“Recently Gaiman shared his thoughts on “racebending” in an interview with Junot Diaz. Bleeding Cool reports that during the interview, Gaiman brought up two of his books: Anansi Boys and American Gods.
Apparently Gaiman refused to the sell the rights to Anansi Boys when a
producer told him he would have to change the race of the two main
characters because “Black people don’t like fantasy.” Considering the
entire book is about two brothers whose father was an African god, their
race is vital the story and is not something Gaiman would ever consider
changing.”
Gaiman had offers to make a film out of his 2005 best seller Anansi Boys, about the sons of an African god discovering their magical background while living in the corrupt modern world, but moviemakers wanted to change the lead black characters to white or drop the magical elements altogether. “I don’t need the money,” Gaiman says. “Not needing the money puts me in a magical place because I can say no. I like the idea of having good movies made or having no movies made.”
why come they called him “beast” in the castle when everyone knew his name cuz they’d been working for him forever anyway? like …. i would just be like “hey chewbacca-Adam” or some shit, there’s no reason to call him beast … id hide in my room all day too if my employees started making fun of me..
If my manager decided to pull some rude ass shit with a witch and got me living the next ten years of my life as an immortal singing toaster oven you can bet your ass I’d wake him up every goddamn morning with a flaming panini directly to the face. rise and shine, you ugly fuck, time hear a song
I call this one, “ode to an inconsiderate pissbaby” and the first 9 verses are just me screaming at various decibels
@jollysunflora, who suggested an AU with modern technology. Going to split this one in half to avoid one ginormous post, because this is one headcanon per book.
1. When Cassie calls out to Elfangor, Marco whispers, somewhat hysterically, “Don’t be silly. Aliens don’t speak English. Haven’t you seen District 9? Arrival? The Avengers?”
Elfangor proves them wrong, of course, but when Marco blurts out a question he merely explains (with a hint of amusement) there are some forms of communication more sophisticated than mere words.
2. After Rachel sneaks back out of Chapman’s house, they listen intently to everything she describes.
“So what you’re really saying,” Marco says, “Is that the yeerks have enough technology to travel between stars, create impossibly advanced illusions of just about anything, take over entire other species… And all they did with it is make Skype 3D?”
“Yeah,” Rachel says, “but, like, good 3D. Not shitty have-to-wear-glasses 3D.”
“Nah,” Marco concludes, “still lame.”
3. Rachel gets Tobias a smart watch. She tells him it’s so that he can keep track of their time limit, but in reality she knows he’s lonely and bored out there in the woods, and at least this way she can call him. He can answer calls and check the time if nothing else; they talk for almost an hour before bed every night.
4. With Ax’s help, they turn off location and tracking and wifi and cookies on their phones. After that, there are a lot fewer meetings in Cassie’s barn, a lot more group messages with carefully coded content. Tobias proves to have something of a knack for coming up with ways to talk about yeerk plans (usually disguised as discussions of video game or movie plots), suggestions of morphs slipped into long-winded anecdotes that happen to mention a single animal species by name, and meeting locations’ coordinates as extra phone numbers added to the group chat with no actual phones connected. Jake encourages them not to talk in person, once their phones are secure from traces, because it’s safer this way.
5. After they get back from the mission, Marco spends almost two hours scrolling through Eva’s Facebook page, forever set to In Memoriam. The messages still come in sometimes, from friends and coworkers and distant family members Marco has never met; as the page admin, he filters them all.
So much wasted grief, he thinks. So much pain and loss and longing, all of it caused by the yeerks. Sound and fury, all over a death that never happened. Helpless and sick, he writes on her wall one last time: “I love you, Mom. I miss you. I WILL find a way to help.” And then he deletes the page.
6. “Don’t send anyone to Jake’s house,” Marco says, “it’s too risky. Instead, we just have Jake…” He gestures at Ax. “Video-call his parents a few times a night to reassure them that he’s still doing just fine working on that project at my house and not…” He gestures to Jake, who is currently tied to a chair with zip-ties using a technique Marco found on a Pinterest tutorial.
“Of all the stupid ideas you’ve come out with so far, that has got to be the stupidest,” Temrash 114 says in Jake’s voice. “Do you seriously think my parents won’t notice anything off about Ax? How clueless do you think they are?”
“They never noticed your sorry ass living in their house for over four months,” Marco says coldly.
In the end, it works, more or less. Jake doesn’t exactly appreciate the long lecture about communication when he finally gets home, but no one asks whether he was replaced by an alien so at least there’s that.
The next day, Tom’s inbox displays a single new email from an anonymous sender.
7. Rachel’s Instagram account is, in many ways, its own work of art. She copies down famous quotes onto post-it notes with swirling writing, multicolored pens, and even tiny illustrations crammed between the words. She has over 5,000 followers, and she doesn’t even think about how much she’s lost interest in the project until one of her mutuals messages her to ask when she’ll start posting again. She opens her account and realizes that she hasn’t posted any new photos in almost a month, and stares at the multipack of micro-tip Sharpies on her desk for a few minutes before she shuts her laptop without responding.
MM1. They don’t worry about Rachel not texting them back—after all, her gymnastics camp is way off in the mountains and it’s entirely possible she doesn’t have a cell signal there. It’s not until Ax tracks down her phone and finds it abandoned in her bag next to the bus stop that they all start to worry.
There’s a weird incident with a tornado at Darlene’s house in the middle of the Rachel crisis, but after the twenty-third different cell phone video of the incident gets uploaded to YouTube, the bizarre dust storm made of tiny mouths disappears into thin air and no one hears about it again.
8. “I don’t think I can do yeerk pool reconnaissance tonight,” Rachel says. “Too much homework.”
Ax sighs loudly. «Boo, you whore.»
There’s a very long pause, and then Tobias says, «Okay, that’s it, I’m deleting your tablet’s Netflix app.»
«I much prefer YouTube anyway,» Ax says cheerfully. «It has those shorter messages which play before the main video, and often concisely describe goods or services you can purchase through the use of bitcoins or other human currency. Did you know that those messages change so that their information reflects your preferences for different types of internet content? So informative! So considerate!»
9. The six of them spend over nine hours in the woods, morphing and demorphing and morphing and demorphing to try and keep their phones with them. It shouldn’t be that different from morphing minimal clothing, especially not when (for instance) Rachel has her phone taped tightly to the inside of her arm, but even Cassie can’t manage it. By the end of the exercise they’re exhausted, frustrated, and still short one solution for how to prevent Jake’s parents from freaking out when he regularly goes for several hours at a time without texting them.
10. “It’s really simple,” Marco says. “When it comes to resources, there’s a clear power difference here. I mean, seriously. If you only had to bet on one horse, wouldn’t you bet on the one that owns half the planet?”
“It’s not about who has more toys.” Jake shakes his head. “It’s about doing what’s right. And sometimes that means breaking the law.”
Marco throws up his hands. “There’s nothing right about Captain America starting a freaking war just because he doesn’t like Iron Man’s law! Anyway, what does he hope to accomplish outside of tearing the Avengers apart? He’s got, what, Hercules, Ronan, half a dozen other B-listers on his team? Does he seriously think he can take on Black Widow and Ms. Marvel and like 700 Thunderbolts?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “I think you’re forgetting that the Anti-Reg team has Luke Cage, Black Panther, Storm, and Daredevil. Sometimes the battle itself is worth fighting, because the alternative is allowing a huge injustice to stand. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you—”
“Don’t go quoting the River of Truth speech at me. We were having a perfectly civil conversation here!”
11. Rachel uploads a cell phone video of Jake and Cassie square-dancing to Facebook. Jake leaves dire warnings in the comments section, but Cassie gives it a thumbs-up and he stops threatening to murder his cousin.
12. “It’ll be okay,” Cassie mutters, “Just as long as my mom doesn’t start talking about Nice With Altruism.”
“What’s Nice With Altruism?” Rachel asks.
“You know, that one band with the initials NWA? The one whose iTunes album popped up on my mom’s credit card bill?”
Rachel’s eyes widen in comprehension. “Cassie, you minx!”
13. Tobias becomes a grand master at taking out drones. Each time he manages to snatch one out of the air he immediately dives, hurling it toward the ground at the last second as he flares and swoops away from the metal and plastic exploding on the pavement below. Afterwards, he brings the broken pieces to Ax for dissection like a housecat bringing home kills to a proud parent. Some are yeerk (spy cameras or hunter-tracker bots), some are purely human (neither of them exactly feels guilty about destroying some rich creepers’ toys) and some are disguised as human devices but with yeerk tech inside (“like a human-controller!” Marco says, and no one laughs at his joke). The yeerks notice that their spy bots disappear all the time, of course, but can’t do anything about it short of sending an entire helicopter to check on that one section of woods.
14. After Cassie posts her first and only Facebook selfie, brand-new Aeropostale outfit and all, Marco writes a fifteen-sentence treatise in the comments section to the blinding power of her beauty, which has stabbed him through the heart following this magnificent transformation.
“How much money did Rachel add to your Steam Wallet to get you to do that?” Cassie asks him in Messenger.
“$10,” Marco tells her. “Would have done it for $5.”
Jake, meanwhile, likes Cassie’s photo. After a minute he goes back and changes the thumbs-up to a heart. Then he panics, and changes the “love” back to a “like.”
15. “So we can’t morph brain-control chips,” Rachel says, “and we can’t morph cell phones. Maybe it’s just that we’re not allowed to morph technology?”
«That doesn’t make sense at all,» Ax says.
“Do you have a better explanation?” Marco snaps, more harshly than he means to.
«No,» Ax admits.
Rachel claps her hands. “All right, then. That’s the one we’re going with.”
16. “I lost my phone,” Jake tells his mom for the third time that year. This time around he’s even telling the truth. Nevertheless, she grounds him. He sneaks out anyway. She grounds him more when she catches him, and he waits until the middle of the night before he once again sneaks out. He starts timing their fights so that, when he has to disappear from all text contact, she mistakes it for the silent treatment. He hates himself a little more every time it happens.
17. “Send help!” Marco texts. “I told my dad that I bought so much oatmeal because it was gluten free, and now he has us BOTH on this stupid fad diet.”
18. When getting new shoes, new clothes, or food on the fly, Ax always buys for them. He does something with his home computer that allows him to literally make his own bitcoins, and so for now the limits of his bank account are nearly infinite. One of these days he’s going to get his accounts shut down by the NSA, but for now he’s (as Marco says) their sugar daddy.
MM2. “You know what’s not fair?” Marco calls over the building storm.
Jake sighs. “The fact that we’re out here at all?”
“No!” Marco gestures over at where Rachel and Cassie have both kicked off their boots—Uggs and Timberlands, respectively—and are starting to morph with the rest of their clothes still on. “How come girls get to wear yoga pants and camisoles in public, while if guys tried that same look we’d be the laughingstock of Reddit in less than an hour?”
“Because,” Rachel calls back, voice dangerously sweet, “if we’re not going to get equal pay, reproductive rights, the ability to choose our own standards of appearance, or a say in Congress, then the least we deserve are a few consolation prizes.”
19. The Amber alert for Cassie and Karen floods the town, and for the next ten days until they’re found, the rumors fly throughout the school. Brittany’s friend Alice heard on their school’s message board that Cassie killed herself. T.T. was texting Andy, who said that Beth’s mom works for the school and she heard that Cassie kidnapped Karen. An anonymous tip to the local police website posts a blurry photo of what appears to be a half-eaten body with some hysterical story about an escaped jaguar.
Rachel punches her classmate Allison for sharing a post which speculates that Cassie ran away from home to marry a guy twice her age she met on Tinder. Allison tattles immediately, since (she tearfully tells Chapman) it’s not like she wrote the post; she was just sharing it.
Jake’s science teacher confiscates his phone after she catches him using it to watch a video in class. However, after she discovers that he’s live-streaming footage of a Monarch butterfly chrysalis, she decides it’s probably educational and gives the phone back without even a demerit.
An anonymous post to their school’s confession board shows a cropped photo of Cassie, with text written over it: “Apparently, you have to disappear into thin air to get noticed around here. I wish someone would pay this much attention to me.” Rachel recognizes the handwriting as Melissa Chapman’s.
20. David leans in close to whisper to Marco. “It’s cool, see? I figured out how to make sales on the dark web using information I got off my dad’s computer, and once I had a buyer I just emailed the guy to negotiate—”
“You sent him an email?” Marco’s voice gets a lot higher. “From your home computer? Please tell me you’re not actually that stupid.”
Later that afternoon, the Animorphs assemble in the bushes outside David’s house. «The yeerks have his location, and they’re coming now,» Jake tells them. «So we break in, grab who we can, and run for it.» He hesitates, and then adds, «If we can only save one, the priority is David.»
21. Jake is mid-mission on CounterStrike with David, not actually giving a damn about firing imaginary weapons at imaginary terrorists but trying to bond with the new guy in TeamSpeak, when David says, “Man, that carry. You’re awesome at this! I bet you’re way better than Rachel, and she was bragging up and down about allegedly knowing shooters so well. I hate fake geek girls like that, always talking about their lame records. It’s like, go back to Animal Crossing!”
Jake straightens up in his seat, not even noticing when blood fills the center of the screen as he meets a messy end. “Actually,” he says slowly, “Rachel kicks my butt every time we play this. She’s right that she’s got a knack for it.”
“Ouch.” David laughs. “Must hurt, getting owned by a girl.”
Jake forces a laugh of his own. “Yeah, but at least she doesn’t gloat about it like Marco does.”
“Last time a girl thought she could beat me at this game, I doxxed the shit out of her.”
“You did what?” Jake demands.
“Chill. It’s not like I hurt her or anything. Me—and a bunch of other guys who got her info—were just sending the message that we saw through her bullshit and we weren’t going to stand for it. Not my fault she was too lazy to VPN. She probably even learned something from the experience.”
Jake doesn’t say anything. He feels a little sick to his stomach.
David laughs, too high, too late. “I’m kidding, man. Kidding. I wouldn’t actually do that. Swatting, on the other hand…” There’s something calculating in the tone of his voice. “Better watch out, man. If you have a dog, the cops shoot it on their way in the door. Just saying.”
“I should probably get to bed,” Jake says.
“Jeez, I’m still joking! Come on, can’t you take a stupid joke?”
“Apparently not.” Jake quits the game before he gets a response.
22. Rachel comes out of the bathroom to find her phone has a text alert telling her that she has several new picture messages. The most recent photo—the first one she sees—isn’t sent to her phone, but sent from it. It just shows a tiny bit of the curve of her back and her head wrapped in a towel, but it was taken less than five minutes ago.
Hands shaking, face dead-white but fists clenched in rage, she scrolls up through the photos. All are of her, most taken from oblique angles. When she gets to the first one taken, of Jordan still asleep in bed some time last night, she has to run back into the bathroom to puke her guts out into the toilet.
“How do you like me now?” says the accompanying text message.
“I will tear your fucking head off with my claws, and I will enjoy it,” she sends back to David.
23. For his fourteenth birthday, Rachel gets Tobias a tablet which has been specially adapted to be easier for people with arthritis to use; after some experimentation, she and Cassie have figured out it’s not that hard to use with a beak and talons. He downloads Rick Riordan and Scott Westerfeld novels to read when he gets bored during the day. At night, he’ll often put on Ellie Goulding’s music, turned down so low that it would be undetectable to human ears, and he’ll fall asleep to the soft flow of her voice.
24. “If you couldn’t even be bothered to take a picture of the thing, can you at least tell me what kind of toy space ship we’re talking about?” the guy in the shop says. “Rogue One? Endurance? Axiom?”
“Sort of like the Prometheus,” Rachel says, “with those engines on the sides?”
“Yeah, but with a big thruster in the back like Serenity has,” Jake adds. “And flat on top, like…”
“Like a helicarrier!” Cassie suggests.
“Yep.” The guy nods. “I know exactly which one you mean.”
25. “Jeremiah,” Marco says. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful young man.”
Jeremiah looks a little startled, but he leans against the locker door anyway to look at Marco through his eyelashes. “Do you like organic food truck rallys?” he asks.
“I love organic food truck rallys!” Marco enthuses.
Later, he googles “food trux rallie + organic” to find out what he just got himself into.
“So much gluten free quinoa!” he texts Jake an hour into the date. “Such cultural appropriation! SO MANY FAUX HIPPIES! Send help.”
Jake, being the true bro that he is, fakes an emergency call and rescues Marco from the granola overdose.
26. “I don’t think I like this section of Minecraft very much,” Marco says shakily.
Jake rubs a tired hand over his face, looking around the brilliantly stacked Iskoort world for any sign of Howlers. “Same. I could kill for a cup of black coffee right now. And I don’t even like the taste of coffee.”
Rachel turns around, slowly taking in his artistically-faded designer shorts and flannel-patterned t-shirt. “You are such an incredible hipster I cannot believe we’re even related,” she says.
27. “So,” Jake asks as they head for the beach, “What do we know about giant squids so far?”
«Apparently,» Ax says, «giant squids are gay. Not just a subset of the population as would normally occur, but every single member of the species. Which raises several fascinating questions about their system of reproduction, and has important implications for our understanding of squid gender. However, the source of this information also informed me repeatedly that giant squids had copulated with my mother, which leads me to believe that this was partially a case of mistaken identity.»
There is a very long pause. Tobias becomes the one to break it. «Ax, buddy, where did you go to look for information about giant squids?»
«Initially, I posted an inquiry to an online platform known as Reddit which frequently encourages questions. However, I was then approached by several individuals from a website called 4Chan…»
«Do me a favor and please don’t judge our entire species based on anything you saw there,» Tobias begs.
They walk for several more minutes in shocked silence, and then Marco says, “O-kay! Who wants to know what I learned about giant squids off Wikipedia?”
I am still INTERNALLY SCREAMING at Ax saying «Boo, you whore,» oh my GOD
I love
everything about this. David would absolutely be that guy.
I am 100% convinced that “exit, pursued by a bear” is a reference to some popular 1590s meme that we’ll never be able to understand because that one play is the only surviving example of it.
Unwanted suitors? Not sure if you’re on a date? To nice to turn him down? I can help! With nearly four years of experience sabotaging romantic encounters, I’m the uncomfortable silence you deserve… and now, I’m offering my services professionally.
Bring me along as a platonic bufferzone on unwanted or ambiguous dates with suitors you’re not interested in but don’t know how to turn down. Guaranteed to kill the mood or your money back!
Basic services include: Terrible puns, poorly-timed jokes, casual physical displays of affection, bringing up unappealing facts about you (to be established or fabricated ahead of time), including myself in attempts at cuddling, domineering the conversation, irritating laughter, talking about I may have finally found an apartment for rent that’s big enough to house all of your cats, subtly making remarks about how nice it is that you’ve made a new friend.
More advanced services: Creating diversions (available at tiers 1, 2, and 3; examples include pouring water over my head, impromptu hula dancing, and triggering alarms), intimate displays of physical affection, accidentally spilling drinks on your suitor’s clothing, laughing at everything your suitor says while drinking until I manage to time it so that water comes out of my nose and sprays onto them.
Package deals:
The Gay Best Friend:What it sounds like. Because this persona runs the risk of stereotype and exploitation, I prefer to keep this subtle. Willing to engage in mild flirtation with your suitor. Please use discretion when requesting this service; the intention is to make him realize that your feelings towards him are platonic. Do not even consider this package if he is aggressively homophobic.
The Imposing Older Brother:I scowl, smirk, and huff judgmentally. Comes in two flavors: the Violent Ex-Con and the Insufferable Elitist. Can flex my physical or intellectual muscles as needed.
The Irritating Younger Brother: I bring a gaming device along, snicker rudely and roll my eyes whenever he speaks, complain about the time, chew with my mouth open, shrug indifferently, prop my sneakers on his chair, wipe my nose on my hand, and bluntly interrupt the conversation whenever it strays out of your comfort zone.
The Priest:Why the heck would you bring your priest on a date?! I don’t know, and neither will your suitor! Obfuscate them into backing off. If that doesn’t work, I will recite dry Biblical passages until they are driven away by crushing boredom or fear of Hell.
The Son from The Future:Depending on the age difference, I can also pose as your Son from the Current Era. Will dress in conspicuously unusual clothing (ex. holographic baseball cap, life preserver, roller skates, VISOR-like sunglasses), continuously ask for the date and time, and anxiously mutter about how it’s almost time for you to ditch this place and meet my father for the first time.
The Enslaved Zombie Ex-Boyfriend:I don milky, semi-opaque contact lenses and follow you around mindlessly, with jerky, unnatural movements. I am at your beck and call, controlled from beyond the grave by your occult powers - the fate of all the boyfriends who displease you.
The Demon Prince: I wear a stylish fawn suit, soft kidskin gloves, and silver cuff-links etched with strange symbols. I have a ring or a cane decorated with the head of a ram. I say little, but smile often. Now and then, I pull out a little silver hourglass from a chain around my neck and examine it, tapping my foot, my fingers, or my cane impatiently. I adopt a curious and subtle accent and ask him to appraise his immortal soul. I carry a sleek briefcase rigged to emit a bright light if I crack it open a hair. Optional: I carry a cube of sulfur in my pocket for the smell.
The Mulder: A proven classic. I periodically derail the conversation with crackpot conspiracy theories, the nature of reality, extraterrestrial intelligence, and ESP. May accuse your suitor of being a Reptilian, or demand that they feel the scar where I had an alien implant removed. Insist that we change tables because this one is bugged and we are under surveillance by the secret shadow government.
The Fiance You Thought Was Lost at Sea: I burst through the door, dripping wet, with barnacle-encrusted clothing and a crab dangling from my ear lobe. I’ll smell of brine and have a haunted look in my eye. This will require some acting skills from you; you’ll need to throw yourself sobbing into my arms and cry, “I thought I’d lost you!” and I’ll hold you and mutter something about Davy Jones getting ahead of himself.
Other:I am happy to work with you to develop a persona specific to your unique needs and preferences.
Rates: Sliding scale, determined by me on a case-by-case basis. I want to make my services available to all who need them. Factors such as the relative heinousness of suitor is considered; affluent clients can generally expect to pay more as likelihood of physical or spiritual harm increases. For swanky dates in nice locations with minimal levels of danger, I typically ask only that you cover the cost of my meal, entrance fees, transportation, and other expenses.
IMPORTANT: Although I am prepared to deal with any number of eventualities, I am not a professional: bodyguard, assassin, exorcist, crocodile hunter, or escort. If you expect that any of these services will become necessary, I am happy to put you in touch with a specialist. ADDITIONALLY: If your suitor is non-human, please be upfront with this so that we can plan accordingly. We do not want a repeat of the events of Halloween 2012.
ADDENDUM 2014: I reserve the right to terminate our deal at any time. This is a exclusively a professional relationship, and any physical or romantic affection we may share may be considered performance and unrelated to my personal feelings. ADDENDUM 2015: If you are trying to orchestrate a set-up because you get off on watching your significant other jealously beat the crap out of perceived rivals, fuck you. Vengeance will be swift.
Forget the fake suitor.
Marry me now.
It is against my policy to enter into legally-binding arrangements with clients, although by popular demand, I will attend weddings and family reunions as a plus-one to discourage nosey relatives.
Closeted lesbian or asexual, but your aunt won’t stop asking when you will get a boyfriend? I can be your mind-numbingly boring new beau for the day to put her off the scent. She’ll be so uninterested in my dull life that she’ll never inquire further.
Mom won’t stop trying to set you up with a nice Jewish or Hindi boy? I’m neither! Let her down gradually with your new white boyfriend before you eventually drop the ‘polyamorous bisexual witch’ bomb.
The interested reader should consult What Tolkien Officially Said About Elf Sex, the most extensive guide to elf sexuality I’m aware of. Also, be aware that I haven’t read Silm and anything in here contradicted by Silm is a result of ignorance.
The bits I find interesting are that (1) elf marriage is defined as being sex— the party is considered a good idea, but strictly optional, (2) elves don’t commit adultery and (3) elves can apparently tell from the way someone moves whether they’re wed or unwed. Now, this may just be that elves are Good Catholics, but are you kidding, there is an opportunity for my favorite tropes. I propose: elf hypermonogamy!
(I actually totally thought elf hypermonogamy was canon until I was researching my answer for this ask. GODDAMMIT TOLKIEN.)
Elves are universally demisexual: they literally do not experience sexual attraction to people they aren’t in romantic love with. Elves are only capable of being in love with one person at once. It takes them a long time to get over love; it’s quite common for a rejected elf to never fall in love again, and most of those who do go centuries before they do.
So, how does that affect my favorite ships?
I feel like Legolas/Gimli is super-more-awesome if Legolas was literally never sexually attracted to anyone before Gimli and has no idea what this emotion is. So he is all like OH GOD THIS DWARF IS SO ANNOYING >:( >:( >:( I JUST WANT TO THINK ABOUT HIM ALL THE TIME. BECAUSE HE’S ANNOYING. I WONDER WHAT HIS HAIR FEELS LIKE. And eventually this gets to the point where even Mr. They’re Taking The Hobbits To Isengard starts wondering if something’s up.
and then at Lothlorien he seeks the advice of Galadriel and Galadriel is like “Legolas, you’re in love” and Legolas is like “???!???!!!!!!”
and Galadriel thinks to herself “JESUS CHRIST, Legolas, Luthien and Arwen are one thing, human boys are sort of cute, but DID YOU REALLY JUST FALL FOR, OF ALL PEOPLE, A FUCKING DWARF”
(and then Gimli does the hair thing and she’s like “well, at least he has good taste”)
and then Legolas ends up having sex with Gimli. Now, dwarves totally have a culture of warrior homosexuality. (Also: everything homosexuality????) So Gimli is all like “ah, yes, manly men blowing off some steam in a manly way after battle, this surely does not mean Feelings” and Legolas is like “:( :( :( I will go stare at a river and write love poetry in Quenya more beautiful than the hearts of Men can bear” but he totally doesn’t let Gimli know because he doesn’t want to Pressure Gimli Into A Relationship and also because he will Take What He Can Get
and then at some point Aragorn is sadly singing to himself about Luthien as is his third-favorite hobby (behind beard growth and still not being king) and Gimli is like “why the hell would she give up her immortality anyway, dude, it’s fucking immortality? why can’t she marry an elf instead” and with one thing and another Aragorn ended up telling him about the Elvish Facts of Life
and then Gimli storms up to Legolas and is like YOU KNOW USUALLY I LIKE TO BE INFORMED WHEN I’M MARRIED TO PEOPLE
and Legolas is like “…I’m… married to you but you’re not married to me?”
and Gimli is like I DON’T KNOW WHAT NANCY SHIT YOU PONCY MOTHERFUCKERS GET UP TO BUT AMONG DWARVES MARRIAGE IS USUALLY CONSIDERED A TRANSITIVE PROPERTY
and Legolas was like “I am sorry, I understand if you will never speak to me again” and he is mentally drafting, like, the world’s saddest poem, like, it will win the Saddest Poem contest Elrond holds every year
and Gimli is like YOU FUCKING MORON OF COURSE I WANT TO BE MARRIED TO YOU HOW ELSE CAN I GET TO SHOW YOU ALL THE PRETTY CAVES
and Legolas is like “oh. Oh!”
and then he ends up smuggling his boyfriend into Valinor, I assume by just sort of shoving him into the luggage. “Dwarf? What dwarf? I don’t have a dwarf. What, no, my bag isn’t wriggling, you’re seeing things. Gosh, there are weird sounds on the sea, that one sounded almost like the word ‘fuck’.”
also I feel like this whole thing makes Elrond and Arwen infinitely more amusing
Elrond: NO YOU ARE NOT GOING TO MARRY ARAGORN Arwen: GRANDMA DID Elrond: AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT HER Arwen: I DON’T CARE I LOVE HIM Elrond: THERE ARE LOTS OF NICE BOYS IN VALINOR, I’M SURE YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE Arwen: NO I WON’T Elrond: …fuck. You’re right. Arwen: (looks smug) Elrond: you know Elros really had the right idea, immortality is awesome but at least HUMANS HAVE THE CONCEPT OF SERIAL MONOGAMY
the police have recently started using social media to try to find missing persons:
and it’s working!
so don’t panic, there isn’t a predator on a kidnapping spree targeting black kids. rather, the missing person reports that had previously not been treated very seriously are now getting the attention they deserve, and lots of kids are coming home safe because of it.
the DC police aren’t covering anything up. just the opposite. the world’s not quite as terrible as we feared.
My
gf of 3 years is the queen of “wherever” and “I don’t care” when it
comes to this. This little game fixed our problem immediately. It takes
the pressure off of her, but still gives her a choice about where to
eat.
(this can also work with kids and indecisive friends)
i’m just sitting here dying of laughter thinking about McGonagall looking over Harry in first year like yeah the kid gets into some dangerous shenanigans but it always seems to be for a greater purpose and his heart’s in the right place and he’s so sweet and quiet usually, clearly he takes after his mother Lily thank goodness this is good this boy is good
and then dead ass one year later kid shows up to school crashing into a tree with his bestie in a flying car instead of just owling the damn school that they’d missed the train and she’s just like DING DONG I WAS WRONG
Okay, but, when we send cremated remains into space do we send an explanation with them? Because I’m just picturing some aliens cracking open a satellite and being really fucking confused.
“Human guide! Our scans indicate that this probe contains a cylinder full of ash and human bone fragments. I assume this deconstruction of form is a way for your species to travel greater distances through the stars due to your limited capacity for large spaceships and distance travel. Quite similar to the Quaxilains from the Centuri district of the galaxy, though I did not know your species had reached such advancements yet. Please instruct us in how to revive your colleague so we may interrogate him as well.”
“No, dude, whoever that was is dead. Probably some astronaut or scientist who paid to have their cremated remains shot into space once they died.”
“You told us that your species buried your dead, why did you lie to us?”
“No, I said that MY family buried our relatives. Never said the whole species did it. Sometimes we burn them, then scatter their ashes in places they loved, plant them with a tree, use them to make diamonds, shoot them into space, whatever. Lotta options.”
“I had no idea your death rituals were so…extensive.”
“Just wait until I tell you about mummification.”
Okay, so this gets me thinking, what if that ends up as humanity’s hat? Like, other races have one, maybe two relatively simple ways to honor their dead in all their cultures, and then humans show up, a race that seems to brim with ways to appease and mourn the fallen. Earth-style funerals become trendy and fashionable before growing into galactic norms. Alien potentates pay big bucks for human architects to design monuments or mausoleums for them or their loved ones or historical figures. Groups of highly skilled “memorialists” spring up back on earth, master morticians trained in every kind of death rites human or alien minds have imagined and willing to work for a small fee. Humans become well-known across the universe as the Death People from the Death World.
Hi, I can't figure out how to filter relationships! I've been at this for about 20 minutes, and I give up b/c I am impatient. So can I please have the filter id for steve rogers/tony stark :3.
Happy to help! I assume you’re looking to filter out Steve/Tony. I’ll show you step-by-step, complete with copious screenshots, so we’re going behind the cut (and of course, this method can be used with any filterable tag (using a bookmarklet for Additional Tags) that you want to filter out!)…
Not like women have been telling y'all this since the beginning of time or anything.
I mean, yeah, at one point three years ago I was curled up in a fetal position literally screaming/crying/gasping for breath on my bed in my dorm room, so my response to this headline is basically, “No shit.”
No wonder women are so likely to ignore heart disease/attack symptoms. If something isn’t as bad as my cramps, I figure it can’t be that bad.
THAT LAST COMMENT
No kidding! But when I said that as a kid my parents would tell me it wasn’t that bad?! Also just learned that women with weaker immune systems, it’s worse anyways.
miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit. im shooting everything. im laying down cover fire. im shooting the walls. im shooting my teammates. im shooting myself. my accuracy is 100% yall just dont know what im aiming at
I didn’t even read the rest because I’m still laughing at “miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit” like I’ve never read a more perfect phrase in my life
i always laugh whenever we have to centrifuge bacteria because imagine you’re just chilling in some broth with your buds and then someone comes along and puts you in a tube and spins you at fucking 14,000 rpm
to add to this “humans are weird” thing did you know that humans are the only species on earth with the ability to throw things with any significant degree of accuracy and force (apes can throw with about the force of a human ten year old, but cant lock their wrists well enough for accuracy)
and we just never really think about it bc its so easy and simple to us that pretty much all of our sports are based around the concept of throwing things accurately
so what if the concept of projectile weapons takes most species FOREVER to get the hang of, or even come up with in the first place. a human goes onto a ship and throws some trash into the nearest reclaimer, shouts “kobe!” and all the other aliens on board absolutely LOSE THEIR MINDS
@caffeinewitchcraft I hope you don’t mind me tagging you but I thought of you and your short stories when I read this ^_^
(Funnily enough, @iwouldbemerry tagged me in this too! And you both are so right!)
Yesenia blew it. Her one and only chance to serve on a Federation vessel (”A what? No, we’re a flag ship for the Intergalactic–” “It’s a reference, let me have this–”) and she’d blown it. The written portion of the interview had gone well, and the oral, but she’d tripped during the physical. Literally tripped. In front of the Captain and the First Mate and the head of Medical–
She gloomily takes a bite of her protein bar. “Why do science officers need hand to hand anyway? We’re not the ones going planet side!”
G’Rung, one of her friends from training, pats her on the back with one feathery appendage. “Maybe you didn’t do as badly as you think. I mean, I can’t believe they pitted a human against a V’afinog! Surely that’ll count for extra.”
Yesenia perks up. “Yeah?” She thinks back to the fight. She thinks she actually did get a hit in when she fell–it may have been accidental but it was still a hit. “Yeah, you know what? I probably did okay!”
“And you’re the first human to even get to the interview stage,” G’Rung continues encouragingly. Around them, their other interview group mates nod, murmuring agreement.
“And you’re really good at Botany,” Marsul says. He gives her the close-lipped smile that means he’s genuinely happy, careful to cover his sharp teeth. “They’d be dumb not to accept your application.”
Yesenia is touched. Marsul and her had never gotten along after the whole smile misunderstanding. Apparently he’d thought she was threatening him for the longest time. “Thank you!” She balls up her protein bar wrapper and looks for a trash can. She spots one behind her and, not wanting to leave just yet, twists in her seat and tosses it toward the narrow opening. “Kobe!” The wrapper doesn’t even touch the edge of the receptacle, nothing but net, and she crows victoriously.
When she turns back around, everyone is staring at her.
“That was lucky,” Marsul says finally.
Yesenia glances around the table, not sure what’s wrong. “Luck has nothing to do with it, dude. That’s talent.”
She’s trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.
G’Rung gapes at her. “Are you saying you did that on purpose?”
“Well yeah,” Yesenia says. “The thing’s like ten feet away–”
“Throw this,” Marsul demands, shoving his own wrapper across the table to her. “Throw it.”
“Bossy,” Yesenia mutters. She scoops up the wrapper and throws it. Again, it goes in. And the next one and the one after that and the one that they have her throw from twenty feet away (that one might be luck).
Her group mates go crazy.
“Come on,” G’Rung says, tugging her up urgently, “Come on, come on, come on!”
“What?” Yesenia stumbles out of her seat, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
Marsul is right on their heels as G’Rung drags Yesenia out of the mess hall. “We have to show the Captain! If he sees this he’ll have to let you on the ship!”
“Sees what?” Yesenia asks. “And I thought you said I did great!”
“I lied to make you feel better,” G’Rung says, pressing the button to the lift that’ll take them to the command deck. “You did terribly against the V’afinog, I know that hit was an accident–”
Marsul darts around them to open the door and practically shoves them both through it. “Captain! Sorry to barge in, but you have to see this!” He looks around, eyes fever bright, and then snatches up a data chip. He shoves it into Yesenia’s hands. “Throw it!”
“Captain,” Yesenia says, looking at the Leekylan sitting in the command chair with wide eyes. “I am so sorry for–”
“I don’t have all day,” the Captain says, iris-less eyes blinking slowly. “And, frankly, if this is something that’ll help your case, you want to do it after that physical exam.”
“Told you,” G’Rung hisses in her ear. G’Rung flaps feather hands in her direction. “Do it!”
Yesenia swallows and tosses the data chip back into the drawer it came from. Marsul darts forward, grabs it, and hands it to her. Yesenia does it again.
“And targets–!” G’Rung swoops down and takes off their shoes. “The wall–!”
Yesenia, unable to read the Captain’s face, decides to just go with it. She lobs G’Rung’s shoes at the wall, hitting the same spot each time.
When she’s done, she turns to the Captain, fidgeting nervously. At her sides, Marsul and G’Rung are practically vibrating with nerves and excitement.
The Captain considers her for a beat longer. “Your Science application was denied due to your inability to defend yourself,” he says. And then, before Yesenia’s heart can crash straight through the floor, he adds, “But, in this case, I believe that this skill more than makes up for your failure in sparring. Congratulations and welcome aboard.”
Yesenia gapes at him. “I– thank you, sir! But–”
“No buts!” G’Rung says, grapping her arm again. “Thanks, Captain, we’ll just be going.”
Marsul picks up the rear, closing the door before he can change his mind.
oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he’d forgotten at home
and i went “holy shit you have a twin?!?” and he was like “yeah! his name is jason!” and i was like “????? i thought YOUR name was jason”
long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i’ve developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time
remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone’s keeping it from me so i’m just calling him not-jason
The first guy who heard a parrot talk was probably not ok for several days.
Actually, weird history fact about that. The island of Bermuda’s first name was Isle of Devils, being thought to be filled with demons and angry spirits when it was actually just filled with some loud ass birds.
I wonder if the Inquisition has debriefings? Like, after the entire crew gets back from a mission they have a meeting with the advisors regarding everything that happened.
Or maybe everyone in the party is required to write a field report? I bet Cullen reads them all, just sifting through endless crap from the Inner Circle:
Sera’s reports consist only of crude drawings and obscenities – he actually finds those entertaining. She’s quite inventive and the point is always rather clear.
Cassandra’s are always perfect and detailed, if not a bit stilted. Not that he minds.
Dorian’s are always about the lack of amenities or certain comforts. Can’t you order us thicker blankets? I was freezing the entire time and there was a rock under my back.
Blackwall’s reports are always helpful, he makes notes about soldiers, or various things that need to be done in the area.
Iron Bull’s are always just an account of the things he killed or fought. Sometimes he’ll share a good joke he heard too.
Vivienne’s are to the point, crisp and tidy, never wanting. She’ll also tack on notes about the Inquisitor, or her companions, bits of pertinent information.
Cole doesn’t write reports, but sometimes he’ll pop into Cullen’s office and tell him a few things of note before disappearing again.
Solas’ are scholarly, recounting the areas they’d explored and interesting landmarks, usually with a very detailed map attached.
And then there are Varric’s, written on fine vellum imported from a printer in Kirkwall, the penmanship always neat, and flowing over the pages. And there are many pages as Varric describes, in that detailed way only a writer can, the exact way his boots squelched while in the Fallow Mire; the damp, musty smell that clung to him after spending ten days soaking wet on the Storm Coast, without a chance to dry out; the biting chill that cut through him in the Emprise du Lion, and the way the dark branches of the bare trees struck a bleak contrast against the snow. The fucking endless snow.
It’s when they return from the Hissing Wastes and Cullen sees that Varric’s report is eighteen pages detailing exactly wherehe found sand on his person, that Cullen informs him he is exempt from writing any further reports.
Curly–
Thanks for sending us to Emprise du Fucking Cold. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing at this stage of my life.
Everything is frozen. The wind sounds like it’s screaming when it sweeps through the trees, and it bites through fabric and leather and anything else that tries to stand in its way. Bare black branches stretch out their bony fingers and leave stark, torn shadows over the ice. The only color comes from red lyrium, and there’s so much of it, what sun there is shines through it like stained glass.
The ground crunches. Wolves howl. Ravens caw with doom in their eyes. There’s snow everywhere. I’ve got snow in my boots, snow down my back, snow up my sleeves. Do you know what it’s like being damp for days at a time? It chafes.
[This goes on for several pages.]
Everybody here looks like they’re awaiting the cold embrace of the grave. ‘Wolves took our last sheep, and Uncle Boris has the ague and will soon breathe his last, and little Peter isn’t long for this world, but ah, well, death awaits us all,’ they seem to say, and go back to their porridge, or whatever the hell it is people eat in this Maker-forsaken place. Of course, if I lived here, I would, too.
This place is the worst. Also, we killed some demons today.
ok, so first, you bring dorian, cassandra, and your choice of rogue. if you’re a mage.
if youre a rogue, bring cassandra dorian and maybe another mage or rogue???? a ranged rogue if u are not
if u r a warrior, bring cassandra, u, maybe varric/sera?? and dorian.
okay, then just go full rambo on it. no mercy and when youre about to die, you say its a good day to die hard, and you just keep hitting the shit out of it’s arm so it limps around like it stubbed its toe
ok and then you will die.
you will die, regardless of class, but one will remain
cassandra
im being 100% fucking serious cassandra will not die. u can take all the vitamin gummies u want it doesnt fucking matter, because you will die, but she eat nails for breakfast she will survive
cassandra will fucking wrap a blood-soaked bandage around her head, and use dragon’s blood as her war paint and scream every five seconds and have her guard all the way up and she will scowl and glare the dragon to death
and youre probably thinking, “ok, but the dragon is at half health or ¾ health, jo, there is no fuckin way”
ok first off, dont talk back to me, second off, cassandra pentaghast comes from a hardass family of unforgiving dragon hunters who bathe in dragon blood prbably and im half-convinced cassandra has found the key to immortality bc she does not die. i s2g she has killed over half of the dragons i faced all by her goddamn self and i dont hear a single word of it later, she just shrugs cause MAYBE she got a splinter in her finger, but she literally doesnt give a fuck, if that dragon bites her she will bite it back, she doesnt care she will climb that dragon and stab her sword confidently into it like she is claiming a goddamn logging stand and she will not give half a shit
Dorian’s intro scene is him beating demons to death with a stick. At some point he must have run out of mana and decided to channel his inner Bruce Lee and successfully bludgeon at least two demons to death before the Inquisitor arrived
Dorian masks honesty and insecurity with layer upon layer of snark, sarcasm, and faux-arrogance. He’s like an everlasting gobstopper of adequacy issues.
His fashion sense is leagues different than Orlesian/Ferelden fashions (for god’s sake his casual attire is a brown leather jumpsuit with one shoulder left uncovered. just one)
Underneath his layers of sarcasm and irony there is a doe-eyed idealist that rivals Cassandra Pentaghast who looks at generations of slavery and death in Tevinter and thinks “Yeah this is worth saving”
Dorian considers himself to be Andrastian though not in either the Tevinter sense or the Orlesian sense
i will no longer be inviting my enemies to ‘meet me in the pit’ from now on you are all expected to meet me in the hinterlands, a far more terrifying prospect due to the fact you must first FIND me in the hinterlands, which may take years
