“But surely you jest, M’Lord Vect.” the waifish alien mused, sipping from a fluted glass of some unknown intoxicant as she lounged back in her seat. The trueborn daughter of one of the high Archon’s senior Dracons, few could have enjoyed such casual conversation with a figure as imposing and feared as Asdrubael Vect.
“Please, you know my jests, dear Kaitria. If I were attempting to fool you it would be far less obvious and yet far more humorous. The creature is indeed a Mon’keigh.” the grand overlord chuckled through closed lips, eyes flashing for a moment in time with a great cheer from the crowds below.
I ever tell you guys about my ethically dubious radio show back in college? The Mad Dad Hour?
it was an entire radio show built around perpetuating a very simple joke, but it was uniquely powerful in its capacity to prompt the reaction I was looking for.
so my slot was at the tail end of rush hour, and i got a fair number of listeners/callers who were on the way home from the office. And like, I had a lot of callers, who almost all wanted to request songs that really didn’t fit with the aesthetic. I had pitched a power pop show when i got my slot, but the callers were not having it; they invariably wanted classic rock.
this made sense in a way. if you think about the demographics of the people who listened to the radio for music in 2010 instead of their ipods or cds or whatever, you’d expect them to skew older right? accordingly, i quickly realized that almost all of the people who called to request songs were Dads of a Certain Age. It was honestly annoying at first - I’m all for most classic rock, but that wasn’t what the show was supposed to be.
And so one day, when i was feeling particularly annoyed with requests that just didn’t fit thematically, i came up with the joke that rapidly became the only reason I kept the show going. Per station rules, I had to play a certain number of pre-recorded PSAs during my show, and before I cut to one I was supposed to read out the song titles and artists for all the music i had played before the break. So this one day when i had to inform the world before the break that the song they just heard was, per a listener’s request, Hey Jude by the Beatles, I decided to do a goof. I said:
“and finally, that last song you heard was Hey Jude, which was of course written and performed by the Rolling Stones.”
I barely had time to get the ads going before the phone started ringing. See, I had been assuming people would realize i was making an obvious joke by claiming one of the most well-known Beatles tracks was a Stones song, but i had failed to consider that my listeners were mostly 55-70 year old dads who were irritated from a long day in the office.
And when those dads heard me, a millennial woman, get the artist of an extremely well-known beatles song WRONG???!
they HAD to call in to correct my ignorance. never in a polite way either, it was condescending and annoyed or nothing. and like, they were just SO personally insulted by my inaccurate reporting that it took a massive amount of effort for me to avoid cracking up during the call. I had never understood why some people would enjoy trolling random strangers on the internet before, but in that moment, I understood the appeal entirely.
obviously i did it again right before the next commercial break, immediately after playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen David Bowie.
the phone immediately began to ring.
“ARE YOU AN IDIOT?” one of the callers began, “DAVID BOWIE???? THAT WAS QUEEN!”
“I thought David Bowie was the lead singer of Queen though?” I replied with as much innocent earnestness as i could conjure.
I could hear an intake of breath as the infuriated boomer on the other end of the line struggled to figure out where to even start.
And thus, the Mad Dad Hour was born.
@eduards-stuff I kept doing the same joke for an hour a week for an entire year, and the dads NEVER caught on. After episode 1 of the new format I started taking the angry dad calls on air, which added another layer of hilarity to the whole concept.
My friends on campus knew that hay I was doing and enjoyed tuning in, but only one actual listener ever figured out what I was doing, and he was literally a random 30 year old guy from the netherlands with access to an early internet connection radio service. He was possibly my only actual fan. I only know about him because he went to the effort of making a skype and paying for international service so he could call in, and while I got a few calls from him, the first remains my favorite:
me: hi there, you’ve got TST-
him: *strained, wheezing dutch laughter*
me: hey, is everything o-
him: pfffHAHAHAAH YOU MAKE THEM SO MAD. THEY THINK SO LITTLE OF YOUUUUUUUU BUT THE MEN ARE THE ONES WHO ARE FOOLISH! HA! HA! HA! YOU HAVE DUPED THEM!
me: sir i do not know you and i have never even seen you but i am in romantic love with you.
You know what this fandom doesn’t have, which is a cheesy staple of most fandoms?
Body swap.
Which is silly because elves are like barely connected to their bodies anyways.
Where is the horrific chaos fic of the house of Finwe all being reembodied in one massive Mandos dump and all ending up in each other’s forms?
Fingolfin in Curufin’s body just congenially trying to figure out if any of them are Feanor, because he just want talk, he crossed the ice to talk and he just wants to talk, he swears, WHERE IS HIS SHITTY BROTHER.
Feanor’s sons “no I’m sparticus!”-ing so no one can tell which pisses Feanor off cause he’s no coward. He’s in Amrod.
Amrod is in Amras and feels kind of cheated.
Finrod is in his real body b/c he was reembodied ages ago but no one believes he’s really Finrod.
Aredhel is in Maedhros and is delighted to be tall.
Fingon is in Caranthir and everyone is alarmed at how friendly he looks.
Turgon is in Celegorm and is probably a little too effusive about how upset he is by this development.
Tumblr is basically the flooded wwi shellhole we all come to huddle in. No one likes it but its better than standing in view of the snipers (twitter). Every once and a while someone gets a package from home and we all get a chunk of stale and slightly muddy sponge cake to nibble on.
“You got a blorbo back home, Sarge? A meow-meow? A special little guy?”
“Yeah…” [removes tattered photo from breast pocket]
“That’s nice. Really pathetic. Looks like a drowned kitten.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll see ‘em again. Another network will pick up the show.”
This illustration represents two of my favorite things: fashion, and Hamilton.
Actually, it’s been a pretty long time that I wanted to draw a Hamilton piece. I’ve been obsessed with this musical for months, I almost felt like being a teenager again. It sometimes makes me regret not to live in NYC.
I’m living in Paris, and even if it’s where Les Misérables were born, well, musicals are not really… trendy here. Or as good as Broadway’s.
I felt like my contribution would be pointless. But whatever happens, I just have to create whatever the heck makes me happy (and well, if it makes you happy too, then I would be blessed).
How perfect were these three in their gowns performing this iconic song at the Tonys ?
Hamilton,@linmanuel , thank you to infinity and beyond for bringing so much joy, inclusiveness and positivity into this world. I’ll always do my best to do so. (Even if it’s with scrappy drawings).
Pairing: Luke Randolph x Emma (MC) | Ikemen Prince Rating: Teen Prompt: “Do you want me to pick you up so you can see the cherry blossoms better?” Event: Spring Bouquet Challenge hosted by @atelier-maroron C/Ws: Fluff Summary: Emma is walking in the palace gardens when she comes across Luke. Tagging:@ikehoe | if you want to be tagged for future fics, send in a dm or ask! Word count: 1.4k A/N: First Luke fic yay~ Writing for a character whose route isn’t out in English makes me a bit nervous but I hope you enjoy it!! (also sometimes I get paranoid about ratings, this is probs G but just to be safe…)
Emma stretched herself feeling the sun on her skin. The air felt warm against her cheeks, and it was the perfect weather to stroll around the gardens without a coat. Spring was finally making its way back to Rhodolite, and with it, she felt her moods were improving. Spending her breaks from her lessons outside was way more refreshing than being holed up inside, and it gave her the invigoration she needed to feel she could indeed continue with her role as Belle.
Danny, having consumed enough caffeine to kill 3 horses, rapidly clawing his way through and along the ceilings and walls:W̶͙̄̄h̴̼̒e̸̛̯r̵̳͘͠ȇ̷̥ ̴̲̣̌̌a̶̻͙̍r̷̙̀e̸̞̝͛͝ ̶̺̦̒t̶̨̄̕h̴̡͉̀͛ê̸̟ ̴̨̲̊f̸̝̈́̓r̸̞̞̃̅e̷̗̔s̷̛̱h̸̚ͅ ̸̜̬̂̂ģ̸͌h̴̺̯̍̃o̴̪̟͛͋s̴̡͍̆t̶̥̆ ̴̜̃̐ć̴̗͚ḧ̷̺́i̵̬͝ľ̸̬͊d̴̝̃r̵̻͐̇e̸͎̎͜ǹ̷̡̦͒ ̵̺̣͗f̸̨̻̄̂ǒ̵͍͠r̶̠͕̐ ̴̳͐͝ṁ̵̤e̵̤̽ ̸̰͗t̵͚͉̀̉ò̵̰̅ ̴̥̏f̵̥͎̄͂ȅ̴̙a̸̛̫̘s̶͙̋̈́ẗ̶̗̺́͂ ̵̫̲̀ṳ̴̃̏p̸͔̍ò̴̘ͅň̶͎͇
Vlad, holding up a cross and backing himself into a corner:whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK
Liz likes to steal clothes from boys. When Hellboy and Abe must go on mission, they have a hard time finding their clothes. And Liz is just laying on the couch, sipping milkshake, and watching TV. But then there comes Manning, staring at her, asking: „Whose is this coat?” And she’s like: Hellboy’s.” „And these old pants?” Liz rolls eyes: „From Johann’s old wardrobe.” Manning is thinking: „And from where do you have this shirt?” And Liz’s like: „It’s from Abe. It is the one of those he use for missions and other things.” And Manning is like: „Oh. My. God.”
My lot from the Exorcist prop auction arrived in the mail today, a full two weeks before I was expecting it!
Here we’ve got three of Marcus Keane’s sketchbooks, along with their certificate of authenticity.
Inside the two larger ones there are eleven filled pages total, five of which are non-sexual but uh, very intimate Stalker Drawings of Tomas. The other six are (I’m fairly certain,) St. Anthony’s.
All these drawings are still in the notebooks, except one drawing of Tomas, which is loose. Some of the St. Anthony’s ones are very refined and nice, while others are rougher, more outlined and sketch-like.
But then in the littlesketchbook.
In the little sketchbook there are a lot of Marcus’ diary entries. I haven’t read the whole thing yet, and I’m still debating whether or not I should type it up. But there’s a whole story in here, about something that happened to him. I don’t know what yet. Again, I haven’t read the whole thing.
It goes on like this for about half the notebook, then dramatically stops.
I am… frankly overwhelmed. This show means so much to me, and has been such a comfort during a very dark time in my life. I’m so happy to have a little piece of its history like this.
where’s the tweet thats like high value art heists should be legal and should be like a national pass time between countries like capture the flag. thats my platform
hmm jaskier winding silk around geralt’s wrists, keeping him bound to a wrought-iron bed frame, arms spread wide, chest and belly exposed, vulnerable,
as jaskier rides him so agonizingly slow, and he’s dripping in golden chains as thin and delicate as spider-webs, shimmering like he’s been blessed by the sun herself, as he rides geralt so fucking slow, kisses over the witcher’s throat, his scarred, damp chest,
and,
“not until i say, darling,” the bard murmurs against geralt’s ear, and geralt groans, the sound like a goddamn earthquake, and he grips the wrought iron of the bed frame that’s become his gentle prison until his knuckles bleach out,
and his thighs strain with the effort it’s taking not to rip through the silken bonds and shove jaskier down, but,
“you’re doing so well,” jaskier says, breathless, deep, and geralt presses his nose to the bard’s cheek, slow heart kicking up into his throat as jaskier winds his arms around geralt’s neck, tangles gentle fingers into his hair,
![anavi-ivy:Sparkle my scenery [WIP]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/13d858269269125741a62cd1814eca56/db6e081ecf1f5248-44/s1280x1920/f23426bb22f805305e6883baa56e1f570864e8dd.jpg "anavi-ivy:Sparkle my scenery [WIP]")
