When the ending sucked, but fan artists and fic writers got your back
(Source: saranel, via ifeelbetterer)
“Don’t call Trump supporters nazis, it hurts their feelings.”
Yes, this is real (link to tweet). Yes, Tucker Carlson is literally repeating Nazi propaganda that aided the genocide of the Romani during the Holocaust. Yes, I am furious.
(Also, although there is a large population of Romani in Romania, they aren’t indigenous to Romania. They’re a diasporic group originally from northern India.)
Romani and Jewish have been screaming at the top of their lungs for years about neo-fascism in Europe, and Americans were totally aloof.
Then neo-fascism reared its head in America, but Roma and Jews were left out of the conversation in terms of people being impacted, because our oppression was “over.”
Now Tucker Carlson is on live TV using slurs and Nazi propaganda about Romani people, and I’m 90% most people on the left are just going to ignore it.
(via littlestartopaz)
i realize i’m maybe like, the Nichest of markets here, but i really really really desperately want to watch further adventures of Diana Prince, Curator of Antiquities™
…like, imagine the interdepartmental meetings
Diana: we have recently acquired several exquisite pieces of very early minoan kamares ware. i feel a refresh of the gallery might encourage our visitors to–some marketing dipshit: look, we can’t get people in the door for pottery. we need another big show, like can you get a vermeer or–
Diana of Themiscrya, Amazon, God-Killer, Daughter of Hippolyta: pottery is important
some marketing dipshit, lightly pissing himself: i agree
THIS but also I just wanted to add that although logic dictates that Diana has to move around bc of the whole immortal thing I’m so enamored with the idea of “Mlle. Prince Has Always Been At the Louvre” in which everyone who works there just thinks it’s too gauche to bring up that she should be 95.
oh my God, yes, headcanon 100000000% accepted
“non, emil. never again ask why her file system uses the pre-war numbering. you are new here. we do not speak of this.”
"
Eight rules for writing fiction:
1) Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2) Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3) Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4) Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5) Start as close to the end as possible.
6) Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them — in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7) Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8) Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
"—
– Kurt Vonnegut (via theessentialshandbook)
For the first time in my life, I am prepared to unequivocally agree with a list of writing advice.
(Source: sinedra, via primarybufferpanel)
Still Star-Crossed Episode 2
- Literally just from the first scene between Escalus and his father discussing Rosaline I can tell you right off the bat that I care 100x more about this politically fraught disaster of a relationship than whatever tense affair they’re trying to arrange with Rosaline/Benvolio. Like, give me a relationship between two people who genuinely love each other but are trying to deny it and betraying each other because it’s the Right Thing To Do and doing massive amounts of damage to each other in the process, and I will immediately and unhesitatingly shove it into my awful maw with no regard for what canon tells me.
- Rosaline being forced to live in the room of her best friend who died for love while being forced into a marriage by the man Rosaline loves who also loves her is kind of great to me? What if I wrote a bunch of miscellaneous bullshit about Rosaline being haunted by Juliet?
- I do not care that much about Benvolio. Like, he’s had a Rough Life™ and he Drinks And Sleeps Around and like…yeah, poor dude. Even though his carefully calculated descent into artistic nerdhood endeared me to him for a hot second. Still don’t care. Maybe shove some backstory in there, throw in some flashbacks, hit me with that gay Mercutio/Benvolio shit, ANYTHING to give him a personality beyond ‘angry rich boy.’ Anyway. Moving right along.
- “You make it sound like our noble lords are a pack of dogs in the street.” …um, Escalus honey, they kind of are. There was a riot literally under thirty-six hours ago.
- I’m getting a lot of satisfaction out of Isabella pulling the strings behind the scenes for selfish reasons—getting Rosaline back as a friend, keeping her brother in power, retaining as much power as she can for herself—as well as Protecting Her Home. Also all of her clothes are real good.
- Medical history aside: hey, look, boiling oil. A+ historical accuracy, Paré’s replacement for boiling oil only barely predated this and it’s entirely possible for Livia to have learned that from her solider father. I’d also like to point out that this was not standard procedure for sword wounds, as it was used to combat the supposed ‘poison’ of gunpowder, so like? Yeah, the nurse being horrified is also totally feasible.
- ….I’m so pleased with Escalus for stabbing someone’s hand, atta boy, but on the other hand I was really hoping for another knock-down drag-out brawl at a serious formal occasion. Like, why else am I even here.
- The way Rosaline spits Your Grace like her tongue is made of steel and her words are made of poison is my life’s blood. Also please have this become Escalus and Benvolio and Rosaline (and Isabella) all having horribly tense meetings where they scramble to come up with a plan that keeps Verona at peace without forcing anyone to get married. I just need a scene of all of them at each other’s throats as they struggle to find a détente, with Rosaline throwing ice cold cutting remarks left and right as Escalus fights to keep an even keel and Benvolio is just generally an asshole (and Isabella cutting through the chaos like a finely drawn blade with a plan that is terrible and awful and perfect).
- ESCALUS, COMMIT TO SOMETHING. MAKE A DECISION ESCALUS. Something besides this sort of dangerously totalitarian ‘death for a death’ rule because, MY DUDE, you gotta at least give them a trial.
- Why am I still liveblogging this terrible show? Why do I still love it so much? It’s so bad and I’m enjoying the literal hell out of it, guys, I don’t even know anymore.
I am the worst sucker for reincarnated loves like I am the WORST TRASH FOR THAT SHIT
That thing where they first meet again and that expression of confusion bc ‘I know them’
and then they struggle with getting closer for no damn reason but just?? t h e m
And tHEN THEY GET FLASHBACKS OF THE HORRIBLE THINGS THAT TORE THEM APART IN A PREVIOUS LIFE
Or one of them does and they have to stare into that other person’s face every morning knowing they’ll never understand how much they love them
pUNCH ME IN THE FACE AND GIVE ME REINCARNATED SHIP AU’S!!
(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
Anonymous asked: Happy Barricade Day!
That’s the spirit, guys.
Nothing could possibly go wrong here.
*pulls out bottle of wine* Wake me when it’s my turn to die.
maelace asked: Okay, for Steve Rogers prompts: Steve is leaving the grocery store and hears some guy yelling at the little Girl Scouts selling cookies about how Feminism Is Ruining This Country and Girl Scouts Are Evil for Supporting Abortion and Lesbians. (Because this actually happens, it happened to me when I was a kid. And once you are like 13 you are allowed to sell without an adult, so me and my friend were alone).
Ahahaha yeah, good times, been there, done that. Right, so, I’m picturing this as like a month or two after Avengers, while Steve is still Figuring Out the 2000’s. Also featuring: Steve swearing like a Brooklyn kid who went into the Army, and my weird obsession with time-displaced super soldiers who are angry about bananas. WARNING: 100% WISH FULFILLMENT. Some general assholery and Steve losing his temper a little under the cut because…this is longer than I meant it to be.
Steve was sure it would shock any number of people, but his biggest problems with the 21st century weren’t the televisions, phones, or coffee makers (thank you, Stark). There was a learning curve, but it was reminiscent of the learning curve after he’d gotten the serum—hell, he’d gone from a colorblind, partly deaf asthmatic with more chronic illnesses than you could fit on a chart to a walking talking superhuman. The whole world had been brighter, louder, and faster-paced than Steve had ever been remotely prepared to deal with, so he went onto stages and into battles until he adapted. The 21st century was brighter, louder, and faster-paced than the forties could have dreamed, so Steve got on his bike and went to tour the country without help. By the time he got back, he was pretty sure he could manage technology well enough to Google shit like ‘what is Facebook.’
(Google was good. Steve fucking loved Google. All the answers were on Google. Including answers to questions he never needed answered, but he had gotten better at choosing his search terms.)
No, Steve’s biggest problems with the 21st century, other than the obvious fact that it wasn’t his century, mostly revolved around money.
Example: who in their right goddamn mind paid seven dollars for a pound of apples? Had anyone ever heard of affordable bread? What the fuck was happening with the price of potatoes—potatoes, for the love of God.
“Inflation’s a bitch,” a passing college student said in dry amusement, obviously picking up on his bitter muttering. Steve’s scowl deepened and he put the apples in his cart.
For the first time in his life, Steve actually didn’t have to worry about money—apparently seventy years of back pay totaled up to a significant amount of cash—but that didn’t mean that he didn’t wince as he did the math for his food. If this was usual for one person, what the hell were families paying? Bucky’s family had been Bucky, his ma, his dad, and all three of the girls, plus sometimes Steve. How was a family of seven affording this food? He added it to his mental list of things to Google, along with what is wrong with bananas.
Bananas. Of all the things for the future to fuck up, fucking bananas were weird bland not-bananas now. Steve had never had strong opinions on bananas before, but live and goddamn learn, apparently.
Anyway. The money thing was why, upon entering the grocery store, Steve hadn’t paused at the table set up just inside the door, save to read the sign hanging in front of it—it was good to see that the Girl Scouts had survived. Nonetheless, he could bake cookies his own self and probably get a better net value than six bucks for a tiny box, thanks. To be polite, he’d waved a little to the girls at the table, both wearing green sashes and winning smiles as they did a slow but respectably steady business, and then he’d gone on his damn way like a civilized human being.
But God forbid that other people could do the same. Steve checked out with his apples and cereal and soup ingredients (and no bananas), put them in pair of reusable grocery bags, and started for the door just in time to hear raised voices.
