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ever since i learned about ghost buildings i haven't been able to stop thinking about them

#architectural uncanny #in abstract space no one can hear you scream

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Mae West, 34, says goodbye to prison warden Harry Schleth after leaving Welfare Island, April 29, 1927. She had served a eight days of a 10-day sentence (let out early for good behavior) for writing, directing, and performing in the play "Sex." Her pen name as playwright was Jane Mast.

In the drama, West played a prostitute who had to choose between two men: a young one to whom she concealed her profession, or an older one who accepted her for who she was. “People thought it vulgar, ridiculous, or funny, or a perfectly terrible play, laughed—and sent their friends to see the show,” wrote Thyra Samter Winslow in The New Yorker.

Photo: Associated Press via eBay

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method actor this method actor that. toshiro mifune played a guy getting shot at by arrows by getting shot at by arrows

and yeah i believe it. ^ this is the face of a guy getting shot at by arrows

#no adaptation of the scottish play goes as hard as this one #which is quite alarming really #throne of blood #toshiro mifune

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Centuripe, province in Enna, Sicily, Italy

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I don’t know what it is about Star Wars but even if it’s not your biggest fandom, it still has the funniest memes by a long shot I mean “look at all the fucks i give anakin” and “your poncho is a piece of junk” and anakin hates sand it’s all just 1000% pure class

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Lady with the recorder… your Phryne/Jack is always so delicious and a little desperate…

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! I think this is almost the last of what I've got left for my poor newsroom AU, but here you go:

“Jack,” calls Sylvia Lee from her desk, “what’s the house style on ejaculation?”

Jack spins in his ergonomic chair to regard her. “In what sense, cried out or came on?”

“It’s one of Prout’s sordid court stories,” says Sylvia dryly. “What do you think?”

Jack considers this. “You know, I’m not actually sure.” He raises his voice. “Ms Whiting! What does the style book say on ejaculation?”

“One second,” says Clara Whiting. She blinks; Jack knows she is scrolling through the style book in her head. Clara has an eidetic memory, which makes her a devastatingly effective sub; it’s often faster to consult her than to search the house style database. “No entry for ejaculation.”

“And that’s for the best, I find,” says Phryne, breezing over. “What?” she adds, as Jack glares at her. “Oh, very well.” She drops a dollar into the jar on his desk labelled Innuendon’t.

“I’m going to err on the side of caution here,” says Jack to Sylvia, “and say no to the ejaculation, because – ”

“ – we are a family paper,” sing-songs Sylvia. “I do feel the story loses something though.”

“How does ejaculation come into it?” inquires Phryne innocently. Jack sighs and taps the jar. Phryne purses her lips at him and pulls out another dollar. “Seriously, though, I’m curious – what was he ejaculating on?”

“Tram stops,” says Sylvia. “Letitia’s hunted down some pervert who’s been exposing himself all along the City Circle line.”

Phryne clasps her hands fervently. “Please say you’re putting ‘Circle Jerk’ in the headline.”

Everyone in the subs pool emits a sound that is half admiring sigh, half groan of frustration. 

“I’m charging you double for that one,” says Jack, head in hands.

“It is good though,” says Sylvia wistfully.

“No, Ms Lee. I draw the line.”

#wip ask game #procrasktination #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #phrack #phryne fisher #jack robinson

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Ok but for the file thing, I'm DYING to know more about "The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign" pls <3

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! this is an extremely cracky AU in which the Richmond Players all start manifesting superpowers.

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign. The second was Zoreaux.

To be fair to Isaac, he had failed to chop Jamie in half. (More on this later.) Thus, while Jamie went off to sulk and Zoreaux ambled up to poke at the broken sign saying, “Maybe we can make a new one?” Isaac thought nothing of clapping him on the back and replying, “Sure thing, bruv.”

His hand went through Zoreaux like a hot knife through butter. Zoreaux didn’t exactly fall apart, but he did sort of peel away in two halves like a melted clock in a Dalí painting. He was screaming the whole time. It was the modern art mash-up nobody wanted to see.

Isaac gaped at him in horror. The other players were yelling. “Bro! What did you do!”

“I didn’t – ” began Isaac. 

Zoreaux was still screaming. Weirdly, there was no blood or anything. The edges of him seemed to have been pinched off, like Play-doh.

“We must put him back together!” shouted Dani. He and Richard were on their knees, trying to jam the two halves of Zoreaux back together, only Zoreaux seemed to be drooping and stretching through their fingers. “Mon dieu,” gasped Richard. “He is like cheese! But not good cheese! Like the cheap mozzarella from Pizza Express!”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” shrieked Zoreaux. “What the fuck is happening!”

“I got the duct tape!” called Will, rushing in. He tossed the roll to Sam, who began trying to tape Zoreaux back together as the rest of the players rushed in to try and help. 

“Wait, wait.” Something was happening as Sam’s hands brushed against the halves of Zoreaux. They seemed to be melding back together. “Sam!” cried Dani. “It’s you! You are healing him!”

“Wow,” said Sam, staring at his hands as they knit Zoreaux back together. “Wait, I need to make sure he’s aligned properly. Can I get more light?”

Everyone was temporarily blinded as Dani burst into a blazing ball of brilliance.

“...okay,” said Sam after some time, “way more light than I needed, but thank you.”

“De nada, Sam!” 

It was at this point that Trent Crimm walked into the room. He stopped and put on his glasses, as if that would clarify the tableau of the AFC Richmond team duct-taping their cloven goalkeeper together while one of their strikers was blazing like a lighthouse beacon and their captain stood in the corner with his hands apologetically raised in the air. 

“What,” said Trent, “the actual fuck?”

*

Trent’s first thought was that he would have to re-pitch his book as a fantasy novel, because nobody was going to take it seriously as non-fiction any more.

“So you’ve got healing hands,” he repeated to Sam.

“I think so?” Sam stared at his hands. “Or maybe I just have the ability to stick things back together. I don’t know. Perhaps I should test it on another injury?”

Across the locker room, O’Brien cleared his throat. “Sam? Can you touch my butt?”

Trent and the players turned to stare at him. 

“Not for gay reasons,” O’Brien clarified. “For science.”

“Both of those are valid,” said Sam. “I would be happy to touch your butt for you.”

Trying to ignore O’Brien casually dropping trou in the corner, Trent removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dani’s brightness was giving him a migraine. “I’m sorry, bruv,” said Isaac to Zoreaux for the thousandth time.

“It’s okay,” said Zoreaux. They had yet to remove the duct tape, just in case, so he looked like a very poorly-wrapped package. “It didn’t actually hurt. I was just freaking out, bro.”

Babatunde was holding on to Zoreaux’s little finger and walking across the room while Bumbercatch followed him with a measuring tape to see how far the finger could stretch. “Three metres!” yelled Bumbercatch as Richard tried to cross the room to his locker and ended up having to do the limbo under the finger. “Okay, take it around the corner!”

“I just thought,” went on Isaac, “‘cos I touched Jamie, and I didn’t chop him in half…” He trails off.

“What?” said Jamie. And then, as Isaac made a move towards him, “Whoa! Are you fucking mental?”

“Sorry.” Isaac backed off. 

“Could I test a theory?” ventured Trent. “Bearing in mind that I mean this as a purely scientific inquiry.”

“Sure,” said Jamie. “Whatev – oi!” he yelled as Trent stabbed him in the hand with his pen.

The pen snapped in two. Ink splattered over Jamie’s hand, the skin of which remained unbroken. Jamie screwed up his nose. “That’s disgusting, man.”

“I think you’re invulnerable, Jamie,” said Trent.

Jamie considered this. “That mean I can’t be hurt?”

“I believe so, yes. We’ll have to run more tests to be sure.”

“Huh,” said Jamie. “Sick.”

“It worked!” O’Brien yelled from across the room. “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!”

“Okay,” said Trent wearily, “so we’ve got…five superpowers that have manifested so far. Anybody else feel a superpower coming on?”

“I got one,” called out Jan Maas. “I’m always right.”

The locker room erupted in laughter. “Shut the fuck up, Jan Maas,” they chorused.

Jan shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

#wip ask game #procrasktination #ted lasso #isaac mcadoo #thierry zoreaux #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #dani rojas #jan maas #trent crimm

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WIP Title Ask Meme

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I was tagged, in an utter coincidence, by both @tiltedsyllogism and @justplainsalty within the space of two days! Thanks both! I have actually been on an AO3 hiatus (I thought it would help me work on my original material but turns out writing less fanfiction does not automatically mean writing more original fiction? who knew) so I don't have many WIPs but here's what I got:

The Lady With The Recorder Asks The Questions (Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries)

you don't have to be crazy to work here (but it helps) (The Magnus Archives)

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign (Ted Lasso)

If They Hang You I'll Always Remember You (Disney Princesses)

shoring fragments against my ruins brb (Inception)

Tagging: anyone who would like to do this! please go on!

#wip ask game #procrasktination #ted lasso #miss fisher's murder mysteries #the magnus archives #inception #disney princesses

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star emoji (i'm on pc) for all the men and women merely players?

thank you for this ask for fanfiction director's cut! any director's commentary for all the men and women merely players is going to be insufferably long, especially as it involves literal directors, but I'm going to focus on one of my favourite parts to write, the Hamlet chapter.

stop! Hamlet time

The first thing to know about me is that I am a massive Hamlet nerd. I've studied it academically and watched it multiple times onscreen and onstage, in multiple languages, including Chinese and Lithuanian (I do not speak Lithuanian). Hamlet is a pivotal play in the structure of this fic - it is the "turn" in the magic trick of the "pledge, turn and prestige".

There are seven past/potential Hamlets in this fic: Nate, Isaac, Colin, Dani, Sam, Jamie and Roy. Even though Nate is the one who ends up actually playing Hamlet, what I wanted to set out here is that every single one of them could have been Hamlet, a very different kind of Hamlet, and it's rather a question of when in their lives they could have played this role. Hamlet is one of those paradoxical roles where you need a ton of experience to do it well, yet by the time you gain that experience you might be considered too old (textual clues indicate Hamlet is in his 30s). There are exceptions, of course: Ben Whishaw played Hamlet at 23, Ian McKellen at 84. I imagine Roy played Hamlet before he was ready, when he did not fully understand the role; Sam, similarly, is too young here and Jamie too immature. This is why the role eventually goes to Nate, who intrinsically understands Hamlet best of anyone in the company because of his own existential self-hatred. The one thing he lacks - and that Roy and Jamie have in abundance - is the main character syndrome that Hamlet possesses. He gains this in later chapters, but his insecurity around it leads to disaster. Anyway, my point is that there is no such thing as a single perfect Hamlet because all the Hamlets are valid.

The title of this chapter is "a little more than kin, and less than kind", which is the first line Hamlet speaks in the play. He's using it as a veiled insult of his mother's abrupt marriage to his uncle so soon after his father's death. This chapter deals very heavily with kin - in the sense of family ties, especially parental ones - and kind, in the sense of kindness but also in the sense of being like one another, of the same kind. I think a lot about how Shakespeare is performed, and what kinds of people get to perform Shakespeare, and this chapter explores that.

We open with Nate's dream of playing Anita in West Side Story (a nod to show canon), mixed with his memory of what he perceives as his father's rejection of him. (This is one of the earliest scenes I wrote for this fic, before we got more of an insight into Nate's actual relationship with his father, which was a lot less antagonistic than many of us anticipated). The epigraph to this chapter is from Gertrude to Hamlet: "Do not for ever with thy vailed lids/ Seek for thy noble father in the dust". This is what Nate is doing in this fic, and Ted, and Trent, and Jamie - whether they intend to or not, they've all got their heads down, seeking their fathers in the dust.

Used to be I didn’t know fuck-all about Shakespeare. Where I come from, if you talked about shit like that, they’d rip the piss out of you. I’d have done it myself. I got into a lot of fights back then. Someone’s trying to vex me, I beat the shit out of them. Sometimes I just get so mad and I don’t know where to make it go. You know? Nah, you don’t. Not by the looks of you. I’d probably have beat the shit out of you back then, if I’m honest. 

This is Monologue No. 5, Isaac's (the monologues are numbered after the number each player wears in the show). The difference between a monologue and a soliloquy is that a monologue is a speech by a single character, but there may be others onstage; in a soliloquy that character is alone. ('To be or not to be' is strictly speaking not a soliloquy but a monologue, as there are other characters eavesdropping on Hamlet). The four monologues in this chapter all allude to Trent as the invisible, silent listener. In contrast, Jamie delivers Soliloquy No. 9 because he is truly alone.

Cry ‘Havoc’, and let slip the dogs of war. Well that’s fucking epic, Miss Jameela, I said. Well why don’t you take a look at the rest of it, she said. And when I spoke the words out loud it was like something I could pour my rage into. Nothing fancy about it. It were right on. Turned all that anger into something to lend your ears to.

Isaac's entry point to Shakespeare is Antony's speech in Julius Caesar. This was a parallel I had initially intended to give to Roy, who has a clear affinity for Shakespeare's soldier characters, but after Isaac's captain speech in Sunflowers, I realised it should go to him. Isaac, like Roy, has rage issues, which he learns to channel into his acting; like Roy, he comes from a working-class background (I imagine them both being from council estates in South London) and came to acting through community theatre, which is under threat in the UK today because of funding cuts (Christopher Eccleston wrote movingly about this after the closure of the Oldham Coliseum, which was where actors like Bernard Cribbins got their start).

I’m no orator, yeah? Just a plain blunt man that loves his friends.

This is nearly word-for-word what Antony says in his speech at Caesar's funeral, which ironically demonstrates that he is a skilled orator - he deliberately casts himself as "plain" and "blunt" against Brutus' sophistry and succeeds in alienating his opponent in the audience's eyes. This leadership quality of Antony's is reflective of Isaac's own captaincy style - he's a "plain blunt man that loves his friends", even if he can't bring himself to tell them in so many words, and that is how he keeps his team together.

Nate contemplates this. It’s not exactly that they’re short on skulls in the apocalypse. Probably be easier than making one out of papier-mâché, which he’s had to do for a lot of their less scavengeable props, and which is a bit trickier when you have to make your own glue. The problem, of course, is getting the flesh off. How long would you have to boil human bone to get it clean? Beard probably knows. Nate should check with him.

This is morbid - but also, I assure you, a completely accurate depiction of how single-minded props people can be.

Colin strikes a pose with his imaginary skull. “Alas poor Yorick! I knew his fellatio.”

This was an actual piece of graffiti I once saw etched above a fly floor.

I only figured it out when we did Twelfth Night in sixth form. It was an all boys’ school, so some of us had to do the girl roles. I got Viola, the lead. Thought that was tidy. Only at the end I had to kiss the boy playing Orsino. 

Colin's monologue is based on a real anecdote, but in reverse; I knew someone who played Orsino in a mixed school, so he had to make out repeatedly with the girl playing Viola and it did absolutely nothing for him and that was how he discovered he was gay.

It’s funny that we’re doing this now. You a journalist, and me telling you all this. I fantasised about it sometimes, you know, telling everyone. I had nightmares about it. Could’ve gone on not saying anything after the world ended, but then I figured, if I might die any moment, I want to die having lived as a whole person.

I did not think I could top Colin's coming-out scene in the show, so I chose to let it have already happened in this AU. (I then retroactively decided it took place during the one and only time the Richmond Players performed Chekhov.) In contrast, it's implied that Trent still hadn't come out prior to the apocalypse, and that he is inspired to do so to Colin here.

“If he’d just made up his mind earlier it could all have been over by Act Two,” Roy is saying. “Macbeth would’ve done it. Othello would’ve done it. Fuck, even Romeo would’ve knocked Claudius off before making a puppet show about it.” “But that’s why they’re tragedies, you see,” Trent argues. “They’re all in the wrong story. Hamlet wouldn’t have killed Desdemona, or assumed Juliet was dead based on hearsay.”

I am quite fond of "the tropes are hungry and the hero is in the wrong goddamn story" discourse. There's no point complaining that Hamlet the play is too long and the hero needs to make up his mind. He can't, because he's Hamlet! that's the tragedy.

When I was a boy, there was this travelling theatre company that went around the vecindades, and they performed Shakespeare in the courtyards. We sat on our doorsteps and watched them. In the last scene they threw a big party, and they knocked on all the neighbours’ doors and brought them out to dance. I thought, if this is what theatre is like, then theatre is life!

The play in Dani's monologue is based on the vecindades staging of Othello by Arturo Ramírez and Martín López Cruz (an anachronistic reference, since it took place in Mexico City in 1988, meaning that Dani would not actually have been alive to see it). I'm fascinated by this particular site-specific staging because it was so calibrated for the vecindades, literally bringing the action to their doorstep - it was a staging that drew on the sense of community in these multi-family dwellings but also implicated said community in the tragedy, because they all ended up witnesses to Desdemona's murder. (A headcanon for this AU is that Dani played Desdemona opposite Sharon in the Richmond Players's gender-bent version of Othello).

On the one hand, Dani is the least likely candidate among the seven, because he is fundamentally too cheerful to play Hamlet. On the other hand, I think he would have turned the entire thing into a telenovela, which I for one would have loved to see.

“If your director, your lead actor and your stage manager are in a burning house right before your show is about to start, who do you save first?” Trent hazards: “The lead actor?” “Exactamundo, Aureliano Segundo! By the time the show’s about to go on, you don’t need the director any more, and your stage manager can take care of themself, or they wouldn’t be your stage manager.”

Again, a joke I've heard among production managers (who are always joking about disasters because a big part of their job is crisis prevention) but one that also reveals how what Ted views as a show of confidence might be interpreted by Nate as hurtful neglect. Also, a One Hundred Years of Solitude reference! No reason, I just always have Aureliano Segundo on the mind.

Did you know that the first recorded performance of Hamlet took place in Africa? English sailors performed it off the coast of Sierra Leone. Some people don’t believe this.

The earliest recorded performance of Hamlet was allegedly in 1607 on board an East India Company ship, The Dragon, lying off the coast of Sierra Leone, though the authenticity of the record has been called into question by some scholars. It would, however, have been performed at the Globe earlier in the 1600s. It's just interesting to think of the already-global nature of the play, even in its infancy, and of Shakespeare as a cultural accessory to colonialism.

I thought you have to sound British when you do Shakespeare, so I tried to do this RP accent, like I heard on BBC. And it was so bad. My father was helping me film the tape and he had this look on his face. I said “Daddy, I got to do it like this. They got to know I can play their roles the way they want.” And he said, “No, Samuel. You got to let them know that the way they want is your way.” So I did the monologue in my own accent, and we sent in that tape. And I got in.

Accent work in theatre is a sensitive subject that is quite close to my heart (though I live in the UK, I'm not British and don't have an English accent, which is something I'm always conscious of). Also: what does a decolonial approach to Shakespeare look like? Is it even possible? Is that what Sam's doing here? Questions, questions.

The fandom discourse around accents was also at the forefront of my mind when I was working on this chapter, because of an ask I had received about writing Jamie's POV - the asker was (rightly) concerned about how I would be depicting the Mancunian accent, as many in fandom were phoneticising it, which is considered offensive. This chapter contains five distinct character voices and for each one I listened to/read multiple sources to find subtle ways to depict the unique elements of that voice accurately and respectfully.

People always assume I want to play Othello. And I mean it is a great role, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to do Othello. I don’t want to do Aaron. I want the roles that everyone is up for. I want to do Hamlet. I want to do Romeo. I want to do Lear.

This is, IRL, what Toheeb Jimoh is doing! He's played Romeo, he's playing Hal in Henry IV, I can't wait to see what he takes on next.

This is also a complete coincidence (I conceptualised this chapter before S3E7 aired) but Nonso Anozie, who plays Sam's father Ola, holds the Guinness World Record for the youngest actor to play King Lear professionally, aged 23 in a 2002 RSC production. That's why I made Lear the favourite play of Ola in this AU, and had Sam make the (otherwise quite off-beat) choice of Cordelia's monologue for his RADA audition tape.

You know, when Orlando first comes onstage, he is talking about his father, who is dead. I don’t know if you could tell, the first night when you saw me in the role, but I almost could not do it. I almost could not speak those lines, because I do not know if they are true.

While it is left open-ended in the fic if Sam's parents are still alive, I like to think that they are. I like to think that he makes it back to Nigeria eventually - perhaps even soon after his successful run as Hamlet in the fic's epilogue, when international ship travel is revealed to be back on the cards - and that he sees them again.

“Am I a coward?” says Nate softly. [...] “Who calls me villain?” It is as if Nate is outside himself, his mouth speaking words unbidden, his nerveless fingers letting the book fall. “Breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i' the throat, as deep as to the lungs – who does me this?”

When I was watching Nate's villain arc in S2, these lines from Hamlet blazed across my mind, and from that moment on I always subconsciously associated Nate with Hamlet, but a Hamlet who loathes himself to a nigh paralysing degree. Nate may fancy himself a villain of Richard III's ilk, but he simply does not have the evil chops. He's just insecure, indecisive, prone to seeing insult when there is none.

He’s watching himself now. He’s standing across from himself as he delivers the lines seared into his brain, fascinated and horrified. He watches his own throat work, sees the spit fly, feels it strike beneath his eye and roll down his cheek like a tear.

Mirrors are significant in Hamlet - it is, after all, the play that gave rise to the idea of art holding a mirror up to nature - and I wanted to find a parallel for Nate's ritual of spitting at his reflection, which was hard, because mirrors are not abundant in a post-apocalyptic AU. I found the answer in a stage direction from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, in which Hamlet spits at the audience, then wipes his face as if his spit has been blown back at him by the wind.

Nate's flashback to what really happened with his parents fills in the blanks for the reader - his father pushing him away wasn't rejection, but his last act of love for Nate. And Nate knows rationally that there was nothing he could have done to save them, but he will always be haunted by having been the one to walk away.

A terrible emotion swamps Nate's chest. A little more than hope, and less than fear. “The play’s the thing,” he says.

"A little more than hope, and less than fear" is a callback to the chapter title "a little more than kin, and less than kind".

The full line that Hamlet says is "The play's the thing/ Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king." He's conceived a play-within-a-play to prove Claudius' guilt and provide him with the impetus to actualise this revenge business.

Throughout this chapter, the question of whether a play is "real" or "not real" comes up repeatedly - Colin: "I was scared of what it meant if it wasn’t acting. If it was real"; Dani: "And they say, but that is not true. Theatre is only pretend"; Sam: "Maybe one day I will see him again. And all this will only have been lines in a play". And of course a play isn't real, a play is only pretend. Ted Lasso isn't real. This fic isn't real. But that's not to say they're not holding up a mirror to our reality, the reflections in which have the power to affect us and shape us and change us in very real ways. That's the thing about plays. The play's the thing.

#fic ask game #procrasktination #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #shakespeare #hamlet #long post

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today, April 23, is the date that my Ted Lasso Station Eleven post-apocalypse Shakespeare AU begins and ends on:

“I believe you’re in my seat,” said Trent to the moustachioed stranger parked in B35 of the National Theatre. “I do beg your pardon,” exclaimed the stranger in a Midwestern accent. “I guess my eyesight ain’t what it used to be, if it can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw, or a 35 from a 36. But I’m keeping you standing. I’ll just scoot my boot over by one, shall I?” They performed the awkward seat shuffle common to theatre stalls the world over. “I like your glasses,” added the stranger. Trent removed his glasses and stared at them, then wondered why he had done that. He put them back on. “Thank you. Can’t see the stage without them.” The stranger hummed in agreement. Trent focused on removing his notepad and pen from his blazer pocket. He flipped to a new page and wrote at the top: Lear review, April 23, 2016. The date was notable at the time because it was the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death. In later years, of course, this would be eclipsed in importance entirely by what was to come.

all the men and women merely players

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted x trent #trent crimm #shakespeare

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this might be my favourite reaction to ttpd

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Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. 

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

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The Ted Lasso & Derry Girls Crossover that definitely happened ref

#have finally watched Derry Girls #and now this makes 110 per cent sense

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The Corruption

The Flesh

The Slaughter

The Hunt

The Desolation

The Extinction

The Buried

The Dark

The Vast

The Stranger

The Web

The End

The Spiral

The Lonely

The Eye

i ranked the tma fears from scariest to least scariest because i felt like it. no pressure but reblog with your rankings i wanna see!

oh god oh fuck

1. the corruption

2. the desolation

3. the hunt

4. the buried

5. the web

6. the extinction

7. the slaughter

8. the stranger

9. the dark

10. the flesh

11. the lonely

12. the eye

13. the end

14. the vast

15. the spiral

fuck yeah

tagging a couple of my moots if you wanna try :D

@encryptidarchivist @humanteethmarksonhumanbone @willdisappearintothelonely @styrofoamdoor @urnewsteppappa

#we have established my number one enemy is the Corruption #while in my past life I might've been an agent of the Eye #the magnus archives

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XIX century Library at Marienburg Castle, Germany

#in abstract space no one can hear you scream

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fic rec: ted lasso

all the men and women merely players

rating: T // fandom: ted lasso // pairings: ted x trent, keeley x roy x jamie, nate x jade // length: 50.7k author: @laiqualaurelote tags: theatre, shakespeare, post-apocalypse

"So let me get this straight. You, an American whose career highlights consisted mainly of appearing on Saturday Night Live, decide in the wake of the apocalypse to lead a touring Shakespeare company across the ruins of England." "Oh, I know. Heck, I said as much to Rebecca when she suggested it. I said, 'You could fill two Internets with what I don’t know about directing Shakespeare.' And she said, 'Ted, the Internet doesn’t exist any more.'" Trent Crimm meets Ted Lasso by chance at a Shakespeare play. Five years and the end of the world later, they meet again at another. A Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read).

rec notes:

a post-apocalyptic ted lasso AU where the richmond players are a troupe of travelling shakespearean actors.

simply one of the best things i've read in a long time. it SO perfectly operates within its genre, one of those beautiful pieces of cross-referential AU fanfic, where there is both a deeply thoughtful blending of references, a wonderfully precise understanding of the characters from the original media, and highly-detailed worldbuilding of its own.

the author nails every character's cadence, the variety of voices, their styles of conversation. the descriptive narrative, is also excellent. achingly poetic, there is so much beauty, and so much compelling, grim horror, too. the happy moments are threaded with plenty of intense, sharply sad moments, but there is so much joy, such hope. it's an ode to art, and friendship, and community.

i had such an amazing time reading this story. it's such a brilliant idea, and its execution lives up to the concept. the amount of detail, research, reference, is evident in every chapter. and it's a wonderful tribute to the show, while also giving such a satisfying conclusion to so many story arcs that were left a little underserved in the series finale.

#OP has written a magnificent essay of a comment on the fic #which I will eventually reply #but know I am lying here basking in its warmth #ted lasso #station eleven