I’ve been up for too long I didn’t realize what was wrong with this.
AU where Romeo and Juliet are a bickering writing duo and William Shakespeare is their debut play they’re trying to put on after college. Forsooth, hijinks ensue.
Hamlet is their emo friend who keeps complaining about his stepdad. Othello is their friend who got married too young and had their friend group’s first ugly divorce over supposed infidelity. Macbeth is their politician friend whose ambitious girlfriend pushed him to cheat at a student union election, despite the fact that nobody actually noticed or cared. William Shakespeare is a parody of writers who use their friends as material for amped-up melodramas, and they colloquially refer to their play as Mmm Whatcha Say because their protagonist is obsessed with killing off all his characters.
🔘 it isn’t my fault, i was given those beans, you persuaded me to trade away my cow for beans and without those beans there’d have been no stalk to get up to the giant in the first place WAIT A MINUTE
In flower language? Probably, I think I’ve even reblogged something to that effect. But….most ppl don’t know flower language anymore. No, if you need a true “fuck you” then here’s my DIY official tutorial, the Death Bouquet:
(This is gonna be the least wholesome post I’ve ever written and I am so sorry but I am also laughing while I type this.)
I’ve been railing on Pink Floyd roses a lot for their thorns lately because one has sliced my hand open recently. Get some of those.
Next. Get you some ornamental thorn roses. (I’m not 100% but I think mermaid climbing roses fall into this and are also brutal)
Next. Thistles. Lots of thistles. More thistles than sense.
Next. Dusty miller flower greens. Soft. Weak. Floppy. Clog up your bouquet with these, especially in the middle where they’ll make the stems stick together.
Next. Baby’s Breath. This is your secret weapon. You can’t tell when they’re dead half the time, they’re strong. Too strong. The wrong touch and FOOOOOOF. Tiny leaves and petals EVERYWHERE it’s as good as a glitter bomb.
NEXT. Abandon common arrangement sense. Fillers first, clog the center with fillers. Clog it, make it dense. Stick a rose or two in, but you want at least 70% filler.
NEXT. Hide the thistles. Hide them under the roses. Make sure some of the heads are at hand level. Spray them with water. You want those stems damp and miserable. Thistles harden as they die.
NEXT. The roses. Line this puppy in roses. Ornamentals and Floyds should be along the outside, this bouquet should be DEADLY to put any weight on. Spray them with water. This bouquet should be so tightly packed that your “handle” looks more like a solid mass than anything else.
NEXT. Wrap them in paper. TISSUE PAPER. Thin, weak, damp. Even gardening gloves can’t save your hands now.
NEXT. Be strong, treat the bouquet like a bed of nails. The more evenly spread the weight, the less likely you are to get hurt. You will be tempted to give these roses away in person, but be strong. Your ginger body language will give up the game.
FINALLY. Deliver them. Know. KNOW that your plan has worked, because anyone with any sense will see a bouquet and just FIST it with one hand. Maybe the other will come to support it. But just that. Just the hands. Meeting thorny death. A dozen little needle presses. The paper will be too damp to unravel, to see what has done this. They’ll grab it a few times, trying to learn the secret.
Deliver it with a nice note. Sincere, heartfelt. Make them feel obligated to deep the Death Bouquet. This is where the density comes in. Damp, suffocating, these flowers will mold in secret. They’ll die and their odor will permeate the air. But, because of the nature of the baby’s breath….it’ll be hard to find. Hard to detect. The roses will be sheltered because they’re on the outside, getting air and water. But the center will mold, and stink.
Eventually, they’ll realize it’s the flowers, and they’ll move the bouquet, and POOF, it will shatter, leaves and petals everywhere, releasing a gag worthy odor unlike anything they’ve smelled before.
And that’s how you say “fuck you” with a bouquet.
This was the most amazing read and I need to do this *now*
commissioned by my husband who has started reading Goblet of Fire
As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – Chapter 2 The Scar)
To stop it from conquering the planet they injected human brain cells from an incompetent weirdo into a seperate mouse and then put the two mice in the same cage so the silly mouse will always frustrate the terrifying genius mouse’s plans
All of the blinds and curtains had been closed. Finn tried to turn on his living room light, and frowned when it didn’t work. He rocked the switch back and forth to no avail, squinting up at the ceiling.
Eyes started to glow in the far corner of the room.
He screeched and dropped his bag on the floor.
“… Bat… man…?” he asked finally. His answer was silence. “Are you… here about the show…? You’re here about the show. We’re — this is all above-the-board, legally speaking.”
Batman stood. At least, that was what Finn assumed happened. The eyes moved from eye level to significantly above that.
“Also legalities aside I think we’ve done a good job of being as respectful as we can within a satirical context,” he added hastily, backing toward the door. “And at this point it’s out of my hands so I couldn’t put a stop to production even if I wanted to. Which isn’t to say that you couldn’t find a way, because you’re Batman, it would just be really nice if you didn’t do that.”
“Convince me.”
It took him a minute to realize that Batman had spoken, to register that they were words in a specific order with a specific meaning. “… convince…? You want the elevator pitch?” Finn wasn’t getting a lot of useful feedback and he was trying really hard not to burst into fear tears and he didn’t understand how anyone could possibly jaywalk in Gotham.
He took a deep breath. “Right. The elevator pitch. I can do that, no problem, not a problem.” He clapped his hands together. “So it’s a show about, uh, Batman — it’s a show about you — not the real you, obviously, it’s — I’m just going to say ‘Batman’, I think you probably get that I mean Batman as an idea and not — anyway.” Finn cleared his throat, tried to swallow the lump in his way.
“The core of the idea is, uh, what if — what if Batman was just a guy. Some guy. No powers, none of, uh—” He flailed his arms into the darkness in an attempt to gesture at whichever part of it was Batman. “Just, you know, a guy. So our story is about, uh, he’s a guy named Johnny Butler — we wanted to name him Johann, you know, for Die Fledermaus, but that seemed a little on-the-nose so we went with Johnny — and he’s this blind guy, and he’s an inventor! He invents, uh, this thing, and it lets him echolocate and he can see all this stuff other people can’t see, and he makes this thing so he can fly, and, you know, other stuff. He lives in Gotham with all these crazy villains, so he decides he’s going to use his inventions to fight them! Because, uh. He can? And Robin is this child prodigy who can talk to birds, he’s sort of, he’s the Marty and Johnny is Doc, or like Penny to Inspector Gadget. That’s. That’s the basics, basically. Is that okay so far?”
“Johnny Butler.”
“Yeah! Yeah. It’s, uh, because of Johann? I already told you that. And how, you know, a batman was like a kind of valet, like a butler, so we were trying to do sort of a pun thing? There’s going to be a lot of puns. I mean, you probably saw the fake intro we made on YouTube? With the theme song? It’s all going to be like that, with the retro aesthetic and camp and the cheesy effects, we’re keeping all of that for the real show. I have this brother, my little brother, he’s really into Batman, uh, you, he collects articles and stuff, and he’s eight, and I wanted to make something that he could watch. So it’s going to be kind of a show for kids, like a funny show — not making fun of you! I can show you a script, if you want.”
“Show me.”
“Yes! Yes sir, absolutely, not a problem, sure.” He bent, and tried to dig through his bag in the dark. “I, uh — here, I think this is it.” He offered a thick stack of paper to the darkness, which took it.
“Rowsdower’s Revenge,” the shadow read.
“Wrong script!” Finn said, snatching the script back. “Sorry, sorry, ignore that, sorry. Here, this one, I think this is the one.” He handed off the other script. “I would turn on the light, but…”
Finn squinted, trying to make out a face in the dark. He would have thought that the light from those weird white eyes would have had more of an impact. But while there was definitely the pale lower half of a face, everything else was just a shape, darker than the rest of the room.
He could make out the sound of pages flipping. And another, different sound. A pen?
“Holy homicide, Batman.” It wasn’t quite a question.
“Yeah, it’s, uh, kind of like a catchphrase? Thing?”
“Batcomputer.”
“Yeah.”
“Bat-o-vision.”
“Y… yeah. It’s like — I mean, you have the batmobile and those batarangs — I don’t know if you actually call them that, but, uh. We thought, you know, wouldn’t it be funny if Batman just puts ‘bat’ in front of everything? As a joke.”
“Batman and Robin consult the giant lighted lucite map of Gotham City, parentheses, labeled.”
“Obviously you don’t actually go around putting labels on everything, it just, uh.” Trying to explain jokes to Batman was the most painful thing he had ever done in his entire life and he wanted to die.
“Johnny Butler is blind.”
“Right.”
“The actor isn’t blind.”
“He… is not.”
“Why.”
“He’s — casting is — that’s not really how we—”
“Fix it.”
“I. Okay.”
“King Tut.”
“We’re trying to get Rami Malek but he’s been pretty busy but I’ll make sure we get someone Egyptian because I can tell it’s important to you.”
“The theme song.”
“We can get a new one!”
“No.” Batman handed the script back, and Finn took it, hands shaking. “Robin likes it.”
“He does? The, the na-na-na-na-na—”
“Stop.”
Finn shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked.
“I said Robin likes it.”
“Right.” He looked down at the script in his hands, or tried to. His eyes were adjusting, but still not enough. He brought the paper close to his face, squinting. Had Batman written notes on his script? It smelled like permanent marker. He could barely make out a few crossed out words. “You know, if Robin ever wanted to come by set after we start shooting, we could—”
The lights came on.
“Augh!” Finn shut his eyes, then blinked furiously. His apartment was empty and the window was open. He looked back down at the script, and flipped through it. The notes looked like they’d been left by a monk, taking a break from illuminating Bibles. They sat next to words crossed out and sometimes replaced, saying things like ‘mental illness is not a joke’ and ‘don’t use this word’ and ‘words with more plosives are inherently more humorous’. A note beside the description of Batman’s lair mentioned a carefully labeled ‘Historically Inaccurate But Well-Meaning Tyrannosaurus Rex’.
Finn hit the speed dial on his phone.
“Marco. Dude. You are not going to believe the notes I just got on this — okay, wait, first of all, we need to recast Batman. We need a blind guy. No, like a real blind guy. A tall one. Really tall. And Robin needs more screentime, we’ve got to curry favor with Robin. No, the real Robin. I have never been more serious. Making sure Robin likes this is going to be vital to not getting our asses kicked.”
blackash26 