power role and leaving him or gaining emotional higher ground. Again groveling Ten sometimes seem OOC so I prefer it be Rose putting him on the spot and there being discussion.
Unusual babyfic - not the gooey baby talk baby sugary sweet stuff but alien baby and differing moralities on how pregnancy and child rearing are pretty interesting to me. Anything too contemporary romance is not my thing.
Soulmate fic - yes love these
AUs but it varies.
Thanks so much for asking!
https://kelkat9.tumblr.com/post/663335797416722432
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cgrmemes · 6 years
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the Tachibanas: let Azusa stay at their house
Kimmy:
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ot3tropetober · 3 years
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-So Hardison gets rich playing the stock market as a teen in Nana’s basement. Mostly because the professor at the college econ classes he’s taking for extra credit said he couldn’t.
-By the time he’s graduating highschool at 18 he is filthy rich. (WhatLikeItsHard.gif) He has paid off Nana’s medical bills and her house and went over to the college to gloat a little and decided he doesn’t actually need to go to college when he’s already, you know, doing what he does.
-But he doesn’t wanna keep taking up Nana’s basement when he has heard her having to turn down emergency placements because there’s not enough room. 
-So he moves out. Into a giant mansion, because why not. He has everything. A pool. A fancy kitchen. A shower with like 16 sprays that massage your back perfectly. A hallway with a giant fancy staircase. A whole room dedicated to his computer setup, with all the latest gadgets. A special wine fridge he stocked full of orange soda. A damn fireplace in his bathroom.
-A lot of empty rooms. And quiet. Like, creepy-quiet. Right-before-the-killer-grabs-you-in-the-hallway quiet. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he forgets there is a mirror at the end of one of the hallways. His shriek echoes through the empty house.
-He considers getting a cat for one second but remembers he’s allergic. And it would probably just startle him even more. He gets a few roombas, but even with the giant googly eyes they don’t fill the space as much as he’d hoped. So instead he places an ad online for roommates. 
-He doesn’t get nearly enough responses as he suspects. Maybe ‘come live in my mansion rent free’ gives off some major serial killer vibes. He amends his ad to a reasonable but still low enough rent that people who really need a place can apply. 
-He runs background checks on everyone who applies. He may or may not disqualify some people for petty reasons. Sorry not sorry, this is his mansion and he’s not about to share his kitchen with someone who thinks Kylo Ren is cooler than Poe Dameron, okay?
-He has some interviews, but nobody seems to click. A lot of people seem to want to make his house some kind of party-mansion. And not the fun kind of movie-marathon, D&D session, LAN Party kind of parties. One girl keeps asking him when the ‘real owner’ of the house is going to be back. 
-He’s thinking about giving up and moving back home and finding a small apartment near Nana’s house when a girl shows up in his living room.
-She does not have an interview scheduled. Hardison knows this for two reasons: one, he thinks he’d remember background checking someone as pretty as her. Two: it’s three in the morning.
-“So I heard you’re looking for roommates,” she says. A roomba nudges against her foot, and she reaches down to pat it before it turns away. “I like your pet robots.”
-It’s probably the fact that he’s been up for like 48 hours by now, but he’s like: thanks, want a tour of the house?
-Parker moves in that weekend. He helps her move in, and does not ask why she has an entire box of the exact same creepy doll whose head turns around to show an even more creepy face. He just kindly requests she keep those in her rooms, not the shared ones.
-Parker is a great roommate. Her schedule is all over the place as well, but she’s tidy, she’s funny, and she’ll hang out and watch Doctor Who with him. She also names all his roombas. He pretends not to see her dropping some fortune cookie crumbs on purpose to feed Carl the kitchen roomba when he goes by.
-Their next roommate is Eliot. He’s a veteran who’s learning how to cook at some kind of culinary school. He gets a little flustered when Hardison shows him his rooms, plural, saying he must have read the ad wrong, and is almost out the door before Hardison can convince him that yes, the price in the ad is correct, no this is not a cult, he just bought a house that was much too big and he has Regrets okay, help a brother out.
-So Eliot moves in as well. He gets a little judgy when he finds out 95% of the kitchen cupboards are empty, and the rest is filled with cereal and junkfood. He brings in more boxes of kitchenware than clothes, and Parker is delighted at poking each and every thing he unpacks.
-Eliot’s schedule is kind of the opposite of Hardison’s. He is some kind of weird morning person. They mostly run into each other when Hardison is going to bed and Eliot comes back from his morning run. He’s mostly at school or working kitchen shifts to gain more experience during the times Hardison is awake, so they mostly communicate via text.
-Parker’s the one that figures out Eliot is all bark and no bite. Or actually, all growl and no bite. Turns out, he just really hates the little buttons on his smartphone, so his texts are very short and curt. Hardison starts leaving notes on the kitchen fridge instead and that works much better. Note-Eliot is way nicer than text-Eliot.
-The great thing about Eliot is that his homework is basically… fuck around in the kitchen and make delicious things. Which he then ‘makes’ them taste. So yeah maybe Hardison kind of… switches his schedule so he’s around more and awake for Eliot Cooking Time. 
-So basically he gets roommates, and free food and it’s all great. Except for that time he accidentally ate Eliot’s sandwich. Well, he didn’t leave a note saying NOT to! It ends up with him being dragged out of bed and interrogated (Parker shining a flashlight at him and being generally Chaotic Unhelpful) until he confesses.
-The only reason Eliot doesn’t kill him probably is because he babbles about how delicious it was. Or because he’s tired of Parker shouting unrelated cop-phrases at Hardison over his shoulder.
-They come up with a system where Eliot leaves very threatening notes on the stuff he does not want them to eat. It mostly works. Besides, Parker has totally found Eliot’s weak spots (puppy eyes) and can basically make him cook them whatever.
-It’s pretty great until it starts to heat up. And both Parker and Eliot start making use of the big outdoor pool. Which is great, that’s what it’s there for. But they then wander around looking sexy and damp and near naked and Hardison is starting to get Very Inappropriate Thoughts, okay?
-Okay so maybe he also had very inappropriate thoughts before, even when Eliot was wearing like 13 layers of clothing and Parker was wearing cozy sweaters and it’s still not fair for them to wander around looking so hot.
-But he’s not about to ruin a good thing with his crushes. Besides, he’s technically their landlord, that would be weird and creepy.
-So he just… quietly pines a little. It’s cool. He still gets to hang out in the kitchen with Parker and Eliot, and force them to watch movies they have never seen that they really should (neither of them talk to him for a week because of the whole Lilo and Stitch thing).
-And maybe he notices them huddled together whispering sometimes. That’s cool. That’s fine. They can date each other if they want. (Don’t think about Eliot and Parker together, don’t, it’s too hot and you won’t be able to look them in the eye ever again, dammit Hardison).
-Until one day he wanders down into the shared living space to find the dining room table to be all decked out, a table cloth and candles and roses and everything. And Parker and Eliot look up all expectantly as he starts backpedaling that he didn’t mean to interrupt their date before Eliot growls and says ‘sit down, Hardison’. 
-The table has three place settings.
-Oh.
-It’s one hundred percent worth his foster siblings quoting a meme at him all weekend when he brings the two of them home to meet his Nana.
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