Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”
Omfg
MY TIME HAS COME
so you’d need a bouquet of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking! and full of loathing.
im no Florist but I thought I’d try my hand at such a beautiful gift of absolute loathing
Someone: So what is your biggest fear?
Me: Peter Jackson is allowed to make a movie adaptation of the Silmarillion. All the characters are white dudes. There are 45 parts and still all the relevant plot is left out. Lúthien is turned into Action Girl who will need saving during the climax. Mîm is only there for comic relief. Feanor is shown 0.2 seconds during the prologue. Everybody who is not in the Lay of Leithian or the Narn gets erased. Somehow, Legolas is there.
IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THIS AND YOU’RE ANY MUSIC CLASS, WATCH IT I HAVEN’T LAUGHED SO HARD IN MONTHS. IF YOU’RE IN BAND, ORCHESTRA OR CHOIR WATCH THIS MASTERPIECE.
Their characters are truer in Sansukh than nearly anywhere else I’ve read them, and their flaws are the things that make them sing together– Bilbo’s snappish, stubborn, secretive persnicketiness and Thorin’s tendency to hold onto things forever even to his own detriment. And it’s built so well that I *want* that for them, and I believe it. The relationship *makes sense* for who the characters are and who they grow to be. (cont)
Which is not to say that you would find it the same, but my two cents as someone who went into the fic from a position of RAWR BAGGINSHIELD GOD IT’S EVERYWHERE UGH WHY. Dets has worked some magic in a lot of ways, but this iteration of Thorin and Bilbo and their relationship is definitely a big one.
oh my GOD
Cully, my star, Cully of the Golden Tonsils…! people will think I’m paying you!!
Thank you forever and ever and ever. *hugs, blubbering a little bit*
“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
The jostling of the wagon lulled Muil into a drowsy state. She had not slept in sometime. A few days? A few weeks? She did not know. She was still paranoid about the newcomers that she had stumbled onto. Even in the… was it a month, that had past she still did not exactly trust them. But, Meluiwen trusted them short after they spent the night with them and had declared them ‘Fwends’ shortly after once she overheard them talking about their home and getting rid of the darkness. (Muluiwen didn’t go into detail as she ‘pwomised-ed’ and Muil respected that).
Aw Yiss 