There is a book called Thief of Time by a man named Terry Pratchett, which — unrelated to this topic — I think everyone should read. And in this book, there is the following passage: “Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying ‘End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH’, the paint wouldn’t even have time to dry.”
This is how I feel about this season of True Blood.
Every week, I say to myself, “This is the week, Kady! This is the week you let your fascination with this show go gently into that good night, because you know — you know in your SOUL — that what is about to happen on your screen is going to be mind-numbing, unutterably terrible garbage.” And every week, despite this, I sit transfixed and watch. I watch the zombie vampires! I watch the irrational townspeople! I watch Bill motherfucking Compton spout the same sorry shit to the same sorry music that’s been playing for seven sorry seasons! I watch Anna Paquin struggle desperately to emote around just, god, it’s so awful, everything’s so awful.
And yet — like the hand inching ever closer to the end of the world button — I watch.
Seven seasons of this. Seven. Seasons. Of this. When I began watching this show lo those many years ago I was a different woman, younger, more trusting, unaware that fate was leading me towards staring in semi-hysterical horror at a 55 minute train wreck every week for entire summers at a time. I didn’t know! How could I know! What signs there were passed easily over my head, distracted as I was by Alexander Skarsgard’s insidiously, improbably perfect physique, and now it is far too late. I am doomed to remain here, watching True Blood, until the series (mercifully) wraps at the end of this season.
So, to answer your question: yes, god help me, yes, I am watching True Blood. But friend, oh, friend, words cannot convey how much I wish I wasn’t.
Instead of just one stunt double, though, Johansson now has three who can step in whenever the action gets too intense. At first glance, they look remarkably like the star—but with a telltale pattern of dots on their faces that will serve as guides for visual-effects artists to graft Johansson’s face onto their bodies in postproduction. "It’s always funny," says Chris Evans, who worked closely with Johansson on Captain America: The Winter Soldier. "You walk by, ‘Hey, Scarlett—oh weird. You’re not Scarlett at all. Sorry.’ A lot of fake Scarletts around."
Marvel Cinematic Universe | 91711 words | Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, various
In which Bucky is the new kid, Steve is the square who takes him in, Tony and Pepper fight over valedictorian a year in advance, Thor remains a golden god, Loki remains a drama queen, Natasha commits an act of vigilante justice, Clint somehow fails to make a your mom joke, Darcy is a Satanist, Jane is a goth, Sif is fine thank you very much, Sam climbs a tree, Peggy says no, Rumlow is a bully, and Mrs. Rogers, Mr. Coulson, and Ms. Hill are all very long-suffering.
Or: the story of the year Bucky Barnes finally learned how to talk to at least one other human being, discovered J. D. Salinger, started to try in school (kind of), got a haircut, landed a punch, almost got arrested, and kissed a boy on the mouth.
God, you guys, just: read this. Morgan and I spent like 3 months outlining this bad boy in chat and then she went ahead and wrote something that went so leaps and bounds beyond the original outline that I just. Like. THIS IS A HIGH SCHOOL AU WE STARTED TALKING ABOUT BECAUSE WE WANTED ONE THAT PORTRAYED WITH ACCURACY THE TRUE (HORRIBLE) NATURE OF TEENAGEHOOD, and then it got so beautifully out of hand that there aren’t words. Read it. Go on. You know you want to.
There was this time when they were kids, fifteen, sixteen — Steve doesn’t know exactly when, just that it was after Bucky’s hands grew up all by themselves. They’d been small, Bucky’s hands, all through their childhoods; his fingers were delicate, nearly dainty, even after he started having to…
Reblogging for anyone who might not have been awake at…. er. Well. Whatever obscene time I posted this last night :D