#I'm so sorry I don't know what this is

[birdofdawning]

The Woman From the Sea

6. Orderliness

The beginning is here; the previous part is here.

Jane has been wearing gloves since the Woman From the Sea met her. They are black woollen fingerless gloves, and she wore them while she ate and then while she washed the dishes. She’s wearing a sweater too, but this doesn’t seem as odd. Her hands seem to be stiff or sore too, judging by how she moves them. Cutlery was just a little bit tricky for her, and she gritted her teeth several times as she manoeuvred the plates with her fingertips while she washed them. An injury? But in both hands? The Woman From the Sea is curious, but she is also shy; she knows Jane is angry with her.

“Okay, you can have this room. I changed the sheets this afternoon. Aired it out in case you were staying.” Jane opens a door off the hall and the Woman From the Sea steps into a small, white room with an iron-framed bed taking up most of the space. The window faces east, and she can see a rotary washing line in the twilight. “Yeah, it’s pretty basic,” Janes says, looking around. “But at least you didn’t turn up here in winter. These side rooms get icy. I usually sleep in the common room through January and February. Stay by the fire.”

“It’s very nice,” says the Woman From the Sea politely. “Um, I guess I could sleep in this?” she gestures down at her borrowed clothes.

“Oh! You probably want a shower! And a change of clothes too, hang-on.” Jane darts out of the room and is back a minute later, carrying some more t-shirts and pants. “Sorry, not used to guests (obviously). Uh, I have fresh underwear but nothing, uh new new — would boxers be… Oh, hey, maybe don’t look in there…"

But it is too late. Exploring the room, the Woman From the Sea has opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and is staring, eyebrows raised. “Oh!”

“Not mine!” Jane hastens to assure her, cheeks red. “As you probably guessed, it’s been all male crews before me. So when I took over I had a big tidy up and…” she gestures at the trunk and cringes. “I didn’t want to… I don’t know, burn it all or whatever; I mean, I’m not always gonna be the keeper…”

The Woman From the Sea reaches in and examines the contents. “What an exceptionally large collection of pornographic magazines,” she says.

“Yeah. Well. You know. Guys,” says Jane. “I actually forgot it was in here.”

“There is material here from the Seventies!” The Woman From the Sea has started making piles on the floor, only half-listening to Jane who has started explaining about the shower, and tank water, and possibly there are some warnings about brevity and economy. But she is content for the first time in many, many days, sorting out the various periodicals of explicit pornography. First chronologically — year, month, issue — then by title. Perhaps she pauses over the older covers, just for a moment, admiring some of the sleeker women of the Sixties and Seventies. She takes note of two issues she will examine more closely later. When she is finished she carefully stacks the periodicals back into the trunk, keeping them in order.

“So you’re easy to entertain,” says Jane, making her jump. She looks up and realises that Jane has been watching bemusedly from the doorway this whole time. Or perhaps not: she has a towel now too.

“I like to organise things,” explains the Woman From the Sea, rising.

Jane hands over the towel and the pile of clothes. “Well, don’t touch my books. Or dvds. I know where everything is. Or at least,” she adds, “ask me first. Or take one at a time?”

The Woman From the Sea hugs the clean clothes. “Thank you, Jane,” she says, smiling shyly.

“Yeah, well.” Jane looks away. The sharp angles of her face catch the light in a way that pleases the eye. “I’m gonna guess you need me to explain about the shower again?”

“Yes, please.” And the Woman From the Sea follows her down into the laundry house.

She decides that Jane striding forward in a shapeless woollen sweater and work slacks is currently more interesting than the old trunk and its salacious contents.

[herd-reject-arts]

So I'm leaving work and something darts in front of me, maybe 10ft away, too fast for me to see what it is. Peek around the tree blocking my path and I see this

Just like... a whole ass hawk. Dude's gotta be about 1.5ft tall. Massive fucking bird. And it's just staring me straight in my soul like this, even as I try to move ahead. It didn't budge. And there's only this path back to my car unless I want to walk on a busy highway. So I have the option of Death By Raptor or Death By Truck.

So I walk in the poison ivy filled patch off the sidewalk. Guy still isn't moving. Still staring me directly in the eyes. And I do this thing when animals are behaving strangely where I'll talk to them, so I'm just like, "Hey, man. I don't know you. You don't know me. This feels really threatening. I'm just trying to get to my car, dude. Can I get some space please? You're a big fucking bird. I see those claws. You could kill me right now, but I'd appreciate if you didn't, ok?"

It didn't move until I was about 2ft away. Again: I'm as far from it as I can be without walking into the street. It clearly wasn't going to budge. I walk past, thing flies up (silent, btw. Scary) and lands on a brick wall a little further ahead

Anyway. Weird guy. Nearly shit my pants when I noticed a bird big enough to carry off a fully grown cat was just... there, staring me in the face, unwilling to move away from me, a human, something it should see as a threat. I watched behind me the whole rest of the way to my car, just in case this bird decided to help me shed this mortal coil. 10/10 experience. Super cool guy.

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[thereallycoolmonsterithoughtup]

kabru and mithrun's fun succubus adventure

[mwagneto]

i'm sorry but i cannot stop thinking about it for reallll imagine you're richer than god and never had to face consequences for anything and you have so much money you don't even know what to do with it so you toss a quarter million at the stupidest tourism option on earth. and you see that the paper you have to sign tells you you could die and you look at the flimsy metal tube you're going to be plummeting into the ocean in and it doesn't even phase you because bad things don't happen to people like you. imagine some hours into the journey you realise something is wrong. maybe not you but somehow the knowledge that there was a fuckup becomes known to the 5 of you trapped in there. and you know you can't get out from the inside and you know you have no food and no bathroom and not even the room to ever stand up again. when does the realisation that your wealth cannot protect you from your inevitable mortality set in. how does someone like that reconcile with both death and the fact that it's 100% their own doing? can someone like this even come to terms with that or will they be fighting to find someone to blame until the last second? when does it reach you that all 5 of you are going to die one by one and there's nothing you can do? does the fact that 5 of you have enough air until thursday but one of you could have enough air until at least next week ever cross anyone's mind.

[suiheisen]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[lilybug-02]

Bribed with Chocolate. The way it should be.

Part 22 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

More to come as this is a two-parter. But you know how I am with schedules.

Bonus:

I think this was an equally possible reaction from Chara.

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[ghosthunterbuck]

beer & apologies

(buddie) (722 words) (7x04 coda)

It’s late, later than any reasonable person would show up on a friend’s doorstep, but Buck’s got this bright, warm feeling in his chest and all he wants to do is apologize so he can share it. For a split second he thinks about knocking, but that feels a little too much like going backwards. Instead, he lets himself in and hangs his key on the hook.

“Eddie,” he calls quietly into the still house.

“Kitchen.” The reply is soft, easy, like Eddie was expecting him.

Buck steps into the room and holds up the beer he brought.

Eddie looks up at him and grins, soft and warm in the glow of the lamplight. “What’s that for?”

“This is ‘sorry for acting like a teenager and spraining your ankle’ beer,” Buck says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Seriously, I’m sorry.”

Eddie sighs and pushes an empty chair back from the table with his foot, gesturing for Buck to sit. “I’m sorry too,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t—" Buck starts.

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie interrupts with a wry grin. “You should definitely be sorry-er, though, so I’ll take the beer.”

Buck snorts and sits, setting the six pack on the table between them.

“We didn’t—well, I didn’t…”

“I know,” Buck says. “I was just—”

“I know,” Eddie says softly.

A few, quiet moments pass, and it’s comfortable, exactly what Buck was missing the last couple of days.

“Hey,” Eddie says suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “at least now I know why you always said no to basketball.” He smiles, loose and just a tiny bit mischievous.

Buck splutters. “What? No! I wasn’t that bad,” he protests.

Eddie lifts his injured ankle and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well maybe, but—”

“Uh-uh,” Eddie says, “no buts. You haven many talents, Buck, but basketball isn’t one of them.”

Buck ducks his head and grins. “Maybe I’ll get Tommy to teach me, then I can beat you without playing dirty.” Saying Tommy’s name out loud gives birth to a few giddy butterflies in his stomach.

“You two make up?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “He uh—texted me.” The butterflies turn to little rocks.

“Good,” Eddie says, “that’s good.” He grabs a beer and twists the top off. “I really think you guys will get along, if you give him a chance.”

“We, um. Yeah. We probably will.” Buck grabs a beer of his own and stares at the label.

He doesn’t—he didn’t mean to lie. It just kind of… came out. Which, it’s Eddie. Buck knows he could tell him exactly what happened, right now, and it’d be fine. It’d be completely fine because it’s Eddie and he knows Eddie would be cool about it, probably even happy for him! But when he goes to open his mouth it just. Doesn’t.

“How’s—uh. How’s Marisol?” he asks instead, tripping over his words.

Eddie shrugs. “She’s fine, same as always. Apparently Christopher got her to play Fortnite, which, according to him, was a disaster.”

Buck laughs, shaking his head. “That kid,” he says softly.

“That kid,” Eddie agrees. He takes another swig of beer and sits back.

“Hey, wait,” Buck says suddenly. He lurches forward and snags the bottle out of Eddie’s hand. “You can’t have this, you’re on pain killers.”

“It’s my apology beer!” Eddie protests.

“Nope, two sips is plenty. I can’t hurt your ankle and your liver on the same day.”

“It’s after midnight, it’s tomorrow,” Eddie pouts. “Give it.” He makes a halfhearted attempt to grab it back, but Buck holds the beer aloft.

“Nuh-uh, absolutely not,” Buck says. “You can drink your apology beer this weekend.”

“My apology beer is going to be flat and stale,” Eddie replies, unimpressed.

Buck rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you a new apology beer, alright?”

“Promises, promises.”

“I will!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You better. Want to bring it over on Saturday? We can watch the game.”

Buck’s grin falters a little bit, even as that warm feeling bubbles up in his chest all over again. “I uh- can’t, sorry.”

“What, you got a hot date or something?” Eddie asks with a laugh.

Buck takes a long swallow from the beer he stole from Eddie. “Yeah, something,” he says with a hollow laugh.

He feels like a liar.

[koshercosplay]

Neil gaiman is a Zionist :(

this is so funny because if you google "neil gaiman zionist" nearly all of the links are to unsourced tumblr posts or responses to a single tweet from 2015 that just acknowledges Israel's existence

I see gaiman has once again committed the heinous crime of Being Jewish When Israel Is In The News

[rochenn]

The year is 2034. Disney announces the production of the show "Resistance: Dooku of Serenno", set during the early days of the Empire, starring CG Christopher Lee.

We begin with a flashback to Revenge of the Sith. After Dooku is beheaded, we learn that he used the Force to supply his brain with blood and oxygen. The movie is visibly retconned - as Obi-Wan, Anakin and Palpatine flee the Invisible Hand, four human parts can be spotted stealthily floating after them.

Dooku, being Dooku, survives the crash and manages to steal away. His head is surgically reattached. Don't ask why nobody else ever stitched their lightsaber-chopped limbs back on. He ends up getting prosthetic hands, anyway. David Filoni said in a behind-the-scenes interview that he thought they were cool.

Previously established canon prevents Dooku from doing anything in-character until Order 66. He lets loose in Coruscant's undercity and becomes the local kooky old man who couldn't possibly be public enemy number one until Mace Windu, freshly fried and unhanded, crashes down in front of him. What a coincidence.

Mace is still played by Sam L. Jackson. He is So Old. He is only there for the paycheck. Disney didn't know how to recast him. He is acting alongside the shell of a man who has been dead for two decades.

After a joke about missing hands that is very funny, the two get along swimmingly. They don't really talk about Dooku's various war crimes. "My droid army would never traumatize a young child," Dooku says with a wink into the camera. Remember to buy your Mandalorian merch.

Mace and Dooku organize an underground resistance on Coruscant in the spirit of the Confederacy. Mace is okay with this. Choice aspects of this arc are compelling, like the fight against fascism under the yoke of cruel state suppression, but tone-deaf allusions to the work of Sophie Scholl cause controversy abroad. Andor did it better. Critics on YouTube who thus far lauded the return of fan favorites and 'faithful casting' tear into the show for pushing the woke agenda.

Nothing Mace and Dooku accomplish has any impact on the Original Trilogy. What were you expecting? The end of the show teases a second season with the arrival of a mysterious woman. Dooku's secret wife. You never knew of her because she was never relevant before. As the final credit music slowly creeps in, she says: "Don't you want to see your son?"

The music swells and we cut to Serenno. The planet has never been mentioned throughout all 15 episodes of the show. Standing in the ruins of Dooku's castle is Dooku's son: back turned to the viewer, gazing into the sunset. Dooku II of Serenno, proud heir, turns his head. He is played by Harry Styles.

Roll credits.

[moodyseal]

TOApril Day 1 - Missed Target

«What about you? How exactly did you… uh, do all this?”

I suppose he was talking about the piles of ash and rice, the broken chairs and control panels, and the blood of my enemies decorating the walls and the carpet. I tried not to laugh like a lunatic. “Just lucky?”» (TON, chapter 26)

Tfw an entire group of evil bodyguards tries to kill you but you're a literal god

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

There's nothing he can't do. Yet.

(Thank you to everyone who participated in the poll!)

[accirax]

🌟🍬🤖🎈Congrats to Wonderlands x Showtime for finishing their 4x4!🌟🍬🤖🎈

[give-me-your-monsters]

This is why I can’t sleep at night

Okay, so instead of sleeping, like a regular sane person, I’ve been sending the last few nights debating whether I should do a horror EastEnders-inspired fanfic in the future.

Apologies in advance for my mad ramblings...It’s long and pointless, but I’m nothing if not committed so here goes:

T/W: talks of fictional deaths (drug-related, violent, etc), addiction, the Eldritch Gods

For the non-Brits: EastEnders is a long running soap opera set in London, in a fictional place called Albert Square, which has been going since the 80s. Please bear in mind that I haven’t been keeping up with it for years, but I get glimpses of it because the TV’s usually on and playing in the background at the same time it’s on air.

Mad shit happens all the time on it.

To give an idea of how nuts the storylines can be sometimes:

The bride and her sister both drowned at the bride’s wedding.

A character was killed by being shoved down a hill.

A longstanding villain was bludgeoned to death with an iron dog-shaped doorstop.

One character was buried alive by his wife momentarily because he was cheating on her with her step-son’s ex-girlfriend. She changed her mind and dug him back out again, sooo I guess that was okay?

Another villain was killed with a iron bust of Queen Victoria.

For the 35th anniversary of the show, they decided to do their own version of Titanic on the River Thames. No, I’m not joking: https://twitter.com/i/status/1229503704052772875

Recently a character died after being pushed and landing on a knife sticking up in the dishwasher...

The point is characters die on this show...a lot. Falling off roofs, car explosions, overdoses, murdered, poisoned, hit-and-runs, death by picture-frame, gas explosions (very common), etc.

And if they’re not dead, they are: alcoholics, drug addicts, homeless, having an affair with everyone living in the postcode, blackmailing each other, serial killers themselves, engaging in business sabotage, etc.

If Albert Square was real, it would probably have the highest homicide rate in London, indeed, in the whole of the UK.

And instead of going, ‘Oh, it’s a soap opera’, again, like a normal person would, my brain is screaming, ‘conspiracy!’

Because EastEnders has been around for so long, there’s a few characters who have been in it for ages.

(If you want a giggle, google the character Ian Beale - who has been on this goddamn show since the very first episode back in 1985 what the fu- - along with ‘meme’ or ‘moments’, whatever. He’s had a rough time over the years. He’s a national institution at this point.)

When leads me to my main point. Phil Mitchell.

This character has been on this show since before I was born on this cursed planet.

Again, he’s had a rough time on the show, although that’s mostly his fault because he’s a hardened criminal, directly and indirectly responsible for an absurb amount of deaths on the show, and always willing to hide a body. He’s a massive on-and-off alcoholic to boot.

And yet again, instead of going, ‘Oh, he’s the local scumbag character that all soap operas need to keep the bodies flowing,’ I naturally think - once again, having not kept up with this show for ages - to myself...

‘Oh, he’s clearly in a pact with an Eldritch God or a demon which lives in Albert Square, and demands blood sacrifices and constant misery, otherwise it will tear Albert Square/London/the whole world apart.’

Because wouldn’t that be more interesting? That the truth behind this thug is he’s actually trying to save the world, slowly going mad from his terrible deeds and the Eldritch God/demon which continues to torment and mock him, turning to alcohol to desperately drown his sins? Isn’t that more interesting than because some tv producer insists that a random character has to die by the Christmas episode?

...It is random, utterly meaningless shit like this which rattles around in my brain, instead of actually important things. 

Now I’m torn between whether it’s a rubbish idea not worth bothering with or if it’s secretly a genius idea which I should definitely write down....

^This is what keeps me up at night, and I’m so sorry to have burdened you with this.

[crimeronan]

the barbie trailer did dredge up this long-buried memory of one time when i was ten and at conservative christian school with a bunch of my very sheltered conservative christian peers and one of the girls i was having lunch with mentioned something about going to college and i said "yeah, that'll be cool! as long as we live that long i guess" and she said "what??" and i said "i mean, it's a long time away?? a lot can happen?? we could die in a car accident?? someone could attack the school?? i don't know if i'll be alive in eight years"

and she just.

made. the D: face.

in real life.