biblioimmortal:

whetstonefires:

Okay so, got here from a book on animal behavior but: Vulcan stand-up comedy as a competitive activity.

Because most Vulcans don’t actually pretend they don’t have emotions, it’s all about self-regulation, right? And good comedy usually hinges on manipulating the relationship between our faculties of recognition and surprise in various ways, you can get pretty scientific with it.

So Vulcans go to the comedy act, and the idea is the comedian is trying to make you crack up, and the audience is trying to not even crack a smile, and if you do laugh, you lose. Like all in good fun, but Vulcans are both really competitive and really aware of how dangerous that urge can be to a society, so this could actually be classified as highly orthodox Surakian practice.

So of course the comedian has to actually be funny, or there’s no challenge and the game is boring.

Which means the really good Vulcan comedians (most of whom tend to extremely dry delivery of their bits) are going to go around playing to packed houses, which mostly sit staring stonily back at them, with occasional breaks when someone loses it and reacts.

And after a show you’ll have Vulcans walking out discussing with great approval how very humorous that was, with varying degrees of muted smugness or chagrin depending on if they won or lost.

I bet there are human comedians whose grandest fantasy is being good enough to do a set in Vulcana Regatta and have people going around bragging about not laughing at them.

“My agent was very concerned, wanted to make sure that I knew that no one was going to be laughing at my jokes.”

“‘Yes, I know’ I said. ‘I’m used to that.’”


Tags:

#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I never claimed to be competing) #Star Trek #fanfic #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

runawaymarbles:

whetstonefires:

The thing is that the most interesting and novel invention of the MCU is a universe where billions of people turned into dust and then were physically reconstituted on the spot five years later, in a world that had just barely adapted to their absence.

That is wild. That is intense! That is a series of pathos-ridden emotionally complex doorstoppers waiting to happen. Half the entire world! All dead! And somehow we coped with that! And now we have to cope with them all being back?

A whole street of empty houses–surely not everyone there became ash. Some of them moved to better places, now opened by the mass mortality. Some of them died afterward. Who will live there now? Even if inheritances are reversed by resurrection, surely leases aren’t renewed. What the fuck happens to everyone who remarried?

What happens to the children snapped back to a world where their parents didn’t survive, or the reverse?

But they had to then hastily smooth over this utterly batshit sci-fi premise and get the world mostly back to normal working order as rapidly as possible, without too much emphasis on how literally every person in existence has been placed in a mason jar by a narcissist and shaken twice in five years.

So they could get on with more superhero whack-blam business, which is customarily done against a background of Normality.

This is, tragically, the most Comics thing these movies have ever done.

It is beyond satire that they did this immediately before and during a worldwide pandemic that everyone was pressured to smooth over and ‘return to normal’ about within 2 years if not sooner.

I’m still bummed She-Hulk wasn’t “Law & Order: MCU” featuring such disputes as

  • A dog’s owner is snapped and someone else adopts it. Now it’s five years later and the owner wants the dog back.
  • A baby’s parents are snapped and someone else adopts it. Now its’ five years later and the kid is now 6. Absolutely fucking devastating custody dispute ensues.
  • All the snapped people were legally declared dead and their remaining next of kin got their assets. Now some of them are demanding their money back, but their heirs already spent it.
  • All the snapped people were not legally declared dead, and life insurance companies are still claiming that some people who actually died were snapped so that they don’t have to pay out.
  • These senators were elected to a 6 year term but they only got to serve one of them before blipping. They think they should get to serve the next five years.
  • School funding is based on enrollment, and was thus slashed when there was only half the student population. Now everyone is back midyear and there isn’t enough funding, and parents are suing.

Tags:

#Marvel #fanfic #story ideas I will never write #apocalypse cw #death tw #illness tw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

charlesoberonn:

Zuko: And finally, allow me to introduce the Avatar, Aang.

Aang: Ambassador Aang.

Zuko: Ambassador of what? You’re the only member of your nation.

Aang: And whose great-grandpa’s fault is that?

Zuko: Touche, ambassador.

Aang: I changed my mind now I’m King Aang.

Zuko: What.

Aang: King of the Air Nomad.

Zuko: That doesn’t even make any- whatever. Let’s just proceed with the meeting.


Tags:

#Avatar: The Last Airbender #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

lovely-v:

Every time Sean Astin makes a statement on whether or not Sam and Frodo were indeed gay for each other in lord of the rings he’s always like “well we have to acknowledge that attitudes around sexuality have changed dramatically over the past several decades and since authorial intent is only up to speculation, the story is open to multiple readings, some of which might have different significances for different groups of people also they kiss on the lips because I said so”

busket:

at the rose city comic con panel this month a fan asked them (sean and elijah) if sam and frodo were in love and they said

Sean: …..yes. absolutely

Elijah: 100 percent.

Sean: dont tell rosie

explorerrowan:

Rosie: “This is my husband Sam, and that’s his husband, Frodo. Frodo is my husband-in-law. I’m not into him, he’s he’s a bit too ‘elfy’ for my taste, but Sam likes him, and that’s fine with me. As far as I know, Frodo can’t give Sam children, but Frodo looks after ours all the same, so I don’t mind sharing Sam if it means another pair of eyes on the wee ones. In all honesty, our family tree is right simple compared to some hobbits. Yes, I’m referrin’ to you Lobelia, over there pretendin’ you ain’t eavesdroppin’. Still bitter you ain’t got either of my boys or their house, eh?”

arcaniumagi2:

fd96f17089c486204b1b6c2e1cab407802026857

ms-katonic-of-tamriel:

Tbh it’s canon that Frodo invited Sam and Rosie to move in to Bag End after their wedding and they all lived there for a couple of years until Frodo went to Valinor, so yeah. Running with it.

And once Rosie dies, Sam says his goodbyes and disappears after him.

roach-works:

what’s funny is people assuming that rosie would somehow be too dim or naive to KNOW that sam loved frodo, instead of looking at a guy who would loyally follow a beloved friend to hell and then help carry him home again, and not be like ‘oh i can’t not fuck that.’

elodieunderglass:

Polyamory, specifically polyandry, would be an interesting solution to the oddball population of the Shire.

The Shire is excellent farming country, with consistently good weather, and only one tough winter in living memory; hobbits like to produce large families; they’re resistant to disease, rarely violent, and encounter few dangers. It is usual for hobbits to produce many children, so that (for example) Bilbo and Frodo are unusual in both being only children, with no siblings, and not having children of their own. All of this should point to a population that increases every generation if not doubling outright. Young people (and their ideologies!) should rapidly outnumber the old with an ever-increasing effect and impact on society. However, the Shire has a surprisingly stable history; it never seems to increase or decrease greatly in population, and the bell curve of age seems… demographically balanced? There certainly isn’t a conflict from rising young bloods challenging the middle-aged reactionaries; there’s no unemployment; there are no housing crises or waves of emigration, or even a tendency for young people leaving home to marry. Meanwhile, not only does the Shire not suffer from internal pressures, but it remains obscure and hardly noticed in global politics.

What makes sense here is that adult hobbits form a loose group. Four parents in a polycule, between them all, may produce four children. All four parents claim to have four children. An outsider would assume this meant the adults had eight children.

Hobbits therefore are not especially fertile or fecund. They simply have large families. Much of their interest in genealogy is due to the complex relationships of blood-kin, hearth-kin, love-kin and pledge-kin, who must all be carefully tracked and measured – not just because you need to make sure that you don’t climb into bed with an un-permitted degree of blood-kin, but to track family alliances and carefully quantify the precise level of thoughtfulness to put into the proper present to gift your father’s lover’s lover (too much implies a degree of intimacy that might upset the polycule.)

Thus, while a hobbit matron may tell a startled dwarf that she has seven sons, she might only have borne five of them herself, and have one hearth-son by her wife, and a pledge-son of her first husband’s. There are between three and four fathers involved at various stages of production, from conception to pledge-duty, but there is debate about the precise number of fathers, as one child was festival-conceived and therefore provisionally pledged to the Brandybucks until more distinctive paternal traits should materialise. It’s expected that four of the sons will be uninterested in women, and their contribution to family life will be in raising hearth-children and pledge-duty. However, this level of detail is normally negotiated later in conversation, as a mutual overture of friendship. So she’s just clear and simple: yes, certainly, she has seven sons. Yes, they’re all hers. Yes, that’s fairly normal – yes, hobbits like big families. How big? That’s really hard to say! Well, about thirteen hobbits live in her house… er, she has forty-three nieces and nephews. Yes! She has nine siblings, that’s correct, but some of them are still babies themselves..

In this way, a bewildered dwarf might assume that hobbits are absurdly fertile, producing an average of seven children per couple, at an absurd pace.

When in fact, with about half of hobbits never bearing biological children, the population of hobbits is pretty much always the same.

Tl:dr, hobbit population works perfectly well, both internally and in the perceptions of outsiders, if the majority of the Shire is gay, they’re all polyamorous, and they all firmly claim to be parents of high numbers of children. Of course Frodo fathered Sam’s kids – he named them! They were pledge-kin but not hearth-kin, as Frodo needed a lot of quiet and stability in the home.

No outsider ever parses hobbit genealogy well enough to understand this except for Gandalf, who never explains anything either.

dancingspirals:

are you kidding? Gandalf would WEAPONIZE his knowledge of Hobbit genealogy against outsiders

elodieunderglass:

Since “pledge” kinships are multidimensional and can occur in different directions, hobbits can form – and formalise – family bonds simply because they choose to. Gandalf doesn’t tell anyone that the formation of Thorin’s Company, the Fellowship of the Ring, and Belladonna Took’s Accidental Troop of Mercenaries* are legal formations of pledge-siblings, a hobbit family structure usually claimed to increase social class and prestige (as high numbers of pledge-kin confer distinction on a hobbit, being a sort of popularity vote/endorsement that adds greatly to their social power. Incidentally, this is partly why Bilbo was both controversial and successful in his pledge-claim of Frodo; outsiders mistook his “bachelor” status as someone living outside of heteronormativity, while the Shire was bewildered and increasingly annoyed by his rejection of pledge and hearth commitments. By rights Bilbo had too few pledge-kin, and too little parenting experience, to claim rights to an orphan, especially one from Brandybuck hearth; but conversely, his social status was high enough that his belated bid for his very first pledge-son couldn’t reasonably be denied by anybody.)

In short, all of the hobbits enjoyed achieving even larger families on their adventures, legally and without argument or debate. It’s free real estate. If nobody else is going to sibling these losers, we will. (The condensation of so many entanglements at once also legally made Pippin his own father-in-law.)

Gandalf never explained.

* see the post about the Old Took’s “enchanted diamond cufflinks” that obeyed the wearer’s commands; which were probably, given the general state of things, two lost silmarils recovered by his Remarkable Daughters and gifted to him because things stay small and safe in the shire

chaosaccountant:

@elodieunderglass wouldn’t that make pippin both denethor’s pledge-son-in-law, and (as pledge-brother to the king) probably outrank him?

elodieunderglass:

Only through Boromir while Boromir was alive! Pippin’s familial claim through Boromir technically dissolved on Boromir’s death, as Denethor hadn’t been privy to it, and those bonds rarely stretch to a stranger when the person in the middle has died before introducing them; although Pippin, who was well-brought-up, perfectly and politely rectified the problem at once by simply swearing himself as Denethor’s pledge-son. but through his blood-cousinship to Frodo, who was older than Boromir, his status as the Took double-primarc (don’t ask) and the proximity-enhanced status-doubling effects of having a five-way cousin in Merry, Pippin was demonstrably higher status as a pledge-sibling and was also his own father-in-law and approved of himself. As such, he would have significantly raised Boromir’s social status and marital prospects in the Shire.

Inheritance follows parent-child pledge as the primary consideration, with matrilineal descent as the secondary. Pippin would have been bewildered to gradually understand that Denethor held his two sons in such odd and different standing :-/ hobbits don’t recognise kingship so it would’ve been very upsetting and disappointing to Pippin to understand how Denethor stood in position of sworn-father to a whole city of people without even being slightly fair to his younger hearth-son. Aragorn is demonstrably much better dad-material and therefore had Pippin’s vote. Pippin, by virtue of being an excellent father-in-law to a spectacularly promising young son-in-law, also considered himself a better candidate for king of Gondor than Denethor, by outranking him in Dad Competence – but was too busy by the time he realized this to point this out .

Ironically, the events in which Pippin realized this made Faramir his own hearth-son – so Pippin won in the end and took a great interest in ceremonially approving of Eowyn. Gandalf never explained

elodieunderglass:

bf8c16d0056eb7f3f369f14bd19f2f02d76e5b1c
0d88985edc7faa91242f0fad4fb0e4e44f48ee35

Tags:

#fanfic #Middle Earth #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

ty-bayonet-betteridge:

ty-bayonet-betteridge:

two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon – despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene – is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you’re willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

Keep reading

{{below the cut:}}

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just… no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i’ll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be “afternoon” in your mind – 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she’s maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she’s wearing torn jeans – naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er… I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido… oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you’re gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it – some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i’ll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn’t. you say i hadn’t really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer’s choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you’re gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer’s always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she’ll just replace them with living ones when she’s done. you don’t know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa’s birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn’t throw a birthday party if there wasn’t some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids – mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we’ll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

ADDENDUM:

by the way she says. whoever did your top surgery was a total fraud. i can see the scars. you say top surgery always leaves scars. she says not when i do it. she says do you want me to fix the scars? you say i actually kind of like the scars. she says oh. she takes a sip of her diet coke.

she says do you want me to give you more scars?


Tags:

#Wildbow #(despite never having read Worm I caught on to it being future-Bonesaw in like paragraph 2) #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #medical cw #unsanitary cw #body horror? #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

prokopetz:

Serialised Sherlock Holmes adaptation which meticulously reproduces all of Arthur Conan Doyle’s continuity fuckups, at first seemingly out of excessive concern for fidelity to the source material. Eventually, it’s revealed that we’re actually looking at a pair of extremely similar parallel universes, each with its own almost-but-not-quite-identical Holmes and Watson duo, played by the same actors.

In the back half of the series, a plot by Time-Travelling Omni-Moriarty threatens both universes, obliging the Holmeses and Watsons of each universe to team up with their counterparts to stop him; the particulars of this portion of the story are such that understanding what the hell is going on critically hinges on the audience’s ability to keep track of which nearly-identical Holmes or Watson is which.

The ultimate resolution involves outsmarting Moriarty by having the Watson with the war wound in his leg and the Watson with the war wound in his shoulder secretly switch places, deliberately framed in such a way that, as far as the audience can tell, there was no conceivable opportunity for them to have done so.


Tags:

#Sherlock Holmes #story ideas I will never write #fanfic #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

jennamoran:

batmanisagatewaydrug:

gun to my head if I had to write a story about Two-Face the premise would be that Harvey’s totally reformed, 100% in the clear, genuinely 0 interest in crime or murder, so he goes back to practicing law. but Two-Face is still there and ALSO practicing law so Harvey is like this upstanding lawyer working pro bono for various charities and nonprofits and what have you and then Two-Face is like a sleezy ambulance chaser taking out HUGE obnoxious billboards all over Gotham and recording the worst local commercials you have EVER seen. they share an office and work on alternating days. the POV character of this miniseries is the shared secretary who has to keep both of their schedules straight and the climax involves Harvey and Two-Face somehow legally being allowed to represent two different people who are suing each other

the bar exam, most places: (series of complicated questions)

the bar exam, Gotham:
1. how much interest in murder have you had in the past 13 days?

(a) some
(b) none
© committed 1, but that was enough for me
(d) very interested
(e) appropriate levels of interest for a lawyer

2. are you, as an identity, in control of at least 1/3 of your body’s affairs?

(a) yes
(b) no
© I am undertaking this exam as a meat trust
(d) I decline to say under the rights guaranteed me by Gotham v. A Puppet with a Scar on its Face
(e) the question is not philosophically sound

3. how would you describe your current level of involvement with organized crime?

(a) modest
(b) measured
© cautious
(d) undertaken under duress
(e) I decline to say under the rights guaranteed me by Gotham v. A Mysterious, Crime-Producing Hellmouth Underneath the City

4. are you … uh … you know, a lawyer?

(a) yes
(b) no
© the question is not philosophically sound
(d) I have, shall we say, “law”ed
(e) I possess the metahuman ability to function as a lawyer when appropriately garbed


Tags:

#Batman #story ideas I will never write #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

risingmoonyue:

fanfic-obsessed:

mis-mcgifsten:

commanderfoxdeservesbetter:

fanfic-obsessed:

This is an odd thought that I had. Canonically the Jedi are able to tell the clones apart easily with the Force. Let’s take it a step further. Because of the extra senses given by the Force, the Clones really don’t even look the same to the Jedi. (Sort of like that online test that goes around about how many color shades you can see, where some people can see four shades easily but others see one block of color.)  They never quite forget that their troops are clones but whenever someone talks about them looking the same, or like Jango Fett, all the Jedi just laugh awkwardly or are really confused (There is some “are they talking about the helmets? I mean the men paint the helmets, but maybe the visor looks the same?”).

I just want wholesome shenanigans where various nat borns interact with the Jedi and the clones. With lots of side eye while the Jedi try fruitlessly to figure out why “they keep saying that Cody looks like Jango Fett, what?” or “How are they confusing Fives with Echo?”

Anakin goes to describe Rex in very specific detail except how he does leaves everyone (except the Jedi) confused because that’s not what Rex looks like

Obi-Wan: makes sense

Palpatine: I have no clue who you’re talking about

This reminds me of a Terry Prachet scene with a werewolf character trying to describe people in scents but human language lacks the vocabulary to translate the concepts. Anakin saying stuff like “Rex is so prilltz” , and “Echo is very schnorf when he’s just come on duty” and those are terms for how their personality feels or how their aura glistens in a jedi’s perception.

73da90828073525513bc870129cbbbefe502f982

So first, ^ this exactly. Also all of the reblogs are amazing. Consider The Jedi trying to translate what they feel in the Force into Basic, like they have words in Dai Bendu for all of it but trying to describe something in Dai Bendu to a Force null is such a headache. So they say things like “He feels like the smell of precisely 1/25th of a rotten apple mixed with the color that goes with the taste of transparasteel” and all the Force Users in the room go “Oh, that asshole” while the poor LEO is trying to figure out how to input that into his database. The Coruscant Guard finally had to redesign their database for shit like that, then have Quinlan Vos come through hand help them fill it out and each and every one of them is violently angry when their ability to catch killers shot up 200%. Incidentally, and by complete accident, they found out that if a Jedi tells them someone has “the color that goes with the taste of transparasteel” in their description, the person has probably deceived someone in the past 48 hrs and no one can tell them why.

Second this opens up some many opportunities for hilarity with Jedi that go under cover. Like there has to be extra classes and all the Jedi that go undercover has to retake like every 4 months because they start to think that all they have to do is put in colored contacts, or forget the need for disguises entirely in favor of trying to change their Force signature and maybe their voice.

Third, Think about how funny it would be even the Sith did this. Like they don’t even realize it but Palpatine, Dooku, Ventress, Maul they can all tell the clones apart and do it without trying. Without realizing they are doing it. Consider Palpatine being in a meeting with the Jedi and several members of the Senate and not paying attention and greeting each clone by their number, and this is what starts making the Senator suspicious of him.

Like he is doing everything right, fooling everyone and he is not paying attention and so asks if “CC-1010” is feeling under the weather (it was the only way he would allow himself to gloat and feel the fond memories of torturing the Clone the day before), except there were the same number of guards as always and they had been trying to pass off Thorn as Fox (they knew that the Jedi wouldn’t say anything) to give him a break. This is the point that everything unravels, because ‘how can the Force Null Chancellor tell the Clones apart, that’s a Jedi thing”

I KEEP LOSING THIS SO I’M REBLOGGING AGAIN


Tags:

#Star Wars #story ideas I will never write #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #embarrassment squick? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once

golddragon387 asked:

I’m sure you understand this very well and don’t need me to tell you, but I also need to somehow express my appreciation for the fact that “a perplexed, slightly worried and completely enthralled expression of an entomologist checking up on his favorite bug and finding it doing tax returns on a little calculator” is an objectively completely hysterical way to describe the facial expression of any human regarding another, and an especially hilarious way to describe Havelock Vetinari when looking at Sir Samuel Vimes in particular.

God bless you.

higgsbison:

he even stopped shaking the container to just watch the lil bastard for a change !

thank you sm, I’m very pleased yall are having fun with this <3


Tags:

#I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #Discworld #fanfic #(I poked around and this is apparently a thingy in the style of Disco Elysium) #(with Tumblr polls voting on which response option Vimes takes next) #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once