#he doesn't just read- he performs

[thelostsmiles]

Benedict Cumberbatch reads a hilarious letter of complaint from Rik Mayall to Bob Geldof after dozens of the brightest stars on the British music scene descended upon SARM West Studios in London to unite as a supergroup, Band Aid, to record the song, “Do They Know It's Christmas?” (Letters Live Nov 2024)

Some great reaction gifs. A gif gift, if you will.

[hephaestuscrew]

One of the many Wolf 359 script directions that is Important To Me is this bit from Ep15 What's Up, Doc?, which comes after Hilbert has been threatening to tell Minkowski how Eiffel ended up on the Hephaestus:

[leupagus]

The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL

or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life

~

Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.

He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.

"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.

She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.

Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.

Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."

"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.

In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.

Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.

"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"

This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"

"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"

"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."

Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.

"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."

Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."

"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"

That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"

"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."

"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.

"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."

"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.

It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."

"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.

She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"

Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."

"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."

She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."

"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.

"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.

He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.

"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."

"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."

Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."

"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.

"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."

"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.

She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.

"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"

"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"

Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.

"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.

[coeurdeverre82]

oct-nov 1977

[tibtew]

*clutching head* rodya and meursault would have such a good dynamic actually

I wonder if rodya would initially see meursault's indifference as like. a simpler version of her own feigned carefreeness and as a deliberate attempt to place himself as an outsider... only to realise that No, he really Is just Like That. and then she gets annoyed because it turns out that people who don't care about anything don't seem to be any fun.

(ofc he does actually care about a lot of things, just not necessarily his grander place in the world lol)

idk. nihilism vs absurdism. fun duo 👍 rodya would find meursault's genuine comfort with being a speck of dust in the universe baffling, while he would probably find her desire to assert her own importance pointless, but they could probably bond over little things like their shared desire to live in the present and appreciation of/indulgence in earthly joys. and meursault would probably listen if rodya wants to rant about anything without asking any uncomfortable questions. I think they could appreciate each other's presence.

[teh-nos]

this morning i started writing a thorki au and it has already committed the following sins: modern au; thor & loki not being related; blue-collar thor while loki is posh. but i don't care because the whole concept is stupid and tailored to my very specific demands and there is as ever a good chance i will never make any real progress on it anyway. ha ha. ha haha. so there.

[art-o-gant]

what the fuck is the janissary motif doing in the new puppetshades. genuinely i. i've not stopped thinking about this. can anybody hear me

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

honestly i think one of the reasons phirell changed my brain chemistry is that on my first playthrough i started shipping them as soon as he showed up, half out of spite for Oh God Not the Edgy Forced Het Ship Tease and half out of spite for knowing characters like philio are never involved in canon ships, only to get completely poleaxed by him being THE main subtextual love interest while kirell/aam is significantly more ambiguous once you get past balaam's surface-level performance. literally one of the potential last questions on his section of charon's interview--which you only find out is the case on your second playthrough--makes him happy if you say you're fine with just living out your life, and even happier if you say you're open to starting a family. when i tell you i was going insane

[sleepynegress]

The streets are saying Aaron Taylor-Johnson got James Bond yall. And that gets a resounding "meh" from me.

[deviousdiesel]

.

[pynkhues]

lol this is so true about Jacob. The biggest Loustater of us all

https://www.tumblr.com/gracerings/754159263446876160/obsessed-with-jacob-andersons-mind-conjuring-up?source=share

He's honestly captaining the ship.

[miraluking-respectfully]

Diving back into the Space Ant Book & something I wanna mention unrelated to bugs is that Han Solo is great in this book. Like, it's been a while since I watched the OT, but the characterization just feels spot on in how he's reacting to all this insectoid nonsense, ie, VERY grouchily. He's also the only non-Forcie in this group of friends, family, & in-laws. So you've got Luke and Mara Jade and whoever else slowly uncovering the workings of the hive mind and how to coax information out of them via Force means, and they're experiencing this situation as detectives in a mystery story. Then they explain the info they've learned to Han and he's like ARE YOU SAYING MY DAUGHTER THINKS SHE'S A BUG

[chatdae]

Robert Redford as Jay Gatsby was really good at expressing different sides of the character. Sometimes Gatsby seems really mature and distant; other times he seems really adoring and earnest, yet still mature; other times he seems completely starry-eyed and naive. A lot of this comes from the script and visuals but still, I think Redford is a big part of it. By the end of the movie, Gatsby really seemed like a dreaming teenage boy in a man's body

Special nod to the way Redford delivers "Loved me...too?" during the argument at the hotel. It was palpable just how pitifully incapable Gatsby was of imagining Daisy in a way that wasn't absolutely perfect

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

once again thinking about trent startling easily

[5516-minutes]

went to see ya trumpeter boi herb alpert and got some good inspiration from the jazz pianist's solo... it's a pity that charles self professedly does not like jazz because he'd look so good doing it u__u/

[h4zardousch3micals]

Performance Of A Lifetime - 1

Previous • First • Next

Alright, so:

1) I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG STUFF HAPPENED

2) I SWEAR THIS STORY ISN'T 90% DUDES LOL THIS WAS JUST A WEIRD COINCIDENCE

3) Despite the Fallen Stars inspiration, Loodvigg is not evil. He is baby. (Spoiler alert I guess but all the Celestials will be sympathetic in this bc I do not have the heart to make any of them evil, whether I have the heart to traumatize them is a different story...)

4) Yes I'm going to be throwing a bunch of oc's in because I can >:3

That's all I think

——

A warm sunset spilled lazily from the horizon, dyeing the usually blue waters of the Living Ocean a deep, honey-like amber. On the South-east coast of Plant Island, a hive of activity began to materialise as monsters of all shapes and sizes were drawn in by gleam of flickering red and yellow lights and the sound of carnival music. The excitement was far from unwarranted: it's not every day that the circus comes to town, especially not the renowned, voyaging Audrey's Intrepid.

Backstage, however, beyond the hypnotizing spiral of ducks swirling in a little pool and the dizzying dances of eye-bleeding colours, was alive with a different kind of anticipation - thrilling, exhilarating, tension as a dozen little monsters prepared for the most nerve-wracking hour-or-so of their lives, just a few days away.

Or, that was how it was supposed to go.

"This is ridiculous. I'm not doing this." Loodvigg snarled, the feathers around his neck bristling like an agitated cat. He wobbled on unsteady legs: the diving board felt so flimsy beneath his feet and the bucket he was supposed to land in looked as though it were miles away. He wouldn't dare admit it, but something about the incredible drop made his entire body shake with fear.

"Awww, come on 'Vigg! It'll be fun!" Glaishur called out, having to raise his soft voice to be heard from all the way down there. He stood next to the comically shallow pail with a big, goofy grin plastered on his face, apparently oblivious to Loodvigg's distain for the current situation.

"If you aren't gonna do it, why'd you climb all the way up there?" Attmoz added, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction.

"Uh," Oops. Probably should've thought about that. Loodvigg desperately dodged the question with a question of his own, "Why do I have to be the one to do this, anyway? Surely this is more Hornacle's thing?"

Attmoz rolled his eye, "Fennec wants us to learn what its like to do eachother's acts so we know what they're thinking during the performance."

"Yeah! So get on with it..." A voice came from the nearby rows upon rows of almost entirely empty seats. Oh, right, their trainer was so quiet and pathetic that Loodvigg had almost forgotten he was there at all. The Sox's dark blue ears were pinned back and his vermilion eyes darted nervously around the empty circus tent. If he was trying to sound commanding; it wasn't working.

Loodvigg peered down again and felt an involuntary shudder creep up his spine.

"It's not that bad!" Glaishur explained, "Just close your eyes and pretend you're just walking down some stairs."

"If you're scared we can help get you down—" Attmoz added with an almost smug smirk."I AM NOT SCARED!" Loodvigg snarled, feathers puffing up from humiliation disguised as rage and causing both monsters to flinch. Almost immediately, he felt a pang of guilt strike his heart. He wanted to apologise, but a growing sense of shame made the words catch in his throat.

"Prove it then!"

Glaishur elbow nudged the air monster disapprovingly, "Attmoz, don't be mean!"

"Ugh, fine!" Loodvigg put his hands up surrender, "Whatever, I'll do it!"

There was probably a better way to word that - one that didn't involve taking the plunge both literally and figuratively - but it was too late for that now. Attmoz leans back slightly and folds his arms; Glaishur give him a reassuring thumbs up.

"Well, here goes nothing..." Loodvigg whimpered, taking a step forward and letting gravity do the rest of the work.

SPLASH!

For a moment, everything seemed almost peaceful. Loodvigg could hear sounds, but the rippling and bubbling of the water made everything distant and fuzzy. His stomach stung where he'd directly struck the surface of the pool, but the cool water was almost soothing against it. It was comforting, in a strange backwards sort of way.

And then, in an instant, it was over. he felt two sets of arms plunge into the oversized pail and drag him out with terrifying efficiency. He coughed and spluttered; his lungs burned from the cold water that intruded into his throat and his feathers clung awkwardly to his skull, making him feel small and weak. He was about to crawl away, to go find a nice dark corner to hide in and sulk, when an unexpectedly joyful voice caught him off guard:

"Woah! That was awesome!" Glaishur cheered. When Loodvigg blinked the water away from his eyes, he could see that the cold monster grinning from ear to ear; eyes wide and sparkling from admiration and excitement.

"...It was?" He wheezed between hacking up blobs of water.

"Yeah! You hardly moved a muscle the whole way down; you looked so badass!" Attmoz clarified.

It was probably best to just let them believe that was intentional, "Oh, yeah. It was."

"Good job, kid. I'll let Audrey know about this." Fennec approached them and said with a happy saxophone noise, well, that and an odd whistling from the cracked key on his back.

"Audrey?" He echoed, eyes lighting up at the possibility. Though neither him nor his friends had ever met the elusive ringmaster, the other performers described her as a powerful, almost otherworldly figure. To be specifically pointed out to her as special - what an honour!

"Yes, she'll be very pleased to know everything is going smoothly." He replied, his gaze was still flickering towards every little noise but now his lower eyelids were creased upwards in a slight smile.

"Wow... Lucky you!" Glaishur squealed excitedly.

Loodvigg was just about ready to slink into a cave and sleep for an entire century but, as usual, Attmoz just had to have the last laugh, "But can you do it again?"

"OH, COME ON!"

—

At the edge of the moving island the circus resided on, Scaratar studied the ripples of the water as the sun finally disappeared into the sea. A ladybird landed beside her, skittling and scuttling on its search for food, and she took the time to gently pet its smooth little wing cases before it flew away.

This serene moment was promptly interrupt by Loodvigg storming in - muttering something about how annoying a certain air monster was - and flopping down beside her. He resembled a cat that had gone outside during a thunderstorm: his expression was downtrodden and furious and his hair (normally painstakingly slicked back into place) was wild and a little frizzy.

"Woah, you alright?" She asked, unable to contain a few giggles, "You look a little... drenched?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled and covered his face with his webbed talons.

"Sheesh, okay."

Neither said a word in response and they stayed like that for quite some time: Loodvigg was too worked up to be interested in conversation and Scaratar knew to give her friend space. Eventually, Scaratar picked up one of the Circus' promotional posters and inspected it carefully. Loodvigg opened one eye, curious but not having the patience or energy to move much else.

"Why do you have that?" He eventually asked, "Where did you even get one of those? Didn't they all get sent out?"

"Uh, I got it from the pile before Fennec and Copper went to put them up around the Island. I don't know why, it just felt right."

"Oh," Loodvigg hoisted himself up by his arms and peered over at the poster, reading it out loud in an unamused tone, "New from Audrey's Intrepid, sixteen years in the making, marvel at the all new: CELESTIALS - A dramatic retelling of our world's most ancient history!"

"Well, you sure look like you need some Chapstick, don't ya?" Scaratar chuckled, pointing to a monster which resembled Loodvigg - only much older, much uglier and (as she described) much more dehydrated.

"I know, right?" Despite his exhaustion and grumpiness, Loodvigg couldn't help but crack a small smile, "And what's this? I don't exactly recall you having giant butterfly wings for ears."

"Actually, those are moth wings." She corrected.

"Close enough!" He rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance.

"Seriously though, wonder why they can never get the posters to look right."

He shrugged, "Maybe it's to make us look cooler?"

"...Because this looks cool!" Scaratar chirped sarcastically, shoving the poster in his face again which caused them to laugh out loud all over again.

"You have a point. Maybe we should ask Fennec, or one of the other performers..."

"Yeah, we should." She agreed, but the idea would soon be given up on as Scaratar's gaze shifted back to the distant sea. She suddenly asked, "Do you think there's more out there?"

Loodvigg blinked in suprise, "Of course there is. You've seen the other islands when we've landed there, even if they didn't let us put on the show 'cause we weren't ready yet, you must've at least gotten a glimpse?"

"Yes, I know. I meant... Do you think there's more out there - for us?"

Loodvigg considered the idea, "Well, if there was, surely Fennec would've told us?" Practice, practice, practice was all they'd ever really known, surely it was important if their trainer put that much focus on it?

"I suppose..."

"Do you... not like what we do?" He asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer, "Cause if you don't I can ask Fennec to change—"

"No, it's not that! I just...

I just wonder sometimes..."